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Title: The Herald of Literature
Author: William Godwin
Date: 1783
Language: en
Topics: review, literature, essays
Source: Retrieved on 24th September 2020 from https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/10597/

William Godwin

The Herald of Literature

TO THE AUTHORS OF THE MONTHLY AND CRITICAL REVIEWS.

GENTLEMEN,

In presenting the following sheets to the public, I hope I shall not be

considered as encroaching upon that province, which long possession has

probably taught you to consider as your exclusive right. The labour it

has cost me, and the many perils I have encountered to bring it to

perfection, will, I trust, effectually plead my pardon with persons of

your notorious candour and humanity. Represent to yourselves, Gentlemen,

I entreat you, the many false keys, bribes to the lacqueys of authors

that can keep them, and collusions with the booksellers of authors that

cannot, which were required in the prosecution of this arduous

undertaking. Imagine to yourselves how often I have shuddered upon the

verge of petty larceny, and how repeatedly my slumbers have been

disturbed with visions of the King’s-Bench Prison and Clerkenwell

Bridewell. You, gentlemen, sit in your easy chair, and with the majesty

of a Minos or an Aeacus, summon the trembling culprits to your bar. But

though you never knew what fear was, recollect, other men have snuffed a

candle with their fingers.

But I would not be misunderstood. Heroical as I trust my undertaking

proves me, I fear no man’s censure, and court no man’s applause. But I

look up to you as a respectable body of men, who have long united your

efforts to reduce the disproportioned members of an ancient republic to

an happy equality, to give wings to the little emmet of Grub-street, and

to hew away the excrescences of lawless genius with a hatchet. In this

character I honour you. That you have assumed it uncompelled and

self-elected, that you have exercised it undazzled by the ignis fatuus

of genius, is your unfading glory.

Having thus cleared myself from the suspicion of any sinister view, I

cannot here refrain from presenting you with a peace-offering. Had it

been in my power to procure gums more costly, or incense more fragrant,

I would have rendered it more worthy your acceptance.

It has been a subject upon which I have often reflected with

mortification, that the world is too apt to lay aside your lucubrations

with the occasions that gave birth to them, and that if they are ever

opened after, it is only with old magazines by staid matrons over their

winter fire. Such persons are totally incapable of comparing your

sentences with the maturer verdict of the public; a comparison that

would redound so much to your honour. What I design at present, is in

some measure to remedy an evil, that can never perhaps be entirely

removed. As the field which is thus opened to me is almost unbounded, I

will confine myself to two of the most striking examples, in Tristram

Shandy, and the Rosciad of Churchill.

In the Monthly Review, vol. 24, p, 103, I find these words:

“But your indiscretion, good Mr. Tristram, is not all we complain of in

the volumes before us. We must tax you with what you will dread above

the most terrible of all insinuations—nothing less than DULLNESS. Yes,

indeed, Mr. Tristram, you are dull, very dull. Your jaded fancy seems to

have been exhausted by two pigmy octavos, which scarce contained the

substance of a twelve-penny pamphlet, and we now find nothing new to

entertain us.”

The following epithets are selected at random. “We are sick—we are quite

tired—we can no longer bear corporal Trim’s

insipidity—thread-bare—stupid and unaffecting—absolutely

dull—misapplication of talents—he will unavoidably sink into contempt.”

The Critical Review, vol II, p. 212, has the following account of the

Rosciad:

“It is natural for young authors to conceive themselves the cleverest

fellows in the world, and withal, that there is not the least degree of

merit subsisting but in their own works: It is natural likewise for them

to imagine, that they may conceal themselves by appearing in different

shapes, and that they are not to be found out by their stile; but little

do these Connoisseurs in writing conceive, how easily they are

discovered by a veteran in the service. In the title-page to this

performance we are told (by way of quaint conceit), that it was written

by the author; what if it should prove that the Author and the Actor[1]

are the same! Certain it is that we meet with the same vein of peculiar

humour, the same turn of thought, the same autophilism (there’s a new

word for you to bring into the next poem) which we meet with in the

other; insomuch that we are ready to make the conclusion in the author’s

own words:

Who is it?———LLOYD.

“We will not pretend however absolutely to assert that Mr. L—— wrote

this poem; but we may venture to affirm, that it is the production,

jointly or separately, of the new triumvirate of wits, who never let an

opportunity slip of singing their own praises. Caw me, caw thee, as

Sawney says, and so to it they go, and scratch one another like so many

Scotch pedlars.”

In page 339, I find a passage referred to in the Index, under the head

of “a notable instance of their candour,” retracting their insinuations

against Lloyd and Colman, and ascribing the poem in a particular vein of

pleasantry to Mr. Flexney, the bookseller, and Mr. Griffin, the printer.

Candour certainly did not require that they should acknowledge Mr.

Churchill, whose name was now inserted in the title-page, as the author,

or if author of any, at least not of a considerable part of the poem.

That this was their sense of the matter, appears from their account of

the apology for the Rosciad, p. 409.

“This is another Brutum Fulinen launched at the Critical Review by one

Churchill, who it seems is a clergyman, and it must be owned has a knack

at versification; a bard, who upon the strength of having written a few

good lines in a thing called The Rosciad, swaggers about as if he were

game-keeper of Parnassus.”

P. 410. “This apologist has very little reason to throw out behind

against the Critical Reviewers, who in mentioning The Rosciad, of which

he calls himself author, commended it in the lump, without specifying

the bald lines, the false thoughts, and tinsel frippery from which it is

not entirely free.” They conclude with contrasting him with Smollet, in

comparison of whom he is “a puny antagonist, who must write many more

poems as good as the Rosciad, before he will be considered as a

respectable enemy.”

Upon these extracts I will beg leave to make two observations.

Abstracted from all consideration of the profundity of criticism that

is displayed, no man can avoid being struck with the humour and

pleasantry in which they are conceived, or the elegant and gentlemanlike

language in which they are couched. What can be more natural or more

ingenuous than to suppose that the persons principally commended in a

work, were themselves the writers of it? And for that allusion of the

Scotch pedlars, for my part, I hold it to be inimitable.

But what is most admirable is the independent spirit, with which they

stemmed the torrent of fashion, and forestalled the second thoughts of

their countrymen. There was a time when Tristram Shandy was applauded,

and Churchill thought another Dryden. But who reads Tristram now? There

prevails indeed a certain quaintness, and something “like an affectation

of being immoderately witty, throughout the whole work.” But for real

humour not a grain. So said the Monthly Reviewers, (v. 21. p. 568.) and

so says the immortal Knox. Both indeed grant him a slight knack at the

pathetic; but, if I may venture a prediction, his pretensions to the

latter will one day appear no better founded, than his pretentions to

the former.

And then poor Churchill! His satire now appears to be dull and

pointless. Through his tedious page no modern student can labour. We

look back, and wonder how the rage of party ever swelled this thing into

a poet. Even the great constellation, from whose tribunal no prudent man

ever appealed, has excluded him from a kingdom, where Watts and

Blackmore reign. But Johnson and Knox can by no means compare with the

Reviewers. These attacked the mountebanks in the very midst of their

short-lived empire. Those have only brought up the rear of public

opinion, and damned authors already forgotten. They fought the battles a

second time, and “again they slew the slain.”

Gentlemen,

It would have been easy to add twenty articles to this list. I might

have selected instances from the later volumes of your entertaining

works, in which your deviations from the dictates of imaginary taste are

still more numerous. But I could not have confronted them with the

decisive verdict of time. The rage of fashion has not yet ceased, and

the ebullition of blind wonder is not over. I shall therefore leave a

plentiful crop for such as come after me, who admire you as much as I

do, and will be contented to labour in the same field.

I have the honour to be,

Gentlemen,

With all veneration,

Your indefatigable reader,

And the humblest of your panegyrists.

ARTICLE I. THE HISTORY OF THE DECLINE AND FALL OF THE ROMAN EMPIRE.

BY EDWARD GIBBON, ESQ. VOLS. IV, V, VI, VII. 4TO.

We are happy to have it in our power thus early to congratulate the

public upon the final accomplishment of a work, that must constitute one

of the greatest ornaments of the present age. We have now before us, in

one view, and described by the uniform pencil of one historian, the

stupendous and instructive object of the gradual decline of the greatest

empire; circumscribed by degrees within the narrow walls of a single

city; and at length, after the various revolutions of thirteen

centuries, totally swallowed up in the empire of the Turks. Of this

term, the events of more than nine hundred years are described in that

part of our author that now lies before us. It cannot therefore be

expected, that in the narrow limits we have prescribed to ourselves, we

should enter into a regular synopsis of the performance, chapter by

chapter, after the laudable example of our more laborious brother

reviewers. We will pay our readers the compliment, however unauthorised

by the venerable seal of custom, of supposing them already informed,

that Anastasius succeeded Zeno, and Justin Anastasius; that Justinian

published the celebrated code that is called by his name; and that his

generals, Belisarius and Narses, were almost constantly victorious over

the Barbarians, and restored, for a moment, the expiring lustre of the

empire. We shall confine ourselves to two extracts, relating to subjects

of the greatest importance, and which we presume calculated, at once to

gratify and excite the curiosity of the public.

The reign of the emperor Heraclius is perhaps more crowded with events

of the highest consequence, than that of any other prince in the series.

It has therefore a proportionable scope allotted it in the plan of Mr.

