the Channel, that does not launch forth, on his return, in praise of French valour and French generosity; and if he ever had a sample of either, it must have been that a gens-d'-armes stuck a bayonet in his end. There is not a poetaster among us, that will not prate of the "pleasant land of Italy." And some of them, who go about weeping over graves, and pretend, forsooth, that they worship freedom, will indite their elegies to the shades of Ariosto, of Tasso, of Petarch-to⚫ the foreign bards, the slaves and minions of some worthless, poor, petty tyrant, while they feel not in their breasts one chord of sympathy with Milton, or with one of those genuine English spirits, which, were these soi-disant philosophers true even to the political creed they profess, should be the gods of their idolatry. And now there's not an essayist, or an editor, that will not fawn upon America-that will not compare her pretty infantine authors to the eloquent thinkers of our own country-and that will not condemn some drudge of a contributor to tack together a memoir of Patrick Henry.

But there is a false, hollow feeling about the age-a Quixotism, after the spirit of chivalry has departed-a vain seeking and aping of noble sentiment, of which the degenerate creatures can assume but the mask and the garb. In ages past, which we, forsooth, call dark, and barbarous, and illiberal, men knew how to join respect for other countries with unshaken love and declared preference for their own. They understood, and could entertain a generous enmity, a noble hate-prejudice was with them hallowed into a virtue-and patriotism was a religion which they had not yet learned to disbelieve or compromise. Let such feelings be placed on the page of history, by the side of our affected philanthropy and adulation of foreigners-our fitful and alternate gleams of friendship and spite, and let us judge to whom hereafter the meed of honour shall be given. But 'tis wrong to say our, or to attribute to the British nation the cant of a prating few. The population of our island is overgrown, and almost outnumbered by a crowd of offsets and burrs-Cockneys, and critics, and travellers, and radicals, that, possessing no national interest, are incapable of a national feeling. These are the theophilanthropists, the lovers of the human race, whose voice is to be heard from every synod of ragamuffins, -and who seem to declare the sentiments of England to him who cannot enter into the silent and thoughtful spirit of the English people. Charity, and humanity, and politeness, are the gaberdines they all creep under no one pretends to energy-no one to independence; and, should John Bull venture to speak with his original and once admired bluntness, he is anathematized on all sides, as a pest of society, as an illiberal boor, as one that should be visited with condign punishment. And let liberality and politeness once put their hands to the torture, bigotry never strained to their pitch.

We have no wish to sow the seeds of hate, but we dislike to see a canting and nonsensical abuse of old feelings. There is a difference, though unperceivable by some faint-hearted gentlemen, between enmity and envy, between generous rivalry and narrow hate. Let those who destroy the nobler evil, beware, lest they but afford the baser room to spring up. Let us remember that no nation has ever been great, that, in comparison with itself, did not hold the rest of the world in contempt. And we know that those countries of Europe, which are now desert and enslaved, owe their misfortunes chiefly and especially

to the want of that national pride and national prejudice, which some among us would cry down. And if it be alleged that they would not go so deep that it is merely civility and courteousness they recommend, we tell these Chesterfields on a large scale, these arrangers of etiquette between nations, that, with a few exceptions, (unknown but for having been by them brought forward, and alluded to,) there has been sufficient civility between the people, unless, indeed, nothing short of absolute hugging will satisfy them. We are at a loss to conceive what all this twaddling is about-what are they talking of-or whom do they allude to? If the American journals abuse us, who cares for that, who reads them, or hears them? And as to our own periodical works, they have never applied to the whole continent of America one half of the obloquy and reproach that has inevitably fallen to the share of any single name of notoriety among us. Then, in the name of wonder, let us hear no more of this stupid cant about good feeling, and civility, and philanthropy-one sermon is quite enough upon the text. And let Mr. Irving, Mr. Campbell, and others, who have taken a fancy to the subject, be told, That their amicable preaching, by turning discussion directly upon the mutual opinions of the nations, are calculated, more than the most envenomed libels, to excite hostility, and to widen the breach.

FROM THE BRITISH CRITIC.

Memoir of the Life and Trial of James Mackcoull, or Moffat, who died in the County Jail of Edinburgh, on the 22d December, 1820; containing a full Account of his Trial before the Jury Court, and High Court of Justiciary, at Edinburgh, for Robbing the Branch of the Paisley Union Bank at Glasgow of Twenty Thousand Pounds. Illustrated with Notes, Anecdotes, and a Portrait. With an Appendix, containing Mr. Denovan's Journal from Glasgow to London in Trace of the Robbery, and other Curious Papers. 8vo. pp. 326.-8s. 6d. Longman & Co. 1822.

