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work than has hitherto been issued. We fancy that there are editions enough already of the works of Charles Dickens. However his publishers evidently think differently; so we are offered another, in a cheap double-column form, and may expect shortly to see the announcement of what we shall call in anticipation "The Nation's Nickleby."

From a recent chapter in Mr. Wills' clever tale of "David Chantrey," now appearing in "Temple Bar," we extract the following unpleasant truism: "One of the most humiliating lessons we learn in this world is how little we are individually wanted in it." Miss Braddon's tale is becoming highly interesting, and Mr. Yates is sufficiently personal in his "Land at Last ;" the first chapter of which is very much in the style of the greater novelist he so plainly worships. He is also indebted to the Artists' Club in Langham Chambers, for his starting point; though he certainly considerably idealizes both the club and its proceedings at the last soirée of the season, by the way, the committee came to the wise resolve that there should be no more songs or recitations, which had been too freely introduced on several previous occasions. We are very glad that this decision was announced in the room. It is no joke, we think, to exert the lungs in an atmosphere of tobacco smoke; nor is it altogether consistent with the occasion to make this a prominent feature. Speaking for ourselves, we do not care to be called from the contemplation of a portfolio of clever drawings, to listen to songs, some of them suggestive of a tap-room; and the announcement that there would be no more singing &c., had the effect of immediately thinning the room, when the pictures were inspected with ease by those who came for the legitimate object of the club.

It is a very objectionable practice of society that Mr. Arthur Sketchley, Mr. Toole, and others cannot relax a little from their professional labours without being immediately "spotted" and surrounded by an admiring throng, from which situation there is no let off until the desire that they should be "funny" is complied with; nor is it particularly agreeable for those who have a specialité for this sort of thing, en amateur, that their presence should be the signal for a similar outbreak on every possible occasion. The precedent once established, there is no escape from the infliction, save absence, or by the practice being nipped in the bud by those in authority, which has been very properly done in this


We have perused with considerable pleasure a new novel," edited" by Lady Chatterton, and entitled "Greys Court" (Smith and Elder). During the narrative, which is sustained with interest and related with much power in the form of a diary, after the manner of "The Woman in White," to which it may thus be said to bear a slight resemblance, we meet with an Occasional reflective paragraph by the way which is always welcome, and for which no apology is needed. We may especially instance the remarks anent duelling, towards the close of the work,


An account of the escape of some prisoners from France is exceedingly graphic, and "a duel to the death" is forcibly described. Some remarks on French society before the Revolution are acceptable, and the plot will be found sufficiently exciting to suit the present taste without possessing any of the demerits of the sensational school.

The arrangements for a more rapid and perfect publication of the Standard, with much additional space for news, have been for some time announced in the pages of that paper.

Mr. Thomas Wright, the translator of "The Life of Julius Cæsar," has had the honour of receiving one of the very few presentation copies, coming direct from the Emperor.

Death has been busy of late, and we grieve to record the decease of Cobden, the champion of Free Trade, whose loss has been universally deplored. We also have to announce the death of Samuel Lucas (the brother-in-law of Mr. Bright), managing-proprietor of the Morning Star; and that of John Cassell, of that wellknown firm, the publishers of "Julius Cæsar." News has been received from Florence of the death of Mrs. Theodosia Trollope. Professor Kiss, the German sculptor, whose Amazon was one of the attractions of the Exhibition of 1851; Madame Pasta, the celebrated Norma; Witherington, one the oldest of our Royal Academicians; and E. J. Loder, the composer of "The Night Dancers," leave blanks in the world of art and music. The death of the original of Dickens' "Miss Flite" (vide "Bleak House") has been recently announced.

