"At this instant a knight, urging his horse to alone. Elgitha had no sooner retired with unwilling speed, appeared on the plain advancing towards the steps, than, to the surprise of the Lady of Ivanhoe, lists. An hundred voices exclaimed, A champion! her fair visitant kneeled suddenly on one knee, a champion! And, despite the prepossession and pressed her hands to her forehead, and, bending her prejudices of the multitude, they shouted unani-head to the ground, in spite of Rowena's resistance, mously as the knight rode rapidly into the tilt-yard. kissed the embroidered hem of her tunic. What To the summons of the herald, who demanded his means this?' said the surprised bride; or why do rank, his name, and purpose, the stranger knight you offer to me a deference so unusual?'-Beanswered readily and boldly, 'I am a good knight cause to you, Lady of Ivanhoe,' said Rebecca, and noble, come hither to sustain with lance and rising up and resuming the usual quiet dignity of sword the just and lawful quarrel of this damsel, her manner, I may lawfully, and without rebuke, Rebecca, daughter of Isaac of York; to uphold the pay the debt of gratitude which I owe to Wilfred of doom pronounced against her to be false and truth-Ivanhoe. 1 am-forgive the boldness which has less; and to defy Sir Brian de Bois-Guilbert, as a offered to you the homage of my country-I am the traitor, murtherer, and liar.' The stranger must unhappy Jewess, for whom your husband hazarded first show,' said Malvoisin, that he is a good his life against such fearful odds in the tilt-yard of Knight, and of honourable lineage. The Temple Templestowe.- Damsel,' said Rowena, Wilfred sendeth not forth her champions against nameless of Ivanhoe on that day rendered back but in a slight men. My name,' said the Knight, raising his measure your unceasing charity towards him in his helmet, is better known, my lineage more pure, wounds and misfortunes. Speak, is there aught Malvoisin, than thine own. I am Wilfred of Ivan- remains in which he and I can serve thee?'-' Nothhoe.'-'I will not fight with thee,' said the Templar,ing,' in a changed and hollow voice. Get thy wounds healed, and purvey thee a better horse, and it may be I will hold it worth my while to scourge out of thee this boyish spirit of bravade.'-'Ha! proud Templar, said Ivanhoe, hast thou forgotten that twice didst thou fall before this lance? Remember the lists at Acro-remember the Passage of Arms at Ashby-remember thy proud vaunt in the halls of Rotherwood, and the gage of your gold chain against my reliquary, that thou wouldst do battle with Wilfred of Ivanhoe, and recover the honour thou hadst lost! By that reliquary, and the holy relique it contains, I will proclaim thee, Templar, a coward in every court in Europe-in every Pre-heartless dove-Issachar an over-laboured drudge, ceptory of thine Order-unless thou do battle with- which stoops between two burthens. Not in a land out farther delay.'-Bois-Guilbert turned his coun- of war and blood, surrounded by hostile neighbours, tenance irresolutely towards Rebecca, and then ex- and distracted by internal factions, can Israel hope claimed, looking fiercely at Ivanhoe, Dog of a to rest during her wanderings.'-' But you, maiden,' Saxon, take thy lance, and prepare for the death said Rowena- you surely can have nothing to fear. thou hast drawn upon thee! Does the Grand She who nursed the sick-bed of Ivanhoe,' she conMaster allow me the combat?' said Ivanhoe.-Itinued, rising with enthusiasm- she can have nothmay not deny what you have challenged,' said the ing to fear in England, where Saxon and Norman Grand Master, yet I would thou wert in better will contend who shall most do her honour.'-' Thy plight to do battle. An enemy of our Order hast speech is fair, lady,' said Rebecca, and thy purthou ever been, yet would I have thee honourably pose fairer; but it may not be there is a gulf be n.et with. Thus-thus as I am, and not other-twixt us. Our breeding, our faith, alike forbid either wise,' said Ivanhoe; it is the judgment of God! to pass over it. Farewell!-yet, ere I go, indulge to his keeping I commend myself.""' me one request. The bridal veil hangs over thy face; raise it, and let me see the features of which fame speaks so highly.' They are scarce worthy of being looked upon,' said Rowena; but, expecting the same from my visitant, I remove the veil.'She took it off accordingly, and partly from the consciousness of beauty, partly from bashfulness, she blushed so intensely, that cheek, brow, neck, and bosom, were suffused with crimson. Rebecca blushed also, but it was a momentary feeling; and, mastered by higher emotions, passed slowly from her features like the crimson cloud, which changes colour when the sun sinks beneath the horizon.

