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THE TIN TRUMPET: OR HEADS AND TALES FOR THE WISE AND WAGGISH. To which are added Poetical Selections. By the late PAUL CHATFIELD, M. D. Edited by JEFFERSON SAUNDERS, Esq. In two volumes, pp. 454. Philadelphia: E. L. CAREY AND A. HART.

LET no sedate or sensible reader infer from the title of this work that it is without claim to general consideration. It contains the reflections and opinions of a mind various in knowledge, and fertile in attractive acquirements, arranged alphabetically, in the form of a dictionary, and interspersed with touches of sentiment, pathos, and genuine humor. To the manifestation of strong common sense, the writer adds an acute observation of men, manners, and things-- the power to reason closely and with plainness — and withal, a style the most terse and sententious. His antitheses are often equal to the happiest of Lacon. A few passages will serve better to illustrate the character of the volumes, than the most elaborate criticism:

"A BLUTION-a duty somewhat too strictly inculcated in the Mahometan ritual, and sometimes too laxly observed in Christian practice. As a man may have a dirty body, and an undefiled mind, so may he have clean hands in a literal, and not in a metaphorical sense. All washes and cosmetics without, he may yet labor under a moral hydrophobia within. Pleasant to see an im-puritan of this stamp holding his nose, lest the wind should come between an honest scavenger and his gentility, while his own character stinks in the public nostrils. Oh, if the money and the pains that we bestow upon perfumes and adornments for the bony, were applied to the purification and embellishment of the mind! Oh, if we were as careful to polish our manners as our teeth, to make our temper as sweet as our breath, to cut off our peccadilloes as to pare our nails, to be as upright in character as in person, to save our souls as to shave our chins, what an immaculate race should we become! Exteriorly, we are not a filthy people. We throw so much dirt at our neighbors, that we have none left for ourselves. We are only unclean in our hearts and lives. As occasional squalor, is the worst evil of poverty and labor, so should constant cleanliness be the greatest luxury of wealth and ease; yet even our aristocracy are not altogether without reproach in this respect. It is well known, that the celebrated Lord Nelson had not washed his hands for the last eight years of his life. Alas! upon what trifles may our reputation for cleanliness depend! Even a foreign accent may ruin us. In a trial, where a German and his wife were giving evidence, the former was asked by the counsel, How old are you?' 'I am dirty.' —‘And what is your wife?'-'Mine wife is dirty-two.' – Then, Sir, you are a very nasty couple, and I wish to have nothing further to say to either of you.'

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"ABSCESS-a morbid tumour, frequently growing above the shoulders, and swelling to a considerable size, when it comes to a head, with nothing in it. It is not always a natural disease, for nature abhors a vacuum; yet fools, fops, and fanatics are very subject to it, and it sometimes attacks old women of both sexes. 'I wish to consult you upon a little project I have formed,' said a noodle to his friend. I have an idea in my head -''Have you?' interposed the friend, with a look of great surprise; then you shall have my opinion at once: keep it there! - it may be some time before you get another.'""

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"DRUNKENNESS A beastly, detestable, and often punished vice, in the ignorant lower orders, whose ebriety is thrust upon the public eye as they reel along the streets, but softened into a a glass too much,' or being a little elevated,' when a well educated gentleman is driven home, in his own carriage, in a state of insensibility, and put to bed by his own servants. The half-starved wretch, who finds in casual intoxication meat, drink, clothing, fuel, and oblivion, may be fined, or put in the stocks, because he cannot afford to conceal his offence; but the bon vivant, whose habitual intemperance has none of these excuses, shall escape with impunity, because he sins in a dining, instead of a tap-room. 'A drunkard,' says Sir Edward Coke, who is a voluntary madman, hath no privilege thereby ;'- but he should have added, except he be a gentleman in station."

The concluding poems impress us less favorably than the prose portions of the work. They often lack harmony, and in one or two instances have not even originality to recommend them.

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PELAYO OR THE CAVERN OF COVADONGA. A Romance. By ISABEL. One volume. pp. 204. New-York: HARPER AND BROTHERS.

THE inimitable SANDS once remarked, that when an unusually large supply of new publications had accumulated upon his table, he was wont to adopt a summary method of criticizing them — namely, by running his nose through the damp leaves. If they imparted a grateful flavor, he praised them: if, on the other hand, they were a little sour or musty, he shaped his comments accordingly. Now we should act in bad faith by our readers, were we to adopt this criterion in a notice of the volume whose title we have given above. So far as regards the odor which its fair, fresh leaves exhale, nothing could be more pleasant; but having read the book, we cannot conscientiously avail ourselves of the system of 'criticism made easy' which our lamented friend laid down for the benefit of that corps of which he was so admirable a member.

