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1860.]

Recent Semi-Religious Works of Fiction.

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RECENT SEMI-RELIGIOUS WORKS OF FICTION.

1. Adam Bede. By George Eliot. Two Vols. Blackwood, Edinburgh. 1859.

2. The Minister's Wooing. By H. Beecher Stowe. Low and Son, London.

1859.

3. Eric, or Little by Little; a Tale of Roslyn School. Frederick W. Farrer. Edinburgh: Black. 1858.

By

4. Historical Tales. (Monthly Series.) Parker, Oxford. 1858.

WITH fashionable novels, as our readers know, we give ourselves no concern. We should as soon think of reviewing The Sporting Calendar. But here is a new story by the author of Uncle Tom's Cabin, and a story dealing more with theology, and less with the slave-trade, than either of her former works. We must needs read this; and having read it, we feel a desire to say something about it.

But, then, here is a still more popular book: Adam Bede is reputed to be written by a lady who was brought up among the Baptists. Whoever be its author, the work is gaining a vast reputation. In less than six months here is the sixth edition. And, assuredly, the story differs exceedingly from most other novels, so far as we have any knowledge of them. The leading character is a journeyman carpenter. The most prominent female character is a Methodist class-leader, who works for her daily bread in a cotton-mill. The charm of the book,-that which achieves for it so large a popularity,—is the truth of its homely pictures of life in an agricultural village. We must look with some serious consideration at Adam Bede.

And, while we are upon this class of works, let us not overlook a specimen of another kind. Eric is no novel, no love-story; it is the brief life of a school-boy. It is the acknowledged work of a Fellow of Trinity College, Cambridge. Yet we shall have, we fear, to protest more decidedly against this production of one of the masters of a public school, than against either of the works of the two ladies.

Lastly, while the pen is in our hand, we may briefly notice a few little books, the gleanings of the last boughs of the Tractarian vine. The "Historical Tales from and Medieval History, which are still dropping at intervals from the Oxford press, will not require any very lengthened examination.

We begin, then, with Adam Bedle. To pess over such works as this, and the book by Mrs. Stowe, might seem almost a descrtion of the duty of a Christian Observer; for, these interesting fictions will find their way, sooner or later, into almost all circles; and they have so much "religion" mixed up in their composition,

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as to render their examination a very different task from that of dissecting a Bulwer or Disraeli novel. They each present a large amount of religious teaching; and this teaching will insinuate itself into thousands of minds. If it is just and scriptural, we ought to praise it; if it is perverted or false, the duty is still more obvious to expose and controvert it.

Adam Bede contains, as is often the case in such stories, two pairs of portraits. We have the journeyman carpenter, and the Methodist female class-leader; a young man and woman in humble life, who are meant by the author to be model characters. They are more than virtuous, and they are more than happy. In contrast, we have the young squire, the landlord's grandson, a youth not yet one-and-twenty, and "a bewitchingly pretty girl," a farmer's niece. These two poor young creatures flutter round temptation, like moths round a candle, " meaning no harm," till, in an unlucky moment, they touch the flame, and drop down into misery and wretchedness.

If the Religious Tract Society had wished for a story-book on "the Danger of dallying with temptation," the committee could have desired nothing better than the sad story of Arthur Donnithorne and Hetty Sorrell. The simplicity, the natural every-day life of the story, its extreme purity and abstinence from undesirable descriptions of evil, constitute one excellence; while the fearful picture of the consequences of running into temptation, in the utter shipwreck of one life, and the longenduring remorse of another, complete the lesson, and make the history perfect of its kind.

