been lost on one who wanted that sure judgment and acute apprehension which Mr. Grattan possesses, or the firm, bold, and vigorous tone of pencilling that gives such novelty to his scenes, and such truth and freedom to his delineations of character.

This minute acquaintance, however, with every turn and winding of the subject he describes, while it attaches importance to all he says upon it, often leads him to say more than is necessary, and to descant upon particulars which the reader, at the moment, would have thanked him for omitting. He hurries on his heroine to the edge of a precipice, and there leaves her for a quarter of an hour, while he writes a chapter on the texture of the "white satin" in which she is to go mad. This is a favourite trick with the novelists of the day, and it is one which we can endure patiently enough in those writers who do not excite our imagination and sympathies as Mr. Grattan does. It is a principle of his nature to make the reader as learned as himself, and to tell all he knows, or has ever heard or read, of the scenery or society he is describing. He is conscious of his own knowledge; and, to convince you that he is not afraid of descending to particulars, proves all that you had previously taken for granted. If Vesuvius were in view, he would not rest till he had described the inside of the crater as well as the out. Bruges is brought before us as if every stone of it were a special matter of history. He paints the siege of Welbasch at such length, that the place might have been taken in less time than we can peruse it in, and makes us feel that one of the miseries that result from war is the indefatigable minuteness of its chroniclers. But then there is this distinguishing difference, as we have already intimated, between the descriptions, whether national, historical, or individual, of Mr. Grattan and those of his contemporaries-save only the very highest-that they are not inventions, but "true things;" not gleaned from doubtful sources and random records, or like the fac-similes of autographs that we see in albums, "imitated from recollection;" but drawn from an original spring of information, which few have had access to, and none have sought with such fervour and inspiration.

The earlier productions of Mr. Grattan were little histories of the heart, embodying some "bright particular" passion, or working out some natural or romantic incident. For their length, the language can boast very few things superior to them. Some of them are models of the class of writing to which they belong, and outweigh in importance much more ambitious and elaborate compositions. The highest praise a reader can give, has frequently been bestowed upon them in a wish that they were longer. Such stories as the "Vilaîne Fête" and the "Father's Curse" are not easily to be forgotten: they cling to the memory, not like a dream, but like a reality of our past years. The "Priest and the Guard du Corps" is of a later date, and of a still finer cast. It seems coloured in the red light of the Revolution. Marie Antoinette alone ought to save the tale from the effacing fingers" of time-without the aid of the hero of it, who is admirably delineated-and the splendour of the descriptive parts, particularly that which describes the bivouac of the mob at Versailles, and the frightful storming of the palace. The "Bear-Hunter" is

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equal to this in another way, with its wild but pure feeling, and picturesque situations. There is hardly one of these numerous sketches that does not bring to light some original vein of character, or illustrate some passion which, though as old as human nature, had never before been traced to the same source, or treated in the same way. The pictures of costume and landscape make them valuable; but the knowledge of human motive, which gives life to them, render them far more so. The characters are not crude conceptions, like dim outlines seen in a vision, but portraits of living beings, prompted and inspired by the common impulses of our nature, and tinctured with the glowing light of an imaginative spirit. The defects observable in them are those of carelessness and bad taste, or of a union of the two. There is an occasional unnecessary straining after effect, at the very moment when simplicity was producing it in its own way; the natural often rises into the improbable, and the improbable, once or twice, perhaps, breaks out into the impossible. The Author presumes, that the limits of romance are not very clearly defined, and forgets that those of reason are. He seems to love parting with his readers in affliction, and, consequently, betrays somewhat too frequently, an admiration of a heart-breaking or horrible catastrophe; which we have His "Traits of Travel" contain some curious contrasts of style and subject. Many of the sketches are fanciful; others almost fiendish; others facetious, and touched in the true key of grotesque humour.

not.

In "The Heiress of Bruges" Mr. Grattan is again in the Netherlands. Here, as in his new work," Jacqueline of Holland," he has launched into a larger sphere, and entered more elaborately into the difficulties and diversities of character. His canvass is more crowded, but not more confused. In the management of the plot, and the grouping of the figures, he has not lost sight of the skill and distinctness observable in his smaller productions; and has shewn, that the same power which could carry him with such energy through a hundred pages, can sustain him with equal ease through a thousand.

