CHEMISTRY. A Chemical Catechism, in which the Elements of Chemistry, with the recent Discoveries in the Science, are clearly and fully explained. Illustrated by Notes, Engravings, and Tables; and containing an Appendix of Select Experiments, &c. By Thomas John Graham, M.D., Member of the Royal College of Sur geons in London, &c. &c. 8vo, pp. 616. Joy. London, 1829. Chemistry may be defined, that science the object position that occur among the integrant and constiof which is to discover and explain the changes of comtuent parts of different bodies.-Dr. Henry's Elements of Chemistry. The nature of this science is very clearly explained by Sir Humphrey Davy, in his "Elements of Chemical Philosophy," p. I. Most substances belonging to our globe are constantly undergoing alterations in sensible qualities, and one variety of matter becomes as it were transmuted into another. Such changes, whether natural or artificial, whether slowly or rapidly performed, are called chemical; thus the gradual and almost imperceptible decay of the leaves and branches of a fallen tree exposed to the atmosphere, and the rapid combustion of wood in our fires, are both chemical operations. The object of chemical philosophy is to ascertain the causes of all phenomena of this kind, and to discover the laws by which they are governed. "The ends of this branch of knowledge are the application of natural substances to new uses, for in creasing the comforts and enjoyments of man, and the demonstration of the order, harmony, and intelligent design of the system of the earth." "The difference existing between chemistry and natural philosophy will be readily understood by reading the following explanation, given by Dr. Paris, in his "Elements of Medical Chemistry," p. 1. " As the minute particles of matter are alone actuated by such forces as attraction, heat, and electricity, chemical changes are not accompanied by sensible motions; a fact which enables us, very conveniently, to consider chemistry as distinct from natural philosophy, for the phenomena which are constantly referred to this latter province, are characterised by apparent motion."'-P. Note. We think what has been falsely called the Interrogative System of Instruction, is decidedly on the wane; and, before many years elapse, we hope to have it in our power to report it obsolescent, if not altogether obsolete. Not that we think it possible to instruct by discarding interrogation; but, according to the exclusive manner in which it has been recently conducted by catechisms for every science, there cannot be the shadow of a doubt, that it has operated as a serious bar to the diffusion of sound practical knowledge. A boy or a girl at school, a young lady or gentleman, under private tuition, is furnished, for example, with a catechism of chemistry. Pinnock's, Mavor's, Lewis's, Parke's, Forsyth's, Graham's,—no matter which, and is set to con over the answer to a question, to commit the words to memory, and at the next lesson to repeat these very words to the teacher; but all the while thinks little, if at all, about the facts contained in the answer which has been thus parroted. Now, from what we have repeatedly witnessed, we believe that this is no exaggeration, but the literal fact, whenever the interrogative method is sys-2, tematically pursued, the memory being exclusively employed upon words, while things are seldom, if ever, thought of; and the judgment of the pupil is never called into action, but suffered to remain uncultivated and somnolent. Whereas, if we understand aright the philosophy of education, we should say the judgment of the pupil ought to be exercised even more carefully than the memory, which is, for the most part, sufficiently active in youth; and in few cases which have fallen within our notice, has it required the incessant stimulant inseparable from the interrogative system; while, on the other hand, the judgment of youth is always slow and imperfect, and consequently nothing can be of more importance than its culti-Apician Morsels; or, Tales of the Table, Kitchen, and vation. This can be but effected by putting children or young persons to discover and decide upon the differences of things, such as, in chemistry, the differences between an acid and an This bad management is continued from the beginning to the end of the work-answers following questions, and notes following both, in all the intricate confusion inseparable from such a system. With respect to the author's qualifications for writing upon the subject in any shape, we must say that he appears to us to possess much less acquaintance with chemistry than with books; and, imperfectly as he has performed the task which upon such a plan it was impossible to perform well, he has demonstrated that he is, upon the whole, a better book-maker than a chemist. APICIAN MORSELS. Larder. By Dick Humelbergius Secundus. Post 8vo. pp. 348. Whittaker and Co. London, 1829. THE intrusions of quacks into every department of science-into the sacred walks of poetry-into alcoli,-a liquid and a solid, oil and water, gas the holy sanctuary of the fine arts-into the deep and vapour, &c. In bringing this process of instruction into operation, we would not object to occasional questions being put-such will be necessary and useful; but we do most strenuously object to systematic categorical interrogation. Dr. Graham appears to have tacitly felt the evils inseparable from the system; for we find him in many instances abandoning the legitimate model of his predecessors, and deviating in his questions into the conversational style. Like Parkes, of whose book Graham's is an exact counterpart, he finds it impossible to introduce all his materials into the answers; and, finding no other place to dispose of his shreds and patches,' his cuttings from books and scraps from journals, he lumbers them all into a ragged regiment' of notes, which furnish a regular running bass to the text, like Dr. Slop's curses in Tristram Shandy' to the lillibulero whistled by my uncle Toby. We need not go beyond the opening of the Chemical and divinely inspired caverns of criticism-has been a subject upon which wise and good men have thought, without finding any escape froin the anxious reflections which it occasioned them. That in the ordinary walks of