Text: N. P. Willis (?), Review of Countess Blessington, Her New Book, Weekly Mirror (New York), March 1, 1845, vol. 1, no. 21, p. 328-329

[page 328, column 2, continued:]

LADY BLESSINGTON’S NEW BOOK.

The Countess is one of those authoresses whose books are enjoyable if read with kind allowance. She uses authorship to let off the bath of conversation in which she swims nightly, and though it all breathes of her ladyship, it is colder than when she first made it enchanting. The following review and distilment of her book, is from the London Examiner, written doubtless by Fonblanque, who had, heard said at table the good things he quotes from the book

REVIEW OF STRATHERN.

Good comedy has been defined to be, the keeping company where the best things are said and the most amusing happen. The book before us is excellent comedy of that kind. The writer's knowledge of the world, and of the tendencies of fashionable life, are employed with the best effect in Strathern.

The story is slight, but sufficient for the matter in hand. The obvious intention is to rebuke, by humour and ridicule, the common fashionable follies. The nicer purpose is to show in what way the real happiness of life, in every condition, is affected by artificial estimates and conventions.

There is a healthy, cheerful tone in the writing. Some irrelevant things there are that might be spared, but never anything false or ungenerous: A writer cannot have a more sound or beneficial belief, than that vice is the growth of narrow thoughts, and virtue the proof of understanding. As little doubt is left of the folly, as of the wickedness, of the Beaulieus and Wellerbys in Strathern.

The foil to the high aristocratic ease and heartless indifference of the book, is in the restless vulgarity of a stockbroker's rich widow, who comes to what Mr. Weller calls a female markis.’ The broad free painting of this character reminds us of Miss Burney's best bores. It is excellently done, and, with the help of her needy noble lover, and a clever little French waiting woman, points a neat moral.

But probably the best piece of character is that of Lord-and Lady Wellerby, and of the sisters (differing somewhat from older friends of the name!) Olivia and Sophia. Shabby artifice, quarrelsome scenes of self against self, plottings and counter-plottings, each [column 3:] against the other, make up this family picture. It is a fair field of satire, if ever there was one. We can conceive no one with the right to object to it, excepting the Wellerbys themselves, or the Slipslops and Graveairs who support such ‘high’ pretensions.

We might take a little scene in the Coliseum at Rome, where sister Olivia would romanticize a sporting peer.

“ ‘Think of five thousand wild beasts having been killed in the arena on the day when it was first opened,’ said Lady Olivia, with an erudite air.

“ ‘And good sport it must have been, too,” remarked Lord Fitzwarren. The Coliseum might noes hare been worth coming to see.’

“ You of course know that this building was erected by Flacius Vespasian, and it is supposed to stand where once were the fish-ponds of Nero’

“ ‘By Jove, I know nothing about the matter!’

“ ‘It is supposed to have derived its name from a colossal statue of Nero in the character of Apollo, Which was placed here by Titus Vespasian,’ said Lady Olivia, pompously.

“ ‘Why hang me if little Livy does not bid fair to be as great a historian as her namesake; but how a where she has picked up all her knowledge surprise me.’

“ ‘Where you may acquire it in a few minutes, I you wish,’ said Lady Sophia, spitefully — ‘in the travels of Marianaa Starke, which I saw her consulting to-day, when it was settled that we were to come here; and she has given you the fruit of her study, verbatim from the book.’

“ ‘Better know something of the places one is to see, than be, like you, totally ignorant of them,’ plied Lady Olivia, her cheek becoming red with anger, as she glanced fiercely at her sister.

“ ‘Yes, perhaps it is better,’ answered Lady Sophia; but it is not quite fair to give the exact words of the guide-book with an air of learning, as if you were a regular scholar.’”

Fitz-warren is a good-humored silly lord, with a passion for the turf. But we do not know that he reasons less ably about it, than lords who have the repute of greater wisdom, and who favour the world with its results from the benches of parliament.

Hear him, for example, contrast his following of hounds and hunters, with his friend's following of the fine arts.

