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LITTELL'S LIVING AGE.-No. 303.-9 MARCH, 1850.

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From Fraser's Mag ne. shoot.” If you had taught your chicks to fly, SIR E. B. LYTTON AND MRS. GRUNDY. * they would not be so eager to swim. But it is so

easy say “ No"-50 easy to forbid the young to Even as Englishmen feel about England, even read new books, just to save the trouble of examas midshipmen about the navy, so we feel about ining them first and making up your mind upon Sir E. B. Lytton. We like no one to abuse him

them! but ourselves. We have long disliked equally him

Oh, Grundy, Grundy! wherefore art thou Grunand his enemies. We used, till the appearance of dy? What a noble English matron thou mightest The Cartons, to hate his poetry, his philosophy, have been, with children and grandchildren at thy his history, his ethics, his indecency, and his knee, looking up to thee lovingly, trustfully, revdecency. And yet we have long asserted, and do

erently, for advice, teaching, true education, the now more than ever assert him to be a first-rate educing, bringing out, and developing of their novelist. Ernest Maltravers and The Caxtons are latent faculties, nascent aspirations, instead of perhaps the two best novels in the English lan- sneaking about as they do now to all manner of guage, however great their faults may be. We forbidden book-shops in fear of the perpetual “ You have a right to grumble at both Sir E. B. Lytton must n't!"-conceiving of a parent's function as and his enemies, for he can write novels and we

merely that of thwarting and stunting-like can't, which gives us good ground for grumbling wretched snails, never putting out a feeler withai him; and next, if we could, we should copy out expecting it to be rapped back into the shell just those peculiarities of his which Mrs. Grundy again by Mrs. Grundy's maternal ferula. vilifies most, which gives us equally good ground

Hence, madam, and hence alone it is that your for grumbling at her.

ancient enemy Sir E. B. Lytton sells his novels, She, at least, should not abuse Sir E. B. Lyt

as you tearfully inform us, for more than a thouShe—the “ Gamp" of the West end-old

sand pounds apiece. You have created the gnat-straining, camel-swallowing, fetish-worship- demand. You can't amuse your children, and ping, prophet-murdering harridan of starch and

You may call him what names you will, buckram respectability, descended by the father's but you can't deny that he does have more influside from the Scribes, the Pharisees, and Balaam ence over the Miss Grundys than yourself, even the son of Bosor, and by the mother's from Mrs. though you have been trying for the last twenty Nickleby and Madame Blaise ! Absolutely we will not let her speak, especially now that in her fresh novel as fast as it appeared out of the young

years to find out his secret, by snatching each dotage she is getting venomous as well as twad- ladies' hands, and carrying it up to your boudoir, dling, and strengthens her Billingsgate by a strong to lock yourself in and devour it yourself

. Ah, spice of lying and slandering.

you sad hypocrite! Why, Mrs. Grundy, it is all your own fault.

What a thorn in your side that same Mr. BulSir E. B. Lytton would never have written as he

wer, now Sir E. B. Lytton, has been ! Don't you has done, and the young Grundys would never recollect the first appearance of Pelham? How have read them as they have done, if it had not you read the book, and cursed the book, not merely been for you.

Who devoured the old Minerva- because he gave a painfully-correct picture of your press stuff, while she starved her children on Miss then triumphant fop species, though that was quite Edgeworth and the Elegant Extracts? Who?- sin enough for a young débutanteven a more but if we once begin on the No-education question, “ painful” feature in Pelham in your eyes was the we shall never stop. It is a “ Curtian gulf,'' as

way in which that superfine specimen of artificial Sir E. B. Lytton would say.

foppery was thrown into rude contact with all Poor Mrs. Grundy! it is really all your own

manner of thieves and blackguards, fighting his fault. If you will not give your children's minds

way through them, certainly, en preux chevalier. proper food, it is no wonder if they go and find This was in our eyes by no means the shallowest improper food for themselves. And now you moral of the book; but Mrs. Grundy's nerves stand aghast, like a hen who has hatched ducklings, could not stand it. As yet, no Boz had arisen to cackling, twittering, screeching in vain as you write a Pickwick and Oliver Twist, and show behold them swimming forth one by one on the

astonished respectability how Bulwerean maëlstrom. One would pity a mother's

Close below feelings—if they had only shown themselves a

Welters the black fermenting heap of life, little sooner—if they had been ever employed to Wherean our state is built. do anything except “ teach the young idea not to

It was to Mrs. Grundy, all of it, as flatly incredi* The Caxtons: a Family Picture. By Sir E. B. Lyt: ble as it was horrific. Certainly the juxtaposition ton, Bart. 3 vols. Blackwood and Sons : Edinburgh and London. 1849.

of Bond street and St. Giles', sleek decency with 28

CCCIII.

