"Oh, you may either follow it or reverse it. that is its chief beauty. It is equally good taken either way."-Vol. i. pp. 93-95.

Next to Caroline, we should select General Granby as our favourite preferring him even to his youthful nephew. The old man reminds us now and then of Captain Absolute-testy, impatient, affectionate, gay, and fond of his bottle. His death causes a material change in the prospects of Henry, who, besides a small accession of fortune, derived from him the documents by which Tyrrel's illegitimacy was placed beyond dispute. Before we quit this part of the subject, we must present the reader with the description of Henry's sudden return, after an absence of some months, to the residence of his uncle, upon hearing of his alarming illness.

'On Friday about mid-day he drove into the village of Ashton, and stopped at the well-remembered turn, where a bye-road led from the highway to his uncle's house. This was situated about a quarter of a mile from the public road: and Granby got out and walked to it.

It was a fine but melancholy day: one of those which this cloudy climate rarely affords, but which, when it comes, is apt to temper our admiration with a certain feeling of gentle sadness. Not a cloud was to be seen, to relieve and heighten, by its contrast, the monotonous expanse of dull, deep, greyish blue. Not a breeze was heard to rustle through the trees: scarce a sound disturbed the silence, except the sky-lark twittering on high, you knew not where, and the long-drawn chirrup of the grasshopper. A thin haze which was spread over the landscape, gave a gloomy indistinctness to the distance, and deepened the flat solemnity of the dark green trees. There was a general, unrelieved, dull light; so that, unless when looking at your own shadow, you might have almost questioned the reality of the sunshine; and you might have thought the landscape cold, were not your ideas otherwise diverted by the enervating heat that poured down from the luminary above.

The scene conveyed a sentiment of gloom to the mind of Granby,— who perhaps was predisposed by the depressing object of his return, to seek food for melancholy. He walked on slowly, with his eyes on the ground, till, no turning a well-remembered corner, the house appeared immediately before him, and he raised his head to look at it. The shutters had been closed to keep out the sunshine - which gave it a

deserted air. It looked to Granby like the mansion of death and as he gazed upon the well-known window of his uncle's room, he shuddered to think how soon he might be told, that this room contained the corpse of one so justly dear to him.

He involuntarily stopped as the thought arose, and dreaded to advance and learn the worst: but after a brief, internal struggle, he pressed onward with a quickened pace. Still he saw no face that he knew, and heard no sound familiar to him, till, as he was almost at the door, an old favourite dog of his uncle's came bounding round the corner with a loud angry bark, which, on recognizing Granby, he instantly softened into a fondling whine, and writhed himself into many an expressive gesture of greeting.

'Granby could not forbear, however occupied with other thoughts, from bestowing a short caress on his first welcomer, and then looking up, saw one of the shutters partially unclosed, and a female head appear

through the chink. In an instant he was at the door, with his hand on the bell, doubtful whether he should venture to ring. He removed his hand, for he heard the low pattering of feet in the hall within: the door was carefully opened: and behind it, as he entered, was Mrs. Robins, the old housekeeper, with a face that struggled between pleasure at seeing him, and grief for the cause of his return.

"Is my uncle alive ?" were Granby's first words: they were uttered in a tremulous whisper.

""Tis all we can say," replied Mrs. Robins: "but thank God, Mr. Henry, we can say that.'

"I am anxious," said he, "to see him: Is he sensible? Does he expect me?"

"Yes, Sir, he does, I am pretty sure, for I told him myself that you would be back soon: and he made signs as if he understood me. But I think I had better prepare him for it, if you please, Sir. Will you just walk in here?" and she opened the door of the room in which he and his uncle used to sit.

'It was almost dark, the shutters being closed to exclude the sun. He half opened one of them, and as the light poured in, looked round with mournful interest on the desolate apartment. Every thing in it reminded him of times that had been, and now, he feared, never would return. There was his uncle's chair in the spot in which he always sat, and another placed opposite, as if for himself, on the other side of the small Pembroke table. On that table lay the last newespaper that his uncle had been reading-perhaps the last he ever would read marking by a day in advance the date of his first illness; and near it was an accumulation of unopened papers that had arrived since, and several sealed letters in well known hands. On the chimney-piece was a small old-fashioned clock, the last appeal from all other clocks and watches in the house, which his uncle, with scrupulous punctuality, always wound up with his own hand. It had now stopped predicter of the fate of him to whose daily care it owed its motions."Vol. ii, pp. 284-287.

