for the few who choose it-and 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.

"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 going to Mrs. B.'s; whether they think Miss Such-a-one handsome; and what is the name of the gentleman talking to her; whether Rossini's music makes the best quadrilles, and whether Collinet's band are the best to play them. There are many who pay in better coin; but the small change is much of this description."—(I. 249-251.)

We consider the following description of London, as it appears to a person walking home after a rout, at four or five o'clock in the morning, to be as poetical as anything written on the forests of Guiana, or the falls of Niagara :—

"Granby followed them with his eyes; and now, too full of happiness to be accessible to any feelings of jealousy or repining, after a short reverie of the purest satisfaction, he left the ball, and sallied out into the fresh cool air of a summer morning-suddenly passing from the red glare of lamp-light, to the clear sober brightness of returning day. He walked cheerfully onward, refreshed and exhilarated by the air of morning, and interested with the scene around him. It was broad day-light, and he viewed the town under an aspect in which it is alike presented to the late retiring votary of pleasure, and to the early rising sons of business. He stopped on the pavement of Oxford Street, to contemplate the effect. The whole extent of that long vista, unclouded by the mid-day smoke, was distinctly visible to his eye at once. The houses shrank to half their span, while the few visible spires of the adjacent churches seemed to rise less distant than before, gaily tipped with early sunshine, and much diminished in apparent size, but heightened in distinctness and in beauty. Had it not been for the cool grey tint which slightly mingled with every object, the brightness was almost that of noon. But the life, the bustle, the busy din, the flowing tide of human existence, were all wanting to complete the similitude. All was hushed and silent; and this mighty receptacle of human beings, which a few short hours would wake 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 black-leg, 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 painted with great energy and power of description. The party at whist made to take in Granby is very good, and that part of the story where Granby compels Tyrrel to refund what he has won of Courtenay is of first-rate dramatic excellence; and if any one wishes for a short and convincing proof of the powers of the writer of this novel-to that scene we refer him. It shall be the taster of the cheese, and we are convinced it will sell the whole article. We are so much struck with it that we advise the author to consider seriously whether he could not write a good play. It is many years since a good play has been written. It is about time, judging from the common economy of nature, that a good dramatic writer should appear. We promise Mr. Lister sincerely, that the Edinburgh Review shall rapidly undeceive him if he mistake his talents: and that his delusion shall not last beyond the first tragedy or comedy.

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 remember, 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.

"True, my love, but understand me. I don't wish you positively to avoid him. I would not go away, for instance, if I saw him coming, or even turn my head that I might not see him as he passed. That would be too broad and marked. People might notice it. It would look particular. We should never do anything that looks particular. No, I would answer him civilly and composedly whenever he 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 and discretion, of which nobody has more for her age. I am sure you can enter into all these niceties, and that my 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 meet him. It was very natural and excusable the first time, considering our long acquaintance with him and the General: but we must make our conduct conform to circumstances; so try to get the better of this little

flutter; it does not look well, and might be observed. There is no quality more valuable in a young person than self-possession. So you must keep down these blushes,' said she, patting her on the cheek, or I believe I must rouge you :-though it would be a thousand pities, with the pretty natural colour you have. But you must remember what I have been saying. Be more composed in your behaviour. Try to adopt the manner which I do. It may be difficult; but you see I contrive it, and I have known Mr. Granby a great deal longer than you have, Caroline."-(pp. 21, 22.)

These principles are of the highest practical importance in an age when the art of marrying daughters is carried to the highest pitch of excellence, when love must be made to the young men of fortune, not only by the young lady, who must appear to be dying for him, but by the father, mother, aunts, cousins, tutor, gamekeeper, and stable-boyassisted by the parson of the parish, and the churchwardens. 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.

66

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 these features were lighted up? Let critics hesitate to pronounce her beautiful; at any rate they must allow her to be fascinating. Place her a perfect stranger in a crowded assembly, and she would first attract his eye; correcter beauties would pass unnoticed, and his first attention would be riveted by her. She was all brilliancy and effect; but it were hard to say she studied it; so little did her spontaneous, airy graces convey the impression of premeditated practice. She was a sparkling tissue of little affectations, which, however, appeared so interwoven with herself, that their seeming artlessness disarmed one's censure. Strip them away, and you destroyed at once the brilliant being that so much attracted you; and it thus became difficult to condemn what you felt unable, and indeed, unwilling, to remove. With positive affectation, malevolence itself could rarely charge her; and prudish censure seldom exceeded the guarded limits of a dry remark, that Miss Darrell had 'a good deal of

manner.'

"Eclat she sought and gained. Indeed, she was both formed to gain it, and disposed to desire it. But she required 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 ficklenesses, 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 human 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 illmanaged; 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 Æneid, if any Tyrian nobleman had kicked the pious Æneas in the 4th book. Eneas may have deserved it; but he could not have founded the Roman Empire after so distressing an accident.

LETTERS ON THE SUBJECT OF
THE CATHOLICS,*

ΤΟ

MY BROTHER ABRAHAM,

WHO LIVES IN THE COUNTRY.

BY PETER PLYMLEY.

DEAR

LETTER I.

EAR ABRAHAM,—A worthier and better man than yourself does not exist; but I have always told you, from the time of our boyhood, that you were a bit of a goose. Your parochial affairs are governed with exemplary order and regularity; you are as powerful in the vestry as Mr. Perceval is in the House of Commons, and, I must say, with much more reason; nor do I know any church where the faces and smock-frocks of the congregation are so clean, or their eyes so uniformly directed to the preacher. There is another point, upon which I will do you ample justice; and that is, that the eyes so directed towards you are wide open; for the rustic has, in general, good principles, though he cannot control his animal habits; and, however loud he may snore, his face is perpetually turned towards the fountain of orthodoxy.

Having done you this act of justice, I shall proceed, according to our ancient intimacy and familiarity, to explain to you my opinions about the Catholics, and to reply to yours.

In the first place, my sweet Abraham, the Pope is not landed—nor are there any curates sent out after him-nor has he been hid at St. Alban's by the Dowager Lady Spencer-nor dined privately at Holland House— nor been seen near Dropmore. If these fears exist (which I do not believe), they exist only in the mind of the Chancellor of the Exchequer; they emanate from his zeal for the Protestant interest; and, though they reflect the highest honour upon the delicate irritability of his faith, must certainly be considered as more ambiguous proofs of the sanity and vigour of his understanding. By this time, however, the

* Upwards of 20,000 copies were sold.