bestowed and honours granted in the battle field still slippery with gore; but in the essenced hall, and in the courtly chambers, among silken parasites and luxurious hangers on. Had the former been the case, how many of Picton's gallant companions of his brilliant third division would have now, if living, stood high on the army list! Alas! the stern brave warrior could only show them how to gain glory-they gained it, and but little else.

Having followed the gallant leader with tolerable fidelity through the various paths of his life, perhaps the reader might think that we should say a few words on what occurred respecting him after his death. His body, by the Duke of Wellington's directions, was conveyed to England. On its arrival in the Downs it was received with every demonstration of honour, and thence conveyed to London, and it was finally interred in the family vault, in the burial-ground of St. George's, Hanover Square, situated in the Bayswater Road. A monument was afterwards erected to his memory in the cathedral of St. Paul's, at the public expense, and a still more remarkable one at Carmarthen, by private subscription, to which his Majesty George IV. contributed one hundred guineas.

His

It now remains for us to speak of the manner in which Mr. Robinson has acquitted himself of his biography. We shall do so with all that impartiality that it has ever been our boast, on all occasions, to exhibit. We therefore say, decidedly, that it is well done; but yet it is not such a work as Picton deserved, and which a country, grateful for his services, had a right to expect. In points in which Mr. Robinson has failed, his failure has arisen from no want of talent. principal fault is, that he does not seem to have been sufficiently imbued with the importance of the office that he has undertaken. He has not sought out with due diligence for the best materials. We have in his biography too little of Picton, and too much of general history. His hero seems but a secondary personage, and, were it not for the title, most readers, on the perusal of the book, would rise up with an impression that they had been poring over a narrative of the Peninsular war, instead of studying a biography of Major-General Picton.

Mr. Robinson has also displayed another great want of tact, in interlarding his work with so many quotations, almost every one of which shows his meagre style of composition in a disparaging light. After dwelling upon the compressed energy and originality of Napier, and the rounded periods and beautiful rhythm of Southey, we feel the contrast grate upon us when we arrive at Mr. Robinson's correct yet unembellished diction :-but this, to the generality of readers, must be a venial error. So let it be with us. For the perspicuity of his narrative, and the lucid arrangement of his facts, we and his country owe him many thanks, whilst we feel that his devotion to the character that he commemorates has done him infinite honour. We think it the duty of every Englishman who has his heart in the right place (a homely but a thoroughly British expression) to become acquainted with this biography.

TRANSLATIONS FROM THE GREEK ANTHOLOGY.

Βι Γαμμα.

I.

Οὐκ ἔθανες, Πρώτη, κ. τ. λ.

THOU hast not perish'd! but thy soul is fled,
To happier realms, among the virtuous dead:
Fated upon those blissful isles to stay,
Where fair Elysium shines in endless day.
Removed afar from every servile fear,

Nor cold, nor heat, nor storms, assail thee there.
No hunger and no thirst torment thee now,
For thee man's life can no allurements show:
Without a fault thou calmly dwell'st in ease,
Amidst those quiet realms of everlasting peace.

II.

Τὸ ῥόδον ἀκμάζει, κ. τ. λ.

The rose may please us for a time,
In new-blown fullness bone,
Look at it when it's past its prime,
You only find a thorn.

III.

Πᾶς τις ἀπαιδευτος, κ. τ. λ.

"Tis wise for ignorance to hold its tongue-
Better say nothing, than say something wrong.

IV.

Τὰς τρίχας, ὦ Νίκυλλα, κ. τ. λ.

Some say you die your hair-who would have thought it?
Surely 'twas black enough when first you bought it.

V.

Μακροτέρῳ σταυρῷ, κ. τ. λ.

Dick, envious, pined away when he was shown
Another's gallows taller than his own.

VI.

Πλοῦτος ὁ τῆς ψυχῆς, κ. τ. λ.

Only the riches of the mind
A firm support remain:
All other riches, you will find,
Bring greater loss than gain.

VII.

Τῆδε Σάων, κ. τ. λ.

Here the Acantian son of Dicon lies

Sleep only holds him-virtue never dies.

JAPHET, IN SEARCH OF A FATHER.1

BY THE AUTHOR OF "PETER SIMPLE," &c.

I TOOK the carriage the next day, and drove to Lord Windermear's. He was at home, and I gave my name to the servant as Mr. De Benyon. It was the first time that I had made use of my own name. His lordship was alone when I entered. He bowed, as if not recognising me, and waved his hand to a chair.

"My lord, I have given my true name, and you treat me as a perfect stranger. I will mention my former name, and I trust you will honour me with a recognition. I was Japhet Newland."

"My dear Mr. Newland, you must accept my apology; but it is so long since we met, and I did not expect to see you again."

"I thought, my lord, that Mr. Masterton had informed you of what had taken place."

"No; I have just come from a visit to my sisters in Westmorland, and have received no letters from him."

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"I have, my lord, at last succeeded in finding out the object of my mad search, as you were truly pleased to call it, in the Honourable General De Benyon, lately arrived from the East Indies."

“Where his services are well known," added his lordship. "Mr. De Benyon, I congratulate you with all my heart. When you refused my offers of assistance, and left us all in that mad way, I certainly despaired of ever seeing you again. I am glad that you re-appear under such fortunate auspices. Has your father any family?"

"None, my lord, but myself; and my mother died in the East Indies."

"Then I presume, from what I know at the Board of Controul, that you may now safely be introduced as a young gentleman of large fortune; allow me at least to assist your father, in placing you in your proper sphere in society. Where is your father?"

"At present, my lord, he is staying at the Adelphi Hotel, confined to his room by an accident, but I trust that, in a few days, he will be able to come out."

