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Thus right and wrong, and good and ill,
May various lights and shades assume,
Through long perspective drawn with skill,
Like Pyraneze's Views of Rome.

Poetry.

Marriage in prospect may appear
A beauteous garden all in bloom;
A hedge of thorns we find it near,
"Tis Pyraneze's Views of Rome.
Benevolence-Oh pleasing sound,
What! she found at each man's home
With all our little passions round?
Just Pyraneze's Views of Rome.
Porturient heaves yon mount-anon
Bursts forth a mouse from its high womb!
Oh human science, what art thou?
E'en Pyraneze's Views of Rome.
Oft through sad mournful vistas seen,
Man's life appears a lengthen'd gloom,
'Till heaven's bright sunshine shews the scene,
Mere Pyraneze's Views of Rome.
Reflected in the stagnant lakes

Surrounding shrubs tall trees become;
So indolence of labour takes

A view like Pyraneze's Rome.
Thus every human hope and fear,
Quite from the cradle to the tomb,
Large at a distance-small when here,
Like Pyraneze's Views of Rome.
But most of self-love's prism beware;
On its report should man presume,
"Twill give false vision, falser far

Than Pyraneze's Views of Rome.
The uphill path that leads to heav'n
Is strait and steep, yet drawn by man
Wide as the Scala, lo 'tis given,
Of Pyraneze's Vatican.

Like virtue's self, sublimely grand
Is one majestic noble dome,
Must that alone contracted stand
In Pyraneze's Views of Rome?

Rise then to that stupendous height,
Where art's faint shadows ne'er can come;
Ah thou, my country, baflles quite

Poor Pyraneze, and pride-swoln Rome!

MR. EDITOR.

SIR, Many years since I began the following piece, which, from various causes, has not received the finishing hand: such as it is, however, it is at your service.

IPOLPERROC.

FISHING-A POEM.
How do the sweets of nature charm the heart,
Soft thrilling to the touch of harmony!
The verdant plain, the cloud-capp'd mountain's
height,

And long withdrawing vales, and shady woods,
With many a wild flower opening to the eye,
Loading the balmy air with odours sweet
And country tenant's healthful occupation,
Each has rais'd up a bard to sing its joys.

And shall not one be found to paint the scene

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Where massy rocks o'erhang the swelling
tides,

As if ordain'd to help the gazing eye
To view the hidden gambols, and to catch
The glancing splendors of the finny tribe
That take their sport below? Shall not be
found

Some breast that glows with love of nature's
works,

The God of nature's, who shall snatch his
tints

From scenes that rise in rude magnificence,
To sing the bounding flood, its fucus groves,
And those who bait the barbed hook with guile;
To ensnare their agile prey, and draw it up,
Struggling t' escape into its waves again?

O thou blest spirit, serving heaven's high
King,

Who o'er the silent beach and swelling tide
Delight'st to walk, when high the moon globose
Rides in mid-heaven, amidst the glowing stars
Rejoicing in serenity, and bidst

Th' arising waters kiss the sands in peace,
Or swell'd to rage dash the resounding shore,
Doing the orders given thee from above,
Assist me, for thou know'st, to swell my song
With heav'nly fire from off thy altar, truth!

Winter is gone, with all its blustering storms,
And western breezes curl the laughing sea.
Now hardy-handed Industry comes forth,
Grey-hair'd, and beardless youth, in thronging
crowds,

To hoist the sail, prepare the lengthen❜d line,
And nets fine-mesh'd, of colour deep em-
brown'd,

Eager to launch them on the swelling floods.
Here fancy's eye may contemplate at will
The eager hope that leads adventure on
From childhood learning how to tug the oar,
Or haul the grapnel from its stony bed,
To where she guides the helm, and where at
last

She bears Britannia's thunder round the world.

