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mon which I heard the reverend gentleman preach, when, a school-boy, I lived in his neighborhood.

"I published the 'Sermon' in one of the English periodicals of the time. In 1850, making a collection of my magazine articles (in three volumes, entitled 'Mornings at Matdock,' and published by H. Colburn, London), I included the 'Sermon.' In 1854 I agaiu put it into one of my books ('Bits of Blarney,' published by Redfield, New York), and it ocupies seven pages (288-290) in the volume in question.

"The Rev. Francis Mahony, the veritable author of the 'Prout Papers,' was pleased, more than once, to compliment me on the Sermon' in question. I desire to claim it as hr my own original composition, and shall comnuuicate this claim to the press of Cork, my own early home. Yours truly,

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"R. SHELTON MACKENZIE. "PHILADELPHIA, October 9, 1875.”

THE savage and atrocious murder of poor, ittle Josie Langmaid, in New Hampshire, has made every one shudder, not alone at the barbarous cruelty of the crime, but also at the apparent immunity with which it was committed. It adds one more to a long list of unknown murderers, and leaves the public nind in any thing but a state of security or confidence in the existing system of detecion. The old maxim that "murder will "out" is beginning to have too many excepions, it would seem, to prove the rule. The nurders of Mr. Nathan, of the Joyce children, of Kate Leehan, and Bridget Landregan, of Abijah Ellis, and numerous others, come to nind to recall to us how many assassins still valk abroad free in the light of day, unsusected, or, at least, unconvicted. In our inlignant haste, however, we are too prone to verlook the fact that these cases are really xceptional, though alarmingly numerous. gaking all the homicides which occur, only a ery small proportion of the perpetrators espape justice altogether. It is perhaps better hat they should elude the law entirely than that, being taken, they should, owing to the evices of counsel, and undue influences Which are sometimes found to environ courts f justice, be taken only to receive a punishent conspicuously inadequate to the enority of their crime. Nor need we indulge in elf-depreciatory vaporings to the effect that Be are a more lawless and less protected ommunity than others. At the moment, inreed, that we have been thrilled by the Pemroke tragedy, London has been shocked by le accidental discovery of a most foul murwhich, having been committed a year go, has only just now come to light. The olish fears of the alleged assassin lest an xamination, for another purpose, of the ouse where his victim lay buried, should reeal his guilt, caused him to do an act which, this late day, exposed it. Harriet Lane as undoubtedly done to death in September f last year, in the most crowded district of

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London, and in a warehouse constantly vis

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state is empowered to appropriate private

it, and then only upon due compensation. The limitation of copyright is the destruction of the property-value of a book after a

certain period, and hence, according to the argument of Mr. Drone, is a violation of a fundamental principle of law. We have not the space to follow Mr. Drone through all his arguments; we can only say that he seems to us to have completely established his propositions.

ited by all sorts of people; her disappear-property when the public necessity requires
remarked by her family and
friends; she was known to be intimate with
the man Wainright, and to have been an-
noying him with her jealousy, and importu-
nities for money. Yet the London police,
which is reformed every year or two, and is
maintained at a very heavy expense to rate-
payers, do not seem to have stumbled any-
where near to a clew of the dark deed. The
fate of Harriet Lane, too, is no more an iso-
lated case than is that of Josie Langmaid.
For years London has been the scene of mur-
ders quite equal to either in atrocity, and, it
may be added, in mystery. The tragedies of
the New Road and Great Coram Street, and
of the two young girls who were found in the
Regent's Canal within a few months of each
other, and whose very names could not be
discovered, not to speak of the people taken,
at frequent intervals, out of the Thames,
show that the English have even more cause
than we to complain of the insecurity of life,
and the inefficiency of the police.

IN striking contrast to the tumultuous rhetoric of Mr. Charles Reade's letters on copyright is the dispassionate, convincing, and judicial paper, by Mr. E. S. Drone, on this subject, in the American Law Review for October. Mr. Drone's paper is an examination into the origin and nature of literary property, connected with an inquiry as to whether the right in this kind of property is perpetual. His article covers this ground very thoroughly, and seems to us fairly conclusive in its arguments. It shows histori. cally that literary property at one time enjoyed in England the protection of the common law of property; and it demonstrates how, according to the fundamental principles of legal equity, it is entitled to this protection. The right of property in a manuscript is always conceded; but it is claimed, and has so been decided by the English courts, that a publication of a manuscript destroys this right. Mr. Drone contests this closely, showing that the loss of the right could only occur by abandonment or by contract-that abandonment must be proved by intention, and that it is evident on the face that the sale of a book is a contract to part with the corporeal and not the incorporeal element of the work. We recently advanced in the JOURNAL a similar argument to the latter, showing that by the very nature of the purchase a book-buyer could not obtain more than that which the purchase-money involved would in equity cover. The use of the intellectual contents of the book is sold, and not the right to multiply the same. As to whether the right in literary property may be destroyed by the legislature, Mr. Drone shows that the

