FITZHERBERT, OR LOVERS AND FORTUNE-HUNTERS.
THE spirit of this work is that of the romance, such as we hut week described it; its substance and form that of the novel, con- sisting of persons anti incidents which if not exactly of this ago
are incapable of being produced in any other. The usual result of this combination is a fiction of the Minerva Press schoal ; but Filzherbert is raised above this character by its elegance of com- position, its poetical power, and some observation of the super- ficiality of satiety.
The subject of tine tale is the schemes of the Sullivans—mother and son, for the daughters are merely puppets. The object of the mother is to marry them to fortunes, and thus to get rid of her daughters and debts at the same time. The object of the son is to raise himself to station and independence; and though we bear motels of his abilities, acquirements, and ambition, he can hit upon no better way than to turn fortnne.hunter. The chief instruments upon which tl:cse perfirmers practise, are Fitzherbert, the hero of the tale, and two heroines with whom he succesively falls in love; but there are various characters mere or less connected with these leading personages, to tell whose names ould be long, and tedious to unravel the web of incidents in which they are involved,—espe- cially as some of them might be well spared, whether as regards their merit in themselves or their bearing on the catastrophe.
Exaggeration is the fault of all young writers ; who seem unable, from inexperience, to discriminate nature, or thoroughly to appre- ciate her imitation in works of the highest art. Hence they are al ways striving after the striking and the wonderful ; and, upon the principle of tin Sc playwrights who think a drama must succeed if they can only make " pal ts" for all the stars of the nine, they heap into one ineengruous mass, what they deem the most telling of the accidents or possibilities of life, forgetful of consistency or 'were. They are equally deftvient in the exccutim of their scenes as it) planning them. They tear passion into rags; they heighten horrors till all idea of the human character is lest; their villains ale not rogues prepared to forward ea- thin purl uses of their own by any 'neat's, and indifferent if not friendly in other matters, but very devils, roaming about seeking whom they may devour; whilst the foibles and affectations of their tools are exaggerated so greatly, and so stripped of' the qualities with which they coexist its natute, that they fall as flat as a " gond story " spoiled in the telling; e,pecially us they are devoid o! life and utution, or of that condensation which, in art, supplies their place. Many of these defects are visible in Fitzherbert ; anti have 1-irung front an obvious enact, your of the writer to produce effects, without regard, as we have said, to consistency. She has given us Eton and Oxford life, but Intik drawn from fancy or reports; she has carried semi: elle or other of her persons to Italy and the Spansli civil war, perhaps to use up, in one case her reminis- cences of a tour, and in the other her reading ; she has drawn upon the Newgate Calendar for her tragic incidents—forgery, arson, murder, and suicide in the prisoner's cell, as well as duels and sudden poverty; and she has heightened the arts of Mrs. Gosts's intriguing mothers and daughters, and the vulgarity of limey of her minor persons, till they degenerate into gross caricature. it similar remask applies to her sentiments: she evidently thinks that people always use language to epr their thoughts, instead of to conceal them. Such is the homage vice pays to virtue, that lawyers and physicians find the greatest difficulty in learning the truth which lowers those who consult them, even whets its avowal is absolutely necess try to the objects Ira view—are often deceived, are often driven to reach it by con- jecture; and if they see it distinctly, must look through a veil, even though it conceals nothing. Yet our fair author makes a daughter parade her filial ingratitude, insolence, and weakness, instead or letting them ooze out. This letter is to her mother, who has written to borrow money; but most assuredly such a letter never could have been sent.
" Dear Alanuna—1 am really much distressed and annoyed at the constant applications made to me. Twenty-five pounds is no trifle to ask of one who Itas only three hundred pounds a year for pin-money. I cannot lend one shilling more, were it to save you all from prison. My Mess for the ball at 1).— house has emptied my purse; and I have seen a pair of diamond sleeve-drops for which I inu-t forestall a quarter's allowance, for I must have them, they are so divine ! George is very indignant at the contents of your letter ; he says he married me, and not my whole family. I strongly advise that you should break up your establishment : pretend you have put the girls as a finish into a foreign convent, :mil under assumed names let them go out as teachers; you man then come on a visit to lire: you look so young, I am anxious people should know pm arc my mother ; for Marcia (tact, entre nose, begins to alter, she is BO dark.) insisted on letting eve.y one know that sic was toy younger sister—for Which I shall never invite her again; since that, I have been guessed at eight. and. twenty. I hope you will follow my advice.
