GRATTAN'S LEGENDS OF THE RHINE.

THERE are few writers who have been oftener before our critical tribunal than Mr. T. C. GRATTAN, the author of Highways and Byways: as tale-constructor, tragedy-deviser, novel-builder, and. history-compiler, his works are well known to the public, and have on the whole received a large raced of favour : the readers and the publishers seem to have been well pleased, and the author cares more for their applause than that of the most enlightened critic. Critics, indeed, have been most unfriendly to this gentleman ; and. we recollect few forms of ridicule or censure that have not .been employed in exploding his works. Nevertheless, they are not exploded, and Mr. GRATTAN publishes annually as if nothing had. happened. Dwelling in different parts of the Continent, he ex- ploits the romance of his neighbourhood, and returns once in. every twelve or twenty months to lay his stores at Mr. COLBURN'S doors; where, it would seem, they are always acceptable. Mr. GRATTAN'S works are of a kind to please and attract the habitual novel-reader; they are of a nature to suit the appetite of the regu- lar consumer, though not to please the palate of the more refined reader, who resorts to fiction as an occasional relief from severer studies, or the still severer task of struggling with the world or managing its concerns. The sentimentalities that have been laughed at are calculated to stimulate the feelings ordinarily fed with the hollow and unsubstantial food of mimic wo; and the very common nature of the materials usually employed to work out the story, are, by their very commonness in romance, qualified to produce their effect on somewhat coarse tastes. Then Mr. GRATTAN never fails to infuse into his works extraordinary activity, —a bustle which, if it be not gayety, is often taken for business. He is, moreover, never deficient in the cockfighting spirit of chi- valry, so fascinating to pale young ladies : his heroes are always ready to do and dare; no man of Mr. GRATTAN'S mould ever sticks at an impossibility. Add to these characteristics, a judicious choice of foreign scene, some rummaging into the Chronicles; and we may not wonder how his very liberal usage of the " properties " of the novelist—such as monks, nups, villains, bravos, cruel clulte- loins, and suffering beauties—comes to be forgiven at this time of day. The Legends of the Rhine are not of the Headachy school, like some of Mr. GRATTAN'S former works—the Heiress of Bruges, for instance : they are rather calculated to promote a sensation so far different, that we would recommend them to be taken immediately after the novels of the same author—the effect would be salutary. Every guide-book abounds with Legends of the Rhine. These Legends, and the Legends of the Hartz Mountains, ought to be put into the Index Expurgatorius of every publisher. Just as at school the master sometimes posts a list of examples, of which he bars the usage,—ALEXANDER and CLITUS, for instance, as warning against inebriety,—so we would counsel Mr. COLBURN to placard in his shop all subjects which now only act to the ex- perienced reader as a cry of "ware-horse." It so happens. that the majority of these Legends have little to do with the Rhine. Mr. GRATTAN still sticks to his Low Countries; of the romanceof which he has had a long lease, and. which we fervently hope is now about to expire. These are, we presume, the last remains of his stock—the sweepings of his granaries, and the • very bottom of his sold-off hayricks. We may now expect that he will establish himself on the Rhine, and take the toll on that highroad of romancers : we see signs of such a farm- ing project in the last volume, and suspect that we shall be often hearing of Highways and Byways in the neighbourhood of Heidelburg. We shall be content if Mr. GRATTAN will give us more of his personal experience and observations of character and scenery, and less of his chronicle-reading and hist:deal ima- ginings. The writings of Mr. GRATTAN which have most pleased us, and which have alone remained on our memory, are certain of his Tales, in which he records his own experience, and describes characters of his own day, from, we believe, personal intercourse with them.

The nature of these Legends—which are short and numerous, and but few distinguished by salient.points—hardly admits of ex- tract; and if the general character we have given of them be just, it may not be desirable to give any large specimen of Mr. GRAX- TAN'S talents for the soporific. The best, or at least one of the best stories, is that of the "Orphan of Cambra.y;" a child found near the body of a murdered gipsy, and who being adopted by a Canon of the Church, and brought up by his sister, of course turns out to be a lovely Countess. From this story we will give an extract; chiefly because it contains a good description of a bad part of Cambra..y, and will confirm our opinion of Mr. GnArrares success in painting that which he has actually seen.

