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I look upon this letter as smoothing most of your difficulties with your uncle away. So, if you and Verner continue to be of the same mind -'

O aunt!' said Madeleine, 'you know we shall. How kind you are, to take this view! How clever, to turn what threatened to be such an annoyance into good! What a pity I cannot tell Verner! But I can't; and yet, if that odious Herbert sticks to this notion about me, Verner must find it out when he comes home.'

Nonsense, Maddy. This odious Herbert, so far from sticking to his notion about you, as you express it, with a curtness truly surprising and unsentimental, will, if I know anything of human nature, marry as soon as he can, if for no nobler motive than to prevent your being Lady Bredisholme some day.'

Madeleine's red lip curled with supreme contempt.

'Yes,' said Julia, answering the unspoken thought; it is wonderful; but there are people who belong to the infinitely little, and he is a stupendous specimen. When Verner has been introduced to his sister-inlaw, you can tell him the story, and laugh fraternally at Herbert if you like. As for the injury done to Herbert Bingham or the Captain by my telling Mrs. Marsh, I think we need not disquiet ourselves. Angelina

ered, now that it is too late, that he is very sorry not to have seen more of him during his stay.'

،

Take care, Madeleine,' said Julia, smiling, 'you don't have a third victim on your conscience. I wonder if Mrs. Marsh would acquit you of any flirtation in that quarter also?'

• Pray don't say such a thing, aunt, even in jest, said Madeleine earnestly. Mr. Holmes is not like the others; he has plentý of good sense, and would never make a fool of himself, like them.'

'Very well, so much the better; only, you know, folly of that kind is sometimes contagious.'

Mrs. Haviland's line of action proved perfectly successful. Madeleine was exposed to no more affectionate advances on the part of her cousins; indeed, those young ladies showed rather a disposition to quarrel with her. But Madeleine would not quarrel, or be quarrelled with, and they parted with the outward semblance of amity three days later.

Horace Holmes had left Meriton on the previous day. The incidents of the excursion to Basing had aided to confirm him in his fatal delusion. Madeleine's undisguised pleasure in his society, the delight with which she listened to him, the satisfaction she derived from her father's evident liking

and Clementina are not very likely to spread for him, the frank, girlish cordiality of her :

the fame of your conquests. Have you had a pleasant afternoon?'

Delightful!' replied Madeleine. 'Mr. Holmes was so pleased with Basing, and knew so much about it. I don't think I ever knew anyone except yourself, so fond of historical recollections and associations. Papa was quite surprised to find him so clever and well-informed; and has discov

manner, completely misled him. From that moment he discarded every scruple, every misgiving, and dwelt only in his thoughts on the means by which the fact of Alice's existence might be for ever suppressed, and on the reversal of the persecuting decrees of fate against himself which seemed now within his power.

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CLARISSA.

CLARISSA.

From Saint Paul's.

THIS is indeed an old tale, and we should
not now have thought of inviting the atten-
tion of our readers to one so old, were it
not for the boldness and unambiguous
thoroughness of the challenge thrown down
by Mr. Dallas, in his introduction to this
new edition of Samuel Richardson's well-
known novel. He expresses an opinion,
almost in so many words, that Richardson
is the greatest of all novelists, and "Clar-
issa" the greatest of all novels. He quotes
Macaulay, who is said to have expatiated
to Thackeray on the pleasures which he and
others took in reading "Clarissa " among
the hills in India. He tells us that Sir

