Need we add that the illustrations are excellent? (Harper. $1.25.)-Mail and Express. The book is slight, but it is a meritorious lishmen. The great conquests of Chatham had piece of work. The excellence of its literary enormously enriched England, and the inevitaquality, indeed, may be readily overlooked, ble result happened, that the English Jeshurun just because Sundown is so natural and so con- waxed fat and kicked. Had it not been for the sistently drawn. But he who looks for the why Methodist revival it is doubtful whether a and how of his entertainment in books will great and free England could have survived to readily agree with us that "Sundown Leflare" our day. The rottenness and corruption was will not be last and certainly not least among all but unexampled. Vice abounded everythe Western types that Mr. Remington has where; the House of Commons was a sink of drawn. iniquity, all but the county members being systematically bought; cynical statesmen disbelieved in public virtue, as men of the town disbelieved in private virtue of man or woman. Added to vice was gross ignorance, especially of America, when knowledge was urgently required. The stories of the old Duke of Newcastle are, of course, well known, but his ignorance was no greater than that of nine-tenths of public men. The most ignorant and the most infatuated, of course, was the King himself, who must bear the blame along with the obscure politicians, the Hillsboroughs, the Sandwiches, and others who permitted themselves to be the royal instruments for the most insane policy of which England was ever guilty. It is the picture, on the one hand, of a corrupt and worn-out aristocracy, and on the other hand, of a young and vigorous and practical democracy, free from the vices of the Old World, and accustomed by a life of industry and adventure to deal in a bold and manly fashion with practical problems. The brief sketches which Sir George Trevelyan gives of the lives of Franklin, John Adams, Samuel Adams, Putnam, and others of the Revolutionary worthies, contrast in the most striking way with the records of the sensual, idle, gouty, corrupt, and degenerate men whom George III. looked to to deal with his rebellious subjects over the Atlantic. The philosophy expressed by Goldsmith, as embodied in the line, "where wealth accumulates and men decay," has often been sneered at as sentimentalism, and the general theories of Rousseau have been held up to ridicule. But the contest between America and England proves that Goldsmith's diagnosis was true, and that simple life, charged with useful toil and a high morality-such as the life of the farmers in New England was-is more than a match for the artificial, town-bred existence of people so rich that they do not know how to kill time, and so corrupted that they cannot see the plain path of virtue. This book, written from an English standpoint for Englishmen, reaches America at a specially timely moment. The qualities which made their fathers irresistible seem to be vanishing, and many Americans are content to "sell their birthright for a mess of potage." (Longmans, Green & Co. $3.)—Books of To-day and To-morrow. The American Revolution, Part I., 1766 1777. SIR GEORGE TREVELYAN in his former work left Fox as a finished London rake, trained by his fond father, one of the most reckless gamblers who ever lived, plunged heavily in all the fashionable vices of the town in an age of vice. But after the death of his father and his eldest brother the character of Fox underwent a great though gradual change, which is analogous to conversion. He did not at once cease to bet and play faro for high stakes at two in the morning, but he slowly altered his manner of life until the time when he cared more for his books and for the birds and flowers of St. Anne's Hill than for all the glories of St. James's. Fox came to the front on the Whig side in the House of Commons, took the lead in the war against the royal folly which threw away America for the sake of prerogative, and made himself the most brilliant and powerful political debater who ever spoke the English language. At the end of 1773 Charles Fox owed debts, the result of gambling, amounting to £140,000, which his father paid; he was outwardly a broken roué without character, though then, as always, loved by all who knew him. Within a year he had become a leader of the Whig Opposition, and within three years he was the recognized leader, to whom all looked up, and who, as such, breathed a new spirit of hope and liberty into the miserable and vitiated atmosphere of English public life. We can scarcely think of a more fascinating character in the range of English, or even world, history. From the first he made the cause of the Americans his own, he saw eye to eye with Washington, and he perceived, as no one else did so clearly, that English liberty was itself bound up with the successful resistance of the Americans to the insane claims of George III. In treating of the history of that resistance, we think Sir George Trevelyan has brought out more clearly than any other writer the fact that American