_The Coming Race._ William Blackwood and Sons.
The author of 'The Coming Race' treads in the steps of the author of
'Gulliver,' _haud passibus æquis_, indeed, but with an individuality
and a power that are altogether his own, and with a geniality in the
delicate and subdued irony of his satire that makes his book as
pleasant as it is clever. In competent hands, no form of allegory so
lends itself to the castigation of the follies of an age, or to the
embodiment of previsions and prognostications. It constitutes a little
literature of its own, which boasts of some remarkable productions.
'The Coming Race' inhabit a subterranean world, into which the author
was precipitated while at the bottom of a mine; and in the inhabitants
thereof we are led to contemplate the good and evil of certain social
theories and scientific speculations realized in actual result. There
is no savage castigation of vices, nor cynical delineation of
abortions, but a quiet, keen, playful exhibition of possible good and
probable evil; of things to be desired and of things to be shunned.
The author is too serious for ridicule, and too sly for gravity. His
tone is that of a good-natured optimism, with just a touch of banter.
Probably, he himself would find it difficult to balance the exact gain
or loss of the changes he conceives. It is difficult, indeed, to
determine when he is indulging in day-dreams, when in subtle satire.
He is a citizen of the American Republic, and as such is in the best
subjective condition for appreciating the unconventional. In this also
there is a touch of sly satire. He realizes in his pallid world what
Brother Jonathan boasts so much about, the actual apotheosis of
republican liberalism, social equality, and religious and scientific
knowledge. We cannot even indicate the vast variety of problems that
in these several departments find their solution. We can only, in a
loose way, mention a few of the phenomena of life in the nether world.
Deprived of solar light, it is compensated by science, and innumerable
lamps constitute perpetual day, but of a pale hue. Its strange flora
and fauna are described. Its inhabitants are a giant race, perfected
through long processes of natural selection, and advanced to
unthought-of possibilities of scientific culture. They have attained
to a perfect practical knowledge of mesmeric force or 'vril;' a tube
in the hands of a child is charged with an agency so terrible that it
would annihilate an army, and yet so delicate and subtle that it
soothes a nervous impatience--a force so perfect that it cannot be
used in strife. Absolute equality, social harmony, and tranquil
happiness are not only the privileges, they are necessary conditions
of social existence; leisurely enjoyment, consummate knowledge, virtue
cultured into an instinct, are its natural causes. Mechanism has been
so perfected that automaton figures render all necessary domestic
service, and locomotion is equally facile on the earth, in the water,
or through the air. Of course, their laws are perfect; government is
a high social duty from which men shrink, save as moral obligation
constrains, self-seeking being annihilated. Wise provision against
over-population is made by regulations for emigration. The women are
bigger and cleverer than the men, having greater power over the
mysterious 'vril;' and in love matters have men's privilege of
'speaking first,' love being of more importance to women than to men.
Democratic government--the government, that is, of the most
ignorant--is denounced as superlative folly--Koom-Posh; and the utmost
scorn is poured upon our legislation, war, and social habits, as the
absurdities of a barbarous age and people. Learned disquisitions on
language, literature, and the arts suffice to show, at any rate, the
accomplishments of the writer: and the tender susceptibilities of
which the hero was the victim from the Vril-ya women supply a pleasant
touch of humanity. The people, in short, have attained a development
which is as far ahead of ours, as ours is of our anthropoid ancestors.
They have penetrated the chief secrets of nature, and almost got rid
of all human ills. Theirs is a paradise of physical, scientific,
social, and moral perfection; wealth is disliked, power is shunned,
crime is unknown, and force is unnecessary. But somehow the general
result is unsatisfactory and melancholy. The book is an able and
remarkable one. Much wisdom, as well as much learning, is veiled under
its ingenious allegory; the _reductio ad absurdum_ is suggested with
exquisite subtlety. It is one of the cleverest satires of its class.
_The Songstresses of Scotland._ By SARAH TYTLER and J. L. WATSON.
Strahan and Co.
Notwithstanding some slight tendency in two or three of these sketches
to attempt a story when there is no story to tell, this is as charming
a book of its class as we remember to have read. A single ballad
sometimes gives fame, as, for example, the 'Werena my Heart Licht' of
Lady Grisell Baillie; but then all that we care to know about its
author may be told in a paragraph. With others, however, it is
different. Song-writers like Mrs. Cockburn, Lady Ann Barnard, and the
Countess of Nairn, are so much more than song-writers that they amply
deserve the separate biography which has already been produced of the
latter, and which, we are glad to learn, is being prepared of the
former. Scotch ballads, like Scotch whisky, have their own peculiar
flavour, and it has a special charm for Englishmen. We should be
ashamed to have to confess how many mediocre verses in poetry, and
dialogues in novels, delight us simply in virtue of their Scottish
dialect. There are Scotch ballads, however, that, in virtue of their
intrinsic merits, will live for aye. The biographies which the
industry and skill of Miss Tytler and Miss Watson have here supplied
are those of Lady Grisell Baillie (1665-1746), author of 'Werena my
Heart Licht,' immortal chiefly in virtue of its single refrain, 'And
werena my heart licht I wad dee;' Jean Adam (1710-1765), author of
'There is nae Luck about the House,' who was a pedlar; Mrs. Cockburn
(1712-1794), author of 'The Flowers of the Forest;' Miss Jean Elliot
(1727-1805), author of another 'The Flowers of the Forest;' Miss
Susanna Blamire (1747-1794), author of 'What ails this Heart of Mine,'
and 'Ye shall walk in silk attire,' &c.; Jean Glover (1758-1801),
author of 'O'er the Muir among the Heather;' Mrs. Elizabeth Hamilton
(1758-1816), author of 'My ain Fireside;' Lady Ann Barnard
(1750-1825), author of 'Auld Robin Gray;' Baroness Nairne (1762-1851),
author of 'The Land o' the Leal,' 'Caller Herring,' 'The Laird o'
Cockpen,' &c.; and Joanna Baillie (1762-1851), author of 'Woo'd and
Married and a',' 'Saw ye Johnny Comin,' &c. A more charming miscellany
of gentle thought and lyric sweetness it would be difficult to find.
As might be expected with woman's songs, there is but little of the
national and political fierceness that inspires so many of the Scotch
ballads of the other sex. Even the Jacobite songs of Lady Nairne are
so gentle and winsome that the stoutest old Hanoverian Whig might
easily sing them. But the chief charm of the book is the sketch of the
delicious old lady, Mrs. Cockburn, the friend of Allan Ramsay, Burns,
and Scott, and surely the most vivacious, witty, and optimist
octogenarian that ever lived. She was one of the queens of Edinburgh
society, and the authoresses have had access to her letters, which
Walter Scott so highly prized, and which for gossiping fulness,
vivacious interest, intellectual sparkle, and versatile cleverness,
can hardly be surpassed. She was the life and soul of the social life
which she helped to mould. We are glad to learn that a biography of
this clever and beautiful old lady is in preparation. Meanwhile we
commend the 'Songstresses of Scotland' as a delightful book.
