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stream that his most desperate efforts could not overcome. He was a light and powerful swimmer, and the struggle was hard and protracted. With the shore immediately before his eyes, and at no great distance, he was led, as by a false phantom, to continue his efforts, although they did not advance him a foot. The old seaman, who at first had watched his motions with careless indifference, understood the danger of his situation at a glance, and, forgetful of his own fate, he shouted aloud, in a voice that was driven over the struggling victim to the ears of his shipmates on the sands:

“Sheer to port, and clear the under-tow! the southward ''

Dillon heard the sounds, but his faculties were too much obscured by terror to distinguish their object; he, however, blindly yielded to the call, and gradually changed his direction until his face was once more turned towards the vessel. Tom looked around him for a rope, but all had gone over with the spars, or been swept away by the waves. At this moment of disappointment, his eyes met those of the desperate Dillon. Calm and inured to horrors as was the veteran seaman, he involuntarily passed his hand before his brow to exclude the look of despair he encountered; and when, a moment afterwards, he removed the rigid member, he beheld the sinking form of the victim as it gradually settled in the ocean, still struggling with regular but impotent strokes of the arms and feet to gain the wreck, and to preserve an existence that had been so much abused in its hour of allotted probation. “He will soon meet his God, and learn that his God knows him!’ murmured the cockswain to himself. As he yet spoke, the wreck of the Ariel yielded to an overwhelming sea, and after a universal shudder, her timbers and planks gave way, and were swept towards the cliffs, bearing the body of the simple-hearted cockswain among the ruins.

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The REv. RICHARD HARRIs BARHAM (1788–1845), under the name of Thomas Ingoldsby, contributed to Bentley's Miscellany a series of papers, The Ingoldsby Legends, which were afterwards collected into volumes, and went through several editions. To the third series (1847) was prefixed a life of the author by his son. Mr Barham also wrote a novel, My Cousin Nicholas. The Ingoldsby papers, prose and verse, contain sallies of quaint humour, classic travesties and illustrations, droll rhymes, banter and irony, with a sprinkling of ghost stories and medieval legends. The intimate friend of Theodore Hook, Mr Barham had something of Hook's manner, with a love of punning and pleasantry as irrepressible as that of Hood, though accompanied with less literary power. Few of the readers of Ingoldsby, unless moving in a certain circle, imagined that their author was a dignitary of the church, a minor canon of St Paul's, a rector and royal chaplain. He appears to have been a learned and amiable no less than witty and agreeable man.


This popular naval writer—the best painter of sea characters since Smollett-commenced what proved to be a busy and highly successful literary career in 1829, by the publication of The Naval Officer, a nautical tale in three volumes. This work partook too strongly of the free spirit of the sailor, but, amidst its occasional violations of taste and decorum, there was a rough racy humour and dramatic liveliness that atoned for many faults. In '. following year, the captain was ready with

other three volumes, more carefully finished, and presenting a well-compacted story, entitled The King's Own. Though occasionally a little awkward on land, Captain Marryat was at home on the sea; and whether serious or comic—whether delineating a captain, midshipman, or common tar, or even a carpenter—he evinced a minute practical acquaintance with all on board ship, and with every variety

Captain Frederick Marryat.

