The Philosophy of Sleep. By Robert Macnish, Author of the "Anatomy of Drunkenness," and Member of the Faculty of Physicians of Glasgow. Glasgow. W. R. M'Phun. 1830.

THE most celebrated philosophers of every age have endeavoured to investigate the nature of sleep, but it is still little understood by the ablest physiologists and metaphysicians, and its phenomena are the subjects of various popular superstitions. No sooner does the sun sink below the horizon, than the stimuli of light, heat, noise, and the bustling occupation of the day, are withdrawn, and man, participating in the general repose of nature, resigns himself to its soothing and mysterious influence. It was, by the ancient mythologists and poets, described as the brother of Death, and in a splendid Roman marble, described by Montfaucon, was represented under the image of a child asleep, with its arms resting on the mane of a sleeping lion, thus intimating that its power subdues alike the strong and the weak-the most ferocious and the gentlest beings upon earth. In this respect, it resembles the fell avenger of man's fall,-for, equalising all the human race, it reduces to a similar state of helplessness the high and the low, the rich and the poor; so that the pampered lord, reposing on his soft couch, beneath a canopy of gold, does not enjoy more placid rest than the poor peasant, who, stretched upon his straw-pallet, has been lulled to sleep by the wind howling round the walls of his weatherbeaten cottage. But it is to be remembered, that sleep does not always visit us as "tired nature's kind restorer," for not unfrequently, and especially during mental excitement or bodily indisposition, it comes accompanied with frightful dreams, incubi, and somnambulism; in which conditions, the mind and the body seem influenced by laws inexplicable to us, and such as almost render philosophically correct the observation of the poet-" Our life is twofold; sleep

hath its own world."

From such considerations, it is obvious that Mr Macnish, who is already known to the public as the author of a very popular work, has been happy in the choice of a subject for his present volume; for we can scarcely conceive any person producing an uninteresting or unpopular book on the Philosophy of Sleep. The theme embraces so many phenomena, the very mysteries of which excite an intense degree of interest; it is replete with so many curious, yet manifest facts, that the investigation, at every step, rouses the imagination of the poet, and appeals, at the same time, to the judgment of the philosopher. To explain the proximate cause of sleep, our author, following the hypothesis of D'Arroin, has recourse to the influence of the sensorial power, which he increases or diminishes, and directs from one channel in the body to another, exactly as suits the exigency of the difficulty which requires to be explained. Having very briefly stated the influence of this "mysterious principle," which, after all, is only a sorry substitute for the nervous fluid, or animal spirits of the ancients, he proceeds to treat of the several subjects connected with the Philosophy of Sleep which are more generally interesting. The first extract we shall give, will afford a specimen of the author's style, and we may entitle it

THE TIME FOR SLEEP.

"Night,' observes the poet Montgomery, is the time for sleep,' and assuredly the hush of darkness as naturally courts to repose, as the meridian splendour flashes on us the necessity of being at our labour. In fact, there exists a strange but certain sympathy between the periods of day and night, and the performance of particular functions during these periods. That this is not the effect of custom, might be easily demonstrated. All nature awakes with the rising sun. The birds begin to sing, the bees to fly about with murmurous delight, the flowers, which shut under the embrace of darkness, unfold themselves to light, the cattle arise to crop the dewy herbage, and man goeth forth to his labour until the evening.' At close of day, the re

of the woodland choir, one after another, become hushed, verse of all this activity and motion is observed. The songs till at length twilight is left to silence, with her own star and the falling dews. Action is succeeded by listlessness, energy by languor, the desire of exertion by the inclination ness, and they lie down together most lovingly, under the for repose. Sleep, which shuns the light, embraces darksceptre of midnight."

The

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*

THE INFLUENCE OF HABIT ON Sleep.