success was due to a higher standard of life, that the American colonists of a century ago were better men than were Eng Exotics and Retrospectives. IT is easy to understand that the peculiar subject-matter of Lafcadio Hearn's writings may not appeal to every reader, but one must be unappreciative indeed not to respond to the subtle charm of his style. Mr. Hearn is a cosmopolitan by instinct and education, and a quasi-oriental by deliberate choice, and his standpoint is consequently so different from that of the average Anglo-Saxon that everything which he writes is full of novel and delightful surprises. It is, moreover, pregnant with a wistful melancholy and a vague and undefined nostalgia which inevitably recall the writings of Pierre Loti. His latest work is at first sight a miscellaneous col lection of essays whose choice has been regulated by no stronger motive than the requirements of bookmaking, and which are conveniently grouped by the title under the heads of "Exotics" and "Retrospectives." close, although, perhaps, unconscious correlation between these essays. The whole vexed question of the wide difference between the ideals of beauty of separate nations or of separate individuals has evidently been in Mr Hearn's mind while writing his "Retrospectives." and his own philosophy on the subject is well summed up in the chapter en (The relief represents Seishi Bosatsu-Bodhisattva Mahasthama- The "Exotics" we titled "Beauty is Memory." If understand his position aright, he takes the ground that there is no absolute standard of beauty; but that all things which appeal to our æsthetic taste, whether it be a fair face or a delicate flower, do so because they stir the bygone memories of the pleasures afforded us by similar objects of beauty-not our own individual memory, but a composite memory, that of all the countless lives which have preceded us. "To any really scientific imagination," says Mr. Hearn, "the curious analogy existing between certain teachings of evolutional psychology and cer tain teachings of Eastern faith-particularly the Buddhist doctrine that all sense-life is Karma, and all substance only the phenomenal result of acts and thoughts-might have suggested something much more significant than my cluster of Retrospectives.'" All but one of the papers composing the volume appear for the first time. The volume is illustrated from some curious and unusual photographs, and the cover design is a graceful arrangement of one of the most characteristic of Japanese flowers. (Little, Brown & Co. $1.50.)-Commercial Advertiser. God's Prisoner. A DESERT island, hidden treasure and pirates have long supplied themes to all sorts and conditions of writers, who have found an audience in all sorts and conditions of men. Some authors have succeeded in making interesting and lasting literature out of these ingredients; others have spun from them penny dreadfuls. 'In a novel whose name, "God's Prisoner," gives no mention of the strange lands and adventures to which the reader is introduced, Mr. John Oxenham has taken the aforementioned time-worn ingredients and has kneaded them into a new and original form. There are suggestions of both Defoe and Stevenson in the book, but only suggestions. The plot is ingenious, and there are tangled threads which are skilfully smoothed out before the curtain falls at the end. The leading character of the story, God's Prisoner, is far more leniently dealt with by the Supreme Judge than would have been the case had he been brought before the bar of human justice. This character, who finds it convenient to appear under two names, is both an absconder and a murderer. He kills and robs his partner, but in this case murder does not out; for the murderer escapes, changes his name and also undergoes a change of heart. He uses part of his ill-gotten booty to charter a schooner, and reaches a desert island in company with a sea captain, who knows where a treasure trove is hidden. The crew go off with the schooner and become pirates. By a coincidence, there is also stranded upon the island through a similar catastrophe a man and wife and their little boy. The man turns out to be an absconding bookkeeper of the firm to which the prisoner had belonged, one who in foreign lands had played with great success the part of the murdered partner and so had been instrumental in keeping knowledge of the murder from the public. This man is on his last legs and dies, leaving the widow, who has been in ignorance of his identity, a handsome fortune. The "Prisoner" and the widow fall in love with each other and are united on the island. The sea captain, meantime, has sailed off on a craft of his own making, and returns with a schooner to rescue the refugees and to bear away the treasure. Shortly afterward they fall in with the pirates who had made off with the "Prisoner's" schooner, recapture the vessel and slaughter the pirates. So all ends well and happily, and though the poetic justice of the book may be questioned it undoubtedly affords very entertaining reading. $1.50.)