CIIRRER BELL'S SHIRLEY. *

IN several respects this " tale " exhibits a considerable improvement upon the novels that under the name of Bell with several prefixes have excited' so much attention. There is less coarseness than was displayed in all of them, somewhat less questionable propriety than appeared in the best of

* Shirley; a Tale. By Currer Bell, Author of "Jane Eyre." In three volumes. Published by Smith and Elder. them, Jane Eyre, and nothing of the low and almost disgusting cha- racters and circumstances that disfigured the rest. Shirley has more va-

riety of persons, and in a certain sense more of actual life than was found in

Jane Eyre; but in essentials we observe little difference. That part which forms the story of the novel still depends less upon incidents than upon

metaphysical delineation of character, executed with more power than skill or naturalness; a sort of ingrained rudeness—an absence of deli- cacy and refinement of feeling—pervades the book; and above all, we have small sympathy with either the principal or the subordinate cha- racters. It would seem as if the writer's mind had a peculiarity which defeated its genius, compelling it to drop something distasteful into every idiosyncracy, that increases in proportion to the importance of the character to the fiction. The only exceptions to this are two old maids and a clergyman, who rarely appear, and who do nothing. These faults coexist with great clearness of conception, very remarkable powers of delineation both of internal emotion and outward scenes, much freshness of topic, scenery, and composition, with a species of vigour, which rather resembles the galvanic motions of a "subject" than the natural movements of life. But Currer Bell has yet to learn, that in art the agree- able is as essential as the powerful, and that the reader's attention must be attracted, not forced.

The scene of Shirley is laid in Yorkshire, towards the close of the war against Napoleon, when the Imperial Decrees and the British Orders in

Council were creating apprehension amongst the clothiers, distress among the workmen, and Jacobinical principles generally. To paint this state of society is one object of the tale, and, we think, the most successfully at- tained ; though the generality of the characters have so strong a dash of the repelling, as well as of a literal provincial coarseness, that the attrac- tive effect is partly marred by the ill-conditioned nature of the persons, whether it be the author's fault or Yorkshire's. The sketches of the workmen, the masters, the dignified clergy, the curates, the Dissenters, and the various persons who forty years ago went to make up the society of an obscure place in Yorkshire, are done with a somewhat exaggerated style, and coloured too much by the writer's own mind, but possessing rude vigour and harsh truth. The darkest part of the political night, immediately preceding the dawn, had raised peace-at-any-price people then, and enables the writer to give a present interest to the past in some of the general remarks. The following observations, indeed, are more ap- plicable now than they would have been some forty years ago. The war against Napoleon was on the whole popular even among the trading classes. " Time wore on, and spring matured. The surface of England began to look Pleasant: her fields grew green, her hills fresh, her gardens blooming; but at heart she was no better: still her poor were wretched, still their employers were harassed: commerce, in some of its branches, seemed threatened with paralysis, for the war continued; England's blood was shed and her wealth lavished : all, it seemed, to attain most inadequate ends. Some tidings there were indeed occa-

sionally of successes in the Peninsula, but these came in slowly; long intervals occurred between, in which no note was heard but the insolent self-felicitations of

Bonaparte on his continued triumphs. Those who suffered from the results of the war felt this tedious, and, as they thought, hopeless struggle against what their fears or their interests taught them to regard as an invincible power, most

insufferable: they demanded peace on any terms; men like Yorke and Moore— and there were thousands whom the war placed where it placed them, shuddering on the verge of bankruptcy—insisted on peace with the energy of desperation. " They held meetings; they made speeches; they got up petitions to extort this boon: on what terms it was made they cared not.

" All men, taken singly, are more or less selfish; and taken in bodies they are intensely so. The British merchant is no exception to this rule; the mercantile

classes illustrate it strikingly. These classes certainly think too exclusively of making money; they are too oblivious of every national consideration but that of extending England's (i s. their own) commerce. Chivalrous feeling, disinterest-

edness, pride in honour, is too dead in their hearts. A land ruled by them alone would too often make ignominious submission—not at all from the motives Christ teaches, but rather from those Mammon instils. During the late war, the trades- men of England would have endured bnfibts from the French on the right cheek and on the left; their cloak they would have given to Napoleon, and then have politely offered him their coat also, nor would they have withheld their waistcoat

if urged: they would have prayed permission only to retain their one other gar- ment, for the sake of the purse in its pocket. Not one spark of spirit, not one symptom of resistance would they have shown till the hand of the Corsican ban- dit had grasped that beloved purse ; then, perhaps, transfigured at once into Bri-

tish bulldogs, they would have sprung at the robber's throat, and there they would have fastened, and there hung—inveterate, insatiable, till the treasure had been restored. Tradesmen, when they speak against war, always profess to hate it because it is a bloody and barbarous proceeding: you would think, to hear them talk, that they are peculiarly civilized—especially gentle and kindly of dis- position to their fellow men. This is not the case. Many of them are extremely

narrow and coldhearted; have no good feeling for any class but their own, are distant, even hostile, to all others; call them useless; seem to question their right

to exist; seem to grudge them the very air they breathe, and to think the circum-

stance of their eating, drinking, and living in decent houses, quite unjustifiable. They do not know what others do in the way of helping, pleasing, or teaching their race; they will not trouble themselves to inquire: whoever is not in trade is accused of eating the bread of idleness, of passing a useless existence. Long may it be ere England really becomes a nation of shopkeepers!"

