Originally published in Howitt's Journal (William & Mary Howitt) vol.1 #2 (09 Jan 1847).
Aunt Carry's Ballads for Children. By the Hon. Mrs. Norton. Cundall.
Among the very prettiest gift-books of the season is this one by the Hon. Mrs. Norton. It is a graceful and attractive little volume, and contains in its simple child like stories a moral of deep meaning, which will not be the less felt, because it is left to the young reader's own heart to discover. The book contains two ballads: the first, "The Adventures of a Wood Sprite;" the other, "The Story of Blanche and Brutikin." We will say nothing of an echo of other writers for the young in these charming tales, but cheerfully accord our praise, rejoicing that the children, who, though just critics, are never stern ones, have so much pleasure in store as the reading of this book cannot fail to give them.
The illustrations, by Absolon, are among the most lovely of his designs. The whole book is, in fact, simple, child-like, and excellent.
The Battle of Life. A Love Story. By Charles Dickens.
All the world reads whatever Charles Dickens writes; they cannot help it; it is an inevitable result of Charles Dickens writing at all. After the reading comes the discussion; and in the case of this "Battle of Life" there can be but one opinion—that the aim and tendency of this book are as noble as anything its author ever produced; still, that the victory which good Dr. Jeddler's daughter, Marion, gains over her struggling heart, is about as foolish and ill-judged a victory as that of most ordinary battle-fields. We agree with Dickens, that there are no victories more glorious than those which are gained over self; those in which a struggling heart becomes purified and ennobled by sacrifice and suffering for the good of others; but we think he has failed to show this beautiful combat worthily sustained in Marion Jeddler. She, like a foolish girl, tortures the hearts she loves, while she disciplines her own; and makes their suffering, through her sacrifice, greater than it would have been without it. The elder sister, Grace, was the one, after all, who, in the "Battle of Life," would bear the cross and wear the crown.
The book, however, spite of this misconception of plot, is full of fresh and beautiful sentiment; and poor Clemency Newcome, with her two left legs and her heart always in the right place; and her husband, who would go down to the grave wondering that his wife should ever do a wise or clever thing, are delightful characters: they are full of all that genial true-hearted simplicity in describing which Dickens is so much at home.
The sentiments throughout are as sound and wholesome as truth itself. For instance, hear what is said, about a great battle. Dr. Jeddler says—
"On this ground where we now sit; where I saw my two girls dance this morning; where the fruit has just been gathered for our eating from these trees, the roots of which are struck in men, not earth; so many lives were lost, that within my recollection, generations afterwards, a churchyard full of bones, and dust of bones, and chips of cloven skulls, has been dug up from underneath our feet here. Yet, not a hundred people in that battle knew for what they fought, or why; not a hundred of the inconsiderate rejoicers in the victory, why they rejoiced; not half a hundred people were the better for the gain or loss; not half a dozen men agree to this hour on the cause or merits; and nobody, in short, ever knew anything distinct about it but the mourners of the slain."
"Granted, if you please, that war is foolish," said Snitchey; "there we agree. For example—there's a smiling country (pointing it out with his fork,) once overrun by soldiers—trespassers every man of 'em—and laid waste by fire and sword. He, he, he! The idea of any man exposing himself voluntarily to fire and sword! Stupid, wasteful—positively ridiculous. You laugh at your fellow-creatures, you know, when you think of it."