Months have flown by, and Agnes sits alone in it, we have given as little as possible in our own her bower. Her cheek is pale, and her eye has language, and filled up by extracting very freelylost the joyous glance of other days. She is the perhaps too freely-from the poem itself. These victim of disappointment-she has found too late quotations are made, not for their possessing any that her hand has been given to one who cannot superior merit over the context, but because they win her heart. Alone she sits, and a cloud of grief were necessary to the sketch. We have omitted or guilt enshrouds her very soul. The moon is the minor incidents of the story--and what we have up-but hark!said fills such space as to preclude us from commenting upon any particular merits or demerits; we shall, therefore, but barely add a remark or so of a general nature.

"A quick, bold step, whose echo light
Scarce sounded on the air of night,
Drew to her side.

And each pure star looked from above
Upon that scene of guilty love.
'Sweet Agnes!' softly murmured he,
But Agnes still sighed heavily;

For all high hopes her soul had built
Were lost within a flood of guilt!"

She listens to the tempter's voice and flies from the
arms of her husband forever. The tempter is the
brother of Bernice, who, under the command of
Minna, seduces the wife of Lord Gerald to revenge
his sister's shame.

The poem is no where deficient in smoothness and melody of numbers, and but rarely defective in rhyme—those two essentials that go a long way, in the view of a hastily reading world, to make a poem all that it should be. But there is evidence of carelessness and haste prevailing to a great extent. This is discoverable in the fact, that now and then a passage of rare beauty occurs, which, ere it reaches the close, falls many, many degrees below the commencement-not in music, not in fullness of numbers-but in thought. Mrs. Nich

That night Minna again appears before Lord ols has been guilty of doing injustice to her own Gerald, in his hall, and—

"The echo of her light footfall

Aroused and won his steady gaze.
With cheek all pale, and eye perplexed,
And like an evil spirit vexed,

Yet charmed to silence, listened he,
As Minna poured forth rapidly
The tale of his dishonor,-shame
Then flushed his brow-his noble name
Was coupled with the peasant's sneer,
But still was he compelled to hear
Her hated voice. Aye, noble Lord,
Who won with sweet and honied word
A daughter from these aged arms,
Where is the wife, whose glowing charms
Erased so soon from memory
The being once so dear to thee?
Said I not true, thou should'st go forth,
And woman's faith, and woman's worth,
Should ne'er be known to thee again?
Ay, clench thy hand-the foulest stain
That ever noble house did blot,
Shall, grain by grain, thy bosom rot!
'Twas thou, in boasting, reckless pride,
That drew her guileless feet aside;
"Twas I who laid the cunning snare
That leaves thee slowly withering there!
'Twas T-she gasped-her voice was hushed,
And from her lips the warm blood gushed!

She fell Lord Gerald's feet beside;
Life ebbed full swiftly with the tide
That from her lips still darkly flowed:--
She reaped the fruit her vengeance sowed!"

"Lord Gerald never smiled again;
But when the gloomy Autumn-rain
Beat softly on the leafless trees,
He wandered in the chilling breeze,
A blighted, lonely man, and weary,
Cold, stern, and dark, and ever dreary."

Such is an outline of "Bernice;" and, in drawing

rare abilities, by permitting these blemishes to appear before the public-blemishes rendered the more palpable by being brought in contact with the beauties of true poetry that sparkle on every page. But this is a carelessness incident to almost every young writer, in these days of speed and steam; and it does not argue a lack of ability, but rather a lack of patient toil--that great essential to success, especially in the production of a poem of any length, which aspires to a place among the recognized lasting efforts of genius. Short poems may be thrown off during the fever of the moment, and it but gives them a more natural, graceful garb; but "Bernice" fills too large a space to come under this rule and enjoy the benefit of this exception. This sounds a little harsh, yet it is just--and more particularly so, from the fact that Mrs. Nichols has shown, in this very poem, that she has the power to correct all these errors, and the genius to win for herself a name that will not pass lightly from the rolls of fame. That she will thus win a namehas she not already?-and occupy a niche with Mrs. Hemans, Miss Landon, and others of the gentle "household divinities," it needs no prophet to foretell.

