we suspect, may find themselves unable to go through with the whole of Mr Maturin's delineation. Here are some of the most appalling touches.

"Walberg had always felt and expressed the strongest feelings of tender respect towards his parents-his father particularly, whose age far exceeded that of his mother. At the division of their meal that day, he shewed a kind of wolfish and greedy jealousy that made Ines tremble. He whispered to her "How much my father eats-how heartily he feeds while we have scarce a morsel !" "And let us want that morsel, before your father wants one!" said Ines in a whisper-"I have scarce tasted anything myself." Father-father," cried Walberg, shouting in the ear of the doting you are eating heartily, while Ines and her children are starving!" And he snatched the food from his father's hand, who gazed at him vacantly, and resigned the contested morsel without a struggle. A moment afterwards the old man arose from his seat, and with horrid unnatural force,

old man, 66

tore the untasted meat from his grandchildren's lips, and swallowed it himself, while his rivelled and toothless mouth grinned at them in mockery at once infantine and malicious.

66

Squabbling about your supper ?" cried Everhard, bursting among them with a wild and feeble laugh," Why, here's enough for to-morrow-and to-morrow." And he flung indeed ample means for two day's subsistence on the table, but he look

ed paler and paler. The hungry family devoured the hoard, and forgot to ask the cause of his increasing paleness, and obviously diminished strength

56

They had long been without any domestics, and as Everhard disappeared mysteriously every day, the daughters were sometimes employed on the humble errands of the family. The beauty of the elder daughter, Julia, was so conspicuous, that her mother had often undertaken the most menial errands herself, rather than send her daughter into the streets unprotected. The following evening, however, being intently employed in some domestic occupation, she allowed Julia to go out to purchase their food for to-morrow, and lent her veil for the purpose, directing her daughter to arrange it in the Spanish fashion, with which she was well acquainted, so as to hide her face.

"Julia, who went with trembling steps on her brief errand, had somehow deranged her veil, and a glimpse of her beauty was caught by a cavalier who was passing. The meanness of her dress and occupation suggested hopes to him which he ventured to express. Julia burst from him with the mingled terror and indignation of insulted purity, but her eyes rested with unconscious avidity on the handful of gold which glitored in his hand.-She thought of her

famishing parents,-of her own declining strength, and neglected useless talents. The gold still sparkled before her, she felt -she knew not what, and to escape from some feelings is perhaps the best victory we can obtain over them. But when she arrived at home, she eagerly thrust the small purchase she had made into her mother's hand, and, though hitherto gentle, submissive, and tractable, announced in a tone of decision that seemed to her startled mother (whose thoughts were always limited to the exigencies of the hour) like that of sudden insanity, that she would rather starve than ever again tread the streets of Seville alone."

In the midst of this extreme wretch

edness, the old mother of Walberg dies, and the poet, (for throughout this story he deserves no lower name,) produces a truly awful effect, by representing this death, which, but a few weeks before, would have been lamented by the whole household, as being now regarded by them all-more or less strongly-in the light of a happy

deliverance.

The grandfather alone

is sunk into such a state of second childishness, as to be quite insensible to any impression, happy or sorrowful, from what has happened. In short, the calamitous situation of Walberg, and all that belong to him, is such, that at length the great tempter of the tale, Melmoth, thinks the hour is come in which he may make a successful attempt on the warmest feelings of the son, the husband, and the father. It is thus that the first notice of this terrible temptation is introduced to the other members of the family.

"The grandfather, still seated in his ample chair by the care of Ines, (for his son had grown very indifferent about him), watched her moving fingers, and exclaimed, with the petulance of dotage," Aye,-you are arraying them in embroidery, while I am in rags. In rags !" he repeated, holding out the slender garments which the beggared family could with difficulty spare him. Ines tried to pacify him, and showed her work, to prove that it was the remnants of her children's former dress she was repairing; but, with horror unutterable, she perceived her husband incensed at these expressions of dotage, and venting his frantic and fearful indignation in language that she tried to bury the sound of, by pressing closer to the old man, and attempting to fix his bewildered attention on herself and her work.

