was she seen to offer to bite. The bitch being of a peculiar sort, every attention was paid to her, and the gradations of the disease (which were extremely rapid) minutely noted. The hydrophobia was fast approaching before she was separated from the hounds, and she died the second day after. At first warm milk was placed before her, which she attempted to lap; but the throat refused its functions. From this period she never tried to eat or drink, seldom rose up, or even moved, the tongue sweiled very much, and, long before her death, the jaws were distended by it. “A spaniel was observed to be seized by a strange dog, and was bit in the lip. The servant, who ran up to part them, narrowly escaped, as the dog twice flew at him. A few minutes afterthe dog had quit. ted the yard, the people who had pursued gave notice of the dog’s madness, who had made terrible havock in the course of ten miles, from whence he had set off— The spaniel was a great favourite, had medicine applied, and every precaution taken. Upon the 14th day he appeared to loath his food, and his eyes looked unusually heavy. The day following he endeavoured to lap milk, but could swallow none. From that time the tongue began to swell, he moved himself very seldom, and on the third day he died. For many hours previous to his death, the tongue was so enlarged that the fangs, or canine teeth, could not meet each other by upwards of an inch. “I he hounds were, some years after, parted with, and were sold in lots. A madness broke out in the kennel of the gentleman who purchased many of them; and although several of these hounds were bitten and went mad, only one of them ever attempted to bite, and that was a hound from the duke of Portland's, who, in the operation of worming, had the worm broke by his struggling, and he was so troublesome that one half of it was suffered to remain. The others all died with symptoms similar to the terrier and the spaniel, viz. a violent swelling of the tongue, and a stupor rendering them nearly motionless, and both which symptoms seemed to increase with the disease.” Vol. I. p. 159.

Whatever we may think of the style of the above paragraphs, we consider the facts which they contain as of great importance. We pretend not to determine what is the nature of the operation of worming; but if repeated experience shall

ascertain its constant, or even frequent effect, to be the security of the human species from that direful malady, the cure of which medicine has so often attempted in vain, the operation ought, certainly, to be performed, at an early age, on every dog. According to Mr. Daniel, “the worming of whelps should be previous to their being sent out to quarters. This operation is to be performed with a lancet, to slit the thin skin which immediately covers the worm; a small awl is then to be introduced under the centre of the worm, to raise it up; the further end of the worm will, with very little force, make its appearance, and with a cloth taking hold of that end, the other will be drawn out easily. Care must be taken that the whole of the worm comes away without breaking, and it rarely breaks unless cut into by the lancet, or wounded by the awl.” p. 202. 2dly. As a practical shortsman, Mr. Daniel is quite at home; and though many years have passed since we partook of the Aleasures of the chase, we have no doubt that the ample code of instructions which he has drawn up, may be implicitly followed. These instructions respect fox hunting, stag hunting, hare hunting, coursing, and the pursuit of rabbits, martins, badgers, and o in the first volume; sea fishing, angling for all the various fresh water and river fish, with the construction of flies, nets, and other fishing tackle, and the management of fish ponds, in the second; and shooting the various species of game, with the breeding and training of spaniels and pointers, and the choice and management of fowling pieces, in the third. We could have wished that the author had entirely omitted the diversion of badger hunting, and we do not clearly perceive what sea fishing has to do in a work of rural shorts; but, in general, this part of the work is well executed, and abounds with interesting anecdotes.

Among others, he has given an ac: count of a sow that was trained and employed as a pointer, which we quoted in our last volume, from Mr. Bingley’s “ Natural History of Quadrupeds.” Lastly. Mr. Daniel's digest of the game and other sporting laws, compiled chiefly from Blackstone’s Com7nentaries, Burn’s Justice, and (if we mistake not) from the Shorting Magazine (in the early numbers of which we remember to have seen a very similar digest) appears to be complete, though faulty in point of arrangement. We had expected to find the author a strenuous advocate for the game laws; but were pleased at seeing some very judicious and impartial observations on this unpopular branch of our statutes.— With a quotation from this part, we shall close our specimens of Mr. - Daniel’s labours:

“No admirer of a manly, liberal, well regulated system of publick freedom, will be forward to assert, that the laws for the preservation of game do not require to be very thoroughly revised. They certainly depart more widely from the line of genuine, political justice, and expose the humble, unqualified classes of the community more to the hazard of punishment, and the oppression of power, than any rational advocate of moral equality can consistently approve. They are greatly imperfect, inasmuch as their penalties are infinitely too severe. That the punishment of death should, in any case, be inflicted on an act which in itself violates no rule of religion, justice, or morality, is a reflection from

which the mind revolts with pain and horrour. Where is the wrong to individuals that demands such an atonement 2 Where is the injury to society which requires such an example? That the act of destroying game is not malum in se, is evident; for if it were the legislature could not license it. Not only the want of true wisdom, but the want of common justice in these statutes, requires the most earnest and attentive consideration in those who administer in the government of the state.— Every amendment, however minute, in the defective part of its legislative system, is an immense acquisition of strength to our constitution. It takes a weapon from the armoury of its enemies, and knits still more closely the union of its friends. Unwise laws are the worst foes of a state. It is the publick statutes that should perpetuate and keep alive the great principles of practical freedom.” Vol. I. p. 295.

