vid transcripts of
his moods of mind, and some of them almost painful in their direct
expression of agony, and the semi-serious rioting in mirth, mischief
and whim, full of wit and meaning, and full also of character and
kindliness. One of his early letters he closes, as being from his
correspondent's "afflicted, headachey, sore-throatey, humble servant."
In another he calls Hoole's translation of Tasso "more vapid than
smallest small beer, 'sun-vinegared.'" In speaking of Hazlitt's
intention to print a political pamphlet at his own expense, he comes
out with a general maxim, which has found many disciples: "The first
duty of an author, I take it, is never to pay any thing." When Hannah
More's Coelebs in Search of a Wife appeared, it was lent to him by a
precise lady to read. He thought it among the poorest of common
novels, and returned it with this stanza written in the beginning:

If ever I marry a wife
I'd marry a landlord's daughter,
For then I may sit in the bar,
And drink cold brandy-and-water.

In speaking of his troubles toward the close of his life, he has a
strange, humorous imagination, in every way worthy of his peculiar
genius: "My bedfellows are cough and cramp; _we sleep three in a
bed_."

The present volume is elegantly printed, and will doubtless have a
run. It is full of matter, and that of the most interesting kind. No
reader of Lamb, especially, will be without it.

_Modern French Literature. By L. Raymond de Vericour.
Edited by W. S. Chase, A. M. Boston: Gould, Kendall &
Lincoln. 1 vol. 12mo._

This work is the English production of a native Frenchman, and was
written for one of Chambers's series of books for the people. It is
edited, with notes alluding particularly to writers prominent in the
late French Revolution, by a young American scholar, who has recently
resided in France. The book, though deficient and sometimes incorrect
in details, deserves much praise for its general correctness and
accuracy. The author, though by no means a critic of the first class,
is altogether above the herd of Grub street hacks who commonly
undertake the popularizing of literary history. He is no Winstansley
and no Cibber. The range of his reading appears to be extensive. His
judgments are somewhat those of a school-master, but one of the
highest grade. There are several amusing errors relating to the
position of English authors, to some of which we cannot help allud