THE IIOUR AND THE MAN.

THE scene of this new romance by Miss MARTINEAU is laid in St. Domingo ; its hero is TOUSSAINT ; and the object of the writer

is to present a picture of his career and character, not altogether designed after her own fancy, for she has grounded her estimate upon the favourable authorities, but drawn and coloured according to her views. " The Man" of the titlepage is the first political

hero or SPARTACES of the Negro race ; but the meaning of " the Hour" is not so clear. TOUSSAINT did not succeed ; the Black

empire of Hayti is a thilure; and the better-planned and longer- prepared Emancipation is yet a matter of doubt, with every advan- tage of settled government, a resident aristocracy, and a numerous party deeply interested in the success of the scheme. The Hour and the 1:fan is therefore a bit of claptrap—" sound signifying nothing." The novel opens with a commotion among the St. Domingo planters, occasioned by the decree of the National Assembly giving an equality of' rights to the Coloured free people. The outbreak of the Negroes follows; in which Toussaint is introduced pre- serving his master liana the fury of the insurrection; and the remainder of the story consists of a selection of the most striking incidents of the Negro chieftain's St. Domingo government, till, entrapped by the French, he perished, as is supposed, by starvation in one of Bonaparte's dungeons. Besides these more historical matters, the book contains sketches of the characters and love-passages of Toussaint's family and relations, with portraits of the principal Negro heroes. It is fur- ther varied by some powerful pictures of Tropical landscape, and some re;igious, moral, and political disquisitions, in which the speakers are called Blacks, but the sentiments nod cast both of thought and language are English. In point of novelty, variety, and comprehension of subject, The Hmtr owl The Man is much superior to Deerbrook. The strange

beauty prfropical scenery, the ingrained prejudices of the planters, the bloody saturnalia of freed slaves, rather indicated than described, and the rapid changes of such a social system in a state of revolu- tion, possess elements of interest, which the pecuniary difficulties of a country practitioner and the unlikely love-crosses of a young lady cannot attain, at all events when spread over three volumes. On the other hand, Deerbrook was more truthful, and possessed a natural repose that will not be found in The Hour and Um Mau.

This historical romance, however, possesses another kind of in- terest fbr critical readers, enabling them to perceive more clearly than any of her previous publications the peculiar characteristics of Miss Alsieressse's mind. Of this the most striking feature is a wonderfid faculty of reproducing, for the purposes of fiction, the matter she finds in books, but with less power of reflecting nature,

and with nom: of that or imagination which enables the great writer to paint with accuracy the character and language, not merely of men, but of men belonging to nations of whom he has no living knowledge. Atiss MAreresasu " sees nature through the spectacles of hooks," or the glass of philtmophical speculation. Hence her wonderfid success in her /Thistrotions iif Political Eco- nomy, where her matter was drawn from oilier works and she had merely to reproduce it in effective forms—compared with her sub- sequent attempts, where she had to draw direct from nature, whe- ther particular, as in her trlIVCIS, or general, as in her fictions. Part of her success in the economical stories may, however, be traced to subordinate or accidental circumstances. We suspect Miss MAR- TINE AU IIZIS no great strength of pinion, and is best fitted for a short flight—a hundred rather than a thousand pages. The world, too, was not only taken by surprise with her /llastrations, but got more than it bargained for : a popular and readable exposition of a dry science ISLIS not merely presented to it in dialogue, but illus- trated by events and embodied in persons. Then the choice of subject was a lucky hit : the world was all agog ihr political eco- nomy ten years ago, and Miss MsieriNEst tock the tide at its height. The same work now, or a similar work of equal merit, would not meet with the same success.

'I he characteristic quality of mind we have touched upon is well 'llustrated in The Hour and the Man. The opening-scenes in the work are truththl and vigorous pieces of' composition, so long as the writer is furnished with matter. The scenery—the preparations for the public dinner of the planters—the gradual gathering of the

