The Sun.
London, England, 1859-05-14 00:00:00

LITB_RATURE.

The _Man of Fortune. A Btory of the Present Day.
By Albany Fonblanque, jun., Esq. Pp. 409.
Routledge.
If a first novel--this is certainly in many respects
a very remarkable one. Occasionally it is no
doubt marred by considerable improbability and
extravagance. But after running through the in-
troductory eight chapters out o f the twenty-eight
into which the narrative is subdivided, the reader's
interest is fairly taken captive, and he " needs must"
go on, turning the pages rapidly, down to the very
conclusion. Hugh Trevor is the Man of Fortune—
heir to a baronetcy and £lO,OOO a-year—betrothed
to his cousin Eleanor, herself an heiress, the gentle
heroine of the tale, spoken of throughout it fami-
liarly and lovingly (evidently the young novelist's
pet character in the book) as Nelly. Although the
story opens fantastically near one of the Italian
lakes—Just after Hugh has been entrapped into a
marriage with the evil-heroine of the tale, one
Lorenza Amadina, an arrant adventuress—the
scenery all through the work is essentially English.
A fantastic variety of personages will be found
flitting to and fro across this scenery as the plot is
developed—the skein of it being, of course, accord-
ing to approved usage, carefully entangled, and then
with all due elaboration as carefully unravelled. In
the discrimination of these characters there is fre-
quent evidence of genuine humour on the part of
Mr. Fonblanque. Instance this especially, almost
every passing, apparently careless, but really artis-
tic touch given to the life-like sketch of Mr. Cairn-
leigh-Haughton—the Squire of the Grange—a true
blue landed proprietor of the old school, known
familiarly by the soubriquet of the Ancient Briton
among all his neighbours. His younger daughter,
the haughty beauty of the Grange, also designated
by a companion soubriquet as Boadicea, is cleverly
and facetiously described—but far beyond the lim-
ning of Boadicea, the portraiture of the Ancient
Briton is capital and delightfully humorous through -
out. Whenever he comes upon the scene he is
always welcome—whether, it be at the moment
when he is lamenting the accident to Hugh, so very
characteristically speaking " as if it were the estate
that had been thrown from its horse and had concus-
sion of the brain"—or, under his more ordinary
aspect when laying down the law, "and waving his
hand like a flourish of trumpets." There are casual
touches of humour, again, now and then noticeable
in the account of even such minor personages in
the story as Mr. Springett, attorney•at-law—" a
gentleman of a florid habit of body," who per-
spires with unusual freedom when under any
great mental excitement ; and of whom we
read, in his interviews with Don Ramon, that
to his surprise he found the handwriting of the
papers brought to him by his visitor identical with
that of the papers in his deed-box—" a fact," says
the writer, " which he greeted with much delight
and perspiration." As exemplars of the novelist's
descriptive powers, take in contrast his picturesque
view of Trevor Hall, by moonlight, and his comio
delineation of one the Poor Streets of our metropo-
lis, familiar to London wayfarers. Here is the
former—

" TREVOR HALL BY MOONLIGHT."

