which successive attempts may modify and remove. But the spirit is there the earnest palpable recognition of the things treated of as realities a contempt of words for words' sake- -a determination to produce corresponding ideas in the reader's mind, and a comprehension of the events narrated in all their due relations. Such composition is neither easy writing nor easy reading; that is, it is not lazy reading; it recalls with all the force of reality to the senses, and with all its tremendous consequences to the reflection, the deeds and events it relates. We are transplanted into the very presence of the time, and put face to face with the circumstances. We feel our own relation to them, and are obliged to regard them with a personal interest that arouses the faculties of our nature to their most forcible existence. They beget suggestions and reflections that have a healthful and permanent effect on the understanding.

In no work of Mr. Carlyle's have we so much felt the force of his genius as in this of " Cromwell." His varied knowledge, his wonderful appreciation of the value of facts, his pungent style, his pervading subtlety of intellect, his quick sensibility to all that is truly great and valuable, were, to our mind, never more strongly and delightfully portrayed. He knows, and we all know, that all that is recorded of such a spirit as Cromwell must be fragmentary, had we even folio volumes of facts to repiece his life out of. With the shreds and patches that remain, what sort of image can we expect? Mr. Carlyle does not seek with the dry-as-dust" school to palm off a Tussaud's composition upon us. He tells us he has only a Torso: but he shows us how we may make up a glimpse of the wanting parts. And nobly does he do this bringing to bear in the operation the minutest fragments from the remotest places. The only things that remain to us of the colossus, who knit up the ravelled skein of the great contention between rights and privileges, are what was once a portion of himself; what he wrote and what he said, and, as far as we can get at it, what he did. Of all these only fragments remain: and hitherto have been strangely misused, and misunderstood, and misrepresented. Mr. Carlyle here collects these membra disjecta, and, by arrangement and lights gathered from a profound knowledge of men, and "a learned spirit of human dealing," breathes into them such coherence, as at least to enable the reader, or rather the student, to obtain some idea of the individual and the circumstances. Neither analysis nor quotation can give any idea of the value of the work, and therefore with this imperfect introduction to it, we must earnestly commend it to the reader's respectful and earnest attention.

THE FEMALE'S FRIEND. London: Houlston and Stoneman.

THIS is the first number of a periodical, the object of which is the improving and enforcing the laws for the protection of women; and

bears every evidence of proceeding from a body deeply impressed with the social sacredness of the cause. It contains the draught of a petition to be presented to the Queen, by a deputation of ladies, on the subject. We have felt it our duty to call the attention of our fair readers to a purpose apparently so well advocated-a purpose, involving in it the moral dignity and happiness of so vast a multitude of their sex.

CONFESSIONS OF AN HOMEOPATHIST. Fcp. 8vo. Dublin: S. B. Oldham. We have always objected to the principle of constructing a story to produce a particular opinion, or attack any scientific system, and certainly the mode of execution in the present instance is not such as to induce us to recant our objection. The best part of the book has nothing to do with Homœopathy, but we cannot say that even this best part is such as to lead us to hope the author will persist in his literary attempts.

SKETCHES FROM THE FLEMISH LIFE: IN THREE TALES. Translated from the Flemish of HENDRIK CONSCIENCE, and illustrated by one hundred and thirty Engravings on wood, from designs by Flemish Artists. Sq. fcp. London : Longman & Co.

HENDRIK CONSCIENCE deserves the popularity he unquestionably enjoys in his own country; he writes graphically, heartily, and simply: sketching the scenes and manners amongst which he lives, so as to convey a lively impression, even to us foreigners. He may be a trifle too national, but that is a fault on the right side, more especially as it is also on the weak side. His detestation of French manners is unbounded, and doubtless the adventurers who seek refuge on the French frontier must be a lamentable curse to the honest Flemings, who seem to have retained a great deal of their primitive simplicity and goodheartedness. It might, however, be wiser to seek an amalgamation with their great neighbours in matters of innocent tastes, as it seems scarcely possible that the Flemings can continue for ever to preserve their individuality as a nation, or even as a race. If however the present "Sketches" are just portraits (and they have every appearance of being so), it is highly desirable that they should preserve their independence.

The illustrations are numerous and very characteristic, and the book altogether is prettily got up, and is exceedingly well translated and interesting. We are obliged to the translator for an introduction to so agreeable an author, and should be glad to know more of him.

THE QUEEN OF DENMARK, an Historical Novel. Edited by Mrs. GORE. 3 vols. post 8vo. London: H. Colburn.

THE CITIZEN OF PRAGUE. Translated by MARY HOWITT. 3 vols. post 8vo. London: H. Colburn.

In both

We have placed these novels together, because they possess many points in common. They both profess to be historical; they treat of the same period, though in different countries, and they both have in their original form apparently a political object. They are also to a very considerable extent alike in sentiment and construction. we find innumerable princes and counts, chamberlains and statesmen, with all the artificial" dollery" of a court. There seems to be also in each author the same foreign kind of sentimental worship of rank, crossed on a vehement desire to be liberal.

