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You are now immediately opposite the door of the seminary, when half a dozen of those seated next it notice you.

'Oh, sir, here's a gintleman on a horse!-masther, sir, here's a gintleman on a horse, wid boots and spurs on him, that's looking in at us.'

'Silence!' exclaims the master; 'back from the door-boys rehearse every one of you rehearse, say, you Baotians, till the gintleman goes past!' 'I want to go out, if you plase, sir.' 'No, you don't, Phelim.'

'I do, indeed, sir.'

"What is it afther conthradictin' me you'd be? Don't you see the "porter's" out, and you can't go.' 'Well, 'tis Mat Meehan has it, sir; and he's out this half-hour, sir; I can't stay in, sir!'

You want to be idling your time looking at the gintleman, Phelim.'

'No, indeed, sir.'

loftier order proceeding from the same pen; that young writers, English and American, began to imitate so artless and charming a manner of narration; and that an obscure Berkshire hamlet, by the magic of talent and kindly feeling, was converted into a place of resort and interest for not a few of the finest spirits of the age.' Extending her obIservation from the country village to the markettown, Miss Mitford published another interesting volume of descriptions, entitled Belford Regis. She also gleaned from the new world three volumes of Stories of American Life, by American Writers, of which she remarks- The scenes described and the personages introduced are as various as the authors, extending in geographical space from Canada to Mexico, and including almost every degree of civilisation, from the wild Indian and the almost equally wild hunter of the forest and prairies, to the culti vated inhabitant of the city and plain.' Besides her tragedies (which are little inferior to those of Miss Baillie as intellectual productions, while one of them,

'Phelim, I know you of ould-go to your sate. I tell you, Phelim, you were born for the encouragement of the hemp manufacture, and you'll die pro-Rienzi, has been highly successful on the stage), moting it.'

In the meantime the master puts his head out of the door, his body stooped to a half-bend'-a phrase, and the exact curve which it forms, I leave for the present to your own sagacity-and surveys you until you pass. That is an Irish hedge-school, and the personage who follows you with his eye a hedgeschoolmaster.

MISS MARY RUSSELL MITFORD.

MISS MARY RUSSELL MITFORD, the painter of English rural life in its happiest and most genial aspects, was born in 1789 at Alresford, in Hampshire. Reminiscences of her early boarding-school days are scattered through her works, and she appears to have been always an enthusiastic reader. When very young, she published a volume of miscellaneous poems, and a metrical tale in the style of Scott, entitled Christine, the Maid of the South Seas, founded on the discovery of the mutineers of the Bounty. In 1823 was produced her effective and striking tragedy of Julian, dedicated to Mr Macready the actor, for the zeal with which he befriended the production of a stranger, for the judicious alterations which he suggested, and for the energy, the pathos, and the skill with which he more than embodied its principal character.' Next year Miss Mitford published the first volume of Our Village, Sketches of Rural Character and Scenery, to which four other volumes were subsequently added, the fifth and last in 1832. Every one,' says a lively writer, now knows Our Village, and every one knows that the nooks and corners, the haunts and the copses so delightfully described in its pages, will be found in the immediate neighbourhood of Reading, and more especially around Three-Mile Cross, a cluster of cottages on the Basingstoke road, in one of which our authoress has now resided for many years. But so little were the peculiar and original excellence of her descriptions understood, in the first instance, that, after having gone the round of rejection through the more important periodicals, they at last saw the light in no worthier publication than the Lady's Magazine. But the series of rural pictures grew, and the venture of collecting them into a separate volume was tried. The public began to relish the style so fresh, yet so finished, to enjoy the delicate humour and the simple pathos of the tales; and the result was, that the popularity of these sketches outgrew that of the works of

* Mr Chorley-The Authors of England.

Miss Mitford has written numerous tales for the annuals and magazines, showing that her industry is equal to her talents. It is to her English tales, however, that she must chiefly trust her fame with posterity; and there is so much unaffected grace, tenderness, and beauty in these rural delineations, that we cannot conceive their ever being considered obsolete or uninteresting. In them she has treasured not only the results of long and familiar observation, but the feelings and conceptions of a truly poetical mind. She is a prose Cowper, without his gloom or bitterness. In 1838 Miss Mitford's name was added to the pension list—a well-earned tribute to one whose genius has been devoted to the honour and embellishment of her country.

COUNTESS OF BLESSINGTON.

