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LITERARY CRITICISM.

AMERICAN NEWSPAPERS.-The Cherokee Phanix. New
Echota.
York Evening Post. For July 1829. New York.
Michael Burnham & Co.

PRICE 6d.

This

and structure of hats, that will have the prevalence of the season instead of ephemeral existence.”—Much as we are pleased with these high ideal speculators, we find that From March to August 1828.-The New they have to cope with a sturdy impugner in the person of Mr James Clohesey, No. 36, Division Street. disputant deals about him very lustily, smashing Leary and Co.'s fine theories much in the same way that Cobbett used to shout the war-hoop over Southey's and Coleridge's schemes for Utopian commonwealths. After ridiculing the notion of a "standard hat,” and making an exposé of what he alleges were the real motives of Messrs Leary and Co., Mr Clohesey goes on to say, that "he does not employ poets to write 'vapoury puffs,' to vend off trash and dupe the public." It is disagreeable to learn the truth at the expense of a great name; and how shorn of their beams must Leary and Co. appear, if we can bring ourselves to believe that they are indebted for the glowing eloquence with which their principles are enforced, to a poet, whom (like our own immortal Packwood) they "keep for doing them there things!"

Is turning from the Cherokee Phoenix, of which we gave some account in our last, to speak of a file of New York papers, which we have just received, we shall not dwell on the intelligence these contain of matters of state, for the mode in which such intelligence is manufactured is well understood, and in outward form and inward truth, is very much the same through all Europe and America; neither shall we speak of the erudite articles, editorial and others, which adorn their columns ; but shall confine ourselves more particularly to the miscellaneous department, and still more particularly to the advertisements, wishing to communicate to the readers of the LITERARY JOURNAL some of the lights which these cast on the present condition of the inhabitants of New York. The gay and trivial pursuits which appear now to occupy so much of their attention, contrast oddly enough with the grave and somewhat puritanical demeanour of the population as it existed in 1798; but such are the changes which time effects.

Let us now turn for a short space to matters which more immediately concern the fair sex. Notwithstanding the anti-corset labours of an ingenious Edinburgh Editor, it would appear that the Weatherbies, Doyleys, Humes, and Thornhills of New York, still drive a pretty brisk trade in that deleterious article. It is pleasing, however, to know, Let us commence with the fashions, which are evidently that the treatise "On tight-lacing," together with the ilbeginning to be thought a subject of importance in New lustrative sketches, which recently amused us in the pages York. Mr C. Cox, 44, William Street, opportunely pre- of an Edinburgh newspaper, has been transferred to the sents himself before us to inform us, that "by the last columns of the New York Evening Post. It is true, that London arrivals he has imported an elegant suit of clothes, the Editor of that Journal (like a trimming fellow as he as a sample of the prevailing fashions of the west end of is) protests against its being thought that he is a convert the town." He proceeds to criticize these fashions, and to the full extent to the principles inculcated in the It would be difficult to say what ecstasy his favourable treatise; yet for all this, it appears that the article met opinion will awake in the bosom of our Stultz:-" C. with the most enthusiastic reception at the hands of the Cox feels proud to recommend to his friends and the pub- matrons, at least, of New York. "We have received lie generally, the present governing taste of London, as polite and complimentary letters," saith the editor, in a being far more becoming than has prevailed in that me- subsequent paper, "from mothers of families, thanking us tropolis for many years." This is certainly very consola- in the most flattering terms for the articles which have tory; yet it leads us to the belief, that however high Mr appeared in our paper on the baneful effects of tight-lacing. Cox's claims to consideration as the Arbiter Elegantiarum One of them very feelingly acknowledges, that she is satisof New York may be, he is, after all, one of those delicate-fied that it has been detrimental to her health, and for the ly constituted individuals, who, sensitively alive to the beautiful in the works of others, are yet themselves deficient in inventive powers. Leary and Co. are possessed of a stronger and more original genius. They have endeavoured to discover a standard of fashion, in the same manner that Alison has sought to establish a standard of taste, or McCulloch a standard of value; and we have no doubt with equal success. Listen to the advertisement of these inestimable hatters ;-" The fluctuation which the whims and caprices of the leaders of the ton are producing, almost weekly, in the formation of hats, has not only conspired to injure the venders, by increasing an unsaleable stock proportionable to the different qualities manufactured, but to impose a vexatious tax on such citizens as wish to dress in the fashion of the city. To prevent the growth of this evil is a task which Leary and Co., with the co-operation of their fellow-citizens, shall endeavour to accomplish by establishing a STANDARD in the shape

