in the county!' Sorrow!' said Iwhat do you mean by sorrow? That there's no better, plase your honour, can be seen. We have two more to be sure-but one has no top, and the other no bottom. Any way there's no better can be seen than this same.' 'And these horses,' cried I-why this horse is so lame he can hardly stand.' Oh, plase your honour, tho' he can't stand, he'll go fast enough. He has a great deal of the rogue in him, plase your honour. He's always that way at first setting out.' And that wretched animal with the galled breast! He's all the better for it, when once he warms; it's he that will go with the speed of light, plase your honour. Sure, is not he Knockecroghery? and didn't I give fifteen guineas for him, barring the luckpenny, at the fair of Knockecroghery, and he rising four year old at the same time?' I. 61-63.

"Then seizing his whip and reins in one hand, he clawed up his stockings with the other; so with one easy step he got into his place, and seated himself, coachmanlike, upon a well-worn bar of wood, that served as a coach-box. Throw me the

loan of a trusty, Bartly, for a cushion, said he. A frieze coat was thrown up over the horses' heads. Paddy caught it. 'Where are you, Hosey? cried he, 'Sure I'm only rowling a wisp of straw on my leg,' replied Hosey. Throw me up,' added this paragon of postilions, turning to one of the crowd of idle by standers. Arrah, push me up, can't ye? -A man took hold of his knee, and threw him upon the horse. He was in his seat in a trice. Then clinging by the mane of his horse, he scrambled for the bridle which was under the other horse's feet, reached it, and, well satisfied with himself, looked round at Paddy, who looked back to the chaise-door at my angry servants, 'secure in the last event of things.' In vain the Englishman, in monotonous anger, and the Frenchman in every note of the gamut, abused Paddy. Necessity and wit were on Paddy's side. He parried all that was said against his chaise, his horses, himself, and his country, with invincible, comick dexterity; till at last both his adversaries, dumb-foundered, clambered in. to the vehicle, where they were instantly shut up in straw and darkness. Paddy, in a triumphant tone, called to my postil. lions, bidding them get on, and not be stopping the way any longer." I. 64, 65.

By and by the wheelhorse stopped short, and began to kick furiously. "Never fear,' reiterated Paddy. I'll engage I'll be up wid him. Now for it,

Knockecroghery! Oh the rogue, he thinks he has me at a nonplush; but I'll show him the differ!

"After this brag of war, Paddy whipped; Knockecroghery kicked; and Paddy, seemingly unconscious of danger, sat within reach of the kicking horse, twitching up first one of his legs, then the other, and shifting as the animal aimed his hoofs, escaping every time as it were by miracle. With a mixture of temerity and presence of mind, which made us alternately look upon him as a madman and a hero, he gloried in the danger, secure of success, and of the sympathy of the specta

tors.

“Ah! didn't I compass him cleverly then? Oh the villain, to be browbating me! I'm too cute for him yet. See, there, now, he's come to; and I'll be his bail he'll go any enough wid me. Ogh! he has a fine spirit of his own; but it's I that can match him. 'Twould be a poor case if a man like me couldn't match a horse any way, let alone a mare, which this is, or it never would be so vitious." I. 68, 69.

The most delectable personage› however, in the whole tale, is the ancient Irish nurse Ellinor. The devoted affection, infantine simplicity, and strange pathetick eloquence of this half-savage, kind hearted creature, afford Miss Edgeworth occasion for many most original and characteristick representations. We shall scarcely prepossess our English readers in her favour, by giving the description of her cottage.

"It was a wretched looking, low, mudwalled cabin. At one end it was propped by a buttress of loose stones, upon which stood a goat reared on his hind legs, to browze on the grass that grew on the housetop. A dunghill was before the only window, at the other end of the house, and close to the door was a puddle of the dirtiest of dirty water, in which ducks were dabbling. At my approach, there came out of the cabin a pig, a calf, a lamb, a kid, and two geese, all with their legs tied; followed by cocks, hens, chickens, a dog, a cat, a kitten, a beggar-man, a beggar woman, with a pipe in her mouth; children innumerable, and a stout girl, with a pitchfork in her hand; altogether more than I, looking down upon the roof as I sat on horseback, and mea

suring the superficies with my eye, could have possibly supposed the mansion capable of containing. I asked if Ellinor O'Donoghoe was at home; but the dog

barked, the geese cackled, the turkeys gobbled, and the beggars begged with one accord, so loudly, that there was no chance of my being heard. When the girl had at last succeeded in appeasing them all with her pitchfork, she answer. ed, that Ellinor O'Donoghoe was at home, but that she was out with the potatoes; and she ran to fetch her, after calling to the boys, who were within in the room smoking, to come out to his honour. As soon as they had crouched under the door, and were able to stand upright, they welcomed me with a very good grace, and were proud to see me in the kingdom. I asked if they were all Eilinor's sons. All entirely,' was the first answer. Not one but one,' was the second answer. The third made the other two intelligible. 'Plase your honour, we are all her sons-inlaw, except myself, who am her lawful son.' Then you are my foster-brother?' No, plase your honour, it's not me, but my brother, and he's not in it? • Not in

