61 superior to any little prejudices which "les antecedens" | from the German of Leopold Scheffer. As a transla which spring up in an ill-assorted union. The refined, delicate spirit, and warm, genial nature of Durer, were tortured daily by contact with the precise hardness, and the irritable disposition of his beautiful, but thoroughly prosaic partner. Agnes could only estimate Durer's genius by what it would. fetch in the money market; and during the first years of wedded life, which were one continued struggle with poverty, the artist's warm soul was chilled by the cold, unsympathizing wife, who was unable to recognise merit in pictures, or fine fancies that brought in no money. We recommend this work to our readers, in the full persuasion that they will thank us for pointing out so rare a treat. of the evening repast might have suggested to more tion it is no ordinary production, for Scheffer's adfastidious minds. The ill use made of her bounty mirable imitation of middle-age German is extremely appears to have disgusted the good fairy, for we do difficult to render into equivalent English; and Mrs. not find her or any of her kindred affording such Stoddart has, as we imagine, satisfied the most fastifacilities for ameliorating the condition of the labour- dious critic on this point. The work itself is in the ing classes in the present day. But the wish of all form of a diary, supposed to have been kept by the reothers, with which in this lovely season we sympathize nowned Nürnberger during the greater part of his life. most cordially, is that of, we believe, Haynes Bailey-It unfolds the innumerable subtle causes of unhappiness yes, reader, absurd as it may appear to you, we would fain be a butterfly; that is, we would fain, preserving our own identity, assume the external form and proportions of a butterfly, -sport wings, and eschew waistcoats,-take to down, and dispense with broad cloth,—in a word, exchange our outward man for an outward insect. Only fancy! how glorious it would be in the early dawn of a bright summer morning, to rise, not exactly with the lark, -for that feathered vocalist, who, like Jenny Lind, were goes up so very high, might consider we taking a liberty by intruding upon his exalted station, and hint his opinion by breakfasting on us; -to spring from our moss-rose bed, wash our anThe "Stumble on the Threshold," by Mary Molestennæ in a dew-drop (no shaving), dispatch something minute and ethereal by way of tea and bread-worth, is an interesting account of the short career of and-butter, and begin the day's amusement. Ah! a promising young man, who stumbled on the threshold that "roving for ever from flower to flower," very of life, over a challenge and a court-martial, and who pretty pastime, on my word! and the "kissing all was of too sensitive a nature to be able to forget in his after success the unfortunate false step at first. buds that are pretty and sweet"-pleasant, butno, not wrong in a butterfly-it is his proper business, It is, we believe, Miss (or Mistress) Molesworth's his mission, his "vocation, Hal," the aim and end of first appearance on the stage of literature; and, judghis ephemeral existence. Then in the heat of the ing by the work before us, which, without containing day, wearied with the pursuit of Beauty under her evidence of any very deep or original thought, is full thousand flower-shapes, conceive reclining in the bell of agreeable matter and clever writing, we pronounce of a water lily, and shaded by the fragrant petals, her a promising débutante. gazing up into the pure blue sky, soothed by the murmurs of the rippling stream. How entirely at such a moment should we forget the gnawing cares and deeper sorrows of life! and musing dreamily on well-loved faces of gentle friends, the young, the true, the loyal-hearted, whom absence cannot estrange, nor death deprive us of, save for a time, think that though their path on earth may indeed be apart from ours, we may hope to meet again in that distant spirit-land, so aptly symbolized by the calm blue arch above us, which would not be perfect heaven were those loved faces wanting. Reader, what say you-have butterflies such day-dreamings? But the mention of your name, dear reader, has aroused us to the recollection, that just at present we are not a butterfly, but an editor, (we cannot imagine a much greater contrast!) and that you are expecting us to attend to our duty; we will do so without further preamble. We must apologise to the admirers of the Oxford Diary for the very short portion we are able to present to them-in August, however, we shall hope to be more liberal. Amongst the books which have lately come under our notice, we may mention the "Artist's Married Life," being that of Albert Durer, translated by Mrs. Stoddart Lastly, we have been delighted with a charming little book for children, entitled, "How to win Love, or Rhoda's Lesson." The authoress, Miss Mulock, is a young lady who possesses talents which only require developement to entitle her to a very high place among the female writers of the day. She is a close and accurate observer of men and things, and has obtained an unusual insight into that complicated mystery, the human heart. Her style is simple and graphic; her characters are well defined, and true to nature, and in the pure feeling and bright happy spirit which pervade her writings, we recognise evidences of a mind well calculated for the task she has undertaken in the little work before us, viz. to teach children how, by the influence of a sweet unselfish temper, affection may be gained under circumstances apparently the most adverse. We strongly recommend the work to all parents and guardians plagued with the care of pugnacious