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by the way-side, and some on the rock, so they advertise largely that as many grains as may be shall fall into good soil. There is Messrs. Hachette, who command a monopoly of the literary publicity of all the railway stations in France, whose weekly magazines have each of them a sale of 60,000 copies, and whose "Journal de l'Instruction Publique" is to be found in almost every schoolmaster's hands; they have eight pages of advertisements. Magnificent is the return made by the money they spend in advertisements. Their warehouse now exhibits a singular scene. It is piled up to the ceiling with compact masses of school books, which extend hundreds of feet; in a month not one of those volumes will be left on their hands. They have sold 600,000 copies of M. Duruy's works. They have recently built a stately block of buildings, which extends from the Boulevard de Sebastopol to the Rue Dupuytren, and fills almost all the space between the Rue Pierre Sarrazin and the Boulevard Saint Germain. It cost them $600,000, and is said to be worth now nearly $1,000,000. These miracles were wrought by adroit advertising.

In making this week various inquiries respecting the book trade in France, I became acquainted with a custom which I think might be imported into America to the very great advantage of all persons concerned. To avoid repetition, let me explain the custom as applicable to America. It is well known that publishers of standard works, such, for instance, as Robertson, Gibbon, Hume, Macaulay, Bacon, Shakspeare, Milton, Pope, Byron, Scott, etc., lie out of the capital invested in the production of these My relations with Théodore Barrière are now works for a considerable length of time, and this somewhere about fifteen years old. Henry Murger cost of production is increased by other charges, for introduced me to him. I'll tell you how. One instance, storage, insurance, and their kindred. Sunday morning Henry Murger entered the tavern Petty booksellers in the smaller towns, and, more chamber I proudly occupied on the Place du Carespecially, those tradesmen who keep "general rousel, opposite the Palace of the Tuileries, and stores" in country villages, have not capital enough looking towards the portal of the Pont des Saints to enable them to furnish their shelves with any- Pères, I am almost tempted to say that, like the thing like a complete stock of these standard authors. heroes of novels, he strode five or six times up and The great publisher should step in and place it in down my chamber before saying a word to me; the power of these humble brethren of the trade but my reverence for truth compels me to say that to furnish forth their shelves without exposing it was utterly impossible to stride any way in my their shallow purses to risk. The great publisher, chamber. He sat on my bed, and, fixing his eye instead of allowing his standard works to lie in on me said: 'Are you not humiliated-as I confess sheets in his warehouse, or bound on his up- I am-to see yourself less well clothed than any stairs shelves, should place them as of deposit on literary men?' I was so astonished by this questhe shelves of his humbler brethren, requiring from tion that I could only murmur, 'Hum! hum!' and them only that they should pay the carriage on then add, in a tone which tried to be free-and-easy, these works, and that they should take out a policy 'Get out!' Murger went on gravely to say: 'Do of insurance sufficient (which would be no great you wish to see us regain our rank? Believe me, amount) to cover all these books so placed as of de- it is really a matter of great importance that we posit in his hands. Accounts should be rendered should elevate young literature in our own persons. semi-annually or annually. It is found that this Let us have done with rusty, greasy hats, and with method greatly diminishes bad debts, considerably coats whose seams shine. Let us drop all connecincreases the sale of works, and is to the common tion with Neapolitan shoes. Let us at once become advantage of publishers and petty tradesmen. what we morally are-gentlemen. Let us be irreBooks that might never have penetrated obscure, proachable!' I listened in a state of utter amazesecluded towns now meet fair sale in them.ment, and, greatly interested, I asked him: 'What "General storekeepers," who scarcely sold a book do you mean by being irreproachable?' He besides an almanac, or a song-book, or some key to answered: To be irreproachable is to be dressed in the reading of dreams, now make tolerable sales of bran new clothes.' I exclaimed, 'Ah! excellent!' standard works, and find considerable advantages Henry Murger became graver and graver: 'I give accrue to their other sales by the use of the money you and myself fifteen days to be irreproachable. proceeding from the sale of books for six or twelve There must be the deuce to pay if two intelligent months. M. Guillaumin, the publisher of politico- beings cannot, in the course of fifteen days, manage economical works, tells the story that when he to procure a coat, a waistcoat, and a pair of pantabegan, some fifteen years ago, to issue books of this loons.' I echoed, 'I should think so.' He conclass, the minor provincial booksellers refused to tinued: "Very well, then, we meet next Sunday accept them, even as of deposit. "Nobody down week, at twelve o'clock precisely, on the Pont Neuf, here," was the reply frequently made him, "takes in front of the statue of Henry IV.' 'What are you the least interest in publications of that sort." going to do?' 'I have some glorious things to do. Now, few editors in Paris have a larger market. I shall introduce you to one of my friends, an emiThere are two or three months in the year when nent man.' Upon the appointed Sunday, while the trade is excessively dull in Paris; this slack tide clocks were still striking twelve, of a radiant spring

