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is no where a copyist; that he takes his images and descriptions from nature alone, and that he always views nature with the inspired eyes of painting and poetry. In "Bracebridge Hall," therefore,-Tout prends un corps, une ame, un esprit, un visage.”

The Vale of Chamouni, a Poem

By the Author of "Rome." 8vo. pp. 176. 6s. 6d.

The reader is naturally led to expect, from the title of the present work, a descriptive poem, in which he will be led through all the secret retreats, and romantic wildernesses of nature. He will expect to wander promiscuously through those sublime, beautiful and picturesque scenes which she has scattered with lavish hand over certain portions of the globe, and to return from his poetic excursion laden with all the treasures which imagination can bestow. "The Vale of Chamouni," or, indeed, any vale forming the subject of a poem, naturally leads the mind through a labyrinth of rural associations, and descriptive scenery; but in one half of the poem before us, and in the entire of the introduction, the external beauties of nature are seldom presented to the wistful eye of imagination; and we are obliged to be contented with narratives as little related to each other, as the proscriptions of Sylla to the loves of Pyramis and Thisbe. We can perceive no connection between the links that connect two different scenes or relations together; and we revolt at the unnatural manner in which we are thrust forward, and obliged to wade - through the recital of circumstances and events, which have as little connection with the "Vale of Chamouni," or with each other, as those which we have just mentioned. The author prefaces his poem with a poetical introduction of four hundred and four lines, supposed to be written at Inverness. The chief and prevailing fault of this poem is, that there is no obvious connection between its different parts; that every time the subject changes, it changes capriciously; that the prevailing idea in one part, section, or paragraph, does not suggest that which immediately follows; and that, consequently, every paragraph seems a distinct poem in itself. The entire of the introduction is a series of unconnected thoughts; and the whole of them put together has no connection with the "Vale of Chamouni." Indeed, the only

Eur. Mag. Vol. 82.

sensible lines in the entire introduction are six, which he puts into the mouth of his reader by way of objection to his winding and irrelevant manner. We could never have imagined that it was to serve as a preface to a description of a Vale in Savoy, as almost the entire of it is taken up with Scotland, and

"The splendour of the Caledonian arms."

The poem itself begins with an address, not to Apollo, or any of his daughters, nor indeed to any sentient or intelligent being, but to his own "shattered bark!" by which we are unhappily to understand his own poetical genius; that genius which guided him in his former attempt. His "Rome" he thinks has been so severely treated by the critics, that his poetical bark has been shattered by their rudeness. He seems to wonder, however, that so well built a bark could suffer wreck, and therefore introduces her shattered condition with a note of admiration,-" Poorshattered bark!" He comforts her, however, by telling her that she was superior to all the storms that opposed her course; if so, we are at some loss to discover by what means she was "shattered."

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The poet, after contemplating the injuries which he had received from the critics in his former poetic attempt, turns to Switzerland, and takes an opportunity of lamenting the evils of slavery. The author is a strong advocate for liberty; but yet there is a levity in his muse which we cannot easily reconcile with that sacred flame which freedom inspires. He skips about perpetually, without rhyme or reason, so that he seldom produces a deep effect. has evidently a talent for rhyming, for his versification is smooth, and seems to be executed with great facility; but what he has gained in facility, he has lost in dignity. He gives a very pleasing description of the " taste" exemplified in the costume of capricious the Helvetians, and of prospects from Ferney and the Jura Mountains; but in the entire of the first part of his poem, which forms half the work, he never leads us once to the "Vale of Chamouni," which is the proper subject of his song. All this part is preparatory to an arrival at the Vale, and in most parts as little connected with it as the introduction. To this, however, we have no other objection than its disagreeing with the title of the work, for the poet leads us occasionally through a variety of pleasing scenes and interesting relations, which

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are suggested by other parts of Switzerland. Nor are we merely entertained with descriptive scenes and beautiful landscapes, but the persons whom they commemorate are also introduced to us, and agreeably diversify those pictures of external nature which the poet describes, and which would otherwise possess too still and sombre a character to give any permanent plea sure. The poet has therefore very artfully, but at the same time very judiciously, made Voltaire, Madame de Stael, Gibbon, Rousseau, Frederic Eschen, &c. appear in different parts of his painting, so that he leads us very, agreeably through Bonneville, Cluse, Cavern of Balme, Groves of Magland, Cascade of Balme, the Savoyard, &c. till he brings us within the sight of the "Vale of Chamouni."

