REVIEW OF NEW BOOKS

“Again, again farewell!Now indeed the bitterness of death is past.And yet, once more,farewell!

“Again, again farewell!

Now indeed the bitterness of death is past.

And yet, once more,farewell!

Thy Dora.”

REVIEW OF NEW BOOKS

Anne Boleyn: A Tragedy. By George H. Boker, Author of “Calaynos.” Philadelphia: A. Hart. 1 vol. 12mo.

Mr. Boker was favorably known as a dramatic poet previous to the publication of his present work, but “Anne Boleyn” indicates a firm movement forward when compared with “Calaynos.” It is more impassioned in style, action and thought, more intense in conception, more artistic in execution, with sentiments more richly poetic, with characters more vigorously discriminated.

The subject of the drama is taken from one of the actual tragedies of history, with which every schoolboy is familiar, and it is therefore admirably adapted for dramatic treatment. The names of the characters are familiar to all, but here we have substantial persons attached to the names, living out a portion of their lives before our eyes, with almost every act and word symbolical of character. Such a representation increases our knowledge of history, by conducting us near to its heart and life, giving us the concrete meaning of such terms as irresponsible power, court intrigues, political unscrupulousness, and unbitted passion.

The plan of the drama is the exhibition of the various intrigues of the courtier statesmen of Henry VIII. to murder, under a legal form, his imperious but large-hearted wife, and the final triumph of their villany over justice, and of his lust over common humanity. In the most exacting law of dramatic composition, that which demands the mutual connection of the parts, and a relation of each with the main idea of the piece, the author has, we think, been very successful. There are no characters and scenes, hardly any thoughts and sentiments, which could be omitted without injury to the design, which do not contribute to the general effect of tragedy. The style, also, though it occasionally evinces some immaturity, is commonly close to the matter, and takes its tone and coloring from the characters. The diameters themselves are strongly conceived and sustained. King Henry, Norfolk, Richmond, Wyatt, Smeaton, Queen Anne, Jane Seymour and Lady Boleyn, are especially felicitous. We could give many specimens of the author’s dramatic powers had we space for extracts, but we prefer to commend the drama to the reader’s attention in its wholeness. There are, however, scattered over the piece, morsels of beauty and wisdom which spring naturally out of the events, and yet have a universal application. Queen Anne, in repenting of the harsh imperiousness of her judgments of others, drops a remark which every modern reformer should adopt as a preventive check on the fertility of his tongue:

I have been arrogant to judge my kindBy God’s own law, not seeing in myselfA guilty judge condemning the less vile.

I have been arrogant to judge my kind

By God’s own law, not seeing in myself

A guilty judge condemning the less vile.

The scene in which the queen attempts to regain the king’s affections, by sending his mind back to the period of their early love, is very touching and beautiful; and until that sly witch, Jane Seymour, appears, the reader almost believes that the crowned disciple of lust is capable of fidelity to a sentiment. We give a few passages:

O, Henry, you have changedFrom that true Henry who, in bygone days,Rode, with the hurry of a northern gale,Towards Hever’s heights, and ere the park was gained,Made the glad air a messenger of love,By many a blast upon your hunting-horn.Have you forgotten that old oaken room,Fearful with portraits of my buried race,Where I received you panting from your horse;As breathless, from my dumb excess of joy,As you with hasty travel? Do you thinkOf our sweet meetings ’neath the gloomy yewsOf Sopewell nunnery, when the happy dayThat made me yours seemed lingering as it came,More slowly moving as it nearer drew?How you chid time, and vowed the hoary knaveMight mark each second of his horologeWith dying groans, from those you cherished most,So he would hasten?—KING HENRY.Anne, that was you.Have you forgotten my ear-stunning laughAt your quaint figure of time’s human clock,Whose every beat a soul’s flight registered?QUEEN ANNE.God bless you, Henry! (Embraces him.)KING HENRY.Pshaw! why touch so deep?These softening memories of our early loveCome o’er me like my childhood.QUEEN ANNE.Love be praised,That with such reflections couples me!Be steadfast, Henry.KING HENRY.Fear not: love is poorThat seals not compacts with the stamp of faith.QUEEN ANNE.My stay is trespass. We will meet anon.Love needs no counsel in his little realm.

O, Henry, you have changed

From that true Henry who, in bygone days,

Rode, with the hurry of a northern gale,

Towards Hever’s heights, and ere the park was gained,

Made the glad air a messenger of love,

By many a blast upon your hunting-horn.

Have you forgotten that old oaken room,

Fearful with portraits of my buried race,

Where I received you panting from your horse;

As breathless, from my dumb excess of joy,

As you with hasty travel? Do you think

Of our sweet meetings ’neath the gloomy yews

Of Sopewell nunnery, when the happy day

That made me yours seemed lingering as it came,

More slowly moving as it nearer drew?

How you chid time, and vowed the hoary knave

Might mark each second of his horologe

With dying groans, from those you cherished most,

So he would hasten?—

KING HENRY.Anne, that was you.Have you forgotten my ear-stunning laughAt your quaint figure of time’s human clock,Whose every beat a soul’s flight registered?