will, and wake when they will. The Emperor Napoleon "Seamen and soldiers, from habit, can sleep when they performing his extraordinary feat of walking 1000 miles in was a striking instance of this fact. Captain Barclay, when as many successive hours, obtained at last such a mastery over himself, that he fell asleep the instant he lay down. The faculty of remaining asleep for a great length of time, is possessed by some individuals. Such slumber for twenty-four hours successively;—with Elizawas the case with Quin, the celebrated player, who could beth Orvin, who slept three-fourths of her life-with Elizabeth Perkins, who slept for a week or fortnight at a time;-with Mary Lyell, who did the same for six successive weeks-and with many others, more or less remarkable. A phenomenon of an opposite character is also sometimes observed, for there are individuals who can subsist on a surprisingly small portion of sleep. The celebrated General Elliot was an instance of this kind; he never slept more spects, he was strikingly abstinent, his food consisting than four hours out of the twenty-four. In all other rewholly of bread, water, and vegetables. In a letter communicated to Sir John Sinclair, by John Gordon, Esq. of Swiney, mention is made of a person named John Mackay of Skerray, who died in Strathnave, in the year 1797, aged ninety-one; he only slept on an average four hours in the twenty-four, and was a remarkably robust and healthy surgeon, John Hunter, only slept five hours during the Frederick the Great of Prussia, and the illustrious same period. The celebrated French General Pichegru, informed Sir Gilbert Blane, that during a whole year's campaigns, he had not above one hour's sleep in the twentyfour."

man.

Many still more extraordinary instances of well-attested anomalies in the duration of sleep are recorded in various medical journals; and a highly respectable physiologist, attempting to explain them, observes, that sleep varies so much in intensity, that the dead slumber of a few hours may be worth what is vulgarly called a “dogsleep" of many hours. The author of the work before us hazards a supposition, that, "generally speaking, the larger the brain of any animal is in proportion to the size of his body, the greater is the necessity for a considerable portion of sleep. Birds and fishes, which have small brains, require less indulgence in this respect than laud animals." Now, in reply to this, it may be observed,

that man, who requires more sleep than most other animals, has not the brain proportionally larger, for, as Cuvier has shown, among the cetacea, the dolphin and the porpoise, among birds, the eagle, blackbird, canary, sparrow, linnet, &c. have proportionally larger brains. It may be urged also, that the ass sleeps less than any other animal, and, indeed, seldom lies down, excepting when nearly exhausted from fatigue; yet, in this example, the brain, in proportion to the size of the body, is less than it is found in the stag, wolf, sow, hedgehog, &c., and in many other animals who enjoy a longer period of sleep. We do not think, therefore, that any such correlative between the bulk of the brain in proportion to the size of the body and the quantity of sleep required, will be found to exist. But the most remarkable, yet common, phenomena attending sleep, are unquestionably dreams. And we are afraid that too many have reason occasionally to complain, with the gloomy and desperate Manfred, that their "slumbers, if they slumber, are not sleep; but a continuance of enduring thought, which then they can resist not." Many philosophers, and especially the Cartesians, have argued that the mental faculties are never altogether inactive during sleep; but this opinion is opposed by our author, who argues that "there ought to be no difficulty in admitting that the mental powers may cease to act in sleep, for the same thing undoubtedly happens in various other conditions." He instances catalepsy, apoplexy, and the lethargy that occurs in persons recovering from drowning; but these cases are not altogether analogous, for it never has been maintained that the mind continues active when the functions of animal life are for the time being suspended. All that is maintained is, that the relation of the mind to the body cannot be altered or dissolved so long as the organs of animal life continue to perform their appropriate functions; and it is probable that ideas of extreme faintness may occur during sleep, or even during delirium, which may not subsequently be remembered. The incongruity of dreams has been particularly noticed by all writers; and a very philosophical author has suggested that, in opposition to a Diary, we should keep a Nocturnal, for the purpose of recording the psychological mysteries as they successively occur, Such a work would perhaps form a pleasant enough comic annual, and we would by no means exclude from it the following

MARVELLOUS DREAMS OF THE AUTHOR.

“I remember dreaming on one occasion that I possessed ubiquity; twenty resemblances of myself appearing in as many different places in the same room, and each being so thoroughly possessed by my own mind, that I could not ascertain which was myself, and which my double, &c. On this occasion, fancy so far travelled into the regions of absurdity, that I conceived myself riding upon my own back -one of the resemblances being mounted upon another, and both animated with the soul appertaining to myself, in such a manner that I knew not whether I was the carrier or the carried. At another time, I dreamed I was converted into a mighty pillar of stone, which reared its head in the midst of a desert, where it stood for ages, till generation after generation melted away before it. Even in this state, though unconscious of possessing any organs of sense, or being else than a mass of lifeless stone, I saw every object around -the mountains growing bald with age, the forest drooping in decay; and I heard whatever sounds Nature is in the custom of producing-such as the thunder-peal breaking over my naked head, the winds howling past me, or the ceaseless murmur of the streams. At last, I also waxed old, and began to crumble into dust, while the moss and ivy accumulated upon me with the aspect of hoar antiquity." The difficulty of explaining satisfactorily the proximate éause of dreaming is acknowledged by every author; and considering that Mr Macnish writes rather for the popular than scientific reader, we are not surprised to find that he has not thrown any light whatever on this obscare-subject. He explains the difficulty, by supposing that, during slumber, certain parts of the brain continue awake, or supplied with their accustomed proportion of

