has failed. It seems to be uphill work with him. He has undertaken a task to which his genius is not at all adapted. It is curious to observe the effect which this mistake has produced upon the mere style, the language of the poem. His former pieces have been remarkable for an easy flow of poetical diction, and splendid imagery, selected with taste and used with effect; but the Age of Print is disfigured by clumsily constructed lines, bad rhymes, imperfect figures, ill-chosen epithets, and unmeaning contrasts, to a very extraordinary degree; -we mean that portion of the work designed to be satirical. But it is no disgrace to fail, where Byron could not succeed. Brilliant as was the success of the English Bards and Scotch Reviewers, that production is deficient in one essential, at least, to a permanent, genuine satire. A proud spirit lashed to desperation by a supposed deep and deadly wrong, pours out the burning lava of its fury, with indiscriminating wrath-like Ajax among the flocks and herds of the Grecian camp-upon an unoffending tribe of authors, whose forgiveness he was destined afterwards to solicit, and whose wounded feelings to allay, by suppressing, as far as possible, the offending pasquinade. It was deep personal indignation that gave to the English Bards its astonishing power of expression, and that fierce sarcasm, which would have been withering, had it been just. The opinions, in nine cases out of ten, which he has embodied in it, are manifestly, grossly wrong, springing from private pique and a maddening desire of revenge. But Mr Mellen had no feelings of this sort to gratify. On the contrary, his productions have been received with uncommon applause, and very justly. It must be confessed, this was an unfavorable situation for the satirical muse to unfold a vigorous wing. The satire in the Age of Print, is deficient in nerve, point, and oftentimes in justness. The language is deficient in energy and correctness, and occasionally a conceit, rather ungraceful, occurs; as

‹ Bullets and bulletins together sped,
Joint couriers of the living and the dead.
How changed the face of empires!--and how dull
The modern mode to test the strength of skull! vont
To paper now the generation runs,

And polished Goths succeed to warlike Huns. p. 6.

The following passage contains several of the faults which we have enumerated. The point of some of it we are unable to

take. The ladies, probably, will not be much gratified by such a commemoration.

Ye critics, look!

She writes and talks--and moves--a living book!
She scans the times-and weighing all results,
Makes classics for the cradle--and adults;
With wide material at her quick command
To new forms springing from her plastic hand,
In each event incalculably brisk,

Now builds a Monthly, now an Obelisk;
And with a glowing ardor panting still,
Fights for new victory on Bunker Hill!
Where, in that work of ages, just begun,
Each father's daughter beats each father's son;
And where to take that minstrel we begin,
Who erst in moral melody did sing,
"Sermons in stones, and good in everything
Since, strange to tell, so tongues and titles vary,
E'en Quincy granite preaches and is literary!

Next wander on, with closed voluptuous eye,
To those dear books we read, but never buy;
There see, in linen backs, romances, tales!
Flood half the land, and circulate by bales—
In such expansion that you well might deem
There's no condenser of your moral steam.
Lo! Fancy here on high endeavour goes,
Spurns the sad poem, and runs mad in prose;
No longer stalks your grave and metre'd bard,
Whose heroes all talk passion by the yard,
In a thin, thankless pamphlet at the best,
Rant half its worth, and scenery the rest;
But the smart novel in two volumes, comes,
Ushered along by editorial drums,

And with a silent and complacent grace,

Exiles the formal Drama from her place.'-pp. 8, 9.

· va

As to those dear books we read but never buy,' we strongly suspect the ledger of Messrs Carey and Lea and the Carvills, not to mention our own booksellers, would give a rious reading,' as the critics say. An edition of ten thousand copies, exhausted in a few months, looks very much as if somebody bought—and the fact that new annuals start into being almost every year, is, according to the doctrines of political economy we were taught at college, rather a strong symptom of

VOL. IX.-N. S. VOL. IV. NO. II.

30

6

a corresponding demand existing somewhere. We have an antipathy to such expressions as your moral steam,'' your grave and metre'd bard,' and most especially to heroes who talk passion by the yard.' The passages we have quoted are selected at random, and may be considered favorable specimens of the satire in the Age of Print.

But if Mr Mellen has not the talent of a satirist, he has something higher and better. He possesses a deep fountain of true poetic feeling, a kindling sensibility to the beautiful and sublime, a strong sympathy with moral excellence; and when he touches upon a chord in harmony with these, the inspiration of his heart, like the pure waters of a concealed stream, gushes irrepressibly out, giving dignity to his thoughts and exquisite felicity to his language. For example ;—

'And must it be that poesy shall die,

And ye tread crownless, children of the sky!
O no! new triumphs and new garlands wait
The gifted hearts that round her congregate.
Woman yet lingers at the loftiest fount,
And guards the waters of the sacred mount;
No rival wreath is gleaming from the height,

But the proud priestess stands-alone—in light!

