NEW NOVELS. * THE story is less retarded by writing, in

Isabel, the Young Wife and the Old Lore, than in Mr. deaffreson's previous novel of "Crewe Rise,"—not exactly by writing for the sake of writing, but by too prominent an exhibition of accessories and, too minute a description of even essential parts. Still, writing pre- dominates. Even in speeches there are sometimes the condensed generalities of the subject by an essayist, rather than the utter- ances of the individual. The matter is good, the expression is good; but they are rather of the author than of the dramatis per- sonm. The novel is real in its subject-matter, and that subject- matter is of the day, though Mr. Jeaffreson seems most familiar with existence in one of its modes—a small country place and neighbourhood. As may be divined from the second part of the title, the lead- ing interest of the book turns upon the position of Isabel Potter. She is induced to marry the Reverend Mr. Dillingborough, a rich old pluralist, while she is half-unconsciously attached to her cousin Hugh Falcon—a weak unstable person, who, not intending downright evil, can readily be led into it by his own feeble selfish- ness. Their respective positions, and the danger to Isabel, form a leading feature of the story; the danger being increased by the arts of Captain Dillingborough, the villain of the piece, who would gladly see the fall of his father's wife. A position of this kind is distasteful, and can seldom be managed without some injury to the sense or character of the lady. In this case Isabel is saved through her goodness of nature, and the exertions of Miss Nugent, a lady whom Captain Dillingborough has ruined years ago by a false marriage. The screen-scene in the School for Scandal has sug- gested many scenes with variations and improvements : this is the close of the situation in Isabel.

"'I have not done my duty; for in allowing my thoughts to rest so much on you, I have failed to reserve that self-command which is requisite to enable me to be all that I most solemnly engaged—and most earnestly have striven—to be to the good man whose wedded wife lam.'

"'Dear, dear Isabel, you wrong yourself.'

You wrong me in endeavouring to persuade me so,' she retorted angrily. And then she proceeded more calmly : I have confessed my error ; now for my amendment—if possible my atonement—Hugh, you must leave me in- stantly—and never again see me." "'sever !—you cannot mean it.' "Forbear !—Do not contend with a woman, with the woman you love, and who, more dearly than she does her own babe, loves you. Do not battle with me—and at such a moment. In the name of generosity—in the name of common humanityforbear !'

"'My darling !' Hugh returned softly, I will think for you,—and, if you will let me, act too,—but for my sake remember what is for your own in- terest, your lasting happiness. How will you account to Mr. Dillingborough for my sudden cessation from visiting here ? ' "'By telling him the truth,' she answered. As soon as he shall be at liberty this night to speak with me, I will go to him, confident that I shall

* Isabel : the Young Wife and the Old Lore. By John Gordy Jeafreson, Au- thor of" Crewe Rise," 4w. In three volumes. Published by Hurst and Blaekett.

The Sisters of Soleure : a Tale of the Sixteenth Century. By C. S. W. Pub- lished by Nisbet.

The Good Old Times : a Tale of Auvergne. By the Author of "Mary Powell." Published by Hall and Virtue.

Florence Templar. Published by Smith and Elder.

Jessie Cameron : a Highland Story. By the Lady Rachel Butler. Published by Blackwood and Sons.

The Spendthrift : a Tale. By William Harrison Ainsworth. With Illustra- tions by Hablot K. Browne. Published by Boutledge.

meet from him with nothing but kindness ; and from the beginning to the end I will recount to him the sad history of our affections, and will unfold to him the only secret I ever had from him since my life was made one with his. It will be a great trial to me to tell that story ; but the Father of Truth will help me—and so it shall be told.' "It It is told already ! ' an agitated voice said behind her.

"At the sound of those deep tones' Isabel sprang to her feet, and with a cry of agony sank down, clasping the knees of her husband, who had entered the room unobserved, accompanied by Kate Nugent, who stood, almost in- visible to the bewildered Hugh, a few paces behind the rector.

"Yes, there he stood, his fine old figure bending down to her who knelt at his feet, his white head bowing to the ground, and sobs checking his ut- terance as he said, May God pardon my wretched selfishness—even, Isabel, as thou haat forgiven it ! ' "

Although IsabePs position as a young wife is the leading object, there are other interests in the story, carried out at nearly as great a length. In all cases the tone and topics are contemporary, and the characters too so far as they are anything ; but there is some want of real living interest, as if we had phantasmagoric figures before us rather than creations of flesh and blood.

