the last tightening to her glove-lace, was BLANCHE CERCEAU. Such a seraphic smile, such a cooing voice.

And did I keep him waiting? - the dear little ARTHUR! And did he grow fretful?' "In the lexicon of Politeness which Fate has ordained for a bright man-of-the-world, there is no such word as Fretful!' I answered. I had been studying this answer for two hours- BULWER gave the lesson. As I replied, my eyes fell on the ball-costume of BLANCHE. The Pyramids of Egypt were evidently intended to be represented by that dress, her head the apex, and the bottom of her skirt the base. I had to open my eyes twice to take in the full circumference, there was no end to that lower hoop! Can she get out of the front-door,' thought I; granted, yet can she get into the carriage? Had n't I better ride outside with the driver?' I mildly asked her this last thought. She answered:

"Never, dear ARTHUR, on such a night as this! Ride inside, only put your feet up on the cushions; then, I can stand up.'

"Kind-hearted BLANCHE,' thought I, 'what sacrifices you make for one you love!'. I entered the carriage first, it was not gallant, but then she insisted on it! Then she came in how I can't tell, but she did it. And standing up like a Hippodrome girl in her chariot, and holding on to the hand-straps, off we started to attend Madame RAVENCOURT'S grand ball.

CHAPTER II.

;

'It was a full house; how it would have gladdened the heart of a prima-donna, at a dollar a head! Through the crush of human beings I swept onward with BLANCHE once only I thought it was all up with the whale-bones, but we got through, a little bent, but still elastic: occasionally a passer-by would sweep the skirts round till I saw those daintily chaussé tiny feet, and her figure looked like a dinner-bell cut in two; but the wave swept on, and the pyramid was a pyramid.

"Will you waltz?' I said to her as the music sounded.

"Oh! no! I never waltz now!' 'Confound those hoops,' thought I. But we 'did' a quadrille very easily. Only two steps, and the figure was complete; an awkward step from the gentleman vis-a-vis, and rip went the lady's skirts, hoops, etc.; then came apologies, retreat to the dressing-room-repairs impossible-had to send home for the carriage- and instead of having a splendid evening BLANCHE and I- she sat down on the seat now, and I took her dear little gloved hand in mine and poured consolation into her heart- rode home before eleven o'clock. O horrors!

'CHAPTER III.

'In a few days BLANCHE and I will be married. Hoop, hurrah! The wedding-ring-I wish it was some other shape, it reminds me so much of hoops-now lies on my table. And that cart-load of whale-bone I saw going into her house, one day last week: 'BLANCHE,' said I, 'is there an umbrella manufactory near you?'- reminds me that the bridal dresses-à la Pyramids of Egypt-are being built.

'BLANCHE has n't been to church for three months-owing to the narrowness of the pews, and the width of her hoops.

'CHAPTER IV.

'AND I sit down in my arm-chair, and wonder if such things can be possible, and if what was, was right. And I've come to the conclusion that every thing is that is. 'My wedding-day! Now, old boy!' I soliloquized, 'you can only go through this operation once in your life-three or four times at the outside. Just raise the window and see if there are any unusual operations going on in the heavens above, or in the garden below, or over in the neighbors' houses the other side of the street. Nothing! Then Nature is unauspicious. There'll be a row to-day, somewhere !'

'Prophetic words! We were to be married in church en grande tenue: at ten o'clock in the morning. The hour came, carriages, friends, etc., along with it; we went to the church. We descended, walked up to the door-side-door- very narrow-bride could n't get through-could n't get into church. Hoops too large, door too small. I grew as red in the face as a boiled lobster. 'Put her through,' I gasped, confused, agitated, and vulgar!

"Sir-r-r!' said BLANCHE, 'such language at such a time!'

'We reentered the carriage, ditto the friends theirs, returned to the bride's house, and then I, ARTHUR O'BANDYLEGGE, received a formal dismissal. I got the sack, Mlle. BLANCHE CERCEAU retains the hoops. Shall I not write:

'THINGS as they are!

Vive la Bizarre!'

