historical justice has long demanded.-A promising title page, Duodecimo; or, The Scribbler's Progress, an auto-biography, written by an insignificant little volume, and published likewise by itself, at the house of Mr. T. C. Newby, opens the way to a dull book.-Not being among those who affect to prove their superiority by their incapacity to relish sportive creations of an unrestricted fancy, or flights into the regions of fairies and other supernatural beings, we hailed with heartfelt delight a volume published this month by Messrs. Chapman and Hall, being Fairy Tales from all Nations, by Anthony R. Montalba, a work to which the highest attractions are imparted by twenty-four illustrations from the pencil of Richard Doyle. These fairy tales are derived from the most inaccessible sources. The Icelandish, the Sanskrit, the Slavonic, the Lusatian, the Wendian, the Betschuanian! They are sometimes rather extravagant versions of familiar legends, but they are always spirited and amusing.-It has become almost a proverbial saying, that it is more difficult to write for the young than for the grown-up. It is probably owing to this that so many otherwise successful authors are never satisfied till they have put in their claim to favouritism among the juveniles. John Jones's Tales for Little John Joneses, by G. P. R. James, Esq., published by Cradock and Co., are like Sir Walter Scott's writings for the young, purely historical; quite unlike Captain Marryat's soul-entrancing volumes. This, however, will render them only the more acceptable with those who insist upon instruction being combined with amusement; to youngsters who prefer the latter, we may here mention that the second volume of that inimitable story, The Little Savage, has just been published by Hurst and Co.-A book devoted to Remarkable and Eccentric Characters was a great idea. The notion carries its own promise of recreation and amusement on its very face. Mr. F. W. Fairholt has commenced such a series of biographical memoirs of persons famous for extraordinary actions or singularities in Bentley's Cabinet Library, and has added to the innate attractiveness of the subject, by characteristic and illustrative sketches. -It is one of the provinces of genius to anticipate experience. In a small treatise on Household Education, just published by Mr. Moxon, Miss Martineau, author, political economist, and traveller, has attested that she has also studied the discipline of domestic life, so as to treat of such subjects practically as well as philosophically, but with evidently too great a bias towards the theoretic and psycological portion of the inquiry.-An epic poem in six books (formidably headed Sjöfnarillska, Angurbodi, &c.), each book of some 600 lines, is a bold undertaking now-a-days; but when we learn that the Viking is the first of a series, in which the author, who shields himself under the name of Zavarr, intends to illustrate the various systems of mythology that have prevailed to any extent in the world, we wonder at the enthusiasm which can labour without hopes of return. The Viking attests, however, talent, learning, and research on the part of its author.-A History of Wonderful Inventions is one of Messrs. Chapman and Hall's admirably illustrated little books-flowers strewn on the dry path of knowledge-so much to be commended for young people.-Clouds and Sunshine, with other poems, by John James Halls, B.A., published by Charles Ollier, attest greater facility of versification on the part of the author than brilliant genius.— Revelations of Life, and other Poems, by John Edmund Reade, and published by Mr. Parker are destined to live more than a day. The author will, in all probability, have some difficulty, at first, in making himself read; but none will arise from such perusal without feeling that they have been in communion with a mind tuned to the true feeling of poetry. Mr. Reade has, indeed, earned for himself a niche by the side of the author of the "Excursion."-Two more claimants present themselves in Thomas Burbidge and Arthur H. Clough, authors of Ambarvalia, published by Chapman and Hall; nor are they to be irreverently dismissed. Mr. Burbidge especially writes with the pleasant fancies and the light melody of one high in favour with the muse.