scientious desire to present his precise meaning with a perfect accuracy. "In vitium ducit culpæ fuga." But with this exception, his style is singularly pure, flexible, and idiomatic. Sometimes, as when he is ferreting out a sophism, or cross-examining an unwilling witness, it becomes singularly close, pithy and pointed. On topics which admit of a wide range of remark, and which though not absolutely essential to his argument, are yet appropriately scattered through his volumes, he displays an affluence and beauty of illustration, that stand out in striking relief, as contrasted with the strict logical precision that generally characterizes the work. And when his subject leads him to speak on themes of highest import, as for example, at the close of the Lecture on the "Theory and Uses of Natural Religion," he rises into a strain of ornate and moving eloquence. But the great merit of the work consists in the substance of it; in the calmness, frankness, and candor with which its all-concerning inquiries are treated; in the learning, acuteness, and comprehensiveness which it discovers throughout; in its earnest, straight-forward, and business-like character; and in the power, efficacy, and conclusiveness with which the argument is conducted. We know not where, in the whole range of English theological literature, to find any single volume on the Evidences of Christianity, which, in all these traits, can be put in favorable comparison with this. There are few Christian men, whatever be their familiarity with the subject, that can read these volumes without finding their minds enriched with new and valuable truth, their belief strengthened, and a bright light revealed for those dark and dubious states of mind, from which few earnest thinkers are wholly free. And those who are so unhappy as to want a clear, serene, solid, sufficing Christian faith, that ineffable blessing of God to the human soul, should not, for an instant, rest satisfied with their forlorn and disastrous state, until they have read, pondered and thoroughly digested the Christian argument as it is presented in the masterly advocacy of these Lectures. We are told that the reception of them by the public has given small sanction to this, we are aware, high eulogium. But while we regret the fact, it only renders us the more solicitous to record here our sincere, however humble and unavailing, tribute to their worth. J. B. ART. VII.-SONNETS. THE SNOW. It will not stay;-the robe so pearly white It will not stay! Look how from th' open plain GOD'S HOST. There is an order in our daily life, Like that the holy angels constant keep; And though its outward form seem but a strife, There dwells within a calm as ocean's deep. The forms that meet you in the house and street, Brushing with their rough coats your shining dress, Did they in their own robes and features greet, Would seem like angels that the world possess ; And thou, like Jacob when from Galeed's heap He journied on unto the land of Seir, And sware with Laban vows of peace to keep, By Abraham's God and by his father's Fear, Wouldst cry aloud, in dread and wonder lost, "This is the house of God! and these I see God's host!" 33* J. V. It is somewhat difficult to acquire literary distinction, where all are well informed, and almost every body writes. When learning was less generally diffused than now, and the treasures of science were open to few, it was comparatively easy to acquire celebrity of some sort as a writer. To make a book then, implied in itself some distinction, and the very name of "author" carried a dignity with it. Even a small light threw its rays to a great distance. It shone like a taper from the cottage window, bright from the surrounding darkness, and from its being the only light amid the waste. But all this is now changed. In the throng which now crowds the avenues of learning, how many must fall exhausted before they reach that giddy height, which is to raise them above their fellows, and from which a single glance abroad is sufficient to show them the uncertainty of their foothold. Patience, industry, and courage must unite to sustain in his wearisome journey the worshipper, who, if we may use the old phraseology, would lay an acceptable offering on the shrine of so severe, and yet so capricious a goddess as Fame. If he would succeed, he must press on without heeding the scoffs and jeers of the many voices that would make him look back in his course. However fatigued, he must not turn aside, even for a moment, "To brush from off his sandal'd feet The dust of life's hot way." The "calamities of authors" have been sung for ages; yet the cry is, "still they come." They continue to press on in their serried ranks, as if they marched only to victory, and every footfall was not on the broken hearts of those who had preceded them. It would be less discouraging to the candidate for literary distinction in this country, if he were obliged to encounter no other obstacles than those which naturally and *The Daughter of the Isles, and other Poems. By WILLIAM B. TAPPAN. Boston: Ticknor & Co. 1844. 