grace? Is there no principle,--no principle which lays hold on some, and not on others, leading the first to worship God in the beauty of holiness, and to believe in his name, to their own salvation and acceptance? Now, then, we come nearer to the point. Unquestionably there is such a principle; but it is very different from what those regard it, who are the fondest of hearing that principle discussed from the pulpit. The grace of God, which leads to repentance, is continually within the reach of every living person. It operates on different persons in different ways; but assuredly it operates upon none to any good effect, unless it be aided by their own cooperation. The grace of God will never take captive the will of any man, or turn a sinner to repentance in spite of himself; but it is always at hand to assist his weak endeavours, and to bring to perfection the feeble efforts which would certainly be useless without it. But what is there in this, which demands that it should be the constant subject of a preacher's discourses ?". P. 46-50. We would willingly quote farther from Mr Gleig's Sermons, which our readers will perceive are very supe. rior to the ordinary run of such productions. We must, however, pause, only observing, that Mr Gleig deserves well of the public in this his appearance before them, as an earnest and faithful minister; and, as the work is most moderate in price, we cannot do better than earnestly recommend the "Sermons, Doctrinal and Practical, for Plain People.” A Personal Narrative of a Journey through Norway, part of Sweden, and the Islands and States of Denmark. By Derwent Conway, Author of "Solitary Walks through Many Lands." Edinburgh; Constable's Miscellany, vol. XXXVIII. 1829. in love, without at all comprehending their real import. | man life, which, more than all this, deserves to be called The others, again, I mean the profligates, equally dislike such a style of preaching. It comes too home to them; it sounds as if every allusion were personal, every attack meant to apply peculiarly to themselves. They will not, therefore, come and listen to rebukes so pointed and so direct. What they desire to hear at church are pleasing discourses, declarations of God's goodness and mercy, of the readiness with which he receives back sinners, whenever they choose to turn to him, and the benevolence of his nature, which leads him to think lightly of those natural failings into which they, alas! are too apt to be led. Such preaching as this is at all seasons acceptable. It keeps all quiet and easy within; it puts to sleep the worm, whose gnawing is so painful; and quenches, for a time, the fire whose burning shall be everlasting. Neither have these men any objection to doctrinal disquisitions. Such topics are interesting; they lay hold of the attention, and, carrying it away in the flood of various arguments, they serve exceedingly well to kill twenty or five-and-twenty minutes every week. Is it not singular that the very good and the very bad should both prefer the same style of preaching? The truth, however, is, that any style of preaching which harps continually upon one string must be bad. The Gospel, though in its main points plain and perspicuous, is, nevertheless, of very extended signification; and cannot, therefore, be properly expounded by a preacher who constantly confines himself to one or two topics. But of all modes of preaching, that which ties itself down to the exposition of doctrines only, is by far the most unprofitable, as well to the speaker as to the hearer. The doctrines of the Gospel must indeed be explained; but the genuine doctrines of the Gospel are few in number. A general belief in the being and attributes of God, in the blessed Trinity, and in each of the persons of the Godhead individually; a full expectation of a future life, in which we shall receive the things done in the body, whether they be good or bad,-these comprise, in fact, a complete abridgement of a Christian's THIS is a very interesting and clever volume, full of faith. Of course, I allude not, at present, to the ne- picturesque descriptions and pleasant narratives. We cessity under which all thinking men feel that they, opened it with rather a prejudice against the subject of and every other servant of Christ, lie, to receive the sa- which it treats; for though we had read a considerable craments; the first of which, indeed, forms the sign, or number of books about Norway, they had all failed to badge, by which the disciples of Christ are distinguished inspire us with any great liking for that cold and outfrom those who are not his disciples. I am speaking of-the-way country. Neither did they give us any very now only of such points as do, and indeed ought, to distinct notions of its scenery, or of the manners and form the subjects of what are termed doctrinal discourses, customs of its inhabitants. We knew very well that inasmuch as almost all others contain more of human there was something peculiar about Norway, but wherethan of divine philosophy. Now, to explain these to a in that