LITERATURE.

MRS. TROLLOPE'S "LOTTERY OF MARRIAGE."*

A BREAKFAST table in a fine old country mansion in the west of England serves to introduce the hero of this story with a minuteness of detail which attests at once a skilful and an experienced hand. At a well-spread table sat two young men, first cousins :

"Did you ring, Mr. Augustus ?" said a servant, opening the door; and presuming, as it seemed, that it was the elder cousin who had summoned him, from his being still standing near the bell.

"Yes, William," was the reply. "I am going to ride immediately, and you must order Jacob to saddle Polka for me. I shall be ready in half-an-hour, and I must not be kept waiting, remember."

The servant retired with an obedient inclination of the head, but without speaking.

"And what shall you do with yourself, Ju?" resumed Augustus, returning to the table in order to conclude his breakfast by a glass of water. "You can ride too, you know, if you like it. There is not the least objection to your riding Mufti to-day; he is in perfectly good order again."

"Is he?" said Julian, abstractedly, and without raising his eyes from a little note-book in which he was busily scribbling.

"Yes," said Augustus, "I really think he had better be rode than not, but of course you will be careful with him. Trot him out gently, but don't let him get into a gallop. I'll tell Jacob to have him ready for you."

At seven o'clock the two cousins again found themselves tête-à-tête, but now it was in the dining-room instead of the library. The dinner had given place to the dessert, when Augustus thus addressed his cousin :

"It was Brighton, Julian, was it not, that we meant to set off for on Monday?" Yes, to be sure it was," replied Julian. "What can make you feel any uncertainty about it, when it was yourself who decided the point when it was in doubt ?"

"I know it-I know it, my dear fellow-I have not forgotten it, the least in the world, I assure you," replied Augustus-" But what I was going to say now, had nothing to do either with forgetting or remembering what I said before-I only meant to ask you if you did not think it would be exactly the same thing if we went to Dover ?"

“ Why, yes, Gustus, as far as I am concerned, I certainly think it would,” replied the other. "I should like to enjoy a little yachting before starting for Norway; but whether our small craft be ordered to wait for us off Brighton or off Dover, I don't care a straw. I thought, however, that you told me you had some very particular reasons for preferring Brighton ?"

"So I had, when I told you so," rejoined the other; "but I have changed my mind. The Thorntons are going to Dover, and I should like to meet them. I only mentioned Brighton on account of the Buckhursts. But I shall prefer meeting the Thorntons, and therefore we will go to Dover, if you please."

"To Dover be it then," said Julian, pushing the claret to his companion. "I shall like to go to Dover with you even better than to Brighton, because we shall not find so many people there."

"In general, I should scarcely think that an advantage," returned the other, "but now, perhaps, I do. I really wish to see a good deal of the Thorntons. Ring the bell for me, my dear fellow, will you? I must have some soda-water." It is possible the reader may suppose that it was the elder of the two Oglevies who was at home, and the younger was his guest; but if he does he is mistaken, for it was not so. But it is not the reader alone

The Lottery of Marriage. A Novel. By Mrs. Trollope. 3 vols. Henry Colburn.

June.-VOL. LXXXVI. NO. CCCXLII.

U

who is liable to such a mistake; for no sooner at Dover, than Mr. Augustus was, by a little dexterity on his part, added to his never-failing assurance, taken at the Ship for "the Oglevie;" and the fame of his arrival was almost instantaneously spread throughout the town by Mrs. Codrington, a fair widow, whose great characteristic was to keep a grown-up and beautiful daughter in pinafore, trousers, and very short frocks, that the fair Ethel, the young lady in question, might not empiéter on her mother's domain-that of incessant flirtation. The direction in which the mistake was destined to work the greatest results was, however, with the Lauries--a little water-side party, consisting of two persons, Lady de Laurie and "her very distinguished-looking daughter" Cassandra. The manner in which this intriguing mother and daughter win Mr. Augustus over from the pretty little Fanny Thornton, to whom he has actually proposed, induce him to elope with and wed the penny less, imperious, and unprincipled Cassandra; and the terrible discovery that follows, that Augustus is not "the Oglevie," and that both have been alike deceived, is one of the best worked up sketches ever depicted even by Mrs. Trollope's clever and satirical pen. There is a more sentimental bye-story of a philosopher's love for a young governess, and a philanthropic Lord Wigton, who abets the union of the two, which must be considered as a kind of literary sacrifice made to the prevailing sentiment of the day in favour of governesses. Nor is the quiet, retiring Julian - the real Oglevie-let off scot-free, for he falls in love with, and ultimately marries, the little girl in trousers; placing the widow, to her infinite annoyance and discomfiture, fairly on the shelf; Lord Wigton at the same time marrying the repudiated little Fanny. Altogether, the "Lottery of Marriage" is shown to be one in which there may be blanks, but in which there are also prizes; and while Mrs. Trollope can exhibit the former in a most ominous and terrifying light, she can also depict the latter in such inviting and seductive colours, that the most lasting impression is to take a ticket and perhaps her book is the safest investment in that

O'DOHERTY'S MAXIMS.*

way.

