haps some arm more lucky than the rest may reach his heart, and free the world from bondage,' and denounced by name and description such men as were inimical to the cause it advocated. A reward of 7001. was offered by government for the author and publisher, but though well known he was never avowed.

The Antiunionist. This appeared in 1799, with a view to oppose the legislative union then in agitation. It displayed some wit, but it seemed to want the energy and spirit which alone give efficacy to opinions in great political discussions. Like the last efforts of the French under Napoleon, the Antiunionist displayed the imbecility of an exhausted subject and a worn-out people.

The Irish Magazine. This was first published in 1807. It was edited by an extraordinary man of the name of Cox, a gun-smith, whose father, as he says himself, was a bricklayer in the county of Meath. The Magazine was almost exclusively matter compiled by himself. It contained biographical notices of the dead, and severe attacks upon the living. The work was a series of scurrility, calumny, and vulgarity; but there was withal a fund of information, a strong sense, and a humour and drollery so captivating, that its circulation extended to all parts of Ireland, and it continued for some time the only periodical publication, and became even a school book in some of the hedge schools. The usual number printed and circulated annually amounted to 60,000 or about 5,000 monthly. The author was convicted of a libel in 1811, continued his magazine while in Newgate, with an increased circulation, was convicted of a second, and finally agreed to transport himself to America, which put an end to his magazine in 1815. He is since dead.

The Medical Journal was first published in 1807. It was the first ever attempted in Dublin, and intended as a receptacle for all medical essays and communications which might be made on the subject; but notwithstanding the extensive hospitals of Dublin, the rising reputation of the schools of surgery and physic, and the talent supposed to exist in the respective professions, this work could only be supported for eighteen months. Its place is now, in some measure, supplied by Hospital Reports,' two volumes of which appeared in the summer of 1817; one anonymous, and the other under the sanction of the College of Physicians.

The Dublin Examiner was the last attempt to establish a respectable periodical work in Dublin. It commenced in May, 1816, and was continued monthly. It contained a critical review of recent works, with essays and other original matter, and proposed, in some measure, to establish a Review in the metropolis of Ireland, similar to those of Edinburgh and London. It continued only to the end of the year, exhibiting a melancholy instance of the low state of literature in a country which, while its talents continue largely to enrich literature abroad, cannot support at home one single periodical publication.

The Royal Irish Academy publish their transactions at their own cost, as do the editors of the statistical work now in progress under the patronage of the Dublin Society. The university press, in the College Park, was formerly distinguished for its correct editions of several of the classics; it has, however, long since ceased to work.

Another reason of the depression of the Irish press, and paucity of original literary publications in Dublin, is the facility with which the best English works may be procured. All the London and Edinburgh periodical works are taken in at the two library societies, The Dublin' and 'The Institute,' to one or other of which almost every respectable inhabitant of the capital is a sub

scriber.

It must not, however, be inferred, that Irish genius or talent has declined. It is true there is no encouragement for literary exertion in the Irish metropolis, because the Dublin bookseller will run no risk in publishing an original work, however great its merits. It must appear in London, or not at all. Nevertheless, Dublin can even now boast of many existing characters in the various walks of literature and the arts, as well as in the senate, the church, the bar, the army, and on the stage, which uphold its pretensions to the high rank that it has obtained in these respects.

With respect to the progress of the fine arts, and especially of painting, very little has been known of their early state in Ireland. Bindon, a gentleman of fortune, and an amateur artist, made laudable attempts to encourage them.

He painted portraits of Swift, Dean, Delany, and Dr. Sheridan. Shortly after this period James Latham (an Irish artist, born in Tipperary in 1696) having studied at Antwerp, cultivated his art with singular success. He painted portraits of the beautiful Mrs. Woffington, Geminiani the composer, and a few others, with so much truth, clearness, and purity of style, that he obtained the distinguished title of the Irish Vandyke. Although polite literature about the same time had attained its highest degree of excellence in England, yet painting was there still in its infancy, so far as it regarded a school of native artists, for the principal painters were foreigners, and even Jervas, a native of Dublin, arrived at distinction, although he is now better known by his translation of Don Quixote, than for any pictorial celebrity. It was not, indeed, till Reynolds founded the English school that painting began to be distinguished in England.

The same remark is appiicable to sculpture, which, until lately, was wholly in the hands of foreigners. If, therefore, the fine arts were thus backward in arriving at maturity in the metropolis of the British empire, it is not surprising that their establishment should be of a recent date in Dublin. But the Irish government were not wanting to encourage the arts; for prior to the founding of the Royal Academy in London, which took place in 1768, the

Dublin artists formed themselves into a society as early as 1731, consisting of twelve members, who elected from their number a president, secretary, and treasurer.

This society soon after proceeded to build an exhibition-house, and were assisted by government with 500l. and by subscriptions, which amounted to 300l. The first exhibition was opened in 1765, and for a few years the rooms were well attended, but the admission money being small, the receipts were insufficient to defray the expenses. Under these circumstances, Richard Cranfield, treasurer to the society, took upon himself the whole management of the concern. About the year 1773 a schism took place in the society: the seceders opened a new exhibition room, which not succeeding was discontinued, and at length a coalition was effected, and the society now became respectable. From the year 1776 to 1782, the yearly exhibitions proved a losing concern, and a debt of 800l. was incurred. The exhibition, however, was continued until the year 1800, when the society's house was disposed of for other purposes. At length a permanent institution was established under the patronage of the Lord Lieutenant, the Duke of Richmond, with the title of The Society of the Artists of Dublin.'

A new society was also founded June 4, 1813, under the title of The Royal Irish Institution for promoting the Fine Arts in Ireland.

