Robinson," which he naïvely lets us see he regards as an improvement upon the originals; and not less so of his increasing diffuseness of style that the work should expand into a trilogy, which has to be published and read in installments. "Dropped from the Clouds " (New York: Scribner, Armstrong & Co.) is the first part of this trilogy, the general title of which is "The Mysterious Island." It narrates the opening adventures of five castaways, who escaped from Richmond in a balloon during the last month of the siege, and were blown by a terrific storm some seven thousand miles in a southeasterly direction, and finally dropped upon an unknown island in the middle of the Pacific Ocean. In order to lighten the balloon as much as possible during the last hours of its fearful voyage, when it threatened every moment to plunge them into the sea, they had thrown out every thing except the clothes on their backs, not retaining so much as a pocket-knife; and M. Verne regards the state of utter destitution in which they consequently began their life on the island as a great advance in point of difficulty upon that of the Robinsons, "who had miracles worked in their favor," and that of Crusoe, who obtained so many indispensable articles from the wrecked ship. He overlooks the fact that a group of men comprising Cyrus Harding, who had all the resources of science at his command and could manufacture nitro-glycerine from iron-ore and seal-blubber; young Herbert, well informed in all matters relating to natural history; Gideon Spilett, a skillful sportsman and laborious worker in any field; Pencroft, a sailor proficient in all the practical arts of life; and Neb, an admirably-trained servantof-all-work, were in reality possessed of advantages to which the few poor weapons and utensils accorded to Crusoe and the Robinsons were as nothing. The axiom that knowledge is power is not less true in a desert island than in the most advanced centre of civilization; and to Cyrus Harding and his companions the solution of M. Verne's problem" from nothing, to produce every thing"-could require but two factors, work and time.

While it is absurd, however, for M. Verne to place his production beside Defoe's, it is plain, even from this preliminary installment, that "The Mysterious Island" is a highly-interesting and suggestive book. If not quite his best, it is among his best works; at least it is of very different quality from the machine-made stuff with which he has lately been supplying the publishers at the rate of a volume or so a month. The chief drawback to its thorough success is that we never for a moment attain to the slightest faith in the reality of the castaways or their adventures. Character-drawing has never been Verne's strong point; and here Cyrus Harding and the rest are simply the dummies through whose aid a lecturer on science works out striking experiments before the eyes of an admiring audience. Our interest throughout is not as to what will befall the castaways on the morrow, but what new and ingeniously difficult obstacle M. Verne will next set himself to overcome.

Mr. Kingston's translation is far from

THE Conspicuous success of "Little Classics" and the "Bric à - Brac Series" has given a new impetus to literary gleaning, and we may expect for some time to be confronted with prose and poetical collections more or less novel in design. The "Treas. ure-Trove Series" (Boston: W. F. Gill & Co.) is quite evidently modeled on the "Little Classics," and it is to be judged by the same standard. Of course, Mr. Johnson's selections did not exhaust the good things stored away in English literature, and Mr. W. S. Walsh, the compiler of "Treasure - Trove," will find no difficulty in filling his ten similar volumes; so that those readers who like to have all their plums picked out for them can take both series without encountering much deterioration in the quality of the pudding. In the three volumes of "Treasure-Trove " already published" Burlesque," "Travesty," and "Story "'—we find, among numerous other papers, Dickens's "Noble Savage" and "Dr. Marigold," Lamb's "Mrs. Battle's Opinion on Cards," Hood's "Parish Revolution," Mark Twain's Encounter with an Interviewer," Irving's "Golden Age of New York," Thackeray's "George de Barnwell" and "The Painter's Bargain," Macaulay's "Prophetic Account of a Future Epic," Bret Harte's "Mr. John Jenkins," Trollope's "The O'Conors," William Black's "Fight for a Wife," and N. P. Willis's "Widow by Brevet." It is evident from this illustrative list that few of the selections are treasure-trove in the sense of being now for the first time introduced to the reading public; but it may be said that what is new is good and what is already familiar is of a kind which none of us are sorry to re-read. ·

The style of the series is neat and handy, but the volumes so far are not such dainty specimens of tasteful book-making as were those of the "Little Classics" series.

THAT the countrymen of La Fontaine still retain their faculty of sympathetic insight into animal character is proved very clearly by Michelet's charming books on birds, insects, etc., and not less by M. Emile Achard's "History of my Friends, or Home-Life with Animals," a translation of which has just been published by Messrs. G. P. Putnam's Sons (New York). This latter contains the history, or rather the biography, of some animals whom the author considers it an honor to have known in life and who thought him worthy of their friendship-comprising several dogs, cats, and horses, a monkey, an ostrich, a gazelle, a mule, a bear, a rabbit,

a swallow, an American lion (puma), a par. rot, and a goat. The stories have the common fault of assigning human motives for animal actions, and some of them are rather sentimental in tone; but they exhibit a genuine love of animals, a keen faculty of observation, and a sly humor which is continually giving opportunity for a smile in the most unexpected connections. They will delight children, for whom they were specially writ ten; but they will also prove hardly less enjoyable to such grown-up readers as really sympathize with studies of animal character. Being French, it is perhaps unnecessary to say that the manner of telling is inimitable, and that they are as different as possible from the common and commonplace anecdotes about animals.

