NEW NOVELS. * IN point of distinct and powerful conception, literary

ability, and artistical treatment on the author's own plan, Paul Ferroll is en- titled to considerable praise. The fundamental idea of the story is not judicious ; for it turns upon a secret murder by a man of education, character, and position, its concealment through a con- siderable time, and its final discovery. A story based on such a circumstance is so singular—so little like anything met with in the usual affairs of life—that it is only the novelty of the idea which excites interest, and that by its strangeness. Caleb Wil- liams startled the world, not only by novelty, but by power, and a higher style of composition than was frequent in the novels of those days. The finished excellence of the composition im- parted great literary attraction to Eugene .dram: it seems, how- ever, to be the least popular—the least read or talked about—of any of Bawer Lytton's principal novels. Both these fictions had a distinct feature. Caleb Williams had mystery, and the murder was so far excusable that it might pass as manslaughter. In Eugene Aram's case there could be no suspense ; from the outset we know all about it : the interest really turns upon the meta- physical delineation and the exquisite word-painting of, the book. Paul Ferrell is a sort of imitation of both these great fictions. There is the mystery of Caleb Williams ; the de- scription and character-painting of Eugene Aram. But there is not mystery enough ; or it may be that the mystery cannot be made to tell except on the first occasion, when the idea is fresh. However, the reader sees cause to suspect from the very outset that Paul is the murderer of his first wife ; and only wonders why suspicion is not directed towards him instead of others. When the accused get off, and Paul returns with his new wife and little daughter, distinguishing himself by activity in bad- ness and eminence in literature there appears no reason for his conduct ; why he should avoid the advances of his neighbours, especially as conscience has nothing to do with his reserve. In fact, his total want of conscience is perhaps the reason why so

• Paul Perron : a Tale. By the Author of " IX Poems by V." Published by Saunders and Otley.

Love versus Money : a Novel In two volumes. Published by Saunders and Otley.

The Rival Roses : a Romance of English History. By the Author of "Royalists and Roundheads," Sic. In three volumes. Published by Skeet.

Martha: a Sketch from Life. By Anthony Smith the Elder, of Allesley in the County of Warwick, late Attorney-at-law. Published by Rope and Co.

They are Only Cousin,: a Novel. By Claude Aston. In three volumes. Fah" lisbed by Newby. little interest is feltin the book as a story. Finally, it appears that he kept his family out of society, and looked darkly on his daughter's suitor' because he had a presentiment that, some day, somebody might be condemned as the murderer of the first Mrs. Ferrol], when the point of honour would induce him to give him- self up if living—if he should be dead he has taken means to leave evidence of his own guilt behind him.

All this is incongruous : the management and conduct of the story are equally so. It therefore fails to excite the attention of a romance • and though the manners and characters of the persons are natural and truthful, yet, manners not being the object of the author, they are not presented on a sufficiently large scale to pro- duce effect by themselves.

The confession of Mr. Ferroll is brought about through an old woman, suspected of the murder at the time, and who had really robbed her mistress. The jewels being traced to her some twenty years afterwards, she is tried, and found guilty, not of the robbery, whiah she admits, but as an accessory to the murder. It is "not probable, but necessary'," in order that Paul Ferroll may give him- self up. This he does after a leave-taking of his wife and daughter, and then writes a confession to his wife, which his solicitor carries to her.

"He was not aware, however, how perfectly ignorant of what had hap- pened Mrs. Ferrell was; and he placed the letter in her hand with no other preparation for his dismal news than his grave and sorrowful face. "Janet's heart died within her when she saw him. She had said no- thing, but she had been filled with terror by her father's manner and words, and had waited ever since, listening for bad tidings and expecting them. But how far short of the reality had her imagination fallen in its worst con- jectures! How little could she interpret her mother's face, which she watched reading the fatal letter ! The furthest suspicion of the truth had never crept on her mother's mind ; and yet, in the course of eighteen years' devotion to and from her husband, materials had accumulated there unknown to herself, like the growth of fire in the gradually-heated homestead which breaks out in universal flame at last, consuming the beloved home at once. She could understand enough to believe all: the broad flame spread a dread- ful light. which flashed on her brain and her heart; she sank on the floor like one withered by the stroke, life ebbing from all its strongholds. Janet's arms caught her, but she too could only fall beside her. "'But he is not dead,' said Janet ; for he writes.' Death was as yet the bitterest calamity her imagination could conceive. Her mother neither heard nor answered. She clung to her child instinctively ; but except the gasping of her breath, no sound was heard from her. 'Tell me what it is ! ' cried Janet, looking up distracted to Mn Monkton's face. • Where is my father ?' Be shook his head, the tears overflowing his eyes. Where ? ' cried Janet, rising as far as she could out of her mother's unconscious hold.

