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7 . rtunes by what effective work and quick insight he gradually gained , Sen by step , the eminence of a throne ; bow , in short , he became the King f England because he was the King , the man of the time fit for the work . ° Of Carlyle ' s labour it inay seem churlish to say a word not laudatory ; et while grateful for the immense and conscientious labour which has gone to the production of these immortal volumes , we must say that he is far below himself in the historical elucidations which are for the most part wantino- in picture , colour , and often in completeness ; whereas on too many occasions he imitates Dryasdust , whom he so scorns . Admirably has he All past Centuries have rotted down , and gone confusedly dumb and quiet , even as that Seventeenth is now threatening to dt > . Histories are as perfect as the Historian is wise and is gifted with an eye and a soul ! For the leafy blossoming Present Time springs from the whole Past , remembered and unrememberable , so confusedly as we sav : —and truly the Art of History , the grand difference between a Dryasdust and a sacred Poet , is very much even this : To distinguish well what does still reach to the surface , and is alive and frondent for us ; and what reaches no longer to the surface but moulders safe underground , never to send forth leaves or fruit for mankind any more : of the former we shall rejoice to hear ; to hear of the latter will be an affliction to us ; of the latter only Pedants and Dullards , and disastrous malefactors to the world , will find good to speak . By wise memory and by wise oblivion : it lies all there ! Without oblivion , there is no remembrance possible . When both oblivion and memory are wise , when the general soul of man is clear , melodious , true , there may come a modern Iliad as memorial of the Past : when both are foolish , and the general soul is overclouded with confusions , with unveracities and discords , there is a ' Rushworthian chaos . ' , If he had but remembered this , and exercised a ' wise oblivion , he would have saved himself days and months of ineffectual labour , and the reader much tedium . Why should he ransack old archives , histories , genealogies , and pamphlets to ascertain that Captain Smith was the son of old Smith , ' a Nottinghamshire man , ' or that Mr . Brown was related to Sir Jasper Jones , both of them so little memorable that dilige nt research can only rescue thus much respecting them ? Is not all this editorial annotation mere Dryasdust ' unwise memory ? ' How gladly would we exchange all the details given about z ^ miemorable men , for a little more connected history ! In spite of this too conscientious fulfilment of the editorial task , we must say of these volumes that by the necessities of the case they will live as long as the Eng lish language , and are very much to be recommended to every reader not yet so fortunate as to possess them .
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NEW NOVELS . Barchester Towers . By Anthony Trollope , Author of ' The Warden . ' ' 3 vols . ( Longman and Co . )—The Warden , was a remarkable book ; Bar-Chester Towers is still more remarkable . The one , indeed , is a development of the other . In the former , the interest was in connexion with a charitable trust , the warden of which enjoyed his comparative sinecure in peace of consc ience until an article in the Jupiter almost persuaded him that he had been for years engaged in robbing the poor ; in the latter , the texture is not so simple . There is more story , more action , less concentration ; the characters are more abstract , the incidents more diversified . First in bad eminence is Mr . Slope , the Low Church chaplain of Bishop Proudie . He is a large-handed , large-footed , broad chested , wide-shouldered Evangelical ; his hair is red and lank ; his complexion is that of questionable beef ; Ins forehead shines unpleasantly ; from his immense mouth , between his thin , bloodless lips , and under his spongy , porous nose , he pours forth divine anger against high-pitched roofs , full-breasted black silk waistcoats , prayerbooks p o inted in red letters , and other I ' useyisms . This pillar of the Low Church stands confronted by Dr . Grantly , son of that mild-eyed bishop whom we knew in The Warden ; but he has long an ally in Mrs . Proudie , wife of a wretched bishop , who at the last , however , is the mortal enemy of Slope . Slope ' s projects lill a large part of the novel , and it may appear surprising that , out of materials so unpromising , Mr . Trollope should have elicited so much that is interesting . But the book is not so pleasing as it is powerful ; we may object to the unequal and