any stage. It is even a fashion to go and "look at her ;" and the bouquets which are flung at her on the occasion of benefits and first appearances evince a remarkable devotion on the part of her admirers. When first she came out at the Princess's, there was about her much of the embarrassment of an amateur, and a sort of sing-song in her delivery had a monotonous, though not an unpleasing effect. The manner in which she has conquered these early deficiencies and, be it remembered, she was not trained for the stage-is a great proof of her intelligence. Her vivacity is free and spontaneous-her reading is always well considered; and though we do not willingly see her delicate nature torn by the more violent tragic emotions, there is none we would rather behold in graceful comedy, and the more tender exhibitions of grief. Her appearance is at once a fascination-a certain indefinable charm of manner giving new lustre to the beauty of the countenance. In private circles, comprising many names illustrious in literature and art, Mrs. Mowatt is a well-known luminary, distinguished by her proficiency in some two or three foreign languages, and the sprightliness and spirit of her conversation. Mr. Davenport, an American actor, who performs with her, is excellent in juvenile tragedy, high comedy, and melodrama. When he has completely subdued his Transatlantic accent, he may, if he likes, take a first-rate position in what may be called the "Wallack" line of business. His personal appearance is excellent; he is a thorough gentleman in manner, and his acting always displays spirit, intelligence, careful study, and a thorough knowledge of his profession. Miss Fanny Vining, the third star of the company, is a well-trained actress, with all the business qualities of the Vinings, and a certain innate amiability and graceful pensiveness which are her own. She also is a beauty, but of the dark order, and therefore an agreeable contrast to the lily-fairness of Mrs. Mowatt. After Christmas this company, with Mr. Watts at their head, will appear at the Olympic, which will then have been rebuilt, with an entrance in Newcastle Street. Those who recollect the wretched Wych Street entrance will perfectly appreciate the value of this addition.

Sadler's Wells is so completely established, that it needs less remark than the other two new theatrical foci. We would only notice the appearance of a Miss Fitzpatrick, a charming, vivacious girl, who has made her début this season as an actress of dashing comedy, and enters the arena without a particle of fear, and with an ample stock of fire and spirit.

Gentle reader, if your time is not too much occupied, just pay a visit to the three theatres we have named, and test our remarks with your own eyes and ears.

LITERATURE.

MATERNAL LOVE.*

ALTHOUGH little removed from that mediocrity which is seldom deterred from attempting to rival excellence, this second attempt of Mrs. Loudon's in the most popular and profitable field of literary exertion is far from discreditable. Her sketches of society are evidently pictured from life; take the following portraiture of a maiden aunt as an example :

"Do you choose luncheon ?" said Mrs. Sarah Moreland to her niece, in a gruff tone, a few moments after her arrival at Moreland Lodge.

"No, thank you," replied Louisa, in the sweetest of accents.

Mrs. Moreland put her hands to her ears, declaring that her niece's voice had gone through her head, adding,

66

Speaking distinctly is what is necessary, not speaking loud. I am not deaf." Now the good lady was very deaf; and as she thought fit to resent it thus, whenever people spoke loud enough to make her hear; conversation with her was impossible. It was altogether no very cheering prospect for Louisa; for Mrs. Sarah Moreland, though a well-meaning, upright, alms-giving woman, had a harsh temper and forbidding manners. She had been brought up with the greatest strictness; would not have shrunk from martyrdom in support of her principles; was honest in her money dealings, spoke the truth, gave alms to the poor, had good intentions in the main towards her friends-and kept her own and the house-linen in good repair.

She was also capable, on great occasions, of noble sacrifices, to render an essential service to a friend; but she had no notion that it was unjust, and therefore dishonest, to rob people daily by ungracious manners of small portions of their innocent enjoyment-their cheerfulness-in short, of the sunshine of their existence !

There are, in the present novel, two young and pretty orphan heiresses to be disposed of at the onset-Mary Cavendish, who is placed under the guardianship of Lord Wolderland, whose son, Adolphus, is there quite à propos, and Louisa Moreland, who is consigned to the tender solicitude of the deaf and grumbling aunt, and is romantically saved by a lover from a precipitate fall down the far-off rocks of Arran. Bright are those early days when bride and bridegroom sit side by side, all around tinged with the colour of love, all before them lighted up in the same halo! Yet how transient that brightness! How soon do little clouds appear in the horizon, first indications that a diminution of perpetual sunshine is possible! In Louisa's case, a husband's childish dread of being ruled by his wife caused the first clouds to gather, the first tears to be shed. With Mary Cavendish, the arrival of a first-born only sealed the unbroken affections of her husband, Adolphus; with Louisa Wentworth a first child was a real consolation, and the calling forth of maternal love was a spring in the desert, a well of life in the wilderness of her blighted existence. The history of these two first-born, and afterwards united in love, forms the great feature of the work. The old Lord Wentworth's irascible and violent temper, and his extreme dissatisfaction that a granddaughter had taken the place which should have been occupied by a grandson, and Mr. Wentworth's gambling and other bad propensities, throwing his son, Adrian, early into a life of self-reliance and dependence, contrast well with the future "prime minister's" (novelists never know where to stop when once on the ascent of the ladder of preferment with their *Maternal Love. A Novel. By Margratia Loudon, Author of "First Love," "The Light of Mental Science," &c. 3 vols. T. C. Newby.

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 or 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 mean 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 350l. 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 waywardness, 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 Nov 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.

T

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 anybody 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 acknowledgment, 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. Alfred Jackson. Effingham Wilson.

By

NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE.

POSTHUMOUS MEMOIR OF MYSELF.

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 world; nay, 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,

your

"Oh, blessed birds! ye have the bright sun and the balmy air for 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.

U