This curious monogram is worth perusing, if for no other reason than the fanciful and novel views which it presents. The author attributes many of our present social evils to mongrelism, or the admixture of distinct types of men. He finds in the Book of Revelation the foreshadowing of the natural distribution of men into white, red, and black, deeming the three similarly colored horses to be typical of those three branches of the human family, while the fourth horse, on which sat Death, he considers to be the emblem of mongrelia. He opposes J. J. Rousseau’s idea that man’s primitive condition was one of barbarism, and contends that historical and archæological discoveries prove rather a retrogression than an improvement. The Chinaman is Dr. Quinby’s ideal of a mongrel. In the land of flowers every art once flourished, learning was cultivated, the harpist filled the air with sweetest strains, and the poet sang delicious lays in the beautiful vale of Cashmere, till the bane of mongrelism fell on it and all progress ceased. Mexico and South America are other evidences of the pernicious influence of hybridism. The conclusions of the author are in many instances sound, but his reasoning is too fanciful to satisfy a sober-minded reader. His statement that the rapid influx of Chinese into our midst is fraught with mighty perils is well worth pondering over, and no true statesman will shun the serious consideration of this knotty problem. JACK. From the French of Alphonse Daudet. By Mary Neal Sherwood, translator of _Sidonie_. Boston: Estes & Lauriat. 1877. Another painful story by this gifted author. It is cleverly told and the treatment is highly artistic, showing all that careful finish that French writers bestow even on their smallest characters. The characters in this story are most of them wretched enough. Lovers of the real in fiction will find them realistic enough. There is a tone of hopelessness and helplessness in _Jack_, as in _Sidonie_, that is very disheartening. According to M. Daudet, a relentless Fate would seem to clutch some miserable mortals, and hold them till death came as a happy release. “The mother cried in a tone of horror, ‘Dead’?” “No,” said old Rivals; “no—_delivered_,” are the last lines of _Jack_.