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supplying a transient passage of amusement. They should at least serve to break down our English prejudices, and convince us that civilization and domestic comfort are not confined to our island; and that many things of which we are boastful, are a reproach or a ridicule in the eyes of enlightened foreigners. Many of our vauntings are those of the grossest bigotry, ignorance, and vulgarity; and therefore, all who have enjoyed the opportunity of bearing evidence to the superiorities witnessed in other lands, do well to speak out, if they can do it so properly and with such an enlightened liberality as the Tourist who has the welfare and the agricultural advancement of the peasantry at Wicklow so deeply at heart, that she is eager to expend no inconsiderable share of her talents, influence, and wealth to accomplish the benevolent and patriotic purpose.

"The Chronicles of the Rhine," by Captain Knox, author of "Hardness" and Softness," fill a volume that has little kinship with Lady Vavasour's, except in the matter of locality, and the ability to infuse new spirit into subjects that have been dried to the bone. The one took modern realities and every-day life as seen in sundry conditions, and were most significant of characteristic points, for her topics, these however being often too ordinary for genteel people to mind them, but not so for her ladyship to constitute the texts of earnest and instructive discourse. The other has collected a number of the legends with which the "Old River" and its borders are so rife,-legends that have been committed to paper times without number; but then he has told them so smartly, illustrated them with such knowledge and manly sentiment, has built upon them so much that is modern, and extracted from them so many cccasions for observation, comparison, and well-tuned satire, that what was wont to appear nothing more than puerile or monkish tales of the supernatural, have the value of cleverly conceived fictions, and the force of well-executed stories. Two examples will do more to recommend the volume and to inform our readers with regard to its character, than all that can be spoken about it. The first is the opening of the tale-"The Biter bit."

The devil (I always call a spade, a spade) was uncommonly busy in Germany in the eleventh century. I ought to have said "in person," as the natives ofthat country scrupulously put upon their voluminous visiting cards; for nobody doubts but that he is at least as busy now, both there and elsewhere, though in a somewhat different form, rejoicing at present in dispensing with a tangible shape, and appearing under the denomination of a principle, such as voluntary principle, democratic principle, revolutionary principle, and so forth. What I mean is, that at that period he used to take great pleasure in going about the earth, seeking whom he might devour; and, above all, a favourite lounge of his is supposed to have been the neighbourhood of the Rhine, where he used to spend most of his time, which in that district was fully occupied. Perhaps

that was the reason he selected that locality; for being a great personage he was dreadfully afflicted with ennui, and wanted excitement, or possibly he might have gone on the system of quartering on the enemy; for the ground there was covered as thick as it could hold with convents, nunneries, monasteries, abbeys, and religious establishments of all kinds and denominations, from the humble cell of the solitary hermit to the sanctified and fortified palace of the prince-archbishop, who made war on kings, and whose mitre, if need were, served admirably as a helmet. Indeed the soil at that time was nearly all, directly or indirectly, in the hands or under the influence of the Church, and the great potentates of the neighbourhood were the three ecclesiastical electors. But it is not to be supposed that whilst his infernal majesty was occupied in taking his pleasure in this fashion, he ever for a moment failed to have an eye to business. Whenever any apparently impossible object was to be attained, or any foul crime to be executed in darkness, and such there were in those days in terrible numbers,—he was ever at hand, and seldom forgot to put in a tender for the contract. He was no respecter of personsrich or poor, knight or serf, prince or peasant, all was fish that came to his net; no job was too small for him to undertake, none too large for him to execute. His terms, which were of a reversionary character, were the same for all services, and being somewhat startling in their nature, were hardly admissible in ordinary cases, if stated broadly and fairly; and he consequently used generally to find it expedient to put them in a roundabout and mystifying sort of shape, that partly concealed their real tendency, and partly flattered the other party with a hope of finding some loophole of escape when it became their turn to fulfil their part of the agreement. It is a thousand pities that he does not give an eminent lawyer of our times an opportunity of trying if he can drive a coach and six through such a compact, as he alleges he can through any act of parliament.

The second example is a history too suggestive to be overlooked by the gentlemen who have the musical tuition of the million, in these latter days, so much at heart.

