traveller must sometimes halt. Whether the merit of this volume will exceed the first, the public must determine; this we premise, if it retrogrades, the fault will be with us. That we labour under many disadvantages we admit; but the greatest obstacles may be overcome by perseverance, and we are ever taught to hope for better days. Our late efforts, we are told, have given us some claim to public favour. We would surely err in not prosecuting the cultivation. We have stoot clear of offence hitherto, having neither advo cated party, nor gratified the malignity of any one of our correspondents. That many periodicals are made the vehicles of slander and abuse, every one who reads them must know; neither our inclinations, nor our interest, lead us to indulge in such propensitics. Our conduct, on all occasions, will submit to scrutiny. Though some may labour to insult and provoke, our only study will be to instruct and amuse. We are aware such sentiments are to be found in almost every introductory article; and the mere wish not to affect indifference to circumstances that almost all consider of importance, was the sole reason which induced us to give to them any attention. We perhaps would not have been justifiable in passing them over unnoticed, as the declaration of opinion is now considered more necessary than ever, by the thinking part of the community.

Commencing at such an interesting period as we do, viz. the first day of a new year, when hope and fear are in such busy expectation, we, in common we believe, with all, look forward, with apprehensions of a varied sort, to what is buried in the womb of time, forbodings of a pleasant or a painful nature, at a time like this, assail the human mind, according with its present situation; thus we are frequently lost in conjecturing what futurity may bring forth. Our best endeavours will be made to merit public favour, and as we merit it we hope to be rewarded. We conclude with giving the compliments of the season to all our readers, and wishing a new year may return often, and with an increased degree of happiness to each, until all, having played their fitful part in the drama of life, are gathered to the place of their fathers.

BRITISH Literature may be comprehended under five eras: 1st, The era of Queen Elizabeth, in which lived Spenser, Shakespeare, Ben Jonson, Beau mont, Fletcher, Marlow, &c.2d, The era of Charles II. in which lived Milton, Dryden, Otway, Lee, Cowley, Waller, Farquhar, Vanburgh, Ro common, &c. 3d, The era of Queen Anne, sometimes, though improperly called the Augustan age of England, in which flourished Pope, Swift, Addison Steele, Prier, and a host of others. 4th, The era including the reign of George II. and part of that of George III. in which lived Goldsmith, Johnson, Smollet, Fielding, Richardson, Gray, Collins, Akenside, Sheridan, Beattie, Cowper, &c. 5th, The era comprehending the last sixteen years of George III. down to the present time. In this era flourish Coleridge, Southey, Wordsworth, Crabbe, Scott, Campbell, Byron, Millman, Sir Aubrey de Vere, Hunt, Hogg, Baillie, Wilson, and a multitude of others. It is our intention, in the present Volume of the Melange, to give a general view of the spirit of these different cras devoting an article to each era, Before,

however, descending to particulars, we shall take a rapid and general survey of the whole, from the time of Elizabeth to the present day, a oder alt dar

It is needless to speak of British literature before her reign. From the time of Chaucer till then, it may be said to have been, to all intents and purposes, a dead letter. The stinted learning of the age was confined to monasteries, and the people religiously kept back from every species of knowledge. But, a in this interval, there is no reason to suppose that any genius, especially that any great poet existed. No times could be more unfavourable for literature, than those which produced Gower, Chaucer, and Thomas of Ercildoune yet, by the force of poetic power, these men triumphed over every difficulty, and shone brightly in the middle of universally darkness. Nor is it just to impute: the want of genius to the civil dissensions of the times, or to the disturbed reigns of the Tuders....We repeat, had England then possessed a poet, he would have appeared notwithstanding every disadvantage. Genius is not reared under the fostering care of patronage. The history of almost all our men of talent, exhibits them struggling against misfortune. What ages were 1 more agitated than those of Elizabeth or Anne?—yet, what times produced greater men? Raleigh, Bacon, and Camoens-Milton, Waller, and Swift, were perpetually engaged in the national disputes; yet their geniuses were not blighted by these events. They were rather sharpened and prepared to act more powerfully in quieter moments. The government may, indeed, give a particular turn to the genius of a nation collectively; but it cannot check the march of imagination, in the gifted few who are blessed with such faculty. The dismal periods of the fourteenth and fifteenth centuries, plunged mankind into universal gloom; yet, in these ages, appeared the sportive Ariosto and Boccacio the amorous Petrarch, and the majestic minds of Dante and Tasso. In such ages, Raphael, and Angelo, and Titian flourished, and also the whole of the incomparable artists of the Venetian and Italian schools of painting. Times like these could restrain the progress of science, as the unhappy Gallileo experienced, and might curb the reign of philosophy-but they could do nothing more. There the ignorance of a debased priesthood. There the fanaticism of a tyrannical inquisition. There the blasting anathemas of an assuming pontiff were compelled to pause. They might snatch the telescope from the hands of the daring philosopher, who, by exploring the fields of knowledge, unveiled them and their sophistries to the world. They might imprison the sage who sent forth the precepts of a more just philosophy, and to they might condemn to the faggot, the promulgators of a truer and a faith. They might do all this, but the laurel from the poets head they could not tear. In spite of every obstacle, the pure stream of his imagination swept on in the midst of the decay of all the other fountains of the mind.00 39

