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

THE PRESS.

and the more improbable from the pains
taken by the authoress to render every cir-
cumstance relating to it perfectly clear: This
is a great mistake. The novelist in dealing
with such deeds need not be as perspicuous as
an Old Bailey counsellor. A degree of obscurity
may be suffered to surround them with great
advantage to the credibility of the story. But
then the story must have some kind of proba-
bility in itself, and, above all, must for the
purposes of fiction have an actuating motive.
A hint of any transaction colorable on the face
of it is enough, as the imagination of the
reader will readily fill in the outline ; but
when the transaction is in itself improbable,
then the details by which au attempt is made
to fortify it most commonly show its weak
points, as a lie breaks down in the evidence
called to support it. Masters of fiction are
remarkable for the brevity of their explana•
tions and the skill with which they hurry over
those unravellings of a mystery not calculated
to bear full exposure.
Now, this story of the fraudulent settlement
is not only most unlikely in itself, and in all
its details, but it answers no purpose what-
ever in the proper development of the story.
A miserly fellow like. Sir Aubrey would have
equally begrudged paying Laura's bills, though
he had not been cheated of her fortune ; and
Mr. Malcolm would have met with no more
favour from his wealthy son-in-law, in the
midst of his embarrassments, though he had
always acted Oil the square. In fact, this
incident hampers the whole action of the tale ;
it unnecessarily stains the character of Mal-
colm, and it so degrades, by ieflection, the
state of his daughters, as to lower their moral
position.
Lady novelists, we have noticed, are fond of
complicating their fictions with legal difficul-
ties. They could not get on more dangerous
ground. They are sure to fall into some
ridiculous errors, and expose their ignorance
of the subjects they handle. If they must
have plot—a necessity we do not re cognise—
let them at least steer clear of that maze in
which they are sure to lose their way—the in-
tricacies of the law.

With the exception of this one blot, the
action of the book flows on with delightful
ease. We are introduced to personages with
whom we soon get on familiar terms, and as
from their character and their connection with
each other we perceive that they cannot stand
still—that they must move on—we are placed
under a kind of pleasant constraint to follow
their course that we may know to what goal
it tends. The story in this way grows upon
us—the action develops itself before our eyes—
the second volume is better than the first, and
the third much better than the second.

Mr. Malcolm, who lives in fine style, has
two daughters, and the book opens with the
marriago of Laura, the eldest, who is pre-
sumed, from the splended fortune of her
husband, to have made an excellent match.
Their first quarrel is about money, and on
the occasion of her father visiting her she
solicits his interference. Mrs. Pringle, a
character skilfully sketched, is an aunt of Sir
Aubrey, who manages his house in the most
thrifty manner possible :

" Papa, what money have I really got? Do tell me. You
managed everything about the settlements—l have not an
idea what was in them. Am I to have no money at all,
like a child that cannot be trusted ? I think I shall apply
to Mrs Pringle, and ask her to lend me all the pennies she
wins at picquet."
" Laura," said her father, who did not feel quite com•
fortable at the bitterness betrayed by her tone, "take my
advice, and leave Mrs. Pringle alone."
" Well, but about the money, papa," answered Laura,
pettishly; "you have not told me about the money. Am I
not to have any all my life? Every lady I know has pin-
money." _ _

" Why, of course, yon will have money, Laura,"
replied Mr. Malcolm. " There was four hundred a year
settled for your pin-money."
. _

" Four blindred!" exclaimed Laura, stopping short in
her walk, and looking her father full in the face, "why,
that will never do, papa—it is nothing—Mrs. Blachford
told me the other day that she had twelve, and yet she
could not manage to keep out of debt."
" She must manage very badly, then, my dear child,"
said Mr. Malcolm, with something very like a sigh.
In her first London season Laura is ex-
travagant, purchasing without thinking of the
means of paying, but at last, to Sir Aubrey's
horror, the bills nome tumbling in, and he
determines, while paying them, to make Laura

SATURDAY,

no allowance till her arrears are cleared off,
buying for her himself what necessaries she
requires :
• -

I sin really never to have another farthing I—not
even money to buy bon•bons that I am ao fond of ?" cried
Laura half playfully, as Sir Aubrey rose to leave the room
She had no resentment in her disposition. A kind word
then from her husband would have turned the whole matter
into a joke. But Sir Aubrey had no kind word for any one
when his money was in question.
" i have given you my decision," he coldly replied. "I
will certainly not allow myself to be ruined by the extrava-
gance of other people—l shall take my own course."
" And I Aril take mine," said Laura to herself, as, start:
ing to her feet, she watched, with crimson cheek, the re -
treating form of her husband, as he walked towards the
door and disappeared.

