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necessity be a tariff State, and counting upon
a certain slowness of apprehension among the
Dutch citizens of the remoter districts, the oppo-
nents of Mr. Clay raised the cry of "Polk, Dallas,
and the tariff of 1842," which was a Whig meas-on.
ure. The State voted against Mr. Clay, but
whether the Dutchmen obtained a continuation
of the tariff of '42 they discovered before many
months. But if a perplexed voter who wished to
vote for a protective policy and for Mr. Polk had
asked himself, "Do the principles and measures
and tendency of Mr. Polk's party lead to a good
rousing tariff or to free trade?" and had then
satisfied himself by investigation, he would have
seen that he must choose between Mr. Polk and
the tariff, and that it was impossible both to eat
his cake and have it.

A great party can not change front in the face of the enemy, although theoretically it is the only method of success. The attempt can only disorganize the line and ruin it. Let no man, therefore, expect that the party of his choice will outwit the other. If its tendencies and principles seem to him noble, and wise, and humane, let him act with it, and try to make all its measures conform. Blind obedience is never necessary. If a party nominates improper candidates, don't vote for them. For when that is the habit of a party, its tendency is to corruption and decay, whatever its argument may originally have been. Of course, pushed to the wall, we must all choose between evils. But practically that is seldom the case. We may be pushed upon a certain candidate-in which case, brethren, scratch him! But when the character of the candidates is no security for the principles they profess, how can those principles gain by the candidates coming into power?

A FRIEND was lately kind enough to urge the Easy Chair to protest against the increasing extravagance of life and manners in this pretty Babylon. "You remember the days of your youth," quoth the kind friend, "when you were a neat little stool, and the straight high-backed chairs of our ancestors, which, if they were not the identical chairs that came over in the Mayflower, were their legitimate descendants, had not yet disappeared. But I assure you they are now wholly The last one was destroyed-and it was the chief curiosity-in the burning of Barnum's Museum. Possibly in some remote and secluded vale among the country hills an arm or a leg of some of the old chairs survives, but the race has wholly perished. There is nothing left but luxurious lounges and grotesque seats of inconceivable costliness. We are all gone off in a whirlpool and a whirlwind of stupid and reckless and perilous extravagance."

gone.

certainly not be described by the epithet straightbacked. No venerable piece of furniture, indeed, like this can undertake to say what the figure was or was not, what it had on or had not There was a mass of festooned furbelows, and broad knots, and flyers, and fringes, and bulges, and bands; a general impression of a frame tortured by corsets and hanging helplessly forward, with hands and arms superfluous, and pawing or patting the air-of a vast and awkwardly concealed load behind, and of feet cruelly set in shoes of heels so high that there could be no secure stepping. This was the cruel and confusing spectacle. Chinese women are lovely by contrast, and graceful and winning. Patter, patter, patter, went these figures along the pavement, and "the superior sex" turned and smiled as the more extraordinary specimens passed, and perhaps respected the "gentler sex" more highly-and perhaps not.

To the loitering pedestrian taking his pleasure in Babylon it is all a pretty spectacle. And he says to any sober friend who would fain moralize a little: "Fudge! don't generalize from the fools. These women are not so bad as they seem, and all women are not like these. Let us look at the entertainment provided, my dear Easy Chair, and enjoy ourselves and rest and be thankful."

If the Easy Chair ventures to suggest that certain traces show the existence of gold and certain symptoms reveal disease, and that a wise parent may be alarmed by the lustre of his daughter's eye or the deep hue of her cheek, the pedestrian who is enjoying the entertainment changes his seat or his companion that he may be in a pleasanter neighborhood. But is it not still true, and worth thinking about? When we were all bidden the other day to that prodigious feast, and sat down to the wilderness of the rarest flowers and the most dazzling golden service; when even the stoutest and most experienced of us in such matters was fairly confounded by the splendid extravagance, it was not indeed a rule, but was it not a symptom? Little Eins drives only a single bay in his wagon, while Zwanzig urges a four-in-hand. But a quart is practically as much too much for a pint pot as a gallon. It is more ruinous for little Eins to drive his bay than for Zwanzig to urge forty instead of fourin-hand.

