In our number for March last, we gave a full account of the nature and advantages of this invention as applied to a landaulet, of which we gave a plate; and we have now only to subjoin a short illustrative extract from Mr. Ackermann's pub ness are particularly striking: in a phaeton upon any other plan, this would undoubtedly be a disadvantage in all respects but appearance; for the inevitable consequence would be, that in turning and what is called locking, the carriage must be overturned. The follow-lication on the subject: it is a poring letter from the builder of this phaeton, to Mr. Ackermann, the proprietor of the Patent Moveable Axles applied to it, will sufficiently explain this singular advantage. 84, Gray's Inn-lane, June 3, 1819. Dear Sir, I have great pleasure in communicating to you a most satisfactory account regarding the phaeton I have just built, with your Patent Moveable Axles. In every tion of an account, given by the author, of a journey he made on the Continent, in a travelling vehicle built with this important improvement; by the general adoption of which, we will venture to say, many lives might be saved, and hundreds of accidents avoided. "I left Munich in the beginning of July last, and arrived at Hamburgh the end of August, during which time I made a tour of near point, it far exceeds the expecta-ly twelve hundred English miles, tions of the gentleman for whom through the very worst roads in it was constructed, but more es- that country, as my business led pecially in that of short-locking. me not only into bye or cross roads, As a proof of this, I may mention, but among the mountains, where that when we tried it together, the it is more than probable that a horses at starting were so unruly carriage with a wide track like mine. and restive, plunging from side to had never ventured. The ruts here side so violently and suddenly, that were also very deep, but that apin a carriage of the kind upon any parently insurmountable difficulty other plan, we must certainly have was conquered by the high forebeen overturned. This, of course, is wheels and the pliability of the a most important desideratum, and axles, and the well-known danger renders your improvement of the of breakage in working out of deep atmost consequence. I have the ruts in a common carriage, was algratification of adding, that the fa- together avoided. The hollow or milycoach I before built, gave every sunk roads, frequent in the mounsatisfaction: it has been in constant tains of Germany, are cut through work for eight months, and is now rocks, with a track from six to eight only laid by in consequence of a inches narrower than that of my death in the family. It is to be dispo- carriage. Sometimes we were alsed of, and should any application most jammed in between the two be made to you upon the subject, I sides of the road; at other times, have only to add, that it may be the wheels on one side would be seen at my factory. Your obedient running twelve to fourteen inches servant, high against one lateral acclivity, so that I and my travelling compa T. KINDER. Vol. VIII. No. XLIII. D nion were obliged with our whole weight to prevent the carriage from being thrown against the other. When, however, we worked, almost miraculously, through the hollow roads, we had to contend with roots of large trees, as the mountains of Germany are generally covered with thick forests, these roots running in every shape and direction, and sometimes rising twelve inches above the ground; so that the wheels were continually acting above and below, from the nature of the unequal, rugged, and broken surface over which they were to move. Any gentleman who has travelled in the mountains of Pappenheim, Eichstäds, and Ertzgebürge, in Saxony, will readily conceive my situation, and the difficulties with which the carriage had to contend, with a track from six to eight inches wider than that of the hollow roads. would await my obstinate determination. 66 "I left Leipsig for Halle about eleven o'clock in a very dark and rainy night, and the postillion had to turn off from the main road at a spot where it was repairing: here, from the darkness of the night, he blundered into a deep but small stone-quarry, where there was, perhaps, just room enough, and no more, to turn a two-wheeled cart. But the short turn of the carriage, the high wheels, and the strength of the Moveable Axles, delivered us from this very dangerous position, to the amazement of the postillion, who declared, with no common violence, that a miracle alone could have effected it. "We arrived in perfect safety at Halle, about six in the morning; and the account which the postillion gave of our extraordinary escape with the English carriage, as "It is a custom with the post-mas- he was pleased to call it, collected, ters in those parts to furnish tra- in the course of a few hours, all vellers with carriages particularly the coach-makers, wheel-wrights, constructed