life-in the common-place pursuits of business and pleasure, good and evil men should be allowed to jostle each other; that there should be no distinct mark to distinguish the one from the other; but that their characters should await a manifestation from circumstances is not surprising; but that, in those pursuits into which one withdraws from the hurry, and confusion, and medley of the world that even into these retreats, which we should have imagined the bad would have voluntarily shunned, or, if they showed a disposition to enter them, would have been forewarned of the peril by the genius of the place herself,-they should come unforbidden, nay, should so occupy every corner, as scarcely to leave room for worthier spirits than tion, and wonder, and melancholy. vices. But we did feel assured that no one had ever put on the sacerdotal vestment, in whose character a deep and holy reverence for the mysteries into a knowledge of which his ordination admitted him, did not constitute a prominent feature; not one who would venture to speak slightly or rashly of the duties of his calling. In all the qualities which constitute a great and commanding INTELLECT, the interval between the different ministers in this sanctuary is widealmost immeasurable; perhaps there is no human scale which could determine the distance which separates the rude uncultivated mind of Mrs. Glass, or even the practical but narrow comprehension of Mrs. Rundell, from the intuitive and far-stretching genius of Ude. But still in all, even the weakest, of these writers, the moral feeling was untainted. There was a deep, earnest feeling of love and affection for their art, which shone through their weakness, and redeemed all the mistakes of their judgments. Numerous, therefore, as are the errors into which they have fallen, not the weakest of these works has really injured the mind of the country; but each, according to the wants of its own age, has added something to the science, has done much to strengthen the spirit of gourmanderie. Of the work before us, we can, alas! speak in no such language. Weak in expression, poor in thought, it is yet worse for the feeling which it exhibits. This feeling is one of the most extraordinary presumption. An author without genius, without originality, fancied himself qualified to treat the subject of cookery; and then he depresses, we do not say in words, but in reality, the sublimity of the art that it may appear to be more on a level with his mean conceptions. With the utmost wish to be charitable, we cannot conceal our apprehension that no good motives have dictated this miserable attempt. To show how flayourless a collection of 'Apician Morsels' may be collected from the vast stores amassed by his predecessors, this has evidently been the object of the author before us; and who can doubt that he had a deeper and more wicked design, that he wished, by showing how poor a book might be written about cookery, to persuade the world, (we blush while we write down the words,) that the subject itself was unworthy the study of a man of genius. But, fortunately for mankind, the 19th dark ages, when cookery was confined to the cloister, century is not the time for such an experiment. Inthe and when it was the interest of priestcraft to persuade the multitude that it was not useful for them, such a work might have been as mischievous as it is ill-designing. But the march of cookery is going on, and we rejoice to think that it will not-cannot be arrested. No fury in its foes, no treachery in its pretended friends, can check its mighty progress, and, at last, its universal dissemination. The public will distinguish empirics from the true men; and nothing which is attempted by the folly or wickedness of the one will ever bring the wisdom and the virtue of the other into contempt. The author of the 'Apician Morsels' will be consigned to merited obscurity; but MAGNA EST ARS COQUINARIA, ET PREVALEBIT. It would be too troublesome to collect instances of the utter incapacity of this man, and of the zeal which he has shown in gathering up the peels and rinds, and the impudence with which he has passed them for the viands from which they had been scraped by worthier hands. The subject of Catechism' to find ample ground for what we have themselves-here is matter, indeed, for specula- the following extract is too interesting to be now said: 'What is Chemistry? Chemistry is the science which treats of the specific differences in the nature of bodies, and the permanent changes of constitution to which their mutual actions give rise." Then follows the note à la Dr. Slop : 'Chemistry is a science by which we become acquainted with the intimate and reciprocal action of all the bodies in nature upon each other.-Fourcroy's General System of Chemical Knowledge, There was one science, and but one, which we had believed saved from these invasions; one temple which we did fondly believe had been kept sacred from the foot of profanation; one altar from which nothing but the purest and the most fragrant incense had ever risen to heaven. We knew well that in the priests of this profession, as in every other, there were lurking defects of character; we knew that there might be superstitions in their rites, imperfection in their ser wholly spoiled even by his mode of treating it. It will be new to not many of our readers, but it will revive delicious recollections in the minds of most of them: 'Invitation to the Restaurateur's, alias an Eating-house. 'It is extremely convenient for travellers, strangers, bachelors, for those whose families reside temporarily in the country, and for all those, in short, who have no kitchen of their own, to invite people to an eatinghouse. They are always certain of not exceeding the sum which they think proper to fix for their meals, t since they know, beforehand, the price of each article they may choose to call for. The amount having been once calculated, the inviter can command for the person whom he invites a comfortable, solid, and delicate or dainty meal, which he can moisten with wines of the best quality, according to his circumstances, and with all kinds of liqueurs from the new world. The first restaurateurs were established in Paris, towards the end of the year 1774. We regret it is not in our power at the moment to recollect, for the benefit of modern gastronomers, the name of the founder of these institutions, where you dine à la carte; all we know is, that the bases of this useful institution were laid in the rue de pecheurs; and upon the sign of this father of restorers' house, was formerly read the following inscription in culinary Latin : "O vos qui stomacho laboratis, accurrite; et ego vos res aurabo." 