ments, and other papers, to which Mr. Fitzpatrick had no access, and corrects, without alluding to, various errors that have been committed by narrators of her father's life."

The following is probably a fair, though of course a somewhat condensed account of the leading characteristics of the late Archbishop of Dublin :

"The saying of Archbishop Whately's enemies, that he had no heart,' is sufficiently refuted by several facts mentioned in these volumes. That he possessed too little sympathy with persons and opinions different from his own, is, on the contrary, an accusation that no one free from the venial prejudices of a daughter's affection will venture to deny. Neither can he be called, with truth, a mighty thinker,' or a man of profound learning and exact knowledge. What he saw, he saw with the most perfect clearness; but he rarely, if ever, saw all sides of a question himself, or even imagined that it presented other aspects to persons cast in a different mould to himself. For art, scenery, antiquities, travel, he appears to have had no taste whatever. Raphael's Madonnas he viewed only as 'misrepresentations of Scripture.' Como struck him as 'very inferior to Killarney;' and Milan Cathedral as 'the most gigantic idolatrous temple that he ever saw.' We might mention, besides, one or two serious defects, faintly indicated even by the loving pen of the authoress in these volumes, that diminished the Archbishop's influence among some of the most earnest and devout of his clergy; but we prefer to leave the search after these to the few who will, we hope, care to make it. Enough is told of his pastoral activity, his profuse hospitality, his noble munificence, his purity in the distribution of patronage, his grand independence of action and thought, to make us ready to pass by almost any number of defects and imperfections."

Miss Eliza Meteyard has published the second and last volume of the "Life of Josiah Wedgwood," which was mentioned in our Retrospect of the year 1865. It is a "carefully compiled and well-written book;" but we agree with the contemporary whose words we have adopted, in thinking that too many of its pages are occupied with technical descriptions of the modes of making different kinds of pottery, some of which are superseded, while all would have found a more fitting place in a work of a different character.

The "Life of Raphael," by Baron von Wolzogen, has been translated by F. E. Bunnett. The German writer, seeking for a parallel, compares Raphael in painting to Mozart in music. "The criticisms are drawn, and the parallel is maintained, with precision and elegance, and is just as far as it goes." Another interesting work among artistic biographies is that entitled "Franz Schubert," written in German by Dr. von Hellborn, and translated by Mr. E. Wilberforce. The following passage explains truthfully and succinctly the strength and the weakness, the secret of the supreme yet somewhat partial reputation, of the celebrated German melodist:

"Schubert's best Lieder, we repeat, assumed their place at once, and stand alone in music. Need we name 'The Wanderer,' the ‘Ave Maria,' the 'Serenade,' the Barcarolle,' the Page's Song, the 'Ungeduld,' 'Hark, the Lark,' as, in our estimation, unapproached among Lieder, save by some few of Lindblad's, by Mendelssohn's' Frühlingslied '—the one in B flat-and now, fortunately for the world, pouring out from M. Gounod's treasury of fancy? Their melody is as clear and definite as that of the veriest Italian cavatina ;-never common-place, and excellently lending itself to such touches of accompaniment as no Italian ever dreamed of before Signor Mariani came. In Schubert's best Lieder, however, the accompaniment is kept in its place, and however rich, is subordinate.

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But these songs, so far as we know—and some of his Scherzi, his marches, and smaller instrumental movements-are the only compositions signed by him in which disproportion is not to be remarked. Overflowing as Schubert's long compositions are with melodious ideas, rich in national colour, unborrowed in point of phrase, excellent now in animation, now in pathos, now in grandeur, they weary the listener-even when such a consummate interpreter as Mr. Halle takes them in hand-from a certain prolixity and absence of moderation."

