The Orphan Child.-From Jane Eyre. Why did they send me so far and so lonely, Up where the Moors spread and gray rocks are piled? Yet distant and soft the night-breeze is blowing, Comfort and hope to the poor orphan child. There is a thought that for strength should avail me CHARLES JAMES LEVER. A series of Irish novels, totally different in character from those of Banim or Carleton, but as distinctly and truly national, has been written by MR. LEVER, who commenced his career in 1839 with The Confessions of Harry Lorrequer.' The author was born in Dublin, August 31, 1806. He studied medicine, and practised in Ireland. When the cholera broke out in 1832 he exerted himself nobly, and was rewarded with the appointment of physician to the British Embassy at Brussels. The success of Harry Lorrequer' determined Mr. Lever in favor of the literary profession. In 1841 he produced Charles O'Malley,' which was highly popular; and for thirty years afterward scarcely a year passed without a novel from the gay and brilliant author. Among them were 'Jack Hinton;' Tom Burke of Ours; The O'Donoghue, a Tale of Ireland Fifty Years Ago;' "The Knight of Gwynne, a Tale of the Union;' Roland Cashel,' "The Daltons,'The Dodd Family Abroad,'The_Martins of Cro' Martin,' The Fortunes of Glencore,' 'Davenport Dunn,' 'Maurice Tierney,' Sir Jasper Carew,' 'Luttrell of Arran,' 'Sir Brook Fossbrooke,' 'That Boy of Norcott's,' ' Paul Gosslett's Confessions,' ' A Day's Ride,' Con Cregan,' The Bramleighs of Bishop's Folly,' &c. His Last novel, Lord Kilgobbin,' was produced only a few months before his death, and aware that his end was near at hand, he said: 'I hope this effort may be my last.' He died of heart-disease at Trieste, June 1, 1872. Besides his long file of novels, Lever published in 'Blackwood's Magazine' (where many of his fictions also first ap peared) a series of papers upon men and women, and other things in general, by Cornelius O'Dowd.' These are clever, sarcastic and humorous essays, which, when collected, formed three volumes of adm.rable light reading. For about three years (1842-45) Mr. Lever conducted the 'Dublin University Magazine.' The novels of this versatile and lively author had all a considerable sale-some of the early ones rivalled the works of Dickens in popularity. 'Charles O'Malley' has gone through twelve editions. Besides his strange adventures, his battle-scenes, and romantic exploits, Mr. Lever has a rich, racy, national húmour. His heroes have all a strong love of adventure, a national proneness to blundering, and a tendency to get into scrapes and questionable situations. The author's chief fault is his sometimes mistaking farce for comedy-mere animal spirits for wit or humour. In 'Glencore' he tried the higher style of fiction- the detection of character and the unravelment of that tangled skein which makes up human motives;' but his satire and serious painting are not equal to his lighthearted gaiety, rollicking fun, and broad, laughable caricature. In The Dodd Family' is an excellent view of foreign life. During the latter part of his life Mr. Lever constantly resided abroad. He was many years in Florence; in 1858 he was appointed vice-consul at Spezia, where he remained till 1867, when he was transferred to Trieste. In 1871 the university of Dublin conferred upon him the degree of LL.D. Dispensing Charity among the Irish Poor.-From The Martins of Cro' Martin.' Most of those who came were desirous of tickets for dispensary aid. for sickness has its permanent home in the Irish cabin, and fever lurks amidst the damp straw and smoky atmosphere of the poor peasant's home. Some, however, came for articles of clothing, or for aid to make and repair them; others, for some little assistance in diet, barley for a sick man's drink, a lemon, or an orange, to moist n the parched lips of fever; others, again, wanted leave to send a graudchild or a niece to the School: and, lastly, a few privileged individuals appeared to claim their weekly rations of suff or tobacco-little luxuries accorded to old age-comforts that solaced many a dreary hour of a joyless existence. Amongst all the crowded mass, there was not one whom Mary had not known and visited in their humble homes. Thoroughly conversant with their condition and their necessities, she knew well their real wants, and if one less hopeful than herself might have despaired to render any actual relief to such wide-spread inisery, she was sanguine enough to be encouraged by the results before her, small and few as they were, to think that possibly the good time was yet to come when such efforts would be unneeded. and when Ireland's industry, employed and rewarded, would more then suffice for all the requirements of her humble poor. Jane Maloney,' said Mary, placing a small packet on the table. Give this to Sally Kieran as you pass her door; and here is the order for your own cloak.' May the heavens be your bed. May the holy ' 'Catty Honan,' cried