doubtful company. With a parting wish, therefore, that the lady above mentioned had added another acquirement of Jeshurun to that she already boasted of, we accompanied the elder gentleman (whose name we have forgotten) to the castle of his uncle, the Marquis of Rockingham, somewhat less anxious, since our repeated bruises, to find 'sermons in stones.' The death of the Marquis, however, (leaving this gentleman thirty thousand ayear,) flashed like the dawn upon our minds. "Thirty thousand a-year!" we exclaimed "why this must be the true prince!' No wonder we have gone on a false scent so often when we have not even been after the right game. The 'instinct' even of the sagacious Sir John was only quoad the king's son,' and the acumen of the critic is not bound to be absolutely infallible, except where the hero is concerned." Having, however, as we imagined, at length made sure of him, we were beginning to lay the foundations of innumerable 'chateaux en Espagne,' in all the plenitude of our renovated self-confidence, when-behold you,-as if for the mere purpose of bringing us to a deadlock,-this gentleman,--on coming into possession of thirty thousand a-year is pleased-apropos of absolutely nothing at all-to turn hermit and misanthrope! Utterly confounded at this crowning discomfiture, we were about to abandon the field in despair-seeing nothing for it but to conclude, either that we were no conjurors, or that his lordship's skull must be of a texture which might defy even Michael Scott himself to pry into the operations of its inhabitant. And, indeed, when we indignantly reflected upon the accumulated disasters and disgraces into which we had been inveigled by the inscrutable vagaries of our compagnon de voyage, incontinently we conceived a vehement longing to subject our divining wands to at least one additional test, in the investigation of a question which we had begun to consider as rather problematical-to wit, whether the Earl of Mulgrave were actually possessed of any brains at all or not. Being obliged, however to pretermit a search which to say nothing of a conjuror-might, perhaps, have baffled the analysis of a Tipperary turf-cutter, we considered it as well to put our critical acumen in our pockets for the present, and perform the rest of our pilgrimage incog-content, while travelling by the light of so dark a lanthorn as his lordship's intellects, to console ourselves with that profound saying of the wise Fielding, that "he is a sagacious reader who can see two chapters before him." After sundry grouse-shooting and dinner parties, the plot begins to thicken. castle, being crazy, as we have seen, Our sulky friend at the the reader will not of course be surprised to hear that he becomes a candidate for a seat in parliament; but he doubtless will be amazed that in spite of so valuable a qualification he is defeated, and by his old friend, too-the knight of the supernumerary between Greek and Greek, was, of waxlights. The contest being thus course, a tough one; but to us, it may easily be guessed they were merely Trojan and Tyrian; and the only thing which induced us to take any interest in the contest, was the hope of its terminating in the catastrophe of the Kilkenny cats, which, as is well known, eat each other up. This event (no the present instance, however, preuncommon one at elections) was, in vented towards the close of the contest by a coalition between two of the three parties, who, having begun by fighting a Welsh main, had hoaxed us into the expectation that both our enemies might be swallowed up at once. Being thus disappointed, we shall (like all other disappointed people) take the liberty of grumbling a little; and, we think, with a little better right than most of them. Our complaint is against this fresh usurpation on the part of the demon of politics. Really this is a little too bad. Is it not enough that the very stocks and stones are vocal in our path ?-that the walls of the town cry aloud to the enlightened burgesses,' and the barn-doors of the country spare not the independent freeholders ? Must there be no refuge even for us, in our ignorance and insignificance ? "No place is sacred; not the church is free." If we attend divine service we are edified upon the 'signs of the times.' If we seek to spend an hour less profitably in the Temple of Thespis we are entertained with the Lords and Commons.'Step into a printshop-is it not littered with parliamentary pasquinades? Open a music sheet-what is it but a Marseilles hymn or a new arrangement of ça ira!? Turn to a poem-ten to one it is upon the corn laws; and when we fly, in despair, to the pages of a fashionable novel, we are presented with the state of the poll. "Et stanti legis-et legis sedenti- Martial must certainly have been a prophet, and have intended these lines as the character of a politician of the nineteenth century. About the time of the election, we should observe that Mr. Germaine, paying a canvassing visit to the clergyman mentioned above, discovers an unusual bustle in the house; and soon finds out that it is owing to a marriage between the discarded lady of his heart and an East Indian Captain-'a very good sort of a man, the Captain' which paraphrastic agnomen, as it is repeated more than once, we take to be a joke of some sort-apparently, indeed, of that ingenious sort where the point is so very-very-very fine as to be absolutely invisible. There is another young lady, (a natural daughter of the Marquis of Rockingham,) with whom we should have concluded the elder of our heroes to be in love, had not Lord Mulgrave taught us to be exceedingly cautious how we jumped at conclusions while following his career. And we were right (for once) in being less sanguine than