NOVELS OF THE SEASON. * WHATEVER may be the intention of

the fair writer of Clara Mori- son, herself an emigrant, the effect of her work is to depict, and very powerfully, the difficulties to which an unprotected young woman is exposed in the Colonies ; though, circumstances being the same, her difficulties would be greater at home. As regards style, the fiction resembles several novels that have lately been published, descriptive of humble or middle Scottish life, in which a minute picture of manners and character takes the place of incident or story. Colonial society in South Australia, with some descrip- tion of Melbourne and the "Diggings," give novelty of subject as well as the interest of information. No book of travels, no "sketches," no express description of society at Adelaide, would convey so real an idea of the people, their characters, behaviour, and daily occupations, as is done by the scenes and conversa- tions of Clara Morison. It is true that their subject-matter is often of a trivial or of a sordid kind, and that the interlocutors leave but a bad impression of the breeding, intellect, and social enter- tainment of the South Australians. The colonists have changed their climate, not their dispositions. The " ne'er-do-weel," the loose fish, the foolish incapable, the vulgar, pushing, goodnatured clerk or shopman, the forward or the hardminded adventuress, and the harder moneymaking man of business, are essentially what they were tO home, except that the greater equality in a colony, and the absence of an elevated and restraining public opinion, give "fuller swing" to the humour and peculiarities of individuals. Those who are in search of social attractions, or generous feelings, even in thought, had better keep away from Adelaide : yet amid its coarseness, its selfishness, and its struggles, there is much good- nature or fellow-feeling. The hardness often arises as much from want of thought and delicacy as from any worse caus..:. Fancy the lower class of middle society in this country removed from the control of opinion, and you have an idea of Adelaide. But, though so real a reflection of the bulk of society, Clara Morison falls somewhat short as a fiction, from want of art. The story is that of a young, educated, intelligent Scotchwoman, sent out by her Edinburgh uncle, in whose charge she has been left, with a few letters of introduction to make her way in Adelaide. The recommendations come to nothing; her means are exhausted ; and, failing to get a situation as governess, she has to go out as a domestic servant. The idea is not bad, as enabling the writer to exhibit the arcane of Colonial life and the dangers of an " unpro- tected female." The conduct of the uncle, in packing off the child of his lately deceased brother to a new colony, is too improbable for the general truth we require in fiction ; and the situation of servant-of-all-work, for a heroine, is one that clashes with home prejudices, though it may be a trait of Colonial manners. In the common scheme of the book Clara Morison resembles other novels. There is a love story, with the usual amount of suspense and de-

• Clara Sforison; a Tale of South Australia during the Gold Fever. In two vo- lumes. Published by Parker and Son.

The Last of the Old Squires; a Sketch by Cedric Oldacre. Esq., of Sax-Norman- bury, some time of Christchurch, Oxon. Published by Longman and Co.

Ambrose the Sculptor ; an Autobiography of Artist Life. By Mrs. Robert Cart- wright, Author of " Christabelle," Sm. In two volumes. Published by Smith and Elder.

Tilbury Nogo; or Passages in the Life of an Unsuccessful Man. By the Author of " Digby Grand." In two volumes. Published by Chapman and Hall.

Philip Rollo ; or the Scottish Musketeers. By James Grant, Author of "Ro- mance of War," Sze. In two volumes. Published' by Boutledge and Co. lays; but as they turn upon a long engagement in England, their or in is Colonial too.

The accidental discovery by Clara of some distant Scotch rail-

,

tions removes her from servitude ; but, in the difficulties of the calonyi she goes out as a oompanimaand nurse, to a sick lad.y, whose hatdband is dwav.at the Diggings, Mr. Beaufort is a dissipated felfeir, who 'neglects his -wife, and on her death wishes to retain Clara as his housekeeper. The following extract exhibits the de-

nouement.of this part. • . ,

'"You are not gone to bed yet, Clara.-you have not bid me good. night. Come out and speak to me ; you knew we have business to settle together. dem come and speak tonic ler ten minutes.' She oned the door, and Beaufort took her head and led her across to thealre. The candles were out, but he heaped several logs of wood on the fire, and sat silent till they blazed. "You look quite.unearthly by this light, Clara. Where is my check- boek must write you out a check for what. I owe you—but bang me If I

