trial, such a demonstrative ordeal of its reality, devised by man. Her features were calm; there was a sweet and complacent serenity on the countenance. She was turned to earth." (Vol. ii. p. 38.)

"I was alone in my carriage as I traversed Germany from Vienna to Ostend, or worse than alone, with my valet in the vehicle to speak when he was spoken to, and do as he was directed. I traversed in my route many extensive forests and many sandy and dismal plains. My journey was made in the blackest and most naked season of the year. Dark clouds were perpetually hurried along the horizon, and the air was nipping and severe. I seldom slept in my carriage, but was left to the uncomfortable communion of my own thoughts. I slept not, but was lost in long and vague reveries, unconscious how the time passed, but feeling that it was insupportably monotonous and tedious. My mind was in that state in which a man has an undefined feeling that he exists, but in which his sensations rarely shape themselves into any thing that deserves the name of thought.

"In this situation, particularly when the shades of evening began to prevail, and in the twilight, my senses were bewitched, and I seemed to see a multitude of half-formed visions. Once, especially, as I passed through a wood by moonlight, I suddenly saw my brother's face looking out from among the trees as I passed. I saw the features as distinctly as if the meridian sun had beamed upon them. The countenance was as white as death, and the expression was past speaking pitiful. It was by degrees that the features shewed themselves thus out of what had been a formless shadow. I gazed upon it intently. Presently, it faded away by as insensible degrees as those by which it had become thus agonizingly clear. After a short time it returned. I saw also Irene and the child, living and dead, and then living again. No tongue can tell what I endured on these occasions. It was a delirium and confusion and agitation that continued for some hours. The fits were not periodical. If I had a visitation of this kind at night, that afforded no security that it would not return in the morning, and again at noon. My appetite deserted me, my eyes became fiery and bloodshot." (Vol. ii. p. 45.)

We lingered to select another extract from many beautiful passages, containing descriptions first of the domestic happiness, and then of the misfortunes, of the usurper: we feel inclined to take instead, the description of the injured boy himself, as

containing one of the sweetest pic tures of educated, civilized youth we ever remember to have read:

"In the various pursuits, therefore, of classical studies and the English language, in a word, of every thing adapted to his years, the progress of Julian was at this time astonishingly rapid. In the course of the next six or seven years, he shook off every thing that was childish and puerile, without substituting in its stead the slightest tincture of pedantry. The frankness and nobility of his spirit defended him from all danger on that side. The constitution of his nature was incapable of combining itself with any alloy of the fop or the coxcomb. All his motions were free, animated, and elastic. They sprung into being instant, and as by inspiration, without waiting to demand the sanction of the deliberative faculty. They were born perfect, as Minerva is feigned to have sprung in complete panoply from the head of Jove. The sentiments of his mind unfolded themselves, without trench or wrinkle, in his honest countenance and impassioned features. Into that starry region no disguise could ever intrude; and the clear and melodious tones of his voice were a transparent medium to the thoughts of his heart. Persuasion hung on all he said, and it was next to impossible that the most rugged nature and the most inexorable spirit should dispute his bidding. And this was the case, because all he did was in love, in warm affection, in a single desire for the happiness of those about him. Every one hastened to perform his behests, because the idea of empire and command never entered his thoughts. He seemed as if he lived in a world made expressly for him, so precisely did all with whom he came into contact appear to form their tone on his."

"And, in the midst of all his studies and literary improvement, he in no wise neglected any of that bodily dexterity by which he had been early distinguished. His mastery in swimming, in handling the dart and the bow, in swiftness of foot, and in wrestling, kept pace with his other accomplishments. Nor was his corporeal strength any way behind his other endowments. He could throw the discus higher and farther than any of his competitors. But his greatest excellence in this kind was in horsemanship. He sprang from the ground like a bird, as if his natural quality had been to mount into the air. He vaulted into his seat like an angel that had descended into it from the conveyance of a sunbeam. had a favourite horse, familiar, as it were,