formerly. As she is staying on a visit at the house of his antagonist's election patron, and is, consequently, preparing to attend the ball given in honor of the successful candidate, our discomfited misanthrope arrives to inform her that her mother has been seized with a dangerous illness; and, being enraged at finding her decked out to celebrate his disasters, he forthwith begins to abuse her in the most brutal manner, and reproaches her with subsisting at once upon his charity and the wages of her mother's shame -alluding to the circumstance of his having continued the payment of a pension (£500 a-year) allowed by Lord Rockingham to his ex-mistress. This lady dies soon after the arrival of her daughter, who (acting upon the intelligible hint she had received) resigns the annuity, and, removing to London, supports herself by making ornaments and fancy work. The indignant reader will doubtless here exclaim, "Is this impracticable misanthrope permitted to escape unpunished" Heaven forbid ! "Summa dies veniet, et ineluctabile tempus;" But how? Why, even thus:- His agent informs him one morning that there is a freehold in the very centre of his demense which is to be sold, and which, accordingly, he advises him to secure by private contract. Our hero, however, having not a little of the disposition of the Irish pigs-concerning which it has been said (whether libellously or not we undertake not to decide) that the more you call them, the more they wont come-immediately suspects some scheme afloat for cheating him; and, manfully buttoning up his pockets, is rewarded for his heroic firmness in refusing to purchase, by perceiving, a short time afterwards, (from the appearance of a snug verandah'd cottage within a word's throw of his drawing-room window), that he has acquired a neighbour-and who should this be but our old friend, that very good sort of a man,-the Captain.' The misanthrope, indeed, does not seem to derive quite as much pleasure from the increased proximity of this excellent gentleman, as might have been expected from the mere consideration of his estimable character. This amiable warrior, however, who is as fond of his own property as another man, and in no way discontented with the situation of his new residence, is found, upon trial, to be of a much more sociable disposition than our hero, and by no means disposed to part company with him. Take heed, therefore, ye country squires! hearken to your agents, and buy freeholds while there is yet time; lest brick cottages intrude upon your parks and verandahs deface your demesnes-lest the fat daughters of the clergy be not ashamed to speak with ye in your gates, and ye be constrained to set up your rest, almost cheek by jowl, with those very good sort of men-the Captains. His lordship speaks feelingly upon this point haud inexpertus we suspect. We should like to examine the grounds at Mulgrave. There is another instance of his lordship's poetical justice which we feel peculiar pleasure in recording.— The gentleman who, in the commencement of the narrative, had so strongly recommended himself to us by his contemptuous treatment of the fashionable novels, and to whom we had therefore clung, through good and evil re port, with a sort of presentiment that he was destined to avenge us of those enemies who had so cruelly hoaxed and befooled us by their vagaries in the course of our unfortunate career, verifies our fondest anticipations; and, having amused himself for some time by rooking the younger of our heroes, achieves our everlasting gratitude by shooting the misanthrope, whose thirty thousand a year goes-half to the young lady mentioned above, and the other half to Mr. Germaine; out of whom we earnestly trust that our friend manages to pick up a tolerable aftermath. We have thus presented the reader with a skeleton of not merely the foot but the "totum individuum" of his lordship's Hercules-out of all which, if he be able to make either head or tail, we are free to confess that he must be nearer akin to the house of Edipus than we ourselves, and shall, therefore, not presume to intrude upon him another word in the way of criticism.. We have the same apology to make with respect to Mrs. Gore as Lord Mulgrave. Having begun with her last work we have not a sufficiently clear recollection of it to be able to review it with a clear conscience, and shall, therefore, confine our remarks to the one we have just read, which is entitled "Women as they are, or the Manners of the Day." The story opens with an intimation that a "good" marriage may be said to consist of a park in the country—a house in town-a box at the operaa stud of horses-and (of course) a husband. Further, we are given to understand that by varying the degrees of these terms, we may attain, in succession, all the ranks of "good" marriages until we arrive at a class which may be termed "exquisite ;" whereas, on the other hand, a "delicious" marriage is held to imply merely a "husband and wife." The wedding to which we are here bidden is of the second of the abovementioned classes -the hero (Lord Willersdale) having twenty thousand a year and a premiership to boot. He is wealthy, indeed, not only in lands and tenements, but also in experience; having safely doubled the cape of forty, and been given up by all the dowager flatcatchers as an absolutely unmarryable man. Yet let no man whistle till he is out of the hollow, but think of the rash Benedict and beware. Lord Willersdale him self-his country park--his house in town-his opera box-his equestrian stud-his icy heart, and his forty years surrender in the twinkling of an eye-the eye of Helen Mordaunt. This enchantress is introduced to our notice in the course of a morning's walk, during which she is