and reserved upon general questions, the historian has restricted
himself almost entirely to the narrative form, and has seldom indulged
us with, what we esteem the principal ornament of elegant history,
reflexion and character. The situation of Dr. Robertson may suggest to
us an obvious, though incompetent, motive in the present instance.
Writing for his contemporaries and countrymen, he could not treat the
resistance of America, as the respectable struggle of an emerging
nation. Writing for posterity, he could not denominate treason and
rebellion, that which success, at least, had stamped with the signatures
of gallantry and applause. But such could not have been the motives of
the writer in that part of the history of America, which was given to
the world some years ago. Perhaps Dr. Robertson was willing to try, how
far his abilities could render the most naked story agreeable and
interesting. We will allow him to have succeeded. But we could well have
spared the experiment.
The style of this performance is sweet and eloquent. We hope however
that we shall not expose ourselves to the charge of fastidiousness, when
we complain that it is rather too uniformly so. The narrative is indeed
occasionally enlivened, and the language picturesque. But in general we
search in vain for some roughness to relieve the eye, and some sharpness
to provoke the palate. One full and sweeping period succeeds another,
and though pleased and gratified at first, the attention gradually
becomes languid.
It would not perhaps be an unentertaining employment to compare the
style of Dr. Robertson's present work with that of his first
publication, the admired History of Scotland. The language of that
performance is indeed interspersed with provincial and inelegant modes
of expression, and the periods are often unskilfully divided. But it has
a vigour and spirit, to which such faults are easily pardoned. We can
say of it, what we can scarcely say of any of the author's later
publications, that he has thrown his whole strength into it.
In that instance however he entered the lists with almost the only
historian, with whom Dr. Robertson must appear to disadvantage, the
incomparable Hume. In the comparison, we cannot but acknowledge that the
eloquence of the former speaks the professor, not the man of the world.
He reasons indeed, but it is with the reasons of logic; and not with the
acuteness of philosophy, and the intuition of genius. Let not the living
historian be offended. To be second to Hume, in our opinion might
satisfy the ambition of a Livy or a Tacitus.
ARTICLE III.
SECRET HISTORY OF THEODORE ALBERT MAXIMILIAN, PRINCE OF HOHENZOLLERN
SIGMARINGEN. 12MO.
This agreeable tale appears to be the production of the noble author of
the Modern Anecdote. It is told with the same humour and careless
vivacity. The design is to ridicule the cold pedantry that judges of
youth, without making any allowance for the warmth of inexperience, and
the charms of beauty. Such readers as take up a book merely for
entertainment, and do not quarrel with an author that does not
scrupulously confine himself within the limits of moral instruction,
will infallibly find their account in it.
The following specimen will give some idea of the manner in which the
story is told.
"The learned Bertram was much scandalized at the dissipation that
prevailed in the court of Hohenzollern. He was credibly informed that
the lord treasurer of the principality, who had no less than a revenue
of 109l. 7s. 10-3/4d. committed to his management, sometimes forgot the
cares of an exchequer in the arms of a mistress. Nay, fame had even
whispered in his ear, that the reverend confessor himself had an
intrigue with a certain cook-maid. But that which beyond all things,
afflicted him was the amour of Theodore with the beautiful Wilhelmina.
What, cried he, when he ruminated upon the subject, can it be excusable
in the learned Bertram, whose reputation has filled a fourth part of the
circle of Swabia, who twice bore away the prize in the university of
Otweiler, to pass these crying sins in silence? It shall not be said.
Thus animated, he strided away to the antichamber of Theodore. Theodore,
who was all graciousness, venerated the reputation of Bertram, and
ordered him to be instantly admitted. The eyes of the philosopher
flashed with anger. Most noble prince, cried he, I am come to inform
you, that you must immediately break with the beautiful Wilhelmina.
Theodore stared, but made no answer. The vices of your highness, said
Bertram, awake my indignation. While you toy away your hours in the lap
of a w----e, the vast principality of Hohenzollern Sigmaringen hastens
to its fall. Reflect, my lord; three villages, seven hamlets, and near
eleven grange houses and cottages, depend upon you for their political
prosperity. Alas, thought Theodore, what are grange houses and cottages
compared with the charms of Wilhelmina? Shall the lewd tricks of a
wanton make you forget the jealous projects of the prince of
Hohenzollern Hechingen, the elder branch of your illustrious house?
