both in the East and West, presented a lively image of the business of the field. The single combats, the general skirmish, the defence of a pass or castle, were rehearsed as in actual service; and the contest, both in real and mimic war, was decided by the superior management of the horse and lance. The lance was the proper and peculiar weapon of a knight: his horse was of a large and heavy breed; but this charger, till he was roused by the approaching danger, was usually led by an attendant, and he quietly rode a pad, or a palfrey, of a more easy pace. His helmet, his sword, his greaves and his buckler, it would be superfluous to describe; but at the period of the Crusades, the armour was less ponderous than in latter times; and instead of a massy cuirass, his breast was defended by an hanbuk, or coat of mail. When their long lances were fixed in the rest, the warriors furiously spurred their horses against the foe; and the light cavalry of the Turks and Arabs could seldom stand against the direct and impetuous weight of their charge. Each knight was attended to the field by his faithful squire, a youth of equal birth and similar hopes; he was followed by his archers and menat-arms; and four, or five, or six soldiers, were computed as the complete furniture of a lance. In the expeditions to the neighbouring kingdoms, or the Holy Land, the duties of the feudal tenure no longer subsisted; the voluntary service of the knights and their followers was either prompt. ed by zeal and attachment, or purchased with rewards and promises; and the numbers of each squadron were measured by the power, the wealth, and the fame of each independent chieftain. They were distinguished by his banner, his armorial coat, and his cry of war; and the most ancient families of Europe must seek, in these achievements, the origin and proof of their nobility." With these few desultory remarks on the institution of chivalry, of which the Crusades were at once an effect and a cause, we come now to the admirable "Tales of the Crusaders," embodying a vivid picture of the manners, usages, feelings, and achievements, of that warlike and ro mantic age. These are two in number; and as the scene of the first is laid on the borders of Wales, and that of the second in Palestine, we conclude that it was the author's design to exhibit the effects produced by the institution of chivalry on the domestic character and condition, as well as the military expeditions of that heroic age. Assuming that we are correct in this conjecture, we think the author has been completely successful in the execution of his plan. In the histories or chronicles of the time, the reader will seek in vain for a picture, so varied and yet so true, of the manners and customs of that heroic age, as these are displayed in the sentiments and conduct ascribed to the Norman knights, the flower of chivalry, who form the dramatis persona of the first tale; and this picture is heightened in effect by the strong contrast presented between their systematic valour, gallant bearing, high sense of honour, and romantic devotion to the fair sex, and the wild bravery, fiery spirit, savage manners, and restless love of predatory warfare, by which the Cymry were cha racterised. Raymond de Berenger, and Hugh de Lacy, the Constable of Chester, are not so much individuals, though, in that capacity, they are brought fully and distinctly before our imagination, as the representatives of a class, who speak the language and utter the sentiments of the age. They are the impersona tions of a mind, second-if, indeed, it be second-only to that of Shakspeare himself, which, by a strength of conception peculiar to such minds alone, can clothe the individual with the attributes of the time in which he lives, yet preserve his individuali❤ ty, and give us at once the portrait of one man, and that of the class to which he belongs. But as it is among the great body of the people that we must look for those traits that go to form the character of nations at a particular period, so it is in his inferior characters that this author shines unrivalled and alone. In these he displays an originality of conception, and a power of developement and presentation, unimitated, and inimi table. It will not, we think, be doubted, that Wilkin Flammock is one of his most powerful delineations; nor, making due allowance for his peculiar notions of female character, will any man hesitate to pronounce the modest, retiring, affectionate, yet ready-witted and high-souled Roschan, the most heavenly Peri that ever flitted through the pages of Romance. But while we are amused with the imperturbable phlegm, the self-willed fidelity, the dogged obstinacy, the stubborn resolution, the effective courage, and rude wisdom of the stout burgher, we catch the contagion of higher feelings as often as his daughter comes upon the scene. Every word she utters is instinct with genius; and though, in conformity with the manners of the time, she shuns interference with all that is properly beyond a maiden's sphere, we readily yield to the force of her superior mind that ascendancy which it exercises, almost unconsciously, both on the character and fortunes of her mistress. Her wit is never at fault, her resolution never bends, her aspirations, though disguised, are always lofty, her prudence decided and unerring. She clings to her mistress like the ivy to an ancient tower; but it is not to climb to an elevation which she could not have reached by herself-it is not to entwine her roots with the strength of that to which she adheres-it is not to seek, but to give support. In her, a mind of the noblest mould is tempered with all the sweet and innocent graces of woman, and, above all, by that natural modesty which gives to female magnanimity its most witching charm. Hence, we constantly wish for her presence on the scene, and feel that it is never so animated as when she appears; yet we are forced to confess, that the author has shewn his skill in not lessening the impression of her character by too great familiarity, and in leaving something for the imagination to do in filling up the general outline. As to the hero and the heroine, they are composed of the usual materials, and neither will very deeply interest the reader. They suffer, of course, and are frequently in great danger; but there is compensation in fiction as well as in law; they are finally