He

with all the thoughts of his rider, and that shewed himself pleased and proud of the notice of the noble youth. He snorted, and bent his neck in the most graceful attitudes, and beat the ground with his hoofs, and shewed himself impatient for the signal to leave the goal, and start into his utmost speed. Julian was master of his motions. He would stop, and wind, and exhibit all his perfection of paces, with a whisper, or the lifting of a finger, from him whose approbation excited in the animal the supremest delight. In a word, Julian won the favour of his elders by the clearness of his apprehension, and his progress in every thing that was taught him; and of his equals, by his excellence in all kinds of sports and feats of dexterity, which could be equalled only by the modesty, the good humour, and accommodating spirit, with which he bore his honours, rendering others almost as well satisfied with his superiority as if the triumph had been their own." (Vol. ii. p. 184.)

Mr Godwin quotes three lines from the Iliad, applicable to himself, as Homer made them applicable to Nestor. "Two generations of speechgifted men had passed away, with whom he had dwelt in green Pylos: he now lived among the third."* Well may Mr Godwin be proud of emulating

"Experienced Nestor, in persuasion
skill'd,"

who

"Words sweet as honey from his lips distill'd."

It is a proud distinction thus to retain the power of creative thought, at a time when the grave is all too near, and our material frames are burdened with tokens of affinity to the clod beneath. To see mind triumph over mortality, the flame burning brighter, and yet more gently, in the decay of our animal powers, is in itself a tale to ponder over with a glad and thankful spirit. This last emanation of the master-mind of Godwin bears in it a soothing mildness, that reminds us of Wordsworth's exquisite description of

"An old age serene and bright,
And lovely as a Lapland night."

Here is nothing harsh and crabbed, nothing morbid and disheartening every page displays freshness and vigour, each one containing some lesson to teach us confidence, love, and hope. This philosophy, as emanating from experience, is a precious boon, such as, since the days of the philosophers of old, has seldom been bequeathed to us. Let the reader turn to the last page of the third still remains to the earth, an attrivolume, and learn thence, that a glory bute to our mortal natures, that must elevate and bless us while man remains; and let our hearts exult, when one of the wisest men of this or any age tells us, that "the true key of the universe is love."

HOUSE OF COMMONS, Feb. 8th. DURING the last hundred and fifty years, (but more especially during the last century of that period,) our national literature has been encumbered by a class of writers, who, with no other qualification than that of being able to think on paper, have aspired to be authors; men, to whom their fathers gave a good education, and left them sufficient to live in idleness. But idleness becoming at last, as it always must do, a most laborious occupation, they turned to book-making. Instead of gossiping with their families, or neighbours, from breakfast to dinner, they made their pens familiar with their thoughts; and when they had recorded just such homely things as any man picked out of ten thousand would have written, those uncultivated reasons which are, in truth, as "plenty as blackberries," they forthwith had them printed and published. These were "the mob of gentlemen who wrote with ease," and whose "easy writing," has been pronounced "d―d hard reading." Yet they enjoyed a sort of reputation, which sometimes outlived themselves, if they did not happen to be addicted to the vice of longevity; and they were be-praised too, be-rhymed, and be-flattered, as ingenious, incomparable, and inexpressibly clever persons. Enquire for them now? None but a Fellow of the Antiquarian Society, or a correspondent of Sylvanus Urban, Gent., could tell you when they died, or where they are buried.

But we have also, in these our times, (and so perhaps had our forefathers, though all evidence of their existence, if there ever were any, has perished,) the "mob of gentlemen who talk with ease;" orators, who, were their physical energies equal to the task, could dribble, dribble, dribble, and still continue dribbling, (like a pump worked by an infant's arm,) from one lunar crescent to the next; -statesmen, with such a diabetes of the mind, that a continued stream of their thoughts keeps draining through their lips, with a sort of involuntary flux. At the head, the very apex of this class, meo periculo, I place Mr

Alexander Baring. I may be wrong, and I may stand alone in my opinion; but until I am convinced of the former, I shall not be disposed to relinquish the latter. Were 1 engaged in mercantile transactions, and wanted sound, honourable, and useful advice upon any practical points connected with them, there is no merchant in the city of London, whom I should be so desirous of consulting, as Mr Baring. But Mr Baring in his counting-house, and MrBaring in the House of Commons, are, in my estimation, two very different individuals; as different as the King at St James's, and Lord King at Westminster; or as the Duke of Wellington, field-marshal, planting the British flag upon the towers of Bayonne, and the Duke of Wellington, prime minister, striking it to Don Miguel in Downing Street.

