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humour that his daughter was walking a distance too great for her strength and present health. So thinking, his benevolent mind immediately contrived a scheme, by which, without offending the lady's pride, he might save her the necessity and toil of walking. Having ascertained that her walk must be at least two miles farther, he pretended business in the same direction, and asked as a favour, that she would wait till his carriage should arrive, and that she wouid do him the honour to accept a seat in it. So kind an offer from so good a man was not to be refused. During the short journey there was little conversation, and of course there was no discovery, on the part of Mr. Francis, of the real cause of the lady's sorrow. Had he suspected any thing of that kind he would have detected it, for he could ask questions which the mere idly curious would not dare to do; but he not suspecting, and Margaret using caution to conceal their circumstances, nothing then transpired; the benevolent man, however, had reason to imagine that there existed some cause of grief, more than weariness or want of health, and he parted with Margaret under that apprehension.'—The Usurer's Daughter, vol. i. pp. 189—199.
The law took its course, and the lovers, for they were lovers still, would have perished, if they had not been kindly admitted under their landlord's roof, where they remained until better days smiled upon them. After much seeking and exertion, Worthington at length obtained an employment, through his noble enemy, Lord Singleton, who found, or rather created business for him in Italy, where he hoped to have him silently put out of the way. But the plot did not succeed, and Worthington upon his return discovers, that from a near relationship that had existed between him and the Singleton family, of which he had been studiously kept in ignorance, he is the heir to their title and estates, which by the death of the lord suddenly devolve upon him. The Usurer's fortune also falls into his hands, and happiness once more shines upon the faithful couple, whose affections had been severely tried by adversity. The story is not marked by any originality of invention : it evinces, occasionally, a deep acquaintance with the miseries of life, which has had no injurious effect, however, upon the moral tone of the author's mind. The character of the Usurer is drawn with an unnatural degree of harshness. Such a character as Erpingham, if it ever really existed, must have been a fiend and not a man. There is not a single feature of humanity about him, except his unlucky ambition.
In one respect the story of Cameron' resembles that of Worthington, for he too is kept, for many years of his life, in ignorance of his real origin, and of his claims to the title and estates of Sir Richard Percy. But in all other points, this novel would appear to have been written upon the model of those, which the fair author of “Marriage," and "Destiny," has given to the world. The daughter of an English nobleman, Earl Marsden, elopes with a Scotch officer, Lieutenant Drummond, and after being united in the usual fashion upon the borders, and confirming their marriage in a more dignified' way at Edinburgh, they retire to a cottage,
where in due time they are surrounded with an interesting family: Years roll over, and Miss Ellen Drummond grows a beautiful girl. A law suit in which her father is engaged, brings to their house a young advocate, in the person of Cameron, who forthwith is captivated by the charms of Ellen. But his equivocal situation as the dependent of Lady Percy, who was the relict of the late Sir Robert, and by whom he, an orphan lad, by some supposed to have been an illegitimate child, was brought up, threw difficulties in his way, which his feelings of honour knew not how to conquer. These difficulties were still farther increased by the arts of Lady Percy, who applied all her ingenuity to the object of effecting a marriage between Cameron and her own daughter. An unfortunate disposition to imitate his master in appearance and dress, which actuated Cameron's groom, a profligate of considerable experience, led also to the propagation of some reports to his discredit, which had nearly lost him the hand of her, in whom all his affections were centered. These mysteries receive their just solution in the course of the story, and the lovers are, as usual, united.
In the earlier part of the novel, the author has endeavoured, not altogether without success, to exhibit a picture of English aristocracy,
in its most repulsive features of indolence, pompousness, and excessive disdain for plebeian pretensions. The scene of the latter volumes is chiefly confined to Scotland, where we have rather too much of the Scotch dialect, and of vulgarity of manners, as shown in the lower ranks of life. The characters of Ellen and Cameron are, however, well drawn, and the work may be recommended as sufficiently readable at this season of the year.
Though we cannot agree in all the praises which Mr. Leitch Ritchie has bestowed upon Spindlers's novel of the “ The Jew," of which the sixth work on our list is a free translation, yet it must be admitted to possess very considerable claims on our attention. It throws much light, not only upon the state of the Israelites, who are grouped together in different parts of Germany, but also upon the Hebrew character in general, which we take to be a much more amiable, as well as a more honest one, than it is usually represented by Christian writers. It is so full of incidents and episodes, that a mere outline of the whole would occupy a great deal more of our space than we can devote to such an object. We must content ourselves with a single extract from the third volume, which, besides informing us of the injustice with which Jews were treated by the German tribunals, furnishes an affecting scene between a poor persecuted Jew and his affectionate son.
