JOANNA OF NAPLES.* This is an exquisite morceau, and the printer has sent it from his hands in a style befitting the beauty of its literary execution. This is a charm which it ever stands an author in hand to seek. It is an a priori argument in favor of his book that it is thus beautifully printed,— its "rivulet of text meandering through a meadow of margin." The author of "Miriam" and the present work, is Miss Park, of Cambridge, Massachusetts, who origin ally intended to weave a tragedy from the rich material, which, like a lump of virgin gold rather than of ore, she has snatched from the quarry, and wrought into a most touching and intensely interesting history. But as she approached the task, her eyesight failed her, and she was obliged to present the work in a less pretending—but to our minds, a far more inviting form. against her, adding but little force to the prejudiced accounts the church of Rome has handed down to posterity, concerning the monarch who had the independence to espouse the cause of Clement against the usurper Urban. "Public rumors, in the absence of proof, (says Hallam,) imputed the guilt of this mysterious assassination, [of Andrea, her husband,] to Joanna. Whether historians are authorized to assume her participation in it so confidently as they have generally done, may perhaps be doubted: though I cannot venture, positively, to rescind their sentence." "The name of Joan has suffered by the lax repetition of calumnies. Whatever share she may have had in her husband's death, and certainly under circumstances of extenuation, her subsequent life was not open to any flagrant reproach: the charge of dissolute manners, so frequently made, is not warranted by any specific proof, or cotemporary testimony." But the reader of this little romance will conceive a beau ideal of the character of Joanna of Naples, which will make him willing, (or we greatly mistake,) to believe nothing of that heroic woman, not proved,which is inconsistent with the beautiful portraiture that the pencil of Miss Park has produced. That which would have deterred an ordinary mind from attempting this task, seems to have suggested its execution the more forcibly to hers. She had been reading Mrs. Jameson's Life of Joanna of Naples, in the Biography of Female Sovereigns,-and was led by that perusal to examine all the records of that celeAnother feature of this work will strike the reader. brated queen, to which she could gain access: and, to The author shall state this feature in her own happy quote the beautiful language of her preface to this little manner. "In this Tale," she says in her preface," the production, "When deprived of her customary occu-author has remembered a wish often expressed in her pations, by partial blindness, one of her chief resources hearing by judicious mothers; she has endeavored to against the weariness of forced idleness was in exercises discard the machinery usually employed in works of of the memory and invention. She sometimes enter-fiction; and to bring strong passions and affections into tained herself with weaving fictions, and planning little play, without the cooperation of that, on which the works destined never to come forth from the chambers main interest of a romantic story commonly depends. of her brain; and amid the visionary processions which She respectfully waits the decision of the public, as to moved through her darkened apartment, many a time the degree of interest excited for a heroine, whose fears did the majestic figure of the Neapolitan queen sweep and trials are not interwoven with a love-tale. Her sadly by, the heroine of the unwritten romance. As a little work is published in the hope, that, if it win the memorial of those hours, when the faculties mercifully approbation of her young readers, they may be lured by it bestowed on every human mind asserted their power to the fountains of history, ever pouring forth bright streams to charm away physical evil, she has, the last summer, of pleasure and instruction. As the current comes gliding committed some of their fruits to paper, and the task down from the urns of dim antiquity, it brings us awful has again beguiled a few weeks of ill health. Want of truths, that deserve contemplation,—the insufficiency of eyesight has prevented her indulging in researches that human greatness, the dangers of a blinding prosperimight have graced her pages with antiquarian lore; ty, the terrible retribution, which so often overtakes but she trusts she has avoided any serious anacronisms. guilt, even on this side of the grave." Her narrative is not a work of pure fiction, as most of the leading characters and principal events are historical; and she has endeavored to take no unwarrantable liberties with facts, as recorded by writers, who believed Joanna innocent of the crimes charged upon her by her enemies." For this she is to be thanked by all who have pon dered regretfully over those pages of history which record the imputed, but yet unproven crimes of the gifted and the beautiful: and the more is she entitled to the gratitude of such readers, that she makes out a good case, (to speak in legal language,) for the noble