Nearly ready for Publication: The first number of a New Quarterly Publication intituled "Annals of the Fine Arts," and solely and exclusively devoted to them.

Memoirs of Mr. SHERIDAN, drawn from original documents, and illustrated by his own Correspondence, and that of his Friends, with a copious Account of his Family. By Dr. WATKINS.

The Speeches and Memoirs of the late R. B. Sheridan, esq. edited by a Constitutional Friend, well known in the literary circles.

AKENSIDE'S" Pleasures of Imagination," printed from Akenside's corrected copy of his first Poem; edited by the Author of "The Philosophy of Nature."

Preparing for Publication:

Mr. SHAW MASON'S Second Volume of the "Statistical Survey of Ireland," is now at press. The Work is of great National importance: the British Empire is deeply interested in every effort to bring the actual state of Ireland before the publick.

Mr. THOMAS RUSSELL, jun. of Guildford, is now publishing by Subscription, "A Picturesque View of Guildford" (on a large scale) from a spot which displays to the greatest advantage its venerable Castle, and other Buildings.

Travels from Calcutta, along the Banks of the Tigris and Euphrates, to Babylon; including Strictures on the History of that most ancient Metropolis, and Topographical Observations made during a residence of three weeks among its Ruins. By ABRAHAM LOCKETT, esq. M. A. S. Captain in the Honourable East India Company's Service; Author of a Commentary on Arabic Syntax; and Secretary to the Council of the College at Fort William, in Bengal. With Maps; Views of the Ruins of Babylon, and some other Buildings in its Vicinity; and Representations of certain small Monuments of remote Antiquity disinterred by the Arabs in digging up the Babylonian bricks.

Some Account of Ahantah and Fantyn, and the remaining Countries on the Gold Coast of Africa; containing Notices of their Soil, Climate, and Productions, and of the Persons, Manners, Customs, Religion, Institutions, Arts, Trade, and comparative Civilization of the Inhabitants; including Narratives of their more recent Wars, and Hints for the developement of their ancient History, and the History of the African Slave Trade, and for an Inquiry into the original Country of the Negro Race. -Recent intelligence of a War (the con

sequences of which may be important to British interests) has served to show, from the unsuccessful attempts of the public prints to inform their readers of the situation and state of these Countries, and from the errors and the deficiencies of our best maps and books of Geography, the want of such a work as this.

A History of Nipal, a Kingdom in the North of India; describing its Origin, Situation, Surface, Climate, and Inhabitants; its Relations, Political and Commercial, with the British Dominions in Asia, Tibet, Tartary, and the Chinese Empire; and the Rise and Progress of the present War.-The general want of information which appears to prevail with respect to Nipal, and the powerful and increasing interest which attaches to the existing war with that country may be regarded as recommendations of this Work.

The Paintings lately removed from Powderham Castle, the seat of Lord Courtenay, have been sold by auction by Christie at very low prices. The large picture of the Tribute Money, by Rubens, reputed to be worth several thousand pounds, fetched but 480i.

The mansion in Streatham Park, at which Dr. Johnson was so often an inmate, has been sold by auction, with all its furniture, library, and pictures. On the last day of the sale the collection of portraits by Sir Joshua Reynolds, including those of nearly all the distinguished visitors of Streatham-house, were disposed of at the following prices: Lord Sondes, 80 guineas; Lord Lyttelton, 41; Mr. Murphy, 98; Sir J. Reynolds, 122; Dr. Goldsmith, 127; Sir R. Chambers, 80; Garrick, 175; Mr. Baretti, 82; Dr. ́ Burney, 20; Burke, 240; Dr. Johnson, 360.

Marshal JUNOT's Library was lately sold by auction, by Mr. Evans in Pallmall. It consisted chiefly of Authors published by Didot of Paris, and printed by him, and Bodoni of Parma, upon the most exquisitely beautiful vellum. Every volume has a case to put it in.— Horatii Opera (of which two copies only were printed upon vellum) sold for 140. Fables de la Fontaine, 2 vols. (of which only two copies were printed upon vellum) with the admirable original drawings of Perceir, and a set of proof plates, fetched 170/.; Virgilii Opera, 471. 5s.— The celebrated Bible which Junot carried off from Portugal, was not in this sale. The Government of Portugal were so anxious to redeem this great curiosity, that they offered Madame Junot 80,000 livres for it; but she required 150,0007.

SELECT

Mr. URBAN,

SELECT

July 18.

I PERUSED with no small delight the Orphan Stanzas (for they have no ostensible Parent) "to a celebrated Noble Poet," in Part I. p. 447. Among the numerous effusions to which his Lordship's last farrago has given birth, one has appeared, which, whoever be its' author, claims a rank not far behind that which has been generally allowed to its prototype (p. 351). Its sentiments, in my humble opinion, are highly expressive of the proud feelings of injured virtue, struggling against the pangs of disappointed affection; and such as every Poet would ascribe to the woman whom even the infatuated Fugitive himself allows to be

Serenely purest of her sex that live!
PHILOSTORGOS.

