RICHARD RAVAGE, A ROMANCE.

THE biography of JOHNSON, written whilst his feelings of grief and friendship were 'et fresh, has given a celebrity to RICHARD SAVAGE which neither his singular birth, his distressing career, nor the productions of his genius, would have procured for him. But the first of British biographies, or perhaps of any biography, affords another instance of the importance of subject. The irregular education of SAVAGE, his still more irregular life and habits, as well as his impatience of any restraint upon his most trifling wishes, militated against the production of any enduringly-attractive work ; for which his genius possibly, and his knowledge of life undoubtedly, fitted him. Hence, the interest in his story gradually passed from the mind of society, because each new generation felt less interest in the man ; and of the vast mass of those who now call themselves readers, the majority know nothing of RICHARD SAVAGE, and many perhaps are ignorant of his name. It may be observed as a further reason for this neglect, that the life and character of SAVAGE were of too peculiar a kind to be of much utility to mankind in general, whilst the incidents of his career, however extraordinary, did not partake of the nature of romance. The great moral deducible from his life, in the opinion of his biographer—" that nothing will supply the want of prudence ; and that negligence and irregularity, long continued,. will make knowledge useless, wit ridiculous, and genius contemptible "—can be drawn from nearer sources.

How far a subject of this kind is fitted for fiction may be questioned. The reader who is acquainted with the actual facts, detects the alterations made in adapting the subject to fiction, and which alterations, unless they are made with very extraordinary art, do something more than change, by vitiating, the consistency of the whole. On the other hand, the ignorant feel no interest in the subject ; they cannot appreciate the skill with which it is treated, either by additions, omissions, or softening down ; and they may be led to consider parts unnatural, because they belong to another mode of life than that with which experience has made them acquainted; perhaps even the era of real life may not always be the oraisernblable of fiction.

With such difficulties to contend against, it is no small praise of Mr. VI HITEHEAD'S Richard Savage to say, that he has succeeded better than might have been expected. He has the first requisite of a writer, a knowledge of his subject—he has studied the life of SAVAGE with care; he has also made himself acquainted with the character of his hero's contemporaries, as well as with the forms and spirit of the age, by a perusal of such contemporary works as beat display those qualities. The characters, incidents, manners, and sentiments of the novel, are such in the general as we imagine those of the period to have been, but judiciously softened. Mr. WHITEHEAD further displays his judgment in not exaggerating the vices of his characters, or infusing a stilted romance into scenes of every-day life. In the main, Mr. WHITEHEAD has adhered pretty strictly to the reality, almost following the biography pan i passu. The confession of the Countess of Macclesfield that the child with which she was pregnant was the child of Earl Rivers, the subsequent divorce by act of Parliament without a judgment of the Ecclesiastical Courts, and the hatred with which young Savage was regarded by the adulteress from his birth, are of course narrated. The meditated attempt upon the child's life by its mother, alluded to by JOHNSON as a possible criminality, is assumed in the romance as a fact ; and the plan of banishing him to the Plantations is properly expanded into a series of crimping incidents. The scenes of Savage's early life, when put out to nurse under a feigned name by his grandmother—his school-days at St. Alban's, under a master of whom -Savage "always spoke with respect "—and his residence with the shoemaker as an apprentice, of which he was not very willing to speak at all—are expanded or filled up by many characters and incidents. In the biography, the discovery of his true birth was made by Savage on the death of his nurse, from some letters of Lady Mason's, his grandmother : in the romance, it is produced by the hero's own deductions, from a series of slight incidents, prompted by the conduct of Lady Mason's confidential servant, who has his own wrongs to revenge upon Mrs. Brett, the former Countess of Macclesfield. The events of the hero's literary career furnish the opportunity for an introduction of Bullock, Wilks, Cibber, Mrs. Oldfield, and Sir Richard Steele—names figuring in the life. Steele's plan to marry Savage to an illegitimate daughter of his own, with a portion which he never could raise, produces the love-story of' the romance ; as the indignation of Steele when he heard Savage had ridiculed him crosses the lovers; The fatal midnight brawl in which Sinclair was killed by Savage, with his trial, sentence, and eventual pardon, in despite of his mother's interference against him, of course occupy a conspicuous place in the novel ; and its author has aimed at giving an entirety to the fiction, which life, as we can see it, rarely possesses, by connecting

