CASTLE WARLOCK.*

THERE are few novelists, perhaps, who are more fortunate in the possession of their readers' friendship than Mr. George Macdonald. He has told us so many beautiful things, we have spent so many pleasant hours in his company—which was at the same time the company of high thoughts and noble aspirations— that we go on greeting his books with a sort of tenderness, due, it must be said regretfully, more to the past of several years ago than to that quite recent. We doubt, indeed, whether he has ever written, or ever will write, a book which does not contain at least a pearl or two, and thereforeour old love has lived and does live; but the pearls are neither so many nor so fine as they used to be, and it is possible enough that if we were not interested in seeking them, we might never be aware of their existence at all. A bit of description which, unlike most of the fashionable "word- painting," is true poetry ; a saying here and there in the con- versation of his characters, or a paragraph full of pure and beautiful fancies,—these may always be counted upon, and these still raise his work above the level of ordinary novels ; but —and it is grievous to have to add a "but "—some of his last books have required all these to make them read- able. Those who look for a story which shall repre- sent some probable phases of human life, are sure to be disappointed in Mr. Macdonald's novels ; he has, from the time he wrote David Elginbrod onwards, constantly defied ordinary probability. We must take his books for what they are,—pure romances, poetic expositions of certain theories bear- ing upon human nature, rather than descriptions of what has ever been or will ever be. Of course, this is true in a greater • Cagle Warlock. By George Macdonald. London: Sampson Low and Co. or less degree, according as we apply it to such a book as Alec Forbes, on the one hand, or The Marquis of Loseie, on the other; and we cannot say that we think the book has always depended for its sum of merit on its approach to verisimilitude. When, as has often been the case, the power of the author's imagina- tion has been strong enough to lift his readers over the walls and barriers of probability, there has been keen pleasure in our aerial voyage; but when that power flags, and we journey nearer to earth, we become painfully conscious of being caught by the tree-tops and hedges, and making but a lame and igno- minious bu-dness of it. The three improbable incidents in Castle Warl Jaz are so material in their nature that imagination is not interested in them, but common-sense is ; and common- sense refuses to accept them. Consequently, they are not a help to the book, but a blemish ou it, and we should be heartily glad if we could get rid of them, and let the fortunes of the House of Warlock be mended, as they might and ought to have been, by the youthful energies of its heir.

"A rough, wild glen it was," we are told, "to which, far back in times unknown to its annals, the family of Warlock had given its name, sharing in return no small portion of its history, and a good deal of the character of its inhabitants. Glen Warlock lay in debateable land between Highlands and Lowlands ; most of its people spoke both Scotch and Gaelic, and there was in them a notable mingling of the chief characteristics of the widely differing Celt and Goth. The country produced more barley than wheat, more oats than barley, more heather than oats, more boulders than trees, and more snow than anything Upon a natural terrace stood Castle Warlock A more grim, repellent, unlovely building it would be hard to find; and yet, from its extreme simplicity, its utter indifference to its own looks, its repose, its weight, and its gray, historical consciousness, no one who loved houses would have thought of calling it ugly."

The greater part of this old dwelling stood empty, the in- habitants, with growing poverty, having decreased in number and drawn together for warmth, till we find them all—four only —inhabiting the kitchen by day, and such chambers as were nearest to it by night. A great chair beside the kitchen hearth was the throne of the laird's mother ; her son had his seat of dignity opposite ; and his son Cosmo, and Grizzie, the old woman-servant, disposed of themselves as they pleased in the same wide apartment. Mr. Warlock, though the head of so ancient a family, and himself "a high-bred gentleman," had not much to boast of in the way of personal appearance :-- " The form was that of a tall, thin man, a little bent at the knees and bowed in the back, who yet carried himself with no small dignity, cloaked in an air of general apology, as if he would have said, I am sorry my way is not yours, for I see very well how mis- taken you must think it.' He wore large, strong shoes fit for boggy land, blue, ribbed, woollen stockings, knee-breeches of some home- made stuff—most of the cloth they wore was shorn from their own sheep, and spun, woven, and made, at home—an old blue dress-coat, with gilt buttons, a drab waistcoat, which had once been yellow, and, to crown all, a red, woollen nightcap, the top of which hung down on

one side, and blossomed in a tassel His face was small, and the skin of it puckered into wrinkles innumerable his blue eyes looked out from under his narrow forehead with a softly piercing

gleam of great gentleness and benignity There was three days' growth of gray beard on his chin, for now that he had nobody, he would say, he had not the heart to shave every morning."

The laird's character, as it des-elopes, is more in keeping with this exterior than, as we think, Mr. Macdonald quite intended it to be ; and we certainly sympathise more than he intended with the old lady's feelings regarding her son, as she sat,—

" Casting on him a look that seemed to express the consciousness of blame for not having borne him more of a man ; for neither did his mother believe in him farther than that he had the best possible intentions. At the same time, she never doubted he was more of a man than ever his son would be ; their mothers were so different ! "

It is on the fourteenth birthday of Cosmo Warlock, the laird's only child, that we are introduced to the impoverished and melancholy household ; and one of the finest things in the book is the talk between father and son in the deserted drawing- room of the Castle, on the afternoon of the same day. Mr. Warlock asks the often-repeated question, "Iron remember your mother, Cosmo ?" and then goes on, the passionate love he cherishes for his dead wife making him rather her spokesman than his own in all his counsel to her boy :—

"You see, Cosmo, when a woman like that condescends to be wife to one of us and mother to the other, the least we can do when she is taken from us, is to give her the same love and the same obedience

as when she was with us Bat she may be anxious about you, Cosmo. For you must remember that it is not enough to be a good boy You have got to be a good man, and that is a rather different, and sometimes a harder, thing. For, as soon as a man goes among other men, be finds they expect him to do things they ought to be ashamed of doing themselves ; and then he has got to stand on his own honest legs, and not move an inch for all their pushing and palling; and where a man loves his fellow-man and likes to be on good terms with him, that is not easy Bat, of all things, if ever you should fail or fall, don't lie because you are down; get up again ; for God's sake, for your mother's sake, for my sake, get up, and try again."

