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many of his irregular sonnets are respectable compositions. Nor are his odes and other poems without merit. There are, in most of them, passages which are well conceived, and not badly expressed. It is also much to Mr. Rodd's credit, that his volume is untainted by immorality and sedition. His sentiments are uniformly those of a virtuous man, and an ardent lover of his native country. We can only spare room for the following sonnet, which is not deficient in spirit, and which inculcates an excellent moral ::

re TIME.

"Moments make minutes, minutes form the hour,
And circling hours the day and night compose;
Days form the week, and months the weeks devour,
And to the months the year its fulness owes.
Yet moments, minutes, hours, we throw away,
And heed not Time that wings his rapid flight,
In folly we consume the flitting day,

In lengthen'd slumbers waste returning night:
And weeks flow on, and months, and seasons too,
And years are lost as if too light to prize;
And as we older grow, alas! how few

Grow with our years more diligently wise:

And yet that life is short we all complain,

With days, weeks, months, and years, all spent in vain.”

NOVELS.

ART. XIV. Sarsfield: or the Wanderings of Youth: an Irish Tale. By John Gamble, Esq. Strabane; Author of Sketches, &c. in Ireland. 3 vols. 12mo. 655 pp. 1814.

From the swarm of novels, which almost every day brings forth, it would appear that the composition of these prose epics, as they have not improperly been called, is one of the easiest tasks that can be undertaken. There is scarcely a Miss, just escaped from a boarding school, who does not think herself fully capable of producing a novel. Yet, it seems to us, on the contrary, that the writer of a thoroughly good novel ought to be gifted with no common talents. He ought to possess a quick conception, and nice discrimination of character, in all its various shades; an intimate knowledge of the human heart, and the power of accurately assigning and weighing the motives by which it is actuated; an extensive acquaintance with the manners, feelings, and prejudices of the age; the command of wit, humour, and pathos; and, to crown all, for without them he will not be perfect, a correct taste, and a pure and animated style. Shall

we,

we, even then, consider him as approaching to perfection? Certainly not; unless to these qualities he add a truly virtuous mind: which, of course, implies a due veneration for morals and religion. This, in our eyes, is an indispensible requisite; and, if he have it not, we shall rejoice to see him deficient in all the rest, since in proportion to the greatness of his talents must inevitably be the danger which will arise to others, from his perverted use of them. We shall now close our preliminary observations, which, in this case, are not uncalled for, and shall proceed to give some account of Mr. Gamble's volumes.

The epoch, at which the action begins, is towards the middle of the last century. Sarsfield, the hero of the tale, is the sole remaining son of a Roman Catholic tradesman in Ireland; and, as generally happens with only sons, is indulged, while a boy, n every wish of his heart. But, though occasionally froward and mischievous, and always giddy, thoughtless, and fond of pleasure, he is, nevertheless, warm and teuder-hearted, generous, humane, and affectionate. He has a prepossessing appearance, engaging manners, and considerable talents, and, notwithstanding his levity, he learns easily and well. His father designs him for a priest, and cherishes the natural and pardonable hope, that he shall one day see his darling the titular primate of all Ireland. Sarsfield, however, who, as he grows up, is all romance and enthusiasm, has a mortal dislike to his father's plan of making him a priest. The fond parent yields to his son, and they have now to choose another profession, which is rather a difficult business, Roman Catholics not being admitted to the bar or to military pursuits.

"Our hero, therefore, as both he and his father were equally bent upon selecting the profession of a gentleman, had only to choose between the heroic one of a soldier abroad, and the nonheroic one of an apothecary at home-of serving in the armies of his most Christian or Catholic Majesty, and beating their enemies in Flanders, or serving an acquaintance of his father's, and beating the pestle and mortar in Kilkenny,"

Sarsfield would gladly have made his election of the former, but his father would not part with him, and he, therefore, becomes apprentice to the Kilkenny apothecary. In this situation he continues awhile, happy and respected; sometimes making physic, sometimes making verses, and sometimes making love. As the mistress of his affections, nothing less than an angel will satisfy him; fifty times is his passion stifled in the birth, or soon after, by some minute fault in the chosen fair one: and Mr. Gamble has depicted, with infinite humour, his hero's unreasonable fastidiousness on this score.

The angel comes at length; but, alas! she is a fallen angel. Unfor

VOL. III. FEBRUARY, 1815.

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Unfortunately, she has "not yet lost all her original brightness, and the romantic Sarsfield becomes captivated by her beauty, and apparent innocence. The ruler of his fate is a strolling actress, who has eloped from home with a villain, broken the heart of a doating mother, and been living with numbers in a state of prostitution, By consummate art, this second Milwood lures him on, from crime to crime, till he becomes inextricably entangled. He begins by pilfering small sums, and ends by robbing his master of property to a considerable amount. He now takes flight with his paramour, designing to emigrate with her to America, and commence actor there. His agonies, as he passes in darkness the door of his father, are admirably described. Criminal as he is, he is not yet profligate, and every new step that he makes in vice, fills his bosom with anguish and remorse.

To America, however, he does not go. The partner of his shame, who really meant, in this instance, to be faithful to him, 'meets by chance, in Dublin, with her original seducer. That seducer, whose hands are red with the blood of recent murder, has still such an ascendancy over her, that he compels her to abandon Sarsfield, and to carry off nearly the whole of the stolen money. For the deserted youth she leaves a letter, filled with expressions of bitter sorrow and regret, and warning him to avoid beings like herself. She incloses in it a letter to an actor in London, requesting him to take Sarsfield under his protection, in case the latter should turn his views towards the stage. Having no other resource, he adopts this plan, appears at Drury Lane theatre, as Hamlet, aud, in consequence of his Hibernian accent, is unsuccessful. He now becomes acquainted with Dunbar, a young Irish apothecary, who is on the point of sailing for India, and is commissioned to send down an assistant to his late master, in the neighbourhood of Bristol. Sarsfield prevails on Dunbar to give him a letter of introduction; which, as it is not sufficiently recommendatory, he destroys, and substitutes one of his own writing. He is received into the family, and is beginning to be esteemed by the members of it, when a terrible event tears him from his place of shelter, and plunges him in the deepest misery.

