Hastings, which I frequently attended. I remember that I heard Edmund Burke, Pitt and Sheridan all speak on the same night."

I shall not repeat his account of the Congress of Verona, or his anecdotes of Alexander I. of Russia, whom he knew intimately, as I am not certain whether I have a right to do so at present. After the visitors left, I remained with him until it was time for him to prepare for the dinner given to Alexander II., to which he was bidden. You will pass through Berlin on your way to Moscow?" said he. "Yes." "Well-I must be polite enough to live until then. You must bring your wife with you. Oh, I know all about it, and you must not think, because I have never been married myself, that I do not congratulate you." After these cordial words, and a clasp of the hand, in which there was nothing weak or tremulous, I parted from the immortal old man.

I was glad to learn from Seifert, that Aildebrand's admirable watercolor drawing of Humboldt in his library is soon to be printed in chromotint, so that very accurate copies of it can be obtained at a moderate price. As I have not only seen the original but the room and man that it represents, I can testify to its entire fidelity, and would suggest to Humboldt's admirers in America that they cannot procure a better illustration of him. I suppose copies of it will be sent to America for sale. Herr Möllhausen, Seifert's son-in-law, who is now attached, as artist, to the expedition for the survey of a wagon-road to the Pacific, prepared for the press, before leaving Berlin, a splendidly illustrated work on the Gila Country, which is now being published under the patronage of the King. It will cost about $28 a copy. Humboldt himself wrote the preface, a copy of which he gave me. He was greatly gratified at the readiness with which our present Secretary of War gave Mr. Möllhausen a second appointment.

AUTOGRAPHS AND THEIR PRICES.

From "Norton's Literary Letter."

In sending forth to our numerous patrons this, the largest Catalogue of Autograph Letters ever published in America, it may not be inappropriate to say a few words on the very interesting subject of "Autographs and their Prices." Collections of various kinds, such as Portraits, Coins, Rare Books, etc., by private individuals, as well as public socie ties, have long been in vogue within the precincts of the civilized world. And the collectors of these, and other rarities, have, by the enthusiastic zeal they have manifested in the pursuit of their darling object, subjected themselves alike to the sneers of the prosy critic and the keen satires of the poet. But the taste for collecting the Autographs of great men, is comparatively a modern one. The world, daily growing wiser, has at last discovered that such collections are not only deeply interesting as mementos of departed worth, but highly valuable as materials of history, to the statesman, the biographer, and the historian. Attractive as other collections undoubtedly are, it cannot be questioned that collections of Autographs are of pre-eminent interest and importance, inasmuch as they constitute a part of the works of those whose memory we fondly cherish, and whose virtues and heroic deeds we love to praise and celebrate. To the man of taste, and man of sympathy, whose heart throbs responsively to the audible beatings of the great heart of humanity, what can be more interesting, what more elevating, than to look with loving eyes on the lines traced by the hand of a Washington, a Burke, a Franklin, a Howard? Time, with unsparing diligence, may ruthlessly have swept away the patriot from the stage of existence; death, with unrelinquishing grasp, inay have laid its hand on the philosopher and the statesman. But the few precious lines we love to look upon and to cherish with jealous reverence, yet remain. And as we read them again and again, imagination carries us back to the time when these heroes of the past lived, and breathed, and acted, leaving us their example as a glorious inheritance, and urging us to imitate, as far as possible, their patriotism and virtue.

We have taken some pains to collect from various reliable sources the following facts relating to autograph collectors, and the prices for which rare autographs have sold at recent sales:

Sir Richard Phillips claims to be the first collector of Autographs; but a writer in Notes and Queries says that collections of Autographs had their origin in Germany about the middle of the sixteenth century, "where travellers carried with them white-paper books to obtain the signatures of eminent persons, or of new acquaintance. Such a book was called an Album, Hortus Amicorum, or Thesaurus Amicorum. The oldest in the British Museum is dated 1578, and appears to have belonged to a lady." Whatever Sir Richard may claim, "it is certain," writes Catherine Hutton, "that he was in possession of reams of these precious relics, each arranged by the alphabetical name of the writer He was so well aware of their value, at a time when they were little thought of by others, that he has been heard to say he would as soon part with a tooth as a letter of Colley Cibber's; and that he expected a grant of land in America for a manuscript of Washington's."

The same writer adds: “William Upcott has been styled the emperor

of Autographs. He had printed, mostly for private d stribution, a magnificent catalogue on royal 4to., containing 32,000 items of autographs, principally bound in volumes, and illustrated with portraits, etc., without regard to expense."

"Thomas Thorpe, bookseller, of London, has been the merchant of Autographs." It is probable he bought and sold more curiosities of this description than any other dealer. He has been known to publish, in four years, catalogues containing collectively 25,222 autographs.

