POWER'S RECOLLECTIONS OF CHINA AND PEREGRINA- TIONS IN OTHER COUNTRIES. *

THE vicissitudes of the Commissariat service have thrown Deputy- Assistant-Commissary-General Tyrone Power into many countries, of which this volume contains his recollections. He begins with an account of Gibraltar as a residence, and a trip across the Straits to Morocco. He next journies under orders to China by the over- land route, " doing " Egypt in a day or two ; and notices several places on his way. He subsequently visited Sydney and New Zealand ; with which last colony his book closes. The "three years' residence in China" is by far the best portion of Mr. Power's volume. Sydney and New Zealand are both super- ficial; Sydney being the result of a short visit, and a mere repeti- tion of what we knew already, especially in economy and statistics. New Zealand is general, apparently because Mr. Power had ex- hausted the subject in a former work. Gibraltar and Morocco are poor, flippant, and wordy ; recalling the forced and smart personal obtrusiveness of certain magazine-article-writers. The overland journey and Bombay are well enough ; but the fresh and inform- ing part of the book is China. Notwithstanding the number of works that the Chinese war and the opening of the Northern ports has produced, Mr. Power's volume may be read for its observa- tions on Chinese life and external appearances ; as well as its small adventures, which possess novelty from the newness of the circum- stances, and the fact that he saw the country after the termination of the war, and with the facilities of observation which residence furnishes.

His superiority in the Chinese part to some other writers on the same subject, who yet seem to excel Mr. Power in thought and sobriety of manner, may be owing to his position. A member of the Commissariat is generally brought into contact with the people in a condition which develops character as strikingly as anything. The most pleasant man at an entertainment, especially if given to him, appears in a new light as a party to a bargain and sale. The market with its higglings introduces one to a greater variety of men than can readily be met with under other circumstances, and displays them and their natural bias with less constraint. Busi- ness is not the most favourable condition to study the higher qua- lities or the deeper passions, but it lets one quickly into common affairs, and the ideas and manners of the people. It is true that Commissariat officers sink the shop, and do not talk of their bag- man experiences. A regular fighting officer, who may accompany their expeditions, or who turns caterer for the nonce, will give an account of his own doings or what he sees ; but the army's pro- vider himself, we have observed, seldom mentions what would often be the most amusing part of his reminiscences. The results of his knowledge, however, are shown indirectly.

The resemblance of Buddhism to Christianity in some of its opinions, and the still closer resemblance to Romanism in many of its rites, has often been a subject of remark. Indeed, the success of the early missionaries in certain places has been ascribed to this circumstance : the external resemblances were so close that a lit- tle pious fraud persuaded the people that the religions were identical, and Popery a Buddhism improve& In an excursion from Ningpo which Mr. Power made in company with two com- panions, the party put up at a temple, and he was witness to a striking service.

"At midnight I was awoke by the deep booming of the large drum, like subterranean thunder ; and knowing there was a midnight mass, I put on my slippers and followed the sound, which proceeded from the lower temple. Entering by one of the side-doors, I took my place in the back- ground, where, unseen, I could perceive the ceremonial by the dim light of the altar, which just allowed one or two of the nearest idols to be visible, and cast pencils of light into the broad shadow of the temple, most parts of which were buried in gloom. The deep, hollow, but not loud roll of the huge drum, was answered by a gong from a distant part of the temple ; the strange clanging serving at the same time to awake the attention of the gods and to call together the worshipers.

"There was the very essence of melodrama in the tone of the instruments, the gloom of the building, and the imperfectly-seen monsters who lowered over the scene. Silently as spectres, from the dark aisles the yellow-robed priests glided in, some prostrating themselves, others standing with statue- like immobility, with clasped hands, and eyes bent to the ground. There was a silvery tinkle from a bell, and a chant ascended from all parts of the building, two or three hundred priests at the same time approaching the altar, and standing in an attitude of reverence. The chant swelled and sub- sided as the drum and gong monotonously tolled, and two hollow-sounding wooden instruments, shaped like the human cranium, were struck with sticks to mark time. The chant ceased or varied at intervals, the priests rising and prostrating themselves, advancing to the altar in parallel lines, or in procession, till the service was completed. A more awe-inspiring scene I

• Recollections of a Three-Years Residence in China; including Peregrinations in Spain, Morocco, Egypt, India, Australia, and New Zealand. By W. Tyrone Power, D.A.C.G., Author of New Zealand Sketches." Published by Bentley.

have seldom witnessed ; and I should scarcely at the time have been surprised to hear the god answer in thunders, like an ancient oracle, to the fervent but fantastic appeal of his adorers. "It is a great misfortune that we have so little information regarding the motives of the priests and worshipers, their habits and mode of thought, the meaning of their peculiar ceremonies, and the attributes of their numerous deities. I have vainly endeavoured to obtain information ; most of the Eu- ropeans I have met with seemed to be as ignorant on the subject as myself.

