"Yes, if our husband is not too severe. When every thing in the hause is arranged, we dress in izar and mandil; we go down to the Súk and buy, and we visit all the other harems of our acquaintance. We might even stay on a visit to them of fortnight if we liked. We are only forbidden to see a man, or to unveil our faces, except in one another's presence."

"I cannot understand, living thus among one another, and going out muffled up as you do, how the breath of scandal can ever touch you."

"

Ab, Ya Sitti! it is all the same! Bury thyself, and the worm will bring bad report. When the rain patters on the house-top, do we expect her to come through and wet us? Yet with all care this will sometimes happen. Do we know when the serpent is in the raf ters of the ceiling until she drops on the bed?"

I was once invited to contribute to a weekly journal, whose object, doubtless of doing good, was to collect information concerning every race, creed, tongue, mode of life, and condition of woman. This is an admirable safety-valve for all classes at home, where, if there is any grievance, you can hold a committee, and apply knife and fire to the root of the evil. But, if you cannot do so, what is the use of talking it over? what is to be gained by lifting up the curtain of the domestic theatre? I am writing for my own sex, and especially for my own country-women, and yet I leave a thousand things unsaid which would be information, because it would please neither my Eastern friends nor my Western sisters to read a detail of habits so totally different from their own. I do not think that my reasoning will induce El Islám to adopt monogamy, nor to educate one wife, nor to raise her to companionship with himself-yet this alone would root out many hidden evils. To a great extent the morality of society is marvelous; but it is enforced. It is also an inheritance of families, tribes, races. The large towns, of course, are almost the only tainted places. If intrigue is suspected, the police have the right to enter the house and drag the accused into the street; and, although four eye-witnesses are necessary to condemn them, they both know they will certainly die by the hands of their own relatives. In wilder places, if a girl is unfortunate, the parents, relatives, and all the village, dress her like a bride, and make a feast like a "wake" round the mouth of a deep hole; they throw her into it, and return, singing and making merry. The parents have done a meritorious action-the honor of the family is cleared. The man also dies, and there is a thar, or blood-feud, d perpefit. None of these savage acts have taken place in our time, but in the mountain opposite our summer quarter there is one of these deep caves; and we were assured by the villagers that two years before we came one of these horrid feasts took place there in the winter-time. A father or brother will beat bis daughter or sister for looking round at a man out-of-doors, even if accidentally or unintentionally. If a man pass a maiden and say "Good-morning," she must not answer him, unless rudely, to ask how he dare speak to her. Then he says, "That is a good lass; that is the wife for me." If, on the contrary, she return a civil good-morning, or stop and speak a few words to him, he forms

light opinion of her, and looks for mariage elsewhere. In the villages the youths est girls' characters by these experiments. see Leila is trying to tell us somebing..

But

...

Now they are preparing supper, and you ee the huge, flat brass trays perched upon ound, small mother-of-pearl stools, and covred and balanced with various dishes. lave will now bring round a brass jug and

A

platter, with rose-water and a bit of rosecolored scented soap, and slung over her shoulder a silk and embroidered towel. We wash our fingers, but not like Englishwomen, dipping them in the basin. We only use the water from the ewer, and the moment it has left our fingers it becomes ceremonially impure. All sit round these trays. We shall eat with our fingers, dipping into the dishes with bread, and for liquids they will hand to us mother-of-pearl or wooden spoons. There are plates full of rice, with bits of meat and fat; a kid roasted whole, stuffed with pistachio-nuts; kibbeh, or meat, chopped and mixed with burgh'ol, bruised and boiled wheat; mudjadarát, lentils (adas), and rice, or burgh'ol, mixed with a brown sauce, and very tasty; kussah, or badinján, cucumber or vegetable-marrow scraped out and stuffed in sausage-form, with chopped meat, herbs, rice, pepper, and salt. The forced meat is called máhshi. Kubáb, a dish known to Englishmen as cubobs, is roast-meat, fat and lean, sliced, and impaled with onions on a stick, like our cat's-meat, and grilled at the fire with salt and pepper. There are bowls of leben, every sort of fruit and vegetable in season, and piles of sweetmeats. The bread acts the part of plate; of these large, round, flat scones, some are thick, and others are thin as a wafer.

