application of magnetism to the right arm, would be the lator, much less to a prose one; but Goethe is of opimost suitable method. One of us, therefore, made himnion that "all which acts with greatest efficiency in a stretch out his arm upon a table, and had begun to magnetise only a few minutes, when the attention of the specta-poetical work is what remains of a poet in a prose transtors were attracted by a considerable motion of all the muslation." On this notion he and his brother geniuses of cles of the patient's arm. The operator hereby encou- Germany acted, and they raised Shakspeare to the loftiraged, redoubled his exertions; and when a short time afest station in their regard: his works had great circulaterwards, he called to the negro, in a voice of command, Rise! lift up your arm!' the patient, still half in doubt, tion, and a deep and salutary influence on the nascent raised his arm, and as he was able to perform all the motions literature of Germany. without difficulty, a scene took place which was worthy of the pencil of a master; the astonishment of the persons present, and their terror at this act of conjuration, the respectful triumph of our host, the joy of the slave, and the gratitude of his master, formed altogether a very animated picture. We did not remain long enough at Ypanema, to learn whether our black patient continued to feel the benefit of the operation; but at all events, we could not but be surprised at the rapidity with which a single manipulation had acted upon him." Goethe, however, was not entirely occupied by letters. Another love affair absorbed a good deal of his attention, about this period, and the narrative of it fills an inordinate number of pages. He does not appear to have been very fastidious in his taste about female beauty, for this new idol was the pug-nosed daughter of a village parson. After having inspired a deep and fervent passion in her breast, our poet grew tired, and deserted her. All this is in his way, and we do not know which most to admire, his manly chivalry to the fair sex, or his frankness and candour. There is a large portion of sentimental reflection on the subject of this amour, which seemed a sort of preparative lesson to the Werther. From love he turned once more to letters. In the During their residence at S. Paulo, our travellers made several excursions into the neighbourhood, and the result of their scientific observations is recorded by them as very important. The science of botany will derive many valuable accessions from these discoveries, but we have neither space nor inclination to impart any of them to our readers. The description of manners and usages is less elaborate, but we are glad to perceive the Ducal Gallery at Manheim, he beheld with admiration the productions of ancient art and genius. His impresalacrity with which the extreme sensuality and profli- sions are thus pithily and justly described :— gacy of the Europeans is exposed and condemned. The portions relating to zoology are very beautifully written. The author has made his descriptions quite poetical, Those of the gold mines are scarcely less interesting, though they turn on the avarice and cruelty of man. Under the head of Villa Rica, a very ample account of these mines is given. From that city, the travellers proceed to the Rio Xipoto, the residence of the Coroados Indians. This is one of the most entertaining parts of the volumes. The usages, peculiarities, appearance, and all that constitutes the general character of these tribes, is given with much minuteness. Here the volumes before us terminate. They contain, we are told, only the first half of the personal narrative. The remaining part is in the press, and relates to their travels along the Amazon to Peru, and their return thence to Para. It would be unjust not to speak highly of the diligence and knowledge of the travellers, and not to praise equally the account they have given to the world. It is instructive and interesting. The translation appears to be well performed, and is manifestly the work of a practised hand. "Still the fruits which such impressions bear in silence, when they are received as pleasures and without being analyzed, are of inestimable value. It is a most fortunate thing for the young, when they can defend themselves from the spirit of criticism, and yield up their minds to the impression of the beautiful and excellent, without troubling themselves to discover and separate the accompanying dross." Faust was getting on rapidly, and he had already composed Goetz of Berlichingen'" in his head." His sketch of German literature at this time, is pregnant with much that is valuable in the way of illustrating the history of intellect. It shews what a vast and abiding influence one or two men can procure for themselves over the mind of a nation. Klopstock, Wieland, and a few others, had awakened the long-dormant spirit of Germany. This was, no doubt, the most brilliant epoch of her literary annals. These Memoirs furnish an excellent history of the author's mind. His studies and their effects are detailed with great minuteness, and accompanied with much philosophical reflection. There was little or no method in his acquirements, which were, however, very various and extensive. A great sensibility to the beauties of Memoirs of Goethe. Written by Himself. 2 vols, 8vo. nature, and a deep sympathy with all human feelings London: H. Colburn. 