1000 guineas, and £ 50 for every subsequent edition in 4to. of 1000 Copies. It is by far the most important of his original productions; and must, indeed, be considered as a prond monument of literary exertion, when it is recollected that it was written amidst the incessant avocations of business, and the anxious solicitude connected with the care of a very numerous family.--It would exceed our limits to particularize the minor productions of Mr. Smellie's pen. Some of them are introduced by Mr. Kerr into the body of his work, and others noticed with sufficient minuteness of detail. He has given a list, too, of twenty six essays, most of which were written in early life, and read to the different societies of which Mr. Smellie was a member.

A short time before his death, Mr. S. had conceived the idea of writing a series of biographical memoirs of eminent Scotch authors, with whom he had been personally acquainted, or whose works he had printed. He intended it as a foundation for a Biographia Scotica, but lived only to execute the lives of Dr. John Gregory, David Hume, and Dr. Adam Smith. These, together with a life of Lord Kames, inserted originally in the Encyclopædia Britannica, and four of his juvenile essays, were published by his son, in 1800, in one volume 8vo.

Towards the close of the work before us, we are introduced, rather unexpectedly, to Robert Burns, the bold flights of whose untutored genius were first published by Mr. Smellie in the year 1787; at which period, if we rightly recollect, the Ayrshire poet made his first appearance in Edinburgh. He often visited the office while his poems were printing, and the following anecdote was communicated by Mr. A. Smellie, who was engaged at the time in his father's office.

I perfectly remember the appearance of Burns in my father's printing house in 1787, at the time his poems were printing. He was dressed much in the stile of a plain countryman; and walked three or four times from end to end of the composing room, cracking a long hunting whip which he held in his hand, to the no smali annoyance of the compositors and pressmen: and although the manuscript of his poems was then lying before every compositor in the house, he never once looked at what they were doing, nor asked a single question. He frequently repeated this odd practice during the course of printing his work, and always in the same strange and inattentive manner, to the great astonishment of the men who were not accustomed to such whimsical behaviour. The compositors, when they first got his poems to print, and before he had made his appearance among them, had been told that the work which they are employed to set up was composed by a common ploughman; and though I

was at that time very young, the cracking the whip, and the strangely ancouth, and unconcerned manner of Burns, always impressed me with the notion, that he wished to assume the clownish appearance of a country rustic, and I have never been able to efface the impression that his behaviour proceeded from affectation.' Vol. II. P. 351.

From the extensive correspondence which passed betwixt Burns and Mr. Smellie, our biographer has selected only a very few letters; and these are chiefly interesting as serving to introduce to the reader's acquaintance Mrs. Maria Riddell, of Woodley Park, Dumfriesshire,—a lady who was the intimate friend of both these eminent men, and whose talents and accomplishments gave her a just title to that distinguished honour. Her letters to Mr. Smellie are all written with that ease, simplicity, and spirit, which form the charm and excellence of epistolary writing,

It is now time to close our account of this work, which, notwithstanding our objections to multifarious matter and lazy extracts, we must, on the whole, pronounce amusing. As a fair specimen of Mr. Kerr's style of writing, we give the following account of Mr. Smellie's character;-but we must not be understood to vouch for its impartiality.

After the glowing descriptions by Burns, both in poetry and prose, it were superfluous to repeat, that Mr. Smellie's talents for social converse were of the first rate kind; and though his wity as forcibly expressed by that excellent judge of wit, was often keen and biting, yet such was his candid suavity of manner that it could never give offence, except to fools and men of diseased and jealous irritability of temper. One species of playful humour in which he often indulged, and with much readiness, was punning; which some fastidious critics have been pleased to call the very lowest species of wit, though it certainly has one excellent property, that it invariably occasions much innocent mirth and good humour. In grave and philosophical discourse he was clear, candid, communicative, and informing, as well as thoroughly informed, never withholding his judgment and opinions from narrow mindedness, or obtruding them unnecessarily or ill-timedly from vanity or affectation. On every occasion, his friends and acquaintances were welcome to his advice and assistance, on all subjects with which he was familiar; and there were few subjects in literature or philosophy in which he was not more than ordinarily versant, and in many, profoundly learned. His manners were uncom monly mild, inoffensive and gentle; insomuch that none, even of his own family, even remember to have seen him out of temper, and he probably never was in a passion in the whole course of his life: even in his last and long illness he was never in the smallest degree peevish, fretful, or melancholy. That he had his faults is certain, for who can be without them? But-they were all against himself, and never injured others! To his family he was ever kind and indulgent, and all his friendships were calm and lasting.'

Of his particular opinions in regard to religious doctrines and forms, [are they precisely equal in importance?] on which many good and wise men have disputed, almost with rancour, and seldom in the spirit of charity, the writer of these Memoirs, though several years intimately acquainted with him, is not at all instructed-As a translator of Buffon he is always excellent; for he was perfectly acquainted with the subject, and has uniformly conveyed the meaning of his author in clear and appropriate language. In his own original compositions, though he may not dazzle the imaginations of his readers by warmth and animation of style and language, he is always judicious and instructive; and his language is perspicuous and dignified, without any attempt at false eloquence, or tawdry ornament. Somewhat in the language used by himself, in the close of his Life of the late amiable, ingenious, and most respectable Dr. John Gregory, it may be said, that as a man of various and extensive literary and scientific attainments, and as considered in a professional view, few men will be found to have excelled the late William Smellie.'

Mr. Smellie died in June, 1793, in the 56th year of his age.

Art. VIII. The Savage. By Piomingo, a Headman and Warrior of the Muscogulgee Nation. 12mo. pp. 312. Philadelphia printed; Cadell and Co. 1811.

