13 DECEMBER 1873, Page 20

A LONG SUMMER'S DAY.*

IT is a pleasure to turn from the crowd of disagreeable novels, made up of far-fetched incident, coarse caricature, complicated machinery, and every variety of unnatural and painful situation and circumstance, to a simple, pleasant, sparkling story, that might easily be true, dealing with kindly, cultivated, and well- ordered people, placed amidst all the nameless refining influences of lovely and quiet scenery. Mrs. Simpson's book bears evidence of true culture, not only of the mind and of the eye, but of the heart also. The first paragraph, however, is scarcely pre- possessing ; not that it is unsuggestive of pleasant pages in prospect, but that it betrays a haziness, both of thought and ex- pression, which is disappointing at the very outset. In this single sentence our authoress implies that a hundred miles is a far greater distance than can be travelled in three hours ; that a "broil- ing hot day" is a "fortunate" one for a holiday, and that the excursionist will have to get back to the station before he has arrived at the scene of enjoyment. But whereas we frequently find that authors give us their very best in their very first sentence —and not unfrequently the only good thing they have to say— Mrs. Simpson has given us her very worst, and we find no other paragraph to bear out the happily misleading expectation of the opening one ; possibly Mrs. Simpson was making her debut, and felt a little confused. In another way also our authoress is better than her promise. She tells us mournfully of her heroine that "life had plenty of trial in store for her " ; and as she travels up to London from the seclusion of her widowed father's home to" the gaiety of her first season, we are told—a propos of a fancied wish that she were already on her way back—that "had she re- turned at that time, before tasting the joys and sorrows that were in store for her, she would have longed again for tint draught, however bitter it might prove to drain it." Now we may * 4 Law Summer's Day. By M. 0. M. Simpson. London : Smith, Elder and Co.

as well put Mrs. Simpson's readers out of their pain at once, and prove that, as we said, she is better than her word, by assuring them that Rosamond had no sorrow in store for her in London— quite the reverse ; and that a three-weeks' doubt of her lover's faith- fulness was all the "plenty of trial" which she had to bear; a doubt proved to be quite groundless, and cleared up before the end of the "long summer's day "—literally the six summer months—in which the pleasant story of fair Rosamond's love begins and ends. One only serious blemish we find in Mrs. Simpson's novelette—it is the, may we say childish, introduction at the very end of the story of a certain Joe Smith, a low-born and worse-bred veterinary surgeon, as a former husband—long since supposed drowned—of the beautiful and youthful Lady Mostyn. It is a very unlikely and ugly incident, quite incongruous with the rest of the story, and altogether unnecessary as an opportunity, for which it is used, of revealing the real feelings and intentions of the half- estranged lovers.

The characters, though not elaborate or ambitious sketches, are all very nicely drawn ; but the winning and ingratiating ways of Lady Mostyn are perhaps a little suggestive of wiliness of disposi- tion Mingling with the dependence and confidingness meant only to be portrayed ; and the same characteristics in her little daughter are accompanied by coincidences somewhat too striking between the right thing for the child to say or do and the right time for saying or doing it, in order to the soothing of opposing wills and conciliating of ruffled feelings. Nevertheless, these gentle, loving exotics are not parasites; they have a quiet inde- pendence, in matters of importance, which establishes their claim to respect, though they are not nearly so attractive as the healthier, bolder spirits with which we have principally to deal. Of these Rosamond comes first, with her impulsive, paesionate, devoted, and tender nature ;—a nature ready to fire up if her prin- ciples are assailed or her affections or dignity wounded, but modest and pliant when sure of the love and sincerity of her advisers. Position or age command no respect from this radical young spirit, any more than do conventionalities,—or, at first, even the pro- prieties or etiquette of society, unless accompanied or urged upon her by undoubted affection. Here is a specimen—by no means, now-a-days, an exaggeration of real life—of her magnificent independence of the usual deference to seniors and guardians

I wonder if you will make a conquest in London?" said Aunt Charlotte. She could not resist revenging herself a little for the amusement her niece was to enjoy. "I hope you don't intend to go on as I hear the young ladies now do—fast girls, girl's of the psi-lot- throwing yourself at the head of every man who speaks to you."—"I am not aware," answered Rosamond, "that I have ever given you any pretext for such insulting suppositions." And not choosing to listen to the retort which was upon Aunt Charlotte's lips, Rosamond joined her father in his library, banging the door after her, to the great detriment of his nerves, in a most undignified fit of passion.

But this is exceptional with our heroine ; no one roused her antagonism so -much as Aunt Charlotte, though we have a similar little burst of outraged dignity, when another aunt—a young one,.this time—gets her to let down her beautiful hair, and then, without thinking, says "come in" to a knock at the door, which admits a stranger, her aunt's handsome young brother-in- law and, subsequently, her own lover. To her father and all who claim her pity or have won her love, her gentle bearing is all the more charming from its contrast to her natural fieriness. Mr. Mostyn is a pleasant picture of a thoughtful student, a perfect gentleman, and a sensitive, affectionate man, guided by a re- ligious desire to do the duties of his station, however repugnant they may be to his retiring nature and aching heart. The scene between him and his daughter when he realises her age and takes her into his confidence, to share his hopes and cares, is very tenderly sketched. The rough, acid nature of Mr. Mostyn's eldest sister and housekeeper, "Aunt Charlotte," who distributes food and tracts, though not, any more than the others, a picture displaying much originality, is a natural and humorous one. A propos of the tracts, she gives a bundle to a poor old woman, including one about "the flames of hell," which keeps her awake all night. Next day Rosamond pitches the whole pile into the fire, and advises old Molly, when admonished about her soul, "just to hold her head on one side and groan,--she will be quite satisfied." But we don't quite see why in novels it always happens that these disagreeable, sensible and thoroughly rude people should always be thoroughly good-hearted at bottom, and come to be appreciated in the end, being caught in tears, and making some rough apology, and calling themselves "your cross old aunt," and in all other ways resigning for the future all their bearish qualities ; "that is always the way it is in the books," as Mark Twain says in his story of "the bad little boy who prospered," but we do not unfortunately find it so in life.

