We have not the space to give an analysis of the book. It will be widely read. Of the lovers of Hawthorne the name is legion, and nothing to which his name is attached is likely to be passed by unnoticed. But that it can add nothing to his fame goes without saying. Indeed, if it could be believed that it is really Hawthorne’s work, that he wrote it as a whole, to publish substantially as it is, it might have the opposite effect. But it will doubtless be very generally regarded as one among the many posthumous Hawthorne fragments. A much more powerful story than “Dr. Grimshawe’s Secret,” as we have it, was struggling in the brain of this rare literary genius, and in the course of time would have come forth had not death stepped in with the inevitable summons. For this unwritten romance, what we have been reading in the magazines, and what we have in this recent book, were but the studies. These various Hawthorne fragments are interesting, as showing his methods of work, but again we say he would not have wished them published.
The Joseph Cook Lectureship.
The seventh annual course of the Boston Monday Lectureship by Rev. Joseph Cook is once more in progress. The whole number delivered by the lecturer from this platform has reached, up to this date, the remarkable count of one hundred and fifty-four. Add to these the preludes, each of which is a lecture in itself, upon the most vital and interesting questions of the times, and we have an aggregate of twice the original number. It is with unabated interest and delight that the vast audience of readers of these lectures resumes their perusal. It is, perhaps, not too much to say that no platform or pulpit has so vast or so intelligent an auditory. Before and during Mr. Cook’s recent absence he was subjected to the rigid, and sometimes personal, criticism of the free-thinking and rationalistic critics, but he returns to find his old audience already in their pews waiting to receive the riches of thought and criticism which he has gathered and matured during his sojourn abroad.
These lectures by Mr. Cook are reassuring in many ways, in nothing, perhaps, more than in the evidence they furnish of the interest which the masses feel in orthodox Christianity. If the croakers, who moan and groan at the prospect of an expiring faith in the Gospel of Christ, will take the trouble to compare the numbers and character of the readers of these lectures with the same of those who read the scoffing and infidel publications of the day, they will feel better. And besides those who read and ponder for themselves, and profit by the thoughts and facts announced from this platform, there are many pulpits to which they are a sort of tonic, stimulating to greater faith and reliance, in public teaching, on the old truths and methods of the Gospel.
Mr. Cook’s lectures give evidence of indefatigable industry aided by marvelous powers of memory. Though scarcely reached the prime of life as measured by years, he has traversed the field of thought and investigation as few men in a whole lifetime have done, and has brought with him the facts and conclusions which he has found, all classified and subject to his command. An omnivorous reader, he is the largest living library in the world, and thoroughly indexed almost to the page and line. All these conditions of fitness and qualification for the work are supplemented by the genius and qualities of the orator. As such, Mr. Cook is entitled to the foremost rank. Magnetism, rhetoric, voice, physique, strength, striking metaphor, apt and classic illustration, all in a high degree are possessed by this colossus of the platform.
Many of our readers have had the pleasure of seeing and hearing him at Chautauqua. They will be glad to know that he will stand again in the Amphitheater the coming summer.
Gustave Doré.
This celebrated French artist died at his home in Paris January 23. His illness was very brief, and his death entirely unexpected. He was cut down in the midst of his years, having just passed his fiftieth birthday. His life was one of remarkable industry. No busier pencil than his was ever stopped by the hand of death.