CYRILLA. * FOREIGN manners, and unluckily foreign ideas of conduct, art,

and morals' remove this fiction very far from the monotonous character which English novels from their very number must of necessity possess. The scene of Cyrilla is laid in Germany, some years ago, when caste prejudices, if not more exclusive than at present, were more openly acknowledged. But that the folly of extreme pride of descent is rather incidentally exhibited than directly mingled with the tale, the fiction might be regarded as an attempt to display the consequences of a hard, artificial, aristocratical morgue, mingled with the lowest avarice and selfishness, and even less re- putable vice. This however, is displayed by the by. The main story is a tale of sentiment and distress, somewhat after the fashion of the Sorrows of Wetter, with a coldblooded sentimental villany superadded to Goethe's overstrained feeling passing into the

ludicrous.

The Baroness YOU Adlerkron Windherst, nee Walden, has in early youth sacrificed her affections to her interest, and she conti- nues to pursue the same principle through life. On the death of her husband, she wishes from mercenary motives that Rupert Adler- kron, her nephew and adopted son, should marry Cyrilla, her sis- ter's daughter. The openhearted young man disdains to have a wife forced upon him; but they meet undesignedly, and a passion on his part ensues. This idea though neither new nor recondite, would have done well enough for a story embodied in foreign seenery, manners, and incidents, to give variety. But the picture by the Baroness Tautphoens is too foreign : she seems to have drawn her ideas from the extremes of Continental laxity, wanting that art which in the bulk of English literature avoids degrading crime or rather scoundrelism. The course of Rupert's love is crossed by a certain Zorndorff, well-born, well-connected, with prospects of official advancement, but poor. To remedy the evil of poverty, he has legally betrothed himself to a banker's daughter : during this engagement he wins the affections of Cyrilla • per- suades her, with the connivance of her married sister Melanie, to consent to a secret marriage ; afterwards weds his first or rather his money love ; and when his guilt is betrayed, involves a friend in a duel with Rupert, who by his means is rather murdered than killed. Cyrilla follows her true lover to the grave, and Count Zorndorff falls in with the funeral as he is conveyed to punish- ment; a court of German justice having tracked his complicity in the affair, notwithstanding the lowest Old Bailey arts on the part of the Count.

A. certain class of minds are satisfied with any excitement; pro- vided an "effect" be produced, they are indifferent to the moral or artistioal means. Such persons may find scenes in Cyrilla which will yield what they require. The following may be taken as a sample. The account of Zorndorirs marriage causes the death of Cyrilla's mother in her feeble health, and in Cyrilla herself a dan-

gerous illness. This is the gentleman's appearance on the occasion. Without waiting to be announced, Zorndorff entered the drawingroom, and found himself in the presence of Melanie.

"A stifled exclamation of surprise was followed by an assumption of such frigid dignity that he stopped for a moment irresolute, looked round the room as if to assure himself that they were alone, and then advancing quickly to- wards her, said, 'Do not refuse me your assistance in this most critical mo- ment of my life, Melanie; I have erred, but my punishment is already greater than even you can imagine!' "Why are you here?' she asked, almost sternly. " 'They told me Cyrilla was . . . "'Who spoke to you of her ? ' " ' The Lindesmars.'

"If' said Melanie, 'if they had said she wished to die, they would have been nearer the,truth : but all immediate danger is over now, and we have hopes of her recovery.'

"I know it . . . . can I see her ? '

" 'Yon ! Impossible—the slightest agitation might cause a relapse.' "'Then my only hope is now, as ever, in your mediation.' "'Mediation! oh never expect it again ; you have used it to bring dis-

grace and sorrow on us both.' "Zorndorff threw himself into a chair, and leaning his arm on the nearest table let his head sink on it, while she continued : 'Had you been satisfied with a simple engagement, my unhappy sister might have considered her ease a common one and the grief and bitter mortification to which you would have subjected her might in time have been forgiven, if not forgotten. Young as she is. . . . the clouded morning of her life might gradually have been changed into a cheerful noon by her union with . . .

"Rupert ?—he being the arm destined to dispel the clouds '—cried Zorn-

• Orilla : a Tale. By the Baroness Eautphoeus, Author of "The Initials." In three volumes. Published by Bentley. dorff, looking up fiercely. 'Listen to me Melanie ; it was the fear or rather the certainty of having him for a rival me, drove me to extremities. My peace of mind—my jealous love required . . . . the security I have ob- tained! Love such as mine . . .

