The Press. — London, England, 1855-03-17 00:00:00

MARCH 17, 1855. an outrage upon public morals and private feelings. We know it ; and we are strongly of opinion that the publication of such details would be utterly unwarrantable. But we are at a lots to comprehend by what kind of logic Mr. Madden can take advantage of this argu ment. If it be of any practical value it must be admitted as a reason, not for publishing the life of Lady Blessington in a partial, mutilated, and deceptive form, but for not publishing her life at all. Topics that cannot be candidly and safely discussed—that cannot be fully inves tigated without offence, or examined only in favorable phases without a compromise of principle, are best let alone. Mr. Madden is careful to inform us that he does not consider it a part of his business to sit in judgment on the " failings " of others ; that it is "not for the world to make any in " quiries into the antecedents of errors," and so on ; and, after quoting the Gentleman's Magaztae to show that the "biographer must " form his narrative by selection," and that " Boswells Johnson" opened "the floodgates " of public desire," and " set up an example of " an indiscriminate development of facts," he apprises us that the task he has undertaken is to illustrate the literary life of Lady Blessing ton. The reasoning is absurd ;—but let that pass. Upon what grounds does Mr. Madden con Bider the literary life of Lady Blessingtou of sufficient importance for a revival in this ambitious shape of three unusully large volumes ? Was she aistinguished as a writer? What did she write? Novels which, even with all the helps of her notoriety, failed in the hands of her speculative publishers, who were per • petually complaining of their bargains; verses which nobody read outside the circle that would have read and lauded them had they been even of a more flimsy texture than they were, if a texture more flimsy were possible of fabrication; and Books of Beauty having as much substance in them as the wings of moths, and of less intrinsic value than the gilt cloth in which they were bound. But, granting that Lady Blessington's pre tensions were of such magnitude as to call for an elaborate biography, does her biographer do proper justice to the subject by confining himself to its literary side ? Literature was not the feature by which Lady Blessington was most known, or by which she acquired whatever distinction attached to her. Suppose a writer undertook the life of some person whose career had been rendered remarkable by its opposition to the ordinary customs of society, and whose life was mainly a life of scepticism and evil, would he be considered to have ful filled his duty in leaving out all those parts which contributed to its essentials, and dwell ing only on its accidents? The distinction between the two lives, the real life and the unreal, is delusive. It leaves an absolutely false impression upon the mind of the reader. This principle of " selection " may be carried to any extent, and there is no reason why, with a little adroitness and ingenuity, it might not be made to elevate a highwayman into a hero. By picking . out, and heightening the attractive traits, and 'gaoling all the rest, Dick Turpin becomes a candidate for popular admiration. There is nothing to prev ent his biographer from presenting him as a perfect specimen of fine breeding and generosity, whom he may introduce to his readers with a flourish of panegyrios:—" S ee " with what easy confi dence he carries him " self—see what a pretty fellow he is—how " politely he stops the carriage--how grace " fully he takes off his hat to the ladies—and " with what an air of gallantry he robs them " of their jewels and watches !" But Mr. Madden does not follow up his own rule. He does not restrict himself within the limits he lays down. In fact, he does not separate the two lives. He takes us to Ire land, and shows us Lady Blessington in her youth ; he relates all he knows about her up to her first marriage, and then drops the cur tain. Several years, as they say in the play bills, elapse between the acts ; aud when the curtain is raised again, we find Lady Bless. ington on her travels. After this, Mr. Madden takes us into Gore-house ; he shows us the people collected there—he shows us, in short, just as much of Lady Blessmgton's personal THE PRESS. history as suits his purpose, the suppressed portions haunting us, nevertheless, like spectres, in every page. By what violence to art, or torture of language, this can be called the literary life of Lady Blessington, we are at a loss to conceive. Is ►her marriage a part of her literary life ? or her travels ? or her debts ? or Count D'Orsay's settlements, and the extraordinary details connected with the Blessington property ? Such, however, as the life is, we must accept it for whatever it is worth—an inquiry