TYLNEY HALL.

HERE is a capital novel spoilt by haste or caprice. In using the term novel, we do not mean a fiction of the highest class,—a pro- duction which should poetically revive the past or truly represent the present in its manners, characters, and events,—but such a work as our fathers understood by the phrase, when the chief patrons of novels were circulating libraries, and a grave gentle- man deemed a sort of apology necessary for reading one, as if its perusal were a peccadillo which could only be committed in an un- garded moment, when the mental .equilibrium had been somewhat disturbed by over exertion in severer studies. In placing the two first volumes of Tylney Hall among this class of fictions, it must, however, be said that they occupy the very first place. The materials of the story are, indeed, not new : two neighbouring landlords speculating to unite their estates by uniting their children, and foiled by the young couple choosing for themselves—with an illegitimate nephew smarting under the disgrace of his birth, and rivalled in love by hi: more fortunate cousin, vowing vengeance and plotting for title and estates—are among the commonplaces of novels. The same may be said of many of the characters : a fox-hunting squire—a trader who has made his fortune and retired, with his vulgar family, to the otium sine di;gnitate—a heroine all perfection—a sporting heir—a stu- dious younger brother—a prig of a justice (for Mr. HOOD'S rustic Cato is a prig, whatever he might intend him for)—and a gipsy Meg Merrilies, excelling Scoria in dignity of bearing and won. der-working powers, but not like SCOTT'S Meg adapted to the su- perstitions of the times, to the circumstances of the district, and the character of the people—are far from being original. There are, too, the usual errors in the execution of novels, exaggeration in the graver, and caricature in the lighter parts. Yet with all this, there is much beyond a mere Minerva Press production. Mr. HOOD is a practised writer: in his worst parts—even throughout the third volume—there is nothing mawkish or forced in his style of narration or dialogue. He has read other books besides novels, and he infuses facts and images drawn from various quarters into his work : though not a broad, he is a curious observer; touches of truth are bestowed upon his borrowed characters,and there are bits of landscape occasionally introduced which have obviously been drawn from nature. Lastly, the author is HOOD; a man distinguished for puns, and a kind of pathos, for an effective quaintness, and a large knowledge and clever application of the cant of various classes of society,—although be it said, their in- judicious introduction in the serious parts is destructive of serious interest. They "turn all to a merriment.-

The comic part has been spoken of as a caricature. This is the fact, but a good caricature is among the most amusing of pro- ductions; and HOOD'S caricatures are good. The 'following ex- tract narrates a part of the mishaps which occurred at the fete champetre of Mr. Twigg, a gentleman who (in his own words) " riz like a rocket at auxhall by my own exertions," and who "out of nothing had created some thirty thousand pounds."

During this interlude, the dulness of the rest of the company had rather in- creased, and the gaudy flag, that still drooped motionless on its staff, seemed a proper emblem of their listless and inanimate condition. They stood about the grounds in groups, idle, weary, and dreary ; and seemed by common consent to halve adopted the line of conduct of the Honourable Mr. Danvers,—a sort of ex- clusive of those days, who, in answer to every proposition of amusement, lisped languidly, " That he preferred to look on." " It's very odd a man of my property can't have a merry party," thought Twigg, as he looked round on his grand to-do, and saw the festtve sccoe with a visible damp ever it, like a wet eight at Vauxhall. in the bitterness of ha heart, be sidled up to Mrs. Twig/4, oho, was standing near the marquee, and said to her in a low tone, " Oar friend's, 1—n them, are as-dull as ditch-watet AVhat the Devil can we do with them?"

" Nine, ten, eleven," said Mrs. Twigg, with an abstractet look, and a little nod of her head at each number.

" What the — is running in your fool's bead, Mattaw ?" said the Masterof the Hive ; who was apt to use expressions not exactly cut out for the ear of our present Licenser.

" Hush ! fourteen fifteen, sixteen, seventeen," continued Mn. Twigg, with the action of a Aland:min. " Drat that Pompey ; I know there's more heals than plates." And she rushed off to scold the oblivious Black. The poor can, indeed, during the last half hour, had fully entitled himself to receive what 'Iwigg junior would have called a regular good wigging.

