ONCE more the green earth rejoices; Winter has passed away: he lingered, it is true, good while at the threshold, with his blue nose and chilly breath, but he is off at last. There is a new face at the door. Blooming, graceful, and joyous comes in the smiling Spring, with her green peas, cucumbers, young ducks and new novels. We are fond of Spring, with her uncertain glory, her smiles and tears, her sunshine and her showers, her fragrant breath and her merry voice.

In the spring a fuller crimson comes upon the

robin's breast;

In the spring the wanton lapwing gets herself another crest ;

In the spring a livelier iris changes on the burnished

dove;

In the spring a young man's fancy lightly turns to thoughts of love."

In the spring our fair country women, like the burnished dove of Mr. Tennyson, appear in floating draperies, the contemplation whereof is delicious, and the young man's fancy-heaven help it then! The bundles of fleecy hosiery disappear from the shop windows, and are succeeded by garments of divers colours; frequent carriages flash and glitter through the squares; Messrs. Colburn and Bentley come out with their new novels; and like the saffronmantled moon, or like a "daffy downdilly" in its renewed growth and unabated vigour, the pulses of life bounding merrily through her veins, comes forth to astonish and delight the world, the "DUBLIN UNIVERSITY MAGAZINE.'

"Time cannot alter her, nor custom change Her infinite variety."

She has attractions for all; to the literary banquet spread forth upon her

pages each guest may come, but none shall go empty away; hard to please will he indeed be who does not find there something sufficiently exquisite to please his palate. No crumpled roseleaf can be found to excite the apprehensions of the most fastidious sybarite, our vol au vents are delicate but unimpeachable; our more substantial dishes are homely but sound, and wholesome enough for the robustious appetite of the most stalwart yeoman; in short, we have something which is suited to the taste of each, and whoever is inclined to spend an agreeable half hour, let him sit down, or stand up if he like, and read this paper.

We have an utter distaste to the class of fictions composed by mere bookwrights; incidents, sentiments, and plots all apparently formed upon one model; a little bit of description, or a few moral reflections commence each chapter, in which it is possible the story may advance a little, or it may not, and then in the next there is the same thing over again. We have an equal dislike to those popular authors of the convulsion school, at the head of which stands Mr. Harrison Ainsworth. How a good-humoured-looking, fat, elderly, and apparently healthy person like him, ever had acquired such a taste for the terrible and marvellous, is rather extraordinary, and it is by no means creditable to the taste of the age that such productions receive encouragement. Still, among these vernal weeds and fungi of literature, a flower occasionally struggles into life, and to such an one, when visible, we always extend our fostering protection.*

3 A

Such an one is "Rockingham." We have not for many a day read a novel which contains more tender and touching passages; and in the delineation of passion the author has great and peculiar power; or, perhaps, we should have expressed ourselves with more correctness had we said the authoress, for the work bears, scattered here and there at random throughout its pages, evident traces of a woman's hand. It is difficult, however, to conceive how such an amount of know. ledge of naval tactics could have been got up by a lady. We are not sufficiently conversant in such matters, although it is, doubtless, the business of an accomplished critic to have a knowledge of every subject which he handles sufficient to enable him to detect a "trip," or whether he do in reality possess it or not, to assume it; but we candidly confess our acquaintance with maritime affairs does not qualify us to pronounce in this instance a decided opinion, and we sincerely hope our readers will think none the worse of us for our ignorance. There is not much of plot in "Rockingham," nor of startling incident, nor of graphic description, nor of delineation or va riety of character; but notwithstanding these are wanting, it has unquestion ably many other and higher claims upon the attention of a discerning pub. lic. The hero is taken from the world of fashion, but there is nothing vulgar about him, which proves that the author is probably a denizen of the same exalted sphere; his nature is honest, his heart brave and true,and all his impulses manly; love is his rock a-head through the voyage of life, and upon it his vessel suffers shipwreck at last. Had his nature been less sensitive, his heart less affectionate, trustful, and tender, he might have escaped; but his hopes had been garnered up upon one object, and, that found faithless, the charm of life was gone, "the silver chord was loosed." The tale of a broken heart and crushed affections is an old one, but not the less true from the fact that in the present times people do not seem either to have affections to lose, or hearts to be crushed. We have not time to indulge in such matters; a gentleman very much in love has become a rare commodity, he is probably very soon laughed out of it, and if the lady upon whom his affections are set does not

join in the laughter it is the less matter.

