The Press.
London, England, 1855-12-29 00:00:00

THE PRESS.

sopher who looked beyond them. How far we
may accept his deductions is another question,
but we clearly cannot allow it as a merit iu
Aristotle that he did not perceive his own short-
comings—that he did not try what it is granted
was the only chance he had of constructing a
permanent system. To derive real benefit
from the perusal of " The Politics," the student
should, in our opinion, learn to regard them
in the light of a supplement to the Republic
and the Laws. After all, the practical conclu-
sions of the two are not widely different , and
although Aristotle is every now and then be-
trayed into a sneer against Plato, whom we
must continue to believe, with Mr. Maurice,
he felt he did not quite understand, yet we do
not for a moment suppose that Plato himself
would have found anything to object to in
Aristotle. _ _ _

It is time we should say something of Mr.
Congreve as a commentator. This gentleman
has, we believe, hitherto been contented to
rest his reputation on other grounds than
those of pure scholarship. But his present
work cannot be considered wanting in that
department ; and we understand it is very
favorably spoken of in the scholastic world.
Wherever he confines himself—and we wish it
was oftener—to the discussion of idioms and
readings, he is simple, lucid, and sensible ;
but no sooner does his pen get within the
charmed circle of politics than he becomes
vague, hasty, and irrelevant. This last-men-
tioned fault is more especially noticeable: he
puts constructions on his author's words which
we are confident were never intended, and in-
dulges in dissertations which are as foreign to
his subject as they are stale to his readers.
We could quote innumerable instances of this,
if our space permitted us ; as it is, we will
merely refer our readers to the fourth and
eleventh chapters of the second book, the
fourth and eleventh of the sixth book, and the
beginning of the eighth book on the subject
of political lorri,rn, for confirmation of our
charge. In the first-mentioned passage of the
sixth book the fault is indeed rather on the
other side—he has told us too little of the
matter under discussion, instead of too
much. Aristotle is speaking of the dan-
gerous condition of those states in which
4qiatAevrix, the mere sudden decrees of a
popular assembly, or iirvre.n.,,vra, the per-
sonal commands of a despot, can override
the law of the land. Mr. Congreve's note on
this rather distasteful passage is as follows :

The Athenian democracy was eminently legal and con-
stitutional, and yet there were demagogues in the ordinary
sense, and there, as evervwhere else—in fact, it is a ne.
cessity of government-4siaTIALIT4 were frequent, with.
out superseding the real efficacy of law.
But there can scarcely be any doubt that
Aristotle is here making special reference to
the Athenian system, which it is well known
all their best men lamented in vain. Has Mr.
Congreve entirely forgotten the Mitylensean
decree, and other similar passages in Thucy-
dides ? Had it escaped him, when he wrote
these words, that Demosthenes has borne
special testimony against this intolerable evil
in his own time ? However this may be, we
must record our opinion that Mr. Congreve is
by no means a trustworthy guide on the sub-
ject of ancient politics ; how far he may be so
on modern we must discuss at another op-
portunity.

Doctor Antonio. A Tale. By the Author of
" Lorenzo Benoni." Edinburgh : Constable.
Tins is a very simple but interesting and
affecting story. It is the account of a young
English lady, who, while travelling with her
father in Italy, is injured by a fall from her
carriage, and detained for some time at a road
side inn, under the care of the village doctor.
On the fate of these three persons our atten-
tion is riveted throughout ; and we feel a kind
of vague idea that they must be our own rela-
tives we are reading of. In that artful com-
plexity of incidents, and those strong contrasts
of character, usually considered essential to
success by modern writers, " Doctor Antonio "
is entirely deficient ; but in the power of
stirring the emotions, and setting before our
minds a vivid and finished picture, not indeed
of what does happen every day, but of what
we feel might, our author is surpassed by few.
. dialogue is at once forcible and natural,

1245

and his characters, though he strains at no
startling effects, are well discriminated. Per-
haps iu Sir John Davenne we detect an
absence of that conscious acquaintance with
English foibles and English behaviour which
betrays the hand of a foreigner; but then it is
au advantage in some respects to have " the
Englishman abroad" sketched, as it were,
from without, and presented to us as the
foreigner sees him. His style is thoroughly
pure; and, indeed, on the appearance of
" Lorenzo Beuoni " critics were disposed to
question whether it could really have been
written by an Italian. "Doctor Antonio" dis-
plays great dramatic power, and we seldom
remember a surprise so skilfully managed as
in the scene where Aubrey Daveune wishes
Lucy's growing of for the hero. This
young man, a captain of cavalry, coming home
on leave from India, breaks suddenly in upon
their delicious retreat, and is of course intro-
duced to Doctor Antonio. Lucy, knowing her
brother's character, is apprehensive of hit
conduct on the occasion, but, to her great
delight, the young soldier is most courteous
and familiar. The following morning the
brother and sister are talking together :

