general satisfaction, and no more important alterations were made during the life of the first editor. And the magazine so began continues with some changes in the departments suitable to the changing times to the present day, a blessing to the people, but especially to the ministry. Among all the fluctuations in the religious periodicals in England, the Methodist magazine has stood firmly, and has helped greatly to preserve and increase the solidity of the Methodist body.

VI. The youth of the times engaged the attention of Mr. Wesley, who for their instruction prepared some ELEMENTARY BOOKS-a branch of literature for which, as a tutor, he was well qualified. The first book he prepared was a short English Grammar, published in 1748, being merely the substance of Etymology, omitting altogether Syntax and Prosody. Next, he printed a short French Grammar, which he began to write when at Kingswood in 1750. The next was a short Latin Grammar, but much larger than either of the others. The fourth was a short Greek Grammar, which is longer than the Latin. The fifth is a short Hebrew Grammar, which he was engaged in preparing the week after his marriage. These grammars were fit for any schools, but were designed for the Kingswood School, near Bristol-a school for the sons of Methodists and of the preachers-and no doubt were very useful when elementary books were scarce, with the assistance of a teacher, but are hardly sufcient for self-instruction. Another of the elementary books was a Compendium of Logic. A Latin treatise on logic, by Dean Aldrich, was in vogue. When in Wales, in 1750, and waiting for the ebbing of the tide, Mr. Wesley sat down in a little cottage and translated it. The author of the Compendium was well acquainted with the intricate art, and was very expert in the use of it, as all his argumentative works show; as well as his honest boasting in his reply to Dr. Erskine, who provoked the usually calm man by saying that he was "no novice in the arts of subtlety and disguise." Again: "I find little else than that shifting, at which Mr. Wesley is so singularly expert." Replies Mr. Wesley:

"For several years I was Moderator in the disputations which were held six times a week in Lincoln College, in Oxford. I could not avoid acquiring hereby some degree of expertness in arguing, and especially in discerning and pointing out well covered and plausible fallacies. I have since found abundant reason to praise God for giving me this honest art. By this when men have hedged me in by what they called demonstrations, I have been many times able to dash them in pieces; in spite of all its covers, to touch the very point where the fallacy lay, and it flew open in a moment. This is the art which I have used with Bishop Warburton, as well as in the preceding pages [that is, to Dr. Erskine.] When Dr. Erskine twisted truth and falsehood to

gether, in many of his propositions, it was by this art I untwisted the one from the other, and showed just how far each was true. At doing this, I bless God, I am expert, as those will find who attack me without rhyme or reason."-Remarks on a Defense of Aspasia Vindicated.

Methodism is greatly indebted to its founder's logic. It was the aggressive sword by which the opponents of the system were overthrown and cut down; or, it was the defensive shield which warded off the massive spear, or, in flying combat, the arrows of the enemy. Mr. Wesley highly valued logic, and thought, for the vocation of a clergyman, nothing "in the whole compass of science to be desired in comparison of it." (Address to the Clergy.) He sharply reproved them for their ignorance of the art, and their stupid way of covering their ignorance, in the following self-examination :

"Am I a tolerable master of the sciences? Have I gone through the gate of them, Logic? If not, I am not likely to go much farther, when I stumble at the threshhold. Do I understand it so as to be ever the better for it? to have it always ready for use, so as to apply every rule of it, when occasion is, almost as naturally as I turn my hand? Do I understand it at all? Are not even the words and figures above my comprehension? Do not I poorly endeavor to cover my ignorance by affecting to laugh at their barbarous names? Can I even reduce an indirect mood to a direct? an hypothetical to a catagorical syllogism? Rather, have not my stupid ignorance and laziness made me very ready to believe what the little wits and pretty gentlemen affirm, that Logic is good for nothing."

The Compendium is, as it professes, a mere summary. The first book contains three short chapters on simple terms, propositions, and syllogisms. Each chapter has several short sections, and each section is divided into several paragraphs. Thus methodically are the separate parts arranged, making the compendium an illustration as well as a treatise of logic. Book second contains three chapters on the matter of syllogisms, fallacies, and method. And there is an appendix of the manner of using logic, from Bishop Sanderson. The compendium is only twenty-seven pages, and may serve a resolute student just as well, if not better, than one of the elaborate treatises; for, to learn logic, reading is not so necessary as thinking; and a short treatise of rules, with brief examples, is best for reflection and the memory.

ART. IV.-HENRY WADSWORTH LONGFELLOW.

1. Hyperion; a Romance.

2. Kavanagh; a Tale.

3. Poems, by HENRY WADSWORTH LONGFELLOW. In two volumes. Boston: Ticknor & Fields. 1854.

4. The Song of Hiawatha. By HENRY WADSWORTH

Ticknor & Fields. 1855.

LONGFELLOW. Boston:

5. The Courtship of Miles Standish, and other Poems. By HENRY WADSWORTH LONGFELLOW. Boston: Ticknor & Fields. 1859.

SOME one, we think the Autocrat of the Breakfast Table, has called New England "the brains of America." With her sterile soil and desolate hills, she certainly has produced more than her share of the talent of the country. Not only has she sent abroad from her populous loins the founders of already flourishing empires, but she has also retained at home, in the various professions, men of goodly stature. A distinguished statesman of the present day, perhaps we should say notorious politician, has alluded to her as "a good place to be born in, provided one emigrates soon enough;" we opine it is not a bad place to be reared in, judging by the handsome array of talent she has generally exhibited, and the noble line of illustrious men she has already given to history. The two Adamses, notwithstanding their conceded idiosyncracies, would have been men of mark in any times and anywhere. Edwards, Dwight, and Olin, however they may have differed on minor points, were in the main worthy theologians of a blessed religion. Story, with his judicial learning, and Webster, with his vast knowledge of constitutional and international law, have each a wider and more enduring reputation than any other of our countrymen, Washington always excepted.

