more formal array; we can anticipate Johnson's mode of attack, but not Burke's, for, careless of the order of battle of the schools, he charges at once front, flanks, and rear; and his unwearied perseverance in returning to the combat on every accessible point, pretty commonly ensures the victory. The former argued like an academical teacher; the latter like what he was and what nature had intended him for an orator. The labours of the former were addressed to the closet; of the latter, most frequently to a popular assembly; and each chose the mode best calculated for his purpose.

"Both were remarkable for subtlety and vigour of reasoning whenever the occasion required them. In copiousness and variety of language, adapted to every subject and to every capacity, Burke is generally admitted to possess the advantage; in style he has less stiffness, less mannerism, less seeming labour, and scarcely any affectation; in perspicuity they are both admirable. Johnson had on the whole more erudition; Burke inexhaustible powers of imagination. Johnson possessed a pungent, caustic wit; Burke a more playful, sarcastic humour; in the exercise of which both were occasionally coarse enough. Johnson, had his original pursuits inclined that way, would have made no ordinary politician; Burke was confessedly a master in the science; in the philosophy of it he is the first in the English language, or perhaps in any other; and in the practice of it, during the long period of his public career, was second to none. Added to these were his splendid oratorical powers, to which Johnson had no pretension. With a latent hankering after abstractions, the one in logical, the other in metaphysical subtleties, both had the good sense utterly to discard them when treating of the practical "They were distinguished for possessing a very large share of general knowledge, accurate views of life, for social and conversational powers instructive in no common degree-and in the instance of Johnson never excelled. They understood the heart of man and his springs of action perfectly, from their constant intercourse with every class of society. Conscientious and moral in private life, both were zealous in guarding from danger the established religion of their country; and in the case of Burke, with the utmost liberality to every class of Dissenters. Johnson's censures and aversions, even on trifling occasions, were sometimes marked by rudeness and ferocity; Burke, with more amenity of manners, and regard to the forms of society, rarely permitted his natural ardour of feeling to hurry him into coarseness in private life, and on public occasions only where great interests were at stake, and where delicacy was neither necessary nor deserved.

business of men.

"Viewed in every light, both were men of vast powers of mind, such as are rarely seen, from whom no species of learning was hidden, and to whom scarcely any natural gift had been denied'; who had grasped at all knowledge with avaricious eagerness, and had proved themselves not less able to acquire than qualified to use this intellectual wealth. None were more liberal in communicating it to others, without that affectation of superiority, in Burke at least, which renders the acquisitions of pedants oppressive, and their intercourse repulsive. Whether learning, life, manners, politics, books, or men, was the subject-whether wisdom was to be taught at once by precept and example, or recreation promoted by amusing and instructive conversation-they were all to be enjoyed in the evening societies of these celebrated friends. As a curious physical coincidence, it may be remarked that both were nearsighted."

mean to those occasions where any allusions are made to Mr. Fox.

The following anecdote is creditable, but not, we trust, uncommon :

"Another anecdote of his humanity, occurring nearly at the same period, was lately related by an Irish gentleman of rank who professed to know the circumstances, by way of contrast to the eccentric but mistaken kindness of an Irish philanthropist of our own day to one of the same class of unhappy objects. Walking home late one evening from the House of Commons, Mr. Burke was accosted by one of those unfortunate women who linger out existence in the streets, with solicitations, which, perceiving were not likely to have effect, she changed her manner at once, and begged assistance in a very pathetic and seemingly sincere tone. In reply to inquiries, she stated herself to have been lady's maid in a respectable family, but being seduced by her master's son, had at length been driven through gradations of misery to her present forlorn state; she confessed to be wretched beyond description, and looked forward to death as her only relief. The conclusion of the tale brought Mr. Burke to his own door; turning round with much solemnity of manner, he addressed her, Young woman, you have told a pathetic story; whether true or not is best known to yourself; but tell me, have you a serious and settled wish to quit your present way of life, if you have the opportunity of so doing?' Indeed, Sir, I would do any thing to quit it.' Then come in,' was the reply. Here Mrs. Webster,' said he to the housekeeper, who lived in the family for about 30 years, here is a new recruit for the kitchen; take care of her for the night, and let her have every thing suitable to her condition, till we can inform Mrs. Burke of the matter.' She remained a short time under the eye of the family, was then provided with a place, and turned out afterwards a well-behaved woman.'