To those who would sup full of horrors without being horrified, The Sisters of Soleure may be recommended. It is a religious tale, the scene of which is laid chiefly in Italy towards the close of the sixteenth century ; and the object is an exhibition of the lengths to which Popish priests will go for the glory of the Church and their own vengeance. The "two sisters," the heroines, are the daughters of a Popish noble, but brought up Protestants by their mother, according to a stipulation with their father, Count Julian, who is not very strict in religious matters. On their mother's death the sisters go to Turin, under the patronage of the Duchess, and are there seen by a certain Cardinal, in youth a rejected suitor of their mother. As at the time of the rejection he murdered their grandfather, a Protestant pastor, and perverted, seduced, and finally placed in a convent the youngest daughter, he would seem to have had revenge enough ; but he has not. By a refinement of Southern malice, he determines to pervert the sister most likely to yield to artifice. For this purpose, he orders a priest to disguise himself as a layman, and assume the lover, win the affections of Beatrice, but stipulate that she shall turn to the true church. Her reception is public and gorgeous ; in the course of his speech or sermon the Cardinal avows the trick that has been practised ; Beatrice breaks a blood-vessel; and the young priest, Francisco who had weakly but obeyed his superior, commits suicide. It terns out that Francisco was the Cardinal's son, by the aunt of Beatrice. His Eminence on learning the fact falls into a fit, but recovers to commit other villanies, till a letter from his victim Emmeline, announcing his own sister's death and forgiveness, anti praying him to repent, gives him the coup de grace.

" ' Who gave you this letter inquired the Cardinal of the page who brought it.

"'A woman delivered it in to the porter, your Eminence, and imme- diately turned away.' "The boy retired, and the Cardinal was alone. No! Could it be ? Yes. It was her hand—the mother of his son. . . . . Could she have heard that

fearful tale ; No! Emmeline died happy in the belief that her guiltless child had escaped all the sins and woes of life and stepped at once over time into a glorious eternity. "The Cardinal grew pale. Big drops stood on his forehead. The mother he hated. The boy he could never think of without emotion. At length he broke the seal and read. Did the words of holy forgiveness bring no softening pang to his hard heart ? Not one. He could not love. He could not repent ; he had hardened his heart too long. And now the human heart within him turned, as it were, to stone—and again. he sat for the whole night as one transfixed. His attendants found him in the morning, and carried him to his bed—rigid and motionless. For a few days he lingered. Once or twice he strove to speak, but no words escaped his lips.

"The Duchess sent daily to inquire after him. Her heart was heavy with grief. The city was in commotion. The ecclesiastics crowded round his dy- ing bed.

At length the candles were lighted—extreme unction was administered. They crossed his hands upon his breast, and placed his mitre upon his head,

and left him a breathless corpse A general mourning was ordered. The shops were closed from the day of his death to that of his interment. His funeral was magnificent. The pulpits of all the churches of the city rang with his praises. "There he lies in effigy on his beautiful tomb in the cathedral at Turin. Not harder or colder is the marble from which his similitude is carved than was his living human heart."

In the filling-up, this is not so extreme as it looks, owing to the writer's style. Indeed, The Sisters of Soleure is rather a cu- rious study apart from any interest as a fiction, for its ex- hibition of religious feeling and the influence of the age upon the educated zealot. What that religious feeling is we have seen in the outline of the story. The author, however, in abstract or his- torical discussion, admits that Protestants can persecute as well as Romanists ; that the practical abuses of the Papacy do not essen- tially belong to the Church ; and that many Papists are not only within the pale of salvation, but do not commit idolatry in wor- shiping before images. He also allows, what is, we fear, too true a truth—that civilization and mildness of manners may coexist with great cruelty.

