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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.


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 almost as deeply as the similar efforts of Caleb Williams. Continuing his nautical scenes and por. traits, 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.' 'Cap tain 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 con temporary 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 Ame rica 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 descrip tion. His account of the American navy is valuable; and so practical and sagacious an observer could not visit the schools, prisons, and other public institu tions 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

author to add three additional volumes to it in the following year, but the continuation is greatly inferior.

[A Prudent Sea Captain-Abuse of Ship Stores.]

[From The King's Own.']

'Well, Mr Cheeks, what are the carpenters about?' "Weston and Smallbridge are going on with the chairs the whole of them will be finished to-morrow.' 'Well?'

'Smith is about the chest of drawers, to match the one in my Lady Capperbar's bed-room.'

'Very good. And what is Hilton about?' 'He has finished the spare-leaf of the dining-table, sir; he is now about a little job for the second-lieutenant."

A job for the second lieutenant, sir! How often have I told you, Mr Cheeks, that the carpenters are not to be employed, except on ship's duty, without my special permission.'

His standing bed-place is broke, sir; he is only getting out a chock or two.'

Mr Cheeks, you have disobeyed my most positive orders. By the by, sir, I understand you were not sober last night?

'Please your honour,' replied the carpenter, I wasn't drunk-I was only a little fresh.'

'Take you care, Mr Cheeks. Well, now, what are the rest of your crew about?'

Why, Thomson and Waters are cutting out the pales for the garden out of the jibboom; I've saved the heel to return.'

'Very well; but there wont be enough, will there?' 'No, sir; it will take a hand-mast to finish the


Then we must expend one when we go out again. We can carry away a top-mast, and make a new one out of the hand-mast at sea. In the meantime, if the sawyers have nothing to do, they may as well cut the palings at once. And now, let me see-oh, the pain

ters must go on shore to finish the attics.'

'Yes, sir; but my Lady Capperbar wishes the jealowsees to be painted vermilion; she says it will look

more rural.'

'Mrs Capperbar ought to know enough about ship's stores by this time to be aware that we are only allowed three colours. She may choose or mix them as she pleases; but as for going to the expense of buying paint, I can't afford it. What are the rest of the men about?'

'Repairing the second cutter, and making a new mast for the pinnace.'

By the by-that puts me in mind of it-have you expended any boat's masts?'

Only the one carried away, sir.'

Then you must expend two more. Mrs C has just sent me off a list of a few things that she wishes made while we are at anchor, and I see two poles for clothes-lines. Saw off the sheave-holes, and put two pegs through at right angles-you know how I mean? 'Yes, sir. What am I to do, sir, about the cucumber frame? My Lady Capperbar says that she must have it, and I haven't glass enough. They grumbled at the yard last time.'

'Mrs C must wait a little. What are the armourers about?'

"They have been so busy with your work, sir, that the arms are in a very bad condition. The first-lieutenant said yesterday that they were a disgrace to the ship.' Who dares say that?' "The first-lieutenant, sir.'

'Well, then, let them rub up the arms, and let me know when they are done, and we'll get the forge up.' 'The armourer has made six rakes and six hoes,

and the two little hoes for the children; but he says that he can't make a spade.'

'Then I'll take his warrant away, by heavens, since he does not know his duty. That will do, Mr Cheeks. I shall overlook your being in liquor this time; but take care. Send the boatswain to me.'

A few other authors have, like Captain Marryat, presented us with good pictures of maritime life and adventures. The Naval Sketch-Book, 1828; Sailors and Saints, 1829; Tales of a Tar, 1830; Land Sharks and Sea Gulls, 1838; and other works, by CAPTAIN GLASSCOCK, R. N., are all genuine tales of the sea, and display a hearty comic humour and rich phraseology, with as cordial a contempt for Bound, or a Merchant's Adventures, by MR HOWARD, regularity of plot! Rattlin the Reefer, and Outward are better managed as to fable (particularly 'Outhave not the same breadth of humour as Captain ward Bound,' which is a well-constructed tale), but Brace, by CAPTAIN CHAMIER, are excellent works Glasscock's novels. The Life of a Sailor, and Ben and humour. Tom Cringle's Log, by MICHAEL SCOTT, of the same class, replete with nature, observation, and The Cruise of the Midge (both originally published in Blackwood's Magazine), are also veritable productions of the sea-a little coarse, but spirited, and showing us things as they are.' Mr Scott, who was a native of Glasgow, spent a considerable part of his life in a mercantile situation at Kingston in Jamaica. He died in his native city, in 1835, aged about forty-six.




