IT

Literary.

is a little puzzling to understand precisely what Mr. Macbeth conceives to be the character of his "Might and Mirth of Literature."* To the dispassionate reader who examines the book, it seems to be a collection of elegant extracts from the works of the leading poetical and prose writers in English literature, and of some who are not leading, and to derive whatever value or interest it has from this feature. But Mr. Macbeth evidently considers the extracts subordinate in importance to, and, in fact, dependent for a considerable portion of their attractiveness upon, his mode of classification. He says, in his introduction: "One main object of this volume is to set forth the power, beauty, wealth, and wit of language . . . by taking a wide survey of our American and English writers, from the Anglo-Saxon times till now; not from many unconnected points of view, but from strictly one point-whence, as from a green hill-side in the centre of a great domain, the whole rich landscape can be beheld. That one view-point is Figurative Language; by their mode of using which you may, with accuracy, judge of our authors, by almost all of whom figures of speech are largely employed, from the gravest disquisition to the airiest breathing of song that ever milkmaid chanted over her milking-pail. This volume will thus possess strict artistic and scientific unity. Besides, and of this assertion the severest scrutiny is challenged, the affirmation being very venturesome and improbable, the author avers that this plan of his has the merit, even at this .ate day, of the most entire originality; never before has figurative language been taken as a point from which to examine a whole literature. Nobody will readily believe that, after the most inventive minds have peen treating of literature for twenty-two centuries, an entirely new and exceedingly comprehensive and searching mode of treatment can possibly remain to be discovered; yet such is the case, remarkable as is the fact." Now, even after reading Mr. Macbeth's elaborate exposition, we have been unable to discover any scientific or logical

*The Might and Mirth of Literature. A Treatise on Figurative Language. In which upward of Six Hundred Writers are referred to, and Two Hundred and Twenty Figures illustrated. By John Walker Vilant Macbeth. New York: Harper & Brothers.

short, is a purely rhetorical and artificial one, and Mr. Macbeth himself in practice makes little pretense of conforming to it. Ostensibly a rigid classification is preserved, but whenever the author's note-book furnishes him with a striking passage he never fails to find room for it, whether it be specially illus trative or not. Nor, indeed, when the classification is maintained, does it illumine, in any way, the selections which are ranged under it. Take, for example this:

"Why don't the men propose, mamma?
Why don't the men propose ?
Each seems just coming to the point,
And then away he goes.

It is no fault of yours, mamma-
That everybody knows;
You fête the finest men in town,
Yet, oh! they don't propose!"

Or this:

"Life, struck sharp on Death, Makes awful lightning."

In what respect does it add to the reader's enjoyment of these verses to know that the first is an illustration of "synecphonesis," and the last of "hypocatastasis?" As the author himself says, we are glad to escape from words whose very look is barbarous," and which interpolate a foreign and superfluous idea where the attention should be undivided. Music is not any more musical when disintegrated into vibrations of the tuning-fork, and the impingement of airwaves upon the tympanum of the ear.

To come to the point, Mr. Macbeth's book is to be judged simply as a collection of other men's thoughts strung together on a slender and sometimes attenuated thread of biographical anecdote, criticism, and expository comment, furnished by the author himself. The selections show wide reading, upward of six hundred authors being represented, and a catholic, indeed an omnivorous, taste. In regard to the framework of comment, we may say briefly that any one who comes to Mr. Macbeth in search of analytical comparison, subtile discrimination of beauty of one kind from beauty of another, and criteria of relative merit, will be disappointed; but whoever, on the other hand, would catch the genuine enthusiasm of literature will be very likely to find the contagion in his book. For this latter reason, we are glad to hear that Mr. Macbeth has been appointed to a professorship in the University of Virginia. His influence upon young men cannot but be stimulating aud wholesome; for, after all, as Dr. Johnson says, the first step is to read. Criticism and comparison may well come afterward-and a long time afterward.

ANOTHER book of travel, with which readers of the JOURNAL have already had the opportunity of becoming more or less familiar through extracts in the "Miscellany," is "Travels in Portugal," by John Latouche (New York: G. P. Putnam's Sons). The sev

peared originally in the New Quarterly Magazine, and the marked favor with which they were received induced the author to revise and enlarge them, and to publish them in permanent form. Portugal is as yet virgin soil to the traveler, and Mr. Latouche's description gives little promise of its speedily becoming a favorite haunt of the mere tourist -"the ignorant, conceited, incurious, moneyed tramp, for whom so much deserved contempt has been expressed in current literature," as the author puts it. It is not without its attractions, however, and Mr. Latouche's own experiences prove that a leisurely horseback-journey, shunning the highways and especially the large cities, and extensive enough to take in all parts of the country, more than compensates for all the hardship and privation which it involves. The scenery is less grand than that of the Spanish portion of the peninsula, and the country presents less dramatic contrasts of desolate uplands and tropically luxuriant valleys; nevertheless, there is a sort of subdued picturesqueness grateful to the artistic eye, and the people are as unique and interesting as any in Europe. It is the people, indeed, who attract most of Mr. Latouche's attention, and he evidently finds a peculiar relish in describing their antiquated modes of life, their quaint simplicity of character, their elaborate and universal courtesy, and the apparent eccentricity of their babits and customs. Of the usual scenic description there is comparatively little-Mr. Latouche having a theory that, "seeing how general opinion varies on such matters from day to day, trav elers should be cautious how they praise any scenery at all."

