It is well that we are thus obliged to acknowledge the weight of scientific authority. It is well that we are reminded that we must yield our assent to truths which we cannot understand; nay, that we must sometimes have a lively faith in them, and put to sea, risking fortune and life upon the word of astronomical predictions.

It is well also to be taught, that there are some things which we do not know. In politics and in business, men freely criticise statesmen and financiers as though they were their equals. There is no easy and sure criterion by which men can distinguish the real statesman. And those natural sciences which are most intimately connected with daily life, labor under a similar disadvantage. But with astronomy and mathematics it is quite a different thing. Their heroes are a well marked, and distinguished few. No one can doubt the magnificence and grandeur of their achievements. We rarely find a moralist or a poet to speak of them with scorn; as in Schiller's verse:

Talk not to me astronomers always of stars and of systems;

Worlds had never been made simply for science to

count

Grand is the starry host doubtless, in space is nothing sublimer,

But, good friends, the sublime is not embodied in space.

The world, however, judges more wisely than Schiller. It finds in the astronomer, not the star-counter of the poet, but a spirit akin to the star-builder. Where is there to be found any thing more sublime than the mastery which the human mind has gained over these countless worlds; which, roaming through unfathomed space, are yet charmed down by the mighty talisman of the telescope; bound by the unyielding chain of the calculus, and forced, Proteus like, to prophesy the future, and yield up the secrets of the past. What is there sublime in the human spirit, if it be not the power to run back before the birth of time, and follow, with demonstration infallible as sight, the course of the Creator's action? What imagination more sublime than that of the Geometer, who frames worlds upon different laws, from those which have been adopted by God, and shows with certainty unerring as experience what would have flowed thence had He adopted them.

The mere knowledge that any human being has such power lifts us up. Men cannot but feel a certain reverence for themselves to know that fellow-men are thus exalted. They are unconsciously raised into a higher sphere. We have heard one of the best historians of our day rank the discovery of Neptune among

the most important events of human history; and he justified his remark, by appealing to this well-known effect of scientific triumphs in elevating the tone of thought even among the lowest classes.

-Songs of the modern minnesingers, might very well have been the title of a volume of German Lyrics, translated by Rev. C. T. Brooks, of Newport, R. I published by Ticknor, Reed and Fields, Boston. Mr. Brooks is well known as one of the most accomplished German scholars, and admirable translators, in the country and has already presented the public with a volume of translations from Theodore Körner, and other German poets, published in Ripley's Specimens of Foreign Standard Literature; and his graceful and sparkling touch is often recognized in the columns of the Literary World. So singularly happy is he in translation, that we gladly hail his present book, which forms one of the successful Boston series, as a contribution of permanent value to our literary stores; and we sincerely hope the muse he serves so well, may some day inspire him to collect into a volume of English translation, the exquisite songs and ballads of Henry Heine, which would surely command attention and favor. This has been already done for Uhland, one of the most famous and characteristic of the modern German bards, by Alexander Weill (we believe that is the name): the entire contents of Uhland's last complete volume are rendered poem by poem into English.

In notes necessarily so brief as these, we can do little more than inform the reader of such a publication, and assure him of its admirable quality. We notice among the translations, Müller's version of the well known old monkish legend, of which Longfellow has given his version in the "Golden Legend" as the story of the Monk Felix. It is one of the most striking of the romantic religious traditions. A glance at the German Lyrics will give the reader a very fair idea of the variety, the grace, and the quaintness of this department of German literature. The fun is rather too cumbrous and local, for our quick Saxon apprehension. A German comical journal, as German students will remember, does not seem very funny to an habitual and appreciative reader of Punch. A small joke goes a great way in Germany; perhaps the Germans like to burrow into it, and turn it over and over, at leisure. But one number of Charivari or Punch, has more essential fun in it than a volume of The Fliegende Blätter. If our commendation of the present work comes a little late, it is none the less sincere-and

we shall look with hope and interest for further contributions of the same kind from Mr. Brooks.

