ue.

Yet can we be sure that, in spite of his reservation of devotion, his idea that one may love many women is free from peril ? In the present instance, at all events, he convoys his hero through whatever peril there may be, and hands him over loyally to the humbler love who has never played him false. Mr. Trollope is almost spiteful in his resolution to punish Lady Ongar for her first mercenary faithlessness, for he contrives at last to make Clavering the next heir to a baronetcy and a big estate, so that Julia, if she had stuck to her lover, would have got all that she wanted. Nobody can pretend that the author's moral is not good and impressive.

Some of the minor characters are photographs of the most perfect kind. The hard selfish Sir Hugh, and his brother the soft, selfish Archie, and the feebly acute Boodle, are all excellent. Count Peteroff is only a shadow of a character, and his intriguing sister is more conventional and unreal than is usual with the author. The fun of Madame Gordeloup strikes us as forced. We should be disposed to doubt whether Mr. Trollope knows a real Gordeloup; for, in drawing people who must have come under his actual observation, he seldom makes a wrong stroke or inserts a bit of unfitting colour. His characteristic humour is, in truth, only a very strong form of common sense reflecting known and observed realities. This may not produce the greatest works, but it always guarantees us works that are honest, truthful, and artistic.

petrating a sort of imitation of her own selfish | side, is just that to which men's selfishness perfidy. Besides that, two honest families or their caprice is most apt to blind them, would have been plunged into uneasiness and therefore his ethical strain is full of valand misery the one that the son of the house should have done a shameful thing, the other that the daughter of the house should have suffered a shameful thing. What has been done cannot in these matters be undone without a deus ex machina, and Mr. Trollope's whole notions of art forbid him to resort to this inartistic divinity. The social law must take its course. It is one of Mr. Trollope's merits that he knows how to temper judgment with merey. He insists that Harry Clavering shall be true to his honour, but he deos not quite refuse, as Theodore Burton does, to understand how his hero ever came to entertain the notion of being false to his honour. "When a true man has loved with all his heart and soul," he asks," does he cleanse his heart of that passion when circumstances run against him and he is forced to turn elsewhere for his life's companion? Or is he untrue as a lover in that he does not waste his life in desolation because he has been disappointed? Or does his old love perish and die away because another has crept into his heart?" Mr. Trollope defends his hero, therefore, both for betrothing himself to Florence Burton, and also in a manner for letting his heart stray to his old love" when she returned to him still young, still beautiful, and told him with all her charms and all her flattery how her heart stood towards him." After this we come to a rather oversubtle distinction which Mr. Trollope draws between love and devotion. A man may love many women, he says, but should be devoted only to one. Devotion is independent of love, and is owed by any man to any woman who has promised to be his wife. What does it consist in? In. " defending her at all hazards from every misadventure, in struggling ever that she may be happy, in seeing that no wind blows upon her with needless severity, that no ravening wolf of a misery shall come near her, that her path be swept clean for her. as clean as may be, and that her roof-tree be made firm upon a rock." This is no doubt a very sound and wholesome doctrine. Only, if it be so, does not what Mr. Trollope calls devotion lack the one thing needful in a woman's eyes, the one quality that makes her value the rock-like firmness of her roof-tree? Would not most fine-natured women be very ready to sacrifice ever so much of devotion for ever so little of love? However, the side which Mr. Trollope brings into most prominence, the prudential, decorous, roof-tree

From the Spectator.

THE CLAVERINGS. *

MR. TROLLOPE has treated, in both Can You Forgive Her? and The Belton Estate, the subject of a girl who does not fully know her own mind as to which of two lovers she prefers, and in The Small House at Allington he has given us a picture of a commoner situation, -a man vacillating, not indeed between two loves, but between two women one of whom he loves, and the other of whom dazzles his worldly ambition. But he has never, we think, before treated the subject of a man genuinely in love with two women at the same time, virtually en

*The Claverings. By Anthony Trollope. 2 vols.

