The British controversialist and literary magazine.London : Houlston and Stonemen, 1857-[1872].

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268 THE BEVIBWEB.

J. W. sends us two pieces which defy criticism. We would sayto him, and all who hare not a musical ear, learn first to write goodprose ; then begin writing poetry. For whatever a poet's licencemay allow, it certainly will not guarantee impunity to those whospoil good thoughts with bad grammar.

"Earnest" favours us with a pretty little piece on Life. It isbetter moral philosophy than poetry.

LIFE.Life is a grandly solemn thing;

And Earth a serious place ;

And Time, though ever on the wing,Looks down with serious face.

For in this Life, and on this Earth,While Time is passing by,

We form a character whose worthWill never, never die.

We prove ourselves to those aroundA blessing or a curse,

And leave a name that long will sound," For better or for worse."

And, mora than all, we seal our fate;We make our own decree;

By which we fix our changeless stateFor all Eternity.

We hope that those of our contributors, of whose efforts we have

had occasion to speak with apparent harshness, will, with undauntedhearts, persevere, until their powers of composition equal their

wers of thought. F. G.

Cfre $lefetoer.

Scenes of Clerical Life. By Gr. Eliot. Cheaper Edition. AdamBede, 2 vols. By G. Eliot. Fifth Edition. London : Blackwood and Sons. 1859.

Every development of prose fiction has a certain special, thoughnot always easily defined, relation to the age of its production. Asits generally recognized office, however many or frequent thedepartures therefrom, is to depict the social life and manners of theage, so from the age it receives its tone and colour, it mirrors itsconventional proprieties, and accepts its moral standard. Hencewe look upon the present high moral tone of prose fiction as a mostcheering sign, clearly showing that, however much there may be todeplore in the morality of our own day, it is immeasurably superiorto that which Fielding and Smollett have preserved for our instruction in " Tom Jones

"and " Roderick Random."

Among the consequences of this improved tone in fiction havebeen an immense increase in the number of its readers, and a moregeneral recognition of its capabilities as a vehicle of popular impression. The truth expressed in the lines of our Poet Laureate,—

" Where truth in closest words shall fail,There truth embodied in a taleShall enter in at open doors,"

268 TH.B BBVlBWBB.

J. W. sends us two pieces which defy criticism. We would sar to him, and all who have not a musical ear, leam first to write goocl prose; then begin writing poetry. For whatever a poet's licence may allow, it certainly will not guarantee impunity to those who spoil good thoughts with bad grammar.

"Earnest" favours us with a pretty little piece on Life. It is better moral philosophy than poetry.

LIFE. Lil'E is a grandly solemn thing; We prove oureelns to thoee around

And Earth a serious place; A blessing or a curse, And Time, though ever on the wing, And leave a name that long will aoond,

Looks down with serious face. " For better or for worse." For in this Life, and on this Earth, And, more than all, we seal our fat.e;

While Time is passing by, We make our own decree; We form a character whose worth By which we fix our changeless atat;e

Will never, never die. For all Eternity.

We hope that those of our contributors, of whose eff'orts we have bad occasion to speak with &]?parent. harshness, will, with undaunt,ed hearts, persevere, until then- powers of composition equal their

wers of thought. F. G.

Scenes of Clerical Life. By G. Eliot. Cheaper Edition. .A.dam Bede, 2 vols. By G. Eliot. Fifth Edition. London : Black .. wood and Sons. 1859. EVERY development of prose fiction has a certain speci&L though

not al ways easily defined, relation to the age of its production. As its generally recognized office, however many or frequent the departures therefrom, is to depict the social life and manners of the age, so from the age it receives its tone and colour, it mirrors its conventional proprieties, and accepts its moral standard. Hence we look upon the present high moral tone of prose fiction as a most cheering sign, clearly showing that, however much there may be to deplore in the morality of our own day, it is immeasurably superior to that which Fielding and 8mollett have preserved for our instruc­tion in " Tom Jones " and "Roderick Random.''

