The Sun.
London, England, 1850-03-28 00:00:00

LITERAT URE.

PEOPLE I HAVE MET. By N. P. Will's,
Author of " by the Way."
The maxim which affirms that truth is stranger
than fiction has been very forcibly elaborated in the
preface to this volume. "Real life is not so common-
place as it is represented," says Mr. Willis, " the
contrasts, surprises, combinations, and novel situations,
which some say are only found in plays, occur in
every-day society—with the difference, that those in
a play are published to the world, while those in
private life are known only to one or two. The
dread of misrepresentation conceals from us most of
the machinery of life. . . . The freedom
to draw truly in fiction gives a fidelity to portraitures
in a story which would be almost impossible even in
a literal biography. It is not from his imagination,
as is commonly supposed, but from his store of private
observation and knowledge, that the author draws his
must effective pictures of character and human events.
. . . . It is one of the rewards of the
over-envied and under-paid profession of literature,
that the world is led unaware through the author's
heart, and sympathises with all that has moved
him." After perusing these and other e qually,
truthful and beautifully expressed sentiments in
the preface, we turned with pleasurable antici-
pations to the work itself, in the full assurance that we
should meet with copious revelations of that inner
world of thought and feeling which so greatly exceeds
in interest the superticial world of adventure. At
first, we must confess, these expectations were con-
siderably disappoisited. The preface had hinted to
us that, mutate notable, each character and incident
had reality for its foundation, and lot the first of the
nineteen sketches here collected is "a revelation, of a
previous life," of the original truthfulness of 'Which
Mr. Willis will find it a hard matter to persuade even
the most credulous. Twenty-five years before the
commencement of this narrative, we are informed, that
a Viennese painter had suddenly died, leaving a be-
trothed widow to deplore his loss. A n English traveller,
aged twenty-five (and gifted from infancy with an
intuitive faculty for drawing) by chance meets with
An Austrian baroness, some twenty years his senior,
and, nsirabile dicta, is recognised by her as her
dead lover in a new form. She writes to him a letter
truly eloquent from the mingled emotions of peeaion-
ate tenderness, joy, and sorrow, with which it over-
flows. The astonished but believing youth peruses
it with " exquisite pain." lie tells us (and here
again Mr. -Willis will have few believers) that " love
tests till death, but it is mortal. The affections, how-
ever intense and faithful, I now know," he proceeds,
" are part of the perishable coil, forgotten in the
grave. With the memory of this love of another
life, haunting me through my youth, and keeping its
row of visitation, I had given the whole heart of my
second youth to another. Affianced to her, waited
for by her, bound to her by vows which death had
not divided, .1 had but one course to pursue. I left
Gratz in an hour, never to return." The twice-be-
reaved heart of the constant Baroness soon ceased to
beat. This history, regarded as a melodramatic ex-
travaganza, and narrated as it is in a deeply
pathetic and passionate strain, possesses a
certain attraction, and excites the interest of
the reader, but, after the promises held out by the
preface, its perusal is not quite satisfactory, and the
story which succeeds it, and which we shall not re-
capitulate, " The Phantom Head upon the Table,"
possesses similarly unnatural, without the same at-
tractive, characteristics. But there are nineteen of
these sketches of " People I have Met ; or Pictures
of Society and People of Mark, drawn under a thin
Veil of Fiction ;" and many of these nineteen chap-
ters are so individually excellent as to render the
whole volume generally agreeable. Neither is the
promise of the introduction unfulfilled. The sketches
of character are, for the most part, characterised by
as much truthfulness as the incidents of the
two first stories were for improbability. In
the third tale, " Getting to Winnward," we meet
with the following reflections. They have been quoted
before, but we cannot be too often reminded of their
truth, for it is a truth which if generally acted upon
would make the current of society flow more smoothly,
and the lives of individuals pass more happily than at
present. Truly has Tom Hood exclaimed--
"Evil is wrought
By want of thought,
As well as by want of heart."
And truly has Mr. Willis written in the passage re-
ferred to:—
" How little we know what is in the bosoms cf those
around us! How natural it is, however, to feel and act
as if we knew—to account for all that appears on the
surface by the limitsd acquaintance wo have with circum-
stances and feelings—to resent an indifference of which
we know not the cause—to approve or condemn, with-
out allowance for chagrin, or despair, or love, or hope, or
distress—any of the deep under-currents for ever at
work in the depths of human bosoms. The young [ran
at your side et a dinner party may have a dael on his
