without a reference to divine revelation, as most of our celebrated moral writers have done, seems to be little short of egregious trifling. It cannot serve the purpose of an experiment to ascertain how far the unassisted faculties of man can go in acquiring a knowledge of the foundation and the rules of moral action; for the prominent principles of Christian morality are so interwoven into the opinions, intercourses, and practices of modern civilized society, and so familiar to the mind of every man who has been educated in a Christian land, that it is impossible to eradicate the idea of them from the mind, when it attempts to trace the duty of man solely on the principles of reason. When the true principles of morality are once communicated through the medium of revelation, reason can demonstrate their utility and their conformity to the character of God, to the order of the universe,' and to the relations which subsist among intelligent agents. But we are by no means in a situation to determine whether they could ever have been discovered by the investigations and efforts of the unassisted powers of the human mind. The only persons who could fairly try such an experiment were the Greeks and Romans, and other civilized nations, in ancient times, to whom the light of revelation was not imparted. And what was the result of all their researches on this most important of all subjects? What were the practical effects of all the fine-spun theories and subtle speculations which originated in the schools of ancient philosophy, under the tuition of Plato and Socrates, of Aristotle and Zeno? The result is recorded in the annals of history, and in the writings of the apostles. They became vain in their imaginations, and their foolish hearts were darkened. They were filled with all unrighteousness, fornications, wickedness, covetousness, maliciousness, envy, murder, deceit, malignity; they were backbiters, haters of God, despiteful, proud, inventors of evil things, disobedient to parents, without natural affection, implacable, and unmerciful." Their general conduct was characterised by pride, lasciviousness, and revenge; they indulged in the commission of unnatural crimes; they were actuated by restless ambition, and they gloried in covering the earth with devastation and carnage.' These observations, at once spirited and just, contain a general intimation of the nature of the work to which they belong, and which, independently of its formal division, which seems to us rather confused, consists mainly of an investigation of the two fundamental principles of Morality'' Love to God 'the Creator, and, Love to fellow intelligences;' followed by illustrations of the Moral Law, and of the rational grounds on which its precepts are founded.' The fourth and last chapter contains a cursory survey of the moral state of the world.' Our readers will perceive that this arrangement, whatever may be thought of its technical accuracy, affords opportunity for much interesting and important discussion. Mr. Dick has engaged in a course of extensive reading with reference to his subject, and has levied contributions in all direc tions with discrimination and effect. He has, indeed, spared no pains to make his work both valuable and popular, and as far as our recommendation may serve him, we give it cordially. As a specimen of the manner in which he employs natural phenomena in aid of his reasoning, we shall cite the following paragraph. Not only the elements which immediately surround us, but even celestial bodies which are just now invisible to our sight, and removed to the distance of a thousand millions of miles, might be employed as ministers of vengeance. There are, at least, a hundred comets connected with the solar system, which are moving in all directions, and crossing the orbits of the earth and the other planets. Were the orbit of one of these bodies, in its approach to the sun, to be bent in a direction to that of the earth, the most alarming phenomena would be exhibited in the heavens. A ruddy globe, larger in appearance than the moon, would first announce terror to the inhabitants of the earth every day this terrific object would increase in size, till it appeared to fill the celestial hemisphere with its tremendous disk;-the light of the sun would be eclipsed-the stars would disappear-the ocean would be thrown into violent agitation, and toss its billows to the clouds-the earth would "reel to and fro like a drunkard”—and universal alarm and confusion would seize upon all the tribes of the living world. At length, this tremendous orb would approach with accelerated velocity, and, striking the earth......... would shiver the globe into fragments, and for ever exterminate the race of man.' The historical and scientific illustrations which are profusely scattered throughout the volume, add much to its interest. A neat portrait of Lord Bacon is prefixed. А Art. XI. 1. William Tell, a Drama, translated from the German of Frederick Schiller. Small 8vo. pp. 189. Price 6s. London. 1825. 2. Molech, or the Approach of the Deluge: a sacred Drama. By the Rev. William Bassett, M.A. 8vo. pp. 161. London. 