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and his saying that Hawthorne " came to Europe"; whole, a simpler life. His six volumes of Note-Books but the " foreign " tone, so to call it, is revealed in illustrate this simplicity; they are a sort of monument much more subtile and pervasive touches, and it is to an unagitated fortune. Hawthorne's career had no difficult to escape the suspicion that an ever-present

vicissitudes or variations ; it was passed, for the most

part, in a small and homogeneous society, in a provinmotive in the author's mind was the fear of appear.

cial, rural community ; it had few perceptible points of ing" provincial" in English eyes—the word "pro

contact with what is called the world, with public events, vincial," by the way, fills a curiously conspicuous with the manners of his time, even with the life of his place in Mr. James's vocabulary. It may be con- neighbors. Its literary incidents are not numerous. He ceded at once that Mr. James's European culture produced, in quantity, but little. His works consist of and cosmopolitan experiences give him a great ad. four novels and the fragment of another, five volumes of vantage in defining Hawthorne's position as an art. short tales, a collection of sketches, and a couple of ist, and it is hardly to be expected that he should

story-books for children. And yet some account of the be influenced by the patriotic bias in the same man

man and the writer is well worth giving. Whatever

may have been Hawthorne's private lot, he has the imner as Mr. Lathrop, for example ; but there is some

portance of being the most beautiful and most eminent thing more than the mere aloofness of the critic in

representative of a literature. The importance of the his work, and, if our senses do not deceive us, his literature may be questioned, but, at any rate, in the field air is slightly patronizing not only toward Haw- of letters, Hawthorne is the most valuable example of thorne but toward everything American. No doubt the American genius. That genius has not, as a whole, it is essential in criticism that what M. Taine calls been literary ; but Hawthorne was in his limited scale a the milieu of the artist should be recognized and al. master of expression. He is the writer to whom his lowed for ; but surely leaving wholly out of con. countrymen most confidently point when they wish to sideration the circumstances and conditions under

make a claim to have enriched the mother-tongue, and,

judging from present appearances, he will long occupy which they were produced, and regarding them as

this honorable position. works of art pure and simple - Hawthorne's romances will compare favorably with anything of the This is a cordial recognition of Hawthorne's prekind produced in England either at the time or eminent position in our national literature, and there since. It is the consciousness of this that causes is a finely true and discriminating insight in Mr. one to resent the slightly apologetic air with which James's suggestion that there was for Hawthorne in Mr. James assures his readers that his praise of this very eminence something cheerless and dreary: Hawthorne is to be construed in a “relative" (not

. He was so modest and delicate a genius that we may to say “Pickwickian ") sense. And, furthermore, it

fancy him appealing from the lonely honor of a repreis difficult to avoid feeling that this cautious, minc

sentative attitude-perceiving a painful incongruity being, grudging criticism, is peculiarly out of place tween his imponderable literary baggage and the large when exercised upon one who was the most modest conditions of American life. Hawthorne, on the one and least exacting of authors; and of whom it can side, is so subtile and slender and unpretending, and the hardly be said that he was ever either over-praised American world, on the other, is so vast and various and or over-rewarded.

substantial, that it might seem to the author of “The Another fault which results from what seems to

Scarlet Letter " and the “Mosses from an Old Manse," us Mr. James's hypercritical method is that his por

that we render him a poor service in contrasting his protrait of Hawthorne has the precise defect which he

portions with those of a great civilization. But our au

thor must accept the awkward as well as the graceful side complains of in Hawthorne's fictitious characters : of his fame ; for he has the advantage of pointing a it lacks reality-it does not bring a concrete and valuable moral. This moral is, that the flower of an art living person before us. The analysis is so subtile blooms only where the soil is deep, that it takes a great and exhaustive as to defeat its own object; for there deal of history to produce a little literature, that it needs is a mystery in personality which eludes the most a complex social machinery to set a writer in motion. resolute interpreter, and the attempt to lay it en- American civilization has hitherto had other things to do tirely bare is apt to dissolve it into a mere fortuitous th

re fortuitous than to produce flowers, and before giving birth to writaggregation of qualities.