LIVING AGE.

VOL. XXIV.

" Vice

am,

ness.

scoundrel savagery, was a little startling-almost Still, we do sympathize with Mrs. G.'s horror, ludicrous. And the low scenes were coarsely When Pelharn was followed by all manner of objecsketched—the butcherly details of one chapter tionable seraphic villains, Paul Clifford and Eugene side by side with the essenced flunkeydom of the Aram-copies, as we said, of the French romannext, put one somewhat in mind of the unrivalled tic school yet, after all, infinitely less brutal and bathos of a certain popular ballad of the time : more manly, Mrs. Grundy became frantic. His throat they cut from ear to ear ;

made attractive !" Villany excused by the His brains they hattered in!

highest virtues !” Pray, how do you know, madHis name was Mr. William Weare ;

that they were virtues in any true sense of He lived at Lincoln's Inn !

the word, these lofty aspirations of Eugene Aram It was horrible! and Mr. Bulwer's succeeding nov- and his fellow-rascals ? The true answer to Bulels were horrible too. He seemed desirous of

wer would have been—" These fellows are vilbeating the French romanticists on their own lains still, for all their dreams and their blague. ground, as he certainly had done the Minerva- Aspirations after intellect, learning, power, the press folks on theirs.

beautiful-nay, after holiness itself, are just good After all, was Mr. Bulwer utterly wrong? The for nothing as long as their object is only self. horrible exists; and honor to it.

Self-glorification is the path to sham saintship, and Yes, honor to the horrible ; and to the man

to true rascality also ; and that, too, in the very who has courage to give us a glimpse of it now

same individual, wherever the passions and daring and then. It is good for us to read horrible sto- are strong enough, the intellect large enough. If ries, just as we look at monkeys, to see what we self be a man's end and aim, the greatness of his too might become—what we are potentially even powers only increases his capability of devilishnow, if the higher power should desert us. A

But Mrs. Grundy could not see that ; in late writer in this Magazine gave it as his opinion fact, she was worshipping“ intellect" just as much that horrors were good to keep alive the minds of as Mr. Bulwer did ;-she, in the mouths of her the drudging classes ; we consider them on the popular preachers—he, in his Eugene Arams, whole as equally good for the idle ones. Who And so she took Bulwer at his word, when hewould wish Oliver Twist unwritten, except Mrs. if indeed he did —set up the learned murderer as Grundy? Reigns of terror, Lyons glacières, Span- a fallen angel. Besides, “ How,” thought Mrs. ish autos-da-there is a lesson in them all. Grundy, "could a man believe in heaven and They show us what stuff most of us are made of hell—have any spark of higher things in him at —when the paint is rubbed off. As the Yankee all, and yet be a bad man? The fact is that the apologist for drunkenness said, “There's a deal good Jarly believes so very little herself, that it is of human natur' in man. Honor to the man quite as saintly as miraculous in her eyes to have who will tell us so. Mr. Grundy himself-mon- belief at all. A man to know that he has an ey-maker in ordinary to himself and family, immortal soul, and hope to get to heaven, and yet shall he “ girn” al cannibals and Dyaks? Has not be good! Certainly not, madam. If you not Mr. Carlyle told him that he too is a Chac

knew anything of history, which you do not, you taw” and buccaneer of industry ?—that his grand would find that every age and country, since the wigwam in Belgravia, or the Manchester suburb, times of the Pharisees, has seen the highest is hung with human scalps just as much as any religiousness associated with the lowest villany. red Indian one? Had he been only born in the Do you think the Pharisees knew that they were right place, and handled tomahawk instead of hypocrites and scoundrels ? Not they. They ledger, he too had been a cannibal and physi- were “righteous in their own eyes," just like cal eater of men ; and Mrs. Grundy—delicious Eugene Aram-or Mrs. Grundy. Your brigand. thought !-guiltless of crinoline and polka-had with a leaden St. Januarius in his hat, is he not squatted over a wood fire, drying slain Dyaks' most religious ? Does he not go to confession heads! There is devil enough in you both for it, and mass, and believe with his whole heart in my sleek friends. Are you not, too, now man- such Christianity as is taught him, not without eaters according to your articles of war? Not by good hope of heaven? Rush, fresh from forgery wooden sword and hole full of hot slones, accord- and murder, prays fervently hy his mistress' side. ing to the sacred traditions of Dyaks; but by buy-" The hypocrite !" cries Mrs. Grundy. Stuff! ing cheap and selling dear, Benthamism, Absentee- Men at such moments are not hypocrites, excep: ism, New Poor-laws, and crploitation de l'indus- to theinselves and God. The man was sincere ; trie, according to the sacred traditions of Mam- he believed that he had a soul to be saved ; and mon?

