pass a law for the immediate resumption of cash payments, and we shall secure our paper-rents in gold, and be at the rascally Jacobins after all!" And it was so. Both those laws were made. But in a country where conjurors and fortune-tellers can no longer get a living, how happens it that legislative necromancy still contrives to make its jargon oracular? That simple people should think metallic money quite as good as paper, is not surprising; but where, out of Noodledom, could sane persons be convinced that it is better to receive two pecks of corn than four pecks for a crown piece? Yet firm in this faith was young John Bull, the tallow chandler, although he had lately discovered that, some how or other, he was not possessed of one-fifth of the five hundred pounds, which his father, by will, said he had bequeathed to him only a few months before. He could not by any means pay the interest of the three hundred pounds which his father had borrowed on mortgage, in the days of his valour; and yet he contrived to persuade the mortgagee, that when young Tony charged half-a-crown for fifteen-penny worth of meal, the difference returned to the payer in a "fructifying-shower!" But unluckily for Tony's peace, young John's next-door neighbour, commonly called "the revered and ruptured Hogden"—an old offender, who had been sent to jail for sedition-was a born scholar. He told John, that if the emperor of Morocco bought his candles, the emperor would pay him for them; whereas, if the fifteen-pences which he was continually giving to Tony, came back in fructifying showers, (which he doubted,) still they were only his own fifteen-pences which came back! "And on such terms," he added, "I really think, Mr. Bull, you ought to have plenty of customers." John scratched his head, hutched up his breeches, and looked more like a John Bull than ever, but could not fathom the mystery. "Ledger the account," said Hogden, "and if you cannot then see that you are cheated out of half your earnings, starve!" John awoke at once from his bewilderment, for a new light had broken in upon him. "Ledger the account! I will do so," muttered he to himself, wondering that he had never thought of that before. He then sat down at his desk, and found that the "fructifying-shower account" stood as follows: 1833. Tony Lumpkin, Esq., in account with John Bull, Chandler. June 13, To cash for 1 stone of Flour,.. 0 2 .0 1 2 Readers of Tait! is not this conclusion somewhat serious for a joke? Alas, two-thirds of the jest are yet to come! LITERARY REGISTER. THE PURITAN'S GRAVE. Saunders and Otley, London. THERE can be no longer a doubt that novel-writing is in a state of healthful transition. The symptoms of reform, and total change of the system, are strengthening every day. Nor are these improvements, in the smallest degree, imitations of Sir Walter Scott, or the author of "Pelham," or the Fashionable Novels. The PURITAN'S GRAVE, which we have perused with the deep, heartfelt satisfaction, which is probably the highest tribute an author can levy-if it be not, more properly, a voluntary gift-is among the most pleasing of the recent marks of this healthful change in the public taste, or in those who guide it. There are few incidents in the work; but those with which we meet are simple and natural, and develop the few amiable characters in an easy and pleasing manner. The quaint and homely, but often forcible language of the Puritan's age, which is adopted in the narrative, contributes to the charm thrown around the story. The Puritan, the Nonconformist divine, who takes up his cross and abandons all, to preserve an unspotted conscience, is a character of delightful simplicity, and apostolic zeal and purity. His daughter we should call an angelic being, were the word not so hackneyed and profaned. Anne Faithful, if less, is also more than an angel of romance. She is Wordsworth's PORTRAIT drawn at-full length. "A creature not too bright or good For human nature's daily food; For transient sorrows, simple wiles, Praise, blame, love, kisses, tears, and smiles. And now, I see with eye serene, The very pulse of the machine : A being breathing thoughtful breath; A traveller betwixt life and death. Such is the portrait which is amplified and placed in a hundred new lights in the PURITAN'S GRAVE. Many just and beautiful thoughts, springing from deeper roots than are usually found to flourish in the soil of fiction, are scattered throughout these volumes. THE PARSON'S DAUGHTER. 