" Far away—though the glare of the fiery breath gleamed
like a stormy sunset above the distant woods—in the quiet
midnight, lulled to rest by the songs of the nightingale,
the old hall stood like an enchanted palace, which the first
beam of the morrow's sun, like the kiss of the Prince in the
fairy tale, would awaken into busy life again.
" It was a fine old palace, in a fine old park, sheltered by
fine old trees—fine old oaks, as sombre and stately as the
old rooks who stuffed ragged nests into the forks of their
wide-spreadinc, branches. Many a change had those old
trees known, from the time when they first struck root in the
ground—puny saplings, bent and worried by the wind—
till now, when they stood like a double row of mighty
giants, guarding the broad avenue which led to Trevor Hall.
" Many a tale could be told by those old trees and woods,
of days when their present master's ancestry were in their
cradles. Perhaps, in the meanings of the night wind, those
old trees did send out voices known only to themselves, as
their branches mingled, and their green heads stooped to-
gether as though they whispered.
"There were signs, moreover, which you and I could
read—a gap here and there in the row, not amongst the
oldest, but where the trees were in their prime. In the
woods, too, the bushes and young shoots nearly hid the
smooth stumps of great timber oaks, that had been cut
down and sold, for what had shortened the days and bar-
tered the soul of one whom the old trees had known, long
ago, to spare even the violets that blossomed at their roots,
that they might brighten the spots where summer had
scattered them.
" There was yet another story in the woods and trees—a
prop to sustain a fallen limb, a band of iron girding a splin-
tering trunk. There was clear evidence of care and vene-
ration in the lopping of their withered branches, and the
faultless condition of the roadway which lay below them.
Some trees had been felled in the plantations, and lately
too ; but they did not leave the land they had grown upon,
but rose again for a good purpose. Neat white cottages,
with cheerful little gardens, elbowed out wretched hovels
from patches of waste land, where, if the old wood had not
lost its power of perception, it might know that it had
brought comfort and kindness where miseries and hatred
had lurked before.
"In the plantations there inid been quagmires and
marshes, in which the roots of the trees lay rotting, making
them rank and old before their time. There was a bright
stream now, dashing along merrily. When the long-
imprisoned waters first found their liberty, they had no idea
of being checked by a mill wheel that they found in their
way ; so they whisked it round so briskly that the new mill
began to prosper, and the young girl who had listened to
love upon their newly-blossoming banks, soon became the
miller's little wife.

" The hall was, like the trees, massive and stately, and,
like them, bore also the traces of its own history. There
wero niches and pedestals within and without, but there
were no statues. There was a spacious picture gallery, but
few paintings, and those quite modern, though the oak
panelling bore the marks of hundreds of ancient frames.
There were stags' heads and antlers in every passage, but
there were no deer in the park. The rooms were all well
and handsomely furnished, but there was no mark of age
upon anything save the wainscoting and stained-glass in
some of the windows. The library alone bore out the an-
tiquity of the place ; you might see there, shelves upon
shelves of old books, with an old coat of arms upon the back
of each—two dark old portraits in black oaken frames,
frowning at you ; rusty armour on the walls, old carvings
on the ceiling, old small panes of glass in the windows—so
that when you entered it from the rest of the house, it
seemed as if you had stepped back three hundred years.
Here is a Boz-like glimpse of one of the
" POOR STREETS OP LONDON."

" Poor streets I—rich in nothing but children, who loiter
along the kerb and on the door-steps, on an average of
about six to a house, composing dirt confectionary N. dry
weather, and performing experiments in hydraulics in the
gutter when wet. Musty streets I—savouring perpetually
of boiled cabbage-stalks, and the eating-house at the corner.
Lonely streets I—full of odd shops, containing scanty stores
of commodities that no one seems to want, but which, being
found in all poor localities, must have their trade and their
profit, though how it comes Heaven only knows. There
is, of course, the barber, who keeps birds closely packed
in cages like mignionette boxes turned on their sides and
wired over, with an old stocking nailed on the top ; the
stationer who sells farthing wooden battledores (the
only toy to be seen in the street), theatrical portraits—a
penny plain, and twopence coloured—of Mr. Staggers in
the unknown costume of an undiscovered country, defying
unseen adversaries in an impossible attitude; and who pur-
veys all the weekly filth of the Mysteries of London school
(only half neutralised by the moral and clever cheap jour-
nals) to the reading portion (who can they be ?) of the
neighbourhood. And no less certainly shall we find the
den where tawdry finery is exposed for sale or hire to the
most wretched of the wretched—the honest cobbler's stall
—the rag merchant—the herbalist—the gin palace, flaming
with light from ormolu chandeliers, brilliant with plate-
glass reflectors—and, as a natural concomitant, the pawn-
broker I They are all alike—the poor streets of London."
Conspicuous among the characters in the book is an
out-and-out ruffian, Con Bates by name, alias Hud-
speth, who thus responds to Phil Hunt, the poacher,
when asked by the latter " How come you out ?
answer me that. You'd transportation for life ; I
heard you sentenced." To which quoth Bates,
with a grin—

