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the prayer-book,-to make it the subject of profane parodies and ribald comments. Nor would the matter be remedied, if, by more vigilant inspection, all breaches of outward decorum could be prevented. The evil is neither in that which is done nor in that which is said; but in the state of mind to which the system leads, and of which conversation and conduct are merely symptoms and evidences. I do not go one hair's-breadth too far, when I say that an immense proportion of all the indifference to religious worship which we almost all feel in after-life, and which many of us sincerely lament, is attributable to these enforced attendances at chapel, this much-praying ordered by law, these statutory genuflexions. The habit which is epidemic at Cambridge, of connecting no devotional feeling with the pretence of devotion, of bearing the names of religion without the slightest religious consciousness, of assembling for worship while the heart worships not at all,-this habit influences the mind for years after the cause which produced it has ceased; and men who are neither doubters nor scorners, yet feel that they have no comfort in praying together with others, and that the old accustomed rites, and ancestral phraseology of Christianity, are to them but empty ceremonies and worthless sounds, wearisome, senseless, hypocritical formalities. Can your Lordship deny that this obviously must be the result, that it actually is the result, of the scheme of discipline I refer to? And, wherefore, except from the desperate delusion of mistaking names for things, of believing that Jehovah never can desert the temple of Jerusalem, and that it is sufficient to cleanse the outside of the platter, and to whitewash the sepulchre; wherefore, but from this error, can proceed the obstinacy in supporting a system so adverse to all religious feeling? and, wherefore, but from the same cause, the affectation, if not the fraudulence, which pretends to discover, in the mere wordknowledge, derivable from theological lectures, the whole that is necessary for the making men Christians in the living depths of their bosoms?

Of directly legal institutions, there is nothing more which I have now time to mention. But there is a kind of moral influence from the Cambridge system, which is so important as to demand some attention before I leave the subject. Remember, my Lord, that you complain of the London University, because it is not to make its students religious. Let us, then, look at another portion of that scheme which your Lordship's speech meant nothing, if it did not assume to make the students of Cambridge pious. Can it be pretended that I am unfairly disclosing the secrets of the prison-house, when I state that every young man who goes to our University, the moment he sets foot within the holy precincts, finds himself the master of unbounded credit with cook, fruiterer, tailor, and wine merchant? The consequences may readily be imagined. A few of the wealthier set the fashion; the weak and inexperienced, that is, a vast proportion of the whole, follow it. The youths contract inveterate habits of expense and luxury, which probably degrade and ruin them for life; and all this for whose profit? Can your Lordship feel any thing but indignation, when you remember that the gainers by this scheme are not merely the tradesmen of the town, and the menials of the colleges, but the lights and guides of the University, the tutors, in science and letters, of the English gentry and aristocracy, the aspirant dignitaries and future bishops? I will not leave this assertion open to cavil, and lay myself at the mercy of those who may take advantage of the ignorance of my readers. The mode in which this profitable conspiracy (I use a strong word because it is a just one) is managed, is this. The bills for the expenses of the students are sent to the tutors, who receive the payment; and, if the assertion of every tradesman in Cambridge can be credited, many months, nay, sometimes years, intervene, before they can withdraw their money from the hands of the college magnates, whose profits thus depend on the largeness of the sums disbursed by their pupils, and on the length of time they can be retained at interest in their bankers' possession. My Lord, as to this point, I have done. I have not the leisure nor the space to dilate upon the subject; I believe I may safely trust it to the thoughts of all my readers. There are innumerable other memorable things in the social system of Cambridge. I must abstain from them all, and merely occupy a very few moments in speaking of the kind of character which is likely to grow out of these institutions, when the mind is planted there for life.

The habits of a college, if long continued, are, in my opinion, more unfavourable than almost any that could be named; and it is no slight argument for a change, that the education of the legislators, the lawyers, and the

clergy of England, is now committed to those who have been subjected for years to the worst moral and intellectual culture. One cannot look at a court, inhabited by the fellows of a college, without imagining oneself in an hospital of mental maladies; and these the more desperate, because the patients are almost uniformly unconscious of their own diseased condition, and only know the discontent and pain which result from it. The fellow has been educated on a plan whereby the object of exertion is not the improvement of the faculties, but the attainment of a definitive outward prize. The prize is won; and the exertion ceases. He remains a narrow and shallow reservoir, in which a certain quantity of words and formulas may stagnate and corrupt. The only strong emotion to which his college career has ever subjected him, is the wish to outstrip his competitors, and thereby, after the three or four years of probation, obtain a sinecure for life. To this period of excitement he fondly looks back through all the subsequent languor of his listless being; and cherishes the conviction that the spirit of rivalry is the noblest, the happiest, and the holiest of motives. In the mean time, he has no longer any race to run, any reward to struggle for and the whist-table, the college scandal, the dull carouse of the combination-room, the getting up a petition against Roman Catholic conciliation, the forming a plan for destroying some obnoxious debating-club, supply their utmost of degrading stimulant to all that is left of his decaying sensibilities. He has made himself a minister of the gospel, because he would lose his fellowship if he continued to be a layman; and God is called upon to erect his tabernacle among the crumbling and weed-clad ruins of a wasted mind. Is it more likely that we should see there the glory of the Shechinah, or the gleam of some vapour which only springs from corruption, and dwells in desolation? The fellow has perhaps been made a tutor. Knowing nothing of the human mind, but that it contains the faculty of memory, and, in under-graduates, a tendency to rebellion, he has undertaken a task which requires the most intimate acquaintance with the whole nature of man. Having lived in circumstances which tend to deaden all his affections, he is put into an office which requires the strongest and most flexible sympathy. He is to teach languages and sciences, and knows nothing of language

but vocabularies, nothing of science but formulas; and thus prepared, he is to educate, for the Parliament and the Pulpit, a number of young men of different tempers, tastes, talents, and acquirements, collected from a vast variety of schools and teachers, and, of course, accustomed to as many and as widely