The life of David Roberts, R.A. (of whom an Obituary notice will be found in the "Annual Register" for 1864), has been written by Mr. J. Ballantine. Perhaps in the whole list of painters of all countries a more remarkable career than that of Roberts could not be found. He rose from the very lowest and most seemingly helpless position by his own energy and love of Art; and in his struggles for an honest livelihood he displayed a versatility which would have done him infinite credit even if he had not turned out to be a "genius" after all. Successively a house decorator, a scene painter, and a strolling actor, he never lost sight of his grand passion; and at last he had the rare satisfaction of being esteemed a master of the art which he had worshipped at a distance in his childhood. A contemporary concludes an interesting summary of his narrative of Roberts's life with the following words :

"It remains for us only to congratulate Mr. Ballantine on the care and good taste which he has displayed in compiling and editing the life of his old and valued friend. The interest of the volume is greatly increased by the addition of some facsimiles of pen-and-ink sketches and etchings by Mr. Roberts, which we believe have never before been published."

In Theology and Biblical Subjects we have a very curious little work, "Apollonius of Tyana, the Pagan Christ of the Third Century," by Dr. Réville, a Walloon Pastor in Holland. Whether there ever was such a person as Apollonius of Tyana, there seems to be some doubt; but it is perhaps from this very circumstance that Dr. Réville's book derives a great portion of its interest. The history of the early Christian Church is very obscure, being overshadowed by the more pompous records of Pagan Rome; and Dr. Réville is to be commended for drawing attention in that direction.

Dr. Stanley (Dean of Westminster), has given to the world the second part of his "Lectures on the Jewish Church." Dr. Stanley has an interesting and brilliant style, and in composing "Lectures" it is his business to attract as well as to instruct. Under these circumstances we can scarcely blame the Dean, even though we may acquiesce in the correctness of the following remarks:

"Dean Stanley has written with an insight and vividness, a feeling and eloquence, that command the interest and secure the attention of all but the learned. If he would but give labour where he spares it, and check his love of effect, he would have the admiration of even that more critical audience. We have spoken wholly without reserve, for we feel that it needs but little to make the Lectures on the Jewish Church a really standard book."

The second and third volumes of Mr. J. Donaldson's "Critical History of Christian Literature and Doctrine, from the Death of the Apostles to the Nicene Council," have now been published. Nothing can be more important than this kind of work; and Mr. Donaldson appears to be an able workman. A contemporary who finds fault with him on some points, nevertheless recommends his book "as one from which a reader will derive both profit and instruction."

A curious gap in English Literature has been supplied by the publication of "A Dictionary of the Noted Names of Fiction;" by W. A. Wheeler. The follow

ing lines contain a fair description of the object of this book, and an opinion as to its general usefulness in which we entirely concur:

"The volume which Mr. Wheeler has compiled, and which also includes 'familiar pseudonyms, surnames bestowed on eminent men, and analogous popular appellations often referred to in literature and conversation,' may really be said to fill a gap in our works of reference which has always hitherto remained empty. Fictitious characters and popular phrases contribute perhaps even more than real characters and serious allusions to form the bulk of those illustrations from which literature derives so much of its point and force. Yet these things, as a rule, are not to be found in dictionaries, and a reader requiring information about them might hunt for hours in vain. Here, however, we have them arranged in alphabetical order in Mr. Wheeler's excellent volume, which, being one of Bohn's 'Philological Library,' published at five shillings, is within the reach of most lovers of books. The idea was singularly happy, as well as being perfectly original; and it has been very efficiently carried out."

A few works of great interest are to be classed under the head of Travels and Geography. The first of these in importance is "The Albert N'Yanza, Great Basin of the Nile, an Exploration of the Nile Source;" by S. W. Baker, now Sir Samuel Baker. We cannot help remarking parenthetically on the credulity of our countrymen, who deified Speke only a year or two ago for his alleged discovery of the source of the Nile, and who have since, with admirable goodhumour, conferred a similar honour on Sir S. Baker. This remark, however, is not intended to be taken in the slightest degree in disparagement of the wonderful courage and skill displayed by two of the most remarkable of English travellers. What we really mean will appear more clearly from the observations of a contemporary, with whom we entirely agree:

