THE BELLE OF THE FAMILY.

Mas. GREY'S new volumes of fiction contain two tales under one title—The Belle of the Family, and Harry Monk. The Belle of the Family is the story of a poor beauty, who is separated from the man she really loves by the managing arts of her married sisters, and then, through her own ill-restrained temper, induced to marry a former lover of her mother's, old enough to be her grandfather, but very rich. The scene of Harry Monk is laid in the time of the Common- wealth. A reduced Royalist knight is compelled with his daughter Catherine to take refuge at the abode of one of his tenants ; where the young lady falls in love with a stranger, under the name of Lee, marries him clandestinely against her father's consent, and finds out eventually that her husband is a celebrated highwayman called Harry Monk. The interest of the story is in the troubled career of Catherine from her husband's mysterious conduct, and the strange or distressful scenes in which she is compelled to bear a part : the moral inculcated appears to be the imprudence of marrying strangers, especially against a parent's consent. Making allowance for the distance of the time, which con- ceals deficiencies of detail, Harry Monk is the completer fiction considered in the abstract. The story is coherent in its parts, has sufficient variety to keep the attention alive, and advances naturally to its end. Neither is the tale so improbable as it will appear to many, who judge of the manners of past ages by their own experience of the present. The subject, however, is unpleasing in itself ; and the greater part of its scenes are not so much unfit for fiction as unworthy of it. The remoteness, too, of the whole from present life gives it a purposeless air. Harry Monk is not an historical Newgate Calendar novel, painting the life and manners of the predecessors or contemporaries of DLTVAL, for the exploits of Monk are kept out of view as much as possible. And the moral which the story unquestionably contains is no longer applicable : young gentlewomen nowadays are not likely to marry highwaymen or any other professors of felony. But, putting these considerations aside, the tale is well-constructed, complete, and powerfully written. The fault of Harry Monk originates in a want of art in choosing the subject ; that of The Belle of the Family in a want of art in treating the subject. Strange to say, the very truth of the delinea- tion of persons and parts militates against its effect as a novel. The weak mother Mrs. Vassall, the goodnatured plotter for a good match Mrs. Amyott, and the more rigid and precise elder sister Mrs. Chetwood, seem evident transcripts from life. None but a feminine pen could have conceived the plans and policy ; or por- trayed the scenes between the sisters, or Amyott and his wife, or Mrs. Amyott and Everhard the lover of Emma, when she points out or tries to point out the imprudence of their assumed attach- ment. Yet this particular truth is unsatisfactory in fiction, whose characters ought to be general. It leaves the idea that marriage in the mind of women is a trading object, where every thing is sacrificed to substantial advantages, which are considered too much in the light of a trading speculation. The idea, indeed, as regards fashionable life, has been often enough reiterated, in prose, and verse, and conversation ; but we do not remember seeing it so distinctly presented as an admitted truth, and so vivified in action.

Something similar may be said of the family-scenes in connexion with Emma's marriage to Sir Courtney Emlyn. It is not that it is all so worldly, but so earthy ; and therefore we need not say that the interest in the persons is often of a metaphysical rather than of a human kind.

The moral of a marriage de convenance is well enough conceived. Emma Vassall suffers terribly in the struggle beforehand ; leads an unhappy married life ; and when her husband dies of apoplexy, brought on by a matrimonial quarrel, and she is left a rich widow, eventually loses the hand of her first love. The manner in which the story is conducted is less artistical. Too much is brought about by insufficient means : the action is determined by whispered secrets, which, though not impossible or even improbable, are not broad enough for fiction. The conclusion, too, is crude and un- skilful; not rendered necessary by any previous events and appear- ing as if the writer had huddled it up on a sudden determination. Indeed, the interest ends with the death of Sir Courtney Emlyn. All beyond is tediously elaborated ; and the denouement, suspended and delayed, originates at last in a double fit of pets, not likely be- tween persons so deeply attached as Emma and Everhard—if their deep and long-enduring attachment is likely at all. Mrs. GREY chose rightly not to reward rashness and petulant self-will, (for in these Emma Vassall's sacrifice of herself originated,) but it should have been contrived more skilfully.

In force of composition, The Belle of the Family is not perhaps equal to Harry Monk; but the manner is exceedingly well adapted to the matter of the novel—slight, but clear and bouyant. The subordinate circumstances that fill up the intervals between the principal events are in good keeping; as are also the attendant characters : not drawn with the felicity of Mrs. GORE'S fashionables, but the set portrayed by Mrs. GREY is of an inferior grade to that depicted by the authoress of The Hamilton,—if not coarser, not so easy or so refined.

The slightness we have mentioned pervades the whole work, and imparts to it something of a gossamer character. The same cha- racteristic attends upon any part of it ; if put into an alembic, it might be evaporated leaving little residuum behind. But there is still great truth of common life about most of the book. Take the fol- lowing little sketch after the young beauty has refused her first offer.

TROUBLES OF A POOR BEAUTY.

