ANNE GREY.

THE titlepage tells us that this work is only " edited" by the author of Granby. The preface, with an earnest seriousness, more explicitly assures us that this is the fact. It also informs us that Anne Grey is the maiden production of a lady, who desires to re- main unknown. This may be true; yet the perjuries of authors, like those of lovers, meet with such ready pardon, that we must ground our final conclusion on some better evidence than the writer's word. Of this anon. In the mean time, it may be said that should Anne Grey not be a production of Mr. LISTER'S, it is an excellent imitation. If the author of Granby has not founded a school, he has at least one very able disciple.

Were any one asked to define Mr. LISTER.S class of composition, the true answer would be, that it was one of modes. Ile is an agreeable and a lively formalist. Passion, and the conception and creation of character, are beyond his powers : be is scarcely equal to the portraiture of manners, still less of manners as modified by the character or habits of the individual ; but he strikes an average of good-breeding, and presents us with a style of conduct and behaviour which will pass in all times and places, without being very distinctive of any. His mind is not remarkable for its depth or its range. What he seen, lie sees clearly; but he perceives little below the surface. His ideas are gathered from life. The sphere of observation, however, is limited, and more limited in variety than in extent. His experience seems confined to one class—the respectably fashionable; people who are in the " world," rather than of it; whose presence there is not essen- tial, whose absence would not be missed; persons who have no business, who are too good and too unimportant to make pleasure their pursuit, and who (sooth to say) while or drone away life. From this limitation of view, arises the uniformity of his subjects and his mode of treatment; his novels are always, "another, yet the same." Love is the staple of his manufac- ture: the lovers are crossed by circumstances and by opponents, but eventually they are successful. We have already described his class of characters : the major part of the scenes arc laid in the country-house of a country gentleman ; there is always an ex- cursion to the great place of a great man, and sometimes to London. The villains—or rather the bad persons of the piece— are the least successful, and bear about them the most unequivocal stamp of the fictitious. They are not the rogues of life; people who practise indirect means for the advantages which they yield,. and who are indifferent in indifferent matters, and perhaps even good. Mr. LISTER 'S rogues are rogues in grain ; professional persons, who are too skilful, and follow villany as a vocation, not use it as a help ; whilst a touch of the romantic is thrown into their composition, which brightens the individual person without improving the character. It should be added, that the writer's style is always neat and clear ; sometimes terse, smart, or pointed, easy without affectation, effective without apparent labour. Were internal evidence as to the general composition of a work conclusive as to its authorship, Anne Grey is the production of the author of Granby: for all his characteristics are therein displayed. If we come down to detached passages, the same con- clusion may be drawn. The following, amongst many others, may be adduced : the well-born (Mr. LISTER never talks of nobly) the well-bred, the sensible—the dash of point—the touch of truth— the pervading smartness, just sufficient to redeem the sketch from commonplace or insipidity—mark the hand of LISTER, or display a most felicitous power of imitation.

Mr. and Mrs. Grey were good sort of people. Mr. Grey was a middlz-aged man, neither tall nor short; sensible, though not clever ; and in all respects as little remarkable as others of the numerous class of good sort of men, who are allowed to know quite as much and a little more than their neighbours. He married a woman in every way inferior to himself. She was less well- born, less well-bred, a good deal less sensible, and decidedly a great deal more of a good sort of a person. Mr. Grey might or might not be aware of her in- feriority : if he was, the world knew nothing of it, for he seemed perfectly con- tented, and never fidgeted out of the room when his wife's vulgar relations came to see him, or coloured up with a virtuous sense of mortified superiority, when Mrs. Grey appeared rather unsuperior in the presence of his own better connexions.

It was evident that Mr. and Mrs. Grey went on well together ; not exactly as a cat and dog will do, who have been taught by the habits of companionship the one to beware of sharp claws, the other of the snap of her canine friend's sharp teeth ; but really without any consciousness that they were not meant for each other's society. Mr. Grey looked on his wife as " Mrs. Grey," and Mrs. Grey looked on her husband as " Mr. Grey ; " and that Mr. and Mrs. Grey should not be the two people in the world best suited to one another, never seemed to enter the minds of either of them.

