NOVELS.
SARAH TIILDON.*
_Mon of us are conscious of a deep-rooted scepticism as to the possibility of any great purification or elevation of character in any human being. Such a possibility is, indeed, generally postu- lated by religion ; in practice we put it outside our calculation. Anyhow, there is nothing which the novelist, if he would not alienate his readers, has to be more careful in handling. Thus regarded, the story of Sarah Tulclon is a great achievement. We have spoken with respect, even with admiration, of ' Orme Agnus's " work on former occasions, his latest book deserves still higher praise ; in vigour, in subtle study of character, in wholesomeness of tone, it stands high in its class, the fiction of rural life.
Sarah Tuldon, aged eighteen, is compelled to come home by the death of the great-aunt with whom she had lived from her early childhood. She looks very much like a termagant. But the first thing that a self-respecting woman has to do ' is to make her future dwelling-place clean ; and Sarah, who has the habits of both parents and brothers and -sisters to fight with, cannot win such a battle without strong measures. Then she has to deal with finance. The family income is small, and too much of it goes to 'The Three Tuns. This leakage must be stopped. The garden must be worked. And the family income must be increased by the familiar method of an unlawful hare or rabbit, for Sarah is not by any means a young woman of high principle. But the great asset which she possesses, and which, as she perceives with a wholly unsentimental clearness, is to make her fortune, is her beauty. This is a difficult talent to trade with. It may easily bring about ruin. Even when managed by a prudent girl, it might purchase, so to speak, a home little better than that in which Sarah herself had been born. Our heroine has much larger ambitions. She has, indeed, the feminine delight in admira- tion in the fullest degree, a quality skilfully insisted upon, so that the reader is not unpleasantly dominated by the sense of a mercenary manceuvring. Our heroine's pleasure in the court of her rustic admirers is so genuine that we sometimes wonder whether she is really mistress of the situa- tion. But that, as we find, she always remains. She compels Keeper Hanger to fetch and carry. for her—he is especially useful in making the hare and rabbit business run smoothly —but her serious purpose concerns a more important person, her father's employer, David Mockell, a middle-aged man, just emancipated from an aged fathees tyrannous control. Before this affair is fully developed Sarah has to manage a very serious business. The young Squire is greatly attracted by her beauty, and lets her know it. She perfectly understands him, knows exactly what he means, and appraises all his flatteries and attentions at their true value. Here the keeper -comes in as a very useful auxiliary; nothing could be better described than her skilful management of the young man, who, what with his fear of his master, his love of the girl, and his fury at the danger winch seems to threaten her, lias for some days a very bad time indeed. We cannot dwell on this part of the story. Let it suffice to say that the villain of the little comedy is baffled in the most humiliating way. Later on he makes another appearance in the same character and with the same result. This time Sarah, who has been able to take such good care of herself, takes care of a weaker quarry. The young man disappears, not radically changed, as a less sagacious chronicler would have asked us to believe, but having learnt a salutary lesson. There is a quite admirable scene of parting between him and his vanquislier,—one thing that beats him is to be called, and to know that he is rightly called, a liar. But this is far on in the story. Before we reach it we see Sarah successful in her matrimonial ambition. Possibly the scene in which she leads David Mockell as the " captive of her spear and her bow" is a little too near the holders of farce. But beyond all doubt it is excellent reading. So ends Part I. of Sarah
• -• Sara nada& By Orme Aguas. 'London: Ward, Lock, and Co. [tts.]
Tulclon. Part II. is less of a story, more of a succession of scenes. This, of course, could not but be the case. the first part we asked, "Will she get it?" In the second, "What will she do with it ? " Some new characters appear : the drunken doctor, whom she does not convert into an abstainer- " Orme Agnns " does not deal in violent-effects—but very greatly improves; the admiring young student, whom Sarah manages with characteristic sagacity ; and the pathetic figure of little Rosie,—ostoulent tantunt hane fata. The loss of the 'little daughter shows her that she has a heart, and almost breaks it. But she rises to her duty :— "I be gwain to be lively, look zee, and you must too. 'Twill be hard, I daresay, but it be our duty.'—' God hell) 'se. Ind dear,' said David. That night she lay awake again, and soon after midnight, stealing to Rosie's room, apostrophised the empty chamber. I be gwain to vorget 'ee, my darlen '—the Doric always seemed to Sarah more weighty to express her emotions than the cultivated tongue= I be gwain to vorget 'ee von it be my duty. I loved 'ee, my darlen, but I bain't gwain to love 'ee any more. Only it won't be really vorgetten and not loven, my dearie, and you mustn' mind. If you be where they zay you'll understand it, ray darlen.' She lay on the floor for a time weep- ing quietly, then suddenly recollected that duty must begin.
Good-bye, my clarion Rosie, good-bye,' she said, and returned to her bed.'
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