believed in the "scheme of redemption" just as Come down from that tribune,

firmly as the best ; and so he prayed—to get his Thou shaineless and unjust !

soul saved, as the immortal Pleaceman X. has it, and girn no “ What do you mean, sir? Are you laughing more at Paul Cliffords and Lucretia Claverings, at Christianity ?": for thou, too, art of the same stuff as they, “bar- “No, madam; but at your notion that a man ring the pluck ;"_that same sneaking fear of must be either an atheist or perfection--at the public opinion, gaol, hell-fire, and such-like, is all notion that a man is good and righteous, because, that keeps thee respectable.

forsooth, he would be very glad to be in a bappy

any

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place after death. Is not that just as absurd as feel that ethics, if they are to be Christian, must the doctrine which you impute to Bulwer—that look not merely at the act, but at the heart which he considered Eugene Aram good and rigliteous lies below it. The tone of all parties on such because he wished to be a very fine fellow before subjects has undergone a wonderful change during death? The truth is—and we ought to thank the last twenty years, and Sir E. B. Lytton has Bulwer for having preached it, however coarsely, had something to do with bringing it about; and confusedly—that there is an awful duality in every in the face of all the blague and sentimentalism, man, a capability at once of infinite good and and cruel, cowardly indulgence, which is mixed evil, according as its aim is self or God; that the up with it, who dare deny it to be a divine and largeness and power of the nature may increase blessed change? its wickedness just as easily as its goodness. The We were not aware, till we read Lucretia for truth is, too, that no one is utterly diabolic; we the first time the other day, that the improvement are not talking "theology," as certain anthropo- in Sir E. B. Lytton's morality had been a gradual logical doctrines are now called, by a strange but one. We had taken for granted too hastily, from most significant misnomer--we are simply stating the yells of Mrs. Grundy's father-confessors, the a fact. There is honor among thieves. Did reviewers, that Lucretia was the culminating Mrs. Grundy read that most affecting account of abomination of Sir E. B. Lytton's morbidity, and their conference with Lord Ashley the other day? that he was, as they triumphantly intimated, given There is womanhood, affection, self-sacrifice, even over henceforth irrecoverably to the dominion of in the most fallen. Boz's Nancy in Oliver Twist is sentimentalism, horrors, and nastiness. It is, inreal, true; she finds her place on God's earth, and deed, very difficult to see what the man who in God's mercies, too, though not in Mrs. Grundy's could write Night and Morning wanted with such “ Christian system.” Bulwer has said that, and a subject as Lucretia. It may have been the lust then asks, in a clumsy, passionate way enough, see- of book-making, not confined to Sir E. B. Lyling that there was a lie and an injustice somewhere, ton; it may have been the desire of beating Mr. but not seeing in what it consisted—" These peo- Harrison Ainsworth, as he has beaten others, on ple, bad as they are, are no more devils than you his own ground. But still the book ought not to respectable ones ; why will you treat them as such ? have been written. It is a useless and unpleasing Why will you judge the act merely, never the subject, to say the best ; and, indeed, the worst moral sin, which must be decided by weighing the too. As for the model-scene, whereat Mrs. will, the motive, the temptation, the education? Grundy's propriety was so scandalized, if it were Why will you bring the letter of the law, and not not for the accidental additions of porter and gin, the spirit of the gospel, to bear on these beings ? it is no more disgusting than what takes place Why will you tell them that they are hopeless in the studios of respectable artists. fiends, and then curse them because they take you disgusting, no doubt ; but perhaps it may do Mrs. at your word? Why not appeal to the spark of Grundy good now and then to know how the piclight, the one vein of human feeling left in them?tures which she admires at the Exhibition get Why confirm them in their rebellion against soci- painted, just as it may to know how the cheap ety, embitter their already utter misery, by adding clothes which she prides herself on buying get to it the sense of injustice ?"