This lady, well known in the world of fashion and literature, is a native of Ireland, daughter of Edward Power, Esq., late of Curagheen, county Waterford. At the age of fifteen she became the wife of Captain Farmer of the 47th regiment, after whose death, in 1817, she was united to Charles John Gardiner, Earl of Blessington. In 1829 she was again left a widow. Lady Blessington now fixed her residence in London, and, by her rank and personal tastes, succeeded in rendering herself a centre of literary society. Her first publication was a volume of Travelling Sketches in Belgium, very meagre and illwritten. The next work commanded more attention: it was her Conversations with Lord Byron, whom she had met daily for some time at Genoa. In 1833 appeared The Repealers, a novel in three volumes, but containing scarcely any plot, and few delineations of character, the greater part being filled with dialogues, criticism, and reflections. Her ladyship is sometimes sarcastic, sometimes moral, and more frequently personal. One female sketch, that of Grace Cassidy, a young Irish wife, is the only one of the characters we can remember, and it shows that her ladyship is most at home among the scenes of her early days. To The Repealers' succeeded The Two Friends, The Confessions of an Elderly Gentleman, The Confessions of an Elderly Lady, Desultory Thoughts, The Belle of a Season, The Governess, The Idler in Italy (three volumes, 1839-40), The Idler in France (two volumes, 1841), The Victims of Society, and Meredith. Her recollections of Italy and France are perhaps the best of her works, for in these her love of anecdote, epigram, and sentiment, has full scope, without any of the impediments raised by a story.

MRS S. C. HALL.

MRS S. C. HALL, authoress of Lights and Shadows of Irish Life, and various other works, 'is a native of Wexford, though by her mother's side she is of Swiss

Uma Maria Hall

descent. Her maiden name was Fielding, by which, however, she was unknown in the literary world, as her first work was not published till after her marriage. She belongs to an old and excellent family in her native county. She first quitted Ireland at the early age of fifteen, to reside with her mother in

England, and it was some time before she revisited her native country; but the scenes which were familiar to her as a child have made such a vivid and lasting impression on her mind, and all her sketches evince so much freshness and vigour, that her readers might easily imagine she had spent her life among the scenes she describes. To her early absence from her native country is probably to be traced one strong characteristic of all her writingsthe total absence of party feeling on subjects connected with politics or religion.'* Mrs Hall's first work appeared in 1829, and was entitled Sketches of Irish Character. These bear a closer resemblance to the tales of Miss Mitford than to the Irish stories of Banim or Griffin, though the latter may have tended to direct Mrs Hall to the peculiarities of Irish character. They contain some fine rural description, and are animated by a healthy tone of moral feeling and a vein of delicate humour. The coquetry of her Irish girls (very different from that in high life) is admirably depicted. Next year Mrs Hall issued a little volume for children, Chronicles of a SchoolRoom, consisting also of a series of tales, simple, natural, and touching. The home-truths and moral observations conveyed in these narratives reflect great credit on the heart and the judgment of the writer. Indeed good taste and good feeling may be said to preside over all the works of our authoress. In 1831 she issued a second series of Sketches of Irish Character,' fully equal to the first, and was well received. The Rapparee is an excellent story, and some of the satirical delineations are hit off with great truth and liveliness. In 1832 she ventured on a larger and more difficult work-a historical romance in three volumes, entitled The Buccaneer. The scene of this tale is laid in England at the time of the Protectorate, and Oliver himself is among the characters. The plot of The Buccaneer' is well managed, and some of the characters (as that of Barbara Iverk, the Puritan) are skilfully delineated; but the work is too feminine, and has too little of energetic passion for the stormy times in which it is cast. In 1834 Mrs Hall published Tales of Woman's Trials, short stories of decidedly moral tendency,

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larity. The principal tale in the collection, The Groves of Blarney, was dramatised at one of the theatres with distinguished success. In 1840 Mrs

*Dublin University Magazine for 1840.