Theodore pulled out his watch, that he might not outstay his
appointment. My lord, continued Bertram, ruin impends over you. Two
peasants of the district of Etwingen have already been seduced from
their loyalty, a nail that supported the chart of your principality has
fallen upon the ground, and your father confessor is in bed with a
cook-maid. Theodore held forth his hand for Bertram to kiss, and flew
upon the wings of desire to the habitation of Wilhelmina."
ARTICLE IV.
LOUISA, OR MEMOIRS OF A LADY OF QUALITY. BY THE AUTHOR OF EVELINA AND
CECILIA. 3 VOLS. 12MO.
There scarcely seems to exist a more original genius in the present age
than this celebrated writer. In the performances with which she has
already entertained the public, we cannot so much as trace a feature of
her illustrious predecessors; the fable, the characters, the incidents
are all her own. In the mean time they are not less happy, than they are
new. A Belfield, a Monckton, a Morrice, and several other personages of
the admired Cecilia, will scarcely yield to the most finished draughts
of the greatest writers. In comedy, in tragedy, Miss Burney alike
excels. And the union of them both in the Vauxhall scene of the death of
Harrel ranks among the first efforts of human genius. Of consequence we
may safely pronounce that the reputation of this lady is by no means
dependent upon fashion or caprice, but will last as long as there is
understanding to discern, and taste to relish the beauties of fiction.
It must be acknowledged that her defects are scarcely less conspicuous
than her excellencies. In her underplots she generally miscarries. We
can trace nothing of Miss Burney in the stories of Macartney, Albany,
and the Hills. Her comedy sometimes deviates into farce. The character
of Briggs in particular, though it very successfully excites our
laughter, certainly deforms a work, which in its principal constituents
ranks in the very highest species of composition. Her style is often
affected, and in the serious is sometimes so laboured and figurative, as
to cost the reader a very strict attention to discover the meaning,
without perfectly repaying his trouble. These faults are most
conspicuous in Cecilia, which upon the whole we esteem by much her
greatest performance. In Evelina she wrote more from inartificial
nature. And we are happy to observe in the present publication, that the
masculine sense, by which Miss Burney is distinguished, has raised her
almost wholly above these little errors. The style of Louisa is more
polished than that of Evelina, and more consonant to true taste than
that of Cecilia.
The principal story of Louisa, like that of Cecilia, is very simple, but
adorned with a thousand beautiful episodes. As the great action of the
latter is Cecilia's sacrifice of fortune to a virtuous and laudable
attachment, so that of the former is the sacrifice of rank, in the
marriage of the heroine to a young man of the most distinguished merit,
but neither conspicuous by birth, nor favoured by fortune. The event,
romantic and inconsistent with the manners of polished society as it may
appear, is introduced by such a train of incidents, that it is
impossible not to commend and admire the conduct of the heroine.
Her character is that of inflexible vivacity and wit, accompanied with a
spice of coquetry and affectation. And though this line of portrait
seemed exhausted by Congreve and Richardson, we will venture to
pronounce Louisa a perfect original. It is impossible to describe such a
character in the abstract without recollecting Millamant and Lady G. But
in reading this most agreeable novel, you scarcely think of either. As
there is no imitation, so there are not two expressions in the work,
that can lead from one to the other. Louisa is more amiable than the
former, and more delicate and feminine than the latter.
Mr. Burchel, the happy lover, is an author, a young man of infinite
genius, of romantic honour, of unbounded generosity. Lord Raymond, the
brother of Louisa, becomes acquainted with him in his travels, by an
incident in which Mr. Burchel does him the most essential service. Being
afterwards introduced to his sister, and being deeply smitten with her
beauty and accomplishments, he quits the house of lord Raymond abruptly,
with a determination entirely to drop his connexion. Sometime after, in
a casual and unexpected meeting, he saves the life of his mistress. In
the conclusion, his unparalleled merit, and his repeated services
surmount every obstacle to an union.
Besides these two there are many other characters happily imagined.
