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vation of nature appears to be Mr Grattan's principal merit. His style is often diffuse and careless; and he does not seem to have laboured successfully in constructing his stories. His pictures of ordinary life in the French provinces, as he wandered among the highways and byways of that country with a cheerful observant spirit, noting the peculiarities of the people, are his happiest and most original


MR T. H. LISTER, a gentleman of rank and aristocratic connexions, was author of three novels, descriptive of the manners of the higher classes; namely, Granby, 1826; Herbert Lacy, 1827; and Arlington, 1832. These works are pleasingly written, and may be considered as affording correct pictures of domestic society, but they possess no features of novelty or originality to preserve them for another generation. A strain of graceful reflection, in the style of the essays in the Mirror and Lounger, is mingled with the tale, and shows the author to have been a man of refined and cultivated taste and feeling. In 1838 Mr Lister published a Memoir of the Life and Administration of the Earl of Clarendon, in three volumes, a work of considerable talent and research, in preparing which the author had access to documents and papers unknown to his predecessors. Mr Lister died in June 1842, at which time he held the government appointment of Registrar-general of births, marriages, and deaths. The following brief description in Granby' may be compared with Mr Wordsworth's noble sonnet composed upon Westminster Bridge.

[London at Sunrise.]

Granby followed them with his eyes; and now, too full of happiness to be accessible to any feelings of jealousy or repining, after a short reverie of the purest satisfaction, he left the ball, and sallied out into the fresh cool air of a summer morning-suddenly passing from the red glare of lamplight to the clear sober brightness of returning day. He walked cheerfully onward, refreshed and exhilarated by the air of morning, and interested with the scene around him. It was broad daylight, and he viewed the town under an aspect in which it is alike presented to the late retiring votary of pleasure, and to the early rising sons of business. He stopped on the pavement of Oxford Street to contemplate the effect. The whole extent of that long vista, unclouded by the mid-day smoke, was distinctly visible to his eye at once. The houses shrunk to half their span, while the few visible spires of the adjacent churches seemed to rise less distant than before, gaily tipped with early sunshine, and much diminished in apparent size, but heightened in distinctness and in beauty. Had it not been for the cool gray tint which slightly mingled with every object, the brightness was almost that of noon. But the life, the bustle, the busy din, the flowing tide of human existence, were all wanting to complete the similitude. All was hushed and silent; and this mighty receptacle of human beings, which a few short hours would wake into active energy and motion, seemed like a city of the dead.

There was little to break this solemn illusion. Around were the monuments of human exertion, but the hands which formed them were no longer there. Few, if any, were the symptoms of life. No sounds were heard but the heavy creaking of a solitary wagon, the twittering of an occasional sparrow, the monotonous tone of the drowsy watchman, and the distant rattle of the retiring carriage, fading on the ear till it melted into silence: and the eye that searched for living objects fell on nothing but the grim great-coated guardian of the night, muffled up into an appearance of doubtful character between


bear and man, and scarcely distinguishable, by the colour of his dress, from the brown flags along which he sauntered.

Two novels of the same class with those of Mr Lister were written by the present MARQUIS OF NORMANBY; namely, Matilda, published in 1825, and Yes and No, a Tale of the Day, 1827. They were well received by the public, being in taste, correctness of delineation, and general good sense, superior to the ordinary run of fashionable novels.


