CONITDENCES. * Tan now novel by the author of " Rita."
will not disappoint the expectations raised by his first effort in fiction. It displays the • Confidences. By the Author of "Bits." Published by Smith, Elder, and ce. same combination of ease and power in the delineation of charac- ter , the same life-like dialogue, the same faculty of constructing an interesting story without going in search of materials beyond the limits of realism, within which novel readers of the present day seem most disposed to take their pleasure. Along with these qualities "Confidences" has the advantage of a subject free from the repulsiveness belonging to that of "Rita," in which the vampire-like atrocities persistently committed by the abandoned gambler, Colonel Percival, against his wife and chil- dren, form the ground-work of the plot. The story of " Confi- dences " is that of a young clergyman who narrates his own doings and observations from the time of his induction into his first curacy to that in which a group of marriages, his own in- cluded, constitute the natural climax of his tale. These things he imparts in letters and extracts from his diary, addressed to an only sister who resides with her Prussian husband in Berlin. There are many conveniences in this form of autobiography which rims on concurrently with the events it records. It enables the writer to give a certain air of freshness and verisimilitude to the incidents and impressions described, by presenting them in the very process of their development, in all their changing aspects, along with the corresponding vicissitudes of feeling and opinion to which they successively give rise. The personages in the volume are numerous, and. exhibit nearly as many distinctly marked types of character. That of the curate himself is the only one which strikes us as being a little out of proportion. The keen- ness of his insight into the characters of others, and the practical ability which he evinces under all emergencies are apparently inconsistent with his years and previous way of life; for he is but an three and twenty, has had by his own account fewer oppor- tunities of worldly experience than most men of his own age and station.
As a specimen of the curate's skill in portraiture by means of dialogue, we seleet the following sketch of one of his minor cha- racters,—an earnest and perfectly useless young lady, who thinks she has a vocation, and is ever yearning to have some great sac- rifice required of her, whilst she cannot surrender the least of her selfish whims to the common claims of duty and natural affection.
"The other young lady and I kept up a pretty animated conversation. I have no idea what age she is ; but (through negligence or intention) she makes herself look much older than she need by—what shall I call it ?—the widowed matronliness of her attire. A dark grey silk, a black cross, and a lace shawl huddled about her, looked as out of season with the bright auburn hair as they did with the June sun that streamed through the window on her head.
"'Row do you bite what you have seen of Ashford, Mr. Esdaile ? Pretty, is n't it ? Perhaps all places are alike to you, though. In your important calling, each trivial temporal considerations are of little moment,paturally.'
"'Not at all, I assure you. I am much influenced by locality, and, judging by myself, I believe the inhabitants are always more or less affected hy
" Ah, yea, you mean as regards health. But in a spiritual point of view, you don't think it influences the character ? '
"'Undoubtedly. Have not the Tyrolese in their mountain fastnesses, and the Dutch among their canals, all the characteristics of the lands they inhabit ? In a lesser degree, look at the difference between a Devonshire and a Yorkshire labourer. It would be ungrateful to this clear bracing air, and to the beautiful position of Ashford, if I said I would as soon be in a Lincolnshire fen or be a curate in the city.' " ' And yet, as Mr. Priestly says, (you admire his books, I'm sure— charming, ain't they?) surely, for a man, there is nothing like that rushing tide of life in the capital !' "'It depends on whether one is a good swimmer.' " ' Such a much wider field of action ; For my part, I always long to join some of those earnest female labourers in London.' " Really ! I should have thought you might have found enough work even in this small community of fifteen hundred souls.' "'Perhaps, if I might do as I liked- but mamma's ideas and mine don't agree. I can't go about at night as I should wish, and reclaim wanderers in the public-houses and so on. There is so much conventionality about these things, isn't there, Mr. Esdaile ? Our sphere of action is so very limited. I am sure you agree with Priestly that we all ought to work ? ' " Yes ; though not quite in the way that clever author would have us.' " 'How so?'
"'I see in God's order of creation, that to every living thing is allotted its own work. There are thrushes and nightingales as well as barn-door fowls, thank goodness ! There are lilies in the field as well as potatoes, and the beasts there are not all horses and oxen. Besides the pot and the plough, there is the high spiritual delight in God's beautiful works, which I take to be fully as beneficial to us, Miss Halliday.'
"'1 do not quite see —. You would not encourage any one to be idle, Mr. Esdaile ? You don't mean that ?'
"'By all means, no. Only I think it absurd to expect every one to work in the same way. The same means the same field, are not open to all. There is a vast deal of cant about this word "work" The poet and the novelist, in their chimney-corners, pen in hand, may do far wider and more lasting benefit than if, in a paroxysm of enthusiasm, they rushed into St. Giles's, distributing Bibles, or turned scavengers, as Mr. Priestly seems to recommend. There is his mistake. He has but one beau ideal of excel- lence for all manners of men.'
"'I see what you mean Mr. Esdaile ; butt as regards myself, (we had become quite intimate by this time,) mamma is always wanting me to go into the world, and I'm so tired of it. It was all very well when I first Mime out, but it seems so empty now. It can give me nothing in return; there is nothing real or true about it I should like to be a sceur de eharite, so as to escape it all.' "I glanced over at her mamma, in a helmet of roses, and thought she looked anything but tired. An insipid restlessness possessed the features : the daughter had far more of matronly repose ; and I could not help won- deringr the relationship. The world can give you nothing in return as you say, Miss Halliday ; but if you'll allow me to point out the moral oiwbat I said just now ; it is acceptto e ground and the tools God gives you, and, make the most of them. To further His word,—to be an industrious citizen for the good of year fellows in the country higIrways; or the crowded streets, in the closet, or the eottage, or the ball-room. I don't believe there is any position iir which you may not do good, if you set about it judiciously. That imit by preaching, understand me.' "'Yea ; but mamma's opinions and mine are very different on these sub- jects; and as I cannot make her see the necessity of my devoting myself to d works, I have sometimes thought of joining Miss Spark's sisterhood, . Esdaile.'
"'And you think anything could justify your deserting a mother, how- ever different her views may be from yours ? This is one of the saddest things in the Romish Church, to my mind : the inculcation of that refined selfishness they calls " vocation" • to leave the sweet home charities and duties of domestic life, and build up, as they think, a narrow staircase for themselves to heaven. Much good may it do them!'"
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