gcls_courant_001 6

6 THE COURANT ; A SOUTHERN LITERARY JOURNAL

[COLUMN 1]
-------------------------------------------------------
CRITICAL NOTICES.
---------------------------------------------
THE BALLAD OF BABIE BELL., and other Poems. By THOMAS BAILEY
ALDRICH. N. Y. 1859: Rudd & Carleton.
"There is something exceedingly sweet and solemn," says a dis-
tinguished British Essayist, "in the strain of thought suggested by
the appearance of a new and true poet. Well is his uprise often
compared to that of a new star arising in the midnight." This feel-
ing is so natural, that, we take it, no man with any soul in him, can
read the first volume of a genuine poet, without that kind of awe
and attention which is observable in any audience during the pre-
lude to some grand symphony. These are introductory strains that
lead us to perfect work : it may be, that there are discords here and
there, caused to be heard ; in the very handling of his instrument.
In the collection before us, we have little in the way of a serious
Opus ; they are rather the melodious preludes and happy improvisa-
tions of a genius just putting his thoughts into form.
He will not linger long at his favorite studies return to them : but
he dashes off his thick-crowding fancies as they come, and next
day begins another, and another, with the same enthusiasm,
unabated by the toils of Art. These short "studies" have
their use -- and it is a high be, in developing the poet's power to
produce sustained and complete works when the season for "stud-
ies" has past. There is, in all these short poems of Mr. Aldrich, a
completeness which is truly admirable in these evil days of "frag-
ments." Entireness, the great key stone of a true poem, most of
our modern writers neglect in a matter which cannot be too much
reprobated ; and against which one of the most gifted of our contem-
porary poets, Matthew Arnold, has eloquently and unanswerably
pretested, in the preface to his last volume of poems. Most of our
modern poets seem to think that writing a poem consists simply in
stringing together a set of delicate conceits and pretty fancies ; as,
for example, Alexander Smith's "Life-Drama," (which is wretch-
edly misnamed, since it has no sort of action to consitute a Drama,
and no sort of relation to life, unless the end of life be to utter
pleasant fancies without any definite object.) Mr. Aldrich has no
such fault--when he intends to speak of a particular thing, he calls
the poem by the name of that thing; if it requires ten, twenty, or
fifty lines to say what he has to say, he uses just so many lines and
no more; he possesses in a high degree the talent of "stopping when
he has done."
What can we say of "Babie Bell" ? all the world has seen some
sweet child, with all its innocence and winning grace and beauty,
die, when for it all hearts had opened wide their inner chambers.--
Hence, this beautiful poem has been copied and re-copied by all the
journals of our land--and read and re-read by all who have ever
dropped a tear over the early grave of the child who brought
back all the freshness of the human affections. The literature of
every people is full of the sweet and tenderest poems on this sub-
ject ; but Mr. Aldrich has added a singularly original and exquisite
poem to the long list. Some of his other poems, such as "Madam,
as you pass us by," "Little Maud," "Barbara," "Passing St. Hel-
ena," and the "Pastoral Hymn of the Fairies," will live while our
language lives. We expect great achievements from this poet, and
for his next serious work, we predict a fame world-wide--which
will be the due reward of such a genius-- as his own good sense
must correct his only fault, to wit, his over-sensuousness ; and "art
and patience" shall weave that "poet's perfect cloth of gold," which,
"Woven so, nor moth nor mold
Nor time can make its color fade.
"COLLEGE POEMS:" BY WILLIE. Philedelphia 1858 : W. S. Young.
The chief difficulty in passing judgment upon the works of a young
poet, consists in ascertaining precisely what powers he has, in spite
of the cruditites, errors and positive faults, which, in one way or an-
other, must mar the earlier writings of even the most highly gifted.
It lies in the application of tests, which will show that in the rough
lump before the critic, a possible diamond of great brilliancy exists;
in a word, to see, in the "Hours of Idleness," the genius which
may, after proper culture, produce the glorious poetry of Childe
Harrold. Many have given promise, in this way, it is true, who af-
terwards disappointed all expectations which they had aroused; but
we take that no instance of such failure can be adduced, where
the author was faithful to his own gifts, where he cultivated care-
fully, and studied with a fixed purpose. Indeed, with most men, it
is the best sign that they really possess power, to see them aspire
to high and difficult things : as the genius of the painter spoke in
prophetic ecstacy when the boy cried "ed io sonno anche pittore!"
I, too, am a poet, says the young bard. "I feel it, weak as is yet my
power to sing, and unworthy as my songs may be ;" and thus, the
very desire to soar, indicates that he was not made to grovel.
The volume before us is full of this sort of aspirations : nay, the
author at every page shows us the vehement desire to accomplish
some of the most difficult feats ever yet performed in the world of
poetry. We see, throughout, the impress of a warm and affectionate
nature, the enthusiasm of youth, the sensitive-nervousness of a lover
of all that is beautiful and holy ; a quick eye for the fairest forms of
Nature and Art, a lively perception of natural and moral analogies.
The poem entitled "Ocmulgee," is the best sustained in the volume,
and shows, in addition to the qualities already enumerated, not a
little inclination to subtile and refined "Theory of Life," which, as
regards the external influences of the man's surroundings upon the
development of his mind and heart, recalls to us occasionally the
mystical dreams of Shelley, and anon, changing, reminds us of the
mild and happy theory of Wordsworth, in its perfect appreciation of
the domestic circle, and its power in moulding the character and govern-
ing the unruly will. The first poem has a clear, distinct, and even
artistic sequence ; and shows that our young poet can take a good
idea, can elaborate and fully illustrate it. But we cannot say so
much for some of the other poems : most of which he ought to have
laid away, as records of his youthful studies and progess. The
want of finish, the carelessness of tone, the lack of definite purpose,
common-place phrases and undignified expression combine to make
the well-wishers of Mr. East feel a regret that he allowed such po-
ems to go with his volume. The reason for their admission, we
think, was, that the book was published for a circle of friends ; each
poem, however faulty to an indifferent eye, doubtless had some asso-
ciations which made some one desire to have it in permanent shape.
Mr. East writes no absolute doggerel, but he has allowed many of his
friends to put into this volume poems which he will heartily wish
out of it, before many years. Writing as he did for his friends, and
publishing a volume for a particular purpose, namely, to oblige his

