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of that sister's memory becomes the instructress of young girls; imitated by Françoise de Saintonge, her work goes on, and from the garret of Dijon, with its five poor girl scholars, springs up the noble Order of Ursulines, who are to women as the Jesuits to men, the best instructors in all that makes men or women what God intended they should be, his servants in their own peculiar spheres. Truly the Catholic Church does turn each bent of mind to the service of God; and in Angela and in Ignatius, in Dominick and in Francis Xavier, in Vincent de Paul and in Philip Neri, in every order by which she gains servants for God and soldiers for his Church, the abiding, ruling spirit of Catholicity is, to secure volunteers for each particular branch of the Church militant, ever combining what is best in the natures of men and women, making them thus, what God intended they should be, "the supplement to each other."

Thus it is she now deals with our customs as with our natures, and the first class and the second class pilgrims are but adapting all things to all men, she being bound to be all right things to all men. About this very Society of Saint Vincentde-Paul, with its charitable visitings and its committees, there is the same spirit, no "fugitive and cloistered virtue" "that never sallies out and sees her adversary;" no slinking out of the race where the immortal garland is to be run for, and no dread to enter for it amidst the dust and sweat of the arena. "Spencer," says John Milton, " describing true temperance under the person of Guion, brings him in with his palmer through the cave of Mammon and the bower of earthly bliss, that he might see and know and yet abstain." So with this Society-and thus endeavouring to awaken into active faith the hearts of its members or of its friends, it organizes this Pilgrimage, and endeavours once more, without the tramp of mailed feet or the clash of armed men, to congregate around Christ's tomb united people solidarized by community of faith, sanctified by that celestial charity which comes down from God, making sacred and beautiful all hearts upon which it shines, whilst from Faith and Charity, Hope, soaring up to heaven, bears upon angels' wings the prayers of his worshipers to the throne of God.


1. Friends of Bohemia: or, Phases of London Life. By E. M. Whitty, Author of "The Governing Classes." London: Smith, Elder, and Co. 1857.

2. Freida the Jongleur. By Barbara Hemphill, Author of "Lionel Deerhurst; or Fashionable Life under the Regency," "The Priest's Niece; or, Heirship of Barnulph," &c. &c. London: Chapman and Hall, 1857.

Mr. John Dwyorts of Liverpool, railway and general contractor, was, in early life, sent out to Rio Janeiro, to act as head clerk in a commercial house. His employer dying, John married the widow who was a rather colored woman,' with a bad temper, a good property, and a habit of cursing. Dwyorts escaped from her to London, she followed him; he left London and settled in Liverpool. In the course of time he was able to purchase an estate in Ireland, and to still continue his extensive business, happy in the Irish exile of the shaded Mrs. Dwyorts, who lived upon the property in a flannel dressing wrapper and slippers, but without stockings. This happy couple had one son, Diego Dwyorts, and at the period when the tale of Friends of Bohemia opens, this son is staying with his mother, and the father is in London. bullying Lord Slumberton, who is on the point of starting to take possession of a West Indian governorship, either to re-pay him a sum of £29,000, or to give the hand of his daughter, Nea Slumberton, in marriage to young Diego. Neither Diego nor Nea ever had seen each other, and the match was made somewhat in the style of the celebrated one contemplated by the father of Dina between his daughter and the proposed" husband both gallyant and gay;" old Dwyorts being rendered anxious for the match, because Nea would sooner or later become entitled to £100,000, which we must all admit to be a very large fortune indeed.

Lord Slumberton consents, Nea is willing, Diego has broken. his arm, and cannot reach England, and so the whole party leave England, and one dark evening they arrived at the Irish estate. Diego and Nea are wedded that same night, and Mr. Whitty tells us all about it in two chapters which he very suggestively calls, Forced Orange Blossoms, and a Wedding-King Too Small.

Diego was unwilling to marry so hastily, and this the father attributed to conventional ideas about courtship, but in reality it arose from the fact that he was already married to Therese Desprez, "the daughter of a French fiddler, by a German milliner." She was small and pretty, she could sing, was well taught in her art, and reminds us of Piccolomini, and Anna Thillon, with a dash of Dejazet and Mignon, as one might expect them to appear after having spent six months with Lola Montes.

Therese comes to England, finds out Diego; he tells his wife about it, she escapes from him to some maiden relations; an heir to the £100,000, is discovered; old Dwyorts fails, Diego commits forgery, is detected by the impression left on pieces of blotting paper, is accused by the man on whom he has committed the forgery, fights a duel with him in Boulogne, shoots him, comes home, is shot by Therese, who is forced by terror of discovery to marry his valet, who makes her support him by singing, and after all it appears Diego had never been married to Therese as the officiating clergyman was a scamp who had assumed the character of a priest (the marriage took place in Germany), and who is accused of having murdered Diego, and is tried for the offence, and acquitted, the suggestion of suicide having been adroitly thrown up to the jury.

