in a brass plate, of a small perforation being made by the side of it, of about of an inch: so that the eye may view the object proposed for examination, and at the same time see distant objects through the adjacent perforation, by which the apparent magnitude of the image may be compared with a scale of inches, feet, or yards, according to the distance at which it might be convenient to place it. Dr. Wollaston, however, makes use of a scale of smaller dimensions attached to the instrument: with which he conceives that he can estimate the real magnitude much more accurately than by any other means. If, for instance, the object measured be really it may appear by the instrument to be To or

in which case, the doubt amounts to th part of the whole whereas, in the usual construction, an instrument pro fessing to measure to the same extent, or to roog of an inch, cannot distinguish between Toboo and roos; because, though the eye may be able to perceive that the truth lies between the two, it receives no assistance within part of the larger measure.'

Some papers by the Astronomer Royal, in each portion of this volume, will be considered with the other contents of Part II. in our next Number.

[To be continued.]

ART. IX. The Year, a Poem. By John Bidlake, D.D., of Christchurch, Oxford, Chaplain to their Royal Highnesses the Prince Regent and the Duke of Clarence. 8vo. pp. 236. 10s. 6d. Boards. Rees. 1813.

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[ow happy is it when persons who are afflicted with blindness can amuse themselves; and happier still should they find that they can also amuse others! Men of genius and im- provement enjoy this enviable privilege, that, when "knowlege at one entrance is quite shut out," they can, nevertheless, "sit in darkness, and enjoy bright day ;" and to them the horizon of intellect appears luminous and resplendent. Dr. Bidlake may be said to have belonged to this distinguished class. Though deprived of bodily sight, to the orb of his mind the beauties of the creation still presented themselves with their accustomed charms; and his poetic landscapes shew that he had minutely noticed and powerfully felt each varying aspect of the changeful seasons.

Scarcely, however, had he proved to the world, by the publication of this poem, that he could thus pleasingly and laudably contend against the privation to which he had been doomed, when we learned that a sentence had been passed on him against

which he had no appeal nor resource, and that his mental as well as corporeal eye was for ever closed in this life! He has long been known to the literary world; and the termination of his career has been remarkable, both for the rapid succession of a severe affliction and of the last sad scene, and for the choice which he happened to make for the concluding effort of his mind: that, unknowingly on the verge of eternity, he should chance to select for the subject of his poetical contemplation the natural features of our "little year.'

By such a choice, the Doctor has unavoidably reminded us of Thomson: but his descriptions are less majestic and glowing; and his verse is more in the easy manner of Cowper, in "The Task;" while his reflections occasionally wear the tints of that mournful monitor Young. To Milton, also, he is now and then indebted for a phrase.—We are informed, in a short advertisement, that the scenery in the beautiful neighbourhood of Plymouth suggested the principal part of the rural landscape which occurs in the course of the work, and that the observations are principally confined to the climate and local peculiarities of Devonshire. To each month, a distinct book is assigned; and, as the poet proceeds from January to December, every vicissitude of the year, as indicated by the state of the atmosphere, the appearance of the earth, the productions of the vegetable world, the labours and diversions of man, and the instincts of animals, is minutely recorded. As appropriate to the present moment, we shall first copy a part of his sketch of the most beautiful and most welcome of all months:

'MAY.

Now breathes ethereal softness, while the sun
Rejoices in his course. All teems with bliss.
At length the loth and slow bleak winter bids
His boisterous and reluctant troop withdraw;
The black-wing'd storm, the icy-fingered frost,
With hoary head and petrifying breath,
The ruffian whirlwind that delights in waste
And ruin wild. Yet these returning oft,
Shed chilling terrors on the timid spring.

Hail! lovely month! on whose fair train await

The tender blushing dawn and milder day.

Printless thy step! And oh! thy breath how sweet!
Sweet too the beam of thy cerulean eye,

When o'er the smiling meads, or through the woods
That echo choral harmony, thou walk'st
Beneath the opening lids of placid morn,
Wak'd by the odour of the spicy gale.

And thou too, hail! Spirit of vital heat,

That shedd'st warm melting softness in the breeze.

Thou

Thou cherisher of nature, nay, her soul;
First bounteous parent of all earthly good;
Thy ripening influence beneath, all germs
Of vast creation burst to happy birth!

And thou, spirit of life, of rosy cheek,
Whose magic breath imparts a purer glow,
And purer health, to the enlivening tide,
That from the heart pursues its wondrous course!
Hail, humid power! whose silver tresses drop
Perpetual dews adown th' ethereal waste.
And thou, electric force! whose rapid wing
Mocks the more tardy flight of vanquish'd time;
Whose strength the mountain top, resistless, rends!
These active all, o'er sluggish matter rule,
In all extended space, in fluids sport,

Live in all life, and in all motion move.

• With custom'd rites, deriv'd from ancient Rome,
The joyful village hail the new-born month:
The peep of dawn calls rustic lovers forth
To brush the early dew from the full grass,
And pluck the milk-white thorn, fragrant of May,
And starr'd with glittering drops. Fresh garlands breathe
Their mingled sweets, and glow with varied pride;
While round the pole at eve the rural throng
Weave the light buxom dance, or boisterous sport,
While artificial splendour gilds the bush,

And night grows glad with unaccustomed smiles.'

