MRS. HALL'S WHITEBOY

IS a didactic novel on the political evils of Ireland. Notwithstanding the multitude of expositions that have been put forth upon the origin of Irish 21s, we think Mrs. Hall has thrown a new light upon the cause of the " national " feelings that irritate the mass of the people and the Young Ireland party. Her propositions for remedying the evil are not so clear; at least they are not very practicable ; for they seem to consist in a resi- dent landlord, backed by an English fortune, improving his estate and his tenantry. In an Irish fiction that enters at all upon public life the elements are generally the same. First and foremost, there are an oppressive Protest- ant middleman, and an Irish patriot, towards whom the middleman nourishes a personal enmity mixed up with rivalry of some kind or other. Then there is usually a benevolent landlord, or person in autho- rity, to cut difficulties when they become too tangled for unravelment ; together with officers, magistrates, peasantry, &c., to exhibit the passions of the people, and the Irish method of doing business, as well as a love- affair of course. These things form the materials of The Whiteboy; but they are put together with great art, and with much less of coarse- ness and melodramatic exaggeration than Bellies and some later novelists have displayed. Abel Richards, the apostate Romanist and Protestant middleman, is drawn with truth and skill; his hypocrisy, selfishness, and treachery, are admirably developed, his rankness and coarseness rather indicated than shown. The character of Edward Spencer, the wealthy young Englishman who has just succeeded to an Irish property, and who visits Ireland to see its condition with his own eyes, furnishes a contrast to the native gentry, and enables many things to be naturally exhibited to a stranger that would seem forced in the ease of an Irish- man. The Irish landlords are well drawn ; reckless and violent in their politics, but not so coarse or sensual as it has been the fashion to paint them in some late fictions. The tone and manners seem modern— quite of the present day ; although the time is laid nearly a quarter of a century ago' during the periods of the great famine and the Whiteboy outrages in the West.

It is in the connexion of these public incidents with the persons, and the use which is made of them in the course of the tale, that the great art of The Whiteboy consists. The two leading positions of Mrs. Hall as to the origin of Irish dissatisfaction and disturbances do not greatly differ from those of other writers. She admits the distinction of races— the insolence of a dominant, the bitter submission of a conquered caste ; and attributes the violence and outrages of the peasantry to physical des- titution : but she adds a third element to these two, which, if not abso- lutely new in itself, throws, as wrought out in the novel, a new light upon the feelings of the Young Ireland party. Notwithstanding the length of time which has elapsed since the conquest, and even since the last confiscations, the native Irish still cherish the remembrance of their ancient rank and property ; preserve their genealogies with the precision of a herald ; and, if they do not all look forward with a wild hope to the resumption of " their own" lands, are still animated to hatred against the Saxon possessor, and prompt to bring the memory of the past to add to the bitterness of the present, which (as in other coun- tries) with more demand for labour and less physical destitution, would have faded away under the business of an active life, or been looked upon merely as an historical fact. The Irish peasant," continued Mr. Graves, [an Irish beneficed clergyman, who falls in with Edward Spencer on their passage from England, and bears a subse- quent part in the tale,] " lives amid the faded glories of his country, knows and feels it: his cabin is mud-walled and miserable, yet the ruined castle he passes by to go to his ill-remunerated labour bears his name. This yields him a gloomy satisfaction ! He looks on the crumbling walls, and knows that the glories of his ancestors are not mere fables. His wife' while digging the potato-garden, or whirring at her wheel, sings the cherished legends of Ins race; tells their triumphs and their oppressions to the children who tremble in rags at her knee; and dim prophecies of the future—when 'Ireland shall be herself again '—when Ireland shall belong to the Irish-,--when Tara's kings shall dispense 'justice to Ireland are repeated and listened to with avidity at every wake and fair; the story-teller vies with the piper in attracting listeners; and, grateful as they feel for inditidual kindnesses of the Saxon race, they look upon them in a body as not only in- truders hut oppressors."

"Surely, even-handed justice could prevent this," said Edward.

