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most of our prose communications were in as few words, and no worse than the following!

A FEW WORDS ON MOTTOS.

A motto, says Samuel Johnson, is a sentence or word added to a device, or prefixed to any thing written, to express its scope and tendency. There is more in a good motto than one is at first apt to think; in fact, it is sometimes of more effect than the book or pamphlet to which it is appended. Frequently, however, a motto is very ill applied. Take, for instance, the following, which we find on the title-page of a new edition of Voltaire's talented but infamous production, "The Philosophical Dictionary:"

"How charming is Divine Philosophy!

Not harsh and crabbed as some dull fools suppose,
But musical as is Apollo's lute!"

Never was Milton so misplaced.-Sir Walter Scott is a
rare example of the nicest and most lively perception in
the choice of his mottos, on which score William Haz-
litt, in his clever work, The Spirit of the Age, pays him
an elegant and well-deserved compliment. Sir Walter's
motto to his General Preface in the Waverley Novels
strikes us as being particularly happy, and shows a good
deal of that quiet humour for which the worthy Baronet
is so remarkable; the words are from "Richard II. :"
"And must I ravel out
My weaved up follies?"

Shakspeare has it, "And must I ravel up," making the
repetition of the word up too close. Sir Walter's altera-

tion is certainly an improvement, and proves, in one sense at least, that fresh perfume may be added to the violet. When Horace Smith, the well-known author of "Rejected Addresses," took to novel-writing, he attempted to present the world with something quite recherché in the way of mottos; but he was not successful. His practice was to give, in a Kehama sort of couplet of six lines, the principal events of each chapter, for which ill-executed innovation he was rather severely handled by the Quarterly Reviewers. When Byron and Parson Bowles were at war, it was thought at the time that the mottos on their pamphlets were the most successful hits in the whole controversy. The noble Lord chose the line,

"I will play at Bowls with sun and moon' which is good; but that of his clerical antagonist is still better

"He that plays at Bowls must expect rubbers." Among the best mottos of modern days, is that of George Combe, when he so successfully replied to Jeffrey's severe animadversions on the noble science of phrenology. Combe chose the famous lines by "Glorious John :" "Soothed with the sound the king grew vain ; Fought all his battles o'er again;

ON A PAINTING OF TWO CHILDREN.

Bless ye, my darlings, with your cherub looks
Of gleesome innocence; those happy smiles
Fall on my heart like sunbeams. Why, odzooks!
Some spell, for certain, my crazed ear beguiles ;-
Methinks I hear your voices like the clear

Murmuring music of two tiny brooks-
Now wand'ring far apart, now whispering near,

And bickering onward thus in mirth for miles,
Cheering the traveller on his path—the peasant at his toils,

And there ye breathe in childhood's happy bloom,
Arrested by the pencil's wizard power,
Amid the dewy freshness and perfume

Of that o'erarching leafy summer bower.
Oh! that life's bright unclouded morning dream
Would last for ever; that the sunshine hour
Of joyous infancy would changeless beam,

No ills its brimming nectar cup to sour-
No storms to crush-no poisoning breath to blight the
beauteous flower!

Yet let me shun the puling rhymester's whine;—
Here is a talisman to banish cares;
Sweet Marjory! that dimpled cheek of thine
Would make an Anchoret forget his prayers;
And thou, my blue-eyed Mary! with thy lips
Of deep carnation, and that half-divine
Cherubic smile, that scarcely can eclipse

Thy brow's irradiance, which the signet bears
Of coming worth and beauty, that no passing time impairs.

Ye lovely elves! if thus your imaged smile

Can cheat a pining heart of half its pain,
How light must be that happy parent's toil

Your kiss of rapture welcomes home again,
Around whose knees, like fawns at play, ye bound
With gladsome din, and many an artless wile!
Sweet prattlers, ah! the spell ye warp'd around
My dreaming fancy must not there remain—
Farewell! Heaven shower its blessings on your infant
heads like rain!

