tip-top people in Manchester, who have been seized with the travelling mania, so endemic of late years among all classes. We are not quite satisfied that the noble author has been very successful in this part of his subject. The old Hobsons appear neither very bright conceptions, nor very new, but Jem Hobson compensates amply for all his parents' defects. He is indeed a gem, a jewel of great price

"Miss Betty Dornton was some years older than her brother; and having brought her charms to market at a time when the prospects of her family were not so extensive as they afterwards became, (old uncle Smithson having then formed only the nucleus of that immense wealth, which he afterwards scraped to gether; and certainly having no intentions of bequeathing it in a lump to any one,) her marriage with Mr. John Hobson was not at the time objected to. He was a steady, calculating foreman, in a large manufactory at Manchester. This situation he had gradually improved into that of a master of foremen; and his small back lodging he had changed into the largest extent of staring brick front in Manchester.

"Mrs Hobson, at the time of her marriage, was a silly, showy, bustling, chattering little body; with a brisk figure, and brisker tongue, good-humoured, illiterate, and vulgar. Twenty years, and more than half as many children, had rather taken from her briskness of figure her person seeming to have kept pace with her fortunes, in increase; but nothing had abated her activity of tongue, as Lady Matilda soon found to her cost, when the servant announced Mrs Hobson, the Miss Hobsons, and Master Hobson; the last a hobble-de-hoyish schoolboy. The three Miss Hobsons I shall not attempt to describe individually as to character, till the reader becomes by degrees better acquainted with them. In their dress there was a sisterly sameness, consisting, as it did, of bright peagreen cassimere pelisses, superabundant ly bebraided, and black beaver bonnets with pink linings. The only distinction in their appearance, was, that Miss Hobson's round rosy face was-one can't say shaded, with small bright red corkscrew curls; whilst Miss Anne, from having rather a higher bridge to her nose than was common in the family, had taken the Grecian line, and had accordingly drawn two long straight strips of sandy hair across her temples, as she thought à la Madonna. The third, Jemima, was at that becoming age when young ladies' hair is neither long nor short. As to the

conversation of these Manchester graces, -being in considerable awe of a person of whom the Morning Post said so much as it did of Lady Matilda, they confined that to occasional verbal corrections of

their mother's slip-slop, which their boarding-school education fully qualified them to give. As to Mrs Hobson, she felt no such awe as that with which the name and fame of Lady Matilda inspired her daughters. Ever since her brother's marriage, she had persuaded herself that her own consequence was so much increased by the closeness of the connexion, that she did not feel abashed, even in the presence of the cause of all that additional consequence. So she waddled straight up to Lady Matilda, in a scarlet velvet pelisse which made the sun hide his diminished head in the dog-days; and after a sisterly salutation, said,—(staring full at her,)-Well, I'm sure Jem couldn't have done better.' She then broke at once into the subject now always uppermost in her thoughts; namely, the extraordinary circumstance of her being actually about to go abroad.

"Well,' said she, I hope that we shall all live as one family in foreign parts. To think of my going trapesing out of Old England! but my daughters must have the same advantages as the Miss Tomkins's, though they did make old Tomkins a knight the other day. But an't my brother a baronet? to say nothing of you, Lady Matilda. Then Dr Snook says, that Jemima is rather pilmonary, and that the air of Italy will do her good; and to be sure, if it was not for fear of the muskittys, or bandittis, or what do they call them as attacks one there, I should like Italy well enough, and to see the Pope, and the Venus of Meddi-what is it, my dear?' appealing to one of her daughters. Medici, mamma,' said Miss Anne.

