come in contact with the armies of Napoleon, and to liberate the Spanish nation, were motives sufficiently popular in Eng land, to sanction a vast expenditure of blood and treasure; and who would ever think of imputing any but disinterested views to a soldier engaged in seeking a glorious opportunity of constant employment and promotion?

The work of the gallant author is, generally speaking, pleasing; and, the small portion of the second volume, where, from the time of his diffusing among the Spaniards the intelligence of the complete failure of Napoleon's expedition against Moscow, to the victory at Vittoria, he is, as it were, personally in the hands of the reader, possesses a degree of interest which is certainly not to be expected in a narrative which does not profess to give a regular history of the war. In point of style, the Lieut.-Col. is not always happy, although he is apparently at his ease, and claims a sort of military right, not allowed to mere literary men, in the use of words; a right doubtlessly conceded at the mess-table by the chaplain himself; who, there, might perhaps smile at such a verb as "difficulted,' but would scarcely stop the course of the bottle by any grammatical order against it. Military men, we have observed, permit themselves to indulge in an easy negligence with the parts of speech, which is harmless enough in common discourse, but they should recollect that when they write and publish, it is a field-day with them, and every word ought then to keep its rank and station. The prints (small views in aquatint, twenty-two in number,) are from sketches by the author, and are extremely well adapted as illustrations to the contents of the book.

As a

specimen of our author's powers of narrative, we select, as one of the best, the following passage from his account of the battle of Busaco.

"The scene presented during this short reconnoissance was of the most interesting description. Passing through a very picturesque and beautiful country, we occasionally descended to the banks of the Mondego, or ascended the eminences, from whence was discernible the enemy's line of march on the right, at intervals 'enveloped in dust and smoke. To the rear was the imposing line of mountain occupied by the allied army, luxuriant woods, fertile valleys: great excitement, and a brilliant atmosphere, added to the effect of the whole.

"The Duc d'Elchingen, on arriving at the base of the Sierra de Busaco, was impressed with an opinion as to the unattackable nature of the ground; but Marshal Massena, after reconnoitring, determined to try its strength. At day-break, on the 27th, reports of cannon were heard in the direc.

tion of the convent of Busaco. These were at first audible but at intervals; they soon after became

incessant, accompanied by heavy discharges of

musketry. The line of the mountain, irregular in its course, intersected by ravines, varying in height, forming the convex of a circle, from where we were stationed, prevented the slightest prospect of the part of the position attacked.

"It soon, however, became evident, from the sound of the firing, that General Picton was alış engaged; but although nearest in the line, his troops, and those by whom the 3d division was assailed, were alike hidden from our view.

"In the immediate front of General Leith's corps, no hostile movements were perceptible; he, there fore, with the concurrence of General Hill, put his division in motion, marching by his left along the summit of the ridge intervening between the ground on which he had encamped the preceding night, and the San Antonio de Cantaro road.

"On approaching the right of General Picton's position, the whole sierra presented a crowd of light troops, masses of British and French infantry, and a very warm contest in full progress. At this mo ment, the enemy had penetrated to the very summit of the mountain; the outnumbered light ininfantry of General Picton were severely pressed. When the smoke dispelled, that at intervals enveloped the whole extent of the face and crest of the ridge, the highest rocks appeared in possession of the French voltigeurs: one officer was particularly conspicuous, on the very highest point; cheering, and waving his schakòs, he urged on his comrades, then climbing the ascent.

"A column of the enemy now appeared gaining the plateau on the mountain-top, with its head di

rected so as to ascend diagonally to the line of the allied army, by which its left flank was exposed to the troops arriving from the right of the British position.

"Colonel Barnes's brigade of General Leith's corps, composed of the Royal, 9th, and 38th regiments, had been advanced to the head of the column, and consequently first came in contact with the enemy; the 9th regiment, commanded by Colonel Cameron, being the leading battalion when about a hundred yards distant, wheeled into line, firing a volley, the effect of which was terrific; the ground was covered with dead and dying, not new levies or mercenaries, but the élite of the French army. This destructive fire being followed up by an immediate charge,' the enemy gave way, rushing down the steep face of the sierra in the utmost confusion; nor did his troops attempt to rally until on the same ground from whence they had advanced to this most unsuccessful and murderous attack.

