30.-The Poetry of Travelling in the United States. By CAROLINE GILMAN. With additional Sketches, by a few Friends; and a Week among Autographs. By the REV. S. GILMAN. New 12mo. pp. 430.

York: S. Coleman. 1838.

WE could not read a book with such a title but for the attractive name of its author; the recollection of her two "Recollections" dwells upon us so pleasantly, we greet her with a cordial wel come, however questionable may be the shape in which she presents herself. An unfortunate child sometimes suffers from the accident of being born soon after the appearance of a Della Cruscan poem, or a Minerva-press novel, from which a ridiculous mother selects for her a romantic name, which, as she grows up, both endangers her own character, and disinclines every plain, honest person, to making her acquaintance. Just so it is with a book; it would scarcely be possible for a writer, after having chosen an affected title, to escape from its influence, and keep entirely free from fustian, and equally difficult to remove from his production the suspicion of nonsense. Literary history shows how great has been the influence of this apparently unimportant circumstance upon the character of the literature of several ages, and we have the clearest evidence of it in our own. We are sorry to see one of the truehearted, for such we hold Mrs. Gilman to be, favoring such silly affectations. Her new volume is filled with the varied incidents of nearly a whole year's rambles, and abounds in stage-coach adventures, fine sketches of scenery, society, manners, literature, and local peculiarities, brought together from a wide range, extending from the southern limits of Georgia to the banks of the St. Lawrence. We know not where we could point to a book embracing more, or describing better, the great objects of interest, the grand and striking features of nature, the distinctive traits of national character, and the important institutions of the country, than that of Mrs. Gilman; it deserves and would have received a notice of more respectful length, but for its late appearance in our trimestral epoch. The poetical is decidedly not the best part of this agreeable tour; any one that remembers "Jephthah's vow," will not be satisfied with effusions from the same pen, so much inferior.

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31.- Buds of Spring - Poetical Remains of Augustus Foster Lyde; with Addenda. Boston: 1838. 12mo. pp. 150.

THE first half of this neat little volume is not properly the subject of critical remark; the Buds of Mr. Lyde were evidently never intended to open to the world, and it would be both unkind and un

just to his memory to make him suffer for an act of indiscreet friendship. The biographical notices prefixed, excite a strong interest in the subject of the memoir, who was unquestionably a young man of great promise, of amiable and excellent character, and of ardent and devoted piety; and we should have been satisfied with the proofs of his uncommon worth, quite as fully, if the editor of his poems had not called him the Henry Kirke White of America. We wish there might be a standard of estimate for our geniuses of all sorts, without reference to great names abroad; the custom of calling our poets, novelists, and historians, Kirke Whites, and Scotts, and Gibbons, and Burkes, is an acknowledgment of inferiority wholly uncalled for, and not very flattering to our national pride; besides, it is making great names quite too common.

The last half of this volume, called "addenda," is fairly open to criticism, although the worthy author earnestly deprecates it. In a preliminary note, the reason for its publication is given, which affords an additional proof of the same want of judgment in his own case, as he had shown in that of his friend:

"The size of this little volume," he says, "will readily suggest an apology for the succeeding appendix. The number of leaves occupied by the poetical remains of our departed brother, and by the brief relation of his life and character, being so small, would have been adapted rather to a pamphlet than a bound book, while it is desirable that these Remains should be brought forward in a form more suitable for their preservation. It was rendered advisable, therefore, to add a few pages, and propriety dictated that these should be of poetry."

The above confession has at least the merit of honesty, and the reason, that of novelty, and the deed is in one respect generous to his friend; for although his are the effusions of a mind not yet "learned to build the lofty rhyme," they are the height of poetic inspiration compared with the "addenda." Such an amiable selfsacrifice proves that he must have loved much; and for this, we have the best disposition to forgive him for the double mistake of bringing before the public the youthful productions of his friend, and his own miscalled poetry. We are sorry to see such a publication emanating from the feelings of a kind heart, and intended also for the promotion of a good object; we sincerely hope that the avails of it may afford a rich addition to the funds for the Christian mission in China; and if so, we doubt not that the error would not only be forgiven, but also rejoiced in, by the spirit of his departed friend.

32.—The Athenian Captive. A Tragedy, in Five Acts. By TнOMAS NOON TALFOURD. New York: J. & H. G. Langley. 12mo. PP. 81.

Few efforts of the human mind require higher gifts of nature, than to write a fine tragedy. The history of intellectual culture

transmits but three imperishable names in this department of literature, prior to the age of Shakspeare, and they were all of the same country and province, and almost of the same city. Two thousand years elapsed between their time and his, during which the spirit of tragic inspiration seems to have been silent, that it might touch his lips with an intenser force, and make him sole heir of its accumulation. Never were the gifts of genius better used, and never a richer fund bequeathed to posterity, by their possessor; upon that fund all later writers of his own nation have ever since been drawing. We think not to liken any of his disciples to their great master, such an idea would be preposterousin that system there is but one sun, although there may be numerous brilliant stars; of these, the brightest to our view is Miss Baillie; and then, after many of lesser magnitude, we come to the class of dim orbs, to which Mr. Talfourd belongs. His second attempt at tragic writing is a decided failure. We have given "the Athenian Captive" two careful readings, and find very little in it to admire. Like Ion, it is of the classic school, but immeasurably inferior to it.

