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without any argument, of that which constitutes the life, the 'strength, and the peace of the soul."

We cannot lay down the Volume without again tendering our best thanks to the Author of this very interesting memoir, whose piety, candour, and benevolence are unobtrusively, but unequivocally evinced in its pages. To have selected such a subject, does honour to the Biographer; and no one could do justice to the character of such a man as Felix Neff, without becoming in some degree assimilated in feeling to the subject of his por

traiture.

Art. III. The Buccaneer. A Tale. In three Volumes. pp. 966. Price 17. 11s. 6d. London, 1832.

WE presume that the name of the Author, though not an

nounced on the title-page, is no secret. Yet, had we not been informed upon the best authority, that this tale is the production of a deservedly popular female writer, we confess that we should not have detected the pen of Mrs. Hall. There is a masculine vigour and breadth of style, a dramatic force of conception in the characters, and a range of imagination, not displayed in any of her former writings, and very rarely exhibited by any female author. The power of mind exerted in realizing and depicting scenes with which the writer cannot by possibility have been familiarized, except by the writings of others, is indeed extraordinary. If, in these volumes, Mrs. Hall must be considered as an imitator, it is a pupil's imitation of his master, which does honour to both. In the bold track which Scott first opened, it required almost equal courage and tact to follow. There is much in these volumes that reminds us of the great departed magician, though nothing that can be regarded as servilely borrowed; and we might almost fancy that he had lent his wand, although it is no longer the same arm that wields it. The hand is slighter, yet not feeble; and if there is not the same force of muscle, there is the strength of excitement. But, in stepping into this magic circle, a female writer of necessity treads dangerous ground. She is required to lay aside as it were the costume of her sex, to assume a masculine voice, and to tread sometimes on the very verge of those proprieties which are the outworks of feminine delicacy. Such characters as the Buccaneer and his associates are rough subjects for a lady's pencil; though bandits, outlaws, and corsairs are very picturesque personages, and have found favour in the eyes of at least the ladies of romance. Hall has, upon the whole, acquitted herself in this false position with as few violations of moral decorum as the case would admit of; but, in those parts of the story and dialogue in which such wild and coarse personages are introduced, it is more by what they

Mrs.

do not say, than by what they do, that we gather that they are under the restraints imposed by a lady's presence. There is much less swearing and profane vulgarism than would be perfectly natural, in the conversation of such worthies, or than we should expect to meet with in a tale of a buccaneer; and we give the Author credit for a wish to keep her pages as clear as might be deemed expedient from such dis-embellishments; but there is quite enough to preclude our bestowing unqualified praise, or indiscriminately recommending the volumes to perusal.

In fact, in meddling with such works, we feel to be almost compromising our grave judicial character. They are a contraband literature, which it is in vain to attempt to prohibit, but which at the same time it is not our business to encourage. In perusing works of this class, we too often find ourselves forced to admire what we cannot approve; pleased, interested, fascinated by the perusal, and dissatisfied with ourselves on reflecting what has so much pleased us. Yet, they form too prominent and characteristic a feature of our literature to be passed over; and the amount of talent and genius lavished upon this class of productions, is indeed astonishing. In no other department, perhaps, is the literature of the day so fertile of talent. Whatever else does not sell, or fails to obtain readers, tales and stories find a market always open and a perpetual demand. And writers are not altogether to be blamed, who, finding that such fancy-works alone ensure a sale, strike into this line of composition. It is well when they can be rendered subservient to useful instruction; but it is more safe to class them under the head of Amusement, since their efficiency as instruments of mental or moral training is very indirect and limited. The tendency of a tale does not lie in its 'moral', but in the company and associations to which the story introduces the reader, in the scenes described and the sentiments suggested in the progress of the tale.

