The Sun.
London, England, 1853-04-04 00:00:00

LITERATURE.

The Lonywoods of the Grange. By the Author
of " Adelaide Lindsay." 3 vols. Hurst and
Blackett.

This is a very interesting novel—not perhaps so
pleasing as the former works by the same author,
but more powerfully written. It is told by an old
relation of the family in her diary: she is the sister
of the heroine of the novel. The once famous race
of the Longwoods fell into decadence, and were
obliged to part with their ancestral hall, their
family plate, their luxuries, and grandeurs, to re-
tire to a simple dwelling called the Grange. The
elder brother, Philip, was a wretched head of a
fallen house—indolent and ignorant, he was obsti-
nate and self-satisfied. Glad to retaliate on his
sister and aunt, he married a perfect tyrant.
Esther was the plague of the house ; she ruined all
the comfort of the ladies, and left the young
brother to commit all sorts of follies, under the
pretext of being independent. It would be out of
place and unjust to the author to tell the subse-
quent events here. Suffice it to say that a new
character appeared, who superseded even Esther
in being a torment—Mortlake, the son and heir of
the Nabob who had purchased the old hall. He
contrived to exercise great power over the whole
family, and ill did he wield his sceptre. Two im-
portant errors in conduct are well described in this
work, and the glaring evils they cause in the social
sphere are ably shown forth. Parents have no
right on their death beds to sacrifice one child
to another. Far wiser and more Christian-like
would it be to commend all alike to the care of the
only One mighty to save, than to endeavour to
shield their loved object from the storms of fate,
by exposing those they do not so much affect.
A still more egregious fault is that of marrying
for expediency, which never can be justified byany
.combination of circumstances. It is well exposed
here. To what afflicting horrors did Edith's fatal
decision
worstgitvhre reia'stee,nteedn teauvileshmadore
f
the g
is thanfo
ri
occurred.aallin
Misfor-
tunes self-created are the hardest to bear, and the
longest to surmount. When
people take their fate
into their own hands, they must not expect relief
or rescue. It is true that such did happily occur
in this case ; but the probabilities in real life are,
it is to be feared, few and far between. Aunt
Dorothy is the best character in the story, and true
to life. In her veneration for her ancient and ho-
nourable family, her punctiliousness concerning re-
quisite decorum and exactitude in the members of
the household, she appears a model of the 4‘ days
that are o'er."