The mode by which life and continuous interest is given to what would otherwise have been a series of provincial sketches, is by two love tales; but neither of a sufficiently large or pleasing kind. Robert Moore, half English half Belgian, is bent upon raising a fortune for himself and to pay off the debts of his father's house, which was crushed by the French Revolution. He has started a mill in the neighbourhood of Stilbro' ; he has become unpopular by using improved machinery, by discharging workmen, and by a stern haughty bearing; and his life and property are threatened by the machine-breakers. Caroline Helstone, a distant rela- tion, loves him with a faith and fervour so intense as to savour of weak- ness, and to mar an otherwise attractive character. Moore encourages her affection, without committing himself; but, driven by embarrassment

and the dread of bankruptcy, as he says when repenting, or as the reader is more inclined to conclude, by a bard vain selfishness, he makes love to

Shirley Keeldar, his landlady and a sort of heiress. After inflicting a great deal of pain on Caroline, (which her friend Shirley, who sees it, could as for as she was concerned have stopped at once, but for stopping the book,) he gets punished by a rejection from Miss Keeldar. The lady, it

seems, is attached to his brother, a tutor in her former guardian's family ; and the obstacle to this second love arises from the pride of Louis Moore, and the difficulty Shirley finds in making herself understood, piqued as her pride often is by the seeming insensibility of Louis.

Whether broad cloth and bankruptcy, or the marriage of a poor lover to a rich wife, are proper moving elements of fiction, may be doubted. Trade, in its money-making aspect, appeals to no lofty emotion, if it does not rather suggest the reverse. A bankruptcy or a legacy may be aameaensa of inducing ill or good fortune, but it is only to be mentioned and dis-

missed. The meanness attaching to a fortune-hunter seems to have

es- tablished as an unalterable canon that the hero's wealth should precede his formal declaration of love : he achieves greatness, but comes into a property by luck or succession towards the "finis." This ill choice of subjects in Shirley is not counterbalanced by felicity of treatment. Robert Moore, out of the factory, is a self-satisfied melodramatic coxcomb, " half soft and half savage " ; in the factory, he is a hard and mercenary man, his objects being too much sunk and his means too much presented_ Caroline Helstone is marred by weakness and by an unfeminine display of her feelings. Louis Moore, though well drawn, and well sustained up to a certain point, flags at the critical moment, and, to make a bad thing worse, writes down the whole account of his wooing autobiographically. Indeed, this part is a sort of reverse of Mr. Rochester and Jane Eyre, as that of Caroline and Robert is a repetition of what is rarely attractive in itself—a metaphysical love tale.

These circumstances render the incidental sketches, or scenes that are not directly connected with the love affairs, the most agreeable parts of the book. The following is a specimen of a Yorkshire artisan, whom Moore has repelled as one of a deputation.

" Here the mill-bell rang twelve o'clock: it was the dinner-hour. Moore abruptly turned from the deputation and reentered his countinghouse. " His last words had left a bad, harsh impression: he at least had failed in the disposing of a chance he was lord of.' By speaking kindly to William Far- ren, who was a very honest man, without envy or hatred of those more happily circumstanced than himself—thinking it no hardship and no injustice to be forced to live by labour—disposed to be honourably content if he could but get work to do—Moore might have made a friend. It seemed wonderful how he could turn from such a man without a conciliatory or a sympathizing expression. The poor fellow's face looked haggard with want: he had the aspect of a man who had not known what it was to live in comfort and plenty for weeks, perhaps months past; and yet there was no ferocity, no malignity in his countenance: it was worn, de- jected, austere, but still patient. How could Moore leave him thus, with the words never give in,' and not a whisper of goodwill, or hope, or aid? ",Farren, as he went home to his cottage—once, in better times, a decent, clean, pleasant place, but now, though still clean, very dreary, because so poor—asked himself this question. We concluded that the foreign mill-owner was a selfish, an unfeeling, and, he thought too, a foolish man. It appeared to him that emi- gration, had he only the means to emigrate, would be preferable to service under such a master. He felt much cast down—almost hopeless. " On his entrance, his wife served out in orderly sort such dinner as she had to give him and the bairns; it was only porridge, and too little of that. Some of the younger children asked for more when they had done their portion; an application which disturbed William mach: while his wife quieted them as well as she could, he left his seat, and went to the door. He whistled a cheery stave; which did not, however, prevent a broad drop or two (much more like the first of a thun- der-shower' than those which oozed from the wound of the gladiator) from gathering on the lids of his gray eyes, and plashing thence to the threshold. He cleared his vision with his sleeve; and the melting mood over, a very stern one followed."