future is determined to abandon the practice." So much for the march of mind in so far as corsets are concerned. -Advert we now to a no less interesting subject. There is a halo shed over the history of American cosmetics that throws into the shade the labours even of the great Rowland. Let us take for an example "Dr Middleburgh's Indian Vegetable Compound for the growth and nourishment of the hair in bald places." The Doctor, we are informed, resided during his travels two years among the Creek Indians. "Both males and females," he informs us, 66 were in the habit of rubbing an ointment (compounded by boiling the juice of certain plants in bear's oil) at the roots of the hair three times a-week. The reason they gave, when interrogated by the doctor," [like Cæsar's Commentaries, this advertisement is written in the third person, which gives it a peculiar dignity,] "for this custom was, that it made long black hair. What was astonishing, the doctor never saw an Indian bal

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during his intercourse with them.

ving made use of this preparation for some years, fine heads of healthy hair have been brought out, when the scalps have been as smooth as the back of one's hand." There is something in this anecdote which carries us back irresistibly into the old primeval forests, and shows us the Indian in his native dignity, long ere the feet of the white man had profaned the soil, conversing in solitude at one time with the Great Spirit, and at another anticipating the future discoveries of science in the use he made of the great bear.

The proprietor ha- | been beggared by Niblo's attractions, are the Old Park, and Peale's Museum and Gallery of the Fine Arts. The latter has been rescued from sharing the fate of so many contemporaries by the united charms of Misses Susan and Deborah Tripp. "The public are respectfully informed, that this week will be the last of the exhibition of the two astonishing children; their parents, who are with them, are desirous of returning home to Poughkeepsie ; they are fearful the heat of the city, during the warm season, may in some degree affect their health. Two Mammoth children. Susan Tripp, born near Poughkeepsie, Dutchess County, New York, and now aged 5 years and 10 months old, weighs 205 lbs., is 3 feet 11 inches high, 4 feet 2 inches around the waist; arm, 18 inches; above the knee, 31 inches; below the knee, 21 Deborah Tripp is in nothing wanting but age. She is 3 years old, weighs 124 lbs. ; 3 feet 4 inches high; around the waist, 3 feet 10 inches; arm, 15 inches; below the knee, 17 inches!" Verily, these are no " trips on the light fantastic toe." No wonder their affectionate parents dread to see them, during the heats of a New York summer, "thaw and resolve themselves into a dew."

A few words now of the amusements in New York. A private correspondent informs us, that of all the numerous theatres in that city, the only one that seems to pay is the old established Park Theatre. To judge by the advertisements it seems to deserve support; not that we hear any thing great of the performers, but there is variety enough, and occasionally novelty. Even the undramatic genius of Wordsworth has been tortured on the stage;-Peter Bell the Waggoner, or the Murderers of Massiac, being a highly popular piece. Niblo's Gardens, however, is at present a formidable rival to the theatres, being the very centre of attraction. The Editor of the Evening Post, in a most elaborate puff, (unbought, of course,) says of it—" If there is any thing in nature that can keep a man in comfort and good-humour, in these troublous times, it is an habitual resort to the little paradise that Niblo, in his fatherly anxiety for the welfare of the city, has caused to spring up, nobody knows how, where, but a couple of years ago, one might as well have looked for a glacier as a garden. It is a perfect oasis in the desert, abounding with creature comforts of every description, and all but impossible description." This is like the story of Aladdin's lamp; nor does the reality dis appoint the fairy expectations thus excited. On entering Niblo's. Garden, we hear (saith the advertisement) sweet and melancholy voices singing in unison, " Ye gloomy "You don't exactly suit me," "The Lass of caves," Gowrie," and "Dame Durden." Sure never, since the thawing of the trumpet in which Baron Munchausen's post-boy had his music frozen up,

scene,

"Did any mortal mixture of earth's mould Breathe such a medley!"