is taken advantage of to metamorphose the clerks of publishing houses into "commercial travellers." They are sent out to review the shops where the firm have works as of deposit, and to introduce their publications into new towns and villages where they have as yet no correspondent. These tours are looked upon as pleasure excursions by the clerks, and the firm find it their interest to pay the railway fare and provincial inns' bills, rather than keep their young men listlessly behind their counters gaping at the dog-days' flies. Messrs. Hachette have given this system greater extension than any firm here. They send out their standard publications to England, Germany, Spain, Portugal, Italy, Russia, Switzerland, Greece, Egypt, and Turkey. This system is in part borrowed from the German publishers, who have introduced a great many admirable improvements in the methods of the book trade. I shall make the book trade in Germany the subject of a future letter.

I forgot to mention, while speaking of the extent to which advertising is carried in Europe, that the Messrs. Longmans do now actually publish periodically "Notes on Books," which are sent, gratis and postage free, to everybody who asks for them.

I find in a Paris newspaper the following interesting anecdote of poor Henry Murger, which I am determined to send you, although I am afraid that his name and his "La Vie de Bohême" are not quite as familiar to you as they are to us. Nevertheless these passages of authors' careers are never altogether devoid of interest :

66

NOV. 2, 1863.

morning, two young men advanced towards each other on the Pont Neuf. They came very near passing without recognition. They were effulgent, they were dazzling from head to heel. One carelessly played with an eyeglass; the other whirled a fashionable stick. Was it Beau Brummel? Was it Count d'Orsay? 'Twas Murger. 'Twas I. We had paid implicit obedience to the law we had imposed on ourselves. We were irreproachable. Murger took my arm, saying, 'Now we can go everywhere; we can enter the aristocratic drawing-rooms of the Faubourg Saint-Germain, and the financial drawingrooms of the Chaussée d'Antin, and the balls at the Austrian embassy, and the official mansions of all the ministers. Come, let's go to--some cheap smokingcafé.' At the cheap smoking-café he introduced me to the friend he had announced-'twas Théodore Barrière. The introduction over, we all three moved towards Murger's rooms in the Rue Mazarin. There Théodore Barrière drew out of his bosom five copybooks, each of which contained one act of a comedy, and he placed them upon the table. I turned pale. I had tumbled into a 'reading.' It is true the title of the comedy was 'La Vie de Bohême." I need scarcely say anything of the emotion which insensibly filled my breast while listening to this play, giddy with wit and heart-rending with love. The authors had not then determined upon the catastrophe. Murger, with his wonted gentleness, was in favor of restoring Mimi to health; he proposed a tour in Italy. Barrière would hear of nothing but her death. I agreed with Barrière. It was determined to murder Mimi. This day remains in my memory as one of the best days of my youth. One or two years afterwards I in turn contemplated writing a play with Théodore Barrière. We had several rendezvous; but there was a serious obstacle in the way. Barrière lived with his family, which was composed of a mother, a model of all kinds of solicitude, and of a father, who had been a distinguished dramatic author. There was in this patriarchal home a parrot named Coco. Now when a new literary copartner was introduced into Barrière's house, it was much more important for him to win the favor of Coco than to please Barrière's father or to charm his mother. Coco was a dramatic thermometer. His perch was placed in the diningroom during dinner, and the new literary copartner was placed near him. If Coco became his friend, if Coco perched on his shoulder, the new-comer was accepted by Barrière and his parents. If, on the other hand, Coco remained on his perch, sombre, flapping his wings, with bristling feathers, and refusing all advances, the new-comer was rejected. I dined twice with Barrière; on both occasions Coco remained on his perch.

