then be somewhat surprised at the difference.

This investigation satisfied me also in regard to the appearance of the organs of constructiveness, which I had formerly imagined to be small. The appearance arises from the very unusual developement of the neighbour ing organs; and, besides, as Spurzheim observes, that organ only constructs," that is, it only reduces mechanical inventions to practice, when fairly devised and laid down by other faculties; and the inventive power, much more than the constructive, is the astonishing feature in John Spence's mind.

As he was thus free in allowing me to examine his head, I proceeded farther in the investigation. I found that he had a considerable developement of ideality, or imagination, a very large developement of cautiousness and of philoprogenitiveness. In short, he has a very large head altogether, but these organs are large above their fellows. On this observation being made, he said, " If you would but ask my wife, she would tell you whether I love my children," in a tone which indicated that a string had been touched, which vibrated in his bosom, accompanied with feelings of delight. He added, "You may judge yourself whether I am cautious.' So far as I have been able to observe, he is very cautious; and some individuals who have been attempting to impetrate his secret from him, regarding the perpetual motion, will be able to confirm my testimony from their own expe

rience.

I beg leave to mention, in the close, Mr Editor, that every circumstance now mentioned was detailed by Spence, and transacted in presence of a gentleman, with whom you are personally acquainted, and who will vouch for the accuracy of the representation. The importance of the subject will, I hope, be accepted as an apology for the too great space occupied in your pages. I am, &c.

June 1, 1818.

Y. Z.

PILGRIMAGE ΤΟ CANTERBURY. PAINTED BY T. STODART, R. A. ETCHED BY LEWIS SCHIAVONETTI.

FINISHED BY JAMES HEATH, A. R. A. THE public curiosity has at length been gratified by the appearance of

this beautiful, and long expected engraving, the publication of which has been delayed, by unavoidable circumstances, to a much later period than was originally anticipated.

Many of our readers will recollect the original picture, which, with a view to promote the subscription for the print, and which was deservedly admired by the most intelligent critics in this branch of the fine arts, was exhibited here by the late Mr Cromek, several years ago.

The subject is taken from the prologue to Chaucer's Canterbury Tales, and exhibits a spirited and characteristic representation of the motley company who travel with Chaucer on his pilgrimage to Canterbury. The droughte of March hath perced to the "Whanne that April with his shoures sote,

rote,

And bathed every veine in swiche licour,
Of whiche vertue engendred is the flour:
Whanne Zephirus eke with his sote brethe
Enspired hath in every holt and hethe
The tendre croppes, and the young sonne
Hath in the ram his half cours y-ronne,
And smale foules maken melodie,
That slepen alle night with open eye.

So priketh hem nature in her corages;
Than longen folk to go on pilgrimages,
And palmeres for to seken strange strondes,'
To serve halwes couth in sundry londes ;
And specially, from every shires ende
Of Englelond, to Canterbury they wende,
The holy blisful martyr for to seke,
That hem hath holpen whan that they were
seke.

Befelle, that, in that seson on a day,
In Southwerk at the Tabard as I lay,

Redy to wenden on my pilgrimage
To Canterbury with devoute corage;
Wel nine and twenty in a compagnie,
At night was come into that hostelrie
Of sondry folk, by aventure yfalle
In felawship, and pilgrimes, were they alle,
That toward Canterbury wolden ride."

Frank

The twenty-nine personages are, the Miller, the Host, Doctor of Physic, Merchant, Serjeant-at-law, lein, Knight, Reve, Young Squire, Yeoman, Ploughman, Good Parson, Lady Prioress, Nun, Nun's Priest, Oxford Scholar, Manciple, Wife of Bath, Pardonere, Sompnour, Monk, Shipman, Friar, the Poet himself, and four citizens of London, viz. a Goldsmith, Weaver, Haberdasher, Dyer, and Tapestry Merchant, and their Cook. So numerous an assembly of persons, from so many different ranks of life, presents a variety of

cruelly massacred the whole family, sleeping securely in their beds, suspecting no harm. This done, he seized upon his possessions, which were the most extensive of any gentleman's in that county.

