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is presented to us in a noble guise -a setting worthy of that renowned personage. The poem frequently rises into strains of great beauty, and anon swells with bold language, a suitable complement to the importance and greatness of the subject. Of "Hero and Leander," and the remaining minor productions and translations of the dramatist, but little room is left to speak. The first two books, or Sestiads, of "Hero and Leander," were all which Marlowe completed in their entirety; Chapman added the rest, working into his contribution some two hundred lines of another Sestiad which the conceiver of the task left behind him. The beauty and the swing of this poem have been fully and widely acknowledged; it is at times gorgeous in its imagery, and it is everywhere pervaded by a true poetic feeling. It has the merit of being as much an original work as a translation, for Marlowe did not suffer himself to be bound to the form from which he extracted the idea. We obtain a better apprehension of the width of the poet's imagination from this work than perhaps from any other which he has written.

The principle upon which he translated these Sestiads he did not always carry into his translations, the reproduction of Ovid's "Elegies," for example, being a line-for-line translation. His rendering of the "Elegies" was, after his death, fixed upon by the enraged bishops for the indignity of burning by the common hangman; but we know that the publication of the translation was not of the dramatist's own doing. Were it not for the fear of doing injustice to the reader in supposing that he was not familiar with one of the most charming pastoral poems in the English language, we should quote the lines entitled the "Passionate Shepherd to his Love," in which Marlowe has reached the perfection of sweetness and grace. It will be remembered that it was to these lines Sir Walter Raleigh indited a reply, which, though it exhibits much beauty of expression, is by no means equal to the poem that called it forth. One extraordinary translation of Marlowe's should be mentioned before closing this brief review-that, namely, of the First Book of Lucan, the latter part of which may be described as a rushing torrent of eloquence. No halting weakness is discoverable; the second workman has entirely possessed himself of the spirit of the first, and revels in his strength of vision. The whole thing is a dazzling coruscation of metaphor, description, and illustration.

Marlowe, indubitably, was a magnificent genius. His grand imagination impressed itself even upon his own age; and those who unfeignedly disliked the man were compelled to admit his power. The charges brought against him on the ground of the negative character of his religious views received strength and importance, doubtless, from the feeling that such an individual must have immense influ. ence over others. A connection has been established between his scepticism and those dramas in which with keen delight he dwells upon topics which were in his day supposed to be placed far above speculation and inquiry. His death was regarded as a judgment upon his wicked life, and as a reward for his blasphemy and infidelity. The terrible nature of his religious delinquencies is fully set forth in Beard's "Theatre of God's Judgments," published in 1597. We there read that Marlowe, who is designated as "a play-maker and a poet of scurrilitie," by "giving too large a swing to his owne wit, and suffering his lust to have the full reines, fell (not without just desert) to that outrage and extremitie, that hee denied God and his sonne Christ, and not onely in word blasphemed the Trinitie, but also (as is credibly reported) wrote bookes against it, affirming our Saviour to be but a deceiver, and Moses to be but a conjurer and seducer of the people, and the Holy Bible to bee but vaine and idle stories, and all religion but a device of policie. But see what a hooke the Lord put into the nostrils of this barking dogge! So it fell out, that, as he purposed to stab one whom he owed a grudge unto, with his dagger, the other party perceiving so avoyded the stroke, that, withal catching hold of his wrist, hee stabbed his owne dagger into his owne head in such sorte that, notwithstanding all the meanes of surgerie that could be wrought, hee shortly after died thereof; the manner of his