The translation is notably good; and the pictures, of which there are a dozen, are artistic in design and skillfully engraved.

A NEW German romance, entitled "GeierWally," by Wilhelmine von Hillern, has won the approbation of Auerbach, who pronounces it the best short story in modern German literature. Cornhill for November gives a long article to the story under the title of "A Germian Peasant Romance," praising it very highly. "Its subject," says Cornhill, "is the development of a girlish nature of singular impetuosity, and of intense self-reliance, reared amid the obdurate circumstances, natural and social, of a Tyrolese valley. The few but terrible energetic impulses which lie at the root of this girl's character are conceived and worked out with a fine imagination and splendid graphic powers. For its half-musical expression of the deepest currents of sorrow this story may be compared with the most exquisite lyric poems. At the same time it displays a power-not too common among Germans-of narrating external incidents, and of depicting the reciprocal actions of men and women, which suggests that the writer might almost as easily have composed a deeply - stirring drama. Unless we are greatly mistaken, this romance, with its portraiture of dark, fitful, and almost weird feeling, which is at the same time always genuinely human, its narration of flashing and thrilling events, and its descriptions of the many fancy-stirring phases of Alpine scenery, will permanently hold a high place among the best fiction of the day." A translation of this work has just appeared from the press of D. Appleton & Co.

MR. SWINBURNE has been writing a review of Auguste Vacquerie's new work of political subject matter, "Aujourd'hui et Demain." The reviewer takes up, in a bantering spirit, the Platonic theme of the incompetence of poets to handle any practical or national ques tion (Vacquerie being himself a powerful dramatic and lyrical poet), and suggests that, the bad politicians are actually or potentially the good poets, the prospects of poetry at the present day ought to be flourishing indeed.

A CORRESPONDENT of the Athenæum writes as follows concerning the use of the word rather: "Some critics object to such phrases asThat is rather a droll remark,' and would have us say, 'That is a rather droll remark.' They are wrong. In the above sentence, rather is not attached (adverbially) to the adjec tive droll, but to the verb is. Rather, of course. means sooner, and such a sentence as 'I am rather tired' means, in point of fact, I am

rather tired than not tired;' that is, I am in such a state that one would sooner say that I am tired than that I am not tired;' just as That book is rather stupid than mischievous' means That book is such that one would sooner say that it is stupid than that it is mischievous.' It is easy to see, therefore, that That is rather a droll remark' is correct, and that the expanded meaning of the elliptical sentence is, One would sooner say that that is a droll remark than that it is not a droll remark.'

THE Academy thinks well of Mr. Longfellow's new volume, especially the sonnets. Of the two on Chaucer and Keats it says: "It may seem strained praise to say that they affect one with the charm of Keats, but we really can recall no other verse that has a magic so like the magic of that poet."

AT

The Arts.

TASTE for china has been common to all times, for it is recorded in Chinese unnals that centuries ago a bit of antique porcelain sold for as much as it will bring today; and we read in the Spectator that a century and a half ago the passion for old china was as great in England as it is now. In one of the Spectator's essays we read the statement of a correspondent who says: Every room of my house is furnished with trophies of her " (his wife's)" eloquence; rich cabinets, piles of china, Japan screens, and costly jars; and, if you were to come into my great parlor, you would fancy yourself in an India warehouse." In another paper Addison says that no mansion possessing the least claim to fashion, or even to superiority, was considered furnished without a vast accumulation of china of grotesque appearance, "loves of monsters," and in great measure useless in its form, ranged over doors, windows, etc. And further on in his admirable satire in "The Lover" he writes: "There is no inclination in women that more surprises me than this passion for china. When a woman is visited with it, it generally takes possession of her for life." In a recent visit to Tiffany's we were much interested in many new and fine specimens of pottery and porcelain from the manufactory of Copeland, in Staffordshire, England, in various pieces of splendid Royal Worcester ware, in Minton ware, and in many other miscellaneous articles. English pottery at the present time is a subject of unusual attention, and the novel designs upon it attest from year to year the progress of artistic taste-a taste which has the credit of being developed in a large degree by the South Kensington Museum. But, besides these novel designs, to a person curious in such matters, Copeland's wares have an historical interest in connecting the present manufacture of china with the old and wellknown articles of Wedgwood ware, and with Spode's manufactures, of whom Copeland is the successor.