The subject of Pelayo' is not without its capabilities; but the execution of the poem, we are compelled to say, is indifferent enough. Perhaps little else ought to be expected from a writer who takes frequent occasion to advise the reader that she is not yet seventeen, and who makes it a matter of boasting, that her restless, impatient muse eschews all pruning or revision. These facts would have been readily inferred from the preface and introduction alone—the first of which — ‘a thing of shreds and patches' — is as remarkable for its lavish expenditure of artificial vivacity, as for the utter absence of that easy humor which it affects. If it were not rather ungallant to dissect the first 'unpruned' effort of a lady of sixteen, and moreover, if it were not dangerous withal- for our fair authoress threatens to give two words for one in reply to the hapless critic who shall dare to incur her resentment by adverse comment we should be induced to point out and serve up numerous blemishes, and not a few glaring faults, which judicious revision might have amended, if not obviated altogether. Among the rank shoots, however, that demand the extirpating hoe of criticism, it must be confessed there are a few tolerable flowers; but who would voluntarily labor in an unweeded garden, where every stroke he aims at a useless or noxious plant is to be followed by a blow or two on the ear, from a fair female hand, that shall make all sing again?' This would be a bad box,' which we fain would shun.

PHILOTHEA. A ROMANCE. By Mrs. CHILD. In one volume. pp. 272. Boston: OTIS, BROADERS AND COMPANY. New-York: GEORGE DEARBORN.

Mrs. CHILD has in various ways contributed valuable additions to the literature of this country. Her 'Frugal Housewife' and The Mother's Book' have acquired a popularity which their merits were well calculated to command; while her occasional and less voluminous writings have met with similar favor, by reason of the sound principles, proper national feelings, and domestic virtues or graces which they inculcate.

In the work before us, our author treads upon new ground, but with the air of one familiar with all she sees and describes. She has stretched a potent wand over 'the dark backward and abysm of time,' and brought the era of Plato, and Pericles, and Alcibiades, freshly before us; and, what is a rare quality with writers who annihilate the past in fiction, she has imparted an air of real life to her romance, which a thorough acquaintance with her materials alone could have given. We can but counsel all lovers of a pure, classical style, and of a narrative imbued with more than common power and interest, to posses themselves of a volume which reflects honor upon the taste and genius of the author.

EDITORS' TABLE.

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AMERICAN POETRY. We have endeavored, more than once, to impress upon our readers and especially upon our correspondents the truths so well and vigorously expressed in the following extract from an able article in a late number of the Western Literary Journal.' We cannot but hope that these sensible remarks will have some effect in curbing that spirit of imitation which is the bane of many of our young American poets, and in checking that sort of thought-saving process, which, in a great deal of our native verse, follows close upon the physical labor-saving movements of the age. We can afford to be original to make our own literary wares, 'and find the stuff,' for we have it in rich abundance, and of every variety:

"There is among us an abundance of poetical talent - some of it of a high order, and very considerable compass- but there is great danger of its being rendered of no account, if not worse than useless, for want of proper direction. Our poetry - and indeed it is the fault of the poetry of the age-reminds one not of the blue sky or the green earth of babbling brooks or singing waterfalls-of the quiet hamlet, embowered in trees and covered with vines, or the peaceful landscape-of the velvet valley or the rock-ribbed mountain - of Nature's magnificent repose, or her awful awakenings to earthquake and tempest: but of the wealthy city, where thought is sicklied with sentiment- of the splendid mansion, where too frequently sloth prevails, and the high aims and glorious impulses of life are exanimate of the rich hall, carpeted, and picturehung, and glittering with mirrors of the green-house, with its varied and beautiful but forced and unhealthy flowers. To say nothing of breadth or compass, philosophical depth or intellectual elevation, compare the simple character of the poetry of to-day with that of the masters of the English lyre: pretty conceits, beautiful turns of expression, aud monotonous smoothness and regularity of versification, have taken the place of manly ideas, abrupt and thrilling transitions, and sonorous lines; and for the rush, and energy, and wholesomeness of a former day, we look in vain.

