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Recally thing Is living,

Then the glad spring will scatter round its sunshine, I never had a serious thought, until by sorrow and perfume;

taught : But I shall pluck the May no more, nor see the My very prayers to heaven have been with impious lilac's bloom.

murmurs fraught!

I little prized the boon of health, while it was yet Last harvest-time we cleared the fields, and rode

my own; home on the wheat,

| And now my life is ebbing fast, and all my peace is They crown'd me with the corn-flowers blue upon

gone. my golden seat: And the dance went round the old oak-tree, until | But, Paul, I do repent me of my faults and follies

the night-bird's moans Were mingled with the reaper's song, and stock- | The errors I've too long pursued are clearly seen at

past; dove's plaintive tones. That was a blessed, happy time! The wild-bird on

Should you regain our native place, and my dear the bough

mother see, Was not more blithe than I was then ; but that's ?

not more Withe then I me thon. host thote Tell her I told you so, and said she must not grieve all over now,

for me. I ne'er shall, living, quit this room, where everything I see

And bid a kind good-bye for me, dear Paul, to Recalls some dream of fever'd pain, or hour of

William Gray ; agony !

| I know his was a heaving heart upon our wedding

day; My limbs have lost their careless spring, my hand For, when he wished me happy, there was someis thin and weak;

thing in his tone There is no light within my eye, no rose upon my Which, though I dared not meet his eyes, brought cheek.

tear-drops to my own. I'm helpless grown, and sad, dear Paul; and you are gay and strong;

Were we two now at home, I think 'twould be less Yet leave me not to-day! I shall not tax your pa

hard to die : tience long.

There, on my grave, through summer hours, the

golden light would lie; There, sit ye down beside the bed, and place your The friends I loved in life would deck with flowers hand in mine;

my narrow bed, You shall not see me shed a tear, or hear me once And Bess would bound above me, with her dancing repine :

fawn-like tread. My words from you in bygone days could fixed attention claim :

But here the churchyard's crowded o’er, and still Let me, thus pillow'd on your arm, believe 'tis still i

fresh graves to make; the same.

| The sexton's spade of former mounds the scanty I lay awake last night, and mused on my past turf doth break: thoughtless life,

And should you come to see me, Paul, when long, And on the want and care we've known since I be l ong years are flown, came your wife.

You'll not be able to recall what corner was our 'Twas very dark and bitter cold, the snow-flakes own.

tranced the ground; But as the clock struck twelve, a band of strolling Yet wheresoe'er my dust shall rest, of this, dear waits went round.

Paul, be sureTheir good old times came floating on, most elo

My love for you through endless space unaltered

will endure : quent and clear, Bringing to mind the pleasant hours of many a

And if my death should rouse in you thoughts which buried year :

have dormant lain, And then I dwelt on our past joys, and gentle hopes

Then, though 'tis bitter pain to part, I shall not die long fled,

in vain. And wept that I must go so young down to the silent dead!

| There is a mist before my eyes, my heart is beating

slow; And just towards morn I fell asleep, and had a Clasp me once more within your arms, and kiss me wondrous dream;

ere I go. I thought I stood, all robed in white, beside a You'll meet with many as fair a face, and hearts silvery stream:

more gay and light, Bright rainbow forms kissed off my tears, and all | But never, dearest Paul, forget your own poor Jessie was glad and fair ;

quite ! Yet still I sighed for our poor home; for you, love, were not there.

Kiss ! kiss! 'tis very dark and cold; the deathAh, Paul, it is a heavy task to teach my coward

damp's on my brow; heart

And I can scarcely hear your voice, or feel your To gaze into your glorious eyes, and know that we

warm lips now. must part !

God keep you in his care, dear love; all's pardon'd Nay, say not you deserve my hate! You well can and all pass'd; coldness feign;

Remember but I blessed you now, and lov'd you But if you've been unkind and wild, I have been

to the last! weak and yain.

| Ramsgate, November 13, 1849.


