SPRING NOVELS CONTINUED. * THE elements of Mrs. Cowden Clarke's Iron

Cousin are not very new in themselves ; consisting of a self-willed marriage, a spoiled beauty, loss of fortune by the carelessness of a defunct, and love crossed by misconceptions. There is great novelty and freshnesi of mind in the manner in which the matter is presented to the reader, as well as considerable pathos, and a touching ten- derness. The earlier scenes in the North, first at Newcastle and afterwards at the seat of the heroine's uncle, have, notwithstanding an occasional over-description, that reflection of the real both in images and style which is so rarely found. The landscapes and persons have as much power and hard truth as anything in the author of Mary Barton or the fictions of the Bells, without the coarseness those writers are apt to infuse into their pictures of homely life. Genteel society is not so well done as that of the rustics, the foxhunters, and the "squire," made a character by nature and the retired independence in which he lives.

The heroine of The Iron Cousin is a high-spirited beauty, nar- rowly escaping the results of over-spoiling by a frank, fearless, truthful nature, and the influence of a strict, conscientious, high- principled relation, the "Iron Cousin ";--which, by the by, is rather a misleading title. A spoiled child is very often as dis- agreeable in a novel as in reality, but in the fiction before us the motive for over-indulgence, and the results of the over-indulgence, are managed with great skill. The mother of Hetty Ireton has been the petted daughter of a narrowminded, obstinate old squire, who discards her on her marriage with a penniless officer against her father's consent. When poverty overtakes the young widow, she addresses appeal upon appeal to her father, without success ; but on his sudden deathbed he adjures her brother to seek her out and convey his pardon. It is over his sister's body that young Squire Heathcote makes a vow that his niece shall not suffer from seve- rity. Perhaps there is a little exaggeration in the rapidity with which Mrs. Ireton is overtaken by extreme poverty ; but it is painted quietly and pathetically by her old nurse, when she meets the brother on his search for his sister.

"'It's too true, Mr. Harry, sir! Her bold, brave spirit bore her up against the old 'Squire's pitiless usage for a long time—but she gave way at last. When her young husband fell sick, and died suddenly, her courage had its first blow. Then came poverty ; and she needing, at that time more than ever, the comforts and luxuries she'd been used to all her young days ! Get- ting no answer to that last letter she wrote to old master, brought her lower and lower, and at length broke her heart. She moped and pined, though she'd never own how she cared one bit for all that had come about ; and when we got poorer and poorer, and were obliged to leave the cottage out yonder, for a cheaper lodging in the close town, she made believe she didn't feel the change—but she did. I saw her face get whiter and thinner, and her poor eyes get hollower and hollower, till at last they were so sunk in her head that they only looked large because her cheeks were so wasted. She never seemed herself after we came to live in that stifling hole ; and I knew then how it must be, though I tried to keep up a cheerful face to her. I think she had a fancy, too herself, how it was with her ; for she once asked me, in a voice as like her old merry one as she could make it, ' Nursey ! d'ye think my baby will ever be born alive ?' And when I said, Yes, sure, my own darling Miss Hefty ; and will be a joy and comfort to you yet, to make up for all that's past and gone,' she only shook her head, and spoke no more ' for a minute or two ; and then she said, quite sudden like, IS if it live, you'll take care of it, and be as good a nursey-mother to it as you have al- ways been to sue, Matty-patty-kin, won't you ?' And then I knew—for all she spoke so gay and careless in her tone, and for all the old playful name , she always called rue by—that she felt she should never live to be a mother , to her babe herself. True enough ! It was born in the deep dark night ; and as the morning broke, my darling 'Miss Hetty died in these very arms. I understood what she meant, though she couldn't speak ; but her look was enough ; it reminded me of the promise between us about her baby. I think she made out that I understood her—for I could speak no more than herself —as her face turned quite calm, and its own bright happy look of old times came over it, and so it remained till she died ; and there it lies still, so peaceful, so sweet, and so mild, so young, and so innocent, you might almost believe it has a smile upon it. I couldn't shed one tear then, though I err so now : my heart felt swelled and aching, as if it had a heavy weight upon it, and my head felt bursting.; but I went about what I had to do as if I was stupid. I smoothed her dear young limbs, and covered them with her own white dressing-gown, and laid over her darling face her last cambric hand- kerchief,—all the things we had left of what I had tried so hard to keep for her, when one piece of clothing after another had to be parted with, to get her a little gruel or tea, whenever she could be got to take it,—for she always pretended she wanted nothing, and was neither hungry nor thirsty, though I knew fast enough she must be both. But now, though she would never want sim nor bit more, her baby would ; aud there must be some help got somehow for it, poor lamb ! So, in desperation, yet all along stupified and dull-like—as if I had no feeling ever since, I think—I took up my darling Miss Hetty's child in my arms, and came out this morning on a wild errand, to find hope and help. Praised be His name that sent it to me in yourself, Mr. Harry, sir ! Little did I think, when I left that room, all silent and bare, with only my poor darling stretched there, cold and pale, lying all by herself, with no one to watch by her—not even her faithful liatty, who hoped never, never to leave her so long as she was above ground—little did I think with whom I should return to it !'

" 'And where is it ? Take me at once to it—to her exclaimed the 'Squire, huskily, as he raised his face from between his hands, where he had held it buried, while the worthy nurse poured forth her sad history."

