merable arts and expedients to attract the tably keep back a man from attaining the indispensable homage, with infinite horror of being detected in the act. ers! "The padded man that wears the stays." Among the secrets which Sir Edward lets out in the course of his latest reflections, is that of his instinctive and ever-growing attachment to the apron-string. Such is the preg nant allusion, in his " Hints on Mental Culture," to the "wondrous advantages to a man in every pursuit or avocation of an adviser in a sensible woman. Of all blessings we are invited to cherish "female friendships,"of course" pure friendships,"-not only as the highest rank. Whatever the brilliance of his conceptions, the loftiness of his moral, A further proof of the influence of the same the fascination of his style, there is that feminine ethos will be found in an analysis of which always mingles in our admiration of the prominent personages in the Bulwer Lyt- Sir Edward Lytton's genius a mortifying sense ton series. How invariably are his men cast of disappointment. It is with him as with in the mould which women love or admire! the case of women of talent-something still How little do they partake of that stuff which keeps them back in their best works from the masculine sex recognizes in its born lead-gaining the prize in the race with men. Yet Pelham, the elegant, self-conscious, the womanly weakness which lends a charm self-asserting fop, with his curled graces and to its proper sex, and forms a magnet for the frothy talk,-Clifford, with his elegant per- hearts of men, is the last thing that man looks son, romantic tones, and darkling hints of upon with complacency in those of his own adventure, are altogether such as to strike gender. If real, it may at the best excite his the immature maiden apprehension. They pity. If affected, it cannot escape his conembody their designer's notion of the airs and tempt. When woman puts on the arts and tho pretensions which should secure the ob- airs that please, man is delighted at the imjects of his youthful heart. They furnish at plied compliment to his manhood. But be once a test of his first estimate of women, feels neither tenderness nor mercy for the like and a confession of the early goal of his am- artificial graces in the male,bition. In maturer life, when the charms of Adouis are not so safely to be relied on for direct conquest, the new type of character is still true to the original sentiment. Darrell, the proud and self-concentred statesman, shrinking from contact with men while inwardly dying of isolation, nursing the loftiest projects, yet morbidly biding the day when men shall court him in his proud seclusion, is a character to be utterly powerless over men in public life; but he is a man to stir and he is consistently made to stir-the curiosity and the worship of women. He stands bulwark and sweet ornament of existence" as the author's living ideal of the public man to a man, but, above all," to his mental cultof middle age. And if any key were required ure invaluable." The volume itself owes its to explain why, with all his brilliant gifts dedication in part to the acknowledgment of and natural advantages, his clear intellect, such an influence. Sir Edward avows a strong bright imagination, pointed eloquence, and belief in "temperaments." The subject has keen thirst for fame, aided by wealth, posi- given birth to more than one dissertation in tion, and party interest, Sir Edward has done" Caxtoniana." The "sanguine" and the little more in public life than condemn him-"sympathetic' temperaments might well self to the state of practical self-ostracism in have been supplemented by a chapter on the which he draws his model, it will be found characteristics of the "Epicene," or that in in the truthfulness with which the mind and which the virile and feminine elements show temper of the artist are thrown upon the de- themselves blended in exceptional unison. scriptive canvas. An intense and consuming Such a kind of androgynous mixture no writself-consciousness, an instinctive love of the er could well be found better qualified to exideal, a habit of posing for admiration with pound or to illustrate. Through all his writthe flattering belief that the art is too perfect ings there runs the same tone of conscious for detection-these are not the qualities to tenderness striving to clothe itself with vigor fit a man for roughly jostling with realities, or bringing the matter-of-fact and masculine world to do homage at his fect. Even in literature, these are defects which must inevi the air of high spirit but delicate physique, bent on passing for robust. In his successive characters, we