James Mackintosh declared that it was the
finest work of fiction ever written in any
language. He overwhelms us with French
admiration, naming Alfred de Musset, D'Al-
embert, Voltaire, Rousseau, and Diderot,
though, as two out of these five were ad-
mittedly adverse critics, we hardly see to
what this leads. And then he tells us that

many besides Diderot put Richardson and
the Bible together. In fact, Mr. Dallas
means to assert that there is the strongest
possible evidence which can be given by the
admiration of contemporaries and by the
judgment of critics that "Clarissa" is the

greatest of novels. But he goes on to add,
-and this is the point at which he aims,
that, though "Clarissa" is thus excellent,
it does not now receive that attention which
so excellent a work deserves, and does not

administer to readers generally that delight
which it is capable of affording. This, in-
deed, is the very gist of the plea which he
puts forward. "I lament," he says, "that
the noblest of all novels, the most pathetic,

and the most sublime, should be unread,
and well-nigh unknown among us." And
again,

"For the novelist who could so pre

vail, I claim in all the English courts of
criticism, and in the regard of all his coun-
trymen, a reversal of the sentence of neglect
from which he now suffers." And again,

"I challenge for him in all the courts of
English criticism and in the regard of all
his countrymen a reconsideration of his

services."

There is an enthusiasm in this, a true ad-
miration for an undoubtedly noble work,
and a true interest for the reputation of a
great writer, which the lovers of English

literature cannot but love. One's first feel-
ing on reading Mr. Dallas's remarks is that
of sympathy, at any rate with Mr. Dallas.

* "Clarissa:" A Novel, by Samuel Richardson,

Here, says Mr. Dallas to all English readers, is a great treasure. There are circumstances connected with it which seem to present shape. Let us see if we cannot so make it unavailable to the public in its handle this piece of unsurpassed excellence, as to make it of general service to humanity. "Unfortunately," says Mr. Dallas, "Richardson has a great fault; he is prolix. shapen into a goblet so huge that few of us He gives us indeed gold, but the gold is can lift it to our lips." And then he goes

a

readers on, "I have ventured to offer to English lous tale, matchless in the range of prose simple abridgment of the marvel

ture, I lament that the noblest of all novels, fiction, - because, for the honour of literathe most pathetic, and the most sublime, should be unread and well-nigh unknown among us." To cure the evil of prolixity, therefore, Mr. Dallas has abridged the work by omitting such of the letters as he deemed to be unnecessary to the development of the story.

In this there is an admission that "Clarissa," present day unreadable. Thus there arise as left to us by the author, is in the two questions. Is Mr. Dallas right in the extreme amount of eulogy which he passes on a work which he admits to be beyond the power of English readers to digest in its present form; and will he be successful

in making that popular which is now admittedly unpopular by the simple work of abridgment? We notice the book thinking that his judgment is wrong and that his the matter is of great importance, and belabours will prove to be futile; because

cause it may be worth while to inquire why nobody now reads Richardson's novels.

Now and again we In these days everybody reads novels.

hear the voice of a raised against

thoughtful or earnest man Archbishop of York may endeavour to this popular reaction. Mr. Carlyle or the prove that we are dissipating our minds, wasting our time, and encouraging laxity but the preaching of the preacher is of no and diffuseness in our intellectual powers; avail. Men are as laborious as ever they were. Our wives and our daughters are more highly educated than were our mothers and grandmothers. We work, and pray, and ride, and dance, and gamble, and talk politics as assiduously as ever. merchants, soldiers, sailors, courtiers, poliBut we all read novels; - lawyers, divines,

There is hardly

ticians, and what not.
a man or a woman who can read who does
ing shall be printed for the delight of his or
not require that some amount of novel read-

edited by E. S. Dallas. Tinsley, 1868.

her leisure hours. And so much is learned

CLARISSA.

