"LIFE OF SMITH!"

We found upon our table, a few days since, a work of more than respectable execution and dimensions, having the above title impressed upon its back in conspicuous letters. We did not open the book, we were so struck with the announcement. "Life of SMITH!" Ah! thought we, this, possibly, is the history of that notorious rascal, "John Smith"-that same sad wight, who, in one short month, if the newspapers are to be trusted, took to his embrace three wives, robbed a traveler in Texas, passed counterfeit money in Missouri, stole a horse in Kentucky, fired a barn in Ohio, and presided at a “large and enthusiastic" meeting of the "unterrified Democracy "at the capitol. If so, we shall now have a history that will be attractive and interesting, even to Mephistophiles himself. The world will now be enlightened, and if the rogue is dead, there is an end of his voting more than forty times at one election-a reflection that will

mourners.

greatly increase the lamentations of the But if not the real Johannes, (se ipsissimus) it is doubtless one of his kith and kin--the almost equally notorious Tom, Dick, Bill, or Bob Smith, who kicks up a row now and then in our peaceable emporium, and figures in the vicinage of the Tombs, with sundry aliases of classic euphony. Or, possibly, it is the genus Smith that is celebrated in sober biography. Alas, then, for the profits of directory and other publishers to whom names are a staple in trade. Take away the family of Smiths, and what is there left?

genius and worth, gathered by the assiduous care of friendly hands.

"Heu ! quanto minus est cum reliquis versari quam tui meminisse!"

(Which we take the liberty to translate : Alas! how much less it is to live with all the other Smiths, than to remember thee!)

We ended our soliloquy; we hastily opened the volume:

"Life of the Hon. Jeremiah Smith, L L.D. Member of Congress during Washington's Administration, Judge of the United States Circuit Court, Chief Justice of New Hampshire, etc. By JOHN H. MORRISON. Boston, Charles C. Little and James Brown. 1845."

world was not at once partially depopuWe were glad, at least, to see that the lated!

It is not always wise, in modern days, to publish the biography of a man. So many are issued, setting forth the qualities of persons known and unknown, that they are apt to be promiscuously neglected.

The volume before us was evidently published for circulation amongst the particular acquaintances and personal friends of the deceased, and to them, we believe, it will prove an acceptable offering. We do not see in its pages much that is calculated to interest the general reader, any further than as the example of a virtuous, humane and prudent man is always of public interest. We do not find in it any new or striking views of philosophy, natural or moral, nor of science, literature or law, nor any information or facts touching the history of government, that are not already well known. There is nothing in the record that would induce one to place him in any rank of great men. The copious extracts given from his private journal, and from his correspondence, show him to have possessed a serene, contemplative mind, well balanced and stored with practical wisdom, a generous heart, and a temperament that created for him a circle of warm friends; but little further is to be gathered from the work. Several pages are filled

with specimens of his wit and humor; we confess, that in our obtuseness of intellect, we cannot, in general, discover the point or force of either. We imagine that they can only be appreciated by those who, from their superior opportunities, can associate them with the personal and peculiar private characteristics of the worthy judge. It is an error not at all uncommon with biographers, and into which Mr. Morrison has fallen, to insert anecdotes and sayings of the subjects of their memoirs, which lose all their force the moment they are committed to paper. Mr. Morrison seems to have half-suspected the same thing, uttering a lamentation to the point; "Alas! that there is no way to catch and make tangible the aroma of such wit." If Judge

Smith was truly a gentleman of great humor, no one would suspect him of it by looking into his obese biography. Transferred for safe keeping to such a receptacle, it seems to have exuded through a variety of loose pores, like the flavor of Samian wine decanted into an American jug.

But we close the book, putting it up on a shelf by itself. Its back will always be towards us, presenting a sublimely comprehensive memento:

"LIFE OF SMITH!!"

HISTORY OF GERMANY, from the earliest period to the present time. By FREDERICK KOHLRAUSCH, Chief of the Board of Education for the Kingdom of Hanover, and late Professor of History in the Polytechnic School. Translated from the German, by JAMES D. HAAS. New York: D. Appleton & Co., 200 Broadway.

