THE

IRISH QUARTERLY REVIEW.

No. XXX.-JULY, 1858.

ART I.—THE LAST OF THE REGENERATORS.

1. Galerie des Contemporains Illustres; George Sand, Honore de Balzac, &c. par un Homme de Rien, (M. Loménie.) Paris, 1842.

2. Les contemporains: George Sand, Honore de Balzac, Eugène Sue, Francis Wey, Louis Veron, Gustave Planche; par Eugène de Mirecourt, Paris, 1856.

A man of business who finds it a difficult matter to keep the passive side of his balance account at a low figure, observes his daughter so absorbed in the perusal of the Initials,' that her domestic duties for the day are discharged in a manner far from satisfactory. In the usual evening causerie to which her liveliness and intelligence contribute so pleasant a zest, he fads her an uninterested listener; and judges from her distraught manner that her mind is between the marbled covers of the book on the side table. He sees her cast a longing look on the unsympathising volume as she retires to carry out the plot in her dreams, and he is moved to try the quality of the stuff, that like the Egyptian Hachis, affects the faculties for the time with a species of refined inebriation, and makes the every-day accompaniments of common life appear like a hard sepia-hued photograph beside a drawing over which a skilful disposition of light and shade, and the contrast and harmony of rich colouring, have spread their charms. He takes up the volume out of sheer curiosity, and is soon enjoying the romantic scenery of the Bavarian Highlands, conversing with the chamois hunters, and enjoying the echoing of their jodels among the cliffs. He is presently domesticated in the Rosenberg family, and wondering whether the well intentioned but supercilious Hamilton and the sincere, hasty-tempered Hildegarde will be united at the close of the third volume. He has Occasionally a prospect of a tender and interesting conversation NO: XXX., VOL. VIII.

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between them, but some misconception or some interference of those around, drives away the welcome chance, and everything is immediately in the wrangling category, and he exclaims against the silly impressionable Crescenz or the coquettish Mrs. State-Physician Berger that will not let them unfold their thoughts to each other in peace and quietness.

A pleasant opening occurs. The old people have gone on a visit, and the younger folk have the house to themselves under the mock tutelage of an indulgent duenna; and they improve the occasion by resorting to the kitchen and preparing a little feast, Hamilton reading in recitativo from the cookery book, while the ladies superintend the various processes described. Delightful day!-delightful evening, preparing for the masquerade for visiting which by the way they had got no sanction. Alas! there is a rival in the case, a cousin of Hildegarde. A mask is observed to watch their movements; she is separated from her sister, lover, and friends. Hamilton is searching for her, wild with terror and self accusation, when Pater Familias's candle expires, and concludes a three hours study, during which he had got more than one uncomplimentary hint from an adjoining room, concerning the very unusual liberty he is taking.

Passing over his uncomfortable first half hour after taking possession of his pillow, we find him when breakfast is over making a hypocritical apology to Miss Adelaide for taking the second and third volumes to his office, as he has correspondents in Innsbruck and Saltzburg, and wishes to see what is said in the work concerning those places and the surrounding districts. He has to answer a letter just arrived from Hamburgh, but Hildegarde's father is seized with the cholera, and common humanity will not suffer him to quit his bed-side to answer a mere business despatch. The hero is watched through a fever by Hildegarde, his long tresses being cut off of course. She is observed afterwards to wear a bracelet of dark auburn hair, and while the attention of the family is engaged in guessing whose chevelure matches it in hue, our merchant is requested by a clerk to look over an account into which some error has crept. So he will, but let us first be sure if Hildegarde has slily stolen some of the sick man's brown hair, and therefrom fashioned her precious talismau.

It is now after two o'clock, and bank accounts and bills have to be looked after, and various directions given as to in

voices and bonded goods, while he would give a great deal for a little leisure to accompany the lovers in their journey from Frankfort to Mayence, and afterwards down the Rhine, sitting beside them under the deck-awning, listening to their discourse, and taking notice of the "castled crags" as they are passed on the delightful voyage. How uninteresting appear the invoice books and the ledgers beside the fever-exciting little volume hidden on the approach of visitors on business! At last, after an anxious interval, truth and constancy are rewarded, and our man of figures wakes out of a restless dream, finds a disagreeable vacuum in thoughts and feelings, and wonders. what spell was on him forcible enough to cut off three hours of his natural sleep, and cause him to neglect his affairs to a very inconvenient extent.

The heroine is undoubtedly worthy of a niche near Belinda Portman, Flora M'Ivor, and Miss Austen's Emma; and perhaps when a cheap edition is published, he will purchase it, and read it over quietly, and a little at a time, for the beautiful descriptions of scenery, and the liveliness of the domestic pictures; but catch him opening a new novel again for the next seven years; unless when he wants to see if it is fit for his daughter's perusal, or during a journey, or when taking a day's rest in the country, or when tired out with dull accounts, or &c. &c.

