Ion si

ot "cill9M ne11o0 ; noissitelq a as 1360464.1 ,,gnitionot Isiothoqua iillfagrarir II i 4 i Up ot "cill9M • ashised aad ,,gnitionot Isiothoqua iillfagrarir II i 4 i Up il of wsiv a Aliw :flat. i ill .1„,,,i, ,,,,, ,,,, , , .Ijj,,,s., , ,• !. , , 1 i

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7i . .1.1

I I, 11 11 ' II

• .ei4t un4t ith ktt-htg 8(111 III, ted a -• AgionS or Poli cal polemic' ' ' the disguise of a novel.' All these Iii iiii falls shOit: But Mr.:"thackeray had already, when he Ityuld profit by criticism and write his next novel upon a different

klan:

171 ts that could not fail to be noticed in the construction of his is cgs; and honour is due tfilfigh aims in art, even when the exe- mate of his own powers; and we had no reason to expect that he bons.fincl thelaabdiiY instehir to atl°an liunlills 6.411'1l,i'Fkiin Puialbligell-- wrote Vanity Fair, arrived at a mature age and an adequate esti-

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have been pursued b 'different authors with more or less We -do not doubt that he knew as well as hiscritics the U Mdld 'fil , _ ,'-) . 101 '..0 has he IV. 4'•.1 IA ili,e .. ,i; 1: ,, NI. , 0., 1 0 A 1 ' ! : Villi •'1 i ,. an,d that he knew better than they did the sort of book , AA -suited his pocket, his indolence, or his peculiar talents, tn-iresetif to an audience very busy, but very well inclined to give both money and fame to one who would amuse their snatches a leisure by sketches of themselves in all the attitudes of real life, drawn with a vigour and a truth seldom equallrl, and marked with a tone of safcastic cynicism which lends ensphtigq,T,altie to the ex- ceptional tilts of goodness and worth. , Premising; . then, that Pendennis is just as ineemplete, just as fra9irinentary as its predecessor, and therefore no more entitling author to take rank with our greatest novel-writers than it d.,:we,arn, nite prepared to agree with the praise which we have ii heard,gene: y bestowed upon the numbers as tiny successively appeared. 7 he canvass is marvellously crowded with characters, most:of, them well and strikingly drawn ; the incidents arc upon the w4ple probable, though occasionally of too melodramatic a cast to harm,ord* With the everyday life and people depicted; the dia- logue Akappropriate to the speakers and the occasions--smart, grave, sarcastie,, or pathetic, by turns, and always, . except where slang, fashionable or otherwise, is demanded by dramatiO propriety, phiaSed in pure, terse, idiomatic English. Nor miiiN we omit to mention those passages of reflection in which the anther speaks more lindisguisedly in his own person : frequent as they are, and greAlt 4 they would Mar the effect of a more artistiO.work, thny se., . ,n,p'it‘olit of place in this, and are both ,A,Rtyln and matter ad-

•

1.,A,i_00inens of Mr. Thackeray's geninn 11 If . zei wife asked to tell the story of Pentlizinis, we could oulr aneirsitath the iinife-grinder of classic memory, "Story I GOA blegs,,,yari,, I have none to tell, Sir!" Such continuity and connec- tion iii-the book has, it derives from the fact that it narrates cer- tain adventures which befall Mr. Arthur Pendennis' between the periods of his birth and marriage. , This young gentleman is the son of a retired medical practitioner ;ipt whom we hear but little, as he dies when Arthur is a boy of ii5x.-,teen. Left to the care of a doatin,g mother, who, though a good find 'liefig6 woman, spoils her only child, he grows to be cdnlegfed; imperious, and the University of Oibridge, (an amalgamation self- indul4en -goes to t,; is with, difficulty prevented from marrying a country acti% ; whicfh seems to us a very lame shift for avoiding personalities and loCal'allusions,) where, in spite of layiAliant talents, he gets pluck- ed ; supports himself for some years London by writing for peri- odicals and newspapers; during whinli period. he sees life in gene- ral, and has the advantage of aristocratic society through the influ- ence'of his 'uncle and guardian Major Pendennis. Finally, he yields WI e curnined solicitations of this uncle and the temptations of a g' fortan * a seat in Parliament, to 'offer his hand to a most detable 014" : Am. _sviiF yas' l4.e done ,,, than he makes dis- roveries of . e mat^ttling an edits character with ta- u if i., he,r,ifainili;antofteclentst 1, th ho hle firmness re- sm .., tiROCto bteak his engagenaent liedi,I,spoulbhevsd e

solved by the

igljfs Adting him for a righer suitor; and he u rep; tirMamTing his cousin, with whnhe haa IApr ought up, and with *tom ul3 better nature has been:4844yI ,in hive. Slender as this hroad is, the author has managed, liyportrying a variety hu.

