pathetically upon canvass,-than to any thing which taxes the perceptiveness of the spectator.

After these general remarks (which might be improved upon were they stated more at large), I shall throw in to the bargain one or two modern heads, by way of recreation.

No III.-Oliver Cromwell. THIS man had many strange points about him; yet the power of his character was sufficient to make us look up to him as a person energetically and formidably absurd, and hardly to be contemplated with levity. David Hume seems to have enjoyed him. Cromwell's sagacity and ability were of a peculiar kind, working almost in the dark, and partaking rather of the nature of instinct, than of reasoning or reflection. Although practically wise in his conduct, his ideas seem to have existed in a state of utter confusion; a fact which would lead us to suppose, that the watchfulness and activity of mere personal organs will often carry a man forward in life, with little assistance from the speculative faculties.

Upon surveying this man's portraits, we perceive a forehead high, but flat, being probably a mere face work for the brain behind. The top of the head is well expanded; and there can be little doubt that Cromwell was sincerely religious, notwithstanding that worldly craft found means to join issue with pious zeal, and to pursue its own ends, without scandalizing the upper strata of his brain. The first years of his life were dissolute and impetuous; for he had strong animal faculties. Then came his devotion, and the first uncouth stirrings of his understanding, when he used to detect "flat popery" in the sermons which passed well enough with other people. As yet he had probably conceived no ambitious thoughts, but circumstances opened upon him. Opportunities came and jostled and dallied with him, and nature gradually awoke.

No IV.-Franklin.

was there an individual, however, more happily compounded by nature. Serene in his temper,-virtuous and rational in his inclinations,-sage in his schemes,-his personal feelings and understanding seem to have walked hand in hand. He was, like Socrates, not only wise in consequence of observation and thinking, but also from the happy natural ingredients of his character-wise even in his wishes.

On examining the portraits, we see a forehead apparently well advanced, although not uncommonly high. It narrows a little from the lower part. His metaphysical and comparative organs were probably less expanded than that of observation. We see nothing here of that magnificent pile of brain, in the upper part of the forehead, which enabled Bacon to become the legislator of philosophers.

Franklin had a good ear for music, as also a turn for the mechanical arts, which two organs help to spread the forehead laterally in the lower part. Farther up, the sides of his forehead incline to fall inwards; the reason of which is obvious, for he had little imagination.

Franklin was pious from reflection, but had not by nature much ardour of devotional sentiment. He lived at a time when religious opinions were so much canvassed as to exercise rather the metaphysical faculties than the moral ones.

No V.-Voltaire.

VOLTAIRE is generally represented with such great perukes, that we can see nothing but his forehead; and his interest certainly was, that nothing more should be seen, for it was proba bly the best part of his organization. Those effigies that represent him bareheaded, disagree, and I know not which to trust. It is difficult to say whether or not he was destitute of enthusiasm. I think not.

Is there such a thing in human nature as an abstract love of mischief? or have certain faculties a tendency to run into mischief if not suitably counterbalanced? Perhaps the sense of ridicule is one of these; for as it delights in ideas strongly contrasted, it sacrilegiously rifles the recesses of our nature for conceptions repugnant to each other, and violates the moral order which should prevail within. It is

like a person who crushes and distorts a beautiful piece of tapestry, in order that he may gratify his wantonness by bringing remote corners of it together, so as to join the head of a man to the body of a dog, or the ears of an ass to the bishop's mitre. Too strong an appetite for ridicule, tears asunder materials which, if viewed in their proper places, would make a commanding appeal to our moral nature, but which, when scattered, are mere straws to be blown about by the wind. Of all the faculties, it is the only one which finds its harvest in the midst of disorder, and in the reversement of the true bearings of objects and feelings. Yet ridicule goes hand in hand with perspicacity and judgment; for he who does not perceive the consonance of ideas, can never perceive their discrepance. Wit and reason both consist in examining the relations of ideas, although for different purposes; and hence an individual, who is remarkable for a discriminating intellect, is seldom without some share of pleas antry.

