many his Church. And what the total of work and of idleness. The North needs no such inquiry. England is charged with being a cruel step-mother to Ireland, but the tendency is now rather to spoiling the child. The suspension of the Habeas Corpus is no proof to the contrary; it is an exceptional measure for a temporary danger. For the rest, what part of the kingdom is so much coaxed and indulged as Ireland? Could Scotland, for example, have got a Galway contract and subsidy? Can Wales obtain an exemption from the operation of the Cattle Plague Act? When Ireland asked for a prohibition of the import of cattle, was she not instantly indulged? And is it not out of tenderness that she is spared the infliction of the Cattle Extirpation Bill, though localities as free from disease are subjected to it? After all, we believe that Ireland has more reason to complain of her own sons than of Englishmen, many of whom are her true friends. It is an old saying current in Ireland, that if an Irishman is spitted for roasting, another will always be found to turn him. And this Fenian conspiracy could never have been discovered as completely as it has been unless the conspirators had been false to each other to a great extent. To hold and pull together for evil or good is not an Irish habit, at least not in the South. The usual thing is a game of nine-pins, in which the men are set up to knock each other down. From the Saturday Review. IF the rich uncle were only half as common an institution in real life as he is on the stage or in a novel, the world would be a cheerier place than it is, and moralists would be compelled to admit that virtue still was to be found upon the earth, perched happily and pleasantly on one or other of the collateral branches in every family tree. In the pictures they draw of society and its manners, novelists unfortunately are too fond of gratifying, on paper and in fancy, the yearnings of the human heart after the unattainable. The curate whose sermons are never too long, and always make his hearers think; the officer who carries the kid glove of his old garrison flame for thirty years next his heart, and has it on his person when he falls at the head of the forlorn hope; the self-sacrificing beauty who resigns her lover to a rival; the faithful college chum who has cherished a mutual attachment for his friend's hardly-used wife for half a century, and only mentions it in a whisper on his death-bed-all are so many creations by means of which the sort of people who write romances express their passion for the ideal. But perhaps there is no portrait so completely suggestive of the impossible and the intangible as the portrait of that imaginary uncle who never appears except to make other people happy, and who, always dies at the right moment. Our imaginations are fired at a very early age by the description, and we go through life sighing and longing for this noble being who never is, but always is to be. Exoriare alqiuis is our constant but fruitless hope. Where, oh where, is that benevolent individual in gaiters of whom we have read so much, whose only anxiety is that we should marry the object of our affections as soon as the license can be procured, who burns to enjoy the pleasures of matrimonial happiness by proxy only, and whose reward is to be allowed in return to kiss his nieces-in-law and their children as often as he pleases when they come down to breakfast in the morning? All of us have learnt to admire the princely munificence of Mr. Peabody. But every time the newspapers present us with a new instance of his liberality, the sad thought cannot but force itself on the minds of many, how it is that there are so few Peabodys in private domestic life, who have been imbued with the sound Scriptural maxim that charity begins at home, and with a proper sense of the privileges and opportunities of those whom Providence has blessed with a lively and varied assortment of nephews and of nieces. The tide of human affairs is influenced, as we all know, by the merest accidents. It seems so hard that what is should have been irrevocably separated by some little trivial barrier from what might have been. If grandfathers and grandmothers had lived long enough to have had one more child before they died, if their supernumerary offspring had been wisely despatched at once to India, had amassed a colossal fortune in the society of Nabobs and of Begums, and had finally come home, after a long absence, with a fatal liver complaint, and with a rooted desire to live in the happiness of his relatives, this might have been a bright and a beautiful world in spite of everything. We can all conceive how pleased we should have been to have smoothed our beloved Peabody's pillow, and to have remembered him in our prayers. Dis aliter visum. There are few of us to whom Providence has not seen fit to deny this harmless gratification; and when we look at life as it is, and turn from the melancholy spectacle to the three-volume novels and the dramas of the day, it is indeed almost exasperating to see how authors and authoresses persist in pouring upon their heroes and their heroines such golden showers of unspeakably precious kinsmen in weak health. This is why Club dinners and whist and Regret under such circumstances, with well-regulated minds, ought