A.GNES SO EL..

Lc any pursuit of an artistical kind, nature of course has mu& to.. do with the remits, but the best guard against self-repetition is variety of subject, and the best mode of attaining that variety he learning. The means of original observation are very limited; even the traveller by bent or by business sees only one. age.

The ample page of knowledge, " rich with. the spoils of time," unfolds many events and striking characters, many modes. of life, with various appearances of nature, so far as the face of nature can be affected by the works of man. It is true that this second-hand knowledge has not the certainty or the life of original' observation ; but the reader cannot teat it as he can. contemporary pictures. In fiction the historical novelist has a great advantage if he is competent in skill and learning, from the various and countries that are open to his hand. It is probably whichlas enabled Mr. James to hold his ground. so long,in spite at such unceasing outpouring. Much repetition, indeed, would be found if his- multifarious books were considered together; but taken successively as they appear, there is variety enough. Cert.- temporary manners, the last century, the days of the Stuarts an& the middle ages in England, France, and Germany, make a goodly, alternation ; and by the time the last of the list is reached,, the writer is ready to begin again.

France, during the distraction of the country by the English) wars and the hostile factions of the great feudatories of the Crown:, is the theme of Hr. James in Agnes Sorel. The story opens with. a.pioture of Paris and Parisian life at the beginning cr4lie fifteenth.. century, with the state and household of a prince or the bloo4 the Duke of Orleans, followed by his- assassination in the street* by order of the "fearless" Duke of Burgundy. Time rolls on: Henry the Fifth takes advantage of the anarchy to invade France and gain the victory of Agincourt; the assassin of Orleans is: slain in his turn at the bridge of Montereau, in the very presence- of the Dauphin, afterwards Charles the Seventh: then follow the: further disasters of France ; the efforts of Charles the Seventh; in- spired by Agnes Sorel and Joan of Aye, to free his country, assisted by. the money of the great merchant and financier Jacques. Ccenr and the death. of the celebrated Agnes. Connected in various• capacities- with all these events, is the hero of the novel, Jean' Charost, a reduced noble of Bourges. At first he appears as a pro. 11* of Jacques Cosur, then as secretary to the Duke of Orleans ;, the service enabling the novelist to give a full-length portrait of. that famous and unfortunate prince, and to introduce young Jean to a variety of adventures, including an interview' with his mas- ter's great rival John of Burgundy. On the death of Orleans there is a gap in the story, as in the history. When it opens again, Jean Charost is in the battle of Agincourt, wounded and captured ;, and, returning to France to seek the means of ransom, lie is present at the death of Burgundy. Finally, hp marries a natural daughter of the Duke of Orleans, who has been strangely committed to his guardianship, and upon whom and her. connexion with Charost the romance of the volume chiefly turns. Agnes Sorel is not the best of the author's works.- Although the hero of the story is cleverly connected with the history, a great part of the history is too prominent, and Jean Cheroot is often as much a spectator as an actor. The gaps necessary to bring together historical events, widely separated in point of time,.mar the natne tinnons interest and rapidity of the story. The greatest drawback to the effect, however, is in the absence of the "voluntary vein." The characters are well drawn, the story is readable and not devoid of interest, the adventures are often well.contrived; and the age is knowingly though too elaborately painted;: but the book, wants vitality. Some of the historical scenes—as the assassinations.of Orleans and Burgundy—may seem deficient in effect; but though this is the case, it is not a fault. Great crimes of this kind fill the imagination, but the actual process may be a prosaic though a: bru- tal. affair. Hr. James is probably deficient in. the imagination necessary to paint such scenes with a dim, horror proportioned. to the reader's conception, but we think his treatment better than if he had laboured more rhetorically upon the subjects. Perhaps his picture of Agincourt may also disappoint ; but it strikes us as pro, pertly handled. It is not the business of a poet or novelist to write an informing account of historical events,. but to,select the most picturesque circumstances and exhibit them to the reader. Tlue seems done in the following passage ; where the adirmtageous- posi-

tion of the. English,. the steady skill of the archers, and the reek. less ardourof the French, with. their subsequent oonfirsiou froni

their crowded state, are clearly brought out. The two spectatfirs are Martin Grille, the valet of the hero, min monk who is an im-

portant person in the romance.

"'There oomes the power of France over the hill, and England'on tb meet her. By the holy rood!. they make a gallant show these great noblemen of France. Why, what a sea of archery and men-at-arms is here, with plumes and banners, lance and shield, and pennons numberless. f have seen many kstricken fight, and never but at Poictiere lawi fairer array thaw that.'

..Atnes Sorel. an Historical Romance. By G. P. R. Isentis, Big:, Author of "The Fate," The Woodman," 8r.e., 8ce. In three volumes. Published by Newby. " ' Why, they will sweep the English from the face of the earth,' said Martin Grille. 'If that be all King Henry's power, it is but a morsel for the maw of such a monster as is coming down from Azincourt.'

"The monk turned towards him, and shook his head.

