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which the inexperienced swimmers trusted themselves footless stockings, or martyeens, to his coat, as a subin the water.
stitute for sleeves. About two hundred yards above this, the boreen* In the gardens, which are usually fringed with which led from the village to the main road crossed | nettles, you will see a solitary labourer, working with the river by one of those old narrow bridges whose that carelessness and apathy that characterise an arches rise like round ditches across the road-an | Irishman when he labours for himselí, leaning upon almost impassable barrier to horse and car. On his spade to look after you, and glad of any excuse to passing the bridge in a northern direction, you found be idle. s range of low thatched houses on each side of the The houses, however, are not all such as I have deroad; and if one o'clock, the hour of dinner, drew scribed- far from it. You see here and there, between near, you might observe columns of blue smoke the more humble cabins, a stout comfortable-looking curling up from a row of chimneys, some made of farm-house with ornamental thatching and wellpicker creels plastered over with a rich coat of mud, glazed windows ; adjoining to which is a hay-yard some of old narrow bottomless tubs, and others, with with five or six large stacks of corn, well-trimmed and a greater appearance of taste, ornamented with thick roped, and a fine yellow weather-beaten old haycircular ropes of straw sewed together like bees' skeps rick, half-cut-not taking into account twelve or with the peel of a brier; and many having nothing thirteen circular strata of stones that mark out the but the open vent above. But the smoke by no means foundations on which others had been raised. Neither escaped by its legitimate aperture, for you might is the rich smell of oaten or wheaten bread, which the observe little clouds of it bursting out of the doors good-wife is baking on the griddle, unpleasant to your and windows; the panes of the latter being mostly nostrils ; nor would the bubbling of a large pot, in stopped at other times with old hats and rags, were wbich you might see, should you chance to enter, a now left entirely open for the purpose of giving it a prodigious square of fat, yellow, and almost tranaparent free escape.
bacon tumbling about, to be an unpleasant object; Before the doors, on right and left, was a series of truly, as it hangs over a large fire, with well-swept dunghills, each with its concomitant sink of green hearthstone, it is in good keeping with the white settle rotten water; and if it happened that a stout-looking and chairs, and the dresser with noggins, wooden woman with watery eyes, and a yellow cap hung trenchers, and pewter dishes, perfectly clean, and as loosely upon her matted locks, came, with a chubby well polished as a French courtier, urchin on one arm and a pot of dirty water in her As you leave the village, you have, to the left, a hand, its unceremonious ejection in the aforesaid sink view of the hill which I have already described, and would be apt to send you up the village with your to the right a level expanse of fertile country, bounded finger and thumb (for what purpose you would your-by a good view of respectable mountains peering deself perfectly understand) closely, but not knowingly, cently into the sky; and in a line that fornis an acute applied to your nostrils. But, independently of this, angle from the point of the road where you ride, is a you would be apt to have other reasons for giving delightful valley, in the bottom of which shines a your horse, whose heels are by this time surrounded pretty lake; and a little beyond, on the slope of a by a dozen of barking curs, and the same number of green hill, rises a splendid house, surrounded by a shouting urchins, a pretty sharp touch of the spurs, park well-wooded and stocked with deer. You have as well as for complaining bitterly of the odour of the now topped the little hill above the village, and a atmosphere. It is no landscape without figures ; and straight line of level road, a inile long, goes forward you might notice if you are, as I suppose you to be, to a country town which lies immediately behind a man of observation-in every sink as you pass along that white church with its spire cutting into the sky & slip of a pig' stretched in the middle of the mud, before you. You descend on the other side, and the very beau ideal of luxury, giving occasionally a having advanced a few perches, look to the left, long luxuriant grunt, highly expressive of his enjoy- / where you see a long thatched chapel, only distinment; or perhaps an old farrower, lying in indolent guished from a dwelling-house by its want of chimrepose, with half a dozen young ones jostling each neys, and a snall stone cross that stands on the top other for their draught, and punching her belly with of the eastern gable ; behind it is a grave-yard, and their little snouts, reckless of the fumes they are beside it a snug public-house, well white-washed; creating; whilst the loud crow of the cock, as he con- then, to the right, you observe a door apparently in fidently flaps his wings on his own dunghill, gives the the side of a clay bank, which rises considerably warning note for the hour of dinner.
