The Sun.
London, England, 1824-08-11 00:00:00

LITERARY NOTICE.

OUR V11.1,A,G8: Sketches of Rural Character and Scenery.
By Maki' RUSSELL MrrFoan, Author of " Julian," a
Tragedy.
The literary world is well acquainted with
the works of this Lady, and they have raised her
name into a high degree of poetical reputation.
There i 3 a degree of spirit in all her poems, as
welt as a knowledge of mankind, which could
hardly be expected from a lady of retired habits.
her tragedy of Julian displayed great poetical
merit ; but the many poems which she had previ-
ously given to the public did not require the ad•
dition of that drama tit egtablish her fame as one
of the best female writers of the present day.
The work before us takes us completely into the
country. The imagination is fully impressed
with the pastorallife of 1 agiuncl. The descyipA.
dons of the varietf of rural scenvry are accurate:
and vivid, and her delineation of character indi-
cates attentive observation. There is a peculiar
nicety of discrimination in all the personages
which the fair author introduces, and it is really
difficult to conceive how she could have an op-
portunity of so attentively observing the charac-
ters who figure in the scenes which she presents
to us. We should be glad to give her represen-
tation of a Country Cricket Match, if it would
not occupy more space than we can conveniently
allot to it. The scetke is described with a kind
of bustling animation that transports us to the
spot, and makes us easily participate in the ac-
tion. But, independently of the amusement
which this work affords, it is characterized by a
moral charm, and by all the amiable feelings of
refined sensibility. We shall content ourselves
with giving at present one of the portions of the
work, which is intitled Tom CORDERY, as it
affords a fair specimen of the acumen wkh which
the writer studies characters, and of the spirit
with which she describes. them. Upon the whole,
we may fairly recommend this amusing volume
•to the man of taste, as well as to those who wish
to enjoy alew pleasant and diverting rambles
into the country, which they will be sure toenjoy
if they travel to" Oun LLAD e."

• TOM CORDERV.
There are certain things and persons that seem as if they
could never die : things of such vigour and hardiness, that they
seem constituted for an interminable duration, a sort of isnmor-
tality. An old pollard oak of my acquaintance used to give me
this impression. Never was tree so gnarled, so knotted, so full
of crooked life. Garlanded with ivy and vvoodbine, almost
bending under the weight of its own rich leaves and acorns,
tough, vigorous, lusty, concentrating as it were the very spirit
of vitality into its own curtailed proportions,—could that tree
ever die ? I have asked myself twenty times, as I stood look-
ing on the deep water over which tt hung. and in which it
seemed to live again—would that strong dwarf ever fall ? Alas!
the question is answered. \Valking by the spot to-day-7this
very day—there it lay prostrate ; the ivy still clinging about it,
the twigs swelling with sap, and putting forth already the early
buds. There it lay a victim to the taste and skill of some admirer
of British woods, who with the - tact of Up Foscolo (that
prince of amateurs) leas discovered in the knots and gnarls of
the exterior coat the leopard-like beauty which is concealed
within the trunk. There it lies, a type of sylvan instability,
fallen like an emperor. Another piece of strung nature in a
human form used to convey to use exactly the same feeling--
and he is gone too ! Tom Cordery is dead. The bell is tolling.
for him at this very moment. Toni Cordery dead ! the words
seem almost a contradiction. One is tempted to send for the
sexton and the undertaker, to undig the grave, to force open
the coffin-lid—there must be some mistake. But, alas! it is
too true; the typhus fever, that axe which levels the strong as
the weak, has hewed bins down at a blow. Poor Tom Cordery!
This human oak slrew on the wild North-of-Hampshire
IV v a ted
country, of which 1 have before made honourable mention; a
planted,wasntslimrt uncusome
andof the
uncivilised greater ; par oppmr i
country of heath, and hill, and forest, partly reclaimed, in-
ifnorcitlsieetnl
for wild animals of every species. Of these the most notable
was my friend Tom Cordery, who presented in his person no
proper refuge
unfit emblem of the district in which he lived—the gentlest of
savages, the wildest of civilised men. Ile was by calling rat-
catcher, hare-finder, and broom-maker ; a triad of trades which
lie has substituted for the one grand profession of poaching,
which he had followed in his younger days with unrivalled
talent and success, and would, undoubtedly, have pursued till
his death, hail not the bursting of an overloaded gun unluckily
shot off ds left hand. As it was, he still contrived to mingle
a little of his old unlawful occupation with his honest callings;
was a reference of high authority amongst the young aspirants,
an adviser of undoubted honour and secresy—snspected, and
more than suspected, as being one " who, though he played
no more, o'erlooketl ,
the cards: Yet be kept to windward of
the law, and indeed contrived to be on such terms of social and
even friendly intercourse with the guardians of the game on 111.
