seventy-three. He shewed us a book of seals taken from the letters of Voltaire's correspondents, all pasted in order, in a portfolio. Remarks in his own hand-writing are written under many of the seals: under that of one, he has written Fou,'-of another, Il fait des vers.' The arms of emperors and kings are among the number, showing how recherché among the potentates of the earth was the philosopher of Ferney. Among them was the seal of Garrick, but with no remark attached. The old gardener was a boy of fourteen when Voltaire quitted Ferney for Paris. His vocation was to accompany his master during his walks, carrying his writing materials, in order that when a luminous thought came across him, he might note it down. He showed us the inkstand and seal which his master had always used, and which he had presented to him the day before his departure for Paris; likewise a copy of the four last lines that he ever wrote. They are to the effect, that in his life time he had never shrunk from combating prejudices; and that if, in the shades, he found any to exist, he would write them down there also,

Tandis que j'ai vécu, on m'a vu hautement Aux badards effarés dire mon sentiment;

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Je veux le dire encore dans le royaume sombre, S'ils ont des prejugés, j'en guèrirai les ombres?' I bought a printed sheet, giving some particulars of Voltaire, to which the old man appended the impression of the seal. I had also the honour of putting on the huge ring of the philosopher, which was exhibited as a most

sacred relic."

It was our intention to close here; but we must find room for the writer's description of his enviable sensations, on his return to England, after a former long absence.

"The profoundest stillness reigned in the harbour (Plymouth) as we entered, and the deep silence of midnight was broken only by the town clock, which was in the act of striking twelve when I stepped upon the quay. With what elastic step and bounding heart I then trod the British soil! A seaman conducted me to an

inn; the door was locked, but there was a light in the coffee-room. I knocked, and presently the door was opened by a rosy, polite bar-maid, who welcomed me with a smile, shewed me into the coffee-room, and asked what she should bring me for supper. I shall never forget that moment. What a transition from the huge crowded inns of America, where the servants are all blacks, or if you chance occasionally to meet with a free-born American in the capacity of waiting-maid, she is a stern republican damsel, whom you must call "Miss," and speak to in a tone of supplication rather than of command! Here I was in a snug English coffeeroom, waited on by a nice pretty Englishwoman, who, far from thinking it a degration, was delighted to serve me. I felt bewildered with joy, and seizing the smiling Hebe in my arms, impressed a glowing kiss upon her lips. It was

Or these publications, the former is understood to be a malignant attack upon the husband of the writer and the father of her children. Possibly it may contain some truth; but, to whatever extent the truth may run, it is so mixed up with fiction-fiction of the grossest and most offensive nature—that it is impossible to draw a line of demarcation between them, or to render justice to the party assailed. Of Sir E. L. Bulwer we know, and wish to know, nothing: that he is a man of supercilious, affected, conceited manners, has long been evident to every person who may have met him in society; that, as a novelist, he is one of the most splendid geniuses of the age, will hardly be contested, unless by his political enemies; that he is a miserable politician, his writings in the New Monthly Magazine, of which he was once the editor, and his speeches in Parliament, abundantly prove; but that he is the moral monster depicted in the pages of his wife's romance we utterly disbelieve: in fact, we would not so libel human nature as to believe in the possibility of the existence of a brute and a monster so horrible. Whatever may be Sir Edward Bulwer's character, as a man, Lady Bulwer, by the publication of "Cheveley," has established her character, as a woman—as a wife, as a mother, as a friend, as an acquaintance, as a member of society at large. Such books ought to be put down, as contra bonos mores. Personal assailants of character-especially female assailants-must be put down, or society will become a bear-garden. Their suppression will tend essentially to preserve the insulted and maligned aristocracy of our land from the pestilence of vulgar detraction.

Of the rhyming trifle entitled "Lady Cheveley, or the Woman of Honour," it is sufficient to say that Sir E. Bulwer has thought proper to disclaim the authorship.

Heads of the People taken off, by Kenny Meadows (Quizfizzz). No. 7. Tyas, 1839.

As "The Undertaker" is the best head upon the wood, this month, so, as in "the fitness of things" it should be, Jerrold has given it the best illustration upon paper.

