EMMA CliEYNE.* WE can hardly call this a good story,
but it is a clever and lively volume of art-criticism, mingled with keen sketches of life, some rather highly-coloured caricature, and a little delicate character- drawing, all gilded with a something not entirely without interest of the nature of a story. Its fault as a book is that nothing in it
is done carefully enough to stand alone ; that its somewhat mis- cellaneous ontnium-gatherunt procedure is not well adapted to give due effect to the best elements it contains. There is one fine conception in it. The character of the clergyman who has a true
feeling for art, but no sufficient genius to make him recognise Art as his vocation, no sufficient concentrativeness to secure success in any one pursuit to which he devotes himself, a mind too pale and fine for the rough clerical work to which it is set, a conscience too tender for anything like the self - satis- faction which disguises failure, and altogether a nature of finer mould; than consists with its slender stock of creative power, is exceedingly well conceived, and up to a certain point well delineated. But that point is not high enough to impress deeply the ordinary reader. The sketch, indeed, of Mr. Cheyne is like one of Mr. Cheyne's own pictures. "Your ideas," said the great picture-dealer to Mr. Cheyne, "are better than your workmanship,"—and that is what we must say to Mr. Ellis Brandt of this sketch of his of Mr. Cheyne himself. The idea is good, could not indeed be better, but the workmanship is in some way in- effective. Mr. Brandt has somehow failed just as Mr. Cheyne failed where his pupil with a natural genius for such art succeeded. "I tried for hours," says poor Mr. Cheyne, "to strike the right note between thatblack and that yellow, and the boy has done it with the firstsweep of his brush." In this case there has been no boy to supply the deficient workmanship of the artist. There is a clear defici- ency in the effect, in spite of the perfection in the conception of the twilight beauty of Mr. Cheyne's character ; evidently something has been attempted which might have made a really fine literary por- trait, but withoutadequate success. 'The book, however, is certainly more about Mr. Cheyne than about his daughter Emma who gives it its title. Of her we are told enough to leave a pleasant and even fascinating impression, but hardly enough to feel that we know hef,truly. We know some of her qualities, but not quite herself. She is, perhaps, even less real to the reader than the practical and housewifely Sarah Grey, afterwards Sarah Cheyne, who marries Emma's brother.
However, what will secure this little book a certain measure of success, is not its serious studies of character, which are too little elaborated for literary effect, and something too much for mere amusement, but rather its broad caricature of the religious squabbles of the little village of Okendale. We call this broad caricature, because Mr. Brandt, in painting the vulgar Evan- gelicism of the place, has ventured to lay on the vul- garity of phrase and manner much too strongly to be in keeping with the society which these vulgar people frequent, and with the influence they are allowed to acquire. It is, of course, perfectly true that a millionaire like Mr. Counter, who drops his
h's and talks the most boorish English conceivable, might be
admitted into fair society and have his blunders of speech over- looked, in consideration of his wealth and importance. But it is quite certain that a woman of no wealth or importance, like Mrs.
Mudge, would never visit in the set she is supposed to visit in, if she were as utterly destitute of culture as Mr. Ellis Brandt repre- sents her. Indeed, it is pretty clear that he allows himself the privilege of vulgarising the grammar of all the persons whose vulgarity of 'religious creed he wants to expose, without much regard to the social unities in so doing. Nevertheless, the picture of the discontent felt at Mr. Cheyne's tender religious refine- ment, and of the attempt to set up an Evangelical opposition to him in Okendale, is amusing enough, though our author wisely conceals the nature of the very simoniacal compact into which apparently Mr. Cheyne himself ultimately enters with Mr. Frogg for the vacation of the living. We suspect that Mr. Ellis Brandt's strong point is not English ecclesiastical law, since we are never told from one end of the story to the other who was the patron of the living of Okendale, and how the patron's consent was obtained to the act of simony of which apparently both the incoming and the outgoing rectors were guilty. But passing over all these little inaccuracies, the picture of the Evangelical intrigue against the Rector of Okendale is very amusing, and the disgust with which the party regarded poor Mr. Cheyne's exhortations to his parishioners to be kind to the
• Emma Chong: a Prom Idyll of English Life. By Ellis Brandt London Chapman and Hall.
