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    In default of gossip about the sayings and doings of those in whom the public is interested , we will venture to assume that our public is interested in that besides most

    our doings ; and inform it , essential improvements in tbe business department of this journal , which we hope will effectually put an end to die many disappointments and annoyances of our subscribers , we are to have a new type , new paper , and are to wear an aspect such as we have always wished , but never attained .

    There is a silver lining to every cloud ; and it is pleasant to see a consolation in the very enormity of our irregularities , without which enormity we might not so well have tested the vitality of this journal . It is not in vaingloriousness , but in gratitude that we note how , in spite of such irregularity in the delivery of papers as must have killed ten journals not firmly rooted in the interest of its subscribers—in spite of scarcely any subscriber

    expecting to receive more than two papers in three—in spite of shameful inattention and carelessness on the part of those whose duty it was to see that everything went regularly- —in spite of this and more , yet has our circulation exhibited con * Btant progress , and our friends have become stauncher aswell as more numerous . Whatever damage may have resulted to us from this long series of irregularities , they have proved at least the vitality of the Header .

    But enough . We may announce here , that , in addition to the ordinary matter of our journal , the coming numbers will contain : — I . An original historic sketch by the brilliant Eugene Pelletan , of La Presse , called

    THE STORY OF A CARDINAl / s HAT , II . The series of papers ( strictly veracious accounts of what actually occurred in the presence of the writer ) , called MAGNETIC EVENINGS AT HOME . III . The series of THE HAYTHORNE PAPERS . IV . The long promised series on AUGUSTE COMTE ' S POSITIVE PHILOSOPHY , which will serve as an introduction to the study of that great system , and which has only been delayed by difficulties that no longer exist .

    V . A NEW STORY , by a writer whom pur readers will be glad to welcome ; not to mention the " other novelties " which , as the playbills say , " are in active preparation . * '

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    Turning from these announcements to one of universal interest , let us anticipate by a few days that of Dickens ' s new work , Bleak House , which for twenty months is to bring laughter and tears into unnumbered homes ; let us also ifote that , in France , LamartIne is to replace his Conseiller du Peuple by a monthly journal at six francs a year , called Le Civilisateur , every number of which is to contain the portrait and the life of some '' great man of humanity . "

    Roebuck ' s History of the Whig Government , so long delayed , is at length ready for issue . It could not come more apropos . Beginning with the old Reform Bill , it will appear just in time for the campaign of the new . Four numbers of a remarkable penny journal , edited by the Reverend Wm . Maccall and tlie Reverend C . Clarke , and called The People , are

    on our table . Although edited by two Reverends , a more outspoken journal of its class does not , we think , exist ; nor , let us add , a more thoughtful journal . We so heartily wish- it success , that we cannot refrain from suggesting a change in its Arrangement ; the system of "to be continued / ' is very injurious to its effect . Variety must be sacrificed , and the articles printed entire : five "

    continuations" in one number . Apropos of new journals , a German paper printed in New York , and edited by Karl Heingen , called Janus , has reached us . The first number contains little more than an address to Kqssuth from Heingen .

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    NEW NOVELS . The Two Families : an Episode in the Bittory of Chapelton JBy the Author of " Bose Douglas . " 2 voU . ¦ Smith , Elder , and Co . The Succettful Merchant . By William Arthur , A . M . Hamilton , Adams , and Co . Antony , the Deaf and Dumb Boy . 2 vols . Bentiey . Rose Douglas was so pleasant , so truthful , and so superior to the average works of its class , that we looked forward with peculiar eagerness to a new work from the same writer . In some respects we

    have been disappointed . The artistic faults of that book , as a work of fiction , are here repeated , if not exaggerated . The authoress has made no advance in the art of narrating a story , though she preserves her talent for narrating a scene . Nor has she much widened the sphere of her observation . The goodnatured indolent woman , the spoiled child , the romantic " ministers" who sat for their portraits in Rose Douglas , seem to have been doing duty again in the Two Families . It is nevertheless an agreeable , in some respects

