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notions which we have formed respecting the Russian government, are the result of prejudice supported by ignorance.

Upon the condition of Russia, and the progress of opinion among the people, the author has these general but striking observations.

"If Russia were considered only in an official character, one would be led to believe that the people are actuated by the same sentiments as their government. Now, it is the aim of the Russian government not only to govern every thing, and to domineer over every thing, but, if it were possible, to absorb every thing within itself. The government desires to imbue the people with its own notions, and thereby to make them the accomplices of all its doings. The Russian government wishes to impress on the world, that whatever they undertake, whatever wars they enter on, they have been urged forward by the people. And, indeed, the countless host of needy men in office, high and low, and the military, both of whom could not exist on their wretched salaries and pay, besides the demands of their cupidity, are forced to adopt the views of the government. They dream of confiscation and pillage, as the emperor dreams of triumphs and universal dominion.

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Hence, immorality and corruption abound among the agents of the Russian government. The subordinates are encouraged by the principals. Injustice is permitted in the lower grades, to gain tolerance for the practices of the higher functionaries.

"But the men in office, however numerous, are few when compared to the nation. Though foreign wars, the confiscation of private fortunes, and the spoil of other countries, are a source of gain to some men in the civil and military service, the nation at large receives no advantage. Besides the evils inseparable from war, the Russian people are themselves subjected to the painful necessity of enduring a portion of the sufferings of the vanquished. For these men in office, who have become accustomed to extortion and violent conduct abroad, acquire tastes and habits which they do not lay aside when they return home. Their proceedings remain unchecked by the heads of the government; and, besides gratifying individual cupidity, offer an example readily followed by all in similar employments. Hence, Russian conquests and encroachments, in proportion as they are extended, not only excite the jealousy of all the cabinets of Europe, and exasperate the inhabitants of the subjugated countries, but the Russians themselves are stirred up to hate and resist their government."-pp. 28-30.

The author declares that the great mass of the people long for relief from physical suffering; that all raised by their status in society above the mass, feel the irksomeness of despotism, and a desire for political improvement; and that the cause of freedom engages the thoughts of all generous and patriotic men in the empire. He adduces many arguments and events in support of his opinions, and points out how the grievances of the people might be turned to account by the other nations of Europe, and by England in particular, in the event of a war. In the mean time a general and spontaneous movement of a whole nation, consisting of such prodigious

parts, against powerful domestic sway-which is upheld by syste matic injustice and relentless tyranny, cannot be easily accomplished. It will be, most probably, when the nation is assailed by some foreign power equally great, that the liberal element shall be let loose.

We are not, however, going to enter upon this branch of the subject, as discussed in the pamphlet before us, which would lead us far beyond the line we marked out for ourselves at the commencement of our article; our design being to present our readers with some portions of a most striking spectacle, as respects the internal condition of a vast empire, which our extracts have shown to be so effectively put forth by the author. One point alone shall be introduced, and which bears closely upon the interests of England, by displaying the feelings of animosity and jealousy which the Russian government entertains towards this country. The increasing attempts to injure England, and traduce her character, which the official organs of the autocrat systematically make, are no longer unknown to the British people. We quote an example.

"The Russian nation is indignant at the clandestine proceedings of England, or rather of her perfidious ministry, in regard to the troubles of Poland; but our turn is coming. We will tear off our mask. We will show the world how a people is really reduced to slavery. You shall soon have an opportunity of judging whether Lord Ponsonby spoke truth, when he repeated to every body who would listen to him, 'Rus sia is no longer of any account: henceforward Poland will prevent her from interfering in the affairs of Europe: her government is quite Asiatic, &c.' How does this Albion, loaded with debt, and now imbued with the most perfidious principles, dare to rouse the Bear (for so they term us), who devoured Napoleon, with the first army that ever invaded her territories, and marched to Paris to revenge this rashness? No, our turn must come; and we shall soon have no need to make any treaty with this people but at Calcutta. Her false policy has done its best. Let her go and make alliances with the African negroes, whom she wishes so well, and for whom she has made Europe her dupe. The barbarians and slaves, as her papers call us, will teach her a lesson. Meanwhile, let her go on. It is all we want."-Moscow Gazette, December 27, 1832.pp. 55, 56.

It is a fact which cannot be doubted by any reflecting person, that the Moscow Gazette is one of the paid organs of Russia for German readers. We have only now again to recommend the work before us, as one exceedingly interesting and important. Indeed, its importance is nothing less than that which questions regarding the permanent independence of the British nation involve; for the author, in a masterly style, shows us how the ambitious designs of Nicholas and his ascendancy may be overcome.

483

ART. V.-The Birth-day; a Poem, in three Parts: to which are added, Occasional Verses. By CAROLINE BOWLES. Edinburgh: Blackwood. 1836.