'The inviters who may be pleased to take up their residence at the most eminent restaurateurs of the capital, as well as the guests they often invite there, will not be sorry to know to what the greater number of these establishments are indebted for the fashion which has already inscribed their names in letters of gold in the great book of Gastronomy. Let them know, then, that the Provincial Brothers owe their reputation to the brandade de morue, (a cod-fish stuffed, or rather seasoned with garlic;) Very, to his entrees truffees; Henneven, to the mysterious boudoirs, upon his third floor; and Châtelin, to the finesse of his wines. 'A Peep into Chatelin's. 'The double saloons of this learned patrician, examined with a little tact, present to the eye of the observing guest, a picture worthy of his interest, from the variety of objects which are there assembled. 'In the first place, the bottom of the saloon is ocgrace to the most tender solicitude; her anticipations are equal to all the guests who come, without distinction, to make a stay, shorter or longer, in this kind of temple; she seems also to possess the gift of secondsight, for, with a commanding glance of the eye, the meats which you have most desired in silence upon the card, are brought and laid before you by one of the waiters, even before you have given the smallest intimation of that which you intend to take; just as if it were done by enchantment; and more than one consumer, were he put to the test, would confess that he has not with impunity been seated in a certain place, without having experienced the effects of this species of sorcery on his going away. 'During the reign of Louis XIV., the people of quality frequently invited their friends to dine at a public-cupied by a young lady, who unites the most perfect house. About the beginning of the eighteenth century, literary inen and artists brought into fashion, dining at the cook's shop; since then, it is usually at the restaurateur's, where men of every description, who are not in housekeeping themselves, dine and invite their friends. If indifferent company occasionally be met with at the restaurateur's, it is at least in a pretty place; and as much may be said of some splendid saloons, which are not quite so public. The life of a restaurateur is tedious for those who make a necessity of it; and it is not without its little pleasures for those who are not accustomed to it. The ease which is there met with supersedes the etiquette of invitations; and the dinner which you make at one of these places, is seldom lost upon him who has availed himself of this medium of dining or of inviting a friend. 'Are you going, for instance, to the Cadran Bleu (blue dial)? The waiters, surprised to see you arrive alone, will ask you at first if you are waiting for any one? On replying that you are waiting for a friend, one of them will show you, without taking you, a hall or dining-room, which will admit of a hundred to dine, where you find people: you will there be warmed, served, and lighted, like any other commoner; but, should you ask for a private room, what activity prevails! All the bells in the house are put in motion; the waiters are scudding through the staircases twenty times in a minute, loaded with the most rare viands, the most exquisite wines; but that which is not upon the carte à manger, is still that for which the most is paid. At the first glance at these apartments, it is guessed that it is not customary to dine alone at the restaurateur's on the Boulevard of the Temple, and that generally one only goes there with a friend. 'Should you have it in contemplation to give a dinner to strangers or country people, on whom you would wish to impress a high idea of the establishments of this kind in the capital, and where you are yourself to do the honours of the table, you must take them to the Cafe de Paris. How you will enjoy their astonishment at the sight of those brilliant saloons, where every thing seems arranged to please the eye! Tables of granite, chandeliers of gilded bronze, those vases of flowers which are multiplied by the panes of glass with which the walls are lined, commence an enchantment, which the whiteness of the porcelain, the polish of the crystals, and the vermilion and splendour support, with the art of the cook, during the repast; but which, for the most part, is destroyed the moment the waiter comes in with the bill; for the sight of these kind of prodigies costs dear. 'Do you wish to form an idea how students of different classes, or those of limited incomes, live at Paris upon twelve hundred francs (501) per annum? It is at the restaurateur's, in the Rue St. Jacques, where you must go for this information precisely at four o'clock. You will neither find upon the bill of fare (carte às manger,) potage à la camerany, nor supremes au coulis de perdreaux, nor haris à l'Indienne; but an abundant potage, soup, or stew, containing every possible combination of beef, roasted, boiled, and fricasseed; the inexhaustible gigot aux haricots, and the eternal fricandeau. Burgundy and Medoc have never poured the produce of their rich vintages into the cellars of the restaurateurs of the Latin land; but, to make good this defect, La Brie, Orleans, Gascony, shower down torrents of a wine, coupé and generously baptized, with which, indeed, neither reason nor health have ever found fault. Taking every thing into consideration, there is much less difference between the quality of the wines and the meats, at the most moderate or most celebrated eating-house, than between the prices marked upon their cards respectively. The fore-part of the saloon is usually occupied with solitary eaters, who never invite any body, because they are never invited themselves by any one; for this reason, they call loudly for what they want, wait impatiently, eat precipitately, and pay slowly, even on going away. The lower sides of the saloon are usually furnished with travelling families, who, satisfied with a modest meal, sharpen it with one of those meats which is unknown to them; and they seem to enjoy with pleasure a sight entirely new to their eyes. In the centre of the saloon, and in some measure Flora and Pomona, stands a small table, for the most concealed by a stove, laden with the richest gifts of part occupied with old customers, who frequently obtain a very considerable reduction by the care and delicacy of the little dishes which are presented to them by the hand of the master of the house. Here, then, is the place in question. 