'we have academies, and colleges, and literary institutions, we encourage literary men, and we are a reading people.' All this may be very true, and yet America may be unable to produce any literary work, which is either original or excellent. It is an attempt, and nothing more. The national mind in America is yet in its infancy, it is busy in storing riches, and has no time to impart them. Society is not sufficiently advanced, there is no public call for the exertion of intellect, they are sufficiently interested in the routine of their daily occupations to feel no cravings for literary enjoyment. In old countries, such as England, there are thousands and tens of thousands of the higher, and even the middle classes, who have no other employment but what the literary market affords them, and it is in general these classes which furnish our authors. In America, though reading forms an incidental and pretty general employment, it is, we apprehend, never the sole source of interest. The Americans have heads of colleges, and professors and teachers, and men eminent in various departments of science; but they have not a class of disengaged literati, such as exists in England. As the Americans acquire riches and importance, their frame of society will alter, and a more due and equal cultivation of letters will ensue.

Another circumstance has been mentioned, as possessing a powerful influence over the literature of nations-the form of government. The historical evidence of this fact, if examined, will be found very strong, though the mode in which it operates, is by no means so well understood. Under an oppressive and despotic government, literature never continued to flourish, and never will; it is too much to assert that it has never flourished at all under such influence, for some of the most splendid eras of national literary excellence, have been marked by the subjection of the people, and the establishment of tyrannical power, of which the times of Pericles, of Augustus, and of Louis the Fourteenth are proofs.

While a despotic government, from its debasing the public mind is invaria

bly hostile to the true interests of letters, however for a time it may seem to foster and protect them; a republic, on the other hand, always preferring the useful to the ornamental, does not afford much encouragement to such pursuits.

In a country where the advantages of the different forms of government are united, as in England, where the freedom of democracy is joined to the useful patronage which the court and the nobles can bestow, literature has the best prospect of splendid and lasting success. There will be nobler and higher genius displayed in such a country, than under a despotic monarchy, and it will meet with more encouragement than the aus terity of republican minds would be willing to confer. England is indeed a proud instance of the effect of political institutions on national literature.

These observations may perhaps account, in some degree, for the small progress which the Americans have made in letters, and if we, at the same time,consider the nature of their pursuits as a nation, they may not inadequately account for it. It now remains for us to examine more particularly, the mode in which these disadvantages operate on the literature of the Americans, and more especially on their poetical litera. ture. The most striking feature in their compositions, is, the want of original and deep thought, such as proceeds from minds, which have intensely studied the mysteries of their art. Another failing is, a want of consistency and equality in their writings, and a great absence of good taste. From a poverty of invention, they are also led into a great habit of imitation, in which they are frequently run away with by their bad taste. As a nation, they write precisely like a young author, whose irregu larity has not yet been chastened down into severity of thought and a dignified equality of execution. We may meet as we read, much good and some beautiful writing; but when we turn the leaf, it is more than probable that we shall meet with some sentiment or expression, to use an artist's phrase, entirely out of keeping, something which runs com pletely counter to all our pre-conceived

It is however, evident, that these extracts exhibit very few signs of genius; this is such poetry, as any man of a quick and cultivated mind, would write without difficulty. Mr. Pierpont endeavours, in his preface, to defend the use of double rhymes, which occur very frequently in this poem. To a certain degree, they undoubtedly lighten the monotony of the heroic verse, but Mr. P. has made an unsparing use of them, which gives too great an air of levity to a poem like the present, especially when he is treading upon religious ground.— Witness the following:

"There in dark bowers embosomed, Jesus flings His hand celestial o'er prophetick strings; Displays his purple robe, his bosom gory,

His crown of thorns, his cross, his future glory :

knowledging, that the impelling principle is the same with that which instigates all authors, whose reasons are worth scrutinizing."

