Extracts.

Lyttelton Times, Volume VII, Issue 444, 4 February 1857, Page 4

Extracts.

(Continued from " Lyt. Times" Jan. 28J REVIEW. (From the ' Daily News,' September 4th.) l>red: a Tale of the Great Dismal Swamp. By Harriet Beeches Stowe. Sampson Low and Son. There are several characters in " Died " which remind us of others in ' Uncle Tom's Cabin' without at the same time allowing us to imagine for a moment that they are copies. . Old Tiff with whom our readers are already acquainted, has some qualities in common with Uncle Tom himself; but his comic humour, his depth of affection for the children of his mistress thrown upon his hands, his ludicrous contrivances to enable them to keep up appearances, his identification'of himself with the family are all his own. Tiff's prayers for the children when they are left entirely to him, are curiously characteristic of the man. •" Oh, good Lord, now please do look down on dese yere chil'en. I started them out as you iells me, and now where we is to go, and where we. is to get any breakfast, I'm sure I don't know. But, oh, good Lord, you has got every thing in the world in your hands, and its mighty easy for you to be helping on us, and I has fain to believe that jou will. Oh, blessed Lord Jesus, that was carried off into Egypt for fear of the King llorod, do pray look down on dese yere poor ■chii'en, for I'm sure dat ar woman is as bad as Herod any day. Good Lord, you have seen how she has been treating on them, and now do pray open a way for us through the wilderness to the promised land. Everlasting—Amen." The last two words Tiff always added to all his prayers from a sort of sense of propriety, feeling as if they. rounded off the prayer, and made it. as he would have phrased it, something more like a white prayer. We have only to say to those who question concerning this manner of prayer, that if they will examine the suppli- j cations of patriarchs of ancient times, they will find that, with the exception of the broken English and bad grammar, they were in substance very much like this of Tiff. There are traces of similarity in the characters of both the first and second novel by Mrs. Stowe, but the originality in the latter is too great to allow us to suppose for a moment that the iwo characters in the former, served as models. Two,however, are entirely new, Nina and Dred. Theformerisone of the most exquisite of creations. She comes from school a gay, thoughtless, brilliant, fluttering thing, no purpose but to sing and dance her way through the world. But her heart is first touched, and-then dark circumstances environ her with pillars of gloom, and she takes counsel of her own soul, and rises to the diguit)' of a firm, conscientious, selfsacrificing woman. The cholera breaks out on her Estate, and she it is, a mere child but a few months back, who replaces ■confusion by order, who whispers resignation to the despairing, who walks like an angel of light amidst the darkness gathering around her. Alas! she who has doiie so much for all, falls helplessly before the terribly enemy. Purified and glorified by care and sorrow, she glides silently and painlessly away into the abyss of eternity. It had a- wild, dreamy, soothing power, as verse after verse came floating in like white doves from Paradise, as if they had borne some healing on their wings : — Then haste to the happy land, Where sorrow in unknown ; But first, in a joyous band, I'll make thee my own. Haste, haste, fly with me. Where love s banquet waits for thee ; Thine all its sweets shall be, Thine, thi.e, alonet A low tap at his door at last aroused him. The door was partly open, and a little hand threw in a half-opened spray of monthly rosebuds.

" There's something to remind you that you are yet in the body ?" said a voice in the entry. "If you are rested, I'll let you come down now." And Clayton heard the light footsteps tripping down the stairs. He roused himself, and after some little attention to his toilet, appeared on the verandah. " Tea has been wilting for some time," said Nina. " I thought I'd give you a hint." " I was lying very happy, hearing you sing," said Clayton. " You may sing me that song again." " Was I singing ?" said Nina; " why, I did'nt know it! I believe that's my way of thinking sometimes. I'll sing to you again after tea. I like to sing." After tea they were sitting again on the verandah., and the whole heavens were one rosy flush of filmy clouds. " How beautiful !" said Nina. "It seems to me I've enjoyed these things this summer, as I never have before. It seemed as if I felt an influence from them going through me, and filling me as the light does those clouds !" And as she stood looking up into the sky, she began singing again the words that Clayton had heard before — I'jn come from the happy land, Where sorrow is unknown; I hay« parted a joyous baud To make tuee mine own. Haste, haste, fly with me, Where love's banquet waits for thea ; Thine all sweet shall be Thine, thine, alone. The summer has its heavy cloud, The rose leaf must fall— She stopped her singing suddenly, left the verandah, and went into the house. " Do you want anything !" said Clayton. "Nothing!" said she, hurriedly, " I'll be back in a moment." Clayton watched, and saw her go to a closet in which the medicines and cordials were kept and take something* from a glass. He gave a start of alarm. " You are not ill, are you f" he said fearfully, as she returned. "Oh, no! only a little faint. We have become so prudent, you know, that if we feel the least beginning of any disagreeable sensation, we take something' at once. I have felt this faintness quite often —it is'nt much." Clayton put his arm around her, and looked at her with a vague yearning of fear and admiration. " You look so like a spirit," he said, " that I must hold you." "Do you think I have a pair of hidden wings ?" she said smiling, and looking gaily in his face. . "I am afraid so," he said. "Do you feel quite well now ?" "Yes—l believe so —only—perhaps, we had better sit down. I think perhaps, it is the reaction of so much excitement makes me feel rather tired." Clayton seated her on the settee by the door, still keeping his arm anxiously around her. In a few moments she drooped her head wearily on his shoulder. " You are ill," he said, in tones of alarm. " No!" she said, "no ! I feel very well, only a little faint and tired. It seems co me it is getting a little cold here, isn't it?" she said with a slight shiver. Clayton took her up in his arms without speaking, carried her in, and laid her on the sofa. Then rang for Harry and Milly. "Get a horse instantly," he said to Harry, as soon as he appeared, " and go for a doctor." The fearful and mysterious disease, which was then in the ascendant, has many forms of approach and development. One, and the most deadly, is that which takes place when a p .Tson has so long and gradually imbibed the fatal poisons of an infected atmosphere, that the resisting powers of nature have been insidij ously and quietly subdued, so that the subject sinks under it, without any violent outward symptom, by a quiet and certain yielding of the vital powers; such as has been likened to the bleeding to death by an internal wound. In this case, before an hour had passed, though none of the violent and distressing symptoms of the disease appeared, it became evident that the seal of death was set on that, fair young brow. A messenger had been despatched, riding with the desperate speed which love and fear can give, but Harry remained in attenj dance.

