THE HEIR OP SHERBORNE..

THERE are persons who induce mistrust. They may be pleasant, plausible, smooth, clever, but their very oiliness puts people on their guard ; and for some cause or other their abilities seem to fail of effect, sometimes even to do them injury. Many who feel this mistrust can give no reason for it, beyond the common one, " I do not like you, Doctor Fell." The real cause seems to be an evident insincerity in the person. It May be that he as often tells truth as falsehood, and that his remarks are just enough; but the hearer instinctively feels that the speaker would as lief have reversed his speech, for the truth is not in him.

The same thing takes place in literature. A book may be smart, clever, readable ; but it shall not produce an effect propor- tioned to the talent displayed, because there is a something which repels the interest of the reader. This " something" is generally a want not perhaps of veracity but of critical truth. In matters of fact, what the writer asserts may be true, but it is a partial truth, and therefore leaves a false impression. In the higher re- gions of fiction or poetry, the representations have no reality; they get no nearer the true than hacknied conventionalism set off by a kind of unhesitating smartness.

• The Heir of 8herborne; or the Attainder. In three volumes. Published bS Bentley. Such is The Heir of Sherborne. The writer has a facile, smart., confident ability ; knows something about the early times of Charles the First, the age in which the scene is laid; and has a clever invention, with a knack of contriving situations, though it cannot be called dramatic spirit. But the writer cannot perceive the truth as it ought to be in fiction, or does not care about it. Little regard is paid to the accurate representation of known facts if the writer thinks an " effect " can be produced by a change ; the manner of the age are painted by mere phrases and externals, such as dress ; the characters are drawn, the incidents displayed, to make hits which often fail of effect through the very effort. The book is not a story with a series of lifelike incidents, but a set of tableaux not vivans.

The ostensible subject of the work is the fortunes of Raleigh's attainted son—the heir of Sherborne. To restore his blood, to ob- tain the restoration of his father's estate, is the object of Carew Raleigh's life. To accomplish this he forsakes his cousin Elizabeth Throckmorton, and marries a widow of doubtful character, for her money and supposed influence at court; reaping, as he deserves, a life of covert misery. This plot, however, is not the most promi- nent or indeed the most interesting part of the work. The real story concerns the fortune and family of the first Villiers Duke of Buckingham ; beginning with the death of James, and ending with the Duke's assassination. Of course, anything in Buckingham's career which promises to form a striking scene is pressed into use —as the Duke's audacious pursuit of Anne of Austria during his French embassy ; but the story proper is the marriage of Bucking- ham's brother, Lord Purbeck, to Frances Coke, the daughter of the great lawyer and Lady Hatton, as she was called. The marriage takes place notwithstanding an attachment between Frances and the worthless Sir Robert Howard ; and the consequences to be ex- pected ensue. This event is made the medium for the author to exhibit reading about the age and a laboured embodiment of its spirit, which, though sometimes just, is critical rather than dra- matic, and always exaggerated. Lady Hatton's violence outhe- rod's Herod ; yet there is at times a presented glimpse of the oldfashioned stiff and formal manner—polite, hard, and bitter. Coke himself is more favourably drawn ; the lineaments of the great lawyer, judge, and man of the Tudor world, are preserved, with touches of hunianity under all,—which, however, authority does not warrant, so far as we know. Both Buckingham and Lord Purbeck his brother are favourably painted ; the Duke much softer than history warrants, but justifiably so in artistical sense, to attract the reader's sympathy. The following will give an idea of the author's power as a con- triver of scenes. The intrigue of Howard and Lady Purbeck has been suspected ; Howard is committed to the Fleet; Buckingham, half daunted at the family interest he will raise against himself, half persuaded by the solicitations of his Duchess and of Eliza- beth Throckmorton, who has been brought up in his family, and somewhat moved by the confidence of the latter in the innocence of her playmate—allows her to proceed to Hatton House, with a proposal to overlook everything if Lady Purbeck will assure Elizabeth of her innocence. She arrives in the middle of a vio- lent scene between mother and daughter.

"Lady Purbeck rose from her knees, and at this moment Sir Edward Coke entered the room.

"Re had been sent for from his country-seat. Yea, Lady Hatton had been thankful, in her humiliation, when she knew that the hand of Buckingham was ready to fall upon her and her daughter—she had been, indeed, thank- ful to summon her despised and unfashionable husband to her aid. She summoned him, however, much in the same mind as that in which a high- born lady would send for her attorney, and think it a great honour to him to offer his advice.

"Sir Edward came in with a heavy step—a heavier heart. What he had heard had not a good appearance, in his opinion. Women vent their un- happiness in words,- men are usually speechless on such occasions. Sir Ed- ward appeared wholly unable either to address a syllable, or to make the usual salutations, even to his lady. " I crave your pardon, madam,' he said at last. ' Good-day to you, Mis- tress Elizabeth,' he said, and sat down. "'And I, sir,' said Lady Purbeck, turning towards him, am I not worthy of one word ? '

" That may be, or may not be, at your own showing,' replied Sir Edward, in a disconsolate manner. Take that child hence ! ' he suddenly exclaimed, in a loud voice, to the nurse with the infant. The tone was such as had often resounded in Westminster Hall, making the very blood of the prisoner at the bar curdle • and those who knew Sir Edward well would have expected it to be naturally followed by the epithets viper ! " child of hell ! " wretch ! ' and other mild expressions of his contempt. "But to his unhappy daughter Coke had been habitually gentle ; though somewhat after the fashion of a fierce dog when it does not absolutely howl and bark. It was the absence of invective, rather than the display of kind- ness, that had excited the gratitude of his daughter ; for she was wholly un- used to the gentle and steady affection which ordinarily marks the intercourse in our happier days between parent and child. She was therefore penetrated with the hveliest gratitude by the scantiest portion of forbearance and con- sideration from her father.

