The Press. — London, England, 1858-10-23 00:00:00

I • • . • • .. ',. - . • , . . . if were 1032 THE PRES S, OCTOBER 23, 1858. --- .Ti ered sitting down a matter of sheer impossibility, voices came floating richly, yet softly, ttiroub,. ---.:n4t the window•seat, which was air, making her feel very happy, " Is that a nightingale, : .... *Aired her4._to hari tell n m ot e th ! I ri g alll A w rt o , n a d n e d r ? h a dOnl: .... ,_ on O g l h i, t i o r f .T h oh irn n :e h r i e le h m ere ia l g " around on her lators on the social sympathies of literature might possibly find food for meditation. But in this case the aristocratic sentiment is placed before us in a far more attractive light, as the stimulus to nobility of conduct, of action, and of thought. The young Marquis of Campcey d'Hauterive is, indeed, a gentleman in the highest, the purely modern, sense ofthe word. Although nurtured in the lap of luxury, he does not hesitate a moment, when he finds that the estate which his father has left him represents a negative quantity, to look the stern realities of his position in the face and grapple with them like a man. A proposed mar riage with a roturier heiress, whose millions are to be a set-off against his title, is rejected with disdain. This title, " which exposes him to such " miserable projects of intrigue," he resolves to drop, and accepts, under the simple name of M. Maxime Odiot, an appointment as agent to a wealthy parvenu family, who have purchased an immense estate in Brittany. llere his high bred qualities, both personal, intellectual, and moral, make a deep impression upon the beautiful heiress of the house, and, after the usual labyrinth of cross purposes, misappre hensions, and jealous interference, we leave the affianced lovers comfortably clasped in each other's arms—an agreeable denouement which M. Campcey d'Hauterive picturesquely dashes off in the final ejaculation—" Je crus que mon ame nfechappait." With regard to merit—both read able and artistic—" Le Roman d'un Jeune Homme Pauvre " may claim a high place. There is a charm about this young marquis— his egotism is so genial—his refinement of idea and rectitude of conduct are so naturally mani fested, without display or &cave of any sort or kind, but simply as the spontaneous suggestion of a noble heart—that we become veritably attached to him as we read on, and interest our selves in his prospects as with a valued friend. M. Octave I'euillet is evidently one of those kindly and genial natures which derive positive enjoyment from the delineation of amiability, and the contemplation of the happiness he creates. He dwells with manifest gusto on all that is lovable—on beauty, courage, generosity, truth. Hence his characters have warmth, and therefore life and nature about them. Even where the artistic relief of more prominent figures requires some disagreeable or ludicrous subordinates by way of foil, he plays the satirist and the caricaturist with a good-humoured indulgence which carries throughout the whole perspective of his picture, with true artistic skill, that warm sunny atmo sphere which forms one of its greatest charms. We have not left ourselves space for quota tions. But if we have said enough to induce the reader to go for these to the hook itself, we feel perfectly satisfied that he will close it with an exalted and grateful sense of our critical acumen. and of the justice of our strictures on the Index F,xpurgatorius of the British Islands. Quicksands. A Tale. By Anna Lisle. London : Groombridge. WHEN Miss Lisle's former work, " Self and Self- Sacrifice," appeared, it received much praise in our columns, and the authoress, in her present story, more than sustains the reputation made by her tbrmer writings. She has considerable qualifications for a narrator of interesting tales, and her conceptions of female character are simple and natural. Her mind has mucb sweet ness of sentiment and geniality of tone, and she has a quick eye for perceiving those effects in actual life which a literary artist can turn to good account in a description. " Quicksands" opens by introducing us to a certain Ilelen Grey, a mere child at the time, and endowed with many good qualities, but with an abundant share of human weakness. The manner in which we first become acquainted with Helen Grey is an ingenious device on the part of the authoress, whose story thus opens : " Now, Betay-Jane, go and mind the shop, while I and Matilda-Anne cook the (Winer. Matilda-Anne, you peel these potatoes ;—l'll help yon in a minute, when I've made the beds and swept the floor.': that rendered sitting down a matter of sheer impossibility, took her stand against the window•seat, which was supposed to be the shop counter. " What have we got for dinner, mother ?" asked Matihla•Anne, in an exceedingly faint treble, with a strong nasal intonation. " Roast leg of mutton, and baked potat3es, and jam bolster," WAS the response. " Shop, mother!" squeaked Matilda• Anne, from the windows seat. " Coming!" shouted the proprietress of the establish ment. " Now Betsy-Jane, you just-" One would anticipate from this opening a tale of common life, in which we were to be invited to take interest in the happiness and woes of very plain folk. But it seems that Helen Grey was only talking to her dolls, and amusing herself with imaginary conversations between her little puppets. The mother of Helen Grey by no means relished the style of conversation drama tised by her lively daughter, and she interposed with true maternal dignity : But the colloquy was destined to go no further; for it was unpleasantly ctt short by a third person. " Helen!" interrupted Mrs. Grey, in an awful voice, " Helen !