ALICE, OR THE MYSTERIES.

THIS work is a sequel to Ernest Maltravers ; and; like most con- tinuations, is scarcely equal to the former part. Not that the events and persons, considered as a whole, (for objections, and valid ones, may be raised to parts,) are idconsistent with the pre- ceding story ; nor is less ability exhibited in the composition; but there is not so much variety and excitement in the tale, not so much rapidity in the narrative, and the characters, together with the loss of youth, have lost their novelty and freshness. We think we discover, too, traces of haste—not in slovenly writing, but in diffusiou—in wordiness—as if the writer had relied more on his workmanship than his materials. The reader will remember, that at the close of Ernest Mai- /ravers, the hero had gone abroad, in grief for the death of his betrothed ; which death was brought about by the conjoint vil- lany of' Cmsarini and Lumley Ferrers, the former being the tool of the latter. Coesarini was left in a madhouse; Ferrers, by his uncle's decease, had become Lord Vargrave, with a small present income, and was pushing his way in the political world. Alice Darvil, the early love and victim of Mr. Maltravers, after various privations and struggles, during which she had preserved herself untainted, had become the wife and subsequently the widow of Lord Vargrave, whilom Mr. Templeton ; and Evelyn, a girl, sup- posed to be the child lif Alice and Mel travers, was left by Lord Var. grave an immense fortune, with a request that she should marry Lumley Ferrers. At the opening of the Sequel, Evelyn is approach- ing the age when her acceptance or rejection of Lumley Lord Vargrave is to be decided : the expectant bridegroom has risen to high distinction as a politician ; but " something about him," and some suspicious practices, have made him unpopular with the chiefs of his party, and kept him out of the Cabinet ; whilst his expenses and neglect of his private affairs have involved him in money em- barrassments. Maltravers, of course, comes home in time to influ- ence the current of events : he falls in love with Evelyn ; and being an " irresistible," his passion is returned, though not with such depth as to cause great affliction when it is finally broken. off. Ile baffles Lord Vargrave; who, after a series of intrigues, social, political, and gallaiit, is murdered by Cresarini; and finally, Maltravers marries Alice,—her alliance with Templeton having been merely formal, and Evelyn being a daughter of the old gentleman by a secret marriage, which for various reasons he did not wish to avow.

Considering the two publications as a whole, or confining at-

tention only to the Sequel, great praise must be awarded to it, for many light, effective, and graphic sketches of society ; much skilful and beautiful portraiture of character, not only of the prin- cipal but of the subordinate persons; many pointed and many true observations; as well as some mural and political disquisitions, which are worth reading, though they rather dispel the misan- thropical opinions of Mr. Maltravers than evertura any prevail-. lug delusion. s a narrative, the progress of the story, especially in-the Sequ .d gs somewhat heavily ; but it must be borne in delusion, that t . thor did not design his work to attract so much by its tale as by its development of character. As a structure, the story is consistent with itself; the events are necessary, con- nected, and sufficient to produce the results which flow from them. But the principal characters, and the governing invidents, if not improbable, al e at least singular—iiidividual rather than general— though lab and vigour are imparted to them by the powers of the artist.