The Iron Cousin forms one of Messrs. Itoutledge's new series of cheap fictions ; the two volumes containing as much or nearly as

• The Iron Cousin ; or Mutual Influence, By Mary Cowden Clarke, Author of "The Girlhood of Shakspere's Heroines," "The Complete Concordance," Sze. In two volumes. Published by Routledge and Co.

Claude the Colporteur. By the Author of "Mary Powell." Published by Hall, Virtue, and Co.

Aubrey. By the Author of "Emilia Wyndham," &c. In three volumes. Pub- lished by Hurst and Blackett.

much printing as the usual novel published at about four times the price.

Claude the Colporteur, by the author of Mary Powell is, as its name implies, an account of the adventures of a humble missionary or rather distributor of the Bible in Continental countries, in defiance of influential opinion, if not exactly of the law. The theme of course leads to pictures of national manners and super- stitions; mob persecution against Claude Malan; scenes of reli- gious influence and religious discussion. There is also a love story of a quiet kind, with the obstacle of a strong difference of religious opinion.

As in the previous works of this writer, effect is sought after by minute and painstaking touches, rather than by striking incidents or passionate emotion. There is not any strongly marked attempt at painting the times in the style of the times; but the ignorant superstitious character of the German Romanist is well brought out, as well as the simple religious zeal and almost partisan feel- ing of the Protestant Vaudois. The incidents that go to make up the story are feasible, and sustain the reader's attention. Claude is not the strongest tale of this writer, but better than several tales where a quaint imitation of a past style and a minute depiction of everyday persons form the main feature of the books.

An important family in Claude is one whose head is an image- maker of Saints and Virgins. The faith of Hans has been shaken by the glimpse which his vocation has given him of the loose principle of the best of priests in the case of pious frauds; it is turned. from scepticism to Christianity by the scene at Ephe- sus got up by Demetrius the goldsmith, and by other passages from the Scriptures which the Colporteur is a means of bringing to his knowledge for the first time. The mother of Hans is one of those characters whose natural goodness is independent of par- ticular forms, and who would be what she is under any dispen, sation. His young daughter, Lisa, has more prejudice in her re- ligion, and in time might have become a bigot. There is a nice touch of feminine nature in this determination to uphold an opin- ion without regard to reason.

"'That's the Angelus' said Lisa.

"'What you call the Angelus is nothing more or less than a text taken out of the Bible. Read it with your own eyes ! It was found here, and no- where else. I thought you said just now,' added Claude, softening his voice, that you were pleased with ins because you saw that I reverenced the Virgin.' "'I did ! but you replied that you did not love her.' " No ! You said you quite adored her I only said I could not do that—I can reverence and love her, but I only adore God!'

"'Not the mother of God ?'

"'No created being. Christ himself said, Woman, what have I to do with thee ? He addressed his mother as a very woman.'

" won't hear you,' said Lisa, flushing deeply. 'It's rank heresy. What business have you to come here, saying things to unsettle our faith? I love, I adore the Virgin ! She is my hope, my life, my all r—clasping her hands, and looking upwards with intense devotion. "rake our religion from us, and you take everything ! It is fine, reasoning and discussing things now, when we are all in health; but who gave us that health ? Who obtained it for us, with every other blessing ? The may withdraw it from us in a moment ? And what have we left, on our deathbeds, if we have forfeited our best friend?'

" 'All excellent, most excellent,' said Claude, in a penetrating voice, 'if

spoken of the Son instead of the mother

"'The Son hears the intercession of the mother!'

"'Say, rather, the Father hears the intercession of the Son.' "'You are cleverer than I—I can't argue with you,' cried Lisa, passion- ately; but you shall not undermine my faith, nor the faith of my dear little brothers. I'll go to bed the minute we have sung the Ave Maria.'"

Aubrey. The writer who sets out upon the principle of draw- ing his materials from actual life may possible become exhausted, and fall into the habit of repeating himself; for, however various Nature may be, few have opportunities of observing all her va- rieties, or the genius to profit by the opportunity if they had iL Observation, however, is the best mode of attaining variety and supplying the mental drain which continual composition creates. The novelist of the metaphysical school, who combines abstract qualities into characters which are rarely met with if they ever exist, is not only likely to become exhausted and to ring the changes upon old. materials in new forms, but also to sink into mannerism of the worst kind—the mannerism which consists not merely in repeating the same thing, but repeating it with the diluted force which arises from over-expansion.

The author of Two Old Men's Tales has for some years past fallen into these faults. Nearly always representing characters that are rather the creation of her own brain than of real exist- ence, and placing them in circumstances which may be consistent with her own conceptions but are such as are seldom encountered in life, she is often driven to substitute over-wrought description and violent expression of emotion for the close, thorough execu- tion, and the depth of passion, if rather melodramatic, which dis- tinguished her first work. Sometimes, indeed, there is a felicitous conception nicely executed, but more generally the incidents and characters are wild, while the diction often outherods Herod.

A ubrey is not so loose in texture and so very extreme in its story as some of the writer's later works have been; but there is quite enough of the ill characteristics of the author to render it not very attractive. The story turns upon the love of two twin brothers for the same lady ; the envious hostile feelings which arise in the heart of William Aubrey, a reserved, intellectual, stu- dious man, against his frank sailor brother Edward ; the acts by which he supplants him in love and fortune, and the punishment success entails. There is a mystery which endures to the close of the book, and when cleared up is not very taking ; while the CM- plete termination is broken off. In fact the writer hints that another story may be concocted out of the fag-end of this; though how three -volumes are to be expanded from what remains is more than can be readily conjectured.