"WHEN a man is drunk," says Sir Morgan O'Doherty, in his Twenty-sixth Maxim, "it is no matter upon what he has got drunk.”

He sucks with equal throat, a sup to all,

Tokay from Hungary, or beer the small.

But although the gusto of claret is prominent :-"port, three glasses at dinner-claret, three bottles after: behold the fair proportion and the most excellent wines,"-still it is overtopped by a decided flavour of punch. To begin, however, with the more innocent beverage, and the wit that sparkles in it.

Tap claret tastes best out of a pewter pot. There is something solemn and affecting in these renewals of the antique observances of the symposium. I never was so pleasantly situated as the first time I saw on the board of my friend Francis Jeffrey, Esq., editor of a periodical work published in Athens, a man for whom I have a particular regard, an array of these venerable concerns, inscribed "More Majorum." Mr. Hallam furnished the classic motto to Mr. Jeffrey, who is himself as ignorant of Latin as Mr. Cobbett; for he understood the meaning

Maxims of Sir Morgan O'Doherty, Bart. William Blackwood & Sons.

to be, "more in the jorum," until Mr. Pillans expounded to him the real meaning of Mr. Hallam.

The leaven, however, manifests itself even when speaking of divine Bordeaux. What real appreciation of the genuine grape-juice can a tippler have who could recommend, "In drinking claret, when that cold wine begins, as it will do, to chill the stomach, a glass of brandy after every four glasses of claret, corrects the frigidity!" (See Maxim Seventy-fifth.) Claret, however, O'Doherty admits to be the great improver of complexion; and we must quote his opinions at length upon these more striking effects of tippling.

There are two kinds of drinking which I disapprove of—I mean dram-drinking and port-drinking. I talk of the drinking of these things in great quantities, and habitually; for as to taking a few drams and a few glasses of port every day, that is no more than I have been in the custom of doing for many years back. I have many reasons that I could render for the disgust that is in me, but I shall be contented with one. These potables, taken in this way, fatally injure a man's personal appearance. The drinker of drams becomes either a pale, shivering, blue-and-yellow-looking, lank-chopped, miserable, skinny animal; or his eyes and cheeks are stained with a dry, fiery, dusky red, than which few things can be more disgusting to any woman of real sensibility and true feminine delicacy of character. The port-drinkers, on the other hand, get blowsy about the chops, have trumpets of noses, covered with carbuncles, and acquire a muddy look about the eyes. Vide the Book of the Church, passim. For these reasons, do not, on any account, drink port or drams, and, per conversum, drink as much good claret, good punch, or good beer, as you can get hold of, for these liquors make a man an Adonis. Of the three, claret conveys perhaps the most delicate tinge to the countenance; nothing gives the air of a gentleman so completely as that elegant lassitude about the muscles of the face, which, accompanied with a gentle rubicundity, marks the man whose blood is in a great proportion vin-de-Bordeaux. There is a peculiar delicacy of expression about the mouth also, which nothing but the habit of tasting exquisite claret, and contemplating works of the most refined genius, can ever bestow. Punch, however, is not without its own peculiar merits. If you want to see a fine, commanding, heroic-looking race of men, go into the Tontine Coffee-room of Glasgow, and behold the effects of my friend Mr. Thomas Hamilton's rum, and the delicious water of the Arns fountain, so celebrated in song; or just stop for a minute at the foot of Millar Street, and see what you shall see. Beer, though last, is not least in its beautifying powers. A beer-drinker's cheek is like some of the finest species of apples,

Such a cheek carries one back into the golden age, reminding us of Eve, Helen, Atalanta, and I know not what more. Upon the whole, I should, if called upon to give a decided opinion as to these matters in the present state of my information and feelings, say as follows: Give me the cheek of a beer-bibber-the calf of a punch-bibber--and the mouth of a claret-bibber-which last, indeed, I already have.

N.B.-Butlers should be allowed a good deal of port, for it makes them swell out immensely, and gives them noses à-la-Bardolph; and the symptoms of good eating and drinking should be set forth a little in caricaturâ upon the outward man of such folk, just as we wish inferior servants to wear crimson breeches, peagreen coats, and other extravaganzas upon finery. As for dram-drinking, I think nobody ought to indulge in it, except a man under sentence of death, who wishes to make the very most of his time, and who knows that, let him live never so quietly, his complexion will inevitably be quite spoilt in the course of the week. A gallon of good stout brandy is a treasure to a man in this situation; though, if I were in his place, I rather think I should still stick to my three bottles of claret and dozen cigars per diem; for I should be afraid of the other system's effects upon my nervous system.

These racy maxims, which appeared some five-and-twenty years ago in Blackwood's Magazine, were chiefly written by the late Dr. Maginn, but we suspect that Mr. Lockhart had a finger in the pie.

CRICHTON.*

MR. HABLOT BROWNE'S illustrations to this new and carefully revised' edition of "Crichton" are no less than eighteen in number, and are as remarkable for their spirit and execution as they are for exquisite correctness in reference to time and place.