peculiarity consisted we could never precisely congregation, whose Bibles are within their reach, is find out. We have often closed large tomes in a most surely a task which may soon be accomplished. Is the unsatisfactory state of mind, for though they told us a preacher, then, to become idle, and to revert again and great deal, they showed us nothing, and this we take to again to his old topics? No, you will say; but are be the leading difference betwixt a matter-of-fact and a there not such doctrines as those of grace and election, picturesque traveller. Derwent Conway ranks among and regeneration and saving faith? My friends and the latter. When we accompany him on his rambles, brethren, rest assured that these phrases, though in very he makes us see the very scenes which he himself saw, frequent use, are not rarely misinterpreted, even by such and we risc from a perusal of his work with a more disas appear most warmly attached to them. For what is tinct impression of what Norway really is, than it was grace? Grace is neither more nor less than the good-ever our lot to possess before. There is a great deal of ness of our Almighty Father. The word itself signifies excellent and powerful writing throughout the volume; favour a favour or feeling of good-will towards any and though we are somewhat hackneyed in these matone, which prompts him who experiences it to do to ters, such was the interest it excited, that we went that person a kindness, without looking for any thing in through the whole, from beginning to end, without stopreturn. When we apply it then to God, I confess that ping. I, for one, know not within what bounds we are to enclose it. It is through God's grace that we live, and move, and breathe, and think. It is through God's grace that we are not hurried off to our graves, in the midst of our sins, by any one of the numerous accidents and calamities to which we are every moment liable. It is by God's grace that our Saviour has come into the world, has died for us upon the cross, has given us his Gospel, and promised us eternal life, if we only obey that Gospel. Nay, but is there not a something connected with hu Our author has divided his work into three parts ;the first of which embraces an account of an inland journey, performed for the most part on foot and alone, through a solitary and unfrequented part of the country, from the Naze at the western extremity of Norway, to Christiania the capital;-the second part describes his residence at Christiania, and journey farther north to Osterdalen, where he remained some time with a native family, and enjoyed opportunities of becoming familiarly acquainted with the national character and do mestic habits of the people, their mode of living, their belonged to them, and to nourish a pride in the antiquioccupations, their superstitions, their literature, and a ty of their nation; and it is not difficult to credit the thousand other things;-part third gives us a short assertion, that, to a Norwegian, his country is the obglimpse of Sweden, and the Islands and States of Den-ject almost of his worship. Recent events have, indeed, mark; but it is written more hurriedly, and extends only cast a damp upon the enthusiasm which Gamle Norgé to forty-five pages. inspires; and I have been told, that, for some time after the annexation of Norway to Sweden, the toast was rarely drunk; but, if so, the feeling has subsided. Norway is Gamlé Norgé still; and so attentively has the new sovereign cultivated the esteem of his subjects; and, by all accounts, so fully does he merit it, that, as far as my observation entitles me to speak, Bernadotte is never named but in terms of respect.' Disposed, as we are, to bestow very high praise upon this work, we think the best mode of testifying that approbation, and of proving it to be well-grounded, will | be to introduce Derwent Conway in his own person to our readers. As an appropriate opening extract, we select the following passage upon the subject of NORWEGIAN PATRIOTISM. "It has been my lot to visit many lands,-some of them celebrated for nationality,-but in that enthusiastic love of country which is irrestrainable when countrymen are assembled together, every nation must yield to Norway. A Norwegian loves, reveres all that belongs to, and distinguishes his native land, his mountains, his rocks, his forests, he would not exchange for the richest plains of the south. To a Norwegian, the words Gamle Norge (old Norway), have a spell in them immediate and powerful; they cannot be resisted. Gamle Norgé is heard in an instant repeated by every voice; the glasses are filled, raised, and drained; not a drop is left; and then bursts forth the simultaneous chorus, For Norge! the national song of Norway. Here, and in a hundred other instances in Norway, I have seen the character of a company entirely changed by the chance introduction of the expression Gamle Norgé. The gravest discussion is instantly interrupted; and one might suppose, for the moment, that the party was a party of patriots, assembled to commemorate some