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suffice to cover their walls. But were a selection to be makes a prominent feature in the general arrangement. made from this superabundance, and were every work || There is a mixture of half-lengths, kit-cats, and three rejected that was not above mediocrity, we are of opi. Il quarters too, and about the same proportion of histonion, that that part of Somerset House which is appor rical, dramatic and landscape compositions which usutioned to the arts, would be found ample for the display || ally adorn the walls of that royal exhibition. The of what we might bear to see, with due reference to the principal attractions with the public generally, as usual, honour of the British school.

are the landscapes and the humorous compositions. We have from year to year regretted that necessity These latter appear to be more congenial to the taste of which compels the council of the Royal Academy to || John Bull than any other class of paintings, as there is admit so many paintings, which are unworthy the de- || more of excitement in these pieces than fine sentiment, signation of works of art, But as there is no national He does not like to weep, and to smile he is not prone. fund furnished to that body for the support of its But Johnny does, and ever did enjoy a hearty laugh. schools of instruction, the sums raised for that impor

John loves a boy of spirit. “I will fight,” No. 65, tant object are only derived from the multitudes who

painted by P. Simpson, touches the chord of his heart. flock thither, and who pay their shilling for the sight : || We behold in this very clever picture, by a promising hence every contributor to the annual show helps by young painter, a boy of about ten years, determined to have his admiring circle of friends, down even to the hum

a round. One, bigger than himself, and of an amiable bler classes of life, to add their entrance money to the

countenance, is endeavouring to dissuade him srom the en

counter; but “I will fight” is demonstrated indelibly in capital stock, and our Royal Academy is thus main his look, and in each fist. Yes, John enjoys a fight, and for tained rather by public curiosity than by national one who would own the pacific youth for a son, fifty would taste. Were the endowments of this royal institution

be proud of the little pugilist. Were we inclined to pun,

we should say of this spirited piece, that even without a worthy of the nation, and its members at liberty to

blow, the painter had made a “good hit." remedy this increasing evil, we feel assured that such a On the opposite side of the great room is another encounreformation would ensue as would surprise the world of || ter, where generally the fight is not so fair-where a man taste.

of mettle frequently comes off with a good licking, only be

cause his hands are tied. This very original and most huWe have our particular notions upon these subjects,

morous piece, too, is quite to Johnny's taste, for when he is and have long considered that the greatest impediment not engaged in fight, he is apt to go to law. to the creation of genuine taste, is to be traced to our " No. 197. Cross-examining a Witness," painted by E. public exhibitions. We do not mean to the existence

V. Rippingille, is the interesting subject to which we al

lude. The painter here places us in a county sessionsof these depositories of art, but to the ease with which

house, during a trial on some question of the turf. The those who have no substantial pretensions for public examining counsel holds a horse-shoe, and in the action of notice, through their medium, thus unqualified, ob placing a nail in one of the holes, (a point which does not tain the privilege of exhibiting themselves before the

explain itself,) is putting a poser to the witness, a poor far

vho bewildered, embarrassed, and tortured to the life. public. Not so with the histrionic art. On the great

would willingly change conditions with a toad under a harmetropolitan stage, none but able performers are al row, or sell himself to the wicked one, to get out of the lowed to exhibit their talents : even the inferior parts clutches of this merciless gentleman of the robe. are filled by the best of their class; the honours of ex

There is a personal identity of character distributed to

every figure in this crowded assembly, and a variety of exhibiting themselves before the public must be earned,

pression depicted on each countenance, that proves the ere they are attained.

painter to be an attentive observer of manners, and wellHow far this new society, in opening its arms thus qualified to represent scenes of humour. We think this liberally to all comers, will lessen the evil of which we

composition the more creditable to the talent of Mr. Rip

pingille, as, amidst the variety of character and expression, complain, or how the general interests of the arts may |

ons may || there is nothing forced, nothing outre; every group, and be promoted by the plan, time alone can determine. every figure tells its own tale, and it is as near the reality of If it should be found that the works of real merit meet such a scene as correct judgment could render it. Were with purchasers, the scheme will be substantially justi.

the picture painted as skilfully as it is designed, it would

rank with the best subjects of ihis class. As it is, we confied. Those who have superior talent should be re. | sider it as a work of great merit. warded, those who have not, must labour to deserve 1. It would be injustice to neglect to add, that the jury-box reward, and until they do, must be content to wait.