of charact,ers with whom his hero is brou hion contact, many of

theirsri+4 interesting than himself. . by a profuse em- brei.41 ild te and episodes and refit*tçs.by the way, to 0.1mt Ott tIlrougl twenty-four numbers, scarcely ever flaggmg* fitt,tegc .6 1-i)'$ least have kept the idle,part,of,the public, and , lI1 •I ` iRggie ,too, on the qui rive ,(cir.#4,Riftny months. And :..syfe• pverno reasoniwhy, by pursuing the same course, and eon- tt,tfu ly intreducing,:auelf new characters as the mere onward pourse,pf life brings a man into temporary relation of friendship Or hos 41.tty:*ith, he may not carry on the married life of Mr. Ar, thur PeAdeimis through twenty-Sour more numbers, all.eqnally • Ther fj-pf,Fendennia. iii• Fortunes KO Misfortunes, hie F.rassada and his Oreatept nerey,-, lty,w. X;, Thackeray. Author of" Vanity Fair," the "Snob Papere* Peidelleple9:44.Wililtwo inhumes.. Published by Bradbiary and 13/4•ans.

,

ant.

1 0.01

lively and equally profitable and entertaining.. At lead_ till within a few pages of the close of the lastnumber, there seemed no par-, tieular reason, beyond the length to which! the , book had already attained, why it should be brought to an end; and. We are •sure, that the indulgent public: will accord: tomuth a faveurite, aa.Mre Thackeray the permission to reeonsider. hie denouement,. and- so, save himself the troubb3 of inventing an entirely new+ Set, of names- andeireumstanees,--which to a man of his established singularity mast he a terrible hardship. , We de not, however, auppose that Mr. Thackeray was abeolutely witheut any purpose in Writing_ this book beyond =tieing-14 readers ,and swelling his own puramand,fame. there are prookiu this work, as in its predecessor, of- a; high morality, and an tear/mat desire to make his fellew mendb.etter.than' they are, whielnioshitl us, to entertain so harsh a thought. The preface, moreover, dets us know that it is azi attempt to show, as far as conventional decency will allow them to be shown, the notorious foibles aucleelfisluiess of the lives and education of our gentlemen. The limitation im- plies not obscurely that it is in relation to women that their foibles and selfishness have most impressed Mr. Thackeray: and every man who knows English society will acknowledge that the women are purer and less selfish than the men, not only in those classes which Mr. Thackeray chiefly depicts, but in all classes—and may we not add, in all countries and in all ages. Something of this may be owing to sexual constitutibn—something to the cir- cumstances of life, the necessity that is imposed upon the man to enter upon the exeiting and hardening struggles for bread and so- cial position—something to old-world traditions and time-honoured customs ; but the question must sometimes recur to one who thinks what an all-important relation that between man and woman is, either as son and mother, brother and sister, husband and wife, whether this difference of character need be so wide as it generally is ; whether, in fact, if men were but nearer to women in purity and self-sacrificing affection, society would not be reinvigorated with a new life, and much of the weariness and satiety and dis- appointment that now hang over us like a November fog pass away, and let in upon us again the pure blue of heaven, the soft air of vernal hope and. happiness. A strong sense that the English upper classes are far from what is good and right in this respect, and that generally selfish- ness under one form or other, a love of money, of pleasure, or of power, is substituted for true social principles of action among them,—and that, pervading and poisoning all the relations of life, it gives rise to a hard materialism in the practice of most, and even in the theory of some —is the root of Mr. Thackeray's cynicism, and of that melancholy which at once charms and 'startles us often in his writings. Even the education of the boy, and still more the common experiences of life for the man, only seem to him to draw out and strengthen this propensity to make the gratification of self the end of existence. We regard Pendennis, no less than Vanity Fair, as a pretest against this *corruption of the individual by society ; as a lesson to each one of us against that sin which is the root of all bitterness ; as a timely warning to society to draw back from the gulph which it is approaching. The nineteenth century is quite self- eomplacent enough, or we might hint that the protest and the warning would be more effective if accompanied by a recognition of the forces which are undeniably at work in our country to counteract the anti-social tendency—may we not say, finally to triumph over it. To us, at least, Mr. Thackeray seems sometimes to adopt the merest heathen cynicism, and. to have reached that last state, so finely dramatized in Tennyson's "Vision cd am,' in which a man abandons all hoe of himself and his kind, and. takes a savage delight in anatomizing all pretensions to goodness and ex- ploding all motives to action._ That this mood is only occasional—that society has not fallen over the gillph, even in Mr. Thackeray's opinion—is evidenced by such characters in his picture of life as,l!drs.Pendennis, Laura Bell, and George Warrington. Even Vanity Fair could show such ex- ceptions as Amelia Beaky and Major Dobbin; though the latter annoyed us by a gaucherie which seldom accompanies genuine goodness and simplicity, and the. former went far