ex

and visible presentment, that are only entitled to such distinction as connected with the olden time, and new only by virtue of their antiquity - while the interest of the story is maintained, far more by surprising adventures and extra ordinary situations, the startling effect of aggerated sentiments, and the strong contrast of exaggerated characters, than by the sober charms of truth and reality, the exquisite representation of scenes with which we are familiar, or the skilful development of affeetions which we have often experienced.

In stating these difficulties, however, we greater proportion of the work is accordingly really mean less to account for the defects, made up of splendid descriptions of arms and than to enhance the merits of the work before dresses-moated and massive castles-tourmaus. For though the author has not worked ments of mailed champ. ons solemn feastsimpossibilities, he has done wonders with his formal courtesies, and other matters of extemal subject; and though we do sometimes miss those fresh and living pictures of the characters which we know, and the nature with which we are familiar and that high and deep interest which the home scenes of our own times, and our own people could alone generate or sustain, it is impossible to deny that he has made marvellous good use of the scanty materials at his disposal-and eked them out both by the greatest skill and dexterity in their arrangement, and by all the resources that original genius could render subservient to such a design. For this purpose he has laid his scene in a period when the rivalry of the victorious Norman and the conquered Saxon, had not been finally composed; and when the courtly petulance, and chivalrous and military pride of the one race, might yet be set in splendid opposition to the manly steadiness, and honest but homely simplicity of the other: And has, at the same time, given an air both of dignity and of reality to his story, by bringing in the personal prowess of Cœur de Lion himself, and other personages of historical fame, to assist in its development.-Though reduced, in a great measure, to the vulgar staple of armed knights, and jolly friars or woodsmen, imprisoned damsels, lawless barons, collared serfs, and household fools he has made such admirable use of his great talents for description, and invested those traditional and theatrical persons with 20 much of the feelings and humours that are of all ages and all countries, that we frequently cease to regard them-as it is generally right to regard them as parts of a fantastical pageant; and are often brought to consider the knights who joust in panoply in the lists, and the foresters who shoot deer with arrows, and plunder travellers in the woods, as real individuals, with hearts of flesh and blood beating in their bosoms like our own-actual existences, in short, into whose views we may still reasonably enter, and with whose emotions we are bound to sympathise. To all this he has added, out of the prodigality of his high and inventive genius, the grace and the interest of some lofty, and sweet, and superhuman characters for which, though evidently fictitious, and unnatural in any stage of society, the remoteness of the scene on which they are introduced, may serve as an apology-if they could need any other than what they bring along with them in their own sublimity and beauty.

In comparing this work then with the former productions of the same master-hand, it is impossible not to feel that we are passing in a good degree from the reign of nature and reality, to that of fancy and romance; and exchanging for scenes of wonder and curiosity, those more homefelt sympathies and deeper touches of delight that can only be excited by the people among whom we live, and the ob'ects that are constantly around us. A far

These bright lights and deep shadows-this succession of brilliant pictures, addressed as often to the eye as to the imagination, and oftener to the imagination than the heart-this preference of striking generalities to homely details, all belong more properly to the province of Poetry than of Prose; and Ivanhoe accordingly seems to us much more akin to the most splendid of modern poems, than the most interesting of modern novels; and savours more of Marmion, or the Lady of the Lake, than of Waverley, or Old Mortality. For cur part we prefer, and we care not who knows it, the prose to the poetry-whether in metre or out of it; and would willingly exchange, it the proud alternative were in our choice, even the great fame of Mr. Scott, for that which awaits the mighty unknown who has here raised his standard of rivalry, within the ancient limits of his reign. We cannot now, however, give even an abstract of the story; and shall venture, but on a brief citation, from the most striking of its concluding scenes. The majestic Rebecca, our readers will recollect, had been convicted before the grand master of the Templars, and sentenced to die, unless a champion appeared to do battle with her accuser, before an appointed day. The appointed day at last arrives. Rebecca is led out to the scaffold-faggots are prepared by the side of the lists-and in the lists appears the relentless Templar, mounted and armed for the encounter. No champion appears for Rebecca; and the heralds ask her if she yielda herself as justly condemned.

