The Sun.
London, England, 1835-04-27 00:00:00

MY LIFE—In 3 VoLs.

nr TIER AUTHOR or "STORIBS OF WATERLOO," " WILD SPORTS

OF ran WEST," 4-c. 4-c.
London : Richard Bcntky, 1835.

Tho public has not tasted, for the last quarter of a
century at least, a more delicious morsel of fictitious
autobiography than this. It is indeed a true picture
of life—smiles and tears, calms and tempests—follow-
ing as closely on each other as the sunshine does the
shade on the hills in harvest. Captain Blake, "of
the Blakes of Castle Blake, in the county of Galway,
in the Province of Connaught," early discovered
that—
" This life is all chequered with pleasures and woes
That chase one another like waves of the deep;
Each billow, as brightly or darkly it flows,
Reflecting our eyes'as they sparkle or weep.
So closely our whims on our miseries tread,
" That the laugh is awaked ere the tear can be dried ;
And as fast as the rain drop of pity is shed,
The goose-feathers of folly can turn it aside !"

For us, these volumes contain more varied charms
than are to be found in many of the best works of fic-
tion in the language. Scenes of the wildest reckless-
ness—adventures ludicrous beyond conception—are
" ever and anon " succeeded by episodes replete with
all the intensity of the deepest pathos—overflowing
with all the harrowing interest excited by stupendous
guilt, imminent peril, and excessive suffering.
The work is full of digressions—rather episodes—
for each turning aside makes us acquainted with the
history of some relation or acquaintance of the hero,
so interesting in itself that we only wish it longer.
Our author only reaches the threshhold of existence,
if so far—for in truth the accoucheur is only sent for—
when he leaves his mother and the midwife to give
the world an account of the state of his birth-place,
and the adventures of his father, Caesar Blake. His
education, early adventures, elopement with Miss Har-
rison, and engagement with the French at Castlebar, are
related by his son in a manner which can admit of no
question of his extensive knowledge of the reckless ha-
bits of too many of the Irish gentry. The immediate
cause of his death, and the manner in which it was so
fearfully avenged, are not less characteristic of a peo-
ple knowing no principle stronger than impulse, and of
a peasantry inclined to regard nothing as criminal
which evinces gratitude to a benefactor. The charac-
ter of Manus Blake, the head of the " Tribe," and
the youthful career of his son, " Jack the Devil,"—the
one the paternal uncle, and the other the cousin of the
gallant captain whose "Life" is before us—are rarities in
their way, absolutely worth all the drugs in the Apothe-
caries' Hall, in cases of deep despondency. The mid-
night escape on the battle-field of Waterloo is a sketch
of great power ; but, except the scene in the murderer's
den in " Pelham," there is nothing in modern litera-
ture equal, in murderous interest, to Captain Blake's
escape from the clutches of the villain Sedley. What
renders it most impressive is the knowledge we have
of the being who volunteers herself the instrument of
his delivery—the influence of a love which, though
fatal to the father, saves the life of his only son.
We had elected several passages which we intended
to quote as extracts, but our space will not admit of
us giving more than the following The narrator is
an outlaw, and owes his life to our author's father—
his only auditor. •

" Listen, then ;' and the fugitive approached my father
closely: '.mine is as wild a tale as any you have yet heard.
My father was but a peasant'—He paused. Hang it I one
will feel those weaknesses May I, under favour, trespass on
your hospitality ?' The major bowed ; and the outlaw filled
a goblet of port-wine, drank it, and continued. My father
was a peasant, but he was a wealthy one. I was his only child
—his ambition was to make me a priest, and he gave me a suit-
able education. I learned Latin freely : I loved books—read
ardently, and soon discovered that I was not formed for a
churchman. The calmness of the cloister was unsuited to a
Spirit wild as mine—l felt small ambition to fill a confessional,
and listen to man's deceit and woman's frailty. Well, they
found out that the church would not in me receive an orna--
ment ; and they devoted me to physic, and bound me to an
apothecary in Longford. Alas! I had no fancy for dispensing
drugs; physic was as little to my taste as divinity ; I tired of
anything like thraldom, and only waited for a decent apology
to kick the shackles off. For that I did not tarry long, as my
master paved me all trouble by discarding mc. The truth must
out : his daughter was seventeen and his wife seven-and-
thirty; both favoured me with their friendship, and I preferred
the young one's. We were indiscreet ; mamma was on the
watch ; our affair was discovered, dCnounced, and, what I
sighed for most, the honest apothecary gave me—the door and
my indentures.' "
• • s e •