to forfeit our sympathy by extreme silliness and an insensibility to real manly worth. No such drawbacks mar our interest in the three excep- tional characters, above mentioned, of the work we are reviewing. Mrs. Pendennis is a true English lady, and, with all the reserve and. undemonstrativeness of her class to ordinary acquaintance, com- pletely embodies in her relation to her son that idea of self-sacrifi- cing affection which is Thacketay's normal type of good women.; just as the opposite character, shown forth in Becky Sharpe mid Blanche Amory, serves, in spite of admirable qualities iii-the mid great attractions in the other, for the type of those women from whom their own sex instinctively shrink, and whom men amuse themselves with, abuse, and despise. George Warrington, we have no doubt, will be the favourite by-universal assent both with men and. women. Ms surface coating of roughness is but a pleasant humour, and is seen through at a glance, revealing beneath it the finest hu- manity. A "healthy animalism" is still a prominent characteristic of our better class of young men ; and in spite of much dissipation, much dandyism, and much pseudo-philosophy, it is no very rare ThiTigamong that class to find the best scholars and the truest geiiflámen neither too fine to drink beer and smoke short pipes, nor too delicate to have both the will and the power to thrash bargemen when occasion demands. In England, where to rise by One's own exertion requires such a combination of physical an mental power, and where the national ideal leans rather to strength' than. subt , ,eense Alan, to learning, _to frank Plainness.- Ot. martners'ianct,ef',;speeiih; And kindness et heart than to stateilik ootirtesyeandelaborate PedislientanT a dignitary of church and lami, and-many a mate entinent !for. suetal,A04.1o4ilitiosA sitocass, mis141 have suppliei theioddetkt as well °A khoinahleAilaajtmaCWArru!gra WI's. character., And Oyer: the whole's Wiwi" atilehie'reefte*g lam finance fnoni, the anyeterioas wanes.% Whiels,tingest ;ea& lielanyoalit Lind sarcastic inuod.e,, and ; gives ;de-nth aand,Airnelittnoss, Pi ,fhigi serious eouversatian, tlist, vjsje oa4itkon TOeitelltentdaltieitt at (the same , time, qua] of, th elmost rdelisittfalLet IlmokePtyleoPoilf3 Itiodueso to P,eueleaniCiiikftP.ProOtitin %lig* lAkno_msgood srbich lie; half-Magni* tuna, his SKINfl11010144iict and encouregement„ et all that is num-14e AO uuMtightein. ol4T.O.P.P*V44 eistevP, even bt'fMILIsif11014Y Ptqlutelt- deraess aad *s eapacity fur, passion t4e be;r 4-4;tprw, There is one conversation of his with .Pendennis iNce 20):that wt long to quote, both because it is very noble in itself, and because- it seems to us the author's most earliest utterance on the most solemn" things—somewhat of a confession of faith, which goes far to soften and modify the harsh occasional cynicism we have noticed. It sounds like an echo from " In Memoriam," which appeared shortly- before the number where it occurs. But our space forbids, and we hasten to usher in Miss Laura Bell, an especial favourite, and Miss Blanche Amory, an especial abomination of ours. The pas= sage we have selected to illustrate the character of the former needs no preface, except that Lady Rockmaister has taken Laura to live with her after the death of Mrs. Pendennis, her mother by adoption. "-Under the charge of her kind though somewhat wayward and abSolute patroness, Lady Rockminster, Laura iiaK seen somewhat of the world in the lad year, had gathered some aecotnplishments, and profited by the lessons of society. Many a girl' who had been accustomed tothat tea great tenderness in which Laura's early life had been passed, would have been unfitted for the changed existence which she now had to lead. Ilvien- worshiped her two children, and thought, as homebred women wilt, that all the world was made for them, or to be considered after them. Elbe tended Laura with a watchfulness of action which never left her. If she had 'a headache, the widow was alarmed as if there had never been .= aching head before in the wodd. She slept and woke, read, and-moved underher -mother's fond su- perintendence, which was now withdrawn from her' along with the tender creature whose anxious heart would beat no more. And paiuful moments of grief and depression no doubt Laura had, when she stood ht the great =re- lent world alone. Nobody heeded her griefs or her solitude. She was not quite the equal, in social 'rank, of the lady whose companion she was, or of the friends and relatives of the imperious but 'kind old dowager. Some very likely bore her no good-will—some, perhaps, slighted her : it might have been that servants were occasionally rude ; their mistress certainly was often_ Laura not seldom found herself in family meetings, the con. &knee and familiarity of which she felt were interrupted by her intrusion, and her sensitiveness of course was wounded' at the ides that she should give or feel this annoyance. How many governesses are there in the world, thought cheerful Laura,—how many ladies whose necessities make them slaves and companions by profession ! What bad tempereand coarse unkindness have not these to encounter ! Row iofinitely better my lot is with these really kind and affectionate people, than that of thousands of unprotected girls It was with this cordial spud that our young lady adapted herself to her new position; and went in advance of her for- tune with a trustful smile.

