THE WIFE, AND WOMAN'S REWARD.

MRS. NoitToN's appearance as a novelist is promising. She has not, indeed, the happy power of painting manners which distin- guishes Mrs. GORE and Lord MULGRAVE ; nor does she display any artist-like skill in the construction of her story ; still less does she appear to have taken an extensive view of society so as to present us with general instead of particular truths. Besides the absence of these very high qualities, she has some defects, which detract from the interest of her work. Probability is occa- sionally sacrificed to melodramatic effect ; she is too fond of mo- ralizing and reflecting ; and she sometimes introduces descrip- tions and other accessories which are deficient in the excellence of execution that alone can render them interesting. Her tales, however, have the great merits of truth and character; they also in the main possess that unborrowed air which arises from copy- ing nature. Her persons are not the representatives of a nume- rous class ; still they belong to a species large enough for all of us to recognize their prototype, although each has sufficient traits of individuality to remove the coldness of mere abstractions. Her best characters have their touches of weakness ; her worst their redeeming points, which connect them with humanity (indeed, in one or two instances the fair writer seems over-indulgent in her estimation of what are called the liberal vices). Her happiness is dashed with sorrow, or at least melancholy; her distresses, how- ever deep, are not only borne, but felt to be bearable. Some of her characteristics are striking ; some of her scenes true and touching. Her dialogue, when it merely carries on the story, is natural' her dissection of woman's affections very able; and what is better than all, the whole is light, lively, and readable. The IVife, though taking the most conspicuous place in the announcements and on the titlepage, stands last in the book ; and seems to have been written to make up the required three volumes. It is distinguished by the same qualities as the first story, but has the merits in a less degree and the failings in a greater. The essential object of Woman's Reward is to develop two characters ; and to this every thing else is really though not obviously subor- dinate. The incidents in themselves are nothing- " Some common sorrow, joy, or pain,

That has been, and may be again."

Their interest arises from their effects upon the formation or exhibition of the mind of Lionel and his sister, whilst the peculiar character of each in return gives all their importance to the events. Many other persons are introduced in the course of the story, and most of theni bear a part in carrying it along; yet all—even the two most conspicuous (Clavering and Lady Clarice Lyle)—are subordinate to the main object. Lionel Dupri: is an exhibition of selfishness, traced with a masterly hand, from the cradle to the grave. His sister, Mary, is an embody ment of self-sacrilice, con- sequent upon natural disposition, early training, a sense of duty, and a promise to a dying parent. Her conduct to her lover has been pronounccd by a contemporary an "exaggeration, as impos- sible as unjustifiable." If the incident be looked at by itself, or if the story be read without consideration, the judgment seems true. If every step in the formation of her character be accurately traced, and the nature of her motives and of her filial affection be care- fully investigated, we suspect it will be considered a moot point, save as regards the unjustifiability. And even here the fault lies deeper : it is traceable to the original sin of the deathbed promise, —a demand which should never be made, and perhaps never complied with; for it is assuming a power over circumstances which no mortal can possess; it is putting human conduct into mortmain.

To give the mere skeleton of the story, would be easy enough; but it would injure the pleasure of the future reader, and convey an idea both faint and false; for, as we have said already, its merits do not rest so lunch upon its construction, as upon the ex- ecution of the whole. With this view, our extracts shall be taken without regard to their connexion with the tale. Here is a speci- men of

A YOUNG ARISTOCRAT.

Lord Alfred Arlington was any thing but a beau ideal. He bad that peculiar lank, and yet heavy figure, which is invariably accompanied with a shatnbling step and a stoop in the shoulders, as if the offender knew Inc had no right to be so tall, anti was doing his best to conceal the fact. His eyes were small, and of the palest grey ; his nose long and red, his lips thin and com- pressed; and he appeared quite as shy as Mr. Patterson at Portsmouth, and in- finitely more awkward. He was dressed like a very smart stage-coachman; and after he had pulled his thick gloves off his thin, frozen fingers, he remained still dangling his hands before him, as if he did not exactly know what to do with them when they were not employed with the reins, or, as be was wont to term them, "the ribands."