""Say to the Grand Master,' replied Rebecca, 'that I maintain my innocence, and do not yield me as justly condemned, lest I become guilty of mine own blood. Say to him, that I challenge such de lay as his forms will permit, to see if God, whose opportunity is in man's extremity, will raise me up a deliverer; and when such uttermost space passed, may his Holy will be done!" The herald retired to carry this answer to the Grand Master.God forbid,' said Lucas Beaumanoir, that Jewor Pagan should impeach us of injustice. Until the shadows be cast from the west to the eastward, will we wait to see if a champion will appear for tha unfortunate woman.'

The hours pass away-and the shadows begin to pass to the eastward. The assembled multitudes murmur with impatience and com passion-and the Judges whisper to each other that it is time to proceed to doom.

"At this instant a knight, urging his horse to peed, appeared on the plain advancing towards the lists. An hundred voices exclaimed, 'A champion! a champion!" And, despite the prepossession and prejudices of the multitude, they shouted unanimously as the knight rode rapidly into the tilt-yard. To the summons of the herald, who demanded his rank, his name, and purpose, the stranger knight answered readily and boldly, I am a good knight and noble, come hither to sustain with lance and sword the just and lawful quarrel of this damsel, Rebecca, daughter of Isaac of York; to uphold the doom pronounced against her to be false and truthless, and to defy Sir Brian de Bois-Guilbert, as a traitor, murtherer, and liar.' 'The stranger must ärst show,' said Malvoisin, 'that he is a good Knight, and of honourable lineage. The Temple sendeth not forth her champions against nameless men.'-'My name,' said the Knight, raising his helmet, 'is better known, my lineage more pure, Malvoisin, than thine own. hoe.'-' I will not fight with thee,' said the Templar, in a changed and hollow voice.

I am Wilfred of Ivan

Get thy wounds

healed, and purvey thee a better horse, and it may be I will hold it worth my while to scourge out of thee this boyish spirit of bravade.'-' Ha! proud Templar,' said Ivanhoe, 'hast thou forgotten that twice didst thou fall before this lance? Remember the lists at Acre-remember the Passage of Arms at Ashby-remember thy proud vaunt in the halls of Rotherwood, and the gage of your gold chain against my reliquary, that thou wouldst do battle with Wilfred of Ivanhoe, and recover the honour thou hadst lost! By that reliquary, and the holy relique it contains, I will proclaim thee, Templar, a coward in every court in Europe in every Preceptory of thine Order-unless thou do battle with out farther delay.'-Bois-Guilbert turned his countenance irresolutely towards Rebecca, and then exclaimed, looking fiercely at Ivanhoe, Dog of a Saxon, take thy lance, and prepare for the death thou hast drawn upon thee!' - Does the Grand Master allow me the combat?' said Ivanhoe.-'I may not deny what you have challenged,' said the Grand Master, 'yet I would thou wert in better plight to do battle. An enemy of our Order hast thou ever been, yet would I have thee honourably n.et with.' Thus thus as I am, and not other wise,' said Ivanhoe; 'it is the judgment of God!to his keeping I commend myself."

We cannot make room for the whole of this catastrophe. The overtired horse of Ivanhoe falls in the shock; but the Templar, though scarcely touched by the lance of his adversary, reels, and falls also; and when they seek to raise him, is found to be utterly dead! a victim to his own contending passions.

We will give but one scene more and it is in honour of the divine Rebecca-for the fate of all the rest may easily be divined. Richard forgives his brother; and Wilfred weds Rowena.

"It was upon the second morning after this happy bridal, that the Lady Rowena was made acquainted by her handmaid Elgitha, that a damsel desired admission to her presence, and solicited that their parley migat be without witness. Rowena wondered, hesitated, became curious, and ended by commanding the damsel to be admitted, and her attendants to withdraw. She entered a noble and commanding figure; the long white veil in which she was shrouded, overshadowing rather than concealing the elegance and majesty of her shape. Her demeanour was that of respect, unmingled by the cast shade either of fear, or of a wish to propitiate favour. Rowena was ever ready to acknowledge the claims, and attend to the feelings of others. She arose, and would have conducted the lovely stranger to a seat; but she looked at Elgitha, and again intimated a wish to discourse with the Lady Rowena