Besides, all this gold and glass and porcelain was wholly undigested; not that the Easy Chair is so venerable that it seriously expects to eat the plates and dishes, but that it likes to see some kind of due relation and proportion between men and things. We all flock to Zwanzig's superb feasts, for instance, but we might as well flock into the coin vault of a bank. Zwanzig has, inThe tone was lamentable. The Easy Chair, deed, changed or digested a certain amount of however, perceived that under this remarkable coin into table service and house furniture such metaphor of old-fashioned straight-backed chairs as Marie Antoinette might have sighed for, and and modern soft seats, the kind friend alluded over which her garde might well have sung, “O, to the enormous extravagance which is now the Richard! O, mon roi!" But the process has grave consideration "to those about to marry." stopped there. Is it any pleasure to drink LaAnd while the words were still warm from the grima Christi out of old Murano glass with a warm heart of the speaker the Easy Chair pro- man who talks bad grammar or utters bad senceeded upon its daily meditative stroll up Broad-timents, or is merely passively vulgar? Is there way to behold Babylon with eyes anointed by no "keeping" in human life? Fine things imthat urgent entreaty. And indeed it was imme-ply fine people. If the host is essentially vulgar diately evident that those straight-backed chairs and the guests are of the same kind, the magnifwere indeed gone. The first female figure could icent service merely emphasizes the fact. When

we go into a cellar in Fulton Street or elsewhere and partake of lager, cheese, and bread with Zwanzig, it is not exactly pleasant, for he is not a pleasant personage; but it is not out of keeping. But when we meet him over engraved glass and golden spoon, it is, at least, bewildering. Protest a little, quoth the kind friend. Well, there has been a pretty steady protest for many a year and in many a country, and it shall be continued. But there is no tyranny so inexorable, no slavery so abject as that of this kind of extravagance. What seems easier than to spend only two thousand dollars a year if you have but two thousand a year? But what is actually harder? Little Eins says that he is as good as any body; that he has Zero blood in his veins; that his associates are of a certain kind; that he can not be at home with certain other people; that he must live in a certain quarter and in a certain way. There is no end to the certainties which little Eins enumerates. Let us grant it all, and then what? If you can not live "in a certain way" without ending in disgrace and the State prison, wouldn't it suit the Zero blood better to live in a certain other way? Wouldn't Mrs. Eins's friends come to see her if she and her husband lived within their means? And if not, dear Eins, couldn't you spare their visits?

Don't misunderstand. It is not pleasant to be poor; but, if you are poor, the best thing is to make the best of it. There are fifty clerks in the city of Babylon who will read these lines and who are living beyond their incomes, eking them out by money not their own, which they mean fully to replace, of whose use nobody is ever to know, and which they would die rather than steal. That is the way it seems to you, for instance, Mr. Jones, who are already beyond your depth. You are as infatuated as the drunkard who is going to leave off drinking day after to-morrow. There is one way for him and one for you-stop now. If Zwanzig won't recognize you when you live in a second-rate boarding-house, what will he do when you live at Sing Sing?

But Jones's situation, and his fearful skimming along that thin ice which is sure to break presently, merely shows, brethren, what we said in the opening of our discourse; it shows that this extravagance is a symptom. If it ended with Zwanzig-if only those who could afford to pay the bill indulged in this delirious orgy-it would not be so bad. But their motion makes a vortex, and it sucks in all the lighter craft and the waifs of every kind. Poor Eins! Poor Jones! They can not help themselves; can we do any thing to help them? There is a very pat proverb which you may quote, that the gods only help those who help themselves. But we are not the gods, we are only pedestrians and Easy Chairs. And if we only showed such Einses and Joneses as we know that, although we do happen to have lots of money, we don't make it the test of our society; and, although we are not only rich as Croesus, but have nothing but the bluest blood coursing through our veins, yet that we like ladies and gentlemen in second-rate boarding-houses more than we like Zwanzig and Company with all their gold services and magnificent upholstery, then we should protest to some purpose.

The dollar is almighty upon one condition only

that we permit it to be so. Jones! square up those accounts at once. Eins! sell that ridiculous bay. Don't put Zwanzig's ring through your nose, and he will treat you like a man, not like a toady. It was a pleasant old book that we used to read, "Philosophy in Common Things;" and why should we not study a little the value of heroism in little things? How many men, for instance, are brave enough to be truthful in all the details of life? Mrs. Opie tilted at White Lies. How many did the charming lady tell herself? Indeed where is that vanishing line where truth ends and white lying begins? Did those straight-backed Mayflower chairs themselves swerve a little? If they did, let us be all the more careful that we do not.

