not believe it, till I hear it from your own lips!' "What is the matter, my dear Lady Sarah?—You astonish, and almost alarm me!' said Vivian, endeavouring to preserve composure of countenance. There "I will not.-Heaven forbid, that I should alarm you, as I have been alarmed! aaid Lady Sarah, commanding her voice again to a tone of tranquillity.-I ought, and if I were not weak, should be convinced, that there is no reason for alarm. has been some mistake, no doubt; and I have been to blame for listening to idle reports. Let me, however, state the facts. Half an hour ago, I was at Gray's the jewel ler's, to call for my poor mother's diamonds, which, you know, he has reset'— YesWell?' « And, whilst I was in the shop, a party of gentlemen came in, all of them unknown to me, and, of course, I was equally unknown to them; for they began to speak of you in a manner, in which none knowing me, could venture in my presence.-They came fresh, as 1 understood, from the gallery of the House, where they had been listening to this day's debate They said—I can. not bear to repeat or to think of what they final catastrophe of his death by the hand of Wharton, are all detailed with the most harrowing interest, «Oh! worthy of a better fate,” exclaimed Russell, as he hung over the corpse of the expiring youth, (who had just finished his devotions with a clergyman, and been left calm and resigned). "With such a heart! With such talents! And so young! With only one fault, and no vice! Oh my friend, is it all over? and all in vain?" It was so indeed, and we are left in the midst of the heart-rending and heart-rent group; his mother bordering on distraction; Lady Sarah shedding no tears, uttering no exclamation, but advancing to the bed, trying whether there was any pulse, any breath left, then kneeling down beside him in silent devotion; the silly lord, silly even in grief; and the humane reader directed for repose, only to the consoling idea that Russell and Miss Sidney bid fair to be happily united, and to enjoy the reward which their virtues and strength of mind deserved. aid-You cannot have bartered your public reputation for a marquisate for my father? You cannot have done that which is dishonourable-you cannot have deserted your party for a paltry place for yourself!-ly You turn pale. I wish, if it pleased God, that I was this moment in my grave!—' Heaven forbid, my dear Lady Sarah!' cried Vivian, forcing a smile, and endeavour ing to speak in a tone of raillery. Why should you wish to be in your grave, because your husband has just got a good, warm place? Live! live!' said he, raising her pow erless hand; for consider-as I did-and this consideration was of no small weight with me-consider, my dear Sarah, how much better you will live for it!' "And you did consider me? And that did weigh with you?-Oh! this is what I dread ed most!' cried Lady Sarah. When will you know my real character? When will you have confidence in your wife, Sir? When will you know the power, the unconquered, unconquerable power, of her affection for you?" pp. 437-440. The horrors of the last evening, Vivian's appearance at the ministerial dinner, his return to a party which Lady Sarah had in kindness summoned to receive him, his last interview with his mother, and the The important moral of this highwrought piece, has induced us to allow it more space than we can apportion to the other two tales; the exhibition of character which it holds out in the person of Vivian, we conceive to be of the highest order: and the tremendous perils of that too commen "fault," even in minds on the whole well talented, and well-intentioned, viz. a want of firmness, vigour, and decision, in forming and executing their own judgments, are never lost sight of for a moment; and we willingly hold forth the possible results, as a warning, a grand negative example, where we trust it will be useful, to our youthful heirs, youthful suitors, youthful projectors, and youthful senators. We reserve any further observations for the conclusion; and proceed to make our readers acquainted with the second character, Emilie de Coulanges, who occupies half the fifth volume, by telling them that she half a volume. She plays her part with a tenderness and sensibility sufficiently interesting, as the countess her mother does with most amusing irritability-And a husband happily arrives to crown the deserts of the youthful fair, just as she had rejected the yet unknown son of her hostess; who most fortunately, proves to be the very person she was in love with in the character of an unknown deliverer from prison. We selec', from this fanciful piece, one amusing specimen, and we hope useful also, where needed. Mrs. Somers, violently quarrels with Emilie, for a discontented exclamation of "Ah! qu'il fait chaud!" at an installation, for which she had with difficulty procured tickets. forms the heroine of a pretty little tale, written somewhat, as we guess, in imitation of the French Caro line de Litchfield. If Miss Edgeworth does not succeed quite so well in tracing the delicate, and almost imperceptible lines of finespun sentiment, as she does in striking out the bolder sweep of manly and quotidian character, she