domestic animals they use, is humorously enough painted. There is a dinner at the vulgar millionaire's, which immediately precedes a revivalist prayer-meeting ; and at this dinner the Evangelical or opposition clergyman, Mr. Frogg, is present, though the rector, Mr. Cheyne, has declined it, wishing to prepare his mind more perfectly for the prayer-meeting of the evening :-
" Not for one moment, my dear sir, not for one moment ought we to forget it,' said Mr. Frogg, in answer to Counter's not very fresh remark, as he lifted a piece of cheese to his mouth, that we live in perilous times. But the dangers of the age ought to be signal-fires to light us to our duty.' The sentiment and the illustration met with general ap- proval.—' That's hit,' said Counter, spoiling a pronoun, but not intend- ing a pun ; nonsense won't do in these days. It's the plain gospel we want.' Frogg, engaged with his knife and fork, did not reply at the moment, and Mrs. Mudge, who sat a little way down the table on Mr. Counter's left, ventured in modest and almost whispered accents to put in her word.—' Oh, sir, that's true. It's not every whim and crotchet, even though there's no 'arm in 'em, that's fit to be brought into the pul- pit when '— Mr. Counter nodded and laughed.—' I know what you're thinkin' on, Mrs. Mudge,' he said. You're thinkin' on last week's ser- mon. We mustn't be 'aid on absent friends.'—' I ain't 'ard on any man, Mr. Counter, but five minutes out of twenty all about a old white 'orse as fell and cut 'is knees, and not one minute to tell the plan of salva-
tion 'It's not the right thing, sure enough,' said Counter. 'I'm all for kindness to hanimals, myself—but that's not wot we go to church to 'ear.' Mr. Frogg now saw how the land lay, and thought it time to put in his oar.—' I'm sure that our good host, and Mrs. Mudge and every one present will agree with me, that kindness to animals is a beautiful and a Christian virtue. When I see the lovely and brilliant creatures' —Mr. Frogg's right arm raised itself with the instinctive action of the orator, and his three fore-fingers waved in graceful curve over the adjoining decanter—' that light the wave with their colours and fill the grove with their melody—when I mark those patient and docile slaves of man that bear his yoke and never ask for their freedom—I pity, but while I pity, I almost hate, the man who can be cruel to them:—The little burst of eloquence, sot off by Mr. Frogg's spirited elocution, to which we do no justice on the printed page, was well received by the company in general, although a slight shade might have been observed to cross the brow of Mrs. Mudge. A pause took place, and then Miss Sterling
spoke We particularly require to be reminded of our duty to dumb animals in this parish, Mr. Frogg, because much of our business lies on the London road, and the horses are systematically over-loaded and over- driven.' Miss Sterling's tones were not loud, but clear, sweet and firm. The listener, unless he were very vulgar or very bad, at once attended to them.—' That is an important point,' said Mr. Frogg. 'The local peculiarities of his parish deserve consideration from every clergyman.'— " And ill-treatment of the horses,' Miss Sterling went en, is connected with vicious practices in the drivers. They drink in the public-houses on the way while the animals stand shivering in the frost, or sweltering in the sun, and then they beat them into a killing pace to make up for lost time.'—' That is a sad state of things,' said Mr. Fregg.—But Mrs. Mudge was not going to let Miss Sterling put her to the rout in this quiet, matter-of-fact way. With a smile intended to express deep sagacity exalted by piety and tempered by condescending kindness, and with a glance for sympathy and support towards Counter, 'Oh, well, Mr. Frogg,' she remarked, we sometimes have bad cases, but you know, and Mr. Counter knows, that if people is always lookin' out for anythin' they'll see it where no one else can,—specially in the treatment of hanimals, if they're very soft-hearted. But, if you'll believe me, there.ain't much to complain of—the Society has their men always on the road, and there's the police besides. I'll speak against no man's hobby, nor no woman's, but we don't live only for our own feelin's and for this world, and what I know Mr. Counter objecks to is preaching about the beasts that perish, instead of calling to repentance souls that live for ever:—This was a judicious speech. It cast the aspersion of weakness, of soft heartedness, upon Mr. Cheyne and his apologist, Miss Sterling ; it flattered Counter, and It gave Frogg new lights upon the situation, of which he knew how to make good use. When Mrs. Mudge stopped, he struck in before Miss Sterling. His tone was that of a judge balancing evidence and impartially laying down the law.—' Mr. Counter and Mrs. Mudge will, I am sure, permit me to say that I enter into the feelings of Miss Sterling and respect them. Our feelings have their rights. Our feelings, if they are properly attuned, guide us to our duties and in our duties. But—" and here he lowered and deepened his voice into that metallic clang so well known to every one who has heard the speeches of eminent counsel at Westminster —" I draw a lino between the mortal and the immortal. For me—I speak only for myself and con- demn no man—the pulpit is sacred ground. We have the platform—we have the press—we have the power of association, so well illustrated by the Society to which Mrs. Mudge has alluded ;—let these cope—let all of us through these cope—with the execrable practice of cruelty to animals. But to save immortal souls from everlasting fire—that is the first, the second, and the third work of the Christian pulpit.' Mr. Frogg accompanied his climax with the oratorical gestures which ex- perience had taught him were effective, and the general impression of the listeners was that the subject was settled, and that Mr. Frogg was a surprising and invaluable man. Miss Sterling, indeed, to judge by the expression of her eye and lip, was not satisfied, and formed the idea of replying. But with a deprecating sneer, almost too strong to be con- sistent with courtesy, Counter checked her. He thought further dis- cussion superfluous, and impatiently wound up the matter in his own way.—' Every sensible man will agree with you, Mr. Frogg, only that you draw it very mild. 'Taint right, this trifling with eternal interests. The brute beasts, after all, are given us to make use of ; they're pro- putty, and a man, generally speakin', 'ill take care of his proputty. And wets the sufferin' of a 'ors, even if it is ill-treated for half-a-dozen years, compared with the flames of hell for ever ? I've no patience with them crotchets, and I don't care who knows it.'"
