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minister it, had filched the phial from under her pillow while Julia was dreaming of her triumph over Ione-had poured its magical contents into a little bottle of her own, had filled Julia's phial (or, as Mr. Bulwer calls it, "the former reservoir of the potion") with "limpid water," and had then put it under the pillow where she found it! And thus was the handsome daughter of Diomede dis--fire and sulphur rain in the streets-and they must appointed.

The witch's philter, being now in the hands of the blind slave girl, she loses no time in administering it. That very night she goes to the house of the Athenian -for this blind slave goes just where she likes, and when she likes-she pours out her draught to Glaucus, who, although he swallows only a fourth part of it, becomes at once-not in love with her, but as mad as a March hareor, as the author more classically expresses it-"as a Pythoness inspired." After raving awhile within the house, he rushes out into the streets of Pompeii, leaving Nydia to wonder at the strange effect of the love-philter.

In the meanwhile Apæcides, the brother of Ione, has made the acquaintance of Olynthus, an eloquent disciple of the new Nazarene, or Christian faith, and the young man, being disgusted by the imposture and abominations of the worship of Isis, not only becomes a convert, but engages with Olynthus publicly to unmask these foul hypocrites, the priests of the Egyptian goddess, with Arbaces at their head, who is specially accused (in Mr. Bulwer's words) of leading "a lewd and Circæan life." Arbaces, who knows all that is passing, and that Apæcides has a rendezvous in the grove of Cybele, with Olynthus (on the very night in which Glaucus drinks the potion), goes thither with the intention of winning or terrifying the brother of Ione from his purpose. He finds Apæcides alone and resolute-and therefore stabs him to the heart, twice, with his stilus. Just as the murder is finished, Glaucus comes staggering, chance-directed, to the very spot, chanting, as he comes, "a disconnected mad song, composed from snatches of hymns and sacred odes, all jarringly woven together." Seeing the prostrate bleeding body of Apæcides, the Greek cries, "What, ho! Endymion, sleepest thou so soundly? What has the moon said to thee? Thou makest me jealous ;-it is time to wake;" and then he stoops down to lift up the body. At this " nick o' time Arbaces rushes from his hiding-place, strikes the tottering Glaucus to the ground, and cries murder with all his

might.

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The citizens and guards run to the spot-Glaucus is found red with the blood of Apæcides-is thrown into prison, brought to trial, and condemned to be eaten by a huge lion in the amphitheatre of Pompeii. As there is a tiger as well as a lion, Olynthus the Christian is sentenced to its maw for blaspheming the gods, and being an atheist.

On the appointed day, which is introduced with due pomp and circumstance, after gladiators have fought and killed each other for money, Glaucus is turned into the arena, and the enormous lion set loose upon him. But to the great disappointment of the spectators, the king of beasts, instead of rushing on the Athenian, and making a mouthful of him, skulks away with his tail between his legs, and crawls into his cage again, without making even so much as a roar. But the person most annoyed at this unusual occurrence is Arbaces, who had secured a front seat to witness Glaucus's agonies and death. The presiding authorities tell the keepers of the beasts to stir up the lion with a long pole-" to goad and prick him forth, and then close the door of his cage." But before this can be done, a voice is heard, crying, "Remove the Athenian! haste-he is innocent! Arrest Arbaces the Egyptianhe is the murderer of Apæcides!"

To be brief, the innocence of the Athenian, and guilt of the Egyptian, are made evident in a page or two, and the multitudes crowded in the amphitheatre-men, women, and children-shout, "Arbaces to the lion!" They are going to carry their own sentence into execution, and hurl the priest of Isis from his seat into the arena, when, as luck will have it, just at that critical moment, smoke and fire burst from the summit of Mount Vesuvius, which is visible from the amphitheatre, and the eruption, destined to bury the whole city, commences with appalling violence. Arbaces, and Glaucus, and the lion, Olynthus and his tiger, are instantly forgotten; everybody seeks safety in flight, and the scene ends in one universal panic and debacle.

Glaucus is soon at the feet of Ione, with Nydia at his side; and he discovers that he is indebted to the devotion, the sagacity, and courage of the blind Thessalian, for his deliverance, and the proofs of his innocence. But this is no time for long speeches and story-telling-Pompeii is wrapped in more than midnight gloom-the houses totter leave the doomed city, or perish. Accordingly, without much talk, they go forth and try to find their way to the sea-shore. Near to the tall column and bronze statue of Augustus, they are confronted by the ferocious Arbaces, who is armed with a good sabre, whilst Glaucus has merely a tooth-picker of a stilus. But again, by one of those point-of-time coincidences, without which this author cannot manage a single incident, just as the Egyptian is going to smite the Greek, down fall the statue and the column near which they are standing, and cut the priest of Isis in two. Mr. Bulwer describes how his ghastly head looked without limbs or trunk; but we have only room for the emphatic words with which he dismisses him, viz:-"So perished the wise magian-the great Arbaces-the Hermes of the Burning Belt-the last of the royalty of Egypt."