various modes of cultivation and instruction. What is it he does? What can he do? In some rare instances, as he knows not how to teach the mind, he drills it; as he knows not how to educe the faculties, he represses them. But, if he be not a wonder, or rather a miracle, he lets the idle learn nothing and the industrious just what they please; while the idea of educating, not for the greatest quantity of instruction, but for the highest degree of improvement, has never been heard of by lecturers, or Heads of Houses. The fellow is out of the way of all society but that of his own corporation. There is not in most instances even a casual intermixture of women: and, if there were, or, if he stray in the vacations beyond the blasted circle, he knows too well the penalty that awaits him, should he permit but that first light clinging of interest which might, by any possibility, grow into a strong and consoling affection. All the persons with whom he habitually lives have their own petty jealousies. Some college post, some wretched matter of precedence, some relic of former rivalry, supplies the repellent; and he lives shut up in his own personal feelings, restrained from every sphere of active exertion, and cut off from every object which could call forth his warmer and more expansive feelings. He is at last a feeble and broken old man. When he looks back to his past existence, he sees nothing but a sandy desert, in which he has opened no fountains, nor planted any vineyard. There is not a single source of hope or comfort around him; and he either continues, in his unhappiness, to wander through his old accustomed haunts till he drops, half peevish at the shock, half grateful for the relief, into his grave in the ante-chapel, or carries the palsied remnant of his days to some long-expected rectory and withered bride, and undertakes the guidance of hundreds of human souls, with no more knowledge of human nature than he has learned from his own wretchedness. The lesson might be of more use to others than it possibly could be to himself; but the fault is not so much in the deluded public, or the miserable victims, as in the very system which is so fraught with evil to both.

What, my Lord, can be so different as this from the vital energy and widely-benevolent direction given to all the faculties by true religion? Could courses of theological lectures remedy these evils, and give life to the mind which is dead, and decaying, and buried for ever in a college? Or, is it not possible, that a plan, in every thing the opposite of this, may prepare men better for the reception of Christianity than does the present course of rivalry and Greek Testament, of fellowships and Paley's Evidences?

I have no interest in saying these things, but very much the contrary. Had I consulted my own profit, comfort, and advancement in the world, I should have written very differently; but I trust your Lordship will remember that others have duties as well as clergymen, and are as answerable for the neglect of them. I hope your Lordship will believe that it is from this impression I have written; and, so confiding, I remain, my Lord, your Lordship's obedient servant, A MEMBER OF THE UNIVERSITY OF CAMBRIDGE.

SIR,

WATER COLOUR PORTRAIT.

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To the Editor of the Athenæum. THERE is in the present Exhibition, at SomersetHouse, a picture, which has been most disadvantageously placed, but which will, probably, not only attract the especial notice of the pictorial doctors of the Sorbonne, but also of the more sedate critics, and, by its complete illusiveness, secure very general attention. It is No. 548 in the Catalogue, and called simply 'A Portrait,' painted by Mr. Bowyer, of Pall Mall. There are certain peculiarities attending this portrait, which seem to defy scientific calculation; and, while I do not by any means wish to detract from its merits as a work displaying the skill of a first-rate portrait-painter, I, at the same time, conceive, that the complete illusion which the artist has produced, is still more striking. A portrait the size of life, in water colours, appears to me to be quite a novelty in the Exhibition at Somerset-House; but these water colours have given an expression of the texture of surface," (to use a phrase of Mr. Landseer, in his Lectures at the Royal Institution,) which, with reference to the 'human face divine,' comes nearer to the appearance of flesh than even oils; and the dark back-ground being without the glare which is necessarily attendant on the use of oil pigment, seems to absorb the rays of vision as we gaze. The eye is bent on vacancy; that is to say, on an unsubstantial back-ground, as it ought to be; and the sight seems to penetrate-as in looking at indefinite darkness in nature-into space, instead of being arrested against a shining dark wall, as in oil pictures generally. I cannot close my notice of this singular performance, which, added to these peculiarities, has all the force of an oil painting, without saying that it is the nearest approach to complete illusion, which is the true end of all pictorial representation, of any thing I have ever met with, either in the ancient or modern schools of portrait-painting. It is the more necessary to point out its merits, as I do in this especial manner, from its being placed so low, and so near the door of the room in which it is hung, as to be scarcely likely to attract the notice of the

visitor.

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MADDOX-STREET GALLERY, opposite

St. George's Church, Hanover Square.-AN EXHIBITION of PICTURES by the GREAT MASTERS, is open daily, from 10 till 6 o'clock.

The GRAND FRESCOS, by PAUL VERONESE, from the Soranza Palace, are on View at this Gallery; together with some of the finest works of CLAUDE LORRAIN and RICHARD WILSON.-Admittance 18.

THE FALL OF NINEVEH.

The Common Place Book three Village Sermons, new edition, MR MARIT will be open to the Public on Monday, May

12mo., 4s. 6d.

Compendious View of the Proofs of the Authenticity and Inspiration of Old and New Testament, 12mo., 3s. Sarratt's New Treatise on the Game of Chess, second edition, 2 vols., 8vo., 21s.

The Fables of Phædrus, with a Literal English Translation, as used at the Hazelwood School, 2s. 6d.

Select Sentences, from Justin, Cæsar, Nepos, and Eutropius, 2s.
Atherstone's Fall of Nineveh, a Poem, 8vo., 12s.

Chronicles of the Canongate, Second Series, by the Author of
Waverley, &c., 3 vols., post 8vo., 31s. 6d.
Coleridge's Poetical Works, 3 vols., crown 8vo., 11. 168.
Thomson's Lectures on Scripture, second edition, 1 vol. 12mo.,
8s.

Rev. W. S. Gilley's Horæ Caticheticae, crown 8vo., 5s. 6d.
James's Christian Charity Explained, 12mo., 6s.
Nimrod, 3 vols., 8vo., 31s. 6d.

Rev. J. Stewart's Sermons, 8vo., 10s. 6d.

Rev. J. Jowett's Sermons, 2 vols., 12mo., 10s.

Mrs. Heman's Records of Woman, and other Poems, fc. 8s. 6d.
Captain Ross on Steam Navigation, 4to., 30s.

Bainbridge's Fly Fisher's Guide, second edition, 8vo., 16s.
Three Days at Killarney, with other Poems, 8vo., 78.
Gibbon's Roman Empire, 8 vols. 8vo., 31. 4s.

Fincher on Prayer, 2d edition, 12mo., 6s.

Bartlett's Discourses, 12mo., 3s. 6d.

The Romance of History of England, by Henry Neele, 2d edit., 3 vols, 8vo., 11. 11s. 6d.

The Mortimers, or the Vale of MacLynllaeth, 3 vols., 12mo., 11. 18.

Bennett's Fishes of Ceylon, No. I. (to be completed in 6 Numbers,) royal 4to., 11. 1s.

Recollections of Royalty, by C. J. Jones, Esq., 2 vols., svo., 11. 5s.

