the raconteur did not yield to the temptation of ‘pulling the long bow,’ for the purpose of increasing the amazement of his wondering auditors.”  Now if Mr. Allibone knew nothing about Hortop, he should have said nothing.  If the edition of 1591 was inaccessible to him, he could have found out what kind of a story-teller our ancient mariner was in the third volume of Hakluyt.  We resent this slur upon Job the more because he happens to be a favorite of ours, and saw no more wonders than travellers of that day had the happy gift of seeing.  We remember he got sight of a very fine merman in the neighborhood of the Bermudas; but then stout Sir John Hawkins was as lucky.

The two criticisms we have made touch, one of them the plan of the work, and the other its manner.  We have one more to make, which, perhaps, should properly have come under the former of these two heads;—­it is that Mr. Allibone allows a disproportionate space to the smaller celebrities of the day in comparison with those of the past.  In such an undertaking, the amount of interest which the general public may be supposed to take in comparatively local notabilities should, it seems to us, be measured on a scale whose degrees are generations.

Mr. Allibone’s good-nature has misled him in some cases to the allowance of manifest disproportions.  Twice as much room, for instance, is allowed to Mr. Dallas as to Emerson.  Mr. Dallas has been Vice-President of the United States; Emerson is one of the few masters of the English tongue, and both by teaching and practical example has done more to make the life of the scholar beautiful, and the career of the man of letters a reproof to all low aims and an inspiration to all high ones, than any other man in America.

What we have said has been predicated upon the general impression left on our minds after dipping into the book here and there almost at random.  But on opening it again, we find so much that is interesting, even in those articles which are most expansive and gossiping, that we are almost inclined to draw our pen through what we have written in the way of objection, and merely express our gratitude to Mr. Allibone for what he has done.  We have been led to speak of what we consider the defects, or rather the redundancies, of the “Dictionary,” because we believe, that, if less bulky, it would be more certain of the wide distribution it so highly deserves.  It is a shrewd saying of Vauvenargues, that it is “un grand signe de mediocrite de louer toujours moderement,” and we have no desire to expose the “Atlantic” to a charge so fatal by showing ourselves cold to the uncommon merits of Mr. Allibone’s achievement.  The book is rather entitled to be called an Encyclopaedia than a Dictionary.  As the work of a single man, it is one of the wonders of literary industry.  The amount of labor implied in it is enormous, and its general accuracy, considering the immense number and variety of particulars, remarkable.  A kindly and impartial spirit makes itself felt everywhere,—­by no means an easy or inconsiderable merit.  We have already had occasion several times to test its practical value by use, and can recommend it from actual experiment.  Every man who ever owned an English book, or ever means to own one, will find something here to his purpose.