The vice of the age in which we live is worldliness. Each of us, both men and women, spends the best part of life in endeavours strenuous, but often fruitless, to elevate our social position; to rise in the scale of society we tread reviving passions down, and obliterate, if possible, everything which is likely to interfere with our upward progress. Hence, love-real, pure, true, and disinterested-has become comparatively rare. Has the world grown better or happier for its absence? we rather think not. If we neither see it nor feel it, it is, however, occasionally very pleasant still to read about it, and therefore this is one source of the attractions of "Rockingham."

The story upon which this interesting fiction is founded may be disposed of in a few words. The hero, Lord Edward Rockingham, is the younger son of Lord Elms water-an indolent nobleman in embarrassed circumstances, and has been deprived, while yet a child, of his mother. The outpourings of his filial love are checked by the cold and stern Lady Sheerness, a widowed and childless aunt, who comes to reside at her brother's house. While the head of the family, Rockingham's eldest brother, is sent to Eton, he is dispatched to Arleton, a seminary of an inferior description, where, however, there happens to be a very attractive and pretty woman in the person of Mrs. Wentworth, the young wife of the learned principal of that establishment. There are incessant quarrels between this lady and the schoolboys. They play her all kinds of tricks, and she retaliates by sending them up with praiseworthy regularity to be flogged by the doctor upon all possible occa sions. Upon the tender and suscepti ble heart of Rockingham the charms of this lady produce at first an extraordinary impression, which her kindness tends to deepen. Matters, however, occur which effect a serious alteration with regard to their amicable relations. Mrs. Wentworth takes it into her pretty head that Rockingham has leagued himself with the opposition; and conceiving in consequence a prejudice against him, he is frequently selected by her as a victim for the exercise of the pedagogue's birch. He suffers cruelly

upon various occasions; but at length, after undergoing a very severe ordeal, his sufferings terminate in a complete reconciliation, which results from the circumstance of the lady having had him flogged by her brother, a stalwart village doctor (the pedagogue being absent), in her presence, until he faints. This precocious passion in the breast of our hero is not a little amusing if we come to regard the return it met with at the hands of the mistress of his affection. It is, however, succeeded by a more serious and enduring affection to his beautiful cousin, Sophia Waldegrave, a wealthy heiress, the ward of his father, and the destined wife of his brother, Lord Arlingford. The brothers hence become rivals; but the suit of the elder is favoured both by his father and his aunt, who intend that the young lady's fortune shall be applied to relieve the family estate from certain burdens which at that time were pressing rather inconveniently upon it, and to restore the resources of their ancient line, crippled by contested elections and other matters, to their ancient splendour.

At the Ashton school, Rockingham had contracted the passion of friendship as well as that of love; and its object was William Thornton, who was destined to exercise an important influence upon his after life. By him he is inspired with a taste for naval affairs, and shortly after his removal from school, enters the service as a midshipman. He soon becomes distinguished by his gallantry and zeal. He attracts the notice of Lord Nelson at the battle of Cape St. Vincent, and stands beside that hero when he receives on the deck of the San Trinidad the swords of the Spanish captains. Conspicuous by his thirst for glory and desire of distinction, he slips, contrary to the orders of his captain, into one of the boats destined for the attack of the island of Trinidad, and recognises, just as they are landing, in the person of an officer also employed on that perilous service, his old friend and quondam associate at Ashton, William Thornton. The result of that attack is well known; but in its course both Thornton and his friend, being severely wounded, are captured by the enemy during the night, and while still suffering severely from the effect

of his wounds, Rockingham is by some omission left behind, while an exchange of prisoners is effected, and when daylight dawns finds himself alone, and sees preparations making to bury an English officer who had died in the night. This he imagines to be his friend Thornton-that officer, however, had in the meantime been conveyed in safety to his ship, but Rockingham laments him as dead. Our adventurous hero, having been carried round the globe in a French cruiser, makes his way to England, where he finds his cousin more beautiful than ever, and apparently more attached to him. Yielding to the solicitations of his father, he re-enters the servicean engagement having previously been extracted from him that he will only correspond with her at stated and remote intervals. He unluckily misses his ship, losing in consequence the opportunity of being present at the battle of Copenhagen; and passes into another vessel, commanded by Captain M'Ross, a vulgar Scotchman, who conceives a violent prejudice against him.