"Will you offer my congratulations to him, and tell him, that if he will allow me, I will have the honour of paying my respects to him? Will you dine with me on Monday next?"

I returned my thanks, accepted the invitation, and took my leave, his lordship saying as he shook hands with me, "You don't know how happy this intelligence has made me. I trust that your father and I shall be good friends."

When I returned to the carriage, as my father had desired me to take an airing, I thought I might as well have a companion, so I directed them to drive to Mr. Cophagus's. The servant knocked, and I went in as soon as the door was opened. Susannah and Mrs. Co

phagus were sitting in the room.

'Continued from p. 252.

"Susannah," said I, "I know you do not like to walk out, so I thought, perhaps, you would have no objection to take an airing in the carriage; my father has lent it to me. Will you come ?-it will do you good."

"It is very kind of you, Japhet, to think of me; but—”

"But what?" replied Mrs. Cophagus. "Surely thou wilt not refuse, Susannah? It would savour much of ingratitude on thy part.” "I will not then be ungrateful," replied Susannah, leaving the room; and in a short time she returned in a Leghorn bonnet and shawl like her sister's. "Do not I prove that I am not ungrateful, Japhet, since to do credit to thy carriage, I am content to depart from the rules of our persuasion?" said Susannah, smiling.

"I feel the kindness and the sacrifice you are making to please me, Susannah," replied I; "but let us lose no time."

I handed her down to the carriage, and we drove to the Park. It was a beautiful day, and the Park was filled with pedestrians as well as carriages. Susannah was much astonished, as well as pleased. "Now, Susannah," said I, "if you were to call this Vanity Fair, you would not be far wrong; but still, recollect that even all this is productive of much good. Reflect how many industrious people find employment and provision for their families by the building of these gay vehicles, their painting and ornamenting. How many are employed at the loom, and at the needle, in making these gay dresses. This vanity is the cause of wealth not being hoarded, but finding its way through various channels, so as to produce comfort and happiness to thousands."

"Your observations are just, Japhet, but you have lived in the world, and seen much of it. I am as one just burst from an egg-shell, all amazement. I have been living in a little world of my own thoughts, surrounded by a mist of ignorance, and not being able to penetrate farther, have considered myself wise when I was not."

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My dear Susannah, this is a chequered world, but not a very bad one-there is in it much of good as well as evil. The sect to which you belong avoid it-they know it not-and they are unjust towards it. During the time that I lived at Reading, I will candidly state to you that I met with many who called themselves of the persuasion, who were wholly unworthy of it, but they made up in outward appearance and hypocrisy, what they wanted in their conduct towards their fellow creatures. Believe me, Susannah, there are pious and good, charitable and humane, conscientious, and strictly honourable people among those who now pass before your view in such gay procession; but society requires that the rich should spend their money in superfluities, that the poor may be supported. Be not deceived, therefore, in future, by the outward garments, which avail nothing."

"You have induced me much to alter my opinions already, Japhet; so has that pleasant friend of thine, Mr. Masterton, who has twice called since we have been in London; but is it not time that we should return ?"

"It is indeed later than I thought it was, Susannah,” replied I, looking at my watch, "and I am afraid that my father will be impatient for my return. I will order them to drive home."

As we drove along, leaning against the back of the carriage, my hand happened to touch that of Susannah, which lay beside her on the cushion, I could not resist taking it in mine, and it was not withdrawn. What my thoughts were, the reader may imagine: Susannah's I cannot acquaint him with; but in that position we remained in silence until the carriage stopped at Cophagus's door. I handed Susannah out of the carriage, and went up stairs for a few moments. Mrs. Cophagus and her husband were out.

“ Susannah, this is very kind of you, and I return you my thanks. I never felt more happy than when seated with you in that carriage." « I have received both amusement and instruction, Japhet, and ought to thank you. Do you know what passed in my mind at one

time ?"

"No-tell me."

، When I first knew you, and you came among us, I was, as it were, the guide, a presumptuous one perhaps to you, and you listened to me-now it is reversed-now that we are removed and in the world, it is you that are the guide, and it is I who listen and obey."

"Because, Susannah, when we first met I was much in error, and had thought too little of serious things, and you were fit to be my guide: now we are mixing in the world, with which I am better acquainted than yourself. You then corrected me, when I was wrong : I now point out to you where you are not rightly informed: but, Susannah, what you have learnt of me is as nought compared with the valuable precepts which I gained from your lips-precepts which, I trust, no collision with the world will ever make me forget."

"Oh! I love to hear you say that; I was fearful that the world would spoil you, Japhet, but it will not-will it ?"

"Not so long as I have you still with me, Susannah: but if I am obliged to mix again with the world, tell me, Susannah, will you reject me?—will you desert me?—will you return to your own people and leave me so exposed? Susannah, dearest, you must know how long, how dearly I have loved you :—you know that, if I had not been sent for and obliged to obey the message, that I would have lived and died content with you. Will you not listen to me now, or do you reject me?"

I put my arm round her waist, her head fell upon my shoulder, and she burst into tears. 66 Speak, dearest, this suspense is torture

to me," continued I.

"I do love you, Japhet," replied she at last, looking fondly at me through her tears; "but I know not whether this earthly love may not have weakened my affection towards Heaven. If so, may God pardon me, for I cannot help it."

After this avowal, for a minute, which appeared but a few seconds, we were in each other's arms, when Susannah disengaged herself. "Dearest Japhet, thy father will be much displeased."

"I cannot help it," replied I," I shall submit to his displeasure." "Nay, but Japhet, why risk thy father's wrath ?”

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"Well, then," replied I, attempting to reach her lips, "I will go." Nay, nay-indeed, Japhet, you exact too much-it is not seemly."

Dec. 1835.-VOL. XIV.—NO. LVI.

BB