" Love!' cried Melanie, interrupting him angrily ; 'and do you call such selfishness love ? Well may Cyrilla say that mutual personal admiration was all that ever existed between you.' "Zorndorff started up. 'Do you mean me to understand that she has ceased to care for me ? ' he asked with suppressed vehemence. "'Your letter was the immediate cause of her mother's death . . . .' be- gan Melanie. "'It would not have been had you arrived, as I supposed you would, a day earlier. Not even on such an occasion could you lay aside your dilatory ha- bits! It is inexcusable !'

"'True!' said Melanie, who felt all the justness of the remark, too true ! Throughout this unfortunate affair, I have erred unceasingly ; yet, Heaven knows, I meant well, and thought, in promoting your wishes, I was securing for Cyrilla a happiness denied to myself. I hoped—but let us now, instead of reproaching each other, endeavour to repair the grievous injury we have done her.'

"'In what way ? ' asked Zorndorff hastily. "'By procuring a divorce.' "'From Margaret?'

from Cyrilla.'

" 'Never !'

"'She can demand it—insist on it.'

"'She can—but will she obtain it ? '

" 'I am totally ignorant of all such matters,' began-Melanie.

" ' Fortunately I am not,' said Zorndorff, quietly ; know perfectly well what I have done.'

" But,' she rejoined, with evident irritation 'but it is not necessary to study law to know that a man may not have !two wives! Cyrilla has a right to sue for a divorce.' "'Most undoubtedly. It is true, the necessary legal proceedings and in- vestigations will not be particularly agreeable to her. . . . but she will have the satisfaction of branding me with infamy, and depriving me of my liberty for some of the best years of my life.'

" 'How so ? ' cried Melanie, alarmed. "'The penalty of bigamy is imprisonment in a . . . . house of correc- tion.'

"'Good heavens! we never thought of that . . . . how could you venture to run such a risk ?'

" I was worried—tortured into it . . . . perhaps, also, I hoped that Cy- rilla would be . . . . merciful . . . . But, at all events,' added Zorriderff, with provoking calmness, 'she would find it difficult without my assistance to prove her marriage, and that is the first step necessary for her to take. You forget that the important papers are all in my possession.'

" 0, how implicitly we trusted you!' exclaimed .Melanie, bitterly. " You need not regret ;it ; they shall be placed at her disposition when- ever she chooses to ask me for them : but the application must be personaL'

"'My poor Cyrilla, what trials are before you!' cried Melanie, vainly endeavouring RI repress her tears, and for me too; for now, indeed, I see that there is no'altemative, and I must apply to Wilhelm for advice.' " 'Apply to my uncle! Beware of that, if you do not for yourself desire the next thing to a divorce. Your confession that you have been accessory to a marriage which, if known, must now bring disgrace on us all—will de- stroy the remains of your domestic peace, and make a separation from him

"'And this I must hear from you ; and said so calmly . . . . so coldly

'" It is your own fault, Melanie : why do you so ungenerously threaten, instead of, as I expected, making common cause with me ? I know that my fate is in your hands ; but I know also that yours is so entangled in it, that if I may not hope, I shall at least have little to fear from you.'

"Melanie was so evidently intimidated, that he added, almost authorita- tively, Your influence with Cyrilia is unbounded : endeavour to appease her just resentment; induce her to preserve our secret for a year or two, and all will end well; and, without any painful explanations or scandalous investi- gations, we can spend the rest of our lives together, surrounded by all the comforts and luxuries which none but fools pretend to despise.' "'But . . . but this Margaret . . . . 'said Melanie, hesitating.

"'In a few months her miserable existence will probably terminate : un- healthy from her birth, and the last three years more belonging to another world than this, there is not the slightest chance of her recovery.'

" ' This may be true,' said Melanie, but the idea of waiting for, and re- joicing in the death of any human being, is so repugnant to all one's better feelings, in, . .

"'That you would rather not have it placed as fact before you in common words,' said Zorndorff, scoffingly. "Roused to anger, Melanie stood up, and though her voice faltered, her brows contracted over her dark eyes, as she answered—' Your words shall be repeated to Cyrilla as soon as she is well enough to bear them ; but I can no longer conceal from you that you have forfeited her esteem, and with it her affection. Whether or not the millions which you will inherit from this other unfortunate woman will enable you to regain her heart, I leave you to judge ; you know best if it be purchaseable."

The narrative like others of the German school to which it be- longs is long drawn out. The reader is some time before he gets into be- longs, story, and it is interrupted by detailed pictures of cha- racter, and occurrences of daily life which do little to carry on the tale. There is truth, and great truth, in the manners of the book; but it is of a literal kind, without the largeness and life which genius imparts. These circumstances, coupled with the melo- dramatic villany and low morale, render the novel slow, and indeed tedious ; though much of the weariness is probably to be ascribed to the policelike nature of the leading incident and the conduct of the principal person.