Our limits oblige us to leave our poet and our readers at the entrance of this sublime and awful vale. Such of them as love the grand and the terrific of nature must peruse this part of the poem with mingled astonishment and delight. The poet has certainly divested himself of a great portion of that levity of manner which characterizes his introduction particularly, He seems to have written the last part of his poem, or the description of the vale itself, under the awful impressions, which the surrounding scenes are calculated to inspire in every breast, that responds to the influences and harmonies of the sublimer productions of nature. This is no slight evidence of rising genius. The dunce, and the writer of heavy intellect, puts forth all his energies at the first onset, and afterwards sinks into tame insipidity; but the writer of native genius, though in his first attempts he betrays at every step the faults, which unavoidably cling to inexperience and want of maturer judgment, still rises progressively in strength and vigour, and gives new interest to every scene and situation which he describes. The defects of the work before us result, we believe, from this source alone; it has many beauties to compensate for its faults, and even its faults contain latent evidences of the author's genius, and prove themselves to be only the blame less offspring of inexperience.

Tracts by Sir Thomas Browne, Knight, M.D. 12mo. pp. 183. Edinburgh, 1822.

The work before us does not contain all the productions of Sir Thomas

Browne. His" Pseudodoxia Epidemi-^ ca, or Vulgar Errors," his "Quincunx," and "Religio Medici," have been properly omitted by the editor of the present edition, the former being too long to appear, except in a complete edition of his works; and the latter too apt to create sceptical views of things which, even if ideal, constitute a great portion of our real happiness; and which consequently it can be neither wisdom nor philosophy to explode, could even their inexistence be mathematically demonstrated. There is another reason why we think that the tracts contained in this edition have been selected with great judgment by the present editor, namely, because it is from these very tracts that Sir Thomas Browne has been justly called the most extraordinary writer in the English language. His other works are not of so unique and determined a character, and in perusing them, we cannot always discover from the style alone, that they are his productions. They are not like the present tracts, a mirror that always reflects a faithful picture of the original. Here he is always himself, and we can never mistake him for any other English writer. His singularity appears as well in his style as in his manner of thinking. We are always at a loss to know whether he is serious or in jest; for even when he is evidently jesting, he puts on a serious face, and addresses us so gravely, that we can hardly think him otherwise than in earnest. Yet there is no obscurity in his style: his diction is always so clear and perspicuous, that he who runs may read. But though his style is clear, it is still as characteristic of him as his manner of thinking. He is full of elisions, so full, indeed, that it is impossible to omit a word in any sentence which he has not omitted himself.

To a reader not accustomed to this style, it may possess a slight degree of obscurity at first; but we only read a few pages when this obscurity vanishes, and we are only surprized to meet with a verb where it could be omitted. In imitation of the Latins, he is fond of the inverted style, and has a good deal of Montaigne in his manner of thinking, except that he always keeps to his subject more or less, while Montaigne frequently takes us into a new world altogether. They agree however in this, that Montaigne is always seeking for objections to what he advances himself, while Sir Thomas is eternally qualifying his assertions by the intro. duction of some unexpected idea, that always serves to render them more

agreeable, or more disagreeable, than if they had stood by themselves. He treats of the most important matters as if they were the most unimportant, and vice versa. He makes us pleased with what is actually displeasing to us, or archly affects to believe we are pleased; but when he presents us with a delightful image, he immediately prevents us from enjoying it, by associating it with other images which either entirely destroy, or at least greatly diminish the pleasure which they would otherwise impart. He is perhaps of all writers the most witty in his way, and yet no man knew better how to conceal his wit. He never affects to know that what he says is calculated to provoke us or make us laugh. He generally means the contrary of what he says, and praises always when he intends to censure. Of this the following passage is a beautiful example, in which he lashes the fanatics of his time :