from novels, -so much of good and of evil, has undertaken on our behalf to make it -so very many of the details of everyday less so. We will acknowledge, as we pass life are done honestly or dishonestly, self- on, that he has so far done his task well, ishly or unselfishly, in a manner divine or that he has omitted nothing necessary to diabolical, as the mind of the doer may the story, and that, in the three volumes have been operated upon beneficially or in- now under notice, "Clarissa" is a better juriously by the novelist's art, that the pro- novel than it was as left by Richardson. duction and possession of good novels We will not pause to assert that an author instead of bad, that is of novels that will should be judged by his works as he himteach good lessons instead of novels that self leaves them, and will acknowledge, will teach bad lessons, is a matter of vital also, as we proceed, that the world of importance to the nation. We think that readers is indebted to the editor or comwe are right in asserting that the novels of mentator who will make that which fitted the day have more effect on the national the taste of one age fit also for the taste of mind than either the sermons or the poetry; later ages by his labours. But we venture more probably than any other branch of to express our opinion that, even in this "Clarissa" is so prolix, that even if we except them. In speaking of the impatience of the times will not endure the novels of the day, we mean the novels the book; and also that, as a work of art, which are now read, and should count Rich- it is not only prolix, but is so replete with ardson's among those if they were in daily

literature with the exception of newspapers,

use.

abridgment,

other faults which have been condemned by

If this be so, it would be a great the ever-advancing literary education of the

thing to redeem from darkness and bring out into meridian light a work, of which the lessons are undoubtedly moral, - if that work be, as it is asserted, of all novels the best and most charming.

day, that it can never again become popular.

There are those, among whom, however, who we do not think that we should reckon Mr. Dallas, -lovers of literature too, will tell us that our education and taste as to that which we read have gone backwards; that men and women who prefer Macaulay eral think it no harm to profess an acquain- eray to Richardson, do so because to their tance, although they have never read a line attenuated intellects and sickly judgments of them, and have never opened the volume. tinsel shines brighter than gold. These are There are many such national works. We the "lauditores temporis acti," the Conserdon't mean to say that men and women lie vatives in literature, - for there are Conabout them. If asked to put their hands servatives in literature as in politics, men on their hearts and say whether they had who are very serviceable to us in saving us perused this or that book from end to end, from too quick a desertion of things that the truth would come from them clearly and are old, because they are old, -the drag rapidly. But in the ordinary conversation upon our wheels which might otherwise run of the world, it is customary to presume an down the hill too quickly. But we hold acquaintance with these happy literary own- them to be altogether wrong in their judgers of brevet rank. Beaumont and Fletcher ment of men's intellects. As age succeeds are a great example. We are disposed to age, that which is most worthy keeps its believe that Spenser might be named in the hold upon us. As it is in matters political, list; Bunyan's "Pilgrim's Progress" should so it is also in matters of literature. Trial be inserted; and De Foe's writings, with by jury remains, and is likely to remain, the exception of "Robinson Crusoe." Dry- let Messrs. Beales and Odgers be ever so den's poems, Chesterfield's letters, and Dr. triumphant; and Shakspeare is still known Johnson's works, - of course we do not in- to us at least as intimately as in any previ

It is confessed that nobody reads "Clarissa." Richardson's novels must, indeed, be classed among those standard national works of literature with which men in gen- to Burnet, Tennyson to Dryden, or Thack

elude his dictionary, - may be added. In this catalogue Richardson's novels must certainly find a place. All these are books which it is assumed that every man has read, which all men have on their bookshelves, but which nobody ever reads. If "Clarissa" is so pre-eminently the best of novels, and as novels are now more popuIar than ever, why is "Clarissa" among the books that are never opened?

Mr. Dallas tells us that it is prolix, and

ous age. The very admission that "Clarissa" is not read, is of itself proof to us that "Clarissa " is unreadable.

Mr. Dallas admits that this work is prolix, and endeavours to cure the fault. But unfortunately the book is weighted with a double prolixity. It is prolix in all its parts, as well as in its whole. Cut it to pieces as you will, and it will still be prolix. The telling of every incident is done with a prolixity that to us is amazing; and, as the whole story is told in letters, it strikes us as being as impossible as it is cumbersome. The least critical reader knows that the writing of such letters must have been impossible. The twenty-four hours of the day were not long enough for the transcribing of all the words which men and women are supposed to have thrown into their letters, written, say, between Monday and Tuesday morning. Mr. Dallas will probably tell us that if the letters so written be in themselves charming, this inconsistency should be held to be venial. Even with this we cannot agree. The reader feels that

there is no touch of natural life in it from beginning to end.

