1829.] 
about it, which comes home to the convic- 
tions, and recals what has fallen within the 
experience of thousands. There is no over- 
straining in the tale, it is an inimitable 
performance, there is nothing in it, which 
has not happened and may not happen 
again—and proves how little occasion there 
is for going out of the way to pick up the 
extraordinary, and aiming at effect by ex- 
travagance. This is making a novel a les- 
son, without telling us it is one—a very 
different thing from a sermon. Nothing 
but a vehicle of this kind will admit of the 
details, which alone can effectually point a 
moral. We shall sketch this first, for it 
presses most upon us, and we cannot recal 
the other, till we have thrown this a little 
from our feelings. 
Alicia is the very beautiful daughter of a 
naval officer, a young lady capable of deep 
feeling—resolution—exertion—but very lit- 
tle cultivated morally or intellectually. To 
escape a marriage proposed by her friends, 
she throws herself suddenly into the arms of 
aman more than double her own age, but 
of high abilities and distinction—not of for- 
tune, but of fashion and popularity—a lead- 
ing member of the opposition—an associate 
of the ‘ Prince’—a wit—a poet—Sheridan, 
in short, with family circumstances a little 
varied. By him she is brought forward into 
gay society, and getting fairly into the vor- 
tex, is féled and courted—admired even by 
the prince, and honoured from him, for 
obvious purposes, with a present of diamonds 
[by the way, we cannot but think ‘his 
mightily indecorous], which, though pas- 
sionately thirsting for admiration, she rejects 
with horror. S. is now embarrassed beyond 
escape ; but all along keeps up his good 
Spirits and gaiety, and makes no secret of 
his resolution to cut all difficulties by suicide, 
and finally executes his purpose. 
Recovering by degrees from the shock, 
after some time the widow is importuned 
into another marriage with an officer of 
slender fortunes, who soon treats her with 
great severity, and subjects her to sundry 
inconveniencies, such as living in a barrack ; 
but though suffering privations to which she 
has been but little accustomed to submit, 
she endures without complaint. By and 
by he is broken for some unofficer-like 
conduct; and after his disgrace she ac- 
companies him to the sea-side, where her 
mother, now a widow, and her sister live 
together, very much straitened ; and there, 
to fill up the measure of her annoyances, her 
husband speedily seduces her sister. The 
first intelligence she has of the fact is from 
himself, when, in a burst of repentance and 
misery, he solicits her protection for her 
sister, now on the eve of becoming a mo- 
ther. This, though cut to the soul, she 
grants, and withdraws with her, though at 
the hazard of her own character, to a dis- 
tance, during her confinement. Returning, 
she is fixed in her purpose of separating 
-from her worthless husband, but want of 
Domestic and Foreign. 
197 
money preyents the execution, and they 
continue to live in the same house—he 
occasionally intriguing with a servant, and 
she suffering new annoyances. By chance 
she hears of pensions given to the widows 
of distinguished men, and especially the 
favourites of the prince, and she makes her 
application through many of her old ac- 
quaintance. These, however, all prove fair- 
weather friends, and her petition itself was 
perhaps never presented; for some reason 
or other, she makes no direct appeal. A 
friend at last is met with, to whom she is 
able to confide her reasons for separation, 
and who offers an asylum, to which, with 
an allowance of fifty pounds a year from 
her husband, she retires, and endeayours 
to turn her talents for drawing to advantage. 
Her residence here, was the last ray ofSun- 
shine—her health, long deeply shaken, at 
length gave way, till she lost the use of her 
limbs; and being suddenly summoned to 
see her mother before she dies, she quits 
her retreat, and she and her mother, nearly 
together, quit the scene; leaving the sister 
to mourn over the premature death to 
which she had contributed to bring her 
lovely relative. 
The other tale, entitled Lord Amesfort’s 
Family, opens with a family portrait—a 
lady in ill-health, with a son just rising into 
manhood, a daughter of sixteen or seven- 
teen, and another two or three years 
younger. They are all the gate of the 
castle (Lord Amesfort’s), when the youth 
takes leave of his friends. He is forthwith 
conducted to a splendid apartment, where 
a number of magnificent people are assem- 
bling before dinner. Lord Amesfort wel- 
comes him with kindness, and coldly intro- 
duces him, as his ward, to his lady and his 
nephew, neither of whom scarcely take any 
notice of him. But Adolphus is of a cast 
and character not readily to be confounded. 
He has been well bred, and used to good 
society ; he soon makes his way, and is 
quickly a great fayourite with the countess, 
and Lord De Colmar, his guardian’s nephew. 
Though exceedingly proud and reserved, 
the earl is evidently very much interested 
about Adolphus, and symptoms of mystery 
are apparent enough. Nothing, however, 
is elicited yet. In a few days, being pre- 
sented by his guardian with a commission 
in the Guards, he goes to town, accompanied 
by De Colmar, who is also in the army. 
The young men are now sworn friends. 
Among the first events is a chance meeting, 
at the Opera, between his sister Emily and 
De Colmar, who falls, forthwith, desperately 
in love with her, and is only withheld from 
declaring his passion by the remonstrances 
of Adolphus, who thinks him too young. 
De Colmar is, however, nearly of age, and 
then he resolves to communicate with his 
guardian, and marry, in spite of all oppo- 
sition. 
Scarcely had he reached the castle, with 
this resolve, when he is ordered with his 