These observations apply to the abstract nature of wit. Like all other faculties, it is capable of good applications as well as bad ones. True moral satire does not tend to corrupt our feelings, or produce anarchy in our associations; because, in combining ideas, it is constantly exercising our sense of right and wrong, as well as the sense of pleasantry. The ridicule of perversity and absurdity, cannot be perceived without a reference to their opposites. Dean Swift therefore, with all his outrages, is not so vicious a jester as Voltaire.

But there is a sort of desperado gaiety, which mounts its infernal horse without any purpose, and takes the road with a determination to have sport at all ventures. This is the species of wit for which Voltaire is culpable. His comprehensive and penetrating mind sought for exercise in examining the nature of man and his condition; and not being contented to mock, like a comedian, at the ordinary exemplifications of folly which occur in social life, he looked for subjects of raillery in the fundamental principles of the human constitution, which he endeavoured to contrast ludicrously with each other, as well as with the external condition of man. This species of raillery had an over

whelming power when it was first started, and every true thinker must look with astonishment upon the genius which was capable of originally giving it birth; but it will lose its point in proportion as the composition of human nature comes to be more profoundly understood, and the arrangements of providence inquired into with less precipitation.

Voltaire's forehead presents a very fine organization. It is both high and broad. The upper department of it, however, seems to have been better developed than the under ones. He delighted more in wit and reasoning than in observation. He had also more wit than imagination; and hence the corners of his forehead seem to have gone sharply off. His mind was not much stored with pictures of the details of human nature. Hence he could never write comedies. He took no pleasure in fixing his attention long on individual facts, but flew about, like an eagle, from peak to peak, delighted with birds-eye glances, and with the comparison of remote objects. Therefore, although he made us acquainted with many general conclusions before unattended to, he noted no new particulars.

His temperament was vivacious, sensitive, and excitable, but not passively excitable, for he was all elasticity and rebound. His feelings seem to have been intense, but short-lived and inconceivably rapid in their succession. His nose, arched and prominent, corresponds with his sanguine restless disposition. We see in it that headlong energy which run him into so many scrapes. Upon the whole, he wanted solidity, perseverance, and moral earnestness, to make him a dignified character.

ON DRESS.

IT is impossible to see people of semibarbarous nations, as we are pleased to call them,-an inhabitant of Turkey, or India, or Persia, for example, -pass along our streets, without feeling into what a lamentable state the art of dress has degenerated among us! This is very far from being a trifling evil. The moment the necessary arts take place of the ornamental ones in a nation,-the moment utility supersedes

beauty, that nation has passed the true pitch of refinement, and verges towards its fall. The neglect of dress in this country may be attributed in part to that crying sin of the age-the love of money,-a love which, like Aaron's rod, threatens to swallow up all the rest. The apophthegm we learned at school, of "Crescit amor nummi," &c. which we could not understand a word of then, and which even now we scarcely comprehend, is yet, in spite of our wilful ignorance, perpetually returning upon us, and pressing its truth on our eyes, and hearts, and understandings.

There is another very active cause, for the neglect of which we complain. Clever people have greatly increased of late years; and the worst of merely clever people is, that they are apt to be very superficial, and very affected: and finding, that to pass for something now-a-days, it is necessary to know something of a great many things, in order to circumscribe the number of these essentials, what they do not feel it convenient to excel in, they affect to despise, and endeavour to depreciate and make others despise. Dress they place at the head of these non-essentials, partly because it is an art very difficult to excel in, and partly because they can easily find plausible reasons against studying it. We can employ our time better," they say. But do they employ it better? "Those who are to be pleased by externals only, are not worth pleasing at all." This is another of their paltry sophistries. They have no right to put in the word "only." But even without that, the axiom would be false. People are worth pleasing, in exact proportion as they are to be really pleased by any thing external from themselves; and those who are most worth pleasing, are to be pleased by every thing in its due place and proportion.

The truth is, there is quite as much vanity and coxcombry in slovenliness, as there is in its most extravagant opposite. The old citizen worth a plum, is as vain of his thread-bare coat, as the mere Bond-street lounger is of his embroidered one. The minor poet, who goes into company with a dirty neckcloth and straggling locks, as much anticipates and chuckles over the question," Who is that?" and the answer, "Oh, so and so, a devilish clever fellow," as the dandy who

scorns to have an id-e-a beyond the set of his clothes, expects the same question, and the answer, "Oh, the best dressing chap in the town." And we do not see a pin to choose between the two.

