The Sun.
London, England, 1830-03-15 00:00:00

LITERATURE.

AP:PAIRS OF TUE NATIONi LoNnos, 1830.
The author of this very intelligent volume hes
neither overrated his judgment, nor his tattaty of
sound, moral, and political refleetioli, by as-
suming the signature of " Common Sense."
His book is replete with proofs of this much-
talked of, but ram quality ; not a page but
abounds in it, scarcely an argument but is based on
it. The most complicated and cornprehttsive
topics—•tbe Church, with its cutebttns plurali-
ties and manifold abuses...-the Law, with its
ensuistries, its mysteries, its inconsistencies, and
its broad downright incornprehensibilities ; the
system of monopolies, private or rablit.--oi
education, national or indivithal—of Govern-
ment, in its every form and fashion ;—these va-
rious, and, in many instances, recondite topics,
are stripped of their superfluous drapery-, laid
bare to the reader's comprehension) gal discussed
with a pertinent simplicity) and a power of
thought and expression, that cannot fail to
render them generally intelligible. We know
few popular authors of the present day who
could have produced ao civrer a work. Mr.
Southey could have supplied the easy freedom of
style ; Mr. Jeffrey the sarcasm, liveliness, and
fertility of illustration ; Mr. Brougham the vigour
and manliness ; but none of these could singly
have put forth such varied ability. The great
"charm of the work, however, is its strict literal
good sense. It hasnumerous other excellences,
but this 2, like Aaron's serpent swallows all the
rest," It is throughout a broad appeal to the
chief characteristic of an English intellect. The
volume (addressed to the Duke of Wellington)
h divided into chapters, each of which deve-
lopes a striking analytical faculty, and discusses
some one important national topic. We shall
confine ourselves, however, to the two sections,
headed " The March of Intellect," and " Edu-
ration." In the former of these, the author tri-
umphantly proves the utter absurdity of the pre-
judices entertained against the present spread of
information :

"By the parasites, the flatterere, the expectants of that
eptem which Fears the truth, and therefore hates under-
'etaading and knowledge, those words have been attempted
to be held np as a proverb and e. scorn; but tha, instead
of militating anything against them, is a proof that they
are true and well chosen. What made your Lordship's
match over ea many battle fields a march of victory ? Was
it the mere motion of certain masses of matter? No. It
was bemuse it was a march of intellect; because the spirit
and the understanding of man constantly directed the
whole. What has made this island, once a cold and
tleipping wilderness inhabited by a few naked savages, so
abundant in the comforts, and so redolent of the joys of
hfe ? Was it because the bodies of the people weighed so
rainy rounds in the scale, or stood so many inches in
height ? No. The people of Patagonia, even after all the
exaggerations have been discounted, very far out-measure
tie, and yet they continue starving and miserable ! Is it
even the dexterity of our hands that has done this for us ?
It is not. In the use of these, we are immeasurably be-
hind the Hindoos; and yet, while we have been advancing,
and hare advanced, till the four cornets of the earth le-
oeive our word ae a law, the Hindoos have remained sta-
tionary since the time of Sesostris--have been an almost
unresisting highway, which an invader of any tribe and
from any lend might 'pass over and trample down as he
liked. When tee compare our own nateral situation with
that of very many other ne.tions, we find that in every
thing physical we are inferior ; and, therefore, it must be
to intellect, and to intellect alone, that we owe our supe-
riority. Instead, therefore, of ' the march of intellect,'
bring any thing to sneer at, it is but another name for
• the march of England ;' and the Englishman who dares
to mock at it,' is a foolish and 'ungrateful son mocking at
his mether."