'This ought not to be it need not be. We do not expect ever to see the fathers of English Poetry surpassed, or often equalled; yet they may be approached; and the nearer they are so, the greater will be the success of that individual who fixes his eye on the mountain, and attempts the ascent. To approach them, need not be to imitate them. The study of a model does not necessarily force imitation, except upon inferior minds. Mediocrity may not be able to comprehend the soul that stirred them; and consequently may be led into an imitation of the mere body: but genius will approach them only to light its torch at their altar; its future course will have no relation to the paths they trod, other than being guided by the same light. Let us, then, who are in the enjoyment of a tri-youthfulness-being young as a people, young in years, and young as a literary community-endeavor to approach them. Let us discard the affectation of parlor prettinesses, waxwork niceties, and milliner-like conceits. Let us turn our lady-pegasuses out to pasture, and mount coursers of speed and mettle. Let us give over our pacing and ambling, and dash off with a free rein. Let us abandon the luxurious couch, and the glittering hall, and the garden of exotics and away to the grassy meadows, and the breezy slopes, and the inspiring hills. And above all, let us strike at once for the 'wells undefiled' of English Poetry, and not pause by the way to quench our thirst at the many puny fountains that shall beset our paths, decked out with all manner of gaudy trappings, in the miserable taste of an effeminate day.

'As we have said, there is among us an abundance of poetical talent; and occasionally we find it walking in the right path; but for the most part it has received a wrong direction; and constant watching, and repeated efforts, will be necessary to set it aright. We cannot go to work in this respect a moment too soon. Habits are stubborn things; and habits of writing after a bad model, when once confirmed, are quite beyond the reach of reform. Let us, therefore, begin now to ask ourselves, Is there nothing beautiful, but the face of woman? nothing to apostrophize, but a penciled eyebrow? nothing symmetrical, but a female form? nothing worth praising, but a well-turned ankle?

nothing that floats upon the heart, but dishevelled tresses? nothing whose touch thrills us, but the soft white hand? Is the soul, which animates all these, a cipher? is the heart, which alone can make them lastingly beautiful, unworthy of a thought? And finally, is this wide earth so glorious, and not made for our worship? Let us and we seriously urge it upon our young writers- let us answer these questions in a right spirit, and, as poets, we shall soon do something of which we may well be proud. We have the power within us; the inspiratlon is around.'

DRAMATIC PROSPECTS. — There can, we fear, be but little doubt, that the important personage, known so widely and so well, under the significant appellative of CoMMON RUMOR, will prove herself, the coming season, to be what many very sensible people have long ago declared her, a common liar. We beg her ladyship's pardon, however, for thus unceremoniously announcing her honors, and should the future falsify our anticipations, we shall, as in duty bound, hasten to make the amende honorable, with the prompt devotion of a true cavalier. This lady declares, with all the solemnity which usually characterizes her assertions, that the American public generally, and the NewYork Park public particularly, are, within the coming year, to be lifted up to the very pinnacle of harmonious delectation— to be enthusiastically exstacized, beyond all precedent by the heaven-born, earth-bought tones of the seraphic MALIBRAN GARCIA. That, secondly, they are to experience that exquisitely-pleasant horror, that excruciating agony of delight, which has already titilated about the hearts and eke the heads of all the dilletanti of all Europe, who have listened to the ravishing strains of the never-to-besufficiently-paid-for-notes of Paganini's fiddle. That, thirdly, we- this good public — are one and all of us to be utterly divested of every particle of that gross matter which is, being of the earth, earthy-- our souls cleansed from the dull, heavy, dirty, clay of humanity our animal senses purified, and every thought, feeling, and fancy distilled in the immaculate alembic of sentiment, and thus etherealized, to be wafted away from earth, beyond the realms of the elf and the fairy, higher than Olympus, leaving the Phocian Mount a speck in the low distance - Apollo and the muses less than the moles of Parnassus looking upward with wonder and admiration, while we go whirling away higher still higher-even to the ninth Heaven upon the toe of Taglioni! We breathe again!

C.

