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*** But according to the modern practice of education, instead of fuffering children to follow the active tendency of their nature, or gently directing it, we forcibly debar them from the exercise of the senses, and condemn them to the horrible drudgery of learning by rote, the conceits of a tribe of sophists and semi-barbarians, to whom it is no reproach not to have entertained just ideas either concerning words or things. Next to actual blind-folding and muffling, to oblige children to learn the terms in which these conceits are couched, is the happiest contrivance imaginable, for keeping their minds unfurnished; by long continuance of sedentary confinement, we hold the perceptive faculties, as much as possible, in a state of perfeet inaction; at the same time we employ the organs of speech in pronouncing, and the memory in retaining, none but sounds insig. nifcant; fo that from the commencement of a liberal education, one might be led to conclude, that the following is the only sentence. ever written by Mr. Locke, of which his countrymen have attemped an application; “ if it were worth while, no doubt a child might be fo ordered, as to have but a very few, even of the ordinary ideas, till he were grown up to a man;" and that nothing might be wanting to satisfy is, that our apparent cruelty is real kindness, it has been clearly proved, that the principal rules laid down in our gram. mars are false, and the exceptions groundless! Let the moralift, when he has verified this fact in the writings of Mr. Tooke, and his fellow labourers in the philosophy of language, deterinine whether it be an act of greater humanity, to preserve the Africans from lavery, or deliver children from grammar.'

In two Appendixes are some observations on the Dutch etymologists and the new Epea pteroenta of Mr. Horne Tooke. In the former our author rejects with propriety the fictitious improvements made in the Greek etymologies by Hemsterhuis, Lennep, and others of the Dutch school. That so complicated a language should have been founded in a philosophical manner by rude men of the earliest times, or as Valckenaer expresses it, a primis fapientibus illis linguæ, conditoribus, is a conjecture scarce worthy of a moment's consideration; and if the etymologists, instead of confining themselves to the Greek and Latin languages, had paid some attention to the nature and Itructures of those now in use, and the remains of the more ancient languages, they must have discovered sufficient proofs of the fucility of their scheme. The structure of the Hebrew language,might in this, and in many other particulars, have afford; edihem much information; but notwithstanding the importance of this language to the divine, the historian, and, we may add too, the grammarian, the learned have chosen for some ages to beat about the barren rocks of Parnassus rather than ascend to the cedars of Lebanon, or expatiate among the vineyards of Carmel.

Mr. Mr. Horne Tooke's work is considered by our author as one of the most valuable as well as one of the most ingenious productions that ever issued from the press; and, except Mr. Locke's Essay, as that which has most contributed to

wards the theory of our intellectual faculties.' He is natural-, ly led to inquire into the merits of the writer, and to examine

his pretensions to the character of an inventor, and from comparing the time of the first publication of the letter to Dunning, with the first appearance of the Dutch etymologies, as it might be said, in the world, in Villoison's edition of Longus's Pastorals, he cannot conceive, that Mr. Tooke derived his knowledge from the Dutch school. Besides, the air and manner of the diversions of Purley strike him, as we confess they do us, as altogether original. That the truths on which the work is built, are known to every student of the Hebrew, does not diminish the value of Mr. Tooke's labours; for he has introduced the true mode of derivation into the English language, and will thus remove, probably, in a few years, all those difficulties which the pretended science of metaphysics or the affectation of pedantry have introduced into our grammars.

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The Packet: a Novel. By Miss Gunning. 4. Vols. 12mo.

125. Jewed. Bell. 1794. THIS is, if we understand aright, this lady's first appearance

as a novel writer; and, with that circumstance in our view, we think she has acquitted herself with credit. The language though not elegant, nor every where free from colloquial inaccuracies, is easy ; the tale is pathetic, and the catastrophe strongly interests the feelings. The story is, indeed, told in too diffuse a manner, and mixed up with much alloy, which diminishes its value ; but in the more interesting situations we think there is much merit, nor is it a small part of that merit that none but virtuous feelings are called forth throughout the whole work. The tender charities of parent, child, lover, lifter, friend, appear in all their purity, and with some strength of expression. With regard to the plot, we fhould be sorry if we could not keep a secret as well as the lady; we shall, therefore, not spoil the reader's pleasure by analysing the story, or anticipating the contents of the fourth volume. The following extract may give an idea of the author's manner; it well des ribes the winning attentions of amiable youth, and the petulant fondness of infirm age. The old lady spoken of, is grandmother to the father of Adelaide, and had been lately sheltered in his house from the unkindness of another descendent,

Adelaide,

• Adelaide, the ever gracious, ever fascinating Adelaide Montreville! from her unremitting attentions, and tender 'atli duities to the health, the comfort, and the amusement of this interesting venerable parent, awakened all of sensibility that was yet alive in the heart of ninety-fix; and, without confulting any part of the family, the formed a resolution, which she thus carried into execution.

• Finding herself one day not well enough to leave her chamber, Adelaide had dedicated, as usual, her whole time to the cares of nursing, and the pleasures of entertaining her. The medicine the took was made less unpalatable when administered by the hands of her gentle and affectionate grandchild—If inclined to exert her fpirits by an effort of cheerfulness, Adelaide's memory was ransacked for little bagatelles, to assist the salutary purpose—if disposed for the reception of harmonic sounds, the drew them from her harp or guittar, and joined them to the sweeter harmony of her own sweeter voice. When any of these grew tedious on the ear of age, Adelaide would have recourse to a book, and, having lulled her to a short repole, watched till the awoke again, with more anxiety than Mrs. Juhnson would have thewn had the last scene been closing in her presence.'

The resolution mentioned is making a will in favour of Adelaide, soon after which her darling is fent on a tour to France, to the great dissatisfaction of the old lady.

