The Press. — London, England, 1855-11-17 00:00:00

1102 there any reason why he should not have been a Puritan, an Atheist, or a plain Church of England man just as well. This is a decided error as a matter of art, and helps to give an air of unreality to the whole. But then, again, the scene on the scaffold is an admirable piece of painting, and unfortunately but too true. The impersonation by Theresa of Daniel Brow n low s niece is the best incident in the book, and the situation is, as far as we can remember, quite original. The following speech of the silly parvenu, Anne Brownlow, is a capital spe cimen of the particular weakness aimed at : " I like to be one of the fast young lathes—in short, the very essence of fastness ; and, at the same time to be, as it must be confessed I am, a favorite with everybody," said Anna ; who habitually boasted of the most ordinary attentions from her acquaintances, actually proud of those common civilities that it would have been rudeness in any one to omit. " When I called yesterday on dear Kitty Neville (I mean, you know, Lady Katherine), she was so civil ! The moment I entered she rose, and held out her hand, saying, ' How do you do?' Her groom of the chambers, who is always so attentive to me, placed my chair ; and Charlie (meaning Lord Charles Neville !) nodded to me in a most agreeable way from the writing-table ; but we are so intimate, he did not think it necessary to rise, or even to say a word; and that dear old dot, the Dowager Duchess—' Mammy,' as we call her—just hurried, in her good-humored, unceremonious way out of the room, as I entered, saying,' Excuse me for one moment.' She did not return, dear old soul; so Kate had to follow, and left me sitting alone there, in the most quite-at-home state imaginable. Some people think Kitty Neville excessively haughty and disagreeable, but, as far as I see, she is not — at least not to me ! When I entered yesterday, she was in the act of saying, 'Not at home! ' but the instant I ap peared, she added, in her languid, odd way,' Well! as you have got in, I suppose you must stay!' That was so like Kate Neville, droll, whimsical creature as she is! Full of dry humour—though very dry indeed, sometimes—rather brusque, occasionally, no doubt ; but I do not mind that. For instance, after she left, school, I inquired if we were still to call her, as in former days, Kitty ?' and she answered, with such an air as might have intimidated any one who knew her less than 1 do, ' Call me what you please, Miss Brownlow.' Many people would have buten that as a rebuff, but I merely laughed at her droll, whimsi cal ways ; and Kitty ' she shall remain to the end of the chapter !" On the whole, we must pronounce " Cross Purposes " to be a very unequal performance. The authoress seems to have exhausted her strength on one or two characters aud one or two scenes, and her novel, like a modern tragedy, completely breaks down in the second-rate parts. It is far too much crowded with walking gentlemen: Lord Brent ford and Captain Clifford are just as much alike as if they had been turned out by machinery. We may add that had the story commenced at the end of the first volume the other two would have been far more readable, and all the back history could have been in troduced, if necessary, in a few pages of episode. Still, the stirring events and strong passions described throughout will render the book more or less of a favorite with all that class of readers who love the old-fashioned style of romance, relish their murders, and hate the Pope. Memoir of W. H. Bartlett. By William Beattie, M.D. Published by Subscription. _. AN interesting little sketch of one whom we believe to have been both an excellent artist and a most amiable man. Mr. Bartlett is well known to the public by his illustrations of Switzerland, Scotland, and other regions of romantic or striking scenery ; but he is almost equally well known to the literary world by the productions of his pen. He was for several years editor of Sharpe's London Magazine, and a frequent contributor to its pages. Mr. Bartlett was always in delicate health, and his death was accelerated by the exposures and hardships which he endured in the pursuit of his profession. Dr. Beattie's little work is, we understand, a labour of love, undertaken in behalf of the lamented artist's family, and we most sincerely wish it all the success which it deserves : He has left it in writing that, during a period of twenty years—down to the hour of his death—the fruit of his in. tessant labour was barely sufficient to maintain his wife and children in credit and respectability ; and that, with all his earnest endeavours to accomplish so desirable an end, he could never secure any permanent share or copy right in the numerous works by which his name has been rendered so popular at home and abroad. In the eminent position to which he raised himself, as an artist and author, he was never cheered with anything beyond the •ague hope of independence. But in his works he has left the public a noble monument of his genius; and to his family he has bequeathed the still more precious inheri.