FOOTNOTES:

"Ah, sir," said Randal, with much apparent emotion, "your son may well love you; and it seems to be a hard matter for so kind a heart as yours to preserve the proper firmness with him."

"Oh, I can be firm enough," quoth the squire—"especially when I don't see him—handsome dog that he is—very like his mother—don't you think so?"

"I never saw his mother, sir."

"Gad! Not seen my Harry! No more you have; you must come and pay us a visit. We have your grandmother's picture, when she was a girl, with a crook in one hand and a bunch of lilies in the other. I suppose my half-brother will let you come?"

"To be sure, sir. Will you not call on him while you are in town?

"Not I. He would think I expected to get something from the Government. Tell him the ministers must go on a little better, if they want my vote for their member. But go. I see you are impatient to tell Frank that all's forgot and forgiven. Come and dine with him here at six, and let him bring his bills in his pocket. Oh, I shan't scold him."

"Why, as to that," said Randal, smiling, "I think (forgive me still) that you should not take it too easily; just as I think that you had better not blame him for his very natural and praiseworthy shame in approaching you, so I think, also, that you should do nothing that would tend to diminish that shame—it is such a check on him. And therefore, if you can contrive to affect to be angry with him for his extravagance, it will do good."

"You speak like a book, and I'll try my best."

"If you threaten, for instance, to take him out of the army, and settle him in the country, it would have a very good effect."

"What! would he think it so great a punishment to come home and live with his parents?"

"I don't say that; but he is naturally so fond of London. At his age, and with his large inheritance,thatis natural."

"Inheritance!" said the Squire, moodily—"inheritance! he is not thinking of that, I trust? Zounds, sir, I have as good a life as his own. Inheritance!—to be sure the Casino property is entailed on him; but, as for the rest, sir, I am no tenant for life. I couldleave the Hazeldean lands to my ploughman, if I chose it. Inheritance, indeed!"

"My dear sir, I did not mean to imply that Frank would entertain the unnatural and monstrous idea of calculating on your death; and all we have to do is to get him to sow his wild oats as soon as possible—marry, and settle down into the country. For it would be a thousand pities if his town habits and tastes grew permanent—a bad thing for the Hazeldean property, that. And," added Randal, laughing, "I feel an interest in the old place, since my grandmother comes of the stock. So, just force yourself to seem angry, and grumble a little when you pay the bills."

"Ah, ah, trust me," said the Squire, doggedly and with a very altered air, "I am much obliged to you for these hints, my young kinsman." And his stout hand trembled a little as he extended it to Randal.

Leaving Limmer's, Randal hastened to Frank's rooms in St. James's Street. "My dear fellow," said he, when he entered, "it is very fortunate that I persuaded you to let me break matters to your father. You might well say he was rather passionate; but I have contrived to soothe him. You need not fear that he will not pay your debts."

"I never feared that," said Frank changing color; "I only fear his anger. But, indeed, I feared his kindness still more. What a reckless hound I have been! However, it shall be a lesson to me. And my debts once paid, I will turn as economical as yourself."

"Quite right, Frank. And, indeed, I am a little afraid that when your father knows the total, he may execute a threat that would be very unpleasant to you."

"What's that?"

"Make you sell out, and give up London."

"The devil!" exclaimed Frank, with fervent emphasis; "that would be treating me like a child."

"Why, itwouldmake you seem rather ridiculous to your set, which is not a very rural one. And you, who like London so much, and are so much the fashion."

"Don't talk of it," cried Frank, walking to and fro the room in great disorder.

"Perhaps on the whole, it might be well not to say all you owe, at once. If you named half the sum, your father would let you off with a lecture; and really I tremble at the effect of the total."

"But how shall I pay the other half?"

"Oh, you must save from your allowance; it is a very liberal one; and the tradesmen are not pressing."

"No—but the cursed bill-brokers"—

"Always renew to a young man of your expectations. And if I get into an office, I can always help you, my dear Frank."

"Ah, Randal, I am not so bad as to take advantage of your friendship," said Frank warmly. "But it seems to me mean, after all, and a sort of a lie, indeed, disguising the real state of my affairs. I should not have listened to the idea from any one else. But you are such a sensible, kind, honorable fellow."

"After epithets so flattering, I shrink from the responsibility of advice. But apart from your own interests, I should be glad to save your father the pain he would feel at knowing the whole extent of the scrape you have got into. And if it entailed on you the necessity to lay by—and give up hazard, and not be security for other men—why it would be the best thing that could happen. Really, too, it seems hard on Mr. Hazeldean, that he should be the only sufferer, and quite just that you should bear half your own burdens."

"So it is, Randal; that did not strike me before. I will take your counsel; and now I will go at once to Limmer's. My dear father! I hope he is looking well?"

"Oh, very. Such a contrast to the sallow Londoners! But I think you had better not go till dinner. He has asked me to meet you at six. I will call for you a little before, and we can go together. This will prevent a great deal ofgêneand constraint. Good-bye till then.—Ha!—by the way, I think if I were you, I would not take the matter too seriously and penitentially. You see the best of fathers like to keep their sons under their thumb, as the saying is. And if you want at your age to preserve your independence, and not be hurried off and buried in the country, like a school-boy in disgrace, a little manliness of bearing would not be amiss. You can think over it."

The dinner at Limmer's went off very differently from what it ought to have done. Randal's words had sunk deep, and rankled sorely in the Squire's mind; and that impression imparted a certain coldness to his manner which belied the hearty, forgiving, generous impulse with which he had come up to London, and which even Randal had not yet altogether whispered away. On the other hand, Frank, embarrassed both by the sense of disingenuousness, and a desire "not to take the thing too seriously," seemed to the Squire ungracious and thankless.