If the memory of the arch-rogue, of whom these pages contain the history, had been at all likely to be "interred with his bones," we should perhaps, have been unwilling to disturb its repose: but the single paragraph which has fallen from the pen of the author of the Fortunes of Nigel, having sufficiently secured an immortality of remembrance to Jim Mackcoull," there can be no harm in permitting ourselves to touch upon some of that evil which henceforward is sure to "live after him." The volume before us is confusedly put together; and occasionally, is not quite in the best taste: but it contains much curious matter. Its interest arises less from the peculiar adventures of the hero, whose villany, at best, was but of a vulgar stamp, than from the singular legal proceedings to which his case gave birth: and it is to these, and to his effrontery, which it must be confessed was of no common nature, rather than to any such ingenuity as distinguished Guzman d'Alfarache and Hardy Vaux, that Mackcoull owes his biographical elevation.

James Mackcoull was born in London, in the parish of St. Sepulchre; and such was his instinctive attachment to the place of his nativity, that the entire labours of an active life seem to have been dedicated

to the single purpose of endeavouring to secure his decease also in the parish which gave him birth. He first drew breath in the year 1763. His father was a pocket-book maker, and a marshal's man; not fortunate in his business, but of unblemished character. It was from his mother that the peculiar tastes which marked all the children were more immediately derived.

'Three sons and one daughter were the issue of this alliance, and the dispositions and pursuits of each were thoroughly german to the other. The eldest, John, was bred a law stationer; but instinct soon led him to a more liberal profession. In 1807 he was tried at Stafford for stealing a parcel from the Edinburgh mail, and forging indorsations on and negotiating four bills of exchange. In 1810 he published a book, intitled Abuses of Justice, in which he announced that he had “ relinquished all criminal pursuits.” This frank declaration was not received at Bow-street with the credit which its author expected; and he was so frequently repulsed in his attempts to enter places of public amusement, that he was compelled in self-defence, on one occasion, to address the following Bill of Health to the sitting Magistrates.

“ GENTLEMEN I beg leave to inform you, that I am, with my wife, gone to the theatre, Covent Garden. I take this step in order to prevent any ill-founded, malicious construction. Trusting that I am within the pale of safety, and that my conduct will ever insure me the protection of the magistracy, I remain, Gentlemen, with all due respect, “Your most obedient very humble servant,

“Joun Mackcoull," The career of a family man is very like that of a courtezan, and, in middle life the thief, for the most part, finds it his interest to become informer. In this honourable calling John spent some of his meridian years; and, having acquired sufficient funds to open a public house, first at Lewisham, and afterwards at Hayes, he played the tapster, till the numerous daring burglaries which were committed in the neighbourhood deprived him of his license. In this difficulty he resorted to the no less profitable trade of letting lodgings in London; and the occupation of three houses, all of which, he says, ducted in the most discreet and orderly manner,” soon enabled him to establish the Apollo Library, which he still keeps at Worthing, in conjunction with a widely different institution in the purlieus of Fleet

a market.

The youngest brother, Benjamin, was a youth of infinite promise, but less fortunate than the elder scions of the house of Mackcoull. In his boyhood he was the darling hope of his mother, and among his professional competitors was acknowledged to be facile princeps. A robbery at the theatres in 1786 occasioned his early removal; and the Judge before whom he was convicted, when applied to to extend mercy to Brace, the companion of Benjamin's final achievement, delivered a sufficient testimony in favour of the latter's just claim to the honours which he reaped at the debtor's door-"Brace," said the learned Judge, “deserves to be hanged, were it for no other crime than that of being in company with Ben Mackcoull.”

Nor did the blood of the Mackcoulls degenerate when it rolled in female veins. Mrs. Ann Wheeler, the daughter, was a frequent visiter of the several houses of correction: and it was not an unusual sight

“ were con

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to see two generations of this distinguished family employed on the same block at the same moment. The robbery of Messrs. Foulden and Stratton led Mrs. Wheeler (or Mrs. Green as she was then called) to two years imprisonment: and after her enlargement she did not long outlive her venerable dam. The old lady, (or, as she was playfully designated by her son James, old Gunpowder) was noted for her dexterity in shoplifting: and, as she approached the term of ninety years, employed herself in a branch of business more adapted to the slowness of foot which resulted from her advanced age, but which still required no little quickness of eye, and niceness of fingering-thė kitten rig, or stealing pots from public houses.

Peculiar interest always attaches to the early acts of those who in after times are to be trumpeted by fame: and we are glad to present our readers with the first recorded success of the immediate subject of this volume, to whom we now approach. A canvass bag of halfpence attached to a cat's meat barrow, attracted James Mackcoull's notice while yet a boy, and, by blowing snuff

' in the owner's eyes, he effected a transfer of the property. This snuff rachet with clicking and twitching (stealing hats from gentlemen's heads and shawls from ladies' shoulders) continued for some years to form the chief amusements of Jim's pubescence, and perfected him in the minor branches of Newgate education. The robbery of an undertaker in St. James's Park, which was executed with more daring than prudence, compelled him to retire from London. His father, in order to secrete him from the pursuit of the police, gladly placed him on board the tender; and he served in the navy for nine years, if not without offence at least without detection.

