any time, in a foolish fit of merriment, he began to hunt about with the dogs, or play tricks on the poultry, it was found to be more in jest than really mischievous. Even then, a single look from his master was sufficient to bring him again within his accustomed and prudential limits.

Confiding in the promise of the mountain spirit, Conrad had again boldly ventured on the purchase of a yoke of oxen; and with his plough newly repaired, went once more merrily to the field. Sabina looked after him apprehensively, and yet more anxiously waited in the evening for his return, fearing that he would at last come home, not only with disappointed hopes, but more dangerously wounded than before. Singing, how ever, and driving his tractable fine oxen before him, Conrad marched (while the first evening bell was ringing) through the village. In high glee he kissed his wife and children, and even shook his black servant heartily by the hand.

Many times also did Waldmann lead out and bring home the work oxen in this manner, while Conrad in his turn staid at home and laboured in the farm-yard or garden. A large portion of the FIELD OF TERROR was ere long ploughed up, and all went on prosperously, to the astonishment of the villagers, and envious displeasure of Sabina's avaricious cousins. Conrad, however, often thought to himself, "This is all but for a short time; and how the harvest is to be reaped and brought home Heaven knows! Long before that season Waldmann's servitude will be at an end, and the goblins on the FIELD OF TERROR may be more troublesome than ever. Yet a labour of this kind," added he, "will of itself strengthen both heart and hand, and perhaps Waldmann, as he has indeed frequently in his mirthful moments hinted, will, for the sake of old friendship, restrain himself till the field is cleared of this one harvest at least."

The winter now had arrived; the labour on the field of terror was ended; and Conrad industriously plied with his oxen at the necessary task of bringing home wood for the stove and kitchen hearth. About this time, it happened one day that Sabina was called to a poor widow in the village who had fallen sick of a fever, and whom she was in the habit of assisting sedulously, in so far as

her newly amended circumstances would allow. Only she was now puzzled, in her husband's absence, how to dispose of the children; Waldmann, however, entreated that she would give them in charge to him; and as the little ones were accustomed to his stories, and were willing to remain with him, Sabina at last agreed, and without farther hesitation, cheerfully went on her charitable errand.

About an hour afterwards, Conrad returned from the forest. He drew the wood-cart into the shed, put his oxen into the stable, and then went merrily home, to warm his stiffened limbs at the comfortable kitchen-fire. Suddenly he heard the voices of his children painfully weeping-instantly he started up, burst open the door of the parlour, and found them crouching together, under the stove, screaming with terror, and Waldmann jumping meanwhile, making hideous grimaces, with a coronet of living fire on his dishevelled and staring hair.

"What the devil is all this?" said Conrad in great indignation, when, in a moment, the portentous ornament on Waldmann's head was extinguished; he stood humbly and in silence, till at last he tried to excuse himself, by saying that he had only made game for the children. The little ones, however, came still crouching and complaining to their father, and told him how Waldmann had first terrified them with wild stories, and afterwards appeared to them wearing a sheep's head at one time, and a dog's head at another. "Enough- Enough!" interrupted Conrad, "Get thee gone, fellow! We don't remain another hour under the same roof together!" With these words, he seized Waldmann, thrust him out of doors, even as far as the outer garden gate. Meanwhile he commanded the children to remain quiet in the parlour;-their father was now returned, and they felt secure against every danger.

The mysterious servant at first bore all this without a word; however, when he stood alone with Conrad, amid the wintry landscape, he said, laughing,

Listen, Master! methinks we must again be reconciled to one another; I have indeed played a foolish trick, but shall never be guilty in like manner again. It was only one offence you must overlook it." "Even in this very way," said Conrad, "the same humour might seize thee

THOUGH the principle of taste be like that of truth, firm and immutable, the semper eadem,' governed by one body of laws only, it is really astonishing to see what different methods the members of the literary diet adopt and pursue for the purpose of extending their prospects, and rising to more eminent stations in the republic of letters. It is not to diversity of object that we allude; because, proficiency in each of the sciences has a characteristic species of fame peculiar to itself, and wholly distinct from every other; as, on a grafted trunk, we behold every branch bearing a different species of fruit. The astronomer envies and endeavours to emulate Newton; the metaphysician, Locke; the poet, Milton; and the painter, Reynolds. The love of fame is the universal passion, the stimulus, and exciting cause in each, and all of them; yet they proceed along, for ever near, but never touching, like the two straight lines in the twenty-seventh proposition of Euclid. This holds true, however, only as each art or science is considered by itself, separately, and apart from all others. But if we select any one of these paths to distinction for our narrower examination, and gaze stedfastly upon it, we shall immediately be aware, that though the candidates are all pushing forward along the same road, and every one, like a Mahometan pilgrim, with his face turned towards the same temple, some tardy and lame, others vigorous and agile; yet, they do not scruple, either to throw obstacles before others, or to tread upon the fallen, or to jostle those who are in their way.