“What has old England ever been famous for? said I to myself. For fine horses, racing, and sport, to be sure, [[.]] What has rendered her superior to the whole world? Why, her horses have. Well, then, he who keeps the greatest number of those noble animals, and encourages racing and hunting, is the truest patriot, and the best friend to the agricultural interest. Lilt and let live, say I. I quarrel with no man's taste. You like pictures and statues, I don’t; for every day I go out hunting or shooting in England I can see nature, which pleases me more than all the landscape ever painted. Are brown and yellow trees on canvass, with dark glossy ground and ruined temples, and rivers half green and blue, to be compared to our fresh fields, fine old trees, comfortable farmhouses, and glassy rivers? Can any statues be compared to good flesh and blood? Not any that ever saw.”

What he says of the sharp intellectual requirements for a good betting-book, seems also to merit attention.

“It requires a devilish clear head and first rate abilities to be able to keep one's own on the turf, I can tell you. Talk of the necessity of of [[sic]] having clever men to be prime ministers and councillors, it's all a joke compared to the sharpness required to prevent one's being ruined on the turf. Why, your dearest fried will take you in if he can — ay, by Jove! your broths if you have one. People talk of authors being dem and making good books, but it demands fifty tins as much cleverness to make a good betting-book.”

In a word, this Fitzwarren is a shrewd, good-natured fellow, spoiled by the society he is born to, and bred for. Lady Blessington illustrates the danger in others of her characters as well. It is not the least agreeable and useful aim of her good-natured satire. For good-natured it is, as we have said, throughout; and so much irony and wit are rarely so kindly neighboured.

They lose nothing by the neighbourhood. We all remember the pleasant passage in the Tatler, where two coxcombs are described running about the town to get the name of smart satirical fellows, quite unqualified for the character of being severe upon other men simply because they want good-nature. It was the same feeling of a good intention at the bottom of his own worst severity, which made the wit adjure his friend the bishop, whom one of his sayings had sadly disconcerted, [page 329:] ‘do laugh, my lord; pray laugh: ‘tis humanity to laugh.’ So may the reader of Strathern laugh without the least malice, but with heartiness and humanity.

The Humble Companion. — “Mrs. Bernard, the orphan daughter of a poor clergyman; had in early life ‘allied the curate of her father, who soon left her a idow, to fight her way through a pitiless world, by suing a scanty subsistence in the capacity of hum-le friend or dependant to such ladies as were unblessed with daughters, nieces, or cousins, to render companionship in their homes. Much had Mrs. Bernard offered in the various dwellings into which her ‘evil tiny .had thrown her, and patiently had she endured iese trials. Delicate in health, and broken in spirit, he submitted to treatment, the injustice of which inked many a pang while she scrupulously concealed very symptom of dissatisfaction from those at whose ads she received it, well aware that neither semen-trance nor entreaty would procure any amelioration her condition.

“Heroism is not confined to the great ones of the Oh, or to men alone. Often is it found in the poor Id humble, and exemplified in the constancy with hlach, Spartan-like, they hide that which is preying itheir minds. How many a pale cheek, attenuated rm, and downcast eye, reveals the grief which the Ague never utters, and betrays the sorrow hushed in a day, and indulged only when night gives a few nes of solitude — that boon so prized by those whose appertains to another ! In all the situations by Mrs. Bernard, it had been discovered by those rved that she was dull and unasuming. - One lady “,feed that her melancholy countenance gave her vapors, yet never tried by kindness to render it less A second said she was so inanimate and mono • us, that her presence invariably cast a gloom rever she appeared; and a third asserted that Mrs. and had no feeling, she bore being scolded with composure; while a fourth dismissed her on hay-one day observed a tear, which she had vainly en-ored to check; steal down her cheek when Bey reproved for some trivial forgetfulness, alleging ‘she disliked sulky dispositions.”

We wish we could have added other passages of as genial truth, and kind philosophy, on the moral beauty of old-maidism, and the crime of over-tasking woman's labor. They will not, we hope, be without some of the effect desired. The soil is not so hard for the seed, as of old. Even people of fashion begin to see at what enormous and awful cost their most idle and arbitrary wants are too often gratified.

