The prince has stolen the diadem from his own wife, in such a manner as to cast suspicion upon others, and the Jew is to sell it to furnish supplies for the extravagance of this dissolute heir to the crown. Geigenfritz's knowledge of the shameful transaction is afterwards made instrumental in procuring the release of Von Horberg and the other prisoners. Convinced that the time is not yet ripe for the realisation of their schemes of political regeneration, they emigrate to the United States. There, a postscript informs the reader, Von Horberg, divorced from his unworthy wife--who during his imprisonment, has become the mistress of the prince-royal--is married to Anna Hammer. The interest of the story is throughout well sustained. _Anna Hammer_ will probably soon be, if it be not already, in the hands of the translators. Rendered into English with a little care, by equivalents, instead of with that painful literalness and abundance of foreign idioms which too frequently shock us in translations of German books, it would be very pleasant reading. Notwithstanding its defects, its occasional carelessness and slight improbabilities, it better deserves a translation than many of the foreign novels to which that compliment has been paid within the last few years, and than some which have been lauded to the skies and largely read. And we take this opportunity to express our surprise that no member of the industrious corps of translators from the German has directed his or her attention to the writings of a man, who, for originality and genius, perception of character and power of description, is very far superior even to those of his German cotemporaries who have enjoyed the highest favour in England. We refer to the gifted author of the German-American Romances. Miss Bremer--although a Swede, we here class her amongst German writers, her works having been done into English from the latter language--has been translated at every price, and in every form, from expensive octavo to shilling pamphlets. Not a bookshop or railway station but is, or has been, crowded with her works. Without in the least depreciating the talents of a lady who has written some very pleasing tales and sketches, we should yet be greatly flattering her did we place her on a level with such a writer as Charles Sealsfield. Styles so opposite scarcely admit of comparison; but we apprehend there are few readers to whom the best of her books will not appear tame and insipid, when contrasted with the vigorous and characteristic pages of such works as _The Cabin Book_, _The Viceroy and the Aristocracy_, or _Pictures of Life in both Hemispheres_. Yet Sealsfield has been read in England only to the limited extent of some short extracts in this Magazine,[46] and of some yet briefer ones in a defunct Review.[47] In the States he is better known and appreciated. There he has been translated and re-translated in volumes, pamphlets and newspapers,