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there is always the same difficulty that the caste which asserts itself in her after marfigure-painter has in dealing with a too riage with her father's steward, the regismagnificent landscape as his background, trar of Faye, — are finely drawn, and the

- the fear lest either the individual figures contrast between her real refinement and be lost in the grandeur of the scene, or the the artificial refinement of the brilliant grand features of the scene be dwarfed or Madame de Croï, who carries off her lover distorted in order to give sufficient promi- from her, is thoroughly artistic. Madame de nence to the individual figures. Miss Tyt- Croï is a girl little older than herself, also of ler has felt this difficulty, and there are per- a noble family, who had married a rich old haps here and there in this beautiful and bourgeois for his money (afterwards confisfinished story chapters in which the histor- cated), and was left a widow while yet in ic picture of the events of the time is a little her teens. She has culture and brilliancy, too extended. But on the whole she has but has none of the noble ideas which just surmounted it with great success, — the redeemed some few among the higher arisrather that she specially excels in that tocracy of old France. One of the best grouping and colouring of country and city touches in the book is that soliloqny in which pictures which in a great degree supersedes the Baroness de Faye contrasis the artifithe necessity of little résumés of events by cial brilliancy of Madame de Croï with the letting the course of events indicate itself nobility of her own daughter's nature, much in the gossip of humble persons.

At all as she affects to despise its deeper and more events the interest of the individual tale is enthusiastic side: never absorbed in the interest of the great tragedy, and again, we are never in danger “There was one person, and only one, presof forgetting that that tragedy was made ent who formed a more correct estimate than up of thousands and thousands of similar in- her circle of the conflicting claims of Jacqueline dividual trials, as the sea itself is but an ag- and Petronille. It was not Babette; for algregate of waves.

though she loved her young mistress tearly, Not only is the tale one of deep interest, and ground her strong white teeth at this issue, and of great pictorial power in reference to she too regarded Madame de Croï as by far the the scenery and the society it depicts, but in the caravan from Alsace. Was it wonderful

- very nearly as fine as the lady it is long since we have read any in which that the judge who decided in Jacqueline's fathe sketches of character – all for the most

vour - not out of partiality, but in good faith part slight — are more delicately outlined was Madame de Fave?' Monsieur the Baror sustained with more uniform skill. Miss on might have his doubts, bewildered and dazTytler is fair to every class, and has given zled as men are liable to be ; Madame had none. us good instead of bad specimens of almost

" What does the woman fear for?' she began all the classes engaged in the Great Revo- her reflections deliberately, apostrophizing Madlution without concealing the radical weak- ame de Lussac. Her own paltry spark of a ness and selfishness which undermined their own out, any more than that of her reader,

life? It does not merit the trouble of being strength. The sketch of the Baron and Mademoiselle Troche. They will soon go out Baronne de Faye, of their full-dress man- of themselves, poor women! if the people will ners and highly preserved etiquettes in the only have patience. She might have more to dull little Tour de Faye, Monsieur going think of. What! a daughter born a Lussac, by every evening betweeni five and six to kiss marriage a Croï, and with a taint that is cousMadame's hand and play cards with her in-german to vulgarity! Nevertheless it is so. and her daughter till supper was served, My Jacqueline is an awkward, unformed child, and of the genuinely high-bred courage, the who may be anything yet. The worst is, she

will believe in the whole world and embroil gallantry of heart that still lingered under herself with it, like a saint in the middle ages. this stiff moral brocade in both the Baron But in that there is not a shade of vulgarity. and his wife, is graphic, and at least like Petronille de Croï is like a financier's daughter : truth, if, from want of any intimate knowl- she seeks to shine, she struggles to rule. Ah! edge of the old French noblesse, we cannot how low that is! She is a liar, in look and act, properly assert that it is true. The young in assuming the tournure and costune of the lady and heroine, Jacqueline, Demoiselle de old régime. We others governed because we Faye, is, as young ladies and heroines are could not help it. We ruled without effort or apt to be, less definite, and perhaps Miss design. We scorned to conceal our worst sins. Tytler's least successful character. But

We were grand dames to the last. even in her the youthful enthusiasm for the nille de Croi's dot will maintain you in exile

my Chevalier, I can follow your game. Petronation, the true disinterestedness and no

now that Jacqueline de Faye's domain is des. bility of mind before she abandons her own tined beyond remedy to confiscation. Good. class, and again, the technical nobility of Petronille's heart is also favourable to you, for

