chief pontiff, and all his priesthood to christianity, by a few imperious averments, unvouched by miracles, or any kind of evidence, is absurd in itself, and seems particularly incongruous with the mild and reasonable character of the warlike apostle, who concludes his sermon, by assuring his hearers, that if any of them hesitated to believe all he had said, he should instantly be "cut off from among the people.” The catastrophe, brought about by the occurrence of an earthquake and volcanic eruption, at the critical moment of a solemn festival and projected invasion, is equally puerile and extravagant. Southey, however, has one merit, that of employing no preternatural agency in the explication of the different parts of his design. Machinery is at all times a blemish in a poem which aims at probability. It ought particularly to be excluded from a work which treats of events within the limits of authentic history. It is not however on the general plan and conduct of the story that the merit or fortune of a poem will usually depend. If it contain many beautiful and pathetic passages, it cannot fail to please, though they should not be very skilfully connected; and if the materials be ordinary or disagreeable, no artifice of collocation can rescue the compound from oblivion. Nay, such is his partiality to it, that he even advances it, on some occasions, out of its proper rank of an adverb, into the place of an adjective, as "our food belike to fail." In the same taste he says of a speech which Madoc addressed to the king of Atzlan, that "he let it work." The arms of a deceased chieftain are elegantly called his "death-doers." The spokesman of the priests is termed "their mouth-piece :" and another, who had been fasting in a wood, is said to be "Emaciate like some bare anatomy." Instead of saying our inferior numbers, Southey chuses to make a warrior express his fear that the multitude of the savages may "Dwindle our all-too-few.” In another place, a voice is heard suddenly in the temple, "and crash with that The image fell!" Finally, we are told of a warrior, whose sword, "slivering downward, Left the cheek-flap dangling." And of another, who The poetry of Southey is in many "donned places characterised by an affecta- A gipion, quilted close of gossampine.” tion of infantine simplicity and antique homeliness, in which some persons are said to find wonderful refreshment and delight. To such readers many passages in this poem will afford the greatest satisfaction; but the taste is not yet general, nor perhaps will the number of its vota ries be ever augmented. Akin to that affectation of babyish gentleness, of which every page of this poem affords specimens, is the frequent introduction of low, antiquated, and vulgar words, upon serious occasions. Belike, for instance, is a prodigious favourite; insomuch that it occurs more than fifty times. Besides these combinations of simple terms, there are many single words, which Southey has lent, from the storehouse of his own invention, to the exhausted treasury of the English language. It is a common practice with him to compare the adverb as if it were an adjective; thus we have "fitlier," "fiercelier," and "distinctlier;" to which may be added, perhaps, though an inno vation of a different kind," booner,” and "beautifullest." In the same taste, we have "in very deed," and " in very heaven;" and hear of an "acquainted sword," the "foining" REMARKS ON SOUTHEY'S MADOC. of a serpent, and the "frush" of rocks. The most objectionable of all these, however, are the affected appellations by which the Deity is generally designated. He is called "The Great For-Ever-One; The For-Ever-One; The Every-Where; The For-Ever; The Beloved One;" and a great variety of familiar and mystical names, of a similar import and construction. The next great characteristic of Southey's poetry, after its infantine simplicity, is the energy, wildness, enthusiasm, and singularity of the conceptions with which the author has laboured to enliven it. In pursuit of this obscure idea of elevation and originality, he has often wandered into the regions of bombast and obscurity. From some persuasion of their magnificence, or from his great partiality to authentic history, Southey has borrowed from ancient chronicles many silly anecdotes and bar, barous names of Welch kings and chieftains. When Madoc is feasting with Rhys, a messenger arrives from the king, who is introduced, and delivers himself as follows: Now the messenger which having received, Goagan of Powys-land takes his departure, and molests prince Madoc and the reader no more. Southey goes professedly out of his way, to relate this delectable anecdote; and, in the same spirit, allows his hero to ride alone by the shore, while he pauses to inform the reader, that many a prince, A saintly crown, Tyneio, Merini, The last great fault of this poet is diffuseness and prolixity. He is always incumbered with the superfluity of his language; he is never succinct for speed, nor divested for exertion; his drapery is always trailing in great folds upon the ground; and, though in a fine attitude, or when the wind waves it aloft, there is sometimes gracefulness and majesty in the redundancy, yet it more frequently entangles his steps, and retards his progress, and often drags behind in unseemly and unprofitable volumes. The na Entered the hall; Goagan of Powys- ture of this defect renders it difficult land, He of Caer-Einion was it, who was From Gwyneth to Deheubarth; a brave man, Of copious speech. He told the royal Now, the whole business of this eloquent and high-born personage is to ask a horse, and a suit of clothes, and ten marks from the lord Rhys; to exemplify it by quotation: but the reader may turn to the squabble with the Saxon prelate; the conference with the