• tance of a spotless reputation. We need only add that the memoir is very prettily executed, and well calculated to give satisfaction to the numerous body of subscribers. THE PRESS. The Lahees of Lynwood. By the Author of "The Heir of Redolyffe." London: J. W. Parker and Son. IF this be a story intended for children, as the preface to some extent implies, it is at all events one with which children of a later growth may well be de lighted. Eustace, afterwards Sir Eustiice Lynwood, accompanies his brother Sir Reginald to the French wars of Edward 111., and, on the death of the latter in the Spanish expdition of the Black Prince, he takes command of his kinsman's troop, known as " The Lances of Lynwood." He is knighted for his valiant conduct in the same action in which Sir Regi nald is slain, who in his dying moments constitutes him guardian of his young son, Arthur, then at home with his mother, Lady Eleanor, in the old family castle in Somersetshire. It is this guardianship which leads him into hostilities with a powerful neighbour, one Falk de Clarenham, who has an old feudal claim on the manor of Lynwood. It would occupy too much space to tell the long and crooked course by which the baron sought to ruin Eustace; but he is finally detected in a scheme for betraying him to the French, and with him a castle belonging to King Edward in Aquitaine, of which the young knight had been appointed governor. The plot is discovered through the stupidity of Leonard Ashton, another Somersetshire youth, of a dull and envious disposition, who had accompanied Eustace to the wars and grown spiteful at his good fortune. Here is a description of a knight's degradation : Clarenham was then compelled to dismount from his horse, and to place first one foot and then the other upon the block, where a broad red-faced cook, raising his cleaver, cut off the golden spurs. Sir John Chandos, as constable of Aquitaine, then came forward, and, taking the shield from the arm of Clarenham, gave it, reversed, into the hands of one of the heralds, who carried it away. The belt, another token of knighthood, was next unbuckled, and Chandos, taking the sword, broke it in three pieces across his knee, saying, " Lie there, dishonoured steel!" and throwing it down by the spurs. Lastly, the helmet, with the baronial bare across the visor, was removed, and thrown to the ground, leaving visible the dark countenance, where the paleness of shame and the flush of rage alternated. And now away with the traitor, away with the recreant knight ; out upon him !" cried in a loud voice Sir John Chanties, while the shout was taken up by a deafening mille titude of voices, in the midst of which the degraded knight and landless baron made his way to the gate, and, as he passed out, a redoubled storm of shouts and yells arose from without. The unhappy Fulk was moving onwards, almost as in a dream, without aim or object other than to seek a refuge from the thousand eyes that marked his disgrace, and the tongues that upbraided him with it; but, in leaving the court, he entered upon a scene where danger as well as disgrace was to be apprehended. The rabble of the town, ever pleased at the fall of one whose station was higher than their own, mindful of unpaid debts and harsh and scornful demeanour, and, as natives, rejoiced at the miss fortune of a foreigner, all joined in one cry of " Away with the recreant Englishman—down with him—down with him!" Every hand was armed with a stone, and brief would have been Fulk's space for repentance had not the cry in its savage tones struck upon the ear of Eustace as he stood in the lists, receiving the congratulations of Sir John Chandos and of other knights, who, with changed de. meanour, came to greet the favored hero. We can safely recommend " The Lances of Lyn wood" as an admirable little book to place in the hands of our younger readers. It inculcates all the knightly virtues, and will do its part in dispelling some of that gross ignorance of the nature of chi valry which is, we regret to say, so rife amongst us. The Battle-Day : and Other Poems. By Ernest Jones, Barrister-at-Law. London : Routledge. HAD the author of this little volume devoted to lite rature and poetry all those misspent hours which have earned for him so unenviable a notoriety in politics, we feel confident our verdict would have been a much more favorable one. It is impossible to deny that he possesses a considerable share of poetic fire. His language, indeed, is often