have the glass in which he sees himself reflected through each and all of these gymnastice fforts. They are but so many test impressions by which he takes note of the gradual growth in the muscular fibre of his mind. speak a mind arrived at its highest point of culture and its widest grasp of charity. The finest papers of Addison or Steele show hardly more of critical observation or quiet humor We have regarded "Caxtoniana" in the than the essays on " Knowledge of the World" light of a psychological study rather than or " Posthumous Reputation," while on sub-c that of an independent work of art. We jects of a more technical kind neither the Spec-we would not, however, be supposed unmindful tator nor the Rambler put forth subtler powof the literary merits of these essays. In ers of analysis or keener literary acumen than whatever point of view they may be studied, those on "Style and Diction," on the "Moral they will be found stamped with the author's Effect of Writers," and on "Rhythm in Prose peculiar genius, and inferior to none of his as conducive to Precision and Clearness." compositions in those especial qualities in The latter point, indeed, becomes a very which he stands at the head of all the writers hobby with Sir Edward. It is carried to the of his class. Slight and cursory in form, yet vindication in theory of one of his own peculthoughtful and full of matter, they are equal iar excesses of style. True it is that “ every to anything he has before put forth in knowl-style has its appropriate music," and that edge of men and books, acute analysis of mo-" without a music of some kind it is not style, tives, and critical elegance of taste. They it is scribbling." But he forgets that the are worth reading, if only for the style, car-music of prose is a thing wholly distinct in ried as it is to the utmost finish of which Sir kind from the music of poetry. Sir Edward's Edward's fastidious sense is capable. The faults which ran through his successive shifts of manner are to be traced here still, but blended into a general efflorescence, their carly garishness and exaggeration chastened into a softer tone. There is all the old romance of feeling, the lyrical flow of sentences, the well-bred irony, the liveliness, the wit. But beyond these there is the sobered judgment, the matured experience, the urbane and genial estimate of other men, which be ear for rhythm is the cause of his prose being perpetually vitiated by this weakness-whole sentences, one after another, running on with the sing-song jingle of verse. Despite, however, such faults of manner-despite, too, the affected and artificial air which has become with him a second nature, and deprives his philosophy of depth and weight-there is sufficient stuff in these magazine articles to maintain intact the writer's place in the foremost rank of the lighter literature of our day. Institutes of Ecclesiastical History, Ancient and | Colenso. Mr. Stubbs's chapter, treating of the Modern. By John Laurence von Mosheim, D.D. A Literal Translation, with the Notes of Murdoch and Soames. Elited and brought down to the present time by William Stubbs, M.A., Vicar of Navestock. In Three Volumes. Longman & Co. As a text-book of ecclesiastical history, the great work of Mosheim holds a place from which it is not likely to be dislodged. If it has the defects, it has also all the merits, of history as written in the eighteenth century. It is learned, well-digested, impartial, and calm even to cold ness. history of the Christian Church since the year 1830, contains much interesting information relating to the eastern as well as the western churches in a clear and condensed narrative. This elaborate work will be of great value to students.Reader. Apostolic Labors an Evidence of Christian Truth. A Sermon preached before his Grace the Primate, in the Chapel of Lambeth Palace, at the Consecration of the Lord Bishop of Nassau, on St. Andrew's Day, 1863. By Henry The notes of Dr. Murdoch and Mr. Soames Parry Liddon, M.A. Oxford and London: add greatly to the value of the original work; Rivingtons; Oxford: H. and J. Parker. Pp. 24. and the whole has been edited with thorough care As an exposition of the text, " But I say, have and learning by Mr. Stubbs. By the additions they not heard? Yes, verily, their sound went of Mr. Soames and Mr. Stubbs the history has into all the earth, and their words unto the ends been brought down to the present time, so as to of the world," Mr. Liddon's sermon is broad; include the "Essays and Reviews" and Bishop | yet critical and scholarly.-Reader. From The Spectator. MISS PRESCOTTS AMBER GODS.