under the shelter of the same impartial laws, and the same paternal throne; and thus have placed the nation in the same situation, as far as the rights of conscience are concerned, in which we at length stand, after all the heartburnings, the persecutions, the conspiracies, the seditions, the revolutions, the judicial murders, the civil wars, of ten generations. This is the dark side of her character. Yet she surely was a great woman. Of all the sovereigns who exercised a power, which was seemingly absolute, but which in fact depended for support on the love and confidence of their subjects, she was by far the most illustrious. It has often been alleged as an excuse for the misgovernment of her successors that they only followed her example; that precedents might be found in the transactions of her reign for persecuting the Puritans, for levying money without the sanction of the House of Commons, for confining men without bringing them to trial, for interfering with the liberty of parliamentary debate. All this may be true. But it is no good plea for her successors, and for this plain reason, that they were her successors. She governed one generation, they governed another; and between the two generations there was almost as little in common as between the people of two different countries. It was not by looking at the particular measures which Elizabeth had adopted, but by looking at the great general principles of her government, that those who followed her were likely to learn the art of managing untractable subjects. If, instead of searching the records of her reign for precedents which might seem to vindicate the mutilation of Prynne, and the imprisonment of Eliot, the Stuarts had attempted to discover the fundamental rules which guided her conduct in all her dealings with her people, they would have perceived that their policy was then most unlike to hers, when to a superficial observer it would have seemed most to resemble hers. Firm, haughty,-sometimes unjust and cruel in her proceedings towards individuals or towards small parties,-she avoided with care, or retracted with speed, every measure which seemed likely to alienate the great mass of the people. She gained more honour and more love by the manner in which she repaired her errors, than she would have gained by never committing er rors. If such a man as Charles the First had been in her place when the whole nation was crying out against the monopolies, he would have refused all redress; he would have dissolved the Parliament, and imprisoned the most popular members. He would have called another Parliament. He would have given some vague and delusive promises of relief in return for subsidies. When entreated to fulfil his promises he would have again dissolved the Parliament, and again imprisoned his leading opponents. The country would have become more agitated than be fore. The next House of Commons would have been more unmanageable than that which preceded it. The tyrant would have agreed to all that the nation demanded. He would have solemnly ratified an act abolishing monopolies for ever. He would have received a large supply in return for this concession; and within half a year new patents, more oppressive than those which had been cancelled, would have been issued by scores. Such was the policy which brought the heir of a long line of kings, in early youth the darling of his countrymen, to a prison and a scaffold. Elizabeth, before the House of Commons could address her, took out of their mouths the words which they were about to utter in the name of the nation. Her promises went beyond their desires. Her performance followed close upon her promise. She did not treat the nation as an adverse party;-as a party which had an interest opposed to hers; -as a party to which she was to grant as few advantages as possible, and from which she was to extort as much money as possible. Her benefits were given, not sold; and when once given, they were not withdrawn. She gave them too with a frankness, an effusion of heart, a princely dignity, a motherly tenderness, which enhanced their value. They were received by the sturdy country gentlemen, who had come up to Westminster full of resentment, with tears of joy and shouts of God save the Queen. Charles the First gave up half the prerogatives of his crown to the Commons; and the Commons sent him in return to the Grand Remonstrance. We had intended to say something concerning that illustrious group of which Elizabeth is the central figure, that group which the last of the bards saw in vision from the top of Snowdon, encircling the Virgin Queen— "Many a baron bold, And gorgeous dames, and statesmen old We had intended to say something concerning the dexterous Walsingham, the impetuous Oxford, the elegant Sackville, the all-accomplished Sydney-concerning Essex, the ornament of the court and of the camp, the model of chivalry, the munificent patron of genius, whom great virtues, great courage, great talents, the favour of his sovereign, the love of his countrymen,-all that seemed to ensure a happy and glorious life, led to an early and an ignominious death;-concerning Raleigh, the soldier, the sailor, the scholar, the courtier, the orator, the poet, the historian, the philosopher, sometimes reviewing the Queen's guards, sometimes giving chase to a Spanish galleon,-then answering the chiefs of the country party in the House of Commons,then again murmuring one of his sweet lovesongs, too near the ears of her Highness's maids of honour,-and soon after poring over and Waterloo