Gibbon; who seems to understand better than almost any historian, what

periods to sketch with a light and active pen, and upon what to dwell

with minuteness, and dilate his various powers. While we pursue the

various adventures of Cosroes II., beginning his reign in a flight from

his capital city; suing for the protection and support of the Greek

emperor; soon after declaring war against the empire; successively

conquering Mesopotamia, Armenia, Syria, Palestine, Egypt, and the

greater part of Natolia; then beaten; a fugitive; and at last murdered

by his own son; we are unable to conceive of a story more interesting,

or more worthy of our attention. But in contemplating the rife of the

Saracen khalifate, and the religion of Mahomet, which immediately

succeeded these events, we are compelled to acknowledge a more

astonishing object.

The following is the character of the impostor, as sketched by the

accurate and judicious pencil of our historian. We will leave it to the

judgment of our readers, only observing, that Mr. Gibbon has very

unnecessarily brought Christianity into the comparison; and has perhaps

touched the errors of the false prophet with a lighter hand, that the

disparity might be the less apparent.

“But Heraclius had a much more formidable enemy to encounter in the

latter part of his reign, than the effeminate and divided Persian. This

was the new empire of the Saracens. Ingenious and eloquent, temperate

and brave, as had been invariably their national character, they had

their exertions concentred, and their courage animated by a legislator,

whose institutions may vie, in the importance of their consequences,

with those of Solon, Lycurgus, or Numa. Though an impostor, he

propagated a religion, which, like the elevated and divine principles of

Christianity, was confined to no one nation or country; but even

embraced a larger portion of the human race than Christianity itself.

“Mahomet, the son of Abdallah, was born on the 9^(th) of April, 571, in

the city of Mecca. Having been early left an orphan by both parents, he

received an hardy and robust education, not tempered by the elegancies

of literature, nor much allayed by the indulgencies of natural

affection. He was no sooner able to walk, than he was sent naked, with

the infant peasantry, to attend the cattle of the village; and was

obliged to seek the refreshment of sleep, as well as pursue the

occupations of the day, in the open air[2]. He even pretended to be a

stranger to the art of writing and reading. But though neglected by

those who had the care of his infancy, the youth of this extraordinary

personage did not pass away without some of those incidents, which might

afford a glimpse of the sublimity of his genius; and some of those

prodigies, with which superstition is prompt to adorn the story of the

founders of nations, and the conquerors of empires. In the mean time,

his understanding was enlarged by travel. It is not to be supposed that

he frequented the neighbouring countries, without making some of those

profound observations upon the decline of the two great empires of the

East and of Persia, which were calculated to expand his views, and to

mature his projects. The energies of his mind led him to despise the

fopperies of idolatry; and he found the Christians, in the most

unfavourable situation, torn into innumerable parties, by the sectaries

of Athanasius, Arius, Eutyches, Nestorius. In this situation, he

extracted that from every system that bordered most nearly upon the

dictates of reason, and framed to himself a sublime doctrine, of which

the unity of God, the innocence of moderate enjoyment, the obligation of

temperance and munificence, were the leading principles. But it would

have contributed little to his purpose, if he had stopped here.

Enthusiastically devoted to his extensive designs, and guided by the

most consummate art, he pretended to divine communications, related a

thousand ridiculous and incredible adventures; and though he constantly

refused a prodigy to the importunities of his countrymen, laid claim to

several frivolous miracles, and a few thinly scattered prophecies. One

of his most artful devices was the delivering the system of his

religion, not in one entire code, but in detached essays. This enabled

him more than once to new mould the very genius of his religion, without

glaringly subjecting himself to the charge of inconsistency. From these

fragments, soon after his death, was compiled the celebrated Alcoran.

The style of this volume is generally turgid, heavy, monotonous. It is

disfigured with childish tales and impossible adventures. But it is

frequently figurative, frequently poetical, sometimes sublime. And

amidst all its defects, it will remain the greatest of all monuments of

uncultivated and illiterate genius.

“The plan was carefully reserved by Mahomet for the mature age of forty

years. Thus digested however, and communicated with the nicest art and

the most fervid eloquence, he had the mortification to find his

converts, at the end of three years, amount to no more than forty

persons. But the ardour of this hero was invincible, and his success was

finally adequate to his wishes. Previous to the famous aera of his

flight from Mecca, he had taught his followers, that they had no defence

against the persecution of their enemies, but invincible patience. But

the opposition he encountered obliged him to change his maxims. He now

inculcated the duty of extirpating the enemies of God, and held forth

the powerful allurements of conquest and plunder. With these he united

the theological dogma of predestination, and the infallible promise of

paradise to such as met their fate in the field of war. By these methods

he trained an intrepid and continually increasing army, inflamed with

enthusiasm, and greedy of death. He prepared them for the most arduous

undertakings, by continual attacks upon travelling caravans and

scattered villages: a pursuit, which, though perfectly consonant with

the institutions of his ancestors, painted him to the civilized nations

of Europe in the obnoxious character of a robber. By degrees however, he

proceeded to the greatest enterprizes; and compelled the whole peninsula

of Arabia to confess his authority as a prince, and his mission as a

prophet. He died, like the Grecian Philip, in the moment, when having

brought his native country to co-operate in one undertaking, he

meditated the invasion of distant climates, and the destruction of

empires.

“The character of Mahomet however was exceeding different from that of

Philip, and far more worthy of the attention of a philosopher. Philip

was a mere politician, who employed the cunning of a statesman, and the

revenues of a prince, in the corruption of a number of fallen and

effeminate republics. But Mahomet, without riches, without rank, without

education, by the mere ascendancy of his abilities, subjected by

persuasion and force a simple and generous nation that had never been

conquered; and laid the foundation of an empire, that extended over half

the globe; and a religion, capable of surviving the fate of empires. His

schemes were always laid with the truest wisdom. He lived among a people

celebrated for subtlety and genius: he never laid himself open to

detection. His eloquence was specious, dignified, and persuasive. And he

blended with it a lofty enthusiasm, that awed those, whom familiarity

might have emboldened, and silenced his enemies. He was simple of

demeanour, and ostentatious of munificence. And under these plausible

virtues he screened the indulgence of his constitutional propensities.

The number of his concubines and his wives has been ambitiously

celebrated by Christian writers. He sometimes acquired them by violence

and injustice; and he frequently dismissed them without ceremony. His

temper does not seem to have been naturally cruel. But we may trace in

his conduct the features of a barbarian; and a part of his severity may

reasonably be ascribed to the plan of religious conquest that he

adopted, and that can never be reconciled with the rights of humanity.”

After the victories of Omar, and the other successors of Mahomet had in

a manner stripped the court of Constantinople of all its provinces, the

Byzantine history dwindles into an object petty and minute. In order to

vary the scene, and enhance the dignity of his subject, the author

occasionally takes a prospect of the state of Rome and Italy, under the

contending powers of the papacy and the new empire of the West. When the

singular and unparalleled object of the Crusades presents itself, the

historian embraces the illustrious scene with apparent eagerness, and

bestows upon it a greater enlargement than might perhaps have been

expected from the nature of his subject; but not greater, we confidently

believe, than is calculated to increase the pleasure, that a reader of

philosophy and taste may derive from the perusal. As the immortal

Saladin is one of the most distinguished personages in this story, we

have selected his character, as a specimen of this part of the work.

“No sooner however was the virtuous Noureddin removed by death, than the

Christians of the East had their attention still more forcibly alarmed

by the progress of the invincible Saladin. He had possessed himself of

the government of Egypt; first, under the modest appellation of vizier,

and then, with the more august title of soldan. He abolished the dynasty

of the Fatemite khalifs. Though Noureddin had been the patron of his

family, and the father of his fortunes, yet was that hero no sooner

expired, than he invaded the territories of his young and unwarlike

successor. He conquered the fertile and populous province of Syria. He

compelled the saheb of Mawsel to do him homage. The princes of the

Franks already trembled for their possessions, and prepared a new and

more solemn embassy, to demand the necessary succours of their European

brethren.

“The qualities of Saladin were gilded with the lustre of conquest; and

it has been the singular fortune of this Moslem hero, to be painted in

fairer colours by the discordant and astonished Christians, than by

those of his own courtiers and countrymen, who may reasonably be

supposed to have known him best. He has been compared with Alexander;

and tho’ he be usually stiled, and with some justice, a barbarian, it

does not appear that his character would suffer in the comparison. His

conquests were equally splendid; nor did he lead the forces of a brave

and generous people, against a nation depressed by slavery, and relaxed

with effeminacy. Under his banner Saracen encountered Saracen in equal

strife; or the forces of the East were engaged with the firmer and more

disciplined armies of the West. Like Alexander, he was liberal to

profusion; and while all he possessed seemed the property of his

friends, the monarch himself often wanted that, which with unstinted

hand he had heaped upon his favourites and dependents. His sentiments

were elevated, his manners polite and insinuating, and the affability of

his temper was never subdued.

“But the parallel is exceedingly far from entire. He possessed not the

romantic gallantry of the conqueror of Darius; he had none of those

ardent and ungovernable passions, through whose medium the victories of

Arbela and Issus had transformed the generous hero into the lawless

tyrant. It was a maxim to which he uniformly adhered, to accomplish his

lofty designs by policy and intrigue, and to leave as little as possible

to the unknown caprice of fortune. In his mature age he was temperate,

gentle, patient. The passions of his soul, and the necessities of nature

were subordinate to the equanimity of his character[3]. His deportment

was grave and thoughtful; his religion sincere and enthusiastic. He was

ignorant of letters, and despised all learning, that was not

theological. The cultivation, that had obtained under the khalifs, had

not entirely civilized the genius of Saladin. His maxims of war were

indeed the maxims of the age, and ought not to be adopted as a

particular imputation. But the action of his striking off with his own

hand the head of a Christian prince, who had attacked the defenceless

caravan of the pilgrims of Mecca, exhibits to our view all the features

of a fierce and untutored barbarian[4].”

