The Press. — London, England, 1858-03-20 00:00:00

282 be instructive. Some critics object to the introduction of personal matters into a pro found scientific work ; and consider it imper tinent in Mr. Lewes to tell us what he had for dinner, how he slept, and how he travelled, while echinodermata, entomostraca, and ser puke with " lovely feathery gills," are awaiting examination. For our own part, having no prejudices on these important subjects, we have read the book simply in the light of a marine tour described for us by a cheerful but slightly eccentric gentleman, with a pleasant knack of composition. Little bits of scenery peep out here and there through catalogues of crustacea, like flowers in a cleft of rock. The following passage is redolent of the hash sea breeze—the locality is one of the Scilly Islands : The promontory on which stands Star Castle offered a fine breezy walk over downs resplendent with golden furze, and suffered thb eye to take the widest sweep. How tho roughly I enjoyed that walk ! The downs were so brilliant that one could sympathise with the enthusiasm of Linnaeus on his arrival in England, and his tirat sight of furze, as he flung himself on his knees, and thanked God for having made anything so beautiful. The downs were all aflame with their golden light. Ever and anon a rabbit atarted across the path, or the timid deer were seen emerging from the clumps of golden bush. A glance at the many reefs and creeks along the wavy shores raised expectation tiptoe, forcing hope into certainty of treasures abounding. Whatever drawbacks Scilly might possibly have in store, this at least was indubitable—the hunting would be good. Not that any shadow of a drawback darkened the horizon; for what could the heart desire more? Here was a little archipelago, such as Greek heroes might have lived in— bold, rugged, picturesque—secure from all the assaults of idle watering-place frequenters—lovely to the eye, fall of promise to the mind—health in every breeze. Ithaca was visibly opposite. Homer's cadences were sweetly audible Much arable land there is not, but an occasional upland smiles prosperity at you ; and in the sheltered nooks of Holy Vale you are startled with the appearance of what almost looks like a tree. In the other parts of the island no tree is discoverable—without a lens. The lanes are formed of stone hedges, as in Devonshire and Cornwall ; but these hedges are not, at this early season, prodigal of ferns and wildflowers as they will he soon. Yet they have already abuntint ornament. On the summit grows the furze, with its profuse bunches of gold; from the crevices peep the stonecrop, the leaves of the foxglove, pennywort, and a multitude of other wall-loving plants, dear to my eye, though unknown by nacre; already the dog-violet and celandine are gay with colour, and the lichens tint the stone with delicate pale greys or greens, deep orange, or bright gold. The grouping of the islands is very picturesque, forming several good sounds, where vessels of great tonnage find secure anchorage, and give a pleasant aspect to the scene. Standing on any of the eminences, we raze down upon the deep blue of the bays, the white sweep of sands, and rugged reefs, and purple masses of the opposite shores; the plaint of the sea-gull, floating overhead, being almost the only sound audible, except the never-ending s3mphony of the waters. As we ramble round the coast, the successive scenes of the unfolding panorama make us long to have the artist's power of transferring them to our sketch-book. The rocks are entirely of granite ; and the huge waveworn boulders, sudden pillars and piles of broad ledges into which they have been disrupted, give endless variety to their forms. Here is another similar bit from the paper on Jersey, though the latter half of the extract is objectionable:— The Americans say that England looks like a large gar den. What England is to America, that is Jersey to England. Even the high-roads have the aspect of drives through a gentleman's grounds, rather than of noisy tho roughfares ; and the byroads and lanes are perfect pictures of embowered quiet and green seclusion. There are few more delightful places to ramble in. Every turn opens on some exquisite valley or wooded hill, through the cool shades and glinting lights of which the summer wanderer is tempted to stray, or to ie.dine in the long grass, and lan gurously listen to the multitudinous music of the birds and insects above and around. Observe, I say nothing of the sea, and the succession of bays on the coast ; for what can be said at all commensurate with that subject? Even the poets, who not only contrive to say the finest things about Nature, but also teach us how to feel the finest tremors of delight when brought face to face with her, have very im perfectly spoken of the sea. Homer is lauded for having called it ' wine-faced." He probably meant some ivy green potation, since " wine-faced " is the epithet by which Sophocles characterises the ivy. In any case his epithet is only an epithet, and the sea is of all colours, as it is of all forms and moods. Doubts also may be raised respecting the "giggling" which lEschylus, in a terribly thumbed passage, attributes to the sea. The " innumerable laughter of the waves of the sea," one is apt to interpret as a giggle ; an expression not only unbefitting the sea, but unworthy of the occasion. Neptune was not mocking the agony of Prometheus with a schoolgirl's incontinence. He was too gland and fluent for such weakness. In momenta of serenest summer-calm he ma) be said to smile; in moments of mere leaping mirth ho may be said to laugh ; but to imagine him distorting