Not to give our readers the erroneous idea that Adam Bede is a detailed picture of seduction, we will just say, that after briefly noticing a few whispers, a pressure of the hand, and a stolen kiss on the young squire's part, we are only further enlightened as to the progress of the mischief by a single incident, which is well conceived. Arthur Donnithorne, on a summer evening, is at a lodge or summer-house in the park, and expects Adam Bede to

come in :

"He rose from the ottoman, and peered about slowly in the broken moonlight, seeking something. It was a short bit of wax candle, that stood amongst a confusion of writing and drawing materials. There was more searching for the 'means of lighting the candle; and when that was done, he went cautiously round the room, as if wishing to assure himself of the presence or absence of something. At last he had found

a slight thing, which he put first in his pocket, and then, on a second thought, took out again, and thrust deep down into a waste-paper basket. It was a woman's little pink silk neckerchief"

Adam Bede soon afterwards comes in, and having already seen a too-affectionate parting between the young squire and Hetty, he makes a yehement appeal to Arthur, who consents at last to write

Hetty a farewell letter, and to leave the country for a lengthened period. Subsequent events make it evident, that the greatest misfortune in both their lives was, that this resolution was not taken sooner.

Arthur joins his regiment, and is absent at Windsor and in Ireland for several months; during which, all he hears of Hetty is, that she is likely to be married. When more than half a year had passed away, he is suddenly called home by the death of his grandfather, which puts him into possession of the estate. He arrives at the Hall, and the first letter which is put into his hands is from his old tutor, the rector, who writes thus :

"I send this letter to meet you on your arrival, Arthur, because I may then be at Stoniton, whither I am called by the most painful duty it has ever been given me to perform; and it is right that you should know what I have to tell you without delay.

"I will not attempt to add, by one word of reproach, to the retribution that is now falling on you; any other words that I could write at this moment must be weak and unmeaning by the side of those in which I must tell you the simple fact:

"Hetty Sorrell is in prison, and will be tried on Friday for the crime of child-murder."

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"Arthur read no more. He started up from his chair, and stood for a single minute with a sense of violent convulsion in his whole frame, as if the life were going out of him by horrible throbs; but the next minute he had rushed out of the room.

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We are next introduced to the prison itself, where Dinah, the young Methodist, visits poor Hetty, who exclaims :

"Oh, Dinah, won't nobody do anything for me? Will they hang me for certain? I wouldn't mind if they'd let me live."

"My poor Hetty, death is very dreadful to you. I know it's dreadful. But if you had a friend to take care of you after death,-in that other world- some one whose love is greater than mine-who can do everything:-If God our Father was your friend, and was willing to save you from sin and suffering, so that you should neither know wicked feelings nor pain again? If you could believe he loved you, and would help you, as you believe I love you and will help you, it wouldn't be so hard to die on Monday, would it?'

"But I can't know anything about it,' Hetty said, in sullen sadness.

"Because, Hetty, you are shutting up your soul against him, by trying to hide the truth. God's love and mercy can overcome all things-our ignorance and weakness, and all the burden of our past wickedness,-all things but our wilful sin,-sin that we cleave to, and will not give up. You believe in my love and pity for you, Hetty; but if you had not let me come near you,-if you wouldn't have looked at me or spoken to me, you'd have shut me out from helping you; I couldn't have made you feel my love; I couldn't have told you what I felt for you. Don't shut out God's love in that way, by clinging to sin. He can't bless

you while you have one falsehood in your soul; his pardoning mercy can't reach you until you open your heart to him, and say, "I have done this great wickedness; O God, save me; make me pure from sin." While you cling to one sin, and will not part with it, it must drag you down to misery after death, as it has dragged you to misery here in this world, my poor, poor Hetty. It is sin that brings dread, and darkness, and despair; there is light and blessedness for us as soon as we cast it off. God enters our souls then, and teaches us, and brings us strength and peace. Cast it off now, Hetty-now: confess the wickedness you have done, the sin you have been guilty of against God, your Heavenly Father. Let us kneel down together, for we are in the presence of God.'

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Hetty obeyed Dinah's movement, and sank upon her knees. They still held each other's hands, and there was long silence. Then Dinah said;

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'Hetty, we are before God; he is waiting for you to tell the truth.'

"Still there was silence. At last Hetty spoke, in a tone of beseeching:

"Dinah, help me! I cannot feel anything like you—my heart is hard.'

