THE SQUIRE.

LIRE the Merchants Daughter of this writer, The Squire is a true romantic novel; and chargeable, like the others of its race, with doing mischief to youthful readers by painting a state of life which never was and never will be realized. in The Squire this evil is aggravated by the ability displayed. The writer,. whether male or female, is a person of parts and of some observa lion of character ; and has looked at inanimate nature under various aspects. She (at a venture) also possesses considerable invention and power of composition. Besides these qualities of the author, the book itself has in the main a coherence in the structure of the story, and a consistency in the characters, which will seem like truth to those who cannot test it by experience. Those who can, will know full well that it is the life they fancy in reverie hut never meet.

The scene of The Squire is laid in the middle days of GEORGE the Third, when highwaymen were still rife, deep drinking was the fashion, squires were coarser if not stupider than at present; and the distinctions between different classes of society being more strongly marked, equicncals, by dint of impudence, dress, and address, were often picked up by thought- less individuals, and introduced even into their families.* But the author of The Squire has not the perfect knowledge of a bygone age uhich is possessed by the writer of The Lady Annabetta. The former mingles %%hat she has seen of the present with what she has read of the past, adding much front her own invention, until the result is a product which never existed. Instances are upon record of spendthrift gentlemen, who, favoured by the circumstances of those less scrupulous auil close-lot king times, maintained their station in society , and raised their supplies on the highway. In Me Squire, we have such an incident altered, and its probability destroyed. The cool, wary, polished, and universally-liked Mr. Durn&rd, with- out extravagant habits, and successful in making money by cheating his friends and sponging upon them, needed not to have taken to the road; and if he had, he would never have connected himself with a low cAnpanion like Wildfire. This worthy, too, is more like the ruffian burglar of twenty years ago, than the polite highwayman of the last century, who levied contributions with the smoothness of a finance minis- ter. The Squire himself, though well conceived, is in some measure a failure : alter drawing him in exact consistency with the manners of his time, the writer changes the nature of the fox- hunting boor, into that of the thoughtful man of the world, when ill-health and god examples dispose him to be devout. Nor does the writer, with all her religion, display tile highest stonse of right. Her hero, to our notion, acts more like a sneaking fiatune- hunter than a high-spirited youth: and we think Mr. Demi- ford's description of his conduct quite correct. Nor does Miss Mahas leaving her house in the way described, at the instigation of the general villain Durnsford, seem to us consistent with the paragon of religious resignation which she is painted. " Do not evil that good may come." The story is too complex to unravel ; nor is The Squire a hook that would be worth perusing if one knew " how it was to end.' There is, however, no lack of romance, variety, stir, incidents. We have a murder, an elopement, a pursuit for life and death, a trial, and an escape. There are lots of mystery for these who like it, all duly cleared up ; together with all the staple characters of the novel, always improved and often animated by the ability of the writer.

The Squire himself, as first painted by the author, is the most generally true character, were it not for the break-down already noticed. Here he is, touched off with a spice of satire.

Philip Conyers was kind-hearted, generous, and hospitable, incapable of a mean or dishonourable action ; a good specimen of the country equire of that day. Ile was an easy laudlord and master, harsh only Co poachers anti vs. grants ; always ready to assist the unfortunate, when it thid not interfere with hunting, shooting, or his more than 'Inc abhorrence of foreign habits and inno- vation', ; a bull rider, a hearty eater, and a Introl drinker, according to the fashion of the times. Never was a more stanch supporter of old custom,. He • Strange as it may seem, the Newgate Calendar, and other chronicles of a kindred nature, have not unfrequeut instances of tide kind of iucautiuus cua- duet even iii heads of families. always voted for the Blue Member, because his family had done so before him'. To crown all, he was a great cheerer at the toast of Church and State, without clearly understanding its meaning, and, unhappily, without thinking of, far less practising, the duties required from a member of that church he valued and toasted, nut for its beautiful liturgy or its apostolic doctrine, but because it had been the religion of his fathers, was that of his neighbourseand connexions, and that he had been brought up in its outward ordinances, and entertained some =Swett idea that its downfal would be connected with some temporal loss to himself, perhaps a deprivation of hunting or a scarcity of wine. To go to the village church, when not very inconvenient, and make his servants do the same —to have mince pies at Christmas, salt-fish on Good Friday, pay his tithes with only a low grumble, or a joke on the parson, who was rarely peen in the parish but 011 Sunday—was sufficient, in his estimation, to mark him as a worthy member of the church.