Bleak House. No. XIV. By Charles Dickens.
A wonderful incident is recounted in the new
instalment of Bleak House—and one that cannot but
startle even the most far-seeing reader into astonish-
ment. Excellent Mr. Jarndyce—John Jarndyce
of Bleak House—the Jarndyce in the great cause
of Jarndyce and Jarndyce—proposes for the hand
and heart of Esther Summerson That is extraordi-
nary enough, but even that is not the most marvel-
lous part of the incident—for his offer is accepted 1
Yes—in spite of the flowers left at poor Miss Flite's,
the flowers presented by Caddy Jellyby, now Tur-
veydrop, the flowers that Ada Clare thought "very
like that sort of thing," in spite of those flowers
hoarded up so tenderly even when they were
withered, in spite of them and of their donor Allan
Woodcourt. Yes--John Jarndyce is accepted by
Esther Surnmerson. But will - they ever be mar-
ried ? Within half-a-dozen numbers we shall know,
for by that time the whole narrative will be com-
pleted. In a worldly sense, Mr. Jarudyce's offer
is, everything considered, to say the least of it,
magnanirnous. The very heart's blood of his chosen
is tainted by illegitimacy (but that is not her fault),
she is penniless (but that is nothing), she is dis-
figured for life by a terrible malady (but that is a
great deal), rendered almost repulsive in appear-
ance, if we may judge of the effect produced by the
change upon Mr. William Guppy of Pentonville.
Nevertheless, in an un-worldly sense all these things
are more than counterpoised by her goodness. It
is a fault perhaps in the autobiographic interpola-
tions that we learn nothing at all of this same
goodness except directly through Esther Summer-
sou herself—her own descriptions informing us
pretty plainly how very loveable, and amiable, and
winning her temperament really is. Sometimes
even we cannot help thinking that the heroine is
just a trifle too childlike in her simplicity of tem-
perament—reasoning with herself, outloud, by name
—and talking to her shadow in the looking-glass as
if she were a doll. However, notwithstanding all
this, Esther is loveable, and Mr. Jarndyce is a
noble fellow to the core—and so we look forward
to the result of these occurrences with interest—in
the very teeth of our amazement. Besides the fore-
going, other incidents really surpriSing of their
kind are recorded in the four chapters of
ZLv v.u.vuG instalment. ile vooupaanta of
Bleak House receive a polite and ceremonious
visit one day from the haughty Sir Leicester
Dedlock ! And Mr. Allan Woodcourt returns from
abroad in an Indiaman that puts in at Deal at the
very time when Esther, attended by Charley, has
gone down there to advise with Rick, who, by the
way, is fast going to the dogs after selling his com-
mission ! And Jo turns up again among the squalid
miseries of Tom-all-Alone's ! And from all we can
make out from his rather dim confession, this same
poor. Jo was led to his sudden and mysterious disap-
pearance that night when Bleak House afforded
him shelter, by a spectral warning—" Hook it '
he ses. You hook it. You go and tramp,' he sea.
Don't let me ever see you nowheres within forty
miles of London, or you'll repent it " from
Bucket, most dread and übiquitous of Detectives.
And so poor Jo is being " a chivied and a chivied"
—" fust by one on you, and nixt by another on
you "—till he's almost " worritted to skins and
bones." Tom-all-Alone's is admirably described
in the closing chapter of the number which is adorned
by a clever etching of it by Phiz—in the same
novel way in which he has already depicted the
" Long Drawing Room " and the " Ghost's Walk "
at Chesney `'Vold in Leicestershire. The principal
feature of the number, however, is the ever delectable
Harold Skimpole—the Child—whose family are all
children of whom he himself is the youngest. Ws
find him at home in his lodgings in Somer's Town,
in the Polygon. It is noon, and he is reclining ix
his dressing-gown, on the sofa, taking breakfast—
a plate of hot-house grapes, and another plate of
hot-house nectarines, and a plate of sponge cakes,
and coffee in china, and a bottle of claret. Mr.
Jarndyce praises the grapes, and supposes they were
a present. " No," says Skimpole, " No. Some
amiable gardener sells them. His man wanted to
know when he brought them last evening whether
he should wait for the money. Really, my
friend,' I said, I think not—if your time is of any
value to you.' I suppose it was, for lie went
away." We are introduced _to his wife, once a
beauty, now " a delicate high-nosed invalid," to
Arethusa, his Beauty daughter • to Laura, his Sen-
timent daughter ; and to daughter;
his Comedy
daughter. His story about the two arm chairs,
borrowed from a neighbour, and worn out, is de-
lightful, and quite delicious his remonstrance with
that neighbour (who is a baker, and angry at the
destruction of his property)—" We are all children
of one great mother, Nature. On this blooming
summer morning, hero you see me with flowers
before me, with ruit upon the table, the cloudless
sky above sue, the air full of fragrance, contemplat-
ing Nature. I entreat you by our common brother-
hood, not to interpose between me and a subject so
sublime, the absurd figure of an angry baker ! "
Altogether, Harold Skimpole is the best character
in the work—a creation—an oriainal. The good
angel of the story, in regard to the brickmaker's
wife, and Jo, and Tom-all-Alone's, and even W 3
expectto b
i ne
Allanref Woodcourt.erencetoßick will undoubtedly turn

is weeHeni tole
has draw
f
evidently
his firanin
Bits of Turf. By Priam. "
appeared
aTiinmeths:
ROacflitc.neg.
a
A comical little work under this title—consisting
withinidnn;eeplaeensrttufiwl
urdesapeynalseetbEetv.l
of sketches which originally
published.
Thefb
me fuocuhn
Tines—has
ly a droll fellow enough—andthanfuno?basnerci-
gs
arennornome
thtleielelsisfetruand e
and
to t&tehe life,reality
(certainly they are none the less humorous) because
they occasionally
run into the extravagance of cari-
cature. In sporting •
regions he seems to be übiqui-
tous. He is on " The Racecourse
at cockcrow."
Re is in the thick of the " Races." He penetrates
into the " Training Stables," and lets us into
almost as many secrets about these same equine
sanctuaries as the Princess told tales to the Com-
mander of the Faithful—one thousand and one.
He tells us " a thing or two" (worth knowing)
about the " Betting List"—and we say this having
a wholesome fear before our eyes of George Cruik-
shank. He conducts his reader to the " Sporting
Bar Parlour," and affords him a delectable glimpse
of " The Settling." He is equally at home at
" Newmarket " and at " Tattersall's." Then he
enlivens the less imaginative portions of his narra-
tive with two laughter-moving incidents—one re-
counting to us the history of " The First Bet,"
being an occurrence in the life of Mr. Wriggle
Snake—and another acquainting us with " How
Mr. Wigsby Botham sweated the Favourite." The
volume will be welcome to all admirers of the Turf
and all lovers of the humorous.

SAFETY OF MAzziNi.- —We learn from good authority
that not only was Mazzini in safety, at the date of the
latest advices from Italy, notwithstanding all the vigi-
lance of the Austrian police, but that he might be ex-
pected in England in about afortnight. —Morning Ad.
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