which we reserve for our next number. Nature and Human Nature. By the Author of " Sam Slick." London : Hurst and Blackett EVERYONE will welcome this continuation of Sam Slick's " Wise Saws." He left us some where on the coast of Nova Scotia, looking after the fisheries, and we pick him up now fishing within our own boundaries, and just escaping from one of our cruisers, having decoyed her on to a sandbank, while he slipped through a narrow passage and made all sail to get out of reach of her guns. His remarks upon the fishery question have of course been omitted, and his observations upon human nature alone given to us. Need we say that the Clockmaker in these volumes retains the same quaint humour, lively wit, and sound common sense which so enlivened his former work? He tells an abundance of good stories, and tacks shrewd morals to the end of them— makes jokes good and bad—brags and boasts — never admits himself to be taken in, but takes in everyone else—and yet, with all his fun and buffoonery, he instructs while he diverts and amuses us to some purpose. His remarks upon men and women show great observation and knowledge of character and a thorough comprehension of the different motives which actuate us upon different occasions; and the pleasing, pungent vola tility of those odd, quaint terms in which they are clothed gives a relish to the di version of the reader. His moralisations have nothing in them of tedious argument or philosophic method which rack the mind to comprehend ; on the contrary, we catch his meaning at a glance, and are as much diverted by the quaint humour of the expression as we are by the racy moral contained in the words. It is like the rough stick of Brutus which contained a golden rod within. There are so many good stories throughout the book that it is difficult to make a selection, but we will content ourselves with a few ex tracts taken at random. What a capital bit of characteristic truth is this There are two kinds of boastin', Squire, active and passive. The former belongs exclusively to my country men, and the latter to the British. A Yankee openly asserts and loudly proclaims his superiority. John Bull feels and looks it. He don't give utteranoe to this convic tion. He takes it for granted all the world knows and admits it, and he is so thoroughly persuaded of it himself, that, to use his own favorite phrase, he don't care a fig if folks don't admit it. Has vanity, therefore, has a sublimity in it. He thinks, as the Italians say, "that when Nature formed him she broke the mould " There never was, never can, and never will be, another like him. His boastin', therefore, is passive. He shows it and acts it ; but he don't proclaim it. He condescends and is gracious, patronises and talks down to you. John Bull has just this opinion of himself. The " Sono Romano " does not possess a tithe part of the supercilious contempt with which we underrate every one else, and the sublime vanity with which we overrate our selves. Here is a little story with a reflection that contains the whole philosophy of life : There was a jack-tar once to England who had been absent on a whaling voyage for nearly three years, and he had hardly landed whim he was ordered off to sea again, before he had time to go home and see his friends. He was a lameutin' this to a shipmate of his, a serious-minded man, like you. Sais he, " Bill, it breaketh my heart to have to leave agin arter this fashion. I havn't seen Polly now goin' on three years, nor the little un either." And he actilly piped his eye. "It seemeth hard, Tom," said Bill, trying to comfort him ; "it seetneth hard; but I'm an older man nor you be, Tom, the matter of several years;" and he gave his trousers a twitch (you know they don't wear genuses, though a gallus holds them up sometimes), shifted his quid, gave his noi'wester a pull over his forehead, and looked solemncholly, "and my experience, Tom, is, that this life uiti'l all hen- sad ghillies." 261 With all his fun and his keen sense of the ridiculous, the Clockmaker is possessed of a vein of pathos in his rough coarse nature, which breaks out here and there. The im pression which a Sunday at sea makes upon upon his mind is reverently told : Then I like Sunday at sea in a vessel like this, and a day like this, then the men are all clean and tidy, and the bell rings for prayers, and all hands are assembled aft, to listen to the captain as he reads the Church Servioe. It seems like a family scene. It remind► me of dear old minister and d►ys gone by, when he used to call us round him, and repeated to us the promise " that when two or three were gathered together iu God's name, be would grant their request." The only difference is, sailors are more attentive and devout than landsmen. They seem more conscious that they are in the Divine presence. They have little to look upon but the heavens above and the