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To this country a considerable influx of wealth has been derived by the preference given by foreigners to our engravings, but which has been lost by the avarice and folly of those who exported them; trash of every kind was substituted for works of real merit; and purchasers no longer felt an interest, when none could arise, from the usual excellence of the commodity. How far these advantages may be retrieved, the times will hardly permit a chance of calculating.

In the mean time our Exhibitions may be considered as a cheap gratification to the public, who can at a small expence enjoy the pleasure of seeing the various ways by which different men pursue the same object; and if they are inquisitively or philosophically inclined, may go far in their enquiries for the reason of their different stiles; and why the imagination of some can only dress nature in a sombre hue, while others pour all the brilliant assemblage of colours upon the mode of execution, where it will be observed, that a single stroke of the pencil, in some, effects what, by many and repeated touches, is brought out by others.

of fashion; for when a well grounded love for the arts prevails, there will be little fear that the works even of inodern artists (to say nothing of the ancient masters) shall be obliged to give place to the finical decorations of the paperstainers.

By means of Exhibitions, the actions of great and worthy men, patriots, heroes, statesmen, the eminent among the literati, and the sciences, are brought to public view, and will be remembered for themselves and for their virtues: and if it only animates a single being to become couspicuous for something good besides his own portrait, it will have answered a desireable purpose.

It may be objected that our annual Exhibitions hold out false colours, and that many have entered the lists to combat for fame and fortune, by the encouragement given to a few; and that an increase of professors has been more than equal to their possible support. It were indeed to be wished that many had examined the ground, or their own powers to cultivate so stubborn a soil.

But to leave these speculations and come to the advantages that may be derived to the artist from the spirit of competition and comparison.

But it is obvious that to this variety of style and manner, the pleasure we take in looking at pictures is chiefly owing, few indeed possessing Over the works of the old masters time has a versatility of pencil sufficient to interest beyond thrown a sacred veil, which gives an appearance. their own painting rooms. The collection of of majesty, and aided by imagination, flings us at Angelica Kauffman, pictures by Mr. Bowles near a distance from their excellence, and sometimes Wanstead, fail to have the proper effect, not-damps our ardour and endeavours in the hopes to withstanding her pictures mixed with others are imitate them. highly gratifying. Fuscli, in his Miltonic Gallery, displayed some of his finest energies, which were lost, from the repetition of style, in a number of paintings.

The public taste towards painting, in general, || may be increased (or at last kept alive) by means of Exhibitions, and the encouragement of the arts at home may be derived from this growing inclination, so as to be less under the dominion

But with the works of our own day, and those with whom we are acquainted, who can only use the means at hand, as well as ourselves, the spirit of emulation may be attended with considerable advantage, for if an artist be fortunate enough to have escaped the excess of manner, he may select from many a portion of what is really good, and apply it accordingly. Yours, &c.

SCRUTATOR.

POETRY,

ORIGINAL AND SELECT.

EDRIC AND BERTHA.

YOUNG Edric liv'd in days of old;

To war the gallant youth was bred; None in the fight were found more bold, None milder when the foe had fled. Love, too, within his breast found place, Fair Bertha own'd a mutual flame; War call'd him from her fond embrace,

To search for death, or glorious fame.

A distant country Edric sought;
Bertha remained, a prey to woe;
Bravely the youthful warrior fought,
And dealt destruction on the foe.
But Fate decreed! and Edric fell!
His nation's glory, and its pride!
When Bertha heard-sad tale to tell,
She nam'd her Edric, drooped! and died!
J. M. L.

A FIELD FLOWER.

ON FINDING ONE IN FULL BLOOM ON CHRIST

MAS-DAY.

THERE is a flower, a little flower,

With silver crest and golden eye,
That welcomes every changing hour,
And weathers every sky.

The prouder beauties of the field,
In gay but quick succession shine;
Race after race their honours yield,

They flourish and decline.

But this small flower, to Nature dear, While moons and stars their courses run, Wreaths the whole circle of the year, Companion of the sun.

It smiles upon the lap of May,

To sultry August spreads its charms;
Lights pale Oc ober on its way,

And twines December's arms.
The purple heath, and golden broom,

On moory mountains catch the gale;
O'er lawns the lily sheds perfume,

The violet in the vale.

But this bold floweret climbs the hi,
Hides in the forest, haunts the glen,
Plays on the margin of the rill,

Peeps round the fox's den.
Within the garden's cultur'd round,

It shares the sweet carnation's bed:
And blooms on consecrated ground
In honour of the dead.

The lambkin crops its crimson gem,
The wild-bee murmurs on its breast,
The blue-fly bends its pensile stem
Light o'er the sky-lark's nest.
'Tis Flora's page:-In every place,
In every season fresh and fair,
It opens with perennial grace,

And blossoms every where.