DISARMAMENT seems to have become a problem for speculative statesmen and eloquently-unpractical peace congresses to exercise the ingenuity of their faculties upon. England just now proclaims to the world that she has produced the most monstrous gun yet. The Fraser cannon, we are told, has a weight of eighty-one tons, and has already been tested with a charge of two hundred and forty pounds. More than this, the inventive and destructive Fraser hastens to demonstrate that it is perfectly easy to make guns of double the size and power of this enormous engine-guns which will "throw a ton of metal at every shot." Perhaps in the next war we shall hear of whole towns being blown to atoms at a single burst of the bellowing brass. Of course Germany, and France, and Russia, will hasten to cultivate Mr. Fraser's acquaintance, and to avail themselves of his colossal constructive powers. It is a very serious commentary on the pres ent state and temper of Europe that he who can invent a new implement of war has the best chance of wealth and fame. When, as it is said, even civilized and commercial England is exultingly testing an engine, a single charge of which consists of a bag of powder with grains an inch and a half square, the bulk being as large as a good-sized pig, it is much to be feared that the era of peace is afar off.

IN September of every year a grotesque scene may be witnessed in the "Halles Centrales," or great markets of Paris. A monster pumpkin, decorated with a crown of pasteboard and tinsel, and borne upon a board which serves for a throne, is carried in state through the airy corridors and along the wide outer pavements. The marketpeople gather around, and pay obeisance to the royal vegetable, and afterward King Pumpkin is mercilessly dissected, sold in slices at auction, and made into succulent soup which is eaten amid much Gallic merriment and persiflage. Do the Paris marketpeople merely mean this as a funny festival, or are they consciously ironical in this crowning the dullest and thickest-pated of the vegetable kingdom? A rude epithet

validity in figurative language as a test to apply to literature. A whole literature has never hitherto been viewed from the stand-point of epigrams, or adjectives, or the Shakespeare Society's new syllable-counting test, any more than from that of figurative language; so it is plain that, even yet, the number of possible

is current in some Yankee rural districts, designating a dullard as a “pumpkin-head." Is the festival of "King Potiron" intended to satirize mankind, who so often crown the pumpkins of the species, making dignified dullness a mayor, a governor, nay, even a king? Then King Potiron becomes the vic-view-points is not exhausted. The test, in, tim and food of his satellites; ana, even so, does not the official pumpkin, more readily than another, allow his adherents to fatten on him? It may be accidental, but the market-festival certainly has a significance and symbolism not peculiarly flattering to humanity.

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 late 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 inventiye 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 illustrative 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 bio

graphical 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 upou young men cannot but be stimulating and wholesome; for, after all, as Dr. Johnson says, the first step is to read. Criticism aud 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

I

eral chapters of which it is composed appeared originally in the New Quarterly Maga zine, 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 litera ture," as the author puts it. It is not withs out its attractions, however, and Mr. La touche's own experiences prove that a lei surely 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 val leys; nevertheless, there is a sort of subdued に 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 habits and cus toms. 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, elers should be cautious how they praise any scenery at all."

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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 of Portugal, its show-places and "sights," and the best manner of "doing" the coun try, 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 brice brac 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, deli cately discriminating, and true bit of writing and if the inferences concerning the unhap piness of Lamb's life seem rather more som bre than the facts recorded in the book pear to justify, yet no one will deny that, a whole, the sketch is one of the worthies tributes that has ever been paid to the geni and character of the "C gentle Elia." Ver good, too, if somewhat briefer, is the sket of Hazlitt; and, altogether, before he ge through with the book, one is inclined to b sorry that it is not all preface.

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to which Mr. Stoddard usually goes for bis 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 reminiscences 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 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 ikely to be enhanced by his reminiscences, ven in the condensed and doubtless improved form in which they appear in Mr. Stoddard's book. They are pretentious and laborate, but singularly deficient in flavor; nd his work as it originally stood in three olumes must have been a curious illustraion of how little really personal and objecive description a wordy writer could put into work of the kind and yet have it pass mus

er.

To bring our notice to a conclusion, we ay say that, as Mr. Stoddard fashions it, the book is not dull—it is, in fact, an imrovement upon some of the late bric-a-brac olumes; for poor biography is, on the whole, referable to poor anecdotes and jokes, and amb, Hazlitt, Campbell, and Lady Blessingon, are sufficiently interesting persons to ake us glad to get even a small accession our knowledge of them.

