The Press. — London, England, 1854-11-18 00:00:00

NOVEMBER 18, 1854. tion for young saplings is at an end, except in cases of peculiar subsoil, and even then they attain no growth. In large woods the absence of young trees is to be accounted for from the most obvious causes, for reasons similar to those that make the verdure scant under trees, and compel the Lothian farmers to clear their lands of ornamental timber. Nor is the ab- sense of undergrowth of shrubs or plants a fact at all remarkable. In large pine woods and beech plantations the ground under foot is often as bare of vegetation as the flags in a public street. The suggestion of " fires "is a notable one, as if the old trees also would not have been burned down just as well as the young ones; and " vast heads of cattle " have instincts that lead them to look for their food elsewhere than in woods. Where Mr. Bartlett records positive facts which he has heard his statements can be ac cepted. Thus the following is interesting : Mr. Osborne's men were all New England farmers, several of them from Rhode Island; and it is astonishing to see how much more work one of these men will perform than a Mexican or Californian. He pays them seventy-five dollars a month, and finds them, which pays him better than employing ordinary hands at half the price. Mr. 0. has ownedlthis property but one year, and a furrow was never turned on it or a seed sown until he came into possession. He has now more than a hundred acres under cultivation, a considerable portion of which is protected by a post and rail fence of red wood. Many fruit trees, grape vines, flowering shrubs, etc., are in a flourishing condition around his house. In no part of the Atlantic States or Mississippi Valley could such improvements be shown in the game time, except on prairie land. So also is the following passage, in which the author describes the geysers of the Pluton River : Another quarter of a mile, over steep hills and across deep ravines, brought us to the principal " geysers." Hero was truly a grand prospect, and difficult to de scribe by one unacquainted with such scenes ; for, to speak with scientific precision of such a remarkable spot as this, the writer should be familiar with volcanic regions and know something of similar phenomena. The action here was confined within a narrow ravine, in the moun tain side, running nearly at right tingles with Pluton River, which we had crossed. The banks were from one hundred and twenty-five to one hundred and fifty feet in height, breaking in from the mountain, which rose up from ten to fifteen hundred feet above, and were wholly composed of decomposed rocks. In the chasm beneath us columns of steam were spouting out on every side ; while deep at the bottom ran a small rivulet 'Vegeta. thin of luxuriant growth crowded close upon 'he crumb ling rocks, consisting of various kinds of shrubbery, pines, oaks, firs, &c. We clambered down to the spot where the scoria or burnt rock first appeared. and seated ourselves under the shade of a pine-tree. From this point I took a sketch looking down the gorge. On each side of where we sat, some twenty or thirty feet below, a small stream came tumbling down, concealed from view by dense foliage, and united at the base of a jutting mass of rocks. I thrust a staff, which I carried with me, some three or four feet into the crumbled granite beneath, which led us to think it not quite safe to remain where we were. From this place we got down with some difficulty to the bottom of the gorge, where the main stream ran. The water was here cold and pure, exhibiting no unpleasant taste. A few yards further brought us into the midst of the puffing geysers, or steam-jets; for I knew not by what other name to call them. Fumes of sulphur here met our nostrils at every step, while the rustling steam, as it spouted from a hundred cavities, completely enveloped us. The latter did not issue in one continuous column, but at short intervals, as from the pipe of a high-pressure engine. It was with some difficulty that we could breathe here among the fumes of sulphur and the steam ; and we crouched low in the bed of the rocky stream to avoid them. In cavities along both banks, and near the running brook, was boiling water, which rose and fell, accompanied by a loud gurgling noise, resembling that of a t gigantic steam-condenser. In one of these cavities stones as large as an egg were in a state of commotion, presenting a curious resemblance to a pot of boiling potatoes. I held my hand fifteen inches above this boiling pot, at which distance the water scalded it. From this cavity to the running stream was just the width of my