The Sun.
London, England, 1846-12-19 00:00:00

LITERATURE.

PARTNERS FOR LIFE. A Christmas Story. By
Camilla Toulmin

This is another Christmas story—another of those
little volumes remarkable for their elegant appear-
ance and graceful illustrations, but, above all, for the
good moral which it is their high privilege to. incul-
cate,,h and the kind and Christian sympathies with
which they are suffused. In these elsential
qualities, Miss Toulmin's book is certainly. not.ts
deficient. It bears a good recommendationon
face; the binding is splendid, and the
.r
illustra-
tions, by John Absolon, are many of them se j
graceful. The most beautiful of these. designs—
rendered. more beautiful by the idea which
.it sym-
bolises—represents the 4ngel of Life chasing the.
Shadow of Death from an infant's
.couch, while
a woman kneels in weeping. gratitude by the
rescued child. The tale itself is purely domestic,
but it is not the less interesting on that
account. Unlike its competitors, this Christmas
story contains nothing supernatural ; its heroes
are only assisted by " the generous intentions and
deep sympathies, which, moving in the hearts of their
friends, are busy for them, like the good genii of a
fairy tale." The story is interesting, and is told
in an interesting manner, and it certainly
tends to stimulate kindly sentiments, yet we have
some doubts as to its beneficial tendency. Although
Miss Toulmin's object is, apparently, to prove that
" fathers and children, and brothers and sisters, so to
speak, are partners for life—this is nature's deed,
signed and sealed from the beginning ;" and although
the Christmas meeting at the conclusion represents
the happiness of an united family, we hardly think
the general bearing of the whole tale happily
calculated to illustrate her idea. The story turns
upon the different fortunes of two brothers, sons of a
very " great man," whose mental grandeur " was de-
rived from two sources—pride of birth and pride of
wealth. Like two streams meeting and crossing,
they hedged him round on every side, perpetually
threatening to swamp those better sympathies which
still did occasionally stretch beyond this chilly bar-
rier." The eldest son, in opposition to his father's
wishes, married a governess, and was, in con-
sequence, utterly disowned. This. misfortune being,
however, somewhat compensated by the happiness
which he found in his new home, while his brother,
sacrificing his affections in obedience to his father's
commands, sought forgetfulness at the gaming-table.
This is how matters stand at the commencement of
the book. We will not spoil the interest
by further details ; suffice it that all ends
as all Christmas tales are bound to do.
in social harmony and the triumph of kind and ge-
nerous sympathies. The characters are well drawn,
and their various peculiarities nicely discriminated.
First and foremost, of course, is Mr. Hamilton
Howard Hamilton, the " great man, literally and
figuratively," and head partner of the great firm of
Hamilton and Co., and then there is the
6` Co.", Mr. Jeremiah Merrythorpe, a most
interesting individual, whose heart " seamed
to pervade his whole being." This Mr. Merrythorpe,
whose character is the very opposite to that of his
partner, is of humble origin. " There was a family
tradition about a grandfather, but beyond him even
the oracle of rumour was silent," a circumstance
which gives some concern to his aristocratic
partner, who feeling great interest in him, tries
to believe that he is, nevertheless, descended from
a good family, because he has none of the bad quali-
ties which seem to' him characteristics of the
plebeian ; " though really I must own," he observes,
" the world is so changed ; education, popular lec-
tures, and cheap literature have worked such marvels,
that a gentleman needs to carry his pedigree about
with him now-a-days, if he wishes to be dis-
tinguished from the here," Such observations are
hardly required to assure Miss Toulmin's readers
how much she sympathises with the levelling spirit
of the age. It is hardly necessary to particularise the
various portions of such a little volume—one simile
struck us as somewhat pleasing, where, alluding to the
memory of some long-past sorrow, she speaks of
the gentle and kindly effects of time, which "shows
the past by a softened light—even as, touched by the
silvery moonbeams, ruins are beautiful." The scene
in which the gambler confesses his errors to his
father, is very forcibly written ; and the various
emotions of the stern proud father, strug,gling, nut
quite successfully, with the promptings of his better
nature, are all very naturally described. The picture
of the humble home of the exiled son is full of inte-
rest ; and the character of his wife, minutely drawn,
To perfect and yet so natural, is worthy of general
imitation. We are always glad to meet with such
homely sketches, and such pleasing and imitable in-
dividuals; not only do they render a work more
interesting during perusal, but they are calculated to
leave a good impression upon its readers—it is far
easier to teach by exa:nple than by precept. These,
and many other good qualities, are possessed by Miss
Toulmin's little book : our only objection to it is,
that, to our thinking, it seems to show how much
happier ars? those who act in opposition to parental
commands. We are not for a moment disposed to
contradict the universal theory of all rornancists,
ancient and modern, in prose and verse, which has,
we believe, been agreed to nemine contradicentc
namely, that in forming the indissoluble partner-
ship, love is everything, and parental authority
nothing. Yet however correct the theory, it may be
somewhat modified in practice. it is possible in most
cases, by time and care and a thousand nameless inci-
dents, to effect a compremiee:and avoid both unfortu-
nate extr(ines, neither sacrificing the hearts best
affections nor destroying the tender relations of parent
and child. Consequently we are not, in this respect,
quite pleased with this otherwise pleasing volume.
ilt s true, there may be such men us Mr. Hamilton,
and some children may be justified in their disobe-
dience, but such cases are rather exceptions to the
general rule, it is, therefore, as illustrating such an
exception that we must be satisfied with their Christ-
mas tale, and we are satisfied with it the more readily,
because it merits such an appellation by showing how
kind and generous feelings ultimately subdue selfish-
ness and pride, and because it closes with the truly
Christmas celebration of a Christmas day—the for-
, giveness of wrongs and the union of the long-
estranged.

