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who have not the literary taste. They night, and as jolly as the jolly beggars. prefer the adventures of Sir Harry and Perhaps his “ Night with Villon " is the the other Allan in Kukuana-land or in Zu- most perfect of modern short studies in l'endis. We may not agree with their romance. One cannot be too thankful for taste, but that is their taste. Probably no a writer with such various endowments. critic would venture to maintain that the There is no sense in comparing them with discoverer of Kôr has the same literary Mr. Haggard's gifts; he only resembles qualities as the historian of John Silver. Mr. Stevenson in natural daring and inIt seems a pity, when we chance to have ventiveness, and in having written admitwo good things, to be always setting onerable tales of adventure. He is as far as off against the other, and fighting about possible from being a born student, or a their relative merits. Mr. Stevenson and born master of style. He does not see Mr. Rider Haggard have both written the world through books, and he writes novels, have both written boys' books. like a sportsman of genius. Thus one Personally, I prefer their boys' books to cannot pretend to criticise the style of the their novels. They seem happier in their romantic school, as (to a certain extent dealings with men than with women, and and with limitations) we may criticise the with war than with love. Of the two, style of the realistic school. There is, Jess appears to me real, and the wife there can be, no romantic school. Any of Mr. Stevenson's Prince Otto shadowy. clever man or woman may elaborate a But Mr. Haggard's savage ladies are bet- realistic novel according to the rules, and ter than his civilized fair ones, while may adopt the laborious use of inverted there is not a petticoat in “ Kidnapped” adjectives. But romance bloweth where
Treasure Island." As for “She” she listeth, and now she utters her mes. herself, nobody can argue with a personal sage to a student and a master of words, affection, which I entertain for that long-like Mr. Stevenson, through whom the lived lady.
tale reaches “ breathed softly as The holy priests
through the Autes of the Grecians.” Bless her when she is riggish,
Now, again, romance tells Mr. Haggard
her dreams beside the camp-fire in the Shakespeare says of Cleopatra, and, like Transvaal, among the hunters on the hills the holy priests, I can pardon certain of prey, and he repeats them in a straightinconsequences in Ayesha. But other forward hunter's manner, and you believe moralists must find her trying; poor in the impossible and credit adventures Ayesha, who “was a true lover,” though that never could be achieved. As works she did not therefore, like Guinevere, of art, the books of these two writers do "make a good end." Apparently female not invite comparison, but both are incharacters are not the strong point either spired by that same venturous maid of of Mr. Haggard or of Mr. Stevenson, as Helicon, who somewhere learned the his. far as they have gone. Consequently it tory of Odysseus's wanderings, and reis difficult to compare those agreeable vealed them to the man of Chios. Let us writers with, let us say, M. E. de Goncourt be grateful for all good things in literature, or Mr. Howells. Nor is there much rea- and not reject one because it lacks the son in comparing them with each other. grace or the glory of another. We are Mr. Stevenson is a born man of letters, a not to sneer at a good story, because the . born student of style. Since Thackeray narrative might be better graced. How no English author has been gifted with or much Scott cared for style, or even for has acquired a manner so perfect, so grammar, is but too manifest, even to persubtle, so original. And yet he has plenty sons who have not examined his manuto say, though he can say it so well, scripts, wherein there is scarce an erasure 6 which is strange.” Unlike Sir Walter or an alteration. Sir Walter reeled it off Scott, he can write English as well as he at a white heat. Thackeray's manuscripts can write Scotch, and, since Scott, no one are of a different aspect; what Balzac's has written Scotch like him. If any short were like all readers of literary anecdote story comes second to the tale of "Wan- know very well. To every man his own dering Willie,” it is “ Thrawn Janet.” In method, his own qualities, his own faults. addition to all these accomplishments, Let us be grateful for the former, and a Mr. Stevenson possesses an imagination little blind to the latter. which touches that of Edgar Poe on one
Whatever the merits and demerits of side, and of M. Anatole France on the modern English romance, one thing is other. He can be as witty as Mr. George certain. It is now undeniable that the Meredith, as humorous as Burns, as sad as I love of adventure and of mystery, and of
