of Modern Philosophy] who scarcely, we believe, condescends to mention Burke's reveries upon the Sublime and Beautiful, regards as one of the first of our moralists, Brissot did not become acquainted until long afterwards, in America, when he imagined himself in the presence of Socrates, so great was the veneration which the countenance of this great man inspired.

Another distinguished individual to whom Brissot became known during his stay in England, was Lord Mansfield, whom he describes as a polite, obliging person, peculiarly indulgent towards foreigners. The French are all partial to anecdotes, and our author, who in this resembles the rest of his countrymen, tells one of Lord Mansfield, which, if not already acquainted with it, the reader we think, will not be sorry to learn. Upon going the circuit Lord Mansfield one day had a poor old woman brought before him under an accusation of witchcraft. Though exceedingly infirm, it was asserted by all the inhabitants of the village in which she resided, whose positiveness was in all probability proportioned to the absurdity of what they advanced, that she had been seen walking with her feet in the air, and her head downwards; and the witnesses exhibited the utmost eagerness that she should be punished as a witch. The judge, after listening with the greatest composure to the depositions of the witnesses, observed with a grave and solemn countenance." Since you have seen this poor woman, walking in the air, though her legs are scarcely able to support her upon the earth, I can of course entertain no doubt of the fact. But this witch is an Englishwoman, and subject, as well as you and I to the laws of England, every one of which I have just ran over in my mind, without being able, I assure you, to hit upon any one which prohibits persons from walking in the air, if they should find it convenient. All those persons, therefore, who have seen the accused perform her aerial promenades are at liberty to imitate her example; they have an undoubted right to do so, and I will guarantee the most perfect impunity. They shall no more be considered guilty than this woman, whom I now pronounce innocent, and command that she be set at liberty."

Of all the subjects upon which a foreigner attempts to form a judgment, when among a nation of strangers, the one which seems at first the least difficult to appreciate is that which in the end most usually foils his penetration; that is, the literature of the country. Brissot seems to have understood our language tolerably well, sufficiently, indeed, in his own opinion, to justify his undertaking to translate Milton into French-yet, when he comes to speak of our great poets, Pope, Young, and

Shakespeare, (for that is the order in which they are named) seem to be placed exactly upon a par as writers whose lofty thoughts and brilliant style could not fail to delight and elevate the soul. Lillo is enumerated with Beaumont and Fletcher, and Massinger; and although Colman, Hayley, and Mason are said to be inferior to their illustrious predecessors, they are not spoken of as moving at any mighty distance from Shakespeare and Milton! But considering the way in which the generality always view their contemporaries, these misapprehensions with respect to the merit of writers whom he could know but very imperfectly, are not at all to be wondered at; and we mention them merely to show to what egregious mistakes people are liable when they pretend, upon the strength of a hasty acquaintance with a few of its authors, to pronounce upon the merits of a foreign literature. Some of the imperfections and absurdities of the scribbling generation he could not fail to remark, partly because they jarred upon his national feelings, partly because they were too conspicuous to be missed. For example, he mentions with just scorn those bombastic odes, grovelling epistles, and gross satires, or still grosser eulogies, addressed to the ministers and placemen of the day, in which the" generals of Albion" were compared with Cæsar (an usurping tyrant), while those of France were degraded to the rank of Lilliputians; and expresses well-founded surprise at the prevalence of so extraordinary a poverty of invention, and so wretchedly vulgar a taste. We regret that such things should be, but are not surprised. The race of mental Lilliputians is still far from being extinct on either side of the channel; and as long as these dwarf-minded people survive, and they appear to be a tough race, so long will petty nationalities, and a paltry, narrow-minded mode of viewing every thing of foreign growth be in fashion.

Upon the heels of this tirade against one species of vanity comes a passage, in which our worthy philosopher without perceiving it, no doubt exhibits himself indulging in the common failing with as visible a degree of complacency as any of the Lilliputians whom he had been overwhelming with his contempt could have shown. "One of the most distinguished literary men," says he," with whom I came into contact during my stay in London, was the author of the History of the Decline and Fall of the Roman Empire.' He was a little man, broader than he was long, and remarkable for the extreme ugliness and deformity of his whole person; a childish observation, which I should not have made had not the character of our first conversation, which wholly turned upon his features, naturally given rise to it. I had undertaken to furnish certain notices

for an Historical Gallery, to which Marmontel and Laharpe had contributed; and with these notices portraits were given. My business with Gibbon was to request permission to engrave his portrait, which a celebrated artist had lately painted, and at the same time to beg that he would himself draw up the notice of his life, since no one could do it better. This he promised to do, and, although he made me wait too long for the result of his promise, I could perceive that he was no less pleased to transmit to posterity the memoirs of his life than the features of his singular visage." So, then, it appeared to Brissot that the having his portrait and memoirs inserted in the Historical Gallery, to which Marmontel and Laharpe had contributed," was Gibbon's only chance of rendering his memoirs known to posterity! Amazing blindness! This Historical Gallery has been already overwhelmed by oblivion, while Gibbon's Memoirs are become a popular book in our language, with which, in all probability, they will be co-lasting.

