quagmires ;-up the hill in one syllable, and down the dale in another, retaining no part of that stately, smooth gait, with which he vaunts himself amongst the Greek and Latins.' Had Southey appreciated the correctness of this humorous description, we think he would not have ventured to travel in the same path where so elegant a scholar as Sir Philip Sidney could not avoid stumbling. 'The Arcadia,' says Mr. Gray, in a fine passage, with all the imperfections which can be laid to its charge, is a rich mint of deep feeling and of varied excellence. It displays a fancy, it is true, which often run riot amid the diversity of its creations, and a taste that sometimes erred from the infinite seductions to which it was exposed. But the work invariably makes atonement by the stately eloquence of its descriptions, and by the delicious incense which it offered up to the cause of virtue and true heroism."'—p. 26.

Sometime after the period to which we have just alluded, Sir Philip appeared again in public, taking part with Sir Walter Raleigh, and others, in the splendid military spectacle, exhibited to the matrimonial envoys of the Duke of Anjou, who had renewed his suit to the queen. He also accompanied the Duke on his return to the continent by the special command of her majesty. On his re-arrival in England, he again betook himself to retirement and study, the fruits of which, says Mr. Gray, was his much celebrated Defence of Poesy,'-one of the noblest tributes ever offered to the allurements of the muse. 'It belongs,' continues Mr. Gray, to the small number of those happy creations which he alone could either have produced or devised, who has been touched and purified with the sacred fire of true genius. Originally designed as an answer to certain diatribes of the Puritans-a sect which was then springing rapidly into notice, and beginning to signalize itself by an austere and fierce aversion to all the elegant recreations of society and of mind-it remains an imperishable monument of the digested learning of its author, and of the engaging facility with which he could turn his talents to account.' It has been aptly described in his own words, as the 'sweet food of sweetly uttered knowledge,' as the out-pouring and register of those high-erected thoughts' which are solely to be found seated in their purity in a heart of courtesy.' At the same time, it contains few of those mannerisms and studied affectations of his day, with which, it must be confessed, his larger work is often deformed. This is, on the contrary, a plain and practical treatise, seeking above all things to carry conviction by its illustrations and its arguments, and making fancy and ornament entirely subservient to the cause of persuasion and of truth. Yet the imaginative genius of the author, frequently bursts forth in all its splendour, and strews his didactic path with a galaxy of the most brilliant conceptions. He seems here to follow religiously the memorable advice with which his muse favoured him on another occasion"look in thy heart and write." A more just and eloquent eulogy

could not, we think, he penned than the above fine passage of Mr. Gray.

The author of this memoir is no less felicitous in narrative than in criticism, as we shall presently exemplify. He gives a most interesting account of Sir Philip engaging in arrangements for undertaking a secret expedition of discovery, conjointly with Sir Francis Drake, and others; but the queen, receiving intelligence of his intentions, laid upon him a peremptory injunction not to leave the kingdom, under pain of her displeasure, promising him, at the same time, employment under his uncle, in the Low Countries. Now she certainly did owe him some distinguished appointment, if it be true, as it is reported, that she also prevented him from being elected king of Poland, for which he was put in nomination upon the death of Stephen Bathoni, and had good chance of success. She accordingly appointed him governor of Flushing, and promoted him to the rank of general of the horse, under his uncle, the Earl of Leicester. As the first of his exploits, he surprised the town of Axell by escalade, without the loss of a single man; but his brilliant career was now near a close, though he had yet only reached the age of thirty-two. The following is Mr. Gray's well-written narrative of the circumstances attending his death:

On the twenty-scond of the succeeding September, a small detachment of the English, consisting of a little more than five hundred men, encountered a convoy of the enemy, amounting to three thousand troops, who were on their march to relieve Zutphens, a town in Guelderland, situated on the banks of the river Isrel. A fierce and obstinate engagement, under the very walls of this fortress, was the result. The English, notwithstanding their great disparity in point of numbers, were completely victorious; but they considered their triumph was dearly purchased by the death of Sir Philip Sidney, the most distinguished hero of that hardfought field. Early in the battle he had a horse killed under him, and had mounted another; he had, with daring intrepidity, rescued Lord Willoughby from the most imminent peril, and gallantly charged his opponents three times in one skirmish, when he received a musket shot from the trenches, a little above his left knee, which" brake and rifted the bone, and so entered the thigh upwards, as the bullet could not be found before the body was opened." An eccentric feeling of emulation, caused by his having met the marshal of the camp only lightly armed, had induced Sir Philip to throw off his cuirasses before going into action, and thus to leave exposed the parts of his frame which they protected, and where the ball from which he suffered unhappily took effect.'