1824. OUR notice of these Memoirs, last week, terminated with an extract indicative of Goethe's high veneration for Shakspeare. His works had already been translated into German prose by Wieland, and afterwards by Eschenberg. An Englishman would not willingly trust the reputation of Shakspeare to the efforts of any trans and actions, strongly characterize him. The account of Werther is sufficiently copious. The outline of it is true, and founded on his personal experience. The death, and its manner, are borrowed from one of his literary friends (Jerusalem,) who committed suicide in consequence of a hopeless passion. The following passage is a picture of Goethe's connexion with the other parties in the tale :— "As a new comer, free from all engagements, I felt myself in full security in the presence of a young lady whose hand was engaged. She could not interpret the marks of the most perfect devotion as attempts to attach her to me; and she was therefore free to accept them as disinterested proofs of affection and esteem. I neither wished to be, nor could be, more than her friend, and hence I was the more easily enthralled. The youthful couple shewed a sincere friendship for me, and treated me with perfect confidence. I, who had hitherto been idle and absent, like a man dissatisfied with his condition, now found all I wanted in a female friend, who, although her thoughts were constantly fixed on the future, knew how to abandon herself to the present moment. She took pleasure in my company; and it was not long before I found it impossible to exist out of hers. I had daily opportunities of seeing her: we might all be said to live together, and we became almost inseparable, at home and abroad. As soon as business left the lover at liberty, he flew to the presence of his mistress. Thus, without thinking of it, we all three accustomed ourselves to each other, and always found ourselves together, without having formed any plan for meeting. We lived together in this manner a whole summer, like the characters of a true German Idyl, the foundation of which was a fertile country, whilst a pure, lively, and sincere attachment formed its poetry. We took walks amidst rich harvests, moistened by the copious dew of the morning; we listened to the cheerful song of the lark, and the quail's shrill cry. If the heat became oppressive, or a storm overtook us, we never thought of separating; and the charm of an affection equally constant and tender easily dispelled any little domestic anxieties. Thus one day succeeded another, and all were holidays to us. Our whole calendar might have been printed in red letters. Whoever remembers the expressions of the happy and ill-fated lover of Julia will easily understand me. Seated at the feet of my beloved, I shall peel hemp, and desire nothing further, this day, to-morrow, the day after-all my life.'"""" Goethe's account of his literary friendships are uncommonly interesting. A beautiful reciprocity of regard and kindness seems always to have prevailed amongst them. They kept each other in a state of continual intellectual excitement, and afforded each other all possible assistance in literary labour. The low state of the German drama caught the attention of Goethe, and set him upon reforming and improving it. It was sufficiently moral, but it wanted the dramatic spirit. Schroeder had done much for it by his adaptations from the English, but much still remained to be done.Goethe's opinion of English comedy is rather severe. "About the same time Schroeder, who was at once an author and an actor, and who had become familiar with the English drama through the intercourse existing between Great Britain and Hamburgh, where he resided, sought to introduce English comedy on the German stage. But in the comic productions of the English he found only a groundwork for his own labours; for the original pieces are, almost without exception, imperfect. Those which begin well, and which seem to promise something like a regularly conceived plan, for the most part end in an inextricable labyrinth. It would appear that the authors have had no other design than that of stringing together a few amusing scenes; and if by chance we are led to anticipate an interesting and regular work, we soon find ourselves lost in an endless maze. Besides, the half-barbarous immorality and triviality which pervade these productions, render their representation truly intolerable; and from this mass of impurity it is impossible to disconnect either the plot or the characters of a piece. It short, English comedy is a coarse and dangerous aliment, suited only to the taste of a rude and corrupt multitude at a certain period. Schroeder has done more than could have been expected with these pieces. He has changed even their primitive conceptions, and has adapted them to the German taste, by softening down their colouring. Still, however, they are imbued with a spirit of coarseness, which even Schroder could not eradicate; for all their comic humour consists in the merited or unmerited degradation of individuals. However, this species of drama having gained a footing on our stage, has served as a counterpoise to a kind of far-fetched and over-delicate morality; and the conflict of the two styles has happily preserved us from monotony, otherwise inevitable." "Goetz of Berlichingen" was produced at this period with great success. He had written and re-written it several times before it was sent forth into the world. The criticism of his friend Merk is excellent :— "I consulted Merk on the subject: he asked me what advantage I expected to derive from these perpetual alterations. A thing