On his return to England he renewed his youthful pursuits with great success: and at twenty-eight years of age he entered into the bands of marriage with a lady who kept a lodging-house. This house soon became a celebrated depôt for stolen goods; and its notoriety at length induced its proprietor to try a temporary retreat. The minor clergy (as the juvenile thieves were then called) used to bring all their booty to Mackcoull; and the property thus obtained was disposed of in a recess, formed by shutting up a window, (hence, in allusion to the tax, facetiously denominated Pitt's picture) so curiously covered in, pannelled over, and papered, that it long defied the Argus-eyed officers. Hamburgh was the spot selected for Mackcoull's delegation ; and there in the spring of 1802, having assumed the name of Moffat, he contrived not only to support himself by the gaming table, but to remit large bills to his wife in London. After twelve months residence he took out a burger brief, or burgess ticket, and nominally established himself as an agent for goods intended for Leipzig fair. In 1804 he decamped from Hamburgh, being suspected of a robbery at the theatre. “At Rotterdam he spent nine months, but with unusual ill fortune: losing his money at play, and incurring a load of debt, which obliged him, after a second passing visit to Hamburgh, to embark again for England. London was too hot a residence for more than a few days; and he resolved to enter upon untried ground in the northern districts of the kingdom.

In Edinburgh he lived in retirement till he was detected, in 1806, in picking pockets at the theatre. He escaped, but bore about him for life the mark of a blow on his head received in the scuffle. When Hagano beheld Walter, he again addressed himself to the King, urging him before any act of violence, to send one to inquire of the stranger his name and race. It was possible he might be willing to yield up his treasure without bloodshed. If it was indeed Walter, he would,' “as a wise soldier, for the sake of honour, be willing to concede to the King." The King sends forward Camelo, who had been set as Burgrave over Metz by the Franks, and who had arrived but the day before at the court, bringing presents. He demands of Walter who he is,—whence and whither he journeys.. Walter, in reply, desires to know whether he speaks of himself, or under authority of another. Camelo replies with proud lips, “Know that King Gunther, who rules over this land, has sent me to inquire into thy matters.” The youth makes answer, “I know not in truth what need there is to inquire into a traveller's affairs. But I do not shun to declare mine. My name is Walter. Aquitaine gave me birth. I was delivered young by my father to the Huns, as a hostage. With them have I lived." These left I lately from desire to see with delight my dear native land, and my gracious people.” Camelo requires of him, on the King's part, his treasure, his steed, and his maiden; assuring him, that on his quiet compliance, he shall be injured neither in life nor limb.

“ Is thy King a God,” answers Walter, “ to be the giver of life?-What! has he laid the strength of his arm upon me?-Has he cast me into his dungeon ?-Has he bound my hands behind my back ?" Nevertheless, for honour to the King's name, he offers him, if he will suffer him to go peaceably on his way, a hundred bracelets of precious metal. The ambassador returns, and Hagano is very earnest with the King to agree to the proposal. “ Take the tendered jewels, and adorn with them those who accompany thee, father! Give up a strife in which thou canst not conquer!" He then adds the warning of a vision of the preceding night, in which he had beheld the King contending with a bear, which, after a long conflict, he saw rend up his leg to the knee, and to the hip, and which, when he himself came to his aid, flung itself upon him, and with its teeth tore out his eyes. Gunther vehemently upbraids Hagano with cowardice, like that, as he says, of his father Agathias (a name for which it seems difficult to conjecture a German origin). The hero in great anger refuses all participation in the violence they are about to commit

, and retires to a neighbouring hill, where he dismounts and sits down to await as a spectator the issue of the combat. And this brings us to the middle of the second canto.

From this place to nearly the end of the third is occupied in disposing of the King's eleven knights, who proceed, one after another, against Walter, and are killed nearly as fast as they come up. The reason why they do not all fall upon him together does not appear to be any point of honour upon the subject among themselves, or any predilection on the part of the monarch for single combats, but simply; that the nature of the ground where Walter had posted himself, did not admit the attack of more than one combatant at a time. The detail of the eleven successive combats is minute, and to such minds as are now left to read the celebration of ancient prowess, something tedious: the more so, in virtue of certain speeches on both sides, of come length, all of which are, nevertheless, sufficiently opposite and agnanimous. Each encounter is varied, however, with circumstances hich give the appearance of painting from nature, and which, to hear