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him with his sword. He bid the chairmen hold their hats before their face, but they held them a little on one side, so that they could see what was done. Carrick. Pray, sir, which side of the chair was I on when

you say I robbed you?

Mr. Young. On the left side.

Carrick. Now that is a lie, for I was on the right side. I shall catch you again presently. What coloured coat had I?

Mr. Young. Black.
Carrick. I can prove the reverse.-- -What sort of a wig?
Mr. Young. A light tie-wig.

Carrick. That is another damned lie of yours-for you know, Mr. Molony, that you and I changed wigs that night, and yours is a dark brown. Had I two pistols in one hand, or one in each hand ?

Mr. Young. I saw but one pistol.
Carrick. Then your eye-sight failed ye.

We miss, in these otherwise perfect volumes, the life and adventures of John Rann, alias Sixteen-string Jack, your only finished Filch of the age.

We remember him to have been described thus, verbatim, in an old book of the day :

“Sixteen-string Jack was about twenty-four years of age, about five feet five inches high, wore his own hair, of a light brown colour, which combed over his forehead; remarkably clean, and particularly neat in his dress, which in two instances was very singular, that of always having sixteen strings to his breeches' knees, always of silk (by which means he acquired his name,) and a remarkable hat with strings, and a button on the crown. He was straight, of a genteel carriage, and made a very handsome appearance.”

Further, when at the Old Bailey, on the last occasion, he is described thus : “ his dress was entirely new, green

buckskin breeches, ruffled shirt, and hat bound round with silver strings.” Was not this varlet modelled for Filch ? He is surely fit to shine in one of Richardson's novels. Such a man would have done Pamela good.

We have now finished our survey. It is impossible to read the Annals of Newgate, without being struck with the straight, honest, cordial style of the Ordinary, which, without intending any play upon words, is indeed no ordinary style. It simply goes about its business, without any outward flourishings or needless circumlocutions. The proper words are, as Swift says, put in their proper places; and though we do not go the length of Lismahago's assertion, that the purest English is spoken at Edinburgh, we must say that, in our opinion, if a man be desirous of attaining a clean English style, he must seek it at Newgate. There is, indeed, a conciseness,-a shortness in the composition of the whole work before us, which authors might study to advantage. The sentences are short and decisive, as the sentences in court : the passages are not flowery,—they smell but of wholesome rue. No attempt is made at graceful ornament or effect; on the contrary, the narratives are hung in the chains of strong iron English, and seem fitted powerfully to the malefactors they belong to. You meet with the words : “ the dead-warrant came down.”—Is not this hard sentence heavy as fate? Then the finale of “ executed at Tyburn,” is never or rarely omitted; but winds up the biography and the man as patly as possible.

At the same time, we have observed, that much of the true interest created by the Annals of Newgate, is traceable to the public places which are recorded, and the well known spots that are alluded to. The venues are well laid. The wondrous scenes of the several tragedies are “S familiar to us as household

We read of Leicester-square--of Fleet-street-of St. Giles's-of Rotherhithe-with a double interest, because we have visited the very stones of the street, and can therefore bring the murders home to our very business and bosoms, (Lord Bacon's old-established bringing home, as our readers well know.) We like to read, that our common streets are so awful: we prize the neighbourly, bloody spots !

Nor should the pictures that illustrate the book be passed over: they are very properly executed in the line manner, and in lines too, strong enough to hang the subjects. The inscriptions also, under each plate, seem to be histories of themselves, and to utter naked horror to the reader: for instance, we meet with “ Blake, alias Blueskin, attempting to cut the throat of Jonathan Wild, on the leads before the Old Sessions-house. And, in another print, we have.“ Captain Donellan rinsing the bottle after poisoning Sir Theodosius Boughton.” Every plate, in short, is thus pithily illustrated.

The Ordinary does not always waive the cracking of his little innocent waggeries; but we believe Ordinaries, out of the condemned hole, are right facetious men—and, strange as it may seem, their very calling makes them such. Why should they always be Newgatory in their spirits ? The rogues of the present day describe the uneasy process of hanging, as“ going out of the world with your ears stuffed with Cotton:"_The doctor will not easily shake off this jest. In the work before us, we read of one ruffian who would swear, while others were singing a penitential stave of Sternhold and Hopkins.” How could he, we would ask, or any one else, help swearing ?-In another place, the Ordinary, for once, becomes figurative; for, in speak, ing of the justices, he says, "they preached to the winds, and were under the disagreeable necessity of reading the riot act.”

The confessions scattered plentifully throughout the four volumes are of the deepest interest, far superior to Rousseau's: thus beating that eminent Confessor on his own dunghill.

The long examination we have undergone, has left us nearly as jaded as a Common Serjeant at the fag-end of a tedious session.

As we approach our end, we catch the trick of convicts, and begin to get serious. A few plain words, therefore, upon a subject which has been deeply impressed upon us in the course of reading this work : they may be taken as our confession, if the reader pleases.

In closing the book, we are naturally struck with horror at finding, that few of the criminals have exceeded the scanty age of twenty-five,—that they have, indeed, generally been removed from this world at twenty. It is to be inferred, therefore, that with them reflection has had little to do; and that, in most cases, they have been depraved for mere excitement sake, and that excitement indeed was necessary to the existence of their vices.