Now from the Atlantic Ocean deep and wide, Where late they slumber'd while the tempest roar'd,

Or rode, perhaps, mid-deep the troubled sea,
Shaping their course to Cornwall's rocky
shores,

The Scilly Isles, or Lizard's lengthen'd front,
The many-colour'd mackarel bends his way;
Their shape how fine! their nimbleness exceeds
All that we know of earth's inhabitants;
They skim the wave, rejoicing in the spring,
That bids them seek the sandy bays again;
And nippling at she surface as they go,
Their various dyes the sun reflected shows,
Each sparkling tint expressing to the eye
The wild luxuriancy of bliss within.
Alas! that joy not long their bosom swells:
The fisher spreads his net across their course,
And all their pastime sinks. Dragg'd slowly in
and go,
A thousand colours fly, and come,
More fine than pencil can express-purple and
gold
In quick succession flittering o'er their scales.

The nets in order carefully dispos'd,
They take advantage of the fresh'ning gale
To hasten joyous home. Swift flies the boat,
The blackening surges parting as they pass,
Curl'd by the northern blast; the course they

take

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But what they can is done; the taper line
Well loaded with the plummet's leaden weight,
Is thrown from either side; the tempting bait
To entice the various mackarel to its fate
Is taken from a captive's silver skin.
The shining bait flies thro' the yielding flood
To attract the wanderer's sight-when lo, at
last

A scull descries the prize; they forward spring
More swift than winged arrow from the bow
Thro' liquid air; each jostling each to catch
With ardent eye and eager hope, the prize.

So fares it with the youth, the man, the sage; Some fancy-pictur'd joy, some shining bait, That seems to fly them-only meant to allure Excites the throbbing bosom to exert Whate'er of powers it may; till caught at last It proves to hold a deadly barb within. Now that which sprung most vigorous caught,

is

Perhaps the master-leader of their way,
And struggles to get free; to either side
It springs among its old companions dear,
That shun it now in this severe distress:
But all in vain those struggles; thy small
strength,

Enough to glide thee swiftly thro' the deep,
Proves ineffectual here. The fisher's hand
Wrenches the barbed hook from out thy jaws,
And throws thee on thy former friends to die.

Now where the sunken rocks lie deeply hid, Cloth'd with the waving sea-weed's russet groves,

With green and crimson mix'd, and coral fans,
The residence of many an animal
That never yet has met the gazer's sight,
The delicately feeding conger lies.
His home he finds within some secret hole,
The bottom of a rocky mountain's height
That the deep sea-line can but barely reach.
Forth doth he issue when dark midnight reigns
With sparkling eyes, that glare amid the vast,
To seek his destin'd prey; but not on all
His nicer appetite will deign to feed.
They wrong him who suppose his ravening

maw

Will feed on all alike; with choicest care
The bait to catch him must be singled out,
And fasten'd to the hook with neatest art.
Tempted by this, the giant-monster comes
And in one morsel swallows down his fate.
Now stung by rage and pain he wildly roves
Midst pointed rocks, with floating herbage
crown'd,

Where scatter'd wrecks have lain for ages hid,
But drags a length of line thro' all his course.
The silver whiting and the golden bream,
Haddock and bib, weak tenants of these waves,
With double fear his hated presence fly.
Strong tho' they be, too weak his teeth are
found

To bite the line; for here the fisher's skill
Has arm'd it with a copper wire around.
Now tir'd at last his mighty bulk is drawn
Reluctantly along; and oft he turns

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And shakes his head, wild rolling in the wave.
But when at last he breathes in thinner air,
And life seems ebbing fast-not even here
Does his stern purpose slacken to escape
And be the tyrant of the depths again.
First his thin tail he gently slides above,
And fixes on the gun-wale's top its hold:
This draws his bulk along; and while the line
Employs the attention of the fisher's hand,
He plunges to the bottom whence he came.

'Tis noon of night, the full-orb'd moon at length

Hath waded thro' a sea of vapour chill
To reach heav'n's height; and now at turn of
tide

Withdrawing like a curtain, shews the scene
The low hung mist that rested on the flood
Of waters motionless, or only moving
Soft as the sleeping infant's happy breast.
The ship that gaily sail'd so swift along,
No longer moves upon the glossy waves.
Far distant off, as far as eye can ken,
East, north, and west, the high projecting rocks
And lofty mounts, silver'd with living lights,
Exult to shew the homeward voyager

His near approach to land. The glowing stars
That twinkle not, fix'd by the lunar beam,
Join in this burst of glory. The seaman's heart
Feels all the present Deity awake

