The Press.
London, England, 1858-02-27 00:00:00

THE PRESS, FEERUARY 27, 1858.

On the subject of the Etruscans he differs from con-
temporary ethnologists in regarding them as wholly
distinct in origin from the other races of the Italian
peninsula, and with difficulty making up his mind to
admit them within the Indo-Germanic pale at all.
His arguments are principally based upon compare-
Use philology ; and his conclusions being very
limited and guarded, are entitled, we think, to be
accepted with considerable respect.
2. It is rather for schoolmasters and persons con-
cerned in education than for newspaper reviewers to
express an opinion of such works as the above. Its
accuracy can only be tested by a laborious perusal,
for which we have neither time nor inclination. But
we may say of the plan that it seems both simple
and ingenious, and calculated to compress a vast
amount of facts into a narrow splice. The two
volumes before us embrace the history of the middle
ages.
3. This is a little work based on sound religions
and political principles, out we do not quite appre-
ciate the plan upon which it is composed. Land-
marks of modern history which do not include the
English civil war and revolution cannot answer their
end ; while, on the other hand, we think many events
are introduced which are not landmarks at all.

The Warks of Charles Dickens. Library Edition.
Vols. I. and 11. The Pickwick Papers. Lon-
don : Chapman and Hall.
THE honour of "large-paper copies " is one which
is generally bestowed precisely on those books
which least demand it. Presentation copies of
unreadable poems, magnificent issues of almost
unknown classics, addresses and local histories, and
all sorts of books which are produced more for show
than use, receive overflowing typographical decora-
tion, only to be committed, after having played their
brief part on the drawing-room table, to "the dust
" and silence of the upper shelf." Yet surely, if any
worst; not only deserve hut require the " rivulet of
" type in the meadow of margin," as well as stout
paper and strong binding, they are those which rank
as articles of popular use and not luxurious orna-
ment—which are stuffed under pillows, thrust under
sofa cushions, or made to fill the last interstice of a
carpetbag; which—like the toe of St. Peter's statue,
worn to Chinese exiguity by the lips of myriad
devotees—exhibit in their soiled leaves and fretted
edges the rough but affectionate usage of their
enthusiastic and miscellaneous worshippers. Per.
noctantur nobiscum, peregrinantur, rusticantur. No
hooks, perhaps, bear such traces of this sort of
handling as the works of Mr. Dickens ; and we are
therefore very glad to note their appearance in the
form of the volumes before us, which, though not
exactly a "large-paper copy," are beautifully and
legibly printed, on good paper and in a convenient
size. One peculiarity of this edition does not please
us so well. Wishing, perhaps, to he judged by
posterity, or the rising generation, on his own un-
aided merits, their author has not reproduced any of
the original illustrations. The actual presence of
Mr. Pickwick with his band under his coat tail,
beaming on the companions of his perils; the levity
of Jingle, the sleekness of Trotter, the natty acti-
vity of the aphoristic Sam, and the bland convexity
of his cherephohous sire, no longer look out upon us
with their familiar aspect. Ilsbrillent par leur absence.
Re confess to regretting them exceedingly ; we
think they might have been reproduced, and have
hardly sufficient faith in the imagination of our
descendants to believe that they can ever know the
members of the Pickwick Club as we do. The
literary feature of the present issue of " Pickwick "
18 an interesting preface by the author giving the
real history o: its conception and produc:ion. From
this we select some of the more noticeable pas-
sages :

I was a young man of three-and-twenty when the pre-
sent publishers, attracted by some pieces I was at that
lime writing in the Morning Chronicle newspaper (of
which one series had lately been collected and published
in two volumes, illustrated by my esteemed friend Mr.
George Cruikshank), waited upon me to propose a some-
thing that should be published in shilling numbers—then
only known to me, or I believe to anybody else, by a dim
recollection of certain interminable novels in that form
which used to be carried about the country by pedlars, and
over some of which 1 remember to have shed innumerable
tears before I had served my apprenticeship to Life.
Vt'hen I opened my door in Furnivara-inn to the ma-
naging partner who represented the firm, I recognised in
him the person from whose hands I had bought, two or
three years previously, and whom I had never seen before
or since, my first copy of the magazine in which my first
effusion—dropped stealthily one evening at twilight, with
fear and trembling, into a dark letter•box, in a dark office,
uP a dark court in Fleet•street—appeared in all the glory
of Print ; on which memorable occasion—how well I re•
collect it !-I walked down to Westminster-hall and turned
into it for half an hour, because sty eyes were so dimmed
with joy and pride that they could not bear the street, and
were not fit to be seen there. I told my visitor of the
coincidence, which we both hailed as a good omen, and so
fell to flintiness.
The idea propounded to me was that the monthly some-
thing should be a vehicle for certain plates to be executed

