The Sun.
London, England, 1856-07-07 00:00:00

LITERATURE.

On Foot through Tyrol. By Walter White.
Chapman and Hall, Piccadilly.
Mr. White is a tourist in the true and sensible
acceptation of the word. He is, we presume, en-
dowed with the supreme blessings of health and
strength, and we also presume is not overburthened
with either time or money for luxurious or frequent
" holiday making." On the trinity of these cir-
cumstances he starts, with his knapsack and staff
only, for a fortnight's trip through the beautiful
and romantic land of the Tyrol—scorning the mo-
dern facilities of boat and rail, except on particular
occasions. A tourist of Mr. Pi hite's intelligence
and perception does wisely in thus choosing the
manner of travelling which affords the most ample
opportunities of seeing, hearing, and comparing all
about him. Monks, peasants, soldiers, officials,
and artisans are all portrayed with graphic deli-
neation by him. Mountains, lakes, valleys, towns,
and villages are freely described in an artist-like
tone, which literally refreshes the reader, and sets
him longing to experience such scenes and feelings
as the following extracts convey :
" It is delightful to walk down a valley on a breezy
morning, when the sun shines brightly, and grass and
flowers and drooping branches twinkle with dewdrops,
and the damp shadows slant across the road, and the
sky rounds the landscape in with a blue deeper and more
transparent than we ever see overhead in our own
island-home. The trees increase in number and variety ;
cultivation becomes more fruitful ; the river widens and
brawls down a succession of rapids and cascades, where
in places the rocky sides come so near together as to leave
space only for the road. Now a hamlet; now a village ;
now a few scattered hovels, and meadows in which the im•
paled haycocks look like tall beehives."
* * * * *
" The Rosanna, which we saw yesterday a wimpling
brook, is here a thundering cataract, heard afar. Down
it shoots to a hundred feet below the road, there to meet
an island and hiss and rage in deeper plunges. A torrent
leaps in on the right, falling on a rock from which it re-
bounds in a graceful foaming curve to the river. I sat
down under the shade of a clump of firs opposite to gaze on
a scene that fascinated the eye as well as the ear ; and
gratified another sense by the wild strawberries that grew
plentifully on the bank. There is something to me inex,
pressibly refreshing in the mighty roar of a river after
months of the roar of a great city."

"I took the footpath again, and in another -half-hour
dropped down upon Mals—Markt-Mals, as runs the in-
scription over the entrance, denoting the place to be some-
thing between a village and a town. Just within, a foun-
tain exhibits a strange combination of the useful with the
sacred ; behind the trough stands a life-size Christ, want-
ing the legs, pouring out a stream of water from an iron
pipe inserted in its left side, at which a boy was drinking.
dere women came to fill their buckets, and wayfarers and
cattle to quench their thirst; and, under the circum-
stances, there seemed to me a risk of that familiarity
which breeds contempt. In another street the tall cross
bore the Virgin, in addition to its usual burden, with
seven daggers sticking in her heart.

" Having time to spare, I halted here two hours, and
strolled into all the nooks and corners of the place. The
churchyard lacks that which to an English eye is poorly
replaced by attempts at ornament—green sward ; but con-
tains some showy tombs, their railings tipped with gilt
hearts, and deaths heads painted of a bone cobur at the
corners. The most frequent emblems are an hour-glass or
broken taper. Marble tablets are numerous on tlte walls ;
and others of tin, similar in appearance to coffin-plates,
with rows of little pendants hanging loose, that swing to
and fro in the breeze; and a hinged central piece covering
a shallow recess, in which, when open, appears a painting
of the deceased, led to glory by an angel. A few had, be-
aides, the whole family of survivors, in their ordinary
dress, kneeling, and with eyes fixed on the aerial travel-
lers."

Mr. White gives a very interesting sketch of the
life of Andreas Hofer, the Tell of the Tyrol, which
we regret is too long to be transferred to our pages.
We must content ourselves with this morsel of in-
formation relative to a " real " patriot
" A short distance beyond St. Martin, a pretty village
that dazzled me with whitewash, I came to a wooden
house on the right, which bears on its front a large
emblazoned coat-of-arms, with the sign of the Crown
(Krone). A projecting gallery forms at once a portion
and outlet to each floor, from whence you may look down
on the shed which, decorated by targets and overshadowed
by trees, stands between the house and the river. You
Lear the rustling of leaves, the plash of a fountain, and the
swift roar of the stream. That house was the birth-place
of Hofer."

