THE OUTLAW.
EVERY 'one can feel, if he cannot define, the difference between an original and an imitator. Into the manifestations of the effects we are not going to enter, but the remote cause seems to arise from the different manner of the conception. Whatever may have been the labour and study of a superior genius, they are merely foregone conclusions" when once his mind is in action : the nutriment he may have derived from the works of others has become a part of himself—as completely blended with his in- tellect as labour and manure are combined with the soil they have for years contributed to fertilize. Hence, even when hasty or negligent, he pours forth his production a complete and consistent whole,—inferior perhaps to his powers, but still emanating from himself. The imitator, on the other hand, "works in mosaic ;" he puts together a patchwork of fragments,—singly excellent perhaps, but incoherent when joined. A beauty is borrowed from this work, a mode from that author, a character or an incident is taken from reality,—not because they are consistent with the intended piece, or adapted to the writer's genius, but because they separately appear calculated to strike. From this it results, that, let the workmanship of the tesselated production be as gond as it may, the whole is deficient in unity, harmony, and credibility. But when neither skill nor judgment is displayed in the imagina- tive compilations, nothing but the hard necessity of duty could induce a critic to notice, much less to read them.
The Outlaw is one of the former class of imitations; very striking in some parts, very beautiful in others, with occasional touches of deep pathos, interspersed with sensible, pleasant, or amiable reflections, and possessing two or three characters of nice conception and felicitous execution in parts. But the novel, as a whole, is incongruous and untrue. It is made up of foreign sub- stances; and what is more, the process of the manufacture can be traced. One can fancy some such soliloquy as this passing through the writers mind.
"I shall fix my time about the Revolution of 1688; and, like Sir WALTER SCOTT, involve my persons in the political turmoils of the period, and introduce as many of its public characters as I can. Now let me see. The country was divided between Catholics and Protestants—I must make my heroes and heroines of opposite creeds ; which affords the opportunity of contrast, especially by making their countries different, one English, one Irish. It will be proper to avoid the vulgar distress that springs out of dif- ferent religious faiths; but political fidelity, to a certain extent, will serve my turn as well. I am not deeply read in the courtly records of the Revolution ; but I know some very telling incidents connected with the downfal of JAMES. Them 1 will embody, and (aside—if such things be in soliloquy) I am sure I can do it effectively. Then, I have heard of some good repartees; and these shall be uttered by the mouths of the original wits, when I carry my amiable heroine to the court of JAMES or my hero to that of WILLIAM and MARY. The majority of the courtiers and statesmen of the period must 'come like shadows, so depart.' But there are two I shall elaborate and put in action. One will be the future Dutchess of MARLBOROUGH; whose vulgarity I shall find no difficulty in exaggerating. Her husband shall also be pictured in my page. (But a critical friend, who looked over the subsequent sketch, has given it as his opinion that the interior parts of CHURCHILL'S character alone are exhibited, whilst the polished goad-breeding, the mastery ' in the art of pleasing,' which softened the hatred of the rabble, and extorted an envious pane- gyric from CHESTERFIELD himself, are lost sight of.) Coming down to more private matters, there is good Mr.EVELYN, an example of a worthy but rather tedious twaddler—I will reproduce him in Sir Everard, the father of my English hero; and as it is probable that my account of his pursuits in natural history, my descriptions of his ' constant attendant Ralph Bradwell,' and my catalogues of the furniture and specimens in his study, may be insufferably tedious, I will redeem him from insipidity by the warmth of his affections and de genuine worth and respectability of his charac- ter. All this, however, by no means exhausts my store of public people or temporary manners. I will introduce the family of a tip-top London tradesman of the period; and Mr. Brown, the printer, shall be an active though secret agent of the Whigs. A Catholic con- vent—flourishing at the opening, attacked and rifled by the mob towards the end of my tale—will not be amiss. I may say the same of a charming lady Prioress; whose first love—a very
