The Sun.
London, England, 1867-08-14 00:00:00

LITERATURE.

Cometh up as a Flower. An Autobiography.
2 Vole. Second Edition. Richard Bentley.

We are not surprised to find this novel, so re-
cently published, already in a second edition. It
bears about it the unmistakeable evidences of vitality,
freshness, and vigour, and originality. There is no
striving after effect from the first page to the last,
it is written indeed currente calanzo, with a fulness of

feeling and a fearlessness of utterance quite refresh-
ing to the wearied reader of common-place frivo-
lities. The story itself, very simple in its incidents,
is on that theme of all others the most pathetic and
the most popular—that theme which imparts a
tenderer interest to the thrilling legend of Lam-
mermoor, and a sublimer pathos to the mournful
ballad of Robin Gray. The tale is an auto-
biography ; it is related by the heroine. Nelly
L'Estrange is the spoiled darling of the last
worn-out head of an old, impoverished house
—a very Castle Rackrent, as she calls it. Ex-
quisitely tender is the affection which unites the
neglected, half-educated, spoiled little Nelly, and
her old Dad, as she lovingly and unceremoniously
designates him. A sad picture of the domestic
trials incident to many a sinking household is pre-
sented in the early chapters of this book. Here is
a mournful, life-like glimpse of

ITEM'S FATHER.
My father was in his old velvet arm chair, and was
sitting, leaning forward with his head between his hands,
in a pose sufficiently expressive. You did not need
to see his face to tell you that hero was a
man careworn and weary, on whom the sun of
his life's afternoon was beating scorching hot, a man with
whom life was going awry—awry 1 should think it was ;
the old house was going down hill, and he did not like it ;
the brambles had sprung up rankly, and were choking tha
Lebanonian cedar. Bravo as the Spartan boy, he kept the
vitals gnawing fox hidden under his cloak, away from the
eyes of the coldly prying world--a world often remarkably
carious in seeking out and putting its fingers through
the tatters in its neighbour's coat—a world that would
"peep and botanise on its mother's grave!" I gambolled
up to him in a kid-liko manner. " Well," said I cheerfully,

" I suppose tho tea is quito cold and you're quite cross,
and lam to have a real good scolding, aren't I?" Then 1
stooped and kissed the whitened hairs.
" Eli, what ?" said he, thus suddenly called back from
his joyless reverie; " indeed, Nell, I'd forgotten your very
existence that minute."

" What could have chased so pleasing an image from
your mind's eye ?" said I, laughing.
" What always chases every pleasing image," he an-
swered, gloomily.

" Bills, I suppose," returned I, discontentedly ; " bills,
bills, bills ! that's the song in this house from morning to
night. Is there any word of one syllable in the English
language that includes so many revolting ideas ?"
"None except hell," said my father bitterly, " and I
sometimes think they're synonymous."

Very dismal aro the surroundings of Eleanor's girl-
hood, but lightened from within at first by her intense
affection for her father, and afterwards by the pre-
sence of another affection " coming up as a flower "
and filling herlife with brightness and bloom. Speak-
ing of her happy emotions in those memorable
days, the fair autobiographer, quoting from the
canticle of Solomon, " For lo ! the winter is past ;
the rain is over and gone ; the flowers appear on
the earth ; the time of the singing of birds is come ;''
exclaims, " It seems to me the exquisitest, joyfulest
love song ever penned. It translates the spirit and
essence of the spring into words. Spring out of
doors, spring in my heart." Like pictures in a
dissolving view, joys and sorrows succeed each other
in the warm, impressionable heart of poor Nelly
L'Estrange. At one time she exclaims, out of the
fulness of bitter experience, " Sighs are the gales
that blow us to heaven, I sometimes think ; they
breathe unconscious weariness of the ' here,' and
longing for the there.'" It is as a result of this same
chequered experience, we may suppose, that we find
a somewhat contradictory opening to two chapters
in the second volume. Chapter vi., which begins
with the question "Am I wrong in thinking that
memory is the cruellest gift ever vouchsafed to
man ?" and chapter xiv., in which, commencing
with an allusion to the facility of forgetting griefs,
the narrator exclaims, " To me, it seems, that what

points the sting of every grief is the thought that a
time will come when we shall grieve no more."
We have likened the story, in a certain degree, to
th 3 ever-memorable ballad of " Auld Robin Gray."

There is a scene towards the close of the narrative
that recalls the painful " situation" of that heart-

rending ballad. It is where the two lovers (too
late) meet and comprehend their misfortunes.
" We say nothing for a while, only we look into
each other's eyes with passionate, desperate long-
ing across the mighty chasm which yawns be-
tween us." The character of the two heroes,
Major Macgregor and Sir Hugh Lancaster, arc in
their different ways capital, and the old father
also is most naturally depicted. We cannot speak
so favourably of the treacherous Dolly, who, let
us hope, has no counterpart in actual life. Novel
readers may expect much from a writer so original
in his thoughts, and so fearless in expressing
them, as is the author of this very clever and
interesting tale.

THE LATE IMPERIAL VISIT.—His Imperial High-
ness Izzedin Effendi, the eldest son of the Sultan, during
the late Imperial visit, is said to have made au intellectual
observation unprompted by any tutor or attendant. Wlwil
the amiable child—of whom everybody, even his uncles,
seems to be fond—was being driven to Buckinghani Palace
with his father, amid the hearty cheers of a great Eng-
lish crowd, he exclaimed all of a su lden, " If those people
conic some day to see us in Constantinople, shall we ever
be able to show them anything like this, or will our lazy
Osmanli give themselves half the trouble to be kind to
them as they have taken about us ?" The Sultan w 39
iunnonsely delighted, and told his youthful son that the
Turks would do their best; but that he did not think
People living in such a town as London would ever lea"
it for Constantinople. He subsequently repeated the
little
fellow's question with considerable glee.
UNJUST WEIGHTS AND MEASURES.—OI MODIAY:
at a petty session of the Justices held at the courthouse
of
the Tower Hamlets, in Great Prescott-street, 58 tradesmen
• and others were convicted and lined as under, for the use
of false scales, weights, and measures. The list embraced
eight licensed victuallers, two beer retailers, 12 chandlers,
seven butchers, four coal dealers, seven greengrocers, ten.
tobacconists, one baker, one pork butcher, ono corn and
dour dealer, ono eheesomonger, two grocers, ono oihnl,
and one person keeping a stall iu the street for the ss 0
of fish. The total of the fines was £BB 15s. Three of the
parties not paying the amounts of amercement up to the
rising of the court were sent to the House of Correction
iu
Coldbath-fields, two of them being fur two months nt
prisoument.