No, plase your honour; becaase he's in the forge up above. Sure he's the blacksmith, my lard.' And what are you? I'm Ody, plase your honour;' the short for Owen," &c. I. 94-96.

It is impossible, however, for us to select any thing that could give our readers even a vague idea of the interest, both serious and comick, that is produced by this original character, without quoting more of the story than we can now make room for. We cannot leave it, however, with out making our acknowledgments to Miss Edgeworth, for the handsome way in which she has treated our country, and for the judgment as well as liberality she has shown in the character of Mr. Macleod, the proud, sagacious, friendly and reserved agent of her hero. There is infinite merit and power of observation even in her short sketch of his exteriour.

"He was a hard featured, strong built, perpendicular man, with a remarkable quietness of deportment. He spoke with deliberate distinctness, in an accent slightly Scotch; and, in speaking, he made use of no gesticulation, but held himself surprisingly still. No part of him, but his eyes, moved; and they had an expression of slow, but determined good sense. He was sparing of his words; but the few that he used said much, and went directly to the point." I. 2.

nui," we can afford but a very slight After having said so much of " En

account of the Victim of Fashion.

This is the daughter of a rich Yorkshire grazier, who, with a fortune of two hundred thousand pounds, is smitten with the desire of being fine and fashionable; and first throws off the society of her earliest and most respectable friends, to copy the purseproud airs of a rich banking baronet's lady; then abjures the banker, in order to be occasionally insulted in the house of a lady of high birth; next deserts her, to purchase the favour of another who has influence at court; and finally settles down into the society of a few hired and domestick flatterers, who bear with her peevishness and discontent, for the sake of sharing in her melancholy splendour. The progress of this despicable infatuation, and the havock it makes among all her original claims to respect and enjoyment, are very finely and artfully delineated. The greatest piece of management, however, in the story, is the character of Miss Elmour, the early friend of our unfortunate he roine. Instead of being brought out in broad contrast, it is softened and kept under with such admirable judgment, that the reader feels half angry at her long-suffering kindness and affection for so ungrateful an object—and at the slowness with which her innate superiority is ultimately made triumphant. The dramatick part of this story, and indeed the whole dialogue of the publication, is excellent; but we can only make room for the comparative view of the fashion of the banker's lady, and the fashion of the lady of family. Upon her removal to the family of the latter,

"Almeria found the style of dress, manners, and conversation, different from what she had seen at lady Stock's-she had easily imitated the affectation of lady Stock, but there was an ease in the de cided tone of lady Bradstone, which could not be so easily acquired. Having lived from her infancy in the best company, there were no heterogeneous mixtures in her manners; and the consciousness of

this gave an habitual air of security to her words, looks, and motions. Lady Stock seemed forced to beg, or buy-Lady Bradstone, accustomed to command, or levy, admiration as her rightful tribute. The pride of lady Bradstone was uniformly resolute, and successful; the insolence of lady Stock, if it were opposed, became cowardly and ridiculous. Lady Bradstone seemed to have, on all occasions, an instinctive sense of what a person of fashion ought to do; lady Stock, notwithstanding her bravadoing air, was frequently perplexed, and anxious, and therefore awkward-she had always recourse to precedents. Lady P. said so-or lady

did so-lady G

wore

this, or lady H was there, and therefore I am sure it was proper.' On

the contrary, lady Bradstone never quoted authorities, but presumed that she was a precedent for others. The one was eager to follow-the other determined to lead, the fashion. Our heroine, who was by no means deficient in penetration, and whose whole attention was now given to the

study of externals, quickly perceived these shades of difference between her late and her present friend. She remarked, in particular, that she found herself much more. at ease in lady Bradstone's society. Her ladyship's pride was not so offensive as lady Stock's vanity. Secure of her own superiority, lady Bradstone did not want to measure herself every instant with inferiours. She treated Almeria as her equal in every respect; and in setting her right in points of fashion, never seemed to triumph, but to consider her own knowledge as a necessary consequence of the life she had led from her infancy. With a sort of proud generosity, she always considered those whom she honoured with her friendship, as thenceforward entitled to all the advantage of her own situation, and to all the respect due to a part of herself. She now always used the word we, with peculiar emphasis, in speaking of Miss Turnbull and herself. This was a signal perfectly well understood by her acquaintance. Almeria was received every where with the most distinguished attention; and she was delighted, and absolutely intoxicated, with her sudden rise in the world of fashion. She found that her for mer acquaintance at lady Stock's were extremely ambitions of claiming an intimacy; but this could not be done. Miss Turnbull had now acquired, by practice, the power of looking at people, without seeming to see then, and of forgetting those with whom she was perfectly well acquainted. Her opinion of her own con.

