NEW NOVELS.* ,

Mrs. Crowe's Ghost Stories is a species of tentative philosophi- cal experiment, in the direction of mesmerism, clairvoyance, and apparitions, which tested by the old touchstones of reason and sense does not succeed. Her ghosts either have no object, or when they have they set about it, as Grose remarked, in such a roundabout way as to leave but a poor opinion of the business ca- pacity of disembodied spirits. The materialistic part is a more decided error. We do not quite go with the Archbishop of Dublin in the decision we lately quoted, that a ghost to be visible must be material. For apparitions would be put an end to alto-

• Ghost Stories and Family Legends. By Mrs. Crowe. Published by Newby. The Foster Brothers; being a History of the School and College Life of Two Young Men. Published by Hall and Virtue.

Winter Evenings. By Leitch Ritchie, Author of " Schinderhannes," Re. In two volumes. Published by Hurst and Blackett.

gether, if they could not be seen ; nor would it mend the matter in a materialistic sense, if they appeared as some of them vanished of yore, with a " sulphureous smell. But Mrs. Crowe's ghosts

are occasionally not only material but muscular. One servant girl in bed, who mistook a supernatural visitant for her mistress, was

quickly brought to a right perception, by the ghost laying " its

hand heavily on her knee, [and] there was something painful in the pressure." One apparition—but thenhe was a captain, and

polite, and came in person to intimate his own death to his be- trothed knocked at the bedroom door, instead of gliding in no- body knows how ; opened it when desired to " come in ; and when asked to take a seat, handed a chair from the wall to the bed-side ; while to forestall all explanations about dreams, he left it there when he departed. There is a tale of " a tall old man in. his night-dress " who " obscured the light [of a candle] in passing it." However some retain their old immateriality, in the popu- lar sense of the word. One man in passing a spirit that walked, was bold enough to put his arm out, as if to stop it The ghost passed on impalpable, but the sceptic's arm was deadly chill. Still there is an imaginative as well as a scientific test for ghost stories. Are they readable ? do they interest ? do they thrill the blood ? To which it may be answered that all of Ida,. Crowe's are readable, many interesting, a few of a really thrilling cha- racter. The majority too are real ghost stories in structure. The supernatural is not brought in as a garnish or addendum, but con- stitutes the tale ; the human actors being of course necessary parts, but still subordinate to the apparition. The framework, too,

is appropriate. The stories are told by different members of a

party assembled at a country-house, and the number of visitors, not only contribute to variety in the tales, but furnish opportu- nities for critical discussion in the tentative way, Mrs. Crowe scarcely putting forward her full belief in the supernatural. The best stories are rather too long for quotation in their entirety, but we will take part of one. It is of a " forestier" who had per- mission from his master to appropriate the dead wood. This was profitable, and Benoit instead of being content with the additional profit, got avaricious. One day he found the remains of a cross, which had evidently been erected over the grave of a murdered man. His sister continues the tale to her mistress.

"'Rh hien,' said Francoise wiping her eyes, into which the tears kept starting, 'of course you will 'think that Benoit, or anybody in the world

who had the fear of God before his eyes, as he could not find the grave to replace it as it should be, would have laid it reverently down where he had found it, saying a prayer for the soul of the deceased ; but, alas ! the demon of avarice tempted him, and he had not the heart to forego that poor cross, but bound it up into a faggot with the rest of the dead wood he found there, and threw it into his cart !

• "'Well, Franco:rise,' said I, you know I am not a Catholic, but I respect the custom of erecting these crosses, and I do think your brother was very wrong; I suppose he has lost the prince's favour by such impious greedi- ness.