It has happened, however, to the honourable member, as it does to most men, that those qualities, whether of fortune or of station, or of personal character, by which they are distinguished in one capacity, are gratuitously assigned to them in all. Mr Baring is an eminent merchant, an eminent capitalist, an eminent member of society; therefore he is an eminent politician. He has large dealings, therefore he has a large mind; vast wealth, therefore a rich judgment; a high reputation in private circles, therefore an equally elevated reputation in Parliament. He is a good man, too, as I believe, therefore, too, he is a good statesman. By the alchemy of opinion, he has undergone that transmutation which presents him to us in the likeness of himself upon the mart. In the city he is, and perhaps deserves to be, Sir Oracle; but west of Temple Bar, he is only

"Globose, a speaker in the house, Who hems, and is delivered of his mouse."

Let one of Mr Baring's clerks stand up in his place and deliver one of his speeches, and I would not choose to be a member of a select committee appointed to enquire into, and report upon, the comparative number of ideas in the said speech, and a speech consisting of the same number of

words, uttered by Mr Alderman Waithunan. This may sound like heresy to some; but only to those, I am convinced, who reason from adscititious circumstances; who hold, that

"A judge is just, a chancellor juster still; A gownman learn'd, a bishop what you will;

Wise if a minister; but if a king,

More wise, more learn'd, more just, more every thing."

Mr Attwood, for example, replied to Mr Baring this evening; and Mr Attwood is a shrewd, judicious man, bating a little disposition to look at every thing through the currency question, using it like a pair of green spectacles, which clothes all objects in one common hue, making them verdant and vernal alike. And how did he commence? " Agreeing with much of what has been said by my honourable friend and colleague, I cannot but the more regret some errors into which he has fallen, and which, coming with the weight which every thing said by my honourable friend carries in this House, I think it would be injurious not to explain." This is what I would call the cant of custom in this honourable House. For what was the speech of Mr Baring? Simply and solely that there were many causes for the present distress, though he was unable to find out any of them; and that they could not be traced to the Ministers, because the same distress prevailed in other countries. He said further, "it was improper for gentlemen to expect that the government alone could find a cure;" and, moreover, that it " was clear the House could not be justly charged with being inattentive to the distresses of the people;" though why the one was improper, or how the other was clear, the House and the country were left to discover by whatever process might seem best to themselves. I confess, however, it was the display which the honourable member made, when adverting to our foreign policy, that produced the most unequivocal impression upon my mind as to the quality of the honourable member's mind.

"I am anxious," said he, " before I resume my seat, to say a few words upon our foreign alliances. I see nothing in the circumstances of either this country or the continent, which

calls for the interference of our government, and therefore I trust they will not interfere." (Hear, hear, from the third treasury bench.) "I cannot see what business we have to interfere in the concerns of Bessarabia or Moldavia, or any other province with which we have nothing to do." (Hear, hear, as before.) "It is very well for honourable members feelingly to describe the diminution of our influence in foreign countries, and that we are not looked upon as of so great importance on the continent, as we have formerly been under other administrations." (A faint hear, as before, and a laugh from the rest of the house.) "It may amuse and please honourable gentlemen to be treated in a superior manner on the continent; but I think it tends neither to the honour or the interest of the country, to be interfering in every trifling squabble among foreign nations." (A loud hear, hear, from Alderman Waithman.) "We have no business to interfere in these questions. If we were offered a portion of the Netherlands or France, I am satisfied there are not ten men in their senses in this country who would not scout the idea of accepting it; why, therefore, should we interfere thus uselessly?" (An exulting hear, hear, from Mr Calcraft, in a tone that expressed his admiring acquiescence in the logical consequence of this interrogatory.) "It is immaterial to England in the hands of what power the mouths of the Danube and Tagus are, and I am satisfied it tends to diminish the high character of this country interfering thus in every ridiculous quarrel. For my own part, I would rather see the young queen on the throne of Portugal, than the present possessor, but I can see no just ground for a continued meddling. There will be no end of our difficulties, there will be no end of the troubles and quarrels in which we shall involve ourselves, if we are to continue to interfere in the concerns of every worthless fellow of a prince in Europe."