In the volume before us, Mrs. Nichols has published some fifty or sixty of her shorter productions; and nothing but the length to which this article has attained restrains us from giving some few of the many gems. We must, however, indulge ourselves with quoting entire the poem entitled

MUSINGS.

"How like a conqueror the King of Day

Folds back the curtains of his orient couch,
Bestrides the fleecy clouds, and speeds his way
Through skies made brighter by his burning touch;

For as a warrior from the tented field,
Victorious hastes his wearied limbs to rest,
So doth the sun his brazen sceptre yield,

And sink, fair night, upon thy gentle breast.

"All hail, sad Vesper! on thy girdled throne Thou sit'st a queen. O twilight watcher star! With gliding step, thou comest forth alone,

Pale, dreamy, dweller of the realms afar;
And when at eve's most holy, chastened hour,
I watch each lesser star within its shrine,
How do I miss the strange, mysterious power
That chains my spirit to thine orb divine.

"Fair Vesper! when thy golden tresses gleam
Amid the banners of the sunset sky,
Thy spirit floats on every radiant beam

That gilds with beauty thy sweet home on high,-
Then hath my soul its hour of deepest bliss

And gentle thoughts like angels round me throng, Breathing of worlds, (oh! how unlike to this!) Where dwells eternal melody and song.

"Star of the twilight! thou wert loved by one Whose spirit late hath passed away from earth, Who parted from us, when the wailing tone

Of some lone winds hushed gentle Summer's mirth. Yet, though we missed her at the eventide,

And eyes gazed sadly on the vacant chair, Though from the hearth her music-tones have died, And gone glad laughter that resounded there

"Still from her high and holy place above

None would recall her to this earthly sphere,
Or seek to win her from that home of love

To tread the paths of sin and sorrow here:
But clouds are gathering round fair Cynthia's home,
And dark and heavy grows the sultry air,
While, one by one, the lights in yon vast dome
Fade and go out as Death were busy there.

"And she, pale spirit of the midnight skies,
Whose tears of light, were streaming o'er the heath,
Now seems, unto my wakeful, watching eyes,

Like some lone weeper in the house of death!
The storm hath burst-the lightning's angry eye
Glanceth around me, and the hoarse winds tell
The raging tempest's might and majesty.

Bright thoughts have vanished-gentle star, farewell!”

We need not point out to those who are familiar with this noble dweller in the forest, the truth and beauty of these lines, particularly where we have italicised them ;--and in this connection, it may be remarked that Mrs. Nichols possesses, in a great degree, that faculty for sketching the natural world, which has given to Bryant the high position he occupies among American poets. Although there is not in this whole collection a single poem that may be called descriptive, yet her taste leads her out among the flowers and the bright garniture of nature. In her own language, she

"Longs for all things beautiful-
The green and gladsome earth,
With all its grandeur-loveliness-
Its melody and mirth;

Its gushing founts and waterfalls,
The music of its rills,

The thousand, thousand, flashing streams
That echo from the hills"-

and her love for such companionship exhibits itself,
unconsciously perhaps, in almost every thing which
she writes.

The " reaper," Death, has visited the poetess' hearth, and-remorseless, ever!--torn from the little circle gathered there, the "very jewel of the flock." Perhaps one of the most finished poems in the whole collection is the one addressed "To my Boy in Heaven," in which the author gives utterance to the lonely and sorrowful yearnings of her mother-heart for this firstling. We make

an extract or two:

"I saw them heap the earth about thy form,

And press the light turf o'er thy peaceful breast,
Then leave thee to the cold and brooding worm,
As some young dove in a desert nest.

Like all gentle spirits, Mrs. Nichols loves to" sing of the familiar scenes of the home of her childhood; and she has twined a beautiful wreath in memory of the "Old Sycamore" at her father's door

"That waved its tall branches, all wildly and free, Like the shrouded masts of a ship on the sea."

