carnation of the social instinct. The chapter on French morality-in the consideration of which we frequently show our Lillyvickism—is admirable. Because most of the French novels we read are risqué, if not immoral, we conclude that French literature is given over to lubricity. We forget that the paper with the largest circulation in the world, Le Petit Journal, is as carefully and as conscientiously edited in the interests of morality as the Philadelphia Ledger. Mr. Brownell tells us truly that honor in the French code of morals often takes the place of duty. "French morality," he says, "is simply misconceived when it is summarily depreciated as it is our vice to depreciate it. It is as systematic as our own, and by those interested believed to be as successful." Life in France is not arranged, as it is with us, for the young girl. She is left out of it. And we are amazed by the fact that Alexandre Dumas fils would not permit his unmarried daughters to see 'The Lady of the Camellias," and that Halévy writes "L'Abbé Constantin" for the ingenuous maidens, forbidding them to read his other works until after they are married. But, to understand the French, we must efface our point of view; and Mr. Brownell is so far the first writer who thoroughly helps his readers to do this.

Maurice F. Egan.

"The People I've Smiled with. Recollections of a Merry Little Life." By Marshall P. Wilder. New York, Cassell & Co.

"He," says Charles Lamb, "who hath not a dram of folly in his mixture has pounds of much worse matter in his composition." This wise remark of the gentle Elia can also be generally applied to books. Mr. Wilder's very agreeable book has the requisite dram of folly in its mixture, but it has also pounds of good common sense in its composition. Shoddy people who contemplate a trip to England would do well to read carefully some of the chapters relating to London life and English manners. Mr. Wilder seems to have met about everybody worth knowing, taking the term in its general acceptation, for of course there are thousands of people worth knowing who have not achieved distinction, and he has kind things to say about every one, and generally some capital stories to tell. It is pleasant to learn that there are fine human traits even in some prominent people whom the newspapers delight in denouncing, and the cheerful optimism of the book is an agreeable contrast to the host of gloomy, pessimistic works whose authors persist in delving among the sewers, shutting their eyes to the glorious sunlight above, and diving amid the filth and exclaiming, "Ah, here are nourished the very roots of life; now we really know it, let us tell nothing but the truth," forgetting all about the flowers that bloom above the earth, and the sunshine and gladness around them. Mr. Wilder dwells above the earth, as all live men should, and finds much to cheer not only himself, but also others, on his way,-a kindly, happy being, who if he ever did go into dark places would do so only to bring light and cheer, not to moan out that there was nothing but darkness. The man who is not amused by this genial soul's book has not the necessary dram of folly in his mixture, and is one to be avoided on a dark and lonely road, for he who has no humor in his composition is like the man "that hath no music in himself," and is fit for "treasons, stratagems, and spoils."

Dr. S. Weir Mitchell is beginning to be as well known in the field of literature as in that of medicine. Following fast upon his clever novel “Far in the

Forest," and his charming book of verse, “A Masque, and Other Poems," comes his latest poetical work, "The Cup of Youth, and Other Poems." (Houghton, Mifflin & Co.) The book is dedicated to Oliver Wendell Holmes, and in his brief dedication the author says, addressing the genial Autocrat, "When I was a young man your kindly advice kept me from inflicting a volume of verse on the public, by which it would not have been profited, and by which I should assuredly have been injured." Whatever the justness of the verdict upon the early and perhaps crude efforts mentioned, a verdict which the author himself accepted, we are glad that he was not discouraged, but patiently allowed his poetic feeling to grow mellow with the years, like wine, which, poor and thin at first, at length richly repays the sunshine which the grape had stored. Surely no poet now would doom to eternal silence such fine poetry as is to be found within the pages of "The Cup of Youth," such lovely lines, for instance, as these:

Or as these:

How very silent is the sea to-night!

The little waves climb up the shore and lay
Cool cheeks upon the ever-moving sands
That follow swift their whispering retreat.

I would I knew what things their busy tongues
Confess to earth.

Alas, the best is ever to be won!

There is no rose but might have been more red,

There is no fruit might not have been more sweet,

There is no sight so clear but sadly serves

To set the far horizon farther still.

In "The Violin" the very music of that instrument is caught in such lines as these:

And how fine is this!

Let the yearning joy-notes linger
'Neath the coy, caressing finger,

Till the swift bow, flitting over,

Dainty as a doubtful lover,

Slyly, shyly, kisses dreaming,

Falters o'er the trembling strings,

And the love-tones, slowly streaming,
Fade to fitful murmurings.

