warm from the life," but we must mention the Duke of Lisborough and his "all-absolute duchess." The indulged, flattered, selfish man, suddenly reduced to a state of vassalage to a seemingly milk-and-water wife, but who has just sense enough to be sullen and resolution enough to be obstinate, is an admirable exemplification of the old riddle

"What many a man, who has a wife,
Submits to for a quiet life?"

To which the answer is-any thing! We conclude with two extracts, chosen for the sake of contrast: the first is an exquisite landscape :

"They had only reached the middle of May, and the cool, green shrubberies were still brightened by the golden streams of the laburnums, with intermingling clusters of lilacs and gueldres-roses, cystuses, and rododendrons. The frail shoots of many of the later trees and shrubs were still pale with their tender varieties of verdure; and the fresh and promising smile of spring-tide was yet untinged by the luxurious and luxuriant ripeness of summer. The meadows, too, presented that varied tapestry of exclusively English growth, which enamels their level verdure with a thousand idle but exquisite weeds-with countless varieties of every bright reflex of the rainbow; showing like the blossomed haunts of Fairy-land, and overshadowed by spiral clusters of chesnut bloom, by the quivering lime-trees, and by the bright blue sky, smiling in joyful lustre above them all. The woods, diversified with their countless variety of early foliage, were feathered down towards the lake, whose margin was in some places fringed with thickets of gorse and broom, now sheeted with blossoms, in order to afford shelter to the waterfowl. At intervals, these brooding solitaries might be heard wailing among the rushes; while here and there a majestic swan led forth its callow train of cygnets, as if proud of her premature maternity. Clustered round the tiny islands dotted over the waves, plotted the broad and glossy leaves of the water-lilies, appearing to support the opening glory of their crisp and snowy blossoms."

The next is an instance, a nice instance, of those contrarieties which form what is called a character. It is of a certain Dowager Lady Monteagle, who has been instrumental in breaking off a match, and throwing the distance of the Atlantic between Minnie and her grandson :

"Accordingly the crafty Dowager was not without some certain qualms of conscience respecting her own evil dealings towards a neighbour's child,' and a creature so fair, so sweet, so unoffending as Minnie Willingham-a creature, too, whom she had herself seen nestling in her cradle, and whom many predicted she would now live to see in her death-shroud-and laid there, too, by the premature sufferings of a broken heart! There often mingles a curious sort of mental restlessness with the sins of threescore years and ten. Elderly people are apt to wrestle with the long-indulged suggestions of their frailer nature with self-reproving feebleness; clinging to the vanities of a world on which they feel their tenure to be slight indeed, and attempting to steer a middle course between mortal and immortal aspirations, they dare the destiny of all other trimmers, even that of being despised on one side and rejected on the other. Lady Monteagle was beginning to be really uneasy about the health of her supposed victim; she seldom visited Heddiston Court without a packet of genuine extract of Quinine, prepared by the celebrated Majendie himself;' and even went the liberal length of enriching Sir Joseph's cellar with some fine old Malaga for the benefit of the invalid. She would have done any thing, in short, for the daughter of her old neighbour, Lady Maria, and her late esteemed friend Sir Charles, excepting bestow a nuptial benediction upon her union with Lord Stapylford. Montague was really such a fine young man, and still so young, that he had every hope of retrieving his fortunes by a prudent marriage; and to have him throw himself away on a pretty girl without a shilling, was a sacrifice she could not conscientiously bring herself to sanction."

"The Young Duke" came next, best characterised as a Romance of Fashion, told in prose epigrams, while the keen worldliness of the remark is singularly contrasted with the wild richness of the invention. The idea of the work itself is excellent; it is the history of a young man, as highly gifted with every earthly advantage as if the fairies had showered their golden gifts over his cradle, but who has to learn the bitter lessons time ever teaches, how money may be spent, youth wasted, and happiness farther off than ever. The original tone of Mr. d'Israeli's mind is that of wild and imaginative poetry, such as revels in the rich

arabesque of Oriental creation; but living in an artificial and highly-civilized state, all the social influences exercised upon that mind have been opposed to its own first nature, and hence the curbed fancy only displays itself in occasional extravagance of ornament, and inbreaks here and there upon its inherent luxuriance. We think Mr. d'Israeli's mind may be best described by a simile: it is like a town built on a romantic site; there is the regular street, the ornamental architecture, signs of man's labour and man's art-but ever and anon the eye is caught by some fantastic fragment of old grey rock, the gush of a silver spring, or the green shadow of some old and stately tree. The occasional oddness of his similes are very characteristic; for example, he compares the pretty foot of one of his heroines in its scarlet slipper to "the red and pointed tongue of a serpent." Mr. d'Israeli's style is very brilliant; the acute remark, the neat antithesis, the pointed sentence, sparkle over every page; we think of Marlow's

fine line

"A frosty night, when Heaven is lined with stars."