"Dinah held the clinging hand, and all her soul went forth in her voice:

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Jesus, thou present Saviour! Thou hast known the depths of all sorrow; thou hast entered that black darkness where God is not, and hast uttered the cry of the forsaken. Come, Lord, and gather of the fruits of thy travail and thy pleading. Stretch forth thy hand, thou who art mighty to save to the uttermost, and rescue this lost one. is clothed round with thick darkness; the fetters of her sin are upon her, and she cannot stir to come to thee. She can only feel that her heart is hard, and that she is helpless. She cries to me, thy weak creature. Saviour, it is a blind cry to thee. Hear it! Pierce the darkness! Look upon her with thy face of love and sorrow, which thou didst turn on him who denied thee, and melt her hard heart.

"See, Lord, I bring her, as they of old brought the sick and helpless, and thou didst heal them: I bear her on my arms, and carry her before thee. Fear and trembling have taken hold on her; but she trembles only at the pain and death of the body: breathe upon her thy life-giving Spirit, and put a new fear within her, the fear of her sin. Make her dread to keep the accursed thing within her soul: make her feel the presence of the living God, who beholds all the past, to whom the darkness is as noonday; who is waiting now, at the eleventh hour, for her to turn to him, and confess her sin, and cry for mercy—now, before the night of death comes, and the moment of pardon is for ever fled, like yesterday that returneth not.

"Saviour! it is yet time;-time to snatch this poor soul from everlasting darkness. I believe I believe in thy infinite love. What is my love or my pleading? It is quenched in thine. I can only clasp her in my weak arms, and urge her with my weak pity. Thou-thou wilt breath on the dead soul, and it shall arise from the unanswering sleep of death.

"Yea, Lord, I see thee, coming through the darkness, coming, like the morning, with healing on thy wings. The marks of thy agony are upon thee. I see,-I see thou art able and willing to save wilt not let her perish for ever.

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"Come, mighty Saviour! let the dead hear thy voice; let the eyes of the blind be opened: let her see that God encompasses her; let her tremble at nothing but at the sin that cuts her off from him. Melt the hard heart; unseal the closed lips: make her cry with her whole soul, 'Father, I have sinned.'"

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"Dinah,'-Hetty sobbed out, throwing her arms round Dinah's neck,-'I will speak-I will tell—I won't hide it any more.'

"But the tears and sobs were too violent. Dinah raised her gently from her knees, and seated her on the pallet again, sitting down by her side. It was a long time before the convulsed throat was quiet, and even then they sat some time in stillness and darkness, holding each other's hands. At last Hetty whispered,

“I did do it, Dinah-I buried it in the wood-the little baby-and it cried-I heard it cry-ever such a way off-all night,—and I went back, because it cried.'"

We cannot go on with the confession; but must hasten to the close of the story. By desperate efforts, Arthur obtains the remission of the capital sentence; but it is only commuted for transportation. He says to Adam,

"I feel sometimes as if I should go mad with thinking of her looks and what she said to me; and then, that I couldn't get a full pardon— that I couldn't save her from that wretched fate of being transportedthat I can do nothing for her all these years; and that she may die under it, and never know comfort any more."

Wrung with remorse, and unable to meet the altered looks of his own tenantry, Arthur joins the army abroad,-(the date is at the commencement of the present century).—In his letters home he says, "I'm best when I've a good day's march or fighting before me." A brief epilogue carries us forward some seven or eight years; when Hetty is expected back, her term of punishment having expired. She dies on the way home. Arthur, too, is invalided, and comes home for his health. Adam Bede thus describes an interview with him :

"It was very cutting when we first saw one another. He'd never heard about poor Hetty till Mr. Irwine met him in London; for the letters missed him on his journey. The first thing he said to me, when we'd got hold of one another's hands, was, 'I could never do anything for her, Adam,-she lived long enough for all the suffering,and I'd thought so of the time when I might do something for her. But you told me the truth when you said to me once, 'There's a sort of wrong that can never be made up for.""

If we must have works of fiction, it is well that they should have a tendency so plainly moral as this. For the story is a substantial truth. No one doubts that Arthur Donnithornes abound; Vol. 59.-No. 265.

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