Break, sad heart,

Or learn to know the poor man's art,—
The art to bear with patience meek
The blow upon the other cheek.

But the book is full of quotable lines, and did we once start to quote from the charming poem entitled “My Châteaux in Spain" we should give it entire. Dr. Mitchell, like Dr. Holmes, has shown us that though the eye of the physician may be focussed upon the mere mechanism of the human frame, he still may 'see with the spirit's eye," and that he can hold on through multitudes of distractions to that impalpable, indefinable thing which is known as the poetic instinct.

To all readers who take an interest in Russia (and their name is legion) can be heartily recommended "Impressions of Russia," by George Brandes,

translated from the Danish by Samuel C. Eastman (Thomas Y. Crowell & Co.). Dr. Brandes is a keen observer as well as an excellent critic, and, while the work does not pretend to be an exhaustive treatise upon modern political and social life in Russia, still the average reader will find that he has gained a great deal of accurate information upon both these topics, and cannot fail to peruse with much interest and profit the sections devoted to Russian literature and art. H. C. Walsh.

RECENT LIPPINCOTT PUBLICATIONS.

THE midsummer is par excellence the time for reading novels, especially novels of the lighter kind, for during the dog-days neither mind nor stomach should be taxed with heavy food. "Three Days: A Midsummer Love-Story," by Samuel Williams Cooper, is a record of a three days' flirtation at that everpopular resort, Narragansett Pier. The story is brightly and entertainingly told, and is charmingly illustrated.

"A Lost Wife," by Mrs. H. Lovett Cameron, author of "In a Grass Country," "A Devout Lover," "The Cost of a Lie," etc., appears in Lippincott's series of Complete Novels. It is a love-story dealing with modern English life, and the plot is exceptionally interesting and well worked out. As ever, the course of true love does not run smooth, and the reader cannot but give close and breathless attention to the sinuous twists and turnings in the course of the true love that exists between Freda, the heroine, and Captain Thistleby. The dénouement is happy, and leaves the proper scent of orange-blossoms behind it.

"Wheat and Tares," by Graham Claytor, is a well-told story dealing principally with rustic life in Virginia, and contains some clever character sketches. The story begins some eight years anterior to the civil war and ends a decade after its close. It is a careful and accurate study of Southern scenes and Southern character during that period, and it has that touch of nature about it which lends to any story a peculiar charm.

However uncomfortable military frontier life may be considered by the soldier who actually experiences it, it has a great charm for the reader of fiction. A very interesting and breezy story of frontier army life is Captain Charles King's last novel, "Laramie'; or, The Queen of Bedlam. A Story of the Sioux War of 1876." It is just the kind of a story to be taken along for summer reading, containing a happy blending of the two ingredients dearest to the heart of the readers of romance,-love and war. Captain King possesses a brilliant and dashing style, and his own experiences of military frontier life enable him to give the proper local color to his tale.

The many readers of "Not like Other Girls" will be pleased to learn that Miss Rosa N. Carey has just issued another story, entitled "Merle's Crusade." Like Miss Carey's other stories, this novel appeals especially to women. It deals with the problems confronting a young woman of the present day, and the manner in which they are overcome. The finale is a happy marriage, and so "all's well that ends well."

CURRENT NOTES.

