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the good of every nation - their arts and improvements, their noble and liberal institutions, their literature, and the grace and real refinement of their manners; but let us strive to retain our simplicity, our sense of what is consistent with our own glorious calling, and above all, the honesty and wisdom of living within our income, whatever it may be. This is our true standard. Let those who can afford it, consult their own tasie in living. If they prefer elegance of furniture, who has a right to gainsay it? But let us not all aim at the same luxury. Perhaps it is this consciousness of unsuccessful imitation, that has given a color to the charge made against us, by the English, of undue irritability. Truly, there is nothing more likely to produce it. Let us pursue our path, with a firm and steadfast purpose, as did our fathers of the Revolution, and we shall little regard those who, after receiving our hospitality, retire to a distance, and pelt us with rubbish.”

We are glad to learn that three editions of this little book have already been published; and we hope its dissemination will eventually be so wide as to place it in the hands of every intelligent American family throughout the union.



AN AMERICAN Poen. pp. 90. New-York: GEORGE W.

There are many fine poetical thoughts in the compass of this little book, but in general the execution is less creditable to the author. He lacks harmony of language, and his metrical ear is lamentably imperfect. With proper cultivation, and a due familiarity with good models, we might anticipate much improvement upon the volume before us; and we cannot but hope that so much native ore as may here be seen gleaming through the rough soil, will not hereafter be presented to the public without adequate filtration. A single extract will serve to explain our remarks, both of raise and deprecation. It is descriptive of the view from the 'Catskill Mountain Hous: :

“On the high mountain top, far, far above
The world! A wild, wide, boiling sea of mist
Is spread around, the beautiful phantasm
or the true ocean, which once swept above
These glowing lands. Its pale waves roll not now
With the free dash of life, but slowly rise
Like phantoms, and with ghost-like motion glide
Along, to dash all noiselessly against
The rock-bound sbore. And yet 't is like, so like
The wide deep sea, that faucy peoples it
With the strange monsters of the deep, and we
Can scarce believe that fellow-mortals there
Beneath the waves are toiling carelessly
In the dull work of life. Its spectral depths
Are opening now, and bright and verdant isles
Are shining through. Again the misty waves
Close over them, and all is ocean now.
Again bright fields and dark-green woods shine through
The rent veil, and its scattered folds are rolled
Into light fleecy clouds, which float along
Upop the summer wind. And now these melt
Before the glowing sun, and naught is lest

But dazzling, beautiful reality.
" The golden hue of barvest - the dark woods

The bright green pasture lands — the rivulet
Alike a white thread thrown all carelessly
On the green velvet - the low rustic roof
The distant village glittering with the sun
The river calmly lying there alike
A polish'd mirror, and the whiter sail
Gleaming on its bright waters – those green isles
Like emeralds set in silver - and the far,
Wide landscape spreading on beyond
In still extending beauty, till the eye
Is pained, the soul dazzled - faint — bewildered."

Our author has evidently the 'dew of his youth ;' and with the fresh poetical impulses of that golden period, doubtless his pen will not be idle. But he should study metrical cadence, and revise more carefully.


Dr. Cooley and the Rev. Dr. SPRAGUE. In one volume. 12mo. New-York : HARPER AND BROTHERS.

This is the title of a very handsome volume, just issued from the press of the Messrs. HARPER, which will not detract in the least from the character and reputation which they have deservedly obtained as publishers. On the contrary, we believe that they have brought the religious community under increased obligations to them, by sending forth this work to the world. It is not to be supposed that all who may read this book, will agree with every religious opinion of the subject of these 'Sketches;' yet it is as undeniable, that no one can read the work without interest. The Rev. Dr. Cooley has sketched the character of this extraordinary individual in a very happy and able manner, and he will have his reward. When we say of the late Rev. Mr. Haynes, that he was an “extraordinary individual,' we say no more than every one will say, who becomes acquainted with the history of his life.

