MILTON DAVENANT. * AN extensive observation of life, and the results

of much ponder- ing over the opinions and conduct of its various classes, are the distinguishing traits of this novel. There is a varied, well-con- structed story, not without interest, and coherent in itself; there are many scenes of more or less power and effect; and nume- rous characters, at once individualized and types. It is not, however, as a tale, so much as a view of " the times we live in," that Milton Davenant is remarkable. The writer is familiar with most kinds of life, the middle class of towns seeming to be the great exception ; and he presents the reader with vivid embodi- ments of their representatives. Sometimes these are exaggerated in their vices or their virtues; or their actions are at variance with dramatic consistency and the probabilities of life. But there they are, truthful in the broad massy characteristics of their class, and illustrating the moral lesson which the virtues or vices of the class contains, however extreme the means may be by which the particular moral is enforced.

The university and the country parish, or rather the clergy and the rural population, are the two kinds of life with which Mr. Ban- dinel seems most thoroughly familiar; and they are often capitally depicted. The Reverend Mr. Shoreham, the rector of Milton Dave- nant, is one of the best-conceived and sustained characters of mo- dern fiction. The dignified churchman, of a rather bygone day, though the species is not altogether extinct, stands before the reader " teres atque rotuudus," without any of the extreme angu- larities that disfigure some of the other persons. Indeed, the class is so marked in itself that it needs no aid from art beyond a correct delineation. To the narrowest prejudices of the country gentle- man of the old school the Reverend Mr. Shoreham superadds the priestly pride of the High Churchman; though not apparently caring for theological differences, or, according to all human means of test, for religion itself. Still, in manner Mr. Shoreham is a gentleman, though distant to all except his own class or those above him ; and irreproachable in all social, and, so far as general opinion goes, in all domestic relations. Notwithstanding this, he does not fulfil a single duty as a minister, or in any strict sense as a man; and dies without leaving a regret behind him beyond that which his daughters feel for their loss of income and position.

In contrast with Mr. Shoreham is his successor, Mr. Askewell ; • Milton Davenant: a Tale of the Times we Live in. By James Bandinel, Author of "Lufra, or the Convent of Algarve." In three volumes. Published by fiintphiu and Marshall. a pendent to the good parson of Chaucer and Dryden,—admirably conceived and delineated, especially in his moderate intellectual abilities, and the moral results of his straightforward Christian earnestness, but hardly such true-looking flesh and blood as his predecessor. Then, besides several distinguished controversialists, evidently designed for portraits, there is Mr. Pym, the perverted Romanist and Jesuit, but retaining his position as a clergyman of the English Church to more effectually carry out the objects of his order. As a sceptic harassed by doubt, taking refuge in the bosom of an infallible church, and implicitly obeying the commands of his superior, to stifle if possible the doubts which still beset him, Pym is well. conceived. His extraordinary accomplishments, abili- ties, and successful deceit, appear overdone. No doubt, there are striking examples of successful hypocrisy continually taking place among the Tractarians ; but the world does not see the kind of persons they impose upon, while it is well known there are many who penetrate their disguise at an early stage.

Among the rural population, is the yeoman's family the Da'e- nants i • the son of which (not very probably) marries the heroine, Clara Davenant, and turns out to be rightful heir to the estate. This family furnishes fine nnexaggerated specimens of the English yeoman. There are other characters of rural life, and some of a higher order : Sir John Thurtle and his family, mean- spirited tufthunting people ; and Squire Barnwell, an indifferent and let us hope a rare example of the English country gentleman. There are also Lord Ironsides, a type of the proud old peer, and the Earl of Ducandraque, a modern roué. The outline of this last is well drawn ; his mixture of real firmness, courage, and good- nature, with levity of manners and laxity of morals, is well con- ceived; the wretchedness and final close of a life of unscrupulous pleasure well designed ; but with inconsistency and improbability in the means by which the punishment is brought about.

The characters of the tale are often appropriately placed in scenes of daily life, and effectively brought out in dialogue or trifling incidents. These things are accompanied by descriptions, beautiful, though rather elaborated and interruptive of the story; or by interwoven disquisition on the false opinions of society and the present state of religion—thoughtful, vigorous, and searching.