As we have already said, Mr. Latouche confined himself mostly to the by-paths of the country; and, to such travelers as wish to learn only about the railways and cities sights," of Portugal, its show - places and " and the best manner of "doing" the country, the book will afford only disappointment. To the cultivated reader, on the other hand, who would like to know what Portugal and the Portuguese really are, and who cares to make the acquaintance of a writer whose work, without being pedantic, has a peculiar. ly grateful flavor of scholarship, we can com mend it cordially.

QUITE the best thing in the new bric-abrac volume ("Personal Recollections of Lamb, Hazlitt, and Others." New York: Scribner, Armstrong & Co.) is Mr. Stoddard's biographical sketch of Lamb, in the preface. This is a most thoroughly appreciative, delicately discriminating, and true bit of writing; and if the inferences concerning the unhap piness of Lamb's life seem rather more sombre than the facts recorded in the book appear to justify, yet no one will deny that, as a whole, the sketch is one of the worthiest tributes that has ever been paid to the genius and character of the "gentle Elia." Very good, too, if somewhat briefer, is the sketch of Hazlitt; and, altogether, before he gets through with the book, one is inclined to be sorry that it is not all preface.

Instead of the three or four separate works

tant such individual experience is than any mere theory or tradition."

The topics are grouped together in the volume according to their logical relationthere is a good index, and the illustrations are very numerous.

to which Mr. Stoddard usually goes for his material, he has confined himself in the present volume, for the most part, to a single book, Mr. P. G. Patmore's "My Friends and Acquaintance," a collection of personal remi-ships, niscences of deceased celebrities of the nineteenth century, published in London in 1854. The only case in which he has gone beyond it is that of Hazlitt, certain episodes of whose life are taken from his grandson's "Memoirs." Mr. Patmore is described by Mr. Stoddard as 66 a man of little note, though acquainted with celebrities; his chief distinction, and it is not a remarkable one, being that he was the father of Coventry Patmore, the poet." Certainly, this distinction, such as it is, is not likely to be enhanced by his reminiscences, even in the condensed and doubtless improved form in which they appear in Mr. Stoddard's book. They are pretentious and elaborate, but singularly deficient in flavor; and his work as it originally stood in three volumes must have been a curious illustration of how little really personal and objective description a wordy writer could put into a work of the kind and yet have it pass mus. ter.

To bring our notice to a conclusion, we may say that, as Mr. Stoddard fashions it, the book is not dull-it is, in fact, an improvement upon some of the late bric-a-brac volumes; for poor biography is, on the whole, preferable to poor anecdotes and jokes, and Lamb, Hazlitt, Campbell, and Lady Blessing. ton, are sufficiently interesting persons to make us glad to get even a small accession to our knowledge of them.

The illustrations include portraits of Lamb, of Hazlitt, of Campbell, and of Lady Blessington; and a fac-simile reproduction of an interesting autograph letter of Lamb's to William Hone.

"THE MECHANIC'S FRIEND" (New York: D. Van Nostrand) is a book the character and scope of which are concisely and fully indicated in the title, where it is described as

A Collection of Receipts and Practical Suggestions relating to the Metric System, Miscellaneous Tools, Instruments and Processes, Cements and Glues, Varnishes and Lacquers, Solders and Metal-Working, SteamEngines, Railways and Locomotives, FireArms, Horology, Glass, Wood - Working, House and Garden, Drawing and Moulding, Photography, Musical Instruments, Taxidermy, Plant-Preserving, Aquaria, Miscellaneous Chemical Processes and Compositions, Lighting, Dyes, Water-proofing, Gilding and Bronzing, Pyrotechny, Electricity, Magnetism, and Telegraphy." The numerous articles of which it consists were selected by Mr. W. E. A. Axon, M. R. S. L., from the English Mechanic, a well-known periodical, in whose pages lovers of science, practical mechanics, chemists, photographers, etc., etc., have for years past been in the habit of affording mutual help to each other." Hence almost every item of information in the volume is a solution of a difficulty experienced by one person, by another who has already met and overcome it; and this fact will stamp the book with a practical value in the eyes of those who know "how much more impor