"On the same space of ground has seldom been seen such destruction as overtook the division of the 2d corps on this occasion.

"Previous to this signal repulse, the other division of General Reynier's corps had in a similar way been driven from the sierra by the 3d division, after an attack equally gallant and hopeless.

"The battle to the left of the convent, and sustained exclusively by the light division and General Pack's brigade, closed with brilliant success on the part of the allies."-p. 232 to 235.

EVIEW.-The Infidel's Own Book; a Statement of some of the Absurdities, resulting from the Rejection of Christianity. By Richard Treffry, Junior. Hamilton, Adams, & Co. and J. Mason. London. Printed and Sold by Coultas, & Co. York, 1834.

HE infidel controversy should never be uffered to rest; not, however, while an ndividual remains in the toils, or is in langer from the seductions of unbelief. As our own times, among other intellectual enormities, have been distinguished by a evival of the spirit of infidelity, by a reckess and insane industry among the sons of unbelief to spread their dreams and drivelings among the mass of our population; it becomes the christian scholar and philo. sopher to be at his post, and to extend the shield of truth over our defenceless peasantry and unwary youth.

For ourselves, we think it no dishonour to be little read in the loathsome literature, which is poured forth-a wide and nauseous stream-by the atheistical press of the present day. But if we may venture an opinion from the little we have read, we should say, that the days and the talents of Spinoza, of Herbert, and of Hume have gone by; and that our modern unbelievers, in their orations and publications, have only fallen upon a novel and monstrous expedient to raise the wind! But, though gain is the object, fatal mischief may be the consequence; and we, therefore, rejoice to see the friends of revelation on the alert.

That the cool, close, steady, and invincible book of Paley is superseded by this "Infidel's Own Book," is what we can not affirm. The real question between the Infidel and the Christian must, after all, be the value of historical, documentary, and coincidental evidence for certain facts which form the ground-work of our holy and benign religion; and if men of sceptical principles could be induced to investigate such evidence with becoming seriousness and perseverance, this unnatural and portentous warfare would soon be at an end. As, however, such close and sedate research is rarely to be found, and especially among the patrons of unbelief, a volume like the present, more easy, more excursive, and more popular, may not be without its use.

We confess that the title of this work does not please us, "The Infidel's Own Book." If this is to be understood as

And if it be designed is not very modest. as a title, to take, like, "Every Man His Own Lawyer," "The Child's Own Book," &c. then we think it, as a title, inappro priate, and far below the majesty of its theme. There is a sense, however, in which we should be glad to see this title reduced to propriety; we should be glad to see this little volume purchased and perused by every infidel in the land, and thus become "the infidel's own book."

He must, indeed, be a writer of no common powers, who shall be able, after all that has been done, to bring into the infidel controversy something absolutely new. Perhaps the only new argument which has been produced for ages, on this question, is the one so successfully elaborated in the Hora Paulina; and the novelty even of that may be disputed, though its truth never can. The general reader, therefore, must not take up "The Infidel's Own book," with the expectation of being astonished by some unheard-of disclosure of intellectual wealth. He will, however, find what will abundantly repay his perusal: he will find some of the unanswerable reasonings of bygone days, in the attire of 1834. He will find the production of a vigorous understanding, that has freely ranged in general literature. He will perceive with pleasure an ardent, honest, and generous feeling transfused through a clear and convincing argumentation. He will see with satisfaction the watchful eye and dauntless bearing of a youthful centinel, guarding the outposts of our sacred camp. In a word, he will find in this little volume an amiable and spirited exposure of the absurdities which a rejection of the christian religion necessarily involves.