Hall issued what has been styled the best of her she would not forget it, becase the boy's her bachelor; novels, Marian; or a Young Maid's Fortunes, in but out o' sight out o' mind-the never a word she which her knowledge of Irish character is again dis- tould him about it, and the babby has got it nataral, played. Katey Macane, an Irish cook, who adopts and the woman's in heart trouble (to say nothing o' Marian, a foundling, and watches over her with un-myself); and it the first, and all.' 'I am very sorry, tiring affection, is equal to any of the Irish por- indeed, for you have got a much better wife than most traitures since those of Miss Edgeworth. The next men.' That's a true word, my lady, only she's work of our authoress was a series of Stories of the fidgetty like sometimes, and says I don't hit the nail Irish Peasantry, contributed to Chambers's Edin- on the head quick enough; and she takes a dale burgh Journal, and afterwards published in a col- more trouble than she need about many a thing.' 'I lected form. In conjunction with her husband, Mrs do not think I ever saw Ellen's wheel without flax Hall entered in 1840 upon a laborious undertaking- before, Shane?' 'Bad cess to the wheel!-I got it a work entitled Ireland, its Scenery, Character, &c. this morning about that too. I depinded on John Topographical and statistical information is here Williams to bring the flax from O'Flaharty's this day blended with the poetical and romantic features of week, and he forgot it; and she says I ought to have the country-the legends of the peasantry-scenes brought it myself, and I close to the spot. But where's and characters of humour or pathos-and all that the good? says I; sure he'll bring it next time.' 'I could be gathered in five separate tours through suppose, Shane, you will soon move into the new cotIreland, added to early acquaintance and recollec-tage at Clurn Hill? I passed it to-day, and it looked tion of the country. The work was highly embel- so cheerful; and when you get there you must take lished by British artists, and extended to three large Ellen's advice, and depend solely on yourself.' 'Och, volumes. In tasteful description of natural objects, ma'am dear, don't mintion it; sure it's that makes and pictures of every-day life, Mrs Hall has few me so down in the mouth this very minit. Sure I superiors. Her humour is not so broad or racy as saw that born blackguard Jack Waddy, and he comes that of Lady Morgan, nor her observation so pointed in here quite innocent like- 'Shane, you've an eye and select as Miss Edgeworth's: her writings are to squire's new lodge," says he. " Maybe I have," says also unequal, but in general they constitute easy "How so?" says I. "I am yer man," says he. delightful reading, and possess a simple truth and "Sure I'm as good as married to my lady's maid," said purity of sentiment that is ultimately more fascinat-he;" and I'll spake to the squire for you my own self." ing than the darker shades and colourings of imagi- and we took a strong cup on the strength of it-and, "The blessing be about you," says I, quite grateful--native composition. depinding on him, I thought all safe; and what d'ye think, my lady? Why, himself stalks into the place -talked the squire over, to be sure-and without so much as by yer lave, sates himself and his new wife on the laase in the house; and I may go whistle.' 'It was a great pity, Shane, that you didn't go yourself to Mr Clurn.' That's a true word for ye, ma'am dear; but it's hard if a poor man can't have a frind to depind on.'

[Depending Upon Others.]

[From Sketches of Irish Character."] 'Independence l-it is the word, of all others, that Irish-men, women, and children-least understand; and the calmness, or rather indifference, with which they submit to dependence, bitter and miserable as it is, must be a source of deep regret to all who 'love the land,' or who feel anxious to uphold the dignity of human kind. Let us select a few cases from our

SIR EDWARD LYTTON BULWER.

county of Norfolk.

He is said to have written

verses when only five or six years old, but he has certainly never attained to the higher honours of At Cambridge, Mr Bulwer (his baronetcy was conthe lyre. His poetry is in general stiff and artificial. ferred upon him by the Whig government, whose policy he supported as a member of the House of Commons) was the successful competitor for the prize poem, and his first appearance as an author was made in 1826, when he published a volume of miscellaneous poems bearing the juvenile title of Weeds and Wild Flowers. In the following year he issued a poetical tale, O'Neill, or the Rebel, something of the style of Byron's Corsair, and echoing the tone of feeling and sentiment most characteristic of the noble poet. The following lines will illustrate our remark:—

Irish village, such as are abundant in every neigh-son of the late General Bulwer of Haydon Hall, SIR EDWARD LYTTON BULWER is the youngest bourhood. Shane Thurlough, as dacent a boy,' and Shane's wife, as clane-skinned a girl,' as any in the world. There is Shane, an active handsome-looking fellow, leaning over the half-door of his cottage, kicking a hole in the wall with his brogue, and picking up all the large gravel within his reach to pelt the ducks with those useful Irish scavengers. Let us speak to him. 'Good-morrow, Shane !' Och! the bright bames of heaven on ye every day! and kindly welcome, my lady; and wont ye step in and rest-it's powerful hot, and a beautiful summer, sure-the Lord be praised!' 'Thank you, Shane. I thought you were going to cut the hay-field to-day; if a heavy shower comes, it will be spoiled; it has been fit for the scythe these two days.' Sure it's all owing to that thief o' the world Tom Parrel, my lady. Didn't he promise me the loan of his scythe; and, by the same token, I was to pay him for it; and depinding on that, I didn't buy one, which I have been threatening to do for the last two years.' But why don't you go to Carrick and purchase one? To Carrick! Och, 'tis a good step to Carrick, and my toes are on the ground (saving your presence), for I depinded on Tim Jarvis to tell Andy Cappler, the brogue-maker, to do my shoes; and, bad luck to him, the spalpeen! he forgot it.' Where's your pretty wife, Shane?' 'She's in all the wo o' the world, ma'am dear. And she puts the blame of it on me, though I'm not in the faut this time, anyhow. The child's taken the small-pox, and she depinded on me to tell the doctor to cut it for the cow-pox, and I depinded on Kitty Cackle, the limmer, to tell the doctor's own man, and thought