Everything that Miss Tytler touches she adorns, and she has here hit
upon a genial and interesting theme.
_Arber's English. Reprints._--_Tottel's Miscellany, 1550_; _Thomas
Lever's Sermons, 1550_; _William Webbe's Discourse of English Poetrie,
1587_; _The First Printed English New Testament_. Translated by
WILLIAM TYNDALE. Photo-lithographed from the Unique Fragment now in
the Grenville Collection, British Museum. London: 5 Queen-square,
Bloomsbury.
Mr. Arber continues his munificent and inestimable work with
increasing efficiency, and we infer with increasing encouragement.
Certainly no attempt to bring the curiosities and treasures of our
early English literature within the reach of the very poorest student
and the common reader is at all comparable to it. For a shilling may
be purchased copies of precious treasures which wealth could not buy.
'Tottel's Miscellany' is the first known collection of English verse,
the progenitor of the countless volumes which now load our
drawing-room tables, and defy criticism. Tottel's collection includes
poems by the Earl of Surrey, Sir Thomas Wyatt, Nicholas Grimald, and
ninety-five by 'uncertain authors.' Either our forefathers three
centuries ago had very contracted ideas about literature, or it was
more affluent than we suppose--for we find William Webbe, in his
'Discourse of English Poetrie,' thus complaining of a tribulation
which we thought was peculiar to modern reviewers. 'Among the
innumerable sortes of Englyshe bookes, and infinite fardles of printed
pamphlets, wherewith thys Countrey is pestered, all shoppes stuffed,
and euery study furnished; the greatest part, I thinke in any one
kinde, are such as are either meere Poeticall, or which tende in some
respecte (as either in matter or forme) to Poetry.' Mr. Arber has the
genuine bibliophilist's afflatus: the patience with which he picks up
bits of bibliographical information, and the caution and skill with
which he uses it, are perfect. 'Tottel's Miscellany' was very popular
in its day.
Lever was Fellow, Preacher, and Master of St. John's College,
Cambridge; Pastor in exile of the English Church at Aarau; Prebend of
Durham Cathedral, and Master of Sherburn Hospital. He was, as Mr.
Arber terms him, one of the 'spiritual children' of the Reformation,
the associate of Latimer, Bradford, and Knox. These three sermons,
after the manner of the times, deal with public and passing topics,
manners, and customs, and are valuable not only as part of the
religious but as part of the domestic history of their day. Lever was
a man of Latimer's type--superlatively faithful and fearless.
Webbe's 'Discourse of English Poetrie' is a reprint of a very rare
book, only two copies of it being known to exist. Webbe was a
Cambridge graduate, and a very accomplished, modest, and able man.
Singularly his critique on English poetry was almost synchronous with
the greater work of Puttenham, on 'the Arte of English Poesie,' which
Mr. Arber has already reprinted in this series. Webbe's discourse
contains a good deal of shrewd penetrating criticism. He was well
acquainted with the classical poets, and made experiments in
translation, with a view of naturalizing classical feet.
The facsimile of the fragment of Tyndale's 'First Printed English New
Testament' is a great literary, as well as religious curiosity. Well
may Mr. Arber speak of the reverence, almost the awe, with which he
offers the 'photographic likeness of a priceless gem in English
literature,' the progenitor of the millions of English Scriptures. Mr.
Arber accompanies the work with a very extensive and multifarious
bibliography, giving an account of Tyndale and Roy, and of the first
two editions of the English New Testament; and discussing the question
whether Tyndale's quarto was a translation of Luther's German version.
It is a perfect luxury to read the scholarly, modest, and painstaking
bibliography of Mr. Arber. We earnestly direct attention to his
invaluable labours.
_The Novels and Novelists of the Eighteenth Century._ By WILLIAM
FORSYTH, M.A., Q.C. John Murray.
Mr. Forsyth's book hardly falls within the scope of criticism. Gossip
is scarcely amenable to the laws of art, and Mr. Forsyth's research
is not wide enough, nor are his reflections profound enough to deserve
any other description. It is, however, very pleasant gossip, and will
both amuse and instruct, even if it amuses rather more than it
instructs. The eighteenth century has now passed into the region of
history, and we study it with the same merely historical interest with
which we study the fifteenth. We read the books of the eighteenth
century as we read the classics--not as we read the authors who
reflect our own ideas, and manners. Fielding is perhaps now less read
than at any other time, and chiefly by literary men in the way of
their profession, or by historical students. We would forgive Mr.
Forsyth the admitted defects of his book, if it did anything to arrest
the progress of this classical oblivion. That, however, does not seem
to be Mr. Forsyth's intention. He seems to have been a good deal
surprised when he found, in the course of his studies, that he had got
into such disreputable company, and was correspondingly disgusted.
Much of the book is accordingly occupied with criticism, in which the
author is very hard on the immoral novelists, who only aimed at
describing the times as they were. Mr. Forsyth does not maintain that
they were unfaithful to the reality, and therefore criticises the age
rather than the books which mirrored it. But that kind of criticism
belongs to an almost extinct school.
_The Life and Writings of Joseph Mazzini._ Vol. VI. Critical and
Literary. Smith, Elder, and Co.
The critical and literary writings of Mr. Mazzini are not purely
literary, and their criticism is not disinterested. The prophetic
function and the critical are not quite compatible, and Mr. Mazzini is
a prophet of the Old Testament order, though unhappily with the fate
of Cassandra. The political passion burns too hotly in him to admit of
the coexistence of that pure critical instinct which has no
enthusiasms, and which maintains its impartiality by holding aloof
from affairs. Accordingly the objects of his admiration belong to the
militant class in literature; he subordinates Homer to Dante, Goethe
to Byron, and, we suppose, Fielding to George Sand. If he would not
exactly define genius as the spirit of revolt, he would say that
sympathy with the active movements of humanity is an essential
constituent of it. An organ for apprehending thought as such, ideas
apart from their application, he does not seem to possess. The purely
spiritual side of life, the purely metaphysical side of thought, are
blanks to him; yet in even the most imperfect state of society, and
the most urgently needing reformation, these will always form a large
part of the total life of humanity. He is, in short, the high-priest
of the revolution, and grants absolution only to votaries at that
shrine. The essays in the present volume are conceived in this spirit,
and are less criticisms than impassioned orations, delivered with
crusading fervour. That on George Sand is a discourse on the 'life of
Genius,' its sorrows, aspirations, and ineradicable melancholy. That
on Goethe is a denunciation of political inaction and the worship of
indifference; while the greatness of Lamennais is recognised only when
he ceased to be a thinker, and took to abortive action. Putting aside
their absence of critical disinterestedness, and therefore of critical
value, these essays are full of eloquence and genuine enthusiasm. They
may be called the evangel of that section of the party of action which
aspires to a great democracy of the future--a transformation that
shall be more than political, more than social, that shall be almost
theocratic.