death being so terrible (for hee even cursed and blasphemed to his last gaspe, and together with his breath an oath flew out of his mouth) that it was not only a manifest signe of God's judgment, but also an horrible and fearfulle terror to all that beheld him." And then the record adds, with the glee which could only fill the heart of a religious enthusiast and not of an ordinary historian, "Herein did the justice of God most notably appeare, in that hee compelled his owne hand which had written those blasphemies to bee the instrument to punish him, and that in his brain which had devised the same." A ballad, entitled "The Atheist's Tragedie," was also published, setting forth the heinousness of Marlowe's guilt in a religious point of view; and a prose document is in existence which goes more fully than the ballad into the various points of his heterodoxy. The dramatist is charged with affirming that he could concoct a better religion than the one then in vogue; that the Apostles were base fellows, and, with the exception of Paul, were men of no wit or worth; that all Protestants were hypocritical asses; and further (and this seems to have been considered the acme of disgrace and villainy, for the charge is printed in italics), that he, Marlowe, had as good a right to coin as the Queen of England. There appears to have been little or no foundation for most of these charges; all is haze and perplexity in regard to them; and what positive evidence there is frequently tends to damage the character of Marlowe's assailants rather than his own. Yet as regards his theological views, the probability is that they were not more greatly unorthodox than those of many intellectual men and advanced thinkers of the present day. But the godsend of a colonial Bishop never came to the dramatist, and the full weight of religious bigotry and intolerance was thus expended upon his name and fame alone. There were none to keep him in countenance, whilst hands were lifted up in dismay and deprecation against him.

As an

We can now regard him more composedly, and in the light of his work rather than as the individual man. oak springing forth in an unlikely place, amongst plants and trees of puny growth, we behold this poet rising above his fellows, and stretching forth his giant arms in the early morn of dramatic literature. Appearing in an age marked by violence and excess, and devoted principally to the gratification of the fleshly lusts, the wonder is, not that he failed to disentangle himself altogether from what was impure and unworthy, but that he shook himself free so largely from the influences which had hitherto choked genius in its inception. To the prodigious strength of his own will and intellect was this result due; and though his habits may have been dissolute, and his ideas steeped in Paganism, the spirit of a sublime independence animated his soul. Beneath the full scope and license given to the passions in his works, there struggles the thought which is hereafter to make men great. His face is in shadow; it is one upon which the sun never fully shone; but even through the sombre veil which envelops it we see that the features are notable and majestic. He emerges from the darkness of one age, but does not behold the full effulgence of its sucHis perpetual tribute is that of the illustrious pioneer. He divides the honors and the crown of Columbus; for like him, he discovered a new world.

cessor.

NICOLAS TRUBNER.

AMONG publishers who by their activity have exerted a civilizing and enduring influence in the domain of general knowledge, and established new lines of commercial intercourse with distant countries and peoples, Nicolas Trübner occupies a very prominent place. He was born in 1817, at Heidelberg, where his father carried on the business of a goldsmith. As a boy he manifested great vivacity of temperament and manners, and in play and studies he was always the leader of his comrades. The circulating library of a family related to his own absorbed half of his leisure time, literature and travels engaging his special interest. His father wished him to become a goldsmith, but mechan

ical work was not to the boy's taste; to send him to college would involve too much expense, and so it was decided to have him enter a bookseller's shop. He served his first apprenticeship with a bookseller named Mohr. This gentleman, who conducted his business in a very honorable way, was peculiarly fitted by his firm and considerate bearing to inspire the assiduous stripling with both respect and love for the calling he had been induced to choose. Some thirty years ago the university of Heidelberg enjoyed the highest consideration. All branches of science were represented by teachers of distinction, such as Thibaut, Fachoria, Mittermayer, Paulus, Schlosser, Tiedemann, Chelius, and others who were famous beyond the narrow limits of the university. Most of these men were on a friendly and social footing with the house of Mohr, and the intercourse with them had an energizing and informing effect on Trübner's mind. His apprenticeship being completed, he entered in 1839, the old and well-known establishment of Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht in Göttingen as an assistant. Subsequently he entered the service of Hoffmann & Campe in Hamburg. Here, instead of the grave and solemn-looking professors of the Heidelberg university with whom he had hitherto been in contact, he became acquainted with the keen and fervent leaders of "Young Germany," and the interminable libel suits and press chi caneries which they and their publishers at that time had to endure. In 1842 he accepted a situation at Willman's in Frankfort, whose business then included a line of foreign publications, principally English. There he made the acquaintance of Mr. Longman, of London, who secured Trübner for his own establishment. Working zealously and unremittingly in the extensive business of this house, he acquired a thorough insight into all the details and peculiarities of the English booktrade. Having reached middle age Mr. Trübner conceived the idea of forming an establishment of his own. During his service as an assistant he had busied himself largely with various private studies, especially philological, and had gathered a large and varied mass of materials. With funds furnished him by some friends, he engaged in the business of introducing and circulating American literature in England. A journey through the principal cities of the United States procured him many valuable business connections. A catalogue published under the title of " Trubner's Bibliographical Guide to American Literature" was received with just appreciation, not only in the United States, but even in France and Germany. It was the first work which gave a systematic and comprehensive synopsis of American literature and had, therefore, great value for the American as well as the general scholar. In recognition of the value of this work several learned societies of the United States elected Mr. Trübner an honorary member. A well-merited tribute was rendered him in "Allibone's Dictionary of English and American Authors," Philadelphia, 1871. Desirous of extending his business, Mr. Trübner directed his attention to the literature of Asia, and established lines of communication with its principal cities for the export and import of literary works. As a repository for the scientific results of this colossal intercourse, Mr. Trübner founded a special literary periodical entitled "Trübner's American and Oriental Literary Record," the object of which is to give a monthly synopsis of all important works issued in North and South America, India, China, Australia, and the English colonies, including also the most notable literary productions of Europe. This monthly periodical has been published for a number of years and is transmitted to all parts of the civilized world.

