NEW NOVELS.'

Two volumes, consisting of between eight and nine hundred pages of compactly printed matter, and bearing the double title of

Mote's and Nears: or, Scenes from the Life of a Spinster. By the Author of 'The Heir of Redclyffe," " Heartsease," &c. In two volumes. Published by John W. Parker.

The Valley of a Hundred Firm. By the Author of "Margaret and her Brides- maids," &c. In three volumes. Published by Hurst and Blaekett. Hopes and Fears, or Scenes front the Life of a 8,pinster, will probably possess an interest for those who share the sentiments and opinions of the authoress, which the less sympathetic majority will seek for in vain. We at least cannot find evidence in the work of any remarkable mental superiority. There is little, or no story. It was, perhaps, not intended that there should be any. The hook evinces no striking narrative power ; no unusual der criptive faculty ; no talent for vivid dramatic presentment or ex- hibition of passion. Probably, some of these elements would scarcely be in pies*, in Scenes from the Life of a Spinster. With such scenes, the subdued and quiet thought and chastened feeling which we find in these volumes accord far better than the daring speculation or the tragic emotion which distinguish the writing of some of our novelists. Of secondary oleverness, we discern Ian- merous indications in these volumes. Of graceful mental accom- plishment, abundant traces may be found. The composition she!" facility without carelessness, a literary finish without any artiotan assumption. The sentiment -will reoommend itself to those who -appreciate the disoiplino of life which a =aerate High Churchism inculcates, For though, free from all the ignoble bigotry, which is the bad feature of rigid conviction, the authoress intimates that thorn is an inseparable coonectioalietiecen orthodoxy and pure morality. She seems, however, ,fax too good an artist to give prominence in p. work which deals with phases of life and. character, to mere dog- matic views. Such views are indeed indicated, and occasionally asserted, as in the case' of Hiss Fennimore, the Unitarian gover-' ness who, from the errors of her latitudineriap creed, is ultimately converted to the verities of the Catholic faith, and requires her wilful precocious and conceited pupil, Bertha, in her illness, to accept the grand reality of the eternal torments of the World beyond the grave.

It is not easy to give a sketch of a tale which has, properly speaking, no story. . We will, however, attempt to convey an idea, however inadequate, of the snhstauce of the volumes before us. The spinster, some scenes in whose -life are there portray-ed, is Honore Oharlecote. "Honor had grown up among those Who fed on Scott, Wordsworth and Fonque, took their theology from the British Critic, and their taste from- Pugin; • and moulded their opinions and practice on the past." .1 -Her young friends, Lucille and Piaebe, are of the new generition--the generation Of Kingsley; Tennyson, Ruskia and the Batarday Iteriete: Both have profited by. the teaching and example of this admirable woman. The unsmeginative -Phcebe has learned to value thapoe- try of her nature, but Lucilla complains that with her she has al- ways a sense offiejfiness. • " I say rhcebv, were you never in an inward rage, "(she asks) who shP would say she would not la 6011/0 fact be d011e, for the sake of some Int cal romantic figment ? You smile: Own that you have felt it.' " "1 have thought or Miss Fennimore's theory, that lezends aro More veritable exponents of human nature that bare facts.' " Say it again, Phoebe. It sounds very grand ! Whipped cream is truer exponent of milk than cheese, eSpecially when it tastes of soap-Bade! is that it ? ' " It is a mueli prettier thing.; and not tune se hard and dry,': said ; ',hut you see you are 'biking in figures ate:refl.' : " The effect of example. Look hire, my deer, the last generation was that of medilcvalisayecclesiology, ehivalry, symbolism, whatever you may call it,' " Married women have worked out of it. It is the middle-aged tuttiars

that monopolise it. Qum is Cast Ofnonimbh -' " I don't, know that it is better or prettier,' said Phothe." rr

Of this past tnedi(vral feneration,:liwora is a splendid in- stance. In early life, she • is full of admiration for all that is ro- mantic and self-saorifioing, particularly thr her young missionaiy hero, Owen Sandbrook, who, however, fails to realize either her gentle hopes or brilliant expectations; Boon after his return from America, Sandbrook dies quid Honors -receives the children of her broken idol, Owen and ',Leine, and, ultimately educates them, in her ancestral halls of Charleoote. In contrast with the ardent, eloquent missionary stands her cousin linmfrey,- a man of open, loving spirit and practical aims, who leads a serene' life in*: simple fulfilment of duty,- and who, tenderly attached to Honore, loves her during the many years in which her affeetion waits tin the absent Owen, who as we have-intimated, marries another we- man. Too late returning Humfrey's love she sees "the . lest gleam of her youthful tainshine"' fade. This true country gen- tleman has scarcely received the assurance of Honora's now re- sponsive affection, with the shadow of the grave already arouipd him, than he dies, leaving the Charleoote property to his bereaved cousin, who has still further phases to go through, and new les- sons to be learned.

