dially, and with sincere respect, do we wish him that complete perception and enjoyment of the truth as it is in Jesus', which would add ineffable lustre and blessing to his character and talents.

Notwithstanding the errors and faults, which, we conceive, dishonour this volume, we are decidedly of opinion that, to those readers who do not surrender their judgement to their book, but seriously think and cautiously investigate for themselves, it will be found a repository of much valuable knowledge, and will supply many useful hints and topics for farther pursuit.

Four Essays are appended to the work: I. On the Causes of Harmony and Dissonance in the Four Gospels. In this, Dr. Marsh's hypothesis on the origin of the first three Gospels is forcibly opposed. II. On the Logos. III. On the Temptation of Christ. IV. Remarks on the Greek Article in the New Testament. In this concluding Essay, the author has indulged himself in a rash, self-important, and not very good-mannered attack, upon Dr. Middleton's truly classical, logical, and elegant work on the same subject. As well as we can divine, the true reasons of this attack are, first, that Mr. Jones has not taken the trouble to understand Dr. M.; secondly, that Dr. M. has not bowed down to the dictates of Mr. J. on the subject of the Article in his Greek Grammar, (a very excellent book, notwithstanding this little fit of petulance or jealousy in its author); and, we wish there were no reason to conjecture a third motive, namely, that Dr. M. is not a Socinian.

Art. IV. The Four Slaves of Cythera, a Romance, in Ten Cantos. By the Rev. Robert Bland, 8vo. pp. 276. Price 7s. Longman and Co. 1809.

FROM the title page of this work, we were led to expect a very bad imitation of a very bad model: we were prepared to find all the obvious and obtrusive faults of the very 'faulty Marmion', without its inimitable beauties,—we looked for titles and genealogies, dresses and equipages, crests and devices, all couched in antique words and homely phrases, and prest into lines of every possible length in every possible combination. We writhed our brows in a most formidable curve, assumed our spectacles, brandished our grey-goose, and sat down to our office with more than critical malignity. When we found, however, upon opening the volume, that all was regular heroic, we began to soften; we read fifty lines without once having recourse to a glossary, and blamed our precipitancy; and at length, by the time we had finished the first canto, and had met with not one description of shield or

*scutcheon, had fully regained, as will soon be evident, our usual impartiality.

We shall first give an abstract of the story. Hamet, a votary of Mahomet, wandering in search of a wife', sees, loves, and wins Mandana, daughter of the caliph of Bagdad, and retires with her to the island of Cythera, where

• a blooming boy

And four fair daughters crown their nuptial joy.' The parents have occasion to visit Spain, and the children are intrusted to the brother of Hamet; who, upon the death. of Zoraida, the youngest daughter, engages Mortaign, a Norman, a 6 man of blood', to procure some infant, who may pass for her with her parents, at their return. Mortaign sets. his eyes upon the daughter of De Courcy, an English Baron, who had touched at the island; watches his opportunity, and, in the absence of the husband, cavalierly takes her from the mother's arms. The baron, after wreaking his rage in various ways, at last contrives to execute vengeance in kind, by luring on board his ship a little boy, whose noble look a princely birth exprest', and who was, in truth, no other than Almanzor, the son of Hamet. Him De Courcy and his wife Matilda carry to England, bring up as their own, and new-name Alfred.

After a lapse of ten years, De Courcy joins a band of crusaders against the Paynims; Matilda accompanies him; and Alfred, at length, hearing nothing of either, sets off in search of them, having previously vowed, on Becket's stone', 'to be a wanderer over land and flood', till he should find his father and mother, either dead or alive. The baron's tomb he finds in Syria, pays his devoirs, and there first tries the metal of his sword': but, returning homeward in search of Matilda, his vessel is captured off Cythera, and himself, with three other knights, becomes the slave of Hamet, his own father. They are confined in separate cells, and Alfred, it appears, has the range of a small court. Here he is seen and heard, (for the gentleman is musical,) by Zoraida, who falling in love with him contrives to apprize him of her affection, and withal gives him to know that he has a rival, of wealth' enough to win her father, and of conceit and stupidity more than enough to disgust herself. His presents, however, she employs to provide Alfred with the means of freedom for himself and brother knights, who, in the mean time, have met with good-fortune similar to his own, having each stolen the heart of one of Hamet's three daughters. Alfred purchases their freedom with Zoraida's money, and binds each of them by an oath to obey him punctually, in every particular, for a year to come.

The three knights return to their respective homes; Alfred remains in Cythera, and changing his name to Selim, and his dress to a clown's, appears before Hamet, to solicit the place of a gardener. This he obtains; is recognized by Zoraida, (quis fallere possit amantem ?) and encouraged by her smiles, labours with such diligence, that his lord, full of admiration at his taste and skill, and fearing lest his vigour droop beneath his zeal', orders him to engage other hands. This was just the point he aimed at; the three knights are now called in, ostensibly, to assist in the garden, -but, in reality, to be ready upon any emergency.

In process of time, Alfred is engaged to sing before the father and the daughters; and, after various lays, contrives to convey his own history in a fictitious tale, and to solicit Zoraida to elope with him on the very next day. Zoraida understands him, and leaves behind a ring, the requested token of assent. Meanwhile, his brother knights are concealed behind the tower where the party is sitting; and each, ignorant of the amours of the others, thinks Alfred is kindly relating his adventures, and prompting his mistress to an elopement. The three damsels are each possessed with the same mistake: each leaves her ring, which each knight is made happy in finding. Alfred assures them, that the next day shall bless all with liberty, one with love.