66

"LECTURES TO MY STUDENTS" (New York: Sheldon & Co.) is a collection of a dozen or more addresses delivered by Mr. Spurgeon to the classes of the Pastor's College, an institution connected with his church in London. They are colloquial, familiar, full of anecdote, and humorous—not at all like the typical sermon; at the same time they are earnest and zealous to a degree which characterizes all Mr. Spurgeon's words, whether spoken or written. Being addressed to those who have already assumed the pastor's calling, they discuss, for the most part, topics which have a special interest only for mimisters: "The Minister's Self-Watch," "Call to the Ministry," "Preachers' Private Prayer," "Public Prayer," "Sermons," "On the Choice of a Text," "On the Voice," "Faculty of Impromptu Speech," and the like. To Mr. Spurgeon, however, the minister belongs to no separate class or cult, but is simply the head of a flock of which he is also a member; and the suggestions which he offers to the one are scarcely less applicable to the other.

MR. W. J. ROLFE has prepared for school use, on the plan of his previously-published Shakespeare plays, "Select Poems of Oliver Goldsmith" (New York: Harper & Brothers). The poems selected are "The Traveler," "The Deserted Village," and "Retaliation," which, besides being beautifully printed in large, clear type, are prefaced with Macaulay's memoir of Goldsmith, and briefer selections from other memoirs of the poet by Thackeray, George Colman, Campbell, Forster, and Irving; and followed by copious notes, original and selected. The notes are just and discriminating in tone, and supply all that is necessary either for understanding the thought of the several poems, or for a critical study of the language. The use of such books in the school-room cannot but contribute largely toward putting the study of English literature upon a sound basis; and many an adult reader, whose school-days are over, would find in the present volume an excellent opportunity for becoming critically acquainted with one of the greatest of last century's poets.

REVIEWING the third and fourth volumes of the Count de Paris's "History of the American Civil War," the Saturday Review says: "Skilled as the count is in describing scenes of action, and the powers that move masses to victory or defeat, and thorough as is his knowledge of the springs of American history, his volumes have, in our opinion, one marked defect pervading them which detracts from their merit as works of art. The author seems to lack the biographical power which should clothe his chief actors with personal interest. With the exception always of McClellan, there is a tendency in his pages to treat commanders rather too much like ma

are.

chines than men of various characters, as they We note this drawback, Lowever, as well as the political and private bias already mentioned, with the less regret, because, after every possible deduction is made, we have in these volumes a history of the contest throughout its opening years which is so superior to all those preceding it that there is not one in America or Europe worthy to be placed in the same class. There is, in fact, as much difference between this narrative and its predecessors as between the splendid atlas that accompanies it and the cheap and shabby maps with which we were supplied for our first studies of the American campaigns."

THE Athenæum thinks that the productions of George Sand's old age are undoubtedly less original than her former works, and that she would do well to stop writing. . . . Under the title of "The Orphan of Pimlico, and Other Sketches, Fragments, and Drawings," a collection of Thackeray's drawings will shortly be published in London. Some of the drawings are hasty sketches, and were made in traveling-note-books; others were afterward used for the purposes of illustration; some were done for the amusement of children, others for that of his friends. The volume is "authorized," and is designed to furnish an adequate representation of Thackeray's artistic feeling. . . . A university is to be established in Siberia, of all places in the world! It will be located at Tomsk, and at first will promote chiefly the study of medicine. . . . The interest felt in Paris regarding our Centennial Exhibition is indicated by the establishment there of a paper "for the purpose of giving the public every possible information" on the subject. The periodical is entitled L'Indicateur de l'Exposition Universelle de Philadelphie. The Prince of Wales's visit to India will give birth to a novelty in the shape of "specials." It is said that Messrs. Bourne & Shepherd, the best known of Indian photographers, will depute the chief of their staff to accompany his royal highness throughout his tour through India. This "Photo-Special" will be assisted by a large number of skilled native photographers, who hope in concert to produce a perfect panorama of the royal progress through Hindostan. . . Mr. Swinburne has nearly completed a new dramatic poem of about the same length as "Atalanta in Calydon," and, like it, founded upon a subject from Greek mythology. . . . Mr. Andrew Wilson, author of "The Abode of Snow," recently reviewed in the JOURNAL, has had the degree of Ph. D. conferred upon him by the University of Zurich, in recognition of his services as a writer.

A new edition, in seven volumes, of the "Life and Works of Charlotte, Emily, and Anna Bronte," is about to be issued in London. Its most remarkable feature will be the illustrations, which will consist of views, sketched on the spot, of the most interesting scenes described in the novels. . . . The North American Review closes an article on Sherman's "Memoirs" as follows: "We lay down these volumes with regret. We seem to be breathing a fresh, and bracing, and inspiriting atmosphere as we read them. They increase our pride in the general of our army, and our regard for him. It is good to know him as we now know him; to recognize the kindly man in the relentless soldier; and to see what a clear-headed, right-minded, accomplished, faithful, successful commander has been born of our American civilization." Mr. Charles Lanman is to make a contribution to our centennial literature in a volume

entitled "Biographical Annals of the Civil Government of the United States during its First Century." It will be derived from original and official sources.