" I'm a reformed individual—l am ,• I'm a brand plucked
from the burning—l am ; I swallowed an hour of gammon
every afternoon, and a bundle of tracts every morning, for
four years—l did. I can tell you all about ' Fanny Hone,
the pious staymaker,' and ' Martin Hoyle, the naughty
little boy who told a fib, and was tossed by the mad
bull in consequence.' I know all about ' James Foy,
the repentant dustman,' and 'the Religious Dairyman,'
and all that lot. Lor' bless you! I took to making up
such tales myself, and other coves had to read 'em. My
eyes ! did'nt I pitch it in stiff, neither ? So the chaplain
he got me a ticket-of-leave ; and, says he, ' My man, here's
a couple of sovs for you out of the fund, and a Bible and
Prayer-book for you to take to church.' So I lent the books
to an uncle of mine, who wanted to read 'em very particklar,
and he gave me ten bobs for the accommodation—don't you
sco. Oh, it's a rare game—the ticket-of-leave caper—I can
tell you."
Sometimes, if he pleases so to be, the writer can be
at o
us1:1 oefx e. agr trh .
"Pourn once witty ,
and it Trickles
sienntht ea potti o
fu
cdirty
water and
n
through clear. Filter a man's character through
estate, and it is wonderful how pure it will comeo uat.l,a,nded
At another moment he can, when he likes, ,descant
upon the imaginary griefs of his story with true
pathetic sentiment. As when upon
away of Nelly Trevor's intended
the passing
bridal-day, he
writes—
" But, oh—the morrow—the morrow!
~ you, upon whom somegreat and sudden calamity has
fallen, have you forgotten
has been to your aid, and lifted the morrow ? When sweet sleep
the weight from your heart,
and you have dreamt that your agony was a dream, and
have wakened to find it
a reality. Oh ! the morrow I
" When the bright d
singing gaily, and happy
has broken, and the birds are
some
.appy faces are passing you. When
unconscious friend has seized your hand, and mocked
you with a joyous greeting. Oh ! the morrow !
" When you rise, to see the empty chair—to miss the
accustomed face—to seek the idolworshipped, and find
it broken. When you must act youfor .
altered with
an end,
the ashesofwithered hope clogging
bitte • a
ring every thought. Oh ! the morrow—the morrow I"
We are fain to quote largely from the descrip-
tions contained in the 23d chapter, headed "Assize
Intelligence," in which there are capital portraitures
in pen and ink of Slumberton, the county town of
--shire, of the High Sheriff, of the Sheriff's jave-
linmen, of the accompanying trumpeters, and of the
manner in which, among other marvellous ceremo-
nials at the Assizes—" Her Majesty's Judges are
blown into their carriages by those indefatigable
trumpeters; then blown into church, where they
are preached at for 20 minutes ; and then blown
back into, their lodgings again." Also we are
tempted to extract somewhat largely from the Ito. 1

count given of the trial of " Trevor v. Trevor"—
the culminating point of the interest of the whole
novel—but that we conceive our so doing would be as
superfluous as unreasonable under the circumstances.
" The Man -of Fortune" is the third—as,the sport-
ing writers say, " a good third"—in the series of
cheap original novels recently issued from the press
by the Messrs. Routledge. As such the writer is
secure of a large audience—to that audience we
commend the perusal of his animated " Story of
the Present Day," as one the frequent humour, and
(towards the close of it) the vivid interest of which
will cause many a reader to look forward hopefully
for the appearance of the next tale from the pen of
Albany Fonbianque.

Davenport Dunn; a Man of Our Day. BY,
Charles Lever, author of " Marry Lorrequer,
&c., &c. With illustrations, by " Phiz." Chap-
man and Hall.

