Inetl NITFOR,D'S ATHERTON..
THE leading fiction of this collection of tales was composed under circumstances of painful struggle. Nearly two years ago, Miss Mitford was thrown from a pony-chaise on a gravel road, and though no bones were broken the jar had affected every nerve, and, falling upon a highly rheumatic subject, had left the limbs and body crippled and powerless." Something was expected frorn time and weather; but the weather of last summer was unfavourable, and expectation was disappointed. "The autumn found me again," says the heroic authoress, "confined to my room; wheeled with difficulty from the bed to the fireside; unable to rise from my seat, to stand for a moment, to put one foot before another; and when Lifted into bed, Movable of turning or moving in the slightest de- gree whatever. Even in writing I was often obliged to have the ink-glass held for me, bemuse I could not raise ray hand to dip the pen in the ink. In this state, with frequent paroxysms of pain, was the greater part of Atherton written." It is a curious instance of the power of habit, and the influence of mind over body, that nothing of this is visible in the tale. The peculiar characteristic of Miss Mitford—the faoulty not merely of delineating the country, but of placing her reader in the country, rukin& him see its beauties, feel its fresh balmy air, and mingle with its inhabitants without a spice of town in them—is just as vigorous and racy as ever. In some sense, perhaps the power of the writer has improved—become mellowed, and more artistical; the still life is less elaborate—there is less of description for de- scription's sake. The distinguishing quality is remarkably main- tained. Even when the tale carries us into high life, or among &erecters living in London, there is still some of the frank fresh- ness of the country about them.
The primary ingredients of the story are derived rather from a past time than the present day. There is a miser and millionaire— a will, which exhibits touches of feeling, almost of romance, in the ease-hardened money-dealer—an embarrassed noble of high spirit and amiable character, pursued by the vindictive hatred of a rela- tion, who buys up the securities as a means of vengeance—im- mense fortune coining unexpectedly to those who never thought of it—and a love story, of course, as well as a negotiation for mar- riage. This part has novelty, and the denouement is cleverly masked to the last.
Like all Miss Mitford's tales, the story is well managed, rather attractive than exciting, and wound up in a manner to meet the approval of the generality of readers. It is, however, the things of which the tale is made a vehicle, as much as the story itself, that form a chief interest of ,Atherton: the pastoral descriptions of Eng- lish rural scenery—the number of genuine English characters, from much elaborate pictures as the heroine Katy, the farmer's daughter, become a great heiress—her busy, worthy, gossiping mother Mrs. sell—her grandmother Mrs. Warner, a charming picture of a , matron belonging to the highest order of English yeomanry—the elderly bachelor lawyer Mr. Langhton, preserving the freshness of his country feeling, and his taste for nature, old books, and human goodness, amid all the hardening influences of his profession—down to a passing servant—the incidents' mostly slight but drawing in- terest and life from their fitness, their accessories, and the genuine healthy feeling that pervades them,—these are the things that give attraction to Atherton, and render it one of the most genial and pleasant tales that have appeared for a long time.
The object of the story is to preserve the honours and property of the Delaney family, threatened by the too liberal expenditure of ancestors and an unfortunate lawsuit. The means, so far as the tale is concerned, are the Marriage of Major Delaney to an heiress ; the conduct of the story is as different from what is common as reality from imitative oonventionalism ; the denouement, we have already said, is different from what is usual. It is not our cue to tell how this ending is brought about ; but here is the beginning of matters when Lord Delaney calls on his tenant to congratulate her on her granddaughter's accession to the large fortune. "Before three days bad passed, her noble landlord had not failed to visit Mrs. Warner, and to become, as far as her shyness and the recollection of the cherry-tree would permit, familiar with the young heiress. His air and figure and stately bearing made a good deal against the intimacy which he wished to establish, especially whilst they remained in the little parlour, where both he and the Major looked, as Katy afterwards observed, too tall for the room, His Lordship returned the compliment, by declaring that poor Mrs. Bell was too broad for that small apartment, and looked in her new mourning not unlike a blackbird in a goldfinch's cage. "Out of doors matters mended; and in spite of the season, Lord Delaney took care to lure Katy out of doors, to visit her bantams, to look at her pony, and to show her a young greyhound which he had brought from the Hall, a beautiful creature, of that peculiar hue which courser, as he re- marked, are sure to miscall, sometimes yellow, sometimes red. "She has no name yet. What shall she be called, Miss. Warner?' "Katy did not speak; indeed, she had hardly ventured to say more than yes or no. But she gathered a flower from a lingering plant of African marigold, which yet retained its richly-tinctured blossoms in a Southern nook, and laid the clustering petals on the glossy head, which, with unfailing instinct, had already sought her caressing hand. Never were colours more perfectly matched.
