right to it; in the second, of the distribution of wealth among individuals, and between them and the government. There is nothing very new in this arrangement; nor is there any thing very new in the internal arrangements of these two grand divisions, except that in the first book he postpones the consideration of the right to assuming it to be already understood, as has been done by other Economists-a matter in regard to which we have already expressed our opinion. In the rest of the first book, and in the whole of the second, he has strictly observed the arrangement now generally adopted. confines itself to the discussion of the origin, distribution, and availability of a nation's wealth. Without correct ideas on these points, a legislator blunders in the dark. He, on the other hand, who would regulate the whole of a nation's concerns on an acquaintance with these matters alone, betrays his ignorance of other and equally essential branches of knowledge. But who would reject a valu-wealth till after the investigation of its origin, instead of able medicine because a quack has occasionally done harm by prescribing it where it was inapplicable? It has been further objected to this science, that there is not one of its principles which is not at present warmly controverted. This uncertainty, however, is not to be sought in the science itself, but in the confused heads of those who write and talk about it. In these blessed days of press-freedom, every body writes, and almost every body prints. It cannot fail, therefore, that, on a subject of such immediate interest, many who have but a smattering of the matter, and many who have not even that, must have their say. But the haziness and inconsistency of their conceptions must not be attributed to the science, of which it is but justice to form our notions by taking it as it stands in the works of its masters. Lastly, it has been objected, that many of the most plausible and seemingly most firmly-approve of in an institutional work. It misleads the established principles of political economy have failed as soon as an attempt was made to put them into practice. The answer to this is, that, changed though the social system of Europe be since the Reformation, many of the old institutions are still influentially alive; and that this renders impossible the full application of the economical doctrines. The mere practical man, who would seek to bring them into operation in all their extent, betrays thereby his ignorance of the actual state of society. He forgets, as Locksby would say, to allow for the wind. In this notice we have omitted many meritorious labourers in the field of political economy, either because they confined their attention to some isolated question, or because they were useful merely as redacteurs. To have mentioned them all, would have extended our sketch to an undue length. We have been induced to take the retrospect, as the best method of placing us in a situation to judge of the value of the work whose title stands at the head of the article-a task to which we now proceed. Mr Read prefaces his labours with a complaint of the indefinite and uncertain nature of the science as it at present stands—an allegation which we have already shown to be without foundation. The possible limits of the science are already almost completely investigated, and what has been ascertained, is by the better class of writers clearly and explicitly stated. But assuming for a moment that Mr Read's view of the matter is correct, let us see what remedy he proposes. "Political Economy has been hitherto designated as the science which treats of the production and distribution of wealth, and it has been totally overlooked that this includes the demonstration of right to wealth. It is here, therefore, for the first time, treated as an investigation concerning right to wealth, (or property;) and this innovation, while it gives a more important and a more definite object to the science, presents it under a new and totally different aspect from that in which it has hitherto appeared, and causes it to assume an entirely new shape." The assertion contained in the passage in Italics is incorrect. The necessity of a previous knowledge of the abstract doctrines of right to property, in order to a thorough understanding of the discussions of Political Economy, has been admitted by every writer on the subject, from Quesnay downwards. But this knowledge must be derived from the study of rational jurisprudence; and we see no benefit to be obtained from confounding two sciences, which, however they may bear upon and mutually illustrate each other, are essentially distinct. Let us proceed, however, to look not at what our author has promised, but what he has really performed. His work is divided into two books. In the first, he treats of the origin of wealth, and the natural grounds of | With regard to the manner in which Mr Read has executed his task, we find in the first part of the work a great deal of unnecessary redundancy-as, for example, in his definition of wealth, which, with its illustrations, extends to eleven pages, and contains nothing that has not been already said both better and more briefly. He is also apt to pass into digressions quite irrelevant to the subject in hand, and which materially retard the progress of the investigation. The second book is almost