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BT A. B, J. UAWL.INSON. Come let us see the rosev my sweet That clad in purple robe did greet The morning's sun, all newly bloWn; Whether, this eve. she still doth wear That purple-pleated robe and fair Complexion as thine own! Alas, alas! a few brief hours. My sweet, and on the sod sh?? showers. Ah me! her pelais far and wide' Nature, thou cruel Stepdame, may So ?Wee! a blossom hill ?ill?? d:iy From morn to eve anide? Then, dearest, if my soner be truth. Gather the bb-ssoma of thy youth! Ah! [duck, ah" pluck the II."?ling hours While ?.reen the san and red the blood! For sure at last shall Age corrode Thy beauty, as this flower's. ?fee ^JtHl^rfc 9*ilmi(? SIMIA Y, AUGUST 13, 1005. Something must soon be done to abate the dramatization of police court reports in the form of Hie short story, or contemporary li?'tion will get a positively evil name. Crime stalks tlirouirh that fiction with a persistence that would be funny if it were not a little disgust? ing. A hiintoraus critic in the London "Times," alluding satirically to the resounding phrases i.i which .Mr. Swinburne has dedicated "Love's t T0__ -Currents" to Mr. Watts Danton, goes on io say, will wicked point, "Mrs. Waterbrook owned to David Copperfield that if she had a weakness it was for Blood. It was a very rea? sonable weakness, and one that no writer should be without." Nowadays it seems as if a iwsion for burglarious and other criminal motives were the weakness that no writer ko.iM be without. The villain of fiction is no 1 ugor a singular individual, turning up only under special circumstances, and wearing the t niuistakable stamp of his villany. He turns i-di everywhere, and ho is far more likely to look like a gentleman than to look like a brute. We pick up one magazine, and lind a well known author making great play with a talc of perilous but successful theft. This is followed by a story about one "Snorkcy Timms" and his fel? low practitioners of the gentle art of "1'eter ( lainiing," which, being iuterpreted, moans the stealing of travelling bags from railway sta? tions. This magazine is not exceptional. The criminal hero is to be encountered on every ride. He makes most obnoxious company, and, in? ?dentally, he is getting to be a bore. How fond the author of "Waverley" was of a preface Mr. M. H. H. Macartney shews us in a pleasant paper in "I-ongman's." Scott put all inannor of good things into his prefaces. la them he talks about the legends on which he 1 ased his works, he talks about his anonymity, lit? writes long descriptive passages, and when lie is not discoursing upon fiction in general, and his own fiction in particular, he is criticis? ing the critics. Mr. Macartney quotes one de? lightful illustration of Scott's scorn of the crit? ical tribe. "And now, ye generation of critics," he says, "who raise yourself up as if it were brazen serpents, to hiss with your tongues and to smite with your ?stings, boar yourselves down to yoilr native dust and acknowledge tli.it yours have been the thoughts of Ignorance and the words of vain foolishness." Who would not write a preface if, in the writing of it, one might whack the foe after this robustious fash ion? But the preface as a work of art is as 'lead as Julius Ca?sar. We can understand why writers of fiction give it the cold shoulder. Scott himself says, "Most novel readers, as my own conscience reminds me, are apt to be guilty (if the sin of omission respecting that same mut? ier of profil?es." l?ut the preface to a book not !i novel wonld not go unread if authors were to take a little pains with it As a matter of fact, the modern preface is a perfunctory and slijishod affair-a kind of ragbag into which odds sad ends of information or of gratitude for assistance received are Hung with no literary c oiiseien??