Whilst serving with this officer he is entrusted with the defence of the island of Pianosa, which he successfully holds out against overwhelming numbers until relieved. Once more at sea, by the chances of war the vessel in which Rockingham serves becomes opposed to a French ship under command of the officer with whom Rockingham had made his adventurous cruise, and by whom he had been conveyed to England. He is ordered by M Ross to lead the boarders, and after

a

severe hand-to-hand conflict, in which he endures the misery of seeing his old friend fall by the hands of his followers, he returns victorious, but severely wounded, to his own ship. The tyrannical conduct of Captain M'Ross had long produced a feeling of discontent among the men there; and at length a mutiny breaks out, which our hero succeeds, from his popularity among the men, in quelling. He is rewarded for his exertions by M'Ross with an insult so intolerable that in a moment of exasperation he strikes him to the ground. For this offence, the most serious breach of the articles of war, he is tried by courtmartial; but pending his imprisonment, and awaiting his trial, the news reaches him that his faithless cousin is

about to be led to the altar by his brother, Lord Elmswater. He effects his escape and arrives in England, where disguised as a common sailor he is just in time to witness the marriage. His rival has triumphed almost by the same arts which brought about that misfortune in the case of the master of Ravenswood. His letters have been suppressed, his actions have been misrepresented, he has been held up to scorn as a monster of infidelity and depravity; and the designs of his family upon the hand of the heiress have been so far successful. It is the old story, not the less touching than of yore

“Oh, my cousin, shallow hearted; ob, my Amy,

mine no more!

Oh, the barren, barren moorland; oh, the dreary, dreary shere:

Falser than all fancy fathoms; falser than all strains have sung:

Puppet to a father's wrath, servile to a shrewish tongue!"

Life has henceforward become valueless to him; he returns and surrenders himself; his trial shortly afterwards takes place; an artful and dangerous charge is made against him by his old enemy M'Ross, in the course of which almost every action of his life upon which an unfavourable construction could be placed is brought up in judgment against him. There appears, however, among the court of officers appointed to try him a face whose features excite strange sensations in the mind of Rockingham. To his distempered fancy it seems as if the dead had risen, so strong was the resemblance borne by the stranger to his old friend Thornton. At length he discovers that it is indeed the same.

He is shortly afterwards in the arms of his early friend, and is triumphantly acquitted of the charges against him upon the voluntary evidence of the crew of his own ship. He is restored to his former rank in the service, and promises to wipe out the memory of the breach of discipline of which he had been guilty, by his future acts of glory.

He goes to sea once more with his friend Thornton, but nothing can dissipate the fixed gloom which has settled upon his spirits, and the battle of Trafalgar shortly afterwards affords to the victim of adverse fate the opportunity he had long so eagerly coveted. He dies gloriously in the suc

cessful attempt at eating away the topmast of his own vessel, which being on fire had seriously endangered the safety of the whole crew.

Having thus glanced briedy at the main features of this very interesting story it only remains for us to indicate what we consider its chief merits. The love passages between the hero and his cousin are handled with much tenderness and truthful power. We are sorry that our space does not permit us to indulge our readers with the pleasure of an extract from these portions of the story; but if they will not take our word for it let them judge for themselves, and we feel assured they will be amply repaid. There is also displayed considerable power and taste in the description of Rockingham's schoolboy career, and the inefficiency of the system prevailing at public schools, for the development of a sensitive and timid temperament, is admirably illustrated in the history of one of his associates, whose name we cannot call to mind, but who falls a victim to the tyranny of Mrs. Wentworth. The passage in the life of our hero in regard of that lady puzzles us not a little; how he could have con

ceived so violent an affection for a

young lady who actually stood by and saw her boy-lover fastened up to a post with her handkerchief, and severely flogged in her presence, we admit we are quite unable to explain upon any sound philosophical principles; we only know what sentiments such con

duct would have been calculated to inspire us in those days.