represented as meditating upon her impending union to so many good things. Yet, notwithstanding Lord Willersdale's manifold perfections, she manages to produce, on an examination of her feelings, tolerably satisfactory proofs that she is not in love with him; and the inexperienced inference which she draws from this is, that she ought not to marry him. On her venturing, in consequence, to hint to her parents the possibility of such a determination on her part, this "missish" confidence (as the old gentleman terms it) is received with exemplary patience by both father and mother; who, however, (after having duly gone through the ceremony of the audit) give her to understandpolitely, indeed, but unequivocallythat as her "missish" scruples are not particularly interesting to them, they will,-if it be the same to her,-waive their discussion, and drop the subject of the intended marriage until all is ready to sign, seal, and deliver.Mamma informs her that Lord Willersdale had been a cotemporary of her papa at the court of George the Third; and after a glowing estimate of his innumerable advantages, from which it plainly appears that he is in her view an absolute model of perfection, she warmly congratulates her daughter upon her "exquisite" fortune, and cuts short all further discussion, by requesting her, with infinite nonchalance, to wash her face. We, however, well knowing that when a husband is in view, young ladies of eighteen cannot always be brought to look at papa's cotemporaries through mamma's spectacles, judiciously snuffed the candles and prepared for a little sport. We were mistaken, as usual, during this disastrous campaign. In spite of her ablutions, Lord Willersdale discovers that she has been weeping, and gallantly informs her that he has no intention of marrying her in her own despite. In short, he gives her to understand that she has only to “speak the word" and be (as Tony Lumpkin might say) "her own woman again." Whether it were, however, that she concluded, from the tone of this intimation, that he was not a man upon whom it would be safe to play off any airs and graces, or merely owing to her gratitude for his generous offer to let her off, she does not "speak the word," but submits to the fiat of her parents with a complaisance most estimable, doubtless, in a daughter; but which, in the heroine of a novel, is-we will not venture to hint what-and-not to make a short story long--is married off somewhere about the beginning of the second chapter. On thus finding the expected game slip through our fingers, and all our amiable anticipations at one fell swoop destroyed, we certainly looked a little silly and disconcerted for the moment; but valourously continued our course; discreetly conjecturing that if she had been baulked in her intention of playing the heroine before marriage, she would not fail to indemnify at once his lordship, herself and us, by playing the devil afterwards. Things appear, indeed, to point pretty plainly to that termination. Lord Willersdale presents her with Dresden porcelain, Ormolu musical clocks, carcanets, bracelets, &c. without end-all which, like Rose in "The Recruiting Officer," she "takes with an air," lest he should construe any manifestation of gratitude into an evidence of foolish vanity. The sight of the jewels, however, at once thaws her stoicism, and, being now fearful lest he should think her ungrateful, she bursts into a paroxysm of the most extravagant and childish delight-thus ingeniously managing to impress upon his mind at once both those opinious she was so particularly anxious to preserve him from. In plain terms, he concludes her to be a little of a fool; and she (in despite of his learning) conceives him to be a good deal of a bore; while we-could we presume to intrude any thing so insignificant upon the notice of either-would beg leave to add our humble but hearty acquiescence in the opinion of each. These mistakes (mistakes?) Mrs. Gore ominously adds, were no slight steps towards rendering a marriage unhappy. Sickened, as we had long been, with delayed hope, this significant hint fell upon our drooping souls like the wartrump upon the ear of the charger; and with renewed vigor we prepared to follow this happy couple to London. Lady Willersdale is there introduced to her sister-in-law, Lady Danvers, at whose house she afterwards meets with a Colonel Seymour, of the guards, who, during her childhood, had often "condescended to make Mordaunt his hunting quarters ;" and who, for reasons which the simplest reader may form a guess at, had no particular objections to make her new residence his poaching quarters. The party at Lady Danvers' being a fete champetre, Colonel S. commences operations by withdrawing the lady to a shady bower, where he pro ceeds in his attack upon her heart after a fashion which is certainly original; unless, indeed, he were indebted for a hint to the hero of Madame de Genlis' tale," Preventions d'une Femme," who conceives that his conquest will be infallibly secured if he can only manage to extort from the lady a single direct insult. Colonel S., as if actuated by a similar ambition, begins by abusing, in the most violent terms, and without assigning any reason, Lady Willersdale's favorite brother, for whose cha racter and intellect he expresses a degree of scorn which reminded us forcibly of the renowned controversy between the pot and the kettle. As might well be expected, she replies savagely enough; upon which he again retorts in two or three languages at a time. She, however, if not quite his equal at the tongues, yet, being like most of her sex, tolerably mistress of the vernacular, manages, with the aid of that alone, to talk him fifteen to the dozen; insomuch that