(> whatever. The other day a writer, believing in the in berent depravity of editors, played a pretty trick '?pon one of them to prove that a manuscript submitted would not oven get itself read. To Un- third page lie fastened a postal order for twelve copies of a previous issue of the journal ?.. which he was offering his work, but the whole bundle came back to him untouched. Where? upon, we infer, he chuckled with unholy glee Let him chuckle. The editor's withers are un wrung. For the editor has yet to be heard from who, Knowing his business, cannot tell from the first page of a manuscript whether or not it is going to lie worth bis while to read en to Hie end. We like Mr. Shortor's comment in "The Sphere" on the mare's nest discovered by the af?)resaid crafty contributor. "I do not believe it is possible," he remarks, "for an essay as good as 'Boast Pig' or 'The Superannuated Man' for a story as good as 'The Man Who Would lb? King,' for a poem as good, let us saj? as Mrs. Meynoll's 'l-enunciation'-if one of these things were written by an absolutely obscure writer?to fail to find its way into print in the (coarse of a few months. In other words there is really no such thing to-day as unrec? ognized talent" How could an editor not ut lerly stupid, help recognizing "The Man Who Would Be King" for a work of genios by the time he had read the first page? it is a poor rule that won't work both ways. NAPOLEON. - t His Boyhood in Corsica and His Early Training in France. NAPObBON. Th?* First ITiSbS Some ?Ttiapters on th<? Hovh.Kxl and Vouth of Bonaparte, 17?S9 1793. By Oscar Browning. M. A. 8vo, pp 315. John Bane. This volume is appropriately dedicated to Lord Rosebery, as the author of "Napoleon: The Last Phase," and though It is not so cleverly written it deserves a place beside that diverting book. The historians have always had something to say about the beginning and the end of the most extraordinary career ?<f modern times, but just as it was left to Lord Rosebery to throw a special glamour over the captive of St. Helena, in a book written in English for a popular audi? ence, so it has been left to Mr. Browning to ap? peal in much the same form and much the same way to readers anxious to know precisely what NAPOLEON. (From the statue at Brienne.) went to the making of their hero before his rise to heroic stature. In this book Napoleon's childhood in Corsica is traversed with sufficient detail; he is followed through the period of hi? military pupilage at Brienne, Paris, Valence and Auxonne; and, with careful attention for the in? termediate episodes of his early manhood, toe author finally describes his performances at Toulon. The record is, of course, profoundly interesting, and while Mr. Browning might have given us a more brilliant book, he has at least given us one which is accurate and well ordered. For the beginner he supplies an ad? mirable Introduction to the works of Masson and Chuquet. He gives at the outset a good picture of the household in which Napoleon was reared as a child, a household in which the suave and court? ly Charles Bonaparte and his Spartan wife. Letizia Ramolino. exercised an amiable but de? termined rule. The future soldier was adored by his women folk, but he had to toe the mark. "Once, when he was nearly grown up." says Mr. Browning, "he laughed at his grandmother, and called her an old witch. Letizia was very angry, and Napoleon, knowing that he would be pun? ished, kept out of her way. However, going to bis bedroom to dress for dinner, she followed him, and, taking advantage of his deshabille, gave him a good thrashing." I.etizia, it was, we are told, who gave him many of his strongest qualities, including his economical bent. Na? poleon never forgot the scenes on which he opened his eyes in infancy, and he cherished as fondly his memories of those who then cared for him. Long after, when he paused in the Bay of Ajaccio, on his way back from Egypt, he caught sight of Camilla llari. his old nurse. He made her come to his coronation, and to the end was kind to her and to her family. But we must return to his earliest characteristics, neatly sum? marized in the following passage: Napoleon's mother tells us that she had arranged ? a lar?-? empty room for the children to play in. While the others wer* jumping about, drawing and scribbling on the walls. Napoleon us??d to beat a drum, wield a sabre of a?ood and draw soldiers on I the walls ranged in order of battle. He was very I industrious, and showed a great capacity for math ' ?maths. His first tcacli.-rs were nuns. They were 1v? ry fond of him. and called him the mathejnatl cian. He then w?*nt to the school which formerly belonged to ;?