Francis Moore, for fifty years a resident of Paris, was also an extensive collector of Autographs and manuscripts. His collection was particularly rich in letters and documents relating to France and England. The collection, together with other important autographs, was sold by auction, in London, in April, 1856. Among the prices realized may be named the following:-Letter of Catherine of Aragon, first queen of Henry VIII., with seal, $68; Mary, Queen of Scots, and Francis II., king of France, her husband-signatures of both to a document, $70; Edward IV., king of England, letter subscribed and signed, $80; Richard III., letter subscribed and signed, $174; Henry VII., letter subscribed and signed, $61; Henry VIII., ditto, $30; Queen Elizabeth, short letter in French, $70; Prince Rupert, letter, $31; Cardinal Wolsey, letter, $119; Archbishop Laud, letter, $30.

At the sale of C. Meigh's Autographs, London, February, 1856, a letter of Talleyrand's sold for $30; letter of General Wolfe's, $34; Fenclon's Autograph Instructions for his Defence against the Accusations of Bossuet, $100; Brown's Britannia's Pastorals (1616,) with marginal notes in the autograph of Milton, $109; Twelve pages in the autograph of Tasso, $150.

At the sale of Richard C. Lambe's collection, London, August, 1856, forty-four letters of the poet Cowper's were sold, each in a separate lot. One, consisting of four pages 4to. sold for $53. The rest also realized high prices.

At other recent London sales the following prices have been obtained: Southey, letter, $20; Jonathan Swift, letter, $26; Henry IV., of France, love-letter, $30; Oliver Goldsmith, letter to Garrick, with his answer on the reverse, $36; Sir Richard Steele, letter, $30; Byron, $22; 0. Cromwell, letter to "Mr. Cotton, pastor to the church at Boston, in New England," 1651, $178; the autograph MS. of Sir W. Scott's "Peveril of the Peak " (sold 1857,) $248; Dryden's Virgil, 3 vols. 8vo., with autograph of Dr. Johnson in each volume, $24; Spenser's Faerie Queene, 2 vols. 4to., 1590-96, with numerous MS. notes by Ireland, which this noted forger passed off as the genuine productions of Shakspeare! $85.

And, to close this list, we may add that the highest price ever realized for an autograph signature, was that paid by the British Museum for the autograph of the immortal Shakspeare. It was written on the fly leaf of the first edition of Montaigne's Essays, translated by Florio, 1603. The sum paid for it was $500!

As to manuscripts, the prices realized for some of the rarest at recent sales have been almost fabulous. At an important sale in London, in 1856, a Greek MS. of the 12th century, on vellum, viz., "Dioscoridis Opera," folio, with several hundred painted designs in Byzantine style, sold for $2,945; a MS., on velluin, of the 10th century, viz., "Evangelia Quatuor," folio, with portraits, colored capitals, etc., $348; "Evangelia Quatuor," Byzantine MS. of the 11th century, Svo., $403; "Dante, La Divina Commedia," small folio MS. of the 15th century, $260; "Officiorum Liber, cum Calendario," decorated MS., on vellum, with paintings, etc., 8vo., $1,195; Offices of the Virgin, on vellum, with paintings, 8vo., $448; "Biblia Hebraica," MS. on vellum, of the 13th century, written in uncial characters, folio, $348.

A PROTEST.

From "Bayard Taylor's Correspondence to the New York Tribune." In a certain contingency, the ancient Israelites excused a man from all military duty for the space of one year; but in our exacting times, I have no right to expect that the same dispensation of Providence will justify me in laying aside my steel (pen) for a longer space than_one month. Not that writing is a necessity to me. On the contrary, I am sometimes heartily tired of it, and wish that I had been born with a spade in my hand, instead of a quill. My Nemesis is the word "contract," and my only consolation, when she sometimes drives me too hard, is the saving clause I inserted, that I should only write when I had (or supposed I had) something to say. During the past month, I have writ ten nothing, and you have lost nothing. For I persist in the antiquated idea that the public has no right to know anything about the private life of an author. His household gods are as sacred as those of any other individual whatever; and if he chooses to keep a skeleton, that is his own business.

That certain portions of my life have been betrayed to the world, is a thing for which I am not accountable. I have always resisted and

protested against any such revelation, either in my own case or in that of others. You, anonymous American females, who still persist in sending me letters, for the most part either silly or impertinent should you be well pleased, if I, knowing you personally, were to entertain the public with the secrets of your hearts or your toilettes? Reverse the case, in your imaginations, and you may perhaps spare me, henceforth, the bore of your advice and your meddling criticism.

There is scarcely an American author of any reputation who is not subjected to this private annoyance, in addition to published misstatements of his life, plans, finances, political and religious creed, etc. Two years ago, the newspapers insisted on marrying me to somebody in Ohio I never could discover precisely to whom-and the result was a shower of anonymous letters, some of which were positively insulting. I have since learned that English authors are subjected to the same annoyance, though in a less degree. In Germany, there is not much of it -which is rather to be wondered at. I have read lately, in American papers, statements that Tennyson was ruining himself by opium-eating, and that Thackeray formerly made a living by shaving, at an enormous usury, the bills of young heirs. Knowing both the men, as I do-and they are two of God's own noblemen-I pronounce these stories outrageous lies. There is not the shadow of a foundation for either of them. If these things are the inevitable shadow of an author's fame, then, as Tennyson sings:

"Better the life of bush and brier,

The bird that pipes his lone desire
And dies unheard within his tree,
Than him who warbles long and loud,
And falls at Glory's temple-gates-
For whom the carrion vulture waits,
To tear his heart before the crowd!"

