thing to be developed, and England has even yet to emancipate herself from the bonds of their shallow psychology. The time has hardly yet come, but it assuredly will, when full justice will be done to the wise and the philanthropic Pestalozzi. We will then rejoice, not that we have added our feeble praise to the well-earned applauses which will be paid to his name, but that we uplifted our voice in commendation of that scheme to the perfecting of which he devoted his splendid talents with unwearied perseverance and success so signal.

We shall let the excellent little work whose name stands at the head of this article describe the system for us, wherever we find it possible: regretting that our limits will compel us to pass very cursorily over one of the most interesting subjects that can be presented to our thoughts: for it is not in the infant school only that the principles this work asserts will be useful; it is not for the children of the poor only, that its author's experience will be made available: in the palace of the wealthy as in the hovel of the labourer, the same words should be sounded, and in the royal foundations of our public schools, and in the clerical foundations of our universities. We need hardly attempt to prove to our readers that the proper season for education begins with, or even before, the appearance of understanding: every mother who watched her baby in infancy will have observed the astonishing effort by which the little musician learnt to move his limbs to the time of the song, which had always been sung to him, long before his tongue could give evidence of the accuracy with which he had observed it: but even the most decided opposers of our views, the most determined assertors of the external origin of all our knowledge, will agree with us that it is impossible to say when the child first has distinct perceptions. From the moment, therefore, that it is capable of being carried about, it would profit by attending such a school as we describe; and circumstances are mentioned by all writers on this system, which show that, when such infants have been taken by their nurses among their little companions, they have very soon learned to imitate their motions, and to follow their tunes, by that restless necessity of trying their own strength after the fashion of those around them, which seems the most remarkable circumstance in the infant's manners.]

But, from very obvious reasons, children are rarely sent to these schools till they are about eighteen months or two years old; and they continue till they are about ten. Their first occupations are merely gymnastical: they, for a few days, sit and observe; afterwards they begin to clap with their hands, point in different directions, stamp with their feet, march round the school-room, and so on.' By this discipline their attention is excited, their interest in the proceedings is insured, the circulation of their blood is promoted, and their physical condition often not a little improved. But, when the capacity of learning by word from a teacher has been observed, what is to be done?

If, then, such be the period of life most proper for the commencement of education, you will ask what method should be adopted and pursued as best calculated to ensure the great end thereof? We, of course, agree that this great end is the salvation of the soul; and subservient to that, a preparation for usefulness in this world. This premised, we answer, the teacher's grand business is to employ such means as may appear best calculated to develope the powers and faculties of the mind; at the same time endeavouring to blend divine truth with every portion of knowledge which he imparts; and for this purpose he should, as far as possible, teach from nature; because nature is so constituted as to lead the mind to observation, to reflection, to fixed habits of thought, and at the same time to impress it with exalted views of the Almighty, as the Creator, Sovereign, and provident Father of all. 'Man is the noblest work of God: every child is a man in embryo. We therefore feel it incumbent to begin with the child himself; first directing his attention to a finger, a hand, an arm, an eye, an ear, a leg,

before the senses,

Our aim throughout the whole, is to distinguish between a mere act of the memory, and those of the other powers of the mind. Our object is to teach more by things than words; because in the formation of an idea more is necessary than merely bringing the object Its qualities must be explained; its origin accounted for, its parts described, their relation to the whole ascertained: its use, its effects, or its consequences must be stated ;-all this must be done, at the same time, in a manner sufficiently clear and comprehensive to enable the child to distinguish the object from other objects, and to account for the distinction which is made: and, whenever the knowledge of an abstract (or separate) idea is to be communicated, an equivalent of the representation should be given, through the medium of a fact, as an exemplification.

For the way by precept is long and laborious; the way by example is short and easy." Farther, we endeavour not only to act upon the child, but to let him become an agent in the improvement of his own mind, by making him think. "His thought should be regular and self-active." We do not so much talk to a child, as enter into conversation with him. The exercises re

commended, "for employing the mind and eliciting thought," are such as embrace Form, Number, and Language. Whatever ideas we may have to acquire during life, are introduced through the medium of one of these departments: the reason why we would so early call the attention to the elements of number and form, is, besides their general usefulness, they admit of a most perspicacious treatment, a treatment of course far different from that in which they are too often involved, and which renders them utterly unpalatable to those who are by no means deficient in ability."-Pp. 6—8.

"

which she was examining, to tell her "of a circle of the body," when an answer to the above effect was "What," she continued, 66 given. can you do with "We can see, your eye?" was a general answer; but one little girl, said, "We can sin, too." "How!" can you sin with your eye?" rejoined the lady, "If," was the answer, we see a young lady or gentleman dressed in nice clothes, and wish they were ours, we covet what is our neighbour's, and that is sinning against God with our eye." I only wish to add, that this branch of knowledge is also exceedingly useful in preparing the children for writing, by leading them to the use of the slate and pencil, by means of which they form lines, angles, and figures, of various forms and dimensions.-Pp. 11, 12.