Lady Wellerby Instructs her Daughters. — “ Who now-a-days gets a husband — that is to say, one having — without the exercise of tact to learn eculiar tastes, and without adopting them, at least e time present 1 What made Lady Maria Leslie her neck out hunting three days a week last win-in Northamptonshire, but to win that rich booby, Sudley Seymour, who never would have proposed er hand had she not affected to be as devoted to chase as himself What made that pretty Miss der dance herself nearly into a consumption, but tch Lord Merridale, who, ever since he returned Russia, thought or dreamt of nothing but the pade 1 Look at Miss Melville's feats in archery practised to aim with unerring ‘dart at the heart ,.e stupid Sir Henry Ravenshaw; and Lady Fanny ourt's indefatigable study of music, in order to mpany that melo-maniac, Mr. Torpichen, in his ult duets, until she made herself so necessary to that he engaged her for a duet through life?

Lord A. Beaulieu detects a Legislative Oversight. — “What an oversight is it in the legislature not to enacted a law for the protection of the persons younger sons of the nobility from all law pro. Protection is afforded to peers, who seldom require it; while we poor devils, nurtured in a mode must create a passion for expense, and with small to defray it, are left exposed to all the evil con-aces of indulging in our natural tastes. This oversight really ought to be remedied, and I must st the consideration of it to some of my friends me.”

An Aristocratic Footman Soliloquises. — “They call my lord a sharp and clever fellow — ha! ha! ha! the notion of it makes me laugh. Why, I can cheat him as easy as if he were a child, and without his ever so much as suspecting it either; and yet I am no sharper nor cleverer than many other valets, and not so much so as some, who, in my place, wouldn’t leave him a guinea. But all the haristocracy are so. They know nothing of life; are not up to anything, with all their anon and a poor servant, who has merely pick enough of learning to scribble down false entries in his book and tot up the amount, can impose. m as much as he likes. And sarve ‘em right, or what do they know of the vally of money? Do they understand the fair prices of anything they wear, eat, or drink? Not at all. They haven’t the gumption even to inquire, and must take for granted what we choose to tell them.”

Mr. Webworth on Love. — “ ‘Thus it is to be in love,’ and Fitzwarren drew a deep sigh. ‘Were you ever in love, Webworth?’

“ ‘Not that I wewambe.’ [column 2:]

“ ‘Not that you remember! Why, what a strange fellow you must be? If you were once hard hit, as I call it — that is, really in love — you would never forget it, I can tell you, for it's no joke. Heigho!’ “

” ‘Many pethons have told me tho, but I thuppothe the's a gweat deal in imagination. One petthy gil seetfith to me to be tho extremely like another pretty gil, that I neve Could make out how a man cath more about one -of them than another tho I conclude it muth be all imagination.”

There is some little sacrifice of character, where the vulgar marchioness, once a poor Irish serving girl, recalls her outset in life: but it is nicely felt and prettily said.

“Heigho! I dare say that at this moment every soul in the old home is fast asleep, ay, and enjoying pleasant dreams, as I used to have. I wonder, do they ever think of me. How surprised they’d be to see my grandeur! They’d think I must be the happiest woman in the whole world; but they don’t know how soon one gets so used to grandeur that it fails to please as it first did, and that all the money in the world can’t buy sleep. They don’t know what a chilling thing it is to have no one to love one or care about one, except those who have sonic object to gain, and that, if one's money was gone, all those who flock around the rich, would soon go, too. Ah! yes; the poor can count on the affection of their friends. They have no interested motives; they comfort and console each other when sorrow comes, and share each other's joys. How every poor neighbour in dear old Ireland flocks to the house of mourning, to condole with those who have lost one of their family! How every one brings whatever can be spared — and often what can be but ill spared — to help some poor neighbour in distress ! And what comfort-Mg words and what friendly shakes of the hand are given! Ah! yes; if there's more grandeur with the rich, there's more love and kindness among the poor; and I almost wish I had never left home or become a grand lady, for I am not happy. I wonder whether the stream where I used to rinse out the linen after I had washed it still flows on over the bright sand and shining pebbles with as pleasant a sound as it used to do.