LADY CAROLINE LAMB (1785-1828) was authoress of three works of fiction, which, from extrinsic circumstances, were highly popular in their day. The first, Glenarvon, was published in 1816, and the hero was understood to body forth' the character and sentiments of Lord Byron! It was a representation of the dangers attending a life of fashion. The second, Graham Hamilton, depicted the difficulties and dangers inseparable, even in the most amiable minds, from weakness and irresolution of character. The third, Ada Reis (1823), is a wild Eastern tale, the hero being introduced as the Don Juan of his day, a Georgian by birth, who, like Othello, is sold to slavery,' but rises to honours and distinctions. In the end Ada is condemned, for various misdeeds, to eternal punishment! The history of Lady Caroline Lamb is painfully interesting. She was united, before the age of twenty, to the Honourable William Lamb (now Lord Melbourne), and was long the delight of the fashionable circles, from the singularity as well as the grace of her manners, her literary accomplishments, and personal attractions. On meeting with Lord Byron, she contracted an unfortunate attachment for the noble poet, which continued three years, and was the theme of much remark. The poet is said to have trifled with her feelings, and a rupture took place. For many years Lady Caroline led a life of comparative seclusion, principally at Brocket Hall. This was interrupted by a singular and somewhat romantic occurrence. Riding with Mr Lamb, she met, just by the park-gates, the hearse which was conveying the remains of Lord Byron to Newstead Abbey. She was taken home insensible: an illness of length and severity succeeded. Some of her medical attendants imputed her fits, certainly of great incoherence and long continuance, to partial insanity. At this supposition she was invariably and bitterly indignant. Whatever be the cause, it is certain from that time her conduct and habits materially changed; and about three years before her death a separation took place between her and Mr Lamb, who continued, however, frequently to visit, and, to the day of her death, to correspond with her. It is just to both parties to add, that Lady Caroline constantly spoke of her husband in the highest and most affectionate terms of admiration and respect.'* A romantic susceptibility of temperament and character seems to have been the bane of this unfortunate lady. Her fate illustrates the wisdom of Thomson's advice

Then keep each passion down, however dear, Trust me, the tender are the most severe.

The Recollections of a Chaperon, 1833, by LADY DACRE, are a series of tales written with taste, feeling, and passion. This lady is, we believe, also authoress of Trevelyan, 1833, a novel which was considered at the time of its publication as the

* Annual Obituary for 1829.

best feminine novel, in many respects, that had appeared since Miss Edgeworth's Vivian. Among other works of this class may be mentioned the tale of Dacre, 1834, by the COUNTESS OF MORLEY; and several fashionable novels (The Divorced, Family Records, Love, The Courtier's Daughter, &c.) by LADY CHARLOTTE BURY. This lady is the supposed authoress of a Diary Illustrative of the Times of George IV., a scandalous chronicle, published in 1838. It appears that her ladyship (then Lady Charlotte Campbell) had held an appointment in the household of the Princess of Wales, and during this time she kept a diary, in which she recorded the foibles and failings of the unfortunate princess and other members of the court. The work was strongly condemned by the two leading critical journals-the Edinburgh and Quarterly Review and was received generally with disapprobation.


MR R. PLUMER WARD published in 1825 a singular metaphysical and religious romance entitled Tremaine, or the Man of Refinement. The author's name was not prefixed to his work; and as he alluded to his intimacy with English statesmen and political events, and seemed to belong to the evangelical party in the church, much speculation took place as to the paternity of the novel. The writer was evidently well-bred and intellectual-prone to philosophical and theological disquisitions, but at the same time capable of forcible delineation of character, and the management of natural dialogue and incidents. The prolixity of some of the dissertations and dialogues, where the story stood still for half a volume, that the parties might converse and dispute, rendered Tremaine' somewhat heavy and tedious, in spite of the vigour and originality of talent it displayed. In a subsequent work, De Vere, or the Man of Independence, 1827, the public dwelt with keen interest on a portraiture of Mr Canning, whose career was then about to close in his premature death. The contention in the mind of this illustrious statesman between literary tastes and the pursuits of ambition, is beautifully delineated in one passage which has been often quoted. It represents a conversation between Wentworth (Canning), Sir George Deloraine, a reserved and sentimental man, and Dr Herbert. The occasion of the conversation was Wentworth's having observed Deloraine coming out of Westminster Abbey by the door at Poets' Corner. Meeting at dinner, Sir George is rallied by Wentworth on his taste for the monuments of departed genius; which he defends; and he goes on to add

