1829. ] 
to swim to his Heroine, and effects his pur- 
pose through showers of musket-balls shot 
after him, on the supposition of his being 
a deserter. This connexion is finally 
broken up by the romance of the lady, who 
suddenly and mysteriously withdraws, and 
leaves him a power to draw upon her banker, 
without explaining, or telling him where she 
is gone. This gives him little concern—he 
had, in the meanwhile, laid siege to the 
heart of a daughter of his father’s friend, 
and won it—but marriage was not to he 
thought of till he got a pair of epaulettes. 
The career of the midshipman is com- 
pleted in different quarters—partly in the 
Mediterranean and the Spanish coast—and 
partly in America, during the war of 1813 
and 14; and the details consist of pranks 
~ and feats—of darings and escapes—conflicts 
with his comrades, battles with the foe, and 
encounters with whales, and still more peril- 
ous with sharks. Sundry tales of gallantry, 
on the Halifax station, fill up the intervals— 
others of plunder and roguery—some few of 
mere fun—with a few of real humour, and 
all of the ludicrous, and some too coarse or too 
licentious to be thus exposed to the general 
eye of the young, who will be sure to gloat 
in them. But one remarkable thing strikes 
the reader, and that is a disposition to de- 
preciate—he has the worst luck man ever 
had in his captains—one is a good officer, but 
too precipitate—another, witha smiling ex- 
terior, is a brute—a vile and vulgar plebeian 
—a third is a lord, who does not know the 
difference between the bow and the beam— 
but as brave a man as ever stepped between 
stem and stern, though how that was estab- 
lished is not very apparent, seeing he never 
encountered an enemy—and all these de- 
cisions from a boy. The same contempt is 
expressed for a// the examiners, when he 
passes for lieutenant—they are all ignorant, 
or brutal, or partial. 
His father’s influence at the Admiralty 
secures him the rank of commander at the 
earliest possible period, and he immediately 
flies homeward, from America, on the wings 
of love, to marry his Emily. Landing in 
his way at Bourdeaux, he suddenly en- 
counters at the theatre his old acquaintance 
of the Plymouth stage. She presents him 
with a beautiful boy, the “moral” of him- 
self, of four or five years old, but refuses, 
though he eagerly solicits, to renew their in- 
timacy. She had unexpectedly come into 
possession of property, and withdrew for her 
credit’s sake to Bourdeaux—but was now 
growing weary of it. She accompanies him 
to England, and is persuaded by him, im- 
pelled by his usual thoughtlessness, to go 
and reside in the very neighbourhood of 
Emily’s father. The natural consequence 
followed—that Emily, on the eve of their 
marriage, surprised him in company with 
the lady and the child, en famille. She was 
inexorable in breaking off the match, and 
he, in a rage, curses his unoffending mis- 
tress, and flies to the continent in dogged 
Domestic and Foreign. 
539 
despair. Here he is roused to sensation by 
the charms and stimulus of a gaming house, 
and draws, without stint or measure, on both 
father, and mistress, but by one lucky stroke 
recovers his losses and more, and abandons 
the dice. Scarcely rescued from impending 
infamy, he shoots his dearest friend in a 
duel, in defence of his sister, through mere 
impatience—and is again on the point of 
distraction, when luckily his friend recovers. 
By and by he hears from his old mistress— 
she has lost her little boy by an accident, 
and is dying of grief. He flies to England 
—is too late to see her—rushes to the 
church-yard and indulges to extravagance 
his grief. Then suddenly seeing a bishop 
driving past, in state, he rushes to the 
palace, forces himself into the episcopal 
presence—just to see if he is as capable of 
administering spiritual comfort as a curate. 
Beyond his expectations, or desert, he is re- 
ceived with kindness and consideration—is 
soothed — pitied — instructed —converted ; 
and, by the final agency of the good bishop, 
reconciled to himself and to Emily. Not- 
withstanding this change of feeling—the 
effect of religious convictions, it seems— the 
tone of the whole is that, we had almost 
said, of a profligate, which is surely not re- 
deemed, by occasional expressions of regret, 
and confession of wrong—it is indeed the 
tone of one, who still delights to trace his 
feats of audacity, and the frolics of rakery, 
and only requires the same opportunities 
to repeat the same offences. 
As a matter of amusement, there is abun- 
dant materials to excite a smile, and occa- 
sionally a hearty laugh—the best thing 
is a dialogue between Sir Hurricane Hum- 
bug and the housekeeper, which, how« 
ever, for certain reasons, is not quotable, 
Instead of it, we must give the following. 
In a party of young Philadelphian ladies, 
speaking of some lady, he observed he had 
not heard of her since she was seen by some 
friend of his at Turin on the Po. 
The last syllable was no sooner out of my 
mouth than tea, coffee, and chocolate was out of 
theirs, all spirting different ways, just like so 
Many young grampuses. They jumped up from 
the table and ran away to their rooms, convulsed 
with laughter, leaving me alone with their uncle. 
I was all amazement, andI own felt a little an- 
noyed. ‘* Haye I made any serious lapsus, or 
said any thing yery ridiculous or indelicate? if I 
have, I shall neyer forgive myself.” 
The uncle’s reply is admirable. 
“Sir,” said Mr. MacF linn, “ I am very sure you 
meant nothing indelicate ; but the retined society 
of Philadel pbia, in which these young ladies have 
been educated, attaches very different meanings 
to certain words, to what you do inthe old coun- 
try. The back settlements, for instance, so call- 
ed by our ancestors, we call the wesfern settle- 
ments, and we apply the same term, by analogy, 
tothe human figure and dress. This is a mere 
little explanation, which you will take as it is 
meant. It cannot be expected that foreigners 
should understand the niceties of our language. 
3Z 2 
