Very few of our readers, it may be, are acquainted with a particular class of works which has long exercised a very powerful influence on the private habits and character, as well as on the literature of the Germans. We speak of the _Art Novels_--the Kunstromanen--books written not so much in immediate defence, or in illustration, as in personification of individual portions of the Fine Arts--books which, in the guise of Romance, labor to the sole end of reasoning men into admiration and study of the beautiful, by a tissue of _bizarre_ fiction, partly allegorical, and partly metaphysical. In Germany alone could so mad--or perhaps so profound--an idea have originated. From the statement of Mr. Chorley, we find that his original intention was to attempt something in the style of the _Kunstromanen_, with such modifications as might seem called for by the peculiar spirit of the British national tastes and literature. "It occurred to me, however," says he, "that the very speculations and reveries which appeared to myself so delicious and significant, might be rejected by the rest of the world as fantastic and overstrained." Mr. C. could never have persevered in a scheme so radically erroneous for more than a dozen pages; and neither the world nor himself will have {196} cause to regret that he thought proper to abandon the _Art Novels_, and embody his fine powers and lofty design in so stirring and so efficient a series of paintings as may be found in the present volumes. A single passage near the commencement of Conti, will afford to all those who feel and think, direct evidence of the extraordinary abilities of Mr. Chorley. Madame Zerlini is an Italian _prima donna_, who becoming enamored of Colonel Hardwycke, an Englishman, accompanies him to England as his mistress, and after living with him for twelve years, and bearing him a son, Julius, dies suddenly upon hearing of his intention to marry. "A strange scene greeted his eyes (those of Julius) as he entered the spacious hall, which, as its windows fronted the east, was already beginning to be dusky with the shadows of twilight. On the lowest step of the stairs lay, in violent hysterics, one of the women servants--she was raving and weeping, half supported by two others, themselves trembling so as to be almost powerless. "'And here's Master Julius, too!' exclaimed one of the group which obstructed his passage, 'and my master gone away--no one knows for how long. Lord have mercy upon us!--what are we to do, I wonder?' "'Don't go up stairs!' shrieked the other, leaving her charge, and endeavoring to stop him. 'Don't go up stairs--it is all over!'