WEAK LUNGS, AND HOW TO MAKE THEM STRONG; or, Diseases of the
Organs of the Chest, with their Home Treatment by the Movement
Cure. By DIO LEWIS, M. D. Profusely illustrated. Ticknor &
Fields, Boston, 1863.
Diet, air, sunshine, dress, exercise, and water, are all indispensable
hygienic agents, but considerable knowledge and experience are necessary
for their proper adaptation to particular cases. Dr. Lewis's work is
designed (to a certain degree) to impart such knowledge, and, while the
general rules he gives cannot fail to be useful to all, we doubt not
there are many instances of the especial malady under consideration in
which the proposed mode of treatment would prove entirely efficacious.
The numerous and carefully elaborated illustrations contained in the
book render the application of the text simple and easy. The feature
which especially pleases us is, that arrangements are made for home
treatment, for, if there is anything depressing to the human spirit, it
is an association of invalids. We do not mean a regular hospital, where
people are suffering from acute forms of disease, and are learning and
teaching the grand lessons of patience, endurance, and fortitude so
necessary to humanity, but a community of individuals, able to walk
about, talk to one another, and be generally engrossed with one idea,
the pursuit of health. We once spent thirty days in a water-cure
establishment, and can truly say that it was one of the most miserable
months we ever passed. The totally physical atmosphere, the selfish,
material countenances surrounding us, weighed upon our spirit until our
nerves gave way, and we wondered which were on the broad road to
insanity, our companions or ourselves. We examined narrowly, and found
(in the generality of cases) that the angels within the bodies of those
men and women had had their wings cut away until nothing remained but
the senses and the limited knowledge they are capable of conveying.
Our experience may have been peculiarly unfortunate, but it has rendered
us always happy to welcome a rational treatment of disease that may be
pursued at home. Self-denial and activity are the two principal lessons
inculcated in the work; and if we be careful to lift them from the body
to the soul, we need not fear the slight tinge of materialism that seems
almost inseparable from essays on bodily health. We repeat that Dr.
Lewis's book abounds in excellent suggestions, essential to all, and its
wide circulation will doubtless tend to the improvement of the general
health of our people. Those even who, in some points, fail to agree with
the author, must acknowledge the usefulness and practicability of the
general ideas advanced, together with the simplicity of their
application.
LIFE OF CHOPIN, by F. LISZT. Translated from the French by
MARTHA WALKER COOK. 12mo, pp. 202. Philadelphia: F. Leypoldt.
New York: F. W. Christern and James Miller. 2d Edition.
We are glad to see that this little work has already gone into its
second edition. It gives evidence that, in spite of our domestic
afflictions, more interest is felt in this country for art, than is
generally believed to be the case, even by the most astute publishers
among us. In calling the attention of our readers to this second edition
of Liszt's 'Chopin,' we do not think we can do better than place before
them the following extracts from a critique which appeared in the New
York _Daily Tribune_ of June 11th, 1863.
'The lovers of musical art may justly be congratulated on the appearance
of this extraordinary biographical study in an appropriate English
dress. It is the enthusiastic tribute of a man of noble genius to a
kindred spirit, whose mastership he acknowledged, and with whom he
cherished a deep and tender friendship, beyond the vitiating touch of
personal or artistic rivalry. The volume, indeed, affords a no less
admirable illustration of the impulsive, generous, unworldly character
of the author, than of the rare and wonderful gifts of its unique
subject. It is the product of the heart rather than the head, and its
frequent passages of childlike _naivete_, its transparent revelations of
the inmost soul of the writer, and the radiant atmosphere of spiritual
beauty in which thoughts and images are melted together with a magic
spell, transport it from the sphere of prose composition to that of high
poetry. In spite of the trammels of words, it gives expression to the
same subtle and ethereal conceptions which inspired the genius of Liszt
as a musical artist. As a sketch of the life of the great composer, it
possesses an interest with which few biographical works can compare; but
no details of incident could imprison the soul of the author; and a fine
aesthetic aroma breathes from every page, fragrant with the blossoming
out of a rich, original nature, as well as with an exquisite sense of
art.