[END OF COLUMN 1 ]

friends, it was not expected that he would select his best poems, to
the exclusion of those around which pleasant recollections clustered :
recollections which made them scarcely less dear to the poet than
to the group of friends for whom they were written. Yet, Mr. East
will be judged, in many instances, by these very poems, and, ignor-
ing the real good points of his volume, critics will point to its faults
--ss if all poets did not have faults-- and cite such lines as these--
"Light thy movements, Mellelula!
As the minnows in rill."
"Then he'd thump me, and would tell me,
Go, sir! take your seat again."
" Then they took her to her mother
And she put her child to bed."
" Oh ! that on the peaceful brow
Of the earth I might repese;
By the side of Mellelula,
Safe from Mr. Welch's blows."
But as a sett-off against this sort of careless writing, we shall
quote the beginning of "Ocmulgee" as a fair specimen of the ability
of our author to do something which the world will not willingly let
die :
"Along a vast and lofty mountain's base
The home of shalows and the grave of light,
Where low sweet winds, that journeyed from afar,
Over the seas and over flowerly fields,
Bearing upon their bosoms ripe perfumes
Had come to hush their mean, a youthful bard
Wandered, and in his spirit drank the spell,
Of harmony, of beauty, and of light,
Hung o'er the face of nature like a vail.
He had looked on the universe, and felt
That from its many moss-inwoven founts
A stream of deep mysterious spirit-life
Gushed on his being. Solitude and home,
Tempest and calm, the darkness and the light
Are words which had for him a kindred sense,
They went into his spirit, like the sound
Of ocean murmurs in the moaning shell--
Low music, whispering as the evenings winds;
Fair forms--too fair for mortal eyes to see!
Had floated on the visions of his mind
Like moonlit clouds upon the silver air; --
High visions, too ethereally endowed
With rapture, not to burn the human soul
Which they illumine.
In the "Southern Rose" we find a beautiful tribute to some fair
one departed ; parts of it are exquistely tender :
" Gone, from our hearts and home the dove-eyed maid !
Gone, like the swallows, to a sunnier clime!
Gone, with the hues and odors of the Spring!
Gone, with the sweetness of her youth away!
The morn; that circling, treads her aure orbs,
And peaceful, eyes that vain turmoil below,
Hears, nightly, some pale mourner in beam
Wail o'er the beautiful maiden's early grave."
With constant, earnest study of Nature, his own heart, and the
writings of the best authors: wish more luncellabor and less frequent
composition, we predict for Mr. East some high achievement in the
future.
ADDRESS AND POEM, Delivered at the First Anniversary of the Carolina
Art Association.
The address of President Middleton on the "Cultivation of Art,"
is admirably conceived and carefully, elegantly, and in part, nobly
written. It sets forth the claims of Art and Artist in a clear, logi-
cal, and perfectly satisfactory manner; at the same time it demol-
ishes the vulgar utilitarian views which are, unhappily, only too
common, in reference to these matters. "I have endeavored," says
he, "to vindicate the position of the Artist, because I think it legit-
imately preliminary to any due estimate of his productions. If the
Poet, the Painter, the Sculptor, the Musician do not occupy, from
the very nature of their calling, positions of unchallenged dignity
and responsibility, it seems to me that there is a strange inconsis-
tency in the tribute of immortal admiration which we yield to their
labors. Either Shakespeare and Milton, Raphael and Michael Angelo,
Handel and Mozart, stand in the very front rank of humanity, or
mankind have erred exceedingly in the place which they have as-
signed to the productions of their genius. But there is no question
about the matter ; we cannot dethrone them ; an irreversible decree
has gone forth ; the seal of universal assent has been affixed to their
patents of nobility, and secured for them a page in the history of
mental development which Tudors and Plantaganets might envy."
--p.9.
The ODE, by Paul H. Hayne, is a carefully-studied production,
and is, we think, by far, his most complete poem. Its absolute en-
tireness, its perfect freedom from episode, the mutual dependence of
the parts, and the impossiblity of quoting one passage without the oth-
ers which explain, fortify, and illustrate it, will sufficiently account
for our not quoting something from the chrysolite, which is, in-
deed, "totus, teres alque rotundus."

