"There seemeth a fair place of worship,' || with arbours, may-poles, and grottos, was, most said the Bohemian, pointing to the church, interesting. The meadows appropriated to 'what may it be entitled ?'

"That,' replied Whittington, 'is the church, and the large building adjoining it, and of which, in truth, it formeth a part, is the priory of Clerkenwell, Look ye lower, and some little space from where the hill begins abruptly to decline, you see a modern erection. That protects the celebrated spring by which our parish-clerks, with others who aid their doings, assemble at divers stated times, to enact moralities and mysteries, of which, no doubt, ye have heard.'"

་ ་ ་ ོ་། ོ་

||

the exercise of archery, provided with butts, and seats for the umpires, heightened the variety, and compelled Huss to admire, not less than his friend did, the surrounding scenery.

Our opinion respecting the historic Tomances of the present day, to the stock of which the author of "The Lollards" has so ably and so extensively contributed, has been too recently expressed* for us to feel it necessary, in this place, to go over the ground again. This writer's productions, however, are not all of the class to which we allude. His first" The Mystery, or Forty Years ago,"is, as its title imports, a tale of comparatively modern date. It evinces a turn for satire and broad humour: some of the latter, however, is rather coarse; and one or two of the comic personages Shovelem, for instance — are rather caricatures than characters. We doubt whether a west-end-of-the-town upholsterer, even "forty years ago,” would have talked of his country villa in Goswell Street Road. To atone for this, Spanker is freshly hit off from the life; and a spirited picture is given of the memorable riots of 1780. The plot is faulty: from the first page, as it were, we perceive what must be the end: the only question is—

"Is not this a delightful scene, and doth it not command a view of many pleasing objects? Lower down, those tall elms mark the spot where the skinners' well is found, where that craft do repair to enact, at times, mysteries of their own, after the manner of the parishclerks. How noble looketh the vast square tower of St. Paul's, which seemeth lord over all the neighbouring churches, whose tops are now seen! How gay is this hill which we now stand upon, and what a beauteous verdure decketh, late as is the season, that which holds the priory on its" summit! Then, further south, mark you another noble building? That is the hospital of St. John of Jerusalem, and leading from it, citywards, behold the mills which belong to the fraternity, and which are worked by means of that brook which windeth along in the valley. Turnmill brook it is call-by what means is that end to be accomed, and you may almost see it join the river of Wells, while the Old-burne is hastening from the west to meet and unite with it. Then, near

the place of their junction, ye must observe a mighty edifice, adorned with much modern workmanship and cunning. That standeth hard by the Old-burne, and is the palace of the Bishop of Ely. It was thus handsomely set forth by Bishop Arundel, when he did fill that see. Looking at so costly a pile, and its spacious gardens, and at the other objects which I have turned your eyes to, and contemplating these shady retreats, while ye sur vey at no small distance the whole extent of London, say, have ye often seen an eminence commanding in its prospects so much of the gallant magnificence of art, and possessing in itself so largely the marvellous beauties of nature, as this same right famous Saffron Hill?' "The place on which they stood, at that period, merited the praises which it received from the admiring Whittington, and the smiling village of Holborn, or Old-burne, as seen from it, built irregularly, bút beautifully diversified with gardens attached to the houses adorned

plished. Again the character of Amelia does not possess an interest sufficiently prominent. The leading and very striking merit of the work is found in the delinea

tion of Smithers, the missionary. The character is finely drawn, exquisitely finished, and in perfect keeping a correct and impressive picture of misdirected religious enthusiasm.

If "The Mystery," as a first effort, gave promise of future excellence," Calthorpe, or Fallen Fortunes," the second, displayed successful progress in the fulfilment of that promise. On its appearance, the writer of the present article thus briefly expressed himself in one of the leading reviews of the day :10

7 ༣། མ་མོཎྜ ཡོན་

"From the well-written novel of Calthorpe," which now lies before us, we have

مشعلان

* Vide "CONTEMPORARY POETS AND WRITERS OF FICTION, No. IV., MISS PORTER," at page 143 of the present volume...

derived much amusement. The author, whoever he may be, possesses a happy tact for the ludicrous ;" and some of his scenes display so fine a breadth of humour, that in their contemplation we almost seem to be once more revelling in the enjoyments of our youth, when the pages of Fielding and of Smollett were amongst

the richest of our treasures. Calthorpe' also possesses much of what may be termed melo-dramatic interest: its plot is ingenious; the situations, to speak in the phrase of the green-room, are striking; the attention of the reader is kept upon the stretch throughout, and the dénouement is very successfully wound up; circumstances from which we infer, that, were the writer to carry us back to the olden times,' or to transport us to some 'fairy-land of fancy,' his labours would be crowned with no slight portion of popular applause."

