In the chapter on Wordsworth there is a very ingenious attempt to prove the poet a Quaker, both in the doctrine and spirit of his poetry. This is altogether the best thing in the book, and to a high-churchman, like Wordsworth, must be very gratifying. Howitt makes out a good case. At the end he asserts that the writings of the old Quakers “are one mass of Wordsworthianisms.” In some particulars, it is asserted Wordsworth hath not reached the moral elevation of his masters; as in regard to war, “he is martial, and thinks Slaughter God’s daughter. They, very sensibly, set Slaughter down as the daughter of a very opposite personage.”
It would be easy to quote a hundred anecdotes from these volumes, interesting either in themselves, or from their relation to interesting persons. We must, however, refer the reader to the book itself, and can guarantee him a large fund of enjoyment from its perusal.
Poems. By George H. Calvert. Boston: Wm. D. Ticknor & Co. 1 vol. 12mo.
The best of these poems are but of average ability, and together they make but an indifferent volume. They are deficient in fancy, imagination, melody and originality—four qualities of some importance to the reader, if not to the writer. Mr. Calvert is a scholar, a traveler, has studied the best writers of England, Germany and Italy, has had every advantage of mental culture, and yet has committed the impropriety of publishing a volume which would give no reputation to the poet of a village newspaper. Better things than he has included in his collection are born and forgotten every day. The most readable pieces in the volume are the translations from Goethe. We give a few specimens:
One says—“I’m not of any school;
No living master gives me rule:
Nor do I in the old tracks tread;
I scorn to learn ought from the dead.”
Which means, if I have not mistook,