The Press.
London, England, 1858-10-30 00:00:00

E PRESS, OCTOBER 30, 1858.

ney, the keeper of the genteel boarding-school,
and her half-bred pupils. " The great vulgar
and the small " (in Cowley's words) were drawn
by Miss Austen with nimble fancy and playful-
ness of observation. But in "Deerbrook " we
never forget that there is a book in our hands ;
the story does not rivet us; we are not interested
about Mr. Hope, we do not sympathise with
Margaret, and we care little what becomes of all
the people to whom we are introduced.
Neither does "Deerbrook " exhibit any co ;-
descension to the natural desire of readers for
being amused. There is nothing droll, witty, or
grotesquely humorous in it. It has no such
passages as the opening conversation in Pride
and Prejudice," between Mr. and Mrs. Bennett,
and which might have been written by a comic
dramatist like Sheridan. Nor are there any
brilliant sayings—any of those bons mots which
stud Mrs. Gore's novels, and make even her
second-rate fictions attractive. Crabbe was
called a " Pope in worsted stockings," and
"Deerbrook " reminds us of a Miss Austen in
brown holland.

The best and most eloquent passage in the
book is that descriptive of a woman's rapture at
the sense of being beloved. We shall extract it
entire :

How different was it all when she returned to the house !
How she loved the whole world, and no one in it was dull,
and nothing was trifling, and it was out of the power of
circumstances to vex her ! Life had become heaven : its
doubts, its cares, its troubles, were gone, and all had given
place to a soul-penetrating joy. She should grow perfect
now, for she had one whom she believed perfect to lead
her on. Her pride, her jealousy, would trouble her no
more: it was for want of sympathy—perfect sympathy
always at hand—that she bad been a prey to them. She
should pine no more, for there was one who was her own.
A calm, nameless, all-pervading bliss had wrapped itself
round her spirit, and brought her as near to her Maker
as if she had been his favoured child. There needs no
other proof that happiness is the most wholesome moral
atmosphere, and that in which the immortality of man is
destined ultimately to thrive, than the elevation of soul,
the religious aspiration, which attends the first assurance,
the first sober certainty, of true love. There is much of
this religious aspiration amidst all warmth of virtuous
affections. There is a vivid love of God in the child that
lays its cheek against the cheek of its mother, and clasps
its arms about her neck. God is thanked (perhaps un-
consciously) for the brightness of his earth, on summer
evenings, when a brother and sister, who have long been
parted, pour out their heart stores to each other, and feel
their course of thought brightening as it runs. When the
aged parent hears of the honours his children have won,
or looks round upon their innocent faces as the glory of
his decline, his mind reverts to Him who in them pre-
scribed the purpose of his life, and bestowed its grace.
But, religious as is the mood of every good affection, none
is so devotional as that of love, especially so called. The
soul is then the very temple of adoration, of faith, of holy
parity, of heroism, of charity. At such a moment the
human creature shoots up into the angel: there is
nothing on earth too defiled for its charity—nothing in
hell too appalling for its heroism—nothing in heaven too
glorious for its sympathy. Strengthened, sustained,
vivified by that most mysterious power, union with another
spirit, it feels itself set well forth on the way of victory
over evil, sent out conquering and to conquer. There is
no other such crisis in human life. The philosopher may
experience uncontrollable agitation in verifying his prin-
ciple of balancing systems of worlds, feeling, perhaps, as
if he actually saw the creative hand in the act of sending
the planets forth on their everlasting way ; but this philo-
sopher, solitary seraph, as he may be regarded amidst a
myriad of men, knows at such a moment no emotions so
divine as those of the spirit becoming conscious that it is
beloved—be it the peasant girl in the meadow, or the
daughter of the sage, reposing in her father's confidence, or
the artizan beside his loom, or the man of letters musing
by his fireside. The warrior, about to strike the decisive
blow for the liberties of a nation, however impressed with
the solemnity of the hour, is not in a state of such lofty
resolution as those who, by joining hearts, arc laying
their joint hands on the whole wide realm of futurity for
their own. The statesman who, in the moment of
success, feels that an entire class of social sins and woes
is annihilated by his hand, is not conscious of so holy
and so intimate a thankfulness as they who are aware that
their redemption is come in the presence of a new and
sovereign affection. And these are many—they are in all
corners of every land. The statesman is the leader of a
nation—the warrior is the grace of an age—the philosopher
' is the birth of a thousand years; but the lover—where is
he not ? Wherever parents look round upon their
children, there he has been—wherever children are at
play tsgether, there he will soon be—wherever there are
roofs under which men dwell—wherever there is an
atmosphere vibrating with human voices, there is the lover,
and there is his lofty worship going on, unspeakable, but
revealed in the brightness of the eye, the majesty of the
presence, and the high temper of the discourse. Men
have been ungrateful and perverse ; they have done what
they could to counteract, to debase, this most heavenly
influence of their life; but the laws of their Maker are I
too strong, the benignity of their Father is too patient
and fervent, for their opposition to withstand; and true
love continues, and will continue, to send up its homage
amidst the meditations of every eventide, and the busy
hum of noon, and the song of the morning stars.