Louisa is involved in considerable distress previous to the final
catastrophe. The manner in which her gay and sportive character is
supported in these scenes is beyond all commendation. But the extract we
shall give, as most singular in its nature, relates to another
considerable female personage, Olivia. As the humour of Louisa is lively
and fashionable, that of Olivia is serious and romantic. Educated in
perfect solitude, she is completely ignorant of modern manners, and
entertains the most sovereign contempt for them. Full of sentiment and
sensibility, she is strongly susceptible to every impression, and her
conduct is wholly governed by her feelings. Trembling at every leaf, and
agonized at the smallest accident, she is yet capable, from singularity
of thinking, of enterprises the most bold and unaccountable. Conformably
to this temper, struck with the character of Burchel, and ravished with
his address and behaviour, she plans the most extraordinary attempt upon
his person. By her orders he is surprised in a solitary excursion, after
some resistance actually seized, and conducted blindfold to the house of
his fair admirer. Olivia now appears, professes her attachment, and lays
her fortune, which is very considerable, at his feet. Unwilling however
to take him by surprise, she allows him a day for deliberation, and
insists upon his delivering at the expiration of it, an honest and
impartial answer. His entertainment is sumptuous.
In the mean time, a peasant, who at a distance was witness to the
violence committed upon Burchel, and had traced him to the house of
Olivia, carries the account of what he had seen to Raymond Place. The
company, which, in the absence of lord Raymond, consisted of Louisa, Mr.
Bromley, an uncle, Sir Charles Somerville, a suitor, and Mr. Townshend,
a sarcastic wit, determine to set off the next morning for the house of
the ravisher. This is the scene which follows.
"Alarmed at the bustle upon the stairs, Olivia, more dead than
alive, pressed the hand of Burchel with a look of inexpressible
astonishment and mortification, and withdrew to the adjoining
apartment.
"The door instantly flew open. Burchel advanced irresolutely a
few steps towards the company, bowed, and was silent.
"The person that first entered was Mr. Bromley. He instantly
seized hold of Burchel, and shook him very heartily by the hand.
"Ha, my boy, said he, have we found you? Well, and how? safe and
sound? Eh? clapping him upon the shoulder.
"At your service, sir, answered Burchel, with an air of
embarrassment and hesitation.
"It was not altogether the right thing, methinks, to leave us
all without saying why, or wherefore, and stay out all night.
Why we thought you had been murdered. My niece here has been in
hysterics.
"'Pon honour, cried sir Charles, you are very facetious. But we
heard, Mr. Burchel, you were ran away with. It must have been
very alarming. I vow, I should have been quite fluttered. Pray,
sir, how was it?
"Why, indeed, interposed Mr. Townshend, the very relation seemed
to disturb sir Charles. For my part, I was more alarmed for him
than for Miss Bromley.
"Well, but, returned Bromley, impatiently, it is a queer affair.
I hope as the lady went so far, you were not shy. You have not
spoiled all, and affronted her.
"Oh, surely not, exclaimed Townshend, you do not suspect him of
being such a boor. Doubtless every thing is settled by this
time. The lady has a fine fortune, Burchel; poets do not meet
with such every day; Miss Bromley, you look pale.
"Ha! Ha! Ha! you do me infinite honour, cried Louisa, making him
a droll curtesy; what think you, sir Charles?
"'Pon my soul, I never saw you look so bewitchingly.
"Well, but my lad, cried Bromley, you say nothing, don't answer
a single question. What, mum's the word, eh?
"Indeed, sir, I do not know,--I do not understand--the affair is
entirely a mystery to myself--it is in the power of no one but
Miss Seymour to explain it.
"Well, and where is she? where is she?
"O I will go and look her, cried Louisa; will you come, Sir
Charles; and immediately tripped out of the room. Sir Charles
followed.
"Olivia had remained in too much confusion to withdraw farther
than the next room; and upon this new intrusion, she threw
herself upon a sopha, and covered her face with her hands.
"O here is the stray bird, exclaimed Louisa, fluttering in the
meshes.
"Mr. Bromley immediately entered; Mr. Townshend followed;
Burchel brought up the rear.
"My dearest creature, cried Louisa, do not be alarmed. We are
come to wish you joy; and seized one of her hands.
"Well, but where's the parson? exclaimed Bromley--What, has
grace been said, the collation served, and the cloth removed?
Upon my word, you have been very expeditious, Miss.
