itiTollER'S AUTOBIOGRAPHY OF A MISSIONA.RY. a TIM; book belongs to a

kind of fiction in which story and inci- dent, though not neglected, are kept subordinate to the higher object of depicting particular classes of society with the view of drawing attention to some social evils. In such novels the peisons The Antobiogr. airily of a Missionary. By the Reverend J. P. Fletcher, Author of " A Two-Yeats Residence at Nineveh." In two volumes. Published by Hurst and Blackeit.

and the occurrences may frequently verge upon the extraordinary, but the staple of the story and the tone of the narrative should sa- vour of daily life. The bulk of the book must be essentially real and lifelike, owing its interest to truth and probability. The fault to be eschewed is a heavy literalness, or extravagance out of place.

Mr. Fletcher has avoided both these defects. The autobiography of the missionary, in its general narrative, is a series of events which are of daily occurrence ; the persons he encounters are such as may continually be met, at the same time there is sufficient breadth about them to exhibit a class and as it were a type ; while the manner, though quiet, is earnest, and adapted to the sub- ject. Mr. Moncada and his daughter, of high Jewish descent, who become converts to Christianity, are certainly rare persons ; and the foundling who turns out to be a young Walsingham, belongs with all the concomitants to common romance. Still they dovetail well enough with the rest of the story ; and the tone of the narra- tive throughout is very real. George Singleton the hero of the novel, is the son of a tradesman

in a small country place. On the death of his father and mother, his turn for literature and the advice of the curate Mr. Templeton determine him to the church. Not having means for Oxford or Cambridge, he goes to a missionary college ; is in due time ordained ; and departs for India,—with the less reluctance as Rachel Moncada has married a friend of his own in ignorance of Singleton's passion. Failing health induces his return ; at Cairo he falls in with WO- gingham, whose story forms the most decided piece of romance in the work ; and after some time spent in Palestine, Singleton appears in England a married men,—for Rachel had become a widow. At home he fills several situations as curate, at first from love of em- ployment, afterwards from necessity, for he loses his property through the rascality of an agent. An uncle of his wife, however, a " liberal " Jew who has an eye to Parliament, and has contributed largely to building a church, places Singleton at ease in his circum- stances by procuring him the incumbency.

The general outline of the narrative is probably based upon fact,

at all events it is a vehicle for introducing a good deal of actual life. The early scenes contain some homely truthful sketches of a country town and its -vicinity. The college career of Singleton presents the reader with various characters, aspirants for the min- istry, or patrons of missions and missionaries. His foreign expe- rience is a chapter of travel, for the most part the result of actual observation. His subsequent life at home strongly displays the neglect and religious destitution of the masses ; the poverty of many of the clergy, or indeed of the niajority, who look to the church as a means of living ; and the necessity of church reform —meaning extension. The poverty." would look exaggerated,

i but for the quiet manner in which it is told.

Mr. Fletcher is known by his "Residence at Nineveh" as.iw extensive traveller in the East, and familiar with Eastern life and" manners. We are not aware whether he has ever been in India, but this picture of the interior of the country has a truthful air. "My stay, however, at Madras was short ; for the mission district allotted to me was about two hundred miles distant from the Presidency, and I was anxious to reach the scene of my labours. I travelled in a primitive kind of vehicle, drawn by bullocks, which pursued its weary and tedious comae along the paths or tracks that in India are denominated roads. So few inclim cations of civilization met my eye after I had proceeded a short distance from Madras, that it appeared almost incredible when I reflected that I was traversing regions which had been for so long a period under the govern- ment of one of the greatest nations of modern times. The squalid miserable looks of the people, their complaints of heavy taxation, and the wretched hovels in which they lived, seemed by no means creditable to the Govern- ment which tolerated such a state of things.

" The tracks are sometimes so difficult to distinguish, that even my native guides, who had frequently travelled by this road before, lost their way several times, and regained it with great trouble. The tabs that the ma- jority of Englishmen employed in India feel but little interest in the country itself: it is for them a place of exile, to be endured for a certain number of years, after which they hope to return and enjoy themselves in their native land. Hence few improvements take place, except those which are abso- lutely indispensable to the comforts or convenience of the European sojourn- ers in a few thinly-scattered stations. In these localities the roads are kept in good repair, for the evening rides or drives of the collector and his sub- ordinates while spacious and handsome dwellings are erected for their ac- commodation.

" But the Native town still retains its mud huts, its narrow lanes, its filth,

and its abominations of various kinds. Cholera and other destructive dis- eases pursue their ravages unchecked and uncontrolled by sanitary measures and sanitary reforms ; and though the death of an European excites atten- tion and calls forth inquiry, yet thousands of Natives disappear annually from the earth without its awakening much remark, or drawing forth any investigation into the cause of such an alarming mortality."

There is perhaps a little colour in the following ; though even reverend things are not exempt from the proverbial effects of fa- miliarity. Whether it be that the disappointment is more felt where the church is in question, or that the mind is naturally very gross, which when connected with sacred matters becomes earthly, may be a question : few who have seen much of the world but must have seen religious matters as coarsely handled as by the clerical agent.

