young, as a lesson of how to cure existing evils by wise and wellconsidered legislation; to our city legislators and officers, as showing the extent and important nature of the duties entrusted to them; to the legislature of the State, as an instructive manual of the kind of legislation that they are always safe in adopting; to the Constitutional Convention, as an evidence of the power over municipal affairs that should be entrusted to the city and the State respectively; and to the general reader, as a timely monograph on our local history.

THE SERVANT-GIRL OF THE PERIOD THE GREATEST PLAGUE OF LIFE. What Mr. and Mrs. Honeydew learned of Housekeeping. By Charles Chamberlain, Jr. New York: J. S. Redfield, 1873. Crown 8 vo. Price 75 cents.

The title of this little book is capable of moving most of us to our inmost souls. We are all profoundly conscious that a stiffnecked, ignorant and perverse generation of servants rule our homes and our wives, and we know that housekeeping was quite another thing in the young days of our grandmother or even of our mother. Though decidedly unbelieving as to the superior charms of old times in general, we can sigh in unison with our parents for the "good old days" when servants attended quietly and properly to their duties and treated their mistresses with respect. This servant question his become the most important social problem of our day, and we hope before long to treat it at some length in the PENN MONTHLY and explain our own remedies, which are at least simple and practicable, and which would, we think, prove efficacious. Mr. Chamberlain's book disappointed us. It is hastily and carelessly written in the form of a story, explaining what Mr. and Mrs. Honeydew learned of housekeeping, and how, after suffering a year under kitchen tyranny, they finally found comfort in the apartment system. It is unpleasant to read of an overly indulgent mother, as the author calls Mrs. Honeydew's parent, but notwithstanding this and many other blemishes, we are confident that the book will interest, arouse and indignantly excite our young housekeepers who have not yet rendered themselves callous to the thousand miseries of every-day domestic life.

A LONELY LIFE. By J. A. St. John Blythe, author of "Wise as a Serpent." T. B. Peterson & Brothers.

The publishers' catalogue at the end is, we confess, the first thing that takes our attention on opening this book. A novel which goes out into the world in the company of such titles as "The Pioneer's Daughter and the Unknown Countess," "Linda,

or the Young Pilot of the Belle Creole,' "Dow's Patent Sermons' (What are Patent Sermons?), "The Reformed 'Gambler" and "The Rector's Wife, or the Valley of a Hundred Fires," naturally calls forth expectation. Does the "Lonely Life" belong to this awe-inspiring class, or, on the other hand, do the alliterative romances of one Mrs. Ann S. Stephens claim it for their own, compelling one to regard it with the dark distrust with which "Palaces and Prisons," "Fashion and Famine," "Silent Struggles," etc., inspire a reader of ordinary courage? What, one stops to consider, would be the final mental condition of a man who had gone through this list of startling fictions. Vile should be the body on which the experiment is to be tried. But not to carry out this irrelevant train of thought, which is hardly fair to that desolate existence we have undertaken to review, let us say that Harold Seton, Mr. J. A. St. John Blythe's eremitic hero, is presented to us in a convent garden of southern Spain, the local scenery being much of the drop curtain order, the effect of which is heightened by the introduction of a very melodramatic monk, to whom Mr. Seton, after clearing himself of any possible suspicions as to his Protestant orthodoxy, raised by his popish propinquity, undertakes to unfold his innermost thoughts. That they understood each other we are given to believe, and though we may not question, we cannot but envy the powers of apprehension which allowed their possessors to grasp such a dialogue as this:

"My son," he said, laying his hand on the young man's arm, "have you counted the cost?"

"I think I have. But where (sic) is the use of the question? What other course is open to me? At least," he added, with a slightly haughty ring in his tone, "that an honorable man could for a moment propose to himself."

"True, true," replied the man, thoughtfully, "the ways of God are very mysterious." If Providence, it may be remarked in passing, were half as mysterious as these interlocutors, piety, always perhaps difficult, would end by becoming impossible. Light, however, is let in finally, and with the aid of some facts imparted by a respectable butler in the confidence of the Seton family, together with a series of magnanimous conversations between a hero and a cousin next in the order of succession, we begin to see that the former of these is in the situation of Sir Boyle Roach's friend, "a fine fellow if he had not been changed at his birth." In other words, his wet nurse did not realize the ideal of domestic fidelity displayed by the butler, but contrived to involve the infant charge entrusted to her care in the general uncertainty which hung round her own family relations. Hence the "Lonely Life," for Mr. Seton resolves that he will not complicate matters further by marrying, or by begetting children to disar

range the Seton pedigree, but will rather fly for refuge to a curacy, (on the principle apparently of Hood's cockney farmer, who put up his hay wet for fear it should be set fire to) and in the course of time becomes a vicar.

His first pastoral success is the conversion of a young lady who, before her change of heart, expressed herself in this manner: (Mr. Seton) "How did you know I was riding"? (Young lady) -"I heard your horse kicking up no end of a shine on the gravel just now, and I was awfully pleased, because Mrs. Thornton can't bear the gravel to be cut up.