As a specimen of the style, we take rather than select the following paragraph :

"The most summary and convenient way to terminate the controversy is, boldly to denounce the He

history of the Bible as altogether fabulous. who does this, needs no argument, no research, no evasion he requires nothing but an unblushing front, and a remorseless conscience; -and if to these he can add some choice lampoon on the book the truth of which he denies, or some pungent expression of contempt for the intellects of those who believe in it, and for the futility of its alleged evidences; or, best of all, if by a parade of learning he can establish some sort of resemblance between any mythological fooleries and the history of the scriptures, and persuade his followers of their equality, he has done as much as, in the estimation of many, the case requires, and he retires from the arena with a supercilious smile, leaving his neo

the thousand others on the same subject, from the pens of so many great and learned men, then, to say the least of it, as a title, it

authenticating historical testimony they are to be judged. To prove them or any other parts of scripture history false, by instituting a parallel between them and some of the fables of heathen poets, is just as ingenious and forcible as if a man should demonstrate the worthlessness of the writings of Arrian, by discovering some coincidence between his history of the expedition of Alexander, and that of the wanderings of Don Quixote; and who can for a moment doubt but that something very plausible and clever might be said on such a subject? As to reducing the Bible to an entire allegorical fable, for what will not men attempt?-you may as rationally allegorize the annals of Tacitus. In examining the miracles of the Bible, we repeat, we have to do with plain historical testimony. A man may deny that there ever existed such a person as Julius Cæsar, or such a city as Babylon,-that

there are such things as volcanoes, or that the sun is larger than a coach-wheel-but it would be monstrous to suppose that such denials cast any sort of doubt on the historical or scientific facts to which they referred. If the infidel imagines that the miracles, or any other historical parts of the Bible, are rendered at all questionable by his mere denial

of them, then we have ample right to accuse him of the most gross absurdity: if he does not, and yet makes the denial, with the wish to impose on others by naked effrontery, he is liable to a far more serious accusation. Between the two, we leave him to make his choice, while we proceed to detail more particularly the consequences of his position, for which, of course, he is responsible, however silly, monstrous, or incredible."-p. 72 to 74.

Mr. Treffry is the son of the Rev. Rich. Treffry, president of the Methodist Conference. We congratulate the son on that distinction, to which the suffrages of the Wesleyan ministers have elevated his father; and with equal satisfaction we congratulate the father on the ability, learning, and piety of his son.

both were passed in their own families, and (with but little interruption) in sickness.” The relics of such interesting young persons, sanctified by religion, and cherished by family affection, are to be respected; and though the closet devoted to prayer in the mansion of their own friends and relatives, would have appeared to us to be the appropriate sanctuary for urns so pure and so delicate, we are not displeased their being presented, in the name of the religion they loved,—of the religion which enabled them to bear patiently the linger ing death of relentless disease, by its pros pect of life eternal,-to the contemplation of society. It is, indeed, almost impossible for any human being, of sensibility, to read the following sentence, written by a young woman in the last stage of a decline, with out a tear in her state, such an apostrophe to all that is pure in nature, may be compared to one of those transitory flashes which it is the nature of her disorder to throw for a moment over the cheek, to make, as it were, the constant pallor of the countenance more indicative than before, of the approach of death. The pas sages in the diary, in the midst of which this and one or two others of a fainter hue are found, have, indeed, the calm quiet loveliness of a celestial existence upon them.

They are not of this world!

"I love, in the midst of fallen beings, to have something unfallen to look upon and contemplate. -And such is nature-beautiful nature-fairest image of the Eternal. What is falsely named decay in thee, is but varied forms of beauty, preserving us from every feeling of satiety or weariness. Beautiful always in every time and season; only putting on and off the spring, summer, and autumn dress, to shew that thou art beautiful in them all, and beantiful without them, Feb. 1823.' "-p. 134.

We shall add a portion of a letter from one of these young ladies, by which it will be seen that their religion was truly the religion of the mind, without the slightest taint of weakness or bigotry :

one of them died at the age of twenty-six,

the other of twenty-three. The lives of

"In accordance with the sacred Scriptures, and with the character of God therein revealed, I must believe that the moral law, as declared throughout the Bible, is the rule and directory of conduct for a believer. As I write, the importance of the subject rises before me, and, with a sense of its importance, my inability to do it justice. Indeed, these observations appear to me to be but like the notes of a sermon, (though I should be sorry to tax you with reading my enlargement,) so comprehensive is the point in question, and so much more might be said concerning it. I wish it were in better hands; for I cannot but believe, that much error is produced by the rejection of the moral law. I have not writ