_The Orations of Cicero against Catiline; with Notes, &c._ Translated
from the German of Karl Halm, with many additions. By A. S. WILKINS,
M.A. Macmillan and Co. 1871.
_A Complete Dictionary to Cæsar's Gallic War._ By A. CREAK, M.A.
Hodder and Stoughton. 1870.
The first-mentioned of these works is, we think, the best school-book
that has ever come under our notice. The excellence of the original is
sufficiently guaranteed, by its appearing in Haupt and Sauppe's
series, and its practical usefulness fully established by the sale of
seven editions in the course of a few years. But we do not hesitate to
affirm that the English edition is rendered far superior to the
original by the extensive additions of Professor Wilkins, which bear
ample testimony, not simply to his varied critical and literary
acquirements, but also to the correctness of his judgment respecting
the difficulties and wants of the generality of students. There is
scarcely a note in the original to which important additions have not
been made by the editor. Among the most valuable helps to the English
student are the constant reference to 'Mommsen's History,' 'Ramsay's
Antiquities,' and 'Madvig's Grammar.' The etymological notes by the
translator often contain, within a narrow compass, the substance of
the views of Curtius, Schleicher, or Corsen on the subject. More
advanced students are directed for further information to the works of
Bekker, Drumann, Nägelsbach, Arnold, Niebuhr, Merivale, and Forsyth.
In fact, no source of illustration has escaped the editor, not even
essays in the _Rheinisches Museum_ and the _Fortnightly Review_. Not
the least valuable contribution is the excellent analysis of the four
orations, enabling the student to follow the argument at every step.
We cannot speak too highly of this little volume. It is our candid
opinion that here the junior student will lack nothing, and that the
mature scholar may learn much. We have the greatest satisfaction in
recommending it to all in search of an efficient help in studying the
Catiline Orations.
The second book is quite an elementary work, somewhat on the plan of
our Teutonic neighbours. The author's aim is twofold; to provide the
youthful learner with a better dictionary for the reading of Cæsar, by
delivering him from the bewilderment of a large one and the meagreness
of a small one, and to secure from the very commencement idiomatic
modes of translation. The latter is kept in view all through the
work, and is the sole object of the two appendices, the first of which
contains 116 idiomatic phrases, with their English equivalents; and
the second, hints on translation into English. Mr. Creak very rightly
maintains that a lesson in Latin translation should also be one in
English composition. This work, though small and elementary, is not
unimportant. It aims at correcting one great defect of most of the
current school-books, and exhibits the ability of a scholar, combined
with the experience of a teacher. We heartily wish the author success
in his effort to shorten the tedious and cumbrous modes of instruction
prevalent in our best institutions.
_Homer--Odyssey._ Books I--XII. By W. W. MERRY, M.A. Oxford: Clarendon
Press.
School-books, in almost every department of literature, seem to be
making their appearance in battalions. There are at present several
rival series, which travel over exactly the same classical ground. The
volume before us belongs to the Clarendon Press series, and is the
precursor of a larger work on the same subject. This will probably
account for the disappointing brevity of the notes and illustrations.
The materials for a good edition of the 'Odyssey' are abundant,
consisting of elaborate works treating of every topic connected with
this ancient poem, as well as of excellent commentaries. The notes
given by Mr. Merry are so brief and elementary as to convey but little
idea of the labours of his predecessors. We do not believe in a
school-book being overladen with explanatory matter or piled up with
references to authorities, which the schoolboy will be probably unable
and certainly unwilling to consult; but we do think that every
annotated classical book should contain ample references to our best
elementary books on grammar, antiquities, and history; the absence of
which is in our opinion a serious drawback to the present edition. Mr.
Merry has followed in the main the text of La Roche. The brief but
excellent introduction is adapted from the pamphlet of Thomaszewski.
The illustrated matter contains a sketch of the principal Homeric
forms, the metre of Homer, Homeric syntax, and notes for which the
commentaries of Nitzsch, Ameis, and Crusius have been consulted. The
notes, as far as they go, are clear, precise, pertinent, judicious,
and seem to be on the same plan, and scarcely more extensive than
those on the first six books of the Iliad, in the 'Annotated Oxford
Pocket Classics.'
_The Georgics of Virgil._ Translated by P. D. BLACKMORE, M.A. Sampson
Low, Son, and Marston.
Mr. Blackmore is not only one of the best of novelists and gardeners,
he is also a complete scholar and a charming poet. This translation of
the 'Georgics' is a most remarkable achievement; the full significance
of Virgil's words is almost always perceptible in the rendering,
notwithstanding the exigencies of rhyme. We are by no means of opinion
that the decasyllabic couplet is a fit metre for Virgil; that elegant
Roman was as nearly as possible a Tennyson, and his tricks of
versification can be admirably echoed in Tennysonian blank verse. Mr.
Blackmore has more force and a stronger idiosyncrasy than Virgil had;
hence, in the translation we think more of the English than of the
Roman poet. To such a style of translation we do not object; we read
our Virgil with a difference, with a new flavour, in fact. Just in the
same way did Dryden turn Horace into a nobler form when he wrote,
'Not heaven itself upon the past has power,
But what has been has been, and I have had my hour.'
If we mistake not, Mr. Blackmore himself remarks somewhere, that the
meaning of the New Testament comes out better in English than it
possibly could in Greek; similarly, we prefer Blackmore's 'Georgics'
to Virgil's. As we have here no space for anything like critical
discussion, we prefer to quote the beautiful lines with which the
translator apologises for his temerity.
'Indulgence have ye for a gardener's dream
(A man with native melody unblest)!
How patient toil and love that does its best,
Clouds though they be, may follow the sunbeam.
'And in this waning of poetic day,
With all so misty, moonlit, and grotesque,
'Tis sweet to quit that medley picturesque,
And chase the sunset of a clearer ray.
'Too well I know, by fruitless error taught,
How latent beauty hath fallacious clues,
How difficult to catch, how quick to lose
The mirage of imaginative thought.
'And harder still to make that vision bear
The loose refraction of a modern tongue,
To render sight to hearing, old to young,
And fix my purview on an English ear.
'Too well I know, by gardener's hopes misled,
How cheap are things which long have cost me dear;
And though I fail to graft the poet here,
No wilding branches may I flaunt instead.
