The Royal Family of France (she says) returned. By some oversight in the King's charter there was mention of a state religion, and the Protestants were consequently obliged to sink back to toleration. The charter had been less favourable with respect to their reigious rights than the Concordat; but they were justly satisfied in believing, that their religion could never have been safer under a ruler, indifferent to every system of faith, than under the protection of a pious and philosophical prince. Secure in the virtues of the monarch, and the lights and philosophy of the present times, they little dreamt that they should ever become again the objects of religious persecution.' It might have been hoped that the conduct which the Protestants had observed since that glorious epocha which confirmed to them their religious rights, would have disarmed the most rigorous of their foes. They had shewed no exultation in the victory they had obtained; their joy had been confined to their own bosoms, or breathed in secret thanksgivings. The blessings of the Revolution had not been perverted by them to any private advan tage; they had not been forward to solicit the honours, but had always cheerfully borne their share in the burdens and charges of the state. But no conduct, however void of offence, can disarm the malignant passions. The tranquillity enjoyed by France during few months after the first return of the king, presented no means to the fanatics of gratifying their rage, except by menaces. We were then far indeed from any conjecture that the disastrous event of the landing of Buonaparte on the coast of Provence was so near, He glided rapidly by the southern provinces, and established himself at Lyons. His presence affected the Protestants in no other manner than as it affected all other Frenchmen. Amidst the most important changes in the state, many partial disorders took place in various parts of France. Partial insurrections were formed, and various outrages committed at Marseilles, Montpellier, Toulouse, Avignon; and the disorders of Nismes were long believed at Paris to have the same source, and to be no other than the last convulsion of political contests. But it was at length recognized that, when the troubles which had prevailed in other provinces were hushed into peace, the department of the Gard was still the scene of violence and horror. It was found that some evil of a darker hue, and more portantous meaning than the desultory warfare of political parties, hung over the devoted city of Nismes. A fanatical multitude, breathing traditionary hatred, was let loose-the cry of "Down with the Hugonists!" resounded through the streets. Massacre and pillage prevailed; but Protestants alone were the victims. The national guard of Nismes, composed of its most respectable citizens, had been dissolved, and a new enrolment of six times the number had taken place, and in which many of the fanatics had found admission, Here, and here only, by some cruel fatality, the national guard betrayed its trust, and abandoned its noble function of protecting. 1 its fellow-citizens. In vain the unhappy Protestants invoked its aid; no arm was stretched out to shelter, or to save them!their property was devastated without resistance, and their murderers were undisturbed.' After such testimony, it is unnecessary to offer any arguments; we shall therefore conclude by an extract, which, though sufficiently bombastic, will prove that Miss Williams differs as much from the apologists of persecution in this country, on the character and conduct of the Dissenting Ministers, as on the nature of those evils which they have laboured to arrest. The high-toned and generous resolves, proceeding from the three denominations assembled in London, and which were reechoed by all other denominations, were not unheard in France. This intervention was the calm commanding voice of a great people lifted up against persecutors, and claiming kindred with the persecuted. Its sound in Paris was noble and persuasive; and it glided over the South like that sacred harmony of the heavenly host, which spoke to the watch of shepherds "of peace and of goodwill." Art. XII. The Journal of Llewellyn Penrose, a Seaman. 4 vols. f.cap 8vo. pp. xvi. 872. Price 24s. Murray. 1815. Sit true? is generally the first question that a child asks respecting any story that interests him. And though the feeling that prompts this, is lost as we grow older; and we are content, in proportion as interest grows at the same time more necessary and more rare, to take what we can find upon any terms; yet, when any thing depends upon the truth of the narrative, when it involves anecdotes and assertions, of consequence only as they are trust-worthy, it becomes necessary to enquire into the authenticity of what we are required to believe. The book before us is of this kind. It purports to be the journal of another Robinson Crusoe, a real and true one; a man who was thrown on an uninhabited shore, and passed there the remaining eight and twenty years of his life. He had great opportunities of observing the lives and manners, and dispositions of savages; for he did not live in solitude. A girl and boy were accidentally cast upon the same shore; the girl he married, and the boy settled with him, and in process of time obtained a wife also from among his own people.. Other Indians also came to live with them, and they were frequently visited by large parties, who staid with them for several days together. The internal evidence is, on the whole favourable, we think, to the authenticity of the story. Some of the traits of character are so naive, some of the expressions so natural, the whole course of the story so matter-of-fact, so utterly unlike a made tale, that, if it be a fabrication, it is, to say the least, an uncommonly skilful one. The natural history too is just such as might be expected from a man in Penrose's situation ;-not a set of curious anecdotes, diligently compiled from all American travellers, and artfully disposed in commodious places, but sometimes common-place, sometimes original, sometimes perhaps erroneous. The gentleness of the natives, their