Entered according to Act of Congress, in the year 1866, by Ticknor andFields, in the Clerk's Office of the District Court of the District ofMassachusetts.
Transcriber's Note: Minor typos have been corrected and footnotes movedto the end of the article. Table of contents has been created for the HTML version.
THE HARMONISTS.
ABRAHAM DAVENPORT.
LAST DAYS OF WALTER SAVAGE LANDOR.
TO-MORROW.
DOCTOR JOHNS.
PASSAGES FROM HAWTHORNE'S NOTE-BOOKS.
THE FENIAN "IDEA."
THE CHIMNEY-CORNER FOR 1866.
EDWIN BOOTH.
AMONG THE LAURELS.
GRIFFITH GAUNT; OR, JEALOUSY.
WHAT WILL IT COST US?
MEPHISTOPHELEAN.
MR. HOSEA BIGLOW'S SPEECH IN MARCH MEETING.
QUESTION OF MONUMENTS.
REVIEWS AND LITERARY NOTICES.
RECENT AMERICAN PUBLICATIONS.
My brother Josiah I call a successful man,—very successful, though onlyan attorney in a manufacturing town. But he fixed his goal, and reachedit. He belongs to the ruling class,—men with slow, measuring eyes andbull-dog jaws,—men who know their own capacity to an atom's weight, andwho go through life with moderate, inflexible, unrepenting steps. Helooks askance at me when I cross his path; he is in the great marketmaking his way: I learned long ago that there was no place there for me.Yet I like to look in, out of the odd little corner into which I havebeen shoved,—to look in at the great play, never beginning and neverending, of bargain and sale, for which all the world's but a stage; tosee how men like my brother have been busy, since God blessed all thingshe had made, in dragging them down to the trade level, and stampingprice-marks on them. Josiah looks at me grimly, as I said. Jog asmethodically as I will from desk to bed and back to desk again, hesuspects some outlaw blood under the gray head of the fagged-out oldclerk. He indulges in his pictures, his bronzes: I have my highoffice-stool, and bedroom in the fifth story of a cheap hotel. Yet hesuspects me of having forced a way out of the actual common-sense worldby sheer force of whims and vagaries, and to have pre-empted a homesteadfor myself in some dream-land, where neither he nor the tax-gatherer canenter.
"It won't do," he said to-day, when I was there (for I use his books nowand then). "Old Père Bonhours, you're poring over? Put it down, and cometake some cl