'Lights and Shadows,' and Irving over English, in his Sketch Book,' and Lamb over metropolitan in his 'Elia,' has Hawthorne cast around New England, and his tales here and there blend, as it were, the traits which endear these authors. His best efforts are those in which the human predominates. Ingenuity and moral significancy are finely displayed, it is true, in his allegories; but sometimes they are coldly fanciful, and do not win the sympathies as in those instances where the play of the heart relieves the dim workings of the abstract and supernatural. Hawthorne, like all individualities, must be read in the appropriate mood. This secret of appreciation is now understood as regards Wordsworth. It is due to all genuine authors. To many whose mental aliment has been exciting and coarse, the delicacy, meek beauties and calm spirit of these writings will but gradually unfold themselves; but those capable of placing themselves in relation with Hawthorne, will discover a native genius for which to be grateful and proud, and a brother whom to know is to love. He certainly has done much to obviate the reproach which a philosophical writer, not without reason has cast upon our authors, when he asserts their object to be to astonish rather than please."*

There is a host of intermediate authors between the three already described in this sphere of literature, of various and high degrees, both of merit and reputation, but whose traits are chiefly analogous to those of the prominent writers we have surveyed. Some of them have ably illustrated local themes, others excelled in scenic limning, and a few evinced genius for characterization. Paulding, for instance, in Westward Ho,' and 'The Dutchman's Fireside,' has given admirable pictures of colonial life: Richard H. Dana, in the Idle Man,' has two or three remarkable psychological tales; Timothy Flint, James Hall, Thomas, and more recently M'Connell of Illinois, have written very graphic and spirited novels of Western Life; John P. Kennedy of Baltimore, has embalmed Virginia life in the olden time in 'Swallow Barn,' and Fay that of modern New York; Gilmore Simms, a prolific and vigorous novelist, in a similar form has embodied the traits of Southern Character and Scenery; Hoffman the early history of his native State; Dr. Robert Bird of Philadelphia, those of Mexico; William Ware has rivalled Lockhart's classical romance in his 'Letters from Palmyra' and 'Probus;' Allston's artist-genius is luminous in 'Monaldi;' Judd in Margaret' has related a tragic story arrayed in the very best hues and outlines of New England life; and Edgar A. Poe, in his Tales of the Grotesque and Arabesque,' evinces a genius in which a love of the marvellous and an intensity of conception are united with the wildest sympathies, as if the endowments of Mrs. Radcliffe and Coleridge were partially united in one mind. In adventurous and descriptive narration we have Melville and Mayo. John Neal struck

*Leaves from the Diary of a Dreamer.

off at a heat some half-score of novels that, at least, illustrate a facility quite remarkable; and, indeed, from the days of the 'Algerine Captive' and 'The Foresters' the first attempts at such writing in this country, to the present day, there has been no lack of native fictions. The minor specimens which possess the highest literary excellence are by Irving, Willis, and Longfellow; but their claims rest entirely on style and sentiment; they are brief and olished, but more graceful than impressive.

CHAPTER III.

POETRY.

Its essential Conditions-Freneau and the early Metrical Writers-Mumford -Cliffton-Allston, and others- Pierpont-Dana-Hillhouse-SpraguePercival Halleck - Drake - Hoffman-Willis-Longfellow-HolmesLowell-Boker-Favorite Single Poems-Descriptive Poetry-StreetWhittier, and others - Brainard-Song- Writers Other Poets - Female Poets-Bryant.

