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heroes and heroines) delicate and praiseworthy devotion to his conjugal and paternal duties. The lesson inculcated is a good one, and the advantages and enjoyments to be derived from married life are the more pleasingly exemplified, as Mrs. Loudon has, with the exception of the case of Adrian and Catherine, dwelt longest upon that epoch in domestic life, the very onset of which is the point of conclusion to most novels and romances.

THE OLD WORLD AND THE NEW.* How seldom does it happen that the happiness and peace within correspond to the outward aspect of comfort or of luxury! A prettier little collection of agreeable objects than met the eye on approaching the dwelling of Captain Stormont could scarcely be seen anywhere; and yet Bexley cottage was not the paradise it looked. True that Captain Stormont was still in the prime of life, that his wife was beautiful and affectionate, that they were blessed with a promising young family, and that their circle and means were at once improved by the presence of a paragon of good sense and comeliness-Katherine Smith--the heroine of the story. But what of all these advantages if poverty dwelt at the door? The Stormonts had only 3501. a-year, and Katherine an annuity from 8000l. in the funds; and that, according to the fashionable novelist, is positive want. True, that Katherine had won the heart of a neighbouring squire with 5000l. a-year, but Mr. Warburton had been all his life in love, yet fencing the marriage state as a very dangerous consummation, and a moment's hesitation broke the bonds between this most susceptible of bachelors and the most sentimental of maidens.

An alternative presented itself to the broken hearts and broken fortunes of the tenants of Bexley Cottage; and that was to repair to the New World. Katherine came forth on this occasion in the light of a true heroine-all affectionate anticipation, all generosity and self-sacrifice. Arrived at New York, Mrs. Trollope is still further in her glory. The exacting, inquisitorial curiosity of the Americans is hit off in every possible shape. Mrs. Vandervelt Scraggs was the first person to impart the important lesson, that a lady of the Union “what wishes for information never gives up the point till she has got it ;” and Messrs. Jerry Johnston and Co. soon attested that the “gents” were not far behind the ladies in what the Americans hold to be a mere demonstration of moral courage. After undergoing the ordeal of being set down as runaway debtors, felons, and Irish patriots, the party luckily found respite in a settlement in the backwoods. The progress of a new settlement in such a place opens a field for description as interesting as it is instructive. It is a step-by-step progress, in which it is impossible not to feel the deepest interest—in every tree felled, in every paling put up, in every new lamb or sucking-pig born; indeed, in every smallest additional comfort that Providence sends to the emigrant. An unexpected and somewhat romantic colouring is imparted to this capital picture of Transatlantic life, by Mr. Warburton, who, having found out the loss which he had incurred by his own way. wardness, ventures once more to woo and win his discarded one in the disguise of a red Indian. There are other subaltern personages, who, although playing less prominent parts, lend to this story of the backwoods the variety and interest of well-marked, and equally well-portrayed, differences of character. It would, indeed, be difficult for Mrs. Trollope to write a novel that should not be replete with human interest; and the "Old World and the New” will occupy a worthy place amongst its numerous predecessors.

ERNESTO DI RIPALTA.+ BEYOND question, amidst all the wonderful revolutions and convulsions of these extraordinary times, there have been none so pregnant with changes for the future as the struggles made in the cause of freedom by classic Italy and heroic Hungary. That these nations should have perilled, if not have sacrificed for the time being, all chances of success, by throwing themselves and their cause into the hands of unprincipled foreigners—demagogues, conspirators, and terrorists of the worst description-has only shown that they were more ripe for turbulence and anarchy

* The Old World and the New. A Novel By Mrs. Trollope. 3 vols. Henry Colburn.

† Ernesto di Ripalta: a Tale of the Italian Revolution. By the Author of “ Notes of a Two Years' Residence in Italy.” 3 vols. Smith, Elder, and Co.

Oct.---VOL. LXXXVII. NO. CCCXLVI.