Some time after supper, we will wish goodnight; the whole harem accompanies us to the door, thanking us, and giving us all sorts of nice blessings, such as, May Allah send you happy dreams!" "We shall hear your voice in our sleep," "May your night be blessed!"

They will perhaps continue their festivities for another hour. But before we part I must have a word with you. They were very kind, but I am not in the least deceived by their many "Mashallahs." They listened with exemplary patience to my preaching, they allowed me to have my say, and I know that they drew me out with great tact, and even tenderness. They permitted, and even assisted, me to enthrone myself upon my high moral pedestal. But woman's nature is much the same all the world over. ment the door closed upon us, and privacy was restored, our charming hostesses probably indulged in a long titter, and each said to her neighbor:

The mo

"Mashallab! my dear, it is very nice to be a man, but don't you think that as women we may perhaps be better as we are?"

That was the query of the young and pretty. While the other category would exclaim:

Istaghfar' Allah! why, this is neither man nor woman, nor any thing else. Allah preserve us from this manner of pestilence! 'Amín."

Also, we must qualify that idea that we have in Europe, viz., that there is no education in a harem. Reading and writing are only means, not ends. The object of education is to make us wise, to teach us the right use of life. Our hostesses know every thing that is going on around them. The husband, behind the scenes, will often hold a council with his wives. They consult together, and form good and sensible judgments, and advise their husbands even in political difficulties. Can we do more? Of course, you will understand that I am now speaking of the higher classes.

When I compare their book-learning with that, for instance, received by girls at home fifteen or twenty years ago, I can remember that the lessons learned by heart, and painfully engraved upon my memory, have required a toil of unlearning and relearning since I have mixed with the world. gards mere accomplishments, some ride, dance, sing, and play, as well in their way as we do in ours; some read, some write, and almost all can recite poetry and tales by the hour. The manners of some are soft and

As re

The sunlight of a sunlit land, A land of fruit, of flowers, and A land of love and calm delight; A land where night is not like night, And noon is but a name for rest; Where conversations of the eyes Are all enough; where beauty fills The heart like hues of harvest-home; Where rage lies down, where passion dies, Where peace hath her abiding-place. . . . A face that lifted up; sweet face That was so like a life begun, That rose for me a rising sun Above the bended seven hills Of dead and risen old new Rome.

on Democracy,"
," takes the ground

that the only hope for the permanency of the institutions of our country lies in the extinguishment of governmental borrowing.. Just so long as governments are enabled to borrow money, there will be recklessness and corruption: recklessness because the public are indifferent to public extravagances that are to be paid for at some far-off, indefinite time; corruption because the power to borrow money indefinitely enables the politician to enter into schemes for his aggrandizement, and to cover his expenditures in all the incertitude of floating and bonded debt. This is all true, and the remedy for the evil is likely to come soon in a sharp and effective manner. Borrowing will necessarily cease with many of our State governments and municipalities in the same way that it ceases with many merchants—that is, by bankruptcy. It will be simply impossible for many of our local governments to go on increasing the public debt in the way many of them have done in the past and are now doing. There is a limit to the capacity of the tax-payer; a point beyond which revenues cannot be stretched; a period when an ever-swelling debt becomes a burden greater than can be endured.

But even if it were practicable for governments to go on borrowing money indefinitely, there are still supreme reasons why the power to do so should be withdrawn from them. The ability to pay, for instance, may remain intact, and yet the burden of paying become onerous; then the direct collection of money for current expenditure brings the citizen into closer contact with the government, awakens his concern, stimulates his interest, and leads him to hold the administration of the funds to stricter account than would otherwise be the case; and nothing, perhaps, would so effectually keep government to its few legitimate duties as the necessity of paying as it went. Just so long as there is a great unknown future which may be discounted in the way of bonds, governments will be tempted by schemers and enthusiasts into endless improper enterprises. Tammany Rings and Crédits Mobiliers are possible only where there exists the power of borrowing. The tax-collector may be enabled to appropriate a small proportion of his collections, but the directness and simplicity of our affairs under a no-credit system would reduce corruption to its minimum.

