In India the new Governor-general, Lord Dalhousie, appears to be by no means popular. He is acknowledged to be an able administrator, but is charged with unduly favoring his countrymen and personal friends in the distribution of official patronage. A series of hurricanes has swept Ceylon and the eastern coasts, occasioning considerable loss of shipping. Among the vessels lost was a new iron steamer, the Falkland, belonging to the East India Company. The swell caused by the hurricane strained the vessel to such a degree that her plates gradually opened until at last she broke clean in two and sank.—A movement has been made among the Hindoos, designed to counteract the efforts of the missionaries. A meeting of learned pundits have decided, contrary to immemorial usage, that a person who has lost caste by forsaking his religion can be reinstated in his privileges by the performance of certain penitential rites.
The Grand Canary Island is undergoing a dreadful visitation of the cholera. It broke out at the end of May. On the 10th of June, and subsequent days, the deaths reached to 100 a day. At that date out of a population of 16,000 all but 4000 had fled from the chief town. It became almost impossible to bury the dead. It could be done only by the soldiers seizing upon all they could find, and compelling them to perform that office. By the 18th of June out of 4000 inhabitants who remained in the city, 1000 had died. In the smaller towns and country-houses throughout the island, the disease raged with equal violence.
Literary Notices
Episodes of Insect Life. A second volume of this fascinating chronicle of insect history is issued by J.S. Redfield, which will command the public favor no less than the former volume, by its sparkling delineations of rural life, and its beautiful illustrations of animal economy. The author has a decided genius for delicate observation; nothing escapes him, however minute, in his study of insect idiosyncracy; and with a rich vein of poetic sentiment, and a luxuriant bloom of all kindly, and natural household feelings, he throws a delightful coloring of imagination around his descriptions, though without impairing their evident fidelity to nature. The very titles of his chapters have a delicious quaintness that leads every one who opens the book to obtain a further taste of its quality. What charming fancies lurk under such an inventory of topics as the following! "The Lady Bird of our Childhood," "Things of a Day," "Insect Magicians," "A Love among the Roses," "The Tribes of an Oak," "A Few Friends of our Summer Gladness," "A Sylvan Morality, or a Word to Wives," "A Summer Day's Dream," and the like, which are treated with a subtle development of analogies, and exquisite propriety of expression. Whoever would enlarge his preparation for a reverent communion with nature, and trace the unfolding of the Divine Epos, in its sublime minuteness, should read this volume under the shade of trees, and within the sound of running waters.
The Fate, by G.P.R. James (published by Harper and Brothers), is the title of the latest offshoot of the luxuriant forest of romance, which has recently been transplanted to this country without losing its verdurous hues or its potent vitality. Mr. James evidently writes from an inward necessity, as the trees grow, putting forth all sorts of leaves, blossoms, and branches, in immeasurable profusion, and (may his shadow never be less) he will always find a throng of weary wayfarers who love to turn aside from the heated paths of life, and seek a refreshing coolness in the grateful shade. The quaint moralities with which he relieves the monotony of description are not without a certain charm. They bring us nearer to the personality of the writer, than his more elaborate dialogues. If the plots of his novels are constructed by "horse-power," as has been maliciously said, no machinery could force out the agreeable bits of ethical reflection, in which the novelist speaks in his own name. And though not always free from common-place, as we are bound to confess, they often present sharp touches of good-natured satire, and a piercing insight into the convolutions of vanity and weakness, showing the sagacity of a shrewd observer. These "landing-places" are perhaps more frequent in this volume than in most of the preceding ones, though there is no want of spirit or interest in the movement of the plot. The scene of the novel is laid in England during the civil wars succeeding the Restoration. It aims to present a counterpart to Mr. Macaulay's picture of the condition of England in the year 1685. The author enters his protest against that part of Macaulay's "great and fanciful work," which refers to the English country gentlemen and to the English country clergy of those times. His own sketches present the state of society during that period in a more favorable light. We are not sure but the historian has drawn more freely on the imagination for his statements than the novelist. At all events, the portraitures by Mr. James have a natural look, and seem to have been taken from the life.
In one of the numerous episodes of this volume, the author, after the example of American politicians, with whom he has now become familiar, undertakes to "define his position" in regard to "the two solitary horsemen," who, thus far, have usually not failed to make their appearance, sooner or later, among the characters of his romances. We are glad to have this knotty point cleared up so skillfully. These much calumniated horsemen—one on a white horse—shall have the benefit of their patron's ingenious defense of their "right to ride" in his own words:
"As to repeating one's self, it is no very great crime, perhaps, for I never heard that robbing Peter to pay Paul was punishable under any law or statute, and the multitude of offenders in this sense, in all ages, and in all circumstances, if not an excuse, is a palliation, showing the frailty of human nature, and that we are as frail as others—but no more. The cause of this self-repetition, probably, is not a paucity of ideas, not an infertility of fancy, not a want of imagination or invention, but that, like children sent daily to draw water from a stream, we get into the habit of dropping our buckets into that same immeasurable depth of thought exactly at the same place; and though it be not exactly the same water as that which we drew up the day before, it is very similar in quality and flavor, a little clearer or a little more turbid, as the case may be. Now this dissertation—which may be considered as an introduction or preface to the second division of my history—has been brought about, has had its rise, origin, source, in an anxious and careful endeavor to avoid, if possible, introducing into this work the two solitary horsemen—one upon a white horse—which, by one mode or another, have found their way into probably one out of three of all the books I have written; and I need hardly tell the reader that the name of these books is legion. There are, perhaps, too many; but though I must die, some of them will live—I know it, I feel it; and I must continue to write while this spirit is in this body. To say truth, I do not know why I should wish to get rid of my two horsemen, especially the one on the white horse. Wouvermans always had a white horse in all his pictures; and I do not see why I should not put my signature, my emblem, my monogram, in my paper and ink pictures as well as any painter of them all. I am not sure that other authors do not do the same thing—that Lytton has not always, or very nearly, a philosophizing libertine—Dickens, a very charming young girl, with dear little pockets; and Lever, a bold dragoon. Nevertheless, upon my life, if I can help it, we will not have in this work the two horsemen and the white horse; albeit, in after times—when my name is placed with Homer and Shakspeare, or in any other more likely position—there may arise serious and acrimonious disputes as to the real authorship of the book, from its wanting my own peculiar and distinctive mark and characteristic.
"But here, while writing about plagiarism, I have been myself a plagiary; and it shall not remain without acknowledgment, having suffered somewhat in that sort myself. Hear my excellent friend, Leigh Hunt, soul of mild goodness, honest truth, and gentle brightness! I acknowledge that I stole from you the defensive image of Wouvermans' white horse, which you incautiously put within my reach, on one bright night of long, dreamy conversation, when our ideas of many things, wide as the poles asunder, met suddenly without clashing, or produced but a cool, quiet spark—as the white stones which children rub together in dark corners emit a soft, phosphorescent gleam, that serves but to light their little noses."
Phillips, Sampson, and Co. have published The Inventor's Manual, by George Ticknor Curtis, being an abridgement of the author's larger Treatise on the Patent Law. It presents the general principles of the law on this subject, in a condensed and intelligible form, and furnishes directions for making applications to the Patent Office, divested of the technical learning, which can only serve to embarrass the practical inventor.