SAYINGS AND DOINGS.*

Ir was long ago remarked, by as shrewd an observer of life as ever looked on it, that if any man would fairly and honestly write the history of his own adventures, he could not fail of making an interesting book. Our author seems to be of a similar opinion with respect to story-telling. He writes down what he has seen-what any of us who open our eyes can see-and puts it into print. The experiment has succeeded. There are few more agreeable tales; and yet there is scarcely an incident in any one of them which we do not acknowledge vraisemblable. The idea of their construction is, we believe, novel in our literature, though common in French: a proverb is selected, the application of which forms the burden of the story. In the first, which has for text, (saving that in this case, contrary to the order of Sermons, the text comes last,) that "too much of one thing is good for nothing," details the adventures of Mr. Burton Danvers, a tale of common life, to the life itself, abounding with some most humorous and shrewd scenes and sketches of character. The intrigues of a false friend, in which, however, the author appears rather too severe upon the generally respectable, though certainly, in a literary point of view, not very attractive sect of Methodists, form the subject of the second. But Merton, the third tale, is our favourite. It opens very dramatically, by introducing to us the heroine at once, receiving homage from Mr. Felton, whom we shall leave it to the author to describe.

"Felton was a thorough-bred Dandy-and never sure was word so profaned, so misused, or so woefully misapplied by the more ordinary judges of society than this. The uninitiated call a man a dandy who wears a stiff neckcloth, or stays, or whiskers, or any thing outré, even if he live in the city, and be detectable in a playhouse lobby, or on a great shining horse with a new saddle, in the park on a Sunday. Never was such a mistake-Felton was really a dandy; he lived in the best society, knew every body and every thing, could distinguish the hand of Ude, even in a risolle, would shudder if a man took white wine after brown game, or port with cheese (after the manner of the ancients). He was the youth who at Oxford woke the dean of his college at two in the morning, to shew him an ill-roasted potatoe, as a slur upon the cookery of the University; he was the man who always left town when the chairmen began to eat asparagus; he was the identical person who was called the late Mr. Felton from never being in time for dinner; he was the being who only saw fish or soup upon his own table ;-carriages were named after him; he had a mixture at Fribourg's, and gave the ton in hats. In short-he was a dandy. But with all his grace and sensitiveness, with all his wit and vivacity, Fanny Meadows could not conceal from me-for I watched her attentively-a certain distaste which she felt for the condescension he displayed, in thus pointedly devoting himself to the daughter of a widow lady, who had neither blood nor money to recommend her to the notice of "the curious in heiresses."

In fact, the young lady has already had another choice-whose name, as in duty bound, gives title to the story. Mamma is averse, as mammas will be; and, as daughters will be, Fanny is determined. Merton takes advantage of a tender moment, and carries his charmer off to Gretna Green. A series of most provoking accidents delays the progress of the journey, and embroils both the fond couple and the hasty reader for more pages than are perhaps requisite; the consequence of all which is, that Mrs. Meadows gains time to overtake them, and tear away her

* Sayings and Doings, a Series of Sketches from Life. 3 vols. post 8vo.

daughter, while they were actually on their knees before the matrimonial smith

Whose anvil forges chains less hard to break

Than doth his mumbled rite.

Among the party which accompanied the mother on this unkind mission, is Mr. Felton; and Merton, of course, is filled with wrath against the intruder, whom he defies, in language much more candid than polite. A message is the consequence; but Henry is spared the trouble of fighting; for his second, a choleric Hibernian whom he has casually met at the inn, indignant at the language he receives from Felton during the negotiations for his friend's duel, has made himself principal, called out the dandy, and, with the accuracy of his country in these particulars, shot him, while Merton was asleep, and dreaming of the future encounter. Being thus relieved from the necessity of shooting his rival, he dashes after his mistress, misses her, and proceeds to London." We think our readers will be pleased with the liveliness of the following scene.

