pleasure; or, perhaps, regard them "with some kindness for being united " with so much merit. 66 66 66 66 "Some have advanced, without due "attention to the consequences of this "notion, that certain virtues have "their correspondent faults, and there"fore that to exhibit either apart, is "to deviate from probability. Thus men are observed, by Swift, to be grateful in the same degree as they are resentful. It is of the utmost "importance to mankind, that posi❝tions of this tendency should be laid open and confuted: for while men "consider good and evil as springing "from the same root, they will spare "the one for the sake of the other; "and in judging, if not of others, at "least of themselves, will be apt to "estimate their virtues by their vices. "To this fatal error all those will contribute, who confound the colours "of right and wrong; and instead of "helping to settle their boundaries, "mix them with so much art, that no 66 common mind is able to disunite "them. 66 "In narratives where historical ve"racity has no place, I cannot disco"ver why there should not be exhibit"ed the most perfect idea of virtue; "of virtue not angelical, nor above probability; for what we cannot "credit, we shall never imitate; but "the highest and purest that huma"nity can reach; which exercised in "such trials as the various revolutions "of things shall bring upon it, may, by conquering some calamities, and "enduring others, teach us what we may hope, and what we can per"form." 66 The utmost extent, therefore, of our author's delinquency in this particular, appears, in our opinion, to consist in her having invented a story which is likely to impress certain vivid and captivating images on the fancy of some poor, unfortunate, warm-hearted, susceptible young man, and to give an edge to those tender and twitching emotions, which are apt enough of themselves to creep into all young minds, and to occupy the place of other principles, which it is of far greater importance to cultivate and cherish! The whole scene, indeed, which this book embraces, speaks directly to the heart and to the affections; and certainly in the case of those individuals, who are possessed of a temper which admits at once all the milder sensations, and which gives immediate way to its feelings, without any effort of the judgment or understanding, the study of Coelebs may be attended with some inconvenience.We still, however, think that every well-regulated mind will be proof against the influence of the work in this respect. Thus far have we gallantly stood forth in our fair author's defence.We must now, however, confess that we have several objections to the most striking characters in the histo ry. Mr Stanley seems to us to have been a gentleman of much sound sense and unaffected piety; yet we cannot help thinking somehow, that he must have been rather dull. There are no traits in his character which we would absolutely reject, but there are some, which we would wish to have perceived in it, but which we look for in vam. His greatest excellence, in the author's view, appears to have consisted in his uniformly maintaining the sovereignty of principle in his mind, and in acting upon a regular and systematic plan. This we would heartily commend; but we think he possesses rather too great a portion of constitutional philosophy, and it seems to have superinduced a certain stiffness and formality in his conduct. We were much pleased, indeed, with the judicious remarks which he makes, in the course of the conversations, in most of which he takes the principal part: but we know not how it is, but we are ever in hopes that the next chapter will re lieve our minds from a certain eonstraint which is imposed on us by the idea of his presence. To his family he never, indeed, was either morose, or saturnine, or severe; yet we think the greatest, and almost the only striking instance which we can recollect in Mr Stanley, of that habitual cheer fulness, and occasional unbending, which we consider a very amiable feature in the character of a father, is to be found in the circumstance of his reading the diverting history of John Gilpin to the young people ranged round him in the garden. A few more instances of the same kind would, we are certain, have greatly enlivened and improved him. The fault which we have now mentioned, seems to have arisen from the writer's anxiety to make Mr Stanley the vehicle, in general, of communicating every important truth, and the author of every valuable observation. From this desire she has fallen into the other extreme of rendering him this only, without also giving him a due share in the more volatile parts of the work. The same objections apply in a certain degree to Lucilla; for she is unquestionably very like her father.Her character, indeed, affords us the refreshing sight, after which we have often, in conjunction with Sir John Belfield, most vehemently panted, "A girl of fine sense, more cultivated "than accomplished, the creature, 66 a not of fiddlers and dancing-masters, "but of nature, of books, and of good 66 company." And we have no objection to join the Baronet also, in denominating her in many respects paragon, ," "a nonpareil," and on this account, a dangerous girl. Yet she is destitute of a certain portion of sprightliness and spirit, which we consider to be essential to a person who is formed to be an agreeable companion through life. To Lucilla, we are most eager to grant the full praise of piety, charity, and candour, of the most refined delicacy and taste, and of that modesty which is at once the decus et tutamen of a lady. Still her portrait looks inanimate: there is, so to say, too studied a correctness of millinery about her appearance: and we honestly avow, that had we been placed in Cœlebs' most enviable situation, we think that of the two sisters, Phoebe, mercurial