CASTLE AVON. * THOSE who have been present at the old

melodramas will recollect that the leading art of their authors was to make the most of lit- tle—" working up" some common incident into a "thrilling effect" by means of accessories. Was the hero or heroine to escape from a bandit's den whilst the custodian slumbered, the business to be done was simply to make quietly for the outlet ; but such a pro- cess would neither kill time nor create a situation. In military parlance, the whole was detailed. The prisoner first performed a movement agitate ; then there was a noise which might have woke the bandit, but only startled the heroine ; then there was a louder noise which did awaken the keeper ; but, after an agonizing sus- pense, he went to sleep again; and so on, till the outlet was finally attained: but when escape was made certain, a ladder or some- thing else fell with a thundering sound, the sleeper started up wide awake, levelled his pistol at the retreating victim, and the scene closed with a report, a smell of gunpowder, and an uncer- tainty in the audience. The author of Two Old Men's Tales always exhibited a tendency to excite interest by "working up" incidents fully as far as they would bear, rather than by the more solid mode of genuine action and passion, In the freshness of the first, and indeed of all the better works of this writer, this peculiarity, though visible, did not amount to mannerism. In a few of the latter novels the fault was pushed to an extreme ; a story neither probable nor interest- ing was extended into three volumes by dint of common or cari- catured incidents, expanded beyond their proper dimensions by writing of the intense and turgid kind. Castle Avon has some of thew defects, though not to such a degree as the two previous • Castle Avon. By the Author of " Emilia Wyndham," " itavenselilfol" In three volumes. Published by Colturn and Co.

novels ; while the leading story, however wild and unlikely, has variety and action in its mreumstances. There is, however, enough of incongruity in the romance to indicate haste or exhaust- ion- for want of art can hardly be predicated of the author of The Admiral's Daughter."

The story is grounded upon a rare occurrence at any time, but more probable at the remoter period of the novel than now. The heir of Castle Avon, carried through a storm across a wild country to the deathbed of his dying father, is supposed to be drowned by an inundation, but is in reality stolen by gipsies. Out of re- venge for a prosecution against some of their tribe, they murder the steward who was conducting the heir, and would have mur- dered the child, but for the protection of Heather, one of the gang. As neither search nor rewar4, can find the boy or the bodies, they are supposed by every one to have been swept out to sea, and the heir-at-law succeeds to the estates; but Lady Aylmer, against all evidence and all probability, persists in the belief that son was not drowned, and is generally esteemed a monomaniac for her belief.

With this principal event are mixed some dark characters and dark conduct. The Reverend Mr. Gorhambury, the heir-at-law, allows himself to be persuaded by an attorney, drawn after the manner of the old stage, to substitute a child's corpse for that of the heir, since the latter cannot be found: and this leads to the murder of a sick child by the assistant of a parish-surgeon. Mr. Gorhambury, without any outward temptation destroys Lord Aylmer's will. Heather, the gipsy, murders the gipsy queen, to save the life of her protégé, whom the revengeful old hag is constantly threatening ; while the remorse-stricken assistant-sur- geon abandons the business for which he had sacrificed his peace, turns wandering missionary, and is a means of educating and in- structing the real Lord Aylmer. A story of common life is slightly connected with the principal tragedy ; the leading subject of which is a man of sentiment and taste, but not of solid principle, allow- ing himself, through his own weakness and maternal ambition, to marry one woman while his affections are fixed upon another, with the consequent misery and punishment.

It is obvious that the story furnishes scenes adapted to " power- ful " writing ; and the author does not miss the opportunity. The opening deathbed, and the awful storm which attends it—the anxiety of the dying father to see his child, with the greater anxiety and suspense of the mother—the arrival of the riderless horse, the fears of the household, the agony of the mother, the frantic search and reckless despair that follow—lose nothing in the telling. The same remark may be applied to the temptations, yielding, and punishment of Mr. Gorhambury, who when he has attained the riches for which he has perilled his soul finds them no source of happiness as well as to some of the scenes in the gipsy encampment. Words and the determination of the author to make the most of them—in short, the writing—are too obtrusive, while the matter is also too unreal, especially the manner in which the true Lord Aylmer is preserved uncontaminated in the midst of a gang of gipsies.

The characters in the book are many and marked ; the best of them is Heather the gipsy. Her passionate woman's love for the child she has saved to replace her own—her jealous care of him— her anxiety lest a discovery of his real condition should be the means of her losing him—and the almost conscientious manner in which her untutored mind resolves to immolate old Sarah for the various attempts upon the boy's life—are naturally conceived ; but the conception is somewhat marred by the laboured manner of the writer.

This is the gipsy's death and the denouement. Lord Aylmer and his quondam tutor are on a missionary journey, and arrive in the neighbourhood of Lady Aylmer's residence. Ilesther is taken ill, and her foster-son seeks Hernana Level, the heroine of the book and the friend of Lady Aylmer, to visit the dying woman.

" 'Charlie ! Charlie!' she almost screamed as the door opened, is it you ? Oh, where have you been ?—where have you been ? I thought you would never come again ! I thought before the terrible dark hour of death, an hour darker and more terrible had come—the hour that would take you away from me!'

