to the volumes before us. No extract can serve to give the least idea of that marvellous web of subtlety which involves in its toils almost all the heroes and heroines of this harrowing work. But one passage, in illustration of the defence before adverted to, we must at least quote. It is extracted from the introductory chapter, which is imbued (in common indeed with the entire work) with the spirit of deep religious earnestness: peo "One glance at the different classes of society which then possessed this lovely land of England, and to my story. There was the queen-ay, every inch a queen-wise, courageous, religious, learned; magnificent, accomplished, spirited, and gay. Affable to the lower orders, resolute with the higher. A lover of mercy, yet of unflinching severity in justice: splendid, yet frugal of her ple's money; einulous of peace, prepared for war. The noble leader of the great march of intellect which then began for the world of Europe; the refuge of the distressed churches; the mother of the reform; the champion of civil and religious liberty throughout the world. Yes; religious toleration and equal justice were inscribed upon her banners, and engraved upon her heart: and it was not till the insupportable attempts at usurpation on the part of the Roman pontiff, and the unprincipled proceedings of his emissaries here, drove her into a contest with the ancient religion for life and crown, that she departed from those principles of indulgence and mercy. The history of the times teems with proof of the truth of this assertion. See her in her rich dress and ruff stiff with gold; her small crown upon her royal head; her bosom covered with inappreciable jewels; her train of velvet and ermine borne by that nobleman who follows her. The people shout,—the people rend the welkin with the voice of frank, enthusiastic love and loyalty; while she, turning from side to side, rejoices in their joy, and answers their vociferous greetings with- I thank you, myne people. God bless you, too, myne people.'' Well may our author say that her history seems of late years to have been strangely misrepresented; and that "possibly owing to the undue authority attached to the representations of the Roman Catholic writers of that day, most of them Jesuits, whose principles with regard to the sacredness of truth should render them very suspicious witnesses in any matter where their own interests or prejudices are concerned." Finally, then, we commend "Father Darcy" to our readers, not only for the sake of its own almost countless beauties, but also as a chivalrous, and in our estimation, most successful vindication of our glorious maiden Queen, which can scarcely fail to convince even those who have remained unsatisfied by Sharon Turner, the only historian who has ever done justice to "dear and good Queen Bess." XXI.-The Knight of Gwynne. A Tale of the Union. By Lever. London: Chapman and Hall. 1846. ALTHOUGH this uncompleted work scarcely falls within the range of our critical notice, we yet gladly seize this opportunity of placing on record, even at this early period, our unfeigned admiration of "The Knight of Gwynne." It is-take it for all in all-as far as it has yet proceeded, by far the noblest work which has been given to the world by this very talented author, a long-acknowledged favourite of ours. It presents us indeed with a most accurate picture of life in Ireland, whether high or low, some fifty years ago. The scenes in and about the Castle, or generally passing amongst the Irish aristocracy, are incomparable for gentlemanly ease and grace, and the absence of all apparent effort, combined with the most accurate and lively portrait-painting. The interest of the story, too, is very great, and we expect much from the remaining section, as yet unpublished. When the work is completed, we shall trust to be able to yield both time and space to the consideration and acknowledgment of its merits. ART. XXII.-Ernest Jones's Chartist Lyrics. 1846. We STRANGE is it that there should be a world around us and beneath us, of the existence of which we scarcely seem aware, to which our daily journals advert only at long and rare intervals, and from which our noble constitution may be yet destined to suffer overthrow. allude to the friends of the so-called People's Charter, who count their numbers not by tens but hundreds of thousands; hold their meetings daily and nightly throughout our great cities, and even in our village hamlets; have their own poets and orators, possessed, as we shall shortly show, of the most remarkable powers; and finally, support a very talented organ of their views, "the Northern Star," in the columns of which these poems originally appeared, which we have placed at the head of this necessarily brief notice. Previous productions of this author, works at that time unacknowledged, but since claimed by him, have been formerly noticed and commended highly in this Review. They were indeed replete with the fire of genius, and manifested poetical powers of the very highest order. We allude to the Wood Spirit," and "My Life.” The latter has soon reached a second edition, and will probably go through many more, ere long; for this remarkable author, a gentleman we believe of good family, and a barrister of the Middle Temple, has taken an almost unprecedented step. He has thrown himself, heart and soul, as orator and poet into the embrace of Chartism, and has been hailed with open arms. Already has he dethroned Cooper, the recent Chartist-laureate. His poems, published weekly in the Northern Star, are quoted in every speech and address of O'Connor and the other Chartist leaders, and sung at every Chartist dinner or other convivial meeting throughout the country. They have become the poetical watch-words of the party, and nothing can surpass the frenzy of delight with which any quotation from them is received at all their popular assemblies. But more than this: Ernest Jones Infinitely more has become a Chartist orator, as well as poet. eloquent than O'Connor, or any of his coadjutors, though not perhaps a close or logical reasoner, we learn from the columns of the Northern Star that he now lectures almost nightly in some one or other of their assemblies, and two of his speeches thus delivered now lie before us, which for learning, eloquence, and destructive power, appear to us almost unrivalled. We say destructive, for their tendency is worse than democratic: if we are to attach any meaning to certain most loudly applauded passages, it must be that of a total denial of all the rights of property; a virtual demand for the confiscation of all property to the benefit of "the people," and those whom the people should judge most deserving of it. Now do our