Mr. Graves smiled. "It would not beeasy to persuade a man that you meant him justly, while you retained what he believed to be his." "But consider the impossibility of upsetting a country after centuries of un- disturbed inheritance have passed," observed Edward. "Of course," answered the Dean, "I know that: but fancy the impolicy of leaving a highly sensitive and imaginative people to brood, with misery and want for their companions, over the wildly but truly chronicled tales of former great- ness, wrenched from them by force or fraud. If they had been drawn into active life—if they found their labour sufficiently productive to afford them subsistence— if efforts had been made to elevate and not depress them in the scale of human- kind—such memories would have faded into fables, or have been in a great degree lost; as they must be where existing realities demand perpetual thought, instead of romancing over an old man's tale. We all seek something to cling to in this world—something to raise us above the tides and currents of life: the poor Eng- lishman clings to his comforts; the poor Irishman might have done the same, if he had had them to cling to; but, ragged, tattered, the shivering wreck of the past— his foot still on his native heath—the music of his native land ringing in his ears— the history of his country graven on his heart—those in whom he trusts whisper- ing disquieting advice, the advice his restless, ardent, and faithful nature best loves to hear—the only marvel is, that instead of occasional outbursts, the fes- tering indications of unhealthy constitutions, the disease has not been more uni- versal and more deadly. Think, my dear Sir, of these things; think, as I have so often found it necessary to do, lest my heart should harden; think, not so much of what, under the excitement and influence of dangerous men, the people do, as of what for a long series of years they have forborne to do."

The view thus early announced is developed in the story, but with- out obtrusiveness or exaggerated effects. The leading Whiteboy, Law- rence Macarthy, is a descendant of an ancient king or chief, with just enough left from confiscation and the extravagance of his ancestors to keep him from starvation. Shut out by political scruples, as well as by want of means or interest, from the professions—unable to embark in business, if his ancestral pride would allow him—he loiters about at home, leading an equivocal half-sporting life, looked down upon by the gentry, but deeply respected by the native Irish. This condition renders him well-disposed to join the illegal associations; which he does on the modern plea of "Ireland for the Irish," though he partakes of all the local hatreds, and does not shrink from the felonious crimes of the Whiteboys. Connected with him in his schemes is an Irishman of greater standing and respectability—an officer in the Army, which he quits, to endeavour to free his native land. He is stimulated to this course partly by credulous enthusiasm, partly by his love for the half-sister of Lawrence, who has been brought up by the family of her mother, and who is of course the heroine of the book. In the conception of these characters, and their connexion with the story, great skill ia shown, especially in Lawrence Macarthy. His position just raises him above the mere peasant, whilst it gives him all their feelings, prejudices, and crimes. His inexperience and ignorance of history make him really believe in the possibility of his schemes; whilst they prevent him from seeing that his own plans of outrage, and of revenge against Abel Richards

the middleman, contribute nothing towards his patriotic end. With his public follies, not to say crimes, are combined the private weaknesses or vices incident to his position. His temper is violent, his disposition selfish ; he is regardless of truth, or of spirit in the English understanding of it, and tinscrupulous in his means to an end; and he has all the faults of little- ness that arise from narrow understanding and half-education. He tempts Louis, the enthusiastic officer, into the cause, by misrepresenting his half-sister's feeling ; he suppresses the letters in which she explains herself and urges the hopelessness of their plans ; he is angry with Louis for his displeasure at their assassinations and ineendiarism, but jealous Of his larger views and superior strategy : yet, though stained with false- hood, selfishness, and other vices that border upon baseness, they are Made so natural to his character and circumstances, that they seem un- avoidable, and do not leave that mean impression which in another per- son they would inevitably do. Not the slightest allusion is made to mo- dern Young Ireland ; but it is probable that Mrs. Hall had in her mind the dreamy hopes, unscrupulous assertions, and wild reveries of some of its orators, when she drew the character of Lawrence Maearthy.

