NEW NOVELS.*

LIKE other fictions of the day Life's Foreshadowings is as much designed to embody a theory or illustrate a principle as to tell a story. In the novel before us, however, the theory if ques- tionable, s broad and intelligibly stated : in adddition to a vivid conception, the author has considerable knowledge of hu- man nature and of Irish human nature ; what is more to the purpose for novel writing he possesses the gift of conceiving his incidents and characters with truth, and presenting them with effect. He has indeed a tendency to digression and over-mi- nuteness in description. But this last is not felt as the events deepen in interest ; for strictly the interest rather depends upon the succession of scenes than upon what is properly a story. Though the author might not admit it, itated so plainly, his theory really is, that the fortunes and character of every man, at least of every man of mark, depend upon innate qualities and the accidental direction they receive. He has further an idea, which is true enough if we could see the remedy clearly, that many men of ability have their powers wasted, because they are directed to an ungenial pursuit. The manner in which these opinions are embodied, will not perhaps be the most agreeable to lovers of the social proprieties and equalities ; neither is it quite conducive to the proof of the writer's position. The hero of the story is an Irish peasant boy brought up by his uncle, a priest. He is a strong-willed, reckless, not over-principled lad, with a love for poaching and kindred pursuits : and an equally natural ardour for mathematics and astronomy. The evil bias is very strong in him : more than once it seems to turn the balance ; but his good genius, aided by circumstances and love carry him through triumphantly. The red-haired, harsh-favoured, ill- behaved Christy Roach grows up into a well-looking man, ac- quires great fame as an astronomer and university professor, and finally. marries a "role" lady. Conventional readers, who look at the mingled yarn of Christy 's career, will hardly relish this ter- • Ute's Foreshadowing,. A Novel. In three volumes. Published by Hurst and

Blackett.

A Tale for the Pharisees. By the Author of "Dives and Lazarus." Published

by Judd and Glass.

mination. The moral which it points is none of the most edify- ing ; for young Roach, like young Shakspere, owes his start to i

poaching. He s captured with a night gang ; but through cir- cumstances and his uncle's character a subscription is raised to send him to an Irish " college."

As just remarked, the main attraction is in the scenes, whether designed to develop character, feeling, and passion, or to exhibi incidents of stirring power as well. These scenes vary, if not in truth, at least in force, those of Irish country life being by far the best. The miseries of a ruined landlord ; the calm smooth tyranny of his creditor—in this ease his own son ; the distresses and want of principle of the poor peasantry, and the agony and wild revenge they take on their oppressors ; as well as the com- mon gentry and agents of Ould Ireland have been often painted. It is not often, however, that they have been done with more truth or spirit than in Life's Foreshadowings ; and there is a philosophical sense of justice for both sides, not always found in Irish novels. Here is a scene where Christy Roach is able to save the life of his earliest patron's daughter, her father's agent hav- ing been waylaid. "He scarcely had finished the melancholy song when, as they were ap- proaching a ruined gate-pier, the spaniel, hitherto in advance, stopped, trembled violently, and leaped, howling, over the fence.

"Falkener, with an instinct of danger, struck the mare and crouched slightly forward ; but as the animal sprung under the blow, four men, their faces blackened and shirts over their clothes, rushed from the ruined pier. One of them seized the horse, as it shyed and plunged in terror, while the others, armed with guns and a scythe-blade attached to a rude handle, sur- rounded the agent. "'Lift clown the child—don't hurt her!' cried one.

"'Make yer pace, Sandy Falkener, your time is come ! ' cried another. Hanim an dhoul ! don't be talkin' • fire on him, boys.' "'Don't touch the child !' shouted Falkener' with a curse, and in , short- eng his whip-handle, he struck the foremost to the ground, then he

chucked the reins eagerly and strove to shake the mare free. But the man behind him, laying the muzzle of his gun almost against his side, fired. "The agent sprung up with a wild cry. For a moment he seemed in act to leap from the gig, then he fell across the wheel, and rolled out lumpishly on the road.