diately informed him, with all the feeling of an old servant and dependant of the family, of his birth and misfortune. The young gentleman listened with the utmost concern, and being sensibly touched at the barbarous treatment of his parents, he burst out into tears, and poured out his soul in the bosom of his faithful guardian. Being now fully acquainted with what had happened, he grew impatient for the recovery of his birth-right, and the punishment of the perpetrators of the massacre. It is scarce credible what pleasure the old man felt at finding the dear object of his care now ready to accompany him to his own country. They both solicited his relations for a select band of warriors to march against his enemy, who were soon prevailed upon to grant their request. Accordingly, twenty-four able men, well armed, were raised, who immediately set out and arrived at his grandfather's, who joined them with other eight. From thence they betook themselves to the wood of Little Uvrard, where they remained very quiet until they received intelligence from Hugh's nurse. Calling at her door, she asked who it was at such a late hour. He replied that he was Hugh M'Intosh.

Near the murdered gentleman's place lived an old man, who held a small piece of land of him, for which he only paid a bonnet yearly. His master always gave him his old bonnet when he received the new one; for which reason that piece of land is still called the Bonnet Croft, and the tenant thereof was called the Bigstone Carle, because he built his house beside a large stone, which served as a side or gable to his house. The above old man wondered how his master's place could be so quiet, and, perceiving no smoke in the morning after the slaughter, went at last to know the cause. He no sooner entered, than he saw some of their mangled bodies lying lifeless on the floor. Astonished at such a shocking spectacle, he examined them all over, in expectation of finding some remains of life, but in vain. Overwhelmed with grief, he turned up the cradle in search of an infant, who was known by the name of Dwindling Hugh, and, to his no small joy, found him alive, but almost erushed to death with the weight of the cradle and clothes. He eagerly seized the child, and carried him to his grandfather by the mother's side, Macglashan of Innervack, who sent him to a near relation in Argyllshire, of the name of Campbell, in order to be out of Cuming's way, where he was carefully brought up. The old man who carried him thither came often to see him, but, on account of the greatness of the Cumings every where in Scotland, it was thought prudent to conceal his birth from him, until he was of age to make head against them. Though he was long weakly, he at length recovered and grew up to manhood, was a very promising youth, and an excellent bowman, which made his aged conductor entertain hopes of his being some time or other able to revenge the murder of his family. Coming one time to see him, and perceiving his dexterity at hitting the mark, he told him, that the breast of the man who killed his father was much broader,-which greatly surprised the youth, who knew nothing of it before. The old man imme

VOL. II.

It is like your

37

66

entrails came out. While they were thus hotly pursued up the Glen by Macglashan, the other division, commanded by Hugh, took a near cut round a mountain, and was a considerable way beyond them, and waited for their coming up. It is said, that the old man was always the foremost of his company, and when he saw them approach, he prepared himself, and in a fierce warlike tone, said to the young gentleman, Here comes the great Cuming riding foremost; if you let him escape, you deserve a coward's death." On which Hugh instantly drew an arrow and shot Cuming through the heart from the other side of a small lake called Loch-loch. He fell upon a broad stone at the road side, where, according to custom, a heap of stones was raised in remembrance thereof, still to be seen, called Cuming's Cairn. Such monuments are called by the Highlanders Cairne folachd, i. e. Cairns of hatred.

DEFENCE OF RACINE'S PHEDRE,

In answer to the Remarks on Greek and French Tragedy, inserted in the Magazine for December 1817.

MR EDITOR,

IN your Magazine for December, which has lately reached me here, I have read, with a considerable degree of surprise, some remarks which are intended as a comparison of Greek and French tragedy in general, and more particularly of the Hippolytus of Euripides, and the Phedre of Racine. It is not the illiberality of that comparison that caused my surprise. I know that criticisms on works of foreign nations are scarcely ever dictated by a spirit of true impartiality, and are, consequently, of little service to the literary world. The chief reason of the false judgments which are usually passed on foreign productions is, that the critic does not take care, from the beginning, to place himself in the true point from whence he might be enabled to judge with rectitude. Setting out on a false principle, his consequences never can be true. Bred from his cradle to a blind admiration of the masterpieces which his own language has produced, every work which departs more or less from that standard of beauty, in his eyes, must unavoidably appear more or less defective. Is there, in fact, a true

standard of beauty? I do not think so. Every man has his peculiar taste, and every soil its peculiar production. The verdant landscapes of England cannot but appear delightful to each true friend of nature, though they are not adorned by the fragrant orangebowers of Italy; and the Alpine scenes of desolation have beauties unknown in the luxuriant plains of the Ganges. In order to judge truly whether a work of literature is perfect in its kind, we must, therefore, first consider whether the everlasting rules of nature, which are the same all over the surface of the globe, have been preserved in it; and secondly, whether those rules have been well adapted to the language in which the work has been written, and the nation for whom it was written.

