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MRS S. C. HALL.

MRS S. C. HALL, authoress of Lights and Shadows of Irish Life, and various other works, 'is a native of Wexford, though by her mother's side she is of Swiss

Ana Maria Hall

descent. Her maiden name was Fielding, by which, however, she was unknown in the literary world, as her first work was not published till after her marriage. She belongs to an old and excellent family in her native county. She first quitted Ireland at the early age of fifteen, to reside with her mother in

written in the happiest style of the authoress. In 1835 appeared Uncle Horace, a novel, and in 1838 'Lights and Shadows of Irish Life,' three volumes. The latter had been previously published in the New Monthly Magazine, and enjoyed great popu

England, and it was some time before she revisited her native country; but the scenes which were familiar to her as a child have made such a vivid and lasting impression on her mind, and all her sketches evince so much freshness and vigour, that her readers might easily imagine she had spent her life among the scenes she describes. To her early absence from her native country is probably to be traced one strong characteristic of all her writingsthe total absence of party feeling on subjects connected with politics or religion.' Mrs Hall's first work appeared in 1829, and was entitled Sketches of Irish Character. These bear a closer resemblance to the tales of Miss Mitford than to the Irish stories of Banim or Griffin, though the latter may have tended to direct Mrs Hall to the peculiarities of Irish character. They contain some fine rural description, and are animated by a healthy tone of moral feeling and a vein of delicate humour. The coquetry of her Irish girls (very different from that in high life) is admirably depicted. Next year Mrs Hall issued a little volume for children, Chronicles of a SchoolRoom, consisting also of a series of tales, simple, natural, and touching. The home-truths and moral observations conveyed in these narratives reflect great credit on the heart and the judgment of the writer. Indeed good taste and good feeling may be said to preside over all the works of our authoress. In 1831 she issued a second series of Sketches of Irish Character,' fully equal to the first, and was well received. The Rapparee is an excellent story, and some of the satirical delineations are hit off with great truth and liveliness. In 1832 she ventured on a larger and more difficult work-a historical ro mance in three volumes, entitled The Buccaneer. The scene of this tale is laid in England at the time of the Protectorate, and Oliver himself is among the characters. The plot of 'The Buccaneer' is well managed, and some of the characters (as that of Barbara Iverk, the Puritan) are skilfully delineated; but the work is too feminine, and has too little of energetic passion for the stormy times in which it is cast. In 1834 Mrs Hall published Tales of Woman's Trials, short stories of decidedly moral tendency,

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larity. The principal tale in the collection, The Groves of Blarney, was dramatised at one of the theatres with distinguished success. In 1840 Mrs

*Dublin University Magazine for 1840.

