the appointed and avowed chief manager for the king of Naples, and that he had judged it the best possible co-operation with the Cardinal, in the case in question, to agree to the capitulation. Those eulogists of the naval hero who must justify every thing he did, alledge that Cardinal Ruffo was not authorized by his orders to enter into any such convention with rebels; they pretend, but do not make the Captain believe, that there was a letter to Ruffo from the king his master, strongly reproaching him with having acted in opposition to his royal will. Even Lord Nelson, on the evening of the day on which he had thrown out the annulling signal, in a conversation with Captain Foote, (whom, it is to be observed, he never ceased to treat with respect and confidence) justified his own proceeding by asserting, that Ruffo had acted in direct contrariety to the intention of his Si cilian Majesty. Captain Foote answers, that this, whether it was true or not, is nothing at all to the question; for that be in fulfilling his orders to co-operate with Ruffo, was absolutely bound to regard him as acting conformably to his commission as representative of the king, and had no cause whatever to suspect otherwise; and that when once a solemn treaty had been concluded, the honour and faith of England were not to be given to the winds, and the men for whose safety they were irrevocably ens gaged, surrendered to the rope and the axe, just because it turned out that a king of Sicily and his general had been at a misunderstanding or cross-purposes between themselves. And the sanction, he remarks, was peculiarly strong and peremptory in a case where mercy was on the side of fulfilling the engagement. Finally, against all sophistry, evasion, and quibbling, relative to the completeness of the form of the treaty, all attempts to represent it as merely a truce,' or a 'project' of a capitulation, in order to palliate the guilt of its infringement, he firmly declares, with many repetitions, that it was a capitulation, in the most perfect sense and most finished form., Nothing can be more evident than the fact, that a solemn capitulation had been agreed upon, formally signed by the chief commander of the forces of the king of Naples, by the Russian commander, and by myself, all duly authorized to sign any capitulation in the absence of superior powers. This was not a treaty of peace, subject to ratification, it was not a truce liable to be broken; it was a serious agreement for surrender, upon terms which involved the lives and properties of men, who might have chosen to forfeit those lives and properties, had they not relied principallyon the faith of a British officer. p. 47. They might have chosen to sacrifice their existence, rather than have yielded at discretion, to those from whom little mercy was to be expected. The very name of an English offi cery acting for his country, was esteemed sufficient for the security of all that was dear to men. On this national character Italians relied with confn. dence, before this unfortunate moment, in which a wretched infatuation produced this breach of sacred engagements. In what light the faith of Britain was regarded in Italy after this measure, let the author of the "Ge-. nuine Memoirs" explain.' p. 17. It is hinted, in terms not equivocal, what influence it was that perverted, on this deplorable occasion, the feelings and conduct of a man who, on many other occasions, displayed a remarkable degree of generosity. And the instance may be added to the multitude of examples, by which history has vainly warned men in high stations, to what dreadful consequences they may be in effect consenting to proceed, when they surrender themselves to such an influence. Its noxious operation in the present case might have been in some degree checked, if in the mind it acted on there had been any political principles derived from the school of Locke. But we recollect, that, in reading the distinguished Admiral's letters written in Sicily, about the time that the king's continental territory was in a state of commotion or revolution, we were forcibly struck in observing, in what an unconditional and unlimited form he assumed the rule of authority and submission, as applicable to that monarch (to such a monarch!) and his people. Such opinions perhaps do not deviate far from their genuine tendency if, under syren influences prompting to a co-operation in royal revenge, they lead to such consequences as we have been contemplating. Art. III. Eighteen Hundred and Eleven. A Poem. By Anna Lætitia Barbauld. 