A MODERN "SPECTATOR."
IT is but to comment on the place that women-writers have gained for themselves in modern literature, to point out that the " Spectator " of to-day, that "stander-by " who "discovers blots" and would fain cure the follies of mankind with a wholesome love of Nature and humanity, is a woman. In the Day-book of Bethia Hardacre we divined the light touch and gentle irony of a writer, possibly a recluse by preference, with keen eyes to perceive the beauties of Nature and also the patched and frayed edges of the web of Life ; but in choosing the Spectator of the eighteenth century as her model, Mrs. Faller Maitland has been able to afford herself a wider scope, and has shown her skill, not only in clever characterisation of • The Saltonskal Gasetta. By Ella Buller Maitland. London Chapman and
the weaknesses and blindnesses of human nature, but also in distilling a quintessence of deeper thought as well as an aroma of knowledge round the framework of the editor of the Saltonstall Gazette and his contributors. Mrs. Fuller Maitland makes no attempt at "smart" writing, nor does she weary her readers with scintillations of a wit that burns more than it sparkles, such wit being apt to die away quickly, leaving an evil odour behind it, bat throughout her writings, both in prose and poetry, she displays a peculiar grace and charm of diction, and retains the manner and form of her delightful model, though the substance is wholly her own. Whenever Mrs. Fuller Maitland lays aside the art of character-painting by means of imaginary self-revelations, in which she excels, we are allowed to see depths of graver thought that make us almost impatient when she suddenly breaks off to introduce extracts from her favourite herbals or ancient treatises. We find an instance of this deeper mood in No. 10, when she (or Mr. Peter Saltonstall) discourses on sympathy :—
" Though no one, when considering the intellectual qualities, sets imagination on a higher plane than I do myself, yet, in the matter of sympathy, I am inclined to the belief that, in nine eases out of ten, we owe the sympathy of our fellows as much to their experience as to their imagination ; the grief that each of us is quickest to detect being, in my opinion, that of which our own hearts are cognisant. And the dictionary goes with me here,—' Sympathy —with suffering.' And through suffering truly dullard may become possessed of the insight which without it belongs to genius alone. (Those who hold imagination to be but a readjustment of experience will be in accord with me.) On the recital of another's woes, tears not nnfrequently flow on the listener's own behalf. Old chords are touched, old pain quickened. My lady weeps with Mrs. Brown when little Tommy Brown lies in his coffin, not for grief that the poor little urchin has gone out of a work-a-day world in which for him there was never enough bread to go round, but because Tommy's years just make up those of her own sweet child, who notwithstanding the succour that money can bring, lay in the flower-scented room six months back, white and cold, and heedless for all time of his mother's kisses and his mother's tears. My lady was that kind,' says Mrs. Brown, half-comforted by Madam's sympathy ; but my lady was weeping not for Mrs. Brown, but for herself. And there is my sister Judith now Over and above her universal pitifulness, I know well the order of the sorrow, real or in fiction, that will go straight as an arrow to her heart. Judith cannot unmoved Listen to a tale of lovers parted without hope. The crowning sorrow of absence' touches her to the quick. Once when, in my forgetfulness. I read aloud, for the sake of her judgment on it, a romance in which, when her lover lay a-dying, it was forbidden to the woman to whom he was all the world to see the face or touch the hand of him who had her heart in his keeping, my -sister, with a suddenness of movement little in accordance with her habitual gentleness, let her woman's-work fall to the floor, and with all haste left the room. When she came again an hour later it was with white cheeks, a dusky reddish line beneath her eyes, and a pseudo-cheerfulness that was a trifle overdone."
The dissertation on the "Complete Bore" is too long to quote, but we recommend it to all who suffer from such inflictions among their acquaintances (needless to say this is a para- phrase of the cant phrase, "general reader "), and there are few among those who have passed the meridian of life who 'will not agree with the reflection that "the best days of a man are not of necessity the days of his youth," and still more with the lesson of content that age brings with it :—
" Surely those who of us know the stress and the strain, when the will beats futilely and furiously against the impenetrable grille of fate, would thankfully accept a dying-down of the fiery and restless hope and the craving for that which this world will never give. We may never reach the point of finding our prison an abode of bliss, but we may reach that of thinking it of less moment than we accounted it heretofore whether this be so or no, and learn to prize a nosegay of sweet flowers upon the sill of the barred window, though we are forbidden to walk in the blossom-canopied wood."