-It is a proper compliment that Mr. GEORGE S. HILLARD has paid the public, in his Six Months in Italy, that he has so carefully elaborated every part of his book. He does not give us his hasty impressions of travel, hastily written, but the results of close and attentive observation, matured by study, and presented in the most painstaking way. Absorbed in the pursuit of a most laborious vocation, he might have found an excuse for a little carelessness and inelegance in the customary plea of a want of time to chasten and perfect his style; but he has availed himself of no such privilege, and gives us his work with the evidences of preparation on every page. An instructive and agreeable work it is, almost minute enough in its descriptions to answer for a guide-book, yet abounding in just and sensible remarks, well-informed criticisms, and varied learning.

Mr. Hillard entered Italy by way of Trieste, passing over the Adriatic to Venice, whence he went through Verona, Parma, and Bologna, to Florence. From Florence he went to Rome, thence to Naples, and from Naples back to Leghorn and Pisa, and so on to Genoa. In all these places he remained sufficiently long to impress their peculiar scenery upon his mind, to examine their treasures of art, and to derive some knowledge of the ways . of the people. He seems to have left no day unemployed. Churches, galleries, museums, and the beautiful objects of nature, were all attractive to him, and he paints them with an appreciative admiration and fidelity. Appended to his records of travel, also, are a series of discriminating remarks on the previous writers on Italy, which many will find as interesting as any part of the book, furnishing, as they do, the judgments of a ripe and highly cultivated scholar on the Italian narratives of Addison, De Stael, Goethe, Chateaubriand, Moore, Byron, Shelley, Forsyth,-on all, in short, who have attained any distinction in that line.

Mr. Hillard writes with grace, elegance. and dignity, and though a little hard and stiff at times, is never awkward or uncouth. His principal defect is a want of raciness, or humor: he is too uniformly sustained; talks too much like a book, and too little like conversation; is didactic rather than amusing, and now and then disguises commonplace in such formal and stately phrases, that one hardly recognizes his old friends. It is impossible to read him continuously, without feeling a certain restraint, as if he were afraid of

-PROFESSOR SILLIMAN'S "Visit to Europe" is a work of the same class with Mr. Hillard's; but of an entirely different character. The one is the record of a brilliant episode in the life of a scholar, which has filled his memory, as he says, with images alike beautiful and enduring; while the other is that of a man of science, less eager to seek out the wonders of art, though not insensible to them, but anxious mainly to investigate the great depositories of learning, to examine the physical peculiarities of countries, and to describe his journeyings only in so far as they give interest to his other purposes. The narrative of the venerable and distinguished Professor is clear, unvarnished, and straightforward, not particularly novel or striking in its selection of incidents, yet seldom dull, or merely repetitions of the details of the guide-books. It is obvious that the author saw things for himself, and describes his own views of them, not the stereotyped views of the tourist. But the chief value of his work is in the illustrations which his vast scientific attainments have enabled him to contribute to our knowledge of the geological and other natural phenomena of different countries. We would especially commend, in this respect, the part relating to Naples, and the volcano of Mount Vesuvius, which appear to have been studied with remarkable attention. Indeed, we have scarcely opened any page of the two volumes without deriving from it some instruction or pleasure.

-Mr. GEORGE W. FLAGG'S " Venice" is another agreeable addition to our stock of books on the old world. An artist, and of course an enthusiast,-an official person, and consequently admitted to the best sources of knowledge, the author has treated his romantic theme with the admiration of the poet, and yet with the fulness of information and the accuracy of the historian. No subject that we know of is better adapted to call forth all the finest qualities of the writer than the "City of the Sea." Her singularly glorious position, her wild and mysterious yet brilliant history, the great names that have illuminated and darkened her annals, the still greater names that have made these annals immortal in dramas and novels,-the picturesque and impressive aspects of all that surrounds and is related to her, combine

in investing Venice with a depth of interest, a pathos, and a glory, that are found in no other city, scarcely excepting Rome, on the globe. We cannot say that Mr. Flagg has proved himself in all respects equal to his theme; but, at the same time, we will confess that his narration of the more recent vicissitudes of the beautiful Naiad of the Adriatic is the most complete, consecutive, and apparently authentic, that we have read. It fills one's soul with burning indignation to learn how much these poor Venetians, inheritors of Titian's fame, have suffered from the brutal despotism of the Austrians! How long, oh Lord, how long! one is tempted to exclaim, shall thy vengeance sleep!

