The Sun.
London, England, 1861-09-20 00:00:00

LITERATURE.

BULWER'S LIBRARY EDITION.

As the volumes of this very beautiful edition of
the tales and romances of our Great No--Jelist are
lengthening out, now, from month to month, their
already ample range upon our bookshelves, one gets
to understand the more readily how it is that the
writer of them has contrived to win for himself,
during his own lifetime, a reputation so cleave and
world-wide. He has seldom, even if -he has
ever, strictly speaking, traversed the same
field twice. He has adventured his genius
in almost all the various departments of
literature. That every one knows, who knows
anything at all about his writings. But " that" is
not all—" that" is not by any means the secret of
the spread and of the permanence of his popularity.
The same hand, before now, that has written
a play, has written a prose fiction, has written a
history, has written essays, has written poems
didactic and descriptive. Instance this one
of the most delightful Fames treasured up in
the Walhalla of English authorship—one of the
home-darlings of English literature—dear, honest,
dear, honest,
There gentle-hearted Oliver Goldsmith. ere are, per-

baps, but few, comparatively speaking, out of the
very ma ly who know and love the name of that
charming writer, who have ever realised the di-
versity of his achievements, what is vulgarly termed
the versatility of his genius as a man of letters. There
are plenty of other writers in our literature who
have written more voluminously, but there are very
few who have written more variously. What are
the famous words Johnson wrote about him in the
epitaph in Westminster Abbey 9—nu/bin/fere scri-
bendi genus non tetigit, quod tetigit non
ornavit. It is only necessary to recall to mind that
from the hand of this—No, far more than "inspired
idiot"—from the hand of this humble physician
who hardly ever earned a fee, Doctor—
" Oliver Goldsmith, for shortness called Noll,
Who wrote like an angel, and talked like poor Poll I"
It is only necessary to remember that from
the hand of that poor hard-working book-
seller's hack came a poem like the Deserted Vil-
lage, a play like She Stoops to Conquer, humorous
and satirical essays like The Citizen of the World,
and a bewitching little story in prose like the
Vicar of Wakefield. To say nothing of other
inimitable minor performances—trifles, compared
with masterpieces such as those we have just
enumerated—delightful effusions of the fancy like
that sweetest little love-ballad that ever was
penned, " Turn gentle hermit of the dale," or
like those happiest, wittiest, specimens of
the vers de societe—here, in the broad
humour of the " Haunch of Venison," here in the
delicate sarcasms sparkling all through the
poem of " Retaliation." Another instance of
varied powers and varied performances starts to
recollection, again, upon the thought of that magni-
ficent cataract of hyperbolical compliments poured
forth by Lord Byron upon the saddened heart of
poor Richard Brinsley Sheridan towards the close
of his brilliant but darkened life. "He has writ-
ten the best comedy (School for Scandal), the best
musical drama (Duenna), the best farce (Critic),
the best poetic address (Monologue on Garrick)
and, to crown all, delivered the very best oration
(the famous Begum Speech) ever conceived
or heard in this country.' Upon being told' of
which eulogium, and of who had uttered it, Shbri-
dan is said to have burst into tears. And no won-
der. But it is not so much the variety of the fields
for intellectual exploit adventured into by the great
writer—the Library Edition of whose Tales and
Romances we are here referring to—that we really
account for the world-wide diffusion and the already
assured permanence of his reputation. It is, of
course, very notable in his regard as a token at once
of his industry and of his ambition—of the aside
scope of his ambition and of the ready adaptability
of his industry—that he has done so much and in so
many different *ays. He, too, in his turn possesses
a claim to have echoed down to himself the panegyric
pronounced by Lord Byron upon Mr. Sheridan.
Of him, too, might it be said, as Dr. Johnson wrote
of Dr. Goldsmith, nullum fere scribendi genus non
tetigit, nullum quod tetigit non ornav4. Besides
which—beyond the mere writing—there is his
capacity as an Administrator also, which has been
signally attested by the organisation of a great
colony like British Columbia. The only epic poem
of the age is his (King Arthur), the most successful
drama (The Lady of Lyons), the most brilliant
speech of the last few years (the one on Reform)—
but, beyond all else that he has done (and
here lies the secret of his popularity), there
is that extraordinary variety of success achieved
by him as a writer of prose-fiction in the
one most frequented arena of his intellec-
tual enterprise, that of purely imaginative
literature. For whatever else he has done, and
however admirably—he has done this best of all—
and the fame of Bulwer is in consequence essenti-
ally and peculiarly the nme of a Novelist, e!e
fame of a great master of Romance. Glancing
through the series of his prose fictions, it is aimost
like a grave realisation for once of an aptitude like
that of the players, according to the garrulous
record of Polonius :—Great "for either trage,'ys,
comedy, history, pastoral, pastoral comical, histo-
rical-pastoral, tragical-historical, tragical-comical,"
and so forth : " Seneca cannot be too heavy"—those
are the metaphysics, "nor Plautus too light"—
meaning themany provecatives, here, to laughter.
To instance the variety alluded to, merely in
a fragmentary way—there are the two last volumes
of this library edition, the volumes issued for
August and September. " The Pilgrims of the
Rhine," where the elves are dancing as visibly and
audibly around the little central group of human
beings of which Gertrude, the fated heroine, is
" best beautiful" of all—as visibly and audibly the
elves dance there about her as she goes as the little
Grecian fairies under the moonlit trees in the Mid-
summer Night's Dream of Shakspere. That is the
volume placed last month within reach of the sub-
scribers. And for the current month there is the
first half of "Euene Aram"—perhaps among all
our author's works,'(s in the mere style of the compo-
sition, the most perfectly written throughout. Cer-
tainly the one containing the most truthful delinea-
tions of Nature—the work presenting to the reader,
here and there, veritable photographs of pastoral and
sylvan scenery. It is remarkable, too, that in the
midst of all the pathetic and tragic interest of the
story, there gleams out at intervals in vivid contrast
to the passion of the tale, a humorous extravagance
absolutely irresistible in its way. Who that has
read " Eugene Aram"—that impressive narrative of
crime and love—has not preserved a remembrance
of that grotesque personage, Corporal Bunting, own
brother, surely, of Smollett's immortal Lismahagoe.
Corporal Bunting, of the 41st, six foot odd (very odd)
in his stockings. Don't we see him breaking into a
trot on the Roman nosed horse, in the wake of
young Walter Lester, with that uncomfortable parcel
containing the bridle perpetually getting (in the
awkwardest way in the world) between the cor-
poral's " seat of leather and his seat of honour."
And that ! Don't we remember Corporal Bunting's
historian, while describing his appearance, break-
ing off suddenly in wonder, as he comes in his de-
scription to that part which neither Art in bipeds
nJr Nature in quadrupeds loves to leave wholly ex-
posed,"
breaking off suddenly in wonder thus, with
—"And that part, ah, how ample ! Had Liston seen
it, he would have hid for ever his diminished—op-
posite to head !" We are there with him again,
that delightful Corporal Bunting while he is angling,
in an earlier portion of the narrative, in the plea-
sant trout stream running through Grassdale.
We are there with 'Walter watching his (the Cor-
poral's) artful and all confident devices to catch.
that speckled monster of a trout—first of all with
the violet fly—afterwards with the memorable
yellow dun—all in vain! We are there again and
again standing beside him among the meadow sweet
on the bank of the trout stream, under the
shadow of the alders—knowing perfectly well
what is to come, but never able to resist a laugh
when it does come at last—the chagrin and amaze-
ment of the disappointed and indignant angler!
The corporal is dexterously manipulating his roe,(
and line with the last potent attraction quiver-
ing on the hidden hook :