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Eternal air-and thou, my mother earth,
Hallowed by shade and silence-and the birth
Of the young moon (now watching o'er the sleep
Of the dim mountains and the dreaming deep);
And by yon star, heaven's eldest born-whose light
Calls the first smile upon the cheek of Night;
And beams and bodes, like faith beyond the tomb,
Life through the calm, and glory through the gloom;
My mother earth-and ye her loftier race,
Midst whom my soul hath held its dwelling-place;
Rivers, and rocks, and valleys, and ye shades
Which sleep at noonday o'er the haunted glades
Made musical by waters and the breeze,
All idly dallying with the glowing trees;

And songs of birds which, ever as they fly,
Breathe soul and gladness to the summer sky;
Ye courts of Nature, where aloof and lone
She sits and reigns with darkness for her throne;
Mysterious temples of the breathing God,
If mid your might my earliest steps have trod;
If in mine inmost spirit still are stored
The wild deep memories childhood most adored;
If still amid the drought and waste of years,
Ye hold the source of smiles and pangless tcars:
Will ye not yet inspire me?-for my heart
Beats low and languid-and this idle art,
Which I have summoned for an idle end,
Forsakes and flies me like a faithless friend.
Are all your voices silent? I have made
My home as erst amid your thickest shade:
And even now your soft air from above
Breathes on my temples like a sister's love.
Ah! could it bring the freshness of the day
When first my young heart lingered o'er its lay,
Fain would this wintry soul and frozen string
Recall one wind-one whisper from the Spring!

In the same year (1827) Mr Bulwer published his first novel, Falkland, a highly-coloured tale of love and passion, calculated to excite and inflame, and evidently based on admiration of the peculiar genius and seductive errors of Byron. Taking up the style of the fashionable novels (rendered popular by Theodore Hook, but now on the wane), Mr Bulwer came forward with Pelham, or the Adventures of a Gentleman -a novel full of brilliant and witty writing, sarcastic levity, representations of the manners of the great, piquant remark, and scenes of deep and romantic interest. There was a want of artistic skill in the construction of the story, for the tragic and satirical parts were not harmoniously combined; but the picture of a man of fashion, so powerfully drawn, was irresistibly attractive, and a second edition of 'Pelham' was called for in a few months. Towards the close of the year (1828), Mr Bulwer issued The Disowned, intended by the author to contain scenes of more exciting interest and vivid colouring, thoughts less superficially expressed, passions more energetically called forth, and a more sensible and pervading moral tendency.' The work was considered to fulfil the promise of the preface, though it did not attain to the popularity of Pelham.' Devereux, a Novel, 1829, was a more finished performance. The lighter portion does not dispute the field with the deeper and more sombre, but follows gracefully by its side, relieving and heightening it. We move, indeed, among the great, but it is the great of other times-names familiar in our mouths-Bolingbroke, Louis, Orleans; amidst manners perhaps as frivolous as those of the day, but which the gentle touch of time has already invested with an antiquarian dignity: the passions of men, the machinery of great motives and universal feelings, occupy the front; the humours, the affections, the petty badges of sects and individuals, retire into the shadows of the back-ground: no under-current of persiflage or epicurean indifference checks the flow of that mournful enthusiasm which refreshes its pictures of life with living waters; its eloquent pages seem consecrated to the memory of love, honour, religion, and undeviating faith. In 1830 Mr Bulwer brought out another work of fiction, Paul Clifford, the hero being a romantic highwayman, familiar with the haunts of low vice and dissipation, but afterwards transformed and elevated by the influence of love. Parts are ably written; but the general effect of the novel was undoubtedly injurious to the public taste. Our author's love of satire, which had mingled largely