A breath of air displaying, for the first time, the Ironmongers' banner, it wo discovered that the obtuse Negro had hoisted it reversed, with all the arrnorid bearings of that Worshipful Company standing on their heads ; and in absurdly

attempting to rectify this blunder, by swarming up the staff, down came Pea. pey, pole, flag, and all, on the dignified head of the Honourable Mr. Darwea,

who was indulging his preference for looking on. His next exploit was in bowl

ing and backing to make way for Mr. Justice Rivers, whereby he got a fair roll and tumble over Miss Power, one of the shepheideases, who was sitting vet),

pastorally on the grass; and, by-and-by, recollecting some neglected previous order, he ran off headlong to execute it, popping down a trayfull of ices to thaw and dissolve themselves into a dew under the broiling syn. A long hundred of such enormities were committed by the wrong-headed Hottentot : but oily imagine the amazement of his mistress, when she saw him gravely conveying a reinforcement of cake and wine to the greenhouse in a common hand-barrow; and conceive her still greater horror when he came back on the broad grin, with the same vehicle, containing the helpless, portly body of the coachman, as drunk as the celebrated sow of David. The only possible thing that could be urged in favour of the sot was, that he was not crrem in his cups ; for during his pro. gross he persisted in singing a jolly song, quite as broad as it was long, with all the voice that he had left.

" I shall faint away !—I shall go wild !—I shall die on the spot !" exclaimed the distressed mistress of the Hive. " I wonder where Mr. T. is? That

Pompey is enough to—has any body seen Mr. T. ? It is really cruel ; what can a woman do with a tipsy man ? Do run about, Peter, and look for your master. Mr. T. ! Mr. T. ! Mr. T.!"

But no one responded to the invocation, although the whole grounds re. sounded, gradually, with an universal call for Mr. Twigg. The unhappy lady was in despair ; she feared she knew not what. When she last saw him, he had been worked up by successive mistakes and accidents to an awful pitch of nervous excitement ; and she did not feel sure that he had not actually runaway in a paroxysm of disgust and horror, leaving her, like Lady Macbeth, to huddle

up the banquet as she might. At last a popping sound attracted her to the tent ; and there she found the wished-for personage' cursing and swearing in 3 whisper, and stopping with each thumb a bottle of champagne, which hal suffered so from the hot weather, that the fixed air bad determined on visiting the fresh.

" Oh, Mr. T., what would you think ? " began the poor hostess ; but he cut her short; and the following dialogue ensued. " None of your clack, Madam ; but stop those two bottles : " and he pointed to a couple of long-necked firzlers; " d—n it, Madam, stop 'em tight ; you're making them squirt in nay face. There you go agin ! Where's Pompey, where's Peter, where's :John, what the Devil's the use of servants, if they're away when you want 'em : curse the champagne! Here's a pretty situation for a marl of my property ! " "My dear ! do only have a little patience—" " Patience be hanged ! I've been standing so, Madam, this half hour—tia I've got a cramp in both thumbs. I told that rascal John never to quit the tent ; and you, Madam, you, with your confounded she-gossips, why did'nt yea come sooner? I'll tell you what, if ever I have a fide again! Is anybody happy, is anybody lively, will anybody shoot at the target, or dance Ion the lawn, or play cricket? No, says you, it's a failure, a regular failure ; and as for pleasure, there an't a farthiog in the pound'" The colloquy would doubtless have proceeded much further, but for a succes- sion of female shrieks which arose from all quarters at once ; whereat, leaving the champagne to take care of itself, the perplexed pair rushed out, with pal- pitating hearts, to inquire into the nature of this new catastrophe. And truly they beheld a sight to London-bred spectators peculiarly appalling. The humeri groups that occupied the lawn had disappeared ; and, in lieu of them, the terrific Alderney was racing about "like mad" with her head up, and her tail bolt up- right and stiff as a kitchenapoker. Driven to wildness by three hours' exposure

to abut sun, and the incessant tormenting stings of insects, poor Daisy had broken her tether, or more probably it had been cut for her by young Twigs, and she immediately began that headlong gallop which cows are apt to take when goaded by the breeze-fly. After running three heats round the lawn, she naturally made for the shades of the shrubbery; but being headed back by the gentlemen, she paused, and looked round for an instant, as if to consider; and then, making up her mind, she suddenly dashed off for the only place of shelter, and rushed headlong into the marquee. An awful crash ensued. Plate clat- tered, glass jingled, and timber banged! The canvas bulged fearfully on oue side, and the 'moorings giving way ; out rushed Daisy, and down fell the tent like a clap-net, decidedly catching the cold fowls, ducks, and pigeons that were under it. A loud cry of a mixed character arose from the spectators of this lamentable catastrophe. The ladies screamed from terror ; the expectant citizens bellowed from hungry disappointment, and some of the younger gentlemen, amateurs of fun, gave a shout that sounded like a huzza.