has no reason to lament the inferiority. She owes it, we will venture to say, to the free-born energies of her native isle. We believe many reasons might be assigned, why the tame home-slave of despotism should have the fairer chance of inwardly scanning the sensibilities of a timid mind, and tracing the finer laws of domestic and social intercourse, than the rude child of liberty both in thought and action. And whether it be true in theory or not, we think the fact, (barring some exceptions of no honourable kind), is with us, and not to be contravened by any appeal to Emilie de Coulanges, against her rival, or her thousand rivals in ancient sentimental France. She arrives from that country, with a young, prating, coxcombical, snuff-taking mother, in the emigrant character, at the house of a Mrs. Somers, in London. And the whole tale is made to hinge upon the character of this awkward, and vulgar hostess, who has a fancy for doing the most generous actions, and binding her friends to her by perfectly indissoluble obligations, whilst she is a perfect stranger to all the little, but important arts of securing esteem-undoing by her jealousy, what she does by her generosity; who demands, what she therefore never receives; and unreasonably expects the tribute of the heart, for what she unreasonably bestows, that of her purse. By this unhappy formerly rep roached Emilie, at the installa temper, a very common one we aption, for complaining of the heat; and she prehend, in a certain half-educated persuaded herself, that this was an instance line of life, and a very just object of perversity in Emilie's temper, and a sly of the lash of satire, where birch method of revenging herself for the past. had been wanting in early life, Nothing could be more improbable, from a Emilie de Coulanges is most hand girl of such a frauk, forgiving, sweet dispo somely teized and rated through sition; and no one would have been so "Emilie reproached herself, and resolv ed, that, upon the next similar trial, she would not complain of being sleepy or tired; and that she would take particular care not to say Ah! qu'il fait chaud!' A short time afterwards, she was in a crowded assembly, at the house of a friend of Mrs. Somers, a route-a species of entertainment, of which she had not seen examples in her own country: (it appeared to her rather a barbarous mode of amusement, to meet in vast crowds, to squeeze or to be squeezed, without a possibility of enjoying any rational conversation). Emilie was fatigued, and almost fainting, from the heat, but she bore it all with a smiling countenance and heroic gaiety; for, this night, she was determined not to displease Mrs. Somers. On their return home, she was rather surprised and disappointed, to find this lady in a fit of extreme ill-humour. "I wanted to get away two hours ago, cried she, but you would not understand any of my hints, Mademoiselle de Coulanges; and, when I asked you whether you did not find it very hot,' you persisted in saying, Not in the least-not in the least.' "Mrs. Somers was the more angry upon this occasion, because she recollected having ready to say so as Mrs. Somers in another mood; but, the moment she was irritated, she judged without common sense-never from general observations, but always from particular instances. It was in vain that Emilie disclaimed the motives attributed to her; she was obliged to wait the return of her friend's reason, and in the mean time, to bear her reproaches-which she did with infinite patience. Unfortunately, this patience soon became the source of fresh evi!. Because Emilie was so gentle, and so ready to acknowledge and to believe herself to be in the wrong, Mrs. Somers became convinced, that she herself was in the right in all her complaints; and she fancied, that she had great merit in passing over so many defects in one, whom she had so much obliged, and who professed so much gratitude-Between the fits of her ill-humour, she would, however, waken to the full sense of Emilie's goodness, and would treat her with particular kindness, as if to make amends for the past. Then, if Emilie could not immediately resume that easy, gay familiarity of manner, which she used to have, before experience had taught her the fear of offending, Mrs. Somers grew angry again, and decided, that Emilie had not sufficient elevation of soul to under stand her character, or to forgive the little infirmities of the best of friends.