This is very fairly arid forcibly put. The author
then proceeds to defend the character of modern
improvements from the attacks of those who
object to them, that they are showy, superficial,
and superfluous. On the particular subject of
Literature, however, we cannot but think that he
rates too highly the genius of the present age.
Certainly all classes read now-a-days, and some
possibly reflect, but it is not to be denied that'
our current literature is superficial to a degree
never before known, at least in England. We
have no Clarendons nor Gibbons in history—no
Barrows, Taylors, nor Butlers in divinity—no
Addisons in elegant (Mr. Jeffrey has ceased to
write), nor Johnsons in manly criticism—
no Burkes in political, nor Stewarts in
moral philosophy ; no Popes nor Drydens
in poetry—Moore, Campbell, Crabbe, Rogers,
Wordsworth, and some one or two others of
that sterling school having long since taken to
prose or inactivity—while as regards the drama,
our national talent is barren, if not extinct, and
in the novel we can boast of but two or three
names of eminence. But if we have few authors
—we allude to those now immediately before
the public—destined to survive or stamp their
age, we have hundreds who amuse it, and whose
eternity is limited to three months of a London
Spring. To the motion then of " Common
Sense," that the literary character of the day is
unprecedented, we will propose an amendment, to
the effect that though it be unprecedented, and
to be respected, so far as its universality goes,
it is at the same time mediocre and superficial
in its pretensions. If " Common Sense" will
accede ta this amendment, well ; if not, we will
vote against him in the minority.
On the subject of Education our author writes
with consummate ability. He advocates " a
regular establishment for the instruction of
the people." And why should we not have
one ? We have establishments for every
thing else ; for the church, the law, the navy,
the army : we have first-rate gaols, excellent
medical repositories (where patients may be put
to death gratis, and according to the most ap-
proved principles of the art), but for that which
lays, or should lay, the foundation of eminence
in all these several professions, we are left to the
mercy of chance and circumstance. Of charity
schools our author thinks but meanly, indeed ,
he asserts that " they are the very curse of the
lower classes in England ;" and of what are
styled "Academies" he has an equally indifferent
opinion. • On this last point, reserving to our-
selves the privilege of making some honourable
exceptions, we agree with him toto ado.
We cannot however coincide in the justice
of the -following sneers at our Universities.
" The single fact of. the Academic honours not
depending upon' extent of acquirements, but
upon length .of time---4ts if a dunce of twenty
years gadding were not twice as incorrigible as
katince of ten—would be decisive on the point
that thc,Catholic colleges of Isis and Cam are

not adapted for comtnun.leating that species of
information that the people want." Our author
Iffee betrays (an unusual thing with him)
lamentable ignorance of the system pursued at
the Universities. Academic honours do net
depend on length of time, Certain Formal be=
grees, the possesitton which confers neither
honour to'r emolument, and which are mere
matter-of-fact certificates to prove how long
Mr. A. or B. has been connected with the Uni-
versity, may certainly be obtained, it is fit
they should be, by length of tithe -; Lilt the real
lucrative Acailemi hohours—those which stamp
the ihtelleet of the successful candidate and en-
sure his future promotion—are to be tc".tieied
only by hard, continuo" and active study.
The triumphs or the Senior Wrangler—of the
&Ilia Medallist—of the Divinity and Poetry
prize-men, depend neither on time nor length of
service, else how many thick-skulled A.BA,
A.M.'s, and even ADA,

(" For think not, ►nistt'ess, more true dullness lies
'heath Folly's mask than Wisdom's grave disguise,")
Would have torn the laurels from the brows of a
Kaye—a Copley—a Peacock—a Grant—or e
Macaulay !
With regard to "a regular establishment for
the instruction of the people," we think it a
poitit worthy of grave consideration. Whether
it can be accomplished is another matter. But
certainly the idea is feasible, and would at least
have this good effect, that it would bind toge-
ther thZ different classes of the community in
the bonds of a stricter and more harmonious fel-
lowship, as well as encourage a nobler spirit of
emulation and enterprise among them, than is the
case at present: It would also ensure them the
materials of a sterling education, for the Profes-
sors of a grand national scholastic establishment
must necessarily, from the very publicity and
responsibility attached to their situation, be men
competent to discharge it ; whereas, as education
is at present regulated, there needs neither De-
gree, talent, nor respectability to enable any one,
if he please, to adopt the profession of a school-
master. Advertise in the newspapers, or allow
your name to " stand rubric on the walls" in
notable companionship with Warren's Blacking,
Rowland's Macassar, or Lady's Elixir, as Pro-
fessor ©f this or that " Academy for young Gen-
tlemen," or it may be even " young Ladies,"—
and the business is hall done. Hence, perhaps,
the ridicule attached by our old, and even by our
modern writers, to the significant word " Peda-
gogue."

