Besides the _Memoirs_, Madame Pulszky has published in English, a volume of _Tales and Traditions of Hungary_, which we have not seen, but of which highly favorable notices have appeared in the Examiner and other English journals. She is not only a brilliant and powerful writer, but a most lovely and accomplished lady, as we learn from very reliable sources in Europe. Her talents and acquirements are said to be quite extraordinary. In England her husband and herself enjoyed the highest consideration, both in point of character and ability. It may be remarked, in addition to this, that the _Memoirs of a Hungarian Lady_ (Lea & Blanchard, Philadelphia, 1850) give a full account of Mr. Pulszky's career during the war and the revolution, and in chapters II. and III. a minute and most interesting sketch of his estates and tenantry. His novel, the _Jacobins in Hungary_, is understood to be written with constant reference to the recent history of his country, though the events on which it is founded occurred sixty years ago. Authors and Books. Henry Heine's long-promised _Romanzero_ has at last appeared in Germany, where the first edition has been greedily snapped up. It is a collection of poems of various name and nature, all after the true Heinian vein. The great curiosity of the book is the preface in which the "dying Aristophanes" discourses on his alleged conversion to religion, in a strain which settles the question, so much discussed for the past two or three years, whether such a conversion has actually taken place or not. He declares that he has "returned to God, like the profligate son, after having long kept swine among the Hegelians. Was it suffering that drove me back? Perhaps a less miserable reason. The celestial home-sickness came over me, and urged me forth through woods and ravines, over the dizziest mountain paths of dialectics. On my way I found the God of the Pantheists, but could not use him." Afterwards he says, that while in politics his views have not changed, in theology he has gone back to belief in a personal divinity. But he denies the report that he has joined any church. "No," he says, "my religions convictions and views remain free from all ecclesiasticism; no bell-ring has seduced me, no altar-candle blinded me. I have played with no symbols, nor altogether renounced my reason. I have sworn off from nothing, not even my old heathen gods, from whom I have indeed parted, but in all love and friendship. It was in May, 1848, the day when I last went out, that I took leave of the gracious idols I had worshipped in the days of my happiness. It was with difficulty that I dragged myself to the Louvre, and I almost fainted as I entered the lofty hall where the blessed goddess of beauty, our dear Lady of Milo, stands on her pedestal. I lay long at her feet, and wept so vehemently that a stone must have been filled with pity. The goddess, too, looked down piteously, as if to say,