THE MERCHANT'S CLERK, AND OTHER TALES. By SAMUEL WARREN, LL. D., author of 'Passages from the Diary of a London Physician.' In one volume. pp. 366. NewYork: HARPER AND BROTHERS.

WHATEVER faults of style may be laid at the door of the author of the 'Passages from the Diary of a London Physician,' it cannot be denied that his productions are all calculated to awaken and sustain intense interest. He may transgress, at times, the bounds of probability, in his desire for effect, but he never fails to carry the hearts of his readers along with him in his masterly delineations of human passion and human suffering. The cloud under which he walks, to use the simile of Democritus, has generally been fruitful of moisture- of drops of awakened sympathy for those whose varied history of trial and sorrow he depicts. In the form of narrative which he has adopted, he may be said to have expanded numerous pictures upon one large canvass; and if sometimes the coloring may seem too high, and the minor adjuncts too numerous, the effect of each separate group will satisfy all observers. His defects, in our judgment, are but the rich superfluities of genius.

The contents of the present volume- especially the story of The Merchant's Clerk'― are fully equal to any writings of the same author which have hitherto been given to the public. The conclusion of this tale - now publishing in Blackwood's Magazine was received by the publishers direct from the writer, through the agency of a friend in Europe. The Wagoner,' 'Monkwynd, a Legendary Fragment,' 'The Bracelets,' and 'Blucher, or the Adventures of a Newfoundland Dog,' are the titles of the remaining stories, which it is here stated Dr. Warren has acknowledged to be from his pen a fact that must be sufficiently obvious to the most casual reader.

TALES OF FASHION AND REALITY. BY CAROLINE FREDERICA BEAUCLERK AND HEN~ RIETTA MARY BEAUCLERK. In one volume. pp. 198. Philadelphia: E. L. CAREY AND A. HART.

THIS Volume is scarcely subject to criticism. The writers do little honor to 'Her Grace the Duchess of St. Albans'- a distant relative, to whom the book is dedicated-and still less to themselves. In looking at the pretension and tone of the work in contrast with its real character, one is forcibly reminded of the Frenchman's description of a storm at sea, wherein there was but little wind, but what there was, was very high! There is but a small amount of originality in these stories, but then that little is very original — there being nothing like it in heaven above or in earth beneath. If the young ladies of fashion in British society use such language as is here attributed to them, Goldsmith's Lady Carolina Wilhelmina Amelia Skeggs would be an intellectual paragon among them: for 'By the living jingo! I'm all in a muck of sweat!' is a dainty phrase in comparison with many which-in close juxtaposition with scraps of French, dragged in untastefully and per force— might be indicated in the twattle of some of the dramatis personæ of these' tales of fashion.' To be brief: poverty of invention, baldness and inanity-solemn palavers about trifles-composite jokes, as old as the hills, and numerous names of the 'Saint Aubyn de Mowbray Fitz-Eustaceville' school- -form the prominent characteristics of this first series of tales of fashionable life. The hopeful 'scions of a noble house' who have perpetrated the trash before us, had better let the second series slumber in manuscript; since, like the first, it will be sure to sleep in print upon the shelves of the victimized publisher.

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EDITORS' TABLE.

THE 'MAGNOLIA.' This popular annual, for 1837, if we may judge from the plates and those portions of the matter comprising nearly the whole- which we have examined, will prove to be the best specimen of this species of ornamental literature ever published in this country. The engravings are of the very first order of excellence, and have all been prepared under the supervision of HENRY INMAN, Esq., a gentleman who stands confessedly at the head of American artists. INMAN, WEIR, CHAPMAN, CUMMINGS, and others, as painters, and CHENEY, PARKER, CASILEAR, and ROLPH, with others of kindred skill in the art of celature, have left nothing to be wished in the pictorial department, while the first native writers of the day have united in imparting to the literary portion of the work the highest value and attraction. That we are actuated by no local feeling in this matter, and that this praise of a volume, strictly American in all things, is but a just meed, will be readily admitted by every reader who may hereafter judge from personal observation of the work in question. We subjoin an admirable tale of chivalry, from the pen of WASHINGTON IRVING - simply adding, that, rich as it is, it is not superior to another article from the same eminent source, contained in the 'Magnolia,' nor more attractive than many other papers in the same volume:

THE world is daily growing older and wiser. Its institutions vary with its years, and mark its growing wisdom; and none more so than its modes of investigating truth, and ascertaining guilt or innocence. In its nonage, when man was yet a fallible being, and doubted the accuracy of his own intellect, appeals were made to heaven in dark and doubtful cases of atrocious accusation.