subject of her romance. The strongest passages in the writings of any historian, who can be considered as impartial and independent upon this question, against the fame of this ill-fated queen, are the following, from Hallam's "Middle Ages," which are, at best, but doubtful witnesses Joanna of Naples. By the author of "Miriam." Boston: Hilliard, Gray & Co. 1839. We commend this book as one of the choicest productions of the day,—and express a hope, which we know all our readers will echo, when, upon our recommendation they shall have perused it,—that this will prove but the commencement of a long series of similar favors, for which her countrymen are yet to be laid under willing obligation to the fair and gifted authoress. HEXAMETER VERSE. Gabriel Harvey, who "had the ill luck to fall into the hands of that restless buffoon Tom Nash," attempted to introduce the Hexameter into our versification. His Encomium Lauri thus ridiculously commences: What might I call | this tree? A lawrell? 10 bonny lawrell! bonnetto. BIOGRAPHICAL SKETCHES OF LIVING AMERICAN POETS AND NOVELISTS. FRANCIS WILLIAM THOMAS, ESQ. he could appreciate, and seize upon, the brighter, as well as encounter the darker objects in his path; and poetry, with her fascinations, allured him from the tumultuous sea, to glide among her flowery isles, and listen to the melody of Calliope and her sister train. The "EMIGRANT, or Reflections while descendThis gentleman, now a resident of Cincinnati, is ing the Ohio River," a poem, published in 1833, a native of Baltimore. In 1829, we find him a first introduced Mr. Thomas to the public as an member of the bar in that city, and distinguished author, although he had previously written some for his forensic talents. In 1830-'31, he emi- fugitive pieces, one of which, entitled, “”Tis grated to Cincinnati, and shortly afterwards con- said that Absence Conquers Love," was set to nected himself with a political paper, which bore music, and is now one of the most popular Ameintrinsic evidence of being controlled by a power-rican lyrics, and may be found on every young ful pen. During his residence in Baltimore, Mr. lady's piano. Perhaps an incident like the followThomas, although very young, drew the attention ing, is more grateful to a living author, than a of political parties to himself, by several popular Shakspearian opulence of posthumous fame. In addresses, on occasions of great political excite- 1835, Mr. Thomas arrived in Philadelphia, a total ment. His oratorical powers were of a high stranger. Without any object to awaken a train order; his eloquence graceful and winning, and of reflections which could make him feel less frequently varied by flashes of wit, and irresisti- alone, he walked out in the evening a few hours ble humor; and when pointed at a party opponent, after his arrival, and hearing from one of the meroften barbed with the keenest sarcasm. chants' palaces on Chesnut street, a sound of music, he paused to listen. The words of his own song fell on his ear, warbled by one of the sweetest female voices he had ever heard. The emotions this gratifying incident awakened, were peculiarly pleasing. He felt from that moment that he was no longer a stranger. His talent for swaying political assemblies was soon discovered, and appreciated by his new fellow-citizens. He had been a resident of Cincinnati but a few months, when, in every gathering of the people, his voice was heard, stirring them by its powerful eloquence. His readiness at repartee, and the biting force of his sarcasm, may be shown by the following incident. Like a certain noble poet, Mr. Thomas has a defect in one of his limbs; but, unlike him, he has the wisdom to be wholly indifferent to this peculiarity. On one occasion, during which he was the orator of his party, some reflection, by an opponent in his speech, upon his lameness, started him from his chair. With a kindling eye, and a lip writhing with indignant contempt, he turned upon the gentleman, and in a voice calm and clear, but which rung like a clarion, said "I thank God, that he gave me not two perfect feet, lest my footsteps should be mistaken for that man's!" The careless, but inimitable attitude of his pointed finger, the dark flashing eye, which sought out that of his opponent, and the scorn that dwelt on his curling lip, as he threw all the depth and bitterness of his sarcasm into the last two words, were irresistible and overpowering. Although editor of a warm partisan paper, and launched on the tumultuous sea of politics, Mr. Thomas found time during the lulls of the tempest, to gaze on the colors of the rainbow; to admire the snowy crests of the waves, as they showered their crystals at his feet; and to amuse himself in watching the prismatic changes of the nautilus, as be trimmed his transparent sail. Amid the roar of the waves over which his bark was borne, * These sketches are numbered, without any reference to lite. rary pre-eminence. "Hoc est, Vivere bis, vita priori frui." The "Emigrant" is a poem in the heroic measure, and the metrical arrangement of its stanzas is similar to that of Gray's "Ode to Adversity.” It contains 91 stanzas, and is 728 