On waste and woodland, rock and plain,
Its humble buds unheeded rise;
The rose has but a summer reign,
The daisy never dies.

CUPID AWAKENED.

PARAPHRASED FROM THE FRENCH OF LA MOTTE.

As through a cool sequest'red wild,
The other day I careless stray'd,
I saw, by chance, a blooming child,
Asleep beneath a woodbine shade.
"Twas Cupid's self-for soon I knew,
The urchin, by his pleasing air,
His vermeil lips, and rosy hue,
And golden ringlets of his hair.

With cautious steps approaching near,

I well observed his lovely charms; Examin'd too, without a fear,

His unstrung bow, and barbed arms. "Ah me!" I to myself then cry'd, "Can grace like this such care create? "Is this the boy I have defy'd,

"Who sways with unrelenting hate? "Sure under these soft dimpled smiles

"Deception foul can never dwell? "Nor can this face with artful wiles,

"The boson's throbbing pulses swell?” Thus musing in deep cager thought,

A sigh escap'd my anxious breast,
The god awoke-1 pardon sought,
But stern revenge his soul possess'd.
Forth then his odour'd wings he spread,
And from his quiver took a dart;
Twang went the bow-the weapon filed,
All forceful through iny trembling heart.
"Go now," he cried, "to Rosa go,

"And pity at her feet implore;
"There sigh thy smart and secret woe,
"And all thy troubles number o'er.

"For captive thou to her shalt be,

"Bound fast by this bandeau of mine, "And since thou'st dar'd to waken me, "Keen love shall sway that breast of thine." Liverpool, April 6.

J. BOWDON.

ADDRESS TO A ROSE.

TRANSLATED FROM THE FRENCH OF MONS.

BERNARD.

SWEET Rose! thou empress of gay Flora's bow'r,
Sprung from the tears by fair Aurora shed;
Haste! and expand thy dewy dripping flow'r,
As near the zephyrs their soft pinions spread.
Yet stay! for I, unthoughtful, bade thee bloom,
To greet the pryings of the curious eye;
For ah, lov'd flow'r! too hapless is thy doom,
Since one short hour must see thee fade and die.

Of this, Themira should the emblem see,

And thence be taught to scan thy early date; Since all her charms must fade alike to thee, Like thee submit to death's relentful hate. Come, then! descend from off thy parent stem,

And to the maid add ea h enchanting grace; As in the parterre thou dost shine a gem,

So happy should be thy exalted place. On the fair precincts of her snowy breast,

Fix then thy empire, and sepulchral shrine; Whilst I, by ev'ry envious thought oppress'd, Wish o'er and o'er the blissful lot were mine.

There, if thy buds should drooping fade and die,
And thou regret'st thy peaceful reign is o'er;
Sure, if the maid can breathe one pitying sigh,
Such sigh, perhaps, may ev'ry tint restore.
And thould she shed on thee a sorrow'd tear,
Or sad repine that thy gay prime is flown;
O! whisper softly in her virgin ear,

The manner how she should employ her own. And if some rival's hateful hands intrude,

Or dares to soil the place thou dost adorn; Resent for me in scorn, the action rude, And prove thy vengeance from the pointed thorn. Liverpool, April, 1806. J. BOWDON.

II.

"Come peace of mind, delightful guest,
"O come and make thy downy nest

"Once more on his sad heart;"
Meek Faith, a drop of comfort shed;
Swent Hope, support his aged head;

And Charity, avert the burning dart! Fruitless the prayer-the night of deeper woes Seems o'er the head, e'en now to close; In vain the path of purity he trod, In vain, in vain.

He pour'd from fancy's shell his sweetest hermit strain,

He has no hope on earth, forsake him not, O God.

STANZA.

Now recedes the waining moon,
Cheq'ring o'er the trembling grove,
Night's serene and starry noon

Decks the cot of her I love.
Now each flow'rets emerald stem

Bends beneath the tears of Night, Now each blossom boasts a gom

Shedding soften'd rays of light. Illumin'd now the mould'ring tow'r,

The distant spire, the trophied tomb, The wat'ry glade, the woodbine bow'r, And foliaged forests deepest gloom. With "lips of glue" now Silence reigns, See Night in silver mantle drest, In peerless splendor walk the plains, While list ning Echo sinks to rest.

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SWEET Bard, whose tones great Milton might approve,

And Shakspeare, from high fancy's sphere,
Turning to the sound his ear,

Bend down a look of sympathy and love;
O swell the lyre again,

As in full accord it poured an angel's train!
But ah! what means that look aghast,

E'en while it seemed, in holy trance,
On scenes of bliss above to glance?
Was it a Fiend of Darkness pass'd!
Oh speak

Paleness is upon his cheek,-
On his brow the big drops stand,

To airy vacancy

Points the dread silence of his eye,

And the lov'd lyre it falls, falls from his nerveless

hand!

