him gentleman-usher as it were, to all the medley groups who figure on the well filled stage, every thing is placed at once in the light in which the poet wished it to appear. He was one of the most amiable and benevolent of satirists, angry invective suited not the happy turn of his genius, and to the great moral endsof enlightening simplicity,chastising vanity, and unmasking knavery and hypocrisy, he knew an easier and less rugged way; he was aware how constantly the praises of the weak imply the censures of the wise; he also knew that wit is never so captivating as when she borrows the mask of simplicity, and on these maxims he composed the most pleasant piece in our language, To its other recommendations, the Bath Guide adds a wonderful ease and sweetness in the flow of its verse, and a humourous felicity in its rhymes, never excelled since the time of Swift. Forty years have altered many particulars in the customs and local circumstances of Bath itself; but the Bath Guide is not on that account a less valuable monitor, "pigeon wing heads," and "wigs en vergette," have long been numbered amongst the things that were, but Simkins and miss Jennys still live to be the prey of cormorants. It has been the fate of some authors to produce their best work first, and by every succeeding one to cause somewhat of disappointment to the public. Anstey was of this number, yet are none of his performances destitute of merit, for good sense and taste presided over every effort of his muse. The elegy on the death of the marquis of Tavistock," is an effusion of simple unaffected pathos; the cadences of the blank verse in which it is composed are so sweet, and so finely varied, that we should have imagined them to proceed from a pen much exercised in this kind of measure; yet no other specimen of this sort appears. "The Patriot, a pindaric epistle addressed to the lord Buckhorse," is a burlesque poem, written at the close of the duke of Newcastle's administration; a portrait of Buckhorse, the most noted bruiser of his time, stands at the head of this performance. Though it was one of the author's objects to throw on the savage amusement of boxing, the contempt and reprobation it deserves, the editor admits that much satire of particular characters was concealed under the classical allusions and anecdotes interwoven with the subject; he has refrained, for obvious reasons, from illustrating by explanatory notes an almost obsolete piece of ridicule. We have refer red to, the article in the Monthly Review for 1767, but it affords no key to the secret meaning; our readers must therefore be content to remain in the dark. The poem bears certain tokens of a master hand, and may even now be read with entertainment. "The Election Ball," in its epistolary form, its anapastic measure, and partly in its subject, resembles the Bath Guide, but is decidedly inferior to it. The character of Mr. Inkle is much less distinct and intelligible than that of Simkin; we are continually in doubt what to think of his panegyrics, on modern dress and manners, whilst he himself is pleased to go to a ball and be flattered for their own ends by his superiors; whilst he soothes himself with visionary hopes of "a pension for me and a husband for Madge," it is difficult to understand how he should. possess shrewdness enough to discover the ridiculous in others; yet his applause of all the good company is much more obviously and constantly ironical than Simkin's, and even his compliments to the "wife of his bosom," may be more than suspected of sarcasm. The ridicule too is of a lower order than that of the former poem, it turns more on dress, less on manners, more on ludicrous incidents which might equally befall numbers, and less on whimsical peculiarities of character, which belong to an individual. We laugh heartily at the first reading of the "Election Ball," we smile over the "Bath Guide," whenever we open it; the first abounds in drollery, the second is rich in humour. Of the graver poems contained in this volume, "Envy," "Charity," &c. we shall only remark that they do credit to the feelings and intentions of the writer, but "the Decayed Macaroni," is so much in his own style, that though it has appeared in print before, we cannot resist the temptation of borrowing some of its stanzas to enliven our pages. We may just remark by the way that there is some improbability in supposing that personage foolish enough to confess all that he had been profligate enough to commit. "I AM a decay'd macaroni, My lodging's up three pair of stairs; My cheeks are grown wondrously bony, And grey, very grey, are my hairs: My landlady eyes me severely, And frowns when she opens the door : My tailor behaves cavalierly And my coat will bear scouring no more : Alas! what misfortunes attend The man of a liberal mind! From base and ungrateful mankind! I took a round sum from the stocks, Just to keep up a decent succession Of race-horses, women, and cocks : Good company always my aim, To look upon money as trash, I set up a bank of my own, And give him a smack of the ton: At dinner well-plied with champaign, At tea gave a lecture on punting; At midnight, on throwing a main : His friends too with bumpers I cheer'd, And in truth should have deem'd it a sin To have made, when a stranger ap- Any scruple of taking him in. In a soul so exalted as mine, The good of the state to promote, That cast such a slur on the nation, I soon heard of one to be sold, Such a bargain, I could not forego it, With the freedom so cheap were en roll'd A lawyer, a priest, and a poet. I touch'd all the aldermen round, And paid double price for the mayor; But