believe and write according to the lively oracles of God.' For any sentiments advanced in the state

ents, I alone am responsible; for I do not know at I have read any thing on the subject, at least arcely any thing, except the Bible. In writing any subject, I have only the Bible before me; r it would perplex and confound my ideas, to conalt the works of human authors on the question, -hatever it may be; though I refuse not the applition of any recollected passage from their writ. ngs. But to surround myself with books, would e like David going forth in Saul's armour, which me had not proved. Some would call this pride, rrogance, and presumption; but I trust to your Kindness, to make allowance for a mind of somewhat an independent cast, which has always been n circumstances to strengthen, rather than counceract its natural tendencies.

"I think not with any set of persons, neither do think a prescribed set of thoughts. It has often Deen said to me, How, believing such a doctrine, can you hold such opinions of another? With this =ort of reasoning I have nothing to do. I must be convinced, and receive each truth separately; and if they do not harmonize at once, I must wait for a clearer understanding of one or both, to cause them to unite. It would be as effectual to bring forward the Articles or Liturgy of the Established Church to a dissenter, as the rules of his faith, as to make one truth necessarily dependent on another, with regard to its reception by me. I desire to keep my mind as perfectly open to conviction as the frailty of my nature will permit, and to be from all, yet serving all."-p. 175, 176.

"How careful should parents be, to afford their children no precedents for sin, nor temptations to commit it, when they reflect on the amount of guilt which one wicked habit will probably occasion! How earnest should be their endeavour, to allow nothing to escape their lips, or appear in their deportment, which might be interpreted, in the remotest sense, as a permission of iniquity!

"There is reason to believe in this view, that a want of self-command alone, on the part of adults, has often been a cause of incalculable mischief to the rising generation. Parents have been angry with their children, and, unmindful of the scriptural admonition, have provoked them unto wrath, and the natural effect has been, that, by a bitterness of temper, and harshness of expression, they have sown the seeds, in the minds of their offspring, of a multitude of crimes. There is an independence in man, which displays itself even in childhood, and often degenerates, through bad management, into sullenness and obstinacy. Any attempts that may be persevered in, to eradicate this principle, which is inseparable from our nature, and common to mankind at large, will not only be always defeated in the end, but may raise it to defiance. A determination to break a high spirit, when it was advisable to bend it, and to hold a youth in terror, when he might have been wrought upon by kindness, has often been a cause of those distressing occurrences, which have destroyed the peace of families, in which children despising the authority of their parents, have left them by stealth, plunged into vice and crime, and torn their hearts with anguish.

"The exhibition of a selfish kind of character to the notice of the young, may be also specified, as calculated to entail upon them the most disastrous consequences. It is owing to the indulgence of a selfish disposition, that the heart of man is so often

steeled against the distresses of man; that the miser unites inhospitality with avarice, that the man of pleasure is unfeeling as well as profligate, and that the tyrant immerses himself at once in

his small volume, "deserving of serious condemnation, which impress indelible

sensuality and blood.

"It may have been observed of children, that they not only feel a portion of respect for virtuous character, in common with mankind at large, and which, to venture a remark, may vary with their

whatever its object, in a remarkable degree. They seem to be prompted to the imitation of example, independent of its excellence or turpi

preparation of the heart, such a conformation of the mental structure, that they are led to seize upon almost every thing within the range of their observation, with little regard to its qualities or uses, and to make it the model or the motive of their actions. Taking this view of the power of

manner :

2D. SERIES, No. 39.—VOL IV.

undoubtedly a part of wisdom, not to say a duty, to avail ourselves of it in the work of education." -p. 34 to 36.

REVIEW.-Guidone; A Dramatic Poem. Saunders & Olley. 8vo. London. 1834. In one of the dreamy passages of Ossian, he tells us that certain gifted spirits hovered over the scene of battle, cognizant of, without sharing, the agitating passions of the combatants and mystically dramatized, in the air, what was transacting on earth. This strange notion is forcibly recalled to our mind by a perusal of the little work before us. It is a dramatic poem, founded on a passage occurring at Vol. i. p. 165 of Robertson's History of Charles the Vth: and the author states that :

"Although the above passage has been used as a basis for a plot, it may be well to advertise the reader, that neither in incident, character, or attributed sentiments, does the drama make pretension to historical truth; its purpose being to illustrate certain general truths relative to human life and the conscience of man.

