b4 
of this very speech it is that Hume remarks, 
‘we will produce any passage at random, 
for the discourse is all of a piece ;’’ and then 
boldly concludes, ‘‘ The great defect of 
Oliver consists not in his want of elocution, 
but in want of ideas; he was incapable of 
expressing himself on the occasion, but in a 
manner, which a peasant of the most ordi- 
nary capacity would justly be ashamed of.” 
So, of course, every body supposes Crom- 
well was, what somebody, with equal justice, 
called Goldsmith, an inspired idiot. 
Cromwell is represented, commonly, as 
driving the Irish population, rich and poor 
—all, without exception—into Connaught. 
“ There was a large tract of land,”’ says Cla- 
rendon—he is the chiefauthority—“even to 
the half of the province of Connaught, that 
was separated from the rest of the kingdom 
by a long and large river, and which by the 
plague and many massacres, remained almost 
desolate. Into this space and circuit of 
land they required all the Irish to retire by 
such a day under the penalty of death ; and 
all who should after that time be found in 
any other part of the kingdom, man, woman, 
or child, should be killed by any body who 
saw or met them.” Of this improbable 
representation, Godwin says, ‘‘ I endeavour- 
ed to figure to myself three fourths of the 
territory of Ireland without an inhabitant— 
no soul left through its cities, its uplands, 
its vallies, its farm-houses, and its granges, 
but the English invaders, and their English 
families. I own the weakness of my under- 
standing, and my imagitiation ; I could not 
.take it in ;”? and then proceeds to shew the 
absurdity by details that must, in every 
one’s mind prove decisive. 
The book is of the highest value. 
The Disowned, by the Author of Pel- 
ham. 4 vols ; 1829.—The aiming at some- 
thing far above the fame of a fashionable 
novelist—we know not by what title the 
author can claim any higher classification. 
Pelham was a puppy, and a pedantic puppy ; 
and very much of the writing, with a sort of 
dramatic propriety, bore the characteristics of 
one. He was agentleman—a man of fashion 
merely, filling a certain small niche, or moy- 
ing in one narrow orbit, and affecting to turn 
up his nose at all others. He reminded us 
of Dr. Dibdin, a consummate bibliomaniac, 
exhibiting the follies of bibliomania. The 
vivacity and smartness compensated, how- 
ever, for a great deal of nonsense, conceit, 
pertness, and punning. The Disowned has 
all the brilliancies of Pelham, and is stripped 
of many of the petulancies, which more fre- 
quently revolted than piqued or tickled. It 
shews more reading, certainly—perhaps more 
reflection, and a more matured intellect alto- 
gether, though much of the former frippery 
still hangs about it, splendid and sparkling 
as stage tinsel. The tale—the mere con- 
struction of the tale, is far inferior to Pel- 
ham—it consists indeed only of some half 
dozen incidents, and those of the more im. 
Monthly Review of Literaiure, 
‘is about eighteen—of a patrician figure— 
{J AN. 
probable kind—of the mere ‘ novel’ cast ; 
and the whole would be nothing, but for the 
vein of commentary and discussion which 
runs through it; and unluckily those very 
discussions, though good—on character, for 
instance, and genius—and the best of the 
book, will be least read—perhaps not read at 
all. The author is a highly cultivated per- 
son, and deep in Rousseau and French sen- 
timentalists—we are not speaking disrespect- 
fully—and he is himself very capable of 
working in the depths of the same mines, 
and eliciting more metal of the same sterling 
value. We shall venture to recommend 
him to pursue his obvious bent, and give the 
results in a new shape. Essays—he must 
find a new title—written in the same spirit, 
would be read, unconnected with a tale— 
connected with a tale, he may take our ex- 
perience—they will not. A novel is taken 
up ninety-nine times out of a hundred, not 
only by young ladies, to get to the end of it 
without being interrupted by impertinencies 
—by any thing which obliges the reader to 
stop and inquire. Story, story—laugh as the 
writer will—nothing else goes down, and ~ 
luckily nobody is very particular what the 
story is. 
A young gentleman appears upon the. 
scene, tramping his way towards an inn—he 
bold forehead,: eyes of fire, and nose, like 
Lebanon. He falls in with a King Cole, 
who quotes Shakspeare and Chaucer—spends 
a merry evening—he can accommodate to 
any thing—with a troop of gypsies, and pro- 
ceeds the next morning to the inn, where he 
finds a box or two with the initials C. L., 
and a letter containing 1600/.—the whole 
he is entitled to. The curiosity of the land- 
‘lady compels him to give a name; and he 
suddenly pitches upon the liquid one of Cla- 
rence Linden. The youth, it appears, has 
been turned out of doors, the why is the — 
kernel of the mystery. He is of a soaring 
cast, and with his 1000/., and his own good 
spirits, he proposes to buffet the world, and 
win himself a name, since he has lost his 
own. ‘To town, of course, he flies; and 
luckily pitches upon a sort of boarding- 
house, where he meets with an eccentric old 
beau, living in the neighbourhood—a man — 
of family and fortune—and once conspicu- 
ously of fashion—with whom he soon forms 
an intimacy, and soon also has the opportu- 
nity of saving his life, by shooting a house- 
breaker. This, of course brings on greater 
intimacy, and the youth is prompted to tell 
his own story, to which the reader is not yet 
admitted. Luckily, again, the old gentle- 
man takes a prodigious liking—adopts him, 
in short—hints are given of some relation- 
ship—and the youth is speedily, under the 
most promising auspices, attached to an em- 
bassy, with a liberalallowance from hispatron. 
After a lapse of four years, he returns with 
the ambassador as his private secretary, and 
with him is to go out again, as secretary 0! 
Jegation. ‘Through the ambassador and his 
