vine of the last century, but never hitherto published, will, we trust, be acceptable, as we are sure they may be useful to our readers. They are applicable, in truth, to many books of the same class, as well as to the Life of Colonel Gardiner," and contain, we

think, excellent rules for the guidance of the serious reader throughout all that description of writings."]

In an age like the present, when indifference towards religion is, at least, as general as enthusiasm, much good may be derived, I think, from the perusal of Dr Doddridge's "Life of Colonel Gardiner ;" and it does not appear to me that any harm can be done by it, to those who attend to such considerations as the following:

1. The disgust and detestation which, after the event that first led him to think seriously of religion, Gardiner expresses for his former vices and follies, may furnish a useful and striking lesson to those who throw away the vigour of health and talents on pleasures, as they miscall them, which lead only to present disgrace and remorse, and future misery. It was well observed by one of his gay companions, when Gardiner, after his amendment of life, was laying before them" his notions of virtue and religion, "We thought this man mad, and he is in good earnest proving that we are so." (p. 83.) If it be said, that such a lesson as this is hardly needed by persons who are of less lively and violent tempers than Gardiner, and, by their circumstances, less exposed to temptations, it may be answered, that it never can be unseasonable to be warned of the consequences of departure from duty, on the one hand, or of the blessedness of a pious and virtuous life on the other; each is the result of habit, of good or bad impressions cultivated or resisted, of the presence or the absence of the grace of God.

2. It is very pleasing to observe the sense of piety, the love of God and Christ, which ever occupied and animated Colonel Gardiner's mind, after that singular event which turned him from vice and folly. In this part of his character I see nothing enthusiastic. He was a man of quick and lively feeling, and this disposition remained with him, as was natural; and his feelings were still ardent, though directed to other and better objects than

He

those which once engaged him. The general indifference with which religious subjects are discussed, and the backwardness, too, observable to entertain the serious thoughts which religion presents, may induce many to think Gardiner fanatical. I confess he does not appear so to me. speaks of himself with humility,-of the Almighty with the reverence and love of a truly pious and devoted heart,-of our blessed Redeemer with the sentiments which the contemplation of the mercies bestowed on us through Him would naturally produce in such a mind as his, especially when all the circumstances of his history are considered. The tempers of men are very various; and those who are of a disposition not easily moved to much animation, may wonder at the elevation of Gardiner; but this does not prove such elevation to be unnatural or unbecoming. Gardiner, probably, was equally animated in every other concern of life. The apostle St Paul, who was no fanatic, but who was a man of warm and lively temper, is transported almost beyond himself when he speaks of the love and mercy displayed in our redemption; and it becomes us to be cautious before we condemn the warmth, which is not unnatural, but, on the contrary, very probable and praiseworthy, because we may not, from the texture of our minds, be susceptible of it ourselves.

3. Another object of very pleasing consideration to the reader of this volume is the consistency observable in the whole life of Colonel Gardiner after his solemn determination to live religiously. Consistency is the test to which we ought all of us to bring our religious principles and conduct. It is not at one time, or on one occasion, or now and then only, that Gardiner is a pious, elevated Christian ; but it is at all times, and upon all occasions. This is a beautiful and valuable trait in his character. This I do not hesitate to hold up to universal admiration and imitation. Gardiner, in the worst part of his life, (see pp. 29 and 36,) was no hypocrite. He pretended to no sentiments which he did not really feel. And, therefore, we may, from his example, when he was religious and good, learn the efficiency of true Christian principles in the general conduct of life. În this

sense the "Life of Gardiner" is very valuable indeed, for it is in consistency that all of us are but too apt to fail. 4. After thus remarking the good which may be derived from the "Life of Colonel Gardiner," I am obliged to lament, that, in some particulars, it may do injury to incautious readers. In the first place, the story of Gardiner's early life may be made use of, by a certain class of Christians, to induce weak persons to imagine, that, (to use the language of that class,) "to be a great saint, you must have been a great sinner." This is a very dangerous and wicked notion. But I confess that I am not so much afraid of the consequences usually apprehended from the indulgence of this notion, that is, of its driving men to sin, as I am of its effects upon those who cannot justly charge themselves with such offences as Gardiner's, and, therefore, having lived lives free from notorious and abandoned wickedness, are apt to think too well of themselves, and to grow indifferent about their " progress towards perfection," the indispensable duty of every Christian. When such persons read of Gardiner's humiliation of mind, and abhorrence of his past life, they are inclined to say, "This may not be carried too far in Gardiner's case; but we, at least, whose hearts do not so condemn us,' do not need to be so humbled." Thus a check is given to the first right emotion in the heart towards that which is the true beginning of the Christian life; and such persons, whilst they very properly refuse to believe, that, to be great saints, they must have been great sinners," are likely to be driven to as false, although a very opposite conclusion, and to conceive, that, because they are not very great sinners, they are therefore great saints." It appears to me, that this is a danger to be apprehended from all such representations as these, especially when they are made with a kind of coarseness; and the reader is to be warned against this danger, and earnestly counselled to consider, that, if he examine his own heart and conduct "by the rule of God's commandments," he will ever find enough, even in the best life, to keep him humble and watchful, and diffident (not, indeed, in the grace and mercy of God through

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Christ, but) in his own strength and resolution, and his own progress.