Here, too, is a sketch of George Sand, which I transcribed on my note-book some weeks ago; want of space has hitherto prevented me from sending it to you :

George Sand is both of aristocratic and plebeian lineage, and she bears in her life, upon her countenance, in her attitude, in her mien, the indelible mark of this double origin, of this clandestine nobility, of this hap-hazard mixture of heroic and common blood. George Sand is neither a virago nor an effeminate woman. She has neither the cold distinction of the somewhat idealized portrait engraved by Calamatta, nor the rusticity of Couture's sketch. The likeness which is nearest life,

without flattery and without triviality, is the por-
trait which Charles Marchal recently sketched. It
exhibits her in the contrast, which age has height-
ened, of her double nature.
Her whole person
breathes something robust, rural, healthy. Her full
health and manly beauty appear on her countenance
and body with more energy than delicacy. Her
person lacks grace-the flower lacks perfume. That
inexpressible something which plays around aris-
tocratic beauty-that evanescent mark of blood—
is completely absent from her. Gazing on her, you
think of those unfinished masterpieces which lack
genius's last dream and last touch. You must
look before you can discover, under the deceptive
coarseness of the envelope, the hidden stamp of
Heaven. You must wait until the inner flame glow,
which makes the clay lamp transparent as the
lamp of alabaster. You must mentally detach the
intelligent and expressive head from the robust,
dull body, which burthens and darkens it. Look
now upon that open, smiling face, that broad and
pensive brow, that magnificent head of black hair
imperceptibly powdered with autumn's first frosts,
which, divided into two broad tresses which frame
the visage, float upon the neck, twisting and knot-
ting itself into a sheaf of ebony. Look at those
beautiful eyes, those superb eyes, with fires now
dazzling, now soft; eyes whose flames, when they
become animated, shoot to the very depths of the
soul. The charm and nobility both decrease as you
descend. Her nose is long and full, her lips thick
and purple, her chin stubby, her cheeks prominent,
her complexion warm and palish (that color pecu-
liar to stormy and impassioned natures, and which
is, as it were, the reflection of the hidden volcano
in their breast). The head is of heaven, and bears
the divine seal. The rest of the body is of earth:
the goddess vanishes, only the woman remains.
Her attitude and mien do not contradict this first
impression. She is in ordinary life and conversation
calm, concentrated, almost indifferent. Her counte-
nance is commonly placid, and seems living only in
the eyes. The body remains indolently stiff. The
arms are gestureless. George Sand absolutely lacks
the talent of conversation such as it is understood in
society, that is, the talent of agreeably saying com-
monplace things. There is nothing in her of that
petulant ease and that frivolous grace of the fine
lady of the drawing-room. She prefers to listen
rather than to talk. She is essentially contempla-
tive and taciturn. Her mind is naturally grave, I
had almost said ruminating. She replies always
briefly and sensibly, but without brilliancy and
acuteness. She never even blunders into a mot.
She is never eloquent, except pen in hand. Is it
pride? is it coquetry? is it economy? Does she
spare us, or does she spare herself by her silence?
If she is silent by system, we may say without
danger of error that temperament has no inconsider-
able share in it. Silence is the health of some
minds. Chateaubriand, Lamennais, and many
other eminent men were not naturally, easily, con-
stantly eloquent. Their eloquence is not an inspi-
ration, but a reflection. This taciturnity is com-
pensated by the unexpected attractions of simplicity,
naturalness, absence of affectation and pride. There
is a moment, however, when our satisfaction changes
and our illusion vanishes by the very excess of
this familiarity which should not, to remain amiable,
degenerate in over-ease. By what name shall one
call the careless freedom with which, drawing from
her pocket small Andalusian cigarettes, George
Sand, without perceiving your astonishment,adroitly

