NEW NOVELS. *

Two large blots and one lesser blot destroy the effect of Old Me- mories. The writer has quite a genius as a depicter of daily life in a quiet country family, with its genial affections, its occurrences, slight in themselves but important to the people whose happiness they influence, and its hopes its loves, its anxieties. The mat- ters are somewhat small indeed, and the descriptions minute ; but, even in these times of rapid reading, the leisurely critic is disposed to follow them lingeringly. A mistaken notion of tragic effect has spoiled the work by introducing a couple of seductions and the revival of an officer (returned dead at Waterloo) when his betrothed has married and got a baby. The seductions are both possible--what is not possible ?—but in the circumstances and position of life of the parties not at all likely ; and one of the consequences is opposed alike to usage, good taste, and social morality. The recovery of Langley from the killed, though also possible, is still more unlikely. After all, little is attained by these foolish or offensive things, beyond particular scenes. When Langley comes back from the supposed dead, to ask, with "an unspeakably awful sound" of voice, "Helen, where is my bride V' all he does is to cause confusion, and pro- duce a momentary doubt in the mind of Helen's husband. After he has "rushed out of the house into the night, the rain, and the darkness," he vanishes and appears no more. The chief purpose effected by the fall of Annora Marsden is a scene of reconciliation and a continued sketch of decline and death. The strange idea of a country gentleman, of high character and a widower with a child, marrying a seduced woman and adopting and presenting her daughter as his own, has some influence on the story ; but similar effects could have been brought about by other means. It would seem as if the elements of the book had been drawn from two separate sources. All that relates to the domestic life and attach- ments of the Brothertons, the head of whom is a gentleman farmer, appears a study from nature. The substance of what the writer would deem the more "tragic incidents" has been taken from old novels, shaped and dressed by tastes and notions derived from melodrama.

And, as we have intimated already, all the worser parts are un-

• Old Memories : a Novel By Julia Melville. In three volumes. Published by Newby. The Double Coronet : a Nord. By the Author of" Charles Auchester," 4.c. In two volumes. Published by Newby. Life's Chances : a Novel. In three volumes. Published by Newby. necessary to a story, though seemingly interwoven with this story. Young James Brotherton's death at Waterloo, and the contrast between public rejoicing and private affliction, is strictly limited to the family life. Charles Brotherton's love for Helen (so called) Marsden—Helen's hard-wrung consent to marry him, and the conjugal affection that grows up in her heart—could have taken place without Langley's theatrical recovery and return. The same may be said of most of the other scenes. The termi- nation of a betrothal, indeed, is influenced by Annora's fall ; be- cause Stephen Brotherton had been attached to her before the en- gagement to his old playmate Jessie, and his feelings had Ix en shaken by meeting Aimora in the Park. The cause of the follow- ing scene, however, might have had another origin. Stephen's whole manner has shown Jessie that his heart was not hers.

"Her lip trembled, and she raised her eyes half reproachfully, but very quietly, and looked him in the face ; but the pallor of his handsome features, his vacant sleeve, smote her woman's heart, and her glance drooped again sorrowfully. "'I am sorry you have been ill,' said her tremulous girlish voice. " Won't you sing me something, Jessie ? just one of your pretty Scotch songs, to remind me of bygone times. N% e are all dull enough—half asleep, I believe, and want something to awaken us.'

" Perhaps she did not try to resist the music of the low, pleading tones, but rose and went without a word to the piano ; and presently as we listened, her sweet childlike voice broke the stillness of the room. -But what made her choose one of the saddest and sweetest of Scottish melodies= The Land o' the Leal ' ?

"Steenie listened breathlessly, and Charles, thrusting aside his engrav- ings, looked at me with a vague anxiety. How mournful and thrilling was the pathos of the sad young voice ! " Pai wearing awa', Jean. I.ike snow when it is thaw, Jean,

I'm wearin' awa', to the land o' the teal.

There's nay sorrow there, Jean.

There's nay cauld nor care, Jean, The day is aye fair, in the land o' the teal.'

"The voice went tremblingly on to the last verse, then stopped, wavered, sunk into a sob.

" Jessie, Jessie !' faltered Steenie, starting from his chair, and going to her side.