Mr. Grattan has lightened the labour of historical research and prose composition, by turning once or twice to the soothing graces of poetry. But the world will not, if it can help it, allow any man to do two things well; and, as it had already affixed the seal of excellence to our Author's prose performances, it followed, as a matter of course, that his productions of a different kind should be received either with doubt or indifference. An Author, in this respect, stands in his own light; his very merits are turned against him. It is by his stories and sketches only that Mr. Grattan is known; and these have a principle of life in them that will outlive many seasons, and excite in another generation the same tears and laughter, the same emotions of pleasure and pathos, they have inspired in our own.

NO ARTICLE THIS MONTH.

"A PERSON wishes to speak with "Who is it?"

"The Devil, Sir."

you, Sir."

"Show him up, by all means."-My servant Timothy is an irreclaimable punster-(how, when, where, or of whom he took the disease of punning I am at a loss to conjecture)—and as he left the room, he muttered, "Show him up! I'm sure there's no call for that; within the last twelve months he has been shown up till one is sick of him: 'The Devil's Walk,' The Devil's Drive,' The Devil Out,' The Devil at Home!'-Walk up, Devil!"

6

"Well, Sir, what is it you want?"

6

"The publisher's compliments, Sir; you promised an article for this month; to-day is the twenty-first, and-"

"My compliments in return;"-(for it is always well to be civil, even to publishers)" my compliments, and up to midnight of the twentieth I had forgotten all about it, and it is too late to think of the matter now."

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Do you not know

Why, good heavens! Sir, we can't do without it!" "Silence! how dare you say 'good heavens?' that to say good heavens !' is profane swearing?" "Lord, now, Sir, where is the harm of it?"

Again! Impious little miscreant ! Are you aware of the abomination of uttering such a phrase as Lord, now, Sir?'"

6

"Not in the least, Sir; for I declare an angel might speak it." "Quit the house! unless you desire to bring the four walls rattling about our ears. 6 Angels!' I shudder at listening to such rank blasphemy. Three such expressions as, Good heavens!' Lord, now, Sir!" and Angel!' all in a breath, are provocation sufficient to draw destruction down upon our modern Babylon, and convert it into one vast ruin. Avaunt! begone! and quit my sight!"

"Once again, Sir, I really cannot perceive the wickedness of it." "A pretty fellow are you for a Devil, being so little sensitive to wickedness. In what world have you lived? what company have you kept? Shame on you! that you are not sufficiently familiar with wickedness to scent its approach at fifty leagues distance. However, Sir, this is not a point for argument: such gross impieties are not to be licensed: read this letter. Now, what think you?"

"Why, Sir, I think it very odd; and as for the writer- -But I am afraid to say it; for, according to this letter, it may be profane, or blasphemous, or seditious, or immoral, or indecent."

"Well; if, in your own opinion, what you would say be neither of these, speak out."

"Why, then, Sir, if the writer were to send such a letter to me, my answer to him would be- What a shocking bad hat you've got!'* I hope there's no offence in that, Sir?"

This phrase, so aptly applied by the Devil, has acquired a popularity far exceeding that of B. C. Y. of dead-wall notoriety. It is in every man's mouth, but in no man's understanding it is, indeed, as little understood as the French play or the Italian opera, by one-half of the persons who frequent them; and, surely, no stronger illustration can be adduced to justify the introduction, in this place, of its true history July.-VOL. XXXII. NO. CXXVII.

G

"Except as a matter of taste-which is a point for the consideration of the critic, not the MORALIST-apparently not, Mr. Devil; though in these super-sensitive times, when we are all of us as good as we would seem to be, I would not undertake to answer for it."

"But the article, Sir, the article?”—“I have none for you, nor any are you likely to have from me: I lack a subject."

"He! he he! I shouldn't ha' thought that, Sir: according to the newspapers, there's plenty of subjects to be had; but they run uncommon short of kings just now."

"To take up your excellent joke, Mr. Wag, that may be because, like scores of subjects in the portfolio on yonder table, they are so difficult to manage, one is unwilling to encounter them."

"But can't you make something for us? Why, bless my soul! where is your?"" You will indulge your habit of profane swearing!" Why, then, lack-a-daisy-me !—and that I will say, though it should be high-treason-where is your imagination, Sir?"

66

"I will tell you where it is not: it is not where, at this moment, it is most in request. But, like many a smart retort and pertinent reply, which would have annihilated your colloquial antagonist-had you but thought of it in time !—it will come, lumbering in-like a huge engine, from a distant part of the town, after the fire is extinguished,proffering its aid when there is no longer need of it."

"But, surely, Sir, you might find a tale for us."

