This speech was first printed in 1792, and has been now re-printed in Dublin, as the subject was thought to be connected with the great question of union depending in Ireland. It asserts that Ireland is a part or parcel of the dominions of the Imperial Crown of England, and that the relation of that country to England differs essentially from the relation in which Scotland stood to England before the union. The noble and patriotic orator contends that Ireland holds its sovereignty of the Crown of England, and not of the person of the King; and therefore that the Irish legislature could not adopt the measure proposed, without departing from the principles of the constitution, EDUCATION. Art. 28. Columbus; or, The Discovery of America: as related by a Father to his Children, and designed for the Instruction of Youth. Translated from the German of J. H. Campe, by Elizabeth Helme. 12mo. 2 Vols. in one. 3s. 6d. Boards. Low, 1799. This history of the Discovery of America is intended as the first part of a collection of voyages, which the author has undertaken to prepare for the instruction of youth; and of which some other parts have since been published. It is unnecessary to bestow encomiums on a design so praise-worthy; and which is so much the more useful, as, in the greater part of the accounts published of voyages performed by the most celebrated of the early discoverers, actions are represented with that species of deceitful colouring which is the most liable to create impressions subversive of every principle of hu manity and justice. M. Campe has given his relation in the form of dialogues, as being convenient for the purposes of occasional explanations, and of introducing instruction on subjects of geography, history, &c. History appears best calculated to convey instruction, when it consists of truth with sound comment, delivered in language the most explicit. Such history must prove the best antidote against the poison which has been infused into the morals and dispositions of mankind, by those innumerable relations which have attached renown to extraordinary, more than to good, actions. Principles similar to those which we have commended, the author has kept in view in drawing up his history of the Discovery of America: but his hand has been restrained by an opinion that it is necessary by degrees to unveil the truth, and with infinite precaution to discover to pupils, as they advance in years, the caprice and injustice of men; lest, finding themselves deceived in the flattering picture they had drawn, from imagining a society of angels they fall into the opposite extreme, and take their fellow-creatures for so many fiends!'-To these considerations, it is probably to be attributed that the author has in a few instances shewn too great a solicitude to preserve some characters from reproach; not by disguising facts, but, as the translator expresses it, in giving the full merit to the adventurers for their courage, perseverance, &c. and retracing with a merciful hand the atrocious deeds which disgraced them.' This gradation of developement might, perhaps, with less danger of obscuring the truth, be effected by care in the selection of subjects for instruction, than by by any exclusive adaptations. We are of opinion that the voyages of Columbus may be pronounced to be proper subjects of information, if justly represented, for pupils who are of an age sufficiently advanced to comprehend them.-Notwithstanding the restraint under which M. Campe seems to have laid himself, his relation appears better calculated to inculcate good principles, than any other edition of the same voyages that has been published. The following extract, taken from the account of the conquest of Hispaniola, will serve as a specimen of his manner: The Father (in continuation)" The two armies were already in sight of each other, and the dreadful moment approached which was to decide upon the life [lives] of the Spaniards and the liberty of the Indians. On one side, a hundred thousand Indians appeared armed with clubs, wooden scimitars, pikes, and arrows. On the other, two hundred foot and twenty European horse were supported by a small body of Indians under the command of Guakanahari; but what this handful of Europeans wanted in number was added in military discipline, weapons, horses, and-shall I speak it—even in dogs!" Charlotte. "Dogs!" The Father. "Yes, my child. They had brought a number of mastiffs to let loose upon the poor naked Indians, in the same manner as is usual against wild boars and beasts of prey." Charlotte. "Oh, shameful! This was not attacking them like men." The Father. The danger therefore you see was nearly equal on both sides, and consequently the issue of the battle easy to foresee. Columbus made choice of night for the horrid scene he was preparing; hoping that darkness would increase the terror with which the Indians would necessarily be seized on an unexpected attack. Night therefore being come, and his little army divided between Bartholomew, the Cacique Guakanahari, and himself, he fell upon the Indians at the moment they least expected an attack. The shouts and fury of the assailants, the noise of the fire-arms, the barking of the dogs, struck the Indians with such consternation and terror, that after a slight resistance they fled in disorder and dismay. Thus were these inoffensive people constrained to bend beneath the yoke of European slavery į".' In this dialogue, the motives for fighting are not on both sides justly represented. The Spaniards fought not for their lives: they might probably have negociated: retreat must have been in their power; and this, justice prescribed: but they were actuated by very different motives. The Indians, indeed, fought for their liberty; the Spaniards, for plunder and dominion. In the sequel, the father observes: Hitherto we have seen Columbus act only in such a manner as to inspire our admiration and conciliate our