I is filled to perfection. The gravity of the judge is well We admire the general plan of the building, the

wrought; it is as much as his twship can do to keep his

countenance. The high sheriff is inwardly bursting, as apartments are well arranged for the purposes of exhibi

he restrains his risible muscles. The friends of one party tion, the tout ensemble is gay and cheerful, and the may be easily discovered from the other; whilst the crier of light is well diffused. --an important consideration and ll the court, with wand of office in hand, like a staid horse, certainly inviting to exhibitors. Many of the apart

dozes as he stands.

" The Widow," painted by H. Richter. Every one who ments of the Royal Academy are miserably defective has paid a visit to this Exhibition, on comparing notes with on this point.

another, asks, “Did you notice Richter's Widow ? Those The first glance at this collection reminds the specta- ll who have not yet visited the new gallery ar

| who have not yet visited the new gallery are advised “not tor of the general effect of the great room at the

to forget the Widow." It rarely happens that a composi

tion attracts so universally as this; but then again, this is Royal Academy, as a range of whole-length portraits | to Johnny's taste-John loves a buxom widow.

We shall not enter into speculations upon the physiog- || only for criminals: and I hope, that you will not as yet, nomy of this lady, further than to say, that we are mista- || treat me as one.' 'No: but once for all, we cannot accomken if she had not made a young man happier in the bonds | modate you better now: consider, it is for your security. of Hymen than an old one, such as we behold in the painted | We will furnish you with mattresses, chairs, a table, every portrait of her defunct spouse. The first match, we may thing you want, and you will do very well :-good night, infer, was for gold: she is now her own mistress, a rich, | citizen! With this they departed. I made no answer to handsome widow. “I have married once, to please others,'' || this salutation; but. after I had recovered from the sort of you may be sure will be her answer to future advisers, || stupor into which I had been plunged, I was glad to find 6 and now I shall wed to please myself;" saucily adding, || that I was not shut into the dark hole, but was left at li. “ I'll please my eye, if I plague my heart !"

berty to go as far as the grate at the end of the little pasThe admirers of character and expression in painting | sage. I immediately availed myself of this, to go and ask cannot have forgotten that admirable composition of Mr. | if I could not have a light. An instant after, a little man, Richter's, “ The Brute of a Husband," exhibited in Bond in a red cap, made bis appearance, with a pipe in his street, about ten years since. It was as attractive as this mouth, a bunch of keys at his girdle, and perfectly resemWidow, in a pictorial sense : in a moral sense its operation bling the jailors I had seen at the theatres. Ple had a lanwas differently felt. We would desire to avoid the imputa tern in his hand; and after shutting the grate, and surveytion of fastidiousness--we abhor your precisians; yet we ing me for some time, said to me,_• The law does not alcannot forbear to say of this truly well told subject, that low you candles; but prisoners, who have money, can be

hink it had better suited the walls of a bachelor's pri | supplied with what they want: besides, I have orders to be vate apartment than those of a public exhibition.

careful of you. He did not express himself in very good French, for he spoke the Provençal dialect, which I then

found it difficult to understand, though I had time enough REVIEWS.

afterwards to accustom myself to it. You may be satisfied,' I said, as to being paid : I suppose you are the

turnkey here. But tell me, what place is this?' - Why Memoirs of His Serene Highness Antony Philip D'Or- | don't you know that you are in the Palace of Justice ?'—leans, Duke of Montpensier, Prince of the Blood. Writ.