Mr. Lever has added another to the long list of
his popular and brilliant serials. His merits as a
writer and the attractions of his style are known to
many readers ; but on this occasion he has followed
a somewhat different course from the one he has
usually taken, and has pursued another object
than that of merely entertaining the reader. He,,.
has sought to portray the career of a great man 01
business, the chairman of countless companies, the
director of numerous railways, a member of Parlia-
ment, a stockbroker, and speculator par excellence,
yet withal, as the vignette happily shows, a man of
straw, who is ably imposing upon the throngs of
admiring dupes who surround him. It is unfortu-
nately only too easy to discover the prototype of
Davenport Dunn in " a man of our day," and lkfr.
Lever has ably drawn the difficult portrait. But
he does not let the interest of the story depend solely
upon such an unsatisfactory individual. There la
old Grog Davis, as he is familiarly termed, the
sporting character, who is mixed up in some
dark transactions, and from whose desperate hand
Davenport Dunn at last receives the due reward of
his crimes. Then, there is his beautiful daughter
Lizzy, far too good and attractive for her miserable,
position, and Sybella Kellett, the other heroine,
one of those extraordinary young ladies whom Mr.
Lever sometimes paints. The plot of the storYt
though extremely complicated, affords full scoge
for the display of the peculiarities of the author s
style, and the introduction of thl Crimean war
enables Mr. Lever to 'recur to his flivourite deScrip-
tions of the incidents of military life. Charles
Conway, one of the heroes, or rather chief figures,
for there is no regular hero, is a young Irish-
man, who, having frittered away a fine pro-.
perty on the turf, sells his commission
and enlists as a private. Mr. Beecher, too, is an
ably drawn character. The manner in which the
cunning Davis tyrannises over his victim is skil-
fully shown, but the reader cannot help regretting
that the fair Lizzy is left in no better company'
She is one of the most interesting of the drama°
personce, and her painful position awakens the
reader's sympathy. There are crowds of lesser
characters, and a variety of incident and elabora-
tion of plot that is almost bewildering. It will be
a most acceptable volume to the many admirers of
Mr. Lever's writings, and will probably attract
the attention of many who might regard his lighter
works with indifferenne.

Life in Tuscany. By Mabel Sharman Crawford'

Smith and Elder.
Hong Kong to3ianilla. By Henry T. Ellis, B.N•

Smith and Elder.
These two volumes of travels take us to very
different parts of the world, and show us the civl-
- race under very different auspices. One
treats *of the glorious and melancholy land where,
the lingering memories of the past enhance the -
sorrow of the present, and where the loveliness r,
nature is reflected in the marvels of art. The
other transports us from this mournful and beau-,
tiful land of dreams to the semi-civilisation 01
the Philippines, the acquaintance of Indians,
and occasionally to the matter-of-fact Pre-
sence of the very material denizens of the
Celestial Empire. Mr. Ellis took advantage of siX
weeks' leave of absence from his duties at Song
Kong to take a trip to Manilla, the capital `-
of the largest of those islands, which were
made so familiar to many by Gironiere's graphic
account of " Twenty Years in the Philippines.
The believers in this wonderful traveller's tales will
be very indignant with the old man whom Mr. Ellis
encountered, who contradicted many of them. They
must console themselves, like our author, by think-
ing that age must have interfered with his memor.lG
Mr. Ellis gives an entertaining account of life in
these islands, and his acquaintance with the Indians
and Spaniards. The numerous illustrations add
to the attractions of the volume, which, as it
relates to a part of the world little known or
visited, will probably gratify the curious.
Miss Crawford's work is more interesting. It
is true that it cannot boast the charm of novelty'
for the list of Italian travels must considerably in-
crease the difficulties of the Museum catalogue;
But it is a subject which is always attractive, 11
treated with freshness and simplicity. The volume
before us has an especial interest at the present
time, since it is chiefly to the people of that country,
their character, position, and tendencies, that the
authoress has turned her attention. She justly
observes, in her preface, that the classic and histe-,
rival associations of Italy, and the treasures of
ancient and modern art which it contains, have
been the theme of so many eloquent writers that it
would be superfluous for any one not highly
qualified by learning and research, to treat of
such subjects. Having lived for ten months 1n
'Tuscany, she was enabled to form some opinions
with regard to the condition of the people, which
she has expressed with grace and clearness. Her,
remarks on the condition of women in Italy, and
the slavery and ignorance in which they are kept,
are well worthy of perusal. She dwells much upon
this point, and few will deny the truth of her
inference as to the degrading effect of the state of
Italian women on the national character. " Which
is the farthest off, London or America ?" asked an
Italian lady of the authoress one day. And on
receiving the answer, given with secret wonder, she
remarked, " What a very large city America must
be !" Two young ladies living in Florence were
ignorant of the existence of one of the boasts of
Italy—the celebrated Lake of Como. These
anecdotes, and many others respecting the
strict rules which prevent women from walking !
few steps alone, are amusing enough to read, but
they are startling from the amount of ignorance_
and cowardice they display, and the weakness 01
character and inertness of children brought up by
such mothers is not surprising. The authoress,
whose English privileges and English courage
astonished her Italian friends, is well qualified to
speak on such a subject, and she discusses it with
an earnestness and ability that impresses the reader
favourably.. Her chapters on society, manners, and,
similar topics, are especially worthy of perusal, and
those who do not coincide in her views of political
questions' will not differ from her decisions en
social matters. The incidental descriptions are
well written, and the accompanying illustrations
areverygood.
hltaciknied subject,soneofthepleasantest volumes,
on a somewhat
that we have seen
for some time.