Amon~ the consequences of this improved tone in fiction haYe been an immense increase in the number of its readers, and a more general recognition of its capabilities as a vehicle of popular im­pression. The truth expressed in the lines of our Poet Laureate,-

Di !}itized by

" Where truth in closest words shall fail, There truth embodied in a tale Shall enter in at open doors,"

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THE REVIEWER. 269

is everywhere received as an axiom. Social regenerators and religious enthusiasts of all kinds,—nay, if report speaks truly, CardinalWiseman even,—condescends to act upon it. Novels of purpose,as they are called, are everywhere the order of the day. We haveWomen's Eights novels, Temperance novels, Chartist novels,Church novels, High, Low, and Broad. Perhaps no better proofcould be given of the improved moral tone of prose fiction generally,than the fact of it being put to such uses as these ; yet we cannotbut think that, in being thus used, its legitimate bounds as an artare greatly overstepped. We therefore welcome right heartily inGeorge Eliot (whoever that may mean) a writer who can tell a storyin the good old-fashioned way, without boring his readers withvyearisome homilies, and who does not write as though it was thebusiness of the novelist to invent and propagate theories for settingthe world to rights.

George Eliot is a thoroughly christian author. As such he willgo far to supply in the realms of fiction that desiderata which thegreat Arnold so much lamented in literature generally, of " writingsnot so much in defence of Christianity, as with a decidedly christian tone." Occasionally, in some of our great novels, a characteris delineated; as, for instance, Thackeray's Colonel Newcome,which almost realizes the christian type. But until the appearanceof George Eliot, no master of fiction had attempted to depict theworkings and result of that deep-lying, wide-spread, practical religion which, under a variety of names, is the most important characteristic of our time. It is in his unmistakeable christian bias,no less than in his peculiarities of style, that George Eliot's individuality amongst the great novelists will be manifest. We trust,both for his sake and the sake of evangelical religion, that this biasmay become even more matured and strengthened in the many futureworks we hope the world will yet be favoured with from his pen.

" Scenes of Clerical Life," by which George Eliot introduced himself to the reading world, at least as a novelist, appeared in the firstinstance in the pages of Blackwood. It is distinguished by thesame characteristics which, more developed, have in " Adam Bede "

excited so great a sensation. It is to the latter work that we wishto direct the reader's special attention. Any remarks, however, we

may make respecting the author's style will apply equally to bothworks.

"Adam Bede" belongs strictly to the natural school. Itssketches of nature and character have all the fidelity and exactnessof old Dutch paintings. In this respect its author resembles Mr.Thackeray. But even as the country scenes and episodes GeorgeEliot depicts are more healthy and pure than the pictures of Londonlife Mr. Thackeray presents us with, so also he writes in a spiritmore genial, and with art scarcely less perfect, than those of the

great author of " Vanity Pair." One departure George Eliot makesfrom the simple naturalness he claims for his work, which we have

just conceded, we must complain of. It is the reprieve of Hetty

THE RBVIBWBB. 269

is everyw_here received as an axiom. Social regenerators and reli­,tioue enthusiasts of all kinds,-nay, if report speaks truly, Cardinal Wiseman even,-condescends to act upon it. Novels of purpose, as they are called, are everywhere the order of the day. We have Women's Rights novels, Temperance novels, Chartist novels, Church novels, High, Low, and Broad. Perhaps no better proof could be given of the improved moral tone of prose fiction generally, than the fact of it being put to such uses as these ; yet we cannot but think that, in being th11S used, its legitimate bounds as an art are greatly overstepped. We therefore welcome right heartily in George Eliot (whoever that may mean) a writer who can tell a story in tlie good old-fashioned way, without boring his readers with -wearisome homilies, and who aoes not write as though it was the business of the novelist to invent and propagate theories for setting the world to rights. .