united in the holy bonds of matrimony, and enjoy the hap piness of that blessed state with a greater zest, from the misfortunes they endured, and the obstacles that seemed to obstruct the completion of their hopes. The generosity of the Constable, Hugh de Lacy, in renouncing his claim to the hand of Eveline de Berenger, who was his affianced bride, in favour of his nephew Damian de Lacy, deserves all due commendation; more especially when we consider the perilous fond-. ness of old greybeards for young wives, and their perverse blindness to the consequences that but too frequently follow such ill-assorted marriages. The character supported by the minstrel Vidal, who attends Hugh de Lacy to the Holy Wars, and immediately, on his return, executes a long-meditated vengeance, which happily falls, not on the head of the veteran Constable, but on that of a usurping and treacherous kinsman, is certainly improbable enough, sccording to our notions of probability. The minstrel, who proves to be Cadwallon of the nine lays, chief bard of Gwenwyn of Powisland, whom Hugh de Lacy had slain when he came to the relief of Garde Doloureuse, when closely besieged by the Welsh Chief and his Cymry, had entered the service of the Constable, with a determination to avenge the death of Gwenwyn, by devoting himself to the destruction of the man by whom he had been slain. His purpose, like that of Hamlet, appears, however, to have been shaken; and when he was about to renounce it for ever, a slight affront put upon him by the Constable fired his brain, and drove him to the desperate deed. He died in despair, because his blow had missed the intended victim, though it had fallen on the head of the guilty. Now, as we have said, all this generally considered is improbable enough; but the assumed character is admirably sustained, is completely original throughout, and is in perfect harmony with the manners and feelings of the semi-barbarous ace to which the minstrel belonged Upon the whole, "The Betrothed," heavy in some parts, and in others very inartificially woven together, displays vast power of invention, and is equal, we think, to most of the author's preceding compositions, in the brilliancy of particular scenes, the richness of the costume, the originality of many of the characters, the high dramatic power of the dialogues, and the fidelity with which it shows the " age and body of the time" in which the scene is laid. Turn we now from this homepicture of chivalry to the glorious, gorgeous East, rich in "barbaric pearl and gold," to the plains of Palestine and Syria, where the warriors of the West were assembled to do battle against the Infidels, and to rescue from their dominion the Holy Land and the Holy City. And here we shall state at once, that no notice, far less a few general and desultory remarks like ours, can convey the slightest idea of the second "Tale," entitled "the Talisman," which we fearlessly pronounce equal, if not superior, to any thing the public has yet received from the pen of this inexhaustible and unrivalled writer. Nor do we deliver this opinion merely because the principal characters are historical personages, to whose very names a certain degree of interest will be attached. It is, no doubt, delightful to mingle in fancy in those scenes where the Lion-hearted Richard, and the mighty Saladdin, and the son of our own gallant William, are the actors; but, undazzled by the halo which history has shed around the names of these princes and warriors, we ground our opinion on the matchless felicity of the incidents, the skill and force with which the characters and councils of the Crusaders are presented to our view, the equal splendour of the diction and costume, the variety of fortune, and the perfect success with which the anagnorisis is effected. Never have we perused a work of fiction the charm of which proved so engrossing. In these circumstances, the work of a critic is simple; for beyond delivering an opinion-valeat quantum valere potest-it is vain to say much of a book which everybody will read, and which the learned and unlearned will criticise. But still, for the credit of our honourable calling, we must say a little, should that little be away from the purpose. And here we remark, that, so far as we recollect, this is the first of the author's works in which the hero is really an interesting and important personage. This will be fully understood by those who take the trouble of comparing the impression left on their mind by the Waverleys, and the Mortons, and the Quentin Durwards, with the deep sympathy they cannot but feel in the fortunes of Kenneth of Scotland,-second, if second, only to Richard himself in prowess; his superior in every higher qualification; a glass in which the noblest of the Crusaders might dress themselves; poor in worldly means, but rich in honour and in fame; foremost among the foremost in the day of battle; and nobly concealing his rank, that he might lay the foundation of his fame by his own achievements; we are hardly surprised, when we discover that the poor Scottish Cavalier is David, Earl of Huntington, Prince Royal of Scotland. The breach of military discipline, for which the impetuous Richard dooms him to deatha fate from which he escapes by means equally extraordinary and interesting-affects us the more deeply, from our previous impression of his character, but prepares the way for his subsequent fortune, and affords an opportunity for the discovery of his real rank, which he reveals under the seal of confession, on the eve of the day fixed for his execution. Retributive justice, however, ultimately takes effect; he vanquishes in the lists the crafty Conrade of Montserrat, who had beguiled him from his post, and stolen the banner of England which he had been appointed to guard; and he is finally rewarded with the hand of Edith Plantagenet, the niece of the royal Richard. This is as it should be. The reader, however, will be more deeply interested in what took place in the cave of the hermit of Engaddi, where he sojourned with Saladdin in disguise, after an indecisive encounter in the desart; and in the conduct and bearing of the gallant knight, when he appeared before Richard, to proclaim his own breach of discipline, and after the rash monarch had ordered him for execution. Edith Plantagenet is Rose Flammock, in a different guise and station. But there is nothing