prejudiced distribution of satire , yet the astonishing energy with which the author writes , the sharpness and concision of his style , the light , unlaboured scatterings of allusion , the points that strike in all directions against the farces and follies of our ecclesiastical civilization , more than atone lor all that is unfair , and the little that is repulsive , in the three volumes . In contrast with the red-headed chaplain , bony , florid , redundant , in joint and sinew , attitudines Madeline Vesey Kcroni , daughter of Dr . Stanhope , but wife of an infamous Italian , by whom she had been deserted . This beauty , crippled by violence , but retaining a perfect nose , mouth , chin , and bust , resolves never more to be seen , except upon a couch , and is carried like a goddess from saloon to saloon . She stamps her name under a gold coronet on a g ilt bordered card , and , crowned with some mystery and endless grace , is enthroned upon a sofa in the episcopal palace while a reception is at its height . A white velvet robe , white lace worked with pearls across her bosom and round the armlets , a band of red velvet across her brow , a crimson silk mantle flowing from her waist downwards , form the attire of this half-northern , halfsouthern Juno , by whom Obadiah Slope is entangled in an impure passion . The contrasts between them are excellently drawn : " Her hand in his looked like a rose among carrots , and when ho kissed it he looked as a cow might do on finding such a ilower among her food . " Madeline Neroni , however , is not the only idol of Obadiah , who worships also Eleanor Bold , daughter of the ox-warden , whom ho approaches leas reverentially , and who replica to him not with the language of ltpinau eyes , but vvitli the palm of a matronly English hand . Without going further , or sketching the outline of Mr . Trollopo ' s story , we cannot but describe it as uncommonly graphic and clover ; it is n book to rouse the reader , and , if it does not charm him , he will , at all events , bo cordially amused , Below the Surface : a Story of English Country Life . 3 vols . ( Smith , Elder , and Co . )—The authorship of this novel has been announced as Sir Arthur Hallum Elton ' s . In the absence of such information we should have unhesitatingly assigned it to tho pen of a gentleman nearly conversant with the aspects of English country life , in tho -west especially , intimate with tho
duties and weaknesses of rural magistrates , and other magnates , not praci tically familiar with literature as an art , but scholarly , accomplished , and I genial . We doubt not that the book will command very considerable success , since it sprinkles more than one county with drops of satire , not aimed at random , but directed against classes and institutions which may , without difficulty , be recognised . There is much to laugh at in English country life , and we congratulate Sir Arthur Elton upon his courage . In the metropolis he is less successful ; he seems ill at ease within scent of the House of Commons ; but his social sketches have at least this advantagethat they do not shock us by their ignorant delineations of fashionable manners . If the cultivated world be not photographed in these volumes , it is not that the writer has been copying in the dark . Below the Surface is often incomplete , and , we think , unphilosophical , as a picture of modern English society , but it is never absurd ; it is full of refinement and vivacity . We * must protest , however , against the title , which is the most ambitious that could have been assumed . Below the Surface : why the name suggests an anatomy of the secret passions at work under the mask of the age ; a detection of social sins ; a laying bare of mysteries ; a large and profound analysis of human motives ; and an exposure of hypocrisy and pretence . The story does not realise this conception except in a very limited degree . It is almost purely local in its scope ; its chief characters are by no means typical of important classes in the community ; nor does the originality of the romance range far . We prefer to speak candidly of Sir Arthur Elton ' s first performance as a novelist , because it is a work of real merit ; if the pretence of its title-page be forgiven , it is particularly unassuming in tone , and , with all drawbacks , it is a book which the novel reader will not willingly lay down . The Sister of Charity ; or , From Bermondsey to Belgravia . By Mrs . Challice . 2 vols . ( Bentley . )—Mrs . Challice has written a novel with the best of moti ves to the worst of purposes . The tabular headings of her chapters read like the announcements on a provincial play-bill in . the comic season . These are examples : — Squalid Streets . —Are you Really Virtuous ?