'Whereas attempts have been lately made to shake off the subjection of Ireland to the Imperial crown of these realms, be it enacted,' &c. &c. In the reign of George II. four-sixths of the population were cut off from the rights of voting at elections, by the necessity under which they were placed of taking the oath of supremacy. Barristers and solicitors marrying Catholics are exposed to all the penalties of Catholics. Persons robbed by privateers during a war with a Cathoolic state, are to be indemnified by a levy on the Catholic inhabitants of the neighbourhood. All marriages between Catholics and Protestants are annulled. All Popish priests celebrating them are to be hanged. This system,' (says Arthur Young) has no other tendency than that of driving out of the kingdom all the personal wealth of the Catholics, and extinguish ing all their industry within it! and the face of the country, every object which presents itself to travellers, tell him how effectually this has been done.'Young's Tour in Ireland, vol. ii. p. 48. sage, in which the author alludes to the hopes tak confession of weaknesses constitutes the chief charm and Charlemont, whose nobility was to the people like a fort Such is the history of Ireland-for we are now at our own times; and the only remaining question is, whether the system of improvement and conciliation begun in the reign of George III. shall be pursued, and the remaining incapacities of the Catholics removed, or all these concessions be made insignificant by an adherence to that spirit of proscription which they professed to abolish? Looking to the sense and reason of the thing, and to the ordinary working of humanity and justice, when assisted, as they are here, by self-interest and worldly policy, it might seem absurd to doubt of the result. But looking to the facts and persons by which we are now surrounded, we are constrained to say that we greatly fear that these incapacities will never be removed, till they are removed by fear. What else, indeed, can we expect when we see them opposed by such enlightened men as Mr. Peel -faintly assisted by men of such admirable genius as Mr. Canning, when royal dukes consider it as a com- My father, however, who saw the momentary dazzle by pliment to the memory of their fathers to continue this which I was affected, soon drew me out of this false light of miserable system of bigotry and exclusion,-when men hope in which I lay basking, and set the truth before me in "Be not deceived, act ignominiously and contemptibly on this question, a way but too convincing and ominous. who do so on no other question,-when almost the only you. Eminently great and good as is the man to whom Ireboy," he would say, "by the fallacious appearances before persons zealously opposed to this general baseness and land owes this short era of glory, our work, believe me, will fatuity are a few whigs and reviewers, or here and last longer than his. We have a power on our side that there a virtuous poet like Mr. Moore? We repeat will not willingly let us die;' and, long after Grattan shall again, that the measure will never be effected but by have disappeared from earth,―like that arrow shot into the fear. In the midst of one of our just and necessary train of light behind him, the family of the Rocks will clouds by Alcestes, effecting nothing, but leaving a long wars, the Irish Catholics will compel this country to continue to flourish in all their native glory, upheld by the grant them a great deal more than they at present re-ever-watchful care of the legislature, and fostered by that quire, or even contemplate. We regret most severely nursing-mother of Liberty,' the Church."' the protraction of the disease,-and the danger of the remedy-but in this way it is that human affairs are carried on! GRANBY. (Edinburgh Review, 1826., Granby. A Novel, in Three Volumes. London, Colburn, 1826. We are sorry we have nothing for which to praise administration on the subject of the Catholic question -but, it is but justice to say, that they have been very zealous and active in detecting fiscal abuses in Ireland, in improving mercantile regulations, and in detecting Irish jobs. The commission on which Mr. Wallace THERE is nothing more amusing in the spectacles presided has been of the greatest possible utility, and of the present day, than to see the Sir Johns and Sir does infinite credit to the government. The name of Thomases of the House of Commons struck aghast by Mr. Wallace, in any commission, has now become a the useful science and wise novelties of Mr. Huskisson pledge to the public that there is a real intention to in- and the chancellor of the exchequer. Treason, Disvestigate and correct abuse. He stands in the singu- affection, Atheism, Republicanism, and Socinianismlar predicament of being equally trusted by the rulers the greatest guns in the Noodle's park of artillery— and the ruled. It is a new era in government, when they cannot bring to bear upon these gentlemen. such men are called into action; and, if there were Even to charge with a regiment of ancestors is not not proclaimed and fatal limits to that ministerial lib. quite so efficacious as it used to be; and all that re erality-which, so far as it goes, we welcome without mains, therefore, is to rail against Peter M'Cullough a grudge, and praise without a sneer-we might yet and political economy! In the mean time, day after hope that, for the sake of mere consistency, they day, down goes one piece of nonsense