We have said enough, we think, to make good our character of Buchanan. What could have procured him his fame it is difficult to say. Doubtless his religious principles may, in great measure, account for it; and the agreeable flattery which he dispensed, in halting verse, to the principal reformers, rendered them not unwilling to praise the medium for the sake of that which it conveyed. We ought not to forget to mention that both the poems of Buchanan, and those of his contemporary and friend, Beza, are defiled by some of the grossest indecencies which ever disgraced paper. We will end, however, with a passage which has been much and justly admired; and occurring in a poem in so commonplace a subject as May-day, is the more startling : 'Talis Beatis incubat Insulis Ætherios animos fovebit.' 339 ART. IV.-1. Mount Sorel; or, The Heiress of the De Veres. By the Author of The Two Old Men's Tales.' In 2 vols. London: Chapman and Hall, 186, Strand. 1845. 2. Father Darcy. By the Author of Mount Sorel,' and The "Two Old Men's Tales.' In 2 vols. London: Chapman and Hall, 186, Strand. 1846. 3. Emilia Wyndham. By the Author of The Two Old Men's Tales,' Mount Sorel, &c. In 3 vols. London: Henry Colburn, publisher, Great Marlborough Street. 1846. 4. Norman's Bridge; or, The Modern Midas. By the Author of Emilia Wyndham,' The Two Old Men's Tales,' &c. In 3 vols. London Richard Bentley, New Burlington Street. 1847. THE man whose idea of Paradise was to 'lie upon a sofa all day and read new novels,' might realize it in the present day to his heart's content. We have novels of every kind, and good ones too, as far as interest and excitement go, to gratify all tastes and suit all fancies. First and foremost there is the religious novel, polemical or otherwise, but generally polemical, with its clear views' and dogmatic statements, mixed up with ex-parte delineations of general tendencies and individual developments. These, however, are not always amusing; and while some are prosy and tiresome, others are irreverent, and almost all unfair. There is at best an evident determination to make out a case. And nothing is more easy. A lively imagination joined to a one-sided view of things-and they often go together will easily so arrange the incidents of a story, or describe the elements of a character, as to satisfy the party' for which the book is written, that such and such vices or virtues are the natural results of such and such religious opinions. Still the works in question are often striking, and sometimes edifying, for they are written now by persons who are at once clever and earnest, and, in spite of the repulsiveness of the subject, while the devout are attracted by occasional glimpses of better things, even those who only read for amusement are not insensible to the wit and fancy with which that subject is adorned. Then, people like to see the Jesuits shown up, or the Roman Catholics in general, or the dissenters, or High Church, or Low Church, as the case may be; and thus their minds are in a position to receive whatever impressions the writer may be pleased to give. The best religious fictions are those which deal least in exaggeration and abuse. Among which, in spite of various drawbacks, may be reckoned 'Margaret Percival.' It is full of deep feeling, and, though not without polemics, it is not debased by mere party spirit. So is 'Geraldine.' Even in the Romanist novel there is an apparent candour of statement, an absence of all bitterness, which are strikingly contrasted with certain Protestant novels that we could mention, while a depth of religious sentiment is not unfrequently laid open, which Christians of all denominations' might do well to look into. Platform exhibitions are indeed painted with cruel truth, but they who know them best, know that it is difficult to exaggerate their hollowness and falsehood. Next to the religious novel comes the novel of Political Economy, of which Miss Martineau, and her opponent the Rev. C. Tayler, have given us no contemptible specimens. We have neither time nor inclination, in a slight review of works of fiction, to canvass the truth or falsehood of the dogmas advocated on either side. We object to the Political Economy of the lady's books in particular, not because it is false, but because it is unreadable. Who can turn from the exquisite stories of this touching writer to the dry disquisitions upon free trade, or the circulating medium, with which they are mixed up? We shrewdly suspect that more readers besides ourselves pass over,' as children would say, 'the good advice,' which the mind is not then in a posture to receive. 6 Perhaps the same may be said of the political romances of Mr. Disraeli. His brilliant pictures of life and manners in 'Coningsby' and 'Tancred,' and the eloquent development of the deeper yearnings of the human heart which surprises and thrills one in his pages, certainly owe nothing of their charm to his political disquisitions. The fact is, that the novel, in its best and most effective form, is neither a treatise of theology, nor a treatise of science, nor a treatise of morals, at least in a didactic shape. Even Miss Edgeworth has marred the effect of her very amusing and interesting sketches by a specific object too prominently declared. Like Joanna Baillie, she has given us pictures of one individual passion brought out in strong relief, while the nicer gradations of character, as seen in real life, are lost in the salient points of the fictitious exhibition. The consequence often is, that much of the benefit which should be gained by the lesson is lost, merely from its exaggeration. In Vivian,' for example, the hero is placed under circumstances where decision would seem almost impossible, and thus, instead of blaming his vacillation, we are led to pity and excuse it. We do not forget that Miss Edgeworth, with talents that every one must admire, and a delineation of character with which few can fail to be