But the eyes, too, have their share in the enjoyment, as well as the ears. "A Temple of Liberty has been erected, splendidly embellished, and adorned with the names of the heroes of our glorious Revolution. A brilliant revolving sun occupies the centre, surrounded by stars and appropriate meteors, and surmounted by the American eagle, in Chinese shades." In this splendid "The Persian magician, with a host of attendants mounted on nondescript animals, will perform grotesque dances, multiplying themselves a hundred-fold, to the astonishment of the audience." In a quiet corner of the garden," Peter the Hermit will receive visitors the whole of the evening." This last stroke we conceive to be Niblo's happiest; or, at least, it divides our attention with the concluding touch relative to the "creature comforts," as our Editor calls them :-" The refreshments, and ice-creams, are of the best kind." It is in vain, in

the face of such attractions, for the "Castle Garden" to

prate about its concerts and flights of rockets. It is in vain that the Pavilion Garden, Mount Tompkins, Staten Island, issues its invitations to grand balls, cotillon parties, and target-firings; or tells, in magniloquent terms, that it rests" in the full confidence that its own peculiar beauty of scenery, surpassing in variety, extent, and grandeur, any thing of the kind in this country or any

other, must be its best recommendation to the eye of discernment, and, like waters seeking their own level, rise far above all minor competition." They fade away before the new-comer, as a toast of some years' standing

withers before a young beauty's first debut.

The only establishments in New York that have not

inches.

We shall conclude this desultory peep at life in New York with the strange advertisement of Mister Simon van Antwerp, who is evidently a wag of some pretensions, and apparently a very patriotic Boniface;—“ S. v. A. respectfully informs his friends and the public, that in consequence of the severe indisposition of the weather on Saturday last, the 4th of July was unavoidably postponed until the 11th instant, when it will positively take place at Hobaken. In addition to a day of summer sunshine and southern breezes, the subscriber will serve up a splendid green turtle, now fatting with unbounded satisfaction on the green in front of the house. To which will be added after dinner, in order that

'Good digestion may wait on appetite,' subscriber confidently hopes, that although there may be a race a boat-race, for a purse of fifty dollars. The many candidates for the plate, there will be more for the spoon; and that on this occasion every lover of his country and of turtle soup, seated on the shady lawn at Hobaken, with his own blue skies Above him, and his own green land around,' will achieve victories worthy of

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'The day we celebrate.' Such is the manner in which the good people of New York contrive to kill their time, and amuse their lighter hours.

Forest Scenes and Incidents, in the Wilds of North America; being a Diary of a Winter's Route from Halifax to the Canadas, and during four months' residence in the woods on the borders of Lakes Huron and Simcoe. By George Head, Esq. London. John Murray. 1829.

MR HEAD acted during his short residence in Canada as an agent of government, in what precise capacity does not appear.

We allude to the circumstance only for the purpose of insinuating (in the most good-humoured and inoffensive manner possible) that the anxiety expressed by his constituents to induce the poorer Irish to emigrate to our North American colonies, may have had some slight tendency to support that unabated flow of cheerful ness, with which (in his book) he encounters all privations. If our suspicions do him wrong, we most heartily apologize, and confess that we have not met, within the willingly select for our fellow-traveller. This is no slight limits of our experience, a man whom we would more praise, for none who has encountered hardships can forget what a solace is a merry companion, whose spirits laugh is loudest in the most inconvenient hut, and over rise higher as difficulties and discomforts increase; whose

The anniversary of American independence.

the sorriest meal; whose song gushes stronger, and with a note of defiance, the louder howls the wind and the faster falls the rain.