-N. Y. Herald. (Holt. Some Marked Passages. IT is a fairly mooted question whether one's interest in reading a book is enhanced or disturbed by finding marginal or other lines drawing attention to what has arrested the notice of some previous reader. An attractive book of new stories by Miss Jeanne G. Pennington, entitled "Some Marked Passages," has this for its undercurrent. In the opening scene the superintendent, matron, and some of the doctors of a hospital, among whom seem to exist a comradic sociability, discuss the question, apropos of a package of books, some of which are so marked, just received for the use of patients. One asserts that "the man or woman who marks a book is either a sentimentalist or an egotist of the worst order," the marks arousing irritation rather than interest. Another exclaims, "the authors I love most of all have been introduced to me by a chance mark here and there in one of their books;” adding, “I have grown to feel that some of the strongest, though most modest and often most diffident, natures speak effectually in this manner, who, perhaps, would not speak at all, otherwisecertainly not to me." The books go into the library; and the stories told give brief but strongly sketched accounts of a series of cases in the hospital, the physical ailments indicated only so far as to show the conditions of the nervous and mental disturbances, and the often striking but always helpful effects of the little books with their "marked passages" upon the troubled spirits and bodies. The graphic power of the sketches; the sunny, wholesome air of hope throughout; the intuitive perception sharpened by careful study of physical conditions as affected by mental and spiritual activities; and the best sense of humor, which lends lightness to the touch, make these stories likely to be very acceptable, especially to those who are taking interest in what is called "the new thought" of the day which, of course, is but the new popularization and wider use of a very old thought, the supremacy of the inner over the outer man. The volume contains several other stories of more miscellaneous interest, although all are more or less infused with the same healthful, hopeful spirit, that which appears in Miss Pennington's admirable little volume of "Don't Worry Nuggets," which has been received with such marked favor (40 c.). The book is very tastefully bound, and presents in all a very attractive appearance. (Fords, Howard & Hulbert. $1.)-Boston Courier. The Maine Captain Sigsbee's Narrative. PROBABLY no single event exercised so powerful an influence in precipitating the late war as the destruction of the battleship Maine. On this account, therefore, if for no other reason, Captain Sigsbee's personal narrative of the events bearing on the great catastrophe is sure to excite the liveliest interest, and especially so since the book issues from the press within a fortnight of the first anniversary of that memorable February 15. The clear, straightforward story of Captain Sigsbee, his careful noting of all essential details of the vessel's reception by the Spaniards in Havana, of the explosion, and of the subsequent work of the wreckers and the court of inquiry, must be recognized as constituting a statement of the highest possible authority, while the appended copies of Ensign Powelson's report on the cause of the explosion, and of the findings of the American and Spanish courts of inquiry render the book additionally valuable for historic refer ence. The Maine and the Texas were the first modern steel battleships ever built by the United States, and, according to Captain Sigsbee, no ship in the navy was more delightful to command or more comfortably fitted up for service than the Maine. Very graphic and thrilling is the account of the explosion, which burst with sudden shock on the hot, still air, just as the last echo of the bugle call at taps had floated away into silence, and when all on shipboard had settled down into quiet for the night. The fact that the crew were berthed forward, where the accident occurred, explains the heavy loss among the men and the comparative safety of the officers, whose quarters were aft. Only two escaped from the berth deck. One of these, Coal-passer Shea, seems to have been saved almost by a miracle. He was sleeping beneath the great pile of wreckage that figures in the well-known pictures of the destroyed vessel, and can remember nothing of his experience during the accident. Although firmly convinced that the Maine was destroyed by a submarine mine, which could not well have been operated without official knowledge in some quarter, Captain Sigsbee expresses himself most dispassionately, and emphatically disclaims any attempt to fix responsibility. His brief summary of the arguments supporting this view is very pointed and telling, and forms one of the most interesting portions of his book. The book is characterized throughout by the utmost dignity and by the reserve fitting the writer's position. This volume is profusely illustrated, and contains a list, heretofore unpublished, of the dead and wounded members of the Maine's crew, showing the location of