citing the detestation of the inhabitants wherever thus robbed and abused. The internal defects of Russia, the absolute state of nature and of undeveloped resources of many of its vast provinces, may be illustrated by the fact, that there are no such things as we understand in this country by the term roads; the tracks being marked merely by verst-posts, without fencing, draining, or a single shovelfull of material laid down. "When the Emperor is going to travel, instructions are sent to the governors of the different provinces through which he intends to pass to put the track in some sort of repair: should this circumstance chance to occur in the middle of harvest, the peasants are obliged to leave the crops and set to work." How striking are the indications which we are noticing of the weakness, the backward condition, and the tyranny which characterize the empire! Even the workmen employed at the instance of government, and for public purposes, are comparatively profitless and inefficient. The difficulties attending such undertakings in Russia, says the Captain, are increased by the scanty number of good artificers; the greater part of those employed being soldiers, who, originally serfs, and not brought up to any trade, make but poor workmen. He says, This I saw strongly illustrated in the removal of the hill on the site of which the Admiralty is to be erected. Upwards of 4,000 men, taken from the garrison, were at work to effect this. Very few had even hand-barrows; the majority were carrying away the earth in their coat-tails, and in bags about as large as those used by hackney-coachmen in feeding their horses. Their movements were slow and spiritless, and they seemed to be almost incapable of great exertion. Those who are entirely under Colonel U.'s control, and obliged to use the wheel-barrows he has made, could with difficulty be brought to see the benefit of them; but once satisfied on the subject, these articles were regularly fought for, as they work by task. The want of common energy exbibited by these men is easily understood. The Government allowance of fourpence a day, which they are supposed to receive, is put into the "caisse d'épargnes," (stock-purse,) from which few of them ever reap any benefit; at any rate, the prospect of doing so on discharge is too remote be a stimulus to their exertions; whereas if the money was paid into their hands at the time, it would be an incentive to their industry. The pumps which clear the cofferdams at the Admiralty quay were worked by deserters. All persons travelling in this country without passports are considered vagabonds, and are also liable to be so employed. We must now dismiss Captain Jesse's well-written and informing volumes. Our extracts have carried us very widely away from the scenes and the subjects of Lieutenant De Butts's "Rambles," although we were pleased to join the two works together for certain slight reasons. But not more different is the nature of the passages quoted, than is the policy observed towards the people of Russia, as compared with that which distinguishes the government of the crown colony of Ceylon. Even the Rhodians, whom the Cingalese used as badly and abhorred as deeply as ever the Pariahs were in India, have become attached to the British rule by the kindness shown to them; and being protected, encouraged, and made the objects of humane treatment, their civilization will no doubt follow; and therefore Queen Victoria has more cause to be proud of her subjects, and her throne is far more secure than that of the Emperor Nicholas, with his millions of serfs, and the splendours of a corrupt court. ART. XV.-Charles Swain's Poetical Works; including "The Mind," and other Poems. Tilt. A LARGE volume, "with numerous Illustrations in the style of Rogers' Italy," &c.: in other words, a publisher, that is to say, the public-when genuine poetry in the estimation of the many is a drug, and, what is worse, when everybody that writes essays to compose verses to the disgust of the tasteful and discerning-has been ready to receive and to appreciate a large, an ornate, and an expensive volume, filled with poetic pieces, just as that same public has welcomed and stamped with its approbation the works of other living men of genius. What need for more evidence of the quality of the present effusions than the facts at which we have glanced? Certainly Swain's poetry must be "made of the right materials;" otherwise how could these things be? A collection of poems, many of which have passed through several editions, may be regarded as beyond the pale of any critical remarks, however brief these remarks may be. Still, an author who is assuredly destined not only to maintain an honourable rank among the acknowledged bards of the age, but to be quoted with gratefulness by posterity, is deserving of special notice when he appears in an attractive dress, and claims so much attention as the volume before us rightfully does. Well then, Charles Swain, who, Southey says," was born to be a poet," proves the character of his vocation by the following evidences:-he is in earnest and he is sincere; he is tender and he is impassioned as the occasion may require; his taste is highly refined, and his mind is well cultured, but the poetic temperament sways his acquirements,-it is not made artificial by them. Sense-that which addresses itself directly to the heart and to the imagination-is