-The "Life of Isaac T. Hopper," by that eminent and accomplished woman, MRS. LYDIA MARIA CHILD, is written with an anxious desire to depict the well-known philanthropist as he was. His kindness, gentleness, fearlessness, and other less noble traits, are presented with the utmost fidelity. But we doubt whether many of the details, into which the biographer enters, such as his love for certain mystifications, are entirely judicious. They were unquestionably innocent in themselves, springing from a harmless love of mirth, and yet, we confess that on reading them, we experienced a slight shock of surprise. The humor of them scarcely justified the insincerity, which, though only momentary and apparent, was not in accord with that thorough truthfulness we like to ascribe to such benevolent and conscientious men as Friend Hopper. As a memoir, however, of one who played a conspicuous and useful part, in various important moral reforms, it will be gratefully received by all who take an interest in the same objects.

-The "Salad for the Solitary," which is the quaint name of an entertaining collection of literary trifles, in the manner of the elder D'Israeli, appears to have a piquant flavor for the public appetite; for it has immediately passed through four or five editions, and is still selling with some rapidity. The writer has been evidently an industrious reader of books, from which he has picked a vast number of the most curious and agreeable morsels,something suited, indeed, to almost every palate, and he has put them together with original remarks of that relish of the true Attic Salt. For an idle summer's day reading, or for a jaunt by steamboat or railroad, the work will prove an unusually pleasant companion. We remark, however, some misquotations here and there, that will doubtless be corrected in future editions.

-The "Story of Mont Blanc," by

ALBERT SMITH, is a small, thin volume, but full of merit. It is one of those homely, truthful, knowing sketches, which only a man of genius can write, but the whole world loves to read. One gets so complete an idea from it, of the scenes it portrays, that he is satisfied, should he read nothing on the same subject hereafter.

There is a stratum of excellent good sense, and genial humor running through Mr. Smith's simple narrative, which cannot fail to have a most happy effect upon the minds of youthful readers. Mr. Smith is a thorough Cockney, though not born within hearing of Bow Bells; but he is one of the best of the class, and wins us to his way of thinking by his frank, social, and hearty manner of expressing his opinions. Not the least valuable part of his story of Mont Blanc, is the introduction, giving an account of a youthful pedestrian tour into Italy. The book is republished by Putnam & Co. from the English edition.

-The best type of a thorough German student and bibliographer is DR. ANTHON, who every year enriches our possessions, by unfolding some new placer of learning, in the opulent ancient mines. His last book, "A Manual of Greek Literature," like nearly all his previous works, exhausts its topic. It seems to leave nothing to be said by those that may come after, covering the entire ground, and so admirably arranged that its vast resources are made available at a glance. How much are English scholars indebted to the industry and acquirements of this one man,-what heaps of undigested information he has gathered, and put into practicable shape,-what a miracle of diligence he is! It is said that we Americans are superficial in our attainments, but, if Dr. Anthon's books are used as widely as they are purchased, there must be a great many persons somewhere who are crammed with profoundest knowledge. We do not know who they are, but we are sure that such ponderous tomes of the choicest learning are not scattered through the community in vain. The Bentleys, the Porsons, and the Parrs, of old world renown, kept their immense acquisitions pretty much to themselves; but Dr. Anthon acquires only to impart, and, since his books are bought, we take it for granted that they must be read. -HILDRETH'S 66 Theory of Politics" we announced some time ago: it is now published. It is sensible, instructive, and liberal in its sentiments, but we are not wholly satisfied with its philosophy. It does not seem to us to have gone to the root of the matter. But we confess to

have read it only superficially, and shall take more time before we venture upon a positive opinion.

