“It is not fair to review my book without reading it,” says Mr. M——, talking at the critics, and, as usual, expecting impossibilities. The man who is clever enough to _write_ such a work, is clever enough to read it, no doubt; but we should not look for so much talent in the world at large. Mr. M—— will not imagine that I mean to blame _him_. The book alone is in fault, after all. The fact is, that “_er lasst sich nicht lesen_”—it will not _permit_ itself to be read. Being a hobby of Mr. M——’s, and brimful of spirit, it will let nobody mount it but Mr. M——. 47. It is only to teach his children Geography, that G—— wears a boot the picture of Italy upon the map. 48. In his great Dictionary, Webster seems to have had an idea of being more English than the English—“_plus Arabe qu’en Arabie_.”[3] 49. That there were once “seven wise men” is by no means, strictly speaking, an historical _fact_; and I am rather inclined to rank the idea among the Kabbala. 50. Painting their faces to look like Macaulay, some of our critics manage to resemble him, at length, as a Massaccian does a Raffäellian Virgin; and, except that the former is feebler and thinner than the other—suggesting the idea of its being the ghost of the other—not one connoisseur in ten can perceive any difference. But then, unhappily, even the street lazzaroni can feel the distinction. ----- [2] Nouvelle Héloise. [3] Count Anthony Hamilton. * * * * * MAY LILLIE. OR LOVE AND LEARNING. BY MRS. CAROLINE H. BUTLER. It was a most provoking thing that young Harry Warren should have fallen in love with pretty May Lillie—he simply a village school-master whom nobody knew—and she the only daughter of the richest and proudest man in the whole county of Erie, whom every body knew! It was not only very provoking, but it was also very unfortunate for the poor fellow, as he might as well have aspired to wed yon bright evening star, as to lead to the altar the daughter of Diogenes Lillie, Esq., Ex. M. C. See the maliciousness of Fate! If May had been but the child of some poor widow or parson—or had Harry claimed descent from some lordly aristocrat, the course of true love might not have run so crooked. Leander swam the Hellespont to reach his love, breasting bravely the surging billows, which parting before him, bore him exultingly to the feet of Hero—but how shall Harry force the adamantine chains with which Mammon bars the way to happiness! Assist him ye gods of hapless lovers. My hero was the son of a farmer, more rich in children than in acres, and who could only afford them in schooling, value received for a few bushels of wheat, rye, or potatoes.