THE DUKE AND THE COUSIN IS Of that class of
fictions which provoked the censors of another age to denounce novel-reading, as tending to unfit the young for enduring the realities of' life, by giving them false notions of the world. The authoress is amiable and well-intentioned, with a kind of pleasant elegance of style; but she is ignorant of the probabili- ties of Mb, and not over-well acquainted with the usages of socioty. Still her novel, in despite of errors which trench upon absurdity, has a story that has something of interest as it approaches its close. It is a more than respectable fiction of the circulating library school.
"The Duke" of Mrs. GREY is intended for no less a person than the Duke of WELL! N G TON ; who, under the title of' the Duke of Strat haven, amuses his mornings by walking about the Parks to culti- vate the acquaintance of a young damsel of gentle blood but reduced fortunes; watches over the interests of the flintily, in a fit of mingled generosity, romance, and passion ; quotes poetry, and WASHINGTON IRVING on English park scenery ; and finally, falls in love, and marries. The whole conception is exquisitely absurd; but there is a character in its very impudence V.- and a kind of melodramatic effect is produced by the Duke—.,vhen in office too l—walking about in disguise, like an Oriental Caliph, to do good.
The Cousin" mentioned along the heading of the pages, though not in the title, we cannot point out ; as there are several cousins. Evelyn Cecil, the heroine, and future Dutehess of Strathaven, is the daughter of a naval officer, who has involved himself by en- deavouring to vie with his noble connexions, and whose sister, Lady Clairville, refuses to assist him, as she suspects an attachment between Evelyn and her son Julian, which may be broken off by dooming her brother's family to obscurity. Cousin Julian is de- signed far another cousin, Blanche ; but Blanche loves and marries her cousin, Herbert Cecil ; so Julian, after being involved in an aftitire dot cantr, which almost ends in an elopement and Doctors' Commons, and wandering over Europe and part of Africa, marries a younger sister of Evelyn's, who is so like her it serves his turn as well.
It were tedious to follow out the details of a story where the in- cidents are not very probable, and the manners far front exact.
*. It is said that BENTLEY, when he found his criticisms upon a Greek ex- creme, answered one after another by the authority of PINDAR, cried out at last, "Pinder was a bold fellow, but thou art an impudent one." But the pleasant style and amiable spirit we have spoken of may be shown by a few quotations.
USES OF FIELD-SPORTS.
In truth, it must be said there is scarcely a more pleasing sight, par- ticularly in these days of luxury and self-indulgence, than that of a young man, who in London is a complete petit maitre, devoted to every description of false and effeminate pleasure, discarding all his frippery, and in his shooting- jacket, thick shoes, and rough gaiters, walking forth as sturdily into the stub- ble-tield or tangled coppice, as if his feet bad never trout the carpeted saloons of Crockford's, or he had never breathed the perfnmed air of a boudoir or opera- Lox. We may suppose this excessive fbndness fir the sports of the field, among the higher classes of the English, has at least a salutary effect on the nationel char:tete]. ; inasmuch as the manliness it inculcates and encourages
one half of the year, isa powerful counterbalance to the enervating and trivial pursuits of the other. This may partially account fun-some peculiar character- istics of .those whom we may call, par exeellenee, English gentlemen : I mean that union of personal elegance, with a harililmod and contempt of fatigue, not exceeledl by the poorest laliourer ; a rolmstness of frame, with extreme deli- cacy of idea ; and a deep insight into the Sybarite's science of good living and luxurious enjoyment, with the simple manners mid healthful constitution of a peasant. There is certainly no other nation of which the most influential part pass so much of their time in the country, or pursue so eag,erly the invigorating recreations it affords : this we may infer, while it gives a healthy tone of mind and manliness of spirit and demeanour, in a great measure counteracts the baleful influence of the follies and dissipations of a town life. Indeed, there is something of purity in the liappinee, connected with a country lab, that ins- parts its nature to the character; and when we observe that the profligate, the mercenary, or the malevolent, can rarely enter into the pleasure which is ieluIu it lry exercise in the pure and re»ovating air, the rich prospect unfolding the illimitable I e luties of creation, or the trauquil study of nature in all her " cunning work," we may fairly conclude that the feelings which soch thmngs call SO abundantly from the heart, are in themselves virtuous; and thioutglm the palled sel.ses may shrink from their partivipation, we cannot doubt their being the natural and genuine sources of enjoyment bestowed by a beneficent Creator, especially when we see them last long after the fictitious charms of tlte world have ccaeed to please.
EVENTIDP..
There is an eventide in the day, an hour when the son retires and the sha- dows fall, and when nature assumes time appearance of soberness and silence. It is an hour whieh in all ages the good have loved, as bringing with it senti- ment: and affecti.m, more valuable than all the splendour of the day. Its first impression is to still all the turbulence of thought or passion which the day may have brought firth. When all is silent around us, we feel a kindred stillness breathe upon our souls, and calm them from the agitations of society. In the day we live with men, in the eventide we begin to live with nature. We see the world withdrawn from us, the shades of night darken over the habitations of men, and we feel ourselves alone. It is an hour fitted to still, but with a gentle hand. the throh of every mull Iv passion, and to waken in our I earts those pore iitieetions which the glue of the day may have dissolved. While the shades of night darken upon dwellings, the splendours of the firma- ment COIDC thrward to cmr view. Heaven opens to our eyes the radiance of a sublimer being ; and while we firget for a time the obscurity of earthly con- cerns, we feel that there are " yet greater things than these."
LONDON IN OCTOBER.
Who has not remarked that the month of October, in London, is ever dismal. That the desuted streets—the closed houses—the shops en dishabille— the solithry carriage—hi short, that every thing proclaims that the season of pleasure and busieess is over ? A universal dulness is spread over the vast city. Even the hackney-coach-horses, surfeited with leisure, have time to doze upon their steed. The porters and link-boys starve, or grow fat with inactivity; and indeed, front the highest to the lowest, all feel the miseries of inaction.
To be alone ainonst e wilderness of houses, the view of heaven obstructed from our gaze, the very atmosphere we breathe loaded with the corrupted air of a large city, is a refinement on melancholy. If we are to be alone, let it at least be with nature, where we may breathe the pure air of heaven, anl survey the beauties of creation ; where every instant some sense of enjoyment may be experienced, though it be experienced alone. Solitude is never so irksome as haunts which we have at other times seen tilled with the tumult of diversion or business.
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