ALEXANDER ALEXANDER.*

THERE is a matter-of-fact nature and a fictitious nature, that are not unfrequently confounded. In perusing the adventures of the valiant Dugald Dalgetty, or of the famous Bailie Jarvie, a valiant man in his way as well as Dugald, we are irresistibly led to exclaim, "How very natural is all this ! " and yet a moment's reflection will convince us that the consistency in each character is not that kind of consistency which life exhibits, but the consistency which the master-mind of genius bestows. It is barely possible that SCOTT, had he been endowed with as much litheness of limb as elasticity of fancy, might, if placed in similar circumstances, have done and said what was done and said by the worthy merchant of the Saltmarket, or the bold laird of Drumthwacket ; but he would neither have been a bailie nor a captain—he would merely have been an exquisite actor of the one and the other. Had he been, in reality, the being he personified, his acts and his words would have been of the same commonplace character as those of other magistrates or mercenaries. The distinction between real life and the life which genius depicts, is not, in fact, more marked than between the life of the street and the life of the stage. There have been many men who could jest with death, yet no Mercutio ever figured but in SHAKSPEARE'S woful tale; and even had he been of nature's birth, his bearing would have been very different from that of CHARLES KEMBLE. There have been many compounds of fidelity and knavery, of affection and selfishness, in the shape of an old woman; but the nurse of Juliet had no prototype in nature: and had her fellows been as numerous as her aches, not one of them would have played their part as Mrs. DAVENPORT did hers. When, therefore, of a book, as of an actor, we are told that it is natural, it is meant, if commendation is the object of the critic, not that it exhibits the truth, but the verisimilitude of nature ; and as it would be the least compliment that we could pay to the former to say that he moved and spoke in the same way on, that he did off the stage, so of all the indirect censures that is passed on a book ("fiction, the greatest is to accept it as an authentic narrative. The difference between a bit of Dutch finishing, wherein every individual hair is distinctly made out, and the magnificent whole of one of REM33RA.NDT s best efforts, is not so great as between the most interesting of biographies and a first-rate novel. We think it the more necessary to say a few 'words on this subject at the present moment, because there is a matter-of-fact spirit at work among the novelists of the day : most of them affect more the task of observing than of imagining, and seem to think that a tolerable skill in combining together real incidents may atone for the want of those speciosa settracu/a which it is the province of poetry to invent and ext)ibit.

* Life of Alexander Alexander. Written by himself, and edited by John Howell. Edinburgh, 1830.

Of the matter-of-fact writers in the English language, DE Fox is unquestionably the greatest ; and as his style has been lately followed by not a few inventore minores, it may be worth while to inquire on what DE FOE'S fame really rests, and how far those who have of late been endeavouring to emulate it, are in the right way to succeed in their attempts. Now, so far is the reputation of DE FOE from resting on his most nattiral works, in the ordi nary meaning of the term, that if he never had written any others but these, his name would haveyerished three quarters of a century ago. The most matter-of-net work DE FOE ever wrote (we might except, perhaps, the Religious Courtship, but it has been preserved from perishing only by its religion) is Colonel Jack. It is the very impress of every-day blackguardism : not even COLQIT.• HOUN'S Police of' London gives a more thithful picture of picking of pockets and breaking of houses—it is the Newgate Calendar turned into a novel. How many of our readers are acquainted with it ? The same neglect has visited Captain Singleton, and the New Voyage Round the World, which are, however, less commonplace, because the scene of the hero's adventures in each is inure diversified. From these, his most natural novels, we come to the History of the Plague; and what is the portion of that little work which is most interesting? The introductory part, assuredly; and those who have compared carefully its most striking scenes with the Introduction to the Decanzeron, can tell how much of observed life it contains. The latter part ie extremely natural, the accumulation of petty incidents most edifying, and it is pre-eminently stupid and dull at the same time. The Cardier is an historical novel of great merit ; and in one instance SCOTT has condescended to copy a sentiment from it, and the words even in which it is expressed. This of itself is no small praise. And yet the Cavalier is indebted for half its interest to the mighty events which it commemorates. Many of the parts of the first volume do not rise above the level of a gazette ; but even a gazette account of the exploits of Gusravus would be a heart-stirring document. And yet so miserably poor was the fancy of DE -FOE, that out of the incidents of two bloody wars, one in Germany and one in England, both abounding in rich materials—both partaking of the highest poetry of human nature, he has contrived to fabricate but two little volumes ! Now let us come to his great work, Robinson Crusoe—here again the natural parts are infinitely the most flat, stale, and unprofitable. Up to the moment of the shipwreck, the book is without intL.rest ; and the instant his long solitude terminates, the moment he comes home to the favoured abode of places and commonplaces, the interest ceases. The history of Robinson in his hermit state is a tale of poetical truth : the history of Selkirk in his hermit state, from which Robinson has been absurdly asserted to be derived, is matter-of-fact truth. Let any one read Selkirk's story in WOOD ROGERS'S voyage, and then turn to DE FOE, and he will readily perceive the difference between the sober hues of every-day existence and the splendid colourings of genius, and how very inaccurate is that taste that confounds the natural of the one with the natural of the other.