We must confess that we feel no great vene- that to which we are usually limited in our reration for our ancestors. We are very much views of new books. obliged to them for the little good they have “Faultlessness,” says the Edinburgh Review, conferred upon us, and we are particularly gra- " is one of the privileges of mediocrity." The tified by being enabled in any degree to shake off authoress of the “ Ogilvies” can therefore very the thraldom with which they have oppressed well bear to be told that her work is far from the minds and conduct of their descendants. being perfect; but it exhibits so many rare quaThe great struggle of the age appears to us to lities, and so much promise, that we venture to originate in an endeavour to escape from the predict for her future endeavours no small re bondage of the past – its old-fashioned doc- nown, and think she will be entitled to rank trines, prejudices, and systems, and to mount among Britain's most gifted maidens. There upwards to the freedom, daring, beauty and cannot be a doubt that the “ Ogilvies" is the power of Nature, and that highest kind of civi- first important production of a young woman lization which is the result of obedience to blessed with unusual mental advantages. It is Nature's dictates.

| prefaced by the following touching All honour be unto the brave authors who are striving for our mental emancipation, and

" DEDICATION. who are proving to the world that the present

“ Years ago I used to say, that if I ever wrote a age is inore full of genius—its designs and book, it should be dedicated to my mother. achievements-than any other which has pre- " The possibility -- then contemplated almost in ceded it, in the history of mankind.

jest-has now been fulfilled. The book is written :

but all else is changed. I will keep my promise “ Better fifty years of Europe than a cycle of still Cathay !"

“Let this, my first novel, which would have been

| a tribute of tenderest affection to the Living, become We would rather have ten years of free exist

| a solemn offering to the holy memory of the ence in our modern times, than live for a cen- |

Dead." tury in any glorious Augustan period which ancient chronicles have recorded !

We shall now impartially proceed to point The present is an age of surprises. Every out the faults and beauties of the work before month brings forth something which transcends us. We shall not attempt to draw for the reader its predecessors; and the watchful mind is con- a minute outline of the story, as such an anatostantly kept in a state of homage to that divine mical sketch would give as true an idea of the creative power with which Providence has en- work as a skeleton would be an amiable and dowed the nature of man. We look forward pleasing representative of a man! Suffice it to with foreboding to the day when our sympathies say, that the “ Ogilvies" is a love tale, the leadshall have grown into that beaten, narrow tracking moral of which may be summed up in a that we shall exclaim, with the conceited philoso- very few words; not that there is any fixed and phy of middle age—“Ah! they did these things definite moral tagged on to the end of the work better in our young days.” Better to be physi- for the edification of unsympathetic and unskilful cally blind, than blind to the development and readers; for the stern and holy lessons which it originalities of the law of“ progress !”

teaches are shown in the lives of the characters We consider this a fitting introduction to a represented, and the consequent reflections review of a work which could not have been which they excite; but one of the grand aims of written before the year of grace 1849, because it the author appears to be to show the evils which partakes so much of the mystical emotion and result from a want of faith and truth in those subjective ideality which have only sprung into who love and are beloved, and the heavy responbeing during these latter days by the influence sibilities which those people incur who hold in of a high and new order of poets. While our their keeping the destinies of their juniors, and old authors have been working out their old- attempt to lay down fixed rules for the formafashioned notions, and lamenting over the birth tion and growth of their happiness. Those who of what they consider “a new and false taste,” | have undertaken, or who are entrusted with, the the world has slipped by them, and they find guidance of youth, should beware of judging a themselves in the rearward of a people's favour. younger generation by their owu more ancient “ The Ogilvies” is so remarkable for its earnest standard of nature : they should rather strive to ness and fineness of tone, and for the spiri- make young instincts and young sympathies tuality of the atmosphere which pervades it, that happy in their own way; and let our seniors and we deem it our duty to introduce it to the notice guardians bear in mind, that they may commit of our readers in a more prominent manner than high crimes in the face of heaven by denying to

those who are in any way dependent upon them * THE OGILVIES: A Novel, 3 vols. post 8vo. the exercise of those sentiments, ideas, and (Chapman and Hall.)

emotions, which the Almighty himself originated,

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and which he created to be cultivated, not progress of the story; shining down upon them until crushed. Nature will not bear imperious dicta- | they unfold beneath the sun-burst of your artistic tion-she will endure no bondage but that skill, instead of pulling them open leaf by leaf with allowed by reverence, principle, and affection! your fingers, and thus presenting to the reader your

The faults manifest in « The Ogilvies” are well-dissected bouquet of human-heart flowers,” those which necessarily result from the apparent youth of the author. She is too apt to throw her within its walls."

