The Press. — London, England, 1857-08-22 00:00:00

the people ingenious, civil, and active; where the langnag? customs, and tanners are entirely different from our own ; where, in fine, the destiny of our sweet native land lies in the band of site twenty-five great men. It cannot be, I am sore. without the will of that one Supreme Being that this small island, which seems on the globe like a mole on the body of a man, should command the greater part of the world, and keep the rest in awe. - • And now, having brought him safely to London, we must leave him in the hands of our readers. They will learn from him his admiration for our wonderful bridges, his as tonishment and entertainment at the opera, where " two very handsome ladies very inde " cently dressed" appeared upon the stage, and "danced expertly," whirling round so that "their short gowns flew up the forbidden " height," and violated decorum. They will see how he passed his evenings delight fully in the " enjoyment of good society ;" how he went to a party at Lord Ashley's, and was introduced to Lady Jocelyn, " the loveliest of English beauties," and how he had the honour of playing at chess with •' this nymph of Paradise ;" and how he went to the House of Lords and heard "the question •' of the duty on sugar most ably discussed," and, visiting the East India Directors, to' nd Colonel Sykes to be " a man of sublime " mind, endowed with high attainments, con " siderable ability, and acute understanding ;" and then how the Nawab and his suite called upon Lord Ripon, at the Board of Control, who received them with the courtesy " natural to " the nobility of England," but, "feeling his pulse" with regard to their business, found his lordship " a very stiff and dlfferent man altogether;'' or how they went to Ascot to see " what horse would win and what horse would " lose," or to Westminster Abbey, where " the " abbot, a very polite young man, of great " ability and talent," showed them the lions ; or how they dined at Greenwich and Rich inond, and visited Windsor and Woolwich ; or, in point of fact, how they " did " London, and did it as thoroughly as her Majesty of the Netherlands, for they saw everything, from the Ojibbeways to Tom Thumb and Astley's, and finally tore themselves away, much against their inclination; loetheir native land—all this the reader will find detailed with gusto in the pages of Lutfullah's diary, which are sprinkled with quaint reflections upon whatever is striking or singular in our customs or our pleasures ; and it is thus that he sums up the character of the English people : T may now sum up the character of the English, by saying they are entirely submissive to the law and obedient to the commands of their superiors. Their sense of patriotism is greater than that of any nation in the world. Their obedience, trust, and submission to the female sex are far beyond the limit of moderation. In fact, the free. dom granted to womankind in this country is great, and the mischief arising from this unreasonable toleration is most deplorable. This is ungallant of Lutfullah, after all the pleasure he professes to have experienced from the society of our " nymphs of Paradise ;" but he promises us another volume of memoirs, and so we will reserve our indignation for the present, and only compliment him upon the entertaining and very readable volume he has presented to the British public. THE PRESS, AUGUST 22, 1857. moralise upon the most trivial occasions. Owing to the first, his pages are crowded with minor characters, who display no speciality ; and, owing to the second, the bulk of the book much exceeds its interest. Authors some times speak of the undue harshness of critics Whether right or wrong, the former have their revenge. The critic is compelled to read whatever the author sets before him, and there is seldom sufficient gold found among the wool to repay the trouble of searching. We always feel, therefore, that to point out to authors, especially inexperienced ones, any means by which their productions may be divested of superfluous matter, is to per form a service no less to themselves than to our fraternity. It is only a very great man indeed who in 1857 can say anything new in morals, but fresh and lively narrative and dra matic contrast will always please and interest ; and we recommend the author of " Quinland," in his next work, to give us more description and less philosophy, to finish off more care fully such characters as Agincourt and Monk, and to leave " their internal questionings" to take care of themselves. " Wayside Fancies " (2) is a most agreeable and clever little volume. The prose, which is much better than the poetry, displays touches of real humour and bits of quaint description. The little tale " Murder will Out," and a paper on the owl entitled " Bubo's Wanderings," ex hibitj ust that mixture of kindliness and comedy which is