Out of the numbers of great men who have proceeded from the seminaries which he has so unjustly stigmatized, many of the brightest luminaries of his own profession might be mentioned. I shall here notice only four, because they all filled high judicial stations within his own time, and of whom it may be said that they will be remembered and adduced as legal authority when the name of Romilly shall be forgotten. At Eton, CHARLES PRATT, afterwards Earl Camden, received that education, and imbibed those high principles which enabled him to shine at the bar, in the senate, and on the bench, with unsullied reputation, and the greatest benefit to his country. His contemporary, WILLIAM MURRAY, Earl of Mansfield, whose abilities and integrity, both as a lawyer and a statesman will not now be questioned, was bred at WESTMINSTER, where also his two successors in the title received their scholastic learning. On turning to WINCHESTER our attention is at once arrested by the name of BLACKSTONE, the elegant expositor of the laws of England; and, in visiting HARROW, we stop for a moment to admire a foundation, that, among other bright characters, sent forth WILLIAM JONES; whose universality of knowledge was only surpassed by the firmness of his religious principles and the sanctity of his manners.

Such are the samples produced by these soils of moral and intellectual cultivation, which have been represented as destructive of the seeds of morality, and favourable only to useless weeds and poisonous plants. To repel this base and ungenerous accusation, it were easy to swell out a voluminous catalogue of illustrious characters, dead and living, whose virtues and talents reflect honour upon the academical institutions where they were nurtured and fitted for the church, the bar, and the state; but since these ancient foundations are assailed with declamation instead of argument, and comments supply the place of facts, it is not likely that even such a body of evidence would convince those men of their error, who being resolved to believe ill of what they dislike, are more deserving of contempt than hatred. Jan. 8, 1819.

J. WATKINS.

packet of papers tied carefully up together, with an old vellum covered pocket book, full of memoranda and loose scraps, all of which he carried to the parish clerk, who is also the village smith, and the oracle of this part of the country for many miles around. Honest Mulciber could make little of the contents, and after searching for bank-notes in vain, the entire collection of manuscripts was brought to me, in the hopes that I might be able to discover something as a clue to the owner, or prove of substantial benefit to the finder. Anxious to do justice in this case, I devoted much time to the examination of the book and papers, but without meeting any thing to identify the loser; though every leaf afforded evidence enough that the misfortune must have been sensibly felt. After waiting some time, and making many inquiries without effect, I gave the fellow a trifle to console him under his disappointment; and now at the recommendation of a friend, who is somewhat of an antiquary, I send you a portion of the contents of the pocket-book, which, if you think fit to insert in your Magazine, may be the means of ascertaining the person to whom the whole packet ought to be returned. I had almost forgotten to mention, however, that in the course of our inquiries, we learnt, that about the time when these papers were found, a portly personable man had been at several places on this road, making many observations, and asking questions of the country people concerning the state of the poor, and the character of the rich; from all which it is most likely that this traveller, whoever he may be, is the rightful owner of the packet, which may be had on describing the particulars and remunerating the finder.

The first page of the book presents the following curious title: "Notes of my intended Pilgrimage, for 1818."— After this, on several leaves are written down, in the form of an itinerarium, the names of places along the north road, with heads of queries for information about a variety of things and persons.

Then comes something like an Introduction, written in a very crabbed hand, and in an odd sort of style, but manifestly without any view to publication. As part of this Proemium may be amusing to your readers, I have been at some pains in decyphering and making a transcript of it.

"THE PILGRIM'S PROGRESS. Walking, some time ago, through Chis

well street, my eye was attracted by an old copy of this book, the most whimsical and popular, perhaps, of any in the English language; not even excepting the far famed romance of Robinson Crusoe. Not having read honest John Bunyan's rhapsody since my boyish days, when it both pleased and terrified me, I ventured to lay out a shilling in the purchase of the tattered volume, which no doubt must have seen as many possessors as the work itself has impres

sions.

As it has been an invariable maxim with me to turn every incident to some lucrative advantage, the idea revolved itself frequently in my mind what use could be made of the old tinker's singular production in the way of trade. This is the age of fanaticism (said I to myself) and any thing new under the name of Bunyan must assuredly have a good sale; even though it should be as coarse in its external garb as the "effectual shove to a heavy Christian." But, unfortunately, these my speculative cogitations were dispersed by the reflection, that vouchers would be necessary for the authenticity of the book, and that at all events the saints would desire to see the original manuscript. It then occurred to me that my quondam agent, of Shakspearian notoriety, might be able not only to manufacture an autograph of Bunyan, but even to write a new Pilgrim's Progress, as the completion of the author's design. But this again was hazardous; for though the dog has genius enough, he is as slippery as an eel, and as unsafe as a cullender. Many were the schemes which this extraordinary book suggested to my imagination, but all of them fleeted away as fast as they arose, like unto a dream when one awaketh from a troubled sleep. At length, when the fatigue of thinking produced peevishness, a sudden notion sprang up in my fertile brain, and, like Archimedes of old, the exclamation escaped me, "I have found it."-"The title itself, said I, " is abundantly more than sufficient to repay me for the shilling which it has cost me; and thus the tinker shall have the honour of perfecting what the cobbler began; for as I have dived into the recondite mysteries of nature, with the help of Jacob Behmen, I will clothe my discoveries in a popular style after the manner of John Bunyan. From my youth upwards the spirit of daring ambition has stimulated me to projects for the aggrandizement of my name, and the acquisition of an estate.

