experience, it is but reasonable to infer that calmness and strength would have added unity and clearness to his extraordinary powers of imagination and eloquence. To be fairly judged, he must be looked upon as one who, in rash and extravagant haste to renovate and impel the feelings of his contemporaries, laid before them his "studies" only, lest his mature compositions should come upon an age too late, or a generation, like the past, too hardened in its own views to accept what seemed to him necessary for their awakening and regeneration.

It is to the shorter and fragmentary poems of Shelley, therefore, that we would direct any one desirous of forming a correct judgement of his powers, especially if he has been led away either by undue admiration or dislike of works so unequal and peculiar to a certain condition of mind as the Prometheus, and The Revolt of Islam. But it would be impossible to represent the posthumous poems of Shelley, among which the fragments and shorter pieces were published, without multiplying quotations in a manner incompatible with our own limits, and probably with our readers' patience. As in the poetry of Petrarch, there is a unity of feeling under manifold forms of expression in these fragments, that points them out to the future biographer of Shelley as his most authentic materials for imparting life and meaning to the maze and riddle which, without such a clue, outward circumstances always present when the living comment of personal knowledge cannot be had. To bring forward a few of these fragments, however beautiful or complete each in itself may be, would break the unity which, we believe, the whole collection will be found to possess. We must rather briefly notice a work of Shelley's that stands equally apart from the poems in which he embodied his own feelings and doctrines, and those drawn from his imagination alone.

However opposed and even revolting to the tastes of our age the Cenci may be, it is not necessarily repugnant to the feelings of one, like that of our elder dramatic literature, accustomed to the exhibition of strong passions and portentous crime. Which is the healthier disposition it is not now our province to inquire: but beyond the selection of such a plot, Shelley has nothing to answer for in whatever relates to

the delicacy and decorum of its treatment. It is however to its merits as a composition, as it stands in contradistinction to Shelley's other works, as the evidence of his power to compress his thoughts and to condense his language when he saw fit, that we wish to direct the attention of our readers.

The origin of the Cenci has been described by its author in a preface, not more remarkable for the beauty of the language than for the discrimination and soundness of the thought. Indeed his prose style always makes us regret that, instead of misemploying his poetry upon speculations of questionable worth, he did not, with his sincerity of purpose and his copious resources from books and observation, turn his attention, after his acquaintance with the writings of Plato began, to the composition of philosophical dialogues, especially in the department of philosophical criticism. Mrs. Shelley has entered yet more fully upon the origin and progress of a tragedy, which, had it even appeared in the days of Deckar and Marston, would have been remarkable for its mastery of passion and pathos.

"Shelley had often incited me," the editor says in her note on the Cenci, to attempt the writing a tragedy. He conceived that I possessed some dramatic talent, and he was always most earnest and energetic in his exhortations that I should cultivate any talent I possessed to the utmost. I entertained a truer estimate of my powers; and above all, though at that time not exactly aware of the fact, I was far too young to have any chance of succeeding, even moderately, in a species of composition that requires a greater scope of experience in, and sympathy with, human passion, than could then have fallen to my lot, or than any perhaps, except Shelley, ever possessed, even at the age of twenty-six, at which he wrote the Cenci.

"On the other hand, Shelley most erroneously conceived himself to be destitute of this talent. He believed that one of the first requisites was the capacity of forming and following up a story or plot. He fancied himself to be defective in this portion of imagination; it was that which gave him least pleasure in the writings of others, though he laid great store by it, as the proper framework to support the sublimest efforts of poetry. He asserted that he was too metaphysical and abstract-too fond of the theoretical and the ideal to succeed as a tragedian. [ !? ]

"The subject he had suggested for a tragedy was Charles I. When in Rome in 1819, a friend put into our hands the old manuscript account of the story of the Cenci. We visited the Colonna and Doria palaces, where the portraits of Beatrice were to be found, and her beauty cast the reflexion of its own grace over her appalling story. Shelley's imagination became strongly excited, and he urged the subject to me as one fitted for a tragedy.

More than ever I felt my incompetence; but I entreated him to write it instead and he began and proceeded swiftly, urged on by intense sympathy with the sufferings of the human beings, whose passions, so long cold in the tomb, he revived and gifted with poetic language."