THE interest in polar adventure is inexhaustible. We read the accounts in the papers to-day as we used to read the stories of Parry long ago. It is indeed a fascination of terror, for it is impossible not to shudder as the simple narrative proceeds. Dr. Kane described the Arctic silence as sometimes almost dreadful. And one day after dinner when he was fresh from his travels and was telling his adventures to a party of friends, Thackeray, who was of the company and sat quietly smoking, said to the host when Kane had finished, "Do you think he would let me kiss his boots?" The genuine heroism of the traveler impressed Thackeray's imagination, and when Kane said that one day, in the coldest and sharpest season, he saw a sailor intent upon a book, and going up and looking over his shoulder saw that it was "Pendennis"-when he said this, Thackeray's bluff face was suffused with the softest emotion, and he did not try to speak but quietly smoked and looked at Kane like a lover.

Captain Hall is likely to have "good fame" among the arctic explorers. His book, published a few years since, is one of the most graphic and interesting of its kind, and a kind of invincible simplicity of character seems to promise for his efforts the best results. The theory of his exploration is undoubtedly the true one; but it is only to be put into practice by an arctic fanatic. Captain Hall thinks that if any thing is to be ascertained of previous explorers, and of the best methods of exploration, there must be some kind of intelligent relation established with the natives. They know something of their own country, and they have traditions and reports when they do not know; and familiarity with them will teach the explorer what he could not otherwise learn. This is the plan which Captain Hall has pursued. He has domesticated himself among the polar bears and seals and the other natives, and is quietly waiting to go to the open Polar Sea in the swiftest and most comfortable manner.

The last news from him is in August, 1867. He was then at Repulse Bay, and had obtained several relics of the survivors of Franklin's party, which the gentleman who brings the news had himself seen. Captain Hall had heard of Captain Crozier, one of Franklin's officers, and indeed the relics which he has were Crozier's; but the poor Captain has disappeared, and Hall says that "the opinion most entertained is that the natives killed him." Hall hears of a cairn, or rude vault of stones, built by the last six survivors

of the Franklin Expedition, in which they had deposited documents and relics. This cairn is described as about four hundred and fifty miles northward from Repulse Bay, in the country of a certain King William, with whom the people of Repulse Bay are not upon friendly terms. Last February or March Captain Hall intended to start to find this cairn. His party was to consist of five Caucasians besides himself, and a force of King Alfred's men of Repulse Bay. King William's army is two hundred strong, and can all be assembled in a month's time. If this formidable host should attempt to oppose Captain Hall, he will raise the battle-cry of "Alfred, the documents, and victory!"

quimaux who were in this country with him, and were educated here. They are now his interpreters, and being faithfully attached to him, their service is inestimable. The expedition was to proceed by dogs and sleds; and if it were successful, and the forces of King William remained merely an army of observation, Captain Hall hoped and meant to push on to the open sea, and return, perhaps, by Behring Strait. If, however, he were delayed, he expected to return in September of this year, and winter again at Repulse Bay. Where is he now? Has he met and routed King William? Is he sailing upon the open Polar Sea? Has he joined Franklin and Crozier? Let us hope the best for the brave explorer, and look speedily to welcome him heartily They are the Es-home!

It is pleasant to know that Joe and Hannah will accompany the Captain.

Editor's Book Cable.

HE book-receiver is like the ancient gatewant of faith, the prophet denounced the penalty that he should with his eyes behold the plenty of the land but not partake of it. Our table groans beneath the superincumbent weight of the autumn fruits. And yet, though when this page meets the reader's eye the season will be far advanced, now, as we are penning it, only the early fruits of the summer's ripening have fallen, and the boughs hang full above our heads with others, that in a few weeks will drop from the publishers' shelves into our emptied autumn baskets. Of these fruits of the mind, like those of the orchard, there are various sorts. Some books there are which, however valuable in their day, are as evanescent as the daily paper. They are good only when fresh. Others are winter fruit and live a season. A few will bear preserving, and go to stock the libraries of the future, outliving the generation which called them forth. We rarely have occasion to notice in these pages other than the latter two classes. Some books are like autumn leaves-brilliant indeed, but sure to perish speedily-and we are too busy with the living to pronounce even a panegyric over dead books.

NOVELS.