sequence was much raised by the court that was paid to her by several young men of fashion, who thought it expedient to marry two hundred thousand pounds." II. 55-58.

We wish we could make some extracts from "Manceuvring;" but we have left ourselves no room-and for the story, as it contains the history of the making, and the failure of three several connected plots, it is obvious that we could give no intelligible account of it within any moderate limits. It is written with admirable skill and correctness of imitation; and is likely, we think, to be the most fashionable, though by no means the

most useful or instructive of the collection. There is a painful and humble pathos in some parts of "the Dun," upon which we have not spirits to enter. We earnestly entreat all goodnatured youths of fashion to read it through, and not to be too impatient to get rid of the impressions which it must excite in them.

We must now take an abrupt and reluctant leave of Miss Edgeworth. Thinking as we do, that her writings are, beyond all comparison, the most useful of any that have come before us since the commencement of our critical career, it would be a point of conscience with us to give them all the notoriety that they can derive from our recommendation, even if their execution were in some measure liable to objection. In our opinion, however, they are as entertaining as they are instructive; and the gcnius and wit, and imagination they display, are at least as remarkable as the justness of the sentiments they so powerfully inculcate. To some readers they may seem to want the fairy colouring of high fancy and romantick tenderness; and it is very true, that they are not poetical love tales any more than they are anecdotes of scandal. We have great respect for the admirers of Rousseau and Petrarca; and we have no doubt that Miss Edgeworth has great respect for them-Lut the world, both

fair to preserve a place in the portion of a miscellaneous library assigned to the works of Burney, Ratcliffe, West, &c. Throughout, historical facts are very ingeniously blended with fictitious characters and events. The main incident, namely, that of Sobieski's exerting his influence with Louis XIV. to make a son of his, by the marchioness de Briscacier, a

duke, is a well known fact. The behaviour of the marquis after discovering his wife's infidelity, is perhaps among the greatest improbabilities of the book; but the defects are neither many nor important, considering its claims of blending most satisfactorily much instruction with great amusement.

WHEN we are informed that the groundwork of this novel is true, we know not how far the assertion is meant to extend. But a perusal of the tale convinces us that a considerable portion of fiction is blended with the matters of fact. Various travellers have given accounts of the perforated rocks in the vicinity of Tours, the scene of the principal adventures here recorded; and it is not improbable that, during the horrours of the French revolution, so fatal to the nobility, some persecuted individuals might have meditated and actually found an asylum in the caverns or grottos of these rocks. But, it is not easy to believe that so comfortable a subterranean habitation, as is here described, could have been found, and have been furnished as the hiding place of a noble family. While it is even much less credible that two orphan females, the eldest being but twelve and the youngest only six years old, could have made their way from Paris to this retreat, and have maintained themselves, without servants, and without being discovered. It is sufficiently probable, however, that a count and countess, in the bloody reign of the monster Robespierre, might have been violently torn from their children; and that all parties, under the protection of Divine Providence, might have been preserved through a thousand dangers, and

happily restored to each other, after a lapse of years. We should suppose, indeed, that this is the fond of the little novel before us; which is interesting, and calculated to make pious and amiable impressions on the minds of feeling and well disposed readers. Every line is favourable to virtue; and, as no school is equal to that of misfortune for training the heart to the duties of humanity, the picture here delineated may be regarded as not less natural than instructive. The author remarks, that few French novels are fit to be put into the hands of young persons. Madame Herbster might have added, " or of old people." And it is at least a negative recommendation of Le Souterrain, that it is free from those faults with which French compositions of the lighter kind, too much abound. The story is interlarded with no insidious and dangerous principles; but the whole breathes sentiments of devotion, and trust in Providence; of parental tenderness, and filial affection; of gratitude to benefactors, and, of kindness to our fellow creatures. As the story is affecting, an abstract of it will not, perhaps, be unacceptable.

In the rich and fertile valley of Tours, which may not improperly be called, the garden of France, on the banks of the Loire, is a small chain of rocks, which looks to the southeast, and is protected from the