poorly informed. They know him only as MINOR BOOK NOTICES. Guild; Dr. Charles D. Homans; John Stearns; keepsake, some set or sets of really valuable Daniel Sargent Curtis. books. Whatever you take you are more than This autobiographical fragment will be read welcome to. I shall feel greatly indebted to with deep interest by all his friends: you for enabling me to feel that I am not dis"In 1862, I was appointed Professor of appointed in my wish to show my sense of Hindustanee, and of Hindu Law and Indian obligation to you. Politics I shall not dwell Jurisprudence, in King's College, London. on. Honor to the memory of our classmates In 1864, while retaining the second of these who fell in the great struggle for the right! professorships, I exchanged the first for two If you ever see Trübner's Record,' you will others, those of the Sanskrit Language and find on page 5 a rather enthusiastic bit by Literature, and Indian History and Geog- me, entitled, War and Letters.' . . . Don't raphy. All along, I had also taught the Ben- forget, when you see them, to give my regards galee and Hindu languages. This work nearly to Norton, Lane, Child, Guild, Ellis, and killed me; especially as, in addition to it, in Curtis. If all goes well, I am thinking seriorder to make both ends meet, I had to give ously of coming over to America next summer. private lessons, and write voluminously for the Once more hoping that you will believe me press. In April of last year (1864), I was truly grateful," &c. appointed Librarian to the India office; and at Easter, in this year (1865), I resigned all my appointments in King's College. My librarianship is an appointment for life: the salary is £500 per year, and the duties are just what I choose to make them. I choose to make them rather more than nominal, as I have an ambition to render the library both popular and useful. It is free; but it is considered as an especial favor to have access to it. I have a large staff of assistants, and, practically, am subject to no superintendence or control. We have the best collection of Oriental MSS. in the world, and they are about twenty thousand in number. Of books there are upwards of 60,000. I have added fifteen hundred volumes of books and MSS. since April, 1864. I have the State file to In 1864, he received the appointment of draw on; and my accommodations, whether Librarian of the East India Company, in Lon- touching money-expenditure, or any thing else, don. This position he lost in consequence of are always sure of being listened to. So you some controversy, with the merits of which we may judge that I am in my element. The are unacquainted. It is worthy of note, how- library apart, I am working hard at Oriental ever, that Mr. Charles Norton, Hall's class- publications, as usual, and also find time to mate, opined that the latter was quite wrong in the controversy; but his view was generally regarded as ex parte. That Mr. Hall's offence was not very grave would seem to be shown by the fact that a pension was given him by the English government. I poem, work a good deal for the press. I send you, with this letter, perhaps a fifth part of what have written in this way since the beginning of the present year. The stupid heading of my piece on India is the work of the editor. I am now thinking of writing a whole series of Mr. Hall revisited his native land in 1859, papers on Words and Uses of Words,' to be to regain the health lost in a noisome climate collected ultimately into a volume. At the and by assiduous labors. His wife accompanied end of last year, I edited an old Scotch him, and the two spent the winter at Troy. with preface, notes, and glossary; and now I In April, 1860, they came to Boston, and for a am just beginning a companion-volume of few days were the guests of the courteous and larger dimensions, to contain the chief poems hospitable Henry A. Whitney, now President of Lindsay, with elucidations, &c. By and by of the Boston and Providence Railroad. In I have engaged to edit, from the Cambridge the same month, Mr. and Mrs. Hall embarked MS., the best extant, the old Scotch version in the steamer "America," for Liverpool, his of the Eneid, by Gavin Douglas, Bishop of intention being to make a stay of six months Dunkeld. Of my Oriental doings and intendin England; then to proceed to India, to settle ings I shall say nothing, as they must have the affairs in the office of Inspector of Schools less interest for you. My health, I am sorry in Saugor; then, after a year, to return to to say, is not so good that any but my enemies England. During his sojourn in Boston, he may rejoice; still I hope, by careful diet and was warmly greeted and entertained by many other means, to get brought around by and by. of his loving classmates, - Messrs. H. A. In the matter of the library you have done for Whitney; Charles F. Thayer; Prof. F. J. me like a brother. Pray aid Ben [his brother] Child; William S. Dexter; Charles Eliot in carrying out my wishes, — by selecting, as a "Weavers and Weft." By Miss Braddon. Some one says that "to the writing of novels there is no end;" and this seems particularly true of Miss Braddon, who sends them forth in such rapid succession that, before we can read one, another is before us: the mercury in the thermometer