And this singalarity militates against the morals which the writer would Ii ive deduced from his work. From the career of Alice Dared, he would inculcate the " morality of' atonement." But the extraordinary character of the heroine—and inure than all, the peculiarity of her previ.eis life, and her fall from virtue, if in her state of ignorance fall it could be called, are so singular that no general rule can be drawn from them. They do net for one moment shake a doetrine a hich the comtnon sense of 'nankin& seems to have jumped to in all places—that any considerable breach of social or legal obligations arises from a weakness or a viciousness of mind, from habit, or from circumstances that would in most cases prompt a renewal of the transgression If the first were passed by ; %enlist the ease of Alice proves, if it proves any thing, that those who have fallen can restore themselves. The moral to be deduced froua the course of Maltravers himself seems to be, that wealth, statiou, and success in society, together with the fame of authorship and eloquence, will not supply the want of domestic affections ; and that it is a foolish theory to despise mankind, and rust in idleness under the plea of the worthlessness of the objects of the multitude. Stated nakedly, these are axioms that reason will readily allow ; but they will scarcely be additionally enforced and impressed upon the mital by the work betbre us ; because Mal- travers, 111 i& person, his manners, his intellect, his circum- stances, and the events of his life, is altogether too reunite from common men—too peculiar to have much influence upon them. Nor is the contrast between the straightforward course of Mal- tcavers in the speculative walk of life, and the devious path of Lumley Lord Vargrave in an active career, of such general appli- cation as it might have been : and for the same reason— both are too singular. The rule of poetical justice is, how- ever, complied with ; and to a certain extent properly— Lumley is punished, and through one of his own crimes. But if tested by a higher than a very vulgar standard, the observance of this canon is managed without skill. A most consummate rascal is not fitly punished by a removal from life by unconscious stran- gulation in his bed. Lady Macbeth is not shown awake during the downward progress of her husband's fortunes; but we see her conscience-stricken in her sleep, and learn that it occurs so conti- nually as to require medical care. Richard himself, obdurate vil- lain as he is, is terrified by his dreams; and towards the close of his career, beset by difficulties, and harassed by conspiracies and suspicions. The gayety of Iago—popularly, though perhaps erro- neously, assumed to be the worst villain of SHANSPEARE or any other writer—is merely a musk : he is always brooding in soliloquy. Ve see that he is never at heart'scas4, but disturbed by hatred, envy, jealousy, and towards the close of the drama by anxiety for his own escape from the meshes in which he was involved him- -self. Lumley, on the other hand, notwithstanding his pecuniary difficulties, his doubtful position with his party, and some other likely sources of" troubled thoughts," is described as only uneasy for the passing and pressing dilemma. Even towards the denoue- ment, when a fair occasion offered foeptinishment by acting on Isis selfishness, it is purposely put aside, merely, as one would imagine, for the sake of letting him " die easily." The character of' Lumley Ferrers, as brought out in the Sequel, should not have been made so great a villain, (and that, perhaps, without any cogent reason) or we should fiave seen the "hell within him.' Nor is the difference unimportant. SHAKSPEARE and MILTON show that wickedness is punished by its own nature: inferior artists make all depend upon external circumstances.

The work is fitter to read as a whole than to quote from, except indeed in its remarks or its sly satire upon society : and from such as these we shall take our extracts.

POLITENESS.

When Evelyn conducted them to their rooms, the mother and daughter de- tected at a glance the care that had provided for their conifurts ; and some- thing eager and expectant in Evelyn'e eyes taught the good-nature of the one and the good breeding of the other to reward their young Imam by various little exclamations of pleasure and satisfaction.

." Dear, bow nice ! What a pretty writing.desle !" said one. " And the pretty gold fish !" said the other. " And the piano, too, so well placed,".—

arid Caroline's fair fingers ran rapidly over the keys. Evelyn retired, covered with smiles and blushes. And then Mrs. Merton permitted herself to say to the well-dressed Abigail, "Do take away those flowers, they make me quite

-" And bow low the room is—so confined," said Caroline; when the lady's lady withdrew with the condemned flowers. " And I ace no Pysche: how- ever, the pour people have done their best."

THE HACK'S AND THE DANDY'S ESSENTIAL FAILING.

Yargrave's words were artful and eloquent ; the words were calculated to win their way, but the manner, the tone of voice, wanted earnestness and truth. This was his defect—this characterized all hi, attempts to seduce or to lead others, in public or in private life. Ile had no heart, no deep passion, in what he undertook. He could impress you with the conviction of his ability, and leave the conviction imperfect, because he could riot convince you that he was sincere. That best gift of mental power—earnestness—was wanting to him; and Lord Vargrave's deficiency of heart was the true cause why he SIMS

not a great man.

