produce nearly similar effects. Cæsar's expression," that he would rather be the first man in a village than the second man in Rome," is in effect but an echo of the sentiment that is uttered by Milton's Satan, when he exclaims: "Better to reign in Hell than serve in Heaven." So that the same spirit seems necessary to make a Cæsar, or a Satan-the monarch of the Tuileries, or the demon of Pandemonium.

It is the peculiar misfortune of society that we admire those exploits which are rather dazzling than useful, and that a nation should aim at being great and splendid rather than being happy. Creatures of education, we imbibe in early youth the spirit of romance and chivalry: that which is in fact a necessary evil, is presented under the imposing form of "glorious circumstance;" Homer does more than philosophy and Christianity can undo; and in fine we roam about like mortals in the enchanted abode of the fairies, with unanointed eyes, mistaking for solid gold, for delicious dainties, that which, in reality, is but tinsel, and frippery, and dirt.

These conclusions are obvious in our closets, but they come too late to counteract the effects of education; we seldom reduce them to practice, but move along through life in this, as in many other respects, with our conduct one way and our argument the other. Virgil's trumpeter never wants a successor who is equally fortunate in his trade" Ore ciere viros, martemque accendere cantu,"-of rousing fools and making slaughter.

The writers of the day have been loud in their invectives against Napoleon, for the selfishness and the utter disregard of life which he manifested in common with all lovers of war. Without seeking to extenuate his faults or eulogise his merits, we may observe, that he perhaps endeavoured to elevate himself above the rest of mankind by stifling all feelings which he partook in common with them. He affected to be a man apart from his fellow creatures, turning the passions of men to the completion of his own purposes, but himself beyond their control. Accordingly we do not hear that he wept at the bloody field of Borodino, or that he sympathized with the sufferers at Moscow. He looked upon these events with the cold eye of a political calculator, to whom the loss of an army was as an errror in his arithmetical process. It would have been in better taste, no doubt, to have deplored the extinction of 300,000 fellow beings in the horrible campaign in Russia, than to have exclaimed, while rubbing his hands over the fire on his way homewards, "this is pleasanter than Moscow." But Xerxes wept when, viewing his immense army, he reflected that not one of such a multitude would survive a hundred years. And yet we do not find that Xerxes desisted from his idle attempts to enslave Greece. In fact, the kindlier feelings of humanity seem incompatible with such a calling. Where blood is to be poured out as water, and human life is as grass before the sickle, the edge of sensibility must be blunted, and the best feelings of our nature are uptorn.

In turning over the pages of history, it will be difficult to assign any place to Napoleon amongst those who are gone, or to say to

what class he properly belongs. Though very dissimilar in many respects, some strong features of resemblance may be traced between him and our own Cromwell. Both were of extreme vigour and reach of capacity; of the same bold and enterprising disposition which enabled them to take advantage of the commotions and political disturbances of the times. Both had the "animus vastus,' an ambition which knew no bounds-both grasped at that which fortune seemed to have placed far beyond their reach, and both were successful. In Napoleon we discover something of the insolence of prosperity, the intoxication of success which led to the commission of political errors; while Cromwell maintained, throughout his public life, a greater equability of mind, a steadiness of purpose that was not to be diverted either by difficulties, or the security of triumph. If the former was immoderate in prosperity, the latter was less able to withstand the glooms of despondency. The one displayed a greater versatility of genius: he lived in times when the arts flourished, and he reigned over a lively and ingenious people, who were as interested in the success of an opera as of a campaign; while Cromwell's was the iron age of England, he was nurtured in fanaticism, and lived amid strife and bloodshed. Their understanding of "the religious" was certainly different, but both availed themselves of the prevailing spirit of the times; it is probable that Napoleon would have whined his way into popularity in the days of Charles the First, and that Cromwell would have been a philosophe in the days of Louis the Sixteenth. Neither of these extraordinary personages exhibited in very early youth any signs of those high endowments which have given them to "everlasting fame;"* nor did the genius of either seem fitted for the elegant occupations of literature, though Cromwell occasionally indulged himself in barbarous verses, and Napoleon was a reader of Ossian. They might have said with Themistocles, the Athenian, who, being desired to play upon a lute, replied, "that he could not fiddle, but yet he could make a small town a great city." The arts of address and conciliation, which were used with such success by Bonaparte, were not unknown to Cromwell. Hume says of him, that he knew how to find out and engage in his interests every man possessed of those talents which any particular employment demanded; that the general behaviour and deportment of this man, who had been raised from a very private station, was such as might befit the greatest monarch; that he maintained a dignity without either affectation or ostentation; and supported with all strangers that high idea with which his great exploits and prodigious fortune had impressed them." In both these men is discoverable that mixture of great and little, that spice of human frailty, with which Nature counterbalances her choicest gifts, and which happily serves to counteract the evils which might otherwise result

