wine he had drunk was evidently mounting into the Captain's head-the waiter entered, and gave him to understand that the coach was at the door.

"Say you so,” shouted the Captain, flinging the remaining wine down his throat, "then I'll go and besiege the roof of it forthwith. Good night, my dear fellow," seizing me by the hand," come and see me in London; Captain Trigger-one of the best fellows in the world-Artichoke, Covent Gar

THERE are few things more beautiful than tears, whether they are shed for ourselves or others; they are always the meek and silent effusions of sincere feeling. I say nothing of angry tears, though, I believe, such are sometimes shed; they are but a counterfeit coin, and not the genuine gold. Let us hope they are seldom called forth. But how many noble thoughts and warm emotions, which elevate our human nature, have frequently found, and are daily finding, their vent in tears, and could do so in no other way! All strong passion, in its first and mightiest movements within us, is necessarily voiceless; and if there were no kindly channel by which its exuberance might gain an escape, Reason herself might sometimes have cause to tremble. But as the summer rain falls gently on the flower, which was fast dying in the burning noon, the dew of tears is sent down to us from heaven to refresh and animate the overcharged soul. And while tears are thus delightful in their influence, so their use is unlimited, and their fountain open to all. They are for every rank and situation in life: for the young and for the aged; for the wealthy and for the indigent; for the virtuous and for the wicked; for the happy and for the sad to no scene are they foreign; they are natural, and therefore lovely in all. Oh, blessed tears! the liveliest joy is made holier and better by your influence, and by your power is the deepest woe beguiled of half its pain!

The sight of the tears of others may call up in the mind, even of those who are careless of their cause, many varied thoughts.

When we see tears on the blooming cheek of childhood, we think of the vernal showerdrop glittering on the tinted leaf of the first rose-bud of May, that will soon be chased by a burst of returning sunshine. When we see tears in the eyes of the warrior youth, whose soul burns almost too intensely with patriotic zeal for the liberty of his father land, our sympathetic spirit already beholds the grandeur of the battle array, and the fearless soldier struck down and dying with the glory of victory in his very grasp. When we see tears on the countenance of the young and gentle bride, as mid the breathings of the parental blessing she looks her last on the dear familiar faces and scenes of her early innocent years, we feel that here, as it were, all the poetry of romance, and all the truth of reality are mysteriously mingling together; and that the being before us stands as if between two worlds, like a beautiful bird yet lingering on the confines of one country, while her plumage is spread for her flight into another! But when we see tears on the face of withered age, tears perhaps of holy feeling, while the eye of him who sheds them is fixed upon the page of the Sacred Book, more solemn ideas naturally present themselves to the mind: from the pains and disappointments of the present earthly scene, our wishes and our hopes are insensibly taught to rise in silent contemplation to that region where youth is unfading, and "where all tears shall be wiped from every eye."

Edinburgh, 1832.

GERTRUDE.

We must condense our praise, and quit this subject, on which our enthusiasm is not assumed, but flows from our heart of hearts. Turner's Annual Tour, from the exquisiteness of the designs and the perfect style in which they are engraved, is not merely the most beautiful, but the cheapest book of the day. It were a disgrace to the taste of this wealthy land, should it fail in amply rewarding those engaged in its publication.

The plates are accompanied by stories, and by the account of a tour, by Mr. Leitch Ritchie, the talented author of "The Romance of French History."

ing happiness ought to lead us to adopt a more comforting, a more consoling doctrine; which, to say the least of it, is as easy of belief as that which the school of the patriarch of Ferney' has disseminated for the misery and despair of its disciples. It is of this discarded and calumniated credulity, that science and civilisation are the fair fruit; that has produced whatever is nearest to perfection in literature and the fine arts; that has left us monuments to attest its divine inspirations in the poems of Homer, Virgil, Dante, Tasso, and Milton; in the Parthenon, the Temple of Ephesus, the Church of St. Peter. Had Raphael been a coid materialist, could he have given to the portrait of the Virgin that expression

THIS is an interesting, melancholy story of love, war, and sorrow, in Canada-itself a romantic and interesting country, which still offers immense resources to novelists and other writers.

In the present tale, which is of simple construction, the author conveys considerable information concerning a country he seems well acquainted with,and some of his scenes are animated, and may prove novel to many of his readers. We

would particularly instance that of the annual departure of the adventurous Canadian huntsmen of the "North-West Company," to whose daring and almost inconceivable journeys and exertions luxury is so much indebted, though she is apt to think so seldom of them, even while the skins of the wild animals they pursued and killed, give the greatest warmth and comfort to her body, and to her attire one of its choicest ornaments.

"The ermine of the judge's robe," says our author, "the swan-down boa, that vies in whiteness and softness with the fair neck and shoulders it partly conceals, the bear-skin cap of the fierce grenadier, are all derived from this source." And again, “Our fair readers, when they envelope their delicate forms in a fur pelisse, little suspect whence it comes, how it is obtained, or upon what an extensive scale of destruction, peril, and individual privation, the commerce of peltry has been carried on for nearly half a century."