"Did you ever know a person who met Fortune in that way whom the goddess did not regard kindly ? Are not even bad people won by a constant cheerfulness and a pure and affectionate heart ? When the babes in the wood, in the ballad, looked up fondly and trustfully at those notorious rogues whom their uncle had set to make away with the little felts, we an know how one of the rascals relented, and made away with the other, not having the heart to be unkind to so much innocence arid beauty. Oh, happy they who have that virgin loving trust and sweet smiling confidence in the work!, and fear no evil because they think none ! Miss Laura Bell was one of those fortunate persons ; and besides the gentle widow's little cross, which, as we have seen, Pen gave her, had such a sparkling and brilliant kohinoor in her bosom, as is even more precious than that famous jewel ; for it net only fetches a price, and is retained by its owner in another-world where diamond are stated to be of no value, but here to is of inestimable worth to its pos- sessor, is a talisman against evil, and lightens up the darkness of life like Cogia Ilassan's famous stone."

With the spirit of unrepining sacrificed ease and inelinat'on far the good or even the comfort of those with whom her citation stances associate her, (a spirit which made Amelia a favourite in spite of her weakness and which is the true household virtue,) Laura,combines all Sint goes to make up a goad and charming wo, man —tenderness, high spirit, (witness her first rejectiond Arthur,) clew: sense, and self-respect; and, these characteristics, united with unfailing good-humour and a delicate appreciation o the ridieu, Ions,. form a. portrait that completely rescues Mr. Thackeray from the reproach of not being able to draw a good woman without making her silly and uniuteresting. Even Laura's temporary out- break of jealousy and cruelty to poor Fanny Bolton only makes her more thoroughly a flesh-and-bloo4 woman; a creature whom, in ow present mundane imperfection,n'e prefer to an angel. Miss Amory, "the muse, the Mystery, the femme incomprise," otherwise called La Sylphide, is a portrait, full of vigour, painted by one whom no weakness escapes, who allows no meanness to lurk undetected and unlashed. We cannot sum her up more con- cisely than by saying that she is Becky without Becky's clever- ness, tact, and. good-nature. These are replaced by accomplish, meats in abundance, and. that kind of sensibility which is nur, tured by an early and assiduous perusal of French romances. Madame Sand encl Eugene Sue supplied her with friends in the spirit world, in comparison with whose transcendent pial.ities, the people she lived with were contemptible and uninteresting And so, while she snubbed her good.natured motherr, sneered. at her odi- ous father-in-law, hated and bullied her small 'brother, worried al- most to death hersoor maid, and , Ahort displayed. a surprising knack of making everybody miserable in her own fatally eirele, she confided to her album, which was inscribed "Me Larraes," a obikiStatit: 'Overfiiie*ef tenderheas and' senti inen t, sufficient, if worked' ottAri'aefiottidforvithei happineas of a while village: We shall ctittitk thia loupe ledy, -who :presents us with the ratilate,side Of theklardinary ksantimental-noVel.lieroine, appears to mlftailtielikinitagti:thattakauall, 'her keit iteartlessnais and frivolity aiitlshattikentuttOa* Waivibenlbrought,'Eace • to face with the 'tenWa1e4ai4i ,efillsiorlillinesSiin a wean, disaPpointed; and ebearnvlattaitiati betweenk Miss Amorr and Aitleitalteuilinkiffit altar Asheito-engagOmeaftf0 and the "alltisum at tha'amittiagniemiiiit) kis I tiOttaSifittekof 1FaiinY)Boltoni Who, after the 'at4teltak 'Oelleity,tifiattinetinitheismilentary notiee Of the :speaker, he kbad'itaititi&i¼I1 ibti niariyi ,tkesPentalile though