or another. might be led to falsify our forebodings. But alas! The most approved trash, and the most trusty cla there are motives more immediate, and therefore, ir- mours, are found to be utterly powerless. Twopenny resistible; and the time is not yet come, when it will taunts and trumpery truisms have lost their destructive be believed easier to govern Ireland by the love of the omnipotence; and the exhausted commonplaceman, many than by the power of the few-when the paltry and the afflicted fool, moan over the ashes of imbecil and dangerous machinery of bigoted faction and prosity, and strew flowers on the urn of ignorance! Gentituted patronage may be dispensed with, and the ves-eral Elliot found the London tailors in a state of mutisel of the state be propelled by the natural current of ny, and he raised from them a regiment of light caval popular interests and the breath of popular applause. ry, which distinguished itself in a very striking manIn the mean time, we cannot resist the temptation of ner at the battle of Minden. In humble imitation of gracing our conclusion with the following beautiful pas- this example, we shall avail ourselves of the present political disaffection and unsatisfactory idleness of many men of rank and consequence, to request their attention to the Novel of Granby-written, as we have heard, by a young gentleman of the name of Lister, and from which we have derived a considerable deal of pleasure and entertainment. The main question as to a novel is-did it amuse? were you surprised at dinner coming so soon? did you mistake eleven for ten, and twelve for eleven? were you too late for dress? and did you sit up beyond the usual hour? If a novel produces these effects, it is good; if it does not-story, language, love, scandal itself cannot save it. It is only meant to please; and it must do that, or it does nothing. Now Granby seems to us to answer this test extremely well; it produces unpunctuality, makes the readers too late for dinner, inpatient of contradiction, and inattentive, even if a bishop is making an observation, or a gentleman lately from the Pyramids, or the Upper Cataracts, is let loose upon the drawing-room. The objection, indeed, to these compositions, when they are well done is, that it is impossible to do any thing, or perform any human duty, while we are engaged in them. Who can read Mr. Hallam's Middle Ages, or extract the root of an impossible quantity, or draw up a bond, when he is in the middle of Mr. Trebeck and Lady Charlotte Duncan? How can the boy's lesson be heard, about the Jove-nourished Achilles, or his six miserable verses upon Dido be corrected, when Henry Granby and Mr. Courtenay are both making love to Miss Jermyn? Common life palls in the middle of these artificial scenes. All is emotion when the book is open-all dull, flat, and feeble when it is shut. Granby, a young man of no profession, living with an old uncle in the country, falls in love with Miss Jermyn, and Miss Jermyn with him; but Sir Thomas and Lady Jermyn, as the young gentleman is not rich, having discovered, by long living in the world and patient observation of its ways, that young people are commonly Malthus-proof and have children, and that young and old must eat, very naturally do what they can to discourage the union. The young people, however, both go to town-meet at balls-flutter, blush, look and cannot speak-speak and cannot look,-suspect, misinterpret, are sad and mad, peevish and jealous, fond and foolish; but the passion, after all, seems less near to its accomplishment at the end of the season than the beginning. The uncle of Granby, however, dies, and leaves to his nephew a statement accompanied with the requisite proofs-that Mr. Tyrrel, the supposed son of Lord Malton, is illegitimate, and that he, Granby, is the heir to Lord Malton's fortune. The second volume is now far advanced, and it is time for Lord Malton to die. Accordingly Mr. Lister very judiciously despatches him; Granby inherits the estate his virtues (for what shows off virtue like land?) are discovered by the Jermyns-and they marry in the last act. Upon this slender story, the author has succeeded in making a very agreeable and interesting novel? and he has succeeded, we think, chiefly, by the very easy and natural picture of manners, as they really exist among the upper classes; by the description of new characters judiciously drawn and faithfully preserved; and by the introduction of many striking and well-managed incidents; and we are particularly struck throughout the whole with the discretion and good sense of the author. He is never nimious; there is nothing in excess; there is a good deal of fancy and a great deal of spirit at work, but a directing and superintending judgment rarely quits him. We would instance, as a proof of his tact and talent, the visit at Lord Daventry's, and the description of characters of which the party is composed. There are absolutely no events; nobody runs away, goes mad, or dies. There is little of love, or of hatred; no great passion comes into play; but nothing can be farther removed from dulness and insipidity. Who has ever lived in the world without often meeting the Miss Cliftons? This is the gentleman who now keeps the keys of Life and Death, the Janitor of the world. 