in practice and fools in theory" (iii. 201); unless perhaps it be Socrates, who "being perpetually ironical, take him in the reverse, and he is in his right senses" (xi. 161); or Zeno, who seems to have been only a fool, for "the man had forgot sure that he was writing laws for a community, while he thus impertinently philosophises to the Stoical sage" (iii. 102, so in 1st ed.). Socrates might have been witty as well as ironical, had Simmias anticipated the suggestion of the Divine Legation, that to his cock he should add a bull (iii. 357). That of all philosophic tenets the Pantheistical are "the most absurd" (iii. 209), we might have scored down as one of Warburton's random shots, but that Bayle appears to have said the same before him. And that Homer's invocation to the Muses "is an intimation that he took his account from authentic records, and not from uncertain tradition" (iv. 434), is an opinion which, whatever else it may be, must at least be orthodox, since it is sanctioned by the authority of Mr. Gladstone and of the University of Oxford.

Notwithstanding the preposterous nature of his argument, the coarse vulgarity of his style, the supercilious dogmatism of his manner, most dictatorial when he is most wrong, there is still some quality latent in Warburton's writings which will make them "ever be read with delight, even by those who are indifferent to their subject." Perhaps we ought to restrict this to the three first books of the Divine Legation; for neither the later books of that work, nor any thing else that he has written, appear to us to stand on the same level with that effort. This quality is intellectual vigour; a quality so rare in literature, and above all in theological literature, that its exhibition, even in its most undisciplined state, always commands respect. "His rants are amazing, and so are his parts," said Horace Walpole of Lord Chatham; and the rant and fustian of his speeches was forgiven the orator, in consideration of the moral vigour of the man. The causes which concur to break down vigour in a writer are so many, that before the thought comes to the birth it has mostly lost all the raciness of the soil from which it springs. Of these causes, classical education and a nice and conscientious sense of truth are among the more powerful. He who can set at nought the traditions of taste, and take up an opinion irrespective of the facts, can employ the whole unimpeded energies of his mind in giving momentum to the view he happens to have espoused. "The manners of a gentleman, says Whitaker, "the formalities of argument, and the niceties of composition, would have been unwillingly accepted in exchange for that glorious extravagance, which dazzles while it is unable to convince, and that haughty defiance of form and decorum, which, in its rudest transgressions against charity and

manners, never failed to combine the powers of a giant with the temper of a ruffian."

It would be unjust to quit Warburton without drawing attention to one or two instances in which his vigour was not employed in the maintenance of paradox. At a time when copyright was generally regarded as a legal monopoly, he argued the natural right of an author in the produce of his mind (Works, xii. 406). He had the courage to denounce the slavetrade in indignant terms from the pulpit (x. 57). A poor-law he declares to be a "beneficent but ill-judged policy" (x. 253). He had formed from his own observation a just estimate of the effect of mathematics on the mental faculties (viii. 14). He dismisses the sophism, which has imposed on many besides Akenside, that "ridicule is a test of truth" (i. 181). Dr. Whewell has bestowed approbation on his discriminating the power of reason as sufficient to perceive truth when proposed to it, but not to discover it (Moral Phil. p. 145). And Dugald Stewart (Dissert. p. 161) has noticed that Malebranche's extraordinary merit has been recognised by few English writers except Warburton, "who even where he thinks the most unsoundly, has always the rare merit of thinking for himself." Of his solid good sense we cannot give a better instance than his remarks on the Lauder forgery. He writes to Jortin:

"Lauder has offered much amusement to the public, and they are obliged to him. What the public wants or subsists on is news. Milton was their reigning favourite; yet they took it well of a man they never heard of before to tell them the news of Milton's being a thief and a plagiary. Had he been proved a, it had pleased them better. When this was no longer news, they were equally delighted with another [Dr. Douglas], as much a stranger to them, who entertained them with another piece of news,-that Lauder was an impostor. Had he proved him to be a Jesuit in disguise, nothing had equalled the satisfaction" (Life, p. 368).

The vigour of his thought does not concentrate itself in telling paragraphs. It is a rude-we had almost said bruteforce penetrating the whole. And his English style is so slipslop, that it would be difficult to find in all the thirteen volumes of his works half a dozen passages which might be taken as fair specimens of his peculiar powers. We will conclude our notice

with one of the best of these:

"Those who are upon the records of history for having failed [in their projects] were either mere enthusiasts, who knew not how to push their projects when they had disposed the people to support them; or else mere politicians, who could never advance their wise schemes so far as to engage a fanatic populace to support them; or

lastly, which most deserves our observation, such as had the two qualities in conjunction, but in a reverted order.

