were vexatious (because they had to compound for them) to the nobility and gentry But 1 was speaking of Sir John Blagueire's Report upon the Foundling Hospital at Dublin. Such a scene of peculation and iniquity never was before exhibited in a Christian country. The grossest neglect was the least evil. So indifferent (or something worse) were the attendants to the summons to take the poor foundlings into the Hospital, that instances were produced before the House of Commons, which proved that, when children had been placed in a receiving trough, and the bell was rung to call for an attendant, the pigs of the establishment ran up, and began devouring

them."

The nurse-maid screamed, which is no wonder, and was about falling into hysterics, when Mrs. Elrington exclaims,— "It must be impossible, my dear Elrington!"

"So we have said upon a thousand points, my love, since we first came to this country, and heard sundry reports; but how many of these strange, horrid, impossible stories have we not found to be true?"

"If experience must decide," said the lady, with a heavy sigh, "I confess it is not safe to disbelieve any thing."

"Laird! Sir," said the servant, driven out of her respectful silence by the soul-appalling account, "why, the very pigs themselves must have been in a state of starvation !"

"Very likely, Jemima," said her master, "if their keepers could get more by starving than by fattening them. This, at least, as to the wretched children, we know to be the fact; for it was proved before the House of Commons by the books kept by the Foundling-and I suppose nobody will argue, that the stewards of the establishment wished to make their own case worse than it really was -it was proved, I say, that within six years preceding the Report in the House of Commons, which was made in the year 1797,* 12,786 children had been received, of whom only 135 survived!"

This was proved before our English House of Commons !" said the lady, with horror.

"Yes, my dear, in the year 1797; and this Report has been well characterized, in a very few words, as the most infernal account of systematized murder that ever in any age disgraced any country, civil or sa

vage.

"Mercy me!" cried Jemima, emboldened, in the cause of humanity, to make another remark, "what will become of this poor child? It is a pity, as the man said, that she had not died with her mother, or her nomother; but then, it is to be hoped, that she is at least too big for the pigs."

This extraordinary statement introduces Malthus, who, from this point, re

In Spain, out of 20,000, about half died in the Orphan House at Madrid, but this in Ireland was upwards of 90 in 100.

ceives a slap on the face at every corner, turning, or winding,-beginning, middle, and end of a chapter, wherever the author can lug him in. he appears to consider as a religious duty; This castigation and he performs it with unflagging zeal. There are several good characters in the work,-transcripts of real flesh-andblood men and women. We like Harley and his wife, Mrs. Clements, the village merchant, some of the inferior personages, and above all, PUFFETER, the heroic auctioneer, an unique and original. of actual experience, and we have no Some of the scenes look like transcripts doubt are so. There is a duel fought between the lover of a married lady and her brother, a Colonel of the Guards, most unlike the commonplace encounters of a novel. The correspondence which follows this affair is remarkable.

The let

ter of the Countess especially has every internal mark of authenticity. The lady, deserted by her worthless husband, an

Irish nobleman, is left to the arts of his relative, Sir Bedell Wharton, and after a seclusion of some years, elopes with him, discovers his baseness, and leaves him. The husband, brother, and lover, of the unfortunate woman, are found alike profligate; and her position among three scoundrels is a striking one. Mr. Elrington meets her by an accident.

He found the lady in a most violent paroxysm of alarm and apprehension. She appeared a very fine personage, and young and beautiful; yet still she shrunk from inspection, and appeared cautious and reserved.— "Are you, Sir, an Englishman? and I beg to be informed to whom I address myself," were the first words of the lady, given with that peculiar euphony and emphasis in which ladies of very high fashion in Ireland rather ostentatiously indulge, as their shibo

leth.

-am a

young and beautiful woman before him was. She had married at the early age of eighteen, the very noble and wealthy Lord Kathe mere, without any approval of her own. Scarcely had she been married two years, when the infamous conduct of her as band obliged him to fly to distant lands. She had long been secluded from all honourable society, and her depraved husband had left her under the control of agents and relatives of his own, taking away with him the only child of their marriage, a boy, who was said to be with him in Italy. Among these were Sir Bedell Wharton, a Baronet of the utmost art, and fashion, and depravity. All these were now employed to deceive the young Countess; and chiefly was she alarm. ed at the idea of being again subject to the society of her husband; and at length, (it is more to be lamented than wondered at,) this unhappy young lady saw no other means of escape than accepting the proffered protec tion of Sir Bedell himself.

