In 1837 appeared Bulwer's novel of Ernest Maltravers.' He designed this story to illustrate what, though rare in novels, is common in human life-the affliction of the good, the triumph of the unprincipled.' The character of Maltravers is far from pleasing; and Alice Darvil is evidently a copy from Byron's Haidee. Ferrers, the villain of the tale, is also a Byronic creation; and, on the whole, the violent contrasts and gloomy delineations of this novel render it more akin to the spurious offspring of sentimental romance, than to the family of the genuine English novel. A continuation of this work was given in the following year, under the title of Alice, or the Mys teries,' with no improvement as to literary power or correct moral philosophy, but still containing some fresh and exquisite descriptions, and delightful portraiture. His next work was Athens, partly historical and partly philosophical. In the same year (1838) we had 'Leila, or the Siege of Granada,' and Calderon the Courtier '-light and sketchy productions. Passing over the dramas of Bulwer, we come to Night and Morning,' a novel with a clear and simple plot, and some good characters. Gawtrey, a swindler, is well drawn, and the account of his death affords a specimen of the novelist's 'scenic' style. Gawtrey is the chief of a gang of coiners in Paris; they are detected, and Gawtrey, with his associate Morton, is pursued to the attic in which they live.

Death of Gawtrey the Coiner.

At both doors now were heard the sound of voices. 'Open, in the king's name, or expect no mercy!' Hist!' said Gawtrey. One way yet-the window-the rope" Morton opened the casement--Gawtrey uncoiled the rope. The dawn was breaking: it was light in the streets, but all seemed quiet without. The doors reeled and shook beneath the pressure of the pursuers. Gastroy flung the rope across the street to the opposite parapet: after two or three efforts, the grappling-hook caught firm hold-the perilons path was made.

'Go first.' said Morton: I will not leave you now; you will be longer getting across than I shall. I will keep guard till you are over

Hark! hark!-are you mad? You keep guard! What is your strength to mine? Twenty men shall not move that door, while my weight is against it. Quick, or you destrov us both! Besides, yon will hold the rope for me; it may not be strong enough for my bulk of itself Stay!-stay one moment. If you escape, and I fallFanny-my father, he will take care of her-you remember-thanks! Forgive me a! Go: that's right!'

With a firm pulse. Morton threw himself on that dreadful bridge; it swung and crackled at his weight. Shifting his grasp rapidly-holding his breath-with set teeth-with closed eves-he moved on-he gained the parapet-he stood safe on the onnosit side. And now straining his eves across, he saw throngh the open caseDnt into the chamber he had just quitted. Gawtrey was still standing against the or to the principal staircase, for that of the two was the weaker and the more gagiled. Proxently the explosion of a firearm was heard: they had shot through the panel Gawtroy seemed wounded, for he staggered forward, and uttered a fierce cry: a moment more, and he gained the window-he seized the rope-he hung over the tremendous depth! Morton knelt by the parapet, holding the grappling-hook in its place, with convulsive grasp, and fixing his eyes. bloodshot with fear and suspense, on the huge bulk that clung for life to that slender cord!

Le voila! le voila !' cried a voice from the opposite side. Morton raised his gaze from Gawtrey; the casement was darkened by the forms of the pursuers-they had

burst into the room-an officer sprang upon the parapet, and Gawtrey, now awure of his danger, opened his eyes, and, as lie moved on. glared upon the foe. The police man deliberately raised his pistol-Gawfrey arrested himself-from a wound in his side the blood trickled slowly and darkly down, drop by drop upon the stones below; even the officers of the law shuddered as they eyed him; his hair bristling-his cheek white-his lips drawn convulsively from his teeth, and his eyes glaring from beneath the frown of agony and menace in which yet spoke the indomitable power and fierceness of the man. His look, so fixed-so intense-so stern, awed the policeman; his hand trembled as he fired, and the balls ruck the parapet an inch below the spot where Morion knelt. An indistinct. wild, gurgling sound-half laugh, half yell-of scorn and glee, broke from Gawtrey's lips. He swung himself on-earnear-nearer-a yard from the parapet.

You are saved!' cried Morton; when at that moment a volley burst from the fatal casement-the smoke rolled over both the fugitives-a groan or rather howl, of rage and despair, and agony, appalled even the hardiest on whose ear it came. Morion sprung to his feet, and looked below. He saw on the rugged stones, far down, a dark formless. motionless mass-the strong man of passion and levity-the giant who had played with life and soul. as an infant with ze baubles that it prizes and breaks-was what the Cæsar and the leper a ike are, when all clay is without God's breath-what glory, gemus, power, and beauty, would be for ever and for ever, if there were no Gou!