He was born under peculiar circumstances, on the 18th of July, 1753, and died in 1833. He was of unmingled African extraction on his father's side, was abandoned by his parents in early infancy, and' was never, to the end of his life, favored with a single expression of a mother's kindness.' When he was five months old, he was bound as a servant to a pious man, in whose family he was treated with kindness and tenderness. When a boy, and as he grew up, he manifested all faithfulness to his trust, so that his master's business was placed, to a great extent, under his care. After arriving at mature age, he met with a saving change of heart,' and united himself with the Christian church. He became connected with the American army in 1774, and proved true to his country in many campaigns— all, as he expresses himself, ' for the sake of freedom and independence. After serving his country faithfully, he devoted himself to the work of the ministry, and preached the gospel until the close of his life. His triumphant death, with the circumstances attending it, are recorded in such wise as to show that the end of the righteous is peace.' The letters, sermons, and anecdotes contained in the volume, exhibit the character of the man, the patriot, the servant of Christ, and the true philanthropist. His life was full of events- his death replete with instruction.

Paulding's Works. Volumes XII., XIII., and XIV. Containing 'The Dutchman's Fireside,' and 'The Book of St. Nicholas. New-York: HARPER AND BROTHERS.

It is not our intention, in the present dearth of novelty in the literary world, to intrude upon the reader a labored review of a work so well known to the American public as the 'Dutchman's Fireside,' one of the most popular productions of its popular author. We shall content ourselves with saying, that it is now presented in the neat and tasteful dress in which all the preceding numbers of the series have been clad — and this is quite all that is necessary to say in regard to the character of the externals.

'The Book of St. Nicholas,' a volume of some two hundred and fifty pages, contains the following stories, among which the reader will perceive several pleasant acquaintances, with whom he will be glad to renew an intimacy: The Legend of St. Nicholas;' "The Little Dutch Sentinel of the Manhadoes ;' "'Cobus Yerks;'' A Strange Bird in Nieuw-Amsterdam ;''Claas Schlaschenschlinger;'' The Revenge of St. Nicholas ;''The Origin of the Bakers' Dozen ;' The Ghost ;'' The Nymph of the Mountain;' and 'The Ride of St. Nicholas on New-Year's Eve.'

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SCENES IN SPAIN. In one volume. pp. 334. New-York: GEORGE DEARBORN.

We have read this volume attentively through; and when we say that we accomplished it at two sittings, we think the declaration should serve as collateral evidence, at least, that the work possesses the power to interest the reader in a remarkable degree. It frequently reminds us, by the vividness of its descriptions, its variety of topic, and the vein of pleasantry which pervades it, of ' A Year in Spain,' and 'Spain Revisited,' by Lieutenant SLIDELL; although in some instances

style is too diffuse to favor the idea of a kindred paternity. We select a solitary passage, descriptive of the Giralda cathedral of Genoa, as a fair specimen of the ease with which our author records his impressions :

“Passing along the street of Genoa, which was filled with shops of trades-penple, I presently came to the famous old cathedral, and was equally surprised at the grandeur of its dimensions and the irregularity of its form. Beside it rose the tall tower of the Giralda, a light Moorish edifice, whose height the Christians increased by adding a belfry at the summit, where hang a great many bells, big and little, bearing the dignified appellations of San Pedro, San Pablo, and a score of saints, male and female, painted over each. I toiled my way up the winding staircase, not on an armed warhorse, as did soine knights of old, nor on a donkey, like one of the good queens of Spain, but as an humble pedestrian; stopping at intervals to get breath, and then plodding upward and upward till 1 reached a little shrine and image of Our Lady, and presently stepped forth upon the terrace. Just above stands the Giralda, the brazen female image which has given its name to the tower, and is the grand weathercock of Seville. Perhaps to the amiableness of this brazen dame, who whirls about with every breeze, so that one knows not how to take her, may be traced the phrase of 'hija de la Giralda,' a term of reproach to such giddy people as tell wild tales, and contradict the assertion of one moment by the asseveration of the next.

