ILLUSTRATIONS OF HUMAN LIFE.

THIS wilik of the accomplished author of Tremaine consists of three stories, or rather sect inns. The first is entitled " Attieus ; " and contains, in a series of letters, a descrip: ion of the mode of life of a retired statesman, and of' his sentiments and opinions on a variety of subjects, as they are expressed to a friend, who had been unsuccessfully sent by the first Reform Ministry on the fool's errand of wooing him buck to office. The object of the second, called " St. Lawrence," is to lay down the rationale of Special Providences; which it endeavours to effect by a laboured, but neither a logical nor a scientific train of arguments, which is made to spring out of a lot of ghost stories—as the titlepages have it, 4' both original and selected." "Fielding," the third tale, pro- fesses to be the memoir or journal of a shrewd and satirical but good-natured motive-hunter, who, like Rasselas, sets out on a Journey in search of happiness. It is in reality a varied and ex- tensive, though not a general picture of society,—containing cha- racters, from a slight sketch up to an elaborate portrait; inditi- dual histories, from an anecdote or a brief but characteristic out- line, to a finished narrative or confession ; and colloquies, in which morals, manners, politics, and criticism, are dismissed, the whole being strung together on the thread of Mr. Fielding's expe- riences, of which indeed they constitute the substance.

In an abstract point of view, the Illustrations of Human Life is distinguished by the same qualities as the far-famed Tre• twine and De Vere. There is a similar fulness of matter, which if analyzed has the semblance of substance without the weight ; an Nita' elegant propriety and studied taste ; the same social experience and official-like wisdom ; as well as the old disposition to philosophize on abstruse subjects without the requisi'e science. and to dumbfound the opponents the author has made. There is also the same old-fashioned not out-of-the-way reading—the minor classics of a passed age ; the same finished and rotund closeness of diction, which, like a full and quiet streandet, moves on, without flowing : whilst there is something more than the former amiable prejudices—expressed too with a less amiable spirit—in favour of a state of things where the world was satisfied with the wisdom and virtue of its rulers, "the peop:e had nothing to do with the laws but to obey them," and the whole life of society below the " quality " was . a long dead calm of fixed repose ;

No pulse that riots, and no blond that glows; Still as the sea. ere winds were taught to blow,

Or moving spirits bid the waters flow."

But though the literary merit of the present work is equal to that of either of the former, and perhaps superior if it were tried by the test of examination instead of memory, it will not enjoy the same popularity. It wants the interest of a story, and the tem- porary attraction which De Vere possessed in its allusions or sup- posed allusions to Cart:11NC. The ten or a dozen years, too, whch have since passed, have wrought a considerable change in the opinions, feelings, and tastes of the public. Mr. WARD then represented the large class of Canning-Tories, and his notions were echoed by many; but what genus sympathizes with him now ? He is too moderate and amiable for the Ultras; who are not to be satisfied

"with vain regrets For that they've lost fur ever."

The Conformers laugh in their sleeves at his prejudices and his piety. To the world of' readers—the youth who since his first ap-

pearance as an author have grown up to middle manhood, and the

children who have become young men—his subjects, manner, and ideas. belong to another time. Mr. WARD has been trained in the

formal and measured school of our Augustan age ; and though not an imitator, he has added nothing peculiarly his own to the manner of his masters; so that he now looks somewhat like a well- kept garden in the old style of allies, terraces, statues, trees, and clipped hedges—or an elderly beau, with knee-breeches, buckles, and .periwig.

