in the middle of her folly, and apologized to the benches-audience there was none.

Dr. Stanier Clark, formerly librarian at Carlton-house, and a personal friend of his late Majesty, is dead; by his death a canonry of Windsor is vacant.—Mr. Feargus O'Connor, being about to marry Mrs. Nesbitt, the pretty actress, proceeded to Birmingham for the purpose of completing his engagement, and repaired to the house of Mrs. Lumby, the lady's aunt. On the day of his arrival, and just before he came, Mr. Lumby, the lady's husband, was apprehended on a charge of cheating the Gas Company, of which he was clerk. Mr. Feargus O'Connor, generously abandoning the character of lover pro tempore, appeared at the Police-office as Uncle Lumby's friend and adviser,-his aid, however, was ineffectual; Lumby was committed for trial, and Feargus O'Connor, we suppose, bound over, not to keep the peace, but to marry Mrs. Nesbitt.

Sir George Shee is appointed minister at Berlin, in the room of Lord Minto recalled; and Lord Fordwich, the son of Lord Cowper, and the friend of Lord Palmerston, succeeds Sir George as Under-Secretary of State to the latter nobleman. Lord Fordwich is, we believe, in the Blues, and is member for Canterbury, his seat for which he vacates in consequence of his appointment.-Mori, it is said, succeeds Spagnoletti at the Opera House, if the Opera House opens. The trustees of Mr. Chambers have advertised it as "to be let." M. Laporte has remonstrated and protested against this proceeding, and Law again threatens to supersede Harmony in the Haymarket.-Taglioni is married.—Count Rossi (Madame Sontag's husband) will not permit his wife to sing even in private, if he can help it.-There have been riots at Tewkesbury about the poor-laws.-Don Carlos is in good spirits, but wants money.-Lisbon is in a state of ferment. The young queen is to be married to the Duke of Leuchtenburg, which has given great uneasiness to France.Louis Philippe is in ill health.-The king of Naples refuses to make the quadruple treaty quintuple.-Riots and disturbances prevalent in America. In one place they burn convents, in others pull down gaminghouses; they reject the society of our anti-slavery missionaries, and preach rebellion against the tyranny of their fellow-citizen the President; they have got Mr. Sheridan Knowles to act, and Miss Phillips has got the measles.-In Ireland fires, murders, and robberies much as usual. Lord Wellesley as well as can be expected, and Mr. Littleton State Secretary. All the new law appointments as they should be, and the Conservative society doing wonders.

In London nothing but emptiness and dullness.-An amateur musicmeeting advertised at Exeter Hall, where all the singers and players announced are professional band and chorusers, and exceed seven hundred: this will clear the streets, and leave the operatives in the concert in a considerable majority above the auditors.-Parliament prorogued à la Tom Thumb. Lord Brougham great as Chancellor.-The court going to Brighton for the season, and their Majesties in perfect health.

CRITICAL NOTICES.

Letters from India, describing a Journey in the British Dominions of India, Thibet, Lahore, and Cashmere undertaken by Order of the French Government. By Victor Jacquemont. 2 Vols.

THIS work reminds us of old Tournefort. Like 'him M. Jacquemont was a Frenchman-like him he was a naturalist-like him he travelled in the East-like him he went forth under the auspices of the French Government -and, like him, he has published his work in a series of agreeable letters; where sentiment is mixed with science, and personal feelings with natural productions. He went out with the recommendation not only of Baron Cuvier, and other learned and eminent persons in his own country, but also with letters from the Asiatic Society in England. Every attention, we are happy to find, was paid by our countrymen, and every facility for acquiring information was afforded to this foreigner; and the exclusive and petty jealousies which formerly existed in our possessions abroad, like those of the Spaniards and Portuguese in South America, have happily disappeared; and we no longer shut out strangers, even prying Frenchmen, lest they should see more than we wish to have known of our colonies. The good consequences of this change are obvious. Not only does this amiable and intelligent traveller speak highly and gratefully of the personal kindness which he received from all, but the prejudices which he had imbibed against the British Government abroad have been removed. His opinions are valuable, because they are those of a foreigner who went out, not only without feelings in our favour, but with prejudices against us; and his retractions are not sudden and suspicious, but the gradual and almost reluctant testimonies of a candid mind, slowly but effectually convinced by the evidence of facts.

