the Bishop of Derry's sojourn in Italy, are really arguments against an established church, or that we cannot argue in its favour, and that learnedly and eloquently, (see Burke,) in spite of these delinquencies? We must also most positively rebut the charge of England's being the fountain of infidelity. Infidelity, as all versed in the learning of the middle ages know, sprung up in the bosom of the Roman Catholic Church, and numbers among its votaries some of the highest of her dignitaries. That deistical writers, who dared not appear under despotical governments, except in mask, wrote under the free domination of England, is quite true, but it is hardly a fair objection, considering the quarter it has come from. The French philosophers, by their jests and jeers, have done more to spread dislike of religion than all the arguers on the same side in England. The names of Toland, Tindal, Bolingbroke, Collins, and others, are summed up in catalogue against us by the American. Does he then really believe that any of these men had any great influence at any time? or does he pretend to be ignorant of the fact that they are forgotten now? None of them was unanswered. Collins, in particular, suffered under the crushing hand of Bentley, in the most overwhelming reply ever given to any unfortunate sciolist. But we have Hume and Gibbon, classics, which cannot be rejected from our libraries,-and they are deistical. We beg leave to say that the great works of these men, the works that have made them classical, are not directly subject to that charge. It requires an immensity of special pleading to extract any thing like deism from Hume's History of England, and had we not known the character and opinions of the man it never would have been suspected. That Gibbon, particularly in his famous fifteenth and sixteenth chapters, was anxious to throw a slur upon Christianity, we have no doubt, but he has managed it so as not to be offensive. Watson has sufficiently answered him, and we do not fear the slightest contamination of any mind from the perusal of the Decline and Fall. We take its learning, its research, its talent, without fearing that any body can be unsettled in his faith, by the arguments which he adduces to prove that Christianity was indebted to human means for its success. Indeed, as no one but a fanatic or a fool could by possibility imagine that human means had no share in propagating the Christian revelation, and establishing the Christian church, we cannot for the lives of us see, that an argument, or an inquiry as to how far these means operated towards performing that good work, is totally inadmissible; and Gibbon's deism, as far as it appears in his celebrated work, goes no farther. The other works of Gibbon and Hume are not classics. They are scarcely read. Hume's metaphysics are pored over by professed metaphysicians, by some called clever, by some paradoxical, by others accused of being mere pilferings from authors who he hoped were buried in obscurity-by none believed. Professor Leslie, it is true, panegyrizes them. Valeat quantum. His praise will not make them more valuable in the eyes of the North American Reviewer, who brings a direct charge of infidelity against the whole body of Edinburgh philosophers, and Edinburgh reviewers. It is well for him that he does not publish under the fostering care of our Whig Jury Court. To conclude, we can safely vaunt that ours is the most religious literature in the world. If there be tares in it, sown by the enemy, there is a superabundant product of sound crop. We have not to rely on the splendid paradox of Warburton only. We wonder that the reviewer forgot Bull and Pearson, Horsley and Magee, not to mention fifty others that crowd into our memory, but whom it is useless to recapitulate. We, however, had rather ground the praise which we arrogate, on the existence of Milton, Addison, Johnson, Cowper, and other laymen among the very magnates of our literature, than even on the surpassingly splendid display of professed theologians. We have written at great length; but it was because we wished to face the question fairly. America, we repeat, may rest satisfied that the English nation entertains neither hatred nor jealousy on her account. If, however, perverse statesmen, or demagogues, continue to be bringing her institutions, not as models for our imitation-for they well know the state of society in the two countries is so very different, that we cannot imitate in the points principally recommended to our attention-but as things for us to bow down before, acknowledging our inferiority, and our utter despicableness, in the scale of good government, we must continue to question the exact fitness of things under these so bepraised institutions. If dis-agrémens will continue to exist on the roads and in the taverns of America, those who must travel on the roads, and have no opportunity of seeing other society than that which taverns afford, will, of course, continue to write accounts of them. Splenetic reviewers will make angry articles-droll mimics will draw caricature characters, laughing writers will compose gibes and quizzes, and that on all the nations of the earth, our own included. Is America to be an exception? If she thinks so, she claims a more tribune-like sanctity of character than she is likely to find universally recognised. She should be above this folly. Before we conclude, let us add, that she lays herself sadly oper in many particulars. We laugh at the French calling themselves the "Grande nation"-at some Scotch blockheads dignifying Edinburgh with the name of the Modern Athens, and its very mob, with that of a nation of gentlemen-but what must be the extent of the cachinnation to which that people are exposed, who vote themselves, in a grave council of their national representatives, to be the most admirable nation in the world? How can we feel when we hear the exploits of five or six sea-captains, who in favourable situations captured a frigate a-piece, (we rather think we are exaggerating the maritime trophies of America,) equalled to those of Nelson? Or when the deeds of some captain of bush-fighters, who did not run away from an inferior force, or who in a strong position repelled a rash attack, is put above Buonaparte or Wellington? When we are told gravely, on the strength of these renowned actions, that the American nation is dreaded in Europe, where they are not heard of, and acknowledged to be as great in the arts of war as of peace? Nay, in this very North American Review, there is a most amusing display of the same kind, when the war of 1812, (Mr. Madison's war,) is gravely compared to the Persian war of Xerxes against Greece, and the nation is assured in consequence, that it is "quoted, feared, and courted abroad."