appropriate circumstances, she possessed also the eye of a painter as well as the feeling of a poetess. She conceived to a nicety the effect of a storm on a landscape, the playing of a meteor on the point of a spear, and the sudden appearance of some old castle to which travellers have been long coming, and which they have reasons to fear living in. It has been objected to her that she is too much of a melodramatic writer, and that her characters are inferior to her circumstances; the background (as Hazlitt says) of more importance than the figures. This in a great measure is true; but she has painted characters also, chiefly weak ones, as in the querulous duped aunt in Udolpho, and the victim of error, St. Pierre, in the Romance of the Forest. It must be considered, however, that her effects, however produced, are successful, and greatly successful; and that Nature herself deals in precisely such effects, leaving men to be operated upon by them passively, and not to play the chief parts in the process by means of their characters. Mrs. Radcliffe brings on the scene Fear and Terror themselves, the grandeurs of the known world, and the awes of the unknown; and if human beings become puppets in her hands, it is as people in storm and earthquake are puppets in the hands of Nature.

The following passage, from the Mysteries of Udolpho, is one of the most favourite in her writings. Mr. Hazlitt thinks the Provençal tale in it "the greatest treat which Mrs. Radcliffe's pen has provided for the lovers of the marvellous and terrible." Sir Walter Scott says, "The best and most admired specimen of her art is the mysterious disappearance of Lodovico, after having undertaken to watch for a night in a haunted apartment; and the mind of the reader is finely wound up for some strange catastrophe, by the admirable ghost-story which he is represented as perusing to amuse his solitude, as the scene closes upon him. Neither can it be denied, that the explanation afforded of this mysterious accident is as probable as romance requires, and in itself completely satisfactory."

What that explanation is, the reader will find at the close of the extract.

THE count gave orders for the north apart

ments to be opened and prepared for the reception of Ludovico; but Dorothee, remembering what she

had lately witnessed there, feared to obey; and not one of the other servants daring to venture thither, the rooms remained shut up till the time when Ludovico was to retire thither for the night, an hour for which the whole household waited with the greatest impatience.

After supper, Ludovico, by the order of the count, attended him in his closet, where they remained alone for

near half an hour, and on leaving which his lord delivered to him a sword.

It has seen service in mortal quarrels," said the count, jocosely; "you will use it honourably no doubt in a spiritual one. To-morrow let me hear that there is not one ghost remaining in the château."

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Ludovico received it with a respectful bow. "You shall be obeyed, my lord," said he; I will engage that no spectre shall disturb the peace of the château after this night."

They now returned to the supper-room, where the count's guests awaited to accompany him and Ludovico to the north apartments; and Dorothee, being summoned for the keys, delivered them to Ludovico, who then led the way, followed by most of the inhabitants of the château. Having reached the back staircase, several of the servants shrunk back and refused to go further, but the rest followed him to the top of the staircase, where a broad landing-place allowed them to flock round him, while he applied the key to the door, during which they watched him with as much eager curiosity as if he had been performing some magical rite.

Ludovico, unaccustomed to the lock, could not turn it, and Dorothee, who had lingered far behind, was called forward, under whose hand the door opened slowly, and her eye glancing within the dusky chamber, she uttered a sudden shriek and retreated. At this signal of alarm the greater part of the crowd hurried down, and the count, Henri, and Ludovico were left alone to pursue the inquiry, who instantly rushed into the apartment, Ludovico with a drawn sword, which he had just time to draw from the scabbard, the count with a lamp in his hand, and Henri carrying a basket containing provision for the courageous adventurer.

Having looked hastily round the first room, where

nothing appeared to justify alarm, they passed on to the second; and here too all being quiet, they proceeded to a third in a more tempered step. The count had now leisure to smile at the discomposure into which he had been surprised, and to ask Ludovico in which room he designed to pass the night.

"There are several chambers beyond these, your excellenza," said Ludovico, pointing to a door, "and in one of them is a bed, they say. I will pass the night there; and when I am weary of watching, I can lie down."

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Good," said the count; "let us go on. You see, these rooms show nothing but damp walls and decaying furniture. I have been so much occupied since I came to the château, that I have not looked into them till now. Remember, Ludovico, to tell the housekeeper to-morrow to throw open these windows. The damask hangings are dropping to pieces; I will have them taken down, and this antique furniture removed."

"Dear sir," said Henri, "here is an arm-chair so massy with gilding, that it resembles one of the state chairs in the Louvre more than anything else."

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"Yes," said the count, stopping a moment to survey it, 'there is a history belonging to that chair, but I have not time to tell it; let us pass on. This suite runs to a greater extent than I imagined; it is many years since I was in them. But where is the bed-room you speak of, Ludovico? these are only ante-chambers to the great drawing-room. I remember them in their splendour."

"The bed, my lord," replied Ludovico, "they told me was in a room that opens beyond the saloon and terminates the suite."

"O, here is the saloon," said the count, as they entered

on, without suspecting that I had the least concern in their conversation.

When I arrived at the inn, I called for supper; and it being a meagre day, was fain to put up with eggs; which while they got ready, I made up to my landlady, whom I had not seen before. She appeared handsome enough; and withal so sprightly and gay, that I should have concluded (even if her husband had not told me so) that her house was pretty well frequented. When the omelet I had bespoken was ready, I sat down to table by myself; and had not yet swallowed the first mouthful, when the landlord came in, followed by the man who had stopt him in the street. This cavalier, who wore a long sword, and seemed to be about thirty years of age, advanced towards me with an eager air, saying, "Mr. Student, I am informed that you are that Signior Gil Blas of Santillane, who is the link of philosophy, and ornament of Oviedo! Is it possible that you are that mirror of learning, that sublime genius, whose reputation is so great in this country? You know not," continued he, addressing himself to the innkeeper and his wife, "you know not what you possess! You have a treasure in your house! Behold, in this young gentleman, the eighth wonder of the world!" Then turning to me, and throwing his arms about my neck, "Forgive," cried he, "my transports! I cannot contain the joy that your presence creates."

I could not answer for some time, because he locked me so close in his arms, that I was almost suffocated for want of breath; and it was not till I had disengaged my head from his embrace, that I replied, "Signior Cavalier, I did not think my name was known at Penaflor." • How!

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