RUTH. * WE have no recollection of having seen the rather

celebrated Mary Barton of this writer. The novel before us argues a clear percep- tion of external imagery, and a powerful, distinct style, espe- cially in description ; a conception of character, not altogether ab- stract, but derived from cogitation rather than from life ; with a sufficiency of dramatic spirit, occasionally marred by an ill-judged attempt at striking effects. In the better parts there is a deep interest both in the general story and in particular scenes. Not- withstanding these merits, Ruth as a whole is not proportioned to the qualities which the writer possesses. The power and pathos of the authoress are pushed to straining and inflation, after the manner of Dickens and his class whether prototypes or imitators : the further error is committed of working up descriptions till the

• Ruth; a Novel. By the Author of "Mary Barton." In three eolumes. ..Pub- Lilted by Chapman and Ball.

scenery and properties become as prominent as the dramatis per.; some, distracting the reader's attention and retarding the narrative. A great defect of Ruth lies deeper. Life has been too much looked at through the spectacles of newspaper articles and commissioners of inquiry. The cant of philanthropy is prevalent; not grossly, but in spirit. The poor are virtuous, sometimes sentimental as well; the respectable or the rich are hard, selfish, and regard., less of others, mostly with arrogant manners to boot. As these notions, when embodied in action, cannot be altogether made to square with the actual, the story ceases to be a general picture of life, and consequently fails in impressing the lesson the author would apparently teach.

This lesson, indeed, is not very distinctly presented ; less owing perhaps, to want of purpose in the writer than to the confusion arising from partial views. The object would seem to be an illus- tration of the story of Jesus Christ and Mary Magdalen ; though the Scriptural narrative rather points to spiritual salvation than worldly restoration. The tale of Rath Hilton, however, involves an extreme and exceptional case; while she is restored to a position by an untruth on the part of a minister and his sister, which breaks down at a certain stage of the story, only to be set right by a species of self-devoted martyrdom and death.

In the tale of Ruth herself everything is rare. Her mother was the daughter of a country curate—amiable and excellent, of courses She married a respectable but unlucky farmer, whose listlessness marred his success. On his wife's death he lost what little energy he had, and soon died himself, leaving Ruth Hilton to the guardian- ship of a man of whom he knew but little. The guardian wound up the affairs, and apprenticed Ruth to a milliner. Such a situation is too good to be passed without a picture of White Slavery as painted in blue books and other reports, but is hardly appropriate to the time and place of Ruth, which opens in a country-town, a good many years ago. In this position Ruth Hilton falls a victim to a series of rare accidents, and the arts of a Mr. Bellingham ; the grand labour of the writer being to impress the reader with the idea of the inno- cence and ignorance of Ruth,---though such is hardly consistent with sixteen and some months' experience in a milliner's work- room. The ready resource of a dangerous illness brings a proud stern mother to Bellingham's sick bed to put an end to the con- nexion in an offhand way ; her satiated son being little loath. TM this dilemma Ruth Hilton is saved from suicide by a Mr. Benson, a Dissenting minister, and his sister, who protect her, and allow her to pass as a widow under a feigned name. Education, worldly experience, and religion, bring Ruth to a true sense of her position and her sin ; expanding her character and maturing her beauty. Mr. Bellingham, now Mr. Donne in consequence of an accession of property, comes to the borough of Eccleston as a candidate, and is so struck with Mrs. Denbigh and her son as to wish to renew the old liaison • but failing in that, offers her marriage. Ruth has now seen his selfishness augmented by years and self-indulgence, and . refuses him. A tattling woman, who has a clue to Ruth's for5us1, life, exposes the truth; her friends fall off; but a fever in the town brings out her courage, her self-devotion, and ret'gtablishes her position. At this time Mr. Donne comes down to an election, and catches the fever, but is saved by the nursing of Ruth ; while she is infected and dies.

The early story of the heroine ends with the first volume. For the remainder of the work, Ruth, though the centre of interest and the leading person, is subordinate as regards space to sketches in the town of Eccleston. These have not a very real air, but they are able and powerful paintings. The poor, sickly, humble- minded, and charitable minister, Mr. Benson, and his religions but more practical sister, are not types of the Dissenters; but

they are attractive persons. Their faithful servant, Sally, is rather a bore, but well conceived and truthful. Various other persons, especially of the Bradshaw family, might be particularized, but Mr. Bradshaw himself is, we think, the chef d'oeuvre of the book. He is a Dissenter and Mr. Benson's principal" hearer," the leading man of the town, and the cause of bringing in Mr. f)onne to oppose the old territorial interest. He is a strict, high-prin- cipled pharisaical man, with a touch of ostentation, and only re- deemed from vulgarity by his strength of character. When he discovers Ruth's early fall, his wrath is boundless ; for he has engaged her as a daily governess, and received her as a confidential intimate. His wrath is equally great against Mr. Benson, and he withdraws from the chapel. But Nemesis is on the watch. His son Richard, weak by nature and too tightly reined by his father, falls into bad company and secret extravagance, and to make up his payments forges a transfer of some shares belonging to Mr. Benson. As soon as Mr. Bradshaw has satisfied himself of the

probability of this—but let him speak for himself.