will probably tinge, a thousand years hence, the vocabulary, both tragic and comic, of yet nameless nations, flourishing thousands of leagues from the scenes of their achievement. the Talmud, or collating Polybius with Livy. I the martial triumphs of the era of Trafalgar We had intended also to say something concerning the literature of that splendid period, and especially concerning those two incomparable men, the Prince of Poets, and the Prince of Philosophers, who have made the Elizabethan age a more glorious and important era in the history of the human mind, than the age of Pericles, of Augustus, or of Leo. But subjects so vast require a space far larger than we can at present afford. We therefore stop here, fearing that, if we proceed, our article may swell to a bulk exceeding that of all other reviews, as much as Dr. Nares' book exceeds the bulk of all other histories. THE EXILE. BY BERNARD BARTON. THE exile on a foreign strand Where'er his footsteps roam, Though brighter skies may shine above, Still to the spot which gave him birth And elsewhere own, through all the earth," Oh! thus should man's immortal soul And mindful of its heavenly good, Seem but an exile here. 'Mid fleeting joys of sense and time, Should own no home but HEAVEN! From the Foreign Quarterly Review. FRAGMENTS OF VOYAGES AND TRAVELS.* THE daily increasing familiarity of the belligerent classes with the use of the pen will, if we mistake not, lend one important distinguishing feature to the English literature of the present age. Books such as these on our table cannot be multiplied among us without affecting, to a considerable extent, not only the general tone of contemporary thought and sentiment, but even the materials and mechanism of popular language. New words, new phrases, and a whole host of new images and allusions are, from this source, rapidly finding their way into the common stock; and From the mere style of any people-from the prevailing character of the figures and illustrations, inwoven into almost any work of literature that ever acquired great popularity among them-one might pronounce, with a near aim,' as to the main scope of occupation, and business, and habitual feeling in the nation. Every page of the drama of Athens bespeaks, as plainly as Athenian history, a nation of political partisans and restless mariners; the high estimation of agriculture, and the proud tumults of the camp, are written with equal distinctness in the most urbane and pacific of Roman lucubrations. The languages of this country and France are, ex facie, those of the two active nations of modern Christendom. That is seen, not merely, nay not so much, in the vocabulary of either, as in the structure and march of its sentences, as compared with any of the neighbouring tongues. The stately indolence of the Spaniard is reflected in the slow sonorousness of even his billet-doux; the Italian, unless when he tortures himself into a perplexed and obscure mimicry of Tacitus, makes scarcely better progress in his liquid paragraphs of 'linked sweetness long drawn out,' than a pinnace floating at height of noon on one of his own beautiful lakes; the German author, no matter what ground he takes, builds up such heavy columns, and carves them with such a dreamy quaintness, that we perceive at once he belongs to a people whose literature is mainly a literature of professors-stamped, in every lineament, in spite of gallant individual efforts in the contrary direction, with the mental, and indeed corporeal, habits of a caste of pedantic recluses, who seldom have the mouthpiece of the ponderous Meerschaum pipe out their lips, unless when they mount the desk to overcloud gaping boys with metaphysical vapours, about as consistent and refreshing as those of their tobacco. A good French prose book is easily converted into a good English one-and vice versa-(we say nothing of poetry); but no skill in translation can make even treatises like Frederick Schlegel's, or tales like Ludowick Tieck's, acceptable to the readers of London or Paris: their materials, however precious in themselves, must be refondus, as the French express it, before they clearness of arrangement, that succinctness of can acquire that lucidus ordo, that direct steady garb, and life and spring of movement, without which nothing will command general attention in a country whose own literature has taken its predominant bias and colouring from men of the world and of business. We must not at present, however tempted, be seduced into a lecture on this subject; but No. 121.-B it is certain, that the first popular works in our language came from the pens of authors distinguished in active life; and that, in every succeeding age, the originally uncloister-like character of English composition has on the whole been sustained. With few exceptions, even our poets have been men trained and exercised in stirring occupations-certainly all our dramatists and novelists worth notice have been such; and every one of these masters has enriched the national exchequer wih coins stamped in the mint of his own calling. It is this that gives to all our literature that air of practical pith, shrewdness, and sagacity, by which it is brought much nearer, in general effect, to the literature of France, than, in spite of far more intimate kinsmanship of blood-and, we may add, as to many of the most important branches, of opinion and sentiment-it is ever likely to approach the German; and it is this same old-established custom of drawing largely on professional dialects (as we may call them) that leads us to anticipate extended and lasting effects from those literary habits which appear of late years to be taking such a deep root among our soldiers and sailors. Who would have fancied, thirty or twenty years ago, that a. D. 1832, one of the most successful periodical publications in the country should be a magazine devoted exclusively to naval and military topics, written entirely by officers of the united service, and edited by a sprightly veteran, minus a leg? or who, that knows that such is now the fact, and knows also that many of the most popular histories, novels, tales, and descriptive essays of all sorts, have for some years past been supplied to the London market by Halls, Napiers, Marryatts, &c.