The Press. — London, England, 1858-12-25 00:00:00

~--' - THE PRESS, DECEMBER 25, 1858. blue sky of their friendship; they kiss, cry, and confide, and all is serene again. Mrs. Ramsay, with her quotations, is unpleasantly like Mrs. Spencer in Mr. Shirley 13rooks's "Gordian Knot," and little better than a caricature. The other figures are evidently studied with some care, are eminently polished, and probably quite as worthy and entertaining as most of the people we know in private life. The author (or shall we say authoress ?) understands good manners and good society, and finds the description of them easy. But, then, we do not go to novels for a full-length photograph of life, least of all of life as it exists among the upper middle classes of this country, than which no more uneventful existence can be conceived. We go to them for something more dramatic and concentrated—for some shorthand of passion, and efflorescence of humour, making us see our own experience in a new point of view, and sending a stream of light through the dark places of character. But for anything of this sort " Hanworth" is not the place to look. It is natural enough in conception and description, and blameless in sentiment ; and to those whom these qualities satisfy it may be safely recommended. Others who have been accus tomed to more variety and vivacity, will hardly find it up to the mark. The book of which " Hanworth " most nearly reminds us is " Anne," by the author of " Granby, " which was popular about thirty years ago. he amiable elegance of the personages, the mild species of uncertainty in which the love-affairs are involved, and the relative situation of the two principal characters, are sufficiently similar to give any one who has read the book to which we refer a tolerably cor rect notion of the kind of interest the volume before us displays. But this, we fear, is rather a case of ignotum per ignotius, and possibly the shortest plan will be to call upon Lord Han worth himself, who will be found as affable and courteous as it is possible for a "haughty aristo crat" to be, and will give every information about himself and friends in the course of a short interview. Recollections of a Winter Campaign in India in 1857-58. By Captain 0. J. Jones, R.N. London : Saunders and Otley. THERE is something novel in the idea of a naval captain writi❑g the history of a campaign fought many hundred miles from the sad sea waves. One would naturally expect that such a narrative should be fresh, racy, and vigorous, not embel lished with rhetorical ornaments, but on the contrary simple and even familiarly colloquial in style, verging occasionally on egotism, but still generous and cordial towards all comrades and partners in peril, and, with all this, thoroughly practical, sensible, and observant. Such pre cisely is the character of Captain Jones's history of a winter campaign in India. Himself evidently a hearty, genial, good fellow, fond of fun and ever ready for a fight, he has penned a plain, straightforward, ungrammatical, and—as he him self says—almost nautical account of the stirring events in which the Naval Brigade and 53rd Regiment bore such an honourable part during the winter of 1857-8. The numerous engravings with which he has illustrated this remarkable episode in his career are also exceed ingly characteristic and even humorously true to the life. His sketches of his native servants are particularly good, as are likewise the delineations of travelling on the Grand Trunk Road, and of domestic usages in " the tented field." . . But, although a naval officer, Captain Jones did not serve in any recognized capacity. He speaks of himself as an " outsider," though he certainly was not that when there was any hard fighting to the fore. having failed to obtain employment from the Admiralty, the organ of combativeness compelled him to proceed to India as a volunteer, and to accompany every expedi tion which fell in his way that was likely to come in for a fair share of rough practice. His favourite character appear to have been that of a " llorse Marine," in which costume he appears on the titlepage—far more becoming, if also more costly, than that in which he is seen enjoy ing a "mushuk " at the door of his tent. As far as one can glean from these pages, the only reward Captain Jones received for his chivalrous daring, beyond the invaluable respect and esteem of his comrades, was a severe wound on the right hand from a tulwar, and a bad swelling under the knee, which brought him to the use of crutches. However, it is manifest that his object in proceeding to the East was altogether uncon nected with mercenary motives. He went in search of honour, and honour will be freely awarded him by all who reverence manly courage and deeds of knightly prowess. As a specimen of the pleasant humour in which Captain Jones ever and anon indulges, we shall select the following anecdote current at Allah abad at the