A volume of the prose writings of N. P. Willis[C] will be received by the reading public in much the same manner as the work of a new author, so little are they known. His reputation rests almost entirely upon his poems and a few Scriptural sketches, which it seems natural to think of as belonging to the early periods of American literature. It will probably strike most people with a feeling of surprise to recall that his death occurred so recently as 1867, and that he was therefore contemporary with Bryant and Longfellow. Just why this recent oblivion has fallen upon his writings is hard to tell, for the collection in this volume shows that they deserve a better fate. The character sketches are fairly drawn; and the bits of description indicate powers of a high order in this particular. The personality of the author is manifest in all the articles; the reader is conscious of constantly looking through the writer’s eyes. The wild, unchecked bent of his imagination is shown in such pieces as “The Lunatic’s Skate,” and “The Ghost-Ball at Congress Hall,” somewhat resembling the more intense works of Poe. Aptness in illustration, implying a delicate perception of resemblances, and a happy faculty of associating ideas is a marked characteristic. He fails to touch the deeper emotions of one’s nature, and there is a lack of both strength and plot in all he writes. Whether Mr. Beers succeeds in making Willis’s works live or not, he has by his selections and editing, and by his introductory memoir, given to the public a very interesting work.
Perhaps no one ever more perfectly caught the spirit of all things Egyptian than Professor Ebers. The _genius_ of the country which brings under its sway all that comes within its domain, affecting them to such a degree that one can but fancy even the sphynx would be less gloomily impressive in any other land, gained such an influence over him, and so makes itself felt in his books, that it is almost impossible to imagine him otherwise than as a man wrapped round with that somber, mysterious air which constantly hints of the power to reveal things more and more wonderful. From the beginning to the end of Serapis[D] one is conscious of being under some spell that fascinates and charms. The little party introduced at the beginning gives rise to a sense of the vast possibilities hidden away in each life—even that of little Dada, the merry-hearted, seemingly thoughtless, young girl—and the sequel reveals in each one these possibilities realized. The story is laid in the times of the Roman emperor, Theodosius I., and its interest centers in the destruction of the Serapeum, the Alexandrian temple containing the statue of Serapis, the great Egyptian divinity, which was also mutilated and torn down. A description of the races is given in such a way as to render readers virtually eye-witnesses of the scene, and it is with an effort that one keeps himself from rising with the crowd as the decisive moment nears, and shouting in the general frenzy of excitement. The author lacks the power of putting his readers into nearer relation with his characters than that of mere acquaintances, in whose welfare a general sympathetic interest is taken. One prizes the book for its impressive historical facts and beautiful descriptions.