can pat*. with 3 ou like this.!' He threw down the pen and ink. tell you,

Clara, I never meaut you harm. What are you afraid of, that you cower from me like 'that ? Come now let us be friends. Why don't you speak ? What are you going 'to do In Adelaide ?--not marry Reginald, I hope ? ."' Certainly not : I think of going home to Scotland by the first oppor- tunity' : and Clara sighed. "'You slia'n't a to Scotland, on any account. I should never see you again if you did. What is there to hinder you from staying here as Lucy's governess and my housekeeper for the present ? By and bye I can put the mattei on a better footing. Hang it, Clara, you don't want me to otter you marriage just directly; but if you won't listen to me without, I will marry you whenever you please.' "'I never can marry you,' replied Clara. We should be miserable to-, gather. And how can you think of it so soon after—' ""You compel me to think of it, Clara. I thought you had more courage. Yutt leave, your friend's child to neglect and misery, perhaps to death, be- cause you do not like to be talked about.' "' You should send Lucy to her mother's sister in England. Mrs. Beau- I fort told me that was her "'!e8; to a woman who bates me like poison, and who will bring up my child to do the same. Do you think I care so little for her as that.? Now, you' ove my child, you loved her mother, say that you will love me—say that you don't hate me. Clara, give me an answer.' "'I can never love yon. I could not do my duty by you, nor by Lucy either. . . . . But I am tired ; let me go to bed.'

" 'If this is the last time we are to talk together, I have a great deal more to say ; if you will give me another opportunity, I will let you off now. Beanies, I must write you out your cheek, and not fly into a passion with it again.' He succeeded in writing it this time,- and handed it to her. 'You would be offended if I offered you more than I owe you, or I would have made it double. l am sure you worked hard enough for this paltry sum. Now say, Thank you,' and give me one smile. That looks a little better. You always thought my wife was too good for me, did you not ?' "'Yes, I did,' Clara answered.

"'Perhaps she was. I never cared much for her, and I dare say she worild have found it out soon ; so it is as well that she is taken away. You are different. I would give you far more of your own way than I gave to Maty. And don't fancy that I should make a bad husband. You have only seen me in a wrong box—I mean, in a false position.'

"'Mr. Beaufort,' said Clara, solemnly, you would have preferred to keep me here i ],ainst my will, until you thought I had no alternative but to ac- cept you whenever you might choose to make me an offer. I consider that you have treated me ungenerously, and I despise you for it. Now that I camescape, you try to move my pity for you and Lucy, and it is selfish. I deepiSe'you for that. And, for my own part, I will never marry any man whom I do not love.'

"'You must be in love with some one already, or you never would be so scornful. If it is Reginald, I can tell you, he won't have you now. I sounded him tonight; and if he had eared two straws about you, he would have spoken out. And our Dorothy's tongue won't help you to a husband in Adelaide. Why, even these Germaii people are not over nice in their re- marks. There will be a pretty tale among the villagers hereabouts.' '" 'Is 'this'all you have to say to me, sir Clara demanded haughtily. I wish you a good night: " I am mad,' said Beaufort. intercepting her retreat, and taking her band. Good night, do you say It is a very bad night to me : to be refused and despised is not good for such a temper as mine.' me then, sir, while you are tolerable. I may else provoke you again.' -"' Then.,we are friends,' said Beaufort, kissing her hand. 'Let this little conversation be kept quiet, for it is awfully mortifying to me. Good bye, Ilope you may, be happy with some one else. That is the style, is it.not ? But hang me if I mean it !' "Clara Made her escape; as he muttered these words, heartily thankful tint her last interview with him was over."