-When she was under the influence of this suspicion, every thing that Emilie said or looked, was confirmation strong. Mrs. Somers was apt, in conversation, to throw out general reflections, that were meant to apply to particular persons; or to speak with one meaning, obvious to all the company; and another, to be understood only by some individual, whom she wished to reproach. This art, which she had often successfully practised upon Emilie, she, for that reason, suspected that Emilie tried upon her. And then the utmost ingenuity was employed to torture words into strange meanings: she would misinterpret the plainest expressions, or at tribute to them some double, mysterious signification." pp. 45-48. In this tale, we have also a wellintroduced compliment, to a wellknown contemporary, which may be allowed to bespeak our favour in no small degree, and induces us to hope, that the prose of Mrs. H. More, may possess as many charms for Miss Edgeworth, as her poetry *. In a note to an excellent passage, on the perilous nature of "great favours," Miss Edgeworth writes thus : "Siuce this was written, the author has Both the foregoing tales kept, as we are informed in Mr. Edgeworth's preface, a year beyond “ the ninth,” bear marks of great ability and considerable labour, especially the first. But they both, we think, yield in agreeableness to the last, entitled "The Absentee," in which Miss Edgeworth once more betrays "the ruling passion," and, escaping to her native air and youthful associations in beloved Hibernia, finds and shews herself quite at home. We can scarcely venture on more than the most meagre outline of this hastier, but truly felicitous effort, to pourtray the manners-first of the English towns in which Lord and Lady Clonbrony are introduced as absentees from Ireland, and then of the Irish country, whither they are induced to return by the judicious efforts of their son and heir, Lord Colambre, who is not quite of age. The intermediate chasm is filled up by the insufferable, though well complicated jargon of Mrs. Dareville, Lady Chatterton, the Duchess of Torcaster, and Lady G., and Lady P., and the Duke of V. at Lady Clonbrony's parties; the Falstaff wit of an Irish spendthrift, Sir Terence O'Fay; the diabolical malice of a Shylockcoach-maker, Mordecai; the flippant nonsense of an upholsterer; relieved by the good sense of the manly Colambre; the dignified and graceful conduct of Grace Nugent, like Miss Sidney, the elêve of our hero's mother; the proprieties of Miss Broadhurst, an heiress to whom she would marry Colambre; and the interesting afflictions of the seen the same thoughts so much better expressed in the following lines, that she cannot forbear to quote them." "Since trifles make the sum of human things, And half our mis'ry from our foibles springs, Since life's best joys consist in peace and family of Sir Arthur Berryl, whose son seems destined to falsify the world's report. From this opening and most truly wretched scene of worldly folly, Colambre escapes in a tour to Ireland, to visit his paternal estates: and the incidents of this tour, by far the most interesting part, to our mind, of the last volume, or all the volumes, present us with the most lively pictures of Irish manners, from the highest to the lowest, from the best to the worst—and are such that we desire them to be deeply engraven on the hearts of every Irish absentee family who may read these tales; and should they there produce their just and due effect, we shall boldly pronounce this work not to have been written in vain. We must put our readers in good humour with an entertainment, after the tragical events detailed in the course of this Review, by giving the dinner of Mrs. Raffarty, an Irish groceress, to Lord Colambre, at Tusculum, her country villa. The villa and the taste of its owner having been first very ludicrously described, the dinner is introduced. "It had two great faults-profusion and pretension. There was, in fact, ten times more on the table than was necessary; and. the entertainment was far above the circumstances of the person by whom it was given : for instance, the dish of fish at the head of the table had been brought across the island from Sligo, and had cost five guineas; as the lady of the house failed not to make known. But after all, things were not of a piece; there was a disparity between the entertainment and the attendants; there was no proportion or fitness of things. A painful endeavour at what could not be attained, and a toiling in vain to conceal and repair deficiencies and blunders. Had the mistress of the house been quiet; had she, as Mrs. Broadhurst would say, but let things alone, let things take their course; all would have passed off with well-bred people: but she was incessantly apologizing, and fussing and fretting inwardly and outwardly, and directing and calling to her servants-striving to make a butler, who was deaf, and a boy, who was hair-brained, do the business of five accomplished footmen of parts and figure. CHRIST. OBSERV. No. 132. The mistress of the house called for ' plates. clean plates!-hot plates!'— "But none did come, when she did call for them.' Mrs. Raffarty called Larry! Larry! my Lord's plate, there!-James! bread to Captain Bowles!-James! port wine, to the Major.