commendations is the tone of deep, sound moral feeling which pervades the whole. That the author not only possesses a powerful command over the heart and the affections, but employs it to a good purpose, will appear from a variety of passages, from which we shall select one very striking instance, descriptive of Reginald's repentance after a drunken party in his own rooms.

"Although, however, Reginald was at the moment sober in comparison with Chisney, he had, in reality, drunk quite sufficiently to render his recollection of what had passed very confused the next morning. When he awoke, a hot and feverish thirst parched his lips, and when he essayed to rise, his brain reeled, and his eye swam in dizziness. By a sickly effort of strength he got up, and plunging his whole head into a basin of cold water, kept it there until every limb shook beneath the strong stimulus; and his faculties were in a great measure cleared, and his thoughts composed, by the time he had dried his hair. He drank long and largely, and feeling himself comparatively at ease, he opened his bed-room door, intending to seek for his watch, which he had not discovered in its usual situation. He opened the door-but with what horror did he shrink from the scene which met his view!-Tables overturned, chairs broken, gowns torn, and caps shattered-candlesticks planted prostrate in their own grease-bottles and glasses shivered to atoms-floods of wine soaking on the filthy floorhorrid heavy fumes polluting the atmosphere-utter confusion everywhere-and a couple of dirty drowsy scouts labouring among all the loathsome ruin of a yesterday's debauch.

"Reginald turned in sickness from the abomination, and clapping the door behind him, flung himself upon his bed in an agony of shame and remorse. The image of his father rose before him→→→ his father, far away in that virtuous solitude, robbing himself of what he could ill spare, that his son might not want the means of improvement, and cheering and sustaining his lonely hours with the hopes of meeting that only favourite, improved in intellect, and uncorrupted in manners. The calm beautiful valley, the dear sequestered home, the quiet days, the cheerful nights, the happy mornings-all the simple images of the peaceful past came crowding over his fancy in the sad clearness of regret. Even now, he said to himself, even now, he of whom I shall never be worthy, his thoughts are upon me! Alas! how differently will his fond imagination picture the scene with which his son is surrounded! How little will he dream of frantic riot, mad debauchery, this idleness, this drunkenness, this degradation! His solitary pillow is visited with other dreams-dreams!-dreams indeed! O why came I hither? why was I flung thus upon myself, ere I had strength enough to know myself to know if it were but my weakness? Alas! my too kind, my too partial parent, how cruelly will he be

undeceived! For him, too, I am preparing pain-pain and shame -and for what?-for fever, for phrenzy, for madness, for the laughter of fools, the merriment of idiots, the brawls, the squabbles of drunken boys-this hot and burning brain, these odious shivering qualms, this brutal giddiness, and all yon heart-oppressing pollution!" Vol. II. p. 6.

There is considerable variety and originality in most of the principal characters. That of Reginald is drawn with a youthful ease and grace which reminds us very much of Quentin Durward, and certainly not at all of Lord Byron's sallow sentimentalists. In spite of all his foibles and imprudences, his castle-building, and his extravagance, there is a strong redeeming principle of honesty and honour, which forms the basis of his character, and thoroughly interests us in his favour. The incidents of the unfortunate day's hunting, and of the servitorship, are most touchingly told; and, which is highly to the author's credit, any thing like gross or intentional vice is scrupulously avoided in the character.

Mr. Dalton, the father of Reginald, is a very pleasing and interesting person, characterized by the faults and merits natural to his secluded situation. Nobly disinterested, and devotedly affectionate, he is at the same time most woefully ignorant of the world, and incautious in the disposal of his only child, whom he abandons to such a guide as young Chisney, forgetting all at once the nervous and almost finical vigilance with which he watched over his conduct in the slightest points.

The Squire of Grypherwast and Mr. Keith are a couple of kind-hearted shatter-brained old sots; the creatures, whether drunk or sober, of friendly and benevolent impulse, and therefore, if not thoroughly respectable, at least loveable. The character of the former possesses nothing very original about it; but that of the merry frank old priest, with his mixture of Scotch prejudices and German habits, his boyish playfulness and imprudence, and his thorough uprightness of principle, is a very lively conception. There certainly is more of intellect and cultivation in his character than in that of the Squire; but if the author intended him for any thing dignified, he certainly has mistaken his aim. A Catholic priest of three-score and ten must have been deplorably overcome indeed, before he could have been betrayed into regaling a party of young Protestant laymen with

"Disce bene, Clerice, virgines amare.'

And a specimen of

The faculty, rarely met with out of Germany, of imitating with his voice all manner of musical instruments, from the organ to the Jew's-harp, which new and delightful accomplishment was continually exhibited between the stanzas, and in swelling the chorus of his strains." V. II. p. 275.

We can more easily however forgive him for these little occasional lapses than for the imprudence which exposes poor Ellen to so gross an insult from Chisney, and his absurd blindness to the character of the young man.

Ellen is a graceful and feminine portrait, drawn with a few touches; and more easy and natural than heroines often are. She shall speak for herself in her own warm-hearted plain English, which is worth a hundred set periods enunciated by-inas and -indas.