Though we recognise the subtle flavour of irony and the deep meaning underlying the paganism of the conversations between Charon and the shades that he ferries to the willowed shores," we confess that we like the humour less than in other parts of the book. There is a great solemnity in the passing of a soul through the grave and gate of death to the presence of hie Creator, and jesting on that subject, even to convey a lesson, seems to jar on one of the deepest .chords of our human nature. On the other hand, the brilliant humour of the letters from the three sisters in No. 13 is delightful, especially that from Mrs. Narrowmeans, who com- plains that her richer sister speaks of her economical way of living as if it were a matter of choice and not of necessity
With but one servant, my dear Rachel,' says she, 'and your girls so charmingly clever in making their own clothes, and living in.the heart of the country as you do, and without the expense of a journey from one year's end to another, your income, though far less than I for you would wish it, must meet with ease all the demands you make on it. Why, the rent of the dear, delightful old cottage is not a tenth of what in London we pay in house-rent ; and think what a saving to keep no gardener, and for your good, useful boys to weed the paths so as to save the wages even of a weeding woman. And to drink but toast-and-water, as in your last letter you tell me you do, instead of claret,—there again at once is a good many pounds off your yearly outlay."
Most of the advertisements, inserted here and there in thc manner of Steele or Addison, are very clever and amusing, as, for instance :—" The Advertiser's Ship having come home, he has no longer any use for his very ingratiating smile, and would effect an exchange with a needy man anxious to dispose of a gruff manner;" or this :—" A Gentleman, reduced to UTTER SILENCE by the loss of his grievances, would be glad to be helped to a few more." Some of the characters familiar to the readers of Bethia Hardacre reappear. Clara St. Quentin, who becomes the second Mrs. Goodall, contributes a paper on the duties of a stepmother, which is an example of Mrs. Faller Maitland's most refined irony, and which we venture to assert will be taken au picd de la lettre by some good, obtuse souls who never indulge in flights of fancy themselves, and whose sense of humour is at present undeveloped ; but we miss "Bethia" and her charming dream-ending, for which Mr.
Peter Saltonstall's abrupt bow is a commonplace exchange. The recipes for potpourri and scented wash-balls, and the extracts flora sixteenth and seventeenth century writers are sure to be full of interest to those to whom such rarities are unobtainable as well as to those who are too busy or too indolent to wade through black-letter pages, or search among heaps of obsolete lore for the choice bits of knowledge or quaint con- ceits that are therein embedded. A good many of the verses have appeared before in a little collection of poems entitled Parva, but will be gladly welcomed by the readers of the Saltonstall Gazelle. We have only left space for an in- adequate mention of them, and for an extract from one, written "To my Friend in the Country," that might have been written by an urban Herrick :— "And grudge us not
Favours that sweeten for a while our lot ; But grant to us What Dives well can spare to Lazarus.
Think of thy days to come, Thy overwhelming sum Of summer flowers, Thy fragrant showers Of rosy petals scenting night and day, Of all thy Lilies blowing where Sweet, sober Lavender Borders with dainty spikes thy pleasant garden way."
Mrs. Fuller Maitland appeals to critics to err on the side of clemency ; she would have the reviewers remember that "behind each volume, good, bad, or indifferent," is a human being, and that those human beings are keenly sensitive to all
words of blame or adverse criticism, and keenly alive to their own shortcomings. We would also plead the cause of the critics, for we remember that he who reaps the crop of his brains and spreads the produce before the public, invites all comers to the feast, and that were the reviewers to be too keenly sensi- tive as to the presence of the giver of the feast, when called upon to give their verdict of "good, bad, or indifferent," they would probably never live to fulfil their mission of " taster " to the public, but would sink under a load of responsibility that they had neither sought for nor willingly incurred. We feel, however, sure that no critics will need to err on the side of clemency when they read Mrs. Fuller Maitland's books ; they will only feel, as we do, deep gratitude for such a refreshing draught from Pierian springs, among an arid wilderness of so-called literature.
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