It is not the province of this Magazine at least in its EDITORIAL department to touch, however superficially, upon the question of politics.

Although we believe that the SOUTHERN STATES are standing on the verge of a Revolution; although, it appears to us, that the elements of strife, discord, and hatred, have been heated up to the point of absolute convulsion ;--we shall not abandon the line of our original policy by intermeddling with any of the grand national or sectional issues of the day.

On the contrary, our course still leads us through the peaceful realms of liter

ature.

Keenly alive to the momentous issues of the hour, profoundly impressed by the threatening aspect of affairs, we are still inclined to linger lovingly among scenes and personages, as far removed as possible from tumult, passion, and deeds of violence and bloodshed!

We invite you, therefore, respected reader! to turn for a moment, from the agitating events now in progress, towards discussions of a wholly different and more tranquilizing nature.

Some months ago, a movement was made, chiefly by certain over-zealous "religious journals," to induce or rather to compel the Messrs. Scott & Leonard of New York, to omit among their republications of British Quarterlies, the able periodical known as "THE WESTMINSTER REVIEW."

The reason given for this movement was, the alledged infidel character of THE WESTMINSTER."

We urged, at the time, in reply, that as the work in question was not an educational organ," addressing itself to the young, unformed mind, but a publication designed solely for adults, to whom the great mass of literary productions, (whether infidel or orthodox,) must necessarily, always remain open, it was worse than useless to attempt the suppression of "the Westminster," because its views, (and these we have

never defended,) happened to be offensive to certain classes!

Free discussion, the right of individ ual opinion, lay at the very foundation of the great reformatory contest, inaugur ated by LUTHER, and in strict accordance with this principle, we have rejoiced to observe, that the endeavour to put down "THE WESTMINSTER REVIEW," in this country, has met with not the slightest success.

As intimated before, the general theological principles of "THE WESTMINSTER," are NOT such as we approve, but the magazine is the acknowledged rep resentative of a special phase of modern belief and argument; moreover, it contains some important and most valuable literary features, (for example, the elaborate Notes on "Contemporary Lit erature,") which is a carefully prepared compendium of the intellectual progress of society, on the European Continent, in Great Britain, and even in America.

The last numbers of this "Review," have been singularly full, and interesting.

In the issue for OCTOBER, we find an article on the "Modern Poets and Poetry of Italy," a brief abstract of some parts of which, will, doubtless, prove accept able to our readers.

As regards her Literature ITALY is perhaps the most remarkable country on the Continent of Europe. At the interval of centuries, she has produced a Virgil. a Tasso, an Alfieri, a Galileo, a Columbus. Can we, then, believe that she has sunk into complete intellectual decay?

"Let us not," says Lamartine," insult the genius of Italy, because it slambers."

The truth is, that the contempt which has fallen upon the Italians as a people, has extended itself (of course, most upjustly), to their literature. The modera poets of that land, have adopted a language peculiar to themselves, abounding in daring inversions, which demand for their full comprehension, a long,

careful study. So we turn coldly away, and take for granted what detractors are continually repeating, that "Italian modern poetry is weak, affected, inflated," and upon the whole, unworthy of regard.

With two only of the Italian poets of the 19th century, are the literary public of Great Britain and America familiar. We allude to Silvio Pellico and Ugo Foscolo.

The former's long and cruel imprisonment, and the narrative of it in his "PRIGIONI," have done more to win him our sympathy than his verses. His compositions are distinguished rather for extreme delicacy, an almost morbid sensibility of feeling, (intensified by his misfortunes,) than for power of thought and conception. "FRANCESCA DA RIMINI" owes its success, are told, to the style, which is wonderfully polished and correct, not to loftiness of sentiment, or fine development of character."

A more complete contrast to Silvio Pellico, in nature, temperament, and the idiosyncracies of his genius, could hardly have been found, than UGO FosCOLO. He seemed to have been a haughty, but resolute, and high-spirited man. His Correspondence, published in 1854, showed him as he really was, "neither the ideal hero to which his partisans had exalted him, nor yet the gross sensualist his enemies had painted him." The elements of both these, it is true, entered into the formation of his character. He was at once the Stoic and the Sybarite, the martyr and the man of pleasure. His genius and his virtues, though alike of a high order, were manifestly incomplete. In earlier life, he was the slave of passion; and the advance of years did not, in his case, "bring the Philosophic mind." Nevertheless, his nature was, in many respects, a noble one. His countrymen will ever revere his memory, for he loved Italy "not wisely" perhaps, but "too well." Rather than seal what he believed her death-warrant, he sacriticed all-country, home, friends and fortune!

FOSCOLO was born at Zanté of an illustrious Venetian family. One of his ancestors had been generalissimo in the last Canadian war. But little was left him save the recollection of former greatness. His mother was a Greek, and she nourished her boy from his cradle, in the love of freedom and democracy. Burning for action, he fretted impatiently at his listless existence.

Venice, although still nominally free, had fallen into a state of such decrepitude and corruption, that the young republican blushed to call himself her

son.