'But yonder, lo, my amethysts and gold,
So please you--grapes and apricots--constrain
These more accustomed hands; unless ye deign
To tend with me the kine and beeves of old.'
The pregnant felicity of this prelude will show better than any
criticism Mr. Blackmore's poetic capacity.
_Ancient Classics for English Readers. The Commentaries of Cæsar._
By ANTHONY TROLLOPE. _Horace._ By THEODORE MARTIN. _Æschylus._ By
REGINALD S. COPLESTON. _Xenophon._ By Sir ALEXANDER GRANT. Edited by
Rev. W. LUCAS COLLINS, M.A. Blackwood and Sons.
This is a brilliant idea of Mr. Collins; and his collaborateurs have
well discharged their duty. It is not only the English reader who will
be thankful to Messrs. Trollope, Martin, Swayne, Grant, and Collins,
but all young students, who may now grapple with portions of those
great classics with more zest and profit after thus obtaining a
comprehensive view of the whole works which they are compelled often
to nibble at in sublime unconsciousness of their general purport or
spirit. Mr. Trollope has told the wondrous story of Cæsar as far as
his Commentaries reveal it, and has illustrated it throughout with
geographical exposition, historical parallel, and realistic art.
Bright, stirring bits of description, curt despatches, stunning
condensations of campaigns into a few pages or sentences, are given in
the mighty Cæsar's own words, and the story is told with grace and
simplicity in nervous clear English by one of the most popular writers
of the day. Mr. Martin has graduated with high honour in the school of
Classical Translation before attempting this difficult task. We must
confess to great satisfaction with his dainty and delicate work. He
has given us a sketch of the career of Horace, and by skilful
quotation has made him tell the story of his youth, of his high
military career, of his relation to Mæcenas, of his health, and his
tastes, of his love-passages, of his friendships, and of his religious
ideas. Mr. Martin has gracefully introduced Professor Conington's
translations where he preferred them to his own. Lord Lytton has not
met with equal favour at his hand, though his criticisms are not
unfrequently referred to.
If our readers will try and conceive what 'Hamlet' or the 'Revolt of
Islam' would look like if described to some younger civilization in
some language of the future, they will have an idea of the difficulty
of reproducing the dramas of the ancient tragedians in the shape of a
mere account of them in prose. It is not only that the exquisite art
of the originals evaporates in the process, but the poetry goes, and
only the great conceptions remain; even the beliefs of the ancient
world lose their simplicity in transmission. But it was hardly
necessary for Mr. Reginald Copleston to be so misleading as to speak
of the 'gloomy deities which belong to the sphere of conscience and
moral responsibility,' or to find in the Greek mythology such lessons
as the 'deep and dreadful responsibility of man, the possibility of
restoration from sin to purity, and the overruling providence of a
supreme Creator.' Some of these truths are the offspring of Roman law,
others are the growth of Christianity, but they are all modern.
Aristotle certainly knew nothing of them, and anyone who carried such
associations into his reading of the 'Prometheus' would find his ideas
of it vitiated by a fundamental misconception. Except that Mr.
Copleston's sentences are mostly halting and broken-backed, his
account of the plays is otherwise good and accurate.
'Xenophon' is the father of military history, of romance, and of
Boswelliana. He is less appreciated than 'Herodotus,' but is equally
vivacious and interesting. We do not think, therefore, that his 'chief
service to modern readers consists in the amount of information he has
preserved.' There is more in his pictures of contemporary life than
this. Sir A. Grant has done his work well, and 'Xenophon' ought
thereby to be more attractive to English readers than he has been. We
could have wished for a somewhat fuller picture of his life and times,
but the exigencies of space are imperative.
_The Works of Virgil, rendered into English Prose._ By JAMES LONSDALE,
M.A., and SAMUEL LEE, M.A. Macmillan and Co.
A prose translation of 'Virgil' is of course unreadable. We presume
this is meant as a 'crib.' Davidson certainly left room for
improvement, and may now be considered to be superseded by the
excellent translation of Messrs. Lonsdale and Lee. The introductions
are full of matter, though they are written in a pedantically antique
style which was probably suggested by a not quite accurate sense of
congruity.
_Ralph the Heir._ By ANTHONY TROLLOPE. Hurst and Blackett.
Mr. Trollope's novels contribute a distinct element to English
fiction. He is the creator, almost perfect, of commonplace. If we
limit his genius, it is not because it so embodies itself, for it
demands genius as great to create the commonplace as the heroic or the
grotesque. Extremes are always easy, they are the fault of all
undisciplined force; only well-balanced and practised power can avoid
them. The artistic defect of Mr. Trollope is that he never does
anything else. He is a Paganini among novel writers; he fiddles
exquisitely, but always upon one string. He has no situations of
passion; his characters are not conceived so as to render development
into passion possible. What heroics can be got out of the Bishop of
Barchester or his wife, or 'Ralph the Heir'? Within his range, Mr.
Trollope has wonderful variety, but before opening a new work of his
we may always predicate, if not the species, yet the genus of his
characters; no one would ascribe to him many-sidedness. 'Ralph the
Heir' is essentially commonplace--not wicked, nor good--not weak, nor
strong--in any distinctive way. A young man with a few hundreds a
year, the heir-presumptive of his uncle, he has simply gone the way of
many young men who ultimately settle down, as he does, into
respectable country gentlemen, magistrates, and fathers. He has given
himself to horse-racing, hunting, and betting, with their belongings,
and has got embarrassed, his only chance of extrication being the
reversion of the estate, the possession of which, however, his uncle
seems likely to retain for many years. Out of these circumstances,
such being his characters, the entanglements of the tale are wrought.
Ralph, who is as weak in love as he is in moral habit, commits himself
to a virtual declaration of affection for Clarissa, the daughter of
his guardian, Sir Thomas Underwood; his pecuniary necessities press
hard upon him, and drive him to the extremity of a proposal to Polly
Neefit, the daughter of a wealthy breeches-maker; a brilliant cousin
of Clarissa's--Mary Bonner--comes from the West Indies, with whom
everybody falls in love; delivered from old Neefit by the accidental
death of his uncle, Ralph proposes to her and is refused, then again
to Clarissa and is refused, and at last is married by Lady Eardham to
her daughter Augusta. The peculiar triumph of Mr. Trollope is that he
carries his hero and the ladies through all this without a single
feeling of disgust. None of the characters have much in them except
Mary, who shadows a fine conception, but they are all redeemed from
contempt. Pooly Neefit is vulgar, but she has strong common sense and
true-hearted honesty, and knows what she is; Clarissa is a coquette,
but she has tenderness and faithfulness, if not depth of feeling; the
Eardhams are the Eardhams, types of scores of common-place families,
who, if they think about affections at all, clearly regard them as
troublesome superfluities; the viciousness and vulgar ambition of old
Neefit are redeemed by a certain generosity and kindliness of social
and domestic feeling. Everybody interests, nobody excites; everybody
is tolerable, and commonplace. Indeed, so conscious of this is Mr.