"The Queen of Denmark" is to us the most agreeable of the two. It is less crowded with personages, and less perplexed with intrigues. The characters are drawn more distinctly, and the descriptions of things and events are less encumbered with details. The domestic interest prevails over the historic, and the real, that is the interesting heroine is Lisette, a goldsmith's daughter, whose modest pure passion for a heartless male coquette is well portrayed. The author, or authoress, for we alternate our notion as to which sex the writer belongs, has well delineated the lighter emotions of the heart, and understands all the variations of "the tender passion," especially as relates to the female patient of this disorder. The vivacity of the writer is akin to that of Mrs. Gore, and as the time is that of the most grotesque and artificial period, perhaps ever recorded, namely, the middle of the eighteenth century, there is so far a justification for it. The same flippant impertinence for wit, and heartless want of high principle for philosophy, is put into the mouths of the characters, though it must be confessed, as we have said, that the fashion of this wretched period sanctions its introduction. The third volume is more particularly occupied with the state affairs, the fall of Struensee, and the condemnation of his unhappy, if not guilty mistress, Queen Caroline Matilda of Denmark. The vices and crimes of courts seem strangely enough to have become the universal subject of those whose tastes and feelings lead them into admiration of conventional superiority. Democracy cannot have better advocates than these admiring delineators of the contemptible class of individuals, who fatten on the corruption of monarchical government. The blindness of fortune, and the injustice of position, could not be more forcibly exposed by a Tom Paine.

The description of places and manners evidently prove it to be the work of a resident of many years, if not a native, and so far it is instructive, as well as amusing; and altogether it can be justly recommended as worthy, on many accounts, of perusal.

"The Citizen of Prague" is of a much more ambitious class, and

aims at combining many excellencies. It seeks to develop the minutest intricacies of passion and character, to deal profoundly with political philosophy, to describe scenery and courts picturesquely and graphically, and to garnish all with the graces of style and art. Making every allowance for the reduction of a translation, it cannot be said to fulfil its aims. The characters are elaborately drawn, but want the force and vigour of reality; they are too much exalted by description, which is too little justified by their conduct and language. A very witty, brilliant countess, is really, if judged by her proceedings, an impertinent spoiled girl; and the chief character, Thomas Thyrnau, the citizen of Prague, is a more common-place personage than the eulogies everywhere bestowed upon him would lead one to expect. The Empress Maria Theresa is used as a piece of mere melodramatic machinery, who involves and emancipates the characters in a way most convenient to the author's idea of effect. Artistically considered, the novel is far too crowded with characters, descriptions, and intrigues. Of course low-bred children do not turn out to be low-born: and though the work is permeated with democratic sentiments, yet the usual homage of the novelist is paid to aristocracy, by finding out at last that they are not plebeian. It is not, however, without considerable merits; and it is occasionally interesting from the earnest delineations of the fortunes of its personages, and sometimes eloquent in its dissertations. The description of Karlstein, an ancient Austrian fortress, formerly invested with extraordinary privileges in order to maintain the pure military fervour of the middle ages, is extremely well given, and is an excellent satire on the melodramatic fervour manifested by the modern young nobility who wish to realize the idea of chivalry. The captain of this troop of fanatics and eccentrics, the Count Podiebrad, is a fair embodiment of the notions of Young England, and in this character the author has shown some capacity for humour. The bombardment of Prague is also powerfully and graphically described, without exaggeration, yet with a full delineation of the terrible horrors of war. Το many also, the book will be acceptable from its high-wrought sentiment, but to us who think this factitious feeling dangerous and disagreeable, it is a serious blemish.

The great defect of such novels is the mode in which they confound right and wrong, by certain melodramatic graces they give to false positions and personages. They seek to create a compromise (as we had lately also to observe in a lady's writings) between two sternly hostile feelings, both of which cannot be right. They seek weakly, though perhaps amiably, to create a coalition between two contending principles. They say to Aristocracy, Democracy is a coarse, vulgar fellow, but he means well; to Democracy they say, Aristocracy is a severe old fellow, but then how graceful he is and how generous he can be. They alternate between the two, now revelling in the delineation of the finest feelings, and then impressing the

reader with the descriptions of gorgeous splendours. In one sentence, it is all grace and magnanimity of mind; the next, we are to be awed by costly dresses and sumptuous furniture. From the spirit they turn to the senses, paying to both an equal homage. This confusion of the essential and the non-essential; this pretended homage to rank and to justice cannot be correct, and the creation of a sentimental enthusiasm, blending both into one admiring feeling, is anything but beneficial to the cause of sense and right. The young will read these books, and will be influenced by them for a time: many, too, will go no further for the formation of opinions and principles, and this class will, to a certain extent, have their enthusiasm turned in a false direction. To those whose reflective powers are paramount, such works, as we have said before, can only expose the false state of things, where compensation for wrongs can only be gained by some fortuitous intervention of sentiment, and by the combination of romantic incidents that seldom occur. Maria Theresa and Caroline Matilda may have been always ready to rush in and, "throwing by a curtain hitherto unobserved," renounce or revoke an unjust judgment-they may have been able to legislate for various races and for all time,-they may have always the sublimest justice and philanthropy uppermost in their hearts; but still we must think it unreasonable to argue, or by indirect modes, assert that, therefore, it is desirable so to arrange society that a very small class of human creatures should have the control of millions. But, above all, we protest against this momentous and imminently approaching question being forestalled or compromised by writers who deal in factitious sentiments and unreasoning enthusiasm.

THE EVENTFUL EPOCH; OR, THE FORTUNES OF ARCHER CLIVE. BY NICHOLAS MICHELL, author of "The Traduced." In three vols. post 8vo. London: Simpkin, Marshall & Co.

THE time of this novel is 1791, and the plot, language, and manners seem to be of the same period. Indeed, during its perusal we have turned to its title-page to be quite assured that we were not reading one of the original Minerva Press productions, all of which we thought had been put to flight by the new style introduced by the publication of Waverley. The vehement abuse of the French Revolution seems to be a re-utterance of the old volunteer enthusiasm when Frenchmen were represented as frogs, whom it was meritorious to spit and broil. The plot, such as it is, may be found in numerous plays and romances of the last century, where a virtuous and ideal hero rescues, to his own detriment, a chaste and persecuted wife from the machinations of an unscrupulous seducer. Besides this main business of the fiction, we have a