After a very severe winter we jumped all at once into more genial weather with the commencement of April, and it was on a lovely day -that which gave the first sign of the sudden change-that we devoted several hours to the inspection of many of the pictures before they were sent in to the Royal Academy; having the entrée we availed ourselves of it to the fullest extent, and it is a delightful privilege thus to have the run of the studios and enjoy the agreeable society of the brethren of the brush. In the neighbourhood of Victoria Road, Kensington, it was only necessary that we should cross over the way to find ourselves on the Coast of Brittany or in a Spanish interior-at Baden Baden, or on the river Ouse, as we contemplated the works of Hook or Ansdell, Elmore, or O'Neil, either preceded or followed by the quaintest of comedians, who, in tones well-known to the public, good-humouredly protested against our pursuing him from one studio to another. From this inspection we are enabled to report that Hook has four works in his usual style: we do not know their titles, but in all we smell the sea, and the subjects are women sorting fish, women making nets and dragging sea-weed. Ansdell has painted three large pictures-"The Interior of a Shrine in the Alhambra," "Horses treading out the Corn" (a Spanish scene), and "A Poacher struck down by a Keeper's dog." Elmore sends a very powerful picture which he calls " A Pause in a

Leslie, and you have been evidently indebted to "Enoch Arden"] we saw a fire almost break out at Stangate, and continue to burn for a considerable time before the arrival of the firebrigade, when it was with great difficulty got under, owing to its being low water at the time. What confusion and crowding there is on these occasions! It is really marvellous that the men can get room for their operations, which must be often greatly retarded by the mob. The whole of Jennings' premises were destroyed, and when we left they had succeeded in confining the flames to that spot. At one time we thought that the houses at the back were doomed.

Apropos, we had witnessed the mimic fire in "The Streets of London" the night before, that being the last of its representation, having deferred our visit till then. We suppose it was necessary for scenic effect, but we never saw Northumberland House lit up in reality, as was the case in the Charing Cross scene; and as to the fire, we are bound to confess we thought more of that in "Effie Deans."

It has been asserted, and we are sorry to add not contradicted, that in consequence of a recent quarrel between Boucicault and the "lead

Career," with a wonderful moonlight effect, the scene being a gaming-table at Baden Baden. H. O'Neil, we believe, will be represented by two portraits in addition to his "Canute listening to the Monks chanting in Ely Cathedral." Next proceeding to Campden Hill, we visited the great painter of Spanish subjects, Philip, and saw his "Murillo exhibiting his Pictures in the Market-place at Seville," which, if we mistake not, will be pronounced one of the most masterly productions of this artist, who has also painted the portraits of two ladies. Rankley makes a decided advance in his "After Life"-gipsies going through their entertainment before an artist, who is resting from his day's work, whilst he is at the same time contemplating the scene with an evident eye to a picture. Brooks sends two works the subject of one is that of a clergyman entering a fisherman's hut, to break the news of his loss at sea to the widow who anticipates the painful tidings, and which we believe the artist intends to call "The Parson's Work," unless he should have adopted a title of our suggesting, namely, "Sad News on the Threshold." The other picture is called "A Discovery," and reminds us of Horsley. Frank Dillon treats us to two of his charming sketches on the Nile-ing Phile; and a magnificent sunlight effect lower down the river, nearer Cairo. Frith's "Marriage of the Prince of Wales" will be assuredly one of the chief attractions of an exhibition which altogether gives promise of being the best we have had for many years. In this interesting picture about two hundred figures are introduced, and the artist has surmounted the great difficulty of his subject, rendering the scene less formal than could have been expected. Mr. Frith has also painted a portrait of Miss Braddon. We are unable to speak as to its merit as a likeness, but we can safely affirm that if the original is anything like her portrait, the immense amount of literary work she manages to get through seems to agree with a lady in the prime of life, and who looks as if she would write for an indefinite period. Mr. Jerry Barrett, whose "Drawing-room at St. James's Palace in the reign of Queen Victoria" has gained him wellmerited distinction, has sent only one picture, but that one will have many admirers. He calls it "In Good Hands," and he has represented an old woman who is about to be piloted across Oxford-street by an exceedingly pretty young one, as good as she is well-looking, who has volunteered her kind offices regardless of the lookers-on. Rebecca Solomon has forcibly illustrated in two pictures Esop's fable of "The Lion and the Mouse;" whilst her clever brother Simeon has for his subject "Women looking at the sports in the Coliseum," which may be regarded as the most important work this rising young artist has yet painted. Besides the pictures we have mentioned, we hear great things of Millais, Calderon, Marks, Leighton, and others.