Trollope, that he devotes two or three pages at the conclusion of his
novel to an apology for it, showing us how undesirable it is that
every man should be a Henry Esmond, and every woman a Jeannie Deans.
True: but the only hope for mean, selfish, common-place people is for
literary artists to paint ideal excellence. Mere portrait-painting is
not the final cause of poetry and fiction; while life-like, it must be
life-idealized. Jeannie Deans has touched myriads of common-place
hearts, and made them nobler. Why does not Mr. Trollope try to give us
a Jeannie Deans occasionally? What good to anybody is it to paint only
Ralph Newtons, except, perhaps, to excite a tolerance for
common-place, an allowance for the defective men and women one meets
with every day--an end important, no doubt; but why not delineate
virtues and vices--nobilities and meannesses--so as to do something to
excite the emulation of Ralph Newtons themselves, as well as our
charity towards them?
Mr. Trollope's masterpiece in this novel is Sir Thomas Underwood, a
barrister, living in chambers, with two daughters at Putney, who has
been Solicitor-General, and who has been all his life purposing to
write a life of Bacon--a conception, again, of a respectable form of a
somewhat selfish and irresolute character, but admirably portrayed. So
is Ontario Moggs, the son of Ralph's bootmaker, his rival in the
affections of Polly Neefit, a red-hot Communist orator, and the
working man's candidate in the Percycross election. In the description
of this election, at which Sir Thomas was returned and then unseated
on petition, Mr. Trollope has excelled himself. Contested elections
have often been described; Thackeray, Dickens, and George Eliot
especially, have found them as fruitful in humour as Hogarth did.
George Eliot excepted, we doubt if any living writer could approach
the skill and power with which the election of Percycross, the tactics
of its candidates, and the characteristics of its free and independent
electors are described; happily, it is now disfranchised for bribery.
Mr. Trollope's selection of types of characters and his successful
delineation of them are equal even to his best work. Sir Thomas and
old Neefit are not surpassed by Mrs. Proudie and Archdeacon Grantley.
Every portrait is characteristic, and is most carefully finished.
There are few things in fiction finer than the subtle admixture of
excellencies and defects in Sir Thomas. We do not care much for 'Ralph
the Heir;' we feel neither great indignation at his sins nor great
satisfaction with his virtues. He will be as happy as a nature like
his can be. Old Neefit is, in his way, as distinctive in drawing and
indelible in impression as Pickwick himself, only, of course, far less
agreeable.
Mr. Trollope is a Dutch artist, and paints with the fidelity of a
Teniers and the power of a Paul Potter. It is not the highest school
of art, but Mr. Trollope is a master in it, and 'Ralph the Heir' is
one of his greatest pictures. If one word may designate it, it is a
novel of selfishness exhibited in various striking types, not
pleasant, but unquestionably powerful, and likely to live when many
things that Mr. Trollope has done are dead and forgotten.
_Joshua Marvel._ By B. L. FARJEON. Tinsley Brothers.
The promise which we recognised in Mr. Farjeon's 'Grif' is more than
fulfilled in 'Joshua Marvel.' The author, with a rapidity which is
really surprising, has acquired a mastery of delineation and a
delicacy of touch, that give him high rank among brothers of his
craft. The opening chapters, which delineate the boyish friendship of
Joe and Dan, and the bird-fancying of the poor little cripple, are as
full of delicate beauty and pathos as anything that we have for a long
time read. Indeed, the entire history of the friendship of the two
lads is exquisitely conceived and wrought out. In its unselfishness,
tenderness, truthfulness, and moral beauty, it is like the love of
David and Jonathan. Like the author of 'Episodes from an Obscure
Life,' Mr. Farjeon's strength lies in his descriptions of East-end
life. Like him, too, he idealizes it by the delineation of noble
thoughts and faithful love. The old sailor--Mr. Meddler--the
Lascar--Minnie--Ellen--as well as Joe and Dan, are all portrayed in a
very masterly manner; while all is idealized, nothing is exaggerated.
Joe is a very noble character. The shipwreck, and the experiences in
the Australian forests, which Mr. Farjeon's colonial life qualify him
for describing with great truthfulness and power of colouring and
incident, are narrated in a very powerful way. The quiet beauty and
pathos of the story have greatly charmed and moved us. It is a pure,
wholesome book, carefully and skilfully written, the precursor, we
hope, of many more.
_Tales of the North Riding._ By STEPHEN YORKE. Smith, Elder, and Co.
The title of this book led us to expect that 'Stephen Yorke' had
attempted to do for Yorkshire what the author of 'Lorna Doone' has so
admirably done for Devonshire, or what, in his 'Wenderholme,' Mr.
Hammerton has done for the Yorkshire and Lancashire borders. We are
disappointed. 'Stephen Yorke' is not the impersonation of a _genius
loci_, although there is no reason to deny that _she_ may be a
Yorkshire-woman; nor have the four stories any very distinctive local
colouring. Neither the descriptions of natural scenery nor the
reproduction of the vernacular is characteristic enough to necessitate
a Yorkshire _locale_ rather than a Devonshire one. It might be an
imperfect representation of either, save, indeed, that the items of
natural configuration catalogued are more true of Scarborough than
they are of Lynton. The forte of the authoress certainly does not lie
in description. We can, however, speak much more favourably concerning
her powers of portraiture. The characters of her four stories are well
conceived and delicately discriminated. The tone is artistic and
tender, and the treatment skilful; a quiet and acute observation of
the gentler sorrows of human life, sometimes, however, as in
Lizzie--the heroine of Thorpe House Farm--developing into sad domestic
tragedy, and considerable power in daguerreotyping it, are the
writer's _forte_. Thorpe House Farm is the best story of the four, and
is very pathetic; when the authoress attempts stronger positions she
becomes sensational, as in the quarrel of 'Squire Hasildene and his
Son,' and the rough winter experiences of the latter in Danesborough.
There is much that is natural and touching in the delineation of Mrs.
Wynburn and her daughter; the yearnings of the mother, and the
breaking down of the cold reserve of the daughter after the not very
original mishap which befel her. Sophia Wynburn is a very clever
creation. The book is not great, but there is a certain something in
it which indicates a power of character-painting which itself has not
adequately realized, and which may, when it has shaken off what 'A. K.
H. B.' would call a little of the 'vealy,' and when it has acquired
the confidence and skill of practised writing, develope into a
distinctive gift. The stories are very pleasant reading--that is, they
are admirable in tone and interesting in execution.
