between low-lying, fertile shores. Vancouver is finely situated on a long, gentle slope, with a dark background of pines. It is a straggling, vagrant, slow, sleepy little town, much like an eastern village, with out pretensions, and none the worse for that; the 'streets are grass-grown, the houses neat enough but not prim. The river in front is like a lake. Opposite the town, perhaps a mile away, lies a long island with enticing woods, a visionary place where the fancy may ramble; the trees there are not pine but cottonwood, oak, willow, and the like-a softer foliage through which the sunshine is always playing. The river westward is a shield of silver under the afternoon's sun. Mount Hoed stands always in sight, and far away towards the southeast another peak, vague and shadowy, lifts up a snowy fin above the long black waste of mountains. Nowhere on this western coast can an evening in early summer be spent more contentedly than in Vancouver, say at the Parade grounds, the finest in many respects any of the Government posts can show. On this warm and fragrant evening the expansive view is doubly fine: Mount Hood with its monarch's head above the clouds gazes serenely down over miles and miles of subject territory; the heights near Portland are in easy sight; a country, half champaign, half undulating, stretches off southward, while between all runs the great flood upon which we have been voyaging; tall pine trees-ten or twelve-stand, stately sentinels, on grounds soft and rich with genuine turf; in the southwest, far from the sun, there are rays, faint, shadowy, and colorless as though a mock sun were setting; the wind blows musically through these great organ-pipes, the pines; a robin now and then breaks forth with flute-like note; soon a bugle sounds, soldiers in their white gloves appear, an officer moves quickly over the plain; again the bugle plays, once, twice and still again, men stand by to lower the flag, the evening gun puffs out its smoke, and the day is done; but Mount Hood still retains the last beams, while a few clouds of varied shape and color fade slowly away before night falls, for twilight is long lasting in this northern land. Helen of Troy. Henry Colbach. Is IT a joy to live for aye in song? Dost thou with thirst that glory ne'er can sate Mr. Earnest and his Secret. THE writer makes no pretense of calling this narrative eit her true or fictitious. Enough that the year is 1875, the scene Çalcutta, and, more particularly, the elegantly furnished abode of an English merchant known as Mr. James Earnest, our hero. Evidently, Mr. Earnest was more than well-to-do, as the phrase is; he was surrounded by and immersed in luxury. To describe his appearance briefly, it was that of a gentleman of at least fifty years, and bearing many traces of a handsome youth. All of his features were attractive, but the most conspicuous of them, because of his years, were the large and brilliant teeth shown by a winning smile and occasional hearty laugh. For all this expression of urbanity, physiognomy would have detected firmness as a prominent trait of characBut what kind of firmness? Seated by him, and in confidential talk, was Mr. Thomas Richardson, also a merchant, and some twenty years the junior, though evidently time had made no gap in the intimacy of these two bosom friends. About twenty-five years before this particular date, Mr. Earnest had come to Calcutta, a total stranger to the land and its inhabitants, and in such pecuniary straits that the helping hand of Mr. Richardson's father had placed him under unusual obligation. ter. "Tell me the story of your life-I mean, of your early life, before you came to Calcutta. Don't think me inquisitive surely our intimacy warrants the question, and I have heard strange and romantic reports of your previous career." Thus said Mr. Richardson to his friend, who quickly responded: "No, Tom; strange it was indeed, but so far from being what's called romantic, my history is eminently prosaic. Yet the prose of life is often really more romantic than the writers of romance care to admit. It would spoil their trade. What I have to tell you has long been on my lips, but the story must remain sealed upon yours till my life is over. Will you promise?" An affirmative nod and a grasp of the hand was compact enough. "Excuse the dwelling upon my personal characteristics," he continued, "for it is essential to the narrative. As a youth, I was considered tolerably frank, rather amiable, passably good-looking; and as I had wealth to advantage these qualifications, the world's oyster was opened for me in advance. This amiability, by the by, was marred, my friends said, by the exhibition of a tremendous will-obstinacy, it was freely called-and I had, also, another marked peculiarity a temperament so nervous that the slightest physical pain was torture indescribable. Slander called me, without qualification, a coward. Ignorance served me little better, for it is only the philosopher who knows that there are as many kinds of innate physical cowards as of moral. I could face the cannon's mouth, with the