'The saloon, upon the first floor, is usually occupied with two lovers; to judge of them by the eagerness of the one, the small faces of the other, and the sensuality of both, pleasure sparkles in their eyes; and by their meal, one may guess the past, and foresee the futhe choice which presides over the composition of ture. 'Lastly, in one of the particular cabinets, are two married people of the same stamp. One may judge, by the shawl which the lady has kept on her shoulders, and the respectable distance which the gentleman observes, that a long time has passed since they had any thing new to say to each other; they had, nevertheless, made up their minds to go to the play en loge grillee. They went in at half-past four, and it is now half-past eight. Not seeing them come down, though they had asked for nothing during three hours, Henri ventures to go into their cabinet-after, however, having tapped at the door with his fore-finger......They are both asleep. 'O ye, who have the good fortune to be invited to dine by a connoisseur at Chatelin's do not go so high; remain below, and place yourselves at the above-mentioned table near the stove, christened in the house by the name of the 8, for two reasons: the first, because --but you know them already! 'Chatelin now advances, and presents himself to your inviter, for he knows well how to distinguish the inviter from the invitee,) his carte à manger bound in veau de Pontoise, with gilt edges. His eyes are seeking to read in yer's to what meats you intend to give the preference. But as this card, from its shape and bulk, might be taken for the supplement to the Dictionnaire de l'Academie, Monsieur Chatelin relieves you from the embarrassment, in which you are suspended, the first course and the entremets, by telling you, in a modest tone, to the tune of the King of Prussia's March," in the following lines, which, as they would lose considerably by any translation, we shall give our readers in the original: "A bon titre je suis Que je fournis ; Poems, Original, Lyrical, and Satirical, containing Indian Reminiscences of the late Sir Toby Rendrag, M. N. S. 12mo., pp. 200. Boyls. London, 1829. THERE is a consistency about this poem which we admire. The thoughts are worthy of the language, the language of the versification, and the spirit in which it is written, of all three. The notes are not at all more stupid than the text, and the text not the least more malicious than the notes. The author's wit cannot accuse his imagination of showing it off to disadvantage, neither can his imagination complain that it suffers injustice in being paired with his understanding. His knowledge of Indian habits is about as extensive as his knowledge of English taste. The following extract will justify our observations: 'Not so your Musselmans—they're lewd, and proud, Jews, Pagans, Christians-for their saint Mahomet! Some reader here may think that bile or spleen That Musselmans are liberal, bold, and zealous ; Like some fond Miss in love, grown sick and mulish, City of Palaces!" I greet thee low, Calcutta! low I greet thy modern walls, Thy drains, rails, tanks, straw huts of Hindoo labour, To see thy" Great House," and what's there a Scarce deigning one side-glance at yon Town-hall. Thy lions rampant, and thy kingly arms, Compared with thee, I've never seen thy brother- Fair is the strand from asses, cows and pigs, This book will give offence to no one except the friends of Lord Byron, whose verse he has adopted, and to those of Mr. Fairlee whose character he has praised. Duelling. The projet de loi in the French Chamber of Deputies is likely to meet with much opposition, from the rigour with which some of its provisions have been made. The projét assigns the following punish-ments: for voluntary homicide, without premeditation or malice prepense, hard labour for life. For killing the antagonist, with premeditation and malice, death. For wounds, producing illness or incapacity for more than twenty days, if without premeditation, imprisonment from one month to two years, with from 16 to 200 francs fine; if with premeditation, imprisonment from two to five years, and from fifty to five hundred francs fine. LECTURES ON EDUCATION, ABOUT a year since, we alluded to a course of lectures upon the subject of Education, which, though foreign gentleman, and though not forced upon public delivered in an obscure part of the metropolis by a notice by any pompous announcement, struck us as displaying an intimate acquaintance with human nature, and embodying more practical wisdom than almost any thing we had ever heard or read upon the subject. In spite of the immense disadvantages under which these lectures were delivered, we are rejoiced that they excited so much attention as to induce Dr. Biber, the gentleman to whom we have alluded, to commence another course next week upon the same all-important subject. From the following paper our readers may form some notion of the range of topics which these lectures will embrace: but we will undertake to say, that, unless by attending his course, they can form no notion of the illustration which these topics are capable of, received from so comprehensive and experienced a mind. The following are the questions which he intends to treat: I. What are the rights and duties of the family and of society at large respecting the education of children belonging to them? II. To what sort and degree of education can every human individual, as such, lay claim, independently of rank, fortune, or any other distinction ? III. How far is the education of a child to be regulated according to his natural capacities, and how