However, these little slips of vanity do no harm. They only show that a man may sometimes assume the name of philosopher, and perhaps deserve it under many points of view, without acquiring an exemption from ordinary frailties. Shortly after this, Brissot's pecuniary embarrassments, which were the constant curse of his life, compelled him to relinquish the idea of opening a correspondence with the philosophers of all nations, together with the Lyceum, and the Periodical, and to return disappointed and forlorn to Paris. Here, while he was revolving in his mind, embittered and depressed by misfortune, the various means which presented themselves of providing for himself and his family, which circumstances had constrained him to leave behind in London in extreme distress, he was pounced upon by the harpies of despotism, and plunged in the dungeons of the Bastille. His crime, as he afterwards learned, was the having criticized the works of D'Aguesseau in a tone of levity; a sufficient reason, in the eye of the Government, why he should be kidnapped and confined, and his family, which depended upon his exertions, reduced, for aught they knew or cared, to want a mouthful of bread! Upon his release from confinement, which took place in about two months, and was in part owing to the influence of Madame de Genlis, Brissot, now more than ever inflamed against despotism, flung himself headlong into the revolutionary torrent; became closely connected with Mirabeau, Clavieres, and other advocates of freedom, some of whom were sincere, others not. This portion of his Memoirs, however, though it undoubtedly throws considerable light upon the secret history of the period, and might consequently be useful VOL. XIV.-Westminster Review.

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to the historian, possesses none of those charms which several other portions of the volume exhibit; and accordingly we stop short here. When the third and fourth volumes, in which his career as a traveller and politician is to be described, shall make their appearance, we may again return to the subject, and complete the picture of the life of this able but unfortunate man.

ART. VI. — Traditions of Palestine. Edited by Harriet Martineau. 12mo. Longman and Co. 1830.

THIS is a singular little work: the novelty of its conception bespeaks the originality of the authoress's mind; while its character bespeaks the habitual complexion of her thoughts and pursuits. To say that it is an imitation of the New Testament would be to do an injustice to the writer, who has too much real piety to make the attempt; but the manner and language of the Evangelists is so closely followed, that it requires all her evident humility of spirit and christian sincerity, to prevent its being included among Mr. Hone's list of grave parodies.

The Traditions of Palestine' might, in short, be taken for an apocryphal book of the New Testament. After the manner of the Evangelists the writer narrates certain events (each event embraced in a separate chapter), such as may be supposed to have been contemporaneous, and connected with the preaching of the gospel. One marked distinction is alone maintained: the Messiah is never himself introduced personally, and though we hear of many of his acts, the authoress reverently abstains from attributing to him any act for which she has not a sacred

warrant.

The Traditions of Palestine' are ranged under the following heads "The Hope of the Hebrew," "Life in Death," " "Songs of Praise," "The Wilderness Gladdened," "Behold thy Son," "The Hour of Rest," "Alas! that mighty City."

"The Hope of the Hebrew" is a series of scenes between a young Syrian named Sadoc and his sister, with Paltiel and others. They have heard the Teacher, and their hearts are stirring with wonder and curiosity: they have come out with the early dawn from Capernaum, in order once more to fall in with the mysterious Being, whose words of power have sunk with such force upon them.

The ruddy dawn was breaking over the summits of the mountains which enclose the lake of Genesareth on the eastern side, when Sadoc and his sister Michal came forth from Capernaum, to walk on the beach, which was yet as silent as it had been during the night. They walked quickly, and were mute, till the city was hidden from them by

the projection of a hill, whose base was washed by the waves. They then paused, and gazed on a scene which they were wont to behold, but which now appeared in more than ordinary beauty. The deep vale, in which the lake lay embosomed, was yet reposing in a grey shadow, while the radiance of the morning streamed through the clefts of the opposite mountains, and crimsoned the tops of the western hills. The cedar groves which were scattered on the uplands, and the palms which were grouped among the recesses of the hills, waved their tops in the light cool breeze. The stork winged her slow flight above the groves, while the eagle arose from the highest summit of the rocks, like a dark speck in the sunlight. An aromatic scent spread among the flowering reeds on the borders of the lake, except where a sandy promontory jutted out into the waters, affording an advantageous situation for the fishers, whose boats were seen, here and there, floating on the rippled surface, and whose nets were spread to dry in the morning sun.

Sadoc and his sister directed their steps to one of these promontories, whence they could gain an extensive view of the shores, and could even discern the issue of Jordan from the southern end of the lake. The few habitations which were distinctly visible, presented no sign of life without or within. No human being was in sight; and if the maiden looked around her in search of such a form, her search was vain.

"He cannot yet have passed," said Michal, "though it is said that he sometimes departs by night. It was full late when he dismissed the people, and perhaps he will yet remain another day." "I would we could speak with him," replied her brother, least that we could hear his teachings once again."

or at

66 'My father fears lest we should do so," said Michal, except in the synagogue. If he would return on the next sabbath, we might hear him again without blame; and I surely believe that no man besides can explain the law and the prophets with such truth and power as he."

"His words alone would have awakened me as I am now awakened," said Sadoc; "but his works also show, that he is a prophet from on high."

"Yet our father will not behold nor believe."

"He will not see nor listen, because he is sure that no prophet can arise out of Nazareth. How this may be, I know not; but I know that by Jehovah alone can such a power of healing be given.”

"My father says, also, that in the Temple, with great power and grandeur, must the Deliverer appear."

"So have we always believed, and so it may be. This Teacher may be but the forerunner of the Mighty One, and not the Messiah himself as some say. We must know more before we can reason with our father; but I believe, and will declare this Teacher to be a prophet."

"He comes!" exclaimed Michal, as she saw the figure of a man advancing from the hill which hid the city from them. "But, no!