The Press.
London, England, 1858-04-03 00:00:00

THE PRESS, APRIL 3, 1858.

a verse from the Prayer-book version, and
marks the words which have the same ending ;
these he writes under each other on the ex-
treme right of the paper. A work well begun
is half done, they say : it will not generally be
difficult, since we allow ourselves fourteen
syllables in each line, to induce the other
words to lie, without openly quarrelling, in
their proper metrical places ; as thus :

- -
From Sion were salva,ion given to Israel, he'd be glad
And Jacob joyful, would God.turn his people's durance sad.
Or thus :--

AU the foundations of the earth are out of comae. Then
Thus said: Ye're Gods and ye are all the sons of the Most
High ;
But ye shall die like men, and fall like princes. God,

arise
And ju 14e the earth ; the heathen shall thine heritage

comprise.
When the Prayer-book does not furnish him
with his rhyme, the poet's case is truly pa-
thetic. What a severe mental struggle must
the uncomplaining man have endured while
the following couplet was in making!—

Then stood up Phinees, and ho prayed ; and so the plague
VMS dumb,
And that was counted righteousness throughout all line

to come.
The following suggests a picture of still more
tragic distress:—

From everlasting Thou art God, world without end, Amen.
Thou formest man to dust, Thou say'st : Men's children,
come again.
It is useless to give any more examples. We
need not say that tile volume c.intains many
better lines than these. It may be conjec-
tured that, when the principle explained above
is adopted, couplets occasionally come into
existence which are not much inferior to the
original prose. But it is plain at the same
time that, when no trouble whatever is taken
to grasp the Psalmist's meaning or enter into
his spirit, or reanimate the cuptt mortuum of a
literal prose translation, the metrical version
can in no case be better than the unmetrical
one, and must in the infinite majority of cases
be an alteration for the worse just so far as it
is an alteration at all. The writer tells us
that "in a time of most grievous affliction this
" work has been to him a source of comfort
" and consolation." He has found " the slow
" mechanic exercise " to be " like dull nar-
" cotics numbing pain." 'We respect his grief,
but cannot profess to think his rhymes good
They may have comforted himself, but to the
public they are nothing. They rest on a mis-
take, and the only way to mend them is to
replace the words out of which they are made
in the order in which the Prayer-book ex-
hibits them.
The version before us is constructed on the
principle of extreme reverence for the diction
of the two authorised versions. We believe
that this principle is only partially sound
Any one who is accustomed to compare trans-
lations with originals may, without being a
Hebrew scholar, convince himself that our
authorised translations, whether accurate or
not, are rude in style and teeming with foreign
idiom. At least, any one who is accustomed
to give himself a strict account of the words
he uses, cannot but observe that passages con-
stantly occur in both versions of ambiguous
meaning and even entirlly unintelligible, and
that a multitude of others are expressed in
language which no Englishman would ever
dream of empl,,yin,g. Now, even from a good
prose translation, but much more from a
metrical one, all foreign idioms should he care-
fully eradicated. We arc therefore fully per-
suaded that to translate the Psalms, the same
method should be employed which has been
employed in all successful translations of
other books. The translator must learn to
aistinguish the figure of a psalm from the
clothes : in divesting it of the latter he must
not injure the former even by a scratch ; in
investing it in new clothes he must study not
to conceal the figure too much, and he must
see that the new clothes be of a truly English
fashion, though when this is secured they may,
for the sake of old association, be made as like
the original Hebrew garments as possible.
Beyond this, it is scarcely needful to observe,
the translator must have a sense of the cha-
racteristic sublimity of the Psalms of David,
such as Mr. Bowing at least appears sadly to
A want.

The Works of Professor Wilson. vol. XI.
Tales. London : Blaekwoods.