We quote a couple of stanzas:

"I shall ne'er forget how it reared its head
O'er the babbling stream with its rocky bed,
Whose glassy bosom, when bared to the sun,
Reflected the beams of an angel one,
Who seemingly paused, in his onward flight,
And shadowed this stream with his wings of light,
As it reveled in sunshine, or wandered in shade,
And kissed the soft lips of the moss-covered glade.

"The Sycamore tree, in its stately pride,
Bent lovingly over the streamlet's side;
When its white arms swung to the wintry gale,

The autumn passed. How desolate was earth!
How froze the lucid veins upon her brow!
While oft the spectre-winds now wandered forth
Like unseen spirits, treading sad and slow;
Dark, hoary Winter came, with piercing breath,
And gave to Earth a passionless embrace:
Ah me! 'twas as the lip of white-browed Death
Had kissed with fondness some beloved face:
The dazzling snow-wreath garlanded thy tomb,
While each pale star, effulgent as the day,
Led forth its glittering beams amid the gloom,

And dimpled earth, where this white splendor lay.
"I left thee; wooed to that rich Southern clime
Where glows the orange and where blooms the rose;
The land of passion, where the brow of time

Dims not, but with renewed splendor glows,
The joyous Spring on her triumphal car

Rode through the land in beauty and in light,
And on the young south wind flung wide and far
The odor of her flowers-her spirits's young delight!

I rested not, though all was bright and green,
For still I heard thy gentle voice's moan;

My spirit leaped the darkling space between,
And knelt, all breathless, by thy twilight home!

"I stand beside thee!-and again the dream3
Of olden times rise up before my view,
While lulling sounds, like to the voice of streams,
Float o'er my soul, soft as the morning dew!
Could prayers or tears of nine but win thee now
From thy high walk around the starry thrones,
So selfish this, my tears would cease to flow,
My voice refuse to falter forth the tones!"""

In her shorter poems, Mrs. Nichols evinces great taste and feeling, although no considerable strength. Our taste may be erroneous in this respect, but be it so or not, we are free to confess that we admire the poetry of all women for this negative virtue. Strength-force, is as much out of place in the singing of a poetess, as a diamond of the first water is upon the brawny hand of the husbandman, hardened by the toil of many seasons. And when we say that Mrs. N.'s occasional productions are devoid of strength, we mean it as one of their virtues. Better than all this, there is

66

GOSSIP ABOUT A FEW BOOKS.

NO. II.

A NEW SPIRIT OF THE AGE.

EDITED BY R. H. HORNE.

"A New Spirit of the Age" consists of 25 chapters, or articles, each containing critical and biographical sketches of one or more living British authors. Mr. Horne professes to be only "Editor;" but we give him credit for several of the most spirited articles. The diversities of style in the volume confirm his averment, (which we at first thought a quiz, like those employed to veil the authorship of Gulliver's Travels, Humphrey Clinker, Old Mortality, and many other novels,) that it is the production of several different hands. Its title and character were suggested, the preface says, by Hazlitt's Spirit of the Age, published 20 years ago. Except in Macaulay's Reviews, we do not know

