and forcible, and finished with a poet's care. She has been styled the priestess of the Della Cruscan school, and her friends have used this negative compliment as a term of praise. Her poetry is, in fact, as smooth as the most flowing verse produced by any dandified scribbler of the academy, but there is an earnestness in her style that carries her productions beyond the pale of their ornamented prettinesses. Miss Landon is frequently as harmonious as Moore, and makes an equally abundant use of metaphor and poetic flowers, we confessbut we prefer the lady's powers of expression in matters of deep feeling and intensity of thought. She addresses herself to the passions of the reader, we are willing to grant; but she never offends his reason: and while the heart surrenders up its citadel to her attacks, the head nods approval, and joins in the league.

The volumes before us are printed conformably to the other standard works published by the same booksellers, and devoted to the complete productions of the most distinguished writers of the day. Romance and Reality, Francesca Carrara, and Ethell Churchill, three of the best written novels of our time-Traits and Trials of Early Life, a series of tales, admirably adapted to young people-The Book of Beauty, and the whole of L. E. L.'s poetical works are given, with the requisite accuracy and perfection.

We are afraid that the generality of every-day readers know but little of the uncommon beauty of Miss Landon's writings, although her name has been popular for a number of years, and her productions appear in the catalogue of every circulating library. Her poems are not sufficiently meretricious in their tone to please the vitiated taste of the worldly, nor are they "horribly stuffed with epithets of" cant and conventicleism, to insure a currency amongst the chosen. That her novels have been more frequently perused in this country than her poems, proceeded, we are willing to allow, from the difficulty of obtaining copies of the most distinguished of her poetical lucubrations-but now, when a handful of shillings can purchase her entire works, we hope to learn a different result. To that portion of our readers unacquainted with the perfection of beauty to be found in Miss Landon's works, we especially recommend the purchase of these volumes, and risk the reputation of our critical acumen on the certainty of delight to be thereby attained.

Miss Landon is now no more. She has married a gentleman of political celebrity, and proceeds with her Benedict to the Cape of Good Hope. We trust that her good sense will prevent her from following in the steps of a large majority of her sex, who, when the prize is secured, cease to practise the accomplishments which formed their principal attractions. Women in general, think it unnecessary to please their husbands by the exertion of any of their former delights; but our poet must remember that the public has claims upon her, which cannot readily be expunged. There are not many writers like the author of the Improvvisatrice.

THE VIOLET-for 1839. EDITED BY MISS LESLIE. Carey and Hart.

We have been more pleased in the perusal of this annual for juveniles than by the investigation of half a dozen of the popular works of the day. The Violet" is exactly the sort of book to place in the hands of our children who are growing out of the period of bibs and bread and butter, and demand information upon the common places of life, and require stronger food than we are in the habit of stuffing into "the mouths of babes and sucklings." We say boldly to any parent, uncle, brother, grand or godfather, and to the fair opposites of the gentler sex, if you are about to spend a dollar in the purchase of a toy, for any little miniature specimen of humanity, pause ere you select the wheeled horse, or the painted carriage, or the dandified doll, or the noisy drum, or other useless present-and expend your determination in the attainment of a book like “The Violet," which imparts a moral lesson in every pleasant page, and leaves the seeds of instruction in the prolific soil of early impressions, with a certainty of good fruit.

Miss Leslie has written the major part of this very useful book, and deserves the united thanks of the senior parts of the community for the wholesome amusement afforded to the junior classes, whose suffrages she is certain to obtain. Other contributors of acknowledged value have given their share to the interest of the pages, and the excellence of seven plates ornamenting its pages, demands the patronage of the lover of the arts. We are unable to fancy the completion of a work more applicable to its destined purposes than

"The Violet" for 1839.