Many of the other characters are equally well drawn, though not so Striking or original. One of the best is Mr. O'Driscoll, the Orange magistrate ; with strong political prejudices and reckless indifference to human life, yet with a feeling heart at bottom. His first appearance is at a meeting of Magistrates held in consequence of the burning of Abel

Richards's house ; where Magistrates, Spencer, full of indignation at having

witnessed the distress arising from the death of a peasant, is first in- trodueed to the Irish gentry.

IRISH MAGISTERIAL MEETING.

It is always much easier to get a number of Irish country gentlemen together for amusement than for the despatch of business—mere business; and though the lives and properties of many were at stake, yet the meeting bore too close an affinity to abstract thought to be very interesting to the majority, who gra- dually strolled off to inspect the kennels, bet upon some favourite horse in "the master's" stables, or dip a line in the beautiful river Sullane that waters the domain, or for any other purpose that might wile them away from serious occu- pation. Edward was surprised to perceive that those who lingered in the diningroom were much more full of mirth and mischief than care or concern; and more ready to jest than to look grave upon the state of the country. They all, however, shook him cordially by the hand; and it was his fault, but not theirs, if he did not feel as much at home with them in five minutes as he would have done with his own countrymen in as many months. Before the entire party—who, after various messengers had been despatched for them, came dropping in by twos and threes—were assembled, he took occasion to tell his host of the outrage he had witnessed on the road. "My dear Sir," exclaimed one who was amusing himself by tossing fragments qf oaten bread into a dog's mouth, "the fact is, you are new to the country, and do not understand our ways." Edward turned so abruptly round on the speaker, while his deep intelligent eye inquired more eloquently than words could -have done the meaning of what he had said, that the Dean laid his hand on his arm. _" The fellow, depend upon it, deserved what he got, or he would not have got it," added the speaker.

a But his life has been taken, Sir," replied Edward; "and surely the military are not suffered to rough-ride through a country and butcher whom they please."

"Really, Sir," said a blustering, burly, jovial. looking 'squire in top-boots, a blue coat, and buff waistcoat, "Really, Sir, where we have so much to investigate that is important, I cannot see the use of occupying time about what is not—bothering and confusing one thing with another." "Easy, easy, mygood friend," interrupted as jovial and good-tempered "a spark of the Emerald' as any in the hall. "Easy, I say. From the notes Mr. Spencer made on the spot, which our reverend friend the Dean has just shown me, Fm thinking it's one of my tenants that's shot., and one that never was a gale behind; and I mast have it seen into immediately." " But, Sir," observed Edward, "what does it matter whose tenant he was? he WAS a man and a subject"

"A Papist rebel, I'll go bail," interrupted a voice.

"Well, Sir," said Edward, "and if he was, he had as good a right to the pro- tection afforded by the laws of his country as either you or I—he had a right to a fair trial."

" Bathershin !" exclaimed the same rough and thundering voice.

"I do not understand what the gentleman means," observed Edward, with a look of inquiry to the Dean; who only smiled. "What do you mean by calling a tenant of mine a 'Papist rebel ? ' " said the gentleman who was, with Dean Graves, looking over Mr. Spencer's notes. "What I say," replied the county colossus, as, striding forward from amid a group who indulged in the bad habit of standing round the fire or the fire-place, he marched across the room and looked the querist full in the face. "A Papist

rebel, go bail," he repealed " and as to such a fellow having a right to a fair trial, or a trial of any kind, I deny it in tote. A trial ! Cock a Papist up with a fair trial, indeed! If I had my own will and way, I'd soon quiet the country: I'd shoot 'em like so many rats!' "I dare say you would," observed the person he addressed, and who seemed rather to shrink from coming in contact with one who appeared to Edward half giant half savage; "but you wouldn't like a good paying tenant of your own to be shot, Mr. O'Driscoll." "It shall certainly be investigated," repeated Edward: and his quiet, calm, de- termined tone, had a peculiarly clear and impressive sound, following, as it did, the rolling thunder of the giant's brogue, and the sharp clamour of the eager speaking of the past minute. "I ask not concerning any man's faith—"