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MR. MARTIN'S ENGRAVINGS TO ILLUSTRATE THE BIBLE, PARADISE LOST,' &c. &c. THE SPLENDID and SUBLIME COMPOSITIONS, jects of Scripture History, designed and engraved in Mezzo. tinto on the Plates, simultaneously and wholly by J. MARTIN, Esq., may be had collectively, or in separate prints, on the folJowing terms:

Prints, 10s. 6d. each. Proofs, 15s. The subjects of the first Twenty-four are engraved on a smaller scale, by Mr. Martin. Prints, 6s. each, and Proofs, 10s. 6d.

A LIST OF THE SUBJECTS.

1. The Fall of the Rebel Angels.-2. Satan on the Burning Lake.-3. Satan arousing the Fallen Angels.-4. Pandemonium. -5. Satan on his Throne.-6. Sin preventing the Combat between Satan and Death.-7. Heaven. Rivers of Bliss.-8. Satan Viewing the Ascent to Heaven.-9. Eve at the Fountain.-10. Satan Contemplating Adam and Eve in Paradise.-11. Satan Aroused.-12. The Angels guarding Paradise by Night.-13. Adam and Eve. The Morning Hymn.-14. The Approach of the Angel Raphael.-15. Raphael Conversing with Adam and Eve.-16. Creation of Light.-17. Satan tempting Eve.-18. Eve presenting the Forbidden Fruit to Adam.-19. Adam Hearing the Voice of the Almighty.-20. Bridge over Chaos.21. Adam reproving Eve.-22. Heaven. Rivers of Bliss.-23. Approach of the Archangel Michael.-24. Adam and Eve driven out of Paradise.-25. The Ascent of Elijah.-26. Christ Tempted in the Wilderness.

Published by Septimus Prowett, 55, Pall Mall.

THE KING'S PICTURE of the WOLF and The KAMI. An Engraving from this celebrated Pic

ture, painted by WILLIAM MULREADY, Esq., R.A., has just been exquisitely finished in the very finest Line Manner, by JOHN HENRY ROBINSON, Esq., for the BENEFIT of the ARTISTS' FUND. The Plate has been in hand nearly five years, and its progress has been wholly under the superintendence of the Committee whose names are attached to the Plate; every Impression printed must necessarily be in a fine state, as the Committee pledge themselves that not more than 1000 Impressions shall be taken altogether, and that as soon as this number is completed, the copper shall be effectually destroyed. The Profits arising from the Sale of the Impressions, by the Committee, will be devoted to the Relief of Artists, their Widows, and Children.-The Size of the Print is 18 inches by 23 high. Price Three Guineas. Of the Proofs there are now remaining unsubscribed for, only Twenty-four on French Paper, and Six on India; for these an immediate application is requested to be made by those desirous of possessing this splendid Engraving. The number of Prints being so limited, also renders an early application for them necessary, in consequence of the destruction of the Copper.

London: published and sold by Moon, Boys, and Greaves, Printsellers to the King, 6, Pall Mall; also sold by F.G.Moon, Threadneedle Street.

R. MARTIN'S Painting of the FALL of 12, at the large room in the Western Exchange, Old Bond-street. Admission from eight o'clock till dusk.

The Print, from Mr. Martin's Picture of The Deluge,' corresponding in size with the 'Belshazzar's Feast,' will be published early in June. Proofs before the letters, 10 guineas. Proofs after the letters, 5 guineas. Prints, 24 guineas.

Mr. Martin is about to commence an Engraving upon a very large scale, from the Painting of the Fall of Nineveh, and hopes to complete it early in May, 1829.

Proofs before the letters, 20 guineas.
Proofs after letters, 10 guineas.
Prints, 5 guineas.

Subscribers to both (or either of the Prints) may write their names at the Exhibition Room; or at Mr. Martin's House, 30, Allsop's Terrace, New Road.

The Proofs will be delivered to Subscribers in the order of their Subscriptions.

Published this day, in 2 vols. 8vo., price 17. 48. THE PHILOSOPHY of THE ACTIVE AND

THE PAL POWERSOFM AND

F. R. SS. Lond. and Edin., formerly Professor of Moral Philosophy in the University of Edinburgh.

Printed for Adam Black, Edinburgh; and Longman and Co., London.

This day is published, 8vo., price 1s. 6d. N APOLOGY for the SYSTEM of PUBLIC and CLASSICAL EDUCATION. BY THOMAS MAUDE, Esq, M. A., of the University College, Oxford, and of the Middle Temple.

Printed for J. Hatchard and Son, 187, Piccadilly.
This day is published, in foolscap 8vo., price 88. 6d.

RECORDS of WOMAN, with other POEMS.

By FELICIA HEMANS. Printed for William Blackwood, Edinburgh; and T. Cadell, Strand, London.

SIR

IR WALTER SCOTT'S NOVELS, TALES, and ROMANCES, complete to WOODSTOCK,' 42 vols., new, in half cloth, for ten guineas, on sale at G. and A. Green. land's, 38, Poultry; with an extensive stock of new and second-hand Books on equally low terms.

Libraries and Parcels of Books bought or taken in exchange. Just published, in one vol. post 8vo, price 98. boards, dedicated to the Members of the Philharmonic Society. SUMMER'S RAMBLE among the MUSICIANS of GERMANY; giving some account of the Operas of Munich, Vienna, Dresden, Berlin, &c. With remarks upon the Church Music, the Singers, Performers, and Composers; the out-of-doors enjoyments, and surface of society in that country. By a MUSICAL PROFESSOR.

Hunt and Clarke, York-street, Covent-garden.

This day, 4 vols. 8vo., with a chart, 27. 28.
HE HISTORY of the LIFE and VOYAGES

THE

of CHRISTOPHER COLUMBUS.

By WASHINGTON IRVING.

This work will, we are persuaded, give Mr. Washington Irving a prodigious increase of fame. The novelty of fact exhibited will command wonder-only to be explained by the circumstances which have given the author access to public as well as private archives, hitherto a fountain shut up, and a book sealed.' The chaste and nervous elegance of the style, and the liberal and truly philosophical cast of thought and sentiment, are what no one need be surprised with, who has read some of his previous writings; but this performance is every way a more elaborate one than any of those, and of higher pretensions-pretensions which we have no doubt the world will pronounce to be justified in the result. To throw an air of total novelty on a theme of ancient interest-to write a history, where previously there had been only memoires pour servir— such has been our American countryman's proud attempt; and with unmingled pleasure do we contemplate the fruit of his long and arduous labours.-Literary Gazette, Feb. 2.

