The Sun.
London, England, 1849-02-19 00:00:00

THE LINCOLNITES.

The Lincolnites! the Lincolnites! how silently they sit,
Taking no part in the debate, thu' slyly watching it;
But they whisper to each other all thro' the live long
nights.
Members wonder what they whisper of—the stealthy
Lincolnites.
Do they whisper of the past? interchanging many a sigh
For all they once believed in, for all they now deny—
The party faith, the public trust, the manly stand-up
fights
With those who fought for principle?—the neuter Lin-
colnites.

Do they whisper of the present? are witticisms small:
Muttered against Protectionist, or Whig, or Radical?
And in the absence of a creed is it a sneer unites

Some who were meant for batter things—the fallen Lin-

coloites?
Do they whisper of the future? does it more and more

rev al
How the Lincoln bells are dumb bells since they cannot
ring their peal ?
Or own they how its muffled tone their inmost heart

affrights,
Tolling a horrid curfew to the darkened Lincolnites?
Ah! Lincolites! ah! Lincolnites! men ask, who long
have watched
You hens who sit so broodingly—When will their oggs
be hatched?
Or were they always addled ones, with neither yolks nor
whites,
Fit only for the pillory, or for the Lineolnites?
And there are those among you who aught else must

soon prefer
To wasting life in sacrifice to your deaf Jupiter:*
Apt scholars, plainly seeing, 'mid elaborated slights,
No Tamwnrth great endowment scheme for the poor

Lincolnites.
Then, lost in morbid cautiousness why let your talents lie?
You have Canterbury brilliance and Oxford sublety,

While Ripon from the mountain, as the adage old recites,
Looks, if not over Lincoln, yet over the Lincoluites.
You've relics at the Carlton, and of Peers claim ono
or two;
You have bought the old Whig paper, and have made it
rat like you;
Let some one speak at evening what one each morning
writes;
Take courage in your carping, ye chronicled Lincolnites.
At all events be something, do something any how;
Yuu can't be worse committed than you are committed
now.
Office and principles ars lost, the red box yet invites,
Audit may, like Pandora's, hold Hope for the Lincolnites.
A. S.

* Jupiter oranti gi surdas prmbeat aures •
Victima Tarpeios cur cadet ictu focos.—LIVID.
—Post.

IRELAND.
DUBLIN, FEB. 17.—The Court sat yesterday morning,
at eleven o'clock, and the jury having answered to their
names, evidence was given on the part of the Crown,
after which the jury were escorted to the Shelbourne
Hotel.

This day (Saturday, July 16) the presiding Judges
entered Court at eleven o'clock.
Several other witnesses were examined, including the
policemen employed in the defence of Ballingarry, but
as the evidence was in substance and effect precisely
similar to that given at the trial of Mr. Smith O'Brien,
it is unnecessary here, if there were time, to go over it,
anew.

Mr. Williams, a police-inspector, was under exami-
nation at post hour. A good deal of sensation, if not
surprise, WaS excited by the course taken by one of the
jury, in the cross-examination of a witness, one of the
police.

Salt RDat
NIGIIT.—The Counsel for the prisoner, in
this unusually protracted trial, have not yet entered on
their defence, the Crown having only ended the case for
the prosecution this evening. The day was almost
entirely occupied in the examination and cross-exami-
nation of witnesses, and this produced but little excite-
ment.

It was expected that the Court would have given
jndgment as to the admissibility of the letter writter by
Mr. Duffy to Mr. O'Brien, but no decision wus given,
nor had anything escaped which could lead to what it
would likely be.
The Jury were again removed to Mr. Burke's Hotel, in
Stephen's-green, where they will be locked up until
Monday morning. It is not likely any verdict will be
given until Tuesday, if there be unanimity amongst
them, which is not expected.