never to take the lower form of a selfish sentiment, and it is wiser and nobler to be able to base it on a calculation of what the human race loses by the infrequency of such elevating spectacles. If rich uncles were not as rare birds as black swans, the feminine half of the world would not be able to go on saying, with such a terrible show of truth, that a bachelor's life is necessarily selfish. Women constantly complain of the gross injustice of the reproach that rests on the character of an old maid. Old maids are often very charming people, though afflicted perhaps, as a rule, with too absorbing an admiration of popular preachers; and if marriages are made in Heaven, it is not unnatural that Heaven should keep some of the best specimens of womanly virtue for itself. There may, moreover, be rich aunts as well as rich uncles, and it would be improper and imprudent to pass a sweeping condemnation on those who have chosen to play the part of wallflowers at life's festive ball. If celibacy in woman is a fault, it is a fault which may be redeemed by a devoted de- A rich uncle has this advantage further, sire to make the younger members of her that he carries into domestic life an examfamily prosperous and wealthy. But, after ple of unselfishness and disinterested soliciall that has been said, it is fair to recollect tude for the welfare of his kind. In return that old maids are not visited with half the for the imputation of selfishness that is so reproaches which feminine critics shower on freely bestowed upon them, bachelors might the head of that much-abused being, the ir- with plausibility retort that married life is retrievable old bachelor. The irretriev-not, upon the whole, productive of social able bachelor is a sort of social Hercules sympathy and magnanimity. A partnertarget, the bare existence of which is a slur ship is not necessarily less egotistical than upon the power and precision of feminine a single speculator, and self-interest often artillery. Something must be done to put perambulates the world in couples. Towards a stop to his attitude of offensive impenetra- their husbands and their children Englishbility, and his unpopularity may be taken women are almost uniformly unselfish, but as a proof that it is as dangerous in some beyond their husbands, their children, and cases to resist successfully as to be grace- their own social success, they show comfully vanquished. The male heart, to start monly a disposition to be indifferent to the with, is desperately wicked, but its follies outside world; and the result is, that their and failings are never painted in such influence is weakened, and their powers of gloomy colours as when it has shown an ill-conversation proportionally impaired. If alvised intention to lead a single life. this be true, domesticity has its drawbacks, as well as its delights. An Englishwoman's pleasures are simple, but possibly somewhat narrow. She is keenly solicitous about her husband's advancement in the world, and measures it carefully by the amount of social consideration bestowed upon herself. She likes her children to be healthy, handsome, and admired, and devotes herself heroically to their best interests. By the time she has got to the extreme edge of her family circle, her enthusiasm is generally exhausted; and literature or politics she cares for so far only as they are likely to affect or interest those in whose welfare she is concerned. A rich bachelor at a domestic fireside is a perpetual protest against this exclusiveness of view, and is in his way less of an egotist than the mother whose absolute devotion to her family he so much admires. Kind as he is, and intimate as he is, his fair protégée would see him broiled alive before she would allow a single hair to be harmed of her husband's or her children's heads; and a soft unutterable sense of contingent benefits sometimes, perhaps, suffuses even her real affection for himself. Considering the nobility of the nature of women, the fact that after mariaage they are impregnated with this sort of feeling, for which selfishness is too hard a name, is possibly a discredit rather to their husbands than to their own education. If men sought less exclusively to absorb every thought of the women who are under their control, the character of women would be more chivalrous after marriage than it is. Romance and impulsiveness belong chiefly to unmarried girls. They will enter into and appreciate the not uncommon pride which now and then makes a man abandon fame and fortune sooner than stoop to pick them up. It is equally certain that, when women marry, this kind of enthusiasm sobers down. In the cause of those to whom they are attached they remain as generous as ever; but with all generosity which threatens to interfere with the fortunes of their husbands or their children they have but little sympathy. Humanity and patriotism, and even charity fail in their eyes when contrasted with the ties of domesticity. A being who is content with the private felicity of others, and who looks for no private felicity of his own, would accordingly be a novel sight at a family gathering. He would be entitled to rank as an exception to the law of domesticity, the theory of which is that no ties are permanently strong except the ties of maternity or