While he was retiring from the place of combat, a circumstance occurred that strongly evinced the natural excellence of his disposition, and which the late president, West, made the subject of a celebrated historical painting. It is recorded, as follows, by the affectionate pen of Lord Brooke: "The horse he rode upon," he says, was rather furiously cho-. leric, than bravely proud, and so forced him to forsake the field, but not his back, as the noblest and fittest bier to carry a martial commander to his grave, in which his uncle, the general, was; and being thirsty with

excess of bleeding, he called for drink, which was presently brought him, but as he was putting the bottle to his mouth, he saw a poor soldier carried along, who had eaten his last at the same feast, ghastly casting up his eyes at the bottle; which Sir Philip perceiving, took it from his head, before he drank, and delivered it to the poor man with these words, "Thy necessity is yet greater than mine."

'The Earl of Leicester's grief, on account of the catastrophe which had befallen his nephew, was of the most passionate description. A letter of his to Sir Thomas Heneage, dated 23d of September, the day after the engagement, has been preserved and printed in the noble lord's memoirs, prefixed to the Sidney papers. In it he details the mode in which our author received his fatal injury, and then proceeds to declare, that this young man was his greatest comfort, next her majesty, of all the world; and, that if he could buy his life with all he had, to his shirt, he would give it."How God will dispose of him," he continues, "I know not, but fear, I must needs, greatly the worst; the blow is in so dangerous a place, and so great, yet did I never hear of any man that did abide the dressing and setting his bones better than he did; and he was carried afterwards in my barge to Arnheim, and I hear this day, he is still of good heart, and comforteth all about him, as much as may be. God, of his mercy, grant him his life, which I cannot but doubt of greatly. I was abroad that time in the field, giving some order to supply that business, which did endure almost two hours in continual fight, and meeting Philip coming on horseback, not a little to my grief. But I would you had stood by to hear his most loyal speeches to her majesty, his constant mind to the cause, his loving care over me, and his most resolute determination for death, not a jot appalled by his blow, which is the most grievous that ever I saw, with such a bullet; riding so long, a mile and a half, upon his horse, ere he came to the camp; not ceasing to speak still of her majesty, being glad if his hurt and death might any way honour her; for her's he was whilst he lived, and God's he was sure to be if he died: prayed all men to think that the cause was as well her majesty's as the country's, and not to be discouraged, for you have seen such success as may encourage us all, and this my hurt is the ordinance of God, by the hap of war. Well, I pray God, if it be his will, save me his life; even as well for her majesty's service sake, as for mine own comfort."

'His lordship's affectionate entreaties to the throne of mercy were unavailing. It is supposed that the bullet from which Sidney suffered had been poisoned. After lingering sixteen days in severe and unceasing pain, which he endured with all the fortitnde and resignation of a Christian, symptoms of mortification, the certain forerunner of death, at length appeared, and Sir Philip then prepared, with undiminished and cheerful serenity, for his approaching dissolution. Though he was himself the first to perceive the fatal indications, which the seat of his disease, had begun to exhibit, he was able to amuse his sick-bed by composing an ode, unfortunately now lost, on the nature of his wound, which he caused to be sung to solemn music, as an entertainment that might soothe and divert his mind from his torments. Every thing was done for him that medical skill could suggest, or the solicitude of his friends, and the ten. derness of his amiable wife, who had accompanied him into Zealand, could supply; but on the 16th day of October, his complaints reached their crisis,

and his gentle spirit took its flight to a world more worthy of its virtues. He breathed his last sigh in the arms of one whom he had long loved, his faithful secretary and bosom companion, Mr. William Temple.

'His address to his brother when he bade him a final adieu, is a noble out-pouring of the heart, and is characterized by those many amiable sentiments and qualities which had dignified his conduct through life, and endeared him to society wherever it had been his fortune to wander. "Love my memory," he said, " cherish my friends, their faith to me may assure you they are honest. But above all, govern your will and affections by the will and the word of your Creator; in me beholding the end of this world with all her vanities.'

