THE SPECTATOR'S LIBRARY.

THE author of Atherton is a man whose isniOuris pecu lady ac- ceptable to us : he looks upon the world with great good-nature, but it is dashed with a satirical shrewdness which gives his writing a most agreeable piquancy. His conception of character is just and happy ; and his dialogue, if not peculiarly brilliant, is natural and sensible. Both Truekleborough Hall and Rank and Talent were views of the world as it flies equably along, in town and country, in middling life, and were not distinguished by incidents beyond the ordinary round of experience. But in going half a cen- tury back, the author has felt himself at liberty to draw more largely upon his imagination, and has invented a story which could only have been probable in the very loose times of English police, and in the very ill-regulated state of the metropolis in the early part of the reign of GEORGE the Third. With the modern law of mar- riage, and under the impediments placed in the way of rash or fraudulent celebrations of that rite, that extraordinary being the hedge parson has ceased to exist ; and with him many of the ano- malous connexions and relations which he has the means of pro- ducing. The story of Atherton is grounded on an obsolete state of society. In the present state of manners many of its incidents would be impossible : they, however, who know the wretched condi- tion of the protective laws in I.ondon in the beginning of the last century, will not consider them improbable. We may refer persons who are ignorant of these matters—for, although they are a very essential point of history, they never form a part of it—to a work which, if it has no other value, will display a most curious picture of society during the early and middle part of the last century : we mean the Life of Mrs. Constantia Phillips, a curious and in- structive book. The Life of Jonathan Wild the Great, and the Tom Jones of the same author, are full of incidents which we now regard with indifference, as the machinery of works of fiction : they nevertheless contain none but everyday events. Atherton is the history of a foundling, who is concealed by his parent for purposes of personal aggrandizement. He is bred in mystery; and afterwards, when his existence materially affects the interests of the parties to whom he has been intrusted, it is endeavoured to make away with him, by various contrivances in the spirit of the times—such as imprisonment, false arrests, and murder. Of course the novelist brings him out of all these scrapes, safe and sound, and heir to a fortune and a title. The history is very well supported; but it is not for any such history that we value the author of Rank and Talent—as we have said, we love his quiet satire, we love his exact pictures of character in middle life, and we like his well-expressed and sensible re- marks on things in general. Inasmuch as Atherton is a story, which affords fewer openings for the author's peculiar powers, we like it less than Truckleborough Hall. Dr. Johnson is a character introduced, and is by no means ill drawn : it may be supposed that it required some effort to maintain conversations in which the lexicographer is supposed to bear a part: we can say with safety, that in these very dialogues he has had-considerable success. The following passage is the description of a dinner at a tradesman's of consideration in the City, whom Dr. Johnson, on the fame of his kitchen and his wine, has been persuaded to honour with his company.

"Atherton was of course naturally and highly delighted at the thought of sitting at table with Dr. Johnson, from whom he was in expectation of hearing oracles and nothing but oracles. Mr. John Bryant was invited to be of the party; but he gave his usual answer, No, thankye, brother, I have got a dinner at home.'

"It was tolerably manifest during dinner-time, that Mr. Boswell was very much afraid that the Doctor was not in a humour to show off. Mr. Robert Bryant, who knew the lexicographer's feeling on such occa- sions, was most anxiously fearful lest there should be to the Doctor's eye any appearance of a wish to show him to the company, and he was also very careful to avoid all political allusions, or any mention of the name of Wilkes. Very few words were spoken during dinner, and those few were merely words of business and not addressed to the Doctor. The whole party seemed to be dining with a tame lion, who would not eat them all up if they behaved themselves properly. At length there ap- peared symptoms of an oracle. Dr. Johnson laid down his knife and fork. Mr. Boswell pricked up his ears and looked roundto the company, as much as to say 'attention !'—' Mrs. Bryant,' said the learned Doctor, your apple pies are excellent.'

After dinner, the whole attention of the company was directed to the great man, who did not seem inclined to open his mouth, and none of the party seemed to have wit or courage to open it for him. Nobody dared to speak, hut in an under tone of voice; and the Doctor himself, as if imagining that there was no antagonist present, over whom victory would be glorious sat long in solemn silence. Mr. Boswell fidgeted in his seat, and twenty times was on the brink of making a speech, but as often his wits unfortunately failed him. The worthy draper and his guests were beginning to fear that the whole concern was a failure, and that they might as well, and perhaps better, have dined without Dr. Johnson ; when by accident Mr. Boswell aroused the dormant energy of his friend.