above the pavement of the road. What! you ask As you advance, you will also perceive several faces yourself, can this be a human habitation? But ere thrust out of the doors, and rather than miss a sight you have time to answer the question, a confused of you, a grotesque visage peeping by a short cut buzz of voices from within reaches your ear, and the through the paneless windows, or a tattered female appearance of a little gossoon with a red closeflying to snatch up her urchin that has been tumbling cropped head and Milesian face, having in his hand itself heels up in the dust of the road, lest 'the gintle- a short white stick, or the thigh-bone of a horse, man's horse might ride over it;' and if you happen to which you at once recognise as 'the pass' of a village look behind, you may observe a shaggy-headed youth school, gives you the full information. Ile has an in tattered frize, with one hand thrust indolently in ink-horn, covered with leather, dangling at the buttonhis breast, standing at the door in conversation with hole (for he has long since played away the buttons) the inmates, a broad grin of sarcastic ridicule on his of his frize jacket-his mouth is circuinscribed with a face, in the act of breaking a joke or two upon your streak of ink--his pen is stuck knowingly behind his self or your horse ; or perhaps your jaw may be saluted ear-his shins are dotted orer with fire-blisters, black, with a lump of clay, just hard enough not to fall red, and blue-on each heel a kibe-his leather asunder as it flies, cast by some ragged gorsoon from crackers'-riddicet, breeches-shrunk up upon him, behind a hedge, who squats himself in a ridge of corn and only reaching as far down as the caps of his to avoid detection,
knees. Having spied you, he places his hand over his Seated upon a hob at the door you may observe a brows, to throw back the dazzling light of the sun, toil-worn man without coat or waistcoat, big red and peers at you from under it, till he breaks out ! muscular sunburnt shoulder peering through the into a laugh, exclaiming, half to himself, half to
remnant of a shirt, mending his shocs with a piece of you*wisted fax, called a lingel, or perhaps sewing two I' 'You a gintleman !-- no, nor one of your breed * A little road. never was, you procthorin’thief you !
You are now immediately opposite the door of the loftier order proceeding from the same pen; tha: seminary, when half a dozen of those seated next it young writers, English and American, begin ta notice you.
imitate so artless and charming a manner of jarra. Oh, sir, here's a gintleman on a horse !-masther, tion; and that an obscure Berkshire hamlet, by the sir, here's a gintleman on a horse, wid boots and spurs magic of talent and kindly feeling, was converted on him, that's looking in at us.'
into a place of resort and interest for not a few •Silence!' exclaims the master; 'back from the the finest spirits of the age.' Extending her ou door-boys rehearse-every one of you rehearse, I servation from the country village to the marketsay, you Boeotians, till the gintleman goes past ! town, Miss Mitford published another interesting I want to go out, if you plase, sir.'
volume of descriptions, entitled Beljord Regis. See "No, you don't, Phelim.'
also gleaned from the new world three rolumes of I do, indeed, sir.'
Stories of American Life, by American Writers of «What! is it afther conthradictin' me you'd be? which she remarks— The scenes described and the Don't you see the “porter's” out, and you can't go.' personages introduced are as various as the authors,
*Well, 'tis Mat Meehan has it, sir; and he's out extending in geographical space from Canada to this half-hour, sir; I can't stay in, sir!'
Mexico, and including almost every degree of cirili•You want to be idling your time looking at the
sation, from the wild Indian and the almost eqculy gintleman, Phelim.'
wild hunter of the forest and prairies, to the cultiNo, indeed, sir.'
vated inhabitant of the city and plain.' Besides her 'Phelim, I know you of ould-go to your sate. I | tragedies (which are little inferior to those oi Miss tell you, Phelim, you were born for the encourage
Baillie as intellectual productions, while one of them, ment of the hemp manufacture, and you'll die pro
Rienzi, has been highly successful on the stakes moting it.'
Miss Mitford has written numerous tales for the In the meantime the master puts his head out of
annuals and magazines, showing that her jodastry the door, his body stooped to a ‘half-bend/-a phrase,
is equal to her talents. It is to her English tale and the exact curve which it forms, I leave for the
however, that she must chiefly trust her fame with present to your own sagacity-and surveys you until
posterity; and there is so much unaffected gi you pass. That is an Irish hedge-school, and the
tenderness, and beauty in these rural delineatidos personage who follows you with his eye a hedge
that we cannot conceive their ever being considered schoolmaster.
obsolete or uninteresting. In them she has treasured not only the results of long and familiar ob
servation, but the feelings and conceptions of a truly MISS MARY RUSSELL MITFORD.
