correct opinion on the subject of Catholic 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 ewe 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

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

THAT species of works of imagination which is distinguished by the 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 sacred volume. The language which it 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 3 G

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 fubliaux, 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 hall 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 enunerating, 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. Radcliffe, 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. We can hardly imagine a motive for the concealment 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

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. We 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 que

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 expecta tions are defeated when this apportionment 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 Absentee, 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 ofthe 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, muttering in 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 Harrington." 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 mother 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 encou raged 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 wboy, 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. Har.ington'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 ques tions, 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