edifying. Quite true. But in justice we ought, in excitements of this nature, to look closely and see what the real cause of the public concern is; and if concern in the issue of a scandal be not a very high order of intellectual activity, it is at least immeasurably better that it should be this than merely a morbid love for prurient details. And let us say that the disposition to find in every act of our neighbors the baser motive is not elevating to him who indulges in it, nor is it calculated to exercise an influence for good upon the community. THOSE Who know Victor Hugo's manner of political disquisition and prophecy will shudder to think what is coming. We are threatened with a perfect inundation of glittering generalities and epigrammatic highfalatin in the shape of political memoirs. Victor Hago does nothing, at least with the pen, by balves. His literary schemes are as elaborate and full of complex structure as a military engineer's plan of siege. He, therefore, lays out a scheme of discouraging proportions; nor will he be able to relate his part in French politics in less than three good-sized volumes. We already have his prologue, which is the shape of an essay on "Right and the Law," in which the illustrious Academician seems bent on persuading Frenchmen that right is che thing and law another, and that, if they want to do right, they must hold the law in ight esteem and scant obedience. Following close upon this super-transcendental thesis, which has the tone of one conjuring mankind to resolve to be perfect, and so abolish all necessity for law, we shall be confronted with three volumes of memoirs, entitled, respectively, "Before Exile," During Exile," and "After Exile." Modern French history, then, is to be marked by epochs of Victor Hugo's own career. Instead of saying that such and such a thing occurred in the ign of Louis Philippe, it will be proper to ay that it occurred "Before the Exile." And we must believe that "During Exile" the current of French politics ran dark and rgid enough. Why will not men of real genius be content with the fame which that genius achieves in its own proper sphere? There is no doubt of Victor Hugo's illustrious rank among men of letters in his generation. The author of "Notre-Dame" and *Les Misérables" and "Hernani" and "The Terrible Year" ought to be content with the mortality which these bring, without seekng new worlds to conquer. As poet and roEancer he is sometimes extravagant, too ften hyperbolical; but here, at least, he is an element where he is strong and great. The moment that, with a strange fatuity, he ters the political arena, and imagines himelf a statesman, he becomes stilted, visiony, wild, and, we had almost said, nonsensiIt is sad that such a man as Victor Hugo cald be laughed at; but, every time that he makes an incursion into political by-ways, | shop and the shambles. he exposes himself to ridicule. And he seems to be the one Frenchman whom ridicule neither dismays nor silences. He insists upon it that he is created to be the constitutionbuilder to "the parliament of man, the federation of the world; " being sure that, if only his scheme be adopted, the war-drum would throb no more, and the battle - flags would be furled. Hugo, like Carlyle, is bent on being a school-master of mankind; and the good-natured world, considering the glory of their writings, will, no doubt, "grin and bear it." They have, perhaps, earned the right to be chartered libertines of political pedagoguery. MR. CHARLES READE finds time, amid his literary labors, to make frequent diversions as a social reformer. He is a vigorous rival of the Society for the Prevention of Cruelty to Animals. Every thing be says and does is thoroughly Readesque in energy and pungency. Now, he has been running a tilt against an institution called "The Dogs' Home." It was founded as a charity. Stray dogs, masterless and kennel-less, were picked up and welcomed to this canine retreat and hearthstone. Thence they were doled out to such people as wanted a faithful follower and domestic policeman. But, being for the most part ugly creatures, mongrel in breed and without the advantages of a liberal educa. tion, there were few demands upon the supplies of the "Home." Mr. Charles Reade, hearing suspicious things of the "Home," made a private tour of inspection thither; and the result is one of his crisp, sharp, and witty letters to a London paper. He says that the dogs are confined in seldom-cleaned cages, are poorly fed, and kept like canine felons. Nor was this the worst. He found out that after a certain time the undemanded dogs were ruthlessly killed to save their board. "So swift to shed blood," says Mr. Reade, was home, sweet home.'" They were sacrificed because they could not "sell all in a moment, like a hot roll." 66 Mr. Reade goes on to tell the world what he knows about dogs, the sum of his information being that the half-bred dog is "often a handsome animal and generally a more intelligent one than the thorough-bred." He finds, however, that "if the dog captured is a retriever, hound, or even plain Pomeranian, his chances of living a week are small; and