CONSTANCE.
As a story or novel, Constance does not differ much from many that have gone before it. The heroine is beautiful—perfect : she loves, and is loved : but the lover is restrained from putting the seal of marriage on his affections, by another engagement of a bind- ing quality. The lady's course is clear; but she finds it easier to discard than forget : it is long before she can open her eyes to the perfections of another adorer. Resolving at length upon a union of esteem and respect, that happiness does not immediately ensue which might have been anticipated. The husband, well aware of the former attachment, is somewhat jealous and uneasy, lest some remains of it may exist. The lady and her former lover are thrown together in his absence, and a temporary alienation takes place between the husband and wife. Her purity and innocence quickly, however, disperse the clouds of scandal : the husband comes to a due sense of the injustice he has been guilty of, and seeks a re- conciliation, which is gladly accorded. The lover—who, it appears, would not unwillingly have appeared in the character of seducer— is a second time dismissed ; and the novel closes with a sketchy view of the 'subsequent history of the very various persons that have been produced by the writer in -order to carry on and vary the scene.
It is a pity that authors are not as able to imitate nature in their stories as in their scenes. The authoress of Cons-lance would have been very happy in her production, if she could have as closely adhered to truth in the conduct of her tale as in the exhibition of a character or the display of a scene. It is true that novelists lie under the grievous disadvantage of being bound to describe the progress of a marriage suit: the hero and heroine must love and • he crossed in love, and they must ultimately be united. Now, though the ways in which this overt may take place are various, still they must now have been fairly exhausted by the great number of writers who have occupied themselves with the subject. The . whole field, moreover, is not open to them. The narrative must be of two nearly perfect beings : they must not only love, but they must also be amiable and admirable: and the way of such persons to church is necessarily pretty much down the same road. Not only is the way confined, but the time is limited, the catastrophe must take place within a certain number of years—people cannot go on loving for ever. In order, therefore, to embrace the whole history of particular persons within a certain time, events are un- naturally hurried, incidents of the most improbable kind are imagined; and an air of extravagance and unrealness is given to the work. 'What can be more common than to perceive, in a novel, that the writer is driven into a corner. Such and such events in life would naturally take much time to bring about : in this case, the experienced novelist is well aware of what is about to happen: somebody is sure to die out of the way; the novelist puts on his .black cap and dispenses fate—he kills this one—he sends another into a carriage with raging horses and hurries them on to the borders of a precipice ; one person he throws from a horse, and either fractures his skull or dislocates his shoulder, according to the .exigencies of the tale : sometimes the reverse happens—the long- thought dead are brought to life, and the knot of the tale is cut by a most unceremonious resurrection. In the story of Constance, .taking the characters for granted, and allowing the circumstances to be such as are stated, none of the events narrated would have happened. Brought up as Constance had been, it is in the highest degree improbable that she would have turned out the character de- scribed; but being that character, she never would have encouraged .the equivocal addresses of Sir Charles Marchmont ; neither would that amiable old maid Miss Jane Monekton have deserted all her ancient ways and modes of thinking, to sanction that which she .must have seen and known was calculated to produce 'misery. .1Iad Constance, however, permitted the gentleman to have gone so far, she would either have claimed a clear and decisive pro- ceeding., or she would have withdrawn altogether : she did neither—when she found her lover bound in It mercenary en- gagement with another lady's parents, she urges him to pro- ceed in it, at the expense of his and her happiness. It is his honour that is at stake, she alleges. This is the disinterest- edness, and also the reasoning, only of the novel. Hav- ing dismissed this equivocal lover, such a person as Constance would either quickly have recovered from the attachment, or it would have remained to influence her conduct for ever. Neither takes place : she marries another in no long time ; retains her in- terest in the baronet ; meets him frequently, and talks so exclu- sively to him in society, blushing and bridling, turning pale and acting confusedly, that a whole room-full of people grow silent and look grave. This is, however, in all purity of heart, and no .thought or.pulse ever throbs in treason to a beloved husband; .who,-that these scenes may take place, is conveniently transferred .to Devonshire, to the bedside of a sick friend. The acting is na-: tiral enough, but not to the parties such as we are told they are. It is not deemed. sufficient merely to alarm the husband; so the heroine is thrown accidentally into the streets—loses her way—stumbles upon Bond Street—luckily runs against the dangerous baronet— takes his arm, and is being by him conducted home—when who should drive past, but the unhappy husband from Devonshire He is not seen, but sees: in despair he orders fresh horses, and again seeks the country at a point some hundred miles from London. Thus, the happiness of three models of human na- ture is made to turn on the neglect of a footman in not return. ing to take his lady from one of the enclosures in a fashionable square. It might be said, that they who depend wholly upon such succedanea as footmen, deserve to be plagued : but of these parties all this could not happen. If all were granted as likely to have taken place, it would have simply turned out a mis- understanding of half an hour : such small events are only productive of serious concern to the most unreasonable people. But in novels we find, in the persons as they are described, the perfection of reason—in their actions, the very height of folly. Why is this? Not because the authors are foolish, but because of this fundamental error, that a novel must contain within itself the whole fortunes of a marriage suit. Why are not other objects in life made the subjects of fiction? Why should not the success of a man in endeavouring at fame, or fortune, or wealth—in attempting to secure a living, a place, a professional eminence—be made the groundwork of a tale? Men are hanged as well as married ; and the authors of Eugene Aram and Carwell have seen there was something else to be done in the world than to love. To start a pair of lovers, is as necessary in novel-making, as, in shooting, to flush a covey of partridges : no game is expected to be bagged, if in the first twenty pages we do not stumble upon a hero and heroine, just preparing to die for one another. Whatever may have been said of the story of Constance, does not more exactly apply to it than to half the novels published. Much, however, may be truly written of the novel before us, that, for our own sakes, we should be glad to say of many others. In its attempts to sketch the characters of English country society, it is most suc- cessful: its portraits are very happy, its scenes very amusing: it is, in fact, a very curious and admirable addition to the pictures of middle and provincial life, which have made the posthumous (alas ! that we should say posthumous fame) of Miss AUSTIN. Many of the characters are drawn from life. To the truth of the elaborate portrait of Dr. Clayton (Dr. PARR), his friend Jack Barn- ford (Mr. BARTRAM), his servant "Sam," and of some of his satel- lites, we can bear undeniable testimony : and this is not the least amusing portion of the novel. We are also pleased with many in- sulated remarks and characteristic touches, which raise the work from the level of a mere tale to the rank of an experimental dis- quisition on the moral and social ties by which we find ourselves bound.