"He looked at his daughter. There was an air of self-possession and of strong resolution about her, that instantly made the great lawyer resolve to make her ' bite the dust.' It was a result to which he was well accustomed. To affright, perplex, confound, humble, then trample upon a criminal, were he of the gentlest blood, the highest accomplishments, or the most courteous manners, were the means employed by counsel, and even by judges, in the times when Coke flourished, in order to arrive at truth, and to bring about what was termed justice. "Sir Edward was preparing his bitterest form of exhortation, even to his daughter, when Elizabeth stepped forward. Her intervention was as that of a calm seraphic being in a company of demons. She came confidently to- wards her friend Lady Purbeck, full of the conviction that by one word she could be saved. The dignity of purity seemed to hallow every gesture. Lady Hatton was silent. Sir Edward suspended his intended address. " By your leave, madam,' said Elizabeth to Lady Hatton, would fain speak unto Lady Purbeck.' " I am mighty content,' replied Lady Hatton, that you should say aught that you wish here ; but I will none of your privy confabulations with Lady Purbeck.' "'Nay, madam, I did not so much as ask that,' returned Elizabeth. Aught that I have to say is open and direct.' " ' Speak out, Mistress Elizabeth,' said Coke, growling, but bowing respect- fully.

" Frances,' resumed Elizabeth, before thy father, who bath ever cherished thee, I challenge thee to speak the truth. Thou knowest, perhaps,' she added, whilst her eyes were fixed upon her friend with sincere pity and affection, 'that Sir Robert Howard bath been arrested upon suspicion ?' " Which suspicion is strong and violent, Lady Purbeck,' interrupted Coke, in a voice of fury. Elizabeth continued—' Nevertheless, his Grace the Duke of Buckingham' of his good-will, cloth empower me to put to thee—oh, Frances, hear me! so that by one word thou mayeat release one whom thou didst once regard from durance—with one word, settle all angry quarrels. Restore thyself to thy good name.' "Impossible,' said Lady Hatton, taking advantage of a momentary pause : 'that once assailed, a woman is never looked upon by decorous and godly folk.' She drew herself up in all the odour of sanctity as she spoke. Her words grated upon the remaining unextinguished embers of pride and resent- ment in her daughter's heart. "Lady Purbeck averted her head from Elizabeth, and said—' I will answer no questions here. Since his Grace bath thought it meet to incarcerate Sir Robert Howard, he may incarcerate me also. I meet with few regards here,' she added, looking around her. I shall have a new lodging, and new keepers.'

"'Vastly well, Lady Purbeck, vastly well !' cried Sir Edward Coke ; then let the law take its due course : testimony of witnesses will doubtless be ob- tained, and, perchance, a confession from parties concerned. Lady Hatton, I am at your service.'

" 'Frances!' cried Elizabeth, 'Frances ! wilt thou not say one word ? Wilt thou not—eanet thou not—say, am innocent' ?' " ' Mistress Elizabeth, you waste breath on one so contumacious,' inter- posed Lady Hatton, crafty as Satan, and not desirous of drawing from her daughter the confession which she dreaded.

" This proceeding on his Grace's part is altogether irregular, madam,' said Coke : let justice be done in the face of the world. Go to, Lady Purbeck—to your chamber, madam, until 'tis my pleasure to release you.' " Lady Purbeck looked at him once : the eyes of the father and daughter met.

"'See, madam, that no one have access to her,' added Coke ; and Lady Hatton led the way to her daughter's apartments. "They went out : the door closed. Then the sounds of loud wailing and weeping were heard from within. " 'My father!—my father !' " For God's sake, comfort her, sir!' cried Elizabeth, who was left in the chamber alone with Sir Edward Coke ; for pity's sake, call her back—for- give her !'

" Never !' replied the unhappy man, in a broken and disconsolate voice ; 'never, Mistress Elizabeth, never—never P he reiterated. He stamped his foot. Let her go hence !—now, and for aye ! Why should I see her again ? Marked'st thou not, Mistress Elizabeth, that she bath not responded to thy question ? No, she bath dishonoured me—that is plain ! I have sons,' re- sumed the heartbroken father, who would gladly avenge her disgrace : but what of that ? Can they bring back my child to me ?—can they bring Frances to me ? No ! Howard's paramour shall never cross my threshold! The Duke need not be let nor hindered of his revenge—she is none of mine now !'

"He clasped his bands over his brow. "'Where am I ? This chamber seemeth to turn round ! I am ill, Mis- tress Elizabeth ; call not my serving-men.' "He reeled against the wall ; Elizabeth supported him to a chair. She took up a little hand-bell near her, and was on the point of ringing for aid.

" 'No, no !' said the old man, in his deep, low, solemn tones ; 'I am not much amiss, and they are here fine folk. I will go home—home to my chambers, where—God help me !'

"Perhaps it was the thought of the desolate, dreary hours of thought that were to be encountered there. Elizabeth entreated that she might send for his sons.

"No' no,' he answered mildly, but positively - ' humbly thank you, Mistress Elizabeth. No; they have their mother's heart. No, I thank you; I shall go home.' " He walked away, alone : people saw him cross the court of Hatton House, feebly ; but none ran out to help him, any more than they would have of- fered their services to the meanest tradesman. Others remarked him, tot- tering along Holborn, and crossing into that passage called Great Turnstile ; and so he buried himself in his chambers, amongst his books.

" The father and daughter met no more!"