demar consented to their union, and Ernest could not survive the woman whom he had forsaken.

In this novel we certainly find much to admire, and much even to approve; but there are some things so improper as to disgrace and discredit the whole work.

For the reasons suggested in the beginning of this article, every person of good morals will concur in reprobating the indelicacy of certain passages. But independently of this circumstance, it is extremely improper that such characters as Ernest and Amelia should be held up, as they evidently are, to our love and

esteem.

In the character of Ernest we have already taken notice of one particular, which is decidedly inconsistent with a high or generous mind. But we find him still more reprehensible as we advance in the history. With a profligacy incompatible both with honour and humanity he forsakes Amelia, after he had repeatedly bound himself to her by engagements which every honest man would regard as indissoluble, and which became, if possible, of still stronger obligation when he had reduced her to a situ ation where his infidelity must be the source of irretrievable misery. The author endeavours to screen him from reproach, by ascribing this painful sacrifice to his apprehensions for his mother's life. But unless these apprehensions could have excused him for abandoning his wife, who had never injured him, they could not excuse him for abandoning Amelia. In fact, his mother had no right to demand the sacrifice, and was both unjust and cruel in demanding it. And without troubling our readers with detailing the mean artifices to which he stopped, in order to conceal from Amelia his real name and situation, or with suggesting the deliberate baseness of concealing what she had so unquestionable an interest and night to know, enough has been said to point out the gross impropriety

into which the author has fallen, in the formation of her hero's character. We do not insist that the hero of a fictitious history should be faultless. The history may be both interesting and instructive, by representing the gradual perversion of a character originally good, or by the awful warning which is exhibited when a man of real worth is driven by the frenzy of passion, to the perpetration of a deed which the next moment tortures him with remorse, and ends in his ruin. But the author must never forget, that while the victim of passion con tinues enslaved to passion, while the character originally good continues perverted, so long they must be represented as objects of abhorrence. Besides, there are designs which the worthless only can deliberately form, or even entertain for a moment; and our author has conceived and brought forth a hero, who, to high pretensions of honour and an exquisite sensibility of virtue, unites feelings and prac tices which can belong only to a profligate scoundrel. Yet this monstrous production is to be the object of our love and esteem, for he is esteemed and beloved by persons of the most exemplary virtue, who are perfectly apprized of the whole of his conduct.

When again we turn to the he roine, we cannot say that the author has furnished our young ladies with a very edifying speculation. We pass over her conduct before her arrival in Switzerland; but we must observe, that from the beginning of her attachment to Ernest, she falls into a series of deliberate improprieties which can hardly be supposed in a young woman of good sense and good principles. It was folly and meanness, to permit the assiduities of a man who had never condescended to give an account of himself. It was worse to permit the continuance of those assiduities, and even of indiscreet fa. miliarities, after he had presumed to declare, that, although he was unmarried, he could only be her friend. But when under those most question

able circumstances, she consented to a private and midnight interview, it is plain that if it had ended innocent ly, the lady would have been indebted, not to her own virtue, but to her lover's forbearance. Nor is there any real penitence to restore her to esteem: for even when she has every reason to believe that the man who injured her so deeply had basely for saken her, she continues still the slave of a disgraceful passion. When she is forsaking her child to go in quest of her faithless lover, we find in her journal the following words among others still more disgusting." Dis, homme cruel! es-tu satisfait de la passion qui me devore? son empire est-il assez terrible? et la puissance que tu exerces sur mon lâche cœur te laisse-t-elle quelque chose à desirer?"

We may be told, indeed, that, doomed as she is to sufferings so severe, her errours whatever they may be, will be considered as a warning, not as a model. This might be the case if her sufferings arose from her errours. But her sufferings arise from quite different causes. Her lover does not forsake her because she ceased to be respectable, but because he could not resist his mother's solicitations. Her imprudent attachment to Mansfield is, indeed, attended with the punishments which were its natural consequences; but her worse than imprudent conduct with Ernest, does not at all alienate her friends; she is still beloved as the most amiable and revered, as the most respectable of women; and, but for the most improbable concurrence of two most improbable circumstances. the silli ness of Ernest and the unnatural barbarity of his mother, her crime would

have conducted her at once to dignity and splendour. Now, we are apprehensive that many readers may be more encouraged by the happiness which might be expected to crown her guilt than warned by the melan choly catastrophe which is produced entirely and obviously by accidental causes. And although it is true that in the midst of her desolation she is stung with the pangs of remorse, it is an obvious reflection that these pangs would soon subside if she were united to her lover. Indeed, this reflection is forced upon us, because, in the deepest remorse and deepest misery, she still glories in her shame; she adores him whom she must have considered as completely worthless, and dwells on the happiness of her love with all the exaggerations of the wildest fancy, and with an eloquence which cannot but be fatally impres sive on a youthful mind.

Upon the whole, we cannot recommend the book. We object to the indelicacy in some places. We object to those representations which encourage the vitious to hope for success. We object to those romantick visions which throw into a dead gloom the brightest scenes of real life. We object to those incompatible assemblages of virtues and vices, which must either shock us by their incongruity, or pervert our sentiments of right and wrong. We lament that such a work should have proceeded from the author of Elizabeth; and still more, that there should be a wish in Britain for importing, from the schools of France and Germany, those novels and dramas which tend at once to corrupt the taste and deprave the national character.