'The Miss Cliftons were good-humoured girls; not hand some, but of pleasing manners, and sufficiently clever to keep up the ball of conversation very agreeable for an occasional half hour. They were always au courant de jour, and knew dence of many a bride elect, and could frequently tell that a and saw the first of every thing-were in the earliest confimarriage was "off" long before it had been announced as "on the tapis" in the morning papers-always knew something of the new opera, or the new Scotch novel, before any body else did-were the first who made fizgigs, or acted charades-contrived to have private views of most exhibitions, and were supposed to have led the fashionable throng to the Caledonian Chapel, Cross Street, Hatton Garden. Their employments were like those of most other girls; they sang, played, drew. rode, read occasionally, spoiled much muslin, manufactured purses, hand-screens, and reticules for a repository, and transcribed a considerable quantity of music out of large fair print into diminutive manuscript. but very conversable; collected seals, franks, and anec Miss Clifton was clever and accomplished; rather cold, dotes of the day; and was a great retailer of the latter. and no mean caricaturist; liked fun in most shapes; and Anne was odd and entertaining; was a formidable quizzer, next to making people laugh, had rather they stared at what she said. Maria was the echo of the other two; vouched for all Miss Clifton's anecdotes, and led the laugh at Anne's repartees. They were plain, and they knew it; and cared less about it than young ladies usually do. Their plainness, however, would have been less striking, but for that hard, pale, par-boiled town look-that stamp of fashion, with which late hours and hot rooms generally endow the female face.'-(pp. 103-105.) Having introduced our reader to the Miss Cliftons, we must make him acquainted with Mr. Trebeck, one of those universally appearing gentlemen and tremendous table tyrants, by whom London society is so frequently governed; 'Mr. Trebeck had great powers of entertainment, and a keen and lively turn for satire; and could talk down his supedence. He saw the advantages of being formidable, and obriors, whether in rank or talent, with very imposing confiserved with derision how those whose malignity he pampered with ridicule of others, vainly thought to purchase by subserviency exemption for themselves. He had sounded the gullibility of the world; knew the precise current value of pretension; and soon found himself the acknowledged umpire, the last appeal, of many contented followers. 'He seldom committed himself by praise or recommenda tion, but rather left his example and adoption to work its way. As for censure, he had both ample and witty store; but here, too, he often husbanded his remarks, and where it was needless or dangerous to define a fault, could check admiration by an incredulous smile, and depress pretensions of a season's standing by the raising of an eyebrow. He had a quick perception of the foibles of others, and a keen relish for bantering and exposing them. No keeper of a menagerie could better show off a monkey than he could an "original." He could ingeniously cause the unconscious subject to place his own absurdities in the best point of view, and would cloak his derision under the blandest cajolery. Imitators he loved much; but to baffle them-more. He loved to turn upon the luckless adopters of his last folly, and see them precipitately back out of the scrape into which himself had led them. In the art of cutting he shone unrivalled: he knew the "when," the "where," and the "how." Without affecting useless short-sightedness, he could assume that calm but wandering gaze, which veers, as if unconsciously, round the proscribed individual; neither fixing, nor to be fixed; not looking on vacancy, nor on any one object; neither occupied nor abstracted; a look which perhaps excuses you to the person cut, and at any rate, prevents him from accosting you. Originality was his idol. He wished to astonish, even if he did not amuse; and had rather say a sly thing than a commonplace one. He was led by this sometimes even to approach the verge of rudeness and vulgarity; but he had considerable tact, and a happy hardihood, which generally carried him through the difficulties into which his fearless love of originality brought him. Indeed, he well knew that what would, in the present condition of his reputation, be scouted in any body else, would pass current with the world in him. Such was the far-famed and redoubtable Trebeck.'-(pp. 109—112.) This sketch we think exceedingiy clever. But we are not sure that its merit is fully sustained by the actual presentment of its subject. He makes his debut after it is half over; but in the dialogue which follows at dinner very characteristically, by gliding in quietly with Miss Jermyn, he seems to us a little too resolutely witty, and somewhat affectedly odd-though the whole scene is executed with spirit and talent. 