After this rencounter, and some other narrow escapes, Glaucus, Ione, and Nydia get safely on ship-board, and sail away from the Bay of Naples. The first night they are at sea, the blind girl, thinking she can be of no further use to any of the parties-not relishing Ione's happiness, and fearing she may be again tempted to try another lovepotion, or something else, on Glaucus-throws herself overboard, and is drowned. As Glaucus had only taken a "fourth part" of the former dose, it appears he speedily recovered his entire health and reason. He carried Ione to Athens, where they bought a very pretty mansion, and in course of time became good Christians. Julia and the other very wicked characters of the novel, were all snugly buried by the eruption within Pompeii.

We have no room to point out the numerous mistakes Mr. Bulwer commits in describing the destruction of that city. We will merely remark, that though dreadful, that destruction was by no means so rapid as narrated in the novel. The population had time to save, at least, their lives; and in the large part of the city which has been excavated, but very few skeletons have been discovered bearing any appearance of being those of persons who had perished during the eruption. Pompeii was buried by several successive layers; and not by one great fall or in-rush of volcanic matter.

LANDSEER ON THE NATIONAL GALLERY. A Descriptive, Explanatory, and Critical Catalogue of fifty of the Earliest Pictures contained in the National Gallery of Great Britain. By John Landseer. Small 8vo. Glynn. MR. Landseer occupies a considerable portion of his work in expressing his indignation at the criticisms on the Fine Arts poured out by unqualified writers through the periodical press, and in other shapes. Nor is he content with keeping up a skirmish with this "small infantry," but selects, from time to time, some of the more formidable offenders, in order to demolish them in single combat. The antagonist on whom he particularly delights to exercise his prowess is Mr. Allan Cunningham, whom he pummels and kicks about with infinite satisfaction, and in a most exemplary manner. Mr. Landseer excuses, and claims credit for, those belligerent propensities, on the ground that he is performing an important duty, and rescuing the poor deluded, innocent public from a set of critical harpies, who, if we may venture to speak in his own metaphorical style, hover over the table of taste, pollute the banquet of art, and hook up in their abominable claws those delectable viands which worthier mouths are gaping for. Now, to drop down to the language of common sense, and " talk like a thing of this earth," we must say that we think Mr. Landseer's alarm is wholly unnecessary, and that his indignation will be utterly thrown away. The press will continue to teem, and throw out, like Nature herself, its fruits, flowers, and weeds, with as much unabashed abundance as if it had never been threatened with his redoubtable scythe; and as for those ignorant or undigested effusions at which he is so angry, we should like to know what harm they do? For our parts, we think "the more the merrier." It is the fate of non.

sense, whether it appear in fugitive periodicals, or in the more imposing garb of octavo volumes, to be despised and forgotten; and as certainly, just criticism will command attention, whatever be the medium through which it is conveyed.

Among the innumerable disquisitions which appear on the Fine Arts, many, as on most other topics, betray, no doubt, the traces of haste and inadvertence: the writers would probably have done better if they had had more time, and sometimes if they had been a little acquainted with the subject they were discussing; but it is the wisest course, in our minds, to excuse haste and pity ignorance, and thank Providence for whatever better things it is good enough to send us. With this impression we hailed with infinite pleasure the announcement of Mr. Landseer's work, naturally concluding, that when a gentleman, learned in the practice and theory of art, chose to exercise his talents on the subject, and give us a dissertation "descriptive, explanatory, and critical, on the works in the National Gallery," we should obtain a standard book, not merely illustrating the pictures in the collection, but establishing, by clear analysis and judicious comparisons, general principles of art, and which might be referred to in perpetuity by visitors to the Gallery, as an authority and guide and this we believe to have been Mr. Landseer's own intention.

