it is the glory of Socrates that he led forth virtue from the retreats, to which the wickedness of man had banished her, and called the world to gaze upon her divine beauty; enforced her claims by the eloquence of his blameless life, and dying, bequeathed to posterity an example, which no man can truly study without becoming wiser and better.

ART. VII.-CRITICAL NOTICES.

1.-The Mysteries of Paris. A Romance of the Rich and Poor. By EUGENE SUE. Translated from the French by HENRY C. DEMING. New-York: J. Winchester. 1844.

MR. DEMING has made a very graceful and spirited translation of this popular, and, in some respects, very remarkable work. It is a work in which the author appears in the two-fold character of the philosopher and romancer. In his former character, we are not prepared to esteem M. Sue, very highly. So far as the benevolence of his philosophy extends, it is no doubt highly creditable and praiseworthy. Whether it be available to any great degree for the benefit of his species, is another matter. The subject is one which involves numerous difficulties, and is not more lucid, because it is also one which is particularly susceptible of ingenious speculation. We do not perceive that the opinions of M. Sue, even when most novel, are quite original, and when so, we are not so sure that they are then either true or wholesome. But it is not as a philosopher that we have need to examine our author, whose attractions will be found in his picturesqueness of detail, his variety of resource, the spirit of his narrative, and the general novelty-to us-of his material. His story certainly lays bare a condition of things in the moral and social world of Paris, of which, in our inartificial inferiority, and ignorance, in this country, we could have had no adequate conception. Even now, we must ask ourselves,—“Can these things be true?" We can very well comprehend, from our own observation and experience, how, here and there, a monster like the "Schoolmaster" or "La Chouette," and "the Notary," might be found, in a great metropolitan city like Paris or London;-but that there should be whole massed communities of such monsters, these, too, the creatures of a social condition which, having made, suffers them still to be free, and to prey upon its own bowels, with an industry and rage equally ardent and unscrupulous, is, of all things, the most astonishing and terrible. While we are willing to yield considerable credence to an author, like M. Sue, who has no reserves, and who nowhere shows the halting and hesitancy of a wriVOL. V.-NO. 9.

33

ter who is compelled to tax his invention, we are yet free to declare, that we must have better testimony before we subscribe unhesitatingly to the general truth of this narrative as a picture even of Paris. We are afraid that our author has simply labored to "out-Herod Herod," and, in the construction of a story of crime, to throw into the shade the frequent exaggerations of revolting pictures by which preceding romancers appealed to the prurient appetites of vulgar readers.

The plan of publishing in weekly or monthly parts, is particularly favorable to this mode of accumulating horrors. The simple task before the author, in such a mode of publication, is to keep up the stimulus,— to see that the excitement of the reader does not flag; and thus it is that, action becoming the paramount object, propriety loses its claims, and the symmetry of parts, and even of individual character, becomes an inferior consideration. The same practice results in a diminished regard to the frame-work and general d. pendance of the several periods of the story. The scheme of the "Mysteries of Paris," is equally improbable and inartistical. It depends for its success upon its startling and terrible events,-its strong contrasts,-its scenes equally strange and picturesque,-sometimes horrible and revolting,-but at all times full of spirit, well drawn and elaborately carried out. Such a career as that of Rodolphe would be impossible in any city. For young persons of either sex, whose characters are as yet unformed, it is a volume in the last degree pernicious. Such an episode as that powerful onepowerful but painful and humiliating in the extreme-of Cicely and the Notary, Ferrand, should alone be sufficient to exclude it from the hands of every woman not already and utterly abandoned. The story of Cicely and David on the coast of Florida, is equally loathsome and ridiculous. Its gross and absurd improbabilities, to those who know the country and the people, can provoke no sentiments but those of scorn and disgust, while, at the same time, it betrays one of the thousand modes by which the innovating spirit of false philanthropy is working adversely to our institutions. The frequent power of these passages in the "Mysteries" is not denied; but this very power makes the work still more objectionable in portions where the object is falsehood and injustice. The scene in which the "Schoolmaster" is deprived of his sight is one of these-a terrible scene-admirably drawn throughout; but beyond all moral and social sanction, and very much impairing the claims of Rodolphe to the applause which the author every where challenges for his benevolence, his nobleness, his justice. The deserts of the criminal are one thing, the power to punish is another. The philosophy upon which Rodolphe works, is that by which crime is to be prevented the only Christian doctrine-not that by which it is punished. "Vengeance is the Lord's !" is the axiom under which the prisons are to be purged and reformed;-the security of society, not the wretch who invades its peace, being the great principle upon which modern philanthropy prepares to build up the fabric of reform in all that concerns the relations of the community to its felons.

The sequel of the work, under the title of "Gerolstein," is tame and shows a jaded invention. The moment the author withdrew from the sinks and stews of Paris, his invention seems to have failed him. We may almost suppose that he grew tired of his task. This 'lame and impotent conclusion,' resulted necessarily from the plan upon which he wrought;—a plan which did not contemplate the perfection of design, but only a succession of wild, wondrous and terrible events. The story should properly have ended at the barriers of Paris, with the death of Chourineur, and the final escape of Goualeuse, from the horrors which surrounded her, to a country where all was peace and sweetness, and all was in happy correspondence with the exquisite delicacy of her own etherial nature. Readers, generally, we think will reproach the author for the fate of La Fleur Marie, and yet, if the story was to be prolonged beyond the period we have assigned for its proper close, we do not see what else he could have done with her. Her destiny seems to be equally in keeping with her character and history. We are not sure that she is not made too morbidly to reflect, in the day of her pride and prosperity, upon the period of her involuntary shame and degradation; yet, this too, is, in considerable degree, in keeping with the same character, seen through all its phases. The work, as we have said, is a very remarkable one in more respects than one, and to those whose passions have been trained and subdued by thought, and time, and experience, it will open new views of society, if not of man. At all events, to them, it cannot be hurtful, may be heaithful, and must be highly interesting. But, from the young, we would as religiously exclude it, as we would exclude the gross pictures of similar histories, addressed to the eye, which issue from the same prurient regions. The American translator deserves commendation for the general excellence of his translation. The publisher has also creditably performed his part. The edition before us, is on good paper, in a type clean and new, and the impression is very far superior to the usual style of our cheap publications.

