The Sun.
London, England, 1864-09-01 00:00:00

burnished gold—below, the grim old cedar trunks wer
scarlet, the cedar boughs were bronze, each leaf of the
copper beech was a glittering, blood-red ruby, and the roses
burned like sparks of fire. Far away to the left, in one of
the trees which stood up sharp and clear and purple-black
against the amber sky, a thrush was singing his evening
song. All this was unconsciously noted by both Everard
and Sydney, and the calmness and gorgeous beauty of that
evening would come back vividly to their memories some
future day.

Some readers may be disappointed with the con-
clusion of the story, but all will be deeply interested
and enthralled by its perusal. It is a work of a
higher class and better tone than the majority of
the novels which come before us, and it is likely to
benefit as well as to delight the readsr—to benefit
him by lifting his thoughts for awhile above the
sordid interests of meaner creatures, to contemplate
the struggles of a noble heart, not for gold or gain,
not fcr pomp or place, but for principle and virtue,
even at the cost of all things.

7ha Biglow Papers. By James Russell Lowell.
One vol., pp. 200. John Camden Hotten.
If by no more than the publication of this delight-
ful little volume—comprising within it the whole
of the world-famous 11;filoto Papers—Mr. Rotten
may be very fairly said to have here most auspi-
ciously inaugurated his movement across Piccadilly
to a new and ampler tenement than the old one
hitherto (and, for that matter, still for
the time being) occupied by him, hard
by the north-east corner of Green Park.
It augurs well for his career as among our London
Publishers. For, it testifies at onoe his taste and
his enterprise. It conveys to the reader of it
—this choice little book—proof positive of the
soundness of Mr. Hotten's judgment and of the
niceness of his judgment. And we speak this dilsc
tinctly and individually of the publisher of this
London Edition of the Biglow Papers, because he
is at once, in regard to it, the Editor of the Volume
as well as the Publisher of it.
,The Editor of it, not,
be it understood, just nominally, but searchingly
and thoroughly. And—the work itself ! This won-
derfully comical book of " The Biglow Papers !"
For genuine Yankee wit, it is a masterpiece. Any
one who has a relish for the grotesque freaks of
rhyme indulged in by Tom Hood, for the racy and
abounding humour of Sidney Smith,for the capricious
rhythm and inexhaustible fun of Thomas Barham,
otherwise Thomas Ingoldsby—any one who has a
recollection of having years ago shaken his sides over
Colman's " Broad Grins," over Haliburton's laugh.
ter-moving but imperturbable " Clockmaker," over
Canning's extravagantly ridiculous" Anti-Jacobin,"
with its Friend of Humanity discoursing in immor-
tal sapphics to the needy Knife-Grinder—any one,
in a word, who has an eye for real mother-wit, a
keen appreciation of the truly humorous, and
risible muscles susceptible of entering into the
fun of a joke with an instant and com-
plete enjoyment—may be certain of this that
the "Biglow Papers" are just the very thing for
him! Wherever he opens them, they are sine of
hitting him to a nicety in the midriff! If adaptable
co any known tune, they are certainly adaptable to
the air of "Away with Melancholy." The illustra-
tor of the very cover of this shilling reprint of the
work in its popular London Edition, has caught the
very genius of the book upon the point of his comic
pencil. For, there, upon the centre of that outer
title page, has he not (this ingenious draughtsman)
pourtrayed a very model or beau ideal of a Yankee
Volunteer ? With the old constitutional initials—
that once renowned "U. S." that seemed
to say (monosyllobbically), and with the true
Yankee twang, US can whip all creation !
the world-famous " U.S." by this time all bat
U F'' imprinted here on the crossbelt of the
uniform of the Yankee Volunteer pur et simple
(in one sense anything but pure or simple), this
cute creature with the broad-brimmed hat upon his
cranium, his lantern jaws fringed with a pointed
3tubble of beard, his olfactories just inhaling a
flavour of snuff from the point of his right thumb,
his left yet holding before him the open snuffbox—
Indicative probably of his being, par excellence, one
who is (in his own estimation) always " up to snuff."
Beneath this spectacled effigy of your Fighting Yen..
kee—as a sub-title to the " Biglow Papers" , there
appears (as we presume the English publisher's and
Editor's definition of these same " Biglow Papers"
not the author'e)—the intimation that the little
book oontains within it " The Choicest Humorous
Poetry of the ,Age." And, really, for that