11 The yellow dun sails aways in affected indifference;
that indifference whets the appetite of the hesitating gazer ;
he darts forwards; he is opposite the yellow dun—
he pushes his nose against it with an eager rudeness—he
—no, he does not bite, he recoils, he gazes again with sur-
prise and suspicion on the little charmer ; he fades back
slowly into deeper water, and then, and then, suddenly
turning his tail towards the disappointed bail, he makes
off as fast as he can—yonder—yonder, and disappears I
No ! that's he lsaping yonder from the wave : Jupi'cerl
what a noble fellow What leaps he at ?—A real fly
D—n his eyes ! ' growled the Corporal."
This, remember, occurring in that tragic tale of
Love and Crime, the romance of
"Eugene m..
It is only another example, however—(S pere
abounds in them, witness the Fool in Lear and the.iat
s e
h aAkrba "
Gravedigger in Handet)—another
wh e tle
ro,.oef t
long since recognized truth revealing ai ly
are allied those contrasting powers of Gh
elims that
twoginethfreor) from
our
rs
laughteret plea a s u
ouralte
tears.rnatle y (o

FATAL COLLIERY ACCIDENT, AT RINGLEY.--
Two MEN KILLED.-7-Abollt half-past eight o'clock on
Wednesday morning, an accident occurred at the Ringlet'
fold Colliery, belonging to Messrs. Knowles and Stott, by
which two brothers, named Thomas Hardman Atherton
and James Atherton, aged 29 and 26 respectively, were
killed. Deceased, along with their father, William Ather-
ton, were at work getting coal, when a large quantity of
the mineral fell, and kil ed the two sons upon the spot,
bruising their bodies in a fearful manner. They were
conveyed to their homes, and now wait the Coroner's in-
quieition) which may take place to• day or toloorrow.