ONE can not altogether divest himself of a certain feeling of gallantry in approaching, even with a critic's pen, such a book as Miss DICKINSON'S What Answer?* The authoress is an old acquaintance. She has been deservedly admired, not less for her courage and patriotism than her pleasing voice and her often powerful sentences. A certain romantic interest has surrounded her, like that with which we delight to invest the heroines of history, Joan of Arc, or Florence Nightingale. By assuming a public position she subjects herself, it is true, to public criticism. But one would, notwithstanding, treat a lady with courtesy, no less on the platform than in the parlor. This feeling is intensified by the conviction that in "What Answer?" Miss Dickinson has exhibited the same moral qualities

*What Answer? By ANNA E. DICKINSON. Boston: Ticknor and Fields.

which have given her her prestige as a lecturer. Don Quixote's attack upon the wind-mill a brave act. The avowed object of her novel is to break down the prejudice between the white and black. Its plot turns upon love between an Anglo-Saxon hero and a quadroon heroine. But the story is only a shepherd's sling to cast a stone at the -giant whom she thinks to be defying the armies of Israel. One honors the bravery of the young David, and we all the more regret that her shot is so ineffective; but it is quite clear she has never practiced with this weapon, and that she shares the very common but very egregious error of supposing that any one who can tell a story to an audience in a speech can construct a novel that shall secure a place in literature. It will take a much more skillful aim to bring this Goliath down-if, indeed, he be a Goliath at all. For, warmly as we sympathize with this honest endeavor to break down the inveterate prejudice which has been so sedulously fomented against the negro, we are heretical enough to doubt the conclusion to which she would conduct us-the intermarriage of white and black. We are quite sure, at all events, that it is not such advocacy of which the negro is now most in need. Liberty in fact as well as in name, the rights and prerogatives of citizenship, open avenues to all avocations, fair remuneration for work done, an open field and no favors—this the African has a right to claim; less than this a republic founded on the equality of all men before the law can not consistently or justly award. This awarded, the marriage question may be left to solve itself. If legal barriers be broken down man will not be able to keep apart hearts that God marries. If, on the other hand, that almost universal sentiment of aversion which tends to restrain the intermarriage of different races be a law of nature, no romance will be able to weaken its power.

"ONLY a love story" is thought to be the most contemptuous condemnation of a novel. Pray why? What experience is more sublime than that of love? He who can write the story of a heart has done far more than he who writes the story of a life. A true novel is truer than a his

The story is very simple. There is no intricate plot to be unraveled. There is but one hair-breadth escape. There are no passages in

tory. And he who has taught the heart how home, where the book leaves him, recovering in truly, wisely, and well to love has taught it the body, but never to recover the real health of best of all lessons. Mildred* and The Woman's a strong soul again; while Mrs. Vanderdecken Kingdom are both love stories, though of a very "still lives at Holywell Hall in great honor and different sort. The former is a sensational novel. undiminished wealth, flourishing like a green bayNo one can doubt its power. It is a book of tree, except that-poor woman!-she can not great fascination. But we can not think it health-fairly be likened to the wicked. She is not ful. The strong passion which it portrays is not wicked, only weak." the best and highest form of love. It may be a real experience; we are sure it is not a healthful one. A well-born gambler, over whom is thrown a glamour of romance, a high-spirited, noblehearted, but headstrong young lady, and a weak old father, constitute the main figures in this drama of life. Our sympathies are all with the maiden; but, after all, our judgment is with the father. However it may be in romance, in real life professional gamblers are not desirable matches for maidens, even though they possess some noble characteristics; and it is never safe to marry a doubtful character in the hope of reforming him.

which you turn the pages in haste to see what new catastrophe will follow next. It is a quiet story of heart life, but a story of great power. With marvelous art-touches Miss Mulock (by which name the literary world still best knows her) has preserved the characteristics yet noted the changes in her characters. You see the hair grow gray. Letty Kenderdine and Mrs. Vanderdecken, Julius the young impetuous lover, Julius the old broken-down soldier-the same, yet how different! Beneath these disguises of the outer you read the life of the inner. You see for yourself their identity. The moral of the story is as simple as its plot, but, like that of real life, inwrought into the fibre of the story, it is not easy to be separated therefrom. The book is one worthy to be put into every young woman's hands; sure to enkindle in all true hearts a noble womanly ambition. It is a better sermon than any mere didactic one could be; its moral, more powerful because it imbues the story, is not appended to it. Woman's kingdom is love. Her noblest ambition is a queenly supremacy in the heart. She who abdicates this