3 vols. Bentley, London. DENY it who may, the Reform Bill, or something like it, is working. Here is proof of it in three volumes. Mr. Theodore Hook, their author, has fairly turned his back upon the silver-fork school of fiction. He discovered it had gone by, and was exploded; and so, came right over to that of commonsense. No one, it is probable, laughed more heartily, in his sleeve, than this clever writer at the manifold fopperies and impertinences, which he formerly propagated and adopted, to give zest, and gain acceptance to his delineations of society. It was a compliment, or sacrifice to the imagined public taste, at the expense of his own understanding. He now perceives that such insolent puerilities have lost their relish; that they would not longer be tolerated even in a new edition of High Life Below Stairs. From this revolution the Parson's Daughter is the most rationally motived and conducted of any of Mr. Hook's novels. The characters are real, and reasonable beings. If the humour and eccentricity are for this cause less exuberant, so are the extravagances and burlesque comedy takes place of broad farce. The se rious scenes, those especially in which the struggles of the dawning passion of Harvey and Squire Harbottle's wife are developed, are touched with delicacy, and with skill, in the deeper tones of feeling, for which we had not previously given the author credit. The Squire himself is a man of mark. We note and remember him from the very excess of his hateful qualities, for his boisterousness and self-sufficiency; and, loathing, yet yield to the animal energies of his character. There is fine sagacity in touching and shaking this hard, coarse spirit with remorse. Harbottle is altogether a true conception; and for Mr. Hook there is magnanimity in making the man of unbounded wealth, and immeasurable vulgar pride in its display, not one of the new-sprung dunghill mushroom breed. Dr. Macgopus is one of this author's curious felicities, though the Dr.'s humour does run to seed at last. The humour of phrase may bear repetition on the stage, where eye, voice, expression point and vary it; but in a book it goes not quite so far. Macgopus becomes monotonous, and all but tiresome at last; but is redeemed by that quality which covers a multitude of sins---goodness of heart. To say that the storied interest of the book is exhausted long before it ends, is a positive compliment, implying that the tale does possess great interest up to the death of Harbottle. ANDREW THE SAVOYARD. From the French of C. Paul de Kock. 2 vols. Marston and Co., London. We are not so thoroughly English Clay but that we can prefer at any time the translation of a good French or German novel to a native of dull mediocrity. The humour, and truthfulness, and sprightly tone of the Modern Cymon of Paul de Kock, lately captivated our regard. ANDREW THE SAVOYARD confirms the favourable impression. Its opening scenes are most winning. They are laid among the mountains and mountaineers of Savoy; among the virtuous poor. They glow with the bloom, and sparkle with the fresh dews of a lovely and pure nature. The scene, transferred to Paris, gives the author scope for his peculiar genius in delineating French characters of common life. His females are delicately discriminated, his heroine is charming, and the denouement lifted far above the vulgarity of ordinary prosperous endings, in a manner quite to our taste. It would berash to limit the absurdities, and selfishness, and contemptibility of a French Count of the old regime; but Count Champagne does appear a caricature to English readers. To compensate this, Rossignol, another comic character, is original and exquisite. His vanity, his sensuality, his impudent roguery, make up a finished specimen of the genus scamp; for he is neither roué, blackguard, vil lain nor ruffian. Even his name is picturesquely descriptive-Rossignol ! His humours afford a fund of entertainment. There cannot be a doubt that this character is almost a literal transcript from the great book of human life, a late Parisian edition. THE EMIGRANT'S TALE, AND OTHER POEMS. BY JAMES BIRD. 8vo, Pp. 192. Baldwin and Cradock. MR. BIRD is no new aspirant for poetical honours. He comes forth in the consciousness of former appearances, welcomed and encouraged. The Emigrant's Tale is told by the brink of Niagara. It is of an English village and parish in the happier olden times, and next during the late disastrous change of manners, morals, and values. It gives the customary group of village characters. The schoolmaster who demonstrates his ignorance by a vigorous application of birch,—the bland rector who comes once a-year to gather his tithes,-a curate, who might make a third to Goldsmith's preacher, and Chaucer's priest,—and a noble old Knight, Lord of the Manor, "a bough Of the Old English Oak." These sketches, interwoven with a domestic tale, threatening traged but ending well, give Mr. Bird scope for his powers of description which are natural, agreeable, and cultivated. Among the miscellaneous poems, are some upon the most remarkable objects and monuments of London; the Thames, the Tower, Westminster, the Altar of St. George's Church, &c. &c. These themes are well-chosen, and inspiring, and place Mr. Bird's poetical talents in a very favourable light. Other pieces of less pretension and of equal merit, we should have been proud, were extracts permitted in our narrow domain, to have transplanted to these pages. We have, however, read, admired, and will long remember The Village, Verses written on the lid of a coffin, The Farmer's Family, The Village Pine-tree, and Lucy Jones. When Mr. Bulwer moves a Parliamentary return of the living poets of England, we shall be sure to find included the name of James Bird. AUTHENTIC LETTERS from CANADA. 