His Excellency Chevalier Bunsen, accompanied
by M. Sieveking, arrived at the Prussian Legation, on
Saturday forenoon, from Berlin and Frankfort. M.
Sieveking, it is understood, is to be attached to the Le-
gation. His Serene Highness Prince Lowenstein re-
tains his position of Secretary until a higher post be-
comes vacant, when he will leave this country.
SOUTHAMPTON, FEB. 17.—The West India Com-
pany's mail steam-ship Thames, commanded by Captain
Abbott, with the usual West India mails, left this after-
noon at three o'clock. The freight taken out by the
Thames was both large and valuable, with specie and
jewellery to the amount of 5,122/. She took out 67 pas-
sengers, about one-third of whom were for Chagres,
En route to California. Amongst the names of those pas-.
sengers going out by the Thames, were Captain and
Mrs. Smith, Captain Gainsford, the Consul of Jacmel,
Dr. Stuart, Lieutenant Hooke, Mr. and Mrs. Wheel-
wright, Mr. and Mrs. Hornsby, Ensigns Cox and Hal-
bron, &c. Tho Peninsular] and Oriental Company's
steam-ship Iberia, Captain Burney, with the mails for
Spain, Portugal, and Gibraltar, left this day at two
o'clock. She had a full cargo of general merchandize,
amounting to 90 tons, and a small number ofpassengers.
The Archbishop of Canterbury has appointed the
Rev. G. C. Irving, M.A., to the vicurage of Goudhurst,
near Cranbrook, Bent, rendered vacant by the death of
the Rev. W. B. Harrison, M.A.

TO THE SECRETARY OF THE
METROPOLITAN REFORM ASSOCIATION.
Sir,—On Tuesday I omitted to notice a movement
of an unusual nature, directed towards the exclusion
of the Member for Manchester (Mr. Bright) from
the Poor-Laws Ireland Committee. It must have
been consolatory to opponents to witness such stra-
tegy, as running the head against an adverse division
of 120 to 74. The only comment to be made, is by
asking what the public would have thought of a Com-
mittee, where the first necessity was that the Mem-
ber for Manchester should be excluded.
On Wednesday the 14th the Navigation-Laws were
considered in Committee. The plan of the Govern-
ment appears to be the same as in last session, except
that it omits a portion of the changes proposed in the
coasting trade. The nature of the omission may ba
gathered from the question put forward by some of
the Protectionists, who were in an agony (as Mr.
Roebuck phrased it) to ascertain that a French
steamer going from London to Boulogne,
was not to be allowed to take up a
passenger at Ramsgate. How and why the
country is to be benefited by the disappointment
of the passenger at Ramsgate, when it was permitted
to his cousin whom he wants to join, to embark for
the whole voyage at London, it is not easy to perceive.
But Protectionists in these days must he thankful for
scraps and cheese-parings. The men have a boat of
their own, and like other rival watermen, they are
irritable and loquacious ; for which they must be
excused by the personal nature of the case.
After hearing the debate, it did not look as if the
Government had any occasion to have reduced their
proposals. But if the particular in question
was a rallying point for prejudice and ignorance,
they were right to cut it away. One limb
of a folly cannot stand by itself, any more than
one leg of a stool. Knowledge is improving by
practice, in the art of doing away with mischiefs. It
is not true, as used to be held some years ago and is
still held by some, that you must de nothing that does
not turn all the Hivites and Perizzites out of
the land. It is not true, that if you cut
away three-fourths, you thereby strengthen the other
fourth into a perpetuity of existence, and therefore
should carefully preserve the three. There is a cer-
tain tendency in this direction, but there is also a
tendency in the contrary, founded on the general de-
bility produced by an amputation of three•fourths ;
and of these two tendencies the last is strongest.
In fact so clear has this become, that the argument
for doing nothing but the whole, has become the
stock resource of enemies. No thing can be done,
without somebody finding out there is a better, and
begging that for this better we may wait. Not that
this is always with ill intent. There are well-meaning
men, who have not sufficiently attended to the pheno-
mena of nature to perceive, that the process of re-
moval is generally like that of clearing away a forest;
here a little and there a little, so that the innocent
wood is hardly conscious of the operation except by
comparisons at distant periods of time.
From the course the question is taking, it would not
be surprising, if the Protectionists were found with-
drawing their support of the Navigation-Laws on any
ground of commercial advantage to the community,
and representing them purely in the light of an
expenditure and pecuniary sacrifice, incurred for the
sake of purchasing a greater number of sailors for the
military marine. A wonderful simplification, and
ease to all concerned in the dispute.
On Thursday the House was counted out, a few
minutes after it had met. The proceeding was un-
usual at the time of private business; and as such, of
the nature of a surprise. It is not easy to perceive
what could have been the object of the mover.
Friday again was a night of divisions. The amend-
ment for declaring that the Habeas Corpus Suspen-
sion Ireland should not be applied to the re-
striction of the right to petition Parliament, was justly
objected to, on the ground that its tendency was to
prompt the possibility of so applying it, rather than to
prevent any practical danger existing; and the
amendment was negatived by 94 against 12.
The simple state of the case seems to be as follows.
A rebellion of pots de chambre has been got up in
Ireland. There would have been mischief if there
could; but the Government succeeded in putting it
down, with what may be called no shedding of blood,
by the use, among other things, of the considerably
questionable power of suspending the Habeas Corpus
Act. But if the case authorised it then, it may rea-
sonably authorise it a little longer on the representa-
tion of the Government that they want it; just as a
patient who has been subjected to some dangerous
and intrinsically undesirable remedy, does not resist
the representation of his medical attendant, that the
exhibition had better not cease the moment the ur-
gent symptoms have been repressed. There may be
reason in the thing, or there may be unreason ; as
there may in everything. If the counsel was, that the
man should for ever feed upon the baneful drug, it
would be unreason.
The Irish Members declare a total want of sym-
pathy with the rebellion ; and would blaze out with
all the energy of their country, against any who
should charge them with it. But they overshoot
their mark when they maintain, that so total has
been the process of conversion or of repentance
(change of mind, as the Greek has it,) among their
countrymen, that no man could be found now to take
a pike or think of one, though all extraordinary powers
of the Government were ostentatiously given up.
The thing is too good to trust to ; and they will be
wrong if they quarrel with everybody who does not
at once come over to their argument.
At the same time it is very desirable that unmis-
takeable intimations should be conveyed to the
Government, that the perilous prescription must be
used with caution, and to the least possible extent.
And one way in which this will be effected, will be
by a number of English Members voting for Lord
Nugent's amendment to reduce the time, and in the
event of failure, a portion of them voting against the
suspension at all.
The question of the 50,0001. to Trish distress, ap-
pears to have been in an analogous position. Amend-
ments were moved, for making the amount recoverable
from the Unions that had it, and what seemed more
reasonable, from the Unions that had mot it, inas-
much as the case of the others was that they could
neither pay for themselves nor anybody else. The
last only was carried to a division ; and on its being
negatived, its supporters, few indeed but sufficient to
show the animus, for the most part voted against the
grant altogether.
I am, Sir, your obedient servant,
AN OLD REFORMER.
London, Feb. 19, 1849.
T