The volumes whose title we have quoted above, and the perusal of which has led us into this rather lengthened discussion on truth and verisimilitude, are from the pen of one who has per • haps as successfully as any of the writers of the day imitated the style and general manner of the author of Crusoe. We do not know that we should call it a novel, for we have reason to believe that ALEXANDER is a real personage, and that he has actually gone through many of the adventures detailed in these volumes. His biographer would indeed persuade us that he has gone through them all ; but with the previous writings of Mr. HOWELL before our eyes, especially the noted story of the Soldier of the Seventyfirst Iteidnient, by which even Dvxurv WEI* deceived, we must beg to suspend our belief. The present work is not so interesting as its celebrated predecessor, yet the incidents are more varied, the details more numerous ; and in the light of 'a piece of biography, if we must accept it as such, it has no small merit. ALEXANDER, the hero, was, by his own account, a natural son of a person of some consequence in the West of Scotland ; yet, though " stampt in the mint of Nature's extasy," he appears to have possessed but little of the energy of understanding and vigour of purpose that have been imputed by their panegyrist* to the love-begotten. This he attributes to an education most miserably defective, and to the hard and tyrannical conduct to which he was early subjected. His father he represents as more than ordinarily kind to him while a child; though, from want of discriminating attention to the character of the people with whom young ALEXANDER was placed, much of his care was thrown away. When ALEXANDER attains to manhood, the same kindness is manifested towards him ; he is offered a commission in the army or an overseership in " Carriacon"—a somewhat whimsical alteniative ; and, still more whimsically, he accepts the latter. On his returning hastily from the West Indies, this same father acts with a harshness that is as unexpected by the reader as it must have been by ALEXANDER himself; and this is no transient burst of passion, for the neglect and hatred of his sire continue to pursue him through all his subsequent adventures. If this part of the story be true, we can only say, with BOILEAU,

"Le vrai n'est pas toujours he vraisemblable."

Abandoned by his father, he enlists in the artillery; and after a number of contre-tenrps, some of a ridiculous and some of a. mortifying nature, he finds himself in Ceylon at the time' * Savage: of the lamentable expeditions of the late Major DAVIE and Captain Jounsort.. A corporal who had escaped from the former, literally carrying his head in his hand, dictates the narrative of his sufferings to ALEXANDER ; and as this episode is by no means the worst in the book, we cannot do better than give it as a specimen of Mr. HOWELL'S manner. The reader will not fail to remark how very opportunely the tale of the wounded corporal presents itself to the autobiographer, and the no less opportune expedient by which it has been preserved in all its integrity. Such expedients are not uncommon in fictitious narratives, and they may occur in life; and this, we think, is all that the most believing can be called on to admit. The wound, we may observe, is precisely the same as one which was actually inflicted on an English officer in the unfortunate rencontre between a party of our troops and those of the Pacha of Egypt in 1806; and the supporting of his head with his hand was what the officer in question had actually to practise during a march of several miles. The swimming part we look on as a pleasant exaggeration of an incident which in its simplest form had quite enough of the horrible in it. But true or false, Corporal Barnsley's tale is an interesting one, and that is the chief requisite in any tale.

BARNSLEY'S NARRATIVE.