Note the two ensuing passages, the first of which embodies the knowledge given by experience, the second, that taught by the feelings hardened into thought

"When the fairy-flights of youth

Fold up their sunny pinions, and darken into truth."

"St. James was of opinion that he had obtained great knowledge of mankind. He was mistaken: travel is not, as is imagined, the best school for that sort of science. Knowledge of mankind, is knowledge of their passions. The traveller is looked upon as a bird of passage, whose visit is short, and which the vanity of the visited wishes to make agreeable. All is show, all is false, and all made up. Coterie succeeds coterie, equally smiling-the explosions take place in his absence. Even a grand passion, which teaches a man more, perhaps, than any thing else, is not very easily excited by the traveller. The women know, sooner or later, he must disappear; and though this is the case with all lovers, the sweet souls do not like to miss the possibility of delusion. Thus the heroines keep in the back-ground, and the visitor, who is always in a hurry, falls into the net of the first flirtation that offers."

The second passage we have noted is as follows:

"Fame has eagle wings, and yet she mounts not high as man's desires. When all is gained, how little there is won, and yet to gain that little how much is lost! Could we but drag the purple from the hero's heart, could we but tear the laurel from the poet's throbbing brain, and read their doubts, their danger, their despair, we might learn a greater lesson than we shall ever acquire by musing over their exploits, or their inspiration. Think of unrecognised Cæsar, with his wasting youth, weeping over the Macedonian's young career! Could Pharsalia compensate for these withering pangs? View the obscure Napoleon starving in the streets of Paris! What was St. Helena to the bitterness of such existence? The visions of past glory might illumine even that dark imprisonment, but to be conscious that his supernatural energies might die away without creating their miracles, can the wheel, the rack, rival the torture of such a suspicion ?"

We now come to the most animated and most varied female author of the day: put Mrs. Charles Gore's works together, and we shall be forced to admit "she has no rival in the field." Few have contributed more largely to the amusement of their contemporaries; none have painted their fashions and follies with a livelier pencil. We cannot accord her that high imagination in whose depths genius forms its starry world, but she carries tact and talent to their perfection; she does not create, but she embodies inimitably. Her pictures are taken from the life, and to the life, and her caricatures are only such because people will caricature themselves: her works put one in mind of going to a pleasant fête, (such a thing does sometimes occur,) you drive lightly over an easy road, the villa and its grounds are looking their best, some ridiculous things happen, and some agreeable ones, there is an elasticity in the air which enables you to enjoy both, chance interests you in some adventure with just a nuance de sentiment: you have seen some pretty faces, and some gay dresses; your dinner is satisfacOct.-VOL. XXXII. NO. CXXX. 2 B

tory and served up with sauce; you end the day as you close the book in the best possible of humours; almost inclined to be witty yourself. Pin-money", is a novel quite belonging to the new order of things: what writer a few years ago would have thought of marrying his heroine at the commencement of his book, unless he meant to be rather immoral as in Glenarvon, which appeals to our feelings; or very moral indeed as in Patience and Perseverance, which is addressed to our principles. And yet a pleasant chronicle of the times is drawn from the difficulties and distresses of the young bride who finds that money may be spent, and difficulties incurred before even their possibility was suspected. Lady Olivia Tadcaster, busy, meddling, and bargain-buying, is one of those sketches in which Mrs. Gore excels; it is like one of Mrs. Glover's personifications on the stage our first exclamation is "how natural!" We must extract one of those lively touches of satire which emanate from everyday experience. It occurs while speaking of falling in love in a large family

"Which has six unmarried daughters; one of those large, lively, good-humoured, singing, dancing, riding, chatting families, where a young man seeking a wife is apt to fall in love with the joint stock merits and animation of the group; and to feel quite astonished on discovering, after his union with Harriet, or Jane, how moderate a proportion he has received in his lawful sixth, of the music, information, accomplishments, and good-humoured gossiping of the whole tribe."

We had intended to make a few remarks on "Scenes at Home and Abroad;" Society;" "Wedded Life in the upper Ranks;" "The Incognita;" but we cannot, for the best reason in the world-we can find nothing to say of such nonentities: nothing can come of nothing.

"THE PREMIER;" "THE TURF;"" PARIS AND LONDON;" "THE STAFF OFFICER."