I ask pardon for this digression, which is not wholly personal, since the annoyance is so general. Perhaps this protest, which I make for the first and last time, may save me future lamentations over a "lost ideal." I wish it to be understood that I never set up for an ideal. Quite the contrary. My tastes are really of the realest kind, including rocking-chairs, oysters, fast horses, Christy's Minstrels, lager bier, macaroni, Havana cigars, Flemish artists, sausages, salt bathing, pickled herrings, the raising of vegetables, Newfoundland dogs, camp-fires, sailors, lumbermen, uneducated men, aad sinners generally. If your ideal embraces all these, ye anony-mice (the plural, I suppose, of anonymous), hold on to it, and may it comfort you.

I know an American author who was once bored for a long time by a female acquaintance for sympathy and tender appreciation of her ideas of "spiritual duty." "Mr. Plutarch," she would say, "is there a more serene and sublime satisfaction in life than that of discovering your spiritual duty, and then conscientiously performing it? Have you not often, in your own soul, felt this tranquil bliss? The author bore this for a time, but human patience has its limits. "No," he answered at last; "I hate to do my spiritual duty. If I know what it is, I won't do it; but, Madam, there is one thing which does fill me with a serene and sublime satisfaction, and reconciles me to the hollowness of life." Pray, pray, what is it?" she asked eagerly. "Madam, it is a pig's nose, boiled with cabbage! was his quiet answer. He was never forgiven.

I am not afraid of applying the moral of this story-every word of which is true-to my own case.

Extracts from New Books.

THE YOUTH OF DR. KANE.

From the "Biography of Elisha Kent Kane."

He went through the diseases and the training of infancy vigorously, having the clear advantage of that energy of nerve and that sort of twill in the muscular texture which give tight little fellows more size than they measure, and more weight than they weigh.

His frame was admirably fitted for all manner of athletic exercises, and his impulses kept it well up to the limits of its capabilities, daring and doing every thing within the liberties of boy-life with an intent seriousness of desperation which kept domestic rule upon the stretch, and threatened, as certainly as usual with boys whose only badness is their boldness, to bring down everybody's gray hairs in sorrow, &c. It was not the monkey mirthfulness nor the unprincipled recklessness of childhood that he was chargeable with, but something more of purpose and tenacity in exacting deference and enforcing equity than is usually allowed to boyhood. To arbitrary authority he was a regular little rebel. There was nothing of passive submission in his temper, and he did not overlay it with the little hypocrisies of good-boy policy. He was absolutely fearless, and, withal, given to indignation quite up to his own

measurement of wrongs and insults, and he had a pair of little fists that worked with the steam-power of passion in the administration of distributive justice, which he charged himself with executing at all hazards. In right of primogeniture he was protector to his younger brothers, and was not yet nine years old when he assumed the office with all its duties and dangers.

At school, about this time, with a brother two years younger under his care, the master ordered his protege up for punishment. Elisha sprang from his seat, and interposed with a manner which had rather more of demand than petition in it, "Don't whip him, he's such a little fellow-whip me." The master, understanding this to be mutiny, which really was intended for a fair compromise, answered, "I'll whip you too, sir." Strung for endurance, the sense of injustice changed his mood to defiance, and such fight as he was able to make quickly converted the discipline into a fracas, and Elisha left the school with inarks that required explanation.

When he was ten years old, four or five neighbor boys, all bigger than himself, who had climbed upon the roof of a back building in his father's yard, were amusing themselves by shooting putty-wads from blow-guns at the girls below. Elisha, attracted to the spot by the outcry of the injured party, promptly undertook the defence, and in the firm tone of a young gentleman offended, required them to desist and leave the premises; but he, of course, was instantly answered by a broadside levelled at himself. Fired at the outrage, he clutched the rain-spout, and climbed like a young tiger to the roof, and was anong them before they could realize the practicability of the feat; and then he had them, on terms even enough for a handsome settlement of the case. The roof was steep and dangerous to his cowed antagonists, but safe to his better balance and higher courage, and they were at his mercy; for no one could help another, and he was more than a match for the best of them, in a position where peril of a terrible tumble was among the risks of resistance. Forth with he went at them seriatim, till severally and singly, he had cuffed them to the full measure of their respective deservings. But not satisfied with inflicting punishment, he exacted penitence also, and he proceeded to drag each of them in turn to the edge of the roof, and, holding him there, demanded an explicit apology. Before he had finished putting the whole party through this last form of purgation, little Tom, who had witnessed the performance from the pavement below, greatly terrified by the imminent risk of a fall, which would have broken a neck or two mayhap, called out, "Come down, Elisha! oh, 'Lisha, come down!" Elisha answered the appeal in the spirit of the engagement, "No, Tom, they an't done apologizing yet."