"Before the period in which the command devolved upon Major Davie, of the Malay corps, the whole troops had been quite worn out by sickness and fatigue. The weather was dreadful ; for three days the rain had poured incessant torrents; and the army were in full retreat, on the faith of a convention made with the treacherous natives. When they arrived On the banks of the Malivagonga, which the rains had swollen to a great height, a few of the sick, who had been left under the care of the natives, joined the retreating army, with the horrible information, that the Candians had commenced killing these poor helpless men, and that it was with difficulty they had escaped. This threw a damp over the minds of the whole army, who were busily preparing rafts to cross the river. 'When they were ready, some of the native troops swam across with the warps • and so far all was right, and they still bad hope of escaping, when suddenly the rascally natives cut the tow lines before their eyes. Many of them had already deserted to the enemy, whom Barnsley saw firing upon the English, in their own uniform. As soon as this act of treachery was perpetrated, all hope fled, as the enemy began to make their appearance on the opposite side to oppose the passage. Soon after the Adigar came down to Major Davie, with a proposal for him to deliver up Mootoo Saumy (the lawful king who had been crowned at Candy, while General Macdowal was there) to the Candians, and the army would be assisted to cross the river and get guides down to Trincomalee. Mootoo Saumy delivered up his sword to Major Davie. Both of them shed tears at parting. The night was spent in great anxiety, but next day there was no effort made by the Candians to enable them to cross the river, nor any appearance of it. In this state of suspense, the Adigar came again, and proposed that the British should deliver up their arms, as it would be easier for them in marching, and the Candians would be more at their ease in conducting them. This insidious proposal startled Major Davie and his officers, when a council of war was called. At the same time, two or three of the oldest soldiers of the 19th waited respectfully upon the Major, and repeAted that they might be allowed to hold a council at the same time by themselves, which was refused. Unfortunately it was agreed by the council to comply; the men reluctantly obeyed with loud murmurs, and some of the more ardent spirits boldly called out not to do it. The unfortunate Major, whose mind was in a dreadful agony, gave the word,' Ground your arms,' then recalled it for a short time, during which he destroyed all his papers. At length the fatal act was done, and the troops marched to a distance from their arms, and halted, when the Europeans were separated from the native troops. Then the officers were likewise separated from the privates, and Corporal Barnsley saw them no more.

"They were then marched to a greater distance from their arms, and halted ; when the Candians came close up to them, staring in their faces, and demanding their clothes and other little articles. One of them seized the neckcloth of an Irish lad, one of the 19th, and began to pull it; he knocked him down at his feet. They stood thus some time, exposed to insult, when an Adigar came running down to them, and immediately two Candians seized the two men on the right, and led them out of sight, and soon after returned for two more. This was repeated several times, before the unfortunate victims uegan to suspect tne areautut work that was going on. They were stupified with horror : yet many were collected. One instance Barnsley often mentioned :—as they were leading off two of their victims, one of them, who had ten pagodas wrapped in a rag, took them out of his pocket and threw them into the bush. At length it came to poor Barnsley's turn, who, more dead than alive, passively walked to the fatal spot, strewed with the bodies of his countrymen. The executioners, with their large swords, chopped their victims down : the sword fell upon the back of his neck, his head fell upon his breast, the sinews of his neck were cut through ; he got but one chop, and became deprived of all sensation. When his recollection returned, the groans of the poor wretches were dreadful. When he opened his eyes, he saw several of the natives with gin-gaul or wall-pieces, stalking over the heaps of slain, beating every one on the head, whether life was extinct or not. During this sight of horror, he lay as still as death, receiving only one blow on the head, which again deprived him of sensation. When this butchery was complete, they began to strip the dead. He was himself stripped during his unconsciousness; and upon his return to recollection, there was only his shirt upon his body, which was a very bad one, or it had gone with the rest.

"The next recollection he had was of a great shouting and tumult. He attempted to rise, but his head fell forward upon his breast. Anxious to know the cause, yet fearful of being observed by the barbarians, he rose on all-fours, and supporting his head with his left hand, he could distinctly see a great concourse of them, as if assembled round some object of curiosity ; those on the outside jumping up, stretching their necks as if to gain a sight of something that was going on in the centre. At this time he distinctly heard pistol-shots, and supposed it was the English officers shooting themselves, as they had their pistols concealed when the arms were delivered up ; besides, he had heard some of his own officers say, they would shoot themselves rather than be chopped down, if they saw no other alternative. This happened in the dusk of the evening. As soon as it was dark, he crawled into the bushes which were close at hand, and, in the best manner he could, made for the brink of the river, which was at no great distance, yet it was a toilsome journey to him. "When daylight came, he saw a Candian busy cutting up the raft. The river had fallen much, for the rain had ceased. As soon as he perceived the Candian, he went more to the right, to be out of his view.