* Cromwell's military talents were not displayed until he was forty-four years old. Bonaparte, before he was twenty-seven, besides showing his skill at the siege of Toulon, had beaten the Parisian troops, and fought the battles of Montenotte, Millesimo, Dego, Lodi, Lonado, and Castiglione, with an army in want of every necessary, and against experienced enemies.

to mankind from the perversion of superior talents-from the wantonness of ambition, and the freaks of power. In fine, what Lord Clarendon has said of Cromwell may be justly applied to the indi-vidual who has been the subject of these remarks. "He was one of those men-quos vituperare ne inimici quidem possunt, nisi ut simul laudent; for he could never have done half that mischief without great parts of courage, industry, and judgment. He must have had a wonderful understanding in the natures and humours of men, and as great a dexterity in applying them, who, from a private and obscure birth, (though of good family) without interest or estate, alliance or friendship, could raise himself to such a height, and compound and knead such opposite and contradictory tempers, humours, and interests, into a consistence, that contributed to his designs and their destruction; while himself grew insensibly powerful enough to cut off those by whom he had climbed, in the instant that they projected to demolish their own building. What was said of Činna may be justly said of him-ausum eum, quæ nemo auderet bonus; perfecisse quæ a nullo nisi fortissimo perfici possent-he attempted those things which no good man durst have ventured on, and achieved those in which none but a valiant and great man could have succeeded."

BIBLIOGRAPHICAL RESEARCHES.*

B.

ONE of the most eloquent and impassioned of modern writers has said, that there is nothing so melancholy as travelling. "Voyager est, quoi qu'on en puisse dire, un des plus tristes plaisirs de la vie... Cet empressement, cette háte pour arriver là où personne ne vous attend, cette agitation dont la curiosité est la seule cause, vous inspire peu d'estime pour vous même.”

This observation, however, can never apply to those who are fortunate enough to have that great requisite for human happiness, a decided object of pursuit; or, as some have sarcastically termed it, a ruling passion. With such persons life is perpetually busy, and consequently, when the object of their pursuits is an innocent one, it is, in general, happy: for our existence is made up of moments linked together by expectations; and he who can see clearly from one to another, is led on so delightfully by hope, that, ere he has time to regret being crossed now and then on his way by disappointment, he is again ready to start, his eyes once more earnestly fixed on the next imaginary goal of his wishes. To him every place he goes to has a decided interest, either as a means or an end; even when he arrives" où personne ne vous attend," he is still not solitary. Success in his pursuit, whatever it may be, seems to await and welcome him; he carries his Lalage about with him, and may say with Horace,

Pone me, pigris ubi nulla campis
Arbor æstivâ recreatur aurâ," &c.

Such are the feelings which Mr. Dibdin exhibits throughout his "Bibliographical, Antiquarian, and Picturesque Tour;" and the * Dibdin's Bibliographical, Antiquarian, and Picturesque Tour. Large 8vo. 3 vols.

pleasure with which his book will be read, in comparison with the generality of insipid Tours and Sketches that are daily issuing from the press, is exactly proportioned to the difference betwixt travelling in company with persons of intelligence, whose natural habits of observation are sharpened by having a given object in view, or with the weary and wearisome fliers from themselves, who merely go abroad because they are tired of staying at home, and whose endless question of " Where shall we go next?" sufficiently betrays that they can go no where for any good purpose. It was a rule with Locke, by the observance of which he said he gained more knowledge than by all his study, always to talk with persons on their respective professions, or objects of pursuit: we shall follow, therefore, his example, and choosing to attend to Mr. Dibdin in his principal character of a Bibliomaniac, notwithstanding the tripleheaded Pegasus he has chosen for his hobby in this entertaining tour, we shall follow his steps chiefly through those remarkable edifices where the lore, and poesy, and patient perseverance of the early ages are fittest sought-among windows whose storied glass sheds "a dim religious light" among libraries where the illuminated pages commemorating saints and heroes, have retained their brilliancy for centuries after the hands that traced them had been consigned to oblivion.

