"If these were the causes of such misery and thraldom to those our ancestors, with what better close can be concluded, than here, in fit season, to remember this age, in the midst of her security, to fear from like vices without amendment the revolution of like calamities."

ART. VI.-Memoirs: containing the Lives of several Ladies of Great Britain. A History of Antiquities, Productions of Nature and Monuments of Art. Observations on the Christian Religion, as professed by the Established Church, and Dissenters of every Denomination. Remarks on the Writings of the greatest English Divines: with a variety of Disquisitions and Opinions relative to Criticism and Manners; and many extraordinary Actions. 2 vols. 12mo. London, 1769.

Although as individuals we may have our own opinions on subjects of religion, in our character of Retrospective Reviewers we belong to no sect, we recognize no party. The system we profess, and the tenets we hold, are amalgamated in the philosophic spirit of retrospection-in that character we have no predilection for the theology of the church of England, the opinions of Methodism, the dogmas of Calvinism, or the notions of Unitarianism. Each of them, when it becomes necessary in the course of our labours, will meet with a candid statement of its principles, and if discussion should be unavoidable, it will be conducted with the calm and quiet temper which characterises spectators rather than partisans.—But both as individuals and reviewers we shall always, we trust, advocate the equal right of every man to promulgate and defend his own conscientious convictions, and controvert the opinions of those who are opposed to him. This is a maxim, which we believe few will dispute in theory-laid down as a general principle, without any direct practical application, it appears reasonable and just, and would probably be admitted by most persons without hesitation as an indisputable common-place notion; but when they are called upon to practise this principle-when they feel that it interferes with, and presses hard upon their own opinions-it is lamentably pared away and qualified, to suit their own ideas. Dissent from their opinion, is like the invasion of their private property-is regarded in the same light as an attack against the title of their estate; as if their opinions were a part of themselves, or they had a special property in truth, which gave them the sole right, as well as the power, to defend her against all adversaries. Truth is as much common property

as the air we breathe, or the sunshine we enjoy. The meanest living soul has an equal right to seek her divine countenance, to participate in her exalted blessings. And no man, however learned, however wise, has a right to assume that he has the sole knowledge of her, or arrogate to himself the exclusive enjoyment of her favours.

Although we are disposed to think that liberality towards adversaries in matters of opinion has become more diffused of late, than it was in the year 1755, when these Memoirs first made their appearance in the world, we are not quite sure that without some explanation like that contained in the preceding paragraphs, we might not be subjected, as well as their author, to the imputation of scepticism or infidelity. Those who accused our author of being an infidel, we should imagine could never have read his book, which contains the most ardent vindication of the authenticity of the scriptures.

The editor of the General Biographical Dictionary has, in addition to this charge, and with the same obliquity of mental vision, discovered that Mr. Amory was insane; and has not only abridged his life in the new edition of that work, but actually hesitated whether he should even record the name of the author of two of the most extraordinary productions of British intellect-namely, the one before us, and The Life of John Buncle. If a deep veneration for the New Testament, an intense conviction of its truth, and an incessant labour to spread abroad its glorious precepts and promises, constitute an infidel, then Mr. Amory was an infidel. If a vivacious temperament, a social heart, great erudition, and acute reasoning powers, united in one, by sect a Unitarian, denote insanity, then, too, was Mr. Amory insane. -Insane, indeed! we would a thousand thousand times rather be gifted with the insanity that produced this book, than with such faculties as made the discovery of his being so. The same thing may be said, and is said, of every person who pursues an object with enthusiastic ardour. Was not this assertion founded on his theological opinions, or the manner in which he had promulgated and enforced them? Impressed with a deep conviction of what he conceived to be an important truth-a truth of vital consequence to the purity of that religion in which he was a sincere believer, and of which he was an eloquent and zealous defender, he kept his eye steadily fixed upon that mighty object, from which he never in reality turned aside; and when he did so in appearance, it was only for the purpose of re-introducing the all-engrossing topic with new attractions.

And attractive indeed he has made not only his religion, but his book, which abounds with the most kindly and social feelings, and which is distinguished by the most benign and Christian-like spirit. His bitterness towards the Athanasian

creed, and the vehemence with which he is carried along by the spirit of controversy, sometimes lead him to treat its professors, or the monks, as he calls the clergymen, with somewhat too little ceremony. But this is very seldom, and he is conti nually speaking in terms of the highest praise of those prelates, who were previously, or during his own time, ornaments of the established church and of human nature.

These Memoirs are, in fact, neither more nor less than a Unitarian romance; all the interlocutors, as well as the author himself, being zealous Unitarians. The design was evidently to diffuse the author's principles, and is as singular as its execution is entertaining. He has selected the female sex, of whom he appears to have been the most devoted admirer, as the chief medium of circulating them. Wherever fortune casts him, a storm drives him, or business calls him, in the north of Yorkshire, the fells of Westmoreland, the barren Hebrides, or elsewhere, he is sure to meet with rare specimens of feminine perfection, all equally beautiful, charming, moral, and intellectual Christians; and, what is more to his satisfaction, all of them of the same sentiments in religion as himself. A small part only, however, of the ladies intended to have been celebrated, are introduced to us in these Memoirs, which the author originally intended should have extended to eight volumes. The Life of John Buncle, indeed, may be considered as in some measure a continuation of them; with this difference, that it contains much more of the author, and is written in a warmer spirit of gallantry.

The most important personage in this collection is Mrs. Marinda Benlow, whom the author casually meets in one of his wanderings in Westmoreland; then Miss Bruce, in whom he discovers the daughter of his old friend Jack Bruce. Of this lady, with an account of whom the Memoirs commence, he gives the following lively description.

