CYCLOPEDIA OF AMERICAN LITERATURE; embracing Personal and Critical Notices of THAT America will in due time boast a distinct literature of her own, the beginnings made under unfavorable auspices abundantly prove; that she is possessed of one already, in the true sense of the term, the title of this work does not necessarily imply. It presents a succinct compendium of what has been already done. Its design is, 'to bring together, as far as possible, in one book, convenient for perusal and reference, memorials and records of the writers of the country and their works, from the earliest period to the present day.' An amassment of national lore under any distinct head-corpus poetarum, a body of poets, a school of philosophers, a line of historians, cannot be looked for in an existence which is of yesterday, while yet in every department the noblest types have appeared. The aggregate of that which, when sifted out from a great amount, tried, annealed, and separated from false alloy, remains in its perfection and purity a standard for all time, is indeed small. Yet, how unjust is the sneer which sometimes accompanies the assertion that the Americans have no literature, as if the elements did not exist among them from which a rich one might ultimately be formed; as if they were not of AngloSaxon lineage: 'Coelum non animum mutant qui trans mare currunt.' There is no national treasure-house where the wealth of centuries has been stored away, but unfortunately a lamentable ignorance has existed both among ourselves and others as to what we already have, and the contributions to a general stock which have been already made. If we examine the collected works (for instance) of any great writer of England, SHAKSPEARE alone excepted, how much sifting will they admit! How much chaff is there among the wheat! The whole is often redeemed by a very small part. All which they have written may be printed, and read too; but a few noble thoughts, a few terse lines alone amalgamate themselves with the hearts of men, never to be blotted out. The New World has not hitherto been a favorable field for the pursuits of literature. The colonists were engrossed in a severe, rough, laborious, every-day life. Their conflicts left but a precious modicum of time to be devoted to the cause of learning or to the blandishments of letters. A stern routine of duty was maintained within the palisades, and the Indians hovering without, few flourished gracefully with the pen. They had other things to think of than those which are for the most part cultivated successfully in calm and peaceful homes. The stubborn earth must be subdued. What chance to compose a poem or a history when at every moment the savage war-whoop might assail their ears, and King PHILIP with his painted warriors might be at their doors? The only Philippics which they had time to deliver with effect were those which blazed out of their trusty match-locks. Civilization of the robustest kind they brought with them; but refined modes of life, arts, letters, luxury succeeded tardily after the first clearings of the pioneers. From that 2 day to this, an intense physical development, unequalled in the history of the world, has withdrawn the minds of men from things not practical, and has postponed other matters until the immense field before us shall be subdued, while the spirit of the age, itself so fruitful in invention, has combined to such an end, and science as applied to the practical arts, has offered the most inviting fields for intellect. Nevertheless, when we come to the realms of pure literature, meagre as the list of professed authors was in the early days of the Colonial and Revolutionary periods, we are surprised at the remains of giants which are exhumed after the antiquarian has removed the accumulated dust; and although there is much which appears to us flat or stale at the present date, yet it does not lack interest as illustrative of the men and times, while we find abundant passages from unknown authors, of intrinsic and resplendent beauty, in proof of which refer to the paper on MATHER BYLES. Mr. DUYCKINCK, already known as editor, for many years, of The Literary World, for his classical attainments, good scholarship, and devotion to the Belles-Lettres, has in the present work, assisted by his brother - par nobile acquitted himself with distinguished credit. It displays immense research, carried up to the very sources of American literature, much curious investigation into regions not easily accessible to the general reader, a taste and judgment in the treatment of subjects scarcely to be expected in so young authors. Objections of various kinds may no doubt be made to the plan of the work, or the principles on which it is arranged; many omissions may be marked; too much stress, it may be thought, is laid on some, and too little importance attached to others of whom it treats, while it is not cast in a philosophic mould. No kind of book is open to such a battery of criticism, or more likely to provoke censure. Imperfection must necessarily attach to any undertaking of the same magnitude and kind, and those alone who have entered upon similar fields, can be aware of the