When he came to the banksagain, he found the river too wide for him at this place ; and, recollecting having.seen a bend in it where the stream

was not so broad, he urged his painful course towards it, supporting his

head with one hand under his chin, and the other under his elbow to aid it. Here he plunged in, swimming with his right arm, and holding his

head out of the water with his left. In the middle of the stream he had nearly perished; the current was so strong, it hurried him along with it; to prevent which he had,'in desperation, to use both arms, when his head. fell under the water, and he was nearly suffocated. Again he raised it ; the strength of the current was passed, and he reached the opposite bank in a very exhausted state, where he lay for some time, with part of his body in the river, and his breast and arms upon its banks. Anxious to get as far as possible from the scene of his suffering, and conscious of his exposed situation, he made an effort to rise, and with horror saw a Can dian, on the top of the bank upon which he had landed, gazing st him. Concealment was now out of his power ; his resolution was at once taken, and he advanced boldly towards the Candian who retreated in terror to a

small distance. The poor corporal made signs for him to give him his mat to cover him, as the Candian showed no hostility nor wish to do hint harm, and the rain had again set in. At length the Candian took it off, and held it upon the end of his staff, saying Po, po,' (go.) He accordingly wrapped it round him, and made the best of his way in the direction of Fort Macdowal.

" Shortly after he came to a level part of the country, where there were a great many footmarks, for the ground was very soft on account of the rain. His wound pained him much, and his head ached dreadfully from the blow he had got with the gun. Mych as the rain incommoded him, he was pleased at its continuance, for it was a great means of effecting his escape, the Candians seldom leaving their huts in wet weather. "Towards evening he came to a tract of rising land, where he found a deserted house, which wanted the roof. Here he took up his abode, and passed a night of the most acute suffering. The rain poured down upon him in torrents ; his wound felt as if a red-hot iron lay on it, and almost drove him to despair; the night appeared to him an age ; and though he wished anxiously for day, he knew not, when it arrived, what was to be his fate; but any thing was preferable to the agony he suffered from his wound, which the inclemency of the weather now irritated more keenly than he could almost endure.

"AS soon as daylight came, he examined the house in vain for some article or other that might be of use to him. At last he went out and gathered a few leaves ; their properties were unknown to him, but they were to cool his wound. He then tore up his shirt and dressed it for the first time, in the best manner he could, and then began to descend towards his left, and shortly after saw smoke rising out from among some trees. Cautiously approaching the spot, and peeping over the bushes, he saw a number of Indians, a savage race who live by rapine and murder, and are said to be cannibals. They are tributary to the King of Candy, and get from him a reward for every white man they call. kill. He silently withdrew, and again began to ascend to the top of the height he had left. The opposite side was so steep and slippery that he was under the necessity of sliding down on his breech. The country became again more level, and was interspersed with, wood. Here he met a boy carrying two bundles of fire-wood, on a slip of bamboo, over his shoulder, who imme-. diately on seeing him dropped his load, and fled to the bushes. He took no notice, but hurried on, Weary and faint from his wound and hunger. Thus he proceeded, concealing himself in the best manner he could, until he met two men and a boy, who stopped him, and began to converse amongst themselves, often pointing to him. He knew not what they conversed about, but made all the signs he could think of to obtain their pity. At length one of them gave him a small cake of their country black bread. He put it to his lips, but was unable to open his mouth, not having the power of his jaws (it was long after before he could chew his food) ; he broke it off in small pieces, and in vain attempted to swallow a little. At length they made signs for him to follow them, and made no motion as if they were going to do him any injury. He walked with them for a considerable time ; at length they came to some houses, where there were a good many native soldiers, and he was put into a back apartment of one of them. Soon after, one of their chiefs came to him, and made signs to him to prostrate himself upon the ground before him, which he did. The chief then departed, and soon after a quantity of excellent curry and rice was brought him. With much trouble and pain he eat some of it,—the swallowing it constituting his greatest difficulty. "The tom-toms were then beat, and the army collected in a short time, to the number of about five thousand men and boys. Having placed him in the centre, they moved on in a crowd, in silence, without any appearance of military order, all crowding round and staring at him. At this moment hie mind was in great agitation, being unconscious what was to be his fate. At length they came to a pagoda (a saumah house), and he now thought his doom was fixed, and that he had been brought there to be sacrificed to their god. To his great relief, however, they passed on, leaving him in as great uncertainty as ever what was to be his fate. At length his agitation became so great that his mind grew confused ; and he walked onward almost unconsciously, until they came in sight of Fort Macdowal, when they halted. Fort Macdowal is sixteen miles from Candy, on the road to Trincomalee.

