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 heavy hand. For instance, with a pair of gloves to a young lady he sends some lines beginning:

He invokes the Muses, celebrates various nymphs, apostrophizes Hebe, Apollo, Terpsichore, Pallas and numerous other gods and goddesses, and capitalizes Fancy, Hope and so on, all in the good old way. He castigates the follies of the times, especially the freedom with which young ladies display their charms; decries the wine-bibber and exalts the drinker of water; writes at length (fifty pages) of a family excursion to Saratoga; tells of his sorrow at the death of his wife, and includes a few translations from classic poets.

In a word, the volume is entirely characteristic of the times, when writing verses was a sort of courtly accomplishment with which the gravest men were supposed to amuse their leisure hours. That it was often a painful amusement is witnessed by Dr. Moore himself, for he explains that his poems were not heedlessly thrown off, but cost him much time and thought, and were, carefully and correctly composed. It is