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We are not then to impute the small number of poets in the middle ages to any such events, nor are we to say, that the interval between Chaucer and Spencer was deficient in poetry, because the fancy of the bard was darkened by the general ignorance of mankind. The mighty constellation which lighted up the most dismal period of Europe, in the person of Dante and his successors, showed the fallacy of such reasoning; and the no less majestic minds which adorned the virgin reign of England, demonstrated that, however oppressed, genius will yet rebound irresistibly, and shoot forth into the wild lux-' uriatice of vigour. This, the era of Queen Elizabeth exhibited in full perfec

tion. As if by the breath of some enchantment, England started up at one a literary land. The voice which, from the beginning of time, had pronounced it barbarous and unimaginative, was silent for ever. Spencer, by a single ef fort, elevated its poetry almost to a level with that of Greece or Rome. The Faery Queene' is the purest, sweetest, most imaginative poein of modern times. Una, the most etherial heroine of romance. At the same time appeared Shakespeare, who bounded above all his contemporaries, and sat on the same throne as Homer himself This was the triumph of England's genius-the brightest period of her literary history. No age except those in which Tass and Ariosto-or Virgil and Lucian sung could produce such a pair; not even the Grecian one which saw Sophocles, Aeschylus and Euripides together. Shakespeare was sufficient to have stamped immortality on the time that produced him, and to have conferred on it the title of the age of genius. But a race of Majestic spirits followed in his train spirits not indeed equal to his, for that never saw its match, but such as would have honoured any other pe riod of society. Johnson, Marlow, Massinger, and Fletcher, closed up the incomparable phalanx., Before this time we had no drama or literature of any kind, except such as was common to the barbarous period; but Shakespeare, from the stores of his own mind alone, raised up a drama, more perfect and more splendid, than any other man could have done with all the precepts of Aristotle.

The second era, or that of Charles II, succeeded the first, after an interval of more than half a century. Between these two eras, there was little genius. Nature, fatigued with her extraordinary efforts, seemed to repose in silence till she accumulated strength to bring forth a Milton, As Shakespeare was the glory of the first-Milton was the glory of the second era. As the former was the most profound, acute, versatile, and imaginative of poets, the latter was the sublimest. As Shakespeare was the most, untutored, Milton was the most le learned. Both are the wonder of their respective times, and both are equally wonderful. Side by side, they stand the monarchs of British poetry nor can it be said to whom the loftiest seat can be awarded. Whatever opinion may be formed of their respective excellencies, they seem tacitly admitted to be, not only above all competition, but their excellencies beyond hope of attainment, What, Newton was to philosophy they are to British poetry the unrivalled and unrivallable lords. But the reign of Charles, though less rude, was infinitely more depraved than that of Elizabeth. The language had undergone great improvement, but the sentiments were more gross than ever. The rudeness of the former was the consequence of: a semi-barbarous state of society that of the latter, of an acquired immorality. The first period was rude, because it knew no better-the second, because a considerable degree of polish was degraded to licentiousness, by a dissolute and immoral court, Shakespeare and Jonson were often rude, but seldom shocked delicacy; whereas, the writings of that time abounded in the grossest allusions, and, scarcely any of them could be now represented on the stage. Dryden, next to Milton, the most splendid genius of the time, abounded in profligacy, absurdity, and bad taste. If he had been placed under happier circumstances if he had possessed leisure, and affluence, and followed after purer models than his age afforded him, it would have been difficult, in the whole compass bards, to have named any one, except Shakespeare and Miltony who could be

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stamped as decidedly and unequivocally his superior. This age, though not equal upon the whole to the former, was far superior in energy, to the more correct period of Anne. The enthusiasm of Lee, the pathos of Otway, and the humour of Vanburgh and Farquhar, divested of their licentiousness, would have lead to high reputation in the present day, when the stage is in so deplorable a state for the want of dramatic writers..

The third era had no genius of the first order, but much taste, The first was the era of genius-the third of taste. The second stood midway between them, not merely in time, but in qualification having less, genius, but more taste than the one-more genius, but less taste than the other. As Shakespeare and Milton stood at the head of the former two, Pope may be said to preside over this; but he did not rise to such superiority over his compeers as either of these great poets. In fact, Addison, Swift, Congreve, and Steele, were men of equal talents with him, but, by a sort of courteous consent, he was admitted to stand at the head of his contemporaries. He was, however, ranked as the first poet of his day, although the presont generation are little inclined to admit so unreservedly his title to stand in the list above Thomson. The writers of that age, especially Addison, and his associates in the Spectator, set themselves to reform the language, and this they did so successfully, that it seems to have been little amended since their time. They did not succeed in producing any thing very great, or very new; but they were eminently successful in arranging and digesting the works of others. The solid, massy, substantial, portion of the fabric was raised by their predecessors. They had only to give it a final polish. Wit, attic elegance, sweetness composition, and Virgilian grace, reached their height under the courtly Addison. He was the first of Essayists-Pope the first of ethic poets-Swift the first of wits; but to the sublime, this age laid no claims.