"Let us, however, follow Mr. Mandrake through his daily solemnity. Let us attend him

to the house of mourning; let us go with him on the day when he who was the very heart of that house is to be carried forth to the churchyard. For a time, the Undertaker takes possession of the miserable homestead. He is the self-created lord of its hospitality. It is he who stands the master of the mansion, and does its melancholy honours. With what grim urbanity he hands about the cake and wine! How he presses refreshment upon the heart-broken; how, as merely a matter of business, he proffers it to the mourners by invitation! His words, few and significant, come in whispers, and he treads the carpet as though he walked on flowers. Nor are his attentions confined to the relatives and friends of the dead; no, he has a keen anxiety for the wants of his vassals. The mutes, two breathing, half-crown images of deepest woe at the door, must, to support their load of sorrow, be plied with cake and alcohol; the coachmen cannot look sufficiently serious without their customary fluid; and the bearers, that they may stand manfully beneath their burthen, must nerve their hearts with potent gin.

"The funeral is over, the cloaks are gathered up, the hatbands adjusted, the Undertaker and his servants have departed, and nought remains of the solemnity save-the bill! That is, in due time, presented; and happy is the Undertaker above all the race of trading men-his commodities, as provided and supplied, defy the voice of cavil. His articles, six, eight, ten feet below the earth, are not to be questioned. He boldly charges for the best mattress and pillow; for the grass has begun to grow above them, or the mason has built them over, and who shall doubt their quality? The best mattress!' What a melancholy satire in the superlative, when we think of the head of clay, the limbs of earth disposed upon it! And then, "To a stout, handsome elm coffin;' its durability and beauty insisted upon with a flourish, as if it were a thing made and adorned to endure for ever; a precious chest provided for the judgment. Then follows, To the use of the best black silk velvet pall,' and the feathers,' and the cloaks,' and the hearse,' and the 'coaches,' and all that may be truly said to belong to the living; the mattress, the shroud, and the 'handsome elm,' being, indeed, the only things that can be honestly charged to the account of the dead."

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Here is a funeral of a different class :

sisted at the fitting of the mourning gloves— who tied on the cloak; or, who noiselessly entered the room, and, ere the screws were turned, with a face set for the occasion, and a voice pitched to the sadness of his purpose, begged to know if it was the wish,-before-beforeand then shrunk aside, as some one or two rushed in agony of heart to take a farewell look? Is it the same Undertaker-is it even a bird of the same sable feather? Scarcely; for see how he lounges along the path: his head is cast aside, and there is in every feature the spirit of calculation. What is he thinking of,--the train he leads?-the part he plays in the festival of death? No: he is thinking of his deals at home-of the three other buryings his men are attending for him-of his chances of paymentof the people who have passed their word in security for part of the money for the present funeral of the lateness of the hour-of his tea, that will be waiting for him ere the burying be done. How sad, how miserable the train that follows! The widow and her children: what efforts have been made-what future privations entailed, by the purchase of the mourning that covers them! Here is death in all his naked horror; with nought to mask his unsightliness -nothing to lessen the blow; here, indeed, he rends the heart-strings, and there is no medicine in fortune, no anodyne to heal the wounds. Follow the mourners from the church-yard home. Home!-A place of desolation; a cold hearth, and an empty cupboard. It is in the poor man's house that the dart of death is sharpest-that terror is added to the king of terrors. It is there that he sets up his saddest scutcheon in the haggard looks of the widow-in the pallid faces of the fatherless.”

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The "Head" of the poor "Chimney-sweep" is almost, if not quite, as good as that of the Undertaker;" and its illustration, by John Ogden, probably stands next upon the scale of merit.

And then we have two more Tavern Heads: "The Last Go," and "The Man of Many Goes ;" and, for our own parts, we shall not be sorry when they are all gone.