The plot is invented, not founded, on historic events. Thoas, the hero, is made captive by the troops of Creon, king of Corinth, and condemned to death by him for having slightly wounded his son Hyllus in battle; at Hyllus' intercession, this sentence is changed to perpetual servitude; the young warriors become ardent friends; games are ordered by Creon in honor of his victory over the Athenians; Hyllus engages in a chariot race his coursers become unmanageable, and, when on the very brink of destruction, he is saved by Thoas; a banquet is then ordered, in expression of joy at his rescue at this banquet, Ismene, the queen, also a captive Athenian, who had been raised to the throne, but still retaining a grudge for the injuries once suffered from the Corinthians, with a view to exasperate and bring Thoas over to her purposes, requires him to serve at table as a menial; he reluctantly obeys, and at length, when required to present to the guests the cup filled to Cleon's "Ruin to Athens," he dashes it furiously to the ground, and calls down upon himself the vengeance of the king; Hyllus intercedes-offends his father, and is exiled. Thoas, previous to execution, is confined in a dungeon, where he is first visited by Creusa, the daughter of Creon, who was in love with him, and then by Ismene; the latter makes known to him her story, proves to him that she is of the noble race of Theseus, and that he is her son; and after much persuasion, exercising over him an irresistible charm, induces him to undertake the murder of Creon, which he soon accomplishes. Thoas escapes

to the Athenian camp, loathes himself for his crime, but is put in command of the troops. Ismene assumes the government of Corinth; Iphitus, a priest of Jupiter the Avenger, orders a joint as

sembly of Corinthians and Athenians in the temple of that god, to inquire into the murder of the king; circumstances direct their suspicions towards Hyllus, and Ismene pronounces him guilty; he is about to suffer the ordinary penalty; Thoas exculpates him, and acknowledges himself the murderer, having first given himself a mortal wound with a concealed dagger;—and this is the grand denouement, and one of less dramatic effect we never knew.

The appearance of Ion was hailed with such loud acclamations by a numerous circle of personal friends, that for a time they were mistaken for an expression of general enthusiasm in its favor. The noble and touching traits of character of the hero, the extraordinary talent exhibited by Miss Tree in the stage representation of it, and the popular political sentiments of the piece, gave it an unusual temporary success. It is already seen, that the success was not owing to its intrinsic excellence; and knowing as we do something of the secret history of its bringing out, we feel justified in attributing it, in a great degree, to the same art, by which inferior poets often recommended themselves to an Athenian audience—the same that, in the language of Lord Hardwicke, compelled the "excellent Euripides to yield to a cringing competitor." We have seen as yet no account of the stage success of Mr. Talfourd's second drama: it was first acted at Covent Garden late in April; and we venture to predict, that neither its own merits, nor all the efforts of the author's friends, will gain for it the applause which Ion had. It has none of the beauty of language, and none of the fine sentiment, with which that abounded; it exhibits no lofty virtue in action, like that of the elevated patriotism of Ion; it excites no strong sympathy, and it has not one finely drawn character, and no dramatic power. Thoas, who must be intended for the hero, is simply just, in not allowing a friend to suffer the ignominy and punishment of an atrocious crime which he had himself committed; Creusa, the heroine, is a mere negative character, far less interesting even than Clemanthe; Creon and Ismene have not the finish of the classic school, nor are they wicked and cruel enough to excite the thrill of the romantic. . . . It was certainly a commendable motive which led to the production of this tragedy; but we greatly misunderstand the character of a London audience, if it proves the means of putting money into his friend Macready's pockets. Although we commend the movement, as an act of generous friendship, we would not be understood to concur in the sentiment of Mr. Talfourd, that the cause of the drama is the cause of humanity and goodness.

33.-Hill and Valley, or Hours in England and Wales. By CATHARINE SINCLAIR. New York: Robert Carter. 12mo. pp. 378. 1838.

THERE are three countries in Europe,- England, Switzerland, and Italy, whose natural beauties, independently of society, are sufficient to delight, either when seen or well described. Although extremely unlike, each is perfect of its kind. Switzerland and Italy are all poetry; the one, wild, lyric, and impassioned tragie; the other, lofty, heroic. England is the prose volume of nature; but it is elegant, finished, graceful prose, like old Isaac Walton's, or our own Irving's. Of this volume, Miss Sinclair opens to us some of the most beautiful pages; and we have read them, as she presents them to us, with great interest and pleasure. She has disappointed us most agreeably; judging from her former publications, we took up her book with an expectation that we should not be able to get through it, and should have laid it down, when we had read the preface, and honestly confessed the fact, had it not seemed too much like giving up an intended visit, because the door of the house in which it was to be made, was in bad taste; we passed on to the next chapter; it grew upon us as we advanced, and we could not leave it until it was finished. It is a very agreeable "hill and valley" sort of book; there are so many good things in it, that one in reading it, is often obliged to stop, and cry out, capital! She is one of the right sort of travellers; her object is instruction and amusement, not good eating, and therefore she is always in pleasant humor; her book is not filled with complaints of the inns, the conveyances, and the roads; she has the prince of Conde's avant-courier, contentment, and that is sufficient to give fleetness to the horses, smoothness to the roads, and to spread an inviting table at every place of rest. To be sure, she travels through a country, where the sight of nature alone is a perpetual feast, and where every inn offers all the comforts of home; but she shows that she would not fret even in Spain, or in our new states; if she speaks of impositions and extortions, it is only as amusing incidents of travel; even continued bad weather, which tries the temper of all travellers, only calls forth from her some gentle expressions of regret. We like the spirit in which she travels, we like the manner in which she describes, and, above all, we like the sound principles in morals, religion, and politics, which she inculcates, when occasions present. We have no room for extracts, or we would illustrate the latter position most abundantly; but there are two passages which have so much of point, applied to our country, that we must introduce them here. Speaking of a proud display of arms on a coach-pannel, she says:

"It is a curious phenomena in coronets, that the older they are, the smaller they grow. No rule seems more perfectly without exception, than that those who