AN EVERT-DAY SCENE.

Mrs. Merton was in her own room, making to herself gratuitous and un- necessary occupation in seeing her woman pock up. It was just the kind of task that delighted her. To sit in a large chair, and see somebody elae at wont; to say, languidly, " Don't crumple that scarf, Jane; and where shall we put Miss Caroline's blue bonnet ?" gave her a very comfortable notion,of her own importance and habits of business—a sort of title to be the supetintendent of a family and Ole wile of a rector.

• WELL•CONNECTED RECTOR.

-The Reverend Mr. Melton was a MED of the nicest perception in all things npaerteiaing to worldly consideration. The second son of a very wealthy baronet (who was the first commoner of his county,) and of the daughter of a rich and highly.desceuded peer, Mr. Merton had been brought near enough to rank and power to appreciate all their advaotagee. In early life, he had been something of a "tuft. hunter '•" but as his understanding was good, and his passions not very strong, he hail soon perceived that that vessel of clay, ayoung man with a moderate fortune, cannot long sail down the same stream with the metal vessels of rich earls and extravagant dandies. Besides, he wns destined for the Church, because there was one of the finest livings in England in the family. He therefore took orders at six-and-twenty, married Mts. Leslie's daughter, who had thirty thousand pounds, and settled at the rectory of Mer- ton, within a mile of the family seat, lie became a very respectable and ex- tremely popular Ran. He was singularly hospitable; and built a new wing, containing a large dining.room and six capital bed-rooms to the rectory ; which bad now much snore the appearance of a country villa than a country par- sonage. Ili, brother succeeding to the estates, and residing chiefly in the neighbourhood, became, like his lather before him, member for the county, and was one of the country gentlemen most looked up to in the House of Co u. moos. A sensible and frequent, though uncommonly proay speaker, singu'arly independent (fur he had a clear fourteen thousand pounds a year, and did not desire office), and valuing himself on not ',elite a party man, so that his vote on critical questions was often a matter of great doubt, and therefore of great importance— Sir John Merton gave considerable importance to the Reverend

Charles Merton. • • • •

Mr. Merton was upon very friendly terms with his brother—looked after the property in the absence of Sir John—kept up the family interest—was an ex- cellent eleetioneerer—a good speaker, at a pinelt—.an able magistrate—a man, in short, most useful in the county ; a Tory, " as became his cloth ;" so, at loot he cold, with a pleasant smile—but not a bigoted one ; and chiefly anxious to be well with all men. On the whole he was more popular than his brother, and almost as much looked up to—perhaps because he was much less ostenta- tious. He had very goorl taste, ha I the Reverend Clai-71; plentiful, but plain—his manners affable to the low, though agreeably 1-y; phantic to the high ; and there was nothing about him that ever wounded-self. love.

CLERICAL PRUDENCE.

The good man was greatly shocked at the too familiar manner in which Mrs Merton spoke to this high-fated heiress—at Evelyn's travelling en far without her own maid—at her very pi imitive wardrobe—poor, ill-used child. Ayr, Merton was a connoisseur in ladies' dress. It was quite painful to see that eae unfortunate girl had been so neglected. Lady Yargrave must be a very mane, person. He inquired compassionately whether she was allowed:any pocitet.mooeyi and finding, to his relief, that in that respect Miss Cameron was munificeadv supplied, he suggested that a proper abigail should be immediately engaged •

that proper orders to Madame Dery should be immediately transmitted to London, with one of Evelyn's dresses, as a pattern for nothing hut lengthen,' breadth. He almost stamped with vexation, when be heard that Evelyn Ind been placed in one of the neat little rooms generally appropriated to young lady visiters.

" She is quite contented, my dear Mr. Merton, she it so simple; she how been brought up in the style you think for."

