THE SCHOOLFELLOWS.
Ma. JOHNS is already known to the public by a powerful but very unequal work called Legend and Romance, and we believe by several other publications. His fictions display a natural and truthful portraiture when he is acquainted with the life he is describing : when he draws upon his imagination, his conceptions are definite, his descriptions clear, and his style forcible ; but his events are improbable, his characters unnatural, and the general impression has a sort of wooden stiffness, which, strange to say, is a more general accompaniment of mere depictions of the fancy, than of the commonest transcript of everyday life. Nautical men, especially of the loose and equivocal caste—such as smugglers, pirates, &c., and the persons with whom they consort on shore— are painted by Mr. JOHNS with remarkable verisimilitude ; so is the raffish, broken-down gentleman, but somewhat exaggerated for effect ; his sea-scenes and his landscapes also have a truthful though a somewhat laboured air; and his reflections are frequently judicious in the matter, if somewhat turgid in the manner. But save us from his civilians! and the higher he mounts in the social sphere, the more melodramatic and absurd he becomes. Unluckily, the scene of The Schoolfellows is all laid on shore, and, for the sins of its readers, amid colleges, clergymen, baronets, M.P.s, and all that. The mine whence the writer has drawn his materials, is the old circulating library romances ; where fraudulent marriages, moral monsters, and a " new world, to Nature's laws unknown," were the staple articles. The school in which he has studied is that of Brumes and other gentlemen of the intensely elective; but Mr. JOHNS wants the point and persiflage and bril- liant composition of his prototype. Whilst BULWER'S persons ex- hibit the strut and postures of a player, those of JOHNS only dis- play the contortions of a galvanized corpse.
The Schoolfellows narrates the chequered career of two young persons, till one cuts his throat, and the other gets married. Master Mandeville is a rich and forward youth ; Master Manning, studious, sensitive, and retired. Master Mandeville is the son of a baronet, and rich ; Master Manning poor and illegitimate, bis mother having been deceived by a false marriage. This fact Master Mandeville discovers iu the most likely way in the world, and de- termines to turn his knowledge to account. Accordingly, a bar- gain is struck : Manning, fearful of exposure and shame, is to write exercises for Mandeville, and do his more difficult tasks. An exhi- bition is to be contended for : the candidate Manning writes a theme for his competitor, and, to use an Irishism, beats himself; but engages to receive its annual equivalent at the University. When they reach Cambridge, a similar game goes on : Manning writes poetry for Mandeville to father, and studies to cram him for honours. In London, the same absurd and wearisome stuff is re- peated : Manning writes books for Mandeville to publish, and speeches for him to speak in Parliament ; yet, when the real genius tries his hand for himself, and indites something vastly superior to that by which he has already charmed the world, he cannot find a publisher. Alas ! Mr. JOHNS, could you only see with our eyes, the indifferent stuff which does find publishers, you would not have invented such an incident as this.
Manning is also pursued in London by a more substantial evil than the dread of his illegitimacy being known, and that be had a scamp for a father ; for the father himself appears. And he, in a few occasional touches, is almost the only bit of nature in the book. The ruined man of respectable standing, without hope and without shame, is well enough hit off, in his coarse, callous, sneer- ing insensibility. Here is
THE CONSOLATION OF A SCAMP.
The mind of Williams had arrived at a stage of disease—we can use no other term, though we may not impugn its sanity--that in its own bitterness it found a balm, or rather a stimulant, by which its energies were sus- tained amid every pressure; or the ruined man, the reckless dehauchee, might have sunk into a state of mental inaction. If he saw another successful, he had his sneer, his word of gall, and his soul was satisfied : if he was wronged, a sneer comforted him, and in his contempt for the aggressor be almost forgot his wrath ; if he wronged others, a sneer, an aggravating remark, were the only answers be vouchsafed to remonstrance. He sneered even at his own misfortunes ; and though, with the love of life which clings in- stinctively to man, he shunned the death he was already condemned to die, had he been apprehended he would have jested on the scaffold.
SCHOOL-DAYS.
The school-days of youth, unlike those of riper years, have their holydays. In after life, experience is our stern master—he is ever teaching us : we may slight his precepts and brave his punishments, but we cannot leave school. We may pass through many examinations, be they self-constituted or imposed by less partial judges: but each half-year brings not the happy relaxation from schooling when we cast learning behind us with our cap and gown—when our great privilege commences of having nothing to interfere with our amusements, and we seek not to look beyond the bright vista, however short, which clo-es on our return to the restraints we are quitting. Again and again come our holy- • There had been two questions put to all those examined on the first day—•• Were you ever asked to join any of these societies ? ' and " By whom were you asked ?" which I should have refused to answer, and must of course have abided the conse- quences.
days, until we are launched into the world's great academy—men for our books, and the elements, not of learning but of life, our study.
THE DEATHBED A FALLACIOUS TEST.
Flow fallacious is the saying, " Tell roe how he lived, and I will tell you bow he died !" We have seen the righteous Christian depart, and the end of that man was peace. Again, we have watched by the deathbed of one whose faith was as purely the same, whose life as holy ; and he has gone down to the grave wrestling with the angel of the dark valley, nor hearing the voice which saith " I am with thee." And have we not beheld the sceptic die? Ay, we have seen him put off this mortal coil, calmly, as though he but prepared himself for a robe of initiation—the garb of immortality, in which the soul might learn the secrets of life and death. Again, we have trembled at the doubter's hour of doom : the blasphemy that mocks it knows not what—the frenzy of despair, that laughs at the shadow of a darksome gulf, leading it knows not where—has rung upon our ears, and the breath has passed mingling curses with nature's cries for mercy.
Shall we go on ? The hardened sinner dies in sullen silence ; be has dared the worst, and goes to meet it : or with its myriad fangs tearing the soul—oh, that such wounds might let out the corruption of its guilt !—comes the re- pentance of the eleventh hour. Men have died with quibbling jokes upon the tongue, for this world has been to them a jest, nor thought they of another even then ; while those who never thought before, have made an edifying close of life. In his latest moments the learned man has differed little from the boor, who, without a care, save that it is well the labourer's work is done, we have marked unshrinking die ; his eyes upon the shroud his thrifty helpmate worked to wrap the clay that asked not if it had a soul. But enough of this. Death- beds are often fallacious indexes of men's lives.
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