The Monthly Review, Or, Literary Journal, Volume 52
Ralph Griffiths, G. E. Griffiths
R. Griffiths, 1775 - Books
A monthly book announcement and review journal. Considered to be the first periodical in England to offer reviews. In each issue the longer reviews are in the front section followed by short reviews of lesser works. It featured the novelist and poet Oliver Goldsmith as an early contributor. Griffiths himself, and likely his wife Isabella Griffiths, contributed review articles to the periodical. Later contributors included Dr. Charles Burney, John Cleland, Theophilus Cibber, James Grainger, Anna Letitia Barbauld, Elizabeth Moody, and Tobias Smollet.
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Page 378 - There at the foot of yonder nodding beech That wreathes its old fantastic roots so high, His listless length at noontide would he stretch, And pore upon the brook that babbles by.
Page 545 - Over this they would wander without a possibility of restraint; they would change their manners with the habits of their life; would soon forget a government by which they were disowned; would become hordes of English Tartars ; and pouring down upon your unfortified frontiers a fierce and irresistible cavalry, become masters of your governors and your...
Page 544 - ... when I reflect upon these effects, when I see how profitable they have been to us, I feel all the pride of power sink, and all presumption in the wisdom of human contrivances melt and die away within me. My rigor relents. I pardon something to the spirit of liberty.
Page 352 - Dear as the ruddy drops that warm my heart, Ye died amidst your dying country's cries — No more I weep : they do not sleep ! On yonder cliffs, a grisly band, I see them sit; they linger yet Avengers of their native land : With me in dreadful harmony they join, And weave with bloody hands the tissue of thy line.
Page 542 - ... cementing principle. My plan, therefore, being formed upon the most simple grounds imaginable, may disappoint some people when they hear it. It has nothing to recommend it to the pruriency of curious ears. There is nothing at all new and captivating in it. It has nothing of the splendor of the project which has been lately laid upon your table by the noble lord in the blue ribbon.
Page 352 - Thro' the azure deep of air : Yet oft before his infant eyes would run Such forms as glitter in the Muse's ray, With orient hues, unborrow'd of the sun : Yet shall he mount, and keep his distant way Beyond the limits of a vulgar fate, Beneath the Good how far — but far above the Great. THE BARD. A Pindaric Ode. I. i. seize thee, ruthless King ! Confusion on thy banners wait ; Tho' fann'd by Conquest's crimson wing, They mock the air with idle state.
Page 60 - I sat down on a bank, such as a writer of Romance might have delighted to feign. I had indeed no trees to whisper over my head, but a clear rivulet streamed at my feet. The day was calm, the air soft, and all was rudeness, silence, and solitude.
Page 543 - For some time past, the old world has been fed from the new. The scarcity which you have felt would have been a desolating famine, if this child of your old age, with a true filial piety, with a Roman charity, had not put the full breast of its youthful exuberance to the mouth of its exhausted parent.
Page 544 - I contemplate these things; when I know that the colonies in general owe little or nothing to any care of ours, and that they are not squeezed into this happy form by the constraints of watchful and suspicious government, but that, through a wise and salutary neglect, a generous nature has been suffered to take her own way to perfection...