ers it has wisely occupied itself with providing something

for them to write about. It must be admitted, however, that criticism of a criticism is apt to degenerate into mere refining upon As the biographical portions of Mr. James's words; and, having indicated what appear to us to work are confessedly drawn solely from Mr. Lathrop's be the more noteworthy faults of Mr. James's oth. “Study" and from the published Note-Books, the erwise admirable work, we can please our readers reader will search it in vain for any novel discoveries better by reproducing a few passages which shall or revelations ; but Mr. James's estimates of Haw. serve to convey an idea of its merits. Here is one thorne's character and writings are always fresh and from the very beginning of the essay which defines individual, and therefore interesting. We have seen very happily the limitations under which a biographer no better analysis of Hawthorne's more prominent of Hawthorne must necessarily labor :

characteristics than is contained in the following Hawthorne's career was probably as tranquil and un

passage : eventful a one as ever fell to the lot of a man of letters; He was not expansive; he was not addicted to exit was almost strikingly deficient in incident, in what periments and adventures of intercourse ; he was not may be called the dramatic quality. Few men of equal personally, in a word, what is called sociable. The gengenius and of equal eminence can have led, on the eral impression of this silence-loving and shade-seeking side of his character is doubtless exaggerated, and, in so Next to his delineation of Hawthorne's personfar as it points to him as a somber and sinister figure, is ality, the reader will probably be most interested in almost ludicrously at fault. He was silent, diffident, Mr. James's estimates of Hawthorne's writings ; but more inclined to hesitate to watch, and wait, and medi

these are detailed and elaborate, and we must contate—than to produce himself, and fonder, on almost any

tent ourselves with mentioning his conclusions, occasion, of being absent than of being present. This quality betrays itself in all his writings. There is in all

“The Scarlet Letter," then, he regards as Hawof them something cold, and light, and thin-something

thorne's masterpiece, and thinks that “it will conbelonging to the imagination alone-which indicates a

tinue to be, for other generations than ours, his most man but little disposed to multiply his relations, his points substantial title to fame." “ The House of the Sevof contact, with society. If we read the six volumes of en Gables,” he says, " is a rich, delightful, imaginaNote-Books with an eye to the evidence of this unso- tive work, larger and more various than its compancial side of his life, we find it in sufficient abundance. ions, and full of all sorts of deep intentions, of in, But we find at the same time that there was nothing un- terwoven threads of suggestion. But it is not so amiable or invidious in his shyness, and, above all, that

rounded and complete as · The Scarlet Letter'; it there was nothing preponderantly gloomy. The qualities to which the Note-Books most testify are, on the

has always seemed to me more like the prologue to whole, his serenity and amenity of mind. They reveal a great novel than a great novel itself.” Of " The those characteristics, indeed, in an almost phenomenal Blithedale Romance" he says that, in spite of "a degree. The serenity, the simplicity, seem in certain certain want of substance and cohesion in the latter portions almost childlike ; of brilliant gayety, of high portions, ... the book is a delightful and beautiful spirits, there is little ; but the placidity and evenness of one"; and he had previously observed that it is temper, the cheerful and contented view of the things he "the lightest, the brightest, the liveliest of this comnotes, never belie themselves. I know not what else he

pany of unhumorous fictions." Of “ The Marble may have written in this copious record, and what pas

Faun” he says: “It has a great deal of beauty, sages of gloom and melancholy may have been suppressed; but, as his Diaries stand, they offer in a re

of interest, and grace ; but it has, to my sense, a markable degree the reflection of a mind whose develop

slighter value than its companions, and I am far ment was not in the direction of sadness.

from regarding it as the masterpiece of the au. Apropos of this latter remark, Mr. James re

thor, a position to which we sometimes hear it

assigned. The subject is admirable, and so are futes the too commonly received idea that Hawthorne was “a dusky and malarious genius," and

many of the details ; but the whole thing is less simtakes a French critic (M. Emile Montégut) to task

ple and complete than either of the three tales of

* American life, and Hawthorne forfeited a precious for calling him “Un Romancier Pessimiste":

advantage in ceasing to tread his native soil." And, As I have already intimated, his Note-Books are full

finally, summing up the personal and literary qualiof this simple and almost childlike serenity. That dusky preoccupation with the misery of human life and the