HE
RECENT ROBBERY OF JEWELLERY.—It will
be recollected that a short time ago some person dressed
as a clergyman obtained a quantity of jewellery, valued
at 5001., trom Messrs. Lambert and Co., of Coventry-
street, by the ingenious " ruse" of ordering the property
to be sent to the Bishop of Winchester's residence, in
St. James's-square, for the inspection of the Right Rev.
Prelate. It was presumed, from the cleverness and
completeness of the robbery, that it had been accom-
plished by some dexterous thief who had assumed the
clerical garb as the surest means of disarming suspicion.
Since the-period of the robbery the police have been in
search of the successful thief. After much trouble, it is
understood that the police have obtained a clue to the
perpetrator of the robbery, and ascertained that he is
actually a clergyman in orders, and rather noted for
some considerable railway speculations. The presumed
thief is at present in Wales, and though the police are
prepared with evidence, yet it is believed that no further
steps will be taken at present. About 4001. worth of
the property, it is said, has been recovered.—Observer.
EXPLOSION OF GUNPOWDER IN SPITALFIELDS.—
A MOTHER AND THREE CHILDREN INJURED.-011
Saturday afternoon considerable alarm was created, in
Booth-street, Spitalfields, by an explosion of a fearful
character taking place in the premises belonging to Mrs.
Newman, situate at No. 3, in that street, by which the
unfortunate mother and three of her children were
seriously, if not fatally, injured. It appears that Mrs.
Newman was sitting in front of the grate with her
children around her, amusing themselves by dropping
some gunpowder into the fire. While thus engaged a
spark fell out of the grate, and, alighting upon the vessel
containing a quantity of gunpowder, the whole ex-
ploded with a noise resembling the discharge of a piece
of ordnance, at the same time knocking down Mrs.
Newman and her three children. The noise occasioned
by the explosion caused several of the neighbours and
police constable Hudson, 78 11, to enter the house, when
a pitiable scene presented itself. Mrs. Newman and the
children were lying in the room, blackened and severely
scorched about the faces and lower portion of their
bodies. Seeing the terrible state of suffering the poor
parties were in the police constable at once procured a
cab and conveyed Mrs. Newman and her children to the
London Hospital, where they were instantly admitted,
and every attention paid to them. Upon making in-
quiries last evening it was ascertained the four suf-
ferers were going on as favourably as could be expected,
considering the nature of the injuries they had received.
.FORGED BANK OF ENGLAND NOTES.—A corre-
spondent at Tunbridge Wells states;—An individual,
who arrived from the metropolis by the South-Eastern
Railway on Friday, has inundated this town with forged
Bank of England notes. He took up his residence at
Mrs. Ames's boarding-house, engaging apartments for a
month certain, saying he had come down for the benefit
of the waters. Shortly after he entered the house, he
got change for a 101. Rote from Mrs. Ames. He after-
wards went round the town, and succeeded chiefly with
the butchers, in passing sight 101. and Si. notes. He did
not return to his lodgings, which aroused suspicion. In-
quiries were instituted this morning (Saturday), when it
was found that all the notes were forgeries, and that he
had left the preceding evening. Tho 101. notes are dated
London, 4th of Oct., 1848, No. V K 64,504; the 5/,
Newcastle-on-Tyne, 28th of Aug., 1847. The individual
who passed them is a man about 45, fair, dressed in
black, and apparently afflicted with asthma.ta,.e same d
perastnen,
of this description passed forged notes of
lo a large amount, at Guildford on Thursday.
which
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FEBRUARY 19, 1849.

