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Art. V. - The Life of a Lover, in a Series of Letters. By Sophia Lee. 6 vols. 12mo.
English novels of respectability are usually advantageously distinguished from those of a neighbouring country, by the chaste and innocent nature of the passion which it is their chief business to display. This passion is indeed frequently painted in colours somewhat warm: it is represented as inevitable, invincible, and forming not only the dearest charm, but the grand business of life. Whilst no legal [654] impediment, however, is supposed to exist to the union of the parties, it is only in degree, not in kind, that such representations can be deemed improper; for an affection which, rightly placed and favoured by circumstances, has conducted thousands to happiness the most pure and exalted, can have nothing in its nature essentially vicious. It is therefore with great concern that we observe the name of a lady, well known in the literary world, appended to a tale, the theme of which is the loves of a virtuous young lady, and a married man.
The interesting Cecilia only once meets at a theatre, and exchanges a few words with, the handsome lord Westbury, under the mistaken idea of his being a bachelor: yet, by this one interview, the foundation is laid of an attachment which neither reason, prudence, nor duty, have power to overcome. She refuses, but pardons, dishonourable offers from the man of her heart; and they mutually enter into promises of marriage in the event of the death of lady Westbury, who, though faithful to her husband, had caused his alienation of affection, by her vanity, levity, selfishness and extravagance. When her death happens, however, his lordship, falsely suspecting the virtue of Cecilia, abandons her; and, in a fit of despair, she consents to become the wife, or rather nurse, of a sickly veteran. She soon becomes a widow, of course; an explanation ensues of course, and of course too, a marriage is the consequence. With these nuptials the novel ought naturally to have ended; but two or three volumes still remain behind, occupied chiefly with the intrigues - some not very decorous to relate - of a profligate woman, and the artifices of a designing man, by whose machinations the happiness of the tender pair is continually mingled with jealousy and alarm. The constitution of the heroine gradually sinks under the effects of perturbation and inquietude; and, by a needless cruelty of the author, her death wraps in gloom the conclusion of the tale. It is difficult to perceive any moral end to be answered, by showing a lovely and amiable young creature rashly climbing along the brink of a precipice, and eventually arriving at the summit of felicity by a path so dangerous and irregular. The idea of requiring a novel to be an ethical treatise illustrated by examples, may not however pass current with the younger and gayer part of our readers, who will probably be more inclined to ask, 'is it interesting?' than, 'is it edifying?' To such we answer, that part of the first volume, which feelingly sets forth the hardships and insults endured, and the dangers incurred, by a beautiful and well-educated young female, unfortunately doomed to a dependant situation, powerfully excited our sympathy; that some of the subsequent scenes of tenderness are not destitute of pathos; that original and judicious reflections are sometimes interspersed; but that the incidents are frequently improbable, and still more confused than in our author's comedy, 'the Chapter of Accidents;' that the story is tediously told in letters; and that the style, evidently borrowed from Richardson, is often quaint, and never graceful; that the character of the hero exhibits a strange mixture of the Lovelace and the Grandison, and that the attempts at humour are little successful. Finally, we cannot in conscience advise any of our gentle readers to proceed farther in their perusal than the death of the first lady Westbury; after which they may, in their own minds, bring the lovers together in a much more simple, concise, and satisfactory manner, than has seemed good to miss Sophia Lee, whose fancy seems to have been not a little captivated by the imposing majesty of 'a novel in six volumes.' [complete]
Provided by Julie A. Shaffer, January 2000
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