For you,

vour.

you will prove a better chevalier than the Mar- of Monsieur and Madame de Faye could quis to conduct her to England, and thus pre strike into the thin soil of the old aristocratvent hazard and ennui. She may marry you. ic ideas, combined as it is with a very graphAh! well

, I forgive you, my cousin. Every ic picture of the peculiar, and so to say frostman must have care for himself, and the very ed, charm, which a long hereditary sereniChapter of the Knights of Malta is dissolved. I forgive you for everything but being actually ty and the comparatively artificial sentiment light-headed for this Petronille's smile and fa- of noblesse oblige' give to the manners of

Chut! I hear the creaking of the joints Monsieur and Madame, is subtle and very of the young woman's mind. But men have effective. Nor is the sketch of the kindly thick heads and dull brains. They cannot al- bourgeois family at Paris, the rich mercer ways tell the pewter from the silver, or see that Durand and his people, so far interior in peacocks are not birds of paradise. They have true nobility even to the statelier peasantry a shade of vulgarity themselves. We are oth owing to a certain want of fixity of status erwise."

and simplicity of position, less striking. The

pompous and good-natured father, with his There seems to us real genius in this pas- pompous republican ferocity, his shopkeepsage. The aristocracy of self-reliant sereni-er's thrift, shopkeeper's vanity, and person. ity looking down on the glitter of mere clev- al kindliness; the pretty daughter, Felicité, er effort, and saying to itself, with French who is not exactly a flirt, but so much disvivacity, “ Chut! I hear the creaking of likes to give pain that she cannot throw off the joints of the young woman's mind !” is either of two men who love her, and does a touch worthy of any novelist however her best to satisfy both; the neglected and great. But if Miss Tytler is thoroughly fair eccentric little romp Olympe, with her girlto the greater qualities even of the effete ish passion for her sister's lover and the diaristocrary wiped out by the Revolution, she ablerie which great talents and high spirits is more than fair to the qualities of the class kept down by repressive neglect is almost which superseded, and deserved to super- sure to inspire in young French girls, are sede, them in the rural districts. In the all outlined with a masterly hand. innkeeper of Faye and her son, La Sarte All these sketches are fine, and not less and Michel, we have a fine picture of the so are the general and still slighter sketchnoblest qualities which are needed to form es of revolutionary life in the provinces and the nucleus of a healthy and simple society, in Paris. The various village characters of without any sort of idealism or Arcadian the hamlet of Faye are especially happy, extravagance. La Sarte, with all her depth and even to the worst of all, the village butchof faith and pride of simplicity, is no angel, er Sylvain, with his deep melancholy eyes and cannot easily bear to renounce the in- and insatiable thirst for the bloodiest gratifluence she has exercised as a wealthy inn- fications of revolutionary ferocity, the aukeeper in a poor village, nor can she bend thor does not deny that touch of human to offer voluntarily any sympathy to the De- nature which renders him conceivable as a moiselle de Faye in the sacrifices which the man as well as a demon. We must give latter takes upon herself when she enters one specimen of Miss Tytler's village cona sphere beneath her own, and becomes her versations. The Revolution is at its darkdaughter-in-law. The picture of La Sarte est, and the hamlet of Faye, its church gutignoring all the confusion which her un- ted and closed, worship and mass forbidden, practised and unhappy daughter-in-law in- and tenth days substituted for the Sunday, troduces into the village inn by her igno- does not find itself happier for the reign of rance and negligence, rather than volunteer Reason :her belp and sympathy, much as she loves to counsel and reprove those who spontane- “Next day an old woman, with her distaff ously come to her for advice, is as well con- in the bosom of her gown, went along spinning, ceived as is her proud injunction to her fa- and driving her red cow before her, from the vourite son, the Girondist deputy for Faye, banks of the Mousse, where, by dint of great to put a stop to the bloodshed of the Con- assiduity, it had manage to get a few wisps vention, when he and bis party had in fact or blades. She looked up, and began to wag fallen trom power and were just about to her head gravely, as she approached the churchsuffer for their comparative moderation. yard gate. It was closed, but clearly not for The sketch, slight though it be, of the in- the preservation of property. The crosses were trinsic nobility and consequent serenity in woodwork of the little church close by, and

pulled up and broken into fragments, like the these plebeians of the Sarte family; of the far neither white ribands nor immortelles rested on deeper root which this moral nobility has the grave of virgin, or patriarch. Over the in them than any which the hereditary rankl gate was painted, in big, staring, white letters,

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Death is an everlasting sleep.' Here was the beautiful here, if only folk did not tell us lies.' explanation of the shut door.