Around him and within. With heaven-bred

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This mighty world of waters, where the fry
Of fish in numerous tribes can wander far,
Pursuing as in sport, by companies
'Mongst meadows of green sea-weeds, e'en to
where

The deep foundations of the mighty hills
Are laid for ever fixed and secure,

Till thy strong hand shall tear them up again. The morn creeps on, with thickening gloom surcharg❜d,

Unswept by curling breeze;
Th' enormous wave rolls heavily along
the nutbrown sails
Hang idly now, with many a doubtful swing
Vibrating like the unsteady pendulum,
As falls the vessel o'er the passing wave,
Far in the west the gathering clouds appear
Like hills and massy rocks that reach to heav'n.
Upon the chilly west they slowly mount

And seem to circumscribe the spacious world.
Cold, gloomy, damp, the increasing breeze

comes on

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Historical Observations respecting Liverpool.

And mann'd with Britain's hardiest crew, now

mark

Where in a skiff, exposed to every blast,
His bed the stones his ballast, and above
No canopy but clouds surcharg'd with rain;—
Mark the poor fisherman, with eyes half shut
And naked head expos'd, facing the blast,
That drives him like a feather on the wave,
O'er rolling surges, that now rise aloft,
Clamouring with hissing roar and deaf'ning din,
Then quick subsiding leave a horrid chasm,
In which he plunges with enormous crash,
Staggering astonish'd at the mighty blow,-
And say what heart that faints not at the sight!
But hence, far hence, low fear and pale
affright,

That make the danger they would seem to

shun:

His skilful hands, long exercised in storms,
Seizes the helm, and holds with steady grasp,
Guiding the bark before the whistling blast.
The mighty hills of moving waters heave
Their broken summits, like the towering Alps,
Snow-topp'd and black beneath, and press

around

Eager t' engulph him in their whirling wastes.
But when just ready to devour, the boat
Obeys the pilot's art, that turns the prow,
And lo! the monster's baulk'd; the Petrel's
wing
Just skims the vale between two moving bills,
And hovers near him; and the screaming gull
Anticipates his fate :-again they rise
And frown and threaten, dashing all their force
Against the side, then high they mount aloft
Whirl'd by the tempest up to meet the cloud
That falls a cataract;-and again his hand
With skill preserves his vessel from the wreck.
Amidst this rage of waves, that seems to
claim

The full attention of the bravest heart,
Th' endearing memory of a wife long lov'd,
Beyond all earthly blessings happiest far,
And healthy children, that have us'd to meet
And hail his first approach, starts on his mind,
And nestles round his heart: where are they

now?

Who knows if they shall greet him more? that thought,

A widow's aching heart, an orphan's sighs,
That often fall on unregarding ears,
Bend his great heart, and dim his eyes with
grief.

They far remov'd, and hanging o'er their

hearth

Note every whistling blast that blows without.
The mother silent fears; the children round
With artless talk lament his long delay,
And wish his presence their mamma to cheer;
But think not of the danger which she dreads.

A sound is heard, that far towards the west,
A bark is just distinguish'd by the eye,
Sometimes aloft, then hid beneath the wave
That shuts it from the anxious gazer's sight.
In a moment up she springs, with eager haste,
And flies, regardless of the beating rain
That falls relentless on her naked head.
She strains a lovely infant to her breast;
And others follow with what haste they may.

But scarce arriv'd where the long narrow road Winds round the precipice, to lead the foot Where safely may be view'd the bursting wave

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Tumbling its pond'rous weight with furious Whirl

Against the pointed cliffs, then fly afar Lash'd into foam, to join the big round drops Of falling rain, and both together mix'd Wither the herbage that they light upon; When now the boat that holds her dearest part Bears round the far projecting rocky head That shelters safely; and the breast is hush'd That fear'd to look upon the billowy flood, Lest it might witness what it could not save.

OBSERVATIONS, HISTORICAL AND DESCRIPTIVE, RESPECTING LIVERPOOL. (Concluded from col. 822.)

THE air of Liverpool has generally been deemed salubrious; and, considering the northern situation of the town, the inhabitants enjoy the advantages of a mild temperature. These benefits arise in no small degree, from its maritime situation. Warrington, which is only eighteen miles distant, and several other places adjacent, endure through the winter, degrees of cold with which Liverpool is scarcely ever visited. To this temperature, its proximity to the sea, and the influcnce of the tides, have, in no small degree, contributed. During the year 1772, the variation from the extreme of heat to that of cold, amounted to 50 degrees, extending from 78 to 28; and its mean temperature about 54.