'It would do all you men of power good if you were to visit them too; for it would show you how little more than upon a level is often the reputation of the greatest statesman with the fame of those who, by their genius, their philosophy, or love of letters, improve and gladden life even after they are gone.' The whole company saw the force of this remark, and Wentworth not the least among them. You have touched a theme,' said he, which has often engaged me, and others before me, with the keenest interest. I know nothing so calculated as this very reflection to cure us poor political slaves (especially when we feel the tugs we are obliged to sustain) of being dazzled by meteors.' 'Meteors do you call them?' said Dr Herbert. 'Men do not run after meteors with such rapid and persevering steps as you great people pursue ambition.' 'I grant you,' returned his friend; and if we did not think them something better, who would give himself [q. themselves] up to such labour, such invasions of their privacy and



leisure, as we are forced to undergo? What is it, then, that so seduces you? A little intoxication, returned Mr Wentworth, laughing off a subject which he did not wish carried too far; for which you philosophers say we ought to be whipped, and for which whipped we often are. Those, however, who || want this whipping would do well to take Sir George's advice, and visit the shrines of the mighty dead. } They would see how inferior most of themselves are in present estimation to beings who, when alive, could not, in splendour at least, compare with them. I have too often made the reflection, and was not the happier for it.' 'You cannot be serious,' said the divine; since who are such real benefactors to mankind as enlightened legislators and patriot warriors! What poet, I had almost said what philosopher, can stand in competition with the founder or defender of his country?' Ask your own Homer, your own Shakspeare,' answered Wentworth, forgetting his ambition for a moment in his love of letters. 'You take me in my weak part,' said Herbert, and the however, that but for the Solons, the Romuluses, the subject would carry us too far. I would remark, Charlemagnes, and Alfreds, we should have no Homer favourite theme,' said the minister, and you know or Shakspeare to charm us.' 'I know this is your how much I agree with you. But this is not precisely the question raised by Sir George; which is, the superiority in the temple of fame enjoyed by men distinguished for their efforts in song or history (but who might have been mere beggars when alive) over those who flaunted it superciliously over them in a pomp and pride which are now absolutely forgotten." I will have nothing to do with supercilious flaunters, replied Herbert; 'I speak of the liberal, the patriotic, who seek power for the true uses of power, in order to diffuse blessing and protection all around them. These can never fail to be deservedly applauded; and I honour such ambition as of infinitely more real consequence to the world than those whose works (however I may love them in private) can, from the mere nature of things, be comparatively known only to a few. All that is most true,' said Mr Wentworth ; and for a while public men of the description you mention fill a larger space in the eye of mankind; that is, of contemporary mankind. But extinguish their power, no matter by what means, whether by losing favour at court, or being turned out by the country, to both which they are alike subject; let death forcibly remove them, or a queen die, and their light, like Bolingbroke's, goes out of itself; their influence is certainly gone, and where is even their reputation? It may glimmer for a minute, like the dying flame of a taper, after which they soon cease to be mentioned, perhaps even remembered.' 'Surely,' said the doctor, this is too much in extremes.' 'And yet,' continued Wentworth, have we not all heard of a maxim appalling to all lovers of political fame, "that nobody is missed?" Alas! then, are we not compelled to burst out with the poet :


"What boots it with incessant care,

To tend the homely slighted shepherd's trade,
And strictly meditate the thankless muse?
Were it not better done, as others use,
To sport with Amaryllis in the shade,
Or with the tangles of Neæra's hair?”*

Both Sir George and De Vere kindled at this; and the doctor himself smiled, when the minister proceeded. In short,' said he, when a statesman, or even a conqueror is departed, it depends upon the happier poet or philosophic historian to make even his name known to posterity; while the historian or poet acquires immortality for himself in conferring upon his heroes an inferior existence.' Inferior existence !' exclaimed Herbert. 'Yes; for look at