Number and arithmetic are easily taught and acquired with wonderful facility: every thing in this science is done by actual combinations of the simple elements; marbles, pebbles, any thing, in short, is made use of to lead the children to observe for themselves the facts of addition and the other rules; and we can assert, from our personal experience, the wonderful readiness of calculation which this method begets in the learners. We subjoin a short statement of the author's to exemplify the skill and the manner of the children.

'Two ladies and a gentleman, visiting a school not long since, asked, "What is the half of 164?" and were answered in a moment by several of the children, 84" "The fourth of it?" 41." "The eighth of it?" "2 and 1-16th." "The sixteenth of it?" "1 and 1-32nd part." "How many are twice 174?"

66

66

"354." "Twice 35 ?" 71." "Twice 71 ?" "142." This they proved as follows:-" Twice 70 are 140, and twice 1 are 2; therefore, twice 71 must be 142." On being asked how they knew twice 35 are 71, they answered, "Twice 35 are 70, and two halves make one whole; therefore, twice 354 must be 71." Again, they were required to show that twice 174 are 354, when they said, "Twice 10 are 20, and twice 7 are 14; 20 and 14 are 34, and twice are 14; 34 and 14 are 354; therefore, twice 174 are 354. During such calculations, the children either stand or sit, while the promptitude and cheerfuluess, the perspicuity and ease, with which they answer, could not he equalled in much older children, who are taught according to the system of the old school.'-P. 20.

"

points, lines, and angles, many will be produced, especially of triangles, quadrangles, and others containing many sides and angles. Each school-master is also provided with an instrument made of iron, tin, or brass, cut in ten or twelve pieces of equal length, which are riveted together near the ends, and with which he can at pleasure form figures similar to those above named; in which lessons the scholars are led to observe the difference between an acute, a right, or an obtuse angle; equilateral, scalene, and isosceles triangles: oblongs, squares, circles, ovals regular and irregular, pentagons, hexagons, and polygons. The diameters of circles and their centres; also semicircles, ovals, spiral lines, concave and convex angles, &c., are useful and excellent subjects for thinking lessons. I must here anticipate my friend's old objection, "All this is good in its place; but why teach it to poor chil dren?" We answer, our aim is to develope the powers of the infant mind; and that principally by leading them to the study of nature, the various objects of which will be found to form themselves into some one or more of these geometrical shapes. For example, you have of course observed that a tree possesses its points, lines, and angles; its leaves and branches, its stem and its fruit, are either circular, oval, conical, round, or spiral, &c.; while the fragrant flowers, the various and distinct parts of animals, minerals, and the human frame, do also comprise these shapes and forms in their appearances. Hence, ask an infant scholar to show you an angle, and it will point to its elbow, or a knuckle. Ask for a concave angle, and it will point to a corner of its eye, or of its mouth : or for a circle, and it will answer, "My eye-ball." I know a lady who one day asked a class of children,

'With regard to Figures:-By the association of

Grammar is easily taught, for every action suggests some grammatical instruction: a child may be sent across the room, and the rest may be taught to sing, Here he or she comes!' There he or she goes,' &c.; and the difference of genders, pronouns, action and suffering, time past, present, and to come-all may be remarked in these simple sentences. Adjectives are equally common, and with equal facility remarked. And thus, by the mere medium of conversation, without books or rules, great accuracy is acquired in speaking, so much so, as indeed to be very striking in children who are generally of the lowest order.

To these three branches of instruction, which must form the ground-work of every philosophical system, and which, when properly followed out, are productive of incalculable advantage to the mind, are added drawing, writing, reading, and singing, all of which the natural desire to imitate soon enables many children to compass: in this they are assisted by coloured prints, sentences in large type on the walls, with other figures, which they may copy upon slates. The art of spelling is taught by a curious process; our author shall describe it:

Spelling is taught, sometimes, to the whole of the scholars at the same time: at other times a class is selected, and each child separately examined: again, we

even an elegant turn, that rather contrasted with appearances.

At the threshold of the rocky isle she was met by the young chieftain himself, in no unprincely garb, mantled and adorned with chain and collar. His very beard was trimmed, perhaps for the first time, and it was evident that the savage had taken all pains to humanize himself. Lady Auchinlech's surprise checked the burst of indignation and reproach, that she had meditated to pour forth, and that she had been conning. She regained some confidence on beholding the reverence with which, though a captive, she was welcomed. The rude Rapparee's hand even trembled, as he extended it to receive the high-born and beautiful lady; and the latter instantly knew her power, generally enough acknowledged, indeed; she calmed her fears accordingly, and composed every feeling and feature into the expression of proud and somewhat offended dignity.

