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about a month by Mr. John Murray in president of the United States. This England, and by Messrs. Doubleday, Page correspondence includes a manuscript and Co. in this country. During these pedigree and a two-page letter, all in the few weeks the book has leaped into tre- handwriting of General Washington, and mendous popularity, and interminable dis- a MS. genealogy of the family of Washcussions have begun in the papers as to ington, covering fourteen pages folio its verity. It purports to be a collection compiled by Sir Isaac Heard. It includes of genuine love letters written by a woman, seven finely colored coats-of-arms, and who loved him to a man who could not love many details of the deepest interest. her. This is the theme of Mrs. Wharton's “The Touchstone," published last

A correspondent writes to The Book spring, but of course these letters have

BUYER that Sally Pratt McLean Green's connection with Mrs. Wharton's

poem of “De Sheepfol,” reprinted in the book.

November number from Mr. Stedman's an

thology, was a favorite of John Greenleaf Messrs. Harper & Brothers make the Whittier. Mr. Whittier had cut it from the announcement that they will publish newspaper when it first appeared anony. during 1901 twelve new novels by Ameri- mously, and used to repeat it with great can authors, one each month. The first of the series, to appear at once, is

“ Eastover Court House," by Kenneth Brown, a story of rural life in Virginia to-day.

THE

SHEP General George Washing- HEAB ton's original manuscript gen-DESealogy is to be sold at auction in Boston by Messrs. C. F. CAL Libbie & Co. on January 15.

END The announcement is tainly of the greatest bibliographical interest, for the authenticity of the MS. is unquestioned, and as a unique historical document it will doubtless fetch a very high price. The circular adds that to the original manuscript genealogy of six and one-half pages is attached his correspondence with Sir Isaac Heard, Garter King-at-Arms of the Heralds' College in Lon

1896 don, written in 1792, during Washington's first term as

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A BINDING BY MISS PRIDEAUX

delight. He was especially fond of the phrase "the gloomerin' meadows." We believe the poem was also a special favorite of the late Charles A. Dana, who had a share in definitely settling its authorship, which was at one time in dispute.

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رو

FREDERIC L. KNOWLES

Mr. Frederic Lawrence Knowles, from whose volume of poems, called “ On Life's Stairway,” just published by Messrs. L. C. Page & Co.-we make extracts elsewhere-is still a young man, having taken his bachelor's degree at Harvard in 1896. His compilations, “ Cap and Gown,” and Golden Treasury of American Lyrics,'' are widely known. Of the new book, Mr. Knowles' first volume of original work, and original book of verse which has come Mr. John Burroughs has written in a let- to my hand in many a year." ter to the publishers, “It is the most fresh

Mr. Leon Vincent is not a Frenchman, whatever his name, his books or his face may seem to say to the contrary. The genealogist has dug up a Huguenot somewhere about the roots of the Vincent family tree, but the author of “ Hôtel de Rambouillet” and its charming sequence of essays in French literature has a half-dozen generations of Americans behind him, a good share of them Methodist preachers. Mr. Vincent was a child of the parsonage, grew up in central New York, took his bachelor's degree at Syracuse University, taught a little, tried book-selling, traveled in Europe, and about fifteen years ago settled down to business as a lecturer upon literary topics. His “Personal Studies in Literature”

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have been very popular. His first book, French Academy” and “Corneille,” to be now not easily found, was an earnest plea published during the spring. for a popular recognition of Browning's poetry. Half a dozen years ago the At- Mr. Frederick Dellenbaugh, whose book lantic published the first of the essays on the American Indians is to be pubwhich afterward appeared in The Biblio- lished early in the month by Messrs. G. P. taph. There was a fine individuality in Putnam's Sons, under the title “ The the author's portrayal of the unique per- North Americans of Yesterday,” has made sonality of his friend, the “mighty collec- a life-long study of the subject, and his tor of books.” Mr. Vincent's post-office book is said to be the best and most comaddress is Philadelphia, but his lecturing prehensive review of Indian civilization itinerary seldom takes him thither. From yet presented in a single volume. September to January his epistles are The author made his first extended dated at Boston—“not heaven, but near study of the Cliff-dwellers and the western it,” in his estimation. From New Year tribes with Major Powell in the explorauntil Easter his engagements keep him tion of the cañons of the Colorado, travelin or near New York, and in midsum- ing for over a thousand miles in small mer he ranges through the summer boats. Mr. Dellenbaugh was also a memassembly belt. New volumes by Mr. ber of the Harriman Expedition of last Vincent announced by Messrs. Houghton, summer to Alaska, when he completed his Mifflin & Co. are monographs upon “The studies of the Alaskan Indians.