At a single leap we go from the west end of Prince's
Street to Kilmarnock, and there we find Mr John Ram-
say, weaver," chewing the cud of sweet and bitter fan-
cies" over his loom. We mentioned Mr Ramsay before,
but we would particularly wish it to be understood, that
though Mr Ramsay writes verses, every weaver is not a
The number of rhythmical effusions we receive
poet.
There was one fel-
weekly from weavers is immense.
low especially, in Stonehaven, who signed himself “ A
poor but honest Weaver," and who wrote to us every se-
cond post, till we put an extinguisher upon him by a
word or two among our notices to Correspondents. That
Mr Ramsay has not only a poetical vein, as already ad-

And thrice he routed all his foes, and thrice he slew the mitted, but some humour in his composition, the followslain ;"

alluding to the three attacks in the Edinburgh Review,
all of which were successfully and ably refuted by the
champions of the bump department, although later events
have shown that the science is evidently in a bad way.
Lastly, we think that in the motto on the first volume of
that decided hit, THE EDINBURGH LITERARY JOURNAL,
there is much which every man of sense and taste must
admire, stamping that able periodical as the advocate of
these two glorious attributes, truth and freedom; and with
it, we close our few words on mottos :

"Here's freedom to him that would read,
Here's freedom to him that would write;
There's nane ever fear'd that the truth should be heard,
But they wham the truth would indite."

We like the half-playful, half-sentimental spirit of the following stanzas, which come to us from the west end of Prince's Street, Edinburgh;

ing epigram proves :

EPIGRAM ON SEEING A CARPET-FACTORY SUBSCRIPTION BALL

Old Plato once met father Jove,
And asked the self-existent,
What was, in earth, or heaven above,

Of all most inconsistent?

Jove heard the question, gave a nod,

To heaven's high towers advancing, Unveil'd this world,-" Now," said the God, "D'ye see those weavers dancing?"

Our We have

From a weaver, the transition to a plumber-genius despises the artificial distinctions of rank-is easy. interest in Mr M'Laggan is not diminished. already given him a fair start, and made his name known far beyond the limits of Rose Street ;-his own talents We are glad to tell him that we think must do the rest. our readers will be pleased with the poem he has last sen

us:

STANZAS ON THE DEPARTURE OF SUMMER.

By Alexander M'Laggan.

There falls a yellow blight upon the leaf,
There come sad sighs of sorrow on the air,
And in the feeling heart there springs a grief,
(A gloomy grief, half mingled with despair,)
When Nature's face, so gloriously fair,
Turns black with storm, when all her sweets decay,
The tree, the flower, the blossom flee away,

And leave but phantom Memory whisp'ring they were there.

And ye, blue skies! must ye too feel the blight,
And pass as soon as doth a happy thought?
And shall we, trembling in the tempest's might,
Behold the throne of flowers, so finely wrought
By God's own hand and his great judgment, brought
Drooping and wither'd down into the dust?
Creator! thy decrees are wise and just,

But dearly by its death is summer's sweetness bought.

And you, ye young, ye beautiful, ye gay,

Who dance like moats in fortune's golden beam, Visions of loveliness! on-on ye stray,

Your flower-paved path of life, as in a dream! No storms above, no dark waves on your streamBright beings! ye will fade-your fair day close, And o'er its lustre fall stern Winter's snows,

Till Time the tomb-door lock against Love's glorious gleam.

Winter, stern conqueror, thy hand will fall

On many a withering heart and drooping head, And over thousands throw the dark-grey pall;

Thousands, who once in light were all array'd, And dreamt not of the darkness of the dead ;Love whilst ye may, young hearts! enjoy-admire, Ere the blood freeze, and life's rich light expire,

The soul is on the wing,—the gaunt grave must be fed ! We shall now take a seat in the coach and go out to Dalkeith, where we shall meet with the author of the following sonnet:

SONNET.

What art thou, earth, with all thy fair array

Of mountain, meadow, ocean, wood, and stream, But one vast sepulchre, whose dark decay

Is vainly shaded by the vernal gleam

Which gilds thy brow with beauty? Yes, the dust
Of ages slumbers in thy cold embrace,
And, o'er the prostrate ruins of our race,
Thy laurels wave in mockery keen and just.
Yet boast not, spoiler, for thy sleepers must

Awake to spurn thine insolence and power;
Thy deepest cells shall own the joyous hour,
Thine ocean-caverns yield their mighty trust.
This pleasing hope my anxious eyes shall close,
And smooth the pillow of my last repose.

The following song, by a gentleman of this city, is somewhat in the style of the older English writers, and is very pretty and classical :

SONG, TO A PERSIAN AIR.