"My God, Bromley, said Townshend, do not reflect so much upon
the ladies modesty. I will stake my life they were not to have
been married these three days.
"Olivia now rose from the sopha in unspeakable agitation, and
endeavoured to defend herself. Gentlemen, assure
yourselves,--give me leave to protest to you,--indeed you will
be sorry--you are mistaken------Oh Miss Bromley, added she, in a
piercing voice, and threw her arms eagerly about the neck of
Louisa.
"Mind them not, my dear, said Louisa; you know, gentlemen, Miss
Seymour is studious; it was a point in philosophy she wished to
settle; that's all, Olivia; and kissed her cheek.
"Or perhaps, added Townshend,--the lady is young and
inexperienced--she wanted a comment upon the bower scene in
Cleopatra.
"Olivia suddenly raised her head and came forward, still leaning
one arm upon Louisa. Hear me, cried she; I will be heard. What
have I done that would expose me to the lash of each unlicenced
tongue? What has there been in any hour of my life, upon which
for calumny to fix her stain? Of what loose word, of what act of
levity and dissipation can I be convicted? Have I not lived in
the solitude of a recluse? Oh, fortune, hard and unexampled!
"Deuce take me, cried sir Charles, whispering Townshend, if I
ever saw any thing so handsome.
"Olivia stood in a posture firm and collected, her bosom heaving
with resentment; but her face was covered with blushes, and her
eyes were languishing and sorrowful.
"For the present unfortunate affair I will acknowledge the
truth. Mr. Burchel to me appeared endowed with every esteemable
accomplishment, brave, generous, learned, imaginative, and
tender. By what nobler qualities could a female heart be won?
Fashion, I am told, requires that we should not make the
advances. I reck not fashion, and have never been her slave.
Fortune has thrown him at a distance from me. It should have
been my boast to trample upon her imaginary distinctions. I
would never have forced an unwilling hand. But if constancy,
simplicity and regard could have won a heart, his heart had been
mine. I know that the succession of external objects would have
made the artless virtues of Olivia pass unheeded. It was for
that I formed my little plan. I will not blush for a scheme that
no bad passion prompted. But it is over, and I will return to my
beloved solitude with what unconcern I may. God bless you, Mr.
Burchel; I never meant you any harm: and in saying this, she
advanced two steps forward, and laid her hand on his.
"Burchel, without knowing what he did, fell on one knee and
kissed it.
"This action revived the confusion of Olivia; she retreated, and
Louisa took hold of her arm. Will you retire, said Louisa? You
are a sweet good creature. Olivia assented, advanced a few steps
forward, and then with her head half averted, took a parting
glance at Burchel, and hurried away.
"A strange girl this, said Bromley! Devil take me, if I know
what to make of her.
"I vow, cried sir Charles, I am acquainted with all the coteries
in town, and never met with any thing like her.
"Why, she is as coming, rejoined the squire, as a milk-maid, and
yet I do not know how she has something that dashes one too.
"Ah, cried sir Charles, shaking his head, she has nothing of the
manners of the _grand monde_.
"That I can say nothing to, said Bromley, but, in my mind, her
behaviour is gracious and agreeable enough, if her conduct were
not so out of the way.
"What think you, Burchel, said Townshend, she is handsome,
innocent, good tempered and rich; excellent qualities, let me
tell you, for a wife.
"I think her, said Burchel, more than you say. Her disposition
is amiable, and her character exquisitely sweet and feminine.
She is capable of every thing generous and admirable. A false
education, and visionary sentiments, to which she will probably
one day be superior, have rendered her for the present an object
of pity. But, though I loved her, I should despise my own heart,
if it were capable of taking advantage of her inexperience, to
seduce her to a match so unequal.
"At this instant Louisa re-entered, and making the excuses of
Olivia, the company returned to the carriage, sir Charles
mounted on horseback as he came, and they carried off the hero
in triumph."
ARTICLE V.
THE PEASANT OF BILIDELGERID, A TALE.
2 VOLS. SHANDEAN.
This is the only instance in which we shall take the liberty to announce
to the public an author hitherto unknown. Thus situated, we shall not
presume to prejudice our readers either ways concerning him, but shall
simply relate the general plan of the work.