marriage. Rich uncles are not as easily to be met with as the natural Adam could wish, but when they do occur they are probably less egotistical than their fortunate nephews and nieces. The pleasures of benevolence which a rich uncle may be considered to enjoy are indeed compared by a great Greek philosopher to the pleasures of paternity; and it may be that in exceptional cases they even supply the place of the latter. Human nature is in the habit of boasting of its instincts, but a large proportion of the feelings we term instinctive are evidently to be accounted for on a simpler though less flattering theory. That human nature possesses any instincts, properly so-called, has been denied, may be doubted, and certainly never can be shown to demonstration. It is by no means uncertain that, after allowances made for the influence of sentiment, interest, and reason, a father would be naturally drawn towards his son; and the affection of human beings for their offspring is possibly made up of a powerful and perfect union of the three. However this may be, it is tolerably clear that the three are nowhere so completely united as in the case of the relation between parents and their children; and the rich uncle whose mission is to bring prosperity to his belongings can at least enjoy parental pleasures in a secondary and imperfect way. It is, in truth, the only fashion left in which a man can enjoy them without entering into the precarious speculation of marriage, or without sinning against social decorum and incurring the social penalties imposed upon the sinner. The skeleton, however, in every benevolent man's closet is and must be the reflection that it is almost impossible in advanced life, when the power of exciting romantic attachments is gone, to bind others to us, except, indeed, by the glittering but fragile tie of gratitude. That rich uncle is a happy and exceptional personage who can bring those about him to identify their interests with his own, and to feel bound to him by the sentiment that unites children to their parents. To achieve this result, something more than the benefactions of a kind old gentleman are usually necessary, unless accompanied by qualities that command enthusiasm and regard. Even a millionaire cannot take affection by storm, or break through the circle of family reserve, as Jupiter broke through the guards of Danae, in a shower of gold. Those who wish to live in the affections of others had better not wait to make the effort till they are old and wealthy, but begin betimes when they are young. FREDRIKA BREMER. THE recent decease of the celebrated Swedish novelist, Fredrika Bremer, which has already received a passing notice in our columns, affords the occasion of recalling the deep and affectionate interest which she cherished in Ameri can affairs, especially since her visit to this country, about fifteen years ago. Upon the breaking out of the war of the rebellion her sympathies were deeply enlisted in the success of the American arms. With the aid of our leading journals, and a careful stu ly with the progress of the struggle, and never of the map, she kept herself fully acquainted lost her faith in the triumph of freedom and right. In the last edition of her work on America, she has added an appendix, describ Her Her admirable works of fiction had won for her a host of friends on this side of the ocean Their fresh and vivid pictures of Northern life were a novelty in literature; they opened a new world to readers who had become weary of the stale incidents and common-place plots of much of the popular fiction of the day; ing the character and effects of the war. they produced a deep impression no less by the artlessness of their style, than by the fidelity of their portraitures; and for a long time, her name was the subject of universal encomium. Her purpose of making an American tour was widely announced before her arrival. She was expected with grateful and almost tender interest; her coming was welcomed with eager delight by many who had known her through the medium of her writings; and when she landed on our shores, many hospitable firesides grew brighter at her approach, and in the intimacies of friendship she was never permitted for a moment to feel the loneliness of a stranger. Her frank and cordial manners, combining a simplicity which sometimes amounted to an almost childlike naiveté with a womanly dignity that was never laid aside; her kindliness of disposition, and her noble unselfishness of purpose, procured her access to more than one choice family circle, and surrounded her with friends, with whom her cordial relations closed intelligent and lucid exposition has doubtless had no inconsiderable influence on European opinion, and contributed to a favourable view of the nature of the cause. "The assassination of Lincoln," she says, opened the eyes of the people of Europe to the serpent nature of the Rebellion, and in the shock and shudder elecrose under the feet of the victim, raising him trically felt from this serpent sting, a pedestal and the cause for which he died so that he became visible to all nations." only with her life. On returning to her own country, she published an interesting record of her experiences in America, showing her appreciation of our national character, and her attachment