'The dramatic version of poor Henry Murger's first and most popular novel. The play was quite as successful as the novel.

I need scarcely say that M. Theodore Barrière is the well-lights them with a live coal which she takes from known author of "Les Filles de Marbre" (familiar to American the hearth with the tongs, and gradually conceals play-goers as "Marble Hearts"), "Les Faux Bonhommes," and twenty other popular plays. herself in the midst of the azure cloud thickened

by the double column of smoke which she drives from each nostril with the automatic precision of a steam engine? Madame Sand lacks the aristocracy of her glory. I do not like Corinne on Cape Messina declaiming Mme. De Staël's measured prose. Neither do I like Necker's daughter, in tunic and turban, exhibiting, with all the appliances of a theatrical performance, her over-opulent charms. But I do still less like Corinne in a dressing-gown, carelessly lolling in an arm-chair, and smoking a cigarette. George Sand is morally of an energetic, obstinate, and, when contradicted, imperious character. There are times when her indomitable will irresistibly bursts and bounds forth. But in the accustomed tenor of life, and by a noble and constant empire over herself, as a volcano alternately hides itself beneath verdure and snow, she knows how to conceal the seething breast beneath good-natured phlegm and smiling patience. Among her intimate friends she is even-tempered, hospitable, jovial. The simple and cordial welcome of the hostess of Nohant is proverbial. Her seal is a simple initial or Rousseau's motto: Vitam impendere vero. handwriting is masculine, broad, and thick. Here is one of her letters; it is addressed to one of those enthusiastic young men trained in the school of her novels, who, from every portion of the provinces and of Paris by thousands, consult and question her upon the uncertainties of their vocation or the mysteries of their soul:

Her

NOV. 2, 1863.

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but do not always work. Often forget that you are a
poet to see what life is in you and in other people. You
will wake up the next day more a poet than ever.
is my advice. I do not say it is infallible, but sincere

This

and cordial.

GEORGE SAND.

I have lingered too long over anecdotes, for I have yet to copy the week's bills of mortality. I find among them Dr. Mitscherlich, one of the, if not the most eminent chemist and chemical writer of Germany; the University of Berlin finds his loss a heavy blow. And M. de Laffore, who expired in complete obscurity at La Plume (a small village near Agen), at the great age of eighty-five years, after having been famous for years as the inventor of La Statilegie, an ingenious method of reading, which was practised successfully during a long period of time. Do not challenge her right to a brief sentence if I insert in this paragraph mention of Madame Bonnet's departure from life! She was the wife of Scribe's guardian, and was the eminent dramatist's first cousin; her husband occupied for many years the front rank at the Paris bar, by whom his memory is still cherished for his defence of General Moreau, when it required a firm heart to appear as the defender of any man in disfavor with the master of the imperial legions. Madame Bonnet had reached her eighty-sixth year.

M. Renan's book continues to sell as rapidly as ever, and replies to it issue every hour from the press. The papers mention that a curate of the diocess of Laval wrote to his bishop for permission to read the work which was the theme of all conVersation in his parish, in order that he might be prepared to refute the pernicious sophistry. The bishop lost his temper upon reading this letter, and instantly replied in some such words and spirit as this: "You must be beside yourself! What! Read the blasphemous publication of a wretched apostate! No! No! No! Never!" The first copies sent to Venetia were seized by the authorities, but the Austrian government subsequently ordered them to be released, and they are now on sale everywhere. Two hundred copies have been sold at Constantinople. The German critics think it excessively shallow.