As the cloud, that dark as night
Else would be, all gold and light
In sunbeams glows,
My soul, that else would brood
In melancholy mood,
From favour, sweetest fair,
A borrow'd joy doth wear;
Smile, then, and, smiling, win
That soul from thoughts of sin,
And all its woes.

As the sun converts to dews
The bitter streams that ooze

O'er wild dank moors,

When wildest passions burn,
You have the power to turn

My soul to calmest mood,
And evil change to good;

Smile, then, and, smiling, woo

That soul to be as true

And pure as yours.

How happens it, gentle lady, that we did not light on thee sooner, and how is it that the world knows so little of thy talents? Countless are the sweet creatures with whom we are acquainted who occasionally pour out their souls in verse—and, sooth to say, in very weak and limping measure-but thou art not one of them. There is strength and genius in thy mind, else couldst thou never have written what we now subjoin:

JERUSALEM.—A SACRED MELODY.
I've look'd upon Jerusalem,
I've look'd on Shinar's plain,
The altar and the worshipper-
Alas! I sought in vain.

The unechoed breeze, that sweeps along
Where once the prophet stood,
Wakes not the harp of Zion's song

O'er Judah's solitude.

No longer now on Horeb's Mount
Heaven's voices shake the sky;
No longer flows the mystic fount,
Nor cloud nor fire pass by.

No more upon the hostile foe

Death's angel waves his brand;
No more the cavern'd waters show
The secrets of their strand.

The sun, arrested in its sky,

The earthquake and the hail, No longer to man's shrinking eye Turn frantic nature pale.

The voice of an avenging God

Is heard on earth no more; Calm now we mark the lightning's flash, And dying thunder's roar.

But still in characters of light

Truth's awful records lie,
Pure as the tranquil stars of night,

When the tempest hath past by.

Seal'd on the mystic page of life
The word shall still remain,
Although the hand that fix'd it there
Is pass'd to heaven again.

Be hush'd, ye fiery chariot wheels,
Ye thunders cease to be;

Hark! 'tis the still small voice of peace-
The watchword of eternity.

THEODORA.

We thought to have stopped here, but a letter has just come to us from Moffat, so good-naturedly expressed, that we, who are the very essence of good-nature-when our SLIPPERS are on-cannot turn a deaf ear to it. Our Moffat friend writes to us in these words:"Mr Editor, There is no part of your LITERARY JOURNAL I peruse with greater interest than your answers to Correspondents. This you will easily account for when I tell you, that, at the end of every answer, I am in the habit of saying to

myself, I wonder what he would say to me, were I to send him a scrawl?" Sitting at the fire one stormy af ternoon, with a newly-come Part of your Journal in my

hand, after looking over your answers to Correspondents,
I raised myself in my chair, and exclaimed What the
deuce are we all terrified for?-there is nothing awful
about the Editor; and, provided he be civilly addressed, he
will certainly return an answer in peace. Go to, I will
immediately write to him, choose a fictitious signature,
pay the postage, and then, if my communication be re-
jected, which it undoubtedly will, the world shall never
know of my discomfiture." The communication of our
friend with the fictitious signature shall not be rejected
it is very good :

A PROPOSAL TO JESSIE.

Dear Jessie, I'm tired o' jogging my lane

Through the mists and the fogs o' the valley o' life;
Will you leave a' your friends, and your lovers ilk ane,
And be of my bosom the guide and the wife?

When Adam first woke from his sofa of flowers,
And found himself sovereign of Eden's green bowers,
That rich was his kingdom, he freely confess'd,

But without a sweet helpmate he could not be bless'd.

And, Jessie, have I not more need of one now,

Since the earth is accursed thro' our ancestors' crimes?

shaken off our slumbers, opened our jaws with a tremendous growl, and given ourselves a shake, terrific enough to make the stars wink. Some such exordium had we contemplated; but we have this moment received a note from our friend the Editor, telling us that we must have our article ready for him in an hour. We therefore deem it expedient to proceed to business at once.