juveniles; and if they like to read and apply the moral themselves, so much the better, for, if we mistake not, there are a great many grown-up boys and girls who would be none the worse for diligently taking to heart "Rhoda's Lesson." our rare a treat. The "Stumble on the Thresho superior to any little prejudices which "les antecedens" from the German of Leopold Sch of the evening repast might have suggested to more tion it is no ordinary production fastidious minds. The ill use made of her bounty mirable imitation of middle-age ( appears to have disgusted the good fairy, for we do difficult to render into equivalen not find her or any of her kindred affording such Stoddart has, as we imagine, sati facilities for ameliorating the condition of the labour- dious critic on this point. The v ing classes in the present day. But the wish of all form of a diary, supposed to have others, with which in this lovely season we sympathizenowned Nürnberger during the g most cordially, is that of, we believe, Haynes Bailey-It unfolds the innumerable subtle yes, reader, absurd as it may appear to you, we would which spring up in an ill-assorted fain be a butterfly; that is, we would fain, preserving delicate spirit, and warm, genial n own identity, assume the external form and tortured daily by contact with t proportions of a butterfly, sport wings, and and the irritable disposition of eschew waistcoats,-take to down, and dispense thoroughly prosaic partner. Ag with broad cloth,-in a word, exchange our outward mate Durer's genius by what it man for an outward insect. Only fancy! how glo- money market; and during the rious it would be in the early dawn of a bright life, which were one continued s summer morning, to rise, not exactly with the lark, the artist's warm soul was chil -for that feathered vocalist, who, like Jenny Lind, sympathizing wife, who was una goes up so very high, might consider we were in pictures, or fine fancies that b taking a liberty by intruding upon his exalted sta- We recommend this work to o tion, and hint his opinion by breakfasting on us; persuasion that they will thank u -to spring from our moss-rose bed, wash our antennæ in a dew-drop (no shaving), dispatch something minute and ethereal by way of tea and bread-worth, is an interesting account and-butter, and begin the day's amusement. Ah! a promising young man, who stum that "roving for ever from flower to flower," very of life, over a challenge and a co pretty pastime, on my word! and the "kissing all was of too sensitive a nature to buds that are pretty and sweet"-pleasant, but- his after success the unfortunat no, not wrong in a butterfly-it is his proper business, It is, we believe, Miss (or M his mission, his "vocation, Hal," the aim and end of first appearance on the stage of his ephemeral existence. Then in the heat of the ing by the work before us, which day, wearied with the pursuit of Beauty under her evidence of any very deep or or thousand flower-shapes, conceive reclining in the bell of agreeable matter and clever of a water lily, and shaded by the fragrant petals, her a promising débutante. gazing up into the pure blue sky, soothed by the murmurs of the rippling stream. How entirely at such a moment should we forget the gnawing cares and deeper sorrows of life! and musing dreamily on well-loved faces of gentle friends, the young, the true, the loyal-hearted, whom absence cannot estrange, nor death deprive us of, save for a time, think that though their path on earth may indeed be apart from ours, we may hope to meet again in that distant spirit-land, so aptly symbolized by the calm blue arch above us, which would not be perfect heaven were those loved faces wanting. Reader, what say you-have butterflies such day-dreamings? Lastly, we have been delighted book for children, entitled, "H Rhoda's Lesson." The author young lady who possesses talents velopement to entitle her to a very female writers of the day. She is observer of men and things, and usual insight into that compli human heart. Her st is sa characters are well d the pure feeling a vade her writings well calculated the little work by the influen tion may be the most ad But the mention of your name, dear reader, has aroused us to the recollection, that just at present we are not a butterfly, but an editor, (we cannot imagine a much greater contrast!) and that you are expecting us to attend to our duty; we will do so without to all pare further preamble. pugnac We must apologise to the admirers of the Oxford apply Diary for the very short portion we are able to present i to them-in August, however, we shall hope to be more liberal. Amongst the books which have lately come our notice, we may mention the "Artist's Marri being that of Albert Durer, translated by M dbe 65 o offer; no measures to recomsteeped in tears. Never before v; and now she felt bewildered he trial. At one moment she r-her only one-the playmate the friend of her youth; in the upon the shoulder of her lover. year in that one long, long day. vas over: the last whisper had at uttered it; the last embrace st look of love exchanged; the ge with its four swift posters and Celia threw herself into her to sustain unaided the bitter cases, to those who are left bee at once becomes monotonous hing in long-accustomed scenes to lighten the sting of separawith their favourite nooks and 1ory to a tenacity which forbids ges, with their peculiar sights, are full of busy associations: to a duty, and sorrow into a ; while those who have, on these lares and penates, soon by strange gods, and to bow ship. Every hour brings its lty; the thousand trivialities t in itself, nevertheless comoperates powerfully upon the e memories of the past, and e present. ur two young friends. First |