* THERE is a certain splendor of fancy, we think too much of splendor, both in the imaginative diction, and the imaginative thought of Miss Prescott's tales, which gives them a kind of fascination, and an effect of power, in spite of the mystic and somewhat dazzling fringe of color which is always dancing before our eyes. She writes, as it were, in oil colors. She has an almost infinite command of metaphorical hues, or rather dyes, and uses them with the skill and some of the resorve of high culture, but still leaves on the mind that impression of fatigue which a lavish use of organic symbols and figurative analogies generally produces. Lest we should be talking enigmas, we will give one short specimen of her style in describing an artist, a Mr. Rose:— all sensation, warmth, splendor, and variety of effect, which intoxicates men by its luxuriance of attraction and its steam of passionate languor,—and the character which is sweet, delicate, and single in its influenco ;the richly stained character of broken colors, and the character of colorless crystal light. Miss Prescott delights in this contrast. Now she makes the richer and warmer character evil and now good, though generally the former. In the striking tale called "The Amber Gods" (the amber gods being only beads of an amber necklace, carved into the shapes of heathen divinities), the selfish feminine character of the tale is a kind of Circe, who is supposed to have a nature in some way analogous to the rich, heavy, voluptuous color and fragrance of amber. The foil to her is a simple, delicate, self-sacrificing creature, whose nature is, in like manner, supposed to be in some way analogous to the liquid light of aqua marina. On this slender and somewhat transcendental fancy Miss Pres "Then Rose was gayer than before. He is one of those people to whom you must allow moods,-when their sun shines, dance,and when their vapors rise, sit in the shadow.cott builds a story, which, though it has but Every variation of the atmosphere affects him, though by no means uniformly; and so sensitive is he that, when connected with you by any intimate rapport, even if but momentary, he almost divines your thoughts. He is full of perpetual surprises. I am sure he was a nightingale before he was Rose. An irridescence like sea-foam sparkled in him that evening, he laughed as lightly as the little tinkling mass-bells at every moment, and seemed to diffuse a rosy glow wherever he went in the room." very little narrative interest, is worked up by her lavish use of rich color into something that produces an original effect. Here, for example, is the amber heroine's defence of anber to the gentleman with whom she has fallen in love: "I took my beads and wound them round my wrist. You haven't as much eye for color as a poppy-bee,' I exclaimed, in a corresponding key, and looking up at Rose.Unjust. I was thinking then how entirely they suited you.'-'Thank you. Vastly amber"!'-Nevertheless, you think so.'complimentary from one who "don't like Yes and no. Why don't you like it?'You mustn't ask me for my reasons. It is not merely disagreeable, but hateful.'—' And you've been beside me like a Christian all this time, and I had it!' The perfume is St. Basil the Great, styled a present of imacrid; I associate it with the lower jaw of mense value, you remember, being hard, heavy, shining like gold, the teeth yet in it, and with a smell more delightful than amber,' making a mock shudder at the word.-' Oh! it is prejudice, then. Not in the least. It is antipathy. Besides, the thing is unnatural; there is no existent cause for it! A bit that turns up on certain sands,-bere at home, for aught I know, as often as anywhere. Which means Nazareth. must teach you, sir, that there are some things at home as rare as those abroad.'—' I am taught,' he said, very low, and without We looking up. age after Just tell me what is amber?' | sence not broken into the various rays of Fossil gum. Can you say those words prismatic sentiment. To Miss Prescott it has and not like it? Don't it bring to you a evidently been either a much pleasanter or a magnificent picture of the pristine world,much easier task to conceive the former than great scas and other skies, a world of ac- the latter character. And yet it is evident that centuated crises, that sloughed off nge, and rose fresher from each plunge? she regards the one as really inferior to the Don't you see, or long to see, that mysteri- other. It would seem as if, even while analyz ous magic tree out of whose pores oozed this ing what we may call the crimson and gold effine solidified sunshine? What leaf did it fects of beautiful caprice, emotion, languor, have? what blossom? what great wind