1826. 3. Babington. A Tragedy. By T. Doubleday. 8vo. pp. 140. Edinburgh. 1825. THE HE secret of tragic composition seems in danger of being lost. Our old writers possessed it entire, and used it to admiration. Their plots, though sometimes wild and incoherent, were so framed as to produce situations of the most thrilling interest. Their language, with the strength and simplicity of common usage for its warp, was woven with the richest dyes of poesy, and made the dress and ornament of intense feeling. When we take up their productions, we seem to have passed into a region of thought and intellect of an order altogether more elevated than that which now prevails; and we deeply lament the grossness which so far deteriorates their high qualities, as to exclude a large portion of our wealthiest literature from the staple of safe and recommendable reading. Still they must, to a certain extent, be studied by all who are anxious to ascertain the finest characteristics of English style, or the complete range of English genius; and it is much to be wished, that such a selection were made as should enable us to enjoy the charm, uncontaminated by the pollution. Charles Lamb's Specimens make a delightful volume, but they do not exactly meet our notions; and we are inclined to think that a different principle of selection would have proved at once more effective and more popular. Admirers as we are of the old English school, it almost follows that we should have a thorough dislike to that which is its complete opposite, French tragedy, with all its varieties and derivatives. It is, as it appears to us, thoroughly defective in the genuine sources of dramatic interest. Character is upon stilts, and exhibits none of those bolder lines and deep discriminations which mark our own choice spirits. There is more intense feeling in one scene of Ford's, than all the pocket-handkerchief pathos of the French theatre can furnish forth. Their grand Corneille was a buskined rhetorician and his heroes and heroines try conclusions as glibly and as snappishly as advocates at bar. Racine was a first-rate versifier, and an excellent scenist. Voltaire did best when he stole inspiration at second-hand from Shakspeare. Mr. Doubleday has evidently gone to our ancient drama for his models, and he has been successful in catching somewhat of the spirit as well as of the manner of the olden time. His subject is well chosen. Conspiracy has always been a favourite subject with the dramatist; and the wild schemes and romantic aims of Babington, in the days of Elizabeth, give opportunity for powerful interest, strong shadowing, and various character. He has chiefly failed, we think, in distinctness and development. We can hardly tell what the plot is about; and the meeting of conspirators, which should have been the key of motive, the centre of detail, and the mainspring of action, is indefinite and ineffective. The characters of Gifford, Ballard, and Babington are sketched with spirit, but they are only sketched; they require, especially the latter, to be fairly brought out. There was a fair opportunity, in the person and circumstances of the hero, for the exhibition of passionate love, despairing of its object, yet, venturing life and honour in its cause; but of this there is little or nothing. The Jesuit, with his mysterious agencies, might have been made more of. But Agnes makes up for all. Her gentle nature, her devoted, though unrequited affection, her resolute attendance on Babington throughout the bloody horrors of his execution, the last scene with Ballard, when she preserves her honour by plunging a dagger in the breast of that traitor, all are excellently conceived and powerfully wrought up. We shall give, by way of specimen, part of Babington's speech to the conspirators. • Wherefore we meet is known unto you all; Her sacred shrines unroof'd, and made the haunts Beauty oppressed, because she is not false; Who know not light, because themselves are dark; your veins To those who crawl, as well as those who soar. Mr. Doubleday should subject both his thoughts and his words to severe revision. There are several instances of awkward phrase, involved meaning, and missed metaphor. Respecting Molech,' we are sorry that we cannot venture beyond faint praise. The intention is excellent, but it halts in the execution. Our readers may form their own judgement from the following lines. • Avel. Thus is another son of God removed From the accursed sin-polluted earth: And now, except the old Methuselah, With righteous Noah and his three sons and wife, Is lost in the posterity of Cain And th' other sons of Adam, who with him I said extinct! Not so. The dying saint Cain would have trembled. Yet no lightnings strike; And prosper in proportion to their sin While we, the sons of God, born of a race And perish unassisted from the earth.' pp. 1-3, Of Schiller's singular tragedy, the William Tell,' we must write either a great deal, or very little. The first part of the alternative is not exactly suited to our leisure, or to the nature |