*-in short, gentlemen who took their only degrees under such tutors as Nelson and Wellington-can doubt that the habitual feelings and expressions-the Tow and groμ-the wit, whim, and humour even of the modern camp and cockpit, are at this moment settling themselves into the great body of our written speech, in the same fashion that the histrionic habits of our early dramatists familiarized the national ear, two hundred years ago, and for ever, to the technical glossary of the green-room? Continuations are proverbially hazardous; but the second group of Captain Hall's adventures, like that of Don Quixote's, completely sustains the spirit of the first,-nay, we think it will be generally considered as justifying our prediction, that the story would become more and more interesting as it advanced into the maturer experiences of its hero. down the sword and take up the pen,' as the song has it, deals in the peculiar diction and imagery of his original craft, and it is with especial reference to him that the preceding observations have been made. He is known to be skilful in various departments of physical science, and master of the lore proper to his profession; and he has, we need not say, surveyed the globe from China to Peru,' with his own microscopic optics, as well as all the stars in both hemispheres, with one of Dollond's best portable telescopes; but, judging from his writings, we should not suppose his general reading to have been extensive. He makes no pretensions to being a scholar, properly so called, and, therefore, in bringing his views of men and things before the world, has not that copious supply of ready-made figures and expressions which persons of regular literary education and habits can always depend upon; he is thrown continually on his own proper personal resources, and, to the infinite advantage of himself and his readers, turns the log-book at his elbow into a lexicon. The same circumstance, indeed, gives an air of extraordinary freshness to his views and opinions themselves, as well as the language in which he developes them. Whatever he writes about, however hackneyed the topic, we always feel that here is a shrewd clever man thinking for himself, and from himself, and listen to him with a degree of attention and interest which we should find ourselves quite unable to bestow on an exposition of even the very same thoughts, in a more rounded and flowing sequence of what the antiquary of Monkbarns calls pyet words.' We may almost venture to apply to him part of Ben Jonson's famous lines: "His learning savours not the school-like gloss That most consists in echoing words and terms, Nor any long or far-fetch'd circumstance, Of all the worth and first effects of arts. That it shall gather strength and life with being, And live hereafter more admired than now.' Nothing more true than that "le style, c'est l'homme;" in his there is often a sharp turn, a hard corner, an ungraceful twist or projection; but it is all genuine bone and muscle *See the Poetaster.' Jonson pretends to be describing Virgil, but how could even a commentator ever doubt that he was in fact drawing an exquisitely graphic character of a poet as unlike Virgil as any one great poet can be to another--Shaks He, above all the rest of those who lay peare? Of whom else would 'Envious Ben,' have said "That which he hath writ Is with such judgment laboured and distilled Through all the needful uses of our life,-That could a man remember but his lines, He should not touch on any serious point But he might breathe his spirit out of him!' no gummy flesh, far less any padding; and we prefer it to the smooth, oily, well-balanced sing-song in which one mere literateur echoes another, as much as we do a real young face, even with irregular features, to the most finished beauty in a barber's window. There is a critical digression in one of these little volumes which we must quote,-first, because the writer does not often poach on our manor, and, secondly, because the pas sage is a capital one, and will fall in very advantageously with what we have been saying about his own style. Nobody is fonder of a paradox than the captain. Who has forgot his bold, blunt assertion, at the opening of a chapter in the former series, that "it is highly for the benefit of humble-born sea-officers that the scions of nobility should be promoted rapidly in the navy?" or his more recent oral announcement of his belief that "A party man 's the noblest work of God." On the present occasion he sets off thus: "When things are possessed of much intrinsic interest, the very multiplicity of previous descriptions will rather help than stand in the way of subsequent accounts, provided these be written with skill worthy of the subject. We may even, I think, go further, it will be in favour of the writer that his topic should