A later scene between the ill-assorted pair
is drawn in the most finished style. From
London Sir Aubrey has resolved to go to
Baden. Laura petitions for another week in
town, but he reminds her of the hotel ex-
penses running on at Baden :
" The apartments at the Angleterre are, I am told, the
dearest in the town."

" But they are the best—at least I think so, and close to
the rooms," answered Laura.
" Oh ! of course you inquired the prtoe," sneered Sir
Aubrey.
" I think, since you are so particular you might have
done so yourself," said Laura, iu somewhat a contemptuous
manner. . _

" I ! how was I to find out ?" asked Sir Aubrey ; " I
never was in the place in my life. and never should have
set my foot there, only for the waters, and they seem likely
to cost me enough."
" I wish you could drink in a small dose of liberality
with them," said Laura, coolly examining a hole in her
white glove. " I give you notice, Aubrey, since you have
chosen to be keeper of my wardrobe, that I want some
more gloves.
" There is always some fresh want every day," replied
her husband, sulkily, and taking up his candlestick to
escape.
" Oh, that is not all," said Laura, delighted to have
found something to torment about, in return for Sir
Aubrey's remark about the rooms. " I shall want no end
of things as we go through Paris ; the toilettes pour les
coax are totally different from any others—light, and fresh ,
and so clean ! You don't suppose lam going to wear any
of my old, dirty, London finery there ! How long are we
going to stay ?"
" A couple of months T suppose. I shall lose all the
grouse shooting," replied her husband, who never thought
ofanything but himself.
" Eight weeks," said Laura, thoughtfully, "then I must
have at least eight bonnets—oh, at the very least eight, of
crepe and tulle, without counting thicker ones, for the
waters in the morning, and for wet days.
" Good night, Lady Maunering," said Sir Aubrey, with a
look of terror, as if the treasures of the mines of Golconda
were about to be demanded of him.

We have never met with more natural con-
versation than we find in this novel ; and,
whether in the country, in London, or in
Baden, the tone of society is admirably pre-
served, and the personages who appear upon
the scene, though for but a few moments, to
play a subsidiary part, aro charactered and
costumed with the nicest propriety. Every
one will recollect how much in Sir Edward
Lytton's play of Money the figure of an old
gentleman seated at. a side table contributes to
the effect of the club-room scene by perpe-
tually calling for the snuff-box. A like kind
of artistic skill is frequently visible in these
volumes. Each figure is distinct, and
evidently drawn with all the light and shade,
the foibles and peculiarities of life.
While Laura is thus running her career, her
dissatisfaction with her husband continually
increasing, her sister, the pretty, graceful
Genevieve, is emerging from the bud to the
blossom, from the girl to the woman. A short
passage will show that Mrs. Maberly is not
destitute of that reflective sentiment which
always flows so engagingly from a female
pen:

It is difficult to believe the extraordinary glow of joy
that illuminates the whole being of a very young girl just
entering the great world. Without ascribing this to any
one blameable motive, there is nothing more natural. A
combination of a great variety of feelings makes up the
impression. There is first the emancipation from the
schoolroom and its routine of study, which involves a most
delicious sensation of freedom.

Next, comes the idea of equality—the companionship of
others older than herself, which is very flattering to a
young girl.
She is no longer shut out from everything, and reminded
on every occasion " that she is too young for this, or too
young for that ;" she may now have her fair share of the
amusements of the world, and feels herself a rational crea-
ture, whose opinion may now sometimes be admitted, in-
stead of having her very thoughts dictated to her as when
she was a child.

These, and a variety of other feelings of the same kindl
suffice at first to bestow the wonderful delight which most
'fry young people experience on their first nitrous' isitO