George Eliot is a thoroughly ckristian author. As such he will go far to supply in the realms of fiction that desiderata which the great Arnold so much lamented in literature generally, of " writings not so much in defence of Christianity, as with a decidedly chrie­tian tone." Occasionally, in some of our great novels, a character is delineated; as, for insttmce, Thackeray's Colonel Newcome, which almost realizes the christian type. But until the appearance of George Eliot, no master of fiction bad attempted to depict the workings and result of that deep-lying, wide-spread, practical reli­gion which, under a variety of names, is the most important cha­racteristic of our time. It is in his unmistakeable christian bias, no less than in his peculiarities of style, that George Eliot's indi­viduality amongst the great novelists will be manifest. We trust, both for his saxe and the sake of evangelical religion, that this bias may become even more matured and strengthened in the many future works we hope the world will yet be favoured with from his pen.

"Scenes of Clerical Life," by which George Eliot introducea him­self to the reading world, at least as a novelist, apJ?eared in the first instance in the pages of Blackwood. It is distmguished ~ the same characteristics which, more developed, have in " Adam Bede " excited so great a sensation. It is to the latter work that we wish t,o direct the reader's special attention. .Any rema-rks, however, we may make respecting the author's style will apply equally to both works.

"Adam Bede" belongs -strictly to the natural school. Its sketches of nature and character have all the fidelity and exactness of old Dutch p_aintings. In this respect its author resembles Mr. Thackeray. But even as the country scenes and episodes George Eliot depicts are more healthy and pure than the pictures of London life Mr. Thackeray presents us with, so also he writes in a spirit more genial, and with art scarcely less perfect, than those of the great author of" Vanity Fair." One departure George Eliot makes from the simple naturalness he claims for his work, which we have just conceded, we must complain of. It is the reprieve of Hetty

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270 THE BEVIEWEB.

just at the moment almost of death. That certainly should not he

set down as untrue in novels, which is simply surprising in life.But George Eliot could afford to dispense with an incident so melodramatic, and which is only altogether out of harmony with hisadopted style of art, but fails to excite the interest for which it is

employed.We shall attempt no outline of the story of " Adam Bede ;

"our

readers who may be induced to peruse it for themselves would notthank us for so doing. The burden of it is old—old almost as

humanity. But even as in the hands of a great sculptor the rough,unhewn marble blocks receive the impress of a divine beauty, andseem almost to live, so in the hands of George Eliot, who is a truemaster of his art, the subject he has chosen, so old, so hackneyed,is endowed with an interest to all human hearts, by his rich humour,his sparkling fancy, his sweet pathos, his racy, epigrammatic style,which the productions of the most fertile romancist would fail to

create.The humour of "Adam Bede" is of the best kind. It is the

humour of a thoroughly sound nature, and is exercised upon subjects about which we feel it is healthy to laugh.

Still more exquisite, if possible, is its pathos. It is infusedthrough and through the author's style, so that it seems to belongto it as much as fragrance to flowers.

It is George Eliot's delineations of character, however, whichform his most popular attraction. They are, indeed, inimitable.There is strong Adam Bede ; self-forgetting Seth ; sweet DinahMorris ; cynical Bartle Massey ; jolly Martin Poyzer, and hisextraordinary spouse ; Mr. Irwine, the rector, and Joshua liann,the clerk; Arthur Donnithorne, and Hetty. All are as true tonature, as they are master-pieces of art. A portrait or two we

must give in George Eliot's own words. Here is Adam himself: —

" The afternoon sun was warm on the five workmen ' in the workshop of Mr.Jonathan Burge, builder and carpenter, in the village of Hayslope,' busy upondoors and window frames and wainscoting. A scent of pine wood from a tent-like

pile of planks outside the open door mingled itself with the scent of the eld*r

bushes which were spreading their summer snow close to the open window

opposite ; the slanting sunbeams shone through the transparent shavings that

flew before the steady plane, and it lit up the fine grain of the oak panelling which

stood propped against the wall. On a heap of those soft shavings, a rough greyshepherd dog had made himself a pleasant bed, and was lying with his nose

between bis fore paws, occasionally wrinkling his brows to cast a glance at the

tallest of the five workmen, who was carving a shield in the centre of a wooden

mantelpiece. It was to this workman that the strong barytone belonged which

was heard above the sound of plane and hammer, singing —" ' Awake, my soul, and with the sun,

Thy daily stage of duty run,\ Shake off dull sloth . . . .'