alone. Elgitha had no sooner retired with unwilling steps, than, to the surprise of the Lady of Ivanhoe, her fair visitant kneeled suddenly on one knee, pressed her hands to her forehead, and, bending her head to the ground, in spite of Rowena's resistance, kissed the embroidered hem of her tunic.- What means this?' said the surprised bride; 'or why do you offer to me a deference so unusual?'-' Because to you, Lady of Ivanhoe,' said Rebecca, rising up and resuming the usual quiet dignity of her manner, 'I may lawfully, and without rebuke, pay the debt of gratitude which I owe to Wilfred of Ivanhoe. I am forgive the boldness which has offered to you the homage of my country-I am the unhappy Jewess, for whom your husband hazarded his life against such fearful odds in the tilt-yard of Templestowe. Damsel,' said Rowena, Wilfred of Ivanhoe on that day rendered back but in a slight measure your unceasing charity towards him in his wounds and misfortunes. Speak, is there aught remains in which he and I can serve thee?'-' Nothing,' said Rebecca, calmly, unless you will transmit to him my grateful farewell.'-' You leave England, then,' said Rowena, scarce recovering the sur. prise of this extraordinary visit.-' I leave it, lady, ere this moon again changes. My father hath a brother high in favour with Mohammed Boabdil, King of Grenada-thither we go, secure of peace and protection, for the payment of such ransom as the Moslem exact from our people.'-' And are you not then as well protected in England?" said Rowena. My husband has favour with the King-the King himself is just and generous.'-' Lady,' said Rebecca, 'I doubt it not-but England is no safe abode for the children of my people. Ephraim is an heartless dove-Issachar an over-laboured drudge, which stoops between two burthens. Not in a land of war and blood, surrounded by hostile neighbours, and distracted by internal factions, can Israel hope to rest during her wanderings.'-' But you, maiden,' said Rowena- you surely can have nothing to fear. She who nursed the sick-bed of Ivanhoe, she continued, rising with enthusiasm- she can have nothing to fear in England, where Saxon and Norman will contend who shall most do her honour.'-' Thy speech is fair, lady,' said Rebecca, 'and thy purpose fairer; but it may not be there is a gulf betwixt us. Our breeding, our faith, alike forbid either to pass over it. Farewell!-yet, ere I go, indulge me one request. The bridal veil hangs over thy face; raise it, and let me see the features of which fame speaks so highly.'-' They are scarce worthy of being looked upon,' said Rowena; but, expecting the same from my visitant, I remove the veil.'She took it off accordingly, and partly from the consciousness of beauty, partly from bashfulness, she blushed so intensely, that cheek, brow, neck, and

bosom, were suffused with crimson. Rebecca blushed also, but it was a momentary feeling; and, mastered by higher emotions, passed slowly from her features like the crimson cloud, which changes co. lour when the sun sinks beneath the horizon.

"Lady, she said, 'the countenance you havo deigned to show me will long dwell in my remem. brance. There reigns in it gentleness and goodness; and if a tinge of the world's pride or vanities may mix with an expression so lovely, how may we chide that which is of earth for bearing some colour of its original? Long, long shall I remember your features, and bless God that I leave my noble de. liverer united with'-She stopped short-her eyes filled with tears. She hastily wiped them, and answered to the anxious inquiries of Rowena-'I am well, lady-well. But my heart swells when I think of Torquilstone and the lists of Templestowe !Farewell! One, the most trifling part of my duty, remains undischarged. Accept this casket-startlo not at its contents. -Rowena opened the small si. ver-chased casket, and perceived a carcanet, or necklace, with ear-jewels, of diamonds, which were visibly of immense value. It is impossible,' sha said, tendering back the casket, 'I dare not accept

(June, 1822.)

The Fortance of Nigel. By the Author of "Waverley," "Kenilworth," &c. In 3 vols. 12mo. pp. 950. Edinburgh: Constable & Co. 1822.

It was a happy thought in us to review this author's works in groups, rather than in single pieces; for we should never otherwise have been able to keep up both with him and with our other business. Even as it is, we find we have let him run so far ahead, that we have now rather more of him on hand than we can

well get through at a sitting; and are in dan-Witch of the Alps in Manfred), as well as the rages, but, being aware of its defects, no sparing fulness, but with the most brilliant longer feel the disappointment and provocation which are apt, on their first excitement, to make us unjust to its real merits.