immense difficulties which lie in the way. It is one of those works which cannot be made perfect in the eye of critics, and from the very nature of it must always remain incomplete; and while all will acknowledge its possession to be desirable, and those who follow in a similar track, indispensable, there will be few learned in antiquarian lore, who will not be able to enumerate its short-comings. Nevertheless a very difficult task has been executed, and, in accordance with the plan laid out, well, too. Let those who find fault see if they could do it better. It is not so much a Cyclopædia as a biographical dictionary, full of interest, containing extensive records of literature during two centuries in the North-American colonies and States. The sketches of lives are succinctly and often admirably done. The authors, very happily, as we think, quote a passage from COTTON MATHER, as à propos to their work: 'SHOULD any Petit Monsieur,' says the divine, 'complain (as the captain that found not himself in the tapestry hangings which exhibited the story of the Spanish invasion in 1588) that he don't find himself mentioned in this history, the author has this apology; he has done as well and as much as he could, that whatever was worthy of a mention might have it; and if this collection of matters be not complete, yet he supposes it may be more complete than any one else hath made; and now he has done, he hath not pulled up the ladder after him; others may go on as they please with a completer composure.' The work is chronologically arranged under three departments: the Colonial era, the Revolutionary Period, and the Present Century. Each of these,' the authors remark in a well-written preface, ‘is marked by its distinct characteristics. The writers of the first period include the New-England Puritan School, the patient, laborious, well-read, and acute divines, the scholars who gave life to the first seats of learning, the first race of chroniclers, several genial observers of nature, as the BARTRAMS, and an occasional quaint poet, who penned verses without consulting the pleasure of MINERVA. In this period there is rudeness, roughness, but much strength; frequently a high order of eloquence, great diligence, and an abundant collection of materials for history. The next, the Revolutionary period, may be said to have begun and ended with the discussion of legal and constitutional principles. It was inaugurated by OTIS, DICKINSON, JEFFERSON, and ADAMS, and closed with the labors of HAMILTON, MADISON, and JAY, in the Federalist. In the third period a new range was given to divinity and moral science in writers like CHANNING; CALHOUN and WEBSTER illustrated the principles of political science. MARshall, Kent, and STORY interpreted law. IRVIng, Cooper, Paulding, etc., opened new provinces in fiction and polite literature; HILLHOUSE, BRyant, HALLECK, DANA, LONGFELLOW sang their profound and sweet melodies. The national life, at the earliest moment, found its historian in BANCROFT; oratory gained new triumphs in the halls of Congress, and a genial race of writers filled the various departments of letters, in turns thoughtful, sentimental, or humorous as the occasion or theme required.' We have been only able to speak in general terms, in the way of a mere passing notice of so large a work, which reflects much honor on the indefatigable industry, perseverance, and research of the accomplished authors, and which will, no doubt, have the effect of quickening investigation, and open up new treasures in fields which have been hitherto unexplored. IMPRESSIONS OF ENGLAND: OR SKETCHES OF ENGLISH SCENERY AND SOCIETY. By A. CLEVELAND COXE, Rector of Grace Church, Baltimore. In one volume: pp. 321. New-York: DANA AND COMPANY. Books of travel and sojourn in England have been so common, that we feel almost reluctant to take up a new work of this description; but we were agreeably disappointed in the volume before us. Mr. CoxE went abroad with many advantages. A clergyman of the Church of England, with no mean reputation as a Christian poet; with many old correspondents of clerical and social repute, in the land whither he went,' and to whom, of course, he was accredited; and moreover, with a determination not to be a one-sided observer or a growling commentator; with all these advantages, it is not surprising that he enjoyed himself;' and that he does not hesitate to say so, on all occasions, and in the most enthusiastic terms. Very few American travellers,' says the New-York 'Churchman' religious journal, 'have had better-not many, indeed, such good opportunities of forming correct opinions of English society in its happier aspects, or of estimating, if not the political and social, at least the moral and religious influences which make it what it is. All Americans who go to England with proper introductions - - or even a single introduction, which is generally enough to open the door to good society—soon find that it depends very much upon themselves, as to the amount of opportunity, and its value, too, which they may have presented to them of seeing what is to be seen, and enjoying what is worth being enjoyed, whether in matters of public