cracy, the other rules her little Connaught kingdom, improves her dwelling, and its accompanying gardens, but is ignorant of the meaning of the word "Economy." The splendid misery experienced in the lordly palace, and the worldly reverses, and trials, and exertions of the Irish family, form the chief interest of the plot. The young O'Neil is everything that a patriotic, warm-hearted, young Irish gentleman, and a good son and a good Christian, should be. We might wonder how his sister should turn out so heartless and worthless, with such a father, mother, and brother, encircling her young life, were we not convinced by experience, of many a young person taking to vicious courses in the bosom of families where devotion and family affection formed the very atmosphere of their abodes.

Lady Hampton has a refined mind, pure literary taste, a keen sense of moral dignity as apart from religious influence, and pride is not wanting. Mrs. O'Neil's happiness is concentrated in the love of her gallant husband and her children. Then we have the rich Leonora Eden, sincere, independent, rash, seeking for religious light after receiving an infidel education; her delicately nurtured, sentimental, and false mamma; the old campaigner, Mrs. Selwyn, and other female personages, every one well worth the reader's acquaintance. We beg to introduce Lady Hampton. She finds no congeniality with her tastes in her stately, proud lord, and there is no one to understand her or converse with her on her artistic or literary favorite subjects, but a worthy early friend, Mr. Ernest Bland.

"It was when she found herself in solitude of mind once again, that Isabel Hampton experienced the loss of some friend to whom she could utter even the mere passing ideas suggested by books or contemplation. She was essentially a pure-minded but undisciplined woman. She thought and acted virtuously, and was refined from choice and habit of life; but religion was not her actuating principle, any more than was salvation her desired goal. She loathed doing all evil, but only did as much of good as was agreeable."

Mrs. Selwyn (the old soldier) is enlightening a peasant's wife in the country.

"You should never marry at all-you poor Irish,' remarked Mrs. Selwyn in a law-giving voice, filling the country with paupers. The English are not such fools.'Well, sure, 'tis no sin any how,' retorted the woman, nettled at the tone of the stranger. I'm tould them in England are quare enough-that's the poor sort; they don't trouble the priest often at any rate.' The priest' echoed the lady

scornfully, They have none of your priests there: they are nice clean, clever people that go to church decorously, and never tell lies.' I'm sure your ladyship is right if you mane the Quality, or them that's got schooling and good feeding,' responded Nelly Flynn: but my husband's brother is living in Manchester these eight years, and he came over this Patrick's-tide with his two children to lave them with his father till they get some edication and religion. He tould us the childher in them big towns is all as one as haythens.-Lord save us! and as for prayers, he says they never say any. What an impudent woman!' exclaimed Mrs. Selwyn, unable to defend her cause in that line: she contradicts me as if she knew how to read the Times.'"

They say the Devil keeps a hard service: so it appears does the genius that rules the high caste folk in London that have nothing to do-but mischief.

"The season had begun anew with its tyrannical enslavement of time,energy,and health. Existence was seemingly bestowed for the one engrossing aim of wasting it all in London! Day and night, the self-constituted minions worked on at the great tread-mill of fashionable toil; the rich and noble (men and women), for so-called pleasure; the artizans and needle women for bread-all consuming their lives in the pursuit. Lady Hampton followed in the perfumed, prosperous concourse, still escaping censure, and still indifferent to all."

Young Grantley, a precocious lordling yet in his teens, and his first cousin, Raymond O'Neil, become acquainted. Alas that there should be so much untimely depravity among young lordlings in London, and their example so closely imitated by the unhappy crowd of shop boys in the monster houses of Dublin, and the unthiuking creatures they drag into ruin along with them!