Though a fiction' ' The Last' of the Old Squires is not a story, Irate long series of fancy portraits; taken in various aspects, at- titUdes, -and- ages, from youth to death and htirial. We have the Squire as a young man wild and rollicking a little, as was necesary in that day—some eighty years ego.,, ,Then we see him during the 'war, standing up for Church raid King;'taxation, and the Volun- teers. There' are -portraits of the Old Squire as sportsman, land- lord, magistrate, hater of Dissenters; and family man, besides other appropriate charaCters. The mischief is, they are none of them. natural or lifelike; and the author misses hi.. great ,object,' that, of making the Lest of the Old Squires loyeable. We learn that he 'stands upwards of six feet, is rather despotic in his no- tions, and somewhat" promptus ha manu"-; but we have not the real "fine old English gentleman" before us, With his solid flesh and his fiery blood, but his large heart and genuine humanity. Is fact, notwithstanding all the rural images and laboured efforts of lite writer, the Old Squire has somewhat the air of a man who dabs not in his natere belong to the country et all, but is rather such a. reflex as we find in the neighbourhood of Covent Garden ce,stier)t.trw?!.. •- The -book, however; is tolerably pleasant reading, aSlifiet Up," in the modern antique style: -7,viinbroee the Sculptor ie a, species of art-novel engrafted upon theolinzionest old romanee.,:Mrs, Robert Cartwright has evidently thtinght-much,about - art, and entertains a higher opinion of the gileff quiditiei necessary to fOim:the artist thaa facts will be found to support. The idea she proposed to herself was to exhibit, in the shape of a sculptor's autobiography, the studies and struggle; that the artist must undergo before he reaches eminence, connecting his career with that of other artists. Whether this can be done in the form of fiction so well as in a true story, is perhaps a matter of doubt; butour fair writer can hardly be said to make the attempt. The artist's difficulties, from the very outset, are more from the troubles of fortune than the labours necessary to his art ; and as soon as he is starting in life, we have love, jealousy and the ex- treme distresses of common romanoes, not very _attractive anywhere,

but distracting in 4tr4rose the Sculptor. ,

7i7bury .Yogo is sporting novel, intended to warn the reader against sporting; though Mr. Nogo's nnsuccess in life is less owing to sporting _than to the foolish way in which he lives. As de- scribed inhis own autobiography; he is bent on social notoriety, without having the qualities necessary to attain it. He spends a good deal of money on horses and kindred pursuits; he is preyed upon by sharpers in various ways' though not to a ruinous extent ; he lives very fast, till he finally falls uite a marriage through the incident of a lady being a sleep-walker. The, book contains the story of his adventures, with a closing chapter written when he has reached the shady side bf middle life, and he has become stout, a little henpecked, and a dull country gentleman. This is not a striking success, but, considering Mr. Nogo's folly, the company he has kept, and the life he has led, he seems to have got well out of it. Many men would have been ruined before his first volume was half over.

There is -variety and movement in the successive scenes and some have a broadly ludicrous character; but they are mostly too full of " chaff" or slang. They were originally published in the Sporting Magazine, and are better adapted for a periodical than a book.

Philip Rollo is a novel of military adventure, the time of which is the earlier part of the seventeenth century. The hero Philip, is the younger son of a Highland chieftain, to whom his hither and family take a dislike through some ludicrous family tradition. After an university education, he returns home to find himself in the way of his father and rough elder brothers, and without sym- pathy save from his another. On her death he resolves to seek his fortune, and joins the Danish army of the Thirty-Years War. The story consists of his adventures therein, written in the form of an autobiography, the manuscript of which is supposed to be found among the effects of an "eminent antiquary," &c., in the usual way.

The author, Mr. Grant, unites, we believe, a practical know- ledge of soldierly life to a previous acquaintance with the military memoirs of the time he undertakes to describe, as well as with its history. This gives an easy knowledge to his account of the principal actors and actions of the period, as well as to his description of niilitary details, and throws besides an air of vraisem- blance over the whole. Neither is there any lack of various and appropriate adventures. Independently

"Of moving accidents by flood and field,

Of hairbreadth 'scapes r the imminent deadly breach,

Of being taken by the insolent foe,"

and just avoiding hanging, there are pictures of the leading com- menders of both armies, indications of the horrible atrocities with which the war was carried on by the Papist imperialists, and some matters more personal to the hero. Among these may be reckoned Master Philip's passion Tor a dancer, whom he meets ro- mantically on his first arrival in foreign parts; the lady, being a spy" of the enemy, and duping him, Gil Bias fashion, out of his money, as well as, making him aid her communications with the foe. There are also love stories of a more serious kind. With war, .love, continual incidents, and perpetual motion, the book is readable enough; but it wants what its author perhaps can- not give—life. Mr.' Grant invents appropriately, and conceives clearly ; but his descriptions are not so much the broad impressions of the thing itself as an enumeration of the parts Which make it-; up : his ,public characters are historically ,correct, hie private charectefs- naturally true, in their qualities ; but, from deficient dramatic ge- nius, there is something hard and literal about them.