"Pious spirits who passed their days in raptures of futurity made little more of this world than the world that was before it, while they lay obscure in the chaos of pre-ordination and night of their forebodings. And if they be so happy as truly to understand Christian annibilation, extasies, exolution, liquefaction, transformation, the kiss of the spouse, gustation of God, and ingussion into the divine shadow, they have already had a handsome anticipation of heaven. The glory of the world is surely over, and the earth in ashes unto them,

To subsist in lasting monuments, to live in their productions, to exist in their names and predicament of chimeras was large satisfaction to old expectations, and made one part of their elysium. But all this is nothing in the metaphysics of true belief. To live indeed is to be again ourselves, which being not only a hope

but an evidence in noble believers, it is all one to lie in St. Innocent's church-yard as in the sands of Egypt. Ready to be any thing in the extasy of being ever, and as content with six feet as the moles of Adrianus."

-Tabesne cadavera solvat
Au rogus haud refert.

We have only to add that the little work before us is an imperishable monument of the author's genius. We will not say but he might have directed his talents to higher purposes; but as genius converts whatever it touches into gold, we are so pleased with every thing coming from his pen, that we would hardly wish him to have written on any other subjects than those on which he has written, or at least we would not exchange the pleasure, which they have imparted to us, for the speculative satisfaction which we might have possibly enjoyed, had he directed his talents to subjects of sublimer interests. We know what he has done: what he might have done, had he directed his

talents to other pursuits, we cannot venture to determine.

One science only will one genius fit, So vast is art, so narrow human wit. We have already observed, that he resembles Montaigne in one feature of his manner: we may add that, in his general manner, he resembles Erasmus more than any other writer. The editor is entitled to all the merit which an editor can claim,-the exercise of a chaste and correct judgment, the work is printed with neatness and elegance, and we strongly recommend it to our readers.

Memoirs of the Life of Artemi. 8vo. pp. 374. 12s.

This is the biography of an Armenian, written by himself, in his native dialect, which he afterwards translated into the Russian language, from which it has been renderd into English. The faithful painting of Asiatic characters and manners, not by a European traveller, but by a simple native, is new to our literature, and delights from its novelty; but the chief charm of the book is its simplicity of views and of style, in which latter respect it has, we suspect, lost much by its travelling into English through the medium of Russia. The work gives us a terrible view of the ferocity of our nature when untamed by education and philosophy; shewing the wretched state of Society, when regular governments and permanent institutions do not exist to protect life and property, or do not produce an amelioration of individual character. Artemi's simplicity evinces itself even from the first line of his preface, where he tells us that the catalogue and journal of his sufferings and mishaps were noted down, at his mother's command, merely to shew the goodness of God towards him. He was born at Wagarschapat, near Mount Ararat, on the 20th of April, 1774, his father being "a skilful cutter and polisher of precious stones." His history of his mother, and of her maternal parent, is the most simple and moving representation of the strong natural affection of a mother for her offspring that we ever read. This universal feature of our nature supported these two unfortunate creatures through as much of cruelty and suffering as the most ferocious could inflict, or as the most patient could support. There is a story told of his mother

A Gentleman whose high talents and extensive acquirements are not unknown to the literary world.

having been stolen from her parent at
four years old, and being purchased
by a benevolent Persian of wealth, was
brought up by the old man as his daugh-
But the
ter and betrothed to his son.
mother having, after a long and ardu-
ous search, discovered her child in the
house of the Persian, by one quarter
of an hour's rhapsody about saints and
martyrs, creates in the girl an abhor-
rence of Mahometanism, weans all her
affections from her kind old protector,
and makes her desert him, in spite of