of her genius rising from low sensationalism in "Aurora Floyd" and "Lady Audley's Secret," through the mediocrity of Birds of Prey" and " Charlotte's Inheritance," to the heights of "Hostages to Fortune," "Joshua Haggard's Daughter," and a few others, only to sink It is the same old story, the blasé young again to a dead-level in "Weavers and Weft." noble, with his "perfect profile and splendid weary eyes," who has wasted his wealth, though never in low vice (nothing but aristodon's heroes); the beautiful young heroine cratic dissipation will do for one of Miss Bradtoo poor to marry him, and forced to sell herself for gold to a brute who is jealous as Othello, one of whose inamoratas, in a fit of child only to restore it in dying. Of course, disgust at his desertion of her, steals her rival's the cruel husband dies, and the faithful though maltreated wife marries her true love, who has meantime turned over a new leaf and inherited good as any other story of its kind, and will "Weavers and Weft" is quite as doubtless find many readers among those who only read to pass the time, and who can enjoy the old regulation dish rehashed, warmed over, and served afresh under a new name. [Harper & Brothers.] a fortune. - All who delight in the quaint, simple, dear old style of Addison and Steele will hail with unfeigned pleasure the second volume of The Select British Essayists" series. The title is, "Sir Roger de Coverley; " and it consists of the papers relating to Sir Roger "The which were originally published in Spectator." Good old Sir Roger may have been only a mythical person, as Mr. Habberton in his Introduction intimates, a veritable out-spun of Steele's and Addison's own conceits; but so much as this is certain, that he and courteous and honest and worthy and was fit to live if he did not: for a more kind thoroughly lovable gentleman England never boasted the name of. The "Spectator" may have made him mortal: it truly has made him Sir Roger is safely enshrined in diction of two of the peerless writers of English classics. [G. P. Putnam's Sons, New York.] immortal. Our rates for advertising in this paper are fifteen cents per line for the second, third, and fourth pages of the cover, and seventeen cents per line for the first page. TO SUBSCRIBERS. minister to the needs of that very large constit- jewels of a watch. The greater part of our strength and time is exhausted in cog-wheels and gears, in bearing the movement forward Mr. Hames, who has been connected with to the jewels. Meanwhile the mind, the noble the business office of The Congregationalist reservoir from which all these powers are for more than fifteen years, will, as its business drawn, languishes. It needs new force and manager, add to The Literary World that increased vitality. experience and energy which have always been wanting, and which its overworked editor was unable to supply. The many and steadfast friends of The Literary World, which include a large and The expiration of every subscription is indicated in widely extended circle of cultivated readers, - and it would be unjust not to make special until payment of all arrearages is made as required by mention, also, of all the leading publishers in the printed address on the wrapper. Papers are forwarded until an explicit order is received by the publisher for their discontinuance, and law. NOTICE TO SUBSCRIBERS. A great many of the subscribers to the "Literary World" are in arrears for various amounts. The individual sums are small, the payment of which would not in convenience any body; but the aggregate is a very large amount, which is sorely needed by the proprietor and his family in time of sickness and trouble. It is only fair that all who are receiving the paper, and have not paid for it, should do so, and promptly; remitting the amount to the Literary World," Box 1183, Boston, Mass. 66 SPECIAL NOTICE. Communications for the editorial department should be addressed hereafter to The Editor of The Literary World; for the business department, to The Publishers of the Literary World (Box 1183), Boston, Mass. E. H. HAMES & Co. THE readers of The Literary World are greatly indebted to Mr. A. W. STEVENS, of the Printing House of John Wilson & Son, for his able editorial supervision of the February and March numbers, as well also for much original matter in both. THE continued illness of the proprietor, and its attending uncertainties, necessitate the country, will thus be glad to know that the paper is on a secure footing, and in the hands of those interested in its welfare, who possess both the desire and the means to extend its influence and add to its perpetuity. A BUSINESS MAN'S PLEASURES. "BLACK, and the wise and witty Roman. The care-full man finds the statement to be An accomplished gentleman, who managed Books are the only unfailing resource in this mental state. The sociality of books is always ready, always seeking us, if our mood accords with their serene spirit. The man who reads constantly, frets little over his affairs, however much they may oppress him. Even if he fails to read at times, the companionship of his library wooes him into restfulness. The silent sympathy of the familiar volumes ranged around is better than most of the conversation which the world gives. Now