He took no "sauce" from anybody. He couldn't understand why he should, and it was hard and risky to make him know that he must; for he was equally fertile in expedients and bold in execution. On the wharf, one day, when he was not yet twelve years old, an insolent ruffian, big enough and wicked enough to break every bone in the lad's body, aroused his wrath by an intolerable piece of rudeness. Resistance and redress seemed impossible, but submission was completely so. He saw his opportunity,-a rope fixed to the end of a crane hung within his reach, and the ruffian stood fairly in the track of its swing. He seized it, and running backward till it was tightly stretched, he made a bound which gave him the momentum of a sling, and planted his knees like a shot in the fellow's face, levelling him handsomely, and with a spring he put himself under the protection of the bystanders, who had witnessed and admired the performance.

So Elisha earned the character of a bad boy, while he was, in fact, exercising and cultivating the spirit of a brave one. Goody-good people, very naturally, did not understand him then,-they do now. Elisha never reformed: he just persisted until he performed what was in him to do. The rills, so tortuous and turbulent near the springs, rolled themselves into a river in time, and regulated their rush without losing it.

It is said that "education forms the common mind: 19 it is more certain that "as the twig is bent, the tree's inclined." This boy, at least, was the father of the man. It was utterly impossible to fashion his young life by veneering it with the proprieties which are supposed to shape it into goodness. He may not have known what he should be in the future, but he knew what he must be in the present, and he, happily, did not limber himself by forced compliances. Difficult, daring, and desperate enterprises, not only useless, but recklessly wild, under the common standard of judgment, worked in him like one possessed. Atten years of age he studied the weather, watched the moon, and carefully scanned the opportunities afforded by the nights for scaling fences, clambering over cut-houses, and getting into the tree-tops, all round the square that was overlooked by his dormitory. Wherever a cat could go, he would; and escapes from the skylight, by way of the kitchen roof and through the trap-door to the yard, and thence abroad to enjoy an unwatched and unmolested rambling, clambering and tumbling, afforded him a seriously high-toned delight. He took nobody into his confidence except his bed-fellow; but this was voluntary and generous, for he was bent upon training him for similar achievements. One instance will illustrate:

The back-building was two stories high, the front three, and the houses which flanked the kitchen were, also, three stories. To relieve the draft of the kitchen chimney from the eddy of the buildings which embayed it, it was carried up like a shaft sixteen feet above the roof. There it stood at the gable, in provokingly tempting altitude, and the point that concerned our little hero was, how to get to the top of it?

"How should he get to the top! Bless me," exclaims some considerate personage of correct habits and cautious judgments, "why should he?" Elisha would have answered him, "I must, and I wonder why I should not?" Very certainly there would have been two opinions on the matter, if any wise body had been consulted. But the little desperado needed no advice. The thing was to be done, and it was done. It required some engineering, but-it was all the better for that. It is not mere muscle and hardihood that will carry a man to the North Pole. He must have some science and some tackling along with him; and the boy that is practising upon a chimney-top for arctic service, must put his wits to work, quite as much as his muscles and his courage. He made his observations and his calculations,-his determination was long made. The preparations were perfected, and his younger brother taken into the enterprise.

When all in the house were asleep, and the stars gave just light enough to guide, and none to expose the performance, with prevention and punishment among the chances, the two little fellows left their bed, and descended the roof of the front building till they dropped themselves upon that of the kitchen. Here the clothes-line, providently stowed away during the day for the purpose, was lying ready in coil, with a stone securely tied at one end.

"What is the stone for, Elisha?"

Why, you see, Tom, the stone is a dipsey. I call it a dipsey, (a young science of exploration, and a nomenclature to match, already,) because I'm going to throw it into the flue, so that it will run down into the old furnace, carrying the line down with it, and then I can slip down and fasten it there. Now for a heave. The chimney-top is almost too high for me. It is pretty near twenty feet, I should think; but I'll do it."

Failures to reach the height, then failures to direct the dip of the falling stone, followed in long succession; but this gave practice, and practice makes perfect. At last one throw more lucky than the rest, and the rumble in the chimney and the run of the line announced suc

cess.

Down through the trap-door went Elisha, and, after securing the end at the furnace, he ascended to the roof again, and was ready. But stop a little, the chimney is a very narrow stack; it stands outside of the gable, and there is a chance that the climber may swing out and get forty or fifty feet of clear air between him and the pavement below. This must be cared for; and little Tom is duly instructed and planted firmly, with the slack of the rope in hand, to keep Elisha on the right side of the chimney, so that if the bricks on the edge give way and a tumble betide, he may come down all safe and nice upon the roof. All these arrangements made, and the contingencies so well provided for, the rope is seized, the feet planted against the chimney, and, hand over hand, up goes the aspirant, till the top is within reach; but the perch is not so easily attained, even when the full height of the stack is mastered. One hand on a top brick to draw himself up by it, and it yields in its loosened bed! That won't do. With a hard strain he gets his elbow over the edge, and so much of the doubled arm within for a good broad hold, and then daintily and carefully wriggling up the little body, and he's up, seated on the top!