a

Clarissa Harlowe is the daughter of a wealthy gentleman, and is one of large and united family, with whom, up to the period at which the story begins, she was loved, not only in family amity, but as a favoured one, a pet, and an idol. She has father, mother, brother, sister, and two uncles who have all adored her; and she has had a grandfather who has left to her a large fortune. She has also a friend, Miss Howe, who worships her; and she has two lovers, - one, the notorious Lovelace, who

there is a trespass made upon his judgment is the villain of the book; and the other, when he is asked to accept that as true one Solmes, who is the object of her early which he feels to have been impossible. disgust. Of these two lovers, the first has But independently of that, letters so written managed to get himself refused by Clarissa's must in themselves be prolix, - prolix, sister, who is, nevertheless, frightfully jealthough a week were allowed for the writing ous when the lover transfers himself to of them. When two or three prolix letters Clarissa. The other is favoured by all the have given accounts, equally prolix, of the Harlowe family, as being one who will not same circumstance, Mr. Dallas has been give trouble, either by profligacy or in moable to omit one or two of the number; and ney matters. Clarissa, of course, loves

the reader is so far spared. But the question should be one, not of sparing, but of delight; and a story told with prolixity is not delightful even when told but once.

Lovelace, - though, throughout the whole story, so much is never admitted by her, and protests loudly that she will have nothing to say to Solmes. Then the whole family go to work to force her to

We will attempt very shortly to analyse the story of "Clarissa," and to show, in marry the man she hates, and make scruple doing so, that its faults, independently of of no tyranny to drive her to compliance. its prolixity, are such as to forbid its ever Her brother and her sister become fiends of being restored to general popularity. We malice. Her father removes himself away

will begin by admitting that the tale possesses in the highest degree the highest merit which a work of prose fiction can possess. It is pre-eminently pathetic. They who can make their way through it, and, even in the three volume form in which Mr. Dallas has given it to us, it is about twice as long as an ordinary novel, - will find that their feelings are harrowed by the sufferings of the heroine, and that their indignation is stirred by the iniquity of the chief transgressor. Such cruel usage, and borne with such angelic heroism, - such barbarity, and planned with such devilish art, is not perhaps to be found in the whole range of novels with which our shelves and those

as an offended god, but as a god who knows no mercy; and her uncles are stormy, cruel, and devilish. Clarissa, in the meantime, manages to keep up a correspondence with Lovelace, and at last elopes with him. Up to this point the mind of the reader is solely intent on getting on with his work. The whole story is told in letters, - chiefly, up to this point, passing between Clarissa and her friend, Miss Howe. The minutest details are told, but all these details are unnatural. There is not a letter among them that any girl could have written in any age. Anna Howe herself is detestable. She has a respectable lover, whom she marries at last, and in respect of whom her letters are

of our circulating libraries are laden. And full of the most absurd abuse. She relates this great virtue belongs admittedly and of to her friend all her ill-treatment of this tradition so absolutely to "Clarissa," that lover, down to the very words she uses. its existence is in itself the strongest proof Yet not once does she profess affection for of the faults of the book in other respects. him. And yet she marries him. In depictThere is no virtue in novels so generally in ing Anna Howe and her lover, Richardson demand as the virtue of pathos; and yet, has intended to be humorous, but even Mr. though the existence of this virtue in Dallas will not, we think, break a lance in "Clarissa" is admitted on all hands, al- defence of his author's humour. And, in though it has become an acknowledged fact describing the manner in which Anna Howe in literature, neither men nor women will did get married and Clarissa Harlowe did read it. They will not read it, because not, Richardson has adhered to his stiff,

ungainly, puritanical idea as to women, that a woman till she is married should be ashamed ever to own that she loves. We may be told that such was the idea among well brought-up women of the time: but we venture to assert that the poetry, plays, and tales of the day tell us that this was not so; and that women then, if less demonstrative, and therefore less natural than now, were still known to speak their minds. Richardson desired to teach virtue as he saw it; and, in doing so, has repudiated all human nature, -as is done by so many who, in these days, endeavour to teach us virtue in godly but false little books, about godly Lut false little people.