he can think: the mind, loosened from its routine of petty thinking in business, stretches out into new regions, and nourishes itself in new pastures. The men of the past, the authors who have stood the test of generations, enter into him and fill him with their wisdom. Better still, if his mind opens to the fresh volume shining in the clear brightness of its new-cut pages. As Mr. Emerson well says, it is only through our later acquisitions that our thoughts are quickened into activity. LITERATURE AND BREADTH. THE domain of Literature is the only place of our universal mother Nature. Social interwherein one can draw a long, deep, pure, course is the only sure antidote to care, the free breath. Everywhere else one is bound to only escape from that engrossing network of think and speak and act in conformity with the anxieties which binds every American, if he prevailing ideas and opinions of the set or combe a man. But few of us can be social in the pany to which he "belongs." If our reverence only sense worth noting. Not many of us can for things divine and sacred; if our interest enter into our fellows. Even if we have the in the welfare and integrity of our country; if needed gifts, the very duties of life itself our deep sympathy with the unfortunate and keep us apart. The worst result of the pres- suffering part of our race, lead us to ally sure bearing on a man of affairs is the mental ourselves with any sect in religion, any party inertia which the pressure inflicts. He uses in politics, any movement in reform, then the other faculties of his mind so much in the straightway we find that we have to hitch our a change in the conduct of The Literary worry of petty business and the arranging of free spirit to some machine of institution or World; and the April number will therefore trifles, that he fancies he has been thinking, organization, some private conceit or pet appear under the management of Messrs. when in fact he has not thought at all. EDWARD ABBOTT and EDWARD H. HAMES. As well might the treadmill prisoner fancy To those who know Mr. Abbott it is quite that he has run an Olympic race, because his unnecessary to say that he brings to the office poor limbs ache after the day's toil. Business of editor, in addition to large experience, men do not think: if they think overmuch rare capabilities for the performance of its their affairs hardly succeed, as Hamlet pointed duties. He is thoroughly familiar with the out. They observe much, and perceive more; history of The Literary World, knows its then they seize the happy moment when the requirements, and has the will and the ability perception is passing into reflection, and act. to carry them out. Under his editorship, the scope of the paper will not be narrowed in the least it will be kept up to the high standard set for it by its founder, and will continue to A successful movement in business is an acted scheme of an imperious leader or manager. Directly we do this, we come upon some intellectual or moral scruple which we cannot silence, without doing violence to our constantly uprising loyalty to truth and duty. But in literature all this is different. Here our reverence for God, our love of country, our philanthropic sentiment toward mankind, may have free scope and exercise. Here are no sects, no parties, no schools, which can command our thought or action within narrow limits. Here we can look around the whole circle of the world, and take note of, and feel us fail to put them in. I will pay you liberally, - half a louis for a yard of writing.' To this M. Taine adds: "We are descendants of M. Jourdain, and this is how we have been talking to writers. They have listened to us, and hence our shoppy, realistic novels." the liveliest interest in, all the intellectual," cultivated" in the sense in which they are religious, moral, and secular life of humanity. not usually, but should always be, used; that Here we can think and feel and live with the is, in their highest derivative meaning. The noblest and best of our race; and here, also, one term is limited in its sphere of action; we can approach and enter into the joys and the other has no limit. The one is a condition sorrows, the common lot, of all our kind. The of the intellect; the other, the result of so living So much for Jenkinsism over the water, and far and near, the ancient and modern, the as to best develop each and every part of both for the writers-men of talent, as M. Taine Christian and Pagan, the wise and less wise, mind and body. here draw near and speak with us, and invite Cultivation, or culture, is of slow growth. says who have perverted their gifts by listo become acquainted with experiences At the present time the social world is brim-tening to wishes of royalty, or writing trash which are as universal as life itself. Here our ful of a desire to think, speak, and live æs- for half-a-louis a yard. And there is enough minds and hearts are not narrowed, but broad-thetically. As poets are born, not made, so of Jenkinsism, and enough to pander to the ened; and here our sympathies are challenged, culture is to a few an inheritance. Where it lower tastes in our country; but do our men not by a portion, but by all of our fellow-men. is not, it can be attained only by self-exertion, of