As the whole of this excellent work is now before us, it may not be

impertinent, before we finally take our leave of it, to attempt an idea

of its celebrated author. We are happy in this place to declare our

opinion, that no author ever better obeyed the precept of Horace and

Boileau, in choosing a subject nicely correspondent to the talents he

possessed. The character of this writer, patient yet elegant, accurate

in enquiry, acute in reflexion, was peculiarly calculated to trace the

flow and imperceptible decline of empire, and to throw light upon a

period, darkened by the barbarism of its heroes, and the confused and

narrow genius of its authors. In a word, we need not fear to class the

performance with those that shall do lasting, perhaps immortal, honour,

to the country by which they have been produced.

But like many other works of this elevated description, the time shall

certainly come, when the history before us shall no longer be found, but

in the libraries of the learned, and the cabinets of the curious. At

present it is equally sought by old and young, the learned and

unlearned, the macaroni, the peer, and the fine lady, as well as the

student and scholar. But this is to be ascribed to the rage of fashion.

The performance is not naturally calculated for general acceptance. It

is, by the very tenor of the subject, interspersed with a thousand

minute and elaborate investigations, which, in spite of perspicuous

method, and classical allusion, will deter the idle, and affright the

gay.

Nor can we avoid ascribing the undistinguishing and extravagant

applause, that has been bestowed upon the style, to the same source of

fashion, the rank, the fortune, the connexions of the writer. It is

indeed loaded with epithets, and crowded with allusions. But though the

style be often raised, the thoughts are always calm, equal, and rigidly

classic. The language is full of art, but perfectly exempt from fire.

Learning, penetration, accuracy, polish; any thing is rather the

characteristic of the historian, than the flow of eloquence, and the

flame of genius. Far therefore from classing him in this respect with

such writers as the immortal Hume, who have perhaps carried the English

language to the highest perfection it is capable of reaching; we are

inclined to rank him below Dr. Johnson, though we are by no means

insensible to the splendid faults of that admirable writer.

One word perhaps ought to be said respecting Mr. Gibbon’s treatment of

Christianity. His wit is indeed by no means uniformly happy; as where

for instance, he tells us, that the name of Le Boeuf is remarkably

apposite to the character of that antiquarian; or where, speaking of the

indefatigable diligence of Tillemont, he informs us, that “the patient

and sure-footed mule of the Alps may be trusted in the most slippery

paths.” But allowing every thing for the happiness of his irony, and

setting aside our private sentiments respecting the justice of its

application, we cannot help thinking it absolutely incompatible, with

the laws of history. For our own part, we honestly confess, that we have

met with more than one passage, that has puzzled us whether it ought to

be understood in jest or earnest. The irony of a single word he must be

a churl who would condemn; but the continuance of this figure in serious

composition, throws truth and falsehood, right and wrong into

inextricable perplexity.

ARTICLE II. THE HISTORY OF AMERICA. BY WILLIAM ROBERTSON, D.D.&C.

VOLS. III, IV. 4TO.

The expectation of almost all ranks has been as much excited by the

present performance, as perhaps by almost any publication in the records

of literature. The press has scarcely been able to keep pace with the

eagerness of the public, and the third edition is already announced,

before we have been able to gratify our readers with an account of this

interesting work. For a great historian to adventure an established name

upon so recent and arduous a subject, is an instance that has scarcely

occurred. Reports were sometime ago industriously propagated that Dr.

Robertson had turned his attention to a very different subject, and even

when it was generally known that the present work was upon the eve of

publication, it was still questioned by many, whether a writer, so

celebrated for prudence, had not declined the more recent part of the

North American history. The motives of his conduct upon this head as

they are stated in the preface, we shall here lay before our readers.

“But neither the history of Portuguese America, nor the early history of

our own settlements, have constituted the most arduous part of the

present publication. The revolution, which, unfortunately for this

country, hath recently taken place in the British colonies, hath excited

the most general attention, at the same time that it hath rendered the

gratification of public curiosity a matter of as much delicacy as

necessity. Could this event have been foreseen by me, I should perhaps

have been more cautious of entering into engagements with the public. To

embark upon a subject, respecting which the sentiments of my countrymen

have been so much divided, and the hand of time hath not yet collected

the verdicts of mankind; while the persons, to whose lot it hath fallen

to act the principal parts upon the scene, are almost all living; is a

task that prudence might perhaps refuse, and modesty decline. But

circumstanced as I was, I have chosen rather to consider these

peculiarities as pleas for the candour of my readers, than as motives to

withdraw myself from so important an undertaking. I should ill deserve

the indulgence I have experienced from the public, were I capable of

withdrawing from a task by which their curiosity might be gratified,

from any private inducements of inconvenience or difficulty.”

We have already said, and the reader will have frequent occasion to

recollect it, that we by no means generally intend an analysis of the

several works that may come before us. In the present instance, we do

not apprehend that we shall lay ourselves open to much blame, by passing

over in silence the discoveries of Vespusius, and the conquests of

Baretto; and laying before our readers some extracts from the history of

the late war. It is impossible not to remark that the subject is treated

with much caution, and that, though the sentiments of a royalist be

every where conspicuous, they are those of a royalist, moderated by

misfortune and defeat.

The following is Dr. Robertson’s account of the declaration of

independence.

“It is by this time sufficiently visible, that the men, who took upon

themselves to be most active in directing the American counsels, were

men of deep design and extensive ambition, who by no means confined

their views to the redress of those grievances of which they complained,

and which served them for instruments in the pursuit of objects less

popular and specious. By degrees they sought to undermine the

allegiance, and dissolve the ties, which connected the colonies with the

parent country of Britain. Every step that was taken by her ministry to

restore tranquility to the empire, was artfully misrepresented by the

zealots of faction. Every unguarded expression, or unfortunate measure

of irritation was exaggerated by leaders, who considered their own

honour and dignity as inseparable from further advances, and predicted

treachery and insult as the consequences of retreating. They now

imagined they had met with a favourable opportunity for proceeding to

extremities. Their influence was greatest in the general congress, and

by their means a circular manifesto was issued by that assembly intended

to ascertain the disposition of the several colonies respecting a

declaration of independence.

“They called their countrymen to witness how real had been their

grievances, and how moderate their claims. They said, it was impossible

to have proceeded with more temper or greater deliberation, but that

their complaints had been constantly superseded, their petitions to the

throne rejected. The administration of Great Britain had not hesitated

to attempt to starve them into surrender, and having miscarried in this,

they were ready to employ the whole force of their country, with all the

foreign auxiliaries they could obtain, in prosecution of their unjust

and tyrannical purposes. They were precipitated, it was said, by Britain

into a state of hostility, and there no longer remained for them a

liberty of choice. They must either throw down their arms, and expect

the clemency of men who had acted as the enemies of their rights; or

they must consider themselves as in a state of warfare, and abide by the

consequences of that state. Warfare involved independency. Without this

their efforts must be irregular, feeble, and without all prospect of

success; they could possess no power to suppress mutinies, or to punish

conspiracies; nor could they expect countenance and support from any of

the states of Europe, however they might be inclined to favour them,

while they acknowledged themselves to be subjects, and it was uncertain

how soon they might sacrifice their friends and allies to the hopes of a

reunion. To look back, they were told, to the king of England, after all

the insults they had experienced, and the hostilities that were begun,

would be the height of pusillanimity and weakness. They were bid to

think a little for their posterity, who by the irreversible laws of

nature and situation, could have no alternative left them but to be

slaves or independent. Finally, many subtle reasonings were alledged, to

evince the advantages they must derive from intrinsic legislation, and

general commerce.

“On the other hand, the middle and temperate party, represented this

step as unnecessary, uncertain in its benefits, and irretrievable in its

consequences. They expatiated on the advantages that had long been

experienced by the colonists from the fostering care of Great Britain,

the generosity of the efforts she had made to protect them, and the

happiness they had known under her auspicious patronage. They

represented their doubt of the ability of the colonies to defend

themselves without her alliance. They stated the necessity of a common

superior to balance the separate and discordant interests of the

different provinces. They dwelt upon the miseries of an internal and

doubtful struggle. Determined never to depart from the assertion of what

they considered as their indefeasible right, they would incessantly

besiege the throne with their humble remonstrances. They would seek the

clemency of England, rather than the alliance of those powers, whom they

conceived to be the real enemies of both; nor would they ever be

accessory to the shutting up the door of reconciliation.

“But the voice of moderation is seldom heard amidst the turbulence of

civil dissention. Violent counsels prevailed. The decisive and

irrevocable step was made on the 4^(th) of July 1776. It remains with

posterity to decide upon its merits. Since that time it has indeed

received the sanction of military success; but whatever consequences it

may produce to America, the fatal day must ever be regretted by every

sincere friend to the British empire.”

The other extract we shall select is from the story of Lord Cornwallis’s

surrender in Virginia, and the consequent termination of the American

war.