The old woman But look you, there comes Mother Jul. was very old, and brown, and shrivelled. To liene, whose son was only a little child.' – The all appearance it could not be long ere she slept old gadding slattern of the hamlet was a sorry her everlasting sleep. The idea, however, sight. Not only were her arms empty of the seemed to fill her with lively dissatisfaction. A meagre child, but they were tossing distractedly second and younger woman, noticing the first, about her head, from which she had torn her walked down the street and joined her. The cap, together with handfuls of her grizzled two stood still at the locked gate, while the red hair. The bones were staring at each other cow went discreetly on to quench its thirst at above her hollow cheeks, and her ferret eyes the fountain trough. – A fine thing now,' said were glazed and wild. - Why does that great the older woman, ' after me and my old man beast Jullien not take up my child and give him have lived together these forty years, to tell us consecrated burial ?' she raged, in a hoarse that when our time comes we are to fall asleep voice. - But Jullien is so swollen he cannot and not even dream of each other, — bah!' - dig. I will rather scratch away the earth with • And my little son Alex,' replied the younger, my nails.'— 'Softly, softly, La Jullienne, the "who was drawn for the army, and has marched child rests under the shadow of the church. to the ends of the earth, and who may be shot There is no better grave in France now,' said passing through some hedge and die in a ditch Mother Beaujeu. — And he was but a little - they will tell me he will have gone to sleep and thing,' added the other woman, grudgingly will have no awaking. I need not care to go to preoccupied with her own trial; he had not sleep, for I shall have no awaking either; and I worked for you, nor even spoken to you.' suppose they would say I need not pray, be- * Silence ! or I strike you,' screeched Mother cause God is also asleep!'—Death! if that were Jullienne. —'What do you know of it, wife of the case, what would the common people do?' Huc the younger - you whose Alex was idle - For that matter, what would the great peo- many a time, and was turned back from his ple do?' -'Ah! the great people have had confirmation for killing quails when he should their day, and now it is their night; the holy have been ringing the bells? Or you, Mother saints help them! I bear them no spite, poor Beaujeu, whose old Simon is like a crab apple, souls! But my faith ! if they call this liberty, and you and he spit at each other like cats? when they do not give us the liberty of another Ah! I have seen you, Mother Beaujeu, yoked world, I would like better to want their liberty, side by side with an ox, and even an old grey I would !' _The salt tax and roadmaking ass, and your man driving you. No wonder were not half so bad, not even purgatory and you bray ! You two would be well at ease to the dread of hell itself.' – No indeed! They have your plagues sleeping for ever, and so still left us heaven, and the good God, and our would the whole world, for that. But my in. Lord and Saviour, the Virgin and the Saints, nocent little ctild, what do I know but that if to interpose for us. One never knew where a he had lived he might have been a great farm. blessing might not come from. But this sleep, er, buying up the lands, like Maître Michel ? it crushes us like lead.'— 'La Jullienne takes on And now that he is dead, to be told that he will worst of all for her baby. They say she will never wake up again, - I tell you it makes me go mad if something is not done.'. Go! she mad.'» was always a lunatic, La Jullienne. What is her baby, which lay in her bosom for only a year, to my man, who has driven the cow there

The whole novel is rather a sketch than the prodigal beast !- with me, and helped a painting, its outlines delicately touched, to milk her too, and dug, and thrashed, and ate, the stir and tempest in the air and sky faithand drank, and prayed with me for nearly half fully rendered, the hope and the despair a century?' - Or to my little son, who kept gleaming like stormy sunlight or forked lightthe vintage so well, and was affianced to the ning over the individual characters, exgood Jeanneton, the best girl in Faye. Oh! pression never wanting, but no single nawell, it is hard ; but for mother Jullienne, - fý! Eure sounded even to such depths as fiction, do not speak of her in comparison.'— 'La Sarte in skilful bands like Miss Tytler's

