fused into the poet Boileau; Rollin, though a feeble historian, was a tasteful critic; and, in our own time, the seeds of good taste have been widely scattered over the continent by the Lycée of LaHarpe. The men of letters in Great-Britain have by no means been deficient in critical skill. Dryden was a good judge of literary merit; and his numerous prefaces, although they sometimes hetray an inconsistency arising from haste and carelessness, evince acuteness, discernment, and taste. The earl of Shaftesbury, in his Advice to an Author, has well asserted the importance of the art of criticism, and has detailed, in an appropriate and dignified style, those principles of fine writing which he had collected from the study of the ancients. Addison, by his critique on the best of our epic poems, elevated the fame of Milton beyond the narrow limits within which a general want of taste had confined it. Dr. Johnson, notwithstanding the occasional aberrations into which he was impelled by prejudice, gave, in his Lives of the Poets, decisive proofs of a strong and masterly intellect. Harris was more a grammarian than a critic; but he gave additional force to the precepts of Aristotle. Home, by his Elements of Criticism, strength ened the means of judging which already prevailed; and Dr. Blair illustrated the subject with elegance, though not with adequate spirit. The zeal of Toryism. In both these publications, occasional profundity of remark appeared amidst incoherence and frivolity, and displays of sense and learning were succeeded by nonsense and absurdity. Without giving specimens of these lights and shades of criticism, we shall merely exemplify the charge of frivolity by the statement of one point. In one of these reviews, where the ostensible topic of remark was the particular subject of the Iliad, the sagacious critic said nothing of that work which he ought to have reviewed, but favored his readers with a dissertation on the nature of the Æolic digamma, and, after long prating, threw no more light on the subject than he could have done on an unintelligible Coptic inscription, or on the dark beauties of an illegible Sanscrit manuscript. Of this writer we may say, in the words. of the poet, "In search of wit be lost his common sense, And then turn'd critic in his own defence." To constitute a good critic, various. qualities are requisite. He must, in the first place, possess a discriminating mind; secondly, he must have a considerable stock of learning; thirdly, he ought to be as well acquainted with human nature as with the literary productions of his own time and former ages. He ought also to have a refined taste, to soar above prejudice, to be as free from vanity and pride as our nature will.allow, to be accessible to argument, frank and candid, and neither disposed to praise blindly, nor to inflict unreasonable censure. To some of the ancient critics this description may not be inapplicable; but we doubt whether any of our contemporaries are entitled to such a character. A PROPER RESISTANCE TO UNHALLOWED PASSION; from the Tales of Passion. Some of the English literary reviews have displayed considerable ability. Without adverting to the Monthly and Critical Reviews, which were long preeminent, we shall merely take notice of the two works of that kind, which are most read at the present time. The Edinburgh Review was brought forward by a set of Whigs, who, on the basis of criticism, erected a superstructure of political and general disquisition. caustic severity which they exercised, pleased many, while it disgusted others. Their views of political economy were more visionary than practical; yet some of their hints made an impression even on the higher powers. Their attacks on the English universities had an effect tending to reform, so that some good resulted from the asperity of censure. The Quarterly Review, with a more polite exterior, "Alice proceeded, in the evening, to was equally acrimonious; but its severity the abbey to pray. It was rather later was directed against different objects; than usual, and the sky was misty and for it sought to attract notice by its high-dark. The stream rushed with a hoarser › church principles and all the courtly sound toward the ruins, dark masses of IN one of these interesting tales, a young lady of the Romish persuasion is supposed to be fond of her confessor, who, being shocked at the discovery, takes an opportunity of removing himself, by going abroad, from the scene of hazardous temptation. An unexpected interview afterwards occurs. which rose before the eye with little relief from any light behind. The heart of Alice was heavy in her bosom: and, if ever her spirit had needed prayer to cheer and strengthen it in its distress, it did so this night. She sought the abbey to implore help to her failing soul-to weep, to watch, and to pray. A very different scene awaited her. "As she approached the shrine of the Virgin, she perceived a figure kneeling before it. She was about to turn away, when the moon, which had hitherto been totally obscured by thick clouds, burst, on a sudden, brilliantly forth into the clear heaven, and shed its rays upon the stranger's face, upturned in fervent adoration-it was Father Hubert's!