The Sun.
London, England, 1863-12-16 00:00:00

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LITERATURE.

The .liortons of Bardonz. A Lancashire Tale.
Three vols. Newby.

Bardom was a manufacturing town. It had no
history, no memorials. "Cotton had planted it;
cotton had nursed it ; cotton had fed it, clothed it,
educated, and enfranchised it." "People in Bar-
dom lived on cotton." One of the most enterpris-
ing manufacturers of this enterprising neighbour-
hood was John Morton, a self-made (and cotton-
made) man. A younger brother, Walter Morton,
by the help of large loans from his brother, at a
heavy interest, had also income the head of a consi-
derable manufactory and estate, which at his death
he left to a young son, under the guardianship of his
uncle. When the nephew (the hero of the book)
comes of age, and his own master, his political
opinions differ widely from those of his uncle. The
chief interest of the tale centres upon a Parliamen-
tary election for Brandom, in which Walter becomes
the choice of the Liberal electors; to the intense
indignation and dismay of his Tory uncle. John
Morton's revenge and its consequences materially
affect the fortunes of the new M.P. By way of
contrast to his harsh and unnatural relation, Walter
Morton meets with some true friends, in the persons
of worthy Job Fitton, the steward, and delightful
Chris Holden, and excellent Robert Seaford ; nor
must we omit the heroines of the drama, true-
hearted Mary Graham and gentle Alice Trimley.

The Boy's Own Volume of Fact, Fiction, History,
and Adventure. Illustrated. Christmas, 1863.

Beetoo.

One of the most interesting features of this new
Boys' Volume, is the Victoria Cross Gallery, with
the story and portrait of " Lucknow-Kavanagh ;"
of " Captain Loyd Lindsay, Scots Fusileer Guards,
saving the Regimental Colours at the Alma ;" and
" TheVietoria Cross and the Royal Welsh." Another
very attractive series, "Up in the Alps,"is illustrated
with some very spirited engravings. " The Zoolo-
gical Gardens" are described in an exceedingly
elaborate and interesting manner, both by letter-
press and engravings. Among the latter, besides
innumerable smaller sketches, there are some half-
dozen highly-finished " portraits" of zoological
" lions"—such as " Chune," the Asiatic. elephant ;
" Bill," the Bengal tiger ; " Jumbo," the African
leopard, &c. "The Adventures of Reuben Davidger,"
for seventeen years and four months a captive among
the Dyaks of Borneo, is an enthralling narrative
that will prove delightful to boyish readers. Fact
and fiction contrast together in the miscellaneous
contents of the Boys' Volume. Among the so-called
poetry are some lines entitled "The Boy that Loves
a Baby," which, without exception, rank among
the very silliest of the many silly effusions that it
has been our weary lot as critics to encounter. The
introduction of such doggrel is really an insult to
the understanding of every bright-eyed Boy for
whom the Volume was designed. More attractive
is the series of articles on The Boys of England—
" The Harrow Boys"—" The London Boys"—" The
Winchester Boys"—&c. In the paper on "London
.street Bays," the distinction between those city
Arabs and the Gamin de Paris is judiciously pointed
out. The Paris urchin is said to have more politi-
cal sympathies than his English contemporary, and
a happy remark of Victor Hugo is quoted, in which
he declares of the Paris Gamin that " There are two
things which, Tantalus-like, he ever desires, never
obtains. The one is to overset the Government, the
other is to mend his trousers !"

A Spring and Summer in Lapland; with Notes on
the Fauna of Lulea Lapmark. By an Old Bush-
man, author of "Bush Wanderings in Australia."
One vol., pp. 407. Groombridge.

The principal portions of this work have already
appeared in the columns of the Field newspaper,
but they are well worthy of having been reprinted
for general circulation. The author's object in
visiting Lapland was, it appears, to make a collet,-
tion of native birds and their eggs ; his notes,
therefore, abound in information that will be
valuable to the lovers of ornithology—nor
are they wanting in interest for the general
reader. In the course of his diary, kept at Quickiock,
the Old Bushman recounts the perilous adventures of
a night in the snow—during, as it appeared after-
wards, the most severe snow-storm that had been
known in that region for 20 years. The author
had parted with his guide, " who," he says, " told
me if I kept down a long fence till I came to the
bottom, and then turned to the right, I must make
the village."
" I followed his directions, as I fancied, to the letter, and
after I had wandered alone for perhaps an hour, I saw what
I took to be a house looming in the distance; bat when I
reached it (after a goodish deal of trouble) it proved to be a
clump of trees. Although much disappointed, I did not
despair, for I was as yet tolerably fresh and strong. The
worst of it was, the snow was blinding me, the air was so
thick that I could not see a hundred yards before me, and
all the fences were now buried in the snow drift. I fired off
my gun, I shouted, but no answer ; so on I floundered,
without the slightest idea where I was steering, for I was
fairly lost; and if I had even tried now to make back
tracks,' the darkness of the night and the heavy falling
snow prevented me seeing my spor. I had, therefore, no-
thing for it but to take a straight line, and keep it, trusting
t 3 luck to bring me at last to some familiar object. On I
floundered, sometimes the snow drifts in the hollows four
feet deep, always above my knees ; and so great was the
exertion, that in about an hour more I was fairly beaten ;
and although I should reckon there was then at least 13
deg. cold Celsius, the perspiration poured off me in streams.
Again I fired off my gun, and shouted, but no welcome
answer."

As the time passes, and the hopeless traveller be-
comes worn out, his position increases in danger.
Fairly beaten, he sinks down exhausted, and then
a complete revulsion comes over him.

" My blood seemed all at once to stagnate, my head
reeled, my eyes appeared to be starting from their
sockets, and a drowsiness, the like of which I had nevc,r felt
before, crept upon me. The horrid thought suddenly
flashed across my mind, that if I gave way to this sensation
for five minutes I should soon sink into that sleep from
which there is no waking in this world. There was now
nothing to do but to keep moving, for I knew that my life
depended on it. If I could struggle on till the morning, I
had no fear ; but I was nearly beaten, and I reckoned it
still wanted eight hours to sunrise; so I roused myself up,
and again struck out—which way I knew not, nor did I
care. It would be a miracle if I reached the village, and as
to holding out till morning in my present weak state,
I
fancied to be impossible. When I fell benumbed with cold,
the snow would soon bury me ; all traces of me would
lost, and there I should lie till the thaw eameo n• But as
long as there was life there was hope. To Push on was my
only alternative, and again I sttuek out into the waste of
hands, and I had
snow. The cold had caught one
of
lost the use of it, and my ears.
e icicles, I could feel the and nose felt just as if 1
could haie snapped them off 1