if he is half as great a mongrel as the AngloSaxon race, he is pretty sure to be murdered in a week, that home, sweet home' may save his biscuit and sawdust, and sell his skin." Between the policeman, who is given a reward for every stray dog he captures, and the "Home," which sells the dogs or kills them for their hides, the system has become a sheer commercial speculation. "Humanity," says our Society F. T. P. C. A. of one, "started a dogs' home; trade has grafted the | Humanity got dismayed at the mountain of dogs, and retreated. Trade saw its chance, and shot into the vacant place. The iron egotists who rob a poor creature of its life to sell its skin shall not pass for soft sentimentalists while I can wag a pen. The crying hyena is a new trader, and I resist him in the name of dog and man." It is certainly a good work to expose impos. ture, and strip the garment of charity from what seems to have become a mere moneymaking operation; but we fear that Mr. Reade will have to give over novel-writing altogether-which would be a sore grief to his thousands of readers-if he sets about unearthing all the trading wolves which go about appealing to public sympathy in the innocent garb of wool. However, one such exposure is a worthy deed, and Mr. Reade has proved himself as efficient a champion of the dog as he is skillful in wagging a pen." THE Literary. HE frst thing which it occurs to us to say of Tennyson's "Queen Mary" is, that it is really a drama. Many of the modern so-called dramas are nothing more than poems, or "studies of character," broken up into dialogue and cast in dramatic forms, but impossible of representation on the stage, and, in fact, never intended for it; but Mr. Tennyson's characters really act, his scenes appeal to the eye and not to the imagination, and the drama itself, probably, will be seen in its true proportions only when seen on the stage. We do not mean by this that it takes its interest in any degree from the " surprises," "business," "gags," and carpentry, which are supposed to be indispensable to the acting play; but the dialogue is too vig. orous, direct, and personal, for the full flavor to be caught by merely reading it; the action is rapid, and great pains have evidently been bestowed upon the pictorial accessories. Few dramas in the language, indeed, afford finer opportunities for the magnificent scene-painting which forms one of the achievements of the modern stage-Whitehall Palace, Lambeth Palace, the Guildhall, the Tower, London Bridge, Westminster Palace, the Houses of Parliament, all would call for representation-and provision is made for at least three street-pageants of a particularly impressive description. The action of the drama covers the entire period of the reign of "Bloody Mary," opening with the entry into London which oc curred just subsequent to her accession to the throne, and closing with the proclamation of Elizabeth by the Lords of the Council. Of the dramatis persona, there are no fewer than forty-five, besides "Lords and other Attendants, Members of the Privy Council, Members of Parliament, two Gentlemen, Aldermen, Citizens, Peasants, Ushers, Messengers, Guards, Pages, etc.;" but out of the Queen Mary. A Drama. By Alfred Tennyson. Boston: J. R. Osgood & Co. crowd the figures of Queen Mary, Elizabeth, Philip of Spain, Gardiner, Archbishop Cranmer, Cardinal Pole, Simon Renard (the Spanish Embassador), and Sir Thomas Wyatt, stand forth conspicuously prominent, while the story takes its essential unity from the life of Mary herself. The first act is a long one and decidedly business-like, being occupied chiefly with positing the several leading characters, and twining together the threads of the subsequent story; but even thus early we come upon the main-springs of the drama-Mary's | infatuation for Philip, the opposition of the English to her marriage with him, and the persecuting tendencies of the Roman Catholic revival. Scene v. of this act, in which Mary communes with herself over the miniature of Philip, shows it to her attendants and questions them regarding it, and avows to Gardiner her unalterable determination to have Philip and none other, is one of the most successful in the play; but it is too long to quote entire, and its parts are too interdependent to be separated. The whole of the second act is devoted to the "Kentish insurrection," headed by Sir Thomas Wyatt, which came so near costing Mary her throne, and the complete defeat of which enabled her to triumph over all opposition, and to carry out her pet plans of marrying Philip and reëstablishing the Romish worship in England. This act is spirited and dramatic, and contains some of the most skillful writing in the play. Before the third act opens an interval of a year or more has elapsed, during which Wyatt and Lady Jane Grey have been beheaded, Elizabeth consigned to prison as a 66 suspect," and the queen married to her Philip, who by his haughty bearing and insolent Spanish airs has already awakened bitter hostility against himself both at court and among the people. In this act the story makes rupid progress. Pole, as Papal Legate, absolves England from the