80 Monthly Review of Literature, 
that there is no practice against which he more 
frequently and more strongly protests, 
Tales of the West, by the Author of 
Travels in the East.” 2 vols. ; 1828.— 
As tales, there is a singular lack of interest 
in them—they are mere incidents. Trust- 
ing for effect to descriptions of physical and 
moral nature, the writer seems to have 
thought any thing would do for the staple 
of the argument, and, accordingly, any 
thing is made to do. The stories—such as 
they are—are framed, for the most part, not 
on the laws of life, or even of romance, but 
effects follow causes according to any fanci- 
ful concatenation, likely to produce unex- 
pected results. Nor, again, has the style 
and structure of the language any thing at 
all natural or effective about it, but quite 
the contrary—it is all heavy and wearisome 
—a luckless imitation of Wilson, with little 
of the professor’s depth of feeling glowing 
through the thick obscure of the wordy 
covering. Every scene and circumstance is 
wire-drawn, till the thread of the verbosity 
will not bear the weight of another hair 
— giving the promise of circumstantiality, 
without its reality; and we assure the writer, 
who is probably capable of better things, 
that in spite of all the curious and pain- 
ful labour he has spent upon his tales, two- 
thirds of the elaborations will never be read 
by any human being whose sentiments are 
worth a rush. Readers, though, now-a-days, 
stories they will have, require energies, not 
sentiments—skilful combinations of facts, 
and not bootless broodings upon nothing. 
The green of the turf, too, and the blue of 
the sky —the country, with its ups and 
downs, and turnings and windings — its 
abundance and its sterilities—its ruins and 
its relics—scenery, in short, of any kind, 
however brilliant and true—will not com- 
pensate for the absence of life and activity— 
the want of interests that touch the heart 
and command the understanding, 
The West means Cornwall and the Scilly 
Isies ; and miners, smugglers, and wreckers 
mingle in every story ; and descriptions of 
the country abound—with sufficient accuracy 
no doubt ; but of Cornish peculiarities and 
customs, ancient or modern, the supply is 
More scanty than we were led by the pre- 
face to expect. 
The volumes contain seyen tales—the first, 
called “‘ The Valley of the Lizard,” the hero 
of which isasmuggler, whose vessel was taken 
by a revenue cutter. He himself escapes, 
though left for dead, and, flying to Ameri- 
can coasts, turns pirate—meets with a beau- 
tiful Spanish girl—steels her from her home 
—grows weary of her—withers her by neg. 
lect—roams again a little—tires at last even 
of roaming—returns to his native village— 
buys a farm and cultivates it—marries a 
young woman of the village—begets sons 
and daughters— and settles, most unac- 
countably, into a grave personage, with a 
family about him, and thinks of the past 
[J ULY; 
—his lawless life and ardent love—as a 
dream. 
“The Miner” is simply the tale of two bro- 
thers, sons of a Cornish ’squire, left, by their 
father’s improvidence, to the labour of their 
own hands. Though brought up to no- 
thing but hunting and sporting, they turn 
miners, set sedulously to work, and, after a 
series of ill luck, get into the right “ vein,” 
and prosper. One of them falls down a 
shaft, and is crushed to atoms; the other 
pursues the steady tenor of his way, grows 
rich, re-buys the family estate, and dies in 
the hall of his fathers—the cynosure of his 
hopes and labours. 
“The Exile” is, again, a Cornish miner— 
who, for some reason or other goes to sea— 
is taken by an Algerine—sold—works in his 
master’s garden, and is observed by the 
daughter, who falls forthwith in love with 
him, and will marry him. He is divided 
between his love of liberty and the sense 
of his religious obligations—hesitates, but 
yields—renounces his faith, and marries, 
and is happy, and rarely visited with the 
prickings of remorse. After some years, 
the lady dying, he grows comfortless, and 
thinks of Cornwall again—till at last he 
resolves to return to his country and Chris- 
tianity. He accordingly returns home, 
with property enough to get his comforts 
about him, and repents at leisure. It was 
long, it seems, before his spirit was com- 
pletely lulled to rest; but his sufferings 
appear never to have been very acute, or 
indeed to have given him any serious un- 
easiness—for he delighted to dwell upon the 
scenes of prosperity and conjugal felicity he 
had experienced at Algiers—his penitence, 
nevertheless, the author tells us, was deep 
and permanent, and not unavailing. 
“The Legend of Pacorra’’ is alonger story,. 
and, in proportion, wearisome. The period 
of the tale is the reign of Henry the Eighth; 
the scene near a monastery, which is broken 
up by Henry’s rapacity. The daughter of 
one Cornish family, and the son of another, 
are attached to each other; the son has a 
leaning to the new doctrines. The mother 
of the lady is an Italian, whose thoughts, 
naturally enough, turn devotedly to her na- 
tive country, and, though kind hearted and 
accomplished, she is a bigot in her religion, 
and discourages the connexion. By and 
by, an Italian, in the garb of a monk, is 
wrecked on the coast, and carried to the 
lady’s residence. With the hot blood of 
his native clime, he had murdered a rival, 
and had taken refuge in an English mo- 
nastery ; and was returning to Italy, after 
the ruin of the monastery, when the vessel 
was wrecked. The youth, with no more of 
the monk than the cowl, quickly falls in 
love with the young lady, discloses his pas- 
sion, and is haughtily and resentfully re- 
pulsed. He detects the young lady’s pen- 
chant for the Protestant youth; the rivals 
meet occasionally, and scowl at each other, 
