In a conversation between the Captain, the Doctor, and Albion, the first of these gentlemen gives the following description of the character of the Duke of Wellington :— "Hannibal was wily and perservering; Alexander was bold and rapid; Cæsar was wise to combine, and swift to execute; but Wellington, as a general, is wily, persevering, bold, and rapid; his powers of combination are immense, and his execution like thought! In all forward movements, his great antagonist, Napoleon, showed himself an able Commander, and worthy of that martial renown his achievements acquired; but, in his retrograde movements, his fortune and abilities forsook him, and left him but little whereby to distinguish him from the crowd of Generals, that are carried, every age, into the gulph of oblivion. Of our great Duke, and of him alone, perhaps, it can justly be said, there is a General who never conquered by chance, whose every victory is the natural and obvious result of powerful combination and noble execution." If we were unable to discover any passages in this little work more deserving of cen#are than those quoted above, we might be disposed to pronounce an unqualified panogyric upon its anonymous author; but as life itself is composed of bitters as well as sweets, and, as our author observes, "all dreams of pleasure are transient," so were ours, during the perusal of the Maid of Killarney. The tale was evidently invented to throw together a heterogeneous collection of opinions, without sufficient attention to order, and not at all times to propriety; and according to the general method of perusing novels, that is, glancing only at what are emphatically called interesting passages, an expert reader might pass through the whole volume in the course of an hour. In case of a second edition, we would recommend the author carefully to correct some inelegant phrases, and a few instances of false grammar. Yet, notwithstanding its numerous defects, we must confess that the work contains much valuable matter; and we cherish the hope entertained by the author, that it may "do some good and no harm, correct certain errors, and establish certain truths which to him appeared of no small consequence." JOURNAL of a Tour and Residence in Great Britain, during the years 1810 and 1811, by Louis Simond. Second edition, corrected and enlarged to which is added an appendix on France, written in December 1815, and October 1816. 2 vols. 8vo. £1. 11s. 6d. Longman and Co. London. THIS lively writer has sent into the world, under the name of Louis Simond, a work well deserving in many respects the attention of the British public. He professes to be a Frenchman; but informs us that his book was originally written in English, nearly as it now appears; but being chiefly intended for his countrymen, it was fully prepared for publication in France. Circumstances existing which at that time prevented its publieatin on the continent, the expedient of giving it to the world in England was adopted. For this bold adventure he thinks it necessary to say a few words, to extricate himself from the double danger to which a foreigner under such circumstances is exposed ; but without many misgivings of conscience as to the consequences of this step, throws himself on the liberality of the public. We suspect, after all, that Louis Simond is an Englishman. Had his acquaintance with the English language been less perfect; had he manifested as thorough a know ledge of the politics, philosophy, and literature of the French as of the English; had he showed any striking traits of national character, which will almost inevitably appear in a foreigner; and had he entered with less facility into the discussion of the abstruser points of English literature, we might have been disposed to omit these observations; but should we be mistaken in our conjecture, this circumstance will not, we trust, prevent our readers from entering with us fairly into the merits of an author who, in two octavo volumes, gravely undertakes to criticise the laws, manners, customs, fine arts, and literature of Great Britain. There is something now-a-days, in the very name of a JOURNAL, a Tour on the Continent,― Remarks during a Residence in -, A Month at ——, —, and a variety of other titles, under which the imbecility of modern scribblers has contrived to palm upon the public the vapid effusions of weak and brainless heads, that is quite tiresome, if not sickening. The press has been so glutted with works of this class, that curiosity has dwindled into indifference, indifference into satiety, and, save in a few instances, satiety into disgust. We see their titles announced with somewhat less emotion, than we experience on passing our eye down the colnmns of a country-newspaper, in which nothing is mentioned but sales of Indigo, Cotton, and Brazil-wood. Not that we mean to include all writers of Journals and Tours in one general sentence of condemnation; but can it be less than absurd and ridiculous (and it is a case which has occurred), for an Englishman who has crossed the Channel, spent his month or six weeks at Paris, and pushed as far as the Lake of Geneva, to publish on his return a Tour through France and Switzerland? Such writers ought to expect that we shall laugh both at them and their books. But those of our readers who enter on the perusal of the present work, under the expectation of finding a dry and dull detail of what struck the observation of the author, unsought, from breakfast to dinner, from dinner to supper, and from supper to the nsual period of retiring to rest, with scarcely an original remark, or an interesting fact to show that all is not barren, will find themselves disappointed. The author bas brought with him a mind previously stored with information, a capacity quick to discern the nicer shades of character and art; and if his knowledge do not extend to all subjects that might have met his eye in this country, he has at least the merit of setting his ideas in a clear and striking point of view. Our author landed at Falmouth, and made his way through Exeter, Bristol, Bath, and Richmond to London, where his grand field