we all know that marriages entered into in defiance of the ordinary rules of fitness are in fact productive of anything but happiness. Without particularizing further, we may say in general, that the sowing of wrong notions of life in the minds of the young is one of the most obvious of the ill results of indiscriminate novelreading; and that the evils which have already accrued from this fault should induce the most anxious selection on the part of those whose duty it is to attend to these matters.

The direct introduction of religion into novels is a point of no small importance, and one which would require much space for its adequate discussion. Life cannot be truly described without reference to religion, nor can human affairs be separated from this great balance-wheel; but the question is as to the advisableness of attempting to make religion the staple of an amusing story. We confess our distaste to the plan, fashionable as it is at the present day; and we should suppose those whose sectarian feelings are strong, as well as those who deprecate the influence of a sectarian spirit in religion, would examine very closely all novels of this description, since their tendency is always intensely sectarian, and condemnatory of all who differ from their own type. Religion or irreligion is directly or indirectly taught in all novels, and nothing short of a full perusal will be sufficient to determine whether in this important respect any new work of fiction may safely be placed in the hands of the young.

While confessing, therefore, the absolute indispensableness of fiction as one form of innocent recreation, it will be perceived that we consider the most anxious discrimination necessary in the choice of those which shall receive the sanction of parental love and care; and that we look upon the sweeping condemnation indulged in by some persons, as in part the cause of the introduction of injurious

works. Greater liberality, more condescending sympathy, and a larger devotion of time and attention to this momentous subject, would doubtless remedy much of the evil complained of; for not only would the existing mass of works undergo the sifting they so much need, but authors who fatten on the public foibles would be restrained if not reformed, by the knowledge that their productions would surely be subjected to the ordeal of pure taste and good morals, before they were suffered to pass into the hands of those who have hitherto been, too often, their unquestioning purchasers, and sometimes their hapless victims.

PHILOSOPHICAL NOVELS.

PERHAPS the class of novels found most fascinating in this speculative age, is that known under the title of philosophicalincluding all works of fiction which have for their avowed object the unravelling of our tangled and confused social web. Alton Locke and Yeast are conspicuous in the list—both of which touch with skilful hand and benevolent intent some of the least sound portions of the fabric, offering gleams of true light, if not more direct aid. There is a genial sweetness about these books, with all their severity; but they leave us sad with a quickened perception of evils which demand a thorough demolition and reconstruction of the present tissue of things. What can be more humiliating than the discovery of curable ills that laugh at our puny efforts-sins that seem like mere follies till we find they bring misery-meannesses that the great world conspires to dignify into virtuesoppressions and degradations that wealth could remedy, which the whole power of wealth is leagued to perpetuate? Yet it is well to subject ourselves to this. A benevolent heart will sustain us in walking a hospital, and all that this includes, in the mere hope that, if opportunity should offer, we may turn the knowledge thus acquired to the benefit of our suffering fellows. There is at least

no danger that the class of philosophical novels we have indicated will ever be too attractive to the young, who see only the obvious, and do not feel the deeper meaning of their pictures of life.

We are not so sure of the safety of all the novels written with similar aim; for there are many which teach that whatever interferes with immediate happiness, and the gratification of any and every wish and impulse, however produced or fostered, is an evil, and one for which the state human affairs have arrived at, under God's government and the power of such wisdom and virtue as man has exercised, is alone accountable. Now without attempting any argument as to the fact here assumed, we may venture to enter a deferential protest against the presentation of this view under all the charms of beautiful fiction, to minds wholly unprepared by knowledge or experience to judge fairly of points so important, and on which fancy and passion so ill fit us to decide.

The class of works to which we allude, includes much of the current French literature, and in particular the novels of Madame George Sand; works showing such genius, knowledge and taste, as entitle them to be considered high among the powers that be.'

It seems vapid to speak of the amusement to be found in these books of the genius of the author-of the interest of particular characters. They aim so obviously at something beyond all this, that we are compelled to view them as the author views them-in the light of moral agencies; levers to upturn society; medicines, through whose efficacy diseases in the body politic are to be healed; oracles, whose decisions, though dim and vague, and oftentimes seemingly contradictory, are to be received with deference, and as the fruit of inspiration. We pay them the compliment of examination rather than mere perusal. We treat them as we do a schoolmaster who comes to us highly recommended-endeavouring to

sift their pretensions without infringing upon their dignity; we interrogate them firmly, but with respect. This we owe to the genius of the author; to her taste, her cultivation, her uncommon power of language; and above all to her solemn and reiterated assurance that the good of her race is her end and desire.

There are perhaps few who would not admit some of the works of this lady to be fundamentally erroneous, and that to such a degree as ought to exclude them from the family circle. But after these have been deducted, there will yet remain enough to justify all the admiration which the world has agreed to offer at the footstool of this new and daring Corinne. Consuelo alone-blemished as it is by occasional sins against taste, if not morals-is foundation enough for a whole pyramid of reputation; and the very disputes to which it has given rise show how deeply its power has been felt. It is no less than a most eloquent protest against things as they are; a showing up of the hypocrisies and meannesses of society by contrasting them with the simple intents and conclusions of a woman, whose genius and whose purity alike seem to entitle her to live independently of conventional rules. The art and elegance with which the idea is wrought out; the exquisite character of the heroine, natural and lovely in every possible contingency, and wholly uncorrupted amid every conceivable temptation; the interest kept up by the story, with a thousand brilliant incongruities,-now outraging common sense, and again flashing intolerable light on the stupidity and wickedness that often passes for it in our corrupt social state-all these are nothing less than marvellous, and leave without excuse those who, in condeming the wrong, or pointing out the errors of this book, have failed to do justice to its excellencies. Far nobler the estimate of a genius at least so far kindred as to be capable of comprehending that of Madam George Sand-Elizabeth,