But upon what do these clever people found their indifference about externals? Does it spring from their acquaintance with the analogies of nature, or from their admiration of antiquity? Alas! they know or care as little about the one as the other. In nature, all the best things are at the same time the most beautiful. We mean this without reference to the pretended laws of association. Is not the rose at once the sweetest and the loveliest of flowers? Is not the lily the richest in scent, and the most stately in form? Of all the prospects in external nature, that which the most enchants and satisfies the human mind, is the view of an extensive tract of country, covered with villages, and woods, and meadows, and corn fields, and waters, with a blue sky over all ;-and does not such a scene as this include the greatest portion of goodness, and utility, and happiness? But perhaps they may want analogies from the living world. Is not the horse at once the noblest and the noblest-looking of all unreasoning animals? and is not the reasoning animal, man, "the human face divine,"-nobler than all?

Will their classical tastes not be satisfied unless we lead them back to antiquity? They had better not accompany us there;-they will find nothing to suit their purpose. The Apollo and the Venus, in their pure and unapproachable beauty, have outlasted all the speculations of all their contemporary sages. We know and care more about the Parthenon of Phidias than we do about the Republic of Plato, though the latter as well as the former is made of stone.

Did any men, either before or since, ever look like the Greeks and Romans? and did any men ever act like them? They were the handsomest, the noblest, the most unaffected, and the best dressing; in short, the most gentlemanly people that ever were or will be. We, at the moment, recollect but one very affected person among them, Diogenes the Cynic; and it is remarkable, or rather, on our principle, it is not remarkable, that he was a slo

ven.

If the reader thinks these speculations worth attending to, we may perhaps renew them in a future communication. In the mean time we cannot resist the temptation of corroborating what we have said, by mentioning that, among our own immediate acquaintance, the two persons of different sexes who possess the most entire sincerity of heart, the most simple purity of principle, and the most perfect consistency of action, happen to be, without comparison, the best looking and best dressing people we know; and we are not sure that it would be going too far to add-vice versa. London, June 5, 1818.

JEFFREY AND HAZLITT.

A. Z.

MR HAZLITT has lately put forth a book of Criticisms upon English Poetry, which may be considered as a fair specimen by which to estimate his powers. He and Mr Jeffrey being at present the two most eminent speculators on literary topics, one is naturally led to compare their merits.

These two individuals do not excel in the same faculties. Mr Jeffrey seems to have more of the faculty of ratiocination and deduction, and Mr Hazlitt more of observation and perception. If, instead of writing criticisms, they had written books of their own, Mr Jeffrey would probably have soared a great way above Mr Hazlitt, by the superior force and productiveness of his genius. Mr Hazlitt could not so well furnish a test of his own. At least his excellence would lie rather in teaching mankind to think justly, than in presenting them with new and undiscovered conclusions. In all that relates to tracing the concatenation of a sequence of propositions, Mr Jeffrey has evidently the advantage. He is well versed in the laws of the intellectual world, and his reasonings must always be listened to with pleasure; but there is reason to believe that Mr Hazlitt, by means of intense perception, and persevering examination, has attained to a more accurate statistical view of the real world. He belongs to that class of men who, when an object is placed before their optics, reconnoitre it carefully, minutely, and maturely, and carry off in their minds

an exact impression of its real nature. Mr Hazlitt also perceives those inferences which result immediately from the knowledge of facts; but beyond this his mind does not take many steps. Mr Jeffrey, in examining an object, seems to find less pleasure in persisting long in observation, and is often obliged to turn aside his gaze to follow out a long series of meditations. In giving an account of a poem, he sometimes forgets his object, and throws in colours of his own, as one may see in his review of Byron's Manfred, &c. Although Mr Hazlitt's faculties partake less of the nature of talent than Mr Jeffrey's, we should not on that account be inclined to undervalue them, when it is considered, that the most important conclusions frequently do not lie very far off from an extended observation and impartial attention to existing circumstances; and that the first inference drawn from three facts, taken together, is often more valuable than the tenth inference drawn from two facts. Upon the whole, Mr Hazlitt's apperçus, concerning particular works, are truer than those of Mr Jeffrey, because he lays out his mind in a more passive manner to receive impressions from them.

