IS THAT ALL?*
To be really entertaining in one volume is a great merit, and more especially is it a merit when an author is not only entertaining in small compass, but able to present us with a picture of manners and of a life which we but half know, and wish to know more thoroughly ; and therefore, though we have already given in a Is That Alit London: Sampson Low, Marston, Searle, and Rivington. 1877.
line or two of warm praise our estimate of this clever little, anonymous tale, we venture to call public attention to it some- what more at length. Though we have not even a guess who its author may be, we have a strong suspicion that he or she is neither unpractised nor diffident of success. The interest of the tale lies partly in its intrinsic vivacity, and partly in the bright glimpse it
gives us of the higher social culture of the Northern States of the American Union,—not as it appears in any of the principal cities, but in one of those quieter towns where the older gentry still retain the sort of influence which attaches in our own country to county families. Short as the story is, almost every figure in it is distinctly outlined and freshly painted. The rival leaders , of society, Mrs. Pryor and Mrs. Anderson, are both admirably sketched. The portly and imposing Mrs. Pryor is charming both in her candour and in her unlimited confidence in her too fasci- nating, invalid husband. We take a deep interest in her fromthe moment when she confesses to him,—a Colonel disabled in the civil war, whose state of health rightly causes her the utmost solicitude,—" no woman ever tried harder to pine away than I have done for a year, and 'tis of no use ! Winter and summer accumulate me alike,"—a happy Americanism for a tendency to obesity. With all her devotion to him, the good woman cannot deny that the sacrifice of her social position as a leader of the enlightened society in the town,—she has reunions on Sunday, to the scandal of the more orthodox,—is a sacrifice to her, and she is not very sorry to recover her position, even though her husband cannot renounce his seclusion. Mrs. Anderson, on the contrary,
the leader of the saints, though not of very rigid saints, is a lady who is decidedly pleased to be now and then mistaken for her own pretty daughter, and has some of that genius for ecclesiastical patronage which, in a country of Voluntary Churches, is apt to be combined with pietism. It is on the unconfe.ssed social competi- tions of these two ladies that the little story turns. Mrs. Pryor is persuaded by her husband to bring out a protegee,—a wonder- ful reciter and reader, whose variety of tone and mastery of expression produce great sensation in the refined society of Guild- ford. Mrs. Anderson, on the other hand, patronises an English clergyman—a baronet's younger son and a "muscular Christian," of mild evangelical views, who is studying the condition of the poor in the United States,—and makes a certain amount of social capital out of his high-bred manners and distinction. The two adventurers,
for both are in different senses adventurers, in their relation to each other, for they are old acquaintances, though they are not aware of each other's presence in Guildford, supply the plot of the little stork, which is exceedingly lively, as lively as a little comedy. But the pleasantness of the book is due to the number
of happy sketches, which give the story reality and charm. The author's favourite character, as he (or she) frankly tells us, is Mrs. Pryor, with her perfect candour, her large confidence in a husband greatly given to tenderness for all pretty women, her "pathetically superficial" scepticism and new-lightiam, her somewhat noble pride, and her great magnanimity. But for our own parts, we prefer even to her "the blonde angel" of the story, Lily Ander-
son, with her love of admiration, her gift for detecting all sorts of insincerity, her very plain speech, her evident preference ,for
her nnpresentable father to her fine-lady mother, and her power of calmly snubbing that feminine pillar of the Church, especially when she wants to marry her daughter to the brawny young English divine. Here is a lively scene from the Anderson interior. The young English divine in question is remarking on the snow- storm raging without, as our extract opens
By Jove, this is terrific for at that instant a blast, fiercer than any which had preceded it, caused the plate-glass to rattle and the gas to waver. 'Devilish cold too I' emitted the lord of the house, rubbing his large hands, over the glowing coals. He had just returned from a visit of inspection to his exposed thermometer,—next to the Stook Exchange and the Evening Circus the keenest interest of his life. 'Nineteen and a half precisely ! We don't often get it with the mercury down there. This will give you a stroke of work in the alleys,--*you philanthropist.'—' Ah, yes, ah, yes!' sighed Mrs. Rose, closing her eyes —a gesture which always made Lily pat the carpet with her beet—',how the poor will suffer I In this respect, at least, dear Mr. Warburton, our poor are worse off than yours. Oar climate is so cruel.'—' There's not much to choose, I fancy,' the young man answered a little absently. 'What, when all is done and said, do we know about their discomforts and temptations? I often think of it, when I am advising them to.re- sist the Devil. It is undeniably hard that a man may not steal coals, if he can, to keep himself from freezing on a night like this.'—' I think he not only may, but ought,' said Lily, 'especially if he has a family.'— 'My love, the Commandment But I'm sure, mamma, the Ten Com- mandments are a very imperfect code.' (This was a quotation.) The meanest of all sins—lying—they hardly mention at all. Now that is a something the temptation to which is perfectly inconceivable.' 'Lying is ugly, certainly,' said the young divine, lifting his eyes to the fair censor's face, and letting them fall again, 'but I think I can imagine a temptation to I cannot, then ; in old or young, rich
or poor, —nor a pardon for it either.'—' She would make a pitiless judge; Mr. Warburton said to his hostess, rising at the same time to take leave, and rather contemptuously repudiating the suggestion that he had better remain over-night, on account of the inclemency ef the weather. Why will you always drive him from us, Lily ?' inquired Mrs. Anderson rather plaintively, when he was gone. "1 mamma?'— and Innocence rose to her full height what do you mean ? You can't suppose I was alluding to him when I spoke of
lying Really I am ashamed of you.'—' Snub the parson, did she ?' said the churchwarden, with some glee. 'So she should, if she wanted to I Come and kiss me, my duck, and then Ell go to bed.' The em- brace was bestowed with some effusion, but when Lily made as though she also would retire, her mother detained her. ' Remain for a few moments, my child, I wish to speak to you seriously.' Then Lily sat down. 'Have you never reflected, inquired Mrs. Rose with some pomp and some pathos, what it would be to you to secure, at your early age, the affection of a man like Mr. Warburton? A man of the greatest personal attractions—the most sacred profession—the highest family connections—the noblest type of character—' 'No, mamma,' answered the young lady sweetly, 'I can't say that I have., I don't reflect in that way about gentlemen, unless they particularly request it. Did you, mamma ?'—' Lily,' said her mother, unmoved to smile, 'you are unkind ! My own fate is fixed,— fixed! I endeavour to accept it.' She pressed her lace handkerchief for a moment to her face, and so did not see the half-indignant flash of the saucy blue eyes returning from a swift tour of the splendid room, with a look that said plainly,—' You might have done worse." But I would fain,' Mrs. Anderson continued, see you, my darling, in a wholly congenial sphere. You may never have another opportunity like the
present. Think twice before you reject Certainly, mamma ; but I cannot reject before I have it, you know. Now may I go?'—' With- out bidding your mother good-night ?' Then Lily kissed her other parent quietly, and departed.
