Excerpt from Devereux

IF this work possess any merit of a Narrative order, it will perhaps be found in its fidelity to the characteristics of an Autobiography. The reader must, indeed, comply with the condition exacted from his imagination and faith - that is to say, he must take the hero Of the story upon the terms for which Morton Devereux himself stipu lates and regard the supposed Count as one who lived and wrote in the last century, but who (dimly conscious that the tone of his mind harmonized less with his own age than with that which was to come) left his biography as a legacy to the present. This assumption (which is not an unfair one) liberally conceded, and allowed to account for occasional anachronisms in sentiment, Morton Devereux will-be found to write, as a man who is not constructing a romance, but narrating a life. He gives to Love, its joy and its sorrow, its due share in an eventful and passionate existence but it is the share of biography, not of fiction. He selects from the crowd of person ages with whom he is brought into contact, not only those who directly influence his personal destinies, but those of whom a sketch or an anecdote would appear to a biographer likely to have interest for posterity. Louis XIV., the Regent Orleans, Peter the Great, Lord Bolingbroke, and others less eminent, but still of mark in their own day, if growing obscure to ours, are introduced not for the purposes and agencies of fiction, but as an autobiographer's natural illustrations of the men and manners of his time.

And here be it pardoned if I add that so minute an attention has been paid to accuracy, that even in petty details, and in relation to historical characters but slightly known to the ordinary reader, a critic deeply acquainted with the memoirs of the age will allow that the novelist is always merged in the narrator.

Unless the Author has failed more in his design, than, on revising the work of his early youth with the comparatively impartial eye of maturer judgment, he is disposed to concede - Morton Devereux will also be found with that marked individuality of character which distinguishes the man who has lived and laboured, from the hero of romance. He admits into his life but few passions - those are tenacious and intense; conscious that none who are around him will sympathize with his deeper feelings he veils them under the sneer Of an irony which is Often affected and never mirthful. Where ever we find him, after surviving the brief episode of love, we feel though he does not tell us so-that he is alone in the world. He is represented as 'a keen observer and a successful actor in the busy theatre of mankind, precisely in proportion as no cloud from the heart obscures the cold clearness of the mind. In the scenes Of pleasure there is no joy in his smile; in the contests of ambition there is no quicker beat Of the pulse. Attaining in the prime Of manhood such position and honour as would first content and then sate a man of this mould, he has nothing left but to discover the vanities Of this world, and to ponder on the hopes of the next and, his last passion dying out in the retribution that falls on his foe, he finally sits down in retirement to rebuild the ruined home of his youth, - unconscious that to that solitude the Destinies have led him to repair the waste and ravages of his own melancholy soul.

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