LITERATURE.

CORRESPONDENCE OF SCHILLER
WITH KORNER. Edited by Leonard Simp-
son. 3 Vols.

In the summer of 1784, Schiller, at a moment
when (to use his own words) " his heart was suffer-
ing from sadness," received a packet of letters which
‘‘ afforded him one of the brightest hours of his ex-
istence." These letters came from four unknown
admirers—Korner, his friend Huber, Minna, the
betrothed of Korner, and her sister Dora. Having
read and appreciated Schiller's works, " they feel the
wish," writes Kirner, "to press the hand of their
benefactor, to show him their tears of joy and enthu-
siasm, in order that he may also find strength, should
he ever be harassed by the doubt whether the men
of his generation were worthy of his la-
bours." They solicit the friendship of the
poet. Seven months after, Schiller replies to
these complimentary letters. He excuses his long
silence in a manner which could not fail to sa-
tisfy his would-be correspondents. He tells them
that " sorrow and vexation had crowded upon him,
till the fountains of his heart became dry to feelings
of friendship and of joy." He had postponed his
answer to them until a more congenial hour. In
his second letter• to his new friends he throws off
all reserve, and unburdens to them the sorrows of a
heart yearning for sympathy rather than admiration.
"If," he writes, " you will make allowances for a man
who cherishes great ideas, and has performed but small
acts; who as yet can only surmise from his follies that
Nature has destined him for something; who demands
unbounded love, and yet is ignorant of what he can offer
in return; but who can love something beyond himself,
and has no greater torment than the thought that he is
very far from being what he desires to be; if a man of
this stamp may aspire to your friendship, ours will be
eternal, for I am that man. Perhaps you will love
Schiller, even should your esteem for the poet hare been
diminished.

" After this confession, are you prepared for another?
Oh, my best friends! your voluntary advances of friend-
ship have had a wonderful effect upon the present state
of my mind. I have so unfortunate a propensity to
magnify everything, that: thei simplest cause often ap-
pears to me as the seed of something great. This is the
case now with your friendship. Your assurances of es-
teem came at a moment when I felt more than ever the
want of a friend.