No, I did not: but is not this the place where criminals ten by Himself. Translated from the French. London :

are confined ?'— No, that is lower down : you are on the Treuttel und Co. 1824.

civil side : the criminals are still worse off, and, accord

ingly, they annoy me dreadfully, and you will hear them The young and gallant author of these memoirs was to-morrow; they are in bed now, but in the day-time they the second son of the notorious Egalité. At an early make a horrible noise! When he had brought a light, I period of the revolution, he, with his brother, the present

returned to my hole, to take some rest, but it was so damp,

and there was such a stench, that it was impossible. I Duke, entered into the French national service, and

complained of this, and he offered to burn a fagyot in it for distinguished himself as a brave, active, and patriotic me, which I accepted with pleasure.- As to the dirt,' officer. In April, 1793, being included in the decree

said he, we will sweep it all out by daylight, to-morrow.' common to the whole family of the Bourbons, he was

He kindled the faggot, and went away.arrested at Nice, and transferred to Marseilles, to the

This had previously been the dungeon of two perfortress of Notre-dame de la Garde, to which place

sons, one a thief, and the other a receiver of stolen were shortly afterwards brought the Duke his father,

goods, who had been condemned to six years' imprithe Count de Beaujolais, his brother, the Duchess of || sonment in irons! The unhappy youth was after a few Bourbon, and the Prince of Contí. Of that imprison

days removed from this dreadful den, because the ment the present publication gives an account. It is a

guards who were set over him objected to the disagreeadetail of personal suffering, mingled with a notice of

bleness of the place. He was soon afterwards removed the most important public events of the time. The nar

to the prison of Notre-dame, where he met with his rative is full of interest, and sketches with a frightful

relations, who were likewise prisoners. He was again fidelity, the excesses to which the south of France

removed to another prison still more foul and gloomy, was at that period a prey.

and was condemned to suffer almost every species of We pass over the account of the arrest, the kindness

moral and physical torture. It was only at rare inof General Biron, and the civility of the guards on the

tervals, and then through the precarious kindness of his route to Marseilles, and come to the locale of the im

guards, that he was permitted to see his father and prisonment:

youngest brother, and of this consolation the sudden re

moval of the former to Paris soon deprived him. It “ After having gone through several passages, we enter- || was in the following way that the young Prince first ed a small one, looking into a very gloomy court, where I noticed that an iron grate was closed after us. At the end

learnt his father's death:of this passage, was a dark hole, about nine feet square, "A city guard (who had been placed over us by the muintolerably dirty and stinking, without any light but from nicipality and administrators, ostensibly, to see their orle grated air-hole opening into the court : so that the Il dery executed, but really as spies to make k

xecuted, but really as spies, to make known what we place was perfectly dark, though it was still light enough said and did,) told us one evening, with an awkward air, without.

that my aunt had obtained leave to pass an hour with us “I confess I could not at first believe that this was the the next day. This raised our uneasiness to its height, abode intended for me, and was petrified when the presi- Il but we still kept hold of our delusion. My aunt.' we dent of the department said to me, Citizen, we are sorry said to each other, never looks but at the dark side of we cannot put you into a better place than this; but your things. She always fancied my father in some perilous sisafety requires it; endeavour therefore to have patience, tuation, and she is coming, no doubt, to prepare us for till a lodging equally secure and less filthy is prepared for some missortune she fears, but none of which she has any you.'-- This place,' answered I, 'is certainly intended certain knowledge.' On the morrow, (oh! day of agony!) it was so dark in our dungeon, that we were obliged I will teach you,' cried he, what it is to resist a repub(which happened sometimes), to keep candles burning till || lican !' A sergeant, who was at his heels, held him back. bed-time. 'About noon my aunt caine. “My poor chil. ll - My officer, let these unfortunate youths alone; it would dren!' cried sbe, after fixing her eyes piteously on us for be cowardly to hurt them in the situation they are !!— No!' some time, I hope you are prepared for the painful duty he replied, they are b y aristocrats, and nothing is too I have to fulfil towards you! — No, aunt,' we eagerly re bad for them!'- Come on then, wretch !' we cried. Explied, we are not prepared for any thing, we know ercise your valour on two defenceless prisoners ; your sabre nothing.'_ Is it possible you should not have had some and your threats have no terror for us!'_ Rest thee awhile presentiment of a misfortune, so terrible, that religion as thou art,' said he, addressing himself to me with revoalone can enable you to support it with firmness? You lutionary familiarity: the guillotine will spare me the must no longer be deceived. First, read this from your trouble of treating thee as thou deservest ! Only bear in mother, which has been entrusted to me to deliver to you.' mind the fate of thy relations, and tremble, for such will The letter only contained these words, in a very large and

be thy own fate! and the report I shall make to the repredisfigured hand: • Live, wretched children! for your sentatives of the people may hasten it. Good bye!' and he equally wretched mother! This heart-rending injunc- || marched off.” tion totally overcame me. I looked at Beaujolais, and our eyes scarcely met, when the tears streamed from them, and

