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be to let him go. He called together manner in which you treat me to-day the councillors, however, and sent for has filled me with respect for your character. I believe you to be an honourable man.”

the prisoner.

"I hope you will forgive us, if we dealt somewhat hardly with you yesterday evening."

"Most willingly, since you ask me to do so."

"Our rules are strict, and your conduct gave rise to suspicion. I cannot set you free without departing from my duty. Appearances are against you. I wish you would say something, which might satisfy us of your good character." "And it I should say nothing?" “Then I must send your passport to Munich, and you must remain here till it returns."

Wolf was silent for a few minutes, and appeared to be much agitated; he then stept close up to the magistrate.

"Can I be a quarter of an hour alone with you ?"

The councillors looked doubtfully at each other; but the magistrate motioned to them, and they withdrew.

"Now, what will you?"

"Your conduct yesterday evening, sir, could never have brought me to your terms, for I despise violence. The

"What have you to say to me?"

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I see you are an honourable man. I have long wished to meet with such a man. Will you give me your right band?"

"What will you, stranger?"

"Your head is gray and venerable. You have been long in the worldyou have had sorrows too-Is it not so?-and they have made you more merciful?

66

Sir, what mean you?"

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"You are near to eternity-yourself will soon have need of compassion from God. You will not deny it to man. Am I not right? To whom do you suppose yourself to be speaking?" "What is this?-you alarm me.' "Do you not guess the truth? Write to your prince how you found me, and that I have been my own betrayer. May God's mercy to him be such as his shall be to me. Entreat for me, old man-weep for me-my name is WOLF."

FLORENCE MACARTHY :

AN IRISH TALE. BY LADY MORGAN. LONDON. 1818. 12mo. 4 vols.
From the Literary Gazette, December 1818,

character, and the revenge of literary
wrongs sustained by the writer.

TOVEL writing has within these few years assumed a very different phasis from what it presented of old. Through the equally efficacious The fearful romances of knight-errantry means of praise and censure, of flattery yielded to the longest of long love sto- and abuse, Lady Morgan has acquired ries; these in turn succumbed to the a name and notoriety which must attach portraiture of existing manners; these general curiosity and interest to all her branched off into the low comic of vul- productions. And from its being gar life; these in a wonderful way were pretty generally understood that under converted into tales of moral and reli- the disguise of Florence Macarthy she gious instruction; these were succeed- was to take her "great revenge" upon ed by fables of philosophical inquiry; her critics, these volumes were looked these gave way to the illustration of na- for with an additional anxiety by that tional character, the latest and most numerous class of readers who delight popular works of the kind; and now in fiction much, but much more in real we have another variety, in a novel ad- personal crimination. We do not prodressed principally to the assertion of fess to be sufficiently acquainted with political opinion, but combining also a the scene of action in Ireland to know portion of the ancient romantic style if all the dramatis personæ are geouine with the drawing of individual modern personages; but as even at this distance 2X ATHENEUM. Vol. 4.

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we recognise several portraits (though and promotion by their servility to the unable to tell whether or not they are government and oppression of the peclikenesses) it strikes us that the author ple. While this affair is pending, the is only ideal in her colouring, and that Dowager Marchioness of Dunore, the the features are intended for originals. lady of the manor, pays a visit, with a The ground on which these portraits fashionable party to Dunore Castle and are painted, or to drop our metaphor, her Irish estates, in order to canvass the the story in Florence Macarthy, is of a borough of Glannacrime for her second very romantic cast, and considerably son Lord Adelm Fitzadelm, his senior involved. A clear-sighted novel reader brother, the Marquis, being a lunatic will indeed soon discover the secret of ward in the custody of his mother, the bero; but that of the heroine is There is much visiting and bustle in more mysterious, and it is not till near consequence of this event, and Dunore the end that it is completely unfolded. We must add, however, that there is some improbability in it, which serves to increase the puzzle.