" My soul thirsts for new food—for better men—for
friendship, affection and love. I must be near you, and
by your conversation and company freshness will be
breathed into my wounded spirit. My poetical pulse
has ceased to beat, and my heart's blood is congealed
towards all around me. You must give me new life,
and I shall become more than I over was before. I
shall be happy—l never yet was happy. Weep for
me that I should make such a confession. I never yet
felt happiness; fame and admiration weigh not a fea-
ther in the scale against friendship and love, for the
heart languishes all the same.
" Will you welcome me? "
The friendship commenced under these romantic cir-
cumstances: continued till Schiller's death. In
Korner he found the friend for whom his heart
had yearned ; to him he freely confesses his
secret thoughts, doubts, and perplexities. Schiller's
letters to Korner are a perfect revelation of the his-
tory of a poet's intellect and heart. "The brother-
hood of minds is the surest key to knowledge,"
exclaims Schiller in one of his letters. "Alone we
are powerless. The great Creator was aware of this,
and he formed a link between rational beings by the
magnetic power of mind." Korner was not
unworthy of the friendship of his illustrious cor-
respondent. Less imaginative, but far wiser than
his enthusiastic friend, Korner gently tempers the
impetuosity of the wayward poet, encourages him in
his labours, consoles him in his doubts, cheers him
onward in his difficult and often thorny path.
How encouraging, for example, are the words
of Korner: when Schiller writes to him that
he is dissatisfied in the presence of Goethe. (This
was soon after Schiller's first introduction to Goethe)
" He has roused within me," he writes, " a most
curious mixture of hatred and love, a feeling not
unlike that which Brutus and Cassius must have
entertained for Caesar. I could murder his spirit
and then love him from my heart.' This feeling is
not occasioned by jealousy, on the part of Schiller,
but by the egotism (as he calls it) of GOethe's charac-
ter. In reply to this letter, Korner writes, Goethe's
character, as you describe it, truly something oppres-
sive in it. It is necessary to call up all one's pride not to
feel put down in the presence of such a man ; but it were
a pity if this prevented you from all intercourse with
him. You also can boldly say, Auch'io son pit-
tore!' Though he may have the advantage of
you in age, and experience, and in self-
command." Another time Korner writes in
words of truest wisdom, " Occupations of high interest
are never wanting to an energetic mind, and to
leave the mental energies unemployed is a theft com-
mitted on the age we* lire in." In this correspon-
dence we hardly know wwhich to prefer, the warm-
hearted frankness of the imaginative but often de-
sponding poet, or the thoughtful counsels of his
high-souled friend. Perhaps, after reading through
the correspondence, we love Schiller better, but we
admire Korner more. On the death of his friend,
Korner cherished this memento of their past friend-
ship. The letters were to him sacred, he would not
consent to their publication. They have now, however,
passed into the hands of one who, " feeling
what is due to his country," says the preface has
given them to the world. Seldom have we met with
a more attractive work. These letters cannot fail to
interest and benefit all who peruse them. They oc-
cupy three volumes, and contain reference to the
various incidents in the lives of their writers, and
comments upon their several friends Goethe, Wieland,
Humboldt, and other distinguished men. As eloquent
mementos of friendship and genius, as affording an
admirable picture of the secret life of Schiller, these
volumes are every way interesting. They are embel-
lished with portraits of Schiller, GOethe, Humboldt,
and Dannecker.