The reception given by the Authors' Club to Mr. Stedman on December 6th was designed to celebrate the completion of the "American Anthology," the fourth volume in the series of critical works to which the author has devoted so much time and work. The occasion was marked by the presence of many men distinguished in literature, and the eulogies spoken by Mr. Richard Henry Stoddard, Dr. Moncure D. Conway and Mr. William Winter were excellent examples of what such speeches ought to be; Mr. Stedman's own remarks were as pleasant to listen to as his conversation always is. Referring to a rumor that he proposed to stop writing, he smilingly denied the charge, and said:

· And, indeed, which of us is too old, what one too young, not to feel in his heart of hearts that, although health and wealth and even hope may come and go, though the eyes dim or the hand be stricken, though friends may fail and love be a memory-more, though even that reputation, dear and fickle jade, after which we all at times have striven (because, as Landor confesses, there is a something of summer even in the hum of insects), though even that be not his help in time of trouble —which of us toilers of the pen, if born with the art to write, does not know that it is at the last analysis his love, his wealth, his religion, his solace, and that to it he must return, for better or worse, again and again, so long as breath is in him. So it is with all the arts, with every craft, that come to man, as Dogberry said, by Nature. Yet among them all I, for one, know none other more sufficient and compensating to its votaries—nor is it in their own volition to cease from its pursuit."

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Poems written for the occasion were read by James Whitcomb Riley, “ John Paul,” and Stephen Thayer, and Mr. William Winter closed his address with the following lines: “Comrade and friend, what tribute shall I render?

Roses and lilies bloom no more for me, And naught remains of Fancy's squandered

“So rest: thy regal throne thou hast ascended;

The standards blaze, the golden trumpets

ring, And in one voice our loyal hearts are blendedGod bless the Poet, and God save the King !"

The Rambler.

splendor Save marish flowers that fringe the sombre

sea.

THE ARTISTIC TEMPERAMENT

WHE

CHEN Mr. Barrie speculates as to day," writes Sonya Kovalevsky, “and I

why Grizel always loved Tommy, am thirty-one years old.” In a foot-note Grizel, who saw through him so well, and her biographer says: “It was not her who demanded so much of men, he re- birthday, and that was not her age.” The members the look that was wont to come youthful Shelley was in the habit of writinto her face when she bent over a little ing letters to people under assumed names. child. And he sums up Tommy's whole The young Goethe loved to go about the character for us when he says, “ I see that country incognito, and this, too, before he all that was wrong with him was that he attained a reputation, which might subcould not always be a boy."

ject him to inconvenience in traveling. From morning to night the child lives There was no object in it. It was simply in a world of illusions. His whole life that he might be something that he was consists in playing that people and things not; that he might continue the game are not what they are. The pleasure of

The pleasure of which he had begun as a child. the game does not consist even in playing To the perfect actor the play is much that they are better and grander than they more real than the reality. “I am sorry are. It is sufficient that they be different that you felt so badly,” said the little girl from what they are.

“ Have a different to the big brother, who, by an oratorical name from your real name,” said a child effort, had moved some of his auditors to of three,“ because it isn't any fun to have tears. I didn't feel badly," was the inthe same name that you really have.” Be- dignant reply. “I only wanted to make cause this world of illusion may be entered other people feel badly.” That boy was without money and without price, the not a perfect artist. The perfect artist children of the hovel are as happy as the feels badly himself, or thinks that he does. children of the palace.

Indeed, perhaps the only criterion by In this realm of the imagination the which the supreme artist can distinguish artist lives to the close of his life. We all between the world of his imagination and of us, when we are children, dream of the world of sense, is in the fact that the Thrums. But comparatively few of us,

former is more real to him than the lateven as children, can put our dreams into ter. Wordsworth had, at times, to conwords. And after awhile we cease even to vince himself of the existence of the exdream. The artist is the child who be- ternal world, by clasping a tree or anycomes more and more of a child as the thing else that happened to be near him. years go on, with more and more power to Shelley had a period in which he doubted make the rest of us children. Dreaming the existence of the You. more vividly every year, he gains more But it is not only the existence of the and more power to express his dreams. You that is doubtful. The existence of More and more is he able to carry us back the I is even more dubious. There is not to the days when we dreamed ourselves. one of the various selves that the child or

To this grown-up child, too, it is not the artist imagines himself to be, that is necessary that things be better and grander not more real than the self that appears than they are, in order that they be inter- to the world. “ There is a deal of Hartesting. The one essential to him, too, is leys," said the five-year old Hartley Colethat they be different. “ This is my birth- ridge: “there is Picture Hartley, and

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