To get up a humorous book six hundred octavo pages long, is a sober undertaking, from which the originators of the Cardiff giant might shrink. If Mr. Clement [sic] has moderately succeeded, he has done immoderately well. That he has thus succeeded, the sale of the book testifies. It is not purely harlequinish. He rises often to a sober plane, and at times sets forth in real eloquence the topic in consideration. Yet one does not know that in the midst of his most solemn and eloquent passages, the harlequin's face will not funnily intrude. In this respect he is not unlike the modern mind. Grimaces are seen now in the soberest places. Emerson makes his audiences laugh. So does Spurgeon, godliest of preachers. Tennyson, and Browning, and Longfellow scatter jests along their lines, and Lowell alone has his paper headed "Sober" and "Funny" departments, so as not to compel one to tarry too long in the dull and sober region. This book errs gravely in its sub-title. "Pilgrim's Progress" is a sacred name. Every Christian's heart clings to it. It should not be turned to a jest. We hope he will erase it, as it does not help the sale and harms the book. There is also amid the rollicking, too much wine, whist, theatres, and swearing. To leave these out, would have reduced the bulk, and increased the character of the book -- a double virtue. It is also a satire that, like all satires, to be successful must smite popular notions. These are slaughtered too indiscriminately, as for instance, the old masters are put below the copies -- an absurd absurdity. Apart from these defects, the work is racy and valuable. It has many excellent descriptions, and much excellent feeling. It takes one around the world in the liveliest of company, and with its pictures and jokes, makes the trip as jolly as a boy's Saturday afternoon.