ADVENTURES OF BILBERRY TIITIRLAND.
THIS novel is the biography of a vagrant. His father is a stroller, his mother a tramp, and Bilberry himself is brought up to his maternal calling. After a variety of adventures as a beggar and finder of waifs and strays, Mrs. Thurlanl is commitled to the House of Correction ; and her son, by a series of lucky accidents, is taken into the service of a farmer. On his patron's death, Bil- berry settles in a country-town, as a sandman and a general practitioner of what is called cadgerism. His next promotion is to be man-servant of all-work to an invalid knight ; whose daughter is in love with a Captain Flunk. Out of the caprices of the master, and the jealousy of the daughter, a variety of absurd adventures are made to arise, which of necessity end at the death of Sir Robert and the marriage of Miss Lucinda. At a fair, Bil- berry for the first time beholds his father, who is labouring in his vocation as showman ; he joins the company as a strolling actor ; and his adventures in this kind of life finally terminate the vagrant career of our hero. After some trouble, he discovers a young woman with whom he formerly had an intrigue; he also discovers that she is the natural daughter of his old master, Sir Robert Gruel, and entitled to a legacy ; so he marries, and settles down into a re- spectable market-gardener. As the narrative of a life, Bilberry Thurland can of course have .no regularly-constructed story, where every incident depends upon the others, and all combine to produce an inevitable catas- trophe. As the life of an outcast, the likelihood of the events imust not be too closely examined: the beggar, the stroller, the sharper, and the thief, are the only gentlemen at present who live tromanoe. In such works, all that can rightly be demanded from the author, is entertainment ; and this will chiefly depend 'upon the humour of the incidents and the narrative, and the force :and truth with which the characters are painted. In Bilberry .Thurland, the first requisite only can be said to be possessed to any extent. Some of the adventures are ludicrous enough in themselves ; but they are too wire-drawn in the telling, and the writer often aims at producing effect by exaggeration in his subject matter, and daubing on his colours. Judging from the book, we should think the author a young man who has begun to write some- what of the soonest. His scenes, though not unnatural in them- selves, are often not •naturally introduced. He seems to have looked at things rather than considered them ; and, instead of presenting their images by their characteristic qualities, he enumerAtca all the parts,—which, it has been truly observed, do not in art and literature make a whole. Another mark of juvenility, is the author's distortion of characters. The youthful observer has no reliance upon truth and nature, for he has not yet acquired the faculty of seeing them. The production, however, gives indications of' promise, when closer study and longer observation shall have matured the au- thor's natural powers. His command of language is considerable; his narrative easy ; and there are latent touches of satire, hu- mour, and tenderness, which give promise of far better things than Bilberry Thurland. Even now, he exhibits some power when describing that with which he is familiar, although his de- scriptions are weakened by overstraining. As a specimen, take his portrait of Mrs. Thurland the tramper. To speak out at once, Mrs. Thurland was a merchant ; for, although she did not trade to places beyond the seas, yet her business culled upon her to be con- tinually travelling to the foteign parts of her own country. She was an excel. lent. tinder, always taking care to embark her merchandise in a safe bottom. She never employed any servants, for 'fear of being robbed or defrauded : it being a favourite saying of hers, that in this world there is never above one person that can be trusted, and that is one's self. Knowing, too, that excellent secret, so valuable to all commercial people, that the greatest profits are often made in little matters, she very wisely turned it to her own advantage, and dealt in nothing but little matters ; and, more- over, she always travelled on foot, because, to people in business, economy is every thing. But we need not feel surprised at all these instances of wisdom, since her kuowledge and range of intormation were very extensive. She knew every turnpike-road in England and Wales from end to end, and from one side to the other, as perfectly as people in general know the streets of their own town ; and as she seldom rested in any one place long together, but was here, there, and somewhere else within a week, it is ten chances to one but you, reader, who. ever you are, have seen her in some one or other of your walks about your own Should you not know her individually, we may be bound to say, at least, you have seen somebody very much like her, and that is almost the same thing. She is a woman of a middle size, (for we believe she is living yet, and, there- fore, wIwn next you see one answering this descriptien, you may set her (Iowa for Bilberry Thurland's mother,) looks firm, composed of sound stuff, and is as bold as a butcher's heifer that sets you straight across a field. She stares in your face, but never blushes. Iler cheeks and neck are all of the same colour—a sort of healthful brown tan. The sides of her nose are freckled like a peggy white- throat's egg; her eyes are sharp and black, her nose pointed till it threatens to prick you : both of which are certain signs of a Wick, tart woman—and that she is. If you slap her on one cheek, she slaps you on both ; knows how to say boll to a goose, and always has a ready knock-down answer to an impudent question. In fact, no nuns can deal with her : and that may be another reason why Bilberry had never seen his father. She wears a tlaggled blue gown, with two inches of black skirt below it in the rear ; a flexible beaver bonnet, bent in the tip till it flaps up and down on her forehead :ts she walks along ; black stockings,—of which, need likely, you may see about up to the calves, for she has a way of jerking up lice petticoats now and then like a horse's hind- leg with the twitch in it. Beit libove all, end that which you shall most know I.er by, she earl ies on her aria a huge flat ba -ket. four inches deep and a yard square, which projects to the other side of the causeway, so that you cannot get p ist her la ithout walking into the channel.
It is probable, after all, that the author has mistaken his forte,' and that the grave, rather than the comic, is his vein. There is homely power hi this coniessioa of a murderer.
