WE were just now speaking of standing in | stance, nor in the Harlem Railroad station at the Broad Street and looking up toward Wall, and corner of Twenty-sixth Street and the Fourth beholding the dumpy Grecian temple which stands Avenue in New York, nor at various other at the corner and blandly overlooks the humming places. But the true idea of a railroad station Broker's Board just within Broad. That build- has been perceived, and it has prevailed in many ing is a joke, and was undoubtedly a job. It is instances, of which the New Haven station upon an illustration of the kind of public building and the railroad of that name is not one. Since we of street architecture to which the country was last alluded to this dark dungeon, however, in subject only a very few years ago. Our fathers which people pay the penalty of traveling by that in their day built very neat and convenient houses. generally pleasant road, a little more light and a They had usually their two parlors; their base- little more air have been vouchsafed. But the ment for a dining-room, if preferred; their two view which the approach offers of back-yards and chambers and bath-room and small front-room buildings is still quite unprecedented. It is still over the front-door, and so on. Blocks of these among the practical jokes of American travel to houses were built from street to street, with fronts pass a range of unsavory rookeries and arrive in of fair red brick, very neat, and fit for their pur- a gloomy cavern in which a distant voice cries pose; and they were comely to view, and alto-"New Haven!" and the memory and imaginagether proper. Yet these same good fathers lost their wits when they were to build a public building, and we have the old Capitol at Washington and the innumerable Greek temples of various kinds that cumber the continent as illustrations of their good feeling and bad taste.

The Greek temple seemed to be the most irresistible form in which a public building presented itself to the imagination of that generation. Europe was full of beautiful Hôtel de Villes, and of an architecture adapted to our time and its necessities. But we were nothing if not classic, and when we ceased to be exclusively classic we were nothing if not Gothic, and the country is now covered with absurd little Gothic cathedrals. The classic tendency sometimes infected the private dwelling also; and there are houses like the preposterous Arlington House, near Washington, which-as Thackeray says of George IV., that he was "more waistcoat, and then nothing"-is a vast, dumpy portico, and then nothing. Huge columns were built up in front of the windows, shutting out the sun and the air, shutting in the damp and the dark. And the columns and the whole classic façade were wood painted white. The worthy proprietor doubtless was a satisfied man. He thought of Burke walking in his grounds at Beaconsfield, and he put his thumbs in the arm-holes of his waistcoat and promenaded, content, in front of his Grecian columns.

There was something in Grecian columns that seemed to deprive the Yankee of his shrewd sense of fitness; and, without considering what Greece was and what a Greek temple was, and what was wanted in this climate in a building for a specific purpose, he was sure that what was Greek was classic, and what was classic was good enough for this time. This "classic" tyranny is a curious subject. It could not compel us to become familiar with the literature of Greece, but it imposed Greek façades upon us without a murmur. The epoch of railroads, however, dealt hardly with the classic temples. It brought in a style of building suited to its purpose. Façades and colonnades with domes and rotundas were summarily dismissed. Space, simplicity, light, air, convenience, these were the necessities, and they were satisfied.

Moreover, young men had begun to study architecture. There was a glimmering perception that its first principle was the relation of the parts to the purpose, a radical principle in every The perfection of architectural art in this respect has not indeed yet been fully achieved, in the Central Railroad dépôt at Syracuse, for in

art.

tion instinctively respond, "Elm City." But memory and imagination are trespassers in the New Haven station. The one because it faithfully records what was; the other because it suggests what might be.

The young men with their architecture, and their studies in Europe, and their taste and ambition, and the infusion of the foreign artistic element in their society, are slowly carrying on the revolution. It is really some time since the last Grecian temple was built; and yet within easy remembrance the Society Library building, at the corner of Leonard Street and Broadway, was erected. Instead of an honest, handsome, wellproportioned front, we beheld a façade which could only suggest a compromise by which, in obedience to the villainous old taste, the front of the edifice should be a mere passing allusion, as it were, to the regulation Greek model. It was kindly meant. The hall of the National Academy exhibition was to be in the building, and if the classic traditions were not in place there, where could they be?