thus continually done and undone,' said he, may indeed change its form, but it will seldom be improved. We should calculate well the effect of a work, and when it is once finished, commence a new one. These eternal alterations indicate nothing but irresolution." This play (it has been translated by Sir Walter Scott) excited much attention, and was severely criticised by some and praised by others. Amongst the latter were Wieland and Burger, and with their eulogies Goethe remained satisfied. A bookseller was so delighted with it, that he wished to contract with the author for a dozen like it every year. A good part of the second volume is filled with a long sentimental disquisition on suicide, accompanied with a defence of the principles of Werther. We have no room for extracting more than this passage relating to English poetry : "A sombre expression of the distaste of life generally pervades it. I do not mean here to allude particularly to "Young's Night Thoughts," which are specially devoted to melancholy: the remark is applicable to all the contemplative poetry of the English; which transports us, we know not how, into that gloomy region where the human understanding meets with a problem beyond its grasp, and on which Religion herself is silent. Whole volumes of English poetry may be collected together, and they will only afford a commentary on this appalling text: Then old age and experience, hand in hand, That all his life lie has been in the wrong. "There is one trait peculiar to the English, which impresses on their poetry the seal of misanthropy, and diffuscs over their literature the disagreeable hue of a distaste of every thing in life. I allude to their party-spirit, which is the offspring of their civil dissensions. This headlong passion possesses an Englishman during, at least, the best part of his life. An author devoted to a party abstains from eulogizing the principles to which he adheres, lest he should excite the animosity of his adversaries. He employs his talent in attacking and censuring those to whom he is opposed: he sharpens, and even poisons the shafts which he aims at them; while the voice of the public is drowned amid the clamour and violence of the conflicting parties. Thus a great nation, distinguished for intelligence and activity, presents, even during the calmest intervals, a picture of extravagance and madness. "The habitual melancholy of the English Muse extends also to sentimental poetry. In this last style of composition, the subject is sometimes the death of a forsaken maid; or, perhaps, a faithful lover is swallowed up by the waves. or devoured by some sea-monster, just as he is on the point of reaching his beloved. When such a poet as Gray leads his Muse into a country churchyard to tune her melodious lyre, he fails not to excite the admiration of all lovers of melancholy. Milton, in his Allegro, is obliged to banish melancholy by a string of lively verses before he can express even moderate joy; and Goldsmith, with all his natural cheerfulness of spirit, yields to the inspirations of the elegiac Muse, in his sweet poem "The Deserted illuge," that paradise lost for which his "Traveller" searches "I shall, doubtless, be told that there are English works and English poems of a more lively character; but the greater part of these compositions, and indeed the best of them, are the productions of a remote period. As to the more modern specimens of this kind, to say the least of them, they border upon satire. Bitter spleen and contempt of the fair sex are their prevailing characteristics." throughout the world in vain. The remainder of the volume (excepting a small part) is filled with the account of his studies and the characters of his literary friends, and their influence on German literature. It is well written, spirited, and interesting. The last incident recorded in the memoirs is a new love affair, which assumes all the characteristics of marriage, when the story abruptly breaks off. The translator has compiled a brief continuation of the biography, and tells the reader of Goethe's being invited to Weimar, where he has ever since resided. The volume is completed by a dictionary of all the persons whose names occur in the course of the volume. It is useful to the reader, and deserves to be commended. We have now gone through these memoirs, and it remains for us to pay one more tribute of praise to the high character of the writer, their own interest, the enterprize of the publisher, and the fidelity and accuracy of the translator. Letters of Jonathan Oldstyle, Gent. By the Author of "The Sketch Book," with a Biographical Notice. London: E. Wilson. 1824. THIS is a collection of eight letters published some twenty years ago by Mr. Irving in the columns of a daily paper at New York. No one will grieve more than that gentleman at the avaricious spirit which has dragged these productions of his boyhood from their obscurity into the light of day. Written at an age singularly early, ushered to the world in the most unpretending manner, without any affix of the author's name, and touching upon subjects of the lightest and most superficial nature; it cannot but fill him with regret that they should be now deterré by some grovelling money-maker, and put into contrast with the avowed productions of his maturer days. It is ungenerous to the author, and can only minister to a very diseased curiosity. What right has any person to dig out from beneath the dust of nearly a quarter of a century these forgotten scribblings of a smart