This is decisive language. Here we have the principle of non-interference asserted, if not with any remarkable force of argument, at least with a very remarkable force of repetition. It is clearly the honourable member's opinion, that Englaud, as

the phrase is," should keep herself to herself;" in fact, that we should leave all other countries alone, as the true and only means of being left alone ourselves, and consequently of advancing our own prosperity. I will not stop to examine the wisdom of a doctrine thus luminously expounded, but proceed to shew that the honourable member's reasoning is in the predicament of Gonzalvo's Utopian scheme of government in the Tempest, where the latter end of his commonwealth forgot the beginning."

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"If," continued Mr Baring," there is any one subject more important in my estimation than another, it is the promotion of peace. Our internal interests, or our commercial, manufacturing, and agricultural interests, all unite and depend upon its continuance; and if the Right Hon. Gentleman opposite can promote peace in the South American States, [without interfering, of course,] he will do more good than by adopting any partial measures." "It is our national interest to prevent Spain [without interfering] from carrying on a constant warfare with Colombia and the other States of South America, in her attempts to recover her dominion over them." "With respect to our means of causing Spain to desist [without interfering] from her attempts, I am of opinion that one word, peremptorily said, but without interfering,] would have the desired effect. The question of right which seems at is sue is, whether this country ever interfered between any attempt on the part of Mexico to attack Cuba. If it can be satisfactorily made out that this country did say they should not make an attack on that island, why then, the corresponding measure which is called for on our part, towards Spain, is, to say to her, you SHALL NOT make an attempt on Mexico from Cuba; for if we did one, we might with equal justice do the other.' "This country has given Spain a sufficient length of time to make her attempts for the re-establishment of her dominion; and it is now to be hoped these attempts will cease, and that the Right Hon. Gentleman will make representations to Spain on the subject of a very serious nature," [without interfering, however, or "there will be no end of our

difficulties."] "When we were engaged in our attempts to subdue our North American colonies, did Spain give us an opportunity to re-conquer them? So far from it, that she went to war with us. I am for applying the argumentum ad hominem in cases of this nature." That is, go to war with Spain, as she did with us; only take care that you do not interfere, for there would "be no end of the troubles and quarrels in which we should involve ourselves if we were to interfere in the concerns of every worthless fellow of a prince in Europe."

Mr Baring is a man of unimpeached and unimpeachable integrity, and utterly incapable of being influenced in his public duties by private and personal considerations. But were he not thus happily placed beyond the reach of suspicion, would it be possible to forget that he has large commercial dealings with South America? That he is a loan contractor? That South American dividends are irregularly paid, in consequence, as it is thought, of the insecure position of these States? ́ And that the Mexican mines might, perhaps, be more profitably worked, if all dread of Spanish intrusion were completely annihilated? His principle of non-interference, as regards all European governments, for European objects, and his vehement desire of interference with Spain, for South American objects, are certainly not intelligible to me; because I utterly disclaim all idea of imputing to the honourable member any private or individual motives.

February 9th.

The elephantine epistle of " dear self," the redoubted Juhun Men Shuhur, where " I was the little hero of the tale," was discussed again tonight. It is a silly and contemptible affair; and, except for the purpose of annoying a very silly and shallow person, not worth the notice which has been bestowed upon it. Mr Peel seemed to be ashamed of it; so the noble Lord's defence was consigned to Mr G. Bankes. But what defence could he make? He could not deny the fact, that such a letter was writ ten; he could not vindicate the letter, and he was not instructed by his superior to appeal to the good-nature