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gotten all about it ; but the name of Alfred Tennyson is so beloved that any good fortune befalling him will delight the public .
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The Exhibition of 1 S 51 seems to promise a whole literature of its own . Journals are already established for the record of its proceedings . Useful information will be at a premium—unless there should happen to be a " glut ; " while in the shape of translations and dialogue-books every facility will be offered to foreigners . What a Babel it will be ! How the English ear will be rasped by Slavonic and Teutonic gutturals , or distended by the breadth of Southern vowels . It will be a marvel
if this incursion of barbarians do not very much affect the purity of our own tongue , and damage the tender susceptibility of the London ear , already so delicate that when an actor says—as it sometimes happens— " Donnar JElvirar is coming , " the whole audience rises in a mass to protest against the outrage on taste . We are told the Athenians were also merciless critics in such matters . Nay , there is a famous anecdote perpetually cited as an
illustration of Athenian delicacy in matters of pronunciation , that Theophbastus was known to be a foreigner even by a herbseller . People who wonder at everything recorded of the Greeks will regard us probably as reckless iconoclasts if we break that by a stone flung from common sense ; but really with the daily experience of Scotchmen and Irishmen before us , we must say the most wonderful part of the anecdote is that it should have been recorded . Theophrastus came from
Lesbosif we remember rightly—and his pronunciation , therefore , naturally preserved some of the Lesbian flavour , as Carlyle ' s does that of Annandale . Would any critic compliment the cockney on delicacy of ear because it detects the accent of Cablyle , or Sheridan Knowles , to be other than its own true London accent ? Yet this is what critics do with respect to the Athenians .
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OLIVE . A NOVEL . Olive . A Novel . By the Author of " The Os ? ilvies . " 3 vols . Chapman and Hall _ Touching , yet soothing in its sadness , is this poetic picture of a noble woman ' s life . Among novels , * Olive" belongs to the rhetorical rather than the satirical , fashionable , analytical , or " purpose " class . The production of a woman , and evidently of a young and ardent woman , whose experience has been that
of reverie and feeling , rather than of observation and reflection , it does not impress you with the vividness of its reality , nor with the depth of its thought . The ¦ writing is of a more sustained excellence than we commonly find , and often rises into real eloquence ; but deficiency of material , incident to youth , has led the authoress to rely too much upon the writing , and to be somewhat careless of the matter . There is some good matter , nevertheless , and some excellent observation which promises well for future works .
Olive is a strong womanly soul working through the disadvantages of Deformity . Her life is shown to us under these phases : First , as a neglected , sickly child , whose parents are ashamed of her because of her deformity , but whose old nurse ( an admirable sketch , by the way ) lavishes upon her enough affection to compensate for the coldness of her parents—then , when the nurse dies , as a lonely girl gradually stealing into the hearts of her father and
mother , and exposed to the many little pangs which wounded self-love suffers from the insolent taunts and equally unpleasant pity of those not deformed- — then , as she grows older , and finds herself with a ¦ weak and widowed mother , slowly , but naturally , turning into a protector of that mother , and gaining by Art a subsistence for both—and , finally , when left alone in the world , converting a clergyman from his twofold scepticism , restoring to him . his lost faith in woman , and his errant faith in God .
Such is tho " high argument of this book : ono to task tho highest powers , and ono which it is no small merit to have sketched . That the authoress has adequately realized her conception , it would bu gross flattery to assert ; but wo may say , without fliittery , that she has indicated several aspects of it with excellent discrimination . Austere criticism would raiiko sad havoc with her motives and incidents ; for
pained , that her bright hopes should be rudely destroyed , that she should feel a mingled shame and annoyance on discovering that the child ' spine was crooked , we can believe ; but that this feeling should grow into dislike or even indifference is to us very questionable . It implies an oblivion of two very obvious points : an oblivion of the instinct of maternity , which is totally independent of the charms of a red infant ; and an oblivion of the fact that the " beauty " of little red infants is a purely fanciful creation of maternal tenderness quite undiscoverable to critical eyes , and accepted only on the energetic vouchers of nurses , mothers , grandmothers , and polite visitors .
