The Count de Poland. By Mifs M. Minifie. Four Volumes 12me: 125. Dodfley.

NOvel-writing, it has been contended by many, is too

often attended with fatal and deftructive confequences, more especially to the younger part of the fair fex, who, in this very inquifitive and reading age, feldom permit any thing of that kind to escape their attention. If ladies, indeed, make it their whole ftudy, and swallow with avidity every idle tale that is published, there may doubtless be fome truth in the af fertion. We have always, notwithstanding, been of opinion, that this fpecies of writing, if well executed, may afford both innocent amufement, and profitable inftruction. If the story is agreeably told, if the incidents are natural and probable, and the characters well and accurately drawn, a good novel may certainly tend to ridicule and expofe vice and folly, and pro

ote the intereft of honour, religion, and virtue. As belonging to this fpecies, we may venture to recommend the piece before us, which, though far inferior to the compositions of Richardíon and Fielding, may boaft no inconfiderable share of real merit; the ftyle being in general eafy and unaffected, the characters not ill fuftained, the narrative in most parts interefting, and the moral refulting from the whole unexceptionable. Mifs Minifie, the author, is already well known to the public by a very agreeable performance, which he wrote. fome time ago in conjunction with her fifters. She is now no longer in partnes fhip, but fets up for herfelf. We fincerely with her all the faccefs in her occupation, which induftry and attention, joined to good parts and judgment, may fairly intitle her to.

We will not anticipate our readers' pleasure in the perufal of thefe little volumes, by laying before them the outlines of the fable or ftory, which is very fhort and fimple; but as the principal merit of this performance confifts in the colouring, we Thall fubmit to them the following fpecimen of our author's ftyle and manner. In juftice. to her, we muft previously ob ferve, that the Count de Poland (the hero of the tale) has just discovered, by an extraordinary event, the abode and distressful fituation of a beloved fifter, whom he had been fome years in fearch of. The meeting between them, and her death, which immediately fucceeds, are thus pathetically defcribed by Mifs Minifie.

Take this, faid I (a billet which he had written to his fifter) to Annanette; go back to your mistress, carry with you any

Lady Frances and Lady Caroline S

thing you think he will be able to eat.

After he has taken

fome refreshment, tell her you have feen a fervant who you knew went abroad with me on my last expedition. Obferve how the receives this intelligence; if you think it will not be too much for her shattered fpirits, fay you have fpoke to this fervant; fay, that I being come home, and not finding her at Paris, am on my way to visit her in England. When the is quite able to bear a fuller discovery, tell her I am arrived---tell her you have feen me--and laft of all deliver this note. Be cautious in obferving my directions; obferve them punctually: I fhall wait your return where I am.---Fly to inform me the moment fhe is prepared for my reception. Annanette was not fonder of staying than I was of detaining her, but flew to execute my commiffion. Half an hour elapfed,---every moment appeared an age to me, my patience became ungovernable. I went out of the house; Annanette had pointed out to me the dwelling of my fifter; thither I bent my steps; I even ventured to the very door.---I planted myfelf on one fide of it, fo that he might not fee me from the windows. Whilft I maintained this poft, my fenfes were all employed, my ears greedily liftened for any voice or step that might proceed from the houfe; my eyes eagerly watched the appearance of Annanette. Five long minutes! I heard the lock draw back --I heard the door open---I faw the worthy creature come out weeping, fobbing, holding her apron to her face. She would have run by me towards the place where fhe expected I waited for her. Hold, faid I, in a low voice, I am here; is your mistress prepared My breath was fo fhort I could hardly fpeak to be understood. Oh, my good lord! I am not to blame, I have done exactly as you ordered, but my lady, my dear lady !---I ftayed to hear no more; I rushed by into the houfe- I afcended a little dark stair-cafe, for I faw no other entrance, and found my way to the chamber of wretchednefs. A female figure, dreffed in deep mourning, arose from a miferable bed placed in one corner of the room, and came tottering towards me. The fcanty light admitted to this gloomy apartment ferved only to deceive me; the perfon I faw excited my compaffion, but in her I difcovered not my fifter. Where are you, my Maria, cried I, where are you, my deareft Maria? I am here, my kind---her voice could command no more. The phantom which startled me on my entrance threw her emaciated arms about my neck, and fainted in my embraces.