We have read the book with a perfectly impartial feeling, and are sorry to say we have been disappointed; the only impression left on our minds by the perusal is one of inextricable confusion. Mr. Landseer's chief merit, in our opinion, is the indefatigable research with which he has gotten together a prodigious deal of information respecting the history of the different pictures, and their artists. But his opinions are so vague and contradictory, his digressions so frequent, his sparring with unfortunate brother critics so perpetual

"As who should say, I am Sir Oracle,

And when I ope my mouth, let no dog bark." -that we are lost and bewildered amidst the mêlée; and to crown all, Mr. L.'s style of writing is so prodigiously fine, that it is absolutely a labour to search for the sense amidst the cloudy grandiloquence which envelops it; take for instance, a passage hap hazard, page 22—

"As regards the human face divine, the essence of character is a sort of electric fluid, which-playing through the atmosphere of human affections-excites, thrills, and sparkles, as it unites material loveliness with immateriality; or mind with matter. Eyes cannot rain influence,' or hope to be appointed to judge 'the prize of wit or arms, without partaking of this ethereal

essence."

tious in discussing those performances, and indulges in
pleasantries by no means to be laughed at, and which we
are sorry we have not room to quote. Our strictures on
the author's strictures must be confined to a few of the
principal masters, and we shall see whether Mr. Landseer
has succeeded in what should have been his great object,
to leave on the mind of the reader clear and discriminated
impressions of their different styles and characters.
Let us begin with Michael Angelo, respecting whose
merits Mr. Landseer is a little sceptical; nevertheless, he
calls him "the sublime author of the Cartoon of Pisa, the
Grateful Adam, the Adoring Eve, and the theocratic
wonder of the Sistine Chapel;" and then goes on, in a
criticism of eight pages, to discuss the little picture called
the Dream of Human Life, with as much particularity, as
if M. Angelo's reputation depended on it, and he sums up
by calling him the Dædalus of modern Italy. The Dædalus!
Does Mr. Landseer mean to assert, then, that M. Angelo
was merely one of those early artificers who pioneer the
way in which mightier spirits are to follow? Has he for-
gotten the Capella Sistina, to which he had just alluded,
or that the great artist's works therein have retained the
same unapproachable superiority over all subsequent imi-
tation, which they held, when executed, over all anterior
performance, or contemporaneous rivalry? Mr. Landseer
rates M. Angelo very severely for his statue of Christ,
which he affirms, on the authority of West, to be "mean,
deficient in appropriate character, but slightly removed
from an academical figure, and in no point appropriate to
the subject,”- -a pretty bit of pleonasm; but would it not
have been better, if Mr. Landseer chose to advert to this
figure at all, to say that M. Angelo never aimed at that
character of abstract beauty which is drawn from the
antique, and which we associate invariably with our idea of
the divine Redeemer; and that, consequently, this statue
should not be judged by that ideal standard, nor cited as
a criterion of his powers? M. Angelo's element was sub-
limity, and if that quality in its highest degree be, as is
all others, then is M. Angelo, judged by his works in
asserted by eminent critics, more than an equivalent for
the Vatican, entitled to the character assigned him,
of being the greatest painter who has ever existed. But
Mr. Landseer, referring to his Christ, says that he
must not approach the presence (poor fellow) of Banks,
Chantrey, and Westmacott: this is so good that any-
thing added to it would be anti-climacteric. Therefore,
we will pass on to Raffaelle, whom Mr. Landseer
treats more rationally, and less at length. Indeed, con-
sidering the protracted notices which he gives to names
almost unknown, we think that he might have expatiated
a little more largely on the merits of this illustrious artist,
and that in a work like this, a comparative analysis of his

by no means out of place. However, we are much better
pleased with Mr. Landseer's own remarks on the portrait
of Julius II., than with some common-place verbiage
which he has quoted, as oraculous wisdom, from Hazlitt-

"When (says the last-mentioned author) we have a single portrait before us, that might seem to have taken half a-year time to execute his Cartoons, the compartments of the Vatican, to complete, we wonder how the same painter could find and a thousand other matchless works. The same account serves for both. The more we do, the more we can do. Our leisure (though it may seem a paradox) is in proportion to our industry, The same habit of intense application, which led our artist to be stow as much pains and attention on the study of a single head, as if his whole reputation had depended on it, enabled him to set about the greatest works with alacrity, and to finish them with ease."

