of practice and treatment, the system of some high authorities is diametrically antagonistic to that of other high authorities-works like the present, embodying in a simple form the results of experience, comprising an array of acknowledged truths, and of hygeinic facts of unanimous recognition, directed to a stated object, cannot fail to be useful. The volume contains a considerable amount of general sanitary information of an interesting kind, incidental to its immediate subject.

MR. BOHN continues, in his British Classics,* the publication of the works of the great EDMUND BURKE, in a form which, whilst worthy the matchless reputation of the illustrious Irishman, will introduce these repositories of genius and sagacity to bookshelves from which the stumbling-block of high price formerly excluded them. Amongst the most interesting works which have lately appeared in the Standard Library,* issued by the same publisher, is an able translation, by Mrs. JONATHAN FOSTER, from the original Spanish, of J. C. Condé's celebrated History of the Dominion of the Arabs in Spain. It is a story at once magnificent and melancholy-the general features of which have been frequently repeated by poet and historian-but still ever fresh and welcome. Mrs. Foster's translation seems to us to contain internal-or, rather, external-evidences of general fidelity to the original.

AMERICAN opinion on the poets of the mother country is well explained in a series of Lectures on English Literature, from Chaucer to Tennyson, by the late Mr. HENRY REED. This promising young gentleman, a citizen of the Great Republic, was drowned, together with his sister, at the disastrous loss of the "Arctic" steamer, on its voyage between the United States and England. The lectures themselves are well composed and lucid, devoid alike of the slang of excessive sentimentality, in which some of our American friends are too apt to indulge themselves, and of the blatant, stilted pomposity which became so ridiculous in the person of Mr. Emerson. There are, in fact, many enlightened views, much sound sense, and an evident desire to convey accurate impressions to the minds of the hearers of the lectures. In general, our great English writers have no reason to complain of the judgments passed on them: and we find traces of a keen, critical genius, which might have made its possessor famous, had he been spared.

Ar last, the novel said to be by Sir Walter Scott is out, and the world has a chance of judging as to its authenticity. M. Cabany defends its pretensions in a long and clever, although rather reckless and coarse, introduction; and, to our mind, this introduction is the best part of the book. Still, we think that he fails to show any proof that Sir Walter Scott could have written Moredun,t while the book itself bears the most convincing evidence that he did not write a line of it. The plot is very involved and indistinct, the characters are weakly drawn, and totally wanting in that strong

* London: H. G. Bohn.

+ London: Sampson Low and Son.

individuality with which the Great Wizard of the North was so successful in investing his characters, while the tale is full of outrageous incidents and melo dramatic effects which Sir Walter never could have indulged in. The dialect, too, is incorrect in several places, and the whole is clearly the work of a very second-rate imitator. In addition, however, to the internal evidence of style and manner, the "Athenæum " has pointed out two little facts which clearly prove that the novel could not have been written at the time M. Cabany asserts. One is, that a passage describing the fantastic revels of the Simplon could not have been written till after the peace of 1815, and M. Cabany's assertion is that Scott wrote "Moredun" in 1814. The other fact is quite fatal: Chapter iv. of vol. i. begins thus: "In one of the narrow streets which wound up tortuously from the Sandhill to the Castle of Newcastle-upon-Tyne-some traces of which still resist the improving hand of time, money, and Granger." This passage must have been written after Mr. Granger had commenced re-building Newcastle, for he did not make the purchase which led to the vast alterations in Newcastle till 1834, while Scott died in 1832. We think this will even satisfy M. Cabany.

We do not think it worth while to make any extract. The book is very poor, and can only be noticed as one of the most impudent, barefaced literary forgeries ever committed, whilst it is totally devoid of the talent which has often accompanied previous efforts of the kind.

MARTIN DOYLE, the celebrated Irish writer on agriculture, has made another valuable contribution to the long list of his services in this important department of useful exertion. His manual on Small Farms, and how they ought to be managed,* contains an excellent condensation of instructive facts, which should be read and remembered by all who are engaged in, or who contemplate embarking in, the pursuits of farming on a small scale. The difficulties which are ordinarily supposed to preclude the possibility of cultivating small farms with pecuniary advantage, are declared by the author to be all manageable and removable -if the cultivator will only go to work in the right way-the great secret of success, by-the-by, in every calling; and Martin Doyle addresses himself to the task of informing men how this is to be done-pointing out the " 'right way," and shows them how they are to make progress in it. Even the amateur agriculturist, who rents a small piece of land merely for pastime and recreation, can, according to this high practical authority, make his holding profitable as well as pleasurable. It is a capitally written treatise.