Woman's Kingdom is a very different sort of book. Two twin sisters-Letty and Edna Kenderdine schoolmistresses, and of course not rich, meet "by chance, the usual way," two brothers-William and Julius Stedman-at a watering-place, whither sickness has brought both parties, out of the season. William, the doctor, is drawn to Edna by her noble heart, and yields himself willingly to a love which, strong though it be, is always self-restrained. Julius, warm-hearted but fitful of purpose, captivated by the fair face of Letty, who has all the beauty of the family, is carried captive away by an uncontrollable passion. Edna returns the doc-true throne to grasp at any other sceptre dethrones tor's love, marries him, and shares with him the quiet of his poor and unpretending home. Letty, flattered, vain, her heart spoiled by many flirtations and deepened by no true love, replies coquettishly to Julius's suit. She will have him only when he has acquired a competence to give to her. He abandons his profession-Art-enters mercantile life, and finally accepts a mission to India, not really for the purpose of acquiring a fortune, save as it enables him to acquire her. And this first act of the drama closes with Letty starting out on an East India merchantman to join her intended.

Fifteen years pass away. Letty's strong ambition has conquered her weak love. She has accepted a wealthier lover on her journey out, and has returned to England with her husband and her only child, a daughter about twelve years old; followed, though she does not know it, by the wreck of her former lover, ruined by her falsity to him. He haunts her like a ghost; pursues her wherever she goes as her own shadow; contrives furtive interviews with her daughter, Gertrude; tells the daughter the story of his wrong without disclosing his name; awakens her indignation against the unknown woman who has ruined him; gradually arouses the suspicions of the mother as to his true character; taken sick, is discovered by his brother William through the interposition of Gertrude, despite the efforts of the mother; and finally is taken to his brother's

• Mildred. A Novel. By GEORGIANA M. CRAIK. New York: Harper and Brothers.

†The Woman's Kingdom. A Love Story. By the Author of JOHN HALIFAX, etc. New York: Harper and Brothers.

herself. It is better to love and suffer than not to love and be happy-if an unloving heart can ever be called happy. For love is the highest life. This is the meaning of this last and perhaps best story from the pen of one who combines a careful study of life with a rare genius in depicting its real experiences, and who renders charming even a very simple story of actual life by the glow of a warm and loving heart with which she transfuses it.

THE remaining stories that lie on our table must make room for new books with no other word than a mere mention. SOL SMITH'S Reminiscences* do not occupy a very exalted place in literature. But he who provokes a hearty laugh does humanity real good; and no one can read these disjecta membra without a good many hearty laughs.

EDWARD EVERETT HALE† is, it is hardly too much to say, one of the best short story writers in America. His Exaggerations are told with such a charming naïveté, and his Impossibilities are so exceedingly natural, and he utters, in a word, the most absurd fictions with so grave a face, that it is no wonder he deceives the very elect. Since De Foe's famous Plague of London there has been no fiction which has secured such universal credence as his "Man without a Country."

* Theatrical Management in the West and South for Thirty Years. Interspersed with anecdotical Sketches. Autobiographically given by SOL SMITH, retired Actor. New York: Harper and Brothers.

t Of, Yes, and Perhaps. Four Possibilities and Six Exaggerations, with some Bits of Fact. By EDWARD E. HALE. Boston: Ticknor and Fields.

POETRY.

must be allowed to settle before the truth can be discerned, reflected upon their face. Mr. KINGLAKE has undertaken to incorporate in a standard and permanent history the events of the Crimean War, heretofore to be obtained only from evanescent literature and in unreliable forms. Whoever desires to understand modern European politics must know something of this campaign; and prior to this book his search for knowledge would have been conducted, it must be confessed, under serious difficulties.

