of Denmark! With upheaved halberts they strike at the shadow, and would stop it if they might, usage so grossly unfitting that they are instantly ashamed of it themselves, recognizing the offence in the majesty of the of fended. But he is already gone. The proud, angry king has found himself but a thing of nothing to his body-guard, for he has lost the body which was their guard. Still, not even yet has he learned how little it lies in the power of an honest ghost to gain credit for himself or his tale! His very privileges are against him.

"All this time his son is consuming his heart in the knowledge of a mother capable of so soon and so utterly forgetting such a husband, and in pity and sorrow for the dead father who has had such a wife. He is thirty years of age, an obedient, honorable son, a man of thought, of faith, of aspiration. Him now the ghost seeks, his heart burning like a coal with the sense of unendurable wrong. He is seeking the one drop that can fall cooling on that heart, the sympathy, the answering rage and grief, of his boy. But when at length he finds him, the generous, loving father has to see that son tremble like an aspen-leaf in his doubtful presence. He has exposed himself to the shame of eyes and the indignities of dulness, that he may pour the pent torrent of his wrongs into his ears, but his disfranchisement from the flesh tells against him even with his son; the young Hamlet is doubtful of the identity of the apparition with his father. After all the burning words of the phantom, the spirit he has seen may yet be a devil; the devil has power to assume a pleasing shape, and is perhaps taking advantage of his melancholy to damn him.

once lay in his bosom. The murdered brother,
the dethroned king, the dishonored husband,
the tormented sinner, is yet a gentle ghost.
Has suffering already begun to make him, like
Prometheus, wise?

"But to measure the gentleness, the for-
giveness, the tenderness of the ghost, we must
well understand his wrongs. The murder is
plain; but there is that which went before and
is worse, yet is not so plain to every eye that
reads the story. There is that without which
the murder had never been, and which, there-
fore, is a cause of all the wrong. For listen
to what the ghost reveals when at length he
has withdrawn his son that he may speak with
him alone, and Hamlet has forestalled the dis-
closure of the murderer: —

"Ay, that incestuous, that adulterate beast,

66

With witchcraft of his wit, with traitorous gifts
(O wicked wit and gifts that have the power
So to seduce!), won to his shameful lust
The will of my most seeming virtuous queen.
Oh, Hamlet, what a falling off was there!
From me, whose love was of that dignity
That it went hand in hand even with the vow
I made to her in marriage, and to decline
Upon a wretch, whose natural gifts were poor
To those of mine!

But virtue as it never will be moved
Though lewdness court it in a shape of heaven,-
So lust, though to a radiant angel linked,
Will sate itself in a celestial bed,
And prey on garbage.'

-

"So loving to my mother That he might not beteem the winds of heaven Visit her face too roughly.'

summons of that hell to which she has sold
him, he forgets his vengeance on her seducer
in his desire to comfort her. He dares not, if
he could, manifest himself to her what word
of consolation could she hear from his lips?
Is not the thought of him her one despair?
He turns to his son for help: he cannot con-
sole his wife; his son must take his place.
Alas! even now he thinks better of her than
she deserves; for it is only the fancy of her
son's madness that is terrifying her: he gazes
on the apparition of which she sees nothing,
and from his looks she anticipates an ungov-
ernable outbreak.

"But look; amazement on thy mother sits!
Oh step between her and her fighting soul;
Conceit in weakest bodies strongest works.
Speak to her, Hamlet!'

"The call to his son to soothe his wicked mother is the ghost's last utterance. For a few moments, sadly regardful of the two, he stands, while his son seeks in vain to reveal to his mother the presence of his father, - a few moments of piteous action, all but ruining the remnant of his son's sorely harassed self-possession, his whole concern his wife's distress, and neither his own doom nor his son's duty;

then, as if lost in despair at the impassable gulf betwixt them, revealed by her utter incapacity for even the imagination of his proximity, he turns away, and steals out at the portal. Or perhaps he has heard the black cock crow, and is wanted beneath; his turn bas come.