we can for ourselves, and discriminate the special sort of affection each was able to inspire. Mr. Trollope does not help us. He does not even represent Harry as feeling that the one woman (Lady Ongar) was superior to him in power and breadth of character, and that, towards her, admiration and a certain delight in the remorse, courage, and boldness of her love, she had been faithless to him once, were the predominant elements of attraction. He does not tell us that the other's inferiority of position, and her gentle confiding nature filled him with the protecting pride which a man generally loves best to feel towards the woman of his choice, and made him sensible of that perfect ease in her presence which Harry Clavering could scarcely perhaps have felt with such a one as Lady Ongar. Mr. Trollope leaves this deeper element of sentiment in his plot absolutely to the imagination of his readers. He paints for us truly enough how they spoke and acted, but he does not give us much conception of how they felt. Even after he had made his choice, Harry Clavering must have felt that there was something wanting in Florence which he had loved in Lady Ongar, as he would certainly have felt about Lady Ongar had he chosen her instead of Florence, - and we think there would be much more for a novelist who chose to describe sentiment as well as manners to say of his inward regrets, and perhaps even of their occasional effect on his outward manner to Florence, than Mr. Trollope has told us. These, indeed, are the elements of life of which Mr. Trollope seldom attempts to speak at all.

gaged to both, overpowered with the humil- | we have to fall in love with them as well as iation and shame of having to confess to either that he loves her rival better, and not indeed honestly knowing in his own mind to which of the two women he should really make that confession. No doubt this is an easier subject than that which made the central interest of Can You Forgive Her? and The Belton Estate. Men, very ordinary men, are not unfrequently in this position, while it takes peculiar circumstances, and a woman of peculiar, if really refined, nature to entertain even a moment's doubt as to which of two men she should prefer, or to change that preference, if both remain true to her. The subject is easier than that which Mr. Trollope had attempted before, but he has, we think, succeeded more than in proportion to its comparative facility. The delineation of Harry Clavering's state of mind towards his rival loves, Lady Ongar and Miss Burton, is absolutely perfect, so far as it goes. As is customary with Mr. Trollope, it does not go very deep. If any one who knows both stories will compare the struggle in Harry Clavering's mind with the exquisite picture of James Erskine's similar struggle in the only story, A Lost Love, which we owe to the genius of the authoress calling herself by the pseudonym of "Ashford Owen," he will see at once where Mr. Trollope's genius stops, as well as how much it can accomplish. In the anonymous story we have mentioned, you see pictured with exquisite delicacy the different class of sentiments excited in the hero's mind by the rival heroines, and also the utterly different species and depth of passion with which each of them regarded him. In The Claverings we may see faintly, perhaps, though only faintly, the different species of love with which Harry Clavering was regarded by Lady Ongar and Florence Burton, but even that is rather a difference of manner towards him, a difference of character in expressing it, than a difference of inward feeling. But we see nothing, absolutely nothing, of the conflicting sentiments in Harry Clavering's own mind; we see that something in each of the women attracts him, but we do not see the two currents of feeling in close contrast and comparison, the sort of pang which he would feel in giving up Florence, the different sort of pang which he would feel in giving up Julia. We have to create all that for ourselves, without any help from Mr. Trollope; the two women are drawn with great clearness, and one of them at least with great force, but if we want to know where the special torture of Harry Clavering's position was in each case,

But accepting, as in literature, one must always accept, the limitations which a man of genius either imposes on himself, or recognizes as limitations which he must not of ten attempt to pass, the art of The Claverings strikes us as of a very high class. There are far fewer unconnected side-pictures than is usual in Mr. Trollope's novels. Indeed, almost every side-picture is calculated to heighten the effect of the principal subject of the story. Harry Clavering's rather weak openness to the influence of any attractive woman with whom he is much thrown, is brought out in strong relief against the ungainly curate's (Mr. Saul's) manly dignity and intensity of purpose. Mr. Trollope has contrasted his rather soft, though in relation to all but feminine affairs perfectly manly, hero, with one who in many respects seems but half a man, and yet is, in relation to the dignity, depth, and constancy of his af fection, immeasureably Harry Clavering's

know, Doodles.'I don't know anything about it, except that I suppose Ongar wouldn't pasterns, and had some breeding about her. I nev er thought much of her sister-your brother's wife, you know, that is in the way of looks. No doubt she runs straight, and that's a great thing. She wont go the wrong side of the post..