RICHARD HURDIS, THE AVENGER OF BLOOD. A TALE OF ALABAMA. Two Volumes. Carey and Hart. Whilst recording the huge catalogue of cheap London reprints, which the want of an international copyright law foists upon our cis-Atlantic public, we are proud to welcome an American novelist of undoubted worth, and regret that we are unable to give our readers the particulars of his name and station. "Richard Hurdis" is a work of the authorship of which the most experienced writer may justly boast; there are no flou. rishes of unnecessary display in the detailment of the plot; no exordiums of dull morality in opposition to the general character of the hero or heroine, or otherwise out of place disquisitions with which the most successful novelists too frequently overload their pages, as necessary ingredients in the modern art of book-making. The plot is simple in its outline, but well detailed; and with a pleasant familiarity that wins the attention of the reader, and exhibits the power of the author in a favorable degree.

Stewart's Adventures of Murrell, the Land Pirate," has undoubtedly furnished the basis of this novel : the wondrous doings of the " Mystic Confederacy," are given with much accuracy and spirit. We commend the work to our reader's notice.

A TRIP TO BOSTON: IN A SERIES OF LETTERS TO THE EDITOR OF THE UNITED STATES GAZETTE, (Philadelphia) By the Author of Two Years and a Half in the Navy. One Volume. Little and Brown. Boston.

These admirable “Letters" attracted the public attention, while in the course of publication in the United States Gazette; to the worthy editor of which paper the little book before us is most appropriately dedicated. We are not inclined to "gild refined gold, or add a perfume to the violet," by offering one line of commen. dation in behalf of a publication so deservedly popular as these letters from Boston. The author, E C. Wines, Esq., is well known in the literary world by his productions on various popular and useful subjects. Independent of his "Two Years and a Half in the Navy," a comment on which is superfluous, he is the author of "Hints on a Popular System of Education," and a work of more than usual merit, "How shall I Govern my School?" We trust that he will persevere in giving the public "Home Tours," on the model of his "Trip to Boston." We have never read any thing more agreeably written, and congratulate him on his style of description and felicity of temperament which enables him to furnish a pleasant book from the commonplace details of an every day trip.

HANINGTON'S DIORAMAS.

BY THE AUTHOR OF "TWO YEARS AND A HALF IN THE NAVY."

MR. EDITOR-I crave a corner in your Magazine wherein to address a word or two to the public ear. During a recent trip "down east," while at Boston, I was attracted, by the magniloquence of Mr. Hanington's advertisements, to "Concert Hall," the place of exhibition of his so called "Grand Moving Dioramas." New York is Mr. H.'s head quarters, but he has been drawing crowded houses in Boston for the last two or three months. The newspaper press of both cities has teemed with eulogy on the beauties of his exhibitions. Echoing the music which has thus, for months, been chanted in full chorus, I should now proceed to say:My expectations, high as they were, were more than fulfilled. Glowing as were the descriptions I had seen, they had scarcely given me any idea of the splendor, gorgeousness, and unrivalled magnificence of these superb representations. In short, my admiration and my pleasure were equal; and both were full, crammed, overflowing.

The evening's entertainment commenced with a "View of the General Deluge." It was a bold conception-and shows the daring of true genius, to attempt to imitate, by machinery, the progress and completion of that fearful catastrophe. But with what mastery has the conception been executed! No language can do justice to the awful grandeur and sublimity with which the artist has invested this peerless spectacle. The rolling thunder, the rattling tempest, the ceaseless rising of the sullen flood, the gradual disappearing of men and women, till the whole earth becomes one dreary waste of waters, and the subsequent appearance of the inimitably beautiful rainbow-all conspire to add to the spectator's pleasure, and to draw forth the loudest plaudits. I must confess that this spectacle gave me a better idea of the terrible event, commonly called 'The Deluge,” than I had obtained from the bible, from poetry, or even from the most eloquent sermons.

The "Italian Landscape," is so perfect that one can almost obtain a better idea of Italy from it, than from an actual visit. At all events, fifty cents will here give a sufficiently accurate idea of the scenery, pastoral life, beautiful skies, and rural amusements of that land of pictures, statues, and song.