far must external circumstances be permitted to affect it? IV. What are the chief obstacles to a more general education of the poor, and what are the leading errors committed in this greatest of all charities, as far as it extends at present? V. What are the chief errors committed in the education of the wealthier classes, and by what means can the education of both poor and rich be made to produce in the course of time a more harmonious state of society? VI. How far has Christianity hitherto been allowed to influence education, and by what means are the difficulties arising from outward distinctions among Christians to be obviated in it? For other information, we refer the reader to the Advertisement. CATALOGUE RAISONNE. Two Lectures on Population. By N. W. Senior, Esq. Saunders and Otley. London, 1829. IN an early Number of our Journal, we shall invite our readers' attention to these interesting lectures, from the pen of a writer who has already done much, and who, we trust, will do much more, to rescue political economy from the hands of empirical teachers, and to give it a stable and scientific character. The Origin of Man, &c. Wilson. London, 1829. THIS work, we understand, is from the pen of a very young lady. It displays a degree of talent which we discussions as these, for it is with that practical meshall rejoice to see otherwise directed; not in such dark taphysics which is concerned in engaging the affections and purifying the conscience, that we always wish to find the female sex occupying themselves, and enlightening us. Nature Displayed, &c. London, 1829. THOUGH We may entertain some doubts respecting the application of Mr. Dufief's system of all languages, we now feel no doubt whatever that it has been most successful in communicating a knowledge of French. The peculiar conventional character of that language prescribes a plan of teaching somewhat different from that which is, perhaps, abstractedly, the most complete and methodical; and we have the assurance of many impartial persons, who have made this (the only fair) trial of Mr. Dufief's system, that it has enabled them to progress very surely and rapidly. The present edition is the ninth. LOVE TENACIOUS OF LIFE. ALL men that live to think and feel- That round it, in the sunset, gleamed; Still pines for something unpossest- But I have sought-nor sought in vain— Nor does the rich possession tire. That, to the conqueror, Heaven can give- To where the souls of heroes live; Of patriot bidding Earth farewell, When he has built his monument, But mixes with the putrid clay. Influence of the senses of animals upon their intelligence. The body, according to Galen, is the organ of the soul; consequently, all the members are of great utility. It is on this account that the members are different, since souls themselves are of a different nature. The bold and courageous lion has powerful teeth and claws; the bull is provided with horns, and the boar with tusks. Timorous animals, such as the hare and stag, are organized to escape from danger by rapid flight. Man, endowed with intelligence, has received from nature hands for his weapons and protection. These instruments he employs in the arts, in war, and in peace. He needs neither horns nor tusks. By means of his hands, he provides for himself shoes, cuirasses, lances, arrows; he constructs walls and houses; he makes clothes, and rivals in this manner, not only the animals which inhabit the earth, but those which fly in the air, or live in the sea. By means of his hands, he writes laws, erects temples and statues, constructs vessels, makes flutes, lyres, knives, pincers, and all sorts of instruments necessary for the arts. It is by these means he transmits his meditations to posterity, while he holds a conversation with Plato, Aristotle, or Hippocrates. The hands, then, are the best things which could have been given to man, as an intelligent being but for this very reason Anaxagoras asserts he is tains, from the same cause, that he is. It is not his not the most intelligent being, whilst Aristotle mainhands which have pointed out the arts to man, it is his understanding. The hands are merely instruments; Thus, it is not the lyre which instructs the musician, nor the pincers which make the smith: yet they are only artists by aid of their intelligence. THE ATHENÆUM AND LITERARY CHRONICLE OF PAG. 249 241 A Story without a Name, Chapter V. 250 Henri III. et sa Cour 251 Continental Education Graham's Chemical Catechism 244 . 246 246 Burford's Pandemonium 253 Natural History of Enthusiasm. Ball. London, 1829. WE had intended to dismiss this work with a brief notice; but, after looking it over, we found that it contained matter for more diligent perusal and ample criticism, which we hope very shortly to bestow upon Catalogue Raisonné it. Apician Morsels Poetry. THE PASSING OF THE BILL. The Passing of the Bill; a New Tragedy. By Mr Shiel. (Still in MS.) WHETHER it be true or not that the Duke of Wellington has directed the Poet Laureate to compose a carmen triumphale on the passing of the Catholic Bill,-that the present high-minded possessor of the sack-butt, unawed, like his official brother, Sir Charles Wetherell, by the nod and field-marshal's uniform of the Premier, has declined the task, and that, in consequence of this obstinacy, the Rev. Mr. Millmann has kindly undertaken to furnish the required number of stanzas, -we have not been able, after making the most diligent inquiries, satisfactorily to ascertain. But, should the state of the case be as is reported, we have every reason to believe that the Professor of Poetry at Oxford will favour us with an early copy of his work, and that we shall be able to lay before our readers a hymn which will send down the name of Mr. Peel to a distant posterity in company with those illustrious characters whom the reverend gentleman has previously delighted to honour-Belshazzar and the Apollo Belvidere. Meantime, a rival to this distinguished poetdivine-professor-has started up in a quarter from which some commemoration of the great recent event might certainly have been looked for. Our readers will hear without surprise, and doubtless with great pleasure, that recent events having emancipated Mr. Shiel from the daily toil which was his portion as long as the great