We have exhibited the Norelo-mania in its least unhealthy form, taking for subject one of the liveliest, and purest, and most original of modern tales; but let us make a not very unlikely or uncharitable supposition, that some ladies who are heads of families, and others who aspire to be such, generally receive from the library, three volumes of the literature called light, once in the twenty-four hours, and replace them by three others on the ensuing day, without in many cases enquiring whether the writers advocate infidel, socialist, or anti-matrimonial views, in the book to be perused. Were we personally to propound to the fair mental-dram-drinkers whether they find it consistent with their duty to their Creator and their families to spend from eight to ten hours of the twenty-four in such an unhealthy and exciting occupation, we fear that we should receive an ungracious answer, or be shewn to the door by John Thomas. But as we are convinced that the query should be made, we ask it in this general and inoffensive mode through the medium of our Quarterly.

And while G. M. W. Reynolds and Co. prepare their poi

sonous weekly potions for the wearied and ignorant tradesman and labourer, may success wait on the issuers of Chambers' Journal, of Household Words, and of the Lamp, who do all they can to substitute for the villanous and intoxicating beverage, a healthy and refreshing draught for the mental palates of those who would otherwise pass their period of relaxation in the foul atmosphere of the tap-room or the cassino. Happy that community where a lively spirit of christian faith and piety is found at the hearths of the working class, and where the ever open doors of the churches, and the devotional exercises within, arrest wandering feet, and afford occupation and development to the pious affections of the mass of the people, during their time of relaxation from severe labour. Useful or harmless reading is good; so are pleasure grounds for walking or other exercises; so are instructive exhibitions and lectures; but let a disposition to embrace the good and reject the evil be infused through a blessing on zealous christian teaching, and the face of society will be renewed.

We have more than once protested against the feuilleton with its thrilling or horrible incidents of daily occurrence, and its nine combinations. Mirecourt, though a determined AntiSueite and Anti-Janinite, does not disturb himself or his readers by dwelling on the ill effects of the system as much as one might expect from his principles. He ascribes the daily recurrence of the startling vision or, the "death struggle on the rocky ledge," to Francis Wey. Those who have seen this gentleman's sketches of English society, described from personal observations, and with only a moderate use of French spectacles, will be surprised at this circumstance; but he has long given up the "Raw-head-and-bloody-bones" line, and employed his talents on useful and agreeable subjects.

Francis Wey was born at Besançon, 12th August, 1812; he received his education (such as it was) at the college of Poligny, a picturesque little city of the Jura. His tutor was,

"A young priest who was so annoyed at not being a colonel of cavalry, that he often shut his eyes on his real profession. He performed his priestly functions in Wellington boots, and rode like a centaur. He occasionally led his pupils up among the hills to enjoy the life of a camp. They were preceded by a band, and the professor rode by his troop like a brigadier, each soldier pupil having a moustache marked out on his warlike lip. With warm heart, and kind but eccentric disposition, the Abbé Reffay de Sulignan professed a profound contempt for classic studies, and in the matter of poetry

he gave full permission to Racine senior and Racine junior to go about their business.

One fine night he conducted his pupils up a sombre defile, till they came in presence of the Alps and Mont Blanc. All was calculated for their arrival at the moment when the rays of the early morning were glancing over the vapours arising from the lakes. They threw themselves at once on their knees, the morning prayers were repeated aloud, and the good professor entertained them with an appropriate discourse.

As soon as the near arrival of the inspectors was announced, the Abbé went through his classes, reminded his pupils of all his efforts to make them happy, and insisted in return on two or three weeks of earnest study to save the honor of the school. The gratitude of the young folk wrought wonders.

After seven or eight years of this species of education, our student considered his labors at an end, for he could rob the eagle's nest, box like an Englishman, empty a bottle at one breath, and build a wall like a regularly taught mason."

He will not take to the paternal waste-books or legers, and departs for the capital, where he acquires a taste for close attendance on the Italian opera; but even at twenty years of age, he has no notion of literature as a profession.

"Classing a taste for composition among the lost traditions of the Ancient Regime, and the noble employments of a vanished race, he was acquainted only with past literature. He had never heard of Victor Hugo, and considered Charles Nodier as a State-Councillor. But in despite of his ignorance, he took to writing at last, as trees throw out leaves, and flowers when the sun flings his rays on them, and the sap begins to ascend."

He takes his first literary attempt to Achille Ricourt, the editor of the Artiste, whom he finds with his hair dressed a-laJack-Sheppard, Buridan's casquet settled jauntily thereon, a cotton velvet jerkin girding his body, and a host of young writers forming his court.

"Come boy, speak out; what is your business with me?" demanded he of Wey, who stood abashed to find himself all at once in what appeared a group of literati of the middle ages. It came out that a wish for insertion was the motive of the visit. Mecenas settled the young aspirant on a lofty stool, took the manuscript, began to read with burlesque gravity, and the mystification commenced. Poor Francis was on thorns, and every one cast his shaft at the victim in the form of an extravagant eulogium. One of the great men in particular, adorned with a face redolent of fat and fun, tormented him without mercy or respite.

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Balzac ?"

Janin," said Ricourt, "does not this savour marvellously of "Balzac my friend: Ah! much worse than Balzac." You have Nodier's accent," said he to Wey; "you should be