'Chopin was born in Poland, near Warsaw, in the year 1810. His boyhood
was marked by no events that gave promise of the greatness of his future
career. He early became the victim of ill health, which was almost the
perpetual torment of his after life. He grew up in simple and quiet
habits, surrounded by the purest influences, conversant with bright
examples of piety, modesty, and integrity, which gave to his imagination
'the velvety tenderness that characterizes the plants which have never
been exposed to the dust of the beaten highways.' Commencing the study
of music when he was but nine years old, he was soon after confided to a
passionate disciple of Sebastian Bach, who for many years directed his
studies in accordance with the prevailing classic models. Through the
liberality of a distinguished patron of art, Prince Radziwill, he was
placed in one of the first colleges in Warsaw, where he received a
finished education in every branch of learning. The following picture,
although partaking of the nature of a fancy piece, is introduced by
Liszt, from the pen of one of the greatest living writers of fiction, as
a just representation of the youthful artist at this period of his life.
'Gentle, sensitive, and very lovely, at fifteen years of age he
united the charms of adolescence with the gravity of a more
mature age. He was delicate both in body and in mind. Through
the want of muscular development he retained a peculiar beauty,
an exceptional physiognomy, which had, if we may venture so to
speak, neither age nor sex. It was not the bold and masculine
air of a descendant of a race of magnates, who know nothing but
drinking, hunting, and making war; neither was it the
effeminate loveliness of a cherub _couleur de rose_. It was
more like the ideal creations with which the poetry of the
Middle Ages adorned the Christian temples: a beautiful angel,
with a form pure and slight as a young god of Olympus, with a
face like that of a majestic woman filled with a divine sorrow,
and as the crown of all, an expression at the same time tender
and severe, chaste and impassioned.
'This expression revealed the depths of his being. Nothing
could be purer, more exalted than his thoughts; nothing more
tenacious, more exclusive, more intensely devoted, than his
affections.... But he could only understand that which closely
resembled himself.... Everything else only existed for him as a
kind of annoying dream which he tried to shake off while living
with the rest of the world. Always plunged in reveries,
realities displeased him. As a child, he could never touch a
sharp instrument without injuring himself with it; as a man, he
never found himself face to face with a being different from
himself without being wounded by the living contradiction....
'He was preserved from a constant antagonism by a voluntary and
almost inveterate habit of never seeing or hearing anything
which was disagreeable to him, unless it touched upon his
personal affections. The beings who did not think as he did,
were only phantoms in his eyes. As his manners were polished
and graceful, it was easy to mistake his cold disdain or
insurmountable aversion for benevolent courtesy....
'He never spent an hour in open-hearted expansiveness, without
compensating for it by a season of reserve. The moral causes
which induced such reserve were too slight, too subtle, to be
discovered by the naked eye. It was necessary to use the
microscope to read his soul, into which so little of the light
of the living ever penetrated....
'With such a character, it seems strange he should have had
friends: yet he had them, not only the friends of his mother,
who esteemed him as the noble son of a noble mother, but
friends of his own age, who loved him ardently, and who were
loved by him in return.... He had formed a high ideal of
friendship; in the age of early illusions he loved to think
that his friends and himself, brought up nearly in the same
manner, with the same principles, would never change their
opinions, and that no formal disagreement could ever occur
between them....
'He was externally so affectionate, his education had been so
finished, and he possessed so much natural grace, that he had
the gift of pleasing even where he was not personally known.
His exceeding loveliness was immediately prepossessing, the
delicacy of his constitution rendered him interesting in the
eyes of women, the full yet graceful cultivation of his mind,
the sweet and captivating originality of his conversation,
gained for him the attention of the most enlightened men. Men
less highly cultivated, liked him for his exquisite courtesy of
manner. They were so much the more pleased with this, because,
in their simplicity, they never imagined it was the graceful
fulfilment of a duty into which no real sympathy entered.
'Could such people have divined the secrets of his mystic
character, they would have said he was more amiable than
loving--and with respect to them, this would have been true.