to our institutions. Her active temperament did not permit her to remain long in the enjoyment of repose. Five years were devoted to extensive journeys in the Holy Land, Greece, Italy, and Germany, the fruits of which appeared in six volumes of travels, which enhanced her high reputation both in this country and in England. She passed two years in the family of the chap The latter part of Miss Bremer's life was she continued to take a deep interest in public quietly passed in her old family castle, Arsta. afiairs. She felt great joy in the progress of this country toward a high ideal, and watched with political reform in her own. In a recent letter anxious sympathies the course of moral and to an American friend, which we have been permitted to use, she says: "From off the high windows of this large high ro, your the spire of the parish-church, pointing upwards, Swedish friend sees rise on the westeriorizon the body will in no long time be laid down with and to her telling of the place of repose where those of her parents, brothers, and sisters." She has now passed away in the peness of a dant harvest of pleasant fruits, and pure and honoured age, crowned vh an abunand healing leaves, while her mem n grain, ill long be cherished in gracious esteem by nany who were her debtors for the sweet beauty of her eharacter and the reviving influence of her works. Tribune. A LITTELL'S LIVING AGE.—NO. 1139.-31 MARCH, 1866. a task which he had imposed on himself with exceeding dislike, and executed with great swiftness and brevity. Other volumes followed, more imperfect, less authoritative, less likely to represent him at his best, to fulfil his requirements of what a sermon ought to be, too closely packed From the Cotemporary Review. FREDERICK WILLIAM ROBERTSON. Life and Letters of Frederick W. Robertson, M.A., Incumbent of Trinity Chapel, Brighton, 1847-53. Edited by STOPFORD A. BROOKE, M. A., late Chaplain to the Embassy at Berlin. In Two Volumes, and merely suggestive, if not skeleton-like, with Portraits. to be popular. Yet their circulation spread Sermons. By the late Rev. FREDERICK with extraordinary rapidity; they ran even W. ROBERTSON, M.A., Incumbent of with the last novel; they became a staple Trinity Chapel, Brighton. First Series of the circulating library; Tauchnitz pub(13th Edition), Second Series (11th Edi- lished them, at Leipsic, in his collection of tion), Third Series (11th Edition), British authors; in America and at home Fourth Series (2nd Edition). their popularity was unprecedented; and a Expository Lectures on the Epistles to the thirteenth edition, last autumn, proves that Corinthians. By the late Rev. FREDE- it is steadily maintained. Mr. Robertson of RICK W. ROBERTSON, M.A. Third Brighton was soon as prominent a name as Edition. the Church could point to. People were so ready to catch at almost anything he had said, that there was danger of publishing too much, of letting the world look on his Imost private and crude thoughts, of trusting to the uncertainty of casual reports by those who had heard him, of being driven by his very fame to be ungenerous to it. There was an eager looking for some particulars of his life, as of a man who had strangely dropped away unknown, though surely among the best worth knowing of his time; and all the while there was a steady growth and penetration of his influene, preparing men to receive his Life and Letters" with an interest, curiosity, and welcome accorded only to a few. Lectures and Addresses on Literary and So- An Analysis of Mr. Tennyson's "In Me- Some rare and singular power must have dwelt in this modest working clergyman, to account for the story of a fame so unique in our pulpit literature; and whatever may be the secret of his influence, we are not likely to have further means of judging than these now before us in his Life and Works. THIRTEEN years ago the clergyman of a proprietary chapel at Brighton died, and was buried with unmistakable demonstrations of sorrow. A ministry of six years had endeared him to his people, and he had taken sufficient part in public and local questions to be recognised beyond the bounds of his congregation. But he had only published one sermon, and so many clergymen had lectured at Mechanics' Institutes, and spoken on Ecclesiastical Titles Bills and early closing of shops, that not much heed was taken of one clergyman more. As for any lasting influence, his life seemed to have ended at the grave abruptly, imma- Frederick Robertson was born in London turely, for he died young. As for any mark in 1816, and passed his childhood in Leith to be traced by him in the religious thought Fort, where his earliest recollections were of England, England had never heard of of "my pony, and my cricket, and my rabhim. In a year or two a volume of his ser- bits, and my father's pointers, and the days mons was published, with the drawbacks when I proudly carried his game-bag, and inseparable from all posthumous publications. my ride home with the old gamekeeper by He had not written them before they were moonlight in the frosty evenings, and the preached, but after they were preached he boom of the cannon, and my father's orderhad condensed them for some absent friends | ly, the artilleryman who used to walk with THIRD SERIES. LIVING AGE. VOL. XXXII. 1495. |
