him such a blow on the collar bone, that he weens it hath cracked asunder;' although this pugilistic damsel afterwards makes a nearer approach to our usual notions of feminine character, first by cheering her antagonist with a gracious glance or two, and then by the gentle and significant hint, conveyed by the action of treading on his toes beneath the table. * But we do think that the stern and devoted courage of the Northern female, would have afforded a more worthy subject for Mr Herbert's verse, than his timid blushing school-girl of a princess, with her complexion à la Psyché.

In the same manner, and with the same view of conciliating his readers, Mr Herbert has taken some pains to show that he is a freethinker, and an unbeliever in the Edda. But he should know that scepticism has no business in poetry. It is singularly injudicious in a poet to make a show of disbelieving in the existence of his own creatures. If Virgil has been censured for leading neas through the ivory gate, we know not how to excuse Mr Herbert's awkward attempt to explain away Helga's visit to Hell's chilling air,' by giving us to understand that wiser heads were well aware that she never stirred out of bed, and that the whole of the wonderous scene, was nothing more than the wild fancies' arising from a brain fever; although with strange inconsistency, the exploits of Hialmar, upon which the whole action of the poem turns, arise immediately out of obedience to counsel, which is thus represented as the offspring of delirious raving.

Mr Herbert's frequent violations of what may be termed the costume of thought and language, must also be ascribed to his known system. We do not think it absolutely necessary that every one should follow up the example of the Noble author, to whose poems Meninsky's Lexicon Arabico-Persico-Turcicum' forms such an indispensable appendage; and who listens to the bulbul, when Christian folks would have been better pleased with the strains of the nightingale. Nor are we prepared to maintain that Mr Herbert was bound to restrict himself to such similes and such modes of speech only, as are naturalized with

*The grave waggery in which the author of the Wilkina Saga indulges, when he recounts the steps adopted by the lady to convince Thetlief that she bears him no ill will, is abundantly ludicrous. After relating her midnight visit, he inquires-' med hyeris tha? thad munu their hyggia er heyra saguna, or nör sittia, or flestu vilia a ferlegra veg snua, ad how mundi sialfa sic framm bioda :Nei,-thad firs sva förti. till thess geik how thangad ad skemta hanum med fagri-m domi-sagom, or adrum kurteislegum rödum, theim er hin kunni betur enn flestur meyiar adiar, or hilt ad hon vissi, ad minni sottu flors tva menn samann i reikin enn einnsamann.' c. 97

.

in the polar circle. But we really cannot allow love-lorn Philomel' to warble in the verse inspired by the Lord of the ⚫ coal-black ravens' Hugginn and Munnin. The poet may range as much as he pleases between Thylémark' and Dovré-fell; and from Kiolen's ridge to either sca;' to Bothnian gulf,' and Helsingé;' but the sight of the young cheeks, polished foreheads,' and lovely forms' of the Swedish maids, cannot be admitted as a sufficient apology for flitting away in rapt enthusiasm to deep Mænalian shades,' Cythera's echoing plain,' and Delos' rocky shore:' And young Desire,' who is a very finical young gentleman, come where he will, has no business whatever to string' the rich gems' that glow round the snowy neck of Freya, the granddaughter of the giant Thiassa of Drontheim. All this is inexcusable in one who we know has drank deeply of the wells of English undefiled,' and who has invigorated himself by the draught. Mr Herbert cannot plead poverty. He is rich in the treasures of better times; and he should not amuse himself by passing this flimsy accommodation paper, because it can be more easily folded in a lady's ridicule, than a weighty well filled purse of rose-nobles and bezaunts.

However, we must confess that we gladly hail the re-appearance of the Scald-though he has been persuaded to deck himself out in fantastic and effeminate attire. Like the Prince disguised in Flora Macdonald's petticoats, we can still recognize him by his haughty carriage and masculine stride.

ART. VIII. 1. Historical Memoirs of my own Time, from 1772 to 1784. By Sir N. W. WRAXALL, Baronet. First and Second Editions.

2. Political Life of Viscount Barrington. By SHUTE, Bishop

of Durham.

3. MORGAN'S Memoirs of Dr Price.

4. Memorial to the Princess Sophia. Ascribed to GILBERT BURNET, Bishop of Salisbury.

THE

HESE four publications must be owned to be held together by a very loose and slender tie. They have scarcely any thing in comnion, but that they all profess to be contributions towards the modern, and chiefly towards the very recent history of Great Britain. But we have joined them, because they all seemed to deserve some notice,-though the majority may be despatched very summarily.

To begin with the first in time, and the last in our order An Account of the Constitution of England, written by Bishop Burnet in the beginning of the eighteenth century, and intended for the private use of the Princess Sophia, would certainly be a most curious document, and could hardly fail to be instructive. But we are stopped, in the threshold, by doubts whether this volume be a genuine work of Burnet. That the manuscript was found in the library at Hanover by Mr Feder the librarian, and that it was a communication made to the Electress by an English correspondent, are undoubted facts. But that the correspondent was Burnet, is a proposition supported by very scanty proof. On closely examining the introductory advertisement, it appears, that the only external evidence is the assertion of Mr Feder, that the handwriting resembles that of the Bishop's letters to the Electress and to Leibtnitz, preserved in the same library.' This is the opinion of a respectable German scholar indeed, but formed on comparison of English manuscripts of more than a century old. The publisher has, to be sure, given us a fac-simile of a letter of Burnet; but he has, unfortunately, given no fac-simile of the manuscript of the me morial; nor does he inform us where that manuscript is deposited, or how it may be compared with the well-known manuscripts of Burnet, by persons more familiar with his hand-writing, and more competent to judge of the resemblance of English hands than any German can be supposed to be. The memorial is signed by G. S.; which Mr Feder supposes to be an abbreviation of Gilbert Sarum. But the Bishop's letters are all signed Gilbert Sarum; nor do we know any instance of such an abbrevi ation in an English Episcopal signature. The initials of a name are a natural saving of trouble in the signature of a familiar note. But the initials of a title of ecclesiastical dignity, are a singular subscription to a composition addressed to a Princess, who was presumptive heiress to the Crown of England. The memorial is dated from my lodgings at Lambeth, rather an improbable description of the town residence of the Bishop of Salisbury. The letters, on the contrary, have no such strange addition as lodgings, and bear date either at St James's or Westminster, where he was likely to have resided.

