22 
There is no resemblance between their 
calling and ours; their office is to con- 
ceal and pervert the truth—ours to 
publish it fairly and honestly. They 
fiave endeavoured to excite prejudices 
against Mr. Hone, and then hope, by 
mingling names, to associate the same 
prejudices against us—but we despise 
their casuistry as much as we do their 
principles. 
 « Baron de Humboldt’s Personal Nar- 
vative.”’ As this distinguished travel- 
ler has no sins of a political nature to 
answer for, he is treated as hie deserves: 
the fifth volume of his work, the ninth 
and tenth of the translation, is consi- 
dered less objectionable than the pre- 
ceding; the‘ Narrative’ being less in- 
terrupted by dry scientific disserta- 
tions, and the sublime scenery of the in- 
terior of the equinoctial regions afford- 
ing subjects more appropriate to the 
eloquent and descriptive powers of the 
author. 
The fourth article ‘is “ Lord Walde- 
grave’s Memoirs.” This is a thin 
quarto, edited, it is said, by Lord Hol- 
land, and containing about as much 
letter-press as thirty of our pages, for 
which the publisher charges the modest 
price of twenty-five shillmgs. The re- 
viewer himself affects surprise at this 
unconscionable price, and apologizes for 
it on the score of the enormous terms of 
the copyright ; but we doubt the sin- 
cerity of this apology, and suspect it is 
only introduced to prepare the way 
for the next exorbitant demand for 
the “ Memoirs of Horace Walpole,’ 
which, we are told, Mr. Murray has 
purehased at a “magnificent price,” 
and intends shortly to give to the world. 
Bating the price, the * Memoirs’? may 
be considered a valuable addition to our 
public history—not on account of any 
new views: they disclose, but as con- 
firming those already derived from 
more questionable sources. Little of 
this, however, can be gleaned from the 
notices of the reviews; they are con- 
tent with merely grazing over the 
work, selecting such par‘s as are most 
entertaining, and least offensive to their 
parties and prejudices, and never at- 
tempting to make it subservient to the 
more important object of illustrating 
the real nature of the government, and 
shewing that its history, for the last 
century and a half at least, only exhi- 
bits a miserable detail of the seliish- 
ness, intrigues, and tyacasseries of fac- 
tion. We hope shortly to see this sub- 
jeet placed ina different light : we have 
The Philosophy of Contemporary Criticism. 
[Feb. 1, 
now abundant materials—diaries, me- 
moirs, aud recollections—for the pur-' 
pose; and it will not be difficult to’ 
show, that.though England has been 
blessed with many great statesmen, 
eloquent declaimers, and able debaters, 
she has had few real patriots. 
“ The Chinese Embassy to the Tow- 
gouth Tartars,”’ forms the next subject, 
and is chiefly remarkable for an at- 
tempt to redeem the Chinese from the 
contempt into which they have fallen, 
and from the following surpassing sen- 
tences with which it commences :— 
“China swallows up about one-tenth 
part of the habitable globe; and con- 
tains, at the lowest estimation, one- 
fourth of the population of the whole 
earth. Yet—so we get our tea com- 
fortably for breakfast, we seem to trou- . 
ble our heads as liltle about the Chief of 
this vast empire and his two hundred 
millions of subjects, as he and they, per- 
haps, do their’s, about us. We have 
not much to say of ourselves—but the 
Chinese’?—and so on. This is really 
very fine; we are nof sure. however, 
we comprehend if, for we thought 
lately we had troubled our heads a 
good deal about the “ Chief of this vast 
empire and his (wo hundred millions 
of subjects.” We suspect this lumineus 
effusion is from the pen of some old 
Edinburgh Reviewer. 
A flattering notice of a new transla- 
tion of * Tasso’s Jerusalem Delivered,” 
makes the sivth article. Au adequate 
translation of the most elegant of Ita- 
lian poets was a desideratum in English 
literature; and the present faithful and 
spirited version of Mr. Hunt, is chiefly 
objectionable from being rendered in 
couplets instead of stanzas—the worst ° 
metrical arrangement that could be 
applied to an heroic poem, and is the 
more singular in this instance, since 
both Tasso and Ariosto had given the 
model of a stanza admitting an almost 
infinite variety of pause and harmony, 
more agreeable to the ear, and more 
easy in execution than the couplet it- 
self. 
“ Martyn’s Memoirs’* exhibits a de- 
plorable picture of devotional hypochon- 
dria. Mr. Martyn, we doubt not, was 
an harmless, well-meaning creature, 
who had fallen into such mistaken 
notions of the Almighty’s goodness and 
his own unworthiness, as to consider it a 
proof of infinite mercy that he was “ oué 
of hell.’ There are many Mr. Martyns 
in England, but we thank God we are 
not of the number. . This article con- 
tains 