KING HENRY.

Anne, that was you.

Have you forgotten my ear-stunning laugh

At your quaint figure of time’s human clock,

Whose every beat a soul’s flight registered?

QUEEN ANNE.God bless you, Henry! (Embraces him.)

QUEEN ANNE.

God bless you, Henry! (Embraces him.)

KING HENRY.Pshaw! why touch so deep?These softening memories of our early loveCome o’er me like my childhood.

KING HENRY.

Pshaw! why touch so deep?

These softening memories of our early love

Come o’er me like my childhood.

QUEEN ANNE.Love be praised,That with such reflections couples me!Be steadfast, Henry.

QUEEN ANNE.

Love be praised,

That with such reflections couples me!

Be steadfast, Henry.

KING HENRY.Fear not: love is poorThat seals not compacts with the stamp of faith.

KING HENRY.

Fear not: love is poor

That seals not compacts with the stamp of faith.

QUEEN ANNE.My stay is trespass. We will meet anon.Love needs no counsel in his little realm.

QUEEN ANNE.

My stay is trespass. We will meet anon.

Love needs no counsel in his little realm.

“Anne Boleyn” is not only a fine dramatic poem, considered in respect to character and situations, but it is as interesting as a novel, and continually excites those emotions which exact attention, even in the least cultivated reader. Taken in connection with the author’s previous work, it evinces not only genius, but a genius which grows. Theperusal of it has strongly impressed us with the feeling that the country, in him, has a new poet, and one whose present productions are even richer in promise than performance. We cordially wish him an appreciating public, and trust that he will not lack stimulants to renewed exertion.

Saint Leger, or the Threads of Life. Second Edition. New York: Geo. P. Putnam. 1 vol. 12mo.

“Saint Leger” has been considered by some critics to be of German origin; it has been thought to bear a striking family likeness to a class of books of which “Wilhelm Meister” is the type and paragon. This erroneous opinion must have arisen either from an imperfect acquaintance with German literature, or from not giving to “Saint Leger” that careful analysis which it certainly deserves. The class of German novels, to which “Saint Leger” has been compared, cannot, strictly speaking, be said to possess any plot. There is no regular sequence of events—no relation of parts to a whole—no dramatic bearing of character upon character, to produce an ultimate result—no apparent effort to close the story at the very start, which an influx of conflicting circumstances alone prevents, and toward which it ever struggles, overcoming obstacles and softening down discordances, until the end is gained by an unforced blending into one harmonious mass of all the opposing elements of the plot. But these very qualities, for which we look in vain through “Wilhelm Meister” and its fellows, “Saint Leger” possesses to a degree beyond any work of a semblable character with which we are acquainted; and from the crowning result of its plot arises what has been called, from the days of Æsop to those of Walter Scott, the moral of the story. Without such a moral, expressed or implied, any fable, however well told in detail, is a crude, lifeless mass, wanting altogether that vital principle which alone can give fiction endurance. It is to this fact that posterity will owe its safety from the pernicious influences of the thousand well written immoralities that crowd their betters from our modern book-shelves, while the downfall of these literary falsehoods must as surely make way for the continued popularity of such books as “Saint Leger.”

That “Wilhelm Meister” and kindred works are entirely without moral, we will not attempt to say; but that they want the directness of purpose which everywhere characterizes “Saint Leger,” and the consequent dependence of action upon action, in order to work out a clear and significant result, we may say, without fear of controvertion. A lie, written or spoken, is always a bungling thing. The straggling, touch-and-go manner of hinting out a story—admitting the author not to be thoroughly depraved, and willing, like the George Sand School, to blazon his vices, and glory in his iniquities—seldom fails to betray the false and shallow principles upon which it is founded. Truth seeks the light; the author of “Saint Leger” does not shun it. There is a zealousness of purpose, and a lucidness of style and exposition upon every page of his book, which at least proves our author’s conscience to be in his work, and must forever free him from the imputation of endeavoring to hide falsehood, either under the covering of silence or of sophistry.

The object of the author of “Saint Leger,” if we understand him aright, is to trace the career of an individual soul in search of a faith. The innumerable external trials, temptations and dangers through which the hero passes, forms one of the most interesting stories we have read for many a day. To this moving narrative another, and entirely original interest is superadded, by exhibiting to us, not only the immediate effects of surrounding events on the hero’s feelings and actions, but in tracing up their consequences, first, to the changes in his character and moral nature, and last, to the ultimate results produced on his religious faith. Our author appears to be a sturdy opponent of all forms of intellectual faith. The hero is accordingly taken through the whole round of modern metaphysics; and issues from them weary and dispirited, having learned only to doubt, not to believe. In the latter pages of the book, the instructive lesson of the whole is taught, viz., that faith is founded, not on the intellectual, but on the moral nature; that all strivings after faith, through the intellect, can but end in doubt and pain; that the elements for the formation of a perfect faith lie around us on every hand, as much within the reach of the illiterate as of the learned, which

“——justifies the ways of God to man;”

that faith is not to be encompassed in creeds, or laid down in philosophies, but is the simple language of the heart appealing to the will for support.