WE have now reached the last volume but one
of this edition. We have seen the Professor
under many different aspects—the humorist,
the sportsman, and the critic. We have seen
him slaying grouse and salmon as if he had
never been aught but a gamekeeper, winning
a trotting-match against a professed jockey,
and passing judgment on poets as if he had
been created on purpose. In fact, his delight
seemed to be to challenge competition with
professional people on their own ground and
beat them ;to show of what a man—a broad-
chested, largemmded, soundhearted man—
was really capable ; taking literature in his
stride, and maintaining a well-ordered equality
in his various accomplishments. He had a
copious catholic nature—seeing good in every-
thing, and imparting the warmth of his own
genius to the most unpromising subjects. Ho
had a hearty contempt for all that was mean
and all that was unreal ; and if this sometimes
led him to form erroneous opinions of his
contemporaries, it far oftener saved him from
that mischievous and careless praise of unde-
serving objects which is far too prevalent now.
" By those who look close to the ground "
little gold-dust may sometimes be found
mixed up with the dirt. Wilson " saw things
from a gteater distance," and thus overlooked
both.

The present volame leads us away from all
that mixture of rollicking tun and noble dis-
sertation which has characterised the previous
ones. We have here a series of tales, told
with a rare union of tenderness and manliness.
They are painted with that picturesque sim•
piicity for which Wilson is famous, and are
well calculated to arouse our interest in the
forthcoming volume of poems.
The present collection, besides a number
of minor tales, contains two already well
known to the public—viz., " The ri ials of
Margaret Lyndsay," and " The Foresters."
The former is ono of the best tales of humble
life with which we are acquainted. It is the
kind of tale that Crabbe would have given us
had he written in prose, and, though less diver-
sified and romantic, is almost as full of true hu-
man interest asSeutt's " Heart of Mid Lothian."
The latter we think less successful. Of' the
shorter stories, we have been particularly
struck with " The Rainbow," us at once ori-
ginal and uncommon, and extremely touching.
On the whole, perhaps, Wilson as a tide.writer
wants gaiety. In his " Lights and Shadows"
the shadows aro in undue proportion. Ho
seems in these compositions to have surren-
dered his imagination to the power of that
awful truth that in the midst of life we are in
death, and to love to hover on the brink Of the
tragic and terrible His fictions mostly end
well, but the brief summing up does not efface
the impression which a tissue of misfortunes
or dangers has produced; and we rise from
each tale, as from the entire collection, in a
rather cheerless frame of mind.

This volume contains, as the reader would
expect, some exquisite bits of description.
We select a Highland Sunday from our
favourite talc, " The Rainbow
• -

It was the Sabbath-day, aid Glen-Creran, that al few
hours ago had been as loud as the sea, was now not only
hushed in the breathing rep 'se of nature, but all rural
labour was at rest; and it might almost have been said,
that the motionless clouds, the deep blue vault, the fragrant
air, and the still earth, were all united together in one sweet
spirit of devotion. No shepherd bhouteil on the mountain
—no reapers were in the half-shorn fields—and the tubers
man'a net was hung up to dry in the sunshine. Men the
party met again in the parlour, whose wide windows open-
ing down to the flour, let in the pure fragrance of the roses
and honeysuckles, and made the room a portion, as it were,
of the rich wooded scenery, there was blended with the
warmth and kindliness of the morning salutation, a solemn
expression belonging to the hallowed day, and to the reli-
gions state of fee'ing which it inspired. The subdued and
almost melanchol) air of the matron was now more touch-
ing and impressive, us she was dressed in darker widow's.
weeds for the house of God; and the street countenanze of
Mary Stuart, which, the night before, had beamed with al-
most a will gladness, was now breathed over by a pensive
piety, so truly beautiful at all times on a woman's features.
The Kirk was some miles distrust, but they were prepared
to walk to it ; and Edward Ashton, without speaking on the
subject at all, accompanied them on their way to divine ser-
vice.
To an Englishman, who hail never before seen a High-
land Sabbath, the scene was most delightful, as the opening
of every little glen brought upon him some new interesting

