THE PERROQUET AUK. (Phaleris Psittacula.)
One more specimen, and we have done with the whole family of the Alcasæ; nor will we detain the reader long with its description. It is the Perroquet Auk, of the sub-genus Phaleris, an inhabitant of the dreary region of Bhering’s Strait, where multitudes of them may be found. They are excellent divers and swimmers; but if we may believe the sailors’ stories, not remarkably intelligent as to “trap,” since, when the Indians place a dress with large sleeves near their burrows, they mistake the said sleeves for their own proper habitations, creep in and are taken. They resemble the other Auks in laying but one egg, which is about the size of a hen’s, with brown spots on a whitish or yellowish ground. The Perroquet Auk is eleven inches in length. It has a tuft of white feathers extending back from the eye. The head, neck, and upper plumage are black, shading into ash on the breast, under parts white, legs yellowish. In the old bird the bill is red, while the young one has it of a yellowish or dusky color.
LAMENT OF THE HUNGARIAN FATHER
OVER THE BODY OF HIS SON.
I may not weep for thee my boy, though thou art cold and still,
And never more thy gladdening tones this aged heart will fill;
For glorious was the fate of those who fell with thee that day,
When from thy bleeding country passed, all help, all hope away.
Thy spirit cannot wear the chain that those who live must wear,
Nor hear the sigh of them who breathe the dungeon’s noisome air,
Nor shudder at the orphan’s wail, whose mother is a slave,
Nor see her wo, whose only prayer is for the peaceful grave.
Yet hear me, spirit of my boy!—the grief that sheds no tear,
The gaping wounds of thy poor clay, call thee, this vow to hear:
That when from friends and country driven, my spell word still shall be,
Hatred of those who made thee thus, hatred of tyranny.
And oh! if e’er a day will come, when roused to hope
Our scattered bands will close once more in battle on this plain,
Thy name, through all the swaying ranks, heard echoing o’er the fray,
Will fire anew each patriot heart to win a glorious day.
THE PHANTOM VOICE.
———
BY SARAH HELEN WHITMAN.
———
“A low bewildering melody is murmuring in my ear.”
“It is a phantom voice:
Again!—again! how solemnly it falls
Into my heart of hearts!” Scenes from “Polition.”
Through the solemn hush of midnight,
How sadly on my ear
Falls the echo of a harp whose tones
I never more may hear!
A wild, unearthly melody,
Whose monotone doth move,
The saddest, sweetest cadences
Of sorrow and of love.
Till the burden of remembrance weighs
Like lead upon my heart,
And the shadow on my soul that sleeps
Will never more depart.
The ghastly moonlight gliding,
Like a phantom through the gloom,
How it fills with solemn fantasies
My solitary room!
And the sighing winds of Autumn,
Ah! how sadly they repeat
That low, bewildering melody,
So mystically sweet!
I hear it softly murmuring
At midnight on the hill,
Or across the wide savannas,
When all beside is still.
I hear it in the moaning
Of the melancholy main—
In the rushing of the night-wind—
The “rhythm of the rain.”
E’en the wild-flowers of the forest,
Waving sadly to and fro,
But whisper to my boding heart,
The burden of its wo.
And the spectral moon, (now paling
And fading) seems to say—
“I leave thee to remembrances
That will not pass away.”
Ah, through all the solemn midnight,
How mournful ’tis to hark
To the voices of the silence—
The whisper of the dark!
In vain I turn some solace
From the constant stars to crave:—
They are shining on thy sepulchre,
Are smiling on thy grave.
How I weary of their splendor!
All night long they seem to say,
“We are lonely—sad and lonely—
Far away—far, far away!”
Thus through all the solemn midnight,
That phantom voice I hear,
As it echoes through the silence
When no earthly sound is near.
And though dawn-light yields to noon-light,
And though darkness turns to day,
They but leave me to remembrances,
That will not pass away.
STANZAS.
———
BY NINON.
———
When he who has trod o’er a desert of sand,
In the sun’s scorching fervor all fiercely that glows,
Sees far in the distance some fair fertile land,
As if ’twere an island of Eden that rose.
Where fountains all sparkling invite him to stay,
And quaff the bright waters that plenteously spring;
Oh, how he exalts in the breeze’s wild play,
That bears the pure spirit of health on its wings.
The blast of the desert unheeded sweeps by,
No terrors it bears to yon palm-sheltered isle;
And though fiercely the sun may look down from on high,
In its cool shady bowers he seems but to smile.