The "Scene in India" is loaded with eastern magnificence. How splendid, how gorgeous, how enchanting that view is! Here you see camels, and elephants, and horses most richly caparisoned; and officers, soldiers, and citizens attired in the queerest manner, and walking in solemn procession. Why go to India to see oriental life and nature? I do not hesitate to pronounce it arrant folly to incur the enormous expense and the thousand hazards of such a voyage, when the trifling sum of four shillings York, paid into the hands of Mr. Harrington, will answer every purpose almost as well.

The beautiful Fairy Grotto" is a perfect bijou. I never knew what gorgeous colors were before, nor how many of them could be brought together. "Tis amazing. To see the "fairies," too, (rather stout fellows, it is true, but no matter) drawn by swans, and the richly plumaged birds, and the dear little fishes of Fairyland whirling about in the globe! "Tis too delightful!

The "Moonlight Sea View," embracing a storm and a shipwreck, is well reserved to the last. It is a master-piece, a sort of Corinthian capital to the whole scenic representation. How can I praise it better than by saying that you can here get a perfect idea of a tempest upon the ocean, and of the manner in which a shipwrecked vessel sinks beneath the waves, without any of those disagreeable feelings, which a real shipwreck, or even a good painting or poetical description of such an event, would occasion. This is a capital advantage, and shows the triumph of the artist's skill, and his mastery in the art of pleasing.

After these beautiful, splendid, and inimitable Dioramas, which I wish I had the ability to praise as they deserve, the evening's entertainment is concluded with the "Italian Fantoccini, or the Puppet Dancers." Here the genius of frolic reigns supreme. True, you admire the mechanism somewhat; but the chief pleasure is in seeing the odd capers and hearing the witty talk of the puppets. One of them swallows his own head; another dances on that member; a third is frightened from his propriety by an imaginary ghost; and so on and so forth. They are really charming fellows.

I consider that the great merit of this exhibition lies in its tendency to promote good morals, to foster a pure taste, and to give some ideas of nature.

Such, Mr. Editor, is the tone I should assume, such the strain in which I should give utterance to my feelings, if I swam with the current, or mingled in the crowd. But I cannot do it; and I am about to utter certain of the foulest heresies that have fallen upon the public ear for a twelvemonth. It is not pleasant to op. pose one's individual judgment to the general taste. There is an air of assumption about it, from which the mind instructively recoils. To this cause, which is deep and pervading, must surely be attributed the silence of criticism with regard to these much vaunted spectacles. It cannot be that all who have seen them can have been pleased with such caricatures of nature. Caricature has its domain, and, in one sense, its "field is the world ;" for the follies of mankind, which are scattered broadcast wherever men exist, are its proper subjects. But nature, in those scenes where she awes by her sublimity or enchants by her beauty, and in those operations which, as they are stupendous or gentle, are alternately the source of terror and of pleasure, does not rightfully belong to the domain of this laughter-loving goddess These are scenes for the poet and the painter, and the eloquent orator, but not for the pencil of the caricaturist. His touch here untunes the harmonies of nature, and disfigures her fairest features. And no less a barbarism than this does it seem to me that Mr. Hanington has perpetrated in these his dioramas. His "General Deluge" struck me as nothing short of absolute burlesque, no more to be compared in dignity and effect to the simple majesty of Moses's description, than a pebble to the rock of Gibraltar, than a pile of burning shavings to the fires of Etna, or than his own petty machinery to the terrible catastrophe which it professes to portray. The "most beautiful rainbow," which appears "after the thunder's awful sound dies in the distance, and the dark clouds clear away," is a chef d'oeuvre of absurdity and deformity, altogether beneath criticism. In short, the entire representation seemed to me destitute of every particle of verisimilitude. It shocked the sense of propriety, not to say the sentiment of piety; it did violence to the imagination; and it produced, at least in my mind, no emotion but disgust.