In a production of this kind, a great variety of style must, in course, appear; but we are sorry to say that the style of Mr. Daniel, as far as we can judge from what are given as his original observations, is considerably below mediocrity. It abounds with inelegancies, provincialisms, and even grammatical errours; faults which we should not have expected in a writer of his profession. On the whole, however, the work is certainly calculated to form an acceptable companion for the sportsman and the country gentleman; and it is rendered highly interesting, also, to general readers, by the numerous and well executed engravings with which it is embellished.

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FROM THE LITERARY PANORAM.A. Instructive Tales. By Mrs. Trimmer. Collected from the Family Magazine. 8vopp. 290. Prioe 4s. London. 1810.

A PLEASING collection of stories, in which the prevailing fracti. cal errours of the humbler class in life are reprehended, and the parties guilty of them are reformed— We cannot but wish that reformation were as easy in fact as it is on

paper; but, so far as our opportunities of inspecting mankind have extended, we have found a greater proportion than (as in these tales) one in twenty incorrigible. Mrs. Trimmer’s purpose may, however, be best answered, in general, by describing the progress from vice to virtue as easy and pleasant, not as rugged or impracticable. We forgive the benevolent errour which seduces an individual into virtue.— We commend the solicitude of the squire to improve the morals of his villagers, by giving employment and favour as encouragement to the most deserving. Not less exemplary is the humanity of his lady, in contriving to amend the tempers of the wives, in order to make home comfortable to the husbands. This, at least, shows an intimate acquaintance with human nature; for a man will naturally frequent most constantly that spot where he enjoys the greatest satisfaction.—If that be his wife’s fireside, there will be his abode; but if his wife’s fireside be the station of torment, from whatever cause arising, he may relin

* Sec Select Reviews, Vol. II. p 174.

quish all hopes of happiness, but he will seek gratification elsewhere.— Let this be formed into habit, and farewell virtue, comfort, prosperity; farewell the attachments of the heart, and the thousand tender ties which bind an individual to his own, with bands incomparably stronger than those of iron or brass. The af. fections are vitiated; on what can advice or persuasion act? This volume is extremely well fitted for the persons for whom it is designed; and we shall be happy to hear, that the villagers throughout our country emulate the example of the villagers before us; and that Mr. and Mrs. Andrews are patterns to our rural squires, and their ladies. The appendix, containing rules, monitions, and advice, adds essentially to its value.


Martin Luther, &c. i. e. Martin Luther, or the Consecration of Energy, a Tragedy, by the Author of the “Sons of the Valley.” 12mo, pp. 380. Berlin.

IN consequence of the passion of the great king of Prussia, for French Hiterature, the German poets of his time were employed to translate for the theatre at Berlin the best tragedies of the French dramatists. Weisse, in particular, with great felicity, transferred into German Alexandrine rhymes, several master pieces of Corneille, Racine, and Voltaire. The leading theatres of the country, of Dresden, Manheim, Frankfort, and Hamburgh, were eager to flatter the taste of an admired monarch, and to diffuse the celebrity of such noble works of art. In native productions, the German drama was at that time scanty, and the tragedies of the French were received with universal applause.

Criticks then arose, deeply versed in ancient and modern literature, such as Sulzer and Lessing, who

examined the theory of the dramatick art with more completeness, and with not less elegance, than had been displayed in the firefaces of Dryden, or the Poesie Dramatique of Diderot. Warned by judges so sagacious, against real imprudence, and invited by fashion to lean towards French models, what have the subsequent German poets done 2 They have forsaken the forms of French, for those of English art; the patent moulds of Racine, for those of Shakspeare; the Grecian for the Gothick drama. From theory, and from experience, the Germans have, finally, awarded the preference to our native, northern, historick tragedy. The unity of time, they find, is needless, and the unity of place is hostile to illusion. By prolonging the implied duration of the piece, it

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becomes possible to dramatize with probability, events of greater moment, interest, and complexity, than can be squeezed into the limits of any Parisian play, that is sonfined to twenty four hours; no one of which could unfold the conspiracy of Venice, or the usurpation and dethronement of Macbeth. By frequently shifting the scene, the spectator’s eye is delighted; his flagging attention is aroused; and his imagination is assisted to wander on the wings of the words, and is silently provided with numberless instruc. tive particulars, about the costume of the age, and the localities of the incidents. Where the course of the plot does not compel a change of place, the wise dramatist will seek pretences for repeated removals of his personages. Unity of action or design, however, is, in the historick tragedy, of indisputable value; and the great art of adopting a fragment of history, or an individual hero, to this form of delineation, is to seize, in the event, or in the person, on the characteristick feature; and to direct attention with singleness of view, towards this principal point. Thus Schiller, in his tragedy of Wilhelm Tell, having undertaken to draw the ortrait of a meritorious tyrannicide, F. this aim in his eye, throughout every apparent episode; and introduces, really for a purpose of instructive contrast, the other and culpable tyrannicide, Johannes Parricida, of Swabia, whose appearance seems, at first sight, so needless. The author of Martin Luther certainly possesses not the loftiness and pathetick force of Schiller, nor that

perpetual concentration of attention.

