ART. III. The Life of a Lover. In a Series of Letters. By Sophia Lee. 6 Vols. 12mo. 11. 16s. Boards. Robinsons. т IT is fairly stated to the reader that this novel was written many years ago, at that early age when imagination takes the lead of reason.' We certainly discover in it many marks of the warm imagination of youth, and evident traces of a mind more impassioned than our grave and sober years can authorize us to sanction or approve. Yet the sentiments and reflections of a general nature, which occur in these pages, and which are very frequently just and beautiful, would have led us to draw a different conclusion, and to assign them to an author who had formed more than a juvenile acquaintance with the world. Even here, however, we are compelled to make some exceptions to that favourable character of the sentiment, which so many passages in this performance deservedly claim. The following remark, for instance, is by no means generally true, and savours rather of disappointment and chagrin than of just and impartial observation: The wise of all ages have agreed that virtue is her own reward; and, in truth, she ought to be so; since seldom do persons actuated by that generous principle obtain any other.' It may more truly be affirmed that the world is disposed to be the friend and patron of merit; and that, notwithstanding the selfishness of human nature, a steady adherence to virtue seldom fails in the end to excite both the esteem and the protection of the public. Again, when Cecilia vindicates her conduct in pocketing a miniature painting, which she accidentally finds in Lord Westbury's library, entertaining at the same time the strictest veneration for virtue and integrity, we are at a loss to understand the consistency of her moral code of laws; and we are not less puzzled, when, on seeing a certain letter in a lady's drawer, she takes the liberty to open and read it, because she feels a kind of right to know its contents.' Many persons feel a similar kind of right to appropriate to themselves a share of their neighbour's property but the law of honour, as well as the law of the land, disallows such a violation of the social compact. Such modes of thinking and acting ought not to be attributed by an author to a character which is held up as a model of virtue, for they are blemishes greater than even the plea of female weakness can well extenuate. The apology which the perfect Cecilia makes to herself on such occasions, that passion prevailed over reason, is only a tacit confession of the want of principle. We must now proceed to observe that there are many instances in this work, in which the libertine turn of thought and conduct of certain personages introduced in the narrative is painted with A a 4 more more force and precision than become the delicacy of a female writer. We do not mean to assert that no vicious characters should make their appearance in a lady's novel: but we expect that the natural modesty of her sex should contrive to cast a veil over such images as would bespeak, if exposed, loose and irregular ideas in the writer's mind, and are calculated for other purposes than the moral improvement of the reader. To introduce a libertine endeavouring to overcome his sweet girl's scruples,' by insinuating that the sacred writings are not worthy to be obeyed in these cases, that chastity is a mere prejudice, and that her notions of virtue are too refined, is probably to give too faithful a picture of vice: but we lament that the fair author should have ever heard such arguments, or should have suffered her mind to contemplate their force and efficacy. We do not even consider it as delicate in a female to admit such an expression as this: The restless irresolution of unsatisfied love. Vol. II. page 42. After having remarked on these imperfections, which we felt it our duty to notice, and the more particularly because this writer's talents are so well known and appreciated by the public, we must do Miss Lee the justice to specify some passages among a great variety of similar merit, which exhibit a mind richly endowed by nature, and stored by art and judicious observation. We first select an excellent remark on education :— • Teach children to reflect, and they will soon know how to bebave. The great error in modern education is confining the mind to a regular set of lessons and modes, while all the powers of reflection remain unexercised: let it become a habit to think before the inferior habits of life shall have extinguished emulation, and ranked your protégée among those who are undone by the prodigality of nature or of fortune." The art of thinking for themselves, as we lately observed in our review of a work intitled "Letters on History," is of vast importance to be encouraged in young persons. We much approve also these useful reflections, and think that, in this age of politeness, they are well worthy of being selected: The more I observe upon life, the more I see that a polite blindness to the faults of those around us leads them on in errors which a timely hint might have prevented; and that however eligible delicacy may in some instances be, in others it brings virtue and vice too much upon a level. In the middle rank of society we are linked so much by common interests, that we dare not act up to the sense of integrity existing in our own souls; but when once we are elevated high enough to be candid, our country expects in each individual an example, and has perhaps a right to demand one. To acquiesce, thus circumstanced, through an indolent politeness, with any custom which our reason disapproves disapproves, is in effect to abet immorality in inferiors: and notwithstanding a decided mode of thinking and acting will draw on me either the censure of pride or presumption, what my conscience disapproves shall never be countenanced by my conduct.' As we have entered thus principally into the general merits of The Life of a Lover,' in regard to its sentiments and moral tendency, we shall only just hint at the outline of the plan, and the conduct of the story. Cecilia Rivers, the heroine of the tale, being left in narrow circumstances at the death of her father, a worthy clergyman, determines to live independent of her relations by becoming a private governess. After an unsuccessful experiment in this line, she enters the family of Lord Westbury, with whom a mutual attachment commences, and forms the principal features of the history. In the third volume, Lord Westbury becomes free by the death of Lady W., and seeks Cecilia on the Continent: but, by a very improbable plan of conduct, a misunderstanding between them arises, and serves to lengthen the narrative beyond a period at which it would have more happily and properly closed. Cecilia now forms a nominal marriage with an aged Colonel; but he shortly afterward dies; and she at length becomes the virgin bride of Lord W. After this desired event, however, the lovers are made to misunderstand each other too often, and too inconsistently with such a firm and rooted affection, These