Holme Lee.

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There is a class of morlern writers who have peculiar claims to
encourajjenient — that brave and wise, true-hearted and conscien-
tious order of female authors, ranguig from Alaria Edgeworth to
Julia Kavanagh ; who, drawing from keen personal observation
of life, and inspired by the pure sentiment of humanity, have,
during tlie last century, furnished English and American homes
witii innocent literary entertainment. Many of these women
support a widowed mother or an unfortunate sister by their
writings; tliere is no sickly sentiment, no false views of life in
their stories, but beautiful descriptions of nature, elevating revela-
tions of domestic life, instructive delineation of character. Mrs.
Gaskill and Grace Aguilar, Miss Youge and Miss Sewall, Mrs.
Olipiiant and Miss Ferrier, and scores more, have thus auspicious-
ly ministered to the enjoyment and improvement of tlieir fellow
creatures. It is a noble sphere of duty when rightly pursued,
and there is a kind of fiction — a certain portraiture of life —
singularly adapted to tlie quick and clear observation and the
refined sympatiiies of women. A new aspirant for this kind of
literary distinction and usefulness was recognized by many, in a
quiet, sad, but most genuine story, whicli appeared two years
ago, called " Kathie Brand." The descriptions, though subdued,
were extremelj'- graphic; the sentiment, though quite unexciting,
was impressive ; somewliat of Wilson's pathos seemed united to
strong sense and introspective tenderness in this writer.

The HariJers published her "Sylvan Kolt's Daughter," but did
not stereotype it, and the edition has long been exhausted. This
writer's nom de plume is Holme Lee, but her real name is Parr:
she is, like so many of the literary sisterhood, unmarried. "W. A.
Townsend & Co. have just issued a novel trom her pen, which is
distinguished from its predecessors by greater animation of narra-
tive, and more dramatic effect: it is, however, equallv remarkable
for the delicacy of the sentiment, its truth, strength and gentle-
ness; the power that comes from knowledge of life and the
feeling only born in earnest and cultivated natures, are admirably
blended; there is a sustained interest in the book as a tale, and
an original significance in the characters; so that, on the whole,
" Against Wind and Tide" is one of the best fictions which have
appeared this season.







AtTTtroK OF "Against Wind and Ttdb,'" bto.,

" There's always sunshine somewhere In the world."





-V;/ ^ Liim ART



gart trt^ jirist



The Honorable Roger Bohun was, according to
the world, one of the most imprudent of men.
He married, before he took his degree, an ex-
tremely beautiful and good girl without sixpence,
and almost all his great connections quarreled
with him in consequence. He was the seventh
and youngest son of the noble family of Bohun
of Castle Bohun, in the county of Kent, a family
of immense antiquity and the bluest blood. By
virtue of his birth, his line talents, and his hand-
some person, he might have aspired to any al-
liance below royalty ; and instead, to the con-
fusion of his aristocratic relatives, and the utter
destruction of his own prospects in life, he choice
to unite himself with a person who, beyond her
bright eyes, pure heart, and loving temper, had
no single merit to speak of. Before the sacriticG
was accomplished, the vials of paternal wrath


and the arrows ul* everybody's sarcasm wiis
showered iii>on him without stint — probably with
preventive views— but afterward he was treated
with silent contemjir. Only his mother, who
fancied that Roger loved her the best of all lier
children, and his eldest sister. Lady Harriet Len-
nox, who had made an iinprudent marriage her-
self, and said it was delightful to see anybody
do a foolisli thitjg in these wise days, ventured
to take his part; but they were individuals of
so little account in the family that they might
as well never have spoken at all — better, per-
haps; for interference, advice, or cintradietiou
only acted as rivets to Lord dc Bohun's purposes.
His youngest son was excommunicated hence-
forth from paternal favor ; his name was erased
from the will that gave him Benjamin's portion
in the unentailed ]>roj»erty, and f(»rbidden to be
uttered aloud in the iiimily iireside gatherings;
and having thus executed righteous judgment
and vindicated his outraged authority. Lord de
Bohun at peace with himself, and slept like
the most forgiving and tender-hearted Christian
of his generation.

