"SEEN AND HEARD.*
WE cannot altogether compliment Mr. Edward Garrett on im- provement as an author since we noticed his Premiums Paid to Experience. No doubt he has pruned away something of the ex- uberance of his sentiment, his invention, and his righteous zeal ; but with them have gone, also, those touches of picturesqueness and humour which gave to the book what character and power it possessed. In Seen and Heard the stories are leas extravagant in moral indignation, less sickly in feeling, and less unnatural in incident ; but then they are more on the dead level of simply si goody e stories, and we observe fewer of the passages which struck us by their vigorous sense, shrewd observation, and broad liberality. It pains us to say anything that may appear like a sneer at genuine piety, earnestly anxious to influence society towards less ambitions and worldly theories of life, and more unselfish, practical Christianity, and this we believe to be our author's honest purpose. But these heroes and heroines, who are always saying "a word in due season," and with such invariably happy effects, (what about those who speak to deaf ears?) strike us as being a trifle self- righteous, as well as impertinent, and as too reliant on their own instrumentality, and too unconscious of God's power of direct influence on the soul. We cannot say that this book rises much above the level of the tract ; indeed, we have read tracts claiming a fairly high place amongst works of fiction, and with far more delicate insight into character, and more power, beauty, and • originality in using the divine influences of religion. There is, especially, in these volumes, a setting-up of everything common, plain, poor ; as if riches, beauty, position, talent, all that it is human nature to desire and that we are accustomed to strive after, were an essential part of irreligion, selfishness and vice. Even men who devote their lives to doing good and ameliorating the condition of those whom wickedness, poverty, or disease has made wretched, are depreciated if their efforts have been continuous and extended enough to raise them to greatness in the eyes of the world. In the same way, men "of wealth and leisure," who spend their "whole life in doing good," are begrudged their biographies, which are made fun of because the washerwoman who spends her night in sitting up with a sick neighbour cannot have hers. So hurt is Mr. Garrett by the partiality and superficiality of biography, that he even lauds fiction as more useful and reliable, though we must admit that—with some inconsistency—a page or two further:on his praises change to sneers because it makes its heroes get their living dis- honestly. This tendency to depreciation—the result, we cannot help fancying, of a want of culture—extends to many things out of the range of our author's sympathies ; thus he sneers at the old masters, and wishes the Virgin painted " cooking " with dirty hands and scorched face, "a little flushed and flustered ;" "and Mary Magdalen in trailing flounces, with a carroty chignon." Fashionable people are profligate and give "Sunday soirees," officers in the army are "military idlers of fortune," West-End drawing-rooms are fur- nished with" tarnished gilding and faded damask, fitting types of the lives lived in them." There is a sneer forpoets and another for men of high descent. But these are general sneers ; when he descends to particulars, he is fain to tell a different tale, just as his light regard for "men of wealth and leisure who spend their lives in doing goodd" has to give place to approval of this plan of life, -when his reforming Christians possess, or brands snatched from the burning have achieved, the wealth which is the reward of their virtue. Continually as wealth, rank and power are held up to scorn, it would not do not to use them freely, in stories of this sort, as rewards for good conduct ; thus judges, deans, and baronets are awarded as husbands to the daughters of struggling and successful Christian heroes. This self-opinionateduess and narrowness of vision very much defeat the author's end, for while he is preaching and illus- trating large Christian charity, we are constantly alighting, in his pages, upon instances of sweeping censure and unwarranted mis- construction. it gives him, too, occasionally, a tone of flippant rudeness to his readers—for in ignorance of who they may be, he might at least award them the benefit of the doubt—which is really at variance with the true tenderness of heart that lies at the base of his nature. Why, for instance, address a harmless, perhaps an admiring reader, with possibly an independent, honest nature, thus :—"I wonder who you think I mean by 'common people.' Very likely I mean you, unless you are that one in a hundred—or in a thousand—who dares to have a mind of your own, and to use it, without waiting until a bishop or a prince has made it up for you." Or thus, a few pages further on :—" It is * Seen and Heard. By the Author of "Occupations of a Retired Life." London Btrahan and Co
worth while to describe a picture to a blind man, but I do not think one need explain it to an idiot. Let him put his finger in his mouth and gape,—but I hope I am not saying anything per- sonal ! " Excellent a man as our author undoubtedly is, he would have more influence if he had a little more taste, and tact, and good grammar, and were not quite so roughly "homely "—as it is called—in his illustrations ; such expressions as these, for instance, wound our sense of reverence," God's hammer," "God's own hall- mark," "the ledgers up there" that render unnecessary "any pri- vate day-book of our own," "sitting waiting in the little station till the coach comes back for me," as descriptive of life, &c.