truth in every line-the truthfulness of feeling-where to find in the same compass, half so much and delicacy. 'There is something for the heart," sound, acute, and felicitous criticism, as this New as has been said of the writings of another; some- Spirit of the Age embodies. If it errs, the error thing which touches our sensibility, and awakens is always on the side of liberality. Indeed, so great sweet but sad reflections. There is a homestead, is the predominance of praise, that most of the hearth-stone feeling-if we may use the phrases--chapters are rather eulogies than judgments; yet in almost every poem, which draws the memory they are eulogies so discriminating, so well susback-back to the beautiful days of our childhood tained by skilful analysis of merits, and so often and youth; and we almost hear again the "plea- seasonably checked by a dash of judicious blame, sant voices" of the dear old time, and imagine our- that their justice stands abundantly vindicated. Ocselves among the band of "merry ones," out in the casionally, the blame is covered in terms of right meadows and on the hillsides at play-tracing the caustic banter: as where, speaking of Bulwer's babbling brooks as they go dancing to their bournes, unsuccessful works, that have gone into forgetfulor plucking the wild flowers to wreathe a garland ness, the critic says, "Then there have been patfor some sweet, fairhaired, lisping school-girl. A riotic songs and odes, in which there was a curious blessing on such memories !—and a double blessing mixture of the roast-beef of Old England style, on her who sways the wand that stirs them in our with an attempt at imaginative impulse and intenmind! Added to all this is still another charm-sity of meaning, depending chiefly for high personione which has given to Mrs. Sigourney all the fications and abstract qualities upon the use of capifame that she has reaped as a poetess. We allude tal letters;" or, as where, in relation to a saying to the devotional, moral spirit which breathes in attributed to Sir Lytton, that he became an Editor every line that emanates from Mrs. N.'s mind. It" to show that a gentleman might occupy such a has been truly said, that poetry, which is conver- position," our author says that if Sir Lytton said sant with the deeper feelings of the heart, as well so, "it belongs to that 'dandiacal' portion of him, as the beautiful forms of outward nature, has cer- which disagreeably interferes with one's confidence tain affinities with devotion. It is connected with in his sincerity." all our higher and holier emotions, and should send out an exalting, a healing and sustaining influence. The more familiar the mind becomes with poetry of this class, the more refined and delicate will the moral taste be rendered, and the best sympathies of our nature will be strengthed in proportion.

Here we must close-and we will do so by venturing the opinion that this volume of poems will long render Mrs. Nichols' name deservedly familiar to the lovers of polite literature throughout the country. F.

Xenia, Ohio.

About forty-three living writers are tabled for judgment, in the "New Spirit of the Age." And of these, only three are treated with a decided preponderance of censure- -Thomas Ingoldsby, Theodore Hook, and Mrs. Trollope. The tremendous, yet gentlemanly severity, with which the author of the absurd and vicious "Ingoldsby Legends" and the coarse vulgarity of Mrs. Trollope are scourged, and the more tickling flagellation bestowed upon Hook's perpetual tuft-hunting and toad-eating, do our very hearts good.

Dickens, Talfourd, Macaulay, Carlyle, Miss Mar

tineau, Mrs. Jameson, the Howitt's, and Sidney | faithful foreman, whose name we just now forget :— Smith, are among the writers criticised. The arti- contempt for all charitable institutions-contempt cle on Dickens is the longest, and the analysis of for all persons-contempt for all lawyers, judges, him the most ample. Its praises are very high; and jurors-contempt for nine-tenths of womankind, and, we think, always just. But his faults are en- and for ninety-nine-hundredths of mankind. One tirely overlooked. Perhaps the oblivion which is redeeming virtue of novels, among many hurtful already closing over his "American Notes," and effects, is their tendency to refine and elevate the demonstrating their ephemeral nature, justifies the character of their reader; to inspire generous critic for sparing the lash upon their ill nature, injus- sentiments, and nurture within him a steadfast intice, and shallowness of observation. But through tegrity and inflexible moral courage. In this tensome of Mr. D.'s more admired works, there runs a dency, the fun-making fictions of Boz are extremely fault which ought to be mentioned in every properly deficient. The reader seldom rises from the perubalanced estimate of his character as an author. sal of his novels, as from that of Miss Edgeworth's, It is the sneer, sometimes only chafing, but some- or Miss Sedgewick's, or of Scott's, or Madame times vicious, with which he treats natural frailties D'Arblay's, with the consciousness of being a braver of humanity, and even institutions pregnant with good to mankind. In the first half of his Pickwick Papers, before he had made up his mind whether to heroize Mr. Pickwick, or to whelm him in ridicule,

(Scamnumne faceret, an Priapum.)