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than for self-government–better prepared to throw off a hated yoke than supplant the same by an orderly and efficient constitution. It is extraordinary, we might almost say irritating, to find that events of so much human importance, and of such magnitude of interest, should require, in order to obtain the attention of certain classes of the community, to be portrayed in the language of the poet, or adorned with the colouring of the romancer. So needless has such a resource been to us, rising but lately from the perusal of Mariotti's great work, “ The Past and Present State of Italy,” that we can scarcely understand the object proposed to himself by the author of " Ernesto di Ripalta.” Of enthusiasm there is evidently no lack, and zeal and energy fire his every word. If such zeal and enthusiasm, directed in such an apparently inconsistent channel, can really win over converts to the cause of Italy, emancipated from an hierarchical thraldom, or can soothe the misfortunes so wantonly drawn upon themselves by the ignorance of the greater number, we can only say we wish the work success.

THE MODERN HOUSEWIFE ; OR, MENAGERE.* We have thought it best to let M. Soyer's title-page speak to the contents of his new culinary volume. That the success of the ponderous “Gastronomic Regenerator" should have suggested the idea of a more portable and practical little volume-one adapted for all classes of persons-will not be a matter of surprise. It is, indeed, one of those books which only require to be announced to ensure popularity. M. Soyer does nothing like any body else : the most simple dishes will be found, by adopting his more refined system, to assume a new aspect, and to have received a new flavour. Such a system is at least worth study-supposing that it is not universally accepted in preference to old standing customs. We believe that cooks are not the most easy persons to convince, as they are also among the last to throw off old standing prejudices. Perhaps, however, M. Soyer's amusing style may induce many to read, and the promise of pleasant results induce as many to put his precepts into practice.

STRATAGEMS. The moral of this story for children-the beauty and holiness of truth, and the heinous sin of lying—is made attractive from first to last. The “Stratagems” to which falsehoods invariably lead are at once amusingly and instructively portrayed. Helen (a young girl reared in the lap of luxury) receives from an aunt, who has just returned from India, a drawer full of presents, among which she finds a new sovereign, which she is tempted to appropriate. This is the first “Stratagem;" the next is to conceal it from her family. The coin, which had been treasured as a keepsake, is missed, and a servant-girl is suspected of the theft, and discharged. Meanwhile Helen repents, confesses her sin, and justice is done to the poor girl. There is another stratagem in the story of an Indian attendant, who, by feigning ignorance of English, gets possession of certain deeds and letters, and well nigh ruins her mistress: her story is a string of vice, and she is eventually drowned by accident. The incidents, it will be seen, are, for young readers, of a stirring description, and the interest is kept up, and the purport well sustained, without sacrifice of probability or dogmatic teaching.

TINTS FROM AN AMATEUR'S PALETTE. MR. JACKSON has dedicated his little work to Charles Dickens, in acknowledge ment, he says, “ of the unalloyed delights drawn from that wellspring of truthful fancy.” We truly wish we could have hailed Mr. Jackson as one who had drunk from the same Castalian fount, or whose “tints" were borrowed from the same truthful and natural source of inspiration. There is no want of reflective faculty or of taste and appreciation on the part of the author, but there is, alas ! dulness insufferable.

The Modern Housewife ; or, Ménagère. Comprising nearly One Thousand Receipts for the Economic and Judicious Preparation of every Meal of the Day, with those of the Nursery and Sick Room, and Minute Directions for Family Management in all its Branches. Illustrated with Engravings. By Alexis Soyer. Simpkin, Marshall, and Co.

† Stratagems: a Story for Young People. By Mrs. Newton Crosland (late Camilla Toulmin). With Four Illustrations. Hall, Virtue, and Co.

| Tints from an Amateur's Palette; or, A few stray Hues of Thought. By Alfred Jackson. Effingham Wilson.

NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE.

POSTHUMOUS MEMOIR OF MYSEL F.

BY HORACE SMITH, ESQ.

