The Sun.
London, England, 1846-12-25 00:00:00

LITERATURE.

JANUARY EVE.

123

A Tale of the limes. Br/ George
..come, B. A. _ _

The names of the three chapters of this little
volume would lead us to suppose that, like the gene-
rality of Christmas tales, it has some dealings with
the supernatural.. However, on perusal, we find it
no fairy legend, but an only too probable " Tale of
the Times," yet the author assures us it has no poli-
tical tendenc;-, his object he tells us is " moral and
not political—to show that while class is perpetually
crying out against class, the fault all the while is in
human nature; or rather, in that misdirected educa-
tion of the g nerd mind, which cramps its best
powers, and darkens it with prejudices." The object
is certainly most commendable, and is, to a certain
extent, w -11 cap ried out. The first chapter, "It
strikes twelve," discovers a party of villagers cele-
brating New Year's Eve in the parlour of the Black
Lion. These individuals in their own opinion were
" a set of the most ill-used, miserable rascals possible.
The word rascal, be it observed, had no reference
whatever to any self-depreciation of their own moral,
or other qualities, but to the way in which they were
used by the rich and powerful, those insatiable tyrants
of the land, who by some odd jugglery had got pos-
sission of every thing, fed high, and slept soft, while
the rest of the world were working for them. A
pleasant set of fellows were these liberals." This
chapter is by far the best in the book, the
whole scene is very forcibly, and, alas, naturally'
pourtrayed. Led on by Tom, the poacher, the com-
pany indulge in much abuse of their " betters," and
in an enumeration of their own grievances. After
contrasting the good things in the squire's hall with
their own humble fare, " sitting in a hole, drinking
muddy ale" (to which comparisft, however, the land-
lord strongly objects), Tom indignantly asserts that
he and his companions have the best right to all the
good things, " we it is who make every thing and do
every thing. It would be long enough before any or
them ploughed the land.", " If we did not work for
them," he continues, " the lazy hounds would starve."
" And why do we work for them ?" asks another;
" that's what always puzzles me." " Because we
can't help ourselves. Because they are tyrants, and
we are slaves," &c., &c. The next chapter " the
metamorphosis," shows Tom i❑ a totally different cha-
racter ; by an unexpected inheritance he is himsell
become a squire—he is himself one of the " tyrants,'
and one not only in name and station, but in heart
and conduct—the metamorphosis is complete. Now,
if the object of this tale be simply a moral one—if it
be merely intended to show how virtue and vice, hap.
piness and discontent, are " fixed to no spot," and
Confined to no class or community, it is well enough ;
it is a good idea well illustrated. But if written
with any political object—however, the author
denies all such intention—so we will not allude
to it, yet, in any case, we should have
welcomed a companion picture to Tom's meta-
morphosis. Let us agree that " patriots " and
" republicans" would, t.)o many of them, become, in
like situations, the very characters they denounce.
Let us agree that complaining tenants and fault-
finding poachers would, if raised to the squirearchy
themselves, be the sternest and strictest of landlords

62%

'2

64
10%

-
61/2

341/1

514

and game-preservers. But, en revanche, let us also
belie•re that this whole "Tale of the Times" might be
carried out in a very different manner. Turning
from the grumblers in the ale-house, let us join the
group gatherei round the Squire's board; let us listen
to their complaints, to their abuse of poachers and
idle vagabonds, &c., and then let us take the loudest
complainer of the whole and place him in the situa-
tion of the wretched man he contemns—let him learn

the cruel sufferings of poverty ; above all, let him
feel the bitter sense of humiliation, let him know
that he is despised and looked down upon, and let
him believe that he is wronged, and then—and then,
may we ask—will the censorious, that strictly vir-
tuous man, be only a poacher, or only an idle vaga-
bond ? The answer is obvious. And we must con-

elude, with the author of this little volume, " while
class is perpetually crying out against class, the fault
is all the while in human nature," or rather, as he
adds, in misdirected education. Perhaps when this
truth is generally admitted, when the evil is fully
acknowledged, a remedy will be sought for; in the
meantime, we gladly welcome all things which tend
to propagate this very desirable belief, and among
others the little volume before us (thlugh we cannot
hut think it to be somewhat one-sided). There is, of
course, a little story connected with the incidents we
have alluded to, some parts of which are improbable,
but the whole is sufficiently interesting, and is told in
an interesting manner.

DANIEL DENNISON AA'D THE CUMBER-
LAND STATESMAN. By the late Mrs. Hyland.
3 vols.