At Tiffany's porcelain-rooms may be found some articles very beautiful, reproducing patterns famous for many years. Walking along one of the passages between immense piles of china, the eye of the visitor is attracted by a tall pottery-jar covered with

arabesque figures of cobalt blue, green, saffron, and sulphur-yellow, painted in a raised or sunken surface that is highly glazed. The vase stands about four feet high, and is quite large in diameter. On inquiry, we are told that this is from Copeland's factory, and is an excellent copy of the famous "Alhambra Vase," the original of which is somewhere in Spain.

A little farther on and we come to a glass case in which are exhibited cups and saucers, vases and plates. The cups are small and delicate in form, and have a double wall, the inner one being white and smooth, and the outer, with a little space between it and the inner one, is perforated almost with the fineness of lace-work. This perforation, which is imitated from Chinese and Japanese manufactures, is so perfect that the curiosity is excited how so brittle a material could have been so nicely manipulated. It is covered with little rows of slightly-raised spots that closely resemble seed-pearls. Other parts

of the cup are covered with rows of small turquoise imitations of that stone, and other imitations of different precious stones and of gold filigree make the name of "jewel china" a fit appellation for this sort of exquisite manufacture.

With the name of Wedgwood is connected blue, sage-green, and light-purple pottery without glaze, ornamented with classical and other designs to look like cameos. By this ware Wedgwood has been most distinguished, and persons unacquainted with the history of pottery are not aware that Wedg. wood derived reputation from various other styles of china. About 1760, by experiments of various kinds, he had so far improved on an old kind of yellowish-white, shiny pottery that he presented some specimens of it to Queen Charlotte, who thereupon appointed him her potter, and from that time this white, creamcolored ware was known as "queen's ware." This article of art manufacture has now passed into the hands of Copeland, and among the various kinds of his interesting specimens at Tiffany's is a beautiful square vase, polished as the bass-reliefs of Della Robbia, with a little Cupid at each of the four corners of the vase. These Cupids bear in their hands a garland of various colored flowers, which hangs suspended around the sides of this fine jar. This is an imitation, or rather a continuation, of the "queen's ware," and a person interested in the subject will get at Tiffany's a perfect idea of this old and famous variety of pottery.

Elsewhere the visitor is shown a tea and dinner service, a revival by Copeland of the old "willow" pattern. This pottery-it is too opaque for porcelain-has only been represented in America till now by stray dinnerplates or odd cups in our mother's and grandmother's pantry. Now, however, the fancy for it has revived, and every china-shop in London shows among its stock this dark-blue imitation of Chinese stone-ware. Of the many and exquisite varieties of Minton china at Tiffany's, we shall like to speak in a future number of the JOURNAL, as well as of the characteristic representation of Sèvres and other French porcelain: suffice it now for us to say that one may see at Tiffany's all the different styles of work, and may trace from

one kind to another, and in the works of ditferent countries, the chain of thought that has made one manufacture act and react up. on another. Here are French, German, and English imitations of Chinese or Japanese decoration and material; and these designs are variously reproduced, but not always exactly imitated, by European artists, who recognize the need of slight modifications to satisfy the wants or the tastes of their own people.

MR. C. WOOD PERRY has returned to New York for the winter, bringing with him numerous careful studies made during his summer sojourn. They consist chiefly of interiors of country farm-houses and barns, which af ford a good setting for the rural idyls which Mr. Perry is so fond of relating through his paint-brush. A finished painting represents a country girl sitting before an open window of a summer afternoon. Mr. Perry has used in this picture his favorite model of the auburn-haired blonde, who is familiar to the public in several of his works. In the picture before us this plump, blond maiden appears in a blue gown, with its sleeves rolled up above her fair, round arms, which are crossed before her on a carefully-scrubbed deal table. Behind her the open door of the kitchen-closet shows blue delft-ware, shining in the afternoon sunlight. An old open fireplace toward the right of the picture discloses its brickwork, burnt white in some spots, and in others with the edges of the bricks crumbled and broken. A red facing of painted boards surrounds this fireplace, and, to any person familiar with similar inte. riors, its seamed and worn appearance re calls the scrubbings of thrifty and clean coun try housewives.

Such is the interior of a room whose every portion is filled with clear and simple daylight, and through which strays a long ray of summer sunshine, that mottles the red boards of the fireplace and brings into relief the face and bust of the farmer's blond daugh. ter. She sits happy and still, and the reason is cleverly suggested by the bluish shadow of a man's head and cap thrown upon the white paling outside the window, the man himself being invisible. But the bright, pleased expression of the young woman, as well as the shadow on the wall, bears out the inference of his being near at hand. Mr. Perry has made a very happy use of this familiar trick of art composition, well known to us in Gérôme's painting of "The Crucifixion," where the three crosses are indicated only by their shadows.