Ah! though I’ve seen many a fine river since, I have never seen such a beautiful stream as that! It is strange how often it comes into my head. If I shut my eyes, I can see the trees bending over it, as if it was a looking-glass in which they were admiring themselves, and one large stone near the bank, over which the water gushed so brightly, breaking into large pearls. I had never seen or heard of a pearl then, but now my large pearls always reminds me of that spot. How joyfully. I used to sing as I settled my linen on the flat top of that same stone, with the birds singing over my head, the blue heavens smiling, and the fresh breath of the morning playing with my hair and cooling my forehead, better than any of the fine fans which have cost me so much money could! Often and often, when I can’t get a wink of sleep, I think of that stream until I fancy I hear the sound of it, and I at length drop into a slumber.

We have not mentioned the hero and heroine. But with both the tale ends happily, as it perhaps should where happiness is so deserved; and the moral of Strathern's career is thus expressed.

“Every reflection on the past was fraught with humility at his own want of good sense and discretion; and strong and unchangeable was the resolution he formed, that henceforth the fortune confided to him should be appropriated to better purposes than the mere gratification of his own selfish pleasures, or to the support of those of his spendthrift acquaintances. He would devote his time to bettering the condition of the laboring classes, to extending the blessings of education, and to relieving the wants of the distressed. No longer supinely abandoning himself to the disappointment of the heart to which he had hither yielded without resistance, he would seek, in the discharge of his duties, an oblivion of care, and merit, even though he might not be so fortunate as to attain it, the approbation of her whose image still reigned triumphant in his heart. ‘If I cannot be happy myself;’ thought Strathern, let me at least endeavor to render others so.’”

We can borrow but a few more brief extracts.

A Hint to Lovers. — “It has been said that the reconciliation of lovers is the renewal of love, and the adage may hold good in some cases. These peculiar ones are, where no harsh words, no angry glances, or unkind observations have passed, when nothing is left to rankle in the memory, nothing to be pardoned by the heart. But when these have occurred, let lovers beware of confiding too much in the efficacy of reconciliation.”

Fashionable Complainings. — “Rather hard that one cannot sell one's horses in order to buy better next year, or part with one's yacht to build a larger, but that one is immediately declared to be cleaned out. But if one determines to go abroad for a few months, then the outcry becomes general, and every tradesman to whom you may happen to owe a guinea takes alarm and runs you. You pay them, but that does not silence the report, they assert that you must be ruined, because, unless you were, you could not [column 3:] prefer a clear sky and good climate to our cloudy one and ‘eight months’ winter fogs. Devilish provoking let me tell you, to be compelled to keep up the same pursuits and the seine expenditure when you are tired of the first, and are grown too prudent to throw away your money on things that no longer please you. Yet this you must do in England, or pass for being hard up, as they call it, or quite dished, and so be avoided by your acquaintance in general, and your friends in particular.”

A “Good sort of Fellow.” — “Hardened by his intercourse with the worldly, which roused into action all the selfishness of his nature, Lord Alexander Beaulieu thought only of seeming the means and appliances to administer to his own grovelling appetites, and would not merely have denied every luxury to her who brought him wealth, but would gladly have seen her expire as soon as she had invested him with it.

“Yet this was the man who was pronounced, by the generality of his acquaintances’ to be ‘a devilish good sort of a fellow, as times go.’ To be sure, his selfishness was universally known, but this was so common a defect among those with whom he associated, that it ceased to be considered one, and was only commented on when some exercise of it interferred with or crossed the equal selfishness of one of his soi-disant friends, who would exclaim, ‘Hang that fellow Beaulieu! what a selfish animal he is! Would you believe it? — he refused to let me off a foolish wager I made with him, or to let me have Ins bay horse, unless I paid him thrice its value.’ “

Strathern will add to the deserved reputation of Lady Blessington. It is full of shrewd observation and just judgments of things.