Don't ye, though ? " interrupted the giant. "Bedad, my boy, you've a great deal to learn, thee

"I ask not," repeated Edward, looking steadily at O'Driscoll, "concerning any man's faith; but I demand justice; and I will certainly have this (as it seems to me) murder investigated. If you, gentlemen will assist me, I shall feel obliged; if you will not, I shall certainly go at once to 'Dublin, and compel an inquiry." "The Devil you will I " exclaimed Mr. O'Driscoll, looking over his huge specta- cles at Edward, whom (having entered only the previous moment) he had not been introduced to. Then, speaking loud enough for all to hear, "Who the deuce is he?" he was told, turd hut ruffled feathers were smoothed in a moment. He ad- vanced towards the young Englishman with his gigantic arms outstretched, seized his unwilling hands within Ids own, and crushed them in his fervent grasp; slapped him on the back, declaring he was the very cut for a steeple-chase; and then de- manded how it was that he, who came "from the right sort, and had good whole- some Protestant blood in his veins, should make such a ' bother ' about shooting a fellow in such times as the pmsent, when it was needful and necessary to prove the power of the law ? "

Edward would have shown that the power of the law was in its justice; but his Dew acquaintance prevented him.

"lime, my dear -boy," he said, "if ye have a fancy for it, that's enough about it. I'd never gainsay any fancy of one of so fine a family as yours. We'll have the officer, and the dragoons, and all of them in at once: only—it's a quare humour you took in yer head, I must say. Englishmen are mighty quare m such little things. I thought it was some friend of Jack Townsend s, who raised the puilaleiO because the boy was one of his tenants. Faith, Fd be sincerely obligee to any one who would shoot half-a--dozen of mine in the same way, I know that "; and he laughed heartily and loudly at his own admission.

The earlier part of the novel is a little slow ; perhaps from the necessity of clearing the ground, and exhibiting something of Irish ohs.. ranter, rather to show Irish parties than to carry on the tale : but once fairly afloat, it advances with sufficient rapidity. Occasional touches of theatrical effects appear ; but few, and of a sober style. Mrs. Hall, how- ever, seems to violate a canon in representing the Banshee or death-herald of a particular family as an actual existence, not as a delusion of the senses. This apparition is introduced, for the second time, in a scene we will quote from the close of the work ' • where Lawrence Maearthy, his foster-brother Murtogh, and Ellen, are taken by Abel Richards, who expects to hang the brother by the evidence of the sister. Lawrence has accused Murtogh of having betrayed him ; which, it will be seen, is the cause of the catastrophe.

THE END OF ABEL RICHARDS THE MIDDLEMAN.

Lawrence, to whom every foot of the coast from Cork Harbour to Cape Clear was perfectly known, remembered how deep the water was at either side of the narrow peninsula they must pass to reach the shore, and which jutted from the base of the proud headland, a natural and most picturesque pier: the coast-guard had rendered the almost perpendicular ascent from this " pier " to the cliff-head, more secure, by cutting steps, fixing posts at convenient distances, and connecting them by a rope: the pier itself was tolerably broad—broad enough, at least, for two persons to walk abreast; and though washed over at high-water, it was by no means as " slippy " as might have been expected. No boat could have approached beneath the promontory, but for this freak of nature—casting her rocks into the heaving ocean, which, in the calmest times, rolled with a mighty swell beneath. As they drew near' the boat was lifted silently upon the crest of the intermediate wave, called emphatically "the death wave," and then descended so rapidly into the trough of the sea, that Ellen raised her eyes to the solid-looking mass of leaden-coloured water with an hitherto unknown feeling of terror: the sensation was quite new to her—as it must be to all who for the first time mount and sink