Another painting of the same class shows the same girl mending a month's accumulation of socks and stockings, which are piled in a basket beside her; while in the window-frame near which she is sitting pots of nasturtiums, geraniums, and chrysanthemums, fill up the space with every bright hue. Other pictures of old men talking with each other in their door-yards, old women gossiping over their cups of tea, and a large study in a barn of a child parting with its pet bossycalf to a butcher, whose wagon-load of calves stands near at hand, form only a portion of the result of Mr. Perry's summer work.

To every painter with any æsthetic sense, we suppose the desire to try to reproduce the strictly regular and beautiful is a constant and ever-living temptation. To such persons the features of our national life, which are merely characteristic or of historical value as showing particular phases of our civilization, have not the attraction for realistic representation that regular - featured Italians, with their fine forms and rich costumes, obviously possess. But, considered in their relations to natural surroundings and to their contrasts of character and appearance among themselves, an imaginative person, with a perception for dramatic composition, finds sharp-elbowed Yankees, with their stern and worn faces, as susceptible of artistic representation in paint as Dickens's or Victor Hugo's characters are of graphic description in literary composition. No one, perhaps, has attracted more commendation of late years than Fortuny, but none of his characters, so far as we are aware, are strictly beautiful from the classical standard. Arms of old black men he makes thin and wizened, and their fingers and big joints rather resemble crows' claws than the hands or limbs of human beings. Even in his little boys or young women he does not aim at depicting conventional beauty, but rather strives to show the peculiar temperament through slender throats and little bony ribs, big joints, and spindling legs. But these queer figures of his are graceful or funny, or have an uncanny ugliness that touches deep down into the principles of life. Fortuny does not use these strange beings by way of contrast with strong and beautiful humanity. But moral or physical peculiarities are brought into antithesis in his paintings with scales of fine line or color, and with natural phenomena of animal or vegetable life, or with intricate light and shade. In art, if we must have ugly or uninteresting humanity, let us by all means contrast it with a fine distribution of lines and subtile ranges of color or light and shade. Painting, more than any of the arts, we think, has great advantage from its numerous ranges of purpose, which consist of the expression of human life, of line, and color, and chiaro-oscuro, either of which can be used as a support or contrast to the other. Beautiful forms appear more beautiful by beautiful colors in combination with them, or, on the other hand, they may impress us powerfully by a grotesque mixture of colors; while men and women may be so grouped as to afford fine lines of composition, or, as is so often the case with Fortuny, the grotesque shapes of the individual may be broken and subordinated by subtile effects of daylight or of shadow, so that, whether it be on seeing an old crow or a young child, the beholder is intoxicated with the imaginative perception of an artist skillful to subdue all forms and substance to his uses.

We may seem to have digressed far from the theme of Mr. Perry's pictures, but we think our remarks on Fortuny may serve to show somewhat the high artistic excellence of which such homely subjects as Mr. Perry chooses are susceptible. When we see these pictures of his so nicely adjusted in light and shade, so broad, so simple, and at the same

time so individual, we cannot doubt that he does wisely when he confines his art to this phase of life, and abandons the tempting but somewhat commonplace beauties of Venuses or Roman models.

GEORGE H. STORY, during his summer ramble, painted a large and picturesque landscape-view, with figures, which might be very aptly entitled "Contemplation." The scene represents a lofty point of view, with two young ladies on a jutting rock in silent admiration of a broad valley-landscape which spreads out at their feet. One of the girls, in a dark costume, is seated upon a mossy rock, while her companion, in white, stands near. It is an early-evening scene, and the valley is in shadow, but the sky is yet glowing with a tender and broadly-diffused effect of light; and this brilliant after-glow is strongly felt on the hill-side. The figures are gracefully posed, and the costumes are in harmony with the brown rocks and rich green verdure against which they are drawn. Since Mr. Story's return to his studio, he has retouched the picture and added greatly to its force. The subject is of a poetical tendency, and the sentiment which it embodies is expressed in the most charming manner. Among Mr. Story's small pictures is a study of a kitchen in a farm-house. It has a great open fireplace with a smouldering back-log, and standing with his back to the fire is a little boy. His hands are pressed against his red frock, behind his back, and he appears to be enjoying hugely the genial warmth of the fire. The subject is entitled "A Frosty Morning," and, to indicate the season of frosts, the hat of the boy is gayly decorated with bright-tinted autumn leaves. The subject is prettily composed and cleverly painted; and it tells an interesting story.

