The national era. [volume] (Washington [D.C.]) 1847-1860, 1859-05-19
g In the kitchen,
Eating bread and honey -
4 VidS Afafhfr EoasSl

general leaning towards Cordelias-seem, not
outstanding his own assertion, that
In the world there are women enough, maids or
mothers -
Yet, in multiplied millions, never should find
The symbol of sught in her face or her mind.
She has nothing ia common with others -
an assertion which Tennyson has made more
succinctly:
There is none like her-none ITO possess
what Lord Kaimes suggests to be the basis of
beauty, viz uniformity amid variety. We
think Mr.. Meredith is much nearer the mark,
when he says to one of them,
"Your face is uncommon face;
Like it, | have many a one,
And may again, before my race
Ofcare be wholly Iun.n
We are drenched with shower of snowy
throats," and milk-white arms" and "warm
necks," and warm, soft hair" and "warm
bright hair" and "warm brown hair " and
we leave the curious in statistics to ascertain
for themselves how many of the young ladies
have golden hair" and "gold hair" and
"curls of gold," and snakes Of gold!" We
would suggest to Mr.. Meredith the advice of
the little boy, who counselled his father to say
grace over the pork barrel, and thereby save
the time consumed in daily retail thanksgiving.
Mr.. Meredith might save much time and paper,
by saying for physique, see page -" Deal
ing so largely in love, the author of course,
cannot dispense with kisses, and though his
kisses have not the wonderful power of sue
ton which characterizes Tennyson's,
"Who--drew
With OF e leng kiss, my whole soul through
MyslIps, as sunlight drnketh dew >
or the buoyancy of Alexander Smiths, who un-
der their influence,
Seemed to walk thrones -
they yet serve very well as pegs.
''That 6rst fast, individual kiss,
Wherein two lives on glowing bps
Hung claspt"
We are sorry to say that Mr.. Meredith's man
fold wooings seem not to have met the sue
cess which his enthusiasm deserves, but, on the
contrary, an amount Of disappointment, decep-
tion, ana death. unparalleled in the experience
ofany one life. This is misfortune for us all, as
he informs US
II 100, perchance, if kindly tended,
Had reused the mapping generation
With something novel; strange, and splendid,
Deserving admiration -
We suppose the generation must reconcile
itself to " a little more sleep, little more slum-
ber," but, after such series of repulses, it is
no wonder that the poet wakes desperate, and
darkly hints
You'll promise me, my mother
Shall never miss her son,
If anythDg should happen
Before the night is done"
Now, this is horrible If man declares out
right that he intends to hang, stab, or shoot
himself you can soothe your anxiety by re-
moving everything fbrous, sharp-edged, and
projectile, from his reach but this vague init
nation of impending catastrophe terrible
something that threatens to happen, fires up
the imagination to a white heat of fearful ex
pectation, with no definite conjecture by which
to cool it off. We are, however, little pro-
voked to find that, after all, nothing in partcu-
lar did happen, for few pages on we learn that
be still lives
"And, well, have not blown my brains
You see can laugh. That is ALL"
All? Yes, but that is great deal A man
may smile, and smile, and yet be villain and
coward enough to drown himself; but we defy
man who can compass laugh to accomplish
any such folly. But Mr. Meredith finally
makes clean breast of it." and gives us a
key to the whole.
-"The whole OF my story to you
Was but deception, silly romance
From the first to the last word, no word oft tue;
And my names Owen Meredith, not Rosencrantz
"Inever have sold to the Devil my soul;
And but small is the price he would give me- know
live much other folks live on the whole;
And the worst thing ia mes my dgestion-heigh-ho
There we thought so
"when like torn books, sad days weigh down each
Other"
1t is always safe to ask, What did you take
at dinner ?" Mr.. Meredith applies this only to
one story. We take the liberty to extend it to
several
We regret that our poet is not always content
with simple asseverations, but thinks it neces-
sary to- fortify his repeated statements by swear
ing-in a mild way to be sure Perhaps this
is not to be wondered at, however, in man
who talks so Familiarity of
. When was last in the nethermost hell,
On a rock mid the sulphurous surges p
as if the Devil were on his regular visiting list
though he tells US elsewhere, that
'The Devil is dead He died resigned,
Though somewhat Oppressed by cares;
But his wife, my friends, is woman Of mind,
And looks after her lords affairs"
There is an old proverb, that the person in
question is not so black as he is painted. Mr.
Meredith, in his desire to say kind word, goes
beyond that, and declares that
" The new Queen is young and pretty, and chic,
There are tcOnen, I think, that are tOrsen
Indigestion again.
Well, all this only shows that any dolt may
laugh at what only poet can write. And Mr..
Meredith is undoubtedly poet, and strikes his
lute-strings with no uncertain hand. He loves
to dwell with his own Daylight
Sea deep o. the other shore of the world
And wind himselfin the pink mouth'd shells
Or, with his dusky, sun ey'd priest
Walk in the gardens of the gorgeous East;
Or hide IN Indian hills; or sail where
Floats, curiousy curled,
Leagues out of sight and scent of spicy trees
The cream white nautilus on sapphrine seas"
Many of his poems are rich, ripe, and full.
swelling with luscious beauty. The pic.
ture of g.