The Sun.
London, England, 1828-01-10 00:00:00

LiTERAVIRE

DE LISLE, OR, THE DISTRUSTML MAN
London, 1828.

This is one of that class of novels which pro-
fesses to combine instruction with amusement,
and "to point a moral," which drawn, as the
author would have us to suppose, from personal
commerce with mankind, shall come home *ith
more or less effisst to the bosoMs of all. The
hero is a young man of " gentle blood" and
high expectations ; fascinating, but somewhat re-
served in his address ; fortunate in point of
intellect, and gifted with a person that renders
him a general favourite with the 'fair sex. In
early youth—at the age of 19—he is represented
as possessed of warm passions, and an enthu-
siastic chivalrous temperament that renders him
an easy prey, not to the degrading vice of gam-
bling, but to the witcheries to which all men of
any generous feeling at that age arc peculiarly
liable, of female beauty. Willie under the in-
fluence of these feelings he meets, on quitting
Oxford during the long vacation for Spa, a very
dashing spirited Circe, by name Theresa de Lau-
sanne, with whom he makes all possible haste to
fall in love ; and by whom his affection is appa-
rently returned. unfortunately, however, he is
disappointed ; his vanity throughout has misled
him, and, after an unusually brief intercourse,
his lady, taking advantage of a temporary ab-
sence, quits England under the protection of
another gentleman for Germany. This is the
first blow that De Lisle has yet received ;
and being the first, it is of course propor-
tionally acute. Borne down beneath its withering
power, he roams from country to country, dissa-
tisfied with himself and all around him, until in
a remote quarter of Germany, he chances, unex-
pectedly, to light on Madame de Lausanne,
with whom he has a somewhat stately interview
(such as occurs in fiction, but not often under
similar circumstances in real life : unless a very
long lapse of time, indeed, has blunted the sen-
sibilities of both parties) and from whom he re-
ceives a history of her life, which exhibits such
candid, yevevolting, details, that the spell of her
power—like the delusions in the Palace of Truth
—is at once, and for ever broken. - Shortly after
his return to England, we find our hero again
brought under the " wand of the Enchantress,"
in the shape of a very romantic, incom-
prehensible young lady, by name Ellen
Parry, who is described as a strange com-
pound of austerity—passion—enthusiasm-ro-
mance and inconsistency. After flirting the
usual time with this feminine nondescript, by
whom we should observe, he is received with al-
ternate favour and indifference—De Lisle finds
that she is engaged to another, on which he
abruptly quits England a second time, and at Na-
ples meets with a fair Italian girl (Cornelia), who
fallS at once in love with him—looks up to him
with all the flattering idolatry of a beautiful and
impassioned young woman's first
.affection, and
is requited in turn with neglect and a broken
heart. The death of this young girl, and her
last letter to De Lisle, is really very tenderly writ-
ten, almost too much so to proceed from the
pen of a man. Our hero, on receiving intelli-
gence of it, grieves awhile, and then to divert
uneasy thoughts, turns his attention exclusively
to politics—becomes known and courted—gra-
dually imbibes suspicion and distrust of human
nature, and finally, in his age, settles down into
a confirmed but gentlemanly sort of misan-
thropist. The progress of his feelings, from
first enthusiasm to final indifference, and, in
the intervals, from distrust to scorn, from scorn
to hatred, and so forth, is detailed with no little
felicity, and proves that the author is not ill
read in the richly-stored volumes of human na-
ture. With respect to character, his tale is full
of it. From the well-painted old General Parry,
whose highest compliment to a young man is,
that " he deserves to be an officer"—crown to the
coquettish but well-meaning Augusta Seymour—
the distinctive characteristics of each individual
are neatly and spiritedly preserved. The inci-
dents, however, arc too crowded ; they throng
upon one another in brief dazzling succession,
" come like shadows so depart," and are not
allowed sufficient space to render them inte-
resting.
The amoral of the tale, on which the author
manifestly piques himself; is severe, but true to
nature, and amounts to this, that on entering the
Temple of Fame, or even of Life, the candi-
date for reputation or happiness must leave his
feelings at the threshold.
As a specimen of the style, we give the fol-
lowing death-bed scene, just premising that
Lionel Seymour, a high-spirited ably conceived
enthusiast, is describing to his friend De Lisle,
the death of his young wife, which took place on
ship-board. The sentence in Italics is full o
feeling.

" The day for sailin was fixed ; we went on board to
see that every thing ow wife fancied had been placed in the
passengers' cabin, in which I had spent so many hours of mo-
notony, which I vainly thought I should never feel again.
When the boat put us on shore, we walked along by the
sea-side, calculating the time it would take us to reach
England. The ship was bound for the Hague, but was to
touch at the first Dutch port, from whence we were to pro-
ceed home. The air was extremely heavy, the sky lower-
ing, and the distant thunder, that growled and murmured
almost without intermission, warned us to shorten our
walk. A dreadful hurricane arose in the night, and Eu-
genie listened to it with thankfulness that we were ).et on
land. Alas! danger is every where, and not the less for-
midable when it lurks unseen. My poor Eugenie thought
herself secure in my arms, and it was there that death
struck her ! At breakfast I thought she was pale, but
Dame Martigni, to whom I remarked it, looked fondly at
her, and said, 'she did not wish to see a fairer or a happier
face.'

" The storm had subsided, and doubtful whether or not
we should be summoned on hoard, we remained stationary,
watching the weather, conversing, or reading. At last,
Eugenie begged me to desist ; she complained of a head-
ache, which prevented her attending. I thought it might
be the effect of the thunder, and wished her to sleep. She
lay down on the sofa, and reclined her head upon me ; but
she was restless, and the strong pulsations of her heart ter-
rified me. In a few minutes she started up suddenly, and
uttering a faint moan, fell at my feet. She had placed her
hand upon her heart, and when r raised her, blood was
streaming from her mouth ; there was yet a light in her
eye, a convulsive motion in her limbs ; they paased away,
and all was still and lifeless !

66 I called aloud, and, alarmed at the cry, the Martignis
rushed into the room. Terror and grief were loudly ex-
pressed, as I have since remembered ; Own I heard it not,
I saw not the crowds that pressed into the loom, I answered
. not their eager inquiries, I felt only unutterable anguisli,
united to a desperate determination still to doubt my late.
I tried a thousand remedies, I bore her into the air, I Oa"
flung myself beside
at her till I thought her lips moved. I looked up it, agony,
and almost expected a miracle in my behalf; ~, fast she
on her cold and
grew cold in my grasp, she returned not the feeblest pres-
,io future time in zz:hich
sure to my passionate caresses—then I knew that she Was
dead, and my madness turned to stupor !
" I laid her down upon the grass, I
ell :sr.;
ialldltl:domet
agitl:h:
Itloui3O would
heart.
7e,
(yitraike lips oneifi, fcahrie.:cl 1
damp kis s ,
touch ad
t bleepat
in peace. Some drops of blood yet ItaPS"
is
my cabin• The darkness
colourless lip. Hubert, therein
'sank beneath it then, and
bearing me rapidly front all that
when I recovered I was alone
I thought it barbarous. I raved,
was profound, the wind sighed, the waves moaned, and I
remained
ntehda to thef
i.:
usghei
npi
,S.v as
expostulated, lamented—asked to be sent back in the boat,
for we had not sailed many hours; but my Dutch Captain
heard me unmoved, and mildly replied,
" 6 Young man, you ought to be borne; you will otie