that they were other than friendly visitors. Whilst every little act, nay every look, of the Prussian and Russian soldiery was big with. insult and contempt towards the French, our countrymen walked among the vanquished in quiet unassuming good nature. We cannot, perhaps, close our extracts and our strictures more appositely than by placing before the reader what M. Dupin says of our military in this respect.

'Le gouvernement britannique a trouvé le secret de constituer une armée redoutable seulement aux peuples étrangers, et qui regarde, comme une partie de sa gloire, l'obéissance à l'autorité civile de sa patrie.'

'Ces nobles sentimens sont empreints sur la physionomie du militaire. Il n'a pas cet aspect menaçant et farouche que, trop souvent, sur le continent Européen, on prend pour l'attitude martiale. Son regard insolent ne va pas toiser les hommes et les femmes, avec cette arrogance qui semble dire, C'est moi qui suis la force et la terreur .....

que

le frac

Dès qu'un officier Anglais arrive dans la capitale, à moins d'être de service, il quitte ses armes, son uniforme et ses décorations: son costume ne diffère alors pas plus de celui d'un simple citoyen, tout uni d'un membre du parlement ou d'un prince du sang.' 'Aussi, malgré les déclamations des démagogues et des prétendus réformateurs radicaux, qui cherchent à renverser la constitution, les citoyens les plus jaloux de leur liberté ne craignent point l'armée Anglaise, telle qu'elle est maintenant organisée.'-(vol. ii. pp. 35. 40.

THE

ART. V.-The Etonian, Nos. I.-VII.

HE work before us professes to have originated in a desire of vindicating the fair fame of Mater Etona' from the stigma cast upon it by the alleged deficiencies of a previous publication, claiming, like the present, to be considered as the representative of the wit and literature of Eton. This motive, assisted no doubt by that last infirmity of noble minds,' the desire of appearing in print, induced a knot of unfledged literati, with the occasional assistance of some of their former companions at the University, to set on foot a monthly miscellany, of which the seventh number is now before us. It is obvious that in such a case the common law of literature, by which periodical publications are exempt from the cognizance of each other, is suspended; criticism here is not merely justified, but invited. Though there are many interesting points of view, however, in which the work may be considered, it is our intention, for the present at least, to confine ourselves principally to its literary merits.

The Etonian,' by a common fiction, purports to issue from a regularly organized literary confederacy, meeting periodically at Eton; and each number is prefaced with an official report of the

sittings

sittings of this miniature synod. Of these debates we are compelled to say, that they are much too noisy and Bacchanalian for our taste; and that the attempt to be facetious, which pervades them, is too often nothing more than an attempt.* From this censure we are bound in justice to exempt several of the latter numbers, as well as the sketches of character occasionally interspersed, and which, we think, could not easily be improved.

The work itself is divided into prose and poetry; the former consisting of tales, moral essays, criticisms, and delineations of life and manners. Of these, the last-mentioned class form by far the most considerable portion, and may be said to give a tone and character to the publication. They are for the most part, as the uniformity of manner sufficiently indicates, the work of one hand; and the youthful vivacity, the power of humorous sketching, and the knowledge of life and character displayed in them, though somewhat marred in their effect by an inordinate passion for quibbles, which the author pours forth at intervals with a perverse and reckless pertinacity, indicate a talent for light composition, which, if properly cultivated, may raise the young writer to a competition with Geoffry Crayon himself, in a walk of literature at present not much frequented by our countrymen. We may also specify, among his other accomplishments, an elegant facility, which renders even negligence and extravagance graceful, and an occasional tenderness which contrasts very happily with his more mirthful strain. This is indeed a faculty which, by some law of association, seems almost inseparable from genuine humour. Of his prose performances we extract the following specimens; premising that there are several paintings of manners by the same or other artists, which, if our limits allowed, we would gladly cite; such are Miseries of the Christmas Holidays,' A Party at the Pelican,' Visit to a Country Fair,' &c.

'In a visit which we paid some time ago to our worthy contributor, Morris Gowan, we became acquainted with two characters; upon whom, as they afford a perfect counterpart to Messrs. " Rhyme and Reason," recorded in No. I. we have bestowed the names of Sense and Sensibility.

