The Press. — London, England, 1855-06-16 00:00:00

JUNE 16, 1855. our loftiest conceptions of Omnipotence. The scheme of creation may yet be in course of evolution. There may be time in eternity, and the conflict between the will of Deity and the evil principle be yet but partially ended. The universal consent of mankind to acknow ledge a principle of evil, and to attempt to propitiate it by sacrifices, and even worship, is a proof of its reality, of which even philo sophy may take cognisance; and though speculations concerning it are not to be lightly hazarded, yet they are much more legitimate than feeble negations of its real and active existence. While Dr. Tulloch's volume adds little or nothing to those sensible evidences of natural theology on which the mind always dwells with pleasure as they seem to bring God nearer to us, and place him in a fatherly relation to man, it seems to us nearly worth• less as a metaphysical discourse. Such a book ought to have been, we think, of an essentially popular character; but two condi tions not to be sought in the popular mind must be found in persons capable of appre ciating this volume,—a cloudy intellect and intimate familiarity with the nicest verbal dis tinctions of modern metaphysical scholas ticism. NEW NOVELS. IF there be some strange fascination in the reading of novels, there must be an equal charm in their composition. The most distinguished literary men of our time have all—with the exception of Macaulay, and who knows but he may have a romance in his drawer ?—signalised themselves in this branch of literature. Sir Edward Lytton, Disraeli, Dickens, Thackeray, Croly, B,ooert Bell, are names that will occur to every one; and besides these very many of those writers who in comparative obscurity influence the public mind through the newspaper press, numbering among them admirable critics and practised logicians, have published fictions, though without meeting with sufficient success to induce them to persevere iu working the vein which they must have thought they possessed. Fiction, indeed, if the most pleasing, is, except in some lucky in stances, the least remunerative branch of literature, and the writer of a novel commonly termed success fill must often be content with the pleasure he d3rived from its composition for his reward. To our list of clever novelists must now be added the name of Shirley Brooks. Every one has, of course, heard of Shirley Brooks. Not to know him in the literary society of London is to argue oneself unknown. It report is to be believed, he writes for half, and the cleverest half, of the periodicals in London. No kind of writing comes amiss to his pen. He is as much at home in the Quarterly as in Punch. So accustomed are people to associate wit with his pen that it has been insinuated he is one of the writers in THE PRESS; but this, of course, is a fable, and only shows the exaggerated opinion which people are apt to entertain of a man's capacity whose name is up in the world. But it is certain that most of those good things" which pass front mouth to mouth, with the currency obtainable only by what is genuine, are the sparkles thrown from the mind of this most facile of writers and good tempered of wits. " Miss Violet and her Oflers," originally published in Punch, first introduced Mr. Brooks to the world as a writer of fiction. Aspen Court • is a graver effort, and exhibits powers of a much higher order. We suspect that the author, under that appearance of careless gaiety which becomes him so well, has a fund of romance, and even pathetic feeling, in his heart, as he unquestionably, from the evidence fur nished by this book alone, has powers of original thought which one would not have suspected from the playful tone of his general contributions to the press. There are passages in " Aspen Court" which only a man of really large mind and powerful sym pathies could have written, though it is most re markable for its skilful sketches of society, its hits at flying follies, as they are embodied in manners, and especially its delineations of character. Mr. Brooks has had ample opportunities for social observation, and has made excellent use of them. He possesses a keen sense of the ludicrous, great humour, much descriptive power, and a terse, pointed style. He avoids all grave disquisitions on morals and metaphysics, makes but spare use of faith or fevers in the incidents of his story, and of tears and raptures in its management, and, in place of charac ters composed as models of virtue or monsters of villany, draws such personages as are to be found every day in the ordinary walks of London life, though few writers have his power of amusingly de lineating their peculiarities. • Aspen Corr t : a Story of Our Own Time. By Shirley Brooks. London: Bentley. THE PRESS. The plot of the story is the least satisfactory part of the book. It is singular how often gifted novelists fail in this particular. A tale may be excellent which has no pretensions to what is called plot; but when it is attempted we expect the invention to be probable and consistent. Like Dickens, Shirley Brooks disappoints us in the conclusion of his story, and leaves an impression, as it strikes us, of incon• gruity between the characters and actions of some of his chief personages. "Aspen Court," a valuable estate in Gloucestershire, has, after a severe con test, been legally awarded to its former occupants, the Wilmslows, the Trevelyan family being ex pelled to make room for them. They