SPECTATOR'S 'JIB Ella slaves, with the growing gloom of their masters, none can tell why— and the successive outbursts of fires— all carry us to St. Donnngo, and could doubtless be pointed out in the original authorities by a person who should follow Miss MARTINEAU s reading : but the after-dinner political speeches of the planters are English, not French. Again, the distracted state of the country, the escape of some of the Whites, and the appearance of the deserted and ruined plantations, all seem to have a sub-basis of truth, as well as the different historica/ matters connected with the French, whether po- litical or military. The confinement of Toussaint in the fortress of Joux is also a bit of natural though rather literal painting ; Iiss .MARTINEAU having lately visited the spot during a tour in Switzerland. The greater part of the remainder, however it may be adorned by good sentiments and powerlid composition, is either forced, artificial, or improbable. The character of Toussaint when ill action or discourse, laboured as it no doubt has been, is neither that of the Negro nor of the slave emancipated at fifty, but of a phi- losophic and philanthropic statesman, or at least :Miss MARTI- NEAU'S beau deal of such a personage. Assuming that the French writers are quite wrong in their judgment of his objects and cha- racter, and Miss 3,laartNEAu's interpretation of her authorities per- fectly right, it is contrary to nature that her hero should be the calm, contemplative, comprehensive philosophizing person she paints. His genius, his virtues, his vices, must all have partaken of the Afrie blood—" souls made of fire and children of the sun "—tainted in his ease with the degrading effects of slavery and colour, which, let him have read EPICTETUS as he might, he must have been more than man to have escaped. If Miss MAariNust- doubts us, let her go to SIIAKSPERE, and see how he marks by slight touches the barbarian traits in Othello, though bred from his tender years in military affairs,—the trusting, almost child-like simplicity ; the almost equally childish jealousy of his dignity and authority ; his leaning to swagger; his vehement passion when roused ; the credulity which induced Film to believe what Iago calls the " fantastical lies' of travellers ; the superstition which attached such value to the charmed handkerchief, and for a moment tempted him to think he- should see realized in Iago the popular notion of the Devil's cloven hoof- 6, I look down towards his feet ;—but that's a fable.

If that thou Infst a devil, I cannot kill thee."

A similar defect is visible in the other characters. Toussaint's wife and family, with his officers and courtiers, have nothing of the Negro and freedman in grain, but their colour ; and of that we only hear. Now and then, indeed, we are presented with some bits of simplicity, or some touch of savageness; but they are forced and unnatural—patches, not a part of the texture. The only characters drawn with much truth are the Creole planters. The manner in which they feel under the chanee is well indicated: they arc not so astounded at a revolution as shocked at a revulsion in the very nature of things. This pervading fault gives an improbability to the action. The dissensions and ildlings-off which Fiend} intrigues and promises at first produced amongst the Negroes, till their tiiithlessness and cruelty destroyed what their diplomacy achieved, are intelligible if we consider the reality. Ignorant and degraded men, rendered helpless by continually relying upon masters or overseers for the daily proceedings of life, would be incapable of working out large combinations, and would naturally shrink under the burden of great events, which require knowledge end long training tdmanage easily or at all. And such persons would be very likely to trust to the promises of Whites, to whom they habitually looked up, and who came to them from the fir-off heaven of the mother-country, without any stain of cruelty upon them. Tom,saint's failure is therefore credible enough in reality ; but Pic Hour and the Mau presents us with a united people, a flourishing agriculture, a growing commerce, and an increasing revenue, with a softer edition of the Duke of Wssiss(srox for Commander-in-Chief, surrounded by a staff that might pass muster in any army in Europe, a popular resolve to put in practice the Russian tactics, and a deadly climate

to which Russia is nothing. And then all this is dissipated by a few cajoleries of the French. But _Miss MAierisossu was tied tightly down to the datmement ; and being so, she should have drawn her preceding story in strict keeping.

Our extracts vihl, of' course, be taken from the better parts,— the pictures of scenery, which we assume are founded On the descriptions of others ; or those disquisitions in which Miss MAR.. TINEAU speaks in her own person.

A ST. DONIINCO NIGHT.

For 50111e little time nothing was heard but the sounds that in the plains of St. Ihsnii):,o never ee:ise—the humming and buzzing of myriadr, of insects, the occasional chattering of moukies in a neighbouthing wood, and. with a passing gust, a chorus of frogs from a distant swamp. Unconscious of this din from being accustomed always to hear more or less Of it, the boy amused himself with chasing the brollies, whose light began to ca tee around as darkness descended. 'Ilis sisler was poring over her -work, wilich she lAIDS just finishing, when a gleam of greenish light made both look up. It came from a Imp meteor which sailed pst towards the mountains; whither were tending also the huge masses of cloud w Lich :rather about the high peaks previous to the season of rain ;ma hurricanes. There was nothing surprising in this meteor. for the sky was full of thou in August nights; butt it was very beautiful. The globe of green light floated on till it burst above the mountains, illuminating the lower clouds, and rota:ding along the slopes of the uplands the eoffee-groves, waving and bowing their heads in the wandering winds of that high region.

A RUINED PLANTATION.