have been not only repeatedly but well treated by previous authors. Who can doubt, for instance, that the Diary of an Invalid' owes its chief interest to the hackneyed nature of the topic? We are enchanted to recognize incidents and scenes the most familiar to our thoughts, trimmed up for fresh inspection by a scholar and a gentleman, who, to much knowledge of his subject, and of the world generally, superadds a rare felicity of expression, and the happy knack of giving new interest to all he touches. If a man of genius, minute and varied local information, and correct taste, were to write a book, and call it London,' it would assuredly outrun in freshness of interest, in the opinion even of the Londoners themselves, all other books of travels. Whatever talents, in short, an author may possess, their most touching and popular exercise will generally be found to lie in those departments with which his readers are most familiar. When Taglioni descends from her pirouettes, and dances the Minuet de la Cour, or the Gavotte, or Paganini leaves off his miracles of sound, and plays some simple air which is well known to every one, we feel, not indeed the same astonishment as before, but ten times more real pleasure. Thus, too, such a novel as 'Pride and Prejudice,' probably derives its greatest charm from the characters and incidents being such as we are already well acquainted with, either from personal observation, or from a thousand previous descriptions. "Many writers, however, fall into the mistake of imagining that every thing will bear this degree of handling, and forget that, while the ductility of fine gold is almost infinite, every other metal has its limit. This analogy will hold in all the fine arts, and perhaps in none more than the art of composition, whether in prose or verse. When will the poets exhaust the good old topics of love and beauty? or painters fail to discover, in mountain scenery, and in the sunsets of summer, varieties of tints, and lights, and shades, far beyond all their power of colouring? On the other hand, has not the whole strength of one celebrated school of painting been unequal to impart true interest, and what has been termed graceful pleasure to vulgar images? Has not even the mighty 'Childe Harold' compelled us to withdraw much of our respect for his genius by seeking to describe what is essentially vicious and degrading?" the author's professional friends for inditing a All this is introduced by way of apology to chapter entitled "A Man Overboard!" and that persons who have, times without number, seen the two-legged, featherless, but no longer laughing animal, so situated, will hold the said attempt to be justified by the method of its execution, we do not doubt. To us, however, and to the great majority of Captain Hall's readers, no apology of this sort could be necessary on the occasion in question. That the manner of the essay is excellently clear and energetic, we, too, can feel:-but the subject-matter itself, has the charm of almost absolute novelty : "After all that has been said of the exact nature of a man-of-war's discipline, and the degree of foresight, preparation, and habits of resource, which enable officers to act promptly and vigorously in the midst of difficulties, it is truly wonderful to see men of experience so completely at a loss as the oldest officers sometimes are, when the cry is given that a man is overboard. I have beheld brave and skilful men, who could face, unmoved, any other sort of danger, stand quite aghast on such ocasions, and seem to lose all their faculties just at the moment of greatest need. Whenever I have witnessed the tumultuous rush of the people from below, their eagerness to crowd into the boats, and the reckless devotion with which they fling themselves into the water to save their companions, I could not help thinking that it was no small disgrace to us, to whose hands the whole arrangements of discipline are confided, that we had not yet fallen upon any method of availing ourselves to good purpose of so much generous activity. "Sailors are men of rough habits, but their feelings are not by any means so coarse; if they possess little prudence or worldly consideration, they are likewise very free from selfishness; generally speaking, too, they are much attached to one another, and will make great sacrifices to their messmates or shipmates when opportunities occur. A very little address on the part of the officers will secure an extension of these kindly sentiments to the quarter-deck; but what I was alluding to just now was the cordiality of the friendships which spring up between the sailors themselves, who, it must be recollected, have no other society, and all, or almost all, whose ordinary social ties have been broken across either by the chances of war, or by the stern decrees which, I fear, will always render impressment absolutely unavoidable, or by the very nature of their roving and desultory life, which carries them they really know not where, and care not wherefore. "I remember once, when cruising off Terceira in the Endymion, that a man fell overboard and was drowned. After the usual confusion, and long search in vain, the boats were hoisted up, and the hands called to make sail. I was officer of the forecastle, and on looking about to see if all the men were at their station, missed one of the fore-top men. Just at that moment I observed some one curled up, and apparently hiding himself under the bow of the barge, between the boat and the booms. Hillo!' I said, 'who are you? What are