enter upon their property deeply indebted, from pre vious poverty, to their lawyer, who draws the rents, and grants them an allowance. Mr. Wims low, whose character as a roue of the lowest class is drawn with finished skill, makes the acquaintance of Lord Rookbury, a keen, clever, vicious sensualist, and borrows money of him to some extent, Lord Rookbury hoping by these means to get hold of Aspen Court, upon which he has long cast a wistful eye. The hero of the story is Bernard Carlyon, the confidential clerk of the lawyer, who rises rapidly by good fortune and talent to a high position. From his connection with the lawyer, Mr. Molesworth, he is much at " Aspen Court," and mixes with the three young ladies, whose characters are nicely discriminated, and who play a charming part in the story. But he has conceived a romantic passion for Lilian Trevelyan, one of those trusting, loving, gentle girls whom Thackeray delights to delineate. A Jesuit priest plots and counter plots in every way to defeat Bernard, but tails in the end, and at length out of spite becomes a Mormon, and marries—one pretty girl, as far as we are told. How it is that Bernard's suit prospers at last, that the reprobate Wilmslow disappears, that Lord Rookbury is disappointed of his coveted prize, losing both his money and the estate, we must leave the readers of the story to discover for themselves. The incidents are not always probable, and the mys• tery attaching to the lawyer's connection with "Aspen Court " is never satisfactorily explained: but these points are of the less consequence, as the interest of the action is always well sustained, and the variety and truth of the characters introduced give animation to every page. The extracts we give will speak for themselves. At the commencement of the tale we are introduced to Wilmslow, who had been "a little too gay," and who is dolefully reflect ing on his difficulties, little thinking of the lucky revolution of her wheel which Fortune had in store for him : While all these things were passing through the miser• able brain of poor Wilmslow, one of the best creatures in the world was preparing herself expressly for him, though she did not know it. Look at him. Look at that sallow, forlorn•looking face, with the moustache, which he has allowed to grow, making it still more pensive. See how slowly and sulkily he is putting on that dressing-gown, once gaudy, but now dingy. And now he lights a cigar, which does not draw well, and he is going to dash it away, as in other days, but remembers that it cost threepence, which is money, and pricks it viciously with a Palms- Royal shirt-pin—yes, now the smoke comes out well. And now he takes up his poor balance of silver, and counts out the nine and sixpence for the washerwoman, and is in a shudder because one of the half-crowns looks bad ; however, he will try to make the woman take it in the dark passage, and that leaves him eight shillings, and they look wretchedly few—but the abominable woman will not go, that is certain, and so down he goes to pay her. There is a visage of melancholy. If he only knew how pretty Jane Tracy is looking, while in the well-appointed bed-room in Mr. Molesworth's house, then in Bedford-row (where she has been staying on a visit to Mrs. Molesworth), she is arranging her bright hair before the glass. What a rich brown that hair is, and what a quantity she has, and yet how easily and well she manages it, laying it right and left into great shiny folds, and twisting the remainder into a mystic corona], the secret of which is known but to herself and those giraffe hairpins. And how fresh she looks, and healthy, and English. Her figure is rather full, and if all were not so beautifully rounded (especially those arms, which you can see as Miss 'Tracy's hands are above her head, and the loose sleeves of the morning-dress slip back ) you might almost be an ungrateful wretch, and think her too plump. But her hands are so white and small, and her foot—well, you cannot see that, but there stands a pair of tiny shoes on that chair, you can see them, and judge of what can be put into them. Jane is not called beauti ful, though sometimes when her face lights up with merri ment—it is always full of kindness—and her blue eyes sparkle, and her laugh tinge so pleasantly—one feels a great contempt for mere nomenclature ; and if she is not to be called beautiful, you may keep your adjectives for your dolls in the Annuals. And did you ever see a head mare gracefully put on? Look, as she turns to answer Mrs. Molesworth, who is knocking at the door, to ask her to come down to lunch. And hear the cheerful voice that says, " In one minute, dear." Jane Wilmslow's voice is not so cheerful now, for I have written of nearly twenty years ago. She is the mother of three daughters, whose father is that sallow ex-ulcer coming up from paying the washerwoman. If be only knew the coup he will make in a few hours. The character of poor Mrs. Wilmslow is affectingly ~...,,~ ~~~ 575 described throughout. Too soon she discovers the error she had committed : She married Wilmslow, and soon found out what was meant by a man having been too gay. Poor dear, good Jane ! She struggled with all a woman's noble obstinacy against her conviction that her husband was a good-for nothing fellow, but the conviction was too strong for her. Her fifteen hundred a year was speedily squsnilered, with the exception of two hundred, which bloteswurth had thought proper to secure, and to secure in