lines in length. It abounds with strong and beautiful imagery; original and stirring thoughts; is occasionally varied by thrilling transitions, and is not deficient in sound philosophy. In perusing this poem, the reader is struck with a certain energy and manly tone of thought pervading it; and discovers with pleasure, that the author has not sacrificed noble and sound sentiments and common sense, for the sake of a happy turn of verse, or to introduce a garland of fine and flowery words; nor has he substituted an unmeaning word, on account of its smoothness, for one more expressive and sonorous, as is the custom of many of our modern poets, who often seem to prefer smoothness of verse to soundness of thought. The following extracts will show the character of the poet's mind, and better illustrate his powers than any description of them. The first quotation is from the opening stanza of the poem, and happily expresses the feelings of the Emigrant, on leaving his old, and seeking a new home. "We both are pilgrims, wild and winding river! I needs must follow where thy currents lave- There is a sombre coloring visible throughout this poem, which takes its hue from the peculiar feelings of the writer, who at the period of its composition, labored under ill health. He touchingly alludes, in the eleventh stanza, to this infirmity, and finely and poetically expresses the feelings of an ambitious spirit thus clogged in its aspi rations. "Is health returnless? Never more may I Throw by the staff on which, alas! I lean? Is the woof woven of my destiny? Shall I ne'er be again what I have been? And must the bodily anguish be combined The fever of the frame and of the soul, With no medicinal draught to quell it--or control?" The following apostrophe to Love, is rich with the quaint and beautiful imagery, which characterises the old masters of the English lyre: "O, Love! what rhymer has not sung of thee? We will add another quotation, which breathes the divine afflatus in every line, and marks the accurate observer of nature: "And the wild river, laughing, laves its banks- Glad for the present hour, nor anxious for its fate." Alas! another came; his blandishment, from the "Emigrant" is a pleasant allusion to the find defenders in all who have to do with the "glorious uncertainties of the law." "Soon must I mingle in the wordy war, Where knavery takes in vice, her sly degrees, As slip away, not guilty,' from the bar, Counsel or client, as their honors please. To breathe in crowded court, a poisonous breath--- To wrangle, jar, to twist, to twirl, to toil,--- We will here close this notice of Mr. Thomas's poetical works, for these "sketches" are not intended either for elaborate reviews or criticisms, but, simply, brief notices of the writings and style of authors, illustrated when necessary, by occasional quotations. We would observe, however, that the "Emigrant" was, even in this day, when poetry is so little read and appreciated, favorably received, and won for the author the praise and popularity due to genius. A poem of a different cast from the " Emigrant," several cantos in length, and abounding in keen satire, humorous hits at the times, and enriched with several admirable portraits, originating in the eccentricities and absurdities which characterize the fashions and follies of the present structure of society, is now we learn, in preparation by the same author. In November, 1835, Mr. Thomas threw down his gauntlet in the lists in which he had appeared with some success as a poet, and challenged public A more eloquent definition of Eloquence has opinion as a novelist. At this period, tired with seldom been written than the following: "And this is Eloquence. 'Tis the intense The succeeding stanzas, suggested by the sight of Blannerhasset's island, on sailing past it, will close, save one in allusion to his profession, the extracts from this poem. The second stanza, it will readily be seen, alludes to Col. Burr: "Isle of the beautiful! how much thou art, Now in thy desolation, like the fate Of those, who came in innocence of heart, With thy green Eden to assimilate ; Then art her coronal to nature gave, To deck thy brow, queen of the onward wave! And woman came, the beautiful and good, And made her happy home 'mid thy embracing flood. "Wrangling, jarring, twisting, twirling, toiling," he had retired both from the editorial chair and the bar, and devoted himself to the more congenial pursuits of literary composition. "CLINTON BRADSHAW, or the Adventures of a Lawyer," is the title of the work by which he made his first appearance in this new path of literature. In applying his talents to this fascinating species of composition, which has in a great measure taken the place of the epic-rythmical poem, Mr. Thomas was only directing his genius into a field where it could take a higher and wider range. The poet is necessarily the creator of the novelist; and although popular poets will not always make popular novelists, yet no man, however severely his mind may be cultivated, however accurate and extensive his knowledge, however polished and classical his style, can become a popular novelist without being also a