NEW NOVELS. * WHO can say that the 'English are a

critically impatient people, requiring rapid and exciting action in story, and soon wearying of what is called the " longwinded " in discourse, when the tales of the author of " Amy Herbert," of the " Heir of Redelyffe," and of various imitators, are not only praised but are sold in more editions than one ? The mass of novels proper, however unlikely or absurd they may be, possess a certain conventional knack, which, if the reader makes up his mind to go on with them, gets him quickly over the ground—silly they often are, but seldom slow. The new school of family fiction is mostly the reverse of this. The matter is more real that the circulating-library novels, there is more of nature in the persons, the observations are juster, and the style mostly indicative of elegant culture, sometimes rises into a quiet strength. But as often as not these merits rather encumber the narrative. The descriptions become tiresome from their minute- ness, especially when the things themselves have no great inte- rest even in the reality. Neither will truthfulness alone suffice to render characters and dialogues attractive, or we should never meet with dull company. The reflections are not only too numer- ous but too extended, running even -into the essay. Then the story so impeded is very frequently little in itself, or in an artist- ioal sense nothing. Of course there is a story, in the form of a succession of somethings, or of scenes if you please to term them so. There are people to be punished and people to be rewarded, most probably somebody to be married, and generally speaking somebody to be converted. Exceptions there are as in the case of Heartease ; but upon the whole the writers of this new school of fiction rather abuse the privilege which the good or the well-inten- tioned have of being tedious. In her new tale of Ursula, the chief founder of this school has advanced in the matter of style and handling, having tried what the painter's call a new manner. The elements of her tale—the kind of life among which her persons are placed, as well as the classes of persons themselves, are fresh ; her diction is closer and freer, smacking less of the schoolroom and the pulpit. But the story is unaccountably slow ; the want of stirring interest in the incidents, and the end to be reached by means of them, is made more deeply felt by the autobiographical form into which the nar- rative is east, with its minute painting of feelings, thoughts, and memories, as well as of external things. This slowness is further aggravated i by the complexity not of the real story, which is slight enough in its purpose, but by the persons and circum- stances which divert, envelop, and encumber it,; unless we are to consider that the common events of life varied by a few things

• Ursula. A Tale of Country Life. By the Author of " Amy Herbert," &c. In two volumes. Published by Longmans and Co.

A Lougee Quarrel; or the County Bali. By the Author*, " Cousin Geoffrey," &o. In three volumes. Published by Hurst and Blaokett. The Two Brother*. By the Author of "The Discipline of Life," &c. In three volumes. Published by Hurst and Bhekett. 2,4e .Beid Rose; A Legend of Bt. duleues tubes. Tubllihotby of an unusual kind though of a common nature, are enough to constitute a story. To those who have leisure and patience, Ursula may be recommended as a careful and able depiction of country scenery, of a peculiar kind of country life, and a pains- taking delineation of various characters, but time and patience are indispensable to its relish.

The author of A Lovers's Quarrel has a clearer, indeed, a deeper perception of the evils of quarrels in general and between i lovers in particular, than the power of embodying that perception in a story which should not only interest the reader by a picture of living manners and character, but impress upon the mind the moral lessons sought to be inculcated. Strictly speaking it is not so much a quarrel, in the common sense of the word, which forms the subject of this novel, as temper and self-will, that not only provoke a quarrel needlessly, but continue it doggedly. In fact Cecile De 'Pere exhibits so many evil qualities in the shape of pride, temper, and their concomitants, that the quarrel which arises at the onset would seem to any one but a lover in a so_ mance, rather a good thing than otherwise, as enabling the match to be broken off. The tiff originates in a somewhat un- dutiful remark that Cecile makes touching her mother, and when Harcourt, bound as the parish divine if not as a suitor to take up the matter, offers a mild remonstrance, the heroine " flares up." Even the interference of her amiable sister Amy cannot restore peace. " Sister ! dear sister !' said Amy, who had remained silent till then, her head bent over her work, and who, on looking up, perceived that Dudley. was pale, trembling, and his eyes full of tears, though his manner was col- lected, and even stern. Sister !' and Amy rose, and approached the stately Cecile, who was tossing back her long ringlets with one hand, while with the other she carelessly touched the late. Be advised dearest sister. You are not yourself tonight. You are very angry and with very little if any cause. Come, shake hands with dear Dudley—he meant nothing unkind; come, be- sides being one whom you mean one day to love, honour and obey,' he is

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even now our pastor—our adviser. It is his duty to tell us of our faults. Come, make up this silly quarrel before you say things you would give the world you had never said.'