With such predecessors to incite, and many rising cotemporaries to urge him on, HENRY WADSWORTH LONGFELLOW was born in Portland, Maine, February 27th, 1807; he is consequently now some fifty-two years of age. At the early age of fourteen he was matriculated freshman in Bowdoin College, and was graduated with honor in 1825. His parents intending him for the bar, he was soon put to the study of law; he pursued the usual curriculum of his profession, and was even admitted to practice; but his Alma Mater, soon after, calling him to the professorship of ancient and modern languages, he took counsel with his inclinations and bade the law farewell forever. With his poetic temperament, he doubtless found the details of jurisprudence irksome and its spirit too exacting; for

the law is mostly a jealous mistress, and is wont to look with indifferent glance on all who presume to address her with divided attentions. Lords Brougham and Jeffrey, it is true, are notable exceptions, but only such exceptions as prove a rule. To prepare himself for his professorship, he went to Europe in 1826, where he remained three or four years, visiting England, France, Spain, Italy, and Germany. In 1835 he was elected professor of modern languages and literature in Harvard University, when he again visited Europe, no doubt for the same purpose as before. His travels were now extended into Denmark and Sweden, where he doubtless gathered much of the Scandinavian mythology that we find scattered through his works; and were turned again into Germany, for which country he seems to have had a decided liking. Passing somewhat hastily through Switzerland and the Tyrol, he soon after returned to America, and repaired to his chair at Cambridge, where he still is, or was recently. Though the sale of his works has been large, and his profits certainly considerable, he yet retains his professorship; no doubt heeding the words of a brother poet,* who advises his craft to make literature a staff and not a crutch. We commend his industry to the guild of professors generally, who too often, out of their own departments, are genuine fossils of a past generation; we could name a dozen at once of our own acquaintance, who are certainly creditable linguists and fine mathematicians, but who, for all other purposes, are like men asleep or children in the dark. Mr. Longfellow, though in the first university of the country, not only fills his chair with ability, but also finds time to write volumes of poetry, much of it so sweet and melodious as to defy the hypercritic's censure.

The volumes at the head of this article comprise all, we believe, that Mr. Longfellow has published which is noteworthy. Of these, Hyperion and Kavanagh are tales in prose. The latter is a commonplace story, not worth repeating, and we only notice it here to condemn its covert sneers at religion. The former, however, is a well-written tale, with many touching scenes and admirable descriptions. It is pervaded with a kindly analysis and a genial appreciation of European art, character, and scenery, and able judges pronounce it more poetical than much of his poetry. The two volumes of his poems are made up chiefly of sweet-tongued lyrics, written originally for various periodicals; and Evangeline, his first epic, we believe, of consequence. The volume fourth on the list is his singular epic, about which the critics quarreled so much some four years ago; we shall notice it more at length hereafter. The

Sir Walter Scott.

fifth contains the old familiar New England anecdote of John Alden's vicarious wooing, transfigured into poetry, and a number of exquisite lyrics, the most of which originally appeared as contributions to the Atlantic Monthly. Let us examine each of his epics separately, and afterward consider his lyrics, and then conclude with such general criticism as the subject demands.

"Evangeline" is a pathetic tale, founded on the expatriation of the French population of Acadia, now Nova Scotia, by the English government in 1764, soon after that portion of the continent passed into its possession. This peninsula was settled by emigrants, for the most part from Normandy, who retained and cherished their French customs and prejudices, and when, by the treaty of Aix la Chapelle, it was transferred to England, the colonists submitted to their new rulers with a grace that boded little loyalty. To rid themselves of future trouble, the English determined to confiscate their possessions, and transport the inhabitants of the province to other lands; this determination was cruelly carried out, and Evangeline and her lover, one Gabriel Lajeunesse, become eminent sufferers thereby. being separated for years, and never meeting until Gabriel lies upon his death-bed. She has only time then to whisper Gabriel, my beloved!" and exchange glances of perpetual remembrance, when he passes away. This sad tale is told by the poet with much sweetness and pathos, but the progress of the narrative is slow and at times even heavy. This last results partly from the unfortunate meter, which we shall notice at length in speaking of "The Courtship of Miles Standish," and partly from the author's natural genius; Mr. Longfellow's luxuriant fancy is continually leading him into beautiful but lengthy and unnecessary descriptions, where the thread of the narrative is lost in the wilderness of words and pictures. We instance the opening of the second book of Part II., which has frequently been cited as one of the finest passages in the poem. We thought to give it entire, but unfortunately have not space for it; for we consider it, not only one of the best passages in Evangeline, but also a fair specimen of Mr. Longfellow's average defects and graces. No one can read it without being struck with its perspicuity and beauty; neither, however, without detecting its superfluity of metaphor and almost infinite division of thought.

"The Song of Hiawatha" is a unique poem, intended to embalm in verse the American Indian. When first published, it was received by the public generally with a damnatory smile, and a hundred amusing parodies went laughing through the papers; there were a few, however, who demurred to this treatment, and one critic in particular, we recollect, of more than ordinary acumen, who pro