NEW NOVELS. * Dig vigour of animal spirits, and a kind

of clever dexterity rather than art, distinguish Mr. Thornbury's new romance of Brery Man his own Trumpeter ; but the work is not well adapted to stand the test of criticism. Not only the idea, but the form and manner of the book, are taken from Lever's novels. As a story of adventure, we are not to look for much connexion or continuity of action ; perhaps not any very great probability—for who can limit the adventures of an adventurer. Still the incidents of the story, and the conduct of its persons, should have a regard to moral possibility, and the reader has a right to expect from an author of pretension and repute, some regard to national manners. We do not by this mean formal blots or blunders.—mere ana- chronisms that a stroke of the pen could correct or remove, such as alluding to a book before it was written, or putting the familiar terms of London in 1858 into the months of the French "fast men" of 1688. The fault we speak of is pervading and staring; it consists in representing the French gallants of Louis the Fourteenth's time, and indeed, Frenchmen generally, as English cavaliers ; and not the cavaliers of real life, but the con- ventional characters of romance animated by Mr. Thornbury's reckless and rolliaking spirit. It is, however, this strong indi- viduality of the author, which gives its character and attraction to the book, showing itself, more or less, in every incident or scene, however unlikely, and in a critical sense unreal ; it is more especially visible m snatches of gay or martial song, such as this fragment.

Canon, born! born! canon, bom ! born!

Trumpters riding away, away, Three kisses to you, dear maiden in blue, And a gold ring,—but not just today, today.

"Drummers, tum turn, drummers, turn turn, Trumpeters riding away, away, Here's the bill and the score, tu entv bottles or more,' '0 we'll settle,—but not just today, today.' "

And here is something in another vein, melancholy rather than sentimental.

"It went with the last year's snow, Our love, with its tremble and glow ; Dead as the rose, When the warm days close, Its gone like the last year's snow. No, no ?

Yes ! gone with the last year's snow.

It went like the last-year's snow,

When the rain-winds bluster and blow, The letters and rings And the scented things All went like the last year's snow. No, no ? Yes ! went with the last year's snow."

The form of the work is autobiographical and its hero is "his own trumpeter." Cmsar de Mirabel is the son of an old soldier of wonderful merit and renown, a gentleman of Gascony. When etesar has reached his twentieth birthday his father starts him for Paris with a horse, a sword, fifty Louis, and a letter of intro- duction, which is to get him a cadetship in the King's body guard. He meets with some adventures on the road, but at the capital they thicken. The very day of his arrival he is selected by his Colonel, who has never seen him and whom he has never seen, to watch at midnight in the Palace of Versailles to track a sus- pected rival of the king. When the hero has succeeded the Mo- narch himself appears upon the scene to reward him, not over munificently, and to behave in not over kingly fashion ; but this may be satire.

"It was by this time one o'clock; at two o'clock I was leaning half in a doze against the lintel of my friend's room, thinking of my triumph and alarm, when a hand seized mine. " Do you call this good guard ? ' said a stern, grave voice, and the next instant a lit fuze showed the dark brown features of Colonel Beauregard.

* Every Man his own Trumpeter. By George W. Thomhurv, Author of "Songs of the Cavaliers and Roundheads," &c. In three volumes. -Published by Hurst and Blackett. colgigitEon Manor-House, or Lore and its Shadows. A Sketch by " Puss in the er. Published by Saunders and Otley. ne -NY after Tomorrow, or Fate Horgona ; containing the opinions of Mr. neant Mallet, M.P. for Bolbonmgh, on the future State of the British Nation ad of the Human Race Edited by William De Tyne, of the Inner Temple. Pa- halted by Routledge.

You have done well,' he said, young man ; I see you've earthed your fox.

Is No. 6 in there ? ' yes.,

"Re laughed as I told him all the difficulties and dangers of the pursuit, appearing just as unruffled and calm as if such adventures were every-day pursuits ; he never seemed to eat or sleep. " No. 6 is a cunning bird, and very shy of the trap ; you've done well ; but here comes one who will tell you what he thinks of your service.'