'Nothing can be more elegant and pleasant than the style in which the history is written. It is simple, unaffected, and sometimes even eloquent. The circumstances are related with a modest enthusiasm, which is justified by the subject, and in that perfectly good taste which makes the narrative extremely agreeable.'-Times. Printed for John Murray, Albemarle-street.

Just published, in one thick volume, 8vo., double columns, price 148. boards,

HIS GRACE THE DUKE OF WELLINGTON. 'Health and long life to the King.' Just published, by W. Sams, Royal Subscription Library, No. 1, St. James's-street,

A BEAUTIFUL MEZZOTINTO PRINT

en

graved by SAY, from the most celebrated Portrait of the Premier, painted by Sharpe. Proofs, 17. 118. 6d. Prints, 1. 1s. Just published by Henry Colburn, 8, New Burlington-street. In 3 vols post 8vo., price 17. 118. 6d., Thor of Tales of the O'Hara Family,' &c. THE CROPPY. A Tale of 1798. By the Au

'The uncivil kernes of Ireland are in arms.'-King Henry VI. SALATHIEL: a Story of the Past, the Present, and the Future. 3 vols., post 8vo., 17. 11s. 6d.

The ROUE. A TALE. In 3 vols. post 8vo., 318. 6d. The THIRD and LAST SERIES of SAYINGS and DOINGS. 3 vols. post 8vo. 1. 118. 6d.

The O'BRIENS and the O'FLAHERTYS, an Irish Tale. By LADY MORGAN. Second edition, 4 vols., 17. 16s.

The RED ROVER. By the Author of "The Spy,' 'The Pilot,' 'The Prairie,' &c. Second edition. In three vols., post 8vo., 288. 6d.

In 3 vols., post 8vo., 318. 6d.
ELHAM; or, Adventures of a Gentleman.

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ought to dress well, dance well, fence well, have a genius for love-letters, and an agreeable voice for a chamber.'-Etherege. Printed for Henry Colburn, 8, New Burlington Street. Of whom may also be had, in a few days, MARRIAGE IN HIGH LIFE. A Novel. Edited by the Authoress of Flirtation.' In 2 vols. post 8vo.

'I was compelled to her-but I love thee 'By Love's own sweet constraint.' AT HOME. A Novel. By the Author of English Fashionables Abroad.' In 3 vols. post 8vo. SAILORS and SAINTS. Sketch Book.' 3 vols.

By the Author of 'The Naval

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Printed for Henry Colburn, 8, New Burlington-street,
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LORD BYRON and SOME of HIS CONTEMPORARIES. BY LEIGH HUNT. Second edition, in 2 vols., 8vo., with Portraits and Fac-similes, price 288.

THE MARQUIS of LONDONDERRY'S NARRATIVE of the PENINSULAR WAR. In one vol. 4to., with Maps and Plates. RELIGIOUS DISCOURSES, by a LAYMAN, in 8vo., 4s. 6d. THE LIVING and the DEAD. Second Edition, in post 8vo., 10s. 6d.

In a few days will be published, in 2 vols. 8vo., 18s.
HE LIFE and REIGN of CHARLES I.,
THE
King of England. By I. D'ISRAELI.

Printed for Henry Colburn, 8, New Burlington-street.
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The LITERARY CHARACTER; or the HISTORY of MEN of GENIUS, drawn from their own Feelings and Confessions. The Fourth Edition, with a Letter and Notes, by Lord BYRON. In 2 vols., post 8vo., price 188.

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No. 30.

LITERATURE.

London Literary and Critical Journal.

LONDON, WEDNESDAY, MAY 21, 1828.

ON THE ROMANTIC IN HISTORY.

IT requires little exercise of metaphysical skill to discover the cause which makes the love of romance a principle, more or less strong, in the intellectual constitution of every human being. The romance of history, or of human life, is made up of the changes wrought on individual fortunes by events that outstripped men's hopes or calculations, or by the energy of their passions being rendered more powerful than ordinary. One or the other of these it is which sometimes gives the muse of history the deepertoned voice of her more inspired sisters, and which, still leaving us in the proper province for the exercise of our human feelings and prejudices, raises our sympathies to a state of supernatural excitement. It is not as some isolated passages, therefore, in the great book of existence, we must read what is commonly called romance, whether real or fictitious, but as the record of human life, rendered more interesting and more worthy of attention for its clearer manifestation of the causes which render men happy or miserable, or its display of their feelings under the weightier pressure of extraordinary occurrences. True romance requires the aid of no superhuman agent to aid its details; and, in applying the terms of romantic interest, either to an event or a composition, we do but acknowledge it to have had a greater power over our sympathies than those with which we generally meet. It is not the simple strangeness of the occurrence which entitles it to this consideration, but the influence it has in awakening the deepest and most powerful feelings of our nature. Our pity or our love, our hatred or fear, must be strongly excited, or the most novel and unexpected event that ever happened would be in no ways romantic. Let emotions of this description be awakened, and let them result from the representation of events that are sufficiently unusual to unite hope, fear, or love with curiosity, and the romance is complete.

Such being the requisites of romance, whether presented to us in the actual events of life, or in the pages of a poet, (it requiring, on the one hand, the strangeness which engages curiosity, and, on the other, more especially, the appeal to our passions which may awake ourhearts and affections,) it is not difficult to understand how far history may be considered as fraught with romantic interest. Regarded in the form of a connected and lengthened narrative, it is obviously of too general a character to answer our ideas of roInance. The objects it presents are too multitudinous, and their career too briefly told, to give either passion or curiosity time for its growth. The human cosmorama passes from our gaze, and leaves us with the feelings of unwarmed spectators. We have seen mankind rather than men, and been unable to imagine ourselves connected with the scene, till we begin the calculations of self-interest, and, with that, lose all higher sensations.

But, although history, in its general character, makes little or no appeal to the feelings which are excited by romance, it has, when considered more narrowly in its details, many passages of deep and most stirring interest. The characters which figure in its pages, and which we have had 154tla sumnathy with, while actors on the political

arena, are sometimes seen in the closer relations of life, and struggling with the common destinies of humanity, fearing, loving, and desiring objects which they only thus regard from the natural impulses of their hearts. We look at them, when thus seen amid the promiscuous crowd, with awakened curiosity and interest. They are the witnesses which prove the legitimacy of our relationship with the generations that have passed away. They speak, from the abysses of time, of the deep, and the pure, and the sorrowful emotions that are attached to existence, under every external circumstance; and, having the busy report of worldly events ringing in our ears, as we leave the high-road of history to follow their private fortunes, the truth of their adventures becomes more easily impressed upon our minds, and affords a surer foundation for our imagination. Whatever glimpses, therefore, history affords of the merely personal or domestic circumstances and fortunes of the characters she introduces, are important aids to romance, and serve to form materials from which the skilful writer composes his most fascinating works.