They were not only insulted by those who avowed with more violence from having been so long suppressed. || themselves their enemies, but they were betrayed by But even yet, not being able to admit the frightful idea of those who professed themselves their friends. Two the loss we had sustained, · Aunt!' cried I, in mercy be

young royalists who had been in the service of the explicit! What is become of my father ?! - You have no longer a father!' she replied. He has been condemned

Bourbons, offered to assist them in escaping; but after and executed!'--I had only time to exclaim, O, execrable being intrusted with their little wealth, immediately monsters!' before I fell senseless. Beaujolais fainted also.|| decamped and left them in a state of the greatest destiOn coming to myself, I was in convulsions. They attempt-|| tution. The prisoners made some ineffectual attempts ed to place me on a bed: it was the same my poor father || had slept in for four months! The sight had an effect upon

to escape, one of which ended in the Duke's breaking me impossible to be described : s raved, I howled, I threat. || his leg, and being subjected to a more severe imprisonened my father's murderers, -I called upon them to put || ment. After two years and a half of suffering and inme to death. Never was there a state of greater violence, carceration, the poor youths were liberated on condior of greater anguish. My aunt began to exhort me; but I was so little inclined to attend to her, that she desisted,

tion of their expatriating themselves to the United and withdrew."

States. And with this the memoirs end. The two boys, one of whom was eighteen and the

In America they met with their elder brother, the other only fourteen years of age, were still kept in con

present Duke of Orleans, and remained with him in finement by their barbarous tyrants, though not the

that country until their departure for England in 1800. slightest shadow of crime could be urged against them.

Here the Duke of Montpensier was destined to close his They were often treated with great indignity by the

career. He died of a pulmonary complaint in 1807, wretches who officiated as their guards :

and was buried in Westminster-abbey.

There is no attempt at fine writing in these memoirs ; “ These impertinencies became so frequent and disgusting, that we asked, and obtained, permission to fasten our

they are a plain, modest account of forty-three months' door on the inside with a little hook we had put on it. This

imprisonment, and cannot be read without feelings of precaution did not free us from the intrusion of these mi detestation of the jacobin tyrants of France, and a deep litary gentry, in their relieving guard during the day; but || sympathy with the sufferings and fortunes of their vicwe excused ourselves for refusing to open the door in the night, and generally it was not insisted on. There was one

tims. The translation is very well executed. individual, however, who came once to our cell at midnight, and began knocking loudly at the door. Roused out of my sleep, I asked who was there. The night watch !'he re

Trials, a Tale. By the Author of The Favorite of plied.-Citizen, we are in bed, and we are usually left to

Nature," &c. 3 vols, 8vo. London : G. and W. B. sleep undisturbed.'- Open the door! I must come in!' Whittaker. 1824. • It shall be opened to-morrow; we are in bed now, and we beg you will let us sleep.'-- Open it instantly! or I will

The fair author of these volumes has already acbreak it open!'- Break it, then, citizen, if you please, quired considerable eminence amongst the better class for at this hour certainly we shall not open it!' Upon this of modern novelists. At an age when many of our he went away, uttering a thousand menaces which bis rage dictated. At five in the morning he came again, when the

sex, and nearly all of her own, are doing little else than same menaces were met by the same replies. At nine he

devouring with an indiscriminate voracity whatever repeated his visit, while we were at breakfast. His exces garbage a circulating library possesses, she has devoted sive rudeness had made us determine not to open to him at herself with a laudable and successful assiduity to the all, but wait till noon, when the guard would be relieved. To make sure, however, of the pleasure he had so pertina

production of a much purer and higher intellectual ciously sought, he had recourse to a stratagem, which was,