made, and the cheap “ Society" Bibles which she This is what Sir E. B. Lytton, we do believe, distributes get bound, at the price—we assert it has been trying to say all along—badly enough at solemnly as a fact—of the starvation and prostifirst, and then, we think, more and more rationally tution of the work women. Oh, Mrs. Grundy! and clearly, through Ernest Maltravers, Night“ What the eye seeth not, that the heart grieveth and Morning, and Lucretia, up to The Caxtons. not!" As far as we have yet heard, truth never He has been insulted for it—and read. People was very pleasant news. felt that, abominable as his morality was at first But we were, in spite of all, surprised and sight, there was more in it than could be answered pleased with the healthy morality with which Luby an execration. He has been read, and we are cretia was drawn. She is a true woman, a sinful glad of it. If he had ended, like a Sue or Du- and accursed woman, but no monster ; consistent mas, in the mood wherein he began, even then we throughout, redeemable, though unredeemed. should not have joined the cry against him; but Have we, 100, never met a fallen angel, or besotted since he has worked himself, in this his last book, Titan, once at least in our lives? And the villain out into something of light and clearness, we have of The Caxtons hetokens a still further improvea right to say that he has been all along fighting, ment. Vivian, alias Herbert Caxton, is a real son or, at least, trying to fight, in the good cause-of Adam, such as we here assert ourselves to the cause of the lost and despised, the publican have personally seen and known more than once and the harlot—whom, after all, the “Son of or twice either. Of fierce passions, strong selfman came to seek and to save”-a fellow-worker will and self-conceit, defective in the gentler and with Elizabeth Fry and Lord Ashley ; inferior, more imaginative faculties, (a want which is most as talk is always inferior to deeds, but still a fel- | artistically denoted in the description of his physlow-worker. And we believe, from our own ex. iognomy and brain,) neglected, ill-educated, cast perience, that this very point whereon most outcry upon the worst of society to fight his way, he has been raised is just the one whereon, if on any, becomes a civilized savage and a blackguard. his writings have been beneficial, by making us “ What!” cries Mrs. Grundy, “ the old story

It was very

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out-Heroded? A villain, not as of old, merely the breeze, straw on the river, their course is by the force of circumstance, but also by the de- shaped for them by the currents and eddies of the velopment of his bumps ? Combeism superadded stream of life. to Bulwerism !”

But only in proportion as they are things, not Nay, Grundy, who said that either circum- men and women. Man was meant to be, not the stance or his bumps made him a villain? Sir E. slave, but the master of circumstance; and in proB. Lytton, whatever he may have said in old portion as he recovets his humanity, in every times, has certainly said no such thing in The sense of that great obsolete word—in proportion Caxtons. Come, let us argue a little. In the as he gets back the spirit of manliness, which is first place, even allowing bumpology to be true, self-sacrifice, affection, loyalty to an idea beyond (and it is not all false,) that does not prove that himself, so far will he rise above circumstances, the bumps make the rogue. The rogue may just and mould and wield them at his will. Thus, in as well make the bumps, my dear madain, and a Vivian's case, it is when he casts away the heart man's being “like ape, with forehead vallanous of stone and gets back the heart of flesh-of noble low," be more or less his own fault. Why shame, confest weakness, human affection, an obshould not a man's physiognomy, as you would ject beyond himself for which to live, that he expect spirit's body to be, (if you ever expected rises, slowly but steadily--not to the highest point, anything reasonable,) be“ the sacrament of his indeed, but to something like a manhood and a soul,” the outward and visible sign of the in- vocation. ward and spiritual grace," or dis-grace of his char- Read this extract, Mrs. Grandy, and say whethacter ? You yourself confess as much. When er it is not, in addition to its other excellencies, you call So-and-so an “ill-looking fellow," he the healthiest word of Sir E. B. Lytton's you looks a brute or a rogue, because he is one; have yet read, and better doctrine than many a soand you know it-80 just be quiet. Sir E. B. called orthodox sermon ? Lytton has said no more than that, only he has said it openly and boldly ; while you, madam, are

“And I need not ask,” said I, trying in vain to always afraid of facing your own convictions,

conceal my indignation,“ how Miss Trevanion re

ceived your monstrous proposition!” however stubbornly you may act on them under

Vivian's cheek grew paler, but he made no reply. the rose, just because they are not rational convic

“ And if we had noi arrived, what would you tions, but only fancies and prejudices, which, have done? Ah, dare you look into the gulf of right or wrong, will not stand the slightest shock infamy you have escaped ?” of argument.

