Concluding Scene of Caleb Williams.'

I cau conceive of no shock greater than that I received from the sight of Mr. Falkland. His appearance on the last occasion on which we met had been haggard, ghost-like, and wild, energy in his gestures, and frenzy in his aspect. It was now the appearance of a corpse. He was brought in, in a chair, unable to stand, fatigued and alinost destroyed by the journey he had just taken. His visage was colourless; his limbs destitute of motion, almost of life. His head reclined upon his bosom, except that now and then he lifted it up, and opened his eyes with a languid glance, immediately after which he sank back into his former apparent insensibi ity. He seemed not to have three hours to live. He had kept his chamber for several weeks, but the summons of the magistrate had been delivered to him at his bedside, his orders respecting letters and written papers being so peremptory that no one dared to disobey them. Upon reading the paper, he was seized with a very dangerous fit; but as soon as he recovered, he insisted upon being conveyed, with all practicable expedition, to the place of appointment. Falkland, in the most helpless state, was still Falkland, firin in command, and capable to extort obedience from every one that approached him.

What a sight was this to me! Here was Falkland, solemnly brought before a magistrate to answer to a charge of murder. Here I stood, having already declared myself the author of the charge, gravely and sacredly pledged to support it. This was my situation; and thus situated I was called upon immediately to act. My whole frame shook. I would eagerly have consented that that moment should have been the last of my existence. I, however, believed that the conduct now most indispensably incumbent on me was to lay the emotions of my soul naked before my hearers. I looked first at Mr. Falkland, and then at the magistrate and attendants, and then at Mr. Falkland again. My voice was suffocated with agony. I began: Would to God it were possible for me to retire from this scene without uttering another word! I would brave the consequences-I would submit to any imputation of cowardice, falsehood, and profligacy, rather than add to the weight of misfortune with which Mr. Falkland is overwhelmed. But the situation, and the demands of Mr. Falkland himself, forbid me. He in compassion for whose fallen state I would willingly forget every interest of my own, would compel me to accuse, that he might enter upon his justification. I will confess every sentiment of my heart. Mr. Falkland well knows-I affirm it in his presence-how unwillingly I have proceeded to this extremity. I have reverenced him; he was worthy of reverence. From the first moment I saw him. I conceived the most ardent admiration. He condescended to encourage me; I attached myself to him with the fullness of affection. He was unhappy; I exerted myself with youthful curiosity to discover the secret of his woe. the beginning of misfortune. What shall I say? He was indeed the murderer of Tyrrel! He suffered the Hawkinses to be executed, knowing they were innocent, and that he alone was guilty! After successive surmises, after various indiscretions on my part, and indications on his, he at length confided to me at full the fatal tale! Mr. Falkland! I most solemnly conjure you to recollect yourself! Did I ever prove

This was

myself unworthy of your confidence? The secret was a most painful burden to me; it was the extremest folly that led unthinkingly to gain possession of it; but I would have died a thousand deaths rather than betray it. It was the jealousy of your own thoughts, and the weight that hung upon your mind, that led you to watch my mo tions, and conceive alarm from every particle of my conduct. You began in confi dence-why did you not continue in confidence?

'I fell at last into the hands of the miscreants. In this terrible situation I, for the first time, attempted, by turning informer, to throw the weight from myself. Happily for me, the London magistrate listened to my tale with insolent contempt. I soon, and long, repented of my rashness, and rejoiced in my miscarriage. I acknowledge that in various ways Mr. Falkland shewed humanity towards me during this period. He would have prevented my going to prison at first; he contributed to my subsistence during my detention; he had no share in the pursuit that had been set on foot against me; he at length procured my discharge when brought forward for trial. But a great part of his forbearance was unknown to me; I supposed him to be my unrelenting pursuer. I could not forget that, whoever heaped calamities on me in the sequel, they all originated in his forged accusation. The prosecution against me

