LADY FITLLEATON'S LADY BIRD. * THE faults of Lady Fullerton's first

fiction were, the improba- bility of the governing incident, the distasteful nature of some of

her persons and incidents, from their extreme character, and an engrafted religious sentiment, unfit from being out of place. These errors are very much softened in the Lady Bird, but the elements are still there. There is nothing so 'aut.& or lm- improbable as the knowledge of the heroine's accidental complicity in a fellow-creature's death, which enabled the villain in Ellen Middleton to pursue her through life ; and the religious sentiment is more closely connected with the position and circumstances of the actors. The story, however, is too singular in its circumstances to properly inculcate those lessons of life which the writer in- tends ; while the reader is not moved to sympathy with the promi- nent actors, because they not only have the infirmity of purpose which marked the persons in Ellen Middleton, but there is moral taint in their conduct. Still there is improvement in the plan, and perhaps in the execution. The style is elegant, and sustained throughout; there are several nice sketches of character, and some scenes of power, though the effect may not be equal to the workman- ship, from the lack of moral interest in the materials.

. The Lady Bird possesses an air of freshness from the nature of its story. Gertrude Lifford, whose sobriquet is "Lady Bird," is the daughter of a Roman Catholic of a very ancient family, great pride in his ancestry and himself, and greater strength of will or sullen obstinacy. Rejected in early life, he marries in a fit of pique ; and ever after isolates himself at Lifford Grange ;

where his severity and harsh coldness make all about him miserable. His wife is a confirmed invalid ; his son is rather a

favourite, because, being tractable, he receives the paternal lessons on family dignity ; his daughter, a more fearless and independent spirit, revolts against him, and is treated with a stern repulsive- ness. This and her mother's ill health throw Gertrude much into the society of two children in the village, Mary Grey and Maurice Redmond, the daughter and the adopted son of a widow of limited means. On this connexion the whole story turns. Maurice has a gift for music and every pursuit which partakes of beauty; but he has rather the temperament than the all-compactness of genius ; at least he wants the industry, steadfastness, and energy, without which genius is in vain. He is also devoid of moral firmness, though he possesses moral perception aud sensibility. As he grows up, he half engages himself to Mary Gray,—a sweetly drawn cha- racter, but too quiet and religiously sustained for effect in fiction,— while he is all the time nourishing a romantically hopeless attach- ment for Gertrude. By the generosity of Count Adrien d'Arberg he goes to Italy ; on his return he finally affiances himself to Mary, though still ardently admiring Gertrude, who sees and does not discourage his passion. Meanwhile, Gertrude is introduced to d'Arberg, the writer's Christian hero ; and she soon feels what love really is in her ill-regulated mind. But Mr. Lifford rejects d'Arberg's proposals, and—strange conduct for a gentleman—conceals them by an evasion. At the same time he urges another match upon Ger- trude, and intimates that d'Arberg has become a priest. In her agony she flies to her village friends ; but instead of Mary or Mrs. Red- mond, who are absent, meets Maurice. Induced by false pride, un- checked by true principle, she consents to marry him. Then her punishment commences, and endures till the death of her husband ; after which she returns home, a changed and converted person, to convert her father.

The ill-regulated passions of Gertrude, and the weakness de- scending to baseness of Maurice, inspire no sympathy in their fortunes or their fate ; nor can the story be pronounced very like- ly. It is true, there are many contrivances to " explain " the unlikelihoods ; but they are rather marked by a saving kind of me- chanical ingenuity than by any arrangement at once artful and natural. When these objections are put aside, the whole charac- ter of Maurice and the wretchedness of himself and Gertrude are displayed with remarkable skill and power. The weakness, the vanity, the impulsiveness, rather than the passion of the musical temperament, are delineated with great truthfulness throughout; as well as the alternate mixture of anger, remorse, pity, and love, when the attainment of his object has brought its punishment. The more resolute will of Gertrude in their narrow circumstances, and, when the weakness and wretchedness of Maurice incapacitate him from following his profession, in their poverty, is well contrasted by her strict performance of every duty, from a sense of what is due to herself, not to her husband. The whole, too, has the inte- rest which arises from situations where persons with marked qua- lities are excited by powerful emotion. This is an example—her father's announcement of a match which he has arranged for Gertrude.

