found sagacity, generally not exceeding the penetration of the half-educated teacher of a boarding-school. There have been very few writers, in modern times, who have not formed their style upon some model or other: as in the occupations of active life success generally depends upon suiting the employment to the habits and inclinations of the individuals, so in the business of authorship it is often secured by the choice of a proper object-not of servile copying, but of legitimate imitation. Cowper appears to us to have been the person to whose matter and manner Miss Taylor has endeavoured to make her subjects bear a resemblance: perhaps our phrase is too strong, when we say that she has endeavoured to do so, for the similarity is not the effect of design; but warmly admiring, as she appears to do, the works of that delightful author, it is, perhaps, the almost unconscious result of the pleasurable emotions received from them. Miss Taylor, we are confident, judging from what is before us, has too much good sense not to know that she is inferior to her model in many particulars; but the chief difference is this, (and as to the effect of both it is important,) that though Miss Taylor, like Cowper, has a mind imbued with religious feelings, yet he in his poems did not make them quite so obvious he left the moral often to be drawn by the good sense of his reader; while Miss Taylor dwells long upon it, and sometimes with a display of a little too much of sectarian tenets. In general, however, we admit that her notions of morality, and its great source, religion, are enlightened and liberal. Miss Taylor possesses a degree of acuteness, of goodnatured shrewdness, and of humorous observation, seldom exceeded: several specimens of it are to be found in the volume before us, to which we shall proceed without further general remarks. The observation in the preceding paragraph does not at all apply to the subsequent piece upon an old subject, but treated with much truth and pleasantry. -We took our work, and went, you see, We did so now and then, to pay The friendly debt, and so did they: Not that our friendship burnt so bright That all the world could see the light; We lov'd, I think, about as true "At first, we all were somewhat dry;~~~ To take some care of what we say.' **** "Pray, ma'am,' says I, has poor Miss A. Been left as handsome as they say ?' ८ My dear,' says she, 'tis no such thingShe'd nothing but a mourning-ring. But is it not uncommon mean To wear that rusty bombazeen!' 'She had,' says I, the very same, Three years ago, for-what's his name?'—- And has not bought a thread of new, So then we laugh'd, and drank our tea.*** "Miss F.' says I, is said to be How old should you suppose her, pray?-She's older than she looks, they say.' Really,' says I, she seems-to me Not more than twenty-two or three.' 'O, then you're wrong,' says Mrs. G. Their upper servant told our Jane, She'll not see twenty-nine again.' 'Indeed, so old! I wonder why She does not marry, then,' says I; 'So many thousands to bestow, And such a beauty, too, you know.' A beauty! O, my dear Miss B. You must be joking, now," says she; Her figure's rather pretty,' Ah! "Miss F.' says I, I've understood, "Some inuendos more had pass'd, • Come, then, I'll tell you something more,' I would not trust a creature here, For all the world, but you, my dear. Perhaps it's false-I wish it may, -But let it go no further, pray!' 'Indeed, we shall not, Mrs. G. Says I, again, impatiently: And so, we drew our chairs the nearer, And whispering, lest the child should hear her, She told a tale, at least too long To be repeated in a song; We panting every breath between With curiosity and spleen. And how we did enjoy the sport! And echo every faint report, And answer every candid doubt, And turn her motives inside out, And holes in all her virtues pick, Till we were sated, almost sick." The Germans have a saying, (and other nations too, perhaps,) that "there is but one bad wife in the world, but every man thinks it his own; so, as applied to the poem (p. 108-114.) above inserted, we may say, that every mother thinks there is but one family in the world where scandal does not form a part of the amusement, and that family is her own.People in general would imagine, that such a piece as this would tend materially to diminish this love of characterkilling, but, from the self-delusion of poor human nature, it has rather an opposite tendency: all equally despise Mrs. Candour in the School for Scandal," but all easily persuade themselves that, between her and themselves, there is not the slightest resemblance; and warranted by this conviction, they pursue their malignant occupation with redoubled ardour: we can all point out families in our own circle to whom such satire as that extracted applies, but we never can discover that the cap fits ourselves. We have seldom met with two characters drawn more to the life than the following, of the mayor of a country borough and his wife: "In yonder red-brick mansion, tight and square, But though their goods and chattels, sound and new, His worship's wig and morning-suit betray Slight indications of an humbler day. "That long, low shop, where still the name appears, And being now arrived at life's decline, "At length, with paint and paper, bright and gay, Amongst the canisters of black and green, The customers would not have missed them more. They live, and civic honours crown their age: And extra stateliness of dress and mien, The august lappet that contains her chin." (p. 1-4.) This is followed by a series of moral and religious reflexions, drawn out under the title of Prejudice, upon the disposition and habits of the lady; of whom Miss Taylor well says "Were but her brain dissected, it would show Rang'd duly, side by side, without a gap,- We lament that we have not room to give a specimen of sufficient length to do the serious observations full justice, but they are dictated by good sense, and flow from an observing mind, that draws knowledge from the most ordinary Occurrences. The essay, intituled "Poetry and Reality," is directed obviously against Mr. Southey, and the poem which he published among his Juvenilia, beginning, if we rightly recollect, "Go thou unto the house of prayer, I to the woodland wend my way, |