'" Who ? '

"I looked round, to my astonishment it was the Xing.

"He approached to us from the end of the gallery, wrapped in a rich dressing-gown, and carrying a small lanthorn. I knew him by his face on the Louis d'ors. I knew his Jupiter wig. At his request I told him my whole adventure, how I saw, and pryed, and tracked the lover through gal- lery, court, passage, and garden. As I mimicked the rage of the fellow when he leaped out of the shade of the hedge the King laughed graciously, and said, " Cadet, if No. 6 had thrust at you in carte, what would you have done ? '

" 'Returned in tierce,' said I, fiercely.

" diables, and I think you would. French blood is easily warmed, and not easily cooled. But show me again how No. 6 twisted his mous- tachois, tightened his cloak, and whipped out his sword. Draw your sword now, and stamp your foot—quicker. 'That's it—again. Excellent ; by my soul, excellent. Is it not, Beauregard ? '

"'Excellent,' said the old soldier, without relaxing a muscle. " Cadet, your name. But No. 6 will hear us,—come further off.' " Ciesar de Mirabel, your Majesty.'

"'A good Gascon name. Had you not a father who took some colours in Flanders ? '

" Yes, sire.' " 'Brave man. You have done very well. Beaureg,ard, let him receive a hundred crowns ; and do you hear, tell Giffard to pay them at once, and without deduction. I must see more of this youngster.' " Mirabel,' said the Colonel, as we passed out of the iron gateway under the shield of fleur-de-lis, you have got your colours. This is a pretty be- ginning. By Jove, cadet, you are lucky. The door you watched was that of Madame de Montespan.'

Other adventures follow; • as an adventure with sharpers who fleece him at cards, but whose arts he detects, and whom he forces to disgorge, and a duel where his antagonist wears "a secret scapular of fine mail painted flesh colour." He quarrels with the Minister of Police, challenges him to combat, and finds him- self arrested at the appointed hour and carried to the Bastille. After long descriptions of everything there the hero escapes ; and his efforts to procure a pardon take him among the great ; and finally he joins the army in the war against the camisards. There are love, villany, and rivalry, as well as adventure, but these may be read in the book. The story is rapid in its changes of scene and is readable but not enchaining. This arises from the unreality of the whole. There are vigour, vivacity, cleverness, but not life; Mr. Thorn- bury's genius is phantasmagoric not dramatic.

A species of freshness is the most striking trait of Leighton Manor House. There are unmistakeable marks of literary ability, but few signs of a practised pen, and none at all of lite- rary art. The actual experience of the writer or writers seems limited to the professional gentry class of country life, and the highest rank of gentlemen farmers ; when the persons rise much above or fall much below that grade they verge upon caricature. And among these two classes, characters and manners are rather cleverly delineated, but often without any very marked connexion with the progress of the tale, or any striking novel interest. When the writers quit the class of domestic life already indicated, and pass into more stirring scenes with more striking personages, the story interest may be stronger, but the reality ceases. There are a German political exile and his friend, a Byronic sort of English- man, dissipated, haughty, and aristocratic, with a secret attach- ment, which is crossed by villainous arts. There is a woman of humble rank, great beauty, and, strong passions, with a touch of insanity from trouble, who has been seduced, and who is used as a tool by the bad man of the story to carry out his revenge, and who is designed to produce the startling surprises which Scott was so fond of affecting. Connected with these two persons are a variety of other matters, including a dual and adventures abroad, but these things are scarcely of a lifelike kind.

The discrepancy between the elements of the book, amounting to two stories formally rather than really united together, may arise from the fact that two if not more hands have been en- gaged upon it. One appears to have taken charge of Ada Thorn- hill, her every-day love and marriage, with a sort of moral against flirtation attached, though that is rather every day too. The other and more powerful writer, takes in hand the concealed en- gagement of Mande Thornhill with Ernest Rivers, and all the ro- mance and misery springing' out of the concealment. Rachel Johnstone, the woman already mentioned, seems the creation of this writer, but she is used by both authors. If a third hand has been employed, it has probably done the religious passages that are freely scattered through the book.