"When Harry reached London, he went to Steevens's. The force of habit was strong upon him, and the days of his boyhood came to his mind, whenever he entered the coffee-room of that house, which, before Clubs were trumps in London, or rather when clubs were closed against half-pay officers, parsons without preferment, lawyers without briefs, and clerks without money, was a mighty fashionable place. At present, the innume rable societies where cheap chops, and brandy and water, may be had by subscription, under gilded cornices and Corinthian columns, have robbed the metropolitan coffee-rooms of their visitors, and the men who ten years ago were afraid to venture their slender purses into Long's or Steevens's, on account of the expense, now denounce them as vulgar places, in comparison with their Clubs,' the chief merit of many of which, to their five or six thousand members, is the cheapness of the victuals, and the positive interdic tion of tips to the waiters.

"This was not so in my time-but never mind, all is for the best fe tremes meet,' and most abuses cure themselves. However, at Steevens's, whom should Harry Merton encounter, as if by magic, but Charles Fitzpa trick? There he was, as large as life, eating a fricandeau à l'oiselle, as quietly and calmly as if Mr. John Felton had been out shooting, instead of having been shot. Astonishment seized the friends-why, it is impossible for me to guess, seeing that since beards grew on their chins, both Merton and Fitzpa trick had invariably lived at Steevens's, when in London; nay, it was in that very coffee-room, after an opera, that their boyish acquaintance had beend first renewed.

Y

"Upon my word, I vow to Gad,' said Fitzpatrick, I'm delighted tol see you, I've had a mighty handsome letter from old Felton about this und happy affair, which that same Colonel sent after me, and which I got this morning. It was necessary to have some sort of ceremony, I'm sure I forget what they call it, something with a Jury, I know, who sat upon the poor man's body, and they brought in a verdict ofbut here here is the letter. I vow to Gad, upon my honour as a gentleman, I don't clearly understand it, but read it yourself, I know it is all extremely correct, and I'm glad of it for poor Callaghan's sake, who is gone to see his friends, and it would have broken my heart, if I had got him into any sort of bother upon my account.'

"Saying which, he handed over Colonel Musgrave's letter, which merely announced the decision of old Mr. Felton not to prosecute a determination which (very satisfactorily to Fitzpatrick) he had come to, upon the strong re presentations of the Colonel, touching the extraordinary degree of insolence, and unnecessary intemperance, the unfortunate young man had displayed, in the discussion with that gentleman, when he merely waited upon him as the friend of Merton.

"Nothing can be more satisfactory, or soothing under the circumstances, my dear Fitzpatrick,' said Merton, endeavouring to temporize with his feelings.

"Oh faith,' said Charles, as for its being satisfactory, I was determined it should be that, if you mean the meeting; and as for the result, I'd be sorry if I didn't lament the man; but 'twas his own seeking, and I vow to Gad, upon the honour of a gentleman, dead as he is, if he were to play me the same tricks as he did, I'd make no scruple in having him out again tomorrow morning.'

46

By an arrangement of dishes, the friends contrived to come to wine' about the same moment. And Merton found so much pleasure in telling his sorrows over a bottle of claret, and Charles Fitzpatrick enjoyed so much gratification in listening to them under similar circumstances, that they talked and drank, and drank and talked, till the conversation taking that turn, Fitzpatrick insisted on introducing Merton to his sister, a lady of beauty, talent, and accomplishment, (the wife of a Rear-admiral, absent on service,) who would be delighted to make his acquaintance, and give them some coffee.

"Upon enquiring the hour, and desiring the waiter to get a hackney coach, it turned out to be past twelve, a time not well suited, as it seemed to our hero, to pay a first visit to a new female acquaintance. The plan was accordingly changed, and another bottle of claret ordered, to be followed by a grille.