"Mr. Lifford had said all this without once looking at his daughter; a mode of proceeding which was rather habitual to him, especially when addressing her. As he did not now receive any answer, he was obliged to raise his eyes towards her. "'Will you be kind enough,' she then said, fixing hers steadily upon him, to answer me one question ? Have you received no other proposal of this kind but the one you speak of?' "He seemed to hesitate for an instant, and then answered, 'None that deserved consideration.'

"'Then you have received proposals,' she said, in the same calm manner, from Adrien d'Arberg ?'

"'The gentleman you mention did me that honour,' he answered, with a sneer.

+Lady Bird: a Tale. By Lady Georgians Fullerton, Author of Ellen Middle. tow." &a. In three volumes. Published by Mown. " 'And you refused those proposals without consulting my mother or me?' " I did so, Miss Lifford. Pray what is the drift of these questions ? ' " 'Bear with me a moment. How long ago did this happen?' " 'It may be four or five weeks ago.' " 'M. d'Arberg was here, then ? ' " 'He was.'

" 'And you denied it !' she exclaimed. " Mr. Lifford turned pale with anger, and said, 'If I evaded your inquiries on that occasion, it was from the wish to spare your mother unnecessary agitation.'

" 'And you refused him, then, without consulting her or me ? What did you say to him ? ' She uttered these last words with her eyes bent on the ground and her lips tightly compressed. " 'That he did me much honour, but that I had other views and inten-

ti°'118' 'id he ask to see me, or her?' she said, clasping a small picture of her mother, which she wore round her neck.

"'These questions are unnecessary. Pray dismiss that subject from your thoughts at once.'

"'Dismiss it !' she slowly repeated. Dismiss it ! Has it ever occurred to you that there are thoughts which will not be dismissed ? '

1' have not patience to listen to any folly of this nature. From your birth you have irritated me. Abstain from doing so now. There are points on which I cannot be thwarted with impunity,:

"'And you imagine that I shall accept a husband at your hands. You think that 'I shall submit to you in a matter not merely of life or death but of honour and of dishonour; that I shall smile on the stranger you have brought here to woo use over my mother's grave, and stand with him at the altar with a lie on my lips and despair in my heart ? You have embittered my childhood, you have clouded my youth, you have—' Here she stopped short : even in the passion of that moment she trembled at the dreadful words she was about to utter, and, clasping her throat, went on You have endangered the happiness, the peace, the virtue of your child ; but I tell you, father, that you have not the power to break my heart. I shall be true to him on whom my mother's dying blessing rests, to him whose image at this moment stands between me and despair. If I were never to see him again—if I had not the strength of that hope I should tremble for my- self—' "'You may tremble, then, for there is little prospect that you will ever behold again the presumptuous suitor who dared to thrust himself into my house in my absence, and even into your mother's presence. Her deplorable weakness—' " 0, for Heaven's sake, do not speak of her !' Gertrude cried, as she wrung her hands in almost intolerable emotion. I dare not think of her ; for I would forget that scene—that cry—'

"'And who but you,' he exclaimed, hurried your mother to the grave? —you, and this wretched man, whom I forbid you ever to name again ? '

"She stood opposite to him, drawn up to her full height, her lips as white as a sheet, and each muscle of her frame rigid."

Here is another specimen. After his repulse by the father, Adrien d'Arberg sends a letter to Gertrude through Maurice ; which that genius suppresses. Its discovery, some time after the unfortunate marriage, produces a scene of power. Gertrude has been at a party, where old associations have been revived in her mind.

