Of this music and of their conjectures they resolve to inform old Eunomus,

"Who used to set

So rare a lesson to the former court,

But now shuts his sorrows in this corner."-p. 8.

"How has he suffered?

Both his sons gone-the first one by his death

Breaking the mother's heart, the second now

Torn from his bride, and dead too as they say."—p. 10.

This Eunomus and his daughter-in-law, Myrtilla, are charmingly described; and, at the request of the latter, put forth in a sweet song; a spirit announces the coming of Liberty. The destruction of the enchanter is then shown in an aërial pageant, and the twilight, which before had lain upon the face of the whole country, vanishes. Spring descends to prepare the earth for the approach of Liberty; and perhaps we could not quote any thing more characteristic of the author's lighter and more playful style, than the description which is given of her flowers.

"Then the flowers on all their beds

How the sparkles glance their heads!
Daisies with their pinky lashes,
And the marigold's broad flashes,
Hyacinth with sapphire bell
Curling backward, and the swell
Of the rose, full lip'd and warm,
Round about whose riper form
Her slender virgin train are seen
In their close-fit caps of green:
Lilacs then, and daffodillies,
And the nice-leav'd lesser lilies,
Shading like detected light,

Their little green-tipt lamps of white;

Blissful poppy, odorous pea,

With its wings up lightsomely;
Balsam with his shaft of amber,
Mignonette for lady's chamber,
And genteel geranium,

With a leaf for all that come;
And the tulip, trick'd out finest,
And the pink, of smell divinest;
And as proud as all of them
Bound in one, the garden's gem,
Heartsease, like a gallant bold,

In his cloth of purple and gold."—pp. 28, 29

Philaret, the husband of Myrtilla, returns almost unhoped-for from the wars; and on hearing of the kindness of his wife, during his absence, to his old father, breaks out into the following expressions of tenderness, which are exquisitely touching:

"Did she do so? Did you do thus my best

And tenderest heart?-my wife-May heaven for this,
If only this, bring out that cheek again

Into its dimpled outline-Heaven for this

Cool the dear hand I grasp with health and peace,
Bless thee in body and mind, in home and husband-
And when old age reverencing thy looks

In all it can, comes with his gentle withering,
Some thin and ruddy streaks still lingering on thee.
May it, unto the last, keep thee thy children,
Full-numbered, round about thee to supply

With eyes, feet, voice, and arms, and happy shoulders,
Thy thoughts, and wishes, looks, and leaning stocks,
And make the very yielding of thy frame
Delightful for their propping it.—Come, come,
We will have no more tears."-pp. 35, 36.

Liberty at length descends; and the four "spirits of the nations," the Prussian, Austrian, Russian, and English genii successively enter, and are welcomed by her in appropriate speeches. Peace is then invoked by some of the spirits of Liberty, who introduces, with a profusion of sweet songs and gorgeous imagery, Music, Painting, and Poetry. Then enter, with appropriate pageantry and attendants, Experience and Education. After this Peace invokes Ceres in the following simple and beautiful song.

THE FOURTH SONG OF PEACE.

"O, thou that art our queen again
And may in the sun be seen again
Come, Ceres, come,

For the war's gone home,

And the fields are quiet and green again.

The air, dear goddess, sighs for thee,
The light-heart brooks arise for thee,
And the poppies red

On their wistful bed

Turn up their dark blue eyes for thee.

Laugh out in the loose green jerkin
That's fit for a goddess to work in,
With shoulders brown,

And the wheaten crown

About thy temples perking.

And with thee come Stout Heart in,

And Toil, that sleeps his cart in,
And Exercise,

The ruddy and wise,

His bathed fore-locks parting.

And Dancing too, that's lither
Than willow or birch, drop hither,

To thread the place

With a finishing great,

And carry our smooth eyes with her."-pp. 63, 64.

The pageants are on a sudden interrupted by the hasty entrance of "a sable genius with fetter-rings at his wrists, a few of the links broken off." He has been disturbed by dreams of still impending evils, but is sent away reassured by the promises of Liberty. The poem closes with the goddess's "wisest contrast," the pageants of true and false glory.

Such of our readers as measure merit by length, breadth, and thickness, will think that we have dwelt too long on this unpretending volume; but we feel it necessary to apologize to our more imaginative readers, for so soon letting it out of our hands. It has given us infinitely more pleasure than many a handsome quarto from more fashionable pens. Indeed, we know not that a thing of such continued and innocent fancy, so finely mixed up with touches of human manners and affections-a poem, in short, so fitted for a holyday hour on a bright spring morning—has ever come under our critical cognizance.

