"you must mistake their design; he that writes without intention to be credited, must write to little purpose; for what pleasure or advantage can arise from facts that never happened? What examples can be afforded by the patience of those who never suffered, or the chastity of those who were never solicited? The great end of history is to shew how much human nature can endure or perform. When we hear a story in common life that raises our wonder or compassion, the first confutation stills our emotions, and, however we were touched before, we then chase it from the memory with contempt as a trifle, or with indignation as an imposture. Prove, therefore, that the books which I have hitherto read as copies of life and models of conduct are empty fictions, and from this hour I deliver them to moths and mould; and from this time consider their authors as wretches who cheated me of those hours I ought to have dedicated to application and improvement, and betrayed me to a waste of those years in which I might have laid up knowledge for my future life." "Shakespeare," said the Doctor, "calls just resentment the child of integrity, and therefore I do not wonder that what vehemence the gentleness of your ladyship's temper allows, should be exerted upon this occasion. Yet, though I cannot forgive these authors for having destroyed so much valuable time, I cannot think them intentionally culpable, because I cannot believe they expected to be credited. Truth is not always injured by fiction. An admirable writer of our own time has found the way to convey the most solid instructions, the noblest sentiments, and the most exalted piety, in the pleasing dress of a novel, † and, to use the words of the greatest genius in the present age, has taught the passions to move at the command of virtue.' The fables of Esop, though never, I suppose, believed, yet have been long considered as lectures of moral and domestic wisdom, so well adapted to the faculties of man, that they have been received by all civilised nations; and the Arabs themselves have honoured his translator

Richardson.

+ Clarissa.

The author of the Rambler.

with the appellation of Locman the wise."

The fables of Esop," said Arabella, "are among those of which the absurdity discovers itself, and the truth is comprised in the application; but what can be said of those tales which are told with the solemn air of historical truth, and if false convey no instruction ?"

"That they cannot be defended, Madam," said the Doctor, "it is my purpose to prove; and if to evince their falsehood be sufficient to procure their banishment from your ladyship's closet, their day of grace is near an end. How is any oral or written testimony

confuted or confirmed?"

"By comparing it," says the lady, "with the testimony of others, or with the natural effects and standing evidence of the facts related, and sometimes by comparing it with itself."

"If then your ladyship will abide by this last," returned he, "and compare these books with ancient histories, you will not only find innumerable names of which no mention was ever made before, but persons who lived in different ages engaged as the friends or rivals of each other. You will perceive that your authors have parcelled out the world at discretion, erected palaces, and established monarchies wherever the conveniency of their narrative required them, and set kings and queens over imaginary nations. Nor have they considered themselves as invested with less authority over the works of nature than the institutions of men; for they have distributed mountains and deserts, gulfs and rocks, wherever they wanted them; and, whenever the course of their story required an expedient, raised a gloomy forest, or overflowed the regions with a rapid stream."

"I suppose," said Arabella, "you have no intention to deceive me, and since, if what you have asserted be true, the cause is undefensible, I shall trouble you no longer to argue on this topic; but desire now to hear why, supposing them fictions, and intended to be received as fictions, you censure them as absurd?"

"The only excellence of falsehood," answered he, "is its resemblance to truth. As, therefore, any narrative is more liable to be confuted by its inconsistency with known facts, it is at

a greater distance from the perfection of fiction; for there can be no difficulty in framing a tale if we are left at liberty to invert all history and nature for our own conveniency. When a crime is to be concealed, it is easy to cover it with an imaginary word. When Virtue is to be rewarded, a nation with a new name may, without any expense of invention, raise her to the throne. When Ariosto was told of the magnificence of his palaces, he answered that the cost of poetical architecture was very little; and still less is the cost of building without art than without materials. But their

historical failures may be easily passed over, when we consider their physical or philosophical absurdities; to bring men together from different countries does not shock with every inherent or demonstrable absurdity, and therefore, when we read only for amusement, such improprieties may be borne: but who can forbear to throw away the story that gives to one man the strength of thousands, that puts life or death in a smile or a frown, that recounts labours and sufferings to which the powers of humanity are utterly unequal, that disfigures the whole appearance of the world, and represents every thing in a form different from that which experience has shewn? It is the fault of the best fictions that they teach young minds to expect strange adventures and sudden vicissitudes, and therefore encourage them often to trust to chance. A long life may be passed without a single occurrence that can cause much surprise, or produce any unexpected consequence of great importance; the order of the world is so established, that all human affairs proceed in a regular method, and very little opportunity is left for sallies or hazards, for assault or rescue; but the brave and the coward, the sprightly and the dull, suffer themselves to be carried alike down the stream of custom."

Arabella, who had for some time listened with a wish to interrupt him, now took advantage of a short pause. "I cannot imagine, Sir," said she, "that you intend to deceive me, and therefore I am inclined to believe that you are yourself mistaken, and that your application to learning has hindered you from that acquaintance with the world in which these authors ex

celled. I have not long conversed in public, yet I have found that life is subject to many accidents. Do you count my late escape for nothing? Is it to be numbered among daily and cursory transactions that a woman flies from a ravisher into a rapid stream?"