1 Vol. Curry, Dublin. THIS is a genuine book. The Letters which, without any personal object, form vastly agreeable and entertaining reading, are full of interest to those who are thinking of changing their country. They are written during the last and the present year, by members of two families who emigrated from Ireland to Canada. The names of the emigrants are Magrath and Radcliff. The heads of both households are clergymen ; and their descendants are educated, intelligent, and sensible persons, whose advice, with the details of their experience, will be found most useful to emigrants of a corresponding rank. EVANS'S EMIGRANT'S DIRECTORY, and Guide to obtain Land, and effect a Settlement in the Canadas. 1 Vol. Curry, Dublin. This is a book of tables, details, and practical information. It is written by a gentleman who lived for eighteen years in British America ; and was for some years a Government agent for land in Lower Canada. We regret to say that he, last year, fell a victim to the cholera. We recommend his book to all who would survey Canada, the Lower as well as the Upper Province, before taking the decisive step, which can not be easily retraced. What we want now, is a book containing as full information regarding the Western territory, and unsettled parts of the United States. It is of far more importance that our countrymen, who are forced to emigrate, should settle where they can do so with most advantage, than that they should fix upon Canada, for no better reason than that it is still a British colony, and a bulwark of our empire. THE PARISH, a Tale. By Harriet Martineau. Fox, London. It is no slight test of merit that a body so composed, and commanding for its publications so extensive a circulation as that which the "Society for the Diffusion of Useful Knowledge" has secured, should be solicitous to place Miss Martineau upon their list of operatives; and it is something not a little striking to find, that a committee of gentlemen, among whom are such personages as Lord Brougham, Lord Althorp, (leading members of an existing Government!) Sir Henry Parnell, and Sir Thomas Denham, thus identifying themselves with, and virtually recognising the axioms which, as a political economist, Miss Martineau endeavours to establish. It must be plain to those who have not studied so abstruse a science, (for we suppose it must at length be thus considered,) that, attacking, as she has done, many of the current opinions of our own time, on the subject of social government, Miss Martineau, unless possessed of some extraordinary powers of foresight or discernment, would have long ago been either jeered, abused, or reasoned into silence, had there been grounds or ability to do so. It might be imagined, that in these danger-fraught times, any individual-sex out of question-who dared to weigh the wisdom of existing laws, or to touch upon that ticklish subject, the right divine of the rich to oppress or mismanage the poor, would have been so sharply assailed, so bitterly vituperated, or so loaded with contempt, that long ere this she or he would have been glad to skulk into obscurity again. Smith, Malthus, M'Culloch-and she has differed from all-have each his disciples and supporters; but none of either have shewn the power or the capability to subvert her doctrines. She appears to tread the ground alone and triumphantly. The unlearned in such mysterious matters have, therefore, sound reasons for deducing this inference: that Miss Martineau's propositions are something more than the idle prattle of a literary lady, and people are accordingly prepared to receive them with something very like deferential respect, and without much question. The number just published, "The Parish," appears to be the first of a series illustrative of poor laws and pauper government. Without going into the subject matter of her argument (which may by-and-by elicit a sterner inquiry than can well be entered upon in this department of the Magazine,) we content ourselves with saying that she has managed the question with her wonted ability. In this, as in most of her political writings, the interest of the tale overpowers, yet without impairing the argumentative part; we cannot stop to quibble upon, or question, discussable points-we concede them willingly in our desire to arrive at the denouement. It is only then that the "moral," forces itself quietly, but surely, on our reflection, and while pleased at her intelligence on so sober, dry, and complicated a subject, as political economy. We are surprised at the adddress with which the learned authoress has imparted to it so much of extrinsic interest and dramatic effect. |