"When I came up to the house, the first figure I saw was the lady whose story I am going to relate. She had the charms of an angel, but her dress was quite plain and clean, like a country maid. Her person appeared faultless, and of the middle size; between the disagreeable extremes: her face a sweet oval, and her complexion the brunette of the bright rich kind: her mouth, like a rose-bud, that is just beginning to blow, and a fugitive dimple, by fits, would lighten and disappear: the finest passions were always passing in her face; and in her long, even, chesnut eyes, there was a fluid fire, sufficient for half a dozen pair."

This lady was equally excellent as a musician, or a painter, a theologian, or mathematician-could with equal ease confute Dr. Burnet's Objections to Locke's Essay on the Human Under

standing or correct the Bishop of Cloyne, in a discussion of the principles of fluxions. The following is a very excellent description of her pictorial skill, which concludes with some striking moral reflexions. It is a picture of Arcadia.

"In the middle of this delightful country, there appears the monument of a beauty, who had been snatched away in her prime. Her statue lies on the tomb, after the manner of the ancients. There is this sepulchral inscription: And I was once an inhabitant of Arcadia.' The unexpected melancholy scene strikes powerfully some youths and virgins, who had not a thought of meeting with this object of sorrow, and as they gaze upon the image of the lovely maid, they seem to fall into the deepest reflections. The youngest of the shepherdesses pulls off a garland of flowers, and with a finger of her other hand points to the short inscription. She ponders with the most serious attention; and in every face a gloominess of grief may be discerned, through some remains of an expiring joy. They all appear very greatly affected, and seem to have many interesting thoughts of death, as they see it spares not even youth and beauty; and that even the happy climate of Arcadia can afford no sanctuary from the grave. The pointing shepherdess is opening her mouth to speak. You almost see the motion of her lips: and from them, by acting the witch of Endor's part, Mrs. Benlow, in my hearing, has made the following words proceed; pitching her voice on the picture, and keeping her own mouth and all her face as still and motionless during the time, as if it were of marble.

"What a wink is life! We must all soon yield to the laws of corruption. Death is the common lot, and inevitable end, appointed equally for the first of men, and all his frail descendants. He is in swift pursuit; nor is there any art or method to withstand his power. In the gay and vigorous scenes of life, we form a thousand pleasing designs, and set before our eyes a variety of the finest prospects; but death comes stalking or unseen, and suddenly we sink into the cold grasp of this grim sovereign. See here the fair Arcadian. Read on the tomb of this sleeping beauty-' And I was once an inhabitant of Arcadia.' So certain is mortality. So uncertain the hour it may seize us. Death meets us full from every point of the compass. Nor is this all. It is a decision for eternity. As the employment of our time has been, we must be either everlastingly happy, or miserable: 'as the tree falls, so it lies.' Let the Arcadians then consider, and not pass all their precious hours in plays, and sports, and idleness; but devote a proper part of their time to religion. Let us deliberately consult for the future not only the matter of our duty, but the most acceptable and amiable manner of performing it: that our integrity and circumspection, our prudence and piety, may bear a suitable proportion to the condition of creatures, who are to appear before God's tribunal. This is the resolution of one Arcadian.'

This and another picture, together with the intervention

of the author, procured Miss Bruce a husband, and raised her to the top of Fortune's Wheel.

"It was my wont sometimes, during my residence at Hali-farm, to take a walk to a little public house, that is famous for fine ale, and delightfully situated at the entrance of an ancient wood, by the side of a running stream, about two miles from this lady's door. Here, I sat, smoking a pipe under a vast oak tree, in the evening of a scorching day, and was revolving in my mind the various scenes of life, and different destinies of men, I had read of and seen, when a gentleman, on his journey, one of the handsomest young fellows I have beheld, rid up to me, and told me with much good humour in his face, that he supposed the ale was good by my sitting so contentedly over it, and that if I pleased he would call for a tankard, and blow a blast with me. Ever fond of my fellow-mortal, I gave him my hand and my tobacco-box in a moment, and in less than a quarter of an hour we were tipling, laughing, smoking, and telling stories, as if we had known one another from the beginning of our days. I soon found that he was a man of great fortune and uncommon understanding; that he had visited most of the courts of Europe, and had an extraordinary taste for sculpture, painting, medals, and music. He called to his man for his german flute, and played several pieces extremely fine. He then sung delightfully well. He shewed himself to be a perfect master in this fine art.

"Here, the daughter of my friend came full upon my mind, and I began to give Mr. Benlow a description of her person and her soul; that beside her intellectual capacity, she had a pencil equal to Coypel, Rubens, and Poussin, as appeared from some pictures to which she had just given the last hand; that in music she had few equals: she had no superior I was sure in the world. It was unspeakable pleasure to hear her on the violin. I then told him the condition she was in, and how she had lived in satisfactions to be envied, on her little charming farm, since death had robbed her of her father, the worthiest of men. The gentleman seemed quite astonished at the relation I had made. Is it possible? he cried; can there be such a woman, buried among those wild mountains-lost to the intellectual world! Come, I said, and see. At eight to-morrow morning, inquire for me at her door. I will introduce you to her as my friend."

What followed, the reader will easily guess; but their happiness was of short duration: Charles Benlow died.

We must also introduce our readers to another accomplished lady, whom the author met at Hali-farm.-Mrs. Schomberg, the wife of Dr. Schomberg, was, when our author first saw her there, about three and twenty years of age.

"She was tall, well shaped, and extremely handsome. Her eyes were large, black as night, and bright as diamonds. Her hair was of the same colour, and curled naturally in the most graceful manner. She has a charming mouth, and when she laughs or smiles, is beautiful as Lalage.