1826.] 
tively disdain, or rather are unconscious of, 
are unstained by our nursery and hereditary 
prejudices and partialities. Dr. Channing 
is manifestly a man of considerable discern- 
ment and eloquent powers, capable of 
taking comprehensive views, and of convey- 
ing them distinctly and fully to his readers. 
He is no common person, and we welcome 
his writings to this side of the Atlantic. 
Every one who reads the Edinburgh must 
haye been pleased with Macauley’s article 
on Milton. The present is superior, as it 
is more complete. Itgives a more elevated 
and inspiring view of his character. 
‘By the way, the Bishop of Salisbury is 
said to have undertaken to disprove Mil- 
ton’s right to the theological treatise which 
has given occasion to these reviews of his 
writings and character; on the ground that 
Milton was orthodoxin his youth, and ortho- 
dox in his old age—“argol” he must have 
been orthodox in the intermediate period, 
and therefore not the writer of the treatise in 
guestion, which is any thing but orthodox. 
The venerable prelate has undertaken to 
prove odd things before, and argued them 
upon equally tenablegrounds. But why this 
anxiety? Because the Unitarians, and Dr. 
Channing is a zealous one, are exultingly as- 
sociating Milton with themselves, and he 
must not be lost to us without a struggle. 
It will be difficult, we take it, to reconcile 
the theology of Paradise Lost and Regained 
with our Thirty-ning —but that is the Bi- 
-shop’s affair. 
Tales round a Winter Hearth, by Jane 
and Anna Maria Porter, 1826.—Neither of 
these accomplished women have, we hope, 
given up the construction of more yolumi- 
nous stories, but still mean to favour us 
with more threes and fours. The present 
publication we must suppose to be the odds 
and ends of their escrutoires—occasional 
pieces—hints which have, from time to 
time, been reduced to a written shape, the 
_ materials of longer and more complicated 
_ tales, which proved, in the working, of in- 
_ ferior metal, or at least unsusceptible of 
expansion, yet not to be thrown away, for 
who likes now-a-days to throw any thing 
away? Weare not told to which of the 
fair authors we are to attribute the several 
_ ‘stories, nor are we sufficiently familiar with 
_ their respective performances to distinguish 
-and appropriate the labours. There are 
only four tales—five they are called in the 
preface, but one is merely a prelude to the 
% ee one. Of these the Scottish Tra- 
dition, the Irish Legend, and the Tale of 
- our Own’ Times, are probably by one hand, 
these are hazardous’ conjectures—and 
_ the Pilgrimage of Berenice by the-other. 
The ‘Seottish Tradition is one of 1745. 
Cols Ferguson, a secret and staunch agent 
_ of Charles Edward, is entrusted with large 
ums and) important papers for his service 
n the approaching invasion—which valua- 
bles are buried deep, a dreadful, dreary 
long way under ground, down a trap-door 
» Domestic and Foreign. 
313. 
known to nobody but himself.. He wants 
to be with the invader and at. home at the 
same time, to hand the supplies, or to 
have some one on the spot to unearth the 
needful on occasion. Luckily ayoung lady 
of more than ordinary nerves: is at the 
time with his sister; on her he confides, 
and imposes the fearful task of visiting these 
regions below. She suryeys them in| com- 
pany with him at midnight, and is earefully 
charged neyer to suffer the trap-door to fall. 
Certain signs are to be carved on a certain 
tree, by which she is to know what sums 
and papers she is to deliver to the carver 
of the signs, who of course will take care 
to be in the way to receive them. Why 
he cannot go down into the pit, and spare 
the frights and perils of the lady, we do not 
know. But we forget, it is a true story; 
and truth is often more improbable, they 
say, than fiction. Well, the intrepid Miss 
Mackay goes more than once tothe ‘* well,” 
and returns safe and sound; but at last; as 
might be expected, the trap-door falls and 
encloses her apparently for ever. “Provi- 
dentially some particular paper is wanted, 
which none but the Colonel can find, and 
he comes himself to the cave just in time 
to rescue the lady from a death of hunger 
and despair.—That’s all. 
Lord Howth, the Irish Legend, is ofa very 
different cast. ‘The young Lord is of a gay 
and dissipated turn, the last of his family,and 
whose own death, a family prophecy bodes, 
will happen bya rat. On some occasion or 
other he rescues a rat from the jaws of a ter- 
rier, and this rat, in a manner most unprece- 
dented, and quite unlike a rat, attaches him- 
self staunchly to his preserver, and go where 
he will, for good or for ill, pursues him. — It 
becomes at last a regular pet, and the young 
Lord’s companions are, in consequence, 
perpetually teasing him about his singular 
favourite. He is of an impatient and iras- 
cible temper, and at length, no longer able 
to bear their gibes, coupled as they are 
with the persecutions of a lady match- 
maker, he resolves hastily to expatriate 
himself fora while. He takes an affec- 
tionate leave of the rat, and proceeds to 
the point of embarkation, when on a sud- 
den he perceives the faithful animal scour- 
ing along in pursuit of him. He gets 
aboard, however, accompanied by a friend, 
without thinking of taking the pet with 
him. On landing at Holyhead, the friend 
says laughingly, “shall we see this rat 
again ?”—‘* No,”’ replies Lord Howth, pet- 
tishly ; when, on the instant, the rat again 
presents itself, and my Lord in the heat of 
vexation, hurls a sea-shell at it, and kills it 
on the spot. f 
His conscience smites him for the mur- 
der—he can never forget it—he wanders 
over the earth, a guilty thing, and at last 
returns to his paternal estate, where, moody 
and melancholy, he, one stormy day, res- 
cues from the surging waves a lady, young 
and beautiful, and full of mystery and 
282 
