repairs a shattered party, and leads it often to victory. He executes one of the most consummate political coups ever known.

After more than thirty years of political toil and warfare his ambition is crowned; he wears the blue ribbon; "and here I am," we can hear him saying to himself, "a sexagenarian, but with my affections and sympathies as young and green as ever. I can still be playful over the way in which two lovely damsels emancipate themselves from Presbyterian thraldom. I can still paint pretty and tender scenes of maidens hiding their heads in their lovers' breasts."

Dr. Johnson was fond of saying that there was no book printed which did not contain something worth reading. In these days of unlimited tract distribution and universal novel-writing old Samuel's dictum may be questionable; but of this there can be little doubt, that there is no book written by a master-mind which ought not to be impartially examined, and which will not afford enjoyment of some kind.

"Lothair" comes within this category: it is the work of an essentially supreme mind, and being so, we wish to examine it, not with the superficial flippancy of the critic in Macmillan, nor with the feeble spite of the critic in Blackwood, but con amore, and with a sincere desire to understand, if possible, its nature and its intention.

Viewed as a work of art, "Lothair" yields an exquisite pleasure, for most of the conditions of true art are complied with: the design is complete and apparent; the proportions are just; the general symmetry is good; the colouring is deep and effective; and there broods over the whole that tender magic which, alike in a picture or a book, speaks to the mind of that mysterious faculty which we name Genius.

The design of a work of art is the most essential fact about it, because it represents the spirit of the artist and contains the soul of the work itself.

What is the design of "Lothair"? Bunyan represents Pope and Pagan as two helpless old giants sitting at the end of the Valley of the Shadow of Death, and biting their thumbs in malignant impotency at the pilgrims who pass by. "But," adds the allegorist, "it is thought by some that the Pope will one day revive and do more mischief than ever." It would seem by "Lothair" that the giant has revived with a vengeance, and can do a good deal more than impotently bite his thumbs; and we suppose that the motto, "Nôsse omnia hæc, salus est adolescentulis," has particular reference to the resuscitation. In short, the main purpose of "Lothair" is to make us, the enlightened and self-satisfied denizens of the nineteenth century, aware of the prevailing power of the papacy, and especially to warn the youthful patriciate of Great Britain against the craft and subtilty of Jesuit priests. And if the book be care

fully examined from all points, it will be found that the design has been successfully worked out.

But we believe that there is also a secondary purpose in "Lothair," almost of as much importance as the primary and main one, and from which as useful a moral may be drawn.

Both the purpose and the lesson may be found in the character of the hero, and, rightly interpreted, we think the voice speaks on this wise: "Not young noblemen only, but young men generally, if you happen to have very susceptible and impressionable natures -beware! Try to become acquainted with your nature; cultivate self-knowledge; in a word, know yourselves. Encourage, stimulate, foster by all means every impulse towards 'whatsoever things are pure, and honest, and lovely, and of good report,' but at the same time endeavour to temper impulse with judgment, to attain to a complete mastery over self, and so to a soundness and completeness of character."

If this be, indeed, one of the utterances of the "Nôsse omnia hæc, salus est adolescentulis," nay, if it were the sole utterance, why then the world in general, mindful of past utterances of a similar character from the same author, and coupling them with the present one, owes Mr. Disraeli a debt of gratitude; and "Lothair" has not been written in vain.

"Thoughts that breathe, and words that burn"-such will be found in "Lothair." Would that this could be said of every work of fiction. Mr. Disraeli has ever been an educator. To instruct ignorance, to expand and elevate the intellect, in a word, to develop and glorify the better parts of human nature, to enthrone the angel above the brute-this seems to have been and to be Mr. Disraeli's great object, whether in his relations with the political party which he leads, or in the works of imagination which he has from time to time given to the world.

"Lothair" is as didactic as "Romola," but superior to "Romola," because more widely and variously didactic, and because the name of its author has for a series of years been a great power in Europe. The subject of the education of the lower classes is at this moment occasioning universal interest; but it does seem to us that there are thousands among the upper classes -those formally educated and by courtesy called so-who are to all intents and purposes as much in want of education (though of a different sort) as Hodge and his family. To such persons, Mr. Disraeli, and writers like Mr. Disraeli, are schoolmasters, and novels like "Lothair" are their pleasant text-books. Were there more of such voluntary teachers, with the Education Bill passed and set in operation, Britain, we think, might before long be able to boast, from John o' Groats to the Land's End, an enlightened, a wise, an understanding people.