At dinner, after he had eat and drunk, and been thoroughly warmed, a change took place in his deportment: he talked loud and fast, and laughed amazingly at his own stories ; made use of a number of slang phrases, called his father " the stingy old goveinor," reckoned up his winuings and losings last Doncaster, wished his creditors might " get him," (Mary wished they could,) described several hairbreadth escapes on horseback, each of which he termed a " capital go," and, in short, conversed in a style which, when gentlemen are inclined to use, they should bring an interpreter with them. He had, besides, a long list of friends, whose sponsorial cognomens were changed into nicknames, comme- morating some forgotten jest, or expressive of their various good qualities. He had a friend called "Tumble-down. Dick," one known by the name of" Sopsy," one (a prodigious favourite) called "Old Hearty," and a hundred others, includ- ing Bedlam Jack, which meant Jack Couolly. It was particularly hard upon Sopsy," who Wa4 a handsome half-pay captain' with a positive and heredi- tary claim (his only inheritance) to the name aull the surname of Altamout Percy.

A TRUTH.

Doubtless the irritation under which the little attorney laboured was partly connected with Lionel, whose intimacy. with Rosabel's family appeared very likely to diminish instead of increasing ; but he MS also actuated by a feeling peculiar to narrow, selfish, vulgar minds. Ile grudged what be did not give. There are some people so constituted, that, although they will exert themselves to the utmost to serve and befriend you, though they will share their purse with you, watch you in sickness, and advance your interests with the greatest apparent eagerness, they would yet oppose and prevent any other person befriending you. They regent as an injury your receiving aid from any hands but their own; and are as willing to oppress you when rising without their assistance, as they seemed formerly eager to help you to rise. Mr. Bigley belonged to the class of those who do not choose you to climb, unless with their ladder.

A IIINT TO ORATORS.

Both spoke ; both were considered " rising men ;" and Lionel's extreme youth made him a sort of lion among his friends. His speeches were bold, fluent, and brilliant : he sometimes indulged in a strain of bitter and suc- cessful irony, and often in personalities which just (and only just) avoided the bounds which, when passed, allow even a " Member of the Lower House" (who is doomed to hear quietly much that he would fain resent) to be offended. This is a style loudly cheered in the House, but little liked out of it. People will approve of niuch in an hour of excitement which their cooler judgments afterwards condemn; and bitterness, while it is temporarily the most success- ful, is, in fact, the most impolitic of styles; for the very eloquence by which a man crushes his enemies, and grinds them, as it were, to powder, also gives his friends an impression of insecurity, of want of temper, of imperiousness, of all which makes a man unpopular with his own party, and makes that party dread his very talents, as giving him a chance of becoming their leader. The politician whose power lies rather in stinging his opposents than in winning those of his own bide, is generally in the long-run unsuccessful. Lionel carried this style even to exaggeration : his very attitude partook of it,— the folded arms, the haughty head, the flashing eye, added to the withering force of his sneer • and he stood aloof from and regardless of his friends, as if it were for the indulgence of his own hate, and not in their service, that he thus swept down those who opposed him.

During the whole of his career, though lie made a hundred bitter and irre- coucileable foes, he never conciliated a human being.

A LADIES' MAS.

And thus it was with Sopsy. Among rational and talking beings, he was a cipher ; among the active and high-spirited of his " set" at Melton, he was a good-humoured bore; among chaperons and mothers, he was a dangerous detri- mental; and among their daughters and the gayer portion of London wives, he was (give me a name for the species, dear Venus !) the sort of man for whom all the women try, about whom they all quarrel and are jealous among them- selves, and who, nevertheless, can do the unmarried ones no good, and will probably do the reputation of the married ones a great deal of harm. They are as regular and distinct a race as if Noah had preserved a pair of human beings on purpose to continue it. They are all handsome, or nearly so; all penniless, or nearly so; all accomplished, or nearly so ; and are remarkable for the neatness of their choussure, and the care with which they trim their whis- kers. They wear well-chosen and tasteful waistcoats, belong to Crockford's, axe very idle, invent improvements in cabs, and eat small portions of excellent dinners with eagerness and satisfaction. They are mostly good-natured, and in soma of them the heart is apparent and visible. To the latter division belonged Sopsy ; be had a heart, and a kind one, though it beat under a velvet waistcoat; be was, without exception, the best- tempered man in the duce kingdoins;. though foolish, be had never been in a scrape; though poor, he contrived nut only to keep out of debt, but to make an allowance to his mother ; and though a thorough man of the London world, he was yet a good deal shocked, puzzled, and distressed, when he found himself desperately and irremediably in love with the lovely wife of his best friend, Lionel Dupre, Esq. of Moreton l'ark.