hand, though the surface of the boiling water in the cavity was about a foot above the running water. The whole of this violent commotion was accompanied by a tremendous noise beneath the earth's surface, quite equal to and resembling that made by several ocean steamers letting off their steam through their large pipes, lond, deep, and harsh. There was no cessation to this awful roar, but one continued noise, as though a vast workshop beneath was in full operation. The banks of the gorge were now too steep to attempt to ascend, nor would it have been safe to do so among so many jets of steam, boiling cauldrons, and fumes of sulphur; ao we made our way down the gorge in the very bed of the stream, jumping from rock to rock, first on one side and then on the other, and occasionally, where the stream took a leap, letting ourselves down in the best war we could. Thus we worked our way along for about an hour, filled with admiration and wonder at the myste rious workings of nature around us. The water, as we advanced, grew warmer, in consequence of accessions from the foiling cavities along its margin, until the stream becalm quite hot. We had here an opportunity to select a THE PRESS. bath of any temperature, from one of icy coldness to that of one hundred and fatty degrees ; and we did not fail to improve it iu some of the deeper basins of the stream, which seemed prepared by nature for such a purpose. Our readers will observe that Mr. Bartlett acknowledges above his want of scientific knowledge, and he does not often compensate for its absence by liveliness or felicity of style. The accompanying illustrations, however, help the reader very much, and though the litho graphs from the sketches in Indian ink are miserably executed, yet some of the miscel laneous drawings are clever. It is an amusing book to look over, as some portions of it have matter worth perusal, and, during our present dearth of new original books of merit, we may recommend it to the book clubs. The work is evidently American in all respects, though bearing a London publisher's name on its titlepage. The Angel in the House. The Betrothal. London : J. W. Parker and Son. THERE is some art in reading books properly. I This is one to be read by the critic in very uncritical fashion, not with quickened eye and perception on the strain, but in easy mood, when the air is still, and the intellect free from the pressure of occupation, and all facul ties of mind and body are relaxed and disposed to receive impressions of beauty. Such books, to be enjoyed, must not be scrutinised too closely ; for writings which charm the imagi nation most are usually marked by some extravagance. Poetic beauty will rarely stand the test of analysis. The mind of the reader must be brought into correspondence with that of the author, and sympathise with its excitement, before the images born of its fervour can be appreciated. The musician is not in fault when the air is unfavourable to the transmission of harmony. Much of the disappointment experienced on reading books arises from their not being taken up when time and mood are suitable. The mind should be serene and softened to enjoy this " Angel of the House." The theme is love, or rather woman, and the blessings of her influence, to which the poet thinks no song has yet done justice. With college laurels three times crown'd, And other annual honours won, he has led a life of domestic bliss unknown to fame, though his wife has often sweetly hinted that renown might easily be his would he take the trouble to seek it. On their wedding-day he tells her that, Not careless of the gift of song, Nor out of love with noble fame, he has much meditated what theme remained unsung, and has at last the very well-head found Whence gushes the Pierian spring. He will, in short, sing herself, " and love, that's " all in all." The poet's design is further ex. plained in some prettily-playful lines : Imagine, love, how learned men, Will deep-conceived devices find, Beyond the purpose and the ken Of the old poet's simple mind ! You, sweet, his mistress, wife, and muse, Were you for mortal woman meant ? Your praises give a hundred clues To mythological intent ! And, severing thus the truth from trope, lu you the commentators see, Some faith, some charity, some hope, Some, wiser, think you all the three. I press your arm ! These are the meads In which we pass our ]peaceful days; There Avon runs, now hid with reeds, Now brightly brimming pebbly hays ; Those are our children's songs that come With bells and bleating@ of the sheep; And there, in yonder happy home. We thrive on mortal food and sleep. The " Betrothal" is told in twelve " Idyls." Between each are verses termed by the author "Accompaniments " and " Sentences," which— as music fills up pauses in song—are intended, we suppose, to relieve, connect, and adorn the several parts of the poem. These airs—as rather they may be called than verses—flout in an atmosphere of fancy, and sometimes seem as if they bad escaped tho poet's brain before he had fully fashioned them. The following sentences come after an " Accompa niment " in which the poet laments that his gifts of song are inadequate to fame That hymn far which the whole world longs, A worthy hymn in woman's praise. 