" Here some measurement was to be taken which required more concentrated

970 TJDI UVIBWJIB.

juat at the moment almost of death. That oertainly 1bould not be aet down as untrue in novel11, which ia simply aurpriaing in life. But George Eliot could afford to dispense with an incident so melo­dramatic, and which is o:~ altogether out of harmony with his adopted style of art, but fi · to excite tae interest for which it is em~!oyed.

We shall attempt no outline of the story of '' Adam Bede ; " our readers who may be induced to peruse it l'or themselvea would not thank ue for so doing. The burden of it is old-old almost u humanity. But even as in the hands of a great sculJ>tor the ro~ unhewn marble blooks receh·e the impresa of a divme beauty, and aeem alm08t to live, so in the hands of George Eliot, who is a true master of hia art, the aubject he has chosen, 10 old, so hackneyed, ia endowed with an interest to all human heart.a, by his rieh humour, his sparkling fancy, his sweet pathos, his racy, epigrammatic style, which the productions of the most fertile romanoiat would fail to create.

1'lle humour of "Adam Bede ,, ia of the beat kind. It ia the humour of a thoroughly sound nature, and ia exerciaed upon sub­jecta about which we feel it is healthy to laugh.

Still more exquisite, if poasible, is its pathoe. It ia inmsed through and through the author's style, so that it leeDl8 to belong to it as much as fragrance to flowers.

It is George Eliot's delineations of character, howeTer, which form his most popular attraction. They are, indeed, inimitable. There is strong Adam Bede ; self-forgetting Seth ; sweet Dinah Morris; cynical Bartle Massey; jolly Martin Poyzer, and his extraordinary spouse; Mr. Irwine, the rector, and Joshua Renn, the clerk ; Arthur Donnithorne, and Betty. All are as true \o nature, aa they are master--pieces of art. A pai:ti:ait or two we must give in George Eliot's own words. Here 1s Adam himself:-

'' The afternoon sun was warm on the five workmen 'in the workam,p of Mr. Jonathan Burge, builder and carpenter, in the village ef Ba71lope," buy upon doors and window frames and wainscoting. A scent of pine wood from a tellt-like pile of planks outside the open door mingled itself with tae acent of \he elcllr 1

b111hes wbich were spreading their 8nmmer snow clOBe to the open. windw oi,peaite ; the slanting sunbeams shone through the iran&pal'fllt shavings that flew before the steady plane, and it lit. up the fine grain of the oak panelling whica atood propped against the wall. On a heap of those soft shavings, a rough grey shepherd dog had made himself a pleasant bed, and was I,ing with his nose between his , fore paws, occasionally wrinkling his brows to caat a glance at the tallest of the five workmen, who was carving a shield in the centre of a woodtn mantelpiece. It was to this workman that the strong barytone belonged wbiall was heard above the sound of plane and hammer, singing--

Di !}itized by

\

"' Awake, my soul, and with the am, Thy daily stage of duty run, Shake off dull sloth • • • .'

" Here some meaaurement was to be take which nipirej. more COIIOll&tntli

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attention, and the sonorous voice subsided into a low whistle ; but it presently

broke out again with renewed vigour,—

" ' Let all thy converse be sincere,

Thy conscience as the noonday clear !'

" Such a voice could only come from a broad chest, and the broad chest belonged

to a large-boned, muscular man, nearly six feet high, with a back so flat and a

head so well poised, that when he drew himself up to take a more distant survey

of his work, he had the air of a soldier standing at ease. The sleeve rolled up

above the elbow showed an arm that was likely to win the prize for feats of

strength ; yet the long, supple hand, with its broad finger tips, looked ready for

works of skill. In his tall stalwartnfss Adam Bede was a Saxon, and justifiedhis name ; but the jet black hair, made the more noticeable by its contrast with

the light paper cap, and the keen glance of the dark eyes that shone from under,

strongly marked, permanent and mobile eyebrows, indicated a mixture of Celtic

blood. The face was large, and roughly hewn, and when in repose had no other

beanty than such as belongs to an expression of good-humoured, honest intelligence."