Catholic Parliament continued its sittings, has returned to those pursuits whence his youthful forehead gathered laurels which only the thicker and more spreading wreath which has since been entwined for him could have shaded from public view. Your house, Sir,' he says, in a beautiful dedication to the Manager of the Dublin Theatre,— Your house was the little farm, the rus paternum, where I ploughed the deep furrows of age, and the soft untilled cheek of youth with the ploughshare of no ungenerous or un-Irish tears. But my country demanded its Cincinnatus, and I deserted the peaceful scenes of dramatical invention for the sanguinary field of real tragedy. But the battle is fought; the enemies of Ireland are vanquished; and I return with the spolia opima which I have won in the conflict, to hang them in the hall, which is endeared by a thousand youthful recollections, and was the scene of a thousand youthful triumphs!' Our readers will gather from these remarks, that Mr. Shiel's forthcoming drama is an historical play, and that the subject of it is the PASSING OF THE CATHOLIC BILL. We should be misusing the opportunity which the kindness of an Irish friend has afforded, if we were to waste any time in general criticisms upon the performance of which we are about to give an abstract. We shall merely, therefore, remark, that if in poetical diction, and some of the inferior constituents of dramatical excellence, it falls short of some of Mr. Shiel's earlier works, it displays an attention, even a minute chronological attention, to historical truth, -an adherence to costume, and a skill in seizing situations, which are above all praise, and which must contribute prodigiously to add even to that treble reputation which he has won as a poet, an orator, and an agitator, The play opens about the close of November last, and the first scene is a meeting of the Cabinet Council. The cavillers will, no doubt, complain that this scene too closely assimilates the meetings in Downing-street to those in the Corn Exchange, Dublin: they will inform us, that when twelve Englishmen meet together, it is generally for the purpose of talking, not of speechifying; and probably they will inform us, in a very authoritative manner, that since the commencement of the present premiership oratory is banished, not merely by custom, but by special edict from the Cabinet. All this we think very absurd; for, if the members of the Cabinet do not take offence at the mode in which their proceedings are described, we should like to know who has a right to be offended ; and,as we never heard that the individual members of the Cabinet complained of the reporters in the newspapers for giving coherency to their Parliamentary discourses, we do not think it likely that they should abuse a dramatist who performs a similar service for their ministerial deliberations. And as Mr. Shiel has successfully adopted, and even improved upon, the modern dramatical blank verse, that we are sure it will be impossible to detect the slightest approach to poetical formality in any part of the scene. The first speaker is Lord Bathurst, who expresses himself decidedly hostile to a settlement stitution. He is followed by Lord Ellenborough of the question, as likely to prove fatal to the Conin a somewhat ornate speech, at the commencement of which the Duke of Wellington sinks into a sound slumber. The Chancellor then delivers a powerful harangue, in which he expresses his opinion as a lawyer, that certain Acts do disqualify the Catholic from holding certain offices, which Acts, it is his opinion, the three estates of the realm have the power of removing. But he adds: : 'Power without will, my Lords and Gentlemen, Is nothing both together move the heavens, And could, no doubt, remove the 12th of Charles.' There is a pause for a few minutes, after which Mr. Peel delivers a very long speech, which concludes in the following impressive manner: Thus, Lords and Gentlemen, I've laid before you An abstract of the letters which have reached Your humble servant, (servant of the Crown Also,) touching the state of that poor country, Whereof I once was the prime-secretary. It must be owned things are not as they should be, Nor, as for many reasons, chiefly public, Though some of them referring to myself, I could have wished they were. [Takes out a white pocket kandkerchief, wipes his eyes: Mr. Goulburn having done the same, Mr. Peel proceeds.] Forgive this feeling, And listen while I offer what appears To me, much thinking upon this sad subject, [Lord Ellenborough across the table to Lord Aber deen. He got that from Brougham.' Lord Aberdeen, haughtily: 'No, from Demosthenes: of course you remember Εμοι μεν ουν πολλ-um. But pray let us hear what he is saying.'] And, often reading through both what I've shown you Just now, and likewise suudry documents Which I've received from various private sources, The sagest counsel. It is a wish, my Lords And Gentlemen, a wish most near my heart, That all we do, both elsewhere and in Ireland, May be so done that all our countrymen Should in our measures be content and happy, And for this end I would coerce the Papists, Yet so that e'en the Papists should acknowledge We did them service; I would restrain the fury Of my dear friends the Orangemen, and win Their love, by binding them: for madness Beseems not man or woman, ox or dog. The disaffected I would hang at once, But in a mode which they should own was fair, And even, in their cooler moments, pleasant. This scheme of mild conciliatory coercion, If it be feasible, I think would answer; If not-and here I own a doubt steps in, (For what we have not proved, we cannot tell Whether 'twill do or no,) why then I feel "Twere better that we sought some other plan, And, if that plan be safe, I think 'tis wise That we should make the trial-if unsafe, I think upon the whole we 'd better not. After a few words from Mr. Goulburn, who expresses himself perfectly in accordance with the sentiments of Mr. Peel, Mr. Herries delivers an anti-Catholic oration, in the midst of which the Duke of Wellington suddenly starts, rubs his eyes, and awakes. The whole council is in some alarm, and Mr. Herries hastily resumes his seat. The Duke then rises, and states in a few words, which are very properly given in prose, that