On quitting Ireland, he had assumed the name of Butler, which was that taken by his unworthy mistress, and had likewise pretended that he was a native of the north. Butler was the name of her seducer, and he was the 'man who, as we have seen, compelled her to rob and abandon Sarsfield. He had murdered, under circum tances of the most horrible cruelty, a pedlar of Dunnamana, near Strabane, and was flying from justice when he met his old companion. Unfortunately, Butler bears in face a distant resemblance to Sarsfield, and the latter is now arrested,

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on suspicion of being the murderer; a suspicion which is strengthened by his obstinately refusing to give his real name and place of birth, and likewise by his having been in possession of a remarkable piece of gold, which the pedlar was known to have worn as an amulet, but which Sarsfield had taken in change at a tavern, on his departure from Dublin. Though staggered in his opinion, Dunbar interests himself, as far as possible, in behalf of his acquaintance; but appearances are so strong against the supposed culprit, that he is shipped to Carrickfergus, to take his trial. After having been barbarously treated by the captain, and nearly lost on his passage, he once more sets foot on his native island.

In the jail of Carrickfergus he remains only a short time. He is liberated by the French, who, under the command of the celebrated Thurot, became masters of the town. He is made ensign and assistant surgeon by Thurot, sails from Carrickfergus with him, and is taken by the English. Speaking French perfectly well, Sarsfield, under the name of Glisson, contrives to pass himself off, without suspicion, as a subject of France. He is sent on parole to Strabane, where he speedily contracts an ardent and pure affection for Miss Ormsby, the daughter of the postmaster. His love is returned with equal ardour and purity. His history he dares not unfold, and Miss Ormsby continues ignorant that he is her countryman. At length, a packet arrives, with orders from government to arrest Bernardine Glisson, as an Irishman, and as suspected of having committed a horrible murder near Stranraer in Scotland. This mistake, of Stranraer for Strabane, arose from the wretched writing and spelling of the justice at Carrickfergus, who apprized government of the flight of Sarsfield. The postmaster being just then gone to bed, in his habitual state of intoxication, the packet is opened by Miss Ormsby, whose soul is agonized by the dreadful idea that the man she adores is a murderer. Love, however, pleads for him, and she flies to warn him of his danger. A highly pathetic scene takes place, in which Sarsfield convinces her that he is unstained by blood; and they then part, with vows of mutual constancy.

Sarsfield now undergoes much hardship, and, to obtain the means of escape, is guilty of two or three deviations from rectitude; which, as tending to degrade his character, we should object to laying at his door, were it not the author's avowed object to show that the commission of one crime almost necessarily leads to the commission of others. Escaping from a second storm, he lands in the island of Bute, where he stays several weeks; and, by his medical skill, and his pleasing manners, so ingratiates himself with the islanders, that, when he

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quite them, he has five guineas in his waistcoat, besides a coat pocket full of penny and halfpenny pieces. Where, however, fifty years ago, the good people of Bute obtained their penny pieces, Mr. Gamble forgets to informs us.

Sarsfield once more bends his steps towards London. As he approaches Berwick, at night-fall, he is overtaken by a man, evidently intoxicated, who enquires the distance to that place, and commences a conversation, which at first is extremely ludicrous, from his abundant use of cant phrases, abrupt, broken sentences, and strange oaths. It soon passes from the ludicrous into the terrific. Having chanced, in his rhapsody, to utter the word ghost, it awakes a train of ideas, and the mysterious stranger becomes absolutely phrenzied. He is convulsed, raves, blasphemes, and his distorted imagination pictures to him a host of demons and spectres hemming him round, and preparing to seize him. Sarsfield is desirous to shake him off; but the stranger in agony implores his loathing companion to accompany him "only past yon green hill" where the spectres are waiting for him; and, on receiving a refusal, he endeavours to obtain by force a compliance with his request. A struggle ensues, in which, after having several times rolled over each other, Sarsfield succeeds in mastering his antagonist. Sobered by the contest, the stranger rises; his fears have vanished with his drunkenness; and he undauntedly rushes forward, muttering hopes of future revenge, and leaving Sarsfield half exhausted, and shuddering at his recent peril, and at the mortifying fact that the face of the stranger bore a resemblance to his own.

As Sarsfield, after sitting awhile to recover himself, is getting up from the bank, he strikes his foot against a canvas bag. It contains a large sum in Dutch money, and the picture of a beautiful woman, set round with brilliants. At Berwick, he reads an advertisement, from a Datch Privy Counsellor, who has been robbed of the property, and now offers forgiveness of the past, and a large reward, to whoever will restore the picture. Sarsfield eagerly avails himself of this opportunity, sails to Holland, candidly tells the Counsellor his whole story, and is affectionately received and patronized by him. During his stay at Amsterdam, he is requested to visit a wretched Englishwoman, an accomplice whom the thief had left behind, and who is now dying in prison. To his astonishment, it is his faithless mis-tress. The miscreant with whom he had struggled, on his road to Berwick, was Butler, the murderer of the pedlar. Aid comes too late to the miserable woman, and she expires in his arms, forgiven by her victim, and repeutant of her crimes. Sarsfield sails, in an honourable capacity, to one of the Batavian settle

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