Matrimonial Brokerage in the Metropolis, New York, 1859; Thatcher
& Hutchinson.

In the South, we know, as yet, nothing of that complex and won-
derful system, which goes by the name of "Matrimonial Broker-
age," and of which we catch glimpses in the advertisements of the
New York papers, and especially, of the Morning New York Herald.
Some of our readers may be disposed to regard the narratives of
this volume as altogether fictitious, but, unhappily, only too many of
these transactions, and affairs even more scandalous than these, are
vouched for by parties of unquestioned integrity. We do not under-
take to say how much precise truth may be contained in this volume;
but we can say that it is one of the most amusing exposes that we
have ever read. Although it is very questionable whether any good
will be accomplished by publishing to the world these details of
wickedness, inasmuch as it may teach such tricks to some who
might never have dreamed of them. Still, if a man will embark in
this sort of "Brokerage," here is his vade mecum : and to those who
will not, on principle or policy, it will be a most amusing book for
the hot weather.

The same publishers have sent us Dr. CHAPIN'S "Discourse on the
Evils of Gaming." Dr. Chapin is, confessedly, one of the most elo-
quent men of our times, and certainly a clear, convincing writer.--
The "Discourse" before us is a very clever performance ; setting
forth in an unanswerable manner the arguments against one of the
greatest "evils" of our large cities. As such, we commend it to our
readers, who can procure it for ten cents, from Messrs, Thatcher &
Hutchinson, New York.

[END OF COLUMN 2]

[COLUMN 3]

UNDIQUE GAZA.
------------------
Peterson's Magazine for April is on our table ; the tone of this pe-
riodical is always highly moral and correct. It is pre-eminently a
magazine for the ladies, inasmuch as all matters pertaining to fash-
ion, patterns, &c., are fully attended to.
------------------
THE CULPRIT FAY.-- All the world knows that the Northern pub-
lishers are a most enterprising fraternity; but Messrs. Rudd &
Carleton, of New York, have perpetrated the most refreshing piece of
inpudence lately, that has ever come under our observation. The late
Rodman Drake, wishing that his poem, "The Culprit Fay," should
not be published, printed a few copies for private distribution, and in
order to prevent the publication in future, took the copy-right.--
Mr. J. Rodman Drake Key, shortly after the publication by Messrs.
Rudd & Carleton, caused the sale of this book to be stopped; but
what good could that do? It was quite too late, after the publishers
had sent copies all over the country. For our part, we were de-
lighted to find a new edition of this beautiful poem, and we thanked
the ignorance or impudence of the publishers, who sent it forth. The
worst of the whole affair is, that Mr Ehninger, a distinguished ar-
tist, of New York, gave them a sketch for the vignette, on condition
that his name should not be used ; after getting up a miserable little
cut, which they put opposite the title-page, they advertised the book
as "beautifully illustrated by Mr. Ehninger ! " Verily, this is a go-
ahead age!
----------------------
In that sterning old monthly, "The