We may here point out the impracticability of telling, by means of letters between correspondents, a story in which the details of life are to be given and the intricacies of a wide plot evolved. Novelists who have attempted this have usually begun their work with epistles which might possibly have been written, with letters which as

comes most intricate, but the letters which tell the plot are continued throughout, and are so written that the reader is never for a moment permitted to feel that his story is being told to him by the person who should tell it. That young ladies should be laborious, persistent, and long-winded in their letters to their friends, is perhaps an idea so well established in the minds of novel readers, as to make it seem possible that eight or ten hours a day should be devoted to the purpose; but when young men about town, gay rakes, fellows who fight, and drink, and gamble, and notoriously spend their hours in the pursuit of pleasure, - when such as these are found to cover quires of paper daily, not only with their own productions to their own correspondents, but in copying them to send to others, and in copying the production of others to send to their correspondents, - the patience of the reader gives way, and he feels that too much is demanded of him.

Clarissa elopes, and after various advenletters are not altogether absurd, - with tures with her lover, is taken to a house of simple statements of facts and expressions ill fame, and is there detained a prisoner of feeling and opinion, of wishes and fears; by Lovelace with the aid of a bevy of vile but they have invariably found themselves women, and by the assistance outside of driven to use the straitened form of narra- men as vile. In arranging this, Richardson

tive with which they have provided themselves in a manner of which epistolary correspondence can know no real example, repeating whole conversations, and, on occasions, conversations which have reached the writer second-hand, heaping letter upon letter, one after another in the same day, and presuming at last that the writers of them wrote as though they themselves were intentionally fabricating the novel which has to be given to the public. Scott tried this mode of structure in "Redgauntlet," and Scott failed. In this novel the great master gradually escapes from the narrow confines of familiar epistles to the still cramped mode of a diary, and from that to a narrative, with which he ends his story; - and even with this resource ends a story that has been spoilt in the telling. "Evelina" is perhaps the best instance we have of a novel told by letters; and this is so, not because the letters are at all natural, but because Miss Burney in concocting them has thrown over all idea of fashioning the letters to the minds and natural language of the writers, and has allowed herself to write them as though she herself had forgotten her own trammels. When the reader comes to "Evelina in continuation," it is to him simply the beginning of a new chapter. But Richardson has provided for himself no such refuge from his difficulty as was found either by Miss Burney or by Scott. The plot be

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has been forced to continue intricacies of plot so minute, so detailed, so dove-tailed, as to create continually the feeling of impossibility. Letters go astray, and don't go astray, get into wrong hands, and into right hands, with equal improbability. A diplomate in the old days of diplomacy cozening all Europe, a Talleyrand or a Metternich carrying out a scheme for imposing or deposing an emperor, were as nothing in intrigue to Lovelace managing the ruin of a young woman, whom, to do him justice, he is generally quite ready to marry, and who has eloped with him clearly with the purpose of marrying him. Plot thickens upon plot. Forgery, perjury, rape, and murder are executed or proposed with the freest volubility; and to every such crime, or scheme for crime, women of the town, domestic servants, and ruffians hired for the occasion, are made privy with no compunction. There could have been no law in the land, and yet Richardson is writing of the reign of George II. It is known to her friends that Clarissa is in the hands of a villain; - it is even known during the story that she is with villainous women; - but no one comes to help her. Her devoted Anna Howe writes letters by the dozen, but never appears on the scene, even when she hears the whole story of her friend's tragedy. During the greater portion of this part of the book the reader

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