ing offenders before, from the general feeling and the prevailing opinion upon the subject being hostile to the capital penalty, how mightily are these difficulties now augmented, when the general feeling out of doors-when the prevailing opinion of the country, has been sanctioned by a majority of the House of Commons; and a bill founded on those feelings and opinions, and as it were embodying them in a legislative form, was actually passed, after the fullest deliberation, and sent by the one House of Parliament for the adoption of the other! Surely parties, witnesses, jurors, nay judges themselves, will now feel that the capital punishment is stigmatized by the highest authority, will more than ever lean against inflicting it, and will render the law more than ever a dead letter. These considerations struck not the Lords' House of Parliament, but they add new force to all the arguments urged against the law as it now exists; and they will doubtless lead to renewed, and, it is to be hoped, successful efforts for its amendment. ART. VIII.—1. The Croppy, a Tale of 1798. By the Author of the O'Hara Tales.' 3 vols. 8vo. London: 1828. 2. The Denounced. By the Author of the 3 vols. 8vo. London: 1830. O'Hara Tales.' 3. Yesterday in Ireland. By the Author of To-day in Ireland.' 3 vols. 8vo. London: 1829. London: 1829. 4. The Collegians. 3 vols. 8vo. 5. The Rivals. By the Author of The Collegians.' 3 vols. 8vo. London: 1830. IRE RELAND, with all which that word suggests-its darklychequered and eventful annals-its misery—its gaiety—its turbulence-its humour, and the many eminently characteristic points which mainly distinguish it from other nations, affords so good a field for the range of the novelist, that works, descriptive of those among its peculiarities which it is chiefly the business of the novelist to embody, are, especially when written by Irishmen, reasonably entitled to some attention. For those who can depict the varieties of human character, there are materials copious beyond example. There is a strongly marked national character, full of distinct and salient points, giving to all within its scope one common impress, and yet not to such a degree as to destroy the individuality which prevents the surface of society from being even and monotonous; and there is, in addition to this, a character equally conspicuous, and which furnishes more ample materials for interesting and (we must add) mournful speculation—a character which is produced by circumstances a character which centuries of subjection and misrule have so deeply imprinted, that we cannot always, without difficulty, distinguish that which is natural from that which is the result of situation. Hence arise some of those anomalies and contrasts which impart such a remarkable degree of picturesqueness to the varied features of Irish life. There is the wild recklessness of those who have little to lose-the fitful bursts of suppressed gaiety-the impulse of a lively temperament to enjoy the brief saturnalia which each slight alleviation of misery may afford a natural fearlessness, breaking out, ever and anon, into temporary turbulence, and a natural quickness of intellect, subdued into the tortuous ingenuities of slavish cunning. We see the melancholy perversion of much that, under happier circumstances, might have been rendered active only for good -we see the current of naturally ardent feelings too little restrained by the influence of that countercheck which education can afford, and fermenting with the double exasperation of political and religious hate. Delineations of national character in the persons of individuals are too often gross caricatures. Whoever sits down to draw an Irishman-a Scotchman-a Frenchman, will generally either exaggerate, for the sake of effect, some one peculiarity, or try to combine, in the same person, so many qualities not co-existent, that the figure, by being meant to resemble all its countrymen, ceases to be like any. None, perhaps, have been more caricatured than the Irish, but rather by the former than by the latter process. The latter demanded a more intimate acquaintance with them than often existed in their pourtrayers, and the exaggeration of some one peculiarity was easy and effective. Blunders and the brogue have often been considered capital enough for would-be delineators to trade upon; and such have been the capabilities which the character afforded, that the worst sketches have seldom been altogether unamusing. It is only within the last thirty years that the Irish have been very successfully represented. Before that time we had, now and then, cleverly executed single figures by such pens as Farquhar's, Cumberland's, and Sheridan's, which, even if they were incorrect, were not likely to sketch coarsely; but we never saw the Irish grouped-we never trode with them on Irish ground—we never viewed them as natives of a kindred soil, surrounded by the atmosphere of home, and all those powerful accessaries which made them natural, and us comparatively strange and foreign. We had seen them alone in English crowds-solitary foreigners, brought over to amuse us with their peculiarities; but we had never been carried to Ireland, and made familiar with them by their own hearths, till, for the first time, they were shown to us by Miss Edgeworth. Perhaps her Castle Rackrent' may be considered the first very successful delineation of the Irish character; and our admiration of the force and fidelity of that brief sketch is not diminished by comparison with any that have since appeared. As a pourtrayer of national manners, Miss Edgeworth occupies a high place-clear, lively, and sensible-forcible without exaggeration, and pointed without being affected. Hers is the least dim and distorting mirror in which we ever viewed a reflection of the Irish people. It might, nevertheless, have been wished that she had deepened her views, and extended her sphere of observation -that she had admitted more of those strong lights and shadows which Ireland peculiarly affords; and for the sake of which we would willingly have sacrificed some of that mild, sober daylight, which is diffused so uniformly over her pleasing narratives. We have excellent quiet sketches of every-day Irishmen and nowhere do we see them held up to us more plainly as they are; but we are not, with some few exceptions, sufficiently told the influence of circumstances upon the national character, nor what in each individual is natural, and what the result of his position. There is a careful avoidance of political topics, the bearing of which upon Irish society is too marked and important to be altogether neglected. We even question if it would be