'O'More made the humblest and blandest salutations to the widow of Lord Auchinlech; and she received them haughtily, thanking him condescendingly for the trouble he had taken in her liberation from the hands of the Williamites; for which, she added, neither Lewis of France, nor James of England, would fail to requite him. O'More answered, that with her, rather than with any potentates, rested the recompense he sought, and he straight poured forth his homage and heart with an humbleness and tenderness as exaggerated, as had been his rudeness to Rachel O'Mahon. Ignorance knows no medium; in both cases he was unlucky, as each extreme offered each lady the opportunity and the Ineans' to rid themselves of an unwelcome suitor. The lady received the Rapparee's vows as an homage of course, and, in fact, part of her reception. To hear them nothing moved her, not more than a common salutation. And O'More was at a loss how to convince her of his seriousness, without at once rushing to the extreme of violence, which he had pre-determined to avoid as a faulty mode of wooing.

"We will leave it to time," thought he, "especially as something else than gallantry presses."

"He therefore reassured the lady of his intentions to share with her his power and chieftaincy, with a tone too of peremptoriness that glided into his speech; and she parried the attack with predetermined apathy. The quarrel betwixt them was postponed. The chieftain looking to a successful defence to put security, as well as a noble wife, completely in his power, and the lady looking to the hour of strife and bustle, as the moment which best afforded the means of escape.

With the arrival of reinforcements to the troops of Catherlogh, in the mean time, the Knight of Palestine had shaken off his inactivity and paternal sorrow. The little army was mustered; its ranks, or rather its rear, swelled with many volunteers from amongst the loyal burgesses of Catherlogh, who were eager to wash away the affront and reproach of want of vigilance and activity put upon them by the rescue of the important prisoner from Whittle's on the preceding night. Deloraine's regiment of horse were also at the rendezvous, and some of its officers were, for reasons not publicly known, all as eager as the citizens, to take vengeance upon the pestilent Rapparee.

"They began their march, and entered upon the hostile country without, as usual, meeting with any resistance. Neither pass, nor ravine, nor rock, nor opposing hill-side-no ground, however apt and opportune for defence, showed any symptoms of a Rapparee. The outlaw population seemed to have taken flight for some similar region, to return, no doubt, when their own wilds were again rid of their enemies. Bodies of troops had certainly been sent in other quarters, to intercept the fugitives, and shut in O'More's people in their bogs and hills; but over such an extent the performance of such a duty was impossible. The troops advanced, however; the Knight of Palestine determined this once to reach and destroy the den of the ruffian, that had so long been to him a dangerous and unpunished neighbour. Different tracks were pursued by different bodies of the invaders; no one, however, unseen by, or uncommunicating with the others; and, the little army having thus traversed a part of the region without encountering an enemy, united again its different bands on the verge of the morass, not many hours before crossed by Lady Auchinlech and her captors.

"The leaders were of course not ignorant of the existence and situation of the Rapparce's den. Sir Christopher had often ardently desired to pay it a hostile visit; but force sufficient had never been at his command, until the late outrage, or repeated outrages

of O'More, joined with the fears of Government of an approaching insurrection, had put into the Knight's power the means of gratifying his wish.

'The line of the causeways, of two of them at least, was chosen, and the troops advanced into the morass, Deloraine's horse being compelled to remain behind on the high and dry shore, where they were ordered to cut off the retreat of fugitives. For this purpose they extended their patrol as far round the brink as they could without separating. It was a difficult march for the soldiers, who soon lost all appearance of order, and scrambled on as they might, leaving divers stragglers of their body stuck beyond all possibility of extrication. Here they first encountered opposition. A fire was of a sudden opened upon them, scemingly from the very bog itself, which it seemed idle to reply to. The men of O'More in ambush, were all, in fact, up to their chins in water, their hands and heads, and the arms they bore, being among the rushes; and, as a kind of camp entrenchment thrown up to protect each submerged band, a large bog-fosse was formed and placed in front of their ambush, and all approach to it so intersected and insecure, that it was seldom and with difficulty that the soldiers could reach their enemies, and, even in some cases when they had reached, they found it as difficult to find them. The troops had great numbers of wounded in this ugly warfare; and now and then when the head of a Rapparee was descried and seized, the half-drowned wretch pulled up by his wild shock hair, and instantly slain, he was reconsigned to his bog-hole.

Despite of these impediments, that occurred as often as the ground lent itself to them, the troops and the Knight made progress, and Ulick O'More was in despair. He had resolved with a devoted band of his followers to charge upon the causeway his advancing foes; but their marching in two bodies and in such number, disconcerted him; while in combat with one, his retreat and strong-hold would be taken by the other; nothing remained but flight.

time before the near approach of the red-coated eneHis wooing was thus seriously interrupted. Some mies, he had intrusted his fair prisoner once more to Garrett O'Mahon's keeping and guidance, bidding him make for the hills opposite those occupied by the soldiery, and thence proceed to await him at an appointed spot, far out of the reach of the Williamites. The order for her escape was given in time. In their traversing the rest of the bog, they could perceive the troopers of Deloraine's extending their numbers around it; and, when they gained the brink, and horses were procured for them, some of the leading horsemen, amongst whom an officer was conspicuous, spurred towards them, attracted, no doubt, by the female habit, and the seeming urgency of the lady's flight.