shiv- sentiment, in her heroines, she ascribes these ered its branches? Was it a giant on a lonely coast, or thick low growth blistered sumptuous varieties of moral tint and mood in ravines and dells? That's the witchery of to weakness of character, not breadth,—to a amber, that it has no cause,-that all the deficiency, that is, of singleness of purpose, world grew to produce it, maybe,-died and and not to any redundance of life, either gave no other sign,-that its tree, which must moral or intellectual. And certainly it is have been beautiful, dropped all its fruits, true that outward simplicity, and the conse and how bursting with juice must they have quent absence of what is called luxuriance been-- Unfortunately, coniferous. -Be of sentiment, in both men and women, is quiet. Stripped itself of all its lush luxuriance, and left for a vestige only this lit- more often due to that binding strength of tle fester of its gashes.' will and sincerity of purpose, which refuses to permit any relaxation of the mind into useIn the equally graphic tale called "Desert less wishes and vain emotions, than to the Sands," our authoress introduces the very deficiency of these interior colors of the charsame contrast of feminine characters in the acter. The difference between a Cleopatra very same relation to an artist whose mere and an Imogen is in great measure the differsenses are captivated by the magnificent rich-ence between a nature so far relaxed that its ness of the one kind of beauty, even while his inner nature never flags in its fidelity to the other. In "The South Breaker," the richer character is also the higher, while the still, liquid beauty of her rival is combined, much less successfully, with a central selfishness. In the story called "Midsummer and May," the mother is endowed with the rich, voluptuous nature, and the daughter with the airy and tender grace, and this is the only tale in which Miss Prescott succeeds in effectually painting for her readers her gentler, tenderer, and more simple-natured type of heroine. She seems generally to lavish so much pains on the more gorgeous portrait that the foil to it produces comparatively but little impression, whereas it is really the more difficult to paint of the two. As there are many who can paint color for one who can paint light, so there are many who can delineate characters of particolored moods and passions for one who can delineate a single individual es inmost passion is exposed to the very air, and one so firmly knit together that its sweetness is only visible to the finest insight and the deepest sympathy. Miss Prescott feels this, and yet she only once spends her power on a character really worthy of it, so much is sho dazzled by the external gorgeousness and voluptuousness of moral and intellectual sheen. After allowing, however, for the somewhat monotonous character of the power shown, and its slight tendency to transcendentalisms here and there, it cannot be questioned that these are good and original literary produotions, giving apparently much promise for the authoress, if she should trim away the somewhat tropical superfluities of her thought and diction, and extend her efforts in the direotion in which one or two of the more modest tales of American life, like that called “ Knitting Sale-socks," point. That she has power also in this more external and simple field wo have sufficient proof. WALTER 8. NEWHALL. OB. DECEMBER 18, ÆT. 22. [Captain Walter S. Newhall, of Philadelphia, Acting Adjutant General upon the staff of General Gregg, was lately drowned in a tributary of the Rappahannock. He was one of the earliest volunteers in the war. First distinguished in the famous charge of Zagonyi at Springfield, in Missouri, he was afterward engaged in the most active and dangerous service. He leaves two brothers in the service; and at the time of Lee's invasion last summor we believe that his parents had five or six sons on active military duty. The following lines are by a mother whose son had been in Captain Nowhall's company]: NOT 'mid the cannon's roar, Slept the true-hearted. All seamed with noble scars Battling 'neath Stripes and Stars One of a dauntless race, Stern was the strife and brief- Once in Rome's elder day Wrath's fearful token, There should lie broken. Vainly poured gold and gem, Wealth's hoards uncoffered. Lord, in our hour of woe, In our land's breach we throw WITH the same letter heaven and home begin, That looks for perfect happiness in heaven; Saw the swift angels hastening to and fro, A SONNET. BY CHARLES LAMB. WHO first invented work, and bound the free To the every haunting importunity Of business in the green fields and the town, |