The Press. — London, England, 1855-08-25 00:00:00

814 spirituous liquors ; he feels himself, he tells us, all the better for his bottle of good port— why, then, should he set himself up as the George Cruikshank of a movement for imagi native teetotalism? The tolerance he claims let him accord. He is safe, through his peculiar temperament, from the influences of romance; but he has no more right on that account to denounce the pleasures of imagination than a deaf man would have to inveigh against the cultivation of harmony. The novels' to which the strictures of Dr. Cumming would apply are becoming rare in our day. It is not true that modern fictions are generally marked by unreality. They are often too real for our taste, for we do not reckon reality as the highest requisite of fiction. A purely imaginative tale like " Un dine " is to be preferred to all the real stories ever written. For romance we desire above all things an union of imagination and art ; but that union is met with only in writers of the highest class. Some of the novels before us are, in their general plan and outline, too much like fact to bo altogether pleasing. Mrs. Maberley's " Display," with the exceptions we pointed out when it was in our hands, is a model of social portraiture, never approaching fact too closely, yet always appearing natural. Wo• man's Devotion 4 , is in this respect less suc cessful. It is altogether a cruder performance, and positively spoilt by that reality for which it should find favour in the eyes of Dr. Cum ming. We know very well that beautiful young widows with large fortune need not wait long for a second husband. Their mar riage is common enough in actual life, but we do not like a novel made up of such materials as these :—A handsome, amiable young lad meets with a beautiful girl on the coast of Wales ; marries her, to the great mortification of his lady mother; loves her with all his heart; sees with pleasure how much she is esteemed by his cousin, a young duke ; is blessed with a beautiful boy ; is forced into a duel and gets accidentally hurt ; is ill for a long time, during which his mind gets im paired ; dies at last, and is magnificently interred ; his widow a twelvemonth later being united to the duke who had always admired her. _ _ _ The fashion of conducting a heroine through all the ceremonies of a first marriage, of child birth, of widowhood, and of a second mar• riage, though it may be relit, is, very far from agreeable. Why couldn't she t be. made a duchess at once? 1n this idstaVe. the process is the more unsatisiktory ast.she witp ho perfectly content with her first choice. The title of the book is a misnumer. What is meant by " Woman's Devotion "? It' is impossible to find any other answer for the question than— marrying a second husband as soon as a widow's cap can be decently discarded. After the raptures of a first love the raptures of a second are very stale. Her first lord had cherished his pretty, innocent, unsophisticated bride, with such affection as Hamlet's father showed his queen : so loving, That he might not beteem the winds of heaven Visit her face too roughly. Yet at the close of the book it is thus that the pretty Nest is represented in company with her second husband : " My Nest, how your eyes speak," said her husband, bending over her, after the boys had lovingly left the room, encircled in each other's arms. " Shall I tell you what they say? She smiled an affirmative. He whispered in her ear— " They said,' I love you, Elmore, I am happy. " She stole her hand into his, and whispered back, " If they said no more, my husband, they did not speak enough." Good taste revolts from this conclusion. In real life impressions fade slowly ; there is at least an interval between the death of one at tachment and the birth of another; but in fiction the interval cannot be sensibly marked. Here the results are brought so closely together as to excite a positively painful sentiment. The grand defect of the book is, that it is con structed in ignorance of every principle of art. It is freshly, cleverly, and in parts powerfully written, but the design is so radically bad as • Woman's Devotion. A Novel. 3 vols. London : Hurst and JilsoketU THE PRESS. to suggest a strange want of delicacy and tact in the mind of the lady writer. We know what examples of " Woman's Devotion" have been given in past times, and how girls of such mingled strength and soft• ness of character as Nest is represented to possess have mourned their husbands we recollect the case of the young Marchioness of Tavistock, who would never suffer her hus band's miniature to leave her hand till she sunk broken-hearted into his grave : and we do not care to meet in fiction with such a thriving widowhood and prosperous second marriage as are here presented to us. The inexperience of the writer is visible in other passages. The " upholstery business " is too laboured. In one place we read : A powdered footman entered, bearing on a massive salver the post of the day. At a dinner-party the lady exclaims : I have desired Jervois to serve the banquet. When Nest is first introduced to the company assembled to meet her at her lord's seat, she exclaims : This room is so beautiful, the lights are so brilliant, and the company so gorgeously arrayed, that J feel something as if I was a little daisy, misplaced amid the rarest and most resplendent flowers. - - The fittings of the apartments occupied by the Lady Jane are catalogued with auctioneer ing particularity:— -•• • - The sofas had carved ivory legs, the chairs were inlaid with mother-of-pearl ; the tables were malachite, white marble, and ornamented with borders of jaspers, lapis lazulis, and other stones more precious ; screens of match less Indian embroidery were supported on stems of fila greed silver; while jars of fabulous size and extraordinary beauty supported old Indian cabinets, rare bronze figures, marble statues, and objects of vend. All this may be merely intended for effect, but the style is bad. There is also needless exaggeration in the language of some of the characters, as in this bit of absurdity proceed. ing from a Lady Julia:— - - • ... I observe you never fail to attend church. I admire it in you, my dear niece, being so regular ; I wish I could do the same; but really until they have separate churches for us and the common people, I cannot go, particularly in a country church. I declare positively, in a country church you may have your servants seated in the very next pew. Now, how can you bear that, my dear niece A confirmed profligate would hardly have addressed the heroine in such a manner as the following : lam rid of my wife ; our divorce is nearly past. Your husband is dying ; a