the kind of zeal, which abounded in those poems, and which, as we have said, was one obstacle to their success, it was not the earnestness which gave offence, so much as the manner in which it was displayed. And it is true, that fierce and angry sarcasm is a very injudicious way of expressing generous emoWe see very little of it in the letters of Cowper, where he pours out his soul without reserve, and we hardly know how to account for his adopting it in those poems. But whatever his motive may have been, the public could not be persuaded that bitterness was any proof of deep conviction or that those, who were most severe upon offences and offenders, were the most likely to attempt their reform. We occasionally witness similar displays of feeling, and it is easy to see that, while they are hailed with acclamations by all who agree in opinion with the writer, they are offensive and disgusting to those whose hearts it is most important to reach. It was truly said of these poems, in the words of the younger Pliny, translated, many passages are delicate, many sublime, many beautiful, many tender, many sweet, many acrimonious.'. 'Yes, yes,' said Cowper, the latter part is very true indeed; there are many acrimonious.' The truth was probably, that, as often happens in men of retired habits, his words outran his feelings. Those of the earlier poems which are written in this spirit, are quite inferior to the others. Expostulation, which treats the sins of his country in a solemn tone of remonstrance and warning, is an admirable poem; it breathes a spirit resembling that of one of the ancient prophets,-grave, dignified and stern. Its sound is that of a trumpet blown to warn the people,-a sound, which wakes no angry passion, but before which the heart stands still and listens with a shuddering chill of dread. Conversation is next in excellence; it is written in a fine strain of humor, not with the 'droll sobriety' of Swift, nor the grave irony of Fielding, but with a wit peculiarly his own, such as makes his letters the best English specimen of that kind of writing, and at times affords a singular contrast with his gloom. We fancy that the fate of these poems was described in a letter from Dr. Cogswell, of Hartford, in this country, who opened a correspondence with Cowper. He tells the poet that it was his pleasure, at reading the Task, which induced him to inquire for these earlier poems, and that he had read them with equal delight. Cowper expresses his satisfaction at this com pliment, in a manner which showed that he himself esteemed them among the very best of his writings, but was conscious that his opinion was not that of the reading world. : The Task is a work of more pretension than his other writings, we mean in' its form for it has no singleness of subject, and is in fact a collection of poems, in each of which the topic which affords the name serves only as a text, to which the images and sentiments of the writer are attached by the most capricious and accidental associations. One advantage of this freedom is, that it affords an agreeable variety; it excludes nothing above or beneath the moon; it requires no unity of thought, or manner, and permits the poet to pass from the serious to the playful, at his pleasure, without formal apology or preparation. Cowper certainly availed himself of the privilege, and made his readers acquainted with all his feelings, circumstances, and opinions, affording a curious example of a man, reserved to excess in social life, and almost erring on the side of frankness in his writings, if we can possibly call that frankness excessive, which simply tells what all the world was burning to know. For we must consider that his previous works had made him known sufficiently to gain him the reputation of a genius, at a time when such stars were not common in the British sky. He made his first appearance, too, in the maturity of his years and powers, no one had beheld his rising, no one had marked him till he suddenly emerged from the cloud. There was a natural desire to know who and what he was, and all such questions were answered in the poem, in a manner which rendered his readers familiar with his powerful mind and amiable heart. They found much to respect in the vigor of his understanding, which refused to be enslaved by inherited prejudices, and manifested every where a manly love of freedom and of truth: nor could any one help admiring his singleness of heart, and the openness with which he declared its emotions. The effect of the work was greater than can now be imagined: it conducted many to the pure fountains of happiness which are found by those who commune with nature, and many to those sources of religious peace, which keep on flowing when all earthly springs are dry. It tended to make man feel an interest in man, and opened the eyes of thousands to those traditional abuses, which are detested as soon as the attention of the world is directed full upon them and in a literary point of view, it gladdened the hearts of all who felt an interest in English poetry, by reviving its old glories at the moment when the last beam of inspiration seemed to have faded from the sky. Those who take their impression of Cowper's translation of Homer from tradition, may perhaps think it an entire failure. A failure the critical world has pronounced it: but it may be well to inquire, whether it would be possible to satisfy the public expectation; and whether any one could possibly have succeeded better? We think it evident that the failure arose from the nature of the undertaking: it was an attempt to convey an idea to English readers of writings which are called inimitable, and therefore untranslatable. There is something undefined and obscurely great in the idea which the world has of the Homeric inspiration; and unless the translator could give his work the same antiquity, and surround it with the same glory of classical associations, it might present a perfect image of the simple