This nvputov xpevffog—this original sin mars the effect of the earlier chapters ; and we notice , moreover , that the authoress , from , a mistaken idea that a heroine should not be too destitute of personal beauty , has flinched from the real significance of her choice . Having chosen a humpbacked heroine , she should have done so frankly ; made the triumph of moral beauty complete , and made Olive charming in spite of her hump . Nothing easier . We have known deformed women irresistibly fascinating . But Olive can scarcely be called deformed . A slight
curvature of the spine , such as her ' s is described to be , is very common ; but , then , when so slight it hardly amounts to deformity , certainly not to disgust . Yet Olive has to endure slights and insults only endured by those who are unhappily objects of repulsion to the sight . In this uncertainty of drawing we see an inexperienced artist . Shakspeare has no equivoque about Othello ' s colour : he makes him black , and so repulsive that the notion of Desdemona falling in love with him seems an extravagance explainable only " by witchcraft . "
Another error : it is quite contrary to all we know of human nature to suppose that Olive ( granting her deformity to be as striking as you please ) should disbelieve in the possibility of any man ' loving her . Let the authoress talk with deformed persons , and then see if they are deficient in vanity ! But the greatest error of all , and one betraying a profound ignorance of the real question , is seen in her conception of Harold's conversion . Harold is a clergyman , a man with a high
piercing intellect , whose scientific reputation is great , and whose purely intellectual nature has led him from doubt to doubt till he not only disbelieves in the Scriptures , but becomes an athcist-Wc will not quarrel with , the authoress for falling into the conventional nonsense about the " unhappiness" felt by every sceptic , —it being absurd tosuppose a man " unhappy" because he cannot believe in what he regards asgan error ! But we must notice the unphilosophical materials out of which this part of her
story is made . Conversions are common enough ; but to suppose that a logical , scientific mind having once examined the Scriptures , found them incredible , rejected them , and rejected all religion , should years afterwards become converted back to Church of Englandism , simply by reading the Bible , animated with a deep admiration of the effect which religion has upon the character of the girl he loves , is so ludicrous
a position that we can only account for it by tho sincere belief of the authoress that the Bible is luminous in its truth , and that to read it is to be convinced . Olive might have converted Harold to some religious belief ; contact with a more powerful mind might have converted him to a sort of platonic Christianity ; but to convert him back again to Church of Englandism we pronounce utterly impossible . An unpleasant sense of unreality mars all this portion of the
work . Hut there arc beautiful things in the book nevertheless . Tho old nurse , tho painter ' s sister , and Harold ' s mother are masterly creations . Touching and charming also is the gradual rise of Olive from , childhood into womanhood , and with it the gradual ascendancy of her stronger nature over that of her weak mother , who becomes , as it were , a darling child to her own daughter . Tho episodical matter is novclis / t and uninteresting ; but Olive herself is always fascinating . As samples of tho writing wo will givo two passagos . The first shall bo
J'ICTUItKS OK OMVJ-i ' S CHILDHOOD . " Its earliest period was marked by events which she was too young to notice , troubles which she was too young to feel . They passed over her like storm-clouds over a safely-sheltered flower—only perceived by the momentary shadow which they cast . Once—it was m the first summer at Merivale—the child noticed how
inexperience of life and want of art arc palpable enough in most chapters . We very much doubt the truth of that which is made the basis of tho earlier portion , viz ., that a mother ' s disappointment at the want of beauty in her buby should cause her to dislike and to neglect it . That her self-love should be
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pleased every one seemed , and how papa and mamma , now always together , used to speak more tenderly than usual to her . Elspie said it was because they were so happy , and that olive Ought to be happy too , because God would soon send her * a wee wee brother . ' She would find him some day in the pretty cradle , which . JSlspie showed her . So the little girl went to look there every morning , but in vain . At last her nurse said she need not look there any more , for God had taken away the baby-brother as soon as it came . Olive was very much disappointed , and when she went down to her father that day she told him of her trouble . But he angrily sent her away to her nurse . She looked ever after with grief and childish awe on the empty cradle .
" At last it was empty no longer . She , a thoughtfu child of seven , could never forget the impression made , when one morning she was roused by the loud pealing of the old church bells , and the maids told her , laughing , it was in honour of her little brother , come at last . She was allowed to kiss him once , and then spent half her time watching , with great joy and wonderment , the tiny face , and touching the tiny hands . After some days she missed him ; and after some more Elspie showed her a little heap in the nearest churchyard , saying , that was her baby-brother ' s cradle now . Poor little Olive !—her only knowledge of the sweet tie of brotherhood was these few days of silent watching and the little green mound left behind in the churchyard .
