This very article of ours is far less suitable for educated ears than any page of the novel before us; and the reason is that we call things by their proper names, while the novel never hints at the shocking words which belong to its things, but, like Mephistophilis, insinuates that the arch-devil himself is a very tolerable kind of person, if no one wanted it. call him mister devil. We have heard of people who could not bear to read some Old Testament lessons in the service of the Church: such people would be delighted with our author's account; and the bridesmaids who draw back to the reading of the Decalogue will probably delight in bathing their imagination in the crystal of its delicate sensuality. Our author's language, like a clear black, "would not soil the whitest linen," and yet the composition itself would be sufficient, if well applied, to Ethiopianize the snowiest conscience that ever sat like a swan on that mirror of heaven, the imagination of a Christian girl. We are not sure that we speak loud enough, when we say, that we would much rather hear the grossest scene of Goldsmith's "Vicar," read aloud by a sister or daughter, than hear from such lips the perfectly chaste language of a scene in "The Scarlet Letter," in which a married wife and her reverend lover, with their unfortunate offspring, are presented as