The Sun.
London, England, 1842-02-18 00:00:00

LITERATURE.

DIARY AND LETTERS OF MADAMk
D'ARBLAY. Vol. I. Colburn, London, 1842.
Frances Burney (afterwards Madame D'Arblay)
_was the'second daughter of Dr. Burne, author of a
well-known history of music, and was 'born in Nor-
folk, in the year 1752. lhr education was in some
degree neglected, but as she Baas a girl of consider-
able capacity, possessing, in particular, a quick fa-
culty of observation, she supplied the want of regu-
lar instructors by her own assiduity and aptitude
for learning. In 1778, when she was in her twenty-
sixth year, she brought out her first novel, entitled
" Evelina," which met with uncommon popularity,
and introduced her to the acquaintance of Dr. John-
son, Burke, Sheridan, the Thrales, and, indeed, all
the distinguished characters of the day. Afterwards,
in succession, appeared her " Cecilia," "Camilla,"
and " The Wanderer," the last of which (published about
the time of her marriage with a French emigrant)
fell still-born from the Press • and from that period
to the day of her death, which took place two or
three years since, she produced nothing, we believe,
with the exception of some " Reminiscences," which
were by no means remarkable for their success. The
present volume, which contains Madame D'Arblay's
Diary, commencing with the year of the publica-
tion of " Evelina," gives us familiar sketches
of many of the most eminent personages who
were then celebrated in the world of litera-
ture and fashion ; but notwithstanding this, we
must confess that it has woefully disappointed us.
Indeed, we know not when we have met with a
work from which we expected so much, and have
derived so little amusement. The cause of this dis-
appointment is obvious. The writer everywhere
sacrifices effect and interest to her own devouring
self-conceit and egotism. If Dr. Johnson is brought
on the tapis, it is only to sing the praises of " Eve-
lina." 'lf Sheridan is introduced to our notice, it is
only to assure Madame d'Arblay that the genius that
could produce "Evelina," could write an excellent
comedy. Murphy, the Thrales, and dozens of other
distinguished individuals, are brought forward for
the same reason ; and each is made to vie with the
other in his eulogiums on " Evelina." For upwards
of two hundred pages of a closely-printed octavo, we
absolutely hear of little or. nothing but -"Evelina,"
till we sicken at the very mention of the name! Poor
Cumberland is sneered at as envious and uncharitable;
for no other reason, that we can perceive; than that
he does not .choose to consider " Evelina" n prodigy
of genius ; and Dr. Johnson and- Mrs. Thrale are
held up as patterns of excellence, for precisely the
opposite cause. Judging from Madame D'Arblay's
Diary—and she evidently wishes to create this im-
pression—one would imagine that all England was
electrified with her astounding novel, and wrote,
talked, and dreamed of nothing else. Then her own
agonies on the occasion of her being made a Lioness !
Nothing can be more ridiculous or egotistical; She
is in the horrors, whenever she hears the word
"Evelina" mentioned. If a gentleman or lady happen
to smile or talk in whispers in a party where she may
chance to he, she is perfectly convinced that they are
talking ofher and "Evelina." She entreats Mrs. Thrale

not to expose her. She implores Dr. Johnson to guard
her " little secret." She blushes at every allusion to any
of the characters in her tale, and expresses a devout
hope that Mr. Sheridan had never deigned to look
at my trash !" Trash inde[ed ! Why, Madame
d'Arblay must have thought " Evelina" the first novel
ever produced, for she is not ashamed to repeat more
than once Dr. Johnson's opinion that it was superior
to any of Fielding's master-pieces ! We have in vain
sought to glean any characteristic recollections of the
sage of Bolt-court. Though the Diarist is constantly
telling us of, his wit and wisdom, yet she adduces no
proofs of either ; and all that we can gather from her
frequent introductions of him is, that he was
among the most kindly-hearted, as he was among
the greatest of men ; but this we knew long before.
In like manner Sheridan, Sir Joshua Reynolds, Han-
nah More, Seward, Dr. Franklin, Murphy, and
others say or do nothing worth a moment's considera-
tion; but are all compelled, as it were, to:revolve, like so
many petty twinkling satellites round one great brilliant
luminary—Madame d'Arblay ! If the remaining vo-
lumes of this Diary exhibit the same insufferable
egotism and .simpering self-complacency that are
stamped on the present, it will be no hazardous pre-
diction to assert that the work will be an entire failure ;
for who can possibly take interest in the self-laudations
of a by-gone, novelist, whose name is not known
to one in a thousand of the present gene-
ration ? When " Evelina " appeared, the art
of prone fiction was at its lowest ebb. Fielding
and Smollett had been dead for years ; the new sch66l
had not yet risen. Under such circumstances, it is
not to be wondered at that a smart, dashing, fearless
story, fUll of spirit, and equally abounding in carica-
ture, should have excited public attention, especially
when a report was industriously spread abroad (and
not denied by those who knew better) that the autho-
ress was a mere girl, who had seen absolutely nothing
of life. Had "Evelina " appeared thirty years later,
or thirty years earlier than it.did, though it Would still
have been popular, it would not have been so to any
extraordinary degree; but it was produced just in the
very nick of time, when there was no eminent novelist
before the world. The utmost we can say of it is,
that, like the rest of Madame D'Arblay's fictions, it
exhibits considerable powers of comic portraiture ;
that it hits off the oddities of cockney life with marked
acuteness and spirit ; and is deficient only in earnest
sentiment, of which the authoress had not an atom.

VERSES BY A POOR MAN.
Painter, London, 1842.
It was an act of supererogation for the author of
these poems to style himself " A Poor Man," for it
may fairly be presumed that all poets are poor. It
seems to be one of the necessities of their vocation
that they should be slenderly endowed in point of
pocket, as a lawyer usually is in point of conscience.
From the days of "blind old Mwonides' " down to
those of Burns and Chatterton, the tuneful tribe have
been, with but a very few exceptions, remarkable for
nothing so much as their utter want of—, what Thomp-
son calls—" an elegant sufficiency." You seldom hear
of a poet giving a cheque on his banker ; still seldomer
of his drawing a handsome dividend on settling-daj,
from the Three per Cents. As a matter of course, he
is expected to be poor, and if he be otherwise, one
feels tempted to resent his wealth as an impertinence.
It was superfluous, therefore, we repeat, for the au-
thor of this volume to style himself a poor man ; though
we cannot commend too highly his modesty in calling
his rhymed productions " Verses" instead of " Poems. '
They are verses, and nothing more—that is to say,
they are unimpeachable in point of scansion, orthodox
as regards rhyme, and deficient only in that fancy and
feeling which are so necessary to constitute poetry.
We quote a curious poem on the inspiring subject of
" mashed potatoes :"
" Potatoes mashed are an excellent thing,
And fit for the table of even a king ;
When the poor man returns from his daily work,
He hears not the sound of the rich man's cork ;
He smells not the smell of the rich man's venison,
But mashed potatoes, and asks a benison :
Potatoes and salt, and peace and 'rest,
Are the poor man's lot—and he is blest ;
But if this book should happen to sell,
I sill then have a piece of bacon as well!!"
The naivete of the last coupletis exceedingly amus-
ing. We hope that the author's wishes may be-real-
ized—though we are by no means sanguine on the
point ; and that his volume may sell to such an extent
as to enable him to purchase, not only "a piece of
bacon," but the Whole hog.