MARTHA BETH17NE BAL/OL'S DIARY. *
Tun world of fiction is getting overrun with diaries imitative of the style of other times, as much as of their manners ; for the spirit, feeling, and knowledge of all this class of books that we have met, are modern; the antiquity consisting of little more than, an affectation of simplicity, the use of a peculiar phraseology, and the mention of some domestic customs or fashions that have been. pre- served as marking the age. A good deal of cleverness, taste, and amiable feeling, has been employed in this kind of composition, since the success of "Lady Willoughby's Diary." Whether the writers would, not have been better engaged in a more natural style of composition is a question. The trick of imitation once acquired, the style is facile enough, and till the thing is overdone the peculiarity has an effect of novelty. On the other hand, the form of the journal limits the freedom of the writer both in the incidents and the manner.
The Diary of Martha Bethune Baliol aims at overcoming this restraint, and giving greater variety and depth of interest to the story, by carrying the reader to Scotland in the middle of the last century-17534754 ; narrating the diarist's own attachment for the unfortunate representative of the unfortunate Earls of Derwent- water, who visits Scotland incognito; and involving-the principal • The Diary of Martha Bethune Baliol, from 1753 to 1754, Published by Chap- man and Hall. persons in the vain and aimless Jacobite conspiracies of the period. This produces greater variety of fortune and of persons than ap- pertains to the generality of these Diaries, and gives an appear-. ance of originality both to the manner of the book and. to so worn a theme as the Young Pretender and his followers. In reality, however, it is little more than appearance. With the sub- stance we are familiar enough. The blind attachment to the White rose—the unreasoning and almost savage fidelity to the Xing " over the water," especially among the ladies—the secrecy or mystery with which the banished and attainted men returned to their country—the intrigues and counter-intrigues—the trea- cherous information—the search for the denounced, and the hair- breadth escapes,—these and similar things are common to memoir, topography, anecdote, and fiction, though in this story wearing the air of novelty which the minutise of daily life imparts to them. The writer possesses a literary or traaitional knowledge of the customs of Scotland a century ago, as well as local and historical reading about the jacobites, though sometimes the fact is changed for purposes of fiction. The last Earl of Derwentwater' the lover of the tale, is killed in the French service, just as Martha, the diarist, is going over to be married ; and the book doses with an impending consumption. Her brother, Richard Baliol, is deeply attached to Madge, a daughter of the Pretender's Secretary, Mur- ray "of Ashton," who preserved his life by betraying his party. In the fiction this is attributed to some unknown reasons, and the party still have confidence in the man. His high-spirited daughter is kept in ignorance of her father's treason till his death ; when a rejected suitor, a traitor to the cause, sends her the papers. The scene in which she learns the family disgrace may serve as a sam- ple of the book. "I was lying on a couch before the door—I am so weak now, that walking fatigues me, and so I lie and inhale the fresh air, which they think is to bring me health—I lay there, looking at the sky above me, and thinking on the past. My grandmother was seated near me and Richard was walking up and down, when suddenly Madge rode up. me, how often she used to do that ; of the strange scenes that so often seemed to follow in her track; of the change in one short year. Then I had ridden., nearly as boldly as she now did, to intercede for my kinsman's assistance in a case of danger— and now both were in their graves, and I lying there, fast following them.
"I had seen Madge look wretched on her return from London but now there was a wildness in her look which terrified me : I knew something terri- ble must have occurred to call up that look. "She had no groom—Harry even was not with her. She sprang off her horse ere my brother could reach her, and walking up to my grandmother, she handed her a packet, and said= Look at this. For the love of Heaven, tell me kis false, and to the latest hour of my life I will bless you!'
My grandmother opened the packet. It had come at last—the bolt we ever feared had fallen, and crushed her. My grandmother says she knew ere she opened the packet what it was ; it was therefore no surprise to her to find when she did so the account of the trial of the unhappy .Ashton, and that to save his life he had betrayed his cause. But though she knew perfectly what she would see, for some little time she gave no answer, but occupied herself as if examining the papers, whilst Madge in breathless expectation stood beside. Her silence gave Madge hope ; for in a triumphant tone she ex- claimed—' I knew it was so ; I knew it must be a lie, base and heartless as he who planned it ! What! a Murray of Ashton turn traitor! I would I were a man for one hour, that his blood might atone for traducing the dead!'
" ' Madge,' my grandmother said at last, where got ye these papers ?- they ought never to have met your eye.' "'But they are false—they are utterly false ! Tell me that.' "It was a terrible moment to us all ; and then I felt how easy it was to bear the death of those we love, compared to their dishonour. "'Madge," my grandmother said, sadly, looking at her.
" Madge's heart beat so wildly, that standing near me as she did, I actually heard its pulsations. "'God help you poor lassie.'
"Then it is trile ? ' she said, in a hoarse whisper. " Madge, it is true.'
"She sank down—not senseless as we had once seen her fall—but crushed and prostrate as if a heavy weight had fallen on her ; and so indeed there had, and such as there was no escaping from.
"'Madge, my dear lassie,' my grandmother said, bending over her, and taking her hand. But Madge was stunned by the violence of the blow, and could return no answer.
" Richard,' my grandmother said, for he stood holding Madge's horse, as if he knew what was coming, and dreaded seeing it.
" did. He approached towards us, looking little less sad than Madge herself "Oh, Richard, how can this have happened ? How came the poor thing ever to learn this?'
"He leant over her, and spoke to her; and, as if his voice had the power to rouse her when. others failed, she looked up—but stupified, as one but half awake, " ' Madge, who has done this? How came you to see these papers ?'
" ' They were sent to me.'
" Sent to you! Good Heavens, who could be so cruel ?'
"'It was Ker. I knew he had papers and letters of papa's, for he used to be in his confidence, (oh, how cruelly he has abused it !) and used to be so often at the hell; so I sent and told him to return all the papers he had ; and today I got a letter, and a packet from him. In the letter he told me that he returned those I had sent for, and some others, of the existence of which I was probably not aware, but which it would be better for me no longer to be ignorant of. I opened the packet, and oh, would that I had died ere I did so ! But grannie, dear grannie! Richard ! it cannot be true. Say that it is not, and I'll devote my life to you!' and poor Madge clasped Richard's hand in both of hers, and looked at 'aim with such imploring eyes, that it was a sore temptation for him to withstand, loving her as he does. He said nothing, but sorrowfully shook his head. Madge felt that all hope was gone, that this secret was true, and that disgrace clung to the name of the proud Murrays of Ashton."
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