Mr. Gore, it seemed, had proposed to Emma Vassall when they were wander- ing under the trees in Richmond Park, and had met with an abrupt and very decided refusal. So much had Emma chosen to communicate to her sister: not a word did she deign to say as to the cause of her refusal, except the sentence- " I always told you I never would marry that man, and now I have proved my words.'

And the tumult subsided, and the ferment was tranquillized: but Fanny Amyott had received a shock which sent her to her room for the whole day ; and for many days afterwards, there were constant outbreaks of regret on her part, and anger on Emma's; like the grumblings of Vesuvius before a grand explosion. "Be candid with me !" cried Fanny one evening, when the sisters sat alone together. "Tell me, dear Emma, honestly, had you no reason, no private reason, for refusing Mr. Gore ? "

And Emma's answer was- " I told you my reason from the first, that nothing should make me marry that man. I never liked him, and I never deceived either him or you."

But though the tumult might subside, the affair did not end here. Charles Amyott was the next to tell Emma she had done an unwise action : then came Mrs. Nugent, holding up the conduct of her two sisters before her. "It is not as if you were rich, Emma—as if you could choose from a thou- sand : in time, when you recover your senses, you will wish for Mr. Gore back again." "Then you know very little of me, aunt Nugent, if you think I am made of such materials, and that I would sacrifice my happiness because a good match happened to offer itself."

"Then, my dear, you are very wrong. You have nothing in the world ; these seasons in London must be a great expense to your mother, and one which she is little able to afford; and you should recollect that your sister Helen must always be on her hands; thus you have acted most foolishly, most selfishly, according to my mind." And Emma retired abruptly to her own room, to hide the bitter tears that pride prisoned back as long as it possibly could. There too the phantom of fear followed her. Daunted at last—harassed, fatigued, and dispirited—tortured by some inward thoughts, which she would impart to no one—placed in thewilder- ness of London with no friend—upbraided by one thoroughly worldly sister, flying the society en tete-d-tite of the other, whom she tenderly loved, and whose heart she knew she had wounded—the spirit of the young and hitherto proud young girl seemed positively dying within her, and she sobbed long and bitterly—her first tears of real anguish in that world from the brightness of which she had been led to expect so much.

THE RESULTS OF MARRYING WELL.

It was the close of the season : the Emlyns were going abroad, and hod given their last grand entertainment, when, the morning after it had taken place, while Emma was busily employed in arranging heryewel-box, Mrs. Chet- wood and Mrs. Amyott were announced. Well did Lady Emlyn know their mission ; and placid was the smile on that beautiful young face, as, without pausing in her occupation, she listened to the alternate reproofs, injunctions, advice, and cautions, which issued in rapid turn from her sisters' lips. She continued composedly brightening up the costly gems before her, with her long black lashes resting on her cheek, which had once been wont to tell her every feeling, but which now preserved its bright transparence without one additional tint of colour, until, after nearly an hour had been spent in the vain errand, the sisters paused; and then Emma looked up, and spoke- " I thank you both, if this is meant in kindness ; I thank you once more for your interference in my fate and prospects: but I intend it to be the last time you do so, and I beg you will remember that so it is to be ! Fanny, I am not now addressing myself to you; it is to Elizabeth that I wish to call home her past behaviour on my account, and the long course of infamous treachery and unpardonable deceit of which she has made me the innocent victim ; and after that, Mrs. Chetwood, preach to me of my conduct as a wife, and talk to me of my love for ray husband!" So completely was Mrs. Chetwood aghast at this passionate and abrupt dis- closure, that even her presence of mind forsook her, and she had not a word to say. " Yes!" continued Emma, with a smile of the bitterest triumph, "you have no longer to deal with a dupe. But on that subject my lips are closed—fear no betrayal from me. I know all; and in your own heart I leave you to seek the rest of the sting conveyed in those words. But whenever you taunt and re- proach me with my conduct to my husband, I rise against you. Who made me, by a shameful falsehood, Sir Courtney Emlyn's wife?—yourself. Who wrung from my existence every hope of happiness, and then dares to say I make him miserable, both at home and in the eyes of the world? You, Eliza- beth !—and yet both of you, my sisters, made me marry this man !" "Oh, Emma, not I!" burst from Mrs. Amyott's lips, which were white with agitation.

"You aided, Fanny—you supported the falsehood, which drew from rne my agonized consent !"

"My dear sister," cried Mrs. Amyott, flying to the folding-doors that were open, and closing them, "if any of the servants or your husband should hear all this!"

Let them—let him ! That man for the last eighteen months of my life has tortured me by a success'on of tyrannies, which I have borne in uncomplaining silence : yet here you reproach me for my conduct as a wife! You forget what has been said. There is a point to which I mean to go, but not one step beyond. I accompany him abroad this summer—I cling to him, to my misery, as long as I can : but the moment he tries me beyond my patience, beyond my power, so help me Heaven, as I stand before you both, I leave him for ever!" It was a dreadful scene—it was a fearful lesson ; and both sisters were shocked—even petrified ! "And this, then," said Mrs. Chetwood to her sister Fanny, who was weeping bitterly, as they drove home together, "this is the awful consequence of 'a marriage de convenance "