entirely taken up with controversy, which we can by no means mind from the object immediately in hand, by diverting it from the consideration of broad and general principles, and breaking down its attention among a thousand petty details. Nor do we think that he treats Messrs Ricardo and Malthus with that courtesy which the talents and high rank of these gentlemen in the science demand, be their doctrines right or wrong. Nor are they to be confuted by statements of alleged statistical facts, in support of which no evidence is produced. On the whole, this is the work of a man of great natural shrewdness, who might be able to discuss some isolated question with spirit and success, but who is by no means adequate to the task of a systematic and exhaustive investigation. His arrangement is not new, nor have we found one new principle established in the whole of it. Even his vaunted enquiry into the origin of the right to property is not brought to bear upon the subsequent disquisitions. Throughout the book we find the most acute remarks placed in immediate conjunction with the most laughable puerilities. It is an example at once of the necessity of training a mind from childhood to systematic investigation, in order to ensure success in science; and of the insufficiency of what is generally called "strong common sense" for this purpose, when unsupported by more comprehensive and penetrating intellectual powers. We are not among those who make it a rule to pick volumes, and transfer them to our pages. out all the notes and new matter which appear in these We have no taste for thus licking the paws of a literary lion; and, though we had, we are strongly inclined to suspect that the circulation of these volumes exceeds even that of the LITERARY JOURNAL, so that the task would be comparatively profitless. The work goes on steadily, and is always handsomely printed and neatly illustrated; though we think that some of the frontispieces might be better than they are. Marsh's Improved Family Journal and Memoranda, for 1830. London. William Marsh and Alfred Miller. Edinburgh. Constable & Co. THIS is an exceedingly useful and desirable publication. We recommend it heartily to all careful housewives, and bachelors of limited incomes, MISCELLANEOUS LITERATURE. THE EDITOR IN HIS SLIPPERS; OR, A PEEP BEHIND THE SCENES. No. V. "Stulta, jocosa, canenda, dolentia, seria, sacra, SCENE. The EDITOR'S Bed-chamber. The EDITOR is discovered in a magnificent bed, wearing a rose-coloured night-cap, which casts a delicate tinge over his naturally pale complexion. On one side of the bed is seated the Author of Waverley, and on the other the original Editor of the Edinburgh Review. The room is partially darkened; but, through the crimson damask window-curtains, a softened light is admitted. The furniture is of the most splendid description; and several tables are seen covered with every species of delicacy. Elevated upon a tasteful marble pedestal, and under a large glass case, are the EDITOR'S SLIPPERS. The EDITOR appears to be asleep. There is a long pause, during which the Author of Waverley and the original Editor of the Edinburgh Review exchange many anxious looks. Author of Waverley. For three days and three nights have we watched thus; and for three days and three nights has he lain speechless and almost motionless. Ed. of Edin. Review. I fear much that the world is about to lose him. I think that, even in the serenity of his noble countenance, I can discover the gradual approach of the shadow of death. Author of Waverley. Nay, I have better hopes. Has he not himself declared, in his own powerful words, that he will never die? We dare not disbelieve him. Ed. of Edin. Review. But consider the tremendous nature of the accident he has met with. To tumble over the three Falls of Clyde in succession, and yet, after being hurried down with the rapidity of lightning from Boninton to Stonebyers, to be taken out alive, was itself almost miraculous. That he can ultimately survive is surely an impossibility. Author of Waverley. I will not think so; for have not the ablest surgeons in the country declared, that with the exception of the os talaria in the left foot, there is not a single bone in his body broken? Besides, it is not likely that a being of his high destiny should have his career so speedily ended. Ed. of Edin. Review. Hark! he is muttering something through his broken and feverish slumbers. Author of Waverley. The sounds, though they convey no meaning, are full of a mysterious sublimity. How finely marked under the coverlet are the outlines of his majestic form! Look, too, at the features of his expressive face, which, though even unilluminated by the play of soul, are, nevertheless, more interesting than any I ́ ever remember to have beheld. Ed. of Edin. Review. · "Wouldst thou see THE EDITOR right, Go see him in bed by the morning light; In the pride of his strength he is all too gay, And his eye would blind like the orb of day." [The Author of Waverley bows. Enter Peter, the EDITOR's confidential servant. Peter. A line of carriages, nearly a mile long, has drawn up in the street, containing the friends of my beloved master, and deputations from public bodies, who have come to enquire after his health. Author of Waverley. Certainly no occurrence, since the conclusion of the late war, has occasioned such a sensation