food. Together with great accuracy of observation and to counterfeit the voice of the commandant of the fortress. | powerful delineation of character, she has given to her He had very recently been appointed, and, though unable novels a tone of morality which is instructive without to better our situation, had been to see us, and evinced during his visit that he felt for, and pitied us. Thinking it ||

ceasing to be interesting. “ Trials” is pretty much of was he, we opened the door quickly, but were cruelly dis- || the same cas appointed when we saw an utier stranger, who rushed upon || in its general character, happy in the choice of mateus with a drawn sword, and every demonstration of fury. Il rials, and skilful in working them up into a narrative;

at once improving in the lesson it inculcates, and at- || they part, though fervently and mutually attached, in tractive in the incidents it relates. The “Trials" are|| something like anger. He is killed in an engagement chiefly confined to a single person, Catharine, who may be regarded as the heroine. Her character, made up of less penitence. In the opening virtues of her only slight inconsistencies and strong passions, is beautifully child she finds some consolation, but it is to religion drawn. The moment she appears upon the scene, our that she turns with a vague and indefinite but anxious sympathies are excited in her behalf, and they never | yearning. The characters of the Mortons, a quiet, reliabate or die away to the end of the story. She marries | gious family, are given with great truth and force. a young and accomplished officer, and her life glides - Miss Ann” is quite delightful, and were we still in a away for some years in all the tranquil happiness of a Il “ state of single blessedness" dream. At length something excites her suspicion, | But it is not a single “ trial" which Catharine is and the early and strong passions of her nature are destined to undergo. Circumstances drag her from her roused into a state of the most wretched excitement. | solitude and tranquillity, once more into the vortex of Her doubts in a great degree disturb the happiness of her | temptation and passion. Her auut leaves her a fortune, husband, and poison the serenity of their domestic life. and she lives on for years in the bosom of worldly The following scene is pathetically sketched :- - cares and worldly happiness. All the sterner precepts - She was naturally kind and considerate to her servants,

of the Mortons are forgotten. Her son Edmund is and beloved by them all: for her disposition, though hasty, grown up to man's estate, and has entered the church; was of too elevated a kind to feel any pleasure in the exer and things standing thus, the second volume begins, cise of power over her dependents, except to make them

Edmund too is destined to have his trials. A young comfortable, by the easy manner in which she required their services.

and beautiful creature on whom he had placed his affec" But now, as the mistress of a family as well as a wife, || tions, marries another. She lives as happily with him she was rapidly losing ground in the estcem she had in- ll as the mixture of her gentleness with bis extravagance spired; and, but too conscious that this was the case, she

e case, she | and levity will permit, until they are utterly ruined in could but mourn with increasing anguish the fatal cai

h the fatal cause which had led to this subversion of all that was right.

| their fortunes." Edmund then interferes to relieve 6. She sobbed as if her heart would break; and, while || her husband from his involvements. But this is in vain, thus torn to pieces with passion contending with remorse, a and the “ Trials" of all three are destined to proceed. voice struck upon her ear which came from a room adjoin

The story is now little else than a detail of broken resoing her own, the door of which was open. “It was a sweet, gentle voice, softly repeating "mamma!'

lutions, perpetual misconduct, and pernicious habits on It was the voice of Edmund, her only child, which, break the part of the husband quiet, uncomplaining suffering upon her ear in accents so mild at such a moment ay lling in the wife and heart-broken resignation in Edthis, gave a check to her emotion as powerful as it was un

mund. A prison is the necessary result, and we will expected.

“ She hastened towards him, believing that he called for extract from this part of the novel a scene which strikes her-but he was asleep, and in his slumbers had pronounced | us as being extremely touching :her name. He, too, seemed to be wrapt in his little visions ;

66 Shuddering at the horrors which surrounded her, but they were apparently of a calmer, happier nature, than those which occupied the waking fancy of his poor mother;

Matilda felt as if she dared not any longer remain, as it

were the only living, breathing thing amongst them. She for as he slept he smiled, he murmured inarticulate sounds again he smiled-he even laughed, so gay and pleasant were

wished to hear the sound of a voice, and she could not rethe images that passed before his dreaming spirit.