"I cannot and will not bear this!!! exclaimed Neither is Vivian the victim of circumstance Vivian, starting up. “I have laid my heart bare

before any more than any other man, for whom you, in

you, and it is ungenerous and unmanly thus those too rare softer moments of yours,

You can moralize, you to press upon its wounds.

can speak coldly—but I-I loved!” allowances because he has been so ill-brought up." “ And do you think,” I burst forth,“ do yon If any one calls George the Fourth hard names, think that I did not love too ?--Jove longer than you sigh soft extenuations. Ah, but, you know you have done ; better than you have done ; gone he was a prince, and rank has such temptations ! through sharper struggles, darker days, more sleepAnd so handsome, too ! All the fine ladies in less nights than you ?—and yetEngland at his feet—what could you expect? It

Vivian caught hold of me.

“ Hush !” he cried; " is this, indeed, true? I is only a wonder he was no worse, poor dear thought you might have had some faint and fleetman! And he had such a charming manner- ing fancy for Miss Trevanion, but that you curbed spoke to me so sweetly once at a ball! Ah, and conquered it at once. Oh, no! it was impossi good-nature was his bane," &c. &c. Mrs. Grun-ble to have loved really, and to have surrendered dy! Mrs. Grundy! to swallow such a camel as all chance as you did !-have left the house, have that, and to strain at such gnals as Bulwer's fled from her presence! No, no, that was not

love!" heroes, because they too, like their august prince,

“ It was love! and I pray Heaven to grant thai, are “the victims of circumstance !"

one day, you may know how little your affection Open your eyes, my dear madam, if you have sprang from those feelings which make true love any, which is sometimes doubtful, and walk any- sublime as honor, and meek as is religion ! Oh, where you like-into Almack's, or Moses and cousin, cousin, with those rare gifts what you Sons, into the alleys of St. Giles, or a fashionable might have been! what, if

you
will

pass ihrough church, or a Dorsetshire village, and then confess, repentance and cling to atonement; what, I dare in spite of all your theories and systems, that the love; I talk not of mine! Love is a thing gone

hope, you may yet be! Talk not now of your many are everywhere the tools of circumstance, from the lives of both. Go back to earlier thoughts, for good and evil-churchmen, fops, thieves, sav- to heavier wrongs—your father !—that noble heart ages--because they have been born in that station which you have so wantonly lacerated, that muchof life and no other. If you had been born in enduring love which you have so little compreTurkey, Mrs. Grundy, you would have been a

hended!" Mahometan, with one fourth of a husband, instead

Then, with all the warmth of emotion, I hurried

on, showed him the true nature of honor and of of having Mr. Grundy all to yourself

. It is a Roland (for the names are one) ; showed him the painful fact, but there is no denying it—the mass watch, the hope, the manly anguish I had witare the tools of circumstance; thistle-down on nessed, and wept-I, not his son-to see ; showed

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him the poverty and privation to which the father,, innumerable people just as puzzling ; one cannot even at the last, had condemned himself, so that see what could be made out of them at this stage the son might have no excuse for the sins that Want of the business. After all, there were some hunwhispers to the weak. This, and much more, and dreds of thousands killed in the late war; perhaps I suppose with the pathos that belongs to all earnestness, I enforced, sentence after sentence, yield- some of them, too, had other capabilities than that ing to no interruption, over-mastering all dissent; universal one of serving as food for powder. Vivdriving in the truth, nail after nail, as it were, into ian, even if Sir E. B. Lytton could have done the obdurate heart, that I constrained and grappled more with him, is but one fresh item on a very,

And at last, the dark, bitter, cynical nature very long list of "might-have-beens.” And theregave way, and the young man fell sobbing at my in, too, à faithful leaf out of the book of society. feet, and cried aloud, " Spare me, spare me! I

There—we have said our say about the “ virtusee it all now! Wretch that I have been !”

ous villain” question, and heartily glad we are Surely this is a noble step towards solving the that it is over. Now for The Caxtons as a whole. problem with which Sir E. B. Lytton has been so