for the bye-roads of smiths, and mechanics of the place, that country, as they must either to examine this wonderful machine; return the same way, or have their while several of them made drawown vehicles sent forward to any ings, measurements, and wooden point of the main road where it models from it. The same process, may suit their convenience to re- indeed, took place in almost every join them. Several of these post-town through which I passed; and masters appeared to think me out I have even, occasionally, delayed of my mind, when I insisted on con- my departure, to give the various tinuing my route in my own car-artisans and mechanics an opporriage instead of theirs, and fore-tunity to gratify their curious intold the certain disasters which quiries respecting the construction. of the carriage." ON SHAKSPEARE'S RICHARD III. WE shall now consider the manner in which Richard manages his accomplices, and those from whom he derives his assistance in the fulfilment of his designs. We discern in his conduct to The conduct of Richard to Catesby is different from his de portment towards the mayor and Buckingham. Regarding him as totally unprincipled, servile, and inhuman, he treats him like the He treats him without respect for his character, without management of his temper, and without the least apprehension that he has any feelings that will shudder at his commands. wards them, as much at least as in | The behaviour of Richard towards their own department, the true Buckingham is still more striking colour of their character: we dis- and peculiar. The situation was cover the full extent of their fa- more difficult, and his conduct apculties, and the real value of their pears more masterly. Yet, as in virtues. According as they are former instances, the outlines and variously constituted, his treat- sketch of Buckingham's character ment of them varies. He uses are filled up in the deportment of them all as the tools of his ambition; the seducer. but assumes an appearance of greater friendship and confidence towards some than others. He is well acquainted with the engines he would employ: he knows the compass of their powers, and discovers great dexterity in his man-meanest instrument of his guilt. ner of moving and applying them. To the mayor and his followers he affects an appearance of uncommon devotion and piety; great zeal for the public welfare; a scrupufous regard for the forms of law and of justice; retirement from the world; aversions to the toils of state; much trust in the good intentions of a magistrate so conspicuous; still more in his understanding; and by means of both, perfect confidence in his power with the people. Now in this man-human means, he endeavours to sener of conducting himself, who is not more struck with the address and ability displayed by Richard, and more moved with curiosity to know their effects, than shocked at his hypocrisy and base deceit? Who does not distinctly, though indirectly indeed, discern the cha-perpetrates excite in the minds racter of the mayor? The deportment of Richard is a glass that reflects every limb, every lineament, and every colour, with the most perfect truth and propriety. What! think you we are Turks or Infidels? We shall now consider the decline of Richard's prosperity, and the effect of his conduct on the fall of his fortunes. By dissimulation, perfidy, and bloodshed, he paves his way to the throne; by the same base and in cure his pre-eminence; and has added to the list of his crimes, the assas sination of his wife and his nephews. Meanwhile he is laying a snare for himself. Not Richmond, but hisówn enormous vices proved the cause of his ruin. The cruelties he of men, hatred, indignation, and the desire of revenge. But such is the deluding nature of vice, that of this consequence he is little aware. Men who lose the sense of virtue, transfer their own depravity to the rest of mankind, and believe that others are as little shocked with their crimes as they are themselves. Richard having | teem, are dismissed with indignity, and incensed to resentment. Even such of his adherents as are interested in his fortunes on their own aversion. A stroke aimed at him in this perilous situation,must prove effectual. He arrives at the brink of ruin, and the slightest impulse will push him down. The other excellencies of this tragedy, besides the character of Richard, are indeed of an inferior nature, but not unworthy of Shakspeare. The characters of Buckingham, Anne, Hastings,and Queen Margaret, are executed with lively colouring and striking features; but, excepting Margaret, they are exhibited indirectly, and are more fully known by the conduct of Richard towards them, than by their own demeanour. Many of the episodes have uncommon excellence: of this kind are, in general, all the speeches of Margaret. Their ef‐ fect is awful; they coincide with the style of the tragedy; and, by wearing the same gloomy