“The loss of these redoubts may be considered as deciding the fate of

the British troops. The post was indeed originally so weak and

insufficient to resist the force that attacked it, that nothing but the

assured expectation of relief from the garrison of New York, could have

induced the commander to undertake its defence, and calmly to wait the

approaches of the enemy. An officer of so unquestionable gallantry

would, rather have hazarded an encounter in the field, and trusted his

adventure to the decision of fortune, than by cooping his army in so

inadequate a fortress, to have prepared for them inevitable misfortune

and disgrace. But with the expectations he had been induced to form, he

did not think himself justified in having recourse to desperate

expedients.

“These hopes were now at an end. The enemy had already silenced his

batteries. Nothing remained to hinder them from completing their second

parallel, three hundred yards nearer to the besieged than the first. His

lordship had received no intelligence of the approach of succours, and a

probability did not remain that he could defend his station till such

time as he could expect their arrival. Thus circumstanced, with the

magnanimity peculiar to him, he wrote to Sir Henry Clinton, to acquaint

him with the posture of his affairs, and to recommend to the fleet and

the army that they should not make any great risk in endeavouring to

extricate them.

“But although he regarded his situation as hopeless, he did not neglect

any effort becoming a general, to lengthen the siege, and procrastinate

the necessity of a surrender, if it was impossible finally to prevent

it. The number of his troops seemed scarcely sufficient to countenance a

considerable sally, but the emergency was so critical, that he ordered

about three hundred and fifty men, on the morning of the 16^(th), to

attack the batteries that appeared to be in the greatest forwardness,

and to spike their guns. The assault was impetuous and successful. But

either from their having executed the business upon which they were sent

in a hasty and imperfect manner, or from the activity and industry of

the enemy, the damage was repaired, and the batteries completed before

evening.

“One choice only remained. To carry the troops across to Gloucester

Point, and make one last effort to escape. Boats were accordingly

prepared, and at ten o’clock at night the army began to embark. The

first embarkation arrived in safety. The greater part of the troops were

already landed. At this critical moment of hope and apprehension, of

expectation and danger, the weather, which had hitherto been moderate

and calm, suddenly changed; the sky was clouded, the wind rose and a

violent storm ensued. The boats with the remaining troops were borne

down the stream. To complete the anxiety and danger, the batteries of

the enemy were opened, the day dawned, and their efforts were directed

against the northern shore of the river. Nothing could be hoped, but the

escape of the boats, and the safety of the troops. They were brought

back without much loss, and every thing was replaced in its former

situation.

“Every thing now verged to the dreaded crisis. The fire of the besiegers

was heavy and unintermitted. The British could not return a gun, and the

shells, their last resource, were nearly exhausted. They were themselves

worn down with sickness and continual watching. A few hours it appeared

must infallibly decide their fate. And if any thing were still wanting,

the French ships which had entered the mouth of the river, seemed

prepared to second the general assault on their side. In this situation,

lord Cornwallis, not less calm and humane, than he was intrepid, chose

not to sacrifice the lives of so many brave men to a point of honour,

but the same day proposed to general Washington a cessation of twenty

four hours, in order mutually to adjust the terms of capitulation.

“The troops which surrendered in the posts of York and Gloucester

amounted to between five and six thousand men, but there were not above

three thousand eight hundred of these in a capacity for actual service.

They were all obliged to become prisoners of war. Fifteen hundred seamen

were included in the capitulation. The commander, unable to obtain terms

for the loyal Americans, was obliged to have recourse to a sloop,

appointed to carry his dispatches, and which he stipulated should pass

unsearched, to convey them to New York. The British fleet and army

arrived off the Chesapeak five days after the surrender. Having learned

the melancholy fate of their countrymen, they were obliged to return,

without effecting any thing, to their former station.

“Such was the catastrophe of an army, that in intrepidity of exertion,

and the patient endurance of the most mortifying reverses, are scarcely

to be equalled by any thing that is to be met with in history. The

applause they have received undiminished by their subsequent

misfortunes, should teach us to exclaim less upon the precariousness of

fame, and animate us with the assurance that heroism and constancy can

never be wholly disappointed of their reward.”

The publication before us is written with that laudable industry, which

ought ever to distinguish a great historian. The author appears to have

had access to some of the best sources of information; and has

frequently thrown that light upon a recent story, which is seldom to be

expected, but from the developements of time, and the researches of

progressive generations.

We cannot bestow equal praise upon his impartiality. Conscious however

and reserved upon general questions, the historian has restricted

himself almost entirely to the narrative form, and has seldom indulged

us with, what we esteem the principal ornament of elegant history,

reflexion and character. The situation of Dr. Robertson may suggest to

us an obvious, though incompetent, motive in the present instance.

Writing for his contemporaries and countrymen, he could not treat the

resistance of America, as the respectable struggle of an emerging

nation. Writing for posterity, he could not denominate treason and

rebellion, that which success, at least, had stamped with the signatures

of gallantry and applause. But such could not have been the motives of

the writer in that part of the history of America, which was given to

the world some years ago. Perhaps Dr. Robertson was willing to try, how

far his abilities could render the most naked story agreeable and

interesting. We will allow him to have succeeded. But we could well have

spared the experiment.

The style of this performance is sweet and eloquent. We hope however

that we shall not expose ourselves to the charge of fastidiousness, when

we complain that it is rather too uniformly so. The narrative is indeed

occasionally enlivened, and the language picturesque. But in general we

search in vain for some roughness to relieve the eye, and some sharpness

to provoke the palate. One full and sweeping period succeeds another,

and though pleased and gratified at first, the attention gradually

becomes languid.

It would not perhaps be an unentertaining employment to compare the

style of Dr. Robertson’s present work with that of his first

publication, the admired History of Scotland. The language of that

performance is indeed interspersed with provincial and inelegant modes

of expression, and the periods are often unskilfully divided. But it has

a vigour and spirit, to which such faults are easily pardoned. We can

say of it, what we can scarcely say of any of the author’s later

publications, that he has thrown his whole strength into it.

In that instance however he entered the lists with almost the only

historian, with whom Dr. Robertson must appear to disadvantage, the

incomparable Hume. In the comparison, we cannot but acknowledge that the

eloquence of the former speaks the professor, not the man of the world.

He reasons indeed, but it is with the reasons of logic; and not with the

acuteness of philosophy, and the intuition of genius. Let not the living

historian be offended. To be second to Hume, in our opinion might

satisfy the ambition of a Livy or a Tacitus.

ARTICLE III. SECRET HISTORY OF THEODORE ALBERT MAXIMILIAN, PRINCE OF

HOHENZOLLERN SIGMARINGEN. 12MO.

This agreeable tale appears to be the production of the noble author of

the Modern Anecdote. It is told with the same humour and careless

vivacity. The design is to ridicule the cold pedantry that judges of

youth, without making any allowance for the warmth of inexperience, and

the charms of beauty. Such readers as take up a book merely for

entertainment, and do not quarrel with an author that does not

scrupulously confine himself within the limits of moral instruction,

will infallibly find their account in it.

The following specimen will give some idea of the manner in which the

story is told.

“The learned Bertram was much scandalized at the dissipation that

prevailed in the court of Hohenzollern. He was credibly informed that

the lord treasurer of the principality, who had no less than a revenue

of 109l. 7s. 10-3/4d. committed to his management, sometimes forgot the

cares of an exchequer in the arms of a mistress. Nay, fame had even

whispered in his ear, that the reverend confessor himself had an

intrigue with a certain cook-maid. But that which beyond all things,

afflicted him was the amour of Theodore with the beautiful Wilhelmina.

What, cried he, when he ruminated upon the subject, can it be excusable

in the learned Bertram, whose reputation has filled a fourth part of the

circle of Swabia, who twice bore away the prize in the university of

Otweiler, to pass these crying sins in silence? It shall not be said.

Thus animated, he strided away to the antichamber of Theodore. Theodore,

who was all graciousness, venerated the reputation of Bertram, and

ordered him to be instantly admitted. The eyes of the philosopher

flashed with anger. Most noble prince, cried he, I am come to inform

you, that you must immediately break with the beautiful Wilhelmina.

Theodore stared, but made no answer. The vices of your highness, said

Bertram, awake my indignation. While you toy away your hours in the lap

of a w——e, the vast principality of Hohenzollern Sigmaringen hastens to

its fall. Reflect, my lord; three villages, seven hamlets, and near

eleven grange houses and cottages, depend upon you for their political

prosperity. Alas, thought Theodore, what are grange houses and cottages

compared with the charms of Wilhelmina? Shall the lewd tricks of a

wanton make you forget the jealous projects of the prince of

Hohenzollern Hechingen, the elder branch of your illustrious house?

Theodore pulled out his watch, that he might not outstay his

appointment. My lord, continued Bertram, ruin impends over you. Two

peasants of the district of Etwingen have already been seduced from

their loyalty, a nail that supported the chart of your principality has

fallen upon the ground, and your father confessor is in bed with a

cook-maid. Theodore held forth his hand for Bertram to kiss, and flew

upon the wings of desire to the habitation of Wilhelmina.”

ARTICLE IV. LOUISA, OR MEMOIRS OF A LADY OF QUALITY. BY THE AUTHOR OF

EVELINA AND CECILIA. 3 VOLS. 12MO.