" Cecile glanced for half an instant at Dudley. She expected to see him

eagerly advancing, passionately courting a reconciliation—but though he loved her with a first, intense, and ardent love, he had been offended by her contemptuous and disrespectful asperity—shocked by her bitterness, and grieved at what seemed to him to betray so unchristian a spirit. Meekness and penitence alone could have brought him at that moment to her side— perhaps to her feet. There was nothing meek or penitent in the glance Cecile threw upon him, but there was something excessively haughty and defiant in what that glance became, when she saw him sternly gazing on her, with his arms folded on his bosom. " ' Amy. !' she said, your spirit partakes a great deal more of our fallen

fortunes than of our lofty birth. Let this be a lesson to you, my sister, and if over you condescend, as I did, and lavish attentions on one every way un- worthy of them, expect to be lectured like a school-girl, and taunted, with your tenderness.' " Oh, sister ! do not let your proud temper blind you so ; indeed, Dud- ley said nothing but " But what he would repeat under similar circumstances,' said her lover, ghastly pale, but with flashing eyes and sternest brow.

" circumstances will never occur again !' said Cecile, laughing bitterly in her passionate scorn. To expose one's self to insult once, shows little of either proper pride or discernment; but to do so again, would be, in- deed, to have no penetration or self-respect.'

" You are right, Miss De Vere !' said Dudley, in a voice so choked by

contending emotions it made Cecile's heart stand still. He moved to reach his hat. She grew pale, and felt sick and faint ; for though she would not look up from a brooch she was settling in her bosom, she felt that he was going.

"'Farewell, Miss De Vere ! Amy, farewell, and God bless you : ' " From this yoint the story fairly begins, the previous matter

having been preliminary. It continues through many scenes of country and some of London and foreign life, designed both to carry on the tale and to exhibit the rivalries oiprovincial society, where vulgar wealth, and (let us say energy, though the novelist does not,) contend with ancient birth and high breeding, torpid, unless upon the matter of its claims. The whole is readably, perhaps pleasantly done, and where moral sentiment or the feel- ings are in question, both thought and tenderness are displayed. A Lover's Quarrel cannot be considered as a true reflex of life, or take high rank as a fiction ; but it forms a lively and interesting tale of the circulating-library genus.

As a novel The Two Brothers is the best of the batch before us.

The moral may be none of the truest ; for we doubt whether weakness of character badly managed in the outset, . and led into bad company, loose living, and questionable conduct in early manhood can entertain a true affection, or would be restored to steady virtue by any affection it could entertain. Some of the elements of The Two Brothers are rather of the oldest ; as the family pride of the Vavasours and the embarrassment which has overtaken them in the usual -way, by their loyalty into the Stuarts ; but these ideas of a bygone time rather originate the action than influence its course. Neither the scenes, persons, nor manners, are exactly a picture of contemporary life, but they are conceived consistently, exhibited with sufficient if not very re- markable power, and the writer has evidently a knowledge of society which is infused into the book. The defects mentioned are rather critical than popular. Even if they were of greater moment than they are, they would be counterbalanced by a story of sufficient movement, variety, and interest, to sustain the reader's attention, with a termination, whieh if verging on clap- trap in one direction, and a shade too worldly in another, is yet favourable enough to gratify the lovers of a happy ending.

Part of a scene may give an example of the writer's general manner. Reports and not for the first time have reached Mr.

Vavasour of the evil doings of his eldest son Robert and his friend and pastor Mr. Addison comes up to town to see what can be done. He finds the heir of the Vavasours at a lodging-house trying to carry matters off, but evidently by his manner ill at ease and with a conscience very far from being laid asleep.

This conviction gave him hope ; it made him bold.