“ Though the exterior of the cathedral was a venerable mass of deformity, the interior was a happy union of simplicity and grandeur, with its long solemn aisles, il sturdy slone columns, and its bold arches of massive mason work, which time had tinged with a dusky and sombre hue. Priests were moving across the aisles in different directions, some going to perform their devotions at one altar, some at another; for, from the vasi size of the church, the prayers offered at one shrine were inaudible at the rest. Devo. tecs, mostly women, were scattered about the church, kneeling with rosary in hand before the shrines of the various saints. In this way they make the morning round from altar to altar, with the customary prayers and genuflexions at each shrine, and obtain thereby a certain number of days of indulgence. Here and there, a stranger, brought thither like myself more by curiosity than devotion, and inattentive to holier things, might be seen gazing with admiration on the glittering ornaments of the altars, measuring with his eye the grandeur of the long aisles of this noble temple, or studying with delight the faithful nature and sweet simplicity of Murillo's pencil in some of luis most happy efforts. Not even in the churches in Spain is one free from the tormenting importunity of beggars. I was admiring a delightful painting of the great Spanish artist, where an angel is represented leading a bright-eyed boy by the hand, when an old woman, with a long rosary in her hand, and her sallow, wrinkled face half covered by a tattered and long mantilla, came up to me to solicit alms. She told me the usual tale, perhaps too often true, of a husband sick and helpless, and a house full of starving children. I have noticed that the mendicants get more from the priests than from any one else; they doubtless have an interest in thus cultivating the affections of the poorer classes. At all events, it is but a just retribution, that they who live idly and luxuriously by the sweat of the poor man's brow, should restore a little of their gettings in the shape, of alms.

“In wandering about the church, my attention was attracted by a rough sculpture on the pavement of an antiquated ship or galley, surmounting an inscription. It was much worn by the feet and knees of the pious, for it was just in front of a shrine. On examining the inscription, I found it was the tomb of the Adelantado, the son of that great but unfortunate and injured man who discovered the far-off country from which I had begun my wanderings."

We abstain from farther extracts, not for the reason that there is not a rich field for selection, but because we have already quoted largely from works on Spain in this department; and furthermore, we lack, at this present, the 'ample room and verge enough' of the poet, for our purpose. We must not omit to add, however, that the volume is executed in a very superior manner, and embellished with two fine engravings by HinsuELWOOD, from paintings by CHAPMAN.


Edwin FORREST. — The success of our countryman FORREST in England is not less honorable to his genius and character, than it is gratifying to his numerous friends and admirers in America. His whole career, since his first appearance on the boards of Drury Lane, has been one of constant triumph, until he at last stands on a prouder histrionic eminence than in his most sanguine moments he could ever have hoped to attain. The journals of the metropolis, with but one or two exceptions, unite in awarding to him the first place among living actors, in either hemisphere; and his personations, in their entire detail, of Shakspeare's heroes, are pronounced in many respects equal, if not superior, to the best of the elder KEAN. We gather from a recent letter of Mr. FORREST's, in the Plaindealer, of this city, that the honors which have been privately tendered him in London have been more gratifying than his public reception. At a dinner given him by the Garrick Club, Sergeant TALFOURD, author of 'Ion,' presided, and made a highly complimentary speech, to which Mr. FORREST replied. MACREADY had welcomed and applauded him in the warmest manner; and from Messrs. STEPHEN Price and Charles KEMBLE he had received three swords, which were once the property of John Philip Kemble, Talma, and KEAN, as tokens of the admiration and esteem of the donors. An original portrait, in oil, of GARRICK had also been presented him, and his own, in the character of Macbeth, in the daggerscene, was in preparation for the next exhibition at the Somerset House. At the last advices, Mr. FORREST was performing an engagement at Liverpool, 10 crowded audiences. The journals of that city are unanimous and enthusiastic in his praise. After a brief engagement at Manchester, he was to return to London, to appear in a new tragedy written expressly for him by Miss Mitford, and in the character of Richard the Third, in the representation of which he conceives some important changes for the better may be made. We hope the lesson conveyed in the following passage from Mr. FORREST'S letter, will not be lost upon American audiences : The London audiences have a quick and keen perception of the beauties of the drama. They seem, from the timeliness and proportion of their applause, to possess a previous knowledge of the text. They applaud warmly, but seasonably. They do not interrupt a passion, and oblige the actor to sustain it beyond the propriety of nature; but if he delineates it forcibly and truly, they reward him in the intervals of the dialogue. Variations from the accustomed modes — though not in any palpable new readings, which for the most part are bad readings, for there is generally but one mode positively correct, and that has not been left for us to discover — but slight changes in emphasis, tone, or action - delicate shadings and pencilings are observed with singular and most gratifying quickness. You find that your study of Shakspeare has not been thrown away; that your attempt to grasp the character in its 'gross and scope,' as well as in its detail, so as not merely to know how to speak what is written, but to preserve its truth and keeping in a new succession of incidents, could it be exposed to them - you find that this is seen and appreciated by the audience; and the evidence that they see and feel, is given with an emphasis and heartiness that make the theatre shake.'