Two other reasons mav also be assigned, for the probable fall- ing-off in the reception of these Illustrations. In the first place, they closely resemble the author's previous works; and every public requires some improvement in workmanship. or some variety in the form or spirit of a fresh production, and will nut even run after a Paradise Regained. In the second place—it is a fact to be stated, however it may be lamented—Mr. WARD requires a more patient reading than the present age will bestow on any book not scientific or professional. it is not enough now-a-days to be true; one must be striking. No sentiments however just, no lan- guage however elegant, will float a lengthy didactic treatise, or rouse the reader from the recipient to the acquisitive state of pe- rusal. And let not the thirty-seventh year of the nineteenth cen- tury be wholly censured for the bookmaking propensities of its writers—what popular Ilitler.ic wink of any.other lies c egg clown to us as a hou-rhilld book, in three long-winded volumes?

Did the oppurtunity offer. we should tery much like to break a lance with Mr. WARD on his new ghost story in "Sr. Lawrence," where the Almighty is, it aprrears to us almost itimiously, re. presented as interfering to bring about the restoration of a pro- perty, which a skilful managing attorney's clerk wail(' have effeeted quite as well.—and in one sense better, for he would have Brought the murderers to justice, instead of consenting to let them escape. Nor do we pass over from conviction the deiltietions the author draws touching Special Providences in second causes, and his self-satisfied re-olutions on free-will. But space and propriety—maters as stubleirit as any of these which puzzled MILTON'S fallen angels—fro-bid. We therefore turn to mune en- gaging pas-ages; and here is a very charming picture from the "Attieus '—a landscape breathing the true spirit of pastoral.

I did not rise late, but faun., nor friend had been up two lours befote me. He had teed prat era to hie servant., who one and all had attended ; and he had already dune business with his farmer and he ill gardener (who woe also his woodman) befit' e I came down We breakfasted at the garden-door of the room where we had dined the preceding day ; which the cheetful warmth of the morning and the delicious event of the may made chat ming. It did not open upon the part, rre, being on another side of the house ; but it lid the eye at once to the end Of a very long and well- kept walk. lined on each side with horse-chesnuts, now iii dui' full blossurn. There watt true no garden, but rather is fertile orate; fur as open rail fenced it (non the greenest meadow I ever NW. From this arose a stream of rich perfume, such as I had seldom met with ; which Atticita informed me was occasioned by die peculiar seeds with which he had formed the meadow (for it was his own creation), and which, with some pedantry, as I told him. he said was the Anthe.roothunt Odoratum, which in fact occasions the perfume of our haystacks. We must suppose that he was too proud of nis new character nut to cultivate Linnaeus; but he might as well have railed his Lvontite grass at once the Swett-scented Vernal, which I afterwards found from his fanner was its English, or, as be called it, its real name.

Breakfast over, we strolled down the walk, and quaffed its sweet air with a delight unknown in London. There was a stillness in it not only gratifying to the senses. but which seemed to smith the heart ; so that I idiom' wondered there could be any tumult anywhere in the world, much less any of our own creating, as if in very wantounesa and discontent at the lot awarded us by the

Curator. It reason of those morning-, which seem the personification of calm.

Stone beautiful cows were couchant on the distant bide of the ineaduw, chew. ing the cud. No other sound, but now and then a chirp from the hedges, varied the quiet; which was rather merle more pleasant than otherwise by a soft mist or dew, which had exhaled from the earth, but was now dissipating at the approach of the sun. The whole was what the painters call a Repose, and it wus worthy the beautiful pencil of Cityp in his sweetest and happiest hour.

A considerable part of the discussions between the old statesman and the young go-between 'elate to the comparative happiness of

public and retired life; which of course give rise to many re- marks, and some of them elegantly philosophical. Of these the following are specimens.

HAPPINESS OF MONOTONY.

" After all, are we right in holding that monotony cannot be happy ? Do we not see thousands passing through lite occupied day after day with the self. same employments, only vaned by the return of the self-same reliefs; consist- ing merely or chiefly in the gratification of natural wants—eating, drinking, and sleeping ; perhaps the very same food every day of the )ear, treading the same round of exertion, and glol of the satire rest. These form the hulk of manki:41: yet so sweet is the calm of this monotony, that it is seldom we see happier people; and in toy person, I can answer for it, the time never appears so short."