"The Chinese themselves are incapable, generally, from their ignorance, and most of the priests know as little as the laymen, reciting prayers me- chanically. in Fah, a dialect of the Sanscrit, a language of which they do not understand one word ; going through ceremonies with a punctilious devo- tion, without comprehending their object, and spending a whole life in mor- tification and penance, for they know not what. Great magical powers are ascribed to the adepts in Bhuddism by the vulgar ; and many of the priests have a reputation for necromancy, for the knowledge that could compel the services of invisible spirits, and for the power of ubiquity. This, however, is pretty much confined to the vulgar ; the priests having no power in the state, and but little moral influence of any kind. Their religion, in fact, appears to be only used for superstitious purposes, and for worldly objects. 1%.o Chinaman addresses a god for any purpose but the good of his body, to propitiate any mischievous intention regarding his property, to avert sick- ness, and to protect him from magic and all unknown or unseen dangers."

Either we write our annals truer than other nations, or we manage our military hygienic matters much worse. Turn up what one will relating to the quarters of troops abroad, sickness and death stare you in the face. In actual war this to some extent may be unavoidable : a particular position must be held at any cost ; though the reason of this holding may not always be very clear, and the decision may have been formed in direct opposition to medical opinion. In barrack or garrison there is no excuse of this kind : but, read what you will about Tropical countries, the badly-constructed, ill-chosen stations for the troops, and the con- sequent mortality, are a continually recurring feature. At Amoy we thought Et to occupy after the war an island in the adjacent waters, called Koo Lung Soo ; and there Mr. Power had the ill- luck to pass a year and a half, in a very region of death.

"I remained for eighteen months in this island; without leaving it on any occasion except for a walk on the mainland or for a sail in the neighbouring bays. In this way I visited most of the islands and the mainland for some miles round. Trips of this sort were the only resources we had, for there was no shooting or sporting of any kind. Of society there could be little or none where the few inhabitants were either constantly ill or too enervated by debility and languor to make any exertion. After the European troops were withdrawn, I was frequently days together without an opportunity of ex- changing a word except with my own servants. I followed to the grave many of those with whom I had associated, and many more were invalided, and with jealous eye I saw them leaving the place in search of renewed health in a more wholesome climate. Frequently I have envied them their superior debility and their ruined constitutions, that rendered such a change imperative. For a whole year I struggled against the malignant influences of the climate, and without my constitution apparently suffering from it. At the end of that time circumstances over which I had no control compelled me to expose myself a great deal to the sun by day and to the night dews, and an attack of remittent fever at last laid me on my back. At this time nearly every soul in the island, including the doctors, were in the same pre- dicament; and so I lay with scarcely any assistance for many days, till the strength of my constitution gradually overcame the fever. I was a long time, however, in recovering from the enervating languor and debility that followed it, and I continued for some time to be subject to constant attacks of intermittent fever.

" At this time our garrison consisted entirely of sepoys, who had replaced the Europeans, under the impression that they would stand the climate better. So far from this being the case, nearly every man was attacked by fever, and in a short time there was not a sufficient number to mount guard, and Chinese watchmen had actually to be hired to protect the stores and public property. In the month of August a reinforcement of upwards of a hundred men were sent, and on the first day of the following month only one officer and about ten men paraded for muster—all the rest were on the sick-list. Every quarter and every barrack was a hospital ; and at one time it was calculated, that, allowing only two minutes to each patient, it would take the medical officers twelve hours in each day to visit them."

ADA. GRESHAM.* POWER, rather than judgment or art, the word art having reference to the whole, is the characteristic of Ada Graham. The novel belongs to that class which aims at inspiring interest by the pecu- liar rather than the general : a peculiar character, developed under peculiar circumstances, acting in a peculiar way, and led through adventures which if not in themselves very peculiar derive their features from the concatenation of peculiarities, distinguishes the school. When this sort of novel is written with skill, and with judg- ment of a limited kind, there may be nothing unnatural about it. Moral possibility or even probability may not be violated. The premises of the novelist being granted, all may be consistent, natural, and even sober : but the reader will say, this is singular— unlikely; the critic, this is no true representation of life. There is the risk that some fault in art-morality may deprive the princi- pal personage of that sympathy which is essential to the full attrac- tion of romance.