We are almost sorry that we never hear whether Cosmo had occasion in later days to remember these brave words; he lives a passive life, apparently, with little struggle of any kind in it. Fate brings a beautiful young Englishwoman to Castle Warlock, for him to fall in love with ; fate provides extraordinary means for his university education ; and finally, fate steps in again when he and his father are on the brink of starvation, and having presented them with a fairy fortune, brings Lady Joan on the scene in time for the orthodox ending. We have said Fate, where, perhaps, Mr. Macdonald would have said Providence, because we believe in the adage—no heathenish one —that God helps those who help themselves. All the work done to any purpose in the whole book is done by Cosmo's humble friend and school-fellow, Aggie Gracie, and by old Grizzie. Grizzie is an admirable personage, drawn with great humour, truth, and vigour ; unfortunately, it is difficult to pick out ex- tracts in proof of this. Her encounter with Lord Lick.my-loof, however, we may venture to take out of its setting.

Lord Lumbiggin (a law lord, called "Lick-my-loof " by all the country side) has bought up mortgages, and so possessed him- self of all the lands of Glen Warlock ; but failing to get the Castle itself, he revenges himself by shutting up the road of communi- cation between it and the village, a road made by the laird in his earlier and more prosperous days. But Grizzle takes the matter promptly into her own hands :—

"Before the week was out, her steps, and hers alone, had worn a visible and very practicable footpath across the enemy's field, and

he let the week go by and made no sign. On the Sunday morning, however, as Grizzie was on her way to the cottage, she spied suddenly, over the hedge of a hollow through which her path ran, the head of Lord Lick-my-hoof; he was following the path she had made, and would presently meet her 'Here's auld Belzebub at last,' she said to herself, gaein' to and fro i' the earth, an' welkin up and doon intilt ! Noo's for me to priv the trowth o' Scriptur' ! Whether he'll flee or no, we'll sune see; I's resist him, ony gait. It's no me 'at '11 rin !' As they drew near to each other, he stopped, and stood in the path, motionless. On she came, till within a single pace of him. He did not move. She stopped also. I doobt, my lord,' she said, hae to make my ro'd a bit wider. There's hardly room for yer lordship an' anither. Bat

I'm gettin' on fine ! Is the woman an idiot ? ' exclaimed his lord- ship.—' Mackie sic like's yersel', my lord ! ' answered Grizzie. No that muckle wit, but I might hae mair ; an' haith, I wad need it, to guide my steps throuw the wilderness ye wad mak o' no sae ill

a warl', but ye wad hae it waur ! Are you not aware, woman, that you make yourself liable to a heavy line for trespass ? This

field is mine ! An' this fitpath's mine, my lord—made wi' my ain feet !—An' I coonsel ye to sten' aside an' late me by, for fear I hae coonterchairge for assault and battery.'—' Woman, you are insolent.' —‘ Troth, I need na yer lordship to tell me that ! Wane the less, ae auld wife may say 'at she likes til anither.'—' I tell you there is no thoroughfare here.'—` An' I tell ye there is a thoroughfare, an' ye hae but to wull the trowth to ken at there is. There was a fit ro'd here lang ere yer lordship's father was merriet upo' yer lordship's mither ; an' the law is deid agen ye', that I can priv. Hae me up ; I can tak my aith as weel's onybody, whan l'm sure.'—' I intend doing so ; but, in the meantime, you must get off my property.' 'Weal, sten' by, an' I'se be aff o't in less time nor your lordship!— ' You must go back.'—' Hooly an' fairly! Bide till the gloamin', an' I'se be back safe eneach, nee fear o' that ! I' the raids o' the mean- time I'm gaein' aft yer property the nearest gate, an' that straucht after my nose.' She tried to pass him, but, turn as she might, he confronted her He raised the stick he carried Thereupon was the air rent with outcry." On this appears a colley -belonging to James Gracie, to whose cottage Grizzie was bound, and but _for the old woman would have made his lordship feel his teeth. Grizzie talked to the dog, nor lifted her eyes. When she looked up as she

ended her address, Lord Lick-my-hoof was beyond the hollow In a few minutes she was safe in the cottage making even the dying woman laugh at her tale Bat ye ken, Grizzie,'

suggested James, 'we're no to return evil for evil, nor flytin' for flytin'.'—` Ca' ye that flytilf ?' cried Grizzle; ye and, hear what I didna say ! That was flytin !' We'll be tried by what we can du, no by what we canna. An' for returning evil, did I no baud the dog free the deith-shanks o' imp'" Another encounter in the evening leaves Grizzie triumphant, and her footpath an established fact; but we have no space to follow her doings and sayings farther. She and Granny, the other old woman, who forms a sort of companion picture, are, we think, the best features of Castle Warlock.