Hall issued what has been styled the best of her she would not forget it, becase the boy's her bachelor: novels, Marian; or a Young Maid's Fortunes, in but out o' sight out o' mind-the never a word she which her knowledge of Irish character is again dis- tould him about it, and the babby has got it natara played. Katey Macane, an Irish cook, who adopts and the woman's in heart trouble (to say nothing Marian, a foundling, and watches over her with un-myself); and it the first, and all.' I am very sorry, tiring affection, is equal to any of the Irish por- indeed, for you have got a much better wife than most traitures since those of Miss Edgeworth. The next men.' That's a true word, my lady, only she's work of our authoress was a series of Stories of the fidgetty like sometimes, and says I don't hit the nail Irish Peasantry, contributed to Chambers's Edin- on the head quick enough; and she takes a dale burgh Journal, and afterwards published in a col- more trouble than she need about many a thing.' 'I lected form. In 1840, Mrs Hall aided her husband do not think I ever saw Ellen's wheel without fax 'Bad cess to the wheel!-I got it in a work chiefly composed by him, and which re- before, Shane?' flects credit upon his talents and industry, Ireland, this morning about that too. I depinded on John its Scenery, Character, &c. Topographical and sta- Williams to bring the flax from O'Flaharty's this day tistical information is here blended with the poetical week, and he forgot it; and she says I ought to have and romantic features of the country-the legends brought it myself, and I close to the spot. But where's of the peasantry-scenes and characters of humour the good? says I; sure he'll bring it next time.' 'I or pathos and all that could be gathered in five suppose, Shane, you will soon move into the new cotseparate tours through Ireland, added to early ac- tage at Clurn Hill? I passed it to-day, and it looked quaintance and recollection of the country. The so cheerful; and when you get there you must take work was highly embellished by British artists, and Ellen's advice, and depend solely on yourself.' 'Och, extended to three large volumes. In tasteful de- ma'am dear, don't mintion it; sure it's that makes me so down in the mouth this very minit. Sure I scription of natural objects, and pictures of everyday life, Mrs Hall has few superiors. Her humour saw that born blackguard Jack Waddy, and he comes is not so broad or racy as that of Lady Morgan, nor in here quite innocent like "Shane, you're an eye her observation so pointed and select as Miss Edge- I. I am yer man," says he. to squire's new lodge," says he. "Maybe I have," says "How so?" says 1. worth's: her writings are also unequal, but in gene-Sure I'm as good as married to my lady's maid,” said ral they constitute easy delightful reading, and he;" and I'll spake to the squire for you my own self." possess a simple truth and purity of sentiment that "The blessing be about you," says I, quite gratefulis ultimately more fascinating than the darker and we took a strong cup on the strength of it—and, shades and colourings of imaginative composition. depinding on him, I thought all safe; and what d'ye think, my lady? Why, himself stalks into the place -talked the squire over, to be sure-and without so much as by yer lave, sates himself and his new wife on the laase in the house; and I may go whistle.' 'It was a great pity, Shane, that you didn't go yourself to Mr Clurn.' That's a true word for ye, ma'an dear; but it's hard if a poor man can't have a frind to depind on.'

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[Depending Upon Others.]

[From Sketches of Irish Character."]

Independence !—it is the word, of all others, that Irish-men, women, and children-least understand; and the calmness, or rather indifference, with which they submit to dependence, bitter and miserable as it is, must be a source of deep regret to all who love the land,' or who feel anxious to uphold the dignity of human kind. Let us select a few cases from our

SIR EDWARD LYTTON BULWER,

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county of Norfolk. He is said to have written verses when only five or six years old, but he has certainly never attained to the higher honours of At Cambridge, Mr Bulwer (his baronetcy was conthe lyre. His poetry is in general stiff and artificial. ferred upon him by the Whig government, whose policy he supported as a member of the House of Commons) was the successful competitor for the prize poem, and his first appearance as an author was made in 1826, when he published a volume of miscellaneous poems bearing the juvenile title of

him.

Irish village, such as are abundant in every neigh-son of the late General Bulwer of Haydon Hall, SIR EDWARD LYTTON BULWER is the youngest bourhood. Shane Thurlough, as dacent a boy,' and Shane's wife, as 'clane-skinned a girl,' as any in the world. There is Shane, an active handsome-looking fellow, leaning over the half-door of his cottage, kicking a hole in the wall with his brogue, and picking up all the large gravel within his reach to pelt the ducks with those useful Irish scavengers. Let us speak to 'Good-morrow, Shane !' Och! the bright bames of heaven on ye every day! and kindly welcome, my lady; and wont ye step in and rest-it's powerful hot, and a beautiful summer, sure-the Lord be praised!' Thank you, Shane. I thought you were going to cut the hay-field to-day; if a heavyWeeds and Wild Flowers. In the following year he shower comes, it will be spoiled; it has been fit for issued a poetical tale, O'Neill, or the Rebel, some the scythe these two days. Sure it's all owing to that thing of the style of Byron's Corsair, and echoing thief o' the world Tom Parrel, my lady. Didn't he the tone of feeling and sentiment most characteristic promise me the loan of his scythe; and, by the same of the noble poet. The following lines will illustrate token, I was to pay him for it; and depinding on that, our remark:I didn't buy one, which I have been threatening to do for the last two years.' 'But why don't you go to Carrick and purchase one? To Carrick! Och, 'tis a good step to Carrick, and my toes are on the ground (saving your presence), for I depinded on Tim Jarvis to tell Andy Cappler, the brogue-maker, to do my shoes; and, bad luck to him, the spalpeen! he forgot it.' Where's your pretty wife, Shane? She's in all the wo o' the world, ma'am dear. And she puts the blame of it on me, though I'm not in the faut this time, anyhow. The child's taken the small-pox, and she depinded on me to tell the doctor to cut it for the cow-pox, and I depinded on Kitty Cackle, the limmer, to tell the doctor's own man, and thought