said Rebecca, calmly, unless you will transmit to him my grateful farewell.'-'You leave England, then,' said Rowena, scarce recovering the sur prise of this extraordinary visit.-I leave it, lady, ere this moon again changes. My father hath a brother high in favour with Mohammed Boabdil, King of Grenada-thither we go, secure of peace and protection, for the payment of such ransom as the Moslem exact from our people.' And are you not then as well protected in England?' said Rowena. My husband has favour with the King-the King himself is just and generous. Lady,' said Rebecca, 'I doubt it not-but England is no safe abode for the children of my people. Ephraim is an



Lady, she said, the countenance you have deigned to show me will long dwell in my remembrance. There reigns in it gentleness and goodand if a tinge of the world's pride or vanities may mix with an expression so lovely, how may we chide that which is of earth for bearing some colour of its original? Long, long shall I remember your features, and bless God that I leave my noble deliverer united with'-She stopped short-her eyes filled with tears. She hastily wiped them, and answered to the anxious inquiries of Rowena-'I am well, lady-well. But my heart swells when I think of Torquilstone and the lists of Templestowe !Farewell! One, the most trifling part of my duty, remains undischarged. Accept this casket-startle not at its contents.'-Rowena opened the small silver-chased casket, and perceived a carcanet, or necklace, with ear-jewels, of diamonds, which were visibly of immense value. It is impossible,' she said, tendering back the casket, 'I dare not accept

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We cannot make room for the whole of this catastrophe. The overtired horse of Ivanhoe falls in the shock; but the Templar, though scarcely touched by the lance of his adversary, reels, and falls also;-and when they seek to raise him, is found to be utterly dead! a victim to his own contending passions.

We will give but one scene more-and it is in honour of the divine Rebecca-for the fate of all the rest may easily be divined. Richard forgives his brother; and Wilfred weds Rowena.

"It was upon the second morning after this happy bridal, that the Lady Rowena was made acquaintedness; by her handmaid Elgitha, that a damsel desired admission to her presence, and solicited that their parlev might be without witness. Rowena wondered, hesitated, became curious, and ended by commanding the damsel to be admitted, and her attendants to withdraw. She entered-a noble and commanding figure; the long white veil in which she was shrouded, overshadowing rather than concealing the elegance and majesty of her shape. Her demeanour was that of respect, unmingled by the least shade either of fear, or of a wish to propitiate favour. Rowena was ever ready to acknowledge the claims, and attend to the feelings of others. She arose, and would have conducted the lovely stranger to a seat; but she looked at Elgitha, and again intimated a wish to discourse with the Lady Rowena

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a gift of such consequence.'- Yet keep it, lady,' | or Cynocephali. The interest we do take is in returned Rebecca. Let me not think you deem the situations-and the extremes of peril, heso wretchedly ill of my nation as your commons be- roism, and atrocity, in which the great latilieve. Think ye that I prize these sparkling frag. ments of stone above my liberty? or that my father tude of the fiction enables the author to invalues them in comparison to the honour of his only dulge. Even with this advantage, we soon child? Accept them, lady-to me they are valueless. feel, not only that the characters he brings be I will never wear jewels more. You are then fore us are contrary to our experience, but that unhappy, said Rowena, struck with the manner in they are actually impossible. There could in which Rebecca uttered the last words. O, remain fact have been no such state of society as that with us the counsel of holy men will wean you of which the story before us professes to give from your unhappy law, and I will be a sister to you. No, lady,' answered Rebecca, the same us but samples and ordinary results. In a calm melancholy reigning in her soft voice and beau- country beset with such worthies as Front-detiful features, that may not be. may not change Bauf, Malvoisin, and the rest, Isaac the Jew the faith of my fathers, like a garment unsuited to could neither have grown rich, nor lived to old the climate in which I seek to dwell; and unhappy, lady, I will not be. He, to whom I dedicate my age; and no Rebecca could either have acfuture life, will be my comforter, if I do His will. quired her delicacy, or preserved her honour. Have you then convents, to one of which you Neither could a plump Prior Aymer have fol mean to retire?' asked Rowena. No, lady,' said lowed venery in woods swarming with the the Jewess; but among our people, since the time merry men of Robin Hood.-Rotherwood must of Abraham downward, have been women who have been burned to the ground two or three have devoted their thoughts to Heaven, and their times in every year-and all the knights and actions to works of kindness to men, tending the sick, feeding the hungry, and relieving the distress-thanes of the land been killed off nearly as ed. Among these will Rebecca be numbered. Say often. The thing, in short, when calmly con this to thy lord, should he inquire after the fate of sidered, cannot be received as a reality; and, her whose life he saved!'--There was an involun- after gazing for a while on the splendid pageant tary tremor in Rebecca's voice, and a tenderness which it presents, and admiring the exaggerof accent, which perhaps betrayed more than she rated beings who counterfeit, in their grand would willingly have expressed. She hastened to bid Rowena adieu.-- Farewell,' she said, may style, the passions and feelings of our poor huHe, who made both Jew and Christian, shower man nature, we soon find that we must turn down on you his choicest blessings!' again to our Waverleys, and Antiquaries, and Old Mortalities, and become acquainted with our neighbours and ourselves, and our duties, and dangers, and true felicities, in the exquisite pictures which our author there exhibits of the follies we daily witness or display, and of the prejudices, habits, and affections, by which we are still hourly obstructed, governed, or cheered.