poetical mind. She is a prose Cowper, without his Miss MARY RUSSELL MITFORD, the painter of gloom or bitterness. In 1838 Miss Mitford's name English rural life in its happiest and most genial was added to the pension list-a well-earned tribute aspects, was born in 1789 at Alresford, in Hamp- to one whose genius has been devoted to the bodou shire. Reminiscences of her early boarding-school and embellishment of her country. days are scattered through her works, and she appears to have been always an enthusiastic reader. When very young, she published a volume of mis
COUNTESS OF BLESSAGTON. cellaneous poems, and a metrical tale in the style of Scott, entitled Christine, the Maid of the South Seas, This lady, well known in the world of fashion and founded on the discovery of the mutineers of the literature, is a native of Ireland, daughter of Edvard Bounty. In 1823 was produced her effective and Power, Esq., late of Curagheen, county Waterford striking tragedy of Julian, dedicated to Mr Mac-At the age of fifteen she became the wife of Captain ready the actor, ‘for the zeal with which he be- Farmer of the 47th regiment, after whose death in friended the production of a stranger, for the judi. | 1817, she was united to Charles John Gardiner, cious alterations which he suggested, and for the Earl of Blessington. In 1829 she was again kita energy, the pathos, and the skill with which he more widow. Lady Blessington now fixed her residence than embodied its principal character.' Next year in London, and, by her rank and personal tastes, Miss Mitford published the first volume of Our Vil-succeeded in rendering herself a centre of literary lage, Sketches of Rural Character and Scenery, to which society. Her first publication was a volume and four other volumes were subsequently added, the Travelling Sketches in Belgium, very meagte and ilfifth and last in 1832. “Every one,' says a lively written. The next work commanded more attentwriter,* now knows Our Village, and every one tion : it was her Conversations with Lord Byron, whom knows that the nooks and corners, the haunts and she had met daily for some time at Genoa In 1833 the copses so delightfully described in its pages, will appeared The Repealers, a novel in three volumes, but be found in the immediate neighbourhood of Read. containing scarcely any plot, and few delineations of ing, and more especially around Three-Mile Cross, character, the greater part being filled with dialogues, a cluster of cottages on the Basingstoke road, in one criticism, and reflections. Her ladyslip is sometimes of which our authoress has now resided for many sarcastic, sometimes moral, and more frequent per years. But so little were the peculiar and original | sonal. One female sketch, that of Grace Cassids, excellence of her descriptions understood, in the first a young Irish wife, is the only one of the characters instance, that, after having gone the round of rejec- we can remember, and it shows that her ladestip tion through the more important periodicals, they | is most at home among the scenes of her early days at last saw the light in no worthier publication | To "The Repealers' succeeded The Two Friends The than the Lady's Magazine. But the series of rural | Confessions of an Elderly Gentleman, The Cofee 85 pictures grew, and the venture of collecting them of an Elderly Lady, Desultory Thoughts, The Belk of into a separate volume was tried. The public began | a Season, The Governess, The Idler in Italy (thine to relish the style so fresh, yet so finished.to | volumes, 1839-40), The Idler in France (two volumes enjoy the delicate humour and the simple pathos of | 1841), The Victims of Society, and Meredith her the tales; and the result was, that the popularity | recollections of Italy and France are perhaps the of these sketches outgrew that of the works of | best of her works, for in these her love of ane doit,
epigram, and sentiment, has full scope, without say * Mr Chorley—The Authors of England.
of the impediments raised by a story.
England, and it was some time before she revisited MRS S. C. HALL.
her native country; but the scenes which were famiMRS S. C. Hall, authoress of Lights and Shadows liar to her as a child have made such a vivid and of Irish Life, and various other works, is a native of lasting impression on her mind, and all her sketches Wexford, though by her mother's side she is of Swiss evince so much freshness and vigour, that her read
ers might easily imagine she had spent her life
characters. The plot of The Buccaneer' is well descent. Her maiden name was Fielding, by which, managed, and some of the characters (as that of however, she was unknown in the literary world, as Barbara Iverk, the Puritan) are skilfully delineated; her first work was not published till after her mar- but the work is too feminine, and has too little of riage. She belongs to an old and excellent family energetic passion for the stormy times in which it is in her native county. She first quitted Ireland at cast. In 1834 Mrs Hall published Tales of Woman's the early age of fifteen, to reside with her mother in | Trials, short stories of decidedly moral tendency,
Mrs Hall's residence, Brompton. written in the happiest style of the authoress. In larity. The principal tale in the collection, The 1835 appeared Uncle Horace, a novel, and in 1838 Grores of Blarney, was dramatised at one of the
Lights and Shadows of Irish Life,' three volumes. | theatres with distinguished success. In 1840 Mrs
* Dublin University Magazine for 1940.