LINES

Addressed by a Gentleman to his Wife, on the anniversary of their Wedding-day, when he presented her with a Ring.

"THEE, Mary, with this ring I wed;"
So sixteen years ago I said,

Behold another ring!-for what?
"To wed thee o'er again, why not?"
With that first ring I married youth,
Grace, beauty, innocence, and truth,
Taste long admired, sense long rever'd!
And all my Mary then appear'd.
If she, by merit since disclos'd,
Prove twice the woman I supposed,
I plead that doubled merit now
To justify a double vow.

H.

LINES PLACED OVER A SIDEBOARD.
LET social mirth with gentle manners join,
Unstunn'd by laughter, uninflam'd by wine;
Let reason, unimpair'd, exert its powers,
But let gay fancy strew the way with flowers.
Far hence the wag's and witling's scurile jest,
Whose noise and nonsense shock the decent guest:
True wit and humour such mean helps decline,
Nor will the Graces owe their charms to wine.
Fools fly to drink, in native dulnes. sunk:
In vain-they're ten times greater fools when
drunk!

Thus free from riot, innocently gay,
We'll neither wish nor fear our final day.

MUTUAL LOVE.

"When on thy bosom I recline, Enraptur'd still to call thee mine, To call thee mine for life;

I glory in the sacred ties,

Which modern wits and fools despise,

Of husband and of wife.

"One mutual flame inspires our bliss:

The tender look, the melting kiss,

Ev'n years have not destroyed; Some sweet sensation ever new Springs up, and proves the maxim true,

That love can n'er be cloy'd.

"Have I a wish? 'tis all for thee; Hast thou a wish? 'tis all for me:

So soft our moments move, That angels look with ardent gaze, Well pleas'd to see our happy days, And bid us live-and love.

"If cares arise (and cares will come),
Thy bosom is my softest home,

I lull me there to rest;
And is there ought disturbs my fair?
I bid her sigh out all her care,
And lose it on my breast."

TO THE CROW THAT FLIES HOME AT NIGHT.

SAY, weary bird, whose level flight, Thus at the dusky hour of night, Waves thro' the midway air;

Why thus, beyond the verge of day, Is lengthened out thy dark delay, Adding another to the hours of care?

The wren, within her mossy nest, Has hush'd her little brood to rest; The wild wood-pigeon, rock'd on high, Has coo'd his last soft notes of love, And fondly nestles by his dove,

To guard her downy young from the inclement sky.

Each twitt'ring bill, each busy wing, That flits at morning's humid spring, At rest-or sleepless kept too late

By Philomel's enchanting lay,

Who now, asham'd to sing by day,
Thrills the sweet sorrows of her fate.

Haste bird, and nurse thy callow brood,
That wait thy slow return for food.

On some bleak cliff's neglected tree:
Haste, weary bird, thy lagging flight,
This is the chilly hour of night,
Fit hour for rest and thee.

THE CARNATION.

H.

FAIR flower! by Doris lov'd, shall I presume With savage grasp thy silken form to spoil, To waste with lavish hand thy rich perfume,

Thy crimson streaked leaves in dust to soil? No, she shall place thee in her snowy breast; Thence thy delicious odours shall arise, As incense, when, with Love's warm hopes impress'd,

To the fair Paphian Queen we sacrifice.

'Tis thin, sweet flower! her coral lips to kiss, And thence thy bright vermillion tints to steal; Would I, like thee, might taste the balmy bliss,

And thus my vows of tend'rest passion seal! Like thee, beneath the sunshine of her eye,

To live aud thrive where joy beyond compare, What earthly pleasure could I prize so high? Or what the raptures that I found not there!

TO MUSIC.

RAPT are my captive senses when thy notes,
Delicious music! in soft, airy sounds,
Borne on the dusky wing of pensive eve
By sighing gales, arrest the list'ning ear;
Or when the wand'ring moon with silent pace,
Mounts her blue throne, and with her gentle
beam

That richly gilds the dew besprinkled earth,
Pierces with shadowy light the tangled grove;
'Tis then thy sounds, O music! heavenly maid!
Drown all my cares, my heart corroding griefs,
Or swell my senses to excess of joy.
Hark! that soft note borne on the rising breeze,
In pleasing murmurs dies away. Again!
Coy Echo catches the mellifluous sounds,
And deep within her cool, o'er arched cell,
Reverberates the song in lengthened tones.
Oft may I thus, abstracted from the world,
Retire to woo thy charms, or with thee tread
The dewy path of mom, inhaling fragrance
From the awak'ning flowers, that half unclose,
Their pendent heads, euriched with sparkling
gems.