MODERN AND ANCIENT DANCING.
This beginning broke the ice, as it were, of that coldness, which the girlish timidity of Constance; and the consciousness of Sir Charles, had established hitherto between them. Fur the first time, the Baronet saw her in her true colours. The originality of her character, its native humour, the wildness of her spirits when uncontrolled, the enthusiasm, yet delicacy of her feelings, broke upon him by de•-,ees; for he possessed a quick discernment of excellence, and that which he had hitherto only imagined her to be, he found her actually to prove. Very difficult did this young couple find it to separate when the dance began, and to stand, like a regiment of soldiers, in two separate lines, gazing at each other whilst an insurmountable barrier of form was between them. But in the now despised country dance, there were innumerable opportunities of little significant attentions which are wholly impracticable in the measured step of a quadrille. To lead down the dance with the partner whom you preferred, was sometimes the prelude to an offer at the end of it ; in poussette, many kind words might be uttered, and even the separation in hands across was but momentary. But now it is all a system of setting and rigadooning; the gentlemen and ladies seem afraid to touch one another ; they figure away as if they were in the pre- sence of their dancing-master, and resign a partner with whom they can have no communication beyond a few syllables, with the same composure as they make a balances. In the happy days of my heroine, it was permitted also, for a lady, after dancing down thirty or forty couple, to take a little breathing time at the bottom of her set with her partner ; and here the interrupted converse of the dance was frequently renewed with spirits accelerated, not jaded by the
exhilarating exercise in which they each joined. •
THE HOUSE Or THE TRIBE FAMILY.
It was a large, rickety, banging and slamming sort of house, famous for breezes, in which there was a perpetual contest between the wind without, and the children within, which should create the greatest noise. Not one of the Tribe family was ever known to shut a door without sundry reproaches and en- treaties, although Mrs. Tribe was screaming out all day to Betty, " Come back; you've left the,door open.—Amy ! here !"—" Well, mamma."—" Shut the door, James, you really have no mercy on us," &c. And Mr. Tribe never sat down to dinner without saying to his foot-boy, yclept, from courtesy, " our man," " Benjamin, really my legs are perished; no wonder I have the gout--there's that outer hall door open, as if we kept an inn or a post-office. There's not a servant in my house ever shuts a door, Mrs. Cattell." All this admonition, which only made one feel the colder, was thrown away upon this large dis- orderly family, who might be said to live extempore, and, from the unfortunate circumstance of having a very good-tempered, easy mother, one of the most grievous calamities that can befal so numerous a household, were always in con- fusion. The servants of course had imbibed largely the latitudinarian system : ringing the bell was hopeless under five or six repetitions; mending the fires equally hopeless : they were generally let so low, that nothing but the utmost skill could recover them; when, lo! in came a dusty house•maid in curl-papers, and discharged a whole coal-scuttle upon them. Let those smile who live in tropical climates, but these are no small grievances in merry, but cold England. Yet nothing could spoil the tempers of the Miss Tribes: they laughed as loud when the fire went out as when it blazed; they Made a regular joke of-the bell never being answered, and seemed almost in a state of consternation when the servant happened to come at the first summons. One or other of the sisters was constantly on the search for the house keys, which were usually lost twice a day, and one or other of their friends usually engaged in pinning up the gathers and closing the gaps in their gowns behind; for as fast as one separation was con- cealed, another came to view. With all this, their mirth was unabated.
MR. PUZZLENT, FROM THE TEMPLE.
Mr. Pitrzleby, a young lawyer, expressly come-frem London to pass his short Christmas vacation with this worthy family; a keen, smart young man, second •
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