LITERARY SPECTATOR.
CAR WELL.
CARWELL is truly designated as a tale of crime and sorrow. It is a very affecting history of the enduring attachment of a charming young creature to her husband, in despite of misfortune, crime, jea- lousy, and suffering. The interest excited in the reader is great : the style of the authoress (for none but a woman could write it) is ele- gant and copious, and the incidents are well conceived and well ma- naged. The writer is one who herself must have borne the cross. No one can touch the feelimes without having felt : experience, sad and painful experience, makes twill the poet and the novelist. Carwell is a young man of a generous and affectionate nature, who, in a moment of dif!iculty, is drawn into seeking a resource at the gaming-house ; he is led on to a connexion with some hardened villains, who make him instrumental in the uttering of forged. notes. His wife is a silent and suffering spectator; she is not aware that her husband is committing crimes, but she feels that he is connected with criminals, for the persons who frequent his house are not to be mistaken. She does not conceive it her duty.to rebel against these proceedings : seeing that Carwell is unhappy, she, tries ratherto soothe his distress. At last the shock arrives,—Carwell is arrested and committed for uttering forged bank-notes, and is con- demned to transportation for life. The alfectien of his wife remains undiminished : her sole happiuess continues to be in his presence : he is the sole being, friend, or relative, she has ever known since the death of her mother. The hope of rejoining him in New South Wales enables her to bear the pain of separation ; and, in order to shorten the period of absence, she hits upon a singular expedient, which we believe has been :timely tried more than once. She re- solves upon committing a transportable offence, and for this pur- pose utters a forged note herself. She has, however, miscalculated— the punishment of her crime is death, and she is executed. Poor Carwell, in the mean time, by his tu>,iftd and respectable conduct at Port Jackson, has gaine:1 the friendship of his master, who has agreed to send for his wife : he is in daily expectation at least of hearing of her, when the newspapers, with flair horrible minuteness, inform him of the event that has taken place. He wanders into the woods, and dies.
The following letter is found in his hand : it is from his wife, on the eve of executiun. Mrs. INCII13ALD in her Simple Story, and Mrs. OPIE in her Tales, have not exceeded its natural pathos.
TO'FLIMUND CAI:WELL.
" The circumstances that led me to a disgraceful death, my Canyon, will
he viewed with indidgenee by him for whose sake I have committed a fatal error. They will be exactly detailed to you, and their publicity will unhap- pily attest their truth. Perhaps I ought to entreat you to forget nie, but I have not strength of mind to do so ; soon my only existence in this world will be in your memory. Do not let me lose it : whoever may be the com- panions of your after life, remember the love of youth—remember Charlotte —her who forfeited her life for the chance or spending it with you! Better, and even more amiable, others may be,—but will any one love you as I have done ?
" Remember me, then, dear Edmund ; T still claim my place in your heart, and all the more eagerly, as this is the last time I may urge it. My voice will soon he silenced for e‘er, and no friend is left to talk of me to you—to bid youlake care of yourself for my sake. In the new and strange land where your days must pass, there will be nothing to remind you of me. The scenes where you spent your youth, and she who dwelt in them with you, will alike have vanished for ever. The recollection of both will perhaps fade away. You will hear of them no more.
" Keep this letter : it will perhaps catch your eye when many years of for- getfulness are past, and you will say, Charlotte loved me.' " Ah, Edmund ! forgive me ; I know you will grieve long and deeply; I have more cause to fear that I shall be too well remernhered, than that 1 shall be forgotten. May you think of me with atilictiim, but without pain ! May you find friends ; and may a happier attachment make you amends for all you have suffered since we limited, and when we were together ! Alas I did
we suffer when we were foifetecii I can hardly believe it possible!
" Do not grieve—at least, not long. Seek to he consoled ; pray for your- self and for me. Employ yourself. If the spirits tiff the dead have power to know what is passing here, mine shall not be far from you. I shall still share your joys and your sorrows—still hear and watch you. When I think that this lot may still be mine, the grave seeens less dark, and death less dis- mal. Forgive me the discontent I was once ungrateful enough to show you, when I misconstrued your reserve at the beginning of our misfortunes. Con- quer those feelings that my fate will cause, ethey make you yield to indolence.
"I need not beg you to avoid the faults that divided us ; they have been severely punished. Camel!, dear husband, best of friends, most beloved of human creatures, farewell ! My last prayer will be for you—my last wish will be to have seen you before my death. CHARLOTTE."
This volume is attributed to the widow of a man of genius, the . son of a man of genius. If this is Mrs. T. SHERIDAIsi.S first work, we exhort her to persevere.
* Carwell, or, Crime and Sorrow. London, 1830.
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