·

The whole of Mr. Burke's share in the discussions on the French Revolution, we must pass over without a single remark. The biographer has been as impartial as the nature of his attachments would allow, but we do not meet with any new facts. Mr. Prior concludes with an elaborate survey of Burke's character as a man, a politician, and an orator. It is favourable in the highest degree-but not beyond the merits of the subjects.

Rosaline de l'ere. London: Treuttel and Co. 2 vols, 8vo. 1824.

THIS novel is the production, we understand, of a nobleman, whose previous publications have gained for him considerable celebrity in the literary world. The work* immediately preceding the one before us, was remarkable for great originality, extensive information, and singular acuteness, but its extreme repugnancy to the prevailing tastes was an insuperable obstacle to any very general circulation. No one, however, can read the work in question without being deeply struck with the ingenuity of the author's mind, and the originality of many of his philosophical speculations. The objection which we have made to "Sir Richard MaltraThe sentiments of Mr. Prior on political subjects vers," applies in a great measure to "Rosaline de are generally liberal, or at least liberally expressed; but Vere." True, there is in this latter novel, a nearer apon one or two occasions there is a needless petalenceproach to the ordinary topics and modes of handling, of remark, which savours strongly of vulgarity. We which novel writers adopt in deference to general

taste, but the author's pen is always obeying the im-
pulses of his head, and wanders into the distant unge-
nial regions of metaphysical speculation. We know
but of two works (that is, of the class of fictitious
composition) to which Rosaline de Vere may with any
propriety be compared. Of course they are both German;
Elective Affinities"
"The Woldemar of Jacobi," and "
of Goethe. The noble author appears to have chosen
his heroine from the domestic circle of some crazy
German mystic, and after having shaped her into some-
thing like humanity, has sent her forth as the organ of
conveying to the world his own peculiar notions on the
utility of philosophy, morals, religion and manners.
These notions are so entangled with all the knotty
mesh-work of the Kantean metaphysics, that it is often
any distinct per-
utterly beyond our power to arrive at
ception of their nature and tendency. Only think of
a young girl of eighteen or twenty writing to her com-
panion of the same age in the following style :-

God, or of a supreme intelligence out of nature, by connecting action and reaction into infinite or absolute con

currence." "

This Kantesian in petticoats, concludes by asking, "Have I not spoken clearly enough?" What answer her correspondent might have been disposed to give we cannot say;-what our answer would be is easily guessed.

There is a story (told in the form of letters) in these volumes, which if it had not been strangled in the cobwebs of metaphysics, would have been very interesting. It turns upon the love fortunes of the heroine and her friend Clorinda. This last is an Italian girl, and secretly marries a young nobleman who had implicated himself with the disastrous fortunes of his countrymen in their recent struggles for freedom, and is, after a long imprisonment, condemned to the scaffold. His wife loses her senses, and by a strange concurrence of events, is the cause of involving in a fatal duel, De Lascy the bridegroom-elect of her friend Rosaline. Rosaline herself dies broken hearted. Parts of this narrative are deeply pathetic, and show, that the noble author might, if he would for a moment quit the cold repulsive abstractions of metaphysics, for the warm reality of humanity, produce something that would give him a high reputation as a novelist. The touches at character too are often happy-as will appear from the following sketch

Our mind is, as it were, a receptacle, in which outward objects are reflected, and we see no other than mere existence-than the outward appearances of things. Viewing things in this light we say that the directing power is It, that is, the vital principle in itself; that which demonstrates itself in all outward appearances. Then we make God the universe; and the universe, God. But then we fly into mere idealism: there we find hope. That idea carried to the absolute, constitutes immortality. Here we find God, that is, absolute cause; our thoughts, wandering far and near, seemed to be restrained by no power. Here we find free will. Then we arrive at the idea of moral laws-moral duties-final causes and original intention. Thus our being, like the pendulum of a clock, oscillates between realism and idealism. Fatalist then am I, as to all that relates to positive existence; free then am I with regard to what relates to idealism. In idealism we reject the particle It, and transform it into the pronoun Him. Thus when we think, we say God-when we look about, we perceive the immediate or secondary cause, then we say nature. God alone exists in the sphere of idealism and not of realism-which she did with great grace and effect-urging how much nature in realism. In this idealism is not intelligence contained? This then constitutes our double existence, our positive and our ideal being; that within ourselves, that is, within our sensations, and that without ourselves, that is, in our pure intelligence. Hence free-will, co-existing with necessity;—hence co-existing mortality and immortality; hence bounded views and boundless ideas."