of observation presented itself. Of Bath he says,- "This morning we have explored the town, which is certainly very beautiful. It is built of freestone, of a fine cream-colour, and contains several public edifices, in good taste. We remarked a circular place called the Crescent, another called the Circus ;→→→ all the streets straight and regular. This town looks as if it had been cast in a mould all at once; so new, so fresh, and regular. The building where the medical water is drank, and where the baths are, exhibits very different objects; human nature, old, infirm, and in ruins, or weary and ennuyé. Bath is a sort of great monastery, inhabited by single people, particularly superannuated females. No trade, no manufactures, no occupations of any sort, except that of killing time, the most laborious of all. Half of the inhabitants do nothing, the other half supply them with nothings:-multitude of splendid shops, full of all that wealth and luxury can desire, arranged with all the arts of seduction." On his arrival in London, it was natural that, as a foreigner, Mr. Simond should feel considerable curiosity. Though in more important matters he can be grave and seri ous when he chooses, he sometimes evidently caricatures, and if he affect the astonishment which always accompanies simplicity on the sight of new and striking objects, it sits so awkwardly on a person, generally well-informed, that it unavoidably gives you the idea of a determination to be humorous about every thing that affords the least room for it. In fact, he occasionally runs into what he sometimes reprobates in the English character with great severity, their predilection to be witty or humorous, even to vulgarity. Was it necessary for a gentleman, who was born in France, and had passed many years in the United States, and come over to England, forsooth, with a view to promote the improvement of his mind, and increase his acquaintance with men and things, and who gave the world his journal as the remarks of a scholar, to inform us that in going by a stage-coach from Richmond to London, crammed inside and herissé outside with all sorts of passengers, that they stopped more than twenty times on the road; that the debates about the fare of way-passengers, the getting up and getting down, damsels showing their legs in the operation and tearing and mudding their petticoats, that complaining and swearing, took up an immense time. Travellers are often under great temptation to relate such anecdotes, as, although true in fact, will not do to be told. His remarks may be fairly characterised by the description that Martial gave of his own epigrams, with some alteration, Sunt mala, sunt quædam mediocria,s: bona plura and since we are got on classic ground we avai! ourselves of the authority of another acute writer, to pass on to something more interesting: Ubi plura nitent, non ego paucis offendar maculis. Where there is so much that is good and intelligent, we will not be over fastidious about some minor articles which might have been well left out, without detracting from the merit of the author. His remarks on the parks, the royal society, and the royal institution, are such as we might expect an intelligent man to make. In the British school of painting, of which Sir J. Reynolds is at the head, he finds much to censure, but more to commend ; and the exquisite perfection of the English engravings leads him to remark, that they possess a degree of finish, softness, and richness of colouring, which it seems impossible to surpass. The following description of the west end of the town cannot fail to be interesting to our country-readers:-"London is a giant; strangers can only reach his feet. Shut up in our apartments, well warmed and well lighted, and where we seem to want nothing but a little of that immense society in the midst of which we are suspended, but not mixed, we have full leisure to observe its outward aspect and general movements, and listen to the roar of its waves, breaking around us in measured time, like the tides of the ocean. ""Tis pleasant through the loop-holes of retreat To peep at such a world--to see the stir "In the morning all is calm,- not a mouse stirring before ten o'clock; the shops then begin to open. Milk-women, with their pails perfectly neat, suspended at the two extremities of a yoke, carefully shaped to fit the shoulders, and surrounded with small tin measures of cream, ring at every door, with reiterated pulls, to hasten the maid-servants, who come half asleep to receive a measure as big as an egg, being the allowance of a family; for it is necessary to explain, that milk is not here either food or drink, but a tincture,-an elixir exhibited in drops; five or six at most, in a cup of tea, morning and evening. It would be difficult to say what taste or what quality these drops may impart; but so it is, and nobody thinks of questioning the propriety of the custom. Not a single carriage,—not a cart are seen passing. The first considerable stir is the drum and military music of the Guards, marching from their barracks to Hyde-Park, having at their head three or four negro giants, striking high, gracefully, and strong, the resounding cymbal. About three or four o'clock the fashionable world gives some signs of life; issuing forth to pay visits, or rather leave cards at the doors of friends, never seen but in the crowd of assemblies; to go to shops, see sights, or lounge in Bond-street-an ugly inconvenient street, the attractions of which it is difficult to understand. At five or six they return home to dress for dinner. The streets are then lighted from one end to the other, or rather edged on either side with two long lines of little brightish dots, indicative of light, but yielding in fact very little ;-these are the lamps. They are not suspended in the middle of the streets as at Paris, but fixed on irons eight or nine feet high, ranged along the houses. The want of refiectors is probably the cause of their giving so little light. From six to eight the noise of wheels increases; it is the dinner-hour. A multitude of carriages, with two eyes of flame staring