This last sentence happily suggests to us a method of delivering our sentiments on this subject more systematically, and we shall arrange our remarks under three heads: First, We shall point out the uncharitableness of throwing obstacles before others; Secondly, The pusillanimity evinced in treading upon the fallen; and thirdly, The impropriety and want of decorum in jostling one another.

It is wonderful to observe with what a degree of regardlessness or apathy, authors of established reputation look on the efforts of those, who are devoting all their time and opportunities to the exertion of their talents; and struggling for reputation as much as a castaway sailor ever did to catch hold of a hen-coop. Too often is the period forgotten when they themselves were in the same predicament; and laboured with the same assiduity, and with the same uncertainty of success: -a success which has dazzled their eyes, and intoxicated their hearts, and which makes them look from their proud pre-eminence, with a dignified apathy, on those who are struggling among the difficult rocks below, or who are suspended between hope and fear, in as nice an equilibrium, yea, and in as precarious a situation, as the redoubted Bailie Nicol Jarvie was during the Highland skirmish. They have themselves sate down in the temple of their ambition to cry bravo and drink Hippocrene; and they turn their backs on the ladder, "scorning the base degrees by which they did ascend." However, it is the faculty of genius to overcome all obstacles, and surmount every difficulty, and attain its end in spite of opposition. Like an air-bladder thrown into the water, it may be thrust down and trampled upon; but when the pressure is removed, it will reascend to the surface. Like the sun, it may be obscured, but the wind blows, and the clouds pass away, and it bursts forth in undiminished splendour. Withal, however, it may be likened to a hot-bed plant, susceptible of change, and suffering from every chilling and tempestuous gale; for ever exposing some tender part to injury; or, like the Persian lilac, putting forth its blossoms to the inclemency of the season, without affording leaves to shelter them from it.

Those who are most guilty of treading on the fallen, and of throwing down their neighbours, either, like Irishmen, out of pure good nature, or

for the malicious purpose of laughing at their distresses, and affording amusement to the spectators, while the prostrate are kicking up their heels, are known to the world under the general denomination of critics. They may be considered as

"A spiteful race, on mischief bent, Making men's woes their merriment."

However useful they may be in the main, many of them are pert, conceited coxcombs, who, though wrapped up in the mantle of ignorance, assume all the airs of the profoundest erudition and the most consummate wisdom; and, even when talking to their masters, ape the most insolent tone of superiority, and give out their lessons with an emphatic confidence in their own sufficiency, which would be laughable enough were they not frequently so dull. They never imagine their readers to be aware of the proverb-that those who take least advice are ever the most forward of thrusting it upon others. The whole tribe are notoriously addicted to gossipping, and are not very scrupulous either about vilifying a friend or creating a foe, provided they can raise the present laugh among their auditors. They profess no gratitude for the repeal of the statutes against witchcraft, as few of their fraternity were ever suspected of being conjurors. They are, however, eternally prophesying; and, were it not for the useful instrument they professionally adopt, when they issue forth their oracular divinations-were it not for their masks,they would have good reason to blush often, notwithstanding their proverbial apathy, for the non-fulfilments and absurdity of their predictions. But the above instrument is their buckler in time of battle, and their chariot in case of defeat. They are like the followers of Rob Roy, who, concealed among the hills and heather, destroyed the king's troops without affording a chance of retaliation; or rather like the train of the Giaour, that descended from the rocks of Liakura, and massacred the marriage party of the Turk Hassan. They are great rhodomontades, and speak as if they were the emissaries of a large body, and declared the sentiments of the whole; when the truth is, that they are as isolated from all communication, as Bonaparte on the island of St HeleVOL. VIII.

na, from the associates of his overthrown dynasty.

We come now to make a few observations on the impolicy of jostling each other. This is a species of impoliteness which was very much in vogue in Queen Anne's time, and almost universally practised by the wits of her age. When a new literary adventurer entered the field, it was esteemed little less than a challenge to the established authorities to adjudge him a trial by single combat, and one of their emissaries was forthwith despatched to make him taste of the vengeance he had provoked. If he was overthrown in the contest, he was trodden on, and hooted and laughed at; but if he chanced to overcome, he was thenceforth entitled to a seat, if not in the temple of fame, at least in Will's coffee-house, which was nearly equivalent for all useful purposes. Every one had his Bodach Glas, or attendant spirit, which haunted his steps wherever he went, and mimicked his voice whatever he said, and sate by him when in company, and laughed at him when alone; moreover, to establish and demonstrate the validity of what Mr Locke has thrown out concerning spirits, and that they can be seen in broad day light, a particular species of them did not hesitate to make their appearance at any time; it only required a few sheets to be sent to press, and the conjuration was effected. Others, however, found it less dangerous and more convenient never to pay their devoirs till after sunset, nor to approach the campus martius, and enter upon the combat, before having provided themselves with a cap, which, like that of the redoubted giant-killer, rendered them invisible. The names of Dryden's tormentors were Macflecknoe, and Blackmore, and Collier. Pope had a great many; but the Arimanes or master spirit among them was denominated Dennis, who, though petulant enough, did not scruple sometimes to give a judicious advice.