The story is the least successful part of Milton Davenant. The author does not seem to have studied the world so much in its single events as in its classes or their conspicuous figures ; or he has sacrificed his plot to some didactic purpose. The incidents of the tale are all borrowed from the old novel or the old drama; far too much of dramatic suddenness or playwright inconsistency is visible in the story or in the conduct of the persons. A favourite heir disinherited in consequence of a disapproved marriage, a re- pentance too late for him though the property reaches his child, and the bitter feelings which cruelty and poverty have produced, are stock incidents. A supposed false marriage but in reality a legal one, and a broken-down profligate peer marrying a citizen's daughter to retrieve his fortunes, finding himself deceived in the amount, and ill-treating his wife, are or rather were incidents still more common. Other love-stories have less of hacknied character, if they are not more vraisemblable: the whole tale seems intended to inculcate a moral whose truth may be doubted—the propriety of marriages between persons in widely different positions, and against the general opinion of the world. The author's knowledge of life, however, sustains him; the manner in which the tale is told gives it an air of reality.

As an example of Mr. Bandinel's style of remark, a part of the sketch of the Reverend Didymus Dyke may be taken. Mr. Dyke has been a Tractarian, and is almost a pervert; owing to the cir- cumstances described in the following extract,—which embodies an important truth as regards education.

" Didymus Dyke was one of that unhappy class, of whom there are too many at present, who with a certain acuteness of intellect and sensitiveness of imagination have received a good deal of education, so called, but very little mental and still less moral training. He had never been taught to regulate his better feelings, to rein his fancy, to distrust his intellectual fa- culties; much less had the notion ever been presented to his mind, that con- science, though the highest and holiest of our faculties, requires instruction and enlightenment, ay, and training too, as assuredly as any of the others. It seemed never to have occurred to him, as it seems never to have occurred to many others, that although, when all the higher faculties are left to fish for themselves, conscience may exert and will exert her native supremacy, yet if the other faculties are, so to speak, bred to the use, and accustomed to the exercise and endowed with the possession of arms, while conscience is alone left to herself, she will become the prey of the strongest. * * * * Thus is it with conscience : she stands at a terrible disadvantage when her comrades in the spiritual nursery have received a high education, whilst she has had none ; and this is still more strongly and wofully felt when her two favourite playmates, her bosom friends, judgment and common sense, have been equally neglected. People have a very silly notion that these three worthies can take care of themselves. So they may in a less artificial state of things, but such is not the case in our present world : the very education which increases the power of the other faculties deprives these of a portion of their native energy, unless they too are cared for ; the sap that should have fed their boughs and filled their fruit goes to adorn their companion branches with a fine show of green leaves. Besides which, be it ever re- membered, that in other states of human society the three faculties above mentioned receive education; so that those who neglect them, for the sake of bestowing all their care upon other faculties, take from them those advan-

tages which they possess under many other circumstances. * * * 'In common with many other well-disposed young gentlemen, Didymus Dyke had a most tremendous fear of being behind his age. He would scarcely have ventured to call his nose his own, had any one very strongly asserted the contrary ; and would, if placed upon a jury, have acquitted every criminal on the plea of insanity, and suggested the erection of a lauda- tory tablet to the highwayman or wifeslayer who pleaded conscientious mo- tives.

"In fact, he was a very nice young man, amiable, intelligent, with a good deal of sentiment, and so very impartial and candid : some called him a

dear young man' ; others thought him a perfect love' ; every one, with the exception of a few bigots, thought that he was just suited for a clergyman.

"So Didymus Dyke, after reading with a clerical tutor for six months, did take orders.

"The clerical tutor was a very excellent man in his way, but not equal to the very difficult task of grafting-in moral and mental training upon the mind of a highly-educated and full-grown man. His sympathies were de- cidedly in favour of that party which is frequently designated from its sup- posed conformity to the principles advocated in the Tracts for the Times.' It was not that lir. Bray had any real tendencies towards the distinctive doc- trines of the party in question, much less to those of their cousins the Ro- manizers ; but Bray called himself and thought himself a sound Churchman' ; and he took it into his poor head, that the Oxford men,' as he called them, were the real representatives of Church principles, and their followers the main strength of the High Church party : and so he gave them the weight and the support of his name and influence, whatever they might be worth."

