or of cruelly placing obstacles in the pathway of those who are labouring for honourable distinction. We fear, however, that as a class, the description which we have quoted above is but too just. Under the cloak of that secrecy which the present state of our periodical literature casts around these would-be oracles, they are perfectly careless whether they wound friend or foe, if they can only exhibit to admiring spectators their own martial prowess. Fancying that they have attained the highest point of literary excellence, they arrogate to themselves the right of deciding authoritatively upon the merits of others who have not obtained a like privilege. Sometimes, they are actuated by the purely malicious desire of seeing what amount of distress they are able to inflict; and at others they avail themselves of a Review, as a sort of safety-valve for the escape of a portion of that spleen which, if it find not a vent in one way or another, would, in all probability, prove their own destruction. There exists, indeed, in the literary world, we will not say an Aristocracy, for they want that nobility of soul and that courteousness of manners which distinguishes the barons of our happy isle, but a self-constituted and, as far as their power extends, a tyrannical oligarchy. They have assumed the office of priests in the temple of Fame, and endeavour to prevent the entrance of all who, from whatever cause, chance not to have obtained their sovereign favour. Genius, however, will overcome all obstacles, and ultimately, in spite of all opposition, obtain the honours to which it is entitled.

These remarks have, in some measure, been suggested by an attack which appeared some three months since in the Edinburgh Review, upon a portion of Captain Marryat's late work upon America, and to which our attention has again been directed by the appearance, in the third volume of the "Diary," of an able and spirited reply on the part of the Captain. He is a true-hearted British sailor, and consequently replies to the attack of his enemy by a well directed and most effective broadside.

In an early part of the "reply" he remarks, that were all reviewers to be reviewed by authors, as well as all authors by reviewers, the authors would have the best of it in the mélée." If we may judge from the specimen which he himself has given us, we have no doubt of the truth of this remark. But, in this respect, the critics resemble those warrior-bands who, in bye-gone days, secreted themselves amidst the hills and the heather of Scotland, and maintained with their enemies a harassing and destructive warfare, without affording them the least chance of retaliation.

Judging from the "style, manner, and handling of the pen," and also from "the manner in which the article is managed," the Captain has arrived at the conclusion that the writer of the review in question was Miss Harriet Martineau. Under this impression, the reply,

addressed avowedly "not to her, but to the Edinburgh Reviewer," contains three or four sallies so apt and striking, that we cannot forbear quoting them.

After proving his superiority to the reviewer as a theologian, the Captain thus writes :

"The reviewer sneers at control the nature of man.'

my observation that 'Washington had no power to It may be, as he observes, a very simple remark; but, at all events, it has one advantage over his own, which is, that it is a very Miss Martineau makes an observation in her work which is quite as great a truism as mine; for she also says that ‘Human nature is the same every where.'

true one.

How far I have succeeded in my analysis of human nature it is not for me to decide; but that it is the same every where I will now venture to support, by something more than assertion on the part of Miss Martineau.

When I was at Boston, in company with some of the young ladies, the conversation turned upon Miss Martineau, with whom they stated they had been intimate. Naturally anxious to know more of so celebrated a personage, I asked many questions. I was told much to interest me, and, among other little anecdotes, they said that Miss Martineau used to sit down, surrounded by the young ladies, and amuse them with all the histories of her former loves. She would detail to them 'how Jack sighed and squeezed her hand; how Tom went down on his knees; how Dick swore and Sam vowed; and-how she was still Miss Martineau.' And thus would she narrate and they listen until the sun went down, and the fire-fly danced, while the frogs lifted up their voices in full concert.

And I said to myself, 'who would have supposed that this Solon in petticoats would ever have dwelt upon her former days of enthusiasm and hope, or have cherished the reminiscences of love?' How true is it that human nature is the same every where.”

Quite true, Captain! Single ladies, with all their affected stoicism, have still a woman's nature. They may pity the weakness of those whose hearts are too susceptible; they may smile at the simplicity of less experienced damsels who are caught by the soft nonsense which the deceitful sex may choose to pour into their ears; they may affect to hold lightly the sweets of domestic love; they may write upon a haughty brow, "no surrender," and surround the citadel of their heart with innumerable fortifications, but still there are seasons when nature will shew itself in spite of themselves, and when even they will acknowledge the power of love and the sweets of conquest.

But the Captain favours us with another proof of Miss Martineau's assertion from that lady's own conduct. He says,

"I was conversing with a lady at New York, who informed me that she had seen a letter from Miss M., written to a friend of hers, after her return to England, in which Miss M. declared that her door was so besieged with the carriages of the nobility, that it was quite uncomfortable, and that she hardly knew what to do.

Thinks I to myself, I recollect an old story.

'Oh! grandmother,' cried Tom, running in, out of breath, 'there's at least a thousand cats in our garden.'—No, no, Tom,' quickly replied the old lady, 'not a thousand, Tom.'—'Well, I am sure there's five hundred.'—' No, nor five hundred,' replied the old lady, not taking her eyes off her knitting.''Well, then, grandmother, I am sure there's fifty.' I don't think there are fifty, Tom.'-Well, at all events, there's our cat and another.'-'Ah! Tom, replied the old lady, ‘that may be.'

I believe that the carriage of Lord Brougham is occasionally seen at the door of Miss Martineau.

But when I heard this I was pleased, for I said to myself, 'So, then, this champion of democracy, this scorner of rank and title, is flattered by the carriages of the nobility crowding at her door;' and again I said to myself, 'human nature is the same every where.'