Doubts very likely arise in many minds, and arguments in all. We are so inured to the idea of a local government full of enterprises and lavish of expenditure, laying out

But

ers, that we are rather startled at the idea of doing all this with money in hand. when we come to look a little into these things we'll find that the debt-system not only increases extravagance and prompts enterprises that should not be undertaken, but continually shifts cost from where it should fall, upon the interests specially concerned, to the shoulders of the public at large. We see debts continually created for special ends, and to the benefit of a class which the public as a whole must eventually pay for. Revenues, moreover, are not looked after; it is so much easier to issue bonds than to form careful systems by which cost may be liquidated by special taxes. It would not be at all difficult for a partnership of businessmen to so conduct affairs in a city like New York that its incoming funds from licenses, rentals, etc., would be ample for all its expenditures. Governments general as well as local should be put on the no-credit basis, although just at present the crying evil in America is the extravagance of local governments, which touch so many of the ordinary details of life, and so many of which are running up their indebtedness with dangerous speed.

PERHAPS nothing can better illustrate the badness of our current municipal methods than the way street-paving is usually done. In New York the charter and the laws upon this question have been so tampered with that chaos has ensued. Streets can now be newly paved only by consent of a certain proportion of the owners of property on the street; this consent is almost impossible to be obtained, and so the pavements are likely to become intolerable, mere repairing in many instances being insufficient. Now, it is entirely obvious that the wear and tear of street-pavements are caused solely by vehicles. When a street is first opened, the grading and paving may well be assessed upon the adjacent property, because this property is enhanced in value by access being given to it; and the cost of replacing pavements removed for building sewers, or setting gas or water pipes, should fall upon the special interests concerned; but the cost of repaving streets, and the cost of all repairs with the exceptions made, should be paid from a special tax upon vehicles. There can be no disputing the justice of this. The friction is caused solely by vebicles, and they ought to make good the wear and tear they have caused. Just now the omnibuses and a few public trucks pay licenses, but the sum thus collected is fairly infinitesimal beside the amount expended to

keep the streets even in the poor repair

that we find them. There was a time when nearly all the carrying of merchandise was done by public cartmen or licensed vehicles, but the growth and centralization of business have led every wholesale trader and very many others to set up their own vehicles, and these pay no license. Our streets are crowded with ponderous trucks transporting heavy merchandise hither and thither, crushing and grinding up the pavements, all of which pay nothing whatever toward restoring that which they injure. Look at the thousands of ponderous ice-carts that grind up the pavements, which property by assessment, or the general public by tax, must pay for! Every vehicle should be taxed on a scale graduated according to weight and purpose for which it is used. Not even the light buggy-wagon should escape; not the private carriage; not the market-wagon from the country. There should be no free list. If all were taxed fairly to an extent just sufficient for the purposes in view, none would have a right to complain. Even a portion of the cost of cleaning the streets should be included in this tax, inasmuch as the accumulations removed are largely caused by this travel. This principle should also be applied to the wharves, and indeed to every thing when it is practicable to do so. The cost of collecting ashes and garbage should be paid for by those benefited thereby. This is the rule with the Croton water supply; it should be the rule in every thing else. The police are for the benefit of the whole; the lighted streets are for the benefit of the whole let the cost of these departments be met by special taxes falling upon every indi| vidual, but all other expenditures should be refunded by the special interest or class concerned. There is nothing delusive or illusive in these suggestions; they are simply the plain common-sense principles that control all private business, and when introduced into public affairs will work a great revolution for the better.