in the country as the illness of the EDITOR. The bulletins which we have issued every three hours do not seem to be considered minute enough. I wish, my good Peter, that you could only persuade his friends and the public in general, that every thing which can be done for mortal man shall be done for him. Sir Astley Cooper and Mr Abernethy have both come, of their own accord, from London, and they are at this moment closeted with the first physicians and surgeons of Edinburgh. Peter (with tears in his eyes.) I shall do all in my power. But I can little console others, when I stand so much in need of consolation myself. [Looks towards a table on which there is a case of liqueurs. The Author of Waverley pours out a glass of noyau, and hands it to Peter. He drinks it in silence, looks at his master, bursts into tears, and Exit. Ed. of Edin. Review. I have been watching the EDITOR for the last five minutes, and, as far as I can judge, I think there is a change operating for the better. Re-enter Peter. Peter. A crowd of persons has broken into the house. There is a panic through the whole city. An impression has gone abroad that the EDITOR is dead, and all business is at a stand. The deputation from the Faculty of Advocates is already attempting to force its way up stairs. Ed. of Edin. Review. This must not be permitted. They will surely listen to the expostulations of their Dean. [Exit. Peter (kneeling down beside the EDITOR'S SLIPPERS.) Poor dumb creatures! had ye words to express your feelings, how soon would your grief be known! But your affectionate nature is not the less severely wounded by the present affliction which has overtaken your master. Author of Waverley. Do you then really believe, Peter, that these SLIPPERS are endowed with the senses of living things? Peter. I have good reason to believe it, sir. I have een proofs of their love for the EDITOR which would altogether astonish you were I to recount them. Perhaps you will scarcely credit it when I declare to you, that unless when they are put under this glass case, they invariably place themselves, of their own accord, immediately beside the EDITOR's bed. It is all one where I leave them at night;-in the morning they are sure to be at their old post, so that as soon as he rises he cannot help putting his feet into them. Nay, I have known him declare, and I would as soon doubt my Catechism as his word, that once when he lay awake about midnight, he heard them endeavouring to leap up to his bed, and always falling back again, like trouts into the water, with a small shuffling noise. Author of Waverley. This is indeed very strange, Peter. Re-enter original Editor of Edinburgh Review, hastily. Ed. of Edin. Review. The Director-general, who has this moment come in, has been so much agitated that he has gone into strong hysterics. The Ettrick Shepherd, who left Mount Benger at five, and has galloped the whole way, is eating some cold beef in the dining-room, and weeping like a child. Mr M'Corkindale, of the house of Messrs Ballantyne & Co., declares, that though he has superintended the printing of the Edinburgh Review, Blackwood's Magazine, the Waverley Novels, and almost every work of eminence that has of late years issued from the Scottish press, he never printed any thing with so much delight as the LITERARY JOURNAL, and that if the EDITOR expires, he will never be able to hold up his head again. Mr Murray, of the Theatre-Royal, together with Messrs Pritchard and Stanley, protest that they are perfectly incapable of performing until they hear better tidings, and I have seldom seen even counterfeit grief so violent as their real grief. The literary men, and the booksellers and publishers from all quarters, form a dense crowd without, as far as the eye can reach. Author of Waverley. I shall speak to them from one of the front windows, and attempt to soothe their trou[Exit. bled minds. Ed. of Edin. Review. Mr Macdonald, the sculptor, has so earnestly requested permission to be allowed to take a cast of the EDITOR's face should he cease to breathe, that I could not altogether refuse him, and have promised him Go down, Peter, at all events, admission to this room. and conduct him up as quietly as possible. [Exit Peter. Ed. of Edin. Review. I am now alone with the greatest man of his age; and his gigantic might is stretched before me in unconscious listlessness. Will he recover, and again scatter his brilliant thoughts like sunlight over the world? or will he sink into the arms of death, and give a new dignity to the grave? If he dies, what will become of the fresh impulse he has given to the literary taste of his country? The Quarterly, and what was once my Edinburgh Review, have fallen into the sere and yellow leaf, and the LITERARY JOURNAL has risen like a Phoenix from their ashes, a bright and beautiful bird, clear of eye and strong of wing. Surely it can never come down thus speedily from its height of glory! Re-enter Peter, leading in Mr Macdonald on tiptoe. Mr Macdonald (approaching the bed, and gazing with marked delight upon the EDITOR.) What a model for my Achilles! How finely does that noble form combine the majestic strength of an Ajax, with the delicate beauty of a Patroclus! In the countenance I discover the dignity of the Olympian Jove, with the softer loveliness of the Nothing Apollo Belvidere, or the Adonis of Canova. could