possible to discover in her writings that the Catholics laboured under any disabilities, and that any strong feeling had been excited by the unequal position of the two principal sects. Lady Morgan has pursued a course precisely opposite to Miss Edgeworth. If the one has too much avoided political considerations, the other has indulged in them perhaps too freely. With much more energy and vividness of style than Miss Edgeworth, but with less sound practical ability, she draws moving pictures of Ireland's woes, and pours out the vials of her wrath against Toryism, and intolerance, and corruption in high places. Her diatribes are well meant, and contain much that is true and spirited; but the truth is oddly mixed up with a good deal that diminishes its weight and detracts from its effectiveness. Flightiness and exaggeration are prominent characteristics of her style. It is showy and gaudy, and there is a certain splendid indistinctness about it that produces on the mind an effect somewhat analogous to that which is produced by shot silk upon the eye. We cannot easily embrace the whole outline of any one image that she sets before us-we feel, every now and then, that she is much in the right, but we cannot follow her. We should be much more impressed by her animated recitals of the misfortunes of Ireland, if we could persuade ourselves that the actors in her tale were plain, natural men and women. "What we have just said of Lady Morgan, is, in some degree, applicable to Mr Banim, the author of the O'Hara Tales.' With a great power of describing men as they are, he sometimes gives way to extravagance and exaggeration. When wishing to convey an opinion, he forces it upon us, rather than leads us to it, and misses his object by too great an eagerness to effect it. Mr Banim holds a very high place among the novelists of Ireland. There is a rough masculine power, a sterling uncultivated vigour, and a nationality in his writings, well calculated to arrest attention. There is little polish, little regard to the graces of style, and very slight evidence of a correct and regulated taste. The subjects in which he delights, are such as affect us powerfully, it is true, but somewhat painfully, and which would not be selected by a lover of refinement. Scenes of violence and horror-crime and its adjuncts-misery of the deepest shade, and the strong emotions which it calls forth, are treated by him with most success, and with extraordinary force. It is often easy to criticise the language in which he conveys to us the appalling circumstances of his tale; but we are conscious, nevertheless, that a strong impression has been made; and though we may coldly cavil at the means employed, we must allow that they do not fail to produce the proposed effect. He also handles a mystery skilfully, and understands the complication of a plot, which (though probability is often forgotten) he generally developes with commendable attention to dramatic effect. Comparing him with painters, we would say, that he combines the merits of Spagnoletto and Salvator Rosa with much that belongs to Hogarth. His delineations, like those of the English artist, are forcible, true, and characteristic, but too often coarse and unpleasing,-dwelling on the dark side of human nature, and overcharging its loathsome defects;-teaching us rather to hate than to love our species, and occasionally ministering to a pruriency of taste which it is by no means the prevailing sin of modern writers to encourage; yet, at the same time, full of a strength and earnestness which convinces us of the perfect fidelity of the unwelcome representations we are made to contemplate. The commencement of the tale called 'The Nowlans' furnishes some good exemplifications of this peculiar power. The education and career of Aby Nowlan the details of his ill-regulated menage-the stupid vice, low profligacy, and comfortless extravagance, with its progressive train of ruinous consequences-are laid before us with a painful truth and force, to which we know no parallel in the Novels of the day. In short, spite of many faults, we greatly admire the author of the O'Hara Tales,' when he is himself; but, unfortunately, he has lately striven to become that for which nature has not qualified him-an Irish Walter Scott. He holds about the same station, in comparison with that great Novelist, as Webster or Marlowe by the side of Shakspeare. Those early dramatists had much wild and rugged vigour-sometimes, by bursts, they showed as much as Shakspeare; but their harps had fewer strings, and those few too often jarred discordantly: and so it is with Mr Banim, even when he is content to be himself. But he is unfortunately what Webster and Marlowe were not a copyist-and his later efforts have been sadly marred by obvious attempts at imitation. No writer, perhaps, has ever contributed to elevate his own department of literature in a greater degree than the Author of Waverley; and it must be gratifying to him to witness the impulse which he has given, and the extent and variety of agreeable talent which has been elicited by his example. But when he looks around from his pinnacle, there will be much in the literary panorama which will be unpleasing to him, as there is to his admirers. There is a perverse disposition to imitate and exaggerate defects, which is very conspicuous in many of those who have attempted to array themselves in his mantle. If he has embellished his fictitious groundwork with a few splendid historical names, others have been lavish and tedious in drawing out before us personages who come like shadows, 'so depart,' and leave us wondering why they had been summoned. If he has exhibited the portraits of those who figure in his writings, and concerning whose appearance and bearing we are rendered naturally curious-others, with dull and plodding industry, have ransacked the records of ancient wardrobes, and recounted, with ludicrous minuteness, the habiliments of persons who are too unimportant to excite a moment's interest, and fatigued us with details which we cannot remember. If he has recalled the language of former times, enriched his dialogues with local allusions, and interwoven a history of manners and feelings with the careless words which drop from the mouths of even his humblest characters-others have dealt in a multiplicity of phrases and metaphors, which at once repel by their affectation, and provoke by their unimportance. If he has placed before us his picturesque peasants, discoursing in their figurative patois, and has tried to make us hear the very voices of his spokesmen; others have outstepped him with a violence which has made the reading a foreign |