A LOSING HAZARD.*
Tins book—a strange mixture of power and weakness, of originality of conception and almost utter failure in execution—endeavours to -point three morals,—that our happiness is in steady, useful work —which is profoundly true, if we only had the insight to know our work, and the courage to go to it ;—that self-seeking is always a losing hazard, missing its aim, while honest self -forgetfuMess is sure to win ; this there is no gainsaying ;—and lastly, by implica- tion, that the mistake of an unfaithful marriage may be redeemed by dutiful faithfulness afterwards. This last is not only a false +doctrine, but a very dangerous one to preach, since it holds out what seems to be a righteous hope of future happiness to any one who wishes to attain some selfish end at present, or ha.s not courage to disappoint some desire or expectation of others. We are not amongst those who believe that a dutiful married life necessarily brings love, or even keeps away regret. It makes the best of a bad bargain, that is all. Love may come, it is true ; but as a rule "as you make your bed, so you must lie," and to marry without love will be -to live without-loving, grateful if some day a love does not spring up suddenly where it should not, that will tax conscience and philo- sophy to the utmost to make life barely respectable and scarcely endurable. And this brings us to the second mistake in the con- clusions of our authoress,—for surely this is a lady's book. She not only makes both the heroines marry men they do not love, and come to love them, but her story is a very imperfect illustration of her theory, that a "straightforward, independent game" is the only winning hazard ; the theory is true, if straightforward independ- ence can be a hazard at all ; but the illustration is bad, for it is neither straightforward nor independent, however self-forgetful it may be, to marry a man without love. So much for the prin- ciples of the book. Its execution is wonderfully unequal. It begins very nicely, and indeed, the whole of the first volume is original and picturesque, with clever sketches of interesting char- acter, and a highideal of life and duty ; and then comes, in the second, such a tissue of romantic nonsense, circumstances so preposterous and so carelessly and insufficiently accounted for, intimacies so improbable, influences so impossible, bribery so barefaced, sus- pension of justice so outrageous, and a dine cement only satis- factory because almost every one has disappeared, that we feel— except that we detect the same hand throughout—as if a thought- ful and cultivated mind had opened the story, and then, either in despair or impatience, had tossed it to a clever madcap to conclude it.
The novel breaks new ground in laying the scene in Holland, where an English Company and English engineers are reclaiming land from the sea and building harbours ; and there is a bright and clever opening chapter,—a village fete, with games and races, followed by a presentation of prizes by the lady patroness of the place, a beautiful and simple girl, whose arrival, appearance, and conduct on the occasion are all described so lightly, but so delicately, as to captivate us at the outset. The cross-purposes begin without loss of time. The young Baron Roeland loves this 7ftsweet Lisa, who loves the English engineer Randolph, who loves o the splendid Clara Vincent, who loves the Baron Roeland. At last Clara sees she has no chance of Roeland, and engages herself to Randolph, and Roeland tells Lisa :—
" The colour left her cheeks. Did you not know they were engaged ?' —She had dreamed it, and expected it in some sort of way. But not like this, not suddenly, not bursting upon her, a fact irremediable—unalter- o' A Losing Hazard. 2 vols. By Courteney Grant. London: Richard Bet.: ey and Son
able. She leaned back in the sledge, and covered her face with her hands. Ho put th.) rag round hers he tried to comfort her in a hundred ways.