journals act wisely in concealing these things from the public eye? It may be said, "Leave them to die of themselves!" but we do not think they will die thus. We think that there is a real and perhaps pressing danger, and that this danger must not only be revealed and commented on, but also grappled with. We must not leave the masses to their own devices. We must show them that we think of them, and care for them, and love them: we must meet their political deceivers face to face. The people must be made to understand why universal suffrage would be unjust, because necessarily involving that class-legislation of which they so angrily complain; why vote by ballot is absurd, because it tends only to promote bribery, by making that bribery only conditional on success, and placing it beyond the reach of the law; because under its influence it will be impossible to prove whether the voter receiving the money had voted for the distributer or no; and secondly, because it would infallibly engender a fraudulent and evil national character, such as we now recognise and lament in our American brethren. But not to enter at length into all these subjects, suffice it to say that there is no object in closing our eyes to the truth. Let us not act like silly children, who suppose they cannot be seen whilst they see not others. Let us meet the demands of the hour like men and like Christians, sympathizing from our hearts with our poorer brethren, and teaching them to love us by that beneficial example which so far surpasses all mere precept whatsoever. We are sailing, perhaps, over calm waters in parti-coloured vessels, with an azure sky and a golden sun above us: but let us not forget that the unfathomed gulf of ocean is beneath our barques. Do not misunderstand us! We regard not royalty and aristocracy as glittering baubles or airy trifles, but we do indeed think that to display their full grace and beauty, these should be reared on the basis of a strong, united, and contented people. We cannot now yield this character to our masses: and for this very simple reason, labour is not protected as it should be by the state, and our present Poor-law system is accused of God and man. But, with the favour of Providence, we ardently trust soon to redress these wrongs; and on the day when this great work shall be completed, we verily believe that we shall have done more to diminish the influence of Chartist that leaders, than the severest measures of coercion and restriction could by any possibility accomplish. In the mean time let us open our eyes and ears, and not exasperate by dull indifference those hundreds of thousands of Englishmen who might be our loyal and loving fellowsubjects, and now are both dangerous and disaffected: dangerous, that is, to the peace, not to the safety of the common weal. For England is not in the condition of France previous to 1789: hundreds of thousands here would be found arrayed on the side of order, in case of an intestine conflict, which God avert! and the issue of such a struggle what reasonable man can doubt? But let us return to the more immediate subject of these remarks. Ernest Jones's songs, then, are in many instances pernicious and destructive, but ever bold and vigorous and spirited, and in some cases apparently inspired by the fiery genius of democracy. We will yield our readers only one sample, which admits, like most of the rest of this series, of a two-fold interpretation, in either a good or an evil sense. Even "Priestcraft” may be understood only of Romanism; but we fear that the Priestcraft here alluded to is simply Christianity. Now for a sample: "ONWARD AND UPWARD. Right onward the river is rolling, Right upward the oak tree is growing, This earth for the harvest of hope. Right onward the breezes are blowing, From Priestcraft-to Nature and God!" We have thus called attention to this perhaps most important sub ject of the day, and for the present our mission is fulfilled. ART. XXIII. The Ransom. A Tale of the Thirteenth Century. By Miss Laura Jewry. 3 vols. London: Newby. SOMETHING of the style and manner of our old favourite James do we recognise here: but there is a charm in the freshness of this first product of an unhackneyed mind, which must be grateful to the most critical disposition. The story itself is interesting, though the last hundred pages of the third volume would bear considerable curtailment. The calm good sense displayed by the authoress throughout this work, leads us to hope much from her literary future. She is evidently imbued, also, with kind and gentle feelings. This story is founded on a family tradition in the time of the Crusades, and brings one of these before our mental eyes; not the well-nigh worn-out expedition of Philip and Cœur de Lion, but the chivalrous and religious enterprise of the good king "Louis le Saint" of France. The chief historical characters of that interesting period are well and accurately embodied in the tale before us, which combines the rare concomitants of a romantic interest and an air of simple truthfulness. "The Ransom" will repay perusal: it does more than promise; for by interesting and instructing at once, it may truly be said to perform. ART. XXIV.-The Poor Cousin. A Novel, &c. Edited by the Author of "The Young Baronet," &c. London: Newby. On a recent occasion "The Young Baronet" received great praises at our hands. We then wrote on the first impulse of our admiration after a hasty perusal, but consideration has only tended to enhance our opinion of its merits. Coming, then, recommended by the author of such a work, "The Poor Cousin " must needs command a favourable reception, and a kindly hearing at the least. We have yielded these, and we are now bound to declare that it is a simple and pleasing tale, in some passages sweetly pathetic. Such, for instance, is the death of the blind child. He is speaking to his sister : "And you will talk sometimes together of poor Maurice, Alice; but, oh never, never wish, when I am gone, to have me back again. I should not like to stay in this dull, dark world. The days to me have always been so long, Ally; and the nights often and often longer and duller still, when I have lain awake for hours, and counted the minutes as they passed; and sometimes I have got up to come to you, that you might talk to me, I was so lonely! But then I have heard you sobbing in your sleep, and thought you might be unhappy too, though I could not tell why, for you were not blind, Alice; and so I have turned again and prayed that I might die and go to mamma. I do not think God will be angry with me for this, because He knows how lonely I was, and how hard it is to live in a world that every one says is beautiful, and never, never see it." |