The balm-breathing dews on his canopy fall,
All sparkling as beauty’s celestial tear;
The bright dreams of Fancy his spirit enthrall,
And Araby’s visions are realized here.
’Tis morn, and the slumbers that wrapt him are fled,
His path o’er the desert once more he must find;
But when will a canopy o’er him be spread,
Like the desert-girt Eden he’s leaving behind.
Oh, thus in this wide waste of life do we grieve,
When the spirits we meet with congenial and kind,
Urged on by the stern hand of destiny, leave
The hearts that had loved them in sorrow behind.
The wound may be healed and the pain be allayed,
And spirits as fair may our pathway illume;
But ne’er in such splendor by Fancy arrayed,
As they whom we met in affection’s first bloom.
Oh, change not too lightly the home of the heart,
Nor rashly the bonds of affection untwine,
Lest the spirit of Love from thy bosom depart,
And come not again to so worthless a shrine.
EDITOR’S TABLE.
My dear Jeremy,—I wish you a happy New Year! and yet few of us perhaps really know, when we receive this accustomed salute, in what particular thing consists our happiness; or how to appropriate, or more properly to give a designation to, the wishes of the offerer. We all of us have something to hope for, something to strife after, in defiance of the good that Providence has showered upon us—the vain longing, if you please, after something the heart worships—when the heart’s worship should be fully met—and is—at our own fire-side. The moment we shut our door behind us in the morning, we are on the broad sea of human hopes and fears, and looking over the wide waste of waters, fix our minds upon a port to us desirable—having really raised anchor, and left the only haven worth having behind us. A happy New Year, then, to you and yours! God’s benison on you all! and may the shadows, which flit between us all and heaven, rest lightly upon your roof; for in this selfish world, we all have our eyes so much to the clouds, which rest upon us and ours, that it is well that we should at least give once a year, a God bless you! to our fellows—and, taking in a wider range of humanity in our vision, smile kindly, even where the sun is darkest, upon our brother, and wish—nay, is that all?—help him to be—happy.
To be more personal—selfish if you please—in good wishes—we of “Graham” have rather a propensity to the way of happiness—for so rich, so multitudinous, are the tokens in that way, in the shape of both wishes and remittances, that in prospect of our turkey—we should be worse than Turks—to be thankless. Out of the abundance of the heart, therefore, our mouth speaketh—a happy New Year to all of our friends!
In my last, I chose to depart somewhat from my usual course, and instead of writing to you of abstractions, to present to you, all and singular, the claims of the magazines. The lofty position which I assumed for “Graham” you will see more than verified in this number. There is such a thing, you know, as Mahomet coming to the mountain; and even looking, as we have, at the lofty pretensions, and somewhat boisterous boastings of our cotemporaries, we choose, in this instance, to show them that there is a loftier peak than that which their inflated ambition has reached. In short, to show them that while even Homer may nod, he never proves stupid in the midst of supremacy. Having for years stood upon the topmost summit of American approbation, and of high success, we are willing for a while to witness the struggles of the pigmies below; but when their shout of triumph grows too vociferous, we feel inclined to check the enthusiasm with a full blaze of our glory.
Behold us, then, in January; and let your tardy praise step up and do us justice. Is it supposable, or allowable, that with the high position we have attained, others starting from the ground—groundlings as they are—are to split the ears of night uninterruptedly with the senseless jargon of their own praise? When all around us, above and below, we hear the united voices of men, loud, uninterrupted, unanimous in our behalf, shouting out and proclaiming the treason and the folly.
Why, my dear Jeremy, what are the paid puffs—what the puffs solicited by printed circulars—and self-praise thrust upon the timid, to us?—when every mail from old post-towns, and old friends, and from new, brings renewed and additional pledges of the fast hold that “Graham” and his friends have upon each other. Why, in other words, should we fear the vain-glorious boasts that ring in the ears only of the dupes who are deceived by appearances? And if we arouse once in a while, and show our strength, it is but as the lion, to shake the flies from his sides, and to take his own repose securely in defiance.
Look at the present number with which we start the volume for the new year; has not every thing that the artistic skill of engravers could attain—all that the best pens of the country could accomplish, been done for “Graham?” We venture to say that no periodical, that is issued from the press for this month—for any month—will at all approach it in the real beauty and general excellence of its appointments. It is a gem! and a gem far above the ordinary taste of our imitators. Look, if you please, at the skill of Mr. Tucker, as evinced in the leading embellishment (both in design and execution!)—how far is it not above all that is presented elsewhere? Look again at the fine skill evinced in all the engravings of the number! at the exquisite coloring and the beauty of our Fashion-plate and Birds! and tell me, honestly, is there any thing in the tawdry and gaudy coloring of our contemporaries to be spoken of in comparison?
