NEW NOVELS. * How much interest and merit would attach to

man books if many other books had not been written before them ! 2 he Morals of -Vag Fair is a very capital novel in all that regards technicals. There is a thorough knowledge of society, at least in its exter- nals, with considerable cleverness in depicting it, and in a flowing buoyant style. There is dexterity, perhaps ability, in paint- ing characters so as to give the idea almost of life ; though their conduct is unlikely, and would seem theatrical, were it not for the worldliness of the writer's manner. But with all these merits,—which are not new, however,—there is a want of sub- stance and reality. Then the elements are mostly common. A fascinating young man taking refuge for some cause or other at a foreign country-house, and inducing the unsophisticated daughter to fall in love with him, is certainly as old as the days of Mackenzie. A young girl brought up in a country solitude, and almost as ignorant of the world as Miranda herself, though not, may be, so delicate-minded, is not new: we last had it only a week or two ago in Adele. A young woman marrying a middle-aged man, while she is attached to another, is also a frequent incident, as well as the struggles between love and duty. An odd old uncle returned from India with a fortune to enrich a nephew, is as ancient as the age of nabobs—more aged, indeed, than the "double government," to whose early days it is chiefly appropriate. A worthy tutor and divine, marrying the noble daughter of his employer and being disowned by the family, is another stock in- cident, with several other similar rarities, including sudden death and poor relationship.

The title of the" Morals of May Fair" may indicate some fresh- ness in the use of well-known materials ; and such is the case to this extent. The commonplace may rather perhaps be felt in the sense of repetition of what we have had before than seen in the conduct of the story. Except in a few exaggerated instances, the morals do not so much belong to May Fair as to Philip Earnscliffe, the hero and successful novelist, and some of his associates in the world of art and theatricals. The long and short of the story is this. Philip, the son of the tutor and noble lady already alluded to, is left an orphan very young, but is adopted by his rich Indian uncle. The old eccentricity eschews fashionable life ; but Philip gains the entre by writing in his teens a most wonderful novel. His mother's family, who had looked down upon his parents cul- tivate him, and being embarrassed, entrap Philip at twenty into a marriage with their daughter, five years older than himself. The consequences of an ill-assorted match follow, but more quickly than usual, for on the very evening the new-married pair return to Lon - don from their bridal seclusion, Mr. Philip leaves his wife at home, goes out to enjoy the gayeties of town, and gets home at four o'clock in the morning from a supper of ballet-dancers and their asso- ciates,—a thing which we imagine no born denizen of May Fair would do, except as he might swindle or commit murder. This is the opening : at the close, after lapse of time, various incidents and some social sketches, the last very well done, Philip meets a lady with whom he had become acquainted as an Anglo-French girl, by taking refuge at her father's house, and winning her love as a single man. Marguerite is now married to a man of middle age, and Philip takes advantage of the love which has never left her to persuade her to elope with him. From this last degrada- tion she is saved by having left her papers unlocked. Her has-

"' The Morals of May Fair : a Novel. In three volumes. Published by Hurst and Blackett. Charmione : a Tale of the Great Athenian Revolution. By Edward A. Leathani, M.A. In two volumes. Published by Bradbury and Evans. The ColonePs Daughters, or Life is but a Dream : a Tale. By Mrs. Clare. Dedi- cated by permiseioll to the Right Reverend the Lord Bishop of Manchester. Pub- lished by SauLdert and Otley. band, Mr. Mortimer, reads over the journals descriptive of her early love for Philip Earnscliffe her flirtations with a certain cousin, and the correspondence that settles the elopement. On his wife's return, a scene naturally ensues, which ends in Mar- guerite's bursting a blood-vessel and dying. Upon this another scene ensues when Mr. Earnscliffe calls, by l'tfr. Mortimer leading him to the corpse.

"When at last they reached Marguerite's sleeping-room, and Mortimer noiselessly turned the handle of the door, he recoiled, and the cold dews stood thick upon his forehead.

"'Tell me, in pity tell me,' he whispered, is Marguerite—is she—

there P

"'Oh, go in,' returned Mortimer. So gay a gallant as Philip &mi- di& surely fears nothing. Go in sir ! I have brought you to your love!'

"And, with a powerful effort, Earnseltife forced himself to enter the room that already his tortured sense told him was one of death. "Upon the bed, dressed in white, lay Marguerite, her face uncovered. A. sweet, loving expression was yet upon her features • her hands lay in an at- titude of natural repose upon h, er breast ; and all that told of death were one or two dark gouts of blood upon her night-dress, and a faint streak acmes the parted lips. "With a burst of agony, before which Mortimer's own sorrow quailed, Earnscliffe flung himself by her side, covered her cold hands with kisses, called upon her to awake to him, by all the names that the fervour of his na- ture could pour forth. " ' Oh, it is well for you to recall her, who have been the cause of her death !' said Mortimer, in a low, concentrated voice.

"But Philip never heard him ; unconscious even of his presence, he con- tinued sobbing with such passionate excess as is rarely witnessed in a young, strong man. Marguerite, return to me ; remember how I have loved you! Marguerite, my child, my own !'

"At length, jealous even now of the kisses Philip pressed upon her cold, insensible hands, Mortimer came round and touched his shoulder. "'Leave, sir,' he whispered. You have seen all that I intended you should. Your place is not here now.' "Philip sprang to his feet, and turned upon him a face of anguish before which Mortimer shrank back.