In the latter end of the tenth century, the pious Count Megingotz of Geldern took counsel with his equally pious consort, Gerberga-(it was no joke for godfathers and godmothers, when such names as those were fashionable)— on a subject that was near the heart of both, viz. the foundation and rich endowment of the nunnery of Willich. They had long pitched upon a pleasant spot for this establishment; and having completed the buildings, and made all necessary arrangements about endowments, it was finally, in the year 985, handed over to the safe-keeping of Mother Church. Its site lies between the Rhine and Sieg, and may be reached in a few minutes from Bonn by any one who will place himself on that singular string of boats that swings gravely across the river by some incomprehensible faculty of its own, and then take the direction of that curious heap of buildings that composes the church of Schwartz Rheindorf, which is close to it. I am thus particular in describing its situation, in the hopes of drawing public opinion and public curiosity to that locality; for the power of working the remarkable cure there effected may yet linger in the neighbourhood: and no one who reads this simple story will hesitate a moment in agreeing with me that it never was more urgently wanted than at the present moment. However, it was a fair building in a smiling

land; and those who said, as many did at the time, that the count, who never had been remarkable for strictness in religious matters, and the countess, who notoriously would not have exchanged one of her brocaded gowns for the complete costume of the blessed Virgin herself, were merely moved to this demonstration of piety by the wish to secure as much of their wealth as possible for their only daughter-for fate had not blessed them with a son,-those cavillers, I say, might just as well have held their tongues for any good they did; for the lady in question, the melodious Adelheid, was installed abbess, in all due form, in her twenty-third year, and enjoyed all place, pre-eminence, privileges, and power belonging to her high station, by as good a title as if she was an old and as ugly as a witch, as some of her sister abbesses were. She was fair to look at, a blooming girl, who though she had hardly attained sufficient height, and inclined a little to embonpoint, yet had an air of dignity and grace about her that accorded well with her noble birth and sacred functions; her hair, of a sunny tinge, was braided in graceful simplicity over her clear forehead; eyes of light blue looked with a glance of intelligence over a nose hardly aquiline; and her lips-which, rarely entirely closed, displayed the glittering enamel of a singularly fine set of teeth-when they did open, poured forth a flood of the most ravishing harmony, that enchanted all hearers. Many of the neighbouring princes of Germany had sighed for her and her rich appanage: but the cloister was her choice, and her chief happiness was within the tranquil walls of her beloved Willich. It was well for the country about that she held that high office, for with a heart that felt deeply for her fellow-creatures, she had great talents, and the high spirit of her race, which, with her unaffected piety and unbounded liberality, gave her an influence all around, that was ever exerted in the cause of the poor and helpless, whose lot, in those rough times, was hard indeed to bear; and if she sometimes did like her own way, and was occasionally a little impatient, it was nothing more than what was natural in a young lady whose lot has given her power in early youth. But the great point upon which Adelheid prided herself, and which occupied no small portion of her thoughts, was the singing of her nuns. Herself a musician of the first order, and no contemptible composer, she laboured incessantly to train her gentle disciples in that art; and well did they repay her care, for her choir reigned in undisputed superiority for miles round. Her heart would swell within her, and all earthly greatness would be as dross in her eyes, as the mingled and mellow voices of her nuns rose in faultless harmony from the little chapel; and she used most seriously to assert that she had frequent conversations and occasional duets with St. Cecilia herself (in her dreams). It may be supposed that every now and then a refractory voice that could not be reduced to order, or, worse still, an ear innocent of tune, would make its appearance at Willich; and, in fact, this was the crook in Adelheid's lot. first she used to manage to have the offender transferred to some other establishment, where they were less particular about the singing; but this was always a very difficult and very often an extremely expensive operation and she was saved a world of trouble and vexation when she at last discovered what a much simpler remedy was within her reach. This discovery, like all others of any consequence, was made entirely by accident, and occurred thus:-Sister Adees; a light-haired and a light-hearted daughter of the Elbe, who had barely completed her eighteenth year, was such a favourite with the whole convent, and, indeed, with the worthy abbess herself, that to part with her was quite out of

At

the question; and yet the poor girl had no ear whatever; and her voice, low and inexpressibly sweet in conversation, was like the squall of a peacock when All Adelheid's skill was lavished on her in vain ; and, she attempted to sing.