-Alice uttered one shrill scream, and sank, halffainting, to the earth. her "Since the memorable day on which her heart had been laid bare before him, eyes had never rested upon his form; but now, in shadow and in gloom, one slight glance sufficed to reveal to her the bodily presence of him who had ever been present in spirit—she knew him at once! A little more time was needed for Hubert to recognise who it was that had thus interrupted his devotions. A broken column, which had supported her as she sank to the ground, intervened between them. He hastened to pass it, and to raise the fainting form he saw prostrate before him. When Alice opened her eyes, she found herself in Hubert's arms. "Let those whose happy fate has placed them free from temptation here pause; and, when they are about to condemn unfortunates who have sunk beneath the power of passion, let them remember that there are positions such as this; that fate carries on its course situations in which every thing which stirs, excites, inflames, maddens the senses and the soul, is conjoined when all that is likely to check, to calm them-to show the danger which impends-to recall the reason which staggers is silenced, is far away! Those who have been tried in the fire of such an ordeal as this, and have come forth pure, will be the first to pity and to pardon such as have sunk under its strength. They know how mighty the temptation is, how mighty the resistance must be! Let those who have loved figure to themselves the feelings of these two at the instant of their mutual recognition! Let them recall for a moment the light in which each had been viewed by the other. They will be able to appreciate the storm which shook their souls. Hubert felt the heart of Alice throb against his bosom !—this loveliest of created beings-this, the only woman who had ever called forth a soft emotion within his heart-now lay in his arms, too weak for self-support, yet retaining sufficient consciousness to cause her pulse to beat thus tumultuously, her breath to be drawn in those quick and broken gasps which made every nerve in his frame thrill electrically as he felt them upon his cheek!-It was in vain, that she strove now to check that passion which had fired her whole being for years!the agonising hours of restraint were passed; this, at least, was a moment which love claimed as its own; and she gave herself up, body and mind, sense and spirit, to its enthralling, its overwhelming ecstasy! The frame of the monk shook in the extremity of mortal agitation; a mist came over his eyeshis brain reeled; the self-control of years staggered before the breath of one passionate moment; he stooped his head to her's; and the first kiss of mortal passion which had ever polluted the lips of Hubert, burned upon their surface then ! As he raised his head, with the deep longdrawn sigh which is the re-action of passion in its excess, his eyes chanced to light upon the image of the Virgin.Gracious Heaven! and what had a very short time wrought upon him! Years had not sufficed to do the work of that brief moment. The calm moon shone upon the holy image; and his soul sank abashed, in its guiltiness, from before its strong gaze. He shuddered; and, gently lowering Alice upon the column, who was scarcely yet restored from the first shock of surprise, followed as it had been by such rapid emotions, he sprang from her side, and sinking upon his knees before the shrine, he sought that protection from his own rebellious passions which nothing but prayer can give! "Lady, who deignest to read these pages, I trust that thou canst not figure to thyself the feelings which now reigned in the heart of Alice. None but those who have drunk deep of passion's most maddening cup, can judge of the tumult of her soul, when she felt the lips of Hubert pressed to her's. And when, a moment after, she saw him spring from her as though infection dwelt upon her touch, and kneel in agony of spirit before the Virgin's shrine, the conflict was almost too much for her frame to bear. It was some moments before she was able to rise, or even to speak. Father, pray for me!' she exclaimed, pray for mepray for us both!-I dare not, I cannot pray myself and she sobbed bitterly. "At the sound of her voice, he paused in his supplications. Alice,' he said, 'I am a weak and frail sinner, my prayers have no intercession. Oh! pride, spiritual pride!' he continued, scarcely addressing her, but almost, as it were, thinking aloud; thou art the stumbling block over which I have fallen-it is thou who hast shaken the self-subdued passions of years! But now is my haughty spirit humbled-I feel how weak and vain is human strength when it thinks itself the greatest-ora pro nobis,' he exclaimed, again turning toward the shrine, and bent himself to the earth in anguish. "Alice remained near the column, trembling, overawed. The sight of this mighty spirit, which she had always revered as something almost superhuman, wrestling with the passions of humanity, struck her as a spectacle not to be contemplated without a sensation approaching to reverence. I do not mean that she thus analysed her feelings, but that they existed in her at the moment, and operated upon her unconsciously. Some time elapsed without either party again speaking. The silence was, at last, broken by Hubert.-Alice Lovel,' he said, this is no time for even such as you, bound by no restrictive ties or special duties, to give way to the vain and giddy passions of human affection. To me, at all times, they are forbidden, like flesh to the Israelites in the desert-I cannot taste of them and live. But, at a season like this, when the ark of the Lord is broken from its resting-place, and his servants need all their strength and freshness to restore it-when their backslidings are noted and published as a scoff and bye-word wherewith to slander the true faith, then to give way to the baits and instigations of the Devil!