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I've hardly slept an hour this night, and sulk at me as if I was the dirt under your feet'

"Sulk at you?' said Mr. Glegg, in a tone of angry facetiousness. 'You're like a tipsy man as thinks everybody's had too much but himself.'

"Don't lower yourself with using coarse language to me, Mr. Glegg! It makes you look very small, though you can't see yourself,' said Mrs. Glegg, in a tone of energetic compassion. A man in your place should set an example, and talk

more sensible.'

"Yes; but will you listen to sense?' retorted Mr. Glegg, sharply. The best sense I can talk to you is what I said last night—as you're i' the wrong to think o' calling in your money, when it's safe enough if you'd let it alone, all because of a bit of a tiff, and I was in hopes you'd ha' altered your mind this morning. But if you'd like to call it in, don't do it in a hurry now, and breed more enmity in the family, but wait till there's a pretty mortgage to be had without any trouble. You'd have to set the lawyer to work now to find an investment, and make no end o' expense.'

"You'd better leave finding fault wi' my kin till you've left off quarreling with your own, Mrs. G.,' said Mr. Glegg, with angry sarcasm. 'I'll trouble you for the milk-jug.'

“That's as false a word as ever you spoke, Mr. Glegg,' said the lady, pouring out the milk with unusual profuseness, as much as to say, if he wanted milk, he should have it with a vengeance. And you know it 's false. I'm not the woman to quarrel with my own kin; you may, for I've known you do it.'

"Here Mrs. Glegg's voice intimated that she was about to cry, and breaking off from speech, she rang the bell violently.

"Sally,' she said, rising from her chair, and speaking in rather a choked voice, light a fire up stairs, and put the blinds down. Mr. Glegg, you'll please to order what you'd like for dinner. I shall have gruel.'

"Mrs Glegg walked across the room to the book-case, and took down Baxter's 'Saints' Everlasting Rest,' which she carried with her up stairs. It was the book she was accustomed to lay open before her on special occasions—on wet Sunday mornings, or when she heard of a death in the family, or when, as in this case, her quarrel with Mr. Glegg had been set an octave higher than usual”— pp. 111-114.

Tom is still at school, having made tolerable proficiency in his education, when an event occurs which changes entirely his present and future prospects. This is the failure of his father in business and the passing of the mill into other hands, owing to the unhappy result of a law-suit in which he has become involved, where his old antagonist, lawyer Wakem, comes off victorious. The latter has a son Philip, who is a school fellow with Tom in the same institution, and who had the misfortune to be a deformed youth, though of superior refinement, to whom on that as well as other accounts, chiefly the feud of long stand

ing between the parents of the two boys, Tom had from the first conceived a thorough dislike. Maggie, on the other hand, who had left her own boarding school to visit Tom in his new quarters, did not share this feeling, but looked upon the deformed boy, perhaps, for that very reason, (who can account for a woman's tastes?) with pity akin to love; indeed, some love-passages had already occurred between them, the knowledge of which fact, contrary to their express commands, had made a breach between herself and her father, and her brother Tom, which threatened to become permanent.

Passing over this part-which the reader will consider to be unnecessarily prolix and devoid of striking incident, we do not forget the chapters describing the Downfall at Home, and Mrs. Tulliver's pathetic wail at the necessity of parting with her household gods; also, the graphic description of poor Mr. Tulliver's illness and his broken exclamations of heartfelt anguish when the real state of his affairs is made known to him-we come to the main idea of the story. "This is the contest between the inclination of love and the stern sense of duty." Maggie has a cousin-sweet Lucy Deane, whose avowed lover is an acquaintance of the family-Stephen Guest. In the wretched state of things at home, she is invited on a visit to her cousin, when she sees for the first time her cousin's lover, who, immediately struck by her uncommon beauty and loveliness, falls in love with her at first sight. Maggie, who is already bound to Philip Wakem, in stolen interviews had with him on various occasions, since the downfall of the family fortunes, at first shrinks from this new acquaintance; at last, however, she falls into the snare set for her, for Stephen has great powers of fascination, which, like the poor bird in the gaze of the serpent, she in vain attempts to resist. Soon she finds herself in a situation drifting farther from the right, contrary to her most intense convictions of duty, face to face with the great temptation, till now, she is in serious danger of being compromised, as being in her own view, as in that of others, guilty of a double treachery both to Philip and Lucy. The contest is long and At length her better conscience prevails and she turns to the old love, succeeding by a powerful effort, almost in a fit of desperation to free herself from the tempter. That as the result of this internal struggle her health and spirits should have given way, is only what might have been foreseen. Meanwhile, Tom, by his indefatigable efforts and unwearied devotion to business, succeeds in raising the fallen fortunes of the family, coming in possession once more of the old mill, which, however, is of little advantage to Maggie, who remains still

severe.

under her brother's displeasure, not only on account of her present attachment to Philip, but from her conduct relative to Stephen, on which St. Oggs undertakes to pass an unfavorable judgment. She, herself, being condemned by the major part of the female voices, and being stigmatized by him with insincerity and double dealing, is at length actually turned out of his house by her implacable brother. In this condition she recurs to her former spiritual adviser, Dr. Kenn, who has previously interested himself in her case, and who, though friendly and sympathizing, endeavors but in vain to afford her substantial relief. As a last resort he prepares to leave St. Oggs, when a letter comes from Philip completely exonerating her from all attempts at equivocation or deceit in the transaction; too late, however, to repair the mischief which had already been inflicted on her bodily and mental health; another, also, from Stephen, pressing urgently his suit. To those who have traced the story up to this point, and have perused the harrowing details till the interest has become almost agonizingly painful in this utter wreck of health and hope, though vainly wishing it otherwise, a feeling of relief even comes over the mind in presence of the "mutual forgiveness and joy connected with the final catastrophe."

