NOVELS.
CHA_RLOTT.E.*
IT is now some twenty-seven years since Mrs. Walford made a successful first appearance with Mr. Smith, and in the interval she has published, in round numbers, thirty novels. The achievement, no doubt, can be paralleled by a good many other writers of both sexes still in active exercise of the literary calling, but it is none the less one that extorts a certain respect from a critic who has never written even a short story. But it would be most unjust to assert or in- sinuate that Mrs. Walford bad nothing to recom mend her but a prolific pen. Her popularity is undoubted, and what is more, it is neither incomprehensible nor deplorable. There is nothing sinister, subtle, or suggestive about her method. Everything is perfectly frank and above-board, her characters put their worst feet forward with the utmost alacrity, and if we are never called upon to breathe the rarefied atmo- sphere of austere and ideal heroism, on the other hand the author is never beguiled by the msthetie and dramatic attractions of wickedness into any inversion of normal standards. Her books can therefore be confidently recom- mended to their grandmothers by the young women of to-day. They are entirely free from any literary pretension, any effort to attain virtuosity of expression or distinction of style; they contain no esoteric messages or recondite allusions; they impose no tax on the intellect of the reader; they eschew romance and melodrama, and are mainly concerned with the aims and aspirations of the average undistinguished, well-fed, • Chartotte. By I.. B. Walford. London Longman and Co. Rea
and comfortably equipped British matron and maid, immersed in triunda.nities, yet in their earthy, unspiritual way on the
side of the angels. A good deal of modern fiction, whether of
set purpose or not, • tends to promote despondency, to extinguish mirth, and to exacerbate discontent. From these depressing or irritating qualities Mrs. Walford's work is entirely free. It is so destitute of passion and poignancy that it might be safely prescribed in influenza. If a•literary pharmacopceia were to be compiled, we should give Mrs. Wal- ford's works a high place among the sedatives. In fine,
though the positive qualities of her novels may not entitle her to exalted rank, her bonhomie and her unfailing insistence
on the comfortable side of life render them an excellent antidote to the works of Gorki and other disciples of the Giant Despair.
Though Mrs. Walford's method and style remain practically unaltered, it would be too much to say that she had remained uninfluenced by the trend of modern fiction. The central figure—one cannot call her heroine—of her new book is, so far as her habits go, eminently a " girl of the period." The
sovereign aim of Charlotte- Sunning, who lives with her widowed mother in a small house in Mayfair, is to " have a good time," to absorb all available admiration, eligible or other- wise, to outshine all rivals, but above all, to consult her own comfort and convenience at every turn. A miracle of egotism, she rules her adoring though obstinate mother with a rod of iron. The problem that naturally suggests itself is how can such a monster of selfishness—unfilial, heartless, mendacious— 'whose attitude towards men is that of the scalp-hunter, be 'rendered endurable, not to say attractive. Mrs. Walford's remedy is to make up for Charlotte's mean soul by endowing her with a first-rate body and a splendid wardrobe, and by assuring us that she was irresistibly witty and attractive. She was "gay an 1 daring and glorious " in society : " this beautiful young creature exercised a fascination over all who came within her influence," and when, after flirting assiduously for rseveral
seasons with various titled and untitled men about town, Charlotte cast her spell over Drax Rotherham, a staid but handsome Anglo-Indian, she summed up the situation with characteristic refinement :—" He shall leaven me. That shall be his mission. After an extra dose of Tarpy and Co. [Tarpy is Lord Tarporley), I shall send for Drax to cool me down; and if in return I warm him up, we shall be quits." But perhaps it is in the duologues with her mother that Charlotte's gifts as a conversationalist are most conspicuously displayed. Take, for example, the passage in which the family and prospects of the Anglo-Indian, who by this time has developed into a serious suitor, are discussed by mother and daughter :—
" I thought so,' said Mrs. Sunning, eyeing her keenly, yet not without a sense of relief. You are not quite colour-blind yet. You know you could not stand the maws people ; quite low, I daresay they are—' Not " low " at all.' buddenly Charlotte nettled up. As well-born as you or I. Better, I fancy on one side of the house. There are Draxes big landowners down in the West ; his mother was one of them, hence the name. But they are not our style,' resumed she, after a pause, and we shouldn't hit it off Besides, it might be awkward presently.' —' When you have done with him.'—' When I have doue with bin. Precisely" if if you choose to put it so. It certainly must be from you that I get my plain speaking, my dear mamma. But now, listen to we, and 1.1 us be nice to each other. None of those nsaty, under- hand cuts, mum ; you are an adept at giving them, and they are spicy, I allow ; but we shan't get any forrarder if we keep fencing mund and round. You are trying to find out about Drax. Very naturally. I sheuld do the same in your place. Well, as you have given in about the cot—'—' I never said I had.'— As you mean to give in, put it like that, you shall know all there is to kaow. as a iewerti. Your imagination has been outrunning the constatee as usual. The moment a pair of trousers appears on our doorstep, it sets to work to discover if these trousers are paid for, or had on tick. If paid for, deduct the sum from thu annual Income, and what remains? That is the arithmetical puzzle you Art yourself. You don't bother with the ticky gentlemen. How, Mr. Drax Rotherham does not precisely belong to either class, my dear mother. He is neither a plutocrat nor a pauper. You needn't beam, upon him as a millionaire, nor frown upon him as a detrimeutal?"
Eventually, after a goad deal of shilly-shallying on both sides, the susceptible but high-minded merchant becomes engaged to the irresistible Charlotte. But the prospect of ".ranging herself" in company with so prosaic and strait-laced a partner so disconcerts her that on the eve of her wedding she elopes with the cynical rota, Lord Tar- porley. A year later she is permitted to pass across the scene, divorced and disreputable, while her former friends and suitors discreetly avert their eyes. It will thus be seen that the principles of orthodoxy are handsomely vindicated ; all the same, Mrs. Walford seems to cherish a sneaking liking for this dethroned idol of a smart set, as though her downfall was an afterthought carried out somewhat against the grain, for we can hardly bring ourselves to believe that the portrait is an elaborate satire on modern domestic and social relations.
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