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His Character.

107 could bear another's misfortunes very much like a Christian, liediffered from most men in this, that he never rested till he had relieved them; nor, under the mask of sentiment, did he allow interest or vanity to speak. Though loving retirement, he did not court it at the expense of duty; and as soon as he had taken and comprehended the dimensions of his country's wants, he urged forward with an energy that never slackened till the day he died, that country's regeneration.

Like the Reformers of the 16th century, we find him always practical-never lost among dreams, and broken thoughts, and wild imaginations; but, under the guidance of a shrewd experienced sagacity, he unquestionably did more for the land of his birth, than all the Scotsmen, of every rank, in the whole century in which he lived. The eulogy of Thomson, who knew him well, has consecrated the name of one, who with talents to conduct, to persuade, and to command, never forgot his high mission as an apostle of humanity.

"Thee, Forbes, too, whom every worth attends,
As truth sincere, as weeping friendship kind;
Thee truly generous and in silence great,
Thy country feels through her reviving arts,
Plann'd by thy wisdom, by thy soul inform'd,
And seldom has she known a friend like thee."

Or take the better delineation by the great master of cha

racter

"His life was gentle, and the elements

So mix'd in him, that nature might stand up
And say to all the world, this was a man."

In his most prosperous days, when he was the correspondent of the great statesmen and lawyers of the South, and swaying the whole influence of Government in Scotland, he was as natural and true-hearted as when a young lad on his father's hills. To the baser passions he was a stranger-without servility as without avarice; and even the ambition of fame he little cared for.. It was not for that he laboured. We question if he once thought of self, in the long life of self-sacrifice he lived. It would be unjust to say less than this; it would be difficult to inflict more praise than he deserved, or to express the extent of our obligation in language too eulogistic. Vigorous measures, promptitude of decision and of action, a determined will and clear perspicacity, he united to a nature gentle and loveable, considerate with regard to human frailty, and generous in its estimate of human motive. The finest hair casts a shadow, and he had his failings, like all men; but his generous aspirations, and his labours of a lifetime,

will excuse errors arising from too profound sensibility, warmth of heart, and passionate enthusiasm for what promised prosperity to his country.

Such is the man of whom it may be said, that antiquity can offer nothing more touching than his death, or modern times more honourable than his life. Nothing more illustrates the inborn loftiness of his character, than the magnanimity with which he was inspired, amid his own fallen fortunes and ruined hopes, at the long train of proscriptions, beneath which he despaired of any resurrection of his country's prosperity and independence. It would have saved him at least one pang, had he lived a few years longer, to behold how, out of the arbitrary doings of a ruthless soldiery, liberty arose-how prosperity sprang from conquest, and a nation was saved even in being subdued.

Yet, after all, how dim is the reputation of this lawyer-statesman even in the country which his virtues adorned. His fame yields to that of the poor poets whom he cherished. His friend Thomson, and even Allan Ramsay, can boast a wider celebrity. It has thus ever been the case with those whose labours are spent upon contemporaries. How obscure, for example, is the fame of Pitt, or Fox, or Mansfield, or Thurlow, when compared with that of the contemporary writers who have left enduring memorials of their genius-Gibbon, Hume, Goldsmith, or Burke. Any book, therefore, to preserve such men "against the tooth of time and razure of oblivion," would be a service to mankind. Even as it was, the knowledge of Forbes' history was becoming known to others than a few readers of the Scots Magazine, or a few black letter lawyers. The passing traveller now pays a visit to Culloden Moor, for other purposes than to get melancholy on its reminiscences; and what the Roman orator has eloquently said, as to the localities of Athenian patriotism, is coming true of one, of whom even the rugged Warburton could thus speak-"I knew and venerated the man; one of the greatest that ever Scotland bred, as a judge, a patriot, and a Christian."

With regard to the work which has suggested the preceding observations, we have no hesitation whatever in saying, that it is, out of all sight, the best book on Jacobite history that has been written. We had recently occasion to review a few works on this subject, and stretched a point, to speak as favourably as possible of a good intention and respectable industry. Nothing was said of many blemishes, and among others, of the absolute maze of words and deluge of sentiment, which had only the one advantage, of hiding somewhat the penury of thought and loose

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ness of reasoning. Mr. Burton's book is exactly of the opposite character. Every sentence is supported by reference to authority, and every idea is conveyed in language brief, manly, and vigorous, which perhaps has sometimes the blemish of descending to a homeliness that is disagreeable. We are never, however, bored by the abominable manufactured Jacobitism and maudlin ululations, that every other writer thinks it necessary to print; and only they who have come from a recent perusal of their empty mouthings, can appreciate the comfort of being allowed to read the story, without wading through scores and scores of pages of sentiment "three times skimmed sky-blue"-every one sentence being, in addition, rounded off with the loftiest superlatives, by a clinch or antithesis. Mr. Burton does not, moreover, adopt either of the two usual courses. He does not enter with a halter about his neck, submitting himself to his reader's mercy, whether he shall be hanged or no; or in a defying mood, appear with the halter in his hand, threatening to hang his reader, if he do not praise him. He gives, without any self-glorification, authorities which show an extent of research, among printed and unprinted materials, for which, in a small volume of this kind, we were not prepared, and which could not reasonably have been expected; but the value of his labours can only be acknowledged by those who, by having studied this portion of our history, can estimate the skill with which he has compressed so much into so small a compass. There are, however, several awkward blunders, evidently mere slips of the pen in the hurry of composition, which will be corrected in a second edition; and when that edition appears, we hope also for a more careful correction of the press-that duty being at present, about as badly done, as such a thing can be.

