longer a devotee except it be at the shrine Veramarken: whether fat or lean, it is my of thy beauty." The queen stared. This was the first time she had ever known her husband guilty of an act of gallantry, either in word or deed, and she began to fancy that his head had been turned by the extreme austerity of his religious mortifications. "Pride of Suniassis,” said the princess, with a low salaam, "Siva forbid you should so indulge the demands of a carnal appetite as to confound the sacred outline of that venerable figure, by puffing it out with those luxuries which destroy the spiritual angularity so becoming to the frame of a godly ascetic, and swelling it into that round, unholy shape, only befitting those in whom the divinities take no pleasure." “Fah-fah, my sita, I've been meagre long enough. In my last visit to the Swerga, the Asuras taunted me with my leanness; and Indra has permitted me to grow portly. I am determined therefore to stuff to my heart's content for thy sake, bibi, as well as my own; for I am sure you must prefer a plump, healthy partner, to one whose bones constitute almost the sum total of his external man." "I can have no preference, most holy duty to be alike obedient and respectful." "Nay, but I don't seek respect now, all that's gone by; I want you to adore me like a little dove. I shall never leave you any more for the desert, for to tell you the truth, I prefer your society to that of the very gods." The princess smiled - her vanity was tickled-she held down her head, and the Suniassi again embraced her with a fervor which satisfied her that a change had come over his spirit, as he had never before evinced such fondness. She now retired to her apartment, told her favourite maidens the strange occurrence of the morning, and, having discussed the matter for some hours with an acuteness peculiar to Hindoo women, came at length to the conclusion, that Veramarken was about to complete his probation, would shortly enter upon his metempsychosis, appear with the body of a Glendoveer, *and in that celestial form dwell with her for the rest of her days. This was an agreeable anticipation enough, for she could not help thinking that it would be a change for the better. * An order of good spirits. MRS. GORE. ners of the Day," with its Mystic Key and Characters; and more, that we have not been fortunate enough to read. Besides, how many articles on all subjects, from a Fancy Fair to a Fox Hunt, have furnished the tableaux vivans of the magazines and journals, ever since those vehicles of paperstainers have undertaken to grow lively in print. "Mothers and Daughters," however, made Mrs. Gore's reputation, although in the volumes to which they give name she certainly cannot be accused of the slightest effort to return the compliment. 66 “I have generally heard the literary débuts in the house, within the last few years, accounted failures;' said Lord ClanEustace. "If you mean that of several eminent authors now in parliament, not one has made good in politics the reputation previously achieved in literature, I heartily agree with you ;' replied his guardian.” This sentence so full of truth, extracted from the "Hamiltons," would, if we did not feel that it were spoiling a very pretty woman, make us wish that Mrs. Gore could change her sex, and become M.P. for some borough, that would be honoured in its representative. She would make an admirable member of parliament, for she displays all the most brilliant elements of one in every page of her writings; and, moreover, she would have no rival in her peculiar vein. Poor Bulwer, whose greatest effort of statesmanship has not yet carried him beyond a dramatic bill, which has put Knowles, Jerrold, Bernard, Buckstone, and Billy Moncrief in comfortable circumstances, would be easily eclipsed; as, indeed, whenever any thing shining or satirical is required, he is, even in novel-writing, by Mrs. Gore; who skims the surface of society with infinitely more knowledge of the world than her rival can ever hope to attain, although she cannot manage to sink into a fathomless gulf of metaphysics, nor to appear great in her knowledge of the mysteries of the heart:-her fault, indeed, is, that she treats the affections too lightly, while Bulwer parades them like so many weeping Niobes, or "Rachels who will not be comforted!" But our business is with Mrs. Gore. We have said that were our alternative of sex-changing put in force, it would involve the spoiling of a very pretty woman. Let there be no delusion upon this headlet us introduce the ever-sparkling authoress to the public, who always crave for some personal knowledge of those with whom they are intimate in books; with some mention of an appearance which is not less charming than some of the fairest episodes in her best works. The first and last time we had the honour of seeing Mrs. Gore, was in 1830 or 1831, about the time of the production of "Mothers and Daughters." Her countenance gave a most natural index to the intelligence of her mind and writings, most of all in the eloquence of the beautiful dark eyes, which lent their radiance to its general expression. Her nose was Grecian, and she had a profusion of dark hair. In figure she was rather short, with a tendency to embonpoint, but finely proportioned, and altogether of a belle tournure; her complexion was of the clearest, and you naturally remarked a most exquisite hand. Now, reader, you may form some idea of the personal appearance of the gifted lady whose works we are going to notice, and who will not, we hope, deem us impertinent in making allusion to "the outward form of most visible and spiritual grace." Au reste, her conversation is delightful and full resources; varying, acute, witty, exuberant; sometimes sarcastic, bearing marks of travel, and a most abundant and extraordinary knowledge of every possible subject and circumstance. A "Court Guide" is at her fingers' ends, but you feel that she would not even fail in a 66 Cookery Book;" a "History of the Tower" is within her memory, but she could as well manage "Recollections of the Turf;" and, we are much mistaken if she was not really the author of some sporting articles in a contemporary journal. Her novels have hitherto been of fashionable life principally, with which she is personally best acquainted; but all other shades of society, and manners foreign and domestic, seem to have fallen within her observation or her reading. Her mind is a busy Proteus, perpetually changing his forms in her brain, and yet with such dexterity as to leave her unconfused. But to the question of her novels.