The matter of the fiction exhibits an historical knowledge of the time and country, and the story is not badly conceived from its author's point of view : but dramatic power is lacking. Con- ception and execution do not seem spontaneously to go together, but as if one were planned like a mechanical piece of work and the execution separately set about. What approach there is to dra- matic character is conventional—as in Count Julian the bluff soldier. The new tale of The Good Old Times by the well-known au- thor of "Mary Powell," is, like the preceding fiction, a story of religious persecution, in Auvergne, during the early days of the H. uguenot " heresy." The Romamsts, however, are painted in lighter colours than in The Sisters of Soleure. Indeed, though a couple of heretics are burnt in due course of law, the persecu- tion is not generally of a violent kind. The bishop is repre- sented, and probably with truth, as less cruel than the lower magistrates and mob. The danger to the acting dramatis per- sonae is more threatening than real. With respect to the martyrs, the classical rule of executing them behind the scenes is followed ; and as they are hardly introduced to the reader at all, his sym- pathies are not so much excited in their case. There is an apparent knowledge of the features of the country, and of its social condition at the period during which the action takes place. There is sufficient variety of persons to exhibit the classes of that society, together with some broad public incidents —as a fire at Le Puy, and the unsuccessful attack upon the same town by a band of routiers, disorderly ruffians who flocked to the standard of a brigand noble. The unity of the tale is a little sacrificed to the historical, municipal, and as it were ethnological pictures. Possibly the story itself is deficient in interest. The author of Mary Powell seems to be relying too much upon an acquired knack, and a habit of elegant composition.

In strong contrast to the preceding fictions is Florence Tent- pier; which depends for its effect not upon incident, and scarcely upon story, but upon a minute description of daily occurrences and a nice delineation of character. Story, indeed, in the sense of a rapid succession of events and frequent changes of fortune, there is none. The whole narrative may be said to turn upon the- intense and ill-regulated love of Florence an imperious beauty, for one Mr. Graham, an East Indian nabob, who is one of those all-fascinating overpowering people existing only in novels. The day before Mr. Graham appears to have been about to propose in form, Florence is seized with the smallpox ; and though she re- covers, her beauty is destroyed, and the lover falls back. Even- tually she dies, perhaps from a complication of causes : a hard, cold, unhappy home, made so by her haughty mother Lady Tem- plar; ill-treatment by her brother ; and the continued miscon- duct of Mr. Graham, who at last elopes with her sister-in-law.

Connected with this leading love-affair is a hopeless passion of Captain Sutton for Florence, which the gallant sailor on the' whole takes philosophically ; and. the death of Fanny, the younger sister of Florence by consumption springing from an attachment which her mother thwarts. There are also minor love matters, which do to write about. The interest,. however, is not in these things : in fact, the parts intended to be intense are essentially melodramatic, especially the way in which troubles are heaped upon Florence, though the manner of presenting them is quiet enough. The real attraction lies in the truthful and finished manner in which Templar Cross, its vicinity, and its society, are described, as well as the feelings and home life of the narrator of the story, the invalid daughter of Dr. Wilson, the leading medical man of the place. All these thi gs have an atmosphere of reality about them, which extends even to the deeper parts. Like "Our Village" of Miss Mitford

i Florence Templar s not. It has less of petty minutite in the de- scription of external nature and less of a mannerism that almost touched affectation ; but it has the same truthful, country charac- ter, with the advantage of more unity of purpose in its sketches.

Though not apparently planned with a moral object, Jessie Ca- meron points the moral of bad company. Donald, the brother of Jessie, gets among loose associates ; he is led to poaching and deer- stealing, and wounds a keeper so severely that he has to flee the country. Jessie's lover, Allister Stewart, associates as a sporting guide with Captain Angus, the laird's younger brother ; who per- suades Allister that he is about to throw himself away. This flattery, with temptations to his vanity and his interest, renders the lover faithless, and Jessie is left to wear the willow. Captain. Angus is also a cause of misunderstanding between Jessie's elder brother, John, and Bell M'Pherson.

These incidents are connected and varied by many smaller cir- cumstances appropriate to Highland peasant life. Indeed, it is in the freshness and truthfulness of this life that the interest of Jessie Cameron consists. The reader is carried to a Highland village ; its primitive inhabitants are placed before him, with their simple habits, their unsophisticated ideas and. language, and their worldly shrewdness, not unmixed in particular persons with selfishness and envy, while a few loose fish in the form of smug- glers and poachers hang about. From this minute section of so- ciety a family is singled out as the representative of the sterling qualities of the Highlanders; for, except Donald, who is led away in his teens, the qualities of the Camerons are all sterling, and all ad- mirably depicted. Old Mrs. Cameron is a good picture of the re- spectable, pious, deep-feeling peasant matron soinewhat narrow- maw]. by position rather than by nature. John Cameron, the elder brother, a reserved but high-principled man, is also a well-drawn sketch. Jessie, however, is the most conspicuous and elaborate figure ; forming a very careful and happily-finished portrait of the tender, firm-minded, well-principled Highland lassie, under whose humble condition and bearing lurks a strong feeling of pride when her sense of right is touched. This is an interview with her faith- less lover' after he has brought home his delicate, sentimental, Lowland wife, and has had time to repent of his bargain.