And again :

"God, moral laws, immortality, are all innate principles, which could never have been taught, for they never could have come into time and space. They exist in our ideas. Consequently they are innate existences. Not so, objects which strike the senses. Hence our existence is divided between idealism and realism; free in the first, fettered in the second. Ideas have nothing in common with our sensations, being conclusions of pure intelligence. How few will venture to sport in it! Take care, Clorinda, not to confound idealism with imagination. They have no reference to each other. Imagination is the reflection of outward images on our sensations, and the exquisite or painful thrill of those sensations, accordingly as they are susceptible of being excited. But in idealism there is no figure, no form, no reference to space or time, no affinity to cause or effect, no substance, no accident. It is the symbol of eternity. Here alone we find pure intelligence: for here alone are we free! The great professor Kant defines God to be absolute concurrence, His words are: Reason forms the idea of

"We have arrived here on our way to the borders of Wales, where my father's estate lies; in order that I should pay my respects to my maternal aunt Barbara; and as she is a specimen of a fine lady of this country, I shall endeavour to describe her to you. I am sure that she has a good heart, from the affectionate cordiality with which she received us. After having embraced me kindly, she sat down in a musing attitude immediately before me. And then, having examined me most minutely, she shed some tears,

was

I put her in mind of her poor dear sister Eliza; although it
is well known that there was not the least likeness-and that
I take after my father. When he ventured to differ, then
it was my countennnce, then my manner; in short,
altogether. She then ran on, upon the accomplishments of
the young ladies of this country. How many hours they
were employed-the vast quantity of things they learned-
the rage for modern education, that extended itself to the
common people-what a civilized country this was become,
and that soon vice and crime would be banished from among
us by this wonderful progress in letters. She then enume-
rated the number of reading-rooms, public libraries, Bible
societies, dancing academies, and saving banks. She dwelt
with pride upon the fact that patent medicines and gospel
tracts were within every one's reach, that this encyclopedic
education had entirely banished the antiquated notions of
the Jesuits, who pretend that each individual has organs or
a genius fitted to acquire some particular science, and that
a vast number confound each other, and that the pursuit of
one train of thoughts was the sufficient employment of life.
Having exhausted her lore, which, to say the truth, lay
rather in a narrow compass for apparently so universal a
critic, she then fell upon herself-she declared that it was
owing entirely to her own free choice that she had remained
so long a widow, that the offers for her hand had been in-
numerable; but that the station which she held in society
in London might be deranged, unless she married precisely
in that society, and that, having narrowed the range of her

they pass current in the world for discreet, decorous persons; they affect taste, because they are too timid to commit themselves; they sneer, but they cannot bear to be sneered at in return, because their absolute selfishness makes them very sensitive; that is, they are sensitive when they themselves are concerned, and cold and repulsing when others are. He certainly has a good taste in the fine arts, has studied them well abroad, and pursues them here. He is made up of negatives; so that I doubt he will be long before he decides upon so positive an act as to take a wife. He would, however, like the reputation of gallantry, without the risk and trouble; and he is fonder of avowing that inclination, than striving to gratify it. Consequently, his letters are bolder than his verbal declarations; his pen more energetic than his tongue.”

Mixed up with the narrative are several interesting episodes. That of Ginevra is very sweet and beautiful, and all the incidents connected with the French Count Montvaliant, are powerfully described. We hope that there are no more of the heartless bravos infesting polished society. There was a time when they were to be found in great abundance-but like other ferocious animals they have slunk away from the influence of civilization.