it over and over again till the beholder is tired, Again,-Mr. D. has injured the English language, by a quantity of slang which his use of it has canonized. But enough of this.

and a better man than before. Another fault of Mr. Dickens, though a much smaller one, is the palpable mannerism of his style. The florid and alliterative eloquence of Counsellor Philips in his early days, or the everlasting "hope I don't intrude" of Paul Pry, is not a tithe so tiresome, bethat gentleman's whole history is but one perpetual cause not a tithe so long drawn out, as a certain pet sneer at his most amiable weaknesses. All that phraseology traceable from beginning to end of is most dear to men, and all that can most bless Boz' lucubrations. One of the most frequent specithem,-Love, Religion, Temperance, Woman,- mens is his way of styling a very mean person are the subjects of this cold and withering, though “gentleman" or "lady." It is a favorite stroke of Covert sneer. It pervades, too, the Sketches of humor with him, to call a dirty-faced, ragged, and Boz. We do not mean to say that Mr. Stiggins, thievish boy, "that young gentleman." For once, "The Shepherd," is not really a despicable cha- or even twice, this would have been very well: racter a drunken, long-faced pretender to sanc-but it is repeated so often, that we are reminded of tity. We do not mean to say that "The Brick- a lively child, who having made somebody laugh laying Branch of the Ebenezer Total Abstinence by an odd noise, or a grotesque movement, does Society" is not a ridiculous mockery of the means of guarding against intemperance. But what we censure Mr. Dickens for, in those creations, is the way in which he passes off those mockeries for the real things they mock. By sneers, (proverbially The article on "Lord Ashley and Dr. Southwood irrefutable,) he convinces that numerous class of Smith" holds them up illustriously to view, as two deep thinkers, both rich and poor, whose whole stu- of the greatest living benefactors of England. dies are of works like his, who always take carica- Lord Ashley's efforts in the House of Commons, tures for portraits, and a witticism for an argument, and Dr. Smith's labors with his pen, in behalf of that all Methodism, nay, all Religion, is a humbug the oppressed operatives in English factories and as Mr. Stiggins is; and that the absurd and oft coal mines, have earned for them a glory of which fuddled "Brick-laying Branch" is a true type of we were wholly unaware. This chapter is better that powerful and benign enginery, by which, in worth studying than any other in the book we are Ireland, Britain, and America, within twelve years, reviewing. With singular felicity, it is placed immore money has been saved, more disease, vice mediately after the notice of Dickens; whose senand death have been prevented, more children been sual, scornful, and anti-improvement spirit, are thus, kept from beggary, and more female hearts from to those minds which know him, placed in broad shame and anguish, than would balance the mise-contrast with the active and enlightened benevories caused by any war of Napoleon. It is a say- lence of the young lord and the eminent physician. ing of Doctor Johnson, that to indulge, habitually, How we envy each of the two latter, his brilliant the emotion of contempt, either proves a mind to be success in his particular walk, of talent and beweak, or makes it so. How greatly then, must neficence! The peer, his having repeatedly enMr. Dickens have contributed to weaken the minds chained for hours, the attention of the most fasof his numerous readers! For where is the author tidious assembly on earth, by his simple statements who calls their feeling of contempt into such fre- and well suggested remedies;—the doctor, his havquent exercise?--contempt for inany of his best ing won from the same assembly, and from a pubcharacters; Mr. Pickwick and his young fellow lic equally fastidious, the most solid of all possible adventurer-even the Cheeruble brothers, and their testimonials to his lucid, condensed, and powerful

COURTESY, which teaches us what is due to our fellows,-COURAGE, prompting what is due to our station,-and DIGNITY, which tells us what is due to ourselves,-form "the triple tiara which crowns as infallible the character of a gentleman."

"Boileau observes with admirable truth and elegance, that pride of mind is the characteristic of men of honor; but that pride of air and manner is the certain mark of fools; and whoever will try society abroad, will find that the higher he ascends in rank, the more bland and kindly the manner becomes." In the great Hampden, was beautifully exemplified the perfect compatibility of the sternest republicanism and of the purest life, with " a flowing courtesy to all men.' "He united," says Macaulay, "the morals of a Puritan with the manners of an accomplished courtier."