PICTURES OF COUNTRY LIFE, AND SUM-
MER RAMBLES IN GREEN AND SHADY
PLACES. 11y Thomas Maki..
• All admirers of the stage must have often felt, that
the great attraction of any performance lies not so
much in the merits of the play, as of the actors. How-
ever much we may admire or applaud the fine
language or the noble sentiments in any case, yet,
very different is their effect coming from different
speakers. The dullest drama, the most common-place
dialogue, is invested with interest when the actor not
only speaks, but feels what he says ; when, instead of
acting his part, he really becomes for the time the
individual he is supposed to personify. And so it is
all the world over; a good earnest purpose and real
feeling are worth inure than any fine speaking, or
plausible rhetoric, or hypocritical eloquence (if there
can be such a thing). ✓in few things is this more ap-
parent than in literature, half the value of a book
consists in the style of its author. It matters not
what it may be, prose or verse, gay or grave, politics,
love, learning; it signifies little, so it be written
con amore. If the author feels what he write, we must
perforce feel what we read. No author was perhaps
ever more enthusiastic on any subject, more imbued
with its spirit, or impressed with admiration for its
beauties, than is Thomas Miller when he writes about
the country. His "pictures of country life" arc not
only faithful delineations of rural scenes; the
very glow of the sunshine seems to pervade them.
Full of reverence for Nature, under all her varying
forms; full of appreciation for the beautiful:; full of en-
thusiasm and admiration for a thousand rustic trifles,
he wanders through the groves and glades of merrie
England, luring us on, delighted companions of his
way. One very strange feature in this book is the
close union of contending principles ; with all his ve-
neration for the poetry of old customs, is mingled a
strong predilection for new reforms. Filled with
anger at the thoughts of the Enclosure Bill—filled
with sorrow lest any rude hand should molest his
beloved country scenes, he yet can rejoice, and
heartily, over the great improvements of modern
times. For instance—" Look at that board—why
this very woodland is to ba let on building leases !
Heaven only knows where unborn generations will
have to go, in the course of time, to get out of London
into the country ! And yet, strange interposition of
Providence ! what we lose by distance we make up
for by the increased speed of travelling." These op-
posite feelings are, however, most apparent in the
chapter, entitled the " Twenty-ninth of May," which
commences with animated reminiscences of the
author's boyish days, and the exceeding delight ex-
perienced by youthful gatherers of hawthorn and
oak apples, in honour of the royal festival. After di-
lating on all the pleasures and beauties of the "dear
old custom," he turns from the poetry of romance
to the reality of polities:—
" Oh, Memory! 'tis but little use thou and I journey-
ing, back to theee
r dreamy, secluded haunts; tne
light of truth, reflectedet from the pages. of history, falls
upon these dear old customs,and, in spite of all our
lore for them, shows that. are truly ridiculous!
sorry are we, grave old oakst''etiat ever we rent a leafy
rnemorate so silly a
honour from your aged heads't
ceremony! Ancient homes of otheeogmri7i old Druids! we
were innocent invaders of your sanetiry,—we knew not
what we did!
" What then were we guilty of? Let us look back
through this night of years. Alas! the image of the
Merry Monarch overshadow: it Lot, traitord that we
are! his memory is not even there. We but went out to
do observance to May; to bring her home with much
green' and a sound of merriment: it was, after all, to
the month of flowers we paid homage. The representa-
tive of majesty we did not kneel down and worship, even
when he sat enthroned in the royal oak; for it had been
the custom of our forefathers to pelt and hoot him;'
{anntannerly dogs that they were, they valued w.,t his