After dinner, the Squire began to hum and haw, and Frank to color up and shrink. Both felt discomposed by the presence of a third person; till, with an art and address worthy of a better cause, Randal himself broke the ice, and so contrived to remove the restraint he had before imposed, that at length each was heartily glad to have matters made clear and brief by his dexterity and tact.

Frank's debts were not in reality, large; and when he named the half of them—looking down in shame—the Squire, agreeably surprised, was about to express himself with a liberal heartiness that would have openedhis son's excellent heart at once to him. But a warning look from Randal checked the impulse; and the Squire thought it right, as he had promised, to affect an anger he did not feel, and let fall the unlucky threat, "that it was all very well once in a way to exceed his allowance; but if Frank did not, in future, show more sense than to be led away by a set of London sharks and coxcombs, he must cut the army, come home, and take to farming."

Frank imprudently exclaimed, "Oh, sir, I have no taste for farming. And after London, at my age, the country would be so horribly dull."

"Aha!" said the Squire, very grimly—and he thrust back into his pocket-book some extra bank-notes which his fingers had itched to add to those he had already counted out. "The country is terribly dull, is it? Money goes there not upon follies and vices, but upon employing honest laborers, and increasing the wealth of the nation. It does not please you to spend money in that way: it is a pity you should ever be plagued with such duties."

"My dear father—"

"Hold your tongue, you puppy. Oh, I dare say, if you were in my shoes, you would cut down the oaks, and mortgage the property—sell it, for what I know—all go on a cast of the dice! Aha, sir—very well, very well—the country is horribly dull, is it? Pray, stay in town."

"My dear Mr. Hazeldean," said Randal, blandly, and as if with the wish to turn off into a joke what threatened to be serious, "you must not interpret a hasty expression so literally. Why, you would make Frank as bad as Lord A——, who wrote word to his steward to cut down more timber; and when the steward replied, 'There are only three signposts left on the whole estate,' wrote back, 'They'vedone growing, at all events—'down with them.' You ought to know Lord A——, sir; so witty; and Frank's particular friend."

"Your particular friend, Master Frank? Pretty friends!"—and the Squire buttoned up the pocket, to which he had transferred his note-book, with a determined air.

"But I'm his friend, too," said Randal, kindly; "and I preach to him properly, I can tell you." Then, as if delicately anxious to change the subject, he began to ask questions upon crops, and the experiment of bone manure. He spoke earnestly, and withgusto, yet with the deference of one listening to a great practical authority. Randal had spent the afternoon in cramming the subject from agricultural journals and Parliamentary reports; and, like all practised readers, had really learned in a few hours more than many a man, unaccustomed to study, could gain from books in a year. The Squire was surprised and pleased at the young scholar's information and taste for such subjects.

"But, to be sure," quoth he, with an angry look at poor Frank, "you have good Hazeldean blood in you, and know a bean from a turnip."

"Why, sir," said Randal, ingenuously, "I am training myself for public life; and what is a public man worth if he do not study the agriculture of his country?"

"Right—what is he worth? Put that question, with my compliments, to my half-brother. What stuff he did talk, the other night, on the malt tax, to be sure!"

"Mr. Egerton has had so many other things to think of, that we must excuse his want of information upon one topic, however important. With his strong sense, he must acquire that information, sooner or later; for he is fond of power; and, sir,—knowledge is power!"

"Very true;—very fine saying," quoth the poor Squire, unsuspiciously, as Randal's eye rested upon Mr. Hazeldean's open face, and then glanced towards Frank, who looked sad and bored.

"Yes," repeated Randal, "knowledge is power;" and he shook his head wisely, as he passed the bottle to his host.

Still, when the Squire, who meant to return to the Hall next morning, took leave of Frank, his heart warmed to his son; and still more for Frank's dejected looks. It was not Randal's policy to push estrangement too far at first, and in his own presence.

"Speak to poor Frank—kindly now, sir—do;" whispered he, observing the Squire's watery eyes, as he moved to the window.

The Squire rejoiced to obey—thrust out his hand to his son—"My dear boy," said he, "there, don't fret—pshaw!—it was but a trifle after all. Think no more of it."

Frank took the hand, and suddenly threw his arm round his father's broad shoulder.

"Oh, sir, you are too good—too good." His voice trembled so, that Randal took alarm, passed by him, and touched him meaningly.

The Squire pressed his son to his heart—heart so large, that it seemed to fill the whole width under his broadcloth.

"My dear Frank," said he, half blubbering, "it is not the money; but, you see, it so vexes your poor mother; you must be careful in future; and, zounds, boy, it will be all yours one day; only don't calculate on it; I could not bearthat—I could not, indeed."

"Calculate!" cried Frank. "Oh, sir, can you think it!"

"I am so delighted that I had some slight hand in your complete reconciliation with Mr. Hazeldean," said Randal, as the young men walked from the hotel. "I saw that you were disheartened, and I told him to speak to you kindly."

"Did you? Ah, I am sorry he needed telling."

"I know his character so well already," said Randal, "that I flatter myself I can always keep things between you as they ought to be. What an excellent man!"

"The best man in the world!" cried Frank, heartily; and then as his accent drooped, "yet I have deceived him. I have a great mind to go back—"

"And tell him to give you twice as much money as you had asked for. He would think you had only seemed so affectionate in order to take him in. No, no, Frank; save—lay by—economize; and then tell him that you have paid half your own debts. Something high-minded in that."

"So there is. Your heart is as good as your head. Good night."

"Are you going home so early? Have you no engagements?"

"None that I shall keep."

"Good night, then."

They parted, and Randal walked into one of the fashionable clubs. He neared a table, where three or four young men (younger sons, who lived in the most splendid style, heaven knew how) were still over their wine.

