REVIEW.

Globe, Volume IX, Issue 1266, 9 April 1878, Page 3

REVIEW.

UNDER THE GREENWOOD TREE.* [FROM THE PRESS.] Of some wliters it is truly said that they have to create the taste by which they are enjoyed. Their style of thought, and their mode, of expression are unfamiliar. The wannest admirer of Browning must admit that the poet's diclion and general tone —if not absolutely artificial —are far removed from the beaten track. It takes time and patience to get accustomed to him. We have to acquire his own tar-te, and to adopt his own standard before wo can either understand or find the slightest pleasure in his poems. The author of " Far from the Madding Crowd" proceeds on a different tack. Instead of attempting to create a now taste, he simply miii<ters to an old one — a wholesome universal instinct of our common human nature —the love and enjoyment of countrv life. "Under the Greenwood Tree" is true to its name. From the fir; t page to the last we are in the pure sunshine, or under the shady elms, or in the simple treUised bower of a cottager's garden. Mr Hardy is a realist. He observes rather than imagines. He is content to report what he sees, and to describe the simple emotions of which either he or his hero is the subject and the medium. Babrac's wonderful power of making the individual stand for a whole class has no charm for Mr Hardy. His aim is simpler. Like a painter of the Dutch school, he brings a group of real men and women before us. The qualities which distinguish his writings are simplicity and naturalness relieved and enlivened by playful banter. For the rarer qualities of searching analysis, splendid description, ingenious plot, and irresistible pathos, the reader must go elsewhere. But for all that, as novels go, 'Under tho Greenwood Tree" is a pleasant book to read, and one which, when read, leaves no feeling of regret behind. In crediting Mr Hardy with playful banter, there is no intention of making him a cynic. He does not stand at a distance and laugh at his heroes' whims and follies. He stands near them and laughs, not at but with them. In describing tho old village choir, for example, it is evident all through that the writer makes himself one with the characters, and enjoys their rough humor as much as they do. Readers whose recollections can go back to the palmy days of the clarionet and in country churches, will immensely enjoy the author's faithful portraiture of tho village choir. There is old William Dewy—otherwise grandfather William —seventy years of age, yet with an ardent vitality prorervi d on his face, which reminds gardeners of the sunny side of a ripe Ripston pippin. There is Michael Mail, bowed and bent, carrying a fiddle under his arm, and walking as if engaged in surveying the road. Next is Mr Penny, boot and shoo maker, a little man who, though rather round shouldered, walked as if that fact had not come to his knowledge, who moved on with his back very hollow, and his face fixed on the north quarter of the heavens, so that his lower waistcoat buttons come first, and then tho remainder of his figure. Then Elias Spinks, perpendicularly and dramatically wends his way to the choir practice. Finally came a weak lath like form, trotting and stumbling along with one shoulder forward and his head inclined to the left, his arms dangling nervelessly in the wind as if they were empty sleeves. This was Thomas Leaf. These being the chief members of the choir, we must follow them as they go their rounds on Christmas Eve. Old William plays the violincello, his son Dick the treble violin ; Reuben and Michael Mail tho tenor and second violins respectively. The singers consisted of four men and seven boys, the latter carrying the lanterns and holding the books open for the players. As choir master and general music director of the parish, old William issues his final orders, " Now mind, naibours," he said, as they all went out one by one at the door, he himself holding it djar and regarding them with a critical face, like a shepherd counting his sheep, "you two counter boys, keep your ears open to Michael's fingering, and don't go straying into the treble part along o' Dick and his set, as ye did last year; and mind this especially, when ye be in ' Arise and had,' Billy Chimlen, don't you sing quite so raving mad as you lain would ; and all o' ye, whatever ye do, keep from making a great; scuffle on the ground when we go in at peoples' gates ; but go quietly, so as to strike up all of a sudden, like spirits." While on the rounds, tho choristers meet with a varying reception. Not? people have come to the village, and these do not seem to appreciate the efforts of the worthy singers so keenly as they ought. " Times have changed from the times they U3cd to be" began Mail, in a melancholy tone. " People don't care so much about us now. I'vo been thinking we must be almost the last left, in the country of the old string players. Barrel organs and they next door to them that you blow wi'your foot, have come in terribly of late years." "Ah!" said Bowman, shaking his head, which old William seeing him, did the same thing. " More's the pity " said another. "Time was—long and merry ago now—when not one of the varmits was to be heard of; but it served some of the choirs right. They should have stuck to strings as we did, and keep out clar'nets and done away with serpents. If you would thrive in musical religion, stick to string* says I." " Strings are well enough as far they goes," said Mr Spinks." "There's worse tilings than serpents," said Mr Penny ; " old things pass away, 'tis true ; but a serpent was a good old note —a deep rich note was the serpent." "Clar'nets, however, be bad at all times," said Michael Mail. " One Christmas, years agone row, years —I went the rounds with tho Dibbench choir. 'Tw.is a hard frosty night, and tins keys of all the clar'nets froze—ah, they did freeze, —so that 'twa3 like drawing a cork every time a keywas opened, and the players of them had to go into a hedger and ditcher's chimley-corner, and thaw their clar'nets every now and thou." 1; [ can well bring back lo my mind," said Mr Penny," what I said to poor Jose Rymc, who took the tribblc in High Story Church for two and forty year, when they thought of having clar'nets there. 'Joseph,' I S; id, says I, 'depend on't, if so bo you have them tooth.g clar'nets, you'll spoil the whole set out. Clar'nets were not made for tho service of providence ; you can see it by looking at 'em, I said. And what came o't ? Why my dear souls, tho parson set up a barrel organ on his account, within two years of the time I spoke, and the old choir went to nothing ! "As far as I am concerned," suiu the Trantee, " 1 don't for my own p :t rl see (hut a fiddle is much nearer heaven than a clar'net. 'Tis farther off. There is always a rakish scampish