• There was but one person who took no pains to smother her discontent; and it was with the greatest difficulty that the poor old grandmother was prevailed upon to sit down at the same table with people who could use her so cruelly as to send the dear child away, whose absence she felt it would be in vain for her to expect, or with to survive. She was pleased with nothing that was done to please her. -- looked affronted with every bodyanswered nobody but in uncivil fhort monofyllables—what she did say was mumbled out to herself in such phrases as these-Ah, poor me! dear child! hard-hearted creatures ! and the like. She would look on the in. teresting Adelaide till her dim half-lightless eyes were filled with scalding tears, and, then she would add : how barbarous you all are if I am ill, who will take care of me now? I shall take care of you, dear madam, faid lady Gertrude. Thank you, returned fhe; but if I am very bad, and likely to die, fir Thomas must promise to send for Adelaide back again. I give you my word, to do what you desire, said he. Then I know you will not break it, replied fne; and from that moment was restored to something like good humour.'

After fir Thomas has conducted his daughter to Dover, his reception is thus described :

• Sir Thomas asked what sort of temper she was in at present, and if he might venture to fhew himself to her before the went to rest?

Lady

Lady Gertrude was wishing him to decline the interviev that night, for fear the might be disturbed and put off from her sleep, when Jaquiline appeared at the door, to say that her lady had heard that for Thomas was returned, and desired to see him.

"I am a transgreffor, said he ; Gertrude, you must go with me, to secure my personal safety-. He smiled, drew her hand under his arın, and they walked on together.

• Lady Gertrude guessed at the receptian prepared for him, by observing, that when the left Mrs. Ormond, half an hour before, fe was sitting in her easy chair, with her face fronting the door; she had now reversed her position, so that, as they entered, they saw only her back, and it seemned as if the had instructed her very shoulders to speak the language of displeasure; for though always high, they were now pushed up, and much higher than usual.

Sir Thomas, finding that he must either laugh or cough at the extraordinary scene before him, stifled the first, and indulged the last so heartily, that if his grandmother had been three rooms off, me would have heard that he was coming ; but in the same room with him. she could not plead ignorance of his being entered, yet the nei. ther stirred nor turned her head, but chuffily cried out as he was stepping towards her-So, grandson! you are come back I find, and have made a fine hand of it I did not think you could have Icft the dear creature behind, though you said you would-Well, well, you have killed your poor old grandınother, and there's an end of the matter; but I wish it may not be the occasion of more deaths than one:--and she looked at lady Gertrude very kindly, and as if Mhe would have added, the heart of your wife will be broken as well as my own!

Sir Thomas killed her hands very affe&tionately, for he was much Struck with her sensibility, though she had a strange way of shew, ing it: he thanked her for the fondness with which she loved their Adelaide, and hoped it would not be leflened when she came hoine again, to take her station, as usual, under the wing of so partial and tender a parent,

• Thomas! Thomas! she replied pathetically, thaking her few remaining grey hairs, some of which having escaped from their binder, had fallen sparingly over her forehead, as if to render her prophecy more respectable, by adding to the venerable appearance of the venerable proprietess-Thomas ! Thomas! said the, I am no: to be flattered into false hopes; I fhall never live to see the return of my child, neither may you, we are all in the hands of God; but I will try to forgive you for having robbed me, for a few weeks, perhaps months, of happiness in this world ; her image I shall carry with me to the next! But we will talk no more of her now, or I Arall get co fieep to-night; only remember, the continued, that you liave promised to send for her if I thould be very bad,, and yet n. 10 nou my end but there might be a chance of ny seeing her

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once more; remember, Thomas, I have your own word for this Laft indulgence.

• You have, madam, and I will ftri&tly abide by it.

« Well, said the, then you may go, I can talk no more about it now. - She held oat a hand to each-Sir Thomas pressed her forehead with his lips, lady Gertrude saluted her cheek; she returned their endearments with the feeble pressure of enervated age, smiled kindly upon them, called them good creatures, herself a spoilt child, gave them her bleffing, wished them a good night,--and they separated from her, more penetrated by the good qualities of her heart, than mindful of the oddities that marked her disposition.'

- The good old lady was but a too true prophetess--the vigour of those artificial spirits that in a degree supported her strength, began to fail when Miss Montreville left the castle; to whom her attachment was of that extraordinary fort, that she was indebted to her attentions for a larger share of cheerful content than she had known at any former period of her very long life--her bank of content was broken-she could no longer draw on Adelaide for fupplies

-She first took to the confinement of her chamber, next to her bed, and from thence, at ninety-six, how easy is the last transition !

"When death stole upon this venerable ruin of mortality, he came in fo gentle a form, that his approach was imperceptible; he came with no terrors in his looks, or torments in his train, but softly laid his hands upon her eyes, and they were closed for ever.'

As we are promised another novel from the same hand; to be built upon an episodical story in these volumes, which, by the way, we protest against as an injudicious mode of a new publication; we must beg the fair author to endeavour to forget herself, if she wishes to interest us in her characters. We would likewise put her in mind that travelling amongst the Alps is not quite like travelling on English turnpike roads; we meet with a cottage, situated on the top of one of the most favage and tremendous mountains in the world, covered with snow, to the door of which they could not drive nearer than a hundred yards.

The Works of Alexander Pepe, Elg. with Remarks and I!!u6trations. By Gilbert IV'akefield, B. A. 8vo. 65. Board's. Kearlley. 1794 CHE character of Mr. Pope is so well known as a poet, and 1 that of Mr. Wakefield as a critic, that we deem it unne. cessary to exhibit them here. We think it fuificient to lay, that we are so well convinced of the merit of each of their characters, as to feel, with the numerous admirers of Mr.

Pope,

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