docility, their delicacy towards the women, their easy acquiescence in every thing Penrose proposed like civilization, are not, perhaps, what we should have looked for among them. At the same time, it must be acknowledged that any general account, like Robertson's, of uncivilized manners, must necessarily be found erroneous, in many particular cases. Cook found gentleness among the South-sea islanders; and Parke gentleness and delicacy among the negroes. If, however, internal evidence were sufficien', Robinson Crusoe would probably by many readers be judged authentic: not but that there is in Robinson Crusoe a much more novellike concatenation of story, than in the work before us. Still, it is absolutely necessary to inquire into the external evidence of the work and this, we are compelled to say, completely fails. The advertisement is simply signed John Eagles.' It states that Some years since an old man, who had apparently seen better days, applied to my father for charitable relief His language and address bore a character of interest, that must have struck the least minute observer. My father was, however, a man of discrimination as well as feeling, who seeing how ill the superior cultivation of his mind adapted him for the common receptacle of paupers, which was his object) supplied his immediate wants; which benevolence continuing from time to time, he was so much charmed with his good sense and conversation, that he became much attached to him. He supplied him with the necessaries of life, and after a time, was enabled to place him comfortably in the Merchants Alms Houses in this city, endowed for the reception of decaved mariners, where, with some weekly addition to the allowance of the charity, he was placed much above want. Here he enjoyed several years of tranquillity. He was beloved by all our family; and such was the kindness with which my father treated him, that I have often, when a boy, seen the old man sit at our table with the familiarity of an old friend. In this asylum he died, and left to my father all he was possessed of. And let not the reader smile at his legacy; for it was not to be despised; it consisted of many volumes of books, collections of prints, MSS., in particular the following Narrative. It was not in my father's disposition to make inquiries into the details of private history, especially where it is probable they would excite painful sensations; it is not o be wondered at, therefore, that he did not make himself acquainted with circumstances, the knowledge of which would now be so interesting.' p. v-vii. This old man, we are left to collect, was Llewellyn Penrose. But further: Mr. (now Sir B.) West stated to Mr. Eagles, that he was acquainted with the man; that he knew him at Philadelphia, previously to which he considers him to have met with the adventures recorded in the Journal. How this could be, is not very apparent: the Journal is carried on by Llewellyn to his last illness, and then continued by his son Owen, who relates the death and burial of his father. Yet after this Mr. West sees him in America and England. The name of the man too, whom Mr. West knew, was Williams. Mr. Eagles supposes that he assumed the name of Penrose; but of this there is no hint in the Journal, (minute enough too in other respects,) though Penrose is more than once in circumstances in which it was impossible he should have concealed such a thing, had it really been the case. Lastly, the account given of the MS. in the beginning of the first volume, is utterly inconsistent with that given at the end of the last. We shall give this as we find it. The following Letter gives some account how and by what means this Journal was conveyed to Europe. The address is unfortunately wanting: MR. PAUL TAYLOR'S ACCOUNT OF THE JOURNAL. Being mate of a large brig, commanded by one Captain Smith, and lying at the Havannah, anno 1776, it happened that at the same 'time a Spanish sloop, late from the Main, lay near to us. Having 'some knowledge of the Spanish tongue, I became acquainted with the mate. He asked me one day to come on board and spend an hour or two with him, as he had something to shew me. The next day being Sunday, and nobody on board but himself and an old 'negro, I accepted his invitation We had not been long together, before he unlocked a cedar chest, and took out a bundle of old pa'pers; he desired me to look at them, saying they were English. I asked him by what means they came into his hands; he said they ' were given to him by two Indians who spoke good English; and that ⚫ one of them told him in Spanish, that the whole was written by his ⚫ father, with a small addition by himself: that his father had lived there for many years, and had died there; making it his last request, that these papers should be put into the hands of the first person who would promise to deliver them to some trusty and good Englishman, to be by him conveyed to his native country. They made me swear, said he, that I would execute this commission justly and truly, and then gave me fifty pieces of eight, as a reward for undertaking it.' Vol. IV. 193–5. These two accounts the Editor makes no attempt to reconcile; he does not even hint at their discrepancy. As the case stands at present, therefore, we do not see how the book can be looked upon in any other light than that of an interesting story. Interesting it certainly is ;-to children, in a very high degree. The interest is of the same romantic cast as in Robinson Crusoe; though the work is by no means a copy from that ingenious tale. "Llewellyn Penrose" may be safely recommended to every juvenile library. The scissars and the pen must indeed be applied to some few half-pages and individual words; but of how few books must not this be said? Art. XIII. The Deserted Village Restored. THIS is a curiosity in the present day. Our readers shall judge for themselves. • Enubilous scen'ry and emphatic spring, $ Can pierce thy breast, and make superb each shade, The secret, deep, immortal part of man.' p. 4. I wait impatient at the long delay. Display thy charms, and hail the tinctur'd east, • And wilt thou go, And leave below Thy prison and thy cage? |