THE DOCTOR M'HENRY SCHOOL OF ROMANCE.

We were much puzzled to decide upon the school of novel writers, to which the prolific author of the "Wilderness" belongs; but, upon due consideration, have come to the conclusion, that he is not to be disposed of in this way. He is a little unknown himself; a great original; and a critic to boot. His tub stands on its own bottom; and he stands in it alone. His school is his own; and his works are unsusceptible of being classified under the banner of any living novelist. They are not to be judged by comparison with those of others, but by their own actual and unique merits. "None but themselves can be their parallels."

With a view of illustrating the character of the Doctor's school, we shall give an account, so far forth as we are able, of his recently published novel, O'Halloran,* which we have actually read all through, and suppose to be a fair specimen of the Doctor's powers. It is proper to mention, that we have noticed an imitation of the manner of Scott; to wit, that he has garnished the heads of his chapters with sundry scraps of poetry, manufactured by himself. As the Doctor is original in every thing else, he should not condescend to copy in this particular.

The leading characteristic of the style of his school, is, that it is off-hand and extemporaneous. Possibly, some of this book may have never been in manuscript, but have been composed, like Mr. Wooler's paragraphs, at the type fount. The plot seems to be made as it goes along; which is, indeed, the most natural way; and the same in which events usually turn up in the world we live in. The only objection we can perceive to this mode of doing business, is, that it may sometimes give rise to inconsistencies in character or incident. For instance, Mr. O'Halloran, the principal character of this novel, who, at the commencement, is a very good natured sort of an old gentleman, in the middle of it becomes savage and ugly and tyrannical. In fact, he behaves very improperly indeed. He afterwards reforms. We may, however, be mistaken as to the alleged inconsistency in this character. Perhaps the author intended to describe a well-meaning old fellow, with no extraordinary complement of brains; in which case, his improper conduct might be ascribed to the potatoe part of his numskull: a chraniological feature, which all the characters in the novel possess.

* O'Halloran, or the Insurgent Chief. An Irish Historical Tale of 1798. 2 vols. Philadelphia. H. C. Carey and I. Lea.

But to proceed to business. We shall give a rapid account of this story, and a few specimens of the author's manner. Mr. Edward Barrymore, in his twenty-second year, A. D. 1797, having quitted Trinity College, where, says the author, he had "finished his education," got permission from his father to take a ride to the northern part of Ireland, to look at the scenery and things in that quarter. "It was in the afternoon of a very fine day, in the month of May, 1797, when he arrived at the promontory of Bally-gally." Here he was going to fetch a walk along the beach, when he saw an old gentleman and a young lady, with whom he fell immediately in love, advancing towards him. He heard a great noise, and they suddenly disappeared. This non-plussed him, and he determined to see the end of this business: so he sat down on a stone, and, pulling out of his pocket Dryden's Virgil, (which he preferred to the original, on account of its being easier to read, than the crabbed and outlandish heathen Latin in which that is written,) be began to read about Dido and Æneas, and their incorrect behaviour during a thunder storm, until he forgot where he was. It grew dark, and the tide began to leak into his pumps; and there he was sitting up against a tall rock, with the ocean roaring up to him, in a very unpleasant manner. He jumped into the water, in order to swim back to the place where he first descended. This, however, was no such easy matter, and he was going to be drowned, when the old gentleman, whom he had before seen, called out to him in good Irish, "Swim a little more to the right, and out to sea; I shall help you."

On coming to his senses, he finds himself in the cottage of one of Mr. O'Halloran's tenants, (the gentleman who should help him ;) and that he has been nursed, during his insensibility, by Miss Ellen O'Halloran, the grand-daughter of the chieftain. Her father, Mr. Hamilton, having killed a gentleman in a duel, had been outlawed; and her mother having died, she bore her grandfather's name, by particular desire. The hero, (Mr. Barrymore,) being of a high tory family, and finding that his politics would not suit his new acquaintances, becomes domesticated in their castle, under the name of Middleton. He soon makes an acquaintance with Ellen's father, who was living incognito in the neighbourhood, under the name of old Saunders; and was unknown even to his father-in-law and daughter. He went about very ragged and dirty, with a pouch hanging at his girdle, to receive "such small donations as were forced upon him by the country people." He was also a very “sensible man, and somewhat of a literary disposition." Mr. Barrymore

soon adds to the number of his associates a crazy poet, also in love with Miss Helen, and a beggar woman; gets in love, over head and ears; and finds that his proposed father-in-law is at the head of the malcontents in that part of the country, and bids fair to be hanged very soon. The hero, however, is determined, at all events, not to be hanged in his company; and rejects all overtures made to him, to become a "United Irishman." He is, nevertheless, near getting into a scrape very soon, by being with Mr. O'Halloran at a fair. George M' Claverty, Esq., a justice of the peace, tells him it is "a damned suspicious acquaintance." He still, notwithstanding such broad hints, and a plot to murder him, haunts Mr. O'Halloran's house, and that of his sister, Mrs. Brown, until he becomes an object of suspicion to the insurgent party; and old Saunders advises him seriously to make himself scarce. This he resolves to do; but when it is too late. His person is seized, and he is locked up in the hole in the rocks, where O'Halloran and his grand-daughter had disappeared, on his first seeing them. Here he enjoys the society of a French emissary, also in love with Miss Ellen, and two newspaper editors, who kept a private office there. They asked him to take some tea and punch; lent him a magazine to read; read him lectures on agriculture and manufactures; and treated him with great politeness. Edward being thus in limbo, the Frenchman takes occasion to make love to Miss Ellen, in such a way, that old Saunders is obliged to knock him down, and hurt him very badly, to make him let her go. Six months now pass on; during which time the printing office belonging to the concern is broken up, the plot against the government ripens, and the hero is still held in custody. But the more they kept him there, the more he would not be a United Irishman; and Mr. O'Halloran consents that he shall be sent to France, by a private conveyance, as suggested by the Frenchman, who intends to cut his throat on the passage. Ellen has intimation of this project, and being unwilling that her lover should be thus "floored by that ere bloody Frenchman,"* contrives to get into the cave, and present him with "an exact duplicate of the clothes she then wore ;" and thus he effects his escape. goes back to his friends; and Ellen, after a little tiff with her grandfather about her conduct in the escape, gets fallen in love with by another gentleman, Sir Geoffrey Carebrow. This was very ridiculous in Sir Geoffrey; for, as the elegant and amiable Miss Maria Agnew, Ellen's friend, observed, page 222,

