stone-celts are considered to be thunderbolts—a belief so universal in historic times that it may be said to have been held semper, ubique, et ab omnibus. There is, in fact, no difference of opinion between the old Greek Sotacus and the Chinese Emperor Kang-hi's encyclopædist (A.D., 1662). The former informs us, through Pliny, as translated by Philemon Holland, that "there he two kinds of Cerauniæ, to wit, the black and the red," and, "that they doe resemble halberds or axe-heads." The latter that "some of the lightning-stones have the shape of a hatchet, others that of a knife, and some are made like mallets. They are of different colours; there are blackish ones, others are greenish."
The curious similarity observed among Megalithic monuments in different parts of the world may possibly be due to some analogous development of thought and feeling rather than to any intimate connection between the races who erected them, The Dolmens of Algeria, described by Mr. Flower, those of Brittany by Mr. Lukis, those of the Aveyron by M. Cartailhac, are all, more or less, closely allied to the ancient sepulchres and Pandukulis of the Nilagiri Mountains in Southern India, described by Sir Walter Elliot.
We cannot close this brief notice without mentioning one of the most carefully illustrated and important contributions to the yolume,—the account of the caves of Gibraltar, in which human remains and works of art have been found, by Mr. George Busk, who, in company with the late Dr. Falconer, visited the scene of the explorations of Captain Brome, which are now unfortunately suspended, but of which the record drawn up by himself is here preserved, and additional value given to it by the commentary of Mr. Busk.
We have, we hope, said enough to show the interesting character of this volume of the Transactions of the Congress, and the reports of the meeting at Copenhagen lead us to hope that it may next year be productive of another volume of at least equal value.
THE WORLD OF THE SEA
THERE are two methods of reviewing a book, the ungracious and the gracious. One, and the easier, is to find all possible fault with it; to prove, at least to the critic's own satisfaction, how much better he could have written the book, if he too had had the time, and the money, and the will. As for the talent, the critic has that, as a matter of course; for is not a critic one who judges other men, and is therefore wiser than they? And as for the knowledge, that is not needed. He may acquire that in the very process of reviewing, from the book which he reviews. Thus, following nature in economising force as much as possible, he is at once learner and teacher; judge and—parasite? Taking another man's materials, he shows the world how much better a house he could have built with them; and so has the clear profit of all the authors work, his carrying of the bricks and mortar, even his planning the house, beside all the expenses incident thereto, at the cost on his own part of a few suggestions which he is not even at the trouble of seeing carried out. Thus he leaves the hapless man, who has tried to do something, instead of sitting still like the reviewer, and seeing others do it, to cry Sic vos non vobis; and after a few more attempts to write books, to give up in despair, and take to the more easy and profitable employment (at which every lad can now earn an honest penny), of showing how books should have been written.
But the other, or gracious method of reviewing a book, is to ascertain what the book is really worth, at least to the class for whom it is written; and if it be worth anything, to recommend it to them heartily; being sure that attractiveness is no test of value, and that there is no more utter fallacy than that good wine needs no bush.
Unfortunately, this gracious and hearty method of reviewing a book is not only difficult, being contrary to the affections and lusts of the animal within, who delights to bite and devour his kin, while he is indignant at the very notion of his ancestors having been cannibals: but it is also morally dangerous: for if the reviewer begins by being gracious and hearty, he may descend to kindness, even to indulgence. He may be to the author's "faults a little blind, and to his virtues very kind;" and so fall altogether from that boasted impartiality which surely portends detraction,
For the sake, therefore, of preserving the virtue of impartiality, it is most prudent for the reviewer to begin by complaining, and to say that this very beautiful book has certain defects, which he hopes may he amended in future editions (for he must be allowed to be gracious enough to hope for future editions); that several of the most important and novel illustrations have no authority appended; that the very clever drawing of the sea-lions has not only no authority, but no description or notice in the text; that some chapters are meagre, and some of the illustrations bad—for instance, the Holothurians, of which only two very poor and inaccurate cuts occur; that the large drawing of Cuttlefish is also very bad and wrong; and that there are many misprints and misspellings (possibly mere faults of the printers, but still faults), such as rostro for rostrum, Ottary for Otary, a Poritidæ, an Alcyonideæ, &c., which must be corrected; and that, as a whole, the latter part of the book is inferior to the beginning. It may be, of course, that this is owing to the simple fact, too common among other classes besides publishers, that the money did not hold out; or that the book, if finished in the style in which it was begun, would have grown too big to he published at a paying price, But what has a reviewer to de with excuses and with mercy?
Having thus fulfilled his duty, he has something of a right to take his pleasure; and to say—Here is a really beautiful book. It is a pleasure to turn over the pictures; a pleasure to think that it will lie on many tables, teaching folk, especially young folk, a thousand things which those of the last generation did not learn, hard as they worked, each for himself alone, simply because the works which could teach them were not yet written; nay, the microscopes which could show the facts not yet made. The text is, as is to be expected from M. Moquin Tandon, brilliant, interesting, full of feeling for that wonderful and poetic clement which runs through nature, and should