Does

In many of the banks-alas! the latest and most splendid can not be included in the listthere was a style of architecture most appropriate and most pleasing. But with the new men the Gothic cathedral came in with great vigor, but on a very small scale. With such vigor, indeed, that nothing else is tolerated. With such vigor that no one had a right to be surprised if he saw a Gothic Quaker meeting-house. any body ever look up Wall Street and think that the old Trinity was a more pleasing building than the new? Does it occur to any body that the older had a certain quiet quaintness and association with older days? For although it is true that the Gothic style of architecture is not modern, yet every Gothic church in this country looks new. Trinity Church looks painfully new. It is a study of a cathedral. But why should we wish to go to church in a cathedral? The tendency of religious reform, except among our ritualistic friends, is toward greater simplicity of worship. The modern church is not a temple, but a meeting-house. A temple is primarily for the pageant of worship. It belongs to Rome and the older religions, where the pomp of the ritual is the substance of the service. But in our system, where the sermon, or the appeal to the conscience and the intellect, is the central interest, the dim vaulted Cathedral, heavy, sombre, with long-drawn, shadowy distances, woos the imagination away and perplexes the emotion.

Moreover, there is an austerity in the Gothic that good divine remembers that the Teacher style which recalls rather the gloom of German did not take a cadaverous old death's-head, but forests and a crude, savage theory of Christian- he took a young child and said, "of such is the ity, than the sweetness as of Syrian sunshine, When Christendom is of that faith which is its natural atmosphere. The smooth, it will no longer go to meeting in little Gothic open Palladian arches seem a more truly Chris- cathedrals. tian style than that which we prefer. It is a placid, smiling, Southern feeling which they convey. Under them should be preached the truth that the kingdom of heaven is as a little child. But what little child, in the sober shadows of the small cathedrals in which we go to church, does not associate a certain gloom with religion? Certainly the Gothic is as senseless for a universal architecture as the old "classic." And the wooden Gothic is as comical a humbug as the sham classic. A great deal of sport has been made of All-souls Church on the Fourth Avenue, and undoubtedly it suggests some humorous criticism. But if we come to humor, look at Calvary, not far above upon the same street-one of the most ludicrous of the little Gothic cathedrals, with two wooden spires.

As our courteous correspondent tells the story there is nothing to be said for the erring editor. He was unquestionably at that moment forgetful of his high mission. But if the excellent correspondent would only bear in mind the indescribable and endless annoyances that beset an editor; the ruthless waste and slaughter of his time; the unreasoning, unreasonable interruptions; the total want of regard, or intelligence, or sympathy so constantly shown by those who harass himof whom the excellent correspondent is not one, and will not believe that the Easy Chair means to insinuate it-surely there would be some mercy for the editor, whoever he was, perplexed, weary, driven, whose manner failed in urbanity, or courtesy, or even proper consideration. It is not for absolute acquittal, it is only in mitigation of sentence that the Easy Chair pleads, and it will now show its correspondent one or two errors of conduct and judgment revealed in the letter.

"However, you understand all about that, and I merely wished to place the manuscript in your hand; and I hope sincerely that you will find that partial friends were not too partial, for I should like very much to become a regular contributor to your magazine-" "Yes'm.

