is a writer who aims well. He generally aims at something. He does not write a book merely because he overflows with utterance. But he has an object, generally a seriously-considered one, having moral relations, designed to have its effect on man. We do not ascribe to him in this volume, any such ridiculous purpose as that of separating the masses from the individual, and regarding his fellow being only in his gregarious aspects. No! But we are not so very sure that he has been successful in writing of man, peculiarly as an American citizen. We are of the notion that pretty much what he has said here, of the American man, will answer just as well, applied to the British man--the Gaulish man, or the Flemish man. The subjects designate and belong to man all the world over, nor do we see, when he insists upon the duties and performances of the man, as a citizen, that the same requisitions might not be urged, with equal propriety, in regard to the citizen under any aspect of the heavens. Let us, for example, examine the subjects of the volume, which, alone, it seems to us, is conclusive on this head. These are nineteen in number, viz.-1. The Child; 2. The Father; 3. The Teacher; 4. The Citizen; 5. The Farmer; 6. The Mechanic; 7. The Merchant; 8. The Soldier; 9. The Statesman; 10. The Friend; 11. The Painter; 12. The Sculptor; 13. The Journalist; 14. The Masses; 15. The Reformer; 16. The Poor Man; 17. The Scholar; 18. The Preacher; 19. The Poet. Now, which of these subjects suggests to the mind, the peculiar aspect of the man, as a member of the American Republic? Not one! They regard him only as a man, in relation to society and government in general, and will apply to his position under any government and in any state of society. It is not our quarrel with Mr. Mathews, that he has not succeeded in giving to his subjects the distinctive national individuality which he aimed at. We see not exactly how the thing was to be done,-unless, perhaps, with a very extreme feeling of national partiality, he should insist upon the superior performances of the American citi zen. But this constitutes a difference of degree, not of kind or quality, between the obligations of the American and the citizen of every other country. He might insist that, as the trusts of the American citizen are greater, his responsibilities are necessarily superior,-and he would say truly but, with this distinction all would cease, and his poems would bear equal application to any other people. But, in order that the author should have every advantage of argument and position, we will assume that certain of the topics included in this list, are of special individual propriety. These are the ninth, the thirteenth, fourteenth and sixteenth in his catalogue-viz: The Statesman, the Journalist, the Masses, and the Reformer! The American statesman may be supposed to have more peculiar relations. to the people, as he derives his distinctions, in most instances more immediately from them, than is the case with the British or the French statesmen. The Journalist may be affected in like manner and for the same reason. The Masses, unquestionably have a character with us, and do not wait for their action upon a scarcity of bread or corn ;—and, for the Reformer, why, heaven help the race, if we cannot put in our claims, the length and breadth of the land, for the possession of a supply, commensurate to the Masses-far exceeding the demand--particularly in New-England, in which region provisions seem to be made for every quarter of the world,--that single spot excepted which originates them, and where, the perfect condition of men and things would seem to render any domestic appropriation of the stock wholly unnecessary. How has Mr. Mathews treated these subjects? Let us turn to ix., The Statesman, page 53. We quote this poem entire. THE STATESMAN. Up to the Capitol who goes, a heart Should bear, state tyranny may not subdue: It ever, day by day, grows fresh and new, Nor sleeps through the mid-watches of the night, Tho' there the thankless world has left its smart, Without some visions, beckoning and bright, That make him gladly to his bedside start. Accursed who on the Mount of Rulers sits Nor gains some glimpses of a fairer day! Save what the universal self affords. He that with sway of empire would control The rank or desert waste-the golden field; Deeper to feel, than quickly to express And then alone in the consuminate act- But keeps within his own peculiar tract; Nor strives to draw within its general bound- The rich man's hoard, the poor man's patchy ground. Strip from the trunk that props the empire up, All weeds, all flowers that hides the simple shaft: A single leaf nor draw a single line To daze the eye, to coax the grasper's hand; Forever changeless,-simple let it stand! Bating a little roughness