CHAPTER IX. QUICKLY, too quickly, however, did my thoughts, recurring to my miserable plight, begin to speculate upon the nature of the horrors in which it must inevitably terminate. Should I, recovering my muscular powers

and
my voice, make desperate and frantic efforts to force up

the lid of the coffin ; and, failing in that struggle, madly scream and shout for assistance ? Faint and forlorn must be such a hope, for the church was an isolated building, and there were neither houses nor footpaths in its immediate vicinity. Even if I succeeded in escaping from the coffin, I should still be a prisoner in the vault, to stumble over the mouldering remains of my forefathers, finally to perish slowly and wretchedly of madness and starvation. One alternative remained. My apparent death might gradually be changed into a real one ; life might faint away from me, and I might slide into another world without suffering, and almost without consciousness—an euthanasia for which I put up fresh

prayers to the Fountain of Mercy.

A new turn was given to my reflections by the striking of the church clock, whose echoes reverberated through the empty edifice with a peculiar solemnity; and I occupied myself in mentally reckoning the minutes till the sound was repeated, to which I listened with a mingled feeling of dismay and consolation. True, it warned me that I was an hour nearer to death, but it proved also that I was not yet completely cut off from the upper

it seemed to restore me to the living scenes I had quitted, for my mind floating upwards on every fresh vibration, dwelt among all the objects and occupations appropriate to that peculiar time. Who can wonder that I should find a melancholy pleasure in the delusion of this waking dream?

It was dispelled by a very different sound,—by the chirping and twittering of birds, some of them singing from the adjacent yew-tree, and others hopping about, as I conjectured, close to the steps of my vault. Sadness there was in their merriment, for it made my own miserable plight more bitter, and I could not help mentally ejaculating,

“Oh, blessed birds ! ye have the bright sun and the balmy air for your recreation ; ye have wings to convey ye over the whole beautiful expanse of nature; ye have voices to give expression to your delight, and to convert happiness into music; while I—" The contrast was too horrible, and I wrenched my thoughts away from its contemplation.

Evening had arrived, and all was silence, when suddenly the churchorgan poured forth its rich, swelling, and sonorous volume of sound, followed by the melodious voices of children singing a hymn, and blending into a harmony ineffably sweet and solemn. For a moment I was

Nov.-VOL. LXXXVII. NO. CCCXLVII.

world ; nay,

U

How long my

bewildered, and I should have believed myself under the influence of another dream, had I not recollected that it was Friday evening, when the clerk and organist invariably summoned the charity children to the church, that they might rehearse the singing for the coming Sabbath. Oh! how I yearned to join in their devotions ! Oh! with what complacency of soul did I listen to them! Oh! how my heart sank within me when the performance was over, and the church-doors were again locked, and the last lingering footstep was heard to quit the burialground !

Still, however, did those sacred symphonies vibrate in my ear, enchanting and exciting my fancy, until it conjured up an ideal presentment of surpassing grandeur and glory. Methought I saw the last sun that earth was destined to behold slowly sinking down into the shuddering sea; and a ghastly frown spread itself over the face of nature ; and a sable curtain was lowered upon the world; and all was night, and deep darkness, and death :- when lo! in an opposite direction, the veil of heaven was lifted up; the aurora of a new and transcendently beautiful creation was revealed, its sun shining with a radiant and yet undazzling splendour ; and the air was scented with aromatic odours ; and fairhaired angels, hovering on roseate wings, struck their golden harps, attuning their dulcet and melodious voices to a choral anthem, as they majestically floated around a central throne, upon whose ineffable glories no human eye could bear to gaze.

faculties were absorbed in the contemplation of this

vision I know

not, but some hours must thus have slipped away, for when it was dispelled by the noise of a storm rushing across the churchyard, the clock was striking twelve. Heavily did its iron clang vibrate through the building, and send its sullen echoes far and near upon the pinions of the sweeping tempest.

