Miss Martineau and a Mr. Atkinson have just published a volume entitled "Letters on Man's Nature and Development," in which they handle very boldly the subjects of Mesmerism, Clairvoyance, Phrenology, &c. It is altogether and avowedly materialistic.
James Russell Lowell has written a satire upon "The Rappers,"—a humorous and witty poem of a thousand lines or so, which will be out, we believe in Graham's Magazine, during the month.
Mr. Henry C. Phillips, once, we understand, a companion of the traveller Catlin, proposes to publish from his note-book and portfolio, "Sites for Cities, and Scenes of Beauty and Grandeur, to be made famous by the Poets and Painters of Coming Ages: observed in a Pedestrian Journey across the middle of the North American Continent, in 1850." This is a good title, and such a book will be interesting a thousand years hence, for its prophecies. Surveying the vast chain of mountains, which rises midway between the oceans, a poetical Jesuit said, "They are in labor with nations." Mr. Phillips might easily have fancied, as he pursued his summer journey through the wilderness from Oregon and California, among regions more lovely and magnificent than any that were seen by the fathers of art, that of such sights should be born nobler works than have yet been addressed to the senses or to the imagination; and it is not improbable that many a London, and Moscow, and Berlin, and Paris, will some time have their busy populations, where now the ground is hidden by the falling leaves of forests, and trampled by wild horses and buffaloes.
One of the most eminent of the living English historians, lately discovered, as he thought, that "Old Sam Adams" was a defaulter, and that he was opposed to Washington; and not choosing to wait until the exposure could be made in his forthcoming work, he communicated it to a very distinguished American, by letter. Now this is all sheer nonsense. It is not necessary to deny the justice of the suspicion that Samuel Adams was unfriendly to Washington, and all the facts as to his conduct as collector for his Majesty's port of Boston, are perfectly familiar to our historical students. He did not indeed pay into the exchequer every shilling with which he was charged: well understood circumstances prevented the collection of a large amount of duties; but whatever he received was paid over, and his accounts were squared to a farthing.
Mr. Willis—the best artist in words, we have now, perhaps—is preparing a new volume for Baker & Scribner. His "People I have Met," "Life Here and There," and other books published by that house, have sold remarkably well—better, we are inclined to think, than any literary works reprinted in America for a long time—though the public was previously familiar with them under other forms and titles. This proves that the popularity of Willis is genuine and permanent. In his way, he is unrivalled,—in any way, he has among the authors of this country but some half dozen peers.