These are bold thoughts, boldly spoken. The sectarian may base his faith upon other and far different grounds, or may think the opinions of other men sufficient foundation for his own belief; he cannot, however, arrive at a higher or a purer state of hopefulness than that reached by “Saint Leger” through his fiery martyrdom of thought and feeling.

We will not forestall the reader’s interest, by attempting a sketch of our author’s plot. Let it be sufficient to state that the story appears to be evolved of necessity from the agency of the actors in it, the natural result of their characters and the actions to which such characters must lead; not a tissue of ingeniously contrived plots and counterplots, into which a certain amount of sham humanity has been thrust, to give the whole a life-like air. This is a dramatic excellence, rare since the Elizabethan era, which even the glorious creations of Scott do not possess. Whoever has read “Guy Mannering,” and afterward seen its miserable dramatized counterfeit, will be able to appreciate our meaning, and to understand how sadly the works of the greatest modern novelist stand the dramatic test. After witnessing such an experiment, there will be no difficulty in recognizing the immeasurable distance between Shakspeare and Scott.

Saint Leger’s adventures are not completed at the close of the volume, and from the concluding words, we should judge the author intended a continuation of his story. We shall anxiously await the appearance of another volume; meanwhile we heartily commend this to the studious attention of our readers.

Lectures and Essays. By Henry Giles. Boston: Ticknor, Reed & Fields. 2 vols. 12mo.

Mr. Giles, as a lecturer, is celebrated all over the country, and few public speakers equal him in the power of thrilling a popular audience. The present volumes prove that his influence as an orator has not been purchased at the expense of purity of style or accuracy of thought, and that as a writer he presents equally strong claims to consideration and regard. The subjects of the work run into various departments of thought and information, and they all evince meditation and study. The lecture on Falstaff, one of the best papers in the volume, exhibits the author’s philosophical discrimination, as well as his forgetive fancy and overflowing humor. The essays on Crabbe and Ebenezer Elliott are two grand expositions of individual genius, and at the same time indicate a knowledge of the condition of England’s poorer classes, and an intense sympathy with their character and sufferings, which prompt many a passage of searching and pathetic eloquence. The two lectures on Byron are hardly equaled by any other criticisms of his genius, in respect to the balance preserved between sympathy with his misfortunes and indignation at his satanic levities and caprices. Goldsmith, in another paper, is represented with a sunny warmth, and sweetness of style, which carries his image directly to the reader’s heart. Carlyle, Savage, Chatterton, and Dermody, are the subjects of the remaining articles on persons, and each is analyzed with much sympathetic acuteness.

The subjects of the other essays are The Spirit of Irish History, Ireland and the Irish, True Manhood, Patriotism, The Worth of Liberty, The Pulpit, Music, and Economies. In these Mr. Giles’s genius is admirably displayed in its peculiar sphere of action, that of great ideas and universal sentiments. He is, in many important respects, an excellent critic and expositor of men, but he is most eloquent when he commits himself daringly to a sentiment, ignores its practical limitations, and glows and gladdens in the vision of its ideal possibilities and real essence. Here he stirs the deeper fountains of the heart, makes our minds kindle and our aspirations leap to his words, and bears us willingly along on his own rushing stream of feeling. Here all his powers of fancy, humor, imagination, pathos and language, are thoroughly impassioned, and act with a vital energy directly upon the will. The communion with a mind so thoroughly alive cannot be otherwise than inspiring; and to the younger portion of readers, especially, who are finely sensitive to the heroic in conduct, and the grand in sentiment, we would commend these beautiful and quickening orations, glowing, as they are, with the loftiest moral principles, and leading, as they do, to Christian manliness of thought and conduct.

In reading the present volumes, the image of the orator instinctively starts up before the imagination, as he appears in the desk, flooding the lecture-room with his tones, and evoking tears or laughter from an audience whose sympathies he has mastered. Every note in his glorious voice, from its sweet, low, distinct undertone, to the high, shrill, piercing scream of its impassioned utterance, rings through the brain the moment the listener becomes a reader. The volumes have a sure, appreciating and extensive public, even if their circulation be confined to lecture audiences; but they are certain of a wider influence.

Montaigne’s Essays.

It is natural to inquire how often a book which has pleased us much has been the object of admiration to those who preceded us in our journey through life—a road on which a book is a “friend which never changes.” We could not help having this feeling, as we looked at a very recent edition of Montaigne’s Essays, (Philad’a. J. W. Moore, 1849,) and began to rummage up our recollections and invoke the aid of our Lowndes and Quérard—supposing that we might do a small service to the inquirer into such matters, by showing him how often the public taste of other countries had called for editions of our favorite classic—for such he is, in French as well as English.

We give the editions in the order of dates, beginning with the French—

Montaigne (Mich.de) Ses Essais, Livres, 1 & 2.Bordeaux, Millanges.1580, in 8vo. Theoriginaledition, which is, however, incomplete.

The same work, with the addition of athirdbook, and many additions (600) to the two first.Paris, Langelier, 1588, in 4to.