"'I can't, I can't,' subbed the kindhearted man. Read that ; perhaps he tells all.'

"Janet took the letter from his hand, for he had picked it up from the

floor, and in vain read it eagerly through. They are going to kill him ! ' she said, bewildered. € Mamma, mamma, speak to me ! Save him!' She rose up vehemently; and Mrs. Ferrol], almost like one who had already lain in the grave, struggled to rise. Mr. Monkton helped her, and the servants whom he had already summoned ran in ; but when she recovered conscious- ness enough to stretch her hand for the letter, the touch of it seemed to pierce her again with a vital wound, and, groaning deeply, she sank into a swoon. They carried her to her bed ; and a groom rode off impetuously for the useless help of the doctor; Janet vainly attempting to arouse the veiled faculties, and to renew the vital action of the mother to whose arms she would fain have fled for shelter.

"Mr. Monkton could not bear it. He took the oldest of the servants aside—the wife of that Capel who had been with them at Pontaube, and made her understand the real nature and full extent of the misery ; and, _pro- mising to return and do anything—if, indeed, there were any possible tiling to be done—rode away, leaving the burden of explanation to her."

Several faculties essential to the novelist are possessed by the writer of Love versus Money. He has a quick perception of traits of character, especially of Irish character; and though he de- lineates better than he dramatically exhibits, he distributes his qualities naturally, "good and ill together." He has the warmth of imagination which gives -vigour to thought or description, with the knowledge of manners and. history that political enthusiasm imparts : the scene of his story is mainly in Ireland during the days of Grattan and the Volunteers, and the author is apparently a zealot in favour of "Independence." There is no lack of variety either in public or private affairs; there are plenty of Irish hu- mours chiefly of a provincial cast; there is enough of story so far as regards matters to be explained, difficulties to be overcome, and couples to be married. But the author wants the power to well con- trive and tell his .story. A novel, indeed, differs from a drama, where the case must be thoroughly prepared and "got up" as it were, so that every point must be made to tell ; every person pro- duced must contribute, and that directly, to forward the conclu- sion; and words must not be wasted on subordinate matters. In a prose fiction there may properly be more elaborate descriptions and reflections than in a drama ; the dialogue may be more dis- cursive; while narrative with its particular details is a distinctive feature of the novel. Still, the author is not to fix upon the com- mon occurrences of daily life and dwell upon them as if they par- took of the nature of dramatic action ; or to elaborate dialogues on trifles which answer no higher purpose at best than that of ex- hibiting small traits of eharaoter ; or to spin out descriptions and narratives on little more than nothing. This mode of composition Prevails too much in Love versus Money. The consequence is, that the story is tedious in spite of the author's literary merit. It advances as much by lapse of time as by progress of action.

The Rival Roses is an historical romance of the wars of Yolk and Lancaster. It opens with the incident of Queen Margaret and her son meeting the outlaw in the woods after the battle of Ilex- ham,—which the novelist alters and mars ; and ends with the fatal field of Tewkesbury and its ruffianly slaughters. The writer ap- pears to have some knowledge of customs and costumes. Ofike manners of the period and the probabilities of life he has no con- ception. Neither has he the dramatic faculty to vivify what com- mon histories have taught him. His ideas of historical characters and incidents are conventional after the mode of novelists ; his•ro- mance is of the same kind, but rather belonging to the fietionist's notions of Italy in the middle ages than of England. The author, however, has one important faculty of the novelist—a power of story-telling. The persons are phantasmagoric, the occurrences unreal if not morally or physically impossible; but the uncritical reader will be carried along by the writer's knack of stringing sur- prising incidents together and giving them the interest of a story.

Martha, a Sketch from Life, does no discredit to a retired "attorney-at-law," and exhibits some of the qualities to be ex- pected from such a writer. . There is a clear hard way in looking at persons and conduct. The author is rational, moral on conven- tional or respectable principles, not w ithout feeling in tangible trouble or suffering, but without much disposition to sentimental- ize, and very slight skill in the management of sentiment when he feels that it must be introduced according to the rules of his new art. Of middle-class character he has a good knowledge; of the lower orders not so much, or be deems it necessary to exaggerate their cant and their peculiarities on some mistaken notion of effect. Mr. Smith has rather too much of expansive power, acquired in deed-drawing, though showing itself in reflections and dialogues rather than in tautology. Martha, however, is a peculiar tale, owing little to books for design or characters. Its execution is less unborrowed, and the author's models are none of the best. Apparently, he is indebted to the drama and the serial novel for his methods of working up his materials.