Mary, with a gesture to enforce silence. daughter never comes to the school now that she has got leave. of that? Catty, your grandWhat's the reason 'Faix, your reverence, miss, 'tis ashamed she is by rayson of her clothes. She says Luke Cassidy's daughters have check aprons.' No more of this. Catty. Tell Eliza to come on Monday, and if I'm satisfied with her, she shall have one too.' Two ounces of tea for the Widow Jones.' Ayeh,' muttered an old hag, but it's weak it makes it without a little green in asked Mary, turning to a very feeble-looking old it l' Worse and worse, my lady. With every change of the weather they come on afresh.' The doctor will attend you, Sally, and if he thinks wine good for you, you shall have it.' Tis that same would be the savin' of me, Miss Mary,' said a cunning-eyed little woman, with a tattered straw bonnet on her head, and a ragged shawl over her. I don't think so, Nancy. Come up to the house on Monday morning, and help Mrs. Taafe with the bleaching.' So this is the duplicate, Polly?' said she, taking a scrap of paper from an old woman, whose countenance indicated a blending of dissipation with actual want. One-and-fourpence was all I got on it, and trouble enough it gave me.' These words she uttered with a heavy sigh, and in a tone at once resentful and complain · ing. Were my uncle to know that you had pawned your cloak, Polly, he'd never permit you to cross his threshold.' Ayeh, it's a great sin, to be sure,' whined out the hag, half insolently. A great shame and a great disgrace it certainly is; and I shall stop all relief to you till the money be paid back.' And why not? To be sure - Miss Mary is right !'-'What else could she do?' broke in full twenty sycophant voices, who hoped to prefer their own claims by the cheap expedient of condemning another. "The Widow Hannigan ?' 'Here, miss,' simpered out a smiling, little old creature, with a curtsey, as she held up a scroll of paper in her hand. What 's this, Widow Hannigan ?' "Tis a picture Mickey made of you, miss, when you was out riding that day with the hounds; he saw you jumping a stone wall.' Mary smiled at the performance, which certainly did not promise future excellence, and went on: Tell Mickey to mend his writing; his was the worst copy in the class; and here 's a card for your daughter's admission into the infirmary. By the way, widow, which of the boys was it I saw dragging the river on Wednesday? Faix, miss, I don't know. Sure it was none of ours would dare to 'Yes, they would, any one of them; but I'll not permit it; and what's more, widow, if it occur again, I'll withdraw the leave I gave to fish with a rod.' Teresa Johnson, your niece is a very good child. and promises to be very handy with her needle. Let her hem these handkerchiefs, and there's a frock for herself. My uncle says, Tom shall have half his wages paid him till he's able to come to work again.' But why attempt to follow out what would be but the long unending catalogue of native misery-that dreary series of wants and privations to which extreme destitution subjects a long-neglected and helpless people. There was nothing from the cradle to the coffin. from the first wailing wants of infancy to the last requirement of doting old age, that they did not stand in need of. A melancholy spectacle, indeed, was it to behold an entire population so steeped in misery, so utterly inured to wretchedness, that they felt no shame at its exposure, but rather a sort of self-exaltation at any opportunity of displaying a more than ordinary amount of human suffering and sorrow-to hear them how they caressed their afflictions, how they seemed to fondle their misfortunes, vying with each other in calamity, and hidding higher and higher for a little human sympathy. Mary Martin set herself stoutly to combat this practice, including, as it does, one of the most hopeless features of the national character. To inculcate habits of self-reliance, she was often driven, in violation of her own feelings, to favour those who least needed assistance, but whose efforts to improve their condition might serve as an example. SAMUEL LOVER-LEITCH RITCHIE. Another Irish worthy, SAMUEL LOVER (1798–1868), a native of Dublin, produced a number of good Irish songs-The Angels' Whisper,' Molly Bawn,' 'The Four-leaved Shamrock, &c.' His Irish novels - Rory O'More' (1839), Handy Andy' (1842), and Treasure Trove' (1844), were well received. His short Irish sketches, however, are much better; and by reciting some of these, and singing his fine wild songs, he made up a public entertainment which he gave with great success in Ireland, England, and America. The Angels' Whisper. A baby was sleeping, its mother was weeping, For her husband was far on the wild range sea: And the tempest was swelling round the fisherman's dwelling, And while they are keeping bright watch o'er thy sleeping, And say thou wouldst rather they'd watched o'er thy father, The dawn of the morning saw Dermot returning. And the wife wept with joy her babe's father to see, And closely caressing her child with a Blessing, Said: "I knew that the angels were whispering with thee.' LEITCH RITCHIE (1800-1865), a native of Greenock, was author of four novels-Schinderhannes,' 'The Game of Life,' 'The Magician,' and Wearyfoot Common,' 1855. He wrote various short tales and continental tours, and for several years bore a part in conducting 'Chambers's Journal.' THOMAS HUGHES. 