"Mrs. Merton," said the Rector, with great solemnity, "Mite Ceram may know now better now ; but what will she think of Us hereafter? It is my

maxim to recollect what people will be, and show them that respect which may leave pleasing impresaions, when they have it in their power to show us civility in return."

MR. MALTRAVERS' RETURB.

Evelyn turned away with a sigh, the sigh was reechoed yet more deeply, She started; the door that led to the study was opened, and in the apesture was the figure of a man, in the prime of life. His hair, still luxuriant as in his earliest youth, though darkened by the suns tif the East, curled over a forehead of majestic expanse. The high and proud features, that well became a stature above the ordinary standard, the pale but bronzed complexion, the large eye, of deepest blue, shaded by dark brows and lashes; and, more than all, that tx- preslion at once of passion and repose which characterizes the old Italian per. train!, and seems to depote the inscrutable power that experience imparts to intellect, constituted an ensemble which, if not faultlessly handsome, was emi. neatly striking, and adapted at once to interest and to command. It was a face

once seen never to be forgotten. a, • •

Ernest Maltravers, never a faultless or completed character, falling short in practice of his own capacities, moral and intellectual, from his very desire to overpass the limits of the great sod good, was seemingly as far as heretofore from the grand secret of life. It was not so in reality ; his mind hail acquired what before it wanted, hardness ; and we are nearer to true virtue and true happiness, when we demand too little from men, than when we exact too much.

Nevertheless, partly from the strange life that had thrown him amongst IMO whom safety itself made it necessary to command despotically, partly from the habit of power and disdain of the world, his nature was incrusted with a stern imperiousness of manner, often approaching to the harsh and morose, though beneath it lurked generosity and benevolence.

Many of his younger feelings, more amiable and complex, hail settled into one predominant quality, which more or less had always characterized him, pride! Self.esteem made inactive and ambition made discontented, usually

engender haughtiness. In Maltravers, this quality, which properly controlled

and duly softened, is the essence and life of honour, was carried to a vice. He was perfectly conscious of its excess; but he cherished it as a virtue. Pride had served to console him in sorrow, and therefore it was a friend ; it had supported him when disgusted with fraud, or in resistance, to violence, and therefore it was a champion and a forties,. It was a pride of a peculiar sort ; it attached itself to no one point in especial,—not to talent, knowledge, mental gifts,—still

leas to the vulgar commonplaces of birth and fortune ; it rather resulted from a supreme and wholesale contempt of all other men and all their objects of am. lition, of glory, of the hard business of life. His favourite vittue:was fortitude; it was on this that he now mainly valued himself. He was Proud of his struggles against others, prouder still of conquests over his own passions. He looked upon fate as the arch enemy against whose attacks we should ever pm- pare. He fancied that against fate he had thoroughly schooled himself, In the arrogance of his heart, he said, " I can defy the future." He believed in the boast of the vain old sage—" I am a world to myself!"

LORD DOLTIMORI.

His Lordship wee a small, pale man, with a very limited share of understand- ing, supercilious in manner, elaborate in dress, not ill-natured au fond, and with much of the English gentleman in his dispositioe, that is, he was honour- able in his ideas and actions, whenever his natural dulness and neglected educe. lion enabled him clearly to perceive (through the mulct of prejudices, the dela. sion of others, and the false lights of the dissipated society mu which he bed lived,) what was right and what wrong. But his leading characteristics were vanity and conceit. He had lived much with younger sons, cleverer than himself, who borrowed his money, sold him their horses, and won from him at cards. In return, they gave him all that species of flattery which young mem can give with so hearty an appearance of cordial admiration. "YOU certainly have the best horses in Paris. You are really a devilish good fellow, Doltimore. Oh, do you know, Doltimore, what little Deal, e says uf you? You have ter. tainly turned the girl's bead."

This sort of adulation from one sex, was not corrected by any great acerbity front the other. Lord Doltimore, at the age of twenty-two, was a very good parti ; and, whatever his other deficiencies, he had sense enough to perceive . that he received much greater attention, whether front opera-dancers in 'Parch of a friend or virtuous young ladies in search of a husband, than any of the compauions, goodlooking though many of them were, with whom he had bitually lived."