slow, lingering death it may be, but he will never recover ; remember my words. Now answer, promise, should you evee be free, promise to be mine, and I will wait, wait like a p ►tient, beaten spaniel under your feet; wait like the humblest slave, wait like a very dog. And oh, Nest, think what you will do, save a soul, a soul so smothered, so pent up in crime, that angels cease to visit it, and regard it as a dreadful, loathsome thing. Make but this promise, and no pilgrim shall be more devout, no proselyte more sincere. Make but this pro- mise, make it, and save me. But with its defects, which are serious, the book has undoubted merit. Some of the cha racters are finely drawn. Nest herself in the two first volumes is a charming personage, most picturesque . in dress and appearance, and most captivating in disposition and con duct—innocent, loving, and amiable, but withal high-spirited. She behaves admirably in the trials of her married life, particularly when confronted with her haughty mother-in law : and at times there are endearing touches of pathos in her demeanour. She has warmly attached herself to her husband's sister, and when this sister, who is headstrong and pas sionate, has long been sulky, Neat each night endeavours to coax her into forgiveness, and at last succeeds : Perhaps to-morrow I may not be able to visit my dear sister. Soon I may be a prisoner on a sick-bed. I may no longer be able to give m)salf this pleasure, to look at her, to kiss her thus, and ask God to bless her and forgive her for her unkindness to her Nest. Perhaps our Al mighty Father may take me to himself, and leave Mimi but a little child to remember her sister by. And will Mimi he gaod to my little child, will she be as unkind to it as she is to me ? _ At this stage of Nest's harangue, there was a decided trembling of the bed. " Perhaps 1 shall die," continued Nest, " thinking that no kini aunt Mimi will be a mother to my child." A violent hysterical sob burst from the bed ; two vehe ment arms were thrust out, and Nest was clasped to her sister's heart, amid a storm of tears, self-upbraidings, self reproaches, and the sweetest, gentlest, dearest epithets. There are many such pretty passages as this. But we must say all our interest in Nest vanishes when we find that she sets her SATURDAY, widow's cap at the duke. The book is spoilt by the third volume. - - The next story, iu one volume, is of a totally different complexion. To it the title of " Woman's Devotion;'* might appropriately be given. The love of Georgy Sandon is so deep, so delicate, so generous, and so lasting, that her character may take rank among the loveliest creations of fiction. The tale is simple, but worked out iu all its details with the nicest finish. The social scenes are light and easy. There is much pleasant chit-chat in the domestic intercourse of town and country homes, but the figure of Georgy is never out of sight. She is an orphan, and partially dependent upon the bounty of rela tives. Intelligent, but not remarkable for beauty— Her complexion was fair, and her grey eyes large and handsome. Her mouth, too, was rather large, and the lower part of her face had, especially when in repose, a look of squareness, but was otherwise pretty. When quite young, and understanding little of the capacity of her heart, she had engaged herself to an officer, a plain, honest, well•in tentioned person, who left her for a period to join his regiment abroad. In his absence she is introduced to a gentleman of very different character—tho gay, accomplished, gifted James Erskine. He looks on her with curiosity, flirts with her a little, but thinks it no more possible that she can lift her eyes to him than that he should lower his to hers. But the meeting has raised new feelings in Georgy's heart. She finds she did not love Captain Anstruther, and resolutely breaks off her en gagement with him, flying from her uncle's home to avoid his anger. The handsome Erskine is known to another lady, who ad mires him. The brilliant Constance Everett is in all respects a contrast to the quiet Georgy. She has high spirits, is extremely clever, and has powers of fascination it is not possible to resist. Her first marriage has been very unfortunate. Her husband has proved selfish and careless. He is a con firmed invalid, and, going to Italy for his health, bids his wife stay at home that the ex pense may be lessened. James Erskine has long known her, and worships her at a respect ful distance. Their friendship is interrupted by an act of petulance on the lady's part, and, while indignant at her caprice, he is cast by an accident more into Georgy's society. He is won by her sweet temper and the language of her large, loving eyes. They have been talking of marriage, and Georgy is piqued by his apparent unconcern : She got up quickly, and going to the window, sat down there, and said, " It was very foolish of me : but I shall make myself quite happy at Grainthorpe: I am not going to marry at all." "Not?" " No." She did not see him half smile at her effort to brave it out unconcernedly. She had never looked so childlike as when she uttered that deliberate decision, No ; and she was too unconcerned to look at him. He sat down beside her in the window, and bent very near her. He had bent down so once before; and her heart beat as it had done once before, by the piano at the Grange. There was so much deference, and so much gentle respect in his manner, and yet it was so calmly assured—it always fascinated and mas tered her. " Do you love no ono, then ?" He took her hand; but his sentence appeared so com pletely finished, that she drew back, and snatched her hand away. It seemed as if he were cross-questioning her at pleasure. For one instant he looked at her as she crimsoned, and her eyes grow angry and full of tears; then he said, quite humbly: " Could you ever be my wife? Do you love me enough?" She did not lift her eyes, and, as if the words were very difficult to speak, she said: " lou know I do." Their engagement is for a few days kept secret, and meanwhile they again meet Con stance, now free through her husband's death. Ignorant of Erskine's changed posi tion, she passionately asserts her dominion over him, and makes Georgy the confidant of her hopes. All this part of the story is written with marvellous skill, the buoyant passion of Constance effectively contrasting with the sad despair of her listener. Georgy's decision is soon taken. She bids Erskine farewell, and, with a hope to still the restless craving in her breast, consents to marry her old suitor, now returned from abroad. Her subsequent life, so still and resigned, is exquisitely described. * A Lost Love. By Ashford Owen. 1 vol. London: lfezdth end elder.