undreds, of such errors, without
forfeiting its character. If the Elzevirs could not print the "Corpus
Juris Civilis" without a false heading to a chapter, we may excuse a
dictionary-maker and his printer for an occasional slip. But it is a
most useful book, and scholars will find it immensely convenient.

_Scenes of Clerical Life_. By GEORGE ELIOT. Originally published in
"Blackwood's Magazine." New York: Harper & Brothers. 1858.

Fiction represents the character of the age to which it belongs, not
merely by actual delineations of its times, like those of "Tom Jones"
and "The Newcomer," but also in an indirect, though scarcely less
positive manner, by its exhibition of the influence of the times upon
its own form and general direction, whatever the scene or period it may
have chosen for itself. The story of "Hypatia" is laid in Alexandria
almost two thousand years ago, but the book reflects the crudities of
modern English thought; and even Mr. Thackeray, the greatest
living master of costume, succeeds in making his "Esmond" only a
joint-production of the Addisonian age and our own. Thus the novels of
the last few years exhibit very clearly the spirit that characterizes
the period of regard for men and women as men and women, without
reference to rank, beauty, fortune, or privilege. Novelists recognize
that Nature is a better romance-maker than the fancy, and the public is
learning that men and women are better than heroes and heroines, not
only to live with, but also to read of. Now and then, therefore, we get
a novel, like these "Scenes of Clerical Life," in which the fictitious
element is securely based upon a broad groundwork of actual truth, truth
as well in detail as in general.

It is not often, however, even yet, that we find a writer wholly
unembarrassed by and in revolt against the old theory of the necessity
of perfection in some one at least of the characters of his story.
"Neither Luther nor John Bunyan," says the author of this book, "would
have satisfied the modern demand for an ideal hero, who believes nothing
but what is true, feels nothing but what is excellent, and does nothing
but what is graceful."

Sometimes, indeed, a daring romance-writer ventures, during the earlier
chapters of his story, to represent a heroine without beauty and without
wealth, or a hero with some mortal blemish. But after a time his
resolution fails;--each new chapter gives a new charm to the ordinary
face; the eyes grow