at last, all that could be done was, to direct her to let herself be heard as little as possible in the choir; for the good abbess, to whom music was as an anticipation of paradise, could not find it in her heart to tell her to hold her tongue altogether. But the conscientious Agnes was sadly pained at what appeared to her to be the non-performance of an indispensable duty. On one occasion, when the convent was honoured by a visit from no less a personage than the prince-archbishop of Cologne in person, accompanied by a whole host of inferior luminaries and several bishops of various unknown dioceses in Africa and Asia Minor, who would have had serious difficulties to contend with if they had attempted to take possession of their sees, and consequently preferred living with their friends in Europe,-the tuneful abbess was, of course, desirous that everything should go off in the best possbile manner; and, above all, that the excellence of her choir should strike the illustrious visitors with wonder. The zeal of poor Agnes triumphed over her discretion, and she joined in the psalm with a fervour of devotion that startled alike sisters and strangers. Certainly a more unearthly howl never issued from the lips of a fair-haired girl of eighteen; and the sharp and warning glances of the distressed abbess totally failed in stopping her, till that personage, who never had been very remarkable for patience, suddenly rose from her throne, and passing rapidly behind the row of kneeling nuns, administered to the unsuspecting Agnes a box on the ear that rang through the chapel like the clang of a crossbow. But what was the universal astonishment when the irrepressible cry that broke from the startled nun softened down to a tone of rare sweetness! and before the abbess, who by this time had begun to be a little ashamed of herself, regained her seat, the happy Agnes was taking her part in the psalm with a richness of melody that had It may be supposed that this manifestation of her own no equal in the chapel. powers gave much satisfaction to the holy Adelheid, and that no more false singing was to be heard in her chapel to disturb her happiness. Indeed, so frequently were her powers invoked, that it is said in her old age she declined undertaking any more cures, having on one occasion dislocated her right wrist. The gift, as I said before, may linger yet on the spot, and, could it be found, would be an incalculable benefit to the diners-out and attenders of parties of the present day; at all events, it is worth looking after: and some good might be effected, and no harm done, if mammas would resolve, in all doubtful cases, that their daughters' presentation at court should be preceded by a pilgrimage to the shrine of the holy Adelheid of Willich.

ART. VII.-The Manoeuvring Mother. By the Author of the "History of a Flirt." 3 vols. Colburn.

"THE History of a Flirt," placed the writer's name in a rank at once eminent and independent. The band, head, and heart of a pains-taking and persevering female were manifestly seen in the performance; and the promise was strong of other contributions that would maintain the distinguished standing that she had quietly won,-for quietly the thing was accomplished, not merely in respect

of puffery and magniloquent pretension prior to birth, but, of conception and execution; seeing while she took nature in its medium. conditions for her guide, she delineated those conditions with a nicely just perception and sustained confidence, the colouring being regulated by the truth of the sentiment, and kept in subjection to the moral purposes contemplated: it was, in short, a novel very much after the Austen model, as has been frequently said; nor can better praise in briefer speech be offered relative to "The Manoeuvring Mother" than to declare that it is not inferior to its admired predecessor.

It is true, that in neither of the works has the authoress attained to the highest rank in respect of the ideal in character, and still less of constructiveness as regards plot. But if her persons are in many cases rather commonplace or too literal, they are yet, cach and all, so well discriminated, and also so well individualized, that the reader never loses sight of the peculiar features of any one of them; while the lessons taught in their delineation are so truthful and purposelike, that one is not only willing, but wishful to hear more of them, as often as the writer pleases. Such is one of the results of that rare power and perception possessed by this lady; who delights not merely in strong contrasts, but in nice distinctions, with all their ramifying tendencies, among the shades that occur in virtue and vice, in weakness and folly. The five daughters of the Manoeuvring Mother, together with the persons connected with the fate of each, offered good illustrations for our author's accurate studies, particular portrait power, and judiciously conceived end.

Even with regard to the conception and firm-holding yet delicate portraiture of character, we are bound to say that the present work furnishes us at least with one example of nearly the highest order. The prime mover, and the personage around whom the whole story gathers, viz. Lady Wetheral, the Manoeuvring Mother herself, is not only a production evincing the artist's exquisite touches in detail, but her mastery in regard to great principles of human nature, so as to present powerful effects out of the claborated whole.

The conception of Lady Wetheral's character is that of an intermixed one, of a woman of rank, whose education has been defective and even false, and whose morality consists of so many contradictions, that one pities her almost as much as condemns, and loves nearly as often as hates. True, she intrigues remorselessly and without ceasing to the danger of her daughters, and to the destruction of some of them, in order to secure splendid establishments; but all this is done, not from any idea of her own aggrandizement; but because her mind has been so perverted and misled by false views, that she thoroughly believes wealth, rank, and equipage are equivalent with happiness, and are worthy of far more consideration than the feelings and natural affections of her daughters. With her there is