of Bulwer's Zanoni, to which it bears some general resemblance, though far inferior in interest and thrilling power. In all of her novels the plot is entirely subordinate to the expression of the peculiar views of the writer; the characters limited usually to five or six; the incidents few and meagre; and nothing redeems them from wearying the reader, except the bursts of impassioned eloquence which break forth unexpectedly from the midst of the wildest rhapsodies, or most barren exhortations. There is a great deal of French exaggeration displayed in all of them, and a prodigal display of theatrical clap-trap, such as dark nights, rugged mountains, lurid skies, &c., in the midst of which the heroine may "die with decency." In Indiana, probability is most willfully violated with the coolest assurance throughout, and the East Indian is such a demon of iniquity and malignity, as none but the excitable brain of a Frenchwoman, addicted to the use of tobacco, could have given birth to. One merit we are willing to concede to her, that she is a woman of genius; but it is nearly all the good we can say of her; and that, with the qualification of having perverted to evil purposes that which was capable of being so productive of good. She should stand as a warning to all the more brilliant of her sex, that they do not suffer an ardent temperament, a soaring mind, and a fine sensibility to the inequalities and miseries of society, to lead them irrecoverably down to a gulph, where the fires of their genius can only appear the "lurid flames mantling the ruins of Immortality."

We have now reached the last name on our list, that of Eugene Sue, the great lion of the day, at whose every roar the delighted public, like Nick Bottom's Duke, cries out, Let him roar again." And he does "roar you" to any extent, according to order. Monsieur Vèron, "Editeur du Constitutionnel," is his last keeper and proprietor; for whose 100,000 francs he spun out the wanderings of Joseph over leagues of hot-pressed French letter-paper, and exhausted the time and patience of innumerable gaping admirers. Eugene Sue, undoubtedly, is a writer of great talent. No one can dispute it. His success as a novelist has been almost unparalleled since the days of Richardson, and he infinitely surpasses him in the number of his readers, which is tenfold.

The success and popularity of Scott, and more recently of Dickens, great as it was, was nothing in compari

son to it; and not only were his works eagerly and anxiously expected in the original, in Paris and the provinces, but the arrival of a new number in this country, to be translated and issued from the press of the Harpers, was regarded as a matter of public interest, and those individuals who could procure an early number were considered peculiarly fortunate. For some time past, he has been "the rage" in all circles, his blue-covered pamphlets occupying a conspicuous place on the dressing-table of fair ladies and the work-bench of the artisan; for his novels, like life, embrace all classes and interests.

His last work, "The Wandering Jew," violently assailing the Jesuits, was foolishly interdicted in the papal states and other places under Catholic influence, a proceeding which only added to the notoriety of the author, and increased the circulation of his book; besides enlisting in his behalf the powerful aid of all the enemies of Catholicism-though the alliance was indeed a strange one-between the licentious Rouè, and grave and reverend Divines, verifying the old adage, that in religious as well as in secular matters," extremes often meet."

The idea that Eugene Sue, an unprincipled though clever adventurer-successively the cher ami of sundry women of property-should be selected as the engine of a religious reformation, is ludicrous in the extreme, and must, no doubt, have furnished himself much amusement in his hours of social relaxation; for we give him credit for being no hypocrite. But the tie of mutual hatred (more espe cially theological) is so binding, that sundry excellent old ladies (with and without petticoats) have been heard to style him "a blessed man, who has exposed the plots and machinations of the beast sitting on seven hills."-We should be inclined to think, by the way, he might have less objection to the "Lady of Babylon."

It may be worth while to inquire into. the causes which have produced this wide spread of popularity, and what are the objects which he, a professed reformer, aims to effect? The answer to the first question is easy; to the latter, difficult. The charm of an easy flowing style-a vivid, strong imagination, often rushing into extravagance-a power of delineating character, by a few bold dashes, and an inexhaustible fertility of incident, combine to render his novels strikingly attractive to that large class of readers who crave excitement and seek to stimu

late their palled appetites with something highly spiced; while to the few who think, he presents bold, striking and original speculations on the real condition and prospects of society, with especial reference to the wants, wrongs and sufferings of the laboring poor in France.

If George Sand be the preacher of the Wrongs of Woman," so may Eugene Sue be regarded as the advocate of the "Rights of Man ;" and whatever motive, whether of policy or gain, may prompt him, we yet are bound to thank him for his fearless and manly stand upon this important subject; for the efforts of politicians for a series of years, and all the cumbrous machinery of reports of investigating committees have never accomplished half the practical benefit already produced by a single novel of Eugene Sue, "The Mysteries of Paris." Since the publication of that book, relief societies of various kinds have been established in Paris and the provinces, by benevolent individuals, and by the artisans and operatives themselves; by which many of the evils, arising from the concurrence of sickness and poverty, are partially alleviated, and furnishing a good foundation on which more useful institutions may be erected. He presents claims to our consideration in a two-fold character, as a Romancer and as a Reformer, which separate characters we will consider separately, commencing with the former.