The most attractive part for the circulating library reader is undoubtedly the wilder and romantic portion. There is this pe- culiarity too about the romance ; that though its elements are drawn from books, they are freshly reproduced and 'put together. The pictures of daily life exhibit the most observation and contain by far the most useful refiexions. Here are some hints on mar- ried life, which seem to argue experience. They are given to Ada Thornhill by her mother, when the young lady announces that her flirtations are ended by the acceptance of Alan Childer- stone.

"'Yet, my dear Ada,' she said, after they had been talking very gravely for some time, would have You well consider, before you give the laud answer. You are young, and your life has not been a very thoughtful one, and I am afraid I have not made you a first-rate housekeeper ; there are many little things you must learn before you can undertake the care of an establishment of your own; you must take a few lessons of Mrs. Woodford in culinary accomplishments. I have never attended to these things much, but I have sometimes regretted I did not know more of them; and you, dear, may not be so happily situated as I was,—perhaps Alan will be very parti- cular about his dinner.'

" I am sure I hope not; I hate men to care about eating.'

"'To care too much—I agree with you ; but still the philosophic temper of some very good men and husbands is often apt to be upset, by coming home after a hard day's work to an ill-dressed joint, a.piece of heavy bread, and a spot of gravy upon the table-cloth. The happiness of the marriage- state depends very much on trifles, and these are almost entirely under the control of the wife, who should be the presiding genius of order and cheer- fulness in the household. It is also a weighty and solemn thing. Do you feel fitted to undertake duties, which will fall on you ? and do you feel able to give him that constant sympathy he will expect from you in all intellec- tual interests ? '

"Dear mamma,' interrupted Ada, Alan has no intellectual interests.' " ' By intellectual I do not mean literary ; a mistake very often made. I mean, for one instance among many others that you must not only sit at the head of his own table, as a well-dressed conversational doll, but you must endeavour to entertain reasonable intelligent guests, and how can you manage it unless you keep yourself up to the intellectual level of the times. I mention this, because I have observed, that like most other &ls, you never take any interest in what is going forward in the world. Here, we have our family subjects of conversation and amusement, but when you are away from us it will be very different ; you will find you know really no- thing to talk about ; and if you are dull and silent, Alan will soon cease to invite those persons whose society would be an improvement, and you will necessarily sink into a lower circle of acquaintances, which will have a bad effect on him, for he is much influenced by society.'

"'I am afraid that he will find his poor little Ada .a very bad companion, on, mamma—I have dreadful pictures of " our sin fire-side," and of tete-a-tete dinners, and I shall not like to be always having visitors.' "'Nor will Alan, and that is why you must exert yourself that his home be a quiet but not a dull one ; if the former, it may be very happy ; if the latter, the club will prove a sad rival.'"

The philosophical novel "containing the opinions of Mr. Ser- geant Mallet on the future state of the British nation and the human race," and called The Day after Tomorrow opens with a promise it does not sustain. The framework to introduce the in- terlocutors and set the discussions a going is natural and plea- santly told, though the idea may have been suggested by Friends in Council. Sergeant Mallet, by his success in the law, restores the patrimonial honours of his family which have been a good deal encumbered by a succession of hospitable hunting, jovial squires, and is a genial well marked character. Captain Rowland Lovaine, who has gone through the Peninsular war, lost his arm, and his heart to a French lady on the banks of Garonne, where he settled till his wife's death, is a good contrast to the man of law, at least in the introduction; for he is not made of sufficient consequence in the discussions. This might be defended as a dramatic consistency ; but the neighbouring clergyman, whose function is discourse, speaks little more than the soldier, the ser- geant having nearly all the talk to himself; this however may also be a touch of "truth severe in fairy fiction dress'd."