sensorial power, while other parts remain asleep, or are deprived of their sensorial power. Hence, after the fashion of certain eccentric philosophers, he supposes that the different mental faculties are to be referred to different portions of cerebral substance; but what are all the articles of his creed on this point he does not, nor was it necessary for him, to explain. His theory of apparitions is briefly stated:-"I would impute them," says he, "either to the intense power of illusion operating in a fearful dream, or to a morbid excitement of certain faculties of the brain." These opinions of the author we have adduced merely for the information of our readers, who will naturally enquire what are his theories on these subjects, not that we are either inclined to attach any importance to them, or to disprove them by any formal refutation.

The chapter on Somnambulism is certainly not so interesting as we anticipated, for a variety of most curious, and, at the same time, well-authenticated cases, are upon record, which might, with propriety, have been here inserted. The following observations, however, may be interesting to the general reader :

SOMNAMBULISM.

"There are the greatest varieties in the state of sleepwalkers; some hearing without seeing; others seeing without hearing. Some possessing a state of consciousness almost approaching to the waking state; others being in a count, while we may manage to hold a conversation with condition little removed from perfect sleep. On this acone person, another is altogether incapable of forming a sin gle idea, or giving it utterance, even if formed. For the same reason, the first, guided by a certain portion of intellect, pursues with safety his wild perambulations; while the second, driven on by the impulses of will, and his reasoning faculties locked up in utter stupor, staggers into dangers of It is not always safe to every kind. arouse a sleep-walker; and many cases of the fatal effects thence arising have been detailed by authors. Nor is it at all unlikely that a person, even of strong nerves, might be violently agitated by awaking in a situation so different from that in which he went to bed. Among other examples, that of a young lady who was addicted to this affection may be mentioned. Knowing her failing, her friends made chamber, in such a manner that she could not possibly get out. a point of locking the door and securing the window of her One night, these precautions were unfortunately overlooked, and, in a paroxysm of somnambulism, she walked into a garden behind the house. While there, she was recog-, nised by some of the family, who were warned by the noise she made on opening the door; and they followed and awoke her; but such was the effect produced upon the nervous system, that she almost instantly expired."

We entertain a very high opinion of the abilities of Mr Macnish; but we feel ourselves bound in candour to state, that we do not regard this work as likely to raise his fame in the estimation of men of science. Nevertheless, we admit that it contains much information that will both amuse and instruct the general reader; and we therefore recommend it to the attention of the public.

The Heiress of Bruges: A Tale of the Year Sixteen Hundred. By Thomas Colley Grattan, Author of Lon"Highways and Byways." In four volumes. don.

Colburn and Bentley. 1830.

MR GRATTAN succeeds better as a novelist than as a

historian. Yet, even in the first-mentioned capacity, we have faults to find with him of no little moment. These we will be better able to express after laying before our readers an outline of his story,—a task which, considering the intricate and bustling narrative crowded into four long volumes, is likely to prove of no easy accomplishment.

The hero of the book is a Count Ivon de Bassen veldt; the heroine, Theresa, daughter of Van Rozenhoed, Burgomaster of Brussels. We begin our story, as politeness dictates, with the lady. Theresa's father was originally a poor goldbeater. By

warily and judiciously expending, under the direction of his father confessor, a treasure which he found in his garden, he gradually raised himself to be the wealthiest man in Bruges; and, after serving in the minor offices of government, to be its chief magistrate. In his rise, he carried up his ambitious spiritual guide along with him. Van Rozenhoed's daughter was beautiful as her father was wealthy, and the nobles of the land were among her suitors. But she loved Lambert Boonen, a nephew of the Prior of St Andrews, (her father's old ghostly comforter,) secretary to the Burgomaster.

racter.