SICK SELFISHNESS.

In such a mood did Lionel depart ; and in such a mood, combining as it did weakness, irritation, and despondency, it is not to be supposed that he could be otherwise than a most irksome travelling companion. Unwilling too, as he was, to allow his mind to brood over its real or imaginary grievances, he was continually occupying himself with trivial anxieties, which for the time assumed an intense importance. Restless and wretched, he fidgeted about all the little events and minor details of their journey, till Mary sighed for one sad and quiet hour, wherein she might indulge in memories of the past or con- templation of the future without interruption.

He spent the fist two stages of every day's journey in counting over again the bills which had already been paid, and consulting different estimates of the different rates of currency in the countries they were to pass through. And this he did not the least from economy or a desire to save money : he was, and always had been, not only extravagant himself, but also (as long as it gave him no trouble, interfered with no favourite pursuit, and produced no present inconvenience) willing to be liberal to others. But he studied the currency, and wondered over each succeeding bill, because he thus secured to himself something to fret, and to fuss, and to fidget about ; he was always looking for a lost book, or a mislaid paper-knife, or an undiscoverable travelling-cap ; always wondering whether the road they were going was really and actually the best road to the place of their destination, and calculating what hour they should arrive there ; always abusing the last hotel-keeper, and swearing against the bore of a long journey. No view, however, beautiful, extorted from him an sapression of pleasure; no evening, however calm or bright, ever soothed his feverish spirit into contemplation. He cared not for scenery ; the purple mountains fading into the sky beyond—the stretching shore with its high cliffs, smooth sands, and rolling sea—the waving woods, with their thousand mingling and harmonious tints—the broad pasture-land and golden corn-fields, the slanting hill-side vineyards: and the white villages which dotted the distant plain—the winding and majestic river, or the leaping water-fill—were all to hiva alike indifferent ; his soul was cast in too material a mould.

The classes of' society painted in the volumes are two,—the genteel vulgar; and a section of the aristocracy, which mingles among but is not of the very first fashion. The latter is done lightly and faintly ; the vulgar broadly and to the life ; though in both cases there is somewhat too much of the upholstery style, and in the case of Mr. Bigley's family the fair writer has allowed her attention to be too much taken off the inward affections by the outward manners. In the following scene, this, however, is not the case : the closing passages are among the best in the volume, though not the most striking : the perception of human feeling displayed is worthy of Miss MARTINEAU.

The next morning, as soon as breakfast was over, Mrs. Bigley ushered hee guests into a large, cold drawing-room, with linen covers on most of the furni- ture, aud ditto on all the chandeliers. About four really fine pictures, several hideous si/orrettes, and an innumerable quantity of bad miniatures and tolerable engraving:, in very showy frames, relieved at intervals the bareness of the walls, which were papered in pale peach colour, with gold mouldings and cornices. Each table had a carved ivory or filigree silver work-box under a glass ease, and one or two other equally useful articles ; on tile chimney-piece, amid a confused selection of screens and ill-painted card-racks, stood a large French clock, with a musical box below, and an or-inolu group above, representing an old man rowing a little boy in a boat the size of a cockle-shell, and inscribed with the la- genious and novel device, " Le Temps fait passer l'Amour."

The only person in the room was Hyacinth ; who, looking more uncomfortable than ever, sat vainly endeavouring to warm herself at the smoky and reluctant fire which half filled the magnificent polished grate. " How cold it is!" said Lionel, as he drew a chair and sat down on the oppo- site side.

" Yes, it is very cold in this room," said Hyacinth, with a heavy sigh.

There was a pause. • • " Are you looking for any thing?" nuinnured his chilly companion, as she observed Lionel shifting from table to table inquiringly. " Yes, I'M looking for a blotting-book and an inkstand : where are they ?"