The picture of Mr. Frogg, with his ready unction, his loud and sadden laugh, his wily regard for the main chance, his sympathy with scruples which only called other clergymen's orthodoxy in
question, and his authoritative and affronted amazement at any scruple about his own, is really a very vigorous one. The char- acter of Mr. Frogg is to the character of Mr. Cheyne what the favourite subjects of that Dutch school which studied warts and wrinkles are to the favourite subjects of Reynolds, who caught the flying shadows of the most subtle sentiments ; but then the pic- ture of Mr. Frogg is, in its common-place way, very impressive, and the picture of Mr. Cheyne,—as distinguished from the conception of Mr. Cheyne,—is not. Nothing can be better after its slight fashion than this picture of Mr. Frogg enjoying the gambols of Mr. Cheyne's pigs :— "Mr. Frogg appeared, according to plan, in the rectory. Counter introduced him, but took himself presently away, leaving the two clerical gentlemen to their talk. Frogg was as gracious as inquisitive- ness would permit, and as inquisitive as graciousness rendered possible. They walked about the garden, peeped into the outhouses, left no corner of the rectory precincts unexplored. Frogg was in his best humour' and his vacant, heartless laugh found occasion in everything. The bees were comical at their work, the cocks and hens were funny, the geese suggested many remarks to this nimble spirit. But it was when a bevy of piglinga, seven weeks old, at which age a pig is out of sight the most vivacious of the inmates of a farm-yard, came rushing from their straw to reconnoitre the stranger, that his merriment reached a climax. As they stood, the boldest in front, cocking their minute ears and raising their tiny snouts, curiosity and love of mischief lurking in their eyes, he suddenly clapped his hands loudly. Backwards, head over heels, tumbled piggies, squealing and kicking in convulsive fright, and scampering off to various hiding-places. nogg grinned from ear to ear. Then gradually, from this corner and from that, emerging here from beneath a wisp of straw, peeping there with the slyest of little sparkling eyes round a wall, the routed piggies dared to look on the field of their disaster. The cleverest and bravest, venturing a step or two at a time, advanced. A second, a third, a fourth stole up beside this infant Hercules. In two minutes they were all again in array, gazing on Frogg with a fixity of attention which, if they had been a class of National School children, -would .have justified any inspector in recommending their master for a first-class certificate. Frogg clapped his hands louder than before. The tumbling, kicking, squealing, scampering, and returning were repeated. The intelligence and the zest with which the creatures now entered into the game' the small tails all wagging, the small eyes glittering like little black diamonds, tickled Frogg beyond measure. He was a short and dapper man, slender, though not lean, who buttoned his coat, not too clerical in cut, tight round his waist, as if to prove that his figure had not lost its youthful form, and that, whatever Hamlet might be, he was not pursy, or scant of breath, or even remotely menaced with that bulging of the chest which, in middle age, works such havoc with manly beauty. As he stepped with prompt celerity into this garden alley or into that, he seemed the incarnation of vulgar energy, frisking, jocund, and com- placent, beside gentlemanly repose, softened by sadness, in the person of Cheyne."
Sketches of this kind,—and some of them are exceedingly good in their way,—are the really popular elements of the story. As for the Ruskinese disquisitions, though some of them are subtle and all of them are thoughtful, we cannot doubt that they add to the sense of confusion which marks this too miscel- laneous though clever volume. Mr. Cheyne's character is, it is. true, intended to be that of a manqué artist, and if anything is really good in the book, it is the conception of Mr. Cheyne's character. Yet the Ruskinese discussions do not tend to illustrate Mr. Cheyne's character, and this being the case, the fact that they turn on subjects in which he is interested, instead of rendering them more germane to the book, rather makes them more out of place. Just as nothing is less suited to the sketch of a politician than a story of political struggles in which he had little concern, or to the sketch of a soldier's career than the story of campaigns in which he did not serve, so the account of Mr. Cheyne's fruitless efforts after an artistic career seems to be more completely smothered by these debates on Ruskinese principles than it would be even by debates on subjects of a less seemingly appropriate kind. And as for Colin Grey, his personality is altogether too faint to be drawn out by these miscellaneous discussions on Art. On the whole, we must pronounce Emma Cheyne a clever bit of nondescript literature,—a product that wants straining and clearing of the many miscellaneous germs of thought and drift it contains, that wants organising into a more perfect whole. Nevertheless, Emma Cheyne is the production of a writer who his plenty of humour and ample intellectual insight.
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