'The Misses Lowrie, of whom we are about to give our readers an account, are both young, both handsome, both amiable: nature made the outline of their characters the same; but education has varied the colouring. Their mother died almost before they were able to profit. by her example or instruction. Emily, the eldest of the sisters, was brought up under the immediate care of her father. He was a man of

* We cannot help recommending, likewise, the removal of the unsightly, and indeed somewhat unseenly emblem which at present disfigures the title-page. Why should not the distant spires' and antique towers' themselves grace the front of their own publication?

strong

strong and temperate judgment, obliging to his neighbours, and affectionate to his children; but certainly rather calculated to educate a son than a daughter. Emily profited abundantly by his assistance, as far as moral duties or literary accomplishments were concerned; but for all the lesser agrémens of society, she had nothing to depend upon but the suggestions of a kind heart and a quiet temper. Matilda, on the contrary, spent her childhood in England, at the house of a relation; who, having imbibed her notions of propriety at a fashionable boardingschool, and made a love-match very early in life, was but ill prepared to regulate a warm disposition, and check a natural tendency to romance. The consequence has been such as might have been expected. Matilda pities the distressed, and Emily relieves them; Matilda has more of the love of the neighbourhood, although Emily is more entitled to its gratitude; Matilda is very agreeable, while Emily is very useful; and two or three old ladies, who talk scandal over their tea, and murder grammar and reputations together, consider Matilda a practised heroine, and laugh at Emily as an inveterate blue.

"The incident which first introduced us to them afforded us a tolerable specimen of their different qualities. While on a long pedestrian excursion with Morris, we met the two ladies returning from their walk; and, as our companion had already the privileges of an intimate acquaintance, we became their companions. An accurate observer of human manners knows well how decisively character is marked by trifles, and how wide is the distinction which is frequently made by circum stances apparently the most insignificant.

"In spite, therefore, of the similarity of age and person which existed between the two sisters, the first glance at their dress and manner, the first tones of their voice, were sufficient to distinguish the one from the other. It was whimsical enough to observe how every object which attracted our attention exhibited their respective peculiarities in a new and entertaining light. Sense entered into a learned discussion on the nature of a plant, while Sensibility talked enchantingly of the fading of its flower. From Matilda we had a rapturous eulogium upon the surrounding scenery; from Emily we derived much information relative to the state of its cultivation. When we listened to the one, we seemed to be reading a novel, but a clever and an interesting novel; when we turned to the other, we found only real life, but real life in its most pleasant and engaging form.

Suddenly one of those rapid storms, which so frequently disturb for a time the tranquillity of the finest weather, appeared to be gathering over our heads. Dark clouds were driven impetuously over the clear sky, and the refreshing coolness of the atmosphere was changed to a close and overpowering heat. Matilda looked up in admiration; Emily in alarm: Sensibility was thinking of a landscape-Sense of a wet pelisse." This would make a fine sketch," said the first: "We had better make haste," said the second. The tempest continued to grow gloomier above us: we passed a ruined hut which had been long deserted by its inhabitants. Suppose we take refuge here for the even ing," said Morris; "It would be very romantic," said Sensibility;

VOL. XXV. NO. XLIX.

66

"It would be very disagreeable," said Sense: "How it would astonish my father!" said the heroine; "How it would alarm him!" said her sister.

As yet we had only observed distant prognostics of the tumult of the elements which was about to take place. Now, however, the collected fury of the storm burst at once upon us. A long and bright flash of lightning, together with a continued roll of thunder, accompanied one of the heaviest rains that we have ever experienced. "We shall have an adventure!" cried Matilda: "We shall be very late," observed Emily. "I wish we were a hundred miles off," said the one hyperbolically; "I wish we were at home," replied the other soberly. Alas! we shall never get home to-night," sighed Sensibility pathetically; "Possibly," returned Sense drily. The fact was, that the eldest of the sisters was quite calm, although she was aware of all the inconveniences of their situation; and the youngest was terribly frightened, although she began quoting poetry. There was another, and a brighter flash; another, and a louder peal:-Sense quickened her steps,-Sensibility fainted.