we-stunned and almost deafened with "the clamour of loud reproaches and the war of words" began to wonder, vehemently, whether Mephistopheles himself would be able to conjure any thing like the language of a love scene out of such a polyglott squabble as this. : He This stormy overture, however, having gradually subsided, the recitative commences in a gentler strain. gives her to understand that he is in love with her, and wishes that he had married her in answer to which, she intimates that it is a great pity he did not think of it sooner-forgetting, however, to hint that it was now too late to think of it at all To this he replies, that he was too poor to marry then, and that even now he is a mere beggarly dragoon, concerning whom it has been decided amongst his friends nem. con. that he is good for nothing-fit for nothing-absolutely nothing, but the ministry; and that accordingly he has begun to entertain serious thoughts of accepting a place in the cabinet. We here take occasion to observe, “en passant," how in our inestimable constitution, all things are made to work together for good, the poverty of our dragoons being thus, as it seems, rendered an abundant source to supply us with cabinet ministers. With respect to this project of our public-spirited dragoon, she appears to think that she does not see how he can do anything better. But here occurs a point pregnant with direful import. It appears that if he should come in Lord Willersdale will have to go out. Yet this ill-omened 'if' seems about, after all, to turn out a great peacemaker like the rest of the tribe; for upon this intimation Colonel S. immediately proceeds to hint at sundry preliminary articles of a treaty of amity, whose further developement is cut short by a most provokingly ill-timed interruption. Lady Danvers, who makes her appearance to offer her sister-in-law her company into town, is in a violent fluster about her brother's expected loss of his place, and the consequent depreciation in fashionable éclat which she may herself expect. She makes this an opportunity of indulging in a multitude of savage sublimities upon the fickleness of society; after which she favours her sister-in-law with an extempore volley of gratuitous abuse, and a narrative of her amours, detailed with a fervor and naïveté which reminds us of nothing we ever read, so much as the vivid memoirs of the fiery Queen of Navarre. We shall extract this passage as a specimen of Mrs. Gore's eloquence the more especially, as it contains a clue to a mystery which we confess we had long begun to look upon as unfathomable-namely, from what class of society the readers of such books as Mrs. Gore's could possibly be furnished. "The road traversed by the brilliant equipage of Lady Willersdale lay between a succession of gardens such as surround the suburbs of London: the fragrance of myriads of roses was upon the air; and as the two sisters reclined themselves in luxurious indolence, it might be supposed that their mutual silence arose from the exclusive intensity of their enjoyment of the passing hour. Both were youngboth were beautiful-both nobly wedded -both elevated immeasurably above the vulgar anxieties of life. The happiness of both might be supposed assured; and prosperity, whose prodigal favour had flung such golden gifts upon their path, had also enriched them with the power of conferring happiness, and of scattering flowers upon the thorny destiny of others. Yet hear it, thou sickly mechanic! whose struggling breath labours with the noisome atmosphere of thy squalid homehear it, thou midnight wanderer! who dost shelter thy ragged misery in some den of perilous infamy-hear it, thou meagre woman! who wouldst vainly still hear it, and acknowledge the equal disthe feeble cries of thy famished children; pensation of that hand whose chastening is of mercy! Beneath the gorgeous robing of those beautiful and prosperous beings, there were hearts agonized by terror and remorse-the tears upon their cheeks were bitter tears-they saw no promise of peace in the sacred calm of the summer sky; they confessed no heavenly presence in the glorious harmony of universal nature!" Lord Willersdale is not only turned out of the ministry, but runs a narrow chance of being turned out of the world as well-having been shot in a duel by a country squire, set at him by his successors in office-a method of preventing a counter-march on the part of the enemy in politics, the discovery of which is, we believe, due to Mrs. Gore; who has hereby afforded to the expert cabinet whipper-in a valuable hint how county members may be put to other uses than the mere utterance of "aye" or "no" upon a division. Upon this maladventure (in consequence of which Lord Willersdale is bedridden for some time) Mrs. Gore takes occasion to indite a vast deal of choice prose touching the modern practice of the duel; and as her remarks are equally unquestionable and well-intentioned, we can only say that we trust their efficiency may be proportioned rather to their truth than their novelty. Lord Willersdale, upon his recovery, retires to his own castle in Ireland; which, of course, introduces us to a whole bevy of fresh personages-to wit, a Mrs. Mahoney (Lord Willersdale's housekeeper-an Irish charac ter' of a modern novel; that is to say, a character who says 'ould' for 'old,' 'rale' for 'real,' &c. &c., and in cast of thought, or even turn of expression, belongs quite as much to Ireland as to Kamschatka, and vice versa),— Lady Theodosia Mitford, who, we take it, is meant to be as wise as Mrs. Gore could make her, and her sister Isabella who appears to be witty up to the same extent; together with the husbands of those two ladies who, we presume, are intended to be anything |