"Although of the same age, Raymond was much stouter, more muscular, and high colored: his fine beaming countenance, full of sense and spirit, looked doubly so next Grantley's pale face and blasé expression. One was a manly boy, the other a boy man. The boyman whistled up an Italian air, and touched up his locks at the pier-glass: Raymond was soon deep in a book of prints of the Peninsular war. Shall we look up the general (their grand father) at his club, O'Neil?' asked Grantley (he liked surnames best, they sounded mannish), and he buttoned himself in his top coat. With all my heart. Why do you muffle-have you a cold?' 'No; but is this muffling? You are a hardy cove (would a young nobleman use such a slangy expression?): you Irish bear any thing good or bad,' observed Grantley with a smile; he fancied O'Neil was a muff. We know what to bear, depend on it,' he an swered coolly; it is rather good fun to pitch into a fellow when be is insolent.' I say, shall we try a sherry cobler? it is killing cold, returned the Viscount as they went out. I do not know what it is,'

said Raymond, it sounds funny.' I shall initiate you,' was the patronising reply, and shew you a pretty girl into the bargain.' The boy-man winked as he had seen others. I do not care a straw about your pretty girls,' retorted the manly country-bred boy contemptuously. I hate girls, they are so prim. Do you think I am such a Miss Molly?' The boy-man felt ashamed somehow and inferior too. You are a great big child, O'Neil,' he sneered here we are.' Lord Grantley had melted jelly and a biscuit, and then called for half a glass of liqueur. There's brandy in that,' suggested O'Neil with dislike. I should rather think there is. Now for the cobbler he was pedantically knowing, he exhibited for the other's instruction. O'Neil tried it, and not feeling amused, nor caring for wine, he threw it by. . . I wish I had you at Eton, old boy; they'd make a hare of you for your greenness.' Would they? they didn't at Oscott.' Oh! they are a slow set-all papists there.' 'I'll tell you what, my young lord: you may try your wit and your fashion on me to a certain point, and welcome; but if you were the Prince of Wales, and sneered at my religion, I would pummel you into a pancake.' He looked as if he could: the Viscount stammered an excuse. Have a cigar,' he added as they passed a shop. No, thank you,' replied Raymond smiling, I have no taste for aping big chaps; it does not amuse me.' 'What do you like thenmarbles?' asked the other. No, I like riding, and shooting, and fishing, and reading, and music. Now you have all my pursuits,' said Raymond playfully tell me yours if you have any." 'I am tired of a good many things; but I like billiards and betting and horses best. . . . My governor keeps me cruelly tight every way; so I am always on the sly, and hard up!' 'Do you mean your master or your father?' asked Raymond."

:

We admit the following colloquy, as we know that a very large proportion of well educated and sincere Protestants are very far from approving of the proceedings here censured. Two peasants are conversing.

man.

"Mr. Barlow is a good civil gentleman; he is a hard honest What do we want but that and a civil word? but them ladies of his is the mischief. They are ever and always stopping to lay down parables, and making little of themselves in every poor man's kitchen, pretending to be mighty free with us, but all the while as disdainful as you plase, afeard of the pig, and the gandher, and the chincough, and not letting their feet to the flure past their toes.' Yes, and then drawing down the religion, and purtending to read their foolish little stories, but always bringing in some sliver agin the priest or the Holy Catholic Church, and praising the jumpers. Faix, I'll keep them new turncoat preachers out of this village any how. Bad manners to them! it was the meal that brought them.'

Tis thrue for you, Mick. 'Tis no fit thing to come into any man's house to offend him and his family, jibing about the Blessed Mother of God, and what we'd die for, and did evermore. I'd sooner lose the sight of my eyes, than listen to the impudent tormenting

talk of them mean jumpers. What brought such inthruders into our parish at all? thank God we're not starving. Let them go to the big facthory towns and them mines under ground full of haythens. We had priests, and prayers, and patience enough without going to thim for it. If we hadn't the true faith, how could we come through the starvation time without plunder, and murdher, and every other villany? Didn't I see stout men wither away into thrawneens, and their wives and babbies gasping for death th' other side of thim, 'till the hair grew out of their bodies; and they never laid a wet finger on sheep, nor cattle, nor corn, tho' the land was teeming with them.' 'Tisn't that same,' rejoined the other, but they never turned an angry face up to heaven, nor said, why was it,' nor begrudged them that had enough (and good they were about it), but took it all from the GREAT GOD, for they knew it was for their good, and that HIMSELF had suffered.' 'And why did we bear it?' asked Mick. Was it for fraid of the magistrates? no. What had we in jail, but better feeding than we had at home, and we waiting for death all the time? 'Twas because we had the rale thrue faith, and the hopes of heaven, and because it was the will of God. Arrah! do you think the English would sit down empty and hungry, and have beef and mutton in the next field?' And sure if the bread is only any way small or dear over in Manchester, arn't they rising like bees in a swarm, and smashing windies, and tearing away loafs from the bakers? It's long till they'd wait till the life dropped out of them, and then be ashamed to own they were empty. Oh! they ought to larn their own side first, before they'd be tazing the likes of us. I'm not saying a word again the rale ould ministhers that war in it formerly, that minded theirselves and came honest by their flocks, and had civil manners for the poorest in the parish, and kep a good house: them had every one's good will. But now whoever turns from our side, and puts on a white handkercher, is as good as a rale parson, and has no manners nayther. 'Twas poverty done it.""