Her two charges, Owen and Lucille, occupy much of her time; and interest her loving nature for long years to come. Same of the light sketches of childish life in the volumes before ' us' are lively and amusing. The scene changes often' as we advance; the characters multiply. We have the Fulmort family, to which Pheibe belongs; the Charterises ; the Prendergasts, and mune- roue other personages, of whom one is an American Charlecote, at least by the mother's side, and is destined-to play rather an im- portant part towards the end of the second volume. In the cue of the orphan Sandbrooks, the disappointment of Honors, is re- peated. Owen's college career is not creditable to him. He con- tracts a clandestine marriage ; he runs into debt; he raises money

on a bond payable on the death of Miss Charlecote. After-per. suing his fortune in America where he adopts the profession of engineer; he returns' to England; ill and helpless in body, but morally much improved ; is received and comrted by the tine- hearW Honore.; and settles down into a right-minded, hard. working, honourable man. His sister, Lucille, too, has her wild

career, followed by a similar amendment. There is much in the character of this wayward, petulant, but really noble-minded girl to interest us. She begins life with an imprudent disdain of all conventions ; exposes herself to misconstruction, breaks with or estranges herself from Honore, shows true generosity under the pressure of Owen's misfortunes, and magnanimous resolution in her acceptance of the position of a governess. Lucille, however, has still much to learn. She prefers practising photography with , Francis Beaumont, or teaching him how to dress flies," to the dull routine of lessons with his methodical cousin, her pupil, Sarah Prendergast. Oct one occasion.—

"Lucille knew that a lecture was impending, but she really loved and esteemed Mrs. Prendergast too much to prepare to champ the bit. That lady's warmth and simplicity, and, above all, the largeness of mind, that prevented her from offending or being offended by trifles, had endeared her extremely to the young governess. Net only had these eight months past without the squabble that Owen had predicted would send her to Hilton- bury in a week, but Cilia had decidedly, though insensibly laid aside, many of the sentiments and habits in which poor Honor's opposition had merely confirmed her. The effect of the sufferings of the past summer had subdued her for a long time ; the novelty of her position had awed her, and what Mrs. Prendergast truly called the reaction had been so tardy in coming on, that it was a surprise oven to herself. Sensible that she had given cause for die' pleasure, she courted the We-a-tete, and begun thus—'I beg your pardon for my idleness. It is-a fatal thing to be recalled to the two passions of my youth—fishing and photography.' "' My husband wall give Francis employment in the morning,' said Mrs. Prendergast. It will not do to give Sarah's natural irritability too many - excuses for outbreaks.'

'She never accepts excuses,' said Lucille, though I am sure she might. I have been a sore trial to her diligence and methodicalness; and her enul is too much bent on her work for us to drag her out to be foolish, as would be best for her.'

'So it might be for her ; but, my dear, pardon D20, I am not speaking for Sarah's sake.'

"With an odd jerk of head and hand, Cilly exclaimed, 'Oh! the old story —the ether f—flirting, is it ? ' " never said that ! I never thought that,' cried Mrs. Prendergast, ehockedat the word and idea that had never crossed her mind.

"If not,' said Cilia, 'it is because you are too innocent to know flirting when you see it! Dear Mrs. Prendergast, I didn't think you would have looked so grave.' " 'I did not think you would have spoken so lightly; but it is plain that we do not mean the same thing.' "In fact, you in your quietness think awfully of that which, for years, was to me like breathing! I thought the taste was gone for ever, but you gee'—and her sweet, sad expression pleaded for you have made me so happy that the old self is come back.' There was a silence, broken by this strange girl saying, Well, what are you going to do to me ? '

"'Only,' said the lady, in her sweet, full, impressive voice, to beg you will, indeed, be happy in giving yourself no cause for self-reproach.' "I'm past that,' said Lucille, with a smile on her lip, and a tear in her eye. I've not known that sensation since my father died. My chief happi- ness has been in being provoking, but you have taken away that pleasure. couldn't purposely vex you, even if I were your adopted child.' "Without precisely knowing the full amount of them words Mrs. Pren- dergast understood past bitterness and present warmth, and gratified to find that at least there was no galling at their mutual relations, responded with s. smile and a caress that led Lucille to continue, 'As for the word that dis- mayed you, I only meant to acknowledge an unlucky propensity to be ex. cited about any nonsense, in which any man kind is mixedup. If Sarah would take to it, I could more easily abstain, but you see her coquetries are with nobody more recent than Horace and Dante.'

"'I cannot wish it to be otherwise with her,' said Mrs. Prendergast,

gn!Telk Ito! It is a bad speculation,' said Lucille, sadly. She will never

wish her life could be pulled out lie defective crochet ! nor wear out goad people's forbearance with her antics. I did think they were outgrown and beat out of me, and that your nephew was too young ; but, I suppose it is ingrain and that I should be flattered by the attentions of she-baby of six months' old ! But I'll do my best, Mrs. Prendergast ; I promise you I'll not be the schoolmistress abroad in the morning, and you shall see what terms I will keep with Mr. Beaumont.