'Ay-Medici-and the Saint Peter's-but I don't think so much of that, because we've got a Saint Peter's at Manchester. And that great cascade (Turny, or what do they call it?) that Briggs-old Briggs of our town's sonshowed a fine picture of it, as he did there at our exhibition, with the water all so white, and the rocks so black, and the trees so green; very pretty it was, and little Briggs himself sitting on a three-legged stool, with it all splashing about him, poor fellow;-and then that Capital Colossus as the old Romans made.' -Coliseum, mamma,' said Miss Hobson; and the Capitol,' said Miss Anne, is a building by itself.'-'Very well, my dears, a building by itself, is it? I thought it was in Rome-but Jem ought to know, for I suppose that's what they teach him at school.' This changed the current of

her ideas, and called Lady Matilda's attention to a nuisance which the presence of more active annoyances had hitherto prevented her from observing.

"Of all the demands that the ties of connexion can make upon one's patience, there is nothing like the precocious introduction, into general society, of a genuine school-boy; where, either by his uneasy awkwardness, he makes all who see him equally uncomfortable, or, by his pert self-sufficiency, causes a more active disturbance.-Sir James's saying, which he so aptly applied, of Love me, love my dog,' is nothing to the trial of, Love me, love my school-boy. It is true, though, that school-boys are, after all, (to use a metaphor peculiarly suited to the Hobson family,) the raw material of which the finished articles, most sought for in a drawing-room, must be manufactured. There are, also, two varieties in the species; your private school-boy is much worse than your public; by private schools, being meant all, however large and however open, except two or three, where the scholars are more select and gentleman-like; and which schools are therefore called public. And never was there seen a more regular specimen of the worst kind of school-boy, than that which met Matilda's eyes in the person of Jem Hobson, as he sat on the very edge of the sofa; his pale, shrunk, nankeen trowsers, having worked their way up his spindle leg, which was enveloped in a wrinkled cotton stocking; the collar of his new coat, and his black stock, alone, showing any embryo symptoms of incipient dandyism; his sandy hair plastered sideways with a wet brush, off his snubby, chubby face; and his hands occupied in studiously brushing, the wrong way, the nap of his shapeless hat.

"Put your hat down, my dear Jem,' said Mrs Hobson. He is Sir James's godson; we reckon him very like him,' appealing to Matilda, who, though she said nothing, could not deny the imputation.

I

"I am sorry his uncle's out. brought him here, as he is not going abroad with us, on purpose to see him, as it is right boys should know who they are to look to. Jem, I'm sure, will do something for his godson, little Jem, as we call him perhaps make him a parliament man; it is as good a trade as any; at least, I'm sure, so uncle Smithson found it. They say, he must make six so he may as well have one of his own kin as another. Who knows but, in time, Jem may live to be a-what was that great gentleman, who so civilly wrote to thank our people for killing the Radicals? A Secretary of State, mamma,' said Miss Hobson.

"Ah! Why should not Jem live to be a Secretary of State, Lady Matilda? I can assure you,' continued the fond mother, that all pains have been taken with his speechifying;-Jem, suppose you let your aunt hear that speech that I say makes me think I hear you in the House of Commons.' Matilda submitted to this, as a minor evil to hearing the mother talk about him; and Jem, who, with all his shyness, preferred to his present state of awkward inaction, that exposure to which habit had hardened him, immediately prepared to comply; and, throwing his hand stiffly up, like a way post, began, My name is Norval,'-in that gruffish squeak, and with that measured twang, which generally accompany such exhibitions. He was proceeding, with wonderful success and had just arrived at the point where

"A band of fierce barbarians from the hills, Rushed, like a torrent, down upon the vale. Sweeping our flocks and herds"

when the door opened, and in walked our two friends of the preceding evening, Lord George Darford and Mr Penryn, who usually hunted time in couples, and meant to kill half an hour with Lady Matilda. Great, indeed, was their astonishment at the party they found assembled, and the exhibition they interrupted. Our young actor might have added

'Our shepherds fled for safety and for succour.' for sudden was the flight this produced in the family;-Mrs Hobson displaying to the still wondering eyes of the intruders, as she moved towards the door, the broad back of her splendid pelisse, whose unequally-worn texture showed at once, that her velvet was English, and her habits sedentary. The young ladies followed in a cluster, stooping, shuffling, poking, and using every other means by which English young ladies of a certain class get out of the room. Roscius, alone, 'still hovered about the enemy'-till, with some difficulty, he had extricated his shapeless hat from under the feet of Lord George, who was by this time, sprawling on the sofa; and having achieved this, with a formal bow, which he had learnt at the same time as his speech, he left the room.