The year that has just closed, although one of great competition, has proven the hold that a long and uniform management of this Magazine has given it upon the American readers. It has not been, nor will ever be, conducted with a fit and flash policy—one year bad, the next good; alternating by neglect or caprice—but ever the same, through all its years, a dignified, sterling, illustrated work, worthy at all times, and in every number, of marked approval and regard.
The truth—or the wisdom—of our course, has been made manifest to us, during the past ten years, by the steady increase and permanent position of Graham’s Magazine; while its would-be rivals are fluctuating between small and large editions, or are dying out around it. We may safely say that we have never yet felt that this Magazine has had a rival in the line it has marked out. Others differ from it in the flippancy of their tone and flimsiness of material or character, or are as solemn as a death’s bell, while the engravings which adorn them are as out of place as flowers over the head of the dead.
Graham’s has always—so says public approval—hit the happy medium between lightness and the more solid and useful; and keeping always in mind the importance of a national tone, has touched the right chord in the temper of the nation, and established itself as the most popular American Magazine of the graceful and elegant class to which it gives tone, and which it has thus far sustained.
Our past year has been one of most unexampled success—yet we have made no boisterous announcements of it—for success with us is no novelty. Our readers must pardon us if we do not grow frantic upon the accession of a few thousand new subscribers, for the novelty of the feeling has been worn off by the constant and continued inducement to its exercise: it has become a matter of course, because we do our duty by our readers always—and on the constantly increasing reading population of this country, our drafts on at least one-third of them, are regularly honored with each recurring year.
But for the year 1850, we have consummated such arrangements with artists and writers, that we really feel not only proud, but inclined to boast in anticipation, and as a great deal will be said by others as to the splendor of their intentions toward their readers, we hereby throw down the challenge and ask them to equal Graham’s Magazine, in the elegance of its engravings, the high character of its literary matter, the extreme beauty of its fashions, and the high finish of the novelties in the way of decorations, which Mr. Tucker is getting up for us in Europe—if they can. They are forewarned—yet they will be shamefully distanced!
You will pardon me, my dear Jeremy, for this seeming egotism, but really, there has been so much disposition shown to set up an overawing shout over “Graham,” by those who should know better, that I have felt it worth while to say EXCELSIOR! over this number, if only to stop the mouths of the deceived and the envious. Hereafter, let no enthusiastic recipient of a thousand subscriptions set up his shout of defiance, for we dislike to bear down ALL opposition.
There is, Jeremy, a vast deal of angling with magazines at this season, and the baits thrown out are of every imaginable kind—and so that the poor fish is hooked, no matter how, he is remorselessly placed in the basket, and the exploit considered dexterous. The false flies upon the waters are numerous, and very prettily do they look too, and yet it does not strike the anglers, that he is a silly fish who dashes more than once at a bait through which he has been wounded. To be explicit—does any man suppose that thousands of people—silly as we all are—can all be gulled a second time? Or to be more explicit and distinct—that in a true magazine, something more is not wanted than flashy engravings, prosy sermons, and monthly vain boasting. There is such a thing as a literary Magazine of high merit—and is there not such a thing as fishing with a pin-hook for people who understand what such a Magazine is? What think you?
I was looking over, the other evening, a series of prints in the possession of a friend, and was much struck with one—which I may yet give to you—in which angling was reversed, and putting the rod in the hands of the finny tribe, they were busily engaged—as fishers of men—in presenting to tempting appetites, sundry bottles of champagne and choice liquors—baits in the shape of gold, and offices of preferment with packets variously endorsed, and trinkets and epaulets to those who might fancy tinsel and glory. It was amusing to see the humans, with what avidity they bit, and how seriously they were bitten. How those rose to the fly who loved a glass—how the miser swallowed the barbed hook, gilt plated—how the aspirant for office dabbled in dirty waters and bedaubed himself for the sake of the seal of appointment—how the lovers of the dazzling and the lovers of glory, crowded to destruction together.
You have a taste for the sport that tickled the fancy of good Izak Walton, I believe, and with your adroit fly have thrown your trout remorselessly and dexterously on the land, and while he panted and flapped himself as a sturdy opponent of non-resistance, have smiled at his efforts with a self-complacency quite refreshing and heroic—with a consciousness of superiority that would have been any thing but gratifying if your victim could have appreciated it. He was the slave of his appetite, and that was his ruin; or if you please, his ambition to rise at a shining mark, was the death of him. The trout has often verified the poet’s line. We are apt to think meanly of the fish for his silly voracity, and yet if the tables were turned, and the scaly tribes were the anglers, they might present baits as tempting and as worthless, in the waters in which we dabble, and chuckle in their sage philosophy with as ripe a reason as we do now. The artist has presented them as fishers of men, and has hit the conceit exactly.