In mentioning the everlasting rules of nature, I do not mean to speak of the rules of tragedy as laid down by Aristotle. Whether or not the uni ties of time, place, and action, contribute to the perfection of a dramatic performance, is a point I shall for the present lay aside, although I am of opinion that the preservation of these rules is highly important, I am ever ready to acknowledge that they are not dictated by nature, but by art. I do not intend, however, to give any person a right to conclude, from what I have said against the observation of the unities. The number of moduli contained in a Corinthian pillar has nothing to do with nature, and still its exact observation, with some small varieties, is necessary to the effect of a fine piece of architecture.

But to return to the rules of nature in a tragedy, they are, in my opinion, as follows:

1. The author must have an aim towards the attaining of which every thing in his piece must lead.

2. He must never in any scene de viate from that aim.

3. The different episodes must all have a direct influence on the plot.

4. They must be put together in such a manner, as to create the highest interest possible.

5. The events must be in the ordinary course of possible things, or if miraculous, must be authorized by the history or legends of the time.

6. The characters must be such as are to be found amongst mankind. 7. Every person must keep up to

the end the character he has developed from the beginning, and all his actions be consequential and reasonable according to his given character.

8. The customs of the age and country wherein the action is supposed to happen, must be faithfully preserved throughout the piece, in the actions and speeches of the dramatis persona.

Let us examine Racine's Phedre, according to these rules.

I shall begin by observing a point of great importance concerning Phedre; a point which most of Racine's critics seem to have forgot, when they compared his tragedy to the Hippolytus of Euripides. I mean that Racine has called his piece Phedre, and not Hippolytus, shewing clearly by that that his intention was to throw the chief interest upon the wife, and not upon the son of Theseus. He made use of the work of Euripides, and still more, perhaps, of Seneca's, but only so far as was consistent with his plan. It is, therefore, quite an useless chicane to inquire whether the character of Hippolytus is precisely such as Euripides painted it. His character in Racine is natural; he acts rationally and consequentially throughout the piece; that is all we have to consider.

But let me not anticipate my own arguments. I have said that an author must have an aim, towards the attaining of which every thing in his piece must lead. Racine's aim in Phedre was to show that a guilty thought may sometimes enter into an innocent breast; that, in such a case, true virtue resists and conquers, but weakness wavers,-lends an ear to perfidious counsels,—is guided by circumstances,-falls,-and is drawn, at last, to lengths at which the heart would have shuddered a short time before. Such is the case with Phedre. She is young, handsome, and virtuous, until she falls in love with Hippolytus. She tries to conquer her love. Had she conquered it, indeed, the tragic event would never have taken place. Had she fallen immediately, she would have excited nothing but disgust, whereas the author intended to make the audience pity, while they blame her. In the first act we see her struggle. She shows plainly that she is able to conquer, provided circumstances aid her.

If Theseus had returned in time, Phedre would have been saved. There begins the interest the audience feel in her fate. Then comes the news that Theseus is dead. The first feeling we have is the forlorn state of Phedre, without a single friend to advise her. The critic in your review, after quoting the verses which Oenone addresses to Phedre,

Votre flamme devient une flamme ordinaire,

Thésée en expirant vient de rompre les nœuds

Qui faisoient tout le crime et l'horreur de vos feux,

exclaims, "This is French morality expressed with all the graces of French poetry!" I beg leave to explain here what the critic seems not to have understood. Oenone's speeches are by no means French morality. The most depraved among the French know very well that love for a son-in-law is an incestuous passion, and, however depraved a nation may be, they never suffer immoral maxims to be proclaimed on a public stage. that is in no way the case here. The sense is clear to any one who reads or listens to it with impartiality. The character of Oenone represents a courtier always ready to justify, by the vilest pretences, all his master's weaknesses, and that of Phedre, a guilty heart, happy to find an excuse for its crime, however shallow the excuse may be.

But

The advice of Oenone is still not sufficient to induce Phedre to give en◄ tirely way to her passion. Her only answer is,

Hé bien ! à tes conseils je me laisse entrâ

iner.

neste,