proper that he should be as various in his efforts, as he is constant in their exercise, if he would acquire that freedom of speech which is his first essential object.

But this belongs only to a very early period in his career. It is only while he is immature, that he is thus imitative. With the acquisition of utterance, he should attain his freedom. He should then think out his own laws, and toil in obedience to the nature which works within him. To continue striving at numerous kinds of composition, only proves continued immaturity, or a prurient vanity, which baffles concentration, and, though it may provoke the passing wonder of contemporaries, will scarcely ever be able to command the lasting honors of posterity. The mind must fix upon its scheme of progress, and go forward, sternly, in its development. An aside for contemplation or amusement,—a playful, momentary indulgence with a foreign muse, is not considered as an objection here, any more than we should consider as an impropriety, a glance bestowed upon a strange beauty, by one who has a young wife of his own at home. But there must be no protracted liaison,-no vain notion that, because of success with one muse, we can equally command the favour of all the rest. The error is one quite as offensive to art, as, in other respects, it would be to morality.

The necessities of the American author, however, make him somewhat an exception to this rule, and confer upon him certain privileges. In the narrow field which he occupies, with so little demand for his labors in any one department, he is compelled to exercise a certain degree of universality. The conventional state of the country does not allow of that division of labor which has been attained in others. Thus, with us, the pleader is at once counsellor and attorney, the priest is magistrate and schoolmaster,-the physician is chemist and apothecary; and the author combines in himself as many of the offices of literature as he can possibly bring to bear, in supplying the wants of the several departments from which he hopes to obtain his recompense. His two volumes, brought forth by the regular publisher, do not interfere with his duties as editor of, or contributor to, the quarterly or monthly magazines. He throws off his monthly lyric for the popular singer, his essay for the Lady's Book or Annual,-and, by a tour de force, which is not often witnessed in any other country, contrives, at odd intervals of leisure, to concoct something, whether tragedy or farce,

for the honors of the stage at Park or Bowery. This history is comprised in the career of Mr. Mathews, as it is numerously instanced in that of most American authors. The collection before us has been the fruit of just such a diverse appropriation of his time; and, in considering the claims of his workmanship, we are to make the necessary allowances for such deficiencies-in the classical propriety and symmetry of his labors-as must be inevitable from the mode in which they were prepared and given to the world. Until literature shall arrive at the dignity of a profession among us, our writers must continue to work under disadvantages, which will impair their confidence in themselves, lessen the strength of their conceptions, and materially diminish the force and beauty of their productions. How long this state of things is to continue, is beyond present speculation; since the genius of the country, unlike that of any other known land, labors under the paralysis occasioned by its indebtedness to other regions, for the largest portion of its thought and literature. Until we can untrammel the nation in this respect, gain our intellectual freedom, and set up wholly for ourselves, the struggles of the native mind must be equally painful and unpromising.

Our previous notices of Mr. Mathews, will somewhat lessen our present labors. We shall say nothing here of his pretensions as a poet, having fully discussed them in a former article. Nor shall it be necessary that we should say any thing further of the several excellent papers which he has put forth on the subject of International Copyright. It is due to him to say, that he has been one of the most earnest and active in this cause among our literary men. Would we might believe that his labors had been attended by any corresponding measure of success. But this is not so certain. The measure still drags on, like a wounded snake, in our national councils; its prospects impaired by two circumstances, the active hostility of manufacturers, whose interests, it is supposed, such a concession might injuriously affect; and the indifference of our statesmen themselves to any measure to which the public are indifferent. Between these two forces, the claims of the national mind have but slender chance of present consideration. We must probably wait the advent of statesmen who will not content themselves with looking solely to the existing condition of the popular understanding, or its undigested will in matters of legisla

tion; but, where the subject involves a great principle, is obscure by reason of its nature, or little valued because of its intrinsic excellence,-who will devote themselves, heart and soul, to its development, till men shall come generally to acknowledge the necessity for its recognition.

