THE HUGUENOT.

THERE IS a very considerable difference between this fiction and the Tales of the Passions by the same author. The latter was evidently the product of unprepared haste, in which exaggeration of language, sentiment, character, and incident, was tried as a substitute for more sterling qualities. The Huguenot, designed to exhibit the Protestant persecutions under Louis the Fourteenth and the splendour of his Court, is, on the contrary, a work of time and care. Mr. JAMES is familiar with the history of the period he has attempted to illustrate; he has travelled in the dis- tricts and seen the places he describes; he has carefully, and in one sense skilfully, contrived his story so as to e.nbrace the lead- ing characters and features of the period, without presenting their coarse or revolting traits, or interfering with the progress of his tale; and he has laboured the execution of the whole to a sustained though somewhat heavy distinctness and strength. Any reader, to whom Nature has assigned that portion of the critical faculty which according to Pops she denies to very few, will most probably pronounce nearly one-half of the work rather uninteresting: consisting as it does of minute descriptions of scenery and French provincial life towards the close of the seventeenth century ; most elaborate portraits of persons, of whom the reader, knowing nothing as yet, can care little, and some spirited and powerful scenes of an historical and antiqua- rian kind, but seemingly too remote from the purposes of the novel to excite much interest. With the avowal of the hero's love, and the following persecution of the Huguenots, be will feel that the current of the story begins to flow, and some scenes of a tragic nature to take place; the character of the work, but not its attraction, changing when the reader is carried to Versailles, introduced to Louis, Louvois, Maintenon, Bossuet, and other courtiers. The Bastille will be thought again to verge upon the merely historical ; but (after the hero's escape) the revolt, the hopeless combats of the insurgents, and the varying fortunes of the closing scenes, hurry the reader along with them, and will leave the impression on the minds of many that JAMES in histo- rical fiction is the true successor of Scorr.

But if the reader thinks over what he reads, and has trained himself to the habit of analysis, he will find on examining The Huguenot, that it wants the true characteristic of the highest genius, and is not an homogeneous production. The attthor comes . . . " instructed from the schools,

To please by method and invent by rules."

The story does not well ont from the writer's mind, as if he had conceived a congenial subject, matured it by frequent meditation, and threw it off spontaneously though with travail; or (it is difficult to decide which is the productive principle) look like the work of a great artist, who having chosen a subject, considers it according to the laws which he has deduced from study and prac- tice, and rejects every thing, no matter how attractive, but what relates to the unity and congruity of his work, till he produces by art a production so finished and complete as to look like nature. The Huguenot wants this consistency. However skilfully dove- tailed together, close examination will detect its separate parts, and that they have no necessary coherence. It seems as if the author had marked, during his historical labours on the reign of Louts the Fourteenth, tour great points for fiction, such as we have already noted them,—society and its modes of life, the per- secutions of the Huguenots, the Court, and an insurrection ; and that his main object was not to contrive a congruous story, but a story which should embrace them all, and use up his materials without waste. Hence, with nothing impossible, or, looking at the state of the times and allooing for the laws of fiction, with few incidents that are improbable per se, there is much that is incon- sistent in connexion, and some things displaying want of judg- ment. Had the author thrown the state of the times into an his- torical introduction, the heavy first volume might have been com- pressed into three or four chapters ; and when the hero was taken to court and into court favour, the natural denouement would have been his release from the Bastille. But Mr. JAMES was bent upon having both court and war—he would not lose a particle of his labour, and he wanted the high art to bring it all in fittingly: so we are treated to a series of cross-purposes, which drives the hero into rebellion, whilst he is made to seem a monster of in- gratitude, and is put into difficulties merely for the sake of ex- trcation via claptrap. There are minor defects of a similar kind. It is a rule amongst novel-readers, that " every thing ought to be cleared up." This is not the case in The Huguenot. Besides a smaller matter or two, there was no reason in the nature of things for the mystery

hanging over the heroine and her connexion with the Chevalier D'Evran ; though it is useful enough to the writer, if it be not indispensable. The bloody and accidental death of the Cheva- lier, by a discharge Of grape-shot, will grieve the general reader; the critical one will pronounce it useless ; and it has the further defect of somewhat lowering the heroine, by making her propose a marriage over her brother's corpse.

We know not that any of our objections exactly apply to a point which Mr. JAMES has broached in his dedication, though perhaps be may think they do.

" I have heard many authors blamed," says Mr. JAMES, " however, and doubt. lea have been so my.elf, for frequently changing the scene or character before the reader's eyes. There are people who read a romance only for the story, and these are always displeased with any thing that interruptstheir straightforward progress. But Nature does not tell her stories in such a way as these readers desire ; and, in the course of human life, there are always little incidents occurring which seem of no earthly importance at the time, but which, in years !cog after, affect persons, and produce events, where no one could imagine that such a connexion is likely to be brought about.