There only remained with him in the great eating-hall two persons, and those of very different descriptions. One was the. reverend canon of the cathedrals Father Nicholas Watermetz; the second, a man dressed in a many-coloured pourpoint, covered with little brass bells, which tingled at every movement of the wearer. He' at a signal from Master Bartholomew, hurried out to prepare the varlets of the Canon, and they, in their turn, prepared his reverence's mule— but this they did not accomplish with equal speed ; for they had sooften clinked their cannikens in honour of the king of the guild, that their fingers found it no easy task to buckle the straps and tie the various knots of the animal's caparison. Seeing this state of things, Le Baudain ordered the bell-covered attendant, who, by name Jacob Parigault, was the sot-souris or fool of the corporation, to walk steadily before his reverence's mule to the bishop's palace, where he lodged, torch in hand, and with a keen eye around him ; necessary precautions in pass- ing through the quarter called .Hell's Gap, which lay about half way on the

road. The place distinguished by this uncourteous title still exists in the town of Cambray ; but in the days we write of, it was very different from what it is ]IOW. But even now it is hideous. Narrow lanes, miserable huts a poisonous atmosphere, a lazy and filthy stream, and a wretched population, form its main features. In this vile place, one never sees the broad daylight ; a modest

woman hurries through it, her eyes east down, and does not breathe freely till she is beyond its precincts. And well she may .put forth her speed ! For nothing is seen al the doors or windows of the buts but infamous young females, or, crouching on the steps or sitting against the walls, odious old ones, bandying base jests or coarse abuse with drunken and ragged men: At times, the sounds of cracked'an& screaming clarionets and fiddles are heard, playing a fit accom- paniment of miserable music to degraded nature.

At night the aspect of the place is certainly not improved. At all hours there arise cries of pain, the sound of blows, the oaths of the depraved. Attracted by the tumult the patrol arrives. The lights are instantly extinguished ; the noises cease. The unnatural calm is only broken by the measured tread of the guard. But no sooner is the regular tramp lost to the keen ears of the listeners, than a new murmur begins; new uproars break out ; and the peaceable and honest citizen, a'ho has ventured into the deceitful repose, hastens his steps towards his own respectable and quiet neighbourhood. This is not a pleasant picture ; but five hundred years ago the place presented one still worse.

There were then no signs of civilization, even in its lowest aspect. There were neither streets nor houses,—nothing, in fact, but a wide marsh, traversed by an ill-made and worse kept causeway, which passed through a large mass of crumbling ruins. No Christian ever put foot within them, unless in company with some priest, who could set at rest the evil spirits by which they were noto- riously haunted. The place was approached by a sort of outwork, called the " Hole of the Damned." It was the corner of the town, in which were the "Jews' Street," "Cut-throat Cross," and "Rogues Alley," the haunt of miscreants of the lowest degree of villany. The house of the hangman and the town-gallows stood prominent here, as a perpetual remembrancer for the edification of the in- habitants.

During the early part of his homeward ride, the Canon Bartholomew, who seemed to enjoy the freshness of the night-air, after the heating debauch from which he had risen, entered with much glee into the spirit of the jester's practi- cal jokes, and laughed heartily at the strokes of his rough satire, dealt about on the varlets of the churchmen entirely for their master's amusement. He imitated their somewhat staggering gait, mid the stuttering utterance which was the natural consequence of their excess. He quizzed them without mercy • and when they strove to reach him with the end of their quarter-staffs or the thongs of the whips they carried for the service of the Canon's mule, Jacob Parigault twisted and turned from them, or upon them, with attitudes as grotesque as theirs were awkward, and in a way very often to leave them sprawling in the dirty streets. But as the party approached Cut-throat Cross, a more serious air was mingled with the fooleries of the sot-swirls.

"Brother," said he, taking by the arms a flit and fuddled varlet, who could by no means walk straight, so often had he put hand to head during the evening, '.(my worthy friend, you would do well to cross yourself, as well as your legs, in this unholy spot. Sign, sign quickly, Martin, for God preserve us! ale Devil himself comes here at night, and his comrades are the dead felons whom he slips down from the gibbets, and the Jews—miscreants, whose very mention makes my hair stand on end ! "

The Canon laughed less faintly than before, and his man Martin began in good earnest to cross himself as the fool went on. "Saint Nicholas save us ! what was that? 'What a tall black figure! Ah, it is gone—easy enough for it ! for mayhap it was some pale thin ghost, or worse still, some demon of hell."

