Thus, I would proceed to particularize the faults of my other friends; but I must reserve this for some future time.

Yours, &c.

G. H.

LINES Occasioned by hearing a lady sing in the tower of Montevideo-the seat oî D. W******** Esq. of Hartford:

The soft dews of twilight are steeping the plain

And gemming the boughs of the willow-
The eve-star is lighting its twinkle again
To shine on the foam of the billow-

The south breeze is brushing the breast of the lake
That swells with the soft heaving motion,

And its ripple is heard on the pebbles to break
Like the slumbering wave of the ocean-

The gale on its pinions of gossamer flies
Through the boughs of the low bending willow,
And sweeping the forest, it mournfully sighs
O'er the turf of my flowery pillow,-

It bears on its wing, from the dark lonely tow'r,
O'er the mead and the wave's "playful motion"
The song of the maid, who at eve's balmy hour
Sings her sweet, breathing strain of devotion :

Like the hymn of a seraph, it floats through the grove
And sighs o'er the slope of the mountain;

How sweet-how enchanting its warble of love-
How it lulls, like the flow of the fountain.

As I listen, I fancy the dew-dropping cloud
That glows with a "lovely tomorrow"

An angel conceals, in its ebony shroud,
Whose harp breathes her accent of sorrow.

C. E.

THE FLOWER OF THE VALLEY-A SONG.
SWEET flower of the valley, why droop'st thou so low,
Ah! why is thy beauty all faded and gone,

Ah! who could destroy thee-who wield the sad blow-
Who rifle thy charms in their earliest dawn?

So gay was the morning, that rose as you blew-
So fragrant the zephyrs, that flutter'd around--

So soft did'st thou smile through thy mantle of dew,
No lovelier flower in the valley was found.

But see, on the turf all thy beauties are laid,

Thy leaves--they are scatter'd, thy sweetness is gone,
Thy colours-once gay as the rainbow-now fade
As fast, as the hues that enliven the dawn.

Sweet flower! once the sweetest that bloom'd in the vale-
Sweet flower! we will weep, for thy beauties are fled-
For those charms that are gone, we will pour the sad wail
And chaunt o'er thy ruins the dirge of the dead.

ALFRED,

THE BOWER-A SONNET.
Retreat of Innocence! receive my form→→→
The form of one who wishes for repose,
And asks a pillow, where his eyes may close-
Where he may slumber safe from earthly harm:
And oh! within thy shade, where every charm
Of nature wantons on the dewy rose,
Where sweetest musick on the zephyr flows-
E'en now I feel my chilly heart grow warm:
Sure angels might repose in such a bow'r,
No stain of earth might dim their purity-
Here slumbering at the even's quiet hour
The dew of innocence might o'er them lie,

While heav'nly harps a seraph strain might pour,
And raise the listener's soul to ecstacy.

C.

MESSRS. EDITors,

THE following lines were composed on reading the interesting story of Olivia, in the tenth number of the Microscope, and are at your disposal.

Ah; hapless Olivia! thy fate was severe,

Yours &c. D.

And humanity drops, o'er thy story, a tear.
But why this emotion ?-Compassion, begone!
'Tis a picture of sorrow that Fancy hath drawn ;

For Virtue dejected can never decay,

Nor, fair as the rainbow, as soon pass away.
While she mourns the lost pleasures of mutual love,
She hears a kind voice whisper peace from above:

By keen disappointment with sadness oppress'd,
She admits not despair to a seat in her breast;
But the bright beam of hope shines anew on her eyes,
Not reflected from earth-but direct from the skies.

THE MICROSCOPE.

EDITED BY A FRATERNITY OF GENTLEMEN.

NEW-HAVEN, (Conn.) PUBLISHED BY A. H. MALTBY & CO.

AMONG the censures cast upon our countrymen by European writers, one of the most prominent, is, that we are destitute of correct taste. Candid men, on the Eastern side of the Atlantic, admit that we have good sense, sprightly imagination, and sufficient energy of character. But they observe, that a bad taste is conspicuous in such of our writings, as fall under their inspection. To a considerable extent, the censure will by a candid American be admitted to be just.

