correct opinion on the subject of Catholie emancipation, at this day, if there be no bias from selfish motives, can hardly be considered as proof of superior sagacity; yet openly to espouse the cause of the Catholics, and adhere to it with persevering zeal, is, in our opinion, a proof of magnanimity, patriotism and enduring courage, that deserves the most unfeigned praise. Indeed, all Mr. Phillips's sentiments on the subject of toleration, entirely coincide with our own, and though we cannot relish his rhetoric, yet we will not for that, withhold our approbation of his principles. If there be any such thing as equal rights,--if the social principle, which indicates the proper condition for man, and leads directly to the golden rule," do unto others as you would that others should do unto you," be not intended for a snare,—if communities can owe gratitude for services,-if it be magnanimous to retract when wrong, to abjure error and repair injury,-if there be policy in justice, nay, if there be any such moral attribute as justice, and that be the only sure foundation of national grandeur, the only basis broad and stable enough to support the weight of empire,--if there be any binding force in the laws of nature or the precepts and injunctions of revelation,-if there be any thing any thing that is not meant to mock our reason and cajole our moral sense, the ART. 2. Irish Catholics should be emancipated. There may be, doubtless there are, some difficulties, though we think there cannot be many, in the way of accomplishing this great duty, so as to render it most beneficial in its results,--but on the general question itself, there is no more doubt, than there is that oppression is forbidden. But we have not room to enter into an argument on the Catholic question, and we must conclude. We have not much expectation that our opinion of Mr. Phillips's merits as an orator, will be generally thought correct; but it is our opinion, let it meet with what reception it may. We shall probably be considered most singular in our estimate of Mr. Phillips's talents; but we must say, that we are not among those, who regard the faculty, or the habit of making similes, as equivalent to genius, or any proof of a great intellect-On the contrary, we think the profusion with which Mr. Phillips pours forth his figures, an evidence of deficiency in the power of thinking, and that in consequence of this deficiency, he has been in the habit of stimulating his fancy, for the sake of surrounding himself with a glare, that might prevent a close examination, until he has destroyed the healthy tone of his mind, and his judgment can no longer control his imagination. L Harrington, a Tale, and Ormond, a Tale.-By Maria Edgeworth. New THAT species of works of imagina- name of novel, is of comparatively recent invention. The earliest fictions were in verse, and in the early languages poesy and fiction were synonymous. Still the primitive poets did not feel themselves licensed to fabricate the material of their themes, but were content to mould the current traditions of their country with plastic art, and adorn the rude records of history with fanciful embellishments. Hesiod and Homer adopted, but improved and expanded, the popular legends. Their example tended to circumscribe the flights of succeeding bards. The story of Job is the first, and was long an isolated specimen of pure fiction. Who was the author of this sublime poem, it is at this time impossible to ascertain. The compilers of the Bible have generally ascribed it to Moses, and on VOL. I. NO. VI. this presumption have included it in the breathes, and the lesson which it inculcates, well entitle it to this distinction. It may be regarded as an extended parable, the moral of which is equally plain and impressive. The ancient pastoral poetry, though its scenes were feigned, from the paucity of its incident, gave little scope to invention. Fictitious narratives in prose were unknown to Greece till the decline of her literature, and were barely introduced into Rome before the Augustan age. The origin of these compositions is attributed to the Persians. From them they were derived through the Milesians, a Greek colony of Asia Minor, who fell under the Persian dominion, and translated into their own dialect the amusing tales of their conquerors. Of these tales not one is extant. They are reput d to have been of an amatory, and even a 3G lascivious complexion. Ovid alludes to them in his Tristia. Some imitations of the Milesian tales were produced both in Greece and Rome, but they probably possessed little merit, as they gained litthe celebrity. The Theagines and Chariclea of Heliodorus, is, if we except the medley of the Ass' of Apuleius, the most ancient romance that has reached us entire. Heliodorus