reconcile me to his death, but the certainty of thereby obtaining a cast of so invaluable a face. Peter (gently touching Mr Macdonald on the shoulder, and pointing to the SLIPPERS.) Look there! Mr Macdonald. Ha! these are, indeed, interesting. Beside them, how does the celebrated glass slipper of Cinderella sink into insignificance! Many a lovely little foot have I seen gently insinuated into one of the Morocco pianellas of Italy; yet never did I envy the fate of a slipper so much as at this moment,-for genius immortalizes all that it touches. Re-enter the Author of Waverley. Author of Waverley. The booksellers and publishers are perfectly clamorous, and will not be satisfied. They seem to think that from some paltry feelings of envy and jealousy we shall not take proper care of the Editor. Mr Black is positively looking white with agitation; and Mr White declares he will do us brown if we do not restore him to health; Mr Miller, with tears in his eyes, calls him the flower of living authors; Mr Chambers protests against his being confined to his chambers any longer; Mr Tait loudly demands a tête-à-tête; Mr Smith says we keep him intentionally under lock and key; Messrs Constable and Co. pronounce us worse than common police-officers; Mr Lothian, to heighten the tumult, calls out that the Editor is worth the three Lothians; Mr Boyd, in his usual gentlemanly way, says he is con66 bide his time," but that if he be not restored to tented to perfect health, he will give us "a Roland for an Oliver;" Mr Carfrae is more obstreperous still, for he declares we are selling ourselves, and offered to knock us down. Mr Blackwood alone preserved his temper, and I thought I could even discover a quiet smile on his benevolent countenance. In this state of matters what is to be done? Ed. of Edin. Review. Go down, Peter, and beseech the gentlemen below to use their influence towards pacifying [Exit Peter. the mob. * Quere " Blue and yellow leaf?"-Printer's Devil Author of Waverley. How is the EDITOR? think his strength is rallying? Do you Enter Dr Abercrombie, Sir Astley Cooper, and Dr Abercrombie (feeling the EDITOR's pulse.) It beats Mr Abernethy. Let us save it, if possible. most minute examination of the heel and ankle, I think the bone may be set. [Sir Astley Cooper lifts up the EDITOR's left foot very gently, and bends over it with great caution. The EDITOR draws up his leg with a slight convul sive twitch, and, pushing it out again with a similar twitch, tumbles Sir Astley Cooper over on the floor. Mr Abernethy (smiling.) I am afraid we must leave the talarius alone, Sir Astley. It does not appear that the strength of the leg is much impaired. Author of Waverley. It seems to me that the crisis has come. There is a very visible change in the patient. See! he has opened his eyes; and, Heaven be praised! there is the light of life and of mind in them! Dr Abercrombie (feeling the EDITOR's pulse.) The blood is rushing back into the heart. The nature of the pulse is quite changed. It now beats at the rate of four hundred and seventy in the minute, clear, distinct, strong, and pleasurable pulsations. Sir Astley Cooper. In that case, I do not think there is any farther occasion for our services; and though there is no Editor on earth I have so great a respect for as the one now before me, I shall certainly take care how I handle any of his brethren in future. [Exeunt Sir Astley Cooper, Dr Abercrombie, and Mr Abernethy. Ed. of Edin. Review. Behold! he has of his own accord put his hand up to his nightcap, and pulled it off his head. See how his dark luxuriant tresses, having escaped from under it, fall down in rich folds upon his shoulders. Re-enter Peter. Peter. Messrs Curry and Co. have arrived from Dublin, Messrs Robertson and Atkinson from Glasgow, and Mr Lewis Smith from Aberdeen, in a state of mind bordering upon frenzy. Author of Waverley. Tell them that the EDITOR has this moment come out of his trance, and that his recovery is now certain. Peter (bursting into tears.) Thank Heaven! thank Heaven! Ed. of Edin. Review. There is one thing surprises me. I have not heard that the fair sex have been making any enquiries after the EDITOR. Peter. O, sir! do not say that! If you but knew all ! There are already seven basketfuls of three-cornered notes and billet-doux, written on pink paper, yellow paper, and all sorts of paper, down stairs in the hall; and the number of ladies who are at this moment like to break their hearts about him exceeds all computation. Ed. of Edin. Review. This is as it should be. What sounds are these? Hark! [A melodious chorus is heard, as if sung by unseen beings hovering in the apartment. Author of Waverley. "Gay creatures of the element!" Peter. It is often thus. Scarcely a week elapses without his having such mysterious visitations. All the unseen spirits love him. Hark! again! [The notes gradually swell and become distinct, and at length the words of the song are plainly heard. CHORUS OF SPIRITS. We come we come from the east and west, Laden with many a high behest; We have brought thee the mantle which Jeffrey wore, We have brought thee a ringlet of Byron's hair, OF THE EDITOR IN HIS SLIPPERS! We have brought thee a pen with which Junius wrote Sharp as a needle, and hard as steel; For Junius, God wot, was a spunky chiel, LIKE THE EDITOR IN HIS SLIPPERS! We have brought thee a bump