-I shudder at the danger I have run; and here too! here in the scene of my former ministry here, whither I came to pour out my spirit in prayer; alas! I know not myself, thus fallen, thus stained. Alice, I can no longer address thee in the language of spiritual admonition-I can no longer call thee daughter,' and chide thee for thine errors as a father doth his child-I am now no more than a poor sinner, frail, weak, and liable to err as thou art-I am not fit to guide, who myself cannot walk alone. Years have passed since we have met. When we last parted, I reproved in you that passion to which this night I have given way myself—that passion which so nearly led us both into deep perdition. My sister, let us return thanks to Heaven for having escaped the tempter's snare-let us implore pardon for the guilt we have incurred-let us pray for strength to preserve us in the time to come.' "The tide of emotion had now ebbed, and the heart was softened by its influence. Like the flood of the Nile, it had overborne every thing in its onward course; but, like it, its reflux had fertilised the soil. The fruits it now bore were repentance and humbleness of heart. With these did Hubert and Alice pray together, and the blessed calm of a spirit reconciled to its God pervaded them. When they rose from before the shrine, 'Alice,' said the monk, this is, in all likelihood, the last time we shall meet in this world. The hour of my trials is probably at hand; and I hope my support of them will not disgrace my holy calling. We shall meet no more: the scaffold or the stake will be my portion, as it has been of those far more worthy than I am; and I shall receive, with the pride of a chosen servant, the crown of martyrdom as the completion and reward of my toils. But you are still young; length of years, honor, and riches, await you. Cast not from you those precious gifts. Forget the unhappy passion you have suffered to grow within your heart. Let the memory of this night be blotted from your mind. Remember Hubert only as the monk of the Holy Cross-such as he was for years, not as what he sank to for one moment! But, above all, my daughter, shrink not from the true faith. In the midst of this rebellious city, let at least one just person remain! Remember the piety of your blessed ancestor-prove that you are not unworthy of him:-and now, daughter, farewell! Oh, father,' exclaimed Alice, I will strive against myself; but the feelings of years cannot be rooted out in a day. Penance will I undergoprayer I will be constant in-but, oh! I have done penance, I have prayed, yet my stubborn heart has prevailed against all my efforts. It has broken my strength and health-I shall not live long, and I rejoice at it-death approaches me, and I welcome him. I am an humble and useless worm-when my life is trodden out, what matters it, and to whom? But on your existence hang mighty fates! Oh, talk not so horribly as you did even now! Do not wait danger, do not! Fly to a safe and distant land. In Italy, you will find refuge and support. Reginald Pole is a noble gentleman: he receives and succours the suffering confessors of our faith. Fly to him-quit this land of heresy and wrath! Say that you will fly, father!-In pity, say you will?' Alice,' returned the monk, I may not shrink from the cup which is prepared for me. I will not court danger; but I will not fly from it. For you, daughter, I see, indeed, that your cheek is pale and your form wasted, and it grieves my heart that so it is. But che rish not the serpent of despair within your breast. It is not lawful that you should thus act-it causes you to be your own destroyer! Strive, strive against the tempter, and assistance will be grant ed unto you.' "The moment of parting was come; Alice felt that life was about to close upon her for ever! The first hour in which she became conscious that she was loved by him whom her soul worshiped, was to be that of their final separation. If the emotion betrayed by Hubert had served, in some degree, to lessen the reverential distance, at which she had been accustomed to contemplate him, it had flooded her heart with the rapture of a new joy; it had added a quality to the affection which burned within her breast, such as it had never known before. Yes! the sensation of reciprocity-the knowlege that, in despite of all the obstacles which interposed, her attachment was not regarded wholly with cold disapprobation and unsympathising reproof the consciousness of being beloved, that far, far greatest of all the joys with which Heaven has blessed humanity, now spread its exquisite influence over her heart, and raised her, as it were, into a higher nature. Probably, notwithstanding all the counterbalancing emotions, Alice had never tasted such rapturous moments as those which she had known that night. ་ "Farewell, dear daughter-farewell, Alice!' said Hubert, in a voice which strong feeling broke and thickened; the blessing of God and the Holy Virgin be upon you for ever!' He raised his hands in the attitude of benediction as he spoke; and, casting one last glance upon that form which had been the dearest to him of any that earth had ever borne, he broke away from it at once, and, moving at a rapid pace, was speedily lost in the darkness." A TRUE STORY, extracted by Mr. J. J. Mac-Gregor from the Annals of Ireland. BRIEN BOROMHE was in his seventysixth year when he ascended the throne of Ireland; yet he still combined all the vigor of youth with the wisdom acquired by long experience. With the exception of a few partisan chiefs of the late sovereign, his authority was universally acknowleged; and these malcontents were soon brought to submission by the valor and activity of prince Mortogh, the monarch's eldest son, who also vigorously repressed some fresh insurrectionary movements of the Danes. Tranquillity being thus completely established, Brien