Jelpoint, an Unyarnished Story of the Time. By M. F.
Mahony. (Chapman and Hall.)—What has become of the "Irish humour" which used to be so much talked of, and occasionally met with in times that are not old, but have seemingly quite passed away ? Does it linger anywhere ? We never hear it, and we never read it now. The dullest speeches that ever were made are the speeches of Irishmen in and out of the House of Commons,and Albert Smith's civil engineer—whom the pre- sent generation know nothing about—might pit himself, without a chance of success, against the newest Irish writer of novels, for "the stupidest story that ever was told." Laboured and dreary as was the would-be wit and the so-called satire of Mr. Mahony's former novels, they might be accounted easy and sparkling in comparison with his most recent pro- duction. Terpoint is one of the hardest books to read within our tolerably-extensive experience, and there is not a single person in the story for whom one feels respect, pity, regard, or admiration. Every one is mean, scheming, coarse, and contemptible, or if in- tended to be interesting, thoroughly common-place. It is difficult to believe that such an atmosphere of spite can be true of any society, and it would be difficult to conceive domestic relations more unwholesome, more destitute of all sense of duty, and which reflect less credit of all parties concerned, than those supposed to be prevalent at Jerpoint, a tolerably important Irish town. There is not much more to be said for the.skill of the author's construction than there is for the amiability of
his views, for he finishes off two persons by an almost identical cata- strophe, in the same convenient nick of time ; Mr. Philpot Courtney's enemy drops dead off his horse, after an explosion of temper, and Mr. Philpot Courtney himself is killed by his horse running away, and dragging him. The tone of the book is low, its taste is always dubious, and one cannot imagine to what class of readers the author can have hoped it would recommend itself.