Let us throw the line, nicely baited with gold, among the strictest of the Pharisees, who for a pretence make long prayers, and who hold up their phylacteries proudly, even in the humble courts of the temple. What a flutter and a rustling of garments do we not hear, as the whole tribe, rushing over laws that the Christian loves, dash with hands clutching at the bait, even under the very horns of the altar. Do the eager eyes and panting hearts of that avaricious crowd give token of the soul sanctified and subdued—lost to all self—dead to all covetousness; or does the avidity of the chase, or the reckless thrusting aside of brother, give the looker-on an intimation that the divine law of loving one’s brother has ever regulated the dwellers in the muddy waters in which this bait is thrown?
In yonder foaming, flashing stream, where the waves are lashed into sparkles, and the vast human crowd disports itself, all eager after the glittering baits which are flung skillfully upon the waters by the angler Fate; what a ravenous rush and endless jostle, for the particular bait that attracts each taste do we see. How temptingly—how alluringly does the fly float upon the water to each eye that it is designed to attract—how tame, how dead, how utterly unworthy of notice to all others. The barbed hook carefully concealed, lifts each eager victim from enjoyment to misery—yet each with his own eye steadily watching the fatal bait, thinks himself wiser than his fellows, and dashes at last upon his fate, with a triumphant consciousness of a superiority above his kind.
Yet every eddy, and every nook in the broad stream in which we float, has its bait floating upon the waters—how happy he, who with the fate of his comrades before him, will take warning and be wise.
G. R. G.
Gems from Moore’s Melodies.—Among the novelties and attractions for our present volume, will be a series of illustrations of Moore’s Irish Melodies. We present the first in this number, and will give one in each succeeding number throughout the year. They will all be in the same exquisite style with that now presented to our subscribers, and cannot fail in producing real pleasure to every one who can appreciate what is truly beautiful. “The Meeting of the Waters,” will be followed by “The Last Rose of Summer.”
Premium Plates.—Owing to unavoidable circumstances, our artists have not been able to complete, so as to enable us to distribute, some of the beautiful Prints designed as Premiums to subscribers to this Magazine. They will soon, however, be ready to forward, and subscribers may rely with confidence on having them transmitted agreeably to order.
We have the pleasure of informing our readers that with the January number we commence our “Monumental Series,” or the lives of the Generals of the Revolution who were killed at the very commencement of the struggle, and to whom Congress appropriated sums of money for the erection of a monument to each, but which with the exception of Montgomery has never been carried into effect. Each memoir will be accompanied by a splendid steel engraving from an original portrait engraved expressly for our Magazine.
REVIEW OF NEW BOOKS
Discourses on the Christian Spirit and Life. By C. A. Bartol, Junior Minister of the West Church, Boston. Boston: Crosby & Nichols. 1 vol. 12mo.
It is not customary with us to notice sermons, but the present volume is so much superior in thought and composition to the generality of new books, that its literary merits would alone give it prominence among the publications of the day. It contains thirty discourses on as many different subjects, all of which indicate a reach and profundity of thought, a wealth of imagination, and a power and beauty of style, which entitle them to be considered positive contributions to American literature. The leading peculiarity of the author is the combination in his mind of singular distinctness with singular spirituality of thought. In contemplating a spiritual truth, his understanding, sensibility and imagination act in fine harmony, presenting the thing in its dimensions, its relations, and its life; and so rich and free is the expression that the truth seems to gush out of his mind, in all the warmth and clearness with which it is conceived, without any impediments coming from a lack of appropriate words or images. There is nothing hackneyed either in the method or the style of the sermons, but every thing has an air of originality and freshness indicating a vision and a feeling of the objects before his mind, and an avoidance of hear-says and thoughts at second hand. The volume is full of fine passages which admit of quotation, and we might extract many illustrative of the author’s powers of statement, description, reasoning, and piercing spiritual insight, but our limits will not permit. Among the best discourses in the volume are those entitled, “Business and Religion,” “Forbearance,” “The Spiritual Mind,” “Death is Yours,” “Belshazzar’s Feast,” “Nature, Conscience and Revelation,” and “Eternal Life.”