Its

The event has shewn that the critic was correct in his judgment. "Calthorpe " displays, in every point of view, a rapid improvement on "The Mystery." characters are more distinct-more individualized more natural. The comic sketches of the Deputy and his wife, and, more particularly, Jack Practical, are rich, and full of life and humour; contrasting strongly with the point and force of the hero, the depth and power of Brinkman. Yet some of the incidents-the burial of Mr. Burleigh's remains in the cross-roads, the murder committed by Sir James Denville, and the fall of a man from Shakspeare's cliff without breaking his neck, though we believe it once actually happened-will justly be deemed too violent in their nature.

"Now, thanks be to Him who chasteneth those he loveth,' my soul, become familiar with its woe, has won from growing age tranquillity, I, in my youth, as happens to most mortals, became enamoured of a fellow creature. Elgiva's beauty excited wonder, her gentleness and intelligence wrought up admiration to love. No eyes so brilliant had ever sparkled in Bohemia : at least I thought so-'twas a lover's phantasy ; and fondness, while I gazed upon her face, became almost idolatry. I half believed she was, indeed, celestial, and that earth could claim no share in that seraphic form. Oftentimes, in the words of your modern poet Gower, for English is a language I do love, and poesy

hath ever charms for me, I would exclaim, in
the transport of a lover:

66 -If it so befalle among,
That she carol upon a song,'
Whan I it hear I am so fedd,
That I am fro' miself so ledd
As though I were in Paradis :
For certes as to myn avis,

Whan I hear of her voice the steven,

Me thinketh it is a blisse of heaven."

"The Lollards," an historic romance of a higher and more commanding class, next appeared; and, from the reception which it experienced, the author's reputation was at once established. It evinced great and varied reading, much judgment, and considerable force of writing. Of its descriptive portions we have already offered a specimen. The dinner at Sir Richard "How awfully were my wandering thoughts Whittington's-the game of skittles as it recalled to the truth!-Love answered love; was at that time played-the pageantries Elgiva's vows were given for mine. No sordid on the return of Henry V. from France- parent opposed our hopes, or sought to prevent our union. The day was fixed for the are all excellent. So, also, are the pre- celebration of our nuptials, and had nearly liminary discussions of the Council of Con- arrived, when a fatal malady assailed Elgiva, stance, and the martyrdom of John Huss, and her life was considered in danger. Youth and of Lord Cobham. The respective seemed to triumph over sickness-the roses characters-especially the character of the were again reinstated in her cheeks-and I stern churchman, Archbishop Chichely-exulted in her perfect restoration, which I

deemed beyond all question. One summer's evening I sought her father's house. She had walked forth. I followed to overtake, but found her not. She came not home that night: alarm was felt, for she was wholly unattended, and had gone out by stealth. Though her health had continued to improve, her spirits had seemed to decline; strange sounds were heard to escape from her lips, and her mind was thought deranged; but then she became calm, and though silent and melancholy, was perfectly collected.

would prove unequal to the needless task of painting the emotions which I experienced in that terrific hour. How this weak frame sus-' tained such fearful throes, as those which followed the knowledge of Elgiva's death; ›I but imperfectly comprehend. Reason long trem=" bled on her seat, and sometimes I have madly climbed the mountain, to lift my body nearer to the sky which she inhabited, and from its towering summit thought to hear, mixed with the sound of angels' golden harps, the music of that voice ascend in heaven, which breathed

"And when did she return?' inquired divinest melody on earth." Cobham.

"She returned no more. Inquiry was long useless, but at length chance directed me to a rustic on the borders of the Black Forest. He, about a fortnight before, had been disturbed by the howlings of a frantic female, who had entered the woody maze with that horrible noise which persons bitten by a rabid animal are known to make. The awful truth burst on my startled senses. A favourite dog had recently been destroyed as mad, and I rightly concluded that he had caused the derangement of his kind, incautious mistress. My skill in surgery, I flattered myself, might restore the dear one. I plunged into the darkest mazes of the forest, sought her on all sides, but the search was fruitless. Often bewildered in the dreary laby- | rinth, I strove in vain to extricate myself, and passed the night in the woods. This melancholy toil occupied me for many days; at length it terminated, and I saw Elgiva."..

"You found her!' exclaimed Edward, and did she live?'