There scarcely seems to exist a more original genius in the present age

than this celebrated writer. In the performances with which she has

already entertained the public, we cannot so much as trace a feature of

her illustrious predecessors; the fable, the characters, the incidents

are all her own. In the mean time they are not less happy, than they are

new. A Belfield, a Monckton, a Morrice, and several other personages of

the admired Cecilia, will scarcely yield to the most finished draughts

of the greatest writers. In comedy, in tragedy, Miss Burney alike

excels. And the union of them both in the Vauxhall scene of the death of

Harrel ranks among the first efforts of human genius. Of consequence we

may safely pronounce that the reputation of this lady is by no means

dependent upon fashion or caprice, but will last as long as there is

understanding to discern, and taste to relish the beauties of fiction.

It must be acknowledged that her defects are scarcely less conspicuous

than her excellencies. In her underplots she generally miscarries. We

can trace nothing of Miss Burney in the stories of Macartney, Albany,

and the Hills. Her comedy sometimes deviates into farce. The character

of Briggs in particular, though it very successfully excites our

laughter, certainly deforms a work, which in its principal constituents

ranks in the very highest species of composition. Her style is often

affected, and in the serious is sometimes so laboured and figurative, as

to cost the reader a very strict attention to discover the meaning,

without perfectly repaying his trouble. These faults are most

conspicuous in Cecilia, which upon the whole we esteem by much her

greatest performance. In Evelina she wrote more from inartificial

nature. And we are happy to observe in the present publication, that the

masculine sense, by which Miss Burney is distinguished, has raised her

almost wholly above these little errors. The style of Louisa is more

polished than that of Evelina, and more consonant to true taste than

that of Cecilia.

The principal story of Louisa, like that of Cecilia, is very simple, but

adorned with a thousand beautiful episodes. As the great action of the

latter is Cecilia’s sacrifice of fortune to a virtuous and laudable

attachment, so that of the former is the sacrifice of rank, in the

marriage of the heroine to a young man of the most distinguished merit,

but neither conspicuous by birth, nor favoured by fortune. The event,

romantic and inconsistent with the manners of polished society as it may

appear, is introduced by such a train of incidents, that it is

impossible not to commend and admire the conduct of the heroine.

Her character is that of inflexible vivacity and wit, accompanied with a

spice of coquetry and affectation. And though this line of portrait

seemed exhausted by Congreve and Richardson, we will venture to

pronounce Louisa a perfect original. It is impossible to describe such a

character in the abstract without recollecting Millamant and Lady G. But

in reading this most agreeable novel, you scarcely think of either. As

there is no imitation, so there are not two expressions in the work,

that can lead from one to the other. Louisa is more amiable than the

former, and more delicate and feminine than the latter.

Mr. Burchel, the happy lover, is an author, a young man of infinite

genius, of romantic honour, of unbounded generosity. Lord Raymond, the

brother of Louisa, becomes acquainted with him in his travels, by an

incident in which Mr. Burchel does him the most essential service. Being

afterwards introduced to his sister, and being deeply smitten with her

beauty and accomplishments, he quits the house of lord Raymond abruptly,

with a determination entirely to drop his connexion. Sometime after, in

a casual and unexpected meeting, he saves the life of his mistress. In

the conclusion, his unparalleled merit, and his repeated services

surmount every obstacle to an union.

Besides these two there are many other characters happily imagined.

Louisa is involved in considerable distress previous to the final

catastrophe. The manner in which her gay and sportive character is

supported in these scenes is beyond all commendation. But the extract we

shall give, as most singular in its nature, relates to another

considerable female personage, Olivia. As the humour of Louisa is lively

and fashionable, that of Olivia is serious and romantic. Educated in

perfect solitude, she is completely ignorant of modern manners, and

entertains the most sovereign contempt for them. Full of sentiment and

sensibility, she is strongly susceptible to every impression, and her

conduct is wholly governed by her feelings. Trembling at every leaf, and

agonized at the smallest accident, she is yet capable, from singularity

of thinking, of enterprises the most bold and unaccountable. Conformably

to this temper, struck with the character of Burchel, and ravished with

his address and behaviour, she plans the most extraordinary attempt upon

his person. By her orders he is surprised in a solitary excursion, after

some resistance actually seized, and conducted blindfold to the house of

his fair admirer. Olivia now appears, professes her attachment, and lays

her fortune, which is very considerable, at his feet. Unwilling however

to take him by surprise, she allows him a day for deliberation, and

insists upon his delivering at the expiration of it, an honest and

impartial answer. His entertainment is sumptuous.

In the mean time, a peasant, who at a distance was witness to the

violence committed upon Burchel, and had traced him to the house of

Olivia, carries the account of what he had seen to Raymond Place. The

company, which, in the absence of lord Raymond, consisted of Louisa, Mr.

Bromley, an uncle, Sir Charles Somerville, a suitor, and Mr. Townshend,

a sarcastic wit, determine to set off the next morning for the house of

the ravisher. This is the scene which follows.

“Alarmed at the bustle upon the stairs, Olivia, more dead than alive,

pressed the hand of Burchel with a look of inexpressible astonishment

and mortification, and withdrew to the adjoining apartment.

“The door instantly flew open. Burchel advanced irresolutely a few steps

towards the company, bowed, and was silent.

“The person that first entered was Mr. Bromley. He instantly seized hold

of Burchel, and shook him very heartily by the hand.

“Ha, my boy, said he, have we found you? Well, and how? safe and sound?

Eh? clapping him upon the shoulder.

“At your service, sir, answered Burchel, with an air of embarrassment

and hesitation.

“It was not altogether the right thing, methinks, to leave us all

without saying why, or wherefore, and stay out all night. Why we thought

you had been murdered. My niece here has been in hysterics.

“‘Pon honour, cried sir Charles, you are very facetious. But we heard,

Mr. Burchel, you were ran away with. It must have been very alarming. I

vow, I should have been quite fluttered. Pray, sir, how was it?

“Why, indeed, interposed Mr. Townshend, the very relation seemed to

disturb sir Charles. For my part, I was more alarmed for him than for

Miss Bromley.

“Well, but, returned Bromley, impatiently, it is a queer affair. I hope

as the lady went so far, you were not shy. You have not spoiled all, and

affronted her.

“Oh, surely not, exclaimed Townshend, you do not suspect him of being

such a boor. Doubtless every thing is settled by this time. The lady has

a fine fortune, Burchel; poets do not meet with such every day; Miss

Bromley, you look pale.

“Ha! Ha! Ha! you do me infinite honour, cried Louisa, making him a droll

curtesy; what think you, sir Charles?

“‘Pon my soul, I never saw you look so bewitchingly.

“Well, but my lad, cried Bromley, you say nothing, don’t answer a single

question. What, mum’s the word, eh?

“Indeed, sir, I do not know,—I do not understand—the affair is entirely

a mystery to myself—it is in the power of no one but Miss Seymour to

explain it.

“Well, and where is she? where is she?

“O I will go and look her, cried Louisa; will you come, Sir Charles; and

immediately tripped out of the room. Sir Charles followed.

“Olivia had remained in too much confusion to withdraw farther than the

next room; and upon this new intrusion, she threw herself upon a sopha,

and covered her face with her hands.

“O here is the stray bird, exclaimed Louisa, fluttering in the meshes.

“Mr. Bromley immediately entered; Mr. Townshend followed; Burchel

brought up the rear.

“My dearest creature, cried Louisa, do not be alarmed. We are come to

wish you joy; and seized one of her hands.

“Well, but where’s the parson? exclaimed Bromley—What, has grace been

said, the collation served, and the cloth removed? Upon my word, you

have been very expeditious, Miss.

“My God, Bromley, said Townshend, do not reflect so much upon the ladies

modesty. I will stake my life they were not to have been married these

three days.

“Olivia now rose from the sopha in unspeakable agitation, and

endeavoured to defend herself. Gentlemen, assure yourselves,—give me

leave to protest to you,—indeed you will be sorry—you are mistaken———Oh

Miss Bromley, added she, in a piercing voice, and threw her arms eagerly

about the neck of Louisa.

“Mind them not, my dear, said Louisa; you know, gentlemen, Miss Seymour

is studious; it was a point in philosophy she wished to settle; that’s

all, Olivia; and kissed her cheek.

“Or perhaps, added Townshend,—the lady is young and inexperienced—she

wanted a comment upon the bower scene in Cleopatra.

“Olivia suddenly raised her head and came forward, still leaning one arm

upon Louisa. Hear me, cried she; I will be heard. What have I done that

would expose me to the lash of each unlicenced tongue? What has there

been in any hour of my life, upon which for calumny to fix her stain? Of

what loose word, of what act of levity and dissipation can I be

convicted? Have I not lived in the solitude of a recluse? Oh, fortune,

hard and unexampled!

“Deuce take me, cried sir Charles, whispering Townshend, if I ever saw

any thing so handsome.

“Olivia stood in a posture firm and collected, her bosom heaving with

resentment; but her face was covered with blushes, and her eyes were

languishing and sorrowful.

“For the present unfortunate affair I will acknowledge the truth. Mr.

Burchel to me appeared endowed with every esteemable accomplishment,

brave, generous, learned, imaginative, and tender. By what nobler

qualities could a female heart be won? Fashion, I am told, requires that

we should not make the advances. I reck not fashion, and have never been

her slave. Fortune has thrown him at a distance from me. It should have

been my boast to trample upon her imaginary distinctions. I would never

have forced an unwilling hand. But if constancy, simplicity and regard

could have won a heart, his heart had been mine. I know that the

succession of external objects would have made the artless virtues of

Olivia pass unheeded. It was for that I formed my little plan. I will

not blush for a scheme that no bad passion prompted. But it is over, and

I will return to my beloved solitude with what unconcern I may. God

bless you, Mr. Burchel; I never meant you any harm: and in saying this,

she advanced two steps forward, and laid her hand on his.