'Tom Brown's School-days, by an Old Boy,' 1857, gives an excellent account of Rugby School under Dr. Arnold; also some delightful sketches of scenery, rural customs, and sports in Berkshire. The hero, Tom Brown, is the son of a Berkshire squire; he is genial, good-humoured, and high-spirited; he fights his way nobly at Rugby, and battles against bullying, tossing, and other evils of our public schools. The tore and feeling of the volume are admirable, and it was pleasant to see so healthy and wise a book-for so it may be termed-in its sixth edition within twelve months. Several more editions have since been published. The same author has still further commemorated his beloved Berkshire in The Scouring of the White Horse, or the Long Vacation Ramble of a London Clerk,' 1858. In this work the country games, traditions, and antiquarian associations of Berkshire are described. The Browns. The Browns have become illustrious by the pen of Thackeray and the pencil of Doyle, within the memory of the young gentlemen who are now matriculating at the universities. Notwithstanding the well-merited but late fame which has now fallen E. L. v. 7-10 upon them, any one at all acquainted with the family must feel that much has yet to be written and said before the British nation will be properly sensible of how much of its greatness it owes to the Browns. For centuries, in their quiet, dogged, homespun way, they have been subduing the earth in most English counties, and leaving their mark in American forests and Australian uplands. Wherever the fleets and armies of England have won renown, there stalwart sons of the Browns have done yeonan's work. With the yew-bow and cloth-yard shaft at Cressy and Agincourt— with the brown bill and pike under the brave Lord Willoughby-with cuiverin and demi-culverin against Spaniards and Dutchmen-with band-grenade and sabre, and musket and bayonet, under Rodney and St. Vincent, Wolf and Moore, Nelson and Wellington, they have carried their lives in their hands; getting hard knocks and hard work in panty, which was on the whole what they looked for, and the best thing for them: and little praise or pudding, which indeed they, and most of us, are better without. Talbots and Stanleys, St. Maurs and such-like folk, have led armies and made laws time out of mind; but those noble families would be somewhat astounded-if the accounts ever came to be fairly taken-10 find how small their work for England has been by the side of that of the Browns. The author of Tom Brown's School-days' is Thomas Hughes, a Chancery barrister (appointed Queen's Counsel in 1869), son of John Hughes, Esq., of Oriel College, Oxford, author of the Itinerary of Provence,' and editor of the Boscobel Tracts.' Sir Walter Scott pronounced this gentleman a poet, a draughtsman, and a scholar.' The once famous ballad of The One-horse Shay' and other political jeur d'esprit in 'John Bull,' were by the elder Mr. Hughes. His son, born in 1823, was educated at Rugby under Dr. Arnold. Mr. Hughes was for some time an active member of parliament, warmly advocating the interests, without flattering the prejudices, of the working-classes. In all social questions he takes a deep interest, and evinces a manly, patriotic spirit. MRS. CROWE. This lady differs from most of her sister-novelists in a love of the supernatural and mysterious. She possesses dramatic skill in describing characters and incidents, and few who have taken up one of her stories will lay down the volume until it has been read through. Mrs. Crowe's first publication was a tragedy, Aristodemus,' 1-38. Her next work was addressed to the many. • The Adventures of Susan Hopley,' 1841, is a novel of English life, and was very successful. It was followed by Men and Women, or Manorial Rights,' 1843-a tale less popularly attractive than 'Susan Hopley,' but undoubtedly superior to it in most essential points. Mrs. Crowe next translated The Seeress of Prevorst,' revelations concerning the inner life of man, by Justinus Kerner; and two years afterwards (1847), she published The Story of Lilly Dawson.' The heroine, when a child, falls into the hands of a family of English smugglers, desperadoes of the Dirk Hatteraick stamp; and the account given of the gradual development of her intellect and affections amidst scenes of brutal violence and terror, with the story of her subsequent escape and adventures when the world was all before her, form a narrative of psychological as well as of romantic interest. Among |