I will pafs over the diftraction that feized me when I faw the hand of death bufied in destroying what yet remained of the beauteous edifice---when I felt it ftruggling to tear her from my embraces. I fcreamed aloud, my fcreams brought up Annanette; we lifted the dying faint to her bed; he was already panting for breath, and more than half an angel. I was not master of myfelf, or recollection, tears, and groans, made me incapable of affifting her. Annanette was more collected,fhe flew to a cupboard, and brought from thence a small phial, with the contents

of

of which he rubbed her hands, her nofe, her forehead. Maria once more opened her eyes, fhe fixed them on my face, full of death, but full of fweetnefs; the there read that poignant woe which does not admit of expreffion. She faintly fmiled---fhe would have spoke, but a figh that entered my very foul was all the uttered. I was kneeling at the fide of her bed, her hands hard grasped in mine, as if I meant to detain the bleffed fpirit from that heavenly manfion after which it was afpiring. Her hands wetted with my tears she drew from me---she drew them away with an eagerness which fhewed her apprehenfions that she fhould not be permitted time to perform fome act necessary to the peace of her laft moments. Taking from her breast a paper fealed with black---trembling---almoft convulfed---fhe delivered it to me, and preffed my hands to her lips with fuch fervor, as fhewed fhe would enforce, by her emotions of tenderness, the truft she had committed to my charge. This was the last effort of nature---it was the laft of affection ;---in the fame moment she performed it, her pure foul deferted its grief-worn body, and flew for fhelter to the bosom of its Maker.'

This is warm colouring, and a good deal after the manner of that excellent moral painter, to whom we are indebted for Grandifon and Clariffa, is the mafter whom our author feems throughout induftrioufly to copy after, and whom the fometimes imitates not unfuccefsfully. There is fome humour, as well as a great degree of probability (as the circumstance, we believe, happens every day), in an anecdote which lord Caftledown relates concerning his mother, and which, as it may make our readers, fmile, we shall here fubjoin.

• When I arrived in London (fays the young lord, in a letter to his friend) my dear father had been configned to his peaceful grave one whole week, or, according to the calendar of our modern dowagers, feven long days. I was difpirited with my recent loss, fick with croffing the water in a fevere ftorm, and tired to death by a journey which I had pofted from Montpellier for the fake of expedition. In this fituation I reached St. James'sfquare; it was about half an hour after nine in the evening. Before I came up to the house, an atch'ment over the door informed me, I was too late for the purpose which had haftened me home. I did not expect to find my mother in the deepest affiction, nor did I think my prefence was abfolutely neceffary to her happiness; however, it was my duty not to neglect a moment in prefenting myself to her, and I did it without even waiting to change my drefs. I paffed the porter without fpeaking; I was fo ftruck at my first entrance, that, for a moment, I had lost the power of fpeech. He knew me; I returned his low falute, by moving my hat, and proceeded to my mother's dreffing room, beckoning the fervants in waiting, that I would either be announced or followed; my vifit was not of cere

mony;

171 mony; common forms were, therefore, unneceffary. Guess, dear Seaton, guefs, if you can, my aftonishment, when, having gently opened the door half way, my mother's voice broke upon my ear, exclaiming, in a loud key, againft her ill luck at being loo'd with ace, king, and two other trumps. Petrified with furprize, I knew not what to do, whether to turn back or to go forwards; the recollection of my dear father made me determined on the former; but my mother hearing the lock turn, her eyes were drawn towards the door; the got a glimpse of my face; the cards dropt from her hands; fhe flew towards me; the caught me in her arms: her head fell upon my fhoulder, and

I will go no farther: the fcene was too ridiculous. God forgive me, but I could not help thinking that it would be much more natural to put her tears down to the account of lofing her game rather than her husband; if I am too fevere, if I err against the refpect I owe my mother, reflect on what I owe the memory of my beloved father, and the fault, if a fault I have committed, will diminish by this interefting reflection. Her ladyship was importunate with me to make my appearance to her vifitors; fhe had none with her but friends, fhe faid; friends, whofe goodnefs inclined them to waste their time in trying to divert her melancholy. You may fuppofe I did not comply with a request of this nature; fhe, finding it impoffible to prevail, returned to her company; and I retired to my old apartment in a difpofition better imagined than defcribed.'