Willomer at once conjectured who it was, and, although he was no longer excited by the momentary humour, in which wine and the councils of Morley had the greatest share of the preceding evening, to win and serve the beautiful widow, still, for the sake of vengeance upon the Rapparee, he would have been glad to capture and rescue her back from his hands. Lady Auchinlech, too, might have guessed at this, and favoured it by lingering, as any fate was preferable to the thraldom of Ulick, especially when in discomfiture and ill-humour. Garret O'Mahon, however, during the last traverse, had shown symptoms of an inclination to throw off his lately-assumed allegiance to O'More-ties, which 'common discomfiture, in his idea, had broken. When Lady Auchinlech had proposed the escape of both to the coast of Waterford, and thence to France, young O'Mahon did not seem averse to at once putting himself in safety, and proceeding to the French King's or the Stuarts' Court with a high claim for a gallant character and for reward, in having rescued a lady known and admired in both. To be the companion and protector of the said lady was not without

its charm; and the selfish youth determined to forsake his family,-whom, nevertheless, he could in no wise aid by remaining at home, as well as O'More, in pursuance of his own immediate interest and safety. Even a farewell was not taken by him; and, instead of betaking themselves to the rendezvous appointed by Ulick in the far hills, to which he intended to retreat, Garret O'Mahon and Lady Auchinlech soon turned southwards, in the direction of Waterford, and escaped from the immediate danger of being intercepted with more good fortune than had attended the lady's former attempt of the kind under the protection of Chef Roger.

gerated and poetical and pathetic, than he made use of some hours after, when informed of the treachery of Garret and the escape of his destined bride. He retreated, lion-like, exchanging shots and blows with his pursuers. These soon planted their flag upon the topmost mound of O'More's retreat, though, upon looking back to their long line of disabled, and dead, and straggling, with which the morass was covered, they might very well remark that the possession of the outlaw's den had been dearly purchased. The Knight resolved to complete its destruction. Its foundations and arches were undermined and bored; the ammunition, useless against a fast-flying enemy, was copiously employed for these purposes of vengeance, which would endure as a trophy of success. The Williamites retired from the rocky mound; and in a few minutes all that remained of the ancient Castle of the Chief, or the modern cave of the Rapparees, was shattered into a black and ruined mass.'-Vol. ii. pp. 120-130.

FLOWERS OF FANCY.

Flowers of Fancy, exhibited in a Collection of Similes, taken from various Authors, and alphabetically arranged. By Henry Schultes. 8vo. Longman and Co. London, 1829.

It

THE avowed design of this benevolent work is to assist young authors in enriching their styles. It appeared to the author, much reflecting upon the inconvenience which the writers for the Minerva Press have hitherto suffered, in being obliged to hunt for their figures of speech through a host of volumes, troublesome to read and most expensive to buy, that he should be doing a signal service to mankind, if he presented them, in one moderate-sized octavo volume, with whatever, in the celebrated authors of Great Britain, was likely to be applicable to their purposes. certainly is somewhat hard, that a young gentleman, about to write a heroic poem or a fashionable novel, should be obliged to toil through the twelve volumes of Shakspeare for the purpose of finding fit words and similes, when, perhaps, there are not twelve passages in all these volumes which would do him the least service. This class of the community is under no ordinary obligations to Mr. Henry Schultes, who has not only submitted to this drudgery for their sakes, but has also taken the pains to study the other most distinguished classics of our land, as, for instance, (not to mention Milton and Blackmore,) Mr. John Bowring, Mr. Robert Montgomery, Mr. Leigh Hunt, Miss Lucy Aikin, and the Oxford Sausage.

That there must have been great difficulties in the execution of this meritorious book, our readers will perceive, when we have shown, by a quotation from Mr. Schultes's preface, to what a high standard of excellence in composition he wishes to conduct the writers for Mr. Newman:

'If it were possible to establish a criterion in literature whereby philological taste might be regulated, it would be easy to prescribe rules for deciding at once on literary merit, and awarding its just degree of praise: but, whilst a diversity of opinion continues to prevail amongst mankind, the renown of a writer must necessarily depend more upon fortuitous events and the ruling fashion of the age, than upon the brilliance of his wit, or the force of his genius, as the example of Milton and others may serve to prove. The truth of this remark is so universally acknowledged, that every aspirant for public approbation now endeavours to discover some new path which may lead him to distinction, and hopes, through the medium of novelty, originality, or eccentricity, to gain popular fame. Some authors seek reputation by adopting a conciseness of style; others court regard by an elaborate amplification of their topics; and a few expect to attract notice by a partial revival of obsolete phraseology. Popularity, however, seems, conformably with the existing rules of philology, to be most deservedly due to him who, following the light of truth, is enabled to convey his ideas with clearness into the minds of others, and who can occasionally illustrate his propositions by apposite comparisons, formed by allusion to natural and familiar objects of the senses.'-Pp. v., vi.

tions by apposite comparisons,' that there is one great difficulty in the way of his attaining popularity by this means; namely, that all the apt comparisons have been exhausted beforehand. If this be the case, as there is too much reason to fear, the publication of such a work as the present, instead of being useful to those for whom it was designed, would operate as a serious discouragement to them. For, as Mr. Schultes remarks to his feeling manner :

'Perhaps nothing can be more mortifying to a writer, after he has published (as his own creation) that which he considers to be a happy comparison, to discover that the same incidents, expressed partially or wholly in the same language, had been already given to the world by various predecessors.'-P. 8.