complex trampled upon every sentiment of justice, had no conception of the general abhorrence that had arisen against him. He thought resent-account, regard him with utter ment might belong to the sufferers, and their immediate adherents; but, having no faith in the existence of a disinterested sense of virtue, he appears to have felt no apprehension, lest other persons should be offended with his injustice, or inclined to punish his inhuman guilt. Add to this, that success administers to his boldness, and that he is daily more and more inured to the practice of violent outrage. Before he obtained the diadem, he proceeded with caution: he endeavoured to impose upon mankind the belief of his sanctified manners: he treated his associates with suitable deference; and seemed as dexterous in his conduct as he was barbarous in his disposition. But caution and dissimulation required an effort; the exertion was laborious, and naturally ceased when imagined to be no longer needful. Thus ren-ion, her prophecies and imprecadered familiar with perfidious cru- tions suit and increase its horror. elty; flushed with success; more There was never in any poem a elate with confidence in his own dream superior to that of Clarence. ability, than attentive to the sug- It pleases, like the prophecies of gestions of his suspicion; and from Margaret, by a solemn anticipation his incapacity of feeling moral ob- of future events, and by its consoligation, more ignorant of the ge-nance with the general tone of the neral abhorrence he had incurred, than averse to revenge; as he becomes, if possible, more inhuman, he certainly becomes more incautious. Thus the conduct of Richard involves him in danger. The minds of men are alienated from his interests. Those of his former associates, who were in public es tragedy: it pleases by being so simple, so natural, and so pathetic, that every reader seems to have felt the same or similar horrors. This tragedy, however, like every other work of Shakspeare, has many faults; and, in particular, it seems to have been too hastily written. Some incidents are introduced without any apparent reason, or without apparent necessity. We | her kindred; nor can we pronounce, are not, for instance, sufficiently without hazarding conjecture, that informed of the motive that prompt- it proceeded from envy of their ed Richard to marry the widow of sudden greatness, or from having Prince Edward. In other respects, his vanity flattered by the seeming this scene possesses very singular deference of Richard: yet these merit. Thescene, towards the close motives seem highly probable. The of the tragedy, between the queen young princes bear too great a share and Richard, when he solicits her in the drama. It would seem the consent to marry her daughter poet intended to interest us very Elizabeth, seems no other than a much in their misfortunes. The copy of that now mentioned. As representation, however, is not such, it is faulty; and still more so, agreeable. The princes have more by being executed with less ability: smartness than simplicity; and we yet this incident is not liable to the are more affected with Tyrrel's deobjection made to the former. We scription of their death, than pleasee a good prudential reason for sed with any thing in their own the marriage of Richard with Eli- conversation. Nor does the scene zabeth, but none for his marriage of the ghosts, in the last act, seem with Lady Anne. We almost wish equal in execution to the design of that the first courtship had been Shakspeare. There is more deomitted, and that the dialogue be-lightful horror in the speech of tween Richard and Anne had been suited and appropriated to Richard and the queen. Neither are we sufficiently informed of the motives that, on some occasions, influenced the conduct of Buckingham. We are not enough prepared for his animosity against the queen and Richard awakening from his dream, than in any of the predictions denounced against him. There seems indeed some impropriety in representing these spectres as actually appearing, which were only seen in a vision. RICHARDSON. RECOLLECTIONS OF A WOULD-BE AUTHOR. CHAP. IV. A DIGRESSION-THE PROGRESS OF GENIUS-AND PROPOSITIONS AFTER MY DECEASE. er, Esq. was yet in the land of the living; and that you, and you alone, as they imagined, detained his valuable manuscript from an expecting world. THE very long period, Mr. Edi- || from you, that Tristram Gilliflowtor, during which your readers have not heard from me, must have been to them a sad time of anxiety: doubtless, the doors of our friend Ackermann have been crowded with admirers of my compositions; and in the event of his not being able to solve their questions, hundreds, I dare say, thronged towards Westminster, in hopes of hearing I must, however, exonerate you from all blame; and the eager inquirers must be told, that a man of my attainments is not expected to bring home his work regularly, like |