But how could they have known that his real, though rare
attachments, were so vivid, so profound, so undying?...
'Association with him in the details of life was delightful. He
filled all the forms of friendship with an unaccustomed charm,
and when he expressed his gratitude, it was with that deep
emotion which recompenses kindness with usury. He willingly
imagined that he felt himself every day dying; he accepted the
cares of a friend, hiding from him, lest it should render him
unhappy, the little time he expected to profit by them. He
possessed great physical courage, and if he did not accept with
the heroic recklessness of youth the idea of approaching death,
at least he cherished the expectation of it with a kind of
bitter pleasure.'...
'After completing his studies in harmony with a celebrated master, he
complied with the wishes of his parents, who desired that he should
travel, in order that he should become familiar with the best musical
productions under the advantage of their perfect execution. For this
purpose he visited many of the German cities, and was absent from Warsaw
on one of his excursions when the revolution broke out in the autumn of
1830. He was thus forced to remain in Vienna, and was heard there in
some concerts, but failed to receive the appreciation from the artistic
public of that city which he had a right to anticipate. Leaving Vienna,
he repaired to Paris, which was henceforth to be the scene of his
brilliant triumphs. His constitution, being frail and delicate, could
not long sustain the rude shocks of life unscathed, and we accordingly
find Chopin at the age of thirty with rapidly declining health; and for
the next decade, his existence was only a continued succession of the
alternations of disease. At last, he began to fail so rapidly that the
fears of his friends assumed the shape of despair. He scarcely ever left
his bed, and spoke but rarely.
'His sister, upon receiving this intelligence, came from Warsaw
to take her place at his pillow, which she left no more. He
witnessed the anguish, the presentiments, the redoubled sadness
around him, without showing what impression they made upon him.
He thought of death with Christian calm and resignation, yet he
did not cease to prepare for the morrow. From week to week and
soon from day to day, the cold shadow of death gained upon him.
His end was rapidly approaching; his sufferings became more and
more intense; his crises grew more frequent, and at each
accelerated occurrence resembled more and more a mortal agony.
He retained his presence of mind, his vivid will upon their
intermission, until the last; neither losing the precision of
his ideas, nor the clear perception of his intentions. The
wishes which he expressed in his short moments of respite,
evinced the calm solemnity with which he contemplated the
approach of death.'
'The inevitable hour came finally not without a certain strange,
romantic beauty in its solemn aspects.
'The parlor adjoining the chamber of Chopin was constantly
occupied by some of his friends, who, one by one, in turn,
approached him to receive a sign of recognition, a look of
affection, when he was no longer able to address them in words.
On Sunday, the 15th of October, his attacks were more violent
and more frequent--lasting for several hours in succession. He
endured them with patience and great strength of mind. The
Countess Delphine Potocka, who was present, was much
distressed; her tears were flowing fast when he observed her
standing at the foot of his bed; tall, slight, draped in white,
resembling the beautiful angels created by the imagination of
the most devout among the painters. Without doubt, he supposed
her to be a celestial apparition; and when the crisis left him
a moment in repose, he requested her to sing; they deemed him
at first seized with delirium, but he eagerly repeated his
request. Who could have ventured to oppose his wish? The piano
was rolled from his parlor to the door of his chamber, while,
with sobs in her voice, and tears streaming down her cheeks,
his gifted countrywoman sang. Certainly, this delightful voice
had never before attained an expression so full of profound
pathos. He seemed to suffer less as he listened. She sang that
famous Canticle to the Virgin, which, it is said, once saved
the life of Siradella. 'How beautiful it is!' he exclaimed. 'My
God, how very beautiful! Again--again!' Though overwhelmed with
emotion, the Countess had the noble courage to comply with the
last wish of a friend, a compatriot; she again took a seat at
the piano, and sang a hymn from Marcello. Chopin again feeling
worse, everybody was seized with fright--by a spontaneous
impulse all who were present threw themselves upon their
knees--no one ventured to speak; the sacred silence was only
broken by the voice of the Countess, floating, like a melody
from heaven, above the sighs and sobs which formed its heavy
and mournful earth accompaniment. It was the haunted hour of
twilight; a dying light lent its mysterious shadows to this sad
scene--the sister of Chopin, prostrated near his bed, wept and
prayed--and never quitted this attitude of supplication while
the life of the brother she had so cherished lasted.