SEVEN TALES BY SEVEN AUTHORS.†

SEVEN is a mystical number. It is used in Scripture as the number of perfection. It is also used in the religion of the Jews to set forth a number of events and mysterious circumstances. But if we have not here the strength of the seven walls of Ecbatana, neither have we the seven heroic assailants of Thebes personified, and still less the seven plagues, we have seven excellent stories related by seven writers, good and true, and these "seven champions" have united to do battle in common for a lady and a young family in want of their assistance. Times are now changed; battle is not done by the lance but by the pen; and we sincerely hope that the pleasant contributions of Mr. G. P. R. James; Miss Pardoe; Dr. Martin Tupper; the authoress of the "Maiden Aunt;" the editor; and the lady for whose benefit the work is published, will do more substantial good for the lady in question, than ever sword or lance performed for persecuted damsel or unprotected widowhood.

RIZZIO.‡

MR. JAMES has shown no small amount of courage in thus ushering before the world a work written by the clever but unprincipled William Henry Ireland, the notorious fabricator of Shakespeare autographs, but also the author of " Vortigern and Rowena," and of "Henry II.;" both, plays which abound in passages of great excellence, and which were attempted to be palmed off upon the public as if written by the great bard himself. Even in the work now before us, Mr. James is in doubt whether the author did not intend to pass it off as an authentic autobiography of David Riccio, or Rizzio.

Mr. James is far too experienced a writer, far too much accustomed to place his confidence in public taste, as opposed to that of carping critics, not to feel that that public will, now that the effervescence of the moment is gone by, accept "Rizzio" upon its own merits, without regard to the delinquencies of its author. Mr. James, indeed, does battle bravely with those critics of the day whose talent lies in disparagement and detraction, and whose abilities, like those of the scolds of Billingsgate, are only called forth by altercation and abuse. Having intimated that "the most minute and trivial minds are best fitted to detect errors, and are almost sure of applause in finding them out-for the gracious world in which we live generally finds amusement or consolation in the follies and

Crichton. By William Harrison Ainsworth, Esq. Third Edition, revised. With Illustrations by Hablot K. Browne. Chapman and Hall.

† Seven Tales by Seven Authors. Edited by the Author of "Frank Fairlegh." George Hoby.

Rizzio; or Scenes in Europe during the Sixteenth Century. By the late Mr. Ireland. Edited by G. P. R. James, Esq. 3 vols. T. C. Newby.

faults of others"-and having further added, that on examining these plays, and reflecting on the history of their production, he (Mr. James) "feels the same sort of regret which he experiences in reading the works of the lady known by the name of George Sand; that abilities of so remarkable a character should have found none to direct and guide them in a just course to worthy and noble objects,"—the pluck-feather critic exclaims, "Why was George Sand selected, of all people under sun and moon,' when the purpose was to lament over the blackness of a resolute literary mystification unscrupuously carried out?" The purpose was not merely to lament over the imposture practised, but, as Mr. James says clearly enough to any other understanding but that of the critic, to express regret that so much talent was employed in so pitiable a manner; just as the undoubted ability of George Sand is devoted to the least creditable of literary avocations. Few persons have brought more literary talent to present evil doctrines in bright colours than George Sand ; few persons ever brought greater literary ability to sustain a literary imposture and mystification than William Henry Ireland. In both cases the misapplication of ability is glaringly manifest to any one but a critical dullard.

But Mr. James, who can repudiate that which is despicable in any shape, can also afford to be generous when occasion demands it. His apology for William Henry Ireland-based upon the boy's extreme youth, his evident primary desire to please his father, his simple idea of amusing himself by passing upon the old gentleman a spurious autograph, and the other errors which a first fault led him to commit-will come home to all just and benevolent hearts.

Literary forgeries (says Mr. James) are undoubtedly highly discreditable, and have often seriously affected the truth of history; but if Mr. W. H. Ireland committed a very great error, he suffered for it most terribly; and I cannot help thinking that he was pursued with an acrimony and vehemence very different from the calm assertion of the truth. Petty and malevolent passions directed the Scourge that chastised him; and the object evidently was to punish and to crush, rather than to correct and guide. I think he has clearly shown in his "Confessions," that he was not tempted by any greed of gain. That which began in a boyish frolic was carried on, under the influence of vanity, to acts which hardly stopped short of crime; but it is more than probable that, at his early period of life, he did not know the gravity of his fault till the punishment fell upon him, nor see the inevitable consequence of his errors till they had become irretrievable.

It is sincerely to be hoped that "Rizzio," as edited by Mr. James, will leave an impression of simple literary ability upon the public that will supersede, to a great extent, the bad odour in which its author's name has been hitherto held. It is a work in every way calculated to be popular; it contains life-like sketches of many of those personages who illustrated the times of Francis the First, of our own bluff Harry, and of the inflexible Elizabeth; and although the great incident by which Rizzio is generally known, and the stains of which are still pretended to be shown at Holyrood, as well as his connexion with the unfortunate Queen of Scots, form but a small portion of the adventurer's experiences, these include far too much that is strange and characteristic, as well as successfully descriptive, not to charm readers of every class.