communing love-to introduce the tempest, whose lightning strikes Amelia to the earth, a blackened corse! Milton works up his infernal hero to the highest pitch of demoniac exultation, to prepare his ear for the dismal, universal hiss, that aptly gratulates his triumph-extends expands him into the full dimensions of monarchal pride, to throw him down, a reptile, upon the floor of Pandemonium! Shakespeare prepares a feast for the reception of the ghost of Banquo-brings the exultation and the agony of triumphant guilt, into immediate contact-exhibits to us, at the same moment, and in the same person, the towering king, and the grovelling murderer!-or, in the tragedy of Hamlet, makes the grave-digger's carol, the prelude to the dirge of Ophelia! Knowles.

The Perfect Orator.

IMAGINE to yourselves a Demosthenes, addressing the most illustrious assembly in the world, upon a point whereon the fate of the most illustrious of nations depended-How awful such a meeting! how vast the subject!

-Is man possessed of talents adequate to the great occasion?-Adequate! Yes, superior. By the power of his eloquence, the augustness of the assembly is lost in the dignity of the orator; and the importance of the subject, for a while, superseded by the admiration of his talents.With what strength of argument, with what powers of the fancy, with what emotions of the heart, does he assault and subjugate the whole man; and, at once, captivate his reason, his imagination, and his passions! To effect

this, must be the utmost effort of the most improved state of human nature.-Not a faculty that he possesses, is here unemployed; not a faculty that he possesses, but is here exerted to its highest pitch. All his internal powers are at work; all his external, testify their energies. Within, the memory, the fancy, the judgment, the passions, are all busy: without, every muscle, every nerve is exerted; not a feature, not a limb, but speaks. The organs of the body, attuned to the exertions of the mind, through the kindred organs of the hearers, instantaneously vibrate those energies from soul to soul. Notwithstanding the diversity of minds in such a multitude; by the lightning of eloquence, they are melted into one mass-the whole

assembly, actuated in one and the same way, become, as it were, but one man, and have but one voice.-The universal cry is-LET US MARCH AGAINST PHilip, let us FIGHT FOR OUR LIBERTIES-LET US CONQUER OR DIE!

Sheridan.

Lord Byron considered as a Moralist, and a Poet. As a moralist, Lord Byron is most exceptionable. There is not a more prolific source of positive virtue, than the habit of feeling benevolently towards our fellow-creatures. This he endeavours to cut up by the root. There is nothing of benignity, or even of urbanity, in his writings; all is sourness and harshness, a perpetual dreariness, sterility, that puts forth no medicinal shoot or cheering flower. So far as the kindly movements of the heart are concerned, among his species, Lord Byron is a rock; and among rocks only, a man. His works are not absolutely destitute of touches of virtuous emotion; but those that occur, are never of the social kind, unless you allow some few traits of merely animal affection. Lord Byron's morality counsels you to relax the grasp of friendship, to withhold the trust of confidence, to shut out your fellow from your heart, and lock it upon him. But, putting aside the tone of misanthropy which pervades his writings, how chaotic an idea does he give you of the government of his own mind, when he dedicates to his daughter the song in which he celebrates his mistress; when he can find no more fitting office for the hand of a parent, than that of imprinting upon the mind of a daughter, the indulgent position, that a woman may surrender her honour, and preserve her purity! We do not pretend to scan the real character of Lord Byron. We know nothing of him, but what we learn from his works; and it is they that are to blame, if we do not profess the most exalted opinion of him. We slight upon the warrant of his own hand. There is something perfectly puerile in the sketch that he so repeatedly gives us of his own character-a man whining forth his private discontents and dislikings, vending them, as it were, in every village, town, and city of the empire; making them as notorious, as if they had been committed to the oratory of the town-sergeant. A father, professing the most passionate tenderness for his offspring; and making her, in the fervour of his love, a gift of the public record of his

him

weaknesses, caprices, passions, and vices, collected, drawn up, and authenticated by his own paternal hand.

As a poet, Lord Byron is the most easy, the most nervous, and—with the exception perhaps of Wordsworth-the most original of the day. His verses possess all the flowing property of extemporaneous eloquence. His diction seems to fall into numbers, rather than to be put into them. He reminds us of one who has written down his ideas just as they occurred, and finds that he has expressed himself in rhyme. No ekeing out of the verse; no accommodating of the sense to the sound; nothing that indicates a looking out for materials; every thing at hand, to be had only for the reaching, and fitting at the first trial. It would savour too much of pedantry, to point out errors of a merely grammatical description; but, it is somewhat singular, that so classical a writer should abound more in solecisms, than all his cotemporaries put together. This may be readily pardoned, however, if we take into consideration the rapidity with which he is reputed to compose. In all other respects, Lord Byron is seldom incongruous, rarely redundant, never vapid; often pathetic, frequently sublime, always eloquent. If once he lays hold of your attention -unless, indeed, it be by some sudden start of displeasure --the chances are against your getting loose again, until he is satisfied to let you go. Knowles

Story of Le Fevre.