The Unity of Disease analytically and synthetically proved: with Facts and Cases subversive of the Received Practice of Physic. By Samuel Dickson, M.D., formerly a Medical Officer on the Staff; author of a Treatise on "The Prevalent Diseases of India," "The Fallacy of the Art of Physic, as taught in the Schools," &c. 8vo. Simpkin, Marshall, and Co. 1839.

in his theory-so much simplicity, sound sense, and apparent truth-that his extraordinary volume is well entitled to the serious consideration of every member of the faculty. Dr. Dickson defines health to be an equable and medium temperature prevailing throughout the

body. Every thing is periodical. "There can be no motion in matter without change of temperature, and no change of temperature without motion in matter." Disease is a divergence from an equable and medium temperature; it is a state to be improved-a corporeal variation, reducible, like health, into a series of particular mutations. The difference between disease and health consists" in mere variations of the sum or amount of the natural corporeal action and temperature." The essence of Dr. Dickson's theory is this:-"Intermittent fever is the type of all disease." Thus, as all disease partakes of the nature of ague, in all its modifications, it will be best met by a practice in accordance with the proper treatment of ague.

It is amusing to observe, that Dr. Dickson, while he laughs at the homœopathists, is, in practice, more than half a homoeopathist himself. Speaking of Dr. Hahnemann, he says"His remedies are aconite, gold, belladonna, &c.; but these are only salutary, according to him, when prescribed in the minutest possible doses-the millionth, decillionth, and heaven knows what other infinitissimal proportions of a grain of aconite or belladonna, being an infallible remedy for the great proportion of human diseases! Can my reader, unless absolutely mystified by metaphysics, require me to enter into the serious refutation of such absurdities?" Yet Dr. Dickson tells us, that, for thirteen years of his life, he has himself been in the habit of prescribing calomel in doses so minute as the 12th, 16th, and 20th part of a grain. Now, we will take leave to say, that, had he read and studied Dr. Hahnemann (which he evidently has not)--had he understood the principles and practice of homœopathy-had he made himself acquainted with the mode of preparing homoeopathic medicines-with the extent to which the known properties of drugs are increased by that mode of preparation, and with the new properties which are developed thereby; had he, moreover, been cognisant of the numerous "facts and cases subversive of the received practice of physic," which homœopathic practitioners have adduced, he would never have asked the question which we have cited. Whatever may be the effects of homoeopathy, it is, what allopathy is not a system. The main points of difference between Dr. Dickson and the homoeopathists appear to be, first, that while the pharmacopeia of the homoeopathist is exceedingly copious, that of Dr. Dickson is vastly more restricted than that of the allopathists in general; and, secondly, that whilst the disciples of Hahnemann invariably exhibit simple medicines that is, only one medicine at a time-Dr. Dickson exhibits his few favourite medicines (arsenic, prussic acid, quinine, opium, &c.) in combination.

With reference to bloodletting, Dr. Dickson goes farther than even the homoeopathists. He does not draw the lancet even in cases of apoplexy. "In the course of a very extensive practice," says he, I have not for some years even once ordered the abstraction of blood in

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any manner, nor have I had cause to regret the circumstance; for, since I dropped the practice, I have met with a success in the treatment of disease generally, which, while my mind continued fettered by school doctrines, I could not by any possibility have foreseen."

Dr. Dickson's mode of treatment for apoplexy is by the cold affusion. The patient is extended on his back; cold water is poured on his head, from a height; after a few ablutions, he staggers to his feet-stares wildly around him-walks away, and his cure is completed by a smart purgative.

Dr. Dickson's work is eminently entitled to consideration.

The History of Napoleon Buonaparte, &c. Edited by R. H. Horne, Esq. Part II. Royal 8vo. Tyas. 1839.

THE second portion of this interesting and spirited work, amusing from its abundance of anecdote, and instructive from its illustrations of personal character, brings the history down to the period of Napoleon's arrival at Paris, after the treaty of Campo Formio. As we proceed, however, we begin to question the impartiality of its editor. We are perfectly aware that, whatever may be the honest intentions of a writer-for, more or less, we are all party-men