"The chief then came up to him, and caused a gin-gaul piece to be brought and placed to his shoulder, ready cocked. He did not know the meaning of all this, but thought they meant him to fight against the English, or they would put him to death. He was going to pull the trigger as a signal that he would do any thing they commanded, when the chief, who was an old man, caused it to be taken from him, and smiled.

After a great deal of dumb show, with the assistance of some of the natives who spoke the Malabar language, of which he knew a little, he was made to understand that the chief wished the English to come out of Fort Macdowal and fight him in the open ground. When he saw that Barnsley understood what he meant, he was allowed to proceed, along with two of the natives, to deliver his message, and they conducted him to the bottom of the hill where the fort stood. As soon as they came near it, they said 'Po, po,' and left him, happy to be out of their hands. At

his near approach, the sentinel was struck with terror at-his emaciated figure and ghastly look: he was conducted to Captain Madge, commander of the fortress at the time, who was thunderstruck at his appearance, and the melancholy tidings he bore. The first words he said, were, The troops in Candy are all dished, your honour.'" From Ceylon ALEXANDER returns with a shattered constitution, having gained no other reward for his services, his sobriety, and good behaviour, than a strip on his arm as bombardier of the artillery. He visits Scotland, finds his father as inexorable and heartless as ever; goes to Ireland with a party, is discharged on ninepence a day, and, after a number of adventures, once more sails for the West Indies. Failing of employment in the islands, he has recourse to the main, and serves for a considerable time as overseer on several estates in that settlement. We have been lately entertained with a description of slave felicity by Mr. F. W. N. BAYLEY : the following account of their treatment by ALEXANDER ALEXANDER is not quite so flattering, but we rather think it is the more correct of the two.

" Mr. Ousley had the character of being the best planter in the Colony, and indeed deserved it, for no manager I ever saw had so good a way of governing his slaves, and making them obey him, and not dislike him at the same time. He had the knack of Inaking every one fear him, from his housekeeper down to the black boy that waited at table, overseers and all ; he was quick in his movements, loud in his talk, and very abusive. 1 heard while under him the strangest oaths and most outra expressions I had ever heard before or since, either amongst soldiers or sailors. He was irascible in his temper, and had a peculiar manner of displaying it. He was hard to please, almost incessantly shouting, cursing, and flogging, which began the moment he rose in the morning, nor ceased until he lay down at night ; and thus he continued every day the same, Sunday and Saturday—all were alike. The foulest language was used to the negroes, both in the field, the boiling-house, and the hospital, and to the domestics even at table, for he was very severe with the whole; but the drivers were especially most severely punished, often with one hundred lashes. The two drivers were made to flog each other, and then flog the people, even the domestics. The boys he flogged himself with a cow's skin, and he often struck and flogged the whole of them. A fine stout young negro, his own property, Whom he employed as a house servant, was rendered quite heartless and unhappy. He came to me one day and requested me to buy him ; alas ! I had not as much cash as would have bought a rabbit. When offended with any of us white people, he then fell foul of his domestics, and had strange ways of making it bear upon us. Once the carpenter and we two overseers had a droll exhibition : one day there were no limes at table, and he fell foul of the domestics in an outrageous manner. After tiring himself, he looked in a peculiar manner at us, and called to the black boy who attended,' I wonder why you do not order them to come to you, instead of you going to them ; here, you fellow, go to the door, and order them to come to you.' The boy reluctantly went to the door, waved his hand, and bawled out, 'Limes, halo ! Limes, come here, come, massa want you, come, won't you come—come, d— you, come : if you no come for me, you surely come for massa." At this we all burst out into laughter, housekeeper and all, for she sat near us ; but we felt far from happy, although we laughed, for it was some one of us he aimed at in this unaccountable manner.