frain from awakening Charles, but hastening towards him, " Though the tears were wet upon her cheeks, though

she laid her hand upon his shoulder, and bending down her the throb of anguish still heaved her bosom, it was impossi

head, I am here, my dear Charles,' she said, speak to

to me." ble for Catharine to withhold a sympathizing smile as she

" He raised his head, and perceiving who it was that gazed upon her sweet boy. She bent down and kissed his

stood over him thus pitying and tenderly, he dropt it again cheek; and, as if she had at last found a pillow of rest for her aching head, she laid it upon his bosom, and though

upon his burning hands, just uttering her name, but noshe wept incessantly, it was with tears that now seemed to

thing more.

“She thought that overpowering shame kept him silent, give her infinite relief. “Her grief gradually died away in heavy sighs. Images

and restrained him from the power of looking her in the

face. succeeded each other with less rapidity and distinctness:

"My dear Charles !' and in the kindest accents she they became obscure and dull-till at length, exhausted and overpowered, she fell asleep by the side of her child.


" He pressed her hand with fervor, but still said no“In this situation she was discovered by St. Aubyn on

thing. It was after the pause of a minute or two that he his return home-painfully discovered !--for bad the most minute detail been given him of all she had endured in his


*** Why should we be sorrowful,' said be, Matilda !absence, it would have less forcibly impressed him than what he beheld. He could trace it all: he could see indeed,

that will do no good. No, let us be cheerful,' and he at

tempted a laugh, which pierced her very heart. in her pale and hollow cheek, strong vestiges of what had

“ She intreated him to be rational... passed, and in his mind's eye he could well pourtray the

** Rational,' he replied ; . well, nothing is more rational despair of heart which had driven her to the couch of her child, as to the only asylum which her disordered imagina

than to bear misfortunes cheerfully.' tion represented to be left for her, in her self-created

* • Why, Matilda, you look frightened! he continued,

observing the pale gaze of terror with which her countesorrow.”

nance was fixed upon him, as if she doubted whether his husband is ordered to some foreign service, and || senses were not affected by his misfortunes.

** • Oh, let us go let us leave this terrible place ! she | perish suddenly at short intervals, and Mary and he are faintly articulated, casting, as she spoke, a fearful glance || left at an early age in widowhood. The old affection upon the dead infant. " It is a horrid sight!' be replied, “horrid. But to |

revives, and under its influence it is thus they meet this I have brought you, Matilda-you, who deserved a again :palace for your dwelling-place; but let us go-yes, we will go--I have ordered another room,'-and he attempted to

“ The moon rose in placid beauty o'er the silent valleys rise--but in vain, he sunk down again in his chair.

beneath Lillybrae, and gleamed in flakes of waving silver " • Why, what ails me, I wonder?' he exclaimed; this upon the rippling stream, near the wood, as I wandered is really very, very ridiculous! isn't it, Matty ?

behind the green hill, anxiously waiting for Mary. A thou" Pray sit still, Charles,' said Matilda, trembling with sand recollections crowded upon me, connected with this dread: for she knew not whether to believe him under the sacred spot-our meeting here on the day of her wedding, influence of delirium or wine; so strange and unaccount and the striking circumstances of that night, the last occaable appeared his behaviour.

sion on which I had seen her. At length I observed a shadow * • Well, I am still,' he replied, falling back in his chair, moving round the foot of the hill; and, in a few moments, as from excessive weakness; what would you more ?- 1 Mary Ogilvie, wrapped in a mantle, with a timid step, ain all obedience.'

drew ucar. We stood for a moment looking on one another, * • Oh, Charles, how cruel is this conduct !!-and she as if neither could speak or move :-I stepped hastily forburst into a flood of tears.

ward, holding out both of my hands. The embarrassment " Matilda,' and his voice assumed a softer tone, | of the moment prevented her offering me her's. There was • Matilda, don't take offence at me. I feel so very ill, and an eagerness to embrace; but we seemed undecided at the I am truly unhappy in my heart, whatever I may seem.'

whatever I may seem. ll instant, whether it should be as friends, or as lovers : pas" • Are you ill, Charles ?'--and she looked upon his wan |sion prevailed I threw my arms round her, and strained and haggard cheek. Ah, indecd I see you are; how long

ll her closely-she laid her head passionately on my shoulder have you been suffering?''.