guilt of heresy, and takes her back once more into the fold of Holy Church; under the pressure of Gardiner and Bonner-Mary being a willing coadjutor-the baleful enginery of religious persecution is set in motion, and Elizabeth is partially reinstated at court. In the closing scene Philip, disgusted with the English climate, and tired of a wife whom he had never loved, and whom he had accepted only from motives of state policy, is on the point of leaving England. This scene is long; but, as it summarizes in a manner the controlling motif of the play, we venture to quote a considerable portion of it: PHILIP. But, Renard, I am sicker staying here Shot off their lying cannon, and her priests come, Till, by St. James, I find myself the fool. Why do you lift your eyebrow at me thus ? RENARD. I never saw your highness moved till now. Ay, but, my lord, you know what Virgil sings, Woman is various and most mutable." PHILIP. She play the harlot! never. RENARD. No, sire, no, Not dreamed of by the rabidest gospeler. There was a paper thrown into the palace, "The king hath wearied of his barren bride." She came upon it, read it, and then rent it, With all the rage of one who hates a truth He cannot but allow. Sire, I would have you What should I say, I cannot pick my words- Am I to change my manners, Simon Renard, Brief-sighted though they be, I have seen them, sire, When you perchance were trifling royally With some fair dame of court, suddenly fill With such fierce fire-had it been fire indeed It would have burnt both speakers. Then one day more to please her majesty. MARY. The sunshine sweeps across my life again. Oh, if I knew you felt this parting, Philip, As I do! PHILIP. By St. James I do protest, Upon the faith and honor of a Spaniard, I am vastly grieved to leave your majesty.Simon, is supper ready? RENARD. Ay, my liege, PHILIP. I saw the covers laying. With the fourth act the drama takes on a deeper tone, and rises to loftier heights of poetry. The entire act is devoted to the religious persecutions, especially to the burning of Cranmer at the stake. The scenes preliminary to this most melancholy tragedy in the annals of the English Church-the abortive petition of the Lords for Cranmer's pardon, the procuring of the recantations, the meeting at St. Mary's Church, where Cranmer is expected to abjure his heresy, and abjures his recantations instead, the procession to the stake-all are described with exceeding vividness of detail. Cranmer's speech at St. Mary's is surpassingly fine, unequaled in vigor, simplicity, and pathos, by any thing of the kind in recent literature. The horror of the actual scene at the stake is spared us, but the following description of it is given by an eyewitness fresh from the burning: PETERS. You saw him how he passed among the crowd; And I could see that many silent hands Came from the crowd and met his own, and thus, When we had come where Ridley burned with Latimer, He, with a cheerful smile, as one whose mind le all made up, in haste put off the rags They had mocked his misery with, and all in white, His long white beard, which he had never shaven Since Henry's death, down-sweeping to the chain Wherewith they bound him to the stake, he stood More like an ancient father of the Church Than heretic of these times; and still the friars Plied him, but Cranmer only shook his head, Or answered them in smiling negatives; hereat Lord Williams gave a sudden cry: Make short! make short!" and so they lit the wood. Then Cranmer lifted his left hand to heaven, And thrust his right into the bitter flame; erying, in his deep voice, more than Thy then to heaven; and God ha' mercy on him. In the fifth act the interest is concentrated on Queen Mary, who appears before us in er declining days, deserted by her husband, opeless of an heir, involved by Philip in an popular war with France, conscious of beghated by her people, and racked with disease. The pathos of this act is profound and powerful; for, though Tennyson has made tle effort to soften the hard and unlovely tlines of Mary's character, though he has represented her as she really was-a cold, elfish, cruel woman, in politics an incapable, in religion a ferocious bigot-yet, recallg her ardent devotion to Philip and her srowful life with him, and looking upon the er desolation of her latter end, we are ored to sympathy, and find ourselves rearding "the bloody queen " with infinite ty, if not with affection. This, indeed, is leason's true triumph: that he has taken one of the most repulsive characters in modern annals, and, without violating the truth of history or attempting to confuse our judg ment, linked her to her kind by simply exhibiting her under the influence of those passions and sorrows which are common to us all, and which, therefore, appeal to our most universal human sympathies. Henceforth, History's stern verdict upon Mary will be mitigated in the reader's mind by the recollection of the scene (scene ii., act v.) of which we shall now quote a part: POLE (to MARY). Ah, cousin, I remember You but his cockboat: prettily you did it Ingratitude, Injustice, Evil-tongue, Pointing at me with "Pole, the