ew: **-j]), signifies a door.
From whatever country we look back along the pathway of the arts and
sciences, in the dim distance tower the mighty gateways of Egypt--the
homestead of the nations--beneath which the rites of religion and the
blessings of civilization have passed out into the world; and with
grateful respect we confess that on the banks of the Nile stands the
true Daleth of the Nations.' This idea forms the clew to the whole book,
and from hence is derived its title, Daleth. We heartily recommend it to
our readers. It merits attention. We quote the last sentence of the
short preface: 'That these fragments of the past may reflect for the
reader the sunshine they have gathered in three thousand years, is the
earnest wish of the author.'

THE LIFE AND ADVENTURES, SONGS, SERVICES, AND SPEECHES OF PRIVATE
MILES O'REILLY (47th Regiment, New York Volunteers). "The Post of
Honor is the Private's Station." With Illustrations by Mullen. From
the authentic records of the New York _Herald_. New York: Carleton,
publisher, 413 Broadway.

This book had established its reputation before it was issued in book
form; and will be widely circulated. Our soldiers and sailors, our
politicians of all parties will read it. It is evidently from the pen of
one familiar with the varied phases of American life and the public
service. Many of its songs are full of genuine humor. 'Sambo's Right to
be Kilt' is excellent. 'The Review: A Picture of our Veterans,' is full
of pathos. 'Miles' is familiar with Admiral DuPont and the monitors in
front of Charleston, and is equally at home in Tammany Hall and
Democratic Conventions. The publisher describes himself as unable to
supply the rapid demand for the book. It is witty, satirical, and
humorous; though we occasionally wish for somewhat more refinement.

ELIZA WOODSON; OR, THE EARLY DAYS OF ONE OF THE WORLD'S WORKERS. A
Story of American Life. A. J. Davis & Co., 274 Canal street, New
York.

We cannot tell our readers, with any degree of certainty, whether the
tale before us is truth or fiction. It seems to be the simple history of
an uneventful life, a record rather of the growth of character than an
attempt to create the fictitious or tragical. If true it has the
interest of fiction; if fictitious, it has the merit of concealing art
and closely imitating nature. It contains the inner-life history of a
deserted and much-abused little girl, from