"What, in the name of wonder,' said Lord George, 'is that young Esquimaux, whom we found exhibiting; and who are his attendant squaws?'

"That lady was the sister of Sir James; the others were her children,' Lady Matilda replied, in a tone calculated to stop any further attempts at ridicule."

The Hobsons get into France, and the following is a further specimen of the author's powers of humour

"The feeling which one experiences in the first change from an English to a French inn, must be like that of a horse, who is suddenly taken out of a warm, close stable, and turned into a loose box. In the first, he is often cramped for room; kept much too hot; plagued with superfluous care and attention; never left enough to himself; and stuffed beyond what he can eat. In the other, he has a fine, roomy, airy place, to walk about in, and nobody ever seems to trouble his head about him, or to come near him, except at random, to feed him, when they have nothing else to do.

"At any rate, if the comparison be not quite just, it is one which struck Tom Hobson, as he and his family were turned into a large, staring out-of-the-way kind of room, and left to their fate. Minutes, that seemed hours, passed, and there was no appearance of any one taking the least notice of them. Mrs Hobson, on whom the discipline of the packet had entailed a most ravenous appetite, now became most clamorous. All in vain;-at last she heard a footstep on the stairs, and sallied forth. There she caught a stray waiter, singing-Partant pour la Syrie. He was proceeding on his way, without attending to her, when hunger made her bold; and though she had lost her 'Manuel de Voyager,' she screamed at him, as she thought, in the words of that useful publication 'Je suis femme il faut me manger. The garçon stared a moment, in astonishment; when the truism contained in the first part of the sentence, not seeming to reconcile him to the obligation implied in the remainder,-he passed on Partant pour la Syrie.' Their case thus seemed quite desperate; when first anauthoritative voice was heard upon the stairs, abusing everybody to the right and left; of which the most audible words were,- Sacre! de faire attendre; Sacre! Milord Hobson ;--une des plus riches familles d'Angleterre; Sacre!"and, to their astonishment, there appeared the figure of the much-despised courier, sacreing into the room the identical garçon. Leon's altered appearance, in

Rule a

Wife and have a Wife,' did not create greater surprise, nor, indeed, a more complete change in manner and deportment; nor was it easy to recognise the little, helpless, much enduring being, in the shabby surtout and oil-skin hat, in the arbitrary, bullying, swaggering hero, glit. tering in gold lace and scarlet, with shining yellow leather breeches, and clattering about in a commanding pair of boots. It was like the Emperor Napoleon, ri

VOL. XIX

sing from a sous-lieutenant of artillery, upon the extinction of the ancien régime, into absolute power.

"Thus, after the short-lived anarchy of the steam-boat, Pierre had completely superseded all the former legitimate authorities of the Hobson family. From that time forward, nothing could be done without him; all Mrs Hobson's almost unintelligible wants were obliged to receive his sanction, before they could be satisfied;-old Hobson's eau-de-vie and water could not be obtained without his approbation;-Tom was obliged to resign, into his more efficient command, all future control over the postilions; their heads on a downy pillow unless it -even the young ladies could not lay was procured by him; and when Miss Hobson desired that she might have deux gros matelots on her bed, he it was that saved her from the danger to which an unconscious substitution of one vowel for another might have otherwise subThe dinner was not only jected her. obtained at once by the exertion of his authority, but upon the whole gave astonishing satisfaction. True it is, that old Hobson began by dg the soup, as mere salt-water, with sea-weed floating in it; by which he succeeded, as usual, in making what, from recent recollections, was to all the party precisely the most unwelcome of similies. Some Maintenoncotelettes, too, excited much admiration; Mrs Hobson wondering why they were wrapped up in paper; and Tom, supposing that they were meant for them to carry in their pockets, instead of sandwiches.