"No; life had fled. No ruffian dagger, no prowling wolf had marred that beauteous form; but awful was that change which I remarked. The livid hue, the haggard sharpness of death,

made me recoil with wonder from that countenance, in which the freely-circulating blood had lately mantled. All those charms had vanished, which I had dreamed were permanent as rare. Her eyes were open, but the radiant blaze of mild ethereal light and beaming love which once dwelt in them, and which I had gazed upon, till half persuaded they were no other than twin stars from heaven sent down to decorate a mortal brow, was seen no more. On

the sunken orbs the hateful mildew had presumed to settle, as if to triumph in their perished lustre, and on her lips, now frightfully pale, it rested. I kissed them-but the clammy touch of death startled me; I will not dwell upon the awful picture."

***I will not seek to tell, for every language which Babel's ruin gave this joyless world,

"Sometimes my frenzy has gone so far that I have believed I heard her call me: and once

her voice came so distinctly to my ear, that I replied, I come, Elgiva,' and with a spring, I sought to leap from the stupendous height on which I entertained these reveries. Just then it fortuned that my friend Hierom was at hand. He forcibly restrained, and by reminding me that prematurely seeking to regain Elgiva, the suicide I contemplated must extend our sepa ration, from a few short years to all eternity, my mind revived, led by religion back to

reason."

It must be no slight gratification to the author to know, that, notwithstanding the religious prejudices which, more or less, must have operated against the success of "The Lollards," upon the Continent, that work, as well as his other productions, has been translated into French.

His masterpiece, as yet, we consider to be his next succeeding effort, “Other Times, or The Monks of Leadenhall." Its chief characters are-Lord Erpingham, a nobleman of high talent and virtue; Edmund, his ward, the ostensible hero of the tale; Egbert, the abbot of the monastery of Leadenhall, a consummate hypocrite, and determined villain; Clifford, the nephew of Lord Erpingham, and a victim to the infamous artifices of the abbot; Elinor, Clifford's tender, affectionate, devotedly attached wife, the daughter of Sir of Lord Erpingham, known as Ferdinand Geoffery Brandon; a son and daughter and Mariana; and Nicholas Bray, succes, sively the jester of Cardinal Wolsey, the jester at the stews in Southwark, and a monk. These characters are not all equally well conceived, or equally well sustained. Edmund is only the walking gentleman of the drama; and Egbert is deficient in con

sequence, power, and depth, for the important station which he occupies-for the tremendous, results which his conduct is made to produce. In brief, he is a vulgar, common-place villain, without the slightest relief to his character. On the other hand, Lord Erpingham and Ferdinand are good; Clifford is finely, beautifully, drawn, as the chief actor in a tale of most affecting interest; and, as a comic delineation, Nicholas Bray is an admirable portrait. Elinor, how-tering in detail upon "The Witchfinder;" ever, the lovely, meek, devoted wife, claims, with her husband, the liveliest portion of our sympathies.

the work is perceived; the reader's attention is so powerfully excited by incident— his imagination is so strained and hurried along by the fate of the characters-that he is unable to attend to the beauties of the composition, or to the display of the scenery and manners of the times.

In construction of plot, in conduct of story, and in the winding-up of the grand dénouement, we are acquainted with no production of the age that surpasses " Other Times," It is dramatic to an extraordinary degree. The interest never once flags-it gradually rises throughout the situations are eminently striking and effective and,|| after an excitement of the deepest apprehensions, poetical justice is most strictly exercised. To praise, such as this, the author of the Scotch novels never had the remotest pretension. It is not, however, upon a first perusal, that the full merit of

We are thus general in our remarks, for our limits permit us not to enlarge. For the same reason, we must abstain from en

the best, perhaps, in historical and antiquarian development of any of the writer's productions. Amongst the characters strictly historical, are Hopkins, the witchfinder-Lilly, the astrologer and Lowen, and Green, actors of note, contemporary with Shakspeare. In point of originality, Robert, the blunt servant of Challoner, a royalist, is a truly valuable sketch, worthy of being filled up and heightened in some future romance of this class. Were it not that we should deeply regret the loss, it might be wished that the author of "The Lollards" should take a position, to which he has shewn himself abundantly competent, in some of the higher departments of literature.

H.