" In the course of a week's rambling, I found myself near
a relative of my mother's, who was gamekeeper to Lord —,
and I thsNught I might as well visit him. I did so, and was
hospitably received. He was getting old, had an infirm ankle,
and, having discovered that I was a better shot than himself,
persuaded me to become, for the present, his assistant, with a
promise that in time I should succeed him. It was a life that
suited me well ; I followed my own fancy—killed game,
broke dogs, made love, sang, danced, hurled, and was
happy,
• • • • •

" My relative bad an only daughter; she was about my
own age, and, handsome as many of the southern peasants are.
I never saw one who could compare. with Rose Dwyer. Re-
siding beneath the same roof, and constantly together, it is
surprising that we loved? Mine was a passion that death alone
could end—her's was, unfortunately, a transitory fancy.
" Christmas came : the castle was filled with company;'
the heir had completed his minority, and fetes and rejoicings
celebrated that great event. He returned from Oxford, and
was a fatal return for both him and me. He was a sine-looking
young man, warm-hearted, affable, a sportsman, and I liked
him. From the cradle he had been a spoiled child ; from a
boy his own master : he had been fashionably educated, and, of
course, was fashionably profligate. From the moment he saw
Rose Dwyer, he became fascinated with her beauty. I was
not blind ; but had I not observed it, his passion would have
been no secret; for in the familiarity of shooting condescen-
sion, he more than hinted that the woman I designed to be a
wife, he intended to make a mistress.' "
• 5 5

" ' The secret was not long undiscovered as to how far my
presence had rendered Lord William's plans abortive, and
caused his overtures to be rejected. To win Rose, I must be
removed.' "
• • • a • •

" Where the will exists, opportunity is seldom wanting
long. It happened that I was sent by the keeper to the next
town, to sell some deer and rabbit skins. A false villain, a
creature of Lord William, and one who cordially hated me for
the favour I held in the sight of the old earl, accompanied me.
We disposed of the skins, and went to a public• house to re-
fresh ourselves—l was an unsuspicious fool, and he an artful
scoundrel. He managed to intoxicate me ; bribed a crimp,
brought him in, slipped a shilling into my pocket, swore I had
been regularly enlisted, and, before I was sufficiently sobered
to comprehend their villainy, I was marched off with some other
wretches under a military guard, conveyed to Cork, and
•
shipped directly off to Bristol. .
" I detain you, major ; but I will hurry to the close. With
my feelings I will not trouble you. Imagine a caged tiger,
who pants to spring upon his keeper, but finds the bars prevent
it. I knew at once the villainy practised upon me ; I guessed
the ruin preparing for another. The scheme was clear ; and I
swore, if I could not mar, I would revenge it deeply.
" ' My resolution, of course, was to desert from the regiment,
and return to Ireland.

" Passion overcame prudence. I made the attempt too
rashly ; was betrayed, overpowered, retaken, and brought back
a prisoner, after having wounded four soldiers engaged in
securing me.

" Well the result was—" The fugitive paused, grew pale
as death, his eyes glared, his brows united. ' Come, this is
weakness,' he gasped out. ' You, a soldier, will guess the
consequence—the halberts Major—ay, to the halberts was I
doomed ! I was tied up before a thousand lookers-on, and re-

et lived five hundred lashes, honestly counted and vigorcusly
ini CM) d. They excoriated my back, but they could not break
my spi At. I placed a musket-bullet between my teeth, and
never gratified my tormentors with a groan !
" Did a failure make me renounce my resolution ? Oh
no! ; Had they cut a limb off, I would have dragged the muti-
lated caress to the place where I had been injured and dis-
grace 4 , and I would have had revenge.
" iccident, happily, assisted me to effect my escape from
The first morning I crawled from the hospital, I met
an 'fist sailor in the street. I heard him speak in my native.
langutx; e; I followed him, told him how I had been kid-
napped!, and implored him to assist mein returning. He did
so ; privately supplied me with jacket'and trowsers, smuggled
me on ' beard, concealed me in the, hold, and divided his grub
and grc g as liberally as if I had been a brother : and while my
tender-L %carted judges believed me, for weeks to come, the
the tena it of an hospital, I was hurrying back—too late to save
. Rose DI vyer.from disgrace, but not too late to exact a desperate
Pt
I
revenge.'"