and untamed as she was, would soonest have engaged our affections. The few glimpses with which the reader is favoured of this young lady are very prepossessing; for she is evidently a person of strong affection and genuine sensibility. For instance, upon that vexatious day, when Colebs took leave of the grove, we see all the family very downcast, as was but natural. But whilst Lucilla and the others contrived somehow to manage their feelings upon the occasion, we find that "Phoebe wept outright.". We cannot describe how forcibly this single little circumstance has affected our minds! Even the confession which Mr Stanley makes, of the difficulty which he had found, in training his se cond above his other daughters, is in our estimation all in her favour. think Phoebe Stanley must certainly have turned out a very superior woman! Lucilla, notwithstanding the multiplied resources which she enjoyed in herself, must often we suspect have had seasons of ennui and indifference. Phoebe, on the contrary, seems to have possessed a natural enthusiasm, which would often indeed carry her beyond due bounds, until a little experience and observation had reduced it to its right level; but which, when properly directed, has a tendency, as Mrs Grant has well remarked, "to preserve us from satiety on the one hand, and insensibility on the other," an enthusiasm, which, as the same elegant author adds, "is the fan of a warm climate, and the fur of a We cold cold one." Lucilla appears to us too much to resemble the still and stagnant lake. Phoebe, on the other side, is a noble and impetuous river, breaking boldly at first upon the rocks that impede its progress, but after a few violent cataracts, which give interest and variety to the scene, willingly subsiding into a smooth, deep, and transparent stream, which glides along in its gentle yet majestic course, and tends to beautify and refresh the surrounding country. We must here, however, remark, that it is not so much to the descrip tion, as to the exhibition of Lucilla's character, that these remarks apply. She is animated enough in Dr Barlow's, or in Colebs' account of her; but not sufficiently so, when she comes to act her own part. There is another circumstance in Lucilla, to which we cannot be reconciled; we mean her perpetual blushing; and it is not a little curious to observe, that frequently when she blushes most deeply, she nevertheless is able to give the most sensible and suitable answers. Most young ladies, we are sure, find it commonly to be otherwise with them! With regard to Sir John and Lady Belfield, the place which they occupy in the narrative is made the means of inculcating much valuable truth, and of illustrating several important branches in this exhibition of human character. Yet we think there are a few proofs of carelessness in the workmanship of this part of the picture.— The pencils which the artist has employed have been, so to speak, rather of a coarse hair. The figures want finishing there is too little shade.— Thus it is evident, that Lady B. is of ten made to go wrong, only in order that Mr Stanley may have an opportunity of setting her right. This art of an author is, we grant, quite allowable; but it is here too apparent, too glaring. In all matters of the kind, Ars est celare artem; and the reader : Upon should at once be able to perceive, that the errors and excellencies which are pointed out, form no rare or heterogeneous association. Now we really hardly see, how the fair and the dark sides of Lady Belfield's character could be made to consist together in the same person. And we must remark besides, that her Ladyship is upon most occasions rather easily and readily persuaded of her. own improprieties! The transition is too sudden and rapid from the wrong to the right view of things. all subjects of this nature, and in ordinary minds at least, the process of persuasion is gradual and progressive. But in this instance, we find conviction brought about per saltum, and the change effected in as short a period, as a person would take to pass from the dining room to the drawing room, at Stanley grove! We behold Lady B. the one moment expressing herself to Colebs, in very strong language, on the impropriety of Mr Stanley's preventing the children from making their appearance before his company at table, and at the very next sight which we get of her, she appears making a solemn confession of the folly of this remark: a remark too, which by the way appears to us to have been one of the most sensible of those which escaped from her lips, and the propriety of which we are still inclined to support, in spite both of her Ladyship's tergiversation, and Mr Stanley's example! There is another circumstance in Lady Belfield's conduct, which we consider as rather unseemly, although the author evidently did not mean to hold it up in this light. We allude to the practice of her frequently making a public declaration of those errors in her own domestic management, which had been discovered to her by means of what she had observed at the Grove. There surely was no necessity for rendering all the company, on some occasions, her con fes fessors, or of reminding her husband, in their presence, of those defects, which it assuredly was most proper to remedy, but not so becoming to reveal. In short, we think that justice has hardly been done to the Belfields, although after all it must be owned, they are very indispensable characters to the great object of the work. Dr Barlow is an excellent specimen of an enlightened and conscientious country clergyman. But surely it is rather too much to say, that his wife is as attentive to the bodies as he is to the souls of the people of his parish. Were this true, either the Doctor must have been a careless and unfaithful pastor, which he certainly was not; or