NO OF MISTRESS EVE.*
MU. HOWARD PEASE has committed himself in his new venture to the perilous ordeal of continuation ; but the quality of the sequel to Magnus Sinclair proves that he was justified in his resolve. To begin with, by a discreet change of venue, and the introduction of a new set of characters, he has avoided the danger of monotony. The scene is shifted to the Southern Border, the complexion of the times is altered, and though we are glad to encounter some of the characters who figured in the earlier tale, the new romance has a freshness and inde- pendence which should commend it to all lovers of the North Country.- Mr. Pease comes to his task with an equipment which ensuresan attentive hearing. He knows his ground, he has studied its records, he is steeped in its minstrelsy. In a word, he loves the Border with an impartial enthusiasm which finds vent in the- quaint and engaging passage in which be compares-the attributes of the Eastern and Western counties. After arguing that the difference between the two may be exemplified by their separate Cathedrals, he continues :— "So, I hold, it is with the two peoples. Either is of strong northern origin, but the stress of. life beats more fiercely about the eastern than the western land, where the famed Gulf Stream tempers the sea winds to the shore. Thence it comes about that the Cumbrian hath the less aggressiveness ; he is perchance rather self-satisfied than self-assertive. His very countenance is an index of the difference 'twixt two separate climatic conditions, for your true Cumbrian hath a ruddy and rubicund face, warmed by the sun and softened by the sea and mountain moistures, while your genuine Northumbrian is freckled by perpetual wind, and his oval countenance bath the thin, hard look of the perpetual hunter. Coal, furthermore, on the east has darkened the landscape, so that Newcastle is grey and gloomy of aspect, whereas Carlisle is warm and red. The sun shines fair on merry Carlisle,' sings the ancient ballad, but Wool may the keel row' is the song of the New Castell on the Tyne. You will- call to your recollection again that the Cumbrian and. Westmerian derive their original from the mixed British and Viking stock, that the Vikings left their bare creeks in Norroway to find shelter and sustenance in fairer lands. From the Hardanger they sailed—the Hellemark—' the place of hunger' —and steered their serpent ships to the warmer lands of Britain. Now, so soon as they noted the purple mountains of Cumbria, with their sequestered dales, they drew up their longships forthwith, building of them their seats and thorps, their cotes and scales, after clearing the thwaites out of the underwoods and fencing them with garths. And thus have they remained after their long voyagings—rooted to the soil. Somewhat suspicious still of strangers is the Cumbrian ; he hateth the Scot, the 'dry-bellied' Scot, as the children style him in their play—and he despiseth the Southerner; but once he knows you is as hospitable under his own roof-tree as all true Northerners are, even thrusting,' as his proverb goes, the whole house into you.' The Northumbrian, however, is the son of the Flamebearee and for centuries hath dwelt `upon hi wide moorlands within stark strength or dark pole tower, raiding, reiving, and riding for his sustenance. Half- brother to,.the _Scot is he—a. younger brother though, with a larger recklfssness. Thus to conclude :—The Cumbrian is 'Of Kistrititi Ere. By Howard Pease. London : A. Constable and Co. [6s.] a sturdy dalesman, a true guardian of his home, a very wrestler; the Northumbrian a rider, the hot and hasty' reiver, whilst the Scot is the brother of the twain, one that gathers his bawbees ' during the week, and, in the absence of the sun, broods upon hell-fire 'the Sawbath' long. Finally, of the Westmorland man there is this to be noted, that though he is twin brother to the Cumbrian, he inclines more to the Southerner in temperament; the boisterous Lancashire lad hath touched bun on the south, and the hearty Yorkshire tyke' nudged him on the east, so that he bath scarce the individuality of his brother. More courteous in manner, and less brusque, he is a charmink companion, and his broader speech bath a more contented sound than the high sing-song of the Northumbrian, which hath ever a moorland piping note to it as of a golden plover on the heath. Now, to conclude this matter, I may say that had I my choice I would choose to spend my youth in Northumberland, and mine old age in Cumberland or Westmorland, where the sun shines softer and the winds are warmer than on the eastern Border- land."
