le and of
aim.

The essays upon War and Despotism are, perhaps, the ablest in these
volumes, and deserve to be seriously viewed in the light of passing
events. They are distinguished by freedom from exaggeration and by their
moderation of statement. As in so many of the productions of the best
English writers at the present day, something of despondency in regard
to the condition of the world is to be traced in them. And truly, to one
who looks at the state of Europe and of our own country, there is more
need for faith than ground of hope.

But at this Christmas season, this season of peace and good-will, let
all our readers read the essay on Pleasantness. And if they will but
take its teachings to heart, we can wish them, with the certainty of the
fulfilment of our wish, a merry Christmas and a happy New Year.

_The Marvellous Adventures and Rare Conceits of Master Tyll Owlglass._
Newly collected, etc., by KENNETH R.H. MACKENZIE. With Illustrations by
Crowquill. Boston: Ticknor & Fields. 1860. pp. xxxix., 255.

This is a very beautiful edition of a very amusing book. The preface and
notes of Mr. Mackenzie will commend it to scholars, while the stories
themselves will divert both young and old. A book of this kind, which
can keep life in itself for more than three hundred years, must have
some real humor and force at bottom. It is as good a specimen of
mediaeval fun as could anywhere be found. With nothing like the satiric
humor of the "Epistolae Obscurorum Virorum," it appeals to a much larger
circle of readers. We are very glad to meet it again in so handsome a
dress, and with such really clever illustrations. It is just the book
for a Christmas gift.

_Reynard the Fox, after the German Version of Goethe._ By THOMAS
JAMES ARNOLD, Esq. With Illustrations from the Designs of Wilhelm von
Kaulbach. New York: D. Appleton & Co., 346 and 348 Broadway. 1860. pp.
226.

It is very well that Mr. Arnold should tell us on the title-page that
his version is _after_ that of Goethe. Nothing could be truer,--and it
is a very long way after, too. By substituting the slow and verbose
pentameter of what is called the classic school of English poetry for
the remarkably forth-right and simple eight-syllabic measure of the
original, the translator has contrived to lose almost wholly that homely
flavor of the old poet, which Goethe carefully preserved. We do not mean
to say that this is altogether a bad version, as such things go;