About this period, the storm of the

French Revolution burst over Italy. Foscolo hailed it with rapture, and regardless of the treaty of Campo Formio, inasmuch as he looked upon Italy, not Venice, as his fatherland, he entered into one of the French corps, and shared the perils and the glory of the campaigns of 1797-'8, distinguishing himself at Castiglione, and gaining the honour of promotion to a captain's rank for his gallantly at Marengo. Soon, however, he discovered that the French were not the allies he had trusted to find them. They had excited hopes for Italy and her lib erty, which were only partially fulfilled.

Therefore, Foscolo lay aside his sword and armour, and took up the pen. He began the composition of a romance. Its leading idea, and title were suggested by chance. JACOPI ORTIS, a student in the venerable University of Padua, had recently committed suicide; either because he had been baffled in love, or disappointed in his patriotic expectations. Foscolo, who was more of a heathen philosopher than a Christian, and who declared man's right to take his own life, when it became utterly burdensome to himselected ORTIS as his hero, and thus found an opportunity of venting his fiery and tumultuous thoughts. "JACOPI ORTIS " is not unlike WERTHER. But in the German story, love alone absorbs the mind of the hero, while in Foscolo's tale, that passion is shared by patriotism. Moreover, the latter work is more full of action, incident, true passion, and exciting dramatic mouvement. When issued, its success was immense, but this popularity appears to have been chiefly confined to Italy.

Foscolo's poems are inferior to his romances. Though often vigorous and fervidly imaginative, they are quite as often exaggerated in sentiment, and turgid in language. The best of them is generally pronounced to be the "Sepulchri," an elegiac production, dedicated to the memory of his friend, PARINI. Interment in cemeteries outside the towns, had been substituted for the ancient custom of intra mural burials, and the consequence was, that those, who died poor, and unable to pay for a monument, were frequently confounded with the common and ignoble crowd.

This was the case with PARINI, Who left the world as penniless as he had entered it.

Despite the unquestionable merits of the "Sepulchri," it is too elaborate in structure, and abounds with bewildering, mythological, historical, and scientific allusions, and these are sometimes so abstruse that the author is obliged to act as his own commentator!

The main characteristic of this strange

poem, is a "reverent admiration, a profound regret for the customs of antiquity." It laments in most harmonious numbers, the old "lachrymatory vases," and the ambient flame that destroying the corruptible portions of the human body, left but its ashes in this earthly sphere!"

One of the most striking passages in the "Sepulchri," has been thus translated:

"Cypress and cedar mingled in the breeze

Their faint perfume; o'er the sepulchral

urn

Bending eternal shade. The precious

vase

Embalmed the votive tear; devoted friends

Sought in their loving care to steal a beam

From the bright Sun to cheer that night of gloom,

For still the dying eye with lingering glance

Turns to the orb of day. The last faint

breath

From the expiring bosom sighs for light,

The murmuring fountains shed their silver stream,

On beds of violets, and of amaranths, Which strewed the funeral grass, and he who came

To offer a libation on the tomb,
Or whisper to the dead his secret woes,
Inhaled a fragrance, sweet as that which

breathes

In the bless'd regions of th' Elysian fields !"

Ugo Foscolo's Tragedies, for a time, very popular, are now almost forgotten. Noble words, and thoughts of great suggestiveness and vigor may be found in them, but there is a defect throughout in characterization. Many of the scenes are forced, and the personages unnatural. The latter are particularly deficient in warmth of passion, and this, we are surprised to hear, is the chief fault of Italian tragedy.

The Italian dramatists appear to have had an insane idea that in order to avoid the reproach of effeminacy, exaggeration, and meretricious ornament, it was necessary to carry severe simplicity beyond even the limits the Greeks had assigned it! Thus, while their characters are admirably outlined, they lack, for the most part, relief, and vividness of coloring.

It is painful to glance at the latter portion of Ugo Foscolo's life. At the very period, when his literary success was greatest, and his fortune seemed assured, he was called to act in a more stir

ring drama. Feeling that the destiny of his country was bound up in that of Napoleon and the Empire, he resumed the sword, and joined the army under the viceroy Eugene. But soon, alas! how soon, the kingdom of Intaly fell; and thenceforth Foscolo knew that his part was over. When subsequently, commanded to take an oath of allegiance to Austria, he temporized, and seizing the first favourable opportunity, escaped over the frontiers to Switzerland. After eighteen months' residence in extreme poverty there, he found his way to London. A romantic notion of English freedom and generosity induced him to take this journey. He was bitterly undeceived.

The

"In England," to use his own stirking words, "poverty is a disgrace which nothing can wash out!" With bis haughty nature, unsubdued by misery, FoscoLo would not stoop to solicit aid. He gained a livelihood by criticisms,editions of the Italian classics, &c., &c., but his pay was both small and uncertain. inevitable consequence followed. The author of "Jacobi Ortis," the invincible patriot, and friend of Italian liberty, the Professor of Eloquence at the oldest University in Europe, the celebrated poet and critic, was arrested for debt, and thrown into prison.

