t the newly
discovered lake N'Gami, in Southern Africa, has been long known under
the name of Nampur. The same number of the _Jahrbuch_ also contains an
article from the pen of the late lamented ALBERT GALLATIN, on the
climate of North America. This article was written in English, and was
translated into German for the _Jahrbuch_.

* * * * *

BERGHAUS has also lately issued a complete work of the highest interest,
especially now that so much attention is every where paid to
Ethnographic studies. Its title is _Grundlinien der Ethnographie_
(Outlines of Ethnography). It is in two parts, and contains a universal
tabular description of all the races of the globe, arranged
ethnographically and geographically, and according to languages and
dialects, with a comparative view of their manners, customs, and habits.
No person who undertakes to investigate the origin of the human family
and the mutual relations of its different members, can afford to be
without this work. Published in Stuttgart.

* * * * *

BERTHOLD AUERBACH has just brought out a little volume of tales, which
we may well infer from his previous performances are charmingly replete
with grace, good humor, and a keen perception of whatever is peculiar to
his subject. The title of the book is _Deutsche Abende_ (German
Evenings). It contains three stories: "Nice People," "What is
Happiness?" and "The Son of the Forester." Published at Mannheim.

* * * * *

BARON STERNBERG, a dilettante book-maker of Germany, who generally
resides at Berlin, has just added a new romance, or rather the beginning
of one, to his previous publications. It bears the promising, if not
pretentious title, of _The German Gil Blas_ (published at Bremen), and
claims to be comic, as a matter of course. As a whole, the book is a
failure. Though there are passages here and there which may be read with
satisfaction, there is not enough unity and connection between the
different parts, and the humor is generally but a thin potation. It must
be said, however, that the absence of continuous interest is the fault
of most comic novels, as well as poems. Even the matchless works of Jean
Paul grow tedious by the endeavor to read much of them at a time, a fact
which may be ascribed to the sentimentality and mere fantastics with
which the kernels of his wit are overburdened. It is certain that no
German humorou