_For Lack of Gold: A Novel._ By CHARLES GIBBON. Blackie and Sons.
Success has produced upon Mr. Gibbon the effect that it always does
produce upon true men: it has animated him to painstaking effort. 'For
Lack of Gold' is a piece of very genuine workmanship, and its effect
upon us is that we have to restrain our strong inclination to eulogize
instead of criticize. The defect of the story is that the painful
tension is too great; it wants the relief of quiet scenes and composed
feelings. Angus and Annie are in a chronic agony. Shakespeare
understood the tragic art better; strong passions can be only
occasional, and 'Lear' without the fool would be too painful. This,
however, is almost the only fault we have to find. The writing is
good, and the little descriptive bits evince the keen and careful eye
as well as the skilful hand of an artist. The beautiful and tender
touches with which the work is inlaid--the genuine pathos of even the
most intense feeling is very powerful; the well-regulated freedom of
the artist's hand--the carefully-studied tone of the dialogue--the
constructive skill of the plot--the fine moral atmosphere of the
whole--even the humour of the mere Scottish dialect--all are
accessories essential to the best work, but in one or more of which
even very good work is sometimes lacking. But the prime quality of
every novel is its characterization, and in this Mr. Gibbon has been
eminently successful. The conception of Annie's character, and of the
blind instinct of noble, self-sacrificing love that always guides her
rightly even when she seems to be acting most fatally, are very able
and beautiful. Angus, again, in another way exhibits the same
characteristics, the difference being chiefly that between man and
woman, for in love it is true that the superiority is with the woman.
Angus's mother is after the type of Robert Falconer's mother,--a fine
Scottish matron, full of Calvinism and stern tenderness. Annie's
father, and Dalquherrie, the evil geniuses of the piece, are also well
conceived; they exhibit two natural, types of selfishness. Nor must we
omit to mention that strange compound of incontinence, soldierliness,
eccentricity, and fidelity,--the Deil--a creation worthy of Scott.
Altogether we congratulate Mr. Gibbon on a second very marked success,
which bids fair to place him, as a describer of Scottish forms of our
common humanity, at no very great distance from George Macdonald.
_The Beautiful Miss Harrington._ By HOLME LEE, Author of 'Basil
Godfrey's Caprice,' &c. Smith, Elder, and Co.
The accomplished writer who passes by the pseudonym of Holme Lee has
added to her reputation by this novel. It is written with great care
and felicitousness of style, with perfect taste, and much delicacy of
conception. As might be expected, it is pure as the driven snow, and
very life-like in delineation. It professes to be written by one of
the principal actors in the tragic story, the wife of the rector of
the parish in which the history developes itself, and every
complication of event and thought, and all the balancings of motive
reach the reader through the heart and mind of this one individual.
She is a nimble, strong-minded little woman, with an abhorrence of
shams, and an outspokenness at times quite astonishing. This old, old
story of love arrested by family pride and selfishness, and ending in
cruel disappointment and perverse conjugal relations, in a semblance
of madness, in cruel suspicions, fever, and death, has often been
told, but not often from the standpoint of a sympathetic, loving
spectator and intimate friend of the suffering heroine. The only
drawback is, that we are never admitted to the secret heart of any
masculine actor in the drama; we are never introduced into the privacy
of the lover, or the father, or the grasping heir-at-law of the
'beautiful Miss Barrington.' The presumed biographer is always
present, or quoting extracts from Felicia Barrington's letters, or
relating the gossip of her friends or her enemies. We question whether
poetical justice is altogether done, either to the selfish father, the
long-suffering husband, or to the sneaking, hypocritical reptile who
is the marplot of Felicia's happiness. There are so many ways in which
the machinations of her enemies might have easily been disappointed,
that it is evident that Holme Lee repudiates the position of being
'privy councillor to Providence,' to use one of her own expressions.
Felicia does conquer world, flesh, and devil after a fashion, and her
cruelly-used, high-minded, but intolerably blundering lover,
notwithstanding his gentleness and his Victoria Cross, his forbearance
and patience, deserves his fate; but then, after he has intentionally
broken the tender heart of the heroine, he provokingly consoles
himself with another love. We are not sure that a ward in Chancery and
heiress of entailed estates could have conferred on her husband such
powers as the wife and daughter of Mr. Barrington successively
entrusted to him; but let that pass. We thank Holme Lee for her
fascinating story, the moral of which is,--let young lovers be true to
their plighted word, though fathers, guardians, duennas, family
dignity, titled suitors, death's heads and cross-bones all demand
instant and precipitate repudiation.
_In that State of Life._ By HAMILTON AÏDÉ. Smith, Elder, and Co.
There is not much to be said about Hamilton Aïdé's little story. The
plot is slight. Maud, the stepdaughter of Sir Andrew Herriesson, a
pompous, irascible, narrow-minded baronet, is goaded into
clandestinely leaving his house, after refusing a wealthy match upon
which he was beset. She answers an advertisement, and becomes an under
lady's maid, with a stipend of twenty pounds a year, to Mrs. Cataret,
whose son falls in love with her, and, after a due amount of
difficulty and fuming, marries her. The story is told in a simple,
straightforward way, and the characters are well delineated,
especially that of the vivacious half-French Mrs. Cataret, and of
noble-hearted John Miles, the curate. If the story does not encourage
ill-used baronets' stepdaughters to run away, it may, harmlessly
enough, fill up an idle hour.
_Squire Arden._ By Mrs. OLIPHANT. Hurst and Blackett.
Mrs. Oliphant has won such a position among our lady novelists--second
only among living writers to that of George Eliot--that it is almost
enough to announce a new story from her pen: certainly it is
superfluous to speak of her characteristics as a writer; they are as
well known as those of Anthony Trollope. Like other writers, however,
her productions are not all of equal excellence, and although there
are in 'Squire Arden' elements of literary skill and imaginative power
which would arrest the attention and excite the interest of any
critic, it cannot be designated one of her best works. The story is
not a cheerful one. Its plot is very simple. Edgar Arden, a young man
whom his father has hated and kept abroad, finds himself, soon after
attaining his majority, the Lord of Arden, with an only sister,
between whom and himself there exists a strong affection. Clare has
the Arden blood in her; with much that is excellent derived from her
mother, she has the imperious temper of her father. The redeeming
feature of her character is her love for Edgar. The new experiences of
the heir are described. A few of the village characters are
introduced, notably Dr. Somers, the village doctor, a _bon vivant_,
clever and good at heart, but somewhat cynical; his sister, Miss
Somers, a very clever creation, a kind of pious Mrs. Nickleby; Mr.