The "blonde angel" comes out even more characteristically in a conversation with her friend, Miss Richards, on the am- biguous Englishman, when she confesses that her preference for her own lover is not exactly due to any tenderness of feeling, but to her power of believing in him as completely trustworthy, even though it may be a question how far he is always quite clean :—
" Miss Anderson was hot yet twenty, but she had had experience in lovers, and she was obstinately in love herself, and she knew very well that a good many of the young Briton's inarticulate murmurs meant personal admiration. And still she did not quite understand him. 'Sometimes,' she said pensively to her only confidante, Emily Richards, 'I think it is mamma he hankers after.' Miss Lily had cer- tainly the sort of unholy yearning which her word implied for effec- tive and inelegant forms of speech. Nonsense He all but makes eyes at you from the reading-desk.'—' That's only at the pew, and in a general way. And sometimes, also,' pursued Miss Anderson, with her contemplative look, I have a feeling that he has made a great many eyes in his day, and only does it from force of habit. One does not think so at first, because of that plain, boyish way of his, which mamma will have it to be the true simplicity of the high-bred English- man.' (Lily was a good mimic.) 'She always speaks as if she had known them by hundreds, but I remember very well that they would hardly deign to look at us when we were abroad,—and great louts they were, too, some of the most stupendous of them. But the longer I know Mr. Warburton, the less stock I take—I must remember to say that before mamma and him—in his simplicity.'—' You don't think he's another impostor, do you? Not exactly, and yet I don't quite believe in him.'—' How you analyse everybody, Lily !'—'So Cousin Charley used to say, but .I always told him that I only do it—if that's the proper word for it—in order to find out in whom I may believe. Oh what I want most of all,' and a look of real and almost hapless fervour came into the violet eyes, 'is to believe in persons. I never could quite believe in my mother. In my father I do after a fashion, unpleasant as he can make himself ; and I do believe in Charles Mason. That's why I shall marry him and nobody else. We're not engaged, you now —that is, not formally. It would never be allowed. And I'm not much in love with him, in the ordinary sense of the term—' Good- nese How do you know? Oh, I haven't any raptures or any thrills or any illusions. I haven't the sort of tendresse which mamma always has for some man or other besides father —just now for Mr. War- burton. In short, I'm not in the least sweet on him. Nor do I fancy that sort of thing. That was what I always disliked about Colonel Pryor. He could be sweet, yes, veritably sweet, on a dozen girls in suc- cession. He was very, very chivalrous,' observed Miss Richards, paying the retired officer his perpetual tribute of a light feminine sigh. Of course his manners were courtly. But I prefer a little honest rudeness myself. Charles is often very rade. And he is always very homely--or ugly, as Mr Warburton insists that one should say. And sometimes 'he strikes me as pedantic though I'd soon cure him of that! And I have seen creases in his linen, not to say smudges—but that only because, poor fellow ! he can't quite afford all the washing that Is desirable. I think he is clean—"Oh,Lily I '—'And I know,' added the young lady, with deep solemnity, and looking like the very angel of the Church triumphant, 'that he is true. He never did anything to be ashamed pf, and he never will.'—' No more, I suppose, has Mr. War- burton.'—' I'm afraid not. But do you know it has occurred to me more than once, when I have seen him standing up in his white gown, so handsome and sanctimonious and mamma so devout, and Dr. Price so entirely satisfied, because now le can let his old wits go wool-gathering about his old book, how delightful it would be to see their consterna- tion, if even the Bishop's nephew should turn out by-and-by to have done something truly horrid.'" The adventuress who trades so much on her voice is made exceedingly amusing, as also is the good Colonel, with his genius for flirtations and Mrs. Pryor's friend, the champion of woman's rights, Mrs. Wyllys. Indeed the story, which many people could read in an hour, and even
slow readers in two hours, is full enough of skill and liveliness to have made a reputation for a three-volume novel, even though the diluting verbosity which would have been necessary to fill up the three volumes would have done much to hide the buoyancy and humour concentrated in this little tale.
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