As every endeavour to recommend the married state, and to, difcourage celibacy, is, we apprehend, of fervice to the community, we fhall quote from this entertaining novel a humorous and well-written defcription of the bachelor and the married man.

A bachelor is a fort of whimsical being, which nature never intended to create; he was formed out of all the odds and ends of what materials were left after the great work was over; unluckily for him, the finer paffions are all mixed up in the compofition of thofe creatures intended for focial enjoyments; what remains for the bachelor is hardly enough to rub round the crufty mould into which he is thrown, to avoid wafte---fome feasoning, that he may not be quite infipid, must be substituted in the ftead of more valuable ingredients, fo in dame Nature toffes self-love, without weight or measure --a kind of understanding that is fit for no other ufe---a fprinkling of wisdom which turns to acid from the four difpofition of the veffel in which it is contained, and the whole compofition is concluded with an immoderate portion of oddities. Thus formed, thus finished, a bachelor is popped into the world---mere lumber, without a poffibility of being happy himself, or effentially contributing to the happiness of others. His only bufinefs is to keep himself quiet; he gets up to lie down, and lies down to get up. No tender impreffions enliven his waking hours--no agreeable reveries difturb his dronish flumbers.

flumbers.. If he ever fpeaks the language of fenfibility, he fpeaks it on the excellence of fome favourite difh, or on the choice liquors with which his cellars abound; on fuch fubjects he feels the rapture of a lover.---The pace of a bachelor is fober; he would hardly mend it to get out of a storm, though that storm were to threaten a deluge; but fhew him a woman who is intitled to the compliment of his hat, and he will fhuffle on as if he was walking for a wager. His housekeeper or his faundrefs he can talk to without referve, but any other of the fex, whofe condition is above a ufeful dependent, is his terror. A coffee-house is his fanctum fanctorum, against bright eyes and dazzling complexions; here he lounges out half his days---at home he fits down to his unfocial meals, and when his palate is pleafed, he has no other paffion to gratify. Such is a bachelor---fuch the life of a bachelor---what becomes of him after death, I am not cafuift enough to determine.

Now for the married man. The felicity of a married man never stands till; it flows perpetual, and ftrengthens in its paffage; it is fupplied from various channels; it depends more on others than himself: from participation proceeds the most extatic enjoyments of a married man.

By an union with the gentlelt, moft polished, most beautiful part of the creation, his mind is harmonized, his manners foftened, his foul animated by the tendereft, livelieft fenfations.--Love, gratitude, and univerfal benevolence, mix in all his ideas. The house of a married man is his paradife; he never leaves it without regret, never returns to it but with gladness---the friend of his foul, the wife of his bofom, welcomes his approach with fufceptibility;---joy flushes her cheek---mutual are their tranfports. Infants, lovely as the fpring, climb about his knees, and contend which fhall catch the envied kifs of paternal fondness. Smiling plenty, under the guardianship of economy, is feen in every department of his family. Generofity ftands porter at his door; liberality prefides at his table; and focial mirth gives to time its moft pleafing motion.---To the existence of a married man, there is no termination; when death overtakes him, he is only tranflated from one heaven to another; his glory is immortalized, and his children's children represent him on earth to the laft generation.'

Our female novellift is here very fevere upon the bachelors, and we applaud her feverity; yet who knows but, if Mifs Minifie continues a virgin, fome male author may write a romance, and take occafion to return the compliment upon her.

It has too often been admitted, by the indolent and unthinking part of mankind, that vicious habits, which have been long contracted, are incurable; and that characters cannot be changed. In oppofition to this dangerous opinion, Mifs Minifie, in the work before us, has reformed and reclaimed her characters. Lady Morpeth fets out as a giddy, vain, coquettish