and fashionable novels. Her first work (published This lady is a clever and prolific writer of tales taining two tales, The Lettre de Cachet, and The anonymously) was, we believe, a small volume conReign of Terror, 1827. One of these relates to the times of Louis XIV., and the other to the French tales-superior, we think, to some of the more They are both interesting graceful elaborate and extensive fictions of the authoress. In 1830 appeared Women as they Are, or the Manners of the Day, three volumes-an easy sparkling narrative, with correct pictures of modern societymuch lady-like writing on dress and fashion, and some rather misplaced derision or contempt for 'excellent wives' and good sort of men.' novel soon went through a second edition, and Mrs Gore continued the same style of fashionable portraiture. In 1831 she issued Mothers and Daughters, a Tale of the Year 1830. Here the manners of gay life-balls, dinners, and fêtes-with clever sketches of character, and amusing dialogues, make up the customary three volumes. The same year we find Mrs Gore compiling a series of narratives for youth, entitled The Historical Traveller. In '832 she came forward with The Fair of May Fau, a series of fashionable tales, that were not so well received. The critics hinted that Mrs Gore had exhausted her stock of observation, and we believe she went to reside in France, where she continued soine years. Her next tale was entitled Mrs Armytage. In 1838 she published The Book of Roses, or Rose-Fancier's Manual, a delightful little work on the history of the rose, its propagation and culture. France is celebrated for its rich varieties of the queen of flowers, and Mrs Gore availed herself of the taste and expe-⚫ rience of the French floriculturists. A few months afterwards came out The Heir of Selwood, or Three Epochs of a Life, a novel in which were exhibited sketches of Parisian as well as English society, and an interesting though somewhat confused plot. The year 1839 witnessed three more works of fiction

from this indefatigable lady, The Cabinet Minister, the scene of which is laid during the regency of George IV., and includes among its characters the great name of Sheridan; Preferment, or My Uncle the Earl, containing some good sketches of drawingroom society, but no plot; and The Courtier of the Days of Charles II., and other Tales. Next year we have The Dowager, or the New School for Scandal; and in 1841 Greville, or a Season in Paris; Dacre of the South, or the Olden Time (a drama); and The Lover and her Husband, &c. the latter a free translation of M. Bertrand's Gerfaut. In 1842 Mrs Gore published The Banker's Wife, or Court and City, in which the efforts of a family in the middle rank to outshine a nobleman, and the consequences resulting from this silly vanity and ambition, are truly and powerfully painted. The value of Mrs Gore's novels consists in their lively caustic pictures of fashionable and high society. The more respectable of her personages are affecters of an excessive prudery concerning the decencies of life-nay, occasionally of an exalted and mystical religious feeling. The business of their existence is to avoid the slightest breach of conventional decorum. Whatever, therefore, they do, is a fair and absolute measure of the prevailing opinions of the class, and may be regarded as not derogatory to their position in the eyes of their equals. But the low average standard of morality thus depicted, with its conventional distinctions, cannot be invented. It forms the atmosphere in which the parties live; and were it a compound, fabricated at the author's pleasure, the beings who breathe it could not but be universally acknowledged as fantastical and as mere monstrosities; they would indeed be incapable of acting in harmony and consistence with the known laws and usages of civil life. Such as a series of parliamentary reports, county meetings, race-horse transactions, &c. they will be found, with a reasonable allowance of artistic colouring, to reflect accurately enough the notions current among the upper classes respecting religion, politics, domestic morals, the social affections, and that coarse aggregate of dealing with our neighbours which is embraced by the term common honesty."* Besides the works we have mentioned, Mrs Gore has published The Desennuyée, The Peeress, The Woman of the World, The Woman of Business, The Ambassador's Wife, and other novels. She contributes tales to the periodicals, and is perhaps unparalleled for fertility. Her works are all of the same class-all pictures of existing life and manners; but the want of genuine feeling, of passion, and simplicity, in her living models, and the endless frivolities of their occupations and pursuits, make us sometimes take leave of Mrs Gore's fashionable triflers in the temper with which Goldsmith parted from Beau Tibbs-The company of fools may at first make us smile, but at last never fails of rendering us melancholy.'