" Tile night before they were hanged, Bob Lowe told the parson that prayed for them every thing about it. Says be, ' I have had no rest nor peace these two years ; ever since that night I have been a miserable fellow as ever lived,' said he; ' that Wilson has appeared before my eyes many times."f he parson told him that was his evil conscience; but Bob told him again Ile did not know what he was talking about, because he had not seen it. Says Lowe, If you had seen it as I have, as plain as I see you at this blessed moment, you would not say it was my conscience any more than you yourself are my conscience. " On dark rainy nights particularly,' said he, ' it used to come up when I was watching the kiln, and stand before me as if it was alive ; and if I had not known it was Wilson, I should have thought it was somebody belonging to the place. It used to come and look at me a little time, and then seem as if it wanted to warm its hands by the fire and dry itself. But it never could ; for it stayed all night before the kiln, and seemed to be always dropping wet, like as if it had been just got out of the Trent. Sometimes I thought it moaned, and said the some as Wilson said about 'Liza Hammond when we flung him over : and that hurt me more and more, so that I used to shut my eyes and put. my fingers in my ears, and get somebody to sit down close to me in the blaze or the kiln, to see if we could not frighten it away. But what use was that? It was under my eyelids directly ; and I did not know whether they were shut Or Open till I felt of them with my fingers. And then it seemed to come clraer and closer; and I could see water run out of its eyes, and it would say, ' 'Why hadn't you sonic pity ?' And sometimes, when the wind blew hard, and drifted round the kiln in a stream, it was blown all about like smoke ; but it came back again, and settled over against nu5 and shivered, and wrung tlire wet off its hands, as if it were starved to death. "'At last,' said he, I got tired of seeing it, and I felt -as if it would crumble my heart to dust. I took no pleasure in drinking ale, as I used to do: and I said to Jack Swauwick, one time when we had been tfaiking about it to- gether, said I, Jack, I am sick of my life, such as it is; winyou throw Me over ? For, do you know, I durst not du it myself; Ivzcause when I thought of such a thing sornetimes,—as I did often stand on t.17■e kiln-wall and think I would throw myself into the fire, because I was only fit for hell,—it would come up directly as bright as silver, and cry like a'
child before me.
" So I put my hands before my face, and Went down to the clay-pools to wash my forehead cold. I never could think of killing myself, but there it w, as if it wanted me to live till God al% was, like a man, and took to going to char eh ad of a Sunday, call me. So I turned to in in my life before. But I used to see it itY r all that till I asked Jack Swanwick nday, as I never had done to fling me over the wall in the same ; him, if he would do it, 1 la place as we had flung Wilson. I told would be sure never to ha-uwntou hint no more resistance than a lamb; and A as I was. But, you know, after, and make him such a miserable devil
any thing of that sort; so ter
,Sw'anwick was harder than me, and he never 811{, ay, to be sure; tbzow you.. ovlearugilfiedyoautIml ge,ivaennid seaaysphinet, o'fTahlreo ll—n if that did not make me en% So to the public-house, whey towards dark hour, antl fworyothueojvoebr.?* he called me a fool, and took me off
e we had a game at skittles. We stopped there till good deal fl h d . got more drink than did us good : but, as we were a , Sv:anwiek says to me, 'Bob, will you take a walk to the
14'1.'11u", as lie brig yonder?' 'Will I? ay,' says I, 'that I will ; and we will look wlitival, out poor Wilson fell over.' For 1 felt as if I should like US
see the place again. We went to the Horse-shoes and had four more taints of ale; though Jack drank three quarters of it, and got very fresh. While we were there, says I, 'Jack, do you remember when we were here last, what Esau Wilson did?' No,' says be, 'I remember nothing about him, and I don't care neither." Well, then, said ' he paid two shillings out of three, and you abused him for not paying the other. I don't care if I did,' was his reply. ' I paid him better than that back again: for I sent him to heaven, and that's worth above two shillings of any man's money. He is better off now than you and me, Bob,' said he, for we have a poor life of it, after all.' " Jack would have another pint of ale after that, and I could not get him to come away till nine o'clock. It was in the autumn time that was; and when we were getting towards the brig-foot, says I, Jack, will you da for me now ?' fling you over as soon as look at you, if you like,' says he, and he laid hold of my arm. But when we were getting against the same place, he stopped all at once, and says he, Bob, what is that on th' wall?' Good God ! / knew what it was in a moment, and I turned like ice when he said he saw it as well as me. 'It's that d—il Esau,' said he in his drunken courage, ' and I'll go and knock him off.' I catched hold of his arm and held him fast, but I could not 'peak. Jack was resolute, and pulled hard to go; but when Le saw be could not get away, lie doubled his fist and held it up towards where the thing was; and says he, 'You devil you, what have you come out of th' Trent fur?' And then he made a sudden start to get at it ; but something came across his mind at that moment, and he fell down on his knees and prayed to the Lord like a preacher. '6 When he got up again, his face dropped sweat ; and says he, let us go away from here, for there is a dead man about, come out of his dust again. He licked my eyes with a tongue like iron; and I can see the stories of that wall, and 1Vilson's blood on them, as plain as sunshine, and yet it is as dark as pitch.'
" So we tried to cross the brig : but it canoe again, and set a row of fire across from one wall to the other, and stood in the middle itself, with its arms and head banging down as if it were dead. We turned back and got into the Horse-shoes again, and there we stopped till they turned us out at twelve. But we thirst outgo over the brig again; so we went and stayed under a hedge all that cold night, but we never shut our eyes."
The volumes contain other matters besides the adventures of Bilberry ; and their introduction ie another roof of the rawness of the author. The life of the hero, as it now stands, would occupy little mare than two volumes—the publisher of course required three. To extend a series of such adventures to any required length, weuld not have been difficult; but this mode does not seem to have occurred to our author ; so, to eke out the necessary space, he has introduced a long episodical story of a country landlord's courtship and tacked to the end of this novel lives of :several of his dropped characters.
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