We cannot conclude our notice of this work without giving one or two extracts, which afford a tolerably fair sample of the author's style and mode of handling the subject. The first return home of the boy-sailor after his long cruise and many dangers, is a picture replete with truth and beauty, and abounding in exquisite and tender colouring:

"The shore was now close at hand; through the sultry haze of the summer morning I could distinguish the white cottages spread over the gently wooded coast. As we ran nearer and nearer in I remained silent and motionless; but when at length the heavy boat was lodged upon the dry strand - when springing from her I stepped upon the

glittering beach, I fell upon my knees, and burying my head in the rude shingles pressed them wildly to my lips! Oh, that I had never shed any other tears than those of that hour! Having settled with my conductors, I for the first time inquired on what part of the coast I had been landed, and which was the nearest town. I was informed we were a very few miles to the eastward of Plymouth.

"Indeed,' said I, then we cannot be very far from Ashton.'

"Ashton?-that road to the right will take you there in the course of the afternoon.'

"Unable to resist the pleasure of visiting that well remembered spot, I determined to proceed there at once. Oh, that walk by the hedge-girt roads, winding among the blooming gardens, the peaceful villages, and the stately parks of my native land! with what joy thy prodigal child again trod thy well beloved shore, happy, happy England! That was indeed a memorable day in my blighted and fitful existence, redeeming in its pure and silent rapture all the sufferings of my five years' exile. When I had walked for about an hour I was overtaken by a coach.

"Do you go through Ashton,' said I, to the driver.

"Yes, sir-be there in less than an hour.'

"Springing up behind him I was borne rapidly along, and rather within the prescribed time, the coachman, turning round and showing me a distant village, said

"There you are wish to be set down there ?'

"Yes; by the school.'

"In a few minutes we stopped. It was the exact spot where I had bid farewell to Thornton; the house, the grounds, all seemed very much as I had left them. I moved slowly up to the hall-door of the private house, but my heart beat so violently that for a moment I was unable to pull the bell. At last the summons was given and a servant appeared. "Is Dr. Wentworth at home, pray?' said I.

"Dr. Wentworth?' "Yes; Dr. Wentworth. home?'

Is he at

before; you had better inquire at the town,' replied the domestic, who, hearing a bell from within, was now very anxious to retire.

"Much obliged,' said I, and I withdrew myself in the direction of the village to obtain some further information there. On the way, not many hundred yards to the left of the road, lay the parish church, and I felt irresistibly moved to visit once more the spot where I had so often strayed to escape from the noisy precincts of the school.

"The church was situated on the slope of a gentle eminence, from the summit of which an extensive view of the neighbourhood was commanded. I soon discerned behind the well-known steeple a lofty elm which had been a favorite resting-place of Thornton and myself. I rapidly ascended the acclivity and reached the foot of this tree. He at least stood unaltered in his stately loneliness, but the soil around had been sorely disturbed, for death had not neglected its work during my absence. The enclosure of the rural cemetery, which formerly had run at the foot of this tree was now carried far beyond, and many a village grave was strewed around it. One of these particularly attracted my attention. It had been raised at some expense.

"How forcibly in that hour the memory of the days that were no more pressed upon my thoughts. There lay beneath me those scenes which, during my weary years of sickness and of exile, fancy had so often restored to my view in their unforgotten loveliness. There were the very fields where I had strayed with Thornton, while he unfolded to my eager mind the mysteries of the universe; there was the glorious ocean which we claimed already for our home, and on whose boundless expanse we were wont to track our adventurous career; but where was he at whose will the fire of intelligence and ambition had first been kindled within me; and she, that other being, for whom my heart had beat with a more heavenly and still deeper affection? Thornton slept well in the warrior's early grave, which he had so ardently sought, but surely no peril could have beset the smooth path of Mrs. Wentworth's life. And where was she? Insensibly my wandering thoughts returned to the objects more immediately around me. I remarked that on the summit of the tombstone close to me, an urn half covered by a veil had been sculptured, and that some words had been inscribed there apart from the epitaph below.