This luminous passage forms part of a long dissertation, the purpose of which is to explain that character and ex-qualifications with those of M. Angelo would have been pression are different things! Why what sort of readers does Mr. Landseer suppose himself to be addressing ?We have never in our lives met with a work at once so profound and superficial; not that we do Mr. Landseer the injustice to ascribe all his errors to incapacity. In many instances, it appears to us he cannot have taken the trouble to think twice on the subject he is treating; thus, in some preliminary observations in which he adverts to Sir Joshua's Ugolind, he says, it was the painter's intention to impress on the head "a sublime expression of utter hopelessness, melting into religious or philosophical resignation." Here is a man, with his family, perishing with hunger in a dungeon, which he knows to be closed on them for ever, and Mr. Landseer finds out that it was intended to give him not only a look of religious, but of philosophical resignation! The expression given by Sir Joshua is the ghastly stupefaction of utter despair, by which he is so paralyzed that he does not even extend a hand to sustain the child who is expiring at his feet-could any one but Mr. Landseer mistake this? Be it recollected, too, that the man whom he supposes capable of this "philosophical resignation," is described by Dante, (to whom he relates his terrific story,) to be gratifying his posthumous but inexorable vengeance, by gnawing the skull of his enemy in the infernal lake!-Large books must be filled up, or we should say that Mr. Landseer assigns more than a necessary space to the consideration of inferior works in the gallery; we agree with him, however, that such works are not without interest in great collections, as forming links in the history of art. Mr. L. sometimes grows face

We are somewhat nauseated with this indiscriminate preachment about the efficacy of application in the arts. Genius, no doubt, will always occupy itself intensely in whatever may be its natural pursuit; but this active energy is a widely different thing from the sledge-hammer industry here insisted on, and which would really lead us to suppose that the works of the great masters were a mere matter of handicraft. The pains and finish which Raffaelle bestowed on his small oil pictures form no part of his reputation; and he had little to do with the manual execution of the great works (the frescoes) on which his fame is established. He made designs, as a sculptor makes clay models, which were executed by his assistants, as the subordinate artist hews out the statue from the

marble block-the final retouching only was the work of his own hand.

But if Mr. Landseer drops a little into common-place in his remarks on Raffaelle, he makes ample amends for it in his disquisitions on Rubens, and startles us with a few novelties, which are really exhilarating. The history of Rubens's picture of Peace and War is pretty well known. It was painted and presented to Charles I., when the artist was in this country as envoy from Flanders, the object of his mission being to negotiate a peace, and certainly a more magnificent and appropriate gift was never made by a minister to a monarch. The vast range of characters introduced, human and superhuman, are assimilated in the most perfect harmony, and Rubens has developed his intention, which was to contrast the blessings of peace with war and its attendant horrors, as perspicuously in this splendid allegory, as the simplest truth could be expressed by the plainest proverb. We agree cordially with Mr. Landseer in his enthusiastic admiration of this work, but why has he chosen to affix to it a new nomenclature, except for the purpose of mystifying that which is in itself self-evident? The picture, our author says, he ventures to term an allegory. Who ever thought it anything else? -but, he adds, a painted Lyric Ode would be a better designation, and instead of Peace and War, it should be called The Blessing of Rubens; the figure of Peace is converted into Public Felicity, and as if these heavy compounds were not enough, Minerva should be MinervaBritannia. The reader will probably recollect that there is in this picture a figure of a youthful Hymen, who holds a garland, in token of prospective felicity, over the heads of a group of beautiful girls: this figure, Mr. Landseer inclines to think, is not meant for Hymen, but Genius. Now we would lay Mr. Landseer any wager, that could the suffrages of those, or any other young ladies be taken, they would protest against this substitution, and insist that Hymen should keep his place-and we are precisely of the same opinion. Our critic says, rather pathetically, that "Rubens lived in the cruel age of thumb-screws;" Alas! there are other modes of torturing than thumb-screws, and if Rubens could return to earth, we think he would look rather shy at Mr. Landseer.

Sir Joshua Reynolds has also some reason to complain: his head of Windham is compared, much to his disparagement, with Vandyke's superb portrait of Gevartius; now, be it recollected, Sir Joshua's portrait of Windham is one of his worst, while that of Gevartius is one of Vandyke's very finest. Judged by his best examples, for instance, his own portrait (in spectacles), that of Dr. Johnson, Master Bunbury, and a hundred others, Reynolds need shrink from the competition of no earthly pencil.

We now come to the consideration of the two Correggios lately purchased for the National Gallery, which, we should have imagined, would have afforded Mr. Landseer | an opportunity of expressing himself like a man who thinks and feels for himself, and of giving the public some information respecting the style of a master who, as far as criticism goes, has been little understood, and much misrepresented. There is a passage on Correggio in Fuseli's Lectures,' which seems to have enchanted succeeding commentators, who have repeated it, one and all, and Mr. Landseer among the rest. We suppose the sounding euphony of the passage in question has obtained it this popularity, for anything more utterly fallacious in respect to Correggio's style has never been promulgated. The subject has been discussed in a criticism on Correggio, in No. 15 of this publication; and as we perfectly agree with the general tenor of that article, we shall not trouble our readers with a new expression of our opinions-they differ materially from those of Mr. Landseer.

and different purpose; or perhaps we should write, was used as the means of producing a different modification of the same poetic elevation of the spectator's intellect !"