-The equality of woman-a subject we thought long ago admitted among civilised nations-is made the subject of an elaborate argument by Mr. Reeve, M.C.P., in an Essay on the Comparative Intellect of Woman, &c. —The Knife and Fork for 1849, published by H. Hurst and Co., is a clever and droll introduction to many good receipts and valuable practical hints. Mr. W. Blanchard Jerrold's Old Woman who lived in a Shoe, also published by H. Hurst and Co., is neither droll nor humorous, but a dry pounds, shillings and pence disquisition upon colonial government, far too politico-statistical for our pages. We had accidentally omitted to the last to notice, that the fine descriptive poems on the Ruins of many Lands, by Nicholas Micheli, originally published in Ainsworth's Magazine, have been duly collected into an appropriate volume, and published by Messrs. Tegg, with a portrait of the author. . 395 THE MASKED BALL AT THE OPERA. BY CHARLES HERVEY, Esq. 482 MEN AND THINGS IN THE NEW WORLD OF AUSTRALIA. Part IV. 489 LITERATURE.-Mardi; and a Voyage Thither. By Herman Melville.-Georgina Hammond. By Mrs. Mackenzie Daniel. -Owen Tudor.-The Castlereagh Letters and Despatches.- The Emigrant Family.-Rockingham; or the Younger Bro- ther. Helen Charteris.-Lofoden; or, the Exiles of Norway. By E. W. Landor.-Exmoor; or, the Footsteps of St. Hubert TO CORRESPONDENTS. Mr. AINSWORTH begs it to be distinctly understood that no Contributions what- MR. AINSWORTH'S NEW ROMANCE. Now ready, in 3 vols., post 8vo, THE LANCASHIRE WITCHES, A Romance of Pendle Forest. BY W. HARRISON AINSWORTH, ESQ. SUN. "MR. AINSWORTH may be styled the Salvator Rosa of novelists. He delights in the thrillingthe terrible the gloomy-the wildly romantic. In gorgeous depth of colouring, in vivid reality of portraiture, in enthralling interest, Mr. Ainsworth's romances are unrivalled. To this latter peculiarity, namely, the fascination which they exercise over the reader's attention, their great popularity is mainly due. Many persons, however, who have recognised Mr. Ainsworth's great power in this particular, have, for that very reason, taken occasion to censure him, in that he has availed himself of this talent for exciting interest to invest with fictitious attractions the exploits of thieves and highwaymen. No such objection can attach to The Lancashire Witches. The startling events of the narrative-interesting as they are in a romantic point of view-are doubly valuable as types of the struggle between the principles of good and evil continually carried on in the human beart. Dark and terrible as are some of the scenes here portrayed, they only make the beauty and holiness of virtue more conspicuous and more attractive, and the narrative, after exciting a powerful and undiminished interest throughout its whole course, concludes in that rarely successful, but when successful, most exquisite manner, which, like the darkness of twilight, is sad without being cheerless, and sorrowful without being gloomy. The last scenes, which relates to Alizon and Richard Assheton, and the penitence of the once powerful Witch,' are described with most beautiful pathos. Let it not be supposed, however, that the whole romance is tinged with melancholy. On the contrary, it abounds with festive scenes and rustic sports. The visit of James I. to Hoghton Towers has been very happily introduced, and the description of the various festivities designed for the monarch's entertainment, serve in an agreeable manner to illustrate the customs of the period. At a banquet at Hoghton Tower, it is said that King James, gratified with the flavour of a loin of beef, conferred upon it the honour of knighthood or baronetcy which the Sir-loin has conserved to this day. Mr. Ainsworth has not forgotten to chronicle the incident, and has detailed the ceremony of knighthood in a very amusing way. Otter hunting and other sports are also incidentally described, and with much animation. The picturesque scenery of Pendle Forest has found in Mr. Ainsworth an artist capable of doing full justice to its beauties; the forest scenes are portrayed con amore." EXAMINER. "Mr. Ainsworth has, with great propriety centred the chief interest of his story in the acts of the witches. And strange and wonderful are the deeds they do; now cursing a whole region with sterility, now removing the landmarks which for ages had been identical with the soil, changing the courses of streams, displacing forest trees, and altering the whole face of nature; anon initiating novices with mystic rites and frantic orgies, then practising spells of fearful import, and again whirling on the blast, amid lightning and tempest, to their dread sabbath on the solitary hill-side. Familiars are at their beck, assuming delusive shapes, and darker spirits hover around,-forming altogether as perfect a picture of diablerie as ever was framed in honour of Saint