of nautical character. Newton Foster, or the Merchant Service, 1832, was our author's next work, and is a tale of various and sustained interest. It was surpassed, however, by its immediate successor, Peter Simple, the most amusing of all the author's works. His naval commander, Captain Savage, Chucks the boatswain, O'Brien the Irish lieutenant, and Muddle the carpenter, are excellent individual portraits—as distinct and life-like as Tom Bowling, Hatchway, or Pipes. The scenes in the West Indies display the higher powers of the novelist, and the escape from the French prison interests us almost as deeply as the similar efforts of Caleb Williams. Continuing his nautical scenes and portraits, Captain Marryat wrote about thirty volumes —as Jacob Faithful (one of his best productions), The Phantom Ship, Mr Midshipman Easy, The Pacha of Many Tales, Japhet in Search of a Father, Poor Jack, Frank Mildmay, Joseph Rushbrook the Poacher, Masterman Ready, £ &c. In the hasty production of so many volumes, the quality could not always be equal. The nautical humour and racy dialogue could not always be produced at will, of a new and different stamp at each successive effort. Such, however, was the fertile fancy and active observation of the author, and his lively powers of amusing and describing, that he has fewer repetitions and less tediousness than almost any other writer equally voluminous. His next novel, Percival Keene, 1842, betrayed no falling-off, but, on the contrary, is one of the most vigorous and interesting of his “sea changes. In 1843 he published a Narrative of the Travels and Adventures of Monsieur Violet, in which fact and fiction are blended with little artistic skill, and which was proved to be chiefly a compilation. Two other works of mediocre character followed-The Settlers in Canada, 1844, and The Mission, or Scenes in Africa, 1845. In 1846 he regained something of his old nautical animation in The Privateersman One Hundred Years Ago, which proved to be his last work. “Captain Marryat, says a writer in the Quarterly Review, “stands second to no living novelist but Miss Edgeworth. His happy delineations and contrasts of character, and easy play of native fun, redeem a thousand faults of verbosity, clumsiness, and coarseness. His strong sense and utter superiority to affectation of all sorts, command respect; and in his quiet effectiveness of circumstantial narrative, he sometimes approaches old Defoe. There is less of caricature about his pictures than those of any contemporary humorist—unless, perhaps, Morier; and he shews far larger and maturer knowledge of the real workings of human nature than any of the band, except the exquisite writer we have just named, and Mr Theodore Hook, of whom praise is equally superfluous. This was written in 1839, before Dickens, Thackeray, or Anthony Trollope had earned their laurels; and with all our admiration of Marryat, we should be disposed to claim for the later novelists an equal, if not superior—as clear, and a more genialknowledge of human nature—at least on land. To vary or relieve his incessant toils at original composition, Captain Marryat made a trip to America in 1837, the result of which he gave to the world in 1839, in three volumes, entitled A Diary in America, with Remarks on its Institutions. This was flying at higher game than any he had previously brought down; but the real value of these volumes consists in their resemblance to parts of his novels—in humorous caricature and anecdote, shrewd observation, and lively or striking description. His account of the American navy is valuable; and so practical and sagacious an observer could not visit the schools, prisons, and other public institutions of the New World, without throwing out valuable reflections, and noting what is superior or defective. He was no admirer of the democratic government of America: indeed his Diary is as unfavourable to the national character as the sketches of Mrs Trollope or Captain Hall. But it is in relating traits of manners, peculiarities of speech, and other singular or ludicrous characteristics of the Americans, that Captain Marryat excelled. These are as rich as his fictitious delineations, and, like them, probably owe a good deal to the suggestive fancy and love of drollery proper to the novelist. The success of this Diary induced the author to add three additional volumes to it in the following year, but the continuation is greatly inferior. The life of this busy novelist terminated, after a long and painful illness, at Langham, in Norfolk, August 9, 1848. Captain Marryat was the second son of Joseph Marryat, Esq., M.P., of Wimbleton House, Surrey, and was born in the year 1792. He entered the navy at an early age, and was a midshipman on board the Impérieuse when that ship was engaged as part of Lord Cochrane's squadron in supporting the Catalonians against the French. He also served in the attack on the French fleet in Aix Roads, and in the Walcheren expedition. In 1814, as lieutenant of the Newcastle, he cut out four vessels in Boston Bay, an exploit of great difficulty and daring. During the Burmese war, he commanded the Larne, and was for some time senior officer on the station. His services were rewarded by professional promotion and honours. He was a Companion of the Bath, a Knight of


the Hanoverian Guelphic Order, an officer of the Legion of Honour, &c. In February 1848, Captain Marryat received intelligence of the death of his son, lieutenant on board the Avenger, steam-frigate, which was lost on the rocks off Galita. This bereavement tended to hasten the death of the able and accomplished novelist.

[A Prudent Sea Captain—Abuse of Ship's Stores.] [From The King's Own.]