Thus perished, in the very prime of his days, and the zenith of his hopes, the man who was above all others the idol of his times," the soldier's, scholar's, courtier's, eye, tongue, sword." He was in many respects at once the Marcellus and the Mecenas of the English nation. He was the intimate friend and most liberal benefactor of Spenser; and that pre-eminent bard repaid his debt of gratitude, and affection, by composing a pathetic elegy, wherein he bewailed his patron, under Sidney's favourite and celebrated appellation of Astrophel. The two universities also, poured forth three volumes of learned lamentations, on account of the loss of him whom they considered as being their brightest ornament; and indeed, so far was the public regret on this occasion carried, that, for the first time in the case of a private individual, the whole kingdom went into mourning, and no gentleman of quality, during several months, ventured to appear in a light-coloured or gaudy dress, either in the resorts of business or of fashion. Certainly public affliction never did honour to a more amiable object, nor did the muses ever shed their tears over the hearse of one who was more fervently devoted to their service; for his whole life, as it has been beautifully remarked by Campbell, was poetry put into action.'p. 58.

After so eloquent and just a tribute to the youthful hero, we require not to add a word in recommending Mr. Gray's delightful volume to all who cherish an admiration for the brightest name in the annals of English chivalry.

ART. VII.-Die Deutsche Literatur (German Literature) von Wolfgang Menzel, 2 vols. 12mo. Stuttgard. 1828.

AFTER a moderate computation, the number of volumes annually printed in Germany, may be taken at ten millions. As every semiannual catalogue introduces above a thousand German authors, we may assume, that there are living at the present period in Germany, fifty thousand persons, each of whom has written at least one book. So says our author. Need we therefore wonder at the number of works on literature, which are constantly appearing in Germany? for how is an individual to find his way through such a labyrinth of literature, without the aid of some kind Ariadne, who will lend him a clue to guide himself through its intricate mazes? It is true, that most of the literary guide-books are little more than

dry catalogues-not always raisonnés-for the geniuses are but few who could raise themselves to that mental height, from which alone a comprehensive view of such a dense mass of letters could be obtained, and an intelligible conception of its various phrases conveyed to the bewildered reader; and among these, many are either unwilling to engage in the labour consequent on such an undertaking, or are incapacitated by party spirit, personal hostilities, and other causes, for doing justice to so vast and important a subject. Histories of literature, such as those of Eichorn Bouterweck, and others, are of the utmost utility, although they inform us more of the quantity than of the quality, of literature; more of the titles of books, than of their contents; yet they save the scholar a world of trouble, by acquainting him with the works which are in existence; as the sources which at least offer him a chance of obtaining the information of which he may be in search. Indeed it is impossible, without the aid of their works, to comprehend such outlines as are presented to us in the present work. Mr. Menzel is a man of great information, considerable genius, and exhibits a freedom from scholastic prejudices, rarely to be met with. He is able and willing to render justice to almost every party in literature, ancient or modern, foreign or national; and for these reasons, perhaps, better capacitated for making a literary survey than many others, if his mind were not obscured by a notion of that grandeur and perfection of the middle ages, and an idea of mysticism, which on many occasions warp his judgment. He tells us, that true mysticism is the comprehension of the idea of God through the senses, the sentiment and the intellect; and that that idea was realized (although rudely) in the middle ages alone. That subse. quently, sensuality (or as Coleridge more properly expresses it) sensuousness, obtained the superiority, and preserved it, till the intellect, at the Reformation, re-asserted its supremacy. From that period this faculty alone has been cultivated, almost to the total exclusion of the two others, except among the pietist sectarians of Protestantism, who exclusively cultivate the sentiment. Thus then, according to him, the elements of the great idea are now dispersed among the Catholics, with whom sensuousness is still predominant, the intellectual Protestants, and the sentimental sectarians; and their union, which he prophecies will sooner or later be effected, is with him the acme of perfection to which the human race may attain; superior to that of the middle ages, inasmuch as each of the three elements separately, will have received a more perfect cultivation. He conceives that Schelling, Steffens, Oken, and above all, Görres, have outrun their age, and have realized "the idea" in themselves, for which the world has yet to be matured. Indeed, Görres is with him the beau-ideal of all that is great and perfect in man he is the greatest historian, the greatest philosopher, the greatest poet, of the age-yea, is a prophet! what more can be wished? There are so few individuals who do even pretend to under