The Sun.
London, England, 1852-09-13 00:00:00

LITERATURE.

HELEN TALBO7'. By Miss Pennefuther. 3

Vols. (olburn.
The authoress of this tale has endeavoured to pour-
trey in the life of its heroine a continual struggle
between duty and inclination, but unfortunately the
circumstances in which she is placed deprive her, in
a great measure, of the reader's sympathy. The mo-
tives which prompt her self-sacrifice are not suffi-
ciently strong to authorise her rejection of happiness
for herself and others, and in some points she is so
mistaken i❑ her ideas, that the interest inspired by
her sorrows ceases. It is to be regretted that the
authoress did not select some more obvious duty as the
chief event, which would have made the efforts of the
unfortunate Helen appear worthy of admiration and
respect, instead of worse than useless. There is a
variety of scenes and characters introduced of a more
cheerful nature than those of the principal persons,
though the incident of Miss Louisa St. Leger would
have been much better omitted, as it is very impro-
bable. It is, however, evident that she is actuated by
the best motives, which it is to be hoped that her next
work will better exemplify. The following extract
is a sample of the style :
" Madeline asked her father's permission to invite
Miss Clevedon to be one of their party, to which he
made no objection. She was a young lady in whom
Madeline was much interested, though there was little
that attracted people i❑ general to her. She was not
pretty, and she was very silent. Her manners were dis-
tant and reserved, it was thought. Still, she had gained
upon Madeline's affections.
" She answered Madeline's note of invitation in the
affirmative, and in due time she arrived, looking perhaps
more as if a day's pleasure would do her good than even
Madeline had thought. She looked pale and thoughtful,
and as though the smile of joy had been long absent
from her Lace.
" The plans being all arranged, and the day lovely, a
merry party set off, nor did they return till very late in
the evening.
" During the drive to the holy well, Madeline took
the opportunity of asking Caroline Clevedou if she should
like to go to London with them next week. She told
her that she was very anxious she should be one of her
bridemaids. Her two sisters and Emily Seymour were
to be the other three.

" You won't refuse me, will you?' said she.
" Caroline hesitated—she certainly thought she should
very much like to go—but she was not sure that she
ought to leave her mother.
" Madeline saw her hesitation, and half guessing at
the reason, said:
" Pray do come, your sister is to come to morrow to
stay for some time; and though I know how much you
always enjoy her visits, I am selfish enough to wish that
for this time you should please me by leaving home
whilst you can. Remember I did not ask you until I
was sure that you could come.'
" ' Yes,' said Caroline, Mary will be with us to-
morrow, and I should have a week with her before you
want me; but then I must (if you will kindly allow me
to leave it so long iu uncertainty) wait to see first how
my mother is, and whether she quite likes me to go.
She has been very unwell and nervous since I saw you
last; and unless Mary feels quite satisfied about her, I
should not think it right to leave them, much as I should
like it.'
" Whilst she spoke, Madeline was watching her face.
She saw but too plainly that Caroline had been undergoing
more fatigue and anxiety than was good for her; and
though she did not press the point further then, she re-
solved to go the following day to call upon Mrs. Cleve-
don. She knew that Mrs. Stopford (Caroline's married
sister) would, if possible, wish to arrange matters so as
to allow Caroline to accompany them to London.
" By this time the carriage had stopped, so the whole
party alighted to walk across the fields, as it was voted
a pleasanter way than the road. This way soon led
down a steep and narrow lane, overshadowed by trees,
by the side of which ran a clear rapid stream over
pebbles and mossy stones, bubbling and sparkling where
here and there its waters caught the sun as it shone
through the dancing leaves, bidden again by the tufts of
large fern that grew on either side of the banks. At
the end of the lane the view opened, and a valley lay
before them; a broad, still river wound its way through
the plain, and a wooded bill rose on the opposite side.
" Is this a fair specimen of the scenery of this
country ?' asked one of the company.
" No, far from it,' said Sir Reginald; the greater
part of it is very bleak and wild, without a hedge-row or
tree. There are in parts large districts of bog, and to-
wards the north the whole country is a succession of
hills or undulations which are covered by a net-work of li
ditches, or stone walls piled up without mortar. It is
nowhere a very flat country, nor is the form of the
ground ugly in itself, but one wearies of the unvaried
monotony of its half-cultivated appearance, stripped as
it is of every vestige of a tree. In former times it was
a well- wooded country, and old records as well as tra-
dition tell one of extensive forests, which were then pro-
tected by laws. Another proof of the former existence
of these forests is, that in some places a natural growth
of oak constantly springs up, covering the sides of glens
in a few favoured spots. I believe, indeed, that the wood
we have just been walking through, as well as that op-
posite to us, are natural. We are on our way now to
an old cross, which is one of the most perfect, as well as
being one of the most sacred; it is very ancient, as its
peculiar form denotes. I sm not learned, however, in
the antiquities of this country; but as you are interested
in it, I can show you everything about it when we re-
turn borne.'

TALES AND LEGENDS OF THE ENGLISH
LAKES AND MOUNTAINS. By Lorenzo
.7uvar.
This is a very pleasing little book ; it presents us
with many interesting reminiscences of the most
beautiful scenery of our own country. Perhaps the
sketch most worth mentioning is the one immortalised
by Sir Walter Scott in the following lines :
" I climbed the dark brow of the mighty Helvellyn,
Lakes and mountains beneath me gleamed misty and
wide,
All was still—save by fits, when the eagle was yelling
And starting around me, the echoes replied,
On the right Striding edge round the Red Tarn was
bending,
And Catchedecam its left verge was defending
One huge nameless rock in front was impending,
When I marked the sad spot where the wanderer
died.
Dark green was that spot 'mid the brow mountain
heather
Where the pilgrim of nature lay stretched in decay,
Like the corpse of an outcast abandoned to weathcr,
Till the mountain winds wasted the tenantless clay.
Nor, yet quite deserted, though lonely extended,
For faithful in death, his mute favourite attended,
The much-loved remains of his master defended,
And chased the bill fox and the raven away."

HISTORICAL SKETCH OF LOGIC. By H.

Blakey.
This work presents us with a very able account of
logical science from the earliest times to the present
day. Its researches go back as far as the time of
Zeno, five hundred years before the Christian era,
and carry us through the succeeding generations
till we reach our own epoch. It must be of
essential service to all students and literati to have
thus presented in a concise form what must other-
wise be searched for in many places and from various
authors. It is certainly desirable for all to possess a
correct idea of that important subject, which has
ever attracted the attention of the wise, and which
has ever occupied the thoughts of the learned.