This novel of Night and Morning' was followed by Day and Night,' Lights and Shadows.' Glimmer and Gloom, an affected title to a picturesque and interesting story. Zanoni,' 1842, is more unconnected in plot and vicious in style than the previous fictions of Bulwer, and possesses no strong or permanent interest. Ill-omened Marriage, and other Tales and Poems,' 1842, was another attempt of our author to achieve poetical honours, ever present to his imagination, but, like the flowers on the mountain cliff,

Not to be come at by the willing hand.

We give, however, from the volume a happy definition:
Talent and Genius.

Telent convinces-genius but excites;
This tasks the reason, that the soul delights.
Talent from sober judgment takes its birth,
And reconciles the pinion to the earth;
Genius unsettles with desires the mind,
Contented not till earth be left behind;
Talent, the sunshine on a cultured soil.
Ripens the fruit by slow degrees for toil.
Genius the sudden Iris of the skies.

On cloud itself reflects its wondrous dyes:
And. to the earth. in tears and glory given,
Clasps in its airy arch the pomp of Heaven!
Talent gives all that vulgar critics need-

From its plain horn-book learn the dull to read;
Genius, the Pythian of the beautiful,

Leaves its large truths a riddle to the dull

From eyes profane a veil the Isis screens,

And fools on fools still ask- What Hamlet means ?'

Eva, the

The next work of our author was 'The Last of the Barons, 1843. an historical romance, describing the times of Warwick the King maker, and containing the most beautiful of Bulwer's female creations, the character of Sybill. Though too much elaborated in some parts,

and even dreary as a story, this romance, viewed as a whole, is a powerful and great work. in 1844 the novelist appeared as a translator: he gave to the world a version of Schuller's poems-executed carefully, as all Bulwer's works are, and occasionally with poeti spirit and felicity. He then ventured on an original poetic work, The New Timon,' a poem partly satirical and partiy narrative, which he issued anonymously, the first part appearing at Christmas, Timon' is a ro1845, and three others being subsequently added. mance of London, exhibiting, on the groundwork of an improbabie plot, sketches of the leading public men and authors of the metropolis-eulogising some, vituperating others, and dealing about praise and censure with a degree of rasaness, levity, and bad taste almost inconceivable in so practised a writer and so accomplished a man. Among those whom he assailed, both in verse and prose, was Alfred Tennyson, who was designated School Miss Alfred; and the poetry of the laureate-so highly original, refined, and suggestivewas classed among

The jingling medley of purloined conceits,

Out-babying Wordsworth and out-glittering Keats.

That the satirist was unable to appreciate the works of Wordsworth, Keats, or Tennyson, is incredible. We must impute this escapade to a desire to say smart and severe things, as Pope and Byron had said before him, and to try his artistic hand in a line of authorship sure to attr.ct attention. The disguise of the New Timon' was seen through, and Miss Alfred' is believed to have rebuked the audacity of the assailant in a very masculine reply. But whatever were his affectations or blunders, Bulwer persevered, and he at last wrought out works worthy of his fame. His next novel, however, was not a happy effort.Lucretia, or the Children of Night,' was written to exhibit some of the workings of the arch-ruler of civilisa tion, Money, which ruins virtues in the spendthrift, no less than

We know him, out of Shakspeare's art, And those fie curses which he spokeThe Old Timon with his noble heart.

That strongly loathing, greatly broke.

So died the Old; here comes the New:
Regard him-a familiar face:

I thought we know him. What! it's you.
The padded man that wears the stays;
Who killed the girls and thrilled the boys
With dandy pathos when you wrote:
O Lion. you that made a noise,

Aud shook a name en papillotes....

But men of long-enduring hopes.

And careless what the hour may bring,

*

Can pardon little would-be Popes
And Brummels when they try to sting.
An artist. sir, should rest in art.
And waive a little of his claim:
To have the great poetic heart
Is more than all poetic fame....
What profits now to understand
The merits of a spotless shirt-
A dapper boot-a little hand-
If half the little soul is dirt?

A Timon you! Nay, nay, for shame;
It looks too arrogant a jest-
That fierce old man-to take his name,
You bandbox! Off, and let him rest.