The accused was required to plunge his hand in boiling oil, or to walk across redhot ploughshares, or to maintain his innocence in armed fight and listed field, in person or by champion. If he passed these ordeals unscathed, he stood acquitted, and the result was regarded as a verdict from on high.

It is somewhat remarkable that, in the gallant age of chivalry, the gentler sex should have been most frequently the subjects of these rude trials and perilous ordeals; and that, too, when assailed in their most delicate and vulnerable part their honor.

In the present very old and enlightened age of the world, when the human intellect is perfectly competent to the management of its own concerns, and needs no special interposition of heaven in its affairs, the trial by jury has superseded these superhuman ordeals; and the unanimity of twelve discordant minds is necessary to constitute a verdict. Such a unanimity would, at first sight, appear also to require a miracle from heaven; but it is produced by a simple device of human ingenuity. The twelve jurors are locked up in their box, there to fast until abstinence shall have so clarified their intellects that the whole jarring panel can discern the truth, and concur in a unanimous decision. One point is certain, that truth is one, and is immutable until the jurors all agree, they cannot all be right.

It is not our intention, however, to discuss this great judicial point, or to question the avowed superiority of the mode of investigating truth, adopted in this antiquated and very sagacious era. It is our object merely to exhibit to the curious reader, one of the VOL. VIII. 63

most memorable cases of judicial combat we find in the annals of Spain. It occurred at the bright commencement of the reign, and in the youthful, and, as yet, glorious days, of Roderick the Goth; who subsequently tarnished his fame at home by his misdeeds, and, finally, lost his kingdom and his life on the banks of the Guadalete, in that disastrous battle, which gave up Spain a conquest to the Moors. The following is the story:

THERE was, once upon a time, a certain duke of Lorraine, who was acknowledged throughout his domains to be one of the wisest princes that ever lived. In fact, there was not any one measure that he adopted that did not astonish all his privy counsellors and gentlemen in attendance: and he said so many witty things, and made such sensible speeches, that his high chamberlain had his jaws dislocated from laughing with delight at the one, and gaping with wonder at the other.

This very witty and exceedingly wise potentate lived for half a century in single blessedness, when his courtiers began to think it a great pity so wise and wealthy a prince should not have a child after his own likeness, to inherit his talents and domains; so they urged him most respectfully to marry, for the good of his estate, and the welfare of his subjects.

He turned their advice over in his mind some four or five years, and then sending emissaries to all parts, he summoned to his court all the beautiful maidens in the land, who were ambitions of sharing a ducal crown. The court was soon crowded with beauties of all styles and complexions, from among whom he chose one in the earliest budding of her charms, and acknowledged by all the gentlemen to be unparalleled for grace and loveliness. The courtiers extolled the duke to the skies for making such a choice, and considered it another proof of his great wisdom. The duke,' said they, 'is waxing a little too old; the dainsel, on the other hand, is a little too young; if one is lacking in years, the other has a superabundance; thus a want on one side is balanced by an excess on the other, and the result is a well-assorted marriage.'

The duke, as is often the case with wise men who marry rather late, and take damsels rather youthful to their bosoms, became doatingly fond of his wife, and indulged her in all things. He was, consequently, cried up by his subjects in general, and by the ladies in particular, as a pattern for husbands; and, in the end, from the wonderful docility with which he submitted to be reined and checked, acquired the amiable and enviable appellation of duke Phillibert the wife-ridden.

There was only one thing that disturbed the conjugal felicity of this paragon of husbands though a considerable time elapsed after his marriage, he still remained without any prospect of an heir. The good duke left no means untried to propitiate Heaven; he made vows and pilgrimages, he fasted and he prayed, but all to no purpose. The courtiers were all astonished at the circumstance. They could not account for it. While the meanest peasant in the country had sturdy brats by dozens, without putting up a prayer, the duke wore himself to skin and bone with penances and fastings, yet seemed farther off from his object than ever.

At length, the worthy prince fell dangerously ill, and felt his end approaching. He looked with sorrowful eyes upon his young and tender spouse, who hung over him with tears and sobbings. Alas!' said he, tears are soon dried from youthful eyes, and sorrow lies lightly on a youthful heart. In a little while I shall be no more, and in the arms of another husband thou wilt forget him who has loved thee so tenderly."

'Never! never!' cried the duchess. 'Never will I cleave to another! Alas, that my lord should think me capable of such inconstancy!'