upon this awful swell. • •

Abel Richards had frequently partaken of and distributed what was deemed in those days necessary to " keep up the spirits," or to "stimulate exertion." Its effects became gradually more and more visible; it had for some time swelled his exultation into insolence, and while it thickened his articulation rendered him more lavish of his words: disgusting, at all times, the drink rendered him even more so than usual, as with breath heated with liquid poison he uttered prayers and imprecations at the same moment. Ellen raised her eyes to heaven, and then fixed them upon the beacon-light and the irregularities of the cliffs: she fancied that her wearied body and over-wrought mind conjured a vapour into a vision, but as the boat heaved, she saw gliding from the pier—gliding smoothly and without effort over the pointed crags—the same figure with hooded head and outstretched arms, the very figure which years long past she had seen crossing the river on the memorable night when her aunt and Madam Macarthy breathed their last She watched the apparition gliding through mid-air, its cloak floating behind it, the arms raised; up—up—and then—that was no freak of her imagination, for it roused the attention of her companions on the water—a shrill piercing scream; another—that made Lawrence start; his eyes glared and his cheek flushed; and Murtogh shuddered, uttered a suppressed groan' and hid his face; while Abel Richards instinctively crossed himself upon breast and brow— the habit of his early days reviving with all its ancient force during the brief moment of terror.

Again the shriek was heard; but fainter, and from a distance.

"Lawrence !---my brother—Lawrence !" exclaimed Ellen, in a tone of anguish. And she cast herself on her knees by his side.

"It will be soon over with me after that, Ellen," he murmured inreply: "but

it makes me sure of one thing; the Banshee never cried for abase-born y." Murtogh roused himself—sat up—and said, "Thank God for it." "There's the first gray of morning," observed the sergeant, after a pause; "and the lull came over the waters with the scream of them sea-birds. Row, boys, row—three minutes will do it now—steady."

"The sae-birds ! " stammered Abel Richards, with a thickened utterance and a triumphant chuckle, determined to do away with the impression his involuntary action might have created. "It's not s—s—sae-birds." He lifted his hat with half-drunken gravity, swinging from one side to the other. "Gentlemen—as I was going to observe—it's a case of de—ci—ded blasphemy to call it the voice of sae-birds !—Cock sae-birds up, with such (as the poor benighted sinners call it an ulkigmen as that !—Not it, indeed Brethren !—I am of a meek and merciM disposition; and though it may be a sin it's the wakeness of my nature to be merciful—that sae-birds I" He clasped his hands together. 'No—it's the screeches of Papists, howling in h— !" But before he completed a sentence so fearfully in accordance with the brutalizing theory of Ins latter days, the boat reeled violently: it could hardly be said there was a struggle, but two men rolled rapidly and heavily into the dark deep waters, that swella., and fretted and splashed; and the waves closed above them as the boat shivered and then regained its position. A low cry of mingled horror and astonishment burst from some of the men, while others seemed as though struck by lightning. Lawrence, with natural bravery, made an attempt to spring in after them; but he was unable to accomplish his purpose, his

at either side preventing it.

"It is Murtogh !" sobbed Ellen; "I saw Murtogh seize him There, there they are, merciful Heaven!"

"Back the boat—give me that oar!" exclaimed the sergeant; who, having barely tasted the spirits, was by far the most collected of the party.

By the gray light of morning Richards saw the effort, as he wrestled for lillu and his arm, still full of strength, was extended to clutch the oar flung to him. But again Murtogh dragged him down and the babbles floated heedlessly away. And now the whole party was effectually aroused; all suddenly sobered, and all anxious to save. "Here they went down," said one; "Look there ! exclaimed another; "Farther to the left !" said a third; "They'll be dashed to pieces on the Mermaid's bed !" exclaimed a fourth; and deep and earnest fragments of prayer mingled with such words, and the flinging forth of a net and an oar, during those dreadful moments.

"Look !—in the froth of the little wave," whispered Ellen, as she clung round her brother.

" Masther Lawrence!" shouted Murtogh, and though only one head was seen' it was evident the struggle was not end. " Masther Lawrence—am I a traitor. now?"

Again and again the boat tacked; and once an ami waved as if in triumph; and then there was neither sound nor shadow on the sea, save of the creeping morning.