The account of the domestic economy and common progress of an industrious couple settling in the back woods of America, from their rude log-hut to their comfortable and even stately mansion, is also correct and interesting, and calculated to remove many of the misrepresentations and prejudices of a recent writer on the United States.

Besides his good, solid information, we are induced, by passages of noble and glowing feeling like the following, to recommend "Bellegarde" to the notice of our readers.

"Were there nothing in the essence of incredulity worse than the annihilation of hope, and the grandeur of our destiny, the necessity of seek

felt that he was employing his chisel in making the statue of an Athenian woman, would the block of marble have taken the form, the inimitable form of the Venus de Medici? Could incredulity produce the Jupiter of Phidias, the Apollo of Belvidere? No; incredulity has no higher conceptions than a canal, a bridge, a highway, and a tomb! It sees only the palpable half of man, and perishes with the creature of its own creation."-Vol. iii. p. 36.

The Solitary. A Poem. In Three Parts. By Charles Whitehead.

WE took occasion, in the November Number, to say a few words of high but sincere, unbiassed praise in favour of Mr. Whitehead's poem, and now keep our promise by offering a few more observations.

Should the extracts we have already given not have proved, in our readers' estimation, sufficient to justify our qualifying Mr. Whitehead as one possessed of great originality, and of the true and fervid spirit of poetry, we trust that the verses we shall now add will gain them to our opinion.

We admit the existence of faults in "The Solitary," but they are the faults of inexperience, and, in some instances, are in themselves evidences of the poet's genius, being nothing more than imagery too lavishly thrown together, and of feeling carried beyond its proper depth. But too much imagery and too much feeling are faults on the right side!" It is with the poet's mind as with the movement of a watch; it is easy to repress its speed if it go too fast, but difficult to increase its speed if it go too slow. Mr. Whitehead's now bounds along its course, and the discipline of time and experience will regulate its velocity.

It was said by a cotemporary periodical of distinguished talent, that the author of "The Solitary" must be mad; we can only say that we wish to God he would bite some of our living bards, for his is a madness which, we confess, we should like to see a little more prevalent.

We now proceed to our extracts.

It is in this exquisite, feeling manner, that Mr.

Whitehead describes an air by Weber, and the beautiful being who sang it.

"That strain still haunts me-wonder ye? 'twas, wrought

By the pale German with melodious pain; He who in blissful agony of thought,

Wrung from the o'ertask'd torture of his brain

Such dreams as fill the heart and thrill the vein;

How deep a symphony of peace profound

Usher'd the graceful coming of the strain; A harbinger to celebrate around Th' inauguration of a joy-apparell'd sound. “ And she who sang-how sweetly from her lips, How proudly did it woo the listening air, As though it might its very self eclipse, Kiss'd into music by a mouth so fair. For she was beautiful beyond compare ; Lovely as morning's earliest, loveliest glow, And pure as Heaven-directed fountains are, Or snow before it reach the fallen snow, Or the starr'd sky above to mortal gaze below. "Inbreathed Grace, enamoured of her air,

Still tended her when she was least attended; Meek Charity, and Meekness soft, were there, Twin sisters, in one zone of beauty blended.

doth keep;

Oh! may the trust her young disciple bless, Whene'er she yields her gifts in faith and gentleness!

"To kindle soft humanity-to raise,

With gentle strength infus'd, the spirit bow'd; To pour a second sunlight on our days, And draw the restless lightning from our cloud;

To cheer the humble, and to dash the proud; What heav'n withholds more largely to supply, And fringe with joy our ever-weaving shroud; Besought in peace to live, and taught to die; The poet's task is done-Oh, Immortality!"

The Edinburgh Cabinet Library. Vol. X.

We have already twice had occasion to recommend this admirably conducted publication, and hope our voice, though weak, has contributed in some degree to the procuring of that notice and patronage which it so eminently deserves. Its object is to convey, in a popular form, the information

VOL. II. NO. I

collected by travellers, and a knowledge of the vast, varied, and wonderful world we inhabit; and hitherto the task has been intrusted, not to meagre-minded makers of abridgments and condensations, but to men eminent by their literature, science, travels, and experience.

The present volume contains the travels of the truly great Baron Humboldt, and is in itself a mine of valuable and most interesting information, embracing the "expanse of the Atlantic ocean, with its circling currents;" "" the magnifi cent vegetation of the tropical regions;"" the elevated table-lands of the Andes, crowned by volcanic cones, whose summits shoot high into the regions of perennial snow ;"" the varied aspect of the heavens in those distant lands-the earthquakes that have desolated populous and fertile countries," and other matters equally calculated to attract and to fix attention. The last chapter in the volume contains an account of the Baron's journey into Asiatic Russia and the confines of China, from which he has but lately returned.

The fame of the Baron Humboldt has extended indeed to every part of the civilised world; and with the learned and the scientific, among "color che sanno," no name is more familiar or more respected.

Paris; or the Book of the Hundred and One.

THIS is a very admirable translation of decidedly the best literary work that has appeared of late years in France.