In a vessel which arrives at Dublin are two persons previously unknown to each other: the one is Il Librador, a Guerilla warrior of great renown, from among the patriots of South America, and the other a young English gentle man calling himself De Vere, of a sin. gularly eccentric temperament; the former is drawn upon the model of Buonaparte, the latter upon that of Lord Byron. Of course they become attached to each other, and The Liberator is the hero of the piece. They see a great deal of wretchedness among the lower orders in the suburbs of Dublin, on their way to the Inn. Here finding that their future destination lies as far as Buttevant in the same direction, they agree to travel together; and refuse to receive a female companion into their chaise, who offers to take a third of it on overhearing their conversation. This Lady's name is Magillicuddy; she has a red nose and green spectacles, and appears to be a sort of religioustract distributor. On their route they frequently encounter this disagreeable person; and the journey is less remarkable for incident than for descriptions of the difficulties of the road, the behaviour of the innkeepers and their domestics, and the appearance and antiquities of the country. Arrived in the South of Ireland, Il Librador wishes to become the purchaser of a castle and estate called Court Fitzadelm, which is for sale, and for this object visits the agent, Darby Crawley, an attorney, who, with his whole family of brothers and sons have obtained wealth

Castle displays, among other strangers, Il Librador and a Lady Clancare, the last of the regal race of Macarthys, whom Lady Morgan designates as her own resemblance. She is a person of extraordinary genius, an authoress as well as a peeress in her own right, exceedingly beloved by the poor, and at once captivating and mysterious. The Crawleys plot her ruin, and the ruin of Il Librador, whom the old vulgar father Darby has some reason to dislike and dread, and whom the youngest son Counsellor Conway Crawley, persecutes with restless malignity. All their de signs, however, fail. Il Librador turns out to be the real Marquis of Dunore, Mr. De Vere to be his cousin Lord Adelm, and Mrs. Magillicuddy, alias Lady Clancare, to be Florence Macarthy, the betrothed wife of the South American Leader. By this revolution the Crawleys are reduced to shame and poverty, and the rightful heir of the Norman Fitzadelms, with his Lady, the representative of the Macarthys, are restored to the possessions of their respective ancestors.

Among the characters introduced are an old Schoolmaster, Mr. Terence Oge O'Leary, the foster-father of the heir; Mr. Daly, an ancient and unchanged Hibernian patriot; Lord Eversham, Aid-de-camp to the Lord Lieutenant, a Dandy of some humour and intellect ; Baron Boulter and Judge Aubrey, i, e. Lord Norbury, and Judge Fletcher ; Lord Roshrin, a nobleman madly addicted to private theatricals. Padreen Gar, a supposed leader of rebel marauders, and many others of less note.

Without entering into a detailed opinion of this work, we may state that it is certainly equal to any of the author

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t

The Commissioner (a brother) observing that no verbal announce of dinner followed the summons of the bell, turned to Mr.Crawley impatiently, and asked,

What do we wait for ---Do you expect any one to dinner, Darby?"

ess's preceding publications. Several tions and dependent toad-eaters, the of the conversations are rather dull, but following conversation takes place. in general they are amusing. There is a bitter indulgence in private and personal hostility, but this, if the pique be directed justly, has at least provocation to excuse it; and we miserable critics know what we have to expect when we wound the vanity or self-love of a female writer. Diana, a goddess, punished the poor wretch with death who saw her naked by chance; and what can we expect from an enraged woman, if we strip her naked and expose all her defects to the world? To be torn

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We should notice the far too frequent occurrence of French words and scraps of French; English books should be written in English. Lady Morgan seems to have an inveterate antipathy to Bible Societies, Religious Tract Associations, Methodists,and other sectaries; nor does she spare some hits at the Protestant Established Church in Ireland, which is one of the grievances arraigned by her actors. Indeed the woes of that poor country are the burthen of her song-chiefly those of its misgovernment, but even its natural climate does not escape reprehension.

It was one of those rich, red, autumnal evenings, which in Ireland make the sole, the short indemnification, for eleven months of rain and vapour.---p. 133, vol. 2.