ties of Hawthorne in a single paragraph, he writes : wickedness of the human heart, which such a critic as M. He was a beautiful, natural, and original genius, and Emile Montégut talks about, is totally absent from them; his life had been singularly exempt from worldly preocand if we may suppose a person to have read these Dia- cupations and vulgar efforts. It had been as pure, as ries before looking into the tales, we may be sure that simple, as unsophisticated as his work. He had lived such a reader would be greatly surprised to hear the primarily in his domestic affections, which were of the author described as a disappointed, disdainful genius. tenderest kind; and then-without eagerness, without “ This marked love of cases of conscience," says M. Mon- pretension, but with a great deal of quiet devotion-in tégut; “this taciturn, scornful cast of mind; this habit his charming art. His work will remain ; it is too origiof seeing sin everywhere, and hell always gaping open; nal and exquisite to pass away; among the men of imthis dusky gaze bent always upon a damned world, and agination he will always have a niche. No one has had a nature draped in mourning; these lonely conversations just that vision of life, and no one has had a literary of the imagination with the conscience; this pitiless form that more successfully expressed his vision. He analysis resulting from a perpetual examination of one's was not a moralist, and he was not simply a poet. The self, and from the tortures of a heart closed before men moralists are weightier, denser, richer, in a sense; the and open before God-all these elements of the Puritan poets are more purely inconclusive and irresponsible. character have passed into Mr. Hawthorne, or, to speak He combined in a singular degree the spontaneity of the more justly, have filtered into him, through a long suc- imagination with a haunting care for moral problems, cession of generations." This is a very pretty and very Man's conscience was his theme: but he saw it in the vivid account of Hawthorne, superficially considered ; light of a creative fancy which added, out of its own and it is just such a view of the case as would commend substance, an interest, and, I may almost say, an imporitself most easily and most naturally to a hasty critic. It tance. is all true indeed, with a difference: Hawthorne was all that M. Montégut says, minus the conviction. The old This is the concluding paragraph of the book, Puritan moral sense, the consciousness of sin and hell, and, if all that the book contains had been as deli. of the fearful nature of our responsibilities and the savage cately discriminating and appreciative, we should character of our Taskmaster-these things had been have had nothing to say of it but praise. lodged in the mind of a man of fancy, whose fancy had straightway begun to take liberties and play tricks with them—to judge them (Heaven forgive him !) from the poetic and ästhetic point of view, the point of view of AMONG those traveling English women whose ad. entertainment and irony. This absence of conviction , ventures in various parts of the world are one of marks the difference; but the difference is great. the most startling phenomena of the times, a high rank must be assigned to Miss Isabella L. Bird. with dust, but neither shaken nor bruised. It was truly Her delightful book on the Sandwich Islands de grotesque and humiliating. The bear ran in one direcscribed performances and perils such as few ladies

performances and perils such as few ladies tion, and the horse in another. I hurried after the latter, would care to encounter ; but the collection of let

and twice he stopped until I was close to him, then

turned round and cantered away. After walking about a ters in which she narrates the incidents of “A La.

mile in deep dust, I picked up first the saddle-blanket dy's Life in the Rocky Mountains " * surpasses in

and next my bag, and soon came upon the horse standpicturesque adventurousness all we can remembering facing me, and shaking all over. I thought I should that is recorded of the achievements of women. La- catch him then, but when I went up to him he turned dy Baker's walk through Africa and Lady Blount's round, threw up his heels several times, rushed off the rides with the Bedouins of the Euphrates were suf- track, galloped in circles, bucking, kicking, and plunging ficiently surprising ; but each of these ladies was for some time, and then, throwing up his heels as an act accompanied by her husband and an escort, while

and and an escort while of final defiance, went off at full speed in the direction Miss Bird rode and rambled absolutely alone through

of Truckee, with the saddle over his shoulders and the eight hundred miles of the most dangerous and dif.

great wooden stirrups thumping his sides, while I trudged

ignominiously along in the dust, laboriously carrying the ficult portion of Western America-crossing almost bag and saddle-blanket, impassable mountain-ranges on “ blind” trails, tray. I walked for nearly an hour, heated and hungry, when ersing vast reaches of desolate plain, defying the to my joy I saw the ox-team halted across the top of a parching sun and death-bringing snow-storms of the gorge, and one of the teamsters leading the horse toward Rocky Mountain climate, and passing unharmed and me. . . . He brought me some water to wash the dust unafraid amid the worst ruffians and desperadoes of from my face, and resaddled the horse, but the animal the frontier.

snorted and plunged for some time before he would let Her adventures began at Truckee, where she had

me mount, and then sidled along in such a nervous and

scared way that the teamster walked for some distance “ stopped over" in order to visit Lakes Tahoe and

by me to see that I was “all right." He said that the Donner. Leaving the train at midnight, she discov.