" A blotting-book ! dear me, there is no blotting-book in this room ; and none of the inkstands have any ink in them, mamma's so afraid of their beiug broken ?"

" Why is there nothing in this room?" said Lionel, with impatient irony, as he returned and flung himself back in his chair ; "and why do you sit here, if it is the most comfortless room in the house?"

" We never do sit here," said Hyacinth, in a more plaintive tone than she hail hitherto as,iiined, "except when there's company. We it in the meat where you found us last night."

" How you shiver," said her companion, as she concluded the last phrase. " Yes; it is partly having on this white gown ; you've no idea how cold it is after my brown merinos." " Anil why do you wear it, when you have already got a cold ?" " Anil why do you wear it, when you have already got a cold ?"

" We always do wear white when there's company ; and mamma particularly desired when you came"— " I am sure," said Lionel, leaning back in his chair with half a yawn and half a laugh, "/don't care what gown you wear. How old are you ?" " Fin fourteen."

" And how old is Rosabel?"

" Ten. She seems much younger, because she has stud, baby ways; but she was ten last month. She was culled baby till she was six, and then papa forbid it."

" I wish you'd fetch her," ejaculated Lionel, this time with an undisguised yawn.

" It hurts ine rio to move; but I will."

" No, no ; don't go if it gives you pain." " Oh, it isn't much ; and mamma particularly desired every thing should be done to amuse you."

" I wonder if that is the reason she left you in this room," unuttered he, half aloud, as the dull hut good-natured girl rose, and limping with a slip-shod and bound-up foot, left the drawing-room. Oh that you had a sprained ankle, or a broken leg, or any thing buts chilblain, most ugly girl ! And what a name ! Hyacinth ! It seems to me, you are twice as ugly in consequence of the expectation raised by the sound. Sukey or Betty would have answered the purpose better."

It was not in the nature of Lionel Dupre to consider, that however ugly and ungainly this young girl might be, she was mounting a long staircase, every nerve in her foot and ankle throbbing with pain, partly out of obedience ta her mother's command, and partly out of real willingness to amuse the selfish stranger. " Mamma, may I rest by your fire?" said the object of so much critieisin, when she reached the first landing-place. " Certainly, my love: come in." Mr. and Mm-s. Bigley were talking earnestly, and paused when she came in. "Don't you think, Mr. B., that Cintby looks remarkably well in blue and white ?"

Mr. B. nodded assent.

" But what have you done with Mr. Dupre, my dear hyacinth?" "Mr. Dupre wants Rwabel, and begged me to fetch her."

" There, Mr. Bigley, there ! who was right?"

Hyacinth, without noticing this mysterious burst of triumph on her mother's part; proceeded : " He wants Rosabel ; and I wish you would allow Catherine to dress her hair and take her down, for indeed I am quite ill with my cold, antI Mr. Dupre is not the least amused with any of us but Rosabel."

" I will take her down myself," said Mrs. Bigley, as she bustled out of the room, her eyes sparkling with pleasure.

Mr. Bigley stood, leaning his back against the mantel-piece, humming a tune and playing with the seals of his watch.

" Father," said hyacinth timidly, " I think I am very ill."

"Are you, niy dear?" responded Mr. Bigley, in a tone which proved he had not heard, or at least noticed, the drift of her speech.

"I think, father," persisted she, " that mamma has not bad time lately to see how very ill I am. Jane says it isn't a common cold."

" Your mother's bead is full of schemes, my dear," said her father roughls.., as he left the room to prepare for the interview with Mr. Patterson and his worth; and Hyacinth leaned her aching head against the foot of her mother s beds and cried bitterly. It would have greatly increased Lionel's horror of her ugliness if be had see. her, more ehilled than ever after this fit of weeping, draw a faded shawl 01. the white dress which was worn for "company," and creep almost into the fire, with her shoulders op to her ears, and her eyes and mouth se elled and hem.), as only excessive weeping, superadded to a feverish cold, can make them.

A number of poetical pieces are introduced. They have a con- nexion more or less close with the occasion that warrants thcir appearance, and they seem fair examples of the writer's talents la

that line of composition : but, unless in the case of readers of poetry, we susrect they w ill be passed over in the interest which the tale inspires.