OUR English cousins seem never to be tired of talking and writing about the habits and manners of Americans. We do not please them in any thing we say or do, and hence the question is likely to arise ere long whether Americans sufficiently consider their dignity in becoming guests of a people who have for them always the critical and rare ly the kindly word. We believe it to b true that no nationality is ever fully in sym pathy with any other nationality; there i something in the whole mode of thought and grain of character of each people that strange and repellent to the mode of though and grain of character of every other people and hence when we see two nations in constan

ΤΑ

-1

contact with each other, each of which profoundly believes in itself, there are pretty sure to be all sorts of collisions and antagonisms. One might argue that the people of the United States and Great Britain are too nearly allied to justify the hatred and ceaseless bickerings that exist between them; but this very nearness is undoubtedly an aggravating cause. The bitterness of family jealousies is proverbial. English social circles tolerate with equanimity the strange manners of the Orientals, but resent the slightest violation of etiquette on the part of those who are supposed to have the same maxims of breeding; and the American, tolerant enough of the peculiarities of all distinctly foreign races, is exasperated at the hauteur, the rude bruskness, and the lordly assumptions of John Bull. In these frictions neither Englishman nor American sees the other quite rightly, and each magnifies greatly the defects exhibited by the other. Nations as well as individuals that profoundly believe in themselves are very apt to be excessively disagreeable to other nations in possession of the same selfconfident patriotism. But it seems to us that the irritation which Englishmen feel toward Americans is continually on the increase. The bad taste or bad breeding of one of their own set is forgotten as soon as the occasion passes; but the bad taste or bad breeding of an American is magnified by watchful eyes, and cherished with a perennial passion. One nowadays can rarely take up an English journal without finding something disagreeably critical of our people-often unfairly critical and unnecessarily disagreeable. It is not wise nor in good taste for one to be forever dwelling on the defects of his neighbors; they have their defects, no one will deny, but in this world of glass houses it is only prudent to refrain from seeing and fretting over all the evil ways of other people; and if our English friends hence wouldn't put us under the microscope so ceaselessly, it would be better for their and our peace of mind.

As an instance of what we have to encounter from unfriendly critics abroad is the subjoined wholly gratuitous piece of criticism from the correspondent of an English newspaper:

"As regards private society, there can be no doubt that our transatlantic friends are nade very welcome, and they would be made till more welcome but for one peculiarity, rhich nine-tenths of them seem unable to get id of, unless, indeed, when a lengthened reslence in Europe works a cure. This pecuarity on the part of nearly every American le meets is a profound self-consciousness of sbeing American-a self-consciousness which ntinually provokes him to comparison. He ems to be haunted by the notion that the aglish people have a poor opinion of Ameriand that he must on all occasions prove e superiority of every thing American to

should not have it, no matter what his qualifications may be. The escape from the dilemma is not Ina very difficult one. stead of committing the frank impropriety of asking to be a candidate outright, the office-wisher has only to mention the matter confidentially to one or two intimate friends. Then little complimentary paragraphs begin to appear in the papers; the idea of the pro

The first answer that occurs to this is, that it is not true. Altogether too large a proportion of Americans abroad are greatly enamored of English life and institutions, and the comparisons they ceaselessly institute are to their country's disadvantage. There are other travelers who go to Europe with immense expectations, and discover that after all there are a few compensating things on this side of the Atlantic; the comparisons they make, with too much freedom, perhaps, arise from the interest they take in the contrast of the two civilizations, instead of from that frightful" self-consciousness" which the critic sets his lance at. And then as to the retorts which the Englishmen do not utter, why, doubtless the critic does not hear them-one always only sees and hears that which he is interested in seeing and hearing-but the often-rasped tympanum of the American bears them far too frequently for his temper or his peace of mind; and let us say that if this critic will take into his confidence a few Americans, he will learn that here the same identical complaints are made of the traveling John Bull in our midst—who is reported by critical and over-sensitive observers to be ever supercilious, contemptuous, arrogant, depreciative, and prone no less than the American abroad to be "patriotic but tiresome."

Under all the circumstances it might work well if both sides stopped nagging. This, however, is probably asking too much. The pleasure of fault-finding is something that the ordinary man or woman is wholly unwilling to forego

IN a recent address, ex-President Woolsey, of Yale, boldly advanced the idea that men who feel themselves well qualified for office should openly and frankly propose themselves for it. This is the English fasbion; in the United States, our public men are, to appearance at least, more shy and modest.