We have a few words to say in conclusion. We sincerely wish success to Mr. Landseer's undertakings: he has a great love of art, and far more knowledge on the subject than ought to be thrown away; but assuredly his works will never become popular, unless he condescends to some slight alterations of style. He must learn to classify his ideas-to express them coherently and consecutively-to simplify his language, and to prune his general redundancy. The world is too busy to attend to communications made in the shape of riddles; nor will his work be less valued by the public, should he leave off the habit of identifying English art with the Royal Academy, as if it had no existence beyond the walls of that Institution-an idea which is getting rather obsolete.

While on the subject of the National Gallery, it may not be irrelevant to hazard an inquiry, could any one be found to solve it, as to the probable fate of British art as connected with the gallery which is now being built? Is any part of it to be devoted to our annual exhibitions; and, if so, under what regulations? It cannot surely be intended to instal the Royal Academy in the new edifice, with all its preposterous abuses? We are happy to see that the subject of the Academy is to be discussed in Parliament during the ensuing Session, when we hope that the same measure of impartial justice will be extended to the prac titioners of art, which has been given to those of the drama and to the medical profession.

ROSSETTI ON THE MIDDLE AGES. Disquisitions on the Anti-Papal Spirit which produced the Refor mation; its Secret Influence on the Literature of Europe in general, and of Italy in particular. By Gabriele Rossetti, Professor of Italian Literature in King's College. Translated from the Italian, by Miss Caroline Ward. 2 vols. 8vo. London Smith, Elder, and Co.

THESE are two very extraordinary volumes. They may be considered as an extension or completion of Signor Rossetti's Commentary on Dante,' and they embody the author's peculiar theory that not only the great Florentine bard, but Petrarca, and all the early poets of Italy, made use of a secret sectarian language, and wrote allegories for political purposes, in everything they produced. We have, on a former occasion, expressed our dissent from this theory, and shown what, in our opinion, would be its desecrating effect, if admitted, on some of the most exquisite productions of human genius-the finest poetry of Italy. In justice to our theorist we must, however, admit that he has displayed much ingenuity, industry, and research-that he occasionally makes a real discovery of a hidden sense in the old writers of his country, and that several parts of his work are exceedingly curious. It

The translation is done in a very superior manner. reads like an original English composition, not being disfigured, as versions are so apt to be, by the idioms of the language translated. We wish the fair translator a more agreeable and popular subject for her next occupation in this way.

POLITICAL CHRISTIANITY.

Political Christianity. 8vo. London. 1834. pp. 136. HERE we have in perfection that hottest of all mixtures→ a hodge-podge of politics and theology: and each is probably only the fiercer, from the circumstance that the author, as it appears, is neither a politician nor a theolo gian by profession, but only an amateur practitioner in both capacities. At the end of a Dedication to Mem

We shall conclude our remarks on Mr. Landseer's notices of Correggio by a quotation of one of his finest pas-bers of the Reformed Parliament,' he subscribes himsages, which we commend to the wonder of our readers :

:

self" Medicus Exul," from which we conjecture that the disorders of the liver or the kidneys, rather than those of the Church and State, are what he has chiefly to do with n his proper calling.

In his third chapter, entitled ' Irish Politics,' he favours us with the following further account of himself:

"That ideal perfection which it hath entered into the mind of man to conceive, that unattainable excellence which is yet the glorious object of a painter's professional faith-that celestial aspiration which is generated by genius on the sedate and passive truths of simple nature-that winged theory—that subtle metaphysical machinery, or the pivot and main-spring of that mental machinery which the sculptors, and those painters who imitated "My station and employments are worthy only of retirement, their style of forms, applied—aye, and successfully, to the pro- | and may be best filled independent of all political association. ductions of divine or ideal shapes, or of stimulating other minds As a native of another country, who, after an early education, to the conception of such,-was applied by Correggio to a new and a residence of several years in England, visited some of the

