]«31.] Monthly ilcviefv of Literature. 205 



solemnity, caution in the estimate of symptoms in the last stage of some diseases, 

 (precisely when they become of least importance,) communicating only what 

 appears to us, who are oulv medical readers, already familiar almost as house- 

 hold words. The fourth paper, entitled " Popular and Classical Illustrations 

 of Insanity," shews the learned physician's admiration of Shakspeare and 

 Horace, implying, at the same time, something like wonderment, on his part, 

 that either of them could talk like men of sense or observation. The same sort 

 of surprise betrays itself in his comments on, a scrap from Aratteus' description 

 of the brain-fever. 



To eke out the dandy volume, follow two Orationes, one commemorating, as 

 usual, the benefactors of the college (ISOO), and the other on the opening of the 

 new college in 1825, both full of idle compliment and maudling sentiment, 

 expressed in the Latin of a youngster just fresh from school — a mere string of 

 familiar phrases. On the latter occasion the Diihe nf York appears to have been 

 present — " Cum tot," says the orator, " ajmd nos, (is this Latin or French r) 

 conspicio utriusque senatus lumina, tot publici consilii auctores, tot Reyias pro- 

 supice principis — atque, hos inter, illustrissimum ilium principem, rfii militaris 

 nostrce jiriesidiiim ef deciis — pertimiscere me, confiteor, et parum abesse, quin me 

 muneris hodie suscepti pfeniteat !" Conceive the folly of this — Sir Henry's 

 alarm at the Duke of York's criticism of his Latin ! 



The precious volume closes with his account of the opening of Charles I.'s 

 coffin in the vault of Henry VHL in St. George's chapel, Windsor, 1813, accom- 

 panied with a " faithful representation of the countenance of the king at the 

 time," and a fac-simile of the Prince Regent's signature and seal, in attestation 

 of its correctness. 



The Staff-Officer, or the Soldier of Fortune, a Tale of real Life, by 

 Oliver Moore, 3 vols. 12mo. 



This will never do for a novel, for it has no plot or complexity ; nor for the 

 adventures of a soldier, for it is confined mainly to the private adventures of the 

 man. Oliver Moore has linked his story with no points of interest, and for 

 himself the reader cannot care a button. The first may be the fault of his 

 fortune, but the last must be his own. When he found he had nothing of 

 interest to tell, he might have thrown down the pen, or if he must write, it did 

 not follow that he must print. It was probably the dearth of imagination that 

 com{)elled him to obey the order of facts, and tell only of what he had seen, 

 consoling himself the while, perhaps, with some old hereditary maxim, that facts 

 were better than fancies. We have no doubt whatever of the very truth of his 

 relations — they bear the stamp of realities — they are as dull, and insignificant, 

 and jog-trot, as the subordinate rank of the writer, and the common track he 

 moved in, could make them. The best portions of his book are the sketches he 

 gives of the chief authorities in Ireland in the memorable reign of Lord West- 

 moreland, but this was when the writer was a boy, and, of course, all he says 

 is mere hear-say, or book-say, and of no more value than an extract from an 

 old newspaper. 



The hero was the son of an Irishman, in some equivocal position between a 

 gentleman and a court-dependant. W^hat was to be done with the youth was a 

 puzzle, as usual in Irish families of this ambiguous station. At length, but, of 

 course, too late for success, the sea was tried, at least as far as the Thames ; but 

 not finding it to his liking, a commission, by hook or crook, was got for him in 

 a new-raised regiment of foot. He commenced soldiering, as a recruiting 

 officer, in his own Ireland, and met with prodigious success not only in seducing 

 recruits, but in kissing the women. His next step was obtained by playing 

 warming-pan a few months to a young sprig of nobility in a cavalry regiment — 

 a service which was rewarded with a lieutenancy in some regiment filled witli 

 scamps. J5y the favour of the commandiT he was despatched again on the 

 recruiting service, where, if he had less success than before with the men, ho 

 had greater with the women. One young lady, the sole daughter and heiress 

 of u wealthy innkeeper in the north, fell in love with him, and he only escaped 