Our author's first introduction to a Halifax winter recalls to our recollection one of the happiest periods of our life, when, a free denizen of

-the U

Niversity of Gottingen,

we were initiated into the mystery of

SLEIGH-DRIVING." I had remained very few days at my hotel when the weather became overcast, with indications of an approaching fall of snow, which, soon beginning to descend in soft broad flakes, continued for many hours, till it lay on the ground to a very considerable depth. * The day was particularly fine after the storm; every body seemed busy and animated, and servants were running backwards and forwards with bells, straps, buckles, and harness, of all sorts, to prepare for sleigh-driving. At an early hour, the first heavy sleighs, laden with wood, coal, and other articles of merchandise, were to be seen laboriously advancing through the deep fresh snow, which becoming by degrees trodden towards the middle of the day, the fresh painted, lighter vehicles were allured from their summer's rest. Then damsels, with pretty chins wrapped in fur, bade a short adieu to mammas-not here required by custom as chaperones-to take a seat beside their anxious beaux; till smiling faces, tingling bells, and trotting horses, Now came were encountered in every corner of the town. the time to look about one: hardly a third part of the space in the street was passable; and, as the sleighs came dashing by, one thought oneself lucky, at the expense of a jump up to the hip in a snowbank, to escape being knocked over once in every five minutes. Some of the drivers were good, others bad, but all drove fast; so that, notwithstanding the people were obliged by law to have a number of bells about their sleigh, the eyes of Argus were insufficient to protect a foot passenger, who, after all possible pains to get out of the way of the carriages, gained nothing more by way of thanks than snowballs kicked in his face off the heels of the horse. I observed one young man, evidently an inexperienced driver, who was in the act of passing a corner, while he and his fair partner were flying forwards in their original direction, long after the horse had completed his turn; and such was the centrifugal motion of the sleigh, that an old woman was knocked down, and the horse completely overcome and brought to the ground by its violence."

Although the country through which Mr Head travelled from Halifax to Montreal is settled, yet the inhabited spots lie far apart, presenting faint glimmerings of social life at dreary intervals in the almost pathless woods. But for the consciousness that the dwellings of men are before us in our progress up the river St John, we could almost fancy that we are accompanying Captain Franklin and his companions along the windings of the streams which guided them to the silent and steril shores of the The following scene is quite à la Frank

arctic ocean.

lin:

the drift gave an appearance to the snow we were passing
over like that of an agitated sea. Wheeled round every now
and then by the wind, we were enveloped in clouds so dense,
that a strong sense of suffocation was absolutely produced.
We all halted: the Canadians admitted that farther pro-
gress was impossible; but the friendly shelter of the forest
was at hand, and the pines waved their dark branches in
token of an asylum. We turned our shoulders to the blast,
and, comfortless and weather-beaten, sought our refuge.
The scene, though changed, was still not without interest;
the frequent crashes of falling trees, and the cracking of their
vast limbs as they rocked and writhed in the tempest, cre-
ated awful and impressive sounds; but it was no time to
be idle: warmth and shelter were objects connected with
life itself, and the Canadians immediately commenced the
vigorous application of their resources. By means of their
small light axes, a good-sized maple tree was in a very few
minutes levelled with the earth, and, in the meantime, we
cleared of snow a square spot of ground, with large pieces
The fibrous bark of
of bark stripped from the fallen trees.
the white cedar, previously rubbed between the hands, was
ignited, and, blowing upon this, a flame was produced.
This being fed, first by the silky peelings of the birch bark,
and then by the bark itself, the oily and bituminous matter
burst forth into full action, and a splendid fire raised its
flames and smoke amidst a pile of huge logs, to which one
and all of us were constantly and eagerly contributing.
Having raised a covering of spruce boughs above our heads,
to serve as a partial defence from the snow, which was still
falling in great abundance, we sat down, turning our feet
to the fire, making the most of what was.
The Canadians were soon busily employed cooking broth in
a sauce-pan, for they had provided themselves much better
with provisions than I had.