She was in her garden one sunny afternoon, training her favourite honeysuckle over the cottage, when a shadow darkened the path ; and she turned hastily, to see Allister gazing at her as though his soul were in his eyes, but irresolute whether he should address her. "She became deadly pale, and caught at the window-sill for support ; but in a few seconds recovered herself, and said, calmly, 'Are ye want& mybrither, Meister Stuart , Stuart ! Oh, Jessie, if ye've ony mercy, do not call me that, an' do not look sae cauldly, if ye would hue me keep my reason!'

"Jessie drew up her tall figure to its full height as she replied, What ye mean by that way of speakin', I dinna ken. Ance mair, sir, what's your wull Can I be of ony service to you? If no, I see nae need ye hae to bide here.'

" Jessie, Jessie ! I have Focht and warstled against it for nichts an' days, but a' to nac purpose. I maun tell you, I'm a miserable man, that has destroyed his sin happiness. I wad fain have your pardon and your pity : but oh, lassie ! dinna look sae stern and cauld at me.' "Jessie shuddered as she said, My pardon ye him had lang,syne, an' my prayers for your happiness ana : and coo ye'll be best awe hame, for I've flue wish to haud converse Ad' ye.' " Oh, but ye're hard an' cruel, Jessie ! I see now ye never loved me, or ye wadna use me that gate—me that never ceases regrettin' and lamentin' —me that you are aye dearer to than ony. When I see my house, and the taupie I lice, for my punishment, brocht to be its mistress, it is you my thochts flee to. And ob.! to sec you as you are, and to feel it's a' my sin doing.' Allister spoke hurriedly, and seized Jessie's cold hand imploringly ; but she wrenched it from him, and answered, indignantly, 'Love ye, Al- lister! God abune us a' kens how truly I did love ye. I wad hoe starved wi' you, an' ca'd it happiness. An' what reward gat I, but ill requital an' cruel neglect ? Thankfu' am I that ye are naething topic coo. When ye deur to speak o' love to me, an' you the husband o' anfter, I despise ye ! Gang your ways haute, an' (Rune ye come here again, or I'll stack the door against your insults. The Allister I loved is as differ° to you as the sun- shine is to the mirk nicht !' And Jessie pushed by • d ran into the cot- tage; where her outraged feelings and strong worn indignation found vent in a flood of bitter tears."

Perhaps if Mr. Ainsworth's qualifications as a novelist were strictly analyzed, his chief merit would be found. to consist in a power of rehashing old meats with a striking flavour. His know- ledge of the past, especially of the past century, is considerable : he can reproduce the manners and characters of each generation, at all events in its forms if he misses the living spirit. Neither is the reproduction, up to a certain point, conventional ; for the simple reason that he knows a great deal more about the past than the modern novelists he could borrow from. He is conventional, however, in another way : his mode of representation has come to him through a medium ; and that medium seems chiefly to be the stage. The highest notion he can form of the actual appears to be derived from the boards.

The Spendthrift is quite of the time in which the scene is laid—England. during the later period of the first half of the eighteenth century, as it descends to us through books, es- pecially plays, tales, and satires. There is a careless, extrava- gant, unprincipled heir ; there is a roguish steward to excite his profusion and take advantage of his necessities ; there are plenty of hangers-on—a racing lord, a roué baronet and gambler, with professional sharpers of various degrees. In their company and connexions Mr. Gage Monthermer is carried through the dis- sipations of that age, so far as this age permits their exhibition, till he is rescued from total ruin before the book closes. The moral, too, is quite of the last century. After having led a life of inexcusable profligacy, to give it the mildest term, Gage be- comes a new man ; and Mr. Ainsworth's last sentence, in capital letters, is the very questionable maxim, that "a reformed rake makes the best husband."

The manner of the tale is somewhat more mellow than Mr. Ainsworth's earlier works ; but if it has less of a hard wooden character, it has also less of strength and distinctness. In a literary point of view The Spendthrift is perhaps a descent.