If any thing could prevent our laughing at the present collection of absurdities, it would be a lamentable conviction of the blinding and engrossing nature of vanity. We could forgive the folly of the original composition, but cannot but marvel at the egotism which has preserved, and the conceit which has published. What exaggerated notion must that man entertain of his talents, who believes their slightest efforts worthy of remembrance; one who keeps a copy of the verses he writes in young ladies' albums, the proverbial receptacles for trash! Here and there a sweet and natural thought intervenes; but the chief part is best characterized by that expressive though ungracious word "rubbish." And what could induce our author to trench on the masculine and vigorous Crabbe? did he think his powerful and dark outlines might with advantage be turned to "prettiness and favour?" But let our readers judge from the following specimens. The first is from the album of Mrs. Jane Towers. "Conjecturing, I wander in the dark, I know thee only sister to Charles Clarke!" Directions for a picture-- "You wished a picture, cheap, but good; The colouring? decent; clear, not muddy; To suit a poet's quiet study." The subject is a child-- "Thrusting his fingers in his ears, Like Obstinate, that perverse funny one, In honest parable of Bunyan." We were not aware of "Obstinate's" fun before. An epitaph:-- "On her bones the turf lie lightly, And her rise again be brightly! No dark stain be found upon her-- No, there will not, on mine honour-- Answer that at least I can." Or what is the merit of the ensuing epicedium? [Quotes 48 lines beginning:-- There's rich Kitty Wheatley, With footing it featly, etc.] Mr. Lamb, in his dedication, says his motive for publishing is to benefit his publisher, by affording him an opportunity of shewing how he means to bring out works. We could have dispensed with the specimen; though it is but justice to remark on the neat manner in which the work is produced: the title-page is especially pretty.--_The Literary Gazette_. WALTER SAVAGE LANDOR _Gebir; a Poem, in Seven Books_. 12mo. 74 pp. Rivingtons. 1798. How this Poem, which appears to issue from the same publishers as our own work, so long escaped our notice, we cannot say. Still less are we able to guess at the author, or his meaning. In a copy lately lent to us, as a matter we had overlooked, we observe the following very apposite quotation, inscribed on the title-page, by some unknown hand: Some love the verse---- Which read, and read, you raise your eyes in doubt, And gravely wonder what it is about.