ELSEWHERE in this number of the JOURNAL a critical analysis of Mr. Booth's Hamlet is concluded. This article was written before Mr. Booth's appearance in the character of Richard II.; and the writer of that article, who therein so freely condemns certain features in Mr. Booth's acting, is desirous of saying here that he finds in his new part of Richard II. very much to praise and admire. Mr. Booth has recreated this part for the stage of to-day. It has not been acted here for forty years, and of course is unknown except as a closet-play to a great majority of theatre-goers. Edmund Kean acted the part, and so did Macready and the elder Booth, but only occasionally, for the genius of no actor has been enabled to make it a popular acting play. Mr. Edwin Booth never saw it acted; he had for guidance in this revival nothing beyond a few vague and uncertain traditions; and yet, solely by the force of his genius, he has created one of the grandest dramatic pictures the American stage has ever witnessed. It is difficult to see how this could have resulted, in view of the manifold imperfections in this actor's method elsewhere pointed out. It may be that the very fact of being thrown solely on his own resources, freed from traditions and the necessity of seeking after mere novelty, enabled Mr.

Booth to build up a consistent and effective personation; but, whatever the cause, to our mind, Richard II. evinces more careful study, a truer dramatic instinct, a firmer grasp, a larger imagination, than we have seen this popular actor show in any thing else. Some of the defects manifest in Hamlet and other of his personations exist here, of course-no man under any circumstances can get rid of his limitations and his characteristics; but in Richard II. there is a unity of design and domination of dramatic expression that throw faults of detail into the background. The level monotony of delivery and emphasis on unimportant words, to which Mr. Booth is prone, were evident; and yet nothing could be grander or finer than the delivery of some of the sentences. Richard's speeches are commonly long, involved, intricate; they shift from one passion to another with great celerity; they reflect in almost infinite variety of expression the infinite moods of this king, who unites lofty poetry with vacillating purpose, royal dignity with fretful passion, high philosophy with weak repining; and hence

these variable utterances tax the utmost skill of the actor. But out of these contrasts comes the actor's opportunity, and Mr. Booth showed that he knew how to avail himself of every suggestion of the pregnant text. Space will not now permit an analysis of this performance in detail; the writer can add no more than to say that it seemed to him majestic in form and vital in expression.

THE revival of "Caste" at Wallack's Theatre has been pressed upon public atten tion by the fact that the part of Eccles is acted by Mr. Honey, the representative of the character on the first production of the play in London. The judicious spectator will be prompted to ask whether Mr. Honey's personation of this character at Wallack's Theatre accords with that given by him to London audiences under the direction of the author of the play, Mr. Robertson. If so, he can but wonder that, contrary to their usual custom, the London theatre-goers should sanction a personation so lacking in delicacy and moderation. To our mind, Mr. Honey gives a gross and offensively-exaggerated pict ure of the character. Old Eccles is undoubt edly a drunken vagabond, but he is not so hopelessly the refuse of the gutter as Mr. Honey depicts him. All the actors we have seen in this character overdo it a little, but Mr. Honey renders this most delightful play almost unendurable by his vulgar antics, and injures the charming effects produced by Miss Dyas, Mr. Montague, and Mr. Stevenson.

LETTERS have been received at Berlin from the eminent anthropologist, Professor A. Bastian, who has been commissioned by the Imperial German Government to visit Central and Southern America, for the purpose of investigating the remains of art belonging to the Aztec period. Professor Bastian, after a short stay in Chili, had advanced into Peru, and prosecuted his investigations at Lima, and in the provinces north of the Liman territory; and when he wrote he was about to push forward to Ecuador and Colombia, intending, however, to devote some time to the careful exploration of the country round the lake of

Titicaca, where he anticipated reaping a rich harvest of ancient Mexican remains.

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"FINE- -ART loan exhibitions," says the Academy, are really becoming as plentiful as blackberries. If people do not learn some appreciation of art nowadays, even those living in out-of-the-way country places, it is their own fault; for, besides other advantages for acquiring it, undreamed of in former times, these small loan-exhibitions that are continually cropping up in different localities place the sight of good works of art within the reach of all classes, and can scarcely fail to have a sensible effect on the art culture of the neighborhood in which they are held."

THE

From Abroad.

OUR PARIS LETTER.

November 2, 1875. HE Revue Littéraire has recently reproduced, among its "Notes and Impressions," a curious paper discovered among the documents which were seized at the Tuileries after the flight of the empress. It is a list of the literary guests to have been invited to the official entertainment at the palace, drawn up by M. Walewski for the use of the fair and imperial hostess. After giving a list of presentable Academicians, M. Walewski mentions Octave Feuillet, " a distinguished dramatist." M. Joseph Autran is named as "a Provençal poet, a society man, and very wealthy." Without doubt he got an invitation. On the other hand, Louis Bouilhet is described as "a dramatist of much talent, excellent manners, very poor." Arsène Houssaye is described as

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very eccentric." Paul, de St.-Victor is denounced in no measured terms as 66 an ill-bred newspaper writer, who lives on very bad terms with his confrères." His name was decisively erased. The author of "Picciola" is " very honorable, very estimable, but very old." He was not invited.