"Dinner being finished, and the rain continuing, the party were again reduced to their internal resources for amusement; and as the detail of these is not likely to afford much gratification to my readers, I shall leave them for the present, to pursue their journey, turning my attention to more important personages."

We have already expressed our dissatisfaction with the want of originality in the plot. We think, too, it might have been managed with greater effect. Love can break, and has broken, far stronger bonds than those with which the author has encircled his heroine; and we think the story would have carried with it a deeper interest and a higher moral, had Matilda been made to violate the duties of a mother with those of a wife, and feed his altar not only with the sacrifice of a husband, but of a child. She should have died too, we think, not from any of the common accidents of nature, not

E

from the neglect or contumely of the world, not from any change in the affections of one for whom she had given up all, but in the full possession of everything that she had looked forward to as necessary to her happiness, from that deep and settled consciousness of irrecoverable guilt and shame working like madness in her brain, and turning the cup of happiness into bitterness and poison. There is, however, much deep feeling and power displayed in the working up of the closing scene of the catastrophe with which the story concludes. In justice to the author, we extract a portion of the last pages

"Ormsby's absence had been unexpectedly protracted, by the difficulty he had found in accumulating from so many different quarters, and in a foreign land, the conclusive proofs of Santelmo's birth, and in tracing his identity through the different situations of his early life. But at length Matilda received from him the glad tidings that his disinterested labours had been brought to a successful termination, and that the evidence he had obtained was such as could not be resisted in any court of justice. He added, that, as the speediest mode of returning to her, he should embark in a felucca at Genoa, and again should have the inexpressible delight of beholding her on the day immediately succeeding that in which she received the letter. In conclusion, he congratulated himself on the intelligence he had received from England, that Sir James Dornton's divorce bill had already passed one branch of the Legislature, and that, therefore, almost immediately upon his return he should have it in his power to make her irrevocably his.

"I am aware,' said her friend, Mrs Sydney, upon this intelligence being communicated to her, I am aware that, in the minds of many excellent persons, very considerable doubts are entertained as to the propriety of these marriages; but, in my humble opinion, it is contrary to the benevolent principles of our religion to place any one in a state of irreclaimable sin. Many I know of those who have been thus redeemed, have been irreproachable as wives and mothers; and, in your particular case, I trust that the salutary interval of solitary repentance may have so chastened your mind, as that you will be properly prepared solemnly to undertake these new duties. Matilda bowed her head in humble acquiescence.

"The morning of the day on which Ormsby was expected was serene and brilliant; it was one of those extraordinary efforts of nature, which, in that de

licious climate, defying he calculations of the calendar, charm one with a feeling of summer security even in the midst of winter. Matilda had persuaded her friend to accompany her to the farther extremity of the terrace which faces the sea; and on the smooth and sunny horizon her eye had long been fixed, endeavouring to catch the first glimpse of the expected vessel. But there was not, on all this wide expanse of waters, even one white wave to be seen, which for a moment she could mistake for a shining sail. Still it was early, and the kind efforts of Mrs Sydney to calm her impatience were for some time not entirely without success. Yet hour passed after hour, and still he came not. At length the sun, which had played on the rippled surface before them, had now retired in its daily course to glitter on the still snowy summit of the Alps behind them; and the short hectic cough of Mrs Sydney, which this chilly change aggravated, reminded Matilda of the danger of indulging in the selfish pleasure of longer detaining her there. She insisted, therefore, on her immediately leaving her and returning home.

"When deprived of her companion, Matilda's impatience, of course, increased. 'With so fair a wind,' she thought, 'he might have been here before now.' As she uttered these words, she started at a sudden gust which, rustling in the fallen leaves, carried them before her in a sort of whirlwind to a considerable distance. In her present state of nervous excitement, even so trifling an incident for a moment checked that bounding sense of happiness which she had previously in vain endeavoured to repress, though her reproving conscience told her, that the pleasure she anticipated was a forbidden and guilty one. But this transitory uneasiness again subsided with the momentary agitation of the passing breeze which caused it; and yet a little while she indulged the unbroken hope of the expected meeting.