"You must not, Madam," said the Doctor, urge as an argument the fact which is at present the subject of dispute."

Arabella, blushing at the absurdity she had been guilty of, and not attempting any subterfuge or excuse, the Doctor found himself at liberty to proceed.

"You must not imagine, Madam," continued he, "that I intend to arrogate any superiority when I observe, that your ladyship must suffer me to decide, in some measure authoritatively, whether life is truly described in those books; the likeness of a picture can only be determined by a knowledge of the original. You have had little opportunity of knowing the ways of mankind, which cannot be learned but from experience, and of which the highest understanding and the lowest must enter the world in equal ignorance. I have lived long in a public character, and have thought it my duty to study those whom I have undertaken to admonish or instruct. I have never been so rich as to affright men into disguise and concealment, nor so poor as to be kept at a distance too great for accurate observation. I therefore presume to tell your ladyship, with great confidence, that your writers have instituted a world.of their own, and that nothing is more different from a human being than heroes or heroines."

"I am afraid, Sir," said Arabella, "that the difference is not in favour of the present world."

"That, Madam," answered he, your own penetration will enable you to judge when it shall have made you equally acquainted with both. I have no desire to determine a question, the solution of which will give so little pleasure to purity and benevolence."

The silence of a man who loves to praise is a censure sufficiently severe," said the lady. "May it never happen that you should be unwilling to mention the name of Arabella. Ĭ hope, whatever corruption prevails in the world, to live in it with virtue, or,

if I find myself too much endangered, to retire from it with innocence. But if you can say so little in commendation of mankind, how will you prove these histories to be vicious, which, if they do not describe real life, give us an idea of a better race of beings than now inhabit the world?"

"It is of little importance, Madam," replied the Doctor, "to decide whether in the real or fictitious life most wickedness is to be found. Books ought to supply an antidote to example, and if we retire to a contemplation of crimes, and continue in our closets to inflame our passions, at what time must we rectify our words, or purify our hearts? The immediate tendency of these books, which your ladyship must allow me to mention with some severity, is to give new fire to the passions of revenge and love; two passions which, even without such powerful auxiliaries, it is one of the severest labours of reason and piety to suppress, and which yet must be suppressed if we hope to be approved in the sight of the only Being whose approbation can make us happy. I am afraid your ladyship will think me too serious."

any preserved by natural softness, or early education, from learning pride and cruelty, they are yet in danger of being betrayed to the vanity of beauty, and taught the arts of intrigue. Love, Madam, is, you know, the business, the sole business, of ladies in romances."

Arabella's blushes now hindered him from proceeding as he had intended. "I perceive," continued he, "that my arguments begin to be less agreeable to your ladyship's delicacy; I shall therefore insist no longer upon false tenderness of sentiment, but proceed to those outrages of the violent passions which, though not more dangerous, are more generally hateful."

"It is not necessary, Sir," interrupted Arabella, "that you strengthen by any new proof a position which when calmly considered cannot be denied; my heart yields to the force of truth, and I now wonder how the blaze of enthusiastic bravery could hinder me from remarking with abhorrence the crime of deliberate unnecessary bloodshed. I begin to perceive that I have hitherto at least trifled away my time, and fear that I have already made some approaches to the crime of encouraging violence and revenge."

"I hope, Madam," said the good man with horror in his looks," that no life was ever lost by your incitement."

Arabella, seeing him thus moved, burst into tears, and could not immediately answer. "Is it possible,” cried the Doctor, "that such gentleness and elegance should be stained with blood?"

"Be not too hasty in your censure," said Arabella, recovering herself, "I tremble indeed to think how nearly I have approached the brink of murder, when I thought myself only consulting my own glory; but, whatever I suffer, I will never more demand or instigate vengeance, nor consider my punctilios as important enough to be balanced against life."

The Doctor confirmed her in her new resolutions, and, thinking solitude was necessary to compose her spirits after the fatigue of so long a conversation, he retired to acquaint Mr. Glanville with his success, who in the transport of his joy was almost ready to throw himself at his feet, to thank him for the miracle, as he called it, that he had performed.

Memorials of the great Civil War in England, from 1646 to 1652; edited from Original Letters in the Bodleian Library. By Henry Cary, M.A. 2 vols. 8vo.

THIS is one of the most important historical works published for some years past; important, not as presenting "new lights" calculated to amuse and mislead the general reader, but as adding to the materials for English history a collection of valuable papers relating to a period which is universally interesting. All our fashionable historical works sink into their natural insignificance, upon comparison with Mr. Cary's unpretending but really valuable volumes.

The letters here published are derived from originals in the collection of MSS. which formerly belonged to Bishop Tanner, and are now in the Bodleian. They are partly of historical and partly of biographical interest, the latter relating indirectly to public affairs, but principally to the life and fortunes of Archbishop Sancroft.