It was Ned to think that one with so much natural kindness of disposition should have 'reseed the age of fifty with scarcely a care for his eternal welfare, aeriereing to the necessity of faith in a Saviour as a mere dogma, instead of feel. iug the immensity of that Saviour's love and striving to acquire an interest in his sacrifice. If an idea that he must render an account of the talents come nutted to hie charge ever came across him, it was speedily dismissed as unplea. 'art ; he never dwelt on unpleasant things. He defrauded cone, he employed and gave to many. What more could be required ? Of the corruption of the human heart—of the necessity of self-denial—of acts being judged by their prin- ciples, whether proceeding from the love of God, or the desire of the applause of men, or the mere ridding oneself of the importunity and the sight of pain.., he knew uothing, he never inquired.

The whole description of the Squire's household is an admirable picture of the carelessness and want of thrift of a country gentle- man : had every thing been as true, the novel might have been classed with some of the best in the language.

A SQUIRE'S ESTABLISHMENT.

The day was twin to the preceding—no sunshine to gladden, no break in the clouds to give hope. She went over the house and the near grounds with the housekeeper and gardener, and the hasty impression of the day before was confirmed. Though youug and ihexperienced, she could nut fail to perceive thst her father's affairs in evely department were ill managed ; his good-nature in.. (hieing him to grant every request that did not very materially interfere with ha personal comfort. Every family in the village had a member quartered on him in doors or out ; and the number of loiterers in the kitchen and the stables, helping each other to do nothing save devour the squire's substauee, would have been absolutely horrifying to any zealous 'economist.

" One mouth cannot make much difference," had been repeated and acted on till a skeleton regiment might have been embodied from the hangers-on at the Grange. Much was actually consumed, to the moral advantage of none,—for idleaess teaches no good ; aud, unhappily, still more was lost and wasted. There was everywhere, and in every thing, the same contrast of want and abundance, spoiling or ill applied, which Mabel had remarked the day before. Waste, ex. travagence, and indolence reigned in every department, and the Grange was as though under the absolute rule of the fairy Disorder.

There was little outward pomp or show ; to one used to neatness, nothing like comfort. But a princely fortune could not long have stood the under current of waste, and it was reported that the squire's hinds were not lightly mortgaged; but this was the only point on which Ile was nut pelfectly frank and open. The domain once belonging to the Centers had been sadly curtailed in its descent. whenever the expiration or cutting off of an entail allowed a sale. It was believed that the estate had not come unincumbered to the present pos. sessor ; lout, as the last in tail, it rested with him to clear by a further sale any diffieultiee caused by himself or others, as also to deviee the property as he should ehaose. A Mat on the suhject ever put him in a passion ; al he would not se tl it his kindness. which descended into weakness, and his disinelina- tion t., kelt into his own affairs, must sooner or later cause the catastiophe he dreaded. With Burleigh he thought, " Ile who sells an acre of land Lees an ounce of credit," and sell laud he would not, neither would he curtail Ills eX.

DIFTICULTIES or DOMESTIC 11E10101.

Distneseel at the strung evidence of waste, Mabel spoke gently on the sub. j.e:t, her father having desired her to take the control of the household ; but the tash ef nuking that household clean, thrifty, and orderly, would have ex. ceeded t1.0 powers of Hercules. He might cleanse the Augean stable he would not have reformed and purified the household at the Grange. Every hint even at a better arrangement was met by the reply, that " it was according to Inas. ter'e wiii or wishes ; it had been so for years they had been too long neut• toineil to old ways to learn new fashions." Poor Mabel was indeed alone.

Her f ..titer was displeased with her tears and timidity ; and the servants showed their vexation at the presence of a mistress, aull worse, a le:hieing mistress, one who loved neatness and frugality. The very dogs, teking her fear fur iU.will, showed their teeth at her approach, save old Pompey and the young Newfuundlaud, who, much to her anuoyance, continued his nepertiuent advaaces ; and even the old black cat swore at her for finding fault wiffi her helping herself to sonic cold beef, without waiting fur the cereinuny of per lids. shin or the etiquette of a knife and fork.