Clarence, or a Tale of our Own Times. By the Author of “Hope Leslie,” &c. Author’s Revised Edition. New York: Geo. P. Putnam. 1 vol. 12mo.
This handsome volume is the first of a new edition of Miss Sedgwick’s complete works. It contains a portrait of the authoress, an engraved title page, and its general execution is excellent. The novel of Clarence was originally published in 1829, and we preserve a pleasant impression of its interest and beauty. Miss Sedgwick’s writings are especially characterized by the sentiment of humanity, which pervades equally her narratives and reflections; and one always rises from her books refreshed in spirit. Her powers, also, of observation, meditation and imagination, place her among the most intellectual and accomplished women of the age.
We cannot resist availing ourselves of this occasion to refer to Mr. Putnam’s judgment and generosity in his selection and publication of American books. He comes as near the ideal of a model publisher as any living bookseller, combining, as he does, a real enthusiasm for literature, and a patriotic feeling in regard to American letters. Though he has been in business on his own account but about two years, his list already shows a goodly number of valuable publications, among which are many of the best works ever produced by native authors, and his taste in respect to all that constitutes the mechanical elegance of books has a certainty not common in his profession.
The Living Authors of England. By Thomas Powell. New York: D. Appleton & Co. 1 vol. 12mo.
There is much in this volume to please and to offend every discriminating reader. The author is a man of fine talent, whose versions of Chaucer, not to speak of his original poems, are sufficient to indicate his ability for genial and graceful composition. But the present volume bears marks of haste and carelessness both as regards style and opinions, presents a medley of original and striking with flippant and unjust remarks, and in some instances passes the bounds of propriety. Mr. Powell knows personally many of the authors he delineates, and a few of the sketches indicate a disposition to avenge personal affronts. The notices of Talfourd, Moxon and Dickens, appear to us to have flowed from the author’s spleen more than from his heart or brain. The insults to Washington Irving are gross and unpardonable, having no reason in any evidence presented or withheld. We have read Foster’s Life of Goldsmith as well as Irving’s, and the books are so dissimilar that it is ridiculous to bring a charge of plagiarism against the latter because both employed the same materials. If Irving is to be sacrificed, we trust it will not be to John Foster—a man who, whatever may be his talents and accomplishments, has not a tittle of Irving’s beautiful genius.
Poems by Amelia (Mrs. Welby of Kentucky.) A New and Enlarged Edition. New York: D. Appleton & Co. 1 vol. 8vo.
This splendid volume is illustrated with seven highly finished engravings, after designs by Weir, and in point of mechanical execution is very nearly equal to the same publishers’ exquisite edition of Halleck. “Amelia’s” poems have passed within a comparatively short period through seven editions, and they have therefore fairly earned their right to a handsome volume like the present. It is hardly possible to glance upon a page of Mrs. Welby’s book without having an affection for the authoress, and without sympathizing in her success. Envy and spite cannot touch her. The fine feminine tenderness, the graceful and affluent fancy, the mellowness and melody of diction, and the innocence and purity of sentiment, which are so characteristic of almost every poem in the volume, overcome the resistance equally of reader and critic. It may be generally said of her poetry that her nature is finer than her intellect. There is too much impassioned expansiveness in her pieces to produce those striking effects which come from stern, brief, tingling expression, in which imagination appears as a condensing as well as shaping power.
Redburn: His first Voyage. Being the Sailor-Boy Confessions and Reminiscences of the Son-of-a-Gentleman, in the Merchant Service. By Herman Melville, Author of Types, &c. New York: Harper & Brothers. 1 vol. 12mo.
Mr. Melville has been called the “De Foe of the Ocean,” and we can hardly conceive of a compliment more flattering, and, on the whole, more appropriate. He has De Foe’s power of realizing the details of a scene to his own imagination, and of impressing them on the imaginations of others, but he has also a bit of deviltry in him which we do not observe in De Foe, however much raciness it may lend to Melville. The present work, though it hardly has the intellectual merit of “Mardi,” is less adventurous in style, and more interesting. It can be read through at one sitting, with continued delight, and we see no reason why it should not be one of the most popular of all the books relating to the romance of the sea. The fact that it narrates the adventures of a “green hand,” will make it invaluable to a large class of youthful sailors. The style sparkles with wit and fancy, but its great merit is a rapidity of movement, which bears the reader along, almost by main force from the commencement to the conclusion of the volume.
Orations and Occasional Discourses. By George W. Bethune, D. D. New York: Geo. P. Putnam. 1 vol. 12mo.