The talk itself is on a variety of subjects but all having a bear- ing on society or polities. At luncheon by the spring when out grouse shooting, the Sergeant pours forth his notions on the pro- gress of population, the extension of towns, and the probable future which impends over society. Next day at the same place he treats his audience to his opinions on representative govern- ment, so far as actual or probable constituencies are concerned. The House of Commons is discussed and dissected in the library on a wet day, and the Peerage is settled in the dining room after dinner. In similar wise the Sergeant puts forward his views on the throne, the press' the church, the law, and a variety of other questions, including India and the Public Service.

At the outset of these discussions the attention is excited partly by the determination if not positiveness of the writer, and partly by his pen-power, which is considerable. This attention soon begins to flag, for several causes. The author is better stored with words than ideas, and with images than thoughts or prin- ciples. When he has stated a conclusion or opinion, he goes on to enforce or illustrate it by "damnable iteration" ; till the ori- ginal idea is overwhelmed by its accessories. His matter too, even at its best, is hardly equal to the self-sustained manner in which it is put forth. We are led to expect a revelation, and are put off with well-clothed commonplaces. We do not say but that shrewd and true opinions may be met with ; but a good deal of the book consists of truisms put into the form of Carlyle-isms. Here is an example of the manner in which the Sergeant enforces the not very new ideas—that as various forms of wealth increase with the progress of society, the power of the landowner declines, while generally speaking the extent of his property diminishes— that an aristocracy of wealth is less regarded by the people than the old aristocracy, and that "it takes three generations to make a gentleman."

In the old days, when land was the only visible possession and inherit- ance, the aristocratic power also lay in the land. When the military tenure spread its net over the whole land and the sword flashed over all, homage, the allegiance of man to man, belonged to the lords of the soil. That alle- giance implied protertion as well as power. But the age of chivalry is gone, and the knights are gone too. Land is no longer the sole wealth : it is not only covered with herds but with houses. The personal property of this nation is of enormous value. England is enriched with a vast national debt. There are lords of money, mills' mortgages, as well as of acres. How many of the golden house can reckon the sires that came in with the Con- queror? how many that lie on the lands of the Crusaders ? The rural aguires, whose ancestral ambition has never soared above the county sea- mow' the landed yeomen, whose sires might have bent the yew at Agin- court or Shrewsbury, and who serve on the petty juries, better represent in strict succession the England of olden time. The House of Peers is for the most part as new as the house of Hanover. It has still a large territorial power. Its original idea was entirely territorial, even with the bishops and dead abbots. The Earls of Arundel and Berkeley claimed their titles as part of their estates ; but there are those in it now who have no more land than John Sansterre, or Lackland,—no more than lies in thelflower-pos of their city balconies,—and no more money than Walter the Penniless. Yet there is but one recorded instance of degradation for poverty, which was done by act of Parliament. Aristocracy is no longer exclusively the power of the had. Every rich man is a lord. For the old oligarchies, it was not requisite to have land in order to secure worldly respect and large political influence. Tyre and Carthage had their merchant-princes. Atheruan aria. toeracy had its fleets for trade as well as for war. The Roman patricians were usurers as well as landowners. Florence, Genoa, and Venice, had a merchant-nobility as proud as that of the feudal princes. The French seigneurs were but the nominal landowners when the storm swept them off the land altogether. "Insolence is the issue of wealth in any form. In the hereditary state, this fatal feeling is less apparent ; for deference is also hereditary. There are noxious weeds that lose the sharpness of their prickle by cultivation. The new-made man comes in all the flush of conquest after a hard race. The scorn of success often sits awhile on the brow, and stings it like the gnat, till it is wiped off with the manly sweat. The meaner .kind of pride often comes out in the second generation, like the aspiring bristling thistles after the first crop of good kitchen herbs. There are some families whore. fortune cannot change, no more than cherubim can inspire the dunce. for. tuna non mutat Venus. But in man, as in the flowers, culture works won- drous things. The real gentility of life is often natural, as in an Alpine herdsman, or in a red forester of the Rocky Mountains. In others, it must be the result of many graftings and much tending. The delicate plant, courtesy, like the hotuieleek, loves the old roofs."