COV. woods in the neighborhood of Tahoe had been full of ered on reaching the “hotel” that, as the accommo- brown and grizzly bears for some days, but that no one dation of the town was inadequate to its population was in any danger from them. I took a long gallop be(almost exclusively male), the regular hours of sleep yond the scene of my tumble to quiet the horse, who were not observed, the beds being occupied by re. was most restless and troublesome. lays of sleepers throughout the greater part of the twenty-four hours. Taking her chance with the On the return next day, “in a deep part of the rest, she found the bed and room assigned to her forest, the horse snorted and reared, and I saw a " quite tumbled-looking.” “Men's coats and sticks cinnamon-colored bear with two cubs cross the track were hanging up, miry boots were littered about, and ahead of me. I tried to keep the horse quiet that a rifle was in one corner. There was no window to the mother might acquit me of any designs upon her the outer air, but I slept soundly, being only once lolloping children, but I was glad when the ungainawakened by an increase of the same din (from the ly, long-haired party crossed the river.” bar-room) in which I had fallen asleep, varied by This was an appropriate beginning of a tour three pistol-shots fired in rapid succession."

every stage of which was marked by some equally Next morning, having hired a horse (equipped exciting—often still more exciting-adventure. In with a Mexican saddle, she always riding astride in spite of the above-described accident, Miss Bird was man-fashion), she set out for Lake Tahoe ; and here a remarkably skillful rider, and she tells later of some is one of her experiences on the road:

wonderful feats of cattle-driving in Estes Park, where

she spent several weeks. She was among the first After I had ridden about ten miles the road went up a steep hill in the forest, turned abruptly, and through the

to ascend Long's Peak, which she did in the com

asc blue gloom of the great pines which rose from the ravine pany of “Rocky Mountain Jim," who was the most in which the river was then hid came glimpses of two notorious ruffian and desperado in all the West, but mountains, about eleven thousand feet in height, whose who was always chivalrous, as he said, "to good wobald gray summits were crowned with pure snow. ... men." She rode six hundred miles in a single tour, The forest was thick, and had an undergrowth of dwarf entirely alone, from Estes Park by Denver and Colospruce and brambles ; but, as the horse had become fid- rado Springs, over the mountains of southern Colo. gety and "scary" on the track, I turned off in the idea

rado, and back through South Park-most of the of taking a short cut, and was sitting carelessly, shorten

distance over snow-covered trails which the hardiest ing my stirrup, when a great, dark, hairy beast rose, crashing and snorting, out of the jungle just in front of mou

mountaineers hesitated to venture upon. Several me. I had only a glimpse of him, and thought that my

times she was lost; more than once she was caught imagination had magnified a wild boar, but it was a bear. in blinding snow-storms; on two or three occasions The horse snorted and plunged violently, as if he would her boots and stockings were frozen on her feet, and go down to the river, and then turned, still plunging, up her feet frozen to the stirrups. It is a truly feminine a steep bank, when, finding that I must come off, I threw trait that, amid all these perils—and worse from the myself off on the right side, where the ground rose con- lawless men among whom she was necessarily

lawless men among whom she was necessarily thrown siderably, so that I had not far to fall. I got up covered the only thing that seems to have alarmed her was.

* A Lady's Life in the Rocky Mountains. By Isa. when riding through forests, “the fear of being bella L. Bird. With Illustrations. New York: G. P. frightened at something which may appear from bePutnam's Sons. 12mo, pp. 296.

hind a tree.

It is a creditable and noteworthy fact that, in all comprising the successive coronations and burials of these journeys, made under conditions which might three British sovereigns. Her childhood caught well have excited scandal, Miss Bird met with no- echoes from the victories of the mighty Marlborough, thing but helpfulness and kindness--rough and un- Blenheim, Ramillies, Malplaquet ; later, she heard polished, it is true, but none the less hearty and of Dettingen and Fontenoy, Culloden, Preston-Pans; generous for that reason. She herself says that later still, of the Declaration of Independence and “womanly dignity and manly respect for women the freedom of the American colonies. Her correare the salt of society in this wild West"; and cer- spondence notes and chronicles in detail the changes, tainly the record of her experiences confirms it. The gradual but vast, which in that epoch of change special reason in her peculiar case was perhaps ex. were transforming the quaint England of the Stuarts plained by the pioneer who told her to go ahead and and the Tudors into the England of our own times, never fear, "for what we Westerners admire in wo- and planting the germs of what we call modern men is pluck"; and surely in "pluck" Miss Bird usage, literature, and habits of thought. Original was never deficient. Nor, it should be added, was letters, written in the frankness of family intercourse, she deficient in that womanly dignity and purity during the eighteenth century, could hardly fail to which are recognized and respected by the rudest be interesting; but those of Mrs. Delany and her and most lawless society of the frontier.