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and she regarded it as a propitious dispensation of Providence to her parents and to herself, that the comparative proved a superlative-even a high sheriff of the county, a baronet of respectable date, with ten thousand a-year! She felt that her duty towards herself necessitated an immediate acceptance of the dullest good sort of man' extant throughout the three kingdoms; and the whole routine of her after life was regulated by the same rigid code of moral selfishness. She was penetrated with a most exact sense of what was due to her position in the world; but she was equally precise in her appreciation of all that, in her turn, she owed to society; nor, from her youth upwards

Content to dwell in decencies for ever

had she been detected in the slightest infraction of these minor social duties. She knew with the utmost accuracy of domestic arithmetic-to the fraction of a course or an entrée-the number of dinners which Beech Park was indebted to its neighbourhood-the maintenance of its county dignity-the aggregate of complement of laundry-maids indispensable to the pines by which it must retain its horticultural precedence. She had never retarded by a day or an hour the arrival of the family-coach in Grosvenor Square at the exact moment creditable to Sir Robert's senatorial punctuality; nor procrastinated by half a second the simultaneous bobs of her ostentatious Sunday school, as she sailed majestically along the aisle towards her tall, stately, pharisaical, squire archical pew. True to the execution of her tasksand her whole life was but one laborious task-true and exact as the great bell of the Beech Park turretclock, she was enchanted with the monotonous music of her own cold iron tongue; proclaiming herself the best of wives and mothers, because Sir Robert's rentroll could afford to command the services of a firstrate steward, and butler, and housekeeper, and thus insure a well-ordered household; and because her seven substantial children were duly drilled through a daily portion of rice-pudding and spelling-book, and an annual distribution of mumps and measles! All went well at Beech Park; for Lady Lilfield was ‘the excellent wife' of ' a good sort of man!'

So bright an example of domestic merit-and what country neighbourhood cannot boast of its duplicate! -was naturally superior to seeking its pleasures in the rapid and varying novelties of modern fashion. The habits of Beech Park still affected the dignified and primeval purity of the departed century. Lady Lilfield remained true to her annual eight rural months of the county of Durham; against whose claims Kemp town pleaded, and Spa and Baden bubbled in vain. During her pastoral seclusion, by a careful distribution of her stores of gossiping, she contrived to prose, in undetected tautology, to suecessive detachments of an extensive neighbourhood, concerning her London importance-her court dress -her dinner parties-and her refusal to visit the Duchess of -; while, during the reign of her London importance, she made it equally her duty to bore her select visiting list with the history of the new Beech Park school-house of the Beech Park double dahlias—and of the Beech Park privilege of Lady Lilfield was a thoroughly worldly woman-a uniting, in an aristocratic dinner party, the abhorrent worthy scion of the Mordaunt stock. She had pro-heads of the rival political factions-the Bianche fessedly accepted the hand of Sir Robert because a connexion with him was the best that happened to present itself in the first year of her début the best match' to be had at a season's warning! She knew that she had been brought out with the view to dancing at a certain number of balls, refusing a certain number of good offers, and accepting a better one, somewhere between the months of January and June;

[Character of a Prudent Worldly Lady.]

[From Women as they Are."]

* Athenæum, 1839.