WILLIAM HOWITT has done good service for persons who desire to know the whole truthungarbled by mere fancy-coloring-respecting the present condition of Australia. His Land, Labor, and Gold, or Two Years in Victoria,† furnishes such information in the most acceptable form; and, accompanied as it is by accounts of the author's visits to Sydney and Van Diemen's Land, constitutes an excellent hand-book of valuable

London: Routledge and Co. London: Longman and Co.

facts. The state of society as modified, or rather revolutionized, by the gold discoveries; the prospects, the duties, the errors, the sufferings, the misfortunes and good fortunes, of emigrants; the peculiarities of climate, soil, and situation; and, in short, every topic which can be readily conceived relevant to the state of things at the Antipodes, are discussed and described with a vivacity, and at the same time an evident truthfulness, which in the first place will cause the book to be read with pleasure and attention, and in the next place leave the reader well rewarded for the time employed in the perusal. The faculty of imparting "useful knowledge" in a style which clothes matter-of-fact narrative and description with all the literary graces of a romance, is one which peculiarly characterises the gifted family of the Howitts. The author is a true lover of nature; and causes the reader to participate in the pleasures arising from that happy taste. We do not know that we can go the whole length with Mr. Howitt's anticipations respecting the magnificent future of Australia. It does strike us that, like many others, he is somewhat over-sanguine respecting the extent of the actual populationsustaining resources of the country. These, we conceive to be neither absolutely nor relatively comparable with the capabilities, for example, of our North American provinces. Amongst the portions of Mr. Howitt's work which richly deserve the attention of the public authorities, as well as of individuals, are the sections which describe the abuses of passenger ships, and the ruinous temptations that beset younger and inexperienced emigrants. It is deplorable-it is disgusting that ships' officers should be permitted to traffic, indirectly, but effectually, in the ruin of passengers.

It is only within a very few years that the rich treasures of German literature have been even partially opened to the admiring ken of English readers. A quarter of a century ago, the very language was almost a lingua ignota-not one person in a hundred, even amongst educated Englishmen, possessed a respectable acquaintance with the great Teutonic tongue. Things, in this respect, are fast changing for the better. We hope to see the day when a knowledge of German will be considered as indispensable as that of French. We observe with satisfaction the publication, in England, of the Gems* of W. CONSTANT, one of Germany's true poets. The volume contains some delicious narrative pieces, of the stamp which strikes home to the heart and feelings. The subjects are very serious, so are the form and texture of the versification; but all are good in their kind. Those who suppose that German poetry is invariably too ponderous, or too mystical, to become popular in England, will change their opinions when they peruse these verses, which in many places are as brilliant and startling as they are variant. A little while ago, and this volume would probably not have found twenty readers in all England. Before long, we trust, such effusions of the German muse will be as familiar to us as the chansons of Berenger himself.

London: Trübner and Co.

THE author of "Temptation. or a Wife's Trials," has written a new novel or tale, the most obvious purport of which appears to be, to chastise the arrogant pride of mere rank on one side, and the despicable sycophancy of vulgar tuft-hunting on the other. The subject is by no means new, in fact it is very particularly hackneyed, and it is as little attractive as it is new. Since the days of old Horatius, the attempts of the plebeian rich to creep into the company of patricians, have formed a stock subject for ridicule by writers and moralists of all grades and classes, and our British literature abounds with works and essays-more or less elaborate on the same well-worn topic. The Next Door Neighbours* adds one to the innumerable protests against the folly. In justice to our aristocracy, as well as to the worthy and estimable persons who, by dint of industry and intelligent enterprise, are in this country constantly raising themselves and their families higher, by numerous steps, in the social ladder, we take leave to express our belief that such absurd exhibitions as those made by the "next door neighbours," are singular exceptions. At the same time, it must be confessed that toadying and tuft-hunting, with all their revolting train of intrigue, humiliation, deceit, and self-allurement, are but too common in England. The caricature drawn by the author has probably been composed on the plan of illustrating principles by extreme cases. We have seldom read a novel-if such it can be termed-in which there was less of novelty in plot, structure, or conception; but the descriptive passages-making allowances for the peculiar broadness of the satire-are frequently spirited and vigorous, and will please the numerous class of readers who, not troubling themselves about the subtle refinements of wit, love to have their joke placed point-blank before them, and to be told virtually by an author-There is your fun for you, laugh at it to your heart's content.