How he hated Randolph at that moment, andshe.—' yet • Oh ! Roe-
land Yes.' land !' sighed she. Dear Lisa!' Is it really true —• And he is happy ?'—'Yes.'—' Then it is easier !'—• Much easier, dear : everything easier. And now Oh, Roeland, you have seen my sorrow. I am ashamed but—I shall never tell any one else. You will never tell any one ; because you love me, I tell you.' He had to think over that. It is so hard ! I thought God What am I to do now ? Of course I will be his friend always
was wrong, very foolish Yes! And now you will marry me ?' —' What ? Oh, Roeland !' Then she burst into tears outright. You don't understand. You are so foolish, so selfish, so—how can I marry you? is not seeing me thus enough to show you that ? Because you am a man, you think you have but to say the word, that I must go and I must come as you call. You don't see that / live, that I have a heart of my own. How can I marry you ? My life wasn't that. George Randolph was my life. Now that that can't be—I shall have no life at
And you deny me one too?' cried be passionately. ' What is mine to be ?'—' Yours ? I don't know. Not suffering like mine. Not self-abnegation, like mine. But women's lives are so different, you cannot understand. Yours is selfishness. Wanting moans having it with you—with us it means having to do without it. Your lives are satisfaction and pleasure, and having all your desires ministered to ; and ours is self-denial and patience, and the outer mask of indifference.' —• Then share my brightness and my joy ?' pleaded he, pointing to the glistening hill which lay smiling in front of them.—Lisa looked at the hill. 'Don't you see, ltooland, that I can't ? I should soil it, and stain your life with regrets and despair. Mine will be hard enough. Don't weight it with heavier duties and deeper responsibilities. Give me no sorrow of yours to add to my burden. Go away with your mistaken en- treaties, and with your golden eagle. Lot me out.'—' Very well, Lisa. Look hero ! just listen to what you are doing. When you hear of me doing wrong, when your hear of Roeland — idle, foolish, falling lower every day '—she got out of the sledge, and stood shrinking away from him with a sort of contempt on her grave face= with nothing good done, and every bad feeling indulged, with every power I have abused, and every friend I had estranged—then you will know it is your work. Good-bye—you are at Meerfleet. Are you going in ? I take the golden eagle away That is not fair. Roeland !' called she, looking after him, but he was too angry to listen."
Roeland goes away and leads a wild life in his despair, and Lisa thinks it is her doing, so the instant he returns she accepts him, to save him. As she has high principle, which the gorgeous Clara is without, she gets on well enough, and seeing how wretched her rival is, strives to mend matters, and calls in the aid of a mutual friend. The scene explains her transparent good- ness and the danger of the proceeding which opens the door to the amazing programme of the second volume :—
" am thinking of something much nearer home, answered Lisa, Put away your Eastern visions, Mr. Travers, and come back with me to poor little Franewyk. You can help me. I want to know about the Randolphs.'—' What about them ?' Ho barely opened his mouth to say the words, and Lisa wondered if he would open it again to let her hoar any more. Guy was always reticent on that subject. I want to know,' she pursued confidingly, smiling as she leaned towards him, 'if you think she is happy ?'—' Happy ! why shouldn't she be ? Every- thing she wants, and a husband perfectly devoted to her !'—' Oh yes— devoted to her stammered poor Lisa.— ' I know women are always taking alarm,' went on Guy, rather brutally, • and are always hoisting danger-signals—'—' No ; not that.'—' Of course, I know it was very foolish of her to dye her hair.'—Lisa laughed. 'Oh! I don't mean that. I forgot it, in fact. Why did she do it ?'—Guy found he had put his foot into it. Oh! nothing. A mere freak. Said she had nothing to do. You found her out of spirits to-slay, I suppose, which has set your kind heart thinking.'—' No; it was more her manner, her looks—her- I hardly know what.'—' You found her looking ugly, I dare say. I begged of you not to go, you know. Streaks like that are most unbe- coming. Ugliness was the result of unhappiness, you thought, not of hair-dye ?'—' Do be serious.'—' Well, to be serious, I do not see how she can be unhappy with Randolph. He is such a good fellow. Dull sometimes she may be, for she is a good deal alone.'—' Could I ask her here more ? Could I do anything ?' asked Lisa, timidly.—' You know best yourself, Madame Roeland.' Ho puffed away at his cigar obsti- nately.—' mean—she is there—my neighbour—English, rather soli- tary. She is, too, our old friend's wife. Ought I not—'—There was a prolonged silence. 'It might be playing with edged tools, perhaps,' said he.—' But—if she is dull!' she exclaimed impulsively. Roeland and Saltichus passed her with heads bent, deep in conversation. Roe- land !' said Lisa, touching his sleeve; and ri,ing, she leaned on the great cedar branch, and swayed herself to and fro as she looked up at him through the dark foliage ; • I think Mrs. Randolph must be very dull. I thought so to-day. Mr. Travers thinks so too. Will you let me ask her here very often—continually ?'—Roeland frowned. I think that is her husband's affair, not yours.' said he.--' Alit but he is away all day.' Is she dull?' questioned Saltiehus. 'Oh! I daresay that explains it. I often see her at the window from my house. As I pass that way, I often hear restless snatches of music. Poor caged bird ! I daresay she is dull.' —' Yes. Oh! Roeland, you must let me.'—' Very well,' said he, quickly, as though to put the subject away for the present. But just now oblige me. Saltiehus and I were talking about diamonds. I wish you would show him yours. I want him particularly to see that blue one —'— Promise me "Yes," Roeland, and then I Shall we think about it just a little more ?'—' No,' said she wilfully.= Very well, then, I promise. And now for the diamond."—She moved towards the house. when Guy started to save her the journey. 'Should ho ask her maid?' but Roeland said, 'Let her go.' Then himself followed and accom- panied her.—' Wilful wife !' exclaimed ho.—'Nay, Roeland. But should I be playing with edged tools ?'—' Yes. You would.'—' Tell me, Roeland, should I fear her ?'—' You need fear her no more,' said he contemptuously, 'than I distrust you. But think, Lisa. They all thought in those old.