A SNOW-STORM IN CANADA.-" The clouds, which had been all the morning unusually dark and lowering, seemed to bear strong indications of an approaching snow-storm. Still, however, we went on; and it grew darker and darker, till a heavy fall of snow, driven by a powerful wind, came sweeping along the desert track directly in our teeth; so that, what with general fatigue, and the unaccustomed position of the body in the snow-shoes, I hardly could bear up and stand against it. The dreary howling of the tempest over the wide waste of snow rendered the scene even still more desolate; and, with the unmitigated prospect before us of cold and hunger, our party plodded on in sullen silence, each, in his own mind, well aware that it was utterly impracticable to reach that night the place of our destination. "But, in spite of every obstacle, the strength of the two Canadians was astonishing; with bodies bent forward, and leaning on their collar, on they marched, drawing the tobagins (a small kind of sleigh, for carrying baggage, drawn by men) after them, with a firm, indefatigable step; and we had all walked a little more than seven hours, when the snow-storm had increased to such a pitch of violence, that it seemed impossible for any human creature to withstand it; it bid defiance even to their most extraordinary exertions. The wind now blew a hurricane. We were unable to see each other at a greater distance than ten yards, and

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"Large flakes of snow continued to fall, and heavy clots dropped occasionally upon the ground. Our enormous fire had the effect of making me so comfortably warm, that I had deferred the use of my buffalo skin till I lay down to sleep; and were it not for the volumes of smoke with which I was at times disturbed, and pieces of fire which burnt holes in my clothes whenever they happened to fall, my lodging would have been truly agreeable. I sat for some time, with a blanket thrown over my shoulders, in silent contemplation of a scene alike remarkable to me for its novelty and its dreariness. The flames rose brilliantly, the sleeping figures of the men were covered with snow, the wind whistled wildly through the trees, whose majestic forms overshadowed us on every side; and our fire, while it shed the light of day on the immediately surrounding objects, diffused a deeper gloom over the farther recesses of the forest. And thus I remained, without any inclination to The sleep, till it was near midnight. A solemn impression, not to be called melancholy, weighed heavily upon me. satisfaction with which I regarded the fatigue which had gone by, was hardly sufficient to inspire confidence as to what was to come; and this reflection it was, perhaps, that gave a colour to my thoughts at once serious and pleasing. Distant scenes were brought to my recollection, and I mused on past-gone times, till my eyes became involuntarily attracted by the filmy, wandering leaves of fire, which, ascending lightly over the tops of the trees, for a moment rivalled in brightness the absent stars, and then-vanished for ever!"

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Mr Head's Diary, during the period of his residence on the lakes Huron and Simcoe, contains no adventure so imposing as that which we have here given; but it is Its general effect,full of a different sort of interest. arising from the secluded situation of the author, and the consequent nature of his occupations,—is not unlike that of our old favourite Robinson Crusoe. It is impossible to convey to our readers, in a brief abstract like the present, any notion of this characteristic, which is the result of an Our concluding immense accumulation of petty details. extract, however, presents a fair specimen of the author's graphic powers:

A SCENE ON LAKE HURON." April 17th. A strong wind having set in in the night, blowing directly out of the bay, I perceived in the morning all the ice broken in pieces, and floating towards the lake. It was moving slowly away, and a considerable extent of water was already uncovered. This was a joyful sight, for of all things a sheet of water conveys the most lively impressions to the mind; and confined as I was, from the impassable state of the ice, from the shores on one side of the bay, the barrier was no sooner ra

moved, than I felt a sensation of liberation, which seemed to be participated by the turbulent waves themselves, as, just risen from their bondage, they rallied, as it were, and held council together, bubbling and fretting in their eager ness to press on the rear of their retiring enemy. The wind chased the chilly field before it, which, split into mammocks, was every minute retiring farther from the sight, till about three o'clock in the afternoon, when the lively change was altogether perfect, and Kempenfeldt Bay, so long the type of dreary winter, became a lovely basin of pure water. And, as if to add to the gratifying occurrence, the ice had no sooner disappeared, than the wind lulled, and the sun beamed forth to embellish the natural beauties of a spot, in themselves very much above the common order. As the evening advanced, it was beautiful to see the enormous pines, with which the banks were fringed, reflected in the water, while the winding shore presented a pleasing variety of sandy beach and bluff rocky headland. Nor were the animal creation insensible to the moment; the large fish leaped, incessantly, high out of the water, and it was scarcely dark before a flock of wild-fowl flew round and round in circles, lowering themselves by degrees, till each, one after another, dashed heavily into the favourite element. A sportsman can readily comprehend how animating it was, to listen to the wild sounds that now broke upon the ear, as the feathered troop held their gabbling conversation together, and, diving and splashing by turns, they commenced every now and then a short flight, for the sake of a fresh launch on the water. Every thing now was new; Nature had thrown off her homely winter's garb, and was beginning to unveil her beauties."