It has been observed by Dr. Dobson, from numerous experiments which he made, relative to the soil, water, and air, of Liverpool, and from fourteen years' experience and prac tice respecting the diseases to which the inhabitants were chiefly subject, that the dryness of the soil, the purity of the water, and the mildness of the air, in connection with the antisceptic effluvia arising from pitch and tar, the exhalations from the the frequent brisk gales, and the daily visitation of the tides, rendered Liverpool one of the most healthy places in the kingdom, in proportion to the extent of its population.

sea,

In a more recent publication, entitled, "A familiar Medical Survey of Liverpool," the author observes in substance as follows: The situation of this town is peculiarly favourable to constitutions that require, and can bear, a sharp cold air; of which_description are those of nervous and relaxed habits. The persons to whom the situation of the town becomes un

1033

Historical Observations respecting Liverpool.

1034 favourable, are, those who are subject But although its merchants and trato coughs, asthmas, and other affec-ders have been chiefly engaged in tions of the breast and lungs, and commercial pursuits, the cultivation those who are consumptive. Com- of arts and letters has not been negplaints of this description are aggra-lected. vated and renewed in constitutions so inclined.

The effect which the winds generally have on the state of the weather, may be thus stated. The north-west winds are turbulent and stormy, and from this quarter they blow more than from any other, during a considerable portion of the year. Southerly winds frequently produce rain. Easterly winds are often accompanied by a serene sky. The severest cold and frost usually come with a north or north-east wind.

The soil in and near the town is dry and sandy for two miles round; and, on the northern shore particularly, a range of barren sands extends about twenty miles. But although this general character may be considered as descriptive of the soil, many exceptions are to be discovered. Between the town and Walton, there is a fine dale, which, having a rich marl under the surface, affords excellent pasturage. Several other patches and spots may also be found, exhibiting all the marks of native fertility. But barren as the soil in general is, in most places it has been much improved by cultivation; and even where this has been neglected, the soil is not unsusceptible of amendment: but it has been deemed useless to waste manure on a surface, which will, in all probability, very shortly be covered with buildings. It is well known that Lancashire has long and deservedly been proverbial for its excellent potatoes, to the growth of which, the soil is admirably adapted. In most parts this valuable root is raised in vast abundance; and the quantity demanded for shipping, as well as for local consumption, is exceedingly great.

Few towns, that claim no higher antiquity, have added, within the same space of time, more exalted names, to grace the lists of science and of arts. Various publications bear witness, that literature has been cultivated with considerable ability and success. Amidst the active concerns which engage their attention, several gentlemen, whose names might be adduced, have found leisure to attend to the study of the polite arts; and many works, which have obtained a considerable share of public approbation, claim Liverpool as their legitimate origin. "The Nurse," and "The Lives of Lorenzo di Medici, and of Leo the Tenth," will ever confer an honour on William Roscoe, Esq. "The Medical Reports," and "The Life of Robert Burns," will cause the name of Dr. Currie to be long remembered. "The Life of Poggio Bracciolini," by the Rev. Wm. Shepherd, and an elegant translation of the works of Gessner, by a Lady, are productions, which the town of Liverpool will always be proud to acknowledge.

Among the eminent natives who have paid the tribute of nature, the name of Deare, the sculptor, will be long respected. This eminent artist was born in Liverpool, on the 26th of October, 1759. His predilection for the imitative arts was strongly marked in his earlier years. Of this predilection, a pleasing monument is now in the possession of his brother. It is a miniature figure of a human skeleton, cut in wood with a penknife, when he was not more than ten years old. At the age of sixteen he went to London; and at twenty, obtained the first gold medal that was given at the New Royal Academy, Somerset - House. He was the youngest artist to whom On reviewing the historical obser- that honour had ever been awarded. vations which have been made, in this | This medal was given for the best and the preceding numbers, respect- piece of sculpture. The design, which ing Liverpool, it will instantly be per- is from Milton, is executed in alto ceived, that this is a town of no great relievo. A cast of this performance antiquity. From an obscure village, is now in the possession of Mr. Samuel frequented by a few vessels, and inha-Franceys, sculptor, in Liverpool. bited by fishermen, it has attained its present exalted pre-eminence in commercial importance, through the bold and enterprising spirit of its inhabitants.