Is it possible that 1831 can be on these title pages; that people, in an age which piques itself on its decency and common sense, should be found to write such works, or a bookseller to publish them. Uniting the faults of the past and the present, the flippancy of to-day without its wit, its personality without its point; the coarseness of yesterday without its strength, and its grossness without its humour. No one thinks of denying that the licentious delineation, and the freedom of expression used by a former age are such as to exclude them from general circulation; and what must be the vitiation of that taste which would voluntarily go back upon faults so completely exploded. It is easy to talk of cant, and of "assuming a virtue when we have it not." But if, as Rochefoucauld justly observes, "Hypocrisy is the homage vice pays to virtue," it at least shows that the sense of right has the ascendancy, or else the homage would not be paid. One brief phrase apiece will amply characterize these productions. "The Premier" is the dullest, but the least offensive; "The Turf" the silliest; "Paris and London" the most vapid and conceited; "The Staff Officer" the grossest, though verily it may divide that palm with its predecessor. But why waste time on works whose germ of corruption developes itself in themselves? they are perishing, and we have no taste for enacting the part of literary resurrectionists.

"DESTINY;" "THE TEMPLE OF MELEKARTHA;"" CROCHET CASTLE." We class these works together on the principle of opposition, being three as opposite productions as could well be found, and all three remarkable for their originality. Miss Ferrier might have sent a copy of her work to the antiquarian society, on the plea of the state of excellent preservation in which she had kept that "rare curiosity" her Highland Chief. Retaining all his assumption, and much of his authority; for habit is the support of command; but utterly divested of all that was poetical or picturesque in his character of mountain chieftain, Glenroy is a new acquaintance and equally amusing and original. The rest of the dramatis persona are amiable nobodies only known by their name, or else caricatures-but such caricatures, new, humorous, richly coloured, quaint, such as Cruikshank could draw, and Farren act. But Mrs. Macauley, the guileless, the affectionate, whose actions when stimulated by attachment would. be heroic but for their extreme simplicity, it is impossible not to like the

author downright for having conceived such a character. A brief dialogue, however, will give the essence of Miss Ferrier's style more than a page of criticism. Our extract terminates a discourse between the Chieftain and Mrs. Macauley who has put forth a little unconscious bit of morality, whose humility excites Glenroy's displeasure.

"I would,' exclaims Mrs. Macauley, lay down the hair of my head for you and your childer, but I cannot give up my principles.' Who's meddling with you and your principles?' demanded Glenroy, again softened at the sight of her distress. Well, I thought it was not like you to do it; you who have such good principles of your own.' It's my opinion,' said Glenroy, you know nothing about principles-I don't believe you know what they are; are they flesh and blood, or are they skin and bone?' Oh, Glenroy,' I wonder to hear you, who have so much good sense, speak that way, when you know what respectable things principles are, and what poor craatures we should be without them. No, Glenroy, when I die, I shall leave other things behind me; but I expect to carry my principles along with me, for no doubt they will be of use to me in the next world.' That's very true,' said Benhowie, waking out of a doze on my conscience we should keep all we can.'

"Crochet Castle" we scarcely dare begin upon, for we own it is one of those especial favourites which make quotation really a temptation. Mr. Peacock has the most quaint, original, out-of-the-way species of wit of any writer of our time; his absurdities are abstract ideas; he personifies systems, and individualises doctrines; his characters are opinions developed in individuals, and he takes the philosophic and scientific ridicules as his own peculiar property. His definitions are inimitable, witness his "Political Economy."

pay no

My principles, Sir, in these things are, to take as much as I can get, and more than I can help. These are every man's principles, whether they be the right principles or no. There, Sir, is political economy in a nutshell."

"What respectable things principles are!" Again, take his representative of Utility:

"Mr. Mac Quedy, the modern Athenian, who lays down the law about every thing and therefore may be taken to understand every thing. He turns all the affairs of this world into questions of buying and selling. He is the spirit of the Frozen Ocean to every thing like romance and sentiment. He condenses their volume of steam into a drop of cold water in a moment."

We close with the close of his conversational projects for perfectibility. "The schemes for the world's regeneration died away in a tumult of voices."

"The Temple of Melekartha" is one of those extraordinary performances of which a brief notice can give no idea. It is a political romance, but worked up with the colours of poetry, and the richness of oriental imagery. To the reader for amusement it is deficient in that great attraction, an interesting narrative; the story is both dry and incoherent; and the characters, when brought into action, mere phantasmagoria. But it is the thought in these pages that render them valuable, and make us feel that in the work before us no ordinary mind has developed its resources. We quote the following brief fragments and ask, is the quarry from which they are dug not worth the trouble of research.