The style of history is romantic in a great variety of degrees; it is not, however, in its records of the most distant, or of the darkest periods, that it assumes this character. The æra preceding the full glory of Greece and Rome, as well as the earlier part of the middle ages, are less likely to awaken romantic interest, than others of later date, and more enlightened. Romance is distinct from fable, and every intermixture of the fabulous with a romantic narrative lessens its power upon our feelings. The fable demands the resignation of our judgment, with regard to its probability; and we grant it, and are conscious of the resignation. But the union of curiosity and strong emotion which belongs to romantic feeling, is never produced, unless we are convinced that the objects presented are under the power of circumstances that apply to human natures and conditions. Again; the characters or events in history which are to be deemed of a romantic nature, must be sufficiently well defined and clear, or our hearts will be uninterested, and the romance will be in our own imaginations, rather than in the glowing pages of the narrative. It is for these reasons, in different proportions, that the periods we have alluded to, are less properly romantic in their character than we should at first sight suppose. They are too dimly seen by the light of tradition, to awaken our sympathies, and are too glaringly visible, under the light of fable, to interest the imagination. The times, the records of which are really most redolent of romance, those of which the principal historical characters are known to us by strong individual traits, and of which the manners and state of society were sufficiently marked to render the description of them bold and picturesque. In the history of times like these, the remoteness of the age does not efface the features by which we recognise individuals, and we become deeply interested in their personal fortunes. The memorials which remain of their deeds or their sufferings call forth the strongest feelings of the heart; and the broad lights and shadows with which the scenes of their adventures are coloured, give sufficient scope to the exercise of the imagination. But, in viewing history in this light, and examining how far it ministers food to our appetite for romance,

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we must separate the obvious inventions of poetry and fiction from accredited traditions. It is not to the bard or the romancer that history owes all its romantic interest. In its records of human life, it has unfolded many a tale that has not been bettered by the additions of fiction; and we shall be mistaken in our view of the subject, if we suffer ourselves to attribute the greater part of its powerfully romantic passages to her hand. The noblest deeds which fancy ascribes to her heroes have been performed by real personages; and the fairest beings with which she peoples her paradise have had their prototypes in the world. The history of every country has records of the acts of the one, of the love and beauty of the other; and the pages which are thus devoted to memorialise their fortunes, have, in themselves the true elements of romance.

There are, however, two ways in which history has a romantic character. The one, when it presents objects which have in themselves certain features that awaken in us a deep and lively interest; the other, when the very period of which it treats tinges and embues its pages with the spirit and pathos of romance. The observations we have already made apply to it in the former point of view; in the latter, many considerations arise in the mind of the inquirer which belong to the philosophy of human nature itself. The passions of mankind are differently developed in different eras. The power and energy of the mind is not always answerable to the wealth or poverty of its possessions; and, when its strength or activity is superior to its knowledge and experience, it seems but to give a fiercer glow and a wilder vigour to every passion that can agitate the heart. It is when this is the case, when men are led to the desperate pursuit of whatever they love or desire, by the light of strong but untrained intellect, that the boldest deeds are done, the wildest enterprises undertaken, and the strongest occurrences brought to light. Men's natures are wrought upon by all the contending passions of love, hatred, hope, and sorrow; their boundaries are not discerned, their lawful objects not discriminated, and the moral harmony of their proper subjection to each other not comprehended. They are thus let free by turns to ravage and beautify the world; and, during their career, the stream of human existence is a torrent, sometimes dried in its bed by the summer's sun, and at others, overflowing its banks, lashed into foam by the tempest. It is in periods of this kind, that history, without departing from truth, has a highly romantic character; and that it not only presents various particular objects of this sort, but that its whole narrative is animated and coloured by the spirit of romance.

Many and various are the circumstances which contribute to give a people, and the age in which they live, a romantic character. Among these, may be reckoned, especially, an unsettled state of civil government, which, by rendering the most precious of men's possessions precarious, gives a sort of holiness to the heroism which defends them. Another, is the natural condition of the country which, while wild and picturesque, affords opportunities for adventure, that communicate the fervour of romance to both the language and feelings of the people; and above all, the religious sentiments which prevail, often give birth to a spirit which, failing to be that of holiness, is truly that of romance.

REVIEWS OF BOOKS.

LIFE OF WYCLIFFE.

The Life and Opinions of John de Wycliffe, D. D., illus-
trated principally from his Unpublished Manuscripts ;
with a Preliminary View of the Papal System, and
of the State of the Protestant Doctrine in Europe, to
the Commencement of the Fourteenth Century. By
Robert Vaughan. 2 vols. 8vo., pp. 896. B. J. Holds-
worth. London, 1828.
WYCLIFFE is one of those extraordinary men
whose character commands our veneration, inde-
pendently of the good their virtue or energy has
effected. Bold, and of a free and comprehensive
intellect, he was capable both of loving, and of
declaring his love of truth, when she had scarcely
a single disciple besides himself. He learnt to
value and expound the true principles of religion,
when, it is universally agreed, the grossest corrup-
tion had confounded and perverted them; and,
when learning was so confined to the narowest
systems of reasoning, that she became the foster-
mother of prejudice and error, he turned his ac-
quisitions to the purposes most useful to man-
kind. Such a character, in such an age as that in
which Wycliffe lived, may well demand our re-
spect; and, had the events which took place two
centuries after not taught his countrymen the
value of his labours, we should, nevertheless, in
these times, have been obliged to acknowledge his
pre-eminence, in wisdom and learning, above all his
contemporaries. But the exertions of this great
man, in the propagation and defence of truth,
were of the greatest importance to its cause. He
was, there is little reason to doubt, the first of
that noble band of heroes to whom the world
owes its present freedom from intolerant super-
stitions; and that he led the way in England to
the changes which followed in the succeeding age,
no question can be made. Besides the effect
produced by his noble assault on the most corrupt
of the monastic institutions; his publication of
purer doctrines in regard to the essential parts of
the Christian scheme; and his endeavours to in-
troduce the people in general to a knowledge of
the records of their religion, by his translation of
the Scriptures: consequences followed his exer-
tions, which extended their influence far beyond
the times he laboured in, or which could have
been looked for by himself. Although failing
in producing the reformation which he sought
for, and which it was reserved for the scholars
of Germany to effect, he taught numbers the
truths of an unadulterated faith; but, what was
more, he had set up the standard of truth so
firmly, that it remained as a signal to others,
who, though not having the courage or in-
tellectual vigour to commence such a strug-
gle, were enabled to throw off many of their
errors, when they had the works or the reputation
of a man like Wycliffe to assist their resolution.
The numbers which, in a few years afterwards,
suffered under the name of his disciples; the
pains which were taken by their persecutors to
destroy his theological treatises, and the horrid,
but puerile, malignity manifested by them when
they decreed his exhumation,-afford abundant
evidence both of the power of his name and of
the dread which the enemies of the Reformation
had of it. It is singular that we should hitherto
have had no proper history of this celebrated
man, with the exception of one by a clergyman
of the name of Lewis, which was published a
hundred years back, and which, it appears from
Mr. Vaughan's account, was so imperfectly
written as to afford the opponents of Wycliffe's
opinions the most fruitful materials for slandering
and blackening his character. With regard, how-
ever, to nearly all the most interesting particulars
in the life of the Reformer, the reader of ecclesias-
tical history has a great variety of works from
which to collect the information desired. Mr.
Vaughan's, therefore, is principally to be com-
mended as affording, at one view, whatever can be
discovered, illustrative either of the opinions or

