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that commoners seem to have been called to the peerage. It was not till the time of Henry VI. that the word “ gentleman” began to be used in somewhat of that modern sense which distinguishes it legally from a nobleman, and morally from an uneducated plebeian. In the farther stages of the progress, heralds and genealogists began to complain of its indiscriminate application, while in their antiquarian pleasantry they represented it as being usurped by every idle and useless upstart.

• The principle of birth continued to lie at the foundation of the body of gentry, and lent to every newly-received candidate some portion of a feeling which is so much mingled with the moralities of education, with the means of generosity, and with lasting exemption from grievous and disreputable toil, that, except where it is counteracted by jealousy, it never can fail, with or without the aid of legal privilege, to be an agreeable object of contemplation, whether in our own possession or that of others. But in the course of ages the body gradually opened their arms to receive among them all men of liberal education and condition. It became a species of voluntary aristocracy, which after some silent trial adopted every man who appeared to be distinguished from the multitude. It was bestowed neither by kings nor laws: and it was only to be withdrawn silently, on strong appearances that the delicacies and refinements of honours, which were imposed when the rank was granted, had been disregarded by some of its possessors. One of its last and most modern results was, an unbroken chain of connection extending from the steps of the throne to the lowest limit of liberal education. It would be easy to multiply examples of gentlemen of moderate fortune, whose affinities and relationships now spread nearly to the opposite points. Distant as the extremities are, the steps are in the intermediate degrees short, and made without effort. Every accurate observer may easily convince himself how much all the parts of the chain are fastened together by links, more in number and strength than would at first be thought probable.

• The natural subserviency of this intermixture of interests and attachments to the quiet and harmony of the community, is too obvious to need illustration. Hence it in a great measure came to pass that the fiercest civil dissentions of after-times were not between orders, but between parties, each of whom contained in itself a portion of every order, checking the tendency of each other to extremities, and affording inducements to moderation as well as channels of compromise. Hence perhaps also that extraordinary union of the principles of stability and advancement, which has enabled the British constitution to pass unbroken through so vast an extent of time and place; to control an absolute monarchy in India; and, after political separation, to witness its laws and institutions flourishing among the North American democracies. Nothing short of a union of the most seemingly discordant classes, linked together by ties too deep for common observation, could fit it to be a bond of union between the most ancient times of which we have an account, and the most remote futurity which our imagination can anticipate.'—-vol. i. pp. 268—270.

For many reigns after the establishment of our parliamentary constitution, its history is but little more than a series of struggles for its defence on the side of the barons and the people, and for its overthrow on that of the sovereigns. The present volume ends

with the commencement of the long and diversified reign of Henry Vi. We sincerely trust that health and vigour. of mind may be spared to Sir James Mackintosh to finish his undertaking. We have not hesitated to warn him of his faults and to admire his perfections. If his remaining volumes be no better written than this, in the narrative portions of them, his work will unquestionably sink under the brilliant history of Dr. Lingard. Even should Sir James be more careful in that respect, we fear that at best his work will be consulted by posterity chiefly for its commentaries upon the constitutional chapters of our annals,-a most important department indeed of English history, and well worthy of that exclusive attention which Sir James Mackintosh is of all our living writers, perhaps, the best calculated to bestow upon it.

ART. VIII.— Wallenstein's Camp: from the German ; and Original

Poems. 12mo. pp. 167. London : Murray. 1830. It must be gratifying to literary men to observe that there is at least one nobleman, immediately connected with the government, and holding an office of great labour and responsibility, who continues the connection, which in former times was much more vigorously kept up, between the higher functions of the state and the republic of letters. It was apprehended that Lord Levison Gower, on becoming secretary for Ireland, would have given up his accomplished mind to official details, which, however tolerable to his laudable ambition, were well calculated to keep the muses at a distance. We are pleased to find that this is not altogether the case, and that although the greater portion of his time is necessarily devoted to the important department confided to his care, he can still retire from it occasionally to those fairy haunts in which he has already found so many charms, and may always expect to meet with a favourable reception.

It is understood that the lamented Canning seldom, during any part of his active life, passed a day without refreshing his fine fancy anong the classic shades. His favourite author was Horace, and next to the best Latin writers, he preferred the “ Arabian Nights." The latter work had peculiar charms for his mind, and exercised over it so great and so soothing a power, that he always had recourse to it when more than usually annoyed and oppressed by the vexations of office. Indeed, whoever looks forward to a lengthened public career, and wishes to provide for himself a mental haven of peace, in which he might moor his bark when assailed by the tempest of factious strife at home, or of war abroad, can no where find such a halcyon asylum, unless he have power to wield with effect the magic wand of the muses. Admitted to their favour, he may often smile upon the storm, and sometimes gather strength to meet or direct it, when many a gallant vessel besides may be seen yielding to its fury. The hope is, we believe, generally

entertained that the government of this country may long continue to be assisted and adorned, and perhaps ultimately to be guided, by the modest but able statesman who has favoured us with this little volume; and therefore it is that we rejoice in seeing him thus lay up betimes treasures in the paradise of literature, which may be equally efficacious in subduing the pride of triumph, as in dispelling the gloom of despair.