acknowledged standing and literary ability The thoughtful and just man feels lonely steady and earnest. An intelligent person is stoop, as a general thing, to the trashy work? everywhere but in literature. He desires by no means cultivated; but a cultivated per- Fancy Emerson, Curtis, Lowell, Longfellow, relations with his kind, and would not be soli- son is always intelligent, for true culture Whittier, Holmes, Howells, and Stedman, with tary or cynical, but large-minded and large- will restrain its subject from forcing what the other noted literati of the day, assembled together listening to the wishes of some M. hearted. Yet in the ordinary walks, pursuits, world calls intelligence upon a companion. and ambitions of men his constant experience Jourdain, who would promise to pay them is of being thrust back upon himself, repelled liberally for the "shoppy" work that he by the aims and animus of the company he asked them to do! There are men who do tries to keep. In scrambling and competing do it; but it is not our country's “illustrious" men who stoop to such writing. crowds men never think their best thoughts, C. H. W. never breathe their noblest aspirations, never perform their highest deeds: it is when they are alone with themselves, alone with God, alone with those sweet, pure, true souls that ever have been set in life and history to shine as the stars with tranquil and unfading lustre, it is then that they best can listen to and obey those voices which prompt to divinest things, and grow and ripen in the privacy of the heart and spirit. We plead, then, for the greater and more common study of literature. Let our youth be trained to reading, to the reading of those books which the best minds and souls have produced, and which stand the test of time. Let those who are forced to live in the midst of secular activities, in the market, the court, the public place, the scene of labor and strife and competition, let all such, as they value the right development of intellect, conscience, and heart, cultivate a taste for lit Education, in its highest sense, must pro- CORRESPONDENCE. JENKINSISM. IN Taine's " English Literature" (vol. i. p. 127) he gives, as an instance of how the services of writers could be bought and sold in the seventeenth century, the following story of M. Jourdain, which I should call an example of Jenkinsism two hundred years ago, though the name is of more modern date. Indeed, I am wondering if the practice now so common of describing every thing connected with a grand bridal, funeral, or social gathering dates gladly accept such services as Jourdain re- erature; cultivate the capacity of enjoyment IN TRUE CULTURE. N" Kismet," that charming novel, occurs the following: "One day M. Jourdain, having turned Mamamouchi, [?] sent for the most illustrious writers of the age, wishing to give them some work to do. I have some ideas,' he said, that I wish worked out, and to give you an order for a poem in prose. What is prose, you know, is not verse; and what is verse is not prose. As for the subject, let it be myself. You shall describe my flowered dressing-gown which I have put on to receive you in, and this little velvet under-dress which I "I like cultivated people, but I detest in- wear underneath to do my exercise in. You telligent ones. I can only endure intelligence will set down that this chintz costs a louis in the second generation, when it has been de-ell, [?] &c. The description, if well worked softened down into the habit of knowing." up, will furnish some very pretty paragraphs, There is a valuable grain of truth in this and will enlighten the public as to the cost of things. I desire you should speak of my remark. It will be best seen, however, by mirrors, my carpets, and my hangings. My considering the words "intelligence and tradesmen will let me have their bills, don't JOY OR SORROW. Is Spring that comes, but brings our love no more. MINOR BOOK NOTICES. Song Victories of the Bliss and Sankey Hymns; being a collection of one hundred inthe hymns contained in Gospel Hymns and cidents in regard to the origin and power of Sacred Songs."" The appearance of this little volume, just at this period, is timely, and doubtless will be gladly welcomed by many. It contains an introductory letter by Rev. Dr. G. F. Pentecost of this city, who says: "I ordained instrumentalities for the conversion am profoundly sure that, among the divinely and sanctification of the soul, God has not given a greater, beside the preaching of the gospel, than the singing of psalms and hymns and spiritual songs.' I have known a hymn to do God's work in a soul, when every other instrumentality has failed. I could not enumerate the times God has rescued and saved my soul from darkness, discouragement, and weariness by the singing of a hymn, - generally by bringing one to my own heart, and causing me to sing it to myself." And herein, unquestionably, he speaks the experience of thousands. Without the songs which the Church sings, its doctrines would be well nigh impotent to move men; but the tender spirit of some sweet hymn, borne to the ear on the melody of some persuasive voice, has been and is sufficient to attract the attention of the most indifferent listener. All good music is orthodox; and to all