hands for the morning, or a disgrace imminent in credit
or honour, or a refused heart, or an aceeptA one nearly
crushed or nearly made happy nr(lemecessoenoson still
and less allowed for) he may feel first the impression of
disease, or the consequences of an indigestion ; and I,r
his agreeableness or disagreeableness you try to account
by something in yourself, some feeling towards yourself
—as if you, and you only, could affect his spirits or give
a colour to his mood of manners. The old man's thought
of death, the mother's overwhelming interest in her
child, the woman's upspring of emotion or love, are
visitors to the soul that cons unbidden and out of
time, and ou can neither f sat nor mourn secure
aceinet their interruption. It would explain many a
coldness cou'd we Icok into the heart concealed ff OM us.
We should cf ten pity where we hate, love where we
think we cannot even forgive, admire where we curl the
tip with scorn and indignation To judge without reserve
of any human aotion is a culpable temerity, if all our
zinc the moat unfeeling and frequent."
Independently ofsuch reflections as the above, which
would redeem even a dull book, Mr. Willis's mare,
tions are given in a style which is always interesting
and is often remarkable for an almost epigrammatic
terseness, as, for' example, when speaking of the
alteration ffected in a naturally noble-minded
and excellent man by an intercourse with refined so-
ciety, he says—" He seemed perfect, but he seemed
to have arrived at perfection like a statue, not like a
picture—by what had been taken away, not by what
had been laid on." Similes and expressions of this
character, more or less happy, add Hut a little to the
forcefulness of the descriptions, and impart to them a
somewhat unusual charm. Replete as it is with
beautiful, because natural portraits, lively scenes, re-
flections worth pondering over, and remarks worth
listening to, we have not perused with un-
mixed satisfaction the whole of this volume.
The story of Lady Rsnelgold, for ex-
ample, we would gladly have omitted. The
unfeminine heroine and her voluptuous boudoir are
most repulsive to our taste. On the other hand we
were charmed, as all win read it must be, with a rural
sketch bearing an unromantic title (all Mr. Willis's
sketches have strange titles), "Born to love Pigs and
Chickens." Here we read of Miss Margaret PifHit, a
country damsel, betrothed to a young farmer, hut by
no means contented with her unfashionable lot. Scorn-
ing the abbreviation of Meg, the delicate Margaret
adopts the name of Margerine, copies the fashions
from the magazines, &c. A city maiden, as elegant
and graceful as Margaret would fain be, collies to pay
a visit to her country friend. Poor Margaret with great
pains prepares a " boudoir" for her fashionable friend,
but the gentle Julia prefers the farm-yard and the
hay-field. Notwithstanding her personal and mental
attractions, the town-lady has a natural heart, she is,
in fact, as the title informs us, " born to love pigs
and chickens ;" and as she watches the young farmer
at the humble labour so looked down upon by the
ambitious Margaret, she recognises the native dignity
of man's first employment, and she thought "how
much more finely a man looked when malting hay than
a dandy when waltzing." The sequel of the
story we shall not tell, but we com-
mend it to the attention of all rustic Margerines.
Another tale, entitled " Two Buckets in a Well," is
most interesting and most excellent ; but we have
already dwelt at such length on this delightful volume
that we must now content ourselves with very cor-
dially commending it to our readers. Ere we take
leave of Mr. Willis, however, we would briefly hint
to him that (the sketches being partly American and
partly European), we have been, generally speaking,
better pleased with the American scenes—they are
endued with a greater freshness and vitality. Com-
plaints have been made of the perversions of English
painters to American portraits. We would gladly
see more of transatlantic brethren pourtrayed by
native pencils, and judging from the sew specimens
already familiar to us, the study would be both pro-
fitable and delightful. So we bid Mr. Willis not
" farewell," but "an revoir."

COURT CIRCULAR.
WINDSOR, WEDICEIDAT.
The Queen and Prince Albert took their usual
early morning walk.
The Royal Family took their accustomed airings
in the Slopes and Windsor Park.
His Royal Highness Prince Albert rode out on
horseback this morning, attended by Colonel Bouverie.
The royal dinner party at the Castle this evening
included her Riyal Highness the Duchess of
Kent, Lady Fanny Howard, Baroness de Speth, and
Mr. Birch.

A deputation, consisting of Mr. Alderman Hum-
p hervM.P., Messrs. R. Archer and A. Christie,
churchwardens of St. Ge.rge ; Mr. Bailey, church-
warden of Christchurch, Spitalfields; Mr. Vousley,
churchwarden of Bermondsey ; Mr. Messer, secretary,
St. Marylebone ; Messrs. Overseer Lloyd, Thomas
Parr, Pepperill, and Cottle, guardians, St. Andrew,
Holborn; Mr. May, churchwarden, .St. Saviour'.;
Mr. Tarplee, churchwarden, St. Luke's; Mr. Healy,
churchwarden, St. Pancras ; and Mr. Day, vestry
clerk, Sr. George the Martyr, transacted business
yesterday at the Home-orrice.