An edition atBrussels, Foppens, 1659, 3 vols. 12mo. and one atParis, the same year, in 3 vols. 12mo.

The French admit, that of the earlier editions, that of Touson, which appeared in London in 1724, with the remarks of P. Coste, in three volumes 4to., is the finest. A supplement to it was published in 1740.

Editions appeared at Paris in 1725, (3 vols. 4to.) at the Hague in 1727, (12mo.) in London in 1739, and 1745, reprints of Coste’s edition. There were editions in Paris in 1754, and in Lyons in 1781, and subsequent editions in Paris in 1783, 1793, and 1801 and 1802—since which, editions have followed, in that city, in rapid succession, and more than twenty, with the “Notes of all the Commentators,” are to be had for the asking.

The English translations are, first:

“The Essays of Michael, Lord of Montaigne, translated by John Florio, London, 1603, folio.” Florio was the Holofernes of Shakspeare. This edition, with a portrait of Florio, by Hole, again appeared in 1613, and 1632.

“Essays of Michael, Seigneur of Montaigne, made English by Charles Cotton. London, 1680.” There are editions in 1711, 1738, and 1743.

A new edition of this translation appeared in 1776, with many corrections, which was reprinted in 1811, but by whom the corrections were made does not appear. The last edition, to which is added his “Letters and Journey through Germany,” and which is an edition of his works prepared by Mr. Hazlitt, from which the Philadelphia edition has been printed.

Poems. By Frances Sargent Osgood. With Illustrations by Huntington, Darley, Cushman, Osgood, etc. Philadelphia: A. Hart. 1 vol. 8vo.

This beautiful volume, the finest in point of pictorial illustrations of a beautiful series, deserves a much more extended notice than we are capable of giving it at present. Mrs. Osgood occupies, among American poets, a place peculiarly her own, where she is without a peer, and almost without a rival. She is the most lyrical of our poets, her nature being of that fluid character which readily pours itself out in song, and quick and sensitive to impressions almost to a fault. A hint from an object is taken, and instantly her soul surrenders itself to the impression, and sings it as if her whole life was concentrated in the emotion of the moment. Her mind, being thus so readily impassioned, glides easily into various forms of character and peculiarities of situation, which she has never actually experienced. Most of the songs in the volume, though they burn and beat as if the writer’s life-blood was circling through them, are essentially dramatic lyrics—the position of the author being an imaginative not a personal one.

A long article might be written on the purity, delicacy, tenderness and strength of feeling which this book evinces, and the exquisite melody and richness of the verse. The signs of a sweet and passionate poetic nature, seeking the ideal by a fine instinct, and finding in song the appropriate expression of its inward harmony, are over the whole volume; and we trust its bird-like music will win for it a place in American homes by the side of the more meditative works of Bryant and Longfellow.

Greenwood Leaves. A Collection of Stories and Letters. By Grace Greenwood. Second Edition. Boston: Ticknor, Reid & Fields. 1 vol. 12mo.

This volume, eloquent in style and entertaining in matter, beyond almost any similar work which has been issued for years, was published but a month or two ago, and has already reached a second edition. The materials of which it is composed are essays and stories originally contributed to different periodicals, and apparently dashed off, without a thought of their being eventually collected and made into a book. The impression which the whole leaves upon the mind, notwithstanding the separate parts were thus composed, is eminently an individual one, and indicates that the authoress has sufficient force of being and character to write in all varieties of mood without parting with her personality, without assuming to be what she is not. In short, she is a contradiction in fact to the Mahometan doctrine, assented to by many Christians, that women have no souls. The present volume indicates a soul, and a broad and powerful one—a soul to feel and to represent with equal intensity the heroic in conduct and the tender in sentiment; a soul which penetrates every faculty of her mind, whether it be understanding or humor, with a vitality, and flashes out, in some passages, in the very eloquence of disinterestedness and heroism. The defect of her mind, at present, seems to be its tendency to exaggeration—to transfer to objects the emotions they excite in herself, and to make them stand for qualities which they only rouse in enthusiastic natures like her own. The volume is splendid in promise, and with all its merit rather suggests than limits her capacity. A mind so fresh, active, powerful and impassioned as hers, cannot fail to reach the high excellence on which her eye is evidently fixed.

The Annals of the Queens of Spain, By Anita George. New York: Baker & Scribner. 1 vol. 12mo.

This work is introduced with the high endorsement of Prescott, the historian, and is worthy even of his commendation. The authoress is an accomplished Spanish lady, who has long resided in the United States, and who writes English with ease and dignity. The subject is entirely new, and the materials gathered from sources of which the general reader is profoundly ignorant. As a work of industry and research, therefore, it is of considerable importance to the student of history; but the authoress has contrived to make it equally interesting to the common reader, by the variety of novel circumstances she has introduced, and her anecdotes of court life. The present volume contains the Gothic queens, those of Oviedo and Leon, of Arragon and of Castile, comprehending a thousand years, from 415 to 1475. The early period to which the volume is confined, though it makes each biography short, makes each full of surprising matter. In the hundred queens presented to us, there are all varieties of feminine nature exhibited in connection with enough remarkable and romantic events to form the plots of numerous novels and dramas.

