has had some personal knowledge upon which to proceed. His facts are better felt-his characters are drawn with skill-are more real and life-like, more vigorous, and he gives us, certainly, an admirable portraiture of the cold and selfish aristocracy of the region in which he writes. He has embodied in this work much of that surface-warmth, and that orientalism of style and thought which constitutes the poetry of all his writings. His "Sidonia" is an extravagant but rich portrait,-possibly of himself,-into whose mouth he puts all his own pearls of eloquence and thought, and in whose character he embodies his ideal of the Jewish Prince, such as he has described him elsewhere, ere the glory of Judah had departed. The scenes in "Coningsby," where Sidonia appears, are so much Mosaic, but the incongruity is lost in the splendor of the scene, and we forgive the offences against taste in the general magnificence of the idea. “Coningsby," as a tale, is quite as faulty and inferior as any of his preceding writings. We should say that the author again begun without a purpose, relying on his general resources, his fluency as a writer, his adroitness as a sketcher, his wit and play of fancy, to sustain the interest of the work to the conclusion. For its politics, of which there is rather more than the work calls for-it is indeed cumbered with this material, particularly as there lacks a sequel-we are to understand that it embodies the modes of thinking of the author,—— though he is not apt to remain long in one condition of mind--and it treats, with no small severity, the members of the party to which he stands opposed. In this sort of game, he employs a keen weapon, and can inflict a sting upon the heart of the rival statesmen, even though he may totally lack the ability which would serve or save the State. The political novel, to be properly successful, should propose a scheme of politics, should deal in something more than vague generalities, or the mere showing-up of the knaves and fools of party. The author's mind, struggling with a great and national purpose, might rise into majesty in the progress of his narrative, and win for itself the twofold triumph of the statesman and the romancer.

The works of Mr. D'Israeli, in addition to those already mentioned, are "Venetia," "Henrietta Temple," "The Wondrous Tale of Alroy," "The Rise of Iskander," and "Contarini Fleming." He is also the author of an epic poem, psychological in its character, a strange, crude, philosophi

cal fragment, as totally wanting in poetry as it is in art and attraction. Of these works,-perhaps of all his works,Contarini Fleming is decidedly the best as a whole, and most artistical, perhaps, of any. "Henrietta Temple" is a love story, and good of its kind,-not popular, as few merely love stories are, but, of its class, deserving much more favour than is usually accorded to such productions. The "Wondrous Tale of Alroy," is one of those performances which are to be considered rather with reference to the standards of poetic than prose fiction. Its language is that of a dancing prose, its cadences are considered, if not measured, and its topics, frequently, are such as are not permitted usually to prose composition. Many of its passages are marked by a lyrical freedom and flow, which distinctly indicate the purpose of the author to assume for himself uncommon license; and, in his description, in his declamation, in all those portions of his work which are not. actually restrained by the necessities of his narrative, the matter might as well have been put in verse. The story is built upon the fortunes of the Jews during a period of temporary resuscitation, in conflict with the Seljuck dynasty; and the author seems to attempt, but we need not say how idly, to combine the ancient prophet of Judah, her lion and her minstrel, with the Gothic or romantic muse. Whether this was in his conception or not, we may not say ;-but the idea, if conceived, would require for proper embodiment a much greater combination and variety of powers, and a much intenser nature, than belongs to Mr. D'Israeli. To the mere novel reader, such a work was a most offensive disappointment. The story is totally subordinate. The new-born hopes of Israel,-the poetic spirit of the people,— their inflexible destiny and mournful fortunes,-these were the only themes of the author, and for the exhibition of these he chaunts rather than narrates,-dilates in lamentation and song, rather than combines and details in fiction.

"Venetia" is a romance obviously founded upon the career of Lord Byron,-his domestic history formed its subject and furnished its material, and very good material it was,would be, rather, in the hands of one who could throw aside all regard for history and the opinions of English society. Mr. D'Israeli could not do this. He could not make sufficiently free with the facts as they were known, and yet preserve the vraisemblable. He could not disturb opinions