-a mute

This is all very well told. Every feature of the scene is in harmony with the melancholy occasion of Granby's visit. His uncle died the same evening, after indicating to Henry where the papers were deposited by which his right to the title and estates of Lord Malton, upon the death of the latter, was established. This event took place shortly after, and it need scarcely be added that a corresponding change took place in the minds of Sir Thomas and Lady Jermyn, who were delighted to have for their son-in-law a peer of the realm.

Having observed on the melo-dramatic character of Tyrrel, we shall enable the reader to judge of him from his own representation of his career. We have alluded to the generosity with which Granby treated him on every occasion, and to the last "act" of his life, which was spent in disguise and in a wretched garret in London. Here Granby was induced to visit him.

'Lord Malton surveyed the scene with sorrow and dismay. Tyrrel read his thoughts in his countenance, and seemed to participate in them.

"Yes," said he, "this is my splendour - here I live, and there, in the sty within, I sleep. It is bad enough, but I am satisfied. We gentry accustom ourselves to many fancied indispensables, that we can do very well without."

""But how came you into this situation?" said Lord Malton; " I thought you meant to have gone abroad? Is not this an imprudent exposure of yourself?"

"There is little risk," said Tyrrel. "You can bear witness of the excellence of my disguise. And if they come to speak to me, I can puzzle them more than ever. My old cracked voice would throw them off the scent completely, Yes, I sometimes walk amongst them, and take a peep behind the scenes, and see how the pigeon-trade thrives. I marched the other day into the billiard rooms in street. There was an old acquaintance, playing his worst to encourage a youngster shamming nervous. Oh, I long to blow a few of them! But it is a sorry subject for me to talk upon, me that oh! it drives me mad. Fool, fool!" he exclaimed, striking his forehead "to have wrecked myself, to have sunk to this vile state, through worse than folly — through wickedness."

Here his voice seemed choked with emotion, and his countenance was frightfully agitated. He hid his face for a few seconds; then raising it, and speaking in a calmer tone, "Granby," said he, "shun gambling as you would the plague. I have a right to warn you. No one better knows its pains and pleasures than myself. I have tried them thoroughly; I have drunk the cup from the sparkling froth to the bitter dregs. People tell you that it fascinates. Ay, and so does the rattlesnake. The poor bird, that is drawn within reach of the creature's jaws, is an apt type of the growing gambler; and the vice is scarce less deadly than the reptile. I know its pleasures well. I was a cool, calm, steady player ―one who entered into its sober delights; yet I have sat whole anxious hours, even when a run of luck was in my favour, with a burning brain, parched and fevered, waiting in terrible agitation for the change of fortune that must soon come, and sweep my ill-gotten winnings from me; yes, and envying the loser, the very loser, for having better things in prospect. This was my triumph! these were the glories of success! I have given you now the bright side of the picture. Judge from that of the reverse. May you never know the horrid agonies of the losing gamester, I have tried that too; and to my cost, or I should not now be sculking here. Oh! that sinking of the soul that struggle of the spirits striving, striving in vain, to bear up manfully. And then, the feeling that you must go on, and repair the past, and plunge deeper into the pit; and the growing consciousness that you must sink, sink for ever, or fight your way through by any means. no matter what, fair or foul! But I am wandering, I scarce know where. Madman!" (he muttered) "to dwell on that! - oh, I could envy the damned!"

One extract more and we have done. It will be seen that we' refer to it on account of the useful hint which it furnishes for the information of the fair portion of the creation. We should add that Courtenay was another of Granby's friends, who was also his rival for the affections of Caroline. His attentions were encouraged by Lady Jermyn, who, as she liked to be civil to young people,' gave him a cordial invitation to Brackingsley, the family seat.

Courtenay accepted the invitation with great alacrity. Not that he felt much pleasure in the society of either Lady Jermyn or Sir Thomas, or was much flattered by their notice of him. The attraction lay elsewhere it was "the one fair daughter which he loved passing well." He had begun to admire Caroline in town, and thought of her as seriously as could reasonably be expected, considering that he had never met her but in the anti-matrimonial atmosphere of a London ball-room. • His admiration thus awakened, began to ripen fast into attachment, now that he saw her in the less dazzling, but more seductive sphere of her domestic circle. Hers were gentle timid graces which such a situation called forth; and in these consisted her greatest charm. Courtenay could not long regard her in this attractive point of view, without being deeply struck with the many captivating points of her character; her unvaried sweetness of temper, natural, unforced cheerfulness, and perfect freedom from affectation. He saw her now in that situation where woman's power is most deeply felt- where alone she may expect to win the heart of a man of sense.

