blood and ammunition it cost the Duke to gain Malplacquet;" a word to which he gave a peculiarly broad Norfolk pronunciation. "More fool he then," replied the other, who thought that he was talking of a Norwich Aspasia, of most acquiescing dispositions-" More fool he, in making such a fuss about gaining Moll Plackett-why there is not a soldier in his regiment that would have given more than a shilling and a glass of rum for her at any time."

But this civic oddity was chiefly entertaining, as being a remarkable illustration of the old quarrel between theory and practice. For in his historical studies, he unwittingly imbibed the popular passions of the periods he was reading about; so that, retrospectively, he was a staunch Whig, and a warm patriot, in the utmost intensity of those designations; whilst, in fact, he was the most thorough-going of what was then called the Church and King party, and boiled over with the frothy fervour of the troublesome and noisy loyalty of the day. He was, in short, a personification of Burke's admirable remark upon the historical patriotism; which, after discharging its virtuous bile on King John, or Henry the Eighth, sits down with appetite to the coarsest job of modern corruption. For instance, he entered fully into the popular heats that prevailed during the American war, and seemed inspired with the plebeian passions of Wilkes and Beckford, denouncing general warrants, and the prosecutions of Woodfall and Almon, whilst, with a ludicrous inconsistency, as a Norwich Alderman, he was committing to prison every drunken vagabond who d―d the King-the very King, of whose infatuation with regard to America he was wont to indulge in expressions of abuse much more rancorous. So strange a combination of retrospective sedition and practical loyalty, raised at the club, as I have been told, unbounded mirth at the expense of the worthy alderman. But the animal had an acute, instinctive sense of his own interest; for he obtained a lucrative clothing contract by his loyalty, and died a knight, having carried up a foolish address in 1794. Sayers, in allusion to the man's historical whiggism, and regard to his own interests, said that B- was like a boatman, who, though he looked backwards, was sure to row onward. It is time, however, to return to our London Clubs.

"To-morrow to fresh fields and pastures new."

* The rest of the passage embodies much fine sense and deep philosophy. "We are very uncorrupt, and tolerably enlightened judges of past ages, where no passions deceive, and the whole train of circumstances, from the trifling cause to the tragical event, is set before us. Few are the partizans of departed tyranny, and to be a Whig on the business of a hundred years ago, is very consistent with every advantage of present servility."-Thoughts on the Present Discontents, 1772.

Your Eastern manners, garb, and face
Appear a strange chimera;

None, none but you can now be styled
Romantic, picturesque, and wild,
In this prosaic era.

Ye sole freebooters of the wood

Since Adam Bell and Robin Hood:

Kept every where asunder

-

From other tribes;-King, Church, and State Spurning, and only dedicate

To freedom, sloth, and plunder,

Your forest-camp-the forms one sees
Banditti-like amid the trees,

The ragged donkies grazing,
The Sibyl's eye prophetic, bright
With flashes of the fitful light,

Beneath the caldron blazing,—

O'er my young mind strange terrors threw :
Thy history gave me, Moore Carew!
A more exalted notion

Of Gypsy life, nor can I yet

Gaze on your tents, and quite forget
My former deep emotion.-

For "auld lang syne" I'll not maltreat
Yon pseudo-Tinker, though the Cheat,
As sly as thievish Reynard,
Instead of mending kettles, prowls
To make foul havock of my fowls,
And decimate my hen-yard.-

Come thou, too, black-eyed lass, and try
That potent skill in palmistry,
Which sixpences can wheedle;
Mine is a friendly cottage-here
No snarling mastiff need you fear,
No Constable or Beadle.

'Tis yours, I know, to draw at will
Upon Futurity a bill,

And Plutus to importune;-
Discount the bill-take half yourself,
Give me the balance of the pelf,

And both may laugh at fortune.

D'ISRAELI'S COMMENTARIES.

HISTORY, by the tone with which most people speak of it, must, in their minds, exist as a sort of abstraction-a matter, in the creation of which nothing mortal was concerned, and with which neither accumulation of materials, nor inquiry, nor research, had any thing to do-a something, in fact, descended from the skies ready cut and dried; or, if really constructed in the world below the moon, the work of absolute philosophy, unbiassed by human perversions-of infallible sages, before whose eyes the views of men are all unrolled, and from whose searching glance no counsels of theirs are hid ;-but the vaguer feeling, doubtless, is the more prevalent one, that history is a something scarcely inferior in importance to revelation itself, and not at all so in authority-in reality, a second gospel, differing only from what is exclusively so entitled, because it is supposed to relate to political matters, and the affairs of this life solely, whereas the first refers wholly to religious ones, and is wholly confined to the next world. The intelligence it conveys is as little to be controverted, and the instruction equally valuable. We need only observe the solemnity and urgency with which parents, and pastors, and masters, and all that are in authority over us, inculcate the study of history upon the rising generation, to be convinced it is contemplated, at the very least, as the sine qua non of existence; and, accordingly, every body, we see, goes to it, doggedly, as to a duty, which is neither relieved by the prospect of pleasure, nor coupled with any useful, or even any distinct object.