The story ought to point the moral of self-will, imprudent attachment, and clandestine marriage ; but it avoids the le- gitimate termination, although the heroine is punished bitterly enough. Martha is the daughter of a country clergyman, who appears stern and self-absorbed in his religious duties, while her mother is a commonplace person. Naturally self-willed, left a good deal to herself, and taking to secret novel-reading, Martha falls in love with a good-looking revel-loving young farmer, meets him secretly, and marries him clandestinely. The natural cense- quences ensue. Andrew Jackson—a capitally-drawn and sustain- ed character—is selfish, and turns out dissipated; he squanders his wife's small fortune, is unable to do anything to earn a subsistence in his own station, and sinks into abject poverty. At this stage he is tempted by Chumley, the villain of the piece, to join very un- willingly in a burglary, as it turns out, upon Andrew's father-in- law ; and the thieves are captured. Thus far all has been pretty lifelike : the fearful poverty, the passion of Martha against her husband, and her maternal feelings towards her children, are striking if not tragic, in spite of the physical or sordid nature of the distress. Afterwards the story runs too much on low romance. Chumley excites Martha's jealousy, to obtain possession of her per- son through her pique ; Martha denounces her husband to the police ; and there begins a series of Old Bailey distresses till the husband and the gallant are both removed, and Martha settles down in peace on the narrow income she derives from her father's property.

By a coincidence always at the command of a novelist, Martha has set off, brokenhearted and worn down by hunger, to solicit her father for aid to her children ; and arrives to find her husband a prisoner for burglary and her moth( r dead. With the resolute will that distinguishes her, she still determines to address her father, and is waiting the result at the house of an old servant.

" At last there was a gentle knocking at the door. Martha half raised herself and uttered a faint cry ; end thin she sank down again in the chair and hid her face low in her hands.

"Like a dream, Martha heard the quiet, familiar tones of a voice sayingt I think you have a person here who ants to ee me, Mr. Thompson' ;

the subdued words of the constable, Ytz, sir ; I believe so.' And she heard

as anc, as at a distance, the constable and his 'site whispering with each other, and directly afterwards the sound of footsteps going up-stairs; and then she felt, rather than heard, the visitor pass to the opposite side of the fireplace and seat himself there. "She was certain that he was gazing at her ; and when she looked up she found that it was so. She saw the same stern face, but changed—pain- fully changed—since she last looked upon it long years ago. The same blue eyes, calm and severe as of old, only sunken and dim-looking ; the same pale, furrowed cheeks, but with the lines deepened and sharper the sti1118 compressed, austere lips, but shrivelled and thin ; the same hair smoothed to one side of the head, but the dark hue of former days changed to a whiten- ing grey. She looked, and looked, and looked at each long-remembered fea- ture; and she thought she saw the traces of a decay more rapid than the mere progress of age—the effects of a corroding grief that was fast eating away life and vigour. She looked yet another moment, and then she east herself at his feet. Falling with her face upon his knees, she burst into tears, exclaiming-

-" Father—father—father !'

"The old man placed his hand upon her head, and gazed at her ; his face relaxing from its severity and assuming a mournful expression, accompanied bya deep latent tenderness.

"Thus they remained till Martha's sobbing partially subsided, and she said, without looking up, 'My children my children ! Father, save my children ; they are starving !"

" "I will do what I can for them,' Mr. Metcalfe said, in the quiet chilling tone which Martha remembered so well in childhood ; but he still gazed at her with the same look of mournful tenderness. I pray God that I may never forget it is my duty to help those who cannot help themselves.' "Martha sobbed anew ; but her tears now sprang from bitterness of heart at feeling her gush of affection towards her parent checked by the same cold- ness of manner which had repelled her from him all through her life. She did not see the expression of secret love with which the old man gazed upon her prostrate form. " ' I will maktain them, and you too, if,sou are destitute,' he continued,

in the same manner: but you must undertake to separate from the man you have married.' "'I have no choice,' sobbed Martha, sinking into a Bitting posture, and covering her face with her hands. "'You must promise never to see him again,' said Mr. Metcalfe. "I will not, while we trouble you,' Martha replied, after a pause."

A kind of slight vivacity is the principal characteristic of They are Only Cousins; but want of art and want of knowledge of society rather lead into a lively emptiness of dialogue than enable the writer to turn the quality to any good account. The materials whether of life or romance are of the oldest. There are parvenu persons aiming at rising in society, with an overdone vulgarity, and persons of family with the prejudice of blood, equally exag- gerated. There are several families with marriageable children, much love, some disappointment, and final happiness. The romance mainly turns upon the superstition of the Evil Eye, and is badly managed. The title "They are only Cousins" is rather a cant word in the story, than answering any critical purpose, though some of the marriages are between cousins.