erent
in it all, and that for the Goddess of Atvatabar, lofty, wise, and
immaculate though she be, there is, nevertheless, a loftier and
sublimer experience in store. The finest art of the book is shown
here: a deep is revealed underneath the deep, and the final outcome is
in accord with the simplest as well as the profoundest religious
perception.

But it would be useless to attempt longer to withhold the reader from
the marvellous journey that awaits him. A word of congratulation,
however, is due in regard to the illustrations. They reach a level of
excellence rare even at this day; the artists have evidently been in
thorough sympathy with the author, and have given to the eye what the
latter has presented to the understanding. A more lovable divinity
than that which confronts us on the golden throne it has seldom been
our fortune to behold; and the designs of animal-plants are as
remarkable as anything in modern illustrative art: they are entirely
unique, and possess a value quite apart from their artistic grace.

The chief complaint I find to urge against the book is that it stops
long before my curiosity regarding the contents of the interior world
is satisfied. There are several continents and islands yet to be heard
from. But I am reassured by the termination of the story that there is
nothing to prevent the hero from continuing his explorations; and I
shall welcome the volume which contains the further points of his
extraordinary and commendable enterprise.

JULIAN HAWTHORNE.

THE GODDESS OF ATVATABAR.

CHAPTER I.

A POLAR CATASTROPHE.

I had been asleep when a terrific noise awoke me. I rose up on my
couch in the cabin and gazed wildly around, dazed with the feeling
that something extraordinary had happened. By degrees becoming
conscious of my surroundings, I saw Captain Wallace, Dr. Merryferry,
Astronomer Starbottle, and Master-at-Arms Flathootly beside me.

"Commander White," said the captain, "did you hear that roar?"

"What roar?" I replied. "Where are we?"

"Why, you must have been asleep," said he, "and yet the roar was
enough to raise the dead. It seemed as if both earth and heaven were
split open."

"What is that hissing sound I hear?" I inquired.

"That, sir," said the doctor, "is the sound of millions of flying
sea-fowl frightened by the awful noise. The midnight sun is darkened
with the flight of so many birds. Surely, sir,