"Now hear me-this Stranger-it may be mere folly But who do you think we all think it is, Dolly? Why, bless you, no less than the great King of Prussia, Who's here now incog.-he, who made such a fuss, you Remember, in London, with BLUCHER and PLATOFF, When SAL was near kissing old BLUCHER'S cravat off! Pa says he's come here to look after his money, (Not taking things now as he used under BONEY,) Which suits with our friend, for BOB saw For he knows the Legitimate cut, and could see, In the way he went poising and manag'd "As to Marshals, and Statesmen, and all their whole lineage, For aught that I care, you may knock them to spinage; But think, Dick, their Cooks-what a loss to mankind! What a void in the world would their art leave behind! Their chronometer spits-their intense salamanders Their ovens their pots, that can soften old ganders, All vanish'd for ever-their miracles o'er And the Marmite Perpétuelle bubbling no more ! Forbid it, forbid it, ye Holy Allies, Take whatever ye fancy-take statues, take money But leave them, oh leave them their Perigueux pies, Their glorious goose-livers, and high pickled tunny! Though many, I own, are the evils they've brought us, Though Royalty's here on her very last legs, Yet, who can help loving the land that has taught us Six hundred and eighty-five ways to dress eggs? "You see, DICK, in spite of their cries of "God-dam,' • Coquin Anglais,' et cæt'ra-how generous I am!" Mr Connor, the tutor, is too solems a personage to mix with these giddy people. But we cannot take our leave of the Fudge Family without paying our respects to the old gentleman himself. He is but a blundering fellow, as we have already said. Here is an extract from his journal, addressed to Lord C., in proof of it. None but a wrong-headed man, as much so almost as the madman he mentions, while employed upon such a mission, and by such an exalted personage, would write in these terms: "Went to the Mad-house-saw the man, Who thinks, poor wretch, that, while the Fiend Of Discord here full riot ran, He, like the rest, was guillotin'd;— But that when, under BONEY's reign, (A more discreet, though quite as strong one,) The heads were all restor❜d again, He, in the scramble, got a wrong one. Accordingly, he still cries out This strange head fits him most unpka- And always runs, poor dev'l, about, "While to his case a tear I dropt, And saunter'd home, thought I-ye How many heads might thus be swopp'd, To settle on BILL SOAMES's shoulders, Th' effect would turn out much the same On all respectable cash-holders: Except that while, in its new socket, The head was planning schemes to win A zig-zag way into one's pocket, The hands would plunge directly in. "Good Viscount S-D-TH, too, instead Of his own grave, respected head, Might wear (for aught I see that bars) Old Lady WILHELMINA FRUMP'SSo while the hand signed Circulars, The head might lisp out What is trumps?' ""Twas thus I pondered on, my Lord; And, ev'n at night, when laid in bed, I found myself, before I snor'd, Thus chopping, swopping head for head. At length I thought, fantastic elf! How such a change would suit myself. 'Twixt sleep and waking, one by one, With various pericraniums saddled, At last I tried your Lordship's on, And then I grew completely addledForgot all other heads, od rot 'em! And slept, and dreamt that I was-BOTTOM." To this little book there are subjoined a few learned notes, according to the present fashionable practice, and finally, an appendix, containing some pieces that had been published in the Morning Chronicle. There is bad taste, or something worse, we suspect, in these last exhibitions, one or two of which do not rise much above the level of Peter Pindar. But the lines on the death of Sheridan bear the marks of a lofty and powerful mind, worthy of the best patriots of the classic ages, displayed with all the characteristic warmth and recklessness of a modern Irishman. We do not certainly think meanly of Mr Moore's talents for exciting laughter, contempt, and indignation, yet the following verses seem to us worth all the Fudges together. It is not quite orderly, perhaps, to send an audience home with matter of serious reflection, after witnessing scenes of obstreperous merriment, yet we cannot help enriching our pages with the following stanzas; there is a moral in them, VOL. II. "Whose humour, as gay as the fire-fly's light, Play'd round every subject, and shone as it play'd ; Whose wit, in the combat, as gentle as bright, Ne'er carried a heart-stain away on its blade ; "Whose eloquence-bright'ning whatever it tried, Whether reason or fancy, the gay or the grave, Was as rapid, as deep, and as brilliant a tide, As ever bore Freedom aloft on its wave!" "Yes such was the man, and so wretched his Fate ; And thus, sooner or later, shall all have to grieve, 4 C Who waste their morn's dew in the beams the memoir before us. It is written of the Great, And expect 'twill return to refresh them at eve!" Memoirs of the late Mrs Elizabeth Hamilton; with a Selection from her Correspondence, and other unpublished Writings. By Miss BENGER. In Two Volumes. London, 1818. FEW individuals, in our time, have had better claims to a place in the remembrance of posterity than the admirable subject of these Memoirs. The many useful and ingenious works which she has given to the world, are a sufficient call for an attempt to preserve her history; and those who had the honour of her acquaintance, and are well aware that her life was still more estimable than her writings, will be satisfied that the picture of it must be no less instructive than interesting. To an excellent understanding, Mrs Hamilton joined a most affectionate and kind heart; and the playfulness of her fancy was always subservient to the natural cheerfulness of a benevolent and well-regulated mind. It is impossible to contemplate such a character without, for the time at least, becoming happier and better; and we feel grateful whenever characters of this kind are presented to us, even supposing them to have been undistinguished in the world, and to have met with no share