Leslie had little in common with these gentlemen; but he forced his nature to be agreeable to them, in consequence of a very excellent piece of worldly advice given to him by Audley Egerton. "Never let the dandies call you a prig," said the statesman. "Many a clever fellow fails through life, because the silly fellows, whom half a word well spoken could make hisclaqueurs, turn him into ridicule. Whatever you are, avoid the fault of most reading men: in a word, don't be a prig!"

"I have just left Hazeldean," said Randal—"what a good fellow he is!"

"Capital," said the honorable George Borrowwell. "Where is he?"

"Why, he is gone to his rooms. He has had a little scene with his father, a thorough, rough country squire. It would be an act of charity if you would go and keep him company, or take him with you to some place a little more lively than his own lodgings."

"What! the old gentleman has been teasing him?—a horrid shame! Why, Frank is not expensive, and he will be very rich—eh?"

"An immense property," said Randal, "and not a mortgage on it; an only son," he added, turning away.

Among these young gentlemen there was a kindly and most benevolent whisper, and presently they all rose, and walked away towards Frank's lodgings.

"The wedge is in the tree," said Randal to himself, "and there is a gap already between the bark and the wood."

Harley L'Estrange is seated beside Helen at the lattice-window in the cottage at Norwood. The bloom of reviving health is on the child's face, and she is listening with a smile, for Harley is speaking of Leonard with praise, and of Leonard's future with hope. "And thus," he continued, "secure from his former trials, happy in his occupation, and pursuing the career he has chosen, we must be content, my dear child, to leave him."

"Leave him!" exclaimed Helen, and the rose on her cheek faded.

Harley was not displeased to see her emotion. He would have been disappointed in her heart if it had been less susceptible to affection.

"It is hard on you, Helen," said he, "to separate you from one who has been to you as a brother. Do not hate me for doing so. But I consider myself your guardian, and your home as yet must be mine. We are going from this land of cloud and mist, going as into the world of summer. Well, that does not content you. You weep, my child; you mourn your own friend, but do not forget your father's. I am alone, and often sad, Helen; will you not comfort me? You press my hand, but you must learn to smile on me also. You are born to be the Comforter. Comforters are not egotists; they are always cheerful when they console."

The voice of Harley was so sweet, and his words went so home to the child's heart, that she looked up and smiled in his face as he kissed her ingenuous brow. But then she thought of Leonard, and felt so solitary—so bereft—that tears burst forth again. Before these were dried, Leonard himself entered, and obeying an irresistible impulse, she sprang to his arms, and, leaning her head on his shoulder, sobbed out, "I am going from you, brother—do not grieve—do not miss me."

Harley was much moved: he folded his arms, and contemplated them both silently—and his own eyes were moist, "This heart," thought he, "will be worth the winning!"

He drew aside Leonard, and whispered, "Soothe but encourage and support her. I leave you together; come to me in the garden later."

It was nearly an hour before Leonard joined Harley.

"She was not weeping when you left her?" asked L'Estrange.

"No; she has more fortitude than we might suppose. Heaven knows how that fortitude has supported mine. I have promised to write to her often."

Harley took two strides across the lawn, and then, coming back to Leonard, said, "Keep your promise, and write often for the first year. I would then ask you to let the correspondence drop gradually."

"Drop!—Ah, my lord!"

"Look you, my young friend, I wish to lead this fair mind wholly from the sorrows of the Past. I wish Helen to enter, not abruptly, but step by step, into a new life. You love each other now as do two children—as brother and sister. But later, if encouraged, would the love be the same? And is it not better for both of you, that youth should open upon the world with youth's natural affections free and unforestalled?"

"True! and she is so above me," said Leonard, mournfully.

"No one is above him who succeeds in your ambition, Leonard. It is notthat, believe me!"

Leonard shook his head.

"Perhaps," said Harley, with a smile, "I rather feel that you are above me. For what vantage-ground is so high as youth? Perhaps I may become jealous of you. It is well that she should learn to like one who is to be henceforth her guardian and protector. Yet, how can she like me as she ought, if her heart is to be full of you?"

The boy bowed his head; and Harley hastened to change the subject, and speak of letters and of glory. His words were eloquent, and his voice kindling; for he had been an enthusiast for fame in his boyhood; and in Leonard's his own seemed to him to revive. But the poet's heart gave back no echo—suddenly it seemed void and desolate. Yet when Leonard walked back by the moonlight, he muttered to himself, "Strange—strange—so mere a child, this cannot be love! Still what else to love is there left to me?"

And so he paused upon the bridge where he had so often stood with Helen, and on which he had found the protector that had given to her a home—to himself a career. And life seemed very long, and fame but a dreary phantom. Courage, still, Leonard! These are the sorrows of the heart that teach thee more than all the precepts of sage and critic.