NEWMAN ON CAPITAL PUNISHMENTS, Sze.—

Lownox, 1830.

The hero of this long pamphlet is Mr. James
Butler, whose misfortune it was to be hanged
some months since for setting fire to a floor-
cloth manufactory at Chelsea. We have not
less than some dozen pages of particulars re-
specting the conduct of this spiritualized young
convict. We have first, his trial, conviction,
and execution ; secondly, his deportment in gaol ;
thirdly, a copious inventory of his protestations
of entire innocence ; and lastly, a description of
the blessed frame of mind—the seraphic rapture
—the inconceivable enthusiasm with which he
made his exit from this wicked world. Mr.
Allan Newman—who pleads guilty to this
absurd production—after giving Its in full the
story of Butler's wrongs, proceeds to let fly the
" squibs and crackers" of his puny indignation
at the Times, because that journal had the bar-
barity to believe in the convict's guilt. Not
content with this infliction, he goes on still
further to devclope those faculties of absurdity
with which nature has abundantly endowed him,
by florid quotations from the " Spiritual Times,"
respecting the last moments of two flagitious
convicts whom a Dr. Andrews, we believe of
Walworth, describes as having " made their
exit" in the most gratifying manner possible.
Some of these quotations—which Air. Allan
Newman has introduced into his pamphlet,
doubtless by way of make-weight, though osten-
sibly to prove the inhumanity of capital punish-
ments—are the most capital things of the kir.d
extant. On entering Newgate, the Rev. Doctor
(speaking of Martelli, who swung last July for
forgery,) says, " there was a fervour in his ex-
pressions, and a wildness in some of his oxtacies,
that would have startled an occasional bye-stander,
or any one who had not closely watched his gra-
dual ascent from impervious despondency to an
enlightened and enlarged comfort, which enabled
him to look me in the face with unutterable
smiles, and speak of to-morrow's execution
with a calmness that almost killed, while it de-

lighted his companion." Conceive the idea of
a " stout, robustious, perriwig-pated" Dissenting
Doctor being almost killed by the unutterable
smiles of a man who is to be hanged for
forgery ! " Next day," says the Doctor, "my
soul teas fall of midnight, (quere, his brains ?)

I could not endure the terrible idea of three
fine young men, Messrs. Martelli, Conway,
and Butler, being thus cut off." How tender !
See what it is to be a fine young man ! Again,
" There was a languor about the looks of Con-
way, and a dignified kind of complaining ex-
pression, that harrowed up the very soul. As
for Martelli, he offered a prayer most suitable
and affecting ; indeed, there was something in
his fervour and holy eloper-ee of soul that de-
lighted and astonished me. I cannot tell the
glory of that prayer." After indirectly com-
mending his own Sermons, the Doctor goes on
to describe the last momenta of this regenerated
triumvirate. Of Martelli, he says, "as he ad-
vanced towards the steps, I could have wished a
valedictory sentence or two, but the wheel of de-
sting rolled on"—the consequence of which was
that Martelli was hanged, and the Doctor left
alone to moralise on " the delicacy of the law's

edge."
There is a singular tendency, says the Monthly
Review, in two fools to come together. This
will at once account for the circumstance of Dr.
Andrews figuring side by side with Mr. Allan
Newman, in the pages of this pamphlet. The
object of the Doctor's appearance here, is to
back by the weight of his influence Mr.Newniau's
remarks on the inadequacy of capital punishment
to restrain crime, as also on the imperfect way