“ It is only a happy home that needs no guests characters into physical contortions, and to make them speak in convulsions. Her enthusiasm too often leads her into a strain of what is

" Cold age may preach them down ; worldliness

strain of what 18 may make a mock at them; but still the two great ironically called “ fine writing;” she sometimes truths of life are Romance and Love." overlays her pathos with too much minuteness of description, and in almost every other page of The following pieces of description are graphic a very considerable portion of the work, we meet and sparkling :with such mosaic as the following :-" terrible silence" — " overwhelmed with outbursts” —

“ She was awakened at dawn by the rooks, who “ maddening emotions”-“gorgeous sunsets”—

from their lofty nests made merry music over the “ shadowy images"_" freezing hearts”—“in

old church-yard. Katharine rose up, and the first explicable awe-“ freezing horrors"-" wild

sight that met her eyes was the white grave-stones vehemence" -“she clung with despair" -

that glimmered in the yet faint light. Strange and

solemn vision for a bride on her marriage-morn! “ weeping passionately'_** a frenzied gaze"

Katharine turned away, and looked up at the sky. “Lynedon sprang madly to his feet”-“she It was all grey and dark, for the shadow of the vilremained so mute, so frozen, (frozen again !) | lage church-the church where she was to plight that Lynedon was terrified”_"terrible clouds” her vows--came between her and the sunrise. * * * “wild longings”—“shuddering fears”—“mute At the little wicket-gate which formed the lowly agony”-“she stood immovable in her stony

entrance to the village sanctuary, Katharine paused. silence” — “supernatural power" — " agonised

The church-yard was a fair sight. The sunshine ear"_" burning tears"-"torrent of passion”

sparkled dazzlingly on the white stones, which had “ vehement intensity”—“ passionate dreamer”

| looked so ghost-like in the dawn; and every green -“ terrible phantom” — “ wildly prayed” —

nameless hillock had its flower-epitaph written in “ delicious alluring awe"_" tears frozen into a

daisy-stars. Many a cheerful sound pervaded the

spot'; for it was bounded on one side by several cotglassy terror”_" intense and withering scorn,"

wense and witnering scorn," | tages, whose inmates had made this quiet resting&c. &c. This style of expression is calculated place of the dead a garden for the living. A narto give rise to the accusation that the work is row pathway only divided the flower-beds from the based upon a false and visionary view of human graves, and among them both the cottage children nature, whereas no accusation can be more un played all day long. There was no yew nor cypress deserved, for the story is full of that highest and to cast gloom on the place; but leading to the deepest truth which originates in mental intuition

church-door was an avenue of limes, in whose fraand an earnest sympathy with the struggles

grant branches the bees kept up a pleasant murmur. and sorrows of humanity. As a proof that our

And the merry rookery close by was never silent encomium is deserved, we give the following ex- | beautiful, as it should be.”

from dawn till eve. It was a place that made death tracts, which are very pleasing specimens of originality of thought and eloquence of ex- The description of the cathedral city is so pression.

interesting, and so full of truthful fancy, that we “ First impressions are not love; but as the first

shall make no apologies for giving it entire to streaks of dawn foretel the glorious noon into which

our readers. they at last expand, so does this faint shadowy light " There is, in one of the counties between Devon often brighten into the broad day of love."

and Northumberland, a certain cathedral city, the

name of which I do not intend to reveal. It is, or « Therefore, no hand had yet lifted more than the was until very lately, one of the few remaining outer fold of this young heart-trembling, bursting, I strongholds of High-Churchism and Conservatism, and thrilling with its full, rich, passionate life; and political and moral. In olden days it almost saready at the first sun-gleam to pour forth, rose-like, crificed its existence as a city for the cause of King its whole awakened being in a flood of perfume and Charles the Martyr; and ever since has kept true beauty and love."