"That is not a right reason for pleasure, Miss Battersby." "Don't call me Miss Battersby, or I shall be getting confused in your mind with my sister Nelly, who's all chignon and train. I'm Agnes Battersby, and it's no use to lecture me. I'm past praying for," etc. Of the completeness of her reformation we may take as a proof her patient submission to rubbish of this sort. "Don't you know, then, that men have a natural tendency, if left to themselves, to deteriorate, and that for that very reason women were given a higher and more refined nature morally and socially in order that association with them might check that tendency. If you fail to exercise that refining influence you fail to make use of a great power for good which, etc., etc. If you lower your own social tone you run the risk of inflicting a moral injury upon every man with whom you come in contact by lowering his respect for women in general, and that is a most serious injury to any man." That the Lonely Life becomes more densely lonely with every page, and that the hero conceives a hopeless passion, follows of course. And we will not describe how the unfortunate clergyman devotes himself to the sanitary reform of his parochial town, builds a hospital, catches a fever, and reverts at last back to the picturesque monk who, becoming for the first time really intelligible, blesses the death-bed of his Anglican friend, and brings one not any too soon to the last chapter with the satisfactory feeling on our part that though not rich or well connected, we at least know who are our father and mother, and are not called upon to go into the church to please our first cousins.

PHYSICS AND POLITICS. By Walter Bagehot. New York: D. Appleton & Co.

The object of the work is to point out the application of the principles of inheritance to political society. The substance of the work is that everything demands moderation in progress; that in the begining physical strength is always an element of national strength; that the better and truer graces of humanity, which are adornments and sources of power when security is attained, are in the beginning only hinderances to advancement. Mr. Bagehot

believes in the theory of evolution in politics as well as in science. The work, although in many places there is digression, is well done, and is the most careful that has been issued in this departThere are chapters on the Preliminary Age; the Use of Conflict; Nation-making; the Age of Discussion, and Verifiable Progress Politically Considered.

ment.

FLEURANGE By Madame Augustus Craven.

Translated from

the French by M. P. T. New York: The Catholic Publication Society, 1872.

Modern French novels may be broadly divided into two classes : one containing works which are so false in morality and so low in tone that they ought not to be read, and the other and smaller class embracing the moral novels, which are generally so vapid and dull that they cannot be read.

The noble qualities of the French romance once charmed the world, and, indeed, a high standard of style has always been maintained by the better class of writers, in part owing to the salutary influence which the academy has exerted, and in part to the very nature and structure of the language. The slovenly and inexact style which is so prevalent among American writers and among the writers of other nations cannot be produced in a language so precise and elegant as the French, the purity of which has always been jealously guarded. The exceptions to our above division of modern French novels are, however, so numerous as to give us some ground for encouragement. Octave Feuillet and Edmond About have each written romances sufficiently proper in tone and yet by no means deficient in cleverness and interest, but M. Feuillet soiled his reputation by producing one of the most vicious novels of the day (M. de Camours) and M. About could not refrain from writing L'Infâme and Madelon. We must not, however, forget that we owe both them and a number of other French writers of our day a debt of gratitude for many pleasant hours passed in their company. Among these writers Madame Craven must be assigned a prominent place. Madame Craven is the daughter of M. de la Ferronays, who was the French ambassador at the Russian Court after the Bourbon restoration.

She possessed the long and brotherly friendship of Montalembert, and lived in the intimacy of Madame Swetchine and Lacordaire. She is the niece of the Duke of Blacas, and the grandniece and god-child of the Duchess of Tourzel.

In Fleurange, her last work, she describes the intrigues of St. Petersburg, the interior life of the Czar's household and of the Lamianoff palace with an accuracy which could only be acquired by the personal knowledge gained by a residence in Russia. As the wife of a diplomatist she has had a varied and broad experi

1

ence of European life and manners, which has enabled her to
draw her characters with bold and accurate as well as clever lines.
Any one who has been so fortunate as to enjoy the friendship
of a gentleman of the North of Italy (and more particularly of
Milan) will recognize and enjoy the finish of her portrait of the
Italian Marquis,
one of those men who converse brilliantly on
every subject, and who know how to excite an interest in what
they are talking about, whether it be fashionable gossip, a politi-
cal novelty, or a social and literary question, and who have no
other fault than that of treating these subjects as if they were all
of equal interest!" Madame Craven's heroine is the daughter
of a French artist, who gave her the Italian name of Fior Angelo,
or Fleurange, in his own language. She is educated in an Italian
convent near Perugia by the Madre Maddalena, whose counsels
are a constant source of strength to her in her after struggles.
When quite a young girl she loses her father and becomes a mem-
ber of the household of a German uncle, a learned professor
living in Frankfort. Here she lives happily, beloved by all her
cousins, but especially by Clement, who is the German hero of
the story.

Family misfortunes and reverses again change her lot, and she leaves her German relatives to accept the position of companion to a Russian lady of rank, the Princess Lamianoff. The princess is a well-drawn character-a thorough woman of the world, proud of her wealth, of her title, of her palaces in Florence and at St. Petersburg, of her handsome son George, and even proud of the beauty and charms of her humble companion Fleurange. Her son, Count Georges de Walden, a slave to his passion for Fleurange, is amourous and inconstant-but handsome and charming. Driven by ennui into Republican plots and rebellion in Russia, his party are beaten and he is made a prisoner. The efforts of Fleurange in his behalf-her journey to St. Petersburg and the account of her stay there form the most interesting, as they are the best written, portions of the book. In every position in which she is placed Fleurange conducts herself with charming and well-bred grace; she appears equally at home in the learned household of the German professor, in the Florentine palace of the Princess Lamianoff, or in the magnificent Court of St. Petersburg. The growing strength and beauty of her character is developed with singular felicity.

Roman Catholic literature is deeply indebted to Madame Craven for her representation of the power of religion in practical life. The noble language of the Madre Maddalena in the advice given by her to Fleurange after the deep disappointment which resulted from the journey to Russia, is truly Catholic. There is nothing argumentative or controvertial in the religious passages; indeed there is no mention or apparent thought of any other form of religion than that of Roman Catholicism.