•- • • e •
\Wearied as I was, I tossed upon a restless bed—hell
burned. in my breast—my brain was fired—my blood felt like
molten lead—and blood alone could calm the demon spirit that
filled my tortured bosom.

" The next day passed, although I thought it endless. I
had learned all the particulars of the seduction of the woman
I once idolized. Worthless as she was, I did not curse her.' "

" Night came at last—never did expecting lover sigh for
it more ardently than I. None knew every coppice and skirt-
ing in the park better, and, by a devious path through clumps
and underwood, I reached unseen the cottage of my worthless
love. ,

" It was well lighted, but the closed curtains prevented me
from observing those within. I waited two long, long hours.
There was occasionally noise, and mirth, and bustle. I heard
Rose laugh joyously. Poor wretch 1 little did she foresee how
soon that light laugh would turn to tears and wailing.
" I stood in a belt of evergreens that shut out the cottage
from the view of the road, and the door was within a few paces.
Presently I heard a horse-tramp in the rear; and Halligan
came round with a lantern in his hand, leading Lord Wil-
liam's favourite pony. My hand crept to my bosom, where my
pistols were concealed, when I saw the villainous agent of all
my misery. But the door opened, and Rose, splendidly
dressed, stood beside her seducer. She held a lighted candle,
and when I think how like an angel she looked, my brain yet
burns. " Farewell," she said, " farewell, my William." My
William I By Heaven 1 major, that phrase agonized my soul
more than five hundred stripes had tortured my body. " And
shall I ride the sorrel mare to-morrow ?" He whispered some-
thing in her ear; she blushed, smiled, turned her rosy lips to
his, and kissed him ardently. I could see no more. The foul
fiend's breast never felt more hellishly than mine. I levelled
a pistol, drew the trigger, and next moment Lord William was"
in eternity=and on the bosom of the woman he had ruined,
the last sigh of the seducer escaped.
" • I did not conceal myself; I strode from my ambush;
stood over my fallen rival, while Rose, uttering ":ercin,;
shrieks, dropped in convulsions on the lifeless of her no
paramour. I was cool, unmoved Ivy, more collected than
while I now relate the tale. "Halligan had fled. I seized the
bridle of Lord William's pony, mounted, rode off to the moun-
tains, and long before morning was safe from pursuit.
" My story Is nearly ended. The young lord's murder was
generally imputed to political causes, and a thousand pounds
were offered for tho apprehension of the assassin. I eluded all
attempts to take me, headed a body of insurgents, and, finally,
joined the French.'

," What became of the wretched cause of all this blood and
misery ?" said the host.
" Poor girl I I cannot but pity her still. The old earl was
distracted, and attributed the loss of his son to the fatal con-
nexion he had formed. Rose was disgracefully turned out of
her gay residence. The villain Halligan plundered her of all
her ill acquired valuables, for she had none to befriend or shel-
ter her. She was loathed, execrated, persecuted—and driven
desperate, she died by her own hand; her uncoffined remains
were cast into a hole in the high-road ; and a common grave
refused to the remains of her, who had once been so lovely--
and once so ardently beloved l' "

The fate of the outlaw will be found in a subsequent
volume. He is captured, escapes, re-enlists, saves
Captain Blake's life at the Battle of Waterloo, and is
shot, by command of the Duke of Wellington, for taking
the life,of a superior officer.
The world—at least the prudish portion of it—will
find one fault with this work, and that is, that the
women all make love, run away, and are happy,
without seeking the consent of their parents and
guardians. We confess, that for our own part, we see
no good reason why ladies should not be permitted to
choose husbands ; but before such a system could be
safely adopted, it would be necessary to reform our
code of social laws, and to make an entire change in
many other of the usages of society. As the world now
stands, nothing could be worse than for young la:lks
just escaped from school to follow the exalapie of Miss
Harrison, Miss Moreland, and, indeed, most of Cap-
tain Blake's f.:male acquaintances. Real life furnishes
examples for all that he has put forth,—that is a
fact which may be confirmed by the parish register of
evory village in the United Kingdom ; but the ques-
tion is, would it not have been wiser to have passed over
facts of this description out of regard to the rising ge-
neration ? We give our opinion in the affirmative ;
.nor do we think the main interest of these most enter-
taining volumes would thereby be one jot diminished.