MO RD AUNT HALL. A Novel. By the Author
of " Wyndhani." 3 Vols.
The author or rather the authoress of " Norman's
Bridge," " Emilia Wyndham," and " Angela," is one
of the most interesting novel writers of the day. The
great charm of her writings is their truthfulness. The
sorrows and the sufferings, the passion and the
pathos of her histories are all real. Brief and sketchy
as is the manner of her painting, the glimpses which
she gives us are often more effective than the most
elaborate details. In point of style " Mordaunt
Hall" is superior to its predecessors. We are glad
to find in this work fewer of those breaks and frag-
mentary passages which on former occasions we have
noticed as giving an appearance of affectation to the
works of a most natural writer. " Mordaunt Hall"
is without doubt one of the most beautiful
tales yet written by its author—it is beau-
tiful, but is inexpressibly sad. "Mordaunt Hall"
is a story of that mournful kind which, above all
others, fascinates the attention of the render and
inseperably fixes itself in the memory. Of such a
nature is Scott's most beautiful story, the never-to-
be-forgotten story of " Lucy Ashton,"—of such a
nature are those legends of unhappy love which con-
tinue from age to age, the most popular pages of
history. While a risible tale is read and laughed at,
and thrown aside, one that calls forth the tears of the
reader establishes a claim on his sympathy for ever
after. As Bulwer has recently so exquisitely said,
" Three truths unite the children of the sod,
All love, all suffer, and all feel a God."
Hence it is that tales of love and sorrow are in-
variably universal favourites, and accordingly.
" Mordaunt Hall," a story of love and sor-
row, powerfully told, and fraught throughout
with an exquisite, because natural pathos, cannot fail
to interest and delight the reader, even though its
perusal may occasion more pain than pleasure. The
first volume is a history in itself—the history of the
parents of the unfortunate hero. This story, perhaps
because of its peculiar character, is written with
more passion and energy than is that of Gideon (the
hero), but the latter is in a different way inimitable.
The unhappy story of Ridley and Miriam is in its
main incidents similar to a hundred others—it tells of
" an intensity of misery" which, according to the
authoress—for here and there the authoress peeps out
beneath her disguise—" only women are born to feel
or men to inflict." Miriam, in some respects,
resembles Bulwer's Alice, more especially in her
childish ignorance of the conventions of society.
Unlike Alice, however, she is the pride and
delight of her father, a man of great learning and
abilities, who lives a hermit's life with this only child.
The domestic scenes which occur when the father
first begins to suspect the existence of some " secret"
of which she is ignorant ; and Miriam's agony_over s
P when
,
her filial affection tempts her to violate her
powerfully
solemn injunctions to secrecy, are most orfu
and naturally depicted. Here is an examplew of the
natural manner in which these home scenesa told him
sare
drawn.
Miriam has confessed all to her father—
h
that she is, as she believes, married, and Mr. Fever-
sham has written to Ridley:—
"My dearest father, you on t
lastea naighmto;rsaenl—d
you
d'
were gone to bed when I came int
this mornin g.
were gone out before break fas
to ok se ill ; do try YouYou
to
should not do so. papa, you
take something. You bad no breakfast before you went
out. Do try.'
No, Lay child, don't ask me; I would rather not,
indeed."
papa, papa, you frighten me very much. You are
very ill, or else—is your letter come? and, oh! was it
unkind? He couldn't—he wouldn't write so to you; I
am sure he would not."
"Eat your dinner, child, and don't think about me.
Nay, eat your dinner, Miriam."
" Row can I, when you look so ill?"
There were tears in her eyes; his eyes were full of
tears as he looked at her. He had walked to the town
the evening before, scarcely expecting a letter by
return of post ; but a letter was put into his hand.
He had, during the last eight-and-forty hours, in
some way buoyed himself up with the hope, that:to
an appeal so direct there could be but one answer.

" The Grecian painter dY .ew a veil over the counte-
nance of the father in the well-kno,,vn story--I Ind
myself utterly incapable. of describing -the• storm that
passed over the father's h ead when he read the insolent
and unfeeling letter. B ant his strongest impulse, after
the first agonies of his feelings had subsided, was to
conceal this barbarous c ruelty from his daughter.
He did not come b ack home, but hurried into the
mountains behind, seekii ag the most savage and secluded
glen; and there, among the bare and blackened rocks,
he paced to and fro, endeavouring to quiet the storm
within, and to meet his daughter without betraying him-
self. It was a long and fatal struggle; resentment and,
indignation were such strangers to his gentle nature,
that the violent passion of rage, the hungry cry ler
I know not;' they
vea'geance and redress that filled his heart, see/136d
tearing up the very toundationsofh his being, Herr
these hot and fiery feelings lasted
were drowned at last by floods of tears, as he thought
of his daughter's fate."
Much as the unhappy Miriam is to be deplored,
our deepest commiseration during the conclusion c,f
the narrative is excited by the sufferings and tender-
ness of her devoted father. Such is the introduction
to " Mordaunt Hall." Mr. reversham being dead, and