national anniversary of freedom. The northern nations are accused of being cold; but there is, at least, no evidence of this in their feelings of patriotism. I speak, however, of Norway only; the same cannot, I think, be said of Sweden; and as to Russia, I have had no opportunities of making personal observations. In Norway, love of country is the same enthusiastic passion that love of music is in Italy. In England, there is no toast which stands in the place of Gamlé Norgé, unless perhaps it be the Wooden Walls of Old England; but this is rather the defence of England, than England herself. In Scotland, the Land of Cakes' is nearly an equivalent to Gamle Norgé; but then, how do Scotsmen drink it? they drain their glasses indeed, but they remain upon their seats if they be sober; but let Gamlé Norgé be the toast in Norway, and every Norwegian starts to his feet, and a burst of enthusiasm follows. which no circumstances have power to restrain. The same feeling is indeed, less or more, the patrimony of the inhabitants of all mountainous countries; but there are reasons why Norway should be more distinguished for this virtue than others. Norway is more isolated than any other country in Europe; and her political history, too, is less interwoven with that of other nations. Incorporated, by its own act, with Denmark, since the middle of the fourteenth century, she yet retained the name, and many of the privileges, of an independent kingdom; and has a right to consider the long line of her hereditary monarchs unbroken. Her population has remained unmixed; her language, in the interior, untainted; her soil has never been the theatre of war; nor has it ever been trodden, save rarely, by the feet of strangers; her laws are almost coeval with her mountains. On three sides, she is surrounded by a boisterous ocean, and girded, too, by a barrier of rocks; and, on the other, mountains, rugged, and snow-capt, shut her out, like the valley of Rasselas, from the rest of the world; and add to this the legends of a mystic and stupendous system of religious belief, which are handed down by tradition, and which tend to preserve in the minds of the people a veneration for all that ever The above will be aptly succeeded by our author's account of THE NATIONAL MUSIC OF NORWAY. "It was here that I heard, for the first time, that ancient national music, of which Norway, like all other mountainous countries, can boast. The mountain airs of Norway are, however, of a wilder and more uncom mon character, than those of any other of the mountainous countries which I have visited; some of them, in their sudden transitions, and strange melody, reminded me of the breathings of the Eolian harp. The character of these airs is, with but few exceptions, that of melancholy. They are simple in their construction, but ranging over a compass of notes, occasionally even of two octaves. The poetry to which they are sung is also of a melancholy cast, chiefly legendary, and often verging upon the terrific. Some of it is, however, apparently the mere poetry of imagination, though still preserving the same character. Several of the airs have a martial effect; and a few hunting and drinking songs are of a gayer cast, both in their music and poetry. The "The lady who sung these airs did them great justice, and seemed often to feel their power; and was well able to communicate that feeling to the listener. words were in high Norse, not Danish. Both at this time, and subsequently, I have been at some pains in collecting the airs, and the words to which they are sung. Some of these are in manuscript, others I learned by ear, and have had set since returning to England, in the idea of publishing the whole, with English translations of the words, as Scandinavian melodies. "The poetry of which I have been speaking, as coupled with the ancient mountain airs, forms part of that body of chivalrous poetry, once the only literature of the European nations; and which we may still look to as a curious interpreter of ancient habits and feelings. The minstrel songs of former days, although they may pos sibly have had one common origin, have been modified by the character of the different nations among which they have been found. Those relics of chivalrous poetry which we find in the North, possess a character, in some respects unlike that which is impressed upon the poetry that sprung up among the Southern nations; and I shall, perhaps, be pardoned for advancing an opinion which, although, as far as I know, it involves a new doctrine, appears to me to be nevertheless a sound one; it is, that we ought to refer the distinctive mythology, character, and poesy, of every nation, to its geographical position. This opinion, I think, receives strong confirmation from the character of the mythology and poetry of Scandinavia. "The terrific imagery of the mythology of Odin, one cannot conceive to have been engendered elsewhere than amid the sterile mountains, the dark valleys, the gloomy forests, and the desolate and dreary coasts of the Northern Continent. There is there, a