UNDER SUNNY SKIES.*
WE once heard Mr. Justin II`Carthy's History of Our Own Times spoken of as a delightful history, "because it was so juicy." On the principle, probably, that opposites are apt to suggest each other, this expression occurred to us on reading Under Sunny Skies, because it is an exact definition of what that book is not ; it is, in truth, a dry composition, which lacks the quality of juiciness sadly. We are sorry to have to express this unfavourable opinion, because the author has evidently bestowed both care and thought upon her work, can write very cleverly, and gives indications of a capacity for keen criticism. But for all that, she will never produce a good novel, unless she will learn to forget herself in writing, and to think more of the import- ance of pleasing her audience than of airing her own notions about things in general and politics in particular, and of giving to the world the last verses she has written. Long dialogues on political subjects, descriptions of scenery, and rhapsodies about hunting and art, may be very useful as accessories to a novel, but cannot make one up by themselves ; it is out of these materials that the greater part of this book is composed, and if they be taken out of it, there is hardly anything substantial in the shape of plot or incident as a residuum. The writer apparently regards being amusing as a matter of indifference, compared with being
• L'nder Sunny Stis. By the Author or " Robe:t Forrester." London; Longmans and Co.
edifying, didactic, weighty, serious; and the ungrateful reader, alas instead of appreciating her efforts for his instruction as he should do, longs for something lighter,—a scrap of nonsense, a touch of humour, a bit of fun, a spark of jollity, something to provoke a laugh. Had she studied human nature as closely as she has done abstract subjects, especially politics, she would surely have avoided this over-gravity ; for she would have per- ceived that as the seriousness of life can never expel all the light and comic elements that are in humanity, therefore no picture of the latter can be a good one from which they are excluded. Her favourite subject is politics, and upon that well.worn-theme she enunciates opinions which, however carefully and well considered, yet contain nothing so novel or striking as to make them com- pensate for the story that the reader expects. As a sample of this, we extract her observations on the characters of Lord
Beaconsfield and Mr. Gladstone, who are figured respectively as Dwarris and Harward :—
"Dwarris, born of an alien race, without the help of circumstance or fortune, has become the leader of the proud Conservative aristo- cracy of the country. He has moulded like wax the least pliable of material; he has led blindfolded the least trustful of men. Success has never intoxicated, as defeat has never depressed him. Owing all to individual effort, he has never worshipped his fellows. Men have been to him as puppets, ideas as sacred laws. Few men have been more conscious of their own powers, and few more ready to appreciate genius in others. With an inborn love of Imperialism—born of his blood and poetical fancy,—he has caused his name to be associated with sweeping popular, almost Radical, measures. Cut off by birth from inheriting theglorions traditions of ourconntry, he has been chosen as the champion of that goodly heritage ; the best judge of his time of the variable temper of the English people, he has despised whilst be has profited by it ; a man of iron will and great resources, he has never attempted to coerce like Wellington, or to humour like Palmer- ston. A man whom many distrust, few love, but many admire,—a man whose career has been marked with many scintillations from his cold, clear intellect, but never lighted by the warm glow of simple feeling,—he stands the embodiment of intellectual success, at once above and beneath his compeers.' Dwarris is too astute to be ungrateful. It is your foolish man who kicks the ladder down and burns his boats behind him. Your wise one will look to the bridge which he may need to recross. If Dwarris ever leaves services un- rewarded, it is because they have been seeming only and not sub- stantial.'—' Dwarris has sometimes appeared to me like a boat-bridge that rises and falls with the tide ; whilst Harward is like a granite or stone structure.'—' Therein lies one of his faults. There is a kind of mental and moral angularity about him. He cannot adapt himself
to circumstances. He will load a cannon to shoot a fly But he will shoot his fly effectually.'—' Granted ; but it is a waste of power. —` I don't see that when a strong man does even a small thing as a giant, and not as a pigmy, he of necessity lays himself open to that accusation.'—' My dear fellow, dont you know that it is not the man who possesses the most strength, but the one who uses it the most
skilfully, who wins the prize ? Well, after such encomiums on Dwarris, I can hardly expect you have many blessings to bestow on Harward.'—' They are sundered as far as the Poles,' replied Edmonds, speaking with increased enthusiasm ; they are light and darkness. Harward has got a larger brain than his opponent, but not of such a subtle character. He is a man to "survey mankind from China to Peru," whose far-reaching glance can take in empires and centuries with equal ease ; but can overlook the potent power of the man on the other side of the table. He is a man of intense feeling, which, some might say, occasionally overleaps his prudence. He possesses much of that highest kind of brain-power we call genius ; but little of the valuable cunning of talent and tact. . Like all men of genius, feeling enters largely into all his views, which, while it enhances the dignity of the man, detracts from his value as a successful politician. Unlike his great adversary, who is of all men the most pachydermatous, he quivers under every pin-prick. He is weighted with an excessive sensibility, and all the world sees when the arrow goes home. But, to balance that, there is a soul of perfect truth and fearless honesty. He is more apt to be swayed by what he feels is the need of the people—what will be for their permanent good—than by their
wishes ; hence his uncertain popularity. He has not got the winning personal attraction of Palmerston, but he is a man of broader views and higher attainments. He most resembles the great Sir Robert Peel, not only in the intense earnestness and positive con- viction which underlie his every action, but also in his private attri- butes. Harward is a man who is hated by some, worshipped by a few, and honoured by many.'—'I see you are a little more impressed by Dwarris's brilliant genius than by the more solid virtues of your own chief.'—' That is pardonable. Harward is not a dazzling man ;
and you must remember I am only a superficial political student, and Dwarris's attractions are precisely those which attract the light thinker. Harward one thinks of as part of the system, surrounded and supported by other natures kindred to his own ; but Dwarris stands alone, like the sphinx of an Eastern desert, alike unmoved under the fiercest and most pitiless storm of calumny, as under the fall light of a noon-day sun of success.'"