In one respect this work improves upon others of a similar kind with a moral and religious purpose ; the human instrument for divine teaching is not rewarded by the grateful penitents whom, he leads into the right way with wealth and happiness. The exactly opposite principle is followed ; he never meets with any reward, except that of his own conscience ; he is studiously and carefully left in obscurity, poverty, and insignificance, while the repentant sinner, as a rule, rises to comfort, independence, and power ; though there are, of course, exceptions, in which he only repents in time to die happy. In one very unaccountable case, a hale and hearty young farmer, who had outlived his crime—forgery of a small cheque under great pressure—having absconded, and become quite prosperous, but who bad not repented, is caught and brought back after many years, and at once dies without apparent reason ; while in another ease, where the crime is high-treason and is thoroughly repented of, the refugee is not caught, and dies respected and loved, the revered centre of a large and prosperous community. Making due allowance, however, for the somewhat artificial principles adhered to, and accepting the " goody " talk and the purposely " homely " style, the stories, which are not without incident, though of the stock kind, are marked by simplicity and force, and much genuine tenderness. As there are, however, twelve of them, and as we have sketched the aim which all have in view, and the principles which guide their de- velopment, it must suffice here to give one or two quotations, as some slight illustration of the author's quick and kindly appreciation of both the weaknesses and strength of human nature, of his power of picturesque description, of his knowledge of the thoughts and. feelings and habits of the middle-class, —and especially of the lower stratum of that class,—and of the way to win their con- fidence and influence their characters. Here is a picture of a deaf carpenter with a scold for a wife, whom he had married for her good looks :— ", You don't know how I like your parlour, Mr. Watson,' I said to him one day, shouting into his ear, for a long habit of withdrawing his attention from his wife's tongue, alternately sharp and querulous, had ultimately produced the effect of deafness. I don't think anybody need to want a pleasanter room.'—'Eh ye never knows, miss,' he answered. Ho never got beyond that. His life's mistake had not drawn a sharp line across his character, as it sometimes does, but it had smeared it all over, so that he was never sure of anything in him- self or anybody else, and had no firm anchorage in life except his work with rule and measure in the shed beyond the garden. And there little Jem used to sit all day among the shavings, with the green light through the trees making his white face quite ghastly. His father seldom spoke to him. He had lost the habit of speaking before Jem was born, and could not get it back. But early experience had made- Jem associate speech with scolding, and so silence seemed the oracle of love. Jem knew his father loved him, though the love was not uttered in the ordinary paternal pettings and spellings and treatings, and showed itself chiefly in a stubborn resentment at any hint that Jem was 'growing up.' For the silent carpenter had lost faith in life, and wanted to snatch a sort of enchanted pleasure in spite of it. I think he would have been very glad if Time mild have crystallised round that wooden shed under the trees, with him at work on some endless 'job,' and little Jem sitting on the shavings. Disappointments lift some minds above themselves, and set them on hill-tops, where they can see the sun long after the valley is dark. But others they fetter, as in a prison cell, with just one little flower glowing between the stones to bear witness to their hearts that God is still alive. Not that Mr. Watson the carpenter knew that he was disappointed. He only knew there was something wrong. The doctor said it was in- digestion, and the carpenter assented, but with the grins words, That was a rum thing for a working-man to have.'" And here are the charitable thoughts of a soured cripple reformed by a good neighbour into a kindly old bachelor cobbler. It is taken from the tale we found most attractive and touching, reserved by our wise author as a bonne- Londe for the last story of the third volume :— " I've missed a deal in my life, because I looked in the wrong place for it,' old Peter Smith would mutter to himself, as he stumbled about in some dim City churchyard; 'but it's better to know it's so, than to. think it's because there's nothing good at all. There's an odd solo and uppers got together in me somehow, but when the uppers is worn out,
maybe it i
'll be a better match next time. It's wonderful, it s, to me, how, when you likes one person, and knows 'em to be thorough good, you feels it unreasonable to suppose you have lighted on a phcemx, or whatever they calls the reptile that lives only one at a time in the world —a-thing I never would believe in. There's the Warmers-now. Don't I know what they're doin' at this blessed minute. They're just home from church, and little Tom's repeating of the text, while ho's waiting to take a jug of broth to that poor widow round the corner with the twins and the lame boy.' Peter paused there, in grinning reflection that little Tom would run home breathlessly, with a marvellous story how the widow had had a porter come to her with a sack of coals, and how the porter would leave it, because he was sure it was all right, and was paid for 'then there'll be grace before meat, and dinner, and catechism, and-hymns, and telling Bible stories. And when I knows that, I knows that you may multiply it by thousands. The Devil publishes his doin's, murders, and, filthiness, and thievitf—ay, an' of hypocrisy and self- righteousness. But God keeps His grace growin' quietly, like the blessed corn, or the spreadin' cedar. If ye want to prove it, ye must get some planted in your own heart. If you want to believe that other people do good deeds, do one yourself. When you've given a shilling in secret, you'll feel quite certain there's plenty more has done the same.'"
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