Hall issued what has been styled the best of her she would not forget it, becase the boy's her bachelse: novels, Marian; or a Young Maid's Fortunes, in but out o' sight out o' mind-the never a wond she which her knowledge of Irish character is again dis tould him about it, and the babby has got it natara!, played. Katey Macane, an Irish cook, who adopts and the woman's in heart trouble (to say nothing on Darian, a foundling, and watches over her with un- myself); and it the first, and all.' 'I am very sults, tiring affection, is equal to any of the Irish por. indeed, for you have got a much better wife than not 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 si 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 1840. Mrs Hall aided her husband do not think I ever saw Ellen's wheel without flat in a work chiefly composed by him, and which re- | before, Shane?' 'Bad cess to the wheel SI got it flects credit upon his talents and industry, Ireland. I this morning about that too. I depended on Jobs its Scenery, Character, &c. Topographical and sta
Williams to bring the flax from O'Flaharty's this day tistical information is here blended with the poetical week, and he forgot it; and she says I ought to have and romantic features of the country-the legends brought it myself, and I close to the spot. But where's of the peasantry-scenes and characters of humour the good I says I; sure he'll bring it next time. I or pathos--and all that could be gathered in five
suppose, Shane, you will soon move into the new cot. separate tours through Ireland, added to early ac
tage at Clurn Hill? I passed it to-day, and it looked quaintance and recollection of the country. The
so cheerful; and when you get there you must take work was highly embellished by British artists, and
Ellen's advice, and depend solely on yourself.' 'Och, extended to three large volumes. In tasteful de
ina'am dear, don't mintion it; sure it's that makes scription of natural objects, and pictures of every
me so down in the mouth this very minit. Sare day life, Mrs Hall has few superiors. Her humour
saw that born blackguard Jack Waddy, and he cotuss is not so broad or racy as that of Lady Morgan, nor
in here quite innocent like --“ Sbane, you're an de her observation so pointed and select as Miss Edge
to squire's new lodge,” says he. “Maybe I bare," says worth's: her writings are also unequal, but in gene
I. “I am ver man," says he. * How so!" says I. ral they constitute easy delightful reading, and
“Sure I'm as good as married to my lady's maid," said possess a simple truth and purity of sentiment that
he; “ and I'll spake to the squire for you my own sell." is ultimately more fascinating than the darker
“The blessing be about you," says I, quite gratefulshades and colourings of imaginative composition.
and we took a strong cup on the strength of it-and, depinding on him, I thought all safe; and what d're
think, my lady? Why, himself stalks into the place [Depending Upon Others.]
-- talked the squire orer, to be sure and without 60 [PromSketches of Irish Character.']