To our astonishment, as well as that of Mrs. long tormenting himself and Mrs. Grundy. True, Grundy, it is, in one word, healthy. Healthy he has been a very long time getting so far, while from the first page to the last. There is still a his Bible and prayer-book would have brought him little of the old leaven, pedantry and philosophasthither years ago. But Mrs. Grundy is in no con- try. But it is a charming book, in spite of that ; dition to throw stones at him for not understanding and Mrs. Grundy ought to rise up at the end of the his prayer-book. She has had it in her hands all third volume a wiser, if not a sadder woman. her life—at least, the footman has carried it to Sadder, indeed, by the bye, she cannot be than she church behind her twice a Sunday; and yet—is already ; for what with “pernicious innovawhat with her old poor-law, new poor-law, con- tions,” « decay of national bulwarks,” “

spread of dition-of-the-laboring-classes question, sanitary un- Popery, Carlyleism,” “ Pantheism,” “ Puseyreform, evangelical and Puseyite fisty-cuffings, theism," Chartism,"

"" Comntanism," and a host of • free-will versus necessity” question only set- other dreadful imps of “isms,” who haunt her iling itself by the young generation escaping from dreams, the good lady has been in weeping hysterthe tumult into Pantheism, Pot-theism, and Athe-ics for the last dozen years, and expects the end of ism, leaving their parents to fight out the old squab the world—always the day after to-morrow. Courbles of Orthodoxy-oh, Mrs. Grundy, what have age, Mrs. Grundy! dry your eyes, and take a lesyou, too, been about, that the prayer-book could son from darling, delicious little Mrs. Caxton, one teach

of the sweetest women we have seen-in print, Not that Sir E. B. Lytton even now has tri- that is, for this “ month of Sundays.” And, thank umphed altogether. He is not yet at tiie root of God! there are dozens like her in real flesh and the matter. If he had been, he would have raised blood, though Mrs. Grundy does think society is poor Vivian at last to something higher than the all going to the devil. more feeling of family honor and military ambition.

Certainly, whatever Sir E. B. Lytton cannot do, He points, indeed, to a higher path for him, but he can draw women. Alice (“Wah !” shrieks cannot take his man along the road. Perhaps, Mrs. Grundy)-yes, madam, Alice in Ernest Malthough, he was right. As for the fact that inen do travers is, as we were going to say, as exquisite a reform sometimes without religion, a fact it is, woman as any man has drawn since Shakspearehowever disagreeable to Mrs. Grundy; and, per- a xtiua is dei in English fiction. Lucretia Claverhaps, Sir E. B. Lytton was as right in keeping ing, too, let Mrs. Grundy shriek again as she will, such a character as Vivian's clear of religion, as is true woman still-nature, just as the boa and the he was in bringing his far larger-minded and more volcano are nature, and possibly might be turned human-hearted father under its consoling and to some use—if one but knew how. Mrs. Caxstrengthening influence. What scope for even the ton's perfection, at least, Grundy herself will not higher capabilities of such a soul as Vivian's is dare to deny ; will not be able to avoid, any more there in the present vulgar form, or rather deform-than we ourselves were, suspicious flourishes of a ity, of Christianity, according to Mrs. Grundy, dampish pocket handkerchief, alternating with uneffeminate-commercial, selfish as it is, holding in seemly explosions of cachinnation, several times horror and dread anything like daring self-sacri- during the first fifty pages. One does hope there fice, passionate enthusiasm, (except in pulpit-rant,) is a good cry and a good laugh left in her still, in anything, in short, which shames its own respect- spite of all her sins. Hear a little, my dear able, lukewarm use and wont? Vivian's passion- madam—though this passage, by the bye, is rather ate repentance—his harsh spirit, recoiling on itself didactic than comic. Pisistratus, the young hero, in self-punishment, might have made him a Pusey- has pushed his mother's favorite flower-pot out of the ite, perhaps a Romanist—a superstitious, ferocious window in mischief, and told the truth about it :ascetic ;-at best it might have made him a daring

From that time I first date the hour when I felt missionary. But where was the gentleness, the all-embracing sympathy, which the missionary

that I loved my father, and knew that he loved

me; from that time, too, he began to converse with should have ? After all, could Sir E. B. Lytton

He would no longer, if he met me in the have done better than to send him to India, and garden, pass by with a smile and nod; he would get him killed like a valiant soldier ? One meets stop, put his book in his pocket, and though his

you no better?

me.

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