BRACEBRIDGE HALL; OR, THE HU MORISTS. BY GEOFFREY CRAYON, GENT. IN TWO VOLUMES, 8V0. LONDON. 1822.

WE are apprehensive that the perusal of this work will scarcely realise the very high expectations which its appearance may have excited. Not that we are by any means convinced that it exhibits a falling off, as it is usually styled, on the part of the author, any considerable diminution of merit, or abatement of interest; but when a writer, at one or two efforts, succeeds in obtain ing a high and permanent place in the literature of the age, so much is expected from his next attempts, that unless there is a very marked and obvious improvement, he incurs some risk of being considered as having fallen short of his former excellence. The more that the public mind has been gratified, the higher are the anticipations which it forms of the next production; and while there are bounds prescribed to all human wit and wisdom, the desire and expectation of something better is confined within no such restricting limits. It is thus that with some one or other of the band of discontented and disappointed readers, the successive works of the greatest of novellists and living authors have been in a state of progressive declension from the Fortunes of Waverley down to those of Nigel, -exhibiting various degrees of demerit, interspersed with occasional glimpses of their dawning splendour; and yet it may perhaps be questioned, whether, if the whole Series had been reversed, an equally illustrious host of dissatisfied personages would not still have been found to sigh over the departed glories of Martha Trapbois, and Peg-a-Ramsay, as we now do over the much-loved and regretted forms of Rose Bradwardine and Flora MacIvor.

But we have still other grounds for suspecting that, notwithstanding the unquestionable merit of the present work, something like a feeling of disappointment may be experienced by some of its readers, and perchance also expressed by sundry of its critics. Intimately connected as it is with his former publication, the

"Sketch-Book," and professing to describe more at length the character and customs which he had there so happily sketched, the author has peculiarly exposed himself to a comparison with his previous writings. And if there be any case in which the public are disposed to fancy a lack of skill or interest, it is where the same subjects are resumed and expanded, after the charm of novelty has ceased, and when the writer is sure to be judged by the over-excited expectations which well-merited success awakened, and in some measure warranted.

The reception which the work before us is at first likely to meet, seems pretty obvious. Bracebridge Hall recalls necessarily, and strongly, our recollections of the Sketch-Book; but it has not excited the same delight; neither does it come up to the exalted standard which we have thought fit to raise, and therefore it is, on the whole, an inferior production. Exceptionable as such a mode of condemnation undoubtedly is, it is one which is very generally employed; the decisions of the many depending much more on the impulse of feeling, than the exercise of judgment. The circumstances also under which the author formerly appeared, were such as to lend an additional charm to every grace and ornament of his writings. We listened with mingled feelings of astonishment and partiality, to an American describing, for the first time, the manners, customs, and character of Old England, with all the enthusiasm of the most devoted of her children. There was such a stretch of liberality in the accomplished stranger coming amongst us, not to spy out the nakedness of the land, but to dilate on its beauty and virtues; there was so much to flatter our national pride, and so conciliating a spirit of courtesy in all his writings, that, had even his literary merit been less than it was, we should have felt it to be a breach of good manners and honourable feeling to have been very rigorously or critically just towards him. If any thing could "smooth the raven down of criticism till it smiled," it was the display of so many estimable qualities of head and heart on the side of all that we reverence and

love. If any offering, laid at the feet of a great and high-minded nation, could call forth,in return, its generosity and kindness, it was that of such homage to its intellectual talent and moral worth. If any display of individual excellence could command the regard of every mind, it was that of one rising superior to the prejudices of his own, and the jealousies of a neighbouring and rival country; returning not railing for railing, but good for evil, and setting an example of generous and chivalric magnanimity to the great and virtuous of both nations. Now, although the same properties continue to characterise the present work, yet they are to be no longer regarded and hailed as an unexpected or extraordinary occurrence. They therefore do not produce so lively an impression on the mind; they do not mingle so insensibly or powerfully with the other feelings of delight which are kindled as we read; our gratification is made to depend much more on the intrinsic merits of the writings themselves. If we connect these considerations with the less variety and range of subject which the plan of the present publication embraces, and with the circumstances that our curiosity and interest in several of these topics have been forestalled by the author in his previous works, and that others of them have been long familiar to the English reader, we shall be at no loss to account for any diminution of pleasure we may have felt, without having recourse to the supposition of any weakening of power, or other symptoms of decay, on the part of the writer.