For Adam's character the book must be read.

Here is the heroine : —" It is of little use for me to tell you that Hetty's cheek was like a rose petal,

that dimples played about her pouting lips, that her large, dark eyes hid a soft

roguishness under their long lashes, and that her curly hair, though all pushed

back under her round cap while she was at work, stole back in dark, delicate rings

on her forehead, and about her white shell- like ears; it is of little use for me to

say how lovely was the contour of her pink and white neckerchief, tucked into her

low plum-coloured stuff bodice, or how the linen butter- making apron, with its bib ,

seemed a thing to be imitated in silk by duchesses,-since it fell in such charming

lines or how her brown stockings and thick soled buckled Bhoes, lost all that

clumsiness which they must certainly have had when empty of her foot and ankle ;

of little use, unless you have seen a woman who affected you as Hetty did all

beholders ; for, otherwise, though you might conjure up the image of a lovely

woman, she would not the least resemble that distracting, kitten-like maiden. Imight mention all the divine charms of a bright spring day ; but if you had never

in your life forgotten yourself in straining your eyes after the mounting lark, or

in wandering through the still lanes, when the fresh opened blossoms filled them

with a sacred, silent beauty, like that of fretted aisles, where would be the use of

any descriptive catalogue ? I could never make you know what I meant by a

bright spring day. Hetty's was a spring tide beauty; it was the beauty of young

frisking things.round limbed, gambolhng, circumventing you by a false air of inno

cence the innocence of a young star-browed calf for example, that being inclined

for a promenade out of bounds, leads you a severe steeplechase over hedge and

ditch, and only comes to a stand in the middle of a bog."

Adam Bede is deep in lore with this smiling, pouting, dimpled,Hetty, who however in no degree returns it. She likes to see the

great, strong man at her feet. She loves to call up the deep flushon his cheek by her pretty ways. She loves to see his whole framethrill and tremble beneath her glances.

" When he makes anyshow of resistance to his passion, she entices him back into her netby little airs of timidity and meekness, as if she were in trouble athis neglect." But to marry a carpenter !

" Hetty had never reada novel in her life ;" yet " her dreams were all of lusuries," of

THI: BBVIBWJIB. 271

att.enticm, and the aonoroua vaice sub~ed ink> a low whiltla; but it preaentl1 brake out again with renewed vigour,-

" ' Let all thy converse be sincere, Thy conscience as the noonday clear ! '

" Such a voice could only come from a broati chest, and the broad chest belonged to a large-boned, m11scular man, nearly aix feet high, with a back so flat and a

Jaead so well poised, that when he drew himself up to take a more distant nrvey of his work, he had the air of a soldier standing at ease. The 1leeve rolled up

aboYe the elbow showed an arm that was likely t,o win the prize for feat.a of strength; yet the long, supple hand, with its broad finger tips, looked rea~y for worb of skill. In hie tall stalwartnEBS Adam Bede was a Suon, and justified

his name ; but the jet b]ack hair, made the more noticeable by its contrast with the light paper cap, and the keen glance of the dark eyes that shone from under, atrongly marked, permanent and mobile eyebrows, indicated a mixture of Celtic

blood. The face was large, and roughly hewn, and when in repose had no other

beauty than such aa belongs to an expression of good-humoured, honest intelligence."