Punch, 1848

engenders vices in the miser.' The subject is treated in a melodramatic style, with much morbid sentiment and unnecessary horrors; and the public condemnation of the tale was so emphatic, that Sir Edward (who was tremblingly alive to criticism on his works) deemed it necessary to reply in A Word to the Public.' In this pamphlet the novelist sought to vindicate the moral tendency of his tales, and to defend the introduction of crime and terror in works of fiction. His reasoning was just in the abstract, but had no particular reference to the story in question, which was defective as a work of art; and, notwithstanding his defence, Sir Edward, in a subsequent edition, modified some of the incidents and details.

As a contrast to Lucretia,' he next presented the public with a tale of English domestic life, The Caxtons, a Family Picture,' which appeared in monthly parts in 'Blackwood's Magazine,' and in 1849 was collected and issued in the usual three-volume form. Free from all mysticism and terror, and abounding in humour, quaint fancies and delineation of character, this work was highly successful. The characters were modelled upon the creations of Sterne-the head of the family being a simple, learned, absent recluse, who speculates like Mr. Shandy; while his brother the half-pay captain, his son Pisistratus-the historian of the family—his gentle, affectionate wife, and the eccentric family doctor, are ail more or less copies from the elder novelist, retaining much of his genial spirit, whim, and satire, but with none of his grossness. While this work was in progress, delighting the readers of the magazine, its untiring author issued another historical romance, Harold, the Last of the Saxon Kings,' a story of love and war, of Gothic and Celtic superstitions and character, presenting much animated description, though somewhat overlaid with archæological details.

The same year (1848), alternating, as before, poetical with prose fiction, and again assuming the anonymous guise, Sir Edward came forward with the first part of a metrical romance, 'King Arthur, by the Author of the New Timon. The concluding portion was published early in 1849, and with it the name of the author was given. A serio-comic legendary poem in twelve books was a bold experi ment. Sir Edward had bestowed on the work much thought and labour. It exhibits a great amount of research, of curious mytho logical and Scandinavian lore, and of ingenious allusions to modern events and characters, mixed up with allegorical and romantic incidents. We have the wandering king sent out by Merlin in quest of chivalrous adventures, guided by his emblematic silver dove (love), and protected by his magic sword (heroic patriotism) and by his silver shield (freedom). He vanquishes, of course, all enemies, and ranges through all regions, having also his ladye-love, Ægle, a fair maid of Etruria. But with all its variety, its ingenuity, and learned lore, King Arthur' is found to be tedious. The charm of human interest is wanting, and the vivifying soul of poetry which lightens

up the allegories of Spenser and Ariosto is absent from the pages of their modern imitator. The blending of satire and comic scenes with romantic fable, though sanctioned by the example of Ariosto, was also a perilous attempt; and we cannot say that the covert descriptions of Louis-Philippe, Guizot, or the Parisian February revolution, are either very just or very effective. Here is the portrait of the French minister:

With brow deject, the mournful Vandal took
Occasion prompt to leave his royal guest,
And sought a friend who served him. as a book
Read in our illness, in our health dismissed;
For seldom did the Vandal condescend

To that poor drudge which monarchs call a friend.

And yet Astutio was a man of worth

Before the brain had reasoned out the heart;
But now he learned to look upon the earth

As peddling hucksters look upon the mart;
Took souls for wares, and conscience for a till;
And damned his fame to save his master's will.

Much lore he had in men, and states, and things, *
And kept his memory mapped in prim precision,
With histories, laws, and pedigrees of kings,

And moral saws which ran through each division,
All neatly colored with appropriate hue-
The histories black, the morals heavenly blue!

But state-craft, mairly, was bis pride and boast;
The golden medium was his guiding star,
Which means, move ou until you 're uppermost,
And then things can't be better than they are!'
Brief, in two rules, he summed the ends of man-
Keep all you have, and try for all you can!'

In 1851 Bulwer wrote a comedy. Not so Bad as we Scem,' which was performed at Devonshire House, in aid of the Guild of Literature and Art-an institution for decayed and destitute authors and artists, projected by Charles Dickens and others, but which proved a failure. The Queen and Prince Consort were present at t is dramatic representation, and among the amateur performers, were Dickens, Forster, R. H. Horne, Mark Lemon, and Frank Stone.

The later works of this eminent author fulfilled the promise of healthful moral feeling, and the more complete mastery of his intellectual resources, indicated in the family picture of the Caxtons. My Novel, or Varieties of English Life," 1853, and What will He Do with It?' 1858, are genuine English stories, uniting the characteristics of town and country life, and presenting the contrasts of Lational character. His country squires and clergymen are perhaps tʊo good, and his manufacturers and borough Radicals too coarse and vulgar. He views society too exclusively from the atmosphere of Almack's and May Fair. He is also more apt to describe his characters than to develop them in action and dialɔgue; and his