sditetellit egobliiihltuigeor4randt to ba4oilteift with her lot. r ,

-44"1.11- Blanche I don't say no, I should have

in"a"better end than-that. don't like histories

that dnlnthat eniitl1acy; •' 'and when we 'arrive tit the conclusion of the storyof I Pretty, girl's passion, to find such a figure Os'lluxter's at the last page of the tale. Is all life a compromise, my lady fair, and the end of the battle of love an ignoble surrender? IS the search for the Cupid which my poor little Psyche pursued in the darkness—the god of her soul's longing— the god of the blooming, cheek and rainbow pinions—to result in Huxter, smellingof tobar-e0 and gallypots ? I wiah, though I don't see it in life, that people eould be like Jenny and Jessamy, or my Lord and Lady Clementine in the story-books and fashionable novels, and at once under the ceremony-, and, as it were, at the parson's benediction, become perfectly handsome and goodand happy ever alter.' 'And don't you intend to be good and happy, pray, Monsieur le Misan- thrope—and are you very discontented with your lot—and will your marriage be i compromise ''-,-asked the author of Dies Larmes,' with a charming moue --‘ and is your Psyche an odious vulgar wretch ? You wicked satirical crea- ture, I can't abide you! You take the hearts of young things, play with them, and fling them- away with scorn. You ask for love, and trample on it. You—you make me cry, that you do, Arthur ; and—and don't—and I won't be consoled in that way—and I think Fanny was quite right in leaving such a heartless creature.' "'Again, I don't say no,' said Pen, looking very gloomily at Blanche, ana not offering by any means to repeat the attempt at consolation, which had elicited that sweet monosyllable 'don't' from the young lady. I don't think I have much of what people, call heart ; but I don't profess it. I made my venture when I was eighteen, and lighted my lamp and went in search of Cupid. And what was my discovery of love ?—a vulgar dancing-woman! I failed, as everybody does, almost everybody ; only it is ladder to fail be- fore marriage than after.' "'Meru da &cart, Monsieur' ' said the Sylphide, making a curtsey.

"'Look, .my Blanche,' said Pen, taking her hand, and with his voice of sad ovod-humour; at least I stoop to no flatteries,' "'Quite the contrary,' said Miss Blanche.

" And tell you no foolish lies, as vulgar men do. Why. should you and I, with our experience, ape romance and dissemble passion- ? I do not believe Miss Blanche Amory to be peerless among the beautiful, nor the greatest poetess, nor the meet surpassing musiciari, any more than I believe you to be the tallest woman in the whole world—like the giantess whose picture we saw as we rode through the fair yesterday. But if I don't set you up as a heroine, neither do I offer you your very humble servant as a hero. But I think you are—well, there, I think you are very sufficiently good-looking.'

" Merci,' Miss Blanche said, with another curtsey. "'I think you sing charmingly. I'm sure you're clever. I hope and be- lieve that you are gooinaturecl, and. that you will be companionable.'

"'And so, provided I bring you a certain suns of money and a seat in Parliament, you condescend to ffing to me your royal pocket-handkerchief,' said Blanche. 'Qua d'honneur • We used to call your Highness the Prince of Fairoelts. What an, honour to think that I am to be elevated to the throne, and to bring the seat in Parliament as backeheesh to the sultan! I am glad I am clever, and that I can play and sing to your liking; my songs

amuse my lord's leisure.'