We have received from the publishers several numbers of their serial re-publications of this very valuable History. The History of Germany is to be completed in five numbers, and will form a most welcome accession to any library. There are no good histories of Germany in the English language. Such of them as are not mere compilations are interwoven with the histories of other countries. We speak, of course, of a complete history, from the earliest ages, and not of detached intervals; for of the latter kind there are numbers of every variety of excellence. The aim of

the author is thus expressed in his own language:

"My sole object has been to produce a succinct and connected development of the vivid and eventful course of our country's history, written in a style calculated to excite the interest and sympathy of my readers, and of such especially who, not seeking to enter upon a very profound study of the sources and more elaborate works connected with the annals of our empire, are nevertheless anxious to have presented to them the means of acquiring an accurate knowledge of the records of our Fatherland, in such a form as to leave upon the mind and heart an enduring, indelible impression."

Accordingly, Professor Kolrausch's History-not, indeed, very eloquent in diction -is concise and luminous, crowding into

brief limits the varied annals of a great

race for many centuries, and bringing clearly before the mind the peculiar ele

ments out of which have arisen several of

the most important States of modern Eu

rope.

The work is for the most part well translated, and published in a form and manner worthy of attention from those even whose fastidious wealth is disposed to snuff at anything cheaply furnished.

Records of the Heart. By MRS. SARAH LEWIS. New York: D. Appleton & Co., 200 Broadway.

It is always with hesitation that we take up a volume of poems by a lady, whatever may have been her known advantages of education and opportunities. They make so much greater use of sentiment than of a kindled reason-of fancy than inventive imagination-of sensibility, in short, than broad, perceptive sense-which, after all, must be at the bottom of all intellectual achievements-that we always fear an evident falling short of the "Divine Heights." We do not agree with all that a writer has urged, in relation to the feminine mind, in a passage of an article in the present number; but we are constrained to think that the grace and beauty which belong to them are also in outward objects so attractive to their thoughts, that they are seldom led to the massive and sublime. Sappho and Miss Barrett, we

think, are really the only ones of the gentle race who have breathed a very rare atmosphere. The others, including even Mrs. Hemans, whom certainly we greatly admire, never get much beyond the region of the affections and passions---of whispering winds and flowers, moonlight and tinkling waters. They have never stood on the difficult "iced mountain-tops," looking over the vast world, with clouds below and the great heavens just above. Joanna Baillie used, indeed, a masculine style; but she had not, in fact, much of the spirit of

poetry.

Like the best of female poets in this country, Mrs. Lewis stands somewhat in proof of these remarks. She lives, and attempts to live only in a land of fancy and the affections. She is taken with the murmur of leaves and waters; she sees always the image of young Love beckoning her onwards. Of these, however-though her strains are often unequal and inartistic --she sings naturally and sweetly enough; and a place will not be denied her among the poetesses of our country. She has feeling enough, which is one of the chief elements of poetry. What she chiefly lacks is greater power of condensation, and more attention to the forms of verse. If she has not written, she has at least printed too much--a fault common to many others. There are many passages in the book so good as to warrant her expending much greater care and labor on shorter efforts. Let her avoid, also, a tendency to imitation-the great fault of our poets. We might put down more points of praise; but we have not space. As it is, we believe the fair author will be better pleased with these few simple indications. "Look into thine own heart and write." We can only make room for two or three brief extracts, which will show the character of her verse, and that she has the poet's eye for the picturesque, and the poetic heart. In the story

of "Florence," we find :

"The waves are smooth, the wind is calm, Onward the golden stream is gliding,

414

The citron-trees along the strand,

With golden fruitage brightly teem; The lilies in the water stand,

Watching their shadows in the stream, And ring the while their tiny bells,

As round their feet the billow swells."

We would suggest, in passing, that Mrs. Lewis do not write too much in the octo-syllabic. It is really a fatal measure, though she has generally managed it well. One or two stanzas, however, from a Monody on L. E. L., may show that she is not confined to that measure. The verses are fine.

"Shelley and White, and all the tuneful

race

Behold their death-bed, their untimely doom!

In India three have found a resting-place, From Missolonghi one went to his tombHow sad! Two hapless sons repose in

Rome,

foam,

Torquato fell by Este's cruel hand,
Dark Sappho sleeps beneath th' Ionian
The immortal Dante in the exile's land,
And thou, fair Albion's child, midst Afric's
burning sand!

Genius on thee had shed his starry beams, And lit within thy breast his quenchless fire;

Thy young heart filled with Fancy's brightest dreams, Whatever Hope, and Faith, and Truth inspire.

But Fate, before whose breath must all To ruin hurled thy high expectancy, expire, The laurel tore from thy impassioned lyre, Extinguished love, thy soul's divinity, And wrung thy bleeding heart till it was bliss to die."