--where have you learnt to talk in this shocking manner?" Helen was too much astonished to reply; she could only stare in silence at her mother. voices came floating ery richl air, making her feel h appyt softly, thro ug h t h e quiet "Is that a nightingale, I wonder ? if John were here, to tell me ! Oh, if John were here " She had not thought of him while gazing around on her oplencliil room. That was all Art, and had no affinity with him :—this was Nature. " How pleasant it would be, to walk with him in those delicious paths, and to sit down with him beside the stream and have long talks ! " She sighed. " But I can take his letters there to read ;—that will be next iyst to himself." She left the window, and. perceiving another door at the other end of the room, opened it. " Pear me! how beautiful! This must he the drawing. room." Mrs. Grey continued in the same dread voice. " Do you not know that it is very naughty, and vulgar, and dis gracefill—yes, disgraceful "—and she paused, to give due effect to her last word—" to talk in that strange way?" " But I always talk like that to my dolls ! I'm pre tending to be a woman keeping a shop; and Betsy-Jane and Matilda-Anne are my two little girls, and " There, do not tell me anything more about it !—it positively makes me shudder, to hear you!" " Is it so very naughty, mamma ? " " Of course it is !—very naughty! and if I hear any more of it, I shall be seriously displeased, and shall—whip you 1" The offender did not, however, feel much intimidated by this threat; for she knew that her mother would as soon think of undertaking an excursion to the moon, as of bestowing corporeal punishment en her. " But, mamma, must I never keep shop again, with Betsy-Jane and Matilda-Anne?" " Of course not !—and you must never again call your dolls by those vulgar names ! Why not call them Julia and Amelia ?—far prettier names, I am sure.—And why not play at some other game ?—there are so many pretty games for a little girl to play at with her dolls ! For instance, you could pretend to he a duchess, and you could take Lady Julia and Lady Amelia to a ball—or to Court. Would not that be far more amusing? " Here we have the impulsive and open character of Helen Grey shadowed out at the very com mencement, and made to contrast with the ambitious nature of the mother. Years went by, and Helen Grey grew up in grace, and was un doubtedly a most charming and attractive girl, though too subject, like other fair daughters of Eve, to impressions of sentiment. She was apt to conceive friendships and aversions with too much facility; when she was only six years old she could not abide a certain Miss Thomson because her clothes were finer and more expensive than those Miss Helen had herself. In short, Helen Grey was rather wilful and wayward, but she had such liveliness and so many attractive points that she was, beyond doubt, a delightful girl, and it was not at all surprising that a certain Mr. Howard, one of their neighbours, should have been smitten with her beauty. She liked him equally well, and, though she was very young, it was arranged that young Howard should be received as a regularly accepted lover. There came, however, into their neighbour hood the great Mrs. Huntingdon, of Staniswood, who patronized the Greys, and invited them to pass a few days at Staniswood. The Greys were only genteel people of the middle class in life, and they were often straitened as to their family expenses. Staniswood was a grand place, with splendidly furnished rooms, and Helen Grey's sense of dazzlement is thus described : Just then, Mrs. lluntingdon entered the bedroom, and not finding Helen there, sought her in the inner room. "What a beautiful drawing-room! " repeated Helen. " Drawing-room?—von little goose !