This extensive activity has been crowned with remarkable success. The publishing establishment of Mr. Trübner is in its line one of the foremost in London; its relations

with foreign countries are so comprehensive that thirtythree assistants hardly suffice for the work. The management and classification of the works in Sanscrit and Arabic are intrusted to competent persons specially versed in Oriental languages.

Mr. Trübner's list of publications forms an elegant volume of 156 pages and is particularly rich in Oriental liter

ature, Archæology and Philosophy. It records nearly 1400 of his own publications, among which are many comprising numerous volumes and annual sets. The appendix is made up of a number of valuable works published for the English government under the title, "Calendars of State Papers and Chronicles and Memorials of Great Britain and Ireland during the Middle Ages," the sale and distribution of which are committed to Mr. Trübner's care. It is an undertaking resembling the publications issued in Germany entitled "Monumenta Germanica."

Mr. Trübner is the agent for forty-seven offices and learned societies in England, America, Denmark, and Sweden. At the coronation of Oscar II. of Sweden, Mr. Trübner published a memorial pamphlet which gives an historical synopsis of Sweden, with a collection of poems by the present king in an English translation. The publishing establishment of Mr. Trübner is situated in Ludgate Hill in a five-story building of Gothic style with a dash of Oriental architecture. The relations of the house with the East are aptly suggested by sculptured figures of elephants supporting the roof. The store is on the groundfloor and has room for 30,000 volumes which are placed in galleries, and can all be reached without ladders. Adjoining are offices for business relating to the United States and the English government. The cost of this building, all parts of which were specially adapted and arranged for facilitating the business of the house, amounted to 250,000 gulden.

Mr. Trübner's enterprise and energy have met with notable success. He is married to a lady of great intelligence and amiability, the daughter of the Belgian Consul Delepierre in London.

The foundation of the university library of Strasburg was encouraged and materially promoted by Mr. Trübner's numerous and valuable gifts.

His agents in Peking, Calcutta, Teheran, Constantinople, Bulang, Cape Town, and Melbourne take notice of all important works as they appear, and send them to London whence they are distributed to the leading libraries on the Continent.

FOREIGN NOTES.

FELICIEN DAVID bas completed the composition of a grand opera entitled "L'Indien.”

FOLLOWING the example set by Verdi in his Requiem for Manzoni, a Neapolitan composer named De Giosa has written a Requiem for Donizetti.

WILLIAM ALLINGHAM, the poet, was married last month to Miss Helen Paterson, a very skilful artiste in water-colors and drawings on wood.

A VOLUME of notices and papers relative to the funeral obsequies of F. D. Guerrazzi has just appeared at Leghorn, the proceeds from the sale of which are to go towards the subscription for his monument.

THE great gallery of the Louvre facing the banks of the Seine, after three years' work, will be shortly opened to the public. Its whole length is 700 mètres. Rubens' "History of Queen Marie de Medicis " occupies one fourth of the gallery, which will be filled with paintings by masters whose works have hitherto not found a place in the collection.

A LETTER from Naples, in the Börsenzeitung, says that brigandage in Sicily is daily assuming larger dimensions. "Italy is perhaps the only state," says the correspondent, "in the whole of the civilized world where a band of robbers spread over a territory of hundreds of square miles is regularly organized, and pursues its misdeeds under the very eyes of the authorities."