It would not do, however. Lucille was not to be restored so easily to her better self. There were ladies to outshine and daz- zle; there were curates to fascinate ; there was even a dean to beguile "into turning over her music while she sang." In the end, cur wayward, splendid Lucille has to leave her home at good, gentle Mrs. Prendergast's' to leave her pupil, -" Glumdalclitch," sorrowing for her departure ; and grieving and humbled to seek, elsewhere, an honourable independence.

We trust that we have now given the reader some notion of the kind of thought, feeling, and charact,erizatipn, which may be found in these scenes from a spinster's life. The two volumes, In which they are displayed, contain various incidents, but the such as it is, exhibits little event of a dramatic kind. The

in our opinion is unnecessarily long; and the conversa- tional element, which is so largely employed, is, we think, superabundant and tedious. Those with whom the authoress of The Heir of Redelyffe is held in high estimation, and who distrust our judgment, will, at least, be able to form some conception of her new work, from the comments which we have made and the paasages. which we have extracted. The moral spirit of the work may be inferred from one concluding citation. Speaking of that sweet mellow season which, in some years, succeeds with early Autumn the stormy Augusts and Julys and the blighting spring months our lady novelist continues- " Suds an Indian summer may be Honor Charlecote's present life. It is not old age, for she has Mill the strength and health of her best days; but it is the later stage of middle life, with experience added to energy. Her girlhood suffered from a great though high-minded mistake ; her woman- hood was careworn and sorrow-stricken. As first, the 'beloved other youth, so again the darling of her after-age, was a disappointment ; but she was patient, and patience has met with a reward even m this life. Desolateness taught her to rely no longer on things of earth, but to satisfy her soul with that love which is individual as well as infinite; and that lesson learnt, the human affection that once failed her is come back upon her in full measure. She is no longer forlorn ; the children whom she bred up, and those whom -she led by her influence, alike vie with one another in their love and grati- tude."

Thus, the whole story of our spinster's "Hopes and Fears" is rounded off with a peaceful, satisfying finish.

To say that we have been strangely disappointed by the last novel of the author of "Mr. and Mrs. Asheton," is but a feeble way of expressing the feelings with which we have toiled through that marvellous manifestation of wilful tediousness. Certainly had. The Valley of a Hundred Fires appeared quite anonymously, no one would have dreamed of attributing it to the clever writer whose signature it bears ; for the hand is completely disguised, though a keen eye may here and there discern a few faint tenches of its old manner in the first two volumes, and they become rather more apparent in the third. But these better indications are evidently involuntary ; they have cropped out in spite of a set purpose to suppress them, and to adopt an entirely new manner, which is certainly one of the most extraordinary experiments upon the patience of readers we remember to have been made by any novelist who had a reputation worth sustaining. Its chief cha- racteristics are flatness, prolixity, a didactic tone, a profusion of platitudes, and a plentiful varnish of treacle. The purpose of the novel is to pourtray the lives and fortunes of a clergyman and his family. The father is a wise good man, contented to be poor ; he refuses promotion, to devote himself for seven and twenty years to the spiritual welfare of the swarming population of a smoky, sooty, and hideous valley in the iron-mining district of Wales ; and he even induces his bishop to divide his small living into two for the more effectual nurture and guidance of his rapidly increasing flock. The mother is an angel of good- ness and 'grace, whose presence snakes perpetual sunshine in their dreary dwelling ; and their children are worthy of such parents. All this is very well in design, but the execution is in- tolerable. We should sympathize much more cordially with the good rector, if we could by any means bring ourselves to believe him to be a man, and not a lay figure. His charming wife is more like a creature of flesh and blood, but we object to the false medium through which she is presented to our view. As for her fourteen or fifteen children, and her indefinite number of grand- children, we admire them much in the aggregate, but find it rather a hard tax on our time and attention to assist at the birth of each of them, and afterwards to keep up a close intimacy with them all and several to the day when their parents celebrate the fiftieth anniversary of their wedding. In addition to all this, we have to be an courant of the personal and domestic concerns of a great number of very uninteresting people. We say nothing of the Robartses who serve as a foil to the rector's family, or of the conventional Lord and Lady Bernard, who are useful on occasion as a dens et den ex machine, but we know no reason on earth why we should be bored with such unnecessary interlopers as the Hills, and the Sabines and Miss Charles, and a lot more. All this bother we are forced to endure, because we suppose, the author has adopted a new theory of novel writing. What it is we are left to conjecture from her practice, aided by one critical opinion which she intimates in her second volume. Speaking of the Waverley novels, she says, "and though they may be somewhat despised in the present day (and, truth to say, some of them picked to pieces, make one wonder at the genius that stitched them together,) they formed a wonderful stride in advance"— towards such nobler productions, shall we say, as The Valley of a Hundred Fires?