Another day, and Helen had left the shores of England, with her fanciful and dreaming guardian. Years will pass before our tale reopens. Life in all the forms we have seen it travels on. And the Squire farms and hunts; and the Parson preaches and chides and soothes. And Riccabocca reads his Machiavelli, and sighs and smiles as he moralizes on Men and States. And Violante's dark eyes grow deeper and more spiritual in their lustre; and her beauty takes thought from solitary dreams. And Mr. Richard Avenel has his house in London, and the honorable Mrs. Avenel her opera box; and hard and dire is their struggle into fashion, and hotly does the new man, scorning the aristocracy, to pant become aristocrat. And Audley Egerton goes from the office to the Parliament, and drudges, and debates, and helps to govern the empire in which the sun never sets. Poor Sun, how tired he must be—but none more tired than the Government! And Randal Leslie has an excellent place in the bureau of a minister, and is looking to the time when he shall resign it to come into Parliament, and on that large arena turn knowledge into power. And meanwhile, he is much where he was with Audley Egerton; but he has established intimacy with the Squire, and visited Hazeldean twice, and examined the house and the map of the property—and very nearly fallen a second time into the Ha-ha, and the Squire believes that Randal Leslie alone can keep Frank out of mischief, and has spoken rough words to his Harry about Frank's continued extravagance. And Frank does continue to pursue pleasure, and is very miserable, and horribly in debt. And Madame di Negra has gone from London to Paris, and taken a tour into Switzerland, and come back to London again, and has grown very intimate with Randal Leslie; and Randal has introduced Frank to her; and Frank thinks her the loveliest woman in the world, and grossly slandered by certain evil tongues. And the brother of Madame di Negra is expected in England at least; and what with his repute for beauty and for wealth, people anticipate a sensation; and Leonard, and Harley, and Helen? Patience—they will all reappear.

FOOTNOTES:[7]Continued from page 386.

[7]Continued from page 386.

All round and through the spaces of creationNo hiding-place of the least air, or earth,Or sea, invisible, untrod, unrained on,Contains a thing alone. Not e'en the bird,That can go up the labyrinthine windsBetween its pinions, and pursues the summer,—Not even the great serpent of the billows,Who winds him thrice around this planet's waist,—Is by itself in joy or suffering.

O that sweet influence of thoughts and looks!That change of being, which, to one who lives,Is nothing less divine than divine lifeTo the unmade! Love? Do I love? I walkWithin the brilliance of another's thought,As in a glory.

How thou art like the daisy in Noah's meadow,On which the foremost drop of rain fell warmAnd soft at evening; so the little flowerWrapped up its leaves, and shut the treacherous waterClose to the golden welcome of its breast,—Delighting in the touch of that which ledThe shower of oceans, in whose billowy dropsTritons and lions of the sea were warring.

The unfashionable worm,Respectless of crown-illumined brow,To cheek's bewitchment, or the sceptred clench,With no more eyes than Love, creeps courtier-like,On his thin belly, to his food,—no matterHow clad or nicknamed it might strut above,What age or sex,—it is his dinner-time.

I have a plea,As dewy piteous as the gentle ghost'sThat sits alone upon a forest-graveThinking of no revenge: I have a mandate,As magical and potent as e'er ranSilently through a battle's myriad veins,Undid their fingers from the hanging steel,And drew them up in prayer:I am a woman.O motherly-remembered be the name,And, with the thought of loves and sisters, sweetAnd comforting!

There stands before youThe youth and golden top of your existence,Another life of yours: for, think your morningNot lost, but given, passed from your hand to hisThe same except in place. Be then to himAs was the former tenant of your age,When you were in the prologue of your time,And he lay hid in you unconsciouslyUnder his life. And thou, my younger master,Remember there's a kind of God in him;And, after heaven, the next of thy religion.Thy second fears of God, thy first of man,Are his, who was creation's delegate,And made this world for thee in making thee.

Carl Immerman'sTheater-Briefe(Letters on the Theatre), says a German critic, "is interesting not only as a history of a German theatre, but as an excellent addition to the literature of æsthetic criticism. This work refers more especially to the years 1833-37, during which time, as is well known, Immerman attempted to establish in Düsseldorf anidealtheatre, somewhat in the style of that at Weimar." We have frequently, in conversation with a gentleman who held an appointment in this DüsseldorfIdeal Theatre, received amusing and interesting accounts of Immerman's style of management. That his plan did not succeed is undoubtedly for the sake of Art to be regretted; yet we can by no means unconditionally approve of the ideas upon which Immerman based his theories. He was certainly right in endeavoring to form a unity of style in dramatic representations; but how he could have deemed such an unity possible, when grounded upon such diametrically opposed æsthetic bases as those of Shakespeare and Calderon, is to us unintelligible. The remarks on the most convenient and practical style of executing certain pieces—for example, Hamlet—are worthy of attention, as also a few explanations relative to Immerman's own dramatic conceptions.

Kohl, whose innumerable and well-known books of travel have caused him to be cited even in book-making Germany as an instance ofAusserordentlichen Fruchtbarkeit, or extraordinary fertility, has published, through Kuntze of Dresden, yet another work, entitledSketches of Nature and Popular Life, which is however said to be inferior to the average of his works—principally, we imagine, from his falling into the besetting sin of German writers since the late revolutions, namely, of talking politics when he should have quoted poetry. We should not be surprised to find some day a treatise on qualitative chemistry, commencing with an analysis of the Prussian constitution, or an anatomical work, concluding with a dissection of Germany in general. Kohl possesses, however, great faculties of observation, is an accurate describer, and has, perhaps, done as much as any man of the age towards making different countries acquainted with each other.

The friends of the Italian language and literature, will do well to cast an occasional kindly glance onL'Eco d'Italia(The Echo of Italy), an excellent weekly paper published by SignorSecchi de Casali, in this city, at number 289 Broadway. Many admirable poems find their way from time to time into this periodical, while its foreign correspondence is of a high order of merit.

The Polish authoressNarcisa Zwichowska, well known to all who are acquainted with the literature of that country, has received from the Russian authorities an order to enter a convent, and no longer to occupy herself with literature, but with labors of a manual kind, which are more becoming to women. She is to receive from the treasury a silver ruble, or about sixty-two and a half cents a day for her support.