Will the fires ever cleanse her? Will his love ever lift him above the pain of its loss? Will eternity ever be bliss, ever be endurable, to poor King Hamlet?

a voice of endless and sweetest inflection, yet with a shuddering echo in it as from the caves of memory, on whose walls are written the eternal blazon that must not be to ears of flesh

Reading this passage, can any one doubt that the ghost charges his late wife with adultery, as the root of all his woes? It is true that, obedient to the ghost's injunctions as well as his own filial instincts, Hamlet accuses his mother of no more than was patent to all the world; but, unless we suppose the ghost misinformed or mistaken, we must accept this charge. And had Gertrude not yielded to the Alas! even the memory of the poor ghost Armed in the complete steel of a suit well witchcraft of Claudius' wit, Claudius would is insulted. Night after night on the stage known to the eyes of the sentinels, visionary never have murdered Hamlet. Through her his effigy appears, cadaverous, sepulchral, none the less, with useless truncheon in hand, his life was dishonored, and his death violent no longer as Shakspeare must have repreresuming the memory of old martial habits, and premature: unhuzled, disappointed, unabut with quiet countenance, more in sorrow neled, he woke to the air, not of his orchard-sented him, aërial, shadowy, gracious, the thin say inthan in anger, troubled, not now with the blossoms, but of a prison-house, the lightest corporeal husk of an eternal, -shall I effaceable? sorrow! It is no hollow monothought of the hell-day to which he must sleep-word of whose terrors would freeze the blood less return, but with that unceasing ache at the of the listener. What few men can say he tone that can rightly upbear such words as his, heart, which ever, as often as he is released could, that his love to his wife had kept even the pine-tops, of agony and love, of horror but a sound mingled of distance and wind in into the cooling air of the upper world, draws step with the vow he made to her in marriage; and hope, and loss and judgment, him back to the region of his wrongs, where and his son says of him, having fallen asleep in his orchard, in sacred security and old custom, suddenly, by cruel assault, he was flung into Hades, where horror upon horror awaited him, worst horror of all, the knowledge of his wife!-armed he comes, in shadowy armor but how real sorrow! Still it is not pity he seeks from his son; he needs it not, he can endure. There is no weakness in the ghost. It is but to the imperfect human sense that he is shadowy. To himself he knows his doom, his deliverance; that the hell in which he finds himself shall endure but until it has burned up the hell he has found within him, - until the evil he was and is capable of shall have dropped from him into the lake of fire: he nerves himself to bear. And the cry of revenge that comes from the sorrowful lips is the cry of a king and a Dane, rather than of a wronged man. It is for public justice and not individual vengeance he calls. He cannot endure that the royal bed of Denmark should be a couch for luxury and damned incest. To stay this, he would bring the murderer to justice. There is a worse wrong for which he seeks no revenge; it involves his wife; and there comes in love, and love knows no amends but amendment, seeks only the repentance tenfold more needful to the wronger than the wronged. It is not alone the father's care for the human nature of his son that warns him to take no measures against his mother; it is the husband's tenderness also for her who

And this was her return! Yet is it thus he and blood. The spirit that can assume form charges his son concerning her :

"But howsoever thou pursu'st this act,

"Taint not thy mind, nor let thy soul contrive
Against thy mother aught; leave her to Heaven,
And to those thorns that in her bosom lodge,
To prick and sting her.'

And may we not suppose it to be for her sake
in part that the ghost insists, with fourfold
repetition, upon a sword-sworn oath to silence
from Horatio and Marcellus ?

"Only once again does he show himself,
not now in armor upon the walls, but in his
gown and in his wife's closet.

"Whatever the main object of the ghost's appearance, he has spoken but a few words concerning the matter between him and Hamlet, when he turns abruptly from it to plead with his son for his wife. The ghost sees and mistakes the terror of her looks; imagines that, either from some feeling of his presence, or from the power of Hamlet's words, her conscience is thoroughly roused, and that her vision, her conception of the facts, is now more than she can bear. She and her fighting soul are at odds. She is a kingdom divided against itself. He fears the consequences. He would not have her go mad. He would not have her die yet. Even while ready to start at the

at will must surely be able to bend that form to completest and most delicate expression, and the part of the ghost in the play offers work worthy of the highest artist. The wouldbe actor takes from it vitality and motion, endowing it instead with the rigidity of death, as if the soul had resumed its cast-off garment, the stiffened and mouldy corpse, - whose frozen deadness it could ill model to the utterance of its lively will."

