Chalk Marks. 453 the corner grocery is on the decline. But I mourn to say that the glory of Already many of its most valued characteristics have passed away. They have begun even to sell fresh meat there, and there is reason to fear that the boys will desert its very door-step. Already they may be seen lingering in preference by the drug-shops, leaving the sand-box in ignoble repose. Well! veral efforts to remove the incumbrance have been the unsuccessful projector of But touching that corner grocery once more. Know you, reader, that it is a short step from that same place to political preferment? There is a strange proximity between the end of a sugar barrel and a seat in the Common Council. Who will object to this? I maintain that your grocer, engaged all his time in dispensing so many of the luxuries and comforts of life, acquires a good feeling towards his fellows which fits him for public life.. place is a favorite retreat for the hardBesides his working business men, who in the evening assemble to discuss the occurrences of the day, and canvass freely the merits of men as well as measures. was somewhat better arranged a few It years ago, when New York was not quite so large. There was then a back room in which very staid and worthy citizens met to take a draught of "Taylor's Albany ale," and play backgammon, and quietly settle who should be Alderman, and who President? Temperance societies were not so numerous then-perhaps not so necessary. There was more of the country town in the metropolis, and men might safely enter a grocery who would now feel scandalized in appearing there. great place for "Bucktails" and "FeIt was a deralists" in times of yore. I verily believe that the Erie Canal had much aid from the pots of beer over which its construction was discussed, and haply but for those momentous deDates, Clinton, instead of having a name so much honored by some, would this is a part of the great change more enlivens the heart of the good innovation, which has so nearly obliter- FESTUS.* AMONG the tasteful luxuries of fortune would be to keep a Reader, endowed with the requisite qualifications, to peruse the voluminous issues of the press, and separate the grain from the chaff. There are comparatively few modern books that merit a thorough perusal. The besetting sin of authorship in our age is diffuseness; and as it is a period signally marked by social and personal activity, the time necessary to examine and select what is truly deserving of attention in current literature, can be afforded by very few indi-, viduals. Accordingly, we constantly hear one intelligent friend inquire of another if the last new book is worth reading; and it is justly deemed a saving of one's leisure hours to know what may wisely be neglected. It so happens, however, that most of the literary novelties of the day are hastily produced, and, as a natural consequence, the gems bear only a small proportion to the dross. We, therefore, predict that ere long one of the essential appendages to refined wealth will be a species of private secretary, cultivated attaché, or librarian, whose chief duty it will be to inspect new books, designate those worthy of a complete reading, consign some to neglect, and mark the redeeming passages in others; so that his patron may proceed at once to the intellectual banquet, without having his mental appetite dulled or his patience exhausted. This service is, in a measure, fulfilled by criticism; but it often fails of its legitimate purpose because so infrequently independent, just and true. We fell into these reflections after reading the remarkable poem named at the head of this article. It has been lavishly praised and as warmly condemned both in England and on this side of the water. A transatlantic poet calls it a "magnificent production," while one of the most honored of American bards declared that the admiration it excited made him cease to wonder that the Egyptians worshipped cats and onions. Whence this diversity of judgment? We have gone through Festus curious to determine this question, and the apparent extremes of opinion appear to us perfectly reconcileable. As a poema work of art taken as a whole, with reference to the harmonious construetion of a beautiful design or the effective development of a great theoryFestus cannot for a moment compare with standard dramatic and epic poems. It is not skilfully planned; there is no gradual and picturesque unfolding of a clear and great idea. The poem is ill-constructed, elaborate, sometimes to weariness, and quite fails in producing an entire and lucid impression, as on the singer's lip expires the finished song." There is something wayward and indefinite in its plan. The materials are often splendid and rare; but the architecture wants harmony, finish and that grave and sustained unity absolutely necessary to enduring beauty. On the other hand, there are passages of this work, figures of speech, images of tenderness and sublimity, thoughts of grandeur, expressions of fervor and reverence, alive with the very soul of poetry, instinct with celestial fire, strong, deep, intense-worthy of the masters of song; terse as some lines of Dante, lofty as many of the organ notes of Milton, delicate