rest of those Bond Street dandies who fought in the Crimea, and yet I confess the mere sight of blood made me shrink and grow pale. This sort of weakness was often mortifying, as it appeared on the most trivial occasions. Once, for example, when I was compelled to undergo the simple operation of a tooth-filling, the prospect of possible pain made me faint. Many a man, whose bravery is otherwise unquestioned, has had somewhat similar experience. After all, moral heroism is the rarest of virtues; and as to physical bravery, we share it in common with the brutes. But a truce to moralizing, or I might venture a little in favor of obstinacy. Why should the word always be used in a bad sense. One may be firm without being able to reason why. Every one is not born logical. Some must depend upon instinct. It's very certain that those same brutes make better use of their instinct than we poor mortals of our reason. Hamlet says: 'What a piece of work is man!' Yes! and what a piece of work he makes out of it, with his high resolve and weak per formance. But what has all this to do with my story? you ask. Much, my dear friend. Have patience. "Now, let me hint to you of the extravagance and follies of my youth, of the rejection of my suit, in consequence, by the only woman I ever loved, of a state of despair, of more wickedness, of gambling (the croupiers of Baden knew no more familiar face than mine), of drink-ah! all this, at least, is no uncommon history. Let me hasten to the sequel. I had a wealthy uncle, whose affection for me was very strong, and my heirship to his property was well known. This uncle was extremely eccentric. Moreover, he had the family trait--obstinacy. Such a nature, combined with the utter contempt he showed for my peculiar nervous temperament, hatched many a bitter quarrel between us. In vain I argued, or tried to; the more he laughed and sneered at my shrinking from the slightest physical pain. Almost on his death-bed he vowed that such weakness was the result of a morbid imagination; and that I would live to see it, whether he did or not. My waywardness and reckless dissipation he could forgive sooner than what I was assuredly not accountable for. When this affectionate but very eccentric uncle died, it appeared that I, his heir, was presumably a very rich man-provided any lucky mortal could lay his hand upon the estate. You see, my uncle had sold every acre, every house in the city, all his stocks and bonds, and, by the confession of his will, had secreted the gold in some out-of-the-way spot - Heaven knows where. To make the complication worse, it was intimated in the very will itself, that the key to the discovery of the treasure was, to use his own unaccountable words, hidden about my own person, and that I had nothing to thank for it but my own obstinacy. How? and where? Madness!--surely the emanation of a disordered brain. One only clue to the unravelling of the whole mystery was this: a direction for me to go to Florence, Italy, and from a certain individual, whose address was given, important information could be obtained. "Curiosity alone would have taken me, and I hur ried through Paris, post haste, for Florence. There I found-what? An Italian dentist, whose name had slipped my memory, and who had performed the only operation I had ever undergone in this line, and that was the filling of a tooth. He told me (and I could hardly keep my hands from his throat during the narration), that in one of our winters in Italy, a heavy bribe had induced him to become a tool of my uncle, who had determined to cure me of what he considered my chief failings. He would crown himself a victor, though it be after his death; and he had hit upon this novel expedient. For a good round sum, the operator was persuaded to insert securely a diminutive piece of foil underneath the exterior filling of gold. Certain small figures upon this foil, stamped by my eccentric and tantalizing uncle (so the fellow was charged to tell me), designated the exact spot where the treasures were buried. No one knew what the cabalistic figures were. The Italian did not. Corpo di Jesu-he did not-as I grasped him by the throat, and he prayed for mercy. A few deliberate moments after my frenzy, and the simple fact remained that the secret was indeed about my own person, and that there could be no discovery of the wealth save by the extraction of the tooth." "But the obstinacy of your uncle," interrupted Mr. Richardson; "you have defended your ownwhat of his?" "Ah!" said Mr. Earnest, "you are langhing at me in the moment of my discomñture, as you deem it. You believe that I did as most would do: accept my fate with the best grace possible, thankful that only a momentary pang of the flesh need be incurred, and then my pecuniary distress would be relieved, and worldly prosperity restored. Certainly I did not hesitate. But what was the determination? Submitting to my uncle's plan would have given me fresh means of yielding to all the temptations hitherto so successful. My own obstinacy stood my friend, and so did my cowardice, (if you call it so), too for the