As an instance of another style, we may take the catastrophe of the Earl of Ducandraque and the Reverend Mr. Pym. The Earl is the man of the true-false marriage ; his victim has tried to drown herself at a cascade in his park, but is rescued, to give birth to a son, and die. This son, supported by friends, turns up to claim his rights ; the Earl is threatened with proceedings on the part of his second wife for cruelty ; his affairs are thoroughly embarrassed ; and the hypocrisy of his newly-appointed chaplain, Pym, has been discovered and exposed. They have been deep in consultation to hit upon some new plan; but Pym craves indulgence till the morn- ing, and is dismissed.

"Pym bowed, took up his candle, and retired to his room. He took some time undressing; for there was a bright, warm fire in the grate, and he felt a disinclination to leave it. At length, however, he got into bed, and en- deavoured to compose his thoughts to sleep : for he found himself quite un- equal to strike out any fresh scheme at present, and thought he would see what a night's rest might do. "As he lay on his bed, endeavouring to quiet his excited feelings, his eyes every now and then instinctively—nay, even against his strenuous at- tempts to keep them closed—opened themselves ; and each time that they did so his gaze was irresistibly attracted to a large iron ring, which hung from the centre piece of the ceiling, where it had been fixed many years since to assist some childish pastime of the young lord. " At length the Jesuit slumbered ; but he slept not long in peace. Hor- rible visions of the Inquisition and its tortures, conducted by the general of his order, gave place to scenes darker, fiercer still. Now he feels as though he were choking, whilst a heavy weight is on his breast : he opens his eyes —the hag, Eleanor Norman, ten times more hideous than ever, is kneeling on his chest ; with one hand she grasps his throat till her sharp talons meet in his flesh ; with the other, she points upwards to the iron ring, darkly visible amid the reflection of the dying embers. He cannot breathe, he can- not move, he cannot struggle, he cannot even cry for help ; and the large cold drops rise on his brow and fall from his cheek.

"But hark ! The spell is suddenly broken by a succession of shrieks, so piercing, so horrible, that they might almost have awakened the dead, if aught but the last trumpet's sound could rouse them from their slumber.

"As soon as the Earl of Ducandraque found himself alone in his private study, he locked and bolted the door ; and then proceeded to con over a will which he had lately written, but which remained as yet unsigned. He read the will through : it was all right; he would ring the bell and have it wit- nessed at once : but no—the servants were all in bed ; it would be trouble- some to rouse them, and tomorrow would do as well.

"He felt tired and thirsty : he drank,—he drank again; then he looked at other papers. In hunting for a deed of some consequence, his eye by chance fell upon a letter which recalled the memories of early times. He was moved. A strange weakness seemed to come over him ; an apprehen- sion of defeat and disgrace assailed him. Was his courage, his undaunted courage, failing him ?—that should never be ! If he must be beaten, he would fight for it, anyhow, like a man, like himself. " He drank again, deeply and more deeply still ! The room became hot ; his brow burnt like fire : he threw the window open—the stars were shining dimly ; the plash of the waterfall sounded more fearfully, mournfully, drearily than ever on his ear. He looked out—it was there again—there ! there !—that shadowy, misty form : it beckoned him.

" With a wild shout, loud and unearthly, he rushed out upon the lawn— sought and found the well-known path—reached without let or hinderanee the perilous brink—and plunged once more into the foaming eddy.

" Again, with the certain assurance of death, came the wild desire for life. He felt as though he were dragged down by fiends ; already in the icy water he felt the flames of hell : he struggled wildly ; he uttered piercing shrieks : but there was no friend to bring help, no son to save him uow ; and ere the affrighted servants could reach the place whence their master's cries had arisen, that master was floating far down the stream-

• That lifeless thing the living fear.'

"Pym was the first on the spot, the first to find the corpse. He staid until the surgeon arrived, till every attempt had been made, fruitlessly, to recover the dead. Then his countenance assumed a livid hue, and he sought his own chamber.

"Such was the general consternation, that not until the coroner arrived did any one think of him. They knocked at his door. No answer. Louder, louder still ; it was locked, double-locked, and barred, and bolted ; they broke it open. Pen and ink were on the table, and from the iron ring hung the body of the Jesuit ; whilst from his neck depended, in lieu of the holy sym- bol, now cast away for ever, a card, on which his hand had written, ere he did the deed, There is no God !'"