He landed at Pondicherry, and proceeded to Calcutta. From hence he took his departure for his extensive journey. He travelled through Benares, Agra, and Delhi; passed along the ridges of the Himalaya Mountains, from the sources of the Ganges to those of the Indus-crossed the rivers of the Punjab, where Alexander the Great fought with Porus; and made his way through those Mesopotamian countries lying between the great tributary streams of the Indus, of which little has been known till very lately, since the Macedonian invasion; and from thence returned by Poonah to Bombay, after four years' wandering about the sources of mighty rivers, and the still mightier mountains in which they take their rise. Unfortunately he remained for some time at Tanna, in the vicinity of Bombay, and in that pestiferous climate was seized with the complaint of the country. Under this he laboured for a month in great suffering, and at length he sunk under it, in the prime of life and vigour of constitution, on the 7th of December, 1832, at the early age of 31.

The Letters, which contain an account of his wanderings, are full not only of information, but amusement. His incidents are striking, his descriptions picturesque, his details graphic, his sentiments amiable, and his scientific remarks important. We are sorry, however, to observe some dark shadows throwing their gloom on this excellence. He had been a philosopher of the Tracy school, and certain speculations about the soul are entangled in his natural science, which leave a tinge of materialism and even atheism behind them. It seems as if it was the faint and almost worn out trace of his former notions, and had it pleased Providence that he had lived to a more mature age, they would have disappeared altogether. Were we disposed to find any minor fault with the book, it is the form under which it appears. Letters of journeys, published just as they are written, have been for some time disused by publishers, as formal and inconvenient. In the present instance the latter is remarkably the case. There are no contents heading the Letters, and no index directing to the subjects contained Nov.-VOL. XLII. NO. CLXVII.

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in them, so that the work is a chaos. The translator, knowing the necessity for such things, should have added them to the English edition, if he had not found them in the French. The book is embellished by two engravings-one a map, which, we think, fairly represents the lineaments of the countries through which the author passed-the other a portrait, which we hope does not fairly represent the lineaments of his own face. If such a thing be prefixed to a work, it should be properly engraved, and not be a staring caricature of coarse and cheap lithography.

The Last Days of Pompeii. By the Author of Eugene Aram. Mr. Bulwer's productions remind us of a legend we once heard-where a peasant, digging in his garden, discovered first a treasure of silver, and all his neighbours exclaimed-"How wonderful-but let him dig and dig again; he can expect no such fortune a second time." The peasant persevered in his labours, and in a little more time found and displayed a quantity of gold. "Oh! oh!" quoth the gossips, "this man has extraor dinary good luck, but if he is wise, he will rest content with what he has discovered, and seek no more for treasure; what can a man's heart desire beyond silver and gold?" But the truly wise husbandman heeded not the chatterers, but laboured incessantly,-and behold the rich reward he exhibited to the view of the astonished multitude-a diamond, which dazzled the beholders. Such has been the result of Mr. Bulwer's labours in his intellectual garden-" Pelham,"-to which he added many, but of the same school, under various modifications-" Eugene Aram," of a higher class of art, remarkable for its singleness of purpose, and the Satanic, yet gentle-mannered grandeur of its hero.

