and which introduces us to life in the bush, and to a series of surprising adventures. This was followed by White Lies,' 1857. The Course of True Love Never did Run Smooth,' 1-57; Jack of all Trades,' 1-58; Love me Little, Love me Long,' 1859; and The Cloister and the Hearth, a Tale of the Middle Ages,' 1861. The låst is a powerful romance-the author's noblest work. It was followed by Hard Cash,' 1863; and by Griffith Gaunt, or Jealousy,' 1863both remarkable fictions, though deformed by coarse, overdrawn scenes, and painful disclosures of immorality, crime, and suffering. The other novels of Mr. Reade are 'Foul Play,' 1868; Put Yourself in his Place,' 1870; and A Terrible Temptation,' 1871.

Before his successful career as a novelist, Mr. Reade had produced some dramatic pieces-Gold,' 1850; and, in association with Mr. Tom Taylor, a drama entitled 'Two Loves and a Life,' 1854; The King's Rivals,' 1854; Masks and Faces,' 1854; on the last of these was founded the story of Peg Woffington. Mr. Reade is an Oxfordshire man, a D.C.L. of the university, youngest son of a squire of the same name; born in 1814, graduated at Magdalen Hall, elected to one of the Vinerian Fellowships in 1842, and called to the bar in 1843.

G. R. GLEIG-W. H. MAXWELL-JAME3 GRANT.

Various military narratives, in which imaginary scenes and char. acters are mixed up with real events and descriptions of continental scenery, have been written by the above gentlemen. The REV. GEORGE ROBERT GLEIG (son of Bishop Gleig of Brechin, and born in 1796) in the early part of his life served in the army, but afterwards entered the church, and is now Chaplain-General to the Forces. A portion of his military experience is given in his work, 'The Subaltern,' 1825, which gives an accurate and lively account of some of the scenes in the Peninsular war. He has since proved one of our most voluminous writers. Among his works are- The Chelsea Pensioners,' 1829; The Country Curate,' 1834; The Chronicles of Waltham,' 1835; The Hussar,' 1837; Traditions of Chelsea College,' 1838; The Only Daughter,' 1839; The Veterans of Chelsea Hospital,' 1841; The Light Dragoon,' 1844; 'Story of the Battle of Waterloo; &c. Mr. Gleig has also written Lives of British Military Commanders,' a History of British India,' a 'Familiar History of England,' a 'Life of Sir Thomas Munro,' Memoirs of Warren Hastings,' a 'Military History of Great Britain,' an account of Sale's Brigade in Afghanistan,' ' Campaigns of the British Army in Washington,' a Life of Lord Clive,' three volumes of travels in Germany, Bohemia and Hungary; two volumes of Essays' contributed to the Edinburgh' and Quarterly Reviews,' several volumes of sermons and educational treatises, &c. Many of these works of Mr. Gleig bear traces of haste and mere book-making; the 'Memoirs of Hastings,' though poor, had the merit of producing one

of Macaulay's best essays. The latest of Mr. Gleig's works is a 'Life of Sir Walter Scott,' 1871, reprinted from the Quarterly Review.'

WILLIAM HAMILTON MAXWELL (795-1861) is said to have been the first who suggested the military novel, afterwards so popular with Charles Lever. Mr. Maxwell travelled for some time with the British army in the Peninsula, but took orders in the church, and became rector of Ballagh in Connaught. He was a voluminous writer, author, among other works, of Stories of Waterloo,' 1829; 'Wild Sports of the West,' 1833; The Dark Lady of Doona,' 1836; The Bivouac, or Stories of the Peninsular War,' 1837; 'Life of the Duke of Wellington,' 3 vols., 1839-41; Rambling Recollections of a Soldier of Fortune,' 1842; Hector O'Halloran,' 1844; History of the Irish Rebellion of 1798' (illustrated by Cruikshank), 1845; Adventures of Captain O'Sullivan,' 1846; Hillside and Border Sketches,' 1847; Bryan O'Lynn,' 1848; &c.

