ing public and of those great profit-absorbing whirlpools the circulating libraries, in short all possible causes of diminished sale on the one hand; and on the other hand the forestalling spirit of competition among the translation-jobbers-bidding over each other's heads as at an auction, where the translation is knocked down to him that will contract for bringing his wares soonest to market ;-hearing all this, Sir Walter, you will perceive that our old German proverb "Eile mit Weile," (i. e. (Festina lente, or the more haste, the less speed) must in this case, where haste happens to be the one great qualification and sine-quá-non of a translator, be thrown altogether into the shade by that other proverb " Wer zuerst kommt mahlt zuerst (First come first served).

I for my part, that I might not lie so wholly at the mercy of this tyrant-Haste, struck out a fresh path-in which you, Sir, were so obliging as to assist me. But see what new troubles arise out of this to the unhappy translator. The world pretends to doubt whether the novel is really yours: * people actually begin to talk of your friend Washington Irving as the author, and God knows whom beside. As if any man, poets out of the question, could be supposed capable of an act of self-sacrifice so severe as that of writing a romance in 3 vols. under the name of a friend.

All this tends to drive us translators to utter despair. However I, in my garret, comfort myself by exclaiming 66 Odi profanum-," if I cannot altogether subjoin -" et arceo." From your obliging disposition, Sir Walter, I anticipate the gratification of a few lines by the next post establishing the authenticity of Walladmor. Should these lines even not be duly certified" coram notario duobusque testibus," yet if transmitted through the embassy they will sufficiently attest their own legitimacy as well as that of your youngest child Walladmor.

Notwithstanding what I have said about haste, I fear that haste has played me a trick here and there. The fact is-we are in dread of three simultaneous translations of Walladmor from three different publishers:

and you will hardly believe how much the anxiety lest another translation should get the start of us can shake the stoutest of translating hearts. The names of Lindau— Methusalem Müller-Dr. Spieker-Von Halem-and Loz sound awfully in the ears of us gentlemen of the trade. And now, alas! as many more are crowding into this Quinquevirate.

Should it happen that the recent versions of your works had not entirely satisfied your judgment, and that mine of Walladmor had,-I would in that case esteem myself greatly flattered by your again sending me through the house of Ba copy of the manuscript of your next romance; in provision for which case I do here by anticipation acknowledge my obligations to you; and in due form of law bind myself over

1. To the making good all expences of copy," &c.

2. To the translation of both prose and verse according to the best of my poor abilities; that your eminent name may not fall into discredit through the translator's incompetence.

3. To all possible affection, friendship, respect, &c. in so far as, and according as, you yourself shall be pleased to accept of any or all of these from

The Translator of Walladmor. Now for the novel itself: but to prepare the nature of the leading interest the reader, we shall first state which is derived from the following case: A young man of uncertain parentage, having been stolen when an infant, and brought up among smugglers,-of an aspiring and energetic character, but depressed by circumstances, seeks in vain to raise himself from that humble rank which the style of his mind makes him feel as a degradation. Hence a gloomy discontent, and hatred of social institutions: with

the native dignity of his own character he combines a good deal of false dignity, as might be expected from the style of associations-upon

which his early misfortunes had thrown him: a gradual recklessness of character succeeds: and he attempts to obtain as a smuggler or pirate the distinctions which he had vainly sought in more honourable paths. In the course of his wild adventures, which afford continual exercise to the hardihood and romantic address of character,—whilst lying hid in a wood he sees a young woman of great beauty riding past. To her he becomes passionately devoted: and before she is aware of his character or connexions, he persuades her, though a young woman of family and distinction, by the lofty air of his manners and sentiments into clandestine meetings; and finally wins her affections. Afterwards she comes to hear something more of his character, though not the whole; is shocked; and suffers much in mind: but at length, her love predominating and knowing that he was unfortunate and persecuted, she tells him-that, if he will wash out the stains upon his name," her heart shall remember only his misfortunes."

But he, who knows that all hope of retrieving his character is lost, grows desperate and frantic; for any chance of rising to a level with the woman he loves, is ready to connect himself with the most criminal enterprises; and finally becomes a party in the Cato-street conspiracy: whilst the young lady, who never abates in her love for him, is preyed upon by grief and ill health. This is the nature of the presiding interest. Both parties are still in early youth at the opening of the novel; the young man being about twenty-four. The novel opens with the following scena; which, as all overtures should, prefigures as it were and abstracts the prevailing character of the music throughout the piece. The reader must continually bear in mind that the author is writing in the person of Sir W. Scott; "our Southern capital" therefore in the first sentence of what follows, means London -or possibly Bristol; the relative importance of which city amongst English towns the Germans greatly overrate, drawing their estimate from

Alas! for poor Sir O

gazetteers of two centuries back, when Liverpool was not-and Manchester, &c. as yet in ovo.