expense of the Naval Brigade, who performed garrison duty in turn with the sol diers : One who was on sentry on the main works of the fort by moonlight, looking over the parapet saw another who was sentry on the ravelin, or some outwork. Now, Jack, though he could tell the head from the stern of a ship, and perhaps of a horse, had not passed a competitive ex amination before his admission into the service, and no doubt his education in fortification and engineering had been sadly neglected, and therefore he was not aware that the outwork was part of the fortification which he was so vigilantly guarding, and seeing a man walking up and down outside of what he considered the fort, and of course, his head being full of spies, lurking sepoys, &c. &c., challenged him. The sentry on the outwork, not imagin ing that it was he who was the subject of his messmste's anxious inquiries, held his peace, upon which Jack in the fort let drive at Jack on the outwork. The outwork Jack, a little taken aback by the musket ball whizzing near his head, sung out—" hallo ! that's your game, is it, my buck ? Here's let drive at you then ! " and immediately returned the fire. On their being relieved and taken to the gaard•house, all that passed between them was, " Well, I'm blowed, Jack, but we are mortal bad shots—we arc." Our author, though a genuine " old salt," had a good eye for a real soldier. It is thus he de scribes the Punjaub Irregular Cavalry : Contrasted with the 9th Lancers in appearance, though equally efficient in their duty, were the squadrons of Pun jaubees under Probyn. Watson, and poor Younghusband. Stern, wiry, dark looking men, tall and straight of limb, their broad brows overhanging piercing black eyes—their noses rather aquiline and well chiselled—their not too full lips, which, when parted, showed teeth rivalling the whitest ivory, and which were shaded by jet black mustachios, proudly curled, and their chins covered with silky black beards, carefully par el in the middle, and combed outwards—their voluminously folded blue or red turbans—their grey tunics and blight-coloured vests—their silver-mounted firearms, curved scimitars, and lightly poised lances—the gay caparisons of their well-bitted and often thorough-bred horses—the ease and grace with which they sat and managed them—their proud air and manly bearing, plainly stamped them as belonging to the aristo cracy and chivalry of the northern countries of Asia; and on all occasions in this war well and nobly have they seconded the gallantry and daring courage of their dashing leaders. They are all men of some property, and their horses are their own. His description of a camp is also excellent, but too long to extract. Of the Enfield rifle he speaks almost disparagingly, on account of its proneness to become foul, and consequently use- less. After the affair at the Kola Nuddee, where some men fired seventy or eighty shots, the ar mourers of the 53rd Regiment were employed some time in drawing the bullets, which had stuck so fast that they were obliged to be bored out. The belief in the accuracy and long range of the arm is likewise prejudicial to its utility, by leading to distant and indiscriminate " pop ping." The shells, too, employed at the final reduction of Lucknow are described as having become very defective through the wooden fusees having been kept a long time in store. This caused them to burn quickly and irre gularly. so that many of the shells burst long before they reached their destination, occasioning a waste of ammunition, and inspiring the enemy with confidence. With one more extract, and that of a painful nature, we take leave of the pleasant jottings of our naval cavalier, who has certainly won his spurs in the good old style. He accompanied the lamented Peel to witness the execution of the Nawab of Furrukabad, a traitor and a murderer, but still a man. The picture is revolting ; but it is good to contemplate facts as they really occur, and learn to realize them in our mind's eye : There is a principal street which runs through the whole length of the town, which is divided by six or seven gateways, some very handsome. Clone to the middle one grew a fine tree, and this, from its central position, was chosen for the place of execution, one of the branches of the tree being made use of for the gallows. We found an immense crowd collected, both of natives and inhabitants, and of the idlers from the camp, besides a considerable military force to maintain order. One would have thought that, on so serious an occasion as that of an execution, especially of a person of rank, there would have been some decorum and decency of behaviour ; but on the contrary, most people seemed to think very lightly of it, and were 1275 cutting their gibes and cracking their jokes. Some country people came up with some poultry, which was seized and sold by a mock auction, by an officer acting as auctioneer; in the middle of which