a good fight lingers in the ininds of men | character, and life, and adventure are so and women. They are stirred by the mingled in a whole, that we can scarce tell diamonds and the rich ingots, the “ Last which of them charms us most. There is Stand of the Greys” (a chapter from actual even room for the novel of disquisition history), the bland John Silver, and the and discussion of life, as no adinirer of malevolent Gagool. The moral is mani- Fielding, and Thackeray, and George fest enough. The moral is not that even Eliot will deny. Some of us will be betthe best boys' books are the highest class ter pleased by one kind, some by another. of fiction, but that there is still room for All will be good for some of us, if they romance, and love of romance, in civilized are good in their kind. Why should perhuman nature. Once more it is apparent sons of this taste or that give themselves that no single genre of novel is in future, airs, as if they only were the elect? A or at least in the near future, to be a lonely man need not hate “M. Lecoq” because literary sultan, lording it without rival he delights in“ Manon Lescaut.” A man over the circulating libraries. But to may have his hours for “Madame Boargue, therefore, that there is no more vary,” and his hours for “Le Cardinal," room for the novel of analysis and of and his hours for “Le Crime de l'Opéra.' minute study of character would be merely “ There is one glory of the sun, and an. to make a new mistake. There will al. other glory of the moon;" let us contemn ways, while civilized life endures, and none of the heavenly bodies. I have while man is not yet universally bald and heard Mark Twain called a barbarian." toothless there will always be room for This will not make me say that “ Huckleall kinds of fiction, so long as they are berry Finn” is better than a wilderness good. A new Jane Austen would be as of " Prophets of the Great Smoky Moun. successful as a new Charles Kingsley. tain.”. But I will admit that I vastly preMoreover, it will always be possible to fer old Huck, that hero of an Odyssey of combine the interest of narrative and of the Mississippi. I can even imagine that adventure with the interest of character. a person of genius might write a novel This combination bas been possible in the "all about religion," or all about agnostiearliest literature. If we take the saga of cism, which inight be well worth reading. the Volsungs and Niflungs, we find the I don't expect to live to see that romance, union already perfect. What can be more but it may come, for the novel is a perfect barbaric than the opening of the saga ? Proteus, and can assume all shapes, and Perhaps even Mr. Rider Haggard would please in all. The lesson, then, is that it not introduce a hero whose brother was a "takes every sort to make a world,” that serpent, or a hero who turned into a wolf all sorts have their chance, and that none and bit off an old lady's tongue, and be- should assert an exclusive right to existcame the father of a family of little wolves. ence. Do not let us try to write as if we Yet this very saga has the characters of were writing for Homo Calvus, the baldSigurd and Gudrun; the immortal scene headed student of the future. Do not let of the discovery of wronged and thwarted us despise the day of small things, and love; the man's endurance of it; the of small people; the microscopic examiwoman's revolt, and all the ruin that she nation of the hearts of young girls and drew on herself, her lord, her lover, and beery provincial journalists. These, too, her kin. There is no more natural, true, are human, and not alien from us, nor and simple picture of human nature, hu- unworthy of our interest. The dubita. man affections and passions, in Balzac or tions of a Bostonian spinster may be made in Shakespeare, than that scene from a as interesting, by one genius, ás a fight savage tale which begins with the loves between a crocodile and a catawampus, and hates of serpents and were-wolves. by another genius. One may be as much What could be combined in an entrancing excited in trying to discover whom a marwhole by a minstrel of Chios, by a saga- ried American lady is really in love with, man of Lithend, need not be kept apart in as by the search for the fire of immortalmodern fiction. We may still have excel.lity in the heart of Africa. But if there is lent studies of life and character, with to be no modus vivendi, if the battle belittle of the interest of story in them. We tween the crocodile of realism and the may still have admirable romances, in catawampus of romance is to be fought which the delight of adventure far exceeds out to the bitter end – why, in that Rag. the interest of character, or, very often, narôk, I am on the side of the catawam. the elegance of style. And we may still pus. have novels, like many of Scott's, in which
From Temple Bar. |interest of “ Tom Brown's Schooldays,” LOOKING BACKWARDS.