Tried by this standard, we regret that we cannot award much commendation to the work before us. The characters of Dalton, Burrell, Springall, Roupall, and Fleetword may carry a lesson with them; but better by far that that lesson should never be learned from familiarity with such characters, even in imagination. Against the introduction of such a personage as Fleetword, we more especially and strongly object, for reasons of which the Author must be well aware. It is merely because we acquit her of any irreligious intention, that we refrain from employing stronger terms of reprobation. The example of the Author of "Tales of my Landlord ", is no apology. Nor can we allow any force in the plea, that such ideal characters have an historic verity, and are true to the costume of the age. That obsolete costume, it must be remembered, was not at the time so ridiculous as it now appears; and the selection of such a character can have no other

VOL. IX.-N.S.

F

effect, than to cast ridicule upon the class. There have been Tartuffes, and Mawworms, and Mucklewraths; but this supplies no extenuation of the unfairness and reckless impiety which brings them upon the stage.

The majority of Mrs. Hall's readers will not trouble themselves with considerations of this nature; and from them, she will hear, and deservedly as regards the talent she has displayed, the plaudits of success. We have no wish to mingle with them a harsher note; and having cautioned our readers against mistaking our critical testimony to the literary merit of her performance for unqualified commendation, we shall proceed to give some further account of its subject-matter and execution.

The following dialogue will introduce our readers to the Buccaneer and one of the principal personages in the tale, and will indicate the basis of the plot.

Sir Robert Cecil was standing, or rather leaning, with folded arms, against a column of the dark marble chimney-piece, which, enriched by various carvings and mouldings, rose nearly to the ceiling. The Baronet's hair, of mingled grey and black, had been cropped according to the approved fashion of the time; so that his features had not the advantage of either shadow or relief from the most beautiful of nature's ornaments. He might have been a few years older or younger than the sailor who had just entered; but his figure seemed weak and bending as a willow-wand, as he moved slowly round to receive his visiter. The usually polite expression of his countenance deepened nto the insidious, and a faint smile rested for a moment on his lip. This outward show of welcome contrasted strangely with the visible tremor that agitated his frame: he did not speak; either from inability to coin an appropriate sentence, or the more subtle motive of waiting until the communication of the stranger was first made.

'After a lengthened pause, during which Dalton slowly advanced, so as to stand opposite Sir Robert Cecil, he commenced the conversation, without any of that show of courtesy which the knowledge of their relative situations might have called for: even his cap was unre

moved.

"I am sorry, Sir Robert, to have come at such a time; nor would I now remain, were it not that my business"

"I am not aware," interrupted the Baronet, "of any matters of 'business' pending between us. I imagine, on reflection, you will find that all such have been long since concluded. If there is any way, indeed, in which I can oblige you, for the sake of an old ser

ce

we

«« Servant!” in his turn interrupted Dalton, with emphasis; have been companions, Sir Robert-companions in more than one act; and, by the dark heavens above us, will be so in another-if necessary."

The haughty Baronet writhed under this familiarity; yet was there an expression of triumphant quietude in his eye, as if he despised the insinuation of the seaman. "I think, considering all

things, you have been pretty well paid for such acts, Master Dalton; I have never taken any man's labour for nothing."

"Labour!" again echoed the sailor; "labour may be paid for, but what can stand in lieu of innocence, purity of heart, and rectitude of conduct?"

"Gold-which you have had, in all its gorgeous and glowing

abundance."

"""Twon't do," retorted the other, in a painfully subdued tone; "there is much it cannot purchase. Am I not at this moment a banned and a blighted man-scouted alike from the board of the profligate Cavalier, and the psalm-singing Puritan of this most change-loving country? And one day or another, I may be hung up at the yardarm of a Commonwealth-Heaven bless the mark !-a Commonwealth cruiser!--or scare crows from a gibbet off Sheerness or Queenborough; or be made an example of for some act of piracy committed on the high seas!"

"But why commit such acts? You have wherewithal to live respectably quietly."