The worthy and wife-ridden duke was soothed by her assurances; for he could not endure the thoughts of giving her up even after he should be dead. Still he wished to have some pledge of her enduring constancy:

Far be it from me, my dearest wife,' said he, to control thee through a long life. A year and a day of strict fidelity will appease my troubled spirit. Promise to remain faithful to my memory for a year and a day, and I will die in peace.'

The duchess made a solemn vow to that effect. The uxorious feelings of the duke were not yet satisfied. Safe bind, safe find,' thought he; so he made a will, in which he bequeathed to her all his domains, on condition of her remaining true to him for a year and a day after his decease; but, should it appear that, within that time, she had in any wise lapsed from her fidelity, the inheritance should go to his nephew, the lord of a neighboring territory.

Having made his will, the good duke died and was buried. Scarcely was he in his tomb, when his nephew came to take possession, thinking, as his uncle had died without issue, that the domains would be devised to him of course. He was in a furious passion, however, when the will was produced, and the young widow was declared inheritor of the dukedom. As he was a violent, high-handed man, and one of the sturdiest knights in the land, fears were entertained that he might attempt to seize on the territories by force. He had, however, two bachelor uncles for bosom counsellors. These were two swaggering rakehelly old cavaliers, who, having led loose and riotous lives, prided themselves upon knowing the world, and being deeply experienced in human

nature. They took their nephew aside. Prithee, man,' said they, be of good cheer. The duchess is a young and buxom widow. She has just buried our brother, who, God rest his soul! was somewhat too much given to praying and fasting, and kept his pretty wife always tied to his girdle. She is now like a bird from a cage. Think you she will keep her vow? Impossible! Take our words for it - we know mankind, and, above all, womankind. She cannot hold out for such a length of time; it is not in womanhood-it is not in widowhood - we know it, and that's enough. Keep a sharp look-out upon the widow, therefore, and within the twelvemonth you will catch her tripping and then the dukedom is your own.'

--

The nephew was pleased with this counsel, and immediately placed spies round the duchess, and bribed several of her servants to keep a watch upon her, so that she could not take a single step, even from one apartment of her palace to another, without being observed. Never was young and beautiful widow exposed to so terrible an ordeal.

The duchess was aware of the watch thus kept upon her. Though confident of her own rectitude, she knew that it is not enough for a woman to be virtuous - she must be

above the reach of slander. For the whole term of her probation, therefore, she proclaimed a strict nonintercourse with the other sex. She had females for cabinet-ministers and chamberlains, through whom she transacted all her public and private concerns; and it is said, that never were the affairs of the dukedom so adroitly administered. All males were rigorously excluded from the palace; she never went out of its precincts, and whenever she moved about its courts and gardens, she surrounded herself with a body-guard of young maids of honor, commanded by dames renowned for discretion. She slept in a bed without curtains, placed in the centre of a room illuminated by innumerable wax tapers. Four ancient spinsters, virtuous as Virginia, perfect dragons of watchfulness, who only slept during the day-time, kept vigils throughout the night, seated in the four corners of the room on stools without backs or arms, and with seats cut in checquers of the hardest wood, to keep them from dozing.

Thus wisely and warily did the young duchess conduct herself for twelve long months, and Slander almost bit her tongue off in despair at finding no room even for a surmise. Never was ordeal more burdensome, or more enduringly snstained.

It

The year passed away. The last, odd day arrived, and a long, long day it was. was the twenty-first of June, the longest day in the year. It seemed as if it would never come to an end. A thousand times did the duchess and her ladies watch the sun from the windows of the palace, as he slowly climbed the vault of heaven, and seemed still more slowly to roll down. They could not help expressing their wonder, now and then, why the duke should have tagged this supernumerary day to the end of the year, as if three hundred and sixty-five days were not sufficient to try and task the fidelity of any woman. It is the last grain that turns the scale — the last drop that overflows the goblet and the last moment of delay that exhausts the patience. By the time the sun sank below the horizon the duchess was in a fidget that passed all bounds, and, though several hours were yet to pass before the day regularly expired, she could not have remained those hours in durance to gain a royal crown, much less a ducal coronet. So she gave her orders, and her palfrey, magnificently caparisoned, was brought into the court-yard of the castle, with palfreys for all her ladies in attendance. In this way she sallied forth just as the sun had gone down. It was a mission of piety- a pilgrim cavalcade to a convent at the foot of a neighboring mountain-to return thanks to the blessed Virgin for having sustained her through this fearful ordeal.