-The autobiographical sketch of the late Harriet Martineau, just published in England, is a very interesting book, - a narrative of the life of a truly remarkable woman. We gave some particulars as to her family in a recent number, and will now supplement that information. She was of French descent, and was born in Norwich in 1802. At an early age she was afflicted by deafness, and was compelled to use an ear-trumpet. While still in her teens, she began to write for a religious periodical called The Monthly Repository. early reading was of a religious though strongly Unitarian cast; but her mind grew out of arbitrary restraints, and during her womanhood she enjoyed absolute independence of thought and judgment. She first became known in lit

Her

It may not be generally known that a company of modern witches meet on a blasted heath at Cambridge, and concoct the olla podrida called the Nation. Mr. Godkin is chief cook, and presides over the offering of tid-bits, frogs, newts, snakes, &c., by his associates. The mixture is ultimately decanted, clarified by a classic apparatus furnished by Harvard College, and finally emptied into the conduit, the Nation.

erature through a little book called "Tradi- former,' the latter,' 'he, she, it, and they,' Several years ago, Mr. Philip G. Hamtions of Palestine." Soon after its publication, through clause after clause." No, he prefers erton, the author and artist, published in her mind was turned to more thoughtful themes, to write: Mr. Smith said to Mr. Jones that England a novel called "Wenderholme." It and the result was the writing of "Illustra-he, Mr. Smith, would be obliged to Mr. Jones, had a wide popularity, but has never been retions of Political Economy." In 1828, she if he, Mr. Jones, would take the trouble to produced in this country. It will now be and her sister sustained a heavy pecuniary lend Mr. Smith the sum of five pounds." He brought out by Messrs. Roberts Brothers, in loss. Stimulated by comparative poverty, she never indulges in the affectation of French an enlarged form, and with a new preface. projected a series of monthly papers on the forms, - -never says "Duc," but " Duke"; The scene is laid in Yorkshire and Lancashire, same subject just mentioned, - Political Econ- never "Guillaume," but "William." Now and the narrative has a pleasant flavor of diaomy. She found it very difficult to arrange we submit that any one writing of a French- lect. In the village of Stayton live the prinfor its publication, but finally succeeded, and man must give him his own French name. cipal personages. Isaac Ogden, a widower, the work appeared in 1832. In a few years Praising Macaulay's great learning, Mr. Free- with one small son, dwells with his mother. its sale had reached ten thousand copies; but man admits that of the Middle Ages he was He has acquired the habit of excessive drinkshe derived little pecuniary profit from this comparatively ignorant. He says, with a ing; and one night in his frenzy beats his boy success. During the following ten years, she frankness that does him credit:with a heavy whip, almost beyond endurance. pursued the path of fiction, winning sufficient "Of the first thousand years of English The boy disappears, and the brutal father, though not intoxicating encouragement. She history he shows no sign of any knowledge truly repentant, spends weeks in searching for was deficient in some of the essential qualities greater than what was needed to make him him. Dr. Bardly, the local physician, is very of a novel-writer, and frankly acknowledged understand the last three or four hundred friendly to the boy, and keeps an eye out for it. Perhaps the most interesting of her many years. There is no sign of his having worked him continually. One night he is staying at books to American readers are her Society at the earlier history or the earlier literature the house of Col. Stanburne, when he hears in America," and her "Retrospect of Western for its own sake. And yet the introductory the cry of a child. He finds little Jacob almost Travel." She once wrote a book called "The sketch of the earlier English history with dead. The discovery is kept secret, the Maid-of-all-Work," and in after life frequently which his great work opens is a very remarka- Doctor and the grandmother believing that encountered persons who believed it was auto- ble piece of writing. We must remember that the father's grief may tend to cure him of inbiographical. During her last years she lived it is now nearly thirty years old, and that a temperance. The boy regains his health, and, in a little cottage at Ambleside, in the Lake great deal has been done in those thirty years, on Christmas-eve, he is brought to his father. District. Here she wrote "The History of of which Macaulay could not possibly know These are the introductory events of the story, the Thirty Years' Peace," "Household Edu- any thing. But it is worth noting that his first and they are full of promise. We make a few cation," and her condensation of Comte's volumes appeared in the same year as Kemble's extracts: Positive Philosophy." She was one of the Saxons in England.' In that introduction it most masculine of female writers, and her is not hard to find exaggerations, and even writings breathe a strong spirit of indepen- positive mistakes. For the earliest times of dence. A full autobiography will soon fol- English history he clearly had no great love. low this sketch. The times which followed he looked at, not unnaturally, with the eyes of the school of Scott and Thierry. He fancied that the distinction between Norman and Englishman after the Conquest lasted much longer, and was much sharper while it lasted, than it really was. But for all this Macaulay thoroughly took in the true aspect of the long series of ages over which he ran so lightly. His sketch shows a thorough grasp of the order of causes and events, and of the bearing which the events of one age had on the next. Though Macaulay had clearly never minutely studied the earlier English history, yet he dealt with it as an historian, as a man who had gained the power of dealing with any period of history. His position with regard to the times before his own period was very different from that of men who tell us that they took to writing history for want of something else to do. Such men naturally remain in the blackness of darkness as to all times before the arbitrary point at which they begin at once their writings and their studies. But in this sketch Macaulay shows the grasp which the true historian has even over the times which he has not studied in detail. The process of thoroughly mastering certain periods, at once in their broad outline and in their minutest detail, gives him a power over other periods. His practice gives him a kind of tact by which he can see his way through what without that tact would be a mere maze, a tact which enables him to grasp boldly, truly, and firmly the broad outlines of an age, the working of causes and effects even in a time when he is by no means master of the details, and where he may even here and there make mistakes in the details. This power was never more strikingly shown than in Macaulay's introductory sketch of English history. He seems, as it were, to have put forth his hand, and to have instinctively grasped such parts of the subject as were needful to an introduction of his own subject. The feat is no small one. To have accomplished it is at least as clear a sign of true historic power as to have dealt as he did deal with the times of which he was thoroughly master."