The fourth era was, in some measure, only a prolongation of the third, so far as identity of genius concurred, and is only distinguished from it, as many writers of powerful talent appeared nearly at the same time. History under Robertson, Gibbon, Hume, and Stewart, reached an eminence, rivalling the best periods of ancient times. Locke aud Bacon found no unworthy successors in Reid, Hutcheson, Smith, and Beattie. The whole of the natural sciences advanced to perfection with giant strides. Novel writing, in the hands of Smollet, Fielding, and Richardson, acquired a character of strength, humour and effect, unknown before. Churchill shone as a satirist-Colman, Sheridan, and Goldsmith, as writers in the drama. Collins, Gray, Akenside, Armstrong, Beattie, Cowper, &c. distinguished themselves with high reputation in the poetic walk. Although, however, the poets of this age might each be original in his way, still the general poetic genius of the country was not original. It was founded on the model of the poetry of the age of Anne-which was founded on that of the age of Charles II.—which was founded again on that of the Elizabethan era; and this in its turn was grounded generally on the models of the classical writers. Thus, so far as originality went, it was something even more remote than the shadow of a shade. The wire which, in the hands of the ancients, was strong and vigorous, was drawn out and attenuated respectively, through the ages of Elizabeth, Charles II., Anne, and George III., till it had reached its utmost point of fineness and cohesion. When it reached that, it gave way, and on this event taking

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place, the 5th or last era was formed. If a revolution had not taken place in poetry, it would have degenerated into mere frigidity; such it was in France after the death of Voltaire, and such as it is in Italy at the present moment. Hazlitt imputes the origin of the Lake School, to the peculiar turn of opinion which followed the French Revolution. This is true, and would have been no less true had he applied the remark to almost all the poetry of the age. In fact, the total change of literary genius in the present day, is mor a consequence of men's minds, and that turn for novelty which actuated a Europe. The mania spread to poetry, and produced there a change as total as in politics. As nations lost all reverence for the ancient institutions—s states were overturned, and kings deposed as a new and vivifying, yet in many cases terrific, agency began to operate on men's minds, they saw things with to new eyes they thought boldly for themselves; and, inspired by a wild uncha tened irregularity, they chalked out at once a new path for the world. The present era of poetry may be said to be as much in its infancy as the first. Other generations treading on the same road may purify our taste. A new age, like that of Anne, may give birth to critics who shall discover a thousand faults which, tomat present, escape our observation. With greater correctness and elegance, that age may fall as far short of ours in real genius, as the age of Addison fell below that of Shakespeare. Who shall presume to say, that Byron and Scott not then be regarded as rude writers--full of genius and energy, but destitute of refinement? When, at length, the present spirit of poetry is weakened in the course of years-when nothing but its shadow remains-when bus the correct writers of future times look back upon it with all its errors, as an Jo unattainable grandeur, who shall say, that some new spirit will not arise upon the land to elevate literature from the degradation of mere correctness, and perhaps, bring forth again some such age as that of Elizabeth?

RAMBLES IN CUMBERLAND."

erstar to 28.798 l amateate No. 3. Continued.

is

PASSING through the lane on which St. Mary's Work-house is situated, we took up a temporary, position at the back of the Castle, in order to have a view of the surrounditing scenery, The seat which we occupied reminded me of those in Glasgow Green. It bore the deep indented marks of many a casual visitor. Every place which could afford a resting place for the initials of some consequential name, was occupied. It was vain for one to roll their eyes across these characters, and then inwardly extol their own handicraft in contradistinction to some of the bungled initials which, in spite of other defects, claimed visibility on this ancient piece of furniture. There was no room for a display of ingenuity, unless, like the Hibernian carver, Dennis O'Flafferty, one had contented himself with the green turf. I must here make a Shandycan digression, in order to inform you who this Dennis was. Well then, he was, with the exception of those who were better, as good a soul as ever trundled a murphy in pork gravey; but some how or other, he had formed a predilection for old Scotia; in consonance, with this, he bade adieu to sweet Tipperary, and tripped aboard a coal skuttle at Belfast, bound for the Broomielaw. His hair was scarcely dry from the effects of a splashing voyage, bestill he stood on the Calton hill of Edinburgh, After having there selected a pretty spot, he pulled his jockteleg from his gallogaskins, and proceeded to cut out the following letters on the consecrated spot, D. O'B. T. C. T. L. O. H. M. 88. O. C. R. The long-headed Dennis had formed the most exalted notions of human intellect. In the present instance, he had taken a ratio from his own knowledge of himself; but he had no desire to be selfish in that particular. Sure, says he, I might, by way

of