Commons, as may be said to prevail between reputed thieves
and the myrmidons of justice in the neighbourhood of Bow-
street. Indeed his especial crony, the head-keeper, used some-
times to hint, when Tom, elevated by ale, had provoked him
by overerowing, " dint a stump was no bad shield, and that to
shoot off a hand and a bit of an arm for a blind, would be
nothing to so daring a chap as Tom • Cordery." This conjec-
ture, never broached till the keeper was warm with wrath
and liquor, and Torn fairly out of hearing, always seemed
to me a little super-subtle; but it is certain that 'loin's new
professions did bear rather a suspicious analogy to the old,
and the feriets, and terriers, and mongrels by whom he
was surrounded. " did really look," as the worthy keeper ob-
served, " fitter to find Christian hares and pheasants, than rats
and such vermin." tito in good truth did Tom,himself. Never
did an human being look more like that sort of sportsman com-
monly called a poacher. He was a tall, finely-built man, with
a prodigious stride, that cleared the ground like a horse, and a
power of continuing his slow and steady speed, that seemed
nothing less than miraculous. Neither man, nor horse, nor
dog, could out-tire him. Ile had a bold, undaunted presence,
and- an evident strength and power of bone and muscle. You
might see by looking at him, that he did not know what fear
meant. In his youth he had fought more battles than any man
in the forest, lie was as if born without nerves, totally insen-
sible to the recoils and disgusts of humanity. I have known him
take up a huge adder, cut ()Fits head, and then deposit the liv=
ing and writhing body in his brimless hat, and walking with it
coiling and wreathing about his head, like another %ledusa,
till the sport of the day was over, and he carried it home to se-
cure the tat. NVith all this iron stubbornness of nature, he
was of a most mild and gentle demeanour, had a fine placidity
of countenance, and a quick blue eye beaming with good hu-
mour. His face wits sunburnt into one general pale vermilion
hue that overspread all his fawns ; his very hair was sun-
burnt too. His costume was generally a smock-frock of no
doubtful complexion, dirt-coloured, which hung round him in
tatters like fringe, rather augmenting than diminishing, the
freedom, and, it I may so say, the gallantry of his bearing.
This frock was furnishes! with a huge inside pocket, in which
to deposit the game killed by his patrons—for of his three em-
ploymentsohat which consisted of finding hares for the great
tanners and small gentry, who were wont to course on the
common, was by far the moat profitable and most pleasing to
him, and to them. livery body liked Tom Cordery. Ile had
himself an aptness to like, which is almost certain to be repaid
in kind—the very dogs knew him, and loved him, anti would
beat for him almost as soon as for their -master. Even Nay.
she most sagacious of greyhounds, appreciated Isis talents, and
would almost as soon listen to Tons sohoing as to old Tray
giving tongue.
Nor was hiti ,eonvertation less agreeable to the other part of
the corn_pany. Servants and masters were .equally'desirousto
secure 'rem. Besides Lie general and profetsionalfasoilianty
with beasts and birds, their ways and doings, a knowledge so
Minute and accurate, that it might have put to flame many a

nrofessed.naturalist, he had no small acquaintance with the go-
ings-on of that unfeathered biped called man ; in short, he was,
next after Lucy, who-recognised his rivalry by bating,"deCry:
ing, and undervaluing hint, by far the best news-gatherer of
the country aide. His news he of course picked, up on the ci-
vilised side of the parish, (there is no gossiping in the forest),
is orate t
skill
notinghe vva
partly at that welLfrequented inn the Red Lion, of which Turn
wee t regular
and nOnotedsupparter—partlt amongst his several!employers, and partly by his own sagacity- In the matter of
marriages,n
acewrotanitntpoidaleihlntli; eatry ca
n )i'nhjei reltii
certain for a guesser by profession and a very,bold one, be was
astonishingly often right. At the.alehouse especially, be was
of the first authority: An air of mildiiriportance, a diplomatic
pellet]
chiefly
at:d
d
reserve on some pointa, great smoothness of speech, and that:
gentleness which is so often the result, of GQIISGiQUS power, made
him there An absolute ruler. Perhaps the effect lof these causes
might be -alittle aided'by the latent drdad wioicli that power
insemod in others. Many an exploit had,prosed that Torn (lot,
dery's one arm was fair 4 worth any two on the common. The
pommelling of Bob Arlott, and the levelling, of Jern Serie to
the earth by. one swing of a huge old hart, (whirl: unusuat wea-
port was by. tho. wa ,the ,of Alarfower, write w0..1,
,eitocrie to us hi" leOglitiiibaiirr,liS pocket, when the tot:
lucky rencontre with Jam Scrle."lirpk,:i two beads, , the dead
and the livieige) arguments such as these might have. some co.,
gency.at the nett Lion..
