This derangement soon disappears at the sight of Ned. He settles every thing to the entire satisfaction of all parties. and Mr. Mordant kindly taking it in his head to die one day, Ned marries his beloved Helen, and take's possession of Mr. Pelham's house, who was the brother of his mother; and according to all novels, good, bad and indifferent, fortune, happiness, and all other good things, are dispensed in abundance. Miss Mary Mordant marries Theodore Anderton. The assassin becomes a great penitent, and marries the lady at whose house Ned had found him, and which he had caused him abruptly to leave.

The improbability of this story is very glaring, and we see not what good the perusal can produce. Ned Bently is made a prodigy of excellence. His intellectual and moral properties seem to arrive at maturity, without culture; or in circumstances in which, if they were real, little culture could be practised. We do not like to have probability outraged in any fiction, but least of all to encourage the belief, that knowledge and virtue are products of spontaneous growth, or of easy, and fortuitous acquisition. The adventures of 'Ned Bently, may make any poor lad who happens to read them, dissatisfied that he is not so fortunate; but what good impression are they likely to make? what contentedness with one's lot, which is the essence of happiness, are they likely to produce? To render the hopes sanguine is only to increase the chance and to aggravate the bitterness of disappointment. The youth who fills his mind with these fictitious adventures, will only be less qualified to appre ciate the sad realities of life, to contend with difficulties, to bear up against the often probable, and always possible, pressure of poverty and woe,

The episodes in this novel add nothing to its interest; many of the reflections, though affectedly profound in the expression are really shallow in the sense. The work may indeed, and no doubt will, be read with complacency by the lovers of novels, who gorge down every thing of the kind that comes in their way. No inventive genius is displayed in the story. The subject itself is trite, and other writers have almost exhausted the power of new combinations. Some of the characters are however well drawn, particularly that of Mr. Mordant, who is indeed only an individual of a species not very uncommon in the vicinity of Birmingham. The Miss Mordants exhibit as usual a contrast of liveliness and gravity, but the difference is judiciously preserved, and we have also to thank Mr. Amphlet for that strict and scrupulous delicacy to which he uniformly adheres in his love scenes.

ART. IX. The Fall of Cambria, a Poem. By Joseph Cottle. 2 Vols. 12mo. 8s. Longman. 1808.

UNDETERRED by the fate of the greatest and best of English monarchs, whose poetical existence is now almost forgotten, Mr. Cottle has ventured into the world with another epic, about the twenty-seventh' (upon a rude com putation) which this heroic age has already produced. Whe ther the design of it was first formed at that famous teadrinking in the west of England,

Of which all Europe rings,"

we are unable to state with precision; and can only say that we have perused the whole twenty-five cantos with the most painful attention, and shall faithfully discharge our duty by communicating the result of the impressions made on our minds by the perusal.

The subject chosen by Mr, Cottle for this heroic effort of his muse is in itself sufficiently poetical-the last Campaign of Edward the First against Llewellyn, the death of that prince, and the final subjugation of his warlike nation. It was certainly very possible, in favour of such a theme, to have excited the warmest and most virtuous feelings of the soul, the love of liberty, the detestation of oppression, and every variety of interest that indignation, pity, reverence, and fear, are jointly or severally capable of inspiring. The principal, perhaps the only material objection to the design, is that the interest so excited must be in direct opposition to our natural prejudices as Englishmen in favour of our country. It is true that Homer himself, in celebrating the most important conquest atchieved by the united valour of his own national heroes, has in like manner sung the triumph of fierce and unprincipled aggression over virtue and patriotism; but it must be remembered that Homer sung to an . age barbarous in comparison with our own, to a people' with whom the praise of successful valour was the highest and most variable theme. The mild and domestic virtues of Hector were (like good works among the methodists) mere filthy rags,' in comparison with the savage and unconquerable force of Achilles. But, among us, the case is very dif ferent. Our superior refinement teaches us to feel for the defender of Troy all the genuine enthusiasm of love and pity; while the immortal son of Thetis excites sometimes our admiration and sometimes our terror, but never our affection or our sympathy.

