Those who have discovered wit, wisdom, and good taste in Mark Twain's previous works will laugh beforehand at even an historical romance from his pen. But whether we were expected to laugh or cry we could not quite make out-on the whole, the volume seemed to be written au gra11d seriettx-but, at all events, we did neither. Against the happy thought which forms the backbone of the tale, we must really protest. A street Arab, one Tom, is supposed to have changed clothes with Edward VI. during Henry's last illness, to have played the part of a royal Christopher Sly, and reigned with much distinction till the real Edward, after dreadfully low adventures, steps forward at the coronation and claims his own. And this is intended for 'young people of all ages.' Mr. Clemens will permit us to point out that, if the young Britisher has once passed the age when such historical heresies must either be prohibited or extirpated by the rod, he will inf.1llibly fall to criticising, and probably even to making fun at, instead of with, Mark Twain. Victor Hugo's veiled Wapentake, or Court of Arches, that synod of the English Church, is not more astounding than this picture ofRefonnation times-a misty atmosphere of Scott's chivalry in which floats all the flunkeyism, aristocratic oppression, and so forth, of all or any later period, as revealed to Columbia's stern eye. It is not worth while to multiply instances; let the absurd description of the young King's levee in chap. xviii. suffice, where the author exaggerates something he must have read somewhere about the ceremonies of the bedchamber introduced by Louis XIV. There is no excuse for this libel on the English Court. The list of thirteen officials, ending with the Primate, through whose hands the royal hose pass is concocted with peculiar