66

Oh, Tom, what a nice place this is! I'll get down into the flue to my waist, and pull you up, too. Just make a loop in the rope, and I'll haul you in. Don't be afraid,--it is so grand up here."

But the strength was not quite equal to the will; and Tom's chance had to be surrendered.

The descent was about as dangerous, though not quite as difficult, as the ascent. And then all that remained was to hide the tracks, which required another descent to the basement, a thorough washing of the rope to remove the soot of the chimney; and then, as the business of the night was done, to bed viâ the roof and skylight again; and a bright, happy consciousness on awaking in the morning that he had done it.

His child history is full of this sort of incidents. Through them all runs the one character of physical hardihood, and steady tense endeavor for doing every thing that seemed difficult of accomplishment, without other aim, or any aim at all, beyond the mere doing.

A TRIP TO MEMPHIS.

From "Three Days in Memphis."

erting its power ever since the day I arrived had entirely stripped them, and driven the withering leaves across the wide plain to the mountains near by.

Still, I felt constrained to go abroad into the open air. I wished to get acquainted with the place where I must fix my future abode, to let my eye rove, from the nearest hill, over the valley, and then take a look on the little city and on my new country. Whoever has seen himself (as was the case with me) suddenly torn away from his dearest kindred, from the arms of love and friendship, sundered from his most beloved country, and, like a tender plant, transferred to a strange unknown soil, -he can, perhaps, feel what I then felt on the top of the mountain. İ had cast a hasty glance on the region around, even still charming in the late autumn season, but tny spirit bore no part in it. It swept away far into the distance, glowed once more in the parting look of my father, gave the farewell pressure of hand anew, threw a last glance into the little chamber where I had so long strove, wrestled, and fought for science. But pleasanter scenes besides passed before my mind. A bright, merry face of childhood also smilingly beckoned me. But, ah! the boy whose mind I had formed, to whose innocent plays I gave their meaning, who had accompanied me on my walks and had enlivened me and cheered me by questions of curiosity, was left behind. I stood alone on the top of the mountain, and solitude never appeard more sad and wanting of purpose than now, when destiny had brought it to me. How often like a fool I had wished for it, and now when it had become a necessity it was full of terror.

But these pictures, too, passed away. Science would assert its claim. How often had I before investigated antiquity; how often had I cast a curious look behind the walls of Egyptian temples; how often in the palace of Sesostris; how often in one or another Egyptian workshop! But was not this all mere piecemeal? What use to me were the detached scenes which I had laboriously disenchanted, if there was no powerful hand to bring them into a whole life-like picture?

Yes, if only one had himself been there, lived at that time, and might now bring us knowledge of what we so laboriously search into!" This I thought to myself with a sigh, and pensively descended to go into the valley. The sun sunk deeper and deeper, and the evening crimson gilded the slope of the mountain, across which the wind drove about the rustling leaves in wild whirls. Suddenly I stopped as if struck with lameness. It was not fear which chained me there, not a sudden terror which made me tremble throughout; it was a sight that called forth the most pleasant feelings, but at the same time with the conviction that it was only a phantom, and filled me with sadness and melancholy. A few steps before me, at the foot of an old, sturdy oak, sat a lovely boy, who smiled at me in the most kindly manner. The features were not unknown to me: they perfectly resembled those of the dear child who only a few minutes before had occupied my thoughts. I felt already like springing toward him and clasping the boy to my heart and inquiring after many dear ones in my home, but the thought, the certainty "it cannot be so," anew restrained me. And yet there was something else which made me hesitate,--the position of the boy. He continued motionless in a posture such as I had oftentimes seen and admired in the Egyptian pictures. He sat still, squatting on the ground, with one knee drawn up to a right angle, his left arm hanging down, his right, on the contrary, bent together, and his hand, as if enjoining silence, laid on his mouth. Was it a statue which by chance had here been thrown in my way? No, that could not be it was the image of a fresh, vigorous life; the eyes shone out so fiery beneath the long, dark lashes. Life was in every feature. "But whatever it is," I thought to myself, “I will find it out." So I resolved to go nearer to it.

"Who are you, my little fellow?" I asked in a friendly and encouraging tone.

No answer.

I repeated the question.

"Who are you?

Finally the boy let fall his hand and opened his mouth.

"Are you a learned man?" said he to me, with a roguish smile. "And do you ask me who I am?"

66

"Do

"Now, then," I replied, "Can it be that you are Horus?" Why not? he continued, as he slowly raised himself up. you learned men of the closet believe that the times of the old kingdom are at an end, that my reign has passed away? Or do you not know that my mother Isis has made me immortal by an enchanted cup? Would you not desire the power, if it could be, now to bring to life again Egypt -the old Egypt?"

It is a mere jest-a fable!" I cried out, almost angry. "Your temples are in ruins, your cities are lying waste, your bodies are moldered away, and no power on earth can breathe into them new life."