and old Wykehamists will delight to see “I have no intention of writing an au- their past days so pleasantly brought back tobiography,” says Mr. Adolphus Trol- to them. To older people, it is pleaslope. He may have remembered George ant to hear again of the days of the two Eliot's opinion, that “ biographies are a tallow candles, and the snuffer-tray bedisease of English literature.” That gift tween them, and the dinner-hour settled ed writer held some strange opinions, but so that we might go and hear Edmund there is good ground for this one, if we Kean afterwards. But Mr. Trollope has do not as no doubt George Eliot did been a traveller, has seen cities and men, not - include in the remark autobiogra- has been a writer of novels, of books of phies, which are frequently delightful, and travel, has been a special correspondent, in which this season will be particularly and been behind the scenes of the politirich. We are also promised a work from cal world. He is one who has been conwhich we expect much, the “ Reminis- verted by Mr. Gladstone to the temperate cences of Sir Frederick Pollock.” Then Toryism of to-day, and who has come back the eagerly-looked-for "Life of Darwin,” to his own country to spend his last days the biography of Sir Stratford de Red. in sight of "the silver streak.” cliffe, lives of Emerson, Douglas, Forsyth, “Never, Tom,” said my grandfather, with others we do not now recall, will help put in motion forces which you are unato cheer our long November nights, but ble to control.” This sound advice, which just now we will speak of Mr. Trollope's is blown to the winds by the sort of naAutobiography."
tional-convention politicians we are now There are three Trollopes known to breeding, oddly enough came from a man fame, a mother and two of her sons ; Mrs. who sank his money in "patents about as Trollope, whose “Widow Barnaby was remunerative and useful as that which long in standing demand in the old-fash- Charles the Second is said to have granted ioned libraries before the days of Mr. to a sailor who stood on his head on the Mudie ; Anthony, the author of " Barches- top of Salisbury steeple, securing to him ter Towers;” and Adolphus, who wrote the monopoly of that practice.' There “ La Beata a little gem, saturated with was humor in that Charles. local color. It is not often that three per- Very early in these reminiscences we sons in one family attain to success in one get a glimpse of the stage in its palmy particular branch of literature. Two out days, and of the eagerness of people to of the three Brontës did, but the third did see and hear the great actors of that time. not discover the genius of the other two. It is Thomas Adolphus Trollope, the of an incident which somewhat curiously illus
I remember to have heard my mother speak elder of the two brothers, whose autobiog. trates the ways and habits of a time already raphy, under the title of "What I Re. so far left behind us by a whole world of social member,” comes before the public this changes. It was nothing more than a simple autumn.
visit to the theatre to hear Mrs. Siddons in I have lived a long time [says Mr. Trol". Lady Macbeth.” But this exploit involved lope). I remember an aged porter at the other reasons besides the intense gratification
circumstances that rendered it memorable for monastery of the “Sagro Eremo,” above Camaldoli, who had taken brevet rank as a saint derived from the performance. In the first solely on the score of his ninety years. His place. the pit” was the destination to which brethren called him and considered him as my father and mother were bound; not altoSaint Simon, simply because he had been por lower price of admission (though my father
gether, I take it, so much for the sake of the ter at that gate for more than sixty years. Now my credentials as a babbler of 'reminis was a sufficiently poor and a sufficiently carecences are of a similar nature to those of the from the idea that the pit offered the best
ful man to render this a consideration), as old porter. I have been here so many, many vantage ground for a thoroughly appreciative years.
and critical judgment of the performance. The story of the journey of life told by This visit to the pit involved the necessity of intelligence to youth will always fascinate. Being at the theatre at two in the afternoon, Age loves to retread paths in which it for and then standing in the crowd till, I rightly gets its troubles of the time for the adven- remember, six in the evening! Of course ture it enjoyed, and youth listens to a there did his best to support and assist the
food had to be carried. Of course each man romance as interesting as if it were as lady under his charge. But the ordeal must untrue as Robinson Crusoe. A consider- have been something tremendous, and the able portion of the first volume of Mr. amount of enthusiasm needed to induce a lady Trollope's reminiscences has some of the I to face it something scarcely to be understood
VOL. LX. 3108
at the present day. My mother used to relate dogs, the clergy have their privileges; and that sundry women were carried out from the Mrs. Trollope even allowed that their first crowd at the theatre door fainting.