in which relieious Consolation_ is administered
within the condeinned cells of Newgate. Into
these points we do not wish at present to enter
but we esuitiot, and will tibt; refrath trom entering
tit• Vrol6st against that disgusting system of
cant which sees in the last mental throes of some
poor distracted sinner, revelations of spiritual in-
telligence; which tortures him with abstruse evan-
gelical dogmas, for the selfish—the brutal—pur-
pose of making a display of superior sanctity; and
which, *hen he is at last brought to the foot of the
scaffold, wrests from his bewilderment the con-
viction of his " perfect h4piness,V and exults
over hit " blessed exit," as though he were an
Elijah, transported on a car of glory into the
presence of the Godhead ! Mr. Allan New-
man's pamphlet is full of this sickening trash.
He is the very incarnation of dull fatuity:
" Theolunt in crass° jurcffes aere nation." tic
prose over the death of Butler ; details the parti-
culars of his correspondence with that congenial
civic knight, Sir Peter Laurie; calls the Editor
of the Times, " a painted moralist,"—implying
thereby, we presume, that the Editor wears rouge
gives plenteous descriptions of at least a dozen
executions, with the refreshing comments of Dr.
Andrews on some two or three of them ; and in
short, in every line, sentence, page, and chapter,
follows up the advice of honest Dogberry, to
t‘ write himself down an ass." So much for
Mr. Allan Newman, and that other Vicar of
Bray, Dr. Andrews. They were
.made for
each other, and are manifestly no conjurors, no
members of the rare CEdipodean family.

MEMOIRS OF MADAME DU BARRI, Wm. I.

LONDON, 1830.

Madame du Barri, the favourite mistress
of the profligate Louis the Fifteenth in his
dotage, was a woman of low extraction, but gifted
with shrewdness, liveliness, and no inconsider-
able share of personal attractions. At the early
age of 16 she fell a victim to the fascinations
of a pastrycook's apprentice, from which period,
unincumbered by any excessive modesty or
principle, she resolved to turn her beauty to the
best account, and restrict her smiles to those only
who could afford to pay for such an expensive
luxury. Up to the period of her 23d year she
led the usual life of a courtesan, and carried on
her intrigues quietly and with as little ostentation
as possible, now associating with men of high
birth and superior intellect, and now sinking to
• the level of the mistresses of low gamblers and
needy adventurers. By a lucky accident, just
as she had entered on her 24th year, she pro-
cured the high honour of an introduction to sup
with the King, chiefly through the instrumenta-
lity of M. Lebel, " Superintendant of the Secret
Pleasures," Valet de Chambre to the Royal
dotard, and who " could grant or refuse the
honour of a share of the King's bed !" Fortu-
nately Madame—, or, as she afterwards styled
herself, by virtue of a left-handed marriage,
Countess—du Barri, took Louis's fancy most
astonishingly, and was in consequence proclaimed
his mistress, not stealthily or equivocally, but
with a dignity and decorum worthy the chaste occa-
sion. From this moment she became, to all intents
and purposes, Queen of France. She brought in
and turned out Ministers, dispensed power, place,
and patronage, and blighted with a frown, or
fostered with a smile, all of whom she condes-
cended to take notice. With the death of Louis,
however, expired her reign, not of terror,
but of libertinism. She afterwards sunk into
comparative insignificance ; lived to see the
breaking forth of the French revolution, and the
death of most of those from whom, during her
gay career, she had received kindness ; and, finally,
was guillotined, much to her astonishment and
dislike, on a fine summer morning in the year
1793.