boy? The injustice cannot be glossed over by any silly nonsense about " tracing the current of the mind to its first tricklings," and " listening to its prattlings among the pebbles." This is one of the miseries of publishing at an early age. If fame comes with years and experience, some ill-natured jackass is sure to grope out these untimely abortions, and revive them, to the infinite dismay of the unhappy author. The letters of Jonathan Oldstyle were written by Mr. Irving in 1802, and printed in the "Morning Chronicle," a paper published in New York, of which his brother was the editor. They relate to the theatre of that city, and have two or three digressions to other subjects. They are precisely such things as any decently educated lad might write on similar topics, and such as he would be desirous of forgetting before the expiration of the next year. One or two passages are lively and humorous, Microcosm." The equal to the best papers in the rest is but so so. We will make an extract from a burlesque criticism on the New York theatre: 66 66 I cannot say that I was entirely satisfied with the play, but I promised myself ample entertainment in the afterpiece, which was called the Tripolitan Prize. Now, thought doubt, see a few of those Tripolitan scoundrels spitted like 1, we shall have some sport for our money; we will, no turkeys, for our amusement. Well, Sir, the curtain rosethe trees waved in front of the stage, and the sea rolled in the rear-all things looked very pleasant and smiling. Presently I heard a bustling behind the scenes-here, thought I, comes a band of fierce Tripolitans, with whiskers as long as my arm. No such thing, they were only a party of village masters and misses, taking a walk for exercise, and very pretty behaved young gentry they were, I assure you; but it was cruel in the manager to dress them in buckram, as it deprived them entirely of the use of their limbs. They arranged themselves very orderly on each side of the stage, and sung something, doubtless very affecting, for they all looked pitiful enough. By and by came up a most tremendous storm; the lightning flashed, the thunder roared, and the rain fell in torrents: however, our pretty rustics stood gaping quietly at one another, until they must have been wet to the skin. I was surprised at their torpidity, till I found they were each one afraid to move first, for fear of being laughed at for their awkwardness. How they got off I do not recollect; but I advise the manager, in a similar case, to furnish every one with a trap-door, through which to make his exit. Yet this would deprive the audience of much amusement; for nothing can be more laughable than their long robes, get across the stage at our theatre. to see a body of guards with their spears, or courtiers with "Scene passed after scene. In vain I strained my eyes to catch a glimpse of a Mahometan phiz. I once heard a great bellowing behind the scenes, and expected to see a ably disappointed, on distinguishing his voice, to find out strapping Mussulman come bouncing in; but was miserby his swearing, that he was only a Christian. In he camean American navy officer. Worsted stockings, olive velvet dressed quite in character. I soon found out, by his talk, small clothes, scarlet vest, pea-jacket, and gold-laced hatthat he was an American prize-master; that, returning through the Mediterranean with his Tripolitan prize, he was driven by a storm on the coast of England. The honest gentleman seemed, from his actions, to be rather intoxicated: which I could account for in no other way than his having drank a great deal of salt water, as he swam ashore. "Several following scenes were taken up with hallooing Mr. Irving's life, evidently written in America. It has and huzzaing, between the captain, his crew, and the gal-nothing interesting or important in it. Mr. I. appears lery, with several amusing tricks of the captain and his to be about forty-two or three years of age; received son, a very funny, mischievous little fellow. Then came the cream of the joke: the captain wanted to put to sea, "a collegiate" education in New York, his native and the young fellow, who had fallen desperately in love, city-travelled at an early age over Europe-began and to stay ashore. Here was a contest between love and honour-such piping of eyes, such blowing of noses, such gave up the study of the law-wrote a good deal in slapping of pocketholes! But old Junk was inflexible-magazines and newspapers-had a share in some oriWhat! an American tar desert his duty! (three cheers ginal works, and afterwards published one or two from the gallery,) impossible! American tars for ever!! alone-engaged with his brothers in a commercial True blue will never stain, &c. &c. (a continual thundering speculation which failed, and has ever since looked to among the gods.) Here was a scene of distress-here was bathos. The author seemed as much puzzled to know how literature as a solace and support. That it may prove to dispose of the young tar, as old Junk was. It would not both in the highest degree is the sincere wish of all who do to leave an American seaman on foreign ground, nor know his amiable character, and by none is it more would it do to separate him from his mistress. "Scene the last opened.