>< Jesuits. He exchanged every day the piece of whit? bresd ?rlvirt h'rn f-ir l-:r -h f r the romrh hrnwn bread of the common s.ii order that he might accustom hirnaelf to iiiiaaall iBt* fare. At the age of eight he bad such a paaaaiiB? for arithmetic that a shed was built for him br hind th?; house, where he might work undisturbed. Sunk in meditation, be walked about In the even? ing with his stockings about his heels, and was much jeere?! at in cons?quence tUatsaSsa has told us that on May 5. 1777. the family bailiff brought to their house two young and spirited horses. Na? poleon mounted one of them, and. to the terror of ?-v?'ry one. galloped off to the farm, laughing at th?'ir fright. Before he returned h<- examined the mechanism of the mill carefully, asking h?>w iritn-h corn it i-oiild ?rind in an h?iur. and. on being told, calculated that it could grind H i ,uch in a day. and so much in a week. When the farmer brought the child back, be told his mother that If he lived he would become the foremost man in the world. Genius, irdus-try and the p??wer of in? spiring and feeling deep affection were the chitaf notes of Napoleon's early childhood. He matured rapidly. While developing Re? publican ideas with an ardor beyond his yearn, he nevertheless had no misgivings about accept? ing the education provided for him by the King. an?l at Bricnne, though he never won a prize, he followed his studies with dev,>tion. He was more than sound in mathematics; he was "re markable for his knowledge of geography." and he thr?w himself with passion upon the reading of history. Plutarch was his favorite author, and. says Mr. Browning, "it is reported that One of his nicknames was 'The Spartan," given to him on account of his admiration for that na? tion." He seems never to have been a boy in the ordinary understanding of the word, caring for sports and delighting in associations with his comrades. He was solitary and even sullen, though under a certain moral discipline, im? posed by the school boys he disdained, he learned, after a time, to meet them half way. But there is no blinking the fact that Napoleon was a man and a genius in his teens. Mr. Browning quotes a letter written by the lad to his uncle at this time. Lie remarks it contains on the character and future of his brother Jo? seph might hsve been written by the father of a family. He was not indifferent to the nat? ural emotions, and. indeed, his affection for his parents brings an element of something like tenderness into tSC story of his formative years. Much is made, to.?, by his present biographer, of the way in which he remembered, amid the Bplendots of his prime, every one who had fig? ured al all pleasantly in his boyhood. But he went up to Paris to take his place in the Ecole Militai:.- aliout as sternly resolute a student as ever entered that famous institution. Perhaps he had even then that confidence In his d.stiny which was entertained by his father, and, as we have seen, by others in Corsica. It is said that when Charles Bonaparte was dying he ask? d for his son. crying "Where is Napo Kon? Where is my son Napoleon, whose sword will make kings tremble, who will change the face of the world?" Sustained by a belief in his star as lively as this, though not, perhaps, so clearly formulated, he labored at the military school with uncommon steadfastness. It is in? teresting to note that he was at this period no less high minded than industrious. It was the same at Valence, where he was Quartered on leaving the school; if he stu\2ed dancing and de? portment, he also paid the strictest attention to his duties as a young artillery officer, and, as at Brienne, he read omnivorously. "He was at that time." writes Joseph, "a passionate ad nnr??r of Rousseau, the inhabitant of an ideal world, a lover of ?he great works of ?*rnein*_ of Hacine, of Voltaire, which we dkttla-lmed to? gether every day. He had collected a awmber of books, which occnpted a trunk larger than that which contained his clothes?the works of Plutarch, of Plato, of Ci? ero of CoraS-has Nepos. of Livy and of Tacitus, all t ran Stall it into French, besides the writings of Montaigne, of Montesquieu and of ICaynal. I do n' I that BS had also with him the poems of Ossian. but I deny that he preferred them to Horn ?M be interesting to go step by sr- ; th?