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Plutarch, and ask which are most esteemed, himself or those he records? Look at the old Claudii and Manlii of Livy; or the characters in Tacitus; or Mecenas, Agrippa, or Augustus himself-princes, emperors, ministers, esteemed by contemporaries as gods! Fancy their splendour in the eye of the multitude while the multitude followed them! Look at them now! Spite even of their beautiful historians, we have often difficulty in rummaging out their old names; while those who wrote or sang of them live before our eyes. The benefits they conferred passed in a minute, while the compositions that record them last for ever.' Mr Wentworth's energy moved his hearers, and even Herbert, who was too classical not to be shaken by these arguments. Still, however,' said the latter, we admire, and even wish to emulate Camillus, and Miltiades, and Alexander; a Sully and a Clarendon.' 'Add a Lord Burleigh,' replied the minister, who, in reference to Spenser, thought a hundred pounds an immense sum for a song! Which is now most thought of, or most loved?-the calculating minister or the poor poet? the puissant treasurer or he who was left "in suing long to bide?" Sir George and De Vere, considering the quarter whence it came, were delighted with this question. The doctor was silent, and seemed to wish his great friend to go on. He proceeded thus- I might make the same question as to Horace and Mecænas; and yet, I daresay, Horace was as proud of being taken in Mecænas's coach to the Capitol as the dean of St Patricks in Oxford's or Bolingbroke's to Windsor. Yet Oxford is even now chiefly remembered through that very dean, and so perhaps would Bolingbroke, but that he is an author, and a very considerable one himself. We may recollect,' continued he,' the manner in which Whitelocke mentions Milton-that "one Milton, a blind man," was made secretary to Cromwell. Whitelocke was then the first subject in the state, and lived in all the pomp of the seals, and all the splendour of Bulstrode; while the blind man waked at early morn to listen to the lark bidding him good-morrow at his cottage window. Where is the lord-keeper now?

where the blind man? What is known of Addison as secretary of state? and how can his excellency compare with the man who charms us so exquisitely in his writings? When I have visited his interesting house at Bilton, in Warwickshire, sat in his very study, and read his very books, no words can describe my emotions. I breathe his official atmosphere here, but without thinking of him at all. In short, there is this delightful superiority in literary over political fame, that the one, to say the best of it, stalks in cold grandeur upon stilts, like a French tragedy actor, while the other winds itself into our warm hearts, and is hugged there with all the affection of a friend and all the admiration of a lover.' Hear! hear!' cried Sir George, which was echoed by De Vere and Herbert himself.

De Clifford, or the Constant Man, produced in 1841, is also a tale of actual life; and as the hero is at one time secretary to a cabinet minister, Mr Ward revels in official details, rivalries, and intrigue. In 1844 our author produced Chatsworth, or the Romance of a Week.


MR BENJAMIN D'ISRAELI, M. P., son of the venerable author of the Curiosities of Literature, composed a novel of the same class as Mr Ward's, which also puzzled the busy idlers of literature and fashion. Vivian Grey, two volumes, 1826, and continued in three more volumes in the following year, is a work of irregular imaginative talent, of little or no plot, but presenting views of society and character without

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Mrs Trollope.

Manners of the Americans was published, and excited much attention. She drew so severe a picture of

'minor morals' and social habits of the Americans.

American faults and foibles-of their want of delicacy, their affectations, drinking, coarse selfishness, and ridiculous peculiarities-that the whole nation was incensed at their English satirist. There is much exaggeration in Mrs Trollope's sketches; but having truth for their foundation, her book is supposed to have had some effect in reforming the The same year our authoress continued her satiric portraits in a novel entitled The Refugee in America, marked by the same traits as her former work, but exhibiting little art or talent in the construction of a fable. Mrs Trollope now tried new ground. In 1834 she published Belgium and Western Germany in 1833, countries where she found much more to gratify and interest her than in America, and where she travelled in generally good humour. The only serious evil which Mrs Trollope seems to have encountered in Germany was the tobacco-smoke, which she vituperates with unwearied perseverance. In 1837 she presented another novel, The Vicar of Wrexhill, an able and entertaining work, full of prejudices, but containing some excellent painting of manners and eccentricities. In 1838 our authoress appears again as a traveller. Vienna and the Austrians was of the same cast as Belgium and Germany,' but more deformed by prejudice. This journey also afforded Mrs Trollope materials for a novel, which she entitled A Romance of Vienna. Three novels were the fruit of 1839; namely, The Widow Barnaby, a highly amusing work, particularly the delineation of the bustling, scheming, unprincipled husband