Ada Gresham has the weakness of the class to which it belongs, coupled with very considerable merits. There is perfect con- sistency of conception and truth of painting; the power is con- siderable, and sustained throughout ; the style, neat, clear, and in itself very moving along, though the middle of the book is slow, from the nature of the occurrences and the distaste expe- rienced at the conduct of the heroine. Still the larger portion of the story fails to inspire interest to draw the reader onwards ; and when towards the latter part the rapidity of the narrative is in- creased by the nature of the incidents, they are not essentially new, though wearing some appearance of novelty from the circum- stances.

Ada is a child of checked affections, and a temper ruined by the neglect of her pars nts and the spoiling kindness of her nurse. The

• Ada Gresham: an Autobiography. By Mary Anne Lupton. In three volumes. Published by Hurst and Blacl.ett.

personages of her home, very graphically described, are—a cold heartless merchant, wedded to his business and the respectable world ; an elegant heartless mother, in delicate health ; a selfish fashionable sister ; and a brother whose aspirations for the bar have been thwarted by his father, who compels him into the firm. When Eliza Gresham returns from " finishing her education," to take the active place that ought to have been her mother's, she is the means of sending Ada to school. The school life is described minutely, and with remarkable truth ; and, singular to say, with as much interest as any portion of the volumes, simply from its breadth. At her very first entrance to this school, at thirteen, Ada, as the sentimentalists say, " meets her fate " in the person of her French master; a converted Jesuit, a man of extraor- dinary patience, dignity, and self-control. This absurdity is not felt in the book, because Monsieur Gascoigne leaves the school " on account of his health," and does not return till Ada is seventeen. She only remains long enough at school to fall in love with him, and then returns home to go through a series of scenes that have little attraction, through the unattractive point of view in which they exhibit the heroine. It is very true, her mis- conduct is censured, but this will not suffice for sympathy. Ada refuses Rivers, the friend of her brother ; G ascoigne repels her from conscientious motives ; she engages herself to a gentleman approved by the families,—a match of interest on the side of the parents, though young Stephenson loves her deeply and ardently. The engagement, after occurrences of little credit to Ada, is broken off by her, and she marries Gascoigne and poverty. They go to Germany : Gascoigne struggles to gain subsistence as a teacher of languages, and finally dies; his life having been partially embit- tered by the disappointment and self-will of Ada, but soothed at last by her passionate devotion. In this latter part of the book there is the effect arising from human misery ; but the real interest perhaps is where a moral is lurking at the bottom if not prominent. There is a strong moral contrast between Gascoigne, the Romish priest converted to Pro- testantism, and sacrificing life and the happiness of life to a sense of duty come in what shape it may—and Ada, vain, passionate, and. reckless, alike in prosperity and adversity, in the one case defy- ing propriety and duty, in the other rebelling against God. This. contrast, too, is carried out in some of the lesser persons,—the- frank open manliness of young Stephenson, the forgiving nature of his mother, and the more common goodness of Morley Gresham and his friend Rivers. Even the incidents derive their power from the marked moral as much as from the passion. This is part of the interview between Ada and Stephenson when the engagement is broken off.

"A deep glow mounted to Stephenson's cheeks, and he turned towards me with an expression of scornful anger, which I expected would find vent in some vehemence of expression. I was mistaken, however. He only said, And M. Gascoigne, as a triumphant proof of his goodness and generosity, is going to avail himself of your vehement feelings, Adelaide, to induce you to break every natural tie and outrage every obvious duty. "He could not have wounded me more sensibly. The tears sprang to my eyes; my pride failed me.

"'You do him the grossest injustice, Stephenson ; you do not know him. Even now, although he knows too well the power my love for him gives him over me, I know not but he will throw all my offered sacrifices back on myself, and steel his heart—a heart that beats with an affection stronger than you can comprehend—against my fervid representations, rather than violate one iota of that stern creed of duty which is the principle of his life.'

"I said this with a burst of genuine feeling I could not restrain. It seemed to have no effect on my companion.