VIEWS IN PALEStine. — Fisher's 'Views of Syria, the Holy Land, Asia Minor,' etc., if we may judge from the numbers we have examined, bid fair to excel in beauty of drawing and execution, any similar work of art from the British press. They are published in monthly parts, each part containing four large engravings, from drawings by BARTLETT, PURSER, and other eminent English artists. The two numbers before us contain the following plates: Mecca Pilgrims encamped near Antioch, on the banks of the Orontes; Damascus, from above Salahyeh; Fall of the River Cydnus, near Tarsus; Ruins of Balbec; A Turkish Divan, Damascus; Village of Eden; a view of Tarsus; junction of a tributary stream with the Orontes; and Antioch from the West. The letter-press department is in the capable hands of CARNE, the celebrated eastern traveler, whose style is the acmé of poetical prose. We make an extract from the illustrations of the first engraving, tending startlingly to show the spirit of the present age. The reigning Pacha is about tearing down one of the Egyptian pyramids, to improve with its stone the dykes of the Nile, and rail-cars are to hiss along the ways once slowly and painfully traversed by many a Christian pilgrim :

"To the course of the Orontes new interest is now imparted by the enterprise of Colonel Chesney, who begins his overland communication with India at Suadeah, where

this ancient river falls into the sea. From this first footstep on the lonely shore, covered with the ruins of Seleucia, what a career of industry, intelligence, and prosperity may be expected to arise! Steam navigation and rail-roads traverse the silent plains and the famous but forsaken rivers: not Cleopatra in her bark of purple and gold on the Cydnus, excited more surprise than will follow the first steam-boat on the Orontes, - the herald to the admiring people of a new era in their condition, in knowledge, in comfort, in faith! The general diffusion of instruction among a people, from whom it has been so long, and so utterly withheld, will be the gradual but certain result of the rapid facilities of intercourse with England: the great valley of the Orontes, from the vicinity of Damascus to that of Aleppo, is full of a modern as well as ancient interest; there are several large and wealthy towns, where manufactures might be introduced, and a regular commercial intercourse established: the cultivation of some districts is excellent, and most are capable of it: but the people are a prey to indolence and apathy they want a new stimulus. And this stimulus will be felt when new sources of trade, of enjoyment, of energy, shall be opened to them. The improvements and changes introduced by the conqueror, Ibrahim Pasha, may benefit his coffers, not his subjects. Rail-roads and steam-carriages will be the greatest blessings to these rich and beautiful countries: on their rapid wheels devolve greater changes than on the march of armies. From Suadeah to the Euphrates, and down its waters to the Persian Gulf, will no longer be the painful and interminable journey, that most undertake from necessity- few for pleasure in a few years, the traveler, instead of creeping on a camel at three miles an hour, wasted by sun and wind, may find himself rolling along the plains of Babylon with the speed of thought, while mounds, towers, and tumuli vanish by, like things seen in a dream: the man of science, who lingers among the dim ruins- the merchant who tarries to buy and sell-may no longer dread the plundering Kurd or Bedouin, when his country's flag heaves in sight far over the plain, 'on that ancient river Euphrates,' as daringly as when

'Her march was on the mountain wave,

Her home was on the deep.'

The same publishers have in progress a series of American views, in the same style, from drawings by Mr. BARTLETT, who is now with us, which we cannot doubt will be received with decided favor in this country. The American agency for these views is at 156 Broadway, late DISTURNELL'S.

THEODORE S. FAY, Esq. We perceive, with pleasure, that THEODORE S. FAY, Esq. has been appointed Secretary to the American Legation at the Court of Saint James, and that as such, he was recently presented in form to the King, in company with the new American minister, Mr. STEVENSON. Mr. FAY is a gentleman of whom it is not too much to say, that he possesses a pure heart, pleasing manners, modest pretensions, and decided talent. His accession to a station formerly filled by WASHINGTON IRVING, the duties of which he is well qualified to discharge, will be a source of gratification to his numerous friends in this country, who know and appreciate his many excellent qualities.

HISTORICAL COLLECTIONS OF SOUTH Carolina. — Under this title, Mr. B. R. ĈARBOLL, of South Carolina, is about to edit and publish a very valuable series of narratives, relating to the early and hitherto unedited history of that State. In this collection, are enumerated, in addition to many other tracts not less rare than valuable :

I. A description of the present state of Carolina. 1 vol. 4to. London, 1682.

II. John Archdale's Description of that pleasant and fertile Province Carolina. I vol. 4to. London, 1707.

III. John Lawson's New Voyage to Carolina, in 1700-containing a Description and Natural History of that country, and a Journal of One Thousand Miles, through the Indian Nations; with their Customs and Manners. 1 vol. 4to. London, 1709.

IV. Dr. Milligan's Description of the Province of South Carolina, with an account of the air, weather, and diseases at Charleston. 1 vol. 8vo. London, 1770.

V. Dr. Hewat's History of South Carolina and Georgia. 2 vols. 8vo. London, 1779. VI. Map of South-Carolina-containing the names of Indian Tribes, Settlements, etc.; being the most full and accurate Map of the State ever published. 1771.

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