"She glided from the apartment, leaving Rowena surprised as if a vision had passed before her. The fair Saxon related the singular conference to her husband, on whose mind it made a deep impression. He lived long and happily with Rowena; for they were attached to each other by the bonds of early affection, and they loved each other the more, from recollection of the obstacles which had impeded their union. Yet it would be inquiring too curiously to ask, whether the recollection of Rebecca's beauty and magnanimity did not recur to his mind more frequently than the fair descendant of Alfred might altogether have approved."

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The work before us shows at least as much genius as any of those with which it must now be numbered-and excites, perhaps, at least on the first perusal, as strong an interest: But it does not delight so deeply-and we rather think it will not please so long. Rebecca is almost the only lovely being in the story-and she is evidently a creature of the fancy-a mere poetical personification. Next to herfor Isaac is but a milder Shylock, and by no means more natural than his original-the heartiest interest is excited by the outlaws and their merry chief-because the tone and manners ascribed to them are more akin to those that prevailed among the yeomanry of later days, than those of the Knights, Priors, and Princes, are to any thing with which a more recent age has been acquainted.-Cedric the Saxon, with his thralls, and Bois-Guilbert the Templar with his Moors, are to us but theoretical or mythological persons. We know nothing about them-and never feel assured that we fully comprehend their drift, or enter rightly into their feelings. The same genius which now busies us with their concerns, might have excited an equal interest for the adventures of Oberon and Pigwiggin-or for any imaginary community of Giants, Amazons,

We end, therefore, as we began-by preferring the home scenes, and the copies of originals which we know-but admiring, in the highest degree, the fancy and judgment and feeling by which this more distant and ideal prospect is enriched. It is a splendid Poem-and contains matter enough for six good Tragedies. As it is, it will make a glorious melodrame for the end of the season.Perhaps the author does better-for us and for himself-by writing more novels: But we have an earnest wish that he would try his hand in the actual bow of Shakespeare-venture fairly within his enchanted circle-and reassert the Dramatic Sovereignty of England, by putting forth a genuine Tragedy of passion, fancy, and incident. He has all the qualifica tions to insure success*-except perhaps the art of compression;-for we suspect it would cost him no little effort to confine his story, and the development of his characters, to some fifty or sixty small pages. But the attempt is worth making; and he may be certain that he cannot fail without glory.

*We take it for granted, that the charming extracts from "Old Plays," that are occasionally given as mottoes to the chapters of this and some of his other works, are original compositions of the that he is not less a master of the most beautiful author whose prose they garnish :-and they show style of Dramatic versification, than of all the higher and more inward secrets of that forgotten art.

(June, 1822.)

The Fortunes of Nigel. By the Author of "Waverley," "Kenilworth," &c. In 3 vols. 12mo. pp. 950. Edinburgh: Constable & Co. 1822.

It was a happy thought in us to review this author's works in groups, rather than in single pieces; for we should never otherwise have been able to keep up both with him and with our other business. Even as it is, we find we have let him run so far ahead, that we have now rather more of him on hand than we can well get through at a sitting; and are in danger of forgetting the early part of the long series of stories to which we are thus obliged to look back, or of finding it forgotten by the public or at least of having the vast assemblage of events and characters that now lie before us something jumbled and confounded, both in our own recollections, and that of our admiring readers.