Midnight! Superstitious as it may be, an undefined fear and awe ever hang about it like a shroud ; but how immeasurably more impressive must have been the influence of the hour, with all its ghostly and ghastly associations, to me, inhumed and yet alive ! surrounded by the mouldering remains of countless generations, and in actual contact with the corpses or the skeletons of my own forefathers! As'if for the purpose mulating horrors upon horrors, the war of the elements became momentarily more loud and furious. The wind, which had previously moaned and groaned, now burst into a fierce howl; the yew-tree creaked and rustled as its boughs were lashed by the gust; the rain was driven in rattling plashes against the door of the vault, the steps that led down to it not having yet been covered over; and a splitting peal of thunder that might almost have awakened the dead, seemed to shake the solid earth beneath me. In this terrific outburst the storm had spent its fury, for a lull succeeded, during which a faint sound fell upon mine ear that almost maddened me with excitement.

“ Gracious heaven !" I exclaimed, in thought, “ do my senses deceive me? that be the tramp of feet? It is—it is! They come nearernearer--nearer, they descend the steps--hist! hark!—the key rattles in the lock-it turns—the door is opened-the door is opened—the door is opened !!

Miraculous is the lightning speed with which, in a crisis like this, thoughts rush through the mind. In less than a second mine had solved the whole mystery, and I could account for my deliverance from the grave even before it had been accomplished. Dr. Linnel had returned

of accu•

can

years

а

sooner than was expected ; his previous suspicions had been confirmed by the indecent haste of my burial ; he had instantly despatched people to disinter me; his skill would quickly discover that I was only in a trance ; he would restore me to life; I should be enabled to reward

my

dutiful and affectionate daughter, to punish my unnatural son, to enjoy, perhaps, several of an existence made happy by the consciousness that it was free from reproach in the sight of Heaven, and not unbeneficial to my fellow-creatures. Never, no, never, were I to live for hundred

years, shall I forget the flash of ecstacy that electrified my

bosom at this moment! Hope, methought, leaped upon my throbbing heart, and clapped her hands, and shouted aloud in a transport of joy—“Saved ! saved ! saved!”

CHAPTER X. The parties who entered the vault, as I quickly discovered by their voices, were the sexton, and Hodges, the foreman, who had superintended all the arrangements

of
my

coffin. “What a precious wild night, Master Griffith !" said the latter, “ but not more wild and out of the way than the whole of this here day's work. Only to think of Mr. George, when his father's hardly cold, as a man may say, instead of riding home decent, after the funeral, giving a regular blow-out to all our fellows at the • Jolly Cricketers,' making some on 'em as drunk as fiddlers, and then setting them to play at leapfrog ; and he and Sir Freeman Dashwood laughing fit to split when they tumbled over one another.”

“ Well, I call that downright scandalous, and disgraceful to all parties, 'specially as he never axed me,” replied the sexton.

The burning indignation with which I listened to this wicked and wanton insult upon my memory, this outrage upon all decency, was in some degree allayed by the recollection that my quick deliverance and anticipated revival would enable me to show my sense of such unnatural conduct.

“ We sha'n't have much trouble with the coffin,” resumed Hodges ; 6 the lid baint half fastened, and I ha'n't screwed it down close, you see, not by a good eighth of an inch.”

This explained the distinctness with which I had heard everything that passed around me, while the air admitted through the crevice may have assisted to preserve my life, for I presume some sort of imperceptible respiration must have been going on.

“ You see, Griffith,” continued the foreman, “ if you have but the least opening in the world, it do help to keep the stiff-un so uncommon fresh. Ah! we don't often get such a prize as this; only three or four days dead; sweet as a vilet; almost as good as if he were alive. I can tell Tall Holloway one thing-he shall pay me double for this here corpse afore ever he do stick a knife in him."

From the pinnacle of ineffable transport and ecstacy upon which had perched, in the conviction of my reprieval and restoration to life, these withering words hurled me instantly down,—down to an abyss of unutterable loathing and horror and despair, that made all my previous sufferings appear a heaven. Tall Holloway was the familiar name of a professor in the neighbouring town who gave lectures on anatomy, always illustrated by the dissection of human subjects; and it was manifest that the intruders

my soul

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