Jacques knew where so seek his friend; and led the way, on descending from the hills, straight across the plain to the Breda estate, where Toussaint meant to swait his family. how unlike was this plantation to what it was when these

Negroes had seen it last The cane-tields, heretofore so trim and orderly with

the tall canes springing from the clean black soil, were now a jungle. The old plants had run up till they had leaned over with their own weight and fallen upon one another. Thew suckers had sprung up in myriads, so that the racoon, which burrowed among them, could scarcely make its way in and out. The grass on the little enclosed lawns grew so rank, that the cattle, now wild, were almost hidden as they lay down in it ; and so uneven and unsightly were the patches of growth, that the blossoming shrubs, with which it had been sprinkled for ornament, now looked forlorn and out of place, flowering amidst the desolation. The slave-quarter was scarcely distinguishable from the wood behind it, so nearly was it overgro" wn with weeds. A young foal was bronzing on the thatch, and a crowd of glittering lizards darted out and away on the approach of Imman feet. Jacques did not stay at the slave-quarter ; but he desired his company to remain there and in the neighbouring field, while he went with These to bring out their chief to them. They went up to the house; but in no one of its deserted chambers did they find Toussaint. " Perhaps he is in his own cottage," said Th6r3e. " Is it possible," replied Jacques, " that, with this fine house all to himself, he should take up with that old hut ?" " Let us see," said Th&Zse, " for he is certainly not here."

When they reached Toussaint's cottage, it was no easy matter to know how to effect an entraece. Enormous gourds had spread their network over the ground, like traps tbr the feet of trespassers. The front of the piazza wits com- pletely osergrown n ith the creepers which had been brought there only to cover the posts and hang their blossoms from the eaves. They lout now spread and tangled themselves till they made the house look like a thicket. In one place, however, between two of the posts, they had been torn down, and the evening wind was tossing the loose coils about. Jacques entered the gap; and imme- diately looked out again, smiling, and beckoning Thitritse to come and see. There, in the piazza, they found Toussaint stretched asleep upon the bench- ed soundly asleep for once, that the whispers uf his friends did not alter for a moment his heavy breathing.

The following is from a passage where Toussaint is described as teaching his boys and officers history, during the relaxation of military duty ; and evolves the distinction between the receipt of knowledge by the slave, to whom it is abstract and useless, and the free, who may turn it to account. Strangle, that a person who exhibits metaphysical speculations so judiciously, cannot embody their truth in action.

" The lads found some of' the details of military training less heroic and less agreeable than they had imagined—scarcely to be compared, indeed, under either aspect, to the chase of the wild goats and search for young turtle, to which they had been of late accustomed. They had their pleasures, how- ever, amidst the heats, toils, and laborious offices of the camp. They felt themselves men, living among men : they were young enough to throw off, and almost to forget the habits of thought which belong to slavery ; and they became conscious of a spirit growing up within them, by which they could look before and after, perceive that the future of their lives was in their own hands, and therefore understand the importance of the present time. Their father looked upon them with mixed feelings of tender pride in theta and regret for his own lost youths. The strong awl busy years on which they were entering had been all spent by him in acquiring one habit of mind, to which his temperament and his training alike conduced—a habit of enduranee. It was at this time that lie had acquired the power of rea:ling enough to seek for books ; and the books that he had got hold of were Epictettts and some frag-

ments of F6nelon. With all the force of youth, he had been by turns the Stoic and Quietist ; and while busied in submitting himself to the pressure of the present, he bad turned from the past, and scarcely dreamed of the future. If Isis imagination glanced back to the court of his royal grandfather, held under the palui-ehades, or pursuing the lion-hunt amidst the jungles of Africa, he had hastily withdrawn hie mind's eye from scenes which might create impa- tience of his lot; and if he ever wondered whetlier a long succession of ignorant and sensual Blacks were to be driven into the field by the whip every day in St. Domingo, for evermore, he had cut short the speculation as inconsistent with Isis stoical habit of endinance and his Christian principle of trust. It was not till his youth was pest that he had learned any thing of the revolutions of the world, too late to lining them into his speculations and his hopes. De had read, front year to year, of the conquests of Alexander and of Cmsar ; lie had studied the wars of France, and drawn the plans of campaigns in the sand before his door till he knew them by heart; hut it had not occurred to him, that while empires were overthrown in Asia, and Europe was traversed by powers which gave and took its territories as he saw Negroes barter their cocoa-nuts and plaintains on Saturday nights—while such things had hap- pened in another hemisphere, it had not occurred to him that change would ever happen in St. Domingo. Ile lied heard of earthquakes taking place at intervals of hundreds of years, and lie knew that the times of the hurricane were not calculable ; but patient and still as was his own existence, lie had never thought svliether there might not be a convulsion of human affections, a whirlwilid of human passion, preparing under the grim order of soeiety in the colony. If a master died, his heir succeeded him : if the "force" of any plan- tation was by any conjuncture of circumstances dispersed or removed, another Negro company was on the shore, ready to repeople the slave-quarter. The mutabilities of human life had seemed to him to be appointed to Whites, to be their privilege aud their discipline; while he deubtell not that the eternal com- mand to Blacks was to bear and forbear. When lie now looked upon his boys, and remembered that for them this order was broken up, and in time for them to grasp a future, and prepare for it,—that theirs was the lot of Whites, in being involved in social ellanges,—he regarded t hens with a far (teener solicitude