poet. The Even tales of London life, have their charms for the American reader: for, with a colonial feeling, that still lives in the hearts of all true Amer one without the other, is the statue of marble, which passes-the triumph of his skill-from the hand of the sculptor, charming the eye with the exquisite symmetry and life like truth of its pro-icans, and that derives its existence from the worportions, wanting the soul to give animation to the thiest and holiest principles of human nature--eye, pencil the veins with azure, and give to the love of "faderland"—we still look with a romanbosom the undulating swell of the heaving wave. tic and filial interest towards the "mother country." "Clinton Bradshaw," to make use of the words All that strengthens these associations, and brings of another, "is the story of a young lawyer of us, in imagination, nearer to a land we love to limited means and popular talents, whose ambition contemplate at a distance, is readily received and urges him to elevate himself by all the honorable cherished. It is, perhaps, to this poetic feeling, means in his power. His professional pursuits lead him among the coarsest criminals, while his political career brings him in contact with the venal and corrupt of all parties. But, true alike to himself and the community of which he is a member, the stern principles of a republican and the uncompromising spirit of a gentleman are operative under all circumstances." rather than to the intrinsic worth of the works themselves, that pictures of London life and manners, which differ but very little, if at all, from those in the principal cities of the United States, find here such extensive circulation, and so large a number of readers; while an American work, of superior merit, cumbers the shelves of the booksellers. We have, moreover, such a censuThe reception of this book by the public, al-rable, but, by the way, very natural propensity, though of a kind flattering to the author, was not to read of princes, dukes and baronets, that the such as to stamp it with that decided mark of mere glimpse of these titles, as they catch the eye approbation, which is the index of popularity; nor in running the fingers over the leaves, is sufficient such as those which had measured the intellectual to secure a purchaser and reader, while the pretty strength of the writer, and witnessed, on other nose is turned up, or the manly lip ejects a occasions, the bold flights of his genius, had anti-"pshaw !" at meeting in the novel lying beside it, cipated. The causes which operated against its only plain misters, and colonels, may be, and perentire success, lay in the introduction of one or adventure a senator or two, and a president. One two characters of both sexes, such as Fielding has "my lord," is worth an army of these republican successfully drawn, but which in the present modi- characters; and so, aside from our colonial prejufication of public taste, even from the pen of a dices for everything English, the American work Fielding or a Smollet, would have been received is thrown down with something like contempt. with distaste. The truth and coloring of these It is owing to these causes, that American picportraits were undeniable, and evinced the pen of tures of manners in American cities, are not a master; but they belong to a school now out of popular here, when, at the same time, they may date, and are superseded by subjects, which, al- be so in England-for we often first know our though of a more chastened and refined character, authors through the kindness, or rather justice are also less marked by strength and durability. of the British press. Viewed under these circumAnother cause may be traced to a peculiarity stances, it is not surprising that a novel of this which may apply with equal force to all Ameri-class-in which "Clinton Bradshaw" is to be rankcan novels, written to portray American man-ed-should have met only with partial success, ners and customs in American cities. The characters being such everyday people as we meet with in the commonplace routine of life, can be invested, however powerful may be the wand of the magician who calls them up to act their part on fiction's stage, by none of that magic and romance, which is at the present day, and indeed since the days of Mrs. Ratcliffe, has been the sine qua non of a successful American novel. It is different with the novels of other countries. The transcendent genius of Scott, in delineating the manners of his countrymen, was aided by the romance of that land of story. There was a stirring tale speaking in every glen; a tradition hanging on every mountain's brow, and ruined castle-wall; and brownies, bogles and elves, wandering on heaths, living in wild caves, or presiding over fountains, were ever ready to start up at the bidding of the great enchanter. where the author's friends, basing their judgment upon a knowledge of his powers, anticipated the most sanguine result. That it did not at once, therefore, take the high stand as a novel, its intrinsic merit entitled it to, is to be referred to causes beyond the control of authors. The foregoing remarks, it should be understood, do