correspondents possess the special advantage of beThe letters of which the book is composed were ing written from the inner circle, and they comment addressed to the author's sister at home, and are upon the noteworthy personages of the day with all written in the familiar manner of private correspon. the detail and freshness of familiar acquaintance." dence, though no doubt the idea of publication was This description is in a measure true, but it conall the time in view. Miss Bird's style is probably veys an idea of attractiveness and readableness on a faithful reflex of her character, and is clear, de. the part of the book which the book itself, we are cided, and vigorous, animated without being affect. afraid, will hardly be found to justify. With the ut. edly vivacious, and picturesque without any attempt most willingness to be pleased and entertained, we at fine writing. All through there is a complete un found the reading of the two stout volumes an un. consciousness on the part of the author that she is deniably tedious task, and long before the end was doing anything very remarkable or extraordinary; reached yielded to the irresistible inclination to and yet it would be difficult to imagine more inter. “skip." The plain fact is that these memoirs of esting experiences told in a more interesting manner. Mrs. Delany are characterized by precisely the merits

and defects which we mentioned as pertaining to the

memoirs of Baroness Bunsen. They are interesting The publication last year of the memoirs of

and even edifying, for the intimate fidelity with

which they portray a singularly fine and noble charBaroness Bunsen has suggested the republication of the “Autobiography and Correspondence of Mrs.

acter; but the canvas is immeasurably too large for Delany," * which was originally issued in England

the subject, and the portrait itself is blurred and in 1861, but in so expensive and voluminous à form

obscured by the vast mass of details. Nor are these

details of sufficient intrinsic importance to justify that it can hardly be said to have been published, in the sense of being rendered accessible to the general

the pains bestowed upon their reproduction. We body of readers. Mrs. Delany (Mary Granville) was

cheerfully admit that “chops-and-tomato-sauce" revof the same illustrious family, three generations re

elations are sometimes more significant than any

that are likely to be included in set compositions ; moved, as Baroness Bunsen, and long sustained the reputation of being the most elegant and accom

but very much the larger part of the correspondence

contained in these volumes differs in no respect from plished woman of her time. She was indeed an ad.

the hundreds of homely domestic epistles which are mirable example of the best and highest type of the

i to-day exchanged between intimate family connecgrande dame ; and no less an authority than Ed. : mund Burke said of her, “She is not only the wo

tions and friends, and which no one would ever dream man of fashion in her own age, she is the highest

of publishing. Even admitting that certain of the bred woman in the world, and the woman of fashion

details which they contain are interesting as showing

the changes which have come over the face of soof all ages." . The editor of the American edition of the “ Auto

ciety between Mrs. Delany's time and our own; yet, biography and Correspondence"-which has been

even so, nothing can be gained by the incessant “revised to reasonable limits "—thus enumerates the

repetition of minutiæ which do not even possess the several features of interest which the volumes pre

merit of presenting the same facts in a new or fresh sent: “The long life of Mrs. Delany comprised

Miss Woolsey, the American editor, “begs leave nearly a century of English history. Born in 1700,

to say" that in her revision she has omitted nothing fourteen years before the death of Queen Anne, she lived far into the reign of George III., an interval

of real interest or value to the narrative, “the ex.

cluded portions being in almost all cases letters of * The Autobiography and Correspondence of Mrs. insignificant interest or small bearing on the biogo Delany. Revised from Lady Llanover's Edition, and raphy, and foot-notes of a genealogical character, edited by Sarah Chauncey Woolsey. Boston: Roberts which possess little meaning or attraction to the more Brothers. 2 vols. 12mo, pp. 465: 499.

distant public for which this work is intended." A

more appropriate apology would have been for not which we mentioned at the outset as characterizing having exercised her editorial prerogative more dis- the book. If one should read the first half of it criminatingly. As they stand now, save for the and then leave off, his feeling would be that the small circle of family relations for which they were author had the power to do anything; and, after originally designed, the Memoirs are fully four times reading the whole of it, the feeling is that he would too long.