Still in the dark with respect to the rest, each considers himself as the happy one; while Alfred goes to consult on the means of escape with Mortaign, who, struck with remorse for his former life, now lives a hermit, in a hovel, by the seaside. They agree that three knights shall seize a small galleot, riding near the shore, while Alfred, Zoraida, and Mortaign are to follow in a fishing-boat of Hamet's,

On the next day, the old father is decoyed away' by a rumour óf invasion; and the three knights, accompanied by their three ladies, successfully accomplish their enterprize. Poor Alfred is not so fortunate: while conducting Zoraida to Mortaign's hut, he is surprised by Zulemah, her wealthy lover, who had overheard his schemes, and brings a numerous troop' to counteract them. The unfortunate maiden is carried back to her father's, Alfred and Mortaign are lodged in a dungeon.

Meanwhile, the sober sire' finds, on going out, that he has been deceived by false reports; and, on coming home, that he had been beguiled of his daughters, who, having waited in vain for the rest of their company, make for Italy, are married, converted, baptized. Hamet now dismisses Zoraida's women, as aiding and abetting; and, to keep her in order, procures, as her duenna, a prudent matron, in her age's wane'." Zuienah, meantime, is more urgent than ever in his

suit, having now two passions to gratify; and the next day is to consign Zoraida to his possession, and Alfred to the grave.

The intervening night is spent by her in hearing the history of the female, to whose care she has been intrusted; and she (we are afraid our readers have anticipated us) discovers herself to be the identical Matilda, mother of Zoraida. Hamet also recognizes his son; the lovers of course are married; Zoraida and her father are converted; the other three daughters return for a blessing; Mortaign is restored to his native Loire; the rest to their respective homes ;and the curtain drops.

Such is the story, in plain prosaic order, gemino ab ovo'. The poem opens with the capture of the four knights; the previous parts of the history being related, in their proper places, partly by Alfred, partly by Matilda, partly by Hamet, and partly by Mortaign.

From this outline, summa fastigia rerum', our less charitable readers will perhaps be led to think, with us, that the tale is of very ordinary make; quite out of nature, yet neither 'passing strange', nor wondrous pitiful'; with few touching situations, and not one interesting character. The story, however, we will grant Mr. Bland, is of small consequence, when compared with the diction, in which it is drest, and the versification, in which it is conveyed;-and these also must yield, in point of importance, to the imagery and sentiment, with which it is adorned.

Of the diction and versification, we have to speak very favourably. The former is poetical, without any of the tinsel of modern refinement; "the latter harmonious, yet natural and unfettered. They accommodate themselves to the grave and to the gay, and please us, in both, without labouring to please. They resemble the diction and versification of Dryden; or rather, perhaps, of Pope, where he most successfully imitates the easy manner of Dryden, as in the two fables from Chaucer. We must endeavour to make good such lofty praise, by an extract or two.

The first notice Alfred receives from Zoraida is described in the following lines.

But gentle slumber, oft at evening call'd,
Came not to Alfred vanquish'd and enthrall'd;
And as it irksome seem'd to lay his head
For ever musing on a sleepless bed,
He strung his idle lute, and set apart
The silent evening for his tuneful art:
And ever as he sang of times gone by,
Of ladies love, or glorious chivalry;

1

Chains, prison, labour, vanish'd from his sight,
And golden visions cheer'd him through the night.

A narrow court, high-wall'd, and guarded well,
Divided Hamet's mansion from his cell;

In which one eve, by labour half subdued,
And now return'd to sleep and solitude,
As to and fro he paced, absorb'd in care,
To lose an hour, and catch the cooling air,
He marked a lattice open o'er his head,
From which descending by a silken thread,
A viol hung; and sure no bad intent
He augur'd from the tuneful instrument;
But upward as he look'd with grateful eyes,
To thank the giver of so fair a prize,
A lily hand he saw with mute delight,
That waved and closed the lattice on his sight,
Pleased with the token of a friend unknown,
From every string he call'd the mellow tone;
And from that hour his charmed fancy wrought
Such dreams of hope, and sweet illusive thought,
That his poor cell a palace seem'd to rise,
His narrow court was Eden to his eyes,
His daily toil to pleasure was beguiled,

And liberty in hateful thraldom smiled." pp. 8-10.
We add the description of Zoraida, and her wealthy suitor.
The morn arose-again the unwilling slaves
Were chain'd to ply their labour on the waves;
Trimm'd was the gallant barge with streamers gay,
Cymbal, and song, and revel, crown the day,
And all was merry in the gondolay.

All but one maid, who, by her mournful mien,
Appear'd as absent from the passing scene;
Her dark-brown hair a coronal embraced,
And a rich zone confined her slender waist.
A portly youth in gaudy robe attired,

Who now himself, and now the nymph admired,
Sat by her side, and oft with forward air
Would whisper trifles to the silent fair,
Which ever as he told, with indrawn sigh
She answer'd to his awkward courtesy.
Yet nought abash'd, he strove to entertain
His lady love with sonnets light and vain;
One while in homely joke he laughed to scorn
The humbler sort, to lowly labour born;
One while his keen and biting satire fell

On the poor slaves who row'd his bark so well;
And with quaint insults of proverbial rhyme,

To ever dashing of their oars kept time :
In all he sued for favour in her eyes,

And strove with backward nature to be wise." pp. 12—14.