PLEASURES OF READING AND PHILOSOPHICAL CRITICISM.

" When you talk of reading as an employnent, what would puzzle me, with- out a profession, would be to know how to make a selection interesting, or varied, or long enough to last. But I have profited so much by illustrations from your own practice, that I should like to get at the history of your studies, and be made acquainted with your favourite subjects." " If you do me the honour to inquire," he answered, " I have no scruple to say that once it was history. But though I will not now say, with Sir Robert Walpole, that I know history must he false ; yet the greater part of it must be so clouded by passion and prejudice in the original nutters, that is, the actors, that the caution which ought to accompany every step, derogates much from the pleasure of it. I now, therefore, turn to more pleasing, because purer ob- jects."

" Anti what are they ?"

"Chiefly philosophical criticism. This give% not merely polish and elegance to the taste ; it requires and improves all powers of the mind, all knowledge of nature, both puilsophy and history, every science, and almost every art. All that Cicero ever said of an orator when before the public, may be said of the cm itic in his closet, when the public is forgotten. All our best faculties and most refilled feelings; our gen:ue, learning, judgment, powers of comparing, and finally deciding ; all these animate and exercise the understanding, with a delight and energy, and a self-importance too, that laughs all duller employ- ments to scorn.

Our very old readers are familiar with the general fact that Lord Lvrriatiros's ghost appeared to MILES PP.TER ANDREWS; a few of our younger readers may have 'maid of such a circum- stance; but neither one nor the other class know the exact par- ticulars. Here, however, they are, as given by Mr. ANDREWS to Mr. ST. LAWRENCE, alias Mr. WARD.

" I can only tell, and indeed undertake no more," replied Mr. St. Lawrence, "what I learned from Mr. Andrew, himself, who, I feel sure, is good authority.

It is true, that the night before Lord Lyttleton died, a fluttering of a bird was heard, and perhaps a bird seen on the window-curtains. It is not true that

Mrs. Humphreys, nr any other departed lady whom he had seduced, appeared

and warned him of his end. it is true, that he himself thought he w• es to die at a given hour ; and the clock was put on, in order to deceive him into comfort. It is also true, that he was found dead with his watch in his hand, at but a few minutes after the time he mentioned as his last. But it is equally true, that upon any great agitation be was subject to a swelling in the throat, which, without Immediate assistance, might kill hint by strangulation. However, the coincidence of event with prophecy was at any rate most remarkable." "Agreed," said Mr. Campbell, "but no more than coincidence." "I locution it only as such," observed Mr. St. Lawrence; "hut come we now to Andrews. Andrews was at his house at Dartford, when Lord Lyttletoa died at Pitt Place, Epsom, thirty miles off. Andrews's house was full of comb esu , sal he expected Lori Lyttleton, whom he had left in his usual state of towitb, to join them the next day, which was Sunday. Andrews himself feel-

ing much indisposed on the Saturday evening, retired early to bed, and re- quested lire. Pigou, one of his guests, to do the honours of the supper-table. Fle admitted, that when in bed be fell into a feverish sleep, but was waked be-

tween eleven and twelve by somebody opening his curtains. It was Lord Lyttle- ton, in a night-gown and cap, which Andrews recognised. He also plaiuly 'poke to him, saying, he was come to bell him all was over.

o The world said, he informed him that there was another state, and bad* him repent, ire. be. That was not so, and I confine myself to the exact words of this relation."