" Pire que cal worse than that' she replied. It appears that while he was committing this wicked action, he felt an extraordinary chill come over him, which made him think that, though it had been a mild day, the evening must have suddenly turned very cold, and hastily throwing the fag- got into his cart, he directed his steps homeward. But walk as he would, he still felt this chill down his back, so that he turned his head to look where the wind blew from, when he saw, with some dismay, a imysterious- looking figure following close upon his footsteps. It moved noiselessly on, and was covered with a sort of black mantle that prevented his discerning the features. Not liking its appearance, he jumped into the cart and drove home as fast as he could, without looking behind him ; and when he got into his own farmyard he felt quite relieved, particularly, as when he alighted he saw no more of this unpleasant-looking stranger. So he began unloading his cart, taking out the faggots, one by one, and throwing them upon the ground ; but when he threw down the one that contained the cross, he received a blow upon his face, so sharp that made him stagger and invo- luntarily shout aloud. His wife and children were close by, but there was no one else to be seen ; and they would have disbelieved him and fancied he bad accidentally hit himself with the faggot, hut that they saw the distinct mark on his cheek of a blow given him with an open hand. However, he went into supper perplexed and uncomfortable ; but when he went to bed this fearful phantom stood by his side, silent and terrible, visible to him, but invisible to others. In short, madame, this awful figure, haunted him till, in spite of his shame, he resolved to consult our cousin Jerome about it: 'But Jeronie laughed, and said it was all fancy and superstition. You got frightened at having brought away this poor devil's cross, and then you fancy he's haunting you,' said he. " ' But Benoit declared that he had thought nothing about the cross, ex- cept that it would make fire wood, and that he had no more believed in ghosts than Jerome ; but now,' said he, something must be done, I can get no sleep and am losing my health ; if you can't help me, I must go to the priest and consult him.' " ' Why don't you take back the cross and put it where you found it,' said Jerome.

" 'Because I am afraid to touch it, and dare not go to that part of the forest.'

"'So Jerome, who did not believe a word about the ghost, offered to go with him and replace the cross. Benoit gladly accepted, more especially, as he said he saw the apparition standing even then beside him, apparently, listen- ing to the conversation. Jerome laughed at the idea; however, Benoit lifted the cross reverently into the cart, and away they went into the forest. When they reached the spot, Benoit pointed out the tree under which he had found it ; and as he was shaking and trembling, Jerome took up the cross and laid it on the ground, but as he did so, he received a violent blow from an invisible hand, and at the same moment saw Benoit fall to the ground: He thought he had been struck too, but it afterwards appeared that he had fainted from having seen the phantom with its upraised hand striking his cou-

sin. However, they left the cross and came away ; but there was an end to Jerome's laughter, and he was afraid the apparition would now haunt him. Nothing of the sort happened ; but poor Benoit's health has been so shaken by this frightful occurrence that he cannot get the better of it ; his friends have advised change of scene, and be is coming to Paris next week.'

"This was the story Franeoiae told me, and in a few days I heard he had arrived and was staying with Monsieur Pelletier; but the shock had been too great for his nerves, and he died shortly after."

Besides the Ghost stories proper, there are some Family Legends more resembling the common tale. That is living persons per- form a more conspicuous part than the apparitions, though the catastrophe finally turns upon the supernatural, which may be said to constitute the interest if not exactly the action of the piece.

There is a good deal of power in The Foster Brothers, but of power misapplied, or rather run wild. The purpose of the tale would seem to be to expose the errors, and cruelties of school life, but lurking under that object appears a Douglas-Jerrold-like pre- ference of the poor to the rich, especially if birth is combined with riches. It is not that every poor man is "wisest, virtuesest, discreetest, best," but the preponderance of goodness is with the ignorant and humble. Yet by a strange error in logic, the real hero is the well-born ; and he succeeds by dint of nature, for he has few external advantages. The "Foster Brothers" are two children born on the same Christmas day. One is the son of a coachman, the other of his aristocratic master. Owing to former and present associations, as well perhaps as to her plebeian origin, (for the father of Mrs. Hollis was a rich Manchester manufacturer,) she wishes her coachman's son, Robert Birt, to be brought up with "Adolphus Henry Plantagenet Brooks Hollis," which after some demur is assented to in a fashion by Mr. Hollis. A nurse, however, changes the children ; so it is Robert Birt who during school and collage days possesses all the advantages of life, without greatly profiting by them ; while the true aristocrat struggles with the prejudices and difficulties which of necessity (and also for the tale-writers convenience) beset him, to emerge as Senior Wrangler, and to do a deed of magnanimity—for which the reader may look to the book.

