We confess ourselves so overwhelmed by the flux of erudition, by the multiplicity of languages brought to bear, and by the extraordinary etymons assigned to words with which they have nothing visible in common, that we resign ourselves to believe in Urquhart, and are prepared to admit, at his dictation, the old derivation of cucumber from Jeremiah King as perfectly valid, and consonant to all received laws. So fond is the honourable gentleman of this grubbing for roots, that, when once he stumbles on a derivation, he goes on through a whole alphabet of them; like a child who, having begun to run down hill, is unable to stop till it reaches the plain, or falls exhausted by the road-side. We doubt if many of his readers will share the avidity with which he pursues his dry and long-winded investigations, which would be more in place in a dictionary of derivations than in a narrative of travel. Our intention, in bringing Messrs Dumas and Urquhart into juxtaposition, is by no means to compare them, or to exalt either at the expense of the other. Their books form the strongest possible contrast. In one respect only do they agree—in a propensity to ramble from their subject. We have hinted at the crotchets that lead the Highlander from his track; the Frenchman strays in quest of the dramatic and romantic, and is beguiled by his prodigious vanity into the most divertingly egotistical details. The one is an eccentric dogmatist, full of crotchets, but unobtrusive of his individuality; the other never loses sight of himself, nor will suffer his reader to do so. He is always in the foreground of the picture, the chief character on the canvass, the hero of his own comedy; or, if for a moment he retires from the foot-lamps, it is that their light may shine upon his son and heir, Alexander the younger, a _grand garçon blond_, and one of the half-score artists and literati who compose the suite of the illustrious Monte-Christo. When the travellers arrived at Cadiz, in November 1846, Mr Dumas junior was suddenly discovered to be missing. Fascinated by the bright eyes of a Cordovan maiden, he had given his friends the slip. Although somewhat uneasy, his father contented himself with detaching one of his staff in quest of the truant, and went on board the war-steamer Véloce, which had been placed at his disposal by the Minister of Public Instruction. Some of our readers may remember that, about three years ago, this circumstance gave rise to a discussion in the French Chamber, when some doubt was thrown upon the fact of M. Dumas being intrusted with a government mission. This seems to have annoyed the distinguished dramatist, who repeatedly refers to the subject, gives a copy of his passport and of certain official letters; and upbraids M. Guizot, whom he at last, however, magnanimously forgives, declaring he has forgotten his name. He then protests against the envy of which his eminent position has rendered him