The Press.
London, England, 1855-04-14 00:00:00

APRIL 14, 1855.

" superb disdain," and at another of " regal
composure." She has "a complete and superb
" character." In all this description there is
no little trickery, but we notice it only to
mark the inconsistency of the part which
Margaret has subsequently to play—in telling
a direct lie to a policeman to shield her bro-
ther, and with all her refined tastes being
left at last mistress of the mansion above
described. What becomes of Volumnia and
Miss Fanny the history sayeth not. For the
sake of surprise at the end—the least com-
mendable source of interest in fiction—pro-
bability is sacrificed, and essential truth of
character, which a novelist should hold sacred,
entirely disregarded. The exaggeration of
character observable in the book is often
violent, but this might be pardoned; what
cannot be overlooked is the false position in
which, as the story is developed, the per-
sonages are placed.

Many descriptive passages, and particularly
those relating to the strike, are penned with
great power. The attack on Thornton's mill
reminds us of a similar passage in " Shirley,"
but in modern fiction we recollect no more
thrilling effect than that produced when Mar-
garet throws herself between Thornton and
the infuriated multitude, clamoring for his
blood.

The part of the story, too, relating to the
operative Higgins, is written with unques-
tionable power, though the impression it
excites is too horrible for calm perusal. His
young daughter wastes away in his wretched
hovel from consumption. She says :

I began to work in a carding•room, and the fluff got
into my lungs and poisoned me.
The father is an Atheist and a drunkard,
but the poor girl has some Bible notions. She
tells Margaret:—

I believe, perhaps, more than yo' do o' what's to come.
I read the book of Revelations until I know it by heart,
and I never doubt, when I'm waking and in my senses, of
all tl.e glory I'm to come to.

When she dies, Mary, the remaining daugh-
ter of Higgins, with Margaret Hale, try to
restrain the father's violence. The death-bed
scene is shocking enough:—

" Oh, father, father !" said Mary, throwing herself upon
his arm,—" not to•night ! Any night but tonight. Oh,
help me! he's going out to drink again! Father, I'll
not leave yo'. Yo' may strike, but I'll not leave yo'. She
told me last of all to keep yo' fro' drink I"

But Margaret stood in the doorway, silent, yet com•
nnanding. He looked up at her defyingly.
" It's my own house. Stand out o' the way, wench, or
TII make yo' !" He had shaken off Mary with violence •
'he looked ready to strike Margaret. But she never moved
a feature—never took her deep, serious eyes off him. He
stared back on her with gloomy fierceness. If she had
stirred hand or foot, he would have thrust her aside with
even more violence than he had used to his own daughter,
whose face was bleeding from her fall against a chair.

The reader may with advantage turn from
this horrible passage to the chapter in Scott's
" Antiquary" where Mucklebackit mourns
over the dead body of his son, and he will at
once recognise the difference between coarse,
'clumny imitation of reality and the affecting
truthful touches of a great artist.

Another operative, John Boucher, who has
lean persuaded to join the Uuion against his
will, reveals the men's intentions to the
masters, but afterwards is refused work.
Higgins tells how he was served by a master
of Mr. Thornton's stamp :
But I'll say this for Hamper, and thank him for it at
my dying day, he drove Boucher away, and would na
listen to him—ne'er a word—though folk standing by, says
the traitor cried like a babby I

" It is you," exclaims Margaret, " who have
" made him what he is." Higgins asks—
" What is he?" There is a heavy tramp in
the road, and all are drawn to the house-
door :
Six men walked in the middle of the road, three of them
being policemen. They carried a door, taken off its hinges,
upon their shoulders, on which lay some dead human
creature ; and from each side of the door there were con-
stant droppings. All the street turned out to see, and, see•
ing, to accompany the procession, each one questioning the
bearers, who answered almost reluctantly at last, so often
had they told the tale They put the door
down carefully upon the stones, and all might see the poor
drowned wretch—his glassy eyes, one half open, staring
right upwards to the sky. Owing to the position in which
he had been found lying, his face was swollen and dis-
coloured; besides his skin was stained by the water in the
brook, which had been used for dying purposes. The fore part
of his head was bald ; but the hair grew thin and long be-
hind, and every separate lock was a conduit for water.