With all those liberal measures and plans for the encouragement of the arts, it must be confessed that the door is too widely opened for the admission of young candidates, whose friends or patrons, unfortunately for them, fancy they discover a genius for painting. Even distinguished talents, if they aim at fame or fortune, must not expect to find them in Ireland. The country is too poor, and if it were not so pour, there are few real connoisseurs in it to appreciate and reward the merit of a living artist. On the other hand, it would be unjust to conclude that the Dublin Society's school for drawing, sculpture, and architecture, had failed to produce the results expected from it. The two masters, the Wests, father and son, who so long presided over the academy, though eminent themselves, were yet more conspicuous for the number of celebrated artists which they had the honour of instructing in the art, among whom were Barry, Barrett, Hamilton, Tresham, Roberts, Brooks, Edward Smith the statuary, Thomas Ivory the architect, together with several others still living, but not less known to fame.

It is, however, more especially in architecture, that the inhabitants of the Irish capital have evinced a decided predilection. Every city may be said to prefer a particular style in their public buildings. That of London is grave and massive, being mostly of the Doric and Tuscan orders. That of Dublin is much lighter, affecting the bold portico and airy colonnade of the Ionic and Corinthian orders. In ecclesiastical structures the capital of the em

pire admits of no competition; but, excepting two churches in Dublin, St. George's and the Castle chapel, and two or three half finished façades of others, so left for the erection of future steeples, the rest seem to set at defiance every principle of architecture. Moreover, with the exception of the cathedral of St. Patrick, and the new church of St. George, there is not a steeple with a spire among them all. To this rude unsightly style, the new R. C. Metropolitan chapel will, when finished, afford one more striking exception. The interiors of most of the churches are, however, handsome, and a few even grand. But in edifices allotted to civil purposes, Dublin is not excelled by any city in Europe.

ART. X.-Peter's Letters to his Kinsfolk. Edinburgh, 1819. 8vo. 3 vols.

WE are happy to learn that a re-publication of this remarkably entertaining work is in preparation at New York. It is a most amusing picture of the present state of Scotch manners, and a portraiture of the most celebrated among the Scotish literati; full of sprightliness and animation-a little overdrawn, and occasionally hyperbolical, but still sufficiently accurate to be instructive, as well as entertaining.

The author is incognito, under the assumed name of Peter Morris; and never was a character better supported. It is difficult to believe the letters are not genuine, and actually addressed, as they purport to be, by a Welch doctor, on a visit at Edinburgh, to his friends in Cardigan. There is no doubt, however, that the character is assumed for the purpose, and rumour has even gone so far, as to fix the authorship on Mr. Wilson, the poet; notwithstanding the very high praises, lavished in the letters on himself.

Trusting that the New York edition will not be given to the public so early as our November number, we shall present our readers with copious extracts, of both the lightest and the gravest parts of the work.

And first, we take the account of a dinner-party, to which the doctor says he was invited, at Mr. Jeffrey's country-seat.

'I had come, thanks to my rustic ignorance, exactly at the hour appointed for dinner, (five o'clock) so that I had three parts of an hour, of the great man, entirely to myself; during the whole of which space, he continued to talk about rural affairs, and to trot me up one field and down another, till I was weary without (credite posteri!) making one single allusion to law, politics, or litera

ture.

'We were joined, towards six o'clock, by professor P-* and L- t and one or two young advocates, who had walked out with them. Then came R. M- whom you remember at Balloil, a relation and intimate friend of J's. He and the cele

brated orator, Allison, officiate together in one of the Episcopalian chapels in Edinburgh. Although we never knew each other at Oxford, yet we immediately recognized each other's old High street faces, and began to claim a sort of acquaintance on that score, as all Oxonian cotemporaries, I believe, are accustomed to do, when they meet at a distance from their alma mater. There were several other gentlemen, mostly of grave years, so that I was not a little astonished, when somebody proposed a trial of strength in leaping. Nor was my astonishment at all diminished, when Mr. P. began to throw off his coat and waistcoat, and to prepare himself for taking his part in the contest. When he did so much, I could have no apology, so I also stripped; and, indeed, the whole party did the same, except J— alone, who was dressed in a short green jacket, with scarcely any skirts, and, therefore, seemed to consider himself as already "accinctus ludo."

'I used to be a good leaper in my day-witness the thousands of times I have beat you in the Port-Meadow, and elsewhere-but I cut a very poor figure among these sinewy Caledonians. With the exception of L, they all jumped wonderfully; and Jwas quite miraculous, considering his brevity of stride. But the greatest wonder of the whole was Mr. P. He is also a short man, and he cannot be less than seventy, yet he took his stand with the assurance of an athletic, and positively beat every one of us-the very best of us, at least half a heel's breadth. I was quite thunderstruck, never having heard the least hint of his being so great a geometrician-in this sense of the word. I was, however, I must own, agreeably surprised by such a specimen of spirit and muscular strength in so venerable an old gentleman, and could not forbear complimenting him on his revival of the ancient peripatetic ideas, about the necessity of cultivating the external as well as the internal energies, and of mixing the activity of the practical, with that of the contemplative life. He took what I said with great suavity; and, indeed, I have never seen a better specimen of that easy hilarity and good humour, which sits with so much gracefulness on an honoured old age.

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By and bye, we were summoned to the drawing-room, where we found several ladies with Mrs. J. She, you know, is an American, and J- went across the Atlantic for her a few years ago, while we were at war with her country. She is a very pleasing person, and they have one extremely interesting little girl. J made no alteration in his dress, but joined the ladies exactly in his morning costume,-the little green jacket aforesaid; gray worsted pantaloons, and Hessian boots, and a black silk handkerchief. How had Grub street stared, to see the prince of reviewers in such a garb. The dinner was excellent-a glorious turbot and oystersauce for one thing; and (sitesco referens) there was no want of Champaigne the very wine, by the way, which I should have