" 'And if thieves are about the house,' said Pen, grimly pursuing the simile, forty besetting thieves in the shape of lurking cares and, enemies in ambush and passions in arms, my Morgiana will dance round me with a tambourine, and kill all iny,rognes and thieves with a smile : won't she ?' But Pen looked as if he did not believe that she would. Ab, Blanche,' he continued, after a pause, don't be angry; don't be hurt at my truth-telling. Don't you see that I always take you at your word ? You say you will be a slave and dance : I say, dance. You say, I take you with what you bring' : I Say, 'I take you with what you bring.' fo the necessary deceits and hypocrisies of our life, why add. any that are useless and unnecessary ? If I offer myself to you because I think we have a fair chance of being happy to- gether, and because by your help I may get for both of us a good place and ienbt undistinguished name,' why 'ask- me to feign raptures and counterfeit romance, in which neither of us beliete ? • Do you want me to come wooing in a Prince l'rettyman's dress from the masquerade warehouse, and to pay you compliments like Sir Charles Grandison ? Do you want me to make volt verses as in the days when we were—when we were children ? I will If you like, and sell them to Bacon and Buisgay afterwards. Shall I feed my pretty princess with bonbons?'

" `Maisj'adore lea bonbons, moi,' said, the little Sylphide, with a queer piteous look. "'I can buy a hatfull at Fortnum and.Mason's for a guinea. And it shall have its bonbons, its pootty little sugar-plums, that it shall,' Pen said with a bitter smile.'Nay, my dear, nay, my dearest little Blanche, don't cry. Diy the pretty eyes, l can't bear that ' ; and he proceeded to' offer that con- solation Which the circumstance required, and wilich the tears, the genuine tears of vexation, whieh now *prang from the angry eyes of the author of Mea tarmes ' demanded. , "The scornful and sarcastic toile of Pendennis quite frightened and over-

came the girl. 4 I —I don't Want Your consolation. never was—so- spoken to bef—by any of my—my--by anybody '—she sobbed out, with much Anybody I' shouted out Pen, with a savage burst of laughter; and Blanche blushed one of the most genuine blushes which her cheek had ever exhibited, and she cried out, Oh, Arthur, volts &tea un homme terrible ! ' She 'felt bewildered, frightened, oppressed, the worldly little flirt who had been playing at love for the last dozen years of her Life, and yet not dis-

pleased at meeting a master." •

the character of the hero himself offers no salient points for cri- ticism. Slightly reminding us in his worst features—his conceit and' unconscious selfishness—of George %borne, .he wins upon u441-by frequent impulses of generosity and good feeling, to which that quintessence of all that is mean and stupid,' -Veiled under a &tithing' :recklessness and a showy exterior, was quite unused. Especially after he conies under the influence of Warrington does he rapidly grow in manliness and worth ; and in spite of his airs and his affectedly cynical tone, we really like and'admire him fer his considerate treatment of Fanny Bolton, and his honourable ha- haviour to Blanohe.Amory. Taking him from first to last, he is, wa 'think, a favourable specimen of his- class both in talent and clic- meter ; said probably the author thought, that =oh Wilsons as aid to be learned from his experience and growth are of more extensive application from the ordinary nature 'of the elements that enter into his composition. A far more earefally-finisted end riote•1 worthy portrait is that of Major Pendenuis, his imere.; a perfh4tly well-bred gentleman, who, though with little more Ithan his hat/ pay, has the entree of the best houses in town and wino Ft would perhaps be. too hard to say that he inite realizes thè Frenchman's bean ideal of a 'happy man, in having ”" n'ti mauVaiS emir' et un bon estomac"; he it a little too olefbr the: latter happiness, and Englishmen seldom attain the perfection bt the former. Still he is far gone in the theory and practice of the art of which Chesterfield is popularly considered the master;

i and belongs indeed, especially n the elaborate polish of his man- ner, and the conscious avowal of his selfish and worldly ends, rather to a generation that has passed away.

We have spoken of only three or four characters' and there are twenty so drawn as to be worth speaking of. Strong is a mini whose hearty animation raises our spirits like a clear October day; Bows is a queer old sentimental man of' genius, who would not disgrace the page of Sterne; Foker, a thoroughly goodnatured sketch of a "fast" young English gentleman with sound heart and good practical sense, though led away by a lad education and the follies of his class. But for the lest, the reader must (as most doubtless have done) buy or borrow or steal the book itself; and he can scarcely fail to be beguiled of many an hour in amusement, and we venture to think not altogether unprofitably.