The Bird.
By Jules Michelet.
With 210 illustrations by Giacomelli.
New York: T. Nelson & Sons. 1868.
It is not often that nature finds so charming an interpreter as Michelet. He throws around us the very perfume of the flowers; and his birds not only sing, but sing to us, speak to us, and become our dearest friends. Reading, we forget the close walls of the city, the weary noise, the heavy air of overcrowded human life; we follow the birds in their flight, drink in their spirit of liberty, joy, tenderness, and love, till, with Michelet, we almost give them a personality, a soul. It is difficult to cull from a bed of choice flowers a single specimen, for one will appeal to us through its beauty of form, another of color, another by its delicacy and fragrance; so here, where every page is charming, we know not how to choose between the grandeur and magnificence of the tropical forests, or the stern and silent melancholy of the polar regions, or the more home-like charm of scenes that we know. The last, perhaps, cannot fail to please. Here is his description of an autumnal migration:
"Bright was the morning sky, but the wind blew from La Vendée. My pines bewailed their fate, and from my afflicted cedar issued a low, deep voice of mourning. The ground was strewn with fruit, which we all set to work to gather. Gradually the weather grew cloudy, the sky assumed a dull leaden gray, the wind sank, all was death-like. It was then, at about four o'clock, that simultaneously arrived, from all points, from the wood, from the Erdre, from the city, from the Loire, from the Sèvre, infinite legions, darkening the day, which settled on the church roof, with a myriad voices, a myriad cries, debates, discussions. Though, ignorant of their language, it was not difficult for us to perceive that they differed among themselves. It may be that the youngest, beguiled by the warm breath of autumn, would fain have lingered longer. But the wiser and more experienced travellers insisted upon departure. They prevailed; the black masses, moving all at once like a huge cloud, winged their flight toward the south-east, probably toward Italy. They had scarcely accomplished three hundred leagues (four or five hours' flight) before all the cataracts of heaven were let loose to deluge the earth; for a moment we thought it was a flood. Sheltered in our house, which shook with the furious blast, we admired the wisdom of the winged soothsayers, which had so prudently anticipated the annual epoch of migration."
This book was to the author a sort of oasis; it was undertaken or rather grew up in the interval of a rest from historical labors; it was for him a refreshment, a rest; and such it could not fail to prove to any one of us in the midst of the weary cares of every-day life. Unfortunately, Michelet has not interpreted history so successfully as he has nature, and the results of his labor are far less praiseworthy than the results of his recreation.
The Bird is most beautifully illustrated by Giacomelli, Doré's collaborateur on his celebrated Bible.
Tablets.
By A. Bronson Alcott.
Boston: Roberts Brothers. 1868.
No one who has ever enjoyed the pleasure of an interview with the "Orphic Alcott," and felt the charm which his rare conversational powers throw around every subject to which they are directed, can fail to find a renewal of that pleasure while perusing the genial volume which has just emanated from his too infrequent pen. Elegant in its external garniture, it brings upon its pages the faint odor of the roses that bloom on the broad Concord lawns, the rustle of the leaves that shelter the secluded nook in which the writer finds "the leisure and the peace of age," the cool air that floats across clear Walden-water, filling both library and studio with its bracing breath; so giving to the reader, familiar with the scenes amid which these Tablets were inscribed, a double satisfaction in the thoughts which they suggest and in the memories which they revive.
The book itself consists of two series of essays: the first, "Practical;" the second, "Speculative." The former will most interest the ordinary reader. The latter will be appreciated by few who are not otherwise instructed in the peculiar views of their author. The "Practical" essays are entitled "The Garden," "Recreation," "Fellowship," "Friendship," "Culture," "Books," "Counsels," and each is subdivided into different heads. Hackneyed as several of these subjects appear to be, the reader will experience no sense of weariness while following Mr. Alcott over them. Were not his ideas original, "the method of the man" would be alone sufficient to give an interest of no common order to his well-weighed words. Many of his aphorisms are like "apples of gold in pictures of silver;" and some deserve to become household truths with all thoughtful men. Such is his verdict upon political partisanship on page 148; his strong, courageous plea for individuality on page 145; and his high view of education on pages 103 et seq. From these and various other passages, which space alone forbids us to distinguish, we may say that, if "a man's speech is the measure of his culture," there are few men into whose sphere one can be brought whose kindliness and courtesy, whose flowing spirits and sprightly wit, can more captivate and charm than the gray-haired student who sits in the arbors, groves, and gardens, and day by day treasures up on the tablets of his diary the choice things of mankind, and illustrates them with choice memories of his own.