GEORGE ROUTLEDGE AND SONS announce a new edition of Hogarth's Works, to be published in about thirty monthly parts, which will contain nearly seventy more plates than any former edition. The text will be based on that of Nichols and Ireland, but much new matter, bio

graphical and anecdotal, illustrating many of the real characters delineated by Hogarth, will be incorporated. There will also be a life of the artist, containing much new information. Mr. James Maidment is to be the editor.

A REMARKABLE polychromatic monument has recently been raised in Florence to the memory of a young Indian prince who died in that town in 1870, on his way back from England to his native land. His body, according to his own desire, was burnt on the banks of the Arno, and this monument has been erected by his friends on the spot where the strange funeral rites were celebrated. The mausoleum is of Oriental style of architecture, its chief feature being a colored bust of the young prince, said to be a good likeness. An inscription in English, Italian, and two Oriental dialects, on the four sides of the monument, states that it was erected "to the memory of the Indian Prince Rajaram Chuttraputti, Maharajah of Kolhapur, who died in Florence, at the age of twenty-one, on the 30th of November, 1870." Charles Mant, Captain R. E., and an American sculptor, Mr. C. F. Fuller, are the artists of this unusual monument.

THE last number of the London Court Journal says:

"Mr. Henry M. Stanley has at length left on his perilous exploration of Africa, a work which will continue probably through two years. A farewell dinner of a private character was given on the eve of his departure. Mr. Stanley sets out in good spirits and in the best of health, but he does not at all conceal from himself the perilous nature of his undertaking, and the possibility of perishing in its ex ecution. Upon his former expedition in search of Livingstone, he knew comparatively nothing of the dangers that he would encounter, and of the obstacles that he would have to overcome; but now he goes with his eyes fully open, and with a very vivid realization of the hardships and perils that lie before him. We hope he will keep up his flesh as well as keep in it; when he returned he only weighed 110 pounds, and has gained 60 pounds more Stanley since.'

THE French Academy has held its annual meeting for the award of prizes for virtue, chiefly recompensing those persons who, out of their little, shared with the unfortunate, that said, as it were, "I am poor, and I wish to be more so in order to do good to those around me." Rewards were bestowed on a young girl who only earns twenty-four sous a day, supporting out of it an old bed-ridden workman, who adopted her in her infancy; on a servant who though poor herself supports her once rich mistress, fallen into a state of indigence, but who lives in the illusion she is wealthy still; on a clergyman that devotes his immense fortune to succor the destitute, and is so much in want, that the Academy awards its crown to such needy virtue This desire of persons for remaining poor, in order to be charitable, drew forth applause, as well as tears, from the spectators, and the honored worthies, never thinking of the morrow, continue their good works, satisfied with their faith in Providence, who will temper the wind to the shorn lamb. After this ceremony followed the award of prizes for excellent publications.

SPEAKING of the late Sidney Dobell, the London Academy says: "Ill health had for many years prevented him from pursuing with any steadiness or strenuousness the career of literature, and thus his name, which was made especially familiar twenty years ago by the publication of The Roman' and of Balder,' had dropped out of the common talk of literary society. Both these works commanded great attention from a large public, and the merits of both as works of literary art were somewhat fiercely fought over. We have lately been told that it is not the province of a work of art to excite the contest of different opinions, but rather to produce an harmonious pleasure. But the art of poetry, especially in its most original manifestations, has generally produced contest as well as delight. Nevertheless, there are certain minor poems of Mr. Sydney Dobell's about which contest of opinion is impossible. His weird, extraordinary ballad, Keith of Ravel ston,' with its significant refrain, is one of those little work

And some

which will live longer than most large ones. among the war poems, dealing with incidents of lowly life, strike a strong and deep chord, and express, as few things in modern literature express, the emotions of a people in war time, with the continual clashings of patriotism and of personal grief. Mr. Dobell was an intense patriot; very much a Conservative, but very much more an Englishman."