" I have always in this respect, as in all others ,endeavoured to the best of my abilities to copy Nature ; and those readers who pass over little incidents, be- cause they seem at the time irrelevant, or run on to follow the history of one character, whenever a less interesting personage is brought upon the scene, will derive little either of profit or pleasure from any well.constructed work of fiction."

To this the answer is easy. In a "well-constructed story," neither scenes nor characters are changed otherwise than skil- fully; and the skill consists in making the change when the in- terest of the immediate scene or character is exhausted for the time, and there is a natural pause. In "human life," little things occur which are apparently of great importance, as leading to great results ; but in "human life" we are rarely acquainted with all the causes and consequences of things—we have not that whole before us which it is the end of fiction to give. Neither is it, with due deference to Mr. JAMES, the busi- ness of an author to "copy," but to imitate nature. Otherwise, as HUME has observed, " the report of' the gossip of a tea-table would be the most natural thing possible." Another object Mr. JAMES certainly does his best to achieve, in "exciting our good passions to high and noble aspirations." There is something noble and morally elevated in most of his heroes.

As a variety, we will take a long extract—a moor, a meeting of Huguenots, and an interruption by dragoons.

A MOOR.

The moor had a gentle slope towards the westward. It was covered with gorse and heath, interspersed with old ragged hawthorns, stunted and partly withered, as we often see some being brought up in poverty and neglect, never knowing care or shelter, stinted and sickly, and shrivelling with premature de. cay. Cast here and there amongst the thorns, too, were large masses of rock

and cold gray stone, the appearance of which in that place was difficult to ac- count for, as there was no higher ground around from which such masses could have fallen. A small wood of pines had been planted near the summit of the ground, but they, too, had decayed prematurely in that ungrateful soil; and though each tree presented here and there some scrubby tufts of dark green foligge, the principal branches stood out, white and blasted—skeleton fingers pointing in despairing mockery at the wind that withered them.

The hour was about six o'clock in the evening; and as if to accord with the earth below it, there was a cold and wintry look about the sky which the season did not justify ; and the long blua lines of dark cloud, mingled with streaks of yellow and orange towards the verge of heaven, seemed to bespeak an early autumn. There was one little pond in the foreground of the picture sunk deep amongst some banks and hawthorn bushes, and looking (lark and stern as every thing around it. Flapping up from it, however, scared by the noise of a horse's feet, rose a large white stork, contrasting strangely with the dim shadowy waters.

THE MEETING.

The words of the preacher were poured forth rather than spoken. It seemed less like eloquence than like inspiration. His full, round, clear voice was heard through every part of his large auditory ; not a word was lost, not a tone was indistinct, and the people listened with that deep stern silence which causes a general rustle, like the sighing of the wind, to take place through the multitude when be paused for a moment in his discourse, and every one drew deep the long-suppressed breath.

In the same strain, and with the same powers of voice and gesture, Claude De l'Estang was going on with his sermon, when some sounds were heard at the further part of the crowd, towards the spot where the scene was sheltered by the stunted wood we have mentioned. As those sounde were scarcely sufficient to give any interruption to the minister, being merely those apparently of some other persons arriving, the Count be Morseiul, and almost every one on that side of the preacher, remained gazing upon him as he went on with the same energy, and did not turn their heads to see what occasioned the noise. Those, however, who were on the opposite side, and who, when looking to. wards the minister, had at the same time in view the spot from which the sounds proceeded, were seen to gaze sternly from time to time in that direction; and once or twice, notwithstanding the solemn words they heard, stooped down their heads together, and spoke in whispering consultation. These appearances at length induced the Count De Morseiul to turn his eyes that way ; when he beheld a sight which at once made his blood boil, but made him thankful also that he had come in such guise as even to act as a restraint upon himself, having no arms of any kind upon him.

At the skirt of the crowd were collected a party of eighteenj or twenty dra. goons, who were forcing their horses slowly in amongst the people, who drew back, and gazed upon them with looks of stern determined hatred. The pur- pose of the soldiers, indeed, seemed to be simply to insult and to annoy, for they did not proceed to any overt act of violence, and were so far separated from each other, in a disorderly manner, that it could only be supposed they came thither to find themselves sport, rather than to disperse the congregation by any lawful authority. The foremost of the whole party was the young Blarquis De Hericourt ; and Albert of Morseiul conceived, perhaps not unrea- sonably, that there might be sonic intention of giving him personal annoyance at the bottom of that young officer's conduct. Distinguished from the rest of the people by his dress, the Count was very plainly to be seen from the spot where De Hericourt was ; and the young dra- goon slowly made his way towards him through the press, looking at the people on either sole with but ill-concealed signs of contempt upon his countenance.

The Count determined, as far as possible, to set an example of patience ; and

when the rash youth came close up to him, saying aloud, " Ha, Monsieur De

Morseiul, a lucky opportunity ! I have long wished to hear a pri die," the Count merely raised his hand as a sign for the young man to keep silence, and

pointed with his right hand to the pastor, who, with an undisturbed demeanour and steady voice, pursued his sermon as if not the slightest interruption had oc. curred, although the young dragoon on horseback, in the midst of his people, was at that moment before him.