have taken her if she hadn't stood well on her

humour of the chapter, "Let her know that know, a fellow has a fancy for it. If a fellow you're there," as if it were merely coarse is really sweet on a girl, he likes it, I suppose.' humour, but in truth the coarse humour She's a doosed handsome woman, you contains the highest moral in the story, showing, as it does, how just a retribution women who act as Julia Brabazon acted, bring on themselves, by being made the subject of such coarse speculation. The dialogue we are going to quote should be read in connection with the few words of previous dialogue in which Sir Hugh advises his brother Archie to ask Lady Ongar to marry him, and repudiates angrily the notion that there is any indelicacy in the proposal, though Lord Ongar had been dead only four months:

"The world still looked askance at Lady Ongar, and Hugh did not wish to take up the armour of a paladin in her favour. If Archie married her, Archie would be the paladin; though, indeed, in that case, no paladin would be needed. She has only been a widow, you know, four months,' said Archie, pleading for delay. It won't be delicate; will it?' 'Delicate!" said Sir Hugh. I don't know whether there is much of delicacy in it at all.' 'I don't see why she isn't to be treated like any other woman. If you were to die, you'd think it very odd if any fellow came up to Hermy before the season was over.'-Archie, you are a fool,' said Sir Hugh; and Archie could see by his brother's brow that Hugh was angry. You say things that for folly and absurdity are beyond belief. If you can't see the peculiarities of Julia's position, I am not going to point them out to you.""

As for running straight, let me alone for that.' Well, now, Clavvy, I'll tell you what my ideas are. When a man's trying a young filly, his hand can't be too light. A touch too much will bring her on her haunches, or throw her out of her step. She should hardly feel the iron in her mouth. But when I've got to do with a trained mare, I always choose that she shall know that I'm there! Do you understand me?'Yes; I understand you, Doodles,' I always choose that she shall know that I'm there! And Captain Boodle, as he repeated these manly words with a firm voice, put out his hands as though he were handling the horse's rein. Their mouths are never so fine then, and they generally want to be brought up to the bit, d'ye see-up to the bit. When a mare has been trained to her work, and knows what she's at in her running, she's all the better for feeling a fellow's hands as she's going. She likes it rather. It gives her confidence and makes her know where she is. And look here, Clavvy, when she comes to her fences, give her her heal; but steady her first, and make her know that you're there. Damme, whatever you do, let her know that you're there! There is nothing like it. She'll think all the more of the fellow that's piloting And as if to illustrate this entire absence her. And look here, Clavvy; ride her with of all delicacy in the situation, the confer-Spurs. Always ride a trained mare with spurs. ence between Archie Clavering, and his to get her head, give 'em her. Yes, by George Let her know that they're on; and if she tries adviser, Captain Boodle, immediately fol- give 'em her!' And Captain Boodle in his lows:energy twisted himself in his chair, and brought his heel round, so that it could be seen by

They say she's been a little queer, don't they?' said the friendly counsellor [Captain Boodle]. Of course people talk, you know.' We have heard this called coarse, true and -Talk, yes; they're talking a doosed sight, powerful as it is. And coarse indeed it is, I should say. There's no mistake about the but the coarseness of the highest morality. money, I suppose?'-Oh! none, said What can be more realistic, or more wise Archie, shaking his head vigorously. Hugh managed all that for her, so I know it.' She in its realism, than to teach women such as don't lose any of it because she enters herself Julia Brabazon to what they really lay for running again, does she?'-'Not a shilling. themselves open, when they act as she That's the beauty of it.'-Was you ever acted? sweet on her before?'-What! before Ongar took her? O laws, no! She hadn't a rap, you know; and knew how to spend money as well as any girl in London. It's all to begin, then, Clavvy; all the up-hill work to be done? Well, yes; I don't know about up-hill, Doodles. What do you mean by up-hill? 'I mean that seven thousand a year ain't usually to be picked up merely by trotting easy along the flat. And this sort of work is very up-hill generally, I take it; - unless, you

moral, and a more perfect artistic unity of The Claverings has, as we believe, a higher the kind we have indicated, than any of Mr. Trollope's previous tales. There is scarcely a touch in it which does not contribute to the main effect, both artistic and moral, of the story, and not a character introduced, however slightly sketched, which does not produce its own unique and specific effect on the reader's imagination.