The M. Topin who recently gained the prize offered by the French Academy for the best essay on Cardinal de Retz, is a nephew of M. Mignet, the well-known historian.

I thank you, sir, for the sympathy you express to me. You want me to give you some encouragement. I would not do so were you without talents. To flatter them who flatter us has always seemed to me something ignoble (I mean to deceive them who ingeniously caress our vanity). Consequently I do not often reply to letters like yours. I prefer silence to telling falsehoods, or to wounding by frankness. I think I discover a great many ideas and talents in your lines. I am not a very competent judge of poetry, let me tell you; and I am very often mistaken. Therefore do not place implicit confidence in my opinions. You are very young, and I think you have a great deal yet to do before you can feel confidence in yourself. Those are my criticisms; you see they are very brutal, but they do not prevent your poem from being remarkable, beautiful in many places, and, in fine, giving promise of real talents, if you do not be in too great a hurry to produce works, and if you labor conscientiously. Bear in mind that, since the great successes of Hugo and Lamartine, so much poetry has been published that one must write sublime poetry to make his way through the immense crowd of them who write well, and the still thick crowd of them who write very well. Will you believe that not a single day passes without my receiving at least three packets of unpublished poetry? Reckon how many unknown poets that makes a year. I believe a hundred new poems are annually published at their expense in Paris. All their works pass away unnoticed. Nobody busies himself about them, although there are among them some poems which would have been noticed twenty years ago. But, at present, France becomes like Italy, where everybody writes poetry, even people who cannot read. One must consequently excel these thousand battalions before it can become an honorable calling-itumes, on Comparative Physiology. I may mention, never can become a profession, or a means of livelihood. to instance how widely extended at the present Think of all these things, and do not become intoxicated time is the taste of theological literature, that the with family and local triumphs. Have the courage of sixteenth edition of M. Auguste Nicolas' "Études men of twenty years old, but have even more patience Philosophiques sur le Christianisme" (which is in than courage. Besides, allow yourself to live before no less than four volumes) was issued this week. saying, "I am a poet, that is enough!" No one is a I have observed that some of the Roman Catholic poet before he is a man. At your age people have only newspapers in America suppose this pious judge to images in their mind. The world is tired of poetical be the author of "Essais de Philosophie et de Hisimages; it has had too much hem. The poet who toire Religieuse." They are mistaken. M. Michel Nicolas, a Protestant, is the author of this work and of "Des Doctrines Religieuses des Juifs pendant les deux siècles antérieurs à l'ère chrétienne," and of "Études Critiques sur la Bible."

M. Littré has found time, amid his arduous labors in the preparation of his great Dictionary, to bring out his long promised work on Auguste Comte. The fourteenth volume of Napoleon's Correspondeuce is in the press, and may shortly be expected on sale. Dr. Fischel's work on the English Constitution (you may remember his untimely end in the streets of Paris) is to be translated by M. Charles Vogel, the author of "Portugal and its Colonies." M. Milne Edwards is pursuing with patience the publication of his great work, in nine or ten vol

comes with solid knowledge, true ideas, and robust sentiments will prove at last a true poet. But all these things are acquired, they are divined. If you have divined more than you have experienced, it will be so much the worse for you. This precocity will be at the expense of the future. Courage, therefore, work hard,

Very truly yours,

J.

NOV. 2, 1863.