in the dark before each of them, shake the pavement and the very houses, following and crossing each other at full speed. Stopping suddenly, a footman jumps down, runs to the door, and lifts the heavy knocker-gives a great knock-then several smaller ones in quick succession—then with all his might-- flourishing as on a drum, with an art, and an air, and a delicacy of touch, which denote the quality, the rank, and the fortune of his master. "For two hours, or nearly, there is a pause; at ten a redoublément comes on. This is the great crisis of dress, of noise, and of rapidity-a universal hubbub; a sort of uniform grinding and shaking, like that experienced in a great mill with fifty pair of stones; and if I was not afraid of appearing to exaggerate, I should say that it came upon the ear like the fall of Niagara, heard at two miles distance! This crisis continues undiminished till twelve or one o'clock; then less and less during the rest of the night, till, at the approach of day, a single carriage is heard now and then at a great distance." The description of the scenery of Richmond-Hill will be read with pleasure by all who possess a taste for the beauties of nature: "The King's Paddock is a dead flat, without any other view than its own meadows and scattered trees, but that is really enough. English park-trees have a character of picturesque magnificence, unequalled any where else, and a few of them on a lawn constitute alone a landscape. They form the principal charm of the view from RichmondHill, so justly celebrated. "From the brow of an inconsiderable hill, perhaps 300 feet, you see a vast plain, and the Thames winding through its rich pastures, where cattle and sheep graze at liberty. Dark masses of tufted trees project irregularly in the shape of bays and promontories over a sea of verdure, with detached shady islands. Here and there the eye distinguishes an oak stretching its vast horizontal limbs; oftener an elm rearing, in successive tiers, its rounded masses and plumy top. A few houses half hid among these groves, and paths slightly marked across the green, are the only perceivable traces of man; no ditches, no hedges, no inclosures of any sort,-no roads, no straight lines. As far as the Ss VOL. II. eye can reach in an immense semicircle, the scenery, always the same, is ever varied. As the prospect recedes, every slight depression of the level sketches the nearest distance in a rich outline of edging tops of trees, upon the farthest, fainter and bluer, till all is lost in the vague greyish haze of the horizon, with some indications of hills. If they were real hills, the prospect would leave nothing to wish for. "Richmond-Hill, without pretending to so much sublimity, has a style of beauty more ornamented, mild, riant, and pleasing. It is not a forest, for there is nothing rude and neglected; not a garden, for there is no art; not a country, for cultivation and business are nowhere going on; the simplicity and unity of plan and means, trèes and grass, and vast extent, give it an appearance of nature,—but nature was never seen so select and chaste, and unmixed with offensive objects. It is at least rich, elegant, and high-born nature, and something, at any rate, unique of its kind. Most of this magical effect is owing to the following circumstances: some rich proprietors happen to occupy all the fore-ground of the picture in the plain below,- Lord Dysart, Mr. Cambridge, &c. They have spread their lawns, planted their groves, and levelled their enclosures. Further on are the royal grounds. All the rest of the country is sufficiently planted to give it, when seen fore-shortened in the remote view, a very woody appearance, and make it an uninterrupted and boundless continuation of the near scene. The blue haze of distance finishes the front view. The fine old forest-trees of the park of Richmond, hanging on the left side of the hill, and on the right, other trees, and good-looking houses, form the screens or frame of the picture." Naval Architecture.- A new schooner, about sixty tons burthen, built for the purpose of displaying a new system of naval architecture, was launched in Belfast on the 10th inst. She is constructed without any frame timber, breast hooks, beams, or knees, and without any metal under water, except her rudder braces, and a few bolts in her keel. The advantages presumed in the system are the following, -saving in price of building, strength, duration, capacity, tightness, buoyancy, sailing, and safety. Expedition to Africa. -Intelligence has been received from Sierra Leone, that the scientific expedition for exploring the interior of Africa has been unsuccessful; having advanced only about 140 miles into the interior, from the Rio Nunez. Their progress was then stopped by a chief of the country; and after unavailing endeavours to proceed, they were obliged to return. Nearly all the animals perished. Several officers died; and, what is remarkable, but one private, besides one drowned, of about 200. Capt. Campbell died two days after his return to Rio Nunez, and was buried in the same spot where Major Peddie and one of his officers were interred on their advance. Earthquakes. By recent accounts from Naples it appears that the earthquake lately experienced in Sicily, extended itself over the whole island, and even the town of Palermo felt a slight shock. The villages of Bronti, Castiglione, Rosella, Valdineto, and Milazzo, have suffered considerably. On an estate belonging to the Duke of Misterbianco, 7 columns of water were seen to issue all at once out of the ground; 15 minutes afterwards, they disappeared with equal rapidity. At the same moment a torrent of fire was perceived rolling in a serpentine direction on the surface of the volcanic lava, which extends from Licatia to Botto dell' Aqua. This torrent of fire, which appeared to be a new eruption from the sides of the mountain, illuminated, during some minutes, the neighbouring country.-Letters from Genoa say, that several earthquakes shook the Appenines, about the same period that Sicily felt the effects of this terrible scourge. The Venetian manuscripts recently pur |