The Press.
London, England, 1854-09-02 00:00:00

TILE PRESS.

cannot write without leaving abundant traces
of the artist's hand. There are incidental
touches and subsidiary characters in the pre-
sent volume which make the heart thrill with
their quiet force and pathos. There are, also,
hero and there, phrases that startle us, as of
old, by their mingled depth and quaintness of
meaning. The dialogue—always his strong
point—exhibits much of his former dramatic,
or epigrammatic, vigour. But even this is
marred by his persistence in carrying out, at
all sacrifices, the one idea of his book. How
marred let us show by a concluding example.
A wife has been insulted by the proposals of a
libertine: her husband is absent, and she flies
in agony to her father for protection, and
addresses him in this preposterous fashion
How could you give me life, and take from me all the
inappreciable things that raise it from the state of con-
scious death? Where are the graces of my soul?
Where are the sentiments of my heart? What have you
done, 0 father, what have you done, with the garden that
should have bloomed once, in this great wilderness here!"

The Czar, the late King of the Poles, and hu I ;
Daughter; or, Elizabeth and the Exiles of
Siberia. An Historical and Epic Poem,
written like a Novel, in a New Style. By
S. Cornelius. London : Piper, Stephenson,
and Spence.
THE title of this remarkable work, unlike that
of " Ivanhoe," reveals the whole story. As a
burlesque, we prefer it to " Firmilian, for the
simple reason that it is shorter. It ridicules
the heroic ballad-writers, a race of poets about
as illustrious and as well known to the public
as those against whom the irony of the " spas-
modic tragedy" was directed. But we believe
we are justified in stating that it is not from
the mu.squing pen of a northern professor of
one of the unascertained arts. The frontis-
piece exhibits a portrait of the heroine, of
which it is enough to say that the artist in his
fidelity has vindicated the Horatian rule, and
made a picture of the poetry:—
Her closeltted leg, foot, and ancle ;
The shape of her thigh see '
O'er her Minerva throw thy mantle,
Or aham'd wisdom would be.
She's a picture by Heaven painted,
Unconscious of her charms ;
Showing a well-proportion'd leg,
With flue round moulded arms.
As the parents of this paragon are named
Springer, she is appropriately termed " Miss
Springer," and addressed by her lover, Prince
Smoloff, as " sweet miss." Her adventures are
of the most fearful kind, e.g.:—
Miss Springer, ere the storm had commenc'd, left the
• house,
To indulge in her long and lonesome walks ;
Oft she meets with vermin, e'en weasel, rat, and mouse,
While straying near stumps, stakes, and rocky chalks.
The storm comes on, and the panorama of the
very uncomfortable scenery of Siberia is a chef-
d'ceuvre of word-painting. Who can read the
following without asking for his great-coat and
a cigar?—
The flood comes rushing down like wildfire
Full of mud and dirt, filth and mire !
The dark waters too, dribbling from the mountains,
Swell every stream, choke both spring and fountains!
, Seeing all these horrors, Elizabeth might have

sigh'd !
But to save her dear father, the fair maid would have died

It is not now clouds that yawn like graves burnt asunder !
'Tie the storming ! rolling! roaring ! rattling thunder !
The earth beneath, e'en the skies seem torn asunder !
Guilty men then tremble ; are struck with fear and wonder,
Like detected thieves made prisoners while sharing their
plunder.
We are bound to say that in this publica-
tion there are no offensive express.:• ns, and
in this respect S. Cornelius has advan-
tage of Percy Jones, if they are not, indeed,
" two gentlemen rolled into one." Yet, at best,
this new school of satire is not much to our
taste : we miss the wit and the " broad grins "
associated with the burlesques of older date,
and find our spirits very little cheered by
parodies which are only a little more stupid
and more offensive than the originals they are
intended to ridicule.