—The Gate of a London Graveyard . — The Feverish Child . —Who knows the Fate of his Bones ?—Emblems of Death or Life . —Why be Buried alive in Bermondsey . The Misanthrope ' s Mansion . —Armour not from Wardour-street . —The Love of a Good Thing spoilt . —Aphrodite abdicated and Psyche pursued . —Face to Face with a Foe . Saturnine Seclusion . —Parson or Paragon?—The Glory , not the Thing " Isms . " - — Clap-Trap . —Plant or Paramour . And so on . The story is one of woe and sympathy , beautiful deaths and heavenly sacrifices—all that Mrs . Challice delig hts in as romantic life and its sweet poison of passion and duty . We knew what to expect , however , when Eustace , the hero—who is reserved for great things—having saved the heroine ' s life , is introduced into the castle of her proud , world-hating father , after an icy interview with whom he is led through gloomy galleries to a place made lovely by sculpture , but divine by a presence in the centre , ' where , standing bathed in prismatic hues which fell with the sunbeams from the stuine ( f glass above , was a living form , surpassing in interest any of the silent groups in the background . It was Beatrice Lester . ' We have shown the reader his way into the episode intended to lure him on , and if he proceeds he may , or may not , find a tale to his liking . Nightshade : a Novel . By William Johnstone , M . A . ( Bentley . )—The title Nightshade is intended as a blister of sarcasm against the Romish Church . Mr . Johnstone , whose style is superior to his story , belongs to the phalanx in which such ladies as Catherine Sinclair clash Protestant spears against Protestant shields , and do battle with dreadful clamour . The Jesifit of the novel is a fiend , and nothing but his death will satisfy the retributive author . For has not Do Vere , cloaked under the name of Kicci , forged a will , abducted two Protestant daughters , ensnared them in Italian convents , and performed other services in the cause of that faith which the Reverend Mr . Pike , with apostolic tenderness , designates as * the curse of Christendom . ' The shadows of perverts enhance the darkness of the drama , but what is most horrible of all is , that one of the young ladies having been conducted to a nunnery , is there stripp ed , whipped , and otherwise most inelegantly treated , to punish her Protestant obstinacy . And Mr . Johnstone believes all the time that he fulfils a Christian duty in depicting this wrestle of consciences and systems . With more than the usual bitterness he has more than common capacity . Ulenwood Manor Mouse ; a Novel . By Esther Bakewell . ( Arthur Hall and Co . )—There is agreeable reading in Glenwood Manor House . It is a tale of old and new times . Miss JBakewell writes with grace , and invents a stirring story . Don Viqucte de Los Montes : a Novel . By II . Jameson . ( Ellingham Wilson . )—Mr . Jameson constructs Spanish romance with a bold pen . Wo should say he is inexperienced , but he puts together a vivacious drama , tho complexion of which may be imagined from the conclusion : — - " 1 hasten—Icomo to desolate their plains , their village , - * , their cities ! Pillage , lire , and aluughter attund me ! I come!— -I come !" Then , bonding forward over the precipice , and stretching out his arms in a frantic manner , ho screamed forth" Til IS DlCJION CALLS MIS TO I'OSSKSSION ! 1 HASTUN ! I HASTEN ! THUS ! THUS I 1 H 1 CIZK Till' ; WOHUJ !" Uttering theso last words , he stepped upon uir , lost hia balance , and fell forward over tho precipice with atrotchod-out arms ; and nisi body , dashing from rock to rock , plunged heavily into the whirling pool below—sank—arose—moved round with tho circling fown , tinged with hia blood ; then , being seized by tho current , waa borno into the cavern gulf , und seen no more ! Such was this LAST MINUTE OV THM CAHICiat Of DON VjQUKTIil DID Los MONTKB . Under the Lime Trees . By Caroline Rieketts , Author of Trials , or Life ' s Lessons . ' ( Booth . )—Tho arbitrary choice of unmeaning titles is a spreading sin . Wo could think of many names for this volume quite tui « i > proprmto as Under the Lime Trees . ' It might bo ' Scaton Court , ' . or Aales of tho Avenue , ' or 4 Living Love , ' or , if meant to bo descriptive , * ivo
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May 23 , 1857 . ] THE LEADER , 497 ¦ - ¦¦ ¦ ¦ -- " ¦ - ¦¦ ¦¦¦— . — ¦ ¦¦— — ¦¦ — ii _ . ^ ^— ^ M——— ^ MM ^^
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Leader (1850-1860), May 23, 1857, page 497, in the Nineteenth-Century Serials Edition (2008; 2018) ncse2.kdl.kcl.ac.uk/periodicals/l/issues/vm2-ncseproduct2194/page/17/
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