G. P. PUTNAM, of New York, has had in preparation for several years an illustrated edition of Irving's "Sketch Book," which is now on the eve of completion, and which promises to leave nothing to be desired in the way of printing, engraving, or binding. It is appropriately termed "The Artist's Edition," and contains original designs from nearly every American artist of distinction. These have been printed with the utmost care by Mr. Alvord, whose workmanship is of the best, and has received commendation as such from Mr. Burton, in his "Book Hunter." The binding, in Levant morocco, is by Mathews; the paper is of especial manufacture; and the whole work will be the embodiment of the taste, experience, and judgment of Irving's friend and publisher, Mr. Putnam. The sole drawback is that owing to the great embarrassments that beset publishers at this time in our country, from the scarcity of skilled labor, only a limited edition can be supplied this season, and those wishing the work should make their wants known as early as possible. The same publisher has prepared for subscribers a large paper edition of Irving's works, and of his Life and Letters by his nephew, of which but one hundred copies have been printed, and a small portion only remain unappropriated. The Hudson Legends, comprising "Sleepy Hollow" and "Rip Van Winkle," have been prepared in small quarto, and may be had, either separately in paper covers, or together in a neat volume, choicely illus

trated.

NOTES ON BOOKS AND BOOKSELLERS.

The MESSRS. APPLETON, of New York, have some attractive volumes about ready appropriate to the approaching season of festivities and gifts. The most important of these is "Lights and Shadows of New York Picture Galleries," being a collection of Photographs by Turner, from masterpieces found in the private galleries of New York City and vicinity. Thus Mr. Belmont's unrivalled collection constitutes no less than nine of the illustrations; Mr. Wright's, of Hoboken, five; with numerous others from the treasures held by Messrs. Sturges, Roberts, Webb, Hoey, Jaques, Cozzens, etc. etc. Each of these photographic copies, forty in number, is accompanied by descriptions supplied by William Young, Esq., of "The Albion," to whose good taste the public is indebted for the choice selection made. We need not say that the gentlemen who have thus generously thrown their galleries open for the benefit of others, merit, and will receive the earnest thanks of all lovers of good pictures, a class that has been rapidly on the increase in this country for several years past. Another volume, to which we have had occasion to allude before, is "Clear Crystals; a Snow Flake Album," in whose pages are set forth with the united skill of pen and pencil, the marvellous beauties of the Season of Snow. The

exquisite forms which can be assumed in this one of nature's moods, can here be seen and studied to the best advantage, in company too with the choicest literature of the subject as contained in the poetry and writings of Lowell, Longfellow, Mrs. Hemans, Ruskin, Henry Ward Beecher, Dr. Holland, Bryant, Burns, Whittier, and others. Nothing can be purer or more wholesome than such faithful delineations of

dolph of New York, has passed through two ediThe SERGEANT'S MEMORIAL, published by Rantions. At the request of the Christian Commission, Dr. Thompson has prepared an abridgment of the Memorial" for circulation in the army. This is in two parts-the first is the memorial proper, and retains it name; the second contains the patriotic letters from men eminent in Church and State, that nature, so fittingly and beautifully described. The were embodied in the original work, and which are "Wreath of Beauty" is a gift-book comprising six- thousand copies of each will at once be distributed now published as " A Tribute to the Soldier." Five teen choice steel-plate engravings of female charac-in the army by the Christian Commission. ters with letter-press selections, prose and poetry. This work also is preparing by the Appletons.

THE new edition of "Bitter Sweet," by Dr. Holland, which Mr. Scribner has "just ready," comes properly among the illustrated works of the present season, as it differs materially from that prepared last year.

The text has been entirely reset in new type, and the illustrations have been added to by more than onehalf. This poem is itself an exquisite picture of American life and manners, of which Mr. Whitney, the artist, has caught the full spirit, and carried it out in some eighty superb woodcut illustrations, which will make the volume to be coveted by alí who shall see it.

MR. VAN NOSTRAND, of New York, the energetic and intelligent publisher of Scientific and Military works, is about to add to the number of large paper books that have been brought out of late in this country, by printing one hundred copies of Capt. Boynton's History of West Point, in small quarto, on the very choicest of paper. The regular edition of this work will be exceedingly attractive, with its numerous maps and engravings, but for the purpose of illustrating, the large paper copies will be invaluable.

