ends me into
such misery, I know He will give me a constitution to bear it." Again,
as the least laborious of the sisters, her talent had moments of greater
felicity than that of Alice, and she has left one hymn which has all the
promise of a lasting favorite. The sacred lyric, "One sweetly solemn
thought comes to me o'er and o'er," is sung, as it deserves to be,
wherever Christianity is known, and there is an attested story of its
having aroused a pair of gamblers in China to repentance and permanent
reform. It is imprudent to predict a permanent place for even the best
of Alice Carey's gentle songs; but Phoebe's utterance may very
possibly be quoted, from her unpretending station as adviser and
alleviator of every-day life, after her name shall be forgotten and her
religion shall have become impersonal.

How I Found Livingstone. By Henry M. Stanley. New York: Scribner,
Armstrong & Co.

This book, the circumstances of its writing considered, is a literary
curiosity. It contains seven hundred and twenty pages octavo, and it was
composed in an incredibly short time, while the stomach of its author
was digesting a series of stout English dinners, and his attention
dissipating among speech-makings and speech-listenings, feasts, meetings
and visits. Only a New York reporter could have achieved the feat. The
faculty acquired by men of Mr. Stanley's trade, of acting with the
intense decision and energy of great military captains, and then
relating the action with the voluble unction of bar-rooms or political
stumps, is a strange mixed faculty, and is found to perfection in the
reporters' rooms of the New York _Herald_. The tale has the _Herald's_
well-known style, and is a correspondent's letter in a state of
amplification. It is always energetic, often tinged with real heroism
and romance, and adorned sometimes with an ambition of classical
allusions that resemble Egyptian jewels worn by a Nubian savage. It has
not the least self-restraint or good taste, but it sounds fresh, genuine
and sincere. It brings out with fine distinctness the feudal fidelity of
a reporter-errant, whose whole soul is dyed with belief in the great
establishment whose behest he obeys--one of the last refuges in which
mediaeval humility is to be found. As a part of the same habit of mind,
Mr. Stanley shows a fine, literal, unquestioning championship of the
object of his quest, Dr. Livingstone; but he seems to admire the doctor,
after all, rather