"When she went home something seemed altered in the part she had as- signed to herself. She was not so calm or so stern as before. Maurice was startled at the expression of her countenance. He felt an imperative desire to question her, to probe her feelings more directly than he had ever yet done. He felt as if for a time he would suffer less if he had something defi- nite to complain of. He longed to be able to reproach her or himself. A terrible temptation beset him that night. He had remained alone in the sitting-room after his wife had left it ; and he went to his desk and took out of it a sealed letter, which he gazed on for some time in silence, as if he would have pierced with his eyes through the folded paper—as if the seal was the barrier between him and something which he at once feared and longed to look into. "The letter was not directed to him. 'If I were to leave it in her way,' he said to himself, and could watch her while she read it, I should see by her eyes, by her colour, by her attitude, what interest it excited, what emotion it awakened. But to give it to her without knowing its contents, I cannot do it. Oh that this detested letter had never reached me ! One quarter of an hour later, and my conscience would have been free from the horrid self-reproach that comes between me and peace every moment of the day. Nothing but this seal to break, and I should learn all. Has not a hus- band the right to know his wife's secrets ? Yet in this way, intrusted to me, and by him too who never knew what it was to suspect or to betray ! 'I know you to be an honourable man' : why did he say that in his accursed note ? I ought to have destroyed or returned this letter the day of my mar- riage. It haunts me as if it was a living thing. I think of it the last thing at night, and the first in the morning, when I walk about the streets; I see it there in its place in my desk, as if it was defying me to read or to destroy it. I will destroy it.' He started up from his chair, and went towards the fire, and held the letter over it, but could not unclose his fingers to drop it. Never to know what that man had to say to her ; never to ascertain if the phantom that pursues me and stands between her and me, i a delusion or a reality ! What an absurd weakness, not to break this seal ! It was to the honour of one who had no claim upon her that he trusted—not to mine, who am her husband, and who ought to have her love.' "He put down on the chimney: the letter that was causing him such a ter- rible struggle. It was estrange inconsistency, perhaps, that a man who had not fulfilled a trust by delivering it, when he ought, to her to whom it was directed, should now so hesitate to make himself master of its contents— should tremble at this sin, when he had committed a greater one. His head was buried in his hands, and he was sunk in deep thought. In an instant he felt, more than perceived, that there was some one standing by Ids side ; and he turned as pale as death when he saw that it was Gertrude. Mechanically he Tad out his hand to snatch up the letter : but she had seen it, and said, in her calm stern manner, That letter is for me—my name is upon it.' His hand trembled ; for one second he thought again of destroying it, but felt giddy and did not do so. She took it from him, and he did not resist ; she looked at it again, and recognized the handwriting. A slight trembling came over her and she turned towards the door.

"'No read it here, ' he abruptly ejaculated. She had used herself to obey him, and sat down at the table. lie remained leaning against the chimne There was a profound silence in the room. He heard the sound ing of the seal, and the unfolding of the paper. She read it t he watched her. He bad often watched her before, but never Att". , hectic spot rose on her marble cheek, and deepened into grew into a burningflush ; the blue veins on her forehead s gan again to tremble. It was dreadful to see her thus moli led, till they seemed unnaturally distended; her mouth quiv " " soot fm

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that trembling - it was like the silence of nature before a s tie of the leaves before the crash of thunder. Then came the • the burst of grief, which nothing could repress. Long held down, it broke forth in that hour. All was forgotten for an instant ; and with her hands on her temples, and torrents of tears streaming down her face, she murmured Adnen's name, and groaned in spirit.

"The fiery element which from his Italian mother had passed into the veins of Maurice inflamed his soul at that instant., and he sprang from the place where he was standing with a fierce impetuosity that would have frightened any but a profoundly miserable woman. It was nothing to her at that moment that he looked as if he could kill her, but it was dreadful to him that he felt it. The reaction was so strong that he staggered and would have fallen if he had not caught hold of the handle of the door. She saw his deadly paleness, and her heart smote her. Maurice ! poor Mau- rice !' she said, and held out both her hands to him. He had sat down, and murmured, Give it me.' She obeyed, put it into his hands ; and now in her turn, sorrowfully, silently, with something between compassion and reproach, she watched him read this letter that had remained so long un- read, and which, earlier seen, would have changed the fate of three persons. It had been enclosed in one to Maurice, and had reached him only the very morning of his marriage when at the point of gaining that end he had so recklessly pursued. Adrian had simply requested him to take an !oppor- tunity of giving it to Gertrude, either himself or through Mary, or in any way that would insure her receiving it He had added, that he could trust him knowing he had to deal with an honourable man and one who knew him (Adrien) well enough to rely on the integrity of his motives in desiring such secrecy."