MASON BROTHERS, of New York, have in press, and nearly ready for publication, "General Butler in New Orleans," by James Parton, author of the lives of Aaron Burr and Andrew Jackson: also the "Keynote, a new Collection of Sacred and Secular Music for Singing-schools, Choirs, Congregations, and Social Use," by Wm. B. Bradbury.

A. D. F. RANDOLPH will issue for the holidays an elegantly printed quarto volume with eighteen Floral Illustrations drawn from nature and colored by hand. The edition is limited to two hundred and fifty copies.

JOHN PENINGTON & SON, of Philadelphia, announce on sale "A Reprint of the Reed and Cadwalader Pamphlets, with an Appendix," a fac-simile of the original pamphlets, printed on fine thick paper. This edition of only 199 copies has been printed by subscription, for the benefit of those who collect few copies have been placed for sale. documents relating to our revolutionary history; a

As an evidence of the expanding growth and intelligence of our country it may be stated that California, which was admitted into the Union only thirteen years since, is now, in proportion to its population, probably a larger consumer of books than any other State. Mr. Roman, head of the house of A. Roman & Co., of San Francisco, who left in the last steamer after a stay of some months in the States, is one of the most extensive single buyers of books in the United States. His firm occupies a store in San Francisco which, in its capaciousness and the admirable character of its arrangements, is second to none in New York, Philadelphia, or Boston.

A NEW FIRM.-Ashmead & Evans have purchased from W. P. Hazard his old-established bookstore on Chestnut Street, Philadelphia. Mr. Evans has had some twelve years' experience in the Trade, having been connected with Martien's, Cowperthwait's, and, more recently, has acted as Superintendent of the Presbyterian Publishing House. Mr. Ashmead has been for some years with Mr. Hazard, and is the son of Isaac Ashmead, one of the oldest

NOV. 2, 1863.

and most extensive printers of Philadelphia. Mr. | guished figures in the group of authors who adorned Hazard continues his publishing business as usual. the opening of the nineteenth century-Coleridge, REVENUE CUSTOMS.-Two very useful and impor- Byron, Lamb, Smith, Moore, Southey, Scott, Shelley, tant works, which may be had singly, or bound in Godwin, Wilson, Keats, Talfourd, and Hazlitt-but one handsome volume, have been recently issued in says, "There is one face that just now holds our attenNew York, which have met with a wide reception tion more than all the rest-the portrait of a small at the hands of the mercantile and commercial pub-man with a large brain, oppressive in brow, and peerlic, and the press of that city. They are by HAMIL-ing out of eyes that have seen much sorrow; the head TON BRUCE, Esq., a deputy collector of the port, shows a want of animal force behind; the mouth is and severally entitled "The Warehouse Manual" drawn down noticeably at the corners; the eyes look and "The Custom-House Guide." The first is a out of two rings of darkness; a spirit of singular complete "manual" of every thing which is requisite temper and strange experience! This is Thomas de for merchants, brokers, clerks, and others to know Quincey." Then follows a biographical and critical in connection with business, transacted at, or with, analysis of exceeding power, discrimination, and the Custom-House; embracing full directions for the beauty which will be relished by every man and preparation of papers, the payment of duties, and woman of the least taste and refinement. The sumthe warehousing of goods. The second gives us ex-mary of character at the close of the article is too long terior and interior engravings of the Custom-House, for quotation, but we thoroughly concur in these conand treats, at length, of the customs, laws, and all cluding sentences: "We are heartily sick of the the various departments of the service. One of its smell of Cockneydom; its slang and smartness; its marked features, and one not to be found in any knowingness and insincerity, and find it delightful kindred work, is a complete list of every port of ento renew acquaintanceship with the style of a writer try in the world-upward of six hundred and twenty who is not smart nor fast, but always an English in number! There is an interesting chapter upon gentleman, with a stately touch of the school in the history of commerce, and another giving an ac- which manners are a sort of surface Christianity. count of "The First Custom-House." As custom, He can be playful without losing his own dignity, laws, and regulations are uniform, these works are and natural without forfeiting our respect. By his innate nobility of thought and chivalry of feeling, as well as by his wealth of learning, he is the very man to lead us into the lofty society of the good and great-poets and patriots; fit to exalt the deliverer Joan d'Arc, or abase the pretensions of a Parr. Accordingly we welcome him as one of the what he has not done, we rejoice in what he has great leaders in literature, and, instead of regretting bequeathed to us, and would have others share in our joy." The reviewer pays a well-merited comMessrs. Ticknor & Fields to thread their devious pliment to the energy and skill which enabled way through the scattered periodical literature of half a century, and collect in a series of handsome volumes the multifarious papers of a writer who seemed almost regardless of his own fame and of the perpetuity of its memorials. The acknowledgment is frankly made by the "North British" that works to the perseverance and research of Mr. "we owe the first edition of De Quincey's collected Fields, the Boston publisher."