WE

The Arts.

E suppose, from our own experience, that there is no class of objects more difficult to image to the mind through description alone than porcelain, metal, or textile fabrics. From written accounts of dif ferent shades of blues in India china, which distinguish their age or manufacture, we gain little impression as to whether the vases or jars we saw last week or month belonged to this or that time, unless we have the book by us when we look at them; and, when we examine specimens of Majolica ware, a kle" cup, or a bit of tile, the impression they form is very dissimilar to the one we gather from the elaborate facts given in the best books on the subject.

66

crac

Books read in connection with the examination of these specimens, of course, have the highest value, and, page in hand, we can follow out the descriptions while we examine the inside of a pearly-white cup, whose fine purplish or brownish lines form the net-work known as "crackle;" or we can learn that the chrysanthemum pattern has long been a favorite one with the Japanese while we look at a particular vase or jar covered with these flowers-a general fact which the sight of the few specimens we are likely to see of this decoration would fail to tell us. From our book we can learn the history and the processes of manufacture, but sight alone, or imaginative description, makes such objects real to us.

We are led to these remarks by the sight of some English imitations of Moorish tiles, the originals of which are found in the Alhambra. They are made of coarse clay, and arabesque figures of dark browns, blues, and greens, of somewhat subdued shades, are impressed into the surface, forming sunken spaces of color between sharp, raised dividing lines. The faces of these tiles are brilliant with enamel, and their irregular surface fits them better for the side ornaments of buildings than, like the flat English tiles, to cover a floor, where the friction of feet and of rough objects would soon destroy them. From any description in books we had gained little impression of their richness and beauty, and it was only when we saw them so diverse from the dead-colored, common English tiles now in use here that we gained the first adequate impression of their appearance. As illustrating the estimation in which they were held formerly, the Spaniards had a saying, "Nunca habrás casa con azulejos” (“ You will never have a house adorned with glazed tiles ")that is, you will never be rich. The effect of them is showy and eminently decorative, and, when we use them, as they formerly were used in Spain and Italy, upon the outsides of our buildings, the sunshine upon their irregular glazed surfaces, with their varied colors and flowing arabesque lines, will make them one of the most beautiful additions to our out-of-door ornament.

Very few of these tiles have been brought to this country, and the few we have seen are used as side decorations of halls and fireplaces. The outside of buildings seems to us their most proper place, and, if such spaces as the triangles between the great round arches that form the tops of the windows in Chickering's Music-Hall, now building at the corner of Fifth Avenue and Eighteenth Street, I could have been filled with them instead of the smooth, unglazed English tiles, the effect of the building would have been wonderfully enriched.

GOUPIL has several very clever paintings by Roman artists, one of the most important of which is of a sleeping student by Martinetti. The other is "Offering the BridalWreath" by Faustini. The former is quite a humorous picture of a young fellow asleep over his books, sitting in a fine room, about which are the usual appointments of a library, many of which are also pictures "of the stock in trade" of Martinetti himself, consisting of screens, rugs, yellow curtains, and general bric-a-brac. Three or four young women, well-costumed in studio-dresses of quaint or piquant fashion, and of brocade, satin, or flowered silk, have come into the room, and, while one is tying the leg of the young man to the library-table, another has a long brush, with a very long handle, in her hand, which she is brandishing above his head from behind a screen, and the other girls, with features smiling with mirth, are evidently much amused with the pranks they are playing with the sleeping student. young man, a fellow-student, stands in the doorway, and is aiding them in their sport.

A

The painting of this picture is very clever in the yellow curtain through whose transparent material the light strikes softly. It is very good in the drapery of the women, in the mahogany bookcase, and the delicate embroidery of flowers in the ruffle that hangs above the window. The composition of forms is quite agreeable, as are the contrasts of hue in the black brush, which makes a brilliant point of light and shade thrust between the spectator and the bright drapery before the window. The flesh of the faces of the figures, however, is hard, and looks like parchment, dead and stiff. Yet on the whole this picture, evidently entirely made up from models and the paraphernalia of a studio, is a very careful and nice bit of work.

ment.