From this, does it appear that punishment by death has any terror,-any moral effect upon one miscreant on record ?Nő! The public exhibition of a young man dying resolutely, is rather a fearful display of courage, than an awful warning against crime. The depraved adore what is game; and to them a daring death is rather a stimulant than a dreadful shock to their vices : the halter sublimes the ruffian, and makes him a hero at the Debtors' Door :--the gallows, indeed, is but the tree on which desperate courage hideously blossoms !—The convict's piety in the condemned hole is insecure while a chance of reprieve remains; and the moment he escapes the rope, back he rushes to the herd. His solitary penitence, is fear, garbed in religion,-not a healthy consciousness of crime,-not the pure, white repentance of a heart, open to the past, and hopeful for the future! Before capital offences are decreased, capital punishments must be altered. Our laws must lay aside the frequent rope, for the crimes in the hearts of criminals are of those stones, which constant dropping will not wear away. Solitary confinement will work incalculable good,-a bad, restless, young man, can bear death better than his own company. The pang of a moment can be steadily met; but patient punishment tames the most brutal-minded. Then, employment should be fully introduced into our prisons,—and the police of our metropolis better ordered: the rewards of officers should not depend on the increase or decrease of crime; at present the rope bears a premium. We are quite sure, that if those persons who are anxious for the amendment of the penal code of laws in this country, would study the Newgate Calendar, they would arm themselves with proofs sufficient to satisfy the most obstinate parliament.

Art. V.—The Exctravagant Shepherd, or the History of the

Shepherd Lysis, an anti-Romance, written originally in French, and now made English. London, 1654. Printed by T. Newcomb for Thomas Heath, in Russel Street, near the Piazzas, Covent Garden.

We are not of the number of those who seek to drive all folly from the world, or pursue poor trembling nonsense to its last hiding place, with the staunch pack of arguments in full cry against her, which modern wisdom is so ready to furnish. Aš brother Jack in the Tale of a Tub, in stripping the lace and embroidery, took part of the garment along with it, so we are inclined to think, those who strip life closely of the gildings of fancy, tear off a portion (frequently a sweet portion) of one sense of existence, for which the cold realities they leave, afford no succedaneum. In the spring-time of life it is, at least, pleasant, and not unbecoming, to give way to enthusiastic conceptions of the great in character, and the wonderful in fortune, and pursue with rapt attention the chivalrous hero in deeds beyond the power of man, and

gaze

in idea on damsels of more than mortal beauty. We think, even in advanced life, somewhat of the same spirit may be admitted ; there is little fear that the many cares, the cold calculations, the necessary precautions, the weighty business, and the important duties of life, will not unavoidably and sufficiently impede the luxuriance of its growth.

In fact, the old romance is now so completely passed away, that but for the cares of a Retrospective Reviewer, who now and then opens the long forgotten pages of the Arcadia, we should forget that " such things were," and “were most deartoo, to many a tender bosom, and many a gallant spirit, once highly gifted with all the powers of reasoning, and who trod their appointed path, not only with the lofty bearing and noble purity ascribed to the heroes they studied; but with a discretion, prudence, and self-controul, rarely attained without that exercise of piety and religious humility, which always mingled in their perceptions of heroic greatThe Extravagant Shepherd is intended unquestionably by his Creator to exhibit as perfect an image of the Arcadian shepherd, as the knight of La Mancha afforded of all knight errantry; and though with inferior powers, and also an inferior subject, to that of the inimitable Cervantes, it is yet but justice to say, that the work abounds with wit, and the situations of the Shepherd are sometimes most happily ludicrous.

ness.

The work is dedicated to Mary Countess of Winchester, in the usual style of the time, 1654, and in a strain of clever adulation, from which Dryden himself might have copied, and which we would have quoted, did we not think the space it would occupy better employed, in opening the story, which thus commences.

Feed on, feed on, dear sheep, my dear companions ! The Deity which I adore hath undertaken to reduce into these places the felicity of the first ages : and Love himself, who acknowledges a respect to her, stands with his bow in hand at the entrance of the woods and caves, to destroy the wolves that should assault

you.

All nature adores Charité: the sun, seeing she gives us more light than himself, hath now no more to do in our horizon; and ’tis only to see her, that he appears there. But return, bright star! if thou wilt not be eclipsed by her, and so become ridiculous to mortals: do not pursue thy own shame and misfortune, but rather cast thyself into the bed which Amphitrite hath prepared for thee, and sleep by the noise of her waves.

“ These were the words that were overheard one morning, by some that could understand them, in a meadow upon the river of Seine near St. Cloud. He that spake them drove before him half a dozen mangy sheep, which were but the refuse of the butchers of Poissy. But if his flock was in so ill a posture, his habit was so fantastick in amends thereof, that it was easily discovered he was some shepherd of quality. He had a straw hat, with the edges turned up; a cassock and breeches of white tabby; a pair of gray pearly silk stockings on, and white shoes with green taffata knots. He wore a scarf, had a scrip of foyne-skin, and a sheep-hook, as well painted as the staff of a master of ceremonies. So that considering all this equipage, he was almost like Bellerosa, going to represent Myrtil in the pastoral of the Faithful Shepherd. His hair was rather flaxen than red; but naturally curled into so many rings, as sufficed to demonstrate the dryness of his head. His countenance had some features, which rendered it graceful enough, if his sharp nose and his gray eyes, half asquint, and almost buried in his head, had not made him appear somewhat ghastly; shewing those that understood any thing of physiognomy, that his brain was not of the soundest.

young gentleman of Paris having perceived him afar off, was somewhat astonished at his extraordinary garb; and discontinuing his walk, came and hid himself somewhat near him, behind a haycock; where he was so far from making any noise, that he hardly durst dis

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