THE CAPTIVE. 3 Vols.
E. Churton. London, 1835.

This is a tale of the chivalrous ages, and refers to
the close of the thirteenth century, about the year 1297,
when Philip the Fair, and Edward the First reigned
respectively in France and England. It is supposed
to have been altered from some ancient manuscripts left
by Bernardus Fulchartiensis—a monk who, before his
entrance into the cloister, had followed the occupation
of a minstrel, which, of course, made him a sharer in
many romantic events, and introduced him to many
strange characters. The tale is not badly written, but
is, unfortunately for the author's chance of success,
laid at so remote a period that no ability short of that
possessed in such perfection by Sir Walter Scott, can
render it interesting to the generality of readers.
Not only me the days of chivalry paSsed, but a taste
for reading fictions founded on them, has, we fear,
passed also. However, to the few who are still inte-
rested in such matters, this book will afford enter-
tainment.

The newly erected Light-House, on St. Anthony
Point, at the entrance of Falmouth Harbour, was lighted for
the first time on Monday night. The light revolves, and by
means of eight reflectors, its brilliancy' is increased and dimi-
nished every 20 seconds.—Devonshire Independent.

DOCK-•YARD.—An order has been issued in this
yard, to employ all the painters and part of the joiners on Sa-
turdays; also to employ nine painters in addition, for five
months, to repair and paint the weather works of the yard
buildings, the Lords of the Admiralty being desirous to give
the men of the )ard the advantages of working Saturdays,
when practicable, in preference to hiring men, or letting the
work by contract. Nine painters were entered yesterday.—
Pevonport Independent.

The atmosphere is once more clear—the eclipse is
over, and that opaque body which has passed between the Sun
of Liberty and our country has rolled off into regions of outer
darkness from whence it came, and to which it has most pro-
' perly returned. How thankful we should be that no more
mischief has been done I and that the only effect has been to
`deceive the night-birds of bigotry into a belief that their dear
-obscurity was really returned 1 These moping creatures that
hate the light did indeed issue forth from their holes, and hoot
a little ; but there is bright day now in the Heavens, and our
ears and eyes may rejoice in other sights and sounds. The
fall of the Tories is registered : they are out : they have
officially resigned, and their, opponents have taken their places.
Who that loves his country will not now rejoice ? for though
the new Administration is not composed as it ought to be, yet
this is certain, that the ancient avowed enemies of Reform are
no longer in a situation to do mischief—that the party which
denounced the Reform Bill as the preface of inevitable revo-
lution, are no longer allowed to stand before the nation the
hypocritical friends and advocates of those changes which they
fear and hate. We have now to look to the new Cabinet : it
is composed of old names ; and if we are to judge of it by
names only, it must be pronounced eminently aristocratical.
But it is quite certain that circumstances do now compel the
Whigs to turn over a new leaf, and that they are not, as be-
fore, so blind to the intrigues of the Court as to mistake their
footing there, or to imagine that they can carry on the Go-
vernment by subterfuge and concession, where the arguments
of necessity, or, if needs be, of dictation, arc alone of any
avail. Lord John Russell has put forth a manifesto of his
policy which he henceforward intends to pursue ; and our
readers will agree with us that in some respects it is satisfactory.
His Lordship first threatens the municipal corporations ; and
we may be sure that Reform in this quarter will be as real as
it would have been nominal under the auspices of Sir Robert
Peel. The municipal corporations are, generally speaking,
composed of Tories, and are by their very nature friendly to
corruption, both in theory and in practice. Mayors and Al-
dermen have hands defiled beyond the power of soap to purify
—the multitudinous sea could not wash them clear. The
Whigs have a direct interest in breaking up these odious nests
of local tyranny, and we may be sure that they will do the
work well. His Lordship uses very strong language in speak-
ing of. the municipal corporations. There is no love lost be-
tween the Home Secretary and " these time-hallowed insti-
tutions."-43irming1 con 'Reformer of Saturday.