THE name of the Rev. Sydney Smith will descend to remote posterity as that of a man who was not only one of the wittiest, but one of the wisest and best, of those who illustrated the earlier half of the nineteenth century. His was a career which, though unostentatious and uneventful, and devoid of those striking incidents which impart excitement to the biographies of men whose course lies amid the more active scenes of life, is fraught with an interest of its own, most attractive to those who love to study human nature in its best aspect. It has been said by persons who knew him well, that his reputation as a wit overshadowed his more substantial qualities of heart and head; that the world, dazzled and entertained by the brilliancy of his fancy, failed to appreciate the sterling worth of the man, and the profound wisdom which was often contained in what the superficial merely regarded as a smart saying. We are disposed to believe that this was the case. But a fitting and worthy tribute is paid to his better qualities, in the lately published Memoir of the Rev. Sydney Smith,† by his daughter, LADY HOLLAND. Accompanying the memoir is a copious selection from his letters and correspondence, and the work has had the advantage of

• London: Hurst and Blackett. London: Longman and Co.

being got up under the editorial care of Mrs. AUSTIN. She gives a complete and satisfactory account of the whole career of its eminent subject, from his earliest boyhood, when already the indications of his peculiar genius manifested themselves with a vividness which fixed the attention of parents and teachers, down to the closing scene when he died amid the affectionate regards of all who had ever had the good fortune of coming into contact with him. The strong political bias which is discernible in many of his writings, and which, indeed, greatly modified the whole course of his thoughts and predilections, do not come within our province to discuss. Friend and foe, however, concur in giving him credit for pure sincerity and benevolence of intention. His politics were certainly of the kind most unfashionable in high places, and, during the greater part of his life, virtually excluded him from the chance of ecclesiastical promotion. It was not, indeed, until his sixtieth year that, by the accession of the Whigs to power, he was advanced to the minor preferment of Canon of St. Paul's. He never attained the honors of the Bench-probably he never aspired to them. Some of the most strenuous of his labors were directed to the object of diminishing the immense difference between the degrees of emolument enjoyed by the several orders in the church. He used to say himself that he was not "born" for a bishopric.

Ir every governor of a province or colony took so much trouble as Sir GEORGE GREY did, to make himself competent, in all particulars, to the efficient performance of his duty, we should have fewer complaints of blundering and mismanagement in the local administration of our colonial empire. A very curious and interesting volume, Polynesian Mythology, and Ancient Traditional History of the New Zealand Race,* is one of the ulterior results of Sir George's endeavors, when Governor-inChief of New Zealand, to obtain personal acquaintance with the language, the temper, the prejudices, and prepossessions of the original tribes. He had experienced the difficulty of making himself understood, and on the other hand of understanding, through the medium of interpreters, who too often fail to convey the whole spirit of a communication; and he resolved to remove this disadvantage by learning the language himself. This praiseworthy resolution, which he carried out with admirable perseverance, involved inquiries into the old legends and traditional mythology of the New Zea landers. In the "talks" with the governor, the native chiefs constantly resort to metaphors and allusions, which a mere literal rendering of their words leaves totally unintelligible to any one unacquainted with the legendary tales and traditions current amongst themselves Thus Sir George opened a new and unknown field of curious investigation, and we have much pleasure in congratulating him on the success with which he worked in it. Many of the stories are replete with the spirit of genuine poesy, which will surprise those who, regarding the natives of the Australasian islands as the most degraded modification of the human species, are unprepared to hear even of the existence of poetry and romance amongst them.

London: J. Murray.

THE late MARQUIS OF ORMONDE gave many proofs, during his short life, of a refined and enlightened taste for literary pursuits, and even essayed, with no discredit, the perilous part of authorship. His early death took place, we have heard, in the midst of literary labors, of which an elegant translation of certain Meditations and Moral Sketches, by M. Guizot,* is one of the fruits. The noble translator would appear to have been inspired with a high opinion of the wisdom and genius of the original; and the introduction to these essays is of a peculiarly eulogistic character. Looking closely into them, we find that they consist, in great part, of the expression of political and other sentiments which are well known to be entertained by M. Guizot; and these sentiments are enumerated with warmth, or rather violence, which we could scarcely have expected from the retired statesman-philosopher. The fact is, M. Guizot is eminently and emphatically a disappointed man. Never was theory more balked, broken up, and neutralized by partial results, than in the career of this eminent person. The age went too fast for him. Both he and his deceased master, Louis Philippe, misunderstood it; else, possibly, the world had never witnessed the convulsion of 1848, and its astonishing consequences. The invectives in which M. Guizot indulges against opinions which differ from his own, assume in some places a tone of absolute fierceness, which was formerly by no means habitual with him. But disappointment sours men's tempers- even the tempers of philosophers. He fears that order and society are in danger, but we do not perceive that he is prepared with any specific remedy or safeguard-at least, with any likely to meet with acceptation from his contemporaries. Apart from the particular defect of style alluded to, the essays are-regarded as abstractions-very excellent specimens of composition.