• It happened that, on the evening of the same day on which Dagobert left his home, a fatal broil took place in the city. Situated in the new town was a notorious house, commonly called the Stein, and where many a young citizen had met a fate that led him to curse the day on which he was born. There were celebrated the mysteries of high play and loaded dice ; 'there the wealth of young heirs, and the loose cash of travellers and
casual visitors, speedily changed hands without any forms of law. Some left the place complete beggars, who had entered it with the pride and confidence of lords; and many a hopeless wretch, staking his last florin, found himself a man of substance before he again passed its threshold. It too often came to pass, that the detected cheat was thrown headlong into the street, or was delivered over to the arm of justice; and not unfrequently the punishment inflicted was to lose his eyes, in order to stop his sleightsof-hand. The miserable wretch was then left to throw himself into the Maine. Frightful as this retributive execution was felt to be, it had only the effect of rendering the players more wary in their proceedings; and there were still opportunities enough for adventurers from other parts, for light-headed young citizens, inexperienced chapmen, vain lordlings, et hoc genus omne, to find means of ridding themselves of their superfluous cash. In case si me leader of the band was unlucky enough to be detected, knowing the fearful destiny that awaited him, he drew his weapon, supported by his companions, and the affair was in this way frequently kept secret from the world. The Stein accordingly too often became a scene of open bloodshed, when the force of law was barely sufficient to restore peace
and order in this hell upon earth. • On the evening, then, above mentioned, an Italian sharper, who had been amusing himself at the fair of Franckfort, in spite of the denunciations of the council, had transported the secrets of his craft into their city, giving specimens of his powers at the Stein. As novelty is always found preferable to the old routine, the company of gamblers, many of whom were members of the wealthiest families in the place, entered into the plans of the foreigner, and compelled the owner of the house to adopt the new dice which he had brought from Italy. The reputation they gained was speedily noised abroad. The Italian continued his career of success- his purse grew daily heavier, while those of his opponents were invariably emptied of the last gilder. But losing their patience alnıost as fast as their money, one of the most irritable seized upon the dice in a rage, and dashing them away, cried out—" Eternal curses be upon thee and upon thy infernal arts, thou most consummate of cheats." "The dice having been loaded, always presented, when in the Italian's hand, the highest number, and being now broken by the force of the blow, the cause discovered itself. Upon this the whole of the company rose up; while the man who had been last fleeced of his gold, ran towards the sharper in a rage, and drawing his sword, attacked him in the most desperate manner. The Italian, however, was a practised fencer, and unsheathing his long rapier, not only defended himself, but, in spite of the interference of the company, and the cries of the host, at the third pass laid his assailant on the floor, weltering in his blood. The alarm, and the fall of the aggressor, put most of the party to fight, so that on the entrance of the police, they found neither the murderer nor any witnesses to the fact ; there was only the body of the dead man—soon recognised for the son of the chief justice—a wild and dissolute youth. When the affair got bruited abroad, it was generally observed that the public had sustained no loss : the father's feelings, however, were very different. This son was the only child who had survived out of many; and the judge now abandoned himself to the most abject despair. He was found next morning seated by the side of his son's corpse, clasping the clay-cold hand, and brooding over his own unhappy lot. The sun at length rose upon the house of mourning, bright as on that of joy ; and the afflicted father now first seemed to recollect, that the indulgence of his grief could not recal the dead, while his despair had already produced a favourable change in his owu bosom-a more mild and humane feeling—for the acuteness of his own sufferings disposed him now to feel for those of others. He no longer, in despair, wished for revenge on the author of his woe; but resigned himself to hopeless sorrow. Trembling, he looked back upon his past life, and sought for some cause of the visitation he had suffered. Deprived of all who bore his name, superstitious terrors were now added to his sufferings, as he in vain tried to follow a link of events which connected bis fortunes with his faults. He thought of his official duties; of the severe judgments he had given; of the victims who had perished in his dungeons; and of the few innocent beings who had ever been restored to liberty. Then he recollected the many wretches who had protested their innocence upon the scaffold; and fearful doubts, as to whether he had pronounced just judgments, smote upon his soul. Suddenly he called to mind the fate of the poor Jews, who, from the whole evidence, stood clear of the imputed guilt ; liable at most to the infliction of a small fine, yet condemned to linger in prison; and as their images rose to view, he saw also that of the blind and destitute mother, who had been consigned to the Aames by his own father, and how it had harassed that father's mind 10 the day of his death. “ Who knows," groaned the unhappy judge, “but the consequences of that direful act may now be the retributive vengeance which has fallen upon me and upon my family. Ab! who knows what more terrific measure of woe may be dealt out to me as I approach the limits of my days ! what evils may befal me in old age, when thus visited in my prime of years !” Absorbed in these and similar agonizing reflections, he seemed to struggle with the awful consciousness of some dreadful and pre-destined calamity-some fearful vengeance in store for him; he then suddenly sprung up, manned his soul to the conflict, and, as if fearful of being too late, flew towards the prison where Ben David and his father still lingered.