There is a peculiar air of romance about the trial, the wife of the presiding judge having seduced by the prisoner when he was employed as shopman in a fashionable jeweller's. He detected her in the act of stealing a trinket, he used this knowledge to gain a mastery over her mind; her husband is a barrister in extensive business; the shopman urges his love, and his power of concealing the fact of the stealing, a real To Oblige Benson is played, and the result is-twins.

Other characters are introduced but not of the slightest importance in developing the action, and we have too stories brought in in that style for the adoption of which, in Joseph Andrews, and in Tom Jones, Fielding is so much and so justly reprehended by Sir Walter, but we must admit that they are interesting, even whilst they interrupt the free flow of the narrative. The narrative is, however, very irregular, Mr.. Whitty aims rather at amusing in the style of a "Gossiping Concert," or in recording his opinions after the manner of the Noctes Ambrosiana.

We have the London Dwyorts, at the head of which is an old

foundery proprietor; and we have his family split up into sections, and quarrelling as only a family so split can. Then we have Bellars, an Irishman, sold out in the Incumbered Estates' Court, and now a literary man about town; Graffs and Fassell literary men, Jack Wortley, formerly in old Dwyort's foundery, then of Australia, then of Park Lane, having made a fortune by unknown means in the colonies, and who is a manly, sensible fellow with a good deal of Tittlebat-Titmouse about him, and who is shot in a duel by Diego for having convicted him of forgery; and then we have Kees, Diego's valet, afterwards married to Therese, who is a very great rascal; and then we have Lady Beaming, an Irishwoman, twice a widow, and married at last to Bellars. We have two old ladies, the Misses Holsom, one all piety and the other all science, and we have, finally, Mary Dasert and Saxon Wornton.

The reader has thus an outline of the characters of Friends of Bohemia, and we shall presently do Mr. Whitty full justice, by inserting what we may call his word portraits, in his own strong, and energetic, and eloquent language.

These two books at the head of this paper, exhibit two most remarkable phases in the literature of this age. Mrs. Hemphill, with great genius, an eloquent style, and an agreeable subject pleases whilst she invents the scenes of a life which never was; Mr. Whitty, with genius, with a brilliant style, and a powerful battery of sarcastic irony does not please, even whilst he makes us read his photographs of the life which is; and Mr. Whitty's two volumes taken together are thorough proofs of how truly Byron writes in that alcoran of all Bohemians, the Don :"Tis strange, but true; for truth is always strange; Stranger than fiction: if it could be told, How much would novels gain by the exchange! How differently the world would men behold? How oft would vice and virtue places change! The new world would be nothing to the old, If some Columbus of the moral seas

Would show mankind their souls' antipodes."

But will showing us our souls' antipodes please us? Ought it to please? Mr. Whitty contends that we have, so to speak, two souls, an inner and an outer; and it is the inner, the antipodes of the outer, which he exhibits with all its

weaknesses, its littlenesses, and its loathsomenesses, its falsities, its vices and its shames, until the reader would, if he could, throw down the volume half in horror, half in disgust, with some such sentiments as arise whilst recoiling from Swift's lines on a Beautiful Young Nymph going to Bed or from The Lady's Dressing Room. We have written that the reader would, if he could, throw down the volume, but he cannot, and herein it is that we find so much cause for regret in the fact that Mr. Whitty has become a psychological morbid anatomist. As to story, the book has none; as to grouping of character, Mr. Whitty does not even attempt it; as for moral-but of that we shall write presently-but the characters, they are as unconnected as the portraits in a photographist's show frame, yet they are, to the back-bone, real men and woman, iron likenesses it may be, but still all the stronger when faithful as are these.

Why are they faithful, and yet disagreeable? because Mr. Whitty has desecrated his genius, he has made faithful, most faithful, portraits of a class, and leads his readers to suppose that this class represents the world, if the world were only honest enough to admit that it would be as these, if it dared. Now heaven forbid that all the world should be as the world of Bohemia. God forbid that all men should forget marriage vows when made; God forbid that marriage, as an institution, should be cast aside as a dream even though voluntary trial engagements, on liking, might be more pleasing to the Friends of Bohemia. According to Mr. Whitty there is neither honor amongst men, nor chastity amongst women, if men and women could only show their hearts, and become pre-adamites in mind.

Mr. Whitty knows, no man knows it better, that this is not true. He knows, and we know, that he has seen suffering endured for virtue's sake that would in old days have made men shout A Heroine, and women cry in bated accents, A Saint. And yet knowing this, knowing it thoroughly and throughly, he writes of women and of marriage in just such a tone as we might expect from the offspring (hermaphrodite) of Rousseau, and Aurora Dudevant, and whose French class book was De Faublas, and Ovid for a horn book.

But it will be said, we have praised these books of Mr. Whitty's highly and that this is harsh criticism. So we have praised the books (the genius of the writer) highly, and so

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