was bishop of Tricca in the fourth century. His work was condemned by a synod, and it was left at his option to resign his bishopric or burn the offending book. He preferred to relinquish his see. This famous story is ingenious and interesting and with all its extravagance, has, in its details, an imposing adherence to nature and truth. So successful a production was assumed as a model by many succeeding writers. : The thirteenth century gave birth to the tales of chivalry. We shall not attempt here to trace their paternity. The adventures of Arthur and the Knights of the Round Table, of Charlemagne and his Paladins, of Amadis and Palmerin, with a few novelettes and fublinux, constituted the polite reading of Europe for nearly four centuries. It was not till the reign of Charles the II. that romantic characters were taken from real life, and fictitious plots founded on probable coincidences. The Memoirs of the new Atalantis,' by Mrs. Manley, are filled with the fashionable scandal of that day. This circumstance, though it contributed to their temporary notoriety, has rendered these volumes of little interest now the allusions are forgotten. Mrs. Behn was a cotemporary writer and of the same licentious school. These ladies were closely followed, in point of time as well as of manner, by Mrs. Heywood. Her Betsey Thoughtless, however, is less exceptionable than the works of her predecessors, and is supposed to have furnished Miss Burney with the outline of her Evelina. About the middle of the eighteenth century, Richardson, Fielding, and Smollett introduced a new style and a new taste. Pamela, Clarissa, and Sir Charles Grandison, are, indeed, somewhat too ponderous for light reading, now books of this description are multiplied, yet we must not forget that it is to the beneficent effect of a diligent perusal of them, that we are indebted for much of the present amelioration of our works of fancy and habits of thinking. But however Richardson's novels may have become obsolete, so long as our language shall be legible, and wit and humour shall be relished, Tom Jones and Roderick Random will never fall into oblivion. The wonderful propagation of novels within the last half century, prevents our enumerating, much less attempting to characterize them. Brooke, Walpole, Defoe, Johnson, Goldsmith, Sterne, Moore, Cumberland, Mackenzie, Pratt, Godwin, Holcroft, Bisset, Walker, Surr, Phillips, Lewis, Maturin, Mrs. Radeliffe, Miss Roche, Mrs. Bennett, Mrs. Smith, Mrs. West, Miss More, Mrs. Pickington, Mrs. Opie, Mrs. Roberts, Mrs Robinson, Mrs. Hamilton, Miss Lee, Madame D'Arblay, Miss Edgeworth, Miss Williams, Mrs. Hoffland, Lady Morgan, the Miss Porters, and Miss Taylor, are among the adventurers, in this class of compositions, with various success, in this period. The best novel writer of the present day is anonymous. The author of Waverley, Guy Mannering, the Antiquary, and the Tales of My Landlord is unknown; whilst his works are in every body's hands, and his praises in every body's mouth. can hardly imagine a motive for the coucealment of that which the first genius of the age might be proud to avow, and which would add lustre to the most distinguished name. We We We Of Miss Edgeworth's general merits as a novelist we have expressed our opinion in the notice of her Comic Dramas, in our last number. Utility is the leading trait of her productions. She has not been satisfied merely to amuse-she has endeavoured to inform and improve. Constructed with reference to such designs, novels are salutary reading. can see ourselves only by reflection, and even pictures of our acquaintances present their peculiarities in a stronger point of view. We remark eccentricities in an imitation which had failed to impress us in the original. Skilful copies of life have always an interest and a use. are instructed in the analysis of character and in the art of observation. But the exhibition of pleasing verisimilitudes is not the only purpose to which novels may be applied. They may be made to convey the most wholesome moral. In real life our horizon is limited. We become only partially acquainted with the history, and are still less familiar with the motives of the actors in its busy scenes. We see neither the beginning nor the end of the drama. The denouement is reserved for another world. We may here, at times, behold vice flourishing like a green bay tree,' and righteousness begging its bread,' but the final retribution though certain to our faith, is veiled from our 6 sight. In the creations of fancy, the author is the arbiter of events, and it is his own fault if he do not contrive them to fulfil the course of justice. The novel reader is admitted into the confidence of every character in the piece. To him all bosoms are open and all artifice