But the comprehensive and sagacious mind of Mr. Schultes suggested a remedy for this great inconvenience. True,' he thought within himself, "if I record not only Shakspeare's comparisons, but likewise that which is compared, the tender conscience of the author of "The Fatal Discovery" or "Clorinda's Cave," may consider it a plagiarism to import either into his work.' But is this necessary, is it even convenient? Certainly not. If an author has a good simile provided for him, he will fit it on as occasion requires. Tell a practised writer that Ceres speaks in "The Tempest" of "a rich scarf to the proud earth," and he will not the least thank you for quoting:

"And with each end of thy blue bow dost crown My bosky acres and my unshrubbed down, Rich scarf to my proud earth." Mention to him that something is, somewhere in Shakspeare, called the governess of the floods,' and he will think it superfluous to ask what that something is. Allude to

"The double cherry seeming parted, But yet a union in partition,"and what can it signify to him, that in its original application, it referred to the early friendship of two fair-stricken maidens of Athens. The use of a simile is, that it may be turned to all purposes; and Mr. Schultes has shown admirable judgment in acting upon this principle. He has called his book Flowers of Fancy;' and evidently thinking that the flowers were much better without the stalks, he has so arranged his dictionary that a writer, as soon as he has written down the commonest adjective, has only to turn to the first letter, and he will find twenty apt comparisons for that case made and provided. We will quote a page at random, from which our readers will be able to judge of the great merit of the work in this respect.

'PLEASING as the day. Poetical Recreations.—as dawn of day. Gildon.-as light to the eyes. Atterbury.— as the rosy morn whose lovely cheeks look smiling on the day. W. Hemings. Pleasing and gay as the sweet smiling summer. W. Hett. More pleasing

than a summer's morn. J. Clare. Pleasing as sunshine to the bee. Gay--as winter suns or summer shade. Dryden.-Pleasing to my sense as sleep after a tedious watching. Glapthorne.-as dreams of health to the diseased. Jacob.-as the pipe of Mercury which charmed the hundred eyes of watchful Argus, and enforced him to sleep. Play, Lear.-as hope. Play, Momus turned Fabulist.-as hope to the despairing penitent. Jacob.

'PLENTY as rabbits in a warren. Fielding.-as blackberries. Centlivre, Sir W. Scott.-as nettles. Play, Plymouth in an uproar.-as hops. M. P. Andrews.

'PLIABLE as an osier. Lacy, J. Worsdale.—as a twig. W. Davies. 'PLIANT as a hazel stick. Play, Interlude of Youth.as the shoots of a young tree in vernal flower. T. Moore.-More pliant than wax. John Baillie. 'PLUMP as a partridge. E. Ravenscroft, Pope, and others.-Plump and shy as a partridge. Sir W. Scott. -Plump as a barn-door chicken. P. Pindar.-as a puffin. Farquhar as a cherry. Herrick.—as grapes. T.Killigrew; Play, Psyche.—as grapes after showers. Behn.-Plump and grey as a gooseberry. R. Burns. -Plump and juicy as a damson. E. Ward.-Plump as stalled theology. E. Young.

'POINT to him as naturally as the needle to the north. Young Hypocrite, in Foote's Comic Theatre.-Pointed

tooth. Moses Mendez.

'POLISHED as marble. E. Young. 'POLITE as elegance. Savage.

'PONDEROUS. More ponderous than the sand that lies upon the new forsaken shore. Quarles.'

The opinions of a person who could frame such a scheme as this, upon all literary questions, must be worthy of record; and our readers will, we are sure, attach still further weight to Mr. Schultes's authority, when informed that he talks of two of our most eminent writers, Shakand Addison,' that he considers the great speare models of purity of language and gracefulness of style,' are Tillotson and Robertson, and that he objects to the similes of joys being bright as April flowers, 'and of 'empires rising like an exhalation,' because, as he facetiously observes, they evince an erroneous judgment, not unlike that of the blind man who thought the colour of scarlet resembled the sound of trumpet.

tronage of the scribes in Grub-street, for whose Commending Mr. Schultes's book to the pause it is designed, we will avail ourselves of its publication to say a few words upon the point which it naturally suggests; namely, the merits and defects of metaphorical writings, and the alleged prevalence of it in certain writings of our own day. But this is matter for a future article.