hunting widow; Michael Armstrong, or the Factory ceased to keep alive the strongest and often the Boy, a caricature of the evils attendant on the manu- worst passions of our nature; whose pauses, during facturing system; and One Fault, a domestic story, that long lapse of a country's existence, from actual illustrating with uncommon vigour and effect the conflict in the field, have been but so many changes dismal consequences of that species of bad temper into mental strife, and who to this day are held which proceeds from pride and over sensitiveness. prepared, should the war-cry be given, to rush at In 1840 we had The Widow Married; and in 1841 each other's throats, and enact scenes that, in the The Blue Belles of England, and Charles Chesterfield. columns of a newspaper, would show more terribly The latter relates the history of a youth of genius, vivid than any selected by us from former facts, and contains a satirical picture of the state of lite- for the purposes of candid, though slight illustrarature in England, branding authors, editors, and tion.' There was too much of this 'strong writing' publishers with unprincipled profligacy, selfishness, in The Croppy, and worse faults were found in the and corruption. In 1842 Mrs Trollope, besides prolixity of some of the dialogues and descriptions, throwing off another novel (The Ward of Thorpe and a too palpable imitation of the style of Sir Combe), gave the public the result of a second Walter Scott in his historical romances. The scenes visit to Belgium, describing the changes that had peculiarly Irish are, however, written with Mr been effected since 1833, and also A Visit to Italy. Banim's characteristic vigour: he describes the The smart caustic style of our authoress was not burning of a cabin till we seem to witness the specso well adapted to the classic scenes, manners, and tacle; and the massacre at Vinegar Hill is portrayed antiquities of Italy, as to the broader features of with the distinctness of dramatic action. Nanny American life and character, and this work was not the knitter is also one of his happiest Irish likeso successful as her previous publications. Return- nesses. The experiment made by the author to ing to fiction, we find Mrs Trollope, as usual, prolific. depict, like Scott, the manners and frivolities of the Three novels, of three volumes each, were the pro- higher classes-to draw a sprightly heroine, a maiden duce of 1843-Hargrave, Jessie Phillips, and The aunt, or the ordinary characters and traits of genteel Laurringtons. The first is a sketch of a man of society-was decidedly a failure. His strength lay fashion; the second an attack on the new English in the cabin and the wild heath, not in the drawingpoor-law; and the third a lively satire on superior room. In 1830 Mr Banim published The Denounced, people,' the bustling Botherbys' of society. Review-in three volumes, a work consisting of two tales ing the aggregate labours of this industrious author--The Last Baron of Crana, and The Conformists. ess, we cannot say that she has done good propor- The same beauties and defects which characterise tioned to her talents. Her satire is directed against The Croppy are seen in The Denounced; but The the mere superficialities of life, and is not calculated | Conformists is a deeply-interesting story, and calls to check vice or encourage virtue. In depicting forth Mr Banim's peculiarities of description and high life, she wants the genial spirit and humanity knowledge of character in a very striking light. His of Theodore Hook. She has scattered amusement object is to depict the evils of that system of antiamong novel-readers by some of her delineations; | Catholic tyranny when the penal laws were in full but in all her mirth there is a mocking and bitter force, by which home education was denied to Cathospirit, which is often as misplaced as it is unfemi-lic families unless by a Protestant teacher. The nine. more rigid of the Catholics abjured all instruction thus administered; and Mr Banim describes the effects of ignorance and neglect on the second son of a Catholic gentleman, haughty, sensitive, and pain. fully alive to the disadvantages and degradation of his condition. The whole account of this family, the D'Arcys, is written with great skill and effect. In 1838 Mr Banim collected several of his contribu tions to periodical works, and published them under the title of The Bit o' Writin', and other Tales. In 1842 he came forward with an original and excellent novel, in three volumes, Father Connell, the hero being an aged and benevolent Catholic priest, not unworthy of association with the Protestant Vicar of Wakefield. This primitive pastor becomes the patron of a poor vagrant boy, Neddy Fennell, whose adventures furnish the incidents for the story. There is, as usual with Mr Banim, a variety of incidents minutely related-scenes of gloom and terror--and a complete knowledge of the moral anatomy of our nature. This was destined to be the last work of the author. He died in August 1842, in the prime of life, in the neighbourhood of Kilkenny, which also was his birthplace. Mr Banim began life as a miniature painter; but, seduced from his profession by promptings too strong to be resisted, and by the success of a tragedy, Damon and Pythias, he early abandoned art, and adopted literature as a profes sion; and he will be long remembered as the writer of that powerful and painful series of novels, “The O'Hara Tales." Some years previous, the general sympathy was attracted to Mr Banim's struggle against the suffering and privation which came in the train of disease that precluded all literary exertion; and on that occasion Sir Robert Peel came to the aid of the distressed author, whose latter years were


