ee
the outer surface; the police know the under side, and a sorry side it
seems too often to be. The solid man of Boston bears himself loftily to
wife, child, and neighbor; but the bluecoat on the corner perceives a
shameful secret of crime and guilt lurking under the fair outward
seeming. These are the spots in our feasts of charity.

There are kind hearts for sorrow, as well as sharp eyes for crime, among
our policemen, as many a deed of charity and humanity bears witness; and
their varied duties bring them into contact with human nature in its
oddest manifestations. At a large fire they were obliged to carry out by
main strength "an old lady weighing nearly two hundred pounds, very much
against her will.... When told that her life was in danger, she replied,
'It is all bosh that ye tell me. Has not my landlord repeatedly told me
that the house was insured?' Kitty Quadd was very much delighted that
her trunk had been found. 'It's not the value of me clothing, Sir, but
it's me character that's there,--me character it is'; and, hurrying her
hand into the pocket of an old dress, as she lifted it from the trunk,
she drew forth a dirty piece of paper with much apparent satisfaction.
'This is it, an' sure enough it's safe it is, and it's yerself that
shall read it too, for yer kindness,' said she. I unfolded the paper,
and read as follows:--

"'This certifies that Kitty Quadd is a good domestic, capable of doing
all kinds of work; _but she will get drunk_ when opportunity offers.

"'(Signed) MRS. S----.'"

_The Life of Michael Angelo._ By HERMAN GRIMM. Translated,
with the Author's Sanction, by FANNY ELIZABETH BUNNETT. Two
Volumes, Boston; Little, Brown, & Co.

Although it is impossible, in the short space usually allotted to
book-notices, to criticize such an important work as M. Grimm's Life of
Michael Angelo, a concise description of its contents may still be
desirable. The work may be taken as an example of the great advance made
in the art of writing biography since the commencement of the present
century. Old biographies, like old histories, are little else than
gossiping chronicles of events, interspersed with vague moral
reflections, which usually have as much to do with every other subject
in the realm of thought as with the subject especially under
consideration. The present generation, however, has produced histories,
like those of Buckle and Draper, whi