charmed, is chargeable with graver faults than that which has been specified. Her books seem almost intended to show how little need there is of Christianity in order to reform the world; while her estimate of personal purity, in the male sex at least, is lamentably defective. In the tale, to which allusion has been made above, the adultery of the hero is considered scarcely a fault by his friend, an exemplary clergyman, and is thought no objection to his immediate acceptance by the severe and high-minded, not to say puritanical Lady Sarah. But to return; the novel which lays the strongest hold upon the mind and keeps it, is the novel of character, which describes life as it is under circumstances of vivid interest, or else describes common and every-day occurrences as they appear to minds acute in observation, and accurate in detail. Much has been said, from Aristotle downwards, about the conduct of the story as the principal object and principal attraction of fictitious narrative, but unless the conduct of the characters be included in that definition, it is difficult to assent to its truth. That there is a certain charm in a well-arranged series of events, cannot be denied, but it does not necessarily demand a deep knowledge of human life, or of the human heart, and may be possessed by minds of a very inferior order. All that is wanted is a lively imagination and an easy style. Yet such books as St. Clair of the Isles,' and 'The Children of the Abbey,' are still read, and may be read once at least, with sufficient amusement. When we speak of the romances of Mrs. Radcliffe and of Maturin, we speak of a much higher style of composition. Possessing as they do more than all the interest which belongs to a stirring narrative, striking in events, and thrilling with mystery, there are not wanting occasional delineations of individual character which seem to bring them under the head of the novel of life and manners. But the romances in question described a state of society which never existed, and though, by appealing with unrivalled power to the all-absorbing emotions of curiosity and terror, they exercised for a time a wonderful influence over the public mind, it soon passed away. We are old enough to remember the school which they created, the many imitations which issued in quick succession from the Minerva press, and with which the shelves of our circulating libraries then groaned. All are now forgotten. People felt that their business was with " man as he is,' not with man as he is not,' and left the pine-clad mountains and roaring torrents of the Apennines, the frowning turrets of Udolpho and the secrets of its mysterious chambers, for the brilliant sallies of the banquet or of the drawing-room, the companionship of the actual men and women with whom they were brought into contact in the wear and tear of ordinary life. The novel of character was carried at an early period to a high degree of excellence in England. In spite of his profound ignorance of the conventional manners which he professed to paint, the two great works of Richardson abound in delineations of individual character, as it exists independent of external position. He knew nothing of people of rank and fashion, but he knew every thing of the human heart. Even in the awful Clarissa,' with its severe unity of purpose, its few actors and scanty events, the depth of his observation and the fineness of his tact are sufficiently seen. But in Sir Charles Grandison,' the full powers of his acute and observing mind are developed in all their completeness. All that he could know he knew, and he knew well how to tell it. Accordingly, even in the present day, though few who have wept and trembled over the pages of 'Clarissa" will not shudder to open the book again, in spite of our more rapid and stirring literature numbers still recur to the interesting scenes of the later novel, and live over again the emotions of their earlier years. In speaking of the novel of character, it is impossible not to feel that in this style of composition Fielding and Smollett hold a distinguished place. Perhaps there are few writers who, in this respect, surpass them. But in these works, which as literary compositions deserve very high praise, there is a sad defect. Their tone of morals is lamentably low, and the scenes which they depict are consequently without dignity and elevation. There is an absence of all enthusiasm. There is no yearning after the good and true, no feeling of the seriousness of life, no high thoughts and earnest aspirations. No man ever rose from the pages of Fielding or Smollett with a purer mind or a tenderer heart. All is of the earth, earthy.' One cannot help wishing, in spite of the wit and fancy which breathe throughout, that Tom Jones' and 'Peregrine Pickle' had never been written, or that they were now forgotten. Miss Burney's novels, every one knows, are far from being open to this serious charge, though in one point they resemble the compositions of these earlier writers, inasmuch as they paint scenes and characters of low life with poignant humour and striking truth. Perhaps, with the single exception of the masterly delineation of Mrs. Delvile in 'Cecilia,' Miss Burney succeeds best in the ludicrous. There may be occasional exaggeration, as in the case of Briggs, the miser guardian, but in all her portraits of vulgarity and folly there is an exuberance of fun and frolic, and a sustained consistency of representation, which are beyond all praise. Perhaps, in the whole range of fiction, it would be difficult to point out a richer scene than the meeting of the three guardians in the novel mentioned above. Charlotte Smith, though not equal to Miss Burney as a painter of life and manners, was long and not undeservedly popular, and must not be overlooked. Sir Walter Scott himself has borne testimony to the well-conceived and well-sustained character of Mrs. Rayland, in The Old Manor House,' a novel which is still |