“Burchel, without knowing what he did, fell on one knee and kissed it.

“This action revived the confusion of Olivia; she retreated, and Louisa

took hold of her arm. Will you retire, said Louisa? You are a sweet good

creature. Olivia assented, advanced a few steps forward, and then with

her head half averted, took a parting glance at Burchel, and hurried

away.

“A strange girl this, said Bromley! Devil take me, if I know what to

make of her.

“I vow, cried sir Charles, I am acquainted with all the coteries in

town, and never met with any thing like her.

“Why, she is as coming, rejoined the squire, as a milk-maid, and yet I

do not know how she has something that dashes one too.

“Ah, cried sir Charles, shaking his head, she has nothing of the manners

of the grand monde.

“That I can say nothing to, said Bromley, but, in my mind, her behaviour

is gracious and agreeable enough, if her conduct were not so out of the

way.

“What think you, Burchel, said Townshend, she is handsome, innocent,

good tempered and rich; excellent qualities, let me tell you, for a

wife.

“I think her, said Burchel, more than you say. Her disposition is

amiable, and her character exquisitely sweet and feminine. She is

capable of every thing generous and admirable. A false education, and

visionary sentiments, to which she will probably one day be superior,

have rendered her for the present an object of pity. But, though I loved

her, I should despise my own heart, if it were capable of taking

advantage of her inexperience, to seduce her to a match so unequal.

“At this instant Louisa re-entered, and making the excuses of Olivia,

the company returned to the carriage, sir Charles mounted on horseback

as he came, and they carried off the hero in triumph.”

ARTICLE V. THE PEASANT OF BILIDELGERID, A TALE.

2 VOLS. SHANDEAN.

This is the only instance in which we shall take the liberty to announce

to the public an author hitherto unknown. Thus situated, we shall not

presume to prejudice our readers either ways concerning him, but shall

simply relate the general plan of the work.

It attempts a combination, which has so happily succeeded with the

preceding writer, of the comic and the pathetic. The latter however is

the principal object. The hero is intended for a personage in the

highest degree lovely and interesting, who in his earliest bloom of

youth is subjected to the most grievous calamities, and terminates them

not but by an untimely death. The writer seems to have apprehended that

a dash of humour was requisite to render his story in the highest degree

interesting. And he has spared no exertion of any kind of which he was

capable, for accomplishing this purpose.

The scene is laid in Egypt and the adjacent countries. The peasant is

the son of the celebrated Saladin. The author has exercised his

imagination in painting the manners of the times and climates of which

he writes.

ARTICLE VI. AN ESSAY ON NOVEL, IN THREE EPISTLES INSCRIBED TO THE

RIGHT HONOURABLE LADY CRAVEN, BY WILL. HAYLEY, ESQ. 4TO.

The public has been for some time agreed that Mr. Hayley is the first of

English poets. Envy herself scarcely dares utter a dissentient murmur,

and even generous emulation turns pale at the mention of his name. His

productions, allowing for the very recent period in which he commenced

author, are rather numerous. A saturnine critic might be apt to suspect

that they were also hasty, were not the loftiness of their conceptions,

the majesty of their style, the richness of their imagination, and above

all, the energy both of their thoughts and language so conspicuous, that

we may defy any man of taste to rise from the perusal, and say, that all

the study and consideration in the world could possibly have made them

better. After a course however of unremitted industry, Mr. Hayley seemed

to have relaxed, and to the eternal mortification of the literary world,

last winter could not boast a single production of the prince of song.

The muses have now paid us another visit. We are very sensible of our

incapacity to speak, or even think of this writer with prosaic phlegm;

we cannot however avoid pronouncing, that, in our humble opinion, Mr.

Hayley has now outdone all his former outdoings, and greatly repaid us

for the absence we so dearly mourned.

We are sensible that it is unbecoming the character of a critic to lay

himself out in general and vague declamation. It is also within the laws

of possibility, that an incurious or unpoetical humour in some of our

readers, and (ah me, the luckless day!) penury in others, may have

occasioned their turning over the drowsy pages of the review, before

they have perused the original work. Some account of the plan, and a

specimen of the execution may therefore be expected.

The first may be dispatched in two words. The design is almost exactly

analogous to that of the Essay on History, which has been so much

celebrated. The author triumphs in the novelty of his subject, and pays

a very elegant compliment to modern times, as having been in a manner

the sole inventors of this admirable species of composition, of which he

has undertaken to deliver the precepts. He deduces the pedigree of novel

through several generations from Homer and Calliope. He then undertakes

to characterise the most considerable writers in this line. He discusses

with much learning, and all the logical subtlety so proper to the

didactic muse, the pretensions of the Cyropedia of Xenophon; but at

length rejects it as containing nothing but what was literally true, and

therefore belonging to the class of history. He is very eloquent upon

the Shepherd of Hermas, Theagenes and Chariclea, and the Ethiopics of

Heliodorus. Turpin, Scudery, Cotterel, Sidney, the countess D’Anois, and

“all such writers as were never read,” next pass in review. Boccace and

Cervantes occupy a very principal place. The modern French writers of

fictitious history from Fenelon to Voltaire, close the first epistle.

The second is devoted to English authors. The third to the laws of novel

writing.

We shall present our readers, as a specimen, with the character of that

accomplished writer, John Bunyan, whom the poet has generously rescued

from that contempt which fashionable manners, and fashionable

licentiousness had cast upon him.

“See in the front of Britain’s honour’d band,

The author of the Pilgrim’s Progress stand.

Though, sunk in shades of intellectual night,

He boasted but the simplest arts, to read and write;

Though false religion hold him in her chains,

His judgment weakens and his heart restrains:

Yet fancy’s richest beams illum’d his mind,

And honest virtue his mistakes refin’d.

The poor and the illiterate he address’d;

The poor and the illiterate call him blest.

Blest he the man that taught the poor to pray,

That shed on adverse fate religion’s day,

That wash’d the clotted tear from sorrow’s face,

Recall’d the rambler to the heavenly race,

Dispell’d the murky clouds of discontent,

And read the lore of patience wheresoe’er he went.”

Amidst the spirited beauties of this passage, it is impossible not to

consider some as particularly conspicuous. How strong and nervous the

second and fourth lines! How happily expressive the two Alexandrines!

What a luminous idea does the epithet “murky” present to us! How

original and picturesque that of the “clotted tear!” If the same

expression be found in the Ode to Howard, let it however be considered,

that the exact propriety of that image to wash it from the face (for how

else, candid reader, could a tear already clotted be removed) is a clear

improvement, and certainly entitles the author to a repetition. Lastly,

how consistent the assemblage, how admirable the climax in the last six

lines! Incomparable they might appear, but we recollect a passage nearly

equal in the Essay on History,

“Wild as thy feeble Metaphysic page,

Thy History rambles into Steptic rage;

Whose giddy and fantastic dreams abuse,

A Hampden’s Virtue and a Shakespeare’s Muse.”

How elevated the turn of this passage! To be at once luxuriant and

feeble, and to lose one’s way till we get into a passion, (with our

guide, I suppose) is peculiar to a poetic subject. It is impossible to

mistake this for prose. Then how pathetic the conclusion! What hard

heart can refuse its compassion to personages abused by a dream, and

that dream the dream of a History!

Oh, wonderful poet, thou shalt be immortal, if my eulogiums can make

thee so! To thee thine own rhyme shall never be applied, (Dii, avertite

omen).

“Already, pierc’d by freedom’s searching rays,

The waxen fabric of his fame decays!”

ARTICLE VII. INKLE AND YARICO, A POEM, BY JAMES BEATTIE, L.L.D. 4TO.

This author cannot certainly be compared with Mr. Hayley.

We know not by what fatality Dr. Beattie has acquired the highest

reputation as a philosopher, while his poetry, though acknowledged to be

pleasing, is comparatively little thought on. It must always be with

regret and diffidence, that we dissent from the general verdict. We

should however be somewhat apprehensive of sacrificing the character we

have assumed, did we fail to confess that his philosophy has always

appeared to us at once superficial and confused, feeble and

presumptuous. We do not know any thing it has to recommend it, but the

good intention, and we wish we could add the candid spirit, with which

it is written.

Of his poetry however we think very differently. Though deficient in

nerve, it is at once sweet and flowing, simple and amiable. We are happy

to find the author returning to a line in which he appears so truly

respectable. The present performance is by no means capable to detract

from his character as a poet. This well known tale is related in a

manner highly pathetic and interesting. As we are not at all desirous of

palling the curiosity of the reader for the poem itself, we shall make

our extract at random. The following stanzas, as they are taken from a

part perfectly cool and introductory, are by no means the best in this

agreeable piece. They are prefaced by some general reflexions on the

mischiefs occasioned by the sacra fames auri. The reader will perceive

that Dr. Beattie, according to the precept of Horace, has rushed into

the midst of things, and not taken up the narrative in chronological

order.

“Where genial Phoebus darts his fiercest rays,

Parching with heat intense the torrid zone:

No fanning western breeze his rage allays;

No passing cloud, with kindly shade o’erthrown,

His place usurps; but Phoebus reigns alone,

In this unfriendly clime a woodland shade,

Gloomy and dark with woven boughs o’ergrown,

Shed chearful verdure on the neighbouring glade,

And to th’ o’er-labour’d hind a cool retreat display’d.