pervading spirit of sadness and desolation, that embodies in imagination images of majesty, terror, and power: and these are again expressed in histories and legends, accordant with the tone of nature. There seem to be certain hidden sympathies, which mysteriously connect the soul of man with the external world. So perfect an accordance is there between the mythology of Scandinavia and its external aspect, that in travelling through the gloomy valleys, or by the sea-beaten shores of Norway, so irresistibly are associations with the mythology of Odin awakened, that I have fancied I heard, in some deep dell, the departed heroes at their work of death; and have paused beneath some gigantic ruin, as night began to shadow it, to listen for the sound of their ghostly revelry. Accordant with these images, and with the character of the mythology of Scandinavia, is the poetry which has there originated; but the legendary songs of southern lands are impressed with a very opposite character. Those of the most southern nations are imbued with the spirit of luxury, which accords with the burning soil whence they sprung; while the minstrel songs of France are full of grace, gaiety, and gallantry; suiting well the smiling skies, and the bright earth, that fostered and ripened them." In connexion with these judicious remarks, 'peruse the following on NORWEGIAN SCENERY. "It was now, that, for the first time, I felt I was in Norway; it was now that I knew the land of my early visions; I had gained the summit of the ridge, which on one side bounded the valley, and Norway, with all her attributes of sublimity, burst upon me. Forests, whose vastness and shade, and solitude and silence, banished in an instant from the mind all associations with song of bird, and bower, and gay silvan scene,-lakes, whose deep seclusion put to flight images of mere grace and beauty,-valleys, which from their depth and gloom, we might fancy to be the avenues to abodes of a more mysterious creation, mountains, whose dim and rugged, and gigantic forms, seemed like the images of a world that we might dream of, but never behold. Could any man, gazing upon such a scene, refer his emotions to the origin pointed out by Burke? Burke, had he looked more upon the face of nature, and less upon that of society, would never have promulgated his doctrine, —or if he had, he would have published his recantation. But I cannot dismiss the doctrine of Edmund Burke in a single sentence, nor can it be considered out of place, to devote a moment to the origin of the sublime, in a journey through a country in which the emotion is excited at every step. "I cannot believe that terror is the source of the sublime, because experience teaches me otherwise. Many objects inspire terror, which do not produce the emotion of sublimity, and a thousand in which there is nothing terrible, produce that emotion. If this be true, the doctrine of Burke is disproved by the most satisfactory evidence the evidence of feeling. If terror be the source of the sublime, then a venomous reptile, a mad dog, a nest of hornets, a man roused by passion, on the first twinge of the gout, are all sublime; while, on the contrary, the starry heavens on a winter's night,—the rainbow spanning the sky, the calm ocean,-a vast Gothic cathedral, or the ruins of former ages, are not just objects of sublimity, because they have nothing terrible in them. It has always seemed to me more rational to refer the source of the sublime to POWER,-power either active or passive. Wherever an object awakens the emotion of sublimity, it will be found, either that the object can itself exert power, or that it bears the impress of power. All those objects which inspire sublimity through the medium of terror,-those, in short, which Mr Burke seems to have had in view when he propounded his doctrine, are referable to the first of these kinds of power; such as, the stormy sea, lightning, great hostile army;-but to those objects which awaken sublimity without inspiring terror, and which Mr Burke a seems to have overlooked, the latter definition may be applied they bear the impress of power. The starry sky bears the impress of power, even that of Omnipotence; so does the rainbow; for though it be the result of the laws of nature, we mount from nature" up to nature's God." The vast temple of devotion, or any gigantic work, such as the Pyramids of Egypt, bear upon them the impress of the power of man, who has reared them; while the ruins of former ages tell of the power of time, the destroyer. It was while looking upon the midnight scene, described in the last chapter, that I first suspected the soundness of Edmund Burke's theory; and every subsequent day in which I pursued my journey, more and more confirmed me in the belief, that power is the more true and universal source of the sublime." We were a good deal struck and pleased with the passage which we subjoin : SUNSET AND SUNRISE IN NORWAY. "I went to bed a little after nine, but was unable to sleep. I therefore got up about ten, and opened the window of my little