own sake. Far otherwise is it with the Icelandic. All our readers, we suppose, know that this noble language, which has remained for centuries nearly incorrupt in the remarkable island where it is still spoken, has continued the sole depository of literary treasures the common property of all the Scandinavian and Teutonic races, which would have perished had it not been for faithful Iceland, as they have perished in Norway, Denmark, Sweden, Germany, and England. Had Iceland and the learned scribes Ari the Learned and Sæmund the Wise, and the school they founded, not existed, Teutonic Europe would have known little of the history, and next to nothing of the mythology, of its forefathers. There was a time when every tribe of that great family could trace its royal race up to Woden, and when they one and all believed in the Æsir or gods, who dwelt in Asgard, the very centre of this middle earth.' In them they beheld the blessed divinities who ruled the universe, and were ever watchful, by Woden's good counsel and advice and Thor's crushing hammer, to shield man from the attacks of the Frost Giants, the Evil Powers who lived beyond the confines of the habitable world, and were always eager to injure gods and men. Of this mythology, which for heartiness and grandeur may hold its own against any that the world has known, all memory, as a systematic whole, has perished from the literature of medieval Europe. With the introduction of Christianity the ancient gods of the Teutonic race had been deposed, ' and their places assigned to devils and witches.' Here and there a tradition, a popular tale, or a superstition lingered, to show how much had been lost; but even the matchless powers of reconstruction and restoration which the Grimms and their school brought to bear on the mythology of North-western Europe would have failed, had it not been that Iceland, in preserving through the dark ages the two Eddas, presented to us as in a mirror the very form of that belief which the early Teutons created for themselves. As Jacob Grimm well remarked, one grain of the Edda is worth a ton of theory and speculation. Any one, therefore,' says Dr. Dasent, that desires to see 'what manner of men his forefathers were, in their relation to 'the gods, how they conceived their theogony, how they ima'gined and constructed their cosmogony, must betake himself to the Eddas, as illustrated by the Sagas.' If we pass from mythology to the domain of history, we shall find the vernacular literature of Iceland no less attractive and instructive. First come the mythical Sagas, which deal with heroes, half gods and half men, who lived in times when the preternatural prevailed, and when the human was eked out with the divine.

These, we must confess, however valuable for mythological ends and as supplementing the Eddas, are not the most attractive. In these elevated regions,' says Dr. Dasent, respiration is im'peded, and we only half live: the gods and heroes have it too 'much their own way, and we are amazed rather than sympa'thetic.' Next come the so-called historical Sagas-lives of the kings of Norway and Denmark, and of the great earls of Orkney and the North, which sometimes exist in several recensions, the most famous being the Heimskringla of Snorri Sturluson, who aimed at a critical arrangement of the whole series. These Sagas tell of the great deeds of the kings of the North, as when Harold Hardrada invaded England only to fall with many thousands of his men at Stamford Bridge, and when Magnus called Barelegs because he wore the kilt, harried Scotland and Ireland only to be cut off in the county Down. But though kings and earls are the leading characters in these Sagas, the bold spirit of the freeman of the North runs through them like golden thread, and they are full of the outspoken utterances of the allodial franklins of Scandinavia, 'who did not scruple, if king or earl wronged them, to defy 'them and resist them to the death.'

Besides these, there is another series of Sagas, and those the most interesting because they are the most truthful of all. The genius of the Saga-writer has more power to charm as it approaches nearer to our common earth. These are the

Sagas which relate the every-day life of the Icelanders at home and abroad; and it is in this class, as might be supposed, that we find the masterpieces of the literature. Putting the Nial Saga on one side as a work entirely by itself, and as the very flower of this wonderful Icelandic prose literature, we may ask where, in any vernacular literature of the Middle Ages, shall we find such a sharply-cut character as the energetic and yet law-skilled Glum, in the Saga which bears his name; or as the noble Gisli, the true brother and faithful friend; or as Snorri the Priest, the politic and yet resolute chief, in the Eyrbyggja-Saga, that man who was bold as a lion and yet was ever ready to eke out the hide of the king of beasts with the fox's skin. Where such women as Gudrun in Laxdæla, the woman who, according to her own account, was worst to him she loved best;' or Bergthora, Njal's loving wife; or, coming to bad women, as Hallgerda, the unforgiving hateful woman, who was wedded to the generous Gunnar, only to desert him at the hour of his greatest need. Nor, if we descend to the last age of Icelandic independence, shall we find the Sturlunga, that great Saga, which tells of the internecine feuds of the great

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chiefs in the thirteenth century, which ruined their country, less full of noble characters and striking traits. We are therefore glad to find that the Delegates of the Oxford Press are about to follow up the good work which they have begun in this Dictionary by printing, under the editorship of Mr. Vigfusson, a critical text of this most important Saga from an excellent MS. in the British Museum. No other country in Europe,' says Dr. Dasent, possesses an ancient vernacular literature to be compared with this; and if to this be added the translations and adaptations from the cycle of Romance literature, and the homilies and works of religious edification, as ' well as those on physical and moral science, of which Iceland 5 possesses her full share, we shall see that, whether in a literary or a philosophical point of view, no literature in Europe in the Middle Ages can compete with that of Iceland. It is not certainly in formâ pauperis that she appears at the bar of the tribunal of learning."