" From that time there oame a gradual change over " From that time there oame a gradual change over the household and over Olive ' s life . No more long , quiet hours after dinner , her father reading , her mother occupied in some light work , or resting on the sofa in delicious idleness , while Olive herself , little noticed , but yet treated with uniform kindness by both , sat on the hearthrug fondling the sleepy oat , or gaging with vague childish reverie into the fire . No more of proud pleasure with which , on Sunday afternoons , exalted to her grave papa ' s knee , she created an intense delight ,
out of what was to him a somewhat formal duty , and said her letters from the large family Bible . These childish joys vanished gradually , she scarce knew how . Her papa she now rarely saw , he was so much from home , and the quiet , dreamy house , wherein ahe loved to ramble , became a house of feasting , her beautiful mamma being the centre of its gaiety . Olive retreated to her nursery and to Elspie , and the rest of her childhood was one long , solitary , pensive dream .
" In that dream was the clear transcript of all the scenes amidst which it passed . The old hall , seated on a rising ground , and commanding views which were really beautiful in their way , considering that Merivale was on the verge of a manufacturing district , bounded by pastoral and moorland country . Those strange furnace-fires , which rose up at dusk from the earth , and gleamed all around the horizon , like red fiery eyes open all night long , how mysteriously did they haunt the imaginative child ! Then the town , Old-church , how in her after life it grew distinct from all other towns , like a place seen in a dream , so real and yet so unreal ! There was its castle hill , a little island within a large pool ,
which had once been a real fortress and moat . Old Elspie contemned alike tradition and reality , until Olive read in her little History of England the name of the place , and how John of Gaunt had built a castle there . And then Elspie vowed it was unworthy to be named the Baroe day with beautiful Stirling . Continually did she impress on the child the glories of her birth-place , so that Olive in after life , while remembering her childhood ' s scenes as a pleasant land of earth , came to regard her native Scotland as a sort of dream paradise . The shadow of the mountains where she was born fell softly , solemnly , over her whole life , influencing her pursuits , her character , perhaps even her destiny . "
The next shall be A . LOVE SCENE . " Again there fell between , them one of those pauses which rarely come save between two friends or lovers , who know thoroughly—in words or in silence—the speech of each other ' s hearts . Then Harold , guiding the conversation as he always did , changed it suddenly . • I am thinking of the last time I walked here—when I came to Edinburgh this summer . There was with me
one whom I regarded highly , and we talked- —as gravely as you and 1 do now , though on a far different theme . ' " « What was it ?' * ' ' One suited to the season and the place , and my friend ' s ardent youth . He was in love , poor fellow , and he asked me about his wooing . Perhaps you may think he chose an adviser ill fitted to tho task . ' " Harold spoke carelessly as it seemed ; and waiting Olive's reply , he pulled a handful of red-brown leaves from a tree that overhung tho path , and began playing with them .
44 * You do not answer , Miss Rothesay . Come , there is scarce a subject we have not discussed some time or other , save this . Let us , just for amusement , take ray friend ' s melancholy case as a text , and argue what young people call' love . ' ' '" As you will . ' 44 A cold acquiescence ! You think , perhaps , the matter is either above or beneath me—that I have no interest therein ? ' And his eyes , bright , piorcing , commanding , seemed to force an answer . "It came , / very quietly and coldly . 44 ' I have heard you say that love was the brief madness of a man ' s life ; if fulfilled , a burden ; if unfulfilled or deceived , a curse . '
" I said so , did I ! Well , you give my opinionswhat think you of me t Answer truly—like a friend . ' 14 She did so ! She never could look in Harold ' s eyes and tell him what was not true . " I think you are one of those men in whom strong intellect prevents the need of love . Youthful passion you may have felt ; but true , deep , earnest love you never did know , and , as I believe , never will ! Nay , forgive me if I err ; I only take you on your own showing . '
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Nov . 23 , 1850 . ] ® & * &rairet » 633
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Leader (1850-1860), Nov. 23, 1850, page 833, in the Nineteenth-Century Serials Edition (2008; 2018) ncse2.kdl.kcl.ac.uk/periodicals/l/issues/vm2-ncseproduct1860/page/17/
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