"Mr. Baker's work is full of interest-in parts, profoundly exciting. The pictures suggested, rather than described, are often wild in the extreme, while the narrative of personal suffering has been very seldom paralleled in the annals of travel. It must be observed, moreover, that Mr. Baker has not laboured and endured in vain, since he has discovered one of the most extraordinary lakes hitherto known to exist in Africa. Having stated thus much, which we do with the greatest pleasure, we feel bound to add that, in imagining he has solved the problem of the Nile-that is, found the spot at which its mysterious head emerges from the earth-he is cherishing a mere delusion. The source of the Nile is at this moment as little known as it was in the time of Julius Cæsar; and it almost passes our comprehension how a traveller so intelligent and so wellinformed as Mr. Baker should fail to be conscious of this. To make use of a common expression, Mr. Baker and all other travellers in central Africa have been simply beating about the wrong bush, while the bird they are in search of is hidden far off in another. Yet Mr. Baker, Captain Speke, and Captain Burton, may be almost said to have touched the great river with their finger, and to have looked wistfully in the direction from which, through utterly unknown lands, it comes rolling towards Victoria Nyanza, into which it flows in a deep flood two hundred and forty feet in breadth, and with a current of four miles an hour. This is the Nile whose source it is necessary to discover-a thing which no one has yet done or even attempted; but, until this shall be done, it will be wrong to take credit among civilized nations for having thrown light upon a subject which philosophers and conquerors have desired to illuminate in vain. Bruce, Burton, Speke, Grant, Baker, have deserved well of the public by exploring new regions, and adding largely to our geographical knowledge; but, in spite of their efforts

old Nile keeps his secret still, his source being a virgin spring, of whose waters no civilized man has yet tasted."

"Ten Years in Sarawak," by Charles Brooke, Tuan-Muda of Sarawak, is a very amusing book; and although the English mind has become accustomed to the idea which seemed so strange at first-that of an English subject, Mr. (now Sir James) Brooke, having become the sovereign of an independent territory-still every thing fresh from that singular country of superstitious Malays, savage Dyaks, and sharp Chinese is sure to be welcomed by the curious.

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Borneo is a country which occupies a position in many respects exceptional. Pelawan, Mayindauao, Celebes, lie always invested with obscurity; whereas, at intervals more or less distant, Borneo flashes into public observation through the publication of a remarkable book, an insurrection, a fight with pirates, or a debate in Parliament. We have now a book in hand which is likely to be talked of and read a great deal, being written by the acting ruler of the country after a residence of more than ten years, and with the advantage of having before him the works of Sir James Brooke, Mr. Spencer St. John, Mr. Temminck, Mr. Law, and others. As might have been expected, it is full of information. The ethnology of Borneo remains a slightly worked mine. Many have sought to throw light on the origin of its inhabitants, on their characteristics, on their superstitions, on their capacity for mental culture and civilization, but without definitively clearing up any one point. Meanwhile, materials for future investigation are accumulating, and among the contributions to the common stock, that now supplied by Mr. Charles Brooke is by no means the least important." 'Peking and the Pekingese during the First Year of the British Embassy at Peking," by D. F. Rennie, Staff-Surgeon, is a book of which the subject is sure to attract; for all Europeans will be anxious to know what is really the appearance of that mysterious city, of which travellers have hitherto only had an occasional glimpse. The work of Dr. Rennie (whose name has been rendered familiar by his earlier work, "The British Arms in North China and Japan,") contains a large amount of new and satisfactory information respecting the intelligence and friendly disposition of the population, and the varied character of the scenery. It is written, however, in a rather discursive style, and "the defects of this mode of treatment are aggravated by the absence of an

index."