NEW MUSIC.

The favourite Airs in Pacini's Opera, L'Ultimo Giorno di Pompei,' arranged for two Performers on the PianoForte, by A. Diabelli. Book II. Boosey and Co.. THIS second Book comprises as much interesting variety as the first; (noticed in the Athenæum, No. 63, page 8;) and, as we are now given to understand that it is highly probable the Opera will be performed at the King's Theatre this season, the arrangement here offered will become highly acceptable, and most likely popular. The following pieces form the second Book: S'Innalzin all' etra,' a long showy chorus, à la Rossini, in A common time, 'Oh! mio crudele affetto,' Aria di Appio, a very pleasing andante cantabile in C 6-8 time, followed by an alegretto marziale, and ‘Ballabile' for a conclusion. We repeat, that they are well arranged, and unusually well brought out.

Fantasia Dramatica, No 1, or, Airs from Mozart's Opera, 'Cosi fan tutte,' arranged for the Piano-Forte, with an accompaniment for the Flute (ad lib.), and dedicated to Miss Peach, (of Ketteringham Hall, Norfolk,) by J. B. Cramer. Cramer and Co.

IT would be a work of supererogation to dilate upon the excellence of a piece, bearing upon its title the conjointed names of Mozart and Cramer; we can, therefore, merely add, that it exhibits all the beauty, melody, and elegance of the former, united to the expression, taste, and judgment of the latter. It is arranged quite in a familiar style, is very teachable, and, therefore, very serviceable, and comprises the following variety of airs: Introduzione in Bb 2-4, Prenders quel Brunettino ;'' Bella vita Militar,' as a Spiritoso in F; Eco vi il medico, in G; the graceful air E Amore un ladroncello,' in E flat; and, as a finale, 'Donne mie la fate a tanti.'

A Heart for Sale, Song composed by Samue. Henshall of Liverpool. Boosey and Co.

THE music is more estimable than the words, which are composed of such mawkish stuff as is generally given to Mis Love or Madame Vestris to sing. Mr. Henshall seems to be a well-educated musician; and we hope to see his music another time wedded' to better

verse.

Semplicemente ed un poco ritenuto,'' Malincollicamente,' Dolcissimo e legato,' 'Leggierissimo,' * Grandisoso,' 'Pomposo,' 'Risoluto,' &c. &c., in addition to all other words used in musical phraseology. The work, however, is of a first-rate excellence, and Chalieu will, without doubt, become a popular writer for the piano-forte in this country. His style is bold, showy,

and brilliant.

'Love and the Bird,' or ' Qui me neglige me perd,' the favourite Ballad Proverb sung by Mrs. Yates at the Adelphi Theatre, in the popular Drama‘Monsieur Mallet, or, My Daughter's Letter,' by W. T. Moncrieff, composed by John Barnett. Published by the Authors.

Mallet,' this Ballad must be pretty well known already; FROM the long-continued popularity of 'Monsieur but to those who have not heard it in the piece, we beg to say, that it is a bagatelle of an unusually cheerful, pleasing and familiar character. It is a Scherzoso in Ĉ. 6-8 time, written within the limited compass of E on the first and F on the fifth lines, and, consequently, applicable to voices in general.

'The Christmas Box,'a new annual or musical Souvenir, a Fantasia for the Piano-Forte, formed of reminiscences of the most favourite Gems of Melody and Harmony, that have lately become popular, collated, arranged, and composed by N. B. Challoner. Mayhew and Co.

THE most successful publications for the piano-forte of the present day are Divertimentos or Fantasias, &c., arranged upon a variety of favourite and well-known melodies, and which species of composition (or rather compilation) is highly popular upon the Continent under the title of Pot Pourri, Melange, Olla podrida, &c.; and the one now offered to notice is the newest and freshest thing of the sort; for, in a pleasing, and rather familiar, manner, the following excellent variety is offered in 'The Christmas Box:' viz. after an Introduction occupying one page, (a Maestoso in F, common time,) we are presented with Madame Pasta's express favourite, Ah! che forse,' and 'Vedrai quest anima. This, by an appropriate episode, is followed by Mademoiselle Sontag's favourite Wer hörte wohl jemals mich klagen,' from Weigel's Opera 'The Swiss Family.' This naturally leads into a very pleasing adaptation of the well-known Tyrolese melody, The Swiss Boy,' which is well contrasted by Haydn's beautiful hymn 'Gott erhalte Franz den Kayser,' now daily performing by the Bohemian Brothers, and in which is introduced Dr. Haydn's very beautiful modulations, published by himself in his Violin Quartetts. As a contrast to this, the French air, ‘Au clair de la lune,' forms a cheerful Finale, in which is introduced Madame Stockhausen's favourite, Souvenir de la Suisse,' the Swiss Drover Boy, as sung by her at the Oratorio last Friday evening. The whole presents much taste, variety, and amusement, well incorporated.