-or rather, in Scripture language, she fell upon my neck, * * I don't know,' he replied, ' at least--but I believe my || and wept.' I felt her limbs tremble beneath her, with head wanders a little!' and he pressed his hand to his fore | emotion, as she gave a sob or two, while hanging in my head.

arms; but, when the first burst of emotion was past, she * • My dearest Charles !' exclaimed Matilda, and in a started back suddenly, as if blaming hersell, and stood at a

alarm she clasped his hand to her heart: || short distance from me. don't, don't'-she would have said something of comfort, "• George,' said she, speaking first, and in a tone of eleif she could have uttered it, but she could not; she could || vation which made her forget, for a moment, her native only raise his drooping head, and press it to her bosom, and tongue,– I find I cannot hide from you my feelings, or seal her lips in token of pity upon his fevered cheek, while rather my weakness-you know the power you still have she sobbed with anguish.

over me-l conjure you to say at once, what your pleasure "A long suppressed tempest of emotion at length broke is, and let our conference be short!' forth from the heart of Charles in such a burst of grief as " I was astonished, and somewhat disconcerted, at the Matilda could scarcely have believed he would indulge ; || dignity and imperative energy of her words and manner, as but his weakened nerves betrayed their feebleness in a tor- ||

|| the moon shone full upon her glowing countenance, such as rent of tears, which it shocked her to behold, Women I had often observed it when she was a girl, but now perfect weep, for tears seem to be their portion; but in seeing a in womanhood, and her eyes sparkling with passionate man subdued by grief, we appear for the first time fully to || animation. Mary,'

,' said I calm

I do not mean to deunderstand how acute are the sorrows of human nature.” tain you, to give you the first word of confession: I believe

I have been lately wandering from my own happiness-I Charles dies, and after two years of widowhood,

was not happy in my marriage-will you tell me, Mary, if Matilda marries Edníund. The story is made very de

rs ? lightful in the novel, and the fair author has graced it

“ She stood looking in my face as if her soul drank up with the befitting adjuncts of a light agreeable style, I. No, George, I was not happy, although I had an affection,

every word that I uttered. After a pause, she said firmly, and a pure and lofty strain of sentiment.

ate well-meaning husband; but it required something besides these common qualities to make me happy, aster

having been so much with you! But he was not Tales and Sketches of the West of Scotland. By CHRIS George, you have spoiled my happiness !' She exclaimed,

TOPHER KEELEVINE. Glasgow : Robertson and Ato covering her face with her hands, “It would have been kinson. 1824.

better for me had I never seen you.'

. Weare no tsure that this volume will be classed amongst

“• Mary,' I said again, can you be mine? She clasped what are called “ the minor Scotch novels," but it is in ll her hands together, and answered, “I can be any thing for some parts equal to the very best of those clever compo- || you, George ; but for God's sake do not trifle with my sitions. The first tale, “ Mary Ogilvie,” is much in the

feelings, and break my heart.' style of Mr. Wilson's beautiful stories in “Lights and

" Will you be mine from this moment?' I said pag

les au “Liguis alla || sionately, my wife-my love my companion, while life Shadows,” and scarcely inferior in any merit which can || granted to us on this earth.'

my wife-my love-my companion, while life is give value or interest to a fictitious narrative. The ".O yes, George,' she said with energy, I will be narrator tells us of his early passion for a Scotch pea any thing-every thing to you, with honour-if you will

"Il indeed be mine :) she added, with her peculiar doubti sant's daughter, and the pride which prevented him

and beseeching expression of countenance, if you will from making her his wife ; of her marriage with one of really make me your wedded wife, who am nae gentlewohis own rank, and his subsequent espousal of a titled || man, but your simple country Mary Ogilvie.' and wealthy lady; their uncongeniality of dispositions,

“••• The fever of my spirits was over, my mind was and his own embittering recollections of Mary Ogilvie.

calm, and my heart light; I was happy, and Mary was The husband of the one, and the wife of the other happy, and nature seemed happy around me. The very

you were h

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