The work is elegantly printed, and will, we hope, find a large class of readers. It should be continued in the manner with which it has been commenced, and we can hardly believe that annals, relating to a country so essentially romantic as Spain, and written by one whose whole soul is penetrated by her nation’s spirit, should not be received with marked popular approbation.

The Miscellaneous Works of Oliver Goldsmith. Including a variety of Pieces now first collected. By James Prior. In Four Volumes. New York: Geo. P. Putnam, Vols. 1 and 2, 12mo.

Among the many good things which the accomplished and enterprising publisher of this work has done for the cause of classical English literature in the United States, the present cheap and elegant edition of Goldsmith ranks with the first. It is the only American edition which contains the new matter which Prior has collected. The first volume alone has a sufficiently large number of new essays to make every lover of Goldsmith procure the edition.

Goldsmith is so universal a favorite, and the leading characteristics of his genius are so impressed on the public mind, that it would be useless here to speak of his sly, searching and genial humor, his shrewd and accurate observation, the generosity of his sympathies, the wealth of his fancy, and the lucid simplicity and sweet fascination of his style. Let the reader peruse the present edition in connection with Irving’s charming biography of Goldsmith, and we will guarantee that the works and life of the subject will be a possession to his imagination forever.

The Poets and Poetry of America to the Middle of the Nineteenth Century. By Rufus Wilmot Griswold. Tenth Edition, Revised and Enlarged. Philadelphia: Carey & Hart. 1 vol. 8vo.

The popular estimate of this work is indicated by its passing through nine large editions in seven years. The present, which is the tenth edition, is almost a new book. The editor has corrected faults of judgment and selection, which necessarily occurred in the first edition, and had availed himself of the benefit of the criticisms, friendly and unfriendly, which it called forth.

The poetical literature of the country has also grown considerably during the last seven years, and Mr. Griswold has therefore added many exquisite pieces of Emerson, Longfellow, Whittier, Holmes, Lowell and Poe—excluded some poems, and put better ones by the same authors in their place—and introduced into the body of the book liberal selections from the new poets, Palmer, Lunt, Hoyt, Clarke, Parsons, Cooke, Fields, Wallace, Hirst, Mathews, Taylor, Boker, Read, Legare and Butler, are among the additions. The book, in its present form, gives a fair idea of American verse in all its varieties of individuality and style. It is still open to objections, and is doubtless capable of further improvement; but we think that the editor has more to fear from the anger of poets who suffer from the austerity of his taste, than from that of readers who sometimes suffer from its exceeding tolerance. As a whole, the book is very attractive, and we wish it another seven years of success, and a passage into edition twentieth.

Poems. By John G. Saxe. Boston: Ticknor, Reed & Fields. 1 vol. 12mo.

This collection of metrical pieces, inspired by the muse of frolic and fun, is sure of popularity. The writer’sfavorites among the poets, seem to be Pope and Hood, the bard of satire and the bard of puns; and his own poems are full of good specimens both of keen hits and felicitous word-twisting. The two satires, “Progress,” and “The Times,” show a vivid perception of the ludicrous in conduct and life, and “The Proud Miss Bride” puts words on the rack to good purpose. The author’s love of wit and humor amounts to poetical inspiration, and the volume contains much of the poetry as well as the versification of mirth. Mr. Saxe has not a bit of gall in his disposition, and his severity is as genial as it is gingerly. Buoyant spirits dance through his satire, and there is nothing waspish even in its sting. Nobody can read the book without envying the writer’s happy disposition, or without having some of it communicated to himself.

Philo: an Evangeliad. By the Author of “Margaret.” Boston: Phillips, Sampson & Co. 1 vol. 12mo.

The author of this curious dramatic poem is Mr. Judd, a clergyman of Augusta, in Maine. Like Lord Timothy Dexter’s book, it is “a pickle for the knowing ones.” In the strangeness of its individuality rather than the originality of its thoughts is its hold upon the attention. The writer has poetry in him, but it is most capriciously brought out in connection with all sorts of moral and semi-moral commonplaces and freaks of religious whim. All the proprieties of poetry are violated, not from an inward law of dissent, but from an opinionated dislike of established methods. The author has genius, but not sufficient genius to produce a harmonious poem out of his materials. Still there are few poems, lately published, which can be read with less fatigue, for the audacities and oddities on every page are perpetual stimulants to the mind. In passages, too, the volume is finely and powerfully poetical; and in a certain juxtaposition of refined spirituality with the solidest practical vision, the book is a prophecy of the author’s future excellence.

The Neighbors. A Story of Every-Day Life. By Frederika Bremer. Translated from the Swedish. By Mary Howitt. New York: Geo. P. Putnam. 1 vol. 12mo.

This elegant volume is the first of a new issue of the author’s works, edited by herself, with prefaces and notes. The portrait and autograph of the author are given in this volume, and the remarks with which she prefaces it have the kindliness and good sense which are so characteristic of her nature. “The Neighbors” is one of the most charming idealizations of actual life we have ever read, and nowhere is domesticity so winningly represented. An author, like Miss Bremer, who is now personally abstracting so many hearts in this country cannot fail to have purchasers for this edition of her writings.