The other picture, "Offering the Bridal-Wreath," is different in motive and treatAlso painted in Rome, the scene is half classical, and it is essentially decorative. A long Oriental chamber is the scene of the picture, and at one end of it a young woman, dressed, as in "The Sleeping Student," with appropriate studio-fabrics of rich colors, is sitting attended by a dark Roman girl, who appears to be chatting with her. Behind her is her couch, and part way along the room a brass censer is smoking its perfume into the chamber. A sort of Arcadian figure, it may be the husband, but more probably some jester or musician, half clad, and showing a fine, half grotesque and dark-skinned black curly head, is partially dancing toward the bride, to I whom he reverentially tenders a wreath of

green leaves. Outside, through an opening in the wall of the room, appear the low pillars of an Oriental court-yard, and just within the chamber half a dozen maidens, with splendid dark Italian faces, comic as fauns, and radiant with the grotesque beauty one finds no farther north than Italy, watch the proceedings with jolly pleasure. A young boy leans against the door-post, playing on a couple of reeds, and the whole picture is tropical, and yet with more vivacity in the drawing and attitudes of the figures than is usually met with in like subjects. Beautiful rich bits of color occur throughout the work, scattered through wide spaces of subdued yet harmonious hues. The light-yellow walls of the building in the court-yard are the most brilliant in their contrast with the white capitals of pillars formed like clusters of palms. Green vines wind about the shafts of these columns, and the whole forms a maze of light behind the dark, brilliant faces and dresses of the women.

Within the apartment the light is more subdued, and lacks the rich warmth of the out-door sunshine. But, as a contrast with the latter, here every hue is subdued and rich, and shows a play of light difficult to keep distinct from any color that shall mar its relation with the tints of the pale day. light outside the room.

ONE of the latest pictures from the easel of Frederick E. Church is a river-view drawn just before sunset, and entitled "After the Rain - Storm," but evidently painted more as an effect from Nature than for its striking pictorial quality as a landscape. The foreground is in deep shadow, and has a fallen tree-trunk on the right and a group of trees on the left. The river flows quietly in the middle distance, and the clouds, after the rain, have broken, and are yet hanging sul lenly over the distant hills, and extend upward, covering the sky with their murky forms to the zenith. The most striking feature in the work is the sky-effect, which is in brilliant contrast to the shadowy landscape. The sun, although obscured, is evidently just hanging above the horizon, and its flashing rays strike the broken cloud-forms, and light them up with gorgeous effect. The blue sky shows through the opening, and the clouds at this point have the bright silver lining, but it is streaked with crimson and golden tints, which lend additional richness to its tones. The brilliancy of this passage in the sky painting, which is the tour de force of the picture, is reflected upon the hill-forms, strikes the water with more or less force, and is repeated upon the clouds at the zenith. The sky, in every matter of detail and part, is painted solidly and with great force. The lines of silver and golden light are painted on with the brush in heavy masses, and with masterly skill. There is no hesitation shown in the handling of this sky-every stroke of the brush appears to have been studied with care, and the expression is broad and effec tive in the highest degree.

The general tone of the work is impres sive, but, unfortunately, its force is all invested in the sky. The landscape in the foreground is richly colored and harmonizes

in tone with the sky, but further than this it is lacking in any great artistic qualities. The great tree-trunk which has fallen in the foreground, and the group of trees on the left, were evidently laid on with a firm and free hand, but in the finish they are left hard and inexpressive. We can realize that a dead calm may have succeeded the storm, but the snap and sparkle which belong to Nature after a heavy rainfall are not lost at sunset, by any means, and this incident Mr. Church has failed to secure. The foliage is heavy with paint, and not moisture, and the water of the river is as solid and unyielding as a stream of molten copper. In the handling of this work it is evident that the skyeffect was the motive aimed at, and the landscape a matter of secondary consideration. This is unfortunate, as there is a pleasant harmony between the two extremes, and with a moderate degree of study they might be brought together so as to form a picture as beautiful in expression as it is impressive in sentiment. The picture is on exhibition at Goupil's.

AMONG the notable new buildings in the city is Chickering Hall at the corner of Fifth Avenue and Eighteenth Street. It covers a space fifty or sixty feet wide on the avenue, and runs back on Eighteenth Street the entire depth of the lot. Built of red brick, it is divided into two very high stories on the outside, which are as lofty as four or five stories of the adjoining buildings. The front entrance sets between two large and high windows, one on either side of the door, and above these three other windows with round tops form the front of the edifice. Dark and highly polished granite pillars placed flat against the outer wall support the entrance, and in the second story a pair of similar pillars between the windows support the end of the round arches which form their tops. Several large, square blocks of the same polished material make a rich ornament in the plain spacings of this wall. Above the arches of the upper windows, as we have elsewhere remarked, the space is filled solidly by English tiles of buff and light neutral colors in diaper patterns, and the roof, which is pyramidal, is guarded by an iron parapet.

