have a conviction that he does not abuse his power. In any case, the result is in many respects absolutely satisfactory. Something is evoked from chaos, that commends itself both to the reason and the fancy, and makes Dr. Brinton's book a very entertain. ing one; and that doubt, scarcely more merciful than atheism, whether man might not somewhere be destitute of belief in God and his own immortality, is removed, so far as concerns the Americans. Their supernaturalism included both ideas, and from it all our author evolves his opinion that the supreme deity of the red race was a not less pure and spiritual essence than Light. Their God, however, destroyed them, for always connected with belief in him was their faith in that immemorable tradition which taught that out of his home, the east, should come a white race to conquer and possess their land, and to which Dr. Brinton is not alone, nor too daring, in attributing the collapse of powers and civilizations like those of Peru and Mexico before a hantlful of Spanish adventurers. Hans Breitmann's Party. With other Ballads. Philadelphia: T. B. Peterson and Brothers. THE reader laughs at the fantastic drollery of these ballads, and, acknowledging the genuineness of the humor, cannot help wishing that it had a wider range and a securer means of expression. Its instrument is not a dialect or patois characterizing a race or locality, but merely the broken English of the half-Americanized German fellow-citizen, which varies according to accident or individual clumsiness, and is not nearly so fixed in form, or so descriptive of generic facts and ideas, as the Irish brogue. We own it is funny; and for once it did very well. Indeed, few American poems have been held in better or more constant remembrance than the ballad of Hans Breitmann's Party. It is one of those perennials, which, when not blossoming in the newspapers, are carefully preserved in many scrap-books, and, worn down to the quick with handling, and with only enough paper and print about them to protect the immortal germ, are carried round in infinite waistcoat-pockets. The other ballads here printed with it are a good deal like it, and betray not so much a several inspiration, as a growth from its success. They celebrate chiefly the warlike career of Hans Breit mann, who, many years after his famous "Barty," is "All goned afay mit de Lager Beer Afay in de ewigkeit," appears in a personal combat with a reprobate son among the rebels, and as a raider in Maryland, and finally as a bummer in the train of Sherman's army. While doing duty in the latter quality, he is "goppled oop" by the rebels; and "In de Bowery each bier-haus mit crape was oop done Ven dey read in de papers dat Breitmann vas gone; And de Dutch all cot troonk oopon lager and wein At the great Trauer-fest of de Tooner-Verein." But the gobbled bummer suddenly reappears among his comrades. "Six bistols beschlagen mit silver he wore Und a gold-mounted sword like an Kaisar he bore; Und ve dinks dat de ghosdt — or votever he beMoost hafe broken some panks on his vay to de sea. Und ve roosh to embrace him, und shtill more ve find Dat wherever he 'd peen, he 'd left noding pehind. This is true history as well as good fun, we imagine; and we suspect that the triumphal close of the ballad of "Breitmann in Kansas," whither he went, after peace came, on one of those Pacific Railroad pleasure-parties, which people somehow understand to be civilizing influences impelled by great moral engines, is more accurately suggestive of the immediate objects of such expeditions: "Hans Breitmann vent to Kansas; Bu 't vas in oldt Missouri Dat dey rooshed him up sublime. Und all der nobs around: The ballad of Die Schöne Wittwe, and mock-romantic ballad at the end, are the poorest of all, yet they make you laugh; and "Breitmann and the Turners" is as " ་ ་ -,,,, Had (lows Avet mot The it with no more effort than the glittering engine which one finds stowed away in some lower corner of a great building, playing easily and noiselessly as if for its own pleasure, while in reality it is driving with mighty energy 1 hundred wheels, and employing ceaseteasly a hundred hands. THE INFLUENCE OF THE AGE Now, such housewifery as this seems to me perfect, but I seldom any approach to it in the homes young married Tiends, ner. wores me, and in my secret otea makes me unhap Loving ke it misc Our smat as it may be, upon the music, the drawing, the varied culture of books, travel, and society, that made the interest and happiness of our girlish years. Pulled one way by necessity and another by inclination, we try to pay an equal homage to opposing and jealous gods. But we have not reconciled the quarrel between mind and matter. tering of the arts and sciences does not emancipate us from the old feminine slavery to manual labor. Cooking, sewing, dusting, arranging, it still stands there to be done; and, slight it as we may, we are yet compelled to attend to it just sufficiently to prevent our doing anything else well. So we accept superficiality in everything, and, as a consequence, find ourselves at many a turn unequal to the situation. Goaded by her aspirations and fretted by her imperfections, it is no wonder that the young American matron grows thin, nervous, even prematurely old; for she hurries along in the general rush, thorough neither as cook, seamstress, musician, student, or fine lady, but a atch-work apology for them all! THE PROBLEM OF THE HOUR. Thus the feminine paradox remains, that, though never before our time were so many privileges and advantages accorded to the sex, yet never was feminine work so badly done, never was there so much frivolity, so much complaint, so much sadness, anxiety, and discouragement, among women as now. Easy as modern housekeeping, modern child-rearing, and even (owing to ether) modern child-bearing are, compared with those of former times, women seem to hate them and to want to get away from them more and more every day. The evil is so great that men are growing afraid to marry even in this country, while those that are