by Mr. Seymour ; and there was a notion, either on the
part of that admirable hutnorors artist or of my visitor ( I
forget which), that a " Nimrod Club," the members of
which were to go out shooting, fishing, and so forth, and
getting themselves into difficulties through their want of
dexterity, would be the best means of introducing these.
I objected, on consideration, that, although born and partly
bred in the country, I way no great sportsman, except in
regard of all kinds of locomotion ; that the idea was not
novel, and had been already much used ; that it would be
infinitely better for the plates to arise naturally out of the
text ; and that I should like to take my own way, with a
freer range cf English scenes and people, and was afraid I
should ultimately do so in any case, whatever course I
might prescrihe to myself at starting. My views being
deferred to, I thought of Mr. Pickwick, and wrote the first
number—from the proof-sheets of which Mr. Seymour
made his drawing of the Club, and that happy portrait of
its founder by which he is always recognised, and which
may be said to have made him a reality. I connected Mr.
Pickwick with a club becaose of the original suggestion,
and I put in Mr. Winkle expressly for the use of Mr. Sey-
mour. We started with a number of twenty-four pages
instead of thirty-two, and four illustrations in lien of a
couple. Mr. Seymour's sudden and lamented death before
the second number was published brought about a quick
decision upon a point already in agitation ; the number
became one of thirty-two pages, with two illustrations, and
remained so to the end. My friends told me it was a low,
cheap form of publication, by which I should ruin all my
rising hopes; and how right my friends turned out to be,
everybody now knows.
" Boz," my signature in the Morning Chronicle, appended
to the monthly cover of this book, and retained long after-
wards, was the nickname of a pet child, a younger brother,
whom I had dubbed Moses in honour of the Vicar of
Wakefield, which, being facetiously pronounced through
the nose, became hoses, and being shortened, became
Hoz. " Boz" was a very familiar household word to me
long before I was an author, and so I came to adopt it.
When we took up the volume to review it, we in-
tended to concern ourselves with the preface only—
which resulted, of course, in a reperusal, for the
hundredth time, of about half the work. The style
of Mr. Dickens's early productions, though contain-
ing perhaps less concentrated thought and less
ingenuity of metaphor than his later ones, is in-
finitely more smooth, flowing, and agreeable to read.
They are models of concise and vigorous English,
and it would be difficult to alter a word for the better.
Of course there are passages of brilliant eloquence
or deep pathos, in "Bleak House" for instance,
which outshine anything their author previously
wrote; but the virtues of simple narrative and easy
diction, and the tot of getting through the " busi-
ness " of a story in the neatest ane most intelligible
manner, are to be found, we think, In greatest
perfection in the
." Pickwick Papers " and in " David
Copperfield."

The Thousand and On? Days; or, Arabian]Tales.
London : Lay.
THESE entertaining and well-selected tales, the
scenes of which are laid in the East, form a most
appropriate companion-volume to " The Arabian
Nights." The collection of tales is derived principally
" from the works of different Oriental scholars," and
we are hound to say that they possess every element
of authenticity and originality. Miss Pardoe, who
has kindly written a preface, remarks :

In one of the tales there will be at once detected a por-
tion of the favourite old story of Aladdin's Lamp, in the
subterranean gem-garden discovered by the handsome
youth; while in another mention is made of the already-
familiar legend of the hidden city of Ad, so popular
among the ancient Arabs; but these repetitions will
cease to create any surprise when it is remembered that
the professional story-tellers of the East are a wandering
race, who travel from city to city, exhibiting their talent
during seasons of festivity, in the palaces of the wealthy
and the public coffee-houses. Those admit'ed to the
women's apartments are universally aged crones, whose
volubility is something marvellous ; and they are always
welcome guests to the indolent beauties, who listen
to them for hours together without a symptom of weariness,
as they pour forth their narratives in a monotonous voice
strangely displeasing to European ears. The men, while
reciting their tales, indulge in violent gesticulations and
contortions of the body, which appear to produce west
delight in their audience. Since they generally travel two
or three in company, and, save in rare cases of improvi-
sation, their stock of narrative is common to all, it is their
ambition so individually to embellish, heighten, and am-
plify their subject-matter, as to outshine their competitors ;
and it is consequently to this cause that the numerous
variations of the same tale which have reached Europe
must be attributed.

The volume, published at a price which brings it
within the reach of all, is worthy a place in every
home library. It reflects credit upon the abilities
and research of the compiler, and is free from a
single objectionable element, so common in tales of
Eastern life.