"It is a capital error to imagine that the prosperity of a mercantile community can securely rest on the exclusive possession of any secret in art. With or without secrets, wealth and national importance will infallibly belong to the possessors of intelligence, industry, good government, and natural advantages of produce and position. Nothing but internal treason can reduce a people so favoured to poverty and dependence." Nothing is often more difficult than to effect inconsiderable changes in the usages of a people; nothing often more easy than to achieve surprising revolutions in their political condition. Mankind is pertinacious and adhesive in whatever is trivial, fickle and fond of change in whatever is momentous."

"PHILIP AUGUSTUS ;"

"ARTHUR OF BRITTANY;" "THE THUILERIES;" "THE KING'S SECRET;" "JAQUELINE OF HOLLAND;" "ATHERTON."

If we except the first, of which our old proverb is the best criticism, "Least said soonest mended," we can give a very favourable estimate of these volumes.

The story of Atherton is ill-arranged and improbable, but some of the characters, that of the "London Bookseller" in particular, are drawn with great talent, and a shrewd spirit of observation runs through the whole. The time too, which is in the reign of George III., though historical ground, is sufficiently new not yet to have been hacknied, and sufficiently new to be old. The "King's Secret" is perhaps the best constructed. Philip Augustus" the most remarkable for historical research, and flowing and graceful style. Mr. Grattan the most fortunate in entirely untrodden ground, and yet with whose habits and localities he is so especially familiar; while Mrs. Gore's "Thuileries" possesses more of individual interest, and a more feminine tone of sentiment. We cannot but say one word in favour of historical novels; they are pleasant links between I past and present; and the reader who will be contented to sit down without farther information on the period in which his ancestors have just seemed so attractive, would have been contented without any information at all. Scott has done more to rouse a spirit of even antiquarian research than any man living or dead. There is not one of the works mentioned above that would not enlarge the knowledge and cultivate the mind of any young person; and what is good for the young, often extends its advantages into maturer years. Take the generality of readers, they are both amused and informed by historical romance. We have in this instance given no extract; no short passage can illustrate works which depend on the interest of narrative, and the accuracy of historical painting.

"BOGLE CORBET," "SKETCHES OF IRISH CHARACTER,” “Haverhill,” "THE DUTCHMAN'S FIRESIDE," "THE SMUGGLER."

These novels may be classed together, as being given peculiarly to the painting of national manners; a species of composition, by the by, for which the novel seems peculiarly adapted. Character is developed by being put in action; descriptions tell better by having something of human interest attached to their scenes; customs may be better understood by being viewed in their effect, while the progress of the tale keeps the reader's attention alive. Fiction, to use Addison's beautiful allegory, is here, especially, used by truth as its attraction, and the tale is rather the vehicle than the object of the journey. As in courtesy bound, we give our first attention to the strangers. "Haverhill," and the "Dutchman's Fireside," are both American productions. The first volume of Haverhill would have made a delightful tale by itself, but the author (Mr. Jones) wanders in a most desultory style through all parts of the globe, and through an improbable and protracted narrative during the two remaining tomes, though with some graphic descriptions, and some highly wrought scenes. The boat driven out to sea, and the brothers dying off after each other, till only one is left, is terrible in its reality.

In works of this kind especially, one or two characteristic touches give an idea of the whole, so we choose a specimen or so. An American October.

Then for the pleasures of October: list to the troop of disorderly urchins on the alert for the walnut and chesnut forest, or bending beneath their rich prize, a basket of half ripe grapes, the while shouting most obstreperously. The happy shooter, cap in hand, his dog at his heels, creeping upon the unsuspecting wild duck, or, happier still, returning with two or three brace, sometimes a dozen, which he has killed flying (the great boast of an American duck shooter), unutterably proud of the feat, and happier than a courtier to whom majesty has nodded. October is in America emphatically called the sportsman's month,' and thence its approach is hailed with a lively joy by all who love duck shooting-in other words, nine in ten of those who dwell on the margin of the Atlantic ocean. For the space of four or five leagues, the coast is clothed with small lakes or ponds of greater or less extent; and these in October, and during the whole of the autumn, till the rigours of winter shut them up, are the resorts of immense flocks of wild fowl. They are pursued with a singleness of purpose which leads to so much poverty and wretchedness, that the best argument ever brought forward to prove the expediency and benefit of the English game laws, is the evil consequence of an unrestrained exercise, in America, of the liberty they abridged in England."

"The Dutchman's Fireside" is by Mr. Paulding, who, in his own country, is held as only second to Cooper. It is the history of a young man, brave