Bracebridge Hall resembles Crabbe's Tales of the Hall, in being a sort of frame-work in which sketches of manners and character are exhibited in a connected form. But this, as suredly, is the chief, if not the only point of resemblance. Nothing can be more opposite than the characteristic qualities of these two observers of rural life and happiness, whether in the village or the manor-house. Crabbe has almost exclusively described the sober and painful realities of existence; he has chiefly looked upon man as he acts and feels in the days of his adversity, and that, too, amid the or

dinary calamities of the world, which depress without dignifying the soul. He has surveyed human nature with a calm, undazzled eye, which can see into the light-hearted joys of youth, the misfortunes of manhood, and the miseries of old age. There is no fond illusion of imagination, or hope, or feeling in his mode of viewing objects, or in the characters which he has painted. The author now before us has none of those plain, unvarnished representations of things. The griefs which he describes are of that romantic cast which are somewhat akin to joy; and when, by any effort, his story can be made to issue favourably, he is not over scrupulous about the means he employs to accomplish so desirable a result. His descriptions of England present her only in her sunshiny moods, with her inhabitants decked out in their holiday attire, and engaged in some merry gambol of the good olden time. His personages are abstractions of the oddities and excellencies of the Old English character. The gentry pique themselves on their hereditary honours, but are generous and kindly in the extreme to their vassals and dependants; and they, in their turn, look up to the respected inmates of the Hall" with almost feudal homage.' You find, in his views of English scenery, no such vulgar objects as work-houses, ill-aired and dirty cottages, and squalid children; and no such traits in English character as selfishness and avarice in the great, or discontent and ingratitude in the poor. In his own words, he is ever "endeavouring to see the world in as pleasant a light as circumstances will permit." This, it is evident, is quite a poetical view of things; and would not the Tales of the Hall, and Bracebridge Hall, therefore, have both been fully as much in keeping, if the one had been written in prose, and the other farther embellished with all the glories of verse?

After craving the forgiveness of our readers for detaining them so long in the porch, we proceed to introduce them to the Humorists in Bracebridge Hall. Our author, it will be remembered, in the second volume of the Sketch-Book, describes his first visit to the family on the in vitation of Frank Bracebridge, with

whom he had travelled on the continent. It was Christmas-eve, and young and old were absorbed in the festivities of that merry season. Among those happy and interesting revellers, our readers will particularly recollect the Squire's second son, Guy, the young officer, and the fair ward, Julia Templeton, " the beautiful blushing girl of seventeen." An experienced eye might have discovered, in the mutual glances, the flushing cheeks, and such-like heralds of the heart, that preliminaries were then carrying on towards a union between this youthful pair; and one in the slightest degree acquainted with the author's obliging dispositions and address, in guiding matters to a happy conclusion, could have no doubt but that it would soon be consummated. Accordingly we find, at the commencement of the present work, that he has undertaken another visit to the Hall, that he might be present at their wedding, which was about to take place. To the personages with whom we were formerly made acquainted, others are added from the neighbourhood, along with some friends and relations of the Squire's, who had assembled to celebrate that joyous festival. The Squire, the young Oxonian, Master Simon, the bachelor of singing and bustling celebrity, and the antiquarian parson, so deeply skilled in popular superstitions, and the various readings of Old English song, are again introduced on the scene. Among the new dramatis persone there is a Lady Lillycraft, a sister of the Squire's, a simple-hearted, sentimental widow, well versed in love-tales of every different complexion, and both experimentally and speculatively acquainted with all the mysteries of love-making. She is squired and gallanted in all her movements about the Hall by a General Harbottle, who had been an early admirer of her Ladyship's; and although the General resumes his attacks on the tender affections of the dame, and for some time with a little prospect of success, yet his utter want of sentiment and feeling eventually ruins him in the eye of his mistress. There are also a Mr Faddy, a retired manufacturer, a perfect thorn in the flesh of the old Squire; a whole family of the Tibbets, all old English

to the core; several village worthies, at the head of whom are the schoolmaster and his assistant, and a radi- ́ cal, whom the author exposes with most monarchical rigour; and among the domestics of the Hall, a brocaded antique house-keeper, born and bred in the family, with her orphan niece, Phoebe Wilkins, a spoiled, prettyfaced baggage; and Christy the huntsman, a testy, opinionative old fellow, who, at the close of the day, is buckled to Mrs Hannah, a most insufferable old-maid, and woman in waiting to Lady Lillycraft-as wonderful a display of the power of the baby-god as we remember ever to have encountered. These personages, it must be understood, are merely described by the author, there being neither plot nor adventure to draw them much into action. We shall now present our readers with a sample of these descriptions, to which we have no doubt he has been looking forward, for some time, with considerable im-, patience.

