The Sun.
London, England, 1854-03-06 00:00:00

SONG OIL', THE REJECTED ONE.

(From Eliza Cook's Journal.)
Perchance, fair, high-born girl, you felt ashamed
Of the young dotard-slave who dared so much ;
Yet, Mabel Lee, you might as well have blamed
The lute for giving music at your touch.
For you had gazed on me with tenderness,
When my devoted eyes made yours their shriuc,
And you had spoken words to thrill and bless
A spirit far less rapt in dreams than mine.
Oh ! you should not have wondered that my soul
Grew sentient with a wild and gushing tone ;
You roused an echo I could not control ;
But, ah ! my heart was no cold Memnon stone.
It throbbed and burned with the undying flame
Which God has sent as Nature's beacon-light ;
I read no human language but your name,
I knew no life but when within your sight.
I plied my pencil but to win your praise,
I sang my Rhine-songs only for your ear ;
My footsteps ever followed on your ways,
Seeking you when afar—tremblin,g when near.

Like the rich hope-vine did you grew o'er me,
Most beautiful to my enchanted view ;
While I, poor fool ! dreamt not that you could he
Like that fair-seeming vine, as bitter, too.

I went on loving with an idiot's zeal,
Strong as a martyr, fervent as a saint.
The morning and the evening saw me kneel
With prayers for you—prayers neither few nor faint.
At last, beneath your favourite cedar-tree,
Where summer moons had often found us both,
I stammered forth that love—just as the sea
May pour its might and depth in broken froth.
You laughed—Oh God ! you laughed in scornful glee,
Called me " vain boy," and bade a light farewell ;
That laugh, like earthquake rumble—could it be ?
It came again—and my heart's city fell.
'Tis over—and you shall not hear me sigh,
Nor see a shadow steal upon my face ;
The "vain boy" will not bow his head and die ;
Hope has departed—Pride must take its place.
Yet, Mabel Lee, I feel that you will cling
About my future with a blighting power;
And, lady, it will be a bitter thing
To bear my poison drop from such a flower.
Wide seas will be between us, years will pass ;
But years will fail in what they often do ;
Time's misty breath will never dim the glass
Where Passion, Truth, and Joy have mirrored you.
You've changed the " vain boy" to a grey old man,
The sapling has become a stricken tree ;
Yet my Life's dream will end as it began,
And find its first, last thought, with Mabel Lee.
ELIZA COOK.

LITERATURE.

Maude Talbot. By Holme Lee. 3 vols. Smith

and Elder.