Eternal air-and thou, my mother earth,
Hallowed by shade and silence-and the birth
Of the young moon (now watching o'er the sleep
Of the dim mountains and the dreaming deep);
And by yon star, heaven's eldest born-whose light
Calls the first smile upon the cheek of Night;
And beams and bodes, like faith beyond the tomb,
Life through the calin, and glory through the gloom;
My mother earth-and ye her loftier race,
Midst whom my soul hath held its dwelling-place;
Rivers, and rocks, and valleys, and ye shades
Which sleep at noonday o'er the haunted glades
Made musical by waters and the breeze,
All idly dallying with the glowing trees;

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And songs of birds which, ever as they fly,
Breathe soul and gladness to the summer sky;
Ye courts of Nature, where aloof and lone
She sits and reigns with darkness for her throne;
Mysterious temples of the breathing God,
If mid your might my earliest steps have trod;
If in mine inmost spirit still are stored

The wild deep memories childhood most adored;
If still amid the drought and waste of years,
Ye hold the source of smiles and pangless tears:
Will ye not yet inspire me ?-for my heart
Beats low and languid-and this idle art,
Which I have summoned for an idle end,
Forsakes and flies me like a faithless friend.
Are all your voices silent? I have made
My home as erst amid your thickest shade:
And even now your soft air from above
Breathes on my temples like a sister's love.
Ah! could it bring the freshness of the day
When first my young heart lingered o'er its lay,
Fain would this wintry soul and frozen string
Recall one wind-one whisper from the Spring!

In the same year (1827) Mr Bulwer published his first novel, Falkland, a highly-coloured tale of love and passion, calculated to excite and inflame, and evidently based on admiration of the peculiar genius and seductive errors of Byron. Taking up the style of the fashionable novels (rendered popular by Theodore Hook, but now on the wane), Mr Bulwer came forward with Pelham, or the Adventures of a Gentleman -a novel full of brilliant and witty writing, sarcastic levity, representations of the manners of the great, piquant remark, and scenes of deep and romantic interest. There was a want of artistic skill in the construction of the story, for the tragic and satirical parts were not harmoniously combined; but the picture of a man of fashion, so powerfully drawn. was irresistibly attractive, and a second edition of 'Pelham' was called for in a few months. Towards the close of the year (1828), Mr Bulwer issued The Insowned, intended by the author to contain scenes of more exciting interest and vivid colouring, thoughts less superficially expressed, passions more energetically called forth, and a more sensible and pervading moral tendency.' The work was considered to fulfil the promise of the preface, though it did not attain to the popularity of Pelham.' Devereux, a Novel, 1829, was a more finished performance. "The lighter portion does not dispute the field with the deeper and more sombre, but follows gracefully by its side, relieving and heightening it. We move, indeed, among the great, but it is the great of other times-names familiar in our mouths-Bolingbroke, Louis, Orleans; amidst manners perhaps as frivolous as those of the day, but which the gentle touch of time has already invested with an antiquarian dignity: the passions of men, the machinery of great motives and universal feelings, occupy the front; the humours, the affections, the petty badges of sects and individuals, retire into the shadows of the back-ground: no under-current of persiflage or epicurean indifference checks the flow of that mournful enthusiasm which refreshes its pictures of life with living waters; its eloquent pages seem consecrated to the memory of love, honour, religion, and undeviating faith." In 1830 Mr Bulwer brought out another work of fiction, Paul Clifford, the hero being a romantic highwayman, familiar with the haunts of low vice and dissipation, but afterwards transformed and elevated by the influence of love. Parts are ably written; but the general effect of the novel was undoubtedly injurious to the public taste. Our author's love of satire, which had mingled largely Edinburgh Review for 1832.