We come at last, however, after all this storm of contempt, to a sudden outburst of admiration quite as impetuous. And who, does the reader think, of all men that ever existed, is the chosen object of Medicus Exul's enthusiastic and unqualified laudation? Why, no other than that single-minded and perfectly straight-forward charac ter-Oliver Cromwell! But then the Protector, it seems, "is in bad odour with defendants or apologists for established churches-the mention of his name throws them into paroxysms of abuse." Can there possibly be a better reason why our author should take him for the god of his idolatry?

most distant colonial possessions of Britain, where I remained | perance than that particular form of the infirmity which for several years a diligent observer; and having become subse- consists in an addiction to whisky? quently an inhabitant of Ireland during five years, part of which was spent in exploring some of its most rude and unlettered districts, as well as the more populous and improved towns and cities; at the same time holding intimate intercourse with men of one party, while my views and sentiments had a leaning to the claims of the party opposed to them; a Protestant, but unconnected with the Establishment, or any of the minor divisions which derive the emoluments, without suffering the odium, of state connexions; a Sectarian, but an ardent admirer of real Catholicity; a Liberal, but no O'Connellite; a conscientious well-wisher of scriptural education, but neither desiring legislative enactments or resources, nor admiring the systems which have been in operation; perhaps I may be entitled, in the reader's judgment, to have an opinion, and to have been enabled to attain some correct sentiments, on the present state of Ireland. ing, on this side of the water at least, is in a suffiWe certainly do not think the public understandI may farther presume to add, that I have mingled with the aris-ciently high fever as yet to sympathize with the general tocracy and gentry, the clergy and lawyers of the Protestant persuasion, while occasionally I mixed with members of the Roman Catholic Church, lay and clerical; and all this has been unaccompanied with any insignia of office, the gold stick, the baton, or the surplice. I have visited many parts of Ireland, and met all classes on the eve of the elections, while they were going forward, and after they were completed. In the metropolitan province; in the south, the west, and the north; both in towns and country parts, I have made observations and received intelligence among priests and people, clergy and laity, electors and nonelectors. Under such circumstances, it perhaps will be admitted that opportunities have been afforded me which ought to have been improved."

The wisdom which Medicus Exul has gathered from all this multifarious experience exhibits itself chiefly in the form of a most vehement and multifarious outpouring of scorn and vituperation. He is in a violent passion throughout nearly the whole course of his 136 pages, and scarcely either a person or a thing falls in his way that does not come in for its kick or its snarl. First, there is the poor Established Church, a copious stream of ridicule and abuse of which flows through the entire heart of the performance. The manner in which a great variety of minor topics are treated, may be judged of from a few specimens. In Ireland, according to our author,

"The bulk of the community-such at least as are in a menial capacity would rather deceive than speak the truth, were they

even paid for the latter."―p. 14.

Again,—

"The peasantry of this land (Ireland) are misrepresented when spoken of as a brave people, or fitted to endure conflict and disappointment with resolution and steadfastness: they are nei ther brave nor resolute.. The fact that twenty of them will attack one antagonist, and beat him with clubs, not till he is down merely, but long afterwards (and this occurs almost at every country fair or market,) while twenty welltrained soldiers or police will hold thousands of them at bay in open field, and put them to flight, or take their ringleaders as prisoners, does not say much for the bravery of the Irish peasantry. Every civil commotion, every attempted rebellion in Ireland, and the experience of almost every magistrate, will corroborate my assertion, when I say that the only war in which an Irish peasant is pugnacious, is the war of words-when the parties are well matched."-pp. 17, 18.

A few pages after, we are told, without any going about the bush, that

"The mass of the Irish people are little removed from the rank of barbarians."-p. 25.

Having concluded his general reflections upon the country and its inhabitants, the author proceeds, in his fifth chapter, to describe "the Roman Catholic Church in Ireland." It scarcely receives more quarter than the Church established by law. Nor does Presbyterianism, the history and present state of which in the sister island he next takes up, come off better:

"It is not an uncommon sight," he says, "in country towns, in fairs and markets, to witness the Presbyterian minister selling his pigs, his corn, or his sheep, and it may be, completing his bargain in the public-house, or over the whisky bottle, on a Saturday afternoon, or at other times nearly approaching to religious service. The advocates of Temperance Societies tell some strange stories regarding the North."-p. 67.