Without going quite to the extent of commendation which this passage intimates, or feeling at all convinced by it that Shelley was fitted for a "tragedian," it is impossible not to acknowledge the versatility and energy of imagination which, within a few months' space, could produce two works so dissimilar to one another as the Prometheus and the Cenci. Neither can it escape notice, that Shelley in the latter production went far to wean himself from the obscure and redundant manner of his earlier works. The Cenci has the faults of a young play-writer, and which a practical acquaintance with life can alone correct. Properly speaking, there is no plot, and little dialogue; but as a poem, cast into a dramatic form, it has high excellences of passion and eloquence. Shelley, when preparing for his departure from England, had seen Miss O'Neil, and frequently attended the theatres. This probably gave to his conceptions a fixed centre and outline, which the nature of his imaginative temperament seems always to have required. No one could expand and embellish a story better, as his exquisite fragment of Ginevra proves. No one seemingly, when left to his own invention, was more unfortunately singular and extravagant.

We have unwillingly dwelt rather upon the faults than the excellences of Shelley, because we believe him more than any other poet of his age destined to operate upon the future poetical literature of England. Wordsworth is imitable by such alone as resemble him in the nature of their imaginative temperament; or it will be the merely formal imitation of which men of talents and cleverness are capable. Byron in his more popular works embodied the present only; in his later ones, when his reputation was on the wane, he was passing over to a new and better period of development, which his early death prevented him from reaching. His influence, consequently, is weakened as time and circumstances change and move onward, and the least enduring portions of his works are those, probably, that at the time they were written were the most applauded. Keats is of no age. He is one of that

laureate fraternity which time does not antiquate nor fashion supersede. But in Shelley are visible the germs of a future poetry more intellectual, more nearly allied to the abstract truths of universal faith and philosophy, than any that has yet appeared. With this promise, however, there is joined the danger of mistaking what is accidental in his works for what is permanent; of substituting vague and fruitless speculations for that integral portion of "divine philosophy" that readily combines with poetry. In an age which, in its general character, resembled the latter part of the eighteenth century, a similar philosophy to that of Shelley was recommended to the studious and refined Romans by the earnest-minded Lucretius. His arduous poem had no immediate imitators, but its influence is perceptible in the next generation. It has imparted a deeper tone to the tender and pensive imagination of Virgil, and introduced a not unpleasing discord among the light and cheerful strains of Ovid. Such, perhaps, will be the influence of Shelley also upon the poets of his own country. While they studiously avoid the direct imitation of him, they will unconsciously imbibe his spirit. His rich and exuberant imagery will re-appear under forms more chastised, and in less intricate combinations, but with something also of its original freshness fallen away. Some of his aspirations for the improvement of political institutions are already realized. Of others, and of his projects of social melioration in general, the fallacy and incompatibility with the best interests of men are better understood than when he rashly came forward as their advocate; but with clearer perceptions there is also reason to hope that we unite a more considerate and indulgent spirit. For who, it may be asked, were they who cast a stone at Shelley? Were they, with all the advantages of less intellectual temperaments, of duller sensibilities, of worldly experience, of age and orthodoxy, preferable to him for justice, for generosity, or self-denial? Were they superior or equal to him in genius or attainments? Did they, in their actions or their writings, evince more disinterested love or larger sympathies for mankind? or, did they, on the contrary, cater more successfully for the vices and foibles of society, and build their reputation in life upon their skill in tricking out in good set phrases the opinions and the philosophy most

palatable to the age? Of presumption and rashness we will not acquit Shelley; but are there no other vices of the temper or the will, from which he was exempt, which those who arraigned him cultivated and cherished as necessary and creditable for moralists and critics to entertain? But it is time to close our very imperfect remarks on the genius and character of Shelley. If we have more clearly pointed out and traced the causes and the consequences of his errors as a poet, we can securely leave the discovery of new excellences in him to the personal feeling and predilection of our readers.

ARTICLE V.

1. The Dispatches of Field Marshal the Duke of Wellington, during his various Campaigns in India, Denmark, Portugal, Spain, the Low Countries, and France. From 1799 to 1818. Compiled from Official and Authentic Documents. By Lieutenant-Colonel GURWOOD, Esquire to His Grace as Knight of the Bath.

2. The General Orders of Field Marshal the Duke of Wellington in Portugal, Spain, and France; from 1809 to 1814. In the Low Countries and France, in 1815. And in France, Army of Occupation from 1816 to 1818. Compiled from the several printed volumes, which were originally issued to the General and Staff Officers, and Officers commanding Regiments in the above Campaigns. By Lieutenant-Colonel GURWOOD.

WEAK must be the perceptions and obtuse the intellect of the man who can scan the page of history, and not trace the chains of events worked out by men fulfilling the ends of Providence. From the first dawn of time to these days, when concurrent events lead to the belief that some great consummation is at hand, mortals who have stood pre-eminent among their fellows, have been selected as instruments, and live in the memories of all generations. Cyrus redeemed, in accordance