"Mention was made, amidst the mutterings of their commonplace talk, of a Mr. Vernon, a great West India proprietor. l?r. Johnson spoke highly of Mr. Vernon.

'But, Sir,' said Mr. Boswell, 'you do not approve of slavery ?'

" ' No, Sir,' roared the Doctor, and the company were delighted to hear him roar, ' Ido not approve of slavery; but I love Vernon.'

" ' And yet Mr. Vernon is a great owner of slaves,' replied Mr. Boswell.

" So much the better fcir them,' said the Doctor, and if I were a slave and could choose my master, Vernon should be the man.'

" Yes, Sir,' answered Mr. Boswell, ' for if you were Mr. Vernon's slave; he valid not set you to work in the plantations ; he would be too happy in the pleasure of your conversation to drive you to bodily labour. You would be his companion rather than his slave. " Sir,' said the Doctor, ' there is as much slavery in being compelled to talk, as in being compelled to wink.'

" But Mr. Vernon,' replied Boswell, would not compel you to talk.' " Why, no, Sir,' answered Johnson rather wearisomely, ' he might not use the whip and compel me so; but he might provoke me by talking nonsense.'

" As I may do,' replied Mr. Boswell.—The Doctor laughed loud and heartily ; then answered, ' Well said, Bozzy, you have made a rod for your own back.'" The extract which follows contains a fearful history of the hero's being crimped,—in other words, decoyed into a den of thieves, robbed, gagged, and manacled ; and instead of being murdered and sold to the surgeons, after the plan of the Burkers,sent off as a recruit to the East India Company's army.

" Frank Atherton left the tavern at a late hour ; but he had no fear of being shut out, or of being saluted by a worsted nightcap and a watch- man's rattle. Full of spirits and as happy as bright prospects and muddy port can make a young man of twenty, he parted with Nicholson after walking with him a few steps beyond Temple Bar. On his return, as he was crossing the end of Chancery Lane, he was accosted by one of the friendless wanderers of the night, who addressed him in the most plain- tive accents. He was attracted by the unusual style of address, and he was thereby iaduced to give an attention which under other circumstances he might have been prudent enough to decline. Frank had some money in his pocket, more indeed than he had ever possessed before ; he had his mind full of pleasing thoughts, and he was disposed to be generous. So he listened to her melancholy story, and it beguiled him of his sympathy ; and he offered her money, which she affected to refuse. Bending to the very ground in a lowly curtsey, and almost kneeling to him, she said= Oh, good Sir, it is not money alone that can relieve me. You seem to be a kind- hearted gentleman, and if you would but have the goodness to write a let- ter for me to my poor heart-broken parents, just to let them know how miserable and penitent I am, and how unfortunate I have been, they might receive me again. Will you, will you, Sir, be so kind?' " Atherton was moved by her entreaties, and complying with her re- quest, suffered her to lead him into a house in Chancery Lane of very dingy and suspicious aspect. He was conducted through dark passages and up and down various flights of stairs, insomuch that he thought he should have as much need of a guide to show him the way out as he had to show him the way in. His conductor at length introduced him to a room in which was an almost expiring fire flickering in a rusty, unfixed grate, and a thin yellow unsnuffed candle, in an untouchable candlestick, rather mocking than illuminating darkness. Turning round to speak to his guide, as soon as he had entered the apartment, lie was surprised to find that she had disappeared. Supposing, however, that she was only going to provide the materials for writing, he expected her return every minute. Minute after minute elapsed, and he became impatient. He opened the door of the apartment, and all beyond was utter darkness. He listened, and all was silent, save that he could hear the distant rumblings of an occasionally passing carriage. The solitary window of the room was covered with a dingy blue curtain, and on drawing it aside he disco- vered that there were outside shutters and iron bars to the window. He had for nearly half an hour no other amusement than to look at the face of his watch, till he fancied he could see the hands move, and to listen to its dreary ticking, till all manner of hobgoblin fears, more felt than be- lieved, crept torturingly into his mind. His candle was nearly exhausted and his patience quite. In spite of the repulsive look of the candlestick, he took the light in his hand, and was going again to the door, when he heard footsteps. But he was more astonished than ever, when, instead of. the young woman whom he had met in the street, there came into the room a tall, raw-boned, bilious looking man, with hawklike eyes, aquiline nose, and thin lips curled to the expression of a most contemptuous sneer, "..The stranger fixed his piercing eyes on Frank ; who said, • I belieee, Sir, there must be some mistake.'