We understand that Mr. Buckingham's lectures at Birmingham were attended by a numerous, respectable, and intelligent audience; at first there were about ninety persons present, and, towards the, close three Mr. Buckingham is now delivering his hundred. course of lectures at Bristol.

The Lobelia Inflata, a plant that grows spontaneously in different parts of North America, has lately been found a specific for Asthma. Dr. Cutler, an asthmatic, having been effectually cured by it, has published a treatise on its virtues; and Dr. Andrew, of Glasgow, has also found it to merit the character Dr. Cutler and other eminent physicians have given it. Dr. Robinson, in his popular work on the tonic properties of the Round-leaf Cornel, advertised in our present Number, has also given an account of its peculiar antispasmodic properties, with full directions for its use.

THE ATHENÆUM AND LITERARY CHRONICLE OF
THIS DAY CONTAINS
PAGE.
161

Modern Oratory
The Shepherd's Calendar 162
M'Grigor's History of
Ireland.
Infant Schools

A Story without a Name, No. III.. Philharmonic Concert

PAGE:

170

172

163

Royal Academy Lectures

172

163

New Music

THE MUSEUM OF THOUGHTS.

WHEN every thing else in the world has a museum, when birds and beasts and fishes and creeping things, and stones and bones, are all, either jointly or severally, endowed with museums in most of the principal cities of Europe, why should one hesitate to set up a museum for the peculiar patrimony of the Muses, for those thoughts which they themselves have breathed into the soul of man? The name, it is true, has already been often given to literary collections of various sorts; but in most cases it has been without the performance of any enthusiastic rites to propitiate the fair Goddesses, who, in consequence, have not deigned to honour the upstart edifice with their presence: and thus it has come to pass that the contents of such museums have not seldom been drier and more marrowless than an antediluvian bone, and duller and heavier and less instructive than a stone. After looking into some of them, one might almost suppose that the original meaning of the word had been totally forgotten, and that it had been taken in the sense assigned to it by the later Greeks, who, when the Muses had abandoned their sophisticated prose-ridden land, transferred the name of Museum to a tessellated, or, as we call it, a Mosaic pavement: and, in fact, their poetry, or what they called such, in those days was little else; for, strange as it may seem, Gray's notion, that poetry is a kind of synonym for patchwork, and that the Muses are in reality only artificers in Mosaic, has been a delusion of frequent recurrence, a sort of tertian ague, in the history of the human mind; and the atomical, as contradistinguished from the organical, theory of poetry has mostly gone hand in hand with the other members of the atomical ochlocracy. That the fate of the present collection will be more auspicious, and that it will be less unworthy of its noble name, may be hoped without presumption, seeing that the writers, from whom the samples are to be culled, will for the most part be those on whose births the Muses have smiled, and whose genius

has heard the nearer or the more distant sound of their mystical confabulations.

With such a view, the first selection shall be taken from the writings of that man who, above all the sons of men, at least in our times, has been the favourite of the whole intellectual sisterhood, and whom they have gifted with the same clearness of insight into every region of speculation, whether it be the crystallography of minerals or of minds, the botany of herbs or of hearts. It will be a duty and a pleasure to revisit him again and again; for there is scarcely any track of thought which he has not trod, and the wealth he has brought back with him will not easily be drained. Indeed, the works of a great poet are as inexhaustible as the sea: you may take all you can out of it, and it will not be missed: nay, the more you have already learnt from him, the more you will still be able to learn from him. Among the subjects that have engaged much of Goethe's attention, the fine arts, as we see from his biography, have held a principal place from his very childhood; and, as some degree of unity ought always to be observable in every department of a museum, the remarks collected in the present number will all bear upon them more or less.

I. GOETHE.

The graphic arts-as painting and sculpture may be termed, to distinguish them from the rest of the fine arts-have to deal with the objects of vision, with the outward manifestation of the workings of nature. Whatever is purely natural, and produces a feeling of moral complacency, we call naive. Hence naive subjects are the proper province of art, its business being to invest nature with moral expression: and those subjects are the most favourable, which point both ways, and combine the expression of natural with that of moral feeling

The naive being natural is akin to the real. If tables of the monks for his models. the real has no moral import, it is vulgar.

Art in itself and of itself is noble; the artist therefore is not afraid of dealing with a thing because it is vulgar. Nay in the very act of appropriating it, he ennobles it; and thus do we often see the greatest artists boldly exercising their prerogative.

Every artist has a germ of audacity in him; for no talent can exist without it: and this becomes especially restive, when people would confine him within bounds which he is capable of passing, and would hire and use him for their own narrow ends.

Even in these respects, Raphael is, of all modern artists, the purest. He is always naive: there is never any struggle in his pictures between the exhibition of real nature and the expression of moral and religious feeling. The tapestry representing the adoration of the Magi, a composition of surpassing richness and excellence, places a whole world before us, from the venerable form of the oldest of the kings down to the Moors and the monkeys on camel-back munching their apples. In the picture, it was also allowable to represent St. Joseph with perfect naivety, as a fosterfather looking with delight on the gifts that are brought to the child.

