1 ment, a task which superficial spirits riority, to allow himself to receive, may, perhaps, mistake for a humble from its perusal, any impressions and easy one. By her Popular Tales, which could at all affect his conduct she has rendered an invaluable ser- or opinions. vice to the middling and lower orders but though, for these reasons, we of the people; and by her novels, and continue to think that Miss Edgeby the volumes before us, has made worth's fashionable patients will do a great and meritorious effort to pro- less credit to her prescriptions than mote the happiness and respectability the more numerous classes to whom of the higher classes. On a former they might have been directed, we occasion we believe we hinted to her, admit that her plan of treatment is in that these would probably be the the highest degree judicious, and her least successful of all her labours; conception of the disorder most lumiand that it was doubtful whether she nous and precise. would be justified for bestowing so There are two great sources of much of her time on the case of a few unhappiness to those whom fortune persons who scarcely deserved to be and nature seem to have placed above cured, and were scarcely capable of the reach of ordinary misery. The being corrected. The foolish and un- one is ennui—that stagnation of life happy part of the fashionable world, and feeling which results from the for the most part, “is not fit to bear absence of all motives to exertion; itself convinced.” It is too vain, too and by which the justice of Provibusy, and too dissipated, to listen to, dence has so fully compensated the or remember any thing that is said to partiality of fortune, that it may be it. Every thing serious it repels, by fairly doubted whether, upon the “its dear wit and gay rhetorick;" and whole, the race of beggars is not against every thing poignant, it seeks happier than the race of lords; and shelter in the impenetrable armour whether those vulgar wants that are of bold stupidity. sometimes so importunate, are not, Laughed at, it laughs again;-and, stric. in this world, the chief ministers of ken hard, enjoyment. This is a plague that inTurns to the stroke its adamantine scales, fests all indolent persons who can That fear no discipline of human hands." live on in the rank in which they A book, on the other hand, and were born, without the necessity of especially a witty and popular book, working. But, in a free country, it is still a thing of consequence to rarely occurs in any great degree of such of the middling classes of so- virulence, except among those who ciety as are in the habit of reading. are already at the summit of human They dispute about it, and think of felicity. Below this there is room for it; and as they occasionally make ambition, and envy, and emulation, themselves ridiculous by copying the and all the feverish movements of manners it displays, so they are apt aspiring vanity and unresting selfishto be impressed with the great les- ness, which act as prophylacticks spns it may be calculated to teach; against this more dark and deadly and, on the whole, receive it into distemper. It is the canker which considerable authority among the re corrodes the full-blown flower of hugulators of their lives and opinions. man felicity--the pestilence which But a fashionable person has scarcely smites at the bright hour of noon. any leisure to read, and none to think The other curse of the happy, has of what he has been reading. It would a range more wide and indiscrimibe a derogation from his dignity to nate. It, too, tortures only the rich speak of a book in any terms but and fortunate; but is most active those of frivolous derision; and a among the least distinguished; and strange desertion of his own supe. abates in malignity as we ascend to 66 the lofty regions of pure ennui. This the best dispositions and capacities, is the desire of being fashionable and the most powerful inducements the restless and insatiable passion to to action, the hero of ennui makes no. pass for creatures more distinguished advances towards amendment till he than we really are with the mortifi- is deprived of his title and estate; and cation of frequent failure, and the the victim of fashion is left, at the end humiliating consciousness of being of the tale, pursuing her weary career perpetually exposed to it. Among with fading hopes and wasted spirits, those who are secure of “meat, but with increased anxiety and perseclothes and fire,” and are thus above verance. The moral use of these narthe chief physical evils of existence, ratives, therefore, must consist in we do believe that this is a more proli. warning us against the first approachfick source of unhappiness, than guilt, es of evils which can never afterwards disease, or affoction; and that more be resisted. positive misery is created, and more These are the great twin scourges true enjoyment excluded, by the of the prosperous; but there are eternal fretting and straining of this other maladies, of no despicable mapitiful ambition, than by all the rava. lignity, to which they are peculiarly ges of passion, the desolations of war, liable. One of these, arising mainly or the accidents of mortality. The from want of more worthy occupawretchedness which it produces may tion, is that perpetual use of stratagem not be so intense; but it is of