The rectors and curates of three parishes, especially the curates, are rather conspicuous in the book, though not in the story ; and are painted as indifferent persons, prigs of young parsons ;—but it is forty years since. The following exhibits them at a casual tea-drinking at the Reverend Mr. Helstone's, Caroline's uncle.

"Yorkshire people in those days took their tea round the table: sitting well into it, with their knees duly introduced under the mahogany. It was essential to have a multitude of plates of bread and batter, varied in sorts and plentiful in quantity; it was thought proper, too, that on the centre-plate should stand a glass dish of marmalade; among the viands were expected to be found a small assort- ment of cheesecakes and tarts; if there was also a plate of thin slices of pink ham garnished with green parsley, so much the better. "Eliza, the Rector's cook, fortunately knew her business as provider: she had been put out of humour a little at first, when the invaders came so unexpectedly in such strength; but it appeared that she ragained her cheerfulness with action, for in due time the tea was spread forth in handsome style; and neither ham, tarts, nor marmalade were wanting among its accompaniments. "The curates, summoned to this bounteous repast, entered joyous; but at once, on seeing the ladies, of whose presence they had not been forewarned, they came to a stand in the door-way. Malone headed the party; he stopped short and fell back, almost capsizing Donne, who was behind him. Donne, staggering three paces in retreat, sent little Sweeting into the arms of old Helstone, who brought up the rear. There was some expostulation, some tittering: Malone was desired to mind what he was about, and urged to push forward; which at last he did, though colouring to the top of his peaked forehead a bluish purple. Helstone, advancing, set the shy curates aside, welcomed all his fair guests, shook hands and passed aj'est with each, and seated himself snugly between the lovely Har- riet and the dashing Hannah; Miss Mary he requested to move to the seat oppo- site to him, that he might see her if he couldn't be near her. Perfectly easy and gal- lant in his way were his manners always to young ladies, and most popular was he amongst them ; yet at heart, he neither respected nor liked the sex, and such of them as circumstances had brought into intimate relation with him had ever feared rather than loved him. "The curates were left to shift for themselves. Sweeting, who was the least embarrassed of the three, took refuge beside Mrs. Sykes; who, he knew, was al- most as fond of him as if he had been her son. Donne, after making hit; general bow with a grace all his own, and saying in a high pragmatical voice, How d'ye do, Miss Helstone?' dropped into a seat at Caroline's elbow; to her unmitigated annoyance, for she had a peculiar antipathy to Donne, on account of his stultified and unrnoveable self-conceit, and his incurable narrowness of mind. Malone, grinning most unmeaningly, inducted himself into the corresponding seat on the other side: she was thus blessed in a pair of supporters, neither of whom she knew would be of any mortal use, whether for keeping up 4ie conversation, hand- ing cups, circulating the muffins, or even lifting the plate from the slop-basin. Little Sweeting, small and boyish as he was, would have been worth twenty of them. "Malone, though a ceaseless talker when there were only men present, was usually tongue-tied in the presence of ladies: three phrases, however, he bad ready cut and dried, which he never failed to produce.

"Istly. Have you had a walk today, Miss Helstone ? ' " 2dly. ' Have you seen your cousin Moore lately ? ' env., 'Nes your class at the Sunday-school keep up its number?' "These three questions being put and responded to, between Caroline and Ma- lone reigned silence.

"With Donne it was otherwise: he was troubleseme, exasperating. He had a stock of small talk on hand, at once the most trite and perverse that can well be imagined: abuse of the people of Briarlield; of the natives of Yorkshire generally; complaints of the want of high society; of the backward state of civilization in these districts; murmurings against the disrespectful conduct of the lower orders in the North toward their betters; silly ridicule of the manner of living in these parts; the want of style, the absence of elegance,—as if he, Donne, had been ac- customed to very great doings indeed: an insinuation which his somewhat under- bred manner and aspect failed to bear out. These strictures he seemed to think must raise him in the estimation of Miss Helstone, or of any other lady who heard him; whereas, with her at least, they brought him to a level below contempt: though sometimes, indeed, they incensed her ; for, a Yorkshire girl herself, she bated to hear Yorkshire abused by such a pitiful prater; and when wrought up to a certain pitch, she would turn and say something of which neither the matter nor the manner recommended her to Mr. Dome's good-will. She would tell him that it was no proof of refinement to be ever scolding others for vulgarity, and no sign of a good pastor to be eternally censuring his flock. She would ask him what he had entered the Church for, since he complained there were only cottages to visit, and poor people to preach to? whether he had been ordained to the ministry merely to wear soft clothing and sit in kings' houses ? These ques- tions were considered by all the curates as to the last degree audacious and inf. pious."