We must quote the description of Aunt Charlotte in the flesh, and leave our readers to judge of the probability of her reform :-

In her brother's presence Miss Mostyn restrained the sharp tongue which enforced these lessons of order and punctuality on the household. In fact, Aunt Charlotte had the soul of a housekeeper ; but the soul of a lady she had not. For the first time, Rosamond was brought into

contact with a coarse nature A hundred times a day Aunt Charlotte stung her by ascribing to her motives which she loathed, and holding up to her ambition, objects which she scorned She was a true Mostyn. tall and thin and angular. She was high-featured, and she took so much toheart tko sins of the world, that, like the jolly friar in the "Duenna," her face was continually put to the blush for them, and her nose, under which they sinned, more than any other feature in her face. She was arrayed, on the present occasion in her working costume, always scrupulously clean and neat,—a light-coloured print gown, with a very short, straight skirt, a loose jacket of the same, very thick high-low shoes, and a large, speckled straw hat. She hold a basket in one hand, full of dead flowers, and a pair of huge scissors in the other, in order that she might instantly and ruthlessly out off any leaves which had the indiscretion to turn brown.

The sting of this description, like that of a wasp, lies in its tail. The lady-like, hearty, genial, sensible, clever, kind Aunt Ger- trude is, again, a vivid picture ; the aunt on the mother's side is, we know, always the kind and loving aunt in novels, while the 'aunt on the father's side is always his senior and his housekeeper, and thin, and tall, and stern. We will give our readers this cheerful practical aunt's opinions on dress :--

"It is a great piece of conceit and presumption to look so different from other people."—" But, Aunt Gertrude, what does it signify how one looks ? ' said Rosamond. "One would not choose to be liked for the sake of one's dress."—"It signifies much loss for people who are older and well known," replied her aunt, "and who contribute pleasant conversation to society. But young people have seldom much to re- commend them except their looks. They are bound, therefore, to look well; for everybody should contribute something to their neighbour's enjoyment. It is quite as well that we old folks should have something to recommend us besides our looks, as they are not in general very exhilarating."

The sociable, indolent Vicar is another lively sketch, humouring and spoiling his beautiful young parishioner—our heroine—wink- ing so wisely at the first effervescence of his hardworking young curate's High-Church vagaries, and bearing so patiently with his valetudinarian wife, whose delicacy is easily accounted for, if she is often given to such fortifications of her constitution as the following :—

" And what regimen did ho order for you ? " asked Rosamond.—" He told me to keep my strength up. I have rum and milk at eight, moat breakfast at half-past nine, soup at eleven, hot meat luncheon at one, with two glasses of port wine, tea and bread and butter at four, dinner and two more glasses of wine at half-past six, tea and cake at nine, and cod-liver oil in brandy at night. I cannot do more, can I? "—" No, indeed," answered Rosamond, in a minor key.—"And yet I do not get any stronger, and my nights are worse and worse."

The hero, Leonard, is rather a lay figure, and we only like him with any sense of his reality in his boyish outburst when he is dis- abused of his fear that Rosamond is going to accept a young lord :-

Leonard longed to throw his hat up in the air, to dance a hornpipe in the middle of the street, or in any other way to express hifrunreason- able elation. He ran upstairs and locked his door after him, delighted to have no longer any spectator of his folly. Ho nodded to the moon— it seemed ages since he had soliloquised at the foot of the Duke of York's column—she subdued his present excitement as she had calmed his former irritation. After all, he said to himself, "although Rosa- mond has the good taste to despise thiO fop, there is no reason to suppose that she would accept me."

But our favourite of all, and we have kept him for the last, is fastidious, impulsive Uncle Jem, who won't do anything he does not like, but who does anything he does like there and then, without consideration of the proprieties, and who always does like to do everything that is good-natured and not likely to be done by others ; who blurts out all aorta of unexpected opinions, and startles you with his absurd reasons for holding them. For instance, when he is bent on a mission of genuine charity, and his sister wishes be would stay, for "you are so fond of a beautiful country, you will enjoy being here, there are such delicious woods and fine downs," he replies readily, "I hate downs,— nasty, bare things ; and there is always a high wind on the top of

them that puts out my pipe." "And you might ramble about the forest, it is only a couple of miles off." "Much too far! I cannot bear walking or driving !" Another time, when they are talking of novels, and he is pleased to find that his niece loves Miss Austen's, he adds, "Miss Ferrier's are too full of fine people. [hate lords and ladies. I cannot bear .to read about them." "Why, Uncle Jem I are you a democrat?" asked Rosamond. "No, I hate the poor, and all the fuss that is made about them," and Uncle Jem went on to treat her

to the most outrageous opinions. He "likes rain, nice, warm, muggy rain," and in fact, his tastes are as amusingly unique as his opinions ; and Mrs. Simpson makes us feel that it is not at all from the love of singularity that he expresses such un- usual sentiments, but from a sort of grotesqueness of character, the outcome of an easy training, superintended chiefly by nature and himself, untrammelled by authority, and untutored by trouble, but instructed by a sensitive feeling for the right, and by a pure taste. We hope Mrs. Simpson will write again, and we would only suggest that a little more excitement of incident would do no harm, nor a little less detail in descriptions of houses, rooms, parties, letters, home life, past memoirs, and the like. Her grammar is unusually good, and her English unusually pure.