ng and mysterious incidents, and intellectual riches,
this work is almost unparalleled in our language; and, observes an
elegant critic, "the narrative sweeps along, like a mild and glassy river
winding through banks of the most brilliant verdure, sometimes sparkling
and bubbling to the sunshine of fancy, and at intervals solemnly gliding
on with a deep under-current of philosophy."

The contributions of Mr. Moore to one of the most powerful of the London
journals are too well recognised by the public to require further than a
passing notice of their being recently published in an elegant little
volume, entitled "Odes upon Cash, Corn, Catholics, and other Matters;"
and we believe them to be entitled by their raciness and humour to a
niche in the library, beyond the destructible form of a newspaper.

In this brief Memoir, we have little more than glanced at Mr. Moore's
several works, and the periods of their publication; although we could
crowd our pages with the highest testimonials of their poetical and
literary merits. Much as we admire "his wit, his festive merriment, and
inimitable satires, and the ingenious imagery, and the elaborate melody
and finish of every period of his prose"--we are disposed to think him
pre-eminently successful in delineating the plaintive and pensive woes
of deep and settled melancholy: thus--

As a beam o'er the face of the waters may glow,
While the tide runs in darkness and coldness below;
So the cheek may be tinged with a warm sunny smile,
Though the cold heart to ruin runs darkly the while.

We have already noticed the taste of Mr. Moore for music. "Nor has he
neglected those more solid attainments which should ever distinguish the
well-bred gentleman, for he is an excellent general scholar, and
particularly well-read in the literature of the middle ages. His
conversational powers are great, and his modest and unassuming manners
have placed him in the highest rank of cultivated society." Although his
reputation is so well established, he speaks of himself with his wonted
modesty. "Whatever fame he might have acquired he attributed principally
to the verses which he had adapted to the delicious strains of Irish
melody. His verses, in themselves, could boast of but little merit; but
like flies preserved in amber, they were esteemed in consequence of the
precious material by which they were surrounded."

Sheridan, in speaking of the subject of this memoir, said "That there