Faith,' said Fitzpatrick, I'd be glad you knew my sister, upon the honour of a gentleman; I vow to Gad she's an uncommon elegant woman, there's no nonsense-no plating, as I call it, about her. I must tell you a great joke we have against her just now: my brother-in-law, her husbanda capital fellow, a countryman of ours--'faith, he took her over to his place in county Waterford-a mighty fine place too-and when she had been living here in England for half a dozen years-and they killed a bullock to feast the tenants, and all that sort of thing-and George, that's her husband -George said to her, Kate, my love, I've ordered them to kill a bullock, and I've desired Mahony'-Mahony is his own man-his manager-gone with him to sea-oh, he's an elegant servant!-says he, By the Lord we're killed a bullock, and I've desired Mahony to take your orders about it.' 'Kill a bullock, my life!' says my poor innocent sister, 'dear heart! I'm quite pleased at that; I'm so remarkably fond of giblet-soup!'

"Faith, Sir, that's a blunder she'll never get the better of; but never mind that: she's a kind creature, and I tell you what you must promise me, Harry; you must breakfast with us to-morrow; I breakfast with her, and come you shall, and she'll tell you the story of the giblet-soup herself.'

"Agreed,' said Harry, his good-humour increasing, and his spirits considerably improving with the wine, ‘A bargain—I'm your man!'

"That's understood:-I'll be delighted,' said Charles, to introduce you !' "And here entered the waiters, with covers hermetically sealed, which being removed, displayed grilled and minced pheasant; bones of sorts; and all the provocatives to appetite, and all the creators of thirst which the Apician dispensary could furnish out.

"In order to meet the demand of nature for liquids, champaign punch was proposed by our hero; a proof that he had already transgressed those rules which prudence formerly, and fashion and custom at present prescribe, with regard to drinking. The lamps burned dim, the waiters looked pale and sleepy; the companions felt chilly; the ticking of the clock seemed to grow louder; an occasional gape from a distant attendant, and a shout in the street, betrayed the lateness of the hour; and at half-past two, Fitzpatrick proposed a plan to his tottering friend, little indicative of his own steadiness.

"I tell you what,' said the free-hearted Irishman, we were disappointed in our coffee, and I am vexed at not having introduced you to Kate; but, I vow to Gad, I know some friends of mine, female ladies, who live in Thayerstreet, Manchester-square. Oh, and upon the honour of a gentleman, extremely nice, proper, elegant people ;-we'll go there, and see if they are at home.'

"Home!' stammered Harry, why-it's three o'clock !'

"What of that, now?' said Charles. What's the clock to do with it? Wait awhile, now, and come with me :-I'll just shew you two elegant people—at least, I know where they lived last season, and they never move. Come, will you come, Harry?'

"Any where, gallant Trojan,' said Merton. Any where, all's one to me; I'm exceedingly happy-and vastly thirsty:' saying which he seized and applied to his pale and parched lips a huge jug of small-beer, which some injudicious waiter had left on a side-table.

"Tut tut, man! what's that you are doing?' cried Fitzpatrick.

When port and claret 's gone and spent,

Then table-beer's most excellent!'

warbled out Harry, who had lost sight of every thing in the world except the two lamps in the coffee-room; but, as if to compensate for his blindness to other objects, he was fully convinced he saw four, and sometimes six of those !"

The lines here put in Henry's mouth were in reality spoken under similar circumstances by Porson, whose devotion to the jolly god was notorious. It is a pity, that so merry a sin should be so unfortunate, for it cost the professor his life, and our hero his mistress: of all the unlucky places in the world that he could be taken to, the place blundered on by Fitzpatrick was the most unlucky-it was Fanny's lodgings. He staggers drunk into her presence; and she, as becomes a young lady who knows nothing of the wicked propensities of young gentlemen, is of course shocked, and mentally rejects him for ever. Pour comble de malheur, she sees him next day doing flirtation-the most innocent in the world, but gall and wormwood to a mind already ill at ease― with Fitzpatrick's dashing sister in the Park. He is forbidden her house, and returns to his father's.

