Contemporary Literature. 555 continuous research; and, as the result, he has supplemented many of the bibliographical defects of the New Congregational Hymn-book,' and has corrected some of its errors. We have noted several of these in looking through the volume, and by-and-by when his statements have been sufficiently tested, it may be well for the Committee of the Congregational Union to revise the list of authors. The authorship of some of the hymns published in the New Congregational' as anonymous, was, however, known to its compilers, but, for various reasons, the names were withheld; in most cases the condition was insisted upon by the writers themselves. The authors of several of the anonymous hymns have been ascertained since the hymn-book was stereotyped. In other cases such as the wrong attribution of Mr. Anstice's two hymns, Nos. 354 and 593, from the Child's Christian Year' to Keble, and many others, Mr. Miller has rendered good service by his corrections. On the other hand, Mr. Miller has not only left something to be done by investigators who may come after him, and, as we trust, in future editions of his own book, but he has fallen into some mistakes. For instance, the author of the hymns bearing the name of Shrubsole, one of which Mr. Miller has erroneously attributed to Matthew Wilks, was not the Rev. Wm. Shrubsole, of Sheerness, as Mr. Miller supposes, but Mr. William Shrubsole of the Bank of England, his son, one of the Fathers and Founders' of the London Missionary Society, father of the late Mrs. Cunliffe, who kindly submitted the original MSS. to one of the compilers of the New Congregational Hymn-book.' If we mistake not, his hymns are appended to Mrs. Cunliffe's memoir of her father in Dr Morison's volume, entitled as above. For Mr. Miller's information, however, we may say that the hymn No, 376, Lo, on the inglorious tree,' is a translation of an old Latin hymn by the Rev. W. J. Blew ( Church Hymn and Tune Book') revised by one of the compilers of the 'New Congregational Hymn-book.' We wil, only say, concerning Mr. Miller's criticisms on omissions and readingsl that the editorial functions required of compilers of a hymn-book for use in public worship, are essentially different from those of the editor of a work like Sir Roundell Palmer's. When hymns extend to twelve, eighteen, or twenty-four verses, omission becomes imperative, and many considerations besides intrinsic excellency, such as unity, progress, or fitness of sentiment, must determine what verses are to be omitted. An abbreviated hymn may be a congruous whole, or but a heap of disjecta membra. As to readings-when, as Sir Roundell Palmer justly remarks, 'a hymn is easily spoiled by a single falsetto note,' verbal alteration becomes imperative, if some of the richest devotional compositions of our literature are not to be altogether discarded. For instance, ask a congregation to sing the first line of Charles Wesley's Nativity Hymn as he wrote it, Hark! how all the welkin rings,' and the archaism would set everybody in a titter. The justification of an editor in such alterations is to be found, not in any theories about alterations, but in the practical result. The compilers of the New Congregational Hymn-book' wisely proceeded on the principle of making no alteration when such did not seem, for worshipping purposes essentially necessary. The taste or even refinement of one age may be the burlesque or coarseness of another. Such verbal adaptations have been found imperative by every compiler of hymns for public worship. But we must not permit Mr. Miller's book to tempt further remark. As a work of very great research, of skilful composition, of valuable information, and of exceeding biographical and religious interest, we heartily commend it to every household, as the inseparable companion of the hymn-book which it illustrates. The latest contribution to the literature of our hymnology, it is, out of sight, the best. Letters of Eugénie de Guérin. Edited by G. S. TREBUTIEN. London: Simpkin & Marshall. 1866. This is a companion volume to the charming journal of Madlle. de Guérin, which has recently taken the heart of Christian and Protestant Europe by storm. It is difficult to say in what the charm of these letters consists, yet it is equally difficult to resist their fascination. The incidents which they relate are of the simplest and homeliest description ; the correspondents to whom they are addressed, are with few exceptions, unknown to fame; yet the writer throws around them a certain glamour which makes us quite sympathetic in the varied changes of their lot. There is much that is gushing and even sentimental in the extravagant terms in which Eugénie de Guérin's loving heart pours forth its cataracts of affection on a multitude of objects. Her thoughts dwell more on the shady than on the sunny side of human life, but though she has the secret of manufacturing sorrows, she knows how to put away the sackcloth and gird her with gladness. She seems to live ever beneath the shadow of the wing of the Angel of Death, yet he is not to her the grim spectre which Holbein represents him, but rather the Janitor of Paradise, and as the door closes behind one after another of her friends, gleams from the light within fall, and rest upon her soul. Her whole spirit was interfused with that peculiar form of religious life which can grow up only under the influence of Roman Catholicism. Her estimate of the world, of holy places, persons, days, and things, her hagiology, her reverence for and dependence on sacraments, crucifixes, and