WE trembled for this adventurous muse, who has dared to attempt a continuation of a work which is re

plete with the most exquisite gems of true poesy; and we entered on the perusal of this third book full of ap

prehension that our disappointment would surpass our pleasure. As, however, we do not suffer our pre

The shades of summer give securer

rest;

The beauteous vales a livelier verdure yield;

the merit of the author has sustained no injury; and our examination has convinced us that his presumption was not so great as we were inclined to suppose. If he has not actually caught Dr. Beattie's mantle, he has found a lyre which is much in that writer's fashion, and shows himself capable of sweeping its strings in the style of true minstrelsy. Though not equal to the original bard, he follows at no great distance; and as Dr. B. left his work unfinished, this farther development of the Progress of Genius may be read with interest by all those who were charmed by the former stanzas. The author apologizes for not having pursued the outline of the plan faintly sketched in one of the doctor's letters, lately published by his biographer, sir William Forbes; observing that the verses before us were composed long ago, and would not now have been published if the result of his inquiries had not led him to believe that no materials for the continuation of The Minstrel had been found among Dr. B's papers.

The character of Edwin is well sustained; and the stanzas swell with that tide of verse, flow with that ease, and abound with that richness of imagery, which manifest a soul finely touched and endowed. We need only transcribe that part of the present poem which depicts the blessings of

smiles the field.

"Such were thy joys, sweet bard, when stretched along

By Mulla's fountain head thy limbs reclined,

Where fancy, parent of enchanted song, Poured the full tide of poesy, refined From stain of earthly dross, upon thy mind.

Thine was the holy dream, when, pure and free,

Imagination left the world behind

In that delightful land of Faerie' Alone to wander, rapt in heavenly minstrelsy.

"Oh who, so dull of sense, in heart se lost

To Nature's charms and every pure delight,

Would rather lic, on the wild billows

tost

Of vain ambition, with eternal night Surrounded, and obscured his mental sight

By mists of avarice, passion, and deceit? Not he whose spirit clear, whose genius bright,

The muse has ever led, in converse

sweet,

Within the hallowed glades of her divine

retreat.

"Not EDWIN-in whose infant breast, I ween,

From childish cares and little passions free,

Tho' long in shades retired, unmarked,

unseen,

Had blown the fairest flower of poesy. That lovely promise of a vigorous tree

If one writer sends a gentleman in pursuit of a wife, another is sure to take the hint, and to exhibit a lady in search of a husband. Modern bookmakers avail themselves of every op. portunity of putting their pens in motion, and the success which Calebs has obtained presented a temptation not to be resisted. Accordingly, we find that on the 10th of May, 1809, the author of the present work began his undertaking; and so intent was he on bringing it out in time while Calebs was in course of reading, that by the 3d of June following, he had completed it. We should have plea sure in complimenting him with not having made "more haste than good speed," to use the vulgar proverb; but, strange as it may appear, when we talk of haste, it must be confessed, that the composition is throughout laboured; that the reader, instead of being pleasantly carried, is dragged along; and that the book disappoints because it does not answer its title. "Nubilia in search of a husband?" No such thing. Nubilia is no forward miss, all whose thoughts by day, and dreams by night, are fixed on marriage. In fact, she seems to think as little of a husband as any woman who ever wore a petticoat She is as cold as a cloud of snow [cor inter nubilia condit*] and is more like a philosophick member of the blue-stocking club than a young woman commencing the impassioned career of life. Nubilia is a thousand times more out of nature than the Lucilla Stanley of Calebs; and, instead of being in search of a husband, she is fond of funerals, and "loves to hold some mouldering bone within her hands." [p. 164.] At one time, she discusses moral questions with

• We introduce this parenthesis to sug gest the impropriety of the name. It should have been Nubilis instead of Yubi180.

the gravity of a college-tutor, and at another, she is inflated with bombast. Now she is represented as an Epictetus, endeavouring to give tone and vigour to the mind, and then as "longing for dissolution," because she heard the sounds of an Eolian harp. She, indeed, marries at last; but it is after a great deal of talking rather than searching. She sees little of the world; and to the first man who is at all estimable in her view, to whom she is introduced after a little Philandering about German literature, she gives her hand. Altogether, the story is very meagre; the transition from one dissertation to another is not very natural, and, as the picture of a young woman "in search of a husband," it is to the last degree disappointing.

It is true that the volume presents matured reflections on morals, soci. ety, and literature; but we cannot think that they are with any propriety put into the mouth of a young female. The remarks on education, which are the result of much observation and meditation, are with judgment assigned to Nubilia's father; but, when the parent is removed from the stage, and the author throws the weight of all his disquisitions on the shoulders of the young daughter, we protest against such an imposition, to use a university phrase. To these remarks on education, however, some attention is due, especially to such of them as respect the importance of commencing the moral education very early in life; of keeping our word with children; and of securing them from having the first impres sions made on their tender minds by our servants, instead of by ourselves. On the first point, we quote the following passage:

"A child who is capable of feeling pleasure or pain at any given event, is ca