As every reader wishes to know something of the personal history of the writer of a book which amuses him, we think the value of this first American edition is considerably enhanced, by the addition of a sketch of the life and opinions of the author, from his own pen. His father was probably a native of this city; at least he resided here at the commencement of our revolution. It is within the recollection of many, that he and Dr. Kearsley were carted through our streets on account of their adherence to the royal government. In his political opinions, the son has not adopted the sentiments of his sire. He is, what Dr. Johnson would term, a good hater of the ministry. He contrasts, with no little self-complacency, his "honest reputation," with the want of decency which he thinks is shown by "the wretched men in power" who "send their countrymen to prisons and graves," for nothing at all, it would seem according to some of these writers, but to amuse his royal highness, and to vex sir Francis Burdett, Mr. Leigh Hunt, and Mr. William Cobbett. The last of these champions of freedom once wrote himself into Newgate, and then tried to write himself out again, by offering to enlist his pen on the other side; but the ministry did not choose to spoil sport, and so the friend of the "thinking people," remained in limbo. Our author boasts that the attorney general has twice brought him into court, ❝as a malicious and evil-minded person, purely to show that he could not prove his accusation." It is stated in one of the British journals, that Mr. Hunt was at one time found guilty of having published a libel, which was said to be the most infamous that ever appeared. His majesty's attorney general, is not, therefore, always successful in the attainment of the singular object which our author imputes to him. We require no further proof than the writings of these very men, to demonstrate the freedom of the press in England. There are passages in this memoir, which, if they had been published in some parts of this country, would have brought down upon him something which Newgate itself never exhibited, in the worst days of Jack Cade.

It is deeply to be deplored that such fine talents as Mr. Hunt possesses, should be narrowed down to party, when they might charm the world. In all that he writes, excepting some of his political sarcasms, in which there is a littleness unworthy of a poet, there appears to be so much openness and independence, that we do not question the purity of his intentions; but we would exhort him to leave politics to those who are unable or unwilling to do any thing else, or who follow it, as is generally the case, as a calling or trade. If his zeal be so ardent that he cannot abstain from the conflict, we advise him to let blood. This is a sure remedy for the political cacoethes. If his views be honest, we speak without particular reference to any party,-in the end he will be very likely to find, that he has been labouring for a set of crafty and designing men, who cower under the storm, but who will be warmed into life, as soon as the horizon is clear. They will contrive to monopolize all the honours and the profits, and the poor patriot will be stuffed at a public dinner, or, by special favour, he may be provided with a good stand, from which he can behold the triumphal entry of his friends into the great object of their ambitionOFFICE. "I do beseech you," says Sancho repeatedly to the knight, who wanted, like Mr. Hunt, to put the world to rights, "to give me that same island that you promised me." The most disinterested partisan may at least expect to be honoured by an ovation, which, it will be recollected, was a triumph allowed to those Roman commanders who had won a victory without much bloodshed; but in political struggles, even this has been denied; and the great man has stared in the face of the faithful soldier, who fought in the field and found himself, and vowed upon honour, that the latter had the advantage of him. Even if, like the demon in Lewis's Monk, he had poured out his own blood to serve their purposes, the man who enlists himself in this thankless and hateful service, will find himself elbowed out of the way by cunning and intrigue-he will be left to languish in obscuritytime wasted that can never be recalled-talents frittered awayclamorous creditors without, and tormenting repinings within!

Yes, such is the man, and so wretched his fate;

And thus, sooner or later, shall all have to grieve,
Who waste their morn's dew in the beams of the Great,
And expect 'twill return to refresh them at eve!

In the woods of the north there are insects that prey
On the brains of the elk to his very last sigh;

Oh Genius! thy patrons, more cruel than they,
First feed on thy brains, and then leave thee to die.

Such reflections irresistibly lead us to exclaim with the severest satirist of antiquity,

O Proceres censore opus est, an haruspice nobis?—Juv. Sat, 2.

FOR THE PORT FOLIO.-THE AMERICAN LOUNGER.

THE ADVENTURES OF A ONE DOLLAR NOTE.

MR. SAUNTER,

YOUR friend, Mr. Oldschool, is not more careful to cull the choicest flowers of literature for the entertainment of his readers, than we little gleaners are ambitious to contribute a sprig to his garland. But as he has sometimes hinted, that he will not pollute his journal with weeds, we dare not rashly obtrude our of ferings. Through your intervention, perhaps we may hope to be accepted. The following story presents something new. Bank Notes are indeed, travellers of the first order of activity, but I do not recollect that any one of the fraternity has given his adventures.

One evening last winter, after having drawn my window curtains, swept my hearth, and snuffed my candles, I sat down with a book, in the hope of enjoying a comfortable hour. In a few minutes I was interrupted by the entrance of my father with two other gentlemen. I civilly laid down my book to receive them, handed chairs, and stirred up the fire. They advanced with a hurried sort of a bow, ran their boots into the blaze, for a moment rubbed their hands, and sat down, talking all the time with an earnestness not to be diverted by trifles. The subject, I soon found, was the bank bill, then before congress. They discussed it line by line, their interest increasing with every paragraph and section, till they completely forgot that they had not the making of the whole law in their own hands. Finding myself a cypher that could add nothing to their calculations, I turned again to my author, but vainly endeavoured to read; bank bills and paper currency, per cent. and discount, rung in my ears, and completely banished the book from my attention. I retired to my chamber, but the genius of banking had laid his spell on my eye-lids, and all other objects were excluded from my imagination. I fell asleep,-my toilet became a counter, and my dressing boxes were transformed into piles of bank notes. Heaps on heaps arose before me, and all apparently new. I gazed with astonishment and delight, and presently began to calculate how many beautiful things I could purchase with such a treasure, and how many beings I could make happy-when, slowly, and from a remote corner of the table, arose