-James! James Kenny! James! "And panting James toiled after her in vain.' "At length one course was fairly got through, and after a torturing half-hour, the second course appeared, and James Kenny was intent upon one thing, and Larry upon another, so that the wine-sauce for the hare was spilt by their collision; but what was worse, there seemed little chance that the whole of this second course should ever be placed altogether rightly upon the table. Mrs. Raffarty cleared her throat, and nodded, and pointed, and sighed, and set Larry after Kenny, and Kenny after Larry; for what one did, the other undid; and at last, the lady's anger kindled, and she spoke. Kenny! James Kenny, set the sea-cale at this corner, and put down the grass crosscorners; and match your macaroni yonder with them puddens, set-Ogh! James! the pyramid in the middle, can't ye? "The pyramid in changing places was overturned. Then it was, that the mistress of the feast, falling back in her seat, and lifting up her hands and eyes in despair, ejaculated; Oh, James! James !' "The pyramid was raised by the assist ance of the military engineers, and stood trembling again on its base; but the lady's temper could not be so easily restored to its equilibrium. The comedy of errors, which this day's visit exhibited, amused all the spectators. But Lord Colambre, after he had smiled, sometimes sighed." Vol. vi. p. 25. After various incidents, which tend to throw a blot on the escutcheon of Grace Nugent, our " Cœlebs" is found with mixt sensations on his paternal estates; and the different effects of the good and bad agency of estates, on the Irish people, are detailed with a livelines and interest which nothing can exceed. No quotation we could make would do justice to the "tout ensemble" of the detail. We only wish the whole passage, from p. 123 to p. 248, could be selected from the rest and published in an attractive form at this particular moment, when Irish affairs 5 K are about to undergo, as they must do, a thorough investigation; to act as a warning voice, loud and strong, to those who would hastily decide on the momentous questions which they involve; and to stand forth as a species of map, or authentic document, pourtraying the real "case" between Irish grievances and Irish discontents. We should hear little of Catholic emancipation, if these plain facts, obvious, we suspect, to the sense and feeling of all honest inquirers, were investigated, and the abuses they indicate redressed. No, not a factious or aspiring demagogue in that whole much-abused island would dare to appeal to the Irish people for the furtherance of his own mischievous and anarchical designs, were not that people pining under the neglect of wealthy absentees, and smarting, even to madness, under the lash of still wealthier and tyrannical agencies. The different gradations of infamy on the one band, and of poverty, barbarism, and worse than popish darkness, on the other, to which this system Jeads, and is intimately allied, are to be considered as the substantial strata of that foundation on which are raised the claims of further concessions to the Irish Catholics. On the subject of these concessions we do not mean now to enter. We will only speak at present our confident opinion, in accordance with Miss Edgeworth, that the grievances they are to remove are not the grievances of the Irish people; nor will these concessions, of themselves, either tranquillize that island or secure our own from the effects of its disorders.. But to 'return. The tale of the "Absentee" ends in the happiest way in the world; by the successful negotiation of Lord Colambre with Sir Terence O'Fay and his father's creditors; the clearing up of Grace Nugent's pedigree, which makes her an heiress, and worthy, as she had been in every other respect before, of his lordship's hand; and the final return and happy set tlement of the whole family in their native land, and their restoration to the proper, though long lost, dignity of their titles and estates. Our readers will, we think, by this time have done Miss Edgeworth and ourselves full justice, in admitting the legitimacy of her moral lessons intended to be inculcated in these tales. It remains only that we say a few words, in application of the last of those canons, which most probably it has been forgotten we laid down in the opening of this article, for the examination of works of fiction, viz. the legitimacy of the arguments, motives, &c. on which those moral lessons are inculcated. And here it is impossible not to anticipate from us very qualified praise indeed; the grounds of instruction being evidently, systematically, and neces sarily confined to those which this world presents Miss Edgeworth has, indeed, pointed out many vices, or, as she properly terms them on worldly principles," faults," in some characters; and has pourtrayed also many interesting virtues, we must rather call them beauties," in others: but in the acquirement of "these beauties," or the avoidance of those "faults," she not only leaves us without a sufficient, but, we must even say, without any help at all. Having at hand no scheme of a changling blacksmith, as once, for the cure of "ennui," she fairly leaves the "fault" of Vivian without cure; as she does the "beauties" of Lord Colambre without cause; except that, indeed, which we know never can be now the cause of virtue, our fallen nature. As to Mrs. Somers, our authoress concludes in a manner perfectly according with her own principles: "We are farther assured, that Mrs. Somers never quarrelled with Emilie, from the day of her marriage till the day of her death. But this is incredible.” vol.v. p. 199. Incredible indeed! for what single cure, what palliative had been suggested in the foregoing tale for the tormenting passion which forms the subject of it? And what, or |