he is rejoiced, to find such a unanimous feeling in favour of concession pervading the Cabinet, as his own opinions had long been made up, and as he had brought with him the heads of the measure, which he thought likely to accomplish the object; a measure which he had no doubt his Majesty, acting by their advice, would be happy to recommend in his speech to Parliament. The Council then breaks up; and Lord Bathurst remarks to Mr. Herries as they leave the chamber, that little reliance could be placed upon public men if they allowed their private convictions to interfere with their sense of public duty; in which observation Mr. Herries most cordially concurs. After this, the scene changes to Ireland, and we find ourselves at a meeting of the Order of Liberators. During the celebration of divine service, or rather in the middle of a second sermon by Mr. Steele, the Brunswickers break into the chapel. A battle follows, which is de scribed with uncommon power, but which we have not space to extract at length, nor the heart to spoil by selections. The scene terminates with an agreement between the two parties that they will keep the peace with each other, and argue the question in recitative. This ingenious artifice introduces the chorus, which consists half of Catholics-half of Brunswickers, who always appear in the intervals of the dialogue, even when the previous scene happens to be in London, to carry on the interest of the piece, and enlighten the people of England respecting the real state of their unhappy country. The first chorus brings the history down to the landing of St. Patrick; and, though we have always scrupled to express a decided opinion upon the general question, we must say that so far we think the reasonings urged in favour of Emancipation are considerably more powerful than those on the other side. On the rising of the curtain at the commencement of the second act, the Marquis of Douro is discovered walking pensively in the garden behind Apsley House, contemplating the new buildings. During this walk, much is left, as in the case of Lord Burleigh, to the imagination of the reader; for the young nobleman only utters two words from which the subject of his meditations may be gathered. These words are, My father!' and Miss Lawless!' after pronouncing which last syllables, he rushes madly into the house. That we may finish this delicate part of the subject at once, this part of his poem, which, while we admire we quote the apology which Mr. Shiel makes for it as excellent art, upon personal grounds we must condemn. In imagining,' he says, attachment between two interesting young persons, with both of whom I am utterly unacquainted, and to one of whom I have reason to believe there is no counterpart in the real world, I have been anxious, on the one hand, to give a certain sentimental interest to my play during its progress; and, on the other, by omitting the usual termination of such proceedings, to show how the streamlets of individual attachment are, at the present moment, lost in the great ocean swell of national rejoicing.' These two loving souls are so overcome with exultation at the passing of the Bill, that, as Lord Douro expresses it, in his speech at the close of the fifth act an Marriage were dull after such ecstacy.' After all, the best excuse for the introduction of such allusions is, that the parties, though desperately smitten, do not meet once in the course of the play, and, it appears, never did meet before. We are then transported to Oxford, on the first day of the session,-an admirable contrivance, by which the reader is saved from the too sudden shock of a direct announcement from the throne. The debate in the Convocation is characteristically dull; though nothing can be much better imagined than the arch solemn manner in which (after the petition is voted) the Vice-Chancellor takes Mr, Peel's letter from his pocket and reads it to the assembled Jons. We hope to see Liston in the part. The Chorus then enters, and traces the rise and progress of potatoes. Besides the research displayed in this composition, the versification is often very striking, and the Doric is more strictly preserved than in any other of the Choruses. The third act opens with a fine dialogue between William Cobbett and a man from the West Country. The former having given his friend a general account of the intention of Ministers, the farmer responds : 'Man.-Now, master Cobbett, I should like mainly to know whether you a'rnt chousing I, for to speak the plain truth, and I hope it won't give you no offence seeing as I mean none.-I say, I can't see as how they can be going to let in the Papishers when it is only three weeks next Wednesday, for I mind the day well, since I and my wife, and my three children, put our crosses to a petition to keep them out. And twan't a common petition either, Mr. Cobbett, for 'twere written upon a long piece of white parchment as smooth as my child's chin, and tied with blue ribbon at the corners. Now I don't see exactly how these two things agrees together. Mr. Cobbett.-Aud did they really tell you, my good friend, that the people in the London Parliament House would care about your Devonshire petitions? Man.-Why, as for its being a Devonshire petition, if you means anything slightly to the Devonshire people, I don't think its very civil, and I should not mind, though you be a great man, and writes a great deal about Indi silks. Mr. Cobbett.-Indian Corn, Thomas, if you please. India silks indeed! do you think I would write about their poor flimsy, ragged, beggarly, salt and water Leadenhall-street taffeta ? 'Man.-Well, well, Indian corn then ; but, as I was saying, if you abuses Devonshire I am your man; and, as for a petition 'twas signed by more great folks than you ever seed in your life, I'll answer for it. There was Squire Bastard, and Sir Thomas no, he is not a Protestant, and our parson-he is an honourable in his own right, and the Bishop of Exeter along with Lord Rolle, a score other peers of the realm who signed their names out straight and plain without putting any Lord at all before them, as if they knewed the people we were petitioning, and could ax them any thing as soon as they look at them, and tell them they might go to the devil if they did not give them what they wanted. 