On the whole, this work, although scarcely equal, in point of talent, to the writings of Captain Hall, reminds us strongly, in its general tone, of the earlier productions of that gentleman, when he reflected on his pages the cheerful mood in which he received the impressions of novel and strange scenes,-when he was content to take the world as it appeared, laughing before him, without enquiring too anxiously what lay beneath, and before he became, like many other great philosophers, too wise to enjoy himself. It is a book of no pretensions. It will add no new truths to physical or moral science. But it is as pleasing a companion as one could wish to spend

an afternoon withal.

No.

The Edinburgh Review, or Critical Journal. XCVIII. London. Longman and Co. Edinburgh. Adam Black. September, 1829.

THERE are some people who seem to view every compliment paid to a man of genius as an oblique insult to themselves. A dear and much-respected friend of ours (whose literary abilities were never higher tasked than by the concoction of a memorial for counsel) used to get positively frantic when any one insisted upon praising Lord Byron in his company :-" Genius! ay, Genius! He can write poetry; and I can write prose: there's the difference." It would seem that Mr Jeffrey's successor in office is slightly subject to this amiable weakness, or, at least, that his friends are of opinion that he is; for the on-dits, which we inserted among the Varieties of last Saturday's Journal, respecting the editing of the present number of the Edinburgh Review, have elicited from them certain pathetic remonstrances :-" What importance is it who is the Editor ?"—" It is invidious to enquire, or to insinuate any comparisons," and so forth. Now, we are humbly of opinion that it is of some importance to know who is the Editor. To Mr Jeffrey's successor we have no objection whatever; but we do not choose that the public, who are already aware of the projected change in the administration of this periodical, should assume erroneously that the present number is a specimen of the new Editor's powers. It will not be till the appearance of the next number that this work, the contributors to which have of late been almost entirely changed, will finally cease to have any thing in common with the old Edinburgh Review but the name.

Incomparably the best articles, in the present number, are, Art. I., " on the Utilitarian system of Philosophy,"

a reply to the Westminster Review, by Macaulay, (not by Mr Jeffrey, as we formerly mentioned,) and Art. VII., " on the Signs of the Times," by Carlyle. The former is a quiet and most successful exposure of the contradictions in which the writers of the Westminster have involved themselves. It is characterised throughout by perspicacity; abounds in the most cutting sarcasm; and is beautifully expressed. It is in the last particular that it contrasts most strongly with Carlyle's article; the style of which is as lumbering as usual. But this apart, the views which it affords into the present structure of society are often just, and always ingenious, while there runs through the whole a vein of the richest humourwhich, to confess the truth, we did not, from any of the author's previous productions, suppose him to possess. -Art. V., on Military Education, and Art. IX., on America, are spirited and interesting essays.—Art. III., learning, ingenious combination, and magnificent descripon the Drama, is an extraordinary mixture of extensive tion, with the most atrocious childishness and absurdity. The remaining articles, "Sadler's Ireland," "Malt and Beer Duties," "Gothic Architecture," and "Martin's Paintings," are rather so-so. Generally, however, the contents of this number, of which we speak so briefly, are exceedingly interesting. Our reason for passing them over in so hurried a manner is, that we are anxious to say a few words about the career of the old Edinburgh Review. Future numbers will bear the same name, and wear the same livery; nay, they may possess equal talent with their predecessors; but they never can be to us what Jeffrey's Review has been, nor can they ever exercise such a sway over the minds of men.