Last, and greatest, is the work now upon our table. So full of the highest poetic feeling-so dilated, yet so minute-the production of a man whose imagination could people kingdoms, and whose wisdom could teach them not only how to govern, but how to submit-whose eloquence is attested by the throbbing brow and quickened pulse of his readers-and whose tenderness falls like oil upon the troubled waters, and quells tumultuous grief into the deep, but silent sobbings of the heart. It would be as contrary to our practice as unjust, to attempt to sketch the outline of this extraordinary romance, which all who have not read will read. We are only called upon to give an opinion, and we were so dazzled with the first reading, that we re-perused its every page, before we felt sufficiently cool to state, in measured and proper phrase, what we really thought.

Nothing can exceed the beautiful arrangement of the whole. Sallust and Clodius would have wearied by their puppyism, but for their constantly associating with Glaucus, whose manners and refinements are but the type of his elegant mind; and yet they would all have glared too much upon the eye, but for the dark shadow of the Egyptian Arbaces, who stands aloft and alone in the world of modern fiction, like the poisonous upas-magnificent in destruction. Then, again, how beautiful is the contrast between the Nazareen Olinthus and the High Priest of Isis-how exquisitely are the doctrines of Christianity drawn into comparison with the idolatry of the times! And who else could conceive aught so passionate, so natural, and yet so pure, as the blind Nydia-the sweet Thessalian, who sings, and sighs, and fascinates throughout the volumes like a strain of music poured from an enchanted shell!

When we heard the startling title Mr. Bulwer bestowed upon this literary star of the greater magnitude, we were fully prepared for the power he would throw into his imaginative scenes; but we anticipated so much difficulty in bringing characters and incidents of real life into action—in re-peopling Pompeii-in creating interest, and calling forth our feelings, as well as our admiration, that we were almost led to say, with those who censured the peasant's industry, "This man should be content with what hé has already achieved:" this doubting has rendered his triumph the

more complete we have little to do but praise. At times we thought the style of the volumes somewhat too didactic, and wished for an incident, instead of a reflection; but when we closed the book, and thought over what we had read, we felt how much we had acquired, and re-opened it, in order that the reflection should sink more deeply into our hearts.

We hear that Mr. Rodwell is about to arrange an opera from these splendid materials. We wish him all success; he possesses both talent and industry, but it is an undertaking that might make Rossini tremble; besides, who can he get to sing, or feel the characters? Philips would look-and if we know anything of his intellectual powers-would understand, the part of Arbaces; but where is there a gentleman on the English stage who could look or play the exquisite and noble Glaucus? Notwithstanding Mr. Braham's everlasting powers, we hold him hors de combat in new music, and Sinclair we have not heard since his return.

Mrs. Wood might be taught the part of Ione; but who could give both voice and feeling to the exquisite Nydia? Those left upon our stage, who could sing, could neither look nor act it; and vice versa. It is in Italian, and only Italian, opera, that justice could be done to "The Last Days of Pompeii." Arbaces, Tamburini; Diomed, Lablache; Glaucus, Rubini; Ione, Sontag, or Garcia; Nydia, the exquisite Malibran: if she would a little tame her spirits, how beautiful she would look in the part! and how well would her voice harmonize with the character! The great Maestros of Italy should look to it; and, with scenery such as the Opera-house only can give, we should have an entertainment worthy its origin.

The Life and Correspondence of Mrs. Hannah More. By William Roberts, Esq. 4 vols.

In one respect we are unfortunate. Weekly publications get the start of monthly ones in reviews, and literary intelligence of all kinds; but let it be remembered, that their opinions are frequently crude and undigested, from the haste with which it is necessary to send them forth.

The Life and Correspondence of Hannah More,' is one which gives ample scope for reflection-and calls for much more than a hurried notice: it is a record of times so long past, that we look upon it as matter of history, and wonder how it was that we once held converse with a lady who had seen these men.'

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When Hannah More was young, female talent was like a beacon set upon a hill-there were but few whom the world considered "marvellous consequently there was a great deal of attention paid them; and they were more courted, more flattered, more noticed, than they either are, or, we should hope, desire to be, in the present day. They were then held up, not as examples of what female intellect was, but of what it might become; and the compliments they received were paid to the woman, not to the sex.

