MR. HERBERT'S MARMADIIKE WYVIL.

THE author of Oliver Cromwell attained an adventitious distinction through the circumstances connected with the editorship of Mr. HORACE SMITH, and the fact of the work turning out to be merely a reprint of an American edition ; for its merit as a fiction was very slender, and though the ability displayed was considerable, it was an ability exercised out of place. The present work is in one respect an improvement upon its predecessor ; in other points it is inferior. Oliver Cromwell had no story ; at least the persons of the romance were so subordinate to the history, that they excited neither thought nor care, even when they were present ; but the historical views and pictures, though rather forced from being presented in the form of fiction, exhibited some novelty of thought and con- siderable vigour of composition. In Marmaduke Wyvil, or the Maid's Revenge, the story is the source of interest : and it is a complete tale in itself, but planned with such disregard to moral probability, so badly constructed, and with its intrinsic scenes bearing such a slender relation to the bulk of the whole, that the effect is unpleasant and dissatisfying; not exciting the interest of the reader by the rapidity of the narrative, but his impatience at the obvious tricks and inconsistency of the author. Putting aside long-winded reflections, which impede the progress of the tale, and scenes of manners and history, that, if they have a connexion with the dramatis personae, contribute nothing to the conduct of the action, more than half the book consists of extraneous matter— sketches of landscape, scenes descriptive of the manners and cha- racters of the time, and what the old painters called "history pieces." But there is this difference between such things in Mr. lizatizar's former and his present work. In Oliver Cromwell, they might be somewhat melodramatic and out of place, but they were principal subjects, and complete in themselves. In Marmaduke Wyvil, they are fragments, and imperfect fragments: we take little interest in the scenes, for they show us nothing completely, save a person or a pageant ; and, as they impede a story which the reader wishes to have done with, they are felt as obstacles which are to be skipped over.

If Mr. HERBERT had written a melodrama in three acts, or adopted a mechanical plan, much used by Mr. AINSWORTH, of putting the incidents of his fiction into books, Marmaduke nog would have stood thus.

Book first. Mr. Marmaduke Wyvil, escaping from the "crown- ing mercy " of Worcester, and hard pressed by some of Cromwell's

troopers, is rescued by Alice Selby ; whom the author has placed on the look-out for an adventure. Concealed in a secret recess or fugitive's room in Mr. Selby's mansion, Mr. Wyvil defies the search of the Cromwellians ; and Miss Selby having visited him frequently, love springs up between them ; they plight their troth on the eve of Mr. Wyvil's escape to France ; Mr. Selby having heard the en- gagement by means of eavesdropping, and approving it when made, and Alice having rejected the proposals of her cousin, Major- General Henry Challoner, through her love to Marmaduke. This, eked out by extraneous matters, fills the first volume and part of the second.

Book second carries the story to France ; where Mr. Wyvil, having escaped and entered the British auxiliaries serving under James Duke of York with the army of Turenne, rescues Isabella, and Sir Henry Oswald her father, from the hands of the Leaguers. Miss Oswald is drawn as a strong-minded, high-spirited girl ; but she does not exhibit her spirit in a very feminine way, for she falls swop in love with the handsome Marmaduke, and takes somewhat unusual pains to show it. This the author perhaps felt to be neces- sary to justify the infidelity of his hero ; for this second book closes with his falsehood, having occupied with its preparation nearly the whole of the second volume.

Book third has more incident than the first and second. Mar- maduke having written a letter to Alice, giving a full account of what she knew better than he did—his mode of concealment in her father's house, this epistle falls into the bands of the English Go- vernment; which in fact was the reason for writing it. Henry Challoner, through his influence with Cromwell, saves any distress beyond that of a temporary residence in France ; which, of course, carries Selby and his daughter to Paris. In the capital, Alice hears of Marmaduke's love for Miss Oswald ; and the next day she overhears him, (eavesdropping being one of Mr. hIEHnEair'S main means) make a declaration oflove to Isabella; at the same time deny-

ing that he ever thought of Alice, "a mere country-girl." This is

pretty well in a hero ; but such is this writer's want of judgment, that he must carry his hero's degradation further. The beauty of Alice attracts the attention of the King; she becomes the fashion ; and Marmaduke then determines to desert Isabella. He goes to Alice ; who, rather strangely for such a heroine of perfection, still desires to have him : she somewhat artfully leads him on to swear he never addressed or thought of Isabella, and then dis- misses him. Had the story ended here, with Wyvil's exposure and the marriage of Alice and Challoner, all that need be said would

