sive idea of the same nature, and they terminate in a similar way by the commission of suicide.

Of the three novels of which we have spoken, the first is the most perfect in its plot; the second, the most interesting in its details; and the third, the most romantic in its scenery. They are all impressed with the hand of genius; but, it is a genius, calculated rather to command admiration than communicate pleasure. It is a genius that has more power in conceiving and elucidating the operations of mind, than in imagining, combining, and relating a series of actions. It is a genius of a description, perhaps, more rarely possessed than any other. None of the ancients, except Lucretius, have manifested any traits of it. Among the moderns, Shakspeare occasionally displays some glimmerings of it. But he was obliged to restrain it, for it is the most unsuitable of all qualities to exhibit on the stage. Some of our present writers indulge in it, although those subtleties of reasoning which are its characteristics, are extremely detrimental to its popu larity. In England, however, there are readers of every description; and subtilizers may there sell an edition of their sentimentals, which would scarcely ever be looked into, if first published in this country.

Godwin, the chief of these philosophising novelists, has a tolerable share of popularity; the greater portion of which, we, however, believe to have been earned rather in spite than in consequence of his philosophy. His works possess other qualities more calculated to win favour from all, but the few who have the philosophising taste. They have, each of them, a perfect story, with beginning, middle, and end, abounding with incident, character, and design. Such readers, therefore, as are too impatient to wade through the intricacies of his philosophy, are allured forward by the attractions of his characters, and by their desire to discover the issue of their adventures. In this they are at length gratified, for Godwin does not, like Brown, neglect to state that issue. The story is always finished, and finished to the satisfaction of the reader. In the mere talent of

analysing mind, Godwin does not excel; perhaps, he scarcely equals Brown; but, in that of planning and telling a story, he is

greatly his superior, and hence may be satisfactorily explained his superior popularity.

Lord Byron may be mentioned as a successful mentalizer in poetry, of somewhat the same cast as Brown and Godwin in romance. But it is very questionable whether his popularity has been any thing promoted by his mentalizing. In the present excited state of the public mind, towards the eccentricities of this strangely-gifted nobleman, it would require more faults than all his powers can throw into his effusions, to prevent them from being sold; and he has latterly lavished on them faults of almost every description, with no sparing hand. He has written much genuine poetry, for which the world has given him ample credit. But he has, especially of late, published a great deal of trash, for which, even those who are really disgusted with it, are afraid to blame him. So powerful is the despotism which a mighty name, when supported by the cant of fashion, can exercise over the minds of men. Lord Byron seems at present to be aware of this thraldom in which he holds the public voice, and he avails himself of it most unmercifully. Men who are sufficiently independent to form their taste by their own feelings and reflections, and to preserve their judgments free from the dominion of that fanaticism, which has created this literary bravo the infallible pontiff of poetry, cannot but suspect that he has been, for a length of time, amusing himself with experiments upon the extent to which he may be able to carry the accommodating admiration. of his worshippers, in the regions of ribaldry, profanity, and bad taste. The facility with which he passes upon the world as good poetry, stanzas that often offend against every rule of composi tion, every principle of harmony and cadence, nay, that outrage every feeling of decency, must be to himself a considerable source of amusement; for Lord Byron is no fool. He knows perfectly what constitutes good English, and good poetry, and he can only be laughing at the world, by giving it such wretched stuff as the "The Age of Bronze," such insipid hobbling verses as "Christian," and such coarse ungrammatical ribaldry as the greater part of "Don Juan."

But to return to the works of Brown. Our intention in selecting them for this review, was to show the reason why, notwithVOL. 1.-No. 1.

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standing the greatness of talent displayed in their production, they have failed to acquire a general popularity. Talent may be seen and acknowledged by all to exist, and to have been exerted, but the occasion and the manner of the exertion may not be such as to give extensive satisfaction. A book of immense erudition, and possessing every indication of superior genius in its author, may be written on a subject not in itself interesting; or, should the subject be interesting, the execution may be too stately, and the sentiments too refined, to be altogether pleasing to any but readers possessing the most lofty imaginations, and the most matured intellectual acquirements. We consider the novels of Brown to be very much of this character. Every one who reads them, must perceive the talents of the writer, but the intellectually-gifted alone will be able to derive from them a proper degree of enjoyment.

But, to say that they will please the ablest judges, although the fewest in number, is to give the highest praise, and this praise we have no objection to give to Wieland and Arthur Mervyn. For the others we cannot say so much. They are all, however, worthy of a place in any well-selected library; and the two we have just named have a right to procure for their author, the character of the most talented novelist that our country has yet produced.

DETACHED ANECDOTES.

RIDICULOUS INSTANCE OF SELF-CONCEIT.

"In a theological book, I once met" says Dr. Parr, with an elaborate defence of certain principles, according to which, a school-boy incorrigibly mischievous in robbing orchards, would be deservedly tormented in hell-fire for ever and ever. The writer was a good-humoured, wrangling, conceited visionary, who would have disdained to shrink from the legitimate consequences of a favourite hypothesis-who hungered and thirsted after mysteries in religion, and paradoxes in philosophy-who clung to old opinions, merely for the sake of displaying the new light which he fancied himself able to throw upon them-who, with mingled pity and contempt, prattled about Newton, as a star-gazer, Locke, as a sciolist, and Dr. Clarke as a zany and who would have spurned at the decisions of nominalists and

realists, of Aristotleans and Rameans, of convocations and conclaves, of universities, protestant and catholic, and of council general and œcumenical, when opposed to his own ingenuity in vindicating and illustrating his own discoveries. Fortunately for his species, he was doomed only to talk about matters in which he had no power to act, and his extraordinary zeal become at once ridiculously harmless from his extraordinary absurdity.

AN OLD WARRIOR'S ESTIMATE of war.

"The thirst of renown," says prince Eugene, in his memoirs, "sometimes insinuates itself into our councils under the hypocritical garb of national honour. It dwells on imaginary insults, it suggests harsh and abusive language, and people go on from one thing to another till they put an end to the lives of half a million of men." "The call for war proceeds generally from those who have no active share in its toils, as ministers, clergymen, women, and the lounging politicians of a large town."

"I said one day in Vienna, in 1713, in a company which was very clamorous for war, I wish that each of the great men and great ladies present, was ordered by the emperor to contribute at the rate of four thousand ducats a head to the war charges, and that the other fine gentlemen among us were made to take the field forthwith in person.

"A military man becomes so sick of bloody scenes in war, that in peace he is averse to recommence them. I wish that the first minister who is called on to decide on peace or war had only seen actual service. What pains would he not take to seek in mediation and compromise the means of avoiding the effusion of so much blood! It is ignorance, and levity, which is always cruel, that make cabinets lean to the side of war.

A LACONIC LOVE-LETTER WHICH FEW LADIES WOULD BE ABLE TO RE

SIST; WRITTEN BY HENRV IV. of France, to gabrielle d'estrees.

My Beauteous Love,

Two hours after the arrival of this courier, you will see a Cavalier who loves you much. They call him king of France and Navarre, which are certainly very honourable, though very painful titles that of being your subject is infinitely more delightful. All these together are good, and let what will happen, I have resolved never to yield them to any one.