Miscellanies. By J. T. Headley. Authorized edition. New York: Baker and Scribner. 1 vol. 12mo.

This volume contains seven interesting papers, originally contributed by the author to periodicals. They are all striking specimens of Mr. Headley’s peculiar powers of narration and description—a little less flushed in style, perhaps, than his Napoleon, but indicating the same vigorous abandonment to the subject. The best article is that on Alison’s History of Europe. The Biographies of Alfieri, Cromwell and Luther, are executed in a style which will stamp their leading traits indelibly on the popular imagination. The article on Griswold’s Prose Writers, which closes the volume, is unworthy of Mr. Headley, and should have been omitted from the collection.

From the preface we learn that the present volume has been issued to operate against an unauthorized edition of the author’s magazine articles, published by some bookseller in New York, on his own account. Every respectable bookseller and every respectable book-buyer should avoid the pirated edition, on the principle of common decency and justice.

Historical Studies, By George Washington Greene, late United States Consul at Rome. New York: George P. Putnam. 1 vol. 12mo.

Professor Greene is one of our ablest historical scholars, especially in the department of Italian literature and history, and the present work, embodying the thoughts and observations of many years, is a valuable contribution to thoughtful and elegant literature. The author combines the narrator and the thinker in just proportions, and connects with admirable tact, thoughts that quicken with biographical details which interest the mind. The subjects of the papers relating to Italy are Petrarch, Machiavelli, Manzoni, Verrazzano, The Hopes of Italy, Historical Romance in Italy, Reformation in Italy, Italian Literature in the First Half of the Nineteenth Century, and Contributions for the Pope. The article on Libraries is one of the best ever written on that subject. Perhaps the most generally agreeable paper in the volume is that on Charles Edward. In this we have a flowing and animated biography, replete with novel facts, and as interesting as a romance. The author’s style, in all the papers, is sweet, flexible, graceful and condensed, indicating high culture, but a culture which has developed instead of deadening all that is peculiar in his mind and heart.

The Early Conflicts of Christianity. By the Rev. Wm. Ingraham Kip, D. D. New York: D. Appleton & Co. 1 vol. 12mo.

This elegantly printed volume is published for the benefit of those Christians who have no clear idea of the difficulties to which the faith “was subjected in the earliest stages of its existence, or the severity of the conflict through which it was obliged to pass.” If it reaches all of those to whom it is addressed, it will have more readers than Macaulay’s history or Dickens’s novels, for the subject is one on which the strangest ignorance prevails even among pious and intelligent Christians. Dr. Kip divides the obstacles to the eventual victory of Christianity into five classes—Judaism, Grecian Philosophy, the Licentious Spirit of the Age, Barbarism and the Pagan Mythology, each of which is represented with much vigor and beauty of style, distinctness of thought, and wealth of information. It is a book which deserves to be in every family which professes a regard for the Christian faith, as it meets a universal want; and it will save the general reader a great deal of labor and time, embodying as it does, in a lucid and animated style, the results of a student’s researches in the whole field of early ecclesiastical history.

James Montjoy; or I’ve been Thinking. By A. S. Roe. New York: D. Appleton & Co. 1 vol. 12mo.

This is an interesting and well written story of American life, the production of a shrewd intellect, and admirable in its practicable application.

To Subscribers.—The proprietorship of Graham’s Magazine having passed, by purchase, into other hands, all letters and communications of whatever kind relating to the business of this periodical, will hereafter be addressed toGeo. R. Graham, Editor.

SAMUEL D. PATTERSON & CO.

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Robes deCamille,Coiffures deNormandin,pass. Choiseul, 19.

Mouchoir deL. Chapron & Dubois,r. de la Paix, 7.

Fleurs deChagot ainé,r. Richelieu, 81.

Graham’s Magazine.

This Schoolis located fifteen miles distant from New York City, and six from Newark, upon a commanding eminence of 800 feet above the level of the ocean, from which a clear view is obtained of Yew York, Brooklyn, the Bay, and the surrounding country. This location, for retirement, health, salubrity of atmosphere, and beauty of mountain scenery, is not surpassed by any in the country. It is easy of access, having direct communication with New York four times each day. The object of this Institution is to prepare Young Gentlemen for entering college, or a business life, by a thorough and systematic course of instruction. The Principal does not desire a large school, but a select number of Pupils, well disciplined, and willing to be guided in the path of virtue and usefulness. In order to secure and retain desirable members of this school, no vicious or unprincipled boy is received, and no one retained in the school whose influence is immoral, or in any way injurious to his associates. The Pupils enjoy the comforts of a home in the family of the Principal, being invited to the parlor, where they associate with other members of the family and those who frequently visit the Institution.