The Tales of the O'Hara Family, first and second series, 1825 and 1826, produced a strong and vivid impression on all readers of fiction. The author seemed to unite the truth and circumstantiality of Crabbe with the dark and gloomy power of Godwin; and in knowledge of Irish character, habits, customs, and feeling, he was superior to even Miss Edgeworth or Lady Morgan. The story of the Nowlans, and that of Croohore of the Bill-Hook, can never be forgotten by those who have once perused them. The force of the passions, and the effects of crime, turbulence, and misery, have rarely been painted with such overmastering energy, or wrought into narratives of more sustained and harrowing interest. The probability of his incidents was not much attended to by the author, and he indulged largely in scenes of horror and violence--in murders, abductions, pursuits, and escapes-but the whole was related with such spirit, raciness, and truth of costume and colouring, that the reader had neither time nor inclination to note defects. The very peculiarities of the Irish dialect and pronunciation (though constituting at first a difficulty in perusal, and always too much persisted in by Mr Banim) heightened the wild native flavour of the stories, and enriched them with many new and picturesque words and phrases. These original and striking tales were followed up in 1828 by another Irish story, The Croppy, connected with the insurrection in 1798. We paint,' said the author, from the people of a land amongst whom, for the last six hundred years, national provocations have never

restored to his native country, and made easy by a
yearly pension of £150 from the civil list, to which
an addition of £40 a-year was afterwards made for
the education of his daughter, an only child.'* Be-
sides the works we have mentioned, Mr Banim
wrote Boyne Wuter, and other poetical pieces; and
he contributed largely to the different magazines and
annuals. The O'Hara Tales' had given him a name
that carried general attraction to all lovers of light
literature; and there are few of these short and
hasty tales that do not contain some traces of his
unrivalled Irish power and fidelity of delineation.
In some respects Mr Banim was a mannerist: his
knowledge extended over a wide surface of Irish
history and of character, under all its modifications;
but his style and imagination were confined chiefly
to the same class of subjects, and to a peculiar mode
of treating them. Thus the consciousness of power
in the description of unhallowed and unregulated
impulse, appears to draw him often away from con-
templating those feelings of a more pleasing kind,
to comprehend and to delineate which is so neces-
sary a condition to the attainment of perfection in
his art. Thus the boldness and minuteness of detail,
which give reality to his frequent scenes of lawless-it

ness and violence, are too often forced close on the
verge of vulgar honour and melodramatic artifice.
To be brief, throughout the whole of his writings
there is a sort of overstrained excitement, a wil-

ful dwelling upon turbulent and unchastened passions, which, as it is a vice most often incident to the workings of real genius, more especially of Irish genius, so perhaps it is one which meets with least mercy from well-behaved prosaic people.' This defect he partially overcame in his later writings. Father Connell' is full of gentle affectionate feelings and delineation, and some of his smaller tales are distinguished by great delicacy and tenderness.

hard towards a spot brilliantly illuminated, they saw Saunders Smyly vigorously engaged in one of his tasks as disciplinarian to the Ballybreehoone cavalry. With much ostentation, his instrument of torture was flourished round his head, and though at every lash the shrieks of the sufferer came loud, the lashes themselves were scarce less distinct.