Gustave Flaubert is recom

mended as 66 very brilliant." Théodore Barrière is a dramatist of much talent, wellbred, but too much of a Bohemian." As to Sardou, he is signalized as "a dramatist, possessing talent, but of an odd character, who leads a very irregular life, and is married to a milliner." In all probability, he got no invitation either.

A very interesting sale of objects from the royal palaces took place the other day in the old stables of the late emperor, near the Pont de l'Alma. Rarely has such a heterogeneous mass of articles been brought together. Side by side with innumerable single bedsteads in painted wood, which had been used for the servants, might be seen elegant arm-chairs in gilt wood elaborately carved, but tarnished and defaced, from which the coverings of Gobelin tapestry had been carefully removed to be placed upon new framework. There were Sedan chairs of the days of Louis XV. and Louis XVI.; huge carved bedsteads dating from the first empire; and a number of fire-screens, one of which, in silk, brocaded with gold, was quite fresh and new, but was pierced with two bayonet-holes. This one had been saved from the Tuileries. One lot con-sisted of an enormous mass of broken china, for which the manufactory at Sèvres offered three hundred francs (sixty dollars), merely for the purpose of extracting the gilding. Another lot comprised what at first glance appeared to be a mountain of old iron-broken, bent, twisted, and contorted into all possible shapes the relics of the conflagrations of the

Tuileries and the Palais Royal. A close observer might detect amid this seemingly shapeless mass the remains of candelabra, of girandoles, of candlesticks, and of statues in bronze, of wonderful beauty and artistic finish. Among them was visible a small statue of Cupid, the head of which was lacking, but which was of extreme elegance. Twenty thousand francs (four thousand dollars) was offered for the lot. Among the oddest articles disposed of were the huge escutcheons, painted with fleurs-de-lis, that were used at St.Denis for the funeral obsequies of Louis XVIII. They were purchased by a vender of seltzer-water.

Plon & Co. have just published a "Sketch of the Franco-German War," by Colonel Fahe, illustrated with thirteen strategetical maps. They announce a work entitled "Cardinal de Bérulle and Cardinal de Richelieu," by the Abbé Houssaye. Hetzel & Co. have just issued the third part of "The Mysterious Island," by Jules Verne, entitled "The Secret of the Island;" and announce that a new work by the same author, called "The Courier of the Czar," will be begun in the January number of their Magazine of Education and of Recreation. Victor Hugo's "Pendant l'Exil" has just been issued by Michel Lévy Bros. The same house announces reprints of several of Michelet's works, including his "History of the Nineteenth Century," and his "The Priest, the Wife, and the Family." A new edition of the complete works of Beaumarchais, containing some hitherto unpublished political documents, and preceded by a preface from the pen of Edouard Fournier, has been published by Laplace Sanchez & Co. The first number of the "Tour de France," containing "La Cité de Limes," by Alexandre Dumas, which I mentioned in my last, is to appear next Thursday. The scope and aim of the work are described by its editors as follows: "The 'Tour de France' will be for our country what the Tour du Monde,' so brilliantly directed by M. Edouard Charton, is for the entire universe. The Tour de France' will prove that our country, the most favorably situated of all the countries of Europe, enjoying all climates, a great fertility, an infinite diversity of aspect, including a wise and intelligent population, as varied in its sources as united in its tendencies, merits now and ever the appellation of the Great Nation." Which is a pretty good specimen of Chauvinism for a literary prospectus. We are promised in future numbers such important papers as The Shores of France," by Victor Hugo; "Corcassonne," by Viollet-leDuc;

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"Corsica," by Alphonse Daudet; Bougival," by Francisque Sarcey; and other articles by Gustave Flaubert, Paul Féval, Ernest Legouvé, Elisée Reclus, and others. The illustrations are to be very numerous, and by celebrated artists. A life of the deceased sculptor Carpeaux, by Jules Claretie, has been published by the Librairie Illustrée. A volume of romantic poetry, with the singular title of "The Winged Semiramis," by M. Léon de Labessade, preceded by a letter from Victor Hugo, has been issued by MM. Mouveau and Levesque. And, à propos of Victor Hugo, the veteran poet officiated as one of the witnesses at the marriage of Miss Ritter to M. Henri Houssaye last week, the other witness being M. Paul de St.-Victor. Among the literary curiosities of the week may be signalized a work just issued by Tresse, entitled "Terpsichore," by a subscriber to the opera, with a preface (the rage is for prefaces nowadays) by Mademoiselle Rita Sangalli, première danseuse of the Grand

Opéra, and formerly the leading star of the "Black Crook," when that celebrated literary production first saw light on the stage of Niblo's Garden. If the lady manages her pen as gracefully as she does her feet, she will doubtless achieve a great literary success.