On Eighteenth Street the line is broken by large windows in the lower story, and this story is much lower than the one above it, both in front and on the sides. The second story on this street is a blank wall set off into arched spaces similar to those occupied by the windows in front; and these in their turn are separated by granite pillars, while above them is the same diapered tile-work. The inside of Chickering Hall is not yet completed, but externally it will long form one of the most striking edifices of Fifth Avenue.

The great arches of the windows of this building, like those in the Lenox Library and in the new railway-station at Worcester, are its most interesting and positive feature. Simplicity of form, combined with size, has a wonderful power in making any architectural form impressive. The relation of big forms to neighboring little ones has great effect on the imagination, and six large openings in

the side of a house make it look larger and more imposing than fifty small ones in the same space. We know of no one feature so distinguishing to the cathedrals abroad as their high and spacious doorways; and, comparing these as we stand fifty feet or more beneath the apex of their arches with our diminutive doors at home, we realize approximately the size of the buildings of which they form a part.

For this reason we are glad when we see these few and simple openings in such large structures as Chickering Hall. The whole building gains in dignity from them when we compare the size and simplicity of the mass with houses only half as large whose many openings in relation to these look like portholes of a ship.

SOME

From Abroad.

OUR PARIS LETTER.

September 28, 1875. E curious anecdotes of the Parisian theatres for forty years past have recently been published by the Revue Britannique. Among others is the following anecdote of the brilliant Augustine Brohan, that wittiest and most accomplished of actresses. One evening she was seated in the green-room, refreshing herself with a cup of broth, while a circle of admirers crowded round her as usual. Among them was Charles Desnoyers, the clever stagemanager of the Comédie Française.

Augustine," ," he said, "you always have an answer ready for every thing, but I am going to try to puzzle you. I shall ask you a question in which I shall introduce the name of a city, and you must answer in a single word, which must not only have reference to what I have said, but must also be the name of a city, whether a French or a foreign one does not matter. Is it agreed?"

"It is a bargain," answered the actress. "Very good," replied the manager, "let us begin. It appears that you are fond of

bouillon."

"Elbeuf" (et le bouf), instantly made answer the actress.

"Bravo!" cried every one present. Desnoyers appeared entirely disconcerted, but, recovering himself immediately, he continued, in a pathetic tone: "If you play me such tricks" (de ces Tours-là), “I shall die!" Augustine rose, and, looking him full in the face, she hurled at him this crushing apostrophe:

Périgueux!" (péris, gueux-perish, you beggar !)

The writer of the above reminiscences says of Rachel:

"She is the strangest person I have ever met,' once said to me the Duke de X-. 'I was in her drawing-room the other evening, when two or three academicians came to call upon her. She received them with the utmost dignity, and conversed for a long time with them on various scientific and literary subjects, which she discussed with an aplomb and a gravity which would have done honor to Mademoiselle de Scudéry. But no sooner had they taken their departure than she sprang from her chair, and started to whirling like a top around the room till she was totally out of breath. Then she sat down on the floor, and, without further ceremony, she devoured half the contents of a jar of brandy-cherries.

"On another evening I went to see her in

Phedre. She electrified the audience; and, though I had seen her a dozen times in that rôle, her scene with Hippolyte is of so irresistible an effect that I have never been able to listen to it without profound emotion. When the act was over I was conversing with a friend in the lobby, when I received from Rachel a little note in pencil, saying that she was perfectly exhausted, and that, when I was on my way to the club, I must stop at Cheret's to order something for her supper. Can you imagine what?'

"Some oysters or a truffled partridge, perhaps.'

"Not at all. A box of sardines and some Gruyère cheese!'"'

There has been a great deal of talk about centennials and centenarians recently, but they have all been thrown into the shade by an individual who recently departed this life in Paris aged two hundred and three years. This aged creature was, however, not a human being, but a goose, belonging to a workman named Payen, who resided at Villeneuve SaintGeorge. It had been in the possession of the family for over two centuries, as certain documents in the hands of its present owner conclusively proved. It was called Babette, and knew its name perfectly, always coming when called by it. For three years past it has been in a semi-lethargic condition, but up to that time it had been lively and preserved a good appearance. The director of the Jardin des Plantes, hearing of the existence of this venerable fowl, caused it to be purchased. The fatigues of a journey to Paris were too much for a constitution enfeebled by two centuries of existence, and Babette expired in a few hours after her arrival at her new home. She is to be stuffed and installed with all honors in the museum attached to the gardens.

Carpeaux, the sculptor, continues dangerously ill, and it is not thought that he can long survive. His lower limbs are still completely paralyzed, and he has been forced to relinquish even the small amount of exercise which he used to take in a wheeled chair. The last work which he has executed, and probably the last that he will ever attempt, was an illustration for the novel of "Le Bleuet," recently published by Michel Lévy. The authoress, who is a personal friend, recently called to see him, and showed him the design for a group of bluets, or corn-flowers, which was to adorn the cover of her book. The dying sculptor pronounced the design to be stiff, ungraceful, and inartistic. "Bring me some corn-flowers," he said, "and I will show you how I think the group ought to look." The flowers were brought, the sculptor took up his pencil, steadied his weak, wavering fingers by a supreme effort of will, and sketched the graceful cluster that now ornaments the cover of "Le Bleuet."