It attempts a combination, which has so happily succeeded with the
preceding writer, of the comic and the pathetic. The latter however is
the principal object. The hero is intended for a personage in the
highest degree lovely and interesting, who in his earliest bloom of
youth is subjected to the most grievous calamities, and terminates them
not but by an untimely death. The writer seems to have apprehended that
a dash of humour was requisite to render his story in the highest degree
interesting. And he has spared no exertion of any kind of which he was
capable, for accomplishing this purpose.
The scene is laid in Egypt and the adjacent countries. The peasant is
the son of the celebrated Saladin. The author has exercised his
imagination in painting the manners of the times and climates of which
he writes.
ARTICLE VI.
AN ESSAY ON NOVEL, IN THREE EPISTLES INSCRIBED TO THE RIGHT HONOURABLE
LADY CRAVEN, BY WILL. HAYLEY, ESQ. 4TO.
The public has been for some time agreed that Mr. Hayley is the first of
English poets. Envy herself scarcely dares utter a dissentient murmur,
and even generous emulation turns pale at the mention of his name. His
productions, allowing for the very recent period in which he commenced
author, are rather numerous. A saturnine critic might be apt to suspect
that they were also hasty, were not the loftiness of their conceptions,
the majesty of their style, the richness of their imagination, and above
all, the energy both of their thoughts and language so conspicuous, that
we may defy any man of taste to rise from the perusal, and say, that all
the study and consideration in the world could possibly have made them
better. After a course however of unremitted industry, Mr. Hayley seemed
to have relaxed, and to the eternal mortification of the literary world,
last winter could not boast a single production of the prince of song.
The muses have now paid us another visit. We are very sensible of our
incapacity to speak, or even think of this writer with prosaic phlegm;
we cannot however avoid pronouncing, that, in our humble opinion, Mr.
Hayley has now outdone all his former outdoings, and greatly repaid us
for the absence we so dearly mourned.
We are sensible that it is unbecoming the character of a critic to lay
himself out in general and vague declamation. It is also within the laws
of possibility, that an incurious or unpoetical humour in some of our
readers, and (ah me, the luckless day!) penury in others, may have
occasioned their turning over the drowsy pages of the review, before
they have perused the original work. Some account of the plan, and a
specimen of the execution may therefore be expected.
The first may be dispatched in two words. The design is almost exactly
analogous to that of the Essay on History, which has been so much
celebrated. The author triumphs in the novelty of his subject, and pays
a very elegant compliment to modern times, as having been in a manner
the sole inventors of this admirable species of composition, of which he
has undertaken to deliver the precepts. He deduces the pedigree of novel
through several generations from Homer and Calliope. He then undertakes
to characterise the most considerable writers in this line. He discusses
with much learning, and all the logical subtlety so proper to the
didactic muse, the pretensions of the Cyropedia of Xenophon; but at
length rejects it as containing nothing but what was literally true, and
therefore belonging to the class of history. He is very eloquent upon
the Shepherd of Hermas, Theagenes and Chariclea, and the Ethiopics of
Heliodorus. Turpin, Scudery, Cotterel, Sidney, the countess D'Anois, and
"all such writers as were never read," next pass in review. Boccace and
Cervantes occupy a very principal place. The modern French writers of
fictitious history from Fenelon to Voltaire, close the first epistle.
The second is devoted to English authors. The third to the laws of novel
writing.
We shall present our readers, as a specimen, with the character of that
accomplished writer, John Bunyan, whom the poet has generously rescued
from that contempt which fashionable manners, and fashionable
licentiousness had cast upon him.
"See in the front of Britain's honour'd band,
The author of the Pilgrim's Progress stand.
Though, sunk in shades of intellectual night,
He boasted but the simplest arts, to read and write;
Though false religion hold him in her chains,
His judgment weakens and his heart restrains:
Yet fancy's richest beams illum'd his mind,
And honest virtue his mistakes refin'd.
The poor and the illiterate he address'd;
The poor and the illiterate call him blest.
Blest he the man that taught the poor to pray,
That shed on adverse fate religion's day,
That wash'd the clotted tear from sorrow's face,
Recall'd the rambler to the heavenly race,
Dispell'd the murky clouds of discontent,
And read the lore of patience wheresoe'er he went."