a way which enabled him to defy all Henry's attempts to get at. the principal, and even to resist poor Jane's entreaties, when her husband had compelled the poor girl to ask that this little fund might be given up to him. The hardships, pri vations, and humiliations to which a vicious spendthrift's wife is exposed, came heavily on pour .cane Wilmslow. Sometimes more heavily than she could well bear ; for she never had the consolation of being loved, to arm her against all this world's storms, and to be her assurance of another world's peace. And, at last, though not without a desperate resistance on the poor woman's part, her hus band took from her the power of loving him. All was at. length over between thew, except the mariage fink, and Jane's Lever weakened sense of duty. As a sketch of character, that of Lord Rookbury is among the best:— Lord Rookbury's family friends were chiefly Tories, which was perhaps a sufficient reason for the young lord, who always held that relations were a mistake ' taking the other side. However, though he eschewed his native benches, he would nut be naturalised ou those opposite, and early gave evidence of the self-will, ur independence, as he preferred to Call it, which intuited him through lite. Of course, the Court and Carlton blandishments were alike tried upon the wealthy young nobleman, but while he could be made to like neither the king's wit not the queen's snuff, he was also proof to " the virtuous Dau phin," and the vocal Morris. It was suou fouud that Lord ituukbury could nut be " had." lint he attended in his place very regularly, and often made a brief smart speech, full of sarcasm, and designed to show both sides that they were incapable of going to the bottom of the question. The latter half of his address generally overthrew the argu- ment of the former, tund his practical commentary on buth halves was going away without voting at all. Even as a young man, recently printed diaries have shown that Lord Roukbury sometimes set older lords thinking, when they had only intended dividing. • • • • • • So far I have stated nothing against Lord Itookbury. He was au exceedingly clever person, shrewd, audacious and sarcastic, with ample means, and plenty of will. Also, let us give him his further due. He was a finished gentle man in manners, incapable of coarseness, except wider strong provocations, and remarkably pleasant in the society of women. I am afraid that I must not let him down so easily. He was a sad old reprobate,—and there you have it in half a hne A fine classical scholar, he wrote Latin verses as good as Lord Wellesley's, but all the purity war in t .e style. He liked Juvenal, which was odd, fur that unborn• promising gentleman lashes avarice, fraud, and luxury, and Lord llookhury practised all three. Chiefly, you would wonder that a man who looked so well, and spoke so boldly, was a downright cheat. And yet he was one. Ido not think he exactly loved money for its own sake, and he would certainly spend it unhesitatingly in the gratification either of a pleasure or a vengeance, but he liked to take advantage of everybody. It was curiously developed, this passion for " getting the pull," as he called it; and he would make private sacrifices that the world might see him a winner. During part of his life he took to the turf; and more than one person now lives virtu ously on the pension Lord Itookbury bestowed as a reward for taking the public shame of a daring turfawindle, contrives by himself. You cannot cheat much at whist in England, but at icarle, in his own house, Lord Itookbury managed to win so wonderfully from a French gentleman, who knew himself to be of the first force, that the latter insisted on moving the table. There were looking glasses in the room, by the way, and somehow Lord Hookbuy not only won uo wore, but thought it well to return his past winnings. - • - The description of the House on a great debate night is evidently from the same lively pen that re cently in the Quarterly gave so graphic a description of the manner in which business is transacted in the Commons : After the petitions came the questions. Mr. Cornwall was anxious to know whether we were going to war with Russia this week or the next; Mr. Devonshire, what pattern Goveniment recommended fur the stamps on butter; Mr. Dorset, when the Archbishop of Canterbury was to be put on half salary ; Mr. Somerset, why the Edinburgh post had been late on Tuesday fortnight ; Mr. Wiltshire, whether there was any objection to his having copies of all letters ever written by Government since the accession of William Rufus; dtc., dm. And Minister after Minister having answered, refused to answer, or evaded the inquiry addressed to him, it was hoped that the great business of the evening was coming on. But no: an Irish member, Mr. Valerian Fitzhog, had a notice on the paper, and was enchanted at finding a full house, which was compelled to remain, instead of a dead certaiu:y of a count out. He favoured the assembly with an hour and a half of brogue, the theme being the dis missal of the master of the workhouse at Killyscullyoh ery. Five minutes would have sufficed a Saxon for stating this grievance, but then a Saxon, in hie stolid dulness, would not have enriched his argument with a sketch of the Danish invasion, the battle of the Boyne, the French Revolution, Lord Castlereagh and the tjnion, and a few other matters apparently not necessarily connected with the case of Mr. Macpariugs, the dismissed master, but