In our times, these pernicious and disagreeable practices have been abolished; and have been reckoned unworthy of so refined and generous an age. The literary republic seldom, or perhaps never, enjoyed a period of such lengthened and profound tranquillity; or was bound together by a compact of amity and concord so firm. Between its members all is condescen

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sion, and friendship, and politeness; the banners of hostility are furled, and the temple of Janus is shut; and, where the professions of attachment are so loud, no one, surely, is foolish enough to imagine, that there can be any risk or danger of hollowness. Every one gives the preference to his neighbours, and confesses his own inferiority, and is fond of blazoning their perfections; while that wrang ling and defamation, and jealousy, which was the characteristic mark of other times, is banished altogether, or at most, only found among the disappointed, or the stupid, or the profligate. But, as spleen must have vent in one way or another, a more ingenious, but not less cruel practice is now adopted. One author, for example, mentions another, who has treated before him of the same subject: but, who deduced very opposite conclusions from the same arguments. He is introduced with all possible politeness, and, frequently with a kind of satirical eulogium on his philosophical acuteness and perspicacity; when, lo! the scene is shifted; and immediate ly follows a learned speech on the absurdity of his hypotheses, and an elaborate refutation of all his deductions from them. 66 Hippocrates," such a one will observe, was a very great physician; nay, the greatest that antiquity can boast of, but were he alive now, I could show him that the liver hath not five lobes; and, that the blood circulates, and has not a flux and reflux from the heart, like a tide;" or, he may launch out in praises of the Epicurean philosophy; and then clearly demonstrate the impossibility of the mechanical formation of the universe. How different from the renowned Martinus Scriblerus!

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He does not allow the poor unfortunate, however, to rest here, or draw the veil of obscurity over his errors: but giving him a hearty shake, rouses "him from his nap, and hurries him along for much the same purpose that our nobles did their fools; not to profit by their mistakes, but to laugh at their infirmities. The guest finds himself in about as pleasant company as those of Dean Swift did, when he chased them purely for his own amusement along his passages, and through his rooms, and up stairs with a horse-whip in his hand; or, in a situation as agreeable as Gulliver was

in at Brobignag, when the monkey invited him to an airing upon the tiles. This subject forcibly brings to our recollection some remarks made by Dr Johnson in one of his conversations. "There is sometimes," says he, " as much charity in helping a man down hill, as in helping him up hill; that is, if his tendency be downward; for till he is at the bottom he flounders; get him once there, and he is quiet. Swift tells us, that Stella had a trick which she learned from Addi son, of encouraging a man in absurdity, instead of endeavouring to extricate him; it saved argument, she said, and prevented noise."

There is another species of error, which the critics of this age have almost uniformly fallen into; and which we lament, as being equally illiberal, uncandid, and unjust. `An author has frequently the sentence of approval or condemnation passed upon his writings, just as he happens to coincide or differ in political opinions; while the records of his private character are narrowly examined, and eagerly scrutinized, in order to form a proper estimate of his literary excellence. But, let it be remembered, that men may differ in opinion from the purest of all possible motives; and, that there is an essential, and radical difference between goodness and greatness; and though it be a disparagement to a great man to say that he is not good; it is more a misfortune than a fault, in a good man, that he is not great. We will not believe, with some illiberal Whigs, that Walter Scott is an indifferent poet, because he is of the Tories; nor will we allow to the latter, that Thomas Campbell is not a great genius, because his compositions are neither bulky nor voluminous. Moreover, Alfieri is acknowledged to be one of the greatest among modern dramatists, though his life was neither squared by rectitude, nor regulated by the plummet of principle. It certainly would be, we think, for the benefit of literature, were the private life of authors less exposed to the public eye; although, we rejoice to say, we could point out some, who have no reason to shrink from the severest scrutiny, or to dread the narrowest inspectionwhose hearts are unsullied, and whose thoughts are pure, and whose lives are commentaries on the doctrines inculcated in their writings. But, alas!