whtty idea—shall have been crossed by the fanaticism of that age ich trained the patriots who destroyed CHARLES STUART. But my grand heroo—,who is to be a substitute for the gods of the an- cient rnythol.egy, and extricate people from entanglements other-
wise inexteieable — who is to interfere with affairs of love and affairs of state, to prevent my hero from marrying an artful hussy over the deathbed of his mother at the parent's request, and to beat no mean part in placing WILLIA31 of Orange on the throne—and (more important titan all) who is to give a title to my book—re- quires consideration. I have it!—Everybody knows that one or more of the Regicides who condemned CHARLES to death escaped to the New England Plantations, and died there : I will introduce an enthusiast whom the reader may suppose to be one of them,— an Outlaw, who shall be here, there, and everywhere, and who, after haunting vaults and escaping from many pursuits in the early part of the novel, and after putting my plot in order, and refusing all the honours that WILLIAM can bestow, towards its. close shall filially betake himself to the Red Indians of the New World, because the followers of the Scarlet Lady are not pease.. cuted in the Oil. In addition to this, there shall be an Irish female nurse—drawn with truth and nature—soldiers of the ruffian KIRKE, confessors, foresters, gipsies, and a refined sort of Madge Wildfire, which, together with the immediate persons, will make. up an excellent variety. " So much for the matter of my book : how shall I connect it with the interest of romance? In a brief and simple story, (though I say it myself) no one is more truthful and consistent. But a fable which is to be continued through three volumes—to exhibit changes of fortune, artful involutions of events, and to be at once surprising and probable—is a very, very difficult matter! I must just do as well as I can. I will have a prophecy hanging over an old family ; I will have a change of children when at nurse ; two ladies shall fall in love with my English hero, from one of whom lie shall seem to be separated by fate, from the other by his own taste; and if I could be permitted to close my story where the natural difficulties of the circumstances terminate, all this would be very good. But, in compliance with a most mis- chievous prejudice of the Trade, I must have three volumes. Nothing therefore is left me but to spin out the catastrophe by an exhibition of absurd cross-purposes, and by calling in a female fiend, who shall almost rival Mistress TROLLOPE'S Lady Tremordyn in superhuman villany, distressing my lovers as no- thing human was ever distressed,' and delivering them pretty much in the same manner."
Such, if not the words of the writer, is a fair sample of what she might have thought : and having indicated the stuff which her book consists of, and said that it. is well worth reading, we shall net attempt to unravel the plot, but present an extract. Let it be the Court of James. Rosalind has been taken there by Churchill, to solicit permission to Visit her uncle, Sir Everard
Sydney, who is confined in the Tower. Churchill has left her under the care of William Penn; who has been obliged from a similar reason—a Royal summons—to transfer her to Bedford—
Suddenly the sounds of many words came upon Rosalind's ear, and the great door leading to the chamber, which she hail regarded with somewhat of super- stitious awe, flew open, and James himself, unbonneted, and dressed more by haste than taste, stood for a moment in the door-way, scowling rather titan looking upon the throng, who at his unexpected appearance sprang to their feet or turned respectfully towards their King. He advanced a few steps into the apartment, and then paused, apparently with a view both to collect his own powers, and to read, as it were, the minds
of those who were assembled around him. Lord Bellasis was close to his royal master, and exchanged a few inaudible words with one of the stanchest friends of the unfortunate Monarch, the Duke of Beaufort. James made two or three ineffectual attempts to speak before he could command sufficient voice to be heard ; those from behind pressed upon his footsteps, while those in front crowded more closely towards him. Once or twice he raised his hand to his throat, with that twitching, uncertain movement of the fingers, which so truly indicates extreme agitation, now and then returning with a courteous but painfully irritated manner the salutations of the assembly. At length he said, turning to Lord Bellasis, " My Lord, my Lord, we miss some faces that