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Into this magnificent literature, which may be truly said to contain reading for a lifetime, it is that a door has been opened by the liberality of the Delegates of the Oxford Press. Let the reader not forget to honour those to whom honour is due, when he wanders through these fresh pastures. No better use can be conceived of the means, both pecuniary and mechanical, which the Oxford Press has at its disposal, than that it should devote a portion of them to a work like this Icelandic Dictionary, which may be said to contain the life-blood of Cleasby, for he died in its conception, and the best years of Mr. Vigfusson's life, who has worked so indefatigably at its completion, and been fortunate enough to see it appear in its full proportions, containing more than twice the matter and the references embodied in Cleasby's materials. In conclusion, let us hope that all who have been concerned in the publication of this great philological work will find their reward: the heirs of Richard Cleasby, in the consciousness that the labours of their illustrious relative have at last seen the light; the Delegates of the Oxford Press, in the conviction that they have fostered a work which is alike honourable to Oxford and to England; and, though last, not, certainly, least, Mr. Vigfusson, in the assurance that in this Dictionary he has raised an abiding monument to his own consummate scholarship, as well as to the memory of Richard Cleasby.

ART. IX. Journal of Henry Cockburn; being a Continuation of Memorials of his Time.' 2 Vols. 8vo. Edinburgh:

1874.

T is sixteen years ago since we reviewed in this Journal a posthumous work entitled Memorials of his Time, by Henry Cockburn.' The author was the judge of the Supreme Court of Scotland, well known under the title of Lord Cockburn. The book was full of freshness and vivacity, and gave a vivid and amusing picture of the manners and habits of society, the politics and the gossip, the distinguished men and the public events of the period of his youth and earlier manhood, in the northern portion of the island. It was written with considerable power and humour, and was a very pleasant and, as it proved, a very popular and successful autobiography.

In our former notice we took the opportunity of describing the general character of its author, who was a man, although not much known perhaps beyond the limits of Scotland, singularly well known within them. Apart altogether from his professional and forensic abilities, which were very considerable, his genial temper, kindly manners, and fund, which never failed, of humorous and lively thought and expression, made him a favourite with all classes, and with men of all shades of opinion. There were few men-indeed there were none, of note or distinction in Scotland during the period of which he wrote with whom he had not lived on terms of intimacy. The friend of Scott and Jeffrey, Horner and Brougham, Playfair and Dugald Stewart; a scion of the house of Dundas, but a strong adherent of Fox and the Whigs-he had opportunities of observation, as well as personal experience, which imparted zest and colour to these desultory but lively reflections of the past. Terminating in 1830, the object of the book was to sketch, as it did with considerable brightness, a state of society which was then expiring, and which has now entirely passed away. It contained also a history of the early vicissitudes and struggles of the Whig leaders and party in Edinburgh; of the commencement of the Edinburgh Review,' and of the circle to whom it owed its birth, to which he himself belonged; of the gradual growth, and ultimate culmination and triumph, of the opinions which it asserted; and broke off just as the crisis was at hand, and the creed, so long in the shadow, was about to emerge into the sunshine.

The two volumes now before us, the title of which we have prefixed to this article, are a continuation of the Memorials,'

and embrace the period from 1830 down to 1854. The author seems to have jotted down, at pretty close intervals, his thoughts and views of passing events. These memoranda were continued till within a very few days of his death. We do not doubt, and these volumes indicate the fact pretty plainly, that there may have been among the original materials many reminiscences recorded which a prudent editor would be inclined to suppress, even after the comparatively long interval which has elapsed. We observe with pleasure that the editing of the work deserves all commendation. It is laudably and exceptionally free from faults too common in such publications. The selection contains nothing approaching to a violation of private confidence; nor have the editors been tempted, for the sake of point or pungency, to include anything which could justly wound the feelings or the reputation of the living. Some passages occur, of strength and vigour, in regard to the actions. and character of public men; but they never transgress or even approach the boundaries of fair and honourable criticism. There is no egotism-no affectation-nothing which does not breathe the kindly taste and affectionate spirit of the man.

How much Cockburn himself would have shrunk from such posthumous treachery as is not unusual in the present day, may be gathered from the following extract from his Journal in 1845:

'I have all my life had a bad habit of preserving letters, and of keeping them all arranged and docqueted; but seeing the future use that is often made of papers, especially by friendly biographers who rarely hesitate to sacrifice confidence and delicacy to the promotion of sale or excitement, I have long resolved to send them all up the chimney in the form of smoke; and yesterday the sentence was executed. I have kept Richardson's and Jeffrey's, and some correspondence I had during important passages of our Scotch progress; but the rest, amounting to several thousands, can now, thank God, enable no venality to publish sacred secrets, or to stain fair reputations by plausible mistakes. Yet old friends cannot be parted with without a pang The sight of even the outsides of letters of fifty years recalls a part of the interest with which each was received in its day, and their annihilation makes one start, as if one had suddenly reached the age of final oblivion. Nevertheless as packet after packet smothered the fire with its ashes, and gradually disappeared in dim vapour, I reflected that my correspondents were safe, and I was pleased.' (Vol, ii. p. 103.)

It was not to be expected that as Cockburn's notes approached more nearly to the times of the present generation, they should retain the charm which distance lent to his retrospect, or the quaint and picturesque effect which was produced by his recol lections of less familiar habits. Since 1830 everything in the