-Let nobody believe that they are faultless ; they are full of faults—from which, indeed, they derive a great deal of their poignancy. They are, in fact, flippant; and flippancy, if it be wit at all, is of the smallest order. They are also too much interlarded with foreign tongues, and do not want mannerisms: neither is it well for a lady to deal too largely in politics; but Mrs. Gore, as we have said already, would make a good member of Parliament—she almost leads a party in her books. Here is an exaggerated burst of indignant eloquence, for which O'Connell and Whittle Harvey might reasonably fight :: "William Tottenham and Augustus, commissioners to a lottery which had ceased to exist, and clerks to an office which had never existed (rather Irish, but meant to be so!) were liberally remunerated as deputies in a sinecure place, the local habitation of which was a mystery, even to their principal (no wonder, if it never existed!) yet they threw away the proceeds with as much pride and ostentation as if they had been honestly earned; and very often did Susan shudder on hearing them, in the wantonness of their prosperity, curse the people-the damned people !—the besotted, blackguard people !-by the sweat of whose brows their own leisure was secured." We think the young men gave themselves a great deal of unnecessary trouble; and Mrs. Gore, if she was at all conscious upon the subject of cursing, should have borrowed and expatiated upon an episode of the "Orange Toast." The flippancies of Mrs. Gore are not, however, always political; they are scattered about with generous profusion in all forms and attitudes, and sometimes, we regret to say, approach-as flippancy much indulged inevitably will-the verge of indelicacy. There is nothing so dangerous to the reputation of a writer, as the habit of saying very smart things in print. The little epigrammatic sayings which make one laugh or wince when they are said, break like bubbles upon the stream of conversation; but in a book they remain, perhaps to season, but most certainly to disfigure. Usually too, their sarcasm, while it purports to attack immorality, really strengthens it. We will instance a few of the quick, glittering sentences, which we deem imperfections: 1. "If such an appurtenance as mind had originally been allotted to her, she had certainly mislaid it in her childhood." 2. It always gives a girl a certain vogue, in her first season, to have a presentable man dying for love of her." 3. "Mrs. Darnham-whose matronly details had been of so medical a character, as to drive poor Mary to a distant table." 4. "Atrocious monsters belonging to the commissariat." A mother to her daughter 5. "In neglecting your personal attractions, you forfeit all chance to the Duke of Lisborough." the reader's sympathies in a story of real natural interest, to find its writer affecting a sarcastic tone-in regard to the feelings and impulses of the heart. We must again repeat, that Mrs. Gore treats the affections too lightly. In what we have said we have not been disparaging Mrs. Gore's talents, but her style, or rather its deformities. Her talents are of a very first-rate order, her information most abundant, her shrewdness wonderful, her tact excellent, and her perceptions of character delicate, and happy in the extreme. All the latter qualities, however, make us wish that she had written a novel of middle life. If she had done so in the offset, we think her fame would have doubled what it is. And a better offset or opportunity living, author never had: if we recollect rightly, Mr. Colburn gave her to begin with a sort of wholesale carte-blanche, he paid her fifteen hundred guineas, for which she engaged to furnish three books. There could be no objection to one of these being fashionable or satirical; the world of ton, like every other world, had vices and follies in it, that might be seasonably lashed; but 6. "Sipping a fiery vinous decoction, the exposure which Mrs. Gore produced called port." 7. "The gratification of a picturesque embrace from her long absent mother!" 66 8. The little fair, white mass of human imbecility, displayed by the head nurse as his princely boy." 66 was but the exposure of a season; it was brilliant, it was personal, it was caustic, graphic and full of vice; but its dazzlement fell away, its star shot when the novelty subsided, and people had indulged their love of scandal to the full. Vainly did 9. They had nothing but birth and the Mrs. Gore continue to pour in fresh food, Devil's beauty-youth!" the world devoured but it could not digest, 66 10. “In order that she might moisten it read, but it did not remember; with each her papillottes with a few tears." succeeding book it was delighted, with each 11. The unremitted labour of keeping succeeding season it forgot the source of its body and soul together." delight. Mrs. Gore made herself a reputation by her books, but she made no permanent reputation for her books. Whatever she wrote people read because it was her writing; it was sure to be clever, they seemed to be entertained, but they did not store their libraries with it. Now out of these eleven sentences-in mercy we forbear to make up the dozen what inference does the reader