Van Rozenhoed, who was devoted to the liberties of his country, was denounced to the Archduke Albert, as holding intercourse with Prince Maurice of Orange. He was suddenly arrested, and carried to Brussels to stand his trial. Thither his daughter was forced to follow him, and an attempt was made to terrify her, by the prospect of her father's danger, into an immediate marriage with Count Lyderic de Roulemonde, whose pretensions the old gentleman had at first inclined to favour, although the treachery of the Count had induced him to change his intentions. There was nothing that Van Rozenhoed now so anxiously wished, as to see his daughter the bride of De Bassenveldt. That young nobleman was the main prop of the liberties of the Netherlands, and, in regard to his bad character in other respects, it might be that the good Burgomaster believed common slander had represented the Count as worse than he was, or it might be that the charitable senior looked forward to better behaviour after youth had sowed its wild oats.

By the courage and dexterity of Lambert Boonen, assisted by an old servant of Van Rozenhoed, Theresa escaped from Brussels; but, on her way to seek refuge in a convent, she and her deliverer fell into an ambush of De Bassenveldt, and were carried prisoners to his castle. De Bassenveldt was doubly an object of dread to Theresa. She loved another, and Count Ivon was the suitor for her hand, whose pretensions were backed by paternal authori. ty. But, more than this, on the very evening that he stole Beatrice from the convent, he encountered Theresa in the garden, and had insulted her, by an unequivocal declaration of his licentious love.

The first person whom our heroine encountered in De Bassenveldt's castle was Beatrice. The Morisco wore the dress and arms of a soldier. She soon convinced her young friend that the bond betwixt herself and De Bassenveldt was not that of love, but of devotion to a common cause. She declared that Theresa was the object of his affections, and became a suitor for him. At the same time she promised that he would respect the situation of the fair maid of Bruges, nor intrude himself into her presence without her consent. No restraint was laid upon her interviews with her captive lover.

Scarcely had Theresa been carried into the castle, when it was invested by the troops of the Archduke. The heroism evinced by De Bassenveldt, his commanding geuius, the delicacy of his forbearance, the knowledge of his love, all began to exercise a strange influence over the mind of Theresa. Of late, too, she had seen little of Boonen. Her constancy began to waver, but her feeling of honour came to her aid.

to Bruges.

On her arrival in that city, she fell into the hands of Count Lyderic de Roulemonde, who had been appointed its governor. She found her father also his prisoner. Lyderic pressed his suit with the impetuosity of a master. Van Rozenhoed temporized. Meanwhile, a battle was stricken between Prince Maurice-who had been joined by De Bassenveldt-and the Archduke, almost under the walls of Bruges. The latter was discomfited, and fled through the city, eagerly followed by the black Walloons and their commander. Unopposed by the panic-stricken citizens, Count Ivon and his followers swept through the town to the governor's house, in time to rescue Theresa, whom Lyderic was about to carry with him on his flight. In Count Ivon, whom she had so long regarded with a mixture of aversion, and what might almost be termed love, she recognised her humble lover, her father's secretary, Lambert Boonen. They were soon after united with the blessings of the honest Burgomaster, and of the Prior of St Andrews, in whom all men now recognised Count Ivon's father, doomed to death by the Spanish government, and who had only succeeded in eluding their pursuit by the assumption of the cowl.

We are conscious that this outline can give but a very imperfect notion of the character of the book; since many characters, brought forward with a degree of prominence which scarcely admits of our calling them subordinate, hang so loosely upon the main plot that we have not even once needed to advert to them. This fact will direct the reader's attention to what we consider one of the principal faults of the work. The author has been more anxious to show his learning, than to construct a compact and plausible narrative. He will omit no person nor transaction that seems to him characteristic of the age. He fears more the reproach of not knowing some trifle of antiquarian research, neither instructive nor amusing, than that of introducing what merely obstructs and distorts the free current of his story. This infers a species of vainglory, akin to that which might restrain an architect from covering up his foundation, lest any of his workmanship should remain unadmired—and equally dangerous. Whatever be our employment, there is much of our labour which the world ought never to see, the existence of which it ought only to be allowed to conjecture, by the perfection of what does come under its cognisance.

The next blemish of Mr Grattan's work to which we advert, is of a deeper die, and more inseparably interwoven with the texture of his story. The principal characters are not true to nature, and they are grossly indelicate. De Bassenveldt is introduced to us as in word and deed thoroughly licentious. Beatrice is the same. And although, in Theresa, the author has attempted to pourtray a purer character, he takes a strange and perverse delight in pointing out to us, that under all her spirituality, unknown to herself, lies a substratum of the same impetuous sensuality, that constitutes the almost exclusive characteristic of the two others. Nay, so prominently does he bring this forward, that to this odious feature he attributes the chief power in the further developement of Theresa's character. It is her first

interview in the convent garden with De Bassenveldt, that gives its tone and temper to her future life.

