The Sun.
London, England, 1849-10-23 00:00:00

THE

LITERATURE.
THE OGILVIE'S, A Nord. 3 Vols.
Witheut the theme of lose to employ his pen the
occupation of the novelitt would be gone; at least so
we may reasonably surmise from the prevalence of
this atteeetive topic in works of fiction. We cannot
glance over the slightest icuilleton sketch, or open the
pages of the most imposing many- tamed novel svithcut
meeting with a continuation of the never-ending cata-
logue of the hopes and fears, the pains, pleasures,
and perplexities of the multifarious master passion.
Doubtless this subject finds so many writers, because
it naturally interests the multitude of readers, and,
even while we condemn the exaggerated and unreal
ideas of life which many of these fictitious love stories
impress upon youthful minds, let us not be ungrateful
for the good services rendered by this species of lite-
rature. This fascinating branch of fiction, appealing,
as it does, to some of the noblest and holiest
impulses of human nature, and setting before us, as
it does, in a most attractic e guise, the sublime charities
of social life, sympathy, louse suffering, forbearance,
devotion the most pure, self-abnegation the most
entire, and innumerable other virtues, which together
constitute the one glorious unit—love—this branch
of fiction, with all its faults, exercises a healthful
influence over the public mind. As the institutions
of chivalry were to a barbaric age, as the lore of
fairy-land is to the dawning intelligence of childhood,
so is romantic literature to the daily denizens of a
selfish world. It reveals to us a glimpse of ideal ex-
cellence, and tends to elevate us from what we are to
what we should be. If this be the high mission of
the fiction writer, what theme can be better adapted
to his purpose than that love which has been, appa-
rently, expressly ordained to purify, to polish, and to
perfect human nature. however differently some
novelists may represent it, such is, and ever has
been, the true nature and property of love;
and so those writers who have rightly considered it
have concurred in describing it. Thus Emerson
writes in his admirable " Essay on Love"—" At last
they discover that all which at first drew them to-
gether—those once sacred features, that magical play
of charms—was deciduous, had a prospective end,
like the scaffolding by which the house was built;
and the purification of the intellect and the heart,
from year to year, is the real marriage, foreseen and
prepared from the first, and wholly above their con-
sciousness." Of a similar spirit, but more beautifully
expressed, is Tennyson's definition of the beneficial
influence of love in the mutual improvement of man
and woman, each becoming imbued with the good
qualities of the other—
" More as the double-natured poet, each:
Till at the last she set herself to man,
Like perfect music unto noble words."
And in the same spirit, again, Longfellow has ex-
claimed—.
"Speak not of wasted affection : affection never was wasted."
So indeed the majority of love stories teach us. Un-
requited, or otherwise unhappy and apparently most
profitless, affection is there shown to be frequently
the most efficacious in fulfilling its mission,
namely, the amelioration of the heart in
which it exists. Such, however, is not the cha-
racter of the love which holds a conspicuous
place in the novel now under our consideration.
Although "The Ogilvies" contains many other
necessary elements of a good novel, such as various
and well-sketched characters, an animated and
agreeable style, and an interesting arrangement of
incidents, &c., it is so essentially a love story, that in
that peculiar phase we are disposed more especially
to regard it. It portrays the reverse of the picture
to which we have been alluding. It does not exhibit
the happy influence of all true love, even when its
course runs the least smooth, but it enforces with
powerful efficacyn the fatal influences of excessive,
ungoverned, and not unselfish passion. The chief
interest and effect of the narrative—and an enthralling
interest and a most powerful effect they are—are con-
centrated upon one point, namely, the successive
influences of passion, disappointment, and despair
upon a young, undisciplined, and most impetuous heart.
The narrative is invaluable for the warning lesson
which it holds forth to many, for, in the earlier stages
of her history, Katharine Ogilvie is the type of
thousands. At the commencement of the first volume
we find her, a young girl of sixteen, endowed with
great, but as yet undeveloped capacities of heart and
intellect. Although brought up in the bosom of her
family she is unacquainted with that sweet companion-
ship which is irrespective of ties of blood, and wholly
dependent on sympathy. In this isolated position
she unconsciously yearns to pour out the pent-up
treasure of her affection. Who Mr. Paul Lynedon
is ; how in a fond delusion she believes him to be a
realisation of her ideal; how she elevates him into
an object of almost idolatrous worship, and how,
moreover, from many misapprehended incidents, she
entertains the mistaken impression that she is the
object of his regard, we leave the reader to discover
in the pages of " The Ogilvies." So far the character
and conduct of Katharine is described with a most ex-
quisite simplicity and naturalness. We do not wish
to reveal all the mysteries of the plot, yet we
cannot indicate as we would desire, the
nature of the work and the terrible lesson
it teaches of the ill-effects of ungoverned passions,
without following the narrative a little further.
Katharine's bright delusion exists during three years,
which Paul Lynedon passes abroad, and during
which she is gradually transformed from a child to a
woman. All this time her idolatrous passion, so
madly conceived, and so blindly indulged in, grows
with her growth. Her one thought has been to
make herself worthy, as far as outward perfections go,
of her absent lover. She is ardently looking forward
to his return, when one light breath destroys the
complicated fabric, one touch bursts the bubble of her
illusion. She hears that Paul Lynedon is to be
united to another. The sudden transformation of the
gentle, loving girl, the affectionate daughter, and
amiable companion, into a stern, imperious, and
unloving woman is absolutely startling. After hear-
ing the terrible news Katharine retires to her
chamber, and her conflicting emotions are thus de•
scribed :
" 0 ye cold clear winter stars, look down pityingly on
that solitary chamber where was poured out the anguish
of first passionate love! Erring it might be—hopeless,
visionary, oven unmaidenly—but it was pure, nursed in
solitude, and hidden from all human ayes. With strength
such as woman only knows, Katharine for hours had
sung, talked, and sat in silence; but when she was alone
the terrible cry of her despair burst forth.
"It was indeed despair; not pining, girlish, sorrow.
She neither fainted nor wept; but she crouched on the
floor, swaying to and fro, her smallhandsitightly clenched,
her whole frame convulsed with a choking agony.
" 0 Godl-0 God I—let me die!'—rose up the al-
most impious cry of the stricken heart that in happiness
had rarely known either thanksgiving or prayer—
while moan after moan broke the night stillness. She
breathed no word—not even his name. All that she
felt then was a longing for silence—darkness--death.
" But this stupor did not last. Her burning, tearless
eyes, wandering round the room, fell first on the flowers
she wore—his favourites—then on a book he had given
her—alas! her whole daily life was full of mementos of
him. At once the flood of anguish burst forth unre-
ef-rained.

