world, is it to impute a species of simoniacal baseness of inteution to every man who deals in Religion. On the contrary, we fully believe, that many enterprises similar to that of which the volumes before us are specimens, have been undertaken from motives altogether becoming to a Christian man of business. And, to say truth, we have good reason to believe that this is actually the case in the present instance.

The form of these republications is commodious, the price reasonable, and their appearance creditable to the parties engaged in the work. It is neither with the merits of the Authors chosen, nor with the propriety of the choice, that we need concern ourselves here; for, in such undertakings, it is the public, not the publishers, that really makes the choice; and it is, in fact, the voice of the mass of readers that thus breathes into our past writers the breath of a second life. To that part of the plan which regards the Introductory Essays, we might object on several grounds; yet, after all, if this sort of flourish of trumpets is found to promote the circulation of good books, perhaps we should not do well to be angry. But certainly, consulting our own feelings, we should at once say, that these expedients of the school of " Day and Martin," of Bish and Hazard, are inexpedient, and, in the end, injurious to the cause they are in. tended to serve, and perhaps, also, in some slight degree, to the respectable names that are borrowed for the occasion. We have read with great pleasure these Essays by Dr. Chalmers and Mr. Erskine ;-they are quite equal to what these writers might be expected to produce under the given circumstances of requisition, and limitation, and task-work, But, though twenty or thirty pages of the full-toned writing of the one, or of the vigorous reasoning of the other, will certainly gratify the reader-meet with it where he may-yet, he feels that the "Essay" has the slenderest connexion possible with the book to which it is prefixed; that it yields him no important aid in the perusal of the Author, and, in a word, that the true and sole reason why it is there, is because the words With an Introductory Essay by, &c.' must appear in the title-page. Now we think that the feeling of this sort of trick having been played upon them, will disgust a greater proportion of readers than the publisher has reckoned for in his calculation. For example; in projecting the scheme, he may have presumed that one reader in five hundred would understand the thing just as he understands it-as a mere means of pushing the sale of the books, but that the four hundred and ninety-nine would take it all for good. Now we verily believe that, supposing the lowest class of readers to be excluded from the estimate, (and such are not the purchasers of works of this sort,) these tricks of trade

are now understood by, and offensive to, three fourths, or perhaps one half of the reading public in England. And being, therefore, understood, they are worse than useless. There is no prejudice which traders in wares of every sort, cling to more fondly, than the notion, that all the world but themselves may be gulled; yet, it is a prejudice that must be discarded by all but purblind understandings and sordid tempers. For our own parts, we confess that we indulge the hope that, if knowledge holds on its course among us, charlatanism, in all trades, will find that it has done its work,-and that it must die.

We have ventured this hint to the publishers of this series of religious classics. Perhaps they may find that, having gained circulation for the work, no other means are requisite to secure the public favour, than the continued exercise of a sound discretion in the selection of their authors, and of the pains and cost which have made the undertaking hitherto creditable and advantageous to themselves...

Art. VII. 1. The Enchanted Flute, with other Poems; and Fables from La Fontaine. By E. P. Wolferstan. 8vo. pp. 440. Price 12s. London, 1823.

2. Eugenia: a Poem. In four Cantos. By E. P. Wolferstan. 8vo. pp. 62. Price 3s. 6d. London, 1824.

A FONTAINE, had he written nothing but his fables, would be a poet which we might almost envy the French. He is our Gay with more vivacity and point, Swift, with more playfulness, amiableness, and grace, but he has a character distinct from either, inasmuch as he is perfectly French. Perhaps, our Peter Pindar comes the nearest to his style of humour, as well as his freedom of versification; and if the topics he had chosen had been less identified with the political scandal of the day, his works, cleaned and weeded, would have deserved a higher place than they can now maintain in that class of English poetry.

Mrs. Wolferstan (we believe we are correct in so designating her) has adventured on a difficult task. We have always considered La Fontaine as untranslatable-unless by Dr. Wolcot; but we frankly admit, that she has executed many of these fables with equal fidelity and spirit. If she will pardon our not giving the preference to her original poetry, we are willing to assign her no ordinary merit as a translator, and we think that these Fables will very generally and deservedly please. Every one recollects La Fontaine's fable of the Grasshopper and the Ant, the first in his book, beginning

Le cigale, ayant chanté
Tout l'été,

Se trouva fort depourvue,

Quand la bise fut venue,' &c.

Save and except the silver song' assigned to the insect, and the cheering influence ascribed to it, we think the fable very happily rendered as follows:

THE GRASSHOPPER AND ANT.

