screw our courage to the sticking-place, and inspire us with a becoming resignation. The fool, on the contrary, sees nothing of all this.* Folly, says the Greek tragedian, makes the sweetest life, and, of all evils, is the least painful;† and Champfort justly remarks, that Nature in pity relieves us from the load of existence when the passions cease to blind us to the evils by which it is surrounded. Who ever heard of a fool committing suicide, or staining himself with any of the greater crimes which spring from intensity of feeling? The French, before the Revolution, had an exalted but false idea of the philosophy of the English, and this justifies another of their prejudices respecting our tendency to melancholy. However good it may be to be merry and wise, the union of the two is by no means so easy to effect. The Quakers are remarkable for their sense and practical wisdom; but are they not at the same time the muzziest mortals in existence? Your man of wit laughs only when he has good cause; but the fool laughs at every thing-at any thing-at nothing. Our ancestors, whose wisdom is proverbial, and is only called in question by Jacobins and innovators, were thrown upon professional fools or jesters for their merriment. They were too staid and grave a race to venture upon a laugh of their own raising; whereas we moderns, who are too silly to stir a step in safety without their guidance, keep up the circulation of the blood by endless laughing at our own jokes and our neighbours' absurdities. It is then a most merciful dispensation of Providence that multiplies fools, and confines within the narrowest limits those who must either burst with indignation at triumphant villany, or pine into atrophy at the aspect of human misery. The upholding of folly is therefore in itself a virtue, as the denouncing it is a treason against Nature, and a sedition against the State. He who despises a Lord Chamberlain cannot love his King; and he who jests at a Bishop's wig is on the high road to atheism. To disdain pedantry, is almost as wicked as to subscribe to the London University; and to laugh at Sir Thomas Lethbridge, is to level yourself with the Cato-street conspirators. The superiority of folly is observable in the fact, that the greatest geniuses are glad to take occasional refuge in fooling. It is also well worthy of remark, that the rich and the noble, who may command their own company, seldom surround themselves with associates of high intellectual powers, but give a marked preference to those least able to set the Thames on fire. If, from a misplaced vanity, an individual among them now and then is ambitious As the old song of J. Miller, 1744, abundantly testifies. A fool enjoys the sweets of life, Unwounded by its cares; If Fortune smile, as smile she will, But reaps the present good. Or should, through love of change, her wheels Her fav'rite bantling cross, The happy fool no anguish feels, He weighs nor gains nor loss. When knaves o'erreach, and friends be tray, Whilst men of sense run mad, Fools, careless, whistle on and say, Since free from sorrow, fear, and shame, The greatest folly I can name Ajax Mastigophorus. of appearing clever himself, and seeks to open his table to the lettered, the scientific, and the deep thinker, his choice more frequently stumbles upon some blue-stocking pretender or charlatan, some wholesale dealer in solemn plausibilities, or worthy blockhead, whose accidental acquirements serve only to render his native folly more saliently conspicuous. He who would get on in the world, must sedulously hide from it his superiority. The man of merit, who makes too open a display of his abilities, is distrusted and hated. He must be dissatisfied, and therefore is dangerous. It is not the dull and the silly who breed revolutions, but that sect, hated of gods and men, the philosophers. Their knowledge is disaffection, and their science infidelity. Had there been no geniuses in France, the world would not have groaned under the oppression of a Bonaparte, and that nation would have enjoyed to all eternity the mild, benignant, and paternal sway of the Bourbons. It is not then wonderful that the wisest governments lay themselves so deliberately out for captivating the good graces of fools. For their benefit, the most expensive ceremonies are instituted; for them, fasts are proclaimed, kings' speeches laboriously conned by heart, Antijacobin and Quarterly Reviews written, ribbons and medals multiplied, and State-trumpeters hired; for their especial amusement, robes and jewels are called into play, and maces surcharged with the very best double gilding. If none but clever persons were to be consulted, there would be no occasion for late debates, tedious explanations of ministerial squabbles, annual budgets, or even for the very expensive farce of Parliamentary votes. The sic volo sic jubeo of a Wellington would answer all the purpose, as it does of that other fool-trap, a responsible Cabinet. What, indeed, is diplomacy itself, and the whole code of international law, but a deferential sacrifice to the folly of mankind. This consideration contains the philosophy of Oxenstiern's celebrated axiom, and satisfactorily explains why fools in general make the best ministers. They sympathize with the public for whom they act, and the public sympathizes with them; and they instinctively hit upon the measures which are suited to the intellectual calibre of the majority. They never, by the brilliancy of their conceptions, disturb the settled order of things, nor, by putting mankind upon thinking, disturb their digestion, and force them upon the most disagreeable of the functions of life. James, the most foolish of all possible kings, maintained his empire in peace for a long series of years, and laid the foundation of that national developement which placed England among the first class of nations, or rather put it at the head of European civilization: whereas the