boundless ocean around them. Both seem made on pur pose for them—the sun to guide them by day, and the stars by night, the sea to boar them on its bosom, and the breeze to waft them on their course. They feel how powerless they are of themselves ; how frail their bark ; how depealant they are on the goodness and mercy of their Creator, suit that it iu He alone who can rule the tempest and control the stormy deep. Their impressions are few, but they are strong. It is the world that hardens the heart, and the ocean seems apart from it. But all his religious feeling does not pre vent him from perpetrating a " smart" swindle whenever the opportunity occurs, and some of his tricks by which he contrives to put money in his pocket and take in his friends are worthy of Barnum. It does not much matter to the Clookmaker whether it is in buying, selling, or " swapping," but ho always contrives to get the best of the bargain. In his observations upon the colonies and colonial government there is much sound common sense. " Mr. Slick," said his friend the doctor, " what is your opinion of the " North American Colonies ? " " Ah, doctor," said I, " things can't and won't remain long as they are. England has three things among which to choose, for her North American colonies :—First : In corporation with herself, and representation in Parliament. Secondly : Independence. Thirdly : Annexation with the States. Instead of deliberating and selecting what will be most conducive to the interest of herself and her depen dencies, she is allowing things to take their chance. Now, this is all very well in matters over which we have no con trol, because Providence directs things better than we can ; but if one of these three alternatives is intluitely better than the other, and it is in our power to adopt it, it is the height of folly not to do so. I know it is said, for I have often heard it myself, why we oan but lose the colonies at latit. Pardon me, you can do more than that, for you can lose their affections also. If the partnership is to be dis solved, it had better be done by mutual consent, and it would be fur the interest of both that you should part friends. You didn't shake hands with, but fists lit us, when we separated. We had a stand-up fight, and you got licked, and wounds were given, that the best part of a century hasn't healed, and wounds that will leave tender spots for ever, so don't talk nonsense." There is great shrewdness in the passage describing the only way of attracting the attention of " Britishers " to political evils However, it is of no use to remonstrate with the Eng lish public. They won't listen to you. If you want to be beard, attract their attention, in the first instance, by talking of their own immediate concerns, and while they are regarding you with intense interest and anxiety, by a sleight of hand shift the dissolving-view, and substitute a sketch of your own. For instance, says you, " How is it the army in the Crimea had no tents in the autumn, and rso huts in the winter—the hospitals no fittings, and the doctors no nurses or medicines? How is it disease and neglect have killed more men than the enemy ? Why is England the laughing-stock of Russia, and the butt of French and Yankee ridicule ? and how does it happen this country is filled with grief and humiliation from one end of it to the other ? I will tell you. These affairs were managed by a branch of the Colonial-office. The Minister for that de partment said to the army, as he did to the distant pro• viuces, ' Manage your own affairs and don't bother us.' Then pause and nay, slowly and emphatically. ' You now have a taste of what we have endured in the colonies. The same incompetency has ruled over b6th.' " To leave polities and turn to dyspepsia, if the American women eat such a breakfast as Sam Slick describes, we are not surprised at their losing their teeth and good looks by the ripe age of thirty : The curtains are looped up, and the shutters folded back into the wall, and the rooms are sprinkled with tea-leaves, which are lightly swept up, and the duet left behind, where it ought to be, on the carpet: that's all the use there iro carpet, except you have got corns. And then the Venetians are let down, to darken the looms, and the windows are kept closed to keep out the thee, the dust. and the heat, and the flowers brought in and placed in the stands. And there is a beautiful temperatnre in the parlour, for it Is the same air that was there a fortnight before. it is so hot when the young ladies com e down to break fa st, they Can 't eat. so they take nothing but a plate of buck - wheat ca kes, and another of hot butt ered rolls, a dozen of oysters, a pot of preserves, a cup of honey , and few ears of Indian porn, Thecanwar'tmahiitteunmetsplilblt'se t r ey sn ean lid hae d an v am hea sp v r . ect y t lt , s B ; d horrid o • r l • ' I I ,