of these interesting
memoirs, is, we believe, a native of Vienna, where, in 1845, she was
married to Mr. Pulszky. She was residing on their estates in Hungary,
about 60 miles from Pesth, when the war broke out; and the _Memoirs_ are
principally devoted to a narrative of her sufferings and adventures in
that exciting and perilous time. They contain, besides, many graphic
descriptions of life and manners in Hungary, and a good historical
narrative of the Revolution and the war.

Besides the _Memoirs_, Madame Pulszky has published in English, a volume
of _Tales and Traditions of Hungary_, which we have not seen, but of
which highly favorable notices have appeared in the Examiner and other
English journals. She is not only a brilliant and powerful writer, but a
most lovely and accomplished lady, as we learn from very reliable
sources in Europe. Her talents and acquirements are said to be quite
extraordinary. In England her husband and herself enjoyed the highest
consideration, both in point of character and ability.

It may be remarked, in addition to this, that the _Memoirs of a
Hungarian Lady_ (Lea & Blanchard, Philadelphia, 1850) give a full
account of Mr. Pulszky's career during the war and the revolution, and
in chapters II. and III. a minute and most interesting sketch of his
estates and tenantry. His novel, the _Jacobins in Hungary_, is
understood to be written with constant reference to the recent history
of his country, though the events on which it is founded occurred sixty
years ago.

Authors and Books.

Henry Heine's long-promised _Romanzero_ has at last appeared in Germany,
where the first edition has been greedily snapped up. It is a collection
of poems of various name and nature, all after the true Heinian vein.
The great curiosity of the book is the preface in which the "dying
Aristophanes" discourses on his alleged conversion to religion, in a
strain which settles the question, so much discussed for the past two or
three years, whether such a conversion has actually taken place or not.
He declares that he has "returned to God, like the profligate son, after
having long kept swine among the Hegelians. Was it suffering that drove
me back? Perhaps a less miserable reason. The celestial home-sickness
came over me, and urged me forth through woods and ravines, over the
dizziest mountain paths of dialectics. On my way I found the God of the
Pantheists, but could not use him." Afterwards he says, that