The Belladonna Lily is a most lovely plant, and perfectly hardy; it may remain for years in the same place, and will flower regularly every Autumn. The "Vallota Purpurea" never loses its foliage, and does not require to be removed, as it is hardy also. "Amaryllis Aulica" requires nearly the same treatment as "Vallota Purpurea;" it needs a period of rest, but the soil must never be rubbed off entirely from the roots. Encourage the foliage as much as possible after the plants are done flowering, for on this depends the flower for the following season. They can be had in flower at almost any season of the year, by starting a few at stated intervals throughout the season. They are increased from seeds and offsets from the roots; but it requires two or three years before they can be had in flower from small bulbs, and four or five years from seed. THE WRAITH OF ODIN. THE guests were loud, the ale was strong, The door swung wide, with creek and din; Dead rides Sir Morten of Fogelsang. The King exclaimed, "O greybeard pale, Then spake the King: "Be not afraid; Dead rides Sir Morten of Fogelsang. And ever when the tale was o'er, Dead rides Sir Morten of Fogelsang. The Bishop said, "Late hours we keep ! Night wanes, O King! 'tis time for sleep!" Then slept the King and when he woke, The guest was gone, the morning broke, Dead rides Sir Morten of Fogeslang. They found the doors securely barred. King Olaf crossed himself and said, The white-haired stranger was his wraith." MONTHLY LITERARY REVIEW. "ROMOLA:" by the Author of "Adam Bede," London: Smith Elder and Co., 1863. THERE have not been many writers who have made themselves so great a name in literature in so short a time, or in the space of so few works as George Eliot. It seems only the other day that every one was reading, and still more, if possible, was talking about the virtues and the vices of that strange and powerful novel, "Adam Bede." And now the author or authoress-we don't care to enter upon vexed questions as to sex in these matters where really it makes but little difference-has achieved for him or herself a reputation second to but few male and to no female novelist in the language. Where a novelist of this kind and amount of reputation ventures upon an altogether new and untried field of labour, it is but natural that the success which attends the effort should be scanned and criticised with more than ordinary care and even severity. In "Romola" the public must feel, and we suppose the author must have been well aware, that a new field was being tried, and one which was in some respects a more ambitious one than any hitherto attempted by the author of "Adam Bede." Of all fiction, the public most delights in historical fiction if it be first rate, and for this reason nearly all very successful novelists have sooner or later tried this theme as one which may elevate their fame to a pinnacle which hitherto it has not reached, and on which, should it reach it, it may go down to a remote posterity. George Eliot was ambitious. To write an historical novel was not enough to satisfy that ambition apparently, so the subject which presented the greatest possible complication of difficulties was the one chosen on which to try the powers of the author of " Adam Bede." To say that the result has justified this magnificent audacity, would in our opinion be to say too much; while to say that the attempt has been a failure, would on the other hand give a false impression to the reader's mind. The first thought of any one who intelligently reads "Romola," will probably upon laying down the last volume be, what a wonderfully clever person the author must be; and if this were the object kept in view by the writer of the remarkable book before us, we think it must be fully attained. We do not think however that the book was written with this view, or that the writer will feel satisfied with this amount of success. The question then arises, does it deserve a greater praise than this? In some respects we think it does, in others we think not. As a work of art it is a very perfect story; few stories will more readily stand the ordeal of a critical examination as to perfection of plan or thoroughness of execution. As usual, it is in the delineation of character, in the moral and intellectual dissection of the purposes and feelings of the persons introduced, that George Eliot expends the greatest amount of labour, and achieves the most marked success. Tito Melema is a study by a master hand from his first to his last step in the downward course of guilt and infamy. Nor is Romola less beautifully and minutely wrought out in the grand characteristics of her massive nature. In all these respects, and indeed in many more, the book's excellence is unquestionably of the very highest kind. Amongst other things we cannot avoid a mention of that very remarkable amount of reading, and that acquaintance with the classical and other studies, which has made so great an impression on the minds of many when the tale was being read in the pages of the "Cornhill." This shows in a remarkable way the vast amount of conscientious labour which must have been given to the preparation for this work by the author, and renders us somewhat chary of expressing our opinion that the impression of the grotesque so forcibly conveyed to our mind by the descriptions of life in Florence is somewhat overdone. To us this seems so far to be the case, that were it not for the wonderfully living reality of some of the characters, we should feel as if the whole thing had an unreal nightmare sort of effect upon our mind, which is curiously illustrated by the grotesque character of very many