When "friends"-or those who bear that name-assure you that your article is as good as those which are generally published in any of And so it goes on, drip, drip, drip; and what the magazines or in any particular magazine, matter how stony the Editor may be? All that distrust the judgment or the knowledge of those was necessary was to enclose the MS. to the friends, and remember that there is really but Editor, who in due time would read it without one judge upon the subject, and that is the Edi- prejudice and decide. But when this extremely tor. For the question is not whether you and ill-advised visitor withdraws, the Editor is not your friends think that your performance is bet-blandly disposed toward "the devastator of his ter than that really very commonplace article time.' If there is a necessary explanation to which was published last month-no, nor wheth- make in regard to the MS. which can not well be er it really is so, but whether the Editor really written, a personal interview is plainly necessary. thinks it so his verdict depending not merely But if the Easy Chair were the Editor of a magupon intrinsic excellence, but upon fitness, pro-azine the first article of his agreement with the portion—in one word, availability. A good arti- publisher should be that he must be absolutely cle, says the ingenious and ready friend, is al- inaccessible to bores, and that he must be the ways available. Not exactly more properly judge. speaking, an available article is always good. The truth is that upon such a point these friends are terrible fellows. They say with such an air of assurance," Of course he'll print your article. It's better than any thing he has printed for a year," r," that the poor author is fully persuaded that there is but one view to be taken of the subject, and he remains of that opinion until there comes that disagreeable other side. Indeed, if you read an essay or a poem or an article of any kind to a friend or to a circle of friends, what are they to do? It is too flat to say "beautiful," and "delightful," and "charming," and it is a capital stroke to exclaim, with energy, "By George, old Buffer, you ought to send that to the Tri-Weekly Triturator!" You naturally look pleased, and say, "No, nonsense!" but he has already determined you to that immense mistake of saying, "Persuaded by friends whose judgment I have no right to question, I diffidently commend to the forbearance of a discriminating public these trifles light as air, these firstlings of a rustic muse"-or words to that effect. It is a great mistake. Send first to the Editor, and when you have his opinion, consult friends. But if you must have the opinion of friends first, distrust it so far as magazinability is concerneduntil you hear from the Editor.

Then don't go personally to see him. It is not a personal affair. He wishes to judge the article as the public must judge it, upon its merits, and he wishes to have as little bother about it as possible. Now ye or you are a bother. You are sure to enter into a wholly irrelevant

VOL. XXXVIII.-No. 228.-54

Then the excellent correspondent suggests that the Editor should point out what he considers failures or defects in the performance-perhaps with a few directions as to means of future improvement. Now certainly the good correspondent doth not consider. If one contributor may expect this, all may. If one may bring his MS. and have it read, and hear judgment, and the reasons thereof, with a criticism upon the performance, and directions, and words of cheer, etc., etc., all may do the same. Thereupon the editorial profession would become impracticable. For, good correspondent, an editor is not a professor of rhetoric, or a lecturer upon style, or a general critic. All those are functions in life and society for which provision is elsewhere made. But an editor is a person charged with a special duty, of preparing the material for a number of a magazine, and therefore of selecting from what is offered that which is suitable. To do this duty properly takes all his time and all his ability. To expect him to add to it duties of an entirely different kind, as the good correspondent must surely see, is merely preposterous.

That correspondent shows so thoughtful an appreciation of the situation of an editor in some ways that his other difficulties will be readily understood. In the particular instance mentioned Homer did certainly seem to nod. But let the correspondent believe that if Uncle Sam is taken into the confidence of authors, and is permitted to carry manuscripts in his mail-bags, an infinite trouble and ill-feeling will be saved.

Editor's Book Cable.

MISCELLANEOUS.

SPRING has come. Nature untucks the

word, can change the opinion of the world respecting him. Nevertheless, the world is seldom just, and no proverb is truer than "The devil is not so black as he's painted." The very excess of the adulation which surrounded Lord Byron in his early life accelerated his fall. The morbid sensitiveness of his nature, intensified by his lameness, increased by his unfortunate because uncongenial marriage, and exasperated beyond all bounds by the caustic though perhaps just criticisms to which he was subjected, urged him into excesses against which his own better nature perpetually rebelled, and enkindled in his own bosom the fierce fires that consumed his life. Perhaps not all those who are so quick to condemn him could have withstood the temptations by which he was environed.