It is one thing, however, to have enthusiasm, to be versed in history and archaeology, and to have the command of a picturesque style. It is another thing to construct a successful historical romance. Here we cannot help thinking that the effectiveness of the story is slightly impaired by the character of the narrator. The period covered by the romance is that from the battle of Worcester to the Restoration, and though Oswald Bellasis has cast in his lot with the Royalists, his admiration for Cromwell causes him considerable searchings of conscience. Your hero ought to be a whole-hearted partisan, and though doubtless Mr. Pease may be able to adduce precedents to the contrary, the Lord Falkland type is not altogether satisfactory for historical romance. Neither Oswald's temper nor his occupation is calculated to excite the enthusiasm of the ingenuous reader. It may be urged that Oswald is not the hero, but only the narrator; but he certainly" has the strongest claims to the beau role, which he maintains at times gallantly enough. But he is an intermittent hero, and labours under the further disadvantage of being a married man with a wife whose admirable qualities we are obliged to take somewhat on trust. The central figure is his cousin Evelyn Heron, the last of her line, who has been adopted by her godmother, the -Countees of Westmorland, and the action of the plot chiefly grows out of "Mistress Eve's" vow not to wed any man who does not take an active part in the restora- tion of the King. Eve is an uncommonly sprightly and high- spirited damsel, a trifle hoydenish if the truth be told, and when on the fulfilment of her vow she goes to Court with her husband; Mr. Pease is confronted with a problem at once familiar and difficult. For dramatic purposes it is incumbent upon him to bring his heroine within the danger zone, while, qua heroine, it is essential that she should emerge therefrom with untarnished honour. To achieve this desirable end Mr. Pease is obliged to resort to strong measures, and the con- cluding chapters bristle with intrigue, abduction, murder, and sudden death. The Alsatian scenes are carried through with spirit and a good deal of rough realism; but, on the whole, we prefer the Border scenes, and the portraits of typical Border characters, such as the blind ballad-seller or the Westmorland woodman, so admirably drawn in the following characteristic passage:— "He was a typical Westmorland man, a mighty wrestler, gentle in manner, a little slow of speech, and, to trade, a cunning forester. A broad-based man, great of girth, short and straight. nosed, rounded of cheek, blue-eyed, ruddy of face, that was shaded with dark brown beard. He dwelt content upon his Fell of Whin- field, unmovable from his pines and oaks, his young plantations, and his baby seedlings. His grandfather had been one of the small proprietors styled 'statesmen,' but had lost his estate through liquor. His father had been a shepherd that had tended the hardy Herdwicks upon desolate Slurp Fell, whence had come to my friend a strain of poetry, together with an inalienable love of wild life, of the green slopes of hills, of sounding forces,' of misty fells and winding ways of water, of jagged peaks and pointed pikes, empurpled as with wine at the hour of sunset ; of all these he was a devout lover, nor would he have exchanged his fell country for all the gold and silver of the far-famod El Dorado. So there he dwelt, secure upon his hillside, with the great sweep of the Pennines opposite to the windows of his house. Quoth he, 'There's never no call for a man to travel, seesta, when he can see at dawn, or sunset, or 'midst gambol o' t' winds above Warcop, Dufton and Hilton Fells, cloud-visions of towns and temples, of crowded marts, of wending caravans, t' storm of galleons and t' sack of palaces glorious as t' jewelled city in the Revelations. Once, indeed, when I had to go with trained bands, I got so far south as Lancaster amongst the " ootners," but none of us would budge further southwards, not for no man, and never did Whinfield look so bonny as t' neeght I won my way home again to my own sweet an' bonny green maiden fells.' So Postlethwaite, the true Westmerian.' To sum up, this is an ambitious, powerful, striking story, which can only be judged by high standards, and, while • falling short of the achievements of the great masters of romance, is marked by qualities which honourably distinguish it from the conventional machine-made historical novel. The chief fault of the book is a certain spasmodic mode of pro- gression. Mr. Pease is over addicted to short paragraphs ; he should imitate in his style of narration the long, rolling moorland country which he loves so truly and describes so well.
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