' De Hericourt was bent upon mischief, however. Hash to the pitch of folly, he had neither inquired nor considered whether the people were armed or not ; but having heard that one of the preachings in the desert was to take place,

be had come, unauthorized, for the purpose of disturbing and dispersing the congregation, not by the force of law, but by insult and annoyance, which be

thought the Protestants would not dare to resist. He listened, then, for a mo-

ment or two to the words of Claude De l'Estang, seeming, for an instant, somewhat struck with the impressive manner of the old man ; but he soon got tired, and, turning the bridle of his horse, as if to pass round the Count De Moreeiul, he said again, aloud, " You've got a number of women here, Mon-

eieur De Morseiul ; pretty little heretics, I've no doubt. I should to have a look at their faces.'

So saying, he spurred on unceremoniously, driving back five or six people be. fore him, and caught hold of one of the women, whom we have noticed as standing not very far from the Count be Morseiul, trying, at the same time, to pull back the thick veil which was over her face. The Count could endure no longer ; more especially as, in the gray cloak and the veil with which the person assailed by the dragoon was covered, he thought be recognized the dress of the lady he had formerly seen at the house of Claude De l'Estang.

Starting forward, then, instantly to her side, he seized the bridle of Da Hen- court's horse, and forced the animal back almost upon his haunches. The young officer stooped forward over his saddle-hoc, seeking for a pistol in his holster, and at the same moment addressing an insulting and contemptuous term to the Count. No sooner was it uttered, however, than he received one single buffet from the hand of Albert of Morseiul, which cast him headlong from his horse into the midst of the people.

Every one was rushing upon him ; his dragoons were striving to force their way forward to the spot ; the voice of Claude de l'Estang, though exerted to its utmost power, was unheard ; and in another instant the rash young man would have been literally torn to pieces by the people he had insulted. But with stern and cool self-possession the Count De Morseiul strode over him, and held back those that were rushing forward with his powerful arms, exclaiming, in a voice of thunder, " Stand back, my friends, stand back ! This is a private quarrel. I must have no odds against an adversary and a fellow soldier. Stand back, I say ! We are here man to man, and whoever dares to take him out of my hands is my enemy, not my friend. Rise, Monsieur De Hericourt," he said in a lower voice, "rise, mount your horse, and begone. I cannot protect you a minute longer." Some of the Count's servants, who had been standing near, had by this time made their way up to him, and with their help be cleared the space around, shouting to the dragoons who were striving to come up, and had not clearly seen the transaction which had taken place, "Keep back, keep back ! " I will answer for his life. If you come up there will he bloodshed."

In the mean time the young man had sprung upon his feet, his dress soiled by the fall, his face glowing like fire, and fury flashing from his eyes. " You have struck me," he cried, glaring upon the Count ; "you have struck me, and I will have your blood." " Hush, Sir," said the Count calmly. "Do not show yourself quite a mad- man. Mount your horse, and begone while you may. I shall he at the Chilteau of Morseiul till twelve o'clock to. morrow," be added in a lower voice, "Mount, mount ! " he proceeded in a quicker manner, seeing some movements on the other side of the crowd of a very menacing kind; "Mount, if you would live and keep your soldiers' lives another minute !"

De Hericourt sprang into the saddle, and while the Count, in that tone of command which was seldom dieobeyed, exclaimed, "Make way for him there; let no one impede him ;" he spurred on quickly through the crowd, gathering his men together as he went.

All eyes were turned to look after him, but the moment he and his troop were free from the people at the extreme edge of the crowd, Ile was seen to speak a word to the man at the head of the file. The soldiers immediately halted, faced round, and, carrying fire-arms as they did, coolly unslung their carbines. The first impulse of that part of the crowd nearest to the dragoons, was to press back, while those on the opposite side strove to get forward, headed by Virlay and Armand Ilerval. The crush in the centre was consequently tre- mendous, but the Count De Morseiul succeeded in casting himself between the female he had saved and the troopers. At the very moment that he did so, the dragoons raise their fusees to their shoulders, and fired at once into the midst of the compact mass of people. Every shot told ; and one unfortunate young man, about two paces from the Count De Morseuil, received no less than four shots in his head and throat. A mingled yell of rage and agony rose up from the people, while a loud exulting laugh broke from the soldiery. But their triumph was only for a montent,for they were instantly assailed by a shower of immense stones which knocked one of the troopers off his horse, and killed him on the spot. Herval and Virlay, too, made their way round behind the rock on which the dem man had been standing ; and it now became apparent, that in that part of

the crowd at least, arms were not wanting, for flash after flash broke from the dense mass of the advaucicg multitude, and swords and pikes were seen gleaming in the air.