In

all his tears and entreaties. This is
practically shewing the dreadful effects
of proselytism and religious difference,
unaccompanied by good sense and hu-
manity; and we sympathize with the
good old man when he exclaims in his
anguish, "kindness has no effect on
these unfeeling, ungrateful creatures."
But Artemi loses his father at four
months old, and his widowed mother
struggles through every privation, and
supports numerous cruelties to maintain
her children, and to rear Artemi for
the church, which was the object of
her piety and of her ambition, as well
as of her affection for her son.
Wagarschapat there were seven hun-
dred houses, and we suppose about
three thousand inhabitants, of which it
Poor
appears only ten could read.
Artemi's literary proficiency excited
so much envy on the part of his supe-
riors, as to bring down upon himself
and mother numerous taunts, as well as
cuffs and blows from both laymen and
the Christian priesthood of Armenia;
who certainly appear to be as arrant a
set of scoundrels as we ever read of.
Poor Artemi is very sensible, a great
moralizer, very superstitious, and cre-
dulous. He suffers much for conscience
sake, and more, it would seem, from
his untoward destiny. His adventures
are numerous, and told in a style of
affecting simplicity-at length Artemi
escapes to the Russians, and eventually
gets to St. Petersburgh, where, how.
ever, new tribulations commence. After
his long catalogue of disasters, drub-
bings, and of "moving accidents by
flood and field," the humble and amia-
"Praise
ble creature concludes by a
be to God who has prospered me in
such manifold ways," although a life
of less prosperity it is not very easy to
imagine. However, Artemi at last rea-
lizes an humble competence, he gets to
Paris, acts as a commercial agent for
the Armenians at St. Petersburgh, and,
as if enamoured of his disastrous pere-
grinations, he cannot content himself
with ease, quiet, and security, but starts
on a pilgrimage to Jerusalem by the

way of Constantinople-about as awkward a journey as a man in these disturbed times of the East could well undertake. May good fortune restore him to a safe and comfortable old age, for his biography has interested our feelings, and has afforded us a day of pleasurable study.

The Lollards, a Tale. By the Author of " The Mystery," and of Calthorpe." London, 1822.

The Author of this book is already known to our readers, as we have had occasion to notice his former works; and his last novel of "Calthorpe" demanded and received at our hands an acknowledgement of its very superior merit. But the work now before us is of a species totally distinct from its predecessors; and however well the author of "Calthorpe" may have established his claim to the general character of a good novelist, he has now entered into a new field, and it becomes necessary to examine, de novo, the powers and capability of his mind and pen. The book before us is not a mere commentary upon human passions, and a nicely constructed series of incidents and story, intended to interest and delight the imagination; but it aspires to the loftier task of identifying remote and important matters of history with the occurrences of private life, and the customs and habits of private society. It is easy to conceive, that this is no comman undertaking, if it be executed with accuracy and success. The dif ficulty does not alone consist in the comparative scarcity of materials, from which the necessary information is to be derived. It is greatly increased by the taste of the age, which leads a large portion of the literary world to the very sources of that information, with a thirst too insatiable to be satisfied, though the fountain yielded its waters, like the rock at the touch of the prophet. There is a prevailing rage for historical and antiquarian research, which renders it utterly impossible, that an author should deceive or blunder without detection; or assume facts for the sake of convenience without a tolerable shew of data upon which to found his assumption. There is a close illustration of this in "the Lollards," to which there is a learned and a candid, as well as modest preface, apologising for some slight anachronisms, and elaborately attempting to justify other