Yet though the general effect, and particular passages, may be strongly opposed to the assertions of the preface and the titlepage, they are scarcely conclusive against some counter evidence to be found in the volumes. They seem to be written by an unpractised writer. There is not, indeed, any chasm in the narrative, but there frequently appears a difficulty in maintaining the continuity of the narration ; the author has not —or has designedly sup- pressed—the art of gracefully sliding from one subject to another. The progress of the story is constantly suspended for remarks ; or rather, we have what spay be termed a disquisitional nar- rative. There are also more reflections than Mr. LISTER has hitherto introduced. These are, it is true, pleasant, tender, or shrewd (though neither very new nor very profound;) but their number somewhat retards the march of events,, and wearies the Leaders of a novel. There is something too, as the advertise- ment observes, " in the feminine tone and character of the work." Upon the interesting subject of love and lovers, the female mind is laid open on points which a man would scarcely venture upon ; certainly in a broader manner than most men would deem true. Our education and habits may render us, as JACQUEMONT re- marked, almost ignorant of modesty; but we are fastidious, and like, in love affairs, to paint heroines as not very much lower than the angels. In closing the estimate of the pros and cons, we may remark that Anne Grey exhibits something more of feeling than Mr. LISTER has yet displayed. Leaving the question of authorship as a pleasing puzzle, we come to a more important matter for the reader—the work itself. Its character has been already indicated sufficiently : the main subject is the love of Anne Grey for Mr. Temple, and the loves of Geotge Foley and of Cousin Dodson for Anne Grey. There is nothing in the characters, circumstances, or situations of the par- ties, to prevent a settlement with each or either ; an agent must -therefore be called in to make the cauldron boil and bubble ; this agent is Charlotte Daventry. Her father was brother-in-law to Mr. they : he killed his wife by his unkindness; hated his bro- ther-in law for his interference, and still more for his moderation ; -died poor; and left his daughter Charlotte to the care of Mr. Grey, charging her on his deathbed to revenge him. This charge Miss Daventry fulfils to the best of her power : living a .life of hypocrisy, she strives to break Anne Grey's heart in breaking oft' her match ; she tries to involve Lady S..oketon (the ci-devant Miss Grey) in an intrigue ; she inveigles William Grey into an attachment, to please the shade of her father, and two other gentlemen, it would appear, to please herself; she also forms some vague scheme to ruin Mr. Grey. But all her arts fail; fortune opposes her ; she goes mad, and dies. The character is not very probable; the extraordinary art which she displays, still less so. With so many irons in the fire, and employing -them in such various directions, it would have been impossible to behave SO cleverly as to escape detection, from that sharpness of observation which people who live in the world are obliged to exercise. But, though hardly a probable character, Charlotte 'Daventry is carefully, nay elaborately done. She has some scenes with Anne and her elder sister that show the arts of the gentler sex, the lengths to which ladies will go, and how dangerous a mischievous woman may become; bits of truth, transcribed, ap- parently from life, though scarcely belonging in their cumulation to a single person. Yet the exaggeration of Charlotte Daventry may be forgiven, for the account of Anne's conduct when she is led to believe that Temple is fickle and she is forsaken. Her struggles, her quiet sufferings, her gentle resignation, her illness, are truly, beautifully, touchingly, told (though not perhaps told for the first time); and the effect is heightened by the knowledge that similar wretchedness is frequently inflicted and without de- sign from the undue impressment of a gentleman's manners, his desire to make himself agreeable, and his admiration of the beau- tiful. Our late most religious and gracious King, it is said, recommended Lady CHARLOTTE BURN'S Flirtation to young ladies of high birth, as a moral alterative: the Spectator would propose parts of the third volume of Anne Grey to young gentlemen.

We have observed that the work is not all story; and our ex- tracts shall come from the less connected parts.

A PARTY.