-Our HAWTHORNE'S genius ennobles and purifies whatever it touches. In his second Wonder Book, or the Tanglewood Tales, the hideous myths of the bold classical dictionary, are extricated from the confusion and deformity in which they have been immersed, and presented to us anew in graceful and bewitching shapes. They have been rejuvenated for the juveniles, but with a sweet undercurrent of grace and wisdom, that will lend them a charm even for the ripest intellects. Those old fables, which doubtless had infinite depths of meaning in them to the childhood of our race, are given in new vitality by the wondrous alchemy of the story-teller, as he repeats them to a later childhood. Or, as the author has himself finely said, in his delightful preface, "their objectionable characteristics seem to be a parasitical growth, having no essential connection with the original fable. They fall away, and are thought of no more, the instant the narrator puts his imagination in sympathy with the innocent little circle, whose wide-open eyes are fixed so eagerly upon him. Thus the stories (not by any strained effort, but in harmony with their inherent germ) transform themselves, and reassume the shapes which they might be supposed to possess in the pure childhood of the world."

Bacon, in his "Wisdom of the Ancients," has elicited, with his usual profundity, the deeper scientific truths that he supposed to lie at the bottom of the obsolete mythologies; but it was reserved for Hawthorne to clothe them with a touching moral significance and grace. May the leisure of his official position put it in his power to recast for us the stories of the whole of those perished religions! that is, if it afford him time also to continue his own original stories.

-There is a vigorous sincerity and earnestness, a keen insight into character, an artistic management of the story, and deep passions, in the novels of TALVI,-well known as the wife of a distinguished professor in this city-which are admirably sustained in her latest work, “The Exiles." It is a sweetly sad narrative of the fortunes, in the new world, of a young German patriot and his betrothed, wrought out with a touching pathos and truthfulness. The characters are finely painted, the narration animated, and the occasional remarks full of thought and wisdom. The authoress has taken the pains in her preface, to disclaim any intention of giving a picture of America or American ex

istence, observing that the personages she introduces, though national, are not exclusive types of our society, and that her scenes are not descriptions of any that she has actually experienced. She adds a hope, that no one-sided national pride, no limited popular vanity, will prevent the reader from recognizing in them, "the heart which beats for the free native land of the dearest which it possesses on earth, and the home of its voluntary adoption." Perhaps the sensitiveness which we often exhibit towards the criticism of foreigners, renders such a disclaimer necessary; but we can hardly suppose that any thoughtful American will find in the observations of the accomplished writer, a single ground of complaint. We do not always concur in the representations she has given, but they are generally so just, and always animated by so noble a spirit, that we are bound to welcome them as the monitions of an anxious friend.

-We hail the republication of "Lorenzo Benoni," the autobiography of an Italian, which has created no little sensation in England. It is a portrait of Italy, and Italian life, by a distinguished exile, written with remarkable grace, and purity of style, and filled with passages of absorbing interest. The author, according to the Quarterly Review for July, is GIOVANNI RUFFINI, a native of Genoa, who effected his escape from his native country after the attempt at revolution in 1833. His book is, in substance, an authentic account of real persons and incidents, though the writer has chosen to adopt fictitious and fantastic designations for himself and his associates. Since 1833, Ruffini has resided chiefly (if not wholly) in England and France, where his qualities, we understand, have secured him respect and regard. In 1848, he was selected by Charles Albert to fill the responsible situation of ambassador to Paris, in which city he had long been domesticated as a refugee. He ere long, however, relinquished that office, and again withdrew into private life. He appears to have employed the time of his exile to such advantage as to have acquired a most uncommon mastery over the English language. Indeed, we know of few native writers, who write English with so much quiet force and beauty. But the matter is as fascinating as the style is admirable. The characters have the definiteness of sculpture almost, while the events are as varied and extraordinary as those of a highly-wrought romance; yet, the principal value of the book lies in the gentle but impressive exposition it furnishes of the despotism exercised in Italy over the human mind. There is a truth

and a reality in its pictures, which leave us no doubt that they are transcripts out of an actual experience. As it is generally admitted that the "Fantasio" of the story is Mazzini, we extract the sketch of that great man as he appeared in his youth.