History must be read-read-with what view, or for what advantage, nobody points out, and few define to themselves. It must be supposed to work its own effects irresistibly; and so it surely must, if it work any. The only conceivable utility in studying the records of times gone by, is to add to the sum of our experience; and the use of that experience is to guide and cheer us through the complexities of existing circumstances. All wisdom proceeds on the bold supposition that nature is uniform-that the same passions exist in every sound frame, and are excitable by the same occurrences; and hence alone it is that there is room for conjecture, inference, calculation-prophecy. But bare names, naked facts, cold generalities, unconnected circumstances-how are they capable of working this or any kind of utility? To be made serviceable to us, we must see the links of human operations-we must understand the motives-we must draw off the veil that hangs over the workings of the individual, before we can estimate the worth of his actions, or judge of their wisdom, or determine how well or ill he fixed upon his ends, measured his means and employed them, and executed his final aims. Knowing something of these matters, facts grow up into the importance of personal experience, and co-operate with our own actual knowledge-add to our materials- -our wisdom, and lift us above ourselves-qualify us to guide our fellows, and lead their judgments, and point their actions.

No reading in the world, we verily believe-speaking with reference to what are regarded as legitimate histories-is so little instructive-is so little, besides, from any quality, inviting-so impossible to pursue with any steadiness-so little calculated to rouse the intellect, or even to keep the physical senses awake. And how comes this about? Plainly from the dry, cursory, unparticularizing, contracted, and contracting style with which they are all delivered. Some may say, from want of materials. No, there is no such want with respect to really important periods. Of modern times especially -the last two hundred and fifty years-materials abound. Authentic sources of information are thrown open daily. The truth is, too much is compressed within a given compass. The writer's main object is to furnish a flowing narrative-to pursue generalities only-to shun digressions, for fear the reader should lose the thread of the story, or the story itself become too

Commentaries on the Life and Reign of Charles the First, King of England. By I. D'Israeli. 2 vols. 8vo.

long for his patience. Particulars, anecdotes, repartees are avoided, sometimes as below the dignity of history; or, stranger still, as superfluous, and unessential to the ultimate result. The effect is that of a peristrephic panorama; the scenes shift, the subjects change, and vanish so rapidly, that each expels the remembrance of the preceding. Before an interest can be stirred in our bosoms, before we can understand the case or the character, and speculate upon probabilities, or estimate the bearing and effect of the action, the shadow is gone, to make room for another, which will impress as little, and vanish as soon. A tale becomes thus but a catastrophe, and a character

dwindles to a name. The consequence of which is, that no one reads history with any feeling of pleasure, nor, what is worse, with any practical effect; for the fact is, it is by construction and plan adapted for neither one nor the other. The greater part of persons read the history of their own country, for instance,-that of course, which happens to be in the best repute, especially with their particular friends. Their immediate object, if they have a definite one, is to pick up, at the least possible expense of time and labour, the series and successions of events; and with them they take the writer's inferences, suggestions, and principles-all stand on the same level, and challenge the same authority-are all admitted, and no questions asked. They rarely dream of drawing themselves independent conclusions-they make no difficulties, they raise no doubts; and, indeed, they have neither materials, nor even occasions, for the writer, in whom they trust, forestalls them, and has, at least, sense enough to link his conclusions with some closeness to the premises he chooses to produce.

Any man who really means to extract the honey of history, knows he must fly to the sources of history-to personal memoirs-to contemporary authorities-to original correspondence, official and private. In memoirs and diaries, written, as they generally must be, by persons actively engaged in the scenes they describe, we have something like unity-something that ties all together: the ends correspond a little with the beginnings, and the writer has the air of one who knows something of what he is talking about. He breathes the atmosphere of the times, and speaks the tone of them.

