It excites astonishment in any reflecting mind, to see the unaccountable insanity that too frequently pervades the conduct of communities and collections of men, any one of whom would be ashamed at the exhibition of a fourth part of the folly in his own private affairs. Perhaps a more striking instance of this kind can hardly be produced, than is displayed by the powerful and reputable state of Pennsylvania, in the custody of her public records. All the papers, documents, and records of the land office, on which the titles to property to the amount of millions of dollars rest, have been for years kept at Lancaster, in miserable apartments, the risk of conflagration whereof is much more than what the insurance offices term doubly hazardous. For 2, 3, or 4000 dollars a fire-proof building might be erected, which would afford all the necessary security, and prevent a calamity, which, if it occurs, cannot be completely remedied for half a million. The same culpable neglect prevails, I am informed, in most of the counties of the state: and the error does not exclusively belong to Pennsylvania. It extends far and wide throughout the Union. Philadelphia makes an equal display of misplaced economy. The papers belonging to all the public offices here, are by no means guarded with the proper degree of care. Those who are interested in the titles of city property-in wills or mortgages recorded, or in any of the papers deposited in those offices, would, on an examination of the wings of the state-house, feel the most serious apprehensions. Philadelphia requires a fire-proof building to preserve the public books and papers, equally with the borough of Lancaster; and it is to be hoped the subject will speedily occupy the attention of those whose province it is to make the necessary provision. DEFENCE OF SOUTHEY'S THALABA. The Politest Scholars and the ablest Critics have differed widely in their opinion of the merits, or demerits of the Muse of SOUTHEY. That he is a man of Genius and a Poet of great sensibility, we are by no means disposed to deny; moreover, in a spirit of the most liberal candor, we declare distinctly, that Mr. S. is incomparably a wiser man, and a more correct and elegant writer now, than he was some years ago. From the most accurate authority, we have good reason to believe that his character has materially changed; and that, however disposed to quarrel with, or laugh at him once, we have no inclination now to assail with vehemence, either his principles, or his poetry. Of late he has written much which reflects lustre upon his heart and his understanding. In his Chronicle of the Cid, we discern the plainest proofs of his attentive perusal of the Bible, and a very pleasing copy of the sublime simplicity of its style. But of the innovations, which he has hazarded in his " Thalaba," we doubt somewhat of the propriety. This our readers will readily allow to be very natural, when they reflect, that we are orthodox believers in the creed of the High Church of Criticism. Every scholar remembers the powerful onset made against Southey's light troops by the tremendous charge of the Edinburgh Review. The strongest defence is by H. K. WHITE, a spirited and gallant, if not a successful volunteer. The ensuing paper is perfectly well written, and if we may not concede to the argument, we must commend its ingenuity. EDITOR. La rime est une esclave, et ne doit qu'obéir. BOILEAU. EXPERIMENTS in versification have not often been successful. Sir Philip Sydney, with all his genius, great as it undoubtedly was, could not impart grace to his hexameters, or fluency to his sapphics. Spenser's stanza was new, but his verse was familiar to the ear, and though his rhymes were frequent even to satiety, he seems to have avoided the awkwardness of novelty, and the difficulty of unpracticed metres. Donne had not music enough to render his broken couplets sufferable, and neither his wit nor his pointed satire were sufficient to rescue him from that neglect, which his uncouth and rugged versification speedily superinduced. In our times, Mr. Southey has given grace and melody to some of the Latin and Greek measures, and Mr. Bowles has written rhyming heroics, wherein the sense is transmitted from couplet to couplet, and the pauses are varied with all the freedom of blank verse, without exciting any sensation of ruggedness, or offending the nicest ear. But these are minor efforts: the former of these exquisite poets has taken a yet wider range, and in his "Thalaba the Destroyer," has spurned at all the received laws of metre, and framed a fabric of verse altogether his own. An innovation so bold as that of Mr. Southey, was sure to meet with disapprobation and ridicule. The world naturally looks with suspicion on systems, which contradict established principles, and refuse to quadrate with habits, which, as they have been used to, men are apt to think cannot be improved upon. The opposition which has been made to the metre of Thalaba is, therefore, not so much to be imputed to its want of harmony, as to the operation of existing prejudices; and it is fair to conclude that, as these prejudices are softened by usage, and the strangeness of novelty wears off, the peculiar features of this lyrical frame of verse, will be more candidly appre ciated, and its merits more unreservedly acknowledged. Whoever is conversant with the writings of this author, will have observed and admired that greatness of mind and comprehension of intellect, by which he is enabled on all occasions to throw off the shackles of Habit and Prepossession. Southey never treads in the beaten track; his thoughts, while they are those of nature, carry that cast of originality, which is the stamp and testimony of genius. He views things through a peculiar phasis, and while he has the feelings of a man, they are those of a man almost abstracted from mortality, and reflecting on and painting the scenes of life, as if he were a mere spectator, uninfluenced by his own connexion with the objects he surveys. To this faculty of bold discrimination, I attribute many of Mr. Southey's peculiarities as a poet. He never seems to inquire how other men would treat a subject, or what may happen to be the usage of the times; but filled with that strong sense of fitness, which is the result of bold and unshackled thought, he fearlessly pursues that course which his own sense of propriety indicates. It is very evident to me, and, I should conceive, to all, who consider the subject attentively, that the structure of verse, which Mr. Southey has promulgated in his Thalaba, was neither adopted rashly nor from any vain emulation of originality. As the poet himself happily observes, "It is the arabesque