at length to my sorrow I found They'd been sold long before I came there; In vain for sarcastical song Did my poet his talents display, Comme il faut were my cellars and To my very last farthing I treated, table: And freely I ask'd to the same Ev'ry jockey that came to my stable ; And set the whole town in a flame : Like a hero triumphantly rode, While unable to pay for their prog, Their wine, their tobacco, and ale I was forc'd to sneak off like a dog With a cannister tied to his tail: My genius and spirit I feel Depress'd by adversity's cup; My merit, alas! and my zeal For my country, hath eaten me up: Yet spite of so fair a pretension, Th' unfeeling, ill-judging Premier Hath meanly denied me a pension-Though I ask'd but a thousand year. Where then shall I fly from oppression, I'll hasten, O! Bath to thy springs, And the rich are sent empty away: With you, ye sweet streams of compas sion, My fortune I'll strive to repair, Where so many people of fashion Have money enough, and to spare: And trust, as they give it so freely, By private subscription to raise, Enough to maintain me genteely, And sport with, the rest of my days." Mr. Anstey was a fluent and elegant Latin poet. At an early period of his life he joined with a friend in the task of translating Gray's famous elegy; he turned several of Gay's fables into the Roman tongue for the benefit of his sons, then under his tuition, and he addressed to his friend Mr. Bamfyld a highly humourous poem respecting his "Election Ball," for which that gentleman had made some admirable designs, here given to the public. A version of his celebrated epistle from miss Prudence B-N-R-D to her friend, furnishes a most amusing specimen of his talents in this department. Nam procero par Rogero Spectrum venit cœlitus; Dicens, Ego amore implebo Te divino penitùs. Cum Rogeri crine veri, Cumque barbà apparuit, Barbâ, gravi, oleo suavi, Qualen Aaron habuit. Ego tremere, fremere, gemere, Dixi primùm, pectus imum Quin dilectum redi spectrum, Ego metam tecum petam, Currum nunc ascendimus, Fides junxit, gratia inunxit, Adque cælos tendimus.-" We now take a reluctant farewell of this popular, witty, and truly original writer. Our regret for the loss of so great a luminary of the poetical world, is softened only by the reflection that it cannot be esteemed irreparable, since there remains one who follows him with not unequal steps. 1 ART. VIII. Latin and Italian Poems of Milton, translated into English Verse, and a Fragment of a Commentary on Paradise Lost; by the Late WILLIAM Cowper, Esqwith a Preface, by the Editor, and Notes of Various Authors. 4to. pp. 328. THE office of poetical translation has frequently been contemned by men unworthy to attempt it, for works of genius it is one that only genius should perform. We hail the present volume as affording a glorious illustration of this neglected truth. The Latin poenis of Milton have many claims to our attention. Composed, for the most part, before he had attained his twentieth year, they serve to illustrate the progress of his mind, the order of his studies, the course of his juvenile ideas. They derive further importance from the consideration that upon them alone was founded the brilliant reputation of their author amongst the scholars and poets of Italy, who must be understood to have discerned in them the dawn of a sublime and astonishing genius, for it would be unjust to suppose that on this occasion these polished courtiers only indulged the adulatory propensity of their nation without anticipating that future progress of Milton's fame and excellence which was to convert the hyperboles of flattery into modest commendation. It seems to be now admitted by all candid and qualified judges, that no Latin verse of equal purity and elegance with his own, had in Milton's time been produced by any English scholar, and the decisive test of faithful translation has proved that it is by no means in Latinity alone that their excellence consists. Elegy I. addressed to his friend Charles Diodati, is chiefly remarkable for alluding in a high indignant tone to his treatment at Cambridge, it also bears witness to his fondness for theatrical representations in lines more copious and not less beautiful, even in the version, than the celebrated ones in L'Al. legro and 11 Penseroso with which it may be entertaining to compare. "Here too I visit, or to smile, or The winding theatre's majestic sweep; My spirits, spent in learning's long pur suits; Whether some senior shrewd, or spend- Suitor, or soldier, now unarm'd, be there, Or some coil'd brooder o'er a ten years" cause, Thunder the Norman gibb'rish of the sire, And, artful, speeds th' enamour'd son's ' desire. There, virgins oft, unconscious what What love is, know not, yet, unknow- Or, if impassion'd Tragedy wield gard eye, I gaze, and grieve, still cherishing my At times, e'en bitter tears! yield sweet relief. As when from bliss untasted torn away, Or when the ghost, sent back from woe, When Troy, or Argos, the dire scens Or Creon's hall laments its guilty lords." youthful bard, who calls upon all other countries, ancient and modern, to yield the palm to them, from whose dangerous charms, however, he himself determines to seck an asylum even in hated Cambridge. Elegy III. laments the death of the bishop of Winchester (Andrews), in the beginning there is too much of a puerile kind of expostulation with death, but the poet amply redeems himself afterwards by the beatific vision of his ascent into bliss and glory. "While I, that splendour, and the mingled shade Of fruitful vines, with wonder fixt survey'd, At once, with looks, that beam'd celes |