suspecting Acadians, utterly ignorant of the destiny that awaited them, were obedient to the requisition, and when collected at the time and places appointed, they were informed that their lands were forfeited to the crown, that they themselves were prisoners, and were to be immediately removed from the province. Vessels being in readiness to convey them away, they were ordered on board. A scene of distress and confusion ensued; the military who had been purposely kept concealed until now, made their appearance, and the embarkation was soon effected at the point of the bayonet, with the exception of between two and three hundred, who escaped and sought refuge in the neighbouring forests. Toward those who fled, all possible measures were adopted to coerce them back to captivity, the country was laid waste, to prevent their subsistence, and many of them were shot, and otherwise perished. This community at the time of this disastrous event, amounted to almost seven thousand persons, but the exact number who were banished, cannot be accurately ascertained; upwards of one thousand of them were sent to Massachusetts bay, and about five hundred to Philadelphia.

The melancholy story of their sufferings, would have awakened compassion in the most obdurate heart, and intensely acute must have been the feelings of Benezet, when introduced to the knowledge of their dreadful fate. He at once adopted them as his children, and proceeded to employ every exertion in his power to soften the rigour of their condition. As he was able to converse with them in their own language, it facilitated their necessary intercourse with the inhabitants, whilst it was a circumstance that could not but have mitigated their sorrows, since they had found in him, not only a friend who yielded them all the comfort and consolation he could bestow, but an interpreter, who was qualified and willing to hear, and make known the history of their afflictions. On their disembarkation, the neutrals were taken charge of by the conservators of the poor, and conveyed to a building which had been occupied as a lodging for soldiers. Many of them were labouring under disease, some were enfeebled by their crowded condition and the scanty fare of the passage, others were disconsolate in consequence of being separated from their nearest connexions, whilst all were dejected with the striking reverse of their former comforts and independence. Though the funds for their support were for a time supplied from the public purse, Anthony Benezet undertook to provide for their subsistence, in the purchase and distribution of every thing which they required. To the sick and dying, he administered relief, so long as human exertion was availing, or could hope for success, and when death terminated the sufferings of any of them, he would perform the last office of respect to their remains. The inconvenient construction of the barracks, as well as want of room in them, being ill suited to their accommodation, he solicited permission of his friend, the late pious Samuel Emlen, to occupy part of a square of ground owned by him in the south western section of Philadelphia, with buildings for the residence of the neutrals. The grant being promptly made, Benezet proceeded to collect subscriptions, and was soon enabled to purchase materials and erect a sufficient number of small houses, to which they were immediately removed. The supply from the public treasury ceasing on their change of situation, he was obliged to devise modes of employment for them to procure a livelihood; and among various occupations, to which he

directed their attention, was the manufacture of wooden shoes and linsey cloth; the material for the composition of the latter article, was principally obtained by their gathering rags from the streets of the city, which they washed, and otherwise prepared for the purpose. In addi tion to the personal services thus rendered, he paid out of his small income annuities to several of the most ancient and helpless. It is related of him among other proofs of his kindness toward them, that his wife, having made unsuccessful search for a pair of blankets which she had recently purchased for the use of the family, came into the room where her husband was writing, and expressing some surprise as to what had become of them, his attention was arrested, and when he understood the cause of her uneasiness, "Oh! (said he) my dear, I gave them some evenings since, to one of the poor neutrals." Thus, for several years he devoted himself to the advancement of the interests of those people, who by death, and removal to different places, were ultimately reduced to a very small number. Such was his assiduity and care of them, that it produced a jealousy in the mind of one of the oldest men among them, of a very novel and curious description; which was communicated to a friend of Benezet's, to whom he said, "it is impossible that all this kindness is disinterested; Mr. Benezet must certainly intend to recompense himself by treacherously selling us." When their patron and protector was informed of this ungrateful suspicion, it was so far from producing an emotion of anger, or an expression of indignation, that he lifted up his hands, and laughed immoderately.'

On the subject of slavery Benezet thought, wrote, and felt much; but he was temperate, in comparison with many mad theorists, who, whether it be practically right or wrong, would emancipate all the coloured people of the southern states at once. In a letter to Dr. Fothergill, he writes,

'I am like-minded with thee, with respect to the danger and difficulty which would attend a sudden manumission of those negroes now in the southern colonies, as well to themselves as to the whites; wherefore, except in particular cases, the obtaining their freedom, and indeed the freedom of many even amongst us, is by no means the present object of my concern. But the best endeavours in our power to draw the notice of governments upon the grievous iniquity and great danger attendant on a further prosecution of the slave-trade, is what every truly sympathizing mind cannot but earnestly desire, and, under divine direction, promote to the utmost of their power.'