of the pictures which have graced its pages while publishing in the "Cornhill Magazine." It is however, after all, as an historical novel that Romola ought to be tried and criticized if we are right in divining the views of its author. The peculiar requirements of this kind of novel remove it in some degree from the ordinary canons of criticism for the every day novel. In art it ought, it is true, not to fall short of the other, but if truth demands it, it ought not to be less grotesque or outre in its form than the period it represents. Above all, however, an historical novel must throw some light upon some great historical character as a central figure for the picture. Here, we think, the author of "Romola" has failed. Perhaps the tendency of mind which he always exhibits towards metaphysical speculation on men's motives and purposes may explain the failure. Savonarola, it must be admitted, was a man most difficult to pourtray, but we cannot but fancy he would have been much more fairly placed before us by a writer who could have been content with the most simple, instead of the most painfully elaborate dissection of motives and wishes. Here we think the author has overdrawn his character, and has rendered the popular idea of this wonderful man more indistinct, rather than less SO. In spite however of this, which seems to us to mar the book as that which it was meant to be, we cannot withhold from it our most hearty admiration as a noble work of art. It has, too, much value of its own, independent of its just treatment of its great historical character. It gives many most valuable ideas as to the state of society in the republics of Italy in the middle ages not easily met with elsewhere; it affords some of the most perfect delineations of character in the language, and it certainly will in no way impair the very high reputation of its remarkable author. With all these advantages-and they are neither few nor of trifling moment- we think it will be found that "Romola" wants something or possesses something which must militate against its great success as a popular novel. One grand secret of this may, we think, be found in the fact that it is a book addressed rather to the learned few than to the unlearned many. Even unlearned people do not object to a little erudition in a novel, as is evident from the vast popularity which has attended the novels of Bulwer Lytton amongst all classes; but it is also true that they cannot stand too much of it. Now the whole of "Romola" has an atmosphere of learning, of antiquarian research, and of mediæval classicality about it which must, we think, prove too much for its popularity with the classes who can stand a flavouring of these things, bnt must have the substantial substratum of the feast of a different material. It is undeniably true, also, that there is a great deal of human interest in the tale; and yet we suspect that it will be popular with many on the ground that it wants this. The human interest is, in fact, almost too elaborately wrought out to be very generally appreciated by the masses of novel readers, who will pass over the subtle elaborations of metaphysical analysis of character and cling to the broad lines by which an infinitely inferior artist would give them an idea of the workings of his hero's mind, without troubling them to give it much careful thought. There is no mystery either in "Romola," and such seems to be the taste of the day, that without something mysterious, it is difficult to arouse fully the interest of novel readers, spoiled, in a manner, by the elaborate artistic plots of Wilkie Collins, or by the thrilling improbabilities of the "Strange Story." The mystery about old Baldassarre is the only one in the book, and that is not one worth mentioning, as it is at once removed. Some of the scenes too, are thrilling in the intensity of passion thrown into them, such as the last of the life of the hero, when a vengeance truly poetical in its justice overtakes him at the hands of the poor old dying madman, who, when he attempted it, could see no hope of that vengeance which is at last thrown absolutely in his way, so that he can scarcely avoid seizing the dong-desired and now despaired-of opportunity. There are other scenes, too, of a sufficiently sensational character in the novel, as the "Trial by Fire," the death of the conspirators, and the last scene in the life of Savonarola; but despite all these, we are afraid that the public will demand something more, and something which it will not find, in the way of sensationalism to make "Romola " a special favourite, as for very many reasons it deserves to be. On the whole we think that in some sense "Romola" will, as a book, fall a little flat-will in some sense prove a failure, but at all events the failure will have been a magnificent one in many respects. The object aimed at was of the very highest, and consequently, even if not altogether attained, so near an approach to its attainment may be regarded in the light of a triumph for the author. With the exception of the reprint of "Romola" from the "Cornhill Magazine," the month has not been one of any marked activity in the literary world so far as new publications are concerned. There are perhaps three or four of the minor novels of the month worthy of notice for various reasons. Of these the first and best seems to be "Twice Lost," by the author of Nina, which some of our readers may recollect as a very charming little story which appeared some years ago. "Twice Lost" is a considerable advance upon that book, not having lost any of its charm of simplicity and truthfulness of description, but having gained very much |