Writing in the United States has never become a professional employment. Scarcely, half a dozen men have commenced authors in form, and expected to acquire subsistence by their pens. Men in this country, write in almost all instances, in order to accomplish or advance some incidental purpose; an object presented by their own business, and not a mere spirit of speculation in learning or science. The Divine, publishes sermons on matters of controversy; the Physician, gives an account of some peculiar disease, with which he has met in the course of his practice; the Politician, issues a Pamphlet, intended to promote the interests of his party; and occasionally, an individual, or an association of men, offer their lucubrations to the public, in the form of a Magazine. We have published a few books not included in this catalogue. Among them, are several historical, theological, medical, and

political productions, which have been well received by the public, and are certainly works of merit.

Book-making, if I may be allowed so awkward an expression, is not the mere result of genius and learning. It is also an art; and like all other arts, is acquired chiefly by experience. It ought not to be expected, therefore, that it should be well understood by persons, who like most American writers, have made it an object of very little attention. Good sense, will be displayed of course, by every writer possessed of sound understanding and vigorous phraseology. But a book written with a strict attention to those numerous proprieties, which enter into the character of a correct composition, is scarcely to be expected from him, who has not made writing an object of considerable study and practice. But this is true of very few Americans, if we compare their number with that of professed authors, in most European countries. In Europe, making books is a professional employment; and in most of the countries which it contains, multitudes spend life in no other business.

This difference of circumstances, will certainly go far towards explaining the imperfection, whatever it may be, which is attributable to American books. But there is another consideration, which has an extensive influence upon this subject. Almost all men in these States are men of business; each being engaged in a variety of active pursuits, from which he expects his subsistence, his reputation, and his influence. Among these, none are more busied than men of superior talents. Such men, therefore, are perhaps, even more rarely than most others, furnished with the leisure that is indispensable to a pursuit, which naturally requires a complete command of the best opportunities, and of all the powers that they need. Hence, such men are in this country not often found in the catalogue of authors.

Still it must be acknowledged, that errours as well as defects, which cannot be attributed to these causes, are certainly conspicuous in many of the literary productions of this country and among them the cause which has been mentioned in the begin

ning of this paper on many occasions we certainly discover a want of a correct taste.

There are two kinds of style; one of which may be named Logical, and the other Rhetorical; and which may be fairly considered as including all other divisions of this subject. By a logical style, I intend that which is employed with propriety in communicating truth and argument. By a Rhetorical style, that which with similar propriety is adopted for the purpose of presenting images to the fancy or making impressions on the heart. The reigning qualities in a good logical style, are perspicuity and precision; the prominent ones in a good Rhetorical style, are elegance and strength.

A logical style, is by its very nature incapable of admitting, generally at least, any high degrees of ornament. Its prime excellence, unquestionably consists, in being a simple, clear, exact, and likewise an apparently artless enunciation of the writers thoughts. At the same time, it should be neat, unclogged with useless words, phrases, or circumstances. The sentences ought to be clearly and happily arranged, free from every thing which is harsh, and so far possessed of melody, as on this account to be read with pleasure, and not with disgust.

Precision is the highest excellence of all style, and the most difficult to be acquired. The whole force of an image of the fancy, or a feeling of the heart, can never be communicated, and of course can never be felt, unless the language in which it is presented, be such as exactly to delineate the image, or to express the feeling. In a logical style it is however of still higher importance. In the strict sense, we can never be said to communicate truth, unless we communicate it exactly; and for this purpose, nothing will suf fice, but absolute precision in our language. As truth is of immeasurable importance, precision of style, wherever this is the great object, must plainly possess a proportional value.

There is another high excellence in logical style, which seems to have engrossed less attention, than it deserves. This consists in the use of such phraseology, as contributes to diffuse over our discussions a general air of moderation and can