, might used to say, every one's trial was the worst trial to that man or woman' - La Sarte knows;

safely

go. Still every stroke in the sketch she is a wise woman. I esteem La Sarte; } is refined, and almost every stroke tells. It wish her good luck of her stay in Paris with is a story that not only interests us in the her son, the famous deputy. But La Sarte did perusal, but that interests us still more in not live with her man for forty-seven years. turning over the leaves a second and a third Father Sarie died when the famous deputy was time, to catch the touches which we had a baby himself, I remember. The honest man missed in the first interest of the tale. There departed on the fête of St. Hilaire. Ouf! I is vivacity as well as perfect clearness in forget there is no St. Hilaire; there is nothing the styie, pathos that speaks through the but the sun yonder, and he goes to bed in his turn. They hold up that sleep as if it were a

sense of beauty, and therefore shows no blessing. I don't want to sleep unless I am to strain or effort in its sentiment, and a depth awake again. Though I do have the rheuma- of insight into all forms of enthusiasm, even tism, I can bear it; for there are many things when distorted into the foulest cruelty, which renders the picture of those almost incredi- | ness appears to be the possession of fine ble times not only more distinct, but less in- senses, fine perceptions, and fine sensations, credible and less poignantly painful than especially the former, — and he accuses the they are wont to seem. The French Rev. human race in general which speaks opproolution is apt to look to modern readers more briously of the nerves, and has no nerves of like a chapter out of the Apocalypse than its own; of being distinguished by three out of human history. And Mr. Carlyle, characteristics, — (1) it never knows when by his wonderful gorgeousness of colouring a thing is going to happen ; (2) it never and cloudiness of outline, has rather strength- knows when a thing is bappening; (3) it ened than weakened the impression. The never remembers a thing when it has bappictures of this story, while they give even pened; — from all which characteristics Mr. a keener sense of the unrighteousness and Matthew Browne deduces with some trilust which were at the source of the Revo- umph that it is much better to be nervous lution, seem to justify it to history better than not. than all Mr. Carlyle's opulence of pictorial And no doubt if being nervous means insight, by showing how its fires tempered having plenty of special and trustworthy the true steel in all classes of natures, pa- reports from the universe of what is going trician or plebeian, high or low.

on there, or is likely to go on there, or has gone on there, it is as much better to be nervous than unnervous as it is better to see than to be blind, to hear than to be deaf, to feel than to be destitute of the sense of touch. But how if having nerves

involves a special but untrustworthy report From the Spectator.

of past, present, or future, or even a special NERVES AND NERVE.

but purely fictitious report of the same ?

It nervousness imply merely a superior sysThe new sixpenny magazine, the Argosy, tem of telegraphic communication with the has amongst several other clever papers mind, well and yood. But suppose it means one of great humour by Mr. Matthew a nervous organization about as useful as Browne in favour of nerves. This gentle. the overland telegraph from Galle," and man is much hurt at the ordinary dispar- implies the constant receipt of such scraps agement of nerves. He remarks that while of information from the external world as we have all heard of muscular Christians, this, received on Wednesday :-“ Question no one has ever yet heard of nervous United States Treaty tim latms Pashiaky Christians, though nerves have certainly worse," or of highly exciting but completemuch more to do with spiritual emotions ly imaginary facts, like that from the Crithan muscles. Nerves even come off bad- mea about the Tartar who had ridden ly as compared with adipose tissue. “ Pro seven hundred miles to bring word of the phetic denunciations against such as be fat fall of Sebastopol about a year before that in Zion are on record; none against such event happened. Would the frequent aras be nervous. Yet the fat man is tol- rival in the mind of intimations of either erated, loved, at worst laughed at, while of these valuable species be an advantage the nervous

man is not only laughed to any one ? and yet no one who knows at,- he is disliked.” Nevertheless, asks what . nerves' are, will doubt that they do Mr. Browne, “ were the Martyrs fát? Is very frequently involve the receipt by the Mr. John Stuart Mill fat? Is Mr. Glad- mind of exceedingly unintelligible and disstone fat? No, the nation would not trust mal messages, ushered in with great pomp its income with a fat man, – it knows of seeming import, like“ tim latms Pashiaky better.” Certainly Mr. Gladstone is nerv- worse;" - or that, more unpleasant and ous, if not exactly, as we shall see present- disturbing still, the little mental bell will ly, in Mr. Matthew Browne's sense of that ring convulsively in the mind of a person term. Mr. Browne goes on to enforce with with nerves, to call attention to the arrival much humour the shameful libels often pub- of a message from the external world lished against the nerves even by physi- which does not arrive at all. The pale cians, as, for example, by Dr. Trotter, of imaginaion watches the bell vibrating conBath, whose idea of a nervous person is a vulsively, like bells ringing in an empty person who has “ the wind," who suffers house which are pulled by no visible hand, from borburigmi, and has other "ignomini- - and nothing (but terror) comes of it. ous symptoms not to be particularized." Perhaps Mr. Matthew Browne will mainMr. Browue's own definition of nervous. tain that this is not nervousness, - is as little

of any
to convey.

