will ever be famed in after times. Young Franklin, for he is no more than twenty-six years old, is very popular among the citizens, and Philadelphia is already indebted to him for some valuable establishments. He has founded a public library, which will increase with time and be an ornament to our city; he has, moreover, collected all the young men of talents that he could find, and with them formed an association for the promotion of useful knowledge, which will last more than forty years under the modest name of the Junto, and afterwards uniting itself with another body of men assembled for a similar purpose, will be known through the world as an American Philosophical Society, of which (though at that time residing in Europe) he will be chosen the first president. So much he has already done, but his career is not run. He will be the first philosopher and statesman of his age -a new but guiltless Prometheus, he will steal the celestial fire and direct the forked lightning at his will. Europe will admire his talents, and shower upon him her scientific and literary laurels. As a statesman and a patriot he will not be less distinguished. At the end of this half century we shall see him full of years and honours, numbered among the greatest men of our country, and his name will be handed down to posterity by the side of those of William Penn and of Washington.

2*

REFLECTIONS IN SOLITUDE.

BY SAMUEL EWING.

How sweet the south-wind plays around my brow!— How merciful in God, to temper thus,

The burning sunbeam, with the cooling breeze!

Man marks, ungrateful, with a frowning eye

The transitory storm, where Mercy rides,
To dissipate the idle dreams of life,

While skies unclouded and the dewy breeze,
Nor warm his heart, nor bend his stubborn knee!
He notes with scowling and with angry eye,
The man, who holds a pittance from his kind,
Yet censures not himself, while he denies
His thanks to God, that but increase his stores.
Oh! heart saddens, when it thinks on man.
How gay yon plough-boy whistling to his team,

my

As slowly plodding o'er the broken earth,
He tells to air, the furrows he has made!

The morn of life is thine! poor, simple lad!

And mild and sweet the breeze, that fans thy locks!— Yet ere another moon, the storm may howl,

And rudely beat on thy unsheltered head.

To day the pine-clad mountains bound thy hopes,
Thy ev'ry wish: but soon the villain's smile
May poison every source of pure delight.

Thy ear may close upon the village bell,
That now on Sabbath leads thee to thy God-
Thy little feet may then beguile thee far
From every simple scene thy home had known,

To wander thro' the wild. From every storm,
Unhous'd, unsheltered, from thy God estrang'd,
Thy heart desponding, and thy soul deprest,
Experience then may whisper in thine ear,
To seek thy parent, as thy first, best friend.
So have I mark'd the floweret by the hedge,
Unfold its beauties to the morning sun,

To hail the stranger as the source of life,
And, heedless, shake the vital dews away,
Till night steal on, and shroud its withered stalk!
And leaves, wild scattered by the western blast!
Yet would I not that man within his shell
Should, snail-like, shrink, and shun the social joy:
If he pursue the beaten path of life,

Though on his eye, no hot-bed blossoms glare,
To fascinate his artificial sense,

Yet no thorns tear him, and no weeds obstruct:
But if, with devious step, he turn aside,
Where Fancy lures him, with her magic wand,
To sip the freshness of the violet's lips,
He may not murmur, if the briars wound;
His way was open,-unrestrain'd his will.

JACK AND GILL, A MOCK CRITICISM.

-BY JOSEPH DENNIE.

By Nicholas Biddle,

AMONG critical writers, it is a common remark, that the fashion of the times has often given a temporary reputation to performances of very little merit, and neglected those much more deserving of applause. This circumstance renders it necessary that some person of sufficient sagacity to discover and to describe what is beautiful, and so impartial as to disregard vulgar prejudices, should guide the public taste, and raise merit from obscurity. Without arrogating to myself these qualities, I shall endeavour to introduce to the nation a work, which, though of considerable elegance, has been strangely overlooked by the generality of the world. The performance to which I allude, has never enjoyed that celebrity to which it is entitled, but it has of late fallen into disrepute, chiefly from the simplicity of its style, which in this age of luxurious refinement, is deemed only a secondary beauty, and from its being the favourite of the young, who can relish, without being able to illustrate, its excellence. I rejoice that it has fallen to my lot to rescue from neglect this inimitable poem; for, whatever may be my diffidence, as I shall pursue the manner of the most eminent critics, it is scarcely possible to err. The fastidious reader will doubtless smile when he is informed that the work, thus highly praised, is a poem consisting only of four lines; but as there is no reason why a poet should be restricted in

his number of verses, as it would be a very sad misfortune if every rhymer were obliged to write a long as well as a bad poem; and more particularly as these verses contain more beauties than we often find in a poem of four thousand, all objections to its brevity should cease. I must at the same time acknowledge that at first I doubted in what class of poetry it should be arranged. Its extreme shortness, and its uncommon metre, seemed to degrade it into a ballad, but its interesting subject, its unity of plan, and, above all, its having a beginning, middle, and an end, decide its claim to the epic rank. I shall now proceed with the candour, though not with the acuteness, of a good critic, to analyze and display its various excellences.

The opening of the poem is singularly beautiful:

Jack and Gill.

The first duty of the poet is to introduce his subject, and there is no part of poetry more difficult. We are told by the great critic of antiquity that we should avoid beginning "ab ovo," but go into the business at once. Here our author is very happy: for instead af telling us, as an ordinary writer would have done, who were the ancestors of Jack and Gill, that the grandfather of Jack was a respectable farmer, that his mother kept a tavern at the sign of the Blue Bear; and that Gill's father was a justice of the peace, (once of the quorum), together with a catalogue of uncles and aunts, he introduces them to us at once in their proper persons. I cannot help accounting it, too, as a circumstance honourable to the genius of the poet, that he does not in his opening call upon the muse. This is an error into which Homer and almost all the epic writers after him have fallen; since by thus stating their case to the muse, and desiring her to come to their assistance, they