Along the margin of th’ Atlantic main,

Rocks pil’d on rocks yterminate the scene;

Save here and there th’ incroaching surges gain

An op’ning grateful to the daisied green;

Save where, ywinding cross the vale is seen

A bubbling creek, that spreads on all sides round

Its breezy freshness, gladding, well I ween,

The op’ning flow’rets that adorn the ground,

From her green margin to the ocean’s utmost bound.

The distant waters hoarse resounding roar,

And fill the list’ning ear. The neighb’ring grove

Protects, i’th’midst that rose, a fragrant bow’r,

With nicest art compos’d. All nature strove,

With all her powers, this favour’d spot to prove

A dwelling fit for innocence and joy,

Or temple worthy of the god of love.

All objects round to mirth and joy invite,

Nor aught appears among that could the pleasure blight.

Within there sat, all beauteous to behold!

Adorn’d with ev’ry grace, a gentle maid.

Her limbs were form’d in nature’s choicest mould,

Her lovely eyes the coldest bosoms sway’d,

And on her breast ten thousand Cupids play’d.

What though her skin were not as lilies fair?

What though her face confest a darker shade?

Let not a paler European dare

With glowing Yarico’s her beauty to compare.

And if thus perfect were her outward form,

What tongue can tell the graces of her mind,

Constant in love and in its friendships warm?

There blushing modesty with virtue join’d

There tenderness and innocence combin’d.

Nor fraudful wiles, nor dark deceit she knew,

Nor arts to catch the inexperienc’d hind;

No swain’s attention from a rival drew,

For she was simple all, and she was ever true.

There was not one so lovely or so good,

Among the num’rous daughters of the plain;

‘Twas Yarico each Indian shepherd woo’d;

But Yarico each shepherd woo’d in vain;

Their arts she view’d not but with cold disdain.

For British Inkle’s charms her soul confest,

His paler charms had caus’d her am’rous pain;

Nor could her heart admit another guest,

Or time efface his image in her constant breast,

Her generous love remain’d not unreturn’d,

Nor was the youthful swain as marble cold,

But soon with equal flame his bosom burn’d;

His passion soon in love’s soft language told,

Her spirits cheer’d and bad her heart be bold.

Each other dearer than the world beside,

Each other dearer than themselves they hold.

Together knit in firmest bonds they bide,

While days and months with joy replete unnotic’d glide.

Ev’n now beside her sat the British boy,

Who ev’ry mark of youth and beauty bore,

All that allure the soul to love and joy.

Ev’n now her eyes ten thousand charms explore,

Ten thousand charms she never knew before.

His blooming cheeks confest a lovely glow,

His jetty eyes unusual brightness wore,

His auburn locks adown his Shoulders flow,

And manly dignity is seated on his brow.”

ARTICLE VIII THE ALCHYMIST, A COMEDY, ALTERED FROM BEN JONSON, BY

RICHARD BRINSLEY SHERIDAN, ESQ.

There are few characters, that have risen into higher favour with the

English nation, than Mr. Sheridan. He was known and admired, as a man of

successful gallantry, both with the fair sex and his own, before he

appeared, emphatically speaking, upon the public stage. Since that time,

his performances, of the Duenna, and the School for Scandal, have been

distinguished with the public favour beyond any dramatical productions

in the language. His compositions, in gaiety of humour and spriteliness

of wit, are without an equal.

Satiated, it should seem, with the applauses of the theatre, he turned

his attention to public and parliamentary speaking. The vulgar

prejudice, that genius cannot expect to succeed in two different walks,

for some time operated against him. But he possessed merit, and he

compelled applause. He now ranks, by universal consent, as an orator and

a statesman, with the very first names of an age, that will not perhaps

be accounted unproductive in genius and abilities.

It was now generally supposed that he had done with the theatre. For our

own part, we must confess; we entertain all possible veneration for

parliamentary and ministerial abilities; we should be mortified to rank

second to any man in our enthusiasm for the official talents of Mr.

Sheridan: But as the guardians of literature, we regretted the loss of

his comic powers. We wished to preserve the poet, without losing the

statesman. Greatly as we admired the opera and the comedy, we conceived

his unbounded talents capable of something higher still. To say all in a

word, we looked at his hands for the MISANTHROPE of the British muse.

It is unnecessary to say then, that we congratulate the public upon the

present essay. It is meaned only as a jeu d’esprit. But we consider it

as the earnest of that perseverance, which we wished to prove, and

feared to lose. The scene we have extracted, and which, with another,

that may be considered as a kind of praxis upon the rules, constitutes

the chief part of the alteration, is apparently personal. How far

personal satire is commendable in general, and how far it is just in the

present instance, are problems that we shall leave with our readers.—As

much as belongs to Jonson we have put in italics.

** ACT IV

*** SCENE 4

Enter Captain Face, disguised as Lungs, and Kastril.

FACE.

Who would you speak with?

KASTRIL.

Where is the captain?

FACE.

Gone, sir, about some business.

KASTRIL.

Gone?

FACE.

He will return immediately. But master doctor, his lieutenant is here.

KASTRIL.

Say, I would speak with him.

[Exit Face.

Enter Subtle.

SUBTLE.

Come near, sir.—I know you well.—You are my terrae fili—that is—my boy

of land—same three thousand pounds a year.

KASTRIL.

How know you that, old boy?

SUBTLE.

I know the subject of your visit, and I’ll satisfy you. Let us see now

what notion you have of the matter. It is a nice point to broach a

quarrel right.

KASTRIL.

You lie.

SUBTLE.

How now?—give me the lie?—for what, my boy?

KASTRIL.

Nay look you to that.—I am beforehand—that’s my business.

SUBTLE.

Oh, this is not the art of quarrelling—‘tis poor and pitiful!—What, sir,

would you restrict the noble science of debate to the mere lie?—Phaw,

that’s a paltry trick, that every fool could hit.—A mere Vandal could

throw his gantlet, and an Iroquois knock his antagonist down.—No, sir,

the art of quarrel is vast and complicated.—Months may worthily be

employed in the attainment,—and the exercise affords range for the

largest abilities.—To quarrel after the newest and most approved method,

is the first of sciences,—the surest test of genius, and the last

perfection of civil society.

KASTRIL.

You amaze me. I thought to dash the lie in another’s face was the most

respectable kind of anger.

SUBTLE.

O lud, sir, you are very ignorant. A man that can only give the lie is

not worth the name of quarrelsome—quite tame and spiritless!—No, sir,

the angry boy must understand, beside the QUARREL DIRECT—in which I own

you have some proficiency—a variety of other modes of attack;—such as,

the QUARREL PREVENTIVE—the QUARREL OBSTREPEROUS—the QUARREL

SENSITIVE—the QUARREL OBLIQUE—and the QUARREL PERSONAL.

KASTRIL.

O Mr. doctor, that I did but understand half so much of the art of

brangling as you do!—What would I give!—Harkee—I’ll settle an hundred a

year upon you.—But come, go on, go on—

SUBTLE.

O sir! you quite overpower me—why, if you use me thus, you will draw all

my secrets from me at once.—I shall almost kick you down stairs the

first lecture.

KASTRIL.

How!—Kick me down stairs?—Ware that—Blood and oons, sir!

SUBTLE.

Well, well,—be patient—be patient—Consider, it is impossible to

communicate the last touches of the art of petulance, but by fist and

toe,—by sword and pistol.

KASTRIL.

Sir, I don’t understand you!

SUBTLE.

Enough. We’ll talk of that another time.—What I have now to explain is

the cool and quiet art of debate—fit to be introduced into the most

elegant societies—or the most august assemblies.—You, my angry boy, are

in parliament?

KASTRIL.

No, doctor.—I had indeed some thoughts of it.—But imagining that the

accomplishments of petulance and choler would be of no use there—I gave

it up.

SUBTLE.

Good heavens!—Of no use?—Why, sir, they can be no where so

properly.—Only conceive how august a little petulance—and what a

graceful variety snarling and snapping would introduce!—True, they are

rather new in that connexion.—Believe me, sir, there is nothing for

which I have so ardently longed as to meet them there.—I should die

contented.—And you, sir,—if you would introduce them—Eh?

KASTRIL.

Doctor, you shall be satisfied—I’ll be in parliament in a month—I’ll be

prime minister—LORD HIGH TREASURER of ENGLAND—or, CHANCELLOR of the

EXCHEQUER!

SUBTLE.

Oh, by all means CHANCELLOR of the EXCHEQUER! You are somewhat young

indeed—but that’s no objection.—Damn me, if the office can ever be so

respectably filled as by an angry boy.

KASTRIL.

True, true.—But, doctor, we forget your instructions all this time.—Let

me see—Ay—first was the QUARREL PREVENTIVE.

SUBTLE.

Well thought of!—Why, sir, in your new office you will be liable to all

sorts of attacks—Ministers always are, and an angry boy cannot hope to

escape.—Now nothing, you know, is so much to the purpose as to have the

first blow—Blunders are very natural.—Your friends tell one story in the

upper house, and you another in the lower—You shall give up a territory

to the enemy that you ought to have kept, and when charged with it,

shall unluckily drop that you and your colleagues were ignorant of the

geography of the country—You foresee an attack—you immediately

open—Plans so extensively beneficial—accounts so perfectly

consistent—measures so judicious and accurate—no man can question—no man

can object to—but a rascal and a knave.—Let him come forward!