to its principles, or at least to that modification of

them which the exigencies of modern times required. “There is hardly a man in the world who does not And the loyal and ancient’town-which dignifies feel his pulse beat quicker, when even after a short itself by the name of city, though a twenty minutes' absence he finds himself nearing home. A common- walk would bring you from one extremity to the place this often said, often written: but there are other is fully alive to the consciousness of its own common-places, delicious, ever fresh truths, which | deservings. It is a very colony of Levites; who, seem the daisies on the world's highway: it is hard | devoted to the temple-service, shut out from their not to stop and gather them sometimes."

precincts any unholy thing. But this unholiness is

an epithet of their own affixing, not Heaven's. It It is a rule with novelists—and a sterling one in means not merely what is irreligious, but what is general--that you should never unveil your cha- | ungenteel, unaristocratic, un-Conservative. racters by elaborate descriptions of mind and per-| "Yet there is much that is good about the place son, but suffer them to develope themselves in the land its inhabitants. The latter may well be proud

of their ancient and beantiful city-beautiful not so on its own fading model, and the soul of God's much in itself as for its situation. It lies in the making and nourishing which lives in His sunshine midst of a fertile and gracefully-undulated region, and His dews, fresh and pure, never grows old, and and consists of a cluster of artistically irregular and bears flowers to the last. deliciously old-fashioned streets, of which the nu-l “ There, in that still garden, you might sit for cleus is the cathedral. This rises aloft with its three hours, and hear no world-sounds to break its quiet, airy spires, so light, so delicately traced, that they except the chimes of the cathedral-clock drowsily have been christened the Ladies of the Vale. You ringing out the hours. Now and then, at servicemay see them for miles and miles, looking almost time, there would come a faint murmur of chanting, like a fairy building against the sky. The city has uniting the visible form of holy service with Naan air of repose, an old-world look, which becomes ture's eternal praises and prayers—and so blending it well. No railway has yet disturbed the sacred the spiritual and the tangible, the symbol and the peace of its antiquity, and here and there you may expression, in a pleasant harmony. Dear, beautiful see grass growing in its quiet streets-over which garden! No dream of fiction, but a little Eden of you

d no more think of thundering in a modern memory-let us rest awhile in thy lovely shades beequipage than of driving a coach-and-four across fore we people them with the denizens of this our the graves of your ancestors.

self-created world. Oh, pleasant garden! let us go « The whole atmosphere of the place is that of back in spirit to the past, and lie down on the strefi sleepiness and antique propriety. The people do sloping bank, under the magnificent old tree, with everything, as Boniface says, 'soberly.' They its cloud of white blossoms, (no poet-sung havhave grave dinner-parties, once or twice in a year; | thorn, but only a double-cherry)-let us stroll along a public ball, as solemn as a funeral; a concert now the terrace-walk, and lean against the thick los and then, very select and proper; and so it is that wall, looking down upon what was once the cathesociety moves on in a circle of polite regularities. dral moat, but is now a sloping dell, all trailed over The resident bishop is the sun of the system ; around with blackberries—let us watch the sun-lit spires of which deans, sub-deans, choral vicars, and clerical the old cathedral in a quiet dreaminess that almost functionaries of all sorts, revolve in successive orbits shuts out thought! And, while resting under the with their separate satellites. But one character, shadow of this dream, its memorial pictures shall one tone of feeling, pervades everybody. -- is be made life-like to us by the accompaniment of a city of serene old age. Nobody seems young solemn music-such as this: there-not even the little singing-boys.

" But the sanctum sanctorum, the penetralia of O earth so full of dreary noises, the city, is a small region surrounding the cathedral, O men with wailing in your voices; entitled the Close. Here abide relics of ancient

O delved gold-the wailer's heap : sanctity, widows of departed deans, maiden descend

O strife-O tears that o'er it fall, ants of officials who probably chanted anthems on

God makes a silence through you all! the accession of George III., or on the downfall of