Throughout the story the rots4br hate reoeou esti
mire the firm bearing, the unselfish conduct, and
pure motives of the heroine. With one thing and
another she had a great deal to try her to the utr
most, but she did not fail in small any more than
great virtues, which is so often the case in difficul-,
ties of a domestic nature. Diana was an example
to all circumstanced similarly ; she showed patient*
and perseverance, two qualities very hard to bring
to perfection. This is a narrative that will attract
those who are pleased with the tales involved in
mystery, and containing secrets of a momentous
importance. The upright character of the heroine
preserves the integrity of the plot from becoming
a mere maze of hidden actions. Considerable in-
genuity is shown in the working together of small
events, and the chance occurrences of daily life to
bring about the denouement. It is all naturally
done, and unexpectedly discovered, as is so oftet
the case in real life, when great changes occur.
"Diana Wynyard," in its style, has, therefore,
great claims on the notice of novel readers.

Randal Vaughan ; or, Self in Self-Sacrifice. By
C. Warren Adams. 2 vols. T. Cantle)

Newby.
The author informs us that it is his first effort in
fiction, and regarding it in that light it merits
high praise as a very promising commencement.
He had intended that the work should have been
produced under the editorship of his father, the
late Mr. Sergeant Adams. Circumstances having
prevented it he now solicits the indulgence of the
public for his unassisted efforts. This indulgence,
however, is not much needed. There are not
many of the faults which usually attend a first
work of fiction. There are, of course, minor points
which call for criticism, there are some decided im-
probabilities, and some exaggerated characters;
but the plot is somewhat original, the incidents
novel, and the whole story not devoid of interest.
The style also is clear and straightforward,
without any of those mystical metaphysics and
elaborate reasonings that are now beginning
to intrude themselves into prose as well as poetry.
The chief features of the story are simple. The
hero is a young lawyer who has become attached
to the cousin of his only friend, Herbert, but does
not feel himself justified in declaring his affection
owing to his poverty. He, therefore, forsakes her
society, and devotes himself to the study of his
profession, and the pursuit of legal success for
three years. At the end of that time, after many
intervening events, he finds himself in a position
to authorise him to come forward as the suitor of
the Lady Edith. He hastens to her father's house
with the intention of renewing his friendship, but
is met by the direful news of the arrest of his
friend Herbert, the earl's nephew and heir, for
implication in Chartist conspiracies. He hastens
to the prison, and finds that some unfortunate in-
discretions, aided by the malice of au old enemy,
has placed Herbert in danger of conviction as one
of the Chartist ringleaders. He also discovers that
his friend had successfully rivaled him in Edith's
affections, and that his ow n hopes, preserved through
so many years of delay and difficulty, are
doomed to disappointment. However, his i■
a noble and generous nature, and after the
first shock is over he determines to devote himself
to the happiness of his friend, and undertakes the
management of his cause. The fatigue and anxiety
he undergoes in his pursuit of a missing witness
bring on a dangerous illness, from which he with
difficulty rouseshimself to appear at the trial. The
important evidence which he has obtained, aided
by his own skill, procures for his friend a tri-
umphant acquittal. But when the need for exer-
tion is past the overtasked energies of Randal
Vaughan give way, and after consoling his friend
who has discovered his secret, and expressing his
satisfaction, he dies. What is meant by the second
title of the book is not exactly clear, as certainly
the sacrifices of Randal Vaughan exhibit no signs
of self-seeking. There are many other characters
in the story, some of which play a prominent part.
Altogether these two volumes furnish enough en-
tertainment to repay the reader for their perusal,
and evidence sufficient ability to encourage the
writer to further efforts.

Deep in the Forest. Ballad by Venie Medhurat.
The Gift of Song. Ballad by Vanie Medhurst.
Chappell, New Bond street..