The Fairy Grotto, " gotten up at an expense of over five hundred dollars in the mere decorations,” is indeed perfectly beautiful, if beauty consists in bringing as many gorgeous colors together as five hundred dollars will buy, and in first painting and then pulling backward and forward certain stiff and brawny figures on what are called swans, under the cognomen of "Fairies" But why stop at five hundred dollars? A thousand dollars would have made the gewgaw twice as beautiful, and two thousand would have given it four times its present beauties. To be serious-if all our youth were allowed often to contemplate such dazzling spectacles as this so called grotto, and taught to lavish their admiration upon them, the last vestages of a pure and simple taste, a taste in harmony with our institutions, and fitted to exalt and purify while it refines our nature, would in a few years be obliterated from the American mind.

But why multiply words? Wherefore criticise specifically every piece in the exhibition? The same general characteristics run through them all. I could not but be struck with the difference, nay, the perfect contrast, between Mr. Catlin's truly valuable and magnificent "Indian Gallery," and Mr. Hanington's "Grand Moving Dioramas." In the former, there is real food for the intellect, a true and deep fountain of instruction, a field for the play of the higher powers and better sympathies of the soul; in the latter, there is empty show, there is vapid taste, there is pointless humor, there are grotesque caperings, there is, in a word, a ruthless caricaturing of the sublime and the beautiful in the features and operations of nature. The sympathies of the spectator are not called forth in a single insta nce. Even the shipwreck causes less emotion than the drowning of an insect, terrific as such an event would be in the reality, and much as the mind would be touched by a good representation of it in painting, or a graphic description in language. This, it appears to me, is a decisive test. Any serious representation, no matter of what, which fails to tally here, must either rest upon a false basis in principle, or be radically deficient in execution. A failure, on either hypothesis, would be equally fatal to the true and proper excellence of Mr. Hanington's dioramas as imitations of nature, but not to his reputation as an ingenious and skilful machinist. This merit no one will deny him. His pieces, especially the Fantoccini, display extraordinary ingenuity and mastery over the principles of mechanism; and in this regard, may well excite the admiration not less than the wonder of every beholder.

In conclusion, I must offer a twofold protest. First, I protest against the charge of setting up my taste as infallible. I have given my opinions freely, with the reasons on which they are founded, as I hope always to have the courage to do; but I do not assert that they are infallibly right, and all others wrong. Many persons feel and think differently from me; and they are as little liable to error as I am.

I do not think the less of them for their difference of opinions. In the second place, I protest against this hasty critique being called or considered an attack upon Mr. Hanington. It is too much the practice in this country, when a man's opinions are controverted, to ascribe the opposing arguments to personal motives; as if there could be no difference of opinion not based upon a personal grudge, and no expression of variant views not designed to wound the feelings and hurt the standing of your antagonist. I have not the pleasure of a personal acquaintance with Mr. H., and do not even know him by sight. I know nothing to the contrary, and therefore presume him to be a well-principled, worthy man ; but I do not admire his dioramas, nor believe in their great utility; nay, I think that their tendency is to vitiate the taste, and gives false views of nature; and I hope there is no harm in saying so.

FREELY TRANSLATED FROM THE FRENCH OF VICTOR HUGO'S "LE ROI S'AMUSE."

BY WILLIAM E. BURTON.

[Le Roi S'Amuse, an historical tragedy, was prohibited by the French government after its first performance in Paris. Various reasons were assigned for the interdiction, but the author's real offence was in publishing revolutionary and anti-monarchical tenets upon the stage. Victor Hugo printed his tragedy, with an explanatory and critical preface: but the drama was not allowed to be again performed. The following tale embodies the principal incidents of the tragedy, and is divested of the objectionable parts that occasionally dim the brilliancy of this supposed chef d'œuvre of the romanticist school.]

In good faith, Sir Marquis, under the auspices of our good king Francis, whom heaven long preserve, folly is the paramount good, and almost sways the destinies of France. Our court fool, the hunchbacked Triboulet, is highest in royal favor: and nobles, commons, poets, priests, and privy councillors must bow to the bauble and the bells."