Neri-the houses of Montague and Capulet of the county palatine of Durham. By such minute sections of the wide chapter of colloquial boredom, Lady Lilfield acquired the character of being a very charming woman throughout her respectable clan of dinner giving baronets and their wives; but the reputation of a very miracle of prosiness among those

Men of the world, who know the world like men. She was but a weed in the nobler field of society.

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Among the other female novelists may be mentioned MISS LANDON (Mrs Maclean), authoress of Francesca Carrara, and Ethel Churchill-the latter a powerful and varied English story: MISS ELLEN PICKERING, whose novels-Who shall be Heir, The Secret Foe, and Sir Michael Paulet, 1841-42-evince great spirit and liveliness in sketching scenes and characters.

In humorous delineation of town and country manners and follies, the sketches entitled Little Pedlington and the Pedlingtonians, by MR JOHN POOLE, two volumes, 1839, are a fund of lively satire and amusement. The Ingoldsby Legends, or Mirth and Marvels, by MR THOMAS INGOLDSBY, 1840; and My Cousin Nicholas, by the same author, 1841, are marked by a similar comic breadth of humour. MR DOUGLAS JERROLD, author of Men of Character, three volumes, 1838, has written several amusing papers in the same style as the above, but has been more successful in writing light pieces for the stage. Mr Jerrold now edits a periodical-the Illuminated Magazine. MR W. M. THACKERAY has published (under the Cockney name of Michael Angelo Titmarsh') various graphic and entertaining works-The Paris Sketch-Book, 1840; Comic Tales and Sketches, 1841; and The Irish Sketch-Book, 1842. The latter is the most valuable; for Titmarsh is a quick observer, and original in style and description.


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nally of French origin, had resided since the revocation of the edict of Nantes. She has herself ascribed her taste for literary pursuits to the extreme delicacy of her health in childhood; to the infirmity (deafness) with which she has been afflicted ever since, which, without being so complete as to deprive her absolutely of all intercourse with the world, yet obliged her to seek occupations and pleasures within herself; and to the affection which subsisted between her and the brother nearest her own age, the Rev. James Martineau, whose fine mind and talents are well known. The occupation of writing, first begun to gratify her own taste and inclination, became afterwards to her a source of honourable independence, when, by one of the disasters so common in trade, her family became involved in misfortunes. She was then enabled to reverse the common lot of unmarried daughters in such circumstances, and cease to be in any respect a burden. She realised an income sufficient for her simple habits, but still so small as to enhance the integrity of the sacrifice which she made to principle in refusing the pension offered to her by government in 1840. Her motive for refusing it was that she considered herself in the light of a political writer, and that the offer did not proceed from the people, but from the government, which did not represent the people.'

[Effects of Love and Happiness on the Mind.] [From Deerbrook.']

There is much of this re

haps unconsciously) for the brightness of his earth, on long been parted, pour out their heart-stores to each summer evenings, when a brother and sister, who have other, and feel their course of thought brightening as

it runs.

MISS HARRIET MARTINEAU, an extensive miscelThere needs no other proof that happiness is the laneous writer, published in 1832 and 1833 a series most wholesome moral atmosphere, and that in which of Illustrations of Political Economy, in the shape of the immortality of man is destined ultimately to tales or novels. One story represents the advantages thrive, than the elevation of soul, the religious aspiraof the division and economy of labour, another the tion, which attends the first assurance, the first sober utility of capital and machinery, and others relate to ligious aspiration amidst all warmth of virtuous affeccertainty of true love. rent, population, &c. These tales contain many tions. There is a vivid love of God in the child that clever and striking descriptions, and evince much knowledge of human character. In 1837 Miss lays its cheek against the cheek of its mother, and Martineau published the results of a visit to Ame-clasps its arins about her neck. God is thanked (perrica, and a careful inspection of its institutions and national manners, under the title of Society in America. This she subsequently followed up by a Retrospect of Western Travel. Her first regular novel appeared in 1839, and was entitled Deerbrook. Though improbable in many of its incidents, this work abounds in eloquent and striking passages. The democratic opinions of the authoress (for in all but her anti-Malthusian doctrines Miss Martineau is a sort of female Godwin) are strikingly brought forward, and the characters are well drawn. 'Deerbrook' is a story of English domestic life. The next effort of Miss Martineau was in the historical romance. The Hour and the Man, 1840, is a novel or romance founded on the history of the brave Toussaint L'Ouverture, and with this man as hero, Miss Martineau exhibits as the hour of action the period when the slaves of St Domingo threw off the yoke of slavery. There is much passionate as well as graceful writing in this tale; its greatest defect is, that there is too much disquisition, and too little connected or regular fable. Among the other works of Miss Martineau are several for children, as The Peasant and the Prince, The Settlers at Home, How to Observe, &c. Her latest work, Life in the Sick-Room, or Essays by an Invalid, 1844, contains many interesting and pleasing sketches, full of acute and delicate thought and elegant description.