The present volume brings down her memoirs
to the year following that of her presentation
at Court, about which as much fuss was made
at Paris as if Louis bad declared war against all
Europe. The state, it seems, was divided into
two great parties on the occasion, one of whom
sided with Madame du Barri, and the other with
her rival, the Duchess de Grammont. The faction
raged fiercely for a considerable time, greatly to the
discomfiture of the royal appetite. The aristo-
cracy felt their privileges invaded, and their nice
sense of morality outraged, insomuch as the
King had declined taking a mistress from their
order, while the more ignoble courtiers, who
had little to lose and all to hope, sided to a man
with Madame du Bard. The presentation of
this lady proved their discernment. It took
place in defiance of the clamours of half the
French Peerage, and was ultimately the ruin of
the Duchess de Grarnmont and her party. These
minutim Madame du Barri details with much
force and liveliness. She writes with consum-
mate skill, and in relating a whimsical incident
(such, for instance, as the intrigue of that
paragon of purity the Countess D'Egrnont, who,
to adopt the significant phraseology of the pre-
sent day, " had an accident" with a pro-
mising young linen-draper) or hitting off
a sketch of character, a Louis the Fifteenth,
a Duke de Richelieu or de Choiseul, a
Comte Jean, or a pimping valet, evinces great
powers of observation and ridicule. Her picture
of the French Court, though wonderfully enter-
taining, exhibits a scene of shameless, coarse,
and brutal profligacy, absolutely without parallel.
A dreadful taint pervaded the whole of the upper
classes, the most abandoned of whom were
Bishops. Madame du Barri, with great naivete,
asserts that many of these pampered ecclesiastics
were the greatest rogues in trance. We can
readily take her at her word. When this
amusing autobiography is concluded we may
probably speak more in detail respecting it, at
present we must close our account with the fol-
lowing extract :
" At this period of my life I formed an intimacy with
a young female of very gentle appearance, and with a dis
position as charming as her face. She came into the
world to seek adventures, but without noise or disturb-
ance, and rather by refusing attentions, which seemed
troublesome to her. She was tender and loving, with
Chesnut hair, rosy lips, on which was the most charming
smile, and large blue eyes of inexpressible serenity. She
said she was of Franche-Comte, and as we all belonged to
illustrious families. slie appert.inerl to that of Grammont.
She bad lint her jitliband) a captain, and had cows to

Par:: to solicit a pension. That Was . her tale, and Wti
each had one of the kind. Madame de Mellaniete lived in
the M trais nue Porte•Poin, in a small house, in which
she occupied a neat an:l gatcel apartment.
" From the time I became intinwe with her, I re-
marked that she had changed her lover three times in two
months, and always from causes independent of herself.
The first, a rich Englishman, had been suddenly recalled
to his own country ; the second, a German Baron, had
been compelled to quit Paris in consequence of the un-
complaisant conduct of his creditors ; and the third, a
young country gentleman, had been taken by his father
away from Madame de Mcllaniere, whom he wished to
marry. I pitied my gentle Wend., and she, with a Adm..
ing smile, ,airl to me; whilst lowering her large blue eyes,
1 am not fortunate.'

" Seek better, then,' said I, ' and yon will find.'
" She did Fce k, but with much prudence. She re-
pulsed a crowd of financiers, lords, and• lawyers; in fact,
all whom other women would have rejoiced to have. It
might he said, that, to be welcomed by her, a man must
be entirely unknown, or at least a stran„er. At this
juncture there was introduced to me a young Anglo-Ame-
rican, very rich, named Brown, This young man was
well received, ar.ti remained a visitor fur some time. My
friend sought to please him, and succeeded. Gentle at-
tentions, flirtations, tender billets, assignations, rapidly
succeeded each other. This affair was fully in agitation,
when one evening, after supper, M. Brown told us he was
compelled to set out fur St. Petersburgh, where his father's
affairs imperiously demanded his presence.
" On the intelligence of his departure I was wretched
about my poor friend. She had not been at our house
that evening, and I determined to pay her a visit the next
day to try and console her. On the morrow, therefore, I
went to her residence, and being told by the porter that
she was at home, ascended the staircase and rung at her
bell. The door was opened by her maid-servant, who
knew me instantly, and exclaimed,
" Oh Mademoiselle, 'I am a lost woman, if M. le
Comte does not come to my succour.' -
" What terrible thing has happened?' I ;winked.