THE author of this work, which appears to have been

first published in weekly numbers, may in America, perhaps, set up for an original genius; in England he would be set down as a forward school-boy. The substance and manner of the performance are very miscellaneous. It consists of ravings against civilization, and the various features of civilized society,-disquisitions on grammar and American pronunciation,-letters from various characters to the Savage,--dreams,-the profane and absurd. chit-chat of clubs or tavern companies,-dialogues with the devil,misrepresentation and abuse of those who make any pretension to the character of Christians, &c. &c. The style in which this precious farrago is delivered, of course varies in a considerable degree with the subject. It is often animated and fluent, but more strongly imbued with affectation and pedantry, than almost any thing else we can remember to have read; inflated to the utmost extreme of bombast, and loaded with prodigious quantities of trite quotation. The parts intended to be humorous, are singularly coarse, and low; the author appears to consider profaneness an admirable succedaneum for wit, and to find a peculiar satisfaction in transcribing oaths and curses. He seems, however, to pique himself not a little, on his delicate irony and classical allusions.' There is a total want of that propriety, consistency, sobriety, and good sense, which distinguish the

popular essayists of this country, and without which it is impossible to obtain the approbation of judicious and refined readers. As to the character of Piomingo, the savage, nothing was ever worse sustained: take a conceited American, who has a smattering of literature, and a passion for democracy, in fact, take the author himself, with his impiety and Quotemism, and make him declaim on the blessings of savage life, and Piomingo stands before you at once. A few extracts may be properly introduced, to illustrate these strictures; though it is impossible, by detached passages, to give an idea of that disgust, which is excited by the perusal of the volume; and we shall not choose to degrade our pages, with proofs of the proficiency of the Americans in the art of swearing. In order to comprehend some of the sentences, it will be necessary for the reader to recollect, that Piomingo always uses the plural pronoun in speaking of himself; and, as some palliation for his literary and moral faults, that the utmost of our ambition is to afford entertainment by the novelty of our remarks.' (p. 55-)

The following sentences occur in a disquisition on happiness.

'Nearly all the evils that afflict the sons of men flow from one source-WEALTH, or the appropriation of things to individuals and to societies. Take away this mother curse, and all its cursed progeny, and the world would be, comparatively speaking, a paradise!' p. 76. That man who is either raised above, or depressed below, his species cannot be happy.' p.

88.

'Civilization is a forced state: it is not natural for one man to bend, cringe, and creep to another.' p. 89.

A friend of the headman and warrior's wished him to engage in politics.

'We answered, very gravely, that we would permit France and England to manage their own affairs: that we were not disposed to concern ourself with any of those great matters which agitate the civilized world; and that we were an unambitious, unaspiring mortal, content with ease and tranquility. Our friend, says he, perceived that we were headstrong in our folly: and therefore he would leave us to our contemplations, and so he did.' p. 87.

In the course of a very prolix conversation with Frank Fluent, Piomingo exclaims,

"You and your furious instructor may prate about the wickedness of the heart as long as you please; but every one must admit that no one is wicked before the commencement of his existence.' p. 211.

The following observations make part of a section intitled, by way of pre-eminence,' thoughts.'

Where is the man who does not think, with Glendower, that he is not on the roll of common men?" We can all readily admit that at the birth of common men, it would be a preposterous thing for the "front of heaven to be full of fiery shapes" or for the earth to tremble; but at our own nativity, we admit, there might be some few signs in heaven, some little commotions on earth, to mark us extraordinary.

Who does not suppose that the order of nature might be interrupted to give him intimation of evils that may be fal him? Who would not suppose a squadron of angels honorably employed in watching his motions and directing his steps? Who does not think himself worthy of being the peculiar favorite of heaven? Who does not conceive himself able to change the unchangeable mind by his prayers?

But whither have we wandered? We have followed the train of our capricious thoughts and lost sight of the object we meant to pursue. It is true that we discarded method, in the beginning, and proposed to make an excursion through the fields of imagination; yet, it will probably be expected that we should preserve some order in our wanderings, and not be continually changing our course in pursuit of every meteor that flits through the regions of fancy.

We intended to have taken a more extensive ramble and we now see objects at a distance which we would willingly chase for a while, and then desert them for others; but as we are apprehensive that our readers would not choose to follow us in our fantastic flight from one corner of the world to another, we shall hasten to put an end to our excursion.' p. 231.

On one occasion, the savage finds himself in the middle of a political mob.

We prayed to the gods: but, as prayers alone are generally unavailing, we did not neglect to make use of our personal exertions; and, after being shoved, pushed, squeezed and bruised for the space of fifty minutes, we found ourself breathless and exhausted in the outer skirts of the assembly. We then very devoutly exclaimed, “Thank God"-but we were rather too hasty in making our acknowledgements; for a brawny fellow, in the act of huzzaing, dashed his hat in our face.

We are remarkably mild and inoffensive; we have an abundant portion of the "milk of human kindness" in our composition; in our intercourse with the world, we "bear our faculties as meekly" as though we were not a headman and warrior of a great and independent nation; we are harmless as a sucking dove," it is almost impossible to irritate or offend us:-but this insult was so sudden, so unexpected, so violent, that it elicited a few scintillations of anger.

66

"We turned round in a rage upon the aggressor; but discovering no marks of respectability about him, our indignation was converted into pity and contempt. "Friend!" said we, "why art thou so outrageously patriotic? What has thy country done for thee? Does she give thee food to keep thee from starving, or raiment to protect thee from the cold?"' p. 238. ̧