much and contrivance that little, artful longer duration, and spreads over a diplomacy of private life, by which far wider circle. It is quite dreadful, the simplest and most natural transindeed, to think what a sweep this actions are rendered complicated pest has taken among the comforts of and difficult, and the common busi. our prosperous population. To be ness of existence made to depend on thought fashionable—that is, to be the success of plots and counterplots. thought more opulent and tasteful, By the incessant practice of this petty and on a footing of intimacy with a policy, a habit of duplicity and anxgreater number of distinguished per- iety is infallibly generated, which is sons than they really are, is the great equally fatal to integrity and enjoyand laborious pursuit of four families ment. We gradually come to look on out of five, the members of which are others with the distrust which we are exempted from the necessity of daily conscious of deserving; and are inindustry. In this pursuit, their time, sensibly formed to sentiments of the spirits and talents, are wasted; their most unamiable selfishness and sustempers soured; their affections pal- picion. It is needless to say, that all sied; and their natural manners and these elaborate edifices are worse dispositions altogether sophisticated than useless to the person who emand lost. ploys them; and that the ingenious These are the giant curses of fan plotter is almost always battled and shionable life; and Miss Edgeworth exposed by the downright honesty of has accordingly dedicated her two best some undesigning competitor. Miss tales to the delineation of their symp- Edgeworth, in her tale of “ Maneuvtoms. The history of “ Lord Glen- ring," has given a very complete and thorn” is a fine picture of ennui ---that most entertaining representation of of “ Almeria” an instructive repre- “the by-ways and indirect, crooked sentation of the miseries of fashion. paths” by which these artful and inWe do not know whether it was a efficient people generally make their part of the fair writer's design to re- way to disappointment. In the tale, present these maladies as absolutely entitled “ Madame de Fleury," she incurable, without a change of con- has given some useful examples of dition; but the fact is, that in spite of the ways in which the rich may mos effectually do good to the poor, an mer estate. Poverty and love now operation which, we really believe, supply him with irresistible motives fails more frequently from want of for exertion. He rises in his professkill than of inclination. In “ the sion; marries the lady of his heart; Dun,” she has drawn a touching and and in due time returns, an altered most impressive picture of the man, to the possession of his former wretchedness which the poor so fre- affluence. quently suffer from the unfeeling Such is the naked outline of a thoughtlessness which withholds from story, more rich in character, inthem the scanty earnings of their la- cident and reflection, than any Enbour. glish narrative with which we are acOf these tales, “ Ennui” perhaps quainted. As rapid and various as the is the best and most entertaining, best tales of Voltaire, and as full of though the leading character is some practical good sense and moral pawhat caricatured, and the denoue. thetick as any of the other tales of ment is brought about by a discovery Miss Edgeworth. The Irish characwhich shocks by its needless impro- ters are inimitable; not the coarse bability. Lord Glenthorn is bred up, caricatures of modern playwrightsby a false and indulgent guardian, as but drawn with a spirit, a delicacy, and the heir to an immense English ancl a precision, to which we do not know Irish estate; and, long before he is if there be any parallel among nationof age, exhausts alnost all the re- al delineations. As these are tales of sources by which life can be made fashionable life, we shall present our tolerable to those who have nothing readers, in the first place, with some to wish for. Born on the very pin- traits of an Irish lady of rank. Lady nacle of human fortune, " he had no- Geraldine-the enchantress whose thing to do but to sit still and enjoy powerful magick almost raised the the barrenness of the prospect.” He hero of ennui from his leaden slumtries travelling, gaming, gluttony, bers, is represented with such exhunting, pugilism, and coach-dri- quisite liveliness and completeness of ving; but is so pressed down with the effect, that the reader can scarcely load of life, as to be repeatedly on the belp imagining that he has formerly eve of suicide. He passes over to Ire- been acquainted with the original. land, where he receives a temporary Every one at least, we conceive, must relief from the rebellion, and from have known somebody, the recollecfalling in love with a lady of high tion of whom must convince him, character and accomplishments; but that the following description is az the effect of these stimulants is til!e to nature as it is creditable to speedily expendeel, and he is in dan- art. ger of falling into a confirmed le “ As lady Geraldine entered, I gave ore I thargy, when it is fortunately dis. involuntary glance of curiosity. I saw a covered that he has been changed at tall, finely shaped woman, with the comnurse; and that, instead of being a manding air of a person of rank. She mopeer