At the period of her elopement, about a year ago, her brother, Colonel Crooklawn, was with his regiment on service; but as soon as he came to England, he lost no time in following the fugitives, and had on the present morning met with them in that part of Switzerland, through which Mr. Elrington with his family was proceeding to Eng

land.

Mr. Elrington again tendered his services

to the Countess.

dead!"

"I trust to God! not dead," said the Countesss calmly. "You see, Sir, the

letters are unsealed. You shall hear the contents. Yet, first of all, let me tell you what you may not know of my history. My relations compelled me to be the wife of Lord Kathemere. I have been as deceived by Sir Bedell as by them and his Lordship. I have not a person on the face of the earth unless it be yourself, in whom I can trust; and if this encounter had not taken place, I have made that discovery this morning, that I never would again associate with Sir Bedell. Let me now inform you that I wrote to my brother, to dissuade him from this meeting with Sir Bedell, and here is his reply.'

The lady read"MADAM, "I do not believe that you care either for me or your paramour, any more than I do for your lost reputation. It is my own honour, Madam-it is the insult that Sir Bedell has given me by daring to make a mistress of one allied to me by blood, that will make me lift up my arm to chastise him; and not any consideration

I would to God you had ever disowned me, and then I might not have been the miserable and guilty woman that I confess myself to be! Too true, my honour is irrevocably lost! but where was your own when you compelled me to marry that man of infamy, of the depravity of whose character you were not ignorant? I had been brought up privately by foreign governesses. I knew nothing of Lord Kathemere; but I disliked his person and manners. My father would have yielded to my solicitations against the alliance; but you came forward.-Remember, Sir, that you never came forward as my brother before-that you have never come forward as my friend in your whole life-that I have at no time, from my birth, ever received from you one act of kindness, one look of affection, one word of good-will or good advice. offered me, you pointed out its honours and -But when this very splendid match was its value, and enforced me to accept of it, by saying that I shorld disgrace and injure my family-that I should be buried for life in some convent abroad, where I never should be known or seen; that you pledged yourself by oaths to these and other acts of cruelty, if I did not accept the offer of Lord Kathemere; and you declared to me, what I was ignorant enough to believe, that my father, as a Peer of the realm, could by law compel me to marry.-Was this untruth, Sir, part of your honour ?-But, Sir, though you have never owned me for my good, you have (I have lately discovered) for your own. The first sacrifice of my honour was when I married his Lordship; you had the price of it, in the representation of Lord Kathemere's Borough of Broughton. This, I have documents to prove, was the stipulation for your interference. And when my wretched husband left me, did you interfere-did you offer to protect me-did you attempt to shield me from the depraved set around me?-I am fallen? but do you stand upright! No, Colonel Crooklawn, I might have been honourable, and virtuous, and happy, but for you; and had you been a truly honourable man, you would have sheltered me from these evils, into which you have betrayed me, and for which you now accuse me. The fate you threatened me with, if I did not marry, I now voluntarily embrace as the consequence of that wretched marriage. My mind is truly distracted; yet in my distraction I have written this.-There are yet strange and dreadful tales connected with my history, which, if I had ever found a friend and brother, I should wish him at some future day to endeavour to unravel. I mention this

now, that you may not afterwards be surprised, or pretend to disbelieve, because the circumstance had not before occurred. I cannot trust you."

am not able to extract it, it may at length occasion a mortification, and finally death. "Death! Sir," exclaimed Sir Bedell, in renewed alarm; "I thought you said I was

"And now, Sir, hear my letter to Sir Bedell-it is very short."

"SIR BEDELL WHARTON,

"You have betrayed me. You were in league with my husband. I forgive you; but I'll never see your face again. "A. K."

They were now informed that Sir Bedell was brought into the house, and wished to see the lady.

The Countess declared that she would on no account have any interview with him; and she begged the favour of Mr. Elrington to go and inform him of the same.

Mr. Elrington went into the wounded man's room and if the outward grace and personal exterior can be an excuse for the frailty of woman, the Countess had that sad

excuse.