derive? No. 1 is flippant nonsense; 2 is immoral; 3 indelicate; 4 stupid; 5 wicked, and 6 stupid again: 7 is lanced against one of the most touching and beautiful sources of emotion, and 8 is, in its spirit, worse than the revilement of a cripple for deformity. A little fair white mass of human imbecility!the idea is truly disgusting. No. 10 is not simply vulgar, but very vulgar, and 11, a tame effort to say a good thing. We have not adduced any of these examples in a spirit of severity-we mention them perhaps in a striking light, as the greatest defects of Mrs. Gore's style; and we would hint, that it sometimes injures It was the difference between loving Walter Scott, because he wrote Waverley; and admiring Waverley, because it was Walter Scott's; in one word, Mrs. Gore's books were ephemeral. This, however, was Mrs. Gore's mistake, not the mistake of the public; they rejoice in all she writes, but they will not consent to tax their memory for a fashionable novel. If she had written, as she can write if she likes, a novel of middle life, it would have stood its ground; for her sterling qualities would have been brought into play, her knowledge of the world diffused over a more varied and a better ground; and, by the exercise of her great talents, she would have fallen into a class of writers more useful than that of which, to do her justice, she is now at the head. Her books have not been failures, but we think her subjects have, in the main; and, with her really astounding versatility, they have an air of sameness. They present the same routine of events falling in the same circles. The people are all the same, albeit they are occasionally moved to different places. "Mothers and Daughters; a Novel of High Life;” “The Hamiltons; a Novel of High Life;" ;” “The Fair of May Fair; a Novel of High Life!!!" and finally--oh! not least though last, the "Manners of the Day;" a novel of decided high life!!! When Lady Charlotte Bury under mysterious auspices produced the " Exclusives,” Mr. Colburn published a key! Mrs. Gore followed with "Manners of the Day;" and again Mr. Colburn published a key. The "Exclusives" related to Lady Ellenborough, and her too-public history; the "Manners of the Day" to some of the same characters who figured in the "Exclusives." The writer of its key throws light upon them after the following fashion : : "The writer of the novel which has given rise to the present remarks, has made an exhibition of current manners which all persons may study with profit; and yet, while it is impossible to doubt that the representation is perfectly correct and derived from nature, or, in other words, from the very persons and scenes which form the actors and incidents of the tale,—it may be asserted without fear of contradiction, that a work of more perfect purity of principle and intention, and greater chastity of language, was never put forth. We have reason to know that it has been pronounced, a model of good-breeding and elegance,' in several circles of the highest ton: and that this opinion has been recently confirmed by the authority of the highest personage of the realm,--decidedly the most eminent judge in point of refinement of the existing 'manners of the day.' The delicacy is such as could only have been expected from a female pen. The interest, as may be expected, is strong: like the glance of the rattle-snake, there is something fascinating in disclosures of moral obliquity. In the characters of Seymour and Lady Danvers, the rouée and intrigante of the plot, the author has presented us with a justly indignant display of depravity; and yet we are convinced that he has not dared to reveal, even in the shadowy presentments of fiction, one half the follies, the temptations, the passions, and the vices of his caste. The book has been put forth with a general disclaimer against personality; a tenderness of caution which has served to convince us that it is, in fact, more personal than any other of its class. From internal evidence, indeed, we will venture to assert that it does not contain a single character of which the original might not be detected among the varied walks of fashionable life. The portrait of the Duchess of Castleton, for instance, has been generally recognised as a likeness of the lovely and virtuous Duchess of Leinster; that of the elegant and amiable Lord Mallerton as one of our young lay-lords of the Admiralty; Sir Ralph Harburton and his eye-glass are attributed to Colonel Tr-ch, the political trimmer; while the character of Theodosius Brill has been traced by universal accord to a politician of the day, whose rapid rise to the post of colonial secretary has given less general offence than the sneering and supercilious impertinence with which he has suffered himself to bestride the shoulders of many, so lately his seniors in office, and who are still entitled by superiority of age, birth, and ability, to his respectful deference. Yet even this portrait, which is one of the most amusing in the book, is marred by the somewhat too timorous caution of the writer. The outline is filled up with too much hesitation; we should have been better pleased with a bold, free, honest sketch of the underling of office, rising into notice on the strength of green-room jests and parasitical adulation, first to the mighty little, and lastly to the little great; and having crawled to the top of the ladder, and landed safely on the parapet, throwing it down with insolent defiance on the heads of those by whose efforts it was supported during his labour of ascent. Such a picture as this might have been useful and admonitory, whereas the Brill of our author is only an outline, capable, it must be confessed, of being deepened into the black intensity of feature and strength of colouring distinguishing the portraits of Rembrandt." Now all this sort of fictitious dependence upon personalities for fame is beneath Mrs. |