This volume contains twelve discourses, originally delivered before Lyceums or Literary Societies, and which obtained great popularity at the period of their delivery. They are worthy of Dr. Bethune’s reputation as an orator and writer, being replete with eloquence, scholarship and sound sense, and characterized by an unmistakeable individuality and independence both of thought and expression. The subjects are Genius, True Glory, The Uses and Abuses of Leisure, The Age of Pericles, The Prospects of Art in the United States, The Death of Harrison, The Eloquence of the Pulpit, The Duties of Educated Men, The Duty of a Patriot, A Plea for Study, and The Claims of our Country upon its Literary Men. Of these we have been particularly impressed by The Age of Pericles, and the Oration last named. The latter was delivered before the Phi Beta Kappa Society of Cambridge, and was celebrated at the time for the splendor of its rhetoric and the raciness of its wit.
Glimpses of Spain; or Notes of an Unfinished Tour in 1847. By S. T. Wallis. New York: Harper & Brothers. 1 vol. 12mo.
Mr. Wallis evinces many of the characteristics of a good tourist, and is especially felicitous in understanding both the curiosity and the ignorance of his readers. He has accordingly produced an interesting volume, full of information very pleasingly conveyed, and leaving on the reader’s mind a regret that circumstances should have cut short his tour. To politicians, who think their names are known wherever the sun shines, there is one little paragraph in his book which must leave a saddening impression. We quote it for the benefit of our readers: “In the Diorio [of Seville] of May 14, 1847, an article speculating upon the probable election of General Taylor to the Presidency of the United States, was wound up by the following suggestion:—‘It is to be borne in mind that Generals Fackson and Flamilton owed their election to the Presidency to their military reputation!’ ”
The Old World: or Scenes and Cities in Foreign Lands. By William Farniss. New York: D. Appleton & Co. 1 vol. 12mo.
This is a pleasant volume, going over a wide field of observation, and conveying much information not generally known. In the present rage for voyages and travels it will doubtless find many readers. It appears to us, however, that our American publishers are altogether too fertile in their issues of works of this kind. Few have any positive literary merit, and hardly one in a hundred is an addition to the literature of the country.
Frontenac; or the Atotarha of the Iroquois. A Metrical Romance. New York: Baker & Scribner. 1 vol. 12mo.
Mr. Street is not exceeded, if equaled, by any American poet, in the accuracy with which he observes nature, and the clearness with which he paints a scene upon the imagination with the colors of verse. If his vision of the internal life of natural objects was as quick and sure as his perception of their external forms, few English or American descriptive poets would equal him either in reputation or power over the feelings. But his mind, though abundantly fanciful, is not suggestive and imaginative, and in his descriptive pieces he is apt to catalogue rather than represent nature. His analogies, also, are rather drawn from the surface than the spirit of things. But he is admirably calculated to do what he has attempted in the present volume. Frontenac is a metrical romance, with natural descriptions varied by characters and events, and all conveyed in energetic and “numerous” verse. It is in every way worthy of Mr. Street’s high reputation, and, in saying this, we imply that it is creditable to American Literature.
Evenings at Woodlawn. By Mrs. E. F. Ellett, Author of the “Women of the American Revolution.” New York: Baker & Scribner. 1 vol. 12mo.
The title of this book is a poor one, for it conveys no notion of its contents. It consists of a series of forty stories, translated and recast principally from the German, relating to the superstitions of the various European countries. We are favored with all sorts of legends, German, Spanish, Danish, etc., referring to supernatural personages and events; and the whole makes a book, brimful of fairies, magicians, witches, wizards, and imps, calculated to delight all who have a taste for the wild and wonderful. The volume, indeed, is admirably calculated for popularity, and we regret that its accomplished authoress should not have chosen some name for it which would give a hint of its matter.
Children’s Books. The Appletons of New York have just issued a series of beautiful volumes exactly fitted to charm the hearts of youthful readers. Fireside Fairies is a delicious little book for a holyday present, and well adapted in its style to fasten upon the sympathies of the young. American Historical Tales for Youth, a thicker volume, discoursing of Henry Hudson, Daniel Boone, Captain John Smith, and other American celebrities, is a grand book to put courage and resolution as well as knowledge into the minds of boys. Home Recreation is full of marvelous adventures by sea and land, related in Grandfather Merryman’s most entertaining way, and radiant with illustrative colored engravings. The Child’s Present is for younger readers, and contains about fifty short stories, very quaintly told by the grandfather aforesaid. Each of these little volumes is admirably calculated for the holyday season.
History of the American Bible Society, from its Organization to the Present Time. By W. P. Strickland. New York: Harper & Brothers. 1 vol. 8vo.