Quietly!" repeated the Skipper; "look ye, Master-I crave your pardon-Sir Robert Cecil; as soon could one of Mother Carey's chickens mount a hen-roost, or bring up a brood of lubberly turkeys, as I, Hugh Dalton, master and owner of the good brigantine, that sits the waters like a swan, and cuts them like an arrow-live quietly, quietly on shore! Santa Maria! have I not panted under the hot sun of the Caribbees? Have I not closed my ears to the cry of mercy? Have I not sacked, and sunk, and burnt without acknowledging claim or country? Has not the mother clasped her child more closely to her bosom at the mention of my name? In one word, for years have I not been a BUCCANEER? And yet you talk to me of quietness! Sir, Sir, the soul so steeped in sin has but two resources-madness, or the grave the last even I shrink from; so give me war, war, and its insanity."

"Cannot you learn to fear the Lord, and trade as an honest man ? "

Dalton cast a look of such mingled scorn and contempt on his companion, that a deep red colour mounted to his cheek as he repeated, "Yes! I ask, cannot you trade as an honest man?”

"No! d-n trade: and I'm not honest," he replied fiercely. May I beg you briefly to explain the object of your visit?" said the Baronet at last, after a perplexing pause, during which the arms of the Buccaneer were folded on his breast, and his restless and vigilant eyes wandered round the apartment, flashing with an indefinable expression when they encountered the blue retreating orbs of Sir Robert.

"This, then I require a free pardon from Old Noll, not only for myself, but for my crew. The brave who would have died, shall live with me. As a return for his Highness's civility, I will give up all free trade, and take the command of a frigate, if it so please him.'

"One word more. The Protector's plans render it impracticable for me to continue as I have done on the seas. I know that I am a

marked man, and unless something be determined on, and speedily, I shall be exposed to that ignominy which, for my child's sake, I would avoid. Don't talk to me of impossibilities: you can obtain the pardon I desire; and, in one word, Sir Robert Cecil, you must!"

'Sir Robert shook his head.

"At your pleasure, then, at your pleasure; but at your peril also. Mark me! I am not one to be thrown overboard and make no struggle. I am not a baby to be strangled without crying, If I perish, facts shall arise from my grave,-ay, if I were sunk a thousand fathoms in my own blue sea,-facts that would You may well tremble and turn pale! The secret is still in our keeping. Only remember, I fall not singly."—Vol. I. pp. 22—29.

The next chapter introduces us to a death-bed scene, which is touchingly described. Before she expires, Lady Cecil extorts from Sir Robert a promise, that he will not compel their daughter Constance, the heroine of the tale, to wed Sir Willmott Burrell, to whom she has been in early life contracted. Cecil Place, the scene of these transactions, is picturesquely described.

'It was situated on the slope of the hill, leading to the old monastery of Minster. Although nothing now exists except the church, a few broken walls, and a modernized house, formed out of one of the principal entrances to what was once an extensive range of monastic buildings; yet, at the time of which we treat, the ruins of the nunnery, founded by Sexburga, the widow of Ercombert, king of Kent, extended down the rising ground, presenting many picturesque points of view from the small but highly-cultivated pleasure-grounds of Cecil Place. Nothing could be more beautiful than the prospect from a rude terrace which had been the favourite walk of Lady Cecil. The small luxuriant hills, folding one over the other, and terminating in the most exquisite valleys and bosky glades that the imagination can conceive the rich mixture of pasture and meadow land-the Downs, stretching to King's Ferry, whitened by thousands of sheep, whose bleating and whose bells made the isle musical,-while beyond, the narrow Swale, widening into the open sea, shone like a silver girdle in the rays of the glorious sun,-were objects indeed delightful to gaze upon.

Although, during the Protectorate, some pains had been taken to render Sheerness, then a very inconsiderable village, a place of strength and safety, and the ancient castle of Queenborough had been pulled down by the Parliamentarians, as deficient in strength and utility, no one visiting only the southern and western parts of the island could for a moment imagine that the interior contained spots of such positive and cultivated beauty.

It was yet early, when Constantia Cecil, accompanied by a female friend, entered her favourite flower-garden by a private door, and strolled towards a small Gothic temple overshadowed by wide-spreading oaks, which, sheltered by the surrounding hills, had numbered more than a century of unscathed and undiminished beauty, and had as yet escaped the rude pruning of the woodman's axe. The morning habit of the noble Constance fitted tightly to the throat, where it was