'Mr. Cobbett.-Thomas, were you paid your wages last Saturday? 'Man.-To be sure I was: what for do you want to know? 'Mr. Cobbett. Have you any of the money about you that you were paid in? 'Man.-Yes, Sir, what I have saved up for four weeks to come up to London with. (Produces a fivepound Bank of England note. 'Mr. C. (looks at it for some minutes, then throws it down and stamps about for some moments with great vehemence. The countryman follows him with his eyes, which exhibit much astonishment and perturbation.) -The cowardly, dirty, treacherous, murderous boroughmonger. Pay a poor man who has been slaving and starving for twelve hours a day for all the week, except the one day on which they send him to catch cold by sitting on one of the wretched seats they call free benches, in the churches which they stole from the Catholics; and all that he may hear a canting, hypocritical, mean-spirited sermon from one of the fat, feasting, tithing, thieving skovel hats, to pay a man who has gone through all these miseries with such stuff as this. And they had the impudence to ask you to sign one of their petitions after this? Man (evidently alarmed.)—Why, gracious me, Mr. Cobbett, the bank that that's drawn on ha'nt stopped, has it? 'Mr. C.-Not stopped, my good fellow, not stopped! yes, for the last thirty years. This rag, my good fellow, is worth just that, (snapping his fingers,) and no fellow, I am sorry for your e of Registers in your 'Man.-Oh, thank you, Sir; then, if I take them to Mr. C.-Give you gold for them, will they? No, bett? 'Mr. C.-Why it's just possible, you may find as great a fool as yourself to take it of you. Man.—I hope I shall; but rot me if I ever vote for the parson again if he does not right me for this. [Exeunt.]' We pass over all the scenes in the two Houses as perfectly insufferable: indeed, we hope Mr. Shiel will be induced to retrench those parts of his play with an unsparing hand. From these, the scene between the Duke of Wellington and the Marchioness of Conyngham, at the close of the third act, is a delightful relief. The act closes with a chorus, in which the different clauses of Poyning's Act are debated seriatim. An allusion to the passing Act is most happily introduced by way of contrast. The fourth act brings us to Battersea Fields; 'You never eat their bread,' &c. The fifth act flags less than might be expected. 'Hereditary Bondsmen ! know ye not, Would ye be free, yourselves must strike the blow?' A STORY WITHOUT A NAME. (Continued from page 220.) or contained equal portions of cleverness and cunning, would have been a fair subject of speculation to a person looking at her face for the first time. It was a face that no person would have cared to look at twice for any pleasure that it afforded; but which was full of useful learning,' as the lawyers, say to those who were making up their minds upon some doubtful questions in physiog nomy. Her figure was short, but not so short as to hinder her from drawing it into an attitude of dignity when she was introduced to a new visitor, asked questions about her system of education, or thrown into the company of a sister of the craft. Nothing, however, could be further from dignity than her ordinary quick springing step, a characteristic never wanting in short persons who have a considerable sense of their own importance, and belonging par excellence to the editors of weekly newspapers, young templars, and ladies who are much in the habit of being consulted upon affairs of the heart. M'Kinnon, whose acquaintance with the indications of character in the form and countenance, was naturally not more profound than his knowledge of the character itself, did not form many theories about his new governess. He was previously determined to be pleased; and, as he saw something in her face which looked to him like talent, and as he did not observe any symptoms there of a deficiency in good-nature, he easily persuaded himself that the dynasty of the new inmate would be of an unmingled advantage to his dear child. By her first conversation with him, Miss Corrie contrived still more completely to establish herself in his good opinion. 'I am about to intrust to your care, Miss Corrie, the only possession of any value which I have left to me in the world. If I thought it were safe in my keeping, it should never have been given into other hands. In the foolishness of my vanity, I may once have flattered myself that I was capable of such a charge. I may have deceived myself into the belief that love would stand me in the stead of knowledge; that with nothing but a father's affection for my guide, I could grope my way through all the windings and intricacies of the female heart, and that with no other clue to the difficulties which must beset my child's path than is supplied by the quickness of a father's apprehension-I could anticipate them all-I fancied that my prayers would be effectual with heaven to grant to my weakness that assistance without which the greatest strength must prove ineffectual. But I have been cured, Madam, of this presumptuous confidence: I shall be trifling with my daughter's safety, if I any longer trust to such feeble protection as my own. I place her under the guardianship of one who, I am sure, will remember what a serious and solemn trust she is undertaking. 'With such feelings, my dear Sir, it is quite impossible that you could be an unfit person to manage the education of a daughter. You have been too diffident of your powers; for you could never have been aware of those mysteries in the character of our sex which you speak of, if you had not studied us very deeply.' 'No, Miss Corrie, I assure you my ignorance is not affected; I feel how little I am fit for such a task.' 'I am very rude to interrupt you,' rejoined the governess; but you must allow me to say that, on this subject, I cannot take even your testimony. I have seen something of pretenders to a knowledge of human nature, and I would venture to hope that I am myself not a pretender; but give me leave to say that there are in the remarks you have just made indications which I cannot mistake, that you have sounded the very deepest recesses of the female heart.' ་ My experience of your sex, Madam, has been but limited; and I cannot claim such an extrs |