" She's upset the tables!" shrieked Mrs. Twigg, with her arms working aloft like a telegraph's. " And there goes every delicacy of the season," exclaimed Mr. Twigg, gating with the stupified aspect of an underwriter at a total wreck. " The new covers ! "groaned the lady. "All battered and bruised; nothing but dents and bumps! " added her hus- band, in the same tone. " And the beautiful cut-glass; not a bit of it blowed," said the hostess, be ginning to whimper.

6( smashed, shivered to atoms, curse her soul!" cried the host, with the fer • your of a believer in the metempsychosis.

"My poor damask tablecloths ! " moaned the mistress, with some indications of her old famting-fits. " Hamstring her ! kill her ! knock her on the head !:" shouted Twig, dancing on his tiptoes with excitement, and unconsciously imitating the action of a slaughterman.

After standing a minute at gaze, the cow had recommenced her career about the lawn, causing a general panic ; and nature's- first law, the wave pri sas'ef principle, triumphed over all others. Guided by this, in.stinet, Twigg ou!leu into the greenhouse, and resolutely shut the door agaiast the cow, as well al against Mrs. Twigg, who had made for the same place of refuge. The Soo: pulent Mr. Deputy Dobbs, by hard runniag, contrived to place the bread'boh the tishepond between, himself and the " knuriated animal; " the orchestra- xi alio the octagon auuatatershouee, was gewcled. wida company; th hermitage,

L, shade of 'Zionmermaun, what a sacrilege was a uer feet squeeze; and Flora had clambered up the lattice-work of her temple, and sat shrieking on the lop. O the guests were in safety but ore; and.every Lady trembled at the probable fate of Mrs. Tipper, who had been sitting on the end of a form, and was not so akrt in jumping up from it as her juniors. The bench, one mechanical principle well understood, immediately reared up and threw its rider ; and be- fore the unfortunate lady, as she afterwards averred, " could well feel her feet, sbe saw the rampaging cre ur come tearing at her, with the Black man arter her, making her ten times worrier."

The scared Alderaey, however, in choosing her course, had no design against ItIrs. Tipper, but merely inclined to enjoy a cold bath in the fish-pund ; into ebich she accordingly plunged, accompanied be Pompey, who had just suc- ceeded, after many attempts, n catching hold of the remnant of her tether. In thy went—souse ; saluted by a chorus of laughter from the orchestra ; and Mere, floundering up to their necks in water, the black imbue] and the red one babied each other about, and splashed and dashed as if an aquatic parody of the combat of Gay of War wick and die Dun Cow had been part of the concerted entertainments

"Confound the fellow, she'll be drowned ! " cried an angry voice front the greenhouse. "His livery's dished and done for," responded a melancholy voice from the bothuuse.

"Oh! my gold fish will be killed !" cried a shrill tone from the top of the temple; while a vaccine bellow resounded from the pond, intermingled with a volley of African jargon, of which only one sentence.could be caught, and it in- timated a new disaster.

"0 ki! him broke all de fish in-rodsand de lines !"

As Pompey spoke, lie exchanged his grasp of the halter, which had become eippery, for a clutch at the tail ; an indignity the animal no sooner telt, than with a desperate effort she scrambled out of the pond, and dashed off at full galiep towards the paddock, making a dreadful gap by the way in Flora's dis- play of exotics whether in tubs or pots. As for Pompey, through not tuning

Li, leap with the P

e cow's, ha was left sprawling under the rails of the paddock ; inranwhile, the persecuted Alderney finally took shelter under the shade of the Las stack.