66

Philadelphia. Lea & Blanchard, 1844. Looking into a book-store in Chicago the other day in quest of some present to a young friend, the Contempt and haughtiness are never wise and title of this little work, its tiny bulk, and its neat never politic. Pride is a losing game, play it with exterior, led us to buy it, after asking in vain for whom you please. Courtesy is the only way to several books of known merit. On perusal, how-deal with the courteous, and the best way to deal with the rude."

ever, we thought it not suitable reading for any young American; and found another present for our youthful friend.

He should not set himself up as an "arbiter of elegancies," who writes in the clipped, New England manner, "give place for him to speak if he wishes to;" "they always ought to:" and uses whom as the nominative case to a verb: and talks of one's “procuring to be spoken of well." Nor is he a safe guide for young republicans, who strenuously insists upon the coxcombry of always wearing gloves, on the street or in company; and who gravely recommends profane swearing and hard drinking as gentlemanly accomplishments-when the "gentleman" is with people who swear, or drink hard. Neither is he a safe guide, who says the aspirant to fashionable eminence "must keep himself prominent in the eye of society," even by doing ill, "if he cannot procure to be spoken of well." These, and other advices, made us deem "The Canons of Good-Breeding" unfit for one whom we did not wish to see imbued with the principles of Machiavel. The book's title page is what we have quoted below. But it is labelled on the back, "Laws of Good-Breeding." Let those who are seeking a work on manners, mark this one, and avoid buying it.

Yet it contains a great deal of the soundest good sense; which really ought to be separated from the stuff above mentioned, and afforded to the public in a shape which would then be unmixedly beneficial. Let us extract a few specimens of this good

sense.

Those which we quote in the author's words, are marked by inverted commas. The rest are his thoughts, expressed abridgedly by us.

"The principles of good-breeding are founded in generosity." This is but a paraphraze of Lord Chatham's definition of politeness: "Benevolence in trifles."

*"The Canons of Good-Breeding; or, The Hand-Book for the Man of Fashion." By the author of "The Laws of Etiquette." pp. 224.

VOL. XI-8

"In society, cultivate versatility of intellect and feeling, and do not brood or bore upon a single subject. When it is known that a man habitually talks on one subject or class of subjects, or even in one strain, his company will be shunned as tiresome and heavy."

"At another house than your own, if you see a lady coming in, unattended by a gentleman,-offer her your arm, and take her up to the lady of the house. Do the same to ladies who are taking leave; and conduct them to their carriages."

When a waiter of coffee or other refreshments is handed to a lady, she should help herself; and gentlemen standing by should abstain from interference. It is now clearly understood that the effort of helping herself amounts to nothing; and that by doing so, she can gratify her own taste much better than when another serves her. At the same time, that quietness and ease of action which marks the best society, is attained in a much higher degree.

"If you meet persons whom you do not know, at a morning visit or evening party, and are brought in contact with them,-converse with them as readily as if you had known them all your life. Moreover, if in talking with one whom you know, you see others in the group whom you do not know,address them on the same terms as your friend. A shy or awkward demeanor towards strangers in such positions, is the certain mark of one not familiar with the great world."

"When you receive a card of invitation, you should return an answer the same hour. This is a point of conduct which good-breeding, good-feeling, good-sense and good-morals seem to unite in enforcing; yet it is often violated."

"At an evening party, a gentleman should abstain from conversing with members of the family who receive the company; as they wish to be occupied with entertaining their other guests. A well-bred man will do all that he can to help the lady of the house render the evening pleasant. He will avoid talking to men, and devote himself entirely to the women; and especially to those who are not much attended to by others."

"Civilities always merit acknowledgment: trivial and personal ones by word; greater and more distant ones by letter."

"If you have been received with interest and