much as by yer lave, sates himself and his new wife
on the laase in the house; and I may go whistle.' 'It Independence !'-it is the word, of all others, that was a great pity, Shane, that you didn't go yourself Irish--inen, women, and children-least understand :/ to Mr Clurn. “That's a true word for ye, ma ani and the calmness, or rather indifference, with which | dear; but it's hard if a poor man can't have a frind they subinit to dependence, bitter and miserable as it to depind on.' is, must be a source of deep regret to all who lore the land,' or who feel anxious to uphold the dignity
SIR EDWARD LYTTON BULWER, of human kind. Let us select a few cases from our Irish village, such as are abundant in every neigh
SIR EDWARD LYTTON BULWER is the youngest bourhood. Shane Thurlough, as dacent a boy,' and
son of the late General Bulwer of Haydon Halli Shane's wife, as 'clane-skinned a girl,' as any in the
county of Norfolk. He is said to have written world. There is Shane, an active handsome-looking
verses when only five or six years old, but he has fellow, leaning over the half-door of his cottage, kick
certainly never attained to the higher honours of ing a hole in the wall with his brogue, and picking up
the lyre. His poetry is in general stiff and artificial. all the large gravel within his reach to pelt the ducks
At Cambridge, Mr Bulwer (his baronetcy was cowith-those useful Irish scavengers. Let us speak to
ferred upon him by the Whig government, whose him. 'Good-morrow, Shane ! Och! the bright policy he supported as a member of the House of bames of heaven on ye every day! and kindly wel.com
| Commons) was the successful competitor for the come. my lady: and wont ye step in and resi_its prize poem, and his first appearance as an auther powerful hot, and a beautiful summer. sure -- the was made in 1826, when he published a volume of Lord be praised! Thank you. Shane. I thought I miscellaneous poems bearing the juvenile title of you were going to cut the hay-field to-day; if a heavy
| Weeds and Wild Flowers. In the following year he shower comes, it will be spoiled: it has been fit for issued a poetical tale, O'Neill, or the Rebel, soil. the scythe these two days.' Sure it's all owing to that
thing of the style of Byron's Corsair, and echoing thief of the world Tom Parrel, my lady, Didn't he
the tone of feeling and sentiment most characteristic promise me the loan of his scythe ; and, by the same
of the noble poet. The following lines will illustrate token, I was to pay him for it; and depinding on that,
our remark ; I didn't buy one, which I have been threatening to do Eternal air-and thou, my mother earth, for the last two years.' But why don't you go to Hallowed by shade and silence and the birth Carrick and purchase one?''To Carrick! Och, 'tis of the young moon (now watching o'er the sleep a good step to Carrick, and my toes are on the ground of the dim mountains and the dreaming deep); .. (saving your presence), for I depinded on Tim Jarvis And by yon star, heaven's eldest born-whose light to tell Audy Cappler, the brogue-maker, to do my Calls the first smile upon the cheek of Night; shoes; and, bad luck to him, the spalpeen! he forgot | And beams and bodes, like faith beyond the tombe it.' "Where's your pretty wife, Shane?'She's in Life through the calm, and glory through the gloon ; ! all the wo o' the world, ma'am dear. And she puts My mother earth-and ye her loftier race, the blame of it on me, though I'm not in the faut | Midst whom my soul hath held its dwelling-place; this time, anyhow. The child's taken the small-pox, | Rivers, and rocks, and valleys, and ye shades and she depinded on me to tell the doctor to cut it for which sleep at noonday o'er the haunted glades the cow.pox, and I depinded on Kitty Cackle, the 'Made musical by waters and the breeze, limmer, to tell the doctor's own mail, and thoughi | All idiy dallying with the glowing trees;
And songs of birds which, ever as they fly,
in all his novels, took a more definite shape, in 1831, Breathe soul and gladness to the summer sky; in The Siamese Twins, a poem satirical of fashion, of Ye courts of Nature, where aloof and lone
travellers, of politicians, London notoriety, and She sits and reigns with darkness for her throne; various other topics, discussed or glanced at in Mysterious temples of the breathing God,
sportive or bitter mood, in verses that flow easily, If mid your might my earliest steps have trod; and occasionally express vigorous and lively thoughts, If in mine in most spirit still are stored
but are wholly destitute of the elixir vitæ of poetiThe wild deep memories childhood most adored ; cal immortality. A few months afterwards we If still amid the drought and waste of years,
had Eugene Aram, a Tale, founded on the history Ye hold the source of smiles and pangless tears : of the English murderer of that name. In this Will ye not yet inspire me for my heart
work Mr Bulwer depicted the manners of the Beats low and languid-and this idle art,
middle rank of life, and was highly successful in Which I have summoned for an idle end,
awakening curiosity and interest, and in painting Forsakes and flies me like a faithless friend.
scenes of tenderness, pathos, and distress. The chaAre all your voices silent? I have made
racter of the sordid but ingenious Eugene Aram is My home as erst amid your thickest shade:
idealised by the fancy of the novelist. He is made And even now your soft air from above
an enthusiastic student and amiable visionary. The Breathes on my temples like a sister's love.
humbling part of his crime was, he says, its low Ah! could it bring the freshness of the day
calculations, its poor defence, its paltry trickery, its When first my young heart lingered o'er its lay,
mean hypocrisy : these made his chiefest penance.' Fain would this wintry soul and frozen string
Unconscious that detection was close at hand, Aram Recall one wind-one whisper from the Spring!