AMID the tame and imitative poets that now inundate the country, it would be a pleasing and delightful spectacle to observe the effort of an original mind attempting to free itself from the shackles of prescriptive prejudice which hang around the Muse, and the leadingstrings of poetical imbecility, which now bind so close our hot-bed versifiers; for without originality of thought, how can the sensations be strong and flowing? and if there be no such thing as strength of feeling in the poet, his attempts at composition must be weak and ineffectual. We cannot long stand to admire an artificial fountain, where the water issues through the mouths and breasts of dolphins and mermaids; but we repose with delight on the bubbling source, and the cool shade of dripping rocks, where a mighty river takes its rise. So it is with poetry. We soon turn away with loathing from that poem which is made up only by art; where we see the bandages of the dresser, and the decorations of verse, used but to hide the paucity of materials of which the poet is possessed; where the want of ideas is only made up by the meretricious trickings of a shewy and gaudy style of metre. But we turn again and again, and ever with renewed feelings of delight, to the emanations of those profound and original minds, in whose poetry art only shews its complete subserviency to nature, and in whom the structure of their verse exhibits nothing more than a railroad for their thoughts, by which they may be sent by the quickest and shortest method to the minds and hearts of their readers, to meet there, and combine with those feelings which have their origin in the inscrutable depths of the soul, and pervade, without exception, our universal

nature.

Such original poets as we have endeavoured to sketch, are rareeven more uncommon in this country than elsewhere: and Miss Bowles, though she falls not into the lowest rank, certainly ascends not above mediocrity. Her verses breathe none of the enthusiasm and poetic inspiration of the genuine sons and daughters of Song. She wants the freshness of feeling which constitutes the peculiar attribute of those who, in days gone by, wore the mantle of the poets, but which, in these our degenerate times, is taken up by every flimsy versifier. But as we wish not to damp the attempts of the most humble aspirant after poetic fame,-for in truth, the steep and craggy heights of Parnassus has difficulties sufficient to clothe with despair the countenances of those who essay to tread her rocky sides-we will, therefore, present only the best of Miss Bowles' pieces to our readers; but of the best, we can say but little in their favour.

The two following extracts are pretty fair specimens of our authoress' style in describing domestic scenes.

"Happy choice,

Howe'er directed, happy choice for me;

For as I read, new thoughts, new images
Thrill'd through my heart, with undefined delight,
Awakening so th' incipient elements

Of tastes and sympathies, that with my life
Have grown and strengthened; often on its course
Yea-on its darkest moments, shedding soft
That rich warm glow they only can impart;
A sensibility to Nature's charms

That seems its living spirit to infuse
(A breathing soul) in things inanimate;

To hold communion with the stirring air,

The breath of flowers, the ever shifting clouds,
The rustling leaves, the music of the stream;

To people solitude with airy shapes,

And the dark hour, when Night and Silence reigns,
With immaterial forms of other worlds:

But best and noblest privilege! to feel
Pervading Nature's all-harmonious whole,

The Great Creator's presence, in his works."

A few pages further, we have the following lively picture of life's

early days.

"Dear aunt! you should have sought in wizard lore

The name of some artificer, empowered

By royal patent of the Elfin Court

To make Mab's thimble-if the sprightly Queen
Ever indeed vouchsafes in regal sport,

With needle, from the eyelash of a fly,

Plucked sharp and shining, and fine cobweb-thread
T'embroider her light scarf of gossamer.

Not oft I doubt; she better loves to rove

Where trembling harebells on the green hill side
Wave in their azure beauty; or to slide

On a slant sunbeam down the fragrant tube
Of honeysuckle or sweet columbine,
And sip luxurious the ambrosial feast
Stored there for nature's alchymist, the bee,
Then satiate, and at rest, to sleep secure,
Ev'n in that perfumed chamber, till the sun

Has ploughed with flaming wheels the Atlantic wave,
And the dark beetle, her mailed sentinel,
Winds his shrill signal to invite her forth.
Not on her waking hour such pomp attends,
As when on Ohio's banks magnolias tall
Embalm the dews of night, and living sparks
Glance through the leaves, and star the deep serene.

But even here, in our romantic isle,
The pearl of ocean, girdled with its foam!
Land of the rainbow! even here she loves
The dewy freshness of the silent hour,

Whose gentle waftings have their incense too,
To scatter in her paths; the faint perfume
Of dog-rose pale, or aromatic breath

Of purple wild thyme, clouding the green sward;
And though in air no sparkling myriads dart
Their glancing fires to light the Fairy Queen,
Earth hath her stars, a living emerald each!"

The fanciful nature of the above extract will exhibit, in a great degree, the poetic powers of our fair authoress, and give a very just conception of the general style of her composition. There are one or two other portions of the volume, in which the authoress depicts with some degree of cleverness the mournful side of the picture.

་་

"ONCE UPON A TIME.

Sunny locks of brightest hue
Once around my temples grew.
Laugh not, Lady; for 'tis true;
Laugh not, lady! for with thee
Time may deal despitefully;
Time, if long he lead thee here,
May subdue that mirthful cheer;
Round those laughing lips and eyes
Time may write sad histories;
Deep indent that even brow,
Change those locks, so sunny now,
To as dark and dull a shade,
As on mine his touch hath laid.
Lady! yes, these locks of mine
Cluster'd once with golden shine,
Temples, neck, and shoulders round,
Richly gushing if unbound,
If from band and bodkin free,
Well nigh downward to the knee.
Some there were took fond delight,
Sporting with those tresses bright,
To enring with living gold
Fingers, now beneath the mould
(Wo is me!) grown icy cold.

"One dear hand hath smooth'd them too

Since they lost the sunny hue,

Since their bright abundance fell

Under the destroying spell

One dear hand! the tenderest

Ever nurse-child rock'd to rest,

Ever wiped away its tears-
Even those of later years

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