dread of physical pain aided the decision. I determined to reform, to retrieve my fortunes by my own exertions, and to die with the unextracted secret in my head. "This resolution would be futile, if not acted on at once, for the story of such a strange will had necessarily been noised abroad; and how did I know but that, swift as my travel was from England, robbers and murderers were watching every movement. As I walked through the streets of Florence, on the very night of my arrival, more than one black-eyed Italian wore, to me, a sinister expression; and there were ugly-faced fellows, too, prowling about, whom my fancy pictured as ruffians such as only the slums of London can show. Mind you, Tom, my cowardice was not of the kind to fear any attack of this sort, except it be the stab in the back; so common prudence dictated thorough disguise and flight to foreign lands. Fortunately, to cut my story short, a fishing craft was bound for an eastern port of Spain. I ent want. reached it in safety, and without a sign of pursuit. Thence, after a few days' hiding, a storm-bound English ship brought me here. You know, my dear young friend, the rest of my story. How your late father befriended me, a total stranger, and in appar How he gave many kind words and sufficient material help. Yes! saved me (little knowing the fortune that I was keeping for his son), and furnished such help as, with the blessing of God, founded my prosperity in this city. You are likely to outlive me. I am the last of my family. My name here is an assumed one-but appropriate-is it not? My will is in your favor, and all directions are enclosed whereby you may be saved from curious or hostile remarks, when the secret is finally disclosed. Certain premonitory symptoms-a trouble of the heart--the opinion of my physician-admonish me" --here the speaker suddenly paused; a strange pallor overspread his face, and just as Mr. Richardson caught him in his arms, the spirit of Mr. Earnest passed away. * "There! my dear sir, rouse yourself. "You'll have no more trouble from that tooth-it's out." "Did Mr. Richardson find the treasure?" "Oh! there was no Mr. Richardson. You've had a sort of dream-the result of our peculiar anæsthetic." John Murray. A Madrona Tree. UPWARD its twisted branches reach, The glossy oval leaves are stirred, On each the others' shadows fall, Dead, yellow leaves are thickly spread Where in the spring the flowers grew, Whose waxy spikes made white the tree, And with their heavy fragrance drew The hum of eager honey-bee, Clusters of wine-red berries glow,The trees' thanksgiving for the rains And summer sun, that waked the slow Crude sap to life within its veins. H. K. John Adams.1 BOOK REVIEWS. It is hardly to be supposed that Mr. J. T. Morse, the editor of the "American Statesmen" series, reserved the writing of this volume to himself, because of any partiality for the subject. The whole work, from the first page to the last, conveys the impression that Mr. Morse is not in entire sympathy with the Adams family. He has detracted from the merit of an otherwise valuable and interesting book by cavilling at failings in temperament and disposition in a manner to indicate the existence of something like personal spite. Even were he taking the attitude of an apologist for Adams, the method of treatment would still be open to criticism. To inform us of Adams's "devil of suspiciousness," his censoriousness, and overweening vanity, and much more of the like, before we are fairly introduced to him, shows a defect in that artistic sense which a writer must possess, who would place before us the portrait of a man. great Mr. Morse gives Adams due credit for his great 1 John Adams ("American Statesmen "). By J. T. Morse, Jr. Boston: Houghton, Mifflin & Co. For sale in San Francisco by Chilion Beach. services to the country, and he is frequently enthusiastic in his admiration of his judgment, and cool, farsighted understanding. At the same time, however, he has a habit of controverting, or of unduly qualifying, even his own praise on almost every occasion. In speaking of the efforts of Mr. Adams in defending the "Declaration of Independence," he closes his statement with the remark that "independence would not have been lost in his loss, would probably not even have been seriously postponed." The unfairness of the judgment rendered, appears more conspicuously in the account of the affairs between Gates and Washington. After the surrender of Burgoyne and after Washington's disastrous campaign on Long Island, all eyes were turned towards Gates, as possi bly a more able general than Washington. It was question of setting up Gates as a rival of Washington "Adams," says Mr. Morse, "was fortunately n longer a member of Congress when these designs had come near maturity. It is probable that he thus fortunately escaped any share in them." The sup position that he would have shared these designs rest on the statement that "his affiliations had been st largely with those who became anti-Washingtonians and his predilections were already so far known, that he was regarded as of that