We must not omit to mention that Mr. Benezet became an elder, or preacher, in the friends' meeting, and was remarkable for settling disputes, (yes, even in his truly unique and peaceful society) about the one thing needful,' in the most effectual way;-by paying the difference out of his own pocket; without suffering either of the parties to know peace was purchased at the expense of his purse. p. 121. This proves his thorough knowledge of human nature. We must treat our readers by a sight of a well drawn picture of the dignity and effect of a quaker preacher and sermon, and then desist from using our editorial scissors.

'Having lived during that interesting period, when the religious community to which he belonged was occupied with those considerations

which led to its purification from the iniquity of slavery, he took an active part in promoting that righteous work. His ardent and pathetic communications on this subject, in the select assemblies of his brethren, were powerful and irresistible. He awakened the unconcerned, confirmed the wavering, and infused energy into the most zealous. On one occasion, during the annual convention of the society at Philadelphia, when that body was engaged on the subject of slavery, as it related to its own members, some of whom had not wholly relinquished the practice of keeping negroes in bondage, a difference of sentiment was manifested as to the course which ought to be pursued, For a moment it appeared doubtful which opinion would preponderate. At this critical juncture, Benezet left his seat, which was in an obscure part of the house, and presented himself weeping at an elevated door in the presence of the whole congregation, whom he thus addressed, Ethiopia shall soon stretch out her hands unto God;"* he said no more: under the solemn impression which succeeded this emphatic quotation, the proposed measure received the united sanction of the assembly.'

6

We cannot think the colour and cut of a man's coat, or the quality of his cotton-velvet breeches, of so much importance as some parts of these memoirs indicate that many good men do; nor are we offended at a young lady's full dress for a ball,' or at Benezet's attitude of surprise,' and 'unsophisticated countenance' of regret, at her gala attire.' p. 110.

6

On the whole, we remark that Mr. Vaux has a stile neat and unassuming, but that it would have been well to have arranged in some order, the subjects of which his volume treats, under such heads as Benezet's Personal History, Correspondence, Publications, Benevolence, and Public Functions. He has nevertheless written a good book for all, but especially for the society of Friends.

ART. IV.-A Diary of a Journey into North Wales, in the Year 1774; by Samuel Johnson, LL. D. Edited, with illustrative Notes, by R. Duppa, LL. B. Small 8vo. pp. 226. Jennings. London, 1816. From the British Review,

IF

the

F accident were to throw in our way an old pocket-book, containing sundry useless hints and observations by a revered author, whose reputation could not be increased, and might possibly be diminished, by an ill-judged partiality of his friends, what would be the part of judicious kindness? Would it not be to suppress manuscript, and to leave the world content and happy with the volumes already in their possession? But supposing, as in the case of Dr. Johnson, the public attention was actively excited, and the fair fame of the author far above the reach of posthumous detraction, might not a point be stretched for once, and the unfortunate pocketbook be presented to the gaze of rude curiosity, with all its imperfections on its head?

We will suppose this delicate question answered in the affirmative, and that in consequence every relic of Dr. Johnson, of whatever character or description, may be dragged into the light, and nailed to the pillory of public criticism and reprehension. We will * Psalms, lxviii. 31. 15

VOL. X.

not ask whether the pages before us were intrinsically worth publishing, nor will we pause to inquire what would have been the feelings of Dr. Johnson had he witnessed this attempt to obtrude him into public day in an undress the most slovenly and incomplete. We will consider the question decided. Somebody may be benefitted by the publication, and Dr. Johnson is out of the reach of the consequences. The only remaining consideration is the best mode and vehicle of publication; and here, more than in any other part of the arrangement, we shall see the advantage of procuring an enlightened and ingenious editor to conduct the whole affair.

The manuscript upon which Mr. Duppa has seen fit to employ his labours would not, if closely printed, have filled more, perhaps, than half a sheet of a common octavo work; so that, admitting it to be worth publication, few persons would have had the spirit to soar beyond the frail and ignoble vehicle of a monthly repository for its insertion. But the editor of a posthumous work of Dr. Johnson was not to be daunted by ordinary difficulties; nor could he be supposed willing to consign our illustrious moralist to the transitory pages of a periodical publication. A book-a wellprinted, well-margined, bona fide book-must absolutely be achieved; and though there was not matter for an ordinary sheet, and what there was might be deemed by some unfit for publication, yet to have surrendered to trivial obstacles of this kind was evidently beneath the spirit of an experienced editor.