We have said, that to bring this lower class of human propensities so conspicuously forward-to linger upon their portraiture with delight-to dress them up in the meretricious ornaments of simile and metaphor, is grossly indelicate. We may add, that it is destructive of all poetry -and the romance-writer, if in any degree elevated above the mere caterers to the circulating library, is allied to the poet. The imagination is a pure, intellectual essence, and takes her flight heavenward. They who seek to clog her wings with sensual affection, instead of merely sprinkling them with its dew, in order to renovate their =powers, degrade her from her just rank. We have just said that the author's characters are, in consequence of the undue pre-eminence which he gives to this least lovely feature of their character, not true to nature. Their passion may nerve man to one daring deed, but it cannot form a character. Earthy and transitory, it sinks down under its own excitement, enfeebling the frame, and confusing the brain, which yielded themselves to its guidance. In his Beatrice and De Bassenveldt, he has attributed to passion, which is in its existence momentary as the lightning, a permanence of existence, which is attributable to reason alone. He has represented as ever delicious and ever beautiful,-what palls upon the taste more rapidly than thought,-what withers and grows hideous as swiftly as Spenser's Duessa. Mrs Shelley showed more knowledge of human nature in her picture of the lovely, but frantic prophetess, in her Castruccio. Our last objection to Mr Grattan's book is, that his principal characters are less the representatives of their time, than of the fictitious personages, the perusal of whose fabulous history gave such delight to its idlers. We know that the approved romances in the year sixteen hundred, dragged out their slow length, in mazy involutions of such laboured perplexities as Mr Grattan's hero delights to spin around his mistress; but we know that in real life men acted under the joint influence of passion and reason, much as they do in our own day. We have advanced in science, we have advanced in refinement, but the leading principles of human action were the same in the year 1600 that they are in the year 1830.

We have shaken Mr Grattan thus roughly, because we really have an esteem for his talents, and wish to see him awake from the dreams in which he is indulging. He evidently possesses an active, glowing, and strong mind. Many of his incidental portraits show no mean powers of reading the enigma of human nature. But in his continual straining after effect, and even in his exaggerated language, we recognise a mind which has already missed the straight and narrow path of true taste. He must exert himself to recover it; and in this task no one can assist him, for if he has not tact sufficient to discover for himself the right road, no one can show it to him. In the parish of Imagination, every one is guided by his own ; eyes. All blind vagrants, led by poodles, are strictly prohibited by the church wardens.

National Library, No. II. The History of the Bible. By the Rev. G. R. Gleig, M. A., M. R. S. L., &c. &c. In 2 vols. Vol. I. London. Colburn and Bentley. 1830.

A HISTORY of the Bible, however well executed, is not a work for which we feel disposed to give an author much credit, so far as it is an abstract of events resting upon authority, which no well constituted mind will think itself at liberty to call in question. The task is easy; the historian is relieved of the labour to which, in other cases, he is obliged to submit, of comparing counter statements, weighing probabilities, and deciding between conflicting authorities. Here the believer in Scripture inspiration has no choice he must acknowledge not only

the authority of its history in general, but the truth of its statements in every even the most minute particular; and he is not entitled, under any circumstances, to hazard a single speculation which goes upon the supposition that there is either wilful misstatement or inadvertent ignorance in the revelations of God. Again, in so far as Scripture criticism is concerned, and the connexion of profane with sacred history, the ground has been so frequently travelled over, and so minutely examined by learned and ingenious men, that it presents few difficulties to the modern enquirer, and leaves him scarcely a chance of any important discovery. The valuable works of Shuckford, Budeus, Prideaux, and especially Stackhouse, not to mention the elaborate writings and learned researches of Mosheim and Lardner, supply all the important information upon this subject which we require, or can expect to receive. But although these are the works to which the theological student must always look for information, it must be confessed they are little adapted for the use of the general reader; and when popular treatises upon almost every subject are so much in fashion, we are not sorry that the history of the Bible should in this shape have a chance of gaining admission to libraries, from which, in any other form, it would certainly have been excluded.