For Adam's character the book must be read. .Here is the heroine :-" It is of little use for me to tell you that Betty's cheek was like a roee petal,

that dimples played about her pouting lips, that her large, dark eyee hid a soft roguishness under their long lubes, and that her curly hair, though all pushed

back under her round cap while she was at work, stole back in dark, delicate rings on her forehead, and about her white shell. like eare; it is of little use for me to ay how lovely was the contour of her pink and white neckerchief, tucked into her

low plum-coloured stuff bodice, or how the linen butter-making apron, with its bib,

aeemed a thing to be imitated in silk by duchesses,since it fell in such charming

lines, or how her brown stockings and thick soled buckled shoes, lost all that clumsiness which they must certainly have had when empty of her foot and ankle; --of little use, unless you have seen a woman who affected you as Betty did all beholders ; for, otherwise, though you might conjure up the image of a lovely woman, she would not the least resemble that distracting, kitten-like maiden. I

might mention all the divine charms of a bright spring day; but if you had never

in your life forgotten yourself in straining your eyes after the mounting ]ark, or in wandering through the still lanes, when the fresh opened bl0680ms filled them with a sacred, silent beauty, like that of fretted aisles, where would be the ue of any descriptive catalogue? I could never make you know what I meant by a

bright spring day. Betty's was a spring tide beauty; it was the beauty of youg friaking tLings,round limbed, gambolling, circumventing you by a false air of inno­

eence-the innocence of a young star-browed calf for example, that being inclined

-for a promenade out of bounds, leads you a severe steeplechase over hedge and 4itch, and only comes to a stand in the middle of a bog."

Adam Bede ia deep in lOYe with this smiling, pouting, dimpled, Hetty, who however in no degree returns it. She likee to see the ~t, strong man at her feet. She loves to call up the deep flush on his cheek by her pretty ways. She loves to see his whole frame thrill and tremble beneath her glances. " When he makes any ehow of resistance to his passion, she entices him back into her net by little airs of timidity and meekness, u if 1he were in trouble at his neglect." But to marry a carpenter ! " Hetty had never read .a novel in her life;'' yet "her dream.a were all of luxariea,'' of

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272 THE BEVIEWEB.

wearing fine clothes, and riding in a carriage. She thought, " IfAdam nad been rich, and could have given her these things, sheloved him well enough to marry him."

The character of Arthur Donnithorne, though presenting fewersalient points wherewith to individualize it

,is a marvel of art. He

is not unlike what Arthur Pendennis would have been under similarcircumstances. The account of the conflict between his passion forHetty, and his sense of duty to her and himself, displays the nicestanalysis of human motives. Arthur, after seeing Hetty severaltimes, feels himself yielding to her beauty, as many poorer menhad done already. He is getting in love with her. Honour,virtue, pride, tell him he must avoid seeing her again. Lovebetween them could only be a dishonourable one, and the thoughtopens a wide vista, filled with unpleasant results. All the beautifulstructure of happiness he had in imagination built up for himselfin the future, supported by the respect of his friends, the affectionof all intimately associated with him, the admiration and reverenceof his dependents, —thrown down and destroyed. No ! he mustnot—he will not see her again. His decision gives a new turn tohis thoughts, and he feels at liberty to think of what might have beenhad circumstances been different. Memory recalls to him herloving glances and every particular of her beauty. " How pleasant

it would have been to meet her, and put his arm round her again,and look into that sweet face." He must see her again just toremove any false impression from her mind about his behaviour toher. He does see her again, but all his intentions of talkingwisely to her respecting their mutual relations vanish before thelight of Hetty's eyes ; and when they part, they look at each othernot quite as they had looked before, for in their eyes was the memory

of a kiss."Very beautiful are the two chapters entitled the "Journey in

Hope"

and the " Journey in Despair," which relate how Hetty, tohide her shame, wandered many miles from her home, one thoughtalone sustaining her, if she can but find Arthur, he will help her.And when she fails in this search, the last thread by which she clungto hope breaks in her hands, and she goes drifting over a wide sea

of despair, on which no beacon lights shine to guide the wandererhome, and no one solitary star beams out promises of peace andsafety.

We have no space fully to speak of Dinah Morris, the Methodistpreacher, the sweetest character in the book, and we cannot describeit in a few words.