“Well, Mr Cheeks, what are the carpenters about?” ‘Weston and Smallbridge are going on with the chairs—the whole of them will be finished to-morrow.’ “Well?” ‘Smith is about the chest of drawers, to match the one in my Lady Capperbar's bedroom.’ ‘Wery good. And what is Hilton about?” “He has finished the spare leaf of the dining-table, sir; he is now about a little job for the second lieutenant.’ ‘A job for the second lieutenant, sir! How often have I told you, Mr Cheeks, that the carpenters are not to be employed, except on ship's duty, without my special permission l’ “His standing bed-place is broke, sir; he is only getting out a chock or two.’ ‘Mr Cheeks, you have disobeyed my most positive orders. By the by, sir, I understand you were not sober last night?” ‘Please your honour, replied the carpenter, “I wasn't drunk—I was only a little fresh.’ ‘Take you care, Mr Cheeks. Well, now, what are the rest of your crew about?” ‘Why, Thomson and Waters are cutting out the pales for the garden out of the jib-boom; I’ve saved the heel to return.' ‘Wery well; but there wont be enough, will there?' ‘No, sir; it will take a hand-mast to finish the whole.’ “Then we must expend one when we go out again. We can carry away a top-mast, and make a new one out of the hand-mast at sea. In the meantime, if the sawyers have nothing to do, they may as well cut the palings at once. And now, let me see-oh, the painters must go on shore to finish the attics.’ ‘Yes, sir; but my Lady Capperbar wishes the jealowsees to be painted vermilion; she says it will look more rural.’ ‘Mrs Capperbar ought to know enough about ship's stores by this time to be aware that we are only allowed three colours. She may choose or mix them as she pleases; but as for going to the expense of buying paint, I can’t afford it. What are the rest of the men about?” “Repairing the second cutter, and making a new mast for the pinnace.' “By the by—that puts me in mind of it—have you expended any boat's masts?” “Only the one carried away, sir. “Then you must expend two more. Mrs C- has just sent me off a list of a few things that she wishes made while we are at anchor, and I see two poles for clothes-lines. Saw off the sheave-holes, and put two pegs through at right angles—you know how I mean?’ - “Yes, sir. What am I to do, sir, about the cucumber frame?' My Lady Capperbar says that she must have it, and I haven't glass enough. They grumbled at the yard last time.’ ‘Mrs C– must wait a little. What are the armourers about?” ‘They have been so busy with your work, sir, that the arms are in a very bad condition.

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The first lieu- | tenant said yesterday that they were a disgrace to the

‘The first lieutenant, sir.’ “Well, then, let them rub up the arms, and let me know when they are done, and we'll get the forge up.' ‘The armourer has made six rakes and six hoes, and the two little hoes for the children; but he says that he can’t make a spade.” “Then I'll take his warrant away, by heavens, since he does not know his duty. That will do, Mr Cheeks. I shall overlook your being in liquor this time; but take care. Send the boatswain to me.’

A few other authors have, like Captain Marryat, presented us with good pictures of maritime life and adventures. The Naval Sketch-book, 1828; Sailors and Saints, 1829; Tales of a Tar, 1830; Land Sharks and Sea Gulls, 1838; and other works, by CAPTAIN GLAsscock, R.N., are all genuine tales of the sea, and display a hearty comic humour and rich phraseology, with as cordial a contempt for regularity of plot. Captain Glasscock died in 1847. He was one of the inspectors under the Poor Relief Act in Ireland, and in that capacity, as well as in his naval character, was distinguished by energy and ability. Rattlin the Reefer, and Outward Bound, or a Merchant's Adventures, by MR HowARD, are better managed as to fable—particularly Outward Bound, which is a well-constructed tale—but have not the same breadth of humour as Captain Glasscock's novels. The Life of a Sailor and Ben Brace, by CAPTAIN CHAMIER, are excellent works of the same class, replete with nature, observation, and humour. Tom Cringle's Log, by MICHAEL Scott, and The Cruise of the Midge—both originally published in Blackwood's Magazine—are also veritable productions of the sea—a little coarse, but spirited, and shewing us ‘things as they are. Mr Scott, who was a native of Glasgow, spent a considerable part of his life—from 1806 to 1822—in a mercantile situation at Kingston, in Jamaica. He settled in his native city as a merchant, and died there in 1835, aged forty-six. MR JAMES HANNAY has also added to our nautical sketches. He may, however, be characterised as a critical and miscellaneous writer of scholastic taste and acquirements. He is young, and seems destined to occupy a higher niche than he has yet attained in our national literature. Mr Hannay is a native of Dumfries, a cadet of an old Galloway family, and was born in 1827. He served in the navy for five years—from 1840 to 1845. Since then he has been actively engaged in literature, writing in various periodicals—including the Quarterly and Westminster Reviews, the Athenaeum, &c.—and has published the following works: Biscuits and Grog, The Claret Cup, and Hearts are Trumps, 1848; King Dobbs, 1849; Singleton Fontenoy, 1850; Sketches in Ultramarine, 1853; Satire and Satirists, a series of six lectures, 1854; Eustace Conyers, a novel in three volumes, 1855; &c. We :* from Eustace Conyers a passage descriptive O