*Edinburgh Review for 1832,

in all his novels, took a more definite shape, in 1831, in The Siamese Twins, a poem satirical of fashion, of travellers, of politicians, London notoriety, and various other topics, discussed or glanced at in sportive or bitter mood, in verses that flow easily, and occasionally express vigorous and lively thoughts, but are wholly destitute of the elixir vitæ of poetical immortality. A few months afterwards we had Eugene Aram, a Tale, founded on the history of the English murderer of that name. In this work Mr Bulwer depicted the manners of the middle rank of life, and was highly successful in awakening curiosity and interest, and in painting scenes of tenderness, pathos, and distress. The character of the sordid but ingenious Eugene Aram is idealised by the fancy of the novelist. He is made an enthusiastic student and amiable visionary. The humbling part of his crime was, he says, its low calculations, its poor defence, its paltry trickery, its mean hypocrisy: these made his chiefest penance.' Unconscious that detection was close at hand, Aram is preparing to wed an interesting and noble-minded woman, the generous Madeline; and the scenes connected with this ill-fated passion possess a strong and tragical interest. Throughout the work are scattered some beautiful moral reflections and descriptions, imbued with poetical feeling and expression. Mr Bulwer now undertook the management of the New Monthly Magazine (which had attained a high reputation under the editorship of Campbell), and published in that work several essays and criticisms, subsequently collected and issued under the title of The Student. In 1833 appeared his England and the English, a series of observations on society, literature, the aristocracy, travelling, and other characteristics and peculiarities of the English people. Some of these are acute and clever, but many are tinged with prejudice, and a desire to appear original and sarcastic. The Pilgrims of the Rhine-a fanciful and beautifully illustrated work-was Mr Bulwer's next offering, and it was almost immediately afterwards succeeded by one of his best romances, The Last Days of Pompeii. This brilliant and interesting classic story was followed by one still more vigorous and masterly, the tale of Rienzi, perhaps the most complete, high-toned, and energetic of all the author's works. With industry as remarkable as his genius, Mr Bulwer went on preparing new works of fiction. Ernest Maltravers (1837) illustrates what, though rare in novels, is common in human life-the affliction of the good, the triumph of the unprincipled.' The character of Maltravers is far from pleasing; and Alice Darvil is evidently a copy from Byron's Haidee. Ferrers, the villain of the tale, is also a Byronic creation; and, on the whole, the violent contrasts and gloomy delineations of this novel render it more akin to the spurious offspring of sentimental romance, than to the family of the genuine English novel. A continuation of this work was given in the following year, under the title of Alice, or the Mysteries, with no improvement as to literary power or correct moral philosophy, but still containing some fresh and exquisite descriptions, and delightful portraiture. His next work was Athens, partly historical and partly philosophical-a book impressed with fine taste and research. In the same year (1838) we had Leila, or the Siege of Granada; and Calderon the Courtier-light and sketchy productions. Passing over the dramas of Bulwer, we come to Night and Morning, Day and Night, Lights and Shadows, Glimmer and Gloom, an affected title to a picturesque and interesting story. Zanoni (1842) is more unconnected in plot and vicious in style than the previous fictions of Bulwer, and possesses no strong or permanent interest. Eva, the Ill-Omened Marriage,

and other Tales and Poems (1842) is another attempt of our author to achieve poetical honours: we cannot say a highly successful attempt; for, in spite of poetical feeling and fancy, the lines of Sir Edward Bulwer are cold glittering conceits and personations. His acute mental analysis is, however, seen in verses like the following:

Talent and Genius.

Talent convinces-genius but excites;
This tasks the reason, that the soul delights.
Talent from sober judgment takes its birth,
And reconciles the pinion to the earth;
Genius unsettles with desires the mind,
Contented not till earth be left behind;
Talent, the sunshine on a cultured soil,
Ripens the fruit by slow degrees for toil.
Genius, the sudden Iris of the skies,

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On cloud itself reflects its wondrous dyes: And, to the earth, in tears and glory given, Clasps in its airy arch the pomp of Heaven! Talent gives all that vulgar critics needFrom its plain horn-book learn the dull to read; Genius, the Pythian of the beautiful, Leaves its large truths a riddle to the dullFrom eyes profane a veil the Isis screens, And fools on fools still ask-What Hamlet means?" Bulwer's own works realise this description of genius they unfold an Iris of the skies,' in which are displayed the rich colours and forms of the imagination, mixed and interfused with dark spots and unsightly shadows-with conceit, affectation, and egotism. Like his model, Byron, he paints vividly and beautifully, but often throws away his colours on unworthy objects, and leaves many of his pictures unfinished. The clear guiding judgment, well-balanced mind, and natural feeling of Scott, are wanting; but Bulwer's language and imagery are often exquisite, and his power of delineating certain classes of character and manners superior to that of any of his contemporaries. Few authors have displayed more versatility. He seems capable of achieving some great work in history as well as in fiction; and if he has not succeeded in poetry, he has outstripped most of his contemporaries in popularity as a dramatist.