It is amusing to observe, how completely in the dark with regard to our theatrical arrangements, many of those persons are who undertake to inform the public upon the point, and to guide their taste in dramatic matters. That we have better sources of information, the following statement, which we are exclusively enabled to put into print, will sufficiently show. The Theatre-Royal re-opens on Monday evening with the play of " The Stranger," which will introduce to us both Mr Barton, an actor who has been engaged for the first line of parts, and Mrs W. West, of the Theatre-Royal, Drury Lane, who has come down to perform with Kean during his approaching engagement. To this is to be added, the new farce of "The Happiest Day of my Life." On Thursday, Mr Kean will make his first appearance, and continue here for a fortnight. He will be succeeded by Madame Vestris, also for a fortnight,

Methinks thou wouldst wipe off the sweat from my brow, and she will be followed by Braham, who brings with

And be all that I wish in these troublesome times.

This life is a journey midst dangers and snares,
And the lonely are caught in the trap unawares ;
But where two walk together, in counsel they move,
And light is the path that's illumined by love.

I've a cot at the foot of yon far-away hill,

Wi' a yard at the back o't for leeks and for kail;
It fears na the wild wintry tempest, but still
Without thee, to me that can little avail.
When I look to its vales, they are naked and bare,

him Miss Phillips, with whom he is accustomed to sing. At the conclusion of their engagement, the theatre will close for ten days, as it always does at the time of the preachings. When it re-opens, Miss Jarman, who is to remain with us at all events, till February, will make her appearance; and about Christmas a harlequinade will be produced, for which Parsloe, the celebrated man-monkey, and Taylor, the very clever clown, who was formerly here when "Mother Goose" was brought out, have been engaged. Early in the year, Vandenhoff and Young will visit us, when, besides playing their favourite parts toge

The threshold's grown green through the want of repair;ther, Miss Mitford's "Rienzi," so successful last season

No light from its window solaceth my eye
Through the shadows of eve, as I'm dandering by.

I think of the time, though it never may be,
When you shall speak peace to my breast with a smile,
When innocent infants shall prate round my knee,
And tender endearments the moments beguile.
Let such be my fate in my own little cot,
The king in his palace I'd envy him not;
I'd pity the pride of the rich and the great,
And laugh at the pomp and the tinsel of state.

Were it not now past midnight—and we have been in our study since eight in the morning, without eating a single morsel of any thing-we might be tempted to give the whole of Mr John Currie of Ayr's "Address to the LITERARY JOURNAL;" but we can only mention that it begins thus:

All hail! all hail! literature's great light,

in London, will be represented on the Edinburgh boards. Miss Paton will come next, and with her, perhaps, Sinclair. Liston, T. P. Cooke, Matthews, and Miss Foote, will successively follow, and bring down the season to the time of the May Sacrament, after which the benefits commence. When T. P. Cooke is here, he will appear in his favourite part of William, in the new nautical piece called "Black-eyed Susan," which has had so great a run at the Surrey Theatre.-Such being the arrangements made with the stars, the next question is-Of whom is our regular company to consist? Jones is not to return,-Mason is not to return,-Thorne is not to return,-Miss

Gray is not to return,-Miss Clarke is not to return. But we are to have Pritchard, Mr and Mrs Stanley, Mackay, Denham, Montague Stanley, Miss Tunstall, Mrs Nicol, and the rest; and, to make up for those we have lost, we are to have Barton, Hooper, from London, Williams, formerly of Ryder's company, M'Gregor, from the Caledonian Theatre, Rae, of the Glasgow Theatre, Miss

That, gemm'd, shines through the dark abodes of night, Jarman, a very superior actress, the Misses Weston, from

And looks, the conqueror of literature's tomb High waving o'er the nation like a plume. It seems like Napoleon in magnitude, Stopping darkness with an illustrious flood; And thus the crown'd JOURNAL now appears, And walks pure in state through sublime spheres. We strongly suspect that Mrs Cookson must have assisted Mr Currie in this production; for we do not think any single and unaided genius could have given birth to it. Be this as it may, for the present we bid our readers and contributors good night, promising that we shall meet again at Philippi.

THE DRAMA.

We had contemplated an eloquent introduction to the present article, setting forth how we have been sleeping for the last three months, and dreaming different dreams with each of our three heads, and how we have at length

one of the English theatres, and several others to fill subordinate parts. As to Mrs Henry Siddons, we regret to say that her health is still in a very precarious state. She is at present in London; but, as soon as she is able, she will join the establishment here.