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Eustace went on deck. A dark night had come on by this time. The ship was tranquilly moving along with a fair wind. Few figures were moving on deck. The officer of the watch stood on the poop. The man at the wheel and quarter-master stood in silence before the binnacle; inside which, in a bright spot of light, which contrasted strongly with the darkness outside, lay the compass, with its round eloquent face, full of meaning and expression to the nautical eye. The men of the watch were lying in black heaps in their sea-jackets, along both sides of the ship's waist. N": could be stiller than the whole scene. Eustace

scarcely heard the ripple of the ship's motion, till he leant over the gangway, and looked out on the sea. Nights like these make a man meditative; and sailors are more serious than is generally supposed; being serious just as they are gay, because they give themselves up to natural impressions more readily than other people. At this moment, the least conventional men now living are probably afloat. If you would know how your ancestors looked and talked, before towns became Babylonish, or trade despotic, you must go and have a cruise on salt water, for the sea's business is to keep the earth fresh; and it preserves character as it preserves meat. Our Frogley Foxes and Pearl Studdses are exceptions; the results of changed times, which have brought the navy into closer relation with the shore than it was in old days; and sprinkled it with the proper denizens of other regions. Our object is to shew how the character of the sailor born is affected by contact with the results of modern ages. Can we retain the spirit of Benbow, minus that pigtail, to which elegant gentlemen have a natural objection? Can we be at once polished, yet free from what the newspapers call “juvenile extravagance?” Such is our ambition for Eustace. Still, we know that Pearl Studds would go into action as cheerfully as any man, and fears less any foe's face than the banner of Levy; and we must do him no injustice. Such nights, then, Eustace already felt, as fruitful in thought. If he had been pining for a little more activity, if he had drooped under the influence of particular kinds of talk, a quiet muse on deck refreshed him. The sea regains all its natural power over the spirit, when the human life of the ship is hushed. In the presence of its grand old familiar majesty you forget trouble, and care little for wit. Hence, the talk of the middle watch, which occupies the very heart of the night, from twelve to four, is the most serious, the deepest, the tenderest, the most confidential of the twenty-four hours; and by keeping the middle with a man, you learn him more intimately than you would in any other way. Even Studds in the middle watch, at least after the ‘watch-stock, or refreshment was disposed of, grew a somewhat different man. A certain epicurean melancholy came over the spirit of Studds, like moonlightfalling on a banquet-table after the lamps are out! ‘By Jove, sir, he would sigh, speaking of the hollowness of life generally, and he was even heard to give tender reminiscences of one ‘Eleanor, whose fortune would probably have pleased him as much as her beauty, had not both been transferred in matrimony to the possession of a Major Jones.


This lady is a clever and prolific writer of tales and fashionable novels. Her first work, Theresa Marchmont, was published in 1823; her next was a small volume containing two tales, The Lettre de Cáchet and The Reign of Terror, 1827. One of these relates to the times of Louis XIV., and the other to the French Revolution. They are both interesting graceful tales—superior, we think, to some of the more elaborate and extensive fictions of the authoress. A series of Hungarian Tales succeeded. In 1830 appeared Women as They Are, or the Manners of the Day, three volumes—an easy sparkling narrative, with correct pictures of modern society; much lady-like writing on dress and fashion; and some rather misplaced derision or contempt for “excellent wives’ and ‘good sort of men.’ This novel soon went through a second edition, and Mrs Gore continued the same style of fashionable portraiture. In 1831, she issued Mothers and Daughters, a Tale of the Year 1830. manners of gay life-balls, dinners, and fêtes-with