clever rogues, the Fredericks, the Louis the Fourteenths, the Francises, and the Charles the Fifths, imbrued their hands incessantly in the blood of their fellow-creatures, and made misery for their subjects. If then, gentle reader, you are not too wise, if you are more worthy of Gotham than of Athens, set yourself down without hesitation as among the privileged order of society. Hold up your head at the highest; set yourself unblushingly in the high places; and laugh to scorn, as an honest man should do, every one who presumes on his intellectual superiority, and has the insolent pretension to think himself better, because he is wiser, than his neighbours, and has got the start of the age in which he lives. Decry talents hardily; neglect genius superciliously; vote illumination a bore, and consistency a mark of the beast; and above all, as far as your interest and patronage extend, be sure to shut out from preferment all manner of persons who are so unfitted for place or distinction, as not either to be, or at least affect to be, downright fools! M. THE number and beauty of these publications would seem to demand from us this year something more than a mere detached notice, independently of their connection with art. All the world knows that we are indebted for them to the Germans; and, as in most other instances, where we have borrowed from the inventions of strangers, we have improved them beyond all hope of foreign competition. It is to Mr. Akermann that the British public is indebted, for the first successful attempt at introducing them into this country. The "Forget me Not" was first published, by Mr. Akermann, in 1823. The "Friendship's Offering" came out next, in 1824. Mr. Watts's "Literary Souvenir" appeared in 1825, and the "Amulet" in 1826. After these there was a pause of two years, until 1828, when the "Bijou" and Keepsake" appeared, and for the coming year, 1829, two more, viz. The "Anniversary" and "Gem," are announced. The "Forget me Not," elegant as its embellishments are, does not excel its preceding volumes, and in the literary part, as respects the poetry, falls short of them. The print of Marcus Curtius, from Martin, engraved by H. Le Keux, is a most charming specimen of his art, and Vicenza, from Prout, by Freebairn, is very beautiful; and all are good. Two or three years ago the plates in the present volume would have been deemed the perfection of art; but emulation has been excited, and Mr. Akermann must not lie on his oars. As he was the master of the ceremonies, and introduced these publications, we would fain see him head the race. We cannot agree in the remark in the preface, "that the present volume has a decided literary preeminence," nor that it surpasses those of preceding years. James Montgomery, Hemans, Delta, Hogg, Barry Cornwall, all so well known and valued by the public, are here, but not in their Sunday dress. The poetry is decidedly inferior, and a great deal of it bad. The prose is better. One or two pieces are superior, and furnish a pleasant treat to the reader. "Père Lachaise" is somewhat out of date, though not out of place. Mrs. Hofland has a charming specimen of her pen; the "Goldsmith of Westcheap" is good; "Terence O'Flaherty" lively; and "The Euthanasia," a story of modern Greece, excellent. To give extracts from the prose tales would occupy space, which we can ill afford, for it is not from lack of inclination we do not make them. Notwithstanding the exception we have made, which we trust will stimulate Mr. Akermann to new exertions, we are most happy to welcome him again in his wonted garb of green, and its tasteful embellishments. The Editor is Mr. Shoberl. The "Friendship's Offering" of this year is much superior to the last, and the binding in leather is uncommonly handsome, indeed quite unique. Of the beautiful embellishments we have already given an account.* It is under a new Editorship, that of Mr. Pringle, himself a poet. The poetry is very superior. The names of J. Montgomery, Hemans, Neale, Mackenzie, Clare, Cunningham, Southey, Gibson, Delta, Hogg, Gent, Barton, H. Smith, the Howitts, Stebbing, St. John, Kennedy, Tennant, &c. &c. are among the contributors. The best piece in the volume, to our taste, is the Editor's own, entitled "Glen-Lynden." It is of that sweet, tranquil, beautiful order of writing, which the public taste did ill to abandon, for a time, for the wishy-washy sentimental, poured forth, like an inundation, the poetry of assumed feeling and affected voluptuousness. This poem, we are informed, is part of a larger one, projected in South Africa, in 1824, and not likely (which we regret) ever to be completed. The tale is simple: The owner of the ruins of Lynden, now a farmer, surrounded by his offspring, and a friendless girl, to whom he has supplied the want of a parent, meets disappointment at home, and emigrates to South Historical Register-Fine Arts. p. 443. Africa. Here the fragment concludes. The following extract will give some idea of the author's style. Far up the dale, where Lynden's ruined towers Bold feats of war, fierce feuds of elder times, Blithe carolling, or stockdove's plaintive moan, No sound of living thing through the long day was known. No sound-save, aye, one small brook's tinkling dash And pittering song of grasshoppers that make Throughout the glowing meads their mirthful chime : Here Arthur loved to roam-a dreaming boy- Or read adventurous tales with thrilling joy, Till his young breast throbb'd high with thirst of fame : And there were eyes that from long silken lashes Their "Farewell Song" to their native shores is very charming, full of that simplicity which tells home to the heart. The reader of true taste cannot but be delighted with it. The following "Cabinet Picture" we also presume to be from Mr. Pringle's pen, by its naiveté and simplicity. A graceful form, a gentle mien Sweet eyes of witching blue, A fancy pure as virgin snows, Yet playful as the wind; |