"'Take that from the Widow White,' said the ruffian, spurning at the corpse's head with his heavy nailed shoe. " He's not dead ; finish him cried the man who had been struck down, savagely seizing a large stone. "Just then the little girl, hitherto paralyzed with terror, darted for- ward, and, throwing herself over the body, cried out piteously, Don't

strike him ! oh, have pity ! spare him—oh, spare poor 31r. Falkener!' ' "'Don't cry, asthore,' said one of the men, with rude pity ; he's sot what he deserved. Lave off him, lave off him, and go home, but never, for your life tell what you have seen this day.'

" Shawn Beg, have pity ! I know you. You won't let them kill poor Mr. Falkener.' "A sudden change came over the man's face. He scowled, and whis- pered with his companions, then, distorting his Booted features, he ap- proached them to the child, as she strove anxiously to rouse the murdered agent. "'I'm not Shawn Beg, little miss,' he said, hoarsely. What makes you think that ? '

"The child looked up wildly and hesitated, but, clinging to the hope that she had found a_ friend, she repeated, with piteous earnestness, You are— but you are. I know you ; and papa shall reward you if you help me. ON take away those dreadful men! They've killed him—they've killed him! And she swayed her slight figure to and fro in terror and grief.

"'That's the worst word ever you spoke, my duck,' muttered the man. They conversed again in low whispers for a few seconds, when the same fel- low added, aloud, his thick lips quivering, Begor, I won't be banged for the sake of Henderson's brat.' Lifting his gun, he deliberately covered the child's head, as if he were about to shoot a hound. "She perceived his intention, and crouched, with a low cry. *" 'Hold!' burst a voice from the hedge, as a figure, vaulting into the road, rushed between the murderer and his little victim.

" The apparition was so unexpected that it created a panic among the party. The gim dropped from the man's hand, and, without a second look, the ruffians huddled over the gap, and were doubling among the hedges with the speed of Guilt when deep-mouthed Justice is at its heels. " The horse, when released, tore madly towards home, but the murdered man lay stretched by the fence, his long limbs straggling out on the road. The face was calm: a few drowsy poppies hung over it, and touched it as the wind bent their heads. " ' Get up, dear—come with me. Poor Mr. Falkener is killed, and they will kill us too if they return.' "The child looked at her preserver in helpless bewilderment. A reac- tion of stupor had followed her excitement, and she could not catch the drift of his words. So the young man, bending over her, lifted her tenderly in his arms and carried her hastily away."

One of the most difficult things in dramatic or narrative story, is to carry out Aristotle's rule of making the hero culpable but not criminal, of causing him to bring a catastrophe on himself, but not to deprive him of pity and sympathy. This difficulty is in- creased in a socio-philosophico-didactio novel, especially when the object is to overwhelm some unlucky persons with misery, which shall not altogether arise from fault of their own, or from the inexorable Fate of the Greek drama, but be traceable to some mal-arrangement of society. In the opening of A Tale for the Pharisees we are presented with the corpse of an elderly woman in the postmortem room of a hospital, the living person having been so isolated in the world that there is no one to claim her body. She has borne the worst of characters for some years, having been imprisoned for robbing her master ; fallen, on her discharge, through successive stages of degradation, after a vain struggle to avert the decline ; been committed at the Police-office as drunk or attempting suicide ; and well known through the district for her violence and intemperance. The tough deduction to be drawn from these premises, is, that if Mrs. Meadows alias White (her maiden name), is not quite guiltless of producing her own misery, yet she is in the position of one of Aristotle's tragic heroes. Rigidly examined the story will not stand the test, though the author has laboured hard at his contrivances. The first fault of Mrs. Meadows is the common one of spoiling her son, and as a consequence deceiving his excellent father, thus training Master George to deception, trickery, and petty stealing at home. The immediate ill effect of all this is that he robs his master, and Mrs. Meadows, when just widowed, has to dip deep into her little capital to make up his defalcations. This evil, however, is limited to the loss of so much money, and matters go on smoothly for years except that George gets attached to a loose woman, and closes his eyes to her true character, let who will try to open them. Afterwards to join this woman in Australia, he robs another master under circumstances of great ingratitude. His mother discovers the theft, and so proceeds as immediately to cause her own arrest, and furnish demonstrable proof of being the thief. Her wretched and cowardly son, though a word would release his mother, confines himself to retaining an attorney and beseeching his employers to pardon her. The result is her conviction and the eventual finale described at the outset; though, but for George's convenient death in America, he would have sent for his mother.