The Government of the School is conducted on strictly religious principles, and the pupils are controlled by appeals to their moral feelings, rather than by fear of punishment. The Bible is the standard of morals, and each Pupil is required to study it daily; also, to attend Church with the Principal on the Sabbath. Being desirous to secure a proper degree of correspondence in dress, and to prevent some of the evils arising from different styles of clothing in the same family, a uniform dress has been adopted for the School. The year is divided into sessions of five months each, commencing on the first of May and November. It is desired that the Pupils should not be absent during the session, and that parents should visit them at the Institution.

No Scholar will be received for less time than one quarter, and no deduction will be made for voluntary absence.

Each article of Clothing must be marked with the owner’s name, and an inventory placed in each trunk of the articles he brings to the School.

The charges for Board and Tuition in the English branches and Mathematics are from $40 to $45 per quarter; in the Latin and Greek languages, $50. Extra for the French, German, or Spanish language, $5; Drawing and Painting, each, $5; Music, with use of the Piano, $10.

Payments will be required quarterly in advance.

WARREN HOLT,

Principal and Proprietor.

Rev.William Adams, D. D., New York,"Henry White, D. D., ""Milton Badger, ""John J Owen, ""Horace Eaton, "Jonathan Leavitt, Esq., "W. M. Wilson, Esq., 23 Water Street,W. M. Brownson, Esq., 56 Gold Street,Newton Hayes, Esq., Franklin House, New York,Rev.I. S. Spencer, D. D., Brooklyn,Dr.L. A. Smith, Newark,S. R. Parkhurst, Esq., 116 First Avenue, New York,E. R. Yale, Esq., Brooklyn,Tunis Van Brunt, Esq., Jamaica,A. Campbell, Esq., Brooklyn,George Loder, Esq., New York.

Rev.William Adams, D. D., New York,

"Henry White, D. D., "

"Milton Badger, "

"John J Owen, "

"Horace Eaton, "

Jonathan Leavitt, Esq., "

W. M. Wilson, Esq., 23 Water Street,

W. M. Brownson, Esq., 56 Gold Street,

Newton Hayes, Esq., Franklin House, New York,

Rev.I. S. Spencer, D. D., Brooklyn,

Dr.L. A. Smith, Newark,

S. R. Parkhurst, Esq., 116 First Avenue, New York,

E. R. Yale, Esq., Brooklyn,

Tunis Van Brunt, Esq., Jamaica,

A. Campbell, Esq., Brooklyn,

George Loder, Esq., New York.

HA box will be found at 73 Courtlandt Street, New York, marked with the name of the Institution; any packages deposited in this box before one o’clock, P. M., will be safely carried to the School on the same day.

The coat and pantaloons of very dark blue cloth; the coat single-breasted, to button to the throat, with ten gilt buttons, two upon the collar, placed three inches back—the collar to turn over, with the corners round.

For Summer, the dress suit is the dark blue coat and white pantaloons. That for common use should be gray, made of the material known as “youth’s mixt.” For very warm weather, brown linen or drilling.

Suits are made by Messrs.Thorne & Jarvis, 414 Broadway, New York, where the buttons, made expressly for the School, may be obtained.

Caps, of a particular pattern, designed for the School, are made byMr. Mealio, 416 Broadway, New York.

N. B.—Those entering the School are not expected to discard their every-day clothing, but when worn out, to renew it with the uniform of the School.

THE SHAWL DESIGNER SALAVILLE.

(FROM THE FRENCH.)

Everywoman who visits the French exposition of domestic manufactures, whether she be young or old, brunette or blonde, stops involuntarily before the beautiful shawls exhibited, the exquisite designs of which draw from her a half suppressed sigh of loving desire; but in passing away from them she only laments that her limited means do not equal her longings for possession, without giving a thought to the artist who has labored by day and meditated by night to produce an article of dress worthy of her charms. The designer of a beautiful fabric, however, merits not only a thought, but deep sympathy, particular interest. Banished between Apollo and Mercury to a domain where the laurel does not flourish, he at once cultivates the fine arts and commerce, the ideal and the real. Up to a certain point he possesses the inspiration of the improvisatore, the conception of the painter, and the sentiment of the colorist. But if this industrial centaur does not join to these qualities a little of the management of the merchant, then comes a sad result, for probably he will at last be brought to the door of a hospital, broken down with useless labor, without one ray of glory having touched his brow or warmed his heart. I could cite a remarkable but sad instance of one possessing fine talents, united to an excellent and lovely character, to illustrate this mournful fancy, but I should only cause melancholy thoughts, from which I should preserve my reader. I will, on the contrary, recall a more fresh and joyous reminiscence apropos to this pleasant season.

Among the designers who have distinguished themselves this year, there is one whose name has been omitted; which is to be regretted, for Louis Salaville has contributed greatly to the creation of that new style of designs of which the shawl manufacturers are now so proud. In 1829 we were apprenticed to a shawl-weaving establishment, where, like machines, or a species of spider, we were expected to weave from five in the morning until nine at night. Showing but little aptitude for this part of the business, we were placed with a designer to learn that branch. At the school of design was a youth of fifteen or sixteen; he was pale as a daisy, simple as a child, and light as a butterfly; but with the grace of this flying insect he possessed unfortunately also its wandering propensities. He absented himself so frequently that the principals of the establishments grew impatient. Sometimes, after an absence of eight or ten days, he would enter just as the clock was sounding the hour of dismissal. He was vague and dreamy in his talk, would ask if it was April when it was December, and commenced a thousand things without ever finishing one. Notwithstanding he designed figures and flowers with wonderful rapidity and cleverness, we never dreamed of his being one day a rival.