In point of real merit, "The Abbot" is not much better, we think, than the Monasterybut it is fuller of historical painting, and, in the higher scenes, has perhaps a deeper and more exalted interest. The Popish zealots, whether in the shape of prophetic crones or heroic monks, are very tiresome personages. Catherine Seyton is a wilful deterioration of Diana Vernon, and is far too pert and confident; while her paramour Roland Græme is, for a good part of the work, little better than a blackguard boy, who should have had his 'head broken twice a day, and been put nightly in the stocks, for his impertinence. Some of

the scenes at Lochleven are of a different pitch; though the formal and measured sarcasms which the Queen and Lady Douglas interchange with such solemn verbosity, have a very heavy and unnatural effect. These faults, however, are amply redeemed by the

Lhe

and seducing effect. Leicester is less happy; and we have certainly a great deal too much both of the blackguardism of Michael Lambourne, the atrocious villany of Varney and Foster, and the magical dealings of Alaso and Wayland Smith. Indeed, ed, almost all lower agents in the performance have a sort of Demoniacal character; and the deep and disgusting guilt by which most of the main incidents are developed, make a splendid pas sage of English history read like the Newgate Calendar, and give a certain horror to the story, which is neither agreeable to historical truth, nor attractive in a work of imaginatsu

The great charm and glory of the piece however, consists in the magnificence and vivacity of the descriptions with which abounds; and which set before our eyes. wal a freshness and force of colouring which ca. scarcely ever be gained except by actual observation, all the pomp and stateliness, the glitter and solemnity, of that heroic reign. The moving picture of Elizabeth's night entry

beauties with which they are mingled. There to Kenilworth is given with such spirit, richare some grand passages, of enthusiasm and ness, and copiousness of detail, that we seem

devoted courage, in Catherine Seyton. The escape from Lochleven is given with great effect and spirit-and the subsequent mustering of the Queen's adherents, and their march to Langside, as well as the battle itself, are full of life and colouring. The noble bearing and sad and devoted love of George Douglas -the brawl on the streets of Edinburgh, and the scenes at Holyrood, both serious and comic, as well as many of the minor characters, such as the Ex-abbot of St. Mary's metamorphosed into the humble gardener of Lochleven, are all in the genuine manner of the author, and could not have proceeded from any other hand. On the whole, however, the work is unsatisfactory, and too deficient in design and unity. We do not know why it

actually transported to the middle of the scene. We feel the press, and hear the music and the din-and descry, amidst the fading lights of a summer eve, the majestical pacings and waving banners that surround the march of the heroic Queen; while the mixture of ludicrous incidents, and the ennui that steais on the lengthened parade and fatiguing prepa ration, give a sense of truth and reality to the sketch that seems to belong rather to recent recollection than mere ideal conception. We believe, in short, that we have at this moment as lively and distinct an impression of the whole scene, as we shall have in a few weeks of a similar Joyous Entry, for which prepara tions are now making * in this our loyal me tropolis, and of which we hope, before that

should have been called "The Abbot," as time, to be spectators. The account of Ler

that personage has scarcely any thing to do with it. As an historical sketch, it has neither beginning nor end;-nor does the time which it embraces possess any peculiar interest:-and for a history of Roland Græme, which is the only denomination that can give it coherence, the narrative is not only far too slight and insignificant in itself, but is too much broken in upon by higher persons and weightier affairs, to retain any of the interest which it might otherwise have possessed.

cester's princely hospitality, and of the royal divertisements that ensued, the feastings and huntings, the flatteries and dissemblings, the pride, the jealousy, the ambition, the revenge, are all portrayed with the same animating pencil, and leave every thing behin but some rival works of the same unrivalled artist. The most surprising piece of mere description, however, that we have ever seen, is that of Amy's magnificent apartments at Cumnor Place, and of the dress and beauty of the lovely creature for whom they were adorned. We had no idea before that upholstery and millinery could be made so etr gaging; and though we are aware that it the living Beauty that gives its enchantment to the scene, and breathes over the whole 20 air of voluptuousness, innocence, and pity, r is impossible not to feel that the vivid and clear presentment of the visible objects by which she is surrounded, and the antique splendour in which she is enshrined, not only strengthen our impressions of the reality, bat

"Kenilworth," however, is a flight of an other wing-and rises almost, if not altogether, to the level of Ivanhoe;-displaying, perhaps, as much power in assembling together, and distributing in striking groups, the copious historical materials of that romantic age, as the other does in eking out their scantiness by the riches of the author's imagination. Elizabeth herself, surrounded as she is with lively and imposing recollections, was a difficult personage to bring prominently forward in a work of fiction: But the task, we think, is here not only fearlessly, but admirably performed; and the character brought out. not merely with the most un-1822.