"And if there be not any such," asked the boy, suddenly becoming serious; "Is not my mother Isis the greatest and most powerful goddess of the world? Has not mighty Rome itself built a temple to her? Look! Your brave struggle to become acquainted with our spirit, our olden life, gives me pain. Will it ever succeed? The dead letter, the lifeless hieroglyphic, mocks your weak intellect. Only in fresh life is there truth. Come, I will show it to you."

"It is a dream," I said, thoughtfully, as he caught hold of my hand. "And if it should be a dream, would it be less beautiful?" replied the boy. "You have seen the ruins of our temple, you must see how they once looked, alive, with priests, and a believing, adoring multitude; you have, perhaps, shuddered as you gazed on many a mutiny, many a moldered hand; you must see them at work and busy; and you must talk, eat, drink, and play with them."

"But whither do you carry me?" I asked, when I noticed that at these words he drew me along further and further with himself. "To Memphis!"

"But the evening is just coming on; the sun has already sunk beneath the horizon!"

"No, you are mistaken," rejoined Horus,-for so I must now call him;" that red, which glimmers above the mountains, it is the morning dawn which betokens a new day,-the first day in the newly-restored land of the Pharaohs. Look round you."

We stood, as I thought, on the wall which surrounds the University City and affords a charming promenade. I looked forward on the right, where I knew the railroad station ought to lie. But who can describe my astonishment! The first rays of the morning sun gilded not the points of the telegraph tower. No, but the summit of pyramids comimanding all, and at my feet lay the mighty, imperial city, with her temples and shrines, her palaces and castles.

Who can describe the feelings which this view awakened, the remembrances it called forth! Here once Joseph spoke out his rebukes; here the old Pharaohs reigned; here before me lay the famous temple of Vulcan or Phtha, where the decree of the priests was deliberated upon and drawn up, which is to-day preserved in the Rosetta Inscription. Every step must suggest new ideas, give a new exposition.

Whether a dream or reality, I dashed forward into the arms of the then present. Yes; in the fear that it might be only a deam and fly away too quickly and unenjoyed, I called out to my little guide an impatient and impetuous "Go ahead!" So we descended into the valley.

Literary Intelligence.

INTERNATIONAL COPYRIGHT.-There is one clause in the bill lately brought before Congress, by Mr. Morris, to establish an international copyright between the United States and England, which appears liable to the charge of being impracticable. As we read the clause, it proposes to secure the author's copyright, provided that the book be republished here within a month after it has been published in England. Suppose that Wilkie Collins, or any other popular author, publish a new book on the first of the month. It would scarcely come into the hands of New York, Philadelphia, or Boston publishers earlier than the 15th. It is not too much to allow a publisher a full week to read the book carefully, and decide whether it be worth the pecuniary risk of republication. This leaves exactly another week, under Mr. Morris's bill, for having the book composed, corrected, stereotyped, bound, and advertised?

We know that this could be done that E. H. Butler & Co. did all this, with the last two volumes of Macaulay, in something less than forty-eight hours. But this is an extreme case, seeing that Butler was running a race of rivalry with Harper, as regards this particular work. It might do, by very great exertions, to hurry a work of fiction through the press in a weekthough we do not expect it to be very accurately or neatly got up in such a hurry. But take an important work, and see how it is to be done? Here, for example, we refer to Dr. Livingstone's Travels and Researches in South Africa, an octavo volume of 732 pages, with an engraving of the author on steel, with forty-seven beautiful engravings on wood, and with two large colored maps, showing the author's route in Africa. This handsome volume, a fac-simile of Murray's London edition, (but at much lower price,) was brought out, a few weeks ago, by Messrs. Harper, of New York, a firm which has greater facilities in getting out a book rapidly and neatly than, perhaps, any publishers in the world-for the composition, press work, engravings, and binding, are all executed under one roof. We have not ascertained what length of time elapsed between the receipt of an English copy by Messrs. Harper, and their republication of it. But, with all their resources, from six to eight weeks must have been devoted to this book, ere it passed from Harper's warehouse to the counters of the retail book-venders.

Under the clause in the proposed bill, the republication of Livingstone would be impossible, for it could not, by any force brought to bear on it, have been issued in this country within a month after its appearance in London, and so, one of the best books of the time would have dropped through, so far as this country is concerned.-The Press.

Mr. W. H. Russell, the famous Crimean correspondent of the London Times, has engaged with Messrs. Routledge, to write for them a novel of modern life.

Mr. Kingsley's new volume of poetry, announced last year, is now in the press, and will shortly be published in London. Its title is to be "Andromeda, and other Poems."

Mr. Parton, the biographer of Aaron Burr, is understood to be engaged in preparing a life of Gen. Andrew Jackson, for which he obtained much new material while writing the life of the great "conspirator." Mr. Parton entertains the theory that Jackson owed his elevation to the Presidency to the secret suggestions and aid of Burr.