5. Again, this instance of a sudden conversion (for Gardiner's was such) may be dangerous to many. It may lead melancholy tempers, groundlessly, to despair. It may lead careless and presumptuous men to greater hardness of heart. There is no reason to doubt that it pleased the Almighty, by a sudden and singular (by no means miraculous) impression upon his imagination and heart, to change Gardiner from a life of wickedness to a life of virtue. There is no 66 gainsaying" the ways and wisdom of the Almighty. But such events, although we cannot doubt or deny them, are not common. They do not appear to be the ordinary course of Providence, although it be sometimes the case that great and permanent effects result from sudden impressions. Therefore they are not to be expected. No man is, with his eyes open, to persist in a course of wickedness until he be stopt by such an interposition, or under the notion that he is to be so stopt. We know who has said, "They have Moses and the prophets, let them hear them." To expect such interposition is dangerous and foolish. The ordinary means of grace and amendment which the goodness of God furnishes are sufficient for us," if we use them conscientiously and diligently. Let no man presume to neglect these, in the expectation of some singular and unusual mercy, which it may not please God to grant. Of all dangerous doctrines, the doctrine of conversion is one of the most dangerous.

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6. In a passage here and there there is, perhaps, an expression or two bordering on spiritual pride,—a strong assurance of confidence in the favour and acceptance of God, which may seem inconsistent with the humility of mind generally observable in Colonel Gardiner, and always amiable in every Christian. I hardly think that these expressions will be found dangerous to the reader. Every one, it is to be hoped, will feel for the elevation of mind which would arise in such a man as Gardiner, when he looked forward through Christ to a future state. And of those who will copy him in his humility, I am not afraid that the minds should be injur ed by his occasional transports.

is it that every one hears, many a one feels, and no one sees?" The chief attraction of these wonderful tales is, that they are not literally tales of wonder, but exact transcripts from real life, where the homeliest everyday characters and occurrences have their place as in the scenes we daily witness. These appear, indeed, blended with, and made subservient to those beings whom nature and fortune have raised above the inferior classes, to be the more distinguished objects of our admiration, our sympathy, or our pity, such as, when acting or suffering have been justly chosen as subjects for the epic or the tragic muse, not merely from dignity of station or loftiness of character, but as possessing those powers of mind which exert a fatal or beneficial influence on the fate of those subordinate agents who happen to be connected with them. The operation of the passions and feelings which belong to our common nature, however differently modified by station and circumstances, are, accordingly, brought to view, and a wider circle is opened for the action of our human sympathies, as well as for our knowledge of mankind. Thus, if the poet's axiom be true, that "the proper study of mankind is man," we grow wiser by seeing him undisguised; and if we are capable of duly appreciating humble virtue, and powerful, though uncultured intellect, we shall grow better by giving a share of good will, and even respect, to those whom ignorant pride, and fastidious delicacy, regard with unmerited contempt.

It is not merely the creative genius of Shakespeare that subjects our spirits to his fictions with the power of absolute reality. It is as much the uses and appliances in which he employs it. The edifices of the master of the drama are the dwellings of human beings, some of whom appear noble and exalted, and others familiar and domestic: all, however, full of life and action, and each displaying the constituent feelings of human nature variously modified by outward circumstances. Shakespeare and our incognito do not merely present us with various modifications of character as they appear in different stations in life, and remote periods of time. They do more. They dispel that illusion, (Scoticé,) glamour, which our artificial modes of life have thrown over