Considering the success of Mr Milman's History of the Jews, we must say it was somewhat bold in Messrs Colburn and Bentley to start so early in their series a publication which, from the similarity of the subject, can only be viewed in the light of a rival to that popular work. We trust, however, that their attempt will prove as successful with the public as it is satisfactory to us. We speak not from any hostility to Mr Milman, or disrespect for his talents; and in regard to the very work in question, we have already done justice to its high literary merits. Our reason for giving a decided preference to Mr Gleig's work, is simply because he always shows a scrupulous regard for the authority of the sacred record, which it is his business to illustrate; while the modern historian of the Jews not unfrequently betrays a carelessness and rashness of speculation, and a dandyish irreverence, altogether unbecoming both his subject and his profession. We have no patience with the man who records the history of God's chosen people as if he were writing a chronicle of a savage Indian tribe, and is disposed to take the same liberties with the sacred writings as if they were only so many quippos.

Mr Gleig's Introduction is both well written and appropriate; it states and shortly illustrates the principal arguments which prove the authenticity and genuineness of Scripture history, and the truth of our religion generally. The history itself is written in that clear and nervous style which characterises our author's other works. There is no affectation of fine writing, but, in the absence of much novelty, which, indeed, the nature of the subject precludes, there is a neatness of arrangement, and a conciseness of narration, well calculated to excite and sustain the attention. The present volume carries down the history to the suppression of Absalom's rebellion. The more interesting portion, by which we would be understood to mean simply the comparatively less known period, is reserved for another volume, till the appearance of which, we must reserve some observations on the chronology which Mr Gleig adopts in common with many modern writers, together with some other points of less importance. We shall then, too, give our final judgment on the merits of the work itself; and in the meantime, to justify the favourable opinion which we have already expressed of it, we beg to quote the following passage, which contains a rational and probable view of

THE RISE OF IDOLATRY.

"There appears to be good ground for believing, that with the use of letters, as well as with most other arts and sciences, the antediluvians were well acquainted; and that

they were conveyed, by Noah and the survivors from the great Deluge, to the new world. It has, indeed, been ably argued, that the Mosaic account of transactions previous to the flood, was compiled from certain documents preserved by the family of Noah in the ark; and, if the case be so, it is difficult to imagine that the immediate descendants of that family could be illiterate, or, in the proper sense of the term, barbarous. As men departed, however, in small tribes from their common centre, and settled themselves in the midst of dreary wastes or gloomy forests, they would every day find less and less leisure for the cultivation of literature and science; and, in a few generations, would unavoidably become too much sunk to attribute to such pursuits any value. Exactly in the same ratio would increase their inability to comprehend the idea of a Being everywhere present, yet himself invisible; and the tradition that some such being existed would remain in full force, long after they had ceased to be aware where it had originated. Such a state of things would naturally lead to the substitution of some visible symbol, as the sun, the moon, and the planets; next would follow the deification of deceased benefactors, of men who had performed great exploits, or enjoyed a brilliant reputation during their lives, in honour of whom statues may have been erected; and, last of all, would arise the practice of worshipping these statues themselves, as the very gods whom they were intended to represent. As to the peculiar superstition of the Egyptians, the worship of the brute creation, that has been fully and satisfactorily accounted for by Warburton, in the fourth book of his Divine Legation. It was unquestionably occasioned by the employing, in hieroglyphic writing, the figures of different animals to denote the attributes of their different gods, or the different attributes of the true God; for when the meaning of the hieroglyphic was forgotten, the grovelling minds of those who had long treated it with reverence continued to do so still, and, not knowing the import which it had among their forefathers, considered it as the likeness of some unseen god. Hence it seems to be, that the graven images of animals were worshipped long before the animals themselves, as is completely proved by the idolatrous erection of the golden calf by the Israelites at Mount Sinai. That people possessed numerous herds of cattle; and, had they been accustomed, with their Egyptian ancestors (?), to worship the living animals, their women would not have been called upon to give up their ear-rings, for the purpose of forming an inanimate emblem of the gods which brought them out of Egypt.' Such was the state of the world, or, at least, into this state it was rapidly falling, at the period when Abram, the illustrious ancestor of the Jewish nation, was born."

In taking leave of Mr Gleig for the present, we shall only add, that his plan of reserving his objections and answers for a conclusion to each chapter, is decidedly an improvement upon the clumsy habit of mixing them up with the narrative, and thereby interrupting its flow and distracting the attention of the reader; we are not sure that it would not have been a still greater improvement to have disencumbered the body of the work entirely of these formal objections, and subjoined them, together with the proper answers, in the form of notes, at the end of the volumes.