'IT has been well observed by an English critic, that poetry is not a branch of authorship. The vain endeavor to pervert its divine and spontaneous agency into a literary craft, is the great secret of its decline. Poetry is the overflowing of the soul. It is the record of what is best in the world. No product of the human mind is more disinterested. Hence comparatively few keep the poetic element alive beyond the period of youth. All that is genuine in the art springs from vivid experience, and life seldom retains any novel aspect to those who have long mingled in its scenes, and staked upon its chances. A celebrated artist of our day, when asked the process by which his delineations were rendered so effective, replied.that he drew them altogether from memory. Natural objects were portrayed, not as they impressed him at the moment, but according to the lively and feeling phases in which they struck his senses in boyhood. For this reason it has been truly observed, that remembrance makes the poet; and, according to Wordsworth, "emotions recollected in tranquillity," form the true source of inspiration. A species of literature depending upon conditions so delicate, is obviously not to be successfully cultivated by those who hold it in no reverence. The great distinction between verse-writers and poets is, that the former seek and the latter receive; the one attempt to command, the other meekly obey the higher impulses of their being.'*

Thoughts on the Poets.

The first metrical compositions in this country, recognised by popular sympathy, were the effusions of Philip Freneau, a political writer befriended by Jefferson. He wrote many songs and ballads in a patriotic and historical vein, which attracted and somewhat reflected the feelings of his contemporaries, and were not destitute of merit. Their success was owing, in part, to the immediate interest of the subjects; and in part to musical versification and pathetic sentiment. One of his Indian ballads has survived the general neglect to which more artistic skill and deeper significance in poetry, has banished the mass of his verses; to the curious in metrical writings, however, they yet afford a characteristic illustration of the taste and spirit of the times. Freneau was born in 1752, and died in 1832. The antecedent specimens of verse in America, were, for the most part, the occasional work of the clergy, and are remarkable chiefly for a quaint and monotonous strain, grotesque rhymed versions of the Psalms, and tolerable attempts at descriptive poems. The writings of Mrs. Bradstreet, Governor Bradford, Roger Williams, Cotton Mather, and the witty Dr. Byles, in this department, are now only familiar to the antiquarian. Franklin's friend Ralph, and Thomas Godfrey of Philadelphia, indicate the dawn of a more liberal era, illustrated by Trumbull, Dwight, Humphreys, Alsop, and Honeywood; passages from whose poems show a marked improvement in diction, a more refined scholarship, and genuine sympathy with nature; but, although in a literary point of view they are respectable performances, and for the period and locality of their composition, suggestive of a rare degree of taste, there are too few salient points, and too little of an original spirit, to justify any claim to high poetical genius. One of the most remarkable efforts in this branch of letters, at the epoch in question, was doubtless William Mumford's translation of the Iliad -a work that, when published, elicited some authentic critical praise. He was a native of Virginia, and his great undertaking was only finished a short period before his death, which occurred in 1825. The verses which have the earliest touch of true sensibility and that melody of rhythm which seems intuitive, are the few bequeathed by William Cliffton of Philadelphia, born in 1772. After him we trace the American muse in the patriotic songs of R. T. Paine, and the scenic descriptions of Paulding, until she began a loftier though brief flight in the fanciful poems of Allston.

"In the moral economy of life, sensibility to the beautiful must have a great purpose. If the Platonic doctrine of pre-existence be true, perhaps ideality is the surviving element of our primal life. Some individuals seem born to minister to this influence, which, under the name of beauty, sentiment, or poetry, is the source of what is most exalting in our inmost experience and redeeming in our outward life. Does not a benign Providence watch over these