his countenance by innu merable giggles, would he at all times intolerable, and at such a time perfectly indefensible. The reference to Sophocles is a little bit of superfluous pedantry on the author's part. THE PRESS, MARCH 20,1858. orvo4 in Greek, like glauctia in Latin, has no precise or rigid signification. It means gene rally anything very dark. Homer calls wine "black"; and this is an epithet that might very well be applied to ivy. He also applies it to the deep red of oxen ; and hence also it comes to mean the dark purple of the Mediterranean. We do not believe it ever means " green," for it also may be applied to ivy simply as being sacred to Bacchus, the god of wine. Again, nothing can be in worse taste than the attempt to sneer at the beautiful expression of ./Eschy las. If smiles are compared to ripples, why should not ripples be compared to smiles ? But if any reader can look upon the dancing sparkling waves on a bright sunny day, and not appreciate the force of the Greek poet's metaphor, on his belly let him go, and enjoy the bloodless life of an aplysia or a pleuro branchus at once. Mr. Lewes has given us a gay, jaunty, breezy volume. We can promise our readers a couple of hours' entertainment over it. but for any thing more than this we cannot vouch. NEW NOVELS. 1. Wlurt you Will. An Irregular R'mance. Lon- don : J. W. Parker and Son. 2. The Moors and the Fens. By F. G. Trafford. Three Vols. London : Smith and Elder. 3. Wild Oats. By Lascelles Wramaii. London : Brown. 4. Katherine; and the Moment of Fortune. Trans lated by Lady Wallace. Three Vols. London : Bentley. 5. The Royal Sisters. By Mrs. Robert Cartwright. Two Vols. London : Hope and Co. 1. INTERNAL evidence would probably lead a reader to assign the authorship of this book to one of the immaturer contributors to the late arford and Cam. bridge Magazine, a periodical containing some essays of striking merit, but, of which the tales and stories could not be considered to have exhibited anything like equal excellence. The latter displayed the usual characteristics of undergraduate literature ;—a little learning, a little more pedantry, much affectation and some sentiment, an amiable wish to regenerate society, and a great ignorance of real life, except as viewed through the spectacles of Kingsley, Tennyson, and Carlyle, not without occasional gleams of modest doubt as to whether the writers themselves had actually solved the problem of existence. The volume before us is distinguished by all these marks except the last, which is the chief reason for our being inclined to speak unfavourably of it. The author is not without elegance of mind, and has evi dently thought for himself, though after a somewhat crude and superficial fashion. This would be of little consequence, did he show any sign of diffidence respecting his views. But his tone is one of such entire self-complacency, and he seems so thoroughly persuaded that he has said exactly the right thing on every occasion, that one feels rather doubtful of his further progress or improvement. It is probably this temper which has led him to present his materials in their present undigested form. An author is of course at liberty to make his romance " irregular," or anything else he pleases, provided he can show that something is gained by it. But the " irregularity" of this book, as it appears to us, is simply a clumsiness of structure, which has no ad vantage but the questionable one of giving facilities for the author's discursiveness on things in general, and the decided defect of preventing a reader from seeing any plan or purpose in the story till he is half way through it. This is all very well in a book like " Yeast," where even those who disregard the social theories are interested by the scenes and cha racters ; but in "'What you Will " there is no such vigorous portraiture or knowledge of human nature as to justify a departure from established forms. There is, indeed, a distant resemblance to Mr. Kingsley's story, but the one before us is a much milder " brew." Leonard Brown is but a pale reflec tion of Lancelot Smith ; and the characters have that conventional stamp which usually results from an attempt at powerful writing by a person of insuffi cient experience. The hero—if there is a hero—is a young Oxford man reading and fishing in the " Long" at a country village. He makes acquaint.. ante with the curate, who saves him from an accident in the river, meets at his house with a ruined artist ( Mr. Westhope) and his daughter, and falls in love with the latter, but finding himself overwhelmed with L niversity debts, i s o bli ge d to ta k e to art f or a livelihood, and engages himself as " designer" to an ironfounder in a manufacturing town. After a period of " truggles " the long-lost son of Westhope returns; all is mile smopth, and the lovers happy. The younger lesthope is of a class very well known to novel-readers. They have always been scapegraces in youth, or are victims V) some sort of love -affair latter is the case here) ; wander over th e wor l d , invariably have fevers in Central Asia. They r: the proverb about " rolling stones," and the which they gather, we are not told where makes on their return an exceedingly downy virtuous couples in distressed circumstances, of whom they relax their general misanthropy an equally worn-out type is the lady by whom hope is disappointed. The fashionable woman thirty-five, with smooth brow and glossy bi parently impervious to sentiment, but nourishing her heart the corroding canker of an early love married to a highly respectable man much than herself,—is not altogether new to us. accused the author of affectation, and