Probabilities: An Aid to Faith. By the Author of “Proverbial Philosophy.” New York: Wiley & Putnam.
Tupper seems to have been a little crazed by his popularity, and to have obtained the idea that he was a great philosopher. The result of this self-deceit is contained in the present little book. We confess we have been unable to wade through it. To compel a critic to read a series of works like this, would drive him into the insane hospital in a month. One of the probabilities of Tupper is, that the star Acyone, which Dr. Madier considers the central sun of the systems of stars known to us, is the place of the Christian Heaven, and that our moon is Hell. This may be classed under those probabilities which are important, if true. To use an austere remark of Dr. Johnson, the elaborate consideration of all the trash in this volume, would be to “waste criticism on unresisting imbecility.”
The Amenities of Literature, consisting of Sketches and Characters of English Literature. By J. D’Israeli. New York: Harper & Brothers. 2 vols. 12mo.
This is the fourth edition of a work peculiarly valuable to the student of English literature. It consists of original investigations into the mines of English letters, with some curious speculations grounded upon the results. D’Israeli, however, with all his merit as a literary antiquary, will never be an interesting author. His works are labor-saving machines to all critics and miscellaneous writers, and will always be read; but they are incurably dull. It is fortunate that he did not write a history of English literature. There is no juice in the man. The dust of old folios has entered into his soul, and given an arid character to every opinion and expression. We say this with many twinges of conscience, for he has spent his life in researches which have saved better writers years of toilsome investigation.
Froissart Ballads. By Philip Pendleton Cooke. Phila.: Carey & Hart.
This is one of the most delightful volumes which we have met with for many a day. We have long known and admired the fugitive poems of Mr. Cooke, and now heartily welcome our old favorites, with their new companions, in the beautiful dress which the publishers have given them. In the “Proem To Emily” there is an exquisite freshness which delights us exceedingly. We hardly know how to characterize the peculiar beauty of its spirit; but it seems, while reading it, as if we were dreaming in the delicious shade of quiet trees, and looking down upon golden valleys, wherein pass to and fro the valiant knights, stately dames, and lovely maids of the misty days of chivalry. So it seems while perusing the proem, but in the “Master of Bolton,” we have the reality, and it no longer seems. This poem, while being in Mr. Cooke’s peculiar and happiest vein, has about it a dash, which strikes us as Scott-like, and a spice of the “Christabel;” not in a degree, however, which could be said to amount to imitation, but evincing rather, a mind sensitive to the same romantic impressions. What could be more beautiful and graphic than the following characteristic sketch—or rather let us say picture, which we extract from the “Master of Bolton?”
“All heard a merry signal cry,
And a swift heron, from a marsh,