4to. Price 2s. 6d. J. Johnson and Co. 1812. DISPOSED as we are to receive every performance of Mrs. Barbauld with peculiar cordiality, yet her choice of a subject in this instance, as well as her manner of treating it, is so unfortunate, that we scarcely ever read a poem of equal merit with so little pleasure. It consists, in one word, of ingenious speculations on the utter ruin of England. The whole tone of it is in a most extraorninary degree unkindly and unpatriotic,we had almost said unfilial. Such is her eagerness to read a lecture on morbid anatomy, and display her knowledge of the appearances post mortem, that she actually begins to demonstrate on the body of her venerable parent, while she is yet in very tolerable health; and in doing this preserves all the while such perfect composure, as is to us absolutely astonishing. The old lady herself will not relish this treatment, we are sure. She will undoubtedly observe, that she considers herself a very good life at present, and has so little doubt of surviving all her existing progeny, that instead of punishing her graceless daughter by cutting her off with a shilling, she will frown upon her through life, and finally take ample vengeance by inscribing an epitaph on her tomb. It seems hardly possible that such a poem as this could have been produced, without the concurrence of a peculiarly frigid temperament, with a system of speculative opinions which seems contrived to damp every glowing sentiment, and the spirit of that political party, which cherishes no sympathy with the honour and happiness of England, but delights to magnify her faults, expose her weakness, and anticipate her disasters. It is our duty, however, to give some specimens of the singular composition, on which we have hazarded these strictures. The poem begins with the following lines, which certainly have not the disadvantage of raising any inordinate expecta tions for the sequel to disappoint. Still the loud death drum, thundering from afar, And seeks by turns to prop each sinking state.'-p. 1: After describing the miserable condition of a country which is the scat of war,, she proceeds And think'st thou, Britain, still to sit at ease, An island Queen amidst thy subject seas, But soothe thy slumbers, and but kiss thy shore? And fold their arms, and watch with anxious breast, Yes, thou must droop; thy Midas dream is o'era The golden tide of Commerce leaves thy shore, Leaves thee, perhaps, to visit distant lands, And deal the gifts of Heaven with equal hands-p. 4. Vol. Vill. 2 R A similar apprehension is expressed toward the end of the in the following terms: poem, Arts, arms and wealth destroy the fruits they bring By the gray ruin and the mouldering stone; Yet then the ingenuous youth whom Fancy fires From Runnymede to send the patriot's prayer; In pensive thought, where Cam's slow waters wind, In silent halls to sculptured marbles bow, And hang fresh wreaths round Newton's awful brow.'-p. 10. When London's faded glories rise to view? Ungirt by walls, irregularly great, No jealous drawbridge, and no closing gate; Whose merchants (such the state which commerce brings) Sent forth their mandates to dependant kings; Streets, where the turban'd Moslem, bearded Jew, Where through each vein spontaneous plenty flowed, And, choked no more with fleets, fair Thames survey Through reeds and sedge pursue his idle way.'-p. 12-14. We have read and transcribed these passages with the more patience, because they appear so unlikely to be realized. We ought to be satisfied, perhaps, with the prospect of " 4 peace 1 in our time." The great process of human improvement may be confided to divine wisdom, though Britain should cease to be the instrument of carrying it in But Mrs. Barbauld's' visions appear to us equally ignoble and irrational. In whatever aspect this subject is fairly considered,-whether in that of politics, morals, or religion, there appears at present, we think, every reason to hope, that our country will still be the "city set upon a hill," the citadel and temple of the globe. If these expectations are to be frustrated, and the country is already declining into inevitable ruin, there is nothing so likely to accelerate its fall, as the prevalence of that unnatural, and desperate indifference, which it is the tendency of this poem to diffuse. Mrs. Barbauld, who observes, that • low murmurs spread, And whispered fears creating what they dread, will find it hard to defend herself against the charge of aggravating the evil she describes, and employing her respectable talents and influence to chill the heart and weaken the hands of her country. In justice to Mrs. B., we must quote one more passage, as the most pleasing part of the performance. * Yet, O my Country, Bame beloved, revered; By every tie that binds the soul endeared, Whose image to my infant senses came Mixt with Religion's light and Freedom's holy flame! If prayers may not avert, if 'tis thy fate To rank amongst the names that once were great, Not like the dim cold Crescent shalt thou fade, Thy debt to Science and the Musé unpaid; If westward streams the light that leaves thy shores; Thy stores of knowledge the new states shall know; Old father Thanes" shall be the poets' theme, |