* " Under tlio Greenwood Tyoo," By XiiOmas Hardy. Cfaatto aud Wiadus,

countenance about a fiddle that seems to say Iho wicked ono had a hand in making them ; while angels be supposed to play clar'nets in heaven, or somat like 'em, if yo may believe picters.' " Robert Penny, you were in the right," broke in the eldest lady. "They should ha' stuck to strings. Your brass man is brass, well and good ; your reed man, is reed, well and good ; your percussion is percussion; good again." But I don't care who hears me say it, nothing will speak to your heart wi' the sweetness of the man of strings." " Strings I'or ever," said little Jimmy ; " strings alone would have held their own against allcomers in creation." (" True, true," said Bowman), " but clar'nets was death." ("Death they was," said Mr Penny). "And harmoniums," AVdliam continued in a louder voice, and getting excited by theso signs of approval, " harmoniums and barrel organs (ah, and groans from Spinks) be miserable —what shall 1 cail them—miserable ('sinners,' suggested Jimmy) machines for such a divine thing as music."

As a sad proof that times were really changed in the village, after this debate the choristers, having placed themselves in due order before farmer S lunar's house (a new comer), and old William having said, " Now boys, forty breaths and number thirty-two—-behold the morning star," a roaring voice was heard saying, " Shut up ! don't want your blaring row here. A feller we' a head-ache enough to split likes a quiet night." Slam went the window. " Hullo, an ugly blow for we artists ! " said the choir master in a keenly appreciative voice, and turning to his companions. " Finish the carrol, all who be friends of harmony," said old William commandingly, and they continued to the end. " Forty breaths and number nineteen ! " said William, firmly. "Give it him well, the choir can't be insulted in this manner." A light now flashed into existence, the window opened and the farmer stood revealed in a ti-rri fie passion. "Drown en, drown en!" the tranter cried, fiddling frantically. " Play fortissimy and drown his shaking " " Fortissimy," said Michael Mail, and the music and singing waxed so loud that it was impossible to know what Mr Shiner had said, was saying, or was about to say, but wildly flinging his arms and body about in the form of capital X's and Y's, he appear* d to utter invectives enough to consig.i the whole parish to perdition. "Very unseemly, very!" said old William, as they retired. "Never such a dreadful scene in the whole realm of my carrol practice —never! and he a churchwarden." Worse things were soon to befall these simple village artists who had led the devotions of the rustic congregation for a generation. The beginning of the end was made by the young schoolmistress venturing to join in the singing from the body of the church. The insulted dignity of the gallery performers could scarcely had expression. Ugly rumors were afloat also as to the intentions of the new vicar. It was even said that he had brought a barrel organ with him, which he intended to introduce on the first opportunity. The vicar was only biding his lime. This idea of Becret preparation was too much for the artists. If they are to die they would like to do it openly and manfully. Old William accordingly assembles all his helpers and trudges off to the vicarage to know what it all means. The vicar frankly says the ohurchwardens had suggested the change, but that he (the vicnr) was reluctant to make it. This pleases the old choirmaster, who after a long parley, bows to the inevitable by saying- " About Michaelmas, then, as far as you are concerned, sir, and then we make room for the nex'; generation." The transition from the old order to the new is most naturally and skilfully effected. The young schoolmistress turns out. to be the game-keeper's daughter from a neighboring village, whose father was determined not only to have her well educated fur herself, but that she should in due time become a teacher of others. She is appointed to Maletock. Dick Dewy, the son and heir of the old schoolmaster, though he joins with the rest in condemning the impudence of the young woman in attempting to assist the choir, has nevertheless a sudden and secret feeling of inward satisfaction with her face and her voice. He loses no time in paying the requisite attention ; and by-and-by his wishes arc consummated by their being engaged. Dick, however, has two narrow escapes of losing his prkie. His first rival is the Churchwarden Shinar. Fancy Day (as the schoolmistress is named), however, confesses to the advances of the church officer, who narrowly escapes a severe thrashing. But the next rival was unsuspected. He was none other than the vicar himself. Fancy Day, in a moment of weakness (are they not rightly named the weaker sex?), on a sudden declaration of tender feeling from the vicar, promised to be his wife. The vicar discovers her engagement with Dewy, and reproves her for her deception. Dick Dewy and Fancy Day were soon married, and it is believed they lived happily together forever afterwards.