It«jgfr w;u> vot out of Eden, and the day was a day of good
omen too — Midsummer day.

There was not a cloud in the sky ; hill and dale
Were flooded with an intcflso yellow sunshine,
and all the shaclows seemed to have hidden them-
Belvcs away amongst the cool dense green foliage
of the trees. The air was warm, soft, lu.xurious,
caressing; perfumed with the breath of new


mown liay, and vocal with the lowing of kino
in rich pastures, tlie lazy chirp of bird or in-
sect, and the whistle of the 2>easant at his toil in
distant fields. Th.e garden was one profuse tangle
of roses, jasmin, sweetbrler, and all hardy bloom-
ing scented plants, and the first sight of the new
home was as of some gigantic bee-hive or bird's
nest, that the flowering creepers bad almost over-
grown. Scarcely a stone's throw away was tlie
church— a picturesque old church, sucli as Agnes
had loved to prefigure to herself, a church with a
low belfry, and shrouded with ivy, even to the
concealment of its quaint and homely outline.
A double row of patriarchal elms divided " God's
acre" from the rectory garden, and a colony of
rooks amongst their interlaced branches promised
music more than enough in windy March weather ;
but Agnes vowed she liked a rookery near the
house, and that she would not for worlds have it
away ! Then when they came into the small old-
fashioned rooms, which had been made as fresh
and gay to view as the flower-beds outside tlie
lattice-paned bay-M'indoM's, she said that they
were delicious, and tliat the rectory was the very
picture of the place she had always dreamt of in
her day-dreams and called Home !

Looking abroad from tliose queer sunny vrin-
dows stretched a grand expanse of rich, fertile

14 iiAWKi^vrcw.

ctiiHitry, iMiumlecl Ly a line of lieatli-el;ul liills;
and in the hollow run a river so clear, sparkling
and translneent in the sunshine, that they could
see from afar off that it flowed with a swift cur-
rent and over a jicbbly bed. Nature here was in no
])enuriou8 mood; she had sown her richest broad-
cast, and dealt out her best and fairest gifts with
a lavishly bountiful haiul.

Agnes said in her jdcaj^ant voice, which it was
sweetest music to hear, "Roger, we may be luxu-
riously ]>oor in this beautiful country, may we
not ?" and Roger answered that he should be lux-
uriously ri'h with her anywhere ; tliat he was de-
termined to make the best of botii worlds, and to
enjoy, as far as he might, the life that had been
given them to spend together, with much more
epicurean philosophy to the same effect; and Ag-
nes listened as if he were god speaking and his
lips drop])ed oracles. These two had accc]»ted
life's mightiest res])onsibilities and touched its
climax early ; but they had brought to its after-
battle romance enough to bear the brunt of its
rudest disenchantments, and love to lift them tri-
umphantly above its trivftil cares. The new ex-
istence showed like the beginning of a ]deasant
jiastoral, throngh which they were to go hand in
hand, without shock of grievous experience or any
let or hindrance whatever; all life-long one glow-
ing, glorious midsumnuM- Awy.

ir AWK8VIKW. 1 5


The working hours of tins white day drew
toward a close. The tired hay-makers were
Avending their way homeward from the fragrant
jfields; and with the evening purple came a
heather-scented breeze that made a plaintive, sigh-
ing music amongst the elms. Against the nur-
sery window the ruddy-leaved American creeper
struck with a faintly sharp monotone, as if keep-
ing tinie to the mother's love-ditty that Agnes
was crooning over her baby, as she lay upon her
lap. Little Mona ought to have been asleep in
her cot an hour ago, but there she was, her
blue eyes wide open, and mischievously watchful,
breaking out, now and again, into a vivacious
crow that Agnes was fain to smother with a
shower of kisses on her pouting rebel lips. She
received all her caresses with the superb air of
a baby princess accustomed to loving homage
from the maternal subject ; and treated nurse
Beste's expostulatory hushes with truly regal in-


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Online LibraryHolme LeeHawksview: a family history of our own times → online text (page 1 of 19)