It is not amid the gay distractions of a crowded party, or the lively prattle of the dance-though with beauty heightened by the aid of brilliant lights, of costly jewels, and all the pride of millinery, that her influence is most powerfully experienced. It is in the quiet interchange of that domestic species of society, in which display has less power to enter, and in which the sterling qualities of the mind have fuller leisure to expand.'-Vol. iii. pp. 86, 87.

This is the language of good sense; for a few more such passages we should willingly exchange a vast quantity of the small talk which incumbers this work. Such persiflage may be amusing enough, when nothing better can be had, in a round conversation sustained by six or seven persons. But reduce it to writing, the sparkle vanishes, and the spirit which gave it buoyancy becomes insipid.

ART. XIII. Histoire de l'homme au masque de fer accompagnée des pièces authentiques, &c. Par J. Delort. 8vo. pp. 296. Delaforest. Paris.* 1825.

M. DE VOLTAIRE was one of the first historians, who mentioned the mysterious imprisonment of the man in the iron mask. In his Age of Louis XIV. he states, that some months after the death of Cardinal Mazarin, in 1661, an unknown prisoner, of a youthful and stately figure, was sent with the utmost secrecy to the castle of the Island of St. Margaret, on the coast of Provence, where he was confined under the special care of St. Mars, an officer in whom Louis XIV. reposed the greatest confidence. When St. Mars was made Governor of the Bastile, his prisoner was removed with him, and in that prison he remained till death, which happened in 1704. During the whole time of his detention he was compelled, under pain of instant death, to wear a mask, of which the lower part had steel springs, contrived so that he could eat without taking it off.

* Imported by Treuttel and Wurtz, Soho Square.

In the Bastile he was treated with the greatest attention and respect; he never complained of his situation, or gave the least hint who he was. Chamillard, the last minister, who was acquainted with the history of this transaction, being pressed on his death-bed to declare who the prisoner was, answered, that it was a secret of state, and that he had sworn never to reveal it. M. de Voltaire adds, that the wonder was increased, as at the time when this prisoner was sent to the Island of St. Margaret, no person of distinction disappeared in Europe. Satisfied with the mere statement of the fact, the historian of Louis XIV. offers no conjecture as to the individual who was thus doomed to so many years of concealment.

The question has not failed to excite a good deal of attention, for to the minds of most men nothing is more attractive than mystery of any description, except the solution of it. Some writers, among whom the jesuit Griffet stands foremost, have given the mask to Louis de Bourbon Count of Vermandois High Admiral of France, and the natural son of Louis XIV. and Madame de la Valiere. Some have imagined the unknown prisoner to be the Duke of Beaufort, grandson of Henry IV., and Gabrielle d'Estrées. Some, as St. Foix for instance, imagined him to be the famous Duke of Monmouth, the natural son of Charles II. and Lucy Walters. The mere comparison of dates would be sufficient to overthrow every one of these conjectures. Again it was said that the masked prisoner was a twin brother of Louis XIV., born eight hours after this monarch, and that his father had the circumstance carefully concealed, in consequence of a prediction which was conveyed to him by some impostors, that if the queen should be delivered of twins, the kingdom would be involved in civil war. The story goes on to say, that Louis XIII. had him at first privately educated in the country as the illegitimate son of a nobleman, but that he gave indications of having discovered his parentage on the accession of Louis XIV., which rendered it necessary that he should be imprisoned for life, and that he should wear a mask to prevent his being recognized. This elucidation of the mystery, may be seen in the memoirs of the Marshal Duke de Richelieu, which, it is scarcely necessary to add, are wholly unworthy of credit. M. Millin, in his Antiquités Nationales, unhesitatingly coincides with M. Charpentier, that the man in the iron mask could have been no other than an elder brother of Louis XIV., the fruit of the gallantries of Anne of Austria with the Duke of Buckingham, or some other of her male favourites. After his death, adds M. Millin, every care was employed to have the secret buried with him: few were the persons who had any acquaintance with it: Madame de Pompadour knew it ; Louis XVI. might possibly have been ignorant of it.

Not so, perhaps, Louis XV. It is said, that the Duke de Choiseul, being anxious to penetrate this state secret, one day entreated that monarch to reveal it to him. The king only observed, that in all the statements which had been published up to