Monthly Review of Literature, 



[MARCH, 



But before Cousin William had completed 

 his own marriage, he, being too loose of soul 

 to control his own tongue, had suffered 

 certain offensive expressions, and still more 

 offensive conduct, to reach the lady's ears, 

 and on his arrival at the noble lady's castle, 

 finds the door closed again t him, and all 

 his hopes completely baffled. What was to 

 be done ? He bethinks himself that Caro- 

 line has eight or ten thousands, of which he 

 might as well get possession, and he flies 

 accordingly on the wings of rapacity to 

 clutch them assuring her that he has 

 abandoned the dreams of wealth ; and the 

 lady, who was to realize them for her dear 

 charming self and tempts her to elope 

 with him ; but just as she and her woman 

 are stepping into the carriage, he is arrested 

 for debt ; and she is thus rescued from pre- 

 sent ruin. The consequence of which, at 

 last, is, the marriage with Sir Mark takes 

 place, and Cousin William flies to the con- 

 tinent, and the curtain drops for one and 

 twenty years. 



At the end of that period the curtain is 

 again drawn up, and the same parties re- 

 appear. Ce tfest que le premier pas qui 

 coute ; true as this may be, there are many 

 gradations from innocence to infamy ; but 

 these it was convenient to cut ; and ac- 

 cordingly, at the end of one and twenty 

 years, Caroline is exhibited as the gay and 

 revelling wife of Sir Mark, and Cousin Wil- 

 liam, as Sir William, the brave and suc- 

 cessful commander, covered with honours, 

 and ribands, and stars, and in close at- 

 tendance on Lady Terrington. His gal- 

 lantries towards her are open, and excite 

 remark; he is domiciliated with her, but 

 Sir Mark, gouty, stupid, and confiding, sees 

 nothing. She has, however, a son, a noble- 

 minded youth, devoted to his fond mother 

 to admiration, and believing her unspotted 

 as, an angel. At length his suspicions, 

 however, are awakened. The old Abigail 

 is now turned methodist, and, t'o indulge 

 her spleen and spite, and in obedience to 

 her new principles, she hints to the son at 

 the intrigue going on between his mother 

 and Sir William, and actually makes him 

 supervisor of Sir William's passage, in the 

 dead of night, from his mother's chamber. 

 Distracted between his thirst for vengeance, 

 and his shrinking from the exposure of his 

 mother, he hesitates, but at last withdraws 

 to a retired ale-house in the neighbourhood, 

 under the pretence of fishing, and leaves a 

 note for Sir William to meet him there 

 forthwith, on pressing business. On his 

 way to this rendezvous, Sir William is en- 

 countered by the old Abigail, who reveals 

 the disclosure she herself had made ; he 

 proceeds nevertheless, and on his arrival 

 finds the youth stretched lifeless on the 

 floor, the suicidal victim of embarrassment 

 and shame. The mother runs mad, and 

 Sir William betakes himself to the conti- 

 nent, and pursues his career of profligacy 



and what finally becomes of him the writer 

 says not. 



The other story, entitled Gervase Skin- 

 ner, is intended to illustrate the adage of 

 penny wise and pound foolish ; and low, 

 and vulgar, and disgusting as much of it is, 

 presents a capital specimen of the author's 

 peculiar powers. He is here quite at home. 

 The story is mixed up with theatricals, 

 and all his knowledge of stage trick- 

 eries and green-room wit is brought into 

 play. Skinner is a man of large property, 

 living in Somersetshire, the author's native 

 county, it should seem, from the style of 

 panegyric he thinks it his duty to pour upon 

 it. He is an under-bred man, and am- 

 bitious of the reputation of liberality to be 

 purchased, however, on the most moderate 

 terms. He is very fond of the stage, and 

 in the habit of entertaining the principals 

 of a company of strollers in their periodical 

 visits, by which he gains the free run of the 

 theatre. On one occasion of this kind a 

 new star appears, who attracts his admira- 

 tion apparently from her skill in frying 

 tripe, and beef-steaks and onions. Though 

 accompanied by her husband, Skinner is 

 not deterred from offering his gallantries. 

 Mrs. Fugglestone sees she has found .a 

 pigeon, and resolves to pluck him. She 

 quarrels with the manager, and flies to pour 

 her complaints into Skinner's ear, and hav- 

 ing an engagement in town, she schemes 

 to get up at his cost. Skinner also wants 

 to get his carriage to town, and thinks he 

 has met with a capital opportunity of doing 

 so without expense, and of appearing libe- 

 ral too into the bargain. He saddles the 

 party also with his ov/n man, who is to ride 

 in the dickey he himself meaning to go 

 on the top of the Exeter coach. All being 

 ready to start, the lady takes him aside, 

 and tells him they have no money at hand 

 to pay the posting, and begs to borrow only 

 50, to be repaid as soon as he comes to 

 town. Though a little astounded, he can 

 refuse nothing, but comforts himself with 

 the prospect of getting up his carriage 

 and man, gratis, at all events. Arrived at 

 Hatchett's, he evades dining, and goes al- 

 most supperless to bed to save expense. 

 He refuses the guard a shilling, and, in 

 consequence, loses his trunk, which, though 

 he finally recovers it, costs him many 

 pounds to accomplish. Though deter- 

 mined to go and live on his new friends 

 in Martlett-court, the husband is much too 

 sharp for him, and contrives to breakfast 

 and dine and dine and breakfast splendidly 

 at his cost, till at last Skinner takes refuge 

 at the Hummums, where nothing but beds 

 are to be had. In the meanwhile no money 

 is forthcoming from Mrs. Fugglestone, and, 

 moreover, he finds his man had defrayed 

 the expenses of posting, notwithstanding 

 the 50. He however continues his visits, 

 and by degrees is persuaded by the lady to 

 buy a horse and gig, and drive her about 