hearts susceptible to its power-and what heart is not?it carries a saving and harmonizing influence. "Song victories" contains also brief biographical sketches of Messrs. Bliss and Sankey. Mr. Bliss was killed in the fearful Ashtabula railroad disaster which occurred last December. He was then on his way to Chicago, to assist in continuing the " revival work" begun in that city by Moody and Sankey. He was the author of those widely-popular songs, "Hold the Fort," and Pull for the Shore." These already have been sung from the Occident to the Orient, and are destined to linger long on the lips of Christians the wide world over. [D. Lothrop & Co., Boston.] "The Duchess of Rosemary Lane." This novel, by B. L. Farjeon, has extraordinary merits. It is powerfully written, and abounds in striking scenes and thrilling passages. The author delivers himself of many noble sentiments and acute observations upon men, upon human nature, and society in general. It is an English story, and in certain strong points deserves to rank with the popular tales of the best writers of English fiction. One character in this novel-Seth Dumbrick is worthy to have been drawn by the pen of Dickens. Another, the son of Arthur Temple, — although introduced at a late stage of the story, is an admirable specimen of a fine, manly young gentleman. And Sally Chester is a trump." She and Seth are the characters of the novel. It is a genuine pleasure which we experience in recommending this strong, healthy-toned book to such as occasionally employ their time in reading fiction. We add a description of Seth Dumbrick: "He was a character in the neighborhood. A silent, observant man, with no particular vice except those of being a bachelor, and not being partial to women-folk, he worked in his stall from morning to night; and his prices were so reasonable and his work so good, that he was never allowed to be idle. Not a person in Rosemary Lane was on visiting terms with him; and the children, as they passed and repassed, were in the habit of casting longing looks into the dark shadows of his cellar, which had never yet received a guest, and which was popularly supposed to contain rare and precious deposits. The circumstance of his having been seen at various times carrying bottles and jars with living creatures in them [he was a lover of natural history, and had an aquarium] imparted an additional interest to his habitation. He was never seen in a public-house or a place of worship. There was once a story current of his having been visited by a minister of the church, who was concerned about Seth Dumbrick's soul. The story ran that the minister used very strong persuasion to induce Seth to come to church, and that Seth flatly refused, and justified his refusal. Thereupon they became entangled in tough argument, the one standing out side in the street, flushed and excited, the other sitting calmly on his stool, hammering away at a shoe as the knotty points were discussed; and it was understood that Seth Dumbrick had not the worst of the argument. . . . Every thing in Seth Dumbrick's face was on a grand scale; there was not a mean feature in it. His lips were full and powerful; his nose was large and of a good shape; his great gray eyes had in them a light and depth which were not easily fathomed; and but for his forehead, which hung over his eyebrows like a precipice, he would have been a good-looking man. But this forehead was of so monstrous a bulk that it engrossed the attention of the observer; and, except to those with keen and penetrating insight, destroyed all harmony of feature in the face of the man." Here is one of his acute observations: "We're like fiddles, Sally; and Nature's the fiddler, and plays on us. There aren't many strings in us, young un; but Lord! the number o' tunes that Nature plays on us! And we go through life dancing to 'em, or hobbling to 'em, as the case may be. We haven't much to do with the music ourselves, Sally. It comes, and makes us pleased or makes us sorry; and we laugh or cry from instinct. There's people that say we're accountable for what we do: I hold a different opinion. We're not accountable, in the main, for what happens; and we're guided, in the main, by what happens. There it is, all the philosophy of life in a nutshell. As for what takes place when Nature's played her last tune on us, that's beyond you and me, Sally." [Harper & Brothers.] Madcap Violet. By Willliam Black." The general effect which this story leaves upon the mind of the reader, we think, must invariably be one of disappointment. Why was the book written? To this question the book itself fails to furnish us a satisfactory answer. The style and tone are unexceptionable; there are in it some very good descriptions of natural scenery; not a few excellent sentiments and fine ideas are presented to the reader in the course of its pages: but in all these we find neither the occasion for nor the explanation of the story. The two principal characters are Violet and Drummond; both are really interesting when we first make their acquaintance, but neither sustains that interest to the end. Before we have finished with them, one dies, and the other goes mad. It is but fair to give one or two excerpts, in order to let our readers taste the book for