Five months only are to elapse before the period fixed for artists to send in their pictures for the Salon arrives, and yet an important question, which was left in abeyance last year, has not yet been settled by the Commission of Fine Arts. The subject under discussion is the number of works which each artist shall be allowed to exhibit. Shall it be three, as has been customary up to the present time, or only two, or simply one? Last year the provisional decision was in favor of three, but the matter has not yet been definitely settled. As most of the artists who intend to exhibit at the Salon next spring already have their pictures under cousideration, if not actually under way, this uncertainty is perplexing, and the delay is at once unaccountable and inexcusable.

Yesterday was All Saints' Day, an anniversary which might be called the Decoration Day of France, as it is the day on which all French people visit the tombs of their friends and relatives to deposit flowers thereon. The crowd at the different cemeteries was immense. Seventy-five thousand people visited Père-la-Chaise, and all the routes leading to that celebrated cemetery were blocked with carriages. The Cemetery of Montparnasse received thirty thousand guests, and the other graveyards in proportion. Owing to the pleasant weather this custom was so generally observed that the streets of Paris wore literally a deserted air. The shops were all closed, as it was a fete day, and the comparative absence of promenaders and carriages gave the long stretch of the boulevards a singular appearance of desolation. It was not till late at night that the principal thoroughfares reassumed their busy and crowded aspect, and the boulevards were gayer at midnight than they had been at any other period during the entire day. Several of the principal tombs at Père-laChaise were almost hidden from view beneath their floral decorations. Edgar Quinet, Théophile Gautier, and Henri Murger, were among the literary men that were the most favored. The modest tomb of Aimée Desclée disappeared entirely under the mass of wreaths and bouquets wherewith it was covered. On the monument of M. Duval, the founder of the celebrated soup-restaurants of Paris, was suspended a superb crown of roses, with the inscription "To M. Duval, from his employés." He must have been a kind master to be remembered so long, for he has been dead for several years. The memory of Marie Duplessis, La Dame aux Camélias, is still living, thanks to the genius of the younger Dumas. Twenty-three years have elapsed since her death, and yet her grave was richly decorated yesterday with garlands of her favorite flower. The monument of General Cavaignac received a degree of homage that was generally understood to have a political source. The graves of the four sergeants of La Rochelle were also much visited for a similar reason.

The Industrial Exhibition at the Palais d'Industrie is shortly to close, the committees being now busied on awarding the prizes. We are then to have an exhibition of the products of the porcelain factories at Sèvres, which will doubtless be very beautiful and well worth a visit. It is proposed to arrange a chronological display of the works of the various epochs in the history of this celebrated factory, and it is said that certain well-known porcelain

collectors have offered to lend their choicest specimens to add to the completeness and attractiveness of the exhibition. We are also to have an exhibition of the works of Barye, one of those of Carpeaux, and one of the paintings and drawings of Tessaert, the unfortunate artist who committed suicide some two years ago from sheer want and despair. This last exhibition has been organized by Alexandre Dumas, who had a great admiration for the talent of the unhappy painter.

The theatres are all in a preternatural state of activity just now, with the exception of the Comédie Française, which goes tranquilly ou its way, dividing its evenings between its classie répertoire and "La Fille de Roland." Just now opéra-bouffe and spectacular pieces appear

the muscle-working classes. 2. That those who follow occupations that call both mus cle and brain into exercise are longer-lived than those engaged in occupations that are purely manual. 3. That the greatest and hardest brain-workers of history have lived longer on the average than brain-workers of ordinary ability and industry."

In support of these and several kindred propositions, the writer brings the indisputa ble records of registration reports. Consult ing these, and aided by the yearly necrology lists, he has been able to ascertain the longevity of five hundred of the greatest men in history, which list includes a large propor

representations. "Le Voyage dans la Lune," at the Gaîté, has been the novelty of the past week, and a very disappointing, not to say wearisome, novelty it has proved to be. It is a cross between a fairy spectacle and an opérabouffe, an attempt to unite the two after the successful fashion of "Orphée aux Enfers," but the experiment has not proved a successful one in this instance. The piece, which treats of adventures of a certain King Vlan and his son Prince Caprice, who take a trip to the moon by being blown out of a monster cannon, is mortally stupid. Some of the music is extremely pretty, especially the "Charlatan's Song," given with immense dash and spirit by Zulma Bouffar, who plays Prince Caprice, and a charming romance in a waltzmeasure, which the same lady sings with much grace and expression. There is also a "Ballet of Snow flakes," which is artistic and poetical, and in which the leading danseuse, Mademoiselle Fontabello, gives proof of amazing lightness and agility, but these attractive points are mere oases in a desert of dullness. The humors of Christian, who plays King Vlan, the dash and vivacity of Zulma Bouffar (who, next to Schneider, has the most "go" in her of any actress on the Parisian stage), the beauty of the ballet, the richness of the costumes and scenery, nay, even the music of Offenbach himself, are impotent to do away with the heavy stupidity of the libretto. The piece lasts from a quarter - past seven till a quarter-past twelve-five long, mortal hours, and all that is worth seeing in it might be seen in one hour. There is a heavy loss looming in the background for somebody, for these costly show-pieces, if not immensely successful, become immediately ruinous.