His earlier productions by no means gave the promise of the high excellence which he has subsequently attained. Many of these have recently been translated and republished in this country, since their author's name has gained such celebrity; and they, in no respect, surpass the tales contributed by the thousand and one Feuilletonists who figure in the French journals. In fact, they exemplify most glaringly the prominent defects of their author's subsequent novels, unredeemed by the stamp of originality and power therein displayed. They are chiefly tales of crime and horror-full of mawkish sensibility and unrelieved atrocity. The Salamander, The Tower of Koat Ven, De Rohan and numerous others, illustrate these remarks, being filled with exaggerations, bombast and bad taste, essentially of the " raw-head and bloody-bones" school-much in vogue with the denizens of the nursery, and of those grown-up children, the development of whose intellects has not kept pace with that of their bodies.

Matilda we regard as essentially prosy ;

the only one of the author's works to which that term can with justice be applied; for, though occasionally prolix in others, his "long passages lead usually to something."

Suddenly, however, like a strong man awakening from sleep, Sue shook himself loose from the old trammels which had fettered his native powers; and, with one bound, placed himself on higher ground than any author of his day, and where many have since essayed to follow him. The Mysteries of Paris at once established his claim to rank as a creator beside the highest names in the annals of his art, and bore on every page the impression of a strong, masculine and original genius. The conception itself was a fine one-the execution surpassed the promise of the title.

In the character of the plot, all probability is wilfully violated. He seems to take a pleasure in straining the credulity of his reader to its utmost point; yet so much are we interested in its startling details, that we absolutely lose sight of all the monstrous incongruities and absurdities with which the book is stuffed from beginning to end. Rodolph, its hero, is a mass of contradictions-a moral monster, such as this world never saw-a petty German prince, accustomed to unbounded indulgence and license, breathing an atmosphere of flattery from his cradle, he is represented as a pure philanthropist, estimating men by moral worth alone, however obscure their condition or mode of life. The pampered pet of high society, he voluntarily abandons its attractions to search out suffering virtue in the hovels and sinks of Paris, and consorts familiarly with outcasts, thieves and cut-throats. An incarnation of benevolence and justice, he yet assumes to himself the high prerogative of anticipating Divine and human justice in the punishment of crimes, as in the case of Jacques Ferrand, the notary, the details of which are equally revolting, immoral and disgusting; and performs an act of fiendish cruelty, as well as folly, in depriving of sight the Maitre d'Ecole, whom he thus renders a mere tool in the hands of a vile hag, more wicked and unscrupulous than himself. Both of these latter characters, however, are monstrous caricatures of crime, unactuated by a single virtuous motive; and the final scene between them in the cellar is utterly revolting, from its painful and atrocious brutality.

It may be said that such characters do

exist, like noxious weeds, in the poisoned atmosphere of large and corrupt cities; and that it is the task of the novelist to paint from nature. Granting the fact, we would yet ask what good effect, either for warning or example, is to be drawn from familiarity with characters or scenes such as those above alluded to? There are some things, with which the very contact is an abomination, and such we consider them. It exemplifies one of our author's most frequent faults, again exhibited in the history of the Martial" family, in the same book. A love for the horrible-a tendency to exaggeration in sentiment and incident-partly produced, and partly fostered, by the vulgar love for stimulants which characterizes a depraved public taste, to which an author of Sue's genius should disdain to pander or to pamper.

The receipt for making a firm friend, which Rodolph adopts with the Chorineur, viz., by means of a sound drubbing, is one frequently attempted by pedagogues of the Old Schools with but partial success, as far as our experience extends.

Fleur de Marie is a fine conceptionprobably suggested (as we before observed) by Victor Hugo's Esmeralda-though differing from and superior to it in many respects. The character is a purer and nobler one, and well sustained throughout; though we think he has somewhat marred his own ideal by making her of noble birth-since, in her person, he sought to vindicate the innate nobility of human nature, working out its way through the murky environment of sin into which fate had placed it, but for which it possessed no real affinity or love. Through her he seeks to inculcate the solemn truth that the outcasts of society are often made so through necessity, not through choice, and claim at our hands sympathy and relief, not aversion and disdain; that society often does grievous injustice in punishing, where it should seek to reform; and that the highest and noblest exercise of virtue consists in pitying and reclaiming those who, either wilfully or blindly, have strayed from the path of right.

Throughout the whole book, the distinction is clearly and strongly drawn between sins arising out of the position and circumstances of the parties, and those orignating in a depraved, corrupt and wicked spirit-loving evil for its own sake. And it is this characteristic shared also by Charles Dickens-which has given them both so strong a hold

upon the sympathies of the public; for the distinction is an important one, though its development has been left for the intuitive insight of genius to discover, by solemn historians and profound philosophers, ponderously prosing on the springs and motives of human action, thrusting aside the goddess to embrace the cloud.