To what extent and in what way one person can rightly. be self-sacrificed for another, however near, the relationship, is a question of great difficulty. The better opinion seems to be that while property and even life may rightly be given, good name may not ; and, indeed, this is perverting natural justice, for the innocent suffers, and the guilty not only escapes but is honoured. Be this as it may, every one must see that A Tale for the Phari- sees by the author of Dives and Lazurus," will hardly point a moral for that not very popular class, or any other set of people. The world at large can only judge of what it sees or knows. If one person plans to take the consequences of a crime upon himself, and the guilty person, trained by the apparent criminal, allows it so to stand, what can society do ?, Fcir though in a certain sense the misery of Margaret Meadows may be said to be brought about by the insufficient pay of needlewmnen, yet it is the robbery which throws her friendless upon the world and renders shirtmaking a necessity to her. If it be urged that the author mainly wished to show that some of the most seemingly depraved had once good in them, the affirmation would be allowed on the statement.

The defect which mars the didactic character of the book, also injures it as a tale. , The reader has little sympathy with Mrs. Meadows, when she discovers the robbery and takes it upon her- self. With the wretched son who permits his mother to suffer for his crime there is of course no sympathy whatever ; and were he a more strongly marked character, he would excite only repulsion. Yet this, and his juvenile robbery, are the great incidents of the story ; for the remainder consists of the common occurrences of every day life, except Margaret's early and victorious resistance to her girlish love for her young master. These pictures are all painted truthfully, with a hard and literal force. Perhaps this literalness may be one cause of the leading incident's failure, for more elevation and tone were required to make it tell, than the writer seems able to reach. In the latter part of the story, de- scribing the downward progress of Margaret, this literal style is more appropriate. One scene verging on the ghostly has power also. She has been placed in an empty house, to take care of it. Her spirits have been depressed from hearing nothing of her son and other causes, including the ill-effects which a first cheering glass has had upon her head and her needle-work.

"The terrible certainty of the worst [her son's death] was insensibly impressing itself upon her mind, and no excuse nor reason could she form which would drive it away.

"She now rose and went up stairs to close the shutters. Never before did the silence seem so profound, and as each successive window was closed, the silence seemed to increase in intensity as the remaining faint light of the day was shut out. As she descended the staircase in the dark, the im- pression that a form was near came again over her. She tried to shake it off, but it increased almost to a certainty. She descended a few steps and she felt it was following her. She turned round to look at it. Nothing but the profound darkness which might almost have been felt was around her. Again she descended, again the feeling came over her, and again she proved it was only imagination. She was naturally courageous, and she determined to conquer her fear. She stood still for a few moments, and with her figure drawn up to her full height, she looked calmly around her. She remembered she had injured no one and she had no cause to be afraid. The sensation entirely left her and she again descended, but no sooner was her foot upon the next stair, than it came with its full weight upon her, and she felt that the form was again near her. It was useless combating the feeling, it was too strong for her. She eat down on the stairs and placed her face in her hands. She remained in this position for some moments and then rose. With her eyes nearly closed she continued her descent— again the form was near her, nearer than before. With her head averted she put out her arm to feel it—nothing was within her grasp. Again she went on, and with her hand tightly holding the banister, her eyes closed, and her respiration restrained, till cif last she reached the kitchen. "She lighted her candle, which from motives of economy was always de- layed till the last moment, and she felt relieved when she found herself no longer in darkness. She seated herself to her work. The same oppressive silence continued. So profound was it that the noise of the needle as it passed through her work almost seemed to provoke an echo, still she con- tinued resolutely on. At last the oppressive sensation of solitude was so overwhelming that she could support it no longer. She rose from her seat and laid her work on the table. She remembered how consoling had been the effects of the spirits brought by Kitty, and she determined on try- ing the same recipe again. She put on her bonnet, and having left the candle in the hall she went to the nearest public-house, and having pro- cured a small quantity of spirits she returned home."

Considered as a philosophical romance, the "tale for the Pha- risees" is logically and perhaps more than logically deficient. Though not devoid of power, and occasionally possessing a strong sense of reality, the choice of subject, and probably a want of imagination in the author, preclude the book from taking high rank as a novel. It has, however, that originality and purpose, which arise from an actual survey of life, and a knowledge of its evils and miseries; albeit the observer may not have hit upon the exact remedy.