"Fantasio was my elder by one year. He had a finely-shaped head, the forehead spacious and prominent, and eyes black as jet, at times darting lightning. His complexion was a pale olive, and his features, remarkably striking altogether, were set, so to speak, in a profusion of flowing black hair, which he wore rather long. The expres sion of his countenance, grave and almost severe, was softened by a smile of great sweetness, mingled with a certain shrewdness, betraying a rich comic vein. He spoke well and fluently, and, when he warmed upon a subject, there was a fascinating power in his eyes, his gestures, his voice, his whole bearing, that was quite irresistible. His life was one of retirement and study, the amusements common with young men of his age had no attractions for him. His library, his cigar, his coffee; some occasional walks, rarely in the daytime, and always in solitary places, more frequently in the evening and by moonlight-such were his only pleasures. His morals were irreproachable, his conversation was always chaste. If any of the young companions he gathered round him occasionally indulged in some wanton jest, or expression of double meaning, Fantasio-God bless him!—would put an immediate stop to it by some one word, which never failed of its effect. Such was the influence that the purity of his life, and his incontestable superiority gave to him,

"Fantasio was well versed in history, and in the literature, not only of his own, but of foreign countries. Shakspeare, Byron, Goethe, Schiller, were as familiar to him as Dante and Alfieri. Spare and thin in body, he had an indefatigably active mind; he wrote much and well in both prose and verse, and there was hardly a subject he had not attempted-historical essays, literary criticisms, tragedies, &c., &c. A passionate lover of liberty under every shape, there breathed in his fiery soul an indomitable spirit of revolt against tyranny and oppression of every sort. Kind, feeling, generous, never did he refuse advice or service; and his library, amply furnished, as well as his well-filled purse, were al ways at the command of his friends. Perhaps he was rather fond of displaying the brilliancy of his dialectic powers at the expense of good sense, by maintaining occasionally strange paradoxes. Perhaps there was a slight touch of affectation in his invariably black dress; and his horror of apparent shirt-collars was certainly somewhat exaggerated; but, take him all in all, he was a noble lad. ·

"To him I owe having really read and en

joyed Dante. Many a time, before having made acquaintance with Fantasio, I had taken up the "Divina Comedia" with the firm determination of going through the whole of it; but soon recoiling from its difficulties, I had given up the task, and contented myself with reading those portions of the great poem which are most famous, and the beauties of which are most popular; in a word, I had only sought amusement in Dante. Fantasio taught me to look there for instruction and the ennobling of my faculties. I drank deeply at this source of profound thought and generous emotion, and from that time the name of Italy, which recurs so often in the book, became sacred to me, and made my very heart beat. We read together the most obscure passages. Fantasio's commentaries were rather brilliant than deep, but I was of an age when brilliancy is irresistibly seductive, and makes up for every thing else."

ENGLISH. Two literary announcements are made in England, which will stir the blood of all readers. The first is of the third volume of the "History of England," by Thomas Babington Macaulay, in connection with whom a curious story is told by a correspondent of one of the city papers, to the effect that his friends never expected the distinguished author to finish it, owing to his addiction to the use of opium. It is, unquestionably, a tale not founded on fact, for though Mr. Macaulay has been in ill-health for some time, the cause of his illness has been his excessive devotion to his literary pursuits, and not his indulgence in a debasing appetite. The second announcement, to which we refer, is a new novel by Thackeray, to be called "The Newcomes, Memoirs of a most respectable family. Edited by Arthur Pendennis, Esq." Well, if Pendennis has a hand in it, we know pretty well what the book will be; we know what pretentious old noodles, what faded old beaus, what simpering misses, and what fast young men, will figure on the scene. We shall be let, too, into the secret ways and means of the respectable heads of the house, see how they manage to give dinners, keep secrets, marry off their daughters, and get their sons into the guards, or the church; we shall have another edition, probably, of Amelia, and Blanche, and Tufto, and Finucane, and Bungay,—and yet, though we know all about it beforehand, when it comes, it will be as fresh, as true, as original, and as delightful, as though we made Mr. Arthur Pendennis's acquaintance for the first time. works are like good sound old wine, though we have tasted it a thousand times, the actual smack upon the lips is always a new and luscious sensation.

His