"The father was enchanted, and even Arthur smiled at the unspoken
rlyep.
"Marigold, by all means : a capital name ! And see, Miss Warner, you have chosen her name, and she has chosen her mistress. You must not reject her. The moment I can get away from London we will have a day's coursing in the Park. See, Mrs. Bell, how she lies down at her fair mis- tress's feet, as if to take possession.' 'My father does not mean Marigold to supplant my friend Flora,' added Arthur, for Flora, with similar instinct, had made her court to him : that, in my mind, would be sean. The old favourite is sacred as the old friend.
• Atherton, ;old other Tales. By Mary Russell Milford, ,toilhor of " Our Vil- lage." In three volumes. P,sbllaSed by Hurst and Blackett.
But where the heart is large, as I am sure yours is, we can find room for new Mends and new favourites. Mrs. Warner says that Fiore is too fat m keep pace with your walks and rides; so Marigold must be the out-door pet, whilst Flora retains her place an the hearth.' "And Mrs. Sell with many words, and. Katy with smiles and blushes, accepted the gift. "An excellent excuse was this playful and graceful creature for freqnent visits from the Hall. During which familiar intercourse, Lord Delaney grew as fond of Katy as if she had been already his daughter; whilst an unex- pected intimacy sprang up between Arthur, by no means so formidable a personage as he looked, and Mrs. Bell, He could hardly prefer her society to her daughter's, except, indeed, as a person whom he could by no chance be called upon to marry; but so it was, that while his father courted Katy for him, be paid suit and service to the comely widow, with whom he laughed and chatted for hours together. She repaid this devotion with in- terest.
"'There is nobody like the Major,' quoth she, 'nobody in all the world. To think of my having been such a fool as to be afraid of him ! He has Jlat sent this beautiful collar for Marigold : only look ! it's exactly like a silver bit. And hearken to the little bells ; she won't know where the sound comes from. And her name and Katy's on the padlock ; a real dog's necklace. Katy, you don't look half grateful enough ; not near so grateful as I was to you for that noble team of horses and their bells. And I know what the Major is going to do besides.' "'Well,' said Katy, more curious than she chose to appear, 'what?' "'Only if I tell you, you will say that I cannot keep a secret.'
"'Dear mamma, if it be really a secret, don't tell.' "'Nobody told me. Suppose—'
" ' well, but if it be a secret—' " I found it out, I tell you. Suppose he has got a new horse for you, and is going to train it himself. What do you say to that ?' "Katy listened and blushed, like a woman. 'Then, like a child as she was, burst into sudden laughter, clapped her hands, and danced about the room, whilst her mother nodded in triuMph, and Mrs. Warner, evidently Mr. Langhton's accomplice, looked on with pleased approbation."
The "other tales" of the titlepage, which extend the work to the orthodox three volumes, consist for the most part of stories from an annual, to which Miss Mitford contributed in the heyday of annual popularity. These may be read with pleasure by many to whom they will, or we are much mistaken, be " better than new." They will probably have a deeper charm for those who re- peruse them, recalling years gone by, and almost another gene- ration as regards time, and more than another, as regards manners and opinions ; though Miss Alitforcl still holds her own, and is as potent to please the children as their parents.
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