together throughout the book all the actors in the scene. Merchant, the original cause of the quarrel, is a loose unprincipled wit, an early associate of the hero's, and his introducer to the low wits of the day : Gregory, who wait found guilty with Savage on the trial, is in the romance an old schoolfellow and a fast friend : Sinclair is also a schoolfellow, a beaten rival at school, and afterwards in love ; so that hate, rather than accident, contributes to the fatal denouement. The other incidents of Savage's life are treated in a similar manner, except that the later scenes are hurried over: those passages of condensed description in JOHNSON—as the difficulties under which the tragedy of " Sir Thomas Overbury " was composed, and the terrible distress to which Savage was reduced—are least effective. The romance is in the form of an autobiography, except the hero's imprisonment and death at Bristol, which are told in the shape of a letter from the Keeper " to Mr. Samuel Johnson."

Though contrary, we believe, to the purpose of the author, the character of Savage suffers in the fiction, both morally and metaphysically. Part of this arises from changes, part from introductions. In the biography, his mother persecuted him through infancy and youth, depriving him of a legacy of six thousand pounds which Earl Rivers intended to leave him, by asserting that he was dead. In the romance, she is made to believe in his death, and to tell the unwitting falsehood to his father ; so that when her shame starts up before her as a stripling, there is more reason for her anger, and her assertion that he was an impostor. The real Savage does not appear to have lost all regard for his mother till after she tried to get him hanged : the Savage of the romance begins to hate her very soon, and with a wordy vehemence which is rather puerile than passionate. The biographical hero, in the language of his "Bastard," was "launched into life without an oar "—thrown upon the world in boyhood without calling or means of subsistence : in the romance, his schoolmaster offers to send him to college ; and Myte, a well-drawn money-lender and virtuoso, wishes to retain him as his clerk ; which proposals he rejects without sufficient reason. There is also an incongruity in the dissipation and irregularity of Savage in the fiction ; and his inconsistencies, so delicately brought out by Jonwsow, disappear. But the great blot is his endeavour to seduce Miss Wilfred, when, under the auspices of Lord Tyrconnel, he has been introduced to luxury and fashionable life. This is a gratuitous and unnecessary degradation of the hero ; for Savage's course of life was a sufficient reason to put an end to the connexion: and perhaps the love occupies an undue place in the latter part of the work, and wears somewhat the namby-pamby air of a vulgar romance.

In his other characters the author is generally happy, especially in his elderly gentleman, part roysterer part humorist, but with more true good feeling at bottom than might be supposed at first sight. Burridge the schoolmaster is of this kind; and here is his first appearance in the book, when young Savage made his appear-. ance at school.

"The pedagogue was at home and at leisure, for it was half-holyday; and sent word out that we were to be admitted to his presence. When we entered the apartment, we beheld a gigantic figure reclined almost horizontally in a very large chair. He was smoking a pipe, and had, it would seem, recently divested himaelfof an enormous rusty periwig, which lay clutched in his huge fist upon the table. He regarded us in silence for some moments, through the smoky veil by which he was surrounded, and then rising leisurely, he laid aside his pipe and came towards us.

"'This letter, Sir,' said Ludlow, will explain for what purpose I wait upon you,' handing it to him. "'A letter, eh ! ' said Burridge, whipping a pair of spectacles out of his waistcoat. pocket, and jerking them on the bridge of his nose.

"'Let's see—Francis Burridge, Esquire—Esquire !" and he gave a loud whistle. 'Ah! well—very good—just so!' he added at intervals, as he hastily perused the letter. "'This tells me,' said he, holding the letter from him, 'that I am to take this little fellow—what's his name ? Richard Freeman, under my care—under my tuition.' " ' Yes, Sir,' said Ludlow.

And that he is to remain with me during the holydays P Ludlow bowed. " That implies that the lad's parents are dead ; is it so ? '

" ' I believe they are,' replied Ludlow, hesitating.

" ' Ah not certain ? ' said Burridge; perhaps there's more life than death in the matter, eh ? '

" I really do not know,' replied Ludlow, disconcerted. " Ah, well!' returned Burridge, ' who is Henrietta Mason ?