• The gaoler, upon being questioned relative to the condition of the prisoners, merely shrugged his shoulders; and on being urged, proceeded to say: “ The old man, I think, is fast approaching his last hour : since yesterday evening he has fallen away fast, and my son-in-law, who last saw him, says, he is sure he must be about to give up his Jewish soul to the devil, for whom it is only fit.”—The chief judge started; yet he ventured not a word of sympathy before the iron-hearted gaoler; observing with assumed indifference, “ Has the old wretch had no kind of help whatérer ?”
•" To what purpose, please your honour ?" returned the man; such vermin as he stand in no need of a doctor. Satan will take care of his own as long as they are alive ; and when they go, he too will provide for them. Horler can do him no good; for the old rogue has been these hundred years upon his journey, and he is quite hard and dry enough to feed a fire. The oldest fuel burns best; so, at least, says the worthy priest Reinhold, who has just before paid him a visit, but all in vain, for the Jewish dog would not confess his sins; and the holy father declares that it is a lost case; for sure enough the demon bit, and plunged, and snorted in bim, whenever the priest began to pray."
"" Is the son with his dying parent?” inquired the judge. The gaoler
shook his head. “Let him be instantly put into his father's cell,” continued the dignitary. The man eyed him with an incredulous look. “The saints save us!” he exclaimed, as he began to look for his keys, “ the accursed beasts will make a howling and gibbering together, enough to deafen us all; besides, it is of no use.” The judge repeated bis command, and entered the cell in which the old man was confined. He found hiin stretched upon a miserable pallet, quite alone; without help or hope, but with death at his side, busied in his fical work. His countenance had already assumed those peculiar signs, which old Hippocrates designates as the last that are made upon this side of eternity; his breast heaved heavily and painfully—for there was the lingering struggle between life and dissolution-while his limbs hung or wavered helplessly about, his hand in vain seeking to grasp a small phial of water, which stood at the head of his couch, to refresh for a moment his parched and fevered lips. The judge afforded him the help he wanted, supported his head, at the same time speaking gently and kindly in his ear. The refreshment of a few cooling drops, and the mild tone of the speaker, seemed to restore the sufferer to some degree of consciousness; his closed lids began to quiver, and gradually to unclose; he fixed his eyes at length on the speaker's face, and in the features of his sternest judge, beheld those of a man at the deathbed of a fellow creature.
""The Almighty will reward you for this," at length murmured the old man, recognising the but too well remembered features; “ the happy time is at length arrived, when our Great Master calls us away, and reconciles us to all ;-yea, even to our enemies."
Yes,” replied the judge;" our God will not refuse a reconciliation to those that seek it in death. Do you forgive me the injuries I have done you in performing the stern duty of my office? Will you not curse my name ?"
"“0, God, forbid !” replied Joachim, “ that I should curse him who refreshed my spirit with kind words—my burning lips with cool water. No; may He be pleased to remove far from you the suffering due to every one of us—to the faults of thy father or thine own I can—I do forgive you for Israel's sake. I will offer a prayer for you in the valley of Jehoshaphat, if indeed
you will consent to grant my two last requests. • “Only speak,” replied the judge, “ they shall be done."
6- Then drive the priest from my bed-side," said the Jew, imploringly. “ His creed is to me a curse and a reproach; and if no learned Rabbi may be nigh me, nor one of my friends, I will pass through the dark path alone, with the angel that brings me rest.' The judge nodded assent, and the old man continued :-"I could desire greatly to see my son, and his poor daughter also, my beloved Esther.”
""Of her,” replied the functionary," I have no tidings; but, for thy son, he shall be with thee—he is now coming.”
• It is necessary to have witnessed the impassioned feelings peculiar to the people of the South, to form an idea of the overwhelming sorrow that wrung David's heart. He strove to free himself from the hands of his conductors, and, ironed as he was, to fling himself by the side of his expiring father. When disengaged from his shackles, he sank down by the couch, clasped the feeble hands of the sufferer, kissed them, hung over the dying man, as if to protect him from all around, pressed his own pale