shillings for this exquisite volume, where they will have a memoir of all gallinaceous birds, and of Aristotle at the head of them! who, we suppose, is classed with them as an "animal bipes implume." But seriously, it is very fitting that a life of the first naturalist should precede a dissertation on his brother and sister bipeds; and, though our fair readers may smile at the juxta position of Aristotle and the turkeys, they will find, in the well-written memoir, which is the introduction to this volume, a great deal of correct and readable in formation as to one of the greatest philosophers that ever lived. Our readers will perceive that we are inclined to be pleased with the book-we would be very ungrateful if we were not. It is just such a volume as we love to read of a sultry summer's day, when the heat induces a languor that makes us long for something refreshing. And it was just on such a day we did read it, and gazed upon its elegant engravings; first, upon the sombre and stern bust of Aristotle—then, by way of contrast, upon the gay and somewhat foppish Gallus Bankiva, or Java Cock, who looks most unphilosophical, just upon the opposite page. By the way, Aristotle was a fop. Mr. Crichton labours hard to prove that he was not, but he is wrong-he shall not rob ourselves and Lord Palmerston of the consolatory consciousness that we have authority for dandyism. And so that point is settled beyond dispute. There are twenty-nine plates in the volume, exclusive of the engraving from the bust of Aristotle-all in perfect keeping with the entire character of the series rich, beautiful, and elegant.

No. II. is a work of a very different description. It is evidently written by a gentleman who does know something, and thinks he knows a great deal; and accordingly, it unites, with much that is interesting and amusing, a very fair quantity of what is stupid and absurd. The author is, evidently, a man of some talent and more information; but he is led away by his attachment to a theory, and, like all theorists, he sacrifices to his theory consistency both with probability and himself. There are a great many learned terms, and there is, also, a good deal of useful information, and some light and piquant sketches of

national and professional character illustrated by very striking and apposite engravings. But the Irishman is not done justice to, either by the pen or the pencil; in the description, he is represented as a sanguinary and a heartless ruffian-in the portrait he is drawn a stupid and lubberly dolt. There is no setting forth of that warmth of feeling, that enthu siasm of soul that casts its colouring over all his actions; and tinges even his crimes with the hues of virtue. The poor Welchman appears the special object of the physiologist's dislike. But, it is in his description of the clergyman, that he has exhibited a spirit of rancour against every thing that is good that merits the severest castigation that the language of criticism will admit. It is unworthy of literature-it is unworthy of any man--it is ungenerous and cowardly-to make a book, professing very different objects, the vehicle of sneers against the ministers of religion, the medium of circulating the venomous falsehoods of those who exhibit at once their meanness and their malice by slandering a profession, the members of which are precluded from retaliation. But the attack that is made by Mr. Walker upon those whose calling makes them sacred is both stupid and vulgar; the caricature is only fit for the walls of an ale-house; and the remarks that are annexed, were it not for their stupidity, might be very well mistaken for its slang. We trust, we shall not again have occasion to animadvert upon such conduct. We are very sure, that passages such as we have noticed, are not the best recommendation of any work to the favour of a moral and religious people.

No. III. is a work "sui generis." Intended to answer the ends of preparation for a college examination, it is admirably adapted for the purpose. The notes display an extent of classical information and a correctness of classical taste, that does credit to the author's industry and talent; and the student who wishes to understand the original will not, we imagine, have much occasion to seek for information beyond that which is furnished in the well se lected and judiciously arranged annotations of Mr. Drury.

We feel much satisfaction at the publication of these letters; and that, not merely because of the moral wisdom which they contain, nor yet because of the personal interest which we felt in the respected writers; but, because they afford us some tangible means of bringing before the minds of our readers a tolerably faithful representation of one of the most gifted and extraordinary individuals that ever appeared in Ireland. It was our privilege and felicity to have known the late Alexander Knox well; and never have we enjoyed the pleasure of conversing with one whose ordinary colloquy bore so much of the character of inspiration. We cannot better describe our impression of his general powers, than, by saying, that he was in moral, what Newton was in physical science, together with this great additional advantage, that his power of eloquence was such, as enabled him, without effort, to reveal, to very ordinary minds, the splendid systems of magnificent truths that were habitually the objects of his contemplation. And yet, with such powers, he was known but very little beyond the circle which he vivified by his immediate presence. To be sure, that circle might be said to contain the elitè of the worth and the intellect of Ireland. And the

highest minds of his acquaintance were always the readiest and the most ardent in their acknowledgments of his transcendant eloquence and sublime philosophy. But, it was still a matter of astonishment, that, with such powers, he was contented to limit his sphere of usefulness to that didactic instruction which he so freely imparted to all who were privileged to attend at his intellectual levy, and did not embody, in some great and enduring work, those opinions, and those principles which he was known to entertain, and which, whatever might be pronounced respecting their absolute coincidence with perfect orthodoxy, (upon that we offer no judgment,) would, undoubtedly, be cherished by posterity, as, possibly, the finest specimen on record, of a rich and platonic theoretical theology.