6

A number of military novels and memoirs of eminent commanders have been written by MR. JAMES GRANT (born in Edinburgh in 1822), who served for a short time in the 62d Regiment. Among these are- The Romance of War,' 1846, to which a sequel was added the following year; Adventures of an Aide-de-Camp,' 1848; 'Walter Fenton, or the Scottish Cavalier,' 1850; Bothwell,' 1851; 'Jane Seton,' 1853; Philip Rollo,' 1854; The Yellow Frigate,' 1855; The Phantom Regiment,' 1-56; and every succeeding year a military novel, the latest being Under the Red Dragon,' 1872. Besides these, Mr. Grant has written Memoirs of Kirkaldy of Grange,' 1849; Memorials of Edinburgh Castle,' 1850; Memoirs of Sir John Hepburn,' 1851. Familiar with military affairs and with Scottish history, some of Mr. Grant's novels present animated pictures of the times, though often rambling and ill constructed.

GEORGE MACDONALD.

One of the most original novelists of the day, especially in describing humble Scottish life and feeling, whose genius 'loves to dwell on the border-land between poetry and prose, between this world and romance,' is MR. GEORGE MACDONALD. Born at Huntly, county of Aberdeen, December 10, 1824, Mr. MacDonald went to college at Aberdeen in his sixteenth year, and pursued his studies with a view to devoting his life to science, particularly chemistry. He afterwards attended the Theological College at Highbury, and became the minister of a Congregational church at Arundel in Sussex. He remained three years in Arundel, and then removed to Manchester. He was compelled, however, to give up preaching on account of the state of his health, which has always been delicate and precarious. A short residence in Algiers restored Mr. MacDonald to comparative vigour, and returning to London, he took to literature as a profession. In 1856, his first work, Within and Without,' a poem, appeared. This was followed by Phantastes, a Faerie Romance,' as wild as Hogg's 'Kil

meny,' but also, like it, full of poetic beauty ad power. A long series of novels and imaginative works succeeded. David Elgin brod,' 1862; The Portent, a Story of Second Sight,' 1864; Adela Cathcart,' 1864; Alec Forbes of Howglen,' 1865; Annals of a Quiet Neighbourhood;' Robert Falconer; Seaboard Parish;'Wow o' Riven, or the Idiot's Home;' At the Back of the North Wind;' 'The Princess and the Goblin;' Wilfrid Cumbermede;' Malcolm;' St. Michael and the Dragon,' 1875; &c. Besides his numerous novels, Mr. MacDonald has published a volume of poems and some theological works, as, 'Unspoken Sermons,' 1869 The Miracles of Our Lord,' 1870. In depicting certain phases of religious belief and development, and in exposing the harsher features of Calvinism, Mr. MacDonald is original and striking, and scenes of that nature in his novels are profound as well as touching and suggestive. The fol Lowing extract is from Robert Falconer:"

Death of the Drinking, Fiddling outar (Shoemaker).

Silence endured for a short minute; then he called his wife. Come here, Bell, Gie me a kiss, my bonny lass. I hae been an illan to you.'

Na, na, Sandy. Ye hae aye been gude to me-better nor I deserved. Ye hae been nae ody's enemy but yer ain'

Hand yer tongue. Ye 're speykin' waur blethers nor the minister. honest man! And, eh! ye war a bonny lass when I merried ye. I hae blandit (spoiled) ye a'thegither. But gin I war up. see gin I wadna gie ye a new goon, an' that wad be something to make ye like yersel' again I'm affrontet wi' mysel' at I had been sic a brute o' a man to ye. But ye maun forgie me noo, for I do believe i' my hert 'at the Lord's forgien me. Gie me auither kiss. lass. God be praised. and mony thanks to you Ye micht hae run awa' frae me lang or uoo, au'a'body wad hae said ye did riclt-Robert, play a spring.'

Absorbed in his own thoughts, Robert began to play The Ewie wi' the Crookit Horn. "Hoots! hoots ' cried Sandy angrily. What are ye aboot? Nae mair o' that. I hae dune wi' that. What 's i' the heid o' ye, man?'

What '11 I play then Sandy?' asked Robert meek'.

Play the The Lan' o' the Leal,' or 'My Nannie's Awa',' or something o' that kin'. I'll be leal to ye noo, Bell. An' we winna pree o' the whusky nae mair, lass.' 'I canna bide the smell o't,' cried Bell sobbing.

Robert struck in with The Land o' the Leal When he had played it over two or three times, he laid the fiddle in its place. and departed-able just to see, by the light of the neglected candle, that Bell sat on the bedside stroking the rosing hand of her husband, the rhinoceros-hide of which was yet delicate enough to let the love through to his heart. After this the soutar never called his fiddle his auld wife.