"'Did you think I ever would forsake you, mammy ? ' said he, with a smile of the kindest affection : 'that was a foolish trouble; for you know it is what I never, never will do.' "'Never, never l—ah ! but you do not know. The hour will come, it is come!' with a wild and piteous cry, the hour when you will curse and abhor poor Heather.'

" Never—never—never ! '

"Oh! ! you do not know. But who is that ? Who is that fair creature, with the B.emany blood mantling in her brown cheek ? I know well who she is ; her name is Love!, a friend of the poor and helpless she is : but why do you bring her to me ?' "'Because,' said Hernana, coming up to the bedside, he thought I might be able to comfort you. "Heather shook herhead.

"'No one can comfort me, there is no one can comfort Heather. There is that lying upon Heather's heart which hand on earth cannot remove.' " 'But, mammy, mother, it is never too late. There is another hand, a mightier, and more merciful, than any earthly hand. He can do it !'

" have told you,' she said, with a darkening look, that it was of no use talking to me in this way. That which you see, I cannot see.; that which you feel, I cannot feel. Where to you there is light, to me it is all darkness; where you find comfort, I find nought but misery, misery, misery, misery.'

"'speak to her—speak to her, lady,' cried Charlie, in bitter distress at these words. Speak to her; you are wise, and instructed, and eloquent. I am a poor ignorant boy—speak to her; oh ! find some comfort for her soul. For the love of God, speak to her !'

"'The God you cannot see,' said the young girl, in a tender, feeling voice, laying her hand upon the clenched hands of the woman, The God you cannot see, is not the lees real, the less near, because you cannot perceive Him. His eye is upon you, though you see it not. His tender mercies en- circle you, though you know it not.' " 4 Ah ! ah! Is it so ? But how am I to be assured of it ? No, no, no— and if He does live, if His eye be upon me, will that comfort me, think you, when I know the black and hideous heart that lies within this breast ? He reads the heart, does He not? at least, so all these preachers say.'

"'Yes; most sure, He reads the heart.' "'Then, what have you to do? To persuade me to take comfort ? He hates crime, murder and robbery, deceit and wrong. Murder the worst ! of the aged and helpless ; robbery the worst! of a woman's own child ; de- ceit ! the long deceit of sixteen years ; and wrong ! an angel wronged.'

" ' Yes,' said Hernana; moat sure, the God of righteousness abhors crime, and those you speak of are fearful crimes. If you have committed such, it is indeed an awful thing : yet it is never too late. There is remission and pardon for the darkest criminal if—'

'If what ? ' fixing her eyes earnestly upon her face. "'If he repent, truly repent, and make restitution and reparation, such as lies in his power, before it is too late.'

"'Ay, ay, ay ! I knew it would be so. Your God only comes to me to tear my heart in two—to force my treasure, my life's treasure from me. Yea, yea; He is merciful and good. You say so. And He will take thee from me!' she cried passionately, looking at Charlie, and stretching her arms convulsively towards him.

"Hernana paused—gazed ; conviction was strengthening within.

"'Yes,' she said, with authority ; He will, for He is good and merciful; and it is time that the real mother's tears should be dried, and the wronged one restored to his own.'

"Heather answered by a vrildering shriek. Who are you ? who are you ? ' she cried. 'Then you know—you know ! But—' and all the wily acuteness of the gipay came into her eyes as she said it—' But if you know, what is the use of my telling you I wonder ? ' "'Because to do right at last is what you must do, whether I know or not ; because to confess the truth is the only way to find peace for your soul ; and the time is short, for you are about to die.' " 'Ah! if I were but sure of that ! But this it is, lady,' griping her hand between her burning fingers, and looking earnestly up into Hernana's eyes—' this it is : I cannot part with him before Idle. Do you think this is the first time ? Oh, no ! How I have wrestled with myself; how I have been torn and divided when I looked at him I Look at him now, as there he stands, with those heaven-blue eyes fixed upon me! My darling ! my angel!' as, with a countenance full of feeling and affection, he knelt down by the side of the pallet, and pressed his face against the mattress upon which she lay. 'My darling ! my angel !' and she fondly laid her skinny hand upon his beautiful hair. How could I wrong thee ? yet how could I part with thee ? Thou oughtest to have been a lord in thy grand castle among the mountains! But what would have become of Heather? There is no place in grand castles for Heather !'

"'It is, then, as I thought!' cried Hernana, vehemently. 'Oh, Lady Aylmer !'

" 'Aylmer ! ' cried Heather, suddenly turning to her. 'Aylmer I Who told you it was Aylmer ?'

" • It is! it is, then!' almost sobbed Hernana. Oh, lay friend! Oh, Lady Aylmer!' "The young man rose up from the bedside.

"'What is all this about ? What is the meaning of all this ? ' "Hernana could not speak. She held out her hand to him. "'What is this? what is it all?' he kept ejaculating. " The lost is found ! the lost is found at last ! ' burst forth from Hernana. You are the long-lest Claribert, Lord Aylmer !' "'Perhaps,' he said, gravely drawing forth from his bosom the little sack in which the glove was enclosed, and tearing it open, perhaps this may throw some light ? ' "'The very glove!' she shrieked rather than said. You aro—you are the long-lost child! Oh, my friend! my dear Lady Aylmer !' "