connection and sympathy." Having made this supposition as to what would have been Mr. Adams's attitude in this matter, had he been in Congress, our author proceeds to speak of "the obloquy attending such sentiments." In the supposed case, these would have been merely an error of judgment; and it is not clear, in view of Adams's efforts to secure Washington's appointment in the beginning, that he would have entertained these sentiments, or, even if he had entertained them, that they would have been attended by obloquy. In view of the present state of our foreign affairs, when, in the words of a London journal, English society is putting on mourning over the departure of Mr. Lowell, it is interesting to note the mannner in which the first American minister at St. James was treated. "Some years hence," writes Mrs. Adams, "it may be a pleasure to reside here in the character of American minister; but with the present salary and the present temper of the English no one need envy the embassy." George the Third publicly turned his back on Mr. Adams, and the rest of the Court followed his example.. Although nominally a Federalist, Adams was not a party man; he voted on all questions solely with reference to their merit; he was a believer in a "strong government," but did not go in this matter as far as Hamilton. In spite of frequent unjust judgments, and carping criticism of failings that af fected no one but Adams himself, the impression made by this book is still of a strong and patriotic statesman, a character not so brilliant, perhaps, nor with so much unity of purpose as Hamilton, but with something so noble in his love of country that we are inclined to remember only his devotion and pass over his failings. The Rescue of Greely.1 Chief Engineer Melville, in his book "In the Lena Delta," noticed in the March OVERLAND, gave a brief account of the Greely Relief Expedition of '84, as an appendix to the more extended narrative of the Jeannette expedition. That account, brief though it was, was sufficient to show that when the story of the expedition should be more fully written, it would be a narrative of more than common interest. Now we have such a narrative from the hand of the commander of the expedition. It is told in the style that one might expect from the man that could plan and carry out so complicated and dangerous a task with success a style practical, plain, straightforward, making a book that must find its place in the library of every succeeding expedition into Arctic waters as a trustworthy guide, rather than on he shelves of those that prize only belles lettres. The whole book might with propriety have been addressed to the Sec 1 The Rescue of Greely. By Commander W. S. Schley and Prof. J. R. Soley. New York: Charles Scribner's Sons. 1885. For sale in San Francisco by A. L. Bancroft & Co. retary of the Navy as an official report, so few are the digressions in search of the purely attractive. Even so, the general reader will not shun the book, and will find enough to hold the attention and stir the blood in the account of the race through Melville Bay, with its tremendous obstacles, of the "Thetis " and "Bear," and the whalers. Each strove to accomplish first the errand of mercy, on which there was such cause for haste. Then comes the pitiful story of the finding of Greely and his six comrades, lying in the wrecked tent which they could not raise for weakness, and waiting for the death that a few more hours would bring. Then there is the home coming, with its mingled sadness and joy, to bear to the world the tidings that out of the twenty-five persons of the Lady Franklin Bay party, but six survived. There yet remains to be written (and Lieutenant Greely is the man that must do it, if it ever is done) the story, which the present book could give only in outline, of those long two years on the coast of Grinnell Land, the march to Cape Sabine, and the dreary time at Camp Clay, where twenty-five men tried to live eight months on forty days' rations. Commander Schley wisely refrains from entering into any discussion of responsibility in the matter, or into any of the vexed and vexing points that have been raised regarding the acts of Greely in his terrible ordeal. Unless Greely himself shall tell the history of those acts, silence is best. The book is made more valuable by illustrations, track charts, and a large map of the whole region entered by Baffin's Bay and its extensions. Briefer Notice. THE Riverside Aldine Series,2 which has now reached the fourth number, deserves to win the regards of every book-lover. The best traditions of the art cluster about the name Aldine, and the classic "anchor and dolphin" sign appears fully at home on these fair, open pages. There is no better work done in America than that of the Riverside Press of Cam bridge, and this series ought to become a favorite with judicious purchasers. T. B. Aldrich's "Marjorie Daw and Other Stories," C. D. Warner's "My Summer in a Garden," Lowell's "Fireside Travels," and Bret Harte's "Luck of Roaring Camp," and other stories, are the numbers already issued. "Venetian Life" in two volumes, and Burroughs's "Wake Robin" in one volume, complete the announcements so far as made. Of all these, the book that is best fitted for this scholarly and sedate style is Aldrich's "Marjorie Daw," with its dainty, surprising myth, and its subtle skill of expression. -The Congregational Sunday School and Publishing Society is publishing a series of books 21. Marjorie Daw and other Stories. By Thomas Bailey Aldrich. 