" And believe me ever your affectionate daughter, " ATA LA NTA DANYIRS.
" P. S. I have sent some white satin shoes and white kid gloves, quite new, but which have burst moss the right hand and foot ; 'what's the girls can mend them ; if eo, they are welcome to them. Not that I imagine their feet and hands are smaller than mine—I feel convinced they are not ; but my instep is much higher than theirs, and my band has that slight roundness of contour which artists admire so much. I have also seats very pretty smelling- bottle, but which has a hole iu it, and therefore will not hold any thing ; but one of therm may like to oport it, as it looks very well. I have added for you
some vet y tine osti ich ftather, w hich are useless to me, as I singed them at D— House. " I hope I shall not be bored with any further applications for assistance: you should not forget that I have several times accommodated you with a sove- reign; cud that I twice gave Marcia a half crown to pay her coach when she came to paint me the fire-screens, which I now send, in hopes she will retouch them, as they begin to fade sadly. " Give my best love to dearest Annie; tell her I do hope the black blonde mantilla she is working for me will he done in time for the fancy ball on the 20th. I quite depend on her, dear love, and I wish to give her the treat of seeing me dressed : indeed, no one else can fix the mantilla properly on. I have been thinking a good deal how we can manage it ; and I have decided that, as I shall be staying at —, it will not be much more than six utiles for her to walk ; and I think that would be of great service to her. My footman shall meet her at the milestone, that no friends of mine may see her walking alone— it might be thought strange : the sixth milestone is a quarter of a mile from
the park. I would send the carriage; but Lady 0— R—half expresseda wish to see my dress, and I shall send it for her, on the chance of her doing use that honour."
There are better things in the volumes, (though, as a novel, such as this is the staple ware,) in the way of reflection, or de- scription of landscape, or the mere outward form. Such are these.
HEARTLESS NEATNESS.
The misanthrope was seated in a darkened room, in which appeared all the cold formality of neatness of an apartment which servants considered it a duty to arrange, but in which the heart of the possessor took no interest, and in which there was no trace of the sweet officiousness of woman's affection. The furniture was costly, highly polished, and formally ranged ; the rich couches were disposed stiffly along the walls ; no tender care had wheeled the softest to the cheerful fire ; there was no indication of the effort love vainly makes, yet Joys in making, of soothing by outward ease the bidden anguish of the heart. All was stiff, cold, formal ; artificial flowers in splendid vases, but none of the dear, cheering, blooming emblems whose quiet smiles reproach us for our sor- row, and which seem to tell us of a kind father, lavish even of playthings to his ungrateful children.
SIR HERBERT FITIIIERBERT.
Sir Herbert was a tall, stately man ; he had served in the Guards, and a mili. tory air distinguished him even at the time of which we write. His countenance, if a Rembrandt kind of gloom, had great beauty of feature. Over a pale, high forehead, waved the careless masses of once jet black hair, now streaked with silver. He was slightly bald toward the top of the head ; and in consequence She forehead bad the gloomy height which gives so much melancholy to some of Vandyke'. portraits ; and his large dark eyes varied in expression from in- tense melancholy to a wild and frenzied recklessness. His face would have beeu perfect, but that the habit of indulging vain regret (perhaps remorse) had drawn down the corners of his well-formed mouth.
The reader merely desirous of GRAY'S paradise, "to lie all day on a sofa and read new novels," will bear in mind that we have been trying Fitzherbert by a high standard. To the common run of circulating library fictions it is far superior ; and the writer possesses the elements of a novel-writer, were they developed by seing, and perhaps by suffering. At present she is in the situation of an artist who should be well skilled in drawing and colouring, but ignorant of the form and expression of the human figure.
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