When Lucy, about eight next morning, after her early
bath, and one or two hours of additional rest, crossed the
ante-room on her way out, she found her brother already
installed on the sofa, and yawning violently. " Where
are you going ?" asked Aubrey. "To water my flowers.
I have a nice little garden of my own; come and look at
it." Aubrey raised his long length, went, looked at it, and
admired it. The garden Was not her own making, war it
Oh, no ! Speranza had made it. Speranza, the landlady's
daughter, a very nice girl. Doctor Antonio had given Lucy
most of the plants. " Are they not beautiful?' " Very,
said Aubrey, adding, " Do you know, Lucy, I am quire iu
love with that doctor of yours?"
" Are you?" said Lucy, looking up. at him with such
beaming eyes.
"I have seldom seen a more commanding figure than
his, and he is very gtmtlemanlike, certainly. 1 wish he
were an English duke."
" Why?" said Lucy. " I assure you he is quite con-
tented with his lot."
" Because, if he were, young lady, you would make a
handsome couple." Lucy grew scarlet. "As it is," pur-
sued Aubrey slowly, in a clear, cruel, stern voice, " As it
is, I would rather see you dead and buried than married to
that man." _ .

The little watering•pot slipt out of her hand, and her
knees gave way.
"1) it!" cried Aubrey, raising her from the ground,
" you needn't take fright at a were supposition ! " And,
without another word, he passed his powerful atm round
hia sister's waist and led her up the stairs to the sofa.
This was the first and the last time that Antonio's name
was mentioned between them.

Here terminates the most interesting portion
of the tale, which is undoubtedly the period
of Lucy's convalescence, and the delineation
of that gradual and unconscious love which
sprang up hetwcen the doctor and his patient.

Lucy afterwards returns to Italy a rich
widow, but in ill health, and is again attended
by Doctor Antonio. The period in that of the
Italian revolution, in which the physician is
implicated. The scene in which he at length
tells his love is uncommonly striking. They
are discussing her former accident:—

"What depths of dissimulation I discover in you," be
said at last, laughing. "It seems now you took me in.
Yuu positively knew your leg was broken, and said no-
thing about it, even to me."
" No," returned Lucy; " I was resolved you should
have the full benefit of your kind deception. I allowed
you to cheat me av much as you pleased."
Antonio answered nothing, but took the small white
hand that was hanging over the arm of her chair, took
it in his, and slowly and deliberately raised it to his lips.
The sharp, distinct report of a volley of musketry
rent the still air, and made every window and dour
rattle.
Antonio was on his feet in a moment, as pale as it
every one of the bullets fired had gone through his

heart.
" What can that be?" asked Lucy, in mortal alarm.
" Nothing of consequence," said Antonio, with a ;nighty
effort to look unconcerned. " Probably only some tioveru•
ment powder expended in saluting the opening of l'arlise
went. By-the-bye, I must not be too late."
As be took his hat another discharge was beard, almost,
instantly followed by a brisk running fire.
" There is fighting going on, 1 am sure of it," cried
Lucy, terrified, and shaking all over. "Do not go, for
mercy's sake ! What is the use of your going? What can
one man do, and alone ?"
" Satisfy his own conscience that be has done all in his
power to prevent civil war," replied Antonio, with tranquil
determination. " Let me go, I beseech you."
" Yon shall not; cried Lacy, now quite beside herself
with terror, and interposing her slight form between him
and the door. Antonio looked at her.
" I must go," he said. It was as if Fate had spoken
Lucy felt at once unequal to struggle with that iron will.
She joined her handl) like a child about to pray, looked