Mr. Cottle seems to have been aware of this difficulty,

(would it had operated so as to discourage him altogether from the prosecution of the task he had undertaken!) and in order to surmount it, he has adopted a course, than which none could have been conceived more destructive of all interest and attraction. Llewellyn must necessarily be, like Hector,the affectionate brother, the fond husband,the accomplished soldier, the ardent and intrepid lover of his country. According to modern feeling, therefore, it would seemthat he must be the hero of the piece, and that all our interest must rest exclusively with him and follow his fortunes. But, as it would be sinning against all rule to write a national poem in which the reader's passions are to be enlisted on the side opposed to his own nation, it becomes necessary to invent some mode of setting the character of Edward yet higher than that of the prince whom he subdues, or at least to balance the interest between them; neither of which, it is obvious, can be done by making an Achilles of him; and Mr. Cottle has been able to find no other means of accomplishing the object so good as making the king of England the direct counterpart of the prince of Wales in every respect. He also must be an affectionate husband, a fond father, a warm friend, an able soldier, and a zealous patriot. The entire and utter confusion of vice and virtue, of profligate ambition with public spirit, of the objects of honour and reverence with those of abhorrence and hatred, which this most absurd compromise necessarily introduces into the whole system of the poem, may be easily conceived, and yet hardly to the full extent in which it exists, unless by him who has taken the thankless pains of reading the whole work. But if the moral effect is so grossly objectionable, yet more so is the poetical consequence; since it is evident that all contrast and originality of character must be utterly destroyed, and that to the vain attempt of balancing the interest of the poem, every shadow of interest is irremediably sacrificed. If any circumstance can make the absurdity of this most contemptible plan still more manifest, it is the effect of the balancing system on the minor characters of the piece. In the middle of the canvas sit Edward and Llewellyn like the two kings of Brentford, so well matched that it is impossible to tell one from the other. Next these, on either side, stand the gentle and virtuous and beautiful queen Eleanor of England, and the beautiful and virtuous and gentle lady Eleanor de Montford. That very worthy knight, the earl of Warwick, pairs off behind them with that other equally worthy knight, Edwall the Welshman; while in front my lord Archbishop of Canterbury walks a slow minuet with Llyrarch the chief of the bards. Of the very few single

figures which have found their way into the picture, the most prominent are those of prince David, which appears to be sketched with more truth and feeling than any other in the piece, and of earl Talbot, whose character exhibits neither judgment, nor taste, nor humour, though it seems ifftended to bear evidence to all the three.

So much for the dramatis persona, which are so intimately connected with the general conduct of the poem that it becomes very unnecessary to waste much time in unfolding the particulars of the plot. The scene opens with the approach of Edward at the head of his forces to Chester. The principal actors are soon upon their legs, and indeed there is no lack of argument from the beginning to the end of the poem, every individual character being as well skilled in the mysteryof debating as if he had been regularly brought up at the House of Commons or the academical society in Bell-yard. Edward, with all the true philanthropy of a Napoleon, soon states his opinion that it is evidently for the interests of England and Wales, and for the general pacification of the two nations, that they should be united under one government: the barons readily concur in the opinion of the sovereign, and prepare without loss of time to aid him by the sword in the execution of his pacific purpose, when the good old Archbishop of Canterbury, without,, as it appears, having any reason whatever to hope a favourable result from his negotiation, implores and obtains leave (for the sake of form) to go and discuss the points in dispute with Llewellyn previous to the commencement of hostilities. The pulaver at Chester being happily concluded, we are next presented with specimens of eloquence on the other side the inountains; and (to our shame be it spoken) the Welch lords seem to talk full as good English as ourselves, and rather better sense. The worthy Archbishop discourses about peace and charity for three good hours without making the least impression, and returns, the bearer of no very conciliatory message; and so the war begins.

Want of space obliges us to break of this article abruptly; but we shall conclude it in our next.

CRITICAL MONTHLY CATALOGUE.

RELIGION.

:

ART. 10.-Thoughts on Prophecy particularly as connected with the present Times; supported by History. By G. R. Hioan. 8vo. Longman.

WE have long been doubtful respecting the propriety of applying the imagery of scriptural prophecy, to the events of modern times. If any thing could confirm us in this doubt, it would be the endless discordancy of the applications. Hardly two persons agree in the fitness of the same interpretation. Hence we see either that there is nothing clear and definite in the prophecies themselves; or that there is something very perverse and visionary in the mind of the interpreters. The present writer is not less fanciful than his predecessors. The poor pope, who formerly stalked like a ghost before the eyes of the expounders of prophecy, seems lately to have resigned his place in the brains of these prophetic visionaries, to Napoleon Bonaparte. Mr. Hioan imagines Bonaparte to be very aptly described in the beast, and the man of sin. And by Græcising, (if we may so call it) his name into Bowenaprn, with ingenuity most profound,and philology most marvellous, he makes it give out, according to the arithmetical signs of the letters, the number 666, or the number of the beast: The author draws a parallel, between Antiochus Epiphanes and Bonaparte; and he makes the former a type of the latter. Bonaparte is accordingly typified in the little horn mentioned in Daniel. Mr. Hioan is at considerable pains to prove all these points. This we have no doubt, that he does very satisfactorily to his own mind. The author, who can see Bonaparte very distinctly in the aforesaid horn, has a very clear view of him in the person of the second beast, which makes such a formidable appearance in Rev. xiii. The following expressions which are used in the apocalypse, of this second beast, are very sagaciously referred, by Mr. Hioan to the embargo, which Bonaparte has laid on the commerce of the continent. "He causes all, both small and great, rich and poor, free and bond to receive a mark in their right hand and in their forehead. And that no man might buy or sell, save he that had the mark or the name of the beast, or the number of his name." Rev. xiii. In this description, the author traces an exact counterpart of the decrees which Bonaparte issued at Berlin and Milan. But he forgot that the words have, at least, as close an analogy to the English orders in council, or to the American embargo. The author imagines, p. 218, that Bonaparte. will abolish the popes, and establish himself in their place. When this event comes to pass, Mr. Hioan informs us, that the fourth verse of c. ii. 2 Thess. will receive a striking accomplishment." CRIT, REV. Vol. 16. January, 1809.

H