The Press.
London, England, 1854-07-15 00:00:00

THE PRESS.

who, in a hard-drinking age, retains at seventy
the full vigour of his constitution, who hates
town, keeps a first-rate pack of hounds, loves
freedom and hospitality, and who, although,
by virtue of manorial rights, himself the donor
of the flitch, can never be induced to commit
matrimony. His establishment is managed
by his niece, Bab Bassingbourne, a perfect
beauty of seventeen. She fills her onerous
office to admiration. She is as keen in the
saddle as her uncle; she sits her steed with
incomparable grace; she knows the dogs as
well as old Will Crane, the head huntsman ;
She is the delight of the whole country.
Everybody is in love with her, from the lord
of acres to the swain that tills them. But
Bab is as wild as the air, and as difficult to
catch as a sunbeam. She has a hundred
offers, and refuses them all ; and, what with
her beauty and her bright spirits, she is the
heart of the story. Her portrait is charming
as she is first introduced on a crisp wintry
morning in the grass court of the kennel, in
her' sky-blue riding-habit lined with silver,
and her broad-leaved white beaver, with its
sportive feather dancing in the wind. Were
thiS a mere description we should pass it over
in silence ; but Bab acts her part as well as
she looks it.
We will not attempt to dwarf the story into
our columns. It is a little too much compli-
cated for abbreviation; but we may observe
that it is constructed upon an ample base of
characters, and is well sustained. A some-
what dark thread of romance runs through
the domestic tissue. There is a ghost-chamber,
with incidents of appropriate mystery, which
are redeemed from the indifference with which
such sources of interest are regarded in these
practical times by the poetical colouring
thrown over them.
In a literary point of view this is the best of
Mr. Ainsworth'a fictions. It is written with
unusual care and earnestness, and abounds in
passages of pure and healthy feeling. There
are several admirable lyrics scattered through
the narrative. We will make room for one of
them—a roaring song, chanted by the bibu-
lous Captain Snddock, a sprawling giant, who
develops his loose humours for the entertain-
ment of the company at the Flitch :
MY OLD COMPLAINT: ITS CAUSE AND CURE.
I'm sadly afraid of my Old Complaint—
Dying of thirst. —Not a drop I've drunk
For more than an hour : 'Tis too long to wait.
Wonderful how my spirits have sunk !
Provocation enough it is for a saint,
To suffer so much from my Old Complaint
What is it like, my Old Complaint ?
I'll tell you anon, since you wish to know.
It troubles me now, but it troubled me first,
When I was a youngster, years ago !
Bubble•and•squeck is the image quaint ;
Of what it is like, my Old Complaint !
The Herring, in very few minutes, we're told,
Loses his life, ta'en out o' the sea ;
Rob me of Wine, and you will behold
Just the same thing happen to me.
Thirst makes the poor little Herring so faint;—
Thirst is the Cause of my Old Complaint!
The bibulous Salmon is ill content,
Unless he batheth his jowl in brine:
And so, my spirits are quickly spent,
Unless I dip my muzzle in Wine !
Myself in the jolly old Salmon I paint:
WINE is the Cure of my Old Complaint
Give me full bottles and no restraint,

And little you'll hear of my Old Complaint.
I never indulge in fanciful stuff,
Or idly prate, if my flagon be full;
Give me good Claret., and give me enough,
And then my spirits are never dull.
Give me good Claret and no constraint:
And I soon get rid of my Old Complaint!
Herring and Salmon my Mends will acquaint
With the Cause and the Cure of myOld Complaint!

The History of the Propagation of Christianity
amongst the Heathen. Since the Reformation.
By the Rev. William Brown, M.D. London:
Blackwood.

THE fact of a third edition of this work being
demanded is a sign of the interest taken by
English society in missionary labours. It cannot
be classed amongst what are popularly called
" readable books." Deficient in philosophical
grasp, its facts are not arranged so as to indi-
cate broad results, though its perusal suggests
that with historical talents a writer could win
no common distinction in thoroughly ex-
ploring the missionary labours of Christendom.