And after all, the evils which afflict Ireland seem as much to be owing, in Lady Morgan's estimation, to physical and moral causes, to the mode in which its rulers act; for she makes her aged and virtuous patriot, Mr.Daly, declare, that

The Irish peasantry are not only more indigent than they were forty years ago, but they have lost much of the gaiety and cheerfulness of spirit which set sorrow at defiance. Their wakes and fairs, patterns, and Sunday evening cake, are almost wholly laid aside: these, and the hurling matches, that noble, athletic, and national sport, are quite gone by: and of the troops of pipers and barpers that used to perform daily in their villages, or resort to the houses of the gentry, where welcome entertainment and ample remuneration awaited them, there scarce remain any of the order.

We now transcribe one scene, as a specimen of the writer's hamour. It is laid in Mr. Darby Crawley's house, at Mount Crawley, where, after describing the visitors, mostly family connec

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"Not a Christian," returned Mr. Crawley. Thady, dear, give the bell a touch, and bid them dish."

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You forget, brother Crawley," said his

sister anxiously, "that I told you, if you would have listened to me, or to any one but Jemmy Bryan, when you came home, that 1 had asked a gentleman to dinner, a very distinguished person, that called on you this mor

ning, after you were gone to Glannacrime."

"O, very well, he'll be here while dinner's

dishing, I'll engage---Did he lave his name?" "I cannot tell you his name," said Miss Crawley, with a smile," because I really forgot to ask it. • But what's in a name?' as he is not only the most distinguished, but the Romeo says. This I however can tell you: most poetical-looking person, as dear Lady Clotworthy would have said."

ways rather a stiptic to your descriptions," “You know, Ann Clotworthy, I am alsaid Mr. Crawley, winking to the sub-sheriff, "ever since you tould me that that methodist preacher, who came to us on a visit of two days, and staid three months, was an angel without wings. He was without wings sure wings he was the very moral of." enough; but it was a scare-crow without

"That's nate!" said the sub-sheriff. "Mighty nate!" replied the surveyor. "When I spoke of the angelic properties of the Reverend Jeremiah Judd, 1 alluded to the inward man, and I was induced to-day to believe, for a moment, that this gentleman had brought letters from him; but tho he avowed that his mission into this country was of a serious nature--"

"Then I'll tell you once for all, Miss Crawley," interrupted her brother in a passion, "I will not have my house made a magdalen asylum to a parcel of canting methodistical thieves, who are of no use but to set aside the simple lethargy of the church service,and for those of the established faith. With your to substitute the errors of the Presbyterians missions and missionaries, conversions and perversions, have you left me a tinpenny in my pocket to give to my own poor in NewTown Mount Crawley? And pray what's gone of my one pound note that went to make Christians of the black negroes? Never saw a single sow! of them set foot in a church yet, barring Mrs. Casey's little black boy, that carries her prayer-book to early service. And I'd trouble you for my eleven and fourpence halfpenny, Miss Crawley, that you made me give to get King Pomarre, of the Otaheitee Islands, to let himself be baptised; though faith I believe it was king of the Mummers, that's king of the hummers he was? Aud 'bove all, where's my sixteen and threepence, carried off by your angel without wings,' for lighting up the dark villages;" and my elegant surtout, that was stolen out

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of the hall in Merrion Square, by your converted Jew, that was waiting for your Guide to the Land of Promise? I wish you had given the Devil his Jew (due), and left me my great coat; that's all, Miss Crawley."

364

Lady Morgan's Florence Macarthy.'

"That's nate!" cried the sub-sheriff, looking to the surveyor.

[VOL. 4

they'd best go the low road, and take the glen of Agherlow to Mitchels town."

"We are resolved not to take any road but that we've fixed on; and I suppose we can have a chaise and horses to what stage and place we choose, no matter where, if we pay for them."

Mighty nate!" echoed the surveyor, nodding his head, while Mr. Crawley, who had punned himself into good humour, as the man in the Guardian punned himself out of a fever, and who observed the rest of the party much amused at this attack upon the evanThis observation, made with haughtiness gelical and dictatorial Miss Crawley, contin- and petulance by Mr. De Vere, induced the ued, in a milder tone, landlord to uncover his head, and to reply: "Now, Clotty, dear, I tould you before" Gertainly, Sir: if you indemnify me, Sir, that I never would let one of your angels without wings roost in my house to the day of my death, since Mr. Judd's visitation, who did nothing but prache and ate from morning to night, frightening the life out of me, and abusing the cook. I'd rather see the Devil come into my house than a methodist preacher. Lord forgive me! and thinks when there's a religion by law established, which qualifies a man for every place in the state, it may serve our turn as well as our betters. If this gentleman then is one of the serious, one of your missionaries---"

Here he is to speak for himself; here at least is one of the Dunore hack chaises driving up the approach, so I'll ring for dinner," observed the commissioner.