But he managed every body, as your gentle-mannered pees
. son is apt to do. Even the rude 'squires anti rouglefarrners,
his temporary masters, he managed, particularly as far AS eon,
cerned the beat, and was sure to bring theta round to his own
peculiar fancies or prejudiees, however strongly, their own wishes
might turn them aside froni the direction mdicatedind how-,
Toot's
ever often sagacity in that instance migi:t have been
found. at fault. Two spots in the large Wild inclosures into
Which the heath had been divided were his especial favourite
, the Hundred Acres, alias the Poor Allotment, alias the Burnt
Common—(Dk any or all of these titles convey any notion of.
the real destination of that many-named place ? a piece of moor
land portioned out to serve for fuel to the poor of the parish)—
this was one. Oh the barrenness of this miserable moor !
Flat, marshy, dingy, bare. Here that piece °fifteen treachery,
a hog ; there parched, and pared, and shrivelled, and black
with smoke and ashes utterly desolate and wretched every
where, except where amiclat the desolation blossomed, as at
mockery, the enamelled gentianella. No hares ever came
there; they had too much taste. Yet thither would Torn
lead his unwary employers ; thitherto, however warned,
or cautioned, or experience, would he by reasoning or in-
duction, or gentle persuasion, or actual fraud, entice the hapless
gentlemen ; and then to see him with his rabble of finders pac-
ing up and down this precious " sittingground," (for so was
Toni, thriftless liar, wont to call it), pretending to look for
genie, counterfeiting a tueuse; forging a form ; andaelling a
story some ten years old of a famous hare once killed in that
spot by his honour's favourite bitch Marygold. I never could
thoroughly understand whether it were design, a fear that too
many hares might be killed, or a real anti honest mistake, a ge-
nuine prejudice in favour of the place, that influenced Tom Cora
dery in this point. Helf the one, perhaps, and halt' the other.
Allred motives, let Pope and his disciples say what they will,
are by far the commonest in this parts-coloured world. Or he
had shared the fate of greater men, and lied till lie believed—a
coursing Cromwell, beginning in hypocrisy and ending in fa:
natichon. Another pet spot wits the [fellows-piece, an Melo-
sure almost as large as the Hundred Acres, where a gibbet had
once borne the botlies of two murderers, with the chains mind
bones, even in my remembrance, clanking and creaking in the
wind. The gibbet was gone now ; but the name reuutinet:, and
• the feeling, tteep, sad, anti shuddering. The place, too, was,
wild, awful, fearful ; a heathy, furzY spot, sinking into broken
hollows, where murderers might lurk ; a few withered pines at
the upper end, and amongst them, half hidden by the brain -
bles, the stone in which the gallows had been fixed ; the bones
'must have been mouldering beneath. All Tom's eloquence,
seconded by two capital courses, failed to drag me thither a
second time.

Tom was not, however, without that strong sense of natural
beauty which they who live amongst the wildernesses and fast.