his lady must improperly have made every other concern subservient to her care of the parishioners, which by no means appears to have been the case. There are certainly duties, which a clergyman's wife owes to the people among whom her husband labours, and by proper attention to which she may become a most useful and valuable character in a country parish and to a person of a well regulated mind, these duties must, we think, be of a most pleasant and a greeable nature. But the obligation to such services, let it be remembered, is only binding, when all that the lady owes to herself and to her family is properly discharged. And occasion here offers for remarking in general, that there is a strong propensity in the human mind, to prefer those parts of duty, which are most favourable to the love of ostentation and shew, to those which, being performed secretly, or at home, are less subject to public observation, and whose chief reward is therefore to be found in the testimony of a person's own mind. But of all the Dramatis Persona, Colebs himself is the one with which we have most fault to find, even educated as he was at our Edinburgh U. niversity! He seems to be a very July 1809. But steady and well-principled young man, We only stay here longer to ask at single question. Is it becoming in a young man, who has conceived an attachment for an amiable young lady, to reveal that attachment to a variety of persons, who do not immediately belong to her family, and before he has ever made it known to herself? Answer this, Mr Coelebs, and say, wherefore it was, that, whilst debarred from unfolding thy mind to Lucilla for a stated period, in order that thou might'st have an opportunity of following the prudent precaution which Mr Stanley suggested, of endeavouring to assure thyself of Miss Lucilla's affection, before thou didst address her on the tender subject; say why it was, that thou didst not also forbear from making thy mind known to Sir John up and and Lady Belfield, aud Dr Barlow too? Didst thou never think, good young man, that Lucilla might have refused thee, and then how foolish must thou have looked or confess, sweet Charles, didst thou never feel awkward in the presence of these individuals, during the season of solemn suspence, if thou didst really consider it as such? Thou may'st indeed reply, that it would not have been an easy matter to conceal thy passion from so shrewd and sharp-sighted a gentleman as Sir John was; still, Coelebs, thou didst wrong in parting with thy secret. The knight should have been left, with all his archness and waggery, to the enjoyment of his own conjectures, and no discreet man would ever desire more! The secondary and incidental characters of this work are in general admirably drawn. It is here, in our opinion, that the best display is made of the author's superiour knowledge of human nature. We have as yet forborne to occupy any room, in making extracts from the book itself, because from the unprecedented circulation which it has obtained, we have judged this unnecessary. But we cannot refrain from transcribing the account which the author gives of two different individuals, whose melancholy conditions are, we think, most naturally described, and with whom we do most feelingly and fervently condole. The first is that of Mr Stanhope, a gentleman who had unfortunately been so much bewitched at the idea that he was beloved by a beautiful woman, as foolishly to declare himself her admirer, before he knew much either about her principles or conduct. He was not long, however, but, alas! he was too late, of discovering his mournful mistake, and then set himself to the attempt of cultivating and enlightening her mind, but in vain.She becomes too much for him, and nothing is left, but the sad alternative of submission. He accordingly turns soft, simple, and idle, and gives himself up to the dominion of cards, to please his wife. "All the entertainment he finds at dinner is a recapitulation of the faults of the maids, or the impertinence of the footmen, or the negligence of the gardener. If to please her he joins in the censure, she turns suddenly about and defends them. If he vindicates them, she insists on their immediate dismission; and no sooner are, they irrevocably discharged, than she is continually dwelling on their perfections, and then it is only their successors who have any faults. He is now so afraid of her driving out his few remaining old servants, if she sees his partiality for them, that in order to conceal it, he affects to reprimand them as the only means for them to secure his favour. Thus the integrity of his heart is giving way to a petty duplicity, and the openness of his temper to shabby artifices. He could sensibly feels the diminution of his cresubmit to the loss of his comfort, but dit. The loss of his usefulness too is a constant source of regret. She will not even suffer him to act as a magistrate, lest her doors should be beset with vagabonds, and her house dirtied by men of business. If he chance to commend a dish he has tasted at a friend's house, hers, she can never please, he had bet'Yes, every body's things are good but ter always dine abroad, if nothing is fit to be eaten at home.' In the same way, he dare not venture to commend any thing said or done by another wo man. She has indeed no definite object of jealousy, but feels an uneasy, vague sensation of envy, at any thing or person he admires. I believe she would be jealous of a fine day if her husband praised it." In like manner, who does not sympathise with Mr Reynolds, peor man, in the following description which is given of his domestic authority? children) to, at table, the mother takes "Whatever the father helps them (the from them, lest it should make them sick. What he forbids is always the very thing that is good for them. She |