"metaphysical" obscurities, we must still agree with Mr. Stewart, that the object of mathematics is not absolute, but hypothetical truth.-Some observations of the same import with the foregoing reasonings, may be found on page 165 of Mr. Stewart's work; with this slight difference only, that, for the sake of illustration, he has taken his example from the circle instead of the triangle.

The Quarterly Reviewers are further very much dissatisfied with Mr. Stewart, because he is disposed to restrict the circumstance on which demonstrative evidence depends exclusively to the province of mathematics; asserting that systematical connexion can "just as easily belong to premises, ' appealing ultimately to the immutable standards of truth and falsehood, of right and wrong,' as between any other premises whatever, however arbitrary or hypothetical;" ironically insinuating, too, as if in opposition to the speculations of Mr. Stewart, that "truth and certainty in the premises of any reasoning can at all events do no harm." Mr. Stewart will certainly smile when he reads the paragraph in the Quarterly Review from which these passages are cited, and recollects that the same conclusion, which is so anxiously attempted to be established, was long ago drawn by himself, on the very same occasion and from the very same data. "Hence it appears, (says he, p. 124) that it might be possible, by devising a set of arbitrary definitions, to form a science which, although conversant about moral, political, or physical ideas, should yet be as certain as geometry." The only desideratum is to clear away those ambiguities which at present hover around the terms belonging to moral, political, or physical subjects; and to institute definitions which, whether accordant with the facts or not, may yet render these sciences capable of systematic connexion and consistency.

We have at present but little more to say concerning the criticism before us. It may be expected, perhaps, that we should pay some attention to the observations of the Quarterly

Reviewers on the subject of Euclid's definitions. After employing some rather unintelligible reasonings to prove the necessity of a mental substitution of our own ideas in the place of geometrical definitions, accompanied with a specification of two cases in which this process must necessarily obtain, they finally come to the conclusion that, "the fact is, in both these instances, what Euclid calls definitions are merely descriptions." Surely it did not require much acuteness of penetration or much strength of reasoning to establish a fact concerning two of Euclid's definitions, which any person acquainted with our language would have granted respecting the whole. According to Johnson (an authority which we suppose the Quarterly Reviewers will not dispute) the word definition means "a short description of a thing by its properties."— Upon the whole the difference of signification between these two words implied in the expression of Euclid's critic, must be arranged in the same class with the distinction which the same writer formerly attempted to mark between a subject of consciousness, and an object of consciousness.

SELECT REVIEWS.

Display. A Tale for Young People. By Jane Taylor. One of the Authors of "Original Poems for Infant Minds," "Hymns for Infant Minds," &c. 8vo. pp. 214. Republished in Boston.

[From the Eclectic Review.]

WHAT is the difference between a Tale and a Novel? Is it that a tale is supposed to be a shorter and less laboured production than a novel; that a tale is designed to relate the natural occurrences and simple incidents of life; while a novel sets real life and probability at defiance, and demands, as its essential features, a heroine, a lover, a plot, and a catastrophe? Is the novel necessarily of a more epic character than the tale, or are both to be referred to the same class of productions? How comes it that novels are, with a few exceptions, the most pernicious in tendency of any works; while, under the generic title of Tales, we have some of the most instructive and profound compositions in the language?

To write a good tale demands no ordinary powers of observation, and of discriminating judgment. A facility of invention is the least important requisite. A person needs be deeply read in human nature, deeply conversant with the human heart, with the mixed motives from which the greater part of our actions spring, with the latent good and latent evil within us, which are ready to be developed by different circumstances; -should have felt much and thought much, enjoyed much and suffered much;-before he undertakes to be, in this humble form, the biographer of his species. He must have learned to analyze that mixed and dubious combination, or rather concretion of prejudices, habits, and principles, which is called character; and to discern how much all men have in common with each other, and how much individuality attaches to the most uninteresting unit of society. He must have learned to suspect evil and to detect good in mutual alliance; to regard with affection the objects of suspicion, to love all men better than pride and selfishness once allowed him to feel. But all this knowledge and all this experience will avail little for practical wisdom or benevolence, unless it extend to the remedy, as well as the diseases of human nature;-unless it embrace the moral purpose of our being, and what can alone explain the - phenomena of existence and the mysteries of the present state of things-man's original and actual destiny.