As it is our intention at present to state facts, and to reserve all discussion concerning them till next week, we shall add to the information we have already given, by laying before our readers an interesting extract from a letter addressed by the Manager, Mr Murray, to the Editor of the LITERARY JOURNAL, from whom we have received it, with permission to make what use of it we please. Mr Murray expresses himself in these words:

"On the commencement of the last season during which I may have the honour of conducting the theatrical amusements of this city, it is but natural that I should feel considerable anxiety as to the expectations of that portion of the public who take an interest in the Drama, and my own powers of meeting those expectations.

Whenever it may be my lot to quit Edinburgh, my recep-
tion in other theatres will mainly depend on the reputa-
tion I carry with me; or, plainly speaking, on the
character I can produce from my last place.' I have,
therefore, to request that you and others who, through
the medium of the public press. wield the destiny of un-
fortunate individuals like myself, will not judge my efforts
so much by what you imagine Edinburgh ought to have,
as by what the average experience of past years declares
Edinburgh can afford to have; or, in other words, let the
Theatre, whilst under my direction, be compared with
others whose incomes are similar, and if I be then found
wanting,

Turn me away, and let the foulest contempt
Shut door upon me, and so give me up
To the sharpest kind of criticism.

"incidental expenses" too small. Upon this question we
shall not at present enter, but we shall keep an eye upon
the matter during the progress of the present season.
Nor shall we keep an eye, or rather three pair of eyes,
upon this matter alone, but upon every thing connected
with the interests of the Drama in Edinburgh; and we
are resolved that our matured opinions, whether upon the
performances or the performers, shall in all cases be given
boldly and independently.
Old Cerberus.

LITERARY CHIT-CHAT AND VARIETIES.

THE ANNUALS ONCE MORE.-The Landscape Annual, which we announced some time ago, and which is said to be on a more splendid scale than any hitherto published, is now, we are informed, in active preparation. The volume for 1830 is to be entitled The

Landscape Annual, or the Tourist in Switzerland and Italy, and will be published in November. Twenty-six highly-finished line engravings, executed from coloured drawings taken on the spot by Mr Mr Charles Heath,-are the attractions advertised. The literary department is conducted by Mr T. Roscoe. A few specimen copies of the work,—a size larger than the Keepsake,—are already exhibited. -The proprietors of the new Literary and Religious Annual, edited by the Rev. Thomas Dale, and advertised under the title of The Offering, in consequence of an objection made by the publishers of the Friendship's Offering, have changed the name to The Iris, a Literary and Religious Offering. The embellishments are selected exclusively

Prout, and the whole of the embellishments under the direction of

During the usual vacation, I made it my business to visit several of the principal provincial theatres in England, selecting Liverpool, as one pre-eminent for the spirit and talent of its management, the general ability of the company, and the great resources of the population of that rising port. By the great kindness of the manager, I was enabled to compare the expenditure of the Liverpool Theatre with Edinburgh, and found them equal, though the size and receipts of the Liverpool Theatre considerably exceed ours. From Liverpool, I proceeded to visit others of the provincial theatres, and though in most I saw much to admire, I saw nothing to make me blush for my professional brethren in Edinburgh. With the principal theatres in London we cannot be expected to compete; and when it is considered that many of the minor ones rival the patent establishments in the amount of their principal salaries, it will be acknowledged that the difficulty of forming an efficient company out of London is thereby considerably increased. All that the Edinburgh Theatre can justly afford, the public are justly entitled to. Were I to do more, there is no one in Edinburgh who would not censure me, as endeavour-pedia. Sir James Macintosh is to furnish a History of England, ing to raise a fleeting popularity at the expense of my employer, when no personal responsibility attached to myself."

from the works of the Ancient Masters, and so arranged as to constitute a regular series of Scripture Illustrations.-If the Annual an nounced under the name of Emmanuel has not yet been re-baptised, the sooner that ceremony is performed the better, for the name, as it at present stands, is most improperly chosen.

It is stated in the last Number of the London Literary Gazette,

that Sir Walter Scott is not preparing another series of the Tales of a Grandfather. This is incorrect; one volume of the new series is already printed, and the work is proceeding. Sir Walter is also preparing a History of Scotland from the earliest period of authentic record to the union of the crowns, which will be published on the 1st of November, being the first volume of Dr Lardner's Cabinet Cyclo

and Mr Moore a History of Ireland, for the same work.