the remains of all that were identified. Alto gether, this book will doubtless prove one of the most valuable contributions to the history of the war with Spain. (The Century. $1.50.) -N. Y. Times. Autumn Leaves. AT the present time, when autumnal beauty is but a faint remembrance, if not a dream, we have a collection of stories under the title of "Autumn Leaves," by Mary Agnes Tincker, the perusal of which will amply repay the reader. The scenes of many of the tales are laid in Italy and Spain, and in the reading of them it will take but little imagination to fancy ourselves basking in the warmth and sunshine of the romantic countries described and pictured therein. Miss Tincker has not confined herself to prose, but has interspersed among her clever tales some poems which are not devoid of artistic talent. The stories are of varied interest, and exhibit much diversity in plot, construction, and development. The weird, pathetic, humorous, and romantic all appear as elements. Cordova, the ancient stronghold of the Moors, and Seville, famous for its bull-fights, furnish the background for "Solita," the romance of a lovely young señorita and a modern Spanish cavalier. The constancy and devotion of a Spanish gallant cannot be too highly commended, although he certainly seems to waste much valuable time in the somewhat unprofitable occupation of gazing reverently at the windows of the house which has the felicity of harboring his adored one. This is contrasted unfavorably with the wayward conduct of a young Frenchman in the tale, to the advantage of Don Gonzalo. A remarkably fine description of a Sevillian bull-fight and a Spanish religious procession are incidental, although notable, features. They serve to illustrate the double nature of the Spaniards; their brutal, fierce and savage, in combination with their pious, refined and sensitive natures, as the bull-fight and procession both occur in Holy Week, the former upon Easter Sunday. "A Soldier's Daughter" is perhaps the best poem in the book. Strange and fascinating is "Palingenesis" and its tragic result. To divert the mind of a broken-spirited and melancholy man, who has lost his beloved wife, from its hopeless misery, a professor of science suggests that by means of the principle of Palingenesis she may be re-created. He accomplishes this and brings her to view, but she quickly fades away, and, contrary to the expectations of the professor, the unfortunate man falls dead of a broken heart. A story full of pathos that should touch many hearts is that of a little orphaned deaf and dumb boy, who wanders up the great Italian mountains to find his mother. He is found dead, near the top, and, according to the Italian custom, the bells are rung, "A Gloria," for his purity and innocence. This book should not be overlooked by any one interested in short stories who wishes a delightful entertainment. (William H. Young. $1.)-N. Y. Times. Life of Henry Drummond. "THE thousands, the tens of thousands, who have been influenced by the life and works of Henry Drummond," says Public Opinion, “will, we think, be entirely satisfied with the manner in which Dr. Smith has carried out the work assigned to him by the family and friends of the great evangelical teacher whose death two years ago was mourned as universally here as in his native land. Dr. Smith was the friend of Drummond from his early college days to the last; naturally, the biographer's view is often that of a personal admirer, but Dr. Smith never overpraises; his relations with Drummond, so far as we can see, have had absolutely no effect on the biographer's conclusions from, and estimates of, the man of whose life he writes." His work 'When all is said," writes The Nation, "Drummond was, first, last, and always, an evangelical Christian, much in love with Science and unable to be happy in his religious faith without her approval and consent. was essentially that of an apologist, endeavoring to give an appearance of scientific rationality to the doctrines of Christianity as by him apprehended. To go to him for an unbiassed search for scientific truth would be a great mistake. With more advanced methods, he was engaged in the same business as that of Hugh Miller-the reconciliation of revelation and science; but he did not feel himself, after his manhood had grown ripe, to be under Miller's necessity for reconciling science with Genesis. We should utterly fail to understand his life if we did not recognize that the Christianity he wished to maintain, as natural and scientific, was the Christianity which he had found efficient for the saving of men's characters from various diseases and defects. His "enthusiasm for humanity," not as an abstract whole but in its individual concreteness, was the consuming passion of his life, and it was marked by a naturalness and simplicity and reality that make us love the man, whatever estimate we may put upon his intellectual methods and results." No life could have been more noble," says the N. Y. Times, "more full of love and sympathy, or possessed of an ampler manhood, than that of Henry Drummond. This vol |