on the main purpose, which distinguished the later productions of this lamented genius. But he manifests skill in the art of painting the spirit of the times in a short dialogue between boors, and in the art of characterizing eminent men with striking likeness by little significant

traits. His scenery, like that of Schiller, is well imagined, not merely for picturesque effect, but for emblematick operation on the spectator; and his dialogue, though much too diffuse, has at least not the French fault of sinking into epic poetry; but is uniformly dramatick. Still his piece tires before it closes; and this defect principally results from a breach of unity of action. Luther’s burning of the pope's bull, and his consequent citation to Worms, form the original points of interest. His heroick determination to go to the place where he might expect the fate of Huss; his danger while he was there; the collection of the votes of the diet; and the casting vote of the emperour, which grants him a safe return, constitute a complete series of action. But the untired author, instead of concluding his play with the rejoicings of the populace, on the discharge of Luther, proceeds to paint the reformer in love, and diverts his audience with a religious courtship of the nun Catherine Bore; which, though not borrowed out of the book of Defoe, is nearly as ludicrous, from the analogous attempt to veil the desires of nature, in the forms of spiritual aspiration. The composition of historick tragedy deserves to be revived in this country. Dramas, on that plan, are apt to be too long; but they might be given without any afterpiece; especially if the poet, as in this instance, would contrive a conclusion full of musick, show, pageantry, bustle, . song, and machinery. The biography of Luther is interesting in all protestant countries; sufficiently so, perhaps, for the transplantation of this very piece, into our own theatres. We, therefore, give an analysis of it, scene by scene. Act I. Scene l. Miners are at work in the caverns of Freiberg in Saxony. They converse about the commotion which Luther is causing; his father is one of the workmen, and is

questioned concerning his son. Thus the popular operation of his opihions, and the outlines of his early biography, are unaffectedly brought Cult. - Scene 2. A convent of nuns at Wittenberg is exhibited. They are seen in the chapel, through a grate, performing their devotions; and a miserere, accompanied by an organ, is sung in chorus. The chancellor of Saxony, and other attendants, arrive, to announce the sequestration of the holy property, and the dismissal of the nuns, on a pension, into private life. Interesting contrasts of character are displayed between the grief of the elderly and the subdued joy of the younger nuns. While the formal process is going on, a mob of youths break into the holy precincts, and more than one snatches his beloved from imprisonment. The dignified indignation of Catherine Bore overawes the rudest. An officer, who was in love with her is vainly a suitor; and she reproves him for his attachment to Luther. Scene 3. The college-square at Wittenberg is displayed. Students are assembled to witness the burning of the pope's buil by Luther. The daring character of this step is painted by the alarm of Melanchthon, by the hesitation of the people, and by the intrusive protest of the disbanded nuns, who are marched past at the time. Luther makes his speech, and burns the bull. Catherine Bore feels her abhorrence overcome by an involuntary veneratlOn. Act II. Scene l. The famulus, or apprentice-student, of Luther, by name Theobald, is waiting in Luther's anti-room, and is visited by Melanchthon, whose cautious, timid, scrupulous virtue is accurately portrayed. Luther is locked within his study. His father and mother come from Freiberg to visit him. The door is burst open. He is found half entranced, from want of food, and from excess of literary labour. He has V 6) L. V. 2 A

been translating psalms into rhyme; the door is spotted with ink; and, on being questioned, he relates the story of his throwing an inkstand at the celebrated apparition of the devil. Much nature, much historick fidelity, and much philosophy, are exhibited in this delineation. Melanchthon informs Luther of the citation to Worms, and advises him not to go, lest he should be burnt alive. The father and mother concur in the dissuasion: but the nobie firmness of Luther prevails. This scene is too long: but it contains affecting displays of character. Scene 2. The disbanded nuns are again ploduced, for little purpose; unless to reveal the progress of Catherine’s attachment, who determines, in the dress of a pilgrim, to follow Luther to Worms. * Act III. Scene l. A hall in the imperial palace exhibits the assenbled majesty of the German empire; the electors, the knights, the cardinals, the bishops, the emperour Charles V. and his fool, Bossu. The debate turns on the protestant troubles; the several characters are brought forwards in exact proportion to their historick importance; and to each his individual learning is assigned with solicitous precision: but we have too much of the emperour's fool. Scene 2. Luther has arrived at Worms, accompanied by Melanchthon. The cardinal Aleander practises with him, and offers preferment if he will retract: but Luther remains firm, and wanders through the streets, singing with a chorus of . the people his own psalms. The emperour passes on horseback, and, being curious to see Luther, slackens his pace. While he is gazing, the sceptre drops from his hand; and this emblematick or ominous incident is well managed by the poet. The dialogue is affectedly insipid, while the page picks up the sceptre, and the emperour desires the elector of Saxony to carry it for

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