Often as lovely young heiresses have shone as the
heroines of romance, there is some novelty in the
delineation of the one before us. Maude is not an
ordinary young lady, nor even one of the excep-
tions to the rule, who, from native sense of superi-
ority, and peculiar delicacy of sentiment, are un-
satisfied with the common and coarse of every-day
life. She did not mingle with her equals in station;
but it was not purer feelings that separated her; it
was haughty self-appreciation that held her aloof.
The high, the titled, and the wealthy crowded round
her path as she moved among them in the lustre
and light of youth, beauty, family, and fortune ;
but she remained unmarried, not because she did
not recognise a congenial spirit, or meet a kindred
heart in all the hosts submitted for her choice, but
because pride could not decide where it would
stoop the least, and ambition knew not which was
the fairest prize to draw. Far from finding a fit
companion for herself, she succeeded at last in un-
fitting herself for everything life contains worth
living for. She grew harsh to her servants,
cruel and neglectful to her tenants, careless of her
friends, and unjust and unfeeling towards her
young sister Lettice, who was the only being she
really loved. This fair and fragile girl formed a
striking contrast in everything to her overbearing
and showy sister. Maude was brilliant and impe-
tuous, Lettice gentle and retiring. Maude in her
youth seemed never young in mind or heart ; Let-
tice possessed those sweet and sacred attributes that
throwa charm around every age, and make the light
and glory of a home, be it poor or rich, prosperous
or adverse. The crisis of 'Maude's destiny is power-
fully described. In the old picture gallery of her
princely home, at the still hour of twilight, she
wandered striving to draw inspiration to light her
siarkened way from the blazing records of departed
greatness and seeking for strength to conquer her
own feelings and affections in the might and
majesty that crowned the menioly of the heroes of
her line. At last she surmounted the whispered
promptings of her heart, and, with a spirit worthy
of a better cause, she returned to the drawing-
room to drive away the only one she really cared for,
and who would have enabled her to approach nearer
to the standard her high nature was designed to
reach. Pride had its fall in many an after year of
care and heaviness when she found that she
was stationary amid the progress of a rising
race. Philip Warburton had no ancestors to
fall back on for renown; he worked and struggled
till he made for himself a name that should shine in
the future as brightly as Maude Talbot's had glit-
tered in the past. At last they met—he known
and honoured as a celebrated minister, she only
known where her name was execrated by the
people, who despised her. One faint gleam seemed
to steal in on her benighted mind, but she would
not, at the eleventh hour bow her lofty head, or
bend her stubborn will. At parting, one glance or
one word might have changed her course, but, sub-
duing her feelings, she hurried away. A warning
voice was with her which foreboded evil, and she
shuddered at its import. Could the past ever be
recalled, could another opportunity be again
afforded her, but now she must remain in sus-
pense till Philip Warburton's long journey was
over. You must wait, the voice repeated, " till
he return, or till you meet face to face in the land
beyond the flood of Time." The latter awful alter-
native was hers. The voyage she might have pre-
vented proved fatal, and the selfish Maude was
forced to feel, as she perused the details of the
death of him whose life she had so cruelly darkened
and distressed. The picture is vividly given
of the terrible scene in which Philip Warburton
passed away. He was left with a few self-sacrific-
ing spirits on the wreck of the doomed vessel,
while other more fortunate men, hurrying away
to safety in the boats that were there, as they
departed turned to look their last on the devoted
band when the storm completed its work. The
wreck and its occupiers had vanished. "To the
waves of the sea and the winds of heaven, and the
tribunal of the Eternal, they were gone, while the
boat in the dark night kept on its way." After her
recovery from the shock this news occasioned,
Maude Talbot grew yet harder, sterner, and fiercer.
All softness had left her nature, and all gentleness
her heart ; all light had passed from her life, and
all beauty from her prospects. Lettice is a
relief to the wearied attention to turn to,
although she had many trials to endure. Her
manner was so pure and simple, her style so un-
assuming and natural, that everywhere she was a
chosen and favourite one. Besides these sisters in
high place's, there are some others introduced in
the story who are worthy of attention. Nelly and
Jessy Jefferson form good examples of the effects
of a faulty education for the lower classes. The
fate of the pretty little milliner is that of thousands
who, in toilingfor gentility, lose respectability
altogether, and, in trying to be better than theiri
rst
friends can make them, become what their worst
enemies would not have doomed them to be. Some
other persons are well sketched ; for instance
Mi old
riam
Meynell, who meets with a fearful n
Sedley, quiet and unmeaning as her life appeared,
i
was not so in herseif. She s represented as one
of that class whose mission on earth is to
watch and wait, but who, if the work had
been given to them, would have proved noble
and energetic labourers. In her retirement Miriam
formed plans that would have been the making of
one like Maude could she have carried them out.
Maude lived all her days in splendid idleness.
Miriam passed her time in modest and humble toil.
It remained for death to decide which of the two
had done the most and best in life. Such works
as this, which contain principles and demonstrate
passions, are more than the pastime of an idle mo-
ment or the enjoyment of a delighted fancy. They
appeal to the reason and awaken reflection. If
not attaining their aim in some points, they reach
further than might be expected in others ; and
while many may find cause to criticise and censure,
the right-minded will pay homage to their purity
of purpose, and appreciate the powers that raise and
refine the elements of fiction.

Agnes Valmar•. 3 vols. Chapman and Hall.

This work is very peculiar both in plot and style ;
indeed the former is so extraordinary that the
most experienced novel reader might be puzzled at
the end of one chapter to say what would happen
in the next. The heroine is introduced to us at
the unusual age of thirty-two, but a retrospect of
her history is soon given. Having been married
at an unusually early age, she was disappointed in
her expectations, and was glad as an object of in-
terest to take charge of the motherless child of a
friend of her husband. The father dying soon after
made her the only guardian of his son, who was