The old gentleman, after the requisite lecture, favours his views, and promises his co-operation: but, sad to say, drops dead of an apoplexy, leaving a mystery hinted at in the most convenient time possible for carrying on the story; indeed it was beat to a stand-still but for it. As it is, we go on most merrily. Harry gets introduced to Lord Castleton's family-and sees Kate Etherington, a protegée of my lady's. She is beautiful, attractive, accomplished, coquet, and all that. It scandalizes us to say it--but the story goes on to tell how he falls in love. A contretems, as usual, puts it into his head that Fanny has left him for another. Mistake after mistake, in the manner of novels, convinces him of it; and he marries Kate partly through love and partly through spleen. He is married but two days when a letter from Fanny arrives, full of old love and renewed confidence. She never forsook him;falsehood had been at work; she knows not of his marriage, and is still ready to accept his hand. What is he to do? The resolution is soon formed. He pretends to his wife that he has business in Liverpool, and flies to meet Fanny at Southampton. He explains, and they are miserable quantum suff. In the mean time, a former admirer of his wife, Sir H. Lavington, sees him on his journey;-informs against him to her; and the consequence is such as may be apprehended from a professed gallant, and a jealous and unprincipled wife. That night witnessed Kate's disgrace and Merton's dishonour.

Merton returns, unconscious of what has passed, and is séverely upbraided by his lady for duplicity, but succeeds in appeasing and carrying her off to his patrimonial cottage, which is burnt just in time

to give him a full view of the conflagration. To comfort him, howA ever, we speak as bachelors,-his wife elopes with Sir Henry. series of misfortunes here begins to set in on the unfortunate hero. His house has not been insured. He takes a bill on a firm which stops payment. A post in Melville Island, which he has been, rather prematurely in our opinion, promised by Lord Castleton, and on which he calculated somewhat sanguinely, is not to be had, Government being terrified by the Opposition out of making places in that valuable colony. He is cheated in money borrowing. An action which he brings against Sir Henry for damages, utterly fails; the lady's ante-nuptial infidelities, of which Merton knew nothing, and his own post-nuptial negligence, being fully proved; and finally he gets suspected of the murder of Lavington, and tried for the crime. For this charge the foundation is his having accidentally slept in the same room, while in the village of Lowestoffe, the disappearance of Sir Henry in the morning, and the well-known fact that he had too much reason to be angry with him. Many minute circumstances also make against him; his defence is lame enough, and he is sentenced to be hanged. This is, indeed, a climax of misfortune.

It would be unfair to all readers of novels were we to add another word. We may barely hint that he escapes, and is retaken in the next chapter. How often have we not cursed the reviewer who told us all the story beforehand, and took away the delight of unravelling the mysteries of the dénouement.

The chief defects of these tales are, first, a decided leaning against all persons holding liberal opinions in politics, who refuse to bend the knee to the Jaggernaut of Toryism. The pictures of Sir O. Freeman, vol. I. and of Merton's judge, vol. III. are quite unfair. We object also to the short snapping of the dialogue, which is amusing in farces, but in compositions of a higher order, troublesome enough. And if, as some think fit to report, the characters drawn are meant for actual individuals now existing, we must look on that too as a defect, for the personages of novels should represent the species. But we must say that the charge appears to us quite unfounded-certain we are that nothing can be less true with respect to some names most confidently mentioned. In industrious hands any book may be made personal. We all remember how ingeniously such an operation rendered the Whole Duty of Man the most scandalous chronicle in the world.

FROM THE GERMAN.
For a Catch.

CASSINI, that uncommon man,

In vain Heaven's azure depth doth scan,

New stars in it to see:

The reason's plain-he pores, and thinks,

And pores again; but never drinks

His wine like you and me.

We know far better; we can sit
Astronomers midst wine and wit

Without or toil or trouble;

And then, when through our glass we pore,

New stars we see ne'er seen before;

And, hark ye friend, I'll tell thee more,

We see each old star double.