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The following notice of our authoress appears in a recent publication, A New Spirit of the Age:⚫ Harriet Martineau was born in the year 1802, one of the youngest among a family of eight children. Her father was a proprietor of one of the manufactories in Norwich, in which place his family, origi

his children have won, or looks round upon their inWhen the aged parent hears of the honours nocent faces as the glory of his decline, his mind reverts to Him who in them prescribed the purpose of his life, and bestowed its grace. But religious as is the mood of every good affection, none is so devotional as that of love, especially so called. The soul is then the very temple of adoration, of faith, of holy purity, of heroism, of charity. At such a moment the human creature shoots up into the angel; there is nothing on earth too defiled for its charity-nothing in hell too appalling for its heroism-nothing in heaven too glorious for its sympathy. Strengthened, sustained, vivified by that most mysterious power, union with another spirit, it feels itself set well forth on the way of victory over evil, sent out conquering and to conquer. There is no other such crisis in human life. The philosopher may experience uncontrollable agitation in verifying his principle of balancing systems of worlds, feeling, perhaps, as if he actually saw the creative hand in the act of sending the planets forth on their everlasting way; but this philosopher, solitary seraph as he may be regarded amidst a myriad of men, knows at such a moment no emotions so divine as those of the spirit becoming conscious that it is beloved-be it the peasant girl in the meadow, or the daughter of the sage reposing in her father's confidence, or the artisan beside his loom, or the man of letters musing by his fireside. The warrior about to strike the decisive blow for the liberties of a nation, however impressed with the


solemnity of the hour, is not in a state of such lofty resolution as those who, by joining hearts, are laying their joint hands on the whole wide realm of futurity for their own. The statesman who, in the moment of success, feels that an entire class of social sins and woes is annihilated by his hand, is not conscious of so holy and so intimate a thankfulness as they who are aware that their redemption is come in the presence of a new and sovereign affection. And these are many-they are in all corners of every land. The statesman is the leader of a nation, the warrior is the grace of an age, the philosopher is the birth of a thousand years; but the lover, where is he not? Wherever parents look round upon their children, there he has been-wherever children are at play together, there he will soon be-wherever there are roofs under which men dwell, wherever there is an atmosphere vibrating with human voices, there is the lover, and there is his lofty worship going on, unspeakable, but revealed in the brightness of the eye, the majesty of the presence, and the high temper of

the discourse.