ART. V.-1. Punch, or the London Charivari. Parts 67 and 68. London, 1847.

2. The Commissioner; or, De Lunatico Inquirendo. Dublin, 1842.

3. Dealings with the Firm of Dombey and Son. By CHARLES DICKENS. London, 1846-7.

4. Adventures of Christopher Tadpole. By ALBERT SMITH. London, 1846-7.

5. Vanity Fair. By W. M. THACKERAY. London, 1847. 6. The Knight of Gwynne. By CHARLES LEVER. London,

1846-7.

7. The Battle of Life. By CHARLES DICKENS. London, 1846.

8. Mrs. Perkins' Ball. By W. M. THACKERAY. 2d Edition. London, 1847.

9. The Comic History of England. By G. A. A'BECKET. London, 1846-7.

10. Chambers' Miscellany of Entertaining Tracts. 15 vols. Edinburgh, 1844-7.

11. Knight's Weekly and Monthly Volumes for all Readers. London, 1845-7.

12. The Christian's Penny Magazine. 16 Nos. London, 1846-7. 13. The Churchman's Monthly Penny Magazine. 10 Nos. London, 1846-7.

IF our bill of fare seem somewhat miscellaneous, it must be remembered that we are not the purveyors. Our office is not to cater for our readers' taste, but simply, as a faithful physician, to analyze the viands presented to our sovereign, the Reading Public, and wave the inexorable wand of office over each unwholesome dainty. And truly there is no lack of cooks in the royal kitchen. Each with his own idea of his art and science, his own favourite spices and rich condiments-one brisk and bustling, another grave and artistical-but all so busy in their work, that in one hand or other every conceivable material takes a presentable shape, till the banqueting table groans beneath its burden, and the task of discrimination becomes all but hopeless. Still, we will not quit our post. What seemed possible, we have attempted; to select samples of nearly all sorts, arranged as best we might, keeping far apart those which looked least congenial; for we could not but fear that if the strong spices of Punch were to be mixed up with the savoury morsels of the Churchman's Monthly Magazine, it might be hard to say to which class of guests the combination would prove the more unpalatable.

Materials of our Cuisine.

111

Yet, various as are the materials of our cuisine, a sound mental constitution may make a hearty meal upon them all, and find its health unimpaired. We trust, indeed, that our readers have sufficient confidence in us to believe, that so far as our skill in chemical analysis will serve, we admit no poison to their table. If, in the works before us, there be any thing which would necessarily injure the moral tone of the mind; which tends to unsettle its feelings, or relax the firmness of its principles; we are bound, by our regard to the health of our liege lord, to interpose our official sentence of warning. Thus far, we will not yield the palm of stern fidelity, even to the state-physician of the immortal Governor of Barataria. Unlike him, however, we prefer discharging the duty of condemnation, wherever it is possible, behind the scenes; and, far as we are from presuming to liken the Reading Public, in any respect, to Sancho Panza, we should least of all choose to repeat with them the experiments made upon his patience. We fear they would prove less submissive. We might indeed spread a feast intended to be a feast of Tantalus; but our power is unfortunately limited. Our pen is no magic wand to spirit away from the circulating library every work included in our Index Expurgatorius; nay, we fear it is too true in these desperate days, that the louder the condemning note of the critical trumpet, the more eagerly would the Public seek acquaintance with the contents of the forbidden page. Whatever, then, seems absolutely deleterious, is intercepted at the kitchen-door, not placed on the table, to tempt the curiosity and vitiate the taste of our guests. The most delicate may accept our invitation without scruple or reserve. To the best of our poor ability we will serve up to them none but wholesome food.

We retract, then, in part, (or more correctly, we "rise to explain") the admission of the uncongenial character of the first and last works on our list. In plan and purpose, they have indeed little in common, and still less, perhaps, in subjects, principles, or tone. The conductors of each have probably but scanty sympathy with the views and objects of the other: many readers of the Magazine may shrink from the whimsicalities of Punch, as frivolous and unprofitable; while Punch would, we fear, reject as fanatical the deep-toned Christianity of the Magazine. We may lose caste with both parties by confessing the catholicity of our tastes; but so it is-be it our merit, our fault, or our misfortune, we know not-we are at home with either; not grave enough to frown away the humourist, nor yet so merry that we scorn the preacher.

But, in truth, our list is made up on a principle quite independent of our individual likings or dislikings. These works are taken as specimens of an immense and increasing body of publi

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