This is gay enough : now for a specimen of the graver Tait. Walter Tyrrel the villain of the story, is a Creole, and a natural son. His father, Colonel Tyrrel, had once a liaison with a West Indian Mulatto of considerable property and beauty. Owing to her jealousy and violence, they quarrel ; the Colonel in after years

returns to England, and ; leaving his child to the care of his brother, Sir Walter Tyrrel, an old fox-hunter. Marguerite, on her quarrel with the Colonel, had also come to England with another paramour; led a life of dissipation and excess; and, dis- appointed by the Colonel's death in her purpose of seeking a recon- ciliation, she devotes herself to the advancement of her son. With this view, she assumes the disguise of a gipsy ; lurks about the neighbourhood to pick up intelligence; listens as people only listen to any purpose in novels; introduces herself to the Creole as his foster-mother; and finding him indignant at the sneers which Ringwood Tyrrel in their contentions throws out against his birth and colour, and still more indignant at Raby crossing him in love, artfully stimulates him to a state in which he will consent to profit by any crimes, and even to participate in them. To render the meditated guilt profitable, she has prepared forged documents to establish his legitimacy. There is certainly power, and perhaps built, in this analysis of

TEMPT Avow.

By what means, fair or foul, he was to arrive at this consummation, he could scarcely guess ; but to describe honestly the workings of his miud, it must he owned, that unnatural causes became conjoined with natural ones in his sur- nines ; and he entertained dark and dangerous ideas' which recoiled indeed, but only to leap further and still further onwards, like the waves of the advancing tide. To suppose those waves sometimes tinged with the blood-red of a stormy tap would but too faithfully denote the occasional complexion of his tumultuous thoughts, when the imperious demands of revenge became transiently paramount over holier claims. It is true that he dismissed the first sanguinary scheme as soon as formed ; but the Cain-like suggestion, once admitted into the human heart, is apt to become a haunting one ; and as the air-drawn dagger in Mae- beta was only dispelled by the clutching of the roil weapon, so a shadowy tragedy will preoccupy the mind's eye, which is only to be superseded by the substantial performance. The Creole, therefore, to his alarm, found his cogita- tions taking a repugnant turn, which produced a natural shudder; but, in spite of himself, these direful promptings became more and more frequent; and couse- Trendy less startling and horrible, till finally their attendant phantoms became familiar images, which as they came unbidden mere allowed to remain or depart of their own accord. As yet he was onlyrevolving in the outer verge, without making any apparent approach towards the fatal centre of a vortex, from which, however, few are able to escape, who have once entered in the sinful circle. It would seem that to think of blood is to shed it—so certainly does the crime suc- ceed its shadow. The man who once casts his eyes towards murder, is thence- forward drawn towards it, like the bird fascinated by the snake, still trembliug, but still hopping nearer and nearer to the object of its dread, till it falls into its fangs. In the gloomy calendar of deadly violence, this principle is frequently obvious ; the cruel deed is at last perpetrated, not simply to indulge the yearn- ings of revenge, or the hankering for gold, but to rid the wretch from the into- krable sway of a tyrannical absorbing thought, which had gradually overgrown his whole mind with the torture and tenacity of a cancer.

The following, whilst it serves to exhibit the author's powers as a landscape-painter, will afford a favourable idea of the manner in which the darker narrative is carried on,

Ile was absorbed in a calculation of the probable steps that would be taken by the tattered candidate and his patron, and devising some scheme for avoiding die public spectacle of so ridiculous a contest, when a servant presented a little billet to his band, the thrilling contents of which instantly banished the recent occurrence from his thoughts. There were only two words in it; but those Words were " Hennessey's Hut." His hand was at the bell-rope to order his horse, when he tecollected that the hut referred to was situated in an intricate wood, of difficult access even on foot. Unluckily it lay between the Hall and Hollington ; and, in spite of his intense impatience, he was compelled to delay his departure, for fear of being observed and followed by the suspicious Squire, whuse road lay in the lame direction. As soon as prudence allowed, he set out, It the pace of a pedestrian in training for a match against time ; and, in a cora- piratively short space, he found himself on the verge of the dense wood which enveloped his foster-mother's retreat. Nobody but a man impelled by as strong a motive, or an ardent sportsman, would have straggled far into such a wilder- teal path there was little or none ; it hsd been so overgrown by briars, so in- terlaced, that the passage was slow and pitiafid. In some places, the trees arched overhead, to an aJmust utter exclusion of thy light of day in other* they emend asunder, and suffered the sunbeam to visit the damp earth, that smelt noisomely of the rotting or rotted leaves of past seasons. 'I he Creole's hands were filled with thorns, from eagerly tearing asunder the obioacles to his progress ; and he was dabbled up to die waist by the wet underwood throngh which he rubbed, while the features of the place became more savage and dreary is be approached the dwelling supposed to he haunted by the spirit of the murdered keeper. Several times the disturbed adder darted acmes the path, and the iron tolling of the raved broke harshly and ominously upon the silence. The trees increased in size, and wreathed fantastically in more distorted attitudes, whilst the huge gnarled roots protruded here and there from the soil, like the horses of antediluvian ministers. No other woman than Marguerite could have selected such a dreary spot for her residence ; indeed it seemed to require more than masculine nerve and courage to contend with all its horrors, natural and superstitious. The hut stood in a small open plot, near the centre of the wood : it was a sort of log-house; like those in the back settlements of North America, and had been constructed at the whim of a fanciful recluse, named Hennessey, who however made up his quarrel with the wield after a year's residence. It then became the abode of the unfottunate