    a remarkable book , this of the Two Families The characters are drawn with rare power and truthfulness . We could point to more than one example of an adherence to truth of nature—in defiance of the truth as it has been understood immemorially in Circulating Libraries—which argues in the writer the possession of the rarest power ; and by this adherence to truth , the story —in itself improbable as most fictions—has the lifelike aspect of actual experience . Ben ' s return to his native town with wealth and consequence , after having run away as a boy from poverty and

    disgra . ee- —his settling down there as a landed proprietor , and the vague ennui which forces him into marriage—all this is of a kind we have often read before ; but it is touched with a skilful hand , and especially noticeable is the quiet truth of his affection for Mary his cousin , and the way he bears the announcement of . her marriage . Ninety-nine novelists out of a hundred would have made Ben return with a passion for Mary , undiminished by age , time , separation , and the turmoil of

    affairsand the news of her marriage would have been " a crushing blow "—the glory and the sunshine of life would have disappeared for poor Ben from that monient I Or else they would have made him return perfectly oblivious of Mary , and she yearning for him with the accumulated love of twenty silent years . One of those two courses , we say , the novelist , as a novelist , would inevitably have taken . Tradition requires it ; " sentiment" demands it . Our authoress does neither . She

    follows nature , and is excessively touching in consequence . We would gladly set before our readers the art here employed to exhibit the effects of " spoiling " by indolent parents , but they must seek it in these volumes . Towards the close there is exaggeration , but the early career of little Eliza is admirably depicted . It is unfortunately a book of episodes : nothing less than the excellence of treatment could induce the reader to go on through these tantalising chapters , that do not seem bound together by any art . But as a series of sketches from the life it is very interesting . As specimens , we will give a bit of scenery and a pathetic incident : —

    A HIGHIAND GU 3 N . " The parish , like most Highland ones , was very large , and the glen I have mentioned was its remotest point . It was called in the district Glonearn , that is , the Glen of the Eagles . ' It was difficult of access . The road to it—if it deserved to be called one—was execrable , and in winter almost impassable , except to the hardiest of the mountain shepherds . It wound along on the face of the steep hills , and few could reBiat the violence of the wind that then raged almost incessantly there .

    " The head of the glen was some miles distant from the church and manse . The road gradually ascended from thence . The traveller first wound slowly up through dark pino woods , which for miles skirted the mansion of the lord of the soil , where the roe deer often startled him by bounding unexpectedly aorosa the path , till ho emerged upon very green and gently sloping hills , up which he continued to toil , hill rising abovo hill , as he advanced , till he entered the mountain pass . " At intervals a solitary farm-steading might be eeen in dome sheltered spot , with only a small patch

    of cultivated land around it—for sheep-farming <« the occupation of the district—though , oftene * « S eye would be saddened by the crumbling relic- «? former habitations . Spots of brighter grass than usual , a tottering wajl , with perhaps a solitary free or two waving over it , beneath whose shade hanJ , childhood once played , told a tale of ruined homesteads ? -Alaa-l what has become of their tenan ts ? " But , now , the hills begin to open and to form the glen . The mountains gradually increase in heigh * and sublimity , and rise , bare , desolate , and cloud capt on either hand . They are speckled far up with sheep ; scarcely to be . discerned , however from the