"I don't know what he said, bending over her in that shadowy corner, but I saw that lie held her hand, and a shadow of a hope soon to be crushed fluttered at say heart. "Jessie, with her usual power of self-command, was calm and quiet again. She could not think what had made her so foolish—she was nervous, she supposed, and the song was such a sad one, and—and- " Ilere Charles lit a candle, and, muttering something about wanting a book from the library, left the room ; and some indefinable impulse prompted me to walk to the window, and, half shrouded by the heavy curtains, look out on the lights in the square and the dark November night. "Steenie seemed determined not to be forced into a love-scene ; he turned frOm the piano, and walked towards the fireplace. Perhaps the softening influence of the low, thrilling, sorrowful voice, had passed away. I almost hated him just then for his obstinacy.

"Jessie followed him ; not, I am convinced, from any new-born hope having arisen within her, but from an urgent, trembling desire to speak—to know her fate, and look it bravely in the fare—to end this long, weary, heart-sick waiting. He stood with his arm on the chinmey-pieue and his head leaning against it, looking silently into the fire. At last he spoke- ' We seem strange and cold to each other, Jessie ; I—I scarcely know why. Is the remembrance of past times so bitter to you ? '

"'Why talk of it? It is a mockery,' she said in her low sad voice. ' "'Is it ? I suppose it must be,'—with a deep self-reproach in his tone. "They had either forgotten or did not heed mypresenee. "'And yet it is dreary to think so. Why can we not be friends, as we always were ? I dinna ken, Jessie,'—with an attempt at a smile.

"'There is no reason why we cannot be friends; but there is much,'—her voice shook, but she went on bravely= that we should understand each other ; that we should know that there is naught between us ; that you may go your way and I mine, untroubled and at peace.'

"Bravely she spoke the cruel words, poor little fainting heart. "'Can you speak so coldly, so unkindly to me ? ' Steenie said passion- ately, his soul melted by her earnest, quiet, sorrowful gentleness. "'Not unkindly—I would not for the world—but plainly, honestly—is it not better so ? ' She spoke half appealingly. I know I am weak and foolish, but I would for once be brave now ; you must not hinder me. For- give me if I mistook you—if I have done you wrong in thought—if my heart has rebelled and cried out against you for what was no fault of yours. But it is not fit that I should wear the ring that you put upon my finger a year ago with so many tender words, which you would fain forget now. It must vex you to see it there. Take it back.' "She drew it from her little hand very quietly and calmly, and held it out to him.

"'Jessie, Jessie, listen-to me,' he cried almost despairingly. "'There is no need I should listen ; you have nothing to tell me,' she said, still speaking very quietly, but with an intense mournfulness, that touched me deeply, and made Steenie wince like one in pain, A cloud has come between us—it may not be your fault. I am not angry with you, Steenie. But the ring you must take buck; for I will not—I must not wear it—it is not fit. I think—I am afraid,' an accent of sorrowful indignation rising in her sad subdued voice, that you did deceive me once, Steeple. Per- haps you deceived yourself too : but I forgive you from my heart. We shall always be good friends.' "Perhaps she could not trust herself to. say more—perhaps voice and courage were fast deserting her ; for she turned, leaving the ring in his hand, and quietly and noiselessly left the room. Her step did not shrink or falter, and she held her head more erect than I had seen it for a long time ; and as she glided across to the door, there was a dignity, a womanly grace and pride, in the little, slight, childish figure, that I wondered at." —

The author of "Charles Auehester " is better and worse in the new fiction of The Double Coronet. Better in the circulating library sense ; for here there are more movement and incidents, the incidents are brought closer together, and they possess, if not greater reality, yet more of that received character which readers associate with romances. There is much leas of fustian in the style, less of digressive description and disquisition. There is, unfortunately, none of that nice and truthful painting, with touches of quiet sharpness, which characterized the provincial pictures and some of the musical doings in "Charles Auchester " ; very little of the didactic purpose, the views of society, and the