2. My Summer in a Garden. By Charles Dudley Warner. 3. Fireside Travels. By James Russell Lowell. 4. The Luck of Roaring Camp and other Stories. By Bret Harte. Boston: Houghton Mifflin & Co. 1885. For sale in San Francisco by Chilion Beach. of Normal Studies for Sunday School Teachers, and we have received the first three,1 entitled respectively The Young Teacher, The Bible - The Sunday School Text-Book, and a Primer of Christian Evi dence, of from 100 to 150 pages each; price 75 cents. These are admirable works for their purpose, prepared under the direction of the International Committee for Normal Study.--Dr. Teft enters the field of religio-scientific discussion with a volume of nearly five hundred pages, 2 whose central thesis is, that the doctrines of evolution are diametrically opposed to those of Christianity. To quote his own words, the writer "looks upon evolution as essentially wicked." He does not object to the doctrines held by such writers as Hermann Lotze and Dr. James McCosh, because, in this view, a "First Cause and "new powers at required intervals" are predicated. But evolution proper, he calls an atheistic doctrine, and hopelessly at variance with revelation. To his argument he brings immense zeal, the labor of twenty years, and an astonishing list of citations. The first book is devoted to the "Origin and Character of Evolution," and to its leading exponents, among whom he places such dissimilar mortals as Herbert Spencer, Henry Ward Beecher, and Robert Ingersoll. The second book on "The Quality of Our Religion," which he says is "based upon selfconsciousness," contains fragmentary extracts from a large number of philosophical writers. In the three subsequent books an attempt is made to examine the extent, relations, and influence of religion, and to point out the errors of science. To many readers these papers will seem conclusive, and to still others the evident earnestness of the writer, and his high moral purpose, will entitle him to respectful consideration. It is too much to expect even the narrowest synopsis of his line of argument in this brief review, except to say that twenty years' study should have en 1 The Young Teacher. The Bible-the Sunday School Text-Book. Primer of Christian Evidence. Boston: Congregational Sunday School and Publishing Society. 1885. 2 Evolution and Christianity; or an Answer to the Development Infidelity of Modern Times. By Benjamin F. Teft, D.D. Boston: Lee & Shepard. For sale in San Francisco by Strickland & Co. abled a man to sift and compare evidence better. To disprove Darwin's studies on the sundew (Dionaa Muscipula) the author quotes from a lecture delivered by an enterprising florist and seedsman in New York some years ago. The writer of this review well remembers the discussion that followed the reading of this seedsman's paper, and Darwin appears to have been amply sustained. But it is useless to pursue the subject further. Men of science will hardly spend much time over this volume, despite its passages of fine feeling and of true earnestness, for the discussions in which true science is willing to take part "accept nothing, deny nothing," and know of no irrepressible conflict with religion. -We have been late in noticing the issue for 1885 of Mr. Thrum's admirable Hawaiian Almanac. This publication annually comes out with all the qualities of a good Hawaiian magazine, in addition to the statistics, etc., proper to an almanac. It is, indeed, a yearly magazine, a guide-book, and an almanac, in -Cynicism is a collection of very brief symposia on important subjects, purporting to be by half a dozen intelligent and cosmopolitan guests at a Los Angeles sanitarium. There is wisdom in the little discussions, and for the most part an air of refinement, but with a few incongruous slips into an inferior manner. -A compact and useful Dictionary of English History comes from Cassell & Co.-a stout volume, containing condensed information on as many as possible of the topics of English history: these are arranged alphabetically, and the larger and more complex topics have from a page to seven pages granted them, the simpler ones covering less than a page. Ireland," for instance, has over seven pages, including many sub-topics. Mr. Creighton and Professors Earle and Thorold Rogers are among the contributors, and the book may be accepted as not only a very convenient, but as a trustworthy one. one. 8 Hawaiian Almanac. 1885. G. Thrum. Honolulu. 4 Cynicism. By C. F. Gillingham, M.D. San Francisco: A. L. Bancroft & Co. 1884. The Dictionary of English History. Edited by Sidney J. Low and F. S. Pulling. New York and London: Cassell & Co. 1885. |