If the blank-verse of Dr. B. rarely soars to sublimity, it is in general flowing, and is thickly strewed with instructive hints on the subject of natural history. An enumeration of the differ ent habits of birds in building their nests occurs at p. 52. et seq. We insert the account of the land-birds.

A thousand bills are busy now; the skies
Are winnow'd by a thousand fluttering wings,
While all the feathered race their annual rites
Ardent begin, and chuse where best to build
With more than human skill; some cautious seek
Sequester'd spots, while some more confident
Scarce ask a covert. Wiser these, elude
The foes that prey upon their several kinds;
Those to the hedge repair with velvet down
Of budding sallows, beautifully white.
The cavern-loving wren sequestered seeks
The verdant shelter of the hollow stump,
And with congenial moss, harmless deceit,
Constructs a safe abode. On topmost boughs
The glossy raven, and the hoarse-voic'd crow,
Rocked by the storm, erect their airy nests.
REV. MAY, 1814.
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The

The ousel, lone frequenter of the grove
Of fragrant pines, in solemn depth of shade
Finds rest; or 'mid the holly's shining leaves,
A simple bush the piping thrush contents,
Though in the woodland concert he aloft
Trills from his spotted throat a powerful strain,
And scorns the humbler choir. The lark too asks

A lowly dwelling, hid beneath a turf,

Or hollow trodden by the sinking hoof;

Songster of heaven! who to the sun such lays
Pours forth, as earth ne'er owns. Within the hedge
The sparrow lays her sky-stain'd eggs. The barn,
With eaves o'er pendant holds the chattering tribe:
Secret the linnet seeks the tangled copse:
Where some tall beetling rock, midway in air
Lifts his bold brow, the sailing kite; the hawk,
In spotted terrors drest, and pallid face,
And eye death-glaring, rear their savage brood:
Bleak on the pinnacle of mountains rough,
And cloud-embrac'd, the towering eagle plans
Dismay; or 'mid Northumbria's shining lakes,
Or Snowdon's crags, or Orkney's distant isles;
Thus rais'd to fatal eminence and dread,
Some tyrant dooms the nations for his prey,
And pleas'd with ruin desolates the earth:
The white owl seeks some antique ruin'd wall,
Fearless of rapine; or in hollow trees

Which age has caverned, safely courts repose:
The thievish pye in two-fold colours clad,

Roofs o'er her curious nest with firm-wreath'd twigs,

And sidelong forms her cautious door; she dreads
The talon'd kite, or pouncing hawk; savage
Herself; with craft, suspicion ever dwells.'

After a general description of the spring-month of April, a short invocation to Light is introduced: but, though it begins. like that of Milton, it is not throughout Miltonic:

Hail, holy Light! image of truth divine!
Whose glorious rays invest the throne of God!
Hail, fruitful joy of all created things!
Cloth'd in thy radiant robe, this rolling orb
Exults, that were without thy cheering smile
A dreary blank, a dull and sullen waste.
Bright as celestial love, and still as warm,
Thy gracious beam diffuses joy on all
That breathes the vital air, on all that spreads
In vegetating beauty; and on all
That fertilizing flows; on all that teems
With plenty, and on all that germs with life."

So

So minute is Dr. B. in his account of the flowers which blow in every month, that his pages will appear almost to form a Gardener's Calendar. Indeed, his merit consists here more in the accuracy of his report than in the charms of his verse; and the florist will feel himself more obliged than the man of refined taste:

To gardens trim the noon-tide now invites';

And cheering warmth, and bowers, and alleys green;
And spruce auricula, the Florist's pride,

In mealy order rang'd. Loquacious he

Each name recounts in lengthened tale, and boasts
Of beauties rare, alone by him possess'd;
The jonquil loads with potent breath the air,
And rich in golden glory nods; there too,
Child of the wind, anemoné delights,
Or in its scarlet robe or various dies,
Ranunculus, reflecting every ray;
The polyanthus, and with pendent head
The crown imperial, ever bent on earth,
Favoring her secret rites and pearly sweets.
Here grateful labour chides reluctant sloth,
Here leisure tastes the first man's quiet bliss;
While the rapt sage a level walk may meet;
Or seated here, th' historic page retrace,
Or philosophic meditation muse.

See, every teeming branch empurpled swells.
In verdant hope. The reddening wall distends
With crimson birth. The peach, the nectarine blush,
All neatly spread. The pear-tree nods, one mass
Of vernal white, and with the cherry vies.-
Warm'd by the genial force of ardent spring,
All burst to life. No longer torpid, mounts
The vegetable juice. The petals ope,
Though on the little loves that sport within
Their silken folds, the rough and envious blasts
Too oft, relentless frown; while April mourns
Her modest cheek impress'd by the rude kiss
Of savage winds, and all her charms deform'd;
The ever-veering gales inconstant change;

And waft the chill sleet o'er the frigid sky.'

In

Flora's uncultivated offspring, scattered over Danmonian wilds, are also duly sung, and Pomona's gifts are not forgotten. When the warmth of summer brings forth the insect- tribes, these also buzz and display their painted wings in verse. short, if Dr. B. could not boast of being a first favorite with the Muses, he might pride himself on having been an attentive observer, and, for the most part, a faithful delineator of Nature. He should indeed have contrived, as Thomson has done, to relieve the monotony of rural descriptions, repeated month after month, by

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some