married are so uncomfortable that they have begun to talk in the papers about the necessity of establishing cook-shops and laundries, in order to rescue the delicate American wife from the unequal conflict with pans, and kettles, and impudent servants! But shall men do all the work of the world? Are we indeed come to be made of porcelain, that we must be shelved from all practical utility, and stand like the painted figures of the mantel-piece, looking down from our narrow perch at the toiling and earnest multitudes at our feet? It is time that faithful women ask themselves these questions, and try to find out what is the matter with our work that we cannot do it well, with ourselves that we cannot take delight in it. We seem to have allowed the grand and simple outlines of the old feminine idea to escape us, and now toil confused at a meaningless and elaborate pattern of existence whose microscopic details develop ever faster than the hand can follow or the weary spirit master them. THE HOUSEWIFE IN HISTORY. What was the old feminine function, and what was its value? - for how immensely the condition of women in these latter days has changed from the immemorial woman-life of tradition and history, few of the sex know or realize. Throughout long millenniums the feminine duties, occupations, and surroundings were the same, - the ideal woman of every successive period of the old bygone world being still found in the masterpiece of character-painting for all time, the "virtuous woman" of King Solomon. That wise and gracious lady is represented not only as "bringing her food from afar, rising while it is yet night, and giving meat to her household and a portion to her maidens," but also as spinning and weaving at home all the clothing of the family, and such a surplus besides of "girdles" and "fine linen," that with the sale of them she can buy fields and plant vineyards. “She is not afraid of the snow for her household; for all her household are clothed in scarlet" woollen, dyed, spun, and woven under her direction. Her own garments were rich and beautiful as became her state and dignity. "She maketh for herself coverings of tap try; her clothing is silk and purp hereafter, with its paradise in the sun, and its curious subdivisions into heavens and hells appropriate to the complaint or act by which the soul was separated from the body. A very interesting part of this book is that in which the author treats of the origin of the world and of man as he finds the idea in the uncorrupted myths of the aborigines. The native imagination never grasped the notion of creation. Matter, for them, always existed; but there was a fabulous period when a flood of waters hid everything, and when the dry land began to emerge. Back of this period they could not go; yet they had no trouble in supposing an end of matter, and they had no clearer belief than that of the destruction of the world, of a last day, and of a resurrection of the dead. All their myths teach more or less directly that man was not growth from lower animal life or from vegetable life, but "a direct product from the great creative power." Dr. Brinton examines at length into the nature of those myths by virtue of which the cardinal points of the compass and the number four became sacred to the aborigines, and by which the Cross became the symbol of the east, west, north, and south, as widely and universally employed as the knowledge of these points. S the ᎳᎥ god acros thus t arms of "When t to some seclu "As the "The Catholic missionaries found it was no new object of adoration to the red race, and were in doubt whether to ascribe the fact to the pious labors of Saint Thomas or the sacrilegious subtlety of Satan. It was the central object in the great temple of Cozumel, and is still preserved on the basreliefs of the ruined city of Palenque. From time immemorial it had received the prayers and sacrifices of the Aztecs and Toltecs, and was suspended as an august emblem from the walls of temples in Popoyan and Cundinamarca. In the Mexican tongue it bore the significant and worthy name Tree of our Life,' or 'Tree of our Flesh' (Tona- ter caquahuitl). It represented the god of rains th and of health, and this everywhere its simple meaning. Nore 186 But shall men do all the work of the world? Are we indeed come to be made of porcelain, that we must be shelved from all practical utility, and stand like the painted figures of the mantel-piece, looking down from our narrow perch at the toiling and earnest multitudes at our feet? It is time that faithful women ask themselves these questions, and try to find out what is the matter with our work that we cannot do it well, with ourselves that we cannot take delight in it. We seem to have allowed the grand and simple outlines of the old feminine idea to escape us, and now toil confused at a meaningless and elaborate pattern of existence whose microscopic details develop ever faster than the hand can follow or the weary spirit master them. THE HOUSEWIFE IN HISTORY. What was the old feminine function, and what was its value? - for how immensely the condition of women in these latter days has changed from the immemorial woman-life of tradition and history, few of the sex know or realize. Throughout long millenniums the eminine duties, occupations, and suroundings were the same, the ideal oman of every successive period of old bygone world being still found the masterpiece of character-paintfor all time, the "virtuous wo" of King Solomon. at wise and gracious lady is repreI not only as "bringing her food far, rising while it is yet night, ing meat to her household and n to her maidens," but also as and weaving at home all the of the family, and such a surplus of "girdles" and "fine linen," h the sale of them she can buy and plant vineyards. "She is not of the snow for her household; call her household are clothed in scarlet" woollen, dyed, spun, and woven under her direction. Her own garments were rich and beautiful as beher state and dignity. "She for herself coverings of tapesthing is silk and purple"; |