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THE BOOK OF BEAUTY.

[This is a title of no small pretension. It is in certain respects ill
chosen, though it may, in some degree, denote the exquisite triumphs
which art has here accomplished. The Illustrations consist of eighteen
portraits of every order of beauty, of variety enough to realize Sir
Philip Sidney's aphorism, that "whatsoever is liked, to the liker is
beautiful." But here all must be liked; therefore all are beautiful. The
very names would make out a sort of court-roll of Venus, and the book
itself the enchanting effect of the goddess' embroidered girdle, which
had the gift of inspiring love. This charm will doubtless ensure the
volume hundreds of possessors. The names of a few of the galaxy will
give the reader a faint idea of their charms, unless the reader accord
with Juliet's somewhat peevish "What's in a name." Thus, we find Julia,
the queen of sentimentality; Belinda, gay and sparkling; Madeline, the
early prey of despair; Lolah, languishing amid Eastern magnificence;
the Orphan, pencilled in the very simplicity of nature, and finely
contrasted with the coquetry of art; Theresa, the very type of romance;
Geraldine, Meditation, the Bride, and Lucy Ashton. But we must not omit
the heroine of our extract--with tall, etherial form, raven ringlets,
and pearly eyes--such charms as would attune the wise man to another
Song of Beauty.

The letter-press of the volume is too in the type of beauty--from the
chastely-elegant pen of Miss Landon. It consists of tales and sketches,