" I wended my way to the Clerical Agency Office in Fisher Street, it having been represented to me as the likeliest place to hear of vacant curacies. The exterior was not very promising : it was dark and dingy ; characteristics which seemed to have communicated themselves with neigh- bourly alacrity to the apartment inside, where the agent sat in official im- portance within a species of sanctum carefully railed off from vulgar ob- servation. He was a stout man, with a solemn voice,and a manner which seemed to savour of a decayed or retired schoolmaster. A'suit of rusty black and a white cravat not in its pristine purity formed his habiliments, uniting together at the throat in such a manner that even the most practised and curious eye could detect nothing in addition to them. He bent a pair of dull and unexpressive eyes over a large folio manuscript volume, the leaves

of which his fingers were turning listlessly to and fie without any apparent object or aim.

" After listening graciously to my business and casting his eye carelessly over the documents which I submitted to him for inspection, he noted down my age and other particulars on the back of an old envelope, and asked me whether I was high, low, or middle ?'

a' I did not at first catch his meaning ; but, with a gracious smile at my ignorance, he vouchsafed a little further explanation.

"'We call high, Mr. Singleton, gentlemen that go about with stand-up collars, double-breasted cassock waistcoats, and mortified faces, that put candles on the altar, and chant the service when they can. Under the epi- thet middle may be comprised gentlemen who wear dress-coats, with open waistcoats, clean shirts with plain studs, neat black gloves and wristbands. There is nothing particular about their mode of officiating. Then, sir, the low are sanguine-looking gentlemen, with large neckcloths and bushy hair. They have usually loud voices and good lungs, with a strong predilection for proprietary chapels. Talking of the latter, I have a very pretty property on hand now, which in the possession of an eligible party might prove a very fair speculation.'

" 'Indeed!' said I.

" Five hundred a year clear from pew-rents, sir,' continued the agent, with increasing animation ; did fetch eight, but has decreased since, in consequence of the last incumbent's being a married man. Marriage rather spoils a gentleman for those speculations. For a single party, however, this would be particularly eligible. The chief sitter, sir, is a rich widow, who has made up her mind to marry a clergyman. Of course, sir, this is strictly to confidence."

In serving as curate at Bethnal Green, Mr. Singleton sees dis- tress from poverty, misery from want of sanitary regulations, and some characters. Among them is an old soldier, pious according to his light, and with a story of his own. He has called the curate to a sick person, who turns out to be connected with the romance of the book.

"' What is the occupation of these poor people ? I suppose they do some- thing for their livelihood ?' " I can't say about the mother, sir,' he replied, but I am sure the girl works like a nigger, or even worse ; for when I was in the West Indies after the 'mancipation, as they calls it, I can't say that I saw the niggers work at all. But, however, this gal does, and no mistake. I see the light of the candle through her window sometimes for a whole night ; and all day she sits there too. Ah, sir ! it has often made my old heart ache to watch the pale dejected face looking up from time to time at God's blessed sun- shine outside, and then turning away in despair, as if the sight and the longing for pure refreshing air were too much for the poor breaking heart.'

" You describe a sad and distressing case,' said I, ' but, I hope, not a com- mon one.'

"'Common enough in this great city, sir, Heaven knows!' answered the old soldier; ' common enough to call down God's curse and man's upon them as in their selfish luxury let such things be, and upon them as makes their money out of these poor critture flesh and blood. Why, bless you, sir ! I have seen so much of all this in my day, that if I were a parson I would preach about nothing else.' "'I was not aware you had lived so long in London.'

"'Why, sir, I had two sisters in that line, and my only brother was a working tailor. When we all four came up from the country, we were as healthy and fresh-looking as ever you'd wish to see; and though all of us, even the best, are but as sinners before His sight, yet as regards man, I'll jake bold to say, no one could utter a word against us. When I left En makegland, they were full of joy and hope, poor things, and talking about getting a large house, where we could live together, and where they could receive me when I came back. But when I did come back, what did I find, sir? My eldest sister, poor thing, after working herself to a skeleton, died of sheer starvation; and the youngest and prettiest of the two, my old father's darling, went astray, as hundreds and thousands have done before her, and ended her miserable, wretched life, by a leap off Waterloo Bridge. It was my only brother that told me this; and I shall never forget the place where I found him,—it was a dark damp cellar underground, with one or two gas-lights burning ; and what with the gas and the closeness, I thought I'd got into the purgatory that them Catholics used to talk about in Spain. There was a raised place in the middle, and upon it about a dozen men, looking as pale and thin as though they'd been ghosts. And, sir, when my own brother stood before me, I didn't know him, so much had hard living and wretchedness changed the fine

healthy lad that came up with me from the country. I took him to my lodging, which, poor as it was, seemed a paradise to him, and put a leg of mutton on the table. Bless you, sir ! he attacked it like a hungry wolf, and left not a bit of it for the morning. And then he told me all the sad story 'about my sisters, and took me to see the kennel where him and his comrades lived. I heard enough misery that night, sir, to last me for a whole life. I

remember when the French laid waste Portugal, and treated the people so shamefully, we saw a great deal during our march after 'em to grieve the

heart, and to make the hand grasp the musket tighter, but nothing ever shocked me so much as the wretchedness of these poor crittnrs. I did what I could for my brother, but help came too late—he had taken to drinking ; and when I went out again I heard in two months after I landed in Spain that he had died of delirium tremens. But here we are, sir, at the door.' "