"The bow-legged jester ruffs it bravely, I confess," said the Viscount de Pienne, and the fair haired beauties of the court seem pleased to bask in the sunshine of his smiles."

THE heavy bell of Notre Dame was striking the hour of noon, when the folding doors of the spacious presence chamber in the palace of the Louvre were thrown open, and the courtiers flocked to bend their knees before the footstool of Valois. Francis the First was in the zenith of his pride and power; the queen mother had gathered round her the loveliest flowers of fair France, and belted knights and gallant chevaliers did homage to their beauty. The profligate sovereign was the gayest butterfly in the imperial gar-seen any thing yet of that dear little blue eyed angel dens; he flitted from bower to bower unchecked, and rifled the bud of its sweets, or revelled in the beauties of the full blown rose.

A lordling, whose unfledged face told of his tender years, and looked strangely naked amidst the bearded countenances of the other cavaliers, joined the group. "A fair day to your lordships. Master poet, hast

who accompanied de Montmorenci in his last visit to the Louvre? I have not slept these two nights for thinking of her lovely ringlets, the twinkle of her delicious eyes, and the wicked little dimple in her chin." "Well said, de Brion! you improve daily."

"I am proud of your commendations, viscount, and flatter myself that I have not lost time. I have scarcely been six months from my father's castle, yes have I been eleven times in love, and run away with twice. But where is Triboulet? his majesty has inquired for him more than once, and the fête lacks propriety without the presence of folly's chief. I hear his bells. Here comes the scoff and scourge of our nobility."

Diana of Poictiers, a name infamous in the history of France, was the reigning favorite-the last victim of royal turpitude, and the star of the licentious court. Diana's father, the aged Count de Saint Vallier, was justly enraged at the baseness of his monarch, and entered into a conspiracy against his life. Detection followed, and St. Vallier was sentenced to the block. The execution, which was to have taken place on the morning of the fête, was stopped at the very last moment, and the broken hearted parent was conducted from the scaffold to the cell wherein he was doomed to end his days. Triboulet, the king's jester, was below the middle These events furnished important topics of con-height, and hideously deformed. The hump of his versation for the triflers of the court. A group of noblemen had collected in one of the anti-chambers, and Clement Marot, the poet of the day, hastened to join the circle.

VOL. III.

N

broken back peeped over his shoulders, thrusting for ward his huge and mis-shapen head. His bony arta were of most unusual length; and his thin snake-liko fingers played with the bells that hung at his distorted

knees, as he crept stealthily along the corridor. A

the common executioner. The head that tossed in tight party-colored dress of rich material rendered his scorn of the poor buffoon was bared and ready for the deformity fully apparent. His bauble-folly and paint-block." ed dagger of lath were suspended from an embroidered girdle. The crown and back of his head were closely shaved, but a rim of fiery red hair surrounded his face. His bushy eyebrows projected over his small but sparkling eyes, which were too deeply set to illuminate the deadly yellow of his countenance. His nose was long and peculiarly thin; and his enormous mouth, moving in constant restlessness, told alternately of suffering, scorn, and joy.

"Triboulet," said de Brion, “you have come to my very wish. I mentioned your name, and you crossed the corridor. The dog heard his master's whistle, and knew that he was wanted."

66

The fool turned a haughty glance upon the stripling courtier. "T were well if every puppy knew his place," said he. 'Why are you out of the nursery? is it to seek my cap and bells for play-things?" "Come, come, sir fool, reserve your wit for a higher quarry. The king awaits you."

"Oh, gracious king-to wait the coming of a fool!" "Chabannes, de Cossé-nay, the whole court require your advice as to the prosecution of the fête." "What!" said Triboulet, "the assembled nobility of France require the counsel of a fool! Oh, happy nation, where folly leads all classes by the nose!"