WHILE Mr. Longfellow is enjoying himself among the mountains of Switzerland, or in the excitements of Paris life, his latest poem* is simultaneously published in London, Leipsic, Paris, and Boston--a curious illustration of the unity of the Republic of Letters and its superiority to all national lines. To our fancy Mr. Longfellow's Pegasus drives best out of harness. His power is that of reading the subtle likeness of things to common eyes unlike, and that of a heart which knows how to utter the subtlest and deepest experiences. But he has never developed remark- HISTORY trenches on biography, and it is never able genius in the analysis of character, or the easy to draw the line between them. ABBOTT'S portrayal of those great struggles which run the Life of Napoleon III.* is in reality a history of plow-share through the community roughly and Europe for the last quarter century. For, whatturn up its roots. In selecting, therefore, New ever may be thought of the nephew of his uncle, England life in the days of the Pilgrims he has there is no doubt that he is by far the most promchosen a theme not peculiarly adapted to his inent if not the most influential man in European genius, though his genius renders attractive any politics; and there is scarcely a single problem theme. We doubt whether he understands on the political chess-board during the present either the furnace heats in which these men of era that he has not aided either to solve or to steel were tempered, or the war that made it complicate. Mr. Abbott is a Frenchman-not necessary that the blade should be so unyielding by blood, but by nature. He is a man of warm and so keen. The characteristic of the Puritan sympathies, of ardent impulses, capable of intense was conscience. His defects-and they were admiration and of intense loathing. For years great-were those of a conscience untempered he has made French history and French characby love. The key-note to Mr. Longfellow's ter his peculiar study. He has twice visited character as a poet is a refined taste, and a ten-France during the last sixteen years, and personder and sympathizing heart that revolts against the roughness and the cruelty of rough and cruel times. His imagination, too, is restive under the restraints of such a theme. It will not, indeed, be restrained; and puts into the mouths of John Endicott and old Simon Kempthorne and Edith the Quakeress similes which are all the more in-history of the Emperor. The author joins heartcongruous for their very beauty. It is as if he should put pearls upon the Quaker's bosom and a diamond ring upon the Puritan's finger. And yet we read the book with a consciousness that he has attired both much more plainly than his luxuriant imagination would choose to do. We can not think, on the whole, that he has really lifted the veil that hides the past, or let us into the secrets of Puritan life, or disclosed by a poet's sympathy its true experiences. This work he is not the one to do. But, if he has not done this, he has made his simple story a thread for the utterance of thoughts as healthful as they are beautiful; and as a testimony to the worth of mercy and of love, in contrast with mere conscience, we welcome this book to a high place in Christian literature.

HISTORY AND BIOGRAPHY.

HISTORY is in these latter days made so fast that it is quite impossible to keep pace with it. The invasion of the Crimeat has been erased from the public mind by events of so much greater moment that it has already been almost forgotten. The noise of this far-off battle on the shores of the Black Sea is drowned by the cannon of Magenta and Solferino, and they in turn by the fiercer conflicts of our own civil war. The history of such a campaign can not, however, be truly written while it rages. The muddy waters

* The New England Tragedies. By HENRY WADS

WORTH LONGFELLOW. Boston: Ticknor and Fields.
+ The Invasion of the Crimea. Its Origin and an
Account of its Progress Down to the Death of Lord
Raglan. By ALEXANDER WILLIAM KINGLAKE. Vols.
I. and II. New York: Harper and Brothers..

ally examined the workings of the French Government. His previous Life of Napoleon I. gave him an admirable introduction to Napoleon III., and the reception which was awarded to him intensified his already intense admiration of the family. The result is a thoroughly Frenchman's

ily in the cry, Vive l'Empereur ! Doubtless there are spots on the sun, but he is not concerned in observing them. On the whole he is assured that "the empire is peace;" that it is the Napoleons who have given France her stability and prosperity; that the overthrow of the Emperor would reinstate anarchy; and that, whatever minor defects of administration may exist, France possesses on the whole an admirable government, not exactly republican indeed, but one far better fitted to the character and condition of her people. To the advocacy of this view he brings all the results of twenty-five years' acquaintance with French history and literature, and four years of special investigation of the career of Napoleon III., fused and magnetized by one of the most eloquent pens which any American historian wields. No man can doubt the eloquence, the ability, the power, or the honesty of the advocate. He will materially modify, we fancy, the judgment of the impartial reader concerning the subject of his biography. But he will not secure the judgment for which he pleads.

THEODORE IRVINGT and ARTHUR HELPS cover somewhat the same period of history.

The History of Napoleon III., Emperor of the French. Including a brief Narrative of all the most important Events which have occurred in Europe since the Fall of Napoleon I. to the present Time. By Jons S. C. ABBOTT. Boston: B. B. Russell.

†The Conquest of Florida by Hernando de Soto. BY THEODORE IRVING. New York: George P. Putnam

and Son.

The Spanish Conquest in America, and its Relation to the History of Slavery and to the Government of Colonies. By ARTHUR HELPS. New York: Harper

and Brothers.

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