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Book Notices.

Uncle Tom's Cabin; or, Life Among the |
Lowly. By HARRIET BEECHER Stowe.
Boston J. P. Jewett & Co.

"You would think no harm in a child's caressing a large dog, even if he was black; but a creature that can think, and reason, and feel, and is immortal, you shudder at; Rarely has a book attained so rapid and confess it, cousin. I know the feeling extensive a circulation as the above. If the among some of you northerners well perusal of it is likely to interfere with the enough. Not that there is a particle of 'finality of the compromise," we much fear virtue in our not having it; but custom that cliques, caucuses, conventions, generals with us does what Christianity ought to do, and all will be out-generalled by a woman.obliterates the feeling of personal prejuWe understand the circulation is by no dice. I have often noticed, in my travels means confined to the North. Indeed, we north, how much stronger this was with are inclineed to believe that Southerners will you than with us. You loathe them as enjoy the graphic sketches with which it you would a snake or a toad, yet you are abounds as much as the most ultra-aboli- indignant at their wrongs. You would tionist, even though they may see some not have them abused; but you don't want things in it that will provoke a smile of to have anything to do with them yourwonder and incredulity. We see by the selves. You would send them to Africa, English papers that it has also attained a out of your sight and smell, and then send great popularity there, and is issued weekly a missionary or two to do up all self-denial in penny numbers. of elevating them compendiously. Is n't that it?"

We take, almost at random, a few brief sketches; were we to insert all that we had marked from a book the copyright of which is so valuable we might expose ourselves to an action for trespass.

Poor Tom has been "toted" down to the "lower country," and has just been purchased by a kind-hearted Orleanian and becomes the attendant and pet of his little daughter:

A

gay laugh from the court rang through the silken curtains of the verandah. St. Clare stepped out, and lifting up the curtain, laughed too.

"What is it?" said Miss Ophelia, coming to the railing.

There sat Tom, on a little mossy seat in the court, every one of his button-holes stuck full of cape jessamines, and Eva gayly laughing, was hanging a wreath of roses round his neck; and then she sat down on his knee, like a chip-sparrow, still laughing.

"O, Tom, you look so funny!"

Tom had a sober, benevolent smile, and seemed, in his quiet way, to be enjoying the fun quite as much as his little mistress. He lifted his eyes, when he saw his master, with a half-deprecating, apologetic air. "How can you let her?" said Miss Ophelia.

"Why not?" said St. Clare.

"Well, cousin," said Miss Ophelia, thoughtfully, "there may be some truth in this."

"Your

“What would the poor and lowly do, without children?" said St. Clare, leaning on the railing, and watching Eva, as she tripped off, leading Tom with her. little child is your only true democrat. Tom, now, is a hero to Eva; his stories are wonders in her eyes, his songs and Methodist hymns are better than an opera, and the traps and little bits of trash in his pocket a mine of jewels, and he the most wonderful Tom that ever wore a black skin. This is one of the roses of Eden that the Lord has dropped down expressly for the poor and lowly, who get few enough of any other kind."

We venture to take a rather spicy portion from the last act of a fugitive slave serio-comical farce; premising, however, that happily such scenes are confined almost entirely to the ideal world.

"Ye see ye get jist as much for him dead as alive in Kentucky," he said, coolly, as he wiped his pistol on his coat-sleeve.

George sprang backward,-Eliza uttered a shriek,―the ball had passed close to his hair, had nearly grazed the cheek of his wife, and struck in the tree above.

"It's nothing, Eliza," said George,

Why I don't know, it seems so dread- { quickly. ful!"

"Thee'd better keep out of sight, with

thy speechifying," said Phineas; "they're mean scamps."

66

Now, Jim," said George, "look that your pistols are all right, and watch that pass with me. The first man that shows himself I fire at; you take the second, and so on. It won't do, you know, to waste two shots on one."

"But what if you don't hit?" "I shall hit," said George, coolly. "Good! now, there's stuff in that fellow," muttered Phineas, between his teeth.

The party below, after Marks had fired, stood, for a moment, rather undecided.