Our last particular notice, we think, was of Ivanhoe, in the end of 1819; and in the two years that have since elapsed, we have had, the Monastery, the Abbot, Kenilworth, the Pirates, and Nigel,-one, two, three, four, five -large original works from the same fertile and inexhaustible pen. It is a strange manufacture! and, though depending entirely on invention and original fancy, really seems to proceed with all the steadiness and regularity of a thing that was kept in operation by industry and application alone. Our whole fraternity, for example, with all the works of all other writers to supply them with materials, are not half so sure of bringing out their two volumes in the year, as this one author, with nothing but his own genius to depend on, is of bringing out his six or seven. There is no instance of any such experiment being so long continued with success; and, according to all appearances, it is just as far from a termination now, as it was at the beginning. If it were only for the singularity of the thing, it would be worth while to chronicle the actual course and progress of this extraordinary adventure.

merely notice one or two things that still live in our remembrance.

We do not think the White Lady, and the other supernatural agencies, the worst blemish of "The Monastery." On the contrary, the first apparition of the spirit by her lonely fountain (though borrowed from Lord Byron's Witch of the Alps in Manfred), as well as the effect of the interview on the mind of the young aspirant to whom she reveals herself, have always appeared to us to be very beautifully imagined: But we must confess, that their subsequent descent into an alabaster cavern, and the seizure of a stolen Bible from an altar blazing with cold flames, is a fiction of a more ignoble stock; and looks very like an unlucky combination of a French fairy tale and a dull German romance. The Euphuist too, Sir Piercie Shafton, is a mere nuisance throughout. Nor can we remember any incident in an unsuccessful farce more utterly absurd and pitiable, than the remembrance of tailorship that is supposed to be conjured up in the mind of this chivalrous person, the presentment of the fairy's bodkin to his eyes. There is something ineffably poor at once, and extravagant, in the idea of a solid silver implement being taken from the hair of a spiritual and shadowy being, for the sage purpose of making an earthly coxcomb angry to no end;-while our delight at this happy imagination is not a little heightened by reflecting that it is all the time utterly unintelligible, how the mere exhibition of a lady's bodkin should remind any man of a tailor in his pedigree or be thought to import such a disclosure to the spectators.

Of the two first works we have mentioned, the Monastery and the Abbot, we have the least to say; and we believe the public have the least curiosity to know our opinion. They are certainly the least meritorious of the whole series, either subsequent or preceding; and while they are decidedly worse than the other works of the same author, we are not sure that we can say, as we have done of some of his other failures, that they are better than

But, notwithstanding these gross faults, and the general flatness of the monkish partsincluding that of the Sub-prior, which is a failure in spite of considerable labour-it would be absurd to rank this with common novels, or even to exclude it from the file of the author's characteristic productions. It has both humour, and fancy and pathos enough, to maintain its title to such a distinction.The aspiring temper of Halbert Glendinning, the rustic establishment of Glendearg, the picture of Christie of Clinthill, and, above all, the scenes at the castle of Avenel, are all touched with the hand of a master. Julian's dialogue, or soliloquy rather, to his hawk, in

those of any other recent writer of fiction.-presence of his paramour, with its accompaniments and sequel, is as powerful as any thing the author has produced; and the tragic and historical scenes that lead to the conclusion are also, for the most part, excellent. It is a work, in short, which pleases more upon a second reading than at first-as we not only pass over the Euphuism and other dull pas

So conspicuous, indeed, was their inferiority, that we at one time apprehended that we should have been called upon to interfere before our time, and to admonish the author of the hazard to which he was exposing his fame. But as he has since redeemed that slip, we shall now pass it over lightly, and

sages, but, being aware of its defects, no longer feel the disappointment and provocation which are apt, on their first excitement, to make rs unjust to its real merits.