is manifest. He watches the progress of the plot, and is only satisfied with an eventual distribution of rewards and punishments proportionate to the deserts or demerits of the parties. His expectations are defeated when this apportioninent is not observed, and so far as he lends himself to the illusion, dissatisfaction and distrust of providence follow disappointment. It will perhaps be asked why the same sentiments do not grow out of actual as well as ideal suffering, it being admitted that, in fact, the order of justice is often apparently inverted in the temporal lot of mankind. To this we may reply-that we do not know any existing individuals as intimately as the hero of a tale-we have not the whole tenor of their feelings and conduct developed to us, and we cannot tell how far they have merited their calamities. We are not, therefore, so forcibly struck with a sense of their cruelty. But it is a wanton infliction, to heap distresses upon innocence in the pages of a novel. We have too frequent occasions to call in the assistance of religion to enable us to submit to inevitable dispensations, and it is worse than idle to tempt our patience, with imaginary evils. Miss Edgeworth is not chargeable with any transgressions against poetic justice. She has, indeed, never obtruded her moral upon the reader, but she has always led him to favourable inferences. She has not, perhaps, proposed the highest motives to exertion, nor enforced adherence to the path of virtue, by the most powerful sanctions. Her reasoning is, however, generally correct, and her course equally consistent with policy and conscience. Belinda, Vivian, Ennui, Emilie de Coulanges, Manoeuvring, the Absenter, and Patronage, are justly popular works. She has produced numerous other tales, and some miscellanies, none of which are without merit. We shall reserve our judgment on the volumes before us, till we have exhibited a summary of their contents. We learn from the preface, written by the author's father, Richard Lovell Edgeworth, in which with a presage, too soon and solemnly accomplished, he took an eternal leave of the public, that, "The first of these tales, Harrington, was occasioned by an extremely well written letter, which Miss Edgeworth received from America, from a Jewess, complaining of the illiberality with which the Jewish nation had been treated in some of Miss Edgeworth's works." We should have suspected as much, without this assurance. The hero is introduced to us when six years old. He was playing in the balcony of his father's house in London, whilst his nurse was occupied in chatting with a servant at a neighbour's window. It was about dusk, and the lamplighter had just commenced his rounds. At this moment, an old man, with a long white beard and a dark visage, holding a great bag slung over one shoulder, made his appearance, mutteringin an unintelligible tone, Old clothes!' Old clothes!' Old clothes!' Nurse nodded to him, and at the same time, laid hold on our hero, exclaiming, "time for you to come off to bed, Master Har rington." Young Master resisted lustily, and began to kick and roar. To silence his opposition, the maid, as usual, had recourse to threats, "If you don't come quietly this minute, Master Harrington," said she, "I'll call to Simon the Jew there," pointing to him, "and he shall come and carry you away in his great bag." This had the desired effect. But the fright did not subside with the occasion of it. The figure of Old Simon,' haunted the visions of poor Harrington long after, and Fowler, his maid, having discovered his apprehensions, did not fail to augment, by the most ridiculous stories, a terror which rendered him so tractable. The poor boy was told, among other things, that these 'old Jews' used to catch little children, and put them in their great bags, and carry them home and make pork pies of them! These horrible tales became so ingrafted in our hero's belief, that his imagination was ever conjuring up awful spectres. He dared not be left a moment alone in the dark, and Fowler paid for her folly by the trouble which it caused her. Night after night she was obliged to sit, for hours, singing the child to sleep. At length, finding she could not dissipate the alarms she had awakened, she begged a dismission, and obtained a recommendation from Harrington's mo ther to her friend Lady de Brantefield, who gave her the charge of her little daughter Lady Anne Mowbray. But our hero's disease was too deeply seated suddenly to subside. Fowler had exacted from him a promise that he never would reveal what she had told him about the old Jews. His parents were, there fore, ignorant of the cause of his unhappiness. He ventured, however, after her departure, to hint that he had imbibed some dreadful ideas about the Jews, and