"Late that night Mr. Benson sat in his study. Every one else in the house had gone to bed ; but he was expecting a summons to some one who was dangerously ill. He was not startled, therefore, at the knock which came to the front-door about twelve ; but he was rather surprised at the character of the knock, so slow and loud, with a pause between each rap. His study-door was but a step from that which led into the street. He opened it, and there stood—Mr. Bradshaw ; his large portly figure not to be mistaken even in the dusky night. "He said, That is right. It was youl wanted to see.' And he walked straight into the study. Mr. Benson followed, and shut the door. Mr. Bradshaw was standing by the table, fumbling in his pocket. He pulled out the deed ; and opening it, after a pause in which you might have counted five, he held it out to Mr. Benson.

" ' Read it,' said he. He spoke not another word until time had been al- lowed for its perusaL Then he added, That is your signature ? ' The words were an assertion, but the tone was that of question.

"'No, it is not,' said Mr. Benson, decidedly. 'It is very like my ting; I could almost say it was mine, but I lsnow it is not.' "'Recollect yourself a little. The date is Au&sist the third, of last year, fourteen months ago. You may have forgotteelt." The tone of the voice had a kind of eager entreaty in it, which Mr. Benson did not notice,—he was so startled at the fetch of hitt own writing.

"'It ia meet singularly like mine; but I could not have signed away these shares—all the property I hue--without the slightest retuerabrance of "stranger things have happened. For the rove of Heaven, think if you did not sign it. It's a deed of-transfer for those insurance shares, v see. You don't remember it ? You did not write this name—these words?' He looked at Mn Benson with craving wistfulness for one particular answer. Mr. Benson was struck at last by the whole proceeding, and glanced anx- iously at Mr. Bradshaw, whose manner, gait, and voice were so difitirent from usual, that he might well exeite attention. But as soon as the latter was aware of this momentary inspection, he changed hia tone all at once. "'Don't imagine, sir, / wish to force any invention upon you as a re- inembranee. If you did not write this name, I know who did. Once mom / ask you,—does no glimmering recollection of—having needed money, we'll say—I never wanted you to refuse- any subscription to the chapel, God knows .!—of having sold these accursed shares ? Oh! I see by your face you slid not write it : you need not speak to me—I know.'

"He sank down into a chair near him. His whole figure drooped. Li a moment he was up, and standing straight as an arrow, confronting Mr. Ben- son, who could find no clue to this stern man's agitation. • " 'You. say you did not write these words ? ' pointing to the signature,

with an untrembling finger. believe you; Richard Bradshaw did write.' " My dear sir—my dear old friend-!' exclaimed Mr. Benson, 'you are rushing to a conclusion for which, I am convinced, there is no foundation ; there is no reason to suppose that because—' "'There i reason, sir. Do not distress yourself—I ant perfectly calm.' His stony eyes and immoveable face did indeed look rigid. What we have now to do is to punish the offence. I have not one standard for myself and those I love—(and Mr. Benson, I did love him)—and another for the rest of the world. If a stranger had forged my name I should have known it was my dutyto prosecute him. You must prosecute Richard.'

I will not,' said Mr. Benson.

"'You think, perhaps, that I shall feel it acutely. You are mistaken. fle is no longer as my son to me. / have always resolved to disown any child of mine who was guilty of sin. I disown Richard. He is as a stranger to me. I shall fed no more at hisexposure—his punishment—'. He could not go on, for his voice was choking. 'Of course' you understand that I must feel shame at our connexion; it is that that is troubling me ; that is but consistent with a man who has always prided himself on the integrity of his name : but as for that boy, who has been brought up all his life as I have brought up my children, it must be some innate wickedness! Sir, I can cut him off, though he has been as my right-hand—beloved. Let me be no hinderance to the course of justice,. I beg. He has forged your name—he has defrauded you of money—of your all, I think you said.'

" 'Some one has forged my name. I am not convinced that it was your son. Until I know all the circumstances, I decline to prosecute.'

'"'What circumstances?' asked Mr. Bradshaw, in an authoritative man- ner, which would have shown irritation but for his self-command.

"The force of the temptation—the previous habits of the person—' "'Of RicharcL Re is the person,' Mr. Bradshaw put in.

" Mr. Benson went on, without taking any nodes. 'I should think it eight to prosecute, if I found out that this offence against me was only one of a series committed, with premeditation, against society. I should then feel, as a protector of others more helpless than myself-

-, " ' It was your all,' said Mr. Bradshaw.

• "'It was all my money ; it was not my all,' replied Mr. Benson ; and then he went on as if the interruption had never been : 'Against an habitual offender./ shall not prosecute Richard. Not because he is your son—do not imagine that! I should decline taking such a step against any young man without first ascertaining the particulars about him, which I know al- needy about Richard, and which determined rim against doing what would blast his character for life—would destroy every good quality he has.'

"'What good quality remains to him ? ' asked Mr. Bradshaw. He has deceived me—he haa offended.God!

"Have we not all offended Him ? Mr. Benson said, in a low tone.

. "'Not consciously. I never do wrong consciously. But Richard—Rich- ard '—The remembrance of the undeceiving letters—the forgery—filled up his heart so completely that he could not speak for a minute or two. Yet when he saw Mr. Benson on the_point of saying something, he broke in : "'it is no use talking, sir. You and I cannot agree on these subjects. Once more, 'desire you to prosecute that boy, who as no longer a child of mine.'

`Mr. Bradshaw, I shall not prosecute him. I have said it once for all. Tomorrow you will be glad that I do not listen to you. I should only do harm by saying more at present.'"