have the power to achieve the very highest in novel. writing if his taste and discretion were only equal

to his imaginative grasp and vigor, and to his comWHEN called upon to describe Julian Haw

mand of language. thorne's new novel, “ Sebastian Strome,"* the word

In respect of style, and in a certain ease and conwhich rises most naturally to the lips is "power"; fidence and grace of manner, “Sebastian Strome" it is a work of remarkable power, force, and vigor, is a marked advance upon any of Mr. Hawthorne's both in conception and in execution. While con previous works. “Bressant" is still the most pleasscious of this, however, from the beginning to their

the beginning to the ing of his stories, and the promise of that remains end of the story, the reader will be apt to lay it aside as

of the story, the reader will be apt to lay at aside as yet unfulfilled ; but, in spite of all their faults, with a feeling of disappointment-with a feeling that the later novels have shown a distinct growth in the power is misdirected and misapplied. Though imaginative vigor and in technical mastery of the a much more finished and artistic production, “Se litemry art. bastian Strome" has very nearly the same faults as “Garth," Mr. Hawthorne's previous story. Each starts out with the promise of being a really great The little book of poems by William Young, novel ; each seems to secure a commanding outlook from which the translations from the French of M. upon those infinite horizons of the mind which ren. Coppée, given on a preceding page of this number, der the study of man so interesting to other men; were taken, contains also some original verse of a and both, it must be confessed, fail signally to fulfill very pleasing character. * The translated poems, it the promise of the beginning. “Garth" failed be- will have been observed, are mostly of a reflective, cause the author was unable to fuse and smelt the serious, and even tragic cast ; but, when singing in rich but crude ore which he had heaped together for his own proper voice, Mr. Young's preference seems his use. “Sebastian Strome” fails, not because of to be for playful and whimsical poetic conceits, with any deficiency of artistic power on the author's part, a gayety and sparkle which bring them almost withbut from a defect that is more radical still-a defect in the definition of vers de société. Here is a little of taste. Mr. Hawthorne probably knew that the poem which strikes us as very good, and which will story, as planned, must necessarily prove a very serve to illustrate this feature of the volume's conpainful one ; but we doubt very much if he had any tents : conception of the extreme repulsiveness which its

BOTH. latter half would have for the average mind and She was the laziest little woman taste. We doubt this because the lesson and value

That ever set a mortal crazy ; of the story depend wholly upon our sympathies

'Twas marvelous how my erring spirit being retained for the leading characters in their

Could be subdued by one so lazy.

To monosyllables addicted, truly tragic situation, and by the constant assump

To use all else exceeding loath, tion on the part of the author that such sympathy

Asked which of two things she preferred, exists ; yet the incidents are so managed that we are

She only murmured, “ Both !” gradually brought to distrust and dislike-almost to despise-the whole group of characters, and to lose

It is no paradox to say so: our faith in the reality of feelings on our sympathy

Her every movement was repose; with which the whole effect of the situation depends.

As on a summer day the ocean

Slumbers, the while it ebbs and flows. The story is deeply, intensely interesting from be

Yet was there latent fire; her nature ginning to end—this is its conspicuous and great

That of the panther, not the sloth. merit; but toward the last it is less the interest

I asked her once, which she resembled : which comes from enlisted sympathies than the sort

She only murmured, “Both !" of reluctant fascination with which one contemplates the commission of a crime. The regeneration of

Her person-well, 'twas simply perfect, man through sin is one of those mysterious problems

Matching the graces of her mind;

To perfect face and form she added which always have possessed and always will possess

A keen perception, taste refined. the profoundest interest ; but the method by which But when I challenged her to tell me, it is to be worked out has seldom been rendered

What I knew not myself in troth, more dubious and forbidding than in “Sebastian Whether her wit or beauty charmed me, Strome."

She only murmured, “ Both !" It should be added that none of these defects,

Provoked at last at never hitting radical as they are, destroy the impression of power

This lazy little woman's point, + Sebastian Strome. A Novel. By Julian Haw. thorne. (Appletons' Library of American Fiction.) * Gottlob et cetera. By William Young. London: New York: D. Appleton & Co. 8vo. Pp. 195. C. Kegan Paul & Co. 16mo. Pp. 128.

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