-It seems that another Tripoli-earnestly wished than by ourselves. tan cruiser had bore down on the prize, as she lay about a mile off shore. How a Barbary corsair had got in this part of the world-whether she had been driven there by the same storm, or whether she was cruising to pick up a few English first rates, I could not learn. However, here she was. Again were we conducted to the sea-shore, where we found all the village gentry, in their buckram suits, ready assembled, to be entertained with the rare show of an American and Tripolitan engaged yard-arm and yard-arm. The battle was conducted with proper decency and decorum, and the Tripolitan very politely gave in, as it would be indecent to conquer in the face of an American audience, "After the engagement the crew came ashore, joined with the captain and gallery in a few more huzzas, and the curtain fell. How old Junk, his son, and his son's sweetheart, settled it, I could not discover." Memoirs of Captain Rock, the celebrated Irish Chieftain, with some account of his Ancestors. Written by Himself. London: Longman and Co. 1824. 66 THIS book is a long pun, covering with the wings of its wit nearly four hundred pages. What an immense stride has the genius of paronomasia made within a few years! But this is not merely " a play upon words," it deals with the sad realities of things. Сарtain Rock and his ancestors" are, in fact, nothing more or less than an impersonation of the history and spirits of Irish discontent and insurrection, from the time of Strongbow to the present day. We do not mean to enter into any disquisition on the character of that discontent, or the causes and consequences of those insurrections. Irish politics, as the author of the volume before us says, are not only a great bore, but they are absolutely hyperbore-an. The quibble is not very witty, but it is very expressive. This is nothing extraordinary, but it is well enough for "a minor." It affords no ground for auguring any thing very good or very bad of the writer's future attempts in composition. The fact is, that Mr. Irving is entirely a writer of art. He has been engaged in literature of some sort for the last twenty-five years. A careful attention to style, a working up of his sentiments This work is the production of Moore, the Irish poet with the most elaborate and painful finish, a singular and patriot. His poetry is full of patriotism, and we are delicacy of feeling, and a humour which never loses afraid that there is a small leaven of poetry in his pasight of decency or taste, these constitute the chief merits triotism. At any rate, if there be no fiction, there is a of Mr. Irving. He has not a spark of invention. All is good deal of exaggeration about it. This is the rise of second-hand with him, but then so finely and beauti-Irish genius-more especially when that genius applies fully polished, that it passes for new. We never marvelled at his success, knowing as we did his uncommon diligence, his care, his experience in composition, and his fastidious taste, we should have greatly wondered had he not succeeded. Still Mr. Irving is an elegant, accomplished, and pleasing writer. In this country he can never cease to be popular. To a large proportion of the reading public, his essays are of just the kind to be intelligible and agreeable. They are germane to the current level of intellect. The sentiment has a slight || touch of sentimentality about it, which is sure to fascinate very young ladies and very old gentlemen. Then the language is so polished and correct, that the purists are quite enraptured with it. His essays are the model of magazine writers; but as for his humour, that is acceptable and delightful to all classes, and must in reality constitute his most unexceptionable claim to high repu tation. Prefixed to the pamphlet before us is a brief sketch of itself to politics. Mr. Moore introduces the memoirs by a short and witty preface, which turns upon his having been sent over by a kind of missionary society in the west of England, "to convert and illuminate the poor benighted Irish:”— "I, accordingly, prepared myself as speedily as I could for the undertaking: and read every book relating to Ireland that was, at all, likely to furnish me with correct notions on the subject. For instance, in every thing relating to political economy and statistics, I consulted Sir John Carr, for accurate details of the rebellion of 1798, Sir Richard Musgrave, and for statesman-like views of the Catholic Question, the speeches of Mr. Peel. "I was also provided by our Society with a large assortment of Religious Tracts, written expressly for the edification of the Irish peasantry; particularly, a whole edition of a little work by Miss of our Town, to the effect of which upon the Whiteboys we all looked forward very san guinely." He briefly describes his journey and his adventures. This is very characteristic: "From Roscrea I turned off the main road, to pay a visit to an old friend, the Rev. Mr. whom I found comfortably situated in his new living, with the sole drawback, it is true, of being obliged to barricade his house of an evening, and having little embrasures in his hall-door, to fire through at unwelcome visitors." In a stage coach he meets with "a gentleman who wore green spectacles and a flaxen wig." This personage turns out to be "the great Captain Rock." From him he received the MS. of the present volume. "His government in Ireland was, on a small scale, a perIt commences with an account of the Rock family, fect model of despotism, combining all the brute coercion which is of great antiquity in Ireland; or, as the author of the East, with all the refined perfidy and Machiavelism severely and wittily observes," at least as old as the an-breed, in the most unbounded career of