from Sir Walter's skull, OF THE EDITOR IN HIS SLIPPERS! We have brought thee a kiss from the loveliest lip We have brought thee a bag of thy native air, GREAT EDITOR IN THY SLIPPERS! We have brought thee a bottle from that pure fount POET EDITOR IN THY SLIPPERS! Arise! arise! and receive each gift! GREAT EDITOR IN THY SLIPPERS? its details; but it will be at once perceived that it is im- [At the conclusion of the Song, the EDITOR raises him- Ed. of Edin. Review. Huzza! huzza! Author of Waverley. Let us go forth immediately, and communicate the joyful intelligence to the thousands who are waiting without. [Exeunt Author of Waverley, Original Editor of Edin. Review, Mr Macdonald, and Peter, tumultuously. In a few minutes a shout of joy is heard so loud, that it resembles a thunder-storm concentrated into one peal. The EDITOR Smiles, and having taken a glass of Marascino, and a biscuit, he goes out, and is heard slowly descending to his Study. Scene closes. Most beloved reader! we speak to thee once more in our own person. The above scene was committed to writing by one of those who took an active share in it, and we have no doubt that it is entirely accurate in all What an accumulated mass of papers! Let us dive into them at once, and make such a selection from them as will astonish the editors of the Annuals, and prove that we could, at a week's notice, produce a volume equal in interest to the best of them. This, we solemnly protest, is the simple truth; and we shall establish it to the complete satisfaction of every reader who will favour us with an hour of his time. Our resources grow upon us every day, and appear to be inexhaustible. Notwithstanding the quantity and quality of the prose and verse we are about to subjoin, we are obliged to withhold more than one-half of the articles we had laid aside for the present occasion; and we beg to state to many authors who may feel disappointed, that we have the greatest respect for their talents, and that we hope to make room for them another time. The piece with which we commence our selections is a poem by Alexander Maclaggan, whose history and circumstances are already known to our readers. It is, in our estimation, not only the best poem which he has yet produced, but one which would do no discredit to the Ettrick Shepherd himself; and we hereby ask him if he thinks it would? We know the Shepherd too well, not to be certain that he rejoices in genius wherever it may spring up; and if he does not read the following lines with pleasure, he could never have been the author of "Kilmeny :" LOVE'S EVENING SONG. By Alexander Maclaggan. I seek the green bank where the streamlet flows, And to christen with tears the young buds' birth. Oh! surely, ye heavens! some being of light For the thirst of my soul would gladly sip Then breathe, sweet spirit, Oh! breathe on my lip, And teach me the thoughts of my soul to sing, For my words must be warm'd at a holy flame Ere I venture to name my true-love's name! I speak it not to the worldly throng, I sing it not in the festive song, But when clasp'd in the arms of the solemn wood, In the calm of morn and the stillness of even, I tell to the ear of solitude The name that goes up with my prayers to heaven. Come, Echo! come, Echo! but not from the caves Where gloom ever broods and the wild wind raves, Come not in the gusts that sweep over the graves, In the roar of the storm or the dash of the waves ; But softly, gently rise from the earth, As full as the heave of a maiden's breast, And, more than all, her breath is sweet I cannot breathe it so well as thou, Let Mr Maclaggan, who has not concluded his fifth lastrum, go on steadily, and we have the best hopes of him. Our next communication is from the ultima Thule of Lerwick, and not even from Lerwick, but from a still remoter spot, to which Lerwick is the nearest post-town. It is delightful to think, that even into these penitus orbe divisos districts, the LITERARY JOURNAL extends its vivifying and benignant influence. Our correspondent thus writes:-" Sir, I possess not a book in the world—but my Bible; and, from one end of the year to the other, seldom procure the loan of one. I am shut up from the world, and know only the names, and that but of a few, of the authors, authoresses, and publications of the day. My hand shakes, and my eyes are dim,-not from age, but from sickness and misfortune. That one under such circumstances should think of becoming a contributor to the EDINBURGH LITERARY JOURNAL, is folly indeed! What tempts me to trouble you, I cannot say. If you are a choleric man, you will be apt to get into a passion even in your SLIPPERS; but I hope for gentler things, though I am not so sanguine as to think that you will really publish my humble compositions." Here is, at once, the painful romance of a poet's fate, and the diffidence of a poet's nature. All the verses which accompanied this letter are excellent. We regret that we have room for only two specimens of the talents of one who seems destined to blush unknown and unseen. They are such as cannot fail to excite an interest in the author: THE DYING GIRL'S SONG. The morning light shall dawn, They shall seek me through the flowery lawn, By the ocean-shore, and the rushing river; The evening shades shall close, By the murmuring waterfall; And the stars in beauty, and beyond number, Beam where I slumber! |