- In the Knickerbocker Nuggets (Putnams) is included George Long's translation from the Discourses of Epictetus and the Encheiridion. Lectures on the History of Literature, delivered by Thomas Carlyle. (Scribners.) These discourses belong to the early period of Carlyle's literary activity. They are not printed from his own manuscript, but from the notes made by a hearer who plainly was after the matter which Carlyle discoursed rather than greatly impressed by Carlyle's personality as disclosed in his style. Essays on English Literature, by Edmond Scherer. Translated by George Saintsbury. (Scribners.) Mr. Saintsbury's introductory essay, though discriminating, has a certain self-assertion about it which irritates one who fails to accept Mr. Saintsbury himself as a figure in literature. Egotism, like revolution, must be successful to succeed; otherwise it is as insufferable as rebellion. The essays themselves are another matter. The sanity which marks them conceals at first from the casual reader the breadth of mind and clear perceptions of this masterly critic. Whoever thinks that criticism is to undergo a sharp change from old methods to new should read Scherer to see how possible it is for a personal critic to be governed by law in his criticism. - The Renaissance, the Revival of Learning and Art in the Fourteenth and Fifteenth Centuries, by Philip Schaff. (Putnams.) An essay in thirty sections, covering a hundred and thirty pages, in which the author touches with encyclopædic fullness and brevity upon the several manifestations in literature, art, science, and learning of the great movement in human thought. The work is equipped with a considerable body of bibliographic notes.

Browning's Message to his Time, his Religion, Philosophy, and Science, by Edward Berdoe (Macmillan); with fac-simile notes from Browning to Dr. Berdoe, not offering to kill him after each of his papers here reprinted, but courteously thanking him. The Browning Cyclopædia, a Guide to the Study of the Works of Robert Browning, with Copious Explanatory Notes and References on all Difficult Passages, by Edward Berdoe. (Macmillan.) Copious the notes are, in truth. If one wishes to find Browning's poetry after it has passed through the alembic of a prosaic mind, here is the precipitation, with the evapora

tion of the poetry. Mr. Cook's Guide-Book, which we suspect was on Mr. Berdoe's table constantly while he was engaged on this fat cyclopædia, had the restraint which a sensible commentator puts upon himself, but Mr. Berdoe has no respect for the reader's intelligence. The series The Great French Writers is an enterprise suggested, apparently, by the English Men of Letters Series. The first number we have seen is Madame de Staël, by Albert Sorel. Translated by Fanny Hale Gardiner. (McClurg.) The book is in curious contrast to the cold, careful volumes in the English series. Not that the work is a rhapsody, but in his rhetorical decoration of his subject M. Sorel gives at once his own opinion of the Neckers, and lets the facts catch up, if they can, with his judgment. The reader is likely to revolt a little at being taken in hand so summarily from the start, and not allowed to form any opinion until M. Sorel has delivered his. The book, however, is a convenient short cut to an interesting subject. The Abbess of Port Royal, and Other French Studies, by Maria Ellery Mackaye. (Lee & Shepard.) The other studies are The Song of Roland, Beaumarchais, French Women before the Revolution, The Marvels of Mont Saint Michel, and Provençal Song. Two of the papers were printed originally in The Atlantic. The reader recognizes early in the book that he is in the hands of a writer who writes out of a full mind, and that he is not assisting painfully at a task. Mrs. Mackaye's genuine interest in her subjects and her familiarity with the material make her a skillful guide through regions so populated with memories that the unled scholar is liable to be bewildered. — The Mortal Moon, or Bacon and his Masks, the Defoe Period Unmasked, by J. E. Roe. (Burr Printing House.) The Baconians must be delighted with this new champion in the lists. He not only adds Shakespeare to Bacon's province, but Bunyan and Defoe as well. But stay! J. E. Roe, of Rochester. May there not be something concealed under that mask? It is darkly alliterative. Whatever is is n't, and here are six hundred and five pages to prove it.

Fine Arts and Gift Books. The part of L'Art (Macmillan) for December 1 is almost wholly given up to an installment of M. Paul Leroi's illustrated sketch of Delaunay's work. The sketches in charcoal