that it was fear of old Simon that prevented his sleeping a-nights. His mother, who was a vapourish fine lady, entered into and magnified all his distresses. His aversion to the Jews she considered a natural antipathy, and was fond of descanting in all companies on the delicacy of her Harrington's nerves, and the peculiarity of his idiosyncracy. This topic was, however, at last exhausted, though the feelings which had thus been encouraged were exacerbated, and Harrington's health had fallen a prey to his morbid sensibility. At this period Mrs. Harrington bethought her of a scheme for allaying his tremors by removing the exciting cause. She sent for old Simon and agreed to give him an annual stipend provided he would never again visit the street in which she resided. Simon adhered to this bargain, but divulged the conditions. No sooner did his brethren learn this profitable compromise than they became anxious to obtain a similar recompense for forbearance. All the 'old Jews' in the metropolis now paraded daily before Harrington's house, and as they were bought off the beggars assumed this disguise as a successful means of extortion. The house was finally besieged to such a degree that Harrington's father, who was a member of Parliament, and usually absorbed in political speculations, was, at last, molested by the nuisance. He applied forthwith to the police, and after much trouble got rid of the annoy ance. Mr. Harrington was no more a friend to the Jews than our hero. He was even taking a stand against the ministry, on the bill for naturalizing them. He considered the interest which his son took in every discussion, in which the name of this people was introduced at this time, as an evidence of wonderful precocity, being ignorant of the state of his hearer's mind. He resolved, therefore, to send his hopeful heir to a public school, as best calculated to improve his expanding powers. At this school, Harrington found his old playfellow, Lord Mowbray. Here he passed five years. The only occurrence in this interval, with which we are concerned, relates to a Jew. On the death of a Scotch pedlar, who had supplied the scholars with toys and trifles, two competitors for the employment started up, an English lad, by the name of Dutton, and a Jew buy, by the name of Jacob. The first was a dependant of Lord Mowbray's family, and of course had his lordship's influence, though his character was not unimpeached. Harrington's friendship for Mowbray, and his hatred for the Jews, attached him to his party. The choice, however, fell upon Jacob, principally on the recommendation of one of the youngest of the scholars, who had experienced a signal instance of his honesty and liberality. Mowbray's hostility, nevertheless, was not subdued. He used every means. in his power to molest the poor, peaceable, unoffending Jew, and on one occasion had resolved to use him with violence. To pick a quarrel, he plied him with various interrogatories. Among other questions, he asked him who was his father. Jacob declined answering this question; and Mowbray seized on his reserve and embarrassment on this point, as evidence of his father's baseness and criminality. Harrington was hurt by his lordship's rudeness and inhumanity, and interposed in favour of the Jew. Mowbray now turned his rage upon his champion, and his insolence soon led to blows. In the scuffle which ensued, Jacob, at the instance of Harrington, made his escape. He returned no more in his vocation. Mowbray went to Oxford, and our hero, soon after, to Cambridge. On his route to the university, Harrington fell in with Jacob. The honest Jew, with much gratitude for his friendly interference on the memorable occasion just related, told him old Simon was his father, and that he refused to tell his name, for fear of reviving painful recollections in Harrington's breast. Our hero and his old acquaintance now became fast friends. Jacob gave him an introduction to a learned Jew at Cambridge-Mr. Israel Lyons. In the society of this amiable man, and accomplished scholar, Harrington lost all his prejudices against the Hebrew nation. On quitting college for the metropolis, Mr. Lyons gave him a letter to Mr. Montenero, a Jewish gentleman, born in Spain, but long resident in this country. Circumstances occurred to prevent Harrington from finding out Mr. Montenero immediately on his arrival in town. His father and mother set their faces resolutely against his cultivating an intimacy with a Jew, and the latter, as a precautionary measure, burnt his introductory letter. Baffled thus in his hopes of enjoying the society of Mr. Montenero, Harrington accompanied a party to the theatre, when, by a lucky chance, the Merchant of Venice was enacted, and Macklin personated the Jew. In the box ad joining that