"I think you must have hit some on 'em," said one of the men. "I heard a squeal!

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"I'm going right up for one," said Tom. "I never was afraid of niggers, and I ain't going to be now. Who goes after?" he said, springing up the rocks.

George heard the words distinctly. He drew up his pistol, examined it, pointed i towards that point in the defile where the first man would appear.

One of the most courageous of the party followed Tom, and, the way being thus made, the whole party began pushing up the rock, -the hindermost pushing the front ones faster than they would have gone of themselves. On they came, and in a moment the burly form of Tom appeared in sight, almost at the verge of the chasm.

George fired,--the shot entered his side, --but, though wounded, he would not retreat, but with a yell like that of a mad bull, he was leaping right across the chasm into the party.

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Friend," said Phineas, suddenly stepping to the front, and meeting him with a push from his long arms, "thee is n't wanted here."

Down he fell into the chasm, crackling down among trees, bushes, logs, loose stones, till he lay, bruised and groaning, thirty feet below. The fall might have killed him, had it not been broken and moderated by his clothes catching in the branches of a large tree; but he came down with some force, however,―more than was at all agreeable or convenient.

round and pick up Tom, there, while I run and get on to my horse, to go back for help, that's you ;" and, without minding the hootings and jeers of his company, Marks was as good as his word, and was soon seen galloping away.

"Was ever such a sneaking varmint?" said one of the men; to come on his business, and he clear out and leave us this yer way

י!

"Well, we must pick up that feller," said another. "Cuss me if I much care whether he is dead or alive."

The men, led by the groans of Tom, scrambled and crackled through stumps, logs and bushes, to where that hero lay groaning and swearing, with alternate vehemence.

"Ye keep it a going pretty loud, Tom," said one. "Ye much hurt?"

"Don't know. Get me up, can't ye? Blast that infernal Quaker! If it hadn't been for him, I'd a pitched some on 'em down here, to see how they liked it."

With much labor and groaning, the fallen hero was assisted to rise; and, with one holding him up under each shoulder, they got him as far as the horses.

"If you could only get me a mile back to that ar tavern. Give me a handkerchief or something, to stuff into this place, and stop this infernal bleeding."

George looked over the rocks, and saw them trying to lift the burly form of Tom into the saddle. After two or three ineffectual attempts, he reeled, and fell heavily to the ground.

"O, I hope he is n't killed !" said Eliza, who, with all the party stood watching the proceeding.

66

Why not?" said Phineas; "

right."

66

serves him

Because, after death comes the judgment," said Eliza.

"Yes," said the old woman, who had been groaning and praying, in her Methodist fashion, during all the encounter, "it's an awful case for the poor critter's soul."

"On my word, they're leaving him, I do believe," said Phineas.

It was true, for after some appearance of "Lord help us, they are perfect devils!"irresolution and consultation, the whole party said Marks, heading the retreat down the got on their horses and rode away. rocks with much more of a will than he had joined the ascent, while all the party came tumbling precipitately after him,the fat constable, in particular, blowing and puffing in a very energetic manner.

"I say, fellers,” said Marks, "you jist go

The Home Journal. Fulton-street.

New-York: 111

Among the immense number of exchanges we receive weekly, perhaps the

The au

most interesting, instructive, and amus-, under the superintendence of Mr. Charles ing of all is the Home Journal, con- A. Dana, a gentleman who has long occuducted by Messrs. George P. Morris and pied a very influential position in connecN. P. Willis. The very large sale it has tion with the New York press. attained is the inevitable result of a per-thenticity of the information contained in sistence in the resolution to make it a the text may, therefore, be implicitly relied good "family paper." Not only are all on, and we can speak from personal obserobjectionable matter and advertisements vation of the accuracy of many of the views excluded so as really to make it a welcome in the part before us, both on this Continent visitor to the domestic circle, but every and in Europe, and they are, in addition, variety of taste may find in it some suit- simply as works of art, quite equal to any able food. N. P. Willis's letters from the illustrations we ever saw Part I. contains West India Islands, a glowing account of a view of the Falls of Niagara; the Tower life and manners in those warm latitudes, of London; the Hohenasburg, in Wurtemhave formed a prominent feature for seve- burg; Fingal's Cave, in Ireland; and the ral weeks past. There is also a series of Cathedral Church of Malaga, Spain. It is tales of rustic reminiscences of England, to be published fortnightly, at 25 cents a giving a capital idea of provincial life in number, or $3 the volume; and as "the fast anchored isle." Another portion further inducement, each subscriber to of the paper is devoted to matters exclusively important to the ladies, and the remainder is filled up with original stories; European and home chit-chat; literary, artistic, and scientific intelligence-and, in fact, everything that can make it an interesting Family Magazine, which it really is.