4. You are quite right," said Campbell.

"Now it seems," continued St. Lawrence, "that Lord Lyttleton was fond efborse.play, or what we should call mauvaise plaisanter le ; and having often made Andrews the subject of it, the latter had threatened him with manual chastisement the next time it occurred. On the present occasion, thinking this annoyance renewed, he threw the first things he could find, which were his slippers, at Lord Lyttleton's head. The figure retreated toward, a dressing- room, which had no ingress or egress except through the bedchamber ; and Andrews, very angry, leaped out of bed to follow it into the dressing-room. It

was not there. Surprised, he returned to the bed-room, which he etrietly searched. The door was locked on the inside, yet no Lord Lyttleton was to be found. He was astonished, but not alarmed ; so convinced was he that it was some trick of Lord Lytteton; who he supposed had arrived according to his en- gagement, but after he, Andrews, had retires. He therefore rang for his ser- vant, and asked if Lord Lyttleton was not come. The man said no. • You may depend upon it,' replied he, out of humour, ' he is somewhere in the house, for he was here just now, and is playing some trick.' But how lie could have got into the bed-room, with the door locked, puzzled both muster and man. Convinced, however, that he was somewhere in the house, Andrews, in his urger, ordered that no bed should he given him; saying he might go to an inn,

or sleep in the stables. Be that as it may, be never appeared again, and Andrews went to sleep. "It happened that Mrs. Pigou was to go to town early the next morning. What was her astonishment—having heard the disturbances of the night before —to hear oo her arrival, about nine o'clock, that Lord Lyttleton had died the very night lie was supposed to have been seen. She immedianely sent an ex- press to Dartford with the news ; upon the receipt of which, Audrews, quite well, and remembering accurately all that had passed, swooned away. He mould not understand it, but it had a most serious effect upon him ; so that, to tie his own expression, he was not his own man again for three years."

In " Fielding," a number of anecdotes are introduced, not with- out point in themselves, but depending for their piquancy upon a knowledge of the parties. The following " ower true tale," for instance, will only he fully relished by those who know the yielding author and the clever countess ; though, if report be true, he is not the only Antony who has been led astray by the fascinating Cleopatra. I thought all this very strange, but I found from Etheredge, when I men• Coned it to him, that it was very common. " It is inconceivable," said he, " how much may be done or undone by a bow or curtesy, given or omitted. I have known a man of talent sulk for a twelvemonth with a lady of fashion, because she did not acknowledge his salute at the Opera, though the poor offender, being much engaged, really did not see him. Another gifted person, much connected with the press, would never join the world in attacking a celebrated countess, because she had appeared interested in his conversation at a dinner, sod on withdrawing had dropped him a most graceful curtesy. From that time forth, while not unjustly blamed by his contemporary writers for a great deal of hauteur, the paper he was connected with always spoke of her as a pattern of condescension." " Let the end try the man." Let us, in closing, state the mo- rals deducible from these Illustrations ef Human Life, and show the naked logic of the worthy old gentleman. In " Atticus," we learn that an elderly statesman, who is happy in his retirement, should not quit it to join a Ministry of whose principles he disapproves, and whose practices he despises. " St. Lawrence" professes to teach us that supernatural appearances—or what comes to the same thing, the conviction of their appearance—may have been decreed by Providence before the creation of the world, with a view to work certain ends; that second causes are equally providential, though not so puzzling, as direct interferences, and that our will may be left free, by Providence assailing us, through influences which are sure to sway us, although resistance is theoretically poi, sible. The episodes of Lackland and Fawknor, in " Fielding," teach us that literature imprudently pursued is a bad vocation,— which may, perhaps, be predicated of any thing else; and that a pretender beyond his means and condition is certain

to terminate his career miserably,—though the character of Fawknor, which points this moral, is too much a repetition of

that of the parvenu in De Vere. From " Fielding " we may also infer, that the sons of Calvinists take to evil courses through the predestinating character of their faith ; and that apparently moral " infidels " are only whited sepulchres, like the Pharisees of old. We moreover are taught, that people with health, property, sta-

tion, a good disposition, an amiable wife, or a pursuit—an advance upon the "health, peace, and competence "of the poet—may manage to rub on in England ; but that Germany is the place for general happiness, in consequence of the content of the people, and their submission to the paternal powers that he.