1 The bustling importance of Sir Thomas Jermyn, the fat duke and his right hand man, the blunt toad-eater, Mr. Charlecote, a loud noisy sportsman, and Lady Jermyn's worldly prudence, are all displayed and managed with considerable skill and great power of amusing. One little sin against good taste, our author sometimes commits-an error from which Sir Walter Scott is not exempt. We mean the humour of giving characteristic names to persons and places; for instance, Sir Thomas Jermyn is Member of Parliament for the town of Rottenborough. This very easy and appellative jocularity seems to us, we confess, to savour a little of vulgarity; and is therefore quite as unworthy of Mr. Lister, as Dr. Dryasdust is of Sir Walter Scott. The plainest names which can be found (Smith, Thomson, Johnson, and Simson, al ways excepted), are the best for novels. Lord Chesterton we have often met with; and suffered a good deal from his lordship: a heavy, pompous, meddling peer, occupying a great share of the conversationsaying things in ten words which required only two, and evidently convinced that he is making a great impression; a large man, with a large head, and very landed manner; knowing enough to torment his fellow-creatures, not to instruct them-the ridicule of young ladies, and the natural butt and target of wit. It is easy to talk of carnivorous animals and beasts of Prey; but does such a man, who lays waste a whole party of civilized beings by prosing, reflect upon the joy he spoils, and the misery he creates, in the course of his life? and that any one who listens to him through politeness, would prefer toothache or earache to his conversation? Does he consider the extreme uneasiness which ensues, when the company have discovered a man to be an extremely absurd person, at the same time that it is absolutely impossible to con vey, by words or manner, the most distant suspicion of the discovery? And then, who punishes this bore? What sessions and what assizes for him? What bill is found against him? Who indicts him? When the judges have gone their vernal and autumnal roundsthe sheep-stealer disappears-the swindler gets ready for the Bay-the solid parts of the murderer are preserved in anatomical collections. But, after twenty years of crime, the bore is discovered in the same house, in the same attitude, eating the same soup,-unpunished, untried, undissected-no scaffold, no skelhis last dying speech and confession. eton-no mob of gentlemen and ladies to gape over "The duke had been discoursing on cookery, when Mr. Tre- you must place it to the account of your other gifts."-"Cerbeck turned to her, and asked in a low tone if she had ever tainly-when it comes."-"Oh it is sure to come, as you well met the duke before-"I assure you," said he, "that upon that know: but, nevertheless, I like that incredulous look extremesubject he is well worth attending to. He is supposed to pos-ly."-He then turned away, thinking probably that he had sess more true science than any amateur of his day. By the paid her the compliment of sufficient attention, and began a bye, what is the dish before you? It looks well, and I see you conversation with the duchess, which was carried on in such a are eating some of it. Let me recommend it to him upon your well-regulated under tone, as to be perfectly inaudible to any authority; I dare not upon my own."-"Then pray do not use but theinselves.-(pp. 92-99.) mine." "Yes, I will, with your permission; I'll tell him you thought, by what dropped from him in conversation, that it would suit the genius of his taste. Shall I? Yes.-Duke," (raising his voice a little, and speaking across the table), "Oh, no! how can you?"-"Why not?-Duke," (with a glance at Caroline), "will you allow me to take wine with you?" "I thought," said she, relieved from her trepidation, and laughing slightly, "you would never say anything so very strange." "You have too good an opinion of me; I blush for any unworthiness. But confess, that in fact you were rather alarmed at the idea of being held up to such a critic as the recommender of a bad dish."-"Oh, no, I was not thinking of that; but I hardly know the duke: and it would have seemed so odd; and perhaps he might have thought that I had really told you to say something of that kind."-" Of course he would; but you must not suppose that he would have been at all surprised at it. I'm afraid you are not aware of the full extent of your privileges, and are not conscious how many things young ladies can, and may, and will do."-"Indeed I am not-perhaps you will instruct me."-"Ah, I never do that for any body. I like to see young ladies instruct themselves. It is better for them, and much more amusing to me. But, however, for once I will venture to tell you, that a very competent knowledge of the duties of women may, with proper attention, be picked up in a ball room."-"Then I hope," said she, laughing. "you will attribute my deficiency to my little experience of balls. I have only been at two."-"Only two! and one of them I suppose a race ball. Then you have not yet experienced any of the pleasures of a London season? Never had the dear delight of seeing and being seen, in a well of tall people at a rout, or passed a pleasant hour at a ball upon a staircase? I envy you. You have much to enjoy." "You do not mean that I really have?"-"Yes, really. But let me give you a caution or two. Never dance with any man without first knowing his character and condition, on the word of two credible chaperons. At balls, too, consider what you come for-to dance of course, and not to converse; therefore, never talk yourself, nor encourage it in others."-"I'm afraid I can only answer for myself."-"Why, if foolish, well-meaning people will choose to be entertaining, I question if you have the power of frowning them down in a very forbidding manner; but I would give then no countenance nevertheless." -"Your advice seems a little ironical."-"Oh, you may either follow it or revers it-that is its chief beauty. It is equally good either way."-After a slight pause, he continued-"I hope you do not sing, or play, or draw, or do any thing that every body else does."