Of the Edinburgh Review, as a political engine, it is not our theme to speak. And yet, to view it without reference to this feature of its character, is to view it stripped of more than half its glories. It is doing the Edinburgh Review no justice, to call it the organ of a party. It made its party. It started into existence at the time when the old Whigs—or moderate Reformers, or whatever they may call themselves—defeated and disorganized, were on the point of vanishing for ever. It reared their standard once more,-it rallied their ranks,-it put a war-cry in their mouths, and made them once again (to use their own emphatic language) "a respectable minority." To this cause it has adhered through good report and through bad report; and, think what we may of its principles, no one can deny the power and consistency with which it has advocated them. Highly though we estimate the talents of the Edinburgh Review, we confess that we think it occupies a lower rank in literature than in politics. That it has exercised a weighty influence in the field of letters we are not inclined to deny; but this it has done chiefly by stirring up the dormant energies of our literary men. It has all along displayed more active and practical talent than original genius. It has brought science and literature to the doors of many who never would have thought of them, it has been alike instrumental in awakening the desire of knowledge and catering to its longings,-it has given a wider and a quicker spread to the thoughts of the mighty men of its own and other ages; but we are not aware that it has given utterance to any of those words of genius which open up, as by a spell, new vistas before a nation's eyes. It has communicated its own restless and energetic character to the age; but, in return, it has taken from the age the tone of its feelings and opinions. At the time of its commencement, the reigning school of taste was as different from that which is now acknowledged as may well be. The change has not been effected by the Edinburgh Review. The Edinburgh Review mus tered all its energies to resist the innovation, and ended by yielding-under protest. The Edinburgh Review began by supporting the doctrines of Reid and Stewart, The Edinburgh Review has ended by promulgating moral and metaphysical doctrines that would make Kant and Ficchte stare.

The

at Pisa, and which affected him very sensibly. He is
reported by Medwin to have said, in his own peculiar
manner," The prayer is beautifully written. I like
devotion in women. She must have been a divine crea-
ture. I pity the man who has lost her!" Byron after-
wards wrote to Mr Sheppard to console him for his loss,
and to tell him he was not so bad as people said.
"Thoughts" continue at the present day to be a favourite
with the religious public; they are remarkable for ele-
gance of language, and breathe the very essence of the
most heartfelt piety. Mr Sheppard's third work is on
the "Divine Origin of Christianity," a book in two
volumes, which we noticed some months ago, and need not
repeat what we then said concerning its merits. His last
production, the title of which we have quoted above, contains
merely two sermons preached on the death of two much-
esteemed friends, the one pastor of the church at Frome,
Mr Sheppard's place of residence in Somerset, the other
a missionary to the East, full of activity and zeal for his
honourable and dignified profession. These Discourses,
as might have been expected, are well written, and with
a degree of feeling which enables the reader to judge how
highly the deceased pastors stood in the estimation of their

Still there remains a wide range of excellence to be attributed to the Edinburgh Review, even though we deny to its lucubrations the high title of originality. Were praise to be bestowed upon none but those giants who have broke out new paths in science and literature, the ranks of the learned would be sorely thinned. Literature would appear like a vast unanimated ocean, with a few solitary whales moving about at immense distances from each other. There is, even in the absence of originality -in the high and restricted sense in which we use itroom for the display of many noble qualities,-energy, high-mindedness, generous feeling, strong powers of reasoning, fancy, and many others. It is in the free play of such qualities, by whatever subjects they may have been elicited, that the great charm of the Edinburgh Review has consisted. Was there not the clear, cold, classical correctness of Horner, whose early death was perhaps as lucky for his fame as painful to his friends? Was there not the universality and indefatigable spirit of Brougham? Was there not the broad yet terse and strong humour of Sidney Smith? Was there not Sir James Macintosh, with an intellect huge as a Leviathan, and as unwieldy? Was there not Playfair, elegant and perspicuous? Was there not Leslie, with his philosophical discoveries float-friend. ing in his redundant style, like a pine apple stewed in butter? Was there not Hazlitt, whose ready tact and ingenuity promised something great, had not his wayward and paradoxical humour made shipwreck of the fairest portion of his reputation? Was there not the ponderous strength of M'Culloch? And lastly, the animating and guiding spirit of the whole,-was there not the Editor-Francis Jeffrey-with a mind acute and tenacious, a fancy throwing luxuriant festoons around every subject he handled,-slippery as an eel,-piercing as a rapier, a gentleman in all his feelings,—