Cooking is no doubt a great science, and its chief prophet is undeniablyEugene Baron Baerst. This gentleman, who is well known in Germany and elsewhere for his gallant services in Spain, in the army of Don Carlos, has just brought out a work in two volumes, of some six hundred and fifty pages each, entitledGastrosophie, oder die Lehre von den Freuden der Tafel(Gastrosophy, or the Doctrine of the Delights of the Table). In this he evinces a thoroughness of knowledge and a fire of enthusiasm well calculated to astonish the reader, who has probably not before been aware of the grandeur of the subjects discussed. He begins with the very elements of his theme. "The man," he exclaims in his preface, "who undertakes to write a cook-book, must begin by teaching the mason how to build a fire-place, so as not merely to produce heat from above or below, but from both at once; he must teach the butcher how to cut his meat, and above all the baker how to make bread, and especially thesemmel(a sort of small loaves with caraway or anise seed, much liked in Germany), which are often very like leather and perfectly indigestible. It is true that in Psalm CIV. verse 15, we are told that bread strengthens the heart of man, but the semmel sort does no such thing; and when Linguet affirms,—and it is one of the greatest paradoxes I know of,—that bread is a noxious article of food, he must be thinking of just that kind. Further, it is necessary to instruct the gardener, the vegetable woman, the cattle dealer and feeder, and a hundred other people down to the scullion, who must learn to chop the spinage very fine and rub and tie it well, and also not to wash the salad, &c. And this is all the more necessary, because bad workmen,—and their name is legion,—love no sort of instruction, but fancy that they already know every thing better than anybody else." To this extensive and thankless work of instruction, the Baron declares that he has devoted himself, and that the iron will necessary to its accomplishment is his. The iron health is however wanting, and accordingly he can do nothing better for "the fatherland's artists in eating" than the present work. At the last advices, the valiant Baron was dangerously ill.

Works on natural history and philosophy seldom possess much interest for the uninitiated in "the physically practical." An exception to this may however be found in the beautifulSchmetterlingsbuch, orButterfly book, recently published by Hoffman of Stuttgart, containing eleven hundred colored illustrations of these "winged flowers," as the Chinese poetically term them. Equally attractive to every lover of exquisite works of scientific art, is the recent AmericanPomology, edited by Dr.Brinckleof Philadelphia, and published by Hoffy of that city. This, we state on the authority of the Philadelphia Art-Union Reporter, is the most splendid work of the kind ever published in this country or Europe, with a single exception, which was issued under royal patronage.

A valuable and useful book in these times isStein'sGeschichte der socialen Bewegung in Frankreich von 1789 bis auf unsere Tage(History of the Social Movement in France from 1789 to our day). It is in three volumes, published at Leipzig. TheSocialismus und Communismusof the same author has given him a wide reputation for impartiality and thoroughness, which the present work must confirm and extend. We do not coincide in all his views, historical or critical, but cordially recommend him to the study of all who desire to inform themselves as to one of the most important phases of modern history.

An interesting work entitledDie Macht des Kleinen, orThe power of the Little, as shown in the formation of the crust of our earth-ball, has recently been translated from the Dutch ofSchwartzkopt, by Dr.Schleidenof Leipzig. This book treats entirely of the works and wonders effected by that "invisible brotherhood" of architects, theanimalculæ, and shows how greatly the organic world is indebted to coral insects,foraminiferæ, polypi, and other cryptic beings, for its existence and progress. The illustrations are truly admirable.

Among the recent publications at Halle, is a heavy octavo by Dr.J. H. Krause, on theHistory of Education, Instruction and Culture among the Greeks, Etruscans and Romans. It is drawn from the original sources, and is the result of a most studious and thorough investigation of the subject.

A very intelligent young priest, by nameJoseph Lutz, has recently published by Laupp of Tübingen, aHandbook of Catholic Pulpit Eloquence. This work will be found highly interesting to those desirous of investigating the history and theories of modern eloquence. We were already aware that in New-England smoking and whistling are regarded as vices, but first learned from the prospectus of this work that, according to Theremin, eloquence is avirtue!

A collection of the popular songs of Southern Russia is now being published at Moscow by Mr.Maksimowitsch, who for twenty years has been in the Ukraine, engaged in taking down and preserving these interesting products of the early life of his people in that region. This is not the first contribution of the kind that he has made to Russian literature; in 1827 he published theSongs of Little Russia, consisting of one hundred and thirty pieces for male and female voices; in 1834 thePopular Songs of the Ukraine, consisting of one hundred and thirteen songs for men; and in the same year theVoices of Ukraine Song, twenty-five pieces with music. The present work is called by way of distinctionCollectaneum of Ukraine Popular Songs; it is to be in six parts, containing about two thousand national poems. Each part is to be accompanied with explanatory notes, and the last volume will contain an essay on Russian popular poetry in general, as well as on that of the Ukraine in particular. One volume has already appeared; it is in two divisions: the first of UkraineDumy, the second of cradle songs and lullabys. TheDumyare a particular sort of poems peculiar to the Ukraine. They are in a most irregular measure, varying from four to twelve syllables, with the cadence varying in each line. The only requirement is that they should rhyme, and frequently several successive lines are made to do so. These poems are the production of theVandurists, or bards of the country, who are even yet found on the southern shore of the Dnieper. These singers, usually blind old men, chant theirDumyand their songs to the people, accompanying themselves with both hands on the many-stringedvandura. TheDumyflourished most in the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries. There are some existing composed by Mazeppa after the battle of Pultowa, and one or two other poets have left aDumyof the eighteenth, but they are not equal to those of more primitive times. Since then there have been no new compositions in the way of popular songs and ballads, but the older works have been repeated with variations and to new melodies. The most frequent subjects of these ballads were, of course, historic personages and warlike deeds; but often they sung of domestic matters and feelings, winding up with a moral for the benefit of the young. In this volume of Mr. Maksimowitsch, are twentyDumy; their subjects are such as these: Fight of the Cossack with the Tartar, the Three Brothers, On the Victory of Gorgsun (1648). He reckons the number in existence at thirty. Of these he publishes, four have not before been known.