Letterpress.

Mr Henry Burgess has announced a Pamphlet on the Measures of Parliament respecting Currency and Bankers, with Illustrations and Reflections, to show the utter impracticability of perfecting the present Policy.

The Rev. William Turner, of Newcastle, has in the press, for the use of schools, Selections from Pliny's Natural History, with English Notes, in 12mo.

Mr Lindley, Professor of Botany in the University of London, in conjunction with Mr W. Hutton, F.G.S., is preparing for press the On the subject of these remarks we shall at present Fossil Flora of Great Britain, or Figures and Descriptions of the Veonly observe, that however we may agree or disagreegetable Remains found in a Fossil State in this country. The work with the Manager on individual points, one great principle will be printed in royal 8vo, and it is proposed to publish it in Quarupon which our criticisms proceed is, that the Theatre-terly Parts, containing Ten Copperplates, and about Forty pages of Royal of Edinburgh is at present in safe and proper hands, and ought to be supported by all who do not wish to see the Drama deteriorating among us. Whether Mr Murray does more than any other manager, we shall not attempt to decide; but he certainly does as much as, under all the circumstances, he can be expected to do; and therefore we shall never rashly or ignorantly find fault, in order that our blame, when we do blame, may carry Chaldæa is deferred till October. The work will contain numerous The publication of Captain Mignan's Travels in Babylon and with it the greater weight. An amusing letter was pub-illustrations, and is said to elucidate many striking passages of Scriplished in last Wednesday's Scotsman, in reply to a hint we threw out some time ago, that in certain things Mr Murray was too parsimonious. The mode which the writer of the letter in question takes to discountenance such a supposition is not altogether satisfactory. He states what Mr Murray's expenditure was for the years 1826, 1827, and 1828, and the sum, putting all the items together, is certainly a large one. But, in the first place, although he shows that the outlay was greater in 1828 than in either of the preceding years, he says very little of the year 1829, to which our observation more particularly applied; and in the next place, as he gives us no information whatever on the subject of the receipts, all that he in point of fact tells us is, that the conducting of a theatrical establishment is connected with consider

able expense, which, we suppose, most people knew before. But it is quite possible that a manager may be extravagant in some things and parsimonious in others; and this is all we ever meant to say. Mr Murray's payments to 66 extra performers" might be too large, and his payments for

ture, relative to the once mighty metropolis of Chaldæa.

A work is announced for publication, under the title of Gleanings of an English Hermit in Portugal, during the years 1827, 1828, and 1829. It will contain personal observations on a variety of subjects little treated of, and include a notice of the military operations in that country in 1827, together with an account of its present condi tion, and its relations with England and Spain at the present mo

ment.

Mr W. Davison, of Alnwick, has announced a new work, entitled Border Excursions; or, Descriptive Tours throughout the English and Scottish Borders, with Historical lilustrations of the Antiquities, Battles, Sieges, &c. &c.

THE PITT LIBRARY.-A new building, under this denomination, is about to be erected at Cambridge, out of the surplus of the fund subscribed for a statue to that distinguished alumnus of the Univer

sity.

place last week. Madame Malibran, Miss Paton-who laboured unCHESTER MUSICAL FESTIVAL.-This grand musical meeting took der extreme debility-Mr and Mrs Knyvett, Braham, and Phillips, were the leading singers, supported by a powerful band and chorus, There were three oratorios and the like number of concerts; a fancy ball, and a public breakfast.

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LITERARY CRITICISM.

History of the War in the Peninsula under Napoleon; to which is prefixed, a View of the Political and Military State of the Four Belligerent Powers. By General Foy. Two volumes 8vo. London. Treuttel & Würtz, Treuttel, jun. & Richter. 1827.

Narrative of the Peninsular War from 1808 to 1813. By Lieut.-Gen. Charles William Vane, Marquess of Londonderry. Third edition. In two volumes 8vo. London. Henry Colburn. 1829.

History of the Peninsular War; with plates, &c.

PRICE 6d.

in the cabinet and the field—a sympathy with those who, in the lower walks of life, act only from impulse, and with those who, in their far-reaching plans, are too apt to forget the beatings of the human heart-a searching

judgment, a dramatic vividness of expression, and a fearwhen are all these to be found united? Meanwhile, as less spirit all these are indispensable; and where or service by attempting to appreciate their value, although materials are accumulating on all hands, we may do some unable to turn them to the noble use of which we speak.