Returning to Dorlcote Mill, Maggie finds herself once more in sight of home and in company with her brother Tom, over whom as also herself many changes have passed since they last met, yet his face is still turned away from her, and she feels in the desperate state in which she is placed as if her last hope was gone. Not thus, however, for her mother's arms are open to receive her, though herself in miserable destitution. Both find a temporary refuge with Mrs. Jakin, whose husband, Bob Jakin, is an old acquaintance of Tom, and who at different times has reappeared on the stage, affording them such help as was in his power. The rains have now commenced and the Floss is swollen with an unusual current, and fears are entertained and expressed of a repetition of destruction experienced in past years. Suddenly, however, it comes, and the angry river bursts its barriers and sweeps everything before it— penetrating Maggie's apartment, and in one night the cottage where she has taken shelter is borne away-Maggie herself is providentially saved in a boat, in the management of which she exhibits great skill and resolution and goes to seek her mother and brother Tom, who are in equal danger. The former cannot be found; the latter she discovers and words of reconciliation and forgiveness are just uttered, when a new danger awaits them in the debris of the mill, floating down abreast the current directly in their path-the eventful moment arrives, and clasped

in each other's embrace they sink beneath the waters, which close over them, giving a touching significance to the motto prefixed to the work itself, "in their death they were not divided." Lucy and Stephen are united in marriage in after years, while Philip remains a solitary man lamenting a lost love.

Such is the material of the story, the plot of which the reader will perceive to be quite simple, and the wonder is, how in chronicling the words and actions of people insignificant in themselves and moving in a humble plane of life, to whose characters and conduct we even feel a degree of repulsion, the author has contrived to weave so charming a tale, giving an actuality to the scenes described and investing her personages with a human interest. The wonder ceases, however, when we ascribe the phenomenon to the inspiration of genius, which, in its creative embodiments and marvelous instincts, and in its ability to dramatize powerfully not only the incidents of the situation, but the conduct and language appropriate to it, produces an effect like the enchanter's magic-wand to which mere talent is never equal. The main fault in the volume is that there is too much of a leaning to minuteness of detail, the figures on the tapestry are too much overworked, calling attention to themselves rather than harmonizing with the bold and massive strokes of a grand outline to which they should be necessarily subordinate. The latter was the case with "Adam Bede," and was undoubtedly one great source of its popularity with most readers, who are attracted by what is vigorous and novel, rather than by what is elaborate and finished, in a composition of this kind. Yet this, after all, has its merit, and it is only the same as saying that an author may have a different style of writing in different productions, and both be entitled to praise as promoting the end in view. The faulty excess of this tendency is seen in the epithets bestowed on the various personages who figure in the story, or, as we may term it, the side lights in which their character is revealed to us, where we have not only the words uttered, but the tone and manner and all the accompaniments of the situation, which may be called the author's private mark, (as a single turn of the head or glance of the eye reveals the idiosyncracy of the individual in the conduct of every day life,) and which distinguishes the writer of the present fiction. Still further, we may mention as a defect in this volume, together with irrelevant digression, an undue inclination to moralizing and philosophical reflection. As compared with "Adam Bede" the work is a decided advance on the latter, indicating in the author more vigor and maturity of intellect. The characters of the

two children, Tom and Maggie, are exquisitely drawn, and the skill of the author in plunging the fortunes of her main personages, first in, and then conducting them out of the labyrinth in which they seem to be hopelessly involved, without doing violence to our human nature and sympathies, is worthy of especial comment. The book is characterized by a truer philosophy than that of "Adam Bede;" it has a more healthy and elevated religious tone-it is a book, in short, and this is the best thing we can say of it, which, thoroughly studied, cannot fail to improve the intellect and amend the heart.

STEDMAN'S LYRICS AND IDYLS.*-We have in this volume a collection of lyrics which were received with no little popularity when they first appeared in the New York Tribune. Among them we readily recognize "The Diamond Wedding," and "How old John Brown took Harper's Ferry." In addition, there are a large number of sonnets and odes which display some merit, and are now given to the public for the first time.

LUCILE. This very readable poem, by Owen Meredith, the author of "The Wanderer," and "Clytemnestra," has been published by Messrs. Ticknor & Fields, in "blue and gold."

TYLNEY HALL.-This is one of the earliest productions of the genius of Thomas Hood. It was written before his pecuniary embarrassments, before the failure of his health, when the world was all bright before him. It was first published in 1834, and dedicated, by permission, to his Grace the Duke of Devonshire, who remained the warm friend of the poet to the last. This new American edition will be welcomed, we doubt not, by all who have learned to feel an interest in the works of one of the most popular of English writers.

*Poems, Lyrical and Idyllic. By EDMUND CLARENCE STEDMAN. New York: Charles Scribner. 1860. 12mo. pp. 196. 75 cents. [T. H. Pease, New Haven.] Lucile. By OWEN MEREDITH. Boston: Ticknor & Fields. 1860. 24mo. pp. 352. 75 cents. [T. H. Pease, New Haven.]

Tylney Hall. By THOMAS HOOD. Poston: J. E. Tilton & Co. 1860. 12mo. pp. 479. $1.25. [T. H. Pease, New Haven.]

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