The illustrations include portraits of Lamb, f Hazlitt, of Campbell, and of Lady Blessingm; and a fac-simile reproduction of an inresting autograph letter of Lamb's to WilAm Hone.

"THE MECHANIO'S FRIEND" (New York: Van Nostrand) is a book the character d scope of which are concisely and fully incated in the title, where it is described as A Collection of Receipts and Practical ggestions relating to the Metric System, scellaneous Tools, Instruments and Prosses, Cements and Glues, Varnishes and cquers, Solders and Metal-Working, Steamgines, Railways and Locomotives, Firems, Horology, Glass, Wood Working, use and Garden, Drawing and Moulding, otography, Musical Instruments, Taxider Plant-Preserving, Aquaria, Miscellaneous emical Processes and Compositions, LightDyes, Water-proofing, Gilding and BronzPyrotechny, Electricity, Magnetism, and egraphy." The numerous articles of ch it consists were selected by Mr. W. E. Axon, M. R. S. L., from the English MeRic,"

a well-known periodical, in whose es lovers of science, practical mechanics, mists, photographers, etc., etc., have for rs past been in the habit of affording muhelp to each other." Hence almost ty item of information in the volume is a tion of a difficulty experienced by one on, by another who has already met and rcome it; and this fact will stamp the k with a practical value in the eyes of e who know "how much more impor

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

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

"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 typi cal 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

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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."

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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 basty 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 information" on the subject. The periodical purpose of giving the public every possible is entitled '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

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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 Brontë," 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 66 crackle" 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.

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 AIhambra. 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, 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 Marti-
netti. The other is "Offering the Bridal-
Wreath ""
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 libra-
ry, many of which are also pictures" of the
stock in trade" of Martinetti himself, con-
sisting 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. A
young man, a fellow-student, stands in the
doorway, and is aiding them in their sport.

The painting of this picture is very clever
in the yellow curtain through whose trans-
parent material the light strikes softly. It is
very good in the drapery of the women, in
the mahogany bookcase, and the delicate em-
broidery 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 pict-
ure, evidently entirely made up from models
and the paraphernalia of a studio, is a very
careful and nice bit of work.

The other picture, "Offering the Bridal-Wreath," is different in motive and treatment. Also 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 ber 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 daylight 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 strik ing 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 up ward, covering the sky with their murky forms to the zenith. The most striking feat ure 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 effe tive in the highest degree.

The general tone of the work is impre sive, but, unfortunately, its force is all in vested in the sky. The landscape in the foreground is richly colored and harmoni

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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 lead calm may have succeeded the storm,

out the snap and sparkle which belong to Nature after a heavy rainfall are not lost at unset, by any means, and this incident Mr. burch has failed to secure. The foliage is teavy with paint, and not moisture, and the water of the river is as solid and unyielding s a stream of molten copper. In the handing of this work it is evident that the skyffect was the motive aimed at, and the landcape a matter of secondary consideration. his is unfortunate, as there is a pleasant marmony between the two extremes, and with moderate degree of study they might be rought together so as to form a picture as eautiful in expression as it is impressive in entiment. The picture is on exhibition at doapil's.

AMONG the notable new buildings in the dity is Chickering Hall at the corner of ifth Avenue and Eighteenth Street. It covirs a space fifty or sixty feet wide on the venue, and runs back on Eighteenth Street he entire depth of the lot. Built of red rick, it is divided into two very high stories the outside, which are as lofty as four or re stories of the adjoining buildings. The ont entrance sets between two large and igh windows, one on either side of the door, ad above these three other windows with und tops form the front of the edifice. ark and highly polished granite pillars aced flat against the outer wall support the trance, and in the second story a pair of milar pillars between the windows support e end of the round arches which form their ps. Several large, square blocks of the

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me polished material make a rich ornament the plain spacings of this wall. Above

e arches of the upper windows, as we have

ewhere remarked, the space is filled solidly English tiles of buff and light neutral lors in diaper patterns, and the roof, which pyramidal, is guarded by an iron parapet. On Eighteenth Street the line is broken large windows in the lower story, and this ry is much lower than the one above it, th in front and on the sides. The second ry on this street is a blank wall set off o arched spaces similar to those occupied the windows in front; and these in their n are separated by granite pillars, while ove them is the same diapered tile-work. e inside of Chickering Hall is not yet npleted, but externally it will long form of the most striking edifices of Fifth

enue. The great arches of the windows of this lding, like those in the Lenox Library and the new railway-station at Worcester, are most interesting and positive feature. plicity of form, combined with size, has a aderful power in making any architectural m impressive. The relation of big forms neighboring little ones has great effect on 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 balf as large whose many openings in relation to these look like portholes of a ship.

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ly 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.

66 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?"

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

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

"Bravo!" oried 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:

(6 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.

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