ART. VIII. Varieties of Life; or Conduct and Consequences, a Novel, in three volumes. By the author of "Sketches of Character." London, Longman & Co. 1815. pp. 901. AFTER the fatigue of wading through the numerous volumes of vapid trash which have attempted to storm the attention of the town, under the seducing banners of "Fashionable follies," "Characters from real life," or " Autumns," "Winters" or "Summers" at Bath, Brighton, Weymouth, &c. in which all that is not personal is dull,and much of that which is not dull, false-in which the grave malignity which never could invent a sarcasm upon the grossest absurdity, banquets on the mangled remains of reputation, and which the unreflective owner of mere animal spirits, by whom the pages of an Edgeworth and a Surr, an Opie and a Holstein would be classed together, pronounces to be "amazingly clever, full of wit and humour," we turn with all the elasticity of awakened Hope to a second production of the pen of that lively and accurate observer, the author of "Sketches of Character"a work which has obtained a well-deserved popularity, and is perpetually recurring to the recollection of every person who, possessing a miscellaneous acquaintance, is in the slightest degree gifted with a talent for the Comedy of real life-the only talent by which a heterogeneous live stock can be fed upon the waste of one's time and patience with any profit to the understanding, or pleasure to the taste.

It is by the returns made in the form of complacency at unmurmuring martyrdom-the power of cool criticism during the exasperation of disgust-treasures of anecdotes for future and congenial friends, and new lights and shades to fill up the outline of the grand picture of "The World," that any indemnification can be had for the sickening impatience with which we hear (not listen to,) the vulgar details and familiar pleasantry of a low-bred humourist, or the accumulated agonies of mispronunciation, misquotation, and misappropriation on subjects of science or literature, from wealthy dunces who afford to needy wits and worthies the consolatory proof that even in this commercial nation, All things cannot be had for Money.

To borrow a phrase from the entertaining author of the "Miseries of human life," exposure to vulgarity, in all its boundless abominations, cannot be better described than by this anonymous benefactor to the reading and thinking class of fashionables. His delineations indeed possess not the deep and sustained interest of history pieces, but they are masterly etchings of detached scenes, and the figures are touched with the spirit and preci

sion of Callot. Sometimes it is attempted to unite the wild imagery of Salvator Rosa to the gloomy shadowings of Rembrandt, and we must confess, not always successfully. Sudden and violent transition of style and matter is a manoeuvre in wri ting very difficult to manage. The Fancy may indeed be amused by a series of well-drawn representations without any connecting links, and pass without disgust from a groupe of sporting fawns to a dying gladiator, or from a conversation piece by Cha lon, sparkling with animation and attired in the gay costume of Venetian splendor, to a mournfully pleasing figure of Westal, clad in the subdued tone, and chastened coloring, which accords with the expression of deep and hopeless sorrow. But, if it were the object of the exhibitor to excite in a high degree our sympathies for the characters represented, some previous arrangement, some intervening interval of space or time, should be interposed to allow one set of feelings to subside, before another be excited. We, however, consider the ability to weave a probable and interesting story, as very subordinate to the talent of embroidering the texture with the rich and glowing portraiture of striking and amusing characters, and should also imagine that the author of Varieties of Life would feel infinitely more gratified on hearing a Professor of Politeness, graduated in the Academy of the Graces,and master of all the Arts of pleasing, exclaim “That is an admirable passage, that scene is life itself," than by the ordinary commendation of "It is really very well kept up, one cannot tell at all how it will end," which is usually followed by "Indeed! then I shall beg to have it, when you send it home."