-"I am obliged to confess that I do a little-very little-in each.”—“I understand your very little I'm afraid you are accomplished."-"You need have no fear of that. But why are you an enemy to all accomplishments?"— "All accomplishments? Nay, surely you do not think me an enemy to all? What can you possibly take me for?"-"I do not know," said she, laughing slightly."Yes, I see you do not know exactly what to make of nie-and you are not without your apprehensions. I can perceive that, though you try to conceal them.-But never mind. I am a safe person to sit near -sometimes. I am to-day. This is one of my lucid intervals. I'm much better, thanks to my keeper. There he is, on the other side of the table-the tall man in black," (pointing out Mr. Benuet), "a highly respectable kind of person. I came with him here for change of air. How do you think I look at present?"-Caroline could not answer him for laughing."Nay," said he, "it is cruel to laugh on such a subject. It is very hard that you should do that, and misrepresent my meaning too."-"Well then," said Caroline, resuming a respectable portion of gravity; "that I may not be guilty of that again, what accomplishments do you allow to be tolerable?"-"Let me see," said he, with a look of consideration: you may play a waltz with one hand, and dance as little as you think convenient. You may draw caricatures of your intimate friends. you may not sing a note of Rossini; nor sketch gateposts and donkeys after nature. You may sit to a harp, but you need not play it. You must not paint miniatures nor copy Swiss costumes. But you may manufacture any thing-from a cap down to a pair of shoes-always remembering that the less useful your work the better. Can you remember all this?" "I do not know," said she, "it comprehends so much; and I am rather puzzled between the 'mays' and the must nots.' However, it seems, according to your code, that very little is to be required of me; for you have not mentioned any thing that I positively must do."-"Ah, well, I can reduce all to a very small compass You must be an archeress in the summer, and a skater in the winter, and play well at billiards all the year; and if you do these extremely well, my admiration will have no bounds."-"I believe I must forfeit all claim to your admiration then, for unfortunately I am not so gifted."-"Then The scene of quizzing the country neighbours is well imagined, and not ill executed; though there are many more fortunate passages in the book. The el derly widows of the metropolis beg, through us, to return their thanks to Mr. Lister for the following agreeable portrait of Mrs. Dormer. 'It would be difficult to find a more pleasing example than Mrs. Dormer, of that much libelled class of elderly ladies of the world, who are presumed to be happy only at the card table; to grow in bitterness as they advanced in years, and to haunt, like restless ghosts, those busy circles which they no longer either enliven or adorn. Such there may be; but of these she was not one. She was the frequenter of society, but not its slave. She had great natural benevolence of disposition; a friendly vivacity of manners, which endeared her to the young, and a steady good sense, which commanded the respect of her contemporaries; and many, who did not agree with her on particular points, were willing to allow that there was a good deal of reason in Mrs. Dormer's prejudices. She was, perhaps, a little blind to the faults of her friends; a defect of which the world could not cure her; but she was very kind to their virtues. She was fond of young people, and had an unimpaired gaiety about her, which seemed to expand in the contact with them; and she was anxious to promote, for their sake, even those amusements for which she had lost all taste herself. She was-but after all, she will be best described by negatives. She was not a match-maker, or mischief-maker; nor did she plume herself upon her charity, in implicitly be lieving only just half of what the world says. She was no re- | tailer of scandalous “on dits." She did not combat wrinkles with rouge; nor did she labour to render years less respected by a miserable affectation of girlish fashions. She did not stickle for the inviolable exclusiveness of certain sects; nor was she afraid of being known to visit a friend in an unfashionable quarter of the town. She was no worshipper of mere rank. She did not patronize oddities; nor sanction those who delight in braying the rules of common decency. She did not evince her sense of propriety, by shaking hands with the recent defendant in a crim. con. cause; nor exhale her devotion in Sunday routs.'-(pp. 243, 244.) Mrs. Clotworthy, we are afraid, will not be quite so well pleased with the description of her rout. Mrs. Clotworthy is one of those ladies who have ices, fiddlers, and fine rooms, but no fine friends. But fine friends may always be had, where there are ices, fiddlers, and fine rooms: and so, with ten or a dozen stars and an Oonalaska chief'; and, followed by all vicious and salient London, Mrs. Clotworthy takes the field. hours would awake into active energy and motion, seemed like a city of the dead. | There was little to break this solemn illusion. Around were the monuments of human exertion, but the hands which formed them were no longer there. Few, if any, were the symptoms of life. No sounds were heard but the heavy creaking of a solitary waggon; the twittering of an occasional sparrow; the monotonous tone of the drowsy watchman; and the distant rattle of the retiring carriage, fading on the ear till it melted into silence: and the eye that searched for living objects fell on nothing but the grim great-coated guardian of the night, muffled up into an appearance of doubtful character between bear and man, and scarcely distinguishable, by the colour of his dress, from the brown flags along which he sauntered.’