satire, half-moral, half-bitter, which partly redeemed exaggera- tions and peculiarities in "My First 'Season." There is indeed plenty, of exaggeration in the present fiction, but we trace no definite purpose, and very little of speculation upon the evils or mistakes of life embodied in abstractions or " representative " The story of The Double Coronet is that of an honest, high- spirited, noble-minded, but impulsive heiress, sacrificed in mar- riage to a weak-minded, vicious, and embarrassed lord. Aris- tocratical marriages are a constant topic of denunciation with a certain species of moralists ; possibly without more grounds than could be urged against any other class of society. However, as marriages originating in interest and hypocrisy are always evil, a novel exhibiting the mischiefs and miseries that naturally spring from an ill-assorted match among the "nobility," would make a good work if the writer possessed the requisite knowledge and art. This is not the case with the author of "Charles Au- chester." Everything is the result of artificial and exaggerated contrivance. Not only is Lady Burthred made to fall in love at ten with the precocious hypocrite and profligate Lord Thanet at sixteen, and to remember him for long after years ; parents, con- nexions, circumstances nay, ancestors for generations, are all drawn to bring about circumstances, particular match. The profligacy of the lord is extreme ; but that is in compliance with opinion. It is not so customary for a noble lady to leave her home, and, with- out communicating with any of her connexions few though they may be, to play at hide and seek, and finally turn up as nurse at a London hospital,—a leaf purloined out of Miss Nightingale's book. There are even wilder absurdities : a falsely-reported death, the burial of a waxen figure instead of a corpse and Lord Thanet's second marriage to an adventuress, while his wife was slaving at the hospital, though his lordship was unconscious of his bigamy. The writing, either as representing thoughts or as mere com- position, is in the author's best vein : but mere writing, now-a- days is not worth the space it fills. For this reason, the scenes are of small account ; there are passages of the nature of painting or of reflection having some merit. Here is one on the effect of travel upon manners and appearance ; though the portrait of Lord Thanet is too much a repetition of the wicked Marquis in "My First Season."

" Gutilyn had gained much by travel. Who has not met an oaf of his acquaintance transformed into a chivalrous automaton after a few years' re- sidence upon the Continent—we mean in its best circles ? Who has not been astounded at hearing the dumb speak, the stammering enriched with eloquence—at discovering the halt trained to social gest and grace, the very blind made to see through the anointing of the eyes with foreign expe- rience ? We have seen such things. But Gutilvn was of a noble though degenerated race ; its symmetry pervaded his tail meagre frame with ele- gance, and without the slightest art ; his imitative faculty was equal to an ape's. lie had left no trick unlearned by which self can be advanced or adorned : cold as ice, he reflected all impressions, absorbing none ; clever as the heartless often are he veiled his blank soul with mystifying softness. But he never fawned, he was too high-bred ; his manner escaped the edge of insinuation, although so soft; in fact, he already knew so perfectly one class of women, that his experience gave him temporary power over a woman whose class he knew not. The languor of his boyhood had vanished amidst vicious excitement : he was polished from head to foot by the arbi- tration, at once refined and rigid, of Parisian style. The outside of the se- pulchre was so beautifully carved and whitened, that it would have required the wisdom of the sage in years or the sorrowful in youth to pronounce the spirit unworthy of its shrine."

The main characteristic of iife's Chances is a sort of general power; power in contriving situations, in presenting scenes, and in style, though this last is the least in degree. What is wanted is more reality in circumstances and persons : we are placed in the world of conventional romance, not in the world which lives and acts around us.

There are several stories in the novel, but the prominent inte- rest centres in Rita-Clanwarrenne and Mortimer Talbot, after- wards Lord Delamain. From the be,ginning to close upon the end, Mortimer is in the position of Macheath, without the philoso- phy which pervades "How happy could I be with either." He has formed a connexion with a danseuse, which he wishes to put an end to after falling in love with Rita. In his days of mad passion be had given Mademoiselle Landez a promise of marriage ; that lady and a male confederate had also forged a marriage-cer- tificate, with4ftdse witnesses to back it. Rita, whom Mortimer Talbot had privately married, flies on its production and goes through a variety of hardships and adventures, including an ap- pearance on the stage. It will be seen that the main incident of Life's Chances is the same as in The Double Coronet ; but we found no charge of plagiarism on that. Contemporary resem- blances of this kind argue the commonplace nature of the idea, rather than imitation. If plagiarism there is it lies with The Double Coronet, for that is the latest publication.