heretic, Thou hast burned others, do thou burn thyself, Or I will burn thee," and this other; see- 66 Of our accursed queen and Cardinal Pole." This last-I dare not read it her. MARY. Why do you bring me these? [Aside. Away! I thought you knew me better. I never read, I tear them; they come back upon my dreams. The hands that write them should be burned clean off As Cranmer's, and the fiends that utter them Tongue-torn with pincers, lashed to death, or lie Famishing in black cells, while famished rats Eat them alive. Why do you bring me these? Do you mean to drive me mad? HEATH. Her highness is unwell. I will retire. Madam, your chancellor, Sir Nicholas Heath. Sir Nicholas? I am stunned-Nicholas Heath? Methought some traitor smote me on the head. What said you, my good lord, that our brave English Had sallied out from Calais and driven back The Frenchmen from their trenches? HEATH. Alas! no. That gateway to the main-land over which Our flag hath floated for two hundred years Is France again. MARY. So; but it is not lostNot yet. Send out: let England as of old Rise lion-like, strike hard and deep into The prey they are rending from her-ay, and rend The renders, too. Send out, send out, and make Muster in all the counties; gather all MARY. There is yet hope. HEATH. Ah, madam, but your people are so cold; Send out. I am too weak to stir abroad; ment: Proclaim it to the winds. Thou art cold thyself To babble of their coldness. Oh, would I were My father for an hour! Away now-quick! LADY CLARENCE. No, madam, not against the Holy Father; Your troops were never down in Italy. MARY. I am a byword. Heretic and rebel LADY CLARENCE. Let it be, let it be. God pardor me! I have never yet found one. [Aside. MARY (reads). "Your people hate you as your husband hates you.' Clarence, Clarence, what have I done? what sin Beyond all grace, all pardon? Mother of God, No, madam, no. MARY. My husband hates me, and desires my death. LADY CLARENCE. No, madam; these are libels. MARY. I hate myself, and I desire my death. We have little more to add. What we have already written will suffice, we trust, to give the reader a tolerably accurate idea of the scope and quality of the work. To characterize such a performance might savor of presumption; while it would certainly be fruitless to follow the example of the London Times (referred to last week), and institute a comparison between poets who have so little in common, even when they essay the drama, as Shakespeare and Tennyson. It is enough to say that "Queen Mary" is worthy of its author's fame; that its vigor, dramatic fire, simplicity of diction, and freedom from all effort at merely rhetorical effects, will surprise those whose knowledge of Tennyson is founded chiefly upon his later work, in which the singer has almost been lost in the artist; and that it will undoubtedly take a foremost place among the literary achievements of our time. PROFESSOR J. E. CAIRNES, of University College, London, is now generally recognized as the leading living exponent of the orthodox school of political economy-the school founded by Adam Smith, and of which the late J. S. Mill was, perhaps, the most distinguished expositor. Whatever he chose to say, therefore, on politico-economical questions, would be entitled to respectful consideration; but, independent of this, his little collection of lectures on "The Character and Logical Method of Political Economy" (New York: Harper & Brothers) fills a place in the popular literature of the science that has been occupied by no previous book. It is not a systematic treatise on the principles of political economy; much less is it a complete survey of its phenomena and laws; but it stands alone in the precision with which it defines the nature, objects, and limits of economic science, and the method of investigation proper to it as a subject of scientific study. For this reason it is admirably adapted to serve as an introduction to the study of the science, or as the close of a course of reading when the time has come to coördi nate, systematize, and classify the ideas that have been accumulated in the reader's mind. Professor Cairnes thinks that the present state of instability and uncertainty even as to fundamental propositions in political economy, which has retarded and almost arrested the growth of the science in recent years, is owing partly to a want of precision in its definitions, but chiefly to an attempt on the part of many professed expounders of the science (the French school especially) to extend its boundaries so as to include in it all the various phenomena presented by society. Besides the controversies which this has caused, and the difficulty involved in thus grouping together phenomena which have no scientific relation to each other, the result has been to divert political economy from its proper field, the laws of the production and distribution of wealth, to a consideration of social interests and relations generally, in the discussion of which its exponents have taken sides and become the apologists or assailants of institutions which it was their business simply to analyze. As a consequence of these attempts to