" This is not my place !' he repeated between his set teeth. Not mine !—who have loved her with my very life—before you ever knew her— not mine !—who have been the cause of all her sorrows. Leave me with her, air!' he went on, almost fiercely; my place is here—I can injure yell no more now. No—' as Mortimer was beginning to reply= in her presence let there be no unseemly words—afterwards I will hear all you have to say ; but now I must be with her—and alone.'

"And—strange sovereignty of a mighty passion—Mortimer felt con- strained to respect a deeper grief than his own.'

We do not believe these are the morals of May Fair, but only the imaginings of the writer. These imaginings are not shown in anything gross, or in any open apology for what is wrong ; but in a feeble sense of what is healthy and honest, in action—though there are passing moralities in words, and a sort of notion that giving way to feeling or passion in a refined mode, yielding to temptation appearing in a polished manner, if not defensible is pardonable. This is the style in which Marguerite talks to Philip, after they meet and he has found her married.

"'Now, fancy yourself at Kersaint !'

MayA indeed do so ? ' wan Philip's reply, and the blood rose crhnson in Marguerite's cheek at the tone. It was in the library she had told him that, whatever happened, she would never love any other but him; and she felt that the whole scene must return upon his recollection. " I did not mean—Oh, Philip ! lean keep up this appearance no longer,' she exclaimed, passionately. Let us speak once of old days, and then—be silent for ever ! Remember how young I was—how ignorant of the world—' "'Marguerite!' interrupted Philip, rising and taking her hand, his own trembling as it met hers. Do not speak as though the past contained any- thing you could wish forgotten. If there was wrong, it was my own ; if there should be remorse, it is for me. You have always been as you are now —most pure—most blameless.'

"'But, Philip ! hear me ; for this once I must speak. You know how- then—I loved you,' the words came reluctantly from her lips ; and when we talk so much of old times, it recalls old feelings to my heart, that should have died long ago ; and it is wrong, for I am married now—married to one whom I respect more than all on earth, and I must not have a thought apart from him. Will you help me in not recurring to the past ? I am weak still, you see—and I look to you for assistance !"

This is intended to indicate infantine simplicity, and that in a married woman who has been launched in London fashionable life. Something like this may perhaps be read in foolish fic- tions, but in real life an honest scullion wench would know that the spontaneous confession of love by a married woman to an old lover was "most heathenish and most gross."

There are various faults, apparently arising from inexperience, in Mr. Leatham's Charmione, "a tale of the great Athenian revolution" which ended in the destruction of the Thirty Tyrants; but there is evidence throughout of considerable power. From an excusable wish to exhibit his classical reading, the narrative, especially in its earlier parts, is too much delayed by pictures of Athenian manners and public ceremonials. There is a mixture of antique forms with modern feelings and thoughts, difficult if not impossible to avoid in some way when treating classical subjects, but not therefore the less incongruous. When we are once fairly embarked in the story, the first of these objections vanishes, and the second is less felt in the vigorous depiction of individual ambi- tion and Athenian factions, dexterously connected as they are with the progress of the tale. It may still be objected, that the vigour degenerates into coarseness, and the effect into melodramatic exaggeration. Critias, for instance, is painted drunken and brutal as Jeffreys himself, and there is generally in scenes of pas- sion too much of laboured force. No doubt, it may be replied, that it was impossible to exaggerate the tyranny of the Thirty, which was as cruel and as bloody as the Reign of Terror in France, and that excessive drinking was an Athenian vice. Art, however, requires " temperance " and "smoothness "; and where

ma authority exists for personal coarseness and gross vice, it is not the business of the novelist to invent them.

The more stirring part of the story begins with that obscure period in Athenian history which intervenes between the battle of Arginuste and the death of Critias in the first victory gained by 'Thrasybulus over the troops of the Thirty. There are two prelimi- nary parts, however : the first of which presents the deathbed of Pericles; the second introduces his son by Aspasia grown to man's 'estate, marries him to the heroine Charmione the daughter of Moias, and brings forward other characters who form the romance of the story, but through their connexion with public events. The more salient points of the history are the impeachment and execution of the generals for their alleged neglect to save the drowned at The battle of Arginusa3, which involves the death of Pericles and the misery of Charmione—the condemnation of Niceratus the son Maas and brother of the heroine' caused in the story by the

utchty rejection by Charmione of the addresses of Ciitias—the intrigues of Theramenes to overthrow that Athenian Robespierre, his failure and death.

The general conduct of the Tyrants is indicated, as well as the earlier efforts of the exiles under Thrasybulus ; history, in the historical parts, being closely adhered to. Among celebrated names introduced is that of the great founder of the Platonic sys- tem, and as a real lover, but with rather more of sentimental and chivalrous devotion than we fear belonged to ancient Athens, or the ancient world in general.

Mrs. Clere's tale of The Colonel's Daughters is a moral and re- ligious story of rather an oldfashioned kind. The local clescrip- 'thins are true, so are many of the domestic pictures ; but the very .trath rather detracts from the proper effect of a novel by being too particular. Common conventional art may be bad, but it is 'better than no art ; for it gives a sort of breadth as well as con- nexion to the story, both of which are deficient in "Life is but a Dream." The object of the tale is the necessity of piety and re- solution—with, be it said, judgment superadded ; for Rhoda is very nearly involved in mischief through her resistance to ad- vice ; while her more yielding sister Adela is induced to a elan- -destine marriage by the persuasions of her lover, which leads of course to her lifelong trouble. There is a sort of double plot, a nbcry within a story, that rather adds to what by itself is some- -whet slow-going.