In point of real merit, "The Abbot" is not much better, we think, than the Monasterybut it is fuller of historical painting, and, in the higher scenes, has perhaps a deeper and more exalted interest. The Popish zealots, whether in the shape of prophetic crones or heroic monks, are very tiresome personages. Catherine Seyton is a wilful deterioration of Diana Vernon, and is far too pert and confident; while her paramour Roland Græme is, for a good part of the work, little better than a blackguard boy, who should have had his head broken twice a day, and been put nightly in the stocks, for his impertinence. Some of the scenes at Lochleven are of a different pitch-though the formal and measured sarcasms which the Queen and Lady Douglas interchange with such solemn verbosity, have a very heavy and unnatural effect. These faults, however, are amply redeemed by the beauties with which they are mingled. There are some grand passages, of enthusiasm and devoted courage, in Catherine Seyton. The escape from Lochleven is given with great effect and spirit-and the subsequent mustering of the Queen's adherents, and their march to Langside, as well as the battle itself, are full of life and colouring. The noble bearing and sad and devoted love of George Douglas -the brawl on the streets of Edinburgh, and the scenes at Holyrood, both serious and comic, as well as many of the minor characters, such as the Ex-abbot of St. Mary's metamorphosed into the humble gardener of Lochleven, are all in the genuine manner of the author, and could not have proceeded from any other hand. On the whole, however, the work is unsatisfactory, and too deficient in design and unity. We do not know why it should have been called "The Abbot," as that personage has scarcely any thing to do with it. As an historical sketch, it has neither beginning nor end;-nor does the time which it embraces possess any peculiar interest-and for a history of Roland Græme, which is the only denomination that can give it coherence, the narrative is not only far too slight and insignificant in itself, but is too much broken in upon by higher persons and weightier affairs, to retain any of the interest which it might otherwise have possessed.

"Kenilworth," however, is a flight of another wing-and rises almost, if not altogether, to the level of Ivanhoe;-displaying, perhaps, as much power in assembling together, and distributing in striking groups, the copious historical materials of that romantic age, as the other does in eking out their scantiness by the riches of the author's imagination. Elizabeth herself, surrounded as she is with lively and imposing recollections, was a difficult personage to bring prominently forward in a work of fiction: But the task, we think, is here not only fearlessly, but admirably performed; and the character brought out, not merely with the most un

sparing fulness, but with the most brilliant and seducing effect. Leicester is less happy; and we have certainly a great deal too much both of the blackguardism of Michael Lambourne, the atrocious villany of Varney and Foster, and the magical dealings of Alasco and Wayland Smith. Indeed, almost all the lower agents in the performance have a soit of Demoniacal character; and the deep and disgusting guilt by which most of the main incidents are developed, make a splendid passage of English history read like the New gate Calendar, and give a certain horror to the story, which is neither agreeable to historical truth, nor attractive in a work of imagination.

The great charm and glory of the piece, however, consists in the magnificence and vivacity of the descriptions with which it abounds; and which set before our eyes, with a freshness and force of colouring which can scarcely ever be gained except by actual observation, all the pomp and stateliness, the glitter and solemnity, of that heroic reign. The moving picture of Elizabeth's night entry to Kenilworth is given with such spirit, richness, and copiousness of detail, that we seem actually transported to the middle of the scene. We feel the press, and hear the music and the din-and descry, amidst the fading lights of a summer eve, the majestical pacings and waving banners that surround the march of the heroic Queen; while the mixture of ludicrous incidents, and the ennui that steals on the lengthened parade and fatiguing pref2ration, give a sense of truth and reality to the sketch that seems to belong rather to recent recollection than mere ideal conception. We believe, in short, that we have at this moment as lively and distinct an impression of the whole scene, as we shall have in a few weeks of a similar Joyous Entry, for which preparations are now making in this our loyal me tropolis,-and of which we hope, before that time, to be spectators. The account of Leicester's princely hospitality, and of the royal divertisements that ensued, the feastings and huntings, the flatteries and dissemblings, the pride, the jealousy, the ambition, the revenge,-are all portrayed with the same animating pencil, and leave every thing behind, but some rival works of the same unrivalled artist. The most surprising piece of mere description, however, that we have ever seen, is that of Amy's magnificent apartments at Cumnor Place, and of the dress and beauty of the lovely creature for whom they were adorned. We had no idea before that upholstery and millinery could be made so engaging; and though we are aware that it is the living Beauty that gives its enchantmer.t to the scene, and breathes over the whole an air of voluptuousness, innocence, and pity, it is impossible not to feel that the vivid and clear presentment of the visible objects by which she is surrounded, and the antique splendour in which she is enshrined, not only strengthen our impressions of the reality, but