The small amount of story introduced is too much broken up, as there are no less than four pairs of lovers whose fortunes are supposed to be followed. But it is impossible to do this satis- factorily in the very small space that can be spared to each one. When a two-volume novel is half taken up with extraneous matter, and the remainder attempts to deal with as many characters as does this book, there is evidently no room to make any one of them interesting, for the reader never gets to know them well enough for his sympathies to be enlisted on their be- half. Who amongst all the people in Under Sunny Skies are meant to be leading lady and gentleman, is a difficult matter to say ; all have a tendency to be lay figures, or wind-bags letting themselves out in words, rather than real flesh and blood, and none of them give the impression of being in earnest about the sentiments that flow glibly from their lips ; consequently, there is no genuine passion in the pages. The most life-like and least wooden character is a coquette, who captivates and makes a fool of a green young man, and the short episode devoted to this is well enough. Another heroine is Chlorinda, an actress whose ambition prompts her to marry a gentleman for his rank and wealth, though her heart is given to a working- man who is a Radical agitator. On the verge of attaining the object of her ambition, she pauses to count the cost, and recalls the story of a woman pursued by wolves when driving through a forest with her children, and casting them one by one to the fierce beasts, in hope of gaining time to
save some. In this tale Chlorinde sees all allegory of herself and all who struggle for success in life, and her application of it seems worth quoting :— " I take, for instance, a young and gifted man, who is conscious of great powers within him ; and oven in early days, if he sets success before him as the object to be attained, the sacrifices begin. He sees his comrades go by to the dance whilst be site alone and studies. The bright eyes, the laughter, the music, and the dance appeal just as strongly to him as to the gay revellers from whom, though his heart yearns for their companionship, his habits separate him. Then, as he advances in life, his progress is impeded by those dear things which Nature meant to sweeten our livea—the homely friendship of some man, the tender love of some woman. They are gradually but firmly put aside, because the friend or lover has not those social recommendations which are so necessary for the advancement of his successful career. He cultivates men who are alien to his soul ; he smiles on women in whom he recognises no divinity ; he cuts himself free from the old moorings, and, leaving the humble mill-pond, he ventures out on to the broad sea, and those old loves and old friend- ships weight him too heavily ; so, like a prudent sailor, he lightens cargo,—he casts his darlings to the wolves.' He reaches the goal for which he aimed—he is through the forest—he is within his castle gates, and the wolves are howling in the far distance. Some- thing, doubtless, he finds sweet in the cup of success the world's Ganymedes offer to his lips; but what has be lost by the way ? We hear the shouts of those who welcome him ; the world brays a loud hosanna; and the fair and the brave gather round his table ; but I see him alone—my successful man—and I see his eye traverse regretfully the old ground, wondering who has gathered the blossoms that had bloomed in vain for him. He thinks a little remorsefully of the path which he has trodden ; over the neglected friendships; over the rejected loves,—yea! perhaps over his soul's honour. Row clear has he kept his integrity in the fight !—tho struggle was keen, and it may be, a too punctilious honour was one of the things which held him back. Let us not pry too closely. I know he has cast his darlings to the wolves !' "
One pair of lovers, who are drowned together, are so profoundly uninteresting that no one can feel the least thrill of emotion in reading of their sad fate. As for the fourth heroine, she has no pregensions to the title except that she is the destiny of the narrator of the story (which is autobiographical in form); for though she is spoken of as being perfect, yet she has no oppor- tunity of displaying any of her perfections. We must remark, in conclusion, that when dialogues run on long without mention- ing the names of the speakers, the reader is sure to get confused as to who says what; Under Sunny Skies sins considerably in this way, and contains one or two conversations where, even at the beginning, the name of the speaker is not given.
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