—this is your awn sitting-room, or sanctum, or whvitever you like to call it. Whenever you want to ha alone—not to be bored by penile —you can take refuge here." Helen was too much astonished for speech. There was fine company, also, in this magnifi cent abode, and Arthur Huntingdon, the heir t o the estate, fell in love with Helen Grey. Now, Arthur Huntingdon, in addition to being rich, was also handsome and engaging in his address. And yet there was a certain something about him that would have made cautious people hesitate about giving him their unreserved confidence. Did Arthur Huntingdon drink ? Oh, no ! cer tainly not. Nobody ever saw him drinking, and he did not smell of the bottle. Nevertheless, a person might suspect occasionally, from that flurried, over-excited manner, that Arthur Huntingdon was addicted to secret intoxication. He used sometimes get very depressed, and the contrast between his high and low spirits was distressing to witness. He did not drink. Well, then, perhaps he gambled ? Nor that either. It was a mystery that these fits of occasional ex citement and depression should come over him. Although a brilliant Miss Atherton actively angled to secure so rich a prize as Arthur Hun tingdon, it was fated that he should fall in love with llelen Grey. But were not her feelings already engaged with her first love P Helen Grey was weak, irresolute, and greatly under the influence of her mother. Mrs. Grey was ambitious for her daughter's sake, and the daughter lost her self-possession and allowed herself to be swayed by the plausible insinua tions of her mother, to the effect that John Howard did not, after all, care much for her. During this vacillation of mind Helen wrote strange letters to her lover and to his sister. The agitation of her spirits, and the conscious• ness that her feelings were not right, were re. vealed in notes like the following : My dear John,—llow I . wish you were here ! Sach a splendid house—and so many servants—and such lovely grounds ! We went down to a brook, by a delicious little green path—he showed me the way. And he says that a great many people are coming here, and that we shall be very gay ; but I don't think I shall like any of them much. Oh ! I do wish you were here ! Good bye, dear John. I have not time to write more, bat I will send you a long letter the day after tomorrow. — Yours affectionately, HELEN. After a long season of struggles and doubts, Arthur lluntingdon succeeded in marryi n g Helen Grey, and the anguish caused to the discarded lover is described in this passage : Her room was furnished in the most luxurious style ; and she wondered whether she should ever be able to consider it a bedroom. Wonderfnl ottomans and conches, richlycarved mirrors, ornaments in Sevres China, clocks, lamps—everything to feast her eye and charm her fancy— seemed to be congregated in that delightful room. As she looked round, and called to mind her little humble apart ment at Brockley, a sensation of shame—almost of disgust —crept over her ;—a feeling of unwillingness to return to her homely dwelling. She approached one of the windows, and looked out. " How exquisite ! " she thought ; for before her was a soft, emerald lawn, sloping down towards a row of trees, beyond which stretched, far away, the purple hills, rising one above the other. To the right, sue saw the openings of some wooded paths ; and she could hear the silvery murmur of a brook, and could fancy it rippling over stones, and moas,and mauy•coloured pebbles ; and she pictured to herself the wild flowers that grew upon ita banks. Mingled with the sound of the water, was the song of birds—the blackbird, the thrush, the finch, and many others;—the could distinguish thew all; and their His excitement was fearful. His manner was almost hysterical. Oh, John ! you do not mean that! I know you better, my dear child. If she met with any trouble, you would be the first to pity and console her." Now, ho threw himself upon the ground, and burst into an agony of wild and passionate sobs. His mother knelt beside him, for a long time, vainly trying to calm him. At last, exhausted by the violence of the paroxysm, he grew calmer. When he again spoke, it was almost in a whisper —his voice was so faint and broken. " Yes, yes—you speak truly. — l would la y down my fits for her! I would crouch at her feet, like a dog, even though she spurned me! See—see !—how my tears flow for her, unworthy as she is !—Yet she is not to blame — she has been led by others. Poor child !—poor, dear child!" "Nay, John—she is unworthy! She is heartless — worldly—unprincipled! Think of her iu her true character, and you will cease to love her !" " Never, never'. " he passionately exclaimed. " Mother, don't blame her—l can't bear it." " Yon are very weak ! She is undeserving !" " God bless her ! God bless her !" A long silence en sued; then he added, more gently.— " My own dearest mother, we will talk no more oil this subject. Let her he to on as though she were dead. I shall in time confiner this weakness; but it will be long first. For the feelings of years cannot be uprooted in a `fa tly; and my wound is so deep, that it will , I think, take yari of quiet suffering to even soar it over. B ut, do not t'enr; 7 shall yet be proud of your Oen; ou I will not sink (12wn into Such were the commands addressed by Miss Helen Grey—aged six—to two inanimate compounds of wax, calico, anti bran—)'slept dolls. I.tatilda•Anne, who luxuriated in the possession of joints, and consequently experienced great difficulty in maintaining an erect posture, was forthwith ensconced in an armchair, and became absorbed in the bontemplation of some large beads, which, for tho nonoe, did duty as potatoes ; while Betsy. Jane, the johltless doll, Roomed : ?f u rigidity of spice