themselves. Here is a description of Mr. Drummond: "A man of genius he undoubtedly was, though he had never done any thing to show to the world, nor was likely to do any thing. He was incurably indolent; that is to say, his brain was on the hop-skip-and-jump from morning till night, performing all manner of intellectual feats for his own private amusement, but as for any settled work or settled habits, he would have nothing of either. He was a very unworldly person, careless of the ordinary aims of life around him; but he had elaborated a vast amount of theories to justify his indolence. He had no more notion of time than a butterfly; he was scarcely ever known to catch the train for which he set out: but then, what ill temper on the part of a companion could withstand the perfectly happy fashion in which he would proceed to show that a railway station was an excellent place for reflection? . . . He had a sort of profession; that is to say, he wrote articles for this or that learned review. But he was far too capricious and uncertain to be entrusted with any sustained and continuous work; and, indeed, with any incidental work, he frequently vexed the soul of the most indulgent of editors. . There was no jealousy in Drummond's nature over the success of more practical men, -no grudging, no detraction, no spite. The fire of his life burned too keenly and joyously to have any smoke about it." Here is a glimpse of the portrait of Violet: "There was no self-consciousness of any sort about the girl. She had a thoroughly pagan delight in the present moment. The past was nothing to her; she had no fear of the future: life was enjoyable enough from hour to hour, and she enjoyed it accordingly. She never paused to think how handsome she was, for she was tolerably indifferent as to what other people thought of her. She was well satisfied with herself, and well satisfied with the world, especially when there was plenty of fun going about. Her fine health gave her fine spirits; her bold, careless, self-satisfied nature took no heed of criticism or reproof, and caused her to laugh at the ordinary troubles of girl-life. When she met any man or woman, she looked him or her straight in the face; then probably turned her eyes away indifferently, to regard the flight of a rook, or the first blush of rose-color on a red hawthorn." [Harper & Brothers.] ... "The Frau Domina, from the German of Claire von Glimer." Claire von Glümer is a maiden lady of noble family living in Dresden. She is at present devoting herself to the translation of Russian novels into German. It is an open secret, we believe, that Miss Emma Ware is the translator of the volume before us; and it is probably not too much to say that we owe the book to her sympathetic appreciation, rather than to any commanding influence of the author's name. The book is beautifully translated; it reads as if it had been first conceived in English, and yet has the true German flavor. The lovely home novels of Frederika Bremer seem wholly out of fashion. Whenever a vicious episode thrust itself into one of these, it did not seem wholly improbable and out of place it was part of a rude condition of society, or fostered by the influences of a secluded life which shut in a burning heart. Why is it that German novels almost invariably introduce us into society we should gladly avoid in real life? Charming as the novels of the Baroness Tauthphoens are, we have often wondered whether it be a good thing for the young girls of our middle classes to dawdle over the adventures of Hildegarde and Crescenz in the cloisters, and suppose them possible in respectable families. If this be true, how much more doubtful is the influence of novels in which flirtations between married people, adulteries, and desertions form the staple of interest, and the writer evidently takes sides with the higher law" of passion! The book before us ushers us into painful scenes; but the sympathies of the author and the heroine are on the right side, nor is the guilt itself of a hazy description. And the usual clearness of the story does not lie in the fact that the heroine instinctively repulses the man who has entrapped her into an illegal marriage with him from the moment he is discovered, but in a certain resolute dealing with herself, which does not allow her to look back, does not permit her to break the heraldic seal which closes the letters annually sent her, nor even to look from a distance on the face of the man she loves, until death has taken his epileptic wife to itself. Then, perhaps, she might have forgiven him, for she hastens to receive him, 46 but God does not. The excitement is too much for her wasted frame, and her grayhaired lover is glad to fall soon after on the field of battle. The heroine is not deceived, in spite of her love. She is glad to die, for she knows that the sin of her lover has taken the fragrance out of any possible life. To be perfect, a work of art must be complete in itself, and tell its own story in any part of the civilized world. This our "Frau Domina cannot be said to do (a preface, however, might remedy this defect). It's flavor is local; it begins and ends with an episode which has no real relation to the thread of the story, – which the highest art would never have