priests of nature? They are not necessarily renowned. Their agency may be wholly social and private, yet none the less efficient. We confess that, to us, few arguments for the benevolent and infinite design of existence are more impressive than the fact that such beings actually live, and wholly unfitted as they are to excel in or even conform to the Practical, bear evidence, not to be disputed, of the sanctity, the tranquil progress and the serene faith that dwell in the Ideal. Washington Allston was such a man. He was born in South Carolina in 1779, and died at Cambridge, Mass., in 1843. By profession he was a painter, and his works overflow with genius; still it would be difficult to say whether his pen, his pencil, or his tongue chiefly made known that he was a prophet of the true and beautiful. He believed not in any exclusive development. It was the spirit of a man, and not his dexterity or success, by which he tested character. In painting, reading, or writing, his mornings were occupied, and at night he was at the service of his friends. Beneath his humble roof, in his latter years, there was often a flow of wit, a community of mind, and a generous exercise of sympathy which kings might envy. To the eye of the multitude his life glided away in secluded contentment, yet a prevailing idea was the star of his being-the idea of beauty. For the high, the lovely, the perfect, he strove all his days. He sought them in the scenes of nature, in the master-pieces of literature and art, in habits of life, in social relations, and in love. Without pretence, without elation, in all meekness, his youthful enthusiasm chastened by suffering, he lived above the world. Gentleness he deemed true wisdom, renunciation of all the trappings of life, a duty. He was calm, patient, occasionally sad, but for the most part happy in the free exercise and guardianship of his varied powers. His sonnets are interesting as records of personal feeling. They eloquently breathe sentiments of intelligent admiration or sincere friendship; while the 'Styles of the Season' and other longer poems show a great command of language and an exuberant fancy.

On his return to America, the life of our illustrious painter was one of comparative seclusion. The state of his health, devotion to his art, and a distaste for promiscuous society and the bustle of the world, rendered this course the most judicious he could have pursued. His humble retirement was occasionally invaded by foreigners of distinction, to whom his name had become precious; and sometimes a votary of letters or art entered his dwelling, to gratify admiration or seek counsel and encouragement. To such, an unaffected and sincere welcome was always given, and they left his presence refreshed and happy. The instances of timely sympathy which he afforded young and baffled aspirants, are innumerable.

Allston's appearance and manners accorded perfectly with his character. His form was slight and his movements quietly active.

The lines of his countenance, the breadth of the brow, the large and speaking eye, and the long white hair, made him an immediate object of interest. If not engaged in conversation, there was a serene abstraction in his air. When death so tranquilly overtook him, for many hours it was difficult to believe that he was not sleeping, so perfectly did the usual expression remain. His torchlight burial harmonized, in its beautiful solemnity, with the bright and thoughtful tenor of his life."*

John Pierpont, a Unitarian clergyman of Massachusetts, has written numerous hymns and odes for religious and national occasions, remarkable for their variety of difficult metres, and for the felicity both of the rhythm, sentiment, and expression. His Airs of Palestine,' a long poem in heroic verse, has many eloquent passages; and several of his minor pieces, especially those entitled 'Passing Away,' and 'My Child,' are striking examples of effective versification. The most popular of his occasional poems is 'The Pilgrim Fathers,' an ode written for the anniversary of the landing at Plymouth, and embodying in truly musical verse the sentiment of the memorable day.

Richard H. Dana is the most psychological of American poets. His Buccaneer' has several descriptive passages of singular terseness and beauty; although there is a certain abruptness in the metre chosen. The scenery and phenomena of the ocean are evidently familiar to his observation; the tragic and remorseful elements in humanity exert a powerful influence over his imagination; while the mysteries and aspirations of the human soul fill and elevate his mind. The result is an introspective tone, a solemnity of mood lightened occasionally by touches of pathos or beautiful pictures. There is a compactness, a pointed truth to the actual, in many of his rhymed pieces, and a high music in some of his blank verse, which suggest greater poetical genius than is actually exhibited. His taste evidently inclines to Shakspeare, Milton, and the old English dramatists, his deep appreciation of whom he has manifested in the most subtle and profound criticisms. Of his minor pieces, the 'Intimations of Immortality' and 'The Little Beach-Bird,' are perhaps the most characteristic of his two phases of expression.

James A. Hillhouse excelled in a species of poetic literature, which, within a few years, has attained eminence from the fine illus trations of Taylor, Browning, Horne, Talfourd, and other men of genius in England. It may be called the written drama; and however unfit for representation, is unsurpassed for bold, noble, and exquisite sentiment and imagery. The name of Hillhouse is associated with the beautiful elms of New Haven, beneath whose majestic boughs he so often walked. His home in the neighborhood of this

Artist-Life, or Sketches of American Painters.