calculated to be useful in all meridians.

THE BRADFORD CLUB of the city of New York contemplate printing in as elegant a style as American art allows, a "Life of William Bradford," the first printer of the Middle Colonies. A limited edition only will be issued. It is designed to illustrate the work by fac-similes of early title pages, autographs, arms, seals; a fac-simile of his original tomb-stone in Trinity Church Yard, &c., and to be as full and complete a memoir of this remarkable person as materials now remaining allow. Since the bicentenary honors paid his memory in New York, May 20th, 1863, letters and other memorials have come to light, and it is believed that many others remain in private collections here and in England. Persons possessing either copies of his publications, or

written communications of any kind by him, will confer a favor on the club, and a service to early American Literary and Topographical History, by making known the same to William Menzies, Esq., No. 426 West 23d Street, New York, or in Philadel. phia to Horatio Gates Jones, Esq., Corresponding Secretary of the Pennsylvania Historical Society.

THE NORTH BRITISH REVIEW ON THOMAS DE QUINCEY.-Now that the full collected works of De Quincey are before the public, readers and thinkers on 1oth sides of the Atlantic are beginning rightly to appreciate his astonishing acquirements. His amplitude of knowledge, the diversity of themes upon which he wrote, his mastery of language, the logical rigor with which he investigated some subjects, and the gorgeous blending of rhetoric and prose-poetry in which he draped others, combine to present an intellectual development which is perhaps without a parallel in English literature. His writings should form a part of every library however small, whether collected for family reading or for public use. The evidence of what we have just said is found in the fact that leading literary journals, both in England and America, are devoting themselves to a studious exposition of De Quincey's characteristics, and summoning us to an intelligent reading of his productions. As an instance of this tendency, we would especially advert to an article of admirable grace and sense in the last number of the "North British Review," entitled, Thomas de Quincey-Grave and Gay." The writer, by a few master-strokes, sketches successively the distin

AMERICAN LOYALISTS.-The lovers of American History will be glad to see among the announcements of Messrs. Little, Brown & Co., a new edition first edition of this work-long out of print—was of the "American Loyalists," by Mr. Sabine. The intended only as a contribution to a part of history the hope that it might in some degree rescue from hitherto untouched, and was given to the public in the "razure of oblivion" the hidden treasures of family records, and stimulate others to furnish new facts relating to this almost unexplored part of American history. It is now nearly twenty-five and the hearty zeal with which he has pursued years since Mr. Sabine commenced his researches, them is only equalled by his untiring perseverance. With free access to private letters and family reists in the British colonies and the United States, cords in possession of the descendants of the loyalhe has succeeded in collecting a vast amount of not only of interest to the student of history, but to valuable material, both historical and biographical, the general reader. His work will be a valuable contribution to the history of our Revolutionary period.

MRS. GREENHOW's Book.-Among the London announcements is a volume to be published by Bentley, entitled "My Imprisonment, and the First Year

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