of a large number of studies for his decoration of the Pantheon in particular are very interesting. The same part contains an etching of Rubens's Servantmaid, now at Munich. Delaunay is treated further in the part for December 15, which reproduces also some of the pictures of modern Dutch masters lately exhibited in Paris. -Friendship the Master-Passion, or The Nature and History of Friendship, and its Place as a Force in the World, by H. Clay Trumbull. (John D. Wattles, Philadelphia.) Our friends who have been debating Friendship's Question in the Contributors' Club will thank us for directing their attention to this book, which owes its inclusion under the caption of Gift Books to the dignity of its presentment, and not to pictures. In an octavo of four hundred pages, well printed, bound in red, and comfortably housed in a pasteboard box, Mr. Trumbull has treated first the nature and scope of friendship in a series of chapters, the second of which bears the significant heading Loving rather than Being Loved, and after that friendship in history. Literature is drawn upon, and especially records of human life, and the book is studded with examples of friendship. There is an interesting excursus on the distinction to be observed in the New Testament words for "love" and " friendship." The author's work must not be regarded as a mere anthology. It is much more, for it attempts what might almost be called an inductive study, with results which will surprise some readers. — Another book on Friendship (Albert Scott & Co., Chicago) is a vellum-covered one, thus entitled, made up of Cicero's De Amicitia, Bacon's essay on Friendship, and Emerson's Friendship. Cicero's part is translated by Cyrus R. Edmonds.-The Origin of Will-o'-the-Wisp, by Donizetti Muller, illustrated by Charles Schabelitz (the Republic Press, New York), is, from its form, evidently designed to lie flat on the recipient's table, and to have its leaves turned for the sake chiefly of the half-tone prints, which were doubtless effective in their original form; but the poetry must not be overlooked; it is a pretty conceit, worked up with grace and animation. — Poems, by Juan Lewis. (The Author, Washington.) Another flat book, with designs and ornaments by Charles Bradford Hudson. - Ruskin's Val d'Arno and The Eagle's Nest

(Charles E. Merrill, New York) form two volumes of the Brantwood Edition, an authorized American reprint of Ruskin's works. The Val d'Arno comprises the Oxford lectures on the revival of art in Tuscany in the thirteenth century; The Eagle's Nest includes ten lectures on the relation of natural sciences to art, delivered at the same university. The most striking of the latter papers is devoted to The Relation of Art to the Sciences of Organic Form, in which Mr. Ruskin states his theory that the study of anatomy is destructive to art. The lectures, although uneven, are now and then eloquent, and always interesting because intensely characteristic of the writer. Each volume bears an introduction by Mr. C. E. Norton, which tells something of the circumstances under which these lectures were delivered; but on the whole the introductions have a somewhat perfunctory air, as if written merely as send-offs. The edition is more satisfactory than the earlier American reprint, but it remains to be seen if it will be as inclusive as that. The Pentateuch of Printing, with a Chapter on Judges, by William Blades. (McClurg.) We are disappointed in this book. Although the author tells us that it is but "a popular summary of a very large and interesting subject," and we learn from the preface that he did not live to finish the work, it still strikes us as sketchy and inadequate, when we consider the authority of the writer on printing. However, the book is evidently meant to be careful and dispassionate. Mr. Blades divides his volume into portions bearing names of the books of the Pentateuch, the Genesis of printing, a sketch of the spread of the art under the title of Exodus, the laws of the art under Leviticus, etc., a plan more ingenious than exact. The illustrations are not all strictly relevant to the text, and seem pitchforked together, and among them we recognize some old friends from Le Livre. This is the more surprising since the printers are Blades, East and Blades of London. The most valuable thing in the book, to our mind, is a bibliography of works on printing in general and its development in various countries, under the quaint title of A Chapter on Judges.

History and Biography. Africa and America, Addresses and Discourses, by Alex. Crummell. (Willey & Co., Spring

field, Mass.) The writer is rector of a church in Washington, and is of the race which suggests the topics in the book. He writes of the negro race in America, of Liberia, of the black woman of the South, and upon a variety of occasions addresses stirring words of encouragement and counsel to this race. There is a downright style in his address which answers to the open, manly character of his thought. He shows that he is a student of books, but he is also an observer of men, and his speech is that of a person appealing forcibly, sometimes with smooth, often with rough words, to other persons. Perhaps to many readers the most interesting part of the book is that which relates to the influence of Christian negroes upon the destiny of Africa.-Hour Glass Series, Fisher

Ames, Henry Clay, etc. (Webster.) Nine historical studies and criticisms, taking Henry Adams to task for his Randolph, carping at Schurz and Van Holst, and absurdly characterizing Mr. Bryce as one of "these European doctrinaires as they gallop through the country writing as they ride." The studies relate to Fisher Ames, John Randolph, Jefferson, Henry Clay, B. R. Curtis, Daniel O'Connell, Francis S. Key, and to the Capital and to certain historic landmarks in New York. The papers are somewhat desultory, and the writers are delightfully frank in their likes and dislikes. J. Fairfax McLaughlin, LL. D., writes the greater part of the book, and his associate is Daniel B. Lucas, LL. D. There is often an interesting air of antebellum oratory about it.