Sir Bedell had received a shot in his shoulder-blade. A surgeon was every moment expected. He appeared in great pain, and very great agitation of mind; but he composed his fine features, and bowed gracefully to Mr. Elrington, who gave him the note, delivered the lady's message, and informed him that she had written it before she heard of the event of the duel.

"Tell her," said Sir Bedell, “that I do not deserve that she should come to me. Oh! Sir, that woman has been more shamefully used than any. -" and he stopped, and asked impatiently for the surgeon. Again he began to speak in a desponding strain." Alas, Sir, what excuse have 1 to offer, but her fatal beauty! Too true it is

when the surgeon's arrival induced him to pause. In a few minutes Sir Bedell asked "Is there any danger?".

"Very great indeed, Sir," said the practitioner; "I cannot answer for your life for four-and-twenty hours, till I know the direction the bullet has taken."

"Then I should wish to have five minutes' conversation with this gentleman in private."

"You, surely, Sir, would not defer a moment,' said the medical man, "the means that must be used for the safety of

your life!"

"Oh, no, not on any account," replied

Sir Bedell.

The surgeon continued his examination, and at length exclaimed, "I am convinced, Sir, that the bullet has not penetrated into any vital part."

I have nothing further to say to the gentleman," said Sir Bedell," but my very best wishes to the lady, and I think she has acted with very great prudence."

"As yet," continued the operator," the bullet has not penetrated to any vital part; but there is no knowing but that it may quickly be fatal, if I cannot find it; and if I

lieve I fear I am not fit to die!" Then, catching the eye of a gentleman who had been his second in the rencontre, he continued "I mean, I say, I have not settled my affairs, and I might as well speak to that strange gentleman a few words."

"Ah! here we have the bullet," continued the surgeon; 66 we shall get it out presently. I must make the incision larger, and introduce the forceps."

"Then Sir," said Sir Bedell, motioning his head to Mr. Elrington, “ I will not trouble you but with my respects to the lady."

Mr. Elrington left the room, and mentally ejaculated-" This is a man of high fashion and honour, that fights duels, and keeps in alarm all His Majesty's peaceable subjects!! This is the man that all the minor fashionables look up to as a criterion of grace, and spirit, and courage.'

From this slight specimen it will be seen The Double Trial is not an ordinary novel. We regret that our limits do not permit going deeper into it, and cordially recommend it to perusal.

CANTO 17TH OF DON JUAN.-By one who desires to be a Very Great Unknown."-Lady Blessington relates, that Byron once intended to commit suicide, but was prevented by two reasons, one of which was, that a dear friend might not be able to perpetrate a life of him. There would have been a third dissuasive, could his irascible Lordship have foreseen this publication; or, at any rate, a reason for performing the obsequies of the Don with his own hand. CANTO 17th is made out pretty much in the way one's imagination suggests on laying down Canto 16th. Aurora Raby, and Juan, are deeply in love, of course; and the character of the icy lady is developed with some skill. The Very Great Unknown leaves the lovers in a ticklish situation.

Another GREAT UNKNOWN

may, therefore, catch up the ball in Canto 18th; and thus Don Juan proceed, like a game at chess between rival kingdoms. Canto 17th is not more remarkable for prudery than its predecessors

THE DAWN OF FREEDOM.+-A little poem, on a noble subject, is dedicated by a Graduate of Oxford, to the Sovereign People, and written in a spirit new to the learned University, to which its author belongs. A pure vein of exalted religion

Gilbert: London, pp. 48. + Ridgway, London, pp. 46.

and morality runs through this poem. From an address to Byron we extract a few lines.

Ah! had he lived to study and admire
Heber's pure faith, or Pollock's holy lyre,
Mark their warm zeal, in gospel truth's defence,
Or pious Wolfe's impassioned eloquence;
Perhaps e'en here his pride had seen the light,
And Heaven's own glories dawned upon his sight.
But, ah! far other were the scenes he saw
In realms long famed for liberty and law,
Where courtier brows the Christian mitre wore,
And leagued with nobles to enslave the poor:
Bishops, a greedy and obsequious race,
Who strive for pomp, for power, and for place;
The haughty servants of a lowly Lord!
Priests of a faith their worldly souls abhorred,
He saw, and proud presumed God's truths to scan,
And blamed his Maker for ther cimes of man!