of far more avail in his estimation than sound, albeit his sounds are melodious and singularly elegant-often rich like his fancies-always in harmony with his theme. Take, for example, his poem "The Mind," which is composed in the cumbrous, yet stately and beautiful measure of Spenser; a poem, too, of that reflective cast which it is difficult to enliven by means of narrative or illustration, and you will find a powerful and an attractive production; while you are made to feel how strong and direct is the dominion of mind, in every, even the loftiest regions, be these of science or art, morals or religion, or in whatever sphere most fondly and mightily it expatiates and demonstrates man's immortal nature. We cannot do better than to introduce a few specimens, although these must be familiar to many of the lovers of genuine poetry, by quoting from Wheeler's History of Manchester the following biographical particulars. "Charles Swain is, by birth, education, association, and feeling, a Manchester Man.' He was born in October, 1803, his father being a native of Knutsford, or its neighbourhood, and his mother of Amsterdam. He was sent in due time a pupil to the Rev. W. Jones, who conducted a well-supported school in George-street: under that gentleman his scholastic education begun and ended. At the early age of fourteen, his father having been dead eight years, Swain was put into the dye-works of his uncle, Mr. Tavaré, under whom, with what philosophy he might, the aspiring young man pursued the unpoetical avocation of a dyer for fourteen years. But, not to say it jestingly, dyeing was, and ever had been, uncongenial to the tastes of Charles Swain: he had caught a glimpse of Parnassus, and he longed to climb its dizzy height. While yet so young, he may be said to have been an imitator of the swan; for as that fair bird sings itself to death, so Swain whilst dyeing was ever tuning his harp in praise of the muses. He first appeared in print in the pages of the Manchester Iris, in some verses dedicated to Thalia. Three years subsequently, namely in March, 1825, a poem bearing his initials, and entitled 'The Escaped Convict,' graced the pages of the Literary Gazette; and from that time he contributed liberally to several of the magazines and other periodicals of the day. In 1827 he brought together these fugitive performances in a volume, 'Metrical Essays on Subjects of History and Imagination,' About the year 1830 he published his Beauties of the Mind,' which in 1832 he republished in a revised and expanded form under the title of 'The Mind, and other Poems.' In the same year he also sent forth a little Poem of great merit on the death of Sir Walter Scott, entitled 'Dryburgh Abbey.' This production may be safely said to have travelled over the world, the booksellers of the Continent and America having eagerly laid hold of and republished it. The 'Metrical Essays' elicited a warm and general eulogium from the metropolitan and provincial press; but The Mind' stamped Charles Swain's reputation in the literary world. Southey has said of it and of its author, 'Swain's poetry is made of the right materials. If ever man were born to be a poet he was; and if Manchester is not proud of him yet, the time will certainly come when it will be so.' Charles Swain, it has already been remarked, was averse to dyeing. He hated logwood and turkey-red preparations; and it would seem the atmosphere of a dye-house (to him verily a lazar-house of many woes), with its pestilent air inhaled during the day in conjunction with the oil of a midnight to closely adhered to, so shattered his health, that he was necessitated to change his pursuits. His constitution was, in fact, seriously deranged and as a lighter and more genial occupation, he located himself in a bookseller's shop, in partnership with Mr. Dewhurst. After a two years' trial, however, this undertaking was abandoned, and Mr. Swain has latterly entered the world as an engraver and lithographer." These biographical notices and the samples of Mr. Swain's effusions which we are now to quote, must be interesting to candidates for poetic fame. The pieces should also show to the young, that mere fluency, and melodious versification have not been the Manchester man's chief merits; and that without more sterling and rare qualities no one need flatter himself with the hope of being read in second and third editions. Our first specimen is called the "Village Queen," and has for its motto two lines from Mrs. Hemans. But its tenderness is truer and less sickly than most of the touching verses even of that lady.— The nuts hang ripe upon the chesnut boughs; And the rich stars send forth their clear blue light, O'er glistening leaves, and flowers that, fond as love, My spirit wakes 'mid sad remembrances Her home was small, but very beautiful: An orphan youth, The offspring of a distant relative, Dwelt with the aged matron and her child, Whose life was simple as the wilding broom, Which knows no change, and sets but o'er the tomb; And perished in his crimes! Sweet Eleanor ! Pale, blighted girl! she wither'd fast, like those Which might not hold them long-a mother's heart! Oh! youth is like the emerald which throws Do you behold where the lone rising moon The "Village of Scheveningen" is in a different and more powerful style. It is dashed off with a force analagous to the scene described : A startling sound by night was heard |