We Boast of

Not.

SOME years ago there was exWhat We Have hibited in the city of New York a very remarkable picture. As to its unique character the critics were all agreed. It is true, the authenticity of the picture was vehemently disputed by some, and as warmly espoused by others. While the history furnished by the exhibitor failed to satisfy the captious because of its incompleteness, as might be supposed, this very incompleteness gave ground for added emphasis of belief on the part of those who still viewed the picture as an authentic portrait of Charles I. painted by Velasquez. Imprimis, it was undoubtedly a rare work of art, by whomsoever painted, and this even to least details. The eye of the portrait, for instance, when examined through a convenient magnifying glass in the hands of the exhibitor, was wonderfully human and lifelike, especially in its imperfections, these being precisely the ones which, to the experienced, would be looked for in an eye of that color and setting. In the foreground of the portrait was a large globe over which a scarf had been carelessly thrown. This device, the exhibitor averred, bore distinct reference to a remark made by an eminent statesman of that day, in view of a contemplated marriage between

the king of England and a Spanish princess, -a marriage which was to unite two of the most powerful nations of Europe: "With Spain and England united, we may divide the world."

The background of this picture was painted with notable skill and fidelity (another reason for attributing the picture to Velasquez, as the works of his contemporaries, even of Murillo himself, were often unfinished). It is of this background that I wish to speak. With the consummate touch which gave token of the master, whoever he might be, a small episode of war, half obscured in smoke, was discernible in the far distance. There was delineated, or suggested, the usual array of gallant knights "riding to joyous battle in a storm of steeds;" a confusion of shivering lances, broken brands, and reeling banners, — all dimly descried by the spectator, yet cunningly suggesting the idea that they were part and parcel of the experience of the hero himself. On asking the enthusiastic exhibitor what was the presumable purpose of this background, he replied, with the confidence of pseudoscience: "Why, it is introduced for the purpose of relieving the too placid monotony of Charles's features. So good a picture of so good a man, painted with too much fidel

ity, might seem tame. You see, the portrait needs a background of bloody fiction to give it symmetry as a work of art."

In recalling this incident, it has often seemed equally applicable (names being changed) to a large number of subjects in the live portrait gallery of my past and current experience. The mild-mannered Charles would always be offset by a romantic projection or mirage of Charles as the scourge of God and minister of vengeance. Not alone does the temperamentally timid wish us to believe that he is on occasion desperately courageous, but the naturally gracious often affects bluffness, the dove asks to be credited with serpentine wisdom, and the sheep even would don the wolf's attire. In fact, whatever we are, we crave the strange privilege of being taken with a certain small amount of the haut goût of contrariety. Remembering this perverse tendency of our common human nature, and that this tendency is, perhaps, most generously developed in the young, should I not have forbearance towards - nay, a certain sympathy with the meadow-faced boy who would have me believe him to be a "devil of a fellow," even while his own ears are startled by the sound of his "thrasonic brag"?

Friends in - Friendship's Question, propounded at the February meet

Council.

ing of the Club, set us all talking at once, and it was not easy for the clerk of the Club, in spite of that officer's stenographicphonographic-type-writing-and-setting machine, to detach separate voices from the general buzz and make a neat record. Delay ensued, with the result that one energetic member went about canvassing for answers, various lovers quarreled, preachers took up the parable from their pulpits, and at the April meeting of the Club there was an unusually full attendance, as every one wished to hear the record. The autocratic clerk, without whose irresponsible authority the Club would become a polite Nervine Hospital, was found to have thrown out all but the following votes.

said.

What the -I find opinion and feeling on Canvasser the subject to differ very widely. I have "inquired round among my own friends, and give the remarks of two of them (both, let me add, men), which very well represent the two extremes. The first writes :

"I think that the finest and highest order of love asks less than it gives, for the reason that it is grand to give in an unstinted way, in spite of a smaller return. It reveals a superb character that can do this, that feels its requital in the fact of bestowal. It is ennobling to give, to bestow, and the height of unselfishness to be content with less." He then expresses as his opinion that it would be far easier to rise to such a height in love than in friendship.

The second friend holds this view :"In regard to the soul's allegiance, trust, and affection, I certainly think it is possible to give too much of one's self in that sense; and a very little is too much, when it is not returned in kind. The disposition to squander sentiment is both the effect and the cause of a morbid state opposed to the healthy one of giving action.' You cannot do too much for even the least deserving of fellow-men, if it is rightly done, but it is easier (and very cheap, and at the same time very agreeable) to give too much of the sentimental side.

