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chapel ?—Who could melt in sentimental sorrows amidst the bellowings of Smithfield, or the Judaical clamours of Rag-fair? Fie, fie; the thing is impossible.
Again, nothing can furnish more unsentimental materials than trade. Trade, as politicians affirm, may be of infinite use to the nation, but it cannot be introduced with propriety into a novel. For what has a novel to do with the good of a nation, or with any good but the good of a circulating library, or the morality of a lady's boarding-school? A woollen-draper may be an honest man, hut he can have none of the stuff of sentiment in bis composition. A tallow-chandler may have a reputation as clear as the flame of his candles, but he never can melt in sentiment at sorrows. A tohacconist may procure meat, drink, and clothing, for bis family; but they never can inherit tender susceptibilities from his ' shag and pigtail.' Nothing behind a counter can be allowed a place in a novel or play. Were you mad enough to attempt the introduction of any thing so alien to the tender feelings, the world would swear that you intend to dramatise the directory, sentimentalise Kelly's Book-keeping, or introduce Chesterfield's graces among the bulls and bears of the Stock Exchange.
Finding you cannot be loo particular about names, the reader must be sufficiently aware that the common names to be found in the directory, such as Jones, Brown, Smith, Tomkins, Jenkins, Perkins, &c, are perfectly anti-sentimental; and the only way to avoid plunging into so fatal an error is to ring the changes on such names as Melville, Belville, Delville; after which, by exchange of the last note, you may form another set, such as Belford, Melford, Delford; always while you live attend to names.—Juliet says, 'What's a name?
A rose by any other name would smell as sweet.' Quite wrong! Juliet was in love, and therefore disturbed in her ideas. The Christian name of a novel hero must be Charles or Henry. But I prefer Charles: so do all the French dramatists aad novelists of the present time. There is no name so sweet and mellifluous in all the volumes of circulating inspiration. John manifestly belongs to a footman or coachman— convert it into Jack, and observe the result—you instantly conjure up without farther trouble the personification of a sailor. Again, combine it with the prefix sir, and you represent a gouty old squire, who is at the same time a justice of the peace, and intimately acquainted with the game laws and the art of brewing strong October. Affix the diminutive ny, and make it Johnny, while you drop the prefix, sir, and you create a petted, tall family looby. Something of the same process occurs in the name of William. William is a confidential secretary: a modest youth of a strict integrity. With the prefix sir, that is to say, Sir William, you indicate old age, good ale, blood-hunters, an excellent pack of hounds, and an unencumbered estate. James and Thomas must take their station in the kitchen; and Robert, when the young lady takes an airing, may take his gold-headed cane and place himself demurely in the rear. Francis is a good name, provided it be spelt Frank; because Frank vividly suggests the idea of a young rattle-brain and careless dehauchee. But, oh! my worthy pupils in the mystic art of novel-writing, carefully, most carefully avoid the names of Peter, Nathaniel, Joseph, and Job. Ohadiah is a Quaker—as Hezekiah cannot avoid being a Methodist. As to Christopher, you might as well admit Beelzebub to the privilege as him. Again, there is Jeremiah: who out of Bedlam would dare to think of Jeremiah for a hero 1 Better were it to dissolve Nicodemus in fine emotions, and melt Moses or Mordecai in sentimental sorrows.
The same distinction holds with regard to female names. Betty is an intriguing chambermaid: make the name Betsy, and you convert the character into a smart, pert, little grisette. The same graduated ascent of dignity may be traced from Dolly the dairy-maid, through Dorothy the maiden aunt, up to Dorinda the heiress and fine lady. But Eliza; oh! there you have at once a sentimental heroine -. while Elizabeth, with the prefix, lady, is always an earl's daughter, and right honourable. As to Susan, you can make nothing of the wench whatever above the rank of a laundry-maid. But Lucy is of higher rank, something between a cousin and a younger sister: make the name Lucinda, and the girl may pass for a third-rate heroine, and do in an under-plot. Deborah is only passable as a maiden aunt. Grace, Temperance, and Prudence, must be kept at a proper distance by any one who knows what's what. Polly, Jane, Barhara, Rebecca, Sarah; confine them all without mercy to the servant's-hall. No person who has the feelings of sentiment above a cheesemonger, a butcher, or blacking-maker, could think of weeping over the vulgar woes of such anti-sentimental names.
But, oh! what tears, what tender agonies, what weeping, wailing and gnashing of teeth—what handkerchiefs are steeped, and what pillow-cases are drenched with the delicious woes of Belinda, and the blissful torments of Clara, Anabella, Rosa, Matilda, Henrietta, and, though last not least (in love), Maria: those heart-rending appellations defy the iron nerves of harharity itself to withstand. An eastern nabob, a black flesh-dealsr, a hungry usurer, a Smithfield drover, nay, even a scalping Mohawk, or New Zealand cannihal would drop the exercise of their profession to weep and sympathize with Emily or Isabella, Gertrude or Geraldine.
THE CHILDREN OF RAVENDALK.
The approach of morning was slightly indicated in the east, when two horsemen were observed to cross those vast moorlands which formerly intervened between York and Lancaster. The travellers were of that dubious class named ' Knights of the Post,' a polite appellation then bestowed on highwaymen, deer stealers, and cattle-harriers. Though well mounted, they appeared as if familiar with such questionable proceedings; and in the ' olden time' pursuits of this nature were not regarded wiih that moral indignation which in modern times they very properly excite.
In a few hours the horsemen had alighted before the entrance to Ravendale Castle. The elder and more authoritalive-lookiug of the two was ushered into the apartment of Hildebrand Wenlworth, the proprietor of the place; while his comrade, whose name was Anthony, took his seat beside a well-provided table in the refectory. He had not been long seated, when the door was suddenly burst open, and two children, boisterous with mirth, rushed in. The elder was a boy, and did not exceed six years of age; the youngest a girl, and appeared not more than four. * These,' said the garrulous Master Jeffery, Hildebrand's servantman, 'are the orphan children of the late Sir Henry Fairfax."
* The children of Sir Henry Fairfax!' interrupted Anthony.
'Ay, poor things! 'tisn't long since their mother drowned herself; and as some of their father's relations threaten to remove them by force, their sole guardian, Hildebrand Wentworth, intends to have them removed for a time to a place of concealment.'
'Master Jeffery, Master Jeffery,' lisped one joyous urchin,' hide me, here is Alice, she'll not let me go: so nice a ride, with two gentlemen on great horses, and I must have a sword, and sister Julia must have a coach.'
Here nurse Alice made her appearance. She had been weeping. Tears and entreaties were vain; she