MR. JAMES ROBERTSON, in his reminiscences of A Few Months in America,† proves himself one of the most practical observers, in a pounds, shillings, and pence point of view, who have ever given us the results of their short or long experiences in the great republic. He is essentially statistical, mercantile, business-like in his commentaries, and seems to have employed himself diligently in investigating the present and prospective resources of the country, in manufactures, agriculture, and the other prime elements of natural opulence. He is satisfied that America does not possess nearly so much realised riches as England, which is assuredly no discovery; and he conceives that the actual amount of wealth existing in the whole union has been exaggerated by some writers, which is quite possible; the probable state of the case being. that, though the whole aggregate of wealth is not so great, the populace, polled family by family, are in possession of a larger share of the good things of this life, in consequence of property being up to this time more equally distributed, though it has long since been manifesting a daily growing tendency to run more and more into masses, to concentrate itself in the hands of individuals. And this tendency is peculiarly strong in great centres of commercial activity, like New York, where the aristocracy of money-or, as the

* Dublin: Hodges and Smith. London: Longman and Co.

levelling party term it, the plutocracy-becomes year by year more demonstrative in its encroachments on the old standard of democratic simplicity. After the too numerous productions which have been devoted almost exclusively to landatory or damnatory representations of American mannerism, this work supplies a palpable vacuum in our stock of information on subjects interesting to the statesman, the political economist, and the man of business. Mr. Robertson has made good use of his "few months"" sojourn; and if his conclusions are necessarily hasty, and sometimes a little crude, he is so candid in the expla nation of the data on which they are founded, that readers of fair intelligence will be at no loss to form an estimate of the weight and authority predicable of the inferences and deductions suggested to them.

THE intellectual and educational superiority of the constituent members of foreign armies, when compared with the British red-coat-unsurpassed as the latter is in bravery and fortitude,-is known and admitted by all who have had the opportunity of observation. The truth is, that the foreign soldier is more cared for,-his training in arts and knowledge, independent of the mere routine machinery of the drill, is an object of greater attention by the State. It may be, that the differences in this respect extend higher than the very humbler ranks of the service. We feel confident, at all events, that such disgraceful doings as those brought to light at Windsor, Canterbury, and elsewhere, and which, there is every reason to think, form part of a very widely diffused system in many of our regiments, could not exist, for any length of time in the best-disciplined continental armies. In America, too, the officers of the little republican army appear to have a more decorous way of passing their leisure, than stuffing tallow candles down each other's throats, and inundating each other's clothes-chests with foul water. would be a real treat and pleasure to find our gallant English officers qualifying themselves to write such books as the Remarks upon Alchymists, and the supposed Object of their Pursuit, with which the world has just been favored by Mr. HITCHCOCK, an officer in the United States army." The work contains evidences of extensive reading, deep thought, and ingenious meditation. Mr. Hitchcock rejects the idea that the higher order of alchymists, in their pursuit of the philosopher's stone, were merely actuated by a sordid and vulgar desire to eliminate gold from grosser substances. He considers that the philosopher's stone was in reality a symbol, signifying certain moral and mental attributes, the possession of which would place men above the reach of the worst misfortunes which beset our terrestrial pilgrimage.

It

It would take too long to give even an outline of the arguments, illustrations, and references in which the author proceeds to substantiate this proposition; and we must content ourselves with saying, that the book is full of curious interesting reading, and does credit to the industry and ingenuity of the gallant and learned author.