of public applause. The virtues of private life, it is true, are seldom of themselves made the theme of the biographer, but they always form the most pleasing, as well as the most useful, part of his task,-the early and most unknown years of those who have become illustrious, are, commonly, those which we contemplate with most delight, and in the biography of all eminent individuals they are surrounded with relatives and associates who are little less interesting to us than themselves. A person must have done or written something, indeed, by which he is known, before we care to hear anything about him but when once our curiosity is awakened, we are much more concerned about what he is, than about what he has either done or written. In this view, nothing can be more attractive than by a friend of Mrs Hamilton, under a deep feeling of the virtues which she has undertaken to pourtray. There is no attempt in it, however, to colour these virtues too highly; the character is very fairly and simply represented; and it is left to make its impression from its own weight, not from any force of artificial eloquence. There may, perhaps, to a critical eye appear a defect in the lat ter part of the narrative,-from the period of Mrs Hamilton commencing author, to the time of her death, the account is somewhat hurried and incomplete,-and the ingenious writer has repressed, with too much modesty, almost every thing like criticism or remark on the various publications of her friend. But she has detailed much more fully (and we are grateful for the preference which she has here shewn) the earlier and humbler portion of this excellent person's history; and although we must regret that this part, at least, was not executed, as it was begun, by the lively and discriminating pen of Mrs Hamilton herself, we are happy to acknowledge the kindred spirit with which Miss Benger has pursued the interesting theme. The few pages of Mrs Hamilton's own writing rather relate to her ances tors than herself. She goes a good way back, but skims over the ground very rapidly and smoothly. Her great grandfather, a zealous covenanter, took refuge in Ireland from the persecutions to which his religion was subjected in Scotland, in the time of Charles II. Her grandfather died of a broken heart from the ruin of his fortune by the extravagance of a beautiful wife; and her mother was left a widow be fore her father had time to retrieve the fortunes of the family. Eliza beth was the youngest of three children,-her mother, a very sensible and strong-minded woman, consented, in the embarrassed state of their affairs, that she should be separated from her brother and sister, and sent to Scotland, to live in the house of an aunt who resided near Stirling. She herself undertook the charge of the other two, but was not long preserv ed to them. In consequence of this separation, Elizabeth passed many of her first years at a distance from those relatives from whom she was afterwards destined to derive both the greatest solace and sorrows of her life. But to her ardent mind, affection seemed to gain strength from absence; and the brother and sister whom she pourtrayed, to her imagination, were, perhaps, more beloved than if she had never been parted from them. This circumstance gives a singular and romantic kind of interest to the early part of her history,-her love for her absent brother, especially, almost reminds us of the musings of Electra over the long-expected Örestes. She saw him once only during this period, in a short visit which he made to his aunt after he had completed his education, and was on the point of setting sail for India; but, from that time, she maintained with him a constant correspondence;-one visit, likewise, she paid to Ireland, and had the happiness to meet her sister, and this was all the personal intercourse which she had for many years with these her nearest and dearest friends. There is something not less pleasing and uncommon in the character of that society in which she passed these years. "My aunt," she says in one of her letters, "had received from her father such an education as few females in Scotland were at that period favoured with; nor have I ever met with a mind at once so gentle and so strong. Her father's death had thrown her on the world, or rather on heaven; for to heaven all her thoughts were directed. Yet, by her letters, I perceive that it was not without a struggle that she so far conquered all worldly views and prejudices, as to unite herself to a man who was her inferior in birth, though entitled to rank with the greatest of the great in virtue. By this worthy couple I was adopted, and educated with a care and tenderness that has been seldom equalled. No child ever spent so happy a life; nor, indeed, have I ever met with any thing at all resembling the way in which we lived, except the description given by Rousseau of Wolmar's farm and vintage." 66 To Mr Marshall, her aunt's husband, she elsewhere says, might well be applied what the poet Burns has said of an Ayrshire friend, that ' he held his patent of nobility direct from Almighty God.' Though the son of a peasant, he had received the advantage of an education superior to his birth; and as the seed that was thus sown fell into a fruitful soil, the sentiments it inspired would have done honour to the most exalted sta tion." This venerable couple lived at a beautiful little cottage not far from the celebrated stream of Bannockburn. Elizabeth's first rudiments of education were received at a day-school in Stirling, the master of which, Mr Manson, she always remembered with much gratitude. But the best part of her education was from Nature and her own mind. She rambled about the romantic glens and burns of the delightful country in which she resided, and had the advantage which she would not probably have had in a more refined circle, that her faculties and affections opened freely and unrestrained. She early acquired a great love for reading; and privately had recourse to profounder studies than even her liberal-minded aunt perfectly approved of. Yet