" Another unfortunate,
Rashly importunate,
Gone to her rest."
—the disowned child—left by his wretched mother
at the gate of Mordaunt Hall, is adopted and brought
up by some charitable members of the Mordaunt
family. Gideon's life is, however, far from a happy
one, the object of the tale being to show the misery
inevitably occasioned by vice. The sorrows of
Gideon and his mother are represented as the inevi-
table consequences of the sins of his father—that
father who, in the midst of worldly prosperity and
political triumph, is continually haunted by re-
morse. Gideon, a high-souled, gentle-spirited
youth endures much misery from his false
position. He is educated as a gentleman, and
his natural abilities places him far above his com-
peers, while he is treated as a dependent, and con.
tinually exposed to insult. Mr. Chandos, the gentle-
man to whose bounty Gideon is indebted for his
college education, is proud and haughty to an exam;
which renders his kindness painful to his protegee,
while Celia, his daughter, is a sweet and gentle
character, delicately drawn, an exquisite compound of
tenderness and filial submission. She has from her
infancy been the darling of her father, who has
exhibited towards her a warmth of affection greatly
at variance with his austere deportment towards
Gideon. As may be easily surmised, Celia differs
from her father in her estimate of Gideon ; however,
hardly conscious of her own feelings towards him,
she prepares to accept the husband her father has
chosen for her. Gideon, on his part, fully aware of
the insuperable obstacles between them, conceals
from every one his hopeless affection for the
gentle Celia. At this part of the narrative
the following scene occurs. Mrs; Chandoe,
a good-hearted-self-sufficient woman, whose character
is admirably depicted, has taken a box at a theatre to
witness a French play, " Ruy Blas." She and some
of her visitors occupy the front of the box. Celia
and Gideon are side by side on a back seat. The
following scene, brief as it is, is, perhaps, one of the
most affectionate in the three volumes; it is, more-
over, a happy specimen of the peculiar but very
affectionate style of this writer :
" As Ruy Blas describes, with the wildest violence of
passion to his friend, all the agonies of his mind, the
heart of Gideon began to beat thick and fast; but at his
exclamation made with mingled horror and exultation,
Je sou jaloux du Roi d'Espagne 1' he started and
looked wildly round. She sat there, her eyes fixed
upon the scene, trembling in every limb.
" The lovely, lonely Queen appeared—the very pic-
ture, in her ,gentlo grace, her unparalleled delicacy and
softness, of the creature by his side—and the piece
proceeds.
" And feeling answered to feeling, as there they eat
together—he shuddering, she trembling, with emotion.
" One wild, terrified, hurried, distracted glance
Their eyes meet—and the tale is told !
" Neither then, nor afterwards, nor ever did this pas-
' sion find a voice.
" Words would have been useless, vain, powerless.
" lie sat there perfectly bewildered with his emotions.
" She never lifted her eyes from the stage again. She
was deadly pale, and kept trembling excessively.
" As for him, it is vain to attempt to paint his sensa-
tions, or the wild rush of exultation which succeeded to
his long endured misery.
" Observe, that there was rapture, but there was no
joy; bliss beyond hope, but not hope; a present of
ecstacy almost beyond his power to support, but the future
a blank—not a dreary desert, but a positive, absolute
blank—he expected nothing. Her love Iliad elated him
in his own opinion to a place higher than princes; but
he knew still ho was but Ruy Blas, and she the Queen
of Spain."

It is not fair to disclotie the denouement of a tsle.
We will, therefore, say :no more of the history of
Gideon. We have already hinted that it is sad, ex.
quisitely sad, yet so truthful is the passion, and so
natural the pathos of the concluding chapters of
" Mordaunt Hall," that, n otwithstanding, the melee..
choly with which it is pervaded, the admirers of the
author of " Emilia yndham " will consider this
the most beautiful of her :many beautiful tales.

!HA YIVIARKE'T THEATRE.
The legitimate drama,, thanks to the exertions of
Mr. and Mrs. Charles Kean, and to the well-timed
patronage of her Majesty, continues to reign trium..
phant. Crowded houses are assembled every night
to see the "Masterpieces." of Shakapere and of our
dramatic poets performed: "as they were performed
before her Majesty at Windsor Castle." It behoves
all those, however, who desire to participate as it
were in the amusements of royalty, to lose no time.
This is, we believe, the last week that the Royal
performances can be repeated at the Haymarket
Theatre.

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