Being embarrassed with the number of passages worthy of being presented to the reader, we take the first at hand, and introduce Mrs. Eden, a widow of forty-three, with "wonderful hair unstained by one silvery streak, but with skin roughened by many beautifying applications."

"This lady's air was usually sentimental, although in moving about she indulged in gay little hops now and then, such as growing girls are seen to practise, when on some joyous expedition with an amiable governess who walks a trifle too fast. She idolised two or three delightful doctors and pathetic parsons, and worshipped genius' even in petticoats! Mrs. Eden insisted on calling herself Eve' (having been christened Sarah'), it was so tempting with Eden,' and she imagined herself the type of her too irresistible first mother. (Mr. O'Neil is presented to her). I am indeed most happy to behold him again' (he had rescued herself and daughter from inrull a former occasion), she uttered with affected rapture. Mr.

on

O'Neil, I only regret it did not occur in some woodland glade where the vesper hymn of birds falls sweetly on the ear; and that they were not real daring bandits that you put so boldly to flight. Fine fellows are those brave banditti, with their black beards, and plumed hats, and glittering daggers! I should like to be a bandit's bride dwelling in some forest cave, gorgeously attired'— ' In stolen goods,' added her daughter, contemptuously. 'You are too downright for your mother,' said Mr. Bland. She views things fancifully, poetically.' Yes, that is my bane: I am ever taking the graceful views; my feelings rule me: I am a slave to sensibility. I found a wounded pigeon yesterday in the park, and kept my maid up all night, nursing the dear dumb thing. It looks up into my face like an answering spirit; I am sure it has a human soul.' Your maid is very ill all day,' said Leonora, her cough is much worse. I would have put the useless pigeon out of pain, and allowed the sick maid to lie down in bed. I wish people had human souls for one another. Why didn't you sit up yourself?" "

No marriage-disposed young lady need lay the work aside for fear of finding all the heroines immured in convents towards the end of third volume. One only (and she not reared up. in any belief) out of half-a-dozen, devotes herself and her property to the works of the Sisters of Charity. Our extracts are not from those parts of the work that interest the most by human interest, or evince the sound judgment, and deep-seated religious convictions and philanthropy of the writer. She has written another novel, Blanche and her Betrothed, and we hope that these are only the first of a score at least.

A fitting conclusion of this paper will be to give a list of unobjectionable works of modern fiction, as far as our experience goes, beginning with those known to be written by Catholic authors. Geraldine, Rome and the Abbey, by Miss Agnew; the PopeIsidora the Neapolitan-Modern Society in Rome-the Alcazar, by J. R. Beste; Bertha, Florine, Queen Adelaide, the Robber Chieftain, by W. B. Maccabe; Alban, the Forest, by J. V. Huntingdon ;*

This gentleman conducts a Catholic peoriodical at Baltimore, U.S. His first work was " Lady Alice or the New Una," the scene being laid chiefly in Italy and England. The Catholic hero of the tale being in danger of death, declines the aid of his own clergymen, and becomes an Anglo-Catholic in a style that would for ever endear him to Dr. Pusey. The talented author had at the time the fearful example of poor Blanco White before his eyes, and might have known that when a Catholic pitches himself off the platform, he will not halt on the next step with the earnest, truth-seeking Anglicans: he tumbles down to the lowest level of Christianity, or rolls off into the outer void of unbelief. Before his next work, "Alban" was published, he had furnished a practical proof of the correctness of his views when writing "Lady Alice," by becoming a Catholic himself.