KASTRIL.

Very good! very good!—For the QUARREL OPSTREPEROUS, that I easily

conceive.—An antagonist objects shrewdly—I cannot invent an answer.—In

that case, there is nothing to be done but to drown his reasons in

noise—nonsense—and vociferation.

SUBTLE.

Come to my arms, my dear Kastril! O thou art an apt scholar—thou wilt be

nonpareil in the art of brawling!—But for the QUARREL SENSITIVE—

KASTRIL.

Ay, that I confess I don’t understand.

SUBTLE.

Why, it is thus, my dear boy—A minister is apt to be sore.—Every man

cannot have the phlegm of Burleigh.—And an angry boy is sorest of

all.—In that case—an objection is made that would dumbfound any other

man—he parries it with—my honour—and my integrity—and the rectitude of

my intentions—my spotless fame—my unvaried truth—and the greatness of my

abilities—And so gives no answer at all.

KASTRIL.

Excellent! excellent!

SUBTLE.

The QUARREL OBLIQUE is easy enough.—It is only to talk in general terms

of places and pensions—the loaves and the fishes—a struggle for power—a

struggle for power—And it will do excellent well, if at a critical

moment—you can throw in a hint of some forty or fifty millions

unaccounted for by some people’s grandfathers and uncles dead fifty

years ago.

KASTRIL.

Ha! ha! ha!

SUBTLE.

Lastly, for the QUARREL PERSONAL—It may be infinitely diversified.—I

have other instances in my eye,—but I will mention only one.—Minds

capable of the widest comprehension, when held back from their proper

field, may turn to lesser employments, that fools may wonder at, and

canting hypocrites accuse—A CATO might indulge to the pleasures of the

bottle, and a CAESAR might play—Unfortunately you may have a CAESAR to

oppose you—Let him discuss a matter of finance—that subject is always

open—there you have an easy answer. In the former case you parried, here

you thrust.—You must admire at his presumption—tell him roundly he is

not capable of the subject—and dam his strongest reasons by calling them

the reasons of a gambler.

KASTRIL.

Admirable!—Oh doctor!—I will thank you for ever.—I will do any thing for

you!

[Face enters at the corner of the stage, winks at Subtle, and exit.]

SUBTLE.

“Come, Sir, the captain will come to us presently—I will have you to my

chamber of demonstrations, and show my instrument for quarrelling, with

all the points of the compass marked upon it. It will make you able to

quarrel to a straw’s breadth at moonlight.

Exeunt.”

ARTICLE IX. REFLEXIONS UPON THE PRESENT STATE OF THE UNITED STATES OF

AMERICA. BY THOMAS PAINE, M.A. &c. 8vo.

The revolution of America is the most important event of the present

century. Other revolutions have originated in immediate personal

feeling, have pointed only at a few partial grievances, or, preserving

the tyranny entire, have consisted only in a struggle about the persons

in whom it should be vested. This only has commenced in an accurate and

extensive view of things, and at a time when the subject of government

was perfectly understood. The persons, who have had the principal share

in conducting it, exhibit a combination of wisdom, spirit and genius,

that can never be sufficiently admired.

In this honourable list, the name of Mr. Paine by no means occupies the

lowest place. He is the best of all their political writers. His

celebrated pamphlet of Common Sense appeared at a most critical period,

and certainly did important service to the cause of independency. His

style is exactly that of popular oratory. Rough, negligent and

perspicuous, it presents us occasionally with the boldest figures and

the most animated language. It is perfectly intelligible to persons of

all ranks, and it speaks with energy to the sturdy feelings of

uncultivated nature. The sentiments of the writer are stern, and we

think even rancorous to the mother country. They may be the sentiments

of a patriot, they are not certainly those of a philosopher.

Mr. Paine has thought fit to offer some advice to his countrymen in the

present juncture, in which, according to some, they stand in

considerable need of it. The performance is not unworthy of the other

productions of this author. It has the same virtues and the same

defects. We have extracted the following passage, as one of the most

singular and interesting.

“America has but one enemy, and that is England. Of the English it

behoves us always to be jealous. We ought to cultivate harmony and good

understanding with every other power upon earth. The necessity of this

caution will be easily shewn. For

1. The united states of America were subject to the government of

England. True, they have acknowledged our independence. But pride first

struggled as much as she could, and sullenness held off as long as she

dare. They have withdrawn their claim upon our obedience, but do you

think they have forgot it? To this hour their very news-papers talk

daily of dissentions between colony and colony, and the disaffection of

this and of that to the continental interest. They hold up one another

in absurdity, and look with affirmative impatience, when we shall fall

together by the ears, that they may run away with the prize we have so

dearly won. It is not in man to submit to a defalcation of empire

without reluctance. But in England, where every cobler, slave as he is,

hath been taught to think himself a king, never.

2. The resemblance, of language, customs, will give them the most ready

access to us. The king of England will have emissaries in every corner.

They will try to light up discord among us. They will give intelligence

of all our weaknesses. Though we have struggled bravely, and conquered

like men, we are not without imperfection. Ambition and hope will be for

ever burning in the breast of our former tyrant. Dogmatical confidence

is the worst enemy America can have. We need not fear the Punic sword.

But let us be upon our guard against the arts of Carthage.

3. England is the only European state that still possesses an important

province upon our continent. The Indian tribes are all that stand

between us. We know with what art they lately sought their detested

alliance. What they did then was the work of a day. Hereafter if they

act against us, the steps they will proceed with will be slower and

surer. Canada will be their place of arms. From Canada they will pour

down their Indians. A dispute about the boundaries will always be an

easy quarrel. And if their cunning can inveigle us into a false

security, twenty or thirty years hence we may have neither generals nor

soldiers to stop them.”

ARTICLE X. SPEECH OF THE RIGHT HONOURABLE EDMUND BURKE, ON A MOTION

FOR AN ADDRESS OF THANKS TO HIS MAJESTY (ON THE 28TH OF NOVEMBER, 1783)

FOR HIS GRACIOUS COMMUNICATION OF A TREATY OF COMMERCE CONCLUDED BETWEEN

GEORGE THE THIRD, KING, &C. AND THE UNITED STATES OF AMERICA.

We were very apprehensive upon Mr. Burke’s coming into administration,

that this circumstance might have proved a bar to any further additions

to the valuable collection of his speeches already in the hands of the

public. If we imagined that our verdict could make any addition to the

very great and deserved reputation in which they are held, we should not

scruple to say that were Cicero our contemporary, and Mr. Burke the

ancient, we are persuaded that there would not be a second opinion upon

the comparative merits of their orations. In the same degree as the

principles of the latter are unquestionably more unsullied, and his

spirit more independent; do we esteem him to excel in originality of

genius, and sublimity of conception.

We will give two extracts; one animadverting upon the preliminaries of

peace concluded by the earl of Shelburne; the other a character of David

Hartley, Esq.

“I know that it has been given out, that by the ability and industry of

their predecessors we found peace and order established to our hands;

and that the present ministers had nothing to inherit, but emolument and

indolence, otium cum dignitate. Sir, I will inform you what kind of

peace and leisure the late ministers had provided. They were indeed

assiduous in their devotion; they erected a temple to the goddess of

peace. But it was so hasty and incorrect a structure, the foundation was

so imperfect, the materials so gross and unwrought, and the parts so

disjointed, that it would have been much easier to have raised an entire

edifice from the ground, than to have reduced the injudicious sketch

that was made to any regularity of form. Where you looked for a shrine,

you found only a vestibule; instead of the chapel of the goddess, there

was a wide and dreary lobby; and neither altar nor treasury were to be

found. There was neither greatness of design, nor accuracy of finishing.

The walls were full of gaps and flaws, the winds whistled through the

spacious halls, and the whole building tottered over our heads.

Mr. Hartley, sir, is a character, that must do honour to his country and

to human nature. With a strong and independent judgment, with a

capacious and unbounded benevolence, he devoted himself from earliest

youth for his brethren and fellow creatures. He has united a character

highly simple and inartificial, with the wisdom of a true politician.

Not by the mean subterfuges of a professed negociator; not by the dark,

fathomless cunning of a mere statesman; but by an extensive knowledge of

the interest and character of nations; by an undisguised constancy in

what is fit and reasonable; by a clear and vigorous spirit that disdains

imposition. He has met the accommodating ingenuity of France; he has met

the haughty inflexibility of Spain upon their own ground, and has

completely routed them. He loosened them from all their holdings and

reserves; he left them not a hole, nor a corner to shelter themselves.

He has taught the world a lesson we had long wanted, that simple and

unaided virtue is more than a match for the unbending armour of pride,

and the exhaustless evolutions of political artifice.”

FINIS.

[1] The Actor, a Poem, by Robert Lloyd, Esq.

[2] “Abuleda, Chron. p. 27. Boulainvilliers, Vie de Mahomet, b. ii. p.

175. This latter writer exhibits the singular phenomenon of the native

of a Christian country, unreasonably prejudiced in favour of the Arabian

impostor. That he did not live, however, to finish his curious

performance, is the misfortune of the republic of letters.”

[3] Bohaoddin, p. 71. He was an eye witness, and had a considerable

share in many of the transactions of Saladin. He is generally accurate,

and tolerably impartial.

[4] Ebn Shohnah, Heg. 589. Abulfarai, Renaudot, p. 243. D’Herbelot,

biblioth. orient. art. Togrul, &c.