FORT RISBANE, or Three Days in Quarantine.*-We have been both pleased and amused with this little work. The English passengers of the Calais steam-boat, while the alarm of Cholera prevails on the French coast, are sent to suffer a three days quarantine in a fort in the neighbourhood of Calais, which looks like a ruined La Trappe. This answers quite as well as Chaucer's Tabard Inn, or Bocaccio's garden, near Florence, and the party are set a talking forthwith; and proceed joking, singing, disputing, to the end as in these ruled cases-only instead of love, war, chivalry, necromancy, priests, and damsels, they discuss political economy in its more abstruse doctrines, chemistry, machinery, Benthamism, tithes, Malthus, cholera, railways, steam-coaches, &c. &c. &c. Among the detenus are the Rev. Orthodox Tytheinkind, a gormandizing pluralist, flying to France in deadly terror of cholera; Mr. Serinium, the great veiled editor of a great periodical work, with his pale sickly amanuensis; the Hon. Augustus Manikin, an exquisite and a dandy; Mr. Scribbleton and his wife, an intolerable blue; writers in the perio dicals, Fellows of learned Societies; Mr. Cyclovate, a Benthamite; Mr. Pyrotic, a waspish Tory; Mr. M'Corquodale, i. e. Mr. M'Culloch; M'Molitor, a patronizer of saw-dust bread and bone gelatine cakes, &c. &c. A fashionable family, the Goodenoughs, a worthy father, and amiable daughter, the Hartley's. Mr. and Mrs. Benignus, an excellent pair-a Frenchman of the Carlist and one of the Movement party, and Captain O'Lucre, an Irish officer on his way to join Don Pedro. This rare jumble of characters, prejudices, theories, and extreme opinions of all sorts produces a succession of lively dialogues, and amusing illustrative instances of individual absurdity. The

GREATEST

HAPPINESS PRINCIPLE is put to the test by the right five smokers have of smoking

• Smith, Elder & Co., London: pp. 266.

out of the room, six or seven haters of tobacco. The principle of the division of labour is somewhat unfairly tried by Mr. Scribbleton acting upon it, in covertly snatching up and eating shrimps, as fast as Mr. M'Corquodale unshelled and stored them up for a bonne bouche for himself when he had finished breakfast. He was a diligent and skilful workman, yet the heap seemed not to increase; and at length he began to inquire into the cause of this non-accumulation. "Sir," exclaimed he, turning in great anger to his neighbour, Mr. Scribbleton, "you are a disgrace to decent and civilized society,-how can you presume to put your fork into my plate ?" -"Division of labour," said Mr. Scribbleton, coolly taking up another shrimp. "You are no gentleman,-these are rather the manners of a bear than a civilized being," said the political economist, protecting his property. This is sufficiently absurd; but such collisions produce many equally amusing scenes in Fort Risbane, and teach the folly of either pushing opinions to extremes, or maintaining them dogmatically.

SONGS OF THE SEA NYMPHS, &c.*These are specimens of verse extracted from the unpublished poems of THOMAS MILLER, a basket-maker of Nottingham. They are purely fanciful, dealing with sea nymphs, syrens, and fairies. The only thing connected with this work-day world is a pretty song, which closes the volume. We hope it may have a good sale among the friends and neighbours of the ingenious writer. It is inscribed to Mr. Moore. Whether it be very successful or not, the author was doubtless the happier for its composition; peeling and plaiting his osiers, and weaving lays of Fairy Land.

THE STORY-TELLER +.-This is one of the cheap weekly periodicals. We have seen but one number, and thus cannot speak of the intrinsic merits of the work. But it is well printed, of a handsome size, not dear, (36 pages for Sixpence,) and, if managed by persons of ability, will prove an agreeable publication. There is one original tale in this number (Number V.,)

but it is rather Minerva-ish for our taste. Embossed heads of authors are given monthly, into the bargain. One of Lord Byron is a pretty thing of the kind.

THE LIFE OF ANDREW MARVELL. + -This, which should be a welcome book at any time, appears with peculiar propriety at this time, when fears of " very

Simpkin and Marshall, London: pp. 48 + Wills, London: Imp. 8vo.

+ Simpkin & Marshall, London: pp. 116.