FOR LACK OF GOLD.*

MR. GIBBON is no unsuccessful student of Sir Walter Scott. We say this without any intention to disparage still less to hint at plagiar- ism. Far from it. We mean simply that he has perceived and appre- ciated many of the qualities for which Scott will always be admired, and has, to a fair extent, succeeded in writing a story in which much that is good is similar, both in conception and execution, to passages in the Waverley novels. There is the same eye for the wild and picturesque in scenery, the same love of the romantic and marvellous, the same delight in social gatherings, the same fondness for old and quaint customs, the same reverence for the stern faith and practice of the Puritan, and, finally, the same sneaking regard for the free bold spirits that despise, alike, law, order, and respectability, whether in the person of the open- handed bankrupt laird, the proprietor of the mountain still, the poacher, or the mendicant. But Mr. Gibbon adds something distinctly not learnt from Scott, but common to most good novels of modern days, and frequently sadly in excess, namely, the delineation of the struggles between good and evil in the soul, and the self-communings—often morbid and injurious—which accompany them. These characteristics of Mr. Gibbon's writings are amply illustrated in the book before us. For Lack of Gold sounds very sensational, and the book, which is not at all of this kind, deserves a less objectionable title. Why did not our author take Sir Walter for his model in this matter also, and adopt a simple one, as the latter certainly would have done? "The Laird Balquherrie," or" The Mill o' Comrie," would have taken us at once to Scotland, and had all the attractiveness for us which appertains to anything that reminds us of the Waverley novels.

We begin with a roup or auction, where all the country-side assemble to divide between them the crops and implements of the unlucky hero, Angus Lamb, whose father had become surety for the spendthrift Laird of Balquherrie ; -and the close of the day introduces us to the pious, but stern old woman reproving her son for his wrathful and sullen impatience under his mis- tunes, and to the warm-hearted girl to whom he was to have been married, and who comes to console them ; and to the miller, her father, who hurries after her, in such a burry to fetch her back that he omits to remove the flour from his mean little person, and whose vanity and desire to stand well as a good and religious-minded man cannot, in such a moment of danger, cloak his absorbing greed for wealth and still more despicable craving to improve the social position of his family at any sacrifice of happiness to its individual members. These four and the Laird are the principal characters, and are well conceived and sustained, and the subordinate ones —especially the snappish elder sister, Susan—are all more or less good. The Laird appears on the stage distressed at the news of the roup, and good-naturedly anxious to put the matter right ; but his only resource is borrowing, and he has no more securities to give. In this dilemma the rich miller offers his young daughter as a wife, and a fortune with her ; and the rollicking laird, who thinks it a capital joke, and knows nothing of her engagement to Angus, closes with the offer. His courting is terrible enough for the modest and loving girl, who is only too strong in the belief that she must not disobey her father.

* For Lad of Gold. By Charles Gibbon. London : Blackle and Son.

Nevertheless, the situation is sometimes inevitably humorous, in the midst of the pain :—

" Mrs Forbes had caught sight of a bit of her petticoat in the space between two of the bags, and she had told the laird where to find her. He had'grown tired of waiting in the house, and had stepped out, in the expectation of finding either Comrie or Annie. He chuckled, although he made a wry face in doing so, when Mrs. Forbes betrayed the fugitive. Chagrined and out of humour as he was, the fun of the position tickled him, and he entered the hiding-place on tiptoe. Annie bit her lip, and face and neck became crimson. She rose slowly and walked out from the corner, tying and untying her apron strings nervously. She was ashamed and angry. The absurdity of the position in which she had placed herself provoked tears of vexation. That sign of weakness, how- ever, abe managed to suppress ; and the effort did not improve her regard for the laird. She could forgive much, but it is not easy to forgive the person who makes one look foolish. You did not expect to see me here,' he said to-day,' unfortunately for his own cause grinning at her confusion. 'I did not want to see you either,' she retorted sharply, 'I wanted never to see you again.'—'Scarting and fiyting make a brisk wooing,' he answered, trying to be merry.—' I'm glad you like it, for I do not. But if you had been half a man, you would never have come seeking me any more after what I told you last time' (scornfully).—' I was beginning to think better of you than you deserved ; I was begin- ning to be grateful to you and to respect you ; and now—I hate you.' Her vehemence suddenly changed to a fit of crying as she concluded. =Don't say that,' he muttered, hoarsely.—' But I will say it, and I mean it,' she cried, eyes flashing and vehement again. 'Oh, man, are you not ashamed for yourself ? Do you think I do not know what for you follow me? It's my father'e shier you want, and if it were not for that you would not lash me. I wish every penny he has was sunk in the deepest hole of Comrie water.' She threw her apron over her face, and broken sobs burst from her. She could not control them, do what she would, and the vexation and shame that ho should be witness of her distress increased its violence."