It has happened that we have found a party of admiring readers of this book quite undecided as to the identity of the hero or the heroine of the three volumes, and we dare not hazard an opinion when a verdict on the cause could not be obtained from a considerate and enlightened jury. We have heard of a polite Frenchman who replied to the doubts of his English friend as to the legitimate gallicism of a phrase he had ventured to use, "Si la phrase n'est pas Française elle merite bien de l'étre," and should it even be alleged that the book which we are now considering, has neither hero nor heroine, plot nor catastrophe, we shall sturdily maintain that it does extremely well without them. It is not the formal and regular spruce fir, rigidly tapering to an indispensable head, but the picturesque larch throwing wide its boughs in perennial beauty. It is really difficult to imagine how such very dissimilar walks of life as are depicted in three pages can possibly be familiar to one and the same persor.. From that true

gentility of blood, mind, and manners in the Ponsonbys, which looks down upon the glare, frivolity, and dash of mere fashion in the Follets, Bolingbrokes, Vicars's, &c. to the homely civility of the Brownes, and the revolting vulgarity of the Joneses, Careys, and Prattens, down to the gossip and slang of abigails and valets, all is in its place, all is true to nature. The ingenuity and vigilance which the two Miss Merediths (we think they must be meant for the heroines) display in watching and imitating the most attractive specimens of deportment and manner, which they happen to fall in with, the confidential and descriptive letters which they interchange, and the mortifications incident to the disproportionate match which one of them succeeds in effecting, supply improving lessons and warnings to the young aspirant after notice and admiration. We would willingly give to our readers the anomalous straw-berry party at Ashton-the military frolic of demolishing a cottage-the excursion to Bath, performed in the Bristol stage by a young lady of delicacy, under the patronage of incorrigible vulgarians -the laborious duty of giving a ball, achieved by a family with some glimmerings how things ought to be, but perplexed with inefficient, blundering servants, and vulgar relations, who must be asked to a "friendly dish of tea," with village gossips, and wrangling over the card-table, &c. We all admire a picture by Teniers or Ostade, though we should turn with horror from the proposal to spend an evening with real boors, in a real alehouse; and much enjoyment may be extracted from past awkwardnesses, as well as from past perils. But the various claims upon the notice of our journal forbid us to do more than give the following extract, relating an attempt at that exotic entertainment, which flourished at Paris in the days of a Tencin and a Deffand, but which we do not expect ever to see naturalized. under an English sky. We allude to a bas-bleu party of gentlemen and ladies. The meeting (we believe we may borrow an American term, and say the palaver) is held at the house of a Mrs. Clements, an Italianized English woman with whom Maria Worthington (we do not feel sure that she is not the heroine) has, in consequence of family distresses, placed herself in the capacity of governess, and by whom she is, with a liberality seldom extended to the officiating priestess of the school-room, admitted to share in the amusement of the family.

"The first visitor that made her appearance was an elderly figure who was announced Lady Carwardine, and was received with distinguished respect; in return for which, she undertook to give them all the particulars of a recent illness. Her narrative was interrupted by the arrival of two ladies and a gentleman, particular friends of Mrs, Clements; and

they immediately began to talk over two or three parties where they had lately met.

"A variety of company followed, some violently fashionable in their appearance, others studiously the reverse.

Mrs. Errington assumed her seat at the end of an ottoman with an air of contemptuous stateliness, which naturally provoked the question, "Who is she?" and the interrogator was immediately struck dumb with "Bold Truths, or Social Evils," a philosophical novel, in seven octavo

volumes.

"The next person announced was Mr. Vyvian, a round good-humored little man, with a bald head covered with a coating of powder and pomatum scrupulously scraped into form, to represent hair. Being a notorious man of genius, he was greeted on every side by persons anxious to prove themselves among his friends. Another visitor, however, laid claim to superior talents, and the name of Miss Archer excited no small sensation she was a little squat figure, with a face that seemed determined to refute the axiom, that

Eternal smiles an emptiness betray,

As shallow streams run dimpling all the way.