THE TROUBLES OF A PROUD maw.

Colonel ItIaltravers had continued, since he entered the Guards, to be thoroughly the man of fashion, and nothing more. But rich and well born, and highly connected, and thoroughly a la mode as he was, his pride made him uncomfortable in London, while his fastidiousness uncle him uncomfoitable i* the country. He was rather a great person, but bAvanted to be a eery great person. This he was at Lisle Court ; but that did not satisfy him ; he wanted rreona-;-and squires and parsons bored greerson among very great not only to be a very great person, but a very

lihis wife, was a fine lady, inane and pretty, who saw eve ss, wee quite master chez bri, was" r YuebaNtl's eyes. He e lived a great deal abroad ; fur, on the Continent, markable, secured hint a greater princely, while hi, es, which were *- high character, thorough breedin

Two things had greatly disgusted him wit tsle ouctirtu;d:rilltnehaety hie own. with others, but they were not trifles to Cuthbert Maltravers. In mightfirst place, a man who had been his father's attorney, and who was the very inearna. Hon of coarse unrepellable familiarity, had bought art estate close by the said Lisle Court, and bad, horresco referens, been made a baronet. Sir Gregory Gubbins took precedence of Colonel Maltravera! He sould not ride out, but he met Sir Gregory—he could not dine out, but he had tke ;detour° of walking behind Sir Gregory's bright blue coat with its bright brass buttons. In his last visit to Lisle Court, which he had then crowded with all manner of fine people, hgreeen, the very first morning after his arrival—seen from the large win- ilow of his state saloon—a great staring white, red, blue, and gilt thing at the eoe of the stately avenue planted by, Sir Guy MaWavers in honour of the tory over the Spanish .Armada. He looked in mute surprise, and everybody eh, wood ; and a polite German Count, gazing through his eye-glass, said, 0,tholat is vat you call a vim in your pays—the vim of Colonel Maltravers! " This a elm " was the pagoda summer.house of Sir Gregory Gubbins, erected in imitation of the Pavilion at Brighton.. Colonel Maltravers was miserable— the vim haunted him—it seemed ubiquitous—he could not escape it—it was built on the highest spot in the country ; ride, walk, sit, where he would, the via stared at him, and he thought he saw little Mandarins shake their round little heads at him. This was one of the greatest curses of Lisle Court ; the other was yet more galling. The owners of Lisle Court had for several gene. rations possessed the dominant interest in the county town. The Colonel him. self meddled little in politics, and was too fine a gentleman for the drudgery of Parliament: he Ind offered the seat to Ernest, when the latter had corn. &need his public career; but the result of a communication proved that their political views were dissimilar; and the negotiation dropped without ill feeling Neither side. Subsequently a vacancy occurred ; and Lady Julia's brother (just made a Lord of the Treasury) wished to come iato Parliament, so the meaty town was offered to him. Now, the proud Commoner had married into the &ay of a Peer as proud as himself, and Colonel Maltravers was alwavs elad whenever he could Impress his coasequence on his connexions by doing aem a favour. He wrote to his steward, to see that the thing was properly seeded, and came down on the nomination-day "to share the triumph and par- take the gale." Guess his indignation, when he found the nephew of Sir Gregory Gubbins was already in the field. The result of the election was, diat Mr. Augustus Gubbins came in, and that Colonel Maltravers was pelted with cabbage-stalks, and accused of attempting to sell the worthy and inde- pendent electors to a government nominee. A TRUTH.

Is may, indeed, be generally remarked, (contrary to a common notion,) that the men who are most happy at home, are the most active abroad. The ani- mal spirits are necessary to healthful action ; and dejection and the sense of solitude will turn the stoutest into dreamers. The hermit is the antipodes of the citizen; and no gods animate and iuspire us like the Litres.