" Oh, Paul, Paul, must I think of you no more?—is
the old Limo gone for ever? A life without you, a future
wherein the past must be forgotten-,-all is darkness—
darkness! 0 God, that I could die!'
" And then, like a lightning-flash, came the thought,
that even that old time over which she mourned had
been only a self-leguiling dream. lie had never loved
her, not even then; but he had made her believe so.
That moment a new storm of passion arose in her
hc:art.

" He deceived me; he deceived me even then! I in
my madness have given him all—Tife, hope, youth; and
he has given me—nothing! Paul! Paul Lyncelon I'
(and riiing up she stood erect—prido, indignation, scorn,
on eye, lip, and lofty stature), ' how dared you utter your
false words to me when another was in your heart( How
dared you call me "dear Katharine," when you loved not
mo, but her? And now you will go and jest with her
over the poor foolish girl NV ho trembled and blushed in
your sight, who• had given you her whole heart's love,
and would have died for yours!'
" Katharine paced the chambei, her step quick and
wrathful, her face burning with shame. Then she
stopped hefore the mirror, and surveyed herself from
head to foot, regarding
had so gloried for hia sake.
intently the beauty in which she

Ile shall never say that I pined for him in unre-
quited love—l, Katharine Ogilvie, whom the world calls
lair, who might have been admired, loved—aye, wor-
shipped. But 1 gave all up for him.' And her memory
pictured the face of Hugh, as when he last bade her
good-bye, pale, sad, with Liars in the kind eyes that had
watched over her for so many years. His love, if rude,
was deep and sincere, and hardly merited a rejection so
cold alai scornful as she had lately given. Then in her
heart daa lied a purpose, sprung from the passion which
for the time had almost changed to hate, and now warped
every feeling of her impulsive nature. It was a purpose
crow a hich every woman who loves with a calm, pure
however hopeless, would turn shuddering aside,
,ig how great was the sin.
You shall never triumph over me—you,- Paul, and
;hat wive of yours! you shall never laugh together at
the girl who broke her heart for love. No; I will live--
live to make the world know, and you know, what I am!
Yes, you shall hear of me—my beauty, and my talents!'.
And a strange bitter laugh of self-derision broke from
those white lips, over which, a few hours before, had
dimpltd the sweet, happy girlish smile. But that never
came again—no, never more."
Terrible, indeed, is this sad picture of ungoverned
passion. Strong in her resolution, Katharine gives
her hand to her good-hearted cousin Hugh, whose
life i 3 thenceforth embittered by her imperious cold-
ness and tyrannical domination. Paul Lynedon
returns unmarried, and his fickle heart is at last cap-
tivated by the now magnificent Katharine. But to
him also the revengeful woman is now cold and im-
perious in her demeanour. We will not reveal the
story further. The catastrophe is a fitting conclusion
to the lesson it conveys. The character of Katharine
is powerfully drawn, perhaps a little overdrawn in
some instances. Paul Lynedon also is a well• described
example of great talents squandered for mean pur-
poses. The story of Philip Wyohuor and Eleanor