A New Orleans correspondent writes: "Your critique of Hidden Perils' does Miss Hay an injustice." But he fails to tell us how, merely saying that The book under review was published in England, either in the autumn of '72, or before March, '73." How the justice of our criticism is affected by this bare and unimportant fact, we confess ourselves unable to see.

- Mr. E. A. Freeman, the accomplished historian, contributes to the last number of the International Review an interesting, though not unprejudiced, paper on Macaulay. He speaks of him as amiable and charming in private and domestic life; how he justifies this conclusion by evidence drawn from Mr. Trevelyan's Life, we find it difficult to see. In his immediate family relations he was deservedly an idol, but to the external world, to which he was under no obligations, and out of which he could reasonably hope to make no capital, he was arrogant, selfish, and overbearing. This is plainly shown by the biography referred to. Mr. Freeman pronounces him a model of style, without, as we believe, due authority. His style was not controlled; it was impulsive, and, in excited passages, headlong; and we should be reluctant to hold it up, in all respects, as a model for the young writer. Mr. Freeman in effect contradicts himself, when he says, Macaulay is a model of style," and adds, "I do not mean that it is wise in any writer to copy Macaulay's style." "Macaulay never goes on, like some writers, talking about the

"Little Jacob had been admitted to the ceremony of tea, and had been a model of good behavior, being seen and not heard, which in Stayton comprised the whole code of etiquette for youth when in the presence of its seniors and superiors. Luckily for our young friend, he sat between the Doctor and the hostess, who took such good care of him that, by the time the feast was over, he was aware, by certain feelings of tightness and distention in a particular region, that the necessities of nature were more than satisfied; although, like Vitellius, he had still quite appetite enough for another equally copious repast, if only he had known where to put it. If Sancho Panza had had an equally indulgent physician at his side, one of the best scenes in Don Quixote' could never have been written, for Dr. Bardly never hindered his little neighbor, but, on the other hand, actually encouraged him to do his utmost; and mentally amused himself by enumerating the pieces of tea-cake and buttered toast, and the helpings to crab and potted meat, and the large spoonfuls of raspberry jam, which our hero silently absorbed. The Doctor, perhaps, acted faithfully by little Jacob, for if Nature had not intended boys of his age to accomplish prodigies in eating, she would surely never have endowed them with such vast desires; and little Jacob suffered no worse results from his present excesses than the uncomfortable tightness already alluded to, which, as his vigorous digestion operated, soon gave place to sensations of comparative elasticity and relief."