A BOOK which is likely to create some sensation in English circles is the Countess Guiccioli's sleeping brooks that awake from their Recollections of Lord Byron.* By its defense of long hibernation to laughing life again. City him and by its censure of his wife it has already residents turn their thoughts yearningly toward given severe offense and awakened severe criticountry homes; or, in lieu of the quiet enjoy- cism. We do not suppose that these memoirs, ment of Nature's spring fashions, deck them- coming from an Italian Countess universally reselves gayly in their own. Visions of piscato-puted as the mistress of one the licentiousness rial sport, awakened by delightful reminiscences of whose life and later poetry has become a byof Moosehead, the Umbagog, the Adirondacks, and Sault St. Marie, invite us to the wakening woods and sparkling brooks. A series of dissolving views pass before us: a vision of the quiet lake by moonlight, the only sound the mournful cry of the distant loon or the forest wolf, the only sight the curling smoke of our own camp-fire; a vision of the mountain-stream, the beauty of whose foaming cascade makes us forget the trout that awaits a line from us in the eddying pool at its foot, and by which we stand lost in admiration of the beauties which Nature hides from all who do not diligently seek for them; visions of a reedy pond, with its pickerel darting like a lightning flash, and thrilling us like one too, as we feel him fairly hooked and the excitement of the "play" begins; visions of the evening meal, where fried trout, cooked with If his life is a sad commentary on the fruitlesspork and seasoned with a wonderfully vigorous ness of an ambition which is not sustained by inappetite, prove a sweeter delicacy than any with flexible principle, it is no less a perpetual warnwhich the most skillful French cuisine ever ing to every man-"Let him that standeth take tempted the palate of an epicurean gourmand. heed lest he fall." We have had so uniformly We decidedly object to Mr. Scott's book.* It the life of Lord Byron depicted as a beacon-light awakens in us city-bound mortals such provoking by critics who were incapable of appreciating his memories of the past, and such tantalizing desires nature, and therefore of judging aright his charfor the future, as are beyond all endurance. We acter, that we can afford to have a portrait of have read all that we can bear, and laid the that character presented by one who sympathized book aside until fate permits us to satisfy the too deeply with the man to appreciate the sins appetite which it renders so keen. To our which exiled him from English society. Probthought there is no sport more genuinely health-ably no one read Lord Byron's heart more thorful than that of the true fisherman. He is not a mere catcher of fishes. He scorns the net. He suffers not the spear. He is a poet. He loves Nature. The fish are simply his excuse for rambling in her wildest retreats. They simply afford the mental excitement that is necessary to take his thoughts off of his distant work, and prevent him from becoming a prey to the ennui of absolute mental inaction. Mr. Scott writes as a genuine fisherman. The enthusiasm of a true artist pervades his pages. The experience of a skillful angler fills them with invaluable information. The facts respecting lines, hooks, bait, poles, personal outfit, and, in short, all the necessary preparation for a successful piscatorial tour which are not to be found in his pages are not worth knowing. And when, about the time these pages reach the eye of our distant readers, we start, as we hope to do, pole and line in hand, for the head waters of the Delaware, or, a little later, for the lakes and streams of the Adirondacks, we shall make a careful study of Mr. Scott's Fishing in American Waters our first preparation; and we shall make his book the sole exception to the rule which inexorably excludes all literature from the fisherman's camp in his three weeks of summer trouting.

oughly than the Countess Guiccioli. Probably no one was less capable of judging him by those standards of domestic purity which belong partly to English blood and partly to English religion, but which the Latin races not only do not maintain, but do not even seem capable of appreciating. The artist in painting always needs to know, as the condition of success, the country in which his picture is to be exhibited. His coloring on the canvas depends on the atmosphere through which it is to be viewed. To transfer this Italian portrait of Lord Byron into the clear, cold climate of our Anglo-Saxon life is to do it injustice. But he who in reading this analysis of the poet's character will remember that it was written by his Italian inamorata, and will make allowances for that fact, may gain a truer, because a more sympathetic acquaintance with the strange and enigmatical character who forms the subject of these recollections than he could from a life more coldly critical and more abstractly just.

Studies in Shakspeare, by Mary Preston (Claxton, Remsen, and Haffelfinger, Philadelphia), is a little book of essays on the plays of the great dramatic poet which indicates that the authoress has studied the works of Shakspeare a great

My Recollections of Lord Byron, and those of EveWitnesses of his Life. New York: Harper and Broth

ers.

deal, but the art of expressing herself very little. The most characteristic feature of the book is that weakness of style which employs from one to half a dozen italicized words on every page in a vain hope of invigorating it.

FROM Messrs. Harper and Brothers, whose School Readers are not only without an equal but without a parallel in their general scope and design, we have received French's First Lessons in Numbers, French's Elementary Arithmetic, and French's Common School Arithmetic, which we judge, from a cursory examination, are no less deserving of public favor. The beautiful illustrations in the first two books would render the science of numbers attractive to any beginner if any thing could do so.