chamber, which was upon the ground floor. The sun was shining brightly on the neighbouring heights; and, as I knew there was not much more than two hours' interval between his setting and his reappearing, I resolved upon walking to the summit of a neighbouring hill, which, as far as I could judge, might be about 1500 feet high, to witness both his setting and his rising. I therefore leaped from my window into the little garden beneath, and made my way towards the hill that seemed the most accessible. I passed through some small fields of rye, some patches of oats, and some scanty pasturage, clear of the houses, and immediately found myself commencing the ascent of the mountain. It was then not quite eleven; the sun hung trembling on the verge of the horizon, which, to my vision, was a bounded horizon, owing to the mountains which rose to the north and west, so that the summit was illuminated a considerable time after the steep I ascended was left in gloom. It was a laborious ascent, more so than I had anticipated; but I was in no disposition to rest; and, anxious to have a view over Norwegian wilds, in the twilight of a northern midnight, I proceeded vigo rously on my way, now and then pausing to look back upon the difficulties of the ascent. It was a few minutes after midnight when I reached the summit of the hill, the height of which I had not duly estimated. It was a solemn and impressive scene. The dead stillness of midnight was over all; earth and air were reposing in it. No living thing was visible; no bird was on the wing; there was no cry of any animal. The sky was unclouded, but curtained by a pale film, through which the larger stars were faintly glimmering. The dark pine forests, darker in the shadows of the hills, threw a deeper shade over the sombre scene. The grey mountains, dun and majestic, were piled against the calm midnight sky; silence and solitude sat on the hills, and all the pulses of nature were at rest. Long, very long, I could have remained lost in the contemplation of the solemn scene ; but soon the mountains and the valleys and the woods were disrobed; their twilight veil dissolved in air; warm tints of light streamed up the sky; and earth stood revealed in the rosy garniture of morning. At length a rim of glory emerged from the horizon, and the broad sun sprung up into the clear azure. In a few moments the seeming of night was no longer visible; it was morning; and, as I descended from my elevation, I heard the chirping of the early bird, and saw the goats rise up and begin to crop the herbage." Leaving those sublimer and more impressive speculations and scenes, our author carries us to Christiania, his description of which is lively and graphic : DESCRIPTION OF CHRISTIANIA. "I have said, that Norway has in truth three capitals; but Christiania, partly because it is the seat of government, and partly because it lies in the best peopled and most fruitful part of Norway, is generally considered the metropolis. Christiania, although the smallest of the capitals of Europe, is certainly one of the most interesting to a stranger; and, in situation, far exceeds them all in the romantic beauties by which it is surrounded. The Fiord, upon which it stands, is so dotted with wooded islands, and forms so many curves and indentures, that it has more the appearance of a fresh-water lake than an arm of the sea, especially as the heights, which enclose four-fifths of its circumference, preserve its surface unruffled. When large vessels in full sail are seen threading their way among these islets, it may easily be supposed that the effect is singularly novel and beautiful. I have never seen, nor do I believe there exists, a happier combination of images than that which is presented on a summer's day from the heights above Christiania. If a stranger could be conveyed by magic, and placed on the height of Egeberg on an evening in July, and were asked in what part of the world he supposed himself to be, he would more probably name Italy or Greece, than the icy region of Scandinavia. The bay itself, with its romantic promontories and wooded isles, may vie with Como; and in the country which stretches on every side of the town, we are struck with the extraordinary combination of rich, riante, and picturesque beauty. Cornfields, copses, gardens, lawns, cottages, and villas, lie beautifully blended beneath as warm a sky as canopies more southern lands. Below lie the blue waters of the Fiord, reflecting the fantastic and wood-crowned heights that environ it; while, every now and then, tall masts and white sails appear and disappear among its leafy isles; and beyond, to the north and west, heights rise into hills, and hills into mountains; while, overtopping them all, ridges of snow, purpled in the light of evening, form the majestic boundary of this wondrous amphitheatre. I am the more minute in my description of the environs of Christiania, because they have not been sufficiently eulogized by the traveller, and because, therefore, the extraordinary beauty of this part of Europe is not generally