2.-Alison's History of Europe. 4 vols. New-York: Harper & Brothers. 1843.

THE publication of the American edition of this work is at length completed, and in a style sufficiently neat to make it eligible to every li brary. It shall form a subject of our future analysis. At present we must content ourselves with acknowledging its general merits,—its spirit, eloquence, every thing, but its truth in what concerns America. So far as republics and republican institutions and principles are concerned, Mr. Alison, if he sees at all, seeks through the very greenest medium of hostility,-as a man darkly, or coming suddenly out of darkness into a great light. He is not capable of the truth-not equal to its comprehension at all-in any matter that brings our country into the discussion. But that his book is very valuable on many accounts, we are not prepared to question.

3.-Colomba: or the Corsican Revenge. A Tale. Translated from the French of PROSPER MERIMEE, by a South-Carolinian. Charleston: Burges & James. 1843.

THE great success which has attended the publication of certain recent translations from the French, is likely to bring us rapidly and largely interested in the piquant literature of that very lively people; and, in the absence of a native literature of our own, which is the present besetting apprehension of the thoughtful-minded among us, it is perhaps just as well that Jean Crapaud should divide, in some degree, the wholesale admiration with which we have been taught to regard the labors of his mighty rival and close neighbor. It is a consideration of this kind, rather than their intrinsic value, that makes us delight to see the novels, from the Swedish, of Frederika Bremer, and which persuades us of the efficacy of an increasing intimacy with the writings of modern Germany. By these new acquaintance, we are taught a lesson, which it has not been easy for our people to learn,—namely, that our English friends do not carry a monopoly of all of the precious goods of thought, and wit, and philosophy, and sentiment; that the Bulwer's, the D'Israeli's and the Dickens', are not the unchallenged masters in their several departments; and that, if we are disposed to concede their entire superiority over our minds, such a concession is not made by other nations, which have, indeed, very good reasons for asserting their own. The writings of Eugene Sue, Prosper Merimée and others, are likely to make us better judges of modern French roinance, than those of George Sand and Paul de Kock; though, we are constrained to admit, that there are still too many things in the stories of the first named of these authors, too highly seasoned with the peculiar and dangerous condiments, by which the works of the last of them are commended to the vulgar admiration.

From any objections of this sort, the volume before us, from the pen of Prosper Merimée, is happily exempt. It is a tale of passion, characteristic of the peculiar customs of the times and people among which and whom the scene is laid; full of exciting incidents and materials, but perfectly unexceptionable in morals. The translation does full justice to the style of the author. His version is free, easy and not deficient in gracefulness. We owe it - though this does not appear upon the title page-to a friend and neighbor-Mr. Frederick A. Porcher, of St. John, Berkeley, in this State,-a gentleman of leisure and education, well known to a select circle of friends and admirers, for his amiable manners, and intellectual acquisitions; who contrives, amidst the seclusion of our country life, to solace the cares of the planter, by an occasional dalliance with the Muses. We trust that the success of this, his first sally into print, will be such as to prompt to a renewal of his public labors; and that he will not always confine himself to the subordinate

tasks of the translator. Colomba is from the press of our own publishers, of whose ability to do good work, our quarterly issues bear always the most ample testimony. It is beautifully printed, in neat form, and on paper very superior to that generally employed by the cheap publishers.

4.-Harper's Pictorial Bible-The Holy Bible. Harper's Illuminated and new Pictorial Bible. New-York: [Published in numbers.] Harper & Brothers. 1844.

A rich and beautiful work. The American press continues to surprise us with the singular and contradictory extremes, at one moment, of publications rarely exquisite for their typographical and pictorial excellence; and, at another, for the villainously coarse materials and rascally style of their execution. The palace and the hovel go together in strange juxtaposition. Wealth and beggary embrace; and the rags of pauperism flout the robes of luxury with the happiest effrontery. The facts may furnish some foundation for new hopes in society. The base editions have their uses as well as the best; and while the latter appeal to the tastes of those whose morals are too apt to have their sources in no deeper sentiments; the former, in spite of dingy paper and small type, speak home to the hearts and hopes of others, who can afford to seek their knowledge through a no more costly medium. At all events, let us hope that such is the case at present.

The Bible is a volume equally deserving and susceptible of the most rich and beautiful illustration. The edition, of which a first number lies before us, is exquisitely conceived and finished. The publishers and printers have exhausted their skill upon it; and the artist, whose designs accompany its most glorious passages, has gone to his task in the happiest moods and moments of his fancy. Chapman is one of the most tasteful and fanciful of our painters. He was the very man for this sort of labor; the demands of which bring happily into exercise the peculiar gifts and graces of his genius. Pure and pleasing in his conceptions, light and felicitous in his touch, he has the knack of hitting off a group, a grove, a bit of landscape, or the personification of a sentiment; with equal boldness and beauty. Some of the pictures in this number are very sweet and touching. With few exceptions, they are uniformly happy. That of "the Creation" comes nigh to be a great conception; while that of the "Tower of Babel" is a noble one. There are some deformities in the "Death of Abel," and "The Fall of Adam," though very graceful, lacks originality. The "Flight of Hagar" is full of freshness; and the landscape, which forms its back-ground, is appropriately expressive. But where there is so much to commend, we cannot parti