“He’s a fool!” we would exclaim, “he will never be any thing.” Laugh not, dear reader, at our blindness; even great men have been known to undervalue youthful genius.

The crisis which followed the accession of Louis Philippe,did not overthrow the establishment, but it affected the school, and Salaville was dismissed with those who were not actually needed. Once in a while he would come in to inquire after the prospect of work; and when we would ironically congratulate him on his love for study, without reply he would throw off, with two or three strokes of the crayon, ludicrous sketchy caricatures. We accused him to ourselves of idleness, and thought him good for nothing, because he did not spend his days as we did daubing crooked palms, which we modestly called compositions, simpletons that we were. Without any apparent labor, as it were from the instinct that draws the bee to the rose, or the plant to the sun, he would sketch with boyish glee bits of exquisite designs—in one place a smoky hut, over whose broken, ruined roof the ivy gracefully twined; in another a noisy mill, surrounded with the sweeping foliage of the willow’s weaving branches; here and there clusters of drooping, bell-shaped flowers and wild jonquils twining together in luxuriant confusion; then in another corner of the paper a group of laughing, half-naked children, playing with one of those huge, long-eared dogs that the amiable Winterhalter calls the “First Friend!”

To facilitate universal harmony, to inspire us with a desire to aid and love each other, the Creator divides his gifts: upon one is bestowed strength, upon another intelligence; to Salaville has been given the imagination of a poet and the susceptibility of a woman. Several years passed in an idle, wandering way, feeling acutely, and sketching instinctively the beauties of nature, would, as one can readily imagine, produce a remarkable effect on such an organization as Salaville possesses. He did not seek to acquire knowledge, as Montaigne would have said, it came and incorporated itself with his soul. He led this errant life until, when about twenty, wishing to marry, he felt the necessity of applying himself more seriously to his business, and under this influence his compositions shot out fresh and brilliant from his brain, like the drooping grass and blossoms bent with the spray of the falling cascade raise themselves under the genial beams of the warm sun.

The talents of an artist like Salaville are stifled in a town whose manufacturers are distinguished rather for the economy of their combinations than for the fineness of their webs. In 1839, Salaville came to Paris. He did not make this move for the purpose of bettering his condition, for at Nîmes he had an honorable and advantageous position. But he hoped by removing to the capital to be enabled to execute the rich compositions his imagination conceived.

Science does not make happiness, says theOpera-Comique, nor talent secure always success; to obtain the latter skill is often better than learning. Once at Paris, Salaville obtained an undisputed reputation, it is true; but he had not the requisite qualities, nor means to direct and maintain anatélier; nor did he find sufficient zeal and intelligence in his associates. Then the luxurious imagination he possessed, and which made him so remarkable, caused him to be restless and impatient under the lingering details which hang around the commencement of every undertaking. At last, in 1846, Salaville, stretched on a sick bed, tortured with pain, found himself poorer and more destitute than he was on the day of his arrival. Happily at this moment a situation was offered, which once more revived hope and trust in the breast of the almost discouraged artist.

It may be that our readers think but little of square shawls and long shawls; however, they may not be ignorant of the fact that at the time of which I speak the manufacturers coped with each other in copying the Indian Cachemires for the designs of their shawls, which made a ruinous competition, for to obtain any success required great waste. Messrs. Boas, Brothers & Co., so distinguished for their rapid success in business, saw the inutility and folly of this, which is now admitted by every one; but they had the tact to see that in order to create a new style, it was necessary above all to procure an artist of the first order; their lucky stars placed in their hands Salaville, the one most capable of carrying out their plans.

For four years these intelligent men have progressed, improving each other. The manufacturer, with tastes corrected and refined by the artist, has in turn softened the eccentricities and exaggerations of genius. That which makes the shawls of this house so remarkable now, is that their designs have an originality of conception, a freshness and gracefulness never seen before. The cause is easily explained. Salaville has abandoned the old styles, which are exhausted. He does not imitate the Arabic, nor the Indian, nor the style of the Restoration, nor the ornamental, but he throws upon paper a profusion of poetic reminiscences, fruits of his joyous wandering youth.

One could scarcely believe the beauty of outline and design at which the house of Messrs. Boas have arrived. In order to give some idea of it, we have annexed to this article a sketch of one of their shawls. We wish we could at the same time give a description of the new and ingenious process employed in this establishment, to enable the designer to use the richest tints of the palette, that he may have harmony of tone and beauty of color, as well as gracefulness of design. But we have no right to divulge the mysterious secrets of the manufactory; and, moreover, we have said enough. However, in closing, we will ask of our readers, if in these days, when Democracy counts for something, does not Louis Salaville merit a place in the Journal?

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