'His condition altered for the worse during the night, but he
felt more tranquil upon Monday morning, and as if he had known
in advance the appointed and propitious moment, he asked to
receive immediately the last sacraments. In the absence of the
Abbe ----, with whom he had been very intimate since their
common expatriation, he requested that the Abbe Jelowicki, one
of the most distinguished men of the Polish emigration, should
be sent for. When the holy Viaticum was administered to him, he
received it, surrounded by those who loved him, with great
devotion. He called his friends a short time afterward, one by
one, to his bedside, to give each of them his last earnest
blessing; calling down the grace of God fervently upon
themselves, their affections, and their hopes--every knee
bent--every head bowed--all eyes were heavy with tears--every
heart was sad and oppressed--every soul elevated.
'Attacks, more and more painful, returned and continued during
the day; from Monday night until Tuesday, he did not utter a
single word. He did not seem able to distinguish the persons
who were around him. About eleven o'clock on Tuesday evening he
appeared to revive a little. The Abbe Jelowicki had never left
him. Hardly had he recovered the power of speech, than he
requested him to recite with him the prayers and litanies for
the dying. He was able to accompany the Abbe in an audible and
intelligible voice. From this moment until his death, he held
his head constantly supported upon the shoulder of M. Gutman,
who, during the whole course of this sickness, had devoted his
days and nights to him.
'A convulsive sleep lasted until the 17th of October, 1849. The
final agony commenced about two o'clock; a cold sweat ran
profusely from his brow; after a short drowsiness, he assessed
in a voice scarcely audible: 'Who is near me?' Being answered;
he bent his head to kiss the hand of M. Gutman, who still
supported it--while giving this last tender proof of love and
gratitude, the soul of the artist left its fragile clay. He
died as he had lived--in loving.
'His love for flowers being well known, they were brought in
such quantities the next day, that the bed in which they had
placed them, and indeed the whole room, almost disappeared,
hidden by their varied and brilliant hues. He seemed to repose
in a garden of roses. His face regained its early beauty, its
purity of expression, its long unwonted serenity. Calmly--with
his youthful loveliness, so long dimmed by bitter suffering,
restored by death--he slept among the flowers he loved, the
last long and dreamless sleep!'
'We must not forget to thank the intelligent translator of this volume
for the fidelity with which she has executed her by no means easy task.
The elevated, almost aerial conceptions of Liszt, often seeming as if
they disdained the bonds of language, are presented in lucid, idiomatic
English, which derives a certain vital force more from warmth of
sympathy with the original than from the use of any of the arts of
vigorous expression.'
ROCKFORD; or, Sunshine and Storm. By Mrs. LILLIE DEVEREUX
UMSTED. Author of Southwold. Carleton, publisher, 413 Broadway,
New York.
A novel of considerable ability. The characters are well drawn, and the
moral unexceptionable. The scenes occur in fashionable life; the
descriptions are vivid, the conversations (in which it abounds) are easy
and sparkling, and the pictures of social life varied and interesting.
GOOD THOUGHTS IN BAD TIMES, AND OTHER PAPERS. By THOMAS FULLER,
D. D. Price, $1.50. Ticknor & Fields, Boston.
Coleridge says of Fuller: 'Next to Shakespeare, I am not certain whether
he, beyond all other writers, does not excite in me the sense and
emotion of the marvellous.'
Thomas Fuller was born in 1608, was a chaplain in the army during the
great civil war in England, and died in 1661, so that much of his
fifty-four years of life was spent among no very peaceful scenes. He
followed the army with a loyal heart and courageous spirit, and wrought
earnestly to mitigate the violence of hostile parties. One of the wisest
and wittiest divines who have ever ascended the pulpit, he has left
behind him a fame second to none who have labored to elevate and make
their fellow creatures better. 'Untiring humor seemed the ruling passion
of his soul. With a heart open to all innocent pleasures, purged from
the leaven of malice and uncharitableness, it was as natural that he
should be full of mirth as it is for the grasshopper to chirp or bee to
hum, or the birds to warble in the spring breeze and bright sunshine.'
