judgment to come."-He discoursed of justice before a man, covered with crimes of oppression, cruelty, and wrong; of continence before him and his profligate mistress, who were plunged in the guilt of adultery; and of a future day of judgment, when such crimes should be brought to a severe account, and punished as they deserved by a righteous and pure judge. What could be expected from such home truths, which they could not avoid apply ing to their own hearts, but a gross abuse of power in some way of revenge? Felix had already shewn himself very capable of this conduct; and there was every reason to apprehend, that he would be encouraged to restrain such freedom by the infamous Drusilla. For how unpardonable must such a woman have thought it in him, to censure even indirectly a Roman governor and an admired queen, who had his life in their hands! But these things could not shake St. Paul's glorious purpose of reclaiming those sinners from their evil courses, and urging them by terror and remorse to repent and be converted. They might kill the body; but he would, if possible, save their souls. Could he compass this grand object, he lightly regarded bonds, imprisonment, or death; he therefore with undaunted courage spoke to them the words of truth and life. Never did this great apostle appear more great and good, more wise, disinterested, brave, generous, and humane. Whoever can read this passage without sentiments of the deepest veneration, must be deficient in some of the best qualities of our nature. Every man of virtue must admire so much excellence. It pleased God to give a different, effect to St. Paul's discourse, from what could have been expected in the common course of human affairs:Feliz trembled."-He felt the force of his just and powerful reasoning, saw the hideous picture of his own vile character, and for a while anticipated the horrors of future judgment. But still clinging to his favourite vices, he could not persuade himself to yield them up: nor yet was he able to endure reproof with total want of sense or concern. Thus wavering between the love of sin and the fear of punishment, (when the first, as usual, prevailed in the end) he said to Paul, "Go thy way for this time; when I have a convenient season I will call for thee."The impression was for a moment lively and strong; but it soon passed off a soul devoted to the world: inveterate habits soon returned and entirely destroyed the good seed. Of which we have an extraordinary and melancholy proof in the words that follow; "He hoped also, that money should have been given him of Paul, that he might loose him: wherefore he sent for him the oftner, and communed with him."-He knew that Paul had been commissioned to bring alms to his nation; and his avarice caught at the hope of turning these to his own profit. He was ready to inake a sale of justice, though the price should be paid from the fund of the poor. What a sordid and iniquitous mind must his have been! No wonder, that the preaching even of St. Paul should work no lasting change in it.' P. 344. We would recommend to Dr. Stack a careful revisal of this volume. In many places the style stands in need of amend ment, and in some the grammar. We are of opinion also that the work might be much improved by curtailments in some parts, and by being extended and enlarged in others. We will venture to say further, that had the work consisted of two volumes of the same size with the present instead of one, it would have better deserved, and more obtained, the patronage of the public. ART. IX. Public Characters of 1805. 8vo. 10s. 6d. Boards. Phillips. 1805. WERE this work to be estimated by an implicit believer in its title-page, he would declare it to be one of the most interesting publications of the day. The lives of our cotemporaries, faithfully narrated, would with justice excite more of our attention than all the biography of former times. But this fidelity is too bold to be expected; and yet, to compensate for its loss in the pages before us, the authors have substituted an admirable impartiality in its stead, which is a slave to no determined religious or political principles; which disdains to discriminate between good and evil, between notorious and never-heard-of characters; but comprizes in its annual list of worthies' the devout and the debauched, the noble and the ignominious; slurring over all their various imperfections, and puffing off their virtues, as the mountebank does his nostrums. That none may be offended, all are praised alike. Let any one peruse the catalogue of persons facetiously styled 'public characters,' prefixed to this as well as to the six former volumes, and doubt the impudence of the title. To specify those instances in which the misnomer is most gross, where the individual is really too obscure for any notice but that of the parish register, would be in the highest degree illiberal. If these persons themselves have any delicacy (which by the way they cannot have, if their permission was given to the writers of their lives), we should be sorry to shock it by rendering their undesired and undeserved notoriety more extensive by transcription. But when we saw the name of Dr. Bree in this volume, we began to fear we were introduced to a 'public character' indeed! for as the person we allude to omits no method of advertising himself into notice, we thought he might have written his own life in the present paltry calendar. However, we were mistaken; and the life of a very respectable medical gentleman of Birmingham (but who, we doubt not, is surprized to find himself a public character), backed by an irrelevant bookmaking account of the state of the manu facturing poor in that town,' was, till we examined it, the cause of our mistake. As a specimen of the frivolity of these mock biographers, we shall select a passage from the life of Dr. Jackson, dean of Christchurch. After a foolish story about lord Duncannon, it proceeds: And thus, with apparent ease to himself, and universal satisfaction to the members of his society, does the dean keep up due order and subordination without giving offence to any. In conversation he is free, affable, and polite, and sometimes does not hesitate to be jocose even with the junior members of the college. With such qualities it would be strange, indeed, if he was not ge nerally beloved by those under his care, as he certainly is; though in the university, partly from a mean jealousy which reigns in the other colleges, and partly from some peculiarities, he is very unpopular. Wherever there is real excellence, envy is sure to attend it; and that is unfortunately true in the case now before us.' P.273. After having said so much concerning his various kinds of knowledge and extensive information, it may be a matter of surprise that the dean of Christ Church has never appeared before the world as an author. For this he has not assigned any reason; but as it is certain no one could be better calculated for some great literary performance than himself, the only way in which