commenced the great work of extending to the whole island those advantages of which Munster had already partaken; and, in every quarter, the disorder and misery which so lately prevailed gave place to happiness and civilisation. Property was respected, religion venerated, and literature, with the arts of peace, encouraged. At his palace of Kincora, near Limerick, where he still kept his court, a magnificent hospitality was main tained; and here the great and the learned, both of his own and foreign nations, were constant guests. Notwithstanding that desire of peace which he had exemplified during a reign of twelve years, he was involved in a war with the king of Leinster, whence arose the battle of Clontarf, on Good-Friday, 1014. "The aged monarch (says Mr. MacGregor) passed the day in his tent, anxiously listening to the details which were brought to him of the progress of the battle, and, at intervals, imploring the blessing of Heaven on the arms of his country. Corcoran, one of his attendants, perceiving the flag of prince Mortogh struck, which notified the fall of the chief, supposed that the Irish army had been defeated; and, entering the royal tent, he on his knees implored his revered sovereign to mount his horse and fly. No,' replied the veteran, 'I came here to die or conquer, and my enemies shall not boast of my death by inglorious wounds; but let you and my other attendants hasten your escape, and announce that I bequeath my soul to God, my body to Armagh, and my blessing to Dennis O'Brien.'-While he yet spoke, the officer exclaimed, 'I perceive a body of men advancing toward us.'-'What sort of men are they?' asked the king.— 'Grey, naked-looking_men,' answered Corcoran. They are Danes, completely armed,' observed Brien, and instantly grasped his sword. At the next moment the troop, with Brodar at their head, rushed into the royal tent. The monarch drew his sword, and, with the vigor of youth, cut off Brodar's left leg from the knee; but, almost at the same instant, he received a deadly blow from the battle-axe of his antagonist. Though he felt that the wound was mortal, the hero summoned up all his dying energies, and, with two strokes of his well-tried sword, slew the Danish leader and one of his followers, and then expired, falling, like Leonidas or Epaminondas, a sacrifice to the cause of his country, and grasping victory even in death. "This sad event had scarcely occurred, when the brave prince of Ulster, eager in pursuit of Brodar's troop, rushed into the tent, and cut the remnant of them to pieces. But the sight of the lifeless body of the venerable monarch was more than his exhausted strength could bear. He threw himself upon it; his numerous wounds burst forth afresh; and, refusing all assistance, the gallant Sitric breathed his last in the arms of his friend and faithful ally. "Thus fell the illustrious Brien Boromhe, a name that will ever be consider ed the glory of Ireland. Sagacious, humane, pious, valiant, and munificent, he merits a distinguished rank amongst those sovereigns who have been the benefactors, not the scourges, of mankind. He conquered as much by the splendor of a character, acquired by his philanthropic acts, as by his great military achievements. His bodily endowments and mental powers were of the very first order; and he was, at once, the hero and the lawgiver of his country." THE DEATH OF A TYRANT. IN the romance of the Castilian, the death of that monarch whom Edward the Black Prince restored to the throne which he had so unworthily filled, is related with due spirit, and with a commendable adherence to historic truth. Don Pedro, or Peter the Cruel, harassed by the rebellion of his illegitimate brother Henry, who was assisted by bands of foreign adventurers, suffered himself to be inveigled into the tent of Du-guesclin, a French knight, who favored the insurgents."Slowly, and in silence, the king bent his steps to the tent; and, when he reached it, some faithful attendants, as if actuated by a mournful presentiment, remained on guard at the entrance. Don Ferran de Castro, when he saw his master enter alone, could not resist a secret impulse to follow him; and, accordingly, requesting his companions to be on the alert, he ceeded close upon the footsteps of Don Pedro. At the side of a small table, reclined Du-guesclin, seemingly plunged in a profound reverie. The arrival of his guest awakened him from his trance, and he advanced toward the king with stately pace, but with much courtesy of manner. pro -Sir Bertrand Du-guesclin,' said Don Pedro, in a steady tone, 'behold me in your tent! The king of Castile trembles at nothing, though by some this act would be considered highly imprudent; for, in sooth, it much resembles entering into the lion's den. I am here alone, defenceless, but not afraid. Adhere to your promise; assist me in this hour of peril, and my dearest friend, Don Ferran de Castro, will remain as a pledge for the fulfilment of my promises. Soon as I reach Toledo, two hundred thousand dollars shall be sent to you, and the castles delivered up which you yourself may select.' "As Sir Bertrand spoke not, Don Pedro cast a withering look around, uneasy at the impassive tranquillity of the knight. After a short pause, Sir Bertrand said, 'Don Pedro, the misfortunes which oppress this kingdom must be brought to an end; and you, no doubt, will be ready to make concessions which Conces sions, none!' fiercely cried the king; 'none which can be considered unworthy of the dignity of my crown. Already I have broadly expressed my sentiments on this head; they are unchangeable, and I marvel that you should hold such language. You will consider,' returned |