The orisons performed, the duchess and her ladies returned, ambling gently along the border of a forest. It was about that mellow hour of twilight when night and day are mingled, and all objects indistinct. Suddenly some monstrous animal sprang from out a thicket, with fearful howlings. The whole female body-guard was thrown into confusion, and fled different ways. It was some time before they recovered from their panic, and gathered once more together; but the duchess was not to be found. The greatest anxiety was felt for her safety. The hazy mist of twilight had prevented their distinguishing perfectly the animal which had affrighted them. Some thought it a wolf, others a bear, others a wild man of the woods. For upward of an hour did they beleaguer the forest, without daring to venture in, and were on the point of giving up the duchess as torn to pieces and devoured, when, to their great joy, they beheld her advancing in the gloom, supported by a stately cavalier.

He was a stranger knight, whom nobody knew. It was impossible to distinguish his countenance in the dark; but all the ladies agreed that he was of a noble presence and captivating address. He had rescued the duchess from the very fangs of the monster, which, he assured the ladies, was neither a wolf, nor a bear, nor yet a wild man of the woods, but a veritable fiery dragon, a species of monster peculiarly hostile to beautiful females in the days of chivalry, and which all the efforts of knight errantry had not been able to extirpate.

The ladies crossed themselves when they heard of the danger from which they had escaped, and could not enough admire the gallantry of the cavalier. The duchess would fain have prevailed on her deliverer to accompany her to her court; but he had no time to spare, being a knight errant, who had many adven

THE TOKEN AND ATLANTIC SOUVENIR: A Christmas and New Year's Present. Edited by S. G. GOODRICH. pp. 348. Boston: CHARLES BOWEN.

THE tenth volume of the Token, although in some respects better than its immediate predecessor, is by no means what it should be, considering its age, and the liberal patronage which has hitherto been extended to it. We allude now more particularly to its embellishments, and externals of printing, binding, etc. Taken as a whole, we think that in regard to these features, at least, this annual has certainly not improved. The publisher deserves credit, however, for setting the good example of introducing engravings only from original American pictures; but let him guard against the fault of issuing bad engravings, by incompetent or unskilful artists, under the impression that their being 'native here' will excuse the defects of bad and perhaps cheaply-purchased pictures. But let us glance briefly at the plates of the present volume.

1

'Annette Delarbre,' engraved by ANDREWS, from a painting by WEST, is exceedingly well executed, and is a fine embodiment of the pathetic story by IRVING, whose title it bears. The composition is full; but throughout there is a calm, clear breadth of light and shade, and the cutting is delicate and soft. The vignette, painted by CHAPMAN, and engraved by GALLAUDET, is also well achieved by both artists. The bow, as a token of promise, resting over the sea and a romantic headland, is a happy conception. 'Katrina Schuyler,' engraved by ANDREWS from a painting by WEST, is another excellent picture. There is much good execution, and a great deal of spirit and expression, in 'The Lost Found,' painted by LESLIE, and engraved by J. CHENEY. 'The Whirlwind,' from the pencil of COLE, and the graver of GALLAUDET, we cannot admire, although we have no fault to find with the manner of its production. Like a picture of a water-fall, it cannot satisfy the mind. True, there are the twisted tree the prostrate forest - the black and frowning sky; but we lack the 'rushing of a mighty wind'. the motion of the storm-clouds- the all-pervading roar of the ele The scene is beyond the blazon of the pencil. There is little of invention, and no especial merit in 'I went to gather Flowers.' The Mother' is well but coarsely cut. The infant' in her arms, however, has the appearance of a naked boy of five years, if one might judge from the countenance. The Indian Toilet' is a clever design, by CHAPMAN; it has, however, a serious blemish in the physiognomy of the Indian maid, who looks like a stout white girl, clad in the garb of a savage. The attitude of the figure in Pleasant Thoughts' is the only creditable feature about it. The less we say of the merits of the engraving, the kinder we shall be to the artist's reputation. There are sublimity and power in 'The Wrecked Mariner,' but the figures detract from the performance. If there be any thing like honor in precedence, the 'Aqueduct near Rome,' engraved by SMILLIE, from a painting by COLE, occupies a very undeserved position as the last plate in the book. There is not a finer or more elaborately-finished engraving in the volume.

ments.

verse.

The literary contents of the Token, with some few exceptions, are much above the average of annual literature. Taken together, the prose is far better than the Without essaying to do full justice to the reading department of the volume, we will briefly record our impressions of some of the more prominent articles. 'Katrina Schuyler,' by FAY, is a tale of early American times, and is marked by that flowing style and fine dramatic effect for which the writer is distinguished. 'Monsieur du Miroir,' although the veil chosen by the writer is somewhat of the thinnest, is ingeniously devised, and well sustained throughout. Commend us to the author of 'Sunday at Home!' Such writers are the salt of the literary earth. They are con