elony was now at an end. Why were not my sufferings permitted to terminate and I allowed to hide my weary head in some obscure yet tranquil retreat? Had I ufficiently proved my constancy and fidelity? Would not a compromise in this tion have been most wise and most secure? But the restless and jealous anxiety r. Falkland would not permit him to repose the least atom of confidence. The compromise that he proposed was, that, with my own hand, I should sign mya villain. I refused this proposal, and have ever since been driven from place to e, deprived of peace, of honest fame, even of bread. For a long time I perd in the resolution that no emergency should convert me into the assailant. In vil hour I at last listened to my resentment and impatience, and the hateful misinto which I fell has produced the present scene. I now see that mistake in all normity. I am sure that if I had opened my heart to Mr. Falkland, if I had told m privately the tale that I have now been telling, he could not have resisted my onable demand. After all his precautions, he must have ultimately depended 1 my forbearance. Could he be sure, that if I were at last worked up to disclose ything I knew, and to enforce it with all the energy I could exert, I should obno credit? If he must in every case be at my mercy, in which mode ought he ive sought his safety-in conciliation, or in inexorable cruelty? Mr. Falkland is noble nature. Yes! in spite of the catastrophe of Tyrrel, of the miserable end e Hawkinses, and of all that I have myself suffered, I affirm that he has qualiof the most admirable kind. It is therefore impossible that he could have red a frank and fervent expostulation. the frankness and fervour in which the le soul was poured out. I despaired while it was yet time to have made the just exment; but my despair was criminal, was treason against the sovereignty of truth. ve told a plain and unadulterated tale. I came hither to curse, but I remain to 3. I came to accuse, but am compelled to applaud. I proclaim to all the world Mr. Falkland is a man worthy of affection and kindness, and that I am mys if basest and most odious of mankind! Never will I forgive myself the iniquity of day. The memory will always haunt me and imbitter every hour of my existe. In thus acting I have been a murderer-a cool, deliberate, unfeeling murderer. ve said what my accursed precipitation has obliged me to say. Do with me as you se. I ask no favour. Death would be a kindness compared to what I feel!' Such were the accents dictated by my my remorse. I poured them out with unrollable impetuosity, for my heart was pierced, and I was compelled to give to its anguish. Every one that heard me was petrified with astonishment. ry one that heard me was melted into tears. They could not resist the ardour which I praised the great qualities of Falkland; they manifested their sympain the tokens of my penitence.

How shall I describe the feelings of this unfortunate man! Before I began, he ned sunk and debilitated, incapable of any strenuous impression. When I mened the murder, I could perceive in him an involuntary shuddering, though it was teracted, partly by the feebleness of his frame, and partly by the energy of his d. This was an allegation he expected, and he had endeavoured to prepare himfor it. But there was much of what I said of which he had had no previous ception. When I expressed the anguish of my mind, he seemed at first startled alarmed, lest this should be a new expedient to gain credit to my tale. His gnation against me was great for having retained all my resentment towards him, , as it might be, in the last hour of his existence. It was increased when he overed me, as he supposed, using a pretence of liberality and sentiment to givo edge to my hostility. But as I went on, he could no longer resist. He saw my erity; he was penetrated with my grief and compunction. He rose from his , supported by the attendants, and-to my infinite astonishment-threw himself my arms!

Williams,' said he, you have conquered! I see too late the greatness and ation of your mind. I confess that it is to my fault, and not yours, that it is to excess of jealousy that was ever burning in my bosom that I owe my ruin. I id have resisted any plan of malicious accusation you might have brought against But I see that the artless and manly story you have told has carried conviction very hearer. All my prospects are concluded. All that I most ardently desired or ever frustrated. I have speut a life of the basest cruelty to cover one act of nentary vice, and to protect myself against the prejudices of my species. I stand

now completely detected. My name will be consecrated to infamy, while your hero18m, your patience, and your virtues will be for ever admired. You have inflicted on me the most fatal of all mischiefs, but I bless the hand that wounds me. And now' -turning to the magistrate- and now do with me as you please. I am prepared to suffer all the vengeance of the law.'

Sir Walter Scott has objected to what may be termed the matterincident in Caleb Williams,' and calls it an instance of the author's coarseness and bad taste—namely that a gentleman passionately addicted to the manners of ancient chivalry should become a midnight assassin when an honourable revenge was in his power. Mr. Godwin might have defended himself by citing the illustrious critic's own example: the forgery by Marmion is less consistent with the manners of chivalry than the assassination by Falkland. Without the latter, the novel could have little interest-it is the key-stone of the arch. Nor does it appear so unsuited to the character of the hero, who, though smitten with a romantic love of fame and honour, is supposed to have lived in modern times, and has been wound up to a pitch of frenzy by the public brutality of Tyrrel. The deed was instantaneous-the knife, he says, fell in his way. There was no time for reflection, nor was Tyrrel a person whom he could think of meeting on equal terms in open combat. He was a noisome pest and nuisance, despatched in a moment of fury by one whom he had injured, insulted, and trampled upon solely because of his worth and his intellectual superiority.