Ir was a beautiful summer's morning; || son, too beautiful to require the superficial the bells of K*** were merrily ringing, not merely because it was Emily Macallan's wedding-day, but because it was a little feast in the village, and every person in it seemed bent on happiness. Mrs. Mulligan, the housekeeper of Macallan Lodge, was all business; she trotted first into the pantry, to see that due preparations were made for expected guests, and then proceeded to dictate and to order in various departments of the establishment, perhaps not more that other people might be bene fited by her management, than to impress a proper sense of her own importance over the meaner domestics. During this scene of bustle Emily Macallan, the intended bride, and the daughter of the opulent master of the mansion, assisted by her handmaidens, was decorating her fair per

aid of ornament, and anxiously anticipating the arrival of her lover. Sometimes Emily, as she looked into the superb mirror which reflected the whole of her form, and impressed her with a confirmation of its unexcelled beauty, felt a throb of chagrin, mingled with anxiety, at the delay of Charles, and frequently she stole to the window commanding a view of the highroad to Dublin, whence he was expected to arrive: still he came not, and it was two long hours beyond the instant on which he had promised to be at her feet, Emily was ready to weep; a thousand ap prehensions obtruded themselves into her gentle bosom, and they were rendered doubly painful by the observations of Mrs, Mulligan, who had now entered the room with a long string of forebodings on her own

part, and ready to second every foreboding expressed by the lips of the disheartened Emily.

On the morning of her nuptials, a young lady is less inclined to pardon the semblance of neglect in a lover than at any previous moment. Impatient almost to an agony, Emily, having finished her toilette, hurried to the study, in order to derive, if possible, relief from the admiration which she felt her father would that morning bestow upon her person and her beautiful white dress. From habit, she seldom entered the apartment of her father without first tapping at the door, but that morning, through forgetfulness, or the hurry of her own spirits, she abruptly stood before him, he, apparently, unconscious of her presence. Emily, as if sensible that she had outstepped etiquette, felt, for an instant, an inclination to retire; but, perceiving that her father took not the least notice of her intrusion, she hesitated, and was about to speak, when her voice was interrupted by a deep groan, that caused her heart to throb with even new agitation; and, resting on the handle of the door for support, she gazed fearfully at the object of her filial affection, as if afraid to inquire the origin || of a tone so thrilling. It was then that she became sensible of her father's abstraction: he was sitting on the sofa in an attitude of the deepest grief, his eyes fixed on vacancy. Good Heaven!" ejaculated Emily, unable longer to suppress her concern, my dear papa, what is the matter? you are indisposed." At the sound of his daughter's voice, Macallan turned his head: the deathlike paleness of his cheek was instantly succeeded by a blush of deep crimson, the glow of confusion rather than of anger, and in answer to Emily's eager inquiries he coldly observed, "I was thinking, my child, on those happy days, when at your age I was joyous and without care as yourself; I was wishing they could be restored to me, or I to them." Emily, who attributed these words to a regret at the approach of old age, offered up a prayer that her father might very, very long be spared to witness and enjoy the blessings that attended him. "I meant not that, Emily," said he, in a voice of evident despair; "I meant not that," and immediately he changed the conversation.

In a few minutes the rolling of carriagewheels was heard in the court, and presently Emily distinguished Mrs. Mulligan's voice as she came hastily down stairs, exclaiming, "Where are you, Miss Emily? he is here! he is here at last! what a fine young man! what a charming young man!” and such like sentences, in which she chose to indulge; and Emily thought Mrs. Mulligan's voice had never sounded like music till then. Presently Charles entered the house, attended by his second father, Lord Earlsden. Lord Earlsden was a judge, and ranked high in the estimation of his country. He was a man of sound principle and unimpeachable integrity; it was to his benevolence that Charles stood indebted for every comfort and advantage which he now enjoyed. An outcast, from his childhood, he might have wanted even such a home as the humblest of mankind inherit; but the compassionating heart of his benefactor had not only provided him an asylum, but bestowed on him an education such as might qualify him to fill the seat of his benefactor, when that benefactor should be no more.

The honour of receiving such an unlooked-for guest as Judge Earlsden, imparted no slight satisfaction to Macallan; for, though Lord Earlsden, from a frequent intercourse with the merchant in the higher walks of society, had been led to respect and esteem him for his uniform and gentlemanly deportment, they had not lived exactly on terms of familiarity; and it was not till Charles saw and loved Emily, that their acquaintance had assumed even its present intimacy.

Emily beheld with delight that the arrival of Charles and his venerable friend wholly dissipated the indisposition, or sadness of her father; and as the joy of the moment rapidly succeeded to drown the remembrance of her own despondency, so also it served to banish the recollection of his disorder from her mind. All now was festivity and joy: Mrs. Mulligan had assembled the tenants and the villagers on the lawn which lay before the windows of the hall, and awnings were constructed beneath the trees of the surrounding park, for the reception of those who better loved to witness than to share the mazy and prevailing dance. Peeping through the tall