days that you and he would have married. Now what will they say if he should be here always?'—' Say ?'—' Even now, as you proposed asking them, I saw Saltichus glance at your face as though he suspected that another motive lay below. Your eyes fixed steadily on mine,
ready to face the world, shamed him, but still . . . Then I hate Doctor Saltichus ! But Roeland, are we never to do good because others might suspect unworthy motives?' He smiled upon her tenderly. 'I will take care. I will be very prudent and judicious. But I cannot bear to see Clara unhappy. I cannot boar to leave anything undone that might do them both good, or make them happier together.' Then she went for the diamonds."
So far all the characters are natural and true to life, and exhibit much power of conception. Randolph, longing always for Eng- land, but with his manly English endurance and application, his uprightness, his impatience of the low principles of his worldly- minded directors, and his religion—just falling short of a divine one—that conscientious work is the highest service, is a masterly sketch. So is Roeland, with his much greater modesty, and diffidence, and gentleness,—reserved, too, like Randolph, but with the reserve bred of aristocratic unfamiliarity, not of a proud self-reliance. And Guy is not bad ; the cheerful, clever, aide-de- camp of Randolph, brought up to nothing, but obliged to work, and doing so in a spasmodic way, with a good-natured super- ciliousness to his inferiors, and a patronising politeness to the fair sex, with whom he is evidently a favourite and at home. But what power there is in the second volume is so swamped in the rubbish of the incident, that we should not have noticed the book at all, but for the unmistakable evidence of talent in the first. It is only right, however, that we should justify our condemnation of this volume. Well, then, a Portu- guese workman in the diamond mines of Borneo steals and secretes in an iron chest, in a hollow tree, diamonds, pearls, coral, and nuggets of gold—we are not told how they all came to be found in the same place—his sweetheart falls in love with a British sailor of the Charley-Thompson type, and helps him to run away with the iron chest ; but Charley imprudently tells her that he is going straight to Holland to sink it, pro tem., in Maeslem Meer, and then leaves her behind to reveal the scheme to the Portuguese bravo. Charley, having sunk it scientifically with the help of a professional diver, who dies the next day, goes to America, and dying there, tells his surgeon about it, and gives him the bearings of the hiding-place, to enable him to recover it and divide it with his deserted wife. The Portuguese, having got similar informa- tion from his repentant sweetheart, arrives in Holland as well as the American surgeon ; both bribe Clara, the engineer's wife, to help them to find this chest, and they so tempt her with the .promise of diamonds that she goes diamond-mad, and Steals an im- immensely valuable blue one which is lying about at the diamond polisher's at Amsterdam, and which she secretes under her tongue. She dances with the king with the stolen diamond in her hair at the opening of the harbour, and is very naturally taken up by the police just as she and the Portuguese arrive, in the dead of night, to see the American doctor, who had stolen a march on them, unearthing the chest from some reclaimed land. The Portuguese man helps Clara to escape, and the police don't recover her, but side with the Portuguese, who, within five minutes of hearing Clara's and the doctor's stories comfortably in the doctor's parlour, is on his way to Siberia with his heavy chest, nem. con. The engineer forgives his wife, and they go quietly away somewhere ; and the doctor, with no compensation of any sort, except finding that he is Guy's lost brother, is supposed to go somewhere else. So the Dutch folks, who alone are good and pure, are left in peace at last.
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