One of the most delightful books of the season is “Spanish Vistas,”[O] by Mr. Lathrop. The publishers have given us a genuine _édition de luxe_, heavy paper, numberless choice illustrations, and beautiful binding. The book is the joint product of two artists, and if one wields the quill instead of the pencil he is no less artistic. Two things are particularly noticeable in Mr. Lathrop’s fine descriptions of scenery, of architecture, city sights and peasant gatherings: the skill with which he chooses his point and time of observation, and his really superior coloring. He knows at what hour the Alhambra will exercise its supreme spell, where the picturesque vagabondism of these handsome Spanish rascals will be most striking. To this power add his ability in colors and there is not a page but glows with effective pictures. Character sketches enliven the volume. The commonplace American abroad is introduced in Whetstone, a man of “iron persistence and intense prejudice,” who continually exclaims “I don’t see what I came to Spain for. If there ever was a God-forsaken country,” and who amid the grandeur of the cathedral of Seville squints along the cornice to see if it is straight. The writer has been ably assisted by his “Velveteen,” alias Mr. C. S. Reinhart, whose pictures give doubled value to the book. To all contemplating a trip to Spain the chapter on “Hints to Travelers” will be valuable. “Spanish Vistas” represents one class of books on travels. There is another more interesting to the majority of people, in which facts and adventures are the chief elements. Such a work is “The Golden Chersonese,”[P] by Isabella Bird. After having traveled on horseback through the interior of Japan, and braved the roughest passes of the Rocky Mountains, and spent six months among the wonders of the Sandwich Islands, this indefatigable woman penetrates that _terra incognita_, the Malay Peninsula. The dangers and inconveniences which she undergoes to get there and get through are remarkable. She sailed from Hong Kong not long after a party of piratical Chinese, shipping as steerage passengers on board a river steamer, had massacred the officers and captured the boat. There was but one English passenger on board besides herself, and some two thousand Chinese imprisoned in the steerage, an iron grating over each exit, and an officer ready to shoot the first man who attempted to force it. The decorations of the saloons consisted of stands of loaded rifles and unsheathed bayonets. She penetrates the country where the mosquitoes are a terror to life; snakes, land-leeches and centipedes are everywhere, but the enthusiastic traveler mentions them but casually. The dangers and bravery of the writer of course add piquancy to the interesting description of the scenes, the customs and peculiarities of “The Golden Chersonese.”