General Foy's work ought to be treated with leniency; By it is a posthumous publication-it is a fragment—and

London.

Lieut.-Col. William P. P. Napier, C. B. L. Vol. I. John Murray. Vol. II. Thomas & William Boone. 1828 and 1829.

WHO, that is old enough to remember, will ever forget the time when the news of battles fought and won came thick and frequent-more thick and more frequent than, in these commercial-travelling times of peace, come the thricetold tale of stage-coach accidents? Who will forget how, on the long and narrow bridge, and the dusky crooked lane, which lead to our burgh towns, the post was checked in his progress by the citizens crowding to hear a fresh story of British valour? We might live for ages, yet never again witness a period when the national heart beat so in unison, and when all party feeling seemed merged in the intense interest with which all eyes were riveted on the great movements of the belligerent powers on the Continent. Those days are gone! We have turned since, tooth and nail, to our old trade of domestic bickering, and deep and fierce have been our heart-burnings towards each other. But the feelings which that momentous crisis impressed upon the mind have not yet passed away, and, unless we much deceive ourselves, the sacred tie expressed in the name of Briton has ever since been held doubly dear. The sentiments engendered by the French Revolution had rent asunder for a while even the bonds of domestic affection; and political animosity had assumed a malignant and reckless character. But it lost much of this in the day of national enthusiasm, when all hearts united in one great prayer. Those, too, who fought side by side, learned to love each other; and they brought back and diffused their kindly feelings when they returned to their own firesides. Those days are gone! We can now look with sobered feelings on the huge struggle, the weight of whose presence then sate like a spell on our breast, and baffled our attempts to comprehend its workings, or guess at its issues. The time is already come when we may safely indulge a retrospective view, and hope to profit by the study of the past.

The eventful episode, however, in the history of Europe, to which we now allude, demands a writer of no common powers. Even supposing that we were already in possession of all that is necessary to throw light on its darker details, the man has not yet appeared that can make a due use of them. Is there reason to think that he ever will appear? A glance that can read at once the past and present an eye undazzled by external splendour, unjaundiced by its own peculiar feelings-a mind alike at home

even of that fragment a considerable portion was left in an unfinished state. It was to have contained, in the first place, a view of the political and military state of the belligerent nations, with a comparative view of the powers and resources with which they entered the contest; and, in the second place, a history of the transactions, political and military, which gave rise to and determined the issue of the Peninsular War. The plan is unexceptionable, being sufficiently comprehensive to admit of every requisite detail; but the second part of the work cannot fairly be considered as at all executed. The very small portion of it which has been given to the public, narrates only the preliminary movements down to the time that Junot evacuated Portugal; and even this fragment, there is every reason to believe, from the vagueness with which the military details are given, is a mere unfinished draught. The first part, however, seems to have been almost ready for publication at the time of the author's death, and on it accordingly we may hazard a few remarks.

Foy was a brave, high-minded, and experienced soldier; and he approved himself, in the senate, an orator of no mean powers. But it does not appear, from either his writings, his harangues, or his conduct, that he possessed that reach of mind which is necessary to form either a statesman or a deep thinker. His book contains an immense fund of facts, which would be more valuable were there not reason to fear that he has often acquiesced without sufficient enquiry in the truth of a story, because it chanced to strengthen a preconceived opinion. His reasoning, in like manner, is often just, but more frequently specious. He is induced occasionally, by aiming at brilliancy, to express himself with unwarranted strength; and is by this means not seldom led into contradictions. He aims at the strictest impartiality, and, we believe, is strictly correct in the main. But we must be allowed to say, that he has (unconsciously, we daresay) grossly misrepresented the character of the British army. On the whole, his book, as the work of a man of genius,-of one, too, who had seen much, both in peace and in war,

is a valuable acquisition. It must, however, be used with caution. It forces the reader to think, and cannot fail to suggest many profitable thoughts and useful investigations; but unless where its statements are corroborated, they cannot be relied upon.

The Marquess of Londonderry is acknowledged, on all hands, to be a brave and enterprising cavalry officer. His situation, too, on the Duke of Wellington's s must have given him opportunities of acquiring inf

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