The Exiles of Italy. fly C. G. H. Edinburgh :

Constable and Co.
Tun is a narrative, in the form of a novel, purport.
ing to describe the modem life of Italian Liberals.
The narrative is compiled " partly from the best
" published accounts, and partly from the oral narra-

211

" tion and private correspondence of men who bore
" a prominent part in the scenes described." Tile
historical incidents related embrace the Republic of
1819, the siege of Rome by the French, the disper-
sion of the republican army, and the capture, torture,
and execution of many of its chiefs. With this his-
torical element that of love is skilfully introduced.
The book is interesting as giving, we believe, a
tolerably accurate description of the sufferings in-
flicted since 181 s upon patriotic Italians. The style
of the writer is inflated, but here and there are some
pretty descriptive bits. Here is the death of Gari-
baldi's wife. Garibaldi, after the capture of Rome,
had fled with her into the mountains, but, hunted
and tracked like wild beasts from cover to cover, the
fair, fragile Anita Garibaldi sunk under the terrible
anxiety and suffering of her life :
"It is evening," she said; "hut I cannot gn. God has
called mc, Giuseppe," she continued, in a soft low voice ;
" leave me with Him ; ere morning you must be far hence
over the mountains."

At this moment a murmur was heard in the outer room,
and Gotfredo's step hastily entering from the porch.
" The Austrians are in the valley," he whispered. Anita
caught the sound.
" They are coming. We shall go together."
She raised herself from the couch ; Garibaldi held her
closer to his breast.

" Fear not, my love ; we shall die together."
"I am able to go with iou, dearest. Give me some
water, and I shall be strong."
A glass filled with water stood on the table. He held
it to her lips. She drank half of it, and seemed satis-
fied. As he turned to replace it, he felt her head droop•
on hii bosom. Startled, he bent over her. Her eyes met
his with a long gaze of love, then softly closed, and the
gentle spirit of Anita Garibaldi was with her God.
But a little time had passed, when Rosetta opened the
door. The General had laid Anita on the pillow. His
cheek was ashy pale, and an unmeasured depth of anguish
was in his hollow eyes.
She stopped, and tears rolled down her cheeks.
"Gentle Signora," she murmured softly; "Heaven rest
her soul !"

Garibaldi did not speak nor move. She came near him.
" Generalissimo ! you must fly; the Austrians are at
hand."

" I care not !" he exclaimed ; " let them take me."
Then, suddenly checking himself, he knelt beside the
bed, and, clasping Anita passionately in his arms, he
kissed her.

" No ! my beloved ; I will live for our suffering country,
till God calls me home to thee."
He raised the glass from which she had drunk to his
lips, and drained it ; then, turning to Rosetta and her
mother, who stood weeping at the door—" Farewell, my
friends! God will reward you ;" and clasping to his bosom
the cherished form of his wife, he passed from the cottage-
door.

A little way down the valley, the Austrian b►yonets
were gleaming in the sunset. He heeded them not, as he
strode up the mountain with his burden ; and when he
had reached a green, lonely spot, where the dark fig-trees
threw their shadows on the grass, and the girdling rocks
shut out all human eyes, he stopped. Digging a grave with
his sword in the velvet turf, he laid her gently there ; and
covering her quiet resting-place with grass and flowers, went
forth a lonely wanderer on the earth.

English Hearts and English Hands. By the Author
of the " Memorials of Captain Hadley Vicars.'
London : Nisbet.

" Tins little book," says the author of the " Memo-
rials of Hedley Vicar 4," " is not written for those who
4' are usually called the working classes. Its purport,
as has been said, is to show men and women who
" are placed by the providence of God in another
" position of life, how much of high and delicate
" feeling is to be found amongst that great mass of
" their countrymen who eat their bread under the
0 heavier portioc of the primoNal curse. Its object,
" also, is to suggest how much of that trial may be
" Botaood, and of that labour lightened, by the
_ _ _ .
Si

. _
of a kindly interest in their daily
" toil and rare pleasures of a ready appreciation of
" their better feelings, and of a true sympathy with
" all that they know of earthly sorrow or of heavenly
" hope." The main interest of the book turns upon
the history of the " navvies" employed from 1853
for two winters about the grounds of the Crystal
Palace, and that of those afterwards sent to construct
the railroad at Balaklava. Incidents selected from
the personal history of some member of the party,
and agreeably related, are interspersed here and
there with original letters and conversations, and
tend, on the whole, to present a curious and in-
structive series of tales as exhibiting the influence
of Christian kindness upon the rough navvy. The
book is highly creditable to the amiable author, and
nothing appears which could offend the suscepti-
bilities of the most sensitive mind. As an example
of the nature of the book, we select the following
account of a first visit to the navvies' hut at Becken-
ham in '53 :

A tall, strong man, in a fustian jacket, opened the door
scarcely wide enough to show his face. " Harry aint here
just now."
" But I suppose I shall see him if I wait, shall I not?
I will walk in, if you will allow me."