nesses of nature so often exhibit. One spot, where the com-
mon trenches on the civilized world, was scarcely less his ad-
miration than mine. It is a high hill, half-covered, with
furze, and heath, and bioont, and sinking abruptly down to a
large pond, almost a lake, covered with wild water fowl. 'rho
ground, richly, clothed with wood, oak, and beech, and elm,
rest-s on the other side with equal abruptitess, as if shutting in
those glassy waters from all but the sky, which shines so brightly
in their clear bosom : just in the bottom peeps a small sheltered
farm,whose wreaths °flight smoke,and the white glancing.wings
of the wild duets, as they flit across the lake,. are all that wive to-
ken of motion or afire. I have stood there in utter oblivion of
greyhoundor of hare, till moments have swelled to minutes,
and minutes to hours ; and so has Tout, conveying, by his ex-
clamations of delight at its "pleasantness," exactly the same
feeling which a poet or a painter (for it breathes the very spirit
of calm and sunshiny beauty that a master-painter loves) would
express by different but not truer praise. lle called his own,
home " pleasant" too; and there, though one loves to hear
any home so called—there, I must confess, that favourite phrase,
which like almost as well as they who have no (Ala, did,
seem rather misapplied. And yet it was finely placed, very,
finely. It stood in a sort of defile, where a road almost perpen-
dicular wound from the top of a steep abrupt hill, crowned with
a tuft of old Scottish firs, into a dingle of fern and wild brush-
wood. A shallow, sullen stream oozed from the bank on one
side, and, after forming a rude channel across the road, sank
into a dark, deep pool, halt' hidden amongst the 'allows. Be-
hind these eallows, in a nook between them arid the hill, rose
the uncouth and shapeless cottage of Tom Cordery. It is a,
scene which hangs upon the eye anti the memory, striking,
grand, almost sublime, and above all eminently foreign.No
English painter would choose such a, subject for an-klnglish
landscape; no one in a picture would take it for English. It
might pass for one of those scenes which have furnished models
to Salvator, Rosa.. Tom's cottage was, however, very thoroughly
national anti characteristic ; a low, ruinous hovel, the door of
which was fastened with a sedulous-attention to security, that
contrasted strangely with the tattered thatch of the roof, and
the half broken windows. No garden, no pigity, no pens for
hgeese, none of the usual signs of cottage habitation ;--yet the
ouse was covered with nondescript dwellings, and the very
walls were animate with their extraordinary tenants ; pheasanta,
partridges, rabbits, tame wild ducks, half tame hares, and their
enemies by nature and education, the ferrets, terriers, and stool-
grels, of whom hie retinue consisted. Great ingenuity hail been
evinced in keeping Separate these jarring elements ; and by
dint of hutches, cages, fenctea.kenntl, and half a dean little
hurdled inclosures resembling the resort of courts which chil-
dren are apt to build round their card:houses, peace was'iu
ye r
,wella a
fneet irra lor t ef
raanbgl
token that it was but a forced and hollow trace. and a; n
tPhrecimrtritYetvlier a lFirnesqt iunecntst areialltisa'rohiotaweed7 gr
such
times
times the clamour was prodigious. Tom hadt/,ereisin,a o remarkable
tenderness for animals when domesticated, width oftevi
found in those whose sole vocation seems .t° he their ilestruc. o
unceoed. barn-
don in the field • and the one long, grow nat
was cumered with bipeds and Onadrureusnetwl _
y caught, the
descriptions—the sick, the delicate, the „I:411,s
wife,
like room, which served for kitchen, luttl;cll,a:molitir,kianndds hull,k,
lying m. In the midst of_ thist
out a
_ani.1..y......mr7 Rat earlieti.tu a
(for he was married, thotagh,thni
shot,
wits minus
an
.um), •now
woman lame, of a leg as he /
tea, now to twofold them. flow
trying to quiet her
saa, : the roof fairly fell. in duriog
Ilairigt
have
in,
no doubt
ttitihaaanielYie ru:wirnolus
el would bare cams:
this
:list:di
s
den of live game, none t
ofcrifice to
last winter, killing, as poor Tom observed,
the deep snowever were kuteried Remotel
e The overseer, to whom he applied to re-instate his
vlitellotvue4dhabitatien, tirealed that the walls would never bear
another roof, and removed him and his wife, as an etareeral
favour, ton tidy, snug, caonfortable room in the workhouee,—
two as fine litters of rabbits as - .
The workhouse ! From that hour poor Toni visiblreltered,—
lle lost his hilarita, and independence. It was a atulaget,uo
as he had himself often inflicted, a complete change of 'habits,
a transition from the wild to the tame. No labour.wes de-
manded of him ; he went about as before, finding hares, kill-
ing rats, selling brooms, but the spirit of the man was departed.
Ile talked of the quiet of his old abode, and the noise of the .
new complained of children and other bad company ; aria
of all did he, braced into a gipsey-like defiance of wet,ala4
looked clown on his neighbours with the sort of contempt with
which a cock pheasant might regard a barn door fowl. ;Most.
grumble at the warmth and dryness of his apartment. Ile used
to foretell that it would kill bim, and assuredly it did 50......
Never could the typhorafever have found out that wild hill side,.
cold,
or have 'lurked under that broken roof. The free touch of the
air would have chased the daemon. Alas, poor Torn ! warmth,
and snugness,
ing, were the death of him. Alas, poor Tom !
and comfort, whole windows, and an entire eta