William E. Burton, comedian, intends, it is said, to bring out an original "Comic Annual," by American writers, printed and illustrated in the most elegant manner. Burton, who is a very competent judge of the matter, says our country is abundant in writers and material of wit and humor, if one could only get the funny dogs to do their best. ALFRED TENNYSON AND OPIUM.

New York, Monday, Jan. 25, 1858. To the Editor of the New York Times:-Sir: I see that a Boston journal contradicts the story that Mr. Alfred Tennyson is now a victim of the use of opium, and does so in terms which must leave the impression that the distinguished poet is a "reformed" example of the frightful proclivity against which Mr. De Quincey has battled for so many years and which Coleridge was unable to resist with success.

So far as Mr. Tennyson is concerned, these foolish stories are of slight importance, and I am not sure that he would thank me for taking the trouble to expose them, so intense is his horror of all personal publicity. He lives in a kind of mortal fear of the Illustrated News, and is to the very core of him a kinsman of those Elizabethan men who loved so to lock themselves up with their friends in sly and happy corners, where

"All their great hearts sherris-warmed, They flashed their random speeches, Before the tribe of Ana swarmned, Those literary leeches!"

But college lads are as susceptible in their way as boarding-school girls; tales of opium-eating genius may do as much harm as stories of beauty bred on arsenic; and it seems to me, therefore, to be quite a duty for me to assure you, what dealings Mr. Tennyson may have had with "honey-dew " and the milk of Paradise," he has never meddled at all with the deadly delight of Turks and Chinamen. Of course, his fame would be a sufficient cause of all sorts of nonsensical fabrications about him, but in this instance the reports undoubtedly had an origin in the melancholy history of one of Mr. Tennyson's family, upon the premature extinction of whose brilliant genius it is impossible for any one who knew him to think without the most genuine regret. The Laureate himself has dabbled with no poisons in the marvellous laboratory of his brain. H.

From the Literary Gazette.

On the 3d of December Herr Eduard Scriber, a clergyman of Darmstadt, died in the village of Merkerberbach, in Nassau. He was well known from his numerous historical writings principally connected with his own country, and for his biographical lexicon of the authors of the Duchy of Hesse Darmstadt in the first quarter of the nineteenth century, which was first published in 1831, and reappeared revised and corrected in 1843.

A hitherto unpublished poem by Goethe has just appeared in the "Deutsche Museum," inserted by Professor Kahlert, who guarantees for its genuineness. It was written by Goethe during his stay at the University of Leipsic. It is in praise of love and wine, and, except for the great name of the poet attached to it, would have no value. The date appended to it is Leipsic, 12 May, 1767. Goethe."

66

New Publications

TICKNOR & FIELDS have got out two more volumes of their Household Edition of the Waverley Novels containing "Kenilworth."

ROBERT CARTER & BROTHERS publish "Expository Thoughts on the Gospels," by the Rev. J. C. Ryle. This volume, which is a continuation of a work already commenced by "Expository Thoughts on St. Matthew," contains an exposition of St. Mark: The author says: "In composing these Expositions on St. Mark, I have tried to keep continually before me the threefold object which I had in view, when I first commenced writing on the Gospels. I have endeavored to produce something which may be useful to heads of families in the conduct of family prayers-something which may assist those who visit the poor and desire to read to them-and something which may aid all readers of the Bible in the private study of God's Word. In pursuance of this threefold object, I have adhered steadily to the leading principles with which I began. I have dwelt principally on the things needful to salvation. I have purposely avoided all topics of minor importance. I have spoken plainly on all subjects, and have striven to say nothing which all may not understand."

RYLL.-Expository Thoughts on the Gospels. For Family and Private Use. With the text complete. By the Rev. J. C. Ryle, B.A., Christ Church, Oxford, Rector of Helmingham, Suffolk; author of "Living or Dead," "Wheat or Chaff," "Startling Questions," "Rich or Poor," "Priest, Puritan, and Preacher," etc., etc. St. Mark. 12mo. pp. 370. [Robert Carter & Brothers.] 1800 WAVERLEY NOVELS.-Household Edition, Kenilworth, 2 vols. 16mo. pp. 671. [Ticknor & Fields.] 150

UNITED STATES.

We would respectfully call the attention of the trade to the quality, price, and extensive assortment of our machine-made envelopes. The unrivalled facilities which we possess for manufacturing enable us to offer better goods at LOWER PRICES than any other house in the Trade.

Samples forwarded free of expense. We would also call the attention of the trade to Bryan & Wilcox's celebrated

WRITING FLUID & INK,
For which we are the Sole Agents.
BUTLER & BRYAN,

Nos. 22 and 24 Frankfort St., New York. COPYRIGHT EDITION In 8vo., pp. 804. $5.

NEW YORK.

CHARLES SCRIBNER,

NEW YORK,

Will publish by 15th February, FIFTEEN YEARS AMONG THE MORMONS. Being the Narrative of Mrs. MARY E. V. SMITH, late of Great Salt Lake City. A Sister of one of the Mormon High Priests, she having been personally acquainted with most of the Mormon Leaders, and long in the confidence of the "Prophet" Brigham Young.