And however strange the said stories may be, it is pretty evident that they will find in Medicus Exul one perfectly disposed to believe them not more strange than true. Has our author never heard of any other kind of intem

strain of Medicus Exul's declamation, nor do we expect
that it soon will be. But if we could escape from the an-
noyance of its extreme fury and rancour, there is really a
great deal both of ability and of information in his pam-
phlet, which would entitle it to attention, and well repay the
trouble of perusal. To be sure, seeing the excited, we
had almost said the envenomed, state of the writer's feel-
ings upon certain subjects, we do not know very well how
He has chosen to throw off the character of a mere histo-
far we may confide in the correctness of his statements.
rian or sober inquirer, and to adopt instead the tone and
spirit of an impassioned partisan; and he must not expect
that we shall put as much faith even in his facts, when
stated in so oratorical a fashion, as if they were brought
forward with more calmness and apparent impartiality.
Bating this consideration, however, it would be unfair, as
we have said, to deny that the work contains a great deal
of curious matter, and displays also very considerable
acuteness and power of writing. The author, however, is
a better rhetorician than logician. In the latter character
he makes but a poor figure, breaking down, indeed, at the
very outset of his undertaking, where he contrives to write
a whole chapter under the title of "The Case stated,"
without effecting an approach, in so far as we can perceive,
to a statement of any kind. The rest of the disquisition is
as immethodical and rambling as might be expected from
such a beginning-and we need not add, is anything
rather than a real discussion of the great question with
which it professes to be occupied.

We extract the following summary, in which the author has collected the results of preceding statements and calculations as to the different religious communities in

Ireland:

"Wesleyan Methodists.-Travelling preachers, 90; Missions, 24; Supernumeraries, 35, besides local preachers; Members, 25,000; Community altogether, say 55,000.

"Primitive Wesleyan Methodists.—Circuit-preachers, 40; Missions, 19, besides local preachers; Members, 16,000; Community altogether, say 40,000.

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Quakers, Society of Friends.-Community, 5,000. "Moravians, United Brethren. Ministers, 9; Members in Congregation, 500; Total Community, 1,500.

"Separatists of all Classes.-Say 5,000 people. "Antipodobaptists, usually called Baptists.-Itinerant Ministers, 6; Congregations, 12; Scripture Readers, 53; Total Com munity, 1000.

"Independents.-Ministers, 30; Irish Evangelical Society's Agents, 40; Churches, 30; People, 5,000.

Cameronians or Covenanters.-Ministers, 25; Congregations, say 30; Community, 16,000.

"Scottish Seceders and Primitive Burghers.-Ministers, 12; Congregations, 12; Community, 4,000.

"Arians, Presbytery of Antrim, Synod of Munster, Remon. strant Synod.-Ministers, 60; Congregations, 40; Community,

16,000.

"Seceders, Presbyterian Synod of Ireland.-Ministers, 123; tendence, 85,000. Congregations, say 140; Members under their care and superin

"Synod of Ulster, or Scottish Church in Ireland-Ministers, 237; Licentiates, 50; Congregations, 250; Nominal Community, 400,000.

Roman Catholic Church.-Clergy, 5,134, besides 1,000 regular Clergy; Parishes, 2,000; People, 6,000,000.

"Church Established by Parliamentary Enactment.-Clergy, 1,811; Extra Curates, supposed 1,000; Benefices, 1,556; People, about 600,000."

To this we add his account of the receipts of the Roman Catholic clergy :—.

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"Mid hopes and fears,

An undistinguishable throng;' we put forth this, our little volume, before the public.

was rather of an unusually superior order. He was not sent to college, but he was very carefully and ably taught both at home and at school. No doubt, what he afterwards did for himself, and by himself, was far more than what was thus done for him; but still though he was left to raise the superstructure of his literary acquirements mainly or exclusively by his own efforts, he had the advantage of having the usual direction and assistance in laying the foundation. This advantage is quite inestimable. Every mind of any degree of force and originality will, of course, as soon as it has arrived at a certain stage, make the direction of its further progress its own business, and there is immense benefit to be derived from being left to contend alone with all sorts of difficulties, as soon as we are really able by any exertion fairly to cope with them; but at first thing. We require at least to be put on the road which we need, and can ill do without, aid and guidance in every the contrary, a loss of time and pains in attempting to we intend to pursue; there is nothing to be gained, but on find it out by ourselves. There is no wisdom in groping about, and insisting upon thus feeling out our way with a bandage over our eyes, instead of deigning to look up to the finger-posts which would at once point it out to us.

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There is a notion in favour of the knowledge of reading and writing that thus, as it were, cometh "Its production has been attended with circumstances of more by nature;" but nobody would think this the best than ordinary inconvenience, trouble, and difficulty. “We are young, and, in the general sense of the term, unedu-way of learning anything else. If a person proposed to cated; for the world has been our school, books our only in- accomplish himself in the art of making shoes, or of cutting out coats, he would consider it indispen“Besides this, having never, till now, published a line of ori-sable to put himself in the first instance into the hands ginal composition; and, unfortunately, not being acquainted with any one person upon whose advice we can place sufficient reliance, we have no resource left but to follow the dictates of our own inexperienced and unassisted judgments. We do so, and thus lay our first attempts before the public.

structors.