be that there was much ado about little. But Mr. HERBERT must have something new. Old Mr. Selby dies from breaking a

blood-vessel, caused by the fury of his reproaches to Wyvil; and Alice makes a will, in which she leaves him a large legacy on con- dition of his marrying Isabella, sending him a " touching" letter assuring him of her forgiveness, and intimating that she shall soon die ; without which assurance, indeed, the legacy would have been of little use to Mr. Wyvil. His previous baseness is capped by the marriage ; and Alice is represented as spiritless enough to go to see it. Before the ceremony is completed, she faints ; the double amour of Mr. Wyvil is discovered; Isabella refuses him; Alice goes home and dies ; Henry Challoner challenges Marmaduke; and that worthy, after passing the night in a state of excitement, partly from remorse, partly from drink, walks out of a French win- dow, which he forgot was open, in pursuit of the shade of Alice ; and, as the reporters say, " is killed upon the spot."

Such is the substance of the story of Marmaduke Wyvil. Its melo- dramatic absurdity, however, is not the worst feature of the work;

it displays a total want of perception of the qualities necessary to give interest to the characters of heroes and heroines of romance. The principal persons are never brought upon the scene to do any thing necessary to carry on the action, but they excite irritation or

contempt, by baseness, meanness, folly, or impropriety. Nor is this redeemed by dramatic vigour or consistency. Mr. HERBERT

can delineate truly and sustain with correctness a common dia-

logue on commonplace subjects ; but whenever he rises to passion or emotion, the reader is forced to exclaim with VOLTAIRE, " C'est-

la le rbeteur qui parle." But this fault, perhaps, may less ori- ginate in natural incapacity of depicting character, than in the writer's obvious deficiency in structural skill. The persons speak to carry on the author's contrivances for a story, not according to their own circumstances and alleged idiosyncraciee.

In despite of these gross and obvious defects, Marmaduke Wyvil exhibits considerable ability in the author. Mr. HERBERT is read

in the history of the times, and takes a just enough view of the historical matter which he introduces ; his incidental scenes or pic- tures exhibit great power of composition and force of touch,— though he may be charged with representing things not as they appear to the eye of the beholder, but as they are detected by the analyzer; so that he shows in his descriptions a succession of parts rather than a whole. And even in the midst of his worst, and, critically speaking, his most vicious scenes, his force of style still attends. For what kind of composition he is best fitted, we cannot tell—we suspect, for a series of independent scenes or sketches : but it is now tolerably clear that his want of structural power will ever prevent him from excelling as a first-rate novelist.

From this peculiarity, a sample of the fiction may perhaps convey a higher idea of the work than its entire perusal. We cannot spare space for an entire scene, but we will take a few passages.

THE DUKE OF YORK.

The last rank of the Royal Irish passed; and immediately behind them,

mounted upon a Polish carriage-horse, dun-coloured, with a long white main and tail, a young man, richly dressed in a suit of dark brown velvet, cut in the fashion which has derived its modern name from the great Flemish painter, with russet leather buskins, and a superb cravat of Valenciennes lace, cantered lightly on. He wore no armour, nor even weapons, except an ordinary rapier hanging from an embroidered scarf; but in his hand he held a leading-staff or truncheon, and round his neck he bore a glittering chain with the effigy of St. George, and on the left breast of his mantle the diamond star of the Garter. He was above the middle height, graceful and slender in his person; and he rode easily and well, with a firm seat, and a delicate light hand: but, although very young at that time, the darkness of his complexion, his heavy eyebrows, and the hard and deeply-cut lines of his rigid and inflexible lineaments, caused him to appear many years advanced beyond his real age ; an impression which was in no degree diminished by the harsh periwig of coarse black hair, which he wore under his low-crowned feathered hat, tailing quite down upon his

shoulders.

Yet, though be was decidedly ill-favoured and harsh-featured, no person at

that time could have failed to see that he was a man of consequence and cha- racter to match his dignity. There was a quickness in his clear dark eye, that spoke intelligence, and spirit, and high daring; there was a firm and resolute curve in the muscles of the close-set mouth, that promised an unflinching

steadiness of purpose. Such was the Duke of York, as he was in the days of adversity—the steady

and right councillor of his more vacillating brother; such was the Duke of York when he fought side by side with Turenne; such when he gave the promise, afterwards well fulfilled by skill and conduct and unquestioned valour, displayed as Lord High Admiral, against De Ruyter and the Dutch, ere power and pries craft had debased his every quality of mind, until the con- queror of Opdam sank into the weak driveller and coward of the Boyne.