We are creatures tif habit; and it is very disagreeable to be forced to be cleanly when one has learnt to find pleasure in being thirty, to he compelled to he iii order when one has acquired a taste for disorder. Besides, once begin reform, there is nu knowing where it may cud. The elle bangers•un trembled for their idlenees ; the engaged domestics fOr their perquisites, allowed or disallowed ; some feared that they should be obliged to work, others to teinAiU sober. Their master could nut with much showof justice reprove them on the latter point, their young lady might. Minur dffe

ferences were forgotton, and all united in a resolution to resist the new ruler ta the home department, to preserve their rights untouched (for as rights they considered them front habit) and their abuses unreformed. A determined but civil opposition to her wishes was unanimously resolved on. One rebel might have beeu dismissed ; but their kiud-heal tied master would never part with all his old servants.

• CHARACTER.

Relations he had few—at least in those parts, or of whom he talked; but his friends were countless—nearly, if not quite :of equal number with his ae. quaintsuee. lie had the penetration to discover the way all wished to walk, and the tact and good-nature never to seem to wind before them in that way. He could du all things for every body ; prescribe for dame or clog; talk sense and politeness to the mother ; sing and dance with the (laughter; drink and discuss agriculture with the tither; hunt and shout with the sou. He was the friend of the faruily in fainilies innumerable. But the most remarkable things about him were, that though all came to him for consolation and advice, none were jealous of his influence; and though willing to oblige all, no one despised him ; no one spoke of him with contempt. His was genius—the highest genius for society. He had no fixed borne. How could he have, without unkindness to his numerous friends in every part of England ? His home was everywhere, with all his friends ; and never was he known to weary any with his presenc!, ever departing before the heart ackuowledged and long eie the lip said that his ball been long. He was always pressed with sincerity to remain ; ever welcomed with pleasure, and ever parted from with regret ; whilst his steady and taciturn groom, with his three tine horses. were pattered in some neigh- bouring village, if their master entertained the shadow of a doubt as to his host's hospitality.

There are some passages in the volume where the writer stops her tale to speak in her own person,,and some where she puts her own opinions into the mouths of others. These parts are not without ingenuity and truth, but are perhaps too inflated, or too elaborate. The that of the following pair of extracts is an in- stance of one defect, the second of the other.

INDIVIDUAL INSIGNIFICANCY.

Self-knowledge is not learnt in solitude; where none oppose, the will becomes 3 tyrant. You must learn front suffering a wiser judgment of your powers. youth, presumption, and experience, tit you but ill to cope with man, much less with heaven. You will not find yourself the conqueror in every mortal struggle; ou will learn that you cannot rule your destiny as you imagine: you are not alone, Ind a tine link in the great chain of society—a paltry item in the plan of Providence. Why ant I as I am? Why are thousands as they are, if our will alone could rule our fate? Was I weak and indolent, when you are strong and active ? You may launch your bark, hut will it speed on its course iv spite of wind and tide? Can man command the sky ?—the sea ? Or if he could, shall each distinct one of the pigmy miliions rule without a thought of general good ? If o, the earth would be a fiercer field of tumult and of wrung than the wise hold it now.

MAKING THE MOST OF A FOG.

bull, heavy, chilling, it certainly was, though not unbearable ; such things have been borne before—must be borne again ; but to my judgment, (and I rather pique myself on its correctness—who dues not?) it was more dull, more heavy, more chilling, than would have been a dense, unsightless fog. There is something partaking of the sublime in a real, indisputable fog. When nothing can be seen, all things may be imagined beauties and defects—the grandeur of nature, the littleness of art—the striking outlines of the uncultivated mountain, the petty details of this work-a-day world, are all hidden front our view ; the blind and the seeing, the observing and the heedless, are brought nearly on a level ; none can distinguish more than ten yards in advance, and man sees (pardon the Irishism) how narrow and bounded are his views. It seems as though his mortal comse was run, and he had gained writing by his toil and trouble. He looks back : all is ohjectless, obscure; there is no vestige of his labours gleaming through the mist—his very steps untraced upon the earth. The monument erected to his sorrows and the triumphal arch to his glories, are alike lost in the gloom. His joy. and his griefs have left no trace : he has felt—he bas laughed—he has mourned : perhaps he had wealth—had genius— had dominion—and deemed himself a glorious being: Where are the trophies ef his glory? They are hidden front his view ; his gaze cannot pierce • the gloom there are no visible pools of his triumphs; they are as nothing in the eyes of others—even his own eye cannot mark them. II:. learns a juster estimate of himself—he forms a truer judgment of his deeds. He looks before : how bounded in his view! Ile canuot pierce the glsuei—he cannot see into the future— he trembles at its unseen perils.