Walpurgis. There is great earnestness throughout. There is no shirking of the subject. There is no modern philosophy, or far-fetched humanitarian excuses. From first to last there is a downright faith in witchcraft which James himself might have envied. But not alone by witches is the scene occupied, though everything depends on their agency. There is a love-story, of course, the heroine of which is Alizon Device, the young and lovely May-day Queen, the supposed grandchild of Mother Demdike, but in reality the daughter of Mistress Nutter; her faith is plighted to Richard Assheton, a young man of family and estate, and these two become the mark of the witches' malice and finally its victims. But, beside the lovers, there is Squire Nicholas Assheton, Richard's jovial sporting cousin, whose good humour, courage, and excellent qualities of heart, combined with certain eccentricities of conduct, make him one of the most effective personages in the book. The character of Mistress Alice Nutter, is also forcibly drawn, from her first condition of triumphant power obtained by unhallowed means, to her subsequent remorse and final repentance. Her struggles, a prey at once to her crimes and her newly-awakened maternal feelings, are depicted with no common vigour. It would lead us too far to specify the numerous actors in this singular drama, or to dwell upon the actual plot which they aid in developing. Indeed, striking as are the incidents with which Mr. Ainsworth has filled his romance, we have preferred to look upon the subject of which he mainly treats in another point of view; to consider it rather as a picture of a diseased condition of society, when the wildest improbabilities had become received truths, and the greatest cruelties were made legitimate by royal authority and the legal approbation, than as a work of fiction, towards which such a state of things was merely ancillary. But as a work of fiction, The Lancashire Witches' has claims of its own. It is a story of great interest; the personages who figure in it are true to their position and to our preconceived notion of them; and much skill and versatility are exhibited in their delineation. Let us add, that the local descriptions, which are numerous and various, are all most admirable. In fact, Mr. Ainsworth in this romance has made an excellent use of much profound and curious knowledge both of the time and of the scene in which the action is laid." HENRY COLBURN, PUBLISHER, 13, GREAT MARLBOROUGH STREET. NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. SOAPEY SPONGE'S SPORTING TOUR. CHAPTER IX. THE MEET-THE FIND, AND THE FINISH. "IN the morning of life," as the quack doctor commences his advertisement, men often want to compress as much action and excitement into one day as serves more moderate ones two or three; thus, there must be a dinner, and at least a couple of evening parties to run opposition to each other, one of which must be kept up till some most unseasonable hour, lest the guests may be supposed not to have enjoyed themselves. If hounds meet twenty miles off, and gentlemen, "in the morning of life," can contrive to "keep up the ball" till there is just time to go home, change, and breakfast, then, indeed, it is very enjoyable. If, in addition, hounds run ten or fifteen miles "t'other way,' leaving them in the heart of some other county, with just time enough to get a post-chaise and four to rattle home and dress for another dinner, to be followed as before with a couple of balls, they then have the cream of the thing. This, however, is too good to last. Nature, inexorable nature, will have her way; and however youths may boast and protest that they are not tired, that they are as "fresh as ever," that they are ready to do it all over again, the trembling hand, the palled appetite, the blanched and hollow cheek, tell a tale that no words can contradict. A youth is then either prematurely "used up," or he draws in. If used up, we hear little more about him, but if he draws in, he begins to think that a little sleep is, perhaps, as agreeable, and quite as useful, as dancing all night for the sake of saying he has done so. Presently the second ball ceases to be indispensable, and instead of thinking that it must be the best of the two, or feeling mortified at not being able to say he has only looked in at Mrs. Brown's on his way to Lady Green's, he goes to the best one and stays at it. In course of time, even the one ball loses its attractions. He finds out that though he must have a dinner every day, a ball is by no means essential to his