" 'I am come,' said be, gently, ' in answer to a petition of yours. Do you remember, Robert, your last departure from home. You then desired me to stand your friend, not to judge you harshly, or lightly give you up. I have not forgotten, and therefore, Robert, I am here.' " ' Thanks, then, for that,' Robert said, in an unsteady voice, very evi- dently touched, though at the same time as evidently determined not to be 80. It is not often in this world that men remember their promises. But Mr. Addison, since you are come we had better proceed to business. What have you got to say against me ? What awful tales has that scoundrel ru- mour been telling ? Out with it at once, pray, and do not keep me in sus- pense longer than is needful.' "'Rumour has said much, Robert,' said Mr. Addison, sadly ; so much, that I confess it is with an effort that I do not judge you harshly. But no man should be condemned on rumour. Read these, and God grant you may be able to disprove what is said.'

" He put into his hand the letters Mr. Vavasour had received, and, turn- ing away while he read them, stood silently leaning against the window.

" He was left but a few minutes to meditation ; the letters were thrown upon the floor ; and rising and stamping with his foot, Robert said, True, Mr. Addison, every word true.' "Mr. Addison turned pale and sat down ; he had not known how much of disbelief had yet clung to his imagination. " Robert also sat down,. and, after the momentary excitement, crossed his arms with a resolved air. He waited, apparently, for his companion to speak. Since nothing was said, he at last observed, Well, Mr. Addison, now is your time: condemn me as harshly as you please ; I am at your mercy.' " ' Condemnation was not what brought me here,' he said, sadly ; your own conscience must do that. But if you wish to be condemned, if your conscience does not yet speak loud enough, think of the picture your home must have presented when those letters were received. Picture it, I repeat. Fancy cannot go beyond the truth of the sorrow, the agony I saw.' " ' You say true, Mr. Addison,' Robert said, and sighed : my conscience is not hard enough et to think of that.' He paused a moment, and then

asked suddenly, hat did Hope say ? ' " She said little. I may say she said nothing. She read the letters, and said not a word.'

"'Poor an ' Robert said, softly, putting his hand over his eyes, and for a moment his countenance was touched by an expression of indescribable tenderness.

" Mr. Addison remained silent, fearing to weaken by one syllable the natural workings of his feelings.

" The silence lasted for a minute or so. Robert then said, I suppose they all know, then, that I am going to be married.' "'Sri much we gathered from that letter ; the rest I heard at 'Under- wood. Is it true, Robert ? are you indeed engaged to Miss Gresham ?' " What have you to say against it ? ' Robert asked, sharply.

" ' Two things, was the grave reply : you do not love her, and your brother does.'

" Robert coloured violently. As for that matter,' he cried, I cannot see that it is any affair of mine. I suppose every lady is at liberty to be married when she pleases, and other men's fancies are not to forbid the banns ? '

" True ; but every man, every generous man at least, restrains his wishes where a brother is concerned.'

" 'I know nothing of Everard or his fancies,' Robert said, hastily. ' He has never consulted or confided in me. If there were no objection but that my conscience would sleep very peaceably.'

" There are others, then ? Oh, Robert, I guessed as much ! '

"'Not very hard to guess,' he said, seornfully. ' I have loved another all my life, and I have told her so. There, I confess it, there is the sting ; but some things must be done, and this must. Poor Hope !' he said again, again putting his hand over his eyes, what must she think of me ? ' " Dear Robert,' Mr. Addison said, approaching him and laying his hand upon him, ' be yourself; cast off the madness that misleads you, and return and be forgiven.' " ' I cannot!' he cried, with strong agitation : Mr. Addison, I dare not. I cannot meet my father again. Not for worlds would I ask him again to forgive me. You know I love my mother; you know I love Hope. I tell you I think no more of the pain I give them, compared to my father's anger, than I care for that stone. He is a severe and inexorable judge, and before his judgment-seat I never again will stand. Do not urge me ; it will be utterly in vain.' " As may be conjectured from its title, The Red Rose carries us back to the wars of York and Lancaster ; though the religious persecution of the Lollarda is more connected with the " legend of St. Alban's Abbey" than the military exploits of the period. The story is not very probable in any sense. Edward the Fourth is one of the most active of the dramatis personae, though not in a manner at all appropriate to the real historical character of that selfish prince ; for he is continually masquerading about without any definite purpose, though it ends in restoring some Lancastrians to their honours and estates. There has been some antiquarian reading for the occasion ; but the manners are of the baldest conventional kind.