and deepest theologians of the day,—a creature of his own imagination. He builds his own windmill, tilts at it, and he and his hobby are whirled round and round amid the crashing mill-sailshe breaks his butterfly on his own wheel, and the "Problem" remains as it was before. 'Twas a singular thought to make a hero out of Tregarva the game-keeper. For generally speaking, we have not found game-keepers to be, as far as our experience goes, admirers of Mr. Tennyson's poems, or deeply read in the writings of Mr. Mill, and some of them have even appeared to us to entertain extremely vague notions as to religion and politics-indeed not to trouble themselves with such matters very much. But doubtless the gamekeepers of Hampshire, from whence it is presumed the materials of "Tregarva" were drawn, are of a different stamp entirely. The next creation is Alton Lock the Tailor. Around him rages the war of classes-rulers, dignities, and every man with a decent coat upon his back, are very evil spoken of. Whilst the poor man, because he is poor, is a miracle of goodness, or if bad, and worthless, the "upper classes" have made him so. Here is the gist of the matter, as told in "Yeast." "I'm long past wailing and whining, "A labourer in Christian England Where they cant of a SAVIOUR's Name, "There's blood on your new foreign shrubs, squire, "You have sold the labouring man, squire, To pay for your seat in the house, squire, "Can your lady patch hearts that are breaking Or by dealing out flannel and sheeting "You may tire of the gaol and the workhouse, But you've run up a debt that will never "In the season of shame and sadness, "When to kennels and liveried varlets You have cast your daughter's bread, "When your youngest, the mealy-mouthed rector, You will find in your GOD the protector Of the freeman you fancied your slave."-Yeast, pp. 202-4. Thus the rector of Eversley, to whom no one would apply, we should think, the epithet of "mealy-mouthed," thinks it decorous to express himself. But the "obnoxious ballad" hath a dramatic propriety; it is not Mr. Kingsley who speaks, but Tregarva. That plea will not serve-because the same sentiments issue from the novelist himself when speaking in his own person as a politician and a moralist,-and we suppose a priest; for he would be the last man to hide that office, seeing he reminds us that in this nineteenth century of ours, the priest's feet must still be the first to touch the waters of Jordan. True; but not, as the writer of Alton Lock suggests, by means of something intituled Christian Socialism and Associated Tailorism. دو To recompense the reader for perusing the above "poetical extract, we must, in justice to the author, and in proof of our assertion, that he is unequalled at a ballad, transcribe the following wild and mournful stanzas, almost rivalling Tennyson's "Mariana" in its desolate imagery. "O Mary! go and call the cattle home, And call the cattle home, And call the cattle home, Across the sands o' Dee; The western wind was wild, and dank wi' foam, "The creeping tide came up along the sand, And o'er and o'er the sand, And round and round the sand, As far as eye could see; The blinding mist came down and hid the land-- And never home came she. "Oh! is it weed, or fish, or floating hair---- 66 O' drowned maiden's hair, Was never salmon yet that shone so fair, They rowed her in across the rolling foam, The cruel crawling foam, The cruel hungry foam, To her grave beside the sea; But still the boatmen hear her call the cattle home, This fine ballad is to be found in the pages of "Alton Lock," the chartist novel. One has to stand knee-deep in filth and folly, and to wash away very earthly particles before arriving at this singular writer's "gold." We recently read Mr. Kingsley's sermons, which seem to furnish the key to his singular political and social theories. In his sermons he invariably speaks of man as born good, essentially by nature a child of GOD; but as the preacher is as vague in his theology as the historian in his history, we will presume that the rector of Eversley only means, that one is "born good" by means of the Holy Sacrament of Baptism; but then he is continually impressing upon his congregation their natural bias is towards good; that the world is good, and not evil, for "GOD made it better than that," but that by some perversity or other, in spite of this natural goodness, they get into the way of God's laws, which will crush them, or fall a prey to Satan. In like manner, out of the pulpit, he assumes every man, and especially if he be a "Christian socialist" or an "associated tailor," to be by nature godlike and supernal; if, however, this archetypal man be irreligious and bad in every respect, it is by no means the evil bias of his nature which has developed itself into an awful state of ruffianhood. No; it is you-aristocrat in a decent coat,- who have made him so. Respectable Frankenstein, so hints the rector, educate your monster! But Frankenstein must be cautious, he must not clothe his monster, save in the manner whereof the canon of Middleham approves, neither must he allow him to run on errands, to sell his soul for a livery (see Alton Lock) nor to answer the bell. One wonders how they manage these little matters at Eversley. We have no hope that the political and social absurdities-to use no harsher phrase of this very clever but provokingly ridiculous writer will be amended, till he has arrived at a sounder theology. He has contemplated man and the world from the high ground of a cultured, though ill-disciplined intellect, and in the pride of reason. He must go back to the Holy Bible and the Church Catechism, lay aside the enchanter's staff for a season and "Bring his reason as