"Ob! a hack chaise," said his wife, superciliously, and letting fall her spy-glass.

"Is it a hack chaise ?" asked Miss Craw ley in a tone of mortification; but before any other observation could be made, the door was opened, and the stranger, unannounced, appeared. He was in full dress; and the air with which he entered the room, and walked to the place occupied by Miss Crawley, was marked by a certain disengaged freedom, beyond what is merely acquired in society---the ease of conscious, careless superiority.

The arrival of Il Librador and De Vere at an Inn is more characteristic

and in a better tone.

As they descended, therefore, from their carriage, they ordered a chaise and horses for Gaul Bally, to be ready against their return from the rock.

"Certainly, sir," said the landlord, slightly touching his hat, and resuming his conversation with a man-of-business-looking person, who was talking to him at the door." Barney, a chaise on to Gaul Bally." Barney, having taken due time to consume a portion of tobacco, called out in his turn to a driver near him, “Tim, honey, just call out a chay to Gaul-Bally." Tim, who was seated on the steps of a horse-post, playing with a large dog, addressed himself to a blind beggar, with Step into the yard, and tell Corney Doolin a chay's wanted to Gaul-Bally?" "What is the distance to Gaul-Bally ?" asked Il Librador, who, as well as his fellow traveller, bad observed the progress of these deputed orders with impatience and irrita

tion.

"What is the distance to Gaul-Bally?" returned the landlord h sang-froid, as if he now first observed them, "upon my word and reputation, Sir, I can't say---that is really,---Gaul-Bally. Barney, can you answer these gentlemen ?"

“Och, Sir, shure you don't post to GaulBally at all at all: there's no posting there, Sir, and wasn't many a-year. If the gentlemen bes going to Doneraile or Butievant,

I can let you have every accommodation in life; up to the top of Mangerton, if you please; only there is no posting, I give you my word, gentlemen, on these cross roads in Munster: that is, I don't send out my cattle by the mile; but you can have them by the job or day, and welcome."

"Why then, job or day," said Barney, with a significant look at his master," if the chay goes by Gaul Bally, its on a low backed car it will come back."

"Shure, enough," said Tim, rubbing round his shoulders," and wouldn't care to be the driver, barring I was well ped, and left my throath behind me, specially near Kilbalogue, the thieves' wood, down there, below."

"I came that way in my gig from Kilfionen," said the man of business," and found it good enough, and two dragoons with me."

"Och, then, it behoves you, and the likes of you, Mr. Fogarty," said Tim. " to look to that, Sir; for the times never ran so hard against the excise as now: in respect of bringing down the military, and the great stillhunting, and fining the townlands" to ruination."

"Will you take the chay on to Buttevant, gentlemen?" asked the innkeeper.

"To Buttevant, certainly---perhaps further," replied the younger traveller.

"I don't think I could give it under seven or eight guineas-a day," he returned,musing;

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but I'll let you know in a minute;" and he entered the house, followed by Tim, Bar

ney, and the exciseman, to hold a council. Eight guineas a-day! sorrow send it you, Mr. Coliogon !---eight guineas! Dioul ! !" This apostrophe was made by a person who leaned against the back of the stranger's

chaise.

This person, Padreen Gar, finally offers his services to drive them in a return equipage of his own, and, to punish the Innkeeper's attempt at imposition, they are accepted.

While the light luggage was removing into the new vehicle, the appearance of that vehicle, its horses, and driver, were a source of affected entertainment to the disappointed landlord and bis satellites.

"Barney, that's a nate article of a chay," observed Tim. Troth, I would not wonder if it was ould Cormac Mac Coleman's travelling landau, when he went the pilgrimage to Holy-cross.'