Pabas; Cadwallon's whole narrative; the lake fight, the whole adventure with the snake god, and a considerable part of the battles and religious ceremonies at Aztlan. There are occasional instances of negligence in the structure of the verse, for which the easiness of the measure, and Southey's indisputable facility, leave him without excuse. Such lines as "When the bowyers of Deheubarth plied so well," or "And caught the hem of her gar ment and exclaimed," are inexcusable. I must protest also against the unnecessary profusion of ineffable names with which he has defaced his poem. Boileau, was not quite right, when he said that un seul nom barbare ⚫ said Plato to his foreign guests, who desired their agreeable host to in Rend un poeme entièr ou ridicule ou troduce them to his grave namesake bizarre. But how will common readers manage such words as Caonocotzin, Tezcalipoca, Coatlantana, Tezozomoc, Yuhidthiton, Nahuaztin, &c. in every page. After all, the poet assures us that he has been very merciful in this respect, since he had good authority for filling his page with a succession of such immeasurable appellatives as Tacotchcalcadlyacapan. After this enumeration of blemishes, it should seem but candid to make out an equally industrious catalogue of merits and beauties; but this must be left to the perseverance of that reader whose taste, better or worse than mine, may find in its blemishes no insuperable impediment to such an undertaking. For the Literary Magazine. Z. ADVANTAGES OF METAPHYSICAL STUDIES. MANY persons there are, who have conceived a prejudice against the metaphysical sciences, because they erroneously imagine that it indisposes the mind towards other pursuits more agreeable to popular taste. The examples of several cejebrated men contradict this opinion, from the time when the philosopher. Why should it be imagined, that the mind grows severe as it becomes enlightened, or that the knowledge of man unfits us for the society of mankind? One is, indeed, surprised at the strange notions which men, who are quite ignorant of its nature, have formed of this branch of philosophy. There are some who seriously be lieve that this science serves only to darken and bewilder the understanding; while others suppose that it consists in the babbling of a pedantic jargon, which constituted the barbarous language of the scholastic learning. If a perplexed reasoner puzzle himself and his audience, we are almost always sure to hear his metaphysical subtlety reproved or lamented; and he, upon his part, seldom fails to ascribe the confusion of his ideas to the obscure nature of all speculative doctrines. If a pert rhetorician becomes entangled in his own sophistries, he is ever rea dy to accuse himself of having too much of the very logic which he wants. There is not a mere tyro in literature, who has blundered round the meaning of a chapter in Plato, but is content to mistake himself for a philosopher. A sciolist cannot set up for an atheist, without first hailing himself a metaphysician; while an ignorant dogmatist no sooner finds himself embarrassed with a doubt, than he seeks to avenge his offended vanity, by representing all metaphysical inquiries as idle or mischievous. Thus the noblest of the sciences is mista Omnis Aristippum decuit color et status, ken and vilified by the folly of some, et res, to the last century, when the taste and knowledge of Berkeley surprised the artists of Italy; the accomplishments of the young Helvetius were admired in the circles of Paris; and the grave and the gay, the sage and the youth, could take delight in the conversation of subtle Hume. I am the person whom you wish to see, and by the prejudices of others; by the impertinent vanity of a few, who could never understand it; and by the unjustifiable censures of many, who have never given it a fair and candid examination. He, however, who has been accustomed to meditate the principles of things, the springs of action, the foundations of political government, the sources of moral law, the nature of the pas sions, the influence of habit and association, the formation of character and temper, the faculties of the soul, and the philosophy of mind, will not be persuaded that these subjects have been unworthy of his patient attention, because presumptuous writers have abused the liberty of investigation, or because dull ones have found it unavailing He knows that metaphysics do not exclude other learning; that, on the contrary, they blend themselves with all the sciences. He feels the love of truth grow strong with the search of it; he confesses the very bounded powers of the human understanding, while he contemplates the immensi ty of nature, and the majesty of God; but he thinks that his researches may contribute to enlarge and correct his own notions; that they may teach him how to reason with precision; and may instruct him in the knowledge of himself. His time, he believes, is seldom employed to greater advantage, than when he considers what may be the nature of his intellectual being, examines the extent of his moral duties, investigates the sources of happiness, and demonstrates the means by which it may be more generally diffused. It is nothing to him, that his tone and his language are ill imitated by the sophist; that he is considered as a useless member of society by the heavy plodding man of business; or that he is exposed to the impotent ridicule of the gaudy coxcomb, by whom he can never be approved, because he can never be understood. What is it to him, though his name be unknown among the monopolizers, the schemers, and the projectors, that throng the crowded capital of a mercantile nation? What is it to him, though his talents be undervalued by the votaries and the victims of dissipation, folly, and fashion? What is it to him, though grandeur