" 'No, Sir,' replied the man, with most annoying composure, it is all perfectly right, there is no mistake. I beg you will be seated.' " So saying, the fellow sat down, and Frank did the same, hoping that they would soon come to an explanation. But the stranger commenced talking the most commonplace with as much indifference as if they were old acquaintances. Frank's first impression was that the man was mad. But he talked coherently and most dispassionately. As, however, it was growing very late, or rather early, for it was just midnight, Atherton rose up and very firmly said, You must excuse me, Sir, hut really there seems to be a complete misapprehension. I came in here, at the request of an unfortunate young woman, to write a letter—' "The stranger interrupted him, saying, If you came into this house to write a letter there certainly is a misapprehension on your part. We never suffer letters to be written in this house.'

"'Then I must beg of you,' replied Atherton, to detain me no longer. It grows late, and I must be gone.' " 'There also,' replied the other, you are under a misapprehension. You will not leave this house to-night.'

"'Not leave this house to-night ?' echoed Atherton ; what do you mean ? '

" I mean what I say,' answered the anonymous persecutor, with such a resolute calmness, that the young man felt himself to be within the re- sistless grasp of a superior power. " Making another effort, Frank replied, You certainly do mistake me for some other person, who should be your prisoner or your patient. I have never seen you before. And I must insist upon being allowed to leave you this instant, or I must give an alarm.' "Without any change in his looks, or at all partaking of Frank's vio- lence of manner, the stranger replied, We have means in the house whereby to prevent your making a noise.' " Would you murder me ?' asked the youth.

" You are too valuable to be murdered,' replied the stranger. "'In one word, then, Sir,' said Frank, will you have the kindness to tell me whom or what you take me to be ; for I may then be able to con- vince you that you mistake me ?' For he now began to think that he was in a private madhouse.

" ' I take you to be,' replied the man, a fine young fellow, full six feet high, and particularly well adapted for the army in the East Indies.' " Now the truth sashed fearfully on his mind, and he knew that he had been betrayed into one of those horrible crimping-houses, of which lie had heard stories too dreadful to be believed. He trembled from head to foot by the very effort to keep himself calm. Fixing his eye firmly upon the stranger, he said, ' Still there is a misapprehension. I have not in- listed, and I will not mast.'

" You have been dining at a tavern, young man, and you have taken your glass rather freely. You forget yourself. You have the inlistment- money in your pocket.' " This speech, instead of alarming Frank any further, contributed in some measure to relieve him of part of his fears ; for he now considered that this contrivance was merely to rob him ; and he would willingly have parted with all the money he had, so that he might regain his li- berty. In a moment he emptied his pocket, and laying the money on the table he said, 'There, Sir, is all the money I have ; and if that be your ob- ject, take it ; but in the name of all that is good, I beg and implore you to detain me no longer.'

" The fellow very calmly counted the money, and put it into his pocket, saying, I will take care of the money for you, and when you arrive in India it will be returned to you. You will have no occasion for it till then.'

" Provoked beyond all power of endurance, and agitated to a degree of agony, he looked, as cautiously as his disturbed feelings would let him, to- wards the door, and it was a relief to him to observe that it stood ajar and that the key was on the outside. With a vigour which nothing but desperation could inspire, he successfully aimed a knock-down blow at his persecutor ; and then rushing out of the room, he locked the door, . and, notwithstanding the total darkness, he ran rapidly down stairs. Sooner than he expected, he reached the passage which led into the street, and through the semicircular window above the door he saw the street lamps burning, and at the same moment hearing the watchman .call the hour, he thought that all was safe, and congratulated himself that he was now out of danger. But the instant that he set his foot upon the floor, it sank beneath him, and he was precipitated into a cellar.