hereditary in the case of this au thoress. For a story of touching and simple pathos we think " The Sum of Life " evinces very high excellence; so much so, indeed, that, although rather long, we feel quite jus tified in transcribing it:— Among the many tales of real life that came before me was the one lam about to relate. I had made a rule on entering my curacy to call upon every one in my district ; and among others, upon an elderly widow, living in one half of a very small cottage, in a back street. I found her unusually intelligent and sensible, but labouring under a great depression of spirits. While I was talking to her I chanced to put my hand upon an old bock lying in the window•seat. It was an ar.cient almanac, much thought of in its day, I dare say, but now long forgotten. But my eye was struck with the curious appearance of the book — for all down the margin of each page were the following figures :- 17 23 15 There were several letters, and a word or two without connection, but the same figures recurred again and again ; and, iu fact, in every page of the book. The handwriting was beautifully small and fine—the figures especially, and I asked the old woman if the writing was hers. She answered " No," and seeing the tears in her eyes, I did not make any further allusion to the subject. On slater visit, however, when she was laid up by asevere attack of illness, and, perhaps, felt more acutely the force of a little sympathy, she opened her mind fully to me, and unasked told me the story of the book. Her husband had been a carpenter, and they had but one surviving child. a daughter, having lost two or three in their infancy. This endeared the survivor still more to them both ; but especially to her mother. They had been rather above the common class of poor, and contrived to keep several comforts around them, and the old man was said to have saved up a considerable sum for a poor person. They had always kept their daughter at school, where she had, by perseverance and intelligence, gained quite a superior education to those of her own rank. When she was about seventeen, a young stone mason of the neighbourhood proposed marriage with her, to her father. She had long known and liked him, and had many a pleasant walk on a summer evening with him. For a wonder she bad chosen wisely and well, for he was as superior, and even more so, to his station, as she was, and was as good a scholar as herself. Unfortu• nately, however, her father, after tacitly allowing it so long, objected on the score of money, and in spite of her entreaties—joined with her mother's—forbid him the house. At first she hoped to soften him by her submis sion, which indeed came naturally to her gentle spirit, and her lover remained constant, their only consolation being the frequent letters passing between them. Some of these the poor mother still possessed, and showed them to me ; and, notwithstanding their frequent homeliness of expression, there was a simple pathos and resignation in them that touched me almost to tears. Two or three years went on, slowly and sadly—the father continuing still obstinate in accordance with his ragged nature, and hope fading gradually but surely from the humble lovers. She was a gentle, affectionate girl, and would not marry without her father's consent, although she could not conquer the love that was twined with her very heart-strings. At last her father, finding that she still clung to this first and last attachment, and that she refused two or three offers he thought more suitable, forbid the correspondence, and desired her to think of him no more. This was a heavy blow to her, and for a while her health and spirits sank under it. To muse her from this, her (2) Wayside /antic+. By Frances heeling Brodecip. Lon don: Mosso. OUR LIBRARY TABLE. THE story called " Quinland " (11 has one recommendation,—that it fully bears out the title. In it we are presented with the widest conceivable " varieties of American life." The opening chapters portray life in a clearing; others, life in an ordinary American village ; others, again, the fashionable and dissipated life of large towns. We have farmers, store keepers, and gentlemen—physicians, lawyers, and alchemists—hunters, horsestealers, and usurers—roguish misers in council with keen attorneys, and ambitious senators bribing un scrupulous journalists. The form into which the story is thrown is that of a diary, and the hero is a young man who works his way to knowledge through all the evils of poverty and prejudices of kindred, and ultimately succeeds to wealth by the discovery of a fraud practised on his mother's family. The author's sketches of character, though frequently exaggerated, display nevertheless considerable judgment and observation. His principal defects con list in want of method, and a tendency to ( 1) Qui*land; o►, Varieties in .disierican Life. Loudon: Voutley. 