" You know not these Englishmen,' he said, with a sigh. 'When brought to bay, they fight like wolves. I have heard my father tell of Crecy, and at Poictiers I was a .page. On each field we outnumbered them MI here, and at Poictiers we might have had them on composition had it pleased the King. But we forced them to fight ; and fight they did, till the multitude fled before a handful, and order and discipline did what neither numbers nor courage could effect. Look you now, how skilfully this Eng- lish King has chosen his place of battle, unassailable on either flank, show- ing a narrow front to his enemy, so as to render numbers of no avail. God send that they may not prove destructive!' " he is too late !' ejaculated Martin Grille, who had been watching the course of the other monk, who was riding straight towards the head of the ditch, where he had seen the archers conceal themselves. 'Be is too late, I fear.' "His exclamation was caused by sudden movements observable in both armies. The English force had been advancing slowly in three bodies, each looking but a handful as compared with the immense forces of France ; but they marched in firm and close array, with little of that ornament and de- coration which gilds and smooths the rugged reality of war, but with many instruments of music playing martial airs, and seeming to speak of hope and confidence.

"The French, on the other hand, who had lain quiet all the morning, as if intending to wait the attack of the enemy, had just spread out upon the aloe in the face of Azincourt, divided likewise into three vast bodies, with their wings overlapping on either side the flank of the English force. Splen- did arms and glittering accoutrements made the whole line shine and sparkle ; but not a sound was heard from amongst them, except now and then the shout of a commander.

"At the moment of Martin Grille's exclamation, the advanced guard of the French had assumed a quicker pace and were pouring down upon the English archery as they marched up through a somewhat narrow space, en- closed between low thick copse-hedges and swampy ground : this narrow field forked out, gradually becoming wider and wider towards the centre of the French host ; and the English had just reached what we may call the mouth of the fork, with nearly fifteen thousand French men-at-arms and archers before them, under the command of the Constable in person. Slowly and steadily the Englishmen marched on, till within half bow-shot of the French line, headed by old Sir Thomas of Erpingham, who rode about twenty yards before the archery, with a page on either side, and nothing but a baton in his hand. When near enough to render every arrow certain of its mark, the old knight waved his truncheon in the air, and instantly the whole body of foot halted short. At the same moment, each man planted before him the spiked stake which he carried in his hand, and laid an arrow on the string of his bow.

"A dead silence prevailed along each line, unbroken except by the tramp of the advancing French. Sir Thomas of Erpingham looked along the line from right to left, and then exclaimed, in a powerful voice, 'Now strike!' throwing his truncheon high into the air, and dismounting from his horse.

" Instantly, from the ditch on the left flank of the French, rose up the concealed archers, with bows already drawn ; and well might Martin Grille exclaim that the monk was too late. The next instant, from one end of the Engel' line to the other, ran the tremendous cheer which has so often been the herald of victory by Lind and sea ; and then a flight of arrows, as thick as hail, poured right into the faces of the charging enemy. Knights and squires and men-at-arms bowed their heads to the saddle-bow to avoid the shafts ; but on they still rushed, each man directing his horse straight against the narrow front of the English, and pressing closer and closer to- gether, presenting one compact mass upon which each arrow told.

" Nor did that fatal flight cease for an instant. Hardly .was one shaft de- livered before another was upon the string ; and, mad with pain, the horses of the French cavalry reared and plunged amongst the crowd, creating as much destruction and disarray as even the missiles of their foe. " All then became a scene of strange confusion to the eyes of Martin Grille. The two opposing forces seemed mingled together. The English, he thought, were forced back ; but their order seemed firmer than that of the French force, where all was struggling and disarray. Here and there a small - space in one part of the field would become comparatively clear ; and then he would see a knight or squire dragged from his horse, and an archer driving the point of his sword between the bars of his helmet. " The figure of the monk was no longer to be seen ; for-he was enveloped in the various masses of light cavalry and camp-followers, .which whirled around the wings of the French army, of little or no service in the battle, to those whom they served, and only formidable to an enemy in case of his de- feat.

" The monk, who stood beside Martin Grille, remained profoundly silent, though his companion often turned his eye towards him with an inquiring look, as if he would fain have asked, How think you goes the strife ?' But, though no words were uttered, many were the emotions which passed over his countenance. At first, all was calm, although there was a straining of the eye beneath the bent brow, like that of the eagle gazing down from its rocky eyrie on the prey moving across the plain below. Then came a glance of triumph, as some two or three hundred of the French men-at-arms dashed on before their companions, and hurled themselves upon the English line, in the vain effort to break the firm array of the archery. But when he saw the troops mingling, and the heavy pressure of the French chivalry one upon the other, each impeding his neighbour, and leaving no room for any but those in the front rank to strike a blow, his brow grew dark, his eyes anxious, and his lip quivered. " For a moment more he continued silent; but then, when he saw the English arrows dropping amongst the ranks of his countrymen, the horses rearing and falling with their riders to be trampled under the feet of those who pressed around—some maddened with pain, tearing through all that opposed them, and carrying terror and confusion into the main body behind— some urged by fearful riders at full gallop from a field which they fancied lost because it was not instantly won—he could bear no more, but exclaimed, sharply and sternly, They will lose the day !' " But all that vast number coming down the bill have not yet struck a stroke,' cried Martin Grille. "'Where can they strike ?' demanded the monk. 'If the field were cleared of their friends, they might yet do something with their foes. See, the banner of Alencon is down ! and where is that of Brabant ? I see it no more.'

. " He gazed for a moment longer, and then exclaimed—' On my life they are flying 1—flying right into the centre of the main battle, to carry the in- fection of their fear with them !' "