* "O, Jack! I'm floored by that ere bloody Frenchman."-Byron.

He

"What had an old half-rotten fellow of fifty to do with a fresh blooming damsel of nineteen? It was truly abominable." Notwithstanding his half-rottenness, however, Sir Geoffrey became most devouringly enamoured of this cruel fair one, who would have nothing to say to him. He, therefore, has recourse to the grandfather, to whom he pretends ardent patriotism, and lends 60,000 pounds on mortgage, at ten per cent., by way of giving him a proof of his disinterestedness; which was so effectual, that Mr. O'Halloran determines to give him his granddaughter, with or without her own consent, and allows her only a week to make up her mind to submission. Old Saunders now thinks it high time to interfere; and, by disclosing himself, as the father of Ellen, to O'Halloran, forbids the bans. Upon this, Sir Geoffrey threatens to jockey the grandfather out of 20,000 pounds, not yet advanced on the mortgaged premises, and also "to discover on the United Irishmen." (p. 228.) Neither would he give up his pursuit of Ellen; but, after an ineffectual attempt to carry her off, which was of course prevented by her lover in disguise, he succeeds in capturing her, and is on the point of accomplishing his diabolical object, when she is again rescued by Mr. Barrymore, alias Middleton. Sir Geoffrey is now put in the cave, in his turn, and treated very scurvily, until he gives up the 20,000 pounds; and Mr. Barrymore again returns to his friends.

The insurrection now breaks out in all its horrors. But our limits do not permit us to dwell on the historical part of this romance; neither are we disposed to speak with levity of any thing relating to the times, when so many brave men perished on the field and on the scaffold, for a conscientious resistance to arbitrary oppression. To wind up, therefore, the tangled skein of Dr. M'Henry's narration: Mr. O'Halloran is released at the foot of the gallows, and the pardon is brought by Ellen's lover. Her father is restored to his freedom, and gains a title and estate, by his brother's being found dead in a ditch. "The coroner's jury returned a verdict of death by drunkenness." " (vol. ii. p. 147.) The manner of this gentleman's demise might seem to be a gratuitous embellishment by the Doctor; if there were any accounting for the expedients of your imaginative novelists. Sir Geoffrey is shot by some of the straggling insurgents; and dies very penitent, bequeathing a large part of his fortune to Ellen, and giving up his mortgage, principal and interest. The hero's father is mortally wounded in battle; and all difficulties being removed, the tale might be expected to close. But the second volume not yet having its requisite. complement of pages, we are regaled with several pleasing in

cidents, by way of dessert. Edward's uncle, who is dying of grief for his brother's loss, wishes to see his nephew's intended bride. "You may," (says he to him, page 208.) "deem such a desire as this whimsical; and, perhaps, with regard to the lady, not altogether delicate. But it is surely rational that I should be desirous to see the mother of the future Barrymores. From the lady my desire may be kept concealed consequently, no wound will be given to her delicacy." Ellen is accordingly produced, and shown to the uncle; who was satisfied with her appearance, and shortly after expires. Edward takes occasion (page 182.) to give Ellen a kiss, which nearly blew up his hopes; and he was only forgiven on faithfully promising never to repeat the experiment. "To please my grandfather,' said she, (page 183.) 'I will overlook this piece of folly. But you must remember never again to treat me with such disrespect.' 'Never, never, my beloved,' he exclaimed." We have also a short courtship between the elegant Miss Maria Agnew, and a friend of the hero; and with a circumstantial account of the wedding of the latter, this great moral tale is brought to a conclusion.

We advise all such readers as are fond of amusement, to read this book; for there are really some very curious things to be found in it. We have no room to make extracts; and, indeed, should be afraid so to do; for the parts that have struck us as most entertaining, are the love scenes; and the Doctor's fancy sometimes gets quite too warm in describing them. Take, for example, page 144, vol. i., page 142, vol. ii., &c. Neither shall we make any comments on the grammatical peculiarities of the language; as the Doctor, no doubt, intended to preserve the keeping of his romance, and support its Irish character. If he continues to write at the same rapid rate in which he has hitherto gone on, he will soon rival, in the number of his works, the Scottish novelist; and if he does not equal him in other respects, it will not be 'his fault, but his misfortune.'

SIR,

To the Editor of the Atlantic Magazine.

Permit me, through the medium of your journal, to make an inquiry of some interest, as relates to the progress of the Fine Arts in this country; and one, at the same time, not wholly unconnected with the public and political history of our nation.

Who was Cerachi, and where is any authentic account of his life and works to be found?