"

Is it that example is contagious? Is it that our right entirely" cordial alliance with our French neighbors has turned the heads of certain Englishmen, and impregnated them with the notion that what is found to answer-for the time beingin France, must necessarily be adapted to the wants and interests of Old England? Here we have a no less sage and erudite personage than Mr. RICHARD CONGREVE, M. A., coming forward with a specific argument, elaborately reasoned out, that constitutionalism is all a mockery and delusion, that free institutions are little better than pestilent impostures, and that nothing, forsooth, but a dictatorship can cure the sores in our social state! These opinions were set forth in a series of four lectures, delivered at the "Philosophical Institution," Edinburgh, where they were listened to, we dare say, with much patience and edifica tion; and they are now formally published under the title of the Roman Empire of the West."* One of the positions taken by the author is the superiority of the Imperial System of Rome-under the Tiberiuses, the Neros, and Caligulas (!)-to that of the days of the Commonwealth. This proposition is startling enough; but still more elec trifying become the author's prelectations when, setting out from such premises, he draws certain deductions therefrom, and applies them to the condition of England under Queen Victoria! He explains that his model of Government (which, however, is to be only provisional and temporary, for the effectuation of certain objects), "must, in short, be a dictatorship, not in the interests of the old society, but in those of the new; a dictatorship of progress, not of mere torpid conservation, one of our worst enemies; or it must be wrested from those who so administer it, and placed in other hands; such a power, if placed in the hands of a man competent to wield it, will be found to create no difficulty," &c. Well, the war, amid the other moral and physical convulsions occasioned by it, has cast up a prodigious amount of odd figments of theory and opinion on all manner of topics, and Mr. Congreve's lucubration is of them. Plausibly and earnestly as he argues, however, the country, we take it, is not yet exactly prepared to cast aside its old system of three or four-estates, and betake itself to the tender mercies of a dictatorship, even though only provisional.

*London: J. W. Parker and Son.

CHAPTER V.

STAGGERING BILL RECEIVES A MORNING CALL.

MR. BILL BENNOCH was not a man of intensely strong paternal affection. Therefore, when Mrs. Bennoch attempted to rouse him out of his drunken sleep at nine o'clock in the evening, and told him that poor little Rose was lost, " Staggering Bill" merely replied that "if she was lost it wor'nt no use looking for her;" with which perfectly true, though scarcely paternal, reflection, he turned over on his side and attempted to go to sleep again. But the mother, whose agony of mind at hearing no tidings of her child grew more painful every moment, seized a tub of water in which she had been washing some clothes, and emptied it all over Staggering Bill."

66

If there was one thing Bill hated more than another it was water. He disliked it at any time, in any form, and for any purpose. As for drinking it pure, he would as soon have thought of swallowing Prussic acid; even when diluting his grog with it, he was of the Irishman's opinion, that every drop of it helped to spoil the spirit. To perform an ablution in it was the farthest thing from his thoughts. Baths and wash-houses, instead of attracting thousands to them daily, would certainly have been immediately shut up for want of patronage if all people had been of Mr. Bennoch's peculiar opinions. When, therefore, he was thoroughly soused by the flood of soap and water which his wife dashed over him, he sprung up with a tremendous oath, and caught everything he could lay his hands on, including the washing-tub, and hurled them frantically at the spot where his wife had stood. But Mrs. Bennoch knew the effect of her own attack too well to await the result, and so she was safe outside the door while Bill was shivering to pieces his "household gods" (as Lord Byron called his furniture), but hurting nobody.

When he could find nothing more to hurl, and discovered that there was no one to hurl

*Continued from page 12.

VOL. VII. N. S.

anything at, he swore all the oaths he was acquainted with (and few people had a more extensive knowledge of the subject), till his tongue and his arms were together thoroughly tired out. Then he turned to the bed, and was going to fling himself on it again; but so thoroughly saturated was it with wet that he had not the courage to do so. He picked up

a chair and sat down, and growled and muttered, and felt savage and damp and fuddled, and was perhaps altogether as uncomfortable as a man well could be. He had nothing to drink, and no money wherewith to procure anything; there was no fire and no light in the room, except what was afforded by the single gaslight burning in the centre of the court in which his house stood.

After he had been growling for some time, and making vain attempts to settle himself into a comfortable doze, the door of the room was gently opened, and a small rough head put cautiously in.

"Who's there?" cried Bill, with a sudden start, as the door creaked.

"It's only me, father," was the reply: "where's mother?"

It will be as well not to transcribe the words of Bill's answer to this question. They certainly frightened his son Dick a little, but not so much as a stranger might have expected; for Dick was not easily alarmed at his father's violence. Words he cared little for at all; and having discovered that if he got a fair start his father could never catch him, and that if his father threw anything at him he could almost always jump out of the way in time to save his bones, he had no great fear for his personal safety, especially as he always took care that his respected parent, when in a rage, should not get between him and the door.

"What's become of Rose, eh?" asked Bill of his hopeful son.

"Don't know, father. Mother sent me to look, and I've been everywheres--all the way to Mrs. What's-her-name that she was a carryin' the clothes to: but they haven't heerd nothin' of her."

F