There assembled, were Lord Hadley ; whom we must just mention as a well- informed, agreeable man, having a decided taste for hunting, and the reputation of being one of the ugliest men in England—Miss Trevor, who was always in good time, and had never been too late for breakfast, luncheon, or dinner, in her rife—Mr. and Mrs. Cartwright, both young and both devoted ; not to each other—no, though they really appeared to go on exceedingly well together, and generally called one another " thur," and " Emily," and " my dear," in so- ciety; but that to which they were both devoted was, the one to being thought pretty and agreeable by all the world, as well as Mr. Cartwright ; the other to being thought agreeable and dangerous to the weaker and better half of the world, which Mrs. Cartwright was not unwilling to leave to his attention.

Then there was a good old prosy man—Sir Henry Poynton, a K.C.B., who had seen much active service, and was quite ready to talk about it wherever he could get any one to listen; always ready to laugh at a good joke, when he could understand it, or to puzzle at it till he did, and never grudged giving his laugh gratis five minutes after the call for it had ceased, and every one had become grave again.

Lady Marston, the Ladies Mary and Agnes Dalton, and Mr. Arthur Dalton, were variously ilistributed about the room ; Lady Mary looking the amiable and pretty to attract the attention of another of the party, whom I have not yet named—no other than Lord Stoketun, one of the young men to whom mammas are very partial ; in other words, a good " parti." Lord Stoketon was an ordinary kind of gentlemanlike, talkative, good- hearted young man, who was not in the least attending to Lady Mary and her prettiness, but looking in a sort of vacant happiness round the room, standing with his back to where the fire should have been. Lady Agnes Dalton was looking ugly and sensible in a conversation with Lord Hadley, who evidently considered her rather a bore, and felt the weight of her good sense more heavily than he wished. Mr. Arthur Dalton was whispering to Mrs. Cartwright, in a congenial armchair, sociably drawn close to hers.

A CONFIDANTE.

Lord Stoketon hall been very attentive that evening, and had said one or two " very strange," " very particular things," as Sophy confessed. " What did Anne think of it ?"

Anne said she thought there could be doubt of his partiality. " Oh no ! " said Sophy, neither looking pleased, nor very much the reverse.

It was evident she did not wish to to assured by her confidante that Lord Stoketon was deeply in love with her. Of that she was convinced ; but that of which she now wanted to be convinced, was whether she was in love with Lord Stoketon. This was the point on which Anne was to be useful. Sophy blushed, and sighed, and almost cried ; and said he was so rich, and had such a beautiful place in the country, and bad such a good house iri town. She wished she knew whether she liked him. She thought she ought to accept him if he proposed ; and he had almost—he bad %aid something that evening; then a great effort, and a turn away of the head from Anne, and a sigh ; and then was forced out, " What do you think Captain Herbert would say, Anne, if he beard that I was going to be married?" There was the point then ! And now Sophy feels much happier. Now the confidante knows what is ailing, and all goes on smoothly. She can work at her difficulties. She can soften down Lord Stoketon's rouglintssee. She can refine the gallant Captain away into a mere military coxcomb—a maker of love to all the pretty girls of a watering-place. A little polish makes Lord Stoke- ton perfect; a very little brighter polish shows Captain Herbert a mere puppet —a man of soft speeches, rings, and chains. A still less skilful hand might us a bolder measure, and place in simple truth, and in bright array before the eyes of the wavering fair one, on the one side, houses, lands, carriages, jewels, coronet ! On the other, one gig, one showy horse, a small house by the road- side, a showy husband, using alone the showy gig, and the one showy horse, with the one showy, half-starved boy of all work—" All for myself, none fur my little wife at home! "

One reason for crediting that a lady may be the writer of Anne Grey, is the frequency with which the love of woman is alluded to; the tenderness with which it is regarded, the feeling with which it is painted. The following elegant passage, reflective, yet with pictures in its thought, will exemplify our remark.