known. For my own part, I went to Norway; prepared to worship its sublimity and grandeur; but I was not prepared to expect that picture of charming va riety, and gay and laughing fertility, which is spread around the capital of Norway." To this may be added the following passage on the EXPENSE OF LIVING AT CHRISTIANIA. Blackwood's Magazine for March 1829. The New Monthly Magazine for March 1829. BLACKWOOD is very good this month; the first and the last articles are the best. The first is a distinct and able statement of political opinions, rendered necessary at the present crisis, in which Peel is taken severely to task for his late change of sentiments; last is a Noctes Ambrosiana, and all the world knows and Wellington himself does not escape scatheless. The that these are always excellent; the present is in its deThe only piece of lightful author's happiest style. original poetry in this number are some stanzas by "Delta;" but we cannot conscientiously praise them, nor do we think Delta ever destined to excel greatly as a poet. There is something that puts us too much in mind of Musselburgh, the Salt Pans, and Fisherrow, in all his effusions. He is an amiable, but not a talented writer. Blackwood "should be made of sterner stuff." The New Monthly has come forth in considerable strength. There is something inherently respectable and gentlemanly in the New Monthly that must always please. There is a clever paper in the present number about the "Great Agitator," from which we make the following extract, knowing that our readers will peruse it with interest under existing circumstances: O'CONNELL'S ORATORICAL POWERS. the lower orders predominated, I scarcely know any "Were O'Connell addressing a mixed assembly where sions. He has a knack of speaking to a mob, which I one who would have such a power of wielding the pas have never heard exceeded. His manner has at times the rodomontade of Hunt; but he is infinitely superior, of course, to this well-known democrat in choice of language and power of expression. The same remark may apply, were I to draw any comparison between him and another well-known mob-speaker, Cobbett. Were he opposed to these two persons in any assembly of the people, he would infallibly prove himself the victor. A balcony outside a high window; and a large mob beneath him, is the very spot for O'Connell. There he would be best seen, and his powers and person best ob. served; but were he in the House of Commons, I do not think I am incorrect when I say, that he would make little impression on the House, supposing he were heard with every prepossession in his favour. His action wants grace and suavity,-qualities so eminently fascinating in an elegant and classical speaker, but which, perhaps, are overlooked in an orator of the people. The motions of his body are often sharp and angular. His arms swing about ungracefully; and at times the right hand plays slovenly with his watchchain. "There are not many places in which one may live cheaper or better than in Christiania. The only article of luxury that will be found expensive, is the keep of a horse: but every kind of edible is abundant and cheap. The following are the prices of some of the most common articles of food. Mutton from 3d. to 4d. per lb. Beef 4d. to 5d.; butter 8d.; a capon 8d. ; a hare 4d.; a pheasant ls.; a wild duck 6d. ; a cock of the north 2s. 6d. or 3s.; eggs three dozen 1s.; but the price of these necessarily varies with the season; salmon 1d. and 11d. per lb.; sea fish still less; apples of the best quality 8d. per 100; 5d. for those of an inferior quality. French brandy Is. per bottle; common brandy 6d. The game in the markets (for they have no game laws in Norway) is always abundant, and one of the cheapest articles of food. They have many kinds of game which "Though I shall not, perhaps, find many to agree I have not mentioned above, because I am ignorant of with me, yet I am free to confess that he does not aptheir prices, such as woodcock, partridge, snipe, ptarmi-pear to me to possess that very rare gift-genuine satire. gan, &c. The varieties of wild duck are very great, and He wants the cultivated grace of language which his these are often so plentiful as to be sold at 6d. per pair. compeer, Shiel, possesses, and the brilliancy of meta Vegetables, while in season, are as cheap as every other phor. None is there else, however, peer or commoner, article of food; but during eight months in the year, the who can compete with him in the Catholic Association. His language is often coarse, and seldom elegant. Strong, fierce, and perhaps bold, it often is; but vituperation and personality make up too much of the materiel. His voice is sometimes harsh and dissonant; and I could wish more of that round, full, mellow tone, which is essential to a good delivery, and which so captivates the ear. The voice is the key which unlocks the heart,' says Madame Roland,-I believe it. Let the reader listen to the fine round voice of Lord Chief Justice Bushe, and let him hear the sometimes grating tones of O'Connell, and he