"Besides flogging, he had other methods of punishing delinquents. Dancing, or what was called dancing, was common to the poor old women, the nurses and cooks of the hospital, who, too infirm to work, were in these easier duties invalided, and still rendered useful. These he would cause to be kept dancing for half or three quarters of an hour; he himself standing over them with his tongue, giving them a cut with his cow's skin now and then, and an oath, showing them how to throw out their i feet, and so on. At times we were left n charge of them, until their time expired, and he would walk away."

His character of the Barbadians also differs considerably from that of Mr. BAYLEY.

• "In all the countries in which I have been, there is always to be found some portion of its inhabitants who are not liked by in fellow-countrymen: this I found to be the lot of the Barbadians n the West Indies ; of whom I shall here give a short account, as the head overseer upon the estate was a Barbadian, and consequently not liked by the manager,— and they know well that they are not liked. From my present and after experience, I found them to be proud, selfish, and stubborn, low-minded, and loquacious : they are seldom employed but by their countrymen, they themselves preferring each other to any one else. There were a great many of them of both sexes in the colony, and indeed over all the islands in the West Indies, filling all the stations of life there. They are very kind and hospitable to strangers, who, in passing, call upon them—much more so than any other people I ever met with. They are very severe to their negroes, yet are very fond of black and coloured wives, but capricious in their affections, often turning them away and taking others, and even punishing them when put away. To a proverb they are severe to their negroes, punishing them in various ways, even to barbarity—seemingly, as it were, guided by caprice ; for at times they will be too free and jocular with them, and soon after go to the other extreme ; yet strange to say, the negroes obey them better and respect them more than us from Europe; but they do the same with all the Creole whites in the West Indies. They differ in features and colour from people born in England, as well as in accent and pronunciation, and they have a drawling manner of speaking. They keep a good table, and can do the honours of it well, as etiquette is one of their principal studies. They affect to be religious, yet are most neglectful of its duties, slighting the Sabbath-day, and every thing sanctified; yet they will drawl out on all occasions it can be introduced, Yes, I will, please God; so help me, God ;' this they will sing out like a parish clerk, as if they were under the influence of pious feelings. "They are very temperate, active, and industrious; and consider themselves the best planters, merchants, and mechanics in the colonies. Of their island they are justly proud, for it is a pretty island. They call it Little England, making up by their own estimation of themselves for the slights they are liable to from others. They have a saint of their own, called Saint Quaco, whose day is celebrated by the Barbadians. As proud as a Barbadian,' is a West India saying. Often have I laughed to hear them say, I am neither a Carib nor a Creole, but a true Barbadian born, so help me, God r " In Demerary he again falls sick, partly from indifferent treatment and mental suffering, and partly from the injury his constitution had sustained from the pestilent climate and worse food when in garrison at Trincomalee. He determines at length to quit a land of slaves for a land of incipient freedom, and sets out to join BOLIVAR.

The adventures of ALEXANDER while he campaigned with the Patriots are not without interest, but the interest is much broken by his perpetual sickness. The first draft on our pity is cheerfully honoured ; but he who keeps drawing from day to day must soon expect to hear, like others who press over-closely on their banker, the announcement of" no effects.And the sickness of our hero has no circumstance of qualifying dignity. We do not recollect of his being once wounded in the course of his adventures. He is fevered, griped, bedevilled every week, and regularly recovers ; but he has neither wound nor scar to testify the hazards be has encountered. In the midst of.this monotony of suffering, there are some good descriptions of the folly and misconduct of the English and Irish that crowded to join the Patriots. The second volume of ALEXANDER'S story is a text-book which every young man who feels the enthusiasm of cosmopoliticism creeping over him, and who longs to display his zeal in rescuing the slave of foreign lands from his bondage, will do well to peruse "from eve to morn, from morn to dewy eve." Of all the sedatives we have seen, we would recommend it as the most powerful.

Disappointed in his prospects in America, ALEXANDER at length returns home ; finds his father as obdurate as ever ; has recourse to Mr. BLAcRwooD as a sort of pis alter; and the two volumes that we have been considering are in due time the consequence. 'We have dwelt on this little work more than perhaps it deserved—though we think it both well written, and not unamusing —chiefly for the purpose of pointing out the misdirection of talents of no mean order, If, instead of imitating the inferior parts of DR FOE'S works,Mr.HowELL will endeavour.to,,emulate his better and higher performances, he may produce a book of real merit and permanent reputation. But if he continues to write tales as good as true, he may expect that they will be lightly esteemed while they are believed, and wholly neglected when they are found out.