an offering" to Him who gave it, and he may one day resume the robes of the Magician of fiction, and rehearse a tale worthy at once of a priest, a poet, and an accomplished gentleman. If any of our readers think that we have exaggerated the political peculiarities of the author of "Westward Ho!" we beg to refer them to "Politics for the People," a work conducted under Mr. Kingsley's auspices. "Yeast" and "Alton Lock," both arrived at the comparative honour of a "cheap edition." Next came "Hypatia ;" an attempt to depict "the last struggle between the young Church and the old world!" This very remarkable production is the solitary great work of this voluminous writer, and though published two years ago has not yet reached a second edition. Perhaps the charge of impurity recently brought against it by a writer in an influential periodical will force that honour upon it: so polluted is the atmosphere that the novel-reading portion of the community. delights to inhale. We feel it an imperative duty to assert that never was a charge so groundless. True it is, that the writer who cannot depict contemporary life, who has moreover read the life and moral of the Dark Ages wrongly, is not likely to give us a photograph of life in the fifth century. Still we know the state of society at that time was monstrous and unnatural; an ordinary reader cannot picture it to himself, for he has neither the learning nor imagination to do so; and he may therefore be glad of a scholar and a man of genius for his guide; and Mr. Kingsley can be a very good guide when he "clears his mind of cant," Herculean labour as the process must be. The fifth century was indeed a period in which colossal and radiant virtues did battle with hideous and gigantic vices. The spiritual and social condition of the civilized world was most peculiar; and the writer who would faithfully paint that appalling life-picture must wade through something more like a moral common sewer than aught else. We think Mr. Kingsley has only dwelt on the hideous vices of that period as long as was needful to be truthful. Little is known to the general reader of that fifth century life, and we are grateful to the writer, who has genius and learning enough to give a tolerably good idea of it. Impurity this writer has often been guilty of, but not in this instance. In the "Saint's Tragedy" he revelled in it; in "Hypatia," what at first sight may seem prurient, will be found on a critical examination not only to be necessary to give a true idea of the age, but to be under-drawn, and there is not a shadow of that disgusting grossness which so disfigured the earlier work. In "Westward Ho!" Mr. Kingsley comes before us again as a regular three-volumed novelist, issuing in an anomalous manner from the theological press of Messrs. Macmillan, of Cambridge. The author, this time, leaves "problems," associated tailors, diluted chartism, and the queerest politics in the world, to say nothing of that debateable ground, the fifth century, and Hypatia, all behind him, and comes before us an Elizabethan. His notion would seem to be, to take for his back ground, England in the reign of Queen Elizabeth, with the thunder clouds glooming over her, the religious atmosphere unsettled and convulsed, and looming through the everchanging cloud-banks stalk the mighty forms of what we suppose the author means for "Representative Men." There are two horrible Jesuits "in disguise" of course, very spindle-shanked, and eccentric in their speech and habits. There is John Brimblecome, the "Protestant minister," a very indifferent specimen of the Anglican priesthood. There is Salvation Yeo of Clovelly; the apotheosis of puritanism, evidently the pet character of the author. There is Amyas Leigh, the hero, type of the sea-captain; and his brother Frank, the euphuist; and a host of English worthies; Spanish dons, and Spanish American Bishops and Inquisitors. We had expected to have found the Anglican priesthood somewhat unduly exalted over the aforesaid "Jesuits in disguise," but nothing of the kind; the two Romish priests are infinitely superior to poor Sir John Brimblecome, who, by the way, is quite an anachronism, a sketch from Queen Anne's times, stuck incontinently into an Elizabethan pageant. No; puritanism is the object of our author's admiration and respect, and therefore all the other characters are designed to be foils to set them off. However, here is one of the best things in the three volumes-a description of the hero's education. "Now this young gentleman, Amyas Leigh, though come of as good blood as any in Devon, and having lived all his life in what we should even now call the best society, and being (on account of his valour, courtesy, and truly noble qualities which he showed forth in his most eventful life,) chosen by me as the hero and centre of this story, was not, saving for his good looks, by any means what would be called now-a-days an interesting' youth, still less a highly educated one; for, with the exception of a little Latin which had been driven into him by repeated blows, as if it had been a nail, he knew no books whatsoever save his Bible, his Prayer Book, the old 'Mort d'Arthur,' of Caxton's edition, which lay in the great bay window in the hall, and the translation of 'Las Casas' History of the West Indies,' which lay beside it, lately done into English under the title of 'The Cruelties of the Spaniards.' He devoutly believed in fairies, whom he called pixies, and held that they charmed babies, and made the mushroom rings on the downs to dance in. When he had warts or burns he went to the white witch at Wortham to charm them away; he thought that the sun moved round the earth, and the moon had some kindred with a |