our mental sight, and make us know and feel the workings of our common nature in its original elements, such as it exists among a class of our fellow creatures, to whom we are as strangers, though daily living in their sight, and moving about among them. By withdrawing the veil that our modes of life have interposed between us and the cottage hearth, the labourer's field, and even the haunts of the lawless wanderer, we have not only a more ample source of information and amusement opened to us, but of self-knowledge and moral feeling. Before the wild magnanimity and generous attachment of Meg Merrilies, the unblemished and unbending virtues of the poor awkward and pedantic dominie, the manly spirit, inflexible integrity, and cordial warmth of heart of honest Dandie Dinmont, and even before the stern commanding spirit of old Elspet, though dark with participated guilt, ordinary minds bow with unconscious homage, while the higher order of kindred spirits feel and acknowledge their relation to them, even when they appear sunk in poverty, obscured by ignorance, or soiled by turpitude, induced by their situation and connections. Neither the conceit and vulgarity of Baillie Jarvie, nor the predatory habits of the high-minded freebooter, his kinsman, are of power to obscure the uncultiva ted strong sense and rectitude of the first, or the noble daring, and resolute firmness of the other. We are taught to esteem what is in itself valuable, independent of the forms and modes to which we have been enslaved, and to know that where mind of the superior order exists, it sparkles through all the dross that may chance to environ it, and is, under all circumstances, recognized by its fellow minds.

Nothing can be more limited and monotonous than the habits of thinking, formed by moving always in the self same circle among our equals who have precisely the same views and opinions with ourselves. A sensible country gentleman, not unacquainted with letters, who, living in any remote part of Scotland among " thinking people," that is, among sagacious peasantry, has in his youth often exchanged the city or the college for the country, who has been accustomed, in pursuit of field sports, to mingle

occasionally with his father's tenants, mix easily in their conversation, and occasionally share the food and lodging of the humblest cottagers: suppose such a one in other scenes to have enlarged his mind by books and good conversation, should he afterwards be content to live among his own people, and take a paternal interest in their concerns, besides discharging the usual functions of landlord and magistrate; he will know more of the nature and capacities of mankind, (though perhaps less of manners, as ever varying in the artificial world of fashion,) than any courtier, fine gentleman, or philosopher of the same calibre.

Those graphic likenesses of "manycoloured life," with which we have been so variously delighted, are not mere visions of fancy, nor yet the result of deep study. They are strong features of reality reflected from the mirror of a mind quick to apprehend, and tenacious to retain the images that pass before it. They are not only retained with perfect fidelity, but arranged into such groupes as are calculated to bring out their peculiarities into strong and clear light. "They are not antic shapes, wild natives of the brain," but creatures that live and move, and have a being. Our author is not the artificer of the figures that flit before us. Their colours are

"By nature's sweet and cunning hand laid

on.

He only assigns them the parts they have to act in his inimitable drama. Like Prospero's dainty Ariel, they come and go at his bidding. Prospero himself did not create his obedient spirits, but found them in the island of enchantment, and constrained them by his powerful spells to be the agents of his will, to awake fear, amazement, sorrow, and remorse in the objects of his delusive art, and with equal ease assume forms of grace and beauty to charm their sight, or sooth their wearied senses with the sweetest tones of aërial music. Nothing can be more obvious than the parallel between the magician of Milan and the Scottish wizard, the last specimen of whose art we now proceed to consider.

It is superfluous to give a detailed account of a story universally known, and which all kinds of readers are now commenting upon to the best of their abilities. But we see no

reason why, hearing so many opinions patiently, we should not be patiently heard in our turn, particularly as our brief commentary will neither consume much of the reader's time, nor lead him into details with which he is already familiar. In the mean time, we stop to congratulate the author on his good fortune in hearing so many encomi-> ums, and seeing so many commentaries on his works while they are yet fresh from the press. Shakespeare, whom he most resembles, had slept in the dust more than a century before the crowd of commentators rose up hovering over his bones like the bees over the carcase of Sampson's lion. But the libation of praise which has only been poured on the tombs of his illustrious predecessors, has been offered to him, our author, in an overflowing cup, of which it would appear he has drank without intoxication. Long may he live to enjoy this" sober certainty of waking bliss!"

other of those

The Legend of Montrose must disappoint those who are led by the title to expect a finished portrait of that flower of chivalry. On finding Major Dalgety the prominent figure in the story, many may be as dissatisfied as was Master Slender when he complained that he had got a a great lubberly boy instead of Anne Page. The Earl of Menteith is the most captivating figure in the group, if we except Annot Lyle, who neither says or does any thing except playing on the harp, and singing a song inferior in poetry to any for which we are indebted to the author. Yet by some inexplicable power of captivation in her "gracious silence," and her well arranged hair and tartan dress, all men look after her when she disappears, and wish for her return; and Menteith seems to readers of the same sex. have as many rivals as the author has Who else but our incognito could throw such a potent spell round a figure so little seen or heard? But, to return to Dalgety, we must be indulged in one quotation, which will set the ample figure of the ritt-master distinctly before the eyes of every one worthy to behold that formidable apparition.

"The solitary stranger was mounted upon an able horse, fit for military service, and for the great weight which he had to carry, and his rider occupied his demipique,