Copies of a fine portrait of Mr. FORREST, published in London, have reached this country, and his friends may interchange 'greetings of the face with him, by calling at the publishing office of this Magazine. VOL. IX.


PARK THEATRE —'Ion.' - In the production of this classic gem, the modern drama has received a treasure as unexpected as it was desirable. The wondrous surprise, indeed, which this exquisite poem has awakened, would hardly have been exceeded, if in these degenerate days of 'les beaux arts' a second Raphael had arisen, and cast forth upon the dreaming world some mighty master-piece – perfect as the enclosed gem of Minerva's Pliidian buckler. Nothing so strictly pure in its language, so classical in the imagery of its thoughts — nothing so free from the pedantry of the schools, and yet so replete with learning - so full of poetry imbued with the strength of truth – bas fallen upon our times. 'Ion' sustains all its pretensions. There is the magnificent simplicity of genius in its design – the soul of poetry in the sublime tracery of its thoughts — truth in the delineation of its characters -- probability in the consummation of its events — deep and exciting interest in its story — all hallowed by the solemn charm which the fatal principle of destiny has thrown around it. Yet 'lon' is for the closet. It seems like desecration to attempt an exhibition of its delicate perfections upon the stage. There is something too material in the means which the best theatres can afford, to give a just perception of the beauties of 'Ion.' It is not the fault of the play, but its very purity, its intellectual grace, which unfits it for stage representation. A host of angels, or the embodied spirits of the Argive heroes themselves, not to speak profanely, might enact 'Ion.' No mortal 'corre dramatique' can ever hope to portray its divine spirit. Miss ELLEN TREE has too much judgment, and a taste too refined, to be guilty of an impropriety. She could not outrage the spirit of the purest poetry that ever was written. On the contrary, we know of no artist whose style is more truly classic, or more strictly under the control of a cultivated judgment. As the tresses which shade the glowing beauties of Titian's Magdalen require the closest scrutiny to make the observer fully sensible of their minute proportions, so is it necessary, to a just appreciation of 'Ion,' that it be deeply studied, and that its delicale, half-hidden glories be brought before the mind by a process to which the rough glare and glitter of the stage are totally inadequate. If, then, Miss Tree cannot, from its- peculiar delicacy, do justice to the exquisite poetry of 'lon,' what can be expected of the rest of the corps dramatique ? Mrs. GURNER's Clemanthe does her infinise honor. She reads the part with true judgment, and evinces a just appreciation of its beauties, by her manner of expressing them : yet it is not the Clemanthe of the poet- for the same reason and no other, that the 'Ion' of Miss Tree is not the character which floats in the mind of every intelligent reader of this beautiful creation. What shall we say, after this, of the men who have been thrust into this world of delicate imaginings ? As well might the manager of a theatre fancy it possible that his company could represent the ‘Paradise Lost,' with all its ethereal and divine personages, as to believe it probable that they could attempt the characters of 'Ion' without the grossest sacrilege. Is it not too bad ? - and we appeal to any person who has beheld the profanation - is it not too bad, to hear the present substitute of Agenor speak such lines as these :

- Love, the germ
or his mild nature, hath spread graces forth,
Expanding with its progress; as the store
of rainbow-color which the seed conceale
Sheds out its tints from its dim treasury,

To flush and circle in the flower.'

Or fancy Clesiphon, through bis present representative, giving utterance, in the offhand way of a gentleman directing his coachman, to the following exquisite picture :

Go teach the eagle when in azure heaven
He upward darts to seize his maddened prey,
Shivering through the death-circle of its fear,
To pause and let it 'scape, and thou may'st win
Man to forego the sparkling round of power,
When it floats airily within his grasp !

But it is not with the performers, generally, that we have any right to find fault. We

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