and tenderness than in the darkest midnight hours of their childish illness, or during the sweetest prattle of their Sabbath afternoons, mid with a far stronger hopefulness than can ever enter the heart or home of is slave. They had not his habitual patiitnee; and he saw that they were little likely to attain it ; hut they daily manifested qualities and powers, enterprise, forecast, and liQpiration of various kinds, adorning their youth with a promise which made their father

sigh at the retrospeet of his own. * * " Night after night was the Inap of Greece traced with the sword's peiet on the sand behind his tent ; while lie related the succession of the conflicts With

Persia with a spirit derived from old Herod's( us himself. ight after night

did the interest of his hearers arouse more and more spirit in himself, till he became: aware that Isis synipathies with the Greeks in their struggles for liberty

bad hitherto been like those of the poet born blind, who delights in describing

natural scenery—thus unconsciously enjoying the stir within hint of' powers whose appropriate exercise is forbidden. Amidst this survey of the regions of history, he felt with humble wonder, that while his boys were, like bright-eyed

cliildren, sporting fearlessly in the fields, lie wa: like one lately couched, hy whom the order of things was gradually becoming recognized, but who was

oppressed by the unwonted light, and inwardly ashamed of the hesitation and uncertainty of Isis tread. While SIMS, nephew, and a throng of his officers were listening to him as to an oracle, and following the tracings of Isis sword • as he showed how this advance and that retreat had been made above two thou- sand years ago, he was full of consciousness that the spirit of the history of freedom was received more truly by the youngest of his audience than by hunt-

self—that be was learning front their natural ardour something of higher value than all that he had to impart."

PLEASURES OF STATESMEN.

Precious to the statesman are the moments he can snatch for the common pleasures which are strewed over the earth—meant, apparently, for the per- petual enjoyment of all its inhabitants. The child gathers flowers in the meadow, or runs up and down a green bank, or looks for birds' nests every spring. day. The boy and girl hear the lark in the field and the linnet in the wood, as a matter of course: they walk beside the growing corn, and pass beneath the rookery, and feel nothing of its being a privilege. The sailor beholds the stars every bright night of the year, and is familiar with the thousand hues of the changing sea. The soldier on his march sees the sun rise and set on mountain and valley, plain and forest. The citizen, pent up in the centre of a wide-built town, has his hour for play with his little ones, his evenings for his wife and his friends. But for the statesman, none of these are the pleasures of every day. Week after week, mouth after month, he can have no eyes for the freshness of stature, no leisure for small affairs, or for talk about thin,gs which cannot be called Obits at all. Ile may gaze at pictures on his wallS, and hear music from the drawing,-room, in the brief intervals of his labours; nod Ise may now mid then be taken by surprise by a glimpse of the cool bright stars, or by the waving of the boughs of sonic neighbouring tree: he may lies•b-eguileil by the grace or the freak of sonic little child, or struck by some wandering flower-scent its the streets, or some effect of sun- light on the evening cloud : but, with these few and rare exceptions, be loses eight of the natural earth, and of its free sintercourses, thr weeks and months together; and precious its proportion—precions beyond his utmost anticipa- tion—are his holies of holydny when at length they come. He gazes at the crescent moon hanging above the woods, and at the long morning shadows on the dewy grass, as if they would vanish before his eyes lie is intoxicated with the Tine of the brook upon the stones, when he seeks the trout-stream with his line and basket : the whirring of the wild-14d'; wing upon the moor, the bursting of the chase from cover, the creaking of the harvest-wain—the song of' the vine-dressers—the laughs of the olive-gatherers—in every land where these sounds are beard, they make a child once snore of the statesman who may for once have come forth to hear them. Sweeter still is the leisure- hour with children in the garden or the meadow, and the quiet stroll with wife or sister in the evening, or the gay excursion during a whole day of liberty. If Sundey evenings are sweet to the labourer, whose toils involve but little fiction of' mind, how precious are Isis rarer holydays to the state-labourer, after the wear and tear of toil like Isis—sifter his daily experience of intense thought, of anxiety, and fear! In the path of such should spring the freshest grass, and on their heads should fall the softest of the moonlight and ihe balmiest of the airs of heaven, if natural rewards are in any proportion to their purchase- money of toil.