kiss might be hedged round with a sort of The old coaching memories are by no sacred sanction, but she drew the line so means the least delightful in these vol as to bar all claim to a second – at least umes, telling as they do of the “ Quick
on the same grounds. silver" and the Exeter Telegraph, of the Among the neighbors at Harrow was a Mr. four miles between Ilchester and Ilmin- (well, I won't print the name, though all ster done in twenty minutes, of the guard the parties in question must long since, I sup alone on the hinder boot with his blunder: pose, have joined the majority), who had a buss before him, of the hearty breakfasts family of daughters, the second of whom was with twenty minutes allowed, when cream
exceedingly pretty. One day this girl, of and butter and hot toast, eggs, beef, etc., who was always a special friend of all the
some eighteen years or so, came to my mother, disappeared with marvellous facility un
young girls, with a eulogistic defence of the der the sprightly air of an autumn morn- vicar. She was describing at much length ing.
the delight of the assurances of grace which Time works its changes, and won't even he had given her, when my mother suddenly, leave language alone. In those days looking her straight in the eyes, said, " Did Berkeley was pronounced Barkley, and he kiss you, Carrie?" "Yes, Mrs. Trollope. Mr. Trollope says that when he was a lad He did give me the kiss of peace. I am sure
"None at all,
there was no harm in that I" old-fashioned people called Rome Room ;
Carrie ! For I am sure you meant none !! gold, gould ; James, Jeames; beefsteak,
returned my mother. “Honi soit qui mal beefsteek; and danger and stranger had the letter “a”in them pronounced as in of peace is apt to change its quality if re
pense! But remember, Carrie, that the kiss “man.” The late Lord John Russell al- peated I” ways to the last said " obleege.” Nevertheless Mr. Trollope thinks that written
Whatever difference of opinion may English then was more correct than it is exist on matters of religion, we think all now, and he sees constantly in these days will admit that some good came out of the words wrongly used in print. Take the Tractarian movement.
The gifted men word trouble, he says, which is an active who set that ball rolling were men who verb:
had taken high honors, and were com
pletely distinct in that as in other matters Now scarcely a day passes without my meet- from the Ritualistic school, which has ing in print with such phrases as “He did not trouble,” meaning, trouble himself ; ,I hope show a distinguished college career.
very few men among its leaders who can
It you won't trouble," instead of trouble yourself. To old-fashioned ears it seems a de- could hardly, be otherwise, for the really testable vulgarism.
able men.fight only about essentials, and
don't condescend to the battle of the vest. And again :
ments. To have the services of our Of course it is an abuse of language to say Church decently, read was something to that the beauty of a pretty girl strikes you fight for, and such stories as the following with awe. But he who first said of some girl told by Mr. Trollope are now impossible. that she was “awfully" pretty, was abundantly justified by the half humorous, half serious In reading, or rather intoning the prayers, consideration of all the effects such loveliness the habit was to allow no time at all for the may produce. But then, because this was choir to chant their “ Amen," which had to felt to be the case, and the mot was accepted, be interjected in such sort that when the all the tens of thousands of idiotic cretins who tones of'it died away the priest had already have been rubbed down into exact similarity got through two or three lines of the following to each other by excessive locomotion and the prayer. One of our chaplains, who had the "speed” of education — spread, indeed, after well-deserved character of being the fastest of the fashion in which a gold-beater spreads his the three, we called the diver. For it was his metal -- imitate each other in the senseless practice in reading or intoning to continue use of it. They are just like the man in the with great rapidity as long as his breath would Joe Miller story, who, because a laugh fol- last, and then while recovering it to proceed lowed when a host, whose rvant let fall a mentally without any interruption, so that we dish with a boiled tongue in it, said it was only lost sight (or hearing) of him at one point, a lapsus linguæ, ordered his own servant to and when he came to the surface, i.e., became throw down a leg of mutton, and then made audible again, he was several lines further the same remark.
down the page, and this we called "diving.