WARFARE IN FRANCE, 1650.

Continual skirmishes and constant cannonading now took place, and every opportunity that could be fancied was afforded for deeds of desperate and daring partisanship; and, what would seem most strange in these days, but was then deemed nothing unusual or remarkable, the residence of the Court being so near the scene of action, parties of gay non-combatants were constantly made up to ride or drive down to the eminences overlooking the scene of strife; so that scarcely an hour of the day passed without some gorgeous cavalcade, with gilded carriages and bright liveries, and even ladies of high rank among the number, being seen literally in the line of fire; while it was scarcely a less sin- gular feature of the times, that in the middle of a war of rebellion and civil discord, all extreme points of courtesy were insisted upon with the minutest etiquette; so that, in fact, there was little danger to the fair and gay amateurs, except from a chance shot or spent ball, which would now and then come ricochetting through the dust, and set them all a scampering.

LOUIS THE FOURTEENTH IN YOUTH.

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- I dare say he is in the gardens now - - - - But ha! what have we here ? he added, as a considerable bustle might be observed a little further up the walk, the people hurrying to and fro, and arranging themselves in lines on either hand : then, in a moment, as if in answer to the Count's question, there came a cry, "The King! the King! room for the King!" and, bowing cour- teously to all his subjects, and pausing now and then to speak to some one of the more distinguished, the young and splendid prince came slowly down the avenue, attended by a band of courtiers as gallantly attired as can be fancied. Louis, who was at this time little advanced beyond the term of boyhood, was singularly, ay, wonderfully, handsome; not very tall, but splendidly pro- portioned; with a fine brilliant countenance, of somewhat Roman outline; a forehead all bland expanse, yet broad and massive ; an eye, bright, penetrating, and undaunted as the eagle's; a lip which could express an empire's proud authority, but which was now wreathed in a sweet and fascinating smile ; a gait at the same time easy and majestic ; an air so wonderfully winning, that, when he chose it, no one on earth could resist its imperative seduction. Such, at that period, was the youth whose name was to be coupled for all ages with every thing that relates to magnificence and grandeur, whether of war and glory or of pleasure and ostentation ; who certainly possessed beyond all others the regal power of winning hearts, as it were, by a word—of gaining, almost by a glance, man's adoration, woman's deep devotion. Of all the court there was no man so plainly dressed as the young Monarch. He wore his own rich chestnut hair in flowing ringlets, a coat of black velvet lined with white satin, with vest and breeches of the same material, without a particle of lace or embroidery, or chain of gold, or jewellery, or any other de- coration, except a single star of superb brilliants on the left breast of the doublet, a pair of diamond buckles in his shoes, and a diamond hilt to his court rapier. His eye glanced rapidly from side to side, as he came up the walk, dwelling for a few moments complacently upon any face of more than ordinary beauty ; and, when be had come to the spot where Madame de Gondi stood, he came to a dead stop, looking full at Alice Selby.

" Hal" he said, " our fair lady of Gondi, methinks you have a new face there ! one that we have not seen at our court—one of the fair daughters of the noble house of Retz ? "

"Not so, sire," answered Henriette de Gondi, courtesying very low, at this unexpected civility. " A young English lady, a cousin of my dear mother's, who has been forced to fly from ber country in consequence of loyalty to her King—Mademoiselle Selby. I had proposed to ask permission to present her to your Majesty on your next reception-day. She only arrived in your Majesty's capital last evening."

" We shall be happy always to receive so loyal and so fair a lady," answered Louis, very graciously. " Our lady mother also will be glad to see Mistress Selby." And he was already moving onward, when he appeared to recollect something; and, turning short round, " I presume," he said, "you have re- ceived our commands, Madame, through our Lord Chamberlain, to attend our ball this evening, at the Louvre ! "

"I have not heard of it, sire," she replied, when he interrupted her. " Artagnac, then, must have forgotten. Well, now you comprehend; and your fair cousin will accompany you." And, with these words, the ladies curtesying low in token of assent, the Monarch and his train swept onward.