We have said that Mr. Mathews is an ambitious writer. This is shown by the selection of some of his topics, no less than their variety. "Behemoth, or the mound-builders," is a bold, imaginative legend,-vigorous, well-written, and sometimes beautifully descriptive. It is an attempt at conjectural history,-designed to fill out the chronicles of that mysterious race, by whom the wondrous mounds and monuments were raised which cover the face of our country. "Wakondah, the master of life," is based upon an Indian tradition. It appears as a fragment, and affords us, as we think, one of the best specimens of our author's poetical faculty. As a proof of his capacity as a builder,-the highest evidence of poetical endowment, we can say nothing, as the work is incomplete. What is given us, appears rather as the introduction, the portico, or vestibule, of a structure, which promises, in spite of numerous defects of verse, to be a very noble performance. The selection of such topics by an author, indicates a rare confidence in his own powers. They are not to be attempted without considerable resources of imagination and thought. They rely chiefly upon the powers of taste and imagination. They are works to be evolved only from native and original endowments. History but glimpses at the subject,-books give no succour. There are no mile-posts,-no indicia on the route. What, therefore, is to be done, with such subjects, must be done ab ovo, from one's own brains, as the spider is said to weave her web of gossamer out of her own bowels. The selection of such topics may betray presumption, but they are just as likely to denote courage. Such a choice of theme is evidence, in some degree, of a capacity for its proper use. The ordinary man contents himself with common-places,— the true man never; and it is because of the courage shown in these attempts, and because of an independent mode of treating them, that we have been led to regard Mr. Mathews as having that in him, which we trust he will bring out, and which, we are persuaded, his countrymen will not willingly let die. To say that "Wakondah" or "Behemoth" are perfect, or even very successful productions, is not our pur

pose. It would be unreasonable to expect such from the hands of a very young writer. He does not fulfil all the conditions of his subject, and were he now to write, for the first time, upon these themes, in all probability he would adopt other plans, and choose, in some respects, other agents for his action. But they denote great powers of description and adaptation, a fine sense of the picturesque, a just notion of what is delicate and harmonious, of symmetry in the structure of parts, and of good taste in the use of means and accessories. There is a statuesque simplicity in the proportions of "Behemoth," which is very imposing, and would have been perfect, but for the unseemly introduction of certain ludicrous agents which impair its harmony. Such is the episode of Kluckhatch. The grandeur of outline which marks the story, is blurred by this excrescence. There is so little of the dramatic in this performance,—the action is so simple, and the agents necessarily so few,-that any thing calculated to conflict with the simplicity of the scheme, and the dignity of its outline, is felt as a rude deformity. Works of this nature will not suffer the slightest introduction of incongruous elements. The story is one of tragic uniformity; to engraft upon it any Gothic additions, must be injurious. In a tale of trial,-of a terrible and strange solemnity, the ludicrous shows as revoltingly in the connection, as would the humours of Policinello in the midst of the divine agonies of Prometheus. No such objection can be urged to the portion which we have of "Wakondah.” That, so far as written, is simply beautiful,—a lovely piece of description,-cold somewhat, and frigid like frost-work, but it has a tinge of the morning sun upon it, and the purple flush which it wears is sufficient to soften, though it may not warm the expression. In "Behemoth," we have numerous passages of great strength and fervor. The terrors of the country, under the ravages of the mighty and massive monster of the wild and sea, are well described and illustrated; and the stern, unbending nature of Bokulla, his patriotic devotion and unyielding resolution, present a fine idea of the heroic character. The great defect of the story,-a defect inseparable, perhaps, from the subject,-is in the final mode of action, the means by which the monster is overcome, and the country saved from desolation. We are not prepared to recognize the means for his destruction as adequate to the purpose, when we remember the wondrous powers

assigned him in the first instance by the author,--powers which so completely mocked at all the strength, in numbers and in battle, of the people whose plains he traversed with the foot of devastation. But the subject was one of great difficulty, and might well have embarrassed the skill, and baffled the powers, of a far more experienced writer than Mr. Mathews. It was one too, which, we fancy, might have been much more easily discussed in verse than prose,-might have been more available in the hands of the poet than the novelist. The very employment of verse, tends to reconcile the reader to certain extravagancies, which he would resent in prose narrative; and he rather expects a freedom of fancy in the one class of writings, where he would be apt to resist it in the other. The fine ballad of "The Dragon of Rhodes," is, by the way, very kindred in its topic, though its relations are not so numerous, and its aim, as a story, not so high as "Behemoth." We venture to say, that, if the latter subject had been presented to the mind of Schiller, he would not have hesitated, a single instant, as to the necessity of treating it as a purely poetical one. He would have felt the dangers and difficulties in the way of a prose narrative, which, whatever may be the character of the style employed, or the proem of the author, necessarily promises a greater soberness of fancy, and a sterner grasp upon the reins of imagination, than is necessary where the story is told in

verse.

But we gather from both these compositions, as well as from other writings of Mr. Mathews, that his mind is essentially undramatic. He is better at narrative and description, and evidently prefers expressing himself in the first person. He seems fettered and frigid when his business is to develope his story through the medium of other agents. He does not succeed in grouping, and seems to lack the required flexibility-the capacity to enter into the characters of his persons, and to speak only in obedience to their necessities. His mind is of the order that never goes out of itself—that refuses to subject its own to the requisitions of others, and persists in informing his dramatis persona with his own individuality. He has too much intensity of purpose to escape from this, becomes himself too much interested in what is going forward; and, taking part, and sympathizing with his favorite ideal, yields to him entirely that regard, which should be divided with critical justice equally among his