—pp. 297—299.) One of the most prominent characters of the book, and the best drawn, is that of Tyrrel, son of Lord Malton, a noble blackleg, a titled gamester, and a profound plotting villain-a man, in comparison of whom, nine-tenths of the persons hung in Newgate are pure and perfect. The profound dissimulation and wicked artifices of this diabolical person are The poor woman seemed half dead with fatigue already; painted with great energy and power of description. and we cannot venture to say whether the prospect of five The party at whist made to take in Granby is very hours more of this high wrought enjoyment tended much to brace her to the task. It was a brilliant sight, and an interest- good, and that part of the story where Granby com ing one, if it could have been viewed from some fair vantage pels Tyrrel to refund what he has won of Courtenay ground, with ample space, in coolness and in quiet. Rank, is of first-rate dramatic excellence; and if any one beauty, and splendour, were richly blended. The gay attire; wishes for a short and convincing proof of the powers the glittering jewels; the more resplendent features they of the writer of this novel-to that scene we refer him. adorned, and too frequently the rouged cheek of the sexagen- It shall be the taster of the cheese, and we are conarian: the vigilant chaperon; the fair but languid form which vinced it will sell the whole article. We are so much she conducted; well curled heads, well propped with starch; well whiskered guards-men; and here and there fat good struck with it, that we advise the author to consider humoured elderly gentlemen, with stars upon their coats;-all seriously whether he could not write a good play. It these united in one close medley-a curious piece of living is many years since a good play has been written. It mosaic. Most of them came to see and be seen; some of the is about time, judging from the common economy of most youthful professedly to dance; yet how could they? at nature, that a good dramatic writer should appear. any rate they tried.-They stood, if they could, with their vis- We promise Mr. Lister sincerely, that the Edinburgh d-vis facing them, and sidled across-and back again and Review shall rapidly undeceive him if he mistakes his made one step, or two if there was room, to the right or left, talents; and that his delusion shall not last beyond and joined hands, and set-perhaps, and turned their partners, or dispensed with it if necessary-and so on to the end of "La the first tragedy or comedy. Finale;" and then comes a waltz for the few who choose itand then another squeezy quadrille-and so on-and on, till the weary many "leave ample room and verge enough" for the persevering few to figure in with greater freedom. The picture at the exhibition is extremely well managed, and all the various love-tricks of attempting to appear indifferent, are, as well as we can remem ber, from the life. But it is thirty or forty years since we have been in love. The horror of an affectionate and dexterous mamma is a handsome young man without money and the following lecture deserves to be committed to memory by all managing mothers, and repeated at proper intervals to the female progeny. But then they talk; oh! ay! true, we must not forget the charms of conversation. And what passes between nine-tenths of them! Remarks on the heat of the room; the state of the crowd: the impossibility of dancing, and the propriety nevertheless of attempting it; that on last Wednesday was a bad Almack's, and on Thursday a worse Opera; that the new ballet is supposed to be good; mutual inquiries how they like Pasta, or Catalani, or whoever the syren of the day may be; whether they have been at Lady A.'s, and whether they are "True, my love, but understand me. I don't wish you going to Mrs. B.'s; whether they think Miss Such-a-one hand-positively to avoid him. I would not go away, for instance, some! and what is the name of the gentleman talking to her; if I saw him coming, or even turn my head that I might not whether Rossini's music makes the best quadrilles, and whether see him as he passed. That would be too broad and markCollinet's band are the best to play them. There are many ed. People might notice it. It would look particular. We who pay in better coin; but the small change is much of this should never do anything that looks particular. No, I description.'