Both

Nous avons changé tout çela-there are but few" wonderful women" now a-days-about as many, perhaps, as there are" wonderful men." But knowledge is more generally diffused, and people are the better able to judge for themselves between the real and the counterfeit. This, however, was a test that Mrs. Hannah More would not have shrunk from. her acquirements and habits of reflection were of a deep and philosophic nature; and her latter productions were as remarkable for solid thinking as for classic purity of expression. With all our admiration of her mental powers, we must confess that her correspondence has interested and amused us more than anything we ever read from her pen. Much that she did had an air of forced morality-a rigidity of virtue about it—which would lead to the belief that she nourished in her bosom few of the warmer affections. Her dictates were more like those of a Roman matron, than a Christian woman. But we ought to recollect, that such stiffness of ex

pression was the taste of the times, and that her models were those of the sterner school.

Her letters show her real self, in its natural character-earnest, thinking, playful, affectionate, and full of the warmest enthusiasm. Her veneration for Johnson-her friendship for Garrick-her correspondence with Langhorne, Mrs. Montague, Mrs. Carter, Garrick, Horace Walpole, and a host of others, called forth all her brilliancy; while, as her days passed on, and she became more decidedly religious, her letters to and from Porteus, Newton, and him whom she calls " young" Wilberforce, must interest all who study the various shades of human character, or trace the means which are used to bring about events. It is also useful to observe how, with a love of admiration, and a perfect relish for wit and amusement, Hannah More withdrew herself gradually from what she considered wrong, and pursued her way with a steadiness and self-denial that must command respect. Nothing could be more brilliant or more decided than her success: her society was sought after, and courted by the highest and the most renowned; yet, when once convinced that it was wrong to indulge in the pleasures of the world, she withdrew from them firmly and for ever. However we may, and do, differ from her on this subject, we cannot but bear testimony to her heroism and noble decision of character.

There are some letters in the second and third volume from Sir William Pepys, which are the most delightful we have read for many years; and others which are interesting only because of those by whom they were written. This must be the case in every compilation of the kind; and we would offer our congratulations to the editor on having so completely excluded much that might be considered tedious or unentertaining. It required no small degree of judgment to select from the immense mass of correspondence which was placed in Mr. Roberts's hands.

Mrs. More was, of course, of the old high Tory school, and her politics exercised a powerful influence over her precepts and opinions. Her veneration for Pitt is unbounded; and it is amusing, in the first volume, to hear her say, Unluckily for my principles, I met Fox canvassing the other day; and he looked so sensible and agreeable, that if I had not turned my eyes another way, I believe it would have been all over with me." Those, after all, were glorious days, when such men bent their energies to the conduct of public affairs; and showed, by their firmness, their belief, that what they did was done in exceeding honesty of purpose.

We have seldom felt more real regret that the quantity of books which crowd our table, and the peculiar nature of this department of our Magazine, preclude the possibility of our giving any extracts from a work so replete with interest to all classes of readers. We can therefore only earnestly recommend it, feeling, as we do, that no library should be without the volumes.

Lays and Legends of various Nations. By W. J. Thoms. Nos. VI. and VII.

THE excursive flights of research to which the design of this work has excited its indefatigable author have carried him into the regions of Tartary-which have furnished the sixth fasciculus of stories-while Germany, the very heart-home of legendary lore, has contributed the seventh. He who devours at one reading these two numbers of the series will be struck (if he can find a moment for comparison) with the very great diversity of character that exists between them. The tales of Tartary, wild, rude, incoherent, and somewhat puerile, reflect significantly enough the style and nature of the people from whom they emanate; and so do likewise the German stories, which show, on the contrary, a consistency of structure, a power of selection and arrangement, and occasionally a sentiment of poetry, that is in accordance with the known habits of the national mind. Even the most fantastic of the German stories are under some regulation