Who is it in Philadelphia who so far excels our own artists in getting up

gold-and-color covers for books like the one before us? Some of them are quite triumphs of pictorial and ornamental effect, as in the present instance. There would be little left to be desired, if the designs were secured to thicker boards. The book is well printed, and very clearly and liberally illustrated.

HUMAN LIFE: OR PRACTICAL ETHICS. Translated from the German of DE WETTE. By Rev. SAMUEL OSGOOD, D.D., Pastor of the Church of the MESSIAH, New-York. In two volumes: pp. 777. Boston and Cambridge: JAMES MUNROE AND COMPANY.

THE lectures contained in these volumes were delivered to a promiscuous audience in Basle, in the years 1822 and 1823, and were intended to meet the wants of the various professions and classes in that city. They were given in two courses: one upon general or theoretical, the other upon particular or practical ethics. According to the author's advice, the second course has here been fully translated; while a compendium of the first course has been thrown into the form of an 'introduction' - a most careful and comprehensive synopsis of the entire course. The able and accomplished translator, as we are assured by those who are among the foremost German students and scholars in this country, has performed his task with marked ability. He has caught the German concentrativeness of idiom with entire success. Our two volumes of this work are dog's-eared with turned-down leaves for extract: but the following passage, under the division of 'Inspiration,' is all for which we can find room:

'INSPIRATION exalts the courage of the brave; it strengthens the power of patience that might else at last succumb, if the spirit were not invigorated by the cheerful hope of future redemption, future victory. In the hope of victory, in pursuit of the enemy, the warrior bears all adversities and privations, while the defeated give way beneath their burden: so that even the wounds of the victor heal sooner than those of the vanquished. But even if there is no longer hope of life, and the sufferer sees clearly that nothing but death can release him, the prospect of a fairer world strengthens his wavering heart; of that world, where the force of pain and human wickedness does not reach; where blissful peace, untroubled rapture, prevails: amid the discords of earthly existence, he believes in the eternal harmony in which all things, and his own immortal nature, will one day join; he feels himself not made to breathe out his life weakly in sobs; his spirit is strong and free, and preserves its inward energy for a higher destiny.

Inspiration exalts our courage and energy, and makes us accomplish more than we could otherwise do; it awakens in us hopes that transcend results, and can never be fulfilled; it places before us heavenly forms, so that, with longing effort, we reach out our hands toward them; but, while we seem to be near them, they have vanished, the end of life is placed further back, and we begin the career anew. And thus it must be. Ah! what would life be, should we conform our hopes to the cold reality, and attempt nothing which we could not fully achieve? We could not then accomplish what we now do. How poor should we be, if, satisfied by what has been attained, we stood still in our course, and withdrew our gaze from that which lies before us! No! longing hope is fairer than all fulfilment; the thirst for the heavenly draught refreshes more than any earthly refreshment. And hope, while it beguiles, does not deceive us; in it is eternal truth; and the reality, which does not correspond to it, alone falsifies. The bright dawn of hope, which meets us upon the entrance of life, is followed by a sultry, cloudy day; but, in the evening of life, it appears again as the empurpled twilight, and shows us the way to that fairer land, where a bright, eternal day is ever in its dawning beauty, and never deceives the heart; and, if we turn our gaze faithfully thither, all the deceptions we have experienced will not take away our trust. We undertake every work with cheerful hope, and in the prospect of accomplishing something fair and noble, of providing an enduring advantage for life; but, as soon as it is finished, it no longer answers our expectations. As the child runs up the hill to reach the rainbow

which appears to rest upon it, so every enterprise charms us by its brightness and splendor, and, when finished, seems naked and bare; we clearly recognize all the defects and gaps, and turn to a new enterprise, in which we pass through the same experience. How the world shines and dazzles the eyes of the lovers, when they pledge their faith to each other! the door of Paradise seems open before them; but alas! a garden full of thorns and thistles meets their view, and, in the happiest cases, true friendship cheers and lightens their grievous pilgrimage. Do they stand at its end yet in close embrace, and their hearts yet beat with love for each other? and has gratitude exalted their love? Still the fair dream of hope remains unfulfilled; that ideal of a life of unclouded, glorified, blessed love has not been realized. With what hopeful anticipations the mother receives her new-born child into her arms! how she watches for every movement of soul in her expanding boy! and what fond predictions she makes concerning him! Perhaps he gives her much joy and honor; but her anticipations surpass the reality. The artist glows with ardor and expectation, when he plans a new work, and hopes to produce something illustrious; but when it is completed, he hears with trembling the judgments of critics. Hailed with jubilee, the young prince, full of lofty purposes and cheerful prospects, ascends the throne of his father; but, at the evening of life, he surveys with displeasure his day's work, and his fairest hopes remain unfulfilled. And yet, had he not cherished these hopes in his bosom, he would have accomplished still less: they held him up, gave him power and ardor, and raised him above the vulgar level.