And giveth his beloved sleep." the last Pretender. Here, too, is the residence of many cathedral functionaries who pass their lives Take also the following sketch of the reading. within the precincts of the sanctuary. These dwell-room of the British Museum : ings have imbibed the clerical and dignified solemnity due to their neighbourhood. It seems always “I do not think any poet or novelist has ever Sunday in the Close; and the child who should ven | immortalised that curious place, well known to all ture to bowl a hoop along its still pavement, or play dabblers in literature or science, the Reading-room at marbles on its door-steps, would be more daring at the British Museum. Yet there is hardly any than ever was infant within the verge of the city of spot more suggestive. You pass out of the clear

daylight into large, gloomy, ghostly rooms, the “ In this spot was Mrs. Breynton's residence. walls occupied by the mummied literature of some But it looked down with superior dignity upon its centuries, looking out from glass cases. You see neighbours in the Close, inasmuch as it was a de-ranged at various tables scores of mute readers, who tached mansion, inclosed by high walls, gardens, sometimes lift up a glance as you pass, and then, and massive gates. It had once been the Bishop's like Dante's ghosts in purgatory, relapse into their palace, and was a beautiful relic of the stately mag. 1 pcuance. Indeed, the whole scene, with the spernificence of old. Large and lofty rooms, oak tral attendants flitting to and fro, and the dim vista panelled and supported by pillars-noble staircases — beyond the man who takes the checks, (alas for recesses where proscribed traitors might have hid poetic diction !) might easily be imagined some gloomy bed-chambers with spectral furniture, moet Hades of literature, where all pen-guiders and brainfor the visitation of legions of ghosts-dark pas workers were doomed to expiate their evil deeds by sages, where you might shiver at the echo of your an eternity of reading. Not only the lover of own footsteps;—such were the internal appear poetic idealisation, but the moralising student of ances of the house. Everything was solemn, still, human nature, would find much food for thought age-stricken.

in the same reading-room. Consider what hun“But, without, one seemed to pass at once from dreds of literary labourers have toiled within these the frigidity of age, to the light, gladness, and fresh- walls ! Probably nearly all the clever brains in the ness of youth. The lovely garden was redolent of three kingdoms have worked here at some time or sweet odours, alive with birds, studded with vel-other-for nobody ever comes to the reading-room vety grass-plots of the brightest green, interwound for amusement. If a student had moral courage by shady alleys--with here and there trees which enough to ask for the last new novel, surely the hid their aged boughs in a mantle of leaves and ghosts of sombre ponderous folios would rise up and flowers, so that one never thought how they and frown him into annihilation. The book of signsthe grey pile which they neighboured had come into tures—where every new comer is greeted by the existence together. It was like the contrast between politeat of attendants, handing him the most dea human mind which the world teaches and builds I testable of pens-is in itself a rich collection of

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autographs, comprising almost every celebrated | uncomfortable until I have mastered it, or at least name which has risen year by year, and many-oh, know enough of it to form a judgment on the rehow many!-that the world has never chronicled at mainder. You would be astonished at the heteroall.

geneous mass I have here'- here, as usual, he “ The Reading-room is fertile in this latter class pointed to his forehead and I'm still working on. -meek followers of science, who toil after her and Indeed, I should feel something like Alexander the for her, day by day, and to whom she only gives Great at the world's end, if I thought there were no her livery of rags. You may distinguish at a glance more sciences for me to conquer. But that is not one of these habitués of the place, shabby in attire, likely,' said the philosopher, with an air of great at times almost squalid, plunged up to the ears in consolation, as he eyed affectionately the pile of volumes as rusty and ancient as himself. At times books that surrounded him. he is seen timidly propitiating some attendant with " Philip, fearful of interrupting his work, said so. small fragments of whispering conversation, listened "• Bless you, no! I can settle to it again dito condescendingly, like the purring of a cat which rectly.' has become a harmless household appendage. Per | “ This would seem a capital place for the study of haps the poor old student has come daily year after human nature,' observed Philip, ' I never saw such year, growing ever older and shabbier, until at last the a collection of odd people;' and then he checked attendants miss him for a week. One of them per- himself, and coloured with sensitive apprehension, haps sees in the papers a death, or some mournful on account of his companion. coroner's inquest; and recollecting the name, iden- “ But Drysdale only laughed, 'Yes! I believe tifies it as that of the old book-worm. Then proba- we are an odd set--we don't care at all for our outbly there is a few minutes' confab by the ticket- ward man. There lies the difference between your keepers' den at the end of the rooms-one or two of man of science, the regular old book-worm, and the regular frequenters are told of the fact, and utter your man of refined genius-a poet, for instance. a careless “ Poor old fellow, he seemed wearing Their minds may be equally great, but are of a out!” — the books put by for his daily use are totally opposite character. The latter sort has the silently replaced, and one more atom of disap- | best of it, for with him the soul has greater influpointed humanity is blotted from the living world. ence over the body. I never knew a genius yet

