HISS SINCLAIR'S BEATRICE..
THE Bible versus the Breviary, or rather versus the alleged peso- tines and principles of Romainsm, is the subject of Miss Sind • s novel; as its object is to raise a warning voice to the ladies of Britain against the snares and delusions of the Papists, as well as to point out the difficulties and something more in which con- ventual life may involve them if they weakly yield themselves to it. Like many fictions in which the story is postponed to some didactic purpose, the elements of Beatrice are derived from books rather than from life. There is the common enough incident of the rightful heiress being kept out of an estate through the cupidity of a relation, except that a Jesuit does the work of the lawyer, and even goes beyond him : Father Eustace persuades Lord Eagles- cairn to ignore the Protestant-bred Beatrice when she arrives from abroad, as a duty to the Church; the same worthy personage having previously burned a false light and extinguished the true beacon to wreck the vessel that carried her. In like manner, the Popish priests and their flock are drawii from their owh theological books and the newspapers of the day, with some of the cell and dungeon inci- dents of the Radcliffe school of romance superadded. Exeter Hall, the Times reports, &c. furnish matter both for outline and colour- ing as regards pastors and flocks, and an Irish election and an Irish mob are transplanted to the Highlands of Scotland. The Conduct of the Papal Church just now, especially in Ireland and France, is deserving of very little indulgence ; and bitterly will her clergy have to rue their deeds on the next Continental revolu: tion. - They are open to any attack that the politician, the polemic, or the philosopher may choose to make : but in fiction, the writer must paint from general life, not from gross and occasional excep- tions; and we think Miss Sinclair rather heightens the colour even of the Scarlet. It is a graver fault in a critical point of view that her Papists are too clever and her Protestants too foolish. A youth thoroughly trained in the Bible and the great English divines under an Episcopalian minister—with the hortations of Sir Evan MsAlpine, a Highland chieftain, and his English aunt, to beware of Jesuits—nay, a Scottish Episcopalian minister himself— are perverted by men whose very look would induce the least sus- picious to stand upon their guard. In other respects, Beatrice must rank as the first of Miss Sin- dales novels. It is written with great, indeed with conscientious care ; the importance of the subject to the writer's mind having, apparently, stimulated to unwonted exertion. The elements of the story are not very new ; but they are varied and elaborated with painstaking thought, and embodied in forms of the present day. This elaboration, combined as it is with theology, produces a de- gree of slowness in the progression, and there. is frequently a di- dactic tone which reminds the reader of #he Juvenile tale. The great deficiency of this author's previous fittions has been want of dramatic life. The persons have acted and spoken too much like automatons. This defect is perhaps beyond the writer's power to remedy altogether ; and traces of it will be found in the level scenes of Beatrice, increased by the fact that a theological object is as present to the writer's =id as the conduct of_her story. In scenes of description or emotion, Miss Sinclair has taken a step for- ward, and exhibited a spirit which we have not recognized before. As an example, part of_Lord Eaglescairn's deathbed may be taken. "In a lofty and spacious room hung with tapestry and pictures, and on a bed hung with curtains of the richest velvet, which were thrown _widely back for air, lay the dying man, in a state of bodily and mental suffering that his worst enemy, if he had one, might have pitied. No language can de- scribe the ghaitly anxiety expressed in his wasted features, as he gazed at Father Eustace, who eat beside him alone, sprinkling his face occasionally with holy water from St. Victore's well, and -holding up a blessed chaplet in articulo mortis. The religion of human coinage was here exhibited in all its feebleness and deformity. No mourning relatives were permitted to ap- proach the expiring sufferer, no sympathizing friends; but he had received the last offices of his church, and nothing was left for him now to do but to die. His pale lips quivered, his mouth was open, his looks wandered from place to place, as if in search of consolation, till at length he turned his face to the wall in speechless anguish, and shunned the eye of Father Eustace, which had been sternly fixed upon him, while he muttered inaudibly Latin prayers for the agonizing, which might as well have been in Chinese or Bin- doo, for any appeal they made to the heart or conscience. At length, un- able Any longer to control his emotions, Lord Eaglescairn with sudden strogth eat up in bed, gazed anxiously around as if in search of some one, and then said, in accents of piercing agony, I cannot die in peace with my seersOltojCigrom the, day of that shipwreck, when you persuaded me, for.Osegintdreate-ettlae church, to defraud that girl of her inheritance never has my 'miserable mind known °fie moment's peace. You tell me, like the l/uke of Burguntiy2s confessor, that you will take upon yourself the punish- ment-dim to my crime. That promise' seemed very sufficient when I was well ; but now !—' Lord Eaglescaim covered his face with his hands, and groaned aloud with agony and apprehension. " There is no future pang
Can deal that justice on the self-condemn'd He dents on his own soul.'—Byron.
‘' 'Remember ' said Father Eustace in a consolatory tone, you have there a crucifix blessed expressly by the Pope for a happy death.'