66 4

My wife 's always very good about letting me sit here and smoke and talk as long as I like with my friends, after she's gone to bed,' said Col. Stanburne. You smile because I seem to value a sort of goodness that seems only natural, but that's on account of your old-bachelorish ignorance of womankind. There are married men who no more dare sit an hour with a cigar when their wives are gone to bed, than they dare play billiards on Sunday. Now, for instance, I was staying this autumn with a friend of mine in another county; and about ten o'clock his wife went to bed. He and I wanted to talk over a great many things. We had been old schoolmates, and we had travelled together when we were both bachelors, and we knew lots of men that

his wife knew nothing about, and each of us wanted to hear all the news the other had to tell; so he just ventured the first night I was there to ask me into his private study, and offer me a cigar. Well, we had scarcely had time to light, when his wife's maid knocked at the door, and says, Please, sir, Missis wishes to see you.' So he promised to go, and began to look uncomfortable; and in five minutes the girl came back again, and she came three times in a quarter of an hour. After that came the lady herself, quite angry, and ordered her husband to bed, just as if he had been a little boy; and though he seemed cool, and didn't stir from his chair, it was evident that he was afraid of her, and he solemnly promised to go in five minutes. At the expiration of the five minutes, in she bursts again (she had been sitting in the passage, perhaps she may have been listening at the door), and held out her watch, without one word. The husband got up like a sheep, and said, 'Good-night, John;' and she led him away just like that; and I sat and smoked by myself, thinking what a pitiable spectacle it was. Now, my wife is not like that; she will have her way about her blankets, but she's reasonable in other respects.'"

"The Life and Times of George Whitefield" will shortly be published in London. Many letters, documents, &c., unknown to former biographers, will be utilized in this work.

---

is laid partly in this country and partly in
England. We hardly need to add that the
story is fiery with excitement, and will please
the large, though not fastidious, class of the
author's admirers. Messrs. W. F. Gill & Co.
will publish it in paper covers.

For this respect the trade itself must be blamed: several of its members having delayed their lists to a day too late for publication in this volume. We congratulate Mr. Leypoldt and his co-workers on the handsome result of their industry, accuracy, and good judgment.

66

-In "Lays of Ind," a volume of poems by Aliph Cheem, a romantic story is told. Mr. Charles E. Robinson, of Trinity Two of the personages, Rudge and Grant, go College, Cambridge, made a cruise in the down to the pier at Madras, to meet the in-yacht Widgeon," from Swanage to Hamcoming steamship, "Smiling Sal," which was burg. En route, he stopped at Brunsbüttel, bringing to Rudge the unseen lady of his near Cuxhaven, long enough to learn much choice, "Our Little Pearl." The vessel about its martyrs. We quote from his graphic arrives, and discharged her passengers, and then came

-

A CRUEL DISAPPOINTMENT.

Yes, Pearl was there; and Grant, with a nudge,
As he offered a telescope,

Said, "There she is, in a blue hat, Rudge,
Holding on to a rope."

Then Grant, in a big masulah boat,
Set off to the heaving ship;

And Rudge, for a moment, regretted he wrote,
And thought of giving the slip.

But he took the photograph from his vest,
And gazed at the lovely phiz;
And, gazing, said, "I suppose it's best:
She's an angel, gad, she is!"

The boat came back in a little space,
With Grant and the topee blue;
And Rudge stood staring down on the face
That simpered a How d'ye do?"

It was that of a stale and elderly girl,
Of forty, at least, you'd say:
The features were those of the photo'd Pearl,
But the Pearl of another day!

For a minute or so, Rudge seemed like stone,
Then he suddenly grasped the truth;
And then there came a horrible groan
From the breast of the injured youth.
Diddled, by Jingo! Done to a turn!
Sold, by all that's neat!

Dash it, I'll cut the whole concern!"
And then he took to his feet,

Fled from the pier, along the beach,
Fled with his might and main;
Managed the station just to reach
In time for a starting train;

Flung the lying photograph right
Under the grinding wheels;
Then raged, and fumed, and swore all night
At matrimonial deals.