is preparing to wed an interesting and noble-minded In the same year (1827) Mr Bulwer published his woman, the generous Madeline; and the scenes confirst novel, Falkland, a highly-coloured tale of love nected with this ill-fated passion possess a strong and passion, calculated to excite and inflame, and
and tragical interest. Throughout the work are evidently based on admiration of the peculiar genius
scattered some beautiful moral reflections and deand seductive errors of Byron. Taking up the style scriptions, imbued with poetical feeling and expresof the fashionable novels (rendered popular by Theo.
sion. Mr Bulwer now undertook the management dore Ilook, but now on the wane), Mr Bulwer came
of the New Monthly Magazine (which had attained forward with Pelham, or the Adventures of a Gentleman a high reputation under the editorship of Campbell), -a novel full of brilliant and witty writing, sarcastic and published in that work several essays and cri. levity, representations of the manners of the great, ticisms, subsequently collected and issued under the piquant remark, and scenes of deep and romantic
| title of The Student.' In 1833 appeared his England interest. There was a want of artistic skill in the and the English, a series of observations on society, construction of the story, for the tragic and satirical literature, the aristocracy, travelling, and other chaparts were not harmoniously combined; but the racteristics and peculiarities of the English people. picture of a man of fashion, so powerfully drawn, Some of these are acute and clever, but many are was irresistibly attractive, and a second edition of tinged with prejudice, and a desire to appear origi. 'Pelham' was called for in a few months. Towards nal and sarcastic. The Pilgrims of the Rhine-a fanthe close of the year (1828), Mr Bulwer issued The ciful and beautifully illustrated work-was Mr BulIrsowned, intended by the author to contain 'scenes wer's next offering, and it was almost immediately of more exciting interest and vivid colouring, afterwards succeeded by one of his best romances, The thoughts less superficially expressed, passions more Last Days of Pompeii. This brilliant and interesting energetically called forth, and a more sensible and classic story was followed by one still more vigorous pervading moral tendency. The work was consi- and masterly, the tale of Rienzi, perhaps the most dered to fulfil the promise of the preface, though it complete, high-toned, and energetic of all the author's did not attain to the popularity of Pelham.' Deve-works. With industry as remarkable as his genius, reur, a Novel, 1829, was a more finished performance. Mr Bulwer went on preparing new works of fiction. "The lighter portion does not dispute the field with Ernest Maltravers (1837) illustrates what, though the deeper and more sombre, but follows gracefully rare in novels, is common in human life-the afflicby its side, relieving and heightening it. We move, tion of the good, the triumph of the unprincipled.' indeed, among the great, but it is the great of other | The character of Maltravers is far from pleasing; times-Dames familiar in our mouths-Bolingbroke. and Alice Darvil is evidently a copy from Byron's Louis, Orleans: amidst manners perhaps as frivolous Haidee. Ferrers, the villain of the tale, is also a as those of the day, but which the gentle touch of Byronic creation; and, on the whole, the violent time has already invested with an antiquarian dig- contrasts and gloomy delineations of this novel render nity: the passions of men, the machinery of great it more akin to the spurious offspring of sentimental motives and universal feelings, occupy the front: romance, than to the family of the genuine English the humours, the affections, the petty badges of novel. A continuation of this work was given in sects and individuals, retire into the shadows of the the following year, under the title of Alice, or the back-ground: no under-current of persiflage or epi
| Mysteries, with no improvement as to literary power curean indifference checks the flow of that mournful or correct moral philosophy, but still containing enthusiasm which refreshes its pictures of life with some fresh and exquisite descriptions, and delightful living waters; its eloquent pages seem consecrated portraiture. His next w
portraiture. His next work was Athens, partly histo the memory of love, honour, religion, and unde
torical and partly philosophical-a book impressed viating faith.* In 1830 Mr Bulwer brought out
with fine taste and research. In the same year (1838) another work of fiction, Paul Clifford, the hero being we had Leila, or the Siege of Granada ; and Calderon a romantic highwayman, familiar with the haunts
the Courtier-light and sketchy productions. Passof low vice and dissipation, but afterwards trans- |
ing over the dramas of Bulwer, we come to Night formed and elevated by the influence of love. Parts and Morning, Day and Night, Lights and Shadows,
bly written: but the general effect of the novel Glimmer and Gloom, an affected title to a picturesque was undoubtedly injurious to the public taste. Our and interesting story. Zanoni (1842) is more unauthor's love of satire, which had mingled largely
connected in plot and vicious in style than the pre
vious fictions of Bulwer, and possesses no strong or Edinburgh Review for 1832. permanent interest. Eva, the Nut-Omened Marriage,