Lady BYRON's responsive" Fare thee well."
AND fare THEE well too-if for ever-

How dread the thought!-still fare thee
well!

Yet think not time or space can sever
The heart that wout on thine to dwell!

O cherish not the sad illusion,

All thy high-wrought hopes deceiving, Which whispers thee, THAT heart's profusion

Of love can end in "unforgiving!" Too well I know thy conscious breast,

That form'd, how brief! my "placid" pillow,

Hath wander'd from its ark of rest,

Far stretching o'er life's cheerless billow: But if as may-peace still denied thee

My bosom beat to thy return,- [thee, The love that once hath dared to chide Cannot, will not, dare to "spurn." THOU Wert My world-another "world" Scatters its frowns or "smiles" in vain! From thy embrace by treachery hurl'd, I know no joy, I fear no pain. To soft affection's duties prone, In me thy faults a veil had found: Thy many faults" were thine alone

NOT THINE ALONE their "cureless wound." This lesson thou hadst fix'd too deep, Ere yet thy verse display'd its artThe sudden deluge cannot sweep Love's graven impress from the heart! But oh! if mine "by slow decay"

Must moulder from its ruby throne, Thy hand shall wear the stamp away; For yet my love is all thine own! And oft as on my "widow'd bed"

The light revisits these sad eyes *, Anguish more deep than for the dead Is foster'd by unbidden sighs.

"Dear as the light that visits these sad eyes."

GRAY.

POETRY.

When first our infant's vocal aim With skill distinctive shall be crown'd;" When taught to lisp a Father's name, Embitter'd joy will greet the sound. For then-should still thy footsteps wander Far from her who mourns thee lostThen on her griefs recall'd she 'll ponder, On all her joys so foully cross'd. And if one gleam of "solace" cheer me, Flickering o'er my gloomy fateMy lord, my love, no longer near meNought left of him, beside his hate'T will be, that Nature's pencil true

Shall on our darling's cherub cheek Those thrice dear "lineaments" renew, Her mother else might vainly seek! 'T will be, that if her face resemble Thine, which I never more may see,While gazing there my heart may tremble With a pulse still true to thee! Again thy faults!". known,

but hadst thou

Ere yet too late, thy slighted peace; Thy wither'd "hopes”—and oh! my own

Had flourish'd with our years' increase! With me-" with thee"-they sever'd fly, Cherish'd alone by dear communion; Without me,-without thee-they die Beneath their violated union,

Thy "pride," thy every other "feeling," These self- condemned faults have "shaken;"

And if beyond the power of healing,

By me!-no-by THYSELF" forsaken?” Haply from me hath Nature banish'd The flames that feed thy cherish'd "madness"—

Enough for me to "know" is vanish'd

Every glimpse of future gladness.
And whence emerge the baleful streams
That soil'd the promise once so fair,
Whelming all our blissful dreams
In the black chaos of despair?

'T is not relentless* Virtue's hand

Hath rent the torrent's faithless mound:
Welcome again her whispers bland,
And exiled Love shall yet be found.

For oh! might one repentant tear
But tremble on thy blanched cheek ;..........
I'll bless the sacred record there,

Nor other trophy dare to seek.
Might but the radiant bow of peace
Rise in the heaven of thine eyes
Each boding fear, each doubt shall cease,
And all my woes forgotten die.
But if it must be,-fare thee well!

If to thy bosom Death can give
No deeper wound-mine throbs to tell
Its more thau dying is-
-to live!

On MADAME DE LA VALETTE's aiding her Husband's Escape from the Conciergerie, Dec. 20th, 1815.

IT is not in the tented field,

Amid the thundering cannon's roar; Where warriors the bright faulchion wield, Bathing its point in human gore, Diffusing death around:

'T is not amid wild war's alarms,

The brazen trump, the neighing steed,
The hostile shout, the clang of arms,
The sudden charge, the fearful deed,
That timid Woman 's found.
The scenes of bloodshed and of strife
With female softness ill accord;
From the dread pause 'twixt death and life,
Where fatal falls the vengeful sword,
Sad and dismay'd she flies.
When o'er the earth rude war is driven,
The dreadful scourge extending wide,
To sterner Man the task is given

The swift and dangerous car to guide,
To head the bold emprize.

Yet Fame can tell, that e'en where Death
In most appalling form appears,
Where thousands yield the fleeting breath,
(Robb'd of her sex's timid fears)

E'en there is Woman seen.
When Duty calis, no dread, no ill,

Can shake her fortitude's firm power; Fix'd to her constant purpose still, Though clouds arise, and tempests lour, Unaw'd her steadfast mien.

And ah! with what increasing power
That fortitude's bright lustre flames,
When in Adversity's sad hour

The sacred bond of marriage claims
Its kind endearing care:
Oh then each suffering, each woe,
The faithful Wife will calm endure ;
Each joy, each comfort she 'll forego,
Her lov'd lord's safety to secure,
His bosom's grief to share.
Nor need we for examples seek
Th' historic page of times of yore;
Our own as glorious age shall speak
Of deeds as bright as Roman lore
In proudest days can boast.
How the illustrious list of fame
Heroic Eleanor* illumes;
And gentle Ackland's + spotless name
With still increasing lustre blooms

Amid the virtuous host.