incidents contribute to prolong the tale more than to interest the reader; and he becomes less affected than he would otherwise have been at the death of Cecilia, towards the close of the last volume. Had this Life of a Lover been half its present length, and certain licentious passages been obliterated, together with those incorrect sentiments on moral conduct to which we have alluded, it would have formed a very interesting, elegant, and instructive novel. Cecilia's first entrée, on her vocation of governess, will amuse the reader; The novelty of the situation so wholly occupied my thoughts, that I only knew I was come to Broad-street by the stopping of the vehicle. Ah! how useless is our understanding on a thousand occasions! Mine, every moment, told me that I need hardly dread the lady I was going to see, since it was very unlikely that she should equal in mind and manners many with whom I had often mixed. The awkwardness of being announced in an inferior light-of becoming my own historian and panegyrist;-a thousand nameless, but overwhelming, sensations,-made every gift of nature at that moment a mere burden; and gladly would I have compounded for rejection, unseen and uncatechised. Lady Grantham was, however, at home; and I was ushered into a drawing-room, where she was already sit . ting. Mrs. Forrester had certainly not laboured in vain to give me consequence; for my appearance seemed no less to impress the lady than the footman, who employed himself busily in removing two lazy lap-dogs from the arm-chair on the vacant side of the fire, while she was courtesying and apologising: but the sight of the note I presented, which was that sent to me in her name, rectified her error. She instantaneously dismissed the man; and guiding me, by a haughty glance of her eye, to a seat so far from the fire, that I found my worthy friend's muff very commodious, she began to examine the note, and I to survey her dress. That of the city ladies we have often heard ridiculed; but it was only now that I could know with what reason. Laden with expensive fineries, poor Lady Grantham gave a lamentable proof of want of taste. She had been dressing for dinner; and the sacque she wore was loaded with French trimmings enough for three ! -while her head, of an enormous height, was frosted alike by art and nature, and adorned with flowers; her whole figure forming, from its rotundity, an absolute conical mountain, the lower part covered with roses, and the summit with snow. Having perused the note, she did not hesitate to turn in silence towards your poor blushing Cecilia, of whose outside she took as exact a survey as ever I had done of hers; then, rudely addressing me, "You are the parson that advertised in this here Miss-what's your name?" 'I bowed. "Pray, was you ever out in the world before ?” paper-are you, "I returned from France, Madam, only last week." "Ay! that was right enough! all genteel governesses, now-a days, come from France. And, pray, what do you purtend to larn young ladies?" "To speak and write English and French; all kinds of elegant work; embroidery, and tambour. I know something, too, of Italian; and have been thought a little skilled in music." 66 t ray, Miss, do you live with your parents?" My mother I lost, Madam, in my infancy; and my father, who was a clergyman, something more than a year ago. In him, unhappily, I lost both the best protection and prospects." "Hum!" cried she, as I wept, with inexpressible humiliation"A great loss, a monstrous great loss, indeed!-How old may you be, Miss ?" "Just one-and twenty, Madam." "And what terms do you ax?" Forty pounds a-year, Madam, and a chamber to myself; with such consideration in the family as my education, and, I hope, my conduct, will entitle me to." "These here terms, Miss, are purdigious high! My daaghter (to spell as she pronounces) is quite accomplished-completely edicated; but she is too young to come out yet. She was six years at a great boarding school, within a stone's throw of our country-house; and her governess says she talks French better than herself. You will have nothing, in a manner, to teach: indeed, you will be more my my companion, as well as hers. I should hardly think of such a useless kind of parson, but to be in the fashion; for every body has a French governess now, I think! Can you do plain-work neatly?" "In a household manner: I never made that a study." "Fifty times more useful, Miss, though, than all your imbrydery and tom bores! We always makes all our linen at home; and, if you come to me, you must lend a helping hand - beside working my things, and Jemmy's waistcoats" "I shall never object to becoming useful to your Ladyship, in any proper manner.” "So you had need, Miss-what's your name!-Forty pounds ayear keeps many a poor parson and his family :-not that I should begrudge it, had you been a Frenchwoman born! Lady Grimstead, my next-door neighbour, has got a real French governess for her daughter, who can't speak one word of English; and they only gives her forty guineas! However, you seem a genteel conformable-kind of body; so, for once, I will be a little extravagant!-As to a chamber to yourself, I have not a spare one in my house; but you will sleep with my daughter, and always dine and sup with the family, as well as go with us to the willa every Saturday.--Who am I to ax about you?" "Lady Browne was my father's old friend, and has known me from my childhood. She lives at Kensington, and permits this reference." "Well! I will call of her, when I go to the willa, on Saturday; and let you know when I wish you to come here.” Lady Grantham having thus concluded this original harangue, which I have given you verbatim, rang, and ordered my pupil to appear.' Cecilia's introduction next to the family of Lady Westbury is thus agreeably drawn: • I found your sister-in-law, my dear, quite unhappy, lest I should lose the opportunity of fixing with Lady Westbury: nor was I without a secret wish of being in a family so elegant and distinguished. The history of the lady we all know; but of her beauty we very imperfectly judge, however highly it may have been spoken of;-it is, indeed, exquisite! I saw her, too, in the situation most disadvanta geous-under the hands of her friseur; yet was I enchanted! She varies her humour, 1 really believe, every moment, only to display her charms. She now found fault with the man-now laughed at him ; yet was ever lovely, ever irresistible! To talk to a governess was quite novel to her! She "wished people would print catechisms applicable to the common concerns of life:"-and broke off her inquiry into my qualifications for the employment, to ask where I had got that sweet morning cap! Hearing I had purchased it in Paris, she would have it off my head in a moment, to see if it became her: what cap would not! She was fascinated with it; and became perfectly satisfied, that the woman who had taste enough to dress well, must have talents for whatever else she might undertake. Her milliner was summoned by express :—but two minutes had hardly elapsed ere |