In his sketch of education, Mr. Croft says—

"Against the performance of plays, Latin and English, I would enter a moft ferious and folemn proteft. It deftroys that amiable diffidence in youth, which other caufes in the prefent day fatally concur in deftroying. Let every young man be taught a proper emphasis, but let him not be taught to over act his part, or to exprefs feelings which youth and inexperience do not poffefs. In a word, his mode of performance will be imitation and mimickry, not fuch as comes from the heart."

Nor can we forego thefe excellent hints:

"If the univerfities would never receive any one for matriculation, without a regular teftimony from the master of the fchool in which he has been educated, it would redound to their own credit, and give weight to their teacher. It would operate as a conftant, if not an effectual check upon the conduct of every young man, at a time when the profpect of leaving a fchool is too often a temptation to remiffness, petulance, and idleness. In the removals of boys from one school to another, it would not be amifs to enquire into the real cause of fuch removals. They are too often owing to diffolute or contumacious behaviour, the continuance of which poisons the minds even of the well difpofed."

He foon after obferves, that "though an advocate "for public education, he is well aware that there will be 5 many excepted cafes, and that boys of moderate capa"cities are better placed where the pupils are few, and "where the conftant attention and affiftance of an in"ftructor may compenfate for flownefs of apprehen"fion."

The fermons are elegant and informing. In the one we have a most beautiful enforcement of "Purity of Principle," and, in the other, we meet with an ingenious vindication of "The Penal Laws."

There is an unprefuming dignity in the arguments of this writer, which, though admirably winning to the unprejudiced mind, will have little effect on the inflammable

mable of every party. However critical our fituation may be, our reformers have certainly forgotten, or remembering it do not believe, that even truth is not to be fpoken at all times. Were they ever fo fure of the falutary tendency of their plans, it would be prudent, it would be but juft, while the political world is in a ftate approaching to frenzy, to withhold from it a fucceffion of meafures, irritable at all events, and in the beft fenfe uncertain. Far are we from oppofing every poffible improvement. And we would direct this fentiment to fubjects of the last importance. While Mr. Croft, and not without reason, supposes, that no alteration fhort of abolition would fatisfy the opponents of the Liturgy, we cannot thus think when we confider the tranflation of the Bible. We know that there have been fome late attempts at a revifion of our vulgar readings, by intelligent individuals, which have rather deformed than amended the caufe of our complaint, through the unmeaning faftidioufnefs of refinement. But would not a change of fome biblical terms, as they ftand in our tranflation, while it did not impoverish the fpirit of Chriftianity, be more confonant to chastity of mind? Of this we are convinced, that certain Bunyanian declaimers could not, in other circumftances, fo abuse the name of decency. Such expreffions are often heard from the pulpit as to fhock the groffeft ear; and this, because they can find them in the Bible. It is the wifdom of fome men to ape the deformities of genius; and John Bunyan is not difparaged by the manner in which we have mentioned his name. He was a perfon of low cuftoms, and his writings were the language of his life: but he was a perfon of real genius. He has produced an allegory which, coming from a pen more correct, and an author of more confequence, would have ranked firft among the clafs to which it belongs. Such is the Pilgrim's Progrefs.

The men who would ameliorate our natures, by difcriminating the rules of moral rectitude, and by fixing us

in habits of justice, are, among created beings, entitled to our best esteem. But what are to become of those who do not read, and who, if they read, could not underftand these ethical labours? Surely with all our commentations, the Bible is the beft system of ethics; and certes, it is the moft intelligible one!

ART. III. Miliftina: or the Double Interest. A Novel. 2 vols. s. fewed. Low. 1797.

A FULSOME compound of infipidity and fentiment; if we mistake not, this production flows from fome girl's pen, whofe little life has been confumed over the trash of a circulating library.

ART. IV. Jofcelina: a Novel. 2 vols. 7s. fewed. Longman. 1797.