Robert walked home with his head sunk on his breast. Dooble Sanny [Double Sandy), the drinking, ranting, swearing soutar, was inside the wicket-gate. Henceforth Robert had more to do in reading the New Testament than in playing the fiddle to the soutar, though they never parted without an air or two. Sandy continued hopeful and generally cheerful, with alternations which the reading generally fixed on the right side for the night. Robert never attempted any comments, but left him to take from the Word what nourishment he could. There was no re urn of strength, and the constitution was gradually yielding.

The rumour got abroad that he was a changed character-bow, it is not far to seek, for Mr. Macleary fancied himself the honoured instrument of his conversion, whereas paralysis and the New Testament were the chief agents, and even the violin had more share in it than the minister. For the spirit of God lies all about the spirit of man like a mighty sea, ready to rush in at the smallest chink in the walls that sut him out from his own-walls which even the tone of a violin afloat on the wind of that spirit is sometimes enough to rend from battlement to base, as the blast of the

ram's horns rent the walls of Jericho. And now, to the day of his death, the shoemaker had need of nothing. Food, wine, and delicacies were sent him by many who, while they considered him outside of the kingdom, would have troubled themselves in no way about him. What with visits of condolence and flattery, inquiries into his experience, and long prayers by his bedside, they now did their best to send him back among the swine. The soutar's humour, however, aided by his violin, was a strong antidote against these evil influences.

'I doobt I'm gaem to dee, Kobert,' he said at length one evening, as the lad sat by his bedside.

Weel, that winna do ye nae ill,' answered Robert; adding with just a touch of bitterness: ye needna care aboot that.'

I do not care aboot the deein' o't. But I jist want to live lang enench to lat the Lord ken 'at I'm doon-richt earnest aboot it. I hae nae chance o' drinkin' as lang as I'm lyin' here.'

Never ye fash_yer heid aboot that. Ye can lippen (trust) that to him, for it's his ain business. He'll see 'at ye're a' richt. Dinna ye think at he'll lat ye off.'

The Lord forbid,' responded the soutar earnestly. It maun be a' pitten richt. It wad be dreifu' to be latten off. I wadna hae him content wi' cobbler's wark. I hae 't,' he resumed, after a few minutes' pause: the Lord's easy pleased, but ill to satisfee. I'm sair pleased wi' your playin', Kobert, but it's naething like the richt thing yet. It does me gude to hear ye, though, for a' that.'

The very next night he found him evidently sinking fast. Robert took the violin, and was about to play, but the soutar stretched out his left hand, and took it from him, laid it across his chest and his arm over it, for a few oments, as if he were bidding it farewell, then held it out to Robert, saying: Hae, Robert, she's yours. Death's a sair divorce. Maybe they'll hae an orra fiddle whaur I'm gaein', though. Think o' a Rothieden soutar playing afore his Grace!'

Robert saw that his mind was wandering, and mingled the paltry honours of earth with the grand simplicities of heaven He began to play the Land o' the Leal.' For a little while Sandy seemed to follow and comprehend the tones, but by slow degrees the light departed from his face. At length his jaw fell, and with a sigh the bo ly parted from Dooble Sanny, and he went to God. His wife closed mouth and eyes without a word, laid the two arms straight by his sides, then seating herself on the edge of the bed, said: 'Dinna bide, Robert. It's a' ower noo. He's gane home. Gin I war only wi' him, wharever he is!' She burst into tears, but dried her eyes a moment after.

Bible Class in the Fisher Village.-From Malcolm.'

He now called up the Bible class, and Malcolm sat beside and listened. That morning they had read one of the chapters in the history of Jacob.

Was Jacob a good man?' he asked, as soon as the reading, each of the scholars in turn taking a verse, was over. An apparently universal expression of assent followed; halting in its wake, however, came the voice of a boy near the bottom of the class: Wasua he some double, sir?' 'You are right, Sheltie,' said the master; he was double. I must, I find, put the question in another shape: was Jacob a bad man?'

Again came such a burst of 'yeses' that it might have been taken for a general hiss. But limping in the rear came again the half dissentient voice of Sheltic: Pairtly, sir.' You think then, Sheltie, that a man may be both bad and good?' 'I dinna ken, sir; I think he may be whiles ane and whiles the other, and whiles maybe it wad be ill to say which. Our colly's whiles in twa minds whether he'll do what he's telled or no.'

