Much indignation has been expressed against Commodore Hillyar for his violation of the laws of nations, and of his private agreement with Captain Porter, by attacking him in the neutral waters of Valparaiso; waiving all discussion of these points, it may barely be observed, that his cautious attack with a vastly superior force, on a crippled ship, which, relying on his forbearance, had placed herself in a most defenceless situation, and which for six weeks previous had offered him fair fight, on advan tageous terms, though it may reflect great credit on his prudence, yet certainly furnishes no triumph to a brave and generous mind. Aware, however, of that delicacy which ought to be observed towards the character even of an enemy, it is not the intention of the writer to assail that of Commodore Hillyar. Indeed, his conduct after the battle entitles him to high encomium; he showed the greatest humanity to the wounded, and, as Captain Porter acknowledges, endeavoured as much as lay in his power to alleviate the distresses of war by the most generous and delicate deportment towards both the officers and crew, commanding that the property of every person should be respected. Captain Porter and his crew were paroled, and permitted to return to the United States in the Essex junior, her armament being previously taken out. On arriving off the port of New-York, they were overhaled by the Saturn razee, the authority of Commodore Hillyar to grant a passport was questioned, and the Essex junior detained. Captain Porter then told the boarding officer that he gave up his parole, and considered himself a prisoner of war, and as such should use all means of escape. In consequence of this threat the Essex junior was ordered to remain all night under the lee of the Saturn, but the next morning Captain Porter put off in his boat, though thirty miles from shore; and, notwithstanding he was pursued by the Saturn, effected his escape, and landed safely on Long Island. His reception in the United States has been such as his great services and distinguished valour deserved. The various interesting and romantic rumours that had reached this country concerning him, during his cruise in the Pacific, had excited the curiosity of the public to see this modern Sinbad; on arriving in New-York his carriage was surrounded by the popu lace, who took out the horses, and dragged him, with shouts and acclamations, to his lodgings. The length to which this article has already been extended, notwithstanding the brevity with which many interesting circumstances have been treated, forbids any further remarks on the character and services of Captain Porter. They are sufficiently illustrated in the foregoing summary of his eventful life, and particularly in the history of his last cruise, which was conducted with wonderful enterprise, fertility of expedient, consummate seamanship, and daring courage. In his single ship he has inflicted more injury on the commerce of the enemy than all the rest of the navy put together; not merely by actual devastation, but by the general insecurity and complete interruption which he occasioned to an extensive and invaluable branch of British trade. action, also, though it terminated in the loss of his frigate, can scarcely be considered as unfortunate, inasmuch as it has given a brilliancy to his own reputation, and wreathed fresh honours around the name of the American sailor. His last The Feast of the Poets, with Notes, and other pieces in verse. By Leigh Hunt. 18mo. Republished by Van Winkle and Wiley, New-York. We have seldom seen a volume which comprises, in so small a compass, such a copious fund of literary entertainment. The Feast of the Poets is a poem in familiar verse, founded on the old idea of a visit of the god of poetry to his liege subjects upon earth, in which he receives the homage of all the living bards and bardlings of every degree; and after dismissing the herd of minor poets, whom he treats with various degrees of respect, he finally selects those who partake most largely of his inspiration, crowns them with the appropriate emblems of their genius, and feasts them with a most poetically brilliant repast. The groundwork of the poem is of Italian origin, and has been used in England as a vehicle for cotemporary satire by Suckling, Rochester, and Buckingham, three of the wits of the court of Charles II., whose fashion has long ago gone by, and whose wit (for wit must be allowed them) was happily not sufficient to preserve their gross-. ⚫ness from merited oblivion. This poem is followed, according to the fashion of our times, by a large number of notes of about ten times the size of the poem; in which the poet throws aside his lyre to seize the critical rod, brandishes it without ceremony over the heads of all his brother bards, decides very dictatorially upon their relative merits, and utters the boldest literary and critical opinions with the most amusing originality and self confidence. The poem itself is a sprightly and vigorous frolick of the imagi nation, full of fancy and taste, and occasionally enlivened with the happiest humour. At the same time, the grave critic who reads solely for the purpose of gratifying literary pride, and displaying his acuteness in mousing after faults, will not be disappointed in his object-he