No. 33. Vol. III.

Shortly after Mr. Deare obtained this honour, he, with several other young men of promising talents, was sent out by the Royal Academy, to pursue his studies at Rome, in which place 3 U

1035

Historical Observations respecting Liverpool.

he spent the principal part of his life, and at which place he died, on the 17th of August, 1798, of a malignant fever, in the 39th year of his age. His best performances have therefore been destined to adorn foreign cabinets, on which account his name is but imperfectly known in England; but from the reports of competent judges, he has a right to claim a place in the foremost ranks of our eminent artists, and some have not hesitated to call him the first sculptor that this country has ever produced.

Of this eminent artist, George Cumberland, Esq. in the Monthly Magazine, gives the following character. "And here let me pause, and drop a tear over the recollection of an artist, whose good nature, hilarity, generosity, and candour, could only be equalled by his delicate taste, profound knowledge, exquisite skill, and unrivalled exertions; a man, that, had he been encouraged to come home, or kindly treated by those who sent him out, would have reflected honour on the art of sculpture; for he made a distinct study of every part of this art, and was as recherchè in hair as in drapery, as great in drawing and modelling as in sculpture, wholly devoted to fame, to freedom, and the arts. Nor will it be considered as a slight proof of the fact which I mention, that the inimitable Canova beheld his productions with respect, and that even good painters came to him for advice and correction.

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1036

instant the cloth was removed, to Monte Dagone, a deserted villa, belonging to Prince Borghese, of which I had the keys, that he might there press off one of the side locks of the famous Antinous, not having been able, from his own correct drawing of it, to give any thing like its character to the hair of a French lady, whose bust he was executing. We went thither; he stole the impression, and returned in raptures to Rome on foot the same evening.

"Such, alas! was the artist whom the Academy abandoned and forgot." In the year 1724, Liverpool had the honour of giving birth to George Stubbs, who was long distinguished for his eminence as a painter of animals. Of the works which he completed, "the Lion and the Horse," "the Lion and Stag," and "the Brood Mares," were the most celebrated. Having devoted much labour to the practice and study of comparative anatomy, in 1766 he published a magnificent and highly esteemed work, on the anatomy of the horse. This publication was the result of observations made by himself during a long course of dissecting; the drawings and engravings having been all made with his own hand. At the time of his death, which took place in July, 1806, Mr. Stubbs had completed both the anatomical preparations and the drawings, for a work on the structure of the human body, compared with that of a tiger and a fowl. Of this work, containing fifteen "Such a one was Deare, whose plates, about one half only was pubchief works went to France, and whose lished. This author and artist conchisel is scarcely known in England, tinued to pursue his professional occuexcept in Sir Richard Worsley's col-pations to the close of life, which did lections, where his Marine Venus will not terminate until he was past fourshew a hand, that, when alone dis- score. closed, has often been, even among artists, taken for an antique."

The following anecdote, given by Cumberland, will better display Deare's zeal for his art, than a volume of panegyric.

66

Being at dinner at Grotto Ferrata, where I passed my summer to avoid the heat of Rome, in one of the warmest days I ever remember, he arrived on foot, in company with a formatore, (a plaster caster) having carried by turns, for seventeen miles, about 20 pounds of clay, and a bag of plaster of Paris. Dinner was just served, but he would not come up to partake of it, until I first promised to drive him, the

Toxteth Park, contiguous to Liverpool, had the honour, in 1619, of giving birth to Jeremiah Horrox, who, after being a student of Emanuel College, Cambridge, began, about 1633, to apply himself to the study of astronomy, in which, although he laboured under many local disadvantages, he made great proficiency, and acquired fame. In 1636 he formed an acquaintance with Mr. William Crabtree, of Broughton, near Manchester, whose kindred spirit led him to prosecute the same studies. Scarcely, however, had Mr. Horrox entered on his discoveries, before he was suddenly arrested by the hand of death, when he was

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