The chief malady of Carpeaux, for he is suffering from a complication of diseases, is an internal cancer, for the relief of which he has already undergone several surgical operations. For two years and a half he has produced nothing, and for two years he has not visited his atelier. His only recreation is a short drive undertaken on those rare days when he feels equal to the effort. Few could recognize in the sullen, inert being, whose eyes alone retain the fire and vivacity for which he was once renowned, the brilliant sculptor who has adorned the New Opera with such animated and striking groups.

The new books of the week include Arsène Houssaye's "Dianas and Venuses" and his "Hundred and One Sonnets," both of which are issued by the firm of Michel Lévy Bros.

From the same house we have "The more that changes" ("Plus ça change "), by Alphonse Karr, and a series of ten etchings by Henri Guerard, illustrating "Les Châtiments," by Victor Hugo. The firm also announce "Dialogues and Philosophical Fragments," by Ernest Renan, and Octave Feuillet's new and charming novel of " A Society Marriage," as well as the sequel to the work by Alphonse Karr above mentioned, which sequel is to bear the title of The more 'tis the same thing" ("Plus c'est la même chose "). Lecoffre, Son & Co. have published the first four volumes of "A History of the Reign of Louis XIV.," by M. Casimir Gaillardin, which four volumes have just gained the Grand Prix Gobert. The work is to be completed in six volumes, of which the last is not to appear till next June. Plon & Co. have brought out a "History of Italian Brigandage from the Earliest Ages down to the Present Time," by Armand Dubarry; and a History of Inventions, Discoveries, and Human Institutions," by D. Ramée. The Bibliothèque Charpentier promises the second volume of the "Memoirs of Odilon Barrot" for the 1st of October. Lachaud & Co. have just issued a pamphlet entitled "The Conspiracies of Arenenberg." The oddest title among the just-issued books is the following: "Napoleon III., a Tragedy in Four Acts and in Verse. To be represented in Fifty Years. By an Unknown. For sale at all BookStands." Notwithstanding the last announcement, I have tried to obtain it at several of the leading book-stores on the boulevards, but in vain. I have placed the matter in the hands of an energetic personage, who will get me a copy if it is to be had; and, should it prove worthy of further notice, I will tell you more about it in my next.

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In the before-mentioned " Memoirs of Odilon Barrot" occurs this sketch of the character of Napoleon III.:

"One of the principal traits of the character of this predestined personage, who was fated to reconstruct the empire, was the knowledge of how to yield; that was the quality which chiefly distinguished him from the first Napoleon, and therein alone lay all his strength. To possess a will as inflexible as fate itself, to dread no initiative however bold it might be, but at the same time to know how to halt, to adjourn, to draw back without any embarrassment either of personal vanity or of pride, these are contradictory qualities which, when they are united in one person, make of that person an exceptional being. These qualities were marvelously appropriate to the situation of Louis Napoleon, who, having neither the genius of the first Napoleon nor his victorious prestige, was forced to obtain by dint of cunning and patience that which the other had been able to bear away in lofty combat."

During the disorders of the 24th of February Prince Jerome Bonaparte, the father of the present prince, came to Madame Barrot and demanded the loan of her carriage, in which to show himself to the people, declaring that only a Bonaparte could calm the tumult and disarm the insurrection. His proposition was rejected as absurd, "and yet," adds Odilon Barrot, "he was only a little in advance of the times."

The Gymnase has reproduced "La Dame aux Camélias" with Mademoiselle Tallandiera as Marguerite Gautier, and Worms, who has just returned from Russia, as Armand Duval. This revival has created a good deal of talk in theatrical and critical circles in Paris, owing to the quarrels which it has occasioned between Mademoiselle Tallandiera and M. Montigny, the manager of the theatre. It was

with extreme reluctance that the lady undertook the part, for which she was by no means fitted, and she and the manager used to fight like cat and dog during the rehearsals. The nervous, passionate actress, eccentric, abrupt, and gifted, was hardly suited to the personality of the sentimental, consumptive heroine of the first great play of the great dramatist. She possesses genius, power, and dramatic fire, it is true, but she lacks grace and distinction, and the Parisian public, accustomed to see the character impersonated by such fair and elegant women as Blanche Pierson and Eugénie Doche, accepted this new incarnation of it with reluctance. However, the real talent of the actress has swept away all opposition. Her death-scene, in particular, is remarkable for its pathos and its lack of exaggeration. The first night of the revival a very absurd incident came near compromising its success. One of the characters appeared at the supper in the first act wearing an overcoat of a very peculiar color, which somehow or other moved the mirth-loving Parisians to laughter, and so loud and hearty was the mirth caused by that unfortunate garment that poor Mademoiselle Tallandiera, conceiving herself to be the object of the ridicule of the audience, came near rushing from the stage.