Returning from a visit to Astley's ["The Mariner's Compass" is a capital drama, Mr,

journal," no notice appeared therein of the new drama of "Arrah na Pogue," although Mr. Oxenford sent it in, in due course. This, if true, is not very creditable to the Times. Mr. Boucicault's name naturally reminds us of the correspondence that has recently been published in reference to the so-called "organized opposition" to the "Woman in Mauve." For our own part we did not notice any more unpleasant sounds than on the first night of "Our American Cousin" (which had an equally narrow escape), except when Mr. Sothern sung a song to a hurdy-gurdy accompaniment, and an unmeaning echo was thoroughly and deservedly "opposed." After all, whatever demonstration there was against this "clever satire first representation, it clearly had the effect of redoubling the applause, and securing at least a temporary success.

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The Bateman and Simms furore has subsided, and the latter actress has been having it all her own way as Constance. We wonder how much too old Mr. Webster may now be considered for Wildrake? (we should say he could not have been too young for the part when he played it originally, being certainly not juvenile when we saw him and Mrs. Nisbett, now some fifteen years ago). However, he "makes up" wonderfully, and managers are privileged beings: they may enact whatever parts they please, and so long as managers are actors this state of things will continue. We observed some time ago an announcement that Miss Bateman would shortly perform other characters in ber reper toire, which has as yet been confined to the two parts Leah and Julia (in London at least), so we cannot speak with any certainty as to what that repertoire may consist of. How unsatisfactory Jordan was in the character of Sir Thomas Clifford indeed, some one near us ob

served, in reference to that actor's voice, that it | zar" (whom we heard last autumn, and who
sounded as if its possessor had been "born in has since been turning the heads of the nobility
the catacombs and christened at a mausoleum"! in the salons of Paris). It is published at three
We visited the old Queen's during the last francs, and contains the following dedication:
week of the old management, being curious to "Je dedie ce livre a celui a qui je dois tout...
see it once more before the change, and we did au public!-THERESE."
not find it nearly so dilapidated or dingy as we
had expected. We witnessed a portion of a
drama entitled the "Work-girls (or "women,"
we forget which, nor does it matter) of London"-
a piece of no particular merit, but which seemed
to meet with a certain amount of approval. Mr.
James has held the theatre for more than a
quarter of a century, and under its new name
and direction it has opened under the most fa-
vourable circumstances.

The Strand underlines a new burlesque by "the most popular burlesque author of the day"--this is understood not to be Mr. Byron, since that gentleman has transferred his services exclusively to the Prince of Wales's Theatre. For the present Mr. Burnand's old burlesque of "Patient Penelope " has been revived. We have seen Mr. Parselle's comedietta of "Cross Purposes," which may be denominated "a pleasing trifle." We consider that Miss Milly Palmer has not yet been seen to the best advantage. We would ask that useful actor, Mr. H. J. Turner, why, when he desires to be more than usually funny, he should perpetually indulge in one attitude, the repetition of which becomes wearisome? He should take a lesson from Mr. Emery in similar parts.

Fechter appears rather fond of putting one of his actors into his part before the piece is withdrawn: this was SO in "Bel Demonio," and in "The Roadside Inn." Mr. Emery played Robert Macaire during the last few nights a part in which we have seen him, and for which we consider him in some respects better adapted than Mr. Fechter, who, according to our notions, was neither sufficiently grotesque in the first act nor ruffianly enough throughout. A version of "Belphegor " has been revived, with Fechter as the hero; so that the "Lady of Lyons" is, we presume, deferred indefinitely. In the new revival Master Paul Fechter appears as the son of the mountebank, whose wife is represented by Mddle. Beatrice.