“And are you sure that it really is giving? Is it not simply enjoying the sweet comfort of feeling that one is doing a noble thing or making a noble sacrifice, while it really begins in self and ends in self? A feeling which cannot or does not result in action must return unto itself void,' and deserves the penalty of selfish indulgence and wasted force."

Both these opinions - one the expression of a rich and generous nature, the other based rather, perhaps, on the "stern demands of justice" — have so much weight that they seem well entitled to a candid hearing, and the other friends in council may, according to their own dispositions, "pay their pennies and take their choice."

Another friend of mine, a poet of some note, has summed up the whole question in a poem which offers, in my humble opinion, the only true view, if not exactly a solution, of the problem, namely, that the noblest, highest, and truest love gives itself without stint and without reserve, independent of the insufficiency of the return made it, or indeed of any return at all. The lines have never before been shown to the public, but I am permitted to use them here.

INSUFFICIENCY.

I broke the branches from my apple-tree,
Rosy with pomp of spring,

All the white wealth of present blossoming
Surpassing fair to see,

And promise of the golden fruit to be,
For him, my friend; and he

A tuft of grass that sprang beside his door
Lightly held out to me.

I brought him from my closely guarded store,
The heart's most sacred nook,

Where the red lights of darkest rubies burn, My gems; and he in turn

A handful of white pebbles from the brook
That flows the meadow through.

I gave him of my richest wine, that grew
Upon no hill, nor knew

The winepress save God's own,

Of all my life, distilled

-the joy and pain

To subtlest draught; and he did take and drain, And smiling gaze around,

Scarce heeding if the priceless drops were spilled Upon the barren ground.

-Yet hush! I will not murmur nor complain,
With idle tears and vain,

All should be thus. I think he gave his best
In what he gave, nor guessed

Half the sharp sorrow that my heart possessed.
And this I surely know,

God made him as he is, as He made me,

Though fashioned differently,—

His cup not full, and mine to overflow.

His soul I could not teach

Nay, though I gave my very own for price!

In all life's days to reach

A deeper depth, and higher heights to soar

Than it had touched before;

But what to me was granted will suffice

Perchance both him and me,

And I can love, and love, and love him still, —

Ay, love him more and more,

Till my great love, like tides of rising sea,

Shall deepen, flush, and fill

All shallows of his nature and supply

All want there yet may be,

His every lack and insufficiency,

So full and wondrously,

That after all beneath God's stainless sky
Accepted in His sight,

Fair with the glories of His deathless light,
Our friendship yet may stand

A temple sacred and divinely planned,
Soul knit with equal soul,

One rounded, perfect, and immortal whole!

Of course this sort of one-sided giving involves, in a certain sense, a fearful cost to the giver, but I also know to a certainty that one does not die from the loss of such life blood, but that, on the contrary, the whole character is uplifted, broadened, ennobled, and enriched by it, provided the nature is originally large and generous enough to bear the strain and accept that “discipline of fire."

The same poet has also said in another place:

:

"I do not live

By love received, but the great love I give."

What the Objector said.

- I should be glad to hear an argument from the opposite standpoint on the duty or advisability of reserving something of ourselves for self, since it seems as if there must be something to be sald on that side of the question. My own consideration of the matter would lead me to go farther than the Questioner, and assert that it is impossible to give too much of ourselves to our friends, if the feeling which prompts the surrender be an unselfish one. May we not take this condition for our shibboleth? In the instance cited, where the woman felt that she had "given herself too much," may not the real trouble have been that she did not give herself enough, — that is, that she craved too liberal a gift in return? Some natures appear to be so constituted that in friendship they always give more than they receive, — although, if we look at it in a different light, we may say that they really receive the most, after all,— and this fact must be accepted, with many others whose raison d'être we cannot understand. But a genuine love, even if it meet with no adequate response, ought always to ennoble and enrich the soul from which it springs, provided it be given with no selfish demand for a precise equivalent. The more complete this self-surrender becomes, the greater, I believe, will be the power of entering henceforth into all other lives, in a spirit of helpful sympathy.

A friend of mine seems to have struck the keynote of the whole matter in saying: "I have long since come to believe that the only cure for heartache, discouragement, and disappointment is to love more, not less; to love a person, a pursuit, a cause, a country, an ideal, or a truth so much that we lose all thought of our share in either or our claim on either, and love them for the utmost possibility of good there is in them, desiring nothing in return but the joy of loving and serving them."

Had the Contributor's friend loved in this spirit, even though it was with her whole soul, I think she would not have "invariably come to grief " as a result of her devotion, nor could she have felt that she had in any true sense "given herself too much." The question does not appear to me to be friendship's ; neither, I think, is Emerson speaking of friendship when he says that

What the Advocate of the Heart said.