A new edition of Hogarth's Works is in process of republication at Göttingen in a diminished size. There are to be twelve parts at fifty cents each; the third part has been published.

OfDr. Andree'sgreat work onAmerica, whose commencement we noticed some months since, the fifth, sixth, seventh and eighth parts have just reached us. The German savan continues to justify the high encomiums we passed upon the earlier portions of his work. He has used with the utmost industry and conscientiousness all the best sources of information on every subject he treats. Gallatin, Morton and Squier he frequently quotes as authorities. These four parts are devoted to the conclusion of the essay on the origin and history of the American race. In this he calls attention to the fact that all the developments of American civilization took place on high plain lands and not in the rich vallies of the great rivers—a fact by the way which confirms Mr. Carey's theory of the first settlement and culture of land, though to this Dr. Andree does not refer. He then treats of Canada, New Brunswick, Nova Scotia, the Bermudas and the United States. The leading facts in the geography, history, the sources of population, the political constitution, the geological structure, soil, climate, industry, resources, and prospects of these countries are given with admirable succinctness, thoroughness and justice. As a book of ordinary reference, none could be more convenient or reliable. The most difficult questions are considered with a genuine German cosmopolitan impartiality of judgment. The predominant influence in the formation of the American democratic institutions Dr. Andree considers to be English, or more strictly speaking Teutonic. Other races and nations have contributed to the mass of the people, but only the Teutonic has laid the foundation and built the structure of the state. It is a great blessing in the history of the continent that the French did not succeed in their plans of colonization, for they would everywhere have founded not democratic but feudal institutions. The slavery question he treats more in the interest of the south than in the spirit of the abolitionists, whose course he condemns with considerable plainness of expression. On the mode of finally solving this question, he offers no speculations, but contents himself with showing the great difficulties attending colonization and emancipation upon the soil. The former he thinks impossible, the latter can only produce war between the two races, in which the latter must be exterminated. This mode of viewing this subject we can testify is frequent among well-educated Germans. The statistics relating to the United States, Dr. Andree has collected in a most lucid manner; we do not know where they are better or more conveniently arranged. Products, imports, exports, debt of federal and state governments, taxation, shipping, railroads, canals, schools, are all given; nothing escapes the vigilance of this most exemplary ethnographer. His style is no less clear and vivid in these four parts than in those preceding. The remainder will follow regularly. The work may be found at Westermann's, corner of Broadway and Reade street, by whose house in Brunswick, Germany, it is published.

M. Alexander Duvalhas a long article in theJournal des Débatsentitled,Studies upon German Love, taking his text from Bettina von Arnim's famous correspondence with Goethe, and from theBook of Love, in which the same sentimentalist has recorded her relations with the unfortunate Günderode. M. Duval finds that in his intercourse with Bettina, Goethe played a part which was honorable neither to his mind nor his heart. In theBook of Love, says M. Duval, there is a little of every thing—of physics, of metaphysics, of poetry, of natural history, of biographical anecdotes, the history of the first kiss, of the second kiss, and of the third kiss received by Mlle. Bettina, mixed up with apostrophes to the stars, to the ocean, to the mountains, and above all, to the moon, which she loves so much that she never leaves it in peace. In fact, she has such a passion for whatever is lunatic, that the moon above is not sufficient, and she invents another, an interior and metaphysical moon, which enlightens the world of our thoughts. About this she writes to Goethe: "When thou art about to go to sleep, confide thyself to the inward moon, sleep in the light of the moon of thy own nature." French literature was never disgraced by a girl's making a god of its most illustrious representative, and his allowing the silly incense to be burned for years upon his altars; but the evil is getting into France as well. Rousseau did not dare to publish his confessions, but Lamartine has had the courage, and has served up to the public his own letters and the portraits of his mistresses. Madame Sand'sMemoirsare also advertised; another step that way and Germany need no longer envy the country of Montesquieu and Voltaire, of good sense and action.

Readable and instructive isHase'sNeue Propheten(New Prophets), just published in Germany. The new prophets are Joan d'Arc, Savonarola, and the Anabaptists of Münster. They are treated historically and philosophically, in a style whose simplicity, animation, and clearness, differ most gratefully from the crabbed and long-winded sentences of the earlier German writers, in the study of whom we dug our way into some imperfect acquaintance with that rich and flexible tongue. The book is worthy of translation.

A new book on a subject which has latterly become prominent among the themes of European observation and thought is calledSüdslavische Wanderwagen im Sommer 1850(Wandering in Southern Slavonia in the Summer of 1850). It is a series of vivid and interesting pictures of one of the most remarkable races and regions of Europe.

A singular work has recently been published by Decker of Berlin, entitledMonasticus Irenæus, von Jerusalem, nach Bethlehem(or Irenæus Monasticus: a public message to the noble Lady Ida, Countess of Hahn-Hahn: for the profit and piety of all newly converted Catholics.) In this work we find much talent, deep learning, and abundance of Schleiermachian philosophy; but remark on the other hand the following weak points: Firstly, that the author cuts down a gnat with a scimitar, or in other words overrates the talent and abilities of his adversary; and, secondly, that he affects to assume the tone and style in which her work was written, even in the title. (The reader will remember that the work of the Countess was entitled "From Jerusalem," and bore the motto, "Soli deo Gloria.") In other respects also is this work, if not decidedly wrong, at least quite indifferent.