827 parents sent her to the wedding of a country cousin, thinking the change and gaiety might do her good. But this was the drop that overbrimmed the cup : the sight of the new-married couple in their honeymoon happiness, and the quiet domestic comfort of their little country cottage in its tiny garden, sunk with a painful contrast into her heart, and she returned home, only that ber mother might rush wildly from one doctor to another, in the hope that something might be done for her. The body recovered, but the mind was gone hopelessly ; and as she grew more vacant and unconscious, her health got better, for the mind no longer wore out and harassed the feeble frame. She had taken to writing over every scrap of paper she could lay hands on—most likely from a linger ing association of past days, like the wind wandering through the strings of a harp and bringing out An imper fect sound. It was almost always the same figures ; the first, 17 and 23, were their respective ages—the lath of May was the date of their first meeting, and the 2nd of November the last time they met—that bitter parting that had unsettled her intellect for ever. She had at first been very difficult to manage, and reqnired more skilful treatment than her poor heartbroken mother could give her, and she had accordingly been placed under proper care. As time went on, she grew as gentle as an infant; but, on attempting to remove her to her mother's home, had manifested such distress, that altboughthe expense of keeping her away cost her mother every little indulgence she had hitherto possessed, she submitted without a murmur, only grieving that she could not have her always with her. I gaztd sadly upon the dim discoloured figures that had before seemed to me but the mere vague wanderings of in sanity, but now that I had the key to them, the mournful record of that blank existence—the summing up of that humble tale of resignation and sorrow. The style of this reminds us very much of " The Pride of the Village." Many of Mrs. Broderip's verses are very musical; and the entire volume is distinguished by great facility and elegance of expression, and great purity of taste and thought. Mr. Freeland's " Lectures and Miscella nies" (3) are the fruits of a mind interested in literature and philosophy, rather than of one that is either philosophical or literary. The subjects chosen for illustration are all good, and display a considerable range of learning; but no single paper surpasses the limits which any well-educated and well informed person at the present day might be expected to attain. Mr. Freeland is neither a critic nor a teacher, but he has acquired a certain amount of knowledge which he dis burses with a pleasant and communicative air to what we daresay was a very well-pleased audience. The lecture upon " Literary Im postures " cannot fail to be interesting; and though Mr. Freeland has nothing novel to bring forward, yet his remarks are pleasing from their good sense and charitable spirit. The credulity of the world in these matters is, however, less wonderful than the audacity of the impostors. It is surprising to what length this is sometimes carried. Rolt, the author of a " Dictionary of Trade and Commerce," went to Dublin, gave himself out as author of " The Pleasures of the Imagination, " and was entertained, we are told, at the best tables "as the ingenious Mr. Bolt ;" and only a few months ago an adventurer in Scotland laid claim to the works of a rising literary man of the present day, and stuck to his assertion for a long time, even in the face of contradictions from the real author. But perhaps the most extraordinary attempt of this kind, if true, is the alleged assertion of Goldsmith that he had a brother who was Dean of Durham. A variety of other curious cases of impostures will be found in " Boswell's Johnson," from which we have taken the account of " the ingenious Mr Bolt." Mr. Freeland's most elaborate article is on the " Life and Writings of Lamartine," which seems rather well put together. His worst is the short criticism upon " In Memoriam," which condemns him utterly as a man of taste, sensibility, or ear fur rby thm. " Magdalene Stafford " (4) is a tale of a rather peculiar character. With a consider able resemblance to the stories of Miss Sewell, it blends something of the graphic power and piquant tone belonging to the authoress of " Dorothy." The self-examination and the fits of penitence and remorse are all in the style of the former lady. But there is no allusion to any theological school in the pages of " Magdalene Stafford," and the only three clergymen introduced are as unecclesiastical as possible. For vigour of thought and power of playful sarcasm the story cannot be corn- (3) Lectures and Miscellanies. By H. W. Freeland. London: Longman.. (4) Magdakse Stafford; or, a GitINS of slolSitiltC on a .Rainy Day. London : boll and JUaldy.