she did not fall into the error of some who aim at becoming independent thinkers; but on one occasion, when her belief in revelation was in some hazard of being shaken by the scepticism of an acquaintance of the family, she soon established her faith by studying the sacred writings, and "deciding the question from her own unbiassed judginent. The result of this examination was a conviction of their truth; and she observed, that the moral precepts connected with the doctrines of Christianity, were too pure to have been promulgated by an impostor." She soon, too, attempted composition ;-there is still remaining the fragment of a novel which she wrote at this early period, not a little ingenious, and with much of her easy flow of language; and her letters to her brother then in India, (her mind derived great improvement from a correspondence with this enlightened and amiable man,) have all the spirit and vivacity of her later writings. During this time Mrs Marshall died, and perhaps the most exemplary part of the life of Elizabeth, was the years which succeeded before the return of her brother and the death of Mr Marshall. She now felt her genius opening to much greater aspirations than she had then any hope or opportunity of reaching; yet without repining or seeming to think that she was at all in a station inferior to her talents, she patiently lived a secluded life with her good old uncle, now become very infirm, talking to her of little else but farming and politics, and passing a good part of his evening asleep in his arm chair,-while her imagination was silently rambling to her brother, or pursuing, it might be, detached hints of her future speculations. At length, as if to reward this life of steady duty, her brother returned,-came for a time to enliven her retreat, and, upon the death of her uncle, conveyed her to London, where they were joined likewise by the much respected and attached sister, who had hitherto resided in Ireland, but who, from this time, continued to share till the last in all her joys and sorrows. Every thing now seemed to be realized which Elizabeth Hamilton had pourtrayed to herself of earthly felicity:-a happy home, under the roof of her affectionate and accomplished brother, and the best society for virtue, intelligence, and good manners, which the metropolis could afford. What a contrast to the rustic seclusion of her life at Ingram's Crook, and although that had in many respects been a happy one, yet what a bright spot was this change in the career of a mind like hers-Alas! another change was but too speedily to follow. This beloved brother carried in his frame the seeds of a mortal disease, and while he was anxiously labouring in a translation of the Hedaya or code of Mussulman laws, which would have still farther extended his fortune and his fame, he died at the early age of thirty-nine. We may easily imagine how much the affectionate mind of Elizabeth sunk for a time under this fatal blow; yet while "she was musing in sadness, the fire kindled, and at last she spake with her tongue." It was from this apparent blight of all her earthly hopes, that the birth of her public usefulness and literary honours commenced. Her brother had fostered her talents, and had even advised her to bring them into open view; and, after the first bitterness of his death had passed, she felt herself called upon to follow the voice of his spirit. Her first work, the "Hindoo Rajah,” was no doubt suggested by the Oriental subjects into which his conversation had led her thoughts. It was received with the greatest applause, and she was encouraged to proceed to other works. She met with equal success in her "Modern Philosophers;" and then attempting a more didactic style of writing, she published her "Letters on Education," which, notwithstanding the philosophical diction in which they were conveyed, became likewise immediately very popular. From this period, as we have mentioned, the story somewhat loses its interest; we now see little more of Mrs Hamil ton, but are rather told of her books, and these, though admirable and useful, are yet, we think, less cngaging than herself. In her "Cottagers of Glenburnie," indeed, ali the simplicity of her earlier years revives, and, in the delight with which she paints, in that inimitable performance, Scottish scenery and Scottish manners, we forget the authoress, and return to the humble and unknown inhabitant of Ingram's Crock. Mrs Hamilton, in her manners, always retained that simplicity; there was nothing about her of the formality or pretension of authorship; and whoever had the happiness to be in her society, saw in her only, amid her unaffected good sense and cheerfulmess, the most natural and unpresuming person in the company. It need not be mentioned, that, during many of the later years of her life, this city was honoured with her presence. Her house was the resort of the most intelligent and worthy of its inhabitants; and, although often suffering severely from a broken state of health, she entered with animation into conversation, whenever she was able to collect her friends a round her. Nor was there any plan of usefulness or charity to which she was not always ready to contribute her advice and active assistance. Reading, and the composition of her works, occupied the reinainder of her time,-while she could enjoy life, she did enjoy it to the full, happy, in the affections of her domestic circle, and in that spirit of devout thankfulness with which she ascribed every bles sing to Him who gave it. There is something very lofty and edifying in the following reflections, written on the last birth-day which she was permitted to see: "In all events that have befallen me, the wisdom and goodness of an overruling from infancy to the present day, I perceive joy and sorrow, as were to me most needprovidence, distributing sickness and health, ful for correction or comfort; and in every instance, alike salutary and beneficial. Though dark clouds have sometimes passed over me, never have they been permit. ted effectually to obscure the sun of truth, |