NEW NOVELS. * LADY SCOTT'S Only Child is a very agreeable
story., though some may object to the conclusion. It possesses one of the first qualifi- cations of a novel in being readable—one gets along without being stopped or feeling a drag. A reflex of life it probably. cannot be called, either in the conception, the incidents, or occasionally, we should think, in the conduct—but as the remark refers to ladies and divines, the writer is doubtless the best judge. It has, how- ever, a lifelike character ; the people are all of the world, from the apothecary's wife and the news-loving spinsters of a country town, to the fashionable families whether in London or at a " seat.' Neither are they badly drawn ; some, perhaps, are rather conven- tional, some rather imaginative, but most of them have touches of reality arising from the individuality of their traits, and a sort of buoyancy akin to animal spirits. The moral, if it has any, seems to be that neither man nor woman should marry a person they do not care for, simply because they cannot marry the person they love. The real end—the object to be reached after all—is to marry the " only child," eventually the Duke of Arran, to the daughter of an old flame, from whom he was separated in youth through the honourable scruples of Brenda's father, the guardian-tutor of the future Duke. This idea is far from new, but it is generally used to impress the lesson that May should not marry December. Lady Scott indicates a vision of future happiness with a bride of seventeen and a widower of forty-two, somewhat shaken in health, by an accident, and the troubles of his first re- jection and his first wife. We cannot help thinking that the widow of thirty-nine would have been the more satisfactory match to the generality of readers. Brenda seems to deserve it for her sufferings and the fortitude with which they were overcome, es-
• The Only Child : a Tale. By Lady Scott. In two volumes. Published by Hurst and Blackett. What you Will : an Irregular Romance. Published by Parker andSon.
Year after Year : a Tale. By the Author of " Paul Ferroll," and " IX Poems by V." Published by Saunders and Otley.
peoially as she does not appear at the very last to have quite for- gotten her original affection. There is also something unnatural in these matches ; though the feeling may be borne with when it is sought through pain to punish folly.
Although the story mostly passes among " good society" in town or at country "places,' scenes of emotion if not passion are introduced, and naturally. Here is a part of an interview between father and daughter, when young Lord Ellerley has applied to his tutor, Dr. Burgess the rector, for permission to marry Brenda. The nature of the story is indicated in the scene.
" She knew that was Ellerley's tread, but did it come up the stairs ? did it even pause at the foot ? No ; hastily passing through the stone hall, which seemed to echo drearily, those burned steps sped down, down, down, and the gravel crushed beneath them. Another moment a' horse's hoofs were heard pawing the ground—one more, and Lord Ellerley was galloping furiously down the avenue.
" Gone !' ejaculated Brenda, standing at the window in mute despair, ' gone !' " She uttered the word aloud. She was unconscious with what an in- tonation of grief, dismay, and piteous desolation it fell from her lips, until she heard it echoed at her ear, and then starting round, she met her father's eyes i fixed upon her. Never in all her life had she seen such an expression in them as now met her gaze. " Yes—gone ! ' said the rector ; ' gone, Brenda, and would to Heaven he had never come !'
" 'No, no, no !' cried the young girl, clasping her hands; not gone for ever ? don't say so, papa! not for ever ? ' " For ever ! ' repeated her father, with a severity which was truly ap- palling to that petted child ; and, Brenda, I had rather have been in my grave this day than heard what he came to say. Have I toiled all these years to redeem the sacred vow made to his dead father, to find at the end, that my own, my only child would be the one to rise up against me and try to turn me from the path of duty, which God knows I have striven with all my mortal strength to tread, ever since that youth- became my char ?' "ge I ? ' exclaimed Brenda, bewildered at the accusation ; papa ?—not I, surely; what have I done ?'
" Can you ask ? ' he cried : ' have you not blown from your earliest youth that this great and onerous trust was reposed in me under most strict and stringent circumstances ? that I swore before Heaven and in the ear of a dying man that, so help me God, I would, as far as in me lay, do my best for this young man, for this world and for the next ; and have I not for thirteen years conscientiously redeemed the pledge ? Have I net watched and tended him like a father ? Have I not formed his mind and cultivated till it came to perfection the good seed which was by nature implanted in his constitution ? Have I not so far led him in that straight and narrow way which leads to everlasting life ? But have I not also held a constantly watchful and unwearied eye over his temporal state, that in this world as well I might, according to my vow, do my best by Min ? '
"'Tea, yes !' cried Brenda, tears streaming down her face ; ' who that !mows you, dearest father, would ever doubt alLthis ? ' " Who ? ' burst from the rector's lips, who would doubt ?—the whole world, if what he wishes, and what vou, unhappy girl, have encouraged him in wishing, should ever be permitted or even tolerated by me. Gracious
Heaven ! ' exclaimed the agitated man, pacing the room ; this circum- stance should over transpire, my word and my honour, both sacred for so many years, are tarnished for ever ! Brenda, poor child ! how nearly have you robbed your father of what he holds dearer than anything on earth—his good conscience !' " There is too much thought in What you Will, upon many of the subjects that are moving individual minds, or stirring the heart of society, to argue youthfulness in the author. On the other hand, there is a crude wildness in the plot and its treatment, with a spasmodic effort after effect by dint of writing, that smack of inexperience. The thoughts, indeed, are probably akin to those of many other people on the topics of the day in con- nexion with poverty and wealth as distributed under our social system. The difficulties that beset a half-educated and untrained young man suddenly thrown upon his own resources in a struggle with the world, whether his aspirations be for art, literature, or the professions, are not altogether a new theme, having been ex- perienced by too many not to have found utterance. There is, however, a sense of mastery and ease about this utterance in What you Will, which indicates that