represent political economy in the guise of a dogmatic code of cut-and-dried rules, a system promulgating decrees, sanctioning one social arrangement, condemning another, requiring from men, not consideration, but obedience, it has awakened the repugnance, and even the violent opposition, not only of those who have all along regarded the science as "dismal," "unchristian," and "inhuman," but of that vast mass of people who have their own reasons for not cherishing that unbounded admiration of existing industrial arrangements which is felt by some popular expositors of so-called economic laws. The main object of Professor Cairnes in these lectures is to bring back the science to its rightful limits, which, as we have already said, are the laws of the production, distribution, and consumption of wealth, and to show that, within these limits, it is a true science, dealing with phenomena only, and not intruding at all upon the domain of morals, or either indorsing or condemning social arrangements or industrial schemes. The argument in which this proposition is enforced is a beautiful example of lucid, forcible, and convincing reasoning; and though the chain is too closely welded to be easily unlinked, we cannot refrain from quoting a single paragraph, bearing upon the points we have just mentioned: "For those who clearly apprehend what science, in the modern sense of the term, means, this ought sufficiently to indicate at once its (political economy's) province and what it undertakes to do. Unfortunately, many who perfectly understand what science means when the word is employed with reference to physical Nature, allow themselves to slide into a totally different sense of it, or rather into acquiescence in an absence of all distinct meaning in its use, when they employ it with reference to social existence. In the minds of a large number of people every thing is social science which proposes to deal with social facts, either in the way of remedying a grievance, or in promoting order and progress in society: every thing is political economy which is in any way connected with the production, distribution, or consumption of wealth. Now I am anxious here to insist upon this fundamental point: whatever takes the form of a plan aiming at definite practical ends-it may be a measure for the diminution of pauperism, for the reform of land-tenure, for the extension of cooperative industry, for the regulation of currency; or it may assume a more ambitious shape, and aim at reorganizing society under spiritual and temporal powers, represented by a high-priest of humanity and three bankers-it matters not what the proposal may be, whether wide or narrow in its scope, severely judicious or wildly imprudent-if its object be to accomplish definite practical ends, then I say it has none of the characteristics of a science, and has no just claim to the name. Consider the case of any recognized physical science-astronomy, dynamics, chemistry, physiologydoes any of these aim at definite practical ends at modifying in a definite manner, it matters not how, the arrangement of things in the physical universe? In Clearly not. each case the object is, not to attain tangible results, not to prove any definite thesis, not to advocate any practical plan, but simply to give light, to reveal laws of Nature, to tell us what phenomena are found together, what effects follow from what causes. Does it follow from this that the physical sciences are without bearing on the practical concerns of mankind? I think I need not trouble myself to answer that question. Well, then, political economy is a science in the same sense in which astronomy, dynamics, chemistry, and Its subject-matter physiology are sciences. is different; it deals with the phenomena of wealth, while they deal with the phenomena of the physical universe; but its methods, its aims, the character of its conclusions, are the same as theirs. What astronomy does for the phenomena of the heavenly bodies; what dynamics does for the phenomena of motion: what chemistry does for the phenomena of chemical combination; what physiology does for the phenomena of the functions of organic life, that political economy does for the phenomena of wealth: it expounds the laws according to which these phenomena coexist with or succeed each other; that is to say, it expounds the laws of the phenomena of wealth." In one lecture the Malthusian doctrine of population, and in another the theory of rent, are very carefully analyzed and explained; but the entire book is one which we can recommend warmly to all students of politicoeconomical questions. The fact that the lectures were delivered some seventeen years ago does not in any way lessen their value -the problems of that time are the problems of to-day-and, besides the introduction of entirely new topics, extensive changes have been made throughout in the form and treatment. MRS. FRANCES ELLIOT is already known to readers of the JOURNAL, by her "Romance of Old Court-Life in France," as a forcible, vivid, and graceful writer, with a decided taste for the picturesque and personal side of history and an equally decided talent