Here the

clever sketches of character and amusing dialogues, make up the customary three volumes. The same year we find Mrs Gore compiling a series of narratives for youth, entitled The Historical Traveller. In 1832 she came forward with The Fair of May Fair, a series of fashionable tales, that were not so well received. The critics hinted that Mrs Gore had exhausted her stock of observation, and we believe she went to reside in France, where she continued some years. Her next tale was entitled Mrs Armytage, which appeared in 1836, and in the following year came out Mary Raymond and Memoirs of a Peeress. In 1838, The Diary of a Désennuyée, The Woman of the World, The Heir of Selwood, and The Book of Roses or Rose-Fancier's Manual, a delightful little work on the history of the rose, its propagation and culture. France is celebrated for its rich varieties of the queen of flowers, and Mrs Gore availed herself of the taste and experience of the French floriculturists. A few months afterwards came out The Heir of Selwood, or Three Epochs of a Life, a novel in which were exhibited sketches of Parisian as well as English society, and an interesting though somewhat confused plot. The year 1839 witnessed three more works of fiction from this indefatigable lady–The Cabinet Minister, the scene of which is laid during the regency of George IV., and includes among its characters the great name of Sheridan; Preferment, or My Uncle the Earl, containing some good sketches of drawingroom society, but no plot; and The Courtier of the Days of Charles II., and other Tales. Next year we have The Dowager, or the New School for Scandal; and in 1841, Cecil, or the Adventures of a Coxcomb, a brilliant novel, containing pictures of club life, which Mr Beckford, the author of Wathek, is said to have furnished to the authoress; also Greville, or a Season in Paris; Dacre of the South, or the Olden Time, a drama; and The Lover and Her Husband, &c., the latter a free translation of M. Bertrand's Gerfaut. In 1842, Mrs Gore published Fascination, and The Ambassador's Wife. In 1843 (with other tales), The Banker's Wife, or Court and City, in which the efforts of a family in the middle rank to outshine a nobleman, and the consequences resulting from this silly vanity and ambition, are truly and powerfully painted. Mrs Gore has continued to furnish one or two novels a year up to the present time, her powers of invention, combination, and application being apparently inexhaustible. She has seen much of the world both at home and abroad, and is never at a loss for character or incident. The worst of her works must be pronounced clever. Their chief value consists in their lively caustic pictures of fashionable and high society. , ‘The more respectable of her personages are affecters of an excessive prudery concerning the decencies of lifenay, occasionally of an exalted and mystical religious feeling. The business of their existence is to avoid the slightest breach of conventional decorum. Whatever, therefore, they do, is a fair and absolute measure of the prevailing opinions of the class, and may be regarded as not derogatory to their position in the eyes of their equals. But the low average standard of morality thus depicted, with its conventional distinctions, cannot be invented. It forms the atmosphere in which the parties live; and were it a compound fabricated at the author's pleasure, the beings who breathe it could not but be universally acknowledged as fantastical and as mere monstrosities; they would indeed be incapable of acting in harmony and consistence with the known laws and usages of civil life. Such as a series of parliamentary reports, county meetings, race-horse

transactions, &c., they will be found, with a reasonable allowance of artistic colouring, to reflect accurately enough the notions current among the upper classes respecting religion, politics, domestic morals, the social affections, and that coarse aggregate of dealing with our neighbours which is embraced by the term common honesty.” Besides her long array of regular novels, Mrs Gore has contributed short tales and sketches to the periodicals, and is perhaps unparalleled for fertility. Her works must exceed a hundred volumes, and all are welcome to the circulating libraries. They are mostly of the same class—all pictures of existing life and manners, but the want of genuine feeling, of passion, and simplicity, in her living models, and the endless frivolities of their occupations and pursuits, make us sometimes take leave of Mrs Gore's fashionable triflers in the temper with which Goldsmith parted from Beau Tibbs—‘The company of fools may at first make us smile, but at last never fails of rendering us melancholy.”

Mrs Gore is a widow, with two children, a son and daughter, the latter married, in 1853, to Lord Edward Thynne.

[Character of a Prudent Worldly Lady.] [From Women as they Are..]

Lady Lilfield was a thoroughly worldly woman—a worthy scion of the Mordaunt stock. She had professedly accepted the hand of Sir Robert because a connection with him was the best that happened to present itself in the first year of her début—the ‘best match' to be had at a season's warning! She knew that she had been brought out with the view to dancing at a certain number of balls, refusing a certain number of good offers, and accepting a better one, somewhere between the months of January and June; and she regarded it as a propitious dispensation of Providence to her parents and to herself, that the comparative proved a superlative—even a high sheriff of the county, a baronet of respectable date, with ten thousand a year! She felt that her duty towards herself necessitated an immediate acceptance of the dullest “good sort of man’ extant throughout the three kingdoms; and the whole routine of her after-life was regulated by the same rigid code of moral selfishness. She was penetrated with a most exact sense of what was due to her position in the world; but she was equally precise in her appreciation of all that, in her turn, she owed to society; nor, from her youth upwards—