Men have hearts too ; and women's hearts—alas they may be broken. Feelings may be trifled with—the scrutiny of a character—the hope to (hive away the ennui of a rainy day in a country-arouse—the vanity which had taken alarm at an indifferent tone from a pretty and an indifferent person—all or any of these may lead to the devoted attention, the tone, the look, the deceit—the self-deceit ! And then comes the woman's affection unalterably given ; the man's assertion to himself and others that " he meant nothing." Too late to say that, when the woman, deceived and confiding, has sunk under the shock of blighted hopes. Too late when, her health injured, her happiness gone, the once young, the beautiful, the gay, the light-hearted, has sunk into the being with beauty vanished, with feelings grown old, distrustful, hopeless, perhaps soured in temper, she either lives to swell the list of peevish, back- biting, tale-bearing, old maids, or she sinks at once more sadly, or perhaps more enviably, into the early grave. There she lies broken-hearted in the room where the sun had streamed in so often to waken her to bright images—to day- dreams of happiness, to the smiles of fond parents, to their approving looks, to the recollection of childish hours—of childish hopes, of a heart still child- like and innocent, gay, lovely, and confiding. There she lies now, in that same room, a poor broken-hearted thing—foriorn and hopeless. There ;via she lies on that bed, where she hail lain herhead so peaceably in days gone by. The curtains are drawn around, the white sheet spread over, all white, cold, and still—there she lies, a corpse ! And she has found her rest, and her bed, from which she had risen day by day to happiness, from which she had risen, flushed with hope, to meet hit return—that bed is her bed ofdeath. And she is beautiful in death; though pain and mortal suffering have set their stamp on her brow. Sisters have wept, and parents preyed, and the last kiss ha been given; the coffin is closed, and the burst of grief and horror over: all is still.

And where is he? the author of this wretchedness, where is he now ? There in the world, gay, and, as he would say," happy ;" devoted to some new fair one —making new conquests, and meaning nothing. " Miss — is dead !" Does that strike sadly or with upbraiding on his ear ?—No. She is lying cold and stiff in her winding-sheet. He says, " Ah poor girl ! I knew her once ;" and then after a pause, some witticism is uttered he laughs, he is g and that is all the deceiver thinks of his victim."

The class with whom Mr. LISTER perhaps lives, and certainly the one which he introduces into his works, has a great horror of trade. This is true, and not strange. Mixing rarely in active affairs, they know nothing of commerce or manufactures in their works, and they never study their effects. The traders they do encounter are among the worst of their kind—gross pretenders to and mean aspirants after fashion. The peculiar position of his persons also renders them more obnoxious to the attacks and in- trusion of the vulgar, just as the inhabitants of a frontier town are the most pestered by the incursions of strangers. See the writer's account of

A TRADER'S RELICT AND HER SON.

Mrs. Dodson was not only fat, but vulgar. It was vulgarity not in person alone, though in that she was preeminent, but vulgarity of mind. She thought highly of herself, highly of her son, highly of her thousands a year ; her house on which thousands had been expended, her garden, her hothouses, pinerin, conservatories, all the many good things which money can give, but she thought still more highly of every man, woman, ur child, to whose name was appended those pleasing little fascinating words, Lord, Lady, Viscount, Earl, Marquis, or Duke. Highly she thought of every one whom ;lie could mention as a " very fashionable person." Great people were Mrs. Dodson's idols, to whom she bowed, not gracefully, that she could not do—her figure forbad. But she did bow most profoundly in her heart, and set a value on every one, exactly in pro- portion to the number of the Peerage or of the fashiunables whom they could count amongst their acquaintances. Mrs. Dodson was a good mother, and had been a good wife; and where kind- ness was really called for it was always bestowed. But she had at the :Wile time a large fund of envy and will tuwards those who rose superior to liereit in rank, wealth, or fashion. She was pompous, and tried to depreciate others in extolling herself. Her only son " Bob," or " Mr. Robert Dodson," as he was called, was ex- actly the person to have been expected from such parents. He was awkward in manners and appearance ; free from any reproach of intellectuality or refine- ment; like his mother, not bad-hearted ; any unlike her, he was troubled with mauvaise honte to a distressing degree when brought into the presence of those whom an innate sense of something wanting in himself told him were his sups riors. He was not so vulgar in externals as his mother. His pomposity did not appear so much; we hardly know, in fact, whether it really existed ; and in person, though he was awkward, he might have passid very well for a stupid,