you doing here, you skulker? Why are you not at your station?' "I am not skulking, sir,' said the poor fellow, the furrows in whose bronzed and weather-beaten cheek were running down with tears. The man we had just lost had been his messmate and friend, he told me, for ten years. I begged his pardon, in full sincerity, for having used such harsh words to him at such a moment, and bid him go below to his berth for the rest of the day. Never mind, sir, never mind,' said the kind-hearted seaman, 'it can't be helped. You meant no harm, sir. I am as well on deck as below. Bill's gone, sir, but I must do my duty. So saying, he drew the sleeves of his jacket twice or thrice across his eyes, and mustering his grief within his breast, walked to his station as if nothing had happened. "In the same ship, and nearly about the same time, the people were bathing alongside in a calm at sea. It is customary on such occasions to spread a studding-sail on the water, by means of lines from the fore and main yard-arms, for the use of those who either cannot swim, or who are not expert in this art, so very important to all seafaring people. Half a dozen of the ship's boys, youngsters sent on board by that admirable and most patriotic of naval institutions, the Marine Society, were floundering about in the sail, and sometimes even venturing beyond the leech rope. One of the least of these urchins, but not the least courageous of their number, when taunted by his more skilful companions with being afraid, struck out boldly beyond the prescribed bounds. He had not gone much farther than his own length however, along the sarface of the fathomless sea, when his heart failed him, poor little man! and along with his confidence, away also went his power of keeping his head above water. So down he sank rapidly, to the speechless horror of the other boys, who, of course, could lend the drowning child no help. "The captain of the forecastle, a tall, finelooking, hard-a-weather fellow, was standing on the shank of the sheet anchor with his arms across, and his well-varnished canvass hat drawn so much over his eyes that it was difficult to tell whether he was awake, or merely dozing in the sun, as he leaned his back against the fore-topmast backstay. The seaman, however, had been attentively watching the young party all the time, and rather fearing that mischief might ensue from their rashness, he had grunted out a warning to them from time to time, to which they paid no sort of attention. At last he desisted, saying they might drown themselves if they had a mind, for never a bit would he help them; but no sooner did the sinking figure of the adventurous little boy catch his eye, than, diver-fashion, he joined the palms of his hands over his head, inverted his position in one instant, and urging himself into a swifter motion by a smart push with his feet against the anchor, shot head foremost into the water. The poor lad sunk so rapidly that he was at least a couple of fathoms under the surface before he was arrested by the grip of the sailor, who soon rose again, bearing the bewildered boy in his hand, and calling to the other youngsters to take better care of their companion, chucked him right into the belly of the sail in the midst of the party. The fore-sheet was hanging in the calm, nearly into the water, and by it the dripping seaman scrambled up again to his old berth on the anchor, shook himself like a great Newfoundland dog, and tben, jumping on the deck, proceeded across the forecastle to shift for himself. "At the top of the ladder he was stopped by the marine officer, who had witnessed the whole transaction, as he sat across the gangway hammocks, watching the swimmers, and trying to get his own consent to undergo the labour of undressing and dressing. Said the soldier to the sailor, That was very well done of you, my man, and right well deserves a glass of grog. Say so to the gun-room steward as you pass; and tell him it is my orders to fill you out a stiff norwester.' The soldier's offer was kindly meant, but rather clumsily timed, at least so thought Jack; for though he inclined his head in acknowledgment of the attention, instinctively touched his hat when spoken to by an officer, he made no reply, till out of the marine's hearing, when he laughed, or rather chuckled out to the people near him, 'Does the good gentleman suppose I'll take a glass of grog for saving a boy's life?'" This is followed by an account of the lifebuoy now generally in use in the royal navy, the invention of Lieutenant Cooke; with some wise and humane suggestions of the author himself as to the propriety of making it a sine qua non that every able seaman should be a swimmer, and that the exertions of the various parts of the crew, in case of a man falling overboard, should be regulated beforehand, secundum artem, and the scene from time to time rehearsed:- "The life-buoy at present in use on board his Majesty's ships, and, I suppose, in all Indiamen, as well as, I trust, in most merchant ships, consists of two hollow copper vessels connected together, each about as large as an ordinary-sized pillow, and of buoyancy and capacity sufficient to support one man standing upon them. Should there be more than one person requiring support, they can lay hold of rope beckets fitted to the buoy, and so sustain themselves. Between the two copper vessels there stands up a hollow pole, or mast, into which is inserted, from below, an iron rod, whose lower extremity is loaded with lead, in such a manner, that when the buoy is let go, |