98 Monthly Reviezo of Literature. 



ask you to dinner, as it is washing-day, and George and I doat upon tripe 

 and cow-heel ; so, to save trouble, we get that early/ 



" ' What nonsense, Mrs. Dudley, you always talk,' said her husband, en- 

 raged at her thus exposing her ignorance, and her brother, the great Mr. 

 Cormick's habit of lying; ' I wonder you can believe such stuff.' 



" ' Indeed, Darby, dear, it is no stuff at all, for Casey ' 



" ' Damn Casey,' replied Mr. Dudley, stung to the quick by the visible 

 inclination to laugh which he saw upon Lord Portland's handsome counte- 

 nance. ' My lord, try this Madeira ; I think you will like it ; it is, I flatter 

 myself, prime.' 



" Dinner proceeded, and was ended, and to the great relief of Alice, Mrs. 

 Dudley arose to depart, and the gentlemen were left to themselves. When 

 arrived in the drawing-room, the ladies were loud, we might almost say, 

 uproarious, in the praises of Lord Portland. He was voted beautiful, talented, 

 accomplished, fascinating, and every other term that could be applied to his 

 various merits. His condescension was commented upon, and in the excite- 

 ment of the discussion, Mrs. Dudley happily escaped a rebuke which she had 

 dreaded from her daughters, concerning the unlucky story about the king and 

 tripes." 



The Merchant's Daughter. By the author of " The Heiress." 3 vols. 

 post 8vo. Bentley. 



THE business of the reviewer at this time of the year, when all the publishers 

 are firing off their pop-guns to astonish the public, becomes one of absolute 

 slavery. To look down the list of recent and forthcoming publications is itself 

 a work taking up some minutes : what then must be that of cutting the leaves, 

 conning their contents, and dressing up their tit-bits for the readers' pleasure ? 

 But what a goodly list of novels meets our eye ! Heigh ho ! If they be only 

 like the far greater portion of last year's supply, we absolutely dread the task 

 of wading through rubbish which contains so few pearls of value. What 

 would Fielding or Richardson think of the boasted taste of the nineteenth 

 century, if they knew how little is needed in authors to secure public praise 

 and patronage, if they knew with what assurance the professional scribbler 

 and the literary dame of fashion count on receiving for a three months' job in 

 three volumes with lots of balaam a cool three hundred, or perchance the 

 double. These are the days for novelists. 



Of the value of modern novels as reckoned in gold we have said enough : 

 of their value as works of literature we may be allowed to differ from the 

 commercial speculator : and so we say without more ado that nine-tenths of 

 them are mere trash, available for no higher purpose than conveying errone- 

 ous notions respecting the habits of people of fashion, cherishing the prurient 

 fancies of female passion, and teaching fabulous history to boarding-school 

 misses and their governesses. 



What pleasure is it to find a green spot in the desert ! How delightful is 

 it to find merit, real and high merit, where one expects none. It is not un- 

 usual to see notices, laudatory notices in the papers of works, whose real 

 merits are absolutely contemptible ; and therefore we were not surprised to 

 see " The Merchant's Daughter" favourably spoken of. Still we thought it 

 right, in consequence of such praise, to procure and read the volumes in ques- 

 tion : and glad we are, that leisure was permitted for their deliberate perusal ; 

 for seldom have we read a work displaying so much knowledge of the human 

 mind as the book now on the table." Its author depend on it is a very 

 shrewd observer of men and manners. 



We have no space for an analysis of the story : the following is a very 

 brief outline. A rich, vain, and title-loving merchant has a beautiful daugh- 

 ter, who in the early period of her father's career forms a childish affection 

 for a youth who is in due time introduced by her father into his business, and 