"Perhaps," said de Brion, "the wondrous loveliness of our court ladies has sated the monarch's sight. He is tired of much beauty; your monstrous ugliness will relieve his eyes."

"But his life was saved!" said the viscount. "Petticoat interest, messieurs. The fair Diana interfered, and the king thought it would be scarcely civil to cut off the head of his natural father-in-law." The courtiers indulged in a heartless laugh; and, adjusting their ringlets to the best advantage, favored the jester with a patronising smile, and glided into the presence chamber of their sovereign. The poet stalked past the fool with a haughty glare, and followed the lordlings, hat in hand.

"Groveling wretches!" said Triboulet, "hence to your kingly adoration! slaves, debased in mind and body, lower than the fool you spurn. The fool! aye, the hired jester! the means of laughter to an idiot court! the deformed buffoon, employed to make the vicious laugh, even though his heart were bursting. If I would seek retirement, or soothe the agony of my soul, which, shut up in a distorted body, preys upon its own bitterness, my master suddenly appears! my gay, my happy, handsome master! He kicks his poor mis-shapen jester, and says, as he spurns me, Fool, make me laugh.' Why, why is this? I was poor, but honest. My heart was stored with every germ of virtue. I asked for work-they sneered, and pointed at my hump. I begged for bread, and I received the scourge, with the more stinging application of my fellow men's contempt. The rich thrust me from their doors as a hateful lump of deformed mortality; the poor refused to commune with the mis-shapen va

Relieve mine, young sir, and quit the anti cham-grant; and woman, God help me! woman, the only ber. I hate to see the young serpent essaying to spurt his venom ere he hath well cast his skin."

"Your impertinence, master fool," said the undismayed youngster, "is something like your hump-a nuisance thrust conspicuously forward where it is not required."

The young lord tripped into the presence chamber, and was soon lost amidst the crowd. The jester scowled hideously around him, and the courtiers sneered at his emotion.

Harkee, my knight of mimes," said the viscount, "had you not better attend his majesty? Your popularity has already received one blow to-day. Francis has pardoned your old enemy, the Count de St. Vallier."

"But not till I had fattened my revenge! The count honored me with a blow before the assembled court. I swore retaliation, and I achieved it. The king had favorably noticed the beauty of the fair Diana. I knew my cue; and soon convinced the lady of the folly of remaining in the dull castle at Poictou, while a youthful monarch was pining for her charms. I gratified my sovereign, and my revenge! The old count struck me upon my hump, but I smote him upon the heart."

"It was your penetration, Triboulet," said the Mar. quis de Pienne," that discovered the conspiracy of St. Vallier against our royal master's life, was it not?"

"It was. And this very morning, I beheld the hand that smote me, bound with disgraceful cords by

good on earth, refused to look on me. The old dames scorned me as a hideous monster! the children mowed and gibbered in disgust! and the teeming bride fled my sight with a shriek of horror, lest her unborn babe should partake of my deformity. And yet this heart, crushed by my fellow creatures, because it is contained in an unsightly shape, the gift of my Creatorthis heart was formed for love-for doting, maddening love. Blanche! my child! the living image of my lost Adele! enclosed within the blossom of a father's fond affection, may thy lot in life reverse the sadness of my gloomy fate."

The court jester was again summoned by an attendant page to the presence of his sovereign.

King Francis was lazily reposing upon a sofa throne, in lightsome chat with the Duchess of Florine, who was leaning in a fascinating attitude against one of the arms of the couch. Several of the ladies of the court were envious of their prolonged discourse, and tried the effect of various artifices to attract the attention of the monarch. The bright eyes of the young Duchess riveted the royal flirt to his seat, till the Countess de Cossé, one of the especial beauties of the day, in promenading by the side of the throne, dropped her feather fan, with a glance of tenderness at the king. The young monarch accepted the challenge-he sprang lightly from his lounging placethe fan was presented with a gracious bow, and an animated conversation ensued.

Triboulet found the king thus pleasantly employed;