Of each of these defects we have domestic examples in the three great companions of the last successful imposture; I mean Fleetwood, Lambert, and Vane. Cromwell had prepared the way for their succession to his power as thoroughly as Mahomet had done for that of Abubeker, Omar, and Othman. Yet these various wants rendered all his preparations fruitless. Fleetwood was a fervent enthusiast without parts or capacity; Lambert, a cool contriver without fanaticism; and Sir Harry Vane, who had great parts and as great enthusiasm, yet had them and used them in so preposterous an order as to do him no kind of service. He began a sober plotter. But when come in view of the goal, he started out the wildest and most extravagant of fanatics. He ended where his master began; so that we need not wonder his fortune proved so different. But this was a course as rare as it was retrograde. The affections naturally keep another order. The most successful impostors have set out in all the blaze of fanaticism, and completed their schemes amid the cool depth and stillness of politics. Though this be common to them all, yet I don't know any who exemplifies it so strongly as the famous Ignatius Loyola. This illustrious personage-who confirms the observation of one who came after him, and almost equalled him in his trade, 'that a man never rises so high as when he does not know whither he is going-began his ecstasies in the mire, and completed his schemes with the direction of Councils that, even in his own lifetime, were ready to give the law to Christendom. The same spirit built up old and new Rome. When the city had not six miles of dominion beyond its walls, it indulged the dream of universal monarchy. When the jurisdiction of the bishops of Rome extended not beyond a small diocese, they entertained the celestial vision of a popedom. And it was this spirit which, in defiance and to the destruction of civil policy and religion, made the fortune of both."

ART. V.-THE ART OF TRAVEL IN EUROPE. Handbook of France (1861); of the Continent, Belgium and North Germany (1852); of Southern Germany (1858); of Denmark, Norway, Sweden, and Iceland (1858); of Russia (1849); of Rome (1862); of Florence (1861). John Murray, Albemarle Street. Guides de Paris à Havre; de Paris à Bordeaux; de Paris à Strasbourg et à Bále; de Paris à Genève et à Chamounix. Hachette: Paris.

Guida dell' Italia Superiore di Massimo Fabi. Ronchi Milano. Caen: Guide portatif et complet, par G. S. Trébutien.

Caen.

Handbook of Travel-Talk. John Murray.

Bradshaw's Continental Railway Guide.

Hardel:

THE art of travel is rapidly becoming so vast a subject that no single professor will be able to expound it. Mr. Galton and Captain Burton have gone far to exhaust the science of life among wild-beasts and savages; and either of them could probably act as master of the ceremonies to the king of Dahomey. But they would, we suspect, be the first to disclaim any like acquaintance with the mysteries of the haute volée in Viennese society, or with mountain travelling in Switzerland. It must be a great chance at least if a hero of the Alpine Club would be as good a guide about Rome as many a shy scholar who has not the strength to scale ice-encrusted cliffs, or the peculiar knack of walking up perpendicular rocks. The East is a field in itself, and something more than mere going over the ground is wanted to make it intelligible. But for one traveller who has the leisure or the opportunity to explore the Zambesi river or to wander out towards Palmyra, there are at least a hundred who find every summer that six weeks in Germany or France do more to refresh the brain and turn the mind into a new track, than even the sea-side or the moors in their own country could do. It is a long time before the most cosmopolitan Englishman gets to feel as thoroughly at home in a foreign railway carriage as on the Great Western. In spite of all that has been done to Anglicise the Continent, where English churches, bifsteaks saignants and bottled beer, large basons, shooting-coats and wideawakes, have sprung up sporadically in the track of the locomotive, the differences of language and manner, if not of opinion, are still in all material respects unaffected by our superficial intercourse with our neighbours. One chief cause of this, no

doubt, lies in the strong objection a highly educated man feels to express himself in a language he can only speak imperfectly. He is painfully conscious of every blunder he makes, the moment after it is made, and the subjects he cares to talk about are precisely those which require a large vocabulary and a ready power of translating ideas by their foreign equivalents. Accordingly a bagman will go over half the Continent, joking, chattering, and making friends, with fewer words than enable a scholar to stumble through his wants in the railway terminus or the inn. But the chief reason no doubt is, that no man can catch the tone of a new society in a moment. All that difficult family history, which we learn half unconsciously in our own country, the distinction of great and small requirements in etiquette, and the chief political and religious shades of feeling, are a shibboleth that cannot be hastily mastered. Mr. Grattan mentions in his last book, that he once gave great offence in a country district of France because, in entire ignorance of days and seasons, he invited a large party on the anniversary of the death of Louis XVI. In the same way, we have heard of English people electrifying the residents of a foreign town by making promiscuous visits without letters of introduction. Our countrymen had no doubt been told that the custom abroad was for the last arrival to call first, and did not understand that the custom only warrants visits where there is some excuse for acquaintance. Every man who has lived out of England will probably remember some circumstances where he has acted awkwardly or given offence, in spite of the very best intentions to the contrary.

An excellent article on "Companions of Travel," that appeared rather more than two years ago in the Saturday Review (Nov. 2, 1861), among other hints to which we shall have occasion to refer, suggested that pictures of society and manners should form part of a future series of Handbooks. We should like to see the task attempted, but we confess to a grave doubt if it could be achieved to any thing like the extent the writer seems to contemplate. Take, for instance, the wonderful descriptions of German manners in the works of Baroness von Tautphoeus, to which the article referred, among other instances, as examples of what was possible. No one can read The Initials without instinctively feeling that it is true to life; but a German, while he admitted this, would say, and would say rightly, that it was true only of life under very exceptional circumstances. The interest of the plot turns mainly on the character of a young girl whose father has made a mésalliance, and whose stepmother takes a handsome young Englishman into her family as a boarder. In a three-volume novel all this is gradually ex