" Conte in MatlemoitTelle, and you shall see-. 9
" closed the door upon us, told me that Ma/lame de
111:211aniere was from home, led me to her bed-chamber,
pushed aside her bed, and then pressing a spring, lifted a
trap concealed in the floor, exclaimed,
" Here, look !'

" I approached and looked, tittered a shriek and fainted,
It was down this trap that the lovers of Madame de Mel.
laniere successively disappeared after they lead been mur.
dered. Their carcasses were there, and an infectious me!
came from the hole."

LIFE AND TIMES OF FRANCIS THE FIRST.
LONDON, 1830.

We are glad to find that this intelligent his-
tory has reached a second edition. It is in every
respect worthy of the popularity it has met with,
combining diligence with impartiality, and re-
search, with a power of drawing character, and
speculating upon motives, that is particularly
rare—with the exception of Messrs. Hallam and
Sharon Turner—among the historians of the
present day. Few periods present a better field
for the display of all those qualities which a
good historian ought to possess, than those iH
which that remarkable triumvirate, Francis,
Charles, and Henry, flourished. In selecting
his subject, therefore, Mr. Bacon has shown no
less good taste, than he has shown judgment in
its execution. The commencement and middle
parts of the. sixteenth century present such
extraordinary attractions to the imagination,
they abound so much in romance, arc so fer-
tile in incident, and so rich in the heroic
character, as well as in statesmen, that none
hut an author of refined and severe judgment
could have withstood the temptation to deck
them out in the garniture, if not of absolute
fiction, at least of poetic and eloquent exaggera-
tion. But Mr. Bacon's judgment has with-
stood the temptation, and in this, his first ac-
knowledged production of any moment, he has
won his spurs as an historian. Parts of his
book arc of course superior to others, and
among the most successful we may instance his
details of the well-known meeting I4etween
Francis and Henry at the Field of the Cloth of
Gold—his rapid—almost too much so—but
correct and spirited sketch of the meteor-like
career of Gaston de Foix, " the hero boy who
perished in his pride," - as Byron calls him—his
account of the battle of Pavia, which is told with
considerable energy and minuteness--and, last not
least, his allusions to the literary character
of. the age in which Francis lived : and subse-
quent to the battle of Pavia. In this last por-
tion of his history, however, we cannot but
think that Mr. Bacon has done injustice to the
talents of Rabelais ; a man whom Swift and
Arbuthnot were proud to imitate, whom Pope—
the fastidious Pope—highly valued, and whose
works,—though licentious (the fault of the age),
extrrvagant, and, we will add, obscure—abound
in wit, humour, learning, imagination, and satire,
to a degree unequalled in the world's lite-
rature. This is the sole blemish we find with a
work which reflects credit on our times, and
places its author on a level with Robertson.—
Indeed, so far as style goes, we prefer " Francis
the First" to " Charles the Fifth." It is less
gaudy, and elaborately smooth and elegant ; but
it has equal force, more ease, and incomparably
more nature and

LETTERS FROM NOVA SCOTIA---LONDON, 1530.

Among the much talked of, but comparatively

little knov►•n provinces in North America, Nova
Scotia takes a foremost rank. The wilds of
Canada have of late been rendered familiar to
us by numerous pleasant and instructive books
of travels, and the more vivacious order of
novels. The United States have been brought
under our observation at least six times a year,
for the last ten years, more especially by the
late researches of that showy, piquant traveller,
Captain Basil Hall,—but the more humble
province of Nova Scotia has been left to the
passing cursory notice of some journalist, who
was bent, as he imagined, on higher matters of
description. The present volume, therefore, is
every way an addition to our stores of informa-

tion. It is the production of Captain William
Moorsom, a gentleman of no ordinary attain-
ments, who adopting the epistolary form of
writing, pens his information in a light, cheer-
ful, and good humoured style. His book has
both amused and instructed us.