character of Wycliffe. But, in one point of view
his publication deserves a much higher praise;
and, while it will, from the former consideration,
be highly useful to the general reader, it will, for
the one we are about to mention, deserve the at-
tention of the more erudite and curious student.
It is much to the author's praise, that he has de-
voted a very considerable portion of time and la-
bour to the diligent and unceasing study of the
Reformer's writings in their original copies. This
has enabled him to speak with proper confidence
on controverted points, and, throughout his work,
to write in the style of a man who has become
acquainted with his subject from sources of in-
formation, into which others of less industry
would not have looked.

There are several passages in the work of great
interest, and calculated to throw much light on
the state of learning and society in the fourteenth
century. The following account of Wycliffe's
early studies is of this character, and contains some
interesting hints on the state of learning in the
Universities at that time:

important influence over a mind, remarkable alike for its thirst of knowledge, and the capacity of acquiring it. Without wholly neglecting any of the more important branches of science, the studies of Wycliffe appear to have been regulated by a conscientious regard to such qualifications as were demanded by the solemn office which he was about to assume. In the received doctrines on natural philosophy, he in consequence felt but a partial interest. It was sufficient, however, to induce that attention to them, which rendered him in some instances sceptical, where less thoughtful inquirers had relinquished suspicion. That he was perfectly familiar with the rules of rhetoric, then so sedulously taught, is certain, from his known acquaintance with authors who had treated on them, and with others in whose style they were most laboriously exemplified. His own writings, however, betray none of the appearances of art. It is plain, that his mind, when approaching any question connected with piety, was ever too much occupied with the error to be eradicated, or the truth to be established, to admit of any material solicitude respecting the cadence or the niceties of language. Hence, most of his works bear the marks of hurried composition, but are at the same time distinguished by that free use of vernacular terms, that reiteration of important sentiment, and 'While, however, we are left to imagine the success that general obviousness and strength of expression, which marked the attention of the youthful Wycliffe which conferred on them a charm of novelty, and an to the usual elements of learning, the character of the efficiency to shake the faith and customs of a nation. instructions, which the institutions of the fourteenth It may be safely affirmed, that his writings contributed century presented, is sufficiently ascertained. At this far more than those of any other man to form and inperiod, the improving state of society had extended the vigorate the dialect of his country. But this effect, means of education beyond the precincts of the Cathe-though important, was of subordinate interest in the dral and the monastery. Not only in the larger cities, but in every borough and castle, schools are said to have been established. In these seminaries, the Latin language was taught with a zeal, somewhat proportioned to its importance, as the only key of knowledge. Thus initiated, the pupil passed to the study of certain approved works on grammar, rhetoric, and logic; also on music, arithmetic, geometry, and astronomy. These sciences, which, it will be observed, were seven in number, were thought to be so explained, as to include, within their mystic circle, whatever was deemed imledge of grammar was usually the extent of the learnportant, or even possible to be known. But a knowing acquired in these provincial institutions; the more complete study of rhetoric and logic, and of the various departments of natural philosophy being, in general, reserved for the advanced scholarship of University students.

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Having passed through this probationary discipline, it remained for Wycliffe, or his connexions, to determine whether Oxford or Cambridge should be the place of his future studies. The former was preferred. In that university, Wycliffe is first known as a commoner in Queen's college; a seminary founded in the year 1340, and which has numbered our Reformer with its earliest members. The establishment in which he thus commenced the maturer discipline of his capacities, had risen in part from the munificence of Phillipa, the Queen of Edward the Third, but still more from the laudable zeal of Sir Robert Eglesfield, her chaplain, This clergyman was a native of Cumberland, and the college formed by his influence was intended chiefly for the benefit of students from the northern counties, by a youth from the borders of Westmoreland and a circumstance which may account for its being chosen Durham. But the infancy of such institutions is inseparable from many disadvantages, and such as must be deeply felt by a mind ardent in its pursuit of knowledge. Wycliffe had not yet passed the seventeenth year of his age; but it is fair to suppose that this feature was already conspicuous in his character, and his dissatisfaction may be read in his speedy removal to Merton, a college in the same University, but founded in the preceding century. At this period the society of Merton was the most distinguished in Oxford. It had produced some of the most scientific scholars of the age, and had supplied the English church with three metropolitans its divinity chair had been recently filled by the celebrated Bradwardine, and within its walls Ockham and Duns Scotus had disclosed that genius, the fame of which was at this time commensurate with Christendom, and was believed to be immortal.

'While we contemplate Wycliffe as engaged in those grammatical studies to which the years of boyhood are commonly devoted, Oxford appears as the residence of thirty thousand students. Previous to his appearance as probationer of Merton, this number, from causes which will be explained, was greatly reduced. His connexion, however, with the most distinguished scholars of a seminary, yielding but to the University of Paris in its fame, could hardly fail to diffuse the most

mind of Wycliffe, and was among other benefits which arose incidentally from that ardour in the best cause of cited, and which, he knew, could prove subservient to the community, which his religious opinions had exthe popular welfare but through the medium of the popular language. Had our Reformer written elegant Latin, or possessed any considerable acquaintance with Greek, it would have been to surpass his contemporaries in literature, scarcely less than in his views of the religion of the Bible. In the west, at this period, the language of Greece may be considered as unknown; and that of Rome was no where written in its purity. Terms and phrases derived from the former, are of ductions; the latter he wrote with fluency, and with frequent occurrence in Wycliffe's more learned proas much of correctness as the taste of the age had judged to be important. A very imperfect acquaintance with this language, was the only attainment in philology, required, at that period, from candidates for the clerical office.