nervousness as the borborigmi attributed to too much for the considering and originating nerves at which he is so justly indignant. power. Suppose a telegraphic centre which But we are afraid he must take the gooid receives nothing but true reports, but is so and the bad of nerves together, and it is much occupied with receiving them that it unquestionably true that while nerves in has neither time nor power to send back gooil order mean an improved system of answers to the communicating districts, and telegraphic communication with the uni- you have nearly the state of a nervous verse, nerves in bad order mean many organization which receives such a multithings a good deal worse than no communi- tude of even true impressions that it cannot cation at all, — false coinmunications, or react with any power or julgment upon the ominous announcements of coming com- world. No doubt this is frequently the true munications which do not come. When condition of the poetic temperament, eyMrs. Gimp remarked that “fiddlestrings is pecially of poets, - who, like Shelley, have weakness to expred re my nerves this sometimes scarcely power even to sift and night,” she, though not a person of delicate arrange the delicate impressions they resensibilities and perceptions, had got hold of ceive, so confusing an overpowering is the the true image to express the pains of ner- throng. There is a description, we think vous liabilities, tense and agitated fibres by Mr. Trelawny, of his finding Shelley vibrating with unintelligible undertones or sitting in a wood, with some scraps of paper screams which tell nothing of the hand that filled with half-coherent thoughts and impressed them, and often little or nothing verses, all teeming so fast from his brain

meaning they were intended that, as Shelley felt, they were a mere

No doubt Mr. Browne will anarchy of beautiful impressions, treading as say very properly that disease of a high fast on each other's heels, and causing as function must be more dangerous and many collisions of meaning and feeling as, acfatal than disease of a low one, and that if cording to the latest theory of Saturn's a diseased digestion issuos only in borborigmi rings, there are among the planetary beads and other ignominious symptoms miliciously which by their rotation compose those rings. ascribed to nerves, diseased nerves must Now what we think Mr. Matthew Browne issue in something worse, but that it would has forgotten to point out in his amusing be as absurd to argue from borborigmi that article is, that “ nerves” in his sense — the a digestion is a misfortune, or from unde- apparatus for receiving delicate impressions cipherable telegrams that the telegraph is a and sensations - certainly do not promote nuisance, as from evil presentiments, and but rather diminish nerve, the power by empty terrors, that nervis are a mistake. which we react upon the world and turn to Well, that is true, no doubt; but sunpose full account the anarchic assemblare of our we have nerves altogether healthy, still they impressions. Shelley had no doubt nerve will be in the way in two caso's, - if the in some things. He was not afraid of dying, pain and pleasure their use gives is so far in for instance, and could lie quite still in a advance of their informing or percipient boat in perfect tranquillity in the immediate power as to occupy and chain the mind in prospect of drowning, and without being the attitude of suffering or enjoyment; or, able to swim a stroke. But this was rather secondly, if they report more than the mind deficiency in love life than the nerve can grasp and use. A sweet smell, for in- which resists disturbing influences, concenstance, is more pleasant than instructive, a trates all available and serviceable impresfreezing temperature is more painful than sions for immediate use, and so organizes instructive, and if the nerves be of a kind the mind for the purposes of life. It is to tremble with such intense enjoyment in clear that Shelley had exceedingly little of the one cise and such intense pain in the this sort of nerve, -as his wild visions, and other as to exclude much use of the percep- almost disturbed reason after such visions, tive nerves, then nervousness of this kind prove. Of all poets whose lives we know is undoubtedly — with limited creatures Goethe had perhaps the most nerve, capable of only a certain defined amount of indeed his finest poems bear more trace of conscious being

-a misfortune. Persons nerve, that is, deliberate marshalling of his who are “all naked feeling and raw life” own inward forces to meet external experiare like Isaac of York on the dog-irons in ençes, than of nerves in Mr. Mathew Front D. Bert's dungeon. They receive Browne's sense,

the involuntary reporters plenty of reports of a very exciting, but by of sense. It is curious enough that nerve no means of an instructive kind. Nav, in our sense can even neutralize and, so to even perceptive as distinguisheil from sensi- say, absolutely suspend the impressions protive nervousness may be in excess, if it is duced by the nerves as mere special report

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