And a clear voice is there--whose thrill commands

In echo-tribute back, the "Lays of many Lands."——p. 11. The following lines on Byron are a beautiful and feeling tribute to the erring, but mighty poet of the Pilgrimage.

'Then let the bard in splendid rest remain
With glory sepulchred on Græcia's plain!
Be ours to view him when his living lyre
Felt Nature's passion, not his own, inspire ;
When to its ringing melody there rose
Thoughts born in beauty, mid that deep repose,
When the heart turns to virtue like a child,
And the bright waters leap, unmingled, undefiled!
These were the nobler fountains of his fame--
There to his feet a world in worship came!
And now, while he, a brother of the band,
Unveils the minstrel with unsparing hand,

Though colder hearts may think, 't was wise to tell
Such thankless humors so the book sold well;
Though thousands hasten to his graceful page,
There to repeat the poet's Pilgrimage,
Let him his doubtful eulogy rehearse--
Be ours the epitaph of simpler verse!

When Byron woke, new lustre crown'd the years
When Byron slept, a world was veil'd in tears!'

pp. 16, 17. We close this article with the indignant and splendid apostrophe to Americans, on the violated rights of the aborigines. 'And well it were, America, for thee, Could Fame's broad pen record but eulogy! But while in lustre she reveals thy name, She will not dash the story of thy shame! Already blazoned on the flying page,

Speeds the foul tale shall thrill through every age--
Already there a blushing world shall read
Of horrid perfidy, the crowning deed.
Nay-tell me not of freedom-'t is but dust,
And all it touches withered and accurst;
I feel no freedom where one creature bows,
Crushed by a nation that forgets its vows;
I feel no freedom-none--but with the dead!-
My country perjured-and her glory fled!-
And ye that judge not by what beams within,
But guide your sympathies by tint of skin;
Who deem that truth, to God and virtue dear,
May turn to falsehood in an Indian's ear,
And that no sanction lingers with the deed
Whose simple ties are wampum and the bead;
Go-and though scorn may gather on your brow,
And slighted faith plead vainly with ye now,
Yet on the far unveiled futurity

The fearful judgment of the past I see-
The stern tribunals where all lips are dumb-
A death-bed and a conscience yet to come!
And when a race of whiter hearts than ye,
Shall gather round your loved ancestral tree,
And bid you from its shadow forth to roam
And seek some new and visionary home,
Trample your hearths, and give to long despair
All bright and blessed hopes that cluster there;
Then breathe not-think not-but in peace depart,
Veiling the spirit's ire and bursting heart-
Let the sealed lip, in that eventful hour,

Confess the justice, and admit the power!'-pp. 24, 25.

ART. VII. Dyspepsy Forestalled and Resisted: or Lectures on Diet, Regimen and Employment; delivered to the Students of Amherst College; Spring Term, 1830. By EDWARD HITCHCOCK, Professor of Chemistry and Natural History in that Institution. Amherst. J. S. & C. Adams & Co. 12mo. pp. 360.

WE claim to be among the oldest, the most constant and the most consistent friends of the cause of temperance, if not among the most successful of its advocates. We have never failed, as occasion offered, to press upon the public mind, the overwhelming importance of an attention to this subject, during the whole period that this journal, in its several forms, has had an existence. When others have despaired, when their zeal was flagging and their hopes giving way, we have still continued to hope and to speak. There was an interval of several years, after the first efforts to rouse the minds of men to the evils of intemperance had been made, and apparently with little effect, during which even many of those most zealous in the cause of humanity, had begun to fear that the task was too mighty to be attempted, and were ready to fold their arms and give it up in despair. But we did not despair; and our volumes will bear witness, that if our voice was not powerful, it was firm that if we made no new impression, we were at least not disposed to suffer any which had been already produced, to be effaced, however slight it might have been.

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We do not say this by way of self-gratulation, nor with the intention of claiming, as the result of our own exertions, any considerable share of the wonderful success which has attended the efforts of the benevolent for the few last years. We believe that we have contributed something towards the gradual formation of correct opinions on the nature of the proper remedy for intemperance, and something towards keeping up interest of the community in the whole subject; but beyond this we merit nothing but the praise of constancy, consistency and perseverance in our purpose. This, however, should save us from any suspicion of disaffection to the cause, if we presume to differ on some material points, from those who have shown themselves the most zealous, and we do not hesitate to say,

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