ornament of an Arabian tale." No one would wish to see the Joan of Arc in such a garb; but the wild freedom of the versification of Thalaba accords well with the romantic wildness of the story; and I do not hesitate to say, that, had any other known measure been adopted, the poem would have been deprived of half its beauty, and all its propriety. In blank verse it would have been absurd; in rhyme insipid. The lyrical manner is admirably adapted to the sudden transitions and rapid connexions of an Arabian tale, while its variety precludes tedium, and its full, because unshackled cadence, satisfies the ear with legitimate harmony. At first, indeed, the verse may appear uncouth, because it is new to the ear, but I defy any man who has any feeling of melody, to peruse the whole poem without paving tribute to the sweetness of its flow, and the gracefulness of its modulations. In judging of this extraordinary poem, we should consider it as a genuine lyric production; we should conceive it as recited to the harp, in times when such relations carried nothing incredible with them. Carrying this idea` along with us, the admirable art of the poet will strike us with tenfold conviction, the abrupt sublimity of his transitions, the sublime simplicity of his manner, and the delicate touches by which he connects the various parts of his narrative, will then be more strongly observable, and we shall in particular, remark the uncommon felicity with which he has adapt his versification; and in the midst of the wildest irregularity, left nothing to shock the car, or offend the judgment, EPISTOLARY FOR THE PORT FOLIO. ORIGINAL LETTER DEAR SISTER, FROM ROBERT BLOOMFIELD. London, near the Shepherd and Shepherdess, City Road. SHOULD this sheet be fortunate enough to reach your hand, surely you will not fail to write for our mutual satisfaction, and for the pleasure it will give our poor old mother, who is still living, and as well as she has been for many years past. We have I sent you a letter directed to Philadelphia long ago. heard nothing from you since, nor indeed any ray of information since your letter which gave some account of your voyage to that place. Nat has long entertained a notion that as you have something of the rambler in your disposition you meant to forbear writing that you might one day surprise us with your sudden appearance in London, but I find he now gives you over for dead, thinking that nothing but death could induce you to keep your friends thus in total darkness, both as to your health or sickness, prosperity or poverty; for what if you are as poor as Job, did any of your relations expect you to grow rich? You set out a friendless adventurer, and what if you remain such, is that a reason for your breach of communication with your mother? Dear wench, think of these things, and believe that a letter directed to "Mrs. Bloomfield, to be left at No. 14, Great Bell Alley, Coleman's-street, London" will be highly acceptable to us all. You may probably receive this in October, and then, when may we expect a reply? With respect to myself my "Farmer's Boy" has run through six editions, and the last publication "Rural Tales" has been reprinted largely. I know, that of the first, you have, on your side of the water, several editions of your own, (American editions) and this circumstance alone makes me wonder that you have not written to me on so great There is a French translation and so interesting a subject to us all. of the Farmer's Boy at Paris, which is now reprinting in London. Your brothers and sisters are well, and their families. Katharine is still unmarried. If I have no reply in a reasonable time I will get some of the great and good friends whom fortune has thrown in my way, to employ some person residing in your city to ascertain the truth of your demise. situation, if living; or to transmit the particulars of your Remaining in anxious uncertainty, Elizabeth Bloomfield, 2 Your affectionate brother, ROBERT BLOOMFIELD. Philadelphia. S P.S. You may, if you like it better, direct to "Robert Bloomfield, Seal-Office. Inner Temple, London." FOR THE PORT FOLIO. QUERIES RESPECTING THE COWPEN-FINCH OF NORTH AMERICA. Ir is a fact well known to naturalists, and to the people of Europe generally, that the cuckoo of that country (cuculus canorus) never builds itself a nest, but lays her eggs in the nests of other birds, and abandons her progeny to the mercy or affection of strangers. The good and amiable Dr. Jenner, who has since risen to immortal reputation, and to whose genius and humanity the whole human race are under everlasting obligations, was the first person who gave the world a particular detail of these extraordinary habits of the cuckoo, which he has done with great precision, and chiefly from his own observations. In the United States we have two species of cuckoo, each differing greatly in colour and in notes from the European one, and also in habits, for both our cuckoos build their own nests, and hatch, feed, and attend their own young, with the greatest solicitude and affection. The natural history of both these species, will be found in the second volume of the AMERICAN ORNITHOLOGY, accompanied with coloured representations of the two birds and their respective eggs. In the meantime the author of that work solicits the attention of persons of leisure and information, residing in the country, to the following facts and queries. In this part of North America, particularly in the middle and southern states, we have a small bird, about the size of the female redwing blackbird, which is fond of attending the cows while at pasture, and even of frequenting the places where they are penned up in winter, to feed on the seeds, insects, &c. which it finds among the excrements of the cattle. For these reasons it is called by many, the cowbird*. It is the fringilla pecaris of Linnæus and Turton, and the cowpen finch of Catesby. At a distance it appears altogether black; but on being examined in the hand, the head and neck of the male is of a fine silky drab, with the upper part of the breast deep violet; the rest of the plumage may be called black, with strong reflexions of green. This bird has long been noted by persons of observation in the country, for laying its eggs in the nests of other birds, who hatch them, and feed the young foundling with all the care and tenderness they show to their own brood. When it leaves the nest, one or both of the foster parents assiduously watch all its wanderings, to feed and protect it, exhibiting the same marks of anxiety and distress for its danger, and the same manœuvres for its safety, and escape, as if it were their * This name is also applied, by some people, to the Cuckoo. |