There are both eloquence and energy in t •
passage, though the reflections run too much rots
rhetoric, and in its latter portions we seem
tf
hear declamation from a platform. The write
who could command that power of strong utterana
made a wrong choice in taking Miss Austen as
model for a novelist. When Nliss Martineau,
" The Hour and the Man," chose another model
and used other resources than those employed b,
her in "Deerbrook," she had more success•

But " Deerbrook " is a very good choke for a
series in a "Standard Library of Fiction," as it
will mix well with other works, composed in a
gayer style, and exhibiting lighter powers of
mind. Its gravity, its detailed descriptions, even
the narrowness of the circle in which the plot
revolves, will have attractions for some who do
not like being carried out of "parlour bk."
There is not enough of " sub dio " existence in
it to justify its description on the titlepage
" A Tale of English Country Life -; but wt
must also add that those who are prejudiced
against Miss Martineau on account of some of
her published opinions will find nothing to offend
in the pages of " Deerbrook."

Guidc.book to Algeria. London . Publl.l],d at the
Englishwomans Journal Office.
Tins useful and nicely.written little book will be
serviceable to either the invalid in search of heith
the sportsman in search of game, or the tourist in
search of novelty. The sanative properties of the
Algerine climate for consumptive or rheumatic
patients are vouched for by an imposing array of
physicians. Partridges, woodcocks, quails, bustards,
snipe, wildfowl, rabbits, and fish, as well as nobler
game, in the shape of boars and panthers and my
lord" the lion, arc found in great profusion, while
the scenery and population arc as novel as pictu•
resque to the majority of European travellers. With
the following extract from " Hints to English
Visitors," we shall have said all that is necessary:—
There is a theatre, and many places of amusement;
billiards, French reading-rooms, botanic gardens.
museums, libraries, &c. There is no good library it
English books. No English books are to be obtained in
the shops. No good music ; quantities of music, but
nothing of Beethoven's or Mendelssohu's. Pianos are
hired out as at English watering-places, and at about thaw
same price. An English family can obtain cheap in.
struction of about the quality obtainable in French toms.
Omnibuses abound, which, far a few pence, take pas•
sengers into the surrounding villages at all hours of the dk.
English ladies can walk alone in the town and envirooi
of Algiers with as great comfort and safety as at home. All
the French officials, from the Governor of Algiers to the
sentries at the gates, are very polite to the English
visitors. A single person can live very comfortably to
Algiers for twelve pounds a month, including wine, clothe.
&c. The high schools for girls and boys are coosiderel
good, and are very cheap. There are colleges and agricol
tural schools; some are Protestant, but of course the
greater part are Catholic. The journey to Algiers is Dot a
difficult or an expensive journey. The traveller proceeds
from London to Paris in twelve hours, from Paris to
Marseilles in twenty hours, and from Marseilles to Algiers
in about forty hours. The Messageries Imperisles steno
vessels leave Marseilles twice a week for Algiers.
Tuesday at noon, and arrive at two p.m. 'filursday at
Algiers; and on Saturday at noon, and arrive at two pm.
Monday at Algiers. First class fare to klgiers is P 5 frail--
3/. Ilis. Second class is 71 francs ; living is included in
the fare. Agents for the Messsgeries Imperialer are:—
Paris : Rue Notre Dame des Victoires, 12t.. Marseille'
Rue Mongrand, 33, and Place Royale, 1. London : 'Messrs.
Lightly and Simon, 1113, Fenchurch-street. Every tuff
motion to be obtained at Liverpool of Messrs. G. kt.
Fletcher and Co., and of the agent, Mr. J. E. Puddx.k.
314 a, Oxford-street, London (W.), where berths ms,!D
secured. There are other boats which touch at the ot?er,.
important ports of Algeria. The journey costs from 0:
to 121., from London to Algiers ; less of course if the
traveller takes the third class, and does not stay at hotel,.
With respect to currency, French money is universal]
litreicfheardrresod.n fAoldthiet nciarctiuvelastintrusge:eninsoitfr
The post goes oat and comes in very regularly three um
es
week ; the postage to and from England is tourls"•e
and from France twopence. ths
taes raedisies'2.

The .Struggles of a Villoge Lad. London TireeMe.
THE above, which is one of a series of the tempo'
ranee publications, is an interesting little tale of re
rage merit, and the incidents such as are common''
all story-books of the kind. The writer is so well-
intentioned that we must wish him as much Succe,
in his object as the "village lad" met with io &lb.)
struggles, without expressing any opinion as to the
best means of promoting it.

London: Printed and Published by AL►nEn lvs, at the 01:e,
110, Strand, iu the Precinct of the Sart-7, hi the
on Saturday, the 30th Jay of October; 16JF.