permitted. The Frau is herself so superb a figure, that she should have been allowed to fill the canvas. Morever, American readers will hardly understand how it is that the Frau, in her first bitter grief, retires to an asylum where she seems as truly to "take the veil" as did ever any Catholic recluse; and yet her vows are not eternal: marriage or fortune may at any time take her by the hand and lead her away! [Lockwood, Brooks, & Co.] 66 He is broad without being "unsettled; " he is however, from her delusion; and, being derational without being "sceptical." Every ceived both by her lover and her friend, rises larger comprehension of the universe," he re- to the height of her true womanly nature, and marks, " only invests the principles of that behaves splendidly toward both. We give religion [Christian] with sublime truth; and one or two extracts from the book: " Venitia every added refinement of conscience the more lived in a world of her own, which was by attests their spiritual worth." This volume is no means the world of ordinary human habitavery neatly printed by John Wilson & Son, tion, - where she saw beauty that did not "Michael Strogoff" is the latest of Jules and contains some of the finest thoughts of exist; virtue that her own mind only created; Verne's remarkable and, in some respects, the venerable and gifted author. [Roberts love, greatness, nobleness, where were not fascinating stories. In the invention of im- Brothers, Boston.] even the shadows of divine things; where she probable, if not impossible, circumstances, and made gods out of the clouds in the sky, and the accumulation of vivid and sensational "The Sun-Maid: A Romance." By the gave her worship to mist-wreaths that faded events, M. Verne is almost peerless among author of Artiste," &c. This is number away as she looked. . . . For, among the modern writers of stories. The book before four hundred and seventy-four of Harper's needs of her young soul, that of enthusiasm us is a dazzling combination of fact and fic- Library of Select Novels. It is a very pleas-about some person or thing was the most imtion, of the likely and the unlikely, and lures ant story, and exceedingly well written; the perative." Ernest says something to Venitia, the reader on with a species of enchantment all style being clear, vigorous, and eloquent. which will not commend him to strongits own. The thread of the story is as follows: The scene is mostly laid in Spain, but intro- minded" champions of Woman's Rights: The Emir of Tartary invades the Siberian duces Spanish, English, French, and Russian "We do not want our snow-drops, our sweet possessions of Russia, and besieges Irkutsk, characters. The hero is an English nobleman; May-buds, our violets, to be like flaunting the capital of Eastern Siberia. The Czar's the heroine, the daughter of a Russian poet, poppies, like gaudy tulips, like bold, selfbrother is shut up in the beleagured city, and, who was made an exile because of a published evident peonies. And there are dreadful unless help is afforded him, must be overcome; poem on liberty. Both are very noble char- creatures who are scientific, logical reasoners, his own life taken, and a formidable opposition acters. Indeed, the whole tone of the book is - God help them and us! but nowhere have to the emperor's authority be established. far superior to most of the love-stories which I met with so much exquisite sensibility, such The telegraphic and every ordinary communi- are popular, and its perusal leaves a sweet and a true artist soul, such a lovely poet's heart." cation between Moscow and Irkutsk is broken. beautiful impression upon the reader. The [Harper & Brothers.] It is necessary therefore to send a special following extract exhibits the easy-flowing courier from the Czar to the Grand Duke, to style of the author:"Goethe's West-Easterly Divan. Transconvey information of the measures taken by In that sunny corner where the waves of lated, with Introduction and Notes, by John the former to relieve the latter. Michael the Bay of Biscay wash over a sandy barrier Weiss." This is a winsome little book; full Strogoff is the man chosen by the Czar for this and mingle with the waters of the Bidassoa of beauty, wisdom, wit, sparkling, clear, hazardous enterprise. He belongs to the stream, they tell the ancient story that a and sweet. There are many little gems of corps of imperial couriers, and possesses "a favored mortal won from the gods permission verse in it; and there is just enough of the frame of iron and a heart of gold." The em- to ask three blessings for Spain. He asked element of the occult throughout to make peror gives him a letter, which Michael swears that her daughters might be beautiful, that her it fascinating. The book is a blending of the to deliver to the Grand Duke in person. The sons might be brave, and that her government Orient and the Occident, West-Easterly. distance between Moscow and Irkutsk is five might be good. The first two requests were Goethe suffused his mind with Eastern thought, thousand two hundred versts, and nearly the granted, - the beauty of a Spanish woman is especially the poetic, and then breathed it out whole distance is beset with fearful perils. of world-wide renown; and if the men are rash, through