POPULAR SCIENCE.

The reader, however, whose scientific enthusiasm enables him to do this work of digestion for himself, will find, in a compact space and in a useful form, the materials provided by Dr. Kneeland.

| and employment of forces of nature before unrecognized, is far more important than the story of changes in dynasties and political boundaries. The princes of the world are its inventors; the council chambers of the world its laboratories. Since 1850 Messrs. Gould and Lincoln have published each year a record of scientific discovery for the year preceding. That of 1869 is now before us.* We welcome it rather because it is the only book of its kind than because it is remarkably well executed; rather because it has no competitor than because it defies competition. It is a work of the scissors. It is composed of selections, on the whole wisely made, and gathered from a wide circle of papers and periodicals; is, in short, a scientific scrap-book, prepared by a gentleman who has evidently great facilities and good aptitude for his task. We can not but think that he would make a more The Illustrated Library of Wonders* is thor- valuable work if, out of the materials thus gathoughly French in its design and execution. It ered, he would construct a book which might has already proved its popularity in France, hav-serve the purpose of an annual cyclopedia. ing reached there, it is said, the enormous sale Such a work would be no less valuable for referof a million copies. In these volumes the won-ence; would be more valuable for popular use. ders of science are narrated with scientific accuracy, though in a popular form, and illustrated by engravings which greatly enhance the interest of the book, though they are inferior to those of the original French publication. Although not juvenile books they are admirably adapted for thoughtful children. The wonders of nature surpass those of fairy-land. And did these volumes serve no other purpose they would be invaluable in affording to our children better intellectual food than that of the unhealthy romances which too much stock their libraries at present. At the same time these are French, not American publications. They have been translated in England, and the alterations which have been made are only such as have been necessary to adapt them to the English market. In practical science America is not behind any of her fellows. But of American science the reader learns nothing in these volumes. In that on Thunder and Lightning we have a brief account of Franklin's discovery of the lightning conductor, and a history of subsequent applications of this discovery by the French Academy, but no reference whatever to American experiments, and no account of the telegraph. So in the Wonders of Optics there is no account of that which is one of the most important practical applications of science in this department-photography. By the republication of these volumes Scribner and Co. have rendered us good service, but it is because they have afforded us in a popular way a glimpse of French science. This service will prove still greater if it shall be the means of inciting some other publisher to give us a purely American book upon the same pattern.

THE history of the world is no longer a history of military and political movements. Its progress is one of thought. The record of the changes which take place in the opinions of mankind, and especially in their apprehension

Thunder and Lightning. By W. DE FONVIELLE. Translated from the French and edited by T. L. PHIPSON. Illustrated. The Wonders of Optics. By F. MARION. Translated from the French and edited by CHARLES W. QUIN. Illustrated. New York: Charles Scribner and Co.

WHOEVER, having learned in school to read Racine and Corneille, or having mastered the exercises in Ollendorf, imagines that he is acquainted with the French language, finds how woefully he is mistaken the moment he lands on the shores of France. He can perhaps read the French newspaper. He can make his wants known to the French inn-keeper. But he is startled by the discovery that in order to conversation it is essential that one should be able to receive as well as to communicate ideas. He can express himself tolerably well, but he can by no possibility understand any thing that is said to him. The more perplexed he is the more excitable grows the Frenchman, in the vain endeavor to explain a short and simple sentence by long and complicated ones. To learn what ideas certain appearances on a printed page convey is one thing; to learn what ideas certain sounds convey is quite another thing. Even if the traveler has exercised himself in translating the spoken as well as the written word he is still at a loss; for it is impossible for him to go through the double mental process required in first converting the Frenchman's words into English, and then from the translated phrase receiving the Frenchman's idea. In other words, no one has learned a language until he has learned to think in it. The words must convey not other words, but ideas; not ideas through the medium of other words, but directly. This principle, which underlies all true linguistic attainment, M. Marcel elucidates in his little treatise. The book is valuable as an introduction to the study of any language. The employment of its principles, con