By N. W. GREEN,

1 volume. 12mo. Price, $1 25.

Extract from Preface.

"The first questions the honest reader has a right to ask are these: Is it true? Are these disclosures and revelations made in good faith? Are they really the actual ex. periences of a woman yet under twenty-nine years of age? A woman educated from childhood in the Mormon faith, familiar with all its details, one who has been a victim to its cruel hardships and to its practical workings, has she disclosed to the world what she has actually seen, and felt, and suffered, and nothing more? Is it true that she has many others of her sex, for years in Utah, and that, by a singular good fortune, when hope had nearly gone out within her, she effected an escape? And is it true, that to-day she exists as an actuality, courting investigation, and fearing nothing but Mormon intrigue and Mormon assassination?"

ELEMENTS OF CHEMISTRY, been held a prisoner, in common with

INCLUDING THE

Applications of the Science in the Arts.

By THOS. GRAHAM, F. R. S. L. & E., Late Professor of Chemistry in University College, London.

Second Edition-Revised and Enlarged. Edited by THOMAS WATTS, B. A., F. C. S. Vol. 2.

Vol. 1 being nearly out of print can no longer be sold separately.

Price of the 2 vols., $10. Sent free of carriage on receipt of the Price.

The Practical Use of the Blowpipe.

Being a graduated course of Analysis for the Use of Students, and all those engaged in the examination of metalic combinations. 1 vol. 12mo. 297 pp., illustrated. $1 50.

H. BAILLIERE,

290 BROADWAY, NEW YORK.

ΤΗ

ENGLISH AND FOREIGN BOOKS. THE LONLON PUBLISHERS CIRCULAR, and General Record of British and Foreign Literature, published on the 1st and 15th of each month, will be forwarded direct from the London Office, per mail, to any address in the United States, upon the payment of $2 per annum, to Messrs. BANGS, BROTHER & Co., 13 Park Row, New York,

AMERICAN AGENCY IN ENGLAND.

SAMPSON LOW, SON & Co., English and American Booksellers, 47 Ludgate Hill, pub lishers of the "Circular," undertake the col

lection and forwarding orders for English

Books-the Sale of American Books in England-and the agency of all matters con. nected with bookselling and publishing. Communications may be addressed dtrect, or to the care of Messrs. Bangs, Brother & Co.

THE FIREMAN.

By March 1st. THE LITERARY ATTRACTIONS OF THE BIBLE; or, a Plea for the Word of God, considered as a Classic. By Rev. Le Roy J. Halsey, D. D., of Louisville, Ky. 1 vol. 12mo. $1 25.

Chas. Scribner's Recent Publications. A COMMENTARY ON THE ACTS. By J. Addison Alexander, D. D. 2 volumes. 12mo. $2 50.

THE NORSE FOLK; or, a Visit to the Homes of Norway and Sweden. By C. L. Bracc. 1 vol. 12mo. $1 25.

LIFE OF MARY QUEEN OF SCOTS. By Donald MacLeod. 1 vol. 12mo. $1 25. GET MONEY. A new Juvenile. By Mrs. L C. Tuthill. 1 vol. 62 cents. DARKNESS IN THE FLOWERY LAND; or, the Religious Notions and Popular Superstitions in China. By Rev. M. S. Culbertson. 1 vol. 16mo. 75 cents.

ENGLISH

Bible Warehouse.

EYRE & SPOTTISWOODE, Importers and Publishers of the Standard

and Authorized London Editions of

Bibles, Testaments, Prayer Books, &c.

(Prayer Books for Episcopal Churches in the U. S.) 122 NASSAU STREET, N. YORK,

(Removed from 47 Cliff Street,) AND 189 FLEET STREET, LONDON. N. B.-Now on hand a very large Stock, new kinds, most handsomely got up. BIBLES of all Sizes, Prices, and Bindings, from the Pocket Edition to the Quarto and Folio, for Family or Pulpit use.

HILL & LIBBY, consisting of our usual Styles, and several

76 & 78 WASHINGTON ST., Have just published a new and valuable work,

THE FIREMAN,

The first two thousand of which will be sold by subscription. It contains a complete and reliable History of the Fire Department in all the large cities of the U. S., with the peculiarities of management and organization in different localities; also, an account of all the large Fires which have taken place in the U. S.,

Liberal discounts for orders containing Cash. Catalogues now ready.

E. CHEESWRIGHT, Acting Manager, N Y. WANTED,

with Statistics of the Losses, Expenses, A who wishes to retire, in a well estab &c., &c.; a history of Riots among the Firemen, Burning of Theatres, Convents, &c.; with much information valuable to Firemen, and to be found in no other

work.

The book is well illustrated and handsomely bound. Price, $1.

6.31

PARTNER, to take the place of one lished concern, doing a good business. Capital required to the amount of $5,000 to $10,000. One acquainted with the Book and Stationery business will find an advan tageous opening. Best of references given and required. Address, "Partner, Box 1854, Boston P. O., Mass."

6.21