-(I. 249—251.) would answer him civilly and composedly whenever he We consider the following description of London, spoke to me, and then pass on, just as you might in the case of anybody else. But I leave all this to your own tact as it appears to a person walking home after a rout, and discretion, of which nobody has more for her age. I at four or five o'clock in the morning, to be as poeti-am sure you can enter into all these niceties, and that my cal as any thing written on the forests of Guiana, or the falls of Niagara : observations will not be lost upon you. And now, my love, let me mention another thing. You must get over that little embarrassment which I see you show whenever you Granby followed them with his eyes; and now, too full meet him. It was very natural and excusable the first of happiness to be accessible to any feelings of jealousy or time, considering our long acquaintance with him and the repining, after a short reverie of the purest satisfaction, he General; but we must make our conduct conform to cirleft the ball, and sallied out into the fresh cool air of a sum- cumstances; so try to get the better of this little flutter; it mer morning-suddenly passing from the red glare of lamp-does not look well, and might be observed. There is no light, to the clear sober brightness of returning day. He quality more valuable in a young person than self-posseswalked cheerfully onward, refreshed and exhilirated by the sion. So you must keep down these blushes," said she, air of morning, and interested with the scene around him. patting her on the cheek, "or I believe I must rouge you:It was broad day-light, and he viewed the town under an though it would be a thousand pities, with the pretty naaspect in which it is alike presented to the late retiring vo- tural colour you have. But you must remember what I tary of pleasure, and the early rising sons of business. He have been saying. Be more composed in your behaviour. stopped on the pavement of Oxford Street, to contemplate Try to adopt the manner which I do. It may be difficult; the effect. The whole extent of that long vista, unclouded but you see I contrive it, and I have known Mr. Granby a by the mid-day smoke, was distinctly visible to his eye at great deal longer than you have, Caroline.” '—(pp. 21, once. The houses shrunk to half their span, while the few 22.) visible spires of the adjacent churches seemed to rise less distant than before, gaily tipped with early sunshine, and These principles are of the highest practical impormuch diminished in apparent size, but heightened in distance in an age when the art of marrying daughters is tinctness and in beauty. Had it not been for the cool gray carried to the highest pitch of excellence, when love tint which slightly mingled with every object, the brightness must be made to the young men of fortune, not only was almost that of noon. But the life, the bustle, the busy by the young lady who must appear to be dying for din, the flowing tide of human existence, were all wanting him, but by the father, mother, aunts, cousins, tutor, this mighty receptacle of human beings, which a few short gamekeeper, and stable-boy-assisted by the parson to complete the similitude, All was hushed and silent; and of the parish, and the church-wardens. If any of these fail, Dives pouts, and the match is off. The merit of this writer is, that he catches delicate portraits, which a less skilful artist would pass over, from not thinking the features sufficiently marked. We are struck, however, with the resemblance, and are pleased with the conquest of difficulties-we remember to have seen such faces, and are sensible that they form an agreeable variety to the expression of more marked and decided character. Nobody, for instance, can deny that he is acquainted with Miss Darrell, at the conclusion, the French remained masters of a dismantled town, and the English of the grandest and most extensive colony that the world has ever seen.To attribute this success to the superior genius of Clive, is not to diminish the reputation it conters on his country, which reputation must of course be elevated by the namber of great men to which it gives birth. But the French were by no means deficient in casualties of genius at that period, unless Bussy is to be considered as a man of common stature of mind, or Dupleix to be classed with the vulgar herd of politi cians. Neither was Clive (though he clearly stands forward as the most prominent figure in the group) without the aid of some military men of very consider. able talents. Clive extended our Indian empire; but General Lawrence preserved it to be extended; and the former caught, perhaps, from the latter, that mili tary spirit by which he soon became a greater soldier than him, without whom he never would have been a soldier at all. Miss Darrell was not strictly a beauty. She had not, as was frequently observed by her female friends, and unwillingly admitted by her male admirers, a single truly good feature in her face. But who could quarrel with the tout ensemble ? who but must be dazzled with the graceful animation with which those features were lighted up? Let critics hesitate to pronounce her beautiful; at any rate they must allow her to be fascinating. Place a perfect stranger in a crowded assembly, and she would first attract his eye; Gratifying as these reflections upon our prowess in correcter beauties would pass unnoticed, and his first attention would be riveted by her. She was all brilliancy and India are to national pride, they bring with them the effect; but it was hard to say she studied it; so little did her painful reflection, that so considerable a portion of our spontaneous, airy graces convey the impression of preme- strength and wealth is vested upon such precarious ditated practice. She was a sparkling tissue of little affec-foundations, and at such an immense distance from the tations, which, however, appeared so interwoven with herself, that their seeming artlessness disarmed one's censure. parent country. The glittering fragments of the Por Strip them away, and you destroyed at once the brilliantiguese empire, scattered up and down the East, should teach us the instability of such