With the same joyful confidence, with the same glad hopes, we ought also to regard the efforts, the undertakings of others, partly in order to cheer them by our sympathy and presence, partly in order to invigorate and elevate ourselves. Nothing is more fatal than mistrust of the purposes and actions of others; this is the poison of the moral world. It not only prevents sympathy, without which nothing great succeeds, but it calls forth that hostile prudence which stands in the way of great enterprises. Selfishness will often associate itself with this mistrust-anxiety for the reputation, emolument, influence, that have been acquired; and also envy.'

Our commendation of this work must cease with a tribute to its external execution. It is well printed, upon good paper.

LIFE IN BRAZIL: or a Journal of a Visit to the Land of the Cocoa and the Palm. With an Appendix. By THOMAS EWBANK. In one volume: pp. 469. New-York: HARPER AND BROTHERS, Pearl-street, Franklin Square.

ASIDE from the main subject-matter of this large, comprehensive, and most liberally and excellently illustrated volume, (it has over one hundred engravings,) it is enriched by an appendix which contains illustrations of ancient South-American arts, in recently-discovered implements and products of domestic industry, and works in stone, pottery, gold, silver, bronze, etc. Beside church affairs' and Mr. EWBANK does n't seem to be a Catholic; on the contrary, quite the reverse- he claims to have 'noted whatever interested him, and that was nearly every thing: arts, manners, customs, buildings, trade, tools, pottery, food, slaves, animals, agricultural products, climate, diseases, population, antiquities, etc.' The volume is, in fact, a full miscellanea of tropical life. We were not a little amused with our author's description of his sea-voyage. Like a practical man, as he is, and following out the 'specification' and illustrative system of the Patent-Office, of which he was, for a long time, the Commissioner, he has given us two diagrams, representing the ship's motions in a storm. These are exactly defined: the slightest lurch or pitch, and every variation from the horizontal which the vessel's deck underwent, were accurately delineated and recorded, with their direction and comparative extent. The modus-operandi is an ingenious invention of the writer himself. NEPTUNE! what lines and conglomerations of

straight and crooked lines! No wonder they suffer with the nausea-marina who 'go down to the sea in ships.' If there was the slightest savor of bilgewater in the pure odors, redolent of June, that take possession of the atmosphere around 'Cedar-Hill Cottage' this morning, it would assuredly make us sea-sick to look at these diagrams of plunging, gliding, rolling, pitching, shooting, and jumping!

We noted many passages as we ran over Mr. EwBANK's book, of which it was our intention to quote not a few, and at least to advert to others. But the work itself is before the public, and to its pages we must commend our readers contenting ourselves with a single extract, describing the manner in which negro-witches cure patients in Brazil: 'My friend the vicar had a lad long troubled with a bruised leg. The sore resisted all his attempts to heal it. As a last resource, a colored 'wise woman' was consulted. She raised a smoke of dried herbs, scattered over the wound, made motions as if stitching its lips up, put on a cataplasm of herbs, sent him home, and in a week he was well! Another young slave had a diseased foot: nothing seemed to do it good: and at length his owner gave him leave to visit a dark sorceress, who talked to it, made signs over it, rubbed it with oil, covered it with a plaster, and in a few days he was sound, too! Earth-worms, fried alive in olive-oil, and applied warm as a poultice, remove whitlows, which are common among blacks and whites. Senhora PERES tells me she thus cured one of her slaves. The same thing has been done in another family.' The foregoing passage shows us how greatly imagination may be made to favor the application of remedial medicaments. Doubtless there was little virtue in the agents employed, and less in the incantations and manipulations of the 'wise' operators: but the imagination of the patient made him 'whole from that hour.' And here, 'may it please the court, we rest.'