66

The plot of the " Mysteries," or rather complication of plots-for one episode runs into another with most perplexing facility is the least of its merits; its main excellence arises from the fidelity and truth of the detached pictures of life and nature with which it abounds, and the painfully absorbing interest created by some of the situations in which the characters are placed. In the words of Ben Johnson, the book is "rammed with life," and the prodigal profusion of incident with which it is crowded, betokens the exhaustless fertility of the imagination of its author, ranging through every variety of clime and character, and equally at home in all. As a picture of the life led by both the higher and lower orders of society in the crowded cities of the Old World, where a code of morals and manners essentially different from ours prevails, and where civilization has ripened into rottenness until the welfare of the individual man is merged in the average of general prosperity, this book presents many subjects of painful contemplation for all who feel an interest in the well-being and happiness of their fellow-creatures. And this connection naturally leads us to speak of Sue's claims as a social and moral reformer, previous to doing which, however, we will conclude our comments upon him as a novelist by a few remarks on his latest work, the Wandering Jew, which must necessarily be brief and hurried from the space already occupied by these speculations.

Most of the remarks already made on the prominent merits and defects of the Mysteries, apply with equal, if not greater force, to the Wandering Jew, which is in many respects inferior to its predecessor, considered as a whole, though in isolated portions, far surpassing it. The title is certainly a misnomer; the luckless individual, whose name it bears, should assuredly not be made responsible for the sins of this book, since he appears in it but five or six times in the whole course of the narrative: " comes like a shadow, so departs," and performs but a very subordinate part in the pro

gress of the plot, while Herodiade is plainly a mere supernumerary, introduced to keep him in countenance. The whole machinery moved by the two is a piece of theatrical clap-trap unworthy of the inventive power of the author.

This cavalier treatment of a character who gives the book its name, may be partially accounted for by recollecting the doom which keeps him in restless and eternal motion, and his arduous duties in escorting the cholera in every stage of its onward progress, thus forwarding the plot, since some of the most troublesome and refractory characters are satisfactorily disposed of through its agency, and Rodin, the chief, nearly so, producing a grand crisis in the narrative, and giving the author an opportunity of displaying his peculiar powers and surgical knowledge. Seriously speaking, however, the plot is absolutely startling from its monstrous absurdity; and the finale, where all the principal characters are exhibited, decently laid out in grave-clothes, reminds one irresistibly of the comic burletta of Tom Thumb, in which the performers all kill one another seriatim; and the hero 66 dies with decency" on top of the pile; the piece "going out in a blaze" like the long-contested papers of the Rennepont family. Tom Thumb must have been seen and admired by Monsieur Sue previous to the production of his grand final denouement.

With respect to the leading characters, Djalma is a fine animal and nothing more-the physical predominating over the intellectual; quite a clever brute, however. Faringhea, the Malay, is better drawn, and well represents the tigerlike race to which he belongs; he was suggested by Colonel Kennedy's book on that subject. The description of the scene in Java, where he is first introduced, is an admirable piece of descriptive painting. We seem almost to breathe the hot, suffocating air, and to view the rank exuberance of tropical vegetation. D'Aigrigny is a well-conceived and well-executed character, the ambition of the soldier merging in that of the priest; but the old leaven of martial pride stirring beneath the vestments of his new calling and occasioning a perpetual conflict in his soul. His last scene with Marshal Simon is a fine one. The latter is a bull-headed, honest soldier, the outside of whose skull is much sounder than the inside and more to be depended on. Dagobert, with all his fidelity, grows rather tiresome on long acquaintance.

The orphans, interesting at first, become rather sickening afterwards, and we longed to see them well-provided for in some comfortable "asylum for the distressed" where they might prate about their "Angel Gabriel" to their heart's content. Gabriel is much too good and too pure to represent our fallen nature, no such perfectly unselfish being ever did or could exist in mortal flesh, and our contempt is excited by his pliability as a mere tool in the hands of Rodin. A far bolder and more masculine character is that of Agricola Baudoin, his stepbrother, who represents a class; as does, also, M. Hardy, the benevolent manufacturer, the author's model philanthropist, who, nevertheless, makes a mistress of another man's wife with the hearty approval of Monsieur Sue. In the conception and execution of male characters our author excels, and in those of females of a certain class; but for a portrait of a high-souled, elevated, true-hearted woman, crowned with that shrinking modesty which is at once the peculiar charm and safeguard of her sex-from impure thoughts or impurer acts-we shall search in vain through the works of Eugene Sue. He either does not know or does not prize this chief trait of female excellence; for his model woman in this book, on whom he has evidently lavished all his powers of imagination and description to beautify and adorn, Adrienne de Cardoville, is but a voluptuous sensualist, totally devoid of delicacy of feeling or purity of thought, fit for the harem of an Eastern despot, not to fill a place in the home and heart of an honest man.

The deformed sempstress, La Mayeux, as far surpasses her in real feminine attraction as she falls short of her in beauty of face and figure. The latter is, indeed, the best female character he has ever drawn ; but is rendered more an object of pity than respect by the position she occupies and her painful deformity. The aunt of Adrienne is a she-devil, not a woman, a libel on her sex. Rodin, the Jesuit, is a masterly conception-an incarnation of pure intellect unfettered by moral or social restraints-inspired and possessed by a gnawing and insatiable ambition, and attaining his ends by the exercise of a devilish ingenuity whose expedients are never exhausted; his mental portrait is worthy of occupying a place beside that of Borgia and those other deep, "dark masters of Italian wile," whose principles we find on the page of Machiavelli, and from whose in