Mr. Dibdin's ecstasies at finding himself among the Launcelot du Lacs, Tristans Leonnois, Arturs Isaises, and Feats of the Table Ronde, the Bibles, Rituals, Moralities, History, Philosophy, and Sciences, in the Royal Library at Paris, may be pretty well imagined. Of all these treasures the Latin Bible of Charles the Bald, the religious manual of his brother the Emperor Lotharius, the Breviary of the Duke of Bedford, and the HOURS of ANNE OF BRITTANY, appear to have been viewed by him with the most enthusiasm. Of this last "magical and matchless volume" he thus expresses himself. "Gently touch, 'tis faery art,' says the inspired imagination of every bibliographer of taste and feeling, on turning over the leaves of this enchanting Ritual. My friend, you are to know, in the first place, that of all the volumes in this most marvellous library, the present is deemed THE MOST PRECIOUS. Not even the wishes and regulations of Royalty itself allow of its migrations beyond the walls of the public library. There it is kept; there it is opened, and shown, and extolled beyond any limits fixed to the admiration of the beholder." The chief ornament of this invaluable MS. must be looked for in the portrait of Anne of Brittany herself: this lady, so famous in the page of history, whose beauty and whose singular fortunes cast over the annals of real life all the brilliancy and enthusiasm of romance, is represented kneeling, with her hands clasped over a highly-ornamented missal, which is upon a table covered with a dark crimson cloth. Her hair is brown; her necklace is composed of coloured jewels; her cheek has a fresh tint. She has with her two attendants, each crowned with a glory; one is displaying a banner, the other holds a cross in her hand. To the left of these attendants is an old woman, hooded, with her head encircled by a glory; but, notwithstanding the sweetness and delicacy with

which these figures are touched, Mr. Dibdin could only fix his eyes on the lovely Duchess herself; nor are we surprised at this, when we look upon the exquisite copy from her portrait made by his highly-gifted graphic companion, Mr. Lewis, who, for twelve successive days, exercised all his patience and all his art on this transcript, in which "not a hair, not a tint," says Mr. Dibdin, "not a shadow, is faithlessly represented. All looks with the same meekness-all strikes with the same beauty-all glows with the same warmth, as the ORIGINAL." Immediately after the portrait comes the Calendar, in which the employments and characteristics of each month are duly portrayed. "Then begins a series of the most beautiful ornaments of flowers, fruits, insects, &c. for which the illuminators of this period were often eminently distinguished. It is really impossible to describe many of them in terms of adequate praise: the downy plum is almost bursting with ripeness; the butterfly's wings seem to be in tremulous motion, while they dazzle you with their varied lustre: the hairy insect puts every muscle and fibre into action, as he insinuates himself within the curling of the crisped leaves; while those leaves are sometimes glittering with dew, or coated with the finest down. The flowers and the vegetables are equally admirable, and equally true to nature. To particularize would be endless-assuredly these efforts of art have no rival of their kind." These ornaments, it is proper to observe, are almost uniformly introduced in the fore-edges, or right-side margins of the leaves; although occasionally, but rarely, they encircle the text. The Gospel of St. John follows the Calendar: it includes the figures of the four Evangelists, with suitable ornaments; and after them come a number of the most popular subjects in Scripture. The Annunciation, the Meeting of Mary and Elizabeth, the Crucifixion, the Descent of the Holy Spirit, the Declaration of the Birth of Christ, the Shepherds warming themselves round a fire, with flowers in the margin, most deliciously touched, and the Adoration of the Magi, with an illumination of the Pommes de Paradis, which is beyond all praise. "Such fruit is worthy of the place by which they are called." Next comes the Presentation, and the Flight into Egypt; after which we have a fine large illumination of David choosing one of the Evils: "He is kneeling, while the angel holds three darts above his head. It has great merit. The countenance of David is expressive, but rather too chubby: his flowered robe of gold, upon a blue ground, is admirable. A glorious fruit illumination of wood nuts' quickly follows, at the bottom of which, in the right corner, are two monkies quarrelling, done to the very life. The marginal flowers which succeed, are, if possible, more beautiful than those before; the ears of green wheat, oats, &c. and yet more, the dandelion, have absolutely nothing to surpass them, either upon the canvas of Von Huysum, or De Heem!" We cannot follow Mr. Dibdin, as we would wish, in his animated description of between thirty and forty more historical subjects and portraits, with which this precious volume is ornamented, with all their tasteful accompaniments of fruit and flowers, and insects, and devices; nor can we even tarry with the