The period within which the letters range commenced with the King's leaving Oxford and putting himself into the power of the Scots at Newark, and closed with the confusion which terminated in the advance of Cromwell to the Protectorate. It embraced the great events of the surrender of Charles by the Scots, his unsuccessful attempts at an arrangement with the parliament, the interference of the army, the king's execution, the parliament's victories in Ireland and Scotland, and Charles II's escape from Worcester. All these events are more or less illustrated in the volumes before us, and some of them are substantiated and explained with a power and clearness which can only be found in the testimony of intelligent eye-witnesses.

The private papers-those, that is, which relate to Sancroft and his friends, possess considerable interest, and especially because they show the feelings and prejudices of a respectable cavalier family, and the way in which GENT. MAG. VOL. XXI.

its members were affected both in mind and estate by the public troubles. Some of them are of a pathetic turn, some mock-heroic, whilst others are satirical. When the Royalists failed against the parliament men in the field, Cromwell's nose became a grand point of attack, and one of Sancroft's correspondents is very humourous upon the subject.

"One, in discourse about the Lord's anointed, stuck not to say, 'he thought Cromwell the very same.' (This was in 1650.) 'And shall that oily nose at last go for the Lord's anointed? No, we have better terms to express so much desert by. It is the saints' minimum quoddam naturale; a Nol-with-the-whisp. commonwealth's noli me tangere, that which people rather gaze at than delight in, and wherewith they are mastered, like a company of jackdaws in the night at sight of a torch; were that quenched they would be at their nest again. It is

the

Samson's foxes' firebrands, and all beaten together into an intolerable nose, the devil's breeches turned wrong side upwards, and clapped by mischance to the general's face. But flies must not be too bold with the candle for scalding their wings: it is, God knows what; and, do what I can, I must leave it the same I found it." (II. 226.)

Sancroft pictures Cromwell's mind rather than his appearance, and truly, if the future Archbishop's character of the Protector was an accurate one, his copper-nose was not the worst thing about him.

"We know his method well enough; namely, by courteous overtures to cajole and charm all parties when he goes upon a doubtful service, and as soon as it is over to his mind to crush them.

I like him worse when he is stealing of hearts with Absalom, than when he is lopping off heads like John of Leyden; accounting the devil far more dangerous in the serpent than in the lion." (II. 25.)

These are the representations, probably the misrepresentations, of prejudiced adversaries; but listen to the man himself, and mark at once the superiority which his forcible lines seem to indicate, in spite of the colour

H

of his nose. After writing to the Speaker a detailed account of his successes in Ireland, he thus proceeds: "Sir, what can be said of these things? Is it an arm of flesh that doth these things? Is it the wisdom and counsel or strength of men? It is the Lord only. God will curse the man and his house that dares to think otherwise. Sir, you see the work is done by a divine leading: God gets into the hearts of men, and persuades them to come under you. I tell you, a considerable part of your army is fitter for an hospital than the field. If the enemy did not know it, I should have held it impolitic to have writ it. They know it, yet they know not what to do." (II. 202.)

Read also the manly lines with which he transmits to the Speaker a petition forwarded to himself, the contents of which related to "justice and faith-keeping," and the performance of an agreement to which "the word and faith of the army" were engaged.

"If he," says Cromwell, "desires that which is not just and honourable for you to grant, I shall willingly bear blame for this trouble, and be glad to be denied; but if it be just and honourable, and tends to make good the faith of your servants, I take the boldness then to pray he may stand or fall according to that; and this desire, I hope, is in faithfulness to you, and will be so judged."

In this straightforward style the Protector's despatches were generally penned, as the volumes before us amply prove, although his letters are neither the least known, nor the most numerous, nor the most valuable portion of their contents.

appear.

But the most valuable opinion upon the questions of conscience upon ecclesiastical matters, with which Charles I. seems to have been troubled, is contained in a very long letter of Jeremy Taylor's, which, in spite of a great deal of sophistical pedantry, contains much practical wisdom. In some of his conclusions, respecting the alienation of church lands by the state, we could not concur; but the following simple sentence contains a commonsense view of the obligation of the coronation oath which has been generally overlooked, even down to very

recent times.

"The king's oath binds him to maintain the rights of the church as it ties him to defend the laws; which he is to defend so long as they are in being, but not bound against all changes, popular petitions, necessities and emergencies, to preserve their being." (II. 99.)

The same great writer in this reopinion upon another important ecmarkable paper expresses also an worthy of being pondered. clesiastical subject, which is well

"I consider that God is not always best served by the richest clergy; that our blessed Lord commends poverty, and and example; that he speaks so harshly entailed it upon his church by his doctrine of riches, that himself was once put to it to expound the meaning of his words; and yet, after that, his Apostles, when they received the spirit of Christ, still prosecuted the words of Christ against riches.

I add, that, although lands are not easy to be had, yet the Apostles parted with them, and put the sequel to God's providence." (II. 95.)

It is extraordinary, and presents a somewhat melancholy picture of the