We have incidentally alluded to the other novels of Godwin. 'St. Leon' will probably descend to posterity in company with Caleb Williams,' but we cannot conceive that a torso of any of the others will be preserved. They have all a strong family likeness. What Dugald Stewart supposed of human invention generally, that it was limited, like a barrel organ, to a specific_number of tunes, is strictly true of Mr. Godwin's fictions In 'St. Leon,' however, we have a romantic story with much fine writing Setting aside the 'incredible' conception on which it proceeds, we find the subordinate incidents natural and justly proportioned. The possessor of the philosopher's stone is an interesting visionary-a French Falkland of the sixteenth century, and as unfortunate, for his miraculous gifts entail but misery on himself, and bring ruin to his family. Even exhaustless wealth is in itself no blessing; and this is the moral of the story. The adventures of the hero, both warlike and domestic, are related with much gorgeousness and amplitude. The character of the heroic Marguerite, the wife of Leon, is one of the author's finest delineations. Bethlem Gabor is also a vigorous and striking sketch, though introduced too late in the novel to relieve the flagging interest after the death of Marguerite. The thunder-storm which destroys the property of Leon is described with great power and vividness; and his early distresses and losses at the gaming-table are also in the author's best manner. The scene may be said to shift too often, and the want of

tude and energy in the character of the hero lessens our sympathy is reverses. At the same time his tenderness and affection as a and and father are inexpressibly touching, when we see them, onsequence of his strange destiny, lead to the ruin of those for m alone he wishes to live.

St. Leon's Escape from the Auto da Fé.

t. Leon is imprisoned by the Inquisition on suspicion of exercising the powers cromancy, and is carried with other prisoners to feed the flames at an auto at Valladolid.]

ir progress to Valladolid was slow and solemn, and occupied a space of no less four days. On the evening of the fourth day we approached that city. The and his court came out to meet us; he saluted the inquisitor-general with all Hemonstrations of the deepest submission and humility; and then, having ed him the place of honour. turned round his horse, and accompanied us back alladolid. The cavalcade that attended the king broke into two files. and red us in the midst of them. The whole city seemed to empty itself on this meme occasion, and the multitudes that crowded along the road, and were scattered e neighbouring fields, were innumerable. The day was now closed, and the proon went forward amidst the light of a thousand torches. We, the condemned e Inquisition, had been conducted from the metropolis upon tumbrils; but as rived at the gates of Valladolid, we were commanded. for the greater humiliato alight and proceed on foot to the place of our confinement, as many as could walk without assistance being supported by the attendants. We were neither ed nor bound; the practice of the Inquisition being to deliver the condemned such occasions into the hands of two sureties each, who placed their charge in iddle between them; and men of the most respectable characters were accusd, from religious motives, to sue for this melancholy office.

ejected and despairing, I entered the streets of the city, no object present to the of my mind but that of my approaching execut on. The crowd was vast, the ision inexpressible. As we passed by the end of a narrow lane, the horse of of the guards. who rode exactly in a line with me, plunged and reared in a nt manner, and at length threw his rider upon the pavement. Others of the -guards attempted to catch the bridle of the enraged animal; they rushed nst each other; several of the crowd were thrown down, and trampled under the es' feet. The shrieks of these, and the loud cries and exclamations of the byHers. mingled in confused and discordant chorus; no sound, no object could be nguished. From the excess of the tumult, a sudden thought darted into my 1, where all, an instant before, had been relaxation and despair. Two or three he horses pushed forward in a particular direction; a moment after, they re-filed equal violence, and left a wide transitory gap. My project was no sooner eived than executed. Weak as I had just now felt myself, a supernatural tide trength seemed to come over me; I sprung away with all imaginable impetuosity, rushed down the lane I have just mentioned. Every one amidst the confusion attentive to his personal safety, and several minutes clapsed before I was n the lane everything was silent, and the darkness was extreme. Man, woman, child, were gone out to view the procession. For some time I could scarcely nguish a single object: the doors and windows were all closed. I now chanced ome to an open door; within I saw no one but an old man, who was busy over e metallic work at a chafing-dish of fire. I had no room for choice; I expected y moment to hear the myrmidons of the Inquisition at my heels. I rushed in; petuously closed the door, and bolted it: I then seized the old man by the collar is shirt with a determined grasp, and swore vehemently that I would annihilate that instant if he did not consent to afford me assistance. Though for some I had perhaps been feebler than he, the terror that now drove me on rendered comparatively a giant. He entreated me to permit him to breathe, and promised do whatever I should desire. I looked round the apartment, and saw a rapier

ed.