oppression and inof the West, and giving full rein to talents of the noblest cient family of the Wrongheads" in England. There justice. is an amusing speculation on the origin of the family name. One of the conjectures is playful enough :"An idea exists in certain quarters that the letters of which it is composed are merely initials, and contain a prophetic announcement of the high destiny that awaits, at some time or other, that celebrated gentleman, Mr. Roger O'Connor, being, as they fill up the initials, the following awful words,-Roger O Connor King!'' The following paragraph is a key to the whole volume: "There are some of his acts which might almost turn men into rebels but to read; and yet Hume, to whom the severity of the Star-chamber appeared only somewhat blameable,' has, in the same spirit, styled the acts of Lord Strafford in Ireland, innocent, and even laudable.' "History has been called philosophy teaching by examples'-and if the hearty concurrence of Strafford with the views of his perfidious master, in violating the solemn pledge given to the Catholics-if his private advice to the monarch to disregard this pledge, while he publicly rebuked the parliament for harbouring the least doubt of its sincerity-if his readiness, when even Charles shrunk from the responsibility of such deceit, to take all the infamy of this transaction on himself-if that unparalleled system of robbery, under the pretext of an Inquiry into Titles, to which, adopted with improved machinery from the preceding reign, he gave all the impulse of his powerful mind, and by which the whole province of Connaught became the booty of the crown and its minions-if the arbitrary measures by which he enforced this scheme of plunder, fining, pillorying, and branding such jurors as hesitated to find a title in the king if his flagitious trial of Lord Mountnorris, where himself, the accuser, presided, and the only witness against the accused sat among the judges-if such transactions as these are to be held up as examples of the innocent and the laudable, then let Hume's own Sceptic' take the world into his hands, and remove all those landmarks of right and wrong, of justice and injustice, by which honest men have hitherto steered; let tyranny and turbulence, perfidy and "With respect to the moral character of my ancestors in the times of Ollam Fodlah and Brian Boromhe, there is no doubt that, however suppressed or modified, it must have been pretty much the same that it is at present. The Great Frederick used to say, that while the French fight for glory, the Spaniards for religion, and the English for liberty, the Irish are the only people in the world who fight for fun; and, however true this may be of my countrymen in general, there is no doubt of its perfect correctness as applied to the Rock Family in particular. Discord is, indeed, our natural element; like that storm-loving animal, the seal, we are comfortable only in a tempest; and the object of the following historical and biographical sketch is to show how kindly the English government has at all times consulted our taste in this particular-ministering to our love of riot through every successive reign, from the invasion of Henry II. down to the present day, so as to leave scarcely an interval dur-plunder, be the order of the day among rulers and their ing the whole six hundred years, in which the Captain Rock for the time might not exclaim • Quæ regio in terris nostri non plena laboris?' or, as it has been translated by one of my family:Through Leinster, Ulster, Connaught, Munster, Rock's the boy to make the fun stir!"' The memoirs begin with the reign of Henry II. when, and for some centuries after, an Irishman might be beaten, plundered, and killed, without much severity of punishment. The conduct of the English gaols of those times is constantly and severely compared with that pursued towards Ireland at present, for the purpose of shewing that the same cruel, careless, and oppressive spirit has always marked the English ascendency. It is not a regular and connected history of our domination in Ireland, but only an attempt "to track its course by hasty glimpses, and to point out a few foot marks of the Hercules of despotism, from which the rest of his colossal proportions may be gathered." These foot marks are in reality most frightful and enormous instances of subjects; and let Captain Rock, and the Czar of Russia divide the world between them. I shall not complain of my share in the arrangement, and I will answer for the magnanimous Alexander being equally satisfied with his. "The splendid talents of Lord Strafford, and the imposing dignity of his death, may well justify a feeling of sympathy in his fate; but there would be no living in this world, if there were not such examples, to bang up in the halls where Power holds his revel, and, like those awful mementos in the banqueting rooms of the Egyptians, chasten his pride, and check the exuberance of his riot."" The history of the ancestors of the Rock family thus ends : "There are but two ways, in short, of keeping down the full, original perfection, or by abolishing, in spirit as well Rock family; either by restoring the Penal code to its as in deed, all the odious remains of it. The former of these modes our rulers cannot adopt, and the latter, I know, they will not. Thus secured by the strength of the folly of our Government against the other, what have I to people from one remedy, and guaranteed by the eternal fear for the permanence and prosperity of our race? May |