"With this study, however, that of the civil and canon law, and that of divinity, as taught by the schoolmen, had long been associated. By Wycliffe, these branches of knowledge were closely investigated. But, with the laws of the empire and of the church, he united those of England, as not less deserving his attention; and his information, relating to each, was soon to be effectively employed in the cause of national freedom, and of a purer christianity. The canons of the church were collected principally from the decrees of councils and of pontiff's, and formed an authority, by which a multitude of causes, once pertaining solely to the magistrate, were at length attached to the exclusive jurisdiction of the Christian pastor. A spirit of rivalry hence bishops, and such as to render it a proverb, that to arose between the courts of princes and those of the excel as a canonist, required the learning of a civilian. There were also numerous provincial and national customs opposed to that imperial system of legislation, which had disappeared with the civilisation of the empire, and to that dominion of canonical law which churchmen had reared upon its ruins. This was considerably the case in England; and it ought not, perhaps, to excite surprise, that the ambition, aided by the pedantry of the times, should be found struggling to exclude the native jurisprudence from the class of liberal studies. But the independent mind of Wycliffe was not to be thus deterred from ascertaining the merit of customs which had descended with the generation of his father-land, nor, at length, from preterring them openly to the decree of Gratian, or the code of the empire.

Conforming to usages which the practice of more than two centuries had contributed to establish, he also became early devoted to the study of scholastic theology, and was soon distinguished by his acquirements and skill. Among schoolmen, Aristotle was revered as the only safe guide to the meaning of St. Paul. Aided by the logic and metaphysics of their master, there was nothing either known, or supposed to have being, which these disputants did not attempt to describe

and

THE FALL OF NINEVEH.

The Fall of Nineveh, a Poem. By Edwin Ather tone.
Svo., pp. 288., 12s. Baldwin and Cradock. London,
1828.

and analyse. No truth was regarded as established, until the errors opposed to it had been formally assailed; and extemporaneous debate on the questions of nature and law, of morals and religion, conducted with the forms and technicalities prescribed by the Stagyrite, was an employment to which the most cultivated minds addressed their whole capacity; and IN sitting down to the examination of an epic in which to excel, was to afford the most unquestiona- poem, our thoughts are involuntarily carried back ble evidence of extraordinary genius. These discus- to the times when the fathers of modern criticism sions became, to the inmates of colleges, what the amused themselves with laying down rules to tournament had long been to the knight and the direct the builders of the lofty rhyme,' and when baron, and too frequently had about as little coneven poets themselves tuned their verse to the nection with a spirit of devotion, or an improvement of morals. It must, at the same time, be conceded, naturally musical burden of critical science. that these debates were not without their use; Whether any of these philosophers in the art of that Wycliffe should begin his career, by treading in poetry effected any good purpose by their efforts, the steps of men who were honoured as the lumina- is matter of considerable doubt; but certain it is, ries of their time, can neither excite surprise, nor we know of no epic or tragedy to which they can merit reproof. The study of Aristotle as the only lay the smallest claim as having contributed to certain preceptor of truth, in revealed theology, in its intrinsic beauty or popularity. In our own the duties of life, and in the system of nature, was country, no remarkable attempts have been made alone dignified with the name of philosophy; and that at setting forth a compilation of classical rules our Reformer knew no superior, as a master in this and institutes for the guidance of the poet. The science, is manifest, both from the plaudits of partisans and the concessions of opponents who were alike greatest men in the early days of English literahis contemporaries. Scholastic exercises, or the pub-it is a curious circumstance, that they have written, ture have occasionally written on the subject; but lic disputations already noticed, were justly regarded as subjecting every pretension to mental superiority to the most unequivocal test. The ever-changing aspect of these discussions, demanded a readiness of perception, an extent of knowledge, and a facility of communication, which left no room for the triumphs of the feeble. To state, that in such contests, John de Wycliffe was unrivalled, would be to adopt the language of praise, but a language colder than that which his genius extorted from one of the most relentless of his foes, who affirms his powers of debate to have been almost more than human. This proficiency in a science having respect to such a diversity of objects, and burdened with so frightful a nomenclature, supposes ardent application, and a conviction of its general usefulness. While, however, it would have been indeed surprising if Wycliffe had not imbibed the sentiment of the age, respecting the importance of this philosophy, it was almost impossible that such a mind should have become so completely versed in its principles, without some misgivings as to the justice of its vast pretensions.

It is at the same time due to its votaries to state, that, in the writings of schoolmen, amid much that is sceptical in its tendency, and more that is useless or puerile, the truths of the gospel are not unfrequently to be discovered: and that they are sometimes exhibited on a scale of correctness, and marked by a purity of application, which would have done honour to men of any later period. That the mind of Wycliffe derived a portion of its light from this source, is certain; and it is equally evident that others were thus in some degree prepared to receive his more peculiar doctrine. From his writings we learn that he never wholly abandoned the scholastic topics of discussion, nor its methods of reasoning. From the same source, however, we also learn, that, in the art of wisely separating the precious from the vile, he far surpassed the most enlightened of his countrymen. To remove the errors which treachery or ignorance has been long employed in interweaving with the truth, and to preserve the latter uninjured, must ever be a work of difficulty. In the age of Wycliffe, when the false had acquired so complete an ascendancy over the true, it was a task of eminent peril. His ardent attachment to the sacred scriptures, which at length procured him the appellation of "The Gospel Doctor," could not have been disclosed without considerable hazard to his reputation as a scholar. For such was the prevailing contempt of the sacred writings, or the mistakes of men induce: by the papal doctrine of infallibility as to the uses to which they should be applied, that an adherence to that volume, even as a text-book, was sufficient to induce the leading Universities of Europe to exclude the offender from their walls. Friar Bacon, and Grosteste, the celebrated bishop of Lincoln, honoured the cause of these persecuted teachers with their pleadings; but their arguments and their influence were put forth in vain. In the age of our Reformer, men may have begun co discover that their "seraphic" instructors, in promising them wisdom, had pledged themselves for more han was performed. But it yet seemed to require he whole of Wycliffe's acknowledged talent, to give popularity to the exploded custom of lecturing on norals and divinity from the pages of holy writ. The harge, either of ignorance or of incapacity, as preerred against him, was known to be perilous; accordgly his opponents invariably accuse him of design, ather than of weakness.'-Vol. I. pp. 226-236,