keeper ; whose violent death, but for Marguerite's resolution, would have left it untenanted for ever. It consisted of two rooms, whieh were divided by a

par tition of lath and clay, whereon the stain of blood was still visible. The cadet door had been shivered by the ruffians who perpetrated the savage deed, and had never been replaced, so that the Creole stepped into the house without knocking.

The observations hitherto made are restricted to the first two volumes. Excepting in power of writing, and some detached passages having little connexion with the story, the third volume, in absurdity and incongruity, outheruds any thing that a producer of the Minerva Press would have dared. Walter the Creole takes his youngest cousin and his rival Raby out to instruct him in field sports. The student Raby is short-sighted, and cannot clearly see the game; it becomes therefore the task of Walter to point it out. In doing this, he directs him to fire at a certain point ; where, instead of a rabbit, he shoots his brother Ringwood, lying perdue in the long grass. The eldest son being thus unce- remoniously got rid of, Walter persuades Raby to abscond, for fear of the gallows: and Raby — a gentleman, a scholar, and a young man who has mixed in the world—is simpleton and coward enough to comply. An inquest—caricatured in this case without humour—is got up, and a verdict of "wilful nunder" returned against 'Raby the warrant is issued for his apprehension; but without effect, for a body in his clothes is found drowned. Both heirs being removed, Sir Mark Tyrrel soon after removes himself, dying of grief; and Walter, upon the strength of his forged cer- tificates, succeeds to the title and estates. His career, however, is disturbed. Grace Rivers refuses him; competitors talk of ac- tions to try his legitimacy. Marguerite avows her mothership, and demands to be taken home "to the hall ;" and many of the neighbours spread or countenance dark reports against him. At last, as we approach the termination of the volume, a sporting friend of the family discovers some papers which all but convict Sir Walter of his guilt. Instead, however, of leaving him to the law, he meets hint on a morning's ride, gallops after him a la Turpin, and Sir Walter a la Turpin flies; but, being overtaken at length, the friend offers the Creole a pistol and the choice of distance, and, being a dead shot, shoots him. Just as he has con- fessed and died, up comes a sailor, who turns out to be no other than Raby. In his flight, he had changed clothes with an ac- quaintance; got clear off; gone to sea ; distinguished himself on that fickle element, by stranger adventures than those which took place on shore during his absence ; and had just returned, by the advice of a sea captain, to stand his trial. From all we can gather, he is not arraigned upon the Coroner's warrant—throughout, Mr. HOOD takes the strangest liberties with the forms of law — but the unwilling fratricide is married to Grace, and all ends as well as can be expected. Mr. HOOD IS an old author, but a young novelist. Judging from the first specimen, is he likely to succeed? The errors of taste, in frequently overlaying his descriplions by the number of details, and in degrading his higher composition by puns and slang, are matters easily avoided, or are capable of remedy by a skilful primer. In respect to expression—confining the terra merely to the presentation of ideas, without relation to the ideas themselves — there is little to improve. His style is clear and forcible, and varying in nature with the nature of the thoughts. The characters, at least the more important ones, are not new : but there are bits — in the penetration, for instance, assigned to old -Sir Mark, in his high sense of honour, his good feeling, and the dignity which he assumes when excited by the quarrels of his sons and nephews—that show a nice observer, and a not unskilful painter. Our misgivings relate to his habits of considering events, and to his powers of planning and building up a probable story. Upon this point the two first volumes promise little; and if the third has not (as we suspect) been struck off against time, but ex- hibits the writer's deliberate idea of the probabilities of life, his. novels must always have an essential defect.