These are no ideal requisites. The author of Rasselas displayed them all in that exquisite performance. The tales in the Rambler are replete with wisdom, and the knowledge of human nature. Some of those also in the Spectator, the Adventurer, and other British Classics,' are of a very high order of merit. Those by Mackenzie, which appeared in the Mirror, contain some of the finest specimens of genuine pathos in the language. The story of La Roche is one of the most touching and beautiful narratives, perhaps, that the imagination, guided by the heart, ever framed. The Vicar of Wakefield is an inimitable tale, the masterpiece of its author. As to the variety of Moral Tales, Simple Tales, Tales of Real Life, &c. &c. that have since sought to escape, under these false titles, the sweeping condemnation bestowed upon novels and romances, they have had their day. The intention of the authors of some of them, was doubtless good, but they were not qualified to be moral teachers. They might be acquainted with life, but they wanted the key to human nature a knowledge of their own hearts.

The Tales of MARIA EDGEWORTH, distinguished by a character wholly original, form a series of the most ingenious. and instructive moral lessons that have ever proceeded from the pen of an individual. Defective, in regard to a large proportion of our duties, feelings, and principles, they are nevertheless so true to reality, so faithful to the errors and follies of our nature;-they contain so much practical wisdom in regard to the process of education and the business of life, that on few writings can the praise of usefulness be more deservedly bestowed. Nor must the name of Miss Hamilton, the author of the Cottagers of Glenburnie, though far inferior in genius to Miss Edgeworth, be omitted in this hasty enumeration. The Cheap Repository Tales of Mrs. More, although admirable in their kind, can hardly be classed with these compositions.

The Author of Display comes the nearest to Miss Edgeworth, in point of style, and skill in developing character, of any writer that has yet appeared; but her production is distinguished by features of its own. It is a tale of the most unpretending description-a tale for young persons-founded on incidents of every-day occurrence, and occupied in delineating the ordinary operations of character in ordinary situations. We never met with any composition so completely and beautifully simple both in sentiment and style, which, at the same time, interested us so strongly by the naivete of its

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descriptions, sometimes heightened by the most delicate touches of humour and pathos; by the heart that pervades the narrative, and the air of reality which is thrown over the characters. The design of the work, as expressed in a word by the title, is, to exhibit in the person of an amiable young girl the folly of artificial manners, and the injurious tendency of a disposition to display.' This petty modification of the love of fame, is detected under a variety of fair semblances and of minute forms. Its ceaseless, though often unsuspected operation, and its essential virulence as a moral and intellectual poison, are admirably illustrated; and the power of religion as furnishing the only cure of a mind thus vitiated, is exemplified in the sequel.

The characters of the heroine of the tale and her friend are thus contrasted:

It was true that the dispositions of these young people differed essentially: they belonged to opposite classes of character; which, to borrow terms used long ago in a different sense, in scholastic controversy-might be called, Nominalists and Realists.

Emily was a Realist: whatever she did, said, or looked, was in earnest: she possessed the grace of SIMPLICITY;-a simplicity which appeared alike in her virtues, and her faults. It was neither from insensibility, nor self-conceit, that she thought of her introduction to this formidable lady with so much composure. Modest people are not the soonest frightened:-"I wonder what they will think of me!”—is not the inquiry of humility, but of vanity.

Now this inquiry ELIZABETH was making perpetually: to speak, to move, to weep, or to smile, were with her but so many manœuvres, which she was practising for effect and to attract attention. The prospect, the picture, or the poem, which Emily admired with all her heart, Élizabeth admired with all her eloquence, too intent upon exhibiting her taste or sensibility to be truly the subject of either.

Elizabeth and Emily were friends, as it often happens, rather from accident than congeniality. They had been play-fellows from their infancy; and when they ceased to play, they had continued to associate. Emily was affectionate: and she loved Elizabeth sincerely. Elizabeth felt as much regard for Emily as for any one she knew: but vanity chills the heart; and in proportion as she became conscious of the slightness of her affection, she grew lavish in her professions of it.'

An opportunity is afforded for developing the character of the two friends, in their introduction to the new family at Stokely,'-the Leddenhursts; people of property, but who were soon discovered, to the consternation of the neighbour