There is a perverse streak in the average human nature which leads people, the moment it is known that a man would really like an office, to object to him on that very account. The very fact that he wants it is considered an excellent reason why he

certain office seems often, strangely enough, to strike several editors at the same time. Then, in the caucus or convention, the name is launched, laudatory speeches are made, and the nomination is carried. Of course, the candidate is not present; of course, he is overcome with surprise when he is waited on by a committee to conduct him "before the convention," though it is a curious coincidence that the committee knows exactly where he is, and finds him with delightful facility; and, of course, he is only induced to accept the nomination by the evidences that he alone can lead the party to triumph, and that he must fain sacrifice his own wishes and convenience to the country, the state, or the township, as the case may be! It must be confessed that these little subterfuges and hypocrisies are not a favorable beginning of a public career, nor do they augur well for the scrupulous uprightness of the would-be public servants who employ them. There is really nothing disgraceful in the desire to occupy an office of trust and honor, and there is no reason why a man who knows that his experience and talents qualify him for it should not express the desire, or why he should be voted against on account of such an expression. The chances are that an honest and capable man who openly confesses that he desires an office will fill it far better than one who pretends that he does not.

M. GAMBETTA is deserving of no slight praise for declining the duel proposed to him by that young imperialist fire-eater, Paul de Cassagnac. In this country, where dueling has gone out of fashion, and has grown happily discreditable, it is not easy to appreciate the moral courage which is required of a Frenchman, especially a Frenchman who is prominent in the public eye, and has a reputation for personal fearlessness to sustain, in refusing a challenge. That Gambetta has had the nerve not only to decline to set himself up to be shot at or lunged at by a political enemy, but to say that his life is needed by his party and France, and is not at the disposal of a hot-blooded young man who imagines he has been insulted, is one more proof of the ex-dictator's sound sense and good judgment. It must not be forgotten that Gambetta is himself an eager partisad

lic; and he has little leisure or disposition for the dangerous by-plays of what is still too much regarded in France as manly gallantry. It is to be hoped that he has credit enough to set a new fashion, and to recall to the French mind the truth which has been found out long ago in England and America, that a man who kills another in a duel does not prove himself right, nor is he who is killed proved thereby to be in the wrong. The union of the rapier and the pen in Paris sanctums has been too productive of false notions of honor, not to speak of the tragedies which have now and then resulted from

it; and the sooner it is divorced the better it will be for the good of French society and the tone of the press. That "the pen is mightier with the sword" is the Parisian rendering of Bulwer's famous motto; but the belligerent journalism which has adopted it has not proved its truth by the event. Gambetta will have added one more claim to the gratitude and admiration of all his rightminded countrymen by showing that it really requires more courage to decline than to accept a duel.

WHO does not envy the angler, who, armed cap-a-pie with all the deft modern contrivances for pursuing the game of the waters, from reel-rod to bait-pouch, in these days may be seen taking train or steamboat for the mossy haunts he knows but will not tell of? To us who have to remain in the

dust and heat of the town, how provokingly cool and breezy he looks! What shady nooks, and deep, cool woods, and grateful solitude, and unanxious reverie, and gentle excitement, does he bring up in the fancy! Despite what people say who have never followed Peter's example, or put themselves under the quaint and genial tutelage of old Walton, angling is a manly, healthy, altogether reasonable sport, one which is always in fashion-and only those habits are always in fashion which are rooted in the core of human nature-and one of which he who once fairly tastes its joys very rarely tires. Happily our country is yet large enough for all its anglers; there is a string of trout or a basket of pickerel, blue-fish, or bass, somewhere for every man. We may rightly give

a chuckle of satisfaction at this when we think of our English cousins, who have to buy their fishing unless they are lords of the manor; and many of whom we welcome here, coming across the Atlantic as they do in shoals to enjoy free angling to their heart's content.