A second group challenged the eye. Shawn-a-Gow's house stood alone in the village. A short distance before its door was a lime-tree, with benches contrived all round the trunk, upon which, in summer weather, the gossipers of the village used to seat themselves. This tree, standing between our spectators and the blaze, cut darkly against the glowing objects beyond it; and three or four yeomen, their backs turned to the hill, their faces to the burning house, and consequently their figures also appearing black, seemed busily occupied in some feat that required the exertion of pulling with their hands lifted above their heads. Shawn flashed an inquiring glance upon them, and anon a human form, still, like their figures, vague and undefined in blackness, gradually became elevated from the ground beneath the tree, until its head almost touched a projecting branch, and then remained stationary, suspended from that branch. Shawn's rage increased to madness at this sight, though he did not admit it to be immediately conAnd now came an event that made a climax, for the expressions of his pent-up feelings. A loud crackling present, to his emotions, and at length caused some crash echoed from his house; a volume of flame, ceded, darted up to the heavens; then almost former taller and more dense than any by which it was predarkness fell on the hill-side; a gloomy red glow alone remained on the objects below; and nothing but thick smoke, dotted with sparks, continued to issue from his dwelling. After everything that could interiorly supply food to the flame had been devoured, it was the roof of his old house that now fell in.

nected with his more individual causes for wrath.

By the ashes o' my cabin, burnt down before me this night-an' I stannin' a houseless beggar on the hill-side lookin' at id-while I can get an Orangeman's house to take the blaze, an' a wisp to kindle the blaze up, I'll burn ten houses for that one!'

[Description of the Burning of a Croppy's House.]


The smith kept a brooding and gloomy silence; his almost savage yet steadfast glare fastened upon the element that, not more raging than his own bosom, devoured his dwelling. Fire had been set to the house in many places within and without; and though at first it crept slowly along the surface of the thatch, or only sent out bursting wreaths of vapour from the interior, or through the doorway, few minutes elapsed until the whole of the combustible roof was one mass of flame, shooting up into the serene air MR CROKER has been one of the most industrious in a spire of dazzling brilliancy, mixed with vivid and tasteful collectors of the legendary lore, the sparks, and relieved against a background of dark-poetical traditions and antiquities of Ireland. In gray smoke. 1824 appeared his Researches in the South of Ireland, Sky and earth appeared reddened into common ig- one volume, quarto, containing a judicious and happy nition with the blaze. The houses around gleamed mixture of humour, sentiment, and antiquarianism. hotly; the very stones and rocks on the hill-side This was followed by Fairy Legends and Traditions seemed portions of fire; and Shawn-a-Gow's bare head of the South of Ireland, 1827; Legends of the Lakes, or and herculean shoulders were covered with spreading Sayings and Doings at Killarney, two volumes, 1828; showers of the ashes of his own roof. Daniel O'Rourke, or Rhymes of a Pantomime founded on that Story, 1828; Barney Mahoney, 1832; My Vil lage versus Our Village, 1832; Popular Songs of Ireland, 1839, &c. The tales of Barney Mahoney' and

His distended eye fixed too upon the figures of the actors in this scene, now rendered fiercely distinct, and their scabbards, their buttons, and their polished black helmets, bickering redly in the glow, as, at a

command from their captain, they sent up the hill-My Village' are Mr Croker's only efforts at strictly side three shouts over the demolition of the Croppy's lations, like Scott's Minstrelsy, and entered upon original composition, his other works being compidwelling. But still, though his breast heaved, and with equal enthusiasm and knowledge of his subject. though wreaths of foam edged his lips, Shawn was silent; and little Peter now feared to address a word Barney is a low Irish servant, and his adventures to him. And other sights and occurrences claimed much force or interest. My Village' is an English are characteristic and amusing, though without whatever attention he was able to afford. Rising to a pitch of shrillness that over-mastered the cheers of tale, and by no means happy either in conception the yeomen, the cries of a man in bodily agony struck dressed or represented her village en vaudeville, like or execution. Miss Mitford may have occasionally on the ears of the listeners on the hill, and looking the back-scene of a theatre, but Mr Croker errs on the opposite side. He gives us a series of Dutch


Athenæum for 1842.

Westminster Review, 1828.

And so asseverating, he recrossed the summit of the hill, and, followed by Peter Rooney, descended into the little valley of refuge.

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