friendship; but still he was a man. Prepare, therefore, to behold him in his turn degenerate, and from thence learn that it is necessary for man, how strong soever may be his propensities to virtue, to keep strict guard on his heart and actions.' M. Campe has noticed the sources whence he drew his materials. As he proceeds, perhaps, he could not do better than by consulting the the original accounts for facts, and describing them from such cons siderations as shall be suggested by his own sense of justice. The language of the translation is plain, and easy of comprehension: but we find some inaccuracies in the nautical and geogra phical parts of the narrative, which a closer attention to the generally received accounts would have prevented. POETIC and DRAMATIC. Art. 29. The Turnpike Gate; A Musical Entertainment in Two Acts; now performing with universal Applause, at the Theatre Royal, Covent Garden. By T. Knight. Robinsons. 1799. 8vo. Is. 6d. Musical farces are not expected to stand the test of dramatic cri ticism. The plot and dialogue are considered as little more than pegs on which to hang the songs and music; and if they answer this purpose, the chief end is accomplished. The Turnpike Gate, in this respect, may please in the representation. The songs have merit; and there is one character, of a Village Scrub or man of all work, which is conceived with some degree of originality and humour, under the name of Crack. Sir Edward allows this Crack to drive his cur ricle in order to exercise the horses; they run away with him and a sailor whom he takes with him, and break the carriage to pieces; the following is the dialogue with the groom after the accident: Groom. Why, that trunk, you, and the sailor, for a light car. riage, were a little too weighty, I think, friend. Crack. Not weighty enough, friend, or your trotting nags would not have galloped so fast; but it seems your and your horses wits jump. Groom. How so? Crack. Why, your horses, like you, voted us too weighty, and so unloaded us. • Groom. Unloaded you! Crack. Yes; if you won't believe me, ask your master's great coat-(gives it)-Brush it, dy'e hear, it has been rubb'd already. Groom. And hav'n't you brought the black horse back? Crack. Why, how you talk! the black horse would not bring us back. Groom. And where is he? Crack. He's gone. Groom. Gone! Where? Crack. He did not tell me where he was going; I was not in his confidence; when you catch him, teach him better manners • Groom. Dam'me, if ever I heard the like before! - (amazed.) Crack. No, nor saw the like behind! He winc'd like a devil! the worst bred horse I ever saw. Groom. What do you talk of? Not a better bred horse in the kingdom-(with a knowing slang manner). Crack. Then the manners of horses are not more refined than their masters; he kick'd up, as much as to say, that for you(kicks up). • Groom. • Groom. Dam'me, but you seem to have made a very nice job of it. Crack. If you flatter at hearing half, what will you say when you know the whole? The carriage, you see • Groom. Is that run away too? • Crack. No; but it might, if I hadn't taken good care of it. Groom. By driving over posts, I suppose? Crack. No; by driving against posts-(Oh! you'll find me cor, rect)-by which I took off one wheel, and broke the other. Groom. And havn't you brought it with you? Crack, Without wheels! how could I?-'twould have broke back. my "Groom. I wish you mayn't get your head broke, that's all! Crack. So far from that, I expect to be complimented for my judgment; for if I had not, like a skilful whip, whipped off the wheels, I might have lost the carriage and all its valuable contents; by being expert, I have saved both. Groom. Well, friend, you seem very merry under misfortune, and I wish you luck; It was Sir Edward's own doing, he can't blame me. Crack. If he should, I'll make a neat defence for the sake of [Exit. your nice feeling: dam'nd hard, if at a battle of brains, I could not outgossip a grumbling groom. Whenever I'm puzzled, I always hum folk humming's all the fashion. Strike they must tho' loth, (Ships with dollars cramm'd,) If they're not humm'd both, Then will I be d Towdy rowdy dow, &c.' Art. 30, Poems, by Robert Farren Cheetham. 4to. 2s. 6d. This writer expresses himself much displeased with us for having objected to the term whetstone, in one of his former poems, as rather bordering on vulgarism. As we have already assigned our reasons for this opinion, we are not inclined to enter into farther dispute on the subject, and shall therefore pass over the flippant remarks which the author makes in his preface, without any animadversion. Of the present collection, we shall commence our account by making the following extract, part of an Ode spoken at Manchester school. Let Latian Muses, and the sister train, That fill'd great Homer's mind with heavenly fire, Let these, in native charms array'd, Depict the conquering Cæsar's noble mind, In war supremely brave, supremely kind, And show the woes of Rome, that mad ambition made; The fateful wrath of Peleus' son to sing, To paint the gallant Hector's dauntless breast, And Helen's faithless charms of wars and woes the spring: The deeds of Britain's sons with conscious pride rehearse. When Cressy's field was drench'd with gore, When numbers numberless bestrew'd the plain, That groan'd beneath the weight of warriors slain ; To hunger and fatigue a prey, Thro' all the ranks with lightning's swiftness flew, Sat gorgeous Valour plumed, with Victory at his side. Which smiles not always on the strong! To souls, that greatly think, and nobly dare, Though Mr. C. may pronounce that we are ill-qualified to judge of poetry, perhaps he will allow us to remark, as grammarians, that the expression numbers numberless is not far removed from nonsense; and, as he values himself on his classical education, he might have known that limitation is of the essence of number, and in that respect only it differs from multitude, We |