of boundless fortune, he is the red well; not with feminine timidity, yet son of a cottager who lives on po. had find eyes and a fine complexion, yet with ease, promptitude, and decision. She tatoes. With great magnanimity, he no regularity of feature. The only thing instantly gives up the fortune to the that struck me as really extraordinary, rightful owner, who has been bred a was her indifference when I was introdublacksmith, and takes to the study of ced to her. Every body had seemed exthe law. At the commencement of tremely desirous that I should see ber lathis arduous career, he fortunately me and I was rather surprised by her dyship, and that her ladyship should see falls in love, for the second time, with unconcerned air. This piqued me, and the lady entitled, after the death of fixed my attention. She turned from me, the blacksmith, to succeed to his for- and began to converse with others. Her . voice was agreeable, though rather loud. She did not speak with the Irish accent; but, when I listened maliciously, I detected certain Hibernian inflexions-nothing of the vulgar Irish idiom, but something that was more interrogative, more exclamatory, and perhaps more rhetorical, than the common language of English ladies, accompanied with infinitely more animation of countenance and demonstrative gesture. This appeared to me peculiar and unusual, but not affected. She was uncommonly eloquent; and yet, without action. Her words were not sufficiently rapid to express her ideas. Her manner appeared foreign, yet it was not quite French. If I had been obliged to decide, I should, however, have pronounced it rather more French than English. To determine which it was, or whether I had ever seen any thing similar, I stood considering her ladyship with more attention than I had ever bestowed on any other woman. The words striking-fascinating-bewitching, occurred to me as I looked at her and, heard her speak. I resolved to turn my eyes away, and shut my ears; for I was positively determined not to like her; I dreaded so much the idea of a second Hymen. I retreated to the furthest window, and looked out very soberly upon a dirty fish-pond. "If she had treated me with tolerable civility at first, I never should have thought about her. High-born and highbred, she seemed to consider more what she thought of others, than what others thought of her. Frank, candid, and affable, yet opinionated, insolent, and an egotist, her candour and affability appeared the effect of a naturally good temper; her insolence and egotism only those of a spoiled child. She seemed to talk of herself purely to oblige others, as the most interesting possible topick of conversation; for such it had always been to her fond mother, who idolized her ladyship as an only daughter, and the representative of an ancient house. Confident of her talents, conscious of her charms, and secure of her station, lady Geraldine gave free scope to her high spirits, her fancy, and her turn for ridicule. She looked, spoke, and acted, like a person privileged to think, say, and do, what she pleased. Her raillery, like the raillery of princes, was without fear of retort. She was not ill-natured, yet careless to whom she gave offence, provided she produced amusement; and in this she seldom failed: for, in her conversation, there was much of the raciness of Irish wit, and the oddity of Irish humour. The singularity that struck me most about her ladyship, was her indiffer. ence to flattery. She certainly preferred frolick. Miss Bland was her humble companion; Miss Tracey her butt. It was one of lady Geraldine's delights, to humour Miss Tracey's rage for imitating the fashions of fine people. Now you shall see Miss Tracey appear at the ball to morrow, in every thing that I have sworn to her is fashionable. Nor have I cheated her in a single article. But the tout ensemble I leave to her better judgment; and you shall see her, I trust, a perfect monster, formed of every creature's best. Lady Kilrush's feathers; Mrs. Moore's wig; Mrs.O'Connor's gown, Mrs.Lighton's sleeves, and all the necklaces of all the Miss Ormsbys. She has no taste, no judg ment; none at all, poor thing; but she can imitate as well as those Chinese painters, who, in their drawings, give you the flower of one plant stuck on the stalk of another, and garnished with the leaves of a third." I. 130-139. This favourite character is afterwards exhibited in a great variety of dramatick contrasts. For example: “Lord Craiglethorpe was, as Miss Tracey had described him, very stiff, cold, and high. His manners were in the extreme of English reserve; and his ill-bred show of contempt for the Irish, was suffi cient provocation and justification of lady Geraldine's ridicule. He was much in awe of his fair and witty cousin. She could easily put him out of countenance, for he was extremely bashful. His lordship had that sort of bashfulness, which makes a man surly and obstinate in his taciturnity; which makes him turn upon all who approach him, as if they were going to asquestion as if it were an injury, and repel sault him; which makes him answer a a compliment as if it were an insult. Once, when he was out of the room, lady Geral. dine exclaimed: That cousin Craiglethorpe of mine is scarcely an agreeable man. The awkwardness of mauvaise honte might be pitied and pardoned, even in a nobleman,' continued