existence. He, therefore, professes only to go to those at houses where he dines, and soon degenerates into a stop gap" at the one, and a staircase appendage at the other. At forty he is either to be found at a table in a snug corner of his club, or dressing-gowned and slippered, eating his solitary dinner at home. But that is going much lower down the vale of years than any of our party have reached. They are all in the morning of life, all flushed with the delights of ball and supper society-some, perhaps, apt to get a little flushed with inferior champaigne. Miss Jumpheavy's was a free and easy sort of ball. She was one of your certain age ladies, one who professed to be tolerably indifferent to public opinion, and to be inclined to please herself-what the men call a devilish good sort of fellow." Though she was a certain age-than which, as has been often said, nothing can be more uncertain-she danced most heartily, and could eat plover's eggs and lobster salad with any one. As she gave capital April.-VOL. LXXXV. NO. CCCXL. 2 D suppers, she always had the "call," as they say on the turf, about midnight, and there was sure to be a run upon her house, whatever other parties might be going on. The men brought each other, one introduced his friend, and then the first introduced returned the compliment and introduced the man who brought him. On the particular night in question there was a more than usual run, and a more than usual flow of champaigne, which went "pop, pop, popping-and bang, bang, banging," just as ginger-pop goes between the acts on a hot night at a theatre. The consequence was, that the ball was kept up till past five, and as all men of spirit must smoke a cigar before they go to bed, it was six before of them turned in. Mr. Soapey Sponge, on the other hand, spent a very quiet beef-steak and pint-of-wine evening in the coffee-room of the Brunswick Hotel, where he sat in solitary state at a mahogany slip of a table surrounded by some five or six other gentlemen at similar slips, all in the usual state of trepidation lest any one should speak to them without being introduced. There is nothing a true-born Briton is so frightened of as being spoken to by a stranger in a coffee-room. many At ten o'clock our friend went to-bed, just about the time that the "world," the Laverick Wells world, at least, was preparing for Miss Jumpheavy's ball. "Early to bed and early to rise" being among Mr. Sponge's maxims, he was enjoying the view of the pantiles at the back of his hotel shortly after daylight the next morning, a time about as difficult to fix in a November day as the age of a lady of a "certain age." It takes even an expeditious dresser ten minutes or a quarter of an hour extra the first time he has to deal with boots and breeches; and Mr. Sponge, as we showed in our opening chapter, being quite a pattern card in his peculiar line, of course took a good deal more to get himself "up." An accustomed eye could see a more than ordinary stir in the streets. Riding-masters and their assistants might be seen going along with strings of saddled and side-saddled screws; flys began to roll at an earlier hour, and natty tigers to kick about in buckskins prior to departing with hunters, good, bad, and indifferent. Each man had told his partner at Miss Jumpheavy's ball of the capital trick they were going to play the stranger; and a desire to see the stranger, far more than a desire to see the trick, caused many fair ones to forsake their downy couches who had much better have kept them. The world is generally very complaisant with regard to strangers, so long as they are strangers, generally making them out to be a good deal better than they really are, and Mr. Sponge came in for his full share of stranger credit. They not only brought all the twenty horses Leather said he had scattered about to Laverick Wells, but made him out to have a house in Eaton-square, a yacht at Cowes, and a first-rate moor in Scotland, and some said a peerage in expectancy. No wonder that he "drew," as theatrical people say. Let us now suppose him breakfasted, and ready for a start. He was 66 got up" with uncommon care in the most complete style of the severe order of sporting costume. It being now the commencement of the legitimate hunting-season-the first week in November-he availed himself of the privileged period for turning out in every thing new. Rejecting the now generally worn cap, he adhered to the heavy, closenapped hat, described in our opening chapter, whose adhesion to his head, or back, if it came off, was secured by a small black silk cord, |