His good thoughts are clothed in pure and beautiful language, are wise,
quaint, genial, and witty. Being collected and matured during his
marches and countermarches through the country at the time of the great
civil war, we look upon their present publication as very timely and
judicious, considering the disturbed state of our own suffering country.
THE GENTLEMAN. By GEORGE H. CALVERT. Ticknor & Fields. Boston.
Price, 75 cts.
A book which we hope will have a wide circulation, and exercise a
beneficial influence in this country. It is no superficial essay on
external matters of etiquette, or even of mere aesthetic culture: it goes
to the very heart of the meaning of the abused word, Gentleman, and
proves its root to be _unselfishness_. The author says: 'It is the
_moral_ element which, in my conception of the gentleman, is pivotal.
Dealing with the highest type, I conceive that in that type not only are
morals primary, but that manners result from them; so that where there
is not a solid substratum of pure, elevated feeling there cannot be a
clean, high, and unaffected demeanor.' 'The true gentleman is a
Christian product.
'The best of men
That e'er wore earth about him was a sufferer,
A soft, meek, patient, humble, tranquil spirit,
The first true gentleman that ever breathed.''
These views are illustrated with genius and scholarship. Their
dissemination among ourselves is especially important, because our ideas
of what is requisite to form a gentleman are essentially vague, crude,
unformed, and often false.
It is no dull book of commonplace thoughts, but a high and noble essay
on an important subject, and we commend it to the attention of our
readers. Let him who would look upon the reverse of the gentleman, turn
to the Editor's Table of the July issue of THE CONTINENTAL, and regard
the repulsive sketch of the 'Southern Colonel,' whose ideal seems to be
'Brandy Smash and Cocktails.' Alas! that such ideals too frequently
occur among ourselves. Bayard and Sir Philip Sydney are valuable studies
for our own young and gallant soldiers.
POINT OF HONOR. By the Author of the 'Morals of May Fair,'
'Creeds,' &c., &c. Harper & Brothers, publishers, Franklin
Square, New York.
This is no sensational tale. Its interest is not derived from intricacy
of plot or mysterious developments; it presents us with admirable
studies of male and female character, the traits of which are manifested
in the progress of the plot. The portraits are detailed, natural, and
living; the heroine feminine and lovely. The moral is good, and the
'Point of Honor' ably displayed.
SCIENCE FOR THE SCHOOL AND FAMILY. Part I. Natural Philosophy.
By WORTHINGTON HOOKER, M. D., Professor of the Theory and
Practice of Medicine in Yale College, Author of 'Human
Physiology,' 'Child's Book of Nature,' 'Natural History,' &c.,
Illustrated by nearly 300 engravings. Harper & Brothers,
publishers, Franklin Square, New York.
A valuable offering to teachers and pupils.
Professor Hooker has published a graduated series of books, carefully
adapted to the different periods of the course of study; exceedingly
simple for the beginner, stepping carefully from the known to the
unknown, and widening their range with the increasing knowledge and
mental growth of the student. The first in the graduated series is the
'Child's Book of Common Things.' Next, the 'Child's Book of Nature,' in
three Parts, viz.: 'Plants,' 'Animals,' 'Air, Water, Light, Heat,'--then
follow the 'First Book in Chemistry' and 'First Book in Physiology.' The
next step in the gradation brings us to three books under one title:
'Science for the School and the Family;' Part I, Natural Philosophy;
Part II, Chemistry; Part III, Mineralogy and Geology.
Our author says: 'One grand essential for giving interest to any study
is the presentation of the various points in the _natural order_ in
which they should enter the mind. _They should be so presented that each
portion of a book shall make the following portions more interesting and
more easily understood._ This principle I have endeavored to observe
strictly in the preparation of my volumes.' We believe Professor Hooker
has succeeded in the observation of this principle, and that its
observation must insure success.