her ladyship, if it really proceeded from humility; but here, when I know it is connected with secret and inordinate arrogance, 'tis past all endurance. Even his ways of sitting and standing provoke me, they are so self-sufficient. Have you observed how he stands at the fire? Oh, the caricature of the English fireside' outdone! Then, if he sits, we hope that change of posture may afford our eyes transient relief; but worse again. Bolstered up, with his back against his chair, his hands in his pockets, and his legs thrown out, in defiance of all passen gers and all decorum, there he sits, in magisterial silence, throwing a gloom upon all conversation. As the Frenchman said of the Englishman, for whom even his politeness could not find another compliment: 'Il faut avouer que ce monsieur a un grand talent pour le silence;'-he holds his tongue, till people actually believe that he has something to say--a mistake they could never fall into if he would but speak. It is not timidity; it is all pride. I would pardon his dulness, and even his ignorance; for one, as you say, might be the fault of his nature, and the other of his education. But his self-sufficiency is his own fault; and that I will not, and cannot pardon. Somebody says, that nature may make a fool, but a coxcomb is always of his own making. Now, my cousin (as he is my cousin, I may say what I please of him)-my cousin Craiglethorpe is a solemn coxcomb, who thinks, because his vanity is not talkative and sociable, that it's not vanity. What a mistake!" I. 146-148. These other traits of her character are given, on different occasions, by lord Glenthorn. "At first I had thought her merely superficial, and intent solely upon her own amusement; but I soon found that she had a taste for literature, beyond what could have been expected, in one who lived so dissipated a life; a depth of reflection that seemed inconsistent with the rapidity with which she thought; and, above all, a degree of generous indignation against meanness and vice, which seemed incompatible with the selfish character of a fine Lady, and which appeared quite incomprehensible to the imitating tribe of her fashionable companions." I. 174. "Lady Geraldine was superiour to manoeuvring little arts, and petty stratagems, to attract attention. She would not stoop even to conquer. From gentlemen she seemed to expect attention, as her right, as the right of her sex; not to beg or accept of it as a favour. If it were not paid, she deemed the gentleman degraded, not herself. Far from being mortified by any preference shown to other ladies, her countenance betrayed onlya sarcastick sort of pity for the bad taste of the men, or an absolute indifference and look of haughty absence. I saw that she beheld with disdain the paltry competitions of the young ladies, her companions. As her companions, indeed, she hardly seemed to consider them; she tolerated their foibles, envy, forgave their and never exerted any superiority, except to show her contempt of vice and meanness." I. 198, 199. Her whole conduct and conversation are kept in admirable unison with this half wild, half masculine, lofty, and delicate character. It would be endless to extract her repartees and strokes of naiveté. We give only her simple account of her mother. "Every body says," whispered she, "that mamma is the most artful woman in the world; and I should believe it, only that every body says it. Now, if it were true, nobody would know it." I. 154. This may suffice as a specimen of the high life of the piece; which is more original and characteristick than that of Belinda-and altogether as lively and natural. For the low life, we do not know if we could extract a more felicitous specimen than the following description of the equipage in which lord Glenthorn's English and French servant were compelled to follow their master in Ireland. "From the inn yard came a hackney chaise, in a most deplorably crazy state; height, on unbending springs, nodding the body mounted up to a prodigious forwards, one door swinging open, three blinds up, because they could not be let down; the perch tied in two places; the iron of the wheels half off, half loose; harness. The horses were worthy of the wooden pegs for linch-pins, and ropes for harness; wretched little dog-tired creatures, that looked as if they had been driven to the last gasp, and as if they had never been rubbed down in their lives; their bones starting through their skin; one lame, the other blind; one with a raw back, the other with a galled breast; one with his neck poking down over his collar,. and the other with his head dragged forward by a bit of a broken bridle, held at arms' length by a man dressed like a mad beggar, in half a hat and half a wig, both awry in opposite directions; a long tattered coat, tied round his waist by a hay rope; the jagged rents in the skirts of this coat showing his bare legs, marbled of many colours, while something like stockings hung loose about his ankles. The noises couraging his steeds, I pretend not to he made, by way of threatening or en describe. In an indignant voice I called to the landlord-'I hope these are not the horses-I hope this is not the chaise, intended for my servants.' The innkeeper, and the pauper who was preparing to of ficiate as postilion, both in the same instant exclaimed- Sorrow better chaise |