logue-makers some trouble to classify Mr. Drake's "Nooks and Corners of the New England Coast" under any of the usual heads.* It is not a guide-book, though it will serve admirably as a guide to all points of interest in the localities treated of. It is not a history, though the reader who has finished it will find himself possessed of mote facts in old Colonial and Revolutionary history than he has gathered, perhaps, from all other sources combined. Neither is it a collection of legends, traditions, and anecdotes, though each of these receive a goodly share

of the author's attention. It is all of these, in fact, and more; for, in addition to its picturesque descriptions, its curious bits of historical learning, its rehabilitations of old legends, traditions, anecdotes, etc., it presents vivid sketches of famous local personages, and of the pursuits, habits, and characteristic traits of the people of to-day. The portly volume, in short, is a sort of commonplace-book, classified by locality instead of by topics, into which a writer, who is at once an antiquarian, a student, a traveler, and an artist, has emptied the contents of his notebooks, memory, and sketch-book. The arrangement of the materials, moreover, harmonizes perfectly with their miscellaneous character; and a perusal of one of its chapters is like an actual ramble, without guide or chaperon, through an unfamiliar old townfull of surprises, of digressions, and of unexpected sights and experiences. The subject of one paragraph, affords no clew whatever to the character of the next, which is more likely than not to deal with a wholly different matter. A crumbling fort, a shapeless heap of stones, an old well, or a weatherbeaten house, will furnish the text for a curi

a

ously-interesting historical sketch; a tombstone or a family name will recall some famous exploit of "the brave days of old;" jutting headland, or cape, or island, leads us off into nice speculations on the topography of the early voyages of Captain John Smith, of Champlain, of Cartier, or De Monts; a light-house or a ragged reef suggests some thrilling story of shipwreck and storm; and a fisherman's wherry floats us off into a description of the methods of catching, curing, and marketing fish. All this is told in a deliberately unmethodical way; but the reader finds, nevertheless, that when he has finished the chapter on Marblehead, for example, he knows the famous old town as he never knew it before.

The nooks and corners to which Mr. Drake invites us are not, as might be supposed, out-of-the-way or little-known spots, but places the names of which at least are very familiar. Beginning with Mount Desert, which, by-the-way, he describes in its winter aspect, he drops down successively to Castine, Pemaquid Point, Monhegan Island, Wells Beach, Kittery Point, the Isles of Shoals,

* Nooks and Corners of the New England Coast. By Samuel Adams Drake. With Numerous Illustrations. New York: Harper & Brothers.

Newcastle, Salem, Marblehead, Plymouth, Provincetown, Nantucket, Newport, New London, Norwich, and Saybrook. Though he has a keen eye for the picturesque, and describes the natural attractions of the several places with exceptional spirit, Mr. Drake is evidently in search not so much of geographical byways as of what is quaint and interesting in its historical, architectural, or personal aspects; and, of course, such a search would lead him naturally to those famous old towns on the New England coast which contain almost all of antiquarian interest that America has to show, and the main attraction of which lies in the past rather than in the actual pres

ent.

Whether the reader will draw a sufficient

ly favorable inference from what we have said above seems doubtful, so we will say pointedly that we have found the book a very charming one. A pleasanter volume, indeed, to carry along on a summer's jaunt it would be difficult to name, for it does not demand continuous reading, and may be dipped into at any point with the certainty of finding something both to instruct and amuse. As for those who contemplate a visit to any of the places discribed, it should be regarded as an indispensable item of their luggage.

The illustrations are profuse, numbering upward of three hundred, and are notably good. There are maps, too, and charts which will prove useful to the tourist.

Or all the attempts made in recent years to popularize science, or rather the knowl edge which science has brought to light, a little volume entitled "The Childhood of Religions," by Edward Clodd, F. R. A. S. (New York: D. Appleton & Co.), is one of the most successful. Its object, indeed, is not merely to popularize the information which it imparts, but to present it in such simple and elementary form, and in such pleasing guise, that it will take hold upon the mind of chil dren. There is urgent need of such treatises; for science will never secure its due bold upon the thought and feelings of mankind until the new light which it throws upon the things that are usually taught to children is brought before them at the same time, and children will never acquire this knowledge unless it is made at least as attractive to them as other forms of knowledge. Most of the efforts hitherto made to provide these have failed, either through lack on the part of the writers of perfect mastery of their subject, or from their inability to meet the! peculiar intellectual demands of the young: and we do not recall another instance thar Mr. Clodd's where perfect success has beer achieved. The qualifications which Mr. Clod brings to the task are an abounding knowl edge of the subject of which he treats, an of all subjects related to it, a wonderful apt tude for picking out the cardinal facts an grouping them in picturesque and strikin relations, and a singularly simple and cle but vivid and almost poetical style. Thoug treating of a subject as solemn as any th can engage the human mind, and treating in a serious and reverential spirit, "T Childhood of Religions," from the first pa to the last, is as charming as a fairy-tale,

fascinating as the myths and legends which form a large part of its subject-matter.