which were tenaciously held by contemporaries. The work is a failure. Not that it does not possess good scenes, good description, good writing, much that is striking, much that is touching, and not a little that is effective and brilliant; but it lacks unity and vivacity, and it fails totally in interest. The secret of success, in taking up a popular subject, is to preserve the popular tradition,-not run counter to it,—and let invention do the rest. It does not appear that our author makes any use of the impressions or prejudices of the times, and his invention is a blank. The story exhibits but little of the artist. Its combinations are ineffective. The character of Byron does not stand out majestically dark from the canvas, and the action lacks prominence as well as cohesion. A terrible and powerful story was expected from such a subject, but this is neither. The topic was sufficiently deep and gloomy to paralyze the usual resources of wit and vivacity in the author, and in the tragic and the terrible he has never exhibited any powers. The better portions of the book are the gentler and the more tender,-its pathos is felt in its scenes of movement. Its still life is feeble. There is dignity and sometimes grace in the action; but, with many proofs of ability, the book is a dull one. It has always been considered a failure by the reader, and no critic, so far as we know, has ventured to disturb this judgment. The endowments of Mr. D'Israeli are various and showy. He has never made the best, or even a proper, use of them. He has been wild and capricious, when he should have been true and stedfast-has sought temporary rather than permanent reputation; has been better satisfied with the vulgar desire to startle, than with the more noble one, to satisfy. His vanity has not suffered him to do justice to his powers. He has a fine imagination, a pregnant fancy, a free and lively thought, a deal of wit and elasticity, and a turn for the satirical, which, if sometimes fretful, is not often ill-humored. To have rendered these powers successful, in any complete work, he should have been more patient, considered himself less and his object more. He should have aimed at, and adopted, a high purpose; and, by diligence, modest working, and the resolve to wait, have acquired the requisite stability, without which all endeavour seems to be idle, and ambition a wretched pigmy, fretting, on some bald eminence, in constant conflict with the winds. He has not been able to endure denial patiently, nor to struggle stedfastly, nor to

work secretly; and, thus it is, that his abilities tell for far less than, in more provident keeping, must have been their worth. That he merited a place, and not the meanest among modern writers of fiction, in this book of Mr. Horne, we hold to be unquestionable. Not that his genius has had any effect upon the age, or will have any in future. We are not prepared to say what might have been its influence, applied differently. But, certainly, no thoughts, traceable to him, have given impulse to any society in the living time. He has wrought no change by his genius, he has given direction to no bodies of men,-an impulse to none of the communities in Christian Europe or America. He is not a man of thinking. He is a satirist in this respect, no more, and a satirist is an Iconoclast, and never a builder. He might pull down, but he set up no idol,-inspired no faith, taught no philosophies. We may trace the influence of Scott, of Carlyle, of Wordsworth, Coleridge and Bulwer, upon the age, even now, while it is passing before us. We e may see their thoughts already in action. Their tastes, principles, sympathies and affections, have, more or less, entered into the popular heart, here and there, in most reading countries. They have spelled the fancies and governed the minds of men, through their desires and imaginations; and, whether true or false, their ways of thinking and expression are impressed upon a generation, which is now rising into greater strength, and with greater courage, to the conflict which is continued through all ages,-the great conflict of man's soul with his temptations and necessities,-than has ever been the case in the civilized world before. We see nothing of Mr. D'Israeli among these influences. He has only pleased, not taught, satisfied the desires of the moment, not fastened himself, with the thousand antennæ of genius, upon the tenacious heart of the outgoing and ever-working multitude. He has thought chiefly of himself, and seldom of them. But this defect he shares with others in this volume, who had far less right to a place in its pages than himself. We pass to their consideration, but must reserve what we have to say of them for another paper. S.

ART. IV. RELIGION IN AMERICA, or, an account of the Origin, Progress, Relation to the State, and present condition of the Evangelical Churches in the United States; with notices of the Unevangelical Denominations. By ROBERT BAIRD. New-York: Harper & Brothers. 1844.

A MOST important fact in the history of Christianity is its toleration of infidelity. If that benevolent system had not emanated from the divine mind, and if it had not been assured of its truthfulness, it could hardly have borne the assaults of its antagonist, so calmly, and so magnanimously. The spirit of intolerance is natural to man; conscious of utter weakness, he strives to compensate himself for it by crushing his opponent. The solemn mysteries of eternity, operating on the religious sentiments, have too often imparted a terrible energy to the passions, which, in the absence of reason, has impelled its subject into violent measures against its foe. The retributions of perdition have been made the punishment of dissent; and forgetful of the distinction between intellectual infirmity and moral turpi tude, fanaticism has never hesitated to employ all its resources, in both worlds, to avenge itself on those, who declined submission to its dogmas. Heathenism has never permitted the existence of skepticism, where it could exert supreme authority. The import of the words "religiones licita," was well understood among the Romans. It was not only such men as Nero and Maximin, who persecuted the disciples of the true faith, but similar enormities were perpetrated under the direct sanction of Aurelius. The mildest form of natural religion was found in Greece, but even there, the enlightened philosopher feared to denounce the popular idolatry. Mohammedanism allows no denial of its pretensions, and hence the absence of conflicting sects, under its dominion. The greatness of God places him infinitely above the reach of puny man, and consequently, the efforts of atheism cannot interrupt his serene complacency. The representation of his wisdom and goodness-Christianity, partakes of his spirit and remains unmoved amid the fiercest hostility.

If we consult the oracles of Christianity, we find, that it contemplated the rise and diffusion of contrary creeds. It foresaw, that the philosophy of Mars-Hill would dispute its