we are borne out by the following extract.; : If my reader wonders how a poor curate could amassed the five or six hundred volumes that walls of the little room—the bookshelves, to be s of unpainted deal, the curate's own handiwork only inform him that Mr. Grey never bought new and, indeed, scarcely ever read them ; but had picked for inconceivably small sums, at many a musty - the quaint and tarnished volumes which he did a relish that never palled. Not, of course, that recommend such a system to the world at large, the world, much given to fiction and hot-pressed and the general froth of the circulating library and book club, would heed me if I did. It is curious that most of the sneers at " the circulating libraries " are to be found in Does the author include his own work? As " inconceivably small sums," it must be good books always fetch their price, and if the speaks from experience he is more lucky than frequenters of old bookstalls. But it no dont , ' a " mellow" air to your writing to cry up of and sneer at new ones. Or, imagine one ance addressing another in the following style : My friend,—(so ran a letter which Mr. Grey upon his table a day or two after) : I remember certain Rabbinical fable, of which you may or have heard—at any rate I will relate it for your just as it was told to me long years ago, lying in beneath the palms at night; a brilliant moon t pouring down its clear opalescent light, and through the chinks of the curtain which flapped door in the cool niAt-breeze, and flashing upon art accoutrements, whilst the fumes Lf fragrant Latakia up from many pipes. . . . . . Ile le Tabula narralter, do I hear you say? Well say so or not, it is the fact. Aschemedai has regained ring; and this letter is penned at a cigar divan - Strand. Would you have me placed In a lonelier than that 9 You see I speak to you, T think of yon, as—my And just for that reason I have left your side. monarchs simply decapitate the brain into which have poured the secrets of their hearts. And I. fled. But as you know somewhat of me, and as never possibly see me again, there is no reason should not know more. My ideal man just now animal who loves to impart." Grey, have you ever grief? Aye, but let us define the word ere you answer with a decided yes. Have you known what it stricken down in the flush of youth, in the first a brilliant career, by a blow which laid every hope dust, and shattered every noble aspiration and y Pshaw ! Why do I ask the question. I see no convulsion on your brow ; no furrowed traces of quake, that has rent and torn the heart beneath. never die out. The sunset may gild them for a with its glow; the kindly dews may wash them and eve; but they cannot be washed away; they be hidden. It is a delightful thing to know botany, but amiable accomplishment may be pedanticall. obtruded : The homely flower•stema of that twin sister to foot, the tussilago petasites, have all disappeared, only the broad round leaves are to be seen, lyii upon layer, by every rivulet and brookside, catchit tints from every passing cloud ;—those splendid so graceful in curve, so lovely in colour, so pictnrestp their bold indentations, which catch bright i • sparkling light, and give the darkest and most shadows; Leonard wondered to himself that sketchen seldom used them. We hope the author has some warrant for the' ing astounding sketch of what Sir Leicester • calls " an iron gentleman ": " May I ask you, Mr. Brown," said the junior in a soft and oily voice, " to come with me to my room for a few moments ; where," he continued bland smile, " we will have a little chat about the be and the useful ; about art as applied to manufacture. Leonard followed him, and they passed through, dark passages, till they came to a door that was His companion opened it . " Merely a little bachelor apartment : my house distance in the country," he said, lifting a heavy curtain, and they entered a small room very lux; furnished. Antique carvings were there; spoils, • of some ruined church or abbey ; and old chinf, bright bits of positive colour in the subdued light, pleased the artist's eye. The place was full of arm chairs, of the latest American invention ; for our atlantic cousir.s seem to have the monopoly of lounging, dressing•gown-and-slipper comfort. ve-affair (the world, and They reverse nd the moss here or how, ;wny nest for ces, in layette nthropy. Of whom West- e woman of ssy Bair, ap- iourishing at •ly love, anu much older is. We have we think we to could haves that line the be sure, are liwork—l can , zt new books, lad picked up, rsty bookstall, did read with , that I would large, or that ressed travels, ry and country r the froth of 1 in novels. As to the be said that . if the writer ty than most doubt gives up old books ne acquaint- ing gushing r. Grey blind tuber me of a iy or may not your benefit, ng in my tent, eon the while and stealing lapped at the pon arms and Latakia curled Well, if you s regained his divan in the teller solitude IS—roy friend. r side. Asian to which they nd I—l have el as you will ?twin why you now is " an fon ever felt a ou answer me It it is to ho first onset of r hope in the .nd yearning ? e no scars of s of an earth- mth. For they 'or a moment them at morn they cannot but the most pedantically it to the colt's• ared, and now • lying layer ;if inil a ele t tnto c u hiu sirpti edosd g i qielluect f ai r dv e ee sl in sketches so or the follow- stet Dedlock unior partner to my private tinned with a t the beautif ul (facture." hrough many t was locked. house is sonic Davy crimson ry luxuriouglY possibly, china, giving light, which of sofas and for our trans. of a sort of rt. Leonard