The Press. — 1858-09-18 (London, England)

THE PRESS, SEPTEMBIR 18, 185 R.  meeting with his mother that she fancies his attachment a mere caprice. Ile persists in his intended voyage, but determines to discharge his obligations immediately and return to claim the hand of his betrothed. On his arrival in Australia his merchandize proves to be completely spoiled, and he goes to the diggings to collect money enough to return home. When on the point of sailing he is shot in the bush by a robber, loses his arm, and is only enabled to return to Europe through the generosity of an acquaintance. Ills journey has had not the slightest effect on his mother, who now fancies (as most people would do) that he would not have left Mathilde had he really loved her ; and Mathilde herself, wearied by the delay, seems inclined to adopt the same opinion—for which we find it difficult to blame her. 'Thoroughly morbid in feeling, with a consciousness of impaired strength, and fancying Madill& alienated from him, he releases her from her engagement, and goes to Ilyi!res and Nice in search of health. At the latter place his health improves, and he falls in love with a married lady, who makes a catspaw of him to cover her intrigue with a French nobleman. He threatens to challenge him ; is cajoled out of this resolution ; then threatens to shoot himself. The coquette " fears the scandal of a duel and my suicide " (feared also, probably, for her new lover); and the following scene takes place : I was long obstinate, I had so much reason to think my jealousy well founded ; but Mme. de S— saw that I loved her even to madness, and profited by it. As though overcome by her agitation, she let fall tender expressions ; and, perceiving the effect they produced, vowed that if I disliked d'E—, she would never see him again, and offered every proof of love and attachment I could desire. Intoxicated by her words, by the sight of this adored woman supplicating at my feet, imploring me to live for her, I let myself be conquered. I gave her my word of honour not to shoot myself. Radiant with her victory, but wearied by the struggle, she sunk on my arm, thanked me impetuously, hut, at the same time, entreated me to leave her alone, to recover from so much emotion. I clasped her to my heart, and left her. The Priest (whose experience of the confessional ought, one would think, to have led him to distrust such demonstrations) is thoroughly taken in, and has the satisfaction of next day seeing the lady, after denying herself to him on pretence of illness, walk out with his rival, " with whom she " conversed in that indescribable manner that " marks complete intimacy." This is of course an overwhelming blow, and produces the following specimen of morbid logic. The Priest argues that his promise not to molest his rival was unconditional, but his promise not to destroy himself was conditional on the lady's performance of her part of the contract. As she has broken it, he is free to suffer in his own person, and lest he should " become ridiculous," he takes poison, which he has long carried concealed about him, and, to use his own expression, seeks repose in the bosom of the Universal Cause. Few who read this painful story will be inclined to disagree with the manner in which it is characterized by the preface, as "a tale of exile, "of woe, and of weakness." Weakness, indeed, is apparent in every line the author writes—in every action he either does or &its to do. Who but a man of intense moral weakness would think of expressing himself in the following gushing style ? The passage is the very first in the book : An exile ! why did I become an exile ? When my country was bound, stretched at the feet of the executioner, why did I fly the vengeance that overpowered my people? Alone, far from my country, on the distant shores of the southern sea, away from all that. I love, I bow my head like a flower that perishes for want of light—bent under the load of a chain that every day weighs more heavily upon me, becoming more entangled by the efforts I have made to east it from me, I shall never again behold the plains and the streams of my native land. An exile! why did I become an exile? " An exile ! why did I become an exile ?" is, in fact, the burden of the story, and is repeated at the close of almost every chapter. " Why did I become a priest ?" would have been a much more pertinent question. If the narrative teaches anything, it is the not very novel truth that a man had better not commit himself to a profession which requires the abandonment of all earthly ties until he knows that he is strong enough to do without earthly ties altogether. It also teaches us that there are men with so false an estimate of comparative duties that, though they may be willing to place themselves in a free position by the violation of the most sacred oaths, they may, on the other hand, refuse to make that freedom available by using the