THOMAS MILLER is one of the humble, happy, industrious self-taught sons of genius. He was brought up to the trade of a basketmaker, and while thus obscurely labouring to consort with the muse and support a family,' he attracted attention, first by his poetical effusions, and subsequently by a series of prose narratives and fictions remarkable for the freshness of their descriptions of rural life and English scenery. Through the kindness of Mr Rogers, our author was placed in the more congenial situation of a bookseller, and has had the gratification of publishing and selling his own works. Miller's first prose composition was, we believe, 4 Day in the Woods, which was followed (1839) by Rural Sketches, both being somewhat in the style of Bloomfield's poetry-simple, picturesque, and cheerful in tone and spirit. His first novel was Royston Gower, 1838, which experienced such a reception as to induce the author to continue novel-writing. His second attempt was hazardous, from the associations it awakened, and the difficulty of painting historical characters of a distant age; it was entitled Fair Rosamond, or the Days of King Henry II. There was an evident improvement in the author's style, but the work, as a whole, was unsatisfactory and tedious. In 1840 he plunged again into a remote era of English history, requiring minute knowledge and practised skill to delineate with effect: his Lady Jane Grey, a Historical Romance, is defective in plot, but contains some interesting scenes and characters. 'There is,' says one of Miller's critics, a picturesqueness in the arrangement and colouring of his scenes-an occasional glimpse, now of pathos, now of humour, quaint and popular, but never vulgar-an ease in the use and combination of such few historical materials as suffice for his purpose, which put to shame the efforts of many who have been crammed in schools and lectured in colleges-and afford another evidence that creative power is like the air and the sunshine-visiting alike the cottage and the mansion, the basketmaker's shop and the literary gentleman's sanctum.' Miller's next appearance, in 1841, evinced still more decided improvement: Gideon Giles, the Roper, is a tale of English life, generally of humble characters, but rendered interesting by truthful and vigorous delineation. 1842 Mr Miller came forward with another novelGodfrey Malverin, or the Life of an Author, detailing the adventures and vicissitudes of a country youth who repairs to London in quest of literary fame and


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fortune. Some of the incidents in this work are exaggerated, yet the lives of Gerald Griffin, Dr Maginn, and other literary adventurers, contained almost as strange and sad varieties, and the author's own experience doubtless prompted some of his delineations. About the same time Mr Miller published a volume of poems-a collection of pieces contributed to different periodicals, and, like his prose works, simple and natural in feeling and description. One of these really beautiful effusions we subjoin:

The Happy Valley.

It was a valley filled with sweetest sounds,
A languid music haunted everywhere,
Like those with which a summer ere abounds,
From rustling corn and song-birds calling clear,
Down sloping-uplands, which some wood surrounds,
With tinkling rills just heard, but not too near;
Or lowing cattle on the distant plain,
And swing of far-off bells, now caught, then lost again.
It seemed like Eden's angel-peopled vale,

So bright the sky, so soft the streams did flow;
Such tones came riding on the musk-winged gale,
The very air seemed sleepily to blow,
And choicest flowers enameled every dale,
Flushed with the richest sunlight's rosy glow;
It was a valley drowsy with delight,
Such fragrance floated round, such beauty dimmed the

The golden-belted bees hummed in the air,
The trees slept in the steeping sunbeam's glare,
The tall silk grasses bent and waved along;
And took its own free course without a care:
The dreamy river chimed its under-song,
Amid the boughs did lute-tongued songsters throng,
Until the valley throbbed beneath their lays,
And echo echo chased through many a leafy maze.
And shapes were there, like spirits of the flowers,

Sent down to see the summer-beauties dress,
And feed their fragrant mouths with silver showers;
Their eyes peeped out from many a green recess,
And their fair forms made light the thick-set bowers,
The very flowers seemed eager to caress
Such living sisters, and the boughs, long-leaved,
Clustered to catch the sighs their pearl-flushed bosoms


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One, with her warm and milk-white arms outspread,
On tip-toe tripped along a sunlit glade;
Half turned the matchless sculpture of her head,
And half shook down her silken circling braid;
Her back-blown scarf an arched rainbow made;
Skimming the wavy flowers, as she passed by,
She seemed to float on air, so light she sped;
With fair and printless feet, like clouds along the sky.
One sat alone within a shady nook,

With wild-wood songs the lazy hours beguiling; Or looking at her shadow in the brook,

Trying to frown, then at the effort smiling. Her laughing eyes mocked every serious look;

'Twas as if Love stood at himself reviling: She threw in flowers, and watched them float away, Then at her beauty looked, then sang a sweeter lay.

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