Content to dwell in decencies for ever

had she been detected in the slightest infraction of these minor social duties. She knew with the utmost accuracy of domestic arithmetic—to the fraction of a course or an entrée—the number of dinners which Beech Park was indebted to its neighbourhood—the complement of laundry-maids indispensable to the maintenance of its county dignity—the aggregate of pines by which it must retain its horticultural precedence. She had never retarded by a day or an hour the arrival of the family-coach in Grosvenor Square at the exact moment creditable to Sir Robert's senatorial punctuality; nor procrastinated by half a second the simultaneous bobs of her ostentatious Sunday school, as she sailed majestically along the aisle towards her tall, stately, pharisaical, squirearchical pew. True to the execution of her tasksand her whole life was but one laborious task-true

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and exact as the great bell of the Beech Park turretclock, she was enchanted with the monotonous music of her own cold iron tongue; proclaiming herself the best of wives and mothers, because Sir Robert's rentroll could afford to command the services of a firstrate steward, and butler, and housekeeper, and thus insure a well-ordered household; and because her seven substantial children were duly drilled through a daily portion of rice-pudding and spelling-book, and an annual distribution of mumps and measles ! All went well at Beech Park; for Lady Lilfield was ‘the excellent wife’ of “a good sort of man!’. So bright an example of domestic merit—and what country neighbourhood cannot boast of its duplicate? —was naturally superior to seeking its pleasures in the vapid and varying novelties of modern fashion. The habits of Beech Park still affected the dignified and primeval purity of the departed century. Lady Lilfield remained true to her annual eight rural months of the county of Durham; against whose claims Kemp town pleaded, and Spa and Baden bubbled in vain. During her pastoral seclusion, by a careful distribution of her stores of gossiping, she contrived to prose, in undetected tautology, to successive detachments of an extensive neighbourhood, concerning her London importance—her court dress—her dinner parties—and her refusal to visit the Duchess of —; while, during the reign of her London importance, she made it equally her duty to bore her select visiting list with the history of the new Beech Park school-house—of the Beech Park double dahlias—and of the Beech Park privilege of uniting, in an aristocratic dinner-party, the abhorrent heads of the rival political factions—the Bianchi e Neri—the houses of Montague and Capulet of the county palatine of Durham. By such minute sections of the wide chapter of colloquial boredom, Lady Lilfield acquired the character of being a very charming woman throughout her respectable clan of dinnergiving baronets and their wives; but the reputation of a very miracle of prosiness among those

Men of the world, who know the world like men.

She was but a weed in the nobler field of society.

[Exclusive London Life.]

A squirrel in a cage, which pursues its monotonous round from summer to summer, as though it had forgotten the gay green wood and glorious air of liberty, is not condemned to a more monotonous existence than the fashionable world in the unvarying routine of its amusements; and when a London beauty expands into ecstasies concerning the delights of London to some country neighbour on a foggy autumn day, vaguely alluding to the “countless' pleasures and ‘diversified" amusements of London, the country neighbour may be assured that the truth is not in her. Nothing can be more minutely monotonous than the recreations of the really fashionable; monotony being, in fact, essential to that distinction. Tigers may amuse themselves in a thousand irregular diverting ways; but the career of a genuine exclusive is one to which a mill-horse would scarcely look for relief. London houses, London establishments, are formed after the same unvarying model. At the fifty or sixty balls to which she is to be indebted for the excitement of her season, the fine lady listens to the same band, is refreshed from a buffet prepared by the same skill, looks at the same diamonds, hears the same trivial observations; and but for an incident or two, the growth of her own follies, might find it difficult to point out the slightest difference between the fête of the countess on the first of June, and that of the marquis on the first of July. But though twenty seasons' experience of these desolating facts might be expected to damp the ardour of certain dowagers and dan' who are to be found hurrying along the golden

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Another keen observer and caustic delineator of modern manners we have in MRS FRANCESTROLLOPE, the authoress of a long series of fictions. This lady had nearly reached her fiftieth year before she entered on that literary career which has proved so prolific and distinguished. She first came before the public in 1832, when her Domestic Manners of the Americans appeared, and excited great attention. The work was the result of three years' residence and travels in the United States, commencing in 1829. Previous to this period, Mrs Trollope had resided at Harrow. She drew so severe a picture of 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

Mrs Trollope.

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 “minor morals’ and social habits of the Americans. 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 1833 she published The Abbess, a novel, and in the following year, 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 1836 she renewed her war with the Americans in The Adventures of Jonathan Jefferson Whitlaw, a tale in which she powerfully depicts the miseries of the black and coloured population of the southern states. In this year, also, she published Paris and

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