Lamartine'sHistory of the Restoration is reviewed at length in theJournal des Débats, by M. Cuvillier-Fleury. It is a very severe piece of criticism. Lamartine is charged with injustice, confusion, and even a systematic perversion of the truth, especially toward Napoleon. The account of the Emperor's last days at Fontainebleau, is pronounced a tragi-comedy, full of grimaces, of explosions, of puerile hesitations, of impossible exaggerations. Men and facts are judged without reflection, by prejudice, by blind passion, by a sort of fated and involuntary partiality. The method of the book runs into declamation, turgidity, and redundancy; he does not narrate, he discourses or expounds; he falls into mere gossip or is lost in analysis; instead of portraits he paints miniatures, and does not conceive an historical picture without a fancy vignette. His descriptive lyricism, instead of imparting a grandeur to his subject, diminishes it; instead of refining it, renders it petty. Besides, in his overstrained and exaggerated style, he is guilty of writing bad French; M. Cuvillier-Fleury quotes several striking examples of this. The article concludes by saying that the historian writes without ballast, and goes at the impulse of every breeze which swells his sails, and with no other care than the inspiration of the moment. His subject carries him off by all the perspectives it opens to his imagination or his memory. He is like a ship moving out of port with streamers floating from every mast, its poop crowned with flowers, and every sail set, but without a rudder. In spite of all criticism, however, this history has a large sale in France: the first edition is already exhausted. The practice of pirating, usual at Brussels and Leipzic, with reference to French works of importance, has been prevented, in this case, by the preparation of cheap editions for Belgium and Germany, which were issued there cotemporaneously with the publication at Paris.

The second part of the third volume ofHumboldt'sKosmosis nearly completed, and will soon appear. A fourth volume is to be added, in which the geological studies of the venerable author will be set forth. He is now nearly eighty-one years old, and is as vigorous and youthful in feeling as ever. The first part of the third volume ofKosmosappeared in German and English several months ago.

A History of Polish Literature, from the remotest antiquity to 1830, is now being published at Warsaw, by Mr.Maciejowki, a writer thoroughly acquainted with the subject. Three parts of the first volume have appeared, bringing the history down to the first half of the seventeenth century. One more part will complete the volume, and three volumes will complete the work.

The study of Russian archæology and history is prosecuted in that country with a degree of activity and thoroughness that other nations are not aware of, and publications of importance are made constantly. Within the present year the fifth part of the complete collection ofRussian Chronicleshas appeared, the fourth of the collection of public documents relating to the history of Western Russia, and the beginning of a new collection of foreign historians of Russia.

A curious contrast of light and shade is exhibited in the titles of two works recently published in Vienna.Siegfried Weiss(orwhite) puts forth a book,On the present state and trade policy of Germany, while in the next paragraph of the same listN. Schwartz(orblack) appears as the author ofThe situation of Austria as regards her trade policy. This latter we should judge to be an excellent illustration of the old phrase, "nomen et omen!"

Periodical literature is making its way into Asia. A literary monthly has made its appearance at Tiflis, in the Georgian language. It will discuss Georgian literature, furnish translations from foreign tongues, and treat of the arts and sciences, and of agriculture. What oriental students will find most interesting in this magazine, will be its specimens of the popular literature of the country. A new Armenian periodical has also been commenced in the Trans-Caucasian country.

A German version ofHawthorne'sScarlet Letterhas been executed by oneDu Bois, and published by Velliagen & Klasing of Nielefeld.

Otto Hubner, the industrious German economist, is about to publish at Leipsic a collection of the tariffs of all nations.

A work on Freemasonic medals has been published by Dr.Merzdorf, superintendent of the Grand Ducal Library of Oldenburg: with plates.

The German Universities are well off for teachers. In the twenty-seven institutions of the kind at the last summer term, there were engaged 1586 teachers, viz.: 816 ordinary, 330 extraordinary, and 37 honorary professors, with 403 private tutors, exclusive of 134 masters of languages, gymnastics, fencing and dancing. Münster has the fewest teachers, numbering only 18, Olmütz 22, Innsbruck, 26, Gratz 22, Berne and Basle each 33, Rostock, 38; on the other hand Berlin has 167, Munich 102, Leipzic and Göttingen each 100, Prague 92, Bonn 90, Breslau 84, Heidelberg 81, Tübingen 77, Halle 75, Jena 74. The whole number of students in the last term was 16,074; Berlin counting 2199, Munich 1817, Prague 1204, Bonn 1026, Leipzic 846, Breslau 831, Tübingen 768, Göttingen 691, Würzburg 684, Halle 646, Heidelberg 624, Gratz 611, Jena 434, Giessen 409, Freiburg 403, Erlangen 402, Olmütz 396, Königsberg 332, Münster 323, Marburg 272, Innsbruck 257, Greifswald 208, Zürich 201, Berne 184, Rostock 122, Kiel 119, Basel 65.

Among the last poetical issues of the German press we noticePoetis che Schriften, byA. Hensel(Vienna, 2 vols.), are exaggerated, almost insane expression of Austrian loyalty running through sonnets, lyrics, ballads and romances;Friedrichsehre(Honor to Frederick), by an anonymous author (Posen), a new wreath for the weather-beaten old brows of Frederick the Great;Erwachen(Waking), seven poems by Hugo le Juge (Berlin), a book with talent in it;Lebensfrühling, by Paul Eslin (Liepsic), the second edition of a collection of neat and pleasing poems for children.

The Russian government has published some book-making statistics of Poland in 1850. In the course of the year, 359 manuscript works were submitted to the censorship, being 19 more than in 1849. Almost all were scientific, the greater part treating of theology, jurisprudence, and medicine; 327 were licensed to be printed, 4 rejected, and 15 returned to their authors for modification; upon 13 no decision has been given. In 1850, there were imported into the kingdom 15,986 works, in 58,141 volumes; this was 749 works less, and 1,027 volumes more than in 1849.