Holy Mother Church, evince a degree of superstition which at times is little better than fetichism; yet withal it is refreshing to trace the evidence of the buoyant and practical power of her faith, of her obvious love to God, her delight in prayer, and her Christian charity. She rejoiced in Church festivals, and loved to attend on services and ceremonials, yet she clearly regarded them only as means to an end, that end being to bring her into closer communion with God and heaven. In her allusions to death and departed friends, we trace only slight hints of her belief in purgatory; she hopes that those who have departed hence are at once in heaven with God. These volumes as a whole suggest to us the perpetual flow of some exquisite waterfall; the jets and eddies of strong affection dart in various directions, and aim at unseen objects; sunbeams, motions of moonlight,' weave their iris on her falling tears; and while the glad outbursts of her heart refresh the spirits of others, she is still embowered in the mountain fastness, guarded by the beauties of nature, and singing her everlasting song. These letters lose much by being clothed in an English dress. In almost every page we find expressions which, in their original form, are extremely touching and graceful, but in our matter-of-fact tongue convey an impression of extreme sensibility, verging at times on absurdity. Some of the expressions are foreign to the genius of our language, and could scarcely be adequately rendered in English; but in many instances the translator has failed to do justice to Madlle. de Guérin's beautifully-expressed thoughts and feelings. Contemporary Literature. 557 Arne. A Sketch of Norwegian Country Life. By BJÖRNSTJERNE BJÖRNSON. Translated from the Norwegian by Augusta Plesner and S. Rugeley-Powers. London: Alexander Strahan. The countrymen of Björnson have acknowledged him as a writer of fresh, beautiful, and original genius, the destined creator of a modern national literature; and there can be no doubt that, if his life be spared and his promise fulfilled, he will take an honourable place in the literature of Europe. For a long time the national individuality of Norway was overpowered by that of Denmark, to which she was united; and since she became free, she has produced no writer who has won for himself a name. Björnstjerne Björnson, whose very name is redolent of old Norse tales, is the son of a clergyman, and was a rough, muscular, unlettered boy, full of play, and paying but little attention to the studies of the University. He was, however, a diligent student of the pages of naturethose manuscripts of God.' He became a contributor to periodical literature, travelled to Copenhagen and Hamburg, and about nine years ago, published in a little provincial town in the north of Norway a book called Synnove Solbakken,' awoke up one morning, and found himself famous. Björnson's genius is purely original, as felicitous in its conceits as that of Jean Paul, only less fierce and passionate; as homely and humorous as that of Charles Lamb, as etherial and musical as that of Ariel. His stories are old Norse Sagas modernized and humanized; they blend the charm of a fairy tale with the sympathies of common life. This is the first of his works that has been translated into English, and the translators merit the thanks of all readers who are in quest of something pure, fresh, and entertaining. In the original it has achieved a very wide popularity. It carries us into quite new scenes, amongst quite new people, who, while distinctly localized as Norwegian peasants, are drawn with the fine traits of loving and suffering humanity, which make men of all nations akin. The tale progresses by incidents, without long narrative or laboured description, and occasionally a whole pathetic episode is told in a single line. A fanciful parable of life, under the figure of a cliff, clothed with verdure and grace, whether it wishes it or not, opens and closes the story, and runs like a golden thread through its homely warp and weft, now wrought into exquisite posies of verse, now doubled and twisted into quaint knots of metaphor. Bjornson is essentially a poet. His stories are interspersed with verses which, even in their translated form, are full of beauty and grace. Arne, the hero of this volume, could always sing more than he could say, and when he got his first glimpse of spring and love, he sung this song to somebody, until it nearly took her breath away : The Tree's early leaf-buds were bursting their crown: Till the blossoms have grown," Prayed the Tree, while he trembled from rootlet to crown. 'The Tree bore his blossoms, and all the birds sung: Till the berries have grown." Said the Tree, while his leaflets quivering hung. NO. LXXXVIII PP The Tree bore his fruit in the Midsummer glow: Take them; all are for thee," Said the Tree, while he bent down his laden boughs low.' Views and Opinions : By MATTHEW BROWNE. London: Alexander Strahan. 