“ This illustrative exordium may be considered as mind you! I use the word in its largest sense-who heralding the advent of a new Museumite in the per- did not carry about with him, either in face, or person of Philip Wychnor. Speculations something | son, or in a certain inexplicable grace of manner, like the foregoing occupied him during the time that the patent of nobility which heaven has bestowed he was awaiting the asked-for book, and trying to upon him; while the hard-working grubbers in discover among the thick-set plantation of heads, science and acquired learning often find the mud brown, black, fair, red, and gray-young, old, ugly, sticking to them! Their pursuits are too much of handsome, patrician, and plebeian–the identical this world to let them soar like those light-winged cranium of his new acquaintance, David Drysdale. fellows. One class is the quicksilver of earth-the First, he thought of promenading the long alleys, other, its plain useful iron. You couldn't do well and peering over every table; but this sort of runs without either, I fancy-eh ? ning the gauntlet was too much for his nerves. So, “And the old philosopher rubbed his hands, and inquiring of the head attendant--the tutelary Lar | pausing in his oration, sat balancing himself on the of the place, who knew everybody and helped every edge of one of those comfortable chairs with which a body-a sort of literary lion's provider, with good- benign government indulges Museum-frequenters. nature as unfailing and universal as his information Philip, much amused, tried to draw the conversa- Philip soon learned the whereabouts of oldtion into its original channel. Drysdale.

"" You have a few fair students also; I see a “There he was, with his bald head peering from sprinkling of bonnets here and there.' a semicircle of most formidable books; looking by '“ Drysdale shrugged his shoulders. 'Ah, yes ! the daylight a little older and a little more rusty in Much good may it do them! Some of them seem attire. He greeted his young friend with a pleased to work hard enough, poor little souls! but they look, and began to talk in the customary Museum had far better be at home making puddings. I undertone. It was a drowsy murmur, such as a don't like learned women in general; not that I poet would liken to the distant humming of the mean women of intellect and feeling, regular workHybla bees; and perhaps the simile is not inapt ers in literature; but small philosophers in pettiwith regard to this curious literary hive.

coats, just dipping their pretty feet into the sci“ Glad to see you here, my young friend—very ences, and talking as if they had taken the whole glad—shows you're in earnest,' said Drysdale. bath. Here's one of them! added the old gentleEver been here before ?'

man, with visible discomfiture, as a diminutive “ Philip answered in the negative.

dame, in all the grace of fashionable costume, floated Isn't it a fine place-a grand place ? Fancy up the centre-aisle, we were about to write, and miles of books, stratum upon stratum : what a glo- may still do so, considering what a great temple of rious literary formation! Excuse me,' he added, / literature we are now describing. smiling, “but I've been reading geology all the “Ah, Drysdale ! you are just the very person I morning, and then I always catch myself" talking want,' lisped the new comer; and Philip at once reshop,as some would elegantly express it. You cognised both face and voice as belonging to the don't study the science, I believe?

lady he had once glanced at in Mr. Pennythorne's ""No,' said Philip; the earth's beautiful out- hall. He began to notice with some curiosity the side is enough for me: I never wished to dive be well-known Mrs. Lancaster. Rather surprised was neath it.'

he to find so stylish a dame on terms of condescend" Mistaken there, my good sir,' answered the ing familiarity with old David Drysdale. But Philip other, in a tone of gentle reproof; you should did not know that lion-hunters often prefer for their try to learn a little of everything. I always do. menageries the most rugged and eccentric animals When I hear of any science or study, I feel quite of that royal breed. Besides, the shabbiness and

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