The author is a disciple of Walter Scott, with introductory epistle, &c. in due form, and with a sufficient, and more than sufficient change of stanza. Spencerian and heroic, and octo-syllabic verse, with many other kinds, for which names have never yet been invented, consisting of lines of various length, from three syllables to ten,are all mixed up together, to the no small discomfiture of regular ears; the plot of the romance is shortly as follows.

Vaumond, the son of a peasant, deformed in body, and of a greater contortion of mind, sells the reversion of

On pilgrim's staff, in pensive posture leaning;Their reverend beards, that sweep their bosoms, wet With the chill dews of shady Olivet,

Wonder and weep, they pour the song of sorrow, With their lov'd Lord, whose death shall shroud the morrow."

It is perhaps scarcely fair to bring forward The Bridal of Vaumond as a criterion of American talents, as the writer tells us that he is yet a youth, and, amongst the rhymers of the day, * a child,' in a legal as well as a poetical sense of the term.' We believe, how ever, that this 'child' has obtained a certain celebrity on the other side of the Atlantic, and the Bridal of Vaumond has been mentioned, by a writer in a popular Northern publication, as one of the finest of the transatlantic compositions. We cannot join in this eulogy. The poem possesses, and in no inconsiderable degree, all the faults which characterise all the writings of the Americans. It is crude, careless, and pretending, with great attempts at effect, and with very little taste. In the preface, the author insinuates, that fame is his object in publishing, and he seems slyly to hint, that it was Mr. Pierpont's also, though he veiled it under the cloak of charity.

"The author publishes from none of the avowed motives of his countrymen, neither at the solicitation of friends, for the good of the poor, nor for his own good. He is not ashamed of ac

earthly beauty, honour and dominion, or as the author expresses it:—

"He hath given the whole
To the mountain powers,
Body and Soul,

He is our's!"

-But the evil gifts are to be recalled, when he acknowledges the power of the cross, and he is forthwith to be condemned. The fair Isabel is beloved by a true knight Lodowick, but Vaumond is his rival. At a tournament, the satanic knight conquers Lodowick, who had no such powers, and receives from the hand of beauty the reward of valour, at which circumstance Lodowick appears to have been chagrined, as we are told, that

“▬▬▬▬wounded pride and recent smart,

Were burrowing in his inmost heart."

This displeasure is not removed, when at a banquet where Isabel was present,

"He saw the baron clasp her hand,
He heard her tones divinely bland,
Breath'd into his rival's ear ;
That glance so arch-its living light
Had fir'd the frozen anchorite"-

Of course the earthly knight challenges the supernatural one. "Then meet me if thou durst"-He cried, And left the hall with hurrying stride."

Lodowick ought to have known with what kind of an enemy he was

Lodowick having heard his tale, invites the peasant to accompany him promising him innumerable Ave Marias, at Messina.

In the meantime, the plans of Vaumond are rapidly coming to maturity. Rugero, the father of Isabel, on his Rugero, the father of Isabel, on his death-bed," bids them tie the knot of fate," and dies; and the baron desires that the ceremony may be immediately celebrated in a neat chapel of his own, without any pomp, or attendants; Isabel, who does not hesitate, on account of her father's illness, dutifully obeysVaumond, leads his bride down a flight of steps, to which there seemed no termination, but at length they reached a chamber, which appears to have been his Satanic Majesty's Chapel of ease.The cross is seen reversed, and environed with flames, the book is made of dead men's skin, and the priest carefully hides his face, lest his real character should be discovered. At the moment the ceremony is to take place, the shock of an earthquake is felt, the whole scene disappears, and Isabel finds herself in the green-wood shade, supported by