Fielding, the gentle, kindly rector, and some of the peasants. At the
house of one of them a Scotchwoman, Mrs. Murray, and her
granddaughter, Jeannie, come to lodge. The Pimpernels, Liverpool
merchants, come on the stage, but little comes of it; so do the
aristocratic neighbours, the Thornleighs. A cousin, Arthur Arden, a
half worn-out and penniless man about town, turns up, and schemes to
marry Clare, to the great distress of everybody who knows her.
The chief interest centres in Arden. Some letters are discovered in a
bureau proving that Edgar is not an Arden, but an adopted child, the
old Squire having been at enmity with his heir. Edgar at once makes
known the discovery, and surrenders the estate to Arthur Arden, the
true heir, whose coarse, servile selfishness comes out. Edgar proves
to be the grandson of Mrs. Murray. The three volumes are occupied with
the simple development of this. The fault of the story is its
prolixity; it doesn't get on. Chapter after chapter is filled with
analyses of everybody's feelings and reflections, and with details of
everybody's movements, until the reader is really wearied. The burthen
of three volumes lies heavily upon both writer and reader. Like every
story that Mrs. Oliphant writes, the book is full of good sense and
clever things, but she should either have put into it more subordinate
and varied incidents, or have made it shorter. It is altogether
melancholy. We pity the villagers who have Arthur Arden for their
Squire; we pity Edgar, who goes forth almost penniless; but most of
all we pity Clare, whose defects hardly deserved such a retribution as
Arthur for a husband.
_A Snapt Gold Ring._ By FREDERICK WEDMORE. Smith, Elder, and Co.
A story of ill-consorted marriage and of the evil that comes of it.
The point of contrast is between gifts and goodness--the power of
intellect and the greatness of love. Madeline, the simple, loving
wife, is well delineated; so is her cousin Kate, the sempstress and
actress. The writer has no great depth, but is well acquainted with
places and people, and with artist-life, and he tells his story and
points its moral fairly well.
_Shoemakers' Village._ By HENRY HOLBEACH. Two vols. Strahan and Co.
Mr. Henry Holbeach cannot write without saying many clever things. He
has an eye for the humours of men and the oddities of religious
persuasion. From an outside standpoint he can see the incongruities of
strongly marked religious profession with the common affairs of life
and business. If Serene Highnesses or great ecclesiastics were
represented with their feet in hot water, and with bowls of toddy at
their side, and seen to be intent on expelling the results of
superfluous rheum from their systems, or if Prime Ministers were
honestly painted at their sport or personal business, the
incongruities of their great professions and their positive actual
doings would seem as laughable as the toy-shop and bill-discounting
and mutton pies of 'cumbersome Christians.'
There are many scenes and bits of description in these volumes which
are almost worthy of Robert Browning, or Mrs. Oliphant; but Mr.
Holbeach seems often to be trying to produce a droll or a weird
effect, in which he never quite succeeds. For our part, we laughed
when he clearly meant us to weep, and we failed to see anything
ludicrous in the incongruities and weaknesses which he so painfully
depicts. As to plot or scheme in 'Shoemakers' Village,' there is
scarcely the apology for one. A few mysteries, of no earthly interest,
are supposed to be lying under our feet, or huddled up in dark
corners, ready to break forth upon the hum-drum life of the principal
characters, but they vanish away, without conferring any interest on
the narrative. The character of Cherry White, _alias_ Tomboy, is
freshly and vividly drawn; and the simple sweetness of her life, just
opening to the significance of love, and making her the _confidante_
of everybody in 'Shoemakers' Village,' redeems the story from absolute
insipidity; but why she should have been drowned in a horse-pond, in
the attempt to save the life of a 'malignant epilept,' who was her
only enemy, baffles our philosophy; and we feel that the ugly splash
she must have made, when she was dragged into the muddy pool,
disfigures the entire story with uncanny stains. However, the separate
characterizations of the 'Shoemakers' Village' reveal a touch of real
power. We would respectfully advise Henry Holbeach to keep to those
higher walks of literature, where he has won for himself so just a
reputation.
_Historical Narratives._ From the Russian. By H. C. ROMANOFF.
Rivingtons.
Madame Romanoff has translated six Russian tales or sketches--three by
S. N. Shoubinsky and three by V. Andrèeff. She has, she tells us,
taken great liberties with Mr. Andrèeff's original narrative, which is
extremely disorderly and rambling. She has curtailed it; and from its
parts or chapters has compiled one continuous narrative. The result is
not very satisfactory. The stories of Catherine the Great and the
Emperor Paul are very timidly told--either from the cautiousness of
the original or the courtliness of the translator. Strange romances
are possible under a despotism, and few nations have more tragic or
wonderful court tales to tell than the semi-oriental, semi-barbarous
despotism of Russia; but whether it be autocrat or favourite, it is
necessary that the story should be told fearlessly and fully. Neither
concerning the venal favourites about whom Shoubinsky tells us, nor
the scandalous monarchs upon whom Andrèeff employs his pen, do we get
this. We have read the stories with a certain interest; but we have
felt in doing so that 'the half was not told us.' Ugly facts are
covered over with gentle euphuisms, and manifest barbarians are
decently clothed. It is the shadow of history that falls upon the
disc, not history itself.
_Restored._ By the Author of 'Son and Heir.' Hurst and Blackett.
'Restored' is a very conscientious and clever novel, and deserves a
much fuller description and criticism than we can bestow upon it. It
is a piece of very honest, painstaking work; its plot and characters
are fresh, and escape the conventional type of novel-writers; its
descriptions indicate a close study of nature, an eye to observe, and
a considerable power of reproduction; while its narrations and
dialogues are inlaid with thoughtful observations and vivacious
disquisitions on men and things. The writer has made her book a
repertory for much of her philosophy of life. It would, for instance,
be possible to glean from it something like a complete theory of the
'Woman's Right' question; and we must do the authoress the justice to
say that her views are generally just and her remarks sensible. The
book, in short, is full of sterling stuff, and will bear more than one
perusal. Evidently, it has been a labour of love, written with
literary care and pride, and with a purpose much higher than that of
mere amusement. The writer's aim is high, and it has achieved a signal
success. Mr. Malreward, of Malreward Park, in Somersetshire, a
handsome, almost unmitigated scoundrel, had married the sister of the
Rev. Arthur Byrne, rector of Tintagel--we beg pardon, Trevalga--on the
northern coast of Cornwall. He soon breaks her heart; and her two
children, Victor and Frederica, become the charge of the rector, until
Harry, Mr. Malreward's eldest son by a former wife, is killed by being
thrown from his horse, and Victor becomes the heir, and has to reside
at Malreward Park. The story turns on his temptations there, under the
bad influence of his father, who is brute as well as devil, and once
almost kills him. Strong in noble principle, Victor is faithful, aided
by Deverell, the head-keeper, a striking character, an illegitimate
son of Mr. Malreward. Deverell is accused of Mr. Malreward's death,
and Victor is suspected of implication in it. After a few years,
during which, under most disheartening conditions, Victor redeems the
estate and regenerates its peasantry, he dies of fever, after a deed
of noble heroism. Freddy, his sister, has married Stansfield Erle, a
cold, selfish, self-willed lawyer, whose conversion is the most
improbable thing in the story--almost a psychological impossibility,
we think--and her son inherits the estate. Three or four of the
characters--Victor's own--Arthur Byrne, the noble-hearted
rector--Deverell's, and Freddy's--are almost original in their
conception, and are developed with admirable vigour, truth, and skill.