1246

up i u his face, and said, " 0 Antonio !" There was a
world of things in this simple appeal.
The Itali•tn drew her to Mm, pressed her closely to his
bosom. " Lucy," said he, solemnly, " this is no moment
for many words." (The firing never slackened while he
spoke.) " Lucy, I love you—l have loved you dearly all
these long eight years—l shall love you to my grave. But
my country has claims on me prior to yours. These claims
I vowed more solemnly than ever to respect on that day
when prejudice, armed with a pedigree, stood between you
and me. On that day I pledged myself anew to my
country. Let me redeem that pledge—let me do my
duty—help me to do it, Lucy ! Lucy, my noble friend,
help me to be worthy of you and of myself. In the
name of all that is holy, let me depart without a painful
struggle !"
The heroic spirit that dictated his
the sweetest moment of his life, shone out in his face,
and thrilled in his voice. He stood transfigured to more
than man in Lucy's eyes. Her more feeble nature raised
itself, in this supreme instant, to a height at which
every sacrifice of self is possible.
" Noble heart!" she said, with a burst of enthusiasm,
"Go ! and God be with you and preserve you. I will
try to be worthy of yon ;" and she loosened her hold
of him
" And God bless you for these words !" cried Antonio,
almost unmanned, clasping her hands and holding them
to his heart. "God bless you!—your love shall be my
buckler !" So saying he laid her on a sofa, and whis-
pered, " You shall soon see me again, or hear from me."
He stood for a second to look on the now dejected pro-
strate form before him, passed his hand over his eyes,
and went without another word.

i, in

The remainder of the story our readers will
do well to discover for themselves. It is ani-
mated and natural, and of a character to
please readers of all tastes.

Irish Melodies. By Thomas Moore. Illustrated
with Engravings, from Drawings by Eminent
Artists. London : Longmans.

IN the preface written to the latest edition of his
poems, Moore took leave of these melodies, with a
aincere belief that they were the only work of his
pen "whose fame (thanks to the sweet music in
"which it is embalmed) may boast a chance of pro-
" longing its existence to a day much beyond our own."
The circumstances which gave popularity to some of

these melodies in their day operate to their prejudice
now that the circumstances are no longer applicable.
- ' -wishness—

The timidity—we might almost say the sla\
of Moore's nature is conspicuous in these songs
throughout. He sought to give safe vent to Irish
dissatisfaction, and to adapt it to the luxurious atmo-
sphere of Whig drawing-rooms. He toned down
treason to pretty sentiment, and warbled out its tierce
aspirations in mellifluous lovc-lays. His ardent
desire to die for his country went no further than to
point such lines as " When he who adores thee ":

Oh! blest are the lovers and friends who shall live

The days of thy glory to see ;
But the next dearest blessing that Heaven can give,
Is the pride of thus dying for thee.
His indignant heart broke only over the piano
accompaniment to his songs, and he gladly forsook
the beloved Erin, from which only death should
sever him, for a cottage in \Vales, that he might live
in the neighbourhood o a Whig magnate. Verse
like the following was so often and so thoroughly
burlesqued by Daniel O'Connell, that it now calls up
only ridiculous images
The nations have fallen, and thou still art young,
Thy sun is but rising, when others are set ;
And though slavery's cloud o'er thy morning hath hung,
The fall moon of freedom shall beam round thee yet.
Erin, oh Erin, tho' long in the shade,
Thy star will shine out when the proudest shall fade.

The melodies of this kind, and those in which politi-
cal allusions are veiled in language of fervid desire
for beauty's smiles, are out of date already, but the
genuine Anacreonics, as " Fly not yet," " When in
death I shall calm recline," " Lesbia hath a beaming
eye," and " Fill the bumper fair," will no doubt have as
lasting an existence as the poet's partiality predicted
for them. Of the plates to this handsome volume,
thirteen in number, the landscapes, from Creswick,
seem to us the best. It is seldom that artists are
completely successful in their illustration of poets'
fancies. Moore writes, that of the songs written with
a concealed political feeling, the celebrated one in its
day of " When first I met thee young and warm,"
alluded in its hidden sense to the Prince Regent's
desertion of his political friends: and Byron has left
it on record in one of his letters, that the song was
quite overwhelming in its effect at Chatsworth. The
illustration by Mr. Millais, ridiculously literal both
in spirit and manner, represents a young lady, clothed
in deep mourning, looking down from a luxuriously
cushioned pew, in a lofty church gallery, on a
wedding party just leaving the altar! The illustra-
tions by Maclise, Stone, Frith, and Frost are cheer-
ful and characteristic, and the book in printing and
binding extremely elegant.