hanging against the wall, of which I instantly proceeded to make myself master. While I was doing this, my involuntary host, who was extremely terrified at my procedure, nimbly attempted to slip by me and rush into the street. With difficulty I caught hold of his arm, and pulling him back, put the point of my rapier to his breast, solemnly assuring him that no consideration on earth should save him from my fury if he attempted to escape a second time. He inmediately dropped on his knees, and with the most piteous accents entreated me to spare his life. I told him that I was no robber, that I did not intend him the slightest harm; and that, if he would implicitly yield to my direction, he might assure himself he never should have reason to repent his compliance. By this declaration the terrors of the old man were somewhat appeased. I took the opportunity of this calm to go to the street door, which I instantly locked, and put the key in my bosom.

We were still engaged in discussing the topics I have mentioned, when I was suddenly alarmed by the noise of some one stirring in the inner apartment. I had looked into this room, and had perceived nothing but the bed upon which the old man nightly reposed himself. I sprung up, however, at the sound, and perceiving that the door had a bolt on the outside, I eagerly fastened it. I then turned to Mordecaithat was the name of my host: Wretch,' said I, did not you assure me that there was no one but yourself in the house?' 'Oh,' cried Mordecai, it is my child! it is my child she went into the inner apartment, and has fallen asleep on the bed.' 'Beware,' I answered; the slightest falsehood more shall instantly be expiated in your blood.' 'I call Abraham to witness,' rejoined the once more terrified Jew, it is my child only my child!' Tell me,' cried I, with severity of accent, how old is this child? Only five years,' said Mordecai: my dear Leah died when she was a year old, and though we had several children, this single one has survived her.' 'Speak to your child let me hear her voice!' He spoke to her; and she answered: 'Father, I want to come out.' I was satisfied it was the voice of a little girl. I turned to the Jew: Take care,' said I, how you deceive me now; is there no other person in that room? He imprecated a curse on himself if there were. I opened the door with caution, and the little girl came forward. As soon as I saw her, I seized her with a rapid motion, and returned to my chair. 'Man,' said I, you have trifled with me too rashly; you have not considered what I am escaped from, and what I have to fear; from this moment this child shall be the pledge of my safety; I will not part with her an instant as long as I remain in your house; and with this rapier in my hand, I will pierce her to the heart the moment I am led to imagine that I am no longer in safety.' The Jew trembled at my resolution; the emotions of a father worked in his features and glistened in his eye. 'At least let me kiss her,' said he. 'Be it so,' replied I; one embrace, and then, till the dawn of the coming day, she remains with me.' I released my hold; the child rushed to her father, and he caught her in his arms. 'My dear Leah,' cried Mordecai, now a sainted sp rit in the bosom of our father Abraham! I call God to witness between us, that if all my caution and vigilance can prevent it, not a hair of this child shall be injured !-Stranger, you little know by how strong a motive you have now engaged me to your cause. We poor Jews, hunted on the face of the earth, the abhorrence and execration of mankind, have nothing but family affections to support us under our multiplied disgraces; and family affections are entwined with our existence, the fondest and best loved part of ourselves.-The God of Abraham bless you, my child !-Now, sir, speak! what is it you require of me?'

I told the Jew that I must have a suit of clothes conformable to the appearance of a Spanish cavalier, and certain medical ingredients that I named to him, together with his chafing-dish of coals to prepare them; and that done, I would then impose on him no further trouble. Having received his instructions, he immediately set out to procure what I demanded. He took with him the key of the house; and as soon as he was gone, I retired with the child into the inner department, and fastened the door. At first I applied myself to tranquilise the child, who had been somewhat alarmed at what she had heard and seen; this was no very difficult task. She presently left me, to amuse herself with some playthings that lay scattered in the corner of the apartment. My heart was now comparatively at ease; I saw the powerful hold I had on the fidelity of the Jew, and firmly persuaded myself that I had no treachery to fear on his part. Thus circumstanced, the exertion and activity with which I had lately been imbued, left me, and I sen-ibly sunk into a sort of slumber.

Now for the first time I was at leisure to attend to the state of my strength and