The Sun.
London, England, 1853-03-14 00:00:00

arm into the meadows—must have been just such
a quaint old volume as Charles Lamb-loved to kiss
with such enthusiasm. His meerschaum, again,
must have been of a quality and an amplitude
-sufficient to provoke the envy -of Ernest
Maltravers. As to his philosophy, vthich we have
already mentioned as so distinguished by benevo-
lence, that, we rest assured, could never have borne
the slightest possible resemblance to the philosophy
attributed by Devereux (Book iv., ch. to Boling-
broke, where he says it reminded him of " the en-
chanted tent in the Arabian Tale, which one moment
:lay wrapped in a nut-shell, and the next covered.
an army." Riccabocca's philosophy never could.
have been compressed, by hydraulic agency or
otherwise, within the compass even of a cocoa-nut
grown in the land of Brobdignag. It not only
enswathed himself perpetually, but must have been
fluttering abroad for ever over the whole wide
world of his kinsfOlk, and more cherished com-
panions.. Yet, with all this, was Dr. Riccabocca
an oddity. • Insomuch so, that when he adjusted
his spectacles and surveyed' the ass (Vol. i. p. 27),
we don't wonder at all " that the ass pri:ked
up its other ear and surveyed Dr. Riccabocca."
Leonard had already, on first observing the
doctor perched up on the stile, displaying
in full relief that meagre figure, and those
foatures having about them something, "awful
and Satanic," Leonard. Fairfield (we haVe it on the
authority of his. h istorian) had already, brave young
rustic as he was, " looked exceedingly frightened."
No marvel, therefore, that under the (raze of
Riccabocca the ass pricked up its other earl' with
such wondering inquisitiveness ! During the peru-
sal of the whole of the twelve books of this prose
epic of the domestic life of England,' we have failed
to detect one syllable that does other than enhance
the dignity and elevate the reputation of Alphonse
Riccabocca.

Balanced as the heroes of " My Novel" are, so
to speak, against each other—not less so are its
heroines, or even the rest of the female characters.
It would be difficult to do justice in a few words to
the exquisite delicacy of their delineation. Vio-
lante, the heroine of the story as Harley is the
hero, Violante, the brilliant and beautiful Vio-
lante, presenting to us in a typical manner (Vol. iv.,
p. 299) the glory of " the Woman who Exalts"—
may be estimated
(for want of a better phrase) as
the cameo effigy of the loftier qualities of her sex
in contrast to the _intaglio as represented in the
person of Helen, the- gentle companion-picture to
that of the boy-poet, Leonard. Helen, the tender
and timorous, but still, in every crisis, the brave-
hearted Helen revealing to us by a like significance
(Vol. iv., p. 296) the yet nobler glory of "the Wo-
man who Consoles." Moreover, there are lights and
shades of comparison scarcely less easy of discern-
ment between the Squire's Harry and the Parson's
Carry—good wives both of them, and admirable ex-
amples of lowlier, yet, in their way, equally loveable
phases in the nature of your true English gentlewo-
man. Simple-hearten Jemima too has her undoubted
charm, proving herself (could we give greater
praise ?) not unworthy to be the spouse of Doctor
Riccabocca. There are winning traits even in the
poor widow Fairfield, and this we say, albeit she
did wear " a kerchief that had cost tenpence,"
causing her, together -with other tokens of her
poverty, to be apostrophised by her brother Dick as
a nasty, dirty, dusty, dowdy," during the
course of his memorable outburst Of indigna-
tion. Added to these, there are various other
female characters in "My Novel," which it
were superfluous here to enumerate. Two of
these, however, cannot be altogether overlooked
in a criticism on the fiction the events recorded in
which they influence somewhat, remarkably, al-
though both of them appear before us only through
the haze of very shadowy descriptions. Conspicu-
ous, indeed, among even the more noteable crea-
tions of our author, in this the latest and most
elaborately matured product of his imagination,
shines above them all the buried heroine of
the romance, and yet not so much its departed
heroine, as the vital memory through which the
affections of the principal actors in the story become
refined and, in a manner, consecrated. Frank's
bride is the other invisible personage not yet men-
tioned, the often heaxd of but never seen—Miss
S ticktorights. •
Quotation from a work so complicated and com-
prehensive would obviously be nothing else than
an abortive extravagance. It would simply be the
old absurdity over again—Scholasticos and the
brick, as. immortalised in the Witticisms of
Heirocles. Little, therefore, remains to be added
to our foregoing observations. It has yielded
us peculiar satisfaction to offer even this in-
adequate tribute to the genius displayed in the
production of this noble masterpiece. Admirable
as have been so many other of the literary achieve-
ments of Sir Edward Bulwer Lytton, " My Novel"
equals the happiest effort among them in its por-
traiture of character, while it surpasses them all
by its reilly wonderful display of the abounding
resources of his invention, by its masculine and
idiomatic eloquence, and by that exquisite
symmetry of design which might of itself jus-
tify us in according to it one of the highest
paces among the treasures of imaginative lite-
rature. For its pure a,id elevating senti-
ments it is not unworthy of the hand whieli had
before penned that golden couplet (" New Tinton,"
Part iv., § 2)--
" To reason less is to imagine more ;
Those most aspire who meekly most adore !"
For its frequent evidences of sensibility it may be
regarded as not unworthy of one who had written
the "Pilgrims of the Rhine." As a transcript
from Nature, it is not unworthy of the author of
" Eugene ram." While, as a work of Art, it
is worthy of the Lettered Englishman who had
already realised the hope of Milton and the
dream of Dryden, by celebrating the glory
of Arthur in a national epic (" King Arthur,"
Book i., st. 88)
" Theme to all song and marvel to all youth—
Beloved as Fable, yet believed as Truth."