"That's the battle of Armageddon, Sheltie, my man. It's aye raging, as gun roared or bayonet clashed. Ye maun up and do your best in 't, my man. Gien ye die fechting like a man, ye 'll flee up with a quiet face and wide open een; and there's a great One that will say to ye, Weel done, laddie!" But gien ye gie in to the enemy, he'll turn ye into a creeping thing that eats dirt: and there 'Il no be a hole in a' the crystal wa' of the New Jerusalem near enough to let ye creep through.' 'I reckon, sir,' said Sheltie, Jacob hadna foughten out his battle.'

That's just it, my boy. And because he would not get up and fight manfully, God had to take him in hand. Ye've heard tell of generals, when their troops were

rinnin' awa', having to cut this man down, shoot that ane, and lick another, till he turned them a' right face about, and drave them on to the foe like a spate (flood). And the trouble God took wi' Jacob was not lost upon him at last.'

An' what came o' Esau, sir?' asked a pale-faced maiden with blue eyes. He wasna an ill kind o' a chjeld, was he, sir?'

No, Mappy,' answered the master; he was a fine chield as you say, but he needed mair time and gentler treatment to make ouytuing o' him. Ye see he had a guid heart, but was a duller kind o' creature a'thegither, and cared for neathing he couldua see or handle. He never thought muckie about God at a'. Jacob was another sort-a poet kind o' a man, but a seck-drawing creature for a' that. It was easier, however, to get the slyness out o' Jacob than the dullness out o' Esau. Puns ishment telled upon Jacob like upon a thin-skinned horse, whereas Esan was wait like the minister's powny, that can hardly be made to understand that ye want him to gang on.'

The Old Churchyard-From Malcolm.'

The next day, the day of the Resurrection, rose glorious from its sepulchre of sea-fog and drizzle It had poured all night long, but at sunrise the clouds had broken and scattered, and the air was the purer for the cleansing rain, while the earth shone with that peculiar lustre which follows the weeping which has endured its ap pointed night. The larks were at it again, singing as if their hearts would break for joy as they hovered in brooding exultation over the song of the future; for thei nests beneath hoarded a wealth of larks for summers to come. Especially about the old church-half buried in the ancient trees of Lossie House, the birds that day were jubilant; their throats seemed too narrow to let out the joyful air that filled all their hollow bones and quills; they sang as if they must sing or choke with too much gladness. Beyond the short spire and its shining cock, rose the balls and stars and arrowy vanes of the bouse, glittering in gold and sunshine. The inward hush of the Resurrection, broken only by the prophetic birds, the ports of the groaning and travailing creation, held time and space as in a trance; and the centre from which radiated both the husn and the carolling expectation seemed to Alexander Graham to be the churchyard in which he was now walking in the cool of the morning. It was more carefully kept than most Scottish churchyards and yet was not too trim; Nature had a word in the affair-was allowed her part of mourning in long grass and moss and the crumbling away of stone. The whol someness of decay, which both in nature and humanity is but the miry road back to life was not unrecognised here; there was nothing of the hideous attempt to hide death in the garments of life. The master walked about gently, now stopping to read some well-known inscription, and ponder for a moment over the words; and now wandering across the stoneless mounds, content to be forgotten by all but those who loved the departed. At length he seated himself on a slab by the side of the mound that rose but yesterday; it was sculptured with symbols of decay-needless, surely, where the originais lay about the mouth of every newly-opened grave, as surely ill befitting the precincts of a church whose indwelling gospel is of life victorious over death! What are these stones,' he said to himself, but monuments to oblivion.' They are not memorials of the dead, but memorials of the forgetfulness of the living. How vain it is to send a poor forsaken name, like the title-page of a lost book, down the careless stream of time! Let me serve my generation, and may God remember me!

Mr. MacDonald is a master of thought and sentiment, with fine fancy and descriptive power, but with little or no constructive tact. Ilis ideas are apt to run away with him, and to cause one part of his story to move in a wholly different atmosphere from that of the other. The quaint realism of the first volume of 'David Elginbrod' but indifferently reconciles itself with the spiritualistic effusiveness of the latter. The Annals of a Quiet Neighbourhood' errs in the same way, and also Malcolm;' yet what fine things are in those works! Mr. MacDonald's peculiar reaction against Calvinism is seen in most of his novels, particularly in hobert Falconer,' which is perhaps the