choice, she could not exactly find a match suitable; for, she added, My dear, I belong to a very exclusive society, and no advantages of birth, rank, or fortune, would induce me to marry out of that society. She then insinuated, in a confidential manner, and in a low tone of voice, that she had been so fortunate as to unite two things generally considered as incompatible-great ease and prudence of manners, and great vivacity and yet purity of morals; that none of the men of her acquaintance dare address a double-entendre to her; and she concluded by telling me, that I could not be too circumspect in my conduct. All this was uttered with a volubility of tongue, which allowed of hardly a pause for the inflection of voice, in common-place words tolerably well arranged. She then said, in an affected protecting tone, I think you will take, child; indeed, I should not bring you forward if I did not think that you would, because one must not commit oneself, and one is very apt to do that in bringing one's relations forward, because one is blinded from partiality; but I never commit myself, and I think you are very presentable, as the French say. Of course no one can object to your name, but that is nothing in comparison to my credit, and my introduction, and then your own tone and manners; I hope you have tact, child, and good taste. Thus what is pompously called the great world, is the name that certain circles give to themselves, who are like the ostrich in the desert, when it hides its head under its wing, it conceives no one sees it-so those assuming this title, consider it to be universally acknowledged. The The latter portions of the work are in some degree great world here I am not sufficiently yet acquainted with disenthralled from the fetters of Kant, and the story to define, nor have I ever had that problem satisfactorily runs on with grace and interest. The pure love of solved; because it is neither birth, rank, talents or station, Rosaline for De Lascy-his fine high spirited character that constitute fashion; nor learning, nor even fine taste; it is, I think, from what I have heard and seen abroad, of -the melancholy duel in which he fell her quiet our dearly beloved English fashionables, upon the whole, heart broken despair, and unrepining death, are all impudence, bustling, pushing pretensions, egregious vani- most exquisitely told. O si sic omnia. The noble ty and great insolence, where it is allowed. Nothing can author in different parts of his book indulges in some be so insipid, often, as their society, so paltry as their feuds, or so venomous, yet so absurd, or so contemptible as very fervid and honest eloquence about freedom and their exclusive pretensions; and were we to analyse those despotism. We are almost afraid to say so much, lest very pretensions, what would they amount to? Kank folly we should be set down as political partizans. To his -the frog swelling himself to the size of the ox and burst-philosophy, at least to that part of it which supports ing. The great world in Paris and at Florence are those who never lose sight of the steeples of Notre Dame or of the Duomo. Indeed, when one has the misfortune to be out of sight of the one or the other, we cease to be in a civilized country."

The ensuing extract contains a spirited and correct portrait of a class of persons, with one or more of whom every reader must be acquainted.

and recommends the doctrines of blind fatalism, we have great and well founded objections. The literary merit of these volumes is very considerable. They display great command of language, and often rise to animated and impressive eloquence.

The Life and Opinions of Sir Richard Maltravers."

Bentivoglio, a Tragedy, in Five Acts. By CHARLES MAS-
TERTON. London: J. Hearne.

"Sir Arthur has been with us five days; and although he passes in the world as an highly accomplished agreeable man, I confess he appears tame and ordinary enough to me. His understanding is of that middle size, which is sure, (if it takes a grave turn) to have discretion enough to hide its THIS is one of the severest satires upon Modern Travacuity, by stuffing a great deal of common-place knowledge in his head. An easy flow of conversation, which is gedy, which has been written since "The Critic." obtained by a certain degree of coolness of temper, and It exposes the nonsense, absurdity, inartificial plot, much habit of the world, and a pleasant turn upon small extravagant sentiment, and impossible situation which occurrences, pass, if not for wit, at least for humour, with mark the general run of tragedies in our time, more most people. His knowledge is sufficiently diversified to prevent him from prosing; and his wit not poignant enough forcibly, it possible, than any thing that has been to make him dreaded. He steers just a little a-head of the brought upon the stage for many a weary year. It is convoy that he sails with, knowing well rather than distrust- not original in its design, being constructed upon ing his own power. In great concerns he affects moderation the same plan, and with the same intention as the "Re-he is a moderate friend of liberty, a moderate refermer,hearsal" and the "Critic." In one respect, perhaps, it is a moderate friend of social order, moderately attached to party, moderately attached to Church and State, and, Mrs. Barbara thinks, moderately convinced of her charms; but certainly not moderately selfish. These cold coxcombs are most provoking. The solemnity of their air, the stiffness of their gait, are but scanty cloaks to hide their emptiness;

superior to both, for the design of the author is so well disguised, that shallow observers might consider it as written in honest simplicity, and intended to pass for a real tragedy. It strikes us that this is utterly impos