THE DEATH-WORKS AT ESSEN.

BY WILLIAM JONES.

On the iron-bound plains of Essen, in the Rhineland famed in story,

Where the grey ore and the coal had slept unknown for ages

hoary,

Now leap they forth exultingly, as warriors to the battle,

To follow Death in carnage, and to speed the cannon's rattle.

Here, 'midst the sweltering furnaces, the Fire-King reigns supremely,

A Cyclop host around him, men of gait and brow unseemly;
Of giant frame and sinew, rough-limb'd, and swarthy features,
Scorch'd and blister'd 'till they scarcely bear the trace of human

creatures.

Shifting 'midst the lightning flashes, and the fiery embers daring,
Quick they draw the red-hot vessels, with the molten iron glaring,
Bubbling fiercely, as in anger, while the vapour rises dimly,
And covers with a steaming cloud the shadows dark and grimly.

Freed from air, the iron settles, then, in masses square and rounded,

Beneath the Titan hammers they are crush'd, and stretch'd, and pounded:

The mighty strokes fall thundering, and distant echoes wakenWith a burst of wild artillery, the earth around seems shaken.

Now cast the ponderous cannon, see, the gaping furnace ready: Lay the monster in its lurid couch, with grapplings, firm and steady:

Soon to wake and thirst for slaughter, and to mow the war-ranks deeper,

With the Fire-King for its sponsor, and King Death the grisly reaper!

Bring forth the hissing dragon! Soon a hundred arms are

moving

To a rude unearthly chorus, as the weight their strength is

proving;

From its flaming den it rises-fast and thick the sparks are flying

And beneath the hammer, helplessly, the glowing mass is lying.

Forges night and day are blazing, for the work seems neverending,

Night and day the blast is roaring, harsh and husky voices blend

ing,

A cloud hangs looming over, like a pall o'er life and motion,
A shroud that death is weaving from the seething molten ocean!

Weary-footed, tender-hearted! ye have here no rest nor quarter, Essen toils, for half the world is mad, and ripe for blood and slaughter;

Kings are waiting for the iron throats that speak in sounds of thunder,

And Death is yearning greedily for legions rent asunder.

Woe to manhood in its noble prime! to youth in life's beginning!
Woe to the cannon's utterance when the fatal balls are spinning!
Woe in the homes made desolate to gild ambitious folly,
To the hearts crush'd deep in agony by feud and strife unholy!

LETTER FROM COBLENTZ.

Coblentz, Sunday, July, 1870.

HERE I am in the very midst of war-a war in which twenty-four hours since I could not believe. It is true, that for the last four days we have had telegrams of alternately an alarming and of a quieting kind handed round at the breakfast-table and at the teatable, but still we laid the flattering unction to our souls of the quieting telegrams, and allowed the others to go for nothing. We ate, drank, and were merry. We went out to see all the sights that were to be seen. One of these sights was very reassuring to the timid. It was the appearance on that most beautiful of all promenades, the Rhine-walk, of the king and queen of Prussia. The walk was crowded, and the royal pair were so cordially greeted by all present, were cheered so heartily, that we English felt as we do when Queen Victoria is cheered, as if everything must give way before that.

The party of whom I speak as rejoicing in witnessing the demonstration of Prussian loyalty, consists of a score of persons assembled in a boarding-house, who are either patients, or the relatives of patients, under a certain oculist of great repute here. They, with only two exceptions, a Frenchman and a German, are English. The sufferers from their eyes very peremptorily refused to believe that there was any chance of their being turned out of the town whilst their cure was not yet completed. Most of the old ladies-readers of the Times-put their faith in the Emperor of the French, he was so clever, such a friend to England, had managed the French so nicely-that, in fact, a man like him, so very wise, would never do a thing so very foolish as go to war with Prussia, and so on. Thursday, the day we saw the king and queen, this kind of talk prevailed. Friday our German landlord and landlady looked serious, and were silent. Saturday they met us in the morning with:

"You must all go! War is declared. The French have already crossed the frontiers, they are between Mainz and Treves."

"But our doctor?" was the response to this. leave him."

"We cannot

"He will have to go also. He must join his regiment." "He is not the surgeon to a regiment."

"He is, first of all things, as every Prussian is, a soldier. Being a surgeon, too, he must go."