"You will not forget me, Ellen?' 'Ask your own heart that, Reginald!' and she sobbed aloud, and once more she threw herself upon his breast. But she, too, in her turn, could summon strength. She raised herself and spoke with a calm voice, but rapidly, as if in fear that it might lose its calmness. 1 wished to have given all my heart to God, Dalton-it was you who took that power from me, and yet that wish half remains. You have made me know what love is. Shall I-Oh, no, I shall not-I cannot reproach you. I have tasted love-I have tasted happiness-troubled love, indeed-sad and troubled, but yet something happier than I had dreamed of-something sweeter than I had thought was in this world-and now we are to part!-Fear not that I shall love another. I shall be alone-but I shall not be all alone while I think that you are there-even there, the wide seas between us-time, and sea, and fortune-take my whole heart, my whole resolution at once with you-I am yours. If you ever ask me to come, I will come. If you ever come to me, you will find me the same-old, perhaps-faded-with grey hairs, Reginald, if you stay so long from me-but still, lay your hand here, Reginald Dalton, you will find this heart in the same place, and beating thus.' ” Vol. III. p. 59.

The stock character of the old maid, manufactured by one novelist after the approved receipt of another, with the quant. suff. of scandal, lap-dogs, &c is by this time exploded by the common sense of the age, along with the lions on Chinese porcelain, and other monstrous and absurd caricatures: but we know of no instance in which the state of spinsterhood is represented in a more lady-like and venerable point of view, than in the character of Mrs. Elizabeth Dal

ton. Many a reader will recognize in her imaginary portrait, the real features of some good old friend or relative, now no more, who had declined matrimony from inclination, and whose affections,. instead of being thwarted, were concentrated in her own natural kindred: with a heart open to benevolence, and spirits unfatigued by the gambols of the young;

"Whom none knew but to love her,
Or named her but to praise."

Mrs. Elizabeth is exactly of this class. Frank, singlebearted, generous to an extreme, and touchily alive to the honour of her family and her sex, she maintains the dignity of spinsterhood with a high hand, and bestows its savings with a liberal one. She also shall speak for herself on the occasion of her brother's funeral, and the departure of Reginald and his father.

"Mrs. Elizabeth listened indeed with an expression of maternal interest and satitfaction to the boy's praises-but when the father stopt, he was answered in a strain of energy, such as he could scarcely hear without something like self-reproach. The placid composure of melancholy sat no longer upon her features-the pale cheek of age glowed-and, with sudden and abrupt violence, she at once poured out a stream of emotion, which, contrasted with the preceding calmness of her sorrow, agitated and even alarmed him.

"And this noble boy,' she said, without a word of prefacethis dear and noble boy of ours, he and you, John Dalton, are both to be robbed of the rightful inheritance of your fathers-and by whom? By a stranger to our blood, a crafty stranger, a cunning, sneaking hypocrite. Oh sir! when I think of this, it is then indeed that I am unhappy. I am old, and I shall not see it—but the folly of a single girl will be the ruin of our house. I foresee it all-there is now nothing to check their artifice-Sir Charles Catline became master here in the very moment that my dear brother breathed his last." " Vol. II. p. 163.

"She tried to master her emotions, whatever they were-but perhaps she had already struggled too much in that way; at all events, she now succeeded very indifferently in her efforts. She kissed Reginald's cheek, and said very passionately, God bless my dear boy!'-and then the old lady could no longer contain herself. Her tears burst freely over her cheek and she wept aloud. With what terrible effect does not the audible sorrow of old ageabove all, of strong and firm old age-pierce the ear of youth! To what a height has not their emotion gone, ere it overflows in

VOL. XX. Oct. 1823.

G g

tears!

Their tears are not like those that rise easily within young eyes, and gush softly over unfurrowed cheeks. It is a strong cord that draws up the water from that deep and exhausted well. The pity that listens to such lamentation is mingled with awe-it is heard in silence, because it cannot be interrupted without irreverence." Vol. II. p. 168.

of

The contrast of Macdonald and his son was perhaps suggested to the author by the characters of Sir Pertinax Macsycophant and Egerton: but this mere outline is filled up in a manner which does him great credit. The old W. S. is not the mere cold-hearted crafty villain merely introduced for the purpose of perpetrating a treacherous design, but is drawn with considerable comic humour, and with a constitutional good nature which redeems much of his vulgarity and coarseness, if not his more serious faults. He is, however, destined to be the regular standing bore of the book, and he plays his part to perfection; witness in particular the scene with Lady Catline at Mr. Ward's house, where a conversation which might have been given in two pages is lengthened into fourteen. On a similar scale are his powers eating and drinking; and in truth we should hardly have ventured, in national politeness, to imagine such a portentous attack of a hungry Scot on English provender, as the author describes in the person of Mr. Macdonald, at the tables of Lady Olivia and Mr. Ward. Indeed it must be confessed that Reginald himself bids fair to become a worthy bottlesuccessor to the Squire of Grypherwast. On every occasion of mental emotion, he has recourse, to wine'; when sorrowful he quaffs to keep his spirits up, and when fortunate, to celebrate the occasion in short much more than is pleasing or consistent. From Lady Olivia's supper, for instance, he sallies out with Stukely, heated with her champagne, and then by way of a cooling draught, takes his share of six pots of porter and an ocean of gin-toddy among three, besides a glut of native Miltons ad libitum. This really stinks of the laborious gourmandise which is reiterated without ceasing in the pages of Blackwood, to assert the very doubtful supe riority of Auld Reekie in "gude vivers:" and as the author had leisure enough to expatiate on good living in the chapter expressly devoted to the purpose, it is inexcusable to prolong the subject to the very dregs.

Nor can we compliment him on more than a very faint approximation to the tone of good English society. The book teems with palpable Scotticisms, and vulgar interjections, which we shall not particularize, partly because we