"Lord Eaglescaim raised his livid face, gazed upon it for a moment in the hands'of his confessor, with a look of unutterable wo ; then pushed it hur- riedly away, and buried his face in the pillows.
"It was the dead hour of midnight, and all was still. The fire had gone out,-the candles burned low in their sockets, and dark were the shadows in every distant corner of that large room in which the confessor and his peni- tent were alone.
" My son,' :mid Father Eustace, you know despair is in itself a sin.' "Yet hope must be denied to a being of crime and impenitence like mine !' exclaimed the dying man. Had I relied on my conscience, it would not have deceived me ; it would never have ceased to reproach me, it would have judged and condemned me : but you put my conscience to sleep, or rather to death, and offered me the use of your own. My sins, during health, were like caged lions, that could not reach me till now ; but a dying memory lets
• Beatrice; or the Unknown Relatives. By Catherine Sinclair, Author of "Sir Edward Graham," "Jane Bouverie," Be. In three volumes. Published by Bentley. them loose tonight, like wild beasts in the desert. Yes, my sins have found me out. I must confess all.'
"My son,' said Father Eustace, assuming a tone of gentle remonstrance, you have confessed —'
"No, no, no ! I need not confess to you, my accomplice,' interrupted Lord Eagleseairn, with a look of dull horror—' you who were my instigator. There are no disguises in death. Who can warrant me that your absolution is ratified ?—that your bail is accepted ? No! Call my son. He already suspects something. He must be told all. He will do justice —' "'Not tonight,' replied Father Eustace, in a tone of authority. 'Dr. Cameron ordered you till tomorrow the strictest silence and solitude.'
"' Tomorrow I shall have the unbroken silence and solitude of the tomb. For me, the next hour that strikes is eternity. The first yawning grave shall be mine. Let my son be summoned now.' "'Impossible. Iowa it to my church and to myself that you do nothing so rash and presumptuous as to act against the advice of your confessor,' re- plied Father Eustace, observing with imperturbable calmness the frenzy of anguish and despair painted in the wan features of Lord Eaglescaim, now pinched and sharpened by approaching death. 'You are excited and ner- vous. Take this composing draught, and we shall talk over all your desires and fears afterwards.'
" 'At a more convenient season which will never come ! ' muttered Lord Eaglescaim grasping the bedclothes with a look of livid despair. My poor disinherited' son, from whom I have alienated all in my 'lower to your church ! What will he think ? What can he do ? Bend him to me now, and torment me no more with your false promisee and pretended miracles. Can you still maintain that, by an absolution such as yours, the dark mass of my crimes could become whitewashed like an old house ? No! My whole existence of late has been a lie. I have acted a part too long, but I will sot no more. My conscience has been chloroformed, but it is now most fearfully awakened. Bend my son instantly. It is no man's affair but my own how I die.'
"'it is the affair of the church ; and it is my affair that you do not in- jure her by an unseemly death,' said Father Eustace, in a low tone of fierce determination ; his whole form expanding with rage, while a gleam of in- tense wretchedness shot through the features of the dying man. Do not forfeit the merit of a whole life by nervous terrors now, by open disobedience and disbelief. Let your dying testimony be a crowning effort, so that your family, servants, and tenants, may see an example —'
"'Not an example, but a warning ! ' exclaimed Lord Eagleacairn in a voice of deep despair. 'Let there be an end, now, of my atrocious &cep- lions. Have you the audacity to speak of my merit? Alai), alas! conscience is awake now' and will sleep no more throughout a long eternity.' "Lord Eaglescairn's voice had become hoarse and low from intense emo- tion, and he grasped the arm of Father Eustace with a look of desponding anxiety ; but there was nothing to hope from the ctilm stern eye of the priest, who silently held out the sleeping potion, saying, Remember, the tarot of duties is obedience. You are not to judge whether I, who command, am right or wrong, wise or imprudent, holy or imperfect; but I come in the name of our order, and your sole care must be to obey. You must give up all
if you would gain all.' .
'I cannot sleep. I have not time to sleep!' exclaimed the dying rasa,. rejecting the potion with fearful earnestness; 'a world of gold for a moment of time ! Do not oppress me in the last struggle of nature. -The sharp stings of memory are tortureil•enough now.' "Then replied Father Eustace," listen to these words from the Boa. viary—' If the winds of temptation arise, if thou run upon the rocks of tri- bulation, look to the star, call upon Mary. If, disturbed with the greatness Of thy sins, troubled at the defilement of thy conscience, affrighted at the horrors of the judgment, thou beginnest to be swallowed up in the gulf of sadness, the abyss of despair, think upon Mary.' "The patient now unwillingly received the draught recommended by Father Eustace in his hand, but with a fixed determination not to expend his few remaining moments in sleep. By a sudden gesture he directed the eye of Father Bustace for an instant towards the door, and during that mo- ment secretly poured the whole potion noiselessly on the bedclothes. He then laid his head back on the pillow, and seemed in a few minutes buried in most profound almost deathlike repose."
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