- her?? of this volume through his nppr ship, but for th?; detail., w rt-srtcn to Mr. Bravatas, ? fia." simply upon th ? ?nrnand.-r H- -PSS husiast and the sacks. a day laborer Even when, at Auxonrie, 'inrler arrest for twenty-fo. : y of the "Ingest" whi?.-h h<* found . room, and at every turn be dis;. the asidrnilative faculty of a youth bound on though the heavens fall. He ?hows mental adroitnesa, too, the readim tin.?! *?< be not only a conqueror but a Ttatas man. Always, finally, he is a thinker, ami though for a tim<\ on his return to ?'?rsica, h?_ plunges into the politics of that distressf . land with more energy than discretion, one can? not help feeling-as though it were writ? twees the lines of his early history -the influ? era?- of 1 c?>n.scious purpose p??inting steadily to th? aea which was to astonish th?? world. His f imption of the headship of hi.?? family is in .1.1 sta_> His rioth.-r was scan deal i zed by those who would be useful to hi-n " but lowed his bad, and .? h^n th.- troub! ca sent all the liona; 1 n F*rance. Napoi.-on fcscasas still mor cally the master of his family's fortunes. He was severe, anct ai- .rdiiig to his brother . "he was angry at :!>?? least observation, and g ?t into a pass: slightest resistance we s?-e praeti-a?y nothing in him. down to tha time of his ?eap into a position of imp? at Tou.on. of that ruthless egotism which ever attached to his name. That was to coma later, when growing success meant gr bition. and he sank in dreams of conqu simpler, mor? g -nerous impulses of his nature. But the impulses were ther??. bearing good fr.it in th.- morning >f his career, and Mr i.rowninB performs a useful service in making them m>r?. iamiliar to the general reader. He does not at? tempt to whitewash his hero, he does not ask as to palli?t.? Napoleon's mistakes as the heir of the Revolution, in the light of his exemplary conduct as a young man. But be sheds mora light on that conduct than is customarily of? fered by writers dealing with the greater epochs in Napoleon's career, and he thus contributes to a wider knowl_dge of historic truth. THE DOWN BY MOOS LIGHT. BAUrB HODGSON. The down looks new whose lonely slopes I climb; Tet is he old despite the dress he wears. Old as the dark . reads with Time: Wast?? with the aiRiction of aacotmti ! years, A weary head he stretches to the pal? Of In at III Osm -??: : him upreara A shaggy fist, in scer:iin_r to as Imagine?! ?ighinings fraught with new distress? For his old brow. A trail Its atrophied and bony nakedness Down to the streams that bless the living land? As if to mitigate the loneliness He too would reach, as we, another's hand. So quiet this hour is grown, a whisper's fall Were sacrilege: within me as I stand. Shy wonder, waking, seems a common brawl And even thought itself is over loud. Desire alone is dumb. No plovers call. And if owls fly, their flight Is unavowed For cry I hear of theirs. Peace here and far; And save the moon's loved presence, one lit cloud Is sole 'twixt me and night's first listening st ir. THE GUERDON BT A. C. TENS?N. Twenty long years ago. And it seems like yesterday' And what have I got to show. What have I gained by the way? I have loved my fellow-men. But have loved yet more my will. I was heedless and faithless then. I am faithless and heedless sti L, Thirsting for l.^ve and joy. Eager to mould and plan. These were the dreams of a boy. These are the dreams of a man. East and West they are gone. My comrades of yesterday, Some of them struling on. Some of them fall'n by the way. Tet this is my thought alone. This have I won by the ?vav That twenty long years have down. And it seems like yesterday. FRENCH ORTHOGRAPHY. From The London Chronicle. The reform of French orthography move? slowly. The Minister of Public Instructi?>n ap? pointed a commission, which proposed BOBBS radical changes. The Academy appointed a eom mission. which proposed scarcely any change? at all?merely the removal of a few double c?>n sonants. Even these trifles were declared to be the bulwarks of French literature, and M. Faguet, who was the reporter of this commis? sion, was roundly abused by poets and ottv-r*. The Minister of Public Instruction is perplex.-?! between the two commissions, so he _____ appoint? ed a third, which, it is thought, will settle tha