32mo. pp. 256. Poetry of Feeling and Spiritual Melodies. By ISAAC F. SHEPARD. Boston: Lewis & Sampson. 1844. 32mo. PP. 128. properly belong to the path he has chosen. But the American writer has a foe which is peculiarly his own. It is English criticism. We are not disposed to become champions in the war which has been carried on with so much vigor on both sides of the Atlantic, regarding the claims of this country to a "national literature." We would not that the groves of Academus be converted into a battle field, for so only injury can come to the cause of letters. But the most rigid impartiality cannot, we think, fail to see, that the tribunal of English criticism, in its decisions upon the literary productions of this country, is severe and unjust,that the same feeling is extended to our literature which is cherished towards our manufactures. They are both declared to be equally worthless, or if they have any merit, it is affirmed that it is stolen from England. We should naturally look for more liberality in those who profess a love for letters. In mere money-making, the heat of competition might more readily excuse coarseness and prejudice. But the lover of learning has heretofore considered the world as his home. In the rudest ages the votaries of the Muses have looked upon each other as brethren. The "gentle science" was native to every soil, whether it sprang amid the frozen cliffs of the North, or the sunny valleys of the South. It acknowledged no geographical limits, knew nothing of national antipathies. Even amidst the carnage of battle, the "man of lore" was safe among his books. The ambition of Marcellus could bow to the science of Archimedes, and when Syracuse was carried by assault, a special order was issued to spare his life, though he was, at the very moment, engaged in constructing a machine to blow up the Roman fleet. It has been left to England alone to array the Muses in armor, and enrol them among the legions. We do not think that we can be rightly accused of injustice in these remarks. But we readily admit that we Americans are unwise in attributing so much value to criticism flowing from a source so prejudiced as that to which we refer. We have yet to learn the first and great lesson, if we ever mean to acquire a reputation which is worth possessing in literature, that is, to think for ourselves. That over-weaning regard which is paid to foreign approbation, or censure, is not becoming a people, who have thus far thought and acted, in all other matters, for themselves. We have dared to throw off the yoke of political tyranny, why continue to wear that of literary servitude? It is quite time that the bulls and decrees of this literary Vatican should carry less terror with them; and that its excommunications and indulgences should not be considered as matters of life and death. If we cultivate a good taste and exercise a just criticism at home, we shall cease to look abroad for a true appreciation of ourselves. We shall not turn to the self-assumed infallibility of Foreign Quarterlies to learn what is gold and what is tinsel, what to admire and what to reject. The criterion of merit will no longer depend on the spleen, or caprice, or what is quite as frequent, the bad taste of English reviewers. We would not be understood to say that candid criticism from the other side of the water is not desirable, that they who speak the same language with ourselves, and have drawn inspiration from the same pure fountains, are not in a situation to instruct and guide us. We bow reverentially to those great minds, whose genius and learning adorn and elevate the human character. And we confess with humility, that we have many and weighty sins of a literary nature to repent of and reform. But our complaint is, that when we should have found the chastening hand of a mother, we have received only the unjust severity of a step-dame. We deny not that the general diffusion of education, and the multitude of academies and colleges throughout our country, have called forth aspirants to literary distinction, who might have been more profitably and appropriately engaged in turning a furrow than a period, in forging a ploughshare than in hammering out a poetical stanza. But even this misapplication of means to their proper ends has its advantages. We are accused of being a money-making people. We are called sordid and the worshippers of wealth. "A bag of dollars," it is said, "is a surer introduction to the best society,' than the highest literary reputation." If this be true, it is surely wise to cultivate any other spirit than that of gain. A nation of bad poets is preferable to a nation of misers, and for ourselves, unpleasant as the alternative might be, we should prefer the perpetrator of faulty verses, to the plodding votary of wealth, who carries his brains in his pockets, and has not a soul |