The Sun.
London, England, 1865-05-08 00:00:00

ovEn!

" It was over," said the good people of Chesterton and
Badborough, and they were very glad. That poor boy's
fate had been hanging over them like a cloud, distressing
them like a nightmare. It had prevented their enjoying
any pleasure, or entering into anything with comfort or
with spirit; but now they could feel quite happy again,
it was such a relief it was over, and they were very glad!
And what was over ?—and why were they very glad?
The life had passed away from their ken ; and that was
all, for it was not over.

How strange that people who read their Bible, and be-
lieve it to be a revelation from the Eternal God, should talk
in such a manor as this! And yet, is it not common par-
lance ?

But it is over? Has the thing, that has been, ever an
end ? Do the words once spoken, go on reverberating in
the air throughout all time ? Does the deed once perpe-
trated become photographed, to rise up again a witness at
the judgment ? This may be a truth of science, or it
may be an imagination. But, in one sense, it is, indeed,
true.

The word that has been spoken arose from some other
word ; it will bo the cause of many more ; the respon-
sibility of it endureth for ever. The act that has been
committed was caused by something that went before ; it
will b 3 the cause of countless others that must follow
after.

Has there ever been a first since the beginning? Shall
a requiem ever be sung over tho last ? The thing that
has once had a being, shall it ever have altogether an
end ?

These are hard questions—they lead out into the deep
waters. But could we once lift the veil that hides the
present world from the Eternal,- we should never again
say of any departed life—" it is over."

The phase of existence that was before us ha 4 passed
away ; the shortest, the most insignificant, except from
its after consequences, has merged into another, and that
is all.

This much has been revealed to us. But if we place
between time and eternity a curtain of our own making--
a veil, growing thicker and thicker every day with our
own sin, and, looking at that in preference to the thing
which has been revealed, say we cannot see, surely in this
matter our sin remaineth !

Oh! the doubt and the disbelief in every heart, coming
to light constantly by words like these ! the distrust, the
unbelief, that sin that cloth so easily beset us, how aro we
holden by it ! If it were not so, there never could be
springing around us the crop that is even now, thriving
and flourishing of infidelity, and despair. The life has en-
tered within the veil, but it is not over.
"It is over," said the sinner, and he went back to his
old sin ; " life is but for a little while, and death, come when
it may, is but a matter of a few minutes' suffering—it is
soon past, and then it is over."
Nay, but it is not over. Even to thyself the scene at
which thou hast been present is not over—it is only a link
in the chain of circumstances of thy life, which it is thine
to use, which, according to the use thou makest of each,
will be a cable to draw thee up to heaven, or one that
will drag thee down for ever into hell. The time will
come when thou wilt believe all this, and when, either
for weal or for woe, let others say in their ignorance
as they will, thou wilt know for thine ownself—it is not
over!

It would be well if histories like that of Jem
Wilson could he disseminated far and near. How
many children around us are being trained up in
Sin, the wages of which is Death, the heart
shudders to calculate. There is work, indeed,
for many an earnest heart and active hand, as
the Curate of Sadbrooke forcibly recognised.
As possessing that earnestness of purpose and the
will and the ability to exert it in a good cause, we
congratulate the author of " The Curate of Sad-
brooke" on his book, even though it find no great
favour with the out-and-out novel-reader.

Violet Osborne. A Novel. By Lady Emily Pon-
sonby, author of " The Discipline of Life."

Three Vols. Hurst and Blackett.

" Not enjoyment, and not sorrow, is our destined
aim or way," sings Longfellow in one of his most
charming poems : discipline being, in fact, the
main object of life, although few are willing
to recognise it as such. Among those few
is the authoress of " Violet Osborne," who, in
a very successful book published some years
back very happily enforced the lesson. Violet
Osborne, in a different guise, attests the same truth.
Very light and pleasant are the -opening pages of
the tale. The first chapter begins with a festivity,
and Violet, the heroine, is charming as youth,
beauty, wealth, and generosity can make her. The
character of Violet is an original one for a novel
heroine ; her faults are as visible as her virtues.
She is a spoilt child, allowed to have her own way
in all things by her fond admiring parents. With
a lavish hand she scatters gifts around, delighting
in generosity, and proud of patronising. Beautiful
as her character appears in prosperity, the touch of
sorrowproves her utterly undisciplined. Violet's con-
duct, when her father's ruin becomes public, is most
unheroic and unheroinelike,we had almost said, it is
most unwomanly, but very truthfully does her bio-
grapher exclaim, as if deprecating our condemna-
tion :

Let none harshly judge her. There are many unknown
lands on earth, and those of mental trial are as unsounded
by the inexperienced as the pathless sea, or the untrodden
desert. We may wonder at the faltering steps of others,
as they climb some hill of difficulty, or wade through some
slough of despond; but until we have walked in the same
path, we cannot tell that ours would be stronger. Violet
had been shielded not only from every breath of trial, but
even from the fancy of such a breath. A too fond love
and cherishing care had averted not from her eyes only,
but her thoughts, every picture of the instability of mortal
things. She had heard of want and poverty coming to
others suddenly like an armed man ; but that there were
dangers of such mutability in her lot had been hidden from
her eyes. As men of this generation had heard of wars
and rumours of wars, but knew not till war in its horror
was amongst them what was the meaning of the word,
so Violet had heard of the changes of mortal life, but
thought not of them till they came upon her.

How the discipline of life purges the dross from the
pure gold in Violet Osborne's instance, we must
refer our readers to the work itself to learn. Some
mention we must bestow upon the hero. He is,
however, one accustomed to neglect. Lady Emily
Ponsonby has selected as the hero for her undis-
ciplined Violet, a singularly unattractive personage
—a bashful man, a victim of mauvaise honte, and
nevous trepidation ; one ready to shrink from ob-
servation, an 1 yet feel indignant at neglect; but
here is his portrait—