important departures from received opinions. The chief point, upon which he has adopted such a course, is in relation to the era at which the art of printing was discovered, as he makes use of that discovery for the purposes of his work at a period considerably antecedent to the time, at which it has been generally supposed to have taken place. And it must be admitted, in candour, that although the case he makes out may not be a perfect one, yet it is sufficiently conclusive to warrant its particular application. Our opinion of this work, upon its general merits, is decidedly a favourable one. If we discover imperfections in the detail, we do not find the author wanting in the greater qualities of mind and acquirement, which it is necessary that he should possess. His research has been sufficiently extensive to enable him to unfold the obscurities of history, and to connect them with life and the actions of men. He has done this, not only with the delightful interest and vivid colouring which attract and charm the general mass of readers; but with an accuracy and general fidelity that may defy the most cynical of antiquaries. His motto is fully exemplified; for truly in his pages do "forgotten generations live again."

Lacon; or, Many Things in Few Words. Vol. II. 8vo. 7s. 6d. pp. 266.

That, which we dislike the most of this work, is its title. A book, which tells us many things in a few words, possesses no ordinary degree of merit, and we think that the author might as well have selected some less quaint and assuming name, leaving the merits of the work to elicit such a panegyric; if it could, from its readers. The work, however, does really contain many very good things, which we are rather surprised at, as the first volume was replete with so much of similar matter, that we thought it must have exhausted any private store-house of even more than ordinary profundity. The present volume contains two hundred and eighty. three Aphorisms, a long Critique upon Lord Byron's Don Juan, and the author's Poem upon the Conflagration of Moscow, now printed with many additions. The Aphorisms do not possess the style of epigrammatic paradox, or the brilliant turn so peculiar to Rochefoucalt, but they evince a power of profound thinking, as well as a habit of acute

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observation. Although the style, coupé, and antitheses, be peculiarly adapted to Aphorisms, we cannot agree with Mr. Colton in his opinion upon the beauty of antitheses, as a figure, nor can we agree with him in his possessing the power of avoiding it in his more lengthened pieces, for reading his preface, or the first ten lines of his Critique on Don Juan, would convince us, that he even thinks in antithesis. Some of these Aphorisms are so long and diffuse, that they are rather essays, or short sermons. -Others are trite, containing nothing of novelty in the matter, or of superiority in the form, such as Nos. 1. 3, 4. 8. 59. 83. 88, 89, 90. 96. 282.-Some of the best are, 7. 11. 13. 15. 35. 48.73 77. 81. 91. &c. Many are very bad, such, for instance, as Nos. 16. 18. or both obvious and hacknied, such as 71. 84. &c.; whilst others, as we have before observed, are mere essays; and, we must add, being written in the style of Aphorisms, are by no means pleasing essays. We like Mr. Cotton's longer pieces the least for instance, the Number 62, upon Materialism, contains nothing of fact, but what the writings of Laurence, Brown, Rennell, and the Reviews and Magazines of the day have rendered, we should almost say, nauseously common; whilst as to reasoning upon those facts, Mr. Colton displays a total ignorance of the arguments. Mr. Colton ought to know, that Analogy affords no any religion, nor does it even prove, "grounds of probability" in favour of that religion is not improbable; all that it can prove is, that it is not unnatural or absurd. This is the only use that Bishop Butler professes to make of Analogy, and that orthodox and excellent reasoner, Dr. Reid, confines Analogy to the same bounds. The critique on Don Juan contains many good observations, but where Mr. Colton pronounces stanzas to be obscene or blasphemous, he might as well have avoided quoting them; and he never blames the poet's morals without accompanying his censure with such high commendations of his genius and powers, as to give us some suspicion that he is hardly in earnest; or that he is falling within the observation contained in his fourteenth Aphorism. Mr. Colton, in the third page of this critique, tells us, that "the Morality of Pope is too neutralized to do good." What he means by this, we do not know; and we suspect he does not know himself. As to the magnanimity of sacrificing Moscow, we must observe, that in poetry such a view of the case is allowable-only let us remember that those, who fired the city,

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