!!! (Vol. XVIII. p. 401.) Can flesh and blood stand this without laughing? Poor blundering Sir George Prevost, with his four or five skeleton regiments, and his handful of raw militia, compared to Xerxes, in barbaric grandeur, at the head of five millions of invaders! and the European quotation, fear, and flirtation, induced by the celebrated battles of-God knows where-for, without affectation, we cannot remember a single action in the field, nor, if we heard the name of one, could we tell which party claimed the victory! May not our angry feelings, too, if we thought it worth while. to exercise them, be called forth by the regular tirades of vulgar and lying abuse poured out against us, on the fourth of July, all through the States? What would the Americans, who roar under such flea-bites as articles in the Quarterly Review, say, if any statesman of the rank among us of John Quincy Adams, were to make and print such a speech as he has done--or if John Wilson Crokera Quarterly Reviewer, by the by-our Secretary to the Admiralty, were to sit down in Kensington palace to write a sham journey through the States, full of libel and falsehood, as their Secretary of the Admiralty, Paulding, has done? As Croker's fabrication, in all human probability, would be rather cleverer and sharper than Paulding's absurd bundle of ignorance and stupidity, we doubt not but that they would be almost ready, on that our provocation, to proclaim war. As for ourselves of this Magazine, loving our country, its government, its great men, its very soil, with the intensity of love, we have every respect for America, and have always shown it. We are not blind to her defects and weaknesses, but we remember her origin, and we know that she contains a vast number of men, virtuous, good, and wise. We shall not, however, address her in the language of undue flattery, nor, as some among her sous think we ought to do, in the accents of envy or fear. We feel neither; and, but that our article is already too long, we should tell her why. Perhaps we may resume the subject where we are now breaking off, and hereafter discuss the Future Views and Policy of England and the United States of America, as they mutually bear on one another. We have never seen it yet done satisfactorily on either side of the Atlantic. Meanwhile we recommend Jonathan to keep his temper-laugh at, or answer, hostile reviewers, as he pleases; but let us have no VOL. VI. No. 31.-Museum. D threats of embittered feelings, of angry recriminations, or deadly war, for such things. If we are to fight, in Heaven's name, let it not be for pen-dribble. Wars are seldom very wise, but that would indeed be the consummation of nonsense. FROM THE EDINBURGH MAGAZINE. ORIGINAL Edition of JOHNSON'S LIFE OF SAVAGE. THE life of the unfortunate Richard Savage, written by Doctor Johnson, is universally esteemed to be our great lexicographer's finest piece of biography; and some of the Doctor's more ardent admirers even venture to assert it the most perfect model we possess of biographical excellence. However, it is not the present writer's intention to discuss or illustrate the merits of that interesting and instructive performance. Indeed it is far too well known and appreciated, to render any such disquisition, at this time of day, acceptable to the generality of readers. The sole object of this paper, therefore, will be to exhibit the original, or first, edition of Johnson's Life of Savage to the notice of our readers. That edition is by no means generally known; and though, of course, not very antique, is still interesting to persons at all curious in literary history. It is, indeed, remarkable how soon first editions of works disappear, and become, in a manner, extinct, either from their being, in many cases, thrown aside on the publication of handsomer, and, it may be, amended editions, or from their becoming lost (particularly when small works) amidst the lumber of libraries, when the collected works of deceased authors supersede them on the shelves. Perhaps, however, one cause of the seeming disappearance of first editions of old and elderly works (if I may so express myself), is to be ascribed to the number of copies printed for them being generally limited. At all events, (whatever may be said of many first editions,) that of Johnson's Life of Savage is very little known, and some of our readers may, perhaps, be gratified by a notice of it. The Life of Savage," which is now generally read as one amongst "The Lives of the most eminent English Poets," (the author's most popular work,) was written many years before the publication of that celebrated series of biographies. The engagement with the booksellers for writing "The Lives of the Poets" was made in the year 1777, when the "Life of Savage" had already been thirty-three years before the public. It was published in 1744, anonymously, as a separate work, the author having previously announced his intention of writing it in the "Gentleman's Magazine" for August, 1743. The following is a copy of the title: "An Account of the Life of Mr. Richard Savage, Son of the Earl Rivers. London: printed for J. Roberts, in Warwick Lane. MDCCXLIV." In the space which is generally occupied by the author's name, there is a very indifferent and common-place engraving of flowers. The book is printed in duodecimo, (pp. 180,) the type pretty good, but the paper seemingly coarse. Let us, however, proceed to the internals. In the first place, it may be remarked, that the pages are, to a modern eye, excessively crowded with capitals, but not without system; for all substantives are printed with capital initial letters, according to the old custom. Some few words, here and there, are also spelt otherwise than we now spell them; for instance, gaoler, implicite, persued, &c. We will extract a paragraph, as an exemplification of the two preceding remarks. (Page 158.) "To complete his Misery, he was persued by the Officers for small Debts which he had contracted; and was, therefore, obliged to withdraw from the small Number of Friends from whom he had still Reason to hope for Favours. His Custom was to lye in Bed the greatest Part of the Day, and to go out in the Dark with the utmost Privacy, and after having paid his Visit, return again before Morning to his Lodging, which was in the Garret of an obscure Inn." The text of the original edition (with the exception of some poetical extracts, hereafter pointed out) seems to be precisely the same as that in those commonly read; but the notes are more full and frequent in the first, and in them are introduced many pieces of Savage's poetry, afterwards omitted. In a note at page 27 are inserted the " affecting lines" published originally by Mr. Hill in the Plain Dealer; " which," says Doctor Johnson," he asserts to have been written by Mr. Savage upon the treatment received by him from his mother, but of which he was himself the author, as Mr. Savage afterwards declared." We transcribe the lines in question for the reader's perusal : Hopeless, abandon'd, aimless, and oppress'd, "Why do I breathe?—What joy can being give, "Where can he hope for pity, peace, or rest, E'en she who bore me blasts me with her hate, "Yet has this sweet neglecter of my woes |