pro

"Is life worth the living?" is a veiled enigma, notwithstanding the and con of the many by-standers. Is it worth the living if we live to no purpose; if all there is of sorrow, pain, or mental suffering is wedged into the circle of one poor lifetime; all this the result of gross negligence or wilful disobedience? Let the sage and philosopher answer as seems wisest to them-let merchant and mechanic shake their heads and ponder well over the mystery of it, nevertheless suffering humanity will still cry out and beg for deadened senses. If the pious old wiseacres, instead of impressing upon the human mind how full of error life is, would kindly indicate how these mistakes may be avoided, and the most made of what happiness there is in life, humanity at large would be more thankful, and certainly more benefited. Let the question be, What is the most essential element of happiness? and the question will be coming nearer the core of the betterment of the human race. Is there anything that brings with it a greater boon than health, if people would only realize and acknowledge it? Life's tenure is very short and very slight, but no condition of the human frame is so little considered. If human happiness is to be promoted, then human health must be looked after. When we consider the little attention that is paid to the laws of health, we cannot be surprised at the indifference manifested in relation to the purity of the articles that are used in the daily food. Indigestion and dyspepsia are the readers of death-rolls, and just as surely an antidote to health and happiness. We eat for strength, but if our food is tainted by the adulterator's art, our stomachs are disordered, our tempers spoiled. It depends upon the kitchen whether the family shall be robust, bright, and energetic, or dull, stupid, and slow. The housekeeper measures out manhood and womanhood to the family, and should realize the responsibility of her position. There is no question that the stunted growth of children and a large class of ultimately fatal diseases are traceable to the carelessness with which quality of food is selected for our tables. Nowhere, except in the kitchen, where so much depends upon care in selection and preparation, is so little bestowed. Some housekeepers in order to lessen their expenditures will purchase cheap articles of food, little thinking that with every mouthful of these villanous compounds they are taking into their stomach just so much poison, whose cumulative effect may be death. That food is the cheapest which dollar's worth for dollar's worth affords the most strength, wholesomeness, and nourishment. There is abundant evidence that there is a stupendous traffic in groceries that are viciously compounded and fraudulently cheapened by a process which, while it lowers the prices and profits the grocer, leaves our daily food in a very questionable condition. There is no one article of food which has been so much subjected to the adulterator's art as baking powder, in which alum and other drugs are used to cheapen the product. If housekeepers would be saved the effects of ill health, let them beware of cheap or prize baking-powders. Some time since, the scientific heads of the great universities subjected every brand of baking powder on the market to a thorough analytical examination, and with but one exception, that of "Dr. Price's Cream Baking Powder," all were adulterated. Every family should use "Dr. Price's Cream Baking Powder” that has at heart the promotion of health.

VOL. XLIV.-29

LANDOUZIE, like Sir Fretful Plagiary or Fadladeen in England, has recently become in France a synonyme for a jealous and backbiting critic. The name and the character first appeared in Daudet's " Jack," but acquired greater prominence in the dramatization of that novel by Daudet and the actor Lafontaine.

Daudet was supposed to have invented the unusual name, but in one of his recent prefaces he explains that it was found by him under such unusual circumstances that he made an oath to employ it some day in a story. During the siege of Paris he was invited by the commandant of a company of franc-tireurs to accompany him to their head-quarters at Nanterre. While the two friends were conversing there, a messenger hastened up with the news that the Prussians were attacking Rueil. Every man, save the novelist, seized his gun. Daudet asked for a weapon. There is only one available," said the commandant, poor Landouzie's." "Landouzie! what an odd name!" said Daudet. "Who "Our sergeant-major. He will never use a gun again: he has not many hours to live."

66

is he?"

The civilian set forward with his friends. Next morning they reached the station of Rueil, and found themselves in the midst of a company of gardes mobiles. "Who is that man?" asked the corporal, eying Daudet suspiciously. In vain explanations were offered. The corporal felt convinced the civilian was a German spy, and led him before the major. "I went trembling," said Daudet, "with Landouzie's gun in my hand. Happily for me, the major had read my 'Lettres de mon Moulin.' Had he not, I should certainly have been shot." Hence the name of Landouzie became impressed on his mind.

THE RED HAND OF ULSTER.-An open red hand figures in the arms of the province of Ulster, of the family of the O'Neills, and of a number of less ancient Irish families. Tradition says that the O'Neill, a daring adventurer, having vowed to be first to touch the shores of Ireland, but finding that his boat was falling behind the others, cut off his hand and flung it on the shore to fulfil his vow. The O'Neills form one of the five ancient royal families of Ireland. In 1611, Hugh O'Neill, Earl of Tyrone, nicknamed "Red Hugh" and "The Red Hand of Ulster," was charged with conspiracy and attainted of treason. His possessions, five hundred thousand acres in Ulster, escheated to the English crown, and on these lands was formed the so-called "plantation" of James I., who created two hundred baronets, on payment of one thousand pounds each, "for the amelioration of Ulster." These new baronets were allowed to place on their coat-armor the red hand of Ulster.

A CORRESPONDENT writes as follows: "Will you in your magazine please solve the following problem? A man entered a shoe-store and bought a fivedollar pair of boots, handing the dealer a fifty-dollar bill. The dealer, not being able to change the bill, went into a neighboring store, had the bill changed, returned, put five dollars in the drawer, and handed the customer the change, fortyfive dollars, with the boots. Now, it turned out that the fifty-dollar bill was a counterfeit, and the dealer, of course, gave fifty dollars to the one who had changed the counterfeit. How much did the dealer lose by this transaction?

The dealer loses forty-five dollars and the boots. For he keeps, in exchange for the boots, five dollars of the good money he receives in change for the counterfeit fifty-dollar bill, and adds to this five dollars forty-five dollars more, conse quently losing forty-five dollars and the boots.