A few friends he still retained. They rallied around him, but the proud poet's heart was broken. He could brook misfortune and sternly struggle with the pains of utter destitution. All these things he suffered, and never dreamed of yielding.

This

The degradation of imprisonment, however, he could not endure. final blow fairly struck him down. On the 14th of September, 1849, he expired and was buried the day after in a little English churchyard at Chiswick!

We wish it were in our power to fol low the author of the delightful article in "THE WESTMINSTER" further; to accompany him in his biographical sketches and criticisms upon the great scholar, philosopher and poet, LEOPARDI, who may be said almost to have revived the classic age of his country; and also in what is so elegantly said of MAR CHETTI, celebrated for his finished "Canzones," of ALEXANDER POERIO, MAMMIANI, MANZONI, BERCHET, GIUSTI, and others, but our decreasing space warns us to pause here.

Probably, however, enough has been written to convince the reader that modern Italian Literature is rich in great names and noble productions. Should he feel any interest in the subject, let him procure "THE WESTMINSTER," and peruse the entire article from which our extracts (necessarily curtailed of all

fairness of proportion") have been taken. If he be of a liberal mind, and at all fond of letters, we think he will say with us, that an essay so genial in tone, so clearly composed, and full of information at once original and valuable, ought to go far towards redeeming the errors and short-comings of this Review, even were they greater than we are disposed to admit!

We referred briefly in the last "Editor's Table" of this magazine, to a very absurd criticism upon Tennyson, which appeared in the November number of the "New York Crayon."

In that critique, the writer attempted to be profound and philosophical. With a degree of ignorance, or presumption, "most tolerable, and not to be endured," he assumes the championship of a defeated minority, and in the face of the recorded verdicts of the ablest literary authorities of Great Britain and America, confirmed by the great mass of thoughtful readers in both countries, he coolly speaks of Tennyson, as the "favourite of drawing-room misses, and affected dandies!!" And yet, we are rather amused than astonished by this. Folly, blinded by the intense egotism, often its chief characteristic, can afford to be bold, and even impudent. It delights in paradox, and is never more self-sufficient, than when engaged in pertly contradicting the settled judgments of those whose habits of calm reflection are a standing reproach to its own shallow flippancy.

It may well be conceived, that the censure of such a critic can be but of little importance, even to the most sensitive. His praise is what any judicious writer would have to dread.

Nevertheless, we shall comment, en passant, upon the "Crayon's" review of Sylvia's World."

64

Evidently, the critic is ambitious of displaying the versatility of his powers. After the deeply-metaphysical remarks upon Tennyson, he strives to relieve his over-strained mind, by indulging him selfin sarcastic badinage, and some very questionable pleasantries, at the expense of a work which he (in the exercise of the same exquisite taste that condemned the "Idyls of the King" as "puerile,") pronounces to be "trashy, dull, and wearisome."

It is very probable that the critic of the " Crayon" is sincere. No doubt, he is one of those blasé gentlemen, whose excess of lymph, united to other "excesses," has reduced him to that sad condition, when most of the "uses of this world" (books among them) seem "weary, flat, stale, and unprofitable."

And yet, the Yankee instinct of economy survives. He is indignant because of "the good paper and binding wasted" in the publication of "Sylvia's World," and with an ostentatious show of patriotism,"regrets that the volume is a proof of the intellectual inferiority of our authors, when compared with those of other nations!"

His anxiety on this point appears to us unnecessary. If, under the influence of some transient gleam of self-knowledge, he had expressed a fear in regard to "the proof of the intellectual inferiority of our critics" (manifested, for instance, in his own depreciation of Tennyson), "when compared with those of other nations," we would "therein have sympathized with him, whilst regretting the weakness which prompted him to make such a pitiful display of his shortcomings."

But, according to the "Crayon," "Sylvia's World" is not only dull," but "vulgar!"

"The characters" (it is said) "which the author would have us to believe are all ladies and gentlemen, talk very vulgarly at times, and, indeed, in a style which we at the North are not accustomed to hear, though, for all we know, be quite common in the South!"

may

We have hitherto referred to the critic as a foolish and self-sufficient writer merely; we now feel constrained to accuse him of maliciousness. However contracted the sphere of his information may be, he knew perfectly well, when he penned the preceding paragraph, that the insinuation contained therein, is false.

The high-bred courtesy, the grace, ease, and propriety of manner, which are distinguishing traits of the best Southern society, have been acknowledged by the most fanatic Abolitionists; and the attempt to deny them-although conveyed in a mean insinuation onlywould be ludicrous, were it not so excessively ill-natured.

As for the alleged "vulgarity" of certain characters in "Sylvia's World "since not the shadow of a proof is brought forward to sustain the charge-we may dismiss it among the critic's various other vagaries of opinion, the justice of which we refuse to own, until some demonstration of its truth shall have been offered.

How can we tell what the writer's ideas of "vulgarity" are? "For aught we know," they may be as luminous, correct, and satisfactory, as his concep tions of the nature of poetry, exhibited in his consignment of Tennyson to the tender mercies and gracious consideration "of drawing-room misses, and affected dandies!!""