There is an American work, by Mr. S. Bowles, which may properly be mentioned here, since it is published in London as well as in the United States. It is entitled "Across the Continent; a Summer's Journey to the Rocky Mountains, the Mormons, and the Pacific States, with Speaker Colfax." This amusing book is written hastily, and is perhaps not likely to be permanently useful. But it is eminently characteristic, as may be gathered from the following observations:

"Thoroughly in accordance with the popular theory of the American character, and with notions generally entertained respecting American life, is the frankness with which Mr. Bowles speaks about his travelling companions, and takes stock' of the moral, intellectual, and physical endowments of every person whom he encounters. With a facetious sprightliness which the haughty islanders' of the Anglo-Saxon race would be apt to stigmatize as 'impertinence,' with a strong epithet prefixed, the American editor writes of the American statesman who honours him with his friendship; Mr. Colfax is short, say five feet six, weighs one hundred and forty, is young, say forty-two, has brownish hair and light blue eyes, is a childless widower, drinks no intoxicating liquors, smokes à la General

Grant, is tough as a knot, was bred a printer and editor, but gave up business for public life, and is the idol of South Bend and all adjacencies.'

"He cannot publish his notes of a trip to Vancouver's Island and British Columbia without observing, 'More surely than the Canadas, even, when these provinces become really important and worth having, they will be ours. They will drift to the Union by the inevitable law of gravitation, and by the influence of the leaven of American nationality and sentiment, already large throughout their borders, they will grow with their growth, and flavour their whole progress.' England is deeply grateful to the editor of the 'Springfield (Mass.) Republican' for his good wishes and flattering prophecies with respect to her American dependencies."

One or two more books coming within this category remain to be noticed. One is "Madagascar and the Malagasy," by Lieut. S. P. Oliver, a beautifully illustrated book which gives us a more clear idea than we had before of that outlying country, so little explored by Europeans. Another contains an interesting account of a journey in the African dominions of the French Emperor, with rather well-drawn pictures of colonial and native scenes, in a region which will soon be more generally visited. The author, Miss M. B. Edwards, should have refrained from using the silly title "A Winter with the Swallows," a name calculated to make sensible people content themselves with looking at the outside of a book which has nevertheless very good matter within. The reader will, if we mistake not, find in Algeria something totally different from any thing that he has read of before. Here is a pretty description of an Algerian prospect:

"Near Cherchell the scenery became magnificent. Now we dipped into the heart of a smiling gold-green valley; now we traversed the edge of a gloomy ravine; now we crossed a dry river-bed, overhung by the tasselled tamarisk and the glossy Aleppo pine; or we threaded an olive-grove through which the sun could but sparsely penetrate. A cry of admiration escaped our lips as a turn of the road brought us in sight of a wide-spreading valley, crossed at the base by a superb Roman aqueduct. Perfect, but for one arch, and standing in the midst of fertile fields, this structure impressed one with an unspeakable feeling of pleasurable surprise. One thinks so much of the Arabs and Kabyles in Algeria, that one forgets what a part the Romans first played there, till reminded of it in this way. Nothing can be prettier or more poetic than the view of Cherchell, as approached from the land side. Its white walls form an amphitheatre, above which rise the green hills and fragrant gardens, whilst below, the bright blue sea extends as far as the eye can reach. At this time of the year the almond-tree was in full flower; and I cannot describe the effect of the pure pink blossoms that flushed the hills like a rosy cloud. These brilliant colours, the enamel of the turf, the pale yellow of the sea-shore, the soft, deep turquoise of the waves, the rosy hue of the almond-tree, the glistening white of the mosques and roofs, seemed so near the eyes that one rubbed them, feeling but just awake from the blindness of partial sleep. I can still shut my eyes and revel in the night picture of Cherchell as it looked on that summer day. For though we were only in March, the weather was that of summer time."

We cannot quit this branch of literature without offering our thanks to Mr. S. Mossman for a useful little book entitled "Our Australian Colonies," where we find a succinct account of the various exploring expeditions, and a brief description of our various Colonies, their exports, imports, and general prospects of advancement.

In Philology (including translations from ancient writers), we have to men