'With some difficulty, and not without the aid of a conveyance from a neighbouring farmer, we brought our companions in safety to their father's door. We were of course received with an invitation to remain under shelter till the weather should clear up; and of course we felt no reluctance to accept the offer. The house was very neatly furnished, principally by the care of the two young ladies; but here again the diversity of their manners showed itself very plainly. The useful was produced by the labour of Emily; the ornamental was the fruit of the leisure hours of Matilda. The skill of the former was visible in the sofa-covers and the curtains; but the latter had decorated the cardracks, and painted the roses of the hand-screens. The neat little bookcases too, which contained their respective libraries, suggested a similar remark. In that of the eldest we observed our native English worthies, -Milton, Shakspeare, Dryden, and Pope; on the shelves of her sister reclined the more effeminate Italians,-Tasso, Ariosto, Metastasio, and Petrarch. It was a delightful thing to see two amiable beings with tastes so widely different, yet with hearts so closely united. It is not to be wondered at that we paid a longer visit than we had originally intended.

The storm now died away in the distance, and a tranquil evening approached. We set out on our return. The old gentleman, with his daughters, accompanied us a small part of the way. The scene around us was beautiful; the birds and the cattle seemed to be rejoicing in the return of the sunshine; and every herb and leaf had derived a brighter tint from the rain-drops with which it was spangled. As we lingered for a few moments by the side of a beautiful piece of water, the mellowed sound of a flute was conveyed to us over its clear surface. The instrument was delightfully played at such an hour, on such a spot, and with such companions, we could have listened to it for ever. "That is George Mervyn," said Morris to us. "How very clever he is!" exclaimed Matilda; "How very imprudent," replied Emily. "He

will catch all the hearts in the place!" said Sensibility, with a sigh: "He will catch nothing but a cold!" said Sense, with a shiver. We were reminded that our companions were running the same risk, and we parted from them reluctantly.

*

'We have left, but not forgotten you, beautiful creatures! Often, when we are sitting in solitude, with a pen behind our ear, and a proof before our eyes, you come, hand in hand, to our imagination! Some, indeed, enjoin us to prefer esteem to fascination;-to write sonnets to Sensibility, and to look for a wife in Sense. These are the suggestions of age; perhaps, of prudence. We are young, and may be allowed to shake our heads as we listen.'--vol. ii. pp. 122-125.

We meet with several attempts at fictitious narrative, some of them, as that of Edward Morton, not uninteresting. By far the most ingenious piece of this kind, however, is a tale of olden times, entitled, The Knight and the Knave,' suggested by the romance of Ivanhoe, but of which nothing, except the age and manners, bears any affinity to that magnificent composition, of the style and spirit of which it is a light, but not farcical parody. It is much too long for insertion, and detached passages could give no adequate idea of its merits; we shall therefore content ourselves with extracting the Bogle of Anneslie,' a shorter piece of the same description.

"An' ye winna believe i' the Bogle?" said a pretty young lassie to her sweetheart, as they sat in the door of her father's cottage one fine Autumn evening:-"Do you hear that, mither, Andrew 'll no believe I' the Bogle?"

"Gude be wi' us, Effie!" exclaimed Andrew,- -a slender and delicate youth of about two-and-twenty," a bonny time I wad hae o't, gin I were to heed every auld wife's clatter."

"The words "auld wife” had a manifest effect on Effie, and she bit her lips in silence. Her mother immediately opened a battery upon the young man's prejudices, narrating that on Anneslie Heath, at ten o'clock o' night, a certain apparition was wont to appear, in the form of a maiden above the usual size, with a wide three-cornered hat. Sundry other particulars were mentioned, but Andrew was still incredulous. "He'll rue that, dearly will he rue't!" said Effie, as he departed.

Many days, however, passed away, and Effie was evidently much disappointed to find that the scepticism of her lover gathered strength. Nay, he had the audacity to insult, by gibes and jests, the true believers, and to call upon them for the reasons of their faith. Effie was in a terrible passion.

At last, however, her prophecy was fulfilled. Andrew was passing over the moor, while the clock struck ten; for it was his usual practice to walk at that hour, in order to mock the fears of his future bride. He was just winding round the thicket which opened to him a view of the cottage where Effie dwelt, when he heard a light step behind him, and, in an instant, his feet were tripped up, and he was laid prostrate