THE practice of duelling in the Prussian army has been once more formally recognized, and under certain circumstances enjoined by a Royal order, recently published in the Prussian military journals, dated May 2, 1874. The order deals generally with courts of honor and with the behavior of officers towards one another and towards the civil population. Besides strict observance of the laws of honor, dignified and polite demeanor is expected of them. They are to abstain, moreover, from games of hazard and from speculative operations on the Stock Exchange; to remember that neither luxury nor material welfare are the objects of their profession, but honor and the good of the State; to avoid giving their word of honor too easily, but once having given it, to observe it scrupulously. The senior officers will do their best to develop and keep up that spirit" which alone makes an army great;" and the and commands" will be to render more and more rare such effect of their "precepts, example, instruction, warnings, cases as can only be dealt with by courts of honor. The object of these courts is to afford officers who conceive themselves aggrieved in their honor an opportunity of redress; and any officer receiving or offering a challenge is bound to submit it to a court of honor, either personally or through a fellow-officer. The court will then take cognizance of all the circumstances of the case; when, should a duel be found necessary, "either the president of the court or one of the members will be present on the ground to see and bear witness that by the accomplishment of the duel however, are only to be permitted when some serious questhe requirements of honor have been satisfied." Duels, tion of honor is involved; and groundless attacks on the honor of an officer will be severely punished. "For," says his Majesty, "I will no more tolerate in my army an officer who wantonly attacks the honor of a comrade than one who does not know how to defend his own."

TO CHARLES SUMNER.

IN MEMORIAM.

FOR years, dear friend, but rarely had we met;
Fate in a different path our feet had set;
Space stretched between us, yet you still were near,
And friendship had no shadows of regret.

The ocean drear divided us, but naught
Obscured the interchange of word and thought;
The unbroken line of sympathy still throbbed,
And unto both its constant message brought.

And so I felt you were not far away.
The mere material distance seemed to lay
Brief barrier to our meeting, and I dreamed
That some day we should meet; ay, any day,

That we again should clasp each other's hand,
Speak as of old, and face to face should stand;
Renew the past, and plot and plan again,
As in years past we plotted and we planned.

That hope is vanished now; a sudden change
Hath borne you from me far beyond the range
Of that familiar life that here we knew,
Into a region dim and far and strange.

A vaster sea divides us now, a stretch
Across whose space we vainly strive to reach,
Whose deeps man passes never to return,
From whose far shores there comes no human speech.

In one swift moment you have passed and gone
Out on the blind way all must tread alone,
Uncompanied, unfriended, none knows where,
Gone out into the vague and vast unknown.

Gone where no mortal sense can track your flight,
Gone where Faith casts a weak and wavering light,
Where trembling Hope and Fear bewildered stray,
Lost in the pathless, silent shades of night.

Vanished forever from this world away,
From all the accidents of Night and Day,

The season's chance and change, the voice of man,
And all Life's passion, joy, hope, pain, and play.

Gone in an instant like a breath of wind,
Leaving the dead dumb instrument behind
Through which the spirit, with such wondrous art,
Thrilled its fine harmonies of sense and mind.

Gone? What is gone, and whither has it fled?
What means this dreadful utterance, He is dead?
What is this strange mysterious tie called Life,
That bindeth soul to sense by such slight thread?

Love's grasp is strong, and yet it could not hold
The somewhat that it loved; and thought is bold,
Yet strove in vain to follow where it fled,
And sank to earth, the secret all untold.

Where and what are you now? what do you know,
See, feel? Is all that was so dark below
Cleared up at last? Does memory still remain,
And do you long for us who loved you so?

In this new life does human feeling last?
Or has oblivion blotted out the Past,
All the glad joys of this warm life of sense,
And all the lights and shadows o'er it cast?

Or are you nothing now? gone like a tone
That dies to silence, or a light that shone
One gleaming moment, swift to disappear,
By death's cold breath to utter darkness blown?

To all these questions comes a silence drear
Stretched o'er Life's utmost verge with longing ear
The still soul listens, but no answer comes
Save the low heart-beats of its hope or fear.

So we return to earth; we laugh and weep,
Love, hope, despair. Time in its silent sweep
Bears us along, till, tired out at last,
Gladly we lay us down in death's deep sleep.

No matter what it brings; at least it wears
A peaceful charm of rest from all our cares.
Why should we wish to toil and struggle more?
Is not sleep sweet if no dark dreams it bears?