The passengers set him down as drunk,
The guard declared he was mad;
But the morning came, and out he slunk
At dreary Joggereebad -

Calmer, but crushed with a sorrow deep,
A sorrow scarce to be told;
And he felt each inch of his cuticle creep,
As he thought how he'd been sold.

The world heard nothing of Rudge's case,
Not even a distant hint;

For Grant suggested something in place
Of Rudge appearing in print.

Some thousands of Rudge's bright rupees
Were sent to Grant in a bag;
And brother and sister felt quite at ease
As they counted out the swag!

Messrs. Lee & Shepard offer a brilliant list of new juveniles for the coming autumn. It includes Abraham Lincoln's Favorite," "Oh, why should the Spirit of Mortal be We have received from the enterprising Proud?" By William Knox; with full-page publisher, Mr. F. Leypoldt, of New York, a and initial illustrations, by Miss Humphrey. copy of The Publisher's Trade-List Annual," "Young Folks' Book of American Explorers," for 1876. It comprises the full lists of Amerby Thomas Wentworth Higginson. "Flaxie ican publishers, with Indexes of publishing Frizzle and her Friends," by Sophie May. "Winwood Cliff; or, The Sailor's Son," by Rev. Daniel Wise, D.D. (Frank Forrester). "Daisy Travers; or, The Girls of Hive Hall," by Adelaide F. Samuels; completing the Maidenhood Series. "Life of Rubens," by George H. Calvert.

66

Going to the Bad" is the significant title of a new novel from the facile, but unscrupulous, pen of Edmund Yates. Its scene

firms and trade specialties, represented in the
annuals for 1873, 1874, 1875, and 1876; a
Publishers' Directory; a Guide to Works for
Trade Reference; the Revised Constitution
(and officers) of the American Book-trade
Association; and a Review of Books and Sta-
tionery at the Centennial Exhibition. Some
important improvements are to be noted in
this edition. In externals it shows a large
advance on previous issues, and in all respects
but one must give satisfaction to the trade.

account:

This

"The most important of all the circumstances that were, about this time, conspiring to prepare the ground in Dithmarschen for the new doctrines of the Reformation was the shameless trade of the indulgence-vendor, Doctor Johannes Angelus Arcimbold. personage held a license to sell all kinds of papal dispensations in France, Germany, and Sweden. The profits of his traffic, in which he employed as sub-agents five Dithmarschen priests, were so enormous that he could afford to travel with gold and silver pots and pans, while even his chests had golden locks. The latter, however, were painted over in oil-colors, that they might not glitter too much in the eyes of the desperate cov

"Doctor Arcimbold's proceedings had scandalized everybody in Meldorf, who had previously entertained any objection to papistry. Nicolaus Boje, the pastor, spoke so forcibly in condemnation as to induce Augustin Torneborg, Abbot of Gray Friars, to write to Bremen that he outdid Luther himself; and so wrought upon the people that they were actually beginning to dispute with his monks on points of doctrine. A widow of good family, named Wiebe Jung, zealously took up the new teaching. She prevailed upon Boje to invite to Meldorf Heinrich of Zutphen, a noted Lutheran, the story of whose labor and martyrdom is one of deep and painful interest.

"In spite of dissuasion on the part of his friends, Heinrich disembarked at Brunsbüttel, in November, 1524, from Bremen, and reached Meldorf shortly after. The Abbot Torneborg at once raised a strong opposition. He even succeeded in persuading the Council of Fortyeight, who then administered the affairs of Dithmarschen, to decree the banishment both of Heinrich and Nicolaus Boje. The former, notified of this decree, cried out: Should I die here, heaven is as nigh in Dithmarsch as elsewhere, and I doubt not but that, some time or another, I must seal the Gospel with a bloody death! Finding that their commands were not obeyed, the Forty-eight, after a stormy discussion, decided to let things remain as they were until after the General Council. The concluding words of their resolution display a most rare and uncommon trust in other people: What our neighbors adopt and believe, that will we also.'

"Disappointed at the turn affairs had taken, the monks raised a mob to attack Heinrich, which gathered at-Henningstedt, on the 10th of December, 1524, under cover of the night.