This is quite an interesting and important work, giving, in moderate compass, a view of the operations of the Bible Society in different parts of the world. The chapter on the different translations of the Bible is especially interesting, and gives, among other valuable items of information, a complete list of the names of the forty-seven translators of the English Bible. It is curious to notice, that among these, there is hardly one celebrated man, though together they produced a translation which is the Standard of the English language.
Statesman’s Manual.
With the above for a leading title, Mr. Edwin Williams, of New York, ever indefatigable in collecting, arranging, and disseminating valuable political information, has prepared four octavo volumes, containing the whole of the Messages of each President of the United States, from 1789 to 1849. The book proceeds in order, and gives a biographical sketch of each President—an account of the inauguration—a history of the principal events of his administration. The leading transactions of Congress at each session during the period. So much, well performed, relates to each presidential service. The work is then rendered more valuable by the addition of the Declaration of Independence, the Articles of Confederation, Constitution of the United States, with notes and references; a brief history of the events and circumstances which led to the Union of the States, and formation of the Constitution; a synopsis of the Constitutions of the several States; tables of Members of the Cabinets of the various administrations, Ministers to Foreign Countries, and other principal public officers; Chronological Table of Political Events in the United States; Statistical Tables of Revenue, Commerce and Population; a complete List of Members of Congress from 1789 to 1849; a complete Index, or Analytical Table of Contents to the whole work.
We need scarcely go beyond such a simple statement of the contents of these four volumes, to satisfy every reader of this Magazine that it is a work for all hands. But we deem it due to the publisher, Mr. Walker, and the author, to say, that the work is well done, the facts are clearly set forth, and the statistical tables well digested. So that we may safely say that the work forms a brief but most interesting and satisfactory history of the country for the time, and no library should be without the book, and if any man has a house without a library, let him purchase these to begin one. The foundation, of course, being always laid by those hand books that lead and serve devotion, and a copy of Graham’s Magazine. Mr. John Jones, in North Fifth street, above Market, is the agent for the work in this city, and will receive orders for it from the interior. We mention this that people may know where they may be served, for we take it for granted that a work of such unusual interest will be universally called for. We ought to add, that the publisher has had the good taste to have the book printed on excellent paper, and clear new type, and has ornamented each division with a beautifully engraved likeness of the President of whose administration he is treating—and then the work is handsomely bound.
Proverbial Philosophy; a Book of Thoughts and Arguments originally treated. By Martin Farquhar Tupper, Esq., D. C. L., F. R. S. of Christ Church, Oxford. From the eighth London edition, embellished with twelve characteristic illustrations. Philadelphia: E. H. Butler & Co. small quarto, 391 pp.
Tupper’s Proverbial Philosophy has passed through eight editions in London. In this country it has been reprinted many times in a cheap form, and upwards of thirty thousand copies have been sold; indeed the work is so well known that it does not require any commendation from us. But this edition is deserving of especial praise. It is the first illustrated copy of this work published either in England or America. It is printed on beautiful white paper, as thick and solid as parchment. The type is large, clear and elegant. The binding is rich Turkey morocco, with massive paneled sides richly gilt. We consider it the most elegant published volume we have seen. As a holyday gift-book this volume will do credit to the tact and judgment of the presenter, while it is a most elegant compliment to the mind of the presentee.
Mornings among the Jesuits at Rome. By the Rev. M. Seymour, M. A. New York: Harper & Brothers. 1 vol. 12mo.
This is an exceedingly interesting volume, the production of a fair-minded tolerant man, and conveying far more accurate information on the spirit of Jesuitism than any work published for many years. It is composed of notes of conversations, held by the author with certain Jesuits whom he met in Rome, on the subject of religion, and especially on the standing controversy between the Roman and English Churches. Mr. Seymour, from the fact that he conversed with his opponents, and enjoyed their friendship, impresses the reader in a very different manner from those controversialists, who have never known the men whose system they attack, and who thus unconsciously confound doctrines with persons, and convert living beings into mere theological machines. Under every religious creed there is a human heart and brain—a truism which is so often overlooked, both in eulogies and attacks on different religious sects, that we must be pardoned for mentioning it.
The Little Savage. By Captain Marryatt, R. N. New York: Harper & Brothers. 1 vol. 12mo.
Most readers can recollect the time when Captain Marryatt was the most popular novelist of the day, and Peter Simple and Jacob Faithful were as familiar names as Oliver Twist and David Copperfield are now. But that time has passed; the gallant captain survived his reputation without really losing his talents. The present volume is a most fascinating story, calculated to charm young readers almost as much as Robinson Crusoe.