and tender as the sweet interludes of sentiment in the old English dramatists. Hence, while it may be perfectly just to speak lightly of the poem Festus, it would argue an insensibility not to feel deeply interested in its author; for we are confident that the living glow that here and there throws up a glorious light from the incongruous machinery of this poem, had its birth in the consciousness and experience of the writer-that he often looked into his heart and wrote. The intended moral of Festus doubtless is the ultimate triumph of good through evil-the reconcilement of the divine benignity with the apparent Festus, a poem, by Philip James Bailey, barrister-at-law. Boston. First Ame rican edition. B. B. Mussey, 1845. wretchedness of human destiny. The theology of the poem is thoroughly Calvinistic. The dogmas of that system are elucidated in the dialogue, and its spirit recognized as the essential faith; and it is a very difficult problem to combine the religious doctrine with the human feeling of the poem. Exceptions have been taken at what is called the bold sacrilege of the author in the free use he makes of the name of God. In this respect, as well as in the daring vein of speculation indulged, Festus would have been a rich store-house of illustration for Sergeant Talfourd in his admirable defence of Shelley's works, in the case of the Queen vs. Moxan. He quoted, it will be remembered, Milton and Wordsworth, to show how isolated passages could be wrested from the best authors in proof of impiety, if regard were not had to the intent and the general scope of their writings. But no instance cited equals in point of irreverent familiarity numerous speeches in this drama. We agree with the liberal English critics in deeming the rebukes which this characteristic of the poem has called forth, as unjust, philosophically and poetically considered; while, at the same time, as a simple question of good taste, we doubt both the wisdom and necessity of introducing the Deity as an interlocutor in a drama, however religious in its aim, on the same ground that judicious lovers of the fine arts regret the attempts of the old masters to represent the Almighty in their pictures. We hold that there are some ideas that should only be suggested, never defined, because, from their very nature, the attempt to do more is abortive. Leaving, however, the discussion of this point, let us turn to the real merits of Festus, and glance at its actual claims upon our sympathy and admiration. These, as we have before inti mated, rest not upon any successfully To be true man or woman than false god On the strength of this conviction is the genuine, the real, the true, nobly asserted in these pages. It is the same doctrine which inspires Carlyle-warfare upon all sham, cordial recognition of the actual. In fact, the great truth which Festus unfolds to the reader's heart, whatever it may reveal to his understanding, is the beauty, the vitality, the infinite good of earnestness. Attainment, fame, pleasure, opinion and external privileges are scorned in comparison to love and truth. Passion itself is justified through its reality. Only the temporary and concentrated, the poor, mean, unsatisfactory shifts and expedients of unconscious and vegetative life, find total condemnation. On this principle reputation is described as an evil: "The kind, the noble and the able cheered him, Hath many a sacred use. The clouds which hide The plea for concentrated feeling and action-in other words, for integrity of soul, is again urged thus: "Life's more than breath and the quick round of blood; The coward and the small in soul scarce do live. One generous feeling-one great thought-one deed Of good, ere night, would make life longer seem Than if each year might number a thousand days, We live in deeds, not years; in thoughts, not breaths; He most lives We should count time by heart-throbs. As specimens of affluent description, vivid, bold and graphic, we would refer to the address to the wind (p. 62), and the character of a poet (p. 254). The peculiar genius of the author of Festus is, perhaps, best indicated in his remarkable similitudes, ranging from the most homely to the most sublime comparisons. Let us instance a few: "The sons of God, who, in olden days, Did leave their passionless Heaven for earth and woman, And, like a rainbow clasping the sweet earth, Which lives forever through the lives of men, "Friendship hath passed me, like a ship at sea, "She was the sheath wherein his soul had rest, For as be all bards, he was born of beauty, Miles deep at bottom of the sea, hath all Colors of skies and flowers and gems and plumes."-P. 261. "The world shall rest and moss itself with peace."-P. 382. Inflamed-to glow within ourselves, like fire-opals."-P. 358. * "Words are like sea-shells on the shore, they show Where the mind ends, and not how far it has been."-P. 282. Many extracts might be given, rich life, impressive both in thought and with metaphysical comments on human language, such as this: "Men expend life solemnizing points Uncertain as the site of Paradise And area of Hades. We make our hearts the centres of all hopes, Imaginary circles only too Are perfect; therefore draw life as we may, |