in all his novels, took a more definite shape, in 1831, in The Siamese Twins, a poem satirical of fashion, of travellers, of politicians, London notoriety, and various other topics, discussed or glanced at in sportive or bitter mood, in verses that flow easily, and occasionally express vigorous and lively thoughts, but are wholly destitute of the elixir vitæ of poetical immortality. A few months afterwards we had Eugene Aram, a Tale, founded on the history of the English murderer of that name. In this work Mr Bulwer depicted the manners of the middle rank of life, and was highly successful in awakening curiosity and interest, and in painting scenes of tenderness, pathos, and distress. The character of the sordid but ingenious Eugene Aram is idealised by the fancy of the novelist. He is made an enthusiastic student and amiable visionary. The humbling part of his crime was, he says, its low calculations, its poor defence, its paltry trickery, its mean hypocrisy: these made his chiefest penance.' Unconscious that detection was close at hand, Aram is preparing to wed an interesting and noble-minded woman, the generous Madeline; and the scenes connected with this ill-fated passion possess a strong and tragical interest. Throughout the work are scattered some beautiful moral reflections and descriptions, imbued with poetical feeling and expression. Mr Bulwer now undertook the management of the New Monthly Magazine (which had attained a high reputation under the editorship of Campbell), and published in that work several essays and criticisms, subsequently collected and issued under the title of The Student. In 1833 appeared his England and the English, a series of observations on society, literature, the aristocracy, travelling, and other characteristics and peculiarities of the English people. Some of these are acute and clever, but many are tinged with prejudice, and a desire to appear original and sarcastic. The Pilgrims of the Rhine-a fanciful and beautifully illustrated work-was Mr Bulwer's next offering, and it was almost immediately afterwards succeeded by one of his best romances, The Last Days of Pompeii. This brilliant and interesting classic story was followed by one still more vigorous and masterly, the tale of Rienzi, perhaps the most complete, high-toned, and energetic of all the author's works. With industry as remarkable as his genius, Mr Bulwer went on preparing new works of fiction. Ernest Maltravers (1837) illustrates what, though rare in novels, is common in human life-the affliction of the good, the triumph of the unprincipled.' The character of Maltravers is far from pleasing; and Alice Darvil is evidently a copy from Byron's Haidee. Ferrers, the villain of the tale, is also a Byronic creation; and, on the whole, the violent contrasts and gloomy delineations of this novel render it more akin to the spurious offspring of sentimental romance, than to the family of the genuine English novel. A continuation of this work was given in the following year, under the title of Alice, or the Mysteries, with no improvement as to literary power or correct moral philosophy, but still containing some fresh and exquisite descriptions, and delightful portraiture. His next work was Athens, partly historical and partly philosophical-a book impressed with fine taste and research. In the same year (1838) we had Leila, or the Siege of Granada; and Calderon the Courtier-light and sketchy productions. Passing over the dramas of Bulwer, we come to Night and Morning, Day and Night, Lights and Shadows, Glimmer and Gloom, an affected title to a picturesque and interesting story. Zanoni (1842) is more unconnected in plot and vicious in style than the previous fictions of Bulwer, and possesses no strong or permanent interest. Eva, the Ill-Omened Marriage,

and other Tales and Poems (1842) is another attempt of our author to achieve poetical honours: we cannot say a highly successful attempt; for, in spite of poetical feeling and fancy, the lines of Sir Edward Bulwer are cold glittering conceits and personations. His acute mental analysis is, however, seen in verses like the following:

Talent and Genius.