"Sorrow,' says, Byron, is knowledge:' to us at least, if we have ever met with but one truth, face to face, it was Sorrow opened the door. Do we, therefore, complain? If the door has been opened-No. If our self-taught, and self-judged rhymes contain no evidences of original poetic ability, then we have deceived ourselves; and surely in that case, we may be excused if we do complain of the unfortunate combination of circumstances, that has given us the desire, yet sternly denies us the gratification. But if, on the contrary, as we hope and believe, they do contain a something, that promises well for the future, then shall we estimate too justly the value of the prize, to repine at the price we have paid for it."

66

The poetry thus prefaced has certainly faults in abundance-faults both of execution and of conception; but still it is much of it true poetry. It does at least, to use the words of the writers, contain a something that promises well for the future"--and a something, also, that is not amiss for the present. The verses have the most genuine look of any that we have met with for a long time professing to be the effusions of uneducated genius. In all the mere artifices of composition the writers are sadly deficient; they are constantly committing the most abominable trespasses against the rules of good taste and propriety of expression. In this respect their case is an instructive one. They have studied books, it appears, though they have had no other teachers; and the result shows with what serious disadvantages that mode of proceeding is attended. From the want of any one to initiate and direct them in their studies, they have not reaped half the benefit they otherwise might have done from the books they have read. They have missed the most elementary lessons of their craft as writers-lessons which the works they have perused might no doubt have abundantly taught them if they had only been once fairly put upon the way in which such things were to be looked for. Compare the present writers with some other uneducated or self-taught poets, as these terms are commonly applied and understood--with Burns, for example. Their poetic genius is doubtless far inferior to his in originality and power; this difference, established by nature, no training would have got over; but their inferiority in the art of appropriately expressing their thoughts-in the mere management of their tools as fabricators of poetry-is perhaps still more striking. Now Burns, although he did not receive what is called a classical education, was by no means left without instruction in his early years. The instruction which he received, in so far at least as regarded mere English scholarship,-comprehending not only reading and grammar, but the elementary principles of composition and taste,

of a master. After a time he might feel that he was able to go on by himself; he might prefer striking into some brilliant novelties of his own, to a slavish observance of the established rules and modes; but he would never think of beginning by thus trusting entirely, or chiefly, to his own genius. And this, also, is the true way of setting about the acquisition of any intellectual accomplishment. The assistance of a master ought always, if possible, to be obtained by the learner to help him over his first, which are his worst, difficulties-to equip and mount him for his journey, and to set him with his face in the right direction. We would recommend this course to a grown-up person who proposes to commence any new study, as well as to the youngest learner. Let it be some foreign language, for instance, which is to be acquired; there is no way of making the acquisition so speedily and effectually as by having recourse in the commencement of the study to the assistance of a master. In the business of education, even as commonly conducted, the use of books is perhaps stretched beyond its proper extent, and some things are taught through that medium which might be better taught if their assistance were altogether dispensed with; but when books are made alone to do the whole work of instruction, they are certainly put to a duty they never were intended to perform. It is like learning to write with the pen held by the toes, or between the teeth.

The having to make their way to what knowledge of literature they have attained through so hard a discipline, appears to have been with the present writers an affair of necessity; for they make no boast of it, although they are probably scarcely aware of how much they have lost in consequence. In the specimens of their poetry, however, which we are about to quote, allowance will be made by the reader for much awkwardness, want of polish, and other deficiencies, for which the circumstances of the case furnish abundant apology.

We shall make no extract from "The Reformed Parliament," by John Saunders, which, with what meaning we cannot guess, is called on the title-page "a poetic medley," and of which we have only the first canto. The attempt is a somewhat too ambitious one for the skill and acquirements of the writer, who must wait till both his taste shall be more highly cultivated, and his observation of men and things much more extended, before he can hope to make a successful début as a satirist. At present his thrusts are more vehement than well directed, and although he is evidently fired with a very honest rage against all and sundry, he does extremely little execution with all his exertions.

"The Reformed Parliament" is followed by a collection of lyrical pieces, entitled, "Songs for the Many, or New Words to Old Tunes," in which, also, there is not much merit. We pass on, therefore, to the "Miscel

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