Possibly some twenty years hence 'El Dorado' will be regarded as by far the best of Bayard Taylor's works—certain it is that in it he is among the pioneer describers of a land the early accounts of which will be carefully investigated and duly honored. In picturing lands, where others have been noting and sketching before, he is strong indeed who is not driven into mannerism; but in fresh fields and pastures new there is less danger of seeing through thrice-used spectacles. It is this consciousness of being the first that ever burst into their silent seas that made Herodotus and Tudela and Rubriquis and Mandeville so fresh and vigorous—and there is much of the same peculiar inspiration due to first-ness perceptible in this volume, which we cordially commend to all who would be California-learned or simply entertained. Somewhat we must say however of the fine paper, exquisite typography, and two neat steel engravings with which this 'Caxton' edition is made beautiful and most suitable either for a lady's étagere-book-shelf or the most elegant library.
Les Miserables. I. Fantine. by Victor Hugo. Translated by Charles E. Wilbour. New-York: Carleton. Boston: Crosby and Nichols. 1862.
A novel written twenty-five years ago by Victor Hugo is a curiosity. The present was kept in reserve because the sordid publisher, who had a contract for all of Hugo's works, would not give the sum demanded—the author kept raising his price—it was like Nero and the Sybil, or the converse of the conduct of the damsel who annually reduced her terms to Martial:
'Millia viginti quondam me Galla poposcit;
Annus abit: bis quina dabis sestertia? dixit.'
Finally the publisher died, the work was printed, and its first section now appears in 'Fantine'—a capital picture of life, manners, customs, in fact of almost every thing in France in 1817. It deals with much suffering, many sorrows, as its title indicates—for it is easier to make sensations out of pains than pleasures, and M. Hugo is preëminently and proverbially 'sensational.' Still it is deeply interesting, extremely well managed in all art-details, and above all things, is extremely humane—as a book by Victor Hugo could hardly fail to be. And as every page bears the impress of a certain characteristic originality of thought and of observation, we may safely predict that 'Fantine' will deservedly prove a success. We like the manner in which Mr. Wilbour has translated it—neither too slavishly nor too freely, but in one word, 'admirably.'
Artemus Ward his book. New-York; Carleton. Boston: N. Williams and Company. 1862.
Once in five or six years we have a new humorist—at one time a Jack Downing, then a Doesticks, then again a Phoenix-Derby. Last on the list we have 'Artemus Ward,' as set forth in letters to the Cleveland Plaindealer and Vanity Fair, purporting to come from the proprietor of a 'side-show,' as cheaper, or less than twenty-five cent exhibitions, are called in this country. To say that they are excellent, spirited, and racy—full of strong idioms of language and character, and abounding in novelties in type which are no novelties to those familiar with popular life—would be doing them faint justice. They embody a new and perfectly truthful conception of one of the multitude, and have nothing that is hackneyed in them.
It is a great test of real stuff in a writer when he dashes off, or picks up, phrases which are at once taken up by the people. 'Artemus Ward' has originated many of these, and is perhaps at the present day as much quoted 'in the broad and long' as any man in the country. It is needless to say that all who relish broad eccentric humor will find his Book very well worth reading. We regret that it does not embrace certain other excellent sketches which we know he has written, but trust that these will appear in due time in a second part or in a new edition. The volume before us is very neatly got up, well illustrated, and tastefully bound.
Lyrics for Freedom and Other Poems. Under the Auspices of the Continental Club. New-York: Carleton, 413 Broadway, Boston; Crosby and Nichols.
At a regular meeting of the 'Continental Club,' held at their rooms in New-York, it was resolved and carried that a volume of poems written by certain of the younger members be published 'under its auspices.' As a noted Democratic sheet, the Boston Courier, has declined to notice the volume on the plea that the name of the society from which it sprung suggested too forcibly the CONTINENTAL MONTHLY, possibly a favorable mention by us of our young New-York brother-in-literature may seem partial and too en-famille-iar to be fair. Be this as it may, we can not resist the expression of the honest conviction, for which we have many a good indorser, that while it would be a matter of some difficulty to compile a better collection of lyrics from the vast number which the war has thus far called forth, its production by a limited number of a single association is indeed remarkable. There is the right ring and the true feeling perceptible in all of them; earnest enthusiasm flowing bravely on the tide of musical words, and a clear conviction of the justice of our cause springing from liberal and progressive political views. It is enough indeed to say of most of the lyrics that they are written from a principle, and with faith in the necessity of Emancipation, and are not mere war-songs, full of commonplace, as applicable to one cause as another. They are songs of the American war of freedom in 1861, and as such will rank high in our literary history.