REVIEW OF NEW BOOKS. Religio Medici. Its Sequel, Christian Morals. By Sir | sentiment, mostly commingled in their operations, and Thomas Browne, Kt., M. D. Philadelphia, Lea & Blanchard. One vol., 12mo. "And herefore at my death I mean to make a total adieu of the world, not caring for a monument, history, or epitaph, not so much as the bare memory of my name to be found any where but in the universal register of God." Thus wrote Sir Thomas Browne, just after the warm blood of his youth had cooled in the meditations of his manhood. But no person can wish himself into oblivion. In the case of Browne this was doubly difficult; and posterity, without doubting that his name is found in the register of God, has chosen to preserve it also in the memory of man. The very work in which he expressed his majestic indifference to fame, has been the bearer of it down the stream of time. There has been no age in English literature when "Religio Medici," the religion of a physician, wanted readers. The strange, complex character of the author, if not the intrinsic excellence of the book, would always attract attention, as a psychological curiosity. In the present edition we have, as an appropriate sequel, his work on Christian morals, and together they give as correct a picture of the interior life of man as could be drawn from his multifarious writings. Sir Thomas Browne's life extended through a period in which a signal change occurred in English style and manners. He was a cotemporary of Raleigh, of Suckling and Dryden; being born in 1605, and dying in 1682. His own style smacks of the Elizabethan period as much almost in his last as in his first composition. He belonged to a school of authors who wrote with a singular combination of sweetness and dignity, of pedantry and learning. Their sentences, at times, seem to flow from their minds with a sort of majestic and sonorous ease; at others they betray vast elaboration, and are merely ponderous vehicles of trivial conceits. We know, however, of few authors who, generally, are characterized by a more prevailing greatness of soul. Their rich fullness and sober majesty of diction is in strange contrast to the quick sparkle and colloquial jauntiness of style, which came into fashion with the wits and rakes of Charles II's time. They possessed a deeper sense of the "dignified" in composition than any succeeding writers; and they expressed the results of their studies and meditations with corresponding gravity and seriousness. Still, they are not to be classed so much with the pedants and pedagogues as the princes and kings of rhetoric; and their works should be pondered carefully by all who desire to know the elevation and grandeur of expression of which the English language is capable, when it is the instrument of a full and capacious mind. Among this class of our elder writers Sir Thomas Browne takes a high rank, although the strangeness of his individual peculiarities distinguishes him from them, as from all other authors. The epigramatic hyperboles of Hazlitt contain perhaps the most suggestive description of his character and style. Indeed, epigram and hyperbole are both inadequate to convey the impression which Browne leaves upon the reader's mind. We find almost every thing in his writings-understanding, imagination, laced over with a marvelous variety of whimsicalities and peculiarities, which gravel sadly the analysis which would trace them to their source, or define the point in which they meet and harmonize. Sometimes as comprehensive as Bacon, sometimes as acute as Hume; combining assured faith with the most skeptical refinements, or skepticism; believing what nobody else could believe, and doubting what nobody else doubts; full of the shrewdest common sense, yet running his idealism far beyond the boundaries of human thought; combining a lordly selfesteem with deep humility; abounding in queer knowledge and strange conceits; delighting in imaginations which bewilder both himself and his readers, and hunting a thought through a tangled wilderness of speculation to the very verge of the impossible and the inscrutable, yet remaining undeceived by his own ingenuity, and capable of the serenest practical wisdom; with all these seeming inconsistencies we are conscious of no contradiction, for they are all connected by one thread of individuality, they all seem consonant with the mind of Sir Thomas Browne. In Hazlitt's description, we have one phase of his character delineated, in what may be called a style of felicitous obscurity. We are told that "His is the sublime of indifference; a passion for the abstruse and imaginary. He turns the world round for his amusement, as if it were a globe of pasteboard. He looks down on sublunary affairs, as if he had taken his station in one of the planets. The antipodes are next door neighbors to him; and doomsday is not far off. The finite is lost in the infinite. The orbits of the heavenly bodies, or the history of empires, are to him but a point in time, or a speck in the universe. The great Platonic year revolves in one of his periods. Nature is too little for the grasp of his style. He scoops an antithesis out of fabulous antiquity, and rakes up an epithet from the sweepings of chaos. It is as if his books had dropped from the clouds, or as if Friar Bacon's head could speak. He stands on the edge of the world of sense and reason, and gets a vertigo by looking down on impossibilities and chimeras. He had the most intense consciousness of contradictions and nonentities; and he decks them out in the pride and pedantry of words, as if they were the attire of his proper person. The categories hang about his neck like the gold chain of knighthood, and he walks gowned' in the intricate folds and swelling drapery of dark sayings and impenetrable riddles." "Religio Medici," the first work of Browne, and not written for publication, presents his character in all its lights. It would be impossible to convey an idea of it by description and quotation, and heartily do we commend it