good/an the guard with the convict arrived. He was tied down on a charpoy— a sort of native bedstead—and carried under the fatal tree, upon which he cast an anxious look when he saw the nooso suspended therefrom. He was then stripped, flogged, and hanged. He had on a handsome shawl, which an officer took possession of on the spot—an action which requires no comment The man behaved with great firmness. While the rope was being adjusted, a soldier struck him on the face ; upon which he turned round with great fierceness, and said—" Had I bad a sword in my hand, you dared not have struck that blow :" his last words before he was launched into eternity. As Peel and I rode home to the camp, we agreed that it would have been much better to have conducted the execution with more decorum ; and that such a display of jesting and greediness, and the careless off-hand way with which it was done, were more likely to make the natives hate and despise us, than to inspire them with a salutary dread of our justice. Dust and Foam; or, Three Oceans and Two Con tinents. By T. Robinson Warren. London : Sampson Low, Son, and Co. Ix external appearance—in its neat and strong cloth binding, its clear type and plain cut edges (an excellent innovation !)—this book is the very counterpart of the publication by the same firm which was noticed in TUE PRESS of last week. Like this latter, too, it is a book of travels, and the traveller is an American. But here all resem blance ceases, and it would, perhaps, be difficult to find two works ranging under the same cate gory more opposite in spirit and more antithe tical in the impressions they create. The elder object of our critical attentions, Miss Johnson's " Peasant Life in Germany," was moral in aim, solid in matter, and earnest in tone. As to style, it made no pretensions to any, but said its say diffusely and somewhat confusedly, as though all the exigencies of form were perforce neglected amid the turgid fulness of substance. Mr. Warren's Travels, on the other hand, are sug gested by that least moral of all stimulants, the sacra fames auri. The material which he works up is the light and frothy material—the storm painting, the landscape-painting, and the tableaux de genre—which constitute the staple of tourists in general. The tone he affects is the dashing and original; and, with regard to style, there is an evident straining at brilliancy and effect which we would gladly dispense with now and then in the humbler and more useful interests of— grammar ! In spite, however, of the broad line of demar cation between " Peasant Life in Germany " and " Dust and Foam," there are evidences of " corn patriotism" in the two books which cannot be mistaken. If Miss Johnson represents Transat lantic energy under its missionary and rights-of woman aspect, Mr. Warren represents the same characteristic no less accurately, and far more familiarly, under its pushing and go•ahead aspect. The motive power is the same in both ; it is only the mechanism acted upon that differs. Mr. Warren, however, is less decidedly repub lican than his fair countrywoman. He has no objection whatever to kings and queens, and notes down with evident gusto his intimacy with a lord. A rap, nevertheless, at the "mother country " lets the cloven-foot peep out more than once; and we trust we are not mistaken in suspecting that the legitimate owner of that foot—the Father of Lies himself—has had some thing to do with the following most anti-English and un-English historiette One unite of rooms on the corner of the Calle de Com mercio and the Plazs (at Limal were really quite elegant, fitted up by a French upholsterer in the last French style, with handsome mirrors and lit by gas, and in them I was domiciliated on a subsequent occasion with my family, much to our comfort. Shortly before oar occupancy quite an interesting scene was enacted in them. Ou board of one of the steamers coming down from Panama happened to be passengers the English Envoy to Peru and the Aine• rican Minister to Chili, and his wife; on the arrival of the vessel at Callao both diplomatists sent their servants up to Lima to Morin's Hotel to engage rooms, but neither of them speaking Spanish, the major-domo by some mi s t a k e or other thought that they both represented one master, and consequently assigned them the same suite of rooms. In an hour or two up drives the American and his wife, and he is bowed into his apartments. Well pleased at being so snugly housed, he refreshes himself, makes his toilet, and goes out to call on the resident Minister, leaving his wife to rest (in deshabille) from her fatigue. Scarcely has he left the house before up drives the English Minister and blusteringly demands to be led to his apartments, and the servant conducts him to the door of the room occupied by the American. 'Meanwhile the landlord, smelling a rat, ii -agpr' t Son. ilmoq ertain Tit to ape is show lifters those racer. he of en