not apply to American novels as a class, but to that species of them called "fashionable novels," the characters of which are daily familiar to our eyes, and therefore altogether wanting in those mysterious parts, that go to make up a hero or heroine: Cooper, Simms, Kennedy, Bird, and others, to be hereafter named, have shown us that the American novel can be invested with a dignity, power, and romantic interest, rivalling British works of this class. Our strictures apply only to what may be termed "civic novels." Probably all American novels of this species, however well written and brilliant with genius, will, in | paved streets and fashionable folks, brick-houses their native country, meet with an indifferent re- and pier-glasses behind him, with the first volume. ception, and have only an ephemeral existence. In the second, he fearlessly spreads his wing and Perhaps it may be laid down as an undeniable proposition, that no novel can live, unless it is based on some remarkable historical event, which, like leaven in the lump, leavens the whole, infusing into it a principle of perpetuity. Independent of the genius of the author, this is the great secret of the Waverly novels-the leaven of history pervades them all. "Clinton Bradshaw," however, was only a trial of the author's powers, as a youthful knight tilts in the tournament to try the metal of his barb, and test the strength and fitness of his armor, before he encounters in the more deadly strife of the field. It has been said that one sin is inevitably the parent of a numerous progeny: an author's first book is equally prolific. "Clinton Bradshaw," after having passed into a second edition, was followed eleven months afterwards, (in November, 1836,) by a second novel, entitled, "EAST AND WEST." During the interval, however, he was engaged in the composition of a satirical poem, already alluded to, called "The Beechen Tree," and about the length of the "Bride of Abydos," and with a somewhat similar variety of versification. This will be published sometime in the present year, probably; but, whenever it does appear, it will eminently contribute to the poetic fame of its author. "East and West" assimilates to the same species of fiction, with which "Clinton Bradshaw" has been classed, but does not decidedly belong to it. Like that work, it is constructed upon no historical basis or popular tradition, but professes to be a picture of American manners, deriving its interest solely from the virtues and vices of the characters, and the circumstances in which they are placed. It differs from "Clinton Bradshaw," however, not only in not confining its scenes to the streets and houses of a metropolis, and their trite, daily histories, thereby encroaching too closely upon the province of the penny press, and lessening the dignity and charm of epic composition, but it differs from it in the variety and originality of its characters; the frequent changes of its scenes; (especially in the second volume, to which these observations exclusively apply;) its stirring incidents, and glowing descriptions of western scenes, character and adventure. The character of Blazeaway, a “river character," so called, and a spirited and thrilling narrative of a steamboat race, mark the second volume as no ordinary production. The two volumes are of very unequal merit; the first coming under the class of "city novels," while the second is of a widely different and more popular character. The cause is neither altogether in the author, nor in the style; but in the subject and scenes. He leaves the plumes his crest, like the unchained eagle, who soars to his native mountains, and with a bolder pen, seizes upon the themes and scenes, which, beyond the Alleghanies, spring up unbidden on every side, rich and inexhaustible material for the romancer. The West is the legitimate empire of the American western novelist; and when he shall be content to wield over it the sceptre of his genius, and unfold its wild traditions, his works will contain the true principle of life. "It is a land," says the celebrated Mr. Flint, in a recent letter to the writer, "where every thing in history, natural and civil, every thing in nature and art, pertaining to it, touching its settlement and progress, is, in itself, matter of romance, and wanting, to those who have not seen and observed, vrai semblance almost in the same ordinary standard of romance." A pen that can discourse so eloquently of the West, as in the following stanzas, taken at random from the "Emigrant," should seek no different theme: his muse should linger, "Where stole the paddle-plied and tottering bark * * "Yet, who that ever trod upon the shore, * That Indian mound Will soon be levelled with the plough'd up ground; "Within thee, river! many a pale face sleeps, "Here once Boone trod, the hardy pioneer, The only white man in the wilderness; "How fertile is this dark and bloody ground:' * * * * "Methinks I see it all within yon dell, Where trembles through the leaves the clear moonlight; Sang he his death-song well? was he a chief? Mr. It will be discovered by those who compare Thomas's novels, especially "Clinton Bradshaw," |