used to be familiar in our councils; my Lord De/amere, my Lord of Danby, my Lord Bath. You see—you see—my friend, that—the tender feelings, perchance, of these noblemen, prevent their witnessing the troubles of their King. Gen- tlemen," he continued, (and Rosalind, all eye and ear, observed that, though Lord Bellasis and the Duke of Beaufort endeavoured to prevent his speaking, Lord Churchill, with folded arms and an unsympathizing brow, remained an unmoved spectator of the scene,) My lords and gentlemen, I have heard, just heard, that a violent outrage hath been committed in the city—a chapel destroyed by an unrighteous mob ! My Lord of Canterbury, you, I perceive, are here ; and I appeal to you, if such riots should be sanctioned, or what punishment should be bestowed upon those who would deny us the liberty of conscience we have ever so fairly and so fully awarded to them. But, my lords and gentlemen, Seale of you may have heard, even before ourselves, that we are to have a rival in the person of our own son-in law ! It may appear too monstrous for belief," he added—the painful working of his features proving how strongly he was agitated, while several of the best-bred courtiers became moved, rather front imitation titan sympathy, " but it is nevertheless true, that the children,"—and here the nervous tremor of the King became almost un- controllable—" the children God hash given us are combined against oar sacred office, if not against our person. My Lord Halifax, we hardly expected the honour of your company when Prince George of Denmark has joined the Orange traitor. It was his wont to exclaim, whenever we talked to littn,of danger or desertion, 'Est-il possible, est-il possible ! ' but Est-il possible, is gone himself. What does that signify? the loss of an able-bodied trooper would be of more consequence." Lord Halifax advanced a few steps towards the King, who, exhausted by his own energy, appeared almost breathless, and bowing respectfully, raid, " May it please your Majesty, those who are sincere are never traitors." " It may be so, replied the King; " but we have other matters to attend to than contemptible petty treason. It is an ill return made by our citizens for their improved charters, which we accorded them but a few days past as an earnest of our future good services: certain counties, too, that have been fa- voured by the return of their Lieutenants and Justices to their places, by our clemency, are traitors to their own interests, as well as to their Kung, by acting in defiance of our laws. My Lord of Bedford—" (and here the old nobleman, who had stood freer Rosalind, advanced, and bowed profoundly)—" my Lord of Bedford, you will neither desert us, I trust, nor suffer us to be insulted." There was a breathless silence in the crowded ante-room of the ancient palace of Whitehall, and every eye was turned upon the venerable father of the mar- tyred Russell ; it was a sort of siknce that you might fancy you saw as well as telt—so heavy—so dense—the very atmosphere seemed hushed by its pre- sence; and men drew their breaths and heaved their chests, anxious to inhale the old man's answer. The childless father expressed but little in a counte- nance which Rosalind now knew was worn by sorrow into many wrinkles, the pathways of scalding tears, where grief had hardened the too yielding flesh. The old Earl looked for a moment to the King, as if not either perfectly hear- ing or imperfectly understanding the import of his words, and stood, his hands crossed, his body reverentially bent, while his eyes remained elevated after a brief pause, the King again spoke, altering his phrase. "My Lord of Bedford, you are a good man, and have great influence. You can do much for us at such a time as this." " Please your Majesty," he said at length, bending rather than bowing, " I am an old man, and can do but little." Then, after another pause, he added, with a sigh, " I had once a son, who could now hare been very serviceable to your Majesty."
Had the calm and noble spirit of Lord William Russell risen from its bloody shroud, and stood palpably before him, James of England could not have looked more appalled than he dill at the words of that old man : it was more than he could well bear : the past, the present, the future, crowded on his mind ; and if he could not be said to feel remorse, he was astounded at the Earl's answer. The irritability of his mind and temper experienced, as it were, a sudden pa- ralysis, and the violence of the King was stilled ; he endeavoured to look upon the assembly with his usual manner—but the effort was unsuccessful.
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