"Hush, hush, good jester," said Father Nicholas, "there should be bounds to wit, even were it broader than thine. These jokes are now out of season and place; we are entering on Hell's Gap, and I must not be disturbed while I re- peat the exorcism against all evil spirits ; so go on quietly and silently—and hark ye, Martin and Gobert, hold well the bridle, and keep yourselves steady on your limbs ! "

"Reverend Father, the road is long and difficult," said one of the varlets; " would not your reverence help to cheer us as we go with the story of this accursed place? it will be all over by the time we reach the ruins, and it is there, if your reverence remembers, that you always begin the exorcism." "Ay, do, your reverence," said the fool ; "so that if the Devil comes while you are telling the story, and carries away fat Martin, we shall be only one the less, you know."

"Hold thy graceless tongue, Jacob Parigault," retorted the other ; dost not see his reverence is crossing himself before he begins to tell us the story ?"

"Help, help! mercy, mercy.! The Virgin save us! Avaunt Satan ! Martin ! Gobert ! Holy father, make haste, begin the exorcism, begin, begin !" and other Most voluble exclamations burst out this moment from the fool, who lay pros- trate on the road, his torch extinguished, and the affrighted company conse- quently left in total darkness. To describe a•scene so g,loomy and involved is what no chronicler would have the hardihood to attempt. Jacob Parigault had fallen over some substance of greater bulk than a passing stone, as the varlets could barely distinguish without being able to judge of its exact magnitude or nature. The Canon's Mule made a sudden stop, and had infal- libly jerked Father Nicholas right over his bead into the road, had not the good man seized a fast hold of the animal's ears balancing himself the while on his neck, whale: the frightened varlets each held one of his reverence's legs, con- vinced that their only chance of safety was in sticking to his skirts, and at the same time keeping him in a position that would allow of his freely repeating the exorcism commanded by the church in such cases. "What ailest thee, -thou jesting ass?" replied the Canon to the fool's excla- mation. "Is this a place for thy fooleries? Thou hest nearly caused me to keep thy profane company closer than I covet." . "Holy father, take pity on me! I am. in the gripe of the Devil!" cried the fool.

"Hold thy impious tongue, fellow, nor provoke Heaven's wrath! On, var- lets, on ! Let this malapert jester follow as he may," said Watermetz in an un- wonted tone of anger. -

"Holy saints! He tears me with his claws ! he bites me with his teeth ! zfe you not hear his infernal voice ? Cruel Father Nicholas!" The piteous tone with wfifelS this was uttered, and the undistilited soitnele.of a most unchristian voice, fiercely chattering in the direction whese the body of the fool was lying, convinced the. Canon and his followers that it was-no -joke. One of the men, by repeated puffings, restored the light- of the torch, from-is spark which Was not quite extinct, and its lurid gleams falling upon the' road showed a very appalling scene.

Jacob Parigault had doubled himself up, his face and knees resting on the earth, afraid to look round or to attempt to rise, while a huge monkey fastenedl on his back was scratching and biting him unmercifully. Close beside lay the object over which the fool hadstumbled. It .was the dead and bleeding body of a woman.

Father Nicholas and his followers, almost petrified with fear, attempted to push forward, the Canon calling loudly to Martin to flog the mule with all his might, while Gobert drove away the monkey and released the fool.

"On, on, good varlets ! On from this unholy place, and give notice to the Provost of this cruel murder : forward, forward, kind fool ! Pick thy steps, fellow; there may be more of this loose company ere we get clear of Hell's Gap ! "

"Loose company, indeed'!" muttered the fool, wiping the Mud from his bleeding face with one hand, and waving the torch with the other, while the varlets whipped on the mule, throwing tearful glances around them the while; and Father Nicholas, now settled in his saddle, began in good earnest to repeat, in an agitated tone, the regular form of exorcism against the evil one. lint-all were again interrupted by the plaintive cries of a child, and in a moment more the helpless little object was discovered lying at some short distance from the body of the murdered woman. Moved with compassion at this sight, the worthy Canon forgot for a moment his alarm, and wrapping the little innocent carefully in his mantle, he carried it home with him; and his next step was to waken his elderly maiden sister, Madame Bertha, who had lived with and kept house for him for three-and- twenty years.