"Do you think I am like Monk Lewis? of whom it used to be said that his head was full of tales."

"Ah! that isn't as good a thing as I said about Mr.

usually comes out' with three tales at once."

"I suppose you called him a literary bashaw?"

who

"Better than that, Sir: I said he would attain a higher literary standing than any other man living, for that he builds up his reputation three stories at a time!"

"There, that will do for one sitting; so now you may go."

"But the article, Sir?-indeed, I mustn't go without something. As to subjects being difficult to manage why, I could name to you three score and ten-"

"You must not say three score and ten: it is a scriptural phrase." "Dear me !-Well, Sir, I could name to you seventy people (may I say that?) who would, without scruple, undertake to write upon the most difficult subject and make nothing of it.-A thought occurs to me. Will you allow me to look into your portfolio, and take any thing I find there which may serve our purpose?"

"

and origin. In its precise application it appears to have superseded the very expressive "I shou'dn't wonder!""-as for instance: the other morning Lord John R meeting the Duke of N- accosted him with " When the Reform Bill gets into the Upper House, I trust, after all, your Grace will vote in favour of it;" to which the Duke replied, "What a shocking bad hat you've got!"-Again: "My dear Duchess," said Lady Mary, "will you change places with me? for I can't see a bit of Taglioni." My dear Lady Mary," simperingly replied the Duchess, "What a shocking bad hat you've got!"-But to our philological task. When Mr. H, the worthy hatmaker, was canvassing the poorer constituents of the Borough of Southwark for their "sweet voices," he invariably addressed them in this form: "I wait upon you, Sir, to request the favour of your vote and interest at the ensuing election. To bribery and corruption I-will-not-have-recourse; but, Sir, if-Why, bless me, Sir! What a shocking bad hat you've got! really you must allow me to send you a new one.-But, Sir, as I was about to say, if you can, conscientiously," &c. &c.

"That is more than I will promise. But read aloud the papers as you take them out, and I will, then, tell you."

"Personal Narrative of a descent three hundred and sixty-five feet into the crater of Mount Vesuvius.”

“Oh, crikey!—(I hope that is not wickedness!)—and have you ever performed so wonderful a feat, Sir?"

"No, nor do I believe it has ever been attempted by any other human being; 'tis, therefore, a safe subject: the wonders I relate no one can gainsay; the dangers I pretend to have encountered no one can dispute; and should any matter-of-fact reader presume to doubt the veracity of my narrative, I wish him no more agreeable a recreation than a dive of only one-third of the depth I have not penetrated, the better to enable him to expose the imposture. But that paper is unfinished; it requires a little touching-up; and I am as yet undecided whether it will be more effective to be borne up again on the shoulders of a slight eruption, or to float through a cranny, at the base of the mountain, on a rippling stream of red-hot lava. A dozen years ago, the latter mode of exit would have been preferable, inasmuch as it implies the discovery, or proves the existence of, a passage; but, at the present day, the public appetite for such stimulating fare, is somewhat palled by the frequency of the excitement.-Go on to the next."

"Personal Narrative of an Ascent to the summit of Shooter's Hill, and thence to the highermost point of Severndroog Castle; performed on the 26th June, 1815.

Motto: "Ah! who can tell how hard it is to climb

The hill- "

BEATTIE'S Minstrel.

"That won't do, Devil: throw it aside." "Pardon me, Sir; I assure you the Narrative of an Ascent is always telling."

"Observe the date. It was a pretty ascent in its day; but since that period the Andes and the Cordilleras have become mere molehills to your enterprising clamberers; and as for poor Mont Blanc, not a grocer from Long-Acre but has stuck his shop-card in a curl of the snowy wig of the Monarch of mountains.' No, it will not do; ascents are going down; so try the next."

"Specimens of the Poetry of the Jokey-pokeys, literally translated into English."

"The Jokey-pokeys! I never heard of such a people, Sir. Pray where do they inhabit?"

"Why, they the Jokey-pokeys? Why, where should they? Jokey-pokey-land, to be sure."

"Ha!—And pray, Sir, where is Jokey-pokey-land? for I have no recollection of ever having heard of such a place."

"Why-it is a small island in the southern-that is to say, in the northern-But, no matter; I have a map wherein its position is accurately laid down; and, if you please, you may see it—some other time."" Are these people savages?"

"Oh, no; look at their poetry; they are highly civilized. I taught them the use of knives and forks; and, although they are cannibals, as it were, thanks to me they no longer eat human flesh with their fingers."" Are they happy?"