There is dramatic power displayed by the writer, and much vigour of style in narrative and sketches, with keenness added in the remarks. The ready sneers at riches, birth, and conventions, whether really respectable and on the whole useful, or merely, prejudices, are sharp and clever, if verging on commonplace clap- trap. There is great exaggeration in the incidents, and appa- rently a strange ignorance of the classes who are mainly sati- rized. Thus to take a staring case, a fashionable physician, so emi- nent as to have been knighted, is represented as going his round of professional visits on foot. There is stuff in the author ; but he must make himself better acquainted with the manners and real characters of the beau monde, before he will be capable of writing a really good prose satire upon them. He must also at- tend a little more to the logic, completeness, and satisfying effect of his conclusion.

On a closer examination Mr. Leitch Ritchie's Winter Evenings turns out to a great extent, to be a reprint of papers from Cham- bers's Journal, set in the usual framework of guests at a country house. Satire, keenness of remark, and varied portraiture, render this framework a good thing of its kind ; though it is to;) loosely connected with the matters that follow to be germane as

an intreduetion. The bulk of the articles indeed are less tales than sketches, critical papers with a touch of Hazlitt's man- ner, and essays of the personally discursive kind in plan, such as Charles Lamb used to write ; though Mr. Ritchie's treatment is different from that of the quaint humourist. Those who are acquainted with Mr. Ritchie's thoughtful observation of life and literature, and his forcible mode of presenting his experiences and opinions, will be glad to make acquaintance with these miscel- lanies in their present form ; and if they are already familiar with some of them, the old will bear reperusal, and there are, as we understand, some novelties. Had the papers been longer, perhaps there might be found too much discussion, but as we said in announcing them, they are too short to tire.

As a sample of Mr. Ritchie's last manner we may give an ac- count of the way in which the traveller of the assembled party began his visit to the four quarters of the globe half a century ago. The mode in which he did America and Asia is not a bad hit on the superficial views of Modern travelling.

"Arrived at length at fourteen he was to be sent to New York to a pater- nal allele. He travelled to the sea-port by the night-coach, embarked in the grey dawn, and kept his hammock, half-dead with sickness, almost the whole voyage. What he saw of the sea—for our young lady was curious on the subject—was both terrible and disgusting. It had no shore, and it smelt badly. He used to think, as he lay on his back in his berth, that they were travelling, throughout countless ages, over an infinite apace of bilge-water.

"He at length arrived at New York, late one evening, and was put into a coach, he did not know how, for the whole world was rolling and pitching, and the vehicle setting off backwards and forwards, and in all other directions at the same moment. He shut his eye; and, clinging to one who sat next him, buried his face in his bosom. When they stopped at his uncle's door, he would fain have lain still, for he was quite used up ; but a clattering of tongues and a flashing of lights made him open his eyes, which he rallied languidly to the face of his supporter. That was an awful moment. It was a hideous negro be was hugging ; and as he rolled the whites of his eyes upon his charge, while a benevolent leer extended his mouth from ear to ear, our Traveller felt his skin creep and his _hair rise. He thought he beheld the spirit of the ill-smelling ocean transfused into the Black Man by whom Ma infancy had been scared ; and his long blank stare—the result of,pure fascination—would probably have continued all night if he had not been carried off to bed.

"In the bed, our traveller told usrle lay for three days, and was unable to leave his room for three more. In the interval, it had occurred to his uncle, who was in correspondence with a planter in the neighbourhood of Sourabaya, in the island of Java, that the climate of that meridian would suit better his lean, lank, washed-out-looking nephew than the more vigo- rous air of New York ; and a vessel, in which he had some interest, being just on the point of sailing for the Indian Archipelago, the youth. Was ship- ped off' on the instant.

"He could have wished more leisure for the survey of New York, as he drove down to the quay once more. "'However, something was accomplished,' said our traveller ; 'we had bagged America in no time.'

"There were no other passengers ; the captain was morose, and his guest was unwell. The plantation he was bound for, and where he arrived in due time, was at some distance from Sourabaya. The planter was a bachelor. He was naturally taciturn ; and, at any rate, he could speak no English, and the new clerk no Dutch. Still, they got used to each other. The stranger had plenty to do ; and, although they saw nobody but the native Japanese, year after year glided unconsciously away—ten twenty, thirty, ay, forty years—and then the old planter died. By this away—ten, our friend had enough of money, and not too much. Why should he continue to work ? He de- termined to come home and did so.

"There,' said our traveller, you have forty years in Asia.'"