not with any regard to the technicalities of criti-
cism, but in the clear, bold, and fervid spirit of true
practical philosophy; not laying down rules for the
composition of certain species of poetry, but rang-
ing with delight through the bright and flowery
fields whence it has gathered the very manna of its
inspiration. Witness, for example, that piece of
excellent, though quaint and forgotten eloquence,
in which Sir Philip Sidney, speaking of poets,
says, that they only, disdaining to be tied to any
of the subjections of other thinking men, 'do grow
in effect another nature, in making things better
than nature bringeth forth, or quite new forms,
such as never was in nature, so as they go hand in
hand with nature, not inclosed in within the narrow
warrant of her gifts, but freely ranging only
within the zodiac of their own wit' or that
equally beautiful and noble sentiment of Bacon,
which describes poetry as having something
of divineness; because it doth raise and erect
the mind, by submitting the shows of things
to the desires of the mind; whereas reason doth
buckle and bow the mind unto the nature of
things. Nothing was ever written on the subject
which contained a finer or more philosophical
description of the true nature of poetry than this.
But, while the founders of English literature thus
early taught us to value its highest branches for
their abstract worth, or excellency, both France
and Italy had their popularly received masters in
criticism, who, instead of lifting the veil from the
divine form of poesy, and leaving men to worship
her for her beauty and perfection, endeavoured
to secure the love and imitation of the old models
of classic composition, by proving their construc-
tion to be in perfect accordance with certain dis-
coverable principles of the poetic art. This, in
reality, effected nothing but the encouragement
of a few writers of no genius to attempt the higher
walks of poetry, which their false guides had
seemed to make plain and of easy access. The
men of superior talent who pursued the same
track were neither assisted nor influenced by the
treatises that were written on the subject of their
attention. Dante and Ariosto, our own Shak-
speare and Spenser, the master-spirits of their
respective ages, set rules at defiance, or, rather,
worked after such as, not critics, but poetry itself,
had taught them. Milton is, perhaps, a still more
conspicuous instance. He was a most accom-
plished classical scholar; he had been acquainted
from his youth with the writings which were best
calculated to make him respect the rules of epic
composition; but, notwithstanding this, it is easy
to see that the free and romantic genius of his
native Muse had a greater share in the manage-
ment of his principal poems, than the classical
one of antiquity. In the examination, therefore,
of Mr. Atherstone's poem, it is not the strict rules
of the epic we should apply to its several pages,
in any case, but we have other reasons at present:

in the first place, the portion before us will not
enable us to judge of the completeness or con-
sistency of Mr. Atherstone's plan, and, in the
next, as the first six books are sent forth as
a specimen of the work, it will be at present
more useful to follow the author's example, and
produce specimens of his style and versification.
The following extracts are distinguished by great
beauty of language and poetical imagery:
The Priest withdrew.

Upon the summit of the hill arrived,
Amid the holy trees,-his falchion first,
And glittering spear upon the ground he laid :
His brazen helmet next, and shining mail:
Then, in his priestly vestments clad alone,
Fell prostrate on the earth. Uprising soon,
His arms he lifted, and his kindled eye
Turned towards the dazzling multitude of heaven,
And the bright moon. His pale and awful face
Grew paler as he gazed, aud thus began :-
"Look down upon us from your spheres of light,
Bright Ministers of the Invisible !
Before whose dread Supremacy weak man
May not appear for what are we, earth worms,
That the All-Holy One to us should stoop
From the pure sanctuary where he dwells,
Throned in eternal light? but yet his face
Behold, and in his presence stand, and hear
His voice divine; and his commands obey,-
Vicegerents of the sky. Upon your priest
Look down, and hear his prayer. And you the chief,-
Bright Mediators between God and man,-
Who, on your burning chariots, path the heavens,
In ceaseless round,-Saturn, and mighty Sol-
Though absent now, beyond the ends of earth,
Yet hearing human prayer,-great Jupiter,-
Venus-and Mars-and Mercury-O! hear,
Interpreters divine! and for your priest,
Draw the dark veil that shades the days to come!
Do not the natious groan? Is not this land,
This proud Assyria, drunken with her power?
Yon giant city, where the tyrant dwells,
Is she not steeped in guilt unto the lips?
Are not her women foul?-her men debased?
Is there, on earth, a monster like to him
That sitteth on her throne, and holds in bonds
Millions, and tens of millions, whose loud cry
Ascendeth daily to the sky for help?—
And will ye then not help?"

'He paused, and gazed
Long time in silence on the starry host;
His face like marble; but his large dark eye
Lit as with fire: Then,-as upon him shone
Heaven opening,—and the vision of the years,
Shadowy, before him passed, with hollow voice,
Broken and tremulous. "I feel ye will-
I see the dark veil drawn-I see a throne
Dashed to the earth-I see a mighty blaze
As of a city flaming to the heaven-
Another rises-and another throne-
Thereon a crowned one, godlike-but his face
With cloud o'er-shadowed yet-ha! is it thou?-
Hark! hark! the countless nations shout for joy!
I hear their voices like the multitudes
Of Ocean's tempest waves-I hear-I see"
The following description of Sardanapalus' ap-
proach to battle is very highly wrought:

'He comes at length :-
The thickening thunder of the wheels is heard:
Upon their hinges roaring, open fly
The brazen gates :-sounds then the tramp of hoofs,-
And lo! the gorgeous pageant, like the sun,
Flares on their startled eyes. Four snow-white steeds,
In golden trappings, barbed all in gold,
Spring through the gate ;-the lofty chariot then,
Of ebony, with gold and gems thick strown,
Even like the starry night. The spokes were gold,
With fellies of strong brass; the knaves were brass,
With burnished gold o'erlaid, and diamond rimmed:
Steel were the axles, in bright silver cased;
The pole was cased in silver: high aloft,
Like a rich throne, the gorgeous seat was framed ;
Of ivory part, part silver, and part gold:
On either side a golden statue stood :
Upon the right,-and on a throne of gold,-
Great Belus, of the Assyrian empire first,
And worshipp'd as a God'; but, on the left,
In a resplendent car by lions drawn,

A Goddess; on her head, a tower; and, round,
Celestial glory this the deity

Whom most the monarch worshipt; she whom, since,

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