We wish that Mr Feder had not taken it upon him to say, 'that 'the style, sentiments and principles of the Memorial would of 'themselves be almost sufficient to prove the author.' We shall not be tempted by his example positively to affirm the contrary. But the internal evidence is certainly unfavourable. The memori alist has the submissive manner of a subaltern, unaccustomed to address great persons; quite unlike the unceremonious familiarity of the common style of Burnet, who had been fifteen years Bishop

of Salisbury, and for more than thirty had lived on terms of intimacy with the first men of his age. The memorialist says of himself -I am for my own part but a private person; and am too conscious of my want of ability, ever to hope to rise to any great or ' eminent employment. Is this the tone of a man like Burnet; or can the description be reconciled either to his station or his age? It would be ridiculous for one of the most eminent Prelates of the Church of England, at the age of sixty, to describe himself as a private person;' or to disclaim hopes of rising to great employment.' But the memorialist expressly calls himself a layman and a commoner- For the Commons of England, of which I am myself a part, and never hope to be other.' He speaks of the clergy in the character of a layman- I love their coat, especially when I see it in the pulpit.' This last phrase pretty clearly insinuates his dislike of those clergymen who meddle in worldly affairs. But he has not left this to insinuation. He openly condemns those clergymen that soar above the simplicity of their own profession, and love to be meddling in state affairs, for which their education and calling do not qualify them.' "Could Burnet, writing in his own name to an old correspondent, thus satyrize himself? The manner in which the Memorial speaks of King William-of Queen Mary-of Archbishop Tillotson-and of Lord Russell, is formal and author-like; perfectly unlike that in which Burnet must have spoken of those to whom he had been closely and affectionately attached, and to whom the Electress owed her hopes of the Crown of England. If Burnet had written to the Princess Sophia in 1703, it seems incredible that he should not have been even unconsciously betrayed into an allusion to any of the events then passing around him, and so interesting both to himself and his illustrious correspondent. Burnet was indeed a Whig, and consequently a friend of limited monarchy: But his zeal for Royalism was not so furious as to condemn the republication of Harrington and Milton; nor was his relish for wit so keen, that he was likely to select the royalist poem of Hudibras as a fit present to a Princess who had a revolutionary title to the Crown.

The insignificance and feebleness of the work itself, form a considerable presumption against the supposition that it was written by Burnet; an incorrect writer indeed, and a partizan, who writes with the same feelings with which he acted, but a very able as well as most honest man,-perhaps the most amusing memoir writer in our language, and a person who could not have treated any subject without leaving traces of his superiority, which are not discoverable in the trifling volume before us. Nothing could have justified so serious a vindication of doubt, on a question in itself so worthless, but the importance of guard

ing the materials of English history from the danger of documents of doubtful authority being admitted among their number. The case is trifling; but the example may be important. From his frequent reference to law books, and from minute details of genealogy and heraldry, it seems rather probable that the memorialist was a (probably unemployed) lawyer; and as he mentions a performance of his of 1702, it is also probable that some diligent pamphlet hunter, by the help of the initials G. S., might identify the man. The error of a German man of letters, on an English manuscript, is very venial; but it is surprising that a considerable bookseller in London should be so unfortunate in his literary friends, as to find none capable of ascertaining the genuineness of this memorial, or of detecting its spuriousness.

The memoirs of Dr Price ought to have been a contribution of value to our political, and even to our literary history. He was a writer of respectable talents, and of very considerable influence over public opinion, partly arising from his excellent moral character, from his modesty, simplicity, integrity and piety, which justly excites an honourable prejudice in favour of his opinions. If the principles of his theoretical politics were not always tenable, yet the tendency of his political writings was in general salutary, as a check against opposite errors, less generous and more dangerous; his sentiments were noble, and his practice was disinterested. On the wealth and happiness of nations, he retained the vulgar prejudices which have descended from Roman declaimers; but as a political arithmetician, his reputation was merited. In style he was perhaps the best writer among the Dissenters, an eminently respectable body of men, and one of the most important component parts of English society, but generally more distinguished for understanding and knowledge, than for taste and elegance. His life was more connected with the greatest events of his age, than usually happens to men in so private a station, and of habits so retired and peaceable. His connexion with the American and French revolutions, his long friendship with Franklin, his correspondence with Turgot, and at last the hostility of Burke, rendered him conspicuous during life, and entitle him to some place in the history of his times.

For these reasons, we turned to this work with considerable expectation: But Mr Morgan has committed some unfortunate errors in his biographical system, which deprive it of its principal interest and importance. He tells us, that he has not entered into minute details,' which he considers as of little consequence;' and that he has been ve ry sparing in the use of his private correspondence;' or, in