Look at this face where death has laid its hand: How calm it looks! how sorrowless, how grand! Life's fever over, all the passions fled,

All the lines smoothed they burn as with a brand.

Not Joy's glad smile in happiest hours it bore,
Not Love's enchanted look that once it wore,
Could lend a grace so noble, so refined,
As now it wears when Joy and Love are o'er.

And yet that peace will never soothe our pain;
He whom we loved is lost. Come back again,
Come back, we cry no, never! all our love
And all our grief cry out for him in vain.

That pictured memory graced with treasures fair,
That stored experience rich with learning rare,
Those garnered thoughts and those affections fine-
Are they all squandered, lost, dispersed in air?

Seek as you will, blind creature, never eye
Of mortal man shall pierce this mystery.
This, this alone we know, that naught we know ;
And yet we feel life surely cannot die.

Change it may suffer- vanish from us here,
In forms beyond our ken to reappear;
Pass up the finite scale of seed, stalk, flower,
To odor, then exhale beyond this sphere.

But death-blank nothing! at the very thought
Reason recoils, Faith shudders, Hope, distraught,
Reels back aghast; no wild imagining
Can shape a shapeless empty void of naught.

To somewhat, vague and dim howe'er it be,
The soul must cling; mere black inanity
Defies our utmost stretch of wildest thought,
And here at least Hope, Reason, Faith agree.

Then why with nightmare dreams our spirits scare ?
If we will dream, how sweeter and more fair
Hope's promise of a loftier life beyond,
With larger loving and an ampler air,

Of vaster regions lifted from the sphere
Of doubt and struggle that harass us here,
Where the freed spirit, moving ever on,
Breathes a diviner, purer atmosphere.

So will I dream, since nothing we can know,
Your soul, enfranchised, wanders to and fro
On some Elysian plain beyond our sense,
Communing with great spirits as you go;

That oft a tender memory, turning, strays
To us who tread below these earthly ways,
Not mourning for us as we mourn for you,
But seeing clear above this cloudy maze;

That, purged of Time, your spirit larger grows
In that new being, asking not repose,
But with new aims and more expanded powers,
On, on, forever with glad purpose goes.

And if 't is all a dream-so let it be;
Who shall decide when all is mystery?
And yet I rather choose this heavenly dream
Than death's dark horror of inanity.

At least your noble thoughts can never die!
They live to stir and lift humanity!
They live to sweeten life and cheer us on:
If they are with us, surely you are nigh.

Yes, in our memory, long as sense remains,
That stalwart frame shall live, that voice whose strains,
To lofty purpose pitched, struck like a fire
Into our blood, and thrilled through all our veins;

That full sonorous voice, whose high-strung key
Was tuned to Justice and to Liberty -
That sounded like a charge to rouse the world
From the deep slumber of its apathy.

Nor these alone; we shall remember too
The kind, familiar tones of love we knew,
The genial converse and the storied lore,
The cultured charm that every listener drew,

The gladsome smile, the gleam of quick surprise
That thrilled the face and lightened through the eyes,
The uplifting brow, the utterance frank and clear,
And all that sullen death to sight denies.

Alas! how idle are the words we say !
How poor the tribute on your grave we lay!
Nor praise nor blame shall cheer or trouble more
The parted spirit or th' insensate clay.

Vain friendship's voice, and vain the loud lament
A nation breathed as o'er your bier it bent;
Vain unto you, that as you passed away

A shadow darkened down a continent.

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EVERY SATURDAY:

A JOURNAL OF CHOICE READING. PUBLISHED WEEKLY BY H. O. HOUGHTON AND COMPANY, 219 WASHINGTON STREET, BOSTON:

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PUBLISHING AUTHORS.

An author who at the beginning of his career finds it impossible to get a hearing before the public without himself bearing all expenses, becomes of necessity the publisher of his own works, even though his name does not so appear and he is not compelled to offer his own wares to the bookseller. Does that which necessity compels ever become a course prompted by prudence and self-interest? It is impossible to consider all the various conditions under which books are written and published; amongst them there would doubtless be found some conspiring to render the publication of one's own writings very desirable indeed; but taking into view the usual relations that exist between authors, publishers, and the public, let us consider one or two reasons for believing that publishers and booksellers are not unnecessary or superfluous factors in the problem of literature.