Meyer's Universum; or, Views of the most Remarkable Places and Objects of all Countries, in Steel Engravings, by Distinguished Artists; with Descriptive and Historical Text, by Eminent Writers in Europe and America. Edited by CHARLES A. DANA. New York: Hermann J. Meyer.

Vol. I. is presented with a superb steel plate of the "Jack-in-Office," after Landseer's celebrated picture. We have no doubt of its success, and can confidently recommend it to all our readers.

Five Years in an English University.
By C. A. BRISTED. In 2 vols. New
York: G. P. Putnam.

interest. They are very full and minute
upon all the subjects whereof they treat;
and they certainly present a very graphic
picture of life in an English University of
the first rank, wherein the author achieved
scholastic honors amidst the highest com-
petition of Britain, which reflects credit
alike upon his capacity and his studious
assiduity.

The volumes before us are of no common

The publisher informs us that this work is published on the assumption that all Mr. Bristed tells us that he persons desire to know foreign countries, had three reasons for writing the work. but few are able to command the means In the first place, very little was know in and the time necessary for distant travel, this country concerning the English uniwhile even that few must leave many of the versities; in the second, most of what we most interesting and instructive parts of had heard respecting those institutions had the world unvisited and unexplored. This come through the medium of popular desire "Meyer's Universum" is intended novels, and other light literature; "freto supply. It will contain views of the quently written by non-university men, most remarkable cities, public edifices, and almost always conveying an erroneous and natural scenes, in every zone and on and unfavorable idea of the universities;" every continent; accompanied by letter- while his third and principal object was to press descriptions, which, while conveying show that "there are points in an English the most accurate information, will seek to education which may be studied with profit clothe the dry details of facts and figures by Americans, and from which they may with something of the vitality of nature, derive valuable hints." In a brief illusand to enable the reader, while he observes tration of these reasons for writing the bistorical and political phenomena, to gain work, our author farther remarks, that some insight into the causes from which "few Americans have the opportunity of they spring. The literary department is growing up into manhood among half a

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generation of the most highly-educated class in England;" nor, he frankly adds, "is it desirable that many should have,' and that he himself owed it to an accident. It has been his object to give a picture of University Life just as it is. Should the reader not assent to his conclusions, he will, at any rate, have a tolerable idea of the facts.

being original, and the productions of the very best literary talent that can be engaged. In a word, we have no hesitation in saying that this is by far the best magazine in the United States, so far as copyright matter is concerned, for they do not, like their laggard rivals in the race for popularity, "make up" a number from the selections of the English press, or thirdrate native talent.

Kossuth Coppered; or, the Banquet at the
Capital of Laputa. NewYork: T. Freze.