Poor Robson's son has made a successful début at the St. James's. He is, we hear, an excellent dancer à la Donato, and has plenty of confidence. We are also informed that the play of his countenance at times strikingly resembles that of his late father; but we think it a pity that he should carry the resemblance further in a mad scene, and an imitation of Jem Baggs, which we understand is the case.

Mr. Tom Taylor's drama of "Settling Day" has been advantageously condensed into three acts. We wonder what induced the artist in the last scene to give us so striking a view of the Westminster clock, which could not possibly be visible from the grounds of a "villa at Putney!"

We have procured here the sixth edition of the "Mémoires of Thérésa of the Alca

On a former occasion we referred to a onelegged dancer at a minor theatre, who went by the name of Doneta; we may now allude to a trick of a similar description at another house, where we noticed the announcement of "the beautiful Menkon," which may possibly result in law proceedings.

The late Mr. Albert Smith's room at the Egyptian Hall has been secured for a series of "Mysterious Performances," which commenced on Easter Monday.

Mr. and Mrs. Charles Mathews were "at home" at the Beethoven Rooms, on the 30th March, on which occasion there was a strong muster of professionals. The St. James's and Haymarket companies were there in full force. Lord Ranelagh and the Honourable Spencer Ponsonby were present; and among many other celebrities we noticed J. R. Planché, Mrs. Keeley, Benedict, Mr. and Mrs. Alfred Mellon, Palgrave Simpson, Leicester Buckingham, Arthur Sketchley, Walter Montgomery, Miss Henrietta Simms, and Miss Amy Sedgwick. Among others, more or less known to fame, there were the Licenser of Plays, Mr. Radley (of Radley's Hotel), and— YOUR BOHEMIAN.

THE FIRST NEWSPAPER.-The first published,
says Galignani, bears the date of Nuremberg, 1457;
the first English one was in 1622; and the first
French in 1631. A very ancient printed sheet was
offered for sale in the Libri collection, and of which
a duplicate exists in the British Museum. It is en-
titled, Neue Zeitung, aus Hispahan und Italien
("News from Spain and Italy"), and bears the date
of February, 1534. The catalogue gave the follow-
ing description of it: "An exceedingly rare journal,
which appears to have been printed at Nuremberg.
It contains the first announcement of the discovery
of Peru, and has remained unknown to all the

bibliographists that we have been able to consult.
In this printed sheet it is said that the Governor of
Panumyra (Panama) in the Indies, wrote to his
majesty (Charles V.) that a vessel had arrived from
Peru, with a letter from the Regent, Francisco
Piscara (Pizarro), announcing that he had taken
possession of the country; that with about 200
Spaniards, infantry and cavalry, he had repaired to
the possessions of a great seignor named Cassiko
(who refused peace), and attacked him, that the
Spaniards were the victors, and that ho had seized

upon 5,000 castillons (gold pieces), and of 20,000
silver marks, and lastly, that he had obtained
2,000,000 in gold from the said Cassiko.”

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Lucy Carey was a rosy-cheeked, blue-eyed little girl, just eight years old. The greatest treat that could be offered Lucy was a ride in a waggon, that would go jolting over the hills and far away," with a pile of sweet fresh straw for a seat, and the blue sky for a top.


Lucy's father told her one day, that if she would learn to knit, and finish him a pair of mittens, he would buy a horse and waggon to take her riding.

She got the needles and a ball of yarn, and asked her grandma if she would teach her to knit. She kindly consented to do so, set up the mitten, and found Lucy a very apt pupil.

Lucy knit every leisure moment she had, but thought she knit a great many rounds, and that her poor little fingers would get very tired before one mitten would be completed.

Patience, however, did much for her, and her mind was diverted from the tedious work by the thought of the beautiful drive she should take with her papa. Her perseverance at length overcame all difficulties; the mittens were finished, and the little girl with a look of laudable pride laid them beside her papa's plate at the breakfast-table, one morning early in September. He tried them on, and found them a little too long, and one the least bit broader than the other, but said they were excellent for the first trial; and kissing his daughter, thanked her, and put them into his pocket.