It was probably believed in college that this Here is a delicious story of a kissing was the gentleman of whom the story was first parson, given by Mr. Trollope. Lucky told, that he was ready to give any man to
“Pontius Pilate" in the Creed, and arrive at to observe the vindictive priest's last day the end before him.
on earth as a very vigorous fast day." Another of our three chaplains was a great While at Oxford Mr. Trollope had the sportsman. It was the practice that the les- advantage of the lectures of Whately, a sons were always read in chapel by one of the prefects.
man, if not of genius, of great talent and I remember, by-the-by (but this is parenthet- wit. Mr. Trollope says that he considers ical), that one of our number was unable to
Whately to have been the wittiest man pronounce the “r,” and we used to scheme he ever knew; " and contemporary me. that it should fall to his lot to tell us that moirs teem at least with proofs of his wit. “ Bawabbas was a wobber.'
A lady once went to Dublin Castle in Now the boy who read the lessons, sat, not such very full dress that more bust than in his usual place, but by the side of the chap- barège was visible. “ Did you ever see lain who was performing the service. And it anything so unblushing?" said some one was the habit of the reverend sportsman I to the archbishop. “Never, since I was have referred to, to intercalate with the verses of the Psalm he was reading, sotto voce, anec
weaned,” replied the wit. dotes of his most recent sporting achieve
“ The difference between a form and a ments, addressed to the youth ať his side, ceremony,” said Whately, “is a nice one, using for the purpose the interval during and it lies in this, you sit upon a form, and which the choir recited the alternate verse. you stand upon ceremony:
As thus, on one twenty-eighth evening of He was very happy in some of his the month, well remembered after some sixty apothegms, and when some one quoted years : —
the well-known proverb “Honesty is the Who smote great kings: for His mercy endureth for best policy,”. " True,” he replied ; " yet Then aside, in the well-known great rolling
he who is governed by that maxim is not
an honest man.” mellow voice (I can hear it now):
Mr. Trollope says: “On Hurstley Down yesterday I was out with Jack Woodburn” (this was another minor canon of the cathedral, but not one of
Whately's wit was not of the kind which our chaplains) ..
ever made any “table roar.” It was of that Sehon king of the Amorites: for His mercy endureth prompt perception, not of the superficial re
higher and deeper kind, which consists in “My black bitch Juno put up a covey al- semblances in dissimilar things, but in the
underlying resemblances disclosed only to the most to our feet.”
eye capable of appreciating at a glance the And gave away their land for a heritage: for His essential qualities and characteristics of the mercy endureth forever."
matter in hand. I have heard Whately deli“I blazed away with both barrels, and ciously witty at a logic or Euclid lecture. brought down a brace.”
Who remembered us when we were in trouble: for How wise Whately could be on political His mercy endureth forever."
matters is well known. Let us hear the And so on.
great Liberal priest on attempts to pacify Mr. Trollope tells a very singular story Ireland by yielding to the criminals who told him by Blanco White, which we now pretend to represent her : must abbreviate for want of space. A priest was condemned at Seville to capital “To seek to pacify Ireland," he writes a punishment. That the public might be little further on, by compliance and favor
shown to its disturbers would be even worse properly impressed, market-day was lected for the purpose. To be degraded fathers, with their weapon salve, who left the
than the superstitious procedure of our forefrom his sacerdotal character he had to wound to itself, and applied their unguents to pass through the market-place, whilst the the sword which had inflicted it.” powers deemed inherent in the priesthood were still in his possession. Undegraded We present these opinions to the memas yet and unrepentant, he dealt a ma-ber for Midlothian. The opinions were licious blow at the people assembled to formerly his also, but a disastrous alliance witness his degradation. •Suddenly in no longer permits him their enjoyment. the market-place, he stretched out his One of the greatest charms of Mr. Trol. arms, and pronounced with a loud voice lope's two volumes is the immense variety the uncancellable sacramental words, of subjects treated of. He saw so many • HOC EST CORPUS.' All the contents of countries, talked with so many eminent that vast mass were instantaneously tran- men, and frequently on topics of general substantiated! All the food in Seville interest, that you have never the sense of was forth with unavailable for any baser fatigue, sometimes resulting from good than eucharistic purposes, and Seville had | matter too long drawn out.