"This was easily accomplished, and all was well, till they were about to separate on their wretched precarious errands. Then a new and untold feeling trembled at the heart of one of the young wanderers. Julia remembered the occurrence of a preceding evening, she thought of the tempting gold,

the flattering language, and the tender tone of the young cavalier. She saw her family perishing around her for want, she felt it consuming her own vitals, and as she cast her eye round the squalid room, the gold glittered brighter and brighter in her eye. A faint hope, aided perhaps by a still more faint suggestion of venial pride, swelled in her heart. "Perhaps he might love me," she whispered to herself," and think me not unworthy of his hand." Then despair returned to the charge. "I must die of i famine," she thought, "if I return unaided, and why may I not by my death benefit my family! I will never survive shame, but they may,-for they will not know it!-She went out, and took a direction different from that of the family.

"Night came on,-the wanderers returned slowly one by one, Julia was the last. Her brothers and sister had each obtained a trifling alms, for they had learned Spanish enough to beg in,—and the old man's face wore a vacant smile, as he saw the store produced, which was, after all, scarce sufficient to afford a meal for the youngest. "And have you brought us nothing, Julia?" said her parents. She stood apart, and in silence. Her father repeated the question in a raised and angry voice. She started at the sound, and, rushing forward, buried her head in her mother's bosom. " Nothing, nothing," she cried, in a broken and suffocated voice; "I tried,-my weak and wicked heart submitted to the thought for a moment, but no, no, not even to save you from perishing, could I! I came home to perish first myself!" Her shuddering parents comprehended her, and amid their agony they blessed her and wept, but not from grief. The meal was divided, of which Julia at first steadily refused to partake, as she had not contributed to it, till her reluctance was overcome by the affectionate importunity of the rest, and she complied.

"It was during this division of what all believed to be their last meal, that Walberg gave one of those proofs of sudden and fearful violence of temper, bordering on insanity, which he had betrayed latterly. 1 He seemed to notice, with sullen displeasure, that his wife had (as she always did) reserved the largest portion for his father. He eyed it askance at first, muttering angrily to himself. Then he spoke more aloud, though not so as to be heard by the deaf old man, who was sluggishly devouring his sordid meal. Then the sufferings of his children seemed to inspire him with a kind of wild resentment, and he started up, exclaiming, "My son sells his blood to a surgeon, to save us from perishing!* My daughter trembles on the verge of pro#stitution, to procure us a meal!" Then fiercely addressing his father," And what dost thou do, old dotard? Rise up,-rise up, and beg for us thyself, or thou must starve!" and, as he spoke, he raised his

arm against the helpless old man. At this horrid sight, Ines shrieked aloud, and the children, rushing forward, interposed. The wretched father, incensed to madness, dealt blows among them, which were borne without a murmur; and then, the storm being exhausted, he sat down and wept.

"At this moment, to the astonishment and terror of all except Walberg, the old man, who, since the night of his wife's interment, had never moved but from his chair to his bed, and that not without assistance, rose suddenly from his seat, and, apparently in obedience to his son, walked with a firm and steady pace towards the door. When he had reached it, he paused, looked back on them with a fruitless effort at recollection, and went out slowly;-and such was the terror felt by all at this last ghastly look, which seemed like that of a corse moving on to the place of its interment, that no one attempted to oppose his passage, and several moments elapsed before Everhard had the recollection to pursue him.

"In the mean time, Ines had dismissed her children, and sitting as near as she dared to the wretched father, attempted to address some soothing expressions to him. Her voice, which was exquisitely sweet and soft, seemed to produce a mechanical effect on him. He turned towards her at first,then leaning his head on his arm, he shed a few silent tears,-then flinging it on his wife's bosom, he wept aloud. Ines seized this moment to impress on his heart the horror she felt from the outrage he had committed, and adjured him to supplicate the mercy of God for a crime, which, in her eyes, appeared scarce short of parricide. Walberg wildly asked what she alluded to; and when, shuddering, she uttered the words," Your father,-your poor old father!" he smiled with an expression of mysterious and supernatural confidence that froze her blood, and, approaching her ear, softly whispered, "I have no father! He is dead,-long dead! I buried him the night I dug my mother's grave! Poor old man," he added with a sigh, "it was the better for him, he would have lived only to weep, and perish perhaps with hunger. But I will tell you, Ines, and let it be a secret, I wondered what made our provisions decrease so, till what was yesterday sufficient for four, is not to-day sufficient for one. I watched, and at last I discovered-it must be a secret-an old goblin, who daily visited this house. It came in the likeness of an old man in rags, and with a long white beard, and it devoured every thing on the table, while the children stood hungry by! But I struck at-I cursed it, I chased it in the name of the All-powerful, and it is gone. Oh it was a fell devouring goblin!-but it will haunt us no more, and he shall have enough. Enough," said the wretched man, involuntarily returning to