And see, to grace Fame's glorious page,
Another heroine appears:
Her merits in a future age,
Uninjured by revolving years,
Remember'd still shall be.

* Wife of Edward I.

CASIMIR, LIB. I. ODE 1. On the Departure of the hostile Thracians from Pannonia.

NOW cease the menaces of War,

And Health and Peace, once driven far From our polluted land,

In milk-white chariots borne along,
Revisit, midst the general throng,

And in our cities stand.

Now Faith and Right, devoid of guile,
And Happiness, with gentle smile,

Fly o'er the joyful fields;
While golden ages sweetly flow
In copious rivers soft and slow,

And ample pleasures yield.
Now fairer suns, and days of yore,
Sprung from old veins of richer ore,

Return in vigorous powers;
Bright gems descend like sounding hail,
And liquid gold with every gale

Drops down in many a shower.
Me now the world permits to sing
Poetic lays on lyric string,

On high and festive days;
To tell how Saturn's happy reign
Returns to bless the earth again,

In pompous songs of praise.
New manners, primitive and white,
And honest Candour (charming sight!)
Once banish'd from our coast,
Return, while Virtue fair descends,-
Bright goddess! from the skies she bends,
And gains the seats she'd lost.

Rivers of milk and honey glide,
Warm'd by the sun, the lands divide,
Or rippling o'er the plains;

The banks are full, they swell, they rise'Tis nectar to the just and wise

The fields are blest again.

More

More gently waves the bearded grain,
Its close-set stems o'erload the plain,
And make the valleys groan;
Delightful seasons spare the crop,
And crown the labourer's utmost hope,
His utmost wishes crown.

The shepherd drives his flocks along,
Rivals the hoarse Cicada's song

On his rude oaten straw;
Bellow the hills; and while the ground
Strong heifers till, the woods resound

With every breath they draw.
Peace! the exulting mountains cry ;
Peace! the wild shaggy rocks reply,

Loud echoing with the noise; Peace! o'er the scatter'd hills shall bound, Sequester'd valleys catch the sound,

And burst in violent joys.

[The rest of the Ode, consisting of high strains of compliment to Pope Urban VIII. does not seem to merit a translation.] U. U.

FAREWELL ADDRESS by ARTHUR BROOKE, To his Female Readers.

Written after the Publication of a small Volume of Poems.

THOUGH the harp may be sinking in sadness, whose strings

Were so lightly once waken'd for you, Yet it still to the theme of its infancy clings, And its last fading tribute of melody

In this warm unaffected adieu. [brings May your charms, which the dullest, the coldest might move,

rove

In a verse less unworthy be wreathed; May the tale of affection, as oft as you [you love, By the sweet star of eve, in the voice that Be as truly, as tenderly breathed. Forgive, if the feeling too freely has flow'd From the warmth of a juvenile tongue; By your lips be a soft admonition bestow'd,

And oh! in your hearts be it only allow'd To have better been fancied than sung. In its pride let the cold callous eye of the Sage

On the song look indignantly down; Let Ignorance turn with distaste from the

page,

And pity we still the moroseness of Age,
Where envy lies hid in a frown.

The joys of our being, how fleeting and few!
How distant our hopes from above!
There is but one blessing substantial and
true,
[you,
Oh, Woman! that blessing is center'd in
And is only imparted in love.
Canterbury, June, 1816.

I WISH I were where Helen lies,

For, night and day, on me she cries,
And, like an Angel, to the skies

Still seems to beckon me!
For me she liv'd, for me she sigh'd,
For me she wish'd to be a bride,
For me, in life's sweet morn, she died
On fair Kirkconnell-Lee!
Where Kirtle-waters gently wind,
As Helen on my arm reclin'd,
A rival, with a ruthless mind,

Took deadly aim at me;
My Love, to disappoint the foe,
Rush'd in between me and the blow,
And now her corse is lying low

On fair Kirkconnell-Lee!

Though Heaven forbids my wrath to swell,
I curse the hand by which she fell--
The fiend that made my heaven a hell,

And tore my Love from me!
For if, where all the Graces shine-
O! if on earth there 's aught divine,
My Helen! all these charms were thine-
They center'd all in thee!

Ah! what avails it that, amain,
I clove th' assassin's head in twain!
No peace of mind, my Helen slain-
No resting place for me!

I see her spirit in the air

I hear the shriek of wild despair,
When murder laid her bosom bare,
On fair Kirkconnell-Lee!
O! when I'm sleeping in my grave,
And o'er my head the rank weeds wave,
May HE, who life and spirit gave,

Unite my Love and me!
Then from this world of doubts and sighs,
My soul on wings of peace shall rise,
And, joining Helen in the skies,
Forget Kirkconnell-Lee!

here.. Perth, June 10.