1866. The Gentle Philosopher; or, Home Thoughts for Home Thinkers. London: James Blackwood & Co. 1866. We ought to be a wise and understanding people. We receive, between the four Seas, some twenty thousand sermons weekly, and few days elapse without many well-meaning, and some highly-gifted men lavishing upon us good advice. Everybody seems bent on making others find light in their light, see evil in their curse, and discover beauty and excellence in their choice, their moods, or their ideals. The two volumes before us are very much akin with the quiet, though rather exhausted spirit of the Country Parson. At all events, they seek to give permanence to some of the fleeting but savory meditations which have amused our leisure, or arrested our attention, when they casually appeared in the journals of the day. They do not profess to go very deeply into any subject, or to give much information, or to guide to new sources of intellectual wealth; but they strike chords and sound keynotes of excellent fantasias, and at times play through overtures to unwritten but yet possible dramas which excite curiosity and provoke admiration. Matthew Browne cares little for criticism, and seldom goes out of his way to avoid it. He chats and coos and nods confidentially at his reader, at times wearing a very heart of hearts upon his sleeve, and satisfied that the public will be profoundly interested in his ways and moods and fancies; and at other times he garrulously runs on, implying that he has not time to cross the room in order to rectify a quotation or justify an epithet, and that his 'view' and his 'opinion, as such, unrectified and unjustified, or not defended, are for the nonce worth our pondering. Perhaps they are; we have been beguiled into reading the volume through, and shall probably repeat the experiment more than once. There is a very encyclopædia of fancy, crotchet, anecdote, quotation in the author's soul that makes one envy those friends round St. Paul's, who are held by him in sweet remembrance.' A man who can trace recurring ideas through Tennyson with patient care, and prove that he has studied him as old divines studied their Bible, who can nevertheless go utterly mad about the colour of love,' (!) and then defend street preaching, the ballet dance, the sanctity of Sunday, and nervous agitation, and, moreover, can say new and 'rich' things about every topic he touches, may be pardoned some of his impertinence and extravagance and oddity. There is a high tone and thorough novelty about this viewy book,' which gives it a charm and fascination even to jaded critics. 'The Gentle Philosopher' moves in a humbler region and more beaten track; and though some of his brief essays appear to us essentially weak and prosaic, many of them are noble and well meant, and an hour will be often won amid the hurry of the busy world to listen to the flow and ripple of the burn, beside which the 'Gentle Philosopher' has guided our steps. Contemporary Literature. Days of Yore. By SARAH TYTLER. Strahan. 559 London: Alexander 'Let the dead past bury its dead' is not the motto of modern novelists, many of whom are smitten with a passionate love of the olden time, and labour hard at archæology and history to galvanize the remains of buried generations into seeming life. Miss Tytler is evidently ambitious to contribute to such a result. We do not think she has succeeded in her effort. She has tried her hand on many epochs and various scenes, but the stories strike us as anything but interesting. She often makes an elaborate preparation for an insignificant and feeble narrative. The dramatic incidents are commonplace and without any true feeling; eminently artificial and constrained, and fail to bring before us with any living power the characters and scenes which she endeavours to reproduce. Adam Home's repentance appears to us, upon the whole, to be the best conceived and most interesting of the tales, but its extreme unnaturalness gives it this distinction. This story, even more than the others, is disfigured by an amount of Gaelic words that render many parts quite unintelligible to an uneducated Southron, and suggests the wish that the authoress had appended a glossary. Lynton Grange. A Novel. By JOHN R. S. HARINGTON. Pitman, Paternoster-row. This is a very good novel, especially regarded as a first attempt. It evinces a profound acquaintance with human nature, and a power of depicting its several types, in fictitious characters and scenes, which is not often surpassed. The story is very simple, yet the manner in which it is told, the incidents which fill it with life, and the variety of scenes into which it carries the reader, render it intensely interesting. Here are some of the most graphic descriptions of natural scenery and phenomena, and of London life, which we remember to have read. The book, besides, breathes throughout an air of freshness and reality which we do not always find in the productions of the greatest writers. But, above all, it is morally pure and healthy in its tone, and, without parading religious opinions or sentiments, is deeply religious in its spirit. The author has endeavoured,' as he tells us in his preface, 'to indicate, beneath the interest and amusement of fiction, the profound 'lesson of human experience,-that evil, if fought with and subdued, becomes an ennobling and purifying agent; but if yielded to, issues in ' utter darkness.' It is high praise, but it is not going beyond the merits of the author, to say that he has succeeded, and produced a book which may be as useful as it is interesting. Wealth and Welfare. By JEREMIAH GOTTHELF. 2 vols. London: Alexander Strahan. A simple tale of Swiss life, intended to illustrate the contrast indicated by its title-page; the representatives of which are the families of two well-to-do Bernese farmers. There is but little incident in the story, but its interest is sustained by the light which is thrown upon the customs, ideas, and feelings of Swiss life. To English readers this is a world of which they know but little-it is a little idealized, perhaps, in this tale, but it has about it the charm of more primitive society than |