1097 We must suppose that he hears an exclama tion against his extravagance : "Ileauty's but flesh and blood air: fye ! Head here: immortal beauty drink ! " "Just what 1 thirst for; " I reply, " But what's this? Bags and printer's ink!" He hates not day whose grateful sight Adores the sun's reflected power, But loves acceptably the light, Loving its colours in the dower. Other sentences of plainer intent strike us as of higher merit : Wo fast, give alms, pray, weep, and wake, And wear our hearts out. o er the word: Ah, less of this, and let us make More melody unto the Lord! Happy, if on the tempest's gloom Thou seest the covenant of God; Rut far, far happier he on whom The kiss works better than the rod. 0, too absurd for pity or blame, l'rostrate, our backs against the sun, We mourn the shadow of our shame, When getting up would make it none. These flights of sung are wayward, but they sparkle with poetic genius nevertheless. In the " Accompaniments " the thought is often more distinct and of higher aim. That a woman's weakness is her strength has often been prosaically said, but the sentiment ac quires new force in this poet's verse : Say that she wants the will of man To conquer fame, not check'd by cross, Nov moved when others bless or ban ; She wants but what to have were loss; Or say she holds no seals of power, But humbly lives her life at school ; Alas, we hare yet to hail the hour When God shall clothe the best with rule. Tho thought soars higher in these next lines. Tho sentence we have marked in italics► reads like a new discovery in philosophy : Row long shall men deny the flower, Because its roots are in the earth; And crave with tears from God the dower They have, and have despised as dearth ; And scorn as low their human lot, With frantic pride, too blind to see That standing on the head makes not Either for ease or dignity ? But fools shall feel like fools to find ( Too late inform'd that angels' mirth Is one in cause and mode and kind With that which they contemn'd on earth. - - The next lines were probably suggested by that beautiful passage in Schiller's " Carlos in which one of the finest characters of the modern drama tells how he ncuiished in the heart of his friend the prince a hopeless pas sion, as he discerned a germ of life in what seemed death to others. The coincidence may be accidental, but the resemblance of idea is striking : If fate love's dear ambition mar, And load his breast with hopeless pain, And seem to blot out sun and star, Love, lost or won, is countless gain : His sorrow boasts a searet bliss Which sorrow of itself beguiles,e- And love in tears too noble is For pity, save of love in smiles. lint booking backward through his tears, With vision of maturer scope, how often one dead joy appears The platform of some better hope! Awl, let us own, the shtirpest smart Which human patience may endure Pays light for that which leaves the heart More generous, dignified, and pure.• These are detached beauties, for the " Ac companiments " and " Sentences," as we have said, are mere flourishes to the poem itself. The narrative is of the simplest kind. The poet, after some years of travel, returns to his guardian's house. The good dean at Sarum Close has three daughters : their home, made happy with graces of Christian life, is described in some exquisite lines For something that abode endued With temple•like repose, an air Of life's kind purposes pursued With order'd freedom sweet and fair. A tent pitch'd in a world not right It seem'd, whose inmates, every one, On tranquil faces bore the light Of duties beautifully done, • The parallel lines is Schiller (we quote from Bohn's edition of the trauslated dramas) are:— "I saw his lore In its first blossnam--saw his fatal passion Take root in his young heart. I had full power To check it, but I did not. The attachment, Which seem'd to me not guilty, I still nouritsli'd. The world may censure we, but I repent not, Nor does my heart aecnse me. I saw life Where death appeald to othett In a lame So hopeless I discern'd Hope's golden beam"