From the London Review.

THE RELEASE OF JEFFERSON DAVIS.

THE Drama of Revolution in the United States has evolved so many strange and various scenes, since the day when the curtain fell on Lee's surrender at Appomatox Court-house, that the early actors in the great struggle have glided, so to speak, out of sight and memony, at least in Europe. Dim and faded are now the rival reputations once so fiercely canvassed, of M'Clellan and Beauregard, Hooker and Longstreet, Sheridan and Stuart. Even the brilliant names of Jackson and Sherman, Grant and Lee, have lost much of their brightness. Clean forgotton are the infamies rightly or wrongly fixed by one side and the other, on Butler and Forrest, Turchin and McNeill: gone the Copperhead distinction of Fernando Wood and Vallandigham. The fame of Lincoln, consecrated by martyrdom, survives, and will keep its place in the hagiology of freedom; bnt few care to follow the obscurer, if "earthlier happy" fate of his rival and enemy. Four years ago the name of Jefferson Davis was extolled by many, perhaps by the majority of Englishmen. His character as a statesman was extravagantly elevated to the level of Cæsar, Cromwell and Napoleon. But in the rear of failure came oblivion and contempt. From the day when the ex-President of the Slave Republic was captured at Irwinsville, in Georgia, disguised in his wife's attire, his name has been little mentioned in England. When the citizens of the North, naturally and bitterly indignant at the infamous crime of Booth, were urgent to prosecute, upon most baseless suspscions the great chief of the rebellion, a few voices were raised at this side of the Atlantic in favour of the fallen statesman, and from time to time a feeble protest or two has been heard in English jouruals against his incarceration in Fort Monroe. For a long time, indeed until public passion in America had cooled down from its first fever-heat, the State Prison, not demanding close and unhealthy confinement or degrading punishment, was probably the safest place within Federal limits for Mr. Davis. But with fresh struggles in the reunited republic there came forgetfulness of the past and expiated treason of the South. And though a large party in the North was desirous of bringing the question of the exPresident's guilt before a legal tribunal, so many difficulties lay in the path of the prosecution, so much uncertainty and vague dread would inevitably be aroused thereby,

so small was the tangible advantage to be hoped for, that in setting free the prisoner no longer dangerous or in danger, scarcely regarded by any party as notable, the majority in the United States may be considered to have obeyed at once the dictates of magnanimity and good sense. Upon a resolution so just and prudent, the American Government and the dominant party in Congress may well receive the congratulations of civilized Europe.

Mr. Davis, we learn by the latest telegrams, has left Richmond for New York. His application for his writ of habeas corpus, laid a few days ago before the Circuit Court of Virginia, was not opposed on behalf of the Government, and was immediately followed by his release on bail, with the obligation, which is, we may be assured, merely formal, of appearing before the court, if required, in November next. His arrival at the Empire City, where but three years ago his name was in every mouth, will probably be little noticed. What a change since the victorious and hopeful days of Bull Run and Chancellorsville! What a retrospect for the baffled leader of a rebellion that might have been a revolution! As the man vanishes from public sight, let us for an instant recall his past life, so full of strange vicissitudes. Mr. Jefferson Davis belonged by birth and association to the class which was most identified with the "peculiar institution" of the South. Brought up in the State of Mississippi, one of those Gulf States which were far more bitterly hostile to freedom than the older and more settled communities of the Border, he had early taken a part in public life. In the Mexican war he had been distinguished as a soldier, and at the same time as a consistant and fervent supporter of the nullifying policy of Calhoun. As Governor of his State, he was a prominent advocate of that system of dishonest repudiation which contributed so much to estrange English feeling from America. As Senator he was a leader in that aggressive action of the coalesced slave power which roused the freesoiler to the resistance that culminated in Lincoln's election and in the great civil war. Under the administration of President Franklin Pierce he held the office of Secretary-at-War, and it was as commissioners despatched by him that M'Clellan and Lee watched the progress of the Crimean war. In the Senate of the United States he pursued throughout Buchanan's presidency a course which proved that secession was with him a foregone conclusion. He procured by legislative enactment, unchecked by the simplicity of the