his habitual associations," enough for tomorrow!"

"Ines, overcome with horror at this obvious proof of insanity, neither interrupted or opposed him; she attempted only to sooth him, internally praying against the too probable disturbance of her own intellects. Walberg saw her look of distrust, and, with the quick jealousy of partial in sanity, said, "If you do not credit me in that, still less, I suppose, will you in the account of that fearful visitation with which I have latterly been familiar."-"Oh, my beloved!" said Ines, who recognized in

these words the source of a fear that had latterly, from some extraordinary circumstances in her husband's conduct, taken possession of her soul, and made the fear even of famine trifling in comparison,-“ I dread lest I understand you too well. The anguish of want and of famine I could have horne, aye, and seen you bear, but the horrid words you have lately uttered, the horrid thoughts that escape you in your sleep,-when I think on these, and guess "You need not guess," said Walberg, interrupting her, “ I will tell you all." And, as he spoke, his countenance changed from its expression of wildness to one of perfect sanity and calm confidence, -his features relaxed, his eye became steady, and his tone firm." Every night since our late distresses, I have wandered out in search of some relief, and supplicated every passing stranger ;-latterly, I have met every night the enemy of man, who"

at".

"Oh cease, my love, to indulge these horrible thoughts, they are the results of your disturbed unhappy state of mind.""Ines, listen to me. I see that figure as plainly as I see yours, I hear his voice as distinctly as you hear mine this moment. Want and misery are not natu

rally fertile in the production of imagination, they grasp at realities too closely. No man, who wants a meal, conceives that a banquet is spread before him, and that the tempter invites him to sit down and eat at his ease. No, no, Ines, the evil one, or some devoted agent of his in human form, besets me every night, and how I shall longer resist the snare, I know not." -“And in what form does he appear?" said Ines, hoping to turn the channel of his gloomy thoughts, while she appeared to follow their direction. "In that of a middle-aged man, of a serious and staid demeanour, and with nothing remarkable in his aspect except the light of two burning eyes, whose lustre is almost intolerable. He fixes them on me sometimes, and I feel as if there was fascination in their glare. Every night he besets me, and few like me could have resisted his seductions. He has offered, and proved to me, that it is in his power to bestow all that human cupidity could thirst for, on the condition thatI cannot utter! It is one so full of horror and impiety, that, even to listen to it, is scarce less a crime than to comply with it !”

to us

"The Mysteries of Udolpho" has been, is, and must always be, one of the most delightful books in the English language. Of those that might be somewhat ashamed, however, to confess admiration such as ours for that masterpiece of Mrs Radcliffe, not a few may perhaps think themselves at liberty (protected by the classical name of Godwin) to think and to speak almost as highly as we should be inclined to do concerning " St Leon." Now, there is no occasion for instituting comparisons on the present occasion; but we are pretty confident that the most enthusiastic admirers of Udolpho or St Leon will pause ere they assign to the very best passages of either of these works a higher place than may justly be claimed for not a few of the sketches in this wild story of The Tempter Melmoth. Mr Maturin is, without question, one of the most genuine masters of the dark romance. He can make the most practised reader tremble as effectually as Mrs Radcliffe, and what is better, he can make him think as deeply as Mr Godwin. We cannot carry the commendation sought for by this species of exertion much higher than we do when we say, that in our opinion, a little more reflection and labour are all Mr Maturin wants, in order to enable him to attain a permanent eminence, not inferior to that long since acquired by the magnificent imagination that dictated the tale of Caleb Williams.