212

" Well, you can, if you like ; but we're a lot of rough

nos."

" Oh, thank you, I do not mind that; you will be very
civil to me, lam sure. Would yon get me a chair?"
An intelligent-looking youth darted forward, dusted
a chair with the tail of another man's coat, and placed it
for me near the table.

A short conversation ensues, when one man frankly
says that " he don't believe the Bible ":

"Because I read in the Bible that God is a God of
love, and yet that He has prepared from all eternity a place
of torment for us poor pitiful creatures."
" In icy Bible," I replied, " I have never read anything
of the sort. I read that God is love ; and that the Lord
Jeans Christ will say, at the judgment day, to those who
have believed and obeyed Him, ' Come, ye blessed of my
Father, inherit the kingdom prepared for you from the
foundation of the world. But to those who have rejected
His salvation, and despised His laws, He will say, Dc.
part. ye cursed, into everlasting fire prepared for the devil
and his angels.' if man chooses to reject God's offer of
mercy through a Saviour, and to prepare himself for that
place of punishment, he has no right to charge God with
the result of his own sin and wilful madness."

" Well," he replied, "I do see that is a different case
from what I thought before. lint now, look here. 1
am a poor fellow—don't pretend nor profess ; yet I have a
quarrel with a mate—feel to hate him--will drub him well
next time we light on one another. Think better of it
offer him half my bread and cheese, when we chance of
meeting—and we're friends. Now, why can't God do a
generous action like that, and forgive us outright ?"
The visitor replies with all the fervour of a true
Christian, and for the happy result we must refer the
reader to the excellent little volume itself.

Life in China. By the Rev. W. C. Milne, M.A.
London : Routledge.
AN authentic account of a residence in China, and of
a journey 1,300 miles aiross the interior, will at this
moment, when public feeling is unusually intent upon
Chinese affairs, be found of considerable interest.
The writer was many years a missionary among the
Chinese, but we are bound to say that his entertain-
ing volume is entirely free from the odium theolo-
gicum. Hence his book is lively, full of graphic
descriptions of the manners and customs of the
Chinese, and, what is to be prized still higher, con-
tains four excellent maps of the country. Mr.
Milne's opinion of the Chinese in the province of
Kiangse is below that usually held by travellers. " Of
" its twenty-three million inhabitants," he writes,
" the common people are on the whole poor, often
" deplorably wretched, though industrious and hard-
" working at crockery manufacture and weaving of
" hemp cloth, besides boat navigation, fishery, field
" labour, and carriage of goods. As to literary at.
" tainments, the scholars do not compete in number
" or eminence with those of the neighbouring pro
" vinces." In his journey through the interior he
appears to have be n well and hospitably treated,
and his account confirms the opinion held by For-
tune, Huc, and other travellers in China, o: the
friendly disposition of the people towards strangers,
and of the disinclination of the Government to per
mit any intimacy to exist. Mr. Milne's remarks
upon the habits and customs of the people have all
the weight of personal experience, and are the
result of many year; careful observation. The most
interesting chapter in his book is that relating to the
progress of the Christian missions in China. Of the
success of the Protestant missions lie speaks feebly,
but full of hope. Ot the Roman Catholic missions,
he speaks in decided terms of the vigour with which
they are pressing forward their peculiar tenets.
With what success he does not say, but it is clear
that the Roman Catholics, especially at Shanghai,
exhibit no decadence in China. "In every part of
" the country," Mr. Milne writes, "Jesuit priests
" are prosecuting their missionary labours." They
buy land, build churches, open schools, establish
"Catholic villages," and, with indomitable perseve-
rance, prosecute their efforts at conversion. At
Shanghai, writes Mr. Milne, " In his infidelium
" partibus,' besides a bishop, they have numerous
" foreign teachers disguised as natives, and a large
" staff of Chinese agents. These live and labour
" chiefly in villages that principally comprise spi-
" ritual children,' of whom they number in the Kiang-
" nan vicarage above 70,000 souls ! Under the super-
" vision of the confreres, there are catechists and
" travelling agents. They maintain schools for girls
" and boys. They have chapels; they support
" monasteries ; and recently, wnh some hope, and,
" as they believe, success, they have introduced the
" institution of religious women.' " Let us turn
now to the Protestant missionaries. The statistics
of the society show that, " during the past thirteen
" years, ten distinct missionary societies have sent
" fifty-seven missionaries (with few exceptions mar-
" tied men ), of whom there are at present at work
" there at least thirty-seven, the rest having been
" removed by death or illness, or other circum-
stances." Of the general proceedings of these,
Mr. Milne states that, "being unacquainted with
" the Chinese language, they have to postpone
" entering on the more arduous and direct labours of