interest, or in the scenes and sympathies of social and even domestic life. Mr. CoxE was certainly very highly favored in these respects. His being an American clergyman of character and standing, and a man of letters, as well as a divine of considerable reputation; all this, doubtless, gave him advantages, and he was most properly solicitous, and ready at all times, to avail himself of them. But for this, indeed, we should not have had so delightful a volume as he has furnished, or one so full of information, as well as of interest.' LETTERS TO THE PEOPLE ON HEALTH AND HAPPINESS. By CATHARINE E. BEECHER. In One Volume: pp. 192. New-York: HARPER AND BROTHERS. THIS forcibly-written and timely volume has been described to be an exhibition of national valetudinarianism, as it prevails among the women of our country.' It is a clear and comprehensive compendium of the laws of health, in their application to the social condition of American women. Then the habitual violations of those laws are plainly presented, and a series of terse practical rules for their observance is added, with sufficient commentary. But the most noticeable portion of the book, is the new and striking group of facts, compiled and adduced for proof of the urgent and immediate importance of the reforms recommended. We work too hard; we work and live and sleep in bad postures and in vitiated air; we exercise too little; we eat and drink too much, too fast, at wrong times, of food unhealthy in substance, and ill-cooked; we indulge in condiments, stimulants, noxious luxuries; and that at just the times when they harm us most; our women dress in garments skilfully adjusted to distort and disarrange both the outside and the inside of the body, and to expose it to all possible risks from atmospheric changes; and we are dirty. Of the statistics in proof of all this, let two results suffice. Of four hundred and fifty American matrons, residing in ten States, in eight large cities and thirty country towns, whose cases were collected by gathering from each reporter accounts of ten married acquaintances of average health, one hundred and seven were reported well, and three hundred and forty-three ill; one hundred and eighty-eight being 'delicate or diseased;' and one hundred and fiftyfive, 'habitual invalids.' Of two hundred and fifty-six others, reported from four large cities and twenty-one country towns, in nine States, whose cases are supposed to furnish fairer and more reliable data, thirty-one were well; the remainder being either in an indistinct condition of weak or precarious health, or positively within the grasp of some well-defined organic or other disease.' It is a small volume that utters these great truths; but the facts themselves 'speak volumes' of salutary caution and sanitary precept. EDITOR'S TABLE. 1 FROM THE GREEN MOUNTAINS.-Right well pleased are we to welcome again to our pages our favorite 'Up-River' correspondent. Winter cannot freeze his fancy, nor snow thicken the ink that drops in gems from his potent pen: 'Inter Boreales: January. 'TWENTY DEGREES BELOW ZERO!-In the good city of Manhattan, when Mercury gets anyhere in the neighwborhood of zero, and a blithe wind is stirring, the air seems full of razors, and the point of human endurance to be reached. The omnibus-driver from his high seat beats his alternate sides, and now and then when arrived at the station-house, poor JEHU is found sitting erect beside his little box of cash, with the reins clutched in his hands, quite stiff. Some years ago, WIMBLES and I were riding home from the play at about eleven o'clock. The night was one of remembered severity, a tempest of sleet and hail prevailed, the cold pierced to the very marrow, sharp noses were frozen in the twinkling of an eye, no one faced the mischief, but every neck was turned awry, and every head was bowed to butt the storm. Wo be to the blear-eyed drunkard, who, enamored of his little rum-jug, stumbled into some snow-bank by the lonely way. He forgot his cares in somnolence, and the next morning was found as crisp as an icicle, with his companion at his side. WIMBLES and myself crouched down in two opposite corners (those next to the door) of the omnibus-which was on wheels for although some ventured upon runners, there had been precarious sleighing for the few days past. Our mouths were bound up in woollen tippets, WIMBLES' head was sunk upon his breast, and without the least reminiscence of the enlivening scenes which we had just left, we jogged along, silent, melancholy, and forlorn. For myself, I remember an acute sensation of cold about the shanks. One by one our fellow-travellers paid their fare, and went down the steps, every one at his own corner uttering an exclamation so soon as he came in contact with the frigid weather. At Thirteenth-street a thick-set man passed up a five-dollar bill to pay his fare, through the little round hole, taking it leisurely from a roll in his pocket-book, (silver currency was at that time scarce,) amid the muttered protests of every one who faced his neighbor on the opposite longitudinal seats. Omnibus, drivers, like their horses, are very patient, and I remember that the poor man took |