will soon perceive the difference. The voice of the latter much reminds me of the harsh thinness of Mr J. D. Latouche's (whose conversational tone, by the by, is far beyond his oratorical one ;) and yet the coolness and the astuteness which the latter gentleman possesses in an argument would be no bad substitute for the headlong impetuosity and violent sarcasm in which O'Connell sometimes indulges. such books as "Buchan's Domestic Medicine,” “ Reece's Medical Guide to Health," and so on, as calculated to do much more harm than good. It is a great mistake in economical fathers and mothers of families to suppose, that, by having recourse to these and similar volumes, they may save the doctor's fee, as if the practice of Medicine could be learned otherwise than by patient study, diligent investigation, and extensive experience. They who think life worth preserving, and health a blessing, ought to eschew trifling with themselves or families, by making empirical experiments, which may induce a train of evils that will subsequently baffle the power of the most skilful practitioner, and make existence a curse. We de test the whole tribe of Lady Bountifuls, who are perpetually pouring "bodies, of which they know little, into bodies of which they know less." When the young or the old of either sex are really ill, let a regular doctor be sent for; but why should men or women file their minds with all the minutiae of a subject in which they are not professionally interested? There are exceptions, however, to all general rules. Situations may occur, where some knowledge of the proper ratio medendi may be found of the highest utility and importance. The heads of families may be at a distance from medical aid, or their children may be taken suddenly and dangerously ill; and in all common cases of this kind, it is proper that parents should know what ought to be done. We have no hesitation, therefore, "As he cannot clothe his language in the same elegance as Shiel, he, consequently, cannot give the same insinuation to his discourses. In this respect, his contemporary has greatly the advantage. Shiel gives us the poetry of elegance-O'Connell gives us the prose. The attempts of the latter at wit are clumsy, while the former can bring both that and metaphor to his aid; and he often uses them with much effect. O'Connell, however, can attempt humour with effect, and he has a peculiar tact of suiting this humour to the Irish people. I have not often seen a good exordium from O'Connell-in recommending, to those who may find themselves an integral portion of a discourse which it is extremely difficult to make; and I think his perorations want grace, point, and force, and that which the Italians would denominate 'espressivo.'' 'Tis now the hour-'tis now the hour To bow at Beauty's shrine; In such an hour-in such an hour, While pleasure's fount throws up a shower There was an hour-there was an hour That Love wound round me with a power Though Love has fill'd my chequer'd doom Yet there's an hour-there's still an hour thus situated, the work of Dr Adams now before us, which is intended principally for the use of females, and contains much useful and judicious information. His object has been, in as plain and familiar language as due regulation of their constitution, and to instruct the subject would admit, to direct their judgment in the them how to detect the approach of disease, and to obviate its consequences by the timely application of suita ble remedies." This object, we think, he has very suc cessfully attained. MISCELLANEOUS LITERATURE. A LETTER FROM ROME. SKETCH OF THE LIFE OF THE LATE POPE LEO XII. You ask me to give you some particulars regarding the private life and history of Pope Leo the Twelfth ; but, although I have been here several weeks, I have not had a moment's leisure to satisfy your curiosity until now. It is surprising how little is known of his present Holiness, even in his own capital; but having, from peculiar circumstances, been able to gather every authentic particular of his early history, they are at your service. I may, in the first place, however, introduce you to this venerable personage propria persona. A sunbeam in November is an exotic in our dingy climate, but in this bright atmosphere it is indigenous, and a finer day than last Sunday I never saw in the month of July in England. When passing through one of the cross streets near the Corso, on my return from the Church of St Maria sopra la Minerva, I was at tracted by the sight of an immense crowd, collected at the gate of a Palazzo, which was guarded by a piquet of Dragoons (the guardia nobile), in their dark green uniforms, cocked hats, and plumes of black feathers. Just as I approached, an old-fashioned state coach, gaudily gilded, drawn by six black steeds, drew up to the door. Every individual amongst the gaping crowd immediately knelt down, calling out "Benedictione, Sancto Padre !" A tall venerable-looking man, appa rently about seventy, in clerical robes, raising his right This letter was written before the decease of Leo XII. |