That afternoon, Lucy put on her new pink gingham dress and straw hat, and walked about the yard, with her little heart beating faster than usual, and her face turned oftener towards the gate, for she was expecting every moment to see her father drive up with the new horse and waggon.

He did not come, however, and Lucy decided she would take a walk. The next day, and the next, she was doomed to disappointment. She had yet to learn that labour is not always immediately rewarded; in fact, some persons toil on from year to year, and ask no other recompence than the amount necessary to sustain life.

Lucy was a little philosopher, and concluded that if her father had forgotten his promise, that was no reason why she should forget to knit; so, with her mother's permission, she commenced a pair of mittens for Michael Brown, a poor man who sawed her father's wood. They were finished much sooner than the first pair, and putting them into a little basket, she started for Michael's cottage, at the farthest end of the village.


In passing the blacksmith's shop, her attention was attracted by a beautiful jet black pony, which the smith was shoeing. She stopped a moment to look at him, and could not help wishing it was hers; for she did not know, or at least reflect, that it was wrong to covet what belonged to another. When the man said, "Wo-0-0, Charley," she thought, "What a beautiful name, too! it just suits him; I know papa would never be able to get a horse like this!"

Our little heroine, like many older persons, thought the mould of perfection had been destroyed after the creation of this beautiful model of hers, and that nature would not furnish another so faultless. With a sigh, as she took a lingering look at "Charley," she resumed her walk, and soon reached Michael's cottage, where she gave the mittens to Mrs. Brown, who thanked her over and over for her kindness, and wished she might be rewarded for thinking thus of a poor man.

When she reached home, Lucy saw a spring waggon, newly painted, and the veritable black horse, standing at the side gate! She ran in, expecting to find visitors, but was met by her father, who said, "Well, daughter, how do you like Charley? He is your horse, and I hope he suits you. Get on your shawl now, and we will have a ride."

Lucy clapped her hands for joy; she could hardly realize her happiness; she thanked her father again and again, and then went with him to take a good look at the pony. She smoothed his glossy black coat, looked at his meek, intelligent face, and admired his wavy mane, and the white star on his forehead. Her mother and aunt having come out, got into the waggon. Mr. Carey lifted Lucy in; then, taking a seat beside her, told Charley to " 'get up," and off they started.

It was a delightful day, late in "breezy October." The haze of Indian Summer hung over the landscape, the trees looked blue in the distance, and scarlet and yellow leaves floated noiselessly down from the branches of the oaks and maples, that nearly met over the road—which wound before them, white and silvery like a river, through valleys and up hills. The farmhouses looked cosy, and the cattle and sheep contented. None were more happy than Lucy, however, who asked questions about all she saw.

"You are fond of curiosities and relics, Lucy," said her father, who knew she was collecting all she could for a cabinet: "how would you like to see a great mound, which is supposed to have been formed by the people who inhabited this country before the Indian race."

"Before the Indians!" said Lucy, astonished: "why, I thought they were the people that always lived here; who were the others?"

"It is not positively known, only conjectured,"

replied he, "what their origin was.

they crossed over from Asia, down Behring's Straits, and settled in the country, became populous and great, but quarrelled among themselves, had civil wars, and were thus exterminated These mounds are supposed to contain their bones, collected from their battle-fields by the survivors. The ancient walls and fortifications, which are so numerous in Ohio, are supposed to have been also used by them in warfare; and arenas enclosed, with gateways opening at different sides, might have been designed for games or shows, as the Coliseum at Rome was used by the heathens of early times."