"The history of the original," to use the words of the able translator, "is both curious and interesting. After the failure of M. L'Advocat, the great Parisian publisher, the most distinguished literary men in France offered their gratuitous aid, in any way that might be thought most likely to restore his broken fortunes-a liberality that does honour to the age. The outline of the plan suggested, was a series of papers descriptive of Paris, Parisian manners and society; and from the fact, that one hundred and one writers immediately subscribed their names as contributors, originated the title of the work."

This touching history will of itself be a recommendation to the sympathies of our readers; and Cock, Chasles, Fouinet, A. Dumas, Roche, when they are told that the names of Paul de Droumeau, Bazin, Charles Ncdier, Mademoiselle Elise Voiart, the Count de Peroynnet, the unfortunate ex-minister of Charles X., now a prisoner in the castle of Ham, and of others--the most distinguished of the literati of France-are in the list of contributors, we are confident they will take up the volumes of "The Hundred and One" with anxious pleasure; which indeed they must have felt from the mere enumeration of such bright, particular stars," without any reference to, or knowledge of the interesting circumstances

H

*Preface.

under which they were brought to shine together, and to produce one intellectual galaxy.

The united labours of so many authors of different sentiments and styles offer a delightful variety, and such complete pictures of the French capital, and its society of all classes, as could not have been produced in any other way. These volumes have all the lightness, elegance, playfulness, and wit, of the far-famed "Hermite du Chaussé d'Antin," with infinitely more feeling and pathos, and with none of the political exalta tion, deep-rooted national prejudices, and bitterness of that work. We consider the absence of these last-named feelings, as subject of wonder and especial praise in the present moral condition of France, where politics absorb the public mind, and the noise of contending parties must incessantly invade the retirement of the muse, and jar upon the strings of her lyre. Whenever any political allusions are made by "The Hundred and One," they are inoderate, mild, generous, and philosophic; and we must say here, we have been captivated by the mode in which one of the writers (M. Chasles), at a moment like the present, renders a tribute to M. de Chateaubriand

a man who, whatever may have been his political inconsistencies and follies, has always been possessed of the nobility of genius, and generosity of heart. Where every article has merit, we will not descend to invidious distinctions or preferences, but dismiss the work with the assurance to our readers, that such of them as have lived in Paris, will find many of their recollections pleasantly revived, and become possessed of many traits and details which may have escaped their observation; and that such of them as have not been there, or only for a short time, will acquire a very correct notion of the French capital from the perusal of the Book of the Hundred and One.'

We have said the translation is an admirable one. It is so in the strict sense of the word. The

translator has shown himself more intrinsically acquainted with all the modern idioms, technicalities and niceties of the French language, and at the same time sufficiently master of his own, to find equivalents for them all, and to render them all into good idiomatic English. This is a rare, and, as must be known to every one who has tried his hand at translation, a most difficult thing to do, and we insist, that the task of a translator, when thus executed, is deserving of much higher praise than his modest labours obtain him from the world.

Family Classical Library. No. XXXVI. A. J. Valpy.

THE volume of this Library, so useful to all who are not proficient in the difficult languages of ancient Greece and Rome, which has last reached us, contains translations of no less than six of the immortal tragedies of Euripides, by the learned Potter, whose versions indeed merit the praise bestowed upon them by the Bibliographical Miscellany, being "always faithful and

sometimes elevated." Volumes like these, at four shillings and sixpence each, are admirably cheap!

The Plays and Poems of Shakespeare. With a Life, Glossarial Notes, and one hundred and seventy Illustrations, from the Plates in Boydell's Collection.

WE gladly embrace the opportunity of enregistering, as an humble addition to the general praise it has already received, our commendation of this cheap and elegant edition of our Shakespeare, which is now publishing in monthly volumes. The plays, the annotations, which are lucid and concise, and the historical digests pre

fixed to the plays, are all exceedingly well ar ranged. The text has the correctness which is found in all the works from the press of Mr. Valpy.

Plays. By Mrs. A. M'Taggart, Author of "Memoirs of a Gentlewoman." Second Edition. 2 vols. A. J. Valpy.

THOUGH We cannot entirely echo the praises (published in these volumes, with the productions to which they relate) of Mr. Galt, who once undertook the task of introducing to the world's applause the dramatic pieces rejected by the Theatres, and those whose authors feared a similar contumely; still we confess they contain several happy dramatic positions, considerable delicacy of feeling, and power of reaching the heart. The sentiments are all such as may emanate from a

gentlewoman;" and though conveyed in the profane form of plays, be read by all sober and religious families. To hint at a comparison with Joanna Baillie, as Mr. Galt does, is absurd, but Mrs. M'Taggart's merits are considerable; and, wishing her blank verse were better, we take our leave of her with much respect.

Panorama of Stirling.

THIS is one of the most attractive panoramas we have seen. It is rich in historical recollections, bringing at once to the bodily and mental eye scenes which are hallowed in our memories by their ancient renown. The view which this grand picture represents is perhaps unequalled in Scotland, and Mr. Burford has done it ample justice, by the admirable manner in which he has employed the resources of his art to bring it in all its natural and vivid beauty before the beholder's eye. It is impossible to speak too highly in its praise.