for brilliant, pictorial, and somewhat gorgeous description. Her latest work, "The Italians" (New York: D. Appleton & Co.), takes its chief interest from the same tastes and qualities. Though, in form, a novel, the story is exceedingly slight, and the characters are types rather than persons; the real object of the book being to picture the Italian society of the period, with its proud old nobility, whose very names have an historic sound, and whose traditions link the present with the middle ages, but whose fortunes are grievously decayed, and its nouveaux riches whom the new order of things and the increasing importance of wealth have lifted to a social prominence which the hereditary caste bitterly resents but is obliged to tolerate. Mrs. Elliot has lived long in Italy, she writes from abundant knowledge of her subject, and her delineations have a "truthful seeming" quality which one hesitates to call in question; yet we cannot help hoping that the picture is exaggerated, and that the author has been led by her preference for the salient and the striking to select the exceptions and ignore the rule. Every generous mind throughout the world has been in hearty sympathy with the awakening and growth of the new Italy; but what can be hoped of a ration of whose society the following can be truthfully written? For it must be remembered that these "golden youth are but the product, the illustration, the expression of the social life in the midst of which they are tred: "Beside Count Nobili some jeunesse dorée of his own age (sons of the best houses in Loca) also lean over the Venetian casements. Like the liveried giants at the entrance, these laugh, ogle, chaff, and criticise the wearers of Leghorn hats, black veils, and white headgear, freely. They smoke, and drink liqueurs and sherbet, and crack sugar-plums out of ystal cups on silver plates, set on embossed as placed beside them. The profession of Lese young men is idleness. They excel in Let us pause for a moment and ask what y do-this jeunesse dorée, to whom is comated the sacred mission of regenerating an beroic people? They could teach Ovid 'the art of love." It comes to them in the air ey breathe. They do not love their neightors as themselves, but they love their neighbors' wives. Nothing is holy to them. t All We world for love, and the world well lost,' is eir motto. They can smile in their best friend's face, weep with him, rejoice with him, with him, drink with him, and-betray m; they do this every day, and do it well. They can also lie artistically, dressing up im nary details with great skill, gamble and siz, swear, and talk scandal. They can lead graceful, dissolute, far niente life, loll in carrages, and be whirled round for hours, say the Florence Cascine, the Roman Pincio, at the park at Milan-smoking the while, raising their hats to the ladies. . . . They are ready of tongue and easy of offense. They fight duels (with swords), generally a Lamless exercise. They can dance. They an hold strong opinions on subjects on which they are crassly ignorant, and yield neither to fact nor argument where their mediæval ages are concerned. All this the Golden Luth of Italy can do, and do it well. "Yet from such stuff as this are to come the future ministers, prefects, deputies, finaners, diplomatists, and senators, who are to enerate the world's old mistress! Alas, Door Italy!" Alas, indeed! for this is not the worst of Enrica, the heroine, is the only pure man in the book; and her innocence is preserved first by a childhood and youth *pent in almost conventual seclusion, and af terward by an absorbing affection for the man who in the end wins her hand. The story of this affection is entirely unexceptionable, but the social background on which it is thrown is a perfect Vanity Fair of folly, hypocrisy, and vice. Mrs. Elliot, as we have said, has a marked talent for description, and in the present work finds ample opportunity for indulging it. The old city of Lucca, as it nestles in the valley of the Serchio; its massive edifices, half palace and half fortress, relics of the old warlike times when the lords of Lucca struggled with Florence and Pisa for supremacy in Italy; its famous historical achievements; its venerable nobility, contrasting oddly with the modern insignificance of their town; its festivals and civic ceremonials; its fêtes and balls; the country around, with its oliveplantations, chestnut-forests, and cornfields; the peasants, beggars, village gossips, and priests-all are brought before us with a vividness that leaves little to be demanded of the reader's imagination. An actual visit to Lucca could hardly add much to the knowledge which we seem to have gotten of the picturesque old city and the life of its inhabitants. Without being exciting, "The Italians" is a book which it is not easy to lay aside unfinished, and we can testify from experience as to the facility with which it induces one to sit into the wee small hours. A WRITER in Cornhill on "Ballad Poetry" closes his paper with the following comments in regard to a few recent poets as ballad-writers: "Almost every poet, whether English or German, who