Mr Jeffrey's great merit lies in these general speculations which he has appended to his appreciations of particular books. In originality and ingenuity, they were so far above the level of all former publications, that they could not fail to be read with admiration. The public was then scarcely acquainted with any higher philosophy than what could be found in Johnson's Lives of the English Poets. Mr Jeffrey cannot be said, in the course of his career, to have thrown any very new or important light upon fundamental principles, but he has solved many detached problems in a very satisfactory manner, and has theorised well upon the history of English Literature, besides furnishing explanations (more or less perfect) of the different phenomena which have occurred in his own day.

As to the faculties of imagination and wit, it is difficult to say whether these two individuals have exhibited all they possess. Mr Jeffrey seems to have a very considerable share of imagination, which would have been more apparent had his speculative under

standing been less active, and allowed his conceptions to form into masses. His imagination, however, has probably been of use in exercising his other faculties, by supplying them with a constant stream of ideas for analysis and comparison. It does not appear that Mr Hazlitt has so much imagination, or that what he has is so elegant or well-trained. Mr Jeffrey has likewise the finer wit of the two, though not always the more profound. His wit is rather subtle, dexterous, and ingenious, than imbued with the vis comica; which indeed is not now so much sought for in pleasantries, as it was in Swift's time. Mr Hazlitt sometimes hits off a good humorous trait, full of real sagacity and dry scorn, which throws disgrace on those tawdry and endless metaphors, and epigrammatical patchworks, which deform the external surface of his compositions, and which his well-wishers must wish to consider not as voluntary movements of his own genius, but as compliances with the stupidity and bad taste of his readers. Criticism, except what is ephemeral, has not in itself many popular attractions; and to become a popular critic on works no longer new, it is necessary to advance many things in a snappish and obtrusive manner, to make the vulgar perceive that something is going forward. Persons who are unable to follow the substratum of strong sense in Mr Hazlitt's discourses, are at least able to watch the clink of his epigrammatical hammer.

But the intellectual faculties of a critic are not the sole means to be employed in forming his judgments. His moral constitution should be as much awake to sentiment, as his understanding to the relations of ideas. To estimate the truth and propriety of different tones of feeling, is even a more difficult task, in some cases, than to reason. I do not allude so much to the appreciation of what is morally beautiful and decorous between man and man, for there we have the accumulated suffrages of ages and of multitudes to appeal to. The most difficult questions in morals, are those which relate to the temper of mind with which the world and the business of life ought to be contemplated, since the propriety of our feelings, on these subjects, must depend on very

extended and complicated considerations.

The tone of Mr Hazlitt's feelings is not easy to be guessed. They never appear but in the train of his understanding, which itself seldom appears but in the train of his perceptions. His feelings seem to be universal, though not active or spontaneous in their movements; and, in examining literary works, his nature exhibits no blind sides. Mr Jeffrey betrays a greater number of spontaneous and gratuitous stirrings of the heart; and his sentiments, so far as they go, are in general amiable, dignified, and just. Neither of them are men of much unborrowed strength of feeling. Some individuals have been gifted by nature with such energetic moral faculties, that they have become oracles to other men, not on account of intellect or penetration, or of wisdom acquired from without, but on account of an exalted nature, which speaks the language of the deity, and which contains within itself an unborrowed morality, that cries out from the recesses of the heart. Mr Jeffrey and Mr Hazlitt are wise and knowing, as to the regulating principles of the external world and the comparison of ideas, but, in other respects, their mental constitution is little more than ordinary.

In these latter times, men do not stand in a good predicament for the cultivation of certain faculties. We have so much to learn from without, that the understanding is kept in a perpetual bustle with the reception of thoughts, and there is not at any time a sufficient leisure within to allow the heart to be seriously consulted and exercised upon them. Hence most people (however strong their feelings may be at first) end in mere observers and men of the world. The principal defect of instinctive and unreasoning morality is, that it contains within itself no security against the intermixture of prejudice and personal inclination. One impulse is not easily known from another. But if the morality which is founded upon reason is less subject to error, so far as it goes, it is at the same time cold and destitute of impelling force. As society grows older under the influence of literature, much business will be assigned to the understanding, at the expense of the heart; and the only persons likely to