II

group, journeying tranquilly towards Appin Kirk. Fami-
lies were coming down together into the wider strath, from
their green nests among the solitude ; and friendly greet-
ings were interchanging on all sides, in tha wild tongue
which, to his ear, seemed so well stilted to a land of moun-
tains. The many-coloured liighlacd tartan mixed with
the pure white of dresses from the Lowlands ; and that
utingling of different costumes in the same group gave in-
timation of the friendly intercourse now subsisting con-
stantly between the dwellers of hill and of plain. No haughty
equipages came sweeping by. Almost all the assembling
congregation were on foot—here and there an old man ou
a rough mountain pony—there, perhaps, man and wife on
a stronger steed—and there a cart with an invalid, or the
weak or aged, with a due accompaniment of children. The
distinction of ranks was still visible, but it was softened
down by one pervading spirit of humble Christianity. So
along to the house of God—the clear tinkle
trooped they
of the hell was heard—the seats were filled—and the whole
psalms. Divine service was, at
vale echoed to the voice of
this time, performed in the English language, and the Kirk
was decently silent in sincere and unostentatious devotion

Cream. By Charles Reade. Contains "Jack
of All Trades" and " The Autobiography

.of a Thief." London : Trubner.
Tn's title of this work is an expression of the
author's belief (which we shall not stop to
discsos) that transcripts of actual fact are the
only portions which have any value in a work
of fiction.
" The Autobiography of a Thief" is put forth
es the history of Robinson, who will be remem-
bered as one of the prominent characters in
"It is Never Too Late to Mend," and was in-
tended to have formed a portion of that story.
Jack of All Trades" is also autobiographical,
:and differs from its companion inasmuch as it
describes the career of a man who is simply
vagrant without being dishonest, and who is
clever, energetic, and self-reliant, without,
however, being able to attain the good fortune
which generally accompanies these good qua-
lities. The former of the two tales purports
to be authenticated by some middling verses,
soden engraved specimen of Robinson's hand-
writing; but Mr. Reticle in his preface has
throws so much dust in our eyes that we aro
linable to see clearly whether the materials
are really what they profess to be, or if so, how
much "cooking" the cream has undergone at
the hands of its editor, whose peculiar style
is frequently apparent. Could we be sure
that we were reading a genuine prison auto-
biography, we should, unlike the prince in
Ihe " Arabian Nights," prefer o:ir cream-tarts
•witbout pepper. As it is, we are left to draw
our own conclusions from the following :

But I think my readers are now ripe for this strange but
true story, and I dedicate it in particular to such as will
.deign to accept this clue to my method in writing-
-1 feign probabiliLies ; I record improbabilities : the for-
mi'r are conjectures, the latter truths : mixed they make a
thisg not so true as Gospel nor so false as History : viz.,
Fiction.

IV'iien I startle you most, think twice before you die•
believe me. What able deceiver aims at shocking cre-
dulity? Distrust rather my oily probabilities. They
should be true too if 1 could make them ; but I can't: they

are guesses.
You have seen Thomas Robinson, alias Hic, alias file,
Alias late, tinted in water-colours by me : now see him
Tainted in oils by himself, and retouched by Mr. Eden.
A thief is a man: and a man's life is like those geo-
graphical fragments children learn " the contagious
countries" by. The pieces are a puzzle: but put them
together carefully and lo! they are a map.
The thief then mapped his puzzle : and I think his
work will stand.

lii the second story, Mr. Reade's hand is
more plainly at work. His hero is born in
Seven Dials, and after being a fiddler. a fire-
work.maker, a journeyman painter, &c., he
spends several years as keeper to a travelling
elephant, whose portrait appears to have been
suggested by the celebrated animal which
used to be exhibited in Exeter Change. Mr.
Reade's opinion of the elephant's character is
not the popular one
:
There is a fixed opinion among men that an elephant
is a good kind creature ; the opinion is fed by the proprie•
tors of elephants, who must nurse the notion or lose their
icustomers, and so a set tale is always ready to clear the
guilty and criminate the sufferer; and this tale is greedily
swallowed by the public. You will hear and read many
such tales in the papers before you die. Every such tale is
a lie.

A man whose death is related " died, not by
" any fault of his own, but by the will of God
" and through ignorance of the real nature of
" the full-grown elephant, the cunuingest,
" most treacherous, and bloodthirsty beast
" that ever played the butcher among mankind."
She travels with five attendants, only one of
Whom has the slightest influence over her.