and all, out of the window. The novelist is too minutely, and by far too frequently _descriptive_. We are surfeited with unnecessary detail. Every little figure in the picture is invested with all the dignities of light and shadow, and chiaro 'scuro. Of mere outlines there are none. Not a dog yelps, unsung. Not a shovel-footed negro waddles across the stage, whether to any ostensible purpose or not, without eliciting from the author a _vos plaudite_, with an extended explanation of the character of his personal appearance—of his length, depth, and breadth,—and, more particularly, of the length, depth, and breadth of his shirt-collar, shoe-buckles and hat-band. The English of Professor Ingraham is generally good. It possesses vigor and is very copious. Sometimes, however, we meet with a sentence without end, involving a nominative without a verb. For example, “As the men plied their oars, and moved swiftly down the bayou, the Indian, who was the last of his name and race, with whom would expire the proud appellation, centuries before recognized among other tribes, as the synonyme for intelligence, civilization, and courage—THE NATCHEZ!—the injured, persecuted, slaughtered and unavenged Natchez—the Grecians of the aboriginal nations of North America!” See p. 125. Vol. 2. Many odd words, too, and expressions, such as “revenge you,” in place of “avenge you”—“Praxitiles,” instead of “Praxiteles”—“assayed” in lieu of “essayed,” and “denouément” for “dénouement”—together with such things as “frissieur,” “closelier,” “self-powered,” “folden,” and “rhodomantine” are here to be found, and, perhaps, may as well be placed at once to the account of typographical errors.