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A Faggot of French Sticks; or, Paris in 1851. By Sir FRANCIS HEAD, Author of "Bubbles from the Brunnen of Nassau. New York: G. P. Putnam. There is something agreeable to us in The to us unintelligible title of this the fact of a man who sees quickly, and pamphlet, "Kossuth Coppered," first atdecides without hesitation, telling us how tracted our attention, and, puzzled as to he came by his impressions, and why he its meaning, we after some pains succeeddecided so suddenly; and this our enter- ed in learning, from one of the initiated, taining author does. Sir Francis tells us, in that "coppering" was "an artful dodge his preface, that during his last brief resi- well known to and much approved by gendence he spent his time in taking a few tlemen addicted to the excitement afforded notes. Excepting on these occasions. he by the gaming-table. The accomplished dined and breakfasted by himself, English-individual who kindly enlightened us on the man-like. He never once entered a point was at much pains to explain the intheatre, and only once a café. He neither genuity of the process, but, disgusted at received nor paid visits; but if he avoided length with our obtuseness, displayed so other society, he found, and seems greatly great an eagerness to "show us how it was to have enjoyed the society of the public done"-that we suddenly remembered a streets; in other words, and his own, his pressing engagement elsewhere. Nor are sole amusement consisted in collecting the contents unworthy of the title-page, literary sticks, picked up exactly in the as a vein of slang and vulgarity is traceorder and state in which he chanced to find them. The "faggot" which these "sticks" compose, we commend to the tables of our readers, as calculated to afford a great deal of sparkling light, even though they may not impart any very great amount of vital heat.

The Knickerbocker Magazine. New
York: S. Hueston.

able throughout every page, evidencing that the author is in his element only when indulging in the lowest depths of the vernacular, and considers it no privilege to " write the tongue that Shakspere wrote.' The following is a specimen of the author's style, taken at random :

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"And here the orator explained his theme

By picking up a saucer of ice cream, And gave the audience a chance to shout, We have repeatedly of late given our And pour its wild enthusiasm out!” readers an opportunity of forming an The shade of Peter Pindar has certainly opinion for themselves as to the merits of not been in "spiritual rapping" communithe above periodical, by transferring some cation with the author of "Kossuth Copof its best tales into our own columns. In pered;" indeed the work would be beneath making these and similar selections, we, as criticism were it not for the redeeming quala matter of ordinary honesty, always ac-ity of the illustrations, which are from the knowledge the sources from which they are derived, and should be happy to see the press generally follow our example, as we frequently see articles originally published by ourselves remorselessly transferred to other papers without any acknowledge

pencil of Frank Bellew, an artist rapidly rising in public estimation, and, indeed, already without a rival in his peculiar style. The " Apparition of the Russian Bear" is one of the best things we have ever seen, and we hope shortly to see Bellew's pencil We have no doubt our friend employed in a work more congenial to the Knickerbocker suffers greatly from the public taste, and, we trust, to his own, as same annoyance, for his rich monthly con- it is at best an ungracious task to assist in tents offer a rare prize for the pirates, and lampooning such a man as the subject of he has no means of reprisal, all his reading this "poem."

ment.

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THE County of Essex, and indeed all the, of the piety or superstition of their ancestors, adjoining shires on the eastern coast-Norfolk, Suffolk, and Lincoln, yet abound in monumental relics of the past glories of Romanism, in the shape of abbeys, convents, market crosses, or monumental shrines. Many of those ecclesiastical structures which survived the introduction of Protestantism, as ushered in by the more imperious than zealous Henry VIII., postponed the day of their destruction little more than a century, as the fanatic Roundheads, during the progress and after the settlement of the Civil War, made systematic demolition of all places of worship devoted to the tenets of "the ungodly"-in other words, of all who were not Puritans. But even the relentless hate of the fierce but conscientious zealots of the days of Cromwell were fortunately inadequate to the task of totally destroying all the beautiful monuments

as is attested by the many ancient ruins still
to be found all over the island-one, an abbey at
Orford, in Suffolk is "a venerable pile,” the
date of whose erection is lost in the long vista
of ages. It is a mass of tottering ruins, each
year lessening the shapeliness of its structure,
the very plan of which is now lost, only a
few pillars and a part of the outer walls re-
maining. Time, however, has yet to fix his
mark so deeply on other relics of the past--as
may be seen in the annexed cut of the Catholic
Convent of Ingatestone, a beautiful village in
the county of Essex, about twenty-five miles
from the metropolis. It is yet in a perfectly
habitable condition, being at present devoted
to the original purposes of its erection-the
training of religious recluses.
Our space
warns us not to pursue for the present this
interesting subject.

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