in some way or other the writer has possessed himself of his subject, and is dealing with his own property. In original idea the " romance " is " irregular " enough, and the conception is made wilder than it is in itself by the treatment. Mr. Westhope has in early life been harshly used by his father, and jilted by his lady-love. Notwithstanding his affection for his little sister, he leaves England, travels over the world, lives with all sorts of people civilized and savage, and returns in middle age, sour and misanthropical, to live in out-of-the-way lodgings in out-of-the-way places, and cherish his morbid feelings in soli- tude. In a refuge of this kind at Acton Bars, he forms a kind of friendship with the curate, Mr. Grey, and discusses with him sundry topics, as well as opens the plot. By one of the coinci- dences of fiction, old Mr. Westhope, now fallen in circumstances and gaining a scanty living as an artist and musician, with his daughter grown to woman's estate, are living with Mr. Grey. The worthy clergyman infers the relationship of the parties, but just as he was going to end the troubles of all and the story as well, Mr. Westhope the misanthrope suddenly takes wing. This absence gives time for his father to die, and his sister to marry a young man of some genius, who has thoughtlessly run through has moderate patrimony, and seeks to gain a living as an artist, without enough of dogged determined industry to succeed. His wife's health gives way, and the difficulties of sickness with narrow means stare him in the face, when in the nick of time his brother- in-law suddenly returns, and all ends well. The few incidents in the story-are not remarkable in themselves, and such as they are their effect is marred by the visible struggle to attain. it. The really valuable parts of What you Will are the thoughts generally thrown into the form of dialogue ; Mr. Grey the curate mostly putting forward the sound opinion. Here we have him on cheap pleasures. " Young people,' said the Parson, shutting up his knife, if you would know one of the minor secrets of happiness, it is this—Cultivate cheap plea- sures. Good taste is not the ruinous thing it has been supposed to be ; but bad taste is always expensive. For example. Did you notice our break- fast-ware? Almost without ornament and of common earthenware,-yet you could not but have remarked, if you noticed it at all, that the forms were good ; they were indeed copied from classioal models. And the set cost me about fifteen shillings.'
" Sixteen and sixpence,' said MM. Grey, in an under-tone. " And for some barbarous adornment of gilt and colour, without half their simple beauty, you would have to pay as many pounds.' "
These are some of his opinions on art and the requisite qualities for excellence, equally sound, but in a deeper key.
" 'To be an artist, you may have, indeed, the skill and talent necessary, but the perseverance—no. I speak plainly and honestly, as to a son, to a brother. But the art-market is overstocked. Do you know Covent Gar. den ? Of course you do. Well, perhaps you may have noticed that not only are the regular stalls of that market filled with occupants, but over and beside these there is an irregular and unrecognized class of vendors, who hover on the outskirts of the market, waiting for any chance custom that may come to them. It is so in literature too, in art, in every liberal pro- fession. And will you be content to be a hanger-on until you too can gain an acknowledged status in the busy, market of life ? 0, Leonard, you do not know the penalties, the dangers, the misery of such a career,—to hope on and still to hope, when hope there is none I•'or to stretch forth the hand daily for that which ever eludes the grasp. Nor are they the least happy in whom self-deception is permitted to do its work, be it only in the day- dream of the walk through crowded streets, or in the nightly visions of the garret ; for then, at least, hunger loses half its pangs, and poverty its sting, and the hurts of wounded vanity or affection are healed, and the heart gathers its missing friends around it and is widowed no more : but to labour on and on, with the clenched teeth and knitted brow of a stern purpose, when hope dies out at last, and faith is almost quenched, and present misery is cheered no longer by a light borrowed from future fame—is this, or such as this, the life you would select for yourself ?' " ' But all have not been so,' said the young man in a low and husky voice.
" 'Be it so ; yet remember that genius—if, indeed, genius be aught else but indomitable enterprise acting towards a certain end, inclination to one special pursuit backed up by .energy and perseverance—genius has often been found no preservative against such miseries as these. And what know we of the countless multitude, who with the inclination, but not the energy, have dared—and failed ? ' " From the length of time the author of "IX Poems by V" takes to produce a book, one would imagine that the system of proceed- ing was to elaborate a subject almost in obedience to the Horatian canon. It must be approaching twenty years since the " nine " poems appeared ; in the interval only three other books have been published, including Year after Year before us. So long a time, we must candidly confess, might have given rise to greater results. Good workmanship may triumph over inferior material, but fitting material of some sort there must be. This was scarcely the case with Paul Ferroll ; though, no doubt, there was a great deal of power displayed in that story. If the interest of a " respectable " man committing secret murder, and yet re- taining his apparent respectability with a due discharge of the social and domestic duties had been forestalled by Godwm's Caleb Williams, still there was a mystery to be solved and a sort of in- terest in the story. Year after Year is to us without interest of any kind. The tale can only be said to point the moral of caution in life-assurance, and the evil of needless scrupulosity on the law- fulness of taking an oath. There are indeed characters and occur- rences that do not directly bear upon life-assurance and oath- taking, but the plot—the narrative which terminates in a finis— turns upon an insurance-office trying to evade payment of a policy, and the action being only won by an eccentric person consenting to bear testimony just in the nick of time ; thus not only gaining the money but relieving the memory of the heroine's brother from the imputation which the pleas cast upon it. Yet a story with such a singular foundation, and not relieved from a degree of tediousness by any vividly truthful sketches of character and manners, is already announced for a third edition.
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