ART, SCENERY, AND PHILOSOPHY IN EUROPE: being Fragments from the Port-folio of the late HORACE BINNEY WALLACE, Esquire, of Philadelphia. Philadelphia: H. Hook

ER. 1855.

LITERARY CRITICISMS AND OTHER PAPERS: by the late HORACE BINNEY WALLACE, ESquire, of Philadelphia. Philadelphia: PARRY & MCMILLAN. 1856.

THE name of the late Mr. HORACE BINNEY WALLACE awakens amid the somewhat limited circle in which he was personally known, the most painful as well as the most pleasing emotions. A profound disappointment, an incurable grief, mingles with the pride and joy occasioned by the recollection of his genius, his accomplishments, his moral purity and elevation, and his social graces; and with the few and fragmentary but noble specimens of his intelligence which are left for our appreciation in the two volumes which have appeared of his writings. His life, up to its melancholy close in Paris, nearly four years ago, was but a preparation; and all he was, at the last, but a promise of what he would have been. They who had watched the unfolding of his understanding, and seen its easy and marvellous trialplaying, subject in all things to the law of truth, might well anticipate a

ready recognition of his greatness, whenever he should apply its full strength in orderly earnestness to the dignified purposes in our age and country awaiting such capacity and virtue; and they may be pardoned if they regard his untimely death as one of the weightiest of the misfortunes which have recently befallen the world.

DANIEL WEBSTER, replying to an observation that in the new generation there were none to take the places of those illustrious men who had hitherto been the chief guides and trusts of the nation, referred to Mr. WALLACE as equal to all duties, all offices, all successions. The development of great characters,' he said, 'has always been one of my most favorite studies; and I doubt whether history displays at thirty years of age a loftier nature, or one more universally and profoundly cultivated.' When Mr. WEBSTER was Secretary of State, he caused it to be intimated to Mr. WALLACE that any place in the gift of the government, subject to his influence, awaited his acceptance, whatever the claims of States or partisans. Mr. WALLACE had no desire for such distinctions. He watched, with an intense interest, the fluctuations of affairs, and would have shrunk from no imperative necessity of serving his country, in any position; but he was a gentleman, and instinctively shunned association with such men as in a democracy are apt to occupy the general attention. He preferred to exercise his faculties for the public welfare in appeals to the common reason, commanding regard only by their inherent force and wisdom. His thoughts were occupied with important studies, and the contemplation of important works, which, had he lived for their execution, would have been a means of larger and more enduring influence than attends the most eminent official activity. The noble endeavors which he proposed to himself are partially disclosed in a letter addressed, a few days before his death, to the Rev. Dr. MCCLINTOCK, editor of the Methodist Quarterly Review, and included in the first volume of which the title is given at the beginning of this notice.

As we have mentioned, he died in Paris. There AUGUSTE COMTE, 'the BACON of the nineteenth century,' became acquainted with him. Like Mr. WEBSTER, though his opportunities of knowing him were necessarily few and imperfect, he did not fail to apprehend how much Mr. WALLACE Surpassed the average of mankind. In the preface to his Système de Politique Positive, published in 1853, he says of him: 'Free from all affectation, his culture, both æsthetical and scientific, was in perfect harmony with his fine organization. Although he gave his youth in part to literary efforts, his spontaneous and free communications to me authorize the belief that he would have distinguished himself in active life, in a country where the noble citizen is greater even than the officer of state. I do not exaggerate his merits in ranking him as the equal of the greatest of American statesmen.' These recognitions of Mr. WALLACE's character have an undoubted authority, and they are justified by the contents of these two volumes. Yet the splendor of his abilities was felt in its entireness only by those who were in some sort fitted to be his judges by a mental and moral congeniality, and who had the happiness of hearing his best conversation. Glowing as are many of his paragraphs with creative energy, and luminous with the concentrated light of experience and reflection, they lack the charm and fre