Boston Edition of Shakspeare. Phillips, Sampson & Co., of Boston, are issuing a new edition of Shakspeare, in large, clear type, and on handsome paper, with introductions and notes to each play. Every number contains a whole play, and an illustrative engraving in the best style of art. Four numbers, at the low price of twenty-five cents each, are already issued, and are to be succeeded by a new number every fortnight. When completed it will be the finest and most sumptuous edition of Shakspeare ever published in the United States. The engravings of Miranda, Julia, and Mrs. Ford, in the numbers before us, are alone worth the price. The great merit of the edition, however, is the size of the type and the beauty of the mechanical execution. It can be read by the oldest and weakest eyes without difficulty and without pain.
The History of Alfred the Great. By Jacob Abbott. New York: Harper & Brothers. 1 vol. 16mo.
The subject of this volume combines the interest of history and romance, and we hardly need to say that it loses nothing in point of fascination as presented in Mr. Abbott’s clear and graceful style of narration. The series of historical volumes to which it belongs should penetrate into every family in the land.
The Fountain of Living Waters, in a Series of Sketches. By a Layman. New York: G. P. Putnam. 1 vol. 16mo.
The topics of this exquisitely printed volume are sufficiently indicated by the general title. It evidently comes from a soul profoundly imbued with religious sentiment, and the sketches indicate an observing and reflecting mind.
Anaïs Toudouze
LE FOLLET
Paris Boulevart St. Martin, 61.
Chapeaux de Mme. Baudry, r. Richelieu, 87—Plumes de Chagot ainé, r. Richelieu, 81;
Robes de Camille—Métier parisien de Mlle. Chanson, r. Choiseul, 2bis.
Graham’s Magazine
SADNESS MAKES THEE SWEETER.
WRITTEN BY
J. M. CHURCH, ESQ.
MUSIC COMPOSED BY
JAMES BELLAK.
Presented by Edward L. Walker, 150 Chestnut Street, Philadelphia.
I watch thee dearest maiden,
I mark thy beauty rare,
Thou’rt leaning from thy casement,
To breathe the moon-lit
air!
The rays are softly falling
Upon thy mournful face,
And in thy sweet, sad eyes love,
A secret pang I trace!
My dreams are all of heaven.
Or sooth sweet one of thee!
And oft I seek thy casement,
This earthly heaven to see:
Ah! tell me where thy thoughts love,
Are wandering this hour!
Thou art not happy lovely one
Thus lonely in thy bower.
That brow how darkly shadowed,
Bid clouds of grief depart!
Yet sadness makes thee sweeter,
More sad, more sweet, thou art,
Now mine’s a cheerful heart love,
Wilt mingle it with thine?
The cup we’ll quaff together,
And thus our fates entwine.
Table of Contents has been added for reader convenience. Archaic spellings and hyphenation have been retained. Punctuation and obvious type-setting errors have been corrected without note. Other errors have been corrected as noted below. For illustrations, some caption text may be missing or incomplete due to condition of the originals available for preparation of the eBook.
page 4, his voice faultered on ==> his voice [faltered] on
page 20, customary slouching gate, ==> customary slouching [gait],
page 24, Ellsler’s castinets in the ==> Ellsler’s [castanets] in the
page 26, ranks. No faultering—no ==> ranks. No [faltering]—no
page 26, work—no faultering—no ==> work—no [faltering]—no
page 26, shield of Salahad when ==> shield of [Galahad] when
page 32, McClean, who, losing all ==> [McLean], who, losing all
page 34, of Quebec, M. Cramehe ==> of Quebec, M. [Cramahé]
page 47, And wavy Appenines and ==> And wavy [Apennines] and
page 49, simply Lily’s Euphuisms revived ==> simply [Lyly’s] Euphuisms revived
page 64, On the mantle-piece were ==> On the [mantel]-piece were
page 69, investigation of inorganized ==> investigation of [unorganized]
page 71, still plead the angel-voice ==> still [pleaded] the angel-voice
page 77, Harry advised as villany ==> Harry advised as [villainy]
page 79, home is — No., Union ==> home is [No. — ], Union
page 89, (Pelecanus Onocrotatus) ==> (Pelecanus [Onocrotalus])
Le Follet, Chapeau de Mme. Baudry ==> [Chapeaux] de Mme. Baudry
Le Follet, Plume de Chagot ==> [Plumes] de Chagot
[End of Graham's Magazine, Vol. XXXVI, No. 1, January 1850, George Rex Graham, Editor]