A new work on Russia is appearing at Paris with the title ofEtudes sur les Forces Productives de la Russie. Its author is Mr.L. de Tegoborski, a Russian privy councillor. The first volume, a stout octavo, has been issued. It treats of the geographical situation and extent of Russia, the climate, fertility and configuration of the soil; population; productions of the earth and their gross value; vegetable, animal and mineral productions; agriculture; raising of domestic animals. The whole work will consist of three volumes; the second is in press.

Notices in the later numbers of theEuropa, ofKarl Quentinin America, andThe Art Journal, are not without interest. The Grenzboten also contains interesting articles onThomas Moore, andOersted.

Of Ritter's great work, theHistory of Philosophy, of which only earlier volumes have appeared in English, a tenth volume is shortly to be published.

A new and compendious history of philosophy has been published at Leipzic in two octavo volumes, calledDas Buch der Weltweisheit. It gives in the most succinct form a statement of the doctrines of the leading philosophical thinkers of all times, and is designed for the cultivated among the German people. Men of other nations are however not forbidden to derive from it what advantage they can.

De Flotte, whose election to the French Assembly made such a stir a year since, has lately published a thick volume entitledDe la Souveraineté du Peuple. It is a series of essays in which he discusses with great penetration and remarkable power of abstract thought, the spirit, ends, and present results of the great general revolution, of which all the special revolutions that have hitherto occurred, are merely incidents and phases. De Flotte considers that humanity is advancing toward liberty absolute and universal, in politics, religion, industry, and every department of life. "One thing," he says, "has ever astonished me; this is that some men presume to accuse the revolution of denying tradition, because they think only of one age, or of one dynasty, while we think of all sovereigns and of all ages; they oppose, with a curious good faith, the history of a single epoch or a single party, to the history of all epochs and of all men. Strange ignorance and singular forgetfulness! Why do they fail to do in space, what they do in time, in geography what they do in history? Why do they not deny the existence of negroes and of the Chinese because none of them come to France? The reason is that life in space strikes the bodily eye, while life in time strikes the eye of the mind, and theirs is blinded!"

In France, 78,000 francs have been voted by the National Assembly for excavations at Nineveh. Mr.Layard, without further means for the prosecution of his researches there, is in England, and we are sorry to learn, in ill health. His new book,Fresh Discoveries in Nineveh, will soon be published by Mr. Putnam. Dr.H. Weissenbornhas printed in Stuttgart,Nineveh and its Territory, in respect to the latest excavations in the valley of the Tigris. Some specimens of the exhumed sculptures of Nineveh have been sent to New-York by Rev. D. W. Marsh, of the American mission at Mosul.

A second series ofEugene Sue'sMystères du Peupleis announced as about to commence at Paris. This is an attempt to set forth the history of the French people, or working classes, the form of a modern story being merely a frame in which to set the author's pictures of former times. The first series completes the history of the early Gauls and of Roman domination; the second will treat of feudalism and of the introduction of modern social castes and distinctions. Sue has published a preamble in the form of an address to his readers, in which he draws the outline of the subject he is about to treat, and establishes his main historical positions by reference to a great variety of learned authorities.

The same author is now publishing inLa Pressea new novel calledFernand Duplessis, or Memoirs of a Husband. We have seen some eight or ten numbers of it; so far it is comparatively free from the clap-trap romance machinery in which French writers in general, and Sue in particular, are apt to indulge, while it is otherwise less unobjectionable than the mass of his stories.

The historianMichelethas published a new part of hisRevolution Française. It is devoted to the Girondists. The conclusions of the author are that these unfortunate politicians of a terrible epoch were personally innocent, that they never thought of dismembering France, and had no understanding with the enemy, but that the policy they pursued in the early part of '93, was blind and impotent, and if followed out could only have resulted in the destruction of the republic, and the triumph of the royalists. The whole is treated in the Micheletian manner, in distinct chapters, each elucidating some mind.

A workOn the Fabrication of Porcelain in China, with its History from Antiquity to the present Day, that is to say, from 583 to 1821, has just been translated from Chinese into French byStanislas Julien, and published at Paris. It puts the European manufacturer perfectly in possession of the secrets of Chinese workmen, their methods, and the substances they employ. M. Julien has previously translated a Chinese essay on education of silkworms, and the culture of the mulberry. He is one of the most learned sinologues in Europe.

A French archæeologist,M. Felix de Verneilh, has published an elaborate essay on the Cologne Cathedral, in which he denies to Germany the credit of inventing the purest model of the pointed arch, and demonstrates that this Cathedral was not planned at the beginning of the most brilliant period of Christian art, but was the climax thereof, and that instead of having served as the archetype in construction of other edifices, it shows the influence of them, and especially of the Cathedral of Amiens.

An interesting and instructive little work has been published at Paris on the Workingmen's Associations of that city and country. It is byM. André Cochut, one of the editors ofLe National. It gives the history of each of the more important of these establishments, with their mode of organization, number of members, and pecuniary and social results. The title isLes Associations Ouvrières; Histoire et Théorie des Centatives de Reorganisation Industrielle depuis la Révolution de 1848.

A complete edition of the works ofGeorge Sandis now publishing at Paris, in parts, with illustrations by Tony Johannot. It is to be elegant, yet cheap, the whole only costing about $5. There will be some six hundred illustrations. The first part containsLa Mare au DiableandAndré, with a new preface to the former, in which the author contradicts the notion that it was intended by her as the beginning of a new order of literature, or was attempted as a new style of writing. Other authors are to follow in the same manner.

The new volume ofThier'sHistory of the Consulate and the Empireis regarded as the most able and most interesting of the series. There is to be one other volume.

Alexander Dumashas written the following letter to thePresse:

Back to Index Next