gravating
story, so excellent that it is hard to comprehend why it is not of that
first-class merit which it just seems to miss. Its aim is to illustrate
the evils and perplexities that arise from vacillation and infirmity of
purpose, and it is rather a series of incidents than one well-rounded
plot. Miss Edgeworth loves to paint, not an episode in life, but the
history of a whole life-career. This permits her to trace out those
gradual evolutions of some fault of character in which she displays such
consummate ability, such precision and metaphysical subtlety. The hero,
Vivian, a man of good disposition, but lacking firmness of purpose,
cannot say "no," while at the same time he has all the spirit of
opposition which seems to go hand in hand with weak characters, and is
by them mistaken for resolution. The faults, the errors, the griefs,
this trait of character leads him into are the staple of the story,
which ends mournfully, since Vivian's inability to cure himself of his
fault finally leads to his own death in a duel. He has not inaptly been
named "a domestic Hamlet." Like Hamlet, he is neither able to
accommodate himself to life as it is, nor strong enough to strike out a
new life on his own account. The tale abounds in clever pictures of
aristocratic and political society, and is full of the intrigues, the
petty meannesses of social leaders. As usual, the moral instances are
both striking and amusing, reason and ridicule being mixed in those just
proportions that Miss Edgeworth knew how to blend so happily. A serious
defect is undoubtedly the fact that it is not possible to care for the
hero, and hence we grow rather indifferent to his good or ill fortune,
and after a while are weary of the undoubted skill and perverted
ingenuity with which he apologizes for his vacillation. On the other
hand, as ever with Miss Edgeworth, the subordinate characters are
throughout excellent, drawn with force and life-like power. Lord
Glistonbury alone would redeem the book from the possibility of being
dull. This talkative, conceited man, of neither principle nor
understanding, who chatters adopted opinions and original nonsense, who
loves to hear himself speak, and believes he is uttering great things,
is a distinct creation.

The story of _Madame de Fleury_ is slight in texture. It relates the
experience of a rich and benevolent French lady who conducts a school
for poor children after the Edgeworth type, and is rather a transcri