greatness of the original, without awakening any similar feeling. An English Homer, a Homer of the eighteenth century, was condemned beforehand. Every critic could feel safe in pronouncing it wholly unworthy of the original; and the public, discouraged by their blind guides, felt no interest in proceeding to inquire whether their judgment was just. Had they expected anything like what they were likely to find; had they exacted nothing more than talent and industry were able to do,-had they, in a word, looked for a translation, instead of a new original, their reasonable expectations would have been fully answered. We recommend to our readers, who feel an interest in the reputation of Cowper, and lament his failure in this great undertaking, to consider what they may reasonably look for, and having thus given some distinctness to their views, to read the work. This will be doing justice to the translator, and, if we may trust our own experience, they will find their candor amply repaid. At the same time, we do not think Cowper's versification remarkably happy. It was wrought with infinite pains, and corrected and revised, till the music satisfied his ear: but in the Task, and in the Translation, he pleases more by expressive and eloquent language, than by any peculiar sweetness in the sound. But whatever gratification the work may afford, will be counterbalanced by the reflection, that it consumed time and labor that might have been better spent upon original writings: these would have been far less ex hausting to his mind and spirits, while they brought infinitely greater returns of fame. Many of Cowper's smaller pieces, in which he followed the suggestions of his own feelings without waiting for others to prescribe his subject, and urge him to write, are among the most beautiful exhibitions of his power. The lines addressed to Mary, his faithful and devoted friend, who made so generous a sacrifice of all other enjoyments to the single one of securing his comfort, of guarding him against the assaults of disease, and sustaining him when the blow had fallen, are one of the most affecting tributes which genius ever paid to virtue. And the lines addressed to his mother, on receiving her picture from a friend, are equally touching and sweet. Nothing could exceed the sacredness, with which every thing connected with her was treasured in the sanctuary of his soul; early as he lost her guidance, he had felt the loss in after life as the beginning of all his sorrows; he had felt as if, had Providence spared her a little longer, she might have given a direction to his feelings, that would have saved him from some of those trials which had almost broken his heart; she was the angel of his visions, the bright spirit which always stood before him in his imaginations of Heaven. He remembered her as young, beautiful, and holding a relation to him which inspired the deepest reverence and affection. So firmly was her image set in his remembrance, that not a day ever passed without his thinking of her, and calling up those recollections of his childhood, connected with her, which no time could wear away; and now, when he stands in the valley of departing years, and on looking back sees the light of the sun, which is set to him, still shining on the hills of youth, from which he came down so long ago, he writes with a sensibility and pathetic earnestness, which fills every heart with sympathy, and we had almost said, every eye with tears. But in these days, when living poets are but little read, and the dead forgotten lie,' we are taking up more time than many of our readers will think necessary, in speaking of the life and genius of Cowper. But he claims our notice, as a man remarkable both for his intellectual history and power, the former being extraordinary almost without example, and the latter such as is not often exceeded. As respects an interest in poetry, also, we live in such times as usually follow a period of great intellectual excitement,-times, when the pub lic taste grows indifferent, and gentle harps are struck altogether in vain. We want some one to come forward in the spirit and power of Cowper, who shall speak in a voice which shall compel the world to listen,-and in a voice too, which religion and virtue, as well as literary taste, can hear with applause. We are confident that such an one will appear; whatever may be said of new directions given to the mind in this self-complacent age, so long as the mind exists, it will treasure poetry as an art which does much to exalt it; there never will be a time when cultivated minds will cast this pearl away. It may be valued at some periods more than at others: it may be less regarded now, than it has been in former times; but these are only transient and passing changes; it will survive them all, and will last as long as the world endures. ART. II. Decandolle's Botany. 1. Théorie Elémentaire de la Botanique, ou Exposition des Principes de la Classification naturelle, &c. Par M. A. P. DECANDOLLE. Seconde Edition, revue et augmentée. Paris. 1819. 2. A Grammar of Botany, illustrative of artificial, as well as natural Classification, with an explanation of Jussieu's system. By Sir JAMES EDWARD SMITH, H. D. President of the Linnean Society, &c. London and New York. 1822. 3. Introduction to the Natural System of Botany: or a systematic View of the Organization, Natural Affinities, and Geographical Distribution of the whole Vegetable Kingdom. By JOHN LINDLEY, F. R. S., L. S., G. S., Professor of Botany in the University of London, &c. First American Edition, with an Appendix. By JOHN TORREY, M. D. New York. 1831. THE botanical student, who has rambled over mountain and marsh, with a box under his arm, and a bundle of grass or a shrub in his hands, must have been conscious how like one demented he often appeared to the unlettered rustics; and while the query, so invariably put to him, What is that good for?' received no satisfactory reply, how plainly their looks, |