St. Joseph has always been an important personage with painters. The Byzantines, who cannot be accused of being too prodigal of humour, constantly give him an expression of uneasiness in their pictures of the Nativity. The child is lying in the manger; the cattle are looking on, amazed, in the room of their hay, to find a living babe of celestial beauty. Angels are doing honour to the new comers: his mother sits silently beside him: but St. Joseph is sitting apart, and turning his head with a look of vexation toward the singular

scene.

when it becomes predominant, only a substitute Humour is one of the elements of genius; but, for genius. It accompanies art in its decline, injures, and finally extinguishes it.

The highest aim of the graphic arts is twofold: to beautify some determinate spot, or to produce an object beautiful in itself without reference to any particular locality: and this is the source of what are called the rules of composition. In both respects the Greeks, and the Romans after them, were masters: their single statues exist mostly in pure indeterminate space, while the reliefs for the pediment and friezes of the Parthenon were designed and adapted for their particular situation. So in modern times the frescoes in the Sistine chapel, the Stanze in the Vatican, Raphael's Cupid and Psyche, his Galatea and Hannibal Caracci's, were all executed with reference to the spot they were to embellish. So were the great altar-pieces, which lose much of their appropriateness, and are greatly hurt, if not spoiled, by being transferred from churches to galleries. To take an instance, Leonardo's Last Supper can never be duly appreciated, without considering the place it was to adorn: this is the very point in which the artist manifested his admirable judgment. It was not possible to devise a more suitable or nobler ornament for a refectory, than that parting supper which was to be held sacred by the whole world for ever. As one entered the hall, the prior's table stood opposite at the upper end: on each side were the tables for the monks, all raised a step from the floor: and on turning round to the fourth side, one saw the fourth table represented over the low doorway, with Christ and his disciples sitting at it, just as if they formed a part of the company. It must have been most impressive at mealtimes, to see the prior's table and the Lord's facing each other, and the brothers at their tables enclosed between the two. And this very circumstance compelled the judicious artist to take the

No doubt

too the table-cloth with its puckered folds, its regular stripes, and its knotted corners, came from the laundry of the convent. The dishes, plates, cups, and other utensils were likewise copied from those used by the monks. Here accordingly the painter's business was not to portray the uncertain obsolete manners of antiquity. It would have been extremely ill-suited to such a place to have represented the holy company lying upon couches. No! they were to be brought immediately before us: Christ was to eat his supper along with the Dominicans at Milan.

What an arduous, nay almost audacious attempt it is, to make the outward form exhibit the workings of the inward spirit, may easily be perceived, if we reflect that nature in all her operations proceeds outward from within, and is forced to furnish herself with an infinite multitude of means, before she becomes able, after numberless various experiments, to develope such organs, one out of the other and along with it, as are requisite for a form like the human and although this form does indeed give an external manifestation to the highest internal perfections, it seems rather to increase the entanglement of the mystery behind which nature conceals herself, than to solve it. And yet to make the outward a faithful exponent of the inward, a translucent veil for the soul, has been the chief and only desire of the greatest masters in art: they not only endeavoured so to image forth the idea of their subject as to make its truth strike the spectator, but the image was to stand in the room of nature herself, nay, as an object of vision, was to surpass her. Now this, in the first place, made it necessary to give the details with the utmost minuteness, which could not be effected except by degrees; and next, it was indispensable that the artist should have the power of re-touching and correcting; and both these advantages and a number of others were afforded by the invention of oil-painting.

It has long been admitted that none but the greatest masters can succeed in representing human faces of a colossal size in painting. The human form, and more especially the countenance, is confined by the laws of nature within a certain space; and only when so confined does it appear regular, expressive, handsome, or intelligent Let any one look at himself in a magnifyingglass, and he will be scared by the rude inanimate Medusa-like mass of flesh. Something similar is experienced by artists who have to portray a face of enormous size. The life of a picture arises from the accuracy of its details, from the execution of all the minute parts: and how are we to find any minute parts, when every part is distended to the dimensions of a whole?

The older Florentine and Siennese schools de

parted from the meagre standard forms of the Byzantines, by introducing portraits every where into their pictures: and this did well enough, their subjects being of so placid a cast, that the personages introduced might be allowed to retain their composure. Such subjects as a company of holy men, an assembly listening to a sermon, a collecting of alms, the burial of a pious Christian, do not require any expression in the bystanders beyond what may easily be put into any naturally intelligent face. But as soon as life, motion, passion were required, the difficulty became apparent, more particularly where the object was not to represent persons of similar character together, but persons of the most opposite character in contrast: and thus it is said that Leonardo never finished the heads of Judas and of the Saviour in his Last Supper: for both are purely ideal, and are not to be seen with the eye. Hence in aftertimes, artists of great talents took an easier course, and let their pencil hover to and fro between the peculiarities of real nature,