The feelings, however, which his literary relaxations are capable of exciting in favour of a young nobleman, disinterestedly engaged in the public service, ought not to prevent us from expressing a wish that Lord Levison Gower would not much longer continue to fetter his fancy in the wide and sometimes unprofitable field of translation. The principal works of Schiller are now sufficiently known to the English reader; or, if there be any thing produced by the German Shakspeare, or any of his literary brethren, which we do not yet possess in our own language, there is a sufficient number of men amongst us of moderate capacity, who may with impunity labour in this mine of intellect. But be it the ambition of the present author to lift his mind to higher pursuits, to expand the wings of his fancy, and immortalize, in polished numbers, the beings of his own conception. The few original poems which we have in the little volume before us, give evidence of power of imagination and thought, which ought not to be confined within the narrow limits of translation.

At the same time, it would be an injustice to deny that the version of Wallenstein's Camp' is a work of great merit. One of great labour, of cheerless and fatiguing perseverance, it must undoubtedly have been. We remember to have seen in some periodical publication, a loose paraphrase of some parts of this performance, which two French writers had also metamorphosed into their language. But the Camp' has, so far as we know, never before been made thoroughly accessible to the English reader. It was intended by Schiller to be a sort of chorus after the ancient Greek style (though upon a larger scale than Euripides or Sophocles ever indulged in), serving as an introduction to the active life and to the death of his hero. The character of Wallenstein is disclosed in it; it makes us acquainted with some of his principal instruments, and prefigures, as it were, the deeds which are to be done. We do not mingle as yet in the dust, and clamour, and blood of the battle; but we behold the soldiers preparing their arms for the coming strife, we hear them conversing in their military and fearless dialect, painting their own portraits, uttering their complaints, giving vent to their rapacious desires, and shewing the dangerous materials of which they are made. We are, in a word, introduced into the camp of Wallenstein, in which all that is picturesque and exciting in the tented life of a soldier, waiting for the sound of the trumpet that is to summon him to the field, is placed before us in the most animated and diversified colours. What can be more

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VOL. XIV.

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grotesque, and at the same time more appropriate, than the opening of the first scene? 'Sutlers' tents ; in front of them a slopshop; soldiers, of many different uniforms and insignia, passing backwards and forwards ; tables all occupied ; Croats and Hulans cooking at a fire; sutler's wife serving out wine ; soldiers' children throwing dice on a drum; singing in the tents.' We are thus introduced to the mercenary band of adventurers that is collected before us, and we perceive at once that they are a motley, restless group, a set of gamblers in the game of life, and reckless of all consequences.

A peasant and his son approach the camp, and their conversation leads us to a more intimate knowledge of this crew, whose vices the demoralized peasant seeks to turn to his own advantage.

Son.
Father, some ill will sure ensue.---
Let us avoid the soldier crew;
Even if life and limb they spare,
Their insolence is hard to bear.

· FATHER.
• What if their bearing be somewhat rough,
To eat us they hardly are rude enough.
See, there have new ones joined their train,
Fresh from the banks of the Saal and Maine.
Booty they bring, things rare and fine,
Cunning and skill may make them mine.
A captain whom his comrades stuck
Left me some dice of certain luck ;
And soon on these I'll prove my skill,
If they hold their original virtue still.
We must look wretched as wretched may be ;
They are wasteful and loose and free,
Swallow fair language and see no trick,
Make fast winnings and lose them as quick.
If in bushels our goods they gain,
We by spoonsful must get them again ;
They set rudely the stroke of sword,
We by cunning must sweep the board.

[Singing and shouting in the tent.
How they shout!-May God sustain
Us poor peasants, who pay for all.
Eight long months the swarm has lain
In the labourer's bed and stall ;
Far and wide in all our plains
Neither feather nor hoof remains;
We for hunger and sheer distress
Must gnaw our joints in wretchedness.
Not more sad our old estate,
When the Saxon was at our gate.
And the name of the Emperor's men they bear.

Son.
• See from the kitchen comes out a pair.
By their looks they have little to serve our need.

Father.
. They are of us, of Bohemia's breed.
Carbiniers of Terschka's train
In these quarters long have lain ;
And these are just the worst of all;
Spread their shoulders and strut so tall,
As if they were far too good to deign
With the peasant a flask to drain.
But to the left apart I see
Round the fire sharpshooters three-
By their dress they are Tyrolese ;
Emmerick, come, I will have at these ;
Birds of gay note and gaudy feather,

Loving to flock and chatter together.'—pp. 13–16. Under the pretence of begging, the peasants gain admission to the camp, where instead of food, they are characteristically offered only wine. We learn, from a conversation between a sergeant and a trumpeter, that the pay of the troops has been recently doubled, a delightful concession of which they could not divine the cause, unless it was that some great event was upon the eve of taking place, a conjecture the more plausible, as

• The generals do not muster here,
The couriers do not hurry through,

For want of other work to do.'
The appearance of an Austrian diplomatist in the camp,

• A blood-bound of the emperor's chase,

The footsteps of the duke to trace,'
confirms these suspicions, but the troops are for the Duke.

• SERGEANT.
Mark well, they trust us not, and fear
The stern close Friedlander's brow severe.
He has risen too high, and fain
They would tumble him down again.

· TRUMPETER.
• But we upright shall hold him, we
Were all the rest like you and me.

SERGEANT.
• Our regiment here, and the four beside,
By Terschka led, are sure and tried.
The most determined of all his host
Pledged to maintain him in his post.
He named our captains, and through the roll

We are his and will be, body and soul.'-pp. 18, 19. A little incident of a sharpshooter duping a. Croat, by inducing him to exchange a costly necklace which he stole, for a pair of pistols and a cap; a transaction witnessed by the trumpeter, who

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