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Mr. Froude thinks the queen did not fly until nearly all her ships were destroyed by fire, basing his belief on an expression in Horace. This is truly Froudian — poetry is better than history and imagi nation than sober fact. It is probable the queen did not wait for the fire. But Mr. Froude is never dull.

Pollock on Torts. — Another book, which is not a novel, is more interesting than many novels — "Cleopatra " for instance — and which we read during vacation, is Mr. Pollock's great treatise on Torts. This is one of the few law books which deserve and have received unmixed praise. The present edition from the publishing house of the F. H. Thomas Com pany of St. Louis, is furnished with remarkably discreet and pertinent annotation by Mr. James Avery Webb, of Memphis. The eminent author treats of an interesting topic — wrongs are always more enter taining than rights, just as bad men are generally more entertaining than good men — and he sets out with this manifest advantage; but he treats it with such philosophic vigor, vivacity, and originality, that he shows an eminent superiority over all others who have written on the same subject. Compared with the most famous American writer on the same subject, his work is like Macaulay compared with Rollin. What an art it is to know what not to say! Of this art Mr. Pollock is complete master, as any one must confess who will compare his treatise with Addison's tedious and voluminous work. " Enough is as good as a feast " is an old adage. It is a great deal better, for it does not make one sick. Mr. Pollock is an expert who understands his subject so well that he knows precisely what to say, just as a skillful surgeon knows exactly where to cut and never cuts off too mueh.

"In Praise of Hanging."— This is the title of an article in the " The New Review," of London, by W. S. Lilly, which has the merit of at least one novel discovery. The writer spends a good deal of time unnecessarily in arguing that society has the right to execute capital punishment. Probably no body but a maudlin sentimentalist would deny this at this day. Society may justly do anything necessary for its protection, and if capital punishment is neces sary for its protection it may just as lawfully hang a murderer as a traveler may kill a highwayman who threatens him. Mr. Lilly then argues, very incon clusively, it seems to us, that the deterrent effect of capital punishment is very strong. Statistics are against him. Hanging does not deter. There is plenty of hanging, yet murder is more common than

ever. In the city where we write these lines there have been nine murders in the last four months, and yet electrocution is the rule and the practice. We said Mr. Lilly had made a novel discovery, but he is not the discoverer, he is only the herald. The discoverer is Schopenhauer, and the discovery is that condemnation to death for crime makes men virtuous! Mr. Lilly says that " this certainly often quickens him into new spiritual life and works," or as Schopenhauer expresses it, " effects a great and rapid change in his inmost being." " When they have entirely lost hope they show actual goodness and purity of disposition, true abhorrence of commit ting any deed in the least degree bad or unkind; they forgive their enemies, and die gladly, peaceably, and happily. To them, in the extremity of their anguish, the last secret of life has revealed itself." They obtain " a purification through suffering." This seems to give them too great an advantage over their victims. The murdered man goes to his account "with all his imperfections on his head," not having the advantage of the prospect of being hanged. It would be better to let these saintly converts live out their natural days in hard work, on poor fare, in order that genuine remorse might have place.

SOLITAIRE. I like to play cards with a man of sense. And allow him to play with me, And so it has grown a delight immense To play solitaire on my knee. I love the quaint form of the sceptred king, The simplicity of the ace, The stolid knave like a wooden thing, And her majesty's smirking face. Diamonds, aces, and clubs and spades — Their garb of respectable black A moiety brilliant of red invades, As they mingle in motley pack. Independent of anyone's signal or leave, Released from the bluffing of poker, I've no apprehension of ace up a sleeve, And fear no superfluous joker. I build up and down; all the cards I hold, And the game is always fair, For I am honest, and so is my old Companion at solitaire. Let kings condescend to the lower grades, Let queens shine in diamonds rare, Let knaves flourish clubs, and peasants wield spades, But give me my solitaire.