THE STORY OF THE GUARD: A Chronicle of the War. By JESSIE
BENTON FREMONT. Knapsack Edition. Price, 50 cts. Ticknor &
Fields, Boston.
We are glad to see this little work of affection and patriotism from the
hand of a gifted lady (who says: 'For any personal object I should never
use my name, which has been to me a _double_ charge to keep; but I think
my father would more than approve, when it is to do justice, and to aid
the widow and the orphan') already passed into the _sixth_ edition.
'To do justice to brave men and to aid the widow and orphan!' What
nobler motive could there be for publishing a book, than the prevailing
one so simply given by Mrs. Fremont in the lines just quoted! Truly the
most determined hater of the so much read and so much abused 'women's
books,' must cease to sneer in acknowledging that here indeed was
inducement sufficient to make the most timid and shrinking of the sex
face the frowns of the critic, the scoff of the antagonistic politician,
and the astonishment of the fashionable world that one who had long been
one of its most brilliant ornaments should condescend to become known as
an authoress! We heartily congratulate her on the success of her book,
which, as achieving its object, must be dear to her heart. Very
charming, too, are the extracts given from General Fremont's letters.
Domestic love and peace are surely holy!
'To do justice to brave men!' 'Major Zagonyi, with one hundred and fifty
of the body guard, attacked and drove from Springfield over two thousand
rebels, with a loss of only fifteen men.' All honor to the brave
Zagonyi! His Hungarian English is strong, graphic, simple, and, like
himself, true. With a thorough military education, dauntless courage,
untiring energy, and a natural, perhaps national, love for horses and
horsemanship, we doubt not he is one of the best cavalry officers in our
service. He has long chafed under a forced inaction, and, full of
unselfish devotion, burns to do and dare in what he believes to be the
cause of freedom and humanity. May he soon add fresh laurels to his
glorious Springfield wreath--and may the same gentle chronicler again
twine them for his brave brow!
SUBSTANCE AND SHADOW; or, Morality and Religion in their
Relation to Life: An Essay upon the Physics of Creation. By
HENRY JAMES. Ticknor & Fields, Boston.
We advise such of our readers as take interest in metaphysical theology,
in the vexed questions of the origin of evil, of free will, of God's
communication with the spirit of man, of the growth of faith in the
soul, to read this book for themselves. We are not Swedenborgians,
though we believe Swedenborg to have been a great and good man; we do
not deem ourselves able to pronounce upon the truths or errors
elaborated in the pages of Mr. James's book, but we feel convinced that
its author is as sincere as able, and that he really aims at reaching
the heart and marrow of his important subjects. His argument with the
German and Scotch philosophies is profound and skilful. He is a believer
in revelation, in its unfolding a true philosophy of the Infinite;
showing how the infinite is contained in the finite, the absolute in the
relative, not spatially or by continuation, but by exact correspondency,
as the soul is contained in the body. He always steers clear of the
shoals of atheism, and of the dim and chaotic abysses of pantheism. He
is often obscure, but has the power to be concise and luminous. His
style is vigorous, though we object to the meaning he attaches to two
words very dear to the human heart: for _religion_ is not _ritualism_,
nor is _morality_ made of the starched buckram of _selfhood_. Religion
is love to God--morality, love to our neighbor. We differ from him in
many of his positions, his standpoint is not ours, but he struggles
bravely to rescue philosophy from a degrading bondage to sense, and to
restore her to the service of revelation. No analysis within our present
limits would avail to combat the errors, to make manifest the truths
contained in the book, nor do we feel ourselves competent to undertake
the task.
If the lucid and vigorous writer, author of the article entitled 'Mill
on Liberty' in our June issue, as well as of some able remarks headed
'Matter and Spirit' published in the Editor's Table of the July number
of THE CONTINENTAL, would review this book of Mr. James, he might be
able to pour a flood of light on many mooted questions, many
metaphysical queries; for a clear mind is a marvellous solvent.