"He was stunned by the force of the fall, and for a while, he knew not how long, all consciousness was suspended. When his senses returned, he found himself bound hand and foot, lying on a truckle bed in a mi- serable unfurnished garret. For a while he could scarcely believe his newly restored senses. He had need of a considerable effort to identify himself to himself. But his memory rallied at last, and by an effort of recollection he was able to connect his present with his past sensations ; for he seemed to himself to have undergone a kind of metempsychosis. He felt that he had on the preceding day indulged himself too freely with the bottle, and he could not at first very readily recal to his mind the transactions of the previous evening. He was sensible enough to the manacles which bound his hands and feet, and by the vain strugglings which he made to extricate himself, he brought himself sufficiently well to a recollection of the events of the past night. Then, high as his hopes had been before, and bright as had been his prospects, all was for a time darkness and despair. " In a few minutes after this fulness and painfulness of recollection had come upon him, the hideous-looking creature whom he had seen and knocked down the night before, made his appearance again. Frank na- turally expected that he should now'have to undergo a severe discipline of retaliation for the blow which he had inflicted upon the gaoler ; but the wretch was as provokingly calm as ever. "Seeing that Frank had come to himself, the man said, Well, young- ster, you find that it is not quite so easy to escape from my custody as you imagined. It was very foolish of you to strike me, and if you do not conquer that impetuosity of feeling, you will get yourself into trouble. Would you like to have any thing to eat? You may have what you please for breakfast.' "The young man's heart swelled in his bosom, almost to bursting ; he knew not what to say, nor what to think, nor what to devise. He made no reply, and his persecutor continued. Come, come, you had better not quarrel with your bread and butter. Sulkiness will nut help you on in the world. I will send you some breakfast, and when you see what able and respectable attendants you have, you will not think of attempt- ing your escape again.' "So saying, he left the room; and presently afterwards two of the most ill-favoured and repulsive-looking beings that ever bore the name and as- pect of humanity, came into the room, bringing as good a breakfast as any man with an honest appetite could possibly desire. One of them loosened Frank's hands, and the other, without speaking,.presented him with the tray. Now, deep as might be the young man's dejection, and hopeless as he might think his case to be, his despair was not of such a nature as to drive him to loathe his life or to despise the means of sustenance. He took de offered repast, though not with the very best appetite. He now saw that there was no chance of escape by the vigour of his own arm; and he was not sorry when his attendants departed, leaving him to the solitude of his own meditations, and to the uninterrupted train of his own thoughts. The caution which Dr. Johnson had given him, not to expect too much, came to his recollection again, and came most closely. But he thought that if his present situation were a specimen of the alterna- tions and vicissitudes which he was destined to experience through the whole course of his life, he had no very pleasing prospect to look forward to ;—but hope, which is as light as air, is also as elastic too.

"His meditation still was of escape. He had already tried the door on the preceding night, and now he meditated to essay the window. His bands had been left at liberty, and by their assistance he presently unfet- tered his feet. Looking from the window, he found that nothing was to be gained that way but a broken neck, which he by no means preferred to captivity, fond as he was of liberty. At one mo- ment, and only for a moment, he thought of giving an alarm, and throwing his cause into the hands of the multitude ; but he considered again the resources which his gaoler most probably had to elude an attack, or to remove his victims—for he was satisfied that there were others in the house beside himself. While he was thus meditating, shrieks were heard in the streeet, and a crowd was rapidly and numerously collected about the house in which he was con- fined. There were loud knockings at the door, and there were execrations and shouts which sufficiently indicated to the inmate, that the character of the house was known to the people. He looked and listened, and found that one of his fellow-prisoners had, in despair, thrown himself from a window, and had thereby betrayed the secret of the prison-house. But before any advantage in the way of liberation could accrue to our hero by means of this attack on his prison, his ill-favoured attendants rushed into the room, bound and gagged him, and • conveyed him into a cellar, from whence he could hear the rushing and ravings and trarnplings of the indignant multitude, who soon after found their way into the house, and for lack of any thing else to wreak their vengeance upon, destroyed such immediately destructible property as came within their reach. " midnight and beyond, Frank and his fellow-captives lay in the

cellar ; from thence they were put into a boat and rowed down to Dept.. ford. They then were put on board a vessel, which was prepared to carry them and other such unfortunates to the East Indies. On board ship they were liberated from their manacles, and closely stowed between the decks. Our unfortunate hero, even in this hapless condition, still buoyed himself up with hope ; for he naturally thought, that as he would be missed the following morning after his first detention, and as the acci- dent to the poor fellow who had thrown himself out at window had pro- claimed the nature of the house, inquiries would be made, and he might yet he traced and discovered before the ship had cleared the river."

These passages afford a very fair idea of the entertainment to be expected from Atherton. It is a novel which a man may read, but not so entirely without the running accompaniment of the " pish !" and the " pshaw !" as the former work of the same writer.