it is impossible to wield a strictly impartial pen in sketching the memoirs of contemporary public characters. Take, for instance, a Tory and a Whig set them, each, to write a life of Lord Lyndhurst, Lord Melbourne, or Lord Brougham: let their intentions and determination be equally honest and pure; yet how different must their productions, of necessity, prove. And Buonaparte, though no longer actually a contemporary, is not yet sufficiently far removed from immediate observation to enable even the honestest man in existence to trace his career with an eye strictly and philosophically impartial. It must be infinitely more satisfactory to a writer to have to pen the biography of a man whose character he may happen to admire, than the reverse. In the former case, he may do his subject more, in the latter he will be sure to do him less, than justice; and that without any imputation on his integrity. Since then, we are not permitted to indulge the hope of impartiality—and, perhaps, were we even, by possibility, to witness the consummation of such a hope, we should not be satisfied-we think we are entitled to an honest avowal of an author's principles and predilections. Thus, beginning, as we have said, to question the impartiality of Mr. Horne, with reference to his History of Buonaparte, we should be better pleased were he to stand boldly forward, and proclaim his partizanship. With readers, on one side of the question, this would give him a decided advantage; whilst those on the other would be the better enabled to make due allowance for the leaning of his statements. We may be in error-if so we shall most willingly recant; but to us it appears as

though Mr. Horne were endeavouring to found a claim for his work to be entitled "The Beauties of Buonaparte." This, as we have intimated, will be a feather in his cap with many.

As we anticipated, in our notice of Part I., the execution of many of the engravings now before us is, from the touch of English artists, of a higher order of merit; especially those from the designs of Horace Vernet.

esting from the British Indian Residencies, and the Eastern Nations. Nos. XVI. and XVII. (for April and May). Smith, Elder, and Co.

WITH this periodical, apparently a very able and useful one, we had been hitherto unacquainted. Under the heads, " Synopsis of Indian Intelligence," "Asiatic Register," "Postscript," &c., the mass of information it contains, from being composed in a very small type, is prodigious.

THE author of this little brochure-a youth of only seventeen-has all the faults-can it be wondered at?-of a young poet. But, malgré his faults-his redundancy of epithet, his innumerable expletives, his unhappy rhymes, his unconscious imitations of the peculiarities rather than of the beauties of favourite writers-he is a poet. He is a poet; and he gives hope and promise of better things to come.

Crabbe had a giant's power; and he used that power like a giant-mercilessly. Rarely was Crabbe satisfied without subjecting all our generous feelings and sympathies to torture. Shakspeare knew better than to play such pranks: he always stopped short of the horrible. As a model, a more objectionable writer than Crabbe could not be selected. Let Mr. Barmby beware of his example. He could hardly have hit upon a worse theme for the exercise of his talent than a "madhouse." Unlike Lord Byron, he did not 66 want a hero:" his want was that of a friend -of an honest and intelligent friend, upon whose taste and judgment he could rely, and upon whose advice, in the composition of his poem, he would feel himself bound to act. Had he been sufficiently fortunate to possess such a friend, his verses would have been less crude and inaccurate than they now are. However, let the reader accept his "Dedication," in proof of our expressed opinion that "he is a poet:

interest and value. In the Number for April, we find a full account of the Assam Tea Company; from the clear and copious details of which, there is strong reason to infer, that we shall not much longer be dependent upon China for our favourite and almost indispensable repast of tea. Mr.Bruce, the discoverer of the tea-plant in Assam, sixteen years ago, states, that, in 1838, he was employing twelve manipulators in the manufacture of tea; and that if he had 12,000 he could find employment for them all.

The May Number opens with a long and important paper embracing a view of the "Crisis in India," and of Lord Auckland's measures in that country. Nothing could have been better timed than this.

Altogether we are much pleased with this publication, and heartily wish it success.

The Education of the People; the Bible the Foundation, and the Church the Teacher. An Introductory Address delivered in the Lecture Room of the Bath General Instruction Society, on Friday, February 1st, 1839. By Edward Osler, Principal of the Society. London: Smith, Elder, & Co. 1839.

FOR a view of the benevolent and comprehensive schemes of "The Bath General Instruction Society," we must refer the reader to the tract, the title, of which we have given above. From the subjoined brief excerpta from its pages, which we offer without comment, the general and religious principles of the society will be understood.

"A reason why the whole Christian education of the child should be identified with his Church is found in the truth, acknowledged by all orthodox sects, that Christian communion is essential to personal religion." *

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"Even in a worldly point of view, it is material that children be brought up with fixed religious principles. Experience shews that the character is greatly influenced by the religious persuasion; and indecision in a matter of so great moment is fatal to general consistency and stability. 'A double minded man is unstable in all his ways,' and he who rambles from sect to sect is always just as unsteady in his worldly affairs." * "Decision and constancy in religious opinion are so essential both to the religious and the ge

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