dominion. We being that so much attracted you; and thus it became difli cult to condemn what you felt unable, and, indeed, unwil- are (it is true) better capable of preserving what we ling, to remove. With positive affectation, malevolence it- have obtained, than any other nation which has ever self could rarely charge her; and prudish censure seldom colonized in Southern Asia: but the object of ambition exceeded the guarded limits of a dry remark, that Miss Dar- is so tempting, and the perils to which it is exposed so rell had "a good deal of manner." Eclat she sought and gained. Indeed, she was both numerous, that no calculating mind can found any duformed to gain it and disposed to desire it. But she requir-rable conclusions upon this branch of our commerce, and this source of our strength. ed an extensive sphere. A ball-room was her true arena: for she waltzed" à ravir," and could talk enchantingly about nothing. She was devoted to fashion, and all its fickleness, and went to the extreme whenever she could do so consistently with grace. But she aspired to be a leader as well as a follower; seldom, if ever, adopted a mode that was unbecoming to herself, and dressed to suit the genius of her face.'-(pp. 28, 29.) Tremendous is the power of a novelist! If four or five men are in a room, and show a disposition to break the peace, no hunan magistrate (not even Mr. Justice Bayley) could do more than bind them over to keep the peace, and commit them if they refused. But the writer of the novel stands with a pen in his hand, and can run any of them through the body, can knock down any one individual, and keep the others upon their legs; or, like the last scene in the first tragedy written by a young man of genius, can put them all to death. Now, an author possessing such extraordinary privileges, should not have allowed Mr. Tyrrel to strike Granby. This is ill managed; particularly as Granby does not return the blow, or turn him out of the house. Nobody should suffer his hero to have a black eye, or to be pulled by the nose. The Iliad would never have come down to these times if Agamemnon had given Achilles a box on the ear. We should have trembled for the Eneid, if any Tyrian nobleman had kicked the pious neas in the 4th book. Eneas may have deserved it; but he could not have founded the Roman empire after so distressing an accident. ISLAND OF CEYLON. (Edinburgh REVIEW, 1803.) Ir is now little more than half a century since the English first began to establish themselves in any force upon the peninsula of India; and we at present possess in that country, a more extensive territory, and a more numerous population, than any European power can boast of at home. In no instance has the genius of the English, and their courage, shone forth more conspicuously than in their contest with the French for the empire of India. The numbers on both sides were always inconsiderable; but the two nations were fairly matched against each other, in the cabinet and the field; the struggle was long and obstinate; and, In the acquisition of Ceylon, we have obtained the greatest of all our wants-a good harbour. For it is a very singular fact, that, in the whole peninsula of India, Bombay is alone capable of affording a safe retreat to ships during the period of the monsoons. The geographical figure of our possessions in Ceylon is whimsical enough: we possess the whole of the seacoast, and enclose in a periphery the unfortunate King of Candia, whose rugged and mountainous dominions may be compared to a coarse mass of iron, set in a circle of silver. The Popilian ring, in which this votary of Buddha has been so long held by the Portuguese and Dutch, has infused the most vigilant jealousy into the government, and rendered it as difficult to enter the kingdom of Candia, as if it were Paradise or China; and yet, once there, always there; for the difficulty of departing is just as great as the difficulty of arriving; and his Candian excellency, who has used every device in his power to keep them out, is seized with such an affection for those who baffle his defensive artifices, that he can on no account suffer them to depart. He has been known to detain a string of four or five Dutch embassies, till various members of the legation died of old age at his court, while they were expecting an answer to their questions, and a return to their presents: and his majesty once exasperated a little French am bassador to such a degree, by the various pretences under which he kept him at his court, that this lively member of the corps diplomatique, one day, in a furi ous passion, attacked six or seven of his majesty's lar gest elephants sword in hand, and would, in all proba bility, have reduced them to mince-meat, if the poor beasts had not been saved from the unequal combat. The best and most ample account of Ceylon is contained in the narrative of Robert Knox, who, in the middle of the 17th century, was taken prisoner there (while refitting his ship) at the age of nineteen, and remained nineteen years on the island, in slavery to the King of Candia. During this period, he learnt the language, and acquired a thorough knowledge of the people. The account he has given of them is extremely entertaining, and written in a very simple and unaf fected style; so much so, indeed, that he presents his reader with a very grave account of the noise the devil makes in the woods of Candia, and of the frequent opportunities he has had of hearing him. * Knox's Ceylon. |