We give the following extract from the chapter entitled "Family Servants," as an example of that amiable feeling which the writings of our author so frequently exhibit:

But the good" old family servant !"The one who has always been linked, in idea, with the home of our heart; who has led us to school in the days of prattling childhood; who has been the confidant of our boyish cares, and schemes, and enterprises; who has hailed us as we came home at vacations, and been the

promoter of all our holiday sports; who, when we, in wandering manhood, have left the paternal roof, and only return thither at intervals, will welcome us with a joy inferior only to that of our parents; who, now grown gray and infirm with age, still totters about the house of our fathers in fond and faithful servitude; who claims us, in a manner, as his own," and hastens with querulous eagerness to anticipate his fellow-domestics in waiting upon us at table; and who, when we retire at night to the chamber that still goes by our name, will linger about the room to have one more kind look, and one more pleasant word, about times that are

past-who does not experience towards such a being a feeling of almost filial affection?

The following is part of the description of Lady Lillycraft:

Whether the taste the good lady had of

matrimony discouraged her or not I cannot say; but, though her merits and her riches have attracted many suitors, she has never been tempted to venture again into the happy state. This is singular too, for she seems of a most soft and susceptible heart; is always talking of love and connubial felicity; and is a great stickler for old-fashioned gallantry, devoted attentions, and eternal constancy, on the part of the gentlemen. She lives, however, after her own taste. Her house, I am told, must have been built and furnished about the time of Sir Charles Grandison; every thing about it is somewhat formal and stately; but has been softened down into a degree of voluptuousness, characteristic of an old lady very tender-hearted and romantic, and that loves her ease. The cushions of the great arm-chairs, and wide sofas, almost bury you when you sit down on them. Flowers of the most rare and delicate kind are placed about the rooms and on little japanned stands; and sweet bags lie about the tables and mantel-pieces. The house is full of pet dogs, Angola cats, and singing-birds, who are as carefully waited upon as she is herself.

She does a vast deal of good in her neighbourhood, and is imposed upon by every beggar in the county. She is the benefactress of a village adjoining to her estate, and takes an especial interest in all its love-affairs. She knows of every courtship that is going on; every lovelorn damsel is sure to find a patient listener and a sage adviser in her ladyship. She takes great pains to reconcile all lovequarrels, and should any faithless swain persist in his inconstancy, he is sure to draw on himself the good lady's violent indignation.

We cannot omit to indulge our readers with a sketch of "old Readymoney Jack Tibbets," a substantial yeoman, and village champion, intended as a specimen of Old English "heart of oak," but somewhat too highly coloured.

He was between fifty and sixty, of a strong, muscular frame, and at least six feet high, with a physiognomy as grave as a lion's, and set off with short, curling, iron-gray locks. His shirt-collar was turn ed down, and displayed a neck covered with the same short curling, gray hair; and he wore a coloured silk neckcloth, tied very loosely, and tucked in at the bosom, with a green paste brooch on the knot. His coat was of dark green cloth, with silver buttons, on each of which was engraved a stag, with his own name, John Tibbets, underneath. He had an inner

waistcoat of figured chintz, between which and his coat was another of scarlet cloth, unbuttoned. His breeches were also left unbuttoned at the knees, not from any slovenliness, but to show a broad pair of scarlet garters. His stockings were blue, with white cloaks; he wore large silver shoe-buckles; a broad paste buckle in his hatband: his sleeve-buttons were gold seven-shilling pieces; and he had two or three guineas hanging as ornaments to his watch-chain.

On making some inquiries about him, I gathered that he was descended from a line of farmers that had always lived on the same spot, and owned the same property; and that half of the church-yard was taken up with the tombstones of his

race.

He has all his life been an important character in the place. When a youngster, he was one of the most roaring blades of the neighbourhood. No one could match him at wrestling, pitching the bar, cudgel-play, and other athletic exercises. Like the renowned Pinner of Wakefield, he was the village champion; carried off the prize at all the fairs, and threw his gauntlet at the country round. Even to this day the old people talk of his prowess, and undervalue, in comparison, all heroes of the green that have succeeded him; nay, they say, that if Readymoney Jack were to take the field even now, there is no one could stand before him.