In pronouncing judgment upon any work, the
critic has a duty to perform, not only towards the
public, by satisfying them as to the merits of any
new claimant upon their favour, but towards the
,luthor. It is his pleasing or painful office by hearty
eulogium or kindly reproof, to bestow commendation
or censure upon the present effort, and afford encou-
ragement or warning for the future. But such a
task is dispensed with in the present instance, those
four letters on the title-page—" by the lute Mrs.
Hofland"—precludes all criticism, our comment shall
consequently be very brief. These volumes, being
her latest work, will doubtless be valuable to Mrs.
Hofland's admirers ; they are certainly more valu-
able on that account, being as it were a parting
legacy, than from their intrinsic merits. The
authoress was justly celebrated by her writings for
the young, and the attention to minor details and the
extreme simplicity, so attractive in juvenile works,
are prominent features in her later and more ornate
compositions. This is, especially, the case in the first
of the tales contained in the volumes before us.
Daniel Dennison, the autobiography of a country
apothecary, which is rather a narrative than a novel,
but, perhaps, that is rather an advantage for a
biography a simple relation of supposed facts. The
second story is greatly the superior ; there is more in-
terest in the plot, and it contains some very graphic
sketches of the men and manners of the north Os
England, in all their simplicity and kindhearted-
ness rendered more striking by a few scenes of Lon-
don life, in which such qualities are strangely deficient. li

THE GOOD GENIUS THAT TURNED
EVERYTHING INTO GOLD. A Christmas
Fairy Tale. By the Brothers Mayhew.

The Ettrick Shepherd used to say that whoever
disliked children was cursed with a bad heart.
If the aphorism had embraced fairy tales
as well as children, it would have been
much " nearer the mark." We remember
in his immortal Carol, that Dickens exclaims, " It is
well to be a child sometimes!" And so it is. The
authors of the present little offering are convinced of thit
noble truth, they are conscious that, on the average.
" men are but children of a larger growth;" they
know well enough the fascination which the superna
tural always possesses over the minds of the multi-
tude, and they dream day-dreams, and write allegories
accordingly. Since the " Rape of the Lock ' was
first published, no more fanciful or more aerial sprite
has been imagined than the little gossamer of a fairy,
hight "the Queen Bee," in this Christmas story. A
bee she is, notwithstanding her voice ; and a lady-fay
he is notwithstanding her propinquity to the
workers of the honey comb. Wonderful is
the preservation of the incongruous identity and
it dividuality of this fanciful being by the pencil of
the peerless Cruikshank ! Indeed the etchings scat-
tered through this
is vollnumeneebayftohraetstairs sev
trisetalriengin
ittheeeiiti
way masterptee
or decorating o
into a fleet, a strayrie of the yards with an unusual hough still clinging to a bowsprit.
cover-
ing of leaves. In another a rock is being transformed
sculptured architraves appeared on
ed precipices, the fragments of a
on the half-formed roof, columns
and arches
forest still grodan
a
raghoqued design bursting out of the
shapeless granite.
into a
an
In another a magnificent viaduct has
the
hriepkal eafcersugng
a tunnel has just scooped'
through a mountain,
just spanned a valley,
and a monster dragon—in
truth a steam-engine and a
railway train—is just
rushing into the foreground. And in all, the quaint
atid antic form of the Queen Bee
vith her full-blown
_like a dainty " lady-bird"---N_id
sir.
is visible, hovering
i The ed-.:,-
garment and gossamer wings in '
immeasurably the most
hellishments indeed are
valuable and graceful portions 0
hem than they of
letter-press is rather illustrative of t
• s of splendid
the letter press. They are „west ion
s • even the
f the book • the
reveries to the most matured imagineion ,
wood-cuts afford food for contem from
the one representing the Good Genius, as s
first appeared on the stump of an oak tree, to the one
pourtraying the fountain of gold "- glittering in the_
light like a liquid sunbeam, and dropping pieces of
money that tinkled against each other as they fell:'
plation,
he
The story of itself inculcates a noble moral, namely,
that the good genius that turns everything
into gold,
is none other than patient industry ; nevertheless it
is written so much in the words-of-one-syllable style,
"as to become absolutely nauseous to a lover of our
master writers. It reminds one of tl te musical adver-
tisement, which must be familiar to everybody,
" Pretty Little Changes for Pretty Little Fingers.'
Messrs. Henry and Augustus Mayh, aw have composed
just such another piece in a literary w ay:—Pretty Little
Chapters for Pretty Little Readers. There is a wisdom
in the book, we must admit, but it i:3 diluted down by
the verriest prattle ; it is a mere s poonful of brandy
in a hogshead of plum porridge. For the pantotni-
mests this little story-book will be a ;vade mecum.

IRISH DIAMONDS By John Smith.,
A capital addition to the immortal work of Joseph
Miller is this little volume, grotesquely entitled
" Irish Diamonds," and most graysqu •ely illustrated
by " Phiz." Mr. Smith has endeavoured to explain
a certain theory of Irish wit and blunders, which
he concocted many years ago. We have ex-
amined that theory, and regard it as somewhat