"Five hundred peasants had been summoned together (I am now quoting the Hauptpastor's pamphlet), for whose behoof three tuns of Hamburg beer were broached. To their criminal deed they armed themselves with fiendish ingenuity; drunkenness, that friend of the wicked and foe of all good emotions, was pressed into the service of the conspirators; and the shadows of night, which had

already concealed the birth and growth of the plot, convoyed the armed mob to the dwelling of Nicolaus Boje.

"In order to obtain admission into the house, they had looked about them for a traitor, and found him in the person of a man called Henning Hans. This fellow daily frequented the parsonage, and now opened a trap-door in the ground to the enemies of his master. A man of Wakenhusen strode into the house, and opened the door from the inside; whereupon the wild crowd surged in, swearing and brawling, with incessant cries of "Hau dodt! Hau dodt!"

"Nicolaus Boje was torn out of bed, beaten, and dragged naked into the street, where he was left unnoticed to lie. Heinrich was bound,

and constrained in the winter cold to walk on the hard-frozen roads, over snow and ice, towards Heide. Soon his feet were mangled by the ice; he begged earnestly for a horse, but in vain: they scoffed at and abused him outrageously. To save appearances, he was brought before a tribunal, and condemned to death by fire.

"On the 11th of December, 1524, at eight o'clock in the morning, Heinrich was taken into the market-place of Heide. His sentence, which was there read out, recited: "This villain has preached against the Mother of God and the Christian Faith; for which reasons, on the authority of his Reverence, the Bishop of Bremen, he is condemned to the flames."

The only answer to these words that Heinrich made was, That I have not done; and to the summons of submission, "Thy will be accomplished!"

"Wiebe Junge begged earnestly for a delay of at least three days in the execution of the sentence, even offering a thousand guilders for the grant of such a respite; but her supplications were not acceded to, and the mob stamped upon the suppliant with their feet. For two long hours the flame of the pyre would not blaze, whereupon they bound Heinrich to a ladder, so that the blood gushed forth from his mouth and nose. A man tried to set the ladder on end, and prop it up with his halberd; but it slipped, and the halberd went through the back of the tortured victim. At last, a blow from a hammer, directed against him by a man named Johann Holm, put a pes riod to his sufferings.

"Thus died this highly gifted preacher of the Gospel, at the age of thirty-six years. His head, his hands, and feet were cut off and burned on live charcoal, the trunk was buried, and then savage dancing around the pyre concluded the awful revel. Luther himself has written the story of Heinrich of Zütphen, and addressed special epistles of condolence to his parishioners at Bremen and Meldorf, as well as to Wiebe Junge."

"The name of the little black-eyed rebel' was Mary Redmond. She was the daughter of a patriot who lived in Philadelphia at the time it was occupied by the British troops. In that city, and at the above-mentioned time, the incident told in the poem took place. The following account of the young heroine is taken from Noble Deeds of American Women:

"She had many relatives who were Loyalists, and these used to call her the little blackeyed rebel,' so ready was she to help women whose husbands were fighting for freedom, in getting letters from them. The letters were usually sent from their friends by a boy, who carried them stitched in the back of his coat. He came into the city, bringing provisions to market. One morning, when there was some reason to fear he was suspected, and his movements were watched by the enemy, Mary undertook to get the papers from him in safety. She went as usual to the market, and, in a pretended game of romps, threw her shawl over the boy's head, and secured the prize. She hurried with the papers to her anxious friends, who read them secretly, after the windows had been carefully closed.

"When the news came that the British general, Burgoyne, had surrendered, the cunning little rebel,' so as not to be heard by her Loyalist friends, put her head up the chimney, and gave a shout for Gates, the American general.'

66

"Logic," by W. Stanley Jevons, takes its place among the Science Priners. The office of logic is to teach us to reason well; reasoning gives us knowledge; and knowledge, according to Bacon, is power. The illustration of the blanket, which is used to keep the human body warm, and a mass of ice cool, is

For she knew that 'neath the lining of the coat he wore that
were lay letters from the husbands and the fathers far very happy.
day,

And she clambered on the wagon, minding not who all were
by,

With a laugh of reckless romping in the corner of her eye.
Clinging round his brawny neck, she clasped her fingers
white and small,

And then whispered, "Quick! the letters! thrust them un-
derneath my shawl!
Carry back again this package, and be sure that you are
spry!"

eye.