Let then the proposition be to manufacture a volume of two hundred and twenty-six pages out of the aforesaid materials; and difficult as may appear the solution of this interesting problem, we hope, with the assistance of Mr. Duppa, to render it quite intelligible to the dullest of our readers. In the first place, then, it will be expedient to dedicate the work to some friend, in two pages, to devote three leaves to the preface, two to the table of contents, and two to a fac-simile of the author's hand-writing.

After so hopeful a beginning, future progress will be comparatively easy; and we may therefore go on calmly to extend the given quantity of matter to the requisite dimensions. The way in which the concern must be managed is as follows: first provide for a margin, which is to surround the meagre page like the broad walls of a fortified city, in which there are perhaps scarcely twenty half-starved inhabitants to be found. You may then proceed with a liberal assortment of spaces, and leads, and em and en quadrats, and other ingenious mechanical helps and devices, to fill up the page, as besieged soldiers have been known to stuff ox-hides with straw, to convey an idea to the enemy of abundance within. Some people, however, will not be satisfied with appearances: it may be necessary therefore to admit two or three lines of solid text into a page-occasionally more; but the number must never exceed ten or twelve at the utmost; especially if the subject-matter be so intrinsically valuable as that which we are about to produce to our readers from the volume before us. As example is better than precept, and as it may be instructive to see how far the above-mentioned rules may be literally carried into effect, we shall copy verbatim the first eight

pages of Dr. Johnson's tour. We do this the more willingly, as it will enable our readers to appreciate fully the laudable art of manufacturing a book without materials, and give them an opportunity of judging how far the original text was worthy of the trouble which Mr. Duppa has bestowed upon it.

Page 1. July 5, Tuesday. We left Streatham 11 a. m. Price of 4 horses 28. a mile.' Page 2. Barnet 1. 40'. p. m. On the road I read Tully's Epistles. At night at Dunstable. To Litchfield, 83 miles. To the Swan.' Page 3. To the cathedral.' Page 4. To Mrs. Porter's. To Mrs. Aston's.' Page 5. To Mr. Green's. Mr. Green's museum was much admired, and Mr. Newton's china.' Page 6. To Mr. Newton's, To Mrs. Cobb's. Page 7. Dr. Darwin's. I went again to Mrs. Aston's. She was very sorry to part.' Page 8. Breakfasted at Mr. Garrick's. Visited Miss Vyse.'

In this most interesting and edifying manner does the text proceed for a hundred and forty-nine pages; a victorious proof of what may be effected by art and judgment, in beating out a few grainswe cannot say of gold, but of the scoriæ and ashes of that metal, into a surface capable of covering by patches a considerable portion of a small octavo volume. The mind is not confused, as in many other works, by a breathless rapidity of narration, or the eye by that crowded typography which allows no repose to the reader. On the contrary, between page and page, and fine and line, there is ample room for reflection and rumination, as well as for recording in the margin such remarks as the narrative may appear to suggest. For example, on looking back, we find the third page occupied with those most important and isolated words, the cathedral,' standing prominently and alone, like Stone-Henge, in the midst of a barren plain. Now, to many readers this will look like a waste of paper and of money; but when rightly considered, we shall see that much instruction, both graphical and moral, is to be derived from the cir cumstance. It is printing like a painter and philosopher; for who but beholds, in imagination, while he contemplates Mr. Duppa's page, this venerable cathedral reposing in unincumbered majesty in the midst of its spacious close, the eye expatiating upon a wide hot-pressed margin of paper, converted by the silent power of fancy into trim gravel-walks and avenues of stately elms. It would have been a lamentable want of taste in the admirer of Raphael and M. Angelo to have choked up the view of Litchfield cathedral with minor edifices. He has, therefore, like a judicious designer, devoted a whole page, for the sake, doubtless, of picturesque effect, to this simple object; and we must do him the justice to add, that 'the cathedral' bursts upon the eye in the printed page, with a prominence and relief which we could wish were more constantly imitated in the erection of real stone and mortar edifices, many of the finest of which, not excepting some of our cathedrals themselves, are almost lost to the artist and the man of taste, by the circumjacent buildings.

We have now seen with what excellent effect a few lines of letter-press may be judiciously expanded, as in the work before us,