But, extraordinary as this fact is, there are some considerations, partly moral, partly physical, which render it not surprising. Mr. Knox was a man who, from early youth, never enjoyed good health. Indeed, so feeble was his infancy, that his parents never ventured to send him to school, and his education might be said to have been altogether self-derived and selfdirected. This will appear not a little curious to those who remember his perfect knowledge of the Greek

VOL. IV.

and Latin languages, and his intimate acquaintance with the choicest wisdom and the highest beauties which they contain. The maxims of the venerable ancients were with him as familiar as "household words," and, such was the tenacity of his memory, that he not only retained a strong general impression of whatever once struck him as valuable, but he could ever after refer to the very page and line in which it was contained, whenever the exigencies of his argument required an allusion to it, with a readiness that was the astonishment and the admiration of his hearers. Such, however, was his feeble state of body, that he could not calculate, to a certainty, upon any such continuance of good health as might afford a reasonable degree of encouragement to undertake any weighty literary or professional labours. When to this it is added, that, from a very early period of his life, he was a devotedly religious man, that the seeds of ambition had been radically extirpated from his heart, and that he was, literally, dead to earthly objects, our surprise will be much diminished that he did not devote himself, with zeal and assiduity, to some work, which would have required an intensity of labour, such as his health could not bear, in the absence of all the usual motives which ordinarily cheer and stimulate literary undertakings.

It will, we know, be said, that those very religious impressions which rendered him indifferent to mere worldly reputation, should not have been without their due effect in causing him, from higher motives, and in strict obedience to divine injunctions, to suffer his light, both moral and intellectual, so to shine before men, that they might glorify his Father who is in hea

ven.

This is true; and we can only say, that we believe Alexander Knox endeavoured, to the best of his ability, to promote the cause of true religion. He did not entertain the same opinion of his own powers of usefulness, that were entertained by most of his acquaintance; and he thought that the utmost which he was called upon to do, was, to give right notions, upon important subjects, to all those whom the reputation of his worth and wisdom drew around him. This was a labour of which he never tired. There was a

certain pleasing excitement in the exercise of his conversational abilities, which enabled him, for hours, to expa tiate upon the important subjects that were ever nearest to his heart, and sustained him under continuous efforts of thought, by which, in the solitude of the study, he would have been exhausted. Besides, there was this peculiarity, that his conversation was immeasurably beyond his composition. Nothing surprised his friends more than the felicity of his language, the happy arrangement of his thoughts, the exquisite richness and force of the imagery by which they were illustrated and adorned, except the fact, that, when he came to put the same matter into a written form, the production had all the appearance of a tame translation of himself. If the reader will picture to himself John Kemble, making his exit in Roman or Grecian costume, and his next entrance in the plain garb of a primitive quaker, he will be able to form some idea of the difference between Mr. Knox when he spoke and when he wrote. In the former case, his noble imagination had free play, and, as it was always strictly under the influence of an exquisitely cultivated moral sense, it never transgressed its proper province, but acted, simply, as the internuncius between his noble intellect and the less gifted minds of his friends, simplifying and facilitating the apprehension of his profound and lofty philosophic communications. In the latter case, either the absence of the same degree of excitement, or the presence of a severer and more rigid judgment, or, probably both, prevented that fond and glowing expatiation upon moral generalities, in which he loved to indulge, and which, indeed, constituted the chief charm of his conversation. So that, those who can only know him as a writer, know him not half. They may, and no doubt they will, experience much pleasure, and derive much instruction from the important truths that have been stated with so much clearness, and the fine comprehensive views which have been sketched by such a master-hand. Many an eye will be gladdened, and many a thirsty lip will be moistened, by the stream that wells out of the rock, into which, whenever he composed, his intellectual powers, by an

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