The drawbacks are that Victor is too hysterical, and Stansfield Erle
too much of a brute. Throughout, indeed, the agony is piled on a
little too much, but there are great power, deep truth, and a
wholesome moral in this really remarkable novel.
_Emmanuel Church: A Chapter in the Ecclesiastical History of the
Present Century._ By R. THOMAS. Hamilton, Adams and Co.
A very well-written and pleasant sketch of Nonconformist church life,
exhibiting the influence which a good and wise pastor will always
gather, and the impotence of mere faction and folly seriously to
damage it. There is great good sense in the conception of the sketch,
and considerable skill in the execution of it.
_Checkmate._ By J. SHERIDAN LE FANU. Hurst and Blackett.
Mr. Le Fanu occupies a distinctly original position among novel
writers. He is a master of what it has become the fashion to call
'sensation,' yet does not attain his ends by the ordinary methods. The
stereotype characters of such stories do not appear on his pages.
Never do we encounter the lovely female fiend whose first type was
'Miladi' in the 'Three Musketeers' of Dumas the inexhaustible, and who
has since committed bigamies and murders (the murders of best husbands
by preference) in the works of popular authors whom we need not name.
Again, Mr. Le Fanu is great at a mysterious plot, but his mysteries
have the immense advantage of being not entirely translucent; and in
the novel now under notice we think the readers of most experience in
such matters may reach the middle of the third volume without
penetrating the mystery which surrounds Longcluse. It is a real
puzzle, based upon an original contrivance which it would be unfair to
reveal. Mr. Le Fanu has also a strongly penetrative imagination,
whereby he lights up luridly the strange scenes that he describes,
producing an effect like a picture by Rembrandt, or like that
observable when the electric flame through a lighthouse lens falls
upon some scene in utter darkness. This power of giving intense
reality to description makes every chapter of our author's work worth
reading. The story of 'Checkmate' we shall leave untold; it has a
curious fascination about it, and will pretty surely be finished by
any one who commences it. Its characters are definite and varied.
Longcluse, hero and villain, successful for a long time, yet
checkmated at last, is an admirable portrait. The Arden baronets,
father and son, might almost be identified in Lodge or Debrett. The
ladies, especially Grace Maubray and Lady May Penrose, are choice
studies of patrician life; and as to Baron Vanboeren, that wonderful
patron and protector of scoundrels, he is one of the most original
conceptions in modern romance. Critics who question the existence of
romantic brilliancy may be referred to the _Times_ newspaper, which
has daily to record events that no novelist dare imagine. Therefore we
shall decline to inquire whether a Vanboeren exists or has
existed--whether, indeed, his vocation is possible,--and shall simply
say that he is an entirely new and strangely powerful character in the
world of bizarre romance.
_The Mad War-Planet._ By WILLIAM HOWITT. Longmans.
_Muriel, and other Poems._ By E. T. WEATHERLY. Whittaker and Co.
_Avenele, Desmond, and other Poems._ Two vols. By SOPHIA A. CAULFEILD.
Longmans.
With some distrust of our critical infallibility, we have selected
these four volumes of poems out of some two dozen that lie on our
table. The difference between one volume of minor poetry and another
is generally infinitesimal, and we are far from meaning to imply that
the volumes left unnoticed are much below the level of the others. We
presume that minor poetry is written chiefly for a few congenial minds
in whom similar associations produce susceptibility to similar
impressions and emotions. But the critic must judge from a _quasi_
absolute point of view, and take his stand, as it were, on the
elementary passions of the mind and the cardinal facts of nature. We
notice Mr. Howitt's volume not because we think it contains anything
even resembling poetry, but from respect for his name, and for the
sincerity of his convictions. 'The Mad War-Planet' is, unhappily, an
epic, and, still more unhappily, an epic with a theory. Mr. Howitt
believes the earth to be a spherical lunatic asylum, in which the
thousand million lunatics are unfortunately _not_ under restraint. The
theory is, of course, not new, but the working out of it is less
original and interesting than we should have expected. 'Muriel, the
Sea King's Daughter,' is musical with the tones and tinged with the
hues of the youngest school of poetry. But the art of it is delicate
and finished, and proves a real poetic gift, apart from the echoes of
Tennyson and Morris which ring through the poem. The majority of Miss
Caulfeild's poems are the manifestations of an evidently unaffected
piety. The poetry of them lies chiefly in a certain completeness of
presentation, a severity of limitation by which the ragged edges of an
emotion are made to fall off, and the mood to crystallize into a
defined and beautiful form.
_Pilgrim Songs in Cloud and Sunshine._ By NEWMAN HALL, LL.B. Hamilton
and Adams.
Few things in modern literature are much more significant than the
extraordinary diffusion of the author's first publication, 'Come to
Jesus.' The spirit of that musical and soothing refrain pervades these
'Pilgrim Songs,' and offers a loving rebuke to the cold and cynical
criticism which it is fashionable to pronounce on Evangelical
Christianity. These songs of the pilgrim are full of hope and
exultation; they all seem singable on the border-land between earth
and heaven. They reveal great sensitiveness to beauty, and show the
kind of chord that has been struck in the heart of the writer by the
loveliness of earth as well as by the deepest realities of life. There
is in them a triumphant faith, born of a deep experience--a faith
which does not battle with scientific speculation nor modern
mysticism. It knows and does not prove, it rests and does not fret.
The key-note of the volume is struck in a hymn of universal praise.
The tenderness, strength, and good cheer of many of the personal
meditations are helpful. A motto appropriate to the volume would be,
'Thy statutes have been my songs in the house of my pilgrimage.'
_Parish Musings, or Devotional Poems._ By JOHN S. R. MONSELL, LL.D.
Rivingtons.
A new and neat edition of one of Dr. Monsell's volumes of exquisite
sacred poems. Next to Keble and to Dr. Bonar, there is no hymn-writer
of this generation to whom the Church of God owes so much. Like them,
he is intensely subjective, spiritual, and tender. Many of his hymns
have passed into the use of all sections of the Church, and minister
richly to the best forms of devotional feeling.