ent would, with more propriety have subscribed himself Cynicus, than have adopted his present appellation. This fierceness in the cause of grammar reminds as of the Roman lady, who, as Juvenal tells us,-"for breaking Priscian's, broke her husband's head."-We, however, plead guilty to the charge, and confess that him ought to be he. Whenever Lord North was driven hard by the opposition, in the British house of commons, about his egregious blunders in endeavouring to oppress the Americans, he, for lack of argument (for all the Argument was against him) used to put off his antagonist with a story. Now, as we are precisely in the same predicament with Lord North, for the argument is, in this instance, entirely against us, we must endeavour to pacify the terrible Causidicus, who keeps such a watchful eye upon us, with a little anecdote. Soon after Edmund Burke had printed his pamphlet upon "the propriety of making peace with regicide France,”—Malone, the indefatigable Malone, the laborious commentator upon Shakspeare, one morning, rushed into Burke's study, pamphlet in hand, and, with a most ghastly visage of dismay and horror, exclaimed,-Oh! Burke, Burke, what is to be done? In the name of all that is shocking look here.—The old man put on his spectacles, and found that he had written we, instead of I-well, my dear,-said Emund,-and is this all?. All?-replied Malone, groaning in the very disquietude of his soul.-All?-why, Burke, are you mad?-do you not see that this is downright false grammar ?-True,-answered the veteran statesman, and if the errors of a single page fill your fine, your exquisitely feeling mind with so much anguish and misery, what sufferings will you not endure if you peruse the whole work? FIFTH SECTION. WE POETRY. E have been favoured with the following note on our selection of the Poetry for the month of December, 1806. GENTLEMEN, I am astonished to see, that you have no original poetry in your Magazine; nothing but extracts from Beattie and Burns, now, gentlemen, unless you insert some original poetry, your magazine will fall to the dogs. No body wants. selections from poets already in print; we want something, that never has been in print; wherefore, I am, your's sincerely. A CRITIC. HAERLEM, Dec. 14th, 1806. This note of a critic is too important to be passed over without observation.-In the first place, our selection for the last month contains no extract from Burns. And pray, why does this critic want original poetry? Has he read, and is he well acquainted with all the good poetry which is now written; if he be, how came it to pass, that he attributes to Burns, that, which Burns did not write; or does he know how to distinguish good poetry from bad:-is he ignorant of the extensive, and the permanently beneficial effects, which a judicious selection of poetry has, in softening the heart, in refining the taste, in enlarging the understanding, and in exalting the imagination; is he yet to learn, that from the vast variety of poetical productions, which are now in print, and a great portion of which is very improper to be presented to the young mind, a well-chosen selection might be rendered more useful and more delightful to the reader, than any new poetical effusion, unless that effusion be peculiarly excellent; does he imagine that namby-pamby nonsense about Cupid, and Venus, and sighs, and tears, and flames, and darts, and kissings, and squeezings, and orange groves, and myrtle bowers, can be ever calculated to improve the mind, or to amend the heart; to fan the flame of industry, and of genius; to rouze the spirit of honourable emulation; to sooth the long hours of toil, and solitude; or to exalt man in the dignity of thinking beings? These are, indeed, the petty criticisms of petty critics; who may, perhaps, be able to count ten upon their fingers, to know Paul from Peter, and to distinguish a cow from a horse; but if they object to a selection from such poets, as Beattie, Burns, Thompson, and many other bards of higher fame, will never be found guilty, if they be ever accused, of ought inclining towards a comprehensive intellect, or a feeling heart. We shall, however, from time to time, insert original poetry, when communicated to us, provided, that it has a tendency to combine instruction with amusement :- -whatever poetical communications do not bear this stamp of utility and delight upon their features, we shall, without remorse, send hesternæ occurrere cænæ.-And in the absence of a sufficient number of new poetical contributions, we shall still continue to present to our readers a selection from the best and the most approved poets. In the People's Friend, for the 29th of November, 1806, we inserted some lines on General Moreau, written by a gentleman, who stiles himself Lodinus. These verses are too exquisitely beautiful to be confined to the fleeting pages of a daily newspaper :-Lodinus, do you not remember the advice given to the Sybill? "foliis tantum ne carmina manda; Ne turbata volent rapidis ludibria ventis ; Ipsa canas, oro.” Lodinus! we know, that thou dost remember it; for, even from thy boyish years, thou hast given thyself up to classic lore. Why longer conceal your name, from the public eye, since you well know, that the flame of genius never burns so bright, as when it is fanned by the breath of public praise? The address to General Moreau's fair partner, towards the close of the following verses, could be produced, only, by one whose heart-chords vibrate to all the finer feelings of domestic bliss. TO GENERAL MOREAU, ON HIS ARRIVAL IN AMERICA. Chief of the pensive mien, and brow severe, And all a nation's welcome can bestow ! The plumed helm, the faulchion's massy glare And glory imag'd there! Methinks, thy deeds of daring now Are written on that lofty brow; Still o'er that form their recent lustre shed, And, oh forgive the bard, whose infant lyre, Hath never glow'd with martial fire, Nor struck the trumpet tone- On Suabia's plain, or Brisgaw's height; And, through her forests, dark and drear, The cry tor Where the warriors form was seen to glide, And, e'er, round Strasburgh's spiry head 'Twas thine to gather laurels from defeat; *Mountains in Germany, where several important engagements took place between the army of the Rhine and Moselle, under Moreau, and that of Austria, under the Arch-duke Charles. †The passage of the Rhine, at Strasburg, was effected in the night. Moreau's celebrated retreat of the black forest. Firm through the encircling foe to hold thy way, O'er wilds of hostile shade; through paths unknown to day. Oh, welcome, stranger, to a tranquil shore, Where war hath ceas'd to sadden, but in name, And moss-grown trenches point their blaze no more. Oh, long, May injur❜d greatness seek reclusion here; For every virtue find a votive song, For every grief a tear! And, thou, fair partner of thy soldier's care, Moist with thy tears, and nurtur'd by thy sigh, Is sever'd from its native sun, So soon to wither, and to die. Ah no-the sacred leaf to guard, Shall beauty wake full many a bard, Protect thee with a sister's smile! LODINUS. Notwithstanding the unfinished form of these lines, and the irregularity of their rythm in some places, their excellence fully proves Lodinus to be capable of striking the deep sorrows of his lyre, with a master's hand and poet's fire. 1 "The following lines are beautiful, and pathetic; the sentiments are uncommonly tender, and are expressed in the unaffected language of nature and genuine simplicity." So writes our Charleston correspondent, The Archer, from whom we received the verses ;--we beg leave to add, that they were written by a young lady from Scotland, at the early age of seventeen. Vol. II TO A FAITHLESS LOVER. 1 The tears, I shed, must ever fall, I mourn not for an absent swain, For thought may past delights recall, I weep not for the silent dead, |