Nor should I lonely trace my devious way;
The artless choristers that wake the morn,
Should join their lays symphonious to my song,
And strain their little throats attun'd by love.

Sweet maid! the joys wherewith thou wrap'st

my soul.

As far transcend the boasted charms of mirth
And midnight revels, as the summer's day,
Nurs'd by cool breezes and refresh'd by showers,
Excels old winter, who in hoary vest
Drives clouds and storms along the sable plain.
Faint are my falt'ring numbers to express
The entrancing dreams that captivate my sense,
When from the voice of the dear maid I love
Thy mellow'd notes pervade my inmost soul.
As some lone traveller, who, the live long day,
Toils in the sandy waste, or fainting climbs
The lofty mountain, and in distance views
Gay smiling fields, and turrets tipt with gold,
His thankful heart exults, refresh'd he breathes
The purer air of heaven, and pursues

With double vigour his meand'ring way,
Thus does my ear inhale the blissful sounds,
And my full soul beats with redoubled joy.

E. C

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RETROSPECT OF POLITICS

FOR THE MONTH OF APRIL, 1806.
FOREIGN AND DOMESTIC.

SINCE the commencement of the war, the conduct of Prussia has been the subject of alternate wonder and indignation by all the Powers of Europe. Besieged by Imperial Viceroys, and Aattered into an opinion of her own importance, it was expected that, at one period of the contest, she would have stept forth, and acted as became her. But no. At this crisis, when the soldiers of France had not as yet covered Germany, when Mack was safe in his entrenchments, and the Emperor of Austria in his capital, what did Prussia do?-A cold blooded calculator of events would have found it even his interest to have made a venture, but not so Prussia,-she negociated.

The present conduct of Prussia, in her seizure of Hanover, and atrocious demeanour towards the Court of Great Britain, results from that same principle of action which is uniformly seen to guide her. She has seen France appeased with Austria, on the condition of that unfortunate monarchy surrendering every thing that her stern Conqueror could require; and in the present degradation of this power she has nothing to fear. In a word, Bonaparte has entirely set Prussia at rest with respect to any jealousy of the other German Princes. Through all this wide waste of Europe, not a power is seen from whom the petty and unprotected states of Germany can demand protection, but France or Prussia. In flying for refuge to France, the general thraldom of Germany is only rivetted the stronger; and Prussia requires subjugation as preliminary to protection.

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It was difficult, however, for France to come in immediate contact with that power; Prussia, therefore, is made the instrument of her vengeance, and the Court of Berlin, without the virtue to resist any advantage that is offered, has no hesitation to become the tool of Napoleon.

A serious question here arises :-Will Russia permit the dismemberment of Sweden; Russia, who is the sworn guardian of the Northern Powers, and to whom they all look up as a protectress' Russia, doubtless, can have only one opinion upon this point; and it is easy to foresee a war between Prussia and France, on the one hand, and Russia and the Northern Powers on the other. France is already preparing to attack Russia, as a demand has been made by the French Ambassador at Vienna for a passage through Bohemia, in case of a war with Russia; and moreover, the late treaty between the Porte and France plainly points at a rupture between Russia and Bonaparte.

In a word, we were always of opinion that the treaty of Presburgh, instead of being a resting place for the ambition of Bonaparte, and a pledge for the security and quiet of Europe, was the fruitful parent of new wars, and contained in its womb those seeds of discord and dissention, which would soon lead to a general conflagration of Europe.

It is with some satisfaction, however, we have to announce the spirited conduct of England with respect to Prussia. His Majesty has not hesitated to declare war against Prussia on account of her unjust seizure of Hanover; an embargo has likewise been laid upon all the Prussian ships, and her commerce, small as it is, has been swept from the face of the waters.

In respect to domestic occurrences, we have not much to observe, Several flags of truce have passed between France and this country. The principal object of this intercourse was the release of the prisoners so unjustly detained in

Germany is thus to be parcelled out between these Royal Freebooters. Russia, at a distance, cannot interfere with any hopes of success, and, without an ally in Germany, cannot, perhaps, interfere at all. What then is the next step of Ponaparte, and his obsequious instrument, the King of Prussia? It was easy enough to conjecture it. We know well what a mortal offence the spirited conduct of the King of Sweden gave to Napoleon at the commencement of the Ger-France previous to the war. We are sorry, howman campaign. It was not likely that France would forgive it, or omit, when in her power, the opportunity of punishing it. No sooner, therefore, is Austria completely subdued, than the indignation of France is turned against Sweden.

ever, to say, that nothing satisfactory has been settled on this point.

Mr. Windham has at length brought forth his Military Plan; but if the public opinion can be collected from the conversation of the town, it is

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