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. Hov [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 Hail! lovely month! on whose fair train await The tender blushing dawn and milder day. Printless thy step! And oh! thy breath how sweet! When o'er the smiling meads, or through the woods 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; And thou, spirit of life, of rosy cheek, Live in all life, and in all motion move. • With custom'd rites, deriv'd from ancient Rome, 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 The The ousel, lone frequenter of the grove A lowly dwelling, hid beneath a turf, Or hollow trodden by the sinking hoof; Songster of heaven! who to the sun such lays Which age has caverned, safely courts repose: Roofs o'er her curious nest with firm-wreath'd twigs, And sidelong forms her cautious door; she dreads 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! 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; In mealy order rang'd. Loquacious he Each name recounts in lengthened tale, and boasts See, every teeming branch empurpled swells. 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 G 2 some |