should have withdrawn its protection from genius; though ambition should be satisfied with power alone; and though power should only exert its efforts to preserve itself? VOL. V. NO. XXX. These things may not affect him: they may neither interrupt the course of his studies, nor disturb the serenity of his mind. But what must be his feelings, if he should find, that philosophy is persecuted, where science is professed to be taught? Are there not some, who seem desirous of excluding it from the plan of public education? The advan tages which are to be derived from classical knowledge are well understood in one place; and a profound acquaintance with mathematics is highly estimated in another; while the study of the human mind, which is the study of human nature, and that examination of principles which is so necessary to the scrutiny of truth, are either discouraged as dangerous, or neglected as useless. For the Literary Magazine. SOME ACCOUNT OF MICHAUX'S TRAVELS IN THE WESTERN STATES. THERE are, according to Volney, three great natural divisions of the territory of the United States of America: the first lies between the Atlantic and the Apalachian or Allegany Mountains; the second is that district which is covered by these mountains; and the third lies beyond them to the west, and now extends, by the cession of Louisiana, to the frontiers of Mexico. That portion of this vast territory, which lies between the mountains and the Mississippi, contains the newly erected states of Ohio, Kentucky, and Tenessee; and is commonly called the back country, or the western waters, in America. Till lately, this region has been the subject only of vague and fabulous accounts, derived from ignorant or interested landjobbers; and, even now, it is imperfectly known. This is no subject of surprise, when we consider its recent occupation, its great extent, and the uninviting aspect which it presents to travellers. Here are 7 no champaign districts, or elegant cities; nothing meets the eye but the dusky shades of interminable forests, where silence seems to have established her reign, and where the lonely traveller must hold his irksome way, amid perils and privations, without the hope of any brilliant discovery to reward his toils, and embellish the narrative of his adventures. Notwithstanding all these obstacles and disadvantages, Dr. Michaux, a zealous Frenchman, was induced to undertake a journey through this remote country, principally to make observations on its vegetable products. But though natural history was his chief object, he does not confine himself to his hortus siccus; his observations take a wider range, and throw light upon the progress which these states have made in agriculture, commerce, and population. He treats these subjects in an unconnected and desultory manner; and the information he communicates is, in many respects, scanty and inadequate. But, as his narrative was not originally intended for publication, and as his journey was limited to a very short time, we must not blame him for deficiencies, in some measure unavoidable. M. Michaux is not one of these travellers who, when they go abroad, "go hooded," and see nothing; for he seems to have made every enquiry that his time permitted: and, besides, it is seldom that we meet with a writer of his country so free from every kind of trifling, romancing, and affectation. His book has no pretensions to philosophy, but it is plain, sensible, and instructive. They, however, who read travels only for the sake of the marvels they contain, will find very little amusement in it; for the author is very deficient in wonderful stories, having neither seen mammoths, fought with cannibals, nor intrigued with Indian princesses. The expedition was undertaken under the auspices of Chaptal, minister of the interior. Our traveller arrived at Charleston, South Caro lina, in Oct. 1801. This city is the seat of an active commerce between the northern and southern states; it contains nearly twenty thousand inhabitants; and upwards of nine thousand of this number are slaves. He made a considerable stay at this place, as well as at New York and Philadelphia. In June, 1802, he set out to cross the Allegany, having before him a journey of near two thousand miles, to be accomplished by the following October. From Philadelphia to Pittsburgh, the northern entrance into the western states, the road (he says) lies through a country whose hilly surface, covered with dark forests, gives it the appearance of an agita ted sea. There are, however, intermediate spots of rich and cultivated soil, yielding crops of wheat, oats, and rye. Beyond Shippens burgh, 140 miles from Philadelphia, there is no public conveyance on this road; but, as the Americans it seems are always thirsty, there is no want of inns, frequently kept by captains, colonels, and other military dignitaries, with the appropriate sign of a general Washington. The breakfasts at these inns are much in that style which Dr. Johnson, when in Scotland, so highly approved ; fried ham and eggs, with a broiled fowl, being generally served up with the tea and coffee. Upon our traveller's arrival at Bedford, a town near the foot of the Allegany ridge, he found all the inhabitants of the country engaged in a high festival, to commemorate, not a victory over the royalists, but the repeal of the duty upon whisky; and, upon this memorable occasion, every independent American thought it a civic duty to get exceedingly drunk. The German colonists he mentions as the most sober and industrious people in this part of America. "With them," says he, "every thing announces that comfort which is the reward of assiduity and labour. They assist each other in their harvests, they intermarry with each other, and preserve, as much as possible, the manners of their Euro |