" ' My Lady,' replied Ludlow, 'the Lady Mason.' " ' The Lady Mason ! oh! I beg her pardon,' cried Burridge with a low bow, that's it; I always bow to a title.' He rang the bell. ' Bring some wine,' as the servant entered. "Ludlow began to plead headache, but was stopped by the familiar hand of Burridge upon his month.

" ' Now, Sir,' said he, when the wine was put on the table, 'I crave pardon ; your name?'

"'Ludlow. Sir.'

"'Well, Mr. Ludlow,' and he slapped his brawny leg, 'let us drink to the speedy progress of our young student ; and we'll give him a glass too, to damp him down, as printers do their paper, before he goes into the press. Let WI hope he'll contain something good when he comes out of it.'

I hope so, indeed,' said Ludlow earnestly, setting down his glass. you forgive me ? ' he resumed after a pause, but I trust—I feel no doubt—indeed I know, that be will be treated kindly. I am, Sir,' and poor Ludlow smiled with a kind of mournful humility, 'Iam greatly attached to him.'

"Mr. Burridge raised his black brows, and gazed into the meek countenance of the other. 'Ab, well, you like him ? • he remarked, at length. 'Why, yes, we shall treat him kindly enough, I dare say. We keep a school, Ludlow, act a slaughterhouse; we are not cannibals, but Christians—men, not monsters. But, Sir,' and here be shook his finger in the air, Mr. Shakspere,. an author strangely neglected in these our times, albeit the greatest genius that ever appeared in England, except Milton, and in all save sublimity be surpasses even that stupendous genius ; Mr. Shakspere has proposed this.ques; tion—. Treat a man according to his deserts, and who shall escape whipping? Now, Sir, if that be true, and I believe it is,' winking his eye knowingly, add

pointing his thumb over to me, 'dy'e think the boys ought to go scot free, eh ? "'No, indeed,' said Ludlow: 'do you hear what Mr. Burridge says, Richard? You must take care.'

''So he will,' cried Burridge, putting on his periwig. 'The truth is, the temples of Greece and Rome are "bosom'd high in tufted trees "—birch-trees, Mr. Ludlow; and I never knew a boy yet who could find his way to those temples without going through those trees. But come, Dick, take leave of your friend; he is anxious to go.'"

The brawl which ended in the death of Sinclair may be taken as an example of what many writers in our day are deficient in, rapidity of action in narrative. The scene was Robinson's Coffeehouse, a house of ill fame at Charing Cross : Merchant, very drunk, has just forced himself into a room, where Savage and Gregory, who had been drinking, followed him.

"On entering tho room, we discovered Merchant standing with his back to the fire which was opposite the door, his arms akimbo, which supported the skirts Of his coat. His eyes were directed obliquely towards a company at the other end of the room, and his lips were apart with a smile, disclosing his clenched teeth. The whole expression of his countenance was that of extreme and provoking contempt for the persons at whom he continued to gaze.

"On our first entrance into the room, Gregory and I had turned to the left, concluding from the partial darkness in that quarter that that portion of it was unoccupied, as indeed was the case.

"'Come, Merchant,' said Gregory, calling to him, when we had taken our seats. Come this way, man. Shall we order a bowl of punch ? ' "'Come this way,' he returned, beckoning us towards him, but still with hie impudent stare upon the company ; and having seen whom we have got here, order what you please; only take care to order some asafcetida along with it, to purify the room.

• " I suspect Merchant will get his nose slit,' whispered Gregory to me ; don't go near him. We can the ktter assist Lim if we take no part with him, should he get into trouble.'

"Moved by curiosity, however, (the place, as well as Merchant's speech bad awakened it,) I arose. What was my astonishment, when glancing at the company, I observed Sinclair and Lemery a portion of it. "And here, to make what follows the easier intelligible, I must mention, from my after knowledge, of whom the party consisted. There was Sinclair and Lemery, and a brother of the latter, whose wife, a strong masculine woman, was seated by the side of Sinclair, and a huge ferocious ruffian, well dressed, however, to whose ill-favoured aspect a broken nose added an expression of extreme pugnacity. "Sinclair recognized me in an instant, and turned pale. The colour presently returned to his face, and his eye encountered mine, and returned its wrath boldly.

