A LITERARY DRAM.*

MANY of our readers are probably not aware that the United States have given birth to a very complex and difficult art or dex- terity (as Plato would have preferred to call it), which has for its object the compound of stimulating. drinks. At the American Bar in New Coventry-street, an adept in this art, who styles him- self conspicuously " THE PROFESSOR," may be nightly seen com- pounding his many curiously elaborate, and, as lie says, " unri- valled American drinks," " the never-failing Soda Cocktail," "Apple Jack Smash," "Yankee's Whisper," "Private Smile," "Beautiful Lap," and the rest of them. There are the political drinks, also, the " Hard Shells," the " Silver Grey," the " George Washington," and other "democratic" fluids. The process itself is scarcely less remarkable than the names for its results. The base of operations is always, of course, some strong spirit; but to this is added some twenty different elements of modifying filivour—herbs spices, a few drops of many different wines, or other strongly flavoured liquids, while the whole are poured to and fro in the air with the dexterity of a juggler catching various sets of balls—until the de- sired flavour is attained. England, proverbially slow, as the Ame- rican newspapers kindly assure us, has been hitherto content to do its inebriety in a coarser and simpler way. The stimulus, and nothing but the stimulus, is the object usually cared for by the poorer Englishclasses ; but under better guidance the middle-classes may now learn to combine the refinement of epicurism with the fierce passion for drink.

Some deteriorating change of the same kind appears to be coming over the genus "stimulating fiction," if we may judge at all by the ap- pearance of this extraordinary book under the auspices of a respect. able publishing firm. We cannot describe it better than by saying that it bears to the ardent stimulants in Reynolds's Miscellany and The Halfpenny Journal much the same relation which THE PROFESSOR'S elaborate "cocktails" bear to the liquid fire of the gin and rum places. We see among these celebrated drinks one which the Professor distinguishes by the name of the " Corpse Reviver." That probably must bear a very close analogy to the literary composition of the present tale, in which one of the least of the marvels is the resuscitation of a hanged murderer. Stimulus—very coarse stimulus indeed—is the basis of the tale; and, if that were all, we should no more think of noticing it than we should the "Mysteries of Mid- night," by Lady Clara Lascelles, or "The Court Page," by Mr.

• The Old ROOMS Weil: a Romance of Dar* alreegs and area Lanes. Two scan sanders and Otley. Reynolds. But there evidently has been a very strong attempt made to sweeten it with ingredients of a more literary character, which may serve as an apology to some who would be, or would think they ought to be, revolted by mere spirituous flame. Therefore, we must express our very strong conviction that this book is a speci- men of a class which, should it be found to take at the circulating libraries, would be exceedingly hurtful to English taste, and be likely to have the same depraving effect on their moral tastes which a liberal patronage of the new cocktail art is likely to have on their physical constitution. For some time we were inclined to believe the tale a kind of extravaganza, intended to parody "sensation novels," but no one who reads the whole can believe that such a purpose, if it existed, would be so carefully concealed. The Old Roman Well which is made to bubble forth these highly artificial fluids, instead of the natural in- terests of human life, does not, as we have intimated, consist wholly of livid fiend and blue fire. In many portions a certain dash of obvious and not contemptible aptitude for dialogue and descrip- tion is even predominant ; and there is also a definite political flavour of high Toryism and an idolatry of farmers, which furnish us with lucid intervals between the spasms of murder, vengeance, and corpse- reviving. The dialogues between the farmers are done with that kind of respectable success which would seem to indicate a not unpractised hand ; nor are the streets of London ill described. This it is which convinces us that the tremendous and incredible trash which per- meates the tale in the shape of coarse stimulus is deliberately infused by some one who knows perfectly well that it is a lurid and depraving stimulant.

The main character in this astounding work is that of Charlotte Chatfield, receiver of stolen goods, " liar, adulteress, and murderess," who trains what must, we suppose, be called the hero of the tale in crime. Her former husband, whom she robbed, wounded, and de- serted, is represented as living at a ferry-house, in some fearfully dreary spot on the banks of the Thames, where he occupies himself in the not very instructive task of registering his wife's crimes in a book, and waiting till "the cup is full." The mother of the young man who has been betrayed into crime by Miss Chatfield, comes to this aged person for information of her son, on which his face becomes stern, "jets of fire dart from his eyes," and lie takes a large volume bound in black from his shelves, and " mutters in a hollow voice,

In this book are recorded the vile deeds of a woman who is not of earth, but of hell.' " When the mother departs, with very little fresh information about her son, the old man "hissed into her ear,

When the cup is full come to me.' " When the cup is full she does come to him apparently, and the procedure taken is remarkable. Char- lotte Chatfield is decoyed into the neighbourhood of the Roman Well in a howling thunderstorm, where her three accusers appear before her, and amid the roaring of the thunder devote her to destruction. One of them, the mother of the depraved youth, rushes at her and pulls her into the Roman Well, where both their corpses decay. The young mau, who has been saved from death on the gallows by a silver tube introduced into his throat by the scientific ferry-man, and is resusci- tated, goes to America, and repents ; makes in ten years a fortune of some hundred thousand pounds as a physician, and returns to perform certain curious incantations on the corpse of Charlotte Chatfield, on a bleak portion of the Welsh coast : " He took a sealed paper from his breast. 'The hand which wrote these words gave me back my life. He is dead, and I obey his last commands. Let us see.'