It was some time in the summer of that year in which Dendermond was taken by the Allies, when my uncle Toby was one evening getting his supper, with Trim sitting behind him at a small side-board.-I say sitting; for, in consideration of the Corporal's lame knee, which sometimes gave him exquisite pain,-when my uncle Toby dined or supped alone, he would never suffer the Corporal to stand; and the poor fellow's veneration for his master was such, that, with a proper artillery, my uncle Toby could have taken Dendermond itself, with less trouble than he was able to gain this point over him: for many a time, when my uncle Toby supposed the Corporal's leg was at rest, he would look back, and detect him standing behind him with the most dutiful respect. This bred more little squabbles betwixt them, than all other causes for five and twenty years together.

He was one evening sitting thus at his supper, when the landlord of a little inn in the village came into the parlour with an empty phial in his hand, to beg a glass or two of sack: "Tis for a poor gentleman-I think of the army," said the landlord, "who has been taken ill at my house, four days ago, and has never held up his head since, or had a desire to taste any thing-till just now that he has a fancy for a glass of sack and a thin toast-' I think,' says he, taking his hand from his forehead, 'it would comfort me.'

If I could neither beg, borrow, nor buy such a thing" -added the landlord,-" I would almost steal it for the poor gentleman, he is so ill.—I hope he will still mend," continued he: we are all of us concerned for him."

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Thou art a good-natured soul, I will answer for thee," cried my uncle Toby; "and thou shalt drink the poor gentleman's health in a glass of sack thyself,-and take a couple of bottles, with my service, and tell him he is heartily welcome to them, and to a dozen more, if they will do him good.

"Though I am persuaded," said my uncle Toby, as the landlord shut the door, "he is a very compassionate fellow, Trim-yet I cannot help entertaining a high opinion of his guest too; there must be something more than common in him, that, in so short a time, should win so much upon the affections of his host"-" And of his whole family," added the Corporal; "for they are all concerned for him."- Step after him," said my uncle Toby—“ do, Trim, and ask if he knows his name."

-"I have quite forgot it, truly," said the landlord, coming back into the parlour with the Corporal; "but I can ask his son again."—" Has he a son with him, then?" said my uncle Toby." A boy," replied the landlord, "of about eleven or twelve years of age; but the poor creature has tasted almost as little as his father-He does nothing but mourn and lament for him night and day-He has not stirred from the bed-side these two days."

My uncle Toby laid down his knife and fork, and thrust his plate from before him, as the landlord gave him the account; and Trim, without being ordered, took it away, without saying one word; and, in a few minutes after, brought him his pipe and tobacco.

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Stay in the room a little," said my uncle TobyTrim!"-said my uncle Toby, after he lighted his pipe,

and smoked about a dozen whiffs-Trim came in front of his master, and made his bow;-My uncle Toby smoked on, and said no more." Corporal!" said my uncle Toby; -The Corporal made his bow-My uncle Toby proceeded no further, but finished his pipe.

"Trim," said my uncle Toby, "I have a project in my head, as it is a bad night, of wrapping myself up warm in my roquelaure, and paying a visit to this poor gentleman.' "Your honour's roquelaure," replied the Corporal, "has not once been had on, since the night before your honour received your wound, when we mounted guard in the trenches before the gate of St. Nicholas; and besides, it is so cold and rainy a night, that, what with the roquelaure, and what with the weather, it will be enough to give your honour your death."—" I fear so," replied my uncle Toby: "but I am not at rest in my mind, Trim, since the account the landlord has given me.-I wish I had not known so much of this affair"-added my uncle Toby, or that I had known more of it: how shall we manage it ?" "Leave it, an't please your honour, to me," quoth the Corporal:-"I'll take my hat and stick, and go to the house and reconnoitre, and act accordingly: and I'll bring your honour a full account in an hour."-" Thou shalt go, Trim," said my uncle Toby, " and here's a shilling for thee to drink with his servant.' "I'll get it all out of him." said the Corporal, shutting the door.

It was not till my uncle Toby had knocked the ashes out of his third pipe, that Corporal Trim returned from the inn, and gave him the following account:

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"I despaired at first," said the Corporal," of being able to bring back your honour any kind of intelligence concerning the poor sick Lieutenant "" Is he in the army, then?" said my uncle Toby-" He is," said the Corporal" And in what regiment?" said my uncle Toby "I'll tell your honour," replied the Corporal, every thing straight forward as I learnt it."-" Then, Trim, I'll fill another pipe," said my uncle Toby, " and not interrupt thee; so sit down at thy ease, Trim, in the windowseat, and begin thy story again." The corporal made his old bow, which generally spoke as plain as a bow could speak it, "Your honour is good:"--And having done that, he sat down, as he was ordered, and began the story to my uncle Toby over again, in pretty near the same words.