"Faith, Tim, lad, you're not much out, I believe for there's a crown on it, shure enough, which shews it belonged to th' ould kings of Munster, any how, King Flann or Brien Borru, may be."

"Why then, for all that, Barney wisht I had all the chickens that ever was hatch'd in it, graud as it is. And look at the garans,*

Poor hack horses.

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VOL. 4.]

Varieties: Critical, Literary, and Historical.

sir; Och! but they're grate bastes, and war-
ranted not to draw. I'll engage they'd rath-
er die than run, and no ways skittish, that's
certain, any way."

The owner of this equipage, against which

so many sarcasms were launched, was hither-
to coolly rubbing down his horses with a
whisp of straw; and singing, or rather hum-

ming

"I am a rake and a rambling boy,

My lodging 'tis near Auchnagheloy."

He now paused, however, to observe, "The cattle's shurely not so fine as them was shot in the mail, near Kilworth, Mr. Barney Heffernan, but they are good mountain cattle, for all that, and will take the gentlemen better thro' the Galties, and safer too, than handsomer bastes, plase Jasus!" The former part of this observation had caused a very obvious revulsion in the colour of Mr. Heffernan's face, who, drawing some straws from between the wheels of the chaise, said in a conciliating voice," I'm glad to see you about the world again, Owny---when did you set up driver ?"

"A little after the tithe-proctor's business in the murdering glen below, in the county of Waterford," replied Owny, significantly Barney Heffernan slunk away, and no further sarcasm was launched against Owny's set out, which both the gentlemen stood for some minutes examining with curiosity.

365

vigour of volition," as an important principle of human action, and "senility" in a person at the age of 45, we can scarcely comprehend; and we dislike exceedingly what we do comprehend in the subjoined picture of Miss Crawley. What a wretched, soul-less sensualist does it depict its object, and, by implication, how does it degrade the female sex and character!

Miss Crawley was of that undefined age which is occasionally found to vibrate between the folly and susceptibility of youth, and the despondence and experience of disappointed senility: that drowning age in which female celibacy catches at every straw held out by hope, or offered by vanity, and which, with the illusive chemistry of selflove, converts every circumstance of the day's ordinary routine into the chance of that change so devoutly wished. She had long sighed for a fellow labourer in that cause, which, like all other causes tinctured with human leaven, is best carried on with the auxiliary of rank, fortune, or personal advantage.

We have no room for further remark As the publication makes These are fair samples of the more or extract. entertaining parts of this novel: its a great noise, (to use the common graver passages do not please us so phrase) our readers may think we have well, as they frequently betray affecta- given them a sufficient allowance of tion in words and doctrines. The both.

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Star of the wide and pathless sea,
Who lov'st on mariners to shine,
These votive garments wet to thee,
We hang within thy holy shrine.
When o'er us flushed the surging brine,
Amid the warring waters tost,

We called no other name but thine,
And hoped, when other hope was lost,
Ave Maris Stella!

Star of the vast and howling main,

When dark and lone is all the sky,
And mountainwaves o'er ocean's plain
Erect their stormy heads on high;
When virgins for their true loves sigh,
And raise their weeping eyes to thee,

The star of Ocean hears their cry,
And saves the foundering bark at sea.
Ave Maris Stella!

Star of the dark and stormy sea,
When wrecking tempests round us rave,
Thy gentle virgin form we see

Bright rising o'er the hoary wave.

The howling storms that seem to crave
Their victims, sink in music sweet ;

The surging seas recede to pave
The path beneath thy glistening feet,
Ave Maris Stella!

Star of the desert waters wild,
Who pitying hears the seaman's cry,
The God of mercy, as a child,

On that chaste bosom loves to lie;
While soft the chorus of the sky
Their hymns of tender mercy sing,
And angel voices name on high
The mother of the heavenly king,
Ave Maris Stella!
Star of the deep! at that test name

The waves sleep silent round the keel,
The tempests wild their fury tame

That made the deep foundations reel :
The soft celestial accents steal
So soothing through the realms of woe,

Ave Maris Stella!

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