_ .
matter, if we prcfiz to that statement the
two additional words, " Some of"—the aster.
Lion, thus qualified, will have just hit it ! For the
fact of the matter is simply this—these Big low

Papers are, in their own classic phraseology, "true
grit." Whether we accept them as from Ja mes
Russell Lowell (merely as the mouthpiece—of R osea

Biglow of Jaalam—of Increace B. O'Phace, Esquire
—or of Bridofredum Sawin), these wonderf ally
funny,wise and witty,bitingly-causticyet thorouglly
good•humoured effusions, are, in truth, the true' it of
true grit." The Poet, in quaffing his pot of

Helicon-liquor, has drawn it evidently from the right
tap—one worthy of tho name given (rather doubt•
fully) by the burly landlord to that men.orable 6 lass
of beer drunk by poor little David Copperfielit on
his birthday—" The genuine stunning." Here it is
t last—not dubiously foaming up in the tumbler
handled by David Copperfield, but sparkling and
bubbling—as fresh as ever—never for that matter
stale, flat, or unprofitable, in the " native pewter"
angered with an adept's touch by Hosea Biglow of

Jaalam aforesaid. Take the merest taste of it, and

say whether in spite of its profanities, its vulgarities,
And its stupendous eccentricities, it be not as we
have said—the genuine stunning—

We begin to think it's nater
To take sarse and not be riled ;
Who'd expect to see a tater
All on Bend at bein' biled I
Or again—and surely the reach cf profane famia
Aunty could scarcely any further go—

God hez sed so plum an' fairly
It's ez long ez it is broad,
An' you've gut to git up airly
Ef you want to take in God.

As to War—

I dunno but `vat it's pooty
Trainin 'round in bobtail coats—
But it's curus Christian dooty
This era cuttin' folks's throats.

Another while, pretty much to the same effect in
meaning though to a different measure, quoth our
transaltlantic chanticleer (still harpinglon
This sort o' thing aint jest like thet—l wish that 1 wus

furda—
Nimepunce a day fer killin' folks comes kind o' low for

murder.
The fun, the wisdom, the wit, the humour c,f the
thing can only be caught by retaling these most
whimsical papers each in its entirety—or, better
still, the whole series of Biglow papers just as they
are here preened to us, with all their fantastic in-
troductions, foot-notes, interpolations, and runn.,
log commentaries. Mr Rotten has done exactly
the right thing in issuing precisely this very
edition of James Russell Lowell's literezy muster.
piece,

The Danes in Camp. Letters from Sondarborg.
By Auberon Herbert. One Vol., pp. 221, ►Sawn.
ders, 0 tley, and Co.
The author of these pleasant letters excusc is their
homely form, written as they were during hits resi4
deuce in Denmark, and at the very scat of the war.
His object in their publication is, he tells us, two.
fold. " I have been irfluenced by the double wish
to reproduce iu some simple fashion, for the sake of
those of my countrymen who are interested in the
present fortunes of Denmark, a part of my personal
impressions and experiences, and also to piece on
grateful record the kindness with which soldier
and civilian, stranger and acquaintance invariably
befriended me during my visit to that country."
Written in an easy, goseipp,ing style, full of inci.
dental anecdotes and reflections, these "Letters"
give a very interesting glimpse of Danmark and the
Dance. Mr. Herbert recognises many points of
resemblance between Englishmen and Danes. As,
for example, where he writes—
Comparing breakfasts, I hero tako occasion to notice
what has been striking me most forcibly during the last few
days—the resetnblance between the Danes and the English.
There is not only a resemblance between us in certain
loading points of character, not only do I think that they
have a double portion of that honesty and straightforward-
ness which we are apt to claire for our own national cha-
racter and peculiar birthright, not only have they a man-
liness and dignity of behaviour which is certainly a northern
rather than a southern virtue, but I find that in some