The Press.
London, England, 1855-07-14 00:00:00

JULY 14, 1855.

the busier scenes of the amusements of life. At first
" being out," is enough.
_ .

It is only later that more definite objects of happiness
arise, and too often to the detriment of that early thrill of
joy, which made existence alone a glorious elysium.
Genevieve, as she stood for the first time within the
pale of that world from which she had hitherto been ex-
cluded, was precisely in this state of feeling. She neither
looked backwards nor forwards, but enjoyed the present
with all the intensity of delight of which her enthusialstic
nature was capable.

Genevieve has many admirers, and among
them Lord St. Clare, one of those personages
who seem euperflcial from their extreme
quietude, hut whose nature is strong and their
affections deep. Their tranquil intellect
shows little ripple on the surface, but flows
with a broad and steady current. Sparing of
speech, careless in manner, and wholly unde-
monstrative, nothing more is at first to be
seen in such persons than easy good nature.
They like to romp with children, to spin
Bobby's top, and mend Ned's horse as often
as he breaks it. They can do wonderful
things with a pen-knife, but you do not suspect
that tinder their idle air they often conceal
accomplishments of the highest order. Some
such being as one of these is Lord St. Clare ;
and it shows the authoress's close observa-
tion of society that she should have caught
and treated this style of character with so
much exactitude.
At the close of the second volume we tested
the hook by speculating what the conclusion
might be, and then found how firm a hold it
obtained of the mind. Laura and Sir Aubrey
cannot live much longer together, that is
clear. But how will they part? A certain
Lord Eardley—a character nicely contrasted
with that of St. Clare—has paid her great
attention. What a perilous state for a lovely
and impulsive woman to be in ! Her father's
affairs are hurrying to a crisis—he will soon
have no shelter to offer her. What will she
do? And what will become of Sir Aubrey ?
He is so avaricious that he becomes wedded
to the gaming-table at Baden, and falls into
auspicious hands. Will he lose his fortune, or
break his neck hunting, or retire into the
country to hoard till the end of the chapter ?
And the pretty Genevieve, what will become
of her when it is discovered that her father is
a ruined and disgraced man? St. Clare has
hardly yet raised his eyes to hers, and he is
very sensible, and understands his own worth
in the world's estimation. Our speculations
were all vain. The book must be read to the
last before its marrow can be extracted.

The authoress possesses to perfection the
art of representing the comparatively minor
distresses of social life with dramatic effect.
The return by Sir Aubrey of the packages
which his wife had ordered from Paris, with
the hysterics of the waiting-maid, and the
" consternation" of Laura, are told with a parti
cularity scarcely exceeded by that noticeable in
the works of Richardson himself. So when
Laura's pet spaniel is shot by Sir Aubrey for
getting into his cover, the calamity is related
with expressions proper to the deepest dis
tress and horror. The waiting-woman,
" bursting into tears, laid the body upon the
" lap of her mistress. It was already stiff
" and cold." Tears fall in torrents from
Laura's eyes, "as she bent over the body."
She " convulsively strained the cold body of
" poor Blanche to her breast, and, after one
" more passionate caress, she laid the body
" carefully down upon her bed." Other little
incidents, which however here, as in the actual
world, materially contribute to the action of
life, are told with the same kind of minuteness,
and materially contribute to that impression
of reality which the book conveys.
But that Mrs. Maberly is capable of writing
with real pathos every one will acknowledge
who reads that touching account of the last
agony of a breaking heart, commencing at p
159, vol iii. It is one long eloquent sigh,
which seems to have been penned without a
pause, and which, for the time it lasts, keeps
the reader's mind in a tumult of distress.
Then for gentler feeling, surely the passage is
a sweet one commencing at p. 315 of the same
volute. When the eyes of lovers swimming
with tender emotion meet—when the cheek
pales, and the hands tremble—when there is
a moment of breathless suspense, and they
know not themselves whether they are to part