Lodowick and the old peasant, who tell her, that when the earth opened before them, they were led by curiosity, to walk into the chink, where they discovered her lifeless form; and they then conducted her to a neighbouring convent. Lodowick, for a second time, challenges Vaumond, and the heroes meet in the lists. They are both required to kiss the cross, and abjure all magic aid; but this Vaumond stoutly refuses, and at last proceeds so far, as to dash the sacred symbol on the ground, and trample upon it. At this outrage every sword starts from its scabbard, and Vaumond would have perished, had he not blown his horn, at which, an army of subterraneous warriors start up, and a furious conflict ensues; Vaumond and Lodowick meet, but the sword of the latter makes not the slightest impression on his enemy; at length he seizes the large cross, and is about to dash it upon the Baron's forehead, who bends his head to avoid it-The "juggling fiends" pretend, that this is a recognition of faith, and restore him to his original deformity, and immediately after claim him for their prize, by which event every thing is set right.

specimen of the poetry, which is exSo much for the plot; now for a tremely unequal, in some parts rising above mediocrity, in others sinking far

below it.

There are several songs interspersed in the poem,and some verses from these will give the best idea of our author's style.

A FEMALE HEART.
"Hast thou e'er marked on Ocean's breast,
When the wild wave hath sunk to rest,

The golden sunbeams play-
-As upon hearts as soft, as mild;
But ah! too oft as yielding, wild
Dances fond flattery's ray.—'
Their frolic measures couldst thou tell,
Or heed their mystic union well?

*

Or hast thou seen, where Autumn's blast Around the forest leaves hath cast,

-Such wrecks can passion make! Destroying all that once was there, Lovely, of good report, and fair,

The boughs when whirlwinds shakeAnd, from their traces couldst thou tell The breeze that bore, or when they fell?

WALKING DRESS.

CAMBRIC muslin high dress the body is laced bebind: the back is plain, and moderately wide the front is ornamented with lace lozenges; there are two rows let in on each side, which forms the front in the stomacher style: the waist is very long. Long sleeves, made rather tight, and finished at the hand with lace: the epaulette, which is very full, is formed into lozenge puffs by narrow tucked bands of cambric muslin. There is no collar, but a full fall of lace goes round the dress at the throat. A single flounce of very rich work ornaments the bottom of the skirt. The pelisse worn with this dress is composed of the beautiful new silk called zephyreene; the colour is a peculiar shade of lavender it is made tight to the shape, long in the waist, ornamented with rosettes on the hips, and has a high collar rounded in front: the sleeve is moderately wide; it is finished at the hand by three narrow rouleaus of gros de Naples, each at a little distance from the other. The half-sleeve is composed of alternate folds of gros de Naples and zephyreene, which are crossed in front of the arm. The skirt is of an easy fulness, and is trimmed at bottom only with a fulness of lavender-coloured gauze, intermixed with satin to correspond. Head-dress, a bonnet composed of white gros de Naples: the crown is low; the brim large, but extremely becoming, formed something in the capuchin style, but to stand out a good deal

from the face; the edge of the brim is finished with blond, and a bouquet, composed of a full-blown rese, surrounded with buds and leaves, is placed in front: strings, to correspond with the pelisse, tie it under the chin. Lavender-coloured kid boots, and Limeric gloves.

EVENING DRESS.

A low dress, composed of Urlings' lace, figured in a leaf pattern: it is worn over a white satin slip; the waist is rather long; the back plain, and the front formed exactly to the shape of the bosom. The dress is cut much lower in front of the bust than behind. A wreath of leaves, composed of lace, and edged with pink gros de Naples, goes round the bust. The sleeve is a mixture of pink gros de Naples and rich lace: the former in full bias folds, the latter quilled between the folds; these folds are so disposed, as to form a finish to the bottom of the sleeve, which is also ornamented by two small bunches of leaves, one attached to each of the folds. The skirt is fancifully trimmed with pink gros de Naples, laid on plain in separate pieces; the top of each is something in the lozenge style: a rich and uncommonly good imitation of Valenciennes lace is quilled round this trimming, and a deep flounce of lace to correspond finishes it at the bottom : the effect is novel and strikingly elegant. The front hair is dressed in loose curls, which fall low at the sides of the face; it is less parted on the forehead than we have lately