" I have little enough to do with this Gascoigne,' said he. 'It is you who separate us, Ada. I have seen enough to tell me that it is well for my future happiness that I shall never become your husband. I loved you to such a weak excess, that, though I was conscious of your indifference—con- scious even that you loved another—conscious at once of the instability and vehemence of your character—I should have risked my future in your hands in order to gratify what was nothing better than mere passion. Do not think, Ada, I speak from a motive of malice or retaliation—that because you have keenly wounded me I desire to inflict a like wound. I have not ceased to love you, nor is it likely that I shall soon cease to cherish a feeling that has so long mastered my better judgment. But I have ceased to desire to win your love. I have ceased to dream of a romantic future, in which you were to become my wife.'

"'Then,' ' said I, interrupting him hastily, I have nothing to regret, no- thing with which to reproach myself.'

"'You must be infatuated, indeed, if you can lay that flattering unction

to your soul, Ada,' returned he. I have no more intention, however, of pointing out where and how you have injured me, than I have of opposing your present schemes. If I had any wish to be revenged on you, you are taking _the means to gratify me.' "'What do you mean ?' demanded I, haughtily. " I mean this, Ada,' answered he, vehemently, that you are unfit every way—by nature, education, habit—preeminently unfit for the sort of life

you are contemplating. I do not speak for myself,' continued he ; for

whatever happened, Adelaide, you could never be anything to me again. Your indifference, your contempt, has at length roused my pride—my self-

respect I mean. I was excited just now against my will, against my intention ; your self-command threw me off my guard : but I have recovered myself. I will now say calmly what I had made up mind to say when I came this morning.'

" Go on,' said I; for here he made a long pause.

" 'It is not so easy to go on, Ada : it is not so easy to say, you may pursue your own path without any let or hinderance from me. But I have

made up my mind to say that, so far as I am concerned, you are free to form

this mad absurd connexion. It has cost me something to loose the tie how- ever feeble it might have proved, which bound us together ; but I believe— you have forced me to the belief, Ada—that it would have cost me more had it been retained and strengthened. I have not, ill as you have treated me, Adelaide, I have not got rid of all my tender feelings for you ; and it is these which prompt me to say, devoid as I am of any personal interest in the result, Give up this frantic notion, this girlish romantic scheme.'

"A look of disdain was my only answer. "Stephenson went on. I am not an eloquent man, Ada, or I would conjure you, stage fashion, by everything you hold sacred—by your hopes of earthly happiness and future tranquillity, and by all the accustomed invoca- tions—to think gravely over the life you are thinking to lead. You say he is poo_r •, have you any idea how poor ? ' 'He is rich enough in all that my heart requires,' answered I; rich enough in all that which I have found others lack ; and the rest I leave to the future. One thing is certain; I can never sink while he is near to sus- tain me.'

"Stephenson sighed. In spite of everything, Ada, I pity you most sin- cerely. You little know what you are about to do. You may be fit to take your place at the head of an establishment where the numerous servants know their duties and anticipate your orders ; where all that wealth can be- stow is at your command ; where, when in the humour, you can order your carriage, and in your tasteful and expensive dress go where the caprice of the moment prompts; where the opera and ballroom await your hours of ennui, and where everything which surrounds you conspires to please your artistic fancy. Do not be angry, Ada,' continued he, as he saw the indig- nant colour crimsoning my cheeks. I do not mean you are fitted for no- thing beside this. No one knows better or honours more your talents and intellectual tastes : but they are precisely of that kind which demand wealth for their indulgence. And I do mean, that I think you are little qualified to be a poor man's wife. I would not distress you, Ada, by showing you the prose every-day reality of the poetical existence you have shadowed forth. I should not like to remind you of those services which other hands have hitherto done for you, and which you shrink from as menial, that in the future you contemplate you must in duty to your husband perform yourself. To one accustomed from infancy to a carriage, the deprivation of this luxury even will be no light hardship. To walk at all seasons, with or without in- clination, wet or dry, fatigued or otherwise—you may sneer, Ada, at the vulgarity of what I say, but I doubt if you are equal to your future destiny. The every-day cares, the sore anxieties, which will beset you, all unaccus- tomed to such troubles as you are, you will find too much for you, at the same time that you will find it impossible to escape from them. Have you reconciled yourself to the idea of mean apartments, confined space, so differ- ent from the mansions you have been accustomed to ? I will not insult you, Ada, by speaking of other hardships, not more easy to bear, perhaps, because potry passes them by as of too mean a grade for notice; but—' Hitherto I had listened in contemptuous silence, but, in spite of myself, the truth of what he said penetrated and chilled my heart."