crude. but he has given us so many vigorous and so many highly imaginative verses, that we are willing to attribute his deficiencies more to the want of practice than to the want of genius. From the circumstance of this col lection bearing the title of " The Battle-Day," our readers would probably suppose that the subject of it was the present war. Such is not the case, but it is merely the sketch of a mysterious hero called Lindsay, who ruins himself, and ultimately a whole army, by a bad habit of doubting everything. This is very far from being the best poem of the number ; and, indeed, the hero's peculiarity almost borders on the ludicrous, reminding us strongly of the leading character (we forget his name) in the farce called Founded on Fact, as recently played at the Strand Theatre. But there are far better things in store. We subjoin a portion of a song called " The Harper Wind," which is in some respects perhaps the gem of tho volume : SATURDAY, Vie wind's a bard—a bard so rude, And a many-toned harp he plays. He's the harper wild to the field and flood, And sings them stirring lays. He sings to the forest that slumbers in shade, And the green boughs dance for glee, And the dead leaves wake from their grave in the glade, And whirl round the parent tree. He sings to the mountain a shrill sharp tone, And scatters its frosty snow ; The avalanche starts from its icy throne, And bounds to the vale below. lie sings to the ocean a stormy song, And wakes its waves to dance — As it hears his voice the surf roils strong, And the white sea-breakers glance. He sings to the tempest that sleeps on a cloud— And it wakes u it hears his call, And its thunder•mirth grows deep and luta In the light of its flashing hall. But his song is not ever so wild and rude— In his lay there is softer power; His voice is dread in his stormy mood, But 'tis sweet in his calmer hour. Hear him sing when the eve draws nigh: While the sun blushes deep o'er its fall, And shadows like dreams on the pale earth lie— There is love in his vesper-call. Mr. Jones's political sentiments are not offensively prominent; but his hatred of factories and manufac tures is very bitterly expressed. " The Corn-field and the Factory " is an instance of this, and another piece entiled " The Factory Town," from which we select the following : Hark! amid that bloodless slaughter Comes the wailing of despair : " Oh ! for but one drop of water ! " Oh! for but one breath of air ! " One fresh touch of dewy grasses, "Just to cool this shrivelled hand ! "Just to catch one breeze that passes " From some shady forest land." Thinner wanes the rural village, Smokier lies the fallow pla:u— Shrinks the cornfields' pleasant tillage, Fades the orchard's rich domain. Take us book to lea and wild wood, Back to nature and to Thee ! To the child restore his childhood — To the man his dignity ! The last stanza in particular strikes us as very felicitous To oppose to the above passages we have no equally conspicuous defects. The bulk of the contents of this volume does not indeed rise much above a respectable mediocrity, but we were willing to show of what Mr. Jones was capable in his happiest moments, and to save him if we could from the range of the fatal Horatian canon. We sincerely trust he may make up his mind to exchange polities for poetry; and we believe, if he cultivates his taste for the latter, he will ultimately produce something that shall go far to obliterate his present rather dubious position in public estimation. , PUBLICATIONS RECEIVED. BOOKS. Bibliotheca Classica. George Long, M.A. Whittaker and Co. Popular Astronomy. Francois Arago. Two Vols. Vol. I. Longmans. Sermons for the Times. J. W. Parker and Son. The Story of the Campaign of Sebastopol. Lieut.-Col. E. Bruce Hamley. Illackwoods. Essays for the Aye. Charles F. Howard. J. K. Chapman. The Poetical Works of Augustine Duznnne. Parry and M`Millan, Philadelphia. The Sea, and other Poems. Hope and Co. My MSS.: a Tale of Olden Islington. Hope and Co. Cambridge Essays J. W. Parker and Son. Sir Thomas ; or, The Adventures of a Cornish Baronet. Mrs. R. Lee. Grant and Griffiths. Angels; or, The Pine Forest in the Alps. Geraldine E. Jewsbury. Ditto. The Talking Bird; or, The Little Girl who Knew what was going to Happen Mary and Elizabeth Kirby. Ditto. Tales of Magic and Meaning. Alfred Crowquill.. Ditto. The Martyr Land; or, Tales of Vaudois. The Author of " Sunlight through the M ult." Ditto. PAMPHLETS. The Newspaper and General Reader's Pocket Companion. Shaw. The Case of Sree Maharqj Dheerqj Rajah Kagewar, Wescarton. The Memorial of His Highness Maharajah Tucker Singh. Ditto. The Progress of modality. Rivington. Pseudo Cost-Book. Effingham Wilson. The Parlour Library—The Queen's Necklace. Hodgson. Literary Cookery. J. R. Smith. Kent and Co. Ptoj's Myateries.