Memoirs must be partial;—no doubt; but that quality really constitutes a part of their best value and interest. You are employed in detecting a bias, and by those very detections, you discover truths;-at the worst, you speculate on the current subject-you canvass the matter-you exercise your understanding, and can scarcely fail of intercepting the useful-of laying up materials, which will, at one time or other, come opportunely in, and contribute to broader and more valuable conclusions. But then these memoirs are limited in their periods. Well, how much better is it to understand even a short period well, than ages ill! Besides, our memoirs, when thoroughly looked up, are, in reality, very numerous; so thick-coming as to leave very few gaps in the general story. But then the studying things in this way is making history the labour of a life. It is, we persist, whether it take up a life or not, the only useful course. For our own parts, we had as lieve read Goldsmith, for instance, as Hume, always excepting his discussions and philosophy. General histories are, at the best, only outlines; and, in our view, the shortest is the best. It is the fillings up, by personal communication, which constitute the solid, substantial, applicable instruction.

Impelled by convictions not very unlike our own, Mr. D'Israeli has commenced a series of Commentaries on the reign of Charles the First, avowedly for the purpose of illustrating the general by the particular, the public by the private, and thus making the secret, a kind of supplement to the ostensible history. His talents and acquirements are well known; he has spent a long life in researches among forgotten books, and has produced we know not how many volumes--tending all of them to illustrate the records of history, literary and political. He is well acquainted, no man better, with the existing sources of information, and is endowed with a vigour of perseverance, that no trifles repulse. He is, besides, perfectly at leisure, and always

considers the reader as much disengaged as himself. He never flinches, if he once makes a point,-has an exceedingly good nose,-and would at any time prefer beating the roughest wilderness to scouring the finest champaign in his Majesty's dominions. He has, moreover, strong and just conceptions, as his preface shows, of what is demanded for the adequate execution of the task he undertakes.

On the other hand, the style of his composition, it must be allowed, is not in the best taste possible. It is far too elaborate, and yet irregular-there is a general want of freedom about it-he is perpetually on the hunt for eccentric and epigrammatic phrases, and can scarcely ever be persuaded, if the natural occurs to him, to make any use of it. His metaphors weary to death. This, however, though a matter to be regretted, because the fastidious revolt at it, is of inferior importance-a much more serious objection lies against him in the obsoleteness of his political tenets-in the incapableness he manifests to appreciate the actions of any but the staunchest loyalists. This is unlucky, because it generates a distrust in the author precisely where reliance would have been most welcome-especially, seeing he has chosen a period in which there figured upon the public stage men of sentiments diametrically opposite, and yet of the most exalted character, the profoundest wisdom, and unequalled energy. All the while, he is, at every turn, arrogating the merit of the most perfect liberality and fairness, and, nevertheless, scattering his vituperations right and left upon all opponents without measure or mercy.

To convince his readers that he can see, and, by implication, can shun, and, moreover, actually has shunned the mistakes of others, he tells us, Rapin, for instance, when puzzled by the conflictions of his materials, reconciled them by what he himself called a scheme.' Convinced that Charles was despotic in politics, and that though he might be a good Protestant, yet his wife was a Catholic, and had unbounded influence over him, and resolved, by the aid of some of the ministers, to re-establish the old religion, he concluded the great principles of the Government were the maintenance of uncontrolled sovereign power, and the restoration of Catholicism. This he called his scheme;' and he applies it on all occasions, and by it adjusts all perplexities. So thoroughly satisfied, too, is he with the soundness of this scheme of his, and so frank in his declarations, that he confesses, though he had large collections from Frankland, Nelson, and Clarendon, he made no use of them, because they let no fact nor paper pass without applying their scheme, which was not, he says, always agreeable to his. "This mode of writing history by a scheme," observes the author in a chuckling tone, "is perhaps not peculiar to Rapin;" and we add, if this is to be matter of censure, it must recoil, we fear, with full force upon himself.

But, really, to frame a "scheme" of some sort or other, and to some extent, is the natural and almost inevitable result of a survey, unless where the evidence is in direct opposition, and equally balanced, which is scarcely ever the case. A man cannot examine and sift a body of materials relative to the same persons and actions, without the conviction pressing upon his senses, that such and such were the leading aims and objects of the agents; and they accordingly constitute his scheme'-his scale and criterion. But this conviction-this scheme-resulting from the examination of large materials, depends for its correctness and value upon the skill of the examinerhis sagacity, his judgment, the comprehensiveness of his grasp; one man may give more or less weight to particulars than another-he may overlook important points, and over-estimate minor ones; and the scheme,' accordingly, of one historian may very well, and indeed quite unavoidably, differ from another's. But a scheme' there will be sure to be. Mr. D'Israeli has his, and one which, however originally settled in his mind, has obviously biassed his after-judgments; and, no doubt, it is and must be extremely difficult for the firmest not to be dragged in, and hurried down the current of a 'scheme.'

The present volumes embrace the history of the first four years only of Charles's reign-to the dismissal of the third Parliament-and are introduced