Soon the laird falls really in love, and then begins the struggle on all sides. The laird wants Angus to listen to reason, take his money, and give up the girl ; Angus thinks he ought neither to shackle her with a promise to a beggared man, nor stand in the way of her social rise and her obedience to her father : the girl is distracted between her love, her fear of filial disobedience, and the knowledge that her marriage with the laird is the only way to ensure her lover's release from pecuniary distress. The position is a fine one for the display of character, and it is not wasted by our author. At the last minute, at the bachelor's party which is held on the eve of the marriage, and at which the strange custom of washing the bridegroom's feet takes place, the laird is persuaded by an old friend to act the generous part and give Annie up. He writes her a farewell letter, and on his way home, after finding a messenger, he falls in, at midnight, on a bridge over the deep gully of a mountain torrent, with the distracted Angus. They misunderstand each other, of course, and the laird, in a scuffle, tumbles over the edge. He is not killed, but takes the opportunity, assisted by a well-wisher to both disputants—a wild man of the woods, the De'il o' Dundarroch—of hiding from his creditors, who have been appeased by his approaching marriage. Angus, know- ing how much reason there will be for suspecting him of the mur- der which he thinks he has committed, runs away and enlists. Meantime the large wedding party gathers in vain, and the dis- appointed rage of the miller, miugled with his pretended satisfac- tion at escaping such a son-in-law, is very cleverly drawn, as are also the bearing of the minister, the bride, her sister, and the various other personages present :— "The man was bursting with wrath, and he was about to give vent to a string of expletives and threats, when even at that moment of passion his vanity checked him. He would not show how much he had prized the match which was thus publicly broken off, and so, with a pitiful assumption of proud contempt, he pulled out his handkerchief, and began nervously to tie and untie knots on it whilst he said, with an immense effort of self-control, ' Fechl—he's a weary beggar—he—ought to be tied to a cart's tail and horse-whipped through the country... . It's a guid thing for my daughter that she's won clear of such a—such a

d—d scoundrel I'm sure we have muckle to be thankfu' for, mini- ster, that Providence has prevented a worse end nor this The lass is as good's ever she was, and I hope Clootie will gie the beggar a guid singeing when he gets him Of oourse its a wee thing vexing

that we should be a' expecting a wedding, and nae wedding come off, but better be use wedding than an ill ens, and—deevil confound the

villain, he'll be sorry for't afore the week by But the fact of the matter is that it's a guid riddance of a bad lot, and—ho, but I should

like to get hand of him for five minutes just ! I'se warrant I'd gar him dance to a skirl of his sin pipes.' The rage which his vanity strove hard to keep under, and which asserted itself in droll outbursts in the midst of his expressions of content, obtained sway in the end, and he ground his teeth and clenched his fists."

But Angus is too restless to remain quietly with his regiment, and returns. He sees his mother and Annie, who persuade him again to escape for their sakes, and who begin to suspect that there is some more weighty reason for his distracted manner than the loss of his money, or even of his bride. Then we come to the ruined tower by a mountain tarn, the secret distillery in the bowels of the earth, the ladder which is let down and drawn up, the wounded laird appearing likes ghost to the fair cause of this nearly fatal dissension, and more of the mysteriously romantic that was so dear to the heart of Sir Walter Scott. Finally, the soldiers take the deserter, and, in his remorse for the mischief he has already caused, he confesses the uninten- tional murder. Balquherrie, disguised as a beggar, surprises the miller's daughter in a lane ; but is recognized by her, and per- suaded to take measures at once for making known his existence,.

and so liberating Angus. Angus is then helped to a farm, and,. for the third time, the neighbours gather together to what is called a " love-darg," that is, a meeting to give the new tenant a. fair start, in preparing his land, by a whole day's work of all the men and horses which they can command. The most interesting mystery of the story we have left for our readers to discover for themselves, as our purpose is only to describe the characters and. scenes in which our author delights and excels.

But the story, though clever, is heavy. The sort of madness. into which Angus falls, confused by his sense of guilt and yet his innocence of any thought of murder, his longing for the girt yet his desire for her good, his responsibility for his mother's peace, and his anger against the Laird, who, he is nevertheless sensible, is scarcely to blame, is all exceedingly well done ; as is.

the conflict between stern rectitude and tenderness in the mother's mind, and between filial obedience and love in Annie Blair's. But it is all painfully and, what is worse, wearisomely prolonged, and it is almost entirely unrelieved by those inspiriting adventures. and those quaintly humorous characters that enliven the chapters.

of Mr. Gibbon's great model. And there is, besides a want of skill in working out the details of such escapes and adventures as we have, which leaves rather a provoking feeling of confusion in the. mind of the reader. Thus we have little idea how the Laird. escaped being killed on the spot by his terrific fall; how the Whiskey Carlies retreated from the ruins without encountering the gaugers,. &c. And there is a childishness frequently observable in the manu- facture of the incidents. The accidental meeting of the foes at midnight, on the very centre of the bridge, where there was no parapet, and beneath which exact spot was a deep hole in the river, is an event attended by rather a ridiculously improbable concatenation of circumstances for the foundation of such an im- portant train of covequences as follows ; that the non-returo of the Laird and the strange bearing of Angus should not have suggested a murder is also a clumsy absurdity, and that. Annie should have been silent as to the Laird's appearance to her,. though the life of Angus was at stake, because she was uncertain. whether or not it was a ghost, is another.

The story wants more carefulness of detail and a fairer propor- tion between the lights and shadows ; but the painting is good, and the subject is interesting.