A Grasshopper, whose silver song
Had cheer'd the fields the Summer long,
A sad reverse of fortune knew

When the chill winds of Winter blew ;
For not an atom could she find
Of Fly or Worm of any kind.
At length she went, compell'd by want,
To the snug dwelling of the Ant,
Entreating her as neighbour, friend,
A small supply of grain to lend;
Just to support her fainting frame,
Till future, happier seasons came.
"Trust me," she cried, "I'll pay you all,
"Both interest and principal,

"If there is faith in Animal."

The Ant, who never was a Lender,

For which some worthy souls commend her,
Just ask'd the Borrower her employment
In Summer." O! 'tis all enjoyment!
"One changeless course of pure delight!
"I sing by day, I sing by night!"
"Indeed! how very gay and pleasant!
"Well then, suppose you dance at present."

pp. 150-151. The following spirited version of Le Rat de ville et le Rut 'des champs,' is more free, and yet true to the spirit of the original.

THE TOWN AND COUNTRY MOUSE,

A London Mouse of noble race

Sent to invite his Country Cousin

To dine with him in Grosvenor Place,

On crumbs of Cake-their Rump and Dozen.
Spread on a Turkey-carpet lay
The rich, Epicurean treasure;
I leave to Fancy to portray
The happy meeting at her leisure.

'O fly not yet! 'tis just the hour

For little Mice who love the Moon!
But Pleasure, like a midnight flower,
Just peeps and smiles, then closes soon.

"Hark! heard you not that op'ning door?"
The Mouse of London cried, and started-
They staid not for one warning more,
But with the lightning's speed departed.
"All, said the host, "again at rest,
"We'll finish our repast, however."
"Alas!" replied the rustic guest,

My appetite seems gone for ever.

"But ere to-morrow's moon shall cease,
"Come and partake my frugal diet;
"I boast not luxuries like these,
"Ambitious most of ease and quiet.

"My scrap of cheese, my barley-meal,
"I eat in peace, enjoy at leisure,

"And taste delight we cannot feel

"When terror mingles with the pleasure!"

pp. 165–166.

The Rats in Council' is a very free translation; but our readers will not be the less pleased with it.

. THE RATS IN COUNCIL.

A certain Cat, one Kouli Khan by name,
Dealt to the Rats so many a mortal blow,
It seem'd his namesake, once of murd❜rous fame,
Did on his teeth and claws some charm bestow;
He sent such thousands to the shades below.
The poor surviving remnant dared not stray,
Dared not forsake their holes by night or day.
Such skeletons they were, that could you see 'em,
You'd think them subjects meet for a museum.
Now Superstition is the child of Fear,

In Rats perhaps as man;

For this redoubted Kouli Khan

They thought a demon from the nether sphere.
At length it did arrive

That he was gone to wive,

Or to a rabbit-warren rambled forth,
As gentlemen go shooting to the North.
O! these were halcyon days!

But that Destruction's sword,
Suspended by a cobweb cord,

Darted on ev'ry fur-clad head its glancing rays.
A Parliament was called the case to treat on,
And all the worthy members not yet eaten,
Soon fill'd their station,

Happy again to meet,

To take their oaths and seat,

And quarrel o'er the miseries of the Nation.

Vol. XXII. N.S.

2 X

A Rat of eloquence-one who could measure ye
Six hours upon his legs,

Descanting on the Weasel sucking eggs,
Arose, and begg'd the Barn would give attention
To something he had come prepared to mention.
He was, as any member there,

Free to declare,

That, spite of all that Ministers could plan,
The Nation suffered from this Kouli Khan.
But he had now a measure to disclose
That Opposition's self dared not oppose.
("Hear! hear!" not quite unmix'd with laughter,
Came from the opposition rafter,)

And then he pledg'd himself in words pathetic,
And tone and manner truly energetic,

Did they but act as he should urge,

To free his Country, his dear Country, from the scourge.

He did propose to hang a Bell

Around the neck of this strange Imp of Hell;

And by that simple toy's assistance,

They should descry him at a distance:
Then who so cowardly to fear him,
When ev'ry Rat alive might hear him?
The counsel met with loud applause;
And such the universal joy,

The rafters rattled with their claws.

How will not Hope the spirits buoy!

They seem'd a tribe of children loos'd from school,
Or auncient England's Nobles at misrule.
Silence at length restored-they ask
What friend will undertake the task,
Who his dear Country loved so well,
Just simply to tie on the Bell!
Alas! tho each a patriot hearty,
They found no Curtius of the party.
One wanted strength, another skill;
This Rat was nervous, that was ill.
And thus this admirable scheme,

So well imagin'd, so profound,
Prov'd nothing better than a dream,
And fell (hard fortune!) to the ground.
The Bill, to use the words they said.
Was this day six months to be read.
But let us nurse and keep it warm,
'Tis so like Radical Reform:

Something, that who attempts shall rue it-
Fine-but impossible to do it.
Now, laying Politics aside,
A simpler Moral we'll provide.