girlish freak,

Loud the motley crowd were laughing at the strange, un-
And the boy was scared and panting, and so dashed he
could not speak;
And, Miss, I have good apples," a bolder lad did cry;

But she

answered, "No, I thank you," from the corner of

her eye.

the news of loved ones absent to the dear friends they

- The increased attention to the study of Art, which is so marked a feature in educa- And she sweetly smiled upon him from the corner of her tional circles, has given encouragement to Messrs. Ivison, Blakeman, Taylor, & Co., to issue "White's Progressive Art Studies." Six courses are before us: (1) Elementary Problems (Instrumental), by Henry E. Alvord, of Williston Seminary; (2) Application of General Principles (Ornamental), by Clarence Eytinge, of New York; (3) Advanced Problems and Mechanical Studies (Instrumental), by Mr. White, probably; (4) Examples and Analysis of Different Orders, by Clarence Eytinge; (5) Trees and Foreground Plants, by G. G. White; and (6) Rocks and Water. Each part comprises an essay on the subject, a series of examples

with

The author's definitions of deductive reasoning, terms, classification, &c., are exceedingly simple and ingenious. The discourse on Propositions embodies the whole theory of Logic, and to read it is to attain approximate mastery of the subject. The author's concluding sentences are full of wisdom:

66

All correct reasoning consists in substituting like things for like things; all incorrect reasoning consists in putting one thing for another when there is not the requisite likeness." [D. Appleton & Co.]

66

-Our readers will remember the article in our last number, called "Old Boston CritiJ. Snelling's Truth; a Gift for Scribblers." cism," the subject of the article being William Appended to this writer's autograph, we find this note: "The author of Tales of the Northwest,' Truth,' &c., was one of the best writers our country has produced, but is a fit subject for Disraeli in an edition of his ‹Calamities,' for he never could steer clear of all kinds of troubles. But, the worst of all, he gave himself to intemperance, and was this year (1837) sent to the House of Correction (at his own request) as a common drunkard. There he still remains. His talents would have gained him competence in any country where literature is valued; but our communities are so much like the merciless ocean that

a man of the best abilities, if, like a ship, one small thing is wanting, he is sure to founder and become a total loss." In a later note we read: "Snelling came out of the House of Correction in June last, with a determination to refrain entirely from ardent spirits. I told him he was able to do it, and he yet might do well, and that it lay wholly with himself; with many other kind hints. But it was not long before his presence disgusted me with the odor of liquor. In September, 1837, he lost his

"Some time before the lieutenant was directed to proceed with his men to this spot, where (it had been ascertained by some fishermen who, from the water, had witnessed the mysterious disappearance of a fox among the cliffs) there was a cave with scarcely visible entrance; for here, it was believed, smuggled goods were concealed, and a gang of sheepstealers had taken up their abode. Arrived at the little hole of an entrance, he asked who would enter first; to which no one responded, for one man armed could have defended the robbers' den against an army. The officer, however, led (as he, indeed, had intended to found sheep's bones and leather, do), but no one was within; the party only for one of the gang had carried on here the trade of a shoemaker. This cave is close to the hill on the Kynance side. Roberts told me that he did not think any one in the place, except himself and his brother (who lately died), knew its whereabouts. But this brother had taken a young gentleman of Penzance in. We Dr. scrambled down the cliff, the footing being 60 insecure enough, and wriggled ourselves

1 176 into the cave, feet-foremost, with the utmost tennial Ode is found a noble tribute to Vir23 difficulty; but having no candles, we came ginia. A Virginian wrote to the poet, asking again next day, for Roberts said the cave had for a copy of these lines, whereupon Mr. Lowell never been completely explored. Gigantic, not only transcribed the passage in question 40 perpendicular smooth faces of serpentine, pre- with his own hand, but had it handsomely cisely like the verdantique Italian marble framed. It went forward to Virginia, accomveined with steatites, and great masses of panied by a letter breathing the same tender crimson rock rolled from above, all piled in and patriotic spirit which characterizes the 50 confusion near the wash of restless seas, ren- Ode. der the scene here a splendid one. Rob120 erts was in the cave in 1872, and told me there £5 51 was a pillar supporting the roof where it gets loftier; this, however, we found fallen, and soon you will have to be as slim as a lance fish before you can get in at all. On a stone we found a paper, almost illegible from damp,