occupied by Harrington and his friends, was an alderman's lady and her daughters, and a stranger of most interesting appearance, whose deep interest in the piece, and strong emotions, soon betrayed her to be a Jewess. In the course of the performance, her agitation became so great, as to produce a faint ness, and as her party was unattended by any gentleman, our hero promptly and gallantly proffered his services. He had the pleasure to attend her whilst one of his servants procured a chair, in which she returned home. Mrs. Coates, the lady alderman, politely requested him to all the next day, and assured him that Miss Montenero! would be particularly happy to thank him for his civility. Before he could make his visit, however, Mr. Montenero waited on him, to make his acknowledgments for his attention to his daughter. On The way was thus opened to an easy intercourse with this charming family. Lord Mowbray, who was now a Colonel in the army, and apparently much improved in his disposition, was one of Harrington's party at the theatre, and was introduced by him to Mr. Montenero and his lovely daughter. Unfortunately our hero could not persuade his mother to make any advances to an acquaintance with his Jewish friends. But this did not deter him from continuing it. He and Lord Mowbray accompanied Mr. Montenero, and Berenice, to all those places to which curiosity attracted her. these occasions, our hero often gave way to bursts of enthusiasm, prompted by the associations called up by the monuments of remote events. Lord Mowbray persuaded him, that it was to this vivacity that he owed much of his favour in the eyes of the Monteneros, and endeavoured to encourage his extravagances. We must not forget to mention, that Jacob, the pedlar, had now become a confidential servant of Mr. Montenero's, and that the meeting between him and Lord Mowbray was productive of some embarrassment, arising not so much from the school-boy fracas, as a subsequent manifestation of the same temper in his lordship towards Jacob at Gibraltar. To arrive at once at the point, to which the reader will perceive every thing is tending, Harrington had become desperately enamoured of Miss Montenero. But though in respect of fortune she might be deemed an eligible match, he feared that her religion and lineage would prevent his parents from consenting to their union. One evening he returned very late from his usual visit, and as he wa desirous of letting his father and mother know the rank and fashion of some of the company he had met at Mr. Montenero's party, he prevailed on Lord Mowbray to stop a few moments to rehearse their names and titles in his volubie style. But he had made a most unfortunate selection of his time. His father had just heard, at a large dinner, of the attachment of his son to a Jewess, and he had sworn by Jupiter Ammon, (an irrevocable oath) that if he married her, he would disinherit him. He was therefore in no humour to relish Lord Mowbray's levity. On the contrary he came out upon Harrington with a dreadful imprecation, and ordered him, as he valued his favour, to accompany him and his mother into the country the next morning. Harrington, having deliberately revolved the matter, concluded to stay where he was. He possessed a small independency, and determined to consult his inclinations on so important a point as matrimony. Mowbray called upon him in the course of the day, and learning his resolution, violently condemned it. But finding it impossible to dissuade Harrington from his designs on Miss Montenero, frankly avowed himiself his rival! This terminated their friendship. They both eagerly sought opportunities to press their suit. Mowbray had another incentive than love. His dissipation had deeply involved his fortune, and the portion of a Jewish heiress would have been a very convenient supply. In fact, his necessities drove him at last to a declaration. He was rejected, and fled to the continent. Harrington now felt sanguine of success, and ventured to propose to Mr. Montenero for the hand of Berenice, Mr. Montenero expressed his high esteem for his character, but told him there was an obstacle which he could not reveal, and which time only could remove, if it were. removeable. In the mean time he allowed him to visit the family as his friend. Of the nature of this obstacle Harrington could form no conjecture, and to these terms he was obliged to subscribe. Harrington's father returned to town, and it so happened, that Mr. Montenero conferred on him a signal benefit, before he knew to whom he was obliged. He became acquainted, too, with Miss Montenero, and fully sensible of her worth. But still they were Jews, and he had sworn by Jupiter Ammon, never to countenance the connexion. Yet he was somewhat surprised and mortified to |