"The prince o' critics, and the wale o' men?" With such a union of talent, the Edinburgh Review could not fail to have a wide influence. We are not blind to the errors which it has from time to time committed; but these are not the subjects on which the mind ought to dwell when taking leave of an old friend. We repeat it, the Edinburgh Review can lay no claim to the honour of having formed its age; but it will ever remain one of that age's most interesting and characteristic monu

ments.

Two Discourses, Occasioned by the Deaths of the Rev. E.
C. Daniell, of Frome, and the Rev. R. Burton, of
Digah. By John Sheppard. London. Whittaker
and Co. 1829.

MISCELLANEOUS LITERATURE.

THE EDITOR IN HIS SLIPPERS;
OR,

A PEEP BEHIND THE SCENES.
No. IV.

"Stulta, jocosa, canenda, dolentia, seria, sacra;
En posita ante oculos, Lector amice, tuos ;
Quisquis es, hic aliquid quod delectabit habebis;
Tristior an levior, selige quicquid amas."

Ir is a delightful thing to be about the age of five-andtwenty; and there are moments when we can almost fancy that we are still just about that age. At such times we feel as if we had all the hands of Briareus, and all the eyes of Argus. Health gushes through our veins, strength swells through every muscle; not a joint but is firmly knit,-not a nerve but is stretched into sinewy ten

sion. The soul within us rejoices in the vigour of its physical frame; and whilst we know, that with untired limbs we could overcome mountains, dash through rivers, knock down giants, and trample upstart insolence to the earth, we at the same time know, that our intellect, participating in our strength of body, is fit for any task, however Herculean,-fit to spend sleepless nights with Archimedes or Newton,-fit to gaze, with undazzled eye, on the inner glories on which Milton looked,-fit to cope with the Machiavels of politics, or to hold high converse with the Byrons and the Scotts of literature. In such moments as these, successive Numbers of the LITERARY JOURNAL have seemed to pass before us in long and interminable array, each " a spirit like an angel," with its bright words written in light. They appeared to have sprung into existence of their own accord, or, perhaps, to have emanated unconsciously from our mind, like sunbeams from the sun. We could read all the articles they contained at a glance, and no mortal being but ourselves knows the power and originality with which they were written. As we looked, they were caught up into the clouds; and we felt it was a vision of what is to come, like the spirits whom John saw in the Apocalypse, ascending and descending between heaven and earth.

MR SHEPPARD made his first appeal to the literary world as the author of a volume of Letters, descriptive of a tour through some parts of the Continent in 1816; it proved to be rather a heavy-selling book, although written in a very respectable manner, and containing a good deal of original information; its greatest fault was, being too classical, and not graphic or lively enough to suit the public taste. His next work was " Thoughts on Private Devotion," the success of which has been very great. One cause of its popularity may be attributed to the interesting correspondence with Lord Byron, which was inserted in the appendix to the second edition, and which referred to the prayer his deceased wife had put up on his Lordship's account, she having contracted a singular and exalted regard for the welfare of the poet's eternal soul. Mrs Sheppard had frequently seen Lord Byron, some years before her decease, rambling among the cliffs at Ramsgate; she had been strongly impressed with a sense of his irreligion, from the tenor of his works; and she had often prayed fervently for his conversion, and still more so in her last moments. There was one prayer in particular, made a few days before her death, which her husband enclosed and sent to Lord Byron, who was at that time cease to live, and move, and have their being—and we are

With such occasional feelings,-such hours of rapturous delight, let it not be supposed that we regret being past the first bloom of manhood, which, in sober truth, we must confess ourselves to be. There are persons who can never grow old-and we are of them; there are persons whom no man can look at and believe will ever

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