In these attempts my fortune has been pretty oddly chequered, and it must be acknowledged that the world has given me more credit for the boldness of my designs, than the means employed in the execution of them. But this must be ascribed to certain narrow prejudices inseparably connected with the antiquated and superstitious notions that have so long shackled great genius, and prevented enterprising minds from acting with the same freedom as they think. It is plain that every man is his own world, and consequently should be his own legislator. The laborious commentaries upon those artificial rules and distinctions, called the laws of nature and nations, have always appeared to my mind ever since its emancipation from a slavish submission to old formularies, as arbitrary and unjust restraints upon the kingdom of SELP or ME.

The honest tinker of Bedford seems to have had a glimmering of this light, but unfortunately he lost it again, or rather suffered it to lead him into the bog of fanaticism, for the want of sufficient resolution to follow reason without any other guide. The hero of his allegorical tale is represented as breaking through every tie that could prevent him from pursuing the object of his fancy; and thus far the example is deserving of imitation; for every society is made up of individuals, each of whom is a state to himself. But then John's hero afterwards falls into a miserable course of strange adventures and sufferings, by his scruples of conscience and the uncompliableness of his temper. All these difficulties are described as necessarily arising in the progress upon which the pilgrim is bent, and which, it must be confessed, is one of the most visionary that can enter into the human imagination. Instead of directing all his pursuits to personal enjoyment, or the advantage of the kingdom of ME, this bewildered wanderer is figured as going out of Self, and making sacrifices for the sake of a reward somewhere else. Here then is an admirable hint for "A New Pilgrim's Progress:" not an allegorical personification of some poor hypochondriac trembling under imaginary terrors, but exhibiting the real observations and reflections of an active and free-thinking spirit, who, in spite of nursery tales and priestly craft, is determined, by all the arts that policy can devise, to make the rest of the world tributary to his little kingdom of individuality. În taking this retrogradation, indeed, a man must pos

servedly relieve yourself of the weight of guilt that must weigh heavy on your conscience."

I would pledge you my right hand, as a sign of my grateful welcome, (answered he) were I not prevented by these chains. The society of my persecutors and of my jailors has, indeed, too long been endured by me. Willingly do I leave a world in which I never more can experience happiness, and to which I owe that debt of life, I am now about to offer, as the just punishment of my misdeeds, and to serve as a warning to others. You think me, no doubt, (added he, with a mournful smile, which pierced my very heart, as it waned beneath the overmastering expression of mental agony,) you think me, worthy Sir, no doubt, one of the vilest of criminals?'

I shrugged up my shoulders. would fain think otherwise of you; can I?"

"I

but

No, no, I confess it myself. My soul is burthened with many crimes, and yet the Omniscient is my witness, that the first cause of them was a passion, in its origin not only blameless, but even exalted. The world may believe me what it will; I can endure its detestation with patience, for the unbiassed voice of my own conscience accuses me only of being one of the most unfortunate of men. But, that my comforter in these last trying hours, that he who has, at his first entrance into my dungeon, so compassionately announced himself as my friend, may learn to know me better;—this do I more anxiously desire than to be justified in the opinion of all the world besides: and the kindness, the commiseration towards me, visible on your countenance, assures me of your willing attention to my sad recital.'

You may easily imagine, my dear friend, how much my astonishment and interest were augmented by such an address; and that even a feeling of curiosity influenced my entreaties to him to confide his story to me: which he immediately commenced in nearly the following words:

My father was a respectable tradesman in this town, and I, his only son, was educated with all possible care, under his immediate inspection, to suc ceed him in his business. From my earliest years, my disposition was silent and reserved, and the perusal of instructive and entertaining books, the dearest, and almost sole employment of my leisure hours. I avoided, from choice,

the noley pleasures of the world; and my parents cherished me, on account of this exclusive attachment for my home, with redoubled affection. In my seventeenth year I lost my mother. My father continued single for a considerable time longer, in content and happiness: he was actually approaching his sixtieth birthday, when he had the weakness to fall in love (if, indeed, the passion could be so termed) with the youthful daugh ter of one of our neighbours, whose only riches consisted in her extraordinary beauty and unsullied reputation. He formally demanded her hand of her parents: and the latter, who looked upon him as a thriving, wealthy tradesman, compelled their child, partly by threats, and partly by persuasion, to pledge her faith to him, rather with her lips than with her heart. The wedding day was already fixed, when my father fell dangerously ill: he, however, soon partially recovered, and although his physician, and some still remaining weakness counselled delay, he paid but little attention to either, summoned up all his strength, and celebrated his marriage as well and as gaily as his situation permitted. But on that very day, whilst seated amid his friends, enjoying the delights of the festive board, he suddenly became so faint and ill, that he was obliged to be carried from table to his bed, from which he never agaiņ arose. He lingered in this state a whole year. And it is certain, incontestibly certain, that this ill-starred marriage never was consummated.

Meanwhile the maiden whom he had espoused, assumed the name of his wife, and in reward for the resignation and cheerfulness with which she supported the toils, and fulfilled the duties of an affectionate and careful nurse, he bequeathed to her by will his whole property; and left me, his only son-against whom he had never had cause to utter a single complaint-with the exception of my scanty legal portion, pennyless! How much reason soever I might now appear to have, to hate, or at least, to shun a person who had deprived me, almost in an unlawful manner, of a considerable fortune the contrary feeling prevailed over my resentment. She was, as I have already observed, young, beautiful, of an irreproachable character; mild and obliging towards every body, and from the first moment of our acquaintance, peculiarly engaging in her behaviour to me. Little then aware of the reason, I yot sought her company