Some think and concluded he would come to America.
was in Boston when the tea was thrown into the
harbour, and his family always thought he was
one of those who, in the garb of savages, per-
formed the glorious work. But as the "savages"
kept their secret, it was never known for certain
who they were. An old moccasin, and fragments
of an Indian blanket, were found in his garret
after his death; and he could never bear the
smell of tea; so the evidence is pretty con-
clusive," said he, taking a curious japanned box
from under the portrait and handing it to Mrs.
Carey. "That is a tea-caddy he bought of a
merchant who brought over a cargo of such
things from China. He bought it for his sister,
who kept house for him, for he wished her to
indulge in the use of it if she liked it. And
here inside, you see, is a little silver shell she
used to measure the tea out with, to draw
for supper."

What are you stopping for, papa ?" said Lucy, as he drew in the reins, and checked Charley before a red frame house, that lay nestled among the hills, surrounded by a thrifty orchard. "This is Squire Koost's, and I have often promised to bring your mother out to see them; so, if she is willing we will go in now, and perhaps he will accompany us on our visit to the mound."

Mrs. Carey was very willing to stop; Charley was hitched, and in the party went, through the great old red gate, on each side of which a straggling quince tree, laden with ripe yellow fruit, had been sentry since the gate was first placed there. A beautiful fawn, with large, lustrous eyes, came bounding towards them, followed by the Squire, who cordially greeted and invited them in.

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Hey! Miss Lucy, glad to see you," said he, after shaking hands with the rest of the party; did you ever see a fawn before?”

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No, sir," said Lucy; "but I have read of and seen pictures of them."

"You must get your father to take you to Minnesota, where you can see any number of them. My friend Mr. Van Cleve sent this to my little boy Willie. He trades out there with the Indians, and lives on deer meat. He has a wigwam, and is lulled to sleep by the musical sound of the Minne-ha-ha Falls, which are only a short distance from his lodgings," said the Squire, opening the door for them to enter.

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Lucy was delighted with all she heard, and
would have quite forgotten the mound, had not
her father mentioned it. Mrs. Koost said she
would have tea ready when they returned; so
they all climbed into the waggon. The Squire
took the reins, and drove up a long stony hill,
from the top of which they could see little
villages, embosomed in trees, for miles around.
In the centre of a wood, where pigs were eating
acorns and beech-nuts, arose a steep
hill," as Lucy termed it, about seventy feet high,
hollowed slightly on the top, like the crater of a
volcano. This was the mound, about which
Squire Koost told them all he knew; that it had
been dug into, a little; but only some burnt stone
found, as they had not penetrated far enough
for the deposits. Lucy got a piece of the burnt
stone, and an acorn, which grew on a tall oak on
the summit. He told her its situation was the
north-western part of Butler county, about
thirty miles from Cincinnati, and two miles from
the village of Trenton, through which she had
just passed.

When the party returned to the house, an
ample supper was set, in true Ohio style. A
dainty cloth covered the round table; hot tea,
light brown muffins, fried chicken and honey,
were relished by the hungry travellers. They
had a cheerful chat, around the great blazing
fire, and were sorry when the time came for
them to start home. Lucy thought, as she rode
along in the silver moonlight, that the money
laid out in a horse like Charley was a very good

Lucy thought it looked very old-fashioned, the large, low room, with its high-backed green chairs, rag carpet, and prim white curtains; but a cheerful fire threw an air of comfort over the apartments, and the good-natured faces of the Squire and his wife made her feel at home. An old portrait hung over the mantel, which attracted her attention. It was that of a gentle-investment. man, dressed in a red coat, ruffled shirt, and thread-lace ruffles about his wrists; a powdered wig, cane in his hand, and handkerchief peeping with a very dandified air from his coat pocket. He was standing in profile, and looked as if he was just going to take his daily airing in the West End of London.

"That is a strange-looking old gentleman, Lucy," said the Squire. "He was a greatgrand-uncle of mine, who lived in the old country in the time of George the Third, of England. He got tired of living under a king,


(Translated from the French.)


A pretty little Parisian girl, some seven years of age, named Eugénie Perrault, was one day returning from school, with her basket on her arm. It was half-past five in the afternoon,

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