more remarkable in this splendid tale than the portrait of Saladdin, the mighty Sultan of Egypt and Syria. He assumes all disguises, is now a solitary cavalier, ready for the encounter with whomsoever he may meet,-now an inmate with the crazy hermit of Engaddi, reading horoscopes, and watching the aspect of the stars, and now a physician, possessed of a talisman," by which he relieves his high-minded enemy, Richard, when at the point of death; but in all his disguises there is something which betrays the Sultan. In chivalrous generosity and courage he rivals the best and bravest of his foes, and in finitely surpasses them in policy and refinement. In short, as delineated by our author, the Historical Novel has perhaps no character to vie with Saladdin. In The Talisman" there is too little Orientalism for our taste; and what we have is frequently bad, This fault will be appreciated by those who recollect how much of the charm of Lalla Rookh and Anastasius is owing to the fidelity and skill with which Oriental scenery, manners, and customs, are described and preserved. The general reader will not, however, consider this defect as more than a grain of dust in the balance; and where there is so much to delight, it will not be easy to persuade him that there is any thing to censure. The other characters are conceived with equal force, and supported with equal skill. We purposely avoid details on a subject of this kind; but we particularly refer to the Count of Montserrat, the Duke of Austria, the Grand Master of the Templars, and the brave, honest, bull-headed Anglo-Norman De Vaux. Let these portraits be examined, and then let any honest critic say, if he can, that the Author of Waverley is abated in power, or exhausted in resources. This has been the cry of the Cockney critics for some time past; and we have little doubt they will raise it now as heretofore; for why should they not labour in their vocation? but the public will decide differently. To Catharine, from her Mother, on parting, Go, Catharine, go,—and with thee bear I would not have thee think of home, But can I bid thee never dream Oh yes! in virtue there's a joy Let virtue, then, my Catharine, still I will not-cannot bid thee now Assume the pale and gloomy brow, And give thy every thought to care,No, Catharine, no-but still the vow Of Heaven is on thee-then beware! I do not, dearest, tell thee this To crush thy hopes-to mar thy bliss- I only warn thee of the sting e. REMARKS ON OUR LATE NOTICE OF THE UNIVERSITY OF GLASGOW.” Sia, (By a Correspondent.) THE leading article in your last Number, entitled, "Notice of the University of Glasgow-its Profes sors and Students,” I have read with considerable satisfaction. It appears calculated to be extremely useful. The notice of the proceedings of public bodies is always of good consequence, both to these bodies them selves, and to all who feel an interest in the proper management of their affairs. But in the present case there is a double benefit; as, by bringing our townsmen acquainted with a practice to which the majority of them were probably strangers, and by pointing out its advantages, the way may be paved for the introduction of something similar into our own University. In Glasgow, I have no doubt that the public distribution of prizes, on the last day of the Session, produces the happiest effects. Nothing can be better fitted to awa ken emulation and excite to the love of study. The thought of being so honourably and so publicly distinguished will ever be present to the mind of the young aspirant, and visions of glory will fit before his fancy during the whole Session. No day, no hour, will be allowed to pass idly, while, in the reward that awaits him, he sees the recompence for days of labour, and for the waste of the midnight oil. There can scarcely be a greater encouragement to good con duct and steady application: The day when such a system shall be in troduced into our own University, will, by every one that wishes it well, be hailed with unmixed delight. But while the general spirit of the paper thus merits approbation, there are one or two points on which - you will have the goodness to indulge me with a few remarks. The panegyrics bestowed on the different Professors are, no doubt, justly deserved, and you have probably proportioned the warmth of your praises exactly to the merits of each individual. Of Mr Jardine, the present father of the College, I have never heard but one opinion: All Edinburgh, June 1825. allow him to have introduced that system of instruction which so ho nourably distinguishes the Universi ty of which he is a member, and Mr Campbell's late encomiums must have contributed to spread his fame. In a good old age, he is now reaping the honours and rewards of a well-spent life. Yet he was not, I understand, greatly distinguished as a lecturer, nor would his character have suffered if he had confined his voice within the walls of the College, and never spoken from the press. As the public ministrations of a clergyman are considered scarcely so important as his private duties, so, according to the plan on which 'education is conducted in Glasgow College, the public lectures of a Profes sor may be of less consequence than the way in which he conducts the examinations of his Students; and' tracing them to habits of thought' and of expression. Still it is very desirable to have, if possible, both these excellences united in the same individual; a wish happily found in Mr Jardine's successor. While he follows up his predecessor's plan with all the vigour and energy of youth, I can well believe that his lectures' will far surpass any thing that ever came from the logic chair. In saying this, I have no wish to detract from the merits of those who have gone before him. Each of them had doubtless strong claims on public respect, and none more so than the venerable gentleman who still lives to enjoy the gratitude and esteem of numerous pupils, highly distinguished in every walk of life, and in every quarter of the world. But it is necessary that Universities should keep pace with the growing intelligence and refinement of the age, and no one, perhaps, is better qualified to meet these demands than Mr Bachanan. It is long since the Faculty did themselves more credit by an election. The number of exercises prescribed in the class of Natural Philosophy, and shewn up by the Students, |