The visit of George IV. to Edinburgh in July,


actually fascinate and delight us in themselves,just as the draperies and still-life in a grand historical picture often divide our admiration with the pathetic effect of the story told by the principal figures. The catastrophe of the unfortunate Amy herself is too sickening and full of pity to be endured; and we shrink from the recollection of it, as we would from that of a recent calamity of our own. The part of Tressilian is unfortunate on the whole, though it contains touches of interest and beauty. The sketch of young Raleigh is splendid, and in excellent keeping with every thing beside it. More, we think, might have been made of the desolate age and broken-hearted anguish of Sir Hugh Robsart; though there are one or two little traits of his paternal love and crushed affection, that are inimitably sweet and pathetic, and which might have lost their effect, perhaps, if the scene had been extended. We do not care much about the goblin dwarf, nor the host, nor the mercer,- -nor any of the other characters. They are all too fantastical and affected. They seem copied rather from the quaintness of old plays, than the reality of past and present nature; and serve better to show what manner of personages were to be met with in the Masks and Pageants of the age, than what were actually to be found in the living population of the land.

friend in the favour of the honest Udaller. The charm of the book is in the picture of his family. Nothing can be more beautiful than the description of the two sisters, and the gentle and innocent affection that continues to unite them, even after love has come to divide their interests and wishes. The visit paid them by Norna, and the tale she tells them at midnight, lead to a fine display of the perfect purity of their young hearts, and the native gentleness and dignity of their character. There is, perhaps, still more genius in the development and full exhibition of their father's character; who is first introduced to us as little else than a jovial, thoughtless. hospitable housekeeper, but gradually discloses the most captivating traits, not only of kindness and courage, but of substantial generosity and delicacy of feeling, without ever departing, for an instant, from the frank homeliness of his habitual demeanour. Norna is a new incarnation of Meg Merrilees, and palpably the same in the spirit. Less degraded in her habits and associates, and less lofty and pathetic in her denunciations, she reconciles fewer contradictions, and is, on the whole, inferior perhaps to her prototype; but is far above the rank of a mere imitated or borrowed character. The Udaller's visit to her dwelling on the Fitful-head is admirably managed, and highly characteristic of both parties. Of the humorous characters, Yellowlees is the best. Few things, indeed, are better than the description of his equestrian progression to the feast of the Udaller. Claud Halcro is too fantastical; and peculiarly out of place. we should think, in such a region. A man who talks in quotations from common plays. and proses eternally about glorious John Dryden, luckily is not often to be met with anywhere, but least of all in the Orkney Islands. Bunce is liable to the same objection,-though there are parts of his character, as well as that of Fletcher and the rest of the crew, given with infinite spirit and effect. The denouement of the story is strained and improbable, and the conclusion rather unsatisfactory: But the work, on the whole, opens up a new world to our curiosity, and affords another proof of the extraordinary pliability, as well as vigour, of the author's genius.

"The Pirates" is a bold attempt to furnish out a long and eventful story, from a very narrow circle of society, and a scene so circumscribed as scarcely to admit of any great scope or variety of action; and its failure, in so far as it may be thought to have failed, should, in fairness, be ascribed chiefly to this scantiness and defect of the materials. The author, accordingly, has been obliged to borrow pretty largely from other regions. The character and story of Mertoun (which is at once common-place and extravagant),-that of the Pirate himself, and that of Halcro the poet, have no connection with the localities of Shetland, or the peculiarities of an insular life. Mr. Yellowlees, though he gives occasion to some strong contrasts, is in the same situation. The great blemish, however, of the work, is the inconsistency in Cleveland's character, or rather the way in which he disappoints us, by turning out so much better than we had expected-and yet substantially so ill. So great, indeed, is this disappointment, and so strong the grounds of it, that we cannot help suspecting that the author himself must have altered his design in the course of the work; and, finding himself at a loss how to make either a demon or a hero of the personage whom he had introduced with a view to one or other of these characters, betook himself to the expedient of leaving him in that neutral or mixed state, which, after all, suits the least with his conduct and situation, or with the effects which he is supposed to produce. All that we see of him is a daring, underbred. forward, heartless fellow-comprehensive manner that we have ventured very unlikely, we should suppose, to capti- to adopt as to those earlier productions. This vate the affections of the high-minded, ro- accordingly is the course which, in the main mantic Minna, or even to supplant an old we propose to follow; though, for the sake of

We come now to the work which has afforded us a pretext for this long retrospection. and which we have approached, as befitteth a royal presence, through this long vista of preparatory splendour. Considering that it has now been three months in the hands of the public-and must be about as well known to most of our readers as the older works to which we have just alluded-we do not very well see why we should not deal with it as summarily as we have done with them; and. sparing our dutiful readers the fatigue of toiling through a detail with which they are already familiar, content ourselves with marking our opinion of it in the same general and


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