At the Grand Opéra the new ballet of "Sylvia" is in active rehearsal. I hear from outside sources that M. Halanzier is sorely in want of prima donnas, the talent of Madame Krauss being peculiarly restricted, and none of his lady débutantes, with the exception of Mademoiselle de Reszké, having proved successful. In fact, all his hopes for the future are said to rest upon that fair and full-voiced Hungarian, who, though she has as yet appeared in but two parts, Ophelia and Mathilde in "William Tell," has given proof of possessing that rare union of physical, vocal, and intellectual powers that goes to make up a great singer, and no inconsiderable share of personal beauty as well.

Rossi assumed the character of King Lear last Tuesday, and performed it all through the week. To say that he was great in it, is simply to say that he was himself, or rather not himself, but Lear. His recognition of Cordelia was something beyond the powers of description. The dazed, vacant gaze, then the sudden gleam of recognition, the trembling hopelessness, the swift, overwhelming

LONGEVITY OF BRAIN-WORKERS.

I Wilks's paper on

the course of a recent review of Dr. Overwork," we gave expression to the confident belief that, So far as honest brain-work goes, the more we do of it the better, and if, owing to a reckless disregard of recognized hygienic and sanitary laws, an occasional student finds an early grave, let the blame be placed where it belongs, and not credited to the worthy intellectual zeal that some call overwork." The reader will remember that, in support of this opinion as then expressed, attention was mainly directed to the physiological questions involved, little regard having been paid to actual facts or statistics. It is to the consideration of these facts, which are without question more potent than arguments, that attention is now directed, and in this necessarily brief consideration of the subject we shall frequently refer to a recent paper read before the American Public Health Association, by George M. Beard, M. D.

The question, to the contradiction of which Dr. Beard devotes himself in this paper, is that suggested by Thomas Hughes, M. P., in a statement contained in his "Life of Alfred the Great," that "the world's hardest workers and noblest benefactors have rarely been long-lived." Before entering upon a review of the actual facts, as obtained from registration and other reports, the writer suggests the need of his paper, since there is no question that the mischievous theory which it combats has been held for centuries. "On the basis of this theory, intellectual and promising youth have been dissuaded from entering brain-working professions, and thus much of the choicest genius has been lost to the world. Students in college have abandoned plans of life to which their tastes inclined, and gone to the farm or workshop. Authors, scientists, and investigators in the several professions, have thrown away the accumulated experience of the best half of their lives, and retired to pursuits as uncongenial as they were profitless." Viewing the subject from this enlightened stand-point, it is not surprising that an author armed with an invincible array of facts should advance boldly to the attack, with the following broad propositions, which he ably substantiates and defends: "1. That the brain-working classes, clergymen, lawyers, physicians, merchants, and men of science and letters, live very much longer than

partments of thought and activity. It was also prepared with absolute impartiality, including the names of Byron, Raphael, Pascal, Mozart, Keats, and others, who died young. The average longevity, as deduced from this list, was found to be sixty-four and one-fifth years, while the average age of those of all classes who live over twenty years is about fifty years. A second list of one hundred, chosen from the most distinguished of the workers included above, gave an average of over seventy years. In view of the positive and indisputable character of this evidence, there seems little more to be said as regards the facts in the case. Hence the writer enters upon the second and equally significant portions of his address, and reviews at greater length the "Causes of the Great Longevity of Brain-Workers."

We wish it were possible for every parent who hesitates in dedicating his child to the service of mind to have placed before him the arguments that are actually in favor of such a service. The writer whose work is under review hardly does more than classify these claims, and to this classification we must with even greater brevity allude. First: brain-work is inherently and essentially healthful. Recent investigations in cerebrophysiology seem to indicate that the centres of thought in the anterior region of the brain are also the centres of muscular motion. Be this as it may, it is certain that the exercise of any healthy organ tends to the vigor and preservation of that organ and of the body to which that organ belongs. A second argument-and this we believe to be the most powerful and convincing of all pleas in favor of brain-service-is that "brain-work. ers have less worry and more comfort and happiness than muscle-workers." The truth of this proposition cannot be denied. The service of the muscle-worker is essentially time-service. He works that he may rest; he earns his food that he may subsequently devour it; with the brain - worker all is changed. The work itself is pleasure, or, as the writer puts it: "To the happy brainworker life is a long vacation. Men of science, physicians, lawyers, clergymen, orators, statesmen, literati, and merchants when suc cessful, are happy in their work without ref erence to the reward, and continue to work in their special callings long after the neces sity has ceased." Were additional evidence needed in support of this view that brainwork is per se a pleasure, it could be found in the experience of many who, though often