Camden, a Tale of the South. In three volumes. Philadelphia: Carey and Lea. London: A. K. Newman and Co. 1830.

THESE Volumes are by an imitator of Cooper, but a clever one. There is, indeed, a peculiarity about them, which renders them more likely to become universally palatable in this country, than the works of the gentleman we have named. The author of Camden, with a laudable impartiality, mingles villains with heroes in the American, as well as in the British ranks. Not so Cooper; where his countrymen and ours come into collision, it is twenty to one that the former are models of perfection, the latter the rascals of the piece.

The story of Camden (the book takes its name from the principal scene of action) is, as every novel ought to be, a tale of true love, crossed at first, and ultimately triumphant. Captain Templeton, the hero of the piece, is thwarted in the prosecution of his honourable addresses

to the heroine, by a gay Lothario, the colonel under whom he serves. At last the knave proves too clever for himself, and the lovers are united. The intricacies of the plot are well contrived, and the denouement satisfactory. A degree of liveliness and bustle is kept up throughout the novel, by the episodes arising from the war between the British and Americans. A great many happily sketched characters (occasionally verging upon caricatures) flit before us like the figures of a magic lantern. On the whole, Camden, if not absolutely a work of genius, is something almost as good, a lively and amusing

novel.

We are not in the least degree national, and therefore we are angry at the author for the following picture of a Scotch innkeeper. The peasantry are discussing the probability of Gates beating Cornwallis :

"What say you, landlord, will Gates be in Camden in a week, or not?"

"This question was addressed to old Dalgousie, who, without taking any share in the conversation, was engaged in making preparations for dinner. He answered, with the greatest coolness, I think he might reach Camden in that time, unless prevented by some act of Providence,'

"A general laugh followed this characteristic answer. "Ah, Gousie, Gousie!' replied Duskie,' you are neither fish, flesh, nor fowl. Tell us honestly, now, your opinion; do you think Gates will be in Camden in a week, or not?" "I think he wull, Master Dusky, either as a conqueror or prisoner; but the Lord only kens which.' "The schoolmaster of the village, who formed one of the company, repeated the chorus of the old song : And this is law, I will maintain, Unto my dying day, sir,

That whatsoever king may reign,

I'll be the vicar of Bray, sir.'"

Our next specimen is of a sterner character. Gates is on a night march, in hopes of surprising the British troops:

"The moon is very bright to-night, Buckly,' said Lieutenant Butterworth.

"Yes,' replied the person addressed, looking up, her ladyship, surrounded by her stars, reminds me of the description which I have read of Queen Elizabeth surrounded by her maids of honour. Elizabeth was very partial to jewels, and was as chaste a virgin as the moon is generally represented by us poets.'

"Us poets!' replied the other; who the devil made you a poet?'

"Silence in the ranks !' cried the deep voice of the brigadier, who was then riding by.

"The order was obeyed until he had passed; the chitchat then recommenced. This would be a beautiful night for hunting, Buckly.'

be at bay in the morning.' "Yes; we are out on a kind of hunt, and the buck will

"He at bay indeed!" replied the other. I'll bet one thousand continental dollars, that he's off to Charleston tonight, like a race-horse. Do you think he's mad?'

I don't think he's in a very good humour, unless he's changed mightily. I've had a brush with him before today he's as fierce as a wild cat.'

"You think he'll fight, then?'

"Fight! yes, like the devil: his name's Fight! "To this no reply was made, and the column moved on in uninterrupted silence.

"In the meantime, Gates rode at the head of the Maryland division, and conversed with the baron in a rather confidential tone. All goes well, so far, baron.'. his lordship; he certainly is ignorant of our intention. "Yes, sir; I think we have fairly stolen a march upon "I do not understand his motive for calling in his outposts, unless he is disposed to retreat.'

He will not retreat,' said De Kalb, positively. "If he don't retreat, he shall be destroyed, or it shall not be my fault. Another hour will put us in possession of Sawney's creek, and then let his lordship look to himself. What time have you, baron? my watch is too fast. the moonlight, replied, Half past eleven." "The baron pulled out his watch, and, holding it up in

"What sound is that in front?' said Gates, in a tone of deep interest. Hark! I hear the sound of a water-course. Is it possible we are so near it?'