    , grey stones—the dehris of the rocks—which are pro . fuseiy scattered among the heather . A -wild mw& tain torrent rushes down the centre of the glen " struggling fiercely with the numerous rocks which the wintry storms have loosened from the hills , and which obstruct its progress . In some places , the hill sides slope upwards so steeply from the small but impetuous river , that the road seems to wind along by the brink of a precipice , down which t he traveller gazes fearfully upon the dark and angry waters below . little rills spring here and therefrom the mountain sides , and intersect the path . These

    in summer can be leapt across , but in winter must be waded through ; no use of stepping-stones then—the storms would roll them away . A scanty sprinkling of trees—principally of birch , and mountain ash , intermingled with hazel-bushes—occasionally clothes the steep banks of the wild stream , or springs from the fissures of the huge stones which interfere with its course , lending to it a . softer beauty . But , in general , its sides are bare of wood , and it dashes on unshaded , save by the rocks and hills between which it originally forced its passage . The eye is relieved ,

    however , by the abundance of fern , which springs up wherever it can obtain soil , either on the banks or up the mountain sides , and at times by the vivid green , which warns the stranger of some treacherous morass . As he advances , he probably startles numerous sheep , nestling luxuriously in the recesses they have worn for themselves by the wayside * whose fearful looks and rapid movements show how little accustomed they are to the intrusion of man , and whose enormous twisted horns and light limbs are in most picturesque keeping with the savage grandeur of the scenery around ,

    " The view grows wilder and wilder—all around is silent , eteiile , and desolate . No sound but the brawling of the torrent , the distant bleating of the sheep from the heights , or the cry of the grouse or the blackcock among the heather , reaches the ear in this lonely region ; but there is a solemn charm in the desolation—one feels alone with God and nature . On a still , hot summer ' s day , when the white clouds which sail along the blue sky are reflected upon the heather , sunbeam chasing cloud as it were

    across the hill sides , and both , mirrored in the foaming waters below , the scene is exquisite in its quiet , solitary beauty ; but in winter , when the snow lies deep in the glen , and the ever impatient river , swelled and dark , rushes along in foam and thunder , when the mists come rolling down the mountain sides , and the tempest sweeps suddenly through the narrow pass , overwhelming and exhausting the Struggling wayfarer , then is the time to behold Glenearn in its truesbmajesty—but few , indeed , dare to traverse it at such a time .

    The incident shall be that where Mary , the keeper ' s wife , awaiting his return , is alarmed by the appearance of his dog , who by signs calls upon her to follow him through the glen : •—" It was after a full hour ' s constant toil that Mary drew near the spot from which her husband had fired his signal . The night , as she anticipated , had fallen ; but the clear summer sky was thickly spangled with stars , and the moon was just rising and silvering the ridge on which she stood . The solemn silence of the mountain heights was only broken by the tinkling

    voice of the many little streams , whose sources lurKett in the clefs and hollows of the hills , and by the rushing of the night wind , which blew cold and strong on their rugged tops . The scene was gtand , and almost overpowering in the sense of loneliness it inspired ; the impenetrable darkness which brooded in those recesses , into which the faint beams of the moon had not yet penetrated , was painfully exciting to the imagination—the secrets and mysteries of the ancient hills seemed there hidden from the presumptuous gaze of man . , „ . witn

    " Mary would once have gazed upon this scene awe-struck admiration ; but nowishe did not re # J ?** it . She pressed on with concentrated energy . * ° dog suddenly bounded forwarded , and juet as , on passing the abruptly projecting point of a crag , sno caught a glimpse of the light in her own cottage w below , she came upon the dead body of her husbano , lying upon the heather , with his face looking upworas to the calm unmoved sky , and the gun , whose accidental discharge had hurried him in a moment mw eternity , resting by his side . . t " It was with a calm , though intense agony , w » Mary knelt by her husband ' a aide . No loud l » " tionfl , no frenzied outcries , broke from her lips I ft " *"* groan only escaped thorn ; once only did she c ase »

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    ~ .- ^ - ««* fhe i *»<* islfltorB . but the judges and police IfSTa&K ^^

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    . 108 .-. « 1 >* &t * tttV * [ SATOltoA ^

• Citation
  • Leader (1850-1860), Jan. 31, 1852, page 108, in the Nineteenth-Century Serials Edition (2008; 2018) ncse-os.kdl.kcl.ac.uk/periodicals/l/issues/vm2-ncseproduct1920/page/16/