FITZ OF FITZFORD.—Lospox, 1880.

The scene of this interesting tale is laid in
Devon. The incidents are founded on an old
legend, still rife, we understand, in the neigh-
bourhood of Tavistock, respecting a duel which
took place ages since, between Sir John Fitz, of
Fitzford, near Tavistock, and Sir Nichoks
Slanning, of Bickleigh, in which the latter lost
his life, and by which the former was brought to
an ignominious end. Upon this slight basis,
Mrs. Bray has founded a tale, which, in point of
incident, is fertile, and in point of description

may 'vie with some of the most popular novels of
the day. Indeed, the varied scenery of Devon, in
the south of which the fair authoress, we learn,
resides, ha; impressed itself on her mind, and
warmed her imagination to a degree bordering
upon enthusiasm. The imposing wastes of
Dartmoor, with its strange mixture of moor and
morass, mountain, rock, and Torr, have met
with an historian worthy of their varied mag-
nificence. Few people can rise from the perusal
of " Fitz of Fitzford," without being struck
with the singular case and spirit with which its
sketches of character and scenery have been
pourtrayed. We subjoin a passing description
of one of the matchless vales of Devon :
" This spot was characterised by that kind of beauty
so peculiar to the !rallies of Devon, who.e rocky, tumul-
tuous, and foaming. rivers, are, perhaps, nnequalled in any
part of England. It lay between two hills, the highest
of which was crowned by trees that hung feathering down
its sides. The Walla, that cryatal stream, immortalized
by a nat.ve bard, flowed gently, with low murmur:, over
the pebbles that formed its bed. On the green banks
grew the purple harebell, the primro.e, and tufted daisies,
bending their heads before the light breath of spring, that
seemed to daily with every leaf and bough that hung
around. The birds that tenanted these wild brake., an—
eompanied with their evening song the music of the waters,

" Marrying their sweet notes with the silver sound.'

" Thus gliding forward, the stream at length encoun-
tered a mass of rock, near which a deep black cavity,
with moss-grown -sidis, formed a natural basin, that re-
ceived the stream, and where it lay as a still and &Jassy
mirror. A large aperture, like the lip of a cup, allowed
the waters a free passage to continue their course from the
basin or hollow. Thence the ground formed a gentle
descent, and being thickly strewn with masses of rock,
the Walla, after passing this basin, railed the Pixies' Pool,
entirely 'changed its character, and rushed, leaping and
bounding, tumultuously forward, white with foam, and
dashing over every obstacle that offered the least impedi-
ment to its course. On either side of the rocky basin
grew a small grove of trees, composed of beech, sycamore,
and the weeping-willow, that gracefully drooped its head,
and seemed to stand, like Narcissus, contemplating its own
beauty in the clear mirror beneath.

" The evening now drew in apace, the sun was slowly
sinking below the west rn hills, and left, like great ones
of the earth at their departure, the fading tracts of a lin-
gering glory. The di.tant heights of Dartmoor, with
their mighty tors, already wore the black and mourning
mantle of night ; while, from the deep vallies, and their
many rivers, a thick and dusky vapour slowly arose, and
extended itself, like a vast curtain, over every surround-
ing object. The cattle lowed in the distance. The birds
ceased their clamour, and winged their flight to seek
shelter in their nests ; each sound of the day gradually
sunk to rest, and 'silence. girt the woods."'

FAMILY CLASSICAL LIBRARY.-LONDON, 1839,

Mr. Valpy has here presented us with ano-
ther number of this very instructive miscellany,
containing Spelman's well-known translation of
Xenophon, one of the most entertaining, if not
the most intellectual, of the Greek historians.
The volume is every way worthy of encourage-
ment, and is ably edited, with a neatly written
and pertinent introduction.