THIS novel deferves applaufe for its morality as well as intereft; the ftory is well told, the characters ably fupported, and the faults few. If it never rifes into greatnefs, it feldoms finks below mediocrity, and may be fafely recommended to every reader, as an amufing and inftructive performance. If the autho-refs could be prevailed upon to take her profe down from the ftilts, the ftyle would be confiderably amended. We fhall quote one paffage to which praise may with juftice be given.

"Meantime the poor disordered wanderer had taken refuge in a narrow dark passage at no great distance. She pressed her beating head upon the flinty wall; a tightnefs across her throbbing breast impeded respiration, and loft in unutterable thought, the was yielding to a ftupor creeping over her fenfes, when a crowd of thofe poor nightly beings who invade the streets, violently rufhed upon her exhaufted frame. She raised her feeble head-it dropped; a flow motion quivered on her

pallid lips, and-" Oh mercy!" efcaped her; a convulfive figh fucceeded, and all was hushed. A faint ray from the moon now beaming on the paffage, glimmered on the inanimate form of Jofcelina. The clamours of the women had ceafed, and they gazed in filence on her face. "Behold our fate!" exclaimed a poor wretch, reflecting deeply, as the pointed to the proftrate angel; "behold our fate, and oh! who knows how foon!" She lay fo quiet and still, that all believed the hand of death upon her; the thought ftruck horror to their blackened fpirits, and they all fled terrified from the filcnt yet inftructive fcene, all except the poor being who had spoke; to her it was the faving moment of redeeming grace. Confcience alarmed, shrunk inward, and fhe fhuddered at the ravages her guilt had caufed. Yet she had a foul; all blackened and deformed as vice had made it, ftill it was precious in the fight of heaven; and though the natural delicacy of thofe feelings, which are the distinguishing ornaments of the female, were deadened in the unhallowed haunts of fhame, a faint fomething of what the once had been remained; that fomething was pity, and that pity dropped a feeling tear upon the cold bofom of the inanimate Jofcelina."

it con

ART. V. The Submiffions of Dependance. A Novel. One Volume. 3s. 6d. fewed. Hookham. 1797. OF this work, to fay much, would be to waste both our own and the reader's time: the poetry tains is nonsense, and the profe madness. Whoever the author or authorefs may be, we recommend to them a lefs liberal ufe of "the Tufcan grape;" for indeed, the frantic folly of this fingle volume must have been dictated by intoxication alone.

ART.

ART. VI. The Hiftory of Vanillo Gonzales, furnamed The Merry Batchelor, from the French of Alain-René Le Sage, Author of the celebrated Novels of "Gil Blas" and "The Devil on Crutches." 2 Volumes 12mo. 7s. boards. Robinfons. 1797.

THE

HE name of Le Sage affixed to a novel as its author, is of itself fufficient to recommend it to the attention of every admirer of interefting character and of chafte fentiment. The two juftly celebrated novels of "Gil Blas" and "Diable Boiteux," have drawn upon him the merited applause and admiration of the whole literary world. He has been perused by every clafs of readers with pleasure, by fome with ecftafy, by all with inftruction; and has been quitted in every inftance with fatisfaction. We therefore feel it a duty incumbent upon us, out of respect and veneration for his character, to pass the fevereft cenfure on those who were the inftruments of laying before the public this unfinished novel; being convinced that it never was the author's intention to usher it into the world in its prefent garb. It has not the fhadow of a plot, nor have the incidents the fmallest degree of regularity. It is a ftrange incoherent jumble of tales and ftories, fometimes ridiculous, fometimes ferious, at others bordering on the myfterious, and, in moft inftances, utterly devoid both of inftruction and entertainment. There are in it fo many tales without intereft; fo many incidents without connection; fo many characters without meaning; and fo many tranfactions fo wholly out of nature; that it is rendered, notwithstanding the aid of the eloquent and captivating diction of Le Sage, one of the moft tedious and infipid productions that we have ever been doomed to peruse.