Supreme, however, above all the other characters in conceptionand finish is Mrs. Poyzer! No other novelist lives who couldpourtray such an extraordinary character so exactly and goodhumouredly. We shall attempt no description of her ; our readersmust make her acquaintance for themselves. A few scraps of herconversation we must transcribe, premising that they are but scraps.

Here is a description of a vain man :—

'l'HB BBVIBWBB.

wearing ~e clothes, and ridin2 in a ~- She tho~ht, " I£ Adam had been rich, and coulcl have given her these things, she loved him well enough t;o ma!TY him."

The character of Arthur Donnithorne, though presenting fewer aalient points wherewith to individualize it, is a marvel of art. He is not unlike what Arthur Pendennis would have been under similar circumstances. The account of the conflict between his passion for H~, and his sense of duty to her and himself, disp!9s the nicest analysis of human motives. Arthur, after seeing Hetty several times, feels himself rielding to her beauty, SB many poorer men had done already. He is getting in love with lier. Honour, virtue, pride, tell him he must avoid seeing her a.gain. Love between them could only be a dishonourable one, and the tho~ht opens a wide vista, filled with unpleasant results. All the beautiful structure of happiness he had in imagination built up for himself in the future, supported by the respect of his friends, the affection of all intimately usociated with him, the admiration and reverence of his dependents,-thrown down and destroyed. No ! he must not-he tDill not see her again. His decision gives a new tum to his thoughts, and he feels at liberty to think of what migkt have been had circumstances been different. Memory recalls to him her loving glances and every particular of her beauty. " How pleasant it would have been to meet her, and put his arm round her again, and look into that sweet face." He must see her again ~nst to remove any false impression from her mind about his behaviour to her. He does see her again, but all his intentions of tallring wisely to her respecting their mutual relations vanish before the light of Hetty's eyes ; and when they part, they look at each other not quit,e as they had looked before, for in their eyea was tke memory ofa 'Jcia,."

Very beautiful are the two chapters entitled the " Journey in Ho~ " and the " Journey in Despair," which relate how Hetty, to hide her shame, wandered many miles from her home, one thought alone sustaining her, if she can but find Arthur, he will help her. And when she fails in this search, the last thread by which she clung to hope breaks in her hands, and she goes driftin~ over a wide sea of despair, on which no beacon lights shine to gmde the wanderer home, and no one solitary star beams out promises of peace and safety.

We have no space fully to speak of Dinah Morris, the Methodist :r.reacher, the sweetest character in the book, and we cannot describe 1t in a few words.

Supreme, however, above all the other characters in conception and finish is Mrs. Poyzer ! No other novelist lives who could pourtray such an extraordinary character so exactly and good humouredly. We shall attempt no description of her ; our readers must make her acquaintance for themselves. A few scraps of her conversation we must transcribe, premising that they are but acraps.

Here is a description of a vain man :-

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" You're mighty fond o' Craig, but for my part I think he's welly like a cockas thinks the sun rose o' purpose to hear him crow."

" It's poor work setting the dead above the living. We shall all on us be deadsome time. I reckon it 'nd be better if folks 'nd make much on us beforehand,istid o' beginning when we're gone. It's but little good you'll do a watering the

last year's crop."" I'm no denying the women's foolish, God Almighty made 'em so to match the

men."" Some folks' tongues are like the clocks, as run on striking, not to tell the time

o' day, but because there's some'ut wrong i' their inside."

We thank George Eliot for a good book, one of the most preciousgifts man can bequeath to man. We thank him for so much wisecounsel, so genially expressed. We thank him for increased sympathy with that which is really beautiful, though clothed in humblegarb. We thank him for the additions he has made to that selectfew of the creations of our various novelists, which remain with usas memories and powers, and of whom we are accustomed to thinkand speak as though their existence had not been merely ideal, butreal.

Revolutions in English History ; by Robert Vatjghan, D.D. Vol.I. Revolutions of Race. London: J. W. Parker and Son. 1859.