The book may be described in general terms as an account of man's advance from lower to higher stages of religious belief. This is its principal subject, but it also treats incidentally of the origin of man, of his early history, of the teaching of astronomy and geology concerning long-past ages of the world, and of the contributions which the study of language has made to our knowledge of times. The standprehistoric point is that of a man who accepts the Christian faith and reverences the divine example which it holds up to the race, but who believes also that "it will give each of us, whose nature is made to trust, a larger trust in, and more loving thought of, Him to learn that our religion is one among many religions, and that nowhere is there an altogether godless race; " and that Christianity, "while beyond question the highest of all, takes a place not distinct from, but among all religions, past and present." As to the special contents of the volume, we cannot do better than adopt Mr. Clodd's summary, as given in his introductory address to the children:

"I think you will be interested in listening

to a few curions stories in which men of old have striven to account for the universe, how it all began to be and what keeps it going. Some of these stories have only come to light during the last few years, and this through the patient labors of learned scholars, who have found them buried in the sacred writings of certain religions of the East. We will then see what our men of science have learned from the story-book of Nature about the earth's history in the ages long, long ago, when as yet no man lived upon it-when no children, with eyes laughter-filled, made nosegays of its flowers, and ran after the jewels which they were .told lay sparkling where the rainbow touched the ground; but when God, ever working, never resting, since work and rest with Him are one, was fitting it to be the abode of life. "Following the same sure guides into that dim old past, we will learn a little of the mighty changes which, wrought by fire and water, have given to the earth's face its rugged, ragged outline, and also a little about the strange creatures that lived and struggled and died ages before God's highest creature, man, was placed here. Then, after telling how the earliest races of men slowly covered large parts of the earth, the way will be clear for an account of the great parent-nation, whose many children have spread themselves over nearly the whole of Europe, over large portions of Asia, and, since its discovery by Columbus, of America. We will learn something about the life these forefathers lived while together in one home, the language they spake, the thoughts that filled their breasts, and how those thoughts live on among us and other peoples in many shapes, both weird aud winsome. For I expect it will be news to some of you that the dear old tales which come nowadays bound in green-and-gold and full if fine pictures, such as 'Cinderella,' 'SnowWhite and Rosy-Red,' 'Beauty and the Beast,' are older than any school-histories, nd were told, of course in somewhat different orm, by fathers and mothers to their children housands of years ago in Asia, when Europe was covered with thick forests, amid which mge wild beasts wandered.

"Lastly, though by no means the least, we

will open some of the sacred books of India, Persia, China, Arabia, and other lands, to see for ourselves what the wisest and best of the ancients have thought about this wondrous life and what is to come after it. For thought rules the world. It makes no noise, but lives on and reigns when all the bustling and the shouting that seemed to stifle it are hushed, and while the great works which it guided the hand of man to do have perished, or remain to tell of pomp and glory gone forever, it is with us in the words of wisdom that'shall not pass away,' and to which we do well to give heed."

It is only fair, perhaps, to say that the book departs widely in its teachings from the orthodox standard; but its conclusions are founded on the sure rock of science, and it contains no word which will not deepen and strengthen that spirit of trust and reverence in which all true religion must find its root.

or

"THE FRENCH AT HOME," by Albert Rhodes but lively and entertaining little book, shrewd (New York: Dodd & Mead), is a very slight, and incisive in its judgments, but not too analytic, and written with a truly French vivacity of style. Mr. Rhodes's long residence in Paris, in connection with our consular and diplomatic service, has given him unusual opportunities of studying Frenchmen rather Parisians, for the Parisian forms a type quite distinct from the provincial population -in all their social phases, and he has evidently found instruction as well as amusement in the study. Like all foreigners, too, who have come to know the French intimately, he has learned to admire and respectnay, almost to love them, in spite of their characteristic follies and weaknesses, which, nevertheless, he points out with much humor and a good deal of insight. One of the most curious of these follies, in view of the national contempt and traditional hatred of John Bull, is the recently-developed fashion among the Parisian jeunesse dorée of aping English manners, costume, and taste:

"The central point of interest," says Mr. Rhodes, "of the young men who make pretensions to elegance is the Jockey Club, where one of the requisites of membership is a certain income. Imitation of Englishmen is in

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knowledge of the language, and turns off several words with expansion, becomes bankrupt, and goes into liquidation in his own tongue. The young men set in Fashion's mould are generally garbed in the English cut, a trifle modified where the lines are hard-a natural result of their finer sense of art. They are an improvement in manner, if not in dress, on their neighbors across the Channel. In affecting English ways, which came in with the horse-race, they have, however, lost some of their good-breeding as compared with their seniors who are passing away. There is a suavity about the elders which they do not possess."

The politeness of Frenchmen, which seems to be a truly national trait, extending to the very lowest classes of society, Mr. Rhodes never tires of dwelling upon; and, unlike most foreign critics, he does not consider it mere affectation and formality, but as the outcome of pure good-nature and a genuine desire to please. Vanity, no doubt, has a good deal to do with it, but it is that harmless sort of vanity that comes from the consciousness of having made a pleasant impression upon others:

"In comparison with the rude covering with which the Briton clothes his acts, the pliant grace and kindly solicitude of the Gaul in presence of his fellow-men compel admiration. Yet, if one could read the heart of this Briton, it would, perhaps, be found that his sentiments of humanity are deeper than those of his neighbor. The rudest husk sometimes covers the sweetest kernel. When the Gaul performs a gallant act, he extracts all the honey that is to be gotten out of it. If he gives up his seat to a woman, he takes off his hat, and points to the vacant place as if he were surrendering an empire and inviting a queen to enthrone herself thereon. If he hoists her umbrella, it is as if he were spreading out the canopy of heaven over her head. If he picks up a fallen glove, he offers it to the owner as if he were placing his sword and honor at her disposal for the rest of his life. If he quits her at the foot of a stairway, he looks after her as a chamberlain of the court might do when her majesty mounts the throne. And in each instance the woman meets him half-way in grace and affability. All this makes him happy. The consciousness of having conducted himself as a chevalier without reproach, the

on the heart of her whom he has thus encountered, and the recollection of her enticing manner, bring ripples of pleasure across his mind whenever the scene recurs to him."

Those who desire an elaborate description or philosophical analysis of French character and society will hardly be satisfied with Mr. Rhodes's little book, which is no more than a series of sketches on three or four salient topics; but such readers as wish to get in a couple of hours' time a reasonably clear idea of Parisian habits, customs, manners, amusements, and modes of life in public and in private, will find it just to their liking.

vogue in this society, and it is an interesting probability of having produced an impression spectacle to see one of these young men affecting his ways. In public he discards his nourishing and toothsome bordeaux for pale ale at dinner, and washes down his cold beef with decoctions of weak tea at breakfast. He has been educated to take tea only in case of sickness, and when he declares a preference for it the truth of his statement may reasonably be doubted. He cannot acquire the English language in spite of fits of assiduity in that direction, but learns a few words considered indispensable to every member of his circle. He pities him who says club (French sound of u), which he ostentatiously pronounces kleub. He may achieve beef, but in moments of forgetfulness he says bif. To shake hands is considered an English custom, and he frequently joins the word shek-and to the action. He is responsible for several ill-assorted marriages between English and French words, such as boule-dog and black-bouler, and is the author of such hideous hybrids as dogue-car and mondesportique. On meeting an American or an Englishman, he makes a heavy draft on his

The volume is tastefully gotten up in the popular Saunterer style, and contains about thirty woodcuts, large and small, which are fearfully and wonderfully bad-so bad that one can hardly help speculating on the reason for which they were put in, since scarcely one in five has any relevancy whatever to the text.