CAPTAIN FREDERICK MARRYAT.

This popular naval writer-the best painter of sea characters since Smollett-commenced what has proved to be a busy and highly successful literary career in 1829, by the publication of The Naval Officer, a nautical tale, in three volumes. This work partook too strongly of the free spirit of the sailor, but, amidst its occasional violations of taste and decorum, there was a rough racy humour and dramatic liveliness that atoned for many faults. In the following year the captain was ready with other three volumes, more carefully finished, and presenting a well-compacted story, entitled The King's Own. Though occasionally a little awkward on land, Captain Marryat was at home on the sea, and whether serious or comic-whether delineating a captain, midshipman, or common tar, or even a carpenter, he evinced a minute practical acquaintance with all on board ship, and with every variety of nautical character. His vivid and striking powers of description were also displayed to much advantage in this novel. Newton Foster, or the Merchant Service, 1832, was our author's next work, and is a tale of various and sustained interest. It was surpassed, however, by its immediate successor, Peter Simple, the most amusing of all the author's

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works. His naval commander Captain Savage, Chucks the boatswain, O'Brien the Irish lieutenant, and Muddle the carpenter, are excellent individual portraits-as distinct and life-like as Tom Bowling, Hatchway, or Pipes. The scenes in the West Indies display the higher powers of the novelist, and the escape from the French prison interests us I almost as deeply as the similar efforts of Caleb Williams. Continuing his nautical scenes and portraits, Captain Marryat has since written about thirty volumes-as Jacob Faithful (one of his best productions), The Phantom Ship, Mr Midshipman Easy, The Pacha of Many Tales, Japhet in Search of a Father, Poor Jack, Frank Mildmay, Joseph Rushbrook the Poacher, Masterman Ready, Percival Keene, &c. In the hasty production of so many volumes, the quality could not always be equal. The nautical humour and racy dialogue could not always be produced at will, of a new and different stamp at each successive effort. Such, however, is the fertile fancy and active observation of the author, and his lively powers of amusing and describing, that he has fewer repetitions and less tediousness than almost any other writer equally voluminous. His last work, Percival Keene' (1842), betrays no falling-off, but, on the contrary, is one of the most vigorous and interesting of his 'sea changes.' 'Captain Marryat,' says a writer in the Quarterly Review, 'stands second to no living novelist but Miss Edgeworth. His happy delineations and contrasts of character, and easy play of native fun, redeem a thousand faults of verbosity, clumsiness, and coarseness. His strong sense and utter superiority to affectation of all sorts, command respect; and in his quiet effectiveness of circumstantial narrative, he sometimes approaches old Defoe. There is less of caricature about his pictures than those of any contemporary humorist-unless, perhaps, Morier; and he shows far larger and maturer knowledge of the real workings of human nature than any of the band, except the exquisite writer we have just named, and Mr Theodore Hook, of whom praise is equally superfluous.' This was written in 1839, before Charles Dickens had gathered all his fame;' and with all our admiration of Marryat, we should be disposed at present to claim for the younger novelist an equal, if not superior-as clear, and a more genial-knowledge of human nature-at least on land.

To vary or relieve his incessant toils at original composition, Captain Marryat made a trip to America in 1837, the result of which he gave to the world in 1839 in three volumes, entitled A Diary in America, with Remarks on its Institutions. This was flying at higher game than any he had previously brought down; but the real value of these volumes consists in their resemblance to parts of his novels-in humorous caricature and anecdote, shrewd observation, and lively or striking description. His account of the American navy is valuable; and so practical and sagacious an observer could not visit the schools, prisons, and other public institutions of the New World, without throwing out valuable reflections, and noting what is superior or defective. He is no admirer of the democratic government of America: indeed his Diary is as unfavourable to the national character as the previous sketches of Mrs Trollope or Captain Hall But it is in relating traits of manners, peculiarities of speech, and other singular or ludicrous charac teristics of the Americans, that Captain Marryat excels. These are as rich as his fictitious delineations, and, like them, probably owe a good deal to the suggestive fancy and love of drollery proper to the novelist. The success of this Diary induced the

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