forms created by his own genius. The courier encounters and overcomes all passionate, and revengeful, at least they are The work of translation, as we happen to these, with almost superhuman courage and brave. But the last request was refused. know, was done con amore. So far as it is constancy. On the way he falls in with, and Impossible!' was the answer, impossible! possible for one to put himself into the mood protects and is protected by, a young Already she is an earthly paradise, and were and spirit of another, Mr. Weiss has done so and beautiful girl, Nadia Fedor, who is this last blessing hers, the very gods them- by Goethe, and has passed the great poet's bent on reaching her father, an exile in selves would desert Elysium, and go down to thought and sentiment over to us with their Siberia, and sharing his lot. Michael arrives dwell in Spain.' If a wandering mythological own bloom and fragrance. The introduction, in Irkutsk just in time to prevent the consum- god, with the tastes which a Sybarite might which is an essay of twenty-six pages, is a mation of a diabolical plot, by one Ivan impute to him, were to come down to seek the fine preparation of the reader's mind for Ogareff, a Russian rebel and traitor, to betray Eden of Spain, he would journey far, cross what follows. Therein we are told how the city and Grand Duke into the hands of the passes of the Sierra Morena; linger awhile Goethe came to write the Divan." It the Tartars. The whole narrative of the on the genial slopes between the snowy hills was done while Europe was ablaze with the courier's journey is full of the most thrilling and the rushing waters that surround Cordova; wars of Napoleon. At first, Goethe joined and bewildering adventures. It is told with wander on to Seville, the centre of soft Anda- the allied armies with his friend, the Duke great dramatic power; and much interesting lusia; and there, among the orange groves, in- Carl August, of Weimar; but he soon found description is given of the country, its scenery haling the scented atmosphere, listening to the himself in dissonance, not only with the camp, and people, the peculiarities of the climate silvery murmur of the fountains, strolling in but with the current political tone of Germany. and the inhabitants. A storm in the Ural the brilliant Calle de la Sierpe, lounging Besides, he had a profound though secret mountains is very finely described. The ad- through an evening in the glittering Alcazar, admiration for Napoleon, and divined that his ventures of two newspaper correspondents, as yielding to the soft influence of the scene and revolutionary imperialism was even a sublimer well as their sui generis characteristics, are its surroundings, he might indeed exclaim thing than the selfish ambitions of the allied amusingly told. One is a Frenchman, the that the ancient Eden of the poets was surely sovereigns. He fled from the sounds of war, other an Englishman; and both are on the the Andalusia of Spain." [Harper & Brothers, therefore, and buried himself in a studious track of the contending fortunes of war, to retreat; where he studied science and, above "report" every thing for their respective all, Oriental languages, religions, and litjournals. Of course, in the end Michael and "From Dreams to Waking," by Mrs. E. eratures. On the very day of the Battle of Nadia are married. By the way, the proof- Lynn Linton, although belonging to the Waterloo, he fell in with a copy of the poems reading and typographical execution of this Library of Select Novels," does not seem to of the Persian Hafis, and was greatly impressed book are badly done. [Scribner, Armstrong, us to be so select as it might be. It is not by them. They proved the spark that fired & Co., New York.] badly written; and yet it is not a pleasant his own genius into a new and wonderful outstory to read, because it treats almost exclu- burst of poesy. "The West-Easterly Divan' sively of faithless love and treacherous friend-created an epoch in Germany," says Mr. ship. The most conspicuous male character Weiss. The younger poets ran into Orienis a heartless flirt and contemptible mounte- tal studies; the scholars suspected that whole bank, whose exploits in love-making and heart-centuries of human development had lapsed breaking were scarcely worth recording. The into neglect. New journals appeared, which heroine, it is to be admitted, is a graceful and were devoted to the fresh investigation; the lovely character; although it is hard to for-prosecution of researches into the religion and give her for being so slow to see through the literature of Eastern countries suddenly threw shallow and flippant sentimentalist who cruelly off its dilettante languor, and blossomed into toys with her affections. She rouses at last, a zeal which is now bearing the fairest fruits." "Hours of Thought on Sacred Things," by James Martineau. The author of this volume is one of the most accomplished scholars and eloquent writers among English divines, and in both these respects has long stood at the head of the Unitarian denomination in England. He is fully informed of all the latest results of historical criticism and scientific investigation, and yet stands fast in the integrity of a substantial Christian faith. New York.] 66 66 |