" He sat down and read. The wind rose into a fierce storm. Blue lightning played over the sea. The waves roared towards him as if they would fain seize him to their foaming breasts. They covered him with their wet breath.

" He was alone. Alone with a corpse, and that corpse a skeleton, and that the skeleton of a fiend.

"He burst open the coffin. The bones fell forth.

The birds of the sea smelt their feast, and flew round him, uttering impatient cries.

" Be silent,' he said; ye shall feast anon'

" He raised the skull. • 0 wondrous skull when thy fibres throbbed with life, when thy cells were filled with thought, what deep schemes didat thou plot! Schemes of theft, schemes of murder, schemes of revenge. But God balked thee in thy revenge: God robbed thee of thy money: God gave thee to a cruel death.'

"The wind howled from the East; the waves plunged madly on the black rocks: the birds of the sea smelt their feast and swooped round him with savage cries.

" He took two bones into his lap. ' 0 treacherous arms! so oft entwined round the necks of your victims like the folds of the serpent, which embrace ere they stifle. Now the soft white flesh has mouldered from ye, and ye too must decay.' " The wind howled from the East: the waves plunged madly on the black rocks: the birds of the sea smelt their feast, and swooped round him with savage cries.

"Yet one more bone he raised. Oh, bosom, once voluptuous and beautiful! but which throbbed only with deceit: which burnt only with the fires of hatred and revenge. Once a young man's head was pillowed on thee: his. dark hair swept over thee: his lips sought thy cold hands: his eyes were closed in ecstasies of love: and his heart, his dear heart, beat for thee and thee only. And while thou wert listening to his passionate words thou laideat snares that he should die, and that I should be stained with guilt. 0 false bosom, what art thou now? A bone! And ah! the worms feed on thee.'

" He dropt it shuddering. A worm had fallen from the bone, and was crawling back to its horrible repast.

" The wind howled trom the East: the waves plunged madly on the black rocks: the birds of the sea smelt their feast, and swooped round him with savage cries. " ' Patience!' he cried, 'patience! ye shall feast anon.' " He rose to his feet and looked at the sky. It was dark and threatening. In the West a patch of dim yellow clouds showed where the sun had set. In the North there was a cloud black as ink, with three red streaks.

" He looked at the sea. The waves were of a dark green, and rising higher and higher, uttered ominous roars.

" He covered his face with his cloax, and extended his clenched hands over the charred and rotting bones. " 'In this wild place, where no hands shall raise thee: where no grave shall be dug for thee: where no holy words shall comfort thee: "' Where no tears shall be shed for thee: where the sea-birds shall feast on thee: where thy spirit shall have no rest:

" Where the wind is most cold: and the sea is most stormy: and the sky most dark:

"4 Where the air is tainted with blood: where a murdered ghost wanders: "4 Adulteress, thief, assassin! I fulfil the words of your murdered lover. I Love you in the hands of God.'

"He retreated from the spot. The carrion-birds, shrieking, swarmed down 'upon her bones. They fought with their yellow claws, the old with the young, the children with their parents, and tore the feathers from each other's breasts. "The night grew deep, and the red moon began to shine. The night-tide rose. The waves, shuddering, entered the cave. A frightful shriek rang through the air. Danvers, fainting, sank upon his knees. "Then as the moon bathed him in her crimson rays, as the east wind roared in his ears, as the waves moaned sadly at his feet, he saw a bleeding ghost pass swiftly by, and cry Murder! Murder I till the rocks, mourning for man's crime, re-echoed to its voice."

It is one of the peculiarities of this remarkable tale, that the weather in this book keeps time to the crime, with as much accuracy as if Providence accompanied the tale on wind-instruments. At the moment of a murder, we always find :

"At that moment the moon was darkened by a small black cloud, and the wind ritin 5, moaned among the leaves like the roaring of the waters of the distant

Nor is it only for a murder that these phenomena happen ; even a burglary with violence is enough to bring them about ; and later in the tale, when the youth who had committed murder in a certain wood at the hour of one o'clock, is penitent, the same curious atmospheric phenomena invariably happen at one o'clock, in accompaniment appa- rently with his troubled conscience :

" The clock struck one. It was as if a black curtain bad fallen before the window. Ominous shadows prowled round the room. A faint odour like that of a corpse crept upon him. " He sprang to his feet with dilating eyes. " ' Away !' he cried. You do not know who this man is, whose hands you have pressed, whose brow you have kissed. Away I' " ' I only know that I love you,' she murmured, and she fell upon her knees. "From her face, illumined by a heavenly love, and by her blue beseeching

eyes, he looked upon the dark wood which frowned menacingly upon him. " Tell me !' she cried.

"He stretched his hands to heaven- "' Never

This elaborate and tremendous trash might appear in Reynolds's Miscellany and no one would notice it; nay, it might appear even in an ordinary novel, if unmixed with any gleam of better sense, and people would only commiserate the publisher; but when there is a careful attempt made to mix such blue-fire as this with a sprinkling of literary aptitude, so as to inveigle a new class of readers into such coarse excitements, it is time to say that novels of this class would at once degrade and disgrace all who condescend to amuse themselves with swallowing such literary drams.