" Do you feel

"Nothing is tile matter with, me—nothing is the matter;" she said, "except fatigue, and this change in the weather; if I only had more over me —and perhaps you had better give me a little brandy, or some such thing. "This is water, isn't it, that you have been giving nic p" Alas, it was the strongest brandy, but there was no taste, and the hartshorn that they were holding had no smell. , And there was ■ no change in the weather; it was only the creeping deadness affecting the whole outer and inner membranes of the system. Yet, still her voice remained clear, though her mind occasionally wandered. There is a strange impulse which sometimes comes in the restlessness and distress of dissolving nature to sing, and as she lay with her eyes closed, apparently in a sort of trance" she-would sing over and over again the verse of the song which she was singing when the blow of the unseen destroytsr first struck her, —• The summer hath its heavy cloud, The rose leaf must fall ■ ;■'-■'■ t But in our laud joy wears no shroud— •- Never doth it pall. At last she opened her eyes, and seeing the agony of all around, the truth seemed to come to her. - " I think I'm called," she said, " Oh! I'm so sorry for you all. Don't grieve so. Mv Father loves me so well, He cannot spare me any longer. He wants me to come to Him—• that's all.—Don't grieve so. It's home I'm going to—home. 'Twill be only a little while, and you'll come too, all of you. You are satisfied, are you not, Edward ?" And again she relapsed into the dreamy trance, and sung in that strange sweet voice, so low, so weak— In our land joy wears no shroud— Never doth it pall. Clayton, what did he ? What could he do ? What have airy of us done, who have sat holding in our arms a dear form, from which the soul was passing ?—the soul, for which gladly we would have given our own in exchange; when we have felt it going with inconceivable rapidity from us, and we, ignorant and blind, vainly striving to arrest the inevitable doom, feeling every moment- that some other thing might be done to save which is not done, and that that which we are doing may be only hastening the; course of the destroyers -Oh, those awful agonised moments when we watch the clock and no physician comes, and every stroke of the pendulum is like the approaching step of death. Oh, is there anything in heaven or earth for the despair of such hours? Not a moment was lost by the three around that dying bed, chafing those cbld limbs—administering the stimulants which the dead exhausted system no longer felt. " She doesn't suffer; thank God, at any rate for that," said Clayton, as he knelt over her in anguish. A beautiful smile passed over her face as she opened her eyes and looked on them all, and said, " No, my poor friends, I don't suffer. I'm only so sorry for you, Edward," she said to him. " Do you remember what you said to me once? it has come now —you must bear it like a man. God calls you to some work—don't shrink from it. You are baptised with fire; it all lasts only a little while—it will be over soon, very soon. Edward, take care of my poor people; tell Tom to be kind to them. My poor faithful good Harry. Oh! I'm going so fast!" The voice sank into a whispering sigh. Life now seemed to have retreated to the citadel of the brain. She lay apparently in her last sleep, when the footsteps of the doctor were heard on the verandah. There was a general spring to the door; and Dr. Butler entered; pale, haggard^ and worn, from constant exertion and want of rest. He did not say in words that there was hope, but his first dejected look said it but too plainly. She moved her head a little—like one who is asleep—uneasily upon her pillow, opened her eyes once more, and said, "Good-bye! i. will arise and go to my Fathei'." The gentle breath gradually became fainter and fainter. All hope was over. The -night walked on with silent and solemn footsteps, and soft showers fell without, murmuring upon tbe leaves. Within, all was still as death. We could point to other characters in the book which exemplify Mrs.- Stowe's power of delineation. There are the acute and the indifferent Russell, the brutal Tom Gordon, the refined and impartial Judge Clayton, Edward las sou, Nina's lover, and numerous

others, which made the book like a noble picture gallery, crowded,. but not confused. We must hower, refer our readers to the book itself, r If we had the space we would willingly make columns of .extracts. We cannot conclude, however, without noticing the spirit of fairness with which Mrs. Stowe treats the slave-owners. While obliged to point out the evils which the system necessarily generates, she deals gently with those who are mixed up with the system at the game time that they are willing to diminish its eAils, if they knew but how. The kindhearted John Gordon, and the impartial and philosophic Judge Clayton, are in their way types of different classes of excellent men who exist in the slave States. The book, if it cannot add to Mrs. Store's reputation will confirm it. It will show that the beauties of "Uncle Tom's Cabin" were not mere fitful flashes from an uncertain flame, but the steady and natural,product of a brilliant imagination.