" ' Mr. Sinclair,' said Merchant, with a formal bow, 'your most obedient. Mr. Lemery, your servant. Mr. Seth Lemery, your's. Madam, (how could I fail BO egregiously of the polite point ?) your faithful slave. Mr. Nuttal, when I next purpose to enjoy the diversions of the bear-garden I shall be happy in your company.' Having said this, he burst into a loud derisive laugh, and tossed his hat into their empty punch-bowl.

"Nuttal sprung out of his chair.

"'By the soul of man, Mr. Sinclair, I don't know why I should put up with this fellow's insolence, if you are disposed to do so. You seem to know the other fellow. Who is he?'

"'Get out of the way,' cried Gregory, thrusting Merchant aside, and walking towards the table to Nuttal. Hound I what do you mean by the other fellow ? This gentleman is Mr. Savage, and my friend., " I don't care who he is,' returned Nuttal, laying back the cuffs of his coat. You are all disposed for a quarrel, I can see. Sinclair, Lemery, Seth, we are enough, I should think, to kick these three blackguards out of the room : borne with Merchant's insolence before, but he shall have it now.'

"He was advancing, encouraged by the woman, Mrs. Lemery, with That's right! that's a brave lad! kick the three rascals out !" when Gregory fetched him such a blow upon the face with the back of his open hand as for the moment staggered him.

"'Back, fool!' cried Gregory. 'Sinclair, whistle your dog off. Dick, keep an eye upon Sinclair, lie looks mischievous. Where's Merchant ? '

"This was no time to satisfy ourselves as to the last point. "'By the sod of man, sir,' cried Nuttal, drawing, have your heart's blood out of you, for that.'

" Sinclair's sword also flamed forth.

" I am for you, sir,' said he to me ; remember, I owe you one. Look to yoursel£' "'You lie Sinclair, you owe me two. You have most need of caution. Look to yourself.' My sword was out. "At this juncture, the brothers Lerner,and the wife retreated into a corner of the room, setting up load cries of • Murder !' cries that were taken up by Mrs. Edersby, the landlady, and another woman outside. A trampling over head—a huriying along passages—a whirl of uproar and confusion.

"Gregory swore a great oath. " ' D—u you all ; 111 have your swords. Give up your sword, you ugly face-making rascal,' to Nuttal, unless you wish to be laid by the heels in Bridewell.'

"'When it has done its work, not before,' cried the fellow, flourishing his rapier like a broad-sword. I shall be through you, my gentleman, if you don't make haste to lug out.' "In the mean time, Sinclair had come from behind the table, and had advanced upon me.

"'Base-born impostor !' he said, running his sword along mine, (he was a Skilful fencer' but knew not that I also was master of my weapon,) 'base-born impostor, I have you now.' Well-born blockhead, you shall have. Ha! ha! Sir!'

"Three or four men ran into the room at this instant.

" Swords out 1 ' cried one; 'playing at gentlemen, ch ? Don't part 'em ; fair play's a jewel, say L The tall one, with his sword broken, '11 strangle old broken nose, I'm thinking. Go it—give it him.'

"Sinclair had made several passes at me, which I parried; but out of no design, I confess it, of acting merely upon the defensive. It was sport to daily with him awhile. What followed, whatever has been said to the contrary, was not altogether chance-medley. At length he made a desperate push at me; which I. put aside so smartly as caused him to swing round. Gregory, at that moment rushing forward upon Notts], drove Sinclair's sword entirely from its guard. But, before this, if it can be said to be before—the two actions being almost instantaneous—I had run him through the body.

" Then arose such a hubbub—such a hellish noise, before, beside, behind, around—it is as impossible to describe as it was terrible to hear, even to those who contributed to it. Be sore I was not one of these. Transfixed with horror, remorse, pity, I was 'grown cool too late.' That face—malicious, revengeful, grinning like a wild cat, the eyes a-start—life looking blood and death—in i

a moment, n a glimpse of time as it were—how changed! ' Oh I ' from the very depth of the bosom—that one word told me, and all that heard it, and who, spite of the cursed clamour, that did not hear it ?—that he had got his death. The muscles of the face relaxed, and of the body ; the jaw fell, the darkening lids sank upon the eyes, the stony whiteness overspread the face and lips—he fell upon the floor as only a dying man can fall."