The following extract is from the chapter on "Forest Trees," and is in our author's happiest vein. He is speaking of the taste of English gentlemen for park and forest scenery:

There is something nobly simple and pure in such a taste: it argues, I think, a sweet and generous nature, to have this

strong relish for the beauties of vegetation, and this friendship for the hardy and glorious sons of the forest. There is a part of rural economy. It is, if I may be grandeur of thought connected with this allowed the figure, the heroic line of husbandry. It is worthy of liberal, and freeborn, and aspiring men. He who plants an oak looks forward to future ages, and plants for posterity. Nothing can be less selfish than this. He cannot expect to sit in its shade, nor enjoy its shelter; but he exults in the idea, that the acorn which he has buried in the earth shall grow up into a lofty pile, and shall keep on flourishing, and increasing, and benefiting mankind, long after he shall have ceased to tread his paternal fields. Indeed it is the nature of such occupations to lift the thoughts above mere worldliness. As the leaves of trees are said to absorb all nox

ious qualities of the air, and to breathe forth a purer atmosphere, so it seems to me as if they drew from us all sordid and angry passions, and breathed forth peace and philanthropy. There is a serene and settled majesty in woodland scenery, that enters into the soul, and dilates and elevates it, and fills it with noble inclinations. The ancient and hereditary groves, too, that embower this island, are most of them full of story. They are haunted by the recollections of the great spirits of past ages, who have sought for relaxation among them, from the tumult of arms, or the toils of state, or have wooed the muse beneath their shade. Who can walk, with soul unmoved, among the stately groves of Penshurst, where the gallant, the amiable, the elegant Sir Philip Sidney passed his boyhood; or can look without fondness upon the tree that is said to have been planted on his birth-day; or can ramble among the classic bowers of Hagley; or can pause among the solitudes of Windsor Forest, and look at the oaks around, huge, gray, and time-worn, like the old castle towers, and not feel as if he were surrounded by so many monuments of long-enduring glory? It is, when viewed in this light, that planted groves, and stately avenues, and cultivated parks, have an advantage over the more luxuriant beauties of unassisted nature. It is that they teem with moral associations, and keep up the ever-interesting story of human existence.

We can only make way for another extract, which is in that style of quaint humour in which Knickerbocker's History of New York is composed. Hard by the Hall was an ancient rookery, the occupants of which are thus described:

The rooks are looked upon by the Squire as a very ancient and honourable line of gentry, highly aristocratical in their notions, fond of place, and attached to church and state; as their building so loftily, keeping about churches and cathedrals, and in the venerable groves of old castles and manor-houses, sufficiently manifests. The good opinion thus expressed by the Squire put me upon observing more narrowly these very respectable birds; for I confess, to my shame, I had been apt to confound them with their cousins-german the crows, to whom, at the first glance, they bear so great a family resemblance. Nothing, it seems, could be more unjust or injurious than such a mistake. The rooks and crows are, among the feathered tribes, what the Spaniards and Portuguese are among nations, the least loving, in

consequence of their neighbourhood and similarity. The rooks are old-established housekeepers, high-minded gentlefolk, that have had their hereditary abodes time out of mind; but as to the poor crows, they are a kind of vagabond, predatory, gipsy race, roving about the country without any settled home; "their hands are against every body, and every body's against them," and they are gibbeted in every corn-field. Master Simon assures me that a female rook, that should so far forget herself as to consort with a crow, would inevitably be disinherited, and indeed would be totally discarded by all her genteel acquaintance.

Nor must I avoid mentioning, what, I grieve to say, rather derogates from the grave and honourable character of these ancient gentlefolk, that, during the architectural season, they are subject to great dissensions among themselves; that they make no scruple to defraud and plunder each other; and that sometimes the rookery is a scene of hideous brawl and commotion, in consequence of some delinquency of the kind. One of the partners generally remains on the nest to guard it from depredation; and I have seen severe contests, when some sly neighbour has endeavoured to filch away a tempting rafter that had captivated his eye. As I am not willing to admit any suspicion hastily that should throw a stigma on the general character of so worshipful a people, I am inclined to think that these

larcenies are very much discountenanced

punished by those in authority; for I have

by the higher classes, and even rigorously

now and then seen a whole gang of rooks fall upon the nest of some individual, pull it all to pieces, carry off the spoils, and even buffet the luckless proprietor. I have concluded this to be some signal punishment inflicted upon him, by the officers of the police, for some pilfering misdemeanor ; or, perhaps, that it was a crew of bailiffs carrying an execution into his house.

Of a work like the present, only a very inadequate idea can be conveyed by means of extracts. There is also an interesting portion of it, from which we have not ventured to levy any contribution, and which we can only notice very passingly. We allude to the specimens of story-telling with which the unvaried events of the Hall are occasionally relieved. Our readers will still recollect, with unabated delight, the matchless examples of the author's talents in this species of composition, which are contained in the Sketch-Book; and if