Miss Sewell has performed, in this little volume, a difficult task, showing throughout that she understands what few authors of children’s books seem to comprehend—a child’s mind. A series of histories, composed on similar principles, would be a positive and permanent addition to the literature of youth. The authoress, not being “above her business,” but having her audience constantly in her mind, has succeeded in avoiding every thing which would make her narrative obscure to children, and her style mirrors events in the light they ever appear to boys and girls. The account of the death of Cleopatra is one out of many examples of this felicity. In the following extract the very tone of a child’s mind is caught and expressed. “Shortly afterward an officer arrived from Octavius. The first thing he saw when he entered the room was Cleopatra, dressed in her royal robes, stretched lifeless upon a golden couch. She had killed herself by means of an asp, a kind of serpent, which was brought to her in a basket of figs, and the sting of which was deadly. Iras was lying dead at the feet of her mistress; and Charmian, scarcely alive, was placing a crown upon her head. ‘Was this well done, Charmian?’ inquired the messenger of Octavius. ‘Yes,’ replied Charmian, ‘it is well done, for such a death befits a glorious queen.’” The volume, in addition to the simplicity of its narrative, bears evidence of having been compiled from good authorities; and if extensively read by the juvenile public, will be likely to make most children more informed in regard to Roman history, at least, than the majority of parents. * * * * * _A Lift for the Lazy. New York: Geo. P. Putnam. 1 vol. 12mo._ Few readers will have modesty enough to acknowledge publicly that this brilliant volume is addressed to them, but doubtless a great many, convicted by conscience, will take a sly peep into it to see if it really meets their wants. In truth, the author has contrived to embody in it much curious information, which the most industrious scholars have either forgotten or never acquired. It contains about five hundred scraps of knowledge, collected from a wide field of miscellaneous reading, some of which are valuable, some quaint, some sparkling, and all entertaining. We have only space to extract one specimen of the author’s style, and that illustrative of his way of relating an anecdote. Under the head of “Congreve Rockets,” he remarks, “These destructive implements of war were invented in 1803, by Sir William Congreve. On a certain occasion, when visiting Westminster Abbey, in company with some ladies, his attention was directed by one of the party to the inscription on the great composer, Purcell’s monument: ‘He has gone to that place where only his music can be excelled.’ ‘There, Sir William,’ said the young lady, ‘substitute _fire-works_ for _music_, and that epitaph will answer for yourself.’”