Twenty three years have elapsed since "La Dame aux Camélias" was given to the public. Here is a sketch by Nestor Roqueplan of the celebrated Marie Duplessis, the original from whom Dumas drew his heroine:

Marie Duplessis was remarkably pretty, tall, not particularly well made, ignorant, without wit, but endowed with marvelous tact. She was a peasant-girl of Normandy, but she invented for herself a noble pedigree, deriving, on her own authority, her name from an historical name slightly modified. She told falsehoods freely, and was accustomed to say that lies whitened the teeth. She was not then the ideal woman that death, time, and the imagination of a romance-writer, have made of her.

She was consumptive. She sought the baths of Germany for her health. There she met the Count de S——, a Russian diplomatist, an old man, aged eighty-four, who had cooperated in the drawing up of the Treaty of Peace of Tilsit. Afflicted by the death of a daughter who had perished by an affection of the chest, the count was struck with the resemblance of Marie to his lost child. The lovely face, the velvety eyes, the elegant figure, the small hands and feet, the same fatal malady, he found them all in this double of his beloved child. He transferred to her the care and affection that he had bestowed upon his own daughter. He mournfully calculated that her lungs were strong enough to enable her to survive him. Marie Duplessis thus returned to Paris in the position of a family portrait.

When the pitiless malady had pronounced its last summons, she wished to go once more

to the theatre. She was driven to the Palais Royal, where a first representation was to be given. So great was her weakness that she was carried to her box by two liveried foot

death it was the fashion among a certain set to go to the cemetery of Montmartre to lay wreaths and bouquets of camellias on her tomb. She died in 1847, and, five years later, the drama of Alexandre Dumas enshrined this weak, erring, but most unhappy creature, in a living immortality. Unlike the majority of her class, she never ceased to feel shame and remorse for her position. "What would you have thought," some one once said to her when she was in the height of her career, "if your future life had been predicted to you while you were still a poor peasant?" "I should have drowned myself, or else died of horror!" was the passionate reply. LUCY H. HOOPER.

THE MICHAEL ANGELO CELEBRATION. FLORENCE, September 19, 1875. FLORENCE knows how to glorify her heroes! From the long row of large, white cattle, adorned with gold-embroidered saddles of red cloth, their necks, heads, and tails, trimmed to match, drawn up for inspection by the prize - committee of the Agrarial Exhibition, in front of the "Tiro Nazionali," on the Cascine, from this magnificent array, in which even the dumb beasts seemed to join in honoring the great sculptor of four hundred years ago, down through concert, cortège, official ceremony, assembled specimens of his art, eulogy after eulogy, to the final fire-rejoicing, through all the city, environs, and surrounding mountain-peaks-Florence has shown her appreciation of the extraordinary genius of a citizen who once received little honor at her hands.

Michael Angelo is now deified. As Hercules, Apollo, even Jupiter himself, were originally earthly beings, and then placed among the gods, so is it with him. His works also have become miraculous! His temples are numerous, but chief among them are the Florentine dwelling he occupied, the National Museum, and the Academy of Arts, where his sculptures and drawings have been assembled; but there is scarcely a studio or shop-window where he is not enshrined and commemorated by some painting representing a scene from his life, lithographs from his designs, biographies of all sizes, or by his bust in marble, bronze, plaster, or terra-cotta!

What a triumph for a man, when his ashes no longer show even the trace of his human form, to be thus honored! When four centuries have swept from the earth the very memories of many of his contemporaries, every marble chipping that fell from under his chisel, every line known to be drawn by him, careless or studied though it may have been, has been cherished, preserved, and is now exhibited with awe!

The fetes on the occasion were so numerous that the three days devoted to them hardly sufficed. The enthusiastic went from one to another, without thought of hunger or fatigue. Perhaps most agreeable of all the side-shows, was the awarding of the prizes in the Agrarial Exhibition. Nature must ever win the palm over all art, and, whether it was the beautiful locale where the "mostra" was held, the tree-filled Cascine, the beauty of the flowers, fruit, vegetables, animals, fowls, and even of the labor-saving machines, a restful, happy feeling seemed to come over one in traversing the gardens or commodious rooms where the objects were displayed.

Then came music, with its harmonious, majestic strains, honoring the great hero of a sister art! As we sat in the Cinque - Cento Salone of the Palazzo Vecchio (on the walls of which are the large war-frescoes by Vasari),