Our limits forbid as extensive and ela. borate an examination as we could wish to bestow upon this performance: and we must content ourselves with but a few general observations.

We took up the work by accident, and rejoice that it happened to come under our notice. It is really a luxury, amid the wide wilderness of our present literature, to light upon such an oasis as is to be found in this exquisite performance. The language, the thoughts, are equally pure and lovely; gushing

"With soft force, from the deep well

Of a most chaste and delicate heart."

"I shall live near to death, and I shall watch
The calm reflection from his marble home
Steal on my quiet cheek, and settle there;
And smiling, note how, day by day, I grow
To the complexion of that statue pale,
That soon will lie upon my monument."—p. I

"I

Could stand, with folded, calm expectancy,
Before that curtain of obdurate woof,
Which limits mortal vision, whose dim folds
Perpetually do stir, but never rise.”—p. 44.

"What! though you have kept

A father's fondness treasured in your heart,
Which neither absence nor vicissitude,
Nor gust of passion could disturb,
But oft-times when the ship was tempest-driven,
And all beside was racking with the wind,
This one well-fended lamp burnt on, and held,
Within its crystal 'closure, undismayed,
Its small domain of brightness and of calm."—

P. 51, X.

Had

Exquisite as are these morceaux,—and we should quote three fourths of the poem to do it justice-the palate of the public, we fear, has grown so gross with "feeding on garbage," that their rich flavour may be quite disregarded! the writer of this Dramatic Poem' lived years ago, he would instantly have been elevated to one of the highest pedestals in the 'halls of poesy;' but now-we question whether the author's name will even be

inquired after; whether an edition will

sell?

"Oh, that a voice so passing soft and sweet, Should waste its music 'mid the hurricane." It will be observed that we offer no

formal analysis of the work; we may, perhaps, hereafter do so, but now content ourselves with stringing together a few pearls out of the casketGuidone,'-to

"Oh God!

:

What manner o' world is this, where love performs

The offices of hate! Fondly it clasps, And-like the simple flower that wraps its leaves Tenderly round the sleeping fly, but hath No power thereafter to release its guest,Its soft embrace brings agony and death."-p- 15. "Oh, farewell, peace! farewell, ye tranquil hours Passed in calm muse upon a world far off, Or on a heart at rest! Pleasant it was, With hopes and fears barred out, to sit and watch My lonely taper burning silently."-p. 17.

"Do then your will. Hereafter, when our story shall be known, As it must one day-for misdeeds like ours, Pile on them what we will, are not extinct. But though the mountain obstacle do work, And from the summit glare upon the world."-p. 22

-“Exquisite mockery! The bow of promise

Gilds the long-stranded wreck.”—p. 24.

'Oh, he was ever gentle, wise, and good!
His saddest temper sweet as others' mirth,
His blameless mirth like joy that rings its peal
From calm and sacred towers."-p. 31.

more,-which we doubt whether any living
poet can exceed, if one or two could
equal:-and we conclude. Guidone (an
exiled nobleman) is viewing, through a
castle window, a tempest raging without :—
"Let the storm on-it broke no calm in me,
Nor to my mind brings added turbulence;
Rather, it stills tumultuous thought within,
To watch this uproar of the elements;
The rushing wind, and the loud hissing rain,
And lightning pale, that scrawls with humid hand
Huge hieroglyphics on the screen of night,
Balking the dazzled vision of the seer,
Who fain would read that writing on the wall.
Peal on, ye thunders? and urge all your fires,
Ye quick-repeated lightnings! till ye threat
The nations with a molten firmament;
For while your dreadful pageant is displayed,
The vulture-conscience something shall relax
The fixture of his talons, and surcease
The secret and unutterable wound.
Oh that ye Powers, so strong to ruinate-
Whirlwind and torrent, and the forky blaze-
Might enter in the past, and ruin there,
And strike the life that has been! O, that is,
That ever will exist in the Most High,
Unchangeable reality of thought !”—p. 18, 19,