An author whose reputation is a guarantee for the success of any work which he may put forth, may if he choose take his manuscript to a printer and engage him to set it up and stereotype it in such style as may seem desirable. He may buy paper of the paper-maker and engage the printer to print an edition; he may determine the style of binding into which he will put it, and obtain designs for the dies with which the cloth will be stamped, and finally contract with a binder to bind the whole edition, or such part as he may deem judicious. In this way he may control the manufacture of the book throughout. He may then go to three or four leading jobbing houses and agencies, and sell his edition outright; rather, if he is a shrewd man, he would get his orders from them before giving his binding orders. He may select the journals to which he will send the book for notice, and entrust the copies to the wholesale buyers of his book for distribution. He may, at the proper time, insert an advertisement in leading papers, and if he will go a step further, prepare and print a circular for use on the railway trains; and if his book have a special character, he may send his circulars through the mail to lists of persons, getting his boys and girls to address the envelopes at rates considerably below the market rates of clerk hire.

Thus our author, acting as his own publisher, seems to have done a very easy, sensible thing: to have dispensed with a publisher, to have saved the commission he would have paid that encumbrance, and by an expenditure of time and money received all that, under ordinary arrangements, publisher and author together would receive. Why should not an author pursue this course? It is evident on examining our supposed case that there is no one process which the author may not perform, and with one or two exceptions his cash would probably buy as much labor and material as the publisher's cash could buy. But practically, at each step a publisher would have the advantage of the author. Briefly, his experience would lead him to avoid mistakes into which an author with a favorite book would be likely to fall. The author would quite likely

model his book upon one which was unnecessarily expensive, or had some fantastic trick very taking to the amateur's eye but prejudicial to the sale of the book. He would very possibly select a pattern of cloth for binding which, becoming in itself, was so out of style or unpopular with the booksellers, as at once to create a prejudice against the book. He would be quite certain to attempt something out of the ordinary way, and succeed in producing something extraordinarily ugly.

Now we do not say that the publisher would on all these points make no mistakes, but it is his business to study just the various points which all count up in the successful book. His experience is not with one or two books in one class, but with a hundred, it may be, of various classes; not with nicely suiting the taste of one or two cultivated friends, but with hitting the average taste of the general public. The publisher cannot write the book, but he has no business to be a publisher if he cannot take the manuscript and turn it into an edition of bound books, place it in every bookseller's shop in the country, and set all the wheels in motion that go to forming and correcting public opinion. An author frequently mistakes the quiet and ease with which a publisher manages his book for inattention and indifference. The wheels of a perfectly adjusted publishing engine ought to run noiselessly.

The most important consideration, however, in the case lies where few suspect it. It seems an easy enough thing to receive orders and supply them, but every successful publisher knows that the difference between a good and a poor business will be gauged by the way stock is carried. He who is never out of books when they are wanted, and never has any left on hand when they are not wanted, is the one who succeeds, and it is just in this delicate task that an author would fail, and lose profits far exceeding the commission of his publisher which he intended to save. But after all, we shall be told that the supposititious case is not an ordinary one; that the real question is, why an author, bearing all expenses, should not employ a publisher to use all his experience and tact and services, paying him a regular commission for this; in a word, reversing the ordinary custom, the author taking the risks and paying the publisher ten per cent., instead of taking no risks and receiving ten per cent. from the publisher. Very well, let us look at this question in our next paper. We do not wish to dismiss it too peremptorily in this.

NOTES.

We were compelled last week to omit two of the serial stories to make room for Tyndall's address, and this week the publication of Huxley's address allows us to find room only for "Far from the Madding Crowd." "The Three Feathers" will be resumed in the next number. The special interest attaching to the two scientific papers is sufficient justification in the minds of our readers, we doubt not, for this disposition of the contents of the two numbers.

- A work of unique interest is promised in the "Statistical Atlas of the United States," by Francis A. Walker, which, with the descriptive letter-press, is to be published under an appropriation by Congress. It will consist of fifty maps, in which will be shown, by an ingenious adjustment of shades of color, the relative proportion of the prevalence of certain features in the different parts of our country. Part I. will consist of maps illustrative of the physical features of the United States, embracing its river systems and forest growths, its geology, hypsometry, and meteorology. This Part is almost wholly made up of con

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