"Left alone to revel uninterruptedly in the enjoyment of her excited feelings, she now eagerly sought a remote promontory, from which she thought she might command a more distant prospect of the course he must come. But when at length she did reach that point, wide and wild enough was the scene that met her view, yet far different from that which she had fondly anticipated.

"Those alone who have actually experienced the awful manner in which, without the least warning of impending danger,tremendous squalls suddenly burst upon the Mediterranean, can form any adequate idea of the almost miraculous change which now took place in the ap

pearance of all things around, and of the accumulating horrors which abruptly presented themselves to the anxious eye of our heroine. Heavy rolling clouds were collecting on all sides-their darkness and gloom aggravated by the struggling rays of the setting sun, which were making a last effort to pierce through their increasing density.

"As she reached the rock she had so anxiously sought, the extensive waste of waters were still discernible, yet not, as an hour since, just rippling their other wise unbroken surface, but 'curling their monstrous heads' to meet the lowering vapours from above. For a moment she stood rooted to the spot, unmoved even by the violence of the gale, which blew with peculiar force around the point. A cold chill ran through her veins. Even as suddenly as the outward appearance of all around had been sadly changed, the fond hopes she had so lately cherished yielded to an overwhelming sense of impending evil. The low hollow murmur of distant thunder lingered like the knoll of death upon her ear. She pressed her hands upon her breast, and rushed wildly down upon the beach. Utterly unconscious was she how long, with feelings of mental agony far superior to any sense of personal suffering, she wandered in the neighbourhood of that dreary point. "It was only in the aggravation of her fears for him in whom self was utterly absorbed, that she felt the pelting rain which drenched her light garments; it was only as it impeded her clearer view of the boundless ocean, that she regarded the heavy spray which dashed unceasingly against her delicate frame. But it was no fleeting form assumed by the evervarying spray, it was no fancied creation of her troubled spirit, when, almost within reach of the shore, rising upon the darkness before her, a light sail met her eye. One moment she caught it, as waving wildly in the wind, it flapped heavily over the heads of those from whose control it had broken. It was but a moment, and the last appalling scream of human misery struck upon her ear, as it swept sadly by-mingling with the howling of the tempest.

"Those whose career had been thus

abruptly closed, were not more unconscious of all that followed the harrowing sound of their expiring agonies, than was the poor sufferer who had been fated to witness them; for almost lifeless, drenched with the rain, and her arms outstretched towards the sea, extended upon the beach, the unfortunate lady was found by her anxious friend,-who had till now in vain sought her from the beginning of the storm, which she knew was so calculated to excite her well-grounded fears for the safety of one on whom her whole happiness depended.

"It was with the greatest difficulty that when assistance had been procured, Matilda could be prevailed upon to quit the spot on which she had been found. Her senses had suffered from the shock she had experienced; and they were only partially restored, to endure the pangs of a premature labour. Long and doubtful was the struggle; and it was late in the following day, when the almost unconscious mother strained to her broken heart a female child, whose untimely birth and delicate appearance did not promise a longer continuance of life, than could be hoped for its evidently dying mother."

We now bid farewell to Matilda and its author. We say its author, for amid the more stimulating pursuits in which Lord Normanby has already taken no undistinguished part, it is perhaps scarcely to be expected that

we shall soon meet him in that character again. Should his ambition, however, still point to distinction in the walks of literature, we can assure him that his present work is one rather of promise than performance, and that it will require a very strong and effective concentration of his powers, to place him even on a footing of equality with many of his competitors. At all events, the present article will show that we are disposed to regard his efforts with no unfavourable eye, and give the lie to those who accuse us of mixing politics with literature, and of refusing, under any circumstances, to do justice to the productions of a Whig.