we can account for his having omitted to gratify the public in this respect, is that almost the whole of his time is occupied by the necessary duties of his station, and that he chooses rather to forego the fame which he might with ease acquire in another way, than suffer his attention to be taken from the concerns of his college. Dean Jackson usually spends the short vacations in close study at Oxford; but during the long one in summer he is accustomed to visit a sea-bathing place, and usually fixes upon some sequestered village on the coast. The Isle of Wight is a great favourite with him upon those occasions, and a considerable portion of his leisure time has been spent there. When at Oxford he regularly employs two hours every day in traversing the beautiful walks of Christ Church with the tutors and others of his college, who find his conversation a rich fund of literary entertainment.' P. 274. The dean must have now become so riveted to the customs and duties of his present situation, that it is probable he will not give it up while his vigour of body and mind continue in any tolerable degree. Upon the death of archbishop Newcombe, the primacy of Ireland, a place of great wealth, was presented for his acceptance, which he refused without hesitation. He was also offered the bishoprie of Oxford, on the death of Dr. Smallwell; but declined it in favour of his highly-esteemed friend Dr. Randolph, the present worthy prelate of that see. It is conjectured by some that he wishes to succeed to the bishopric of Worcester, and by others to the archbishopric of York; but these are mere suppositions, and are perhaps without any foundation. Probably he is conscious that no successor would be able to conduct the affairs of the college in the manner he does, and therefore wishes the society to enjoy prosperity under such favourable auspices as long as possible.' P. 275. Dr. Jackson must revolt from this indecent obtrusion of his private habits, and college-management, upon the public. Nor do we think major Topham can be less angry with the nonsense under the shape of praise, which is lavished upon his moral and intellectual attainments: but still more with the ironical parallel, meant indeed perhaps seriously in the manner of Plutarch, drawn between himself and Cicero! How important are the following notices! Major Topham passed eleven years at Eton, where he was fortunate enough to be distinguished by frequently having his verses publicly read by the master in school, or, as it is there termed, by being sent up for good. He afterwards formed one of the numerous band of upper boys who were very severely punished for being engaged in the great rebellion that took place under Dr. Forster, then master, who was a great Latinist, a great Grecian, a great Hebraist, and every thing but a man of common sense. ways of the world he was a very Parson Adams, and of course not well qualified to govern the greatest public seminary in the kingdom, which at one time boasted five hundred and fifty stu dents.' P. 199. In the At Cambridge, major Topham remained four years, long enough to put on what is there called "an Harry Soph's gown,' which many people would think was exchanging a good for a bad gown; the gown of the fellow-commoner being purple and silver, and that of the Harry Soph black silk. From Cambridge he went abroad for a year and a half, and afterwards travelled through Scotland. This little tour became better known, as he afterwards gave an account of it in "Letters from Edinburgh," published by Dodsley. As the work of a stripling, they were so well received, that the first edition was soon out of print. Thence he removed to the seat of all human joy, in the eyes of a young man, London, and entered into the first regiment of life-guards, which in the hey-day of the blood may be thought to make that still greater.' P. 199. But as a specimen of style, can any thing exceed this bom→ bastic mummery upon madness? When this dreaded visitation" has once taken place, all that follows is lamentable in the extreme. The brightest corruscations of genius, the tenderest feelings of the tenderest heart, the noblest efforts of the most enlightened or most reflecting mind, the most exact discretion, the most rigid reserve, all may, or may not, an opposite direction; and chance, and mad, and momentary im. take : pulses alone decide the character. To view this change is the severest pang the heart can feel to lament over it is to be mad ourselves: to stop or govern it is to direct the whirlwind and the storm.' P. 208. Who was sufficiently aware before of the difficulty and the danger of editing a morning paper? They who have known what the daily supply, the daily toil, the daily difficulty, the hourly danger, and the incessant tumult of a morning paper is, can alone know that chaos of the brain in which a man lives who has all this to undergo. Terror walks before him fatigue bears him down : libels encompass him, and distraction attacks him on every side. He must be a literary man, and a commercial man: he must be a political man, and a theatrical man; and must run through all the changes from a pantomime to a prime minister. What every man is pursuing, he must be engaged in; and from the very nature and "front of his offence," he must be acquainted with all the wants, the weaknesses, and wickedness, from one end of London to the other. To view all this night gratify curiosity for the moment: to live in it is to guide a little boat in a storm under a battery of great guns firing at him every moment; but even this has an advantage; it may endear retirement or make seclusion pleasant. In fact, and without a pun, on quitting the World, major Topham retired to his native county, and has lived two hundred miles from the metropolis, without once visiting it during the space of six whole years. • Who could have done this? Who could have thought that remote hills, solitary plains, and, what is worse, country conversation, would have found charms sufficient to detain a town-made man from the streets of London? The physicians would answer, cooling scenes are the lenitives of fever. After the long labours of a sultry day, where can the weary fly better than to the shade? The man thus circumstanced will naturally say, 66 O rus! quando ego te aspiciam, quandoque licebit Major Topham, we understand, has not found, even in retirement, time hang heavy upon his hands. The duties of a country magistrate, in a large county, are very great, and very incessant. He has a considerable farm of some hundred acres under his own management, and his occasional hours he is dedicating to the compilation of a History of his own Life." He has along with him, those who in his retirement have proved his best solace, three daughters, who are said to be nearly as beautiful as their mother, and whose manners and understandings are reported by those who have seen them, to be equal to all that might be expected.' P. 208 From the life of Mrs. Cosway we beg leave to present our readers with one choice passage: |