" History must instruct, and it must interest ; it must tend to make us wiserand better, and must gratify our taste, whilst it improves our intellectual andmoral faculties. It must, therefore, select such occurrences, and place them beforethe mind in such an order, as may best conduce to the attainment of these important ends." — Sir John Stoddart.

As there are men whose worth can never be known until they aregone for ever from us, so there are things which can only be rightlyestimated by being entirely withheld for a season. Imagine, forinstance, the history of the past to be blotted out from the tenaciousleaves of human memory, what would result P The understandingwould be unstored with the treasures which have been accumulatedby the past generations of men ; the sympathies of the heart wouldbe untouched with the joys and sorrows which have chequered thepathway of former travellers in the journey of life ; the judgmentwould be weak and impoverished, and unabie, from its ignorance ofthe past, to form a just decision on the progress and direction of thepresent ; whilst the imagination, unpictured with the glowing representations of bygone days, would be deprived of its power to reflectits shadowy splendour on the pathway of existence. The soul ofman would be almost a blank, upon which nothing would be apparent,except the fleeting impressions of the present, rendered legible onlyin misshapen characters of prejudice and selfishness. Such beingthe importance of historical knowledge, we are not at all surprisedto find that it is a kind of instinct in our race to hand down to posterity the memory of those actions in which they have been engaged,and to record even the thoughts by which they have been agitated.But the records of a distant age require to be translated into the

THB BBVIBWBB. 273 "You're mighty fond 0

1 Craig, but for my part I think he's welly like a cock as thinks lhe sun rose o' purpose to hear him crow."

"Jt·s poor work setting the dead above the living. We shall all on t18 be dead some time. . I reckon it 'ud be better if folks tud make much on us beforehand, iatid o' beginning when we're gone. It', but little good, aou'll do a watering tie last year', crop."

" I'm no denying the women's foolish, God Almighty made 'em so to match the men."

" Some r o1ks' tongues are like the clocks, as run on striking, not to tell the time o' day, but because there's some'ut wrong i' their inside."

We thank George Eliot for a good book, one of the most precious gifts man can bequeath to man. We thank him for so much wise counsel, so genially expressed. We thank him for increased syt11-pathy with that which is really beautiful, though clothed in humble garb. We thank him for the additions he has made to that select few of the creations of our various novelists, which remain with us as memories and powers, and of whom -we are accustomed to think and speak as though their existence had not been merely ideal, but real.

Revolutions in Englisl,, History; by RoBERT VAUGHAN, D.D. Vol. I. Revolutions of Race. London: J. W. Parker and Son. 1859. "History must instruct, and it must interest; it must tend to make us wiser

and better, and must gratify our taste, whilst it improves our intellectual and moral faculties. It must, therefore, select such occurrences, and place them before the mind in such an order, as may best conduce to the attainment of these impor­tant ends."-8ir John Stoddart.

As there are men whose worth can never be known until they are gone for ever from us, so there are things which can only be rightly estimated by being entirely withheld for a season. Imagine, for instance, the history of the past to be blotted out from the tenacious leaves of human memory, what would resultP The understanding would be unstored with the treasures which have been accumulated by the past generations of men ; the sympathies of the heart would be untouched with the joys and sorrows which have chequered the pathway of former travellers in the journey of life; the judgment would oe weak and impoverished, and unable, from its ignorance of the past, to form a just decision on the progress and direction of the present ; whilst the ima.gination, unpictured with the glowing repre­sentations of bygone days, would be deprived of its power to reflect its shadO\vy splendour on the pathway of existence. The soul of man would be almost a blank, upon which nothing would be apparent, except the fleeting impressions of the present, rendered legible only in misshapen characters of prejudice and selfishness. Such being the importance of historical know ledge, we are not at all surprised to find that it is a kind of instinct in our race to hand down to pos­terity the memory of those actions in which they have been en~aged, and to record even the thoughts by which they have been agitated. But the records of a distant age require to be translated into the

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