fiourished at the close of last century or in the early years of this century, shows a profound sympathy with the feeling that gives life to the old ballads. In our country this sympathy directed the poetical course of Scott, dominated the genius of Coleridge and of Wordsworth, influenced in a considerable measure the rhythmical efforts of Southey, and moved with a secret but irresistible force many a smaller poet, who, if there were still, as in days of the troubadours, a minstrel college, would be entitled to a certificate of merit. "Of all modern writers, Scott retains, we think, in the largest degree the force and picturesqueness of style which distinguish the old minstrels. His description of Flodden Field, while exhibiting an artistic skill unknown in earlier times, has the spirit and movement, the directness and heartiness, which delight us in the balladists, and, as a writer in the Times has lately remarked, his "Bonnie Dundee" is, of all Jacobite ballads, 66 one of the most spirited and soul-stirring." In "Young Lochinvar," a modern version of an old story, Scott gives another fine specimen of rapid and vigorous narrative which would have delighted the wandering singers of an earlier age. Lord Macaulay, too, caught with singular felicity the strain of the ballad-singers, and there is not a school-boy in England who has not read, we had almost said who cannot recite, "The Battle of Naseby," or the glorious story of "How well Horatius kept the bridge In the brave days of old." "And in some of the poets who have lately passed away, as well as in others who are happily still able to receive our love and homage, 66 there are similar signs of affection for the ballad. Mrs. Browning displays them frequently, although it must be acknowledged that the high effort exhibited in her verse is generally opposed to the directness and simplicity demanded from the balladist. Mr. Browning is never more picturesque, more vigorous, more able to stir the pulses, than when he surrenders himself to the emotion of the ballad. Truly says a writer in the Spectator, that Mr. Browning's ballads are among his most spirited poems. They throb with a keen, sharp pulse of tense energy and excitement, which makes the eye and heart of his readers converge on the one point of sight of his narrative, and never dare to withdraw themselves till that point is reached." These ballads are by no means the finest works produced by the poet, but they are the most popular, and even persons who obstinately refuse to admire Mr. Browning's poetry will do justice to "The Ride from Ghent to Aix," and to the noble story of "The Breton Pirate, Hervé Riel." The poet-laureate, too, has given us some charming examples of what a writer of the highest culture and of exquisite taste can produce in this direction. So have Mr. Rossetti, Mr. Kingsley, the late Sidney Dobell, and other poets, who are all more or less indebted to the ballad-singers of earlier days. 66 "There is a mighty difference, of course, between the ballad of literary culture and the ballad produced in an untutored period, but the one touch of Nature" makes the resemblance stronger than the diversity; and no one who reads Lady Anne Lindsay's "Auld Robin Gray," or Mr. Rossetti's "Stratton Water," can doubt that the inspiration which gave birth to the rude minstrelsy of a rude age is as potent as ever. Indeed, it would be possible to make a charming selection of ballads-Mr. Palgrave would call them "ballads in court dress"-dating from the beginning of the century, and among them might be included a number of humorous pieces from the pen of Mr. Thackeray and other well-known writers, which would impart a racy flavor to the volume. The element of humor is rarely perceptible in the old ballad, but in the ballad produced by men of letters it is a frequent characteristic, and many an admirable specimen is to be met with in the recent literature both of England and of America." M. ARSÈNE HOUSSAYE, who is himself credited with an ambition to secure a place among the Forty Immortals, makes the following reference, in his last letter to the Tribune, to the recent elections at the Academy: "There has just been a duel at the Academy. People said even in the eighteenth century, 'The French Academy is an illustrious company where they receive men of the sword, men of the church, men of the law, men of the world--and even men of letters.' At present the Academy is an illustrious company where they receive nothing but politicians. Therefore, before the duel of which I am speaking the Academy had given the chair of Jules Janin to M. John Lemoinne, and editor of the Journal des Débats, a courteous gentleman, who will recall under the cupola of the Institute the appearance and the wit of PrévostParadol, who was minister of France among you. Rivarol, who was not an academician, said, 'To be one of the Forty you must have done nothing;' but he added, 'You must not carry this too far.' M. John Lemoinne has made no books, but he has fought valiantly against darkness and prejudice. I give him my vote. My son, who is also an editor of the Debats, assures me that he was the only candi |