Some, perhaps, may be inclined to accuse the Captain of a want of gallantry, in treating Miss Martineau with so little ceremony. When, however, a lady ventures upon a course of conduct altogether opposed to what is generally regarded as constituting an essential part of the female character, she can scarcely expect to receive from the opposite sex that treatment to which she would otherwise be entitled. Let Miss M. continue to write books if she please, and let those who admire her writings purchase them, but let her not venture, through the medium of any review, to attempt, by misrepresentations of the grossest kind, to rob another of his well-earned fame.

That Captain Marryat's "Diary" should be exceedingly distasteful to the Edinburgh Review, we can well believe. It tells too much against that system to the advocacy of which that periodical is so strongly devoted. It exposes in a masterly style the fearful evils of democracy. It lays bare the inmost workings of the American Constitution, and shews the rottenness of that which has obtained so large a share of praise from British Liberals. We believe that Captain Marryat has conferred a great and essential benefit upon the cause of good government by the publication of his "Dairy," and it is happily beyond the power of the Edinburgh Review to prevent its exercising upon a large portion of our countrymen a beneficial influence.

We are glad to find that the Captain treats the Review with the contempt it deserves. His own estimate of its power may be gathered from the following anecdote, which he has introduced with that point which characterizes those already given, and with which we shall close our remarks.

"A lady of my acquaintance was blessed with a son, then about three years old. She was very indulgent, and he was very much spoiled. At last he became so unmanageable that she felt it was her imperative duty to correct hin. She would as soon cut off her right arm, but that would not have mended the matter nor the child. So one day, when the young gentleman had been more than usually uproarious, she pulled up his petticoats, and administered what she considered a most severe infliction. Having done so, with a palpitating heart she sat down to recover herself, miserable that she had been compelled to punish, but attempting to console herself with the reflection that she had done her duty. What then was her surprise to have her reveries interrupted by the young urchin, who (appearing only to have been tickled) came up to her, and laying down his head on her lap, pulled up his coats, and cried, More whipping ma; please, more whipping." So weak has been the wrist, whether it be feminine or not, that has applied the punishment, that I also feel inclined to exclaim with the child, 'More whipping, (Miss Martineau?) please, more whipping.'

GLASGOW:-PRINTED BY GEORGE RICHARDSON, 35, MILLER STREET.

WHEN the Duke of Wellington declared "that the public ought to know something beyond the name of the Prince," who has now become a naturalized subject of this kingdom, and the husband of our gracious Sovereign, he gave utterance to a truth so obvious that one could scarcely have imagined that it would provoke the slightest opposition. If, however, we may judge from the silence maintained upon the subject by those whose situations gave them every opportunity of gaining correct and ample information, the reasonableness of the demand was not duly appreciated. It is no doubt true that, constitutionally, Prince Albert is a being of the least possible importance; but it requires no great depth of penetration to see that his real influence upon the destinies of the empire will be very great. If, as we have every reason to believe, the Prince is the object of her Majesty's best and warmest affections, his influence will extend, in a greater or less degree, to every action of her life. From the distinguished position to which he has been elevated, it is completely within his power to become either Britain's curse or Britain's blessing. In the eye of the law he may be nothing, but the illustrious individual who has chosen him as her husband, will not be satisfied to blot him out from the world of actual existences. Hence, we naturally enquire into the past history of the Prince, and endeavour to gain from that, some indications with regard to the future. But here our information is extremely scanty. Several works have just been published professing to give the fullest information, but these are almost entirely devoted to a history of his ancestry

rather than of the individual himself. Much as this is to be regretted, it is still interesting to examine the stock from which the Prince has sprung. We shall therefore introduce to the notice of our readers a work from the pen of Mr. Shobert, entitled "Prince Albert and the House of Saxony." This work, with the exception of about ten pages at the close, is entirely devoted to a history of the House of Saxony, of which the amplest details are given. Mr. Shobert's apology for the scanty nature of his memoir of Prince Albert is, that "his youth and the circumstances in which he has hitherto been placed, afford but little scope either for the biographer or the historian." So scanty in. deed is the memoir, that it contains scarcely any thing beyond what has appeared in almost every newspaper of the day. We may, however, quote his concluding remarks, the truth of which appears to be fully substantiated by the few particulars in reference to the Prince, of which we are yet in possession. They are as follows:

"Every trait that has hitherto developed itself in the character of Prince Albert, proclaims him to be peculiarly fitted for the high destinies to which he is called. All accounts concur in describing him as of gentle and unassuming demeanour, of uncorrupted morals, frank, kind-hearted and benevolent; in short, as possessing all those qualities that constitute an amiable man. His character and tastes are represented as being so peculiarly in accordance with those of the people of his adoptive country, that he cannot fail to render himself acceptable for his own sake. By the free selection of such a consort, the domestic happiness of our young and gracious Queen, in which the whole nation takes so profound an interest, is assured, so far as by human means it can be assured. Descended in a direct line from the elder branch of the House of Saxony, whose representative, in the time of the Emperor Charles the Fifth, chose rather to sacrifice his dominions, or even life itself, than abandon the Protestant religion as taught by Luther, of whom he and his immediate predecessor were the zealous protectors, Prince Albert, it is said, has often declared himself prouder of this distinction than of any personal advantage that he enjoys. This warm attachment to the Protestant faith must be deemed a subject of particular congratulation, when we consider the close connection into which the Prince is about to enter with the British crown and nation-a nation so justly jealous of the preservation of its established religion, which may confidently reckon upon finding in him, in time of need, a staunch and steady supporter."

The facts here referred to, as the source of such peculiar satisfaction to the Prince, are of a very interesting nature. The ancestor who thus nobly avowed his firm attachment to the Protestant faith, was John