may here find plenty of this small game. Mr. Hunt, both in his poetry and his prose, is fond of certain idiomatic expressions, and simple old English words, which, however used, almost always have a very pleasing effect from the habitual associations which they have power to call up. This circumstance seems to have concealed from the author, as it certainly does from the cursory reader, the want of precision in thought and perspicuity of expression. We are presented with some vague and undefined image or sentiment, conveyed in language so familiar to our most pleasing recollections, that we can seldom pause long enough to perceive that the sense is of that jack-o-lantern kind which plays lightly and brilliantly before the mind, but never suffers itself to be firmly grasped. We do not know whether we have succeeded in conveying our own meaning very perfectly; but if the reader will turn to the description of the person of Apollo, where he is described as "Blooming, and oval of cheek, And youth down his shoulders went smoothing and sleek, And the soul of eternity thought through his eyes," &c. &c. or to the very magnificent and noble description of his transfigu ration, where "The full Deity put on his rays, And burst on the sight in the pomp of his blaze!" he cannot fail to observe several lines, or at least several expressions, which will explain the intention of our criticism much more clearly than we can do by any general remarks. This is, in short, the same fault which, under the guidance of a very vitiated taste, and carried to a far greaer excess, became so ridiculous in the Della Cruscan poets. The ame remarks will apply with still greater force to our author's prose style. Mr. Hunt, in the familiar parts of his poem, is often coarse, and his colloquial and idiomatc language becomes unnecessarily slovenly. He is, besides, much,oo careless in his versification, sometimes filling up his lines with idè expletives, as "Yes, it is, I declare, As long ago now as that Buckingham there:" sometimes limping along wit hobbling elisions, as "The tod bade his horses walk for'ard, And leaving them, took a long dive to the nor❜ard;" and now and then indulging in the most careless and faulty rhymes, if, indeed, straw and for, or rcommendations and patience, can be called rhymes at all. "And t'other some line he had made on a straw, Showing how he had found it, and what it was for," &c. In a long poem these faults vould be scarcely remarked, but in such an exquisite miniature as this, every line should be highly finished. Still such is the charm of the poet's luxuriant and elegant fancy, which is in fact the predominant quality of his genius, and such, to use one of his own favourite phrases, the original freshness with which he exhibits every object, that a reader who is not unfortunately visited with that critical fastidiousness which is the bane of all the enjoyments of literature, may read this little volume again and again without noticing any of these minute defects. The notes are full of every species of entertainment. We are alike amused, whether we resolutely rouse ourselves to examine or combat Mr. Hunt's round assertions and bold decisions on the merits of the popular poets of the day; or whether we more indolently give ourselves up to his direction, andcalmly look on while he marshals and arranges the whole army of modern authors, from our own times to those of Fairfax and Spenser, with as much unflagging vivacity and as sprightly an air of self importance and authority as ever any brisk little dancing master displayed in directing the evolutions of a cotillion. Throughout he whole he discovers a natural sprightliness of mind, a native scsibility to the beauties of poetry, and a cultivated elegance of tale, all dashed with a considerable love of paradox, or rather wih a strong desire of producing effect by constant boldness andoriginality of manner. His general opinions on the pecular characters and comparative merits of his cotemporaries are the main similar to those which have been from time to time expressed in the Edinburgh Review, except that he attributes to Wordsworth the highest capabilities of poetic excellence, and reprsents him as being in posse, as the schoolmen would say, by far te greatest poet of the age. This is, to be sure, a most startling asertion. Our critic poet had, it seems, formerly treated Wordswort with unmixed contempt; he has since been induced to alter his opinion of this musing and melancholy bard; and to make amend, he now with bis usual decision bids him go at once to the head if his class, and promises him that if he will be a good lad and go at a little more into company, he will engage to keep him there. There is much ingenuity as well as some sound sense in his remarks on this subject, and it is impossible not to feel that there is vein of natural sentiment in the wildest mopings of Wordsworth, which, if he could' but be taught to substitute the simplicity of manly taste for that of infancy and dotage, is capable of being matured into the highest excellence. The four worthies who are selected for the special favour of the God of Song are Scott, Southey, Moore, and Campbell; but the praise bestowed upon the two former is mixed with no small alloy of censure. We have at present no inclination to examine |