Talent convinces-genius but excites; This tasks the reason, that the soul delights. Talent from sober judgment takes its birth, And reconciles the pinion to the earth; Genius unsettles with desires the mind, Contented not till earth be left behind; Talent, the sunshine on a cultured soil, Ripens the fruit by slow degrees for toil. Genius, the sudden Iris of the skies, On cloud itself reflects its wondrous dyes: And, to the earth, in tears and glory given, Clasps in its airy arch the pomp of Heaven! Talent gives all that vulgar critics needFrom its plain horn-book learn the dull to read; Genius, the Pythian of the beautiful, Leaves its large truths a riddle to the dullFrom eyes profane a veil the Isis screens, And fools on fools still ask-What Hamlet means?' Bulwer's own works realise this description of genius: they unfold an Iris of the skies,' in which are displayed the rich colours and forms of the imagination, mixed and interfused with dark spots and unsightly shadows-with conceit, affectation, and egotism. Like his model, Byron, he paints vividly and beautifully, but often throws away his colours on unworthy objects, and leaves many of his pictures unfinished. The clear guiding judgment, well-balanced mind, and natural feeling of Scott, are wanting; but Bulwer's language and imagery are often exquisite, and his power of delineating certain classes of character and manners superior to that of any of his contemporaries. Few authors have displayed more versatility. He seems capable of achieving some great work in history as well as in fiction; and if he has not succeeded in poetry, he has outstripped most of his contemporaries in popularity as a dramatist.

CAPTAIN FREDERICK MARRYAT.

This popular naval writer-the best painter of sea characters since Smollett-commenced what has 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 the 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 of nautical character. His vivid and striking powers of description were also displayed to much advantage in this novel. 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 has since written 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, Percival Keene, &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, is 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 last work, Percival Keene' (1842), betrays no falling-off, but, on the contrary, is one of the most vigorous and interesting of his sea changes.' '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 shows 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 Charles Dickens had gathered all his fame;" and with all our admiration of Marryat, we should be disposed at present to claim for the younger novelist an equal, if not superior-as clear, and a more genial-knowledge of human nature-at least on land.

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To vary or relieve his incessant toils at original composition, Captain Marryat made a trip to Ame rica 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 descrip tion. His account of the American navy is valuable; and so practical and sagacious an observer could not visit the schools, prisons, and other public institu tions of the New World, without throwing out valuable reflections, and noting what is superior or defective. He is no admirer of the democratic government of America: indeed his Diary is as unfavourable to the national character as the previous sketches of Mrs Trollope or Captain Hall But it is in relating traits of manners, peculiarities of speech, and other singular or ludicrous charac teristics of the Americans, that Captain Marryat excels. 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

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NOVELISTS.

author to add three additional volumes to it in the following year, but the continuation is greatly inferior.

[A Prudent Sea Captain-Abuse of Ship 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 bed-room.'

Very 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.'

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?'

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Why, Thomson and Waters are cutting out the pales for the garden out of the jibboom; I've saved the heel to return.'

'Very well; but there wont be enough, will there?' 'No, sir; it will take a hand-mast to finish the

whole.'

and the two little hoes for the children; but he says that he can't make a spade.'

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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.'

out of the hand-mast at sea.

Then we must expend one when we go out again. We can carry away a top-mast, and make a new one 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?'

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! 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 showing us things as they are.' Mr Scott, who was a native of Glasgow, spent a considerable part of his life in a mercantile situation at Kingston in Jamaica. He died in his native city, in 1835, aged about forty-six.

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. The first-lieutenant said yesterday that they were a disgrace to the ship.' 'Who dares say that?' '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,

MRS GORE.

This

This lady is a clever and prolific writer of tales and fashionable novels. Her first work (published anonymously) was, we believe, a small volume containing two tales, The Lettre de Cachet, 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. In 1830 appeared Women as they Are, or the Manners of the Day, three volumes-an easy sparkling narrative, with correct pictures of modern societymuch lady-like writing on dress and fashion, and some rather misplaced derision or contempt for 'excellent wives' and 'good sort of men.' 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. Here the manners of gay life-balls, dinners, and fêtes-with 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 '832 she came forward with The Fair of May Fau, 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 soine years. Her next tale was entitled Mrs Armytage. In 1838 she published 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

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