in the verse, and an occasional obscurity in the expression, this is a thoughtful and pleasing poem. It happily describes the sort of moral character which is essential to make the statesman; but, with the exception of the single word "capitol," by which-it being no longer the ear-mark of the Roman-we see what nation is intended, and what is there in the whole poem that could not equally apply to the British as to the American statesman; to Mr. Peel as to Mr. Upshur;-that would not be becoming and appropriate counsel to any good man and true patriot, having a people's destinies in his hands? We do not see, indeed, why this should not be the case; but our objection is, that it should not be altogether the case, consistently with the plan of the book, since we are not to suppose that the author would deliberately perpetrate a commonplace, and, setting out to counsel the American statesman in particular, and to show what he should be,—would do nothing more than utter these natural, moral and social suggestions, which would, to precisely the same extent, benefit the statesman of every other country. This objection, as we see, applies entirely to the design,-a design, which struck us at the outset, as involving this very difficulty,-since what could be said to the American statesman, in the way of good advice, which would not be equally well said to the head men of Europe,—unless, indeed, it be something touching repudiation, which may be supposed a somewhat peculiar right of the American; or an occasional suggestion on a local question, the accumulation and appropriation of a surplus fund, the disposition of the public lands, or some other such matter, by which the poet, in carrying out his literary plan, would incur the awkward risk of the partisan, and, in all likelihood, would share the fate of young Tyler, be applauded by one set, at the hazard of being bedevilled by the other. We may remark, en passant,-though this we hold to be rather a small matter,-that, to our ear, our author's verse is very far from faultless. The seventh line of the first verse, which we have italicised, will not bear scanning, unless we throw the emphasis upon the second syllable of the word "beckoning." We have taken the liberty of omitting the word "ever" from the last line of the third verse: "Nor ever to the trials of the way will yield”— since we take for granted, it could only have got there through an inadvertency. Mr. Mathews deals largely in involutions of his sentences, by which the sense is sometimes obscured, is not reached readily; and we note, here and there, as in the first line of the second verse, that the effect of this practice is occasionally to exclude a member of the sentence, which may be considered necessary to its grammatical accuracy. We can readily conceive why this is done, but we are not so sure that vigor and force are always, or even frequently, derivable from the abruptnesses which the practice occasions. But we shall not dwell on this. Proceeding to the next poem, entitled "The Journalist," the reader will find it liable to the objections already made. The poem opens with a very bold and not inappropriate figure. We give it entire. THE JOURNALIST. As shakes the canvass of a thousand ships, A thousand images the hour will take, From him who strikes, who rules, who speaks, who sings; Many to live, far in the heart of things. A dark-eyed spirit he who coins the time, How beautiful who scatters, wide and free, The gold-bright seeds of loved and loving truth! To know the instant and to speak it true, Its passing lights of joy, its dark, sad cloud, The angel that in sand-dropped minutes lives, Hell not the quiet of a Chosen Land, Thou grimy man over thine engine bending; Obey, Rhinoceros! an infant's hand,— We do not care to repeat our criticism, on the score of that failure to individualize the subject, which the general title of the book would seem to render necessary. Regarded without this reference, and in a spirit of indulgent criticism, the poem is a fine one; the thoughts are good, and there are several phrases which denote the original mind. To the first five verses no objection will lie. But, as we are "nothing if not critical," we shall not suffer the remaining four to pass muster. Our author must bear with us, if we object to the surplus foot in the last line of the sixth verse. We object to the phrase, "dusk-red words," as we cannot conceive the possibility or propriety of painting sounds. We object to the very audacious phrase with which the eighth verse opens. We object to the third line in the same verse, as outrageously inharmonious; and we are very far from sure that the epithets employed in the closing quatrain, are in good taste in themselves, or in harmony with the rest of the performance. Journalism in our country, is a subject that |