The exacting mutability also of two eyes, whose glazy blackness aimed at brilliant intelligence, directed a fatiguingly endless artillery at every one within eye-shot. The empressement with which the kisses on either cheek, and the pressures and swayings of both hands were lavished on the little lady by Miss Mullens, needed no explanation; for the object of them was almost immediately led by Mr. Vyvian to the literary altar, a rose-wood table, with a reading lamp, placed in the centre of the room, supporting the quarto edition of Scott's Lord of the Isles.

"Miss Archer recited, without a pause, the first canto of the poem; and as soon as the buzzing homage of compliment had subsided, Mr. Vyvian, on a nod and a beck from Mrs. Clements, prepared to obey her commands; and having rung for a tumbler of water, gave a recitation of "Alonzo the Brave and the Fair Imogene :" in the course of which, an emphatical knock of the knuckle on the side of the tumbler produced a solemn imitative effect as he repeated

When the bell of the castle tolled one.

A slender stooping gentleman, who had been brought by Mr. Vyvian, and was his particular friend, now began, with a querulous humility of voice, to put about, in a half audible whisper, something respecting elegies and sonnets, of which Mr. Vyvian might possibly have some in his pocket.

"The company began to crowd round Mr. Vyvian with that sort of polite hustling, which bespeaks the gratitude of the fashionable world towards the possessor of talents that can divert lassitude. Mr. Vyvian was not one of those "who would be wooed, and not unsought be won;" his consent almost outran the request: to say the truth, he was vain of his talents: nor did he attempt to disguise it; for he was too simple and frank in his nature to disguise any thing; and if vanity ever was agreeable, it was so in this good-humored instance. His teet moved with mechanical compliance towards the reading table, and his hands began simultaneously to fumble in his pocket. In the search, various loose papers fell on the carpet, and were sedulously and obsequiously picked up by his shadowy companion. Mr. Vyvian assuring himself, by

an anxious side glance, that they were in safe custody, proceeded to give a reading of an unpublished

SONNET

To the Candle-shade of a dear friend.
Thou art a thing of silk: and thou wert spun
From forth the tiny bowels of a worm:
And now thou spreadest out thy fan-like form,
Green as the green grass in an April sun.
This is not all thy glory, or thy good :
Thou art not made to please an idle eye,
Like many creatures that are flesh and blood:
For while his tabby cat lies purring by,
My friend sits musing, pen in hand: and thou
Screenest the candle-glare, that on his brow
Flickers as through a veil; which otherwise
Would dim with blearing light his dazzled eyes.
And that fine ode is owing, dearest John!

To that green shade which thou didst gaze upon.

Expressions of delight and rapturous applause were received by Mr. Vyvian with unconcealed satisfaction, and he was preparing to gratify the company with another sample of his talents, when Miss Mullens brought Miss Archer to the table; at the same time sending round the room the delightful intelligence that she had prevailed on her accomplished friend to favor them with a specimen of a work on which she was employing her pen, a ballad, epic, romance, to be entitled,

The Bridal Assassin.

Oh! 'twas the sound of St. Andrew's bell
That came from the steeple tower.

It came like the toll of a sudden death-knell,
And it shook Lady Claribel's bower.

Oh! 'twas the clatter of horse's hoof,

That made the hard pebbles fly;

And where is thy hawbeck and helm of proof,
When the borderer's tramp is nigh?

Then the draw-bridge clank'd to De Courcy's stride,

And he sprang on his berry-brown steed;

Adieu, and adieu, my bonny bride;

For of love there is now no need.

"Charming! charming lines indeed!" cried Mrs. Clements, "they are in the very best style."

"Dear me !" exclaimed Lady Carwardine, "what a delightful thing it must be to compose poetry."

"What an imagination she has!" cried Mrs. Montresor; "what a beautiful picture she has drawn! She indeed may rank among the first epic geniuses of the age."

"I trust," observed Miss Mullens, with a confident utterance," that at length the era is arrived, when all distinction of sex in mind is abolished: when female genius may be allowed to assert its equality with the boasted superiority of man.'

"The ladies were all ready to support Miss Mullens, and as they com