Perhaps the reader may still remember the following article in the Times newspaper, which about a year or two ago raised a powerful interest in our Southern capital: "BRISTOL. Yesterday the inhabitants of this city were witnesses to a grand but afflicting spectacle from the highlands of the coast. The steam-vessel, Halcyon, from the Isle of Wight, and bound to the north coast of Wales, was suddenly in mid-channel-when not a breath of wind ruffled the surface of the sea-driven into our bay" (the bay of Bristol!). "Scarcely had she rounded the point of Cardowa (q. Cardiff?)" when we beheld a column of smoke rising; and in a moment after a dreadful report echoed from the mountains made known that the powder magazine was blown The barks, which crowded to the spot up, and the ship shattered into fragments. from all quarters, found only floating spars; and were soon compelled to return by the coming-on of a dreadful hurricane. Of the whole crew, and of sixty passengers (chiefly English people returning from France), not one is saved. It is said that a prisoner, of atrocious character, was aboard the Halcyon. We look with the utmost anxiety for the next accounts of this melancholy event."

England, this account was confirmed in its To the grief of some noble families in most dreadful circumstances. Some days after the bodies of Lord W***, and of Sir O

(that distinguished ornament for so long a period of the House of Commons) were found upon the rocks. So much were they disfigured, that it was with difficulty they were recognized. And thus did an English sea take vengeance upon her sons for their long and wilful expatria

tion.

of the Halcyon a young man, who gazed On that day there stood upon the deck on the distant coasts of Wales apparently with deep emotion. From this reverie he was suddenly roused as the ship whirled round with a hideous heaving. He turned, as did all the other passengers who had been attracted on deck by the beauty of the evening, to the man at the helm. He was in the act of stretching out his arms to the centre of the ship, whence a cloud of smoke was billowing upwards in voluminous surges the passengers turned pale: the sailors began to swear: "It's all over!" they shouted: "old Davy has us. huzza! let's have some sport as long as he leaves us any day-light." Amidst an uproar of voices the majority of the crew

So

English Reviewer.

rushed below; stove in the brandy-casks; drank every thing they could find; and paid no sort of regard to the clamorous outcries of the passengers for help! help! except that here and there a voice replied -Help? There is no help: Old Nick will gulp us all; so let us gulp a little comfort first.

The master of the vessel, who retained most presence of mind, hurried on deckbut not for any purpose of saving lives. With his sabre he made a cut at the ropes which suspended the boat: and, as he passed the young man already mentioned, who in preparation for the approaching catastrophe had buckled about his person a small portmanteau and stood ready to leap into the boat, with a blow of his fist he struck him overboard. All this was the work of a few minutes.

The young man becomes insensible: and, on reviving finds himself floating on the sea: the ship is gone: the death-cry is over: nothing remains but a few spars in the distance: but the air is no longer asleep, the glassy mirror is no longer calm: the waves are gathering and swelling as for a storm: and the reader is aware that a second plunge is preparing into the terrific. At a little distance he sees a barrel, sometimes hid beneath waves-sometimes rid ing aloft; and to this he makes with all his strength. Then the scene goes on thus:

Just as he was exhausted, he succeeded in reaching the barrel.-But scarcely had he laid hold of the outermost rim with both hands, when the barrel was swayed down from the opposite side. A shipwrecked man, whose long wet hair streamed down over his face, fixed his nails, as it were

the talons of an eagle, on the hoops of the barrel; and by the energy of his gripe-it seemed as though he would have pressed them through the wood itself.-He was aware of his competitor: and he shook his head wildly to clear the hair out of his eyes -and opened his lips, which displayed his teeth pressed firmly together.

"No: though the d-1 himself,-thou must down into the sea: for the barrel will not support both."

So speaking he shook the barrel with such force-that the young man, had he not been struggling with death, would have been pushed under water. Both pulled at the barrel for some minutes, without either succeeding in hoisting himself upon it. In any further contest they seemed likely to endanger themselves or to sink together with the cask. They agreed

therefore to an armistice. Each kept his hold by his right hand, each raised his left aloft, and shouted for succour. But they shouted in vain; for the storm ad vanced, as if it heard and were summoned by the cry; the sky was black and porten. tously lurid; thunder now began to roll: and the waves, which had hardly moved before the explosion, raised their heads crested with foam more turbulently at every instant. "It is in vain," said the second man, "Heaven and Earth are against us: one or both of us must perish: Messmate, shall we go down together?"

At these words the wild devil all at once left loose of the barrel, by which means the other, who had not anticipated this movement, lost his balance and was sink, ing. His antagonist made use of this mo ment. He dashed at the sinking man's throat-in order to drag him entirely under the water; but he caught only his neck, other thus murderously assaulted, on findhandkerchief, which luckily gave way. The his time, and sprang upon the barrel; ing himself at liberty for an instant, used and just as his desperate enemy was hazarding a new attack, in a death-struggle he struck him with his clenched fist upon the breast: the wild man threw up his arms; groaned; sank back;-and the waves swallowed him up."

Now then having mounted our young man upon his barrel, and advanced him to the sole command of this valuable vessel which refuses to carry double, the reader will be glad to know who he is. We are at liberty to tell him that his name (by his own account, given to a justice of peace, in vol. ii. p. 174,) is Edmund Bertram, and so we shall call him for the future; and further, that he is (according to the general opinion of Germany and the design of the author) the hero of the novel: we indeed say No; he is only the pseudo-hero. No matter: hero, or not, the reader is glad that he is victorious on account of the ferocious assault of the other man: but let him not be too sure that he is victo rious:we have not done with the other fellow yet; he will be back again in a moment: and here he comes,

In the moments of mortal agony and conflict human laws cease, for punishments have lost their terrors: even higher laws are then silent. But, in the pauses of the struggle, the voice of conscience resumes its power,-and the heart of man again