The Quarterly Review. No, CCV.
Already in our leading columns we have referse,a
to two out of the eight elaborate papers contri-
buted to the present number of the ever-vig0,.„19
old Quarterly.. The' iaper-on the "National
lery," indeed, could hardly fail to command verY,
general. notice, at a time when the future of that
growing collection of art-treasures, and that als°.°o
the Royal Academy, hitherto the companion of 1..,
advancing fortunes, would seem to be trembling
the balance, dependant upon the whim of his TOY
Highness, upon the taste of the trustees, and '11x)"
the munificence of the Treasury. The chapter on
" Law Reform " again is invested with interest, a s
even for non-professional readers, by its direct t
sociation with the genius and labours of the great
of all our law reformers, and otherwise in so ?may
respects one of the most illustrious men now living'
Henry Lord Brougham. Carlyle's great biegronle
of " Friedrich IL of Prussia " is the subject of the
opening criticism in this number of the Quarterly'
in the course of which it is happily observed :--fr
,;
" So far as it is possible to extract the essence from 3i
Carlyle's philosophy, arid reduce it to the narrow e?re;
of a few words, it may perhaps not unfairly be described
a system of protest in favour of work against talk--°f ear-
nestness against trifling—of sincerity against pretension.
Subsequently " The Minstrelsy of Scotland"-1
recently illustrated by the distinct labours °s
Charles Rogers, William Aytoun, and
Maidment—is fervently eulogised by a thoroug"
appreciative reviewer. Speaking of the songs an
ballads of old Scotia, he writes thus eloquently
"Bravo youth and fair girlhood kindle at their strain'
They make Scotland's fame smell sweet, as the breezes of
the Levant smell of the lemon-groves ! and embalm her
nsacotitolanna,liitcyanasnetvheer
becomehone a p
honey of throesaNicoertohu'ntatrysteswohfilesue
heather.
literature survives to keep alive the romance of her reputa-
tion."

A chapter upon " Baron Bunsen and the Chronology
of the Bible" carries us into Egypt—while another,
referring, among other works of other antiquaries,
to the learned Dr. Oliver, of Exeter, and hi,
111onasticon Dicecesis xoniensis, takes us willingly
in another direction, down into green, fertile, beau:
tiful " Devonshire." There is a very readable and
gossiping
111. and Charles James Fox ;" and at the close of
paper further on, in relation to " George_
the number a comprehensive survey of '° Foreign
Affairs," with especial reference to the war in Ital_
springing out of the relations between Lombardy
and Sardinia.