to any of our readers who have not yet enjoyed its perusal; but we cannot refrain from selecting a few sentences, though they be but mere bricks from an edifice. Speaking of Nature, he says, to ascribe God's actions unto her "is to devolve the honor of the principal agent upon the instrument; which if with reason we may do, then let our hammers rise up and boast they have built our houses, and our pens receive the honor of our writing." A little farther on he remarks, in speaking of the distinction between nature and art, "Now nature is not at va riance with art nor art with nature, they both being the servants of his providence; art is the perfection of nature; were the world now as it was on the sixth day, there were yet a chaos; nature has made one world and art another. In brief, all things are artificial, for nature is the art of God." In speaking of divine influence, "a common spirit which plays within us, yet makes no part of us," that is "the spirit of God, the fire and scintillation of that noble and mighty essence which is the life and radical heat of spirits," he says, "whosoever feels not the warm gale and gentle ventilation of this spirit, (though I feel his pulse,) I dare not say he lives, for truly without this, to me there is no heat under the tropical, nor any light, though I dwelt in the body of the sun." He calls the soul "that immediate essence, that translated divinity and colony of God." "Sleep," he says, "is so like death, that I dare not trust it without my prayers." Milton must have read the fifty-first section carefully, before he composed Paradise Lost, for Browne there discourses of hell in this wise: "The heart of man is the place the devils dwell in; I sometimes feel a hell within myself. There are as many hells as Anaxagoras conceited worlds; there was more than one hell in Magdalene when there were seven devils; for every devil is a hell unto himself." The curious skill with which Browne meditated on mortality, is well illustrated in the thirty-seventh section of the "Religio Medici," where he discourses of the body, "all flesh is grass is not only metaphorically but literally true; for all those creatures we behold are but the herbs of the field, digested into flesh in them, or more remotely carnified in ourselves. Nay, further, we are all what we abhor, anthropophagi and cannibals, devourers not only of men, but of ourselves; and that not in an allegory, but a positive truth; for all this mass of flesh which we behold came in at our mouths; this frame we look upon hath been upon our trenchers; in brief, we have devoured ourselves." Again, in the thirty-fourth section, he finds a truth in the saying that man is a microcosm or little world, "for, first, we are a rude mass, and in the rank of creatures which only are, and have a dull kind of being not privileged with life, or preferred to sense or reason; next, we live the life of plants, the life of animals, the life of men; and at last, the life of spirits, running on in one mysterious nature those five kinds of existences, which comprehend the creatures not only of the world but of the universe." There were Millerites in Browne's time as well as now. In speaking of the eventual destruction of the world, he remarks that, "to determine the day and year of this inevitable time, is not only convincible and statute madness, but also manifest impiety;" and he proceeds to administer a gravely satirical rebuke to the prophets of his day; "It hath not only mocked the predictions of sundry astrologers in ages past, but the prophecies of many melancholy heads in these present, who, neither understanding reasonably things past or present, pretend a knowledge of things to come." "Christian Morals" contain some of the most splendid condensations of the teachings of duty to be found in the whole compass of English literature. Every sentence is worthy of being garnered in the memory, either for the thought or the imagination it embodies. Browne's individual peculiarities are not much displayed in the two first sections. He teaches with an air of oracular authority. We extract a few sentences in illustration. "Persons lightly dipt, not grained in generous honesty, are but pale in goodness and faint-hued in integrity. But be thou what thou virtuously art, and let not the ocean wash away thy tincture. Let not the sun in Capricorn go down Measure upon thy wrath, but write thy wrongs in ashes. not thyself by thy morning shadow, but by the extent of thy grave, and reckon thyself above the earth by the Line thou must be contented with under it. Our corrupted hearts are the factories of the devil, which may be at work without his presence. Be not a Hercules furens abroad, and a poltroon within thyself. Let not fortune. which hath no name in scripture, have any in thy divinity. The great advantage of this mean life is thereby to stand in a capacity of a better; for the colonies of heaven must be drawn from earth and the sons of the first Adam are only heirs unto the second." We might multiply such quotations with ease. The American publishers have given us a good edition of these two works of Sir Thomas Browne, and we hope the book will meet with a ready sale. Every attempt on the part of booksellers to diffuse cheap editions of the elder English writers should be encouraged by the public There are treasures of wisdom, wit, and imagination locked up in many an old folio, which it would be well to put in general circulation. When the intellectual currency of a country becomes debased by over paper issues. it is right to draw forth some of the massive gold which lies buried in the vaults of our libraries. Let the sorereign run a race for popularity with the shin-plaster-Sir Thomas Browne with Eugene Sue. One Bernice and Other Poems, by Rebecca S. Nichols. vol., 12mo. Cincinnati, Shephard & Co., 1844. Mrs. Nichols is already favorably known to our readers, from her contributions in this magazine. Many of the poems in the volume before us we have already published. But we are glad to see them again, especially in such elegant typography. The book is a credit as well to its western publishers as to western literature. Mrs. Nichols is a woman of decided genius; and, if to be different from all other writers of her sex is to be original, she is original. Her poetry does not resemble that of Mrs. Sigourney, nor that of Mrs. Welby. It is not like Mrs. Hemans', nor Mrs. Norton's. Still the same general character runs through it that pervades the poetry of every woman we know, except Joanna Baillie. Indeed, in one sense, all the sex may be said to write alike. The sphere of woman is the affections; they feel much oftener than they reason; a certain quickness of percep tion and lively imagination belongs to them peculiarly; and their poetry, like the conversation of their more familiar hours, is usually a transcript of their heart They write from themselves, and of themselves. Their themes, in nine instances out of ten, are of the affections. But they differ among themselves as much as they differ from the other sex. Mrs. Norton is to Mrs. Hemans, what Byron was to Moore. And we cannot better characterize the poetry of Mrs. Nichols than by saying it is something between that of Mrs. Welby and Mrs. Hemans. There is much in it which reminds us of " Amelia,” and there is even more which is suggestive of her English sister in song. The shorter poems in this volume are the best. Indeed, women never succeed so well in long and sustained compositions as in those lighter pieces which are the result of some one prominent idea, which it is a relief to embody in verse. They can, when harassed by grief, or tortured by doubts, or gladdened by affection, pour out their souls in song, like the fabled bird that sings its life away; but, when the thought with which their heart was full is expressed, they falter. They cannot affect feelings they do not experience. They are, therefore, poor dramatists, but excellent lyrists. There is nothing in the language superior to "Auld Robin Grey," yet it is the only good poem of the author. Shakspeare, on the contrary, was never so strong as when describing the emotions of other men, in situations, too, in which he never could have been. For this reason "Bernice" is the least meritorious composition in the volume. Not that it is without good points. But often the writer seems to have flagged; there is a want of sustained spirit in it, and it has not that impetuosity of passion which, in Byron's tales, makes up for the loss of dramatic force in the characters. On the other hand, many of the verses are very beautiful, and the poem is brilliant with fancy. Here and there, too, the author rises to the weird region of imagination-and we use that word in its highest and noblest sense. In justice to the writer, it must be remembered that the poem was hastily written. We come now to the short poems. Many of them have not been surpassed by any thing which has appeared on this side of the Atlantic. "To My Boy in Heaven," is a noble composition. "My Sister Ellen" is a specimen of the facility with which Mrs. Nichols versifies. In the "Spirit Band" we recognise a fine imagination. "I Met Her in the Festive Throng" is, however, an old theme, not improved. But "To an Unknown Miniature," "A Cloud Was O'er My Spirit, Love," "Stanzas to Kate," Thoughts of Summer," "The Midnight Dream," "The Sycamore Tree," "I Know That Thou Wilt Sorrow," and "A Song," are all fine poems, distingnished by delicate sentiments, an elegant fancy, sweetness, melody, and grace We regret we have not space to quote some of the finest of these. There are verses in them equal to the best of Mrs. Hemans'. Altogether, we congratulate the fair author. The publication of this volume has established her rank as a writer, and henceforth she will take her place as a fixed star in the constellation of her sister poets. But what she has done is only an earnest of what she can do. She is destined to yet greater things, if she will cultivate her powers. Her future career we shall regard with interest. The Life of Benjamin Franklin; Containing the Autobiography, with Notes and a Continution. By Jared Sparks. Boston, Tappan & Dennett. One vol., 8vo. lished by Franklin's grandson, and printed from the original manuscript. We hardly know of any American more fitted for the task of writing a faithful account of Franklin's life, or rather of continuing the autobiography, than Professor Sparks. His knowledge of American history is exact and profound. It has been gathered from a careful examination, extending through many years, of original documents, not only in the United States, but in France and Great Britain. His editions of the works of Franklin and Washington, are monuments to his learning, labor, and patriotism. There are few authors who deserve more of their countrymen, and few, likewise, whose patient toil is less likely to be appreciated. His continuation of Franklin's autobiography occupies more pages than the original, and relates to the most important portion of his life. Those who desire to obtain a knowledge of Franklin's services to the country, both before and after the Revolution, and to realize the simplicity and greatness of his character, should read carefully the clear and comprehensive narrative of Professor Sparks. We feel assured that Franklin is one of the first intellectual products of America, and that the more his character and actions are pondered, the higher will be the admiration awarded to his calm courage, his strength and grasp of understanding, and his serene practical wisdom. Both in action and speculation, he preserved a rare medium between fanaticism and nonchalance. No man ever excelled him in the union of so much admirable common sense with so much power of abstract thought. We do not see how any one can carefully review the events of his life, and have a clear insight into his moral and intellectual constitution, without awarding to him a high rank among men of genius. A Lecture on the Late Improvements in Steam Navigation, This is a well-printed pamphlet of about seventy pages, the object of which is indicated by the title-page. It is written with much clearness, eloquence and condensation, and embodies a great deal of valuable information. The sketch of Ericsson's life, and the many difficulties he surmounted in maturing and popularizing his discoveries, is very interesting. Mr. Sargent is skillful in his descriptions of intricate machinery, and with an economical expenditure of words, contrives to be somewhat lavish of knowledge. The lecture contains so much that is important and interesting, that we doubt not it will have an extensive circulation. This large, handsome, and well printed volume is de- The Strife of Brothers. A Poem, with Notes. New York: This is a pamphlet poem in heroic verse, suggested by the theological controversies of the day, and accompanied by copious notes illustrative of passages in the text. Its principal merits are the harmony of the numbers, and the good taste of the composition. There is little novel imagery or striking thought in the poem, and it is closed with a higher opinion of the author's acquirements than his invention. We have detected, here and there, some morsels of bigotry, which have the double fault of being bad and trite, but the general strain is more charitable. The description of New England, on page nine, is per TIP-TOP FASHIONS. It is advisable occasionally to take a peep at the world of fashion, and to see that the modes of dress prescribed by the fickle goddess are rigidly adhered to. The matter is one of great moment to fathers and ine bands financially, whatever may be its literary bearing. The great aim of the fashionables seems to be, to get up in the world, so as to look down upon other people with a little contempt, real or affected. It will be seen by our report, that the style is up-ish, and that in this particular the mode is rather decided. Our Parisian correspondent begs us to say, that his reports are the only authentic ones, and that all others are counterfeits. But as this might look like an effort to lessen the value of the monthly designs of our cotemporaries, we must qualify the assertion a little. We do not believe that our correspondent furnishes "the only authentic" fushions, though this we will say of him, that we know that his are quite as correct as any, and that they are a great deal more original, and to the point. Whether the exquisites, who sport with their tailors, will like to recognize them, may be questionable. AND THEIR INFLUENCE ON THE MANNERS AND CUSTOMS OF A PEOPLE. BY FRANCIS J. GRUND. CONTINENTAL writers have often remarked that England, blessed with a government infinitely more manly and liberal than that of any of her neighbors, pays, by the peculiar construction of her society, a heavy tribute for her political privileges. No nation in Europe has such a strong sense of right as the English, none is so indifferent as to equity. No other people in the Old World stand so erect before a magistrate, none seem to be more uncomfortable or embarrassed in company with those whom the world considers their superiors. The very radical, on returning from the meeting which denounced the aristocracy, and urged, for humanity's sake, the immediate abolition of the peerage, involuntarily touches his beaver on meeting accidentally "his lordship's carriage." Equality, in England, reminds people of the bloody French Revolution, and is remembered by the educated only to bear in mind that it does not exist in society. merely acknowledge "obligations to their patrons." All free interchange of thought, all display of conversational talent, wit, or humor, are, by the stereotype forms of society, checked in their incipient state, and prevented from coming into conflict with wealth and position. It is for this reason that Madame de Staël so justly observed, "that the composition of English society is admirably calculated to keep second-rate men in first places." On the Continent of Europe, where the French Revolution has produced a much greater change in society than in politics, all this is different. There, and especially in France and Italy, where the social edifice has undergone the most thorough changes, the individual is emancipated—men of science and art are looked upon as gracing society; and, where the latter is backward in acknowledging superior merit, the enthusiastic approbation of the masses is more than a compensation for the want of success with a particular coterie. A position in public, in either of these countries, is always sure of securing a standing in society; for the public, in France and Italy, is not quite synonymous with vulgarity, ignorance, and rudeness. On entering a London drawing-room, it would seem as if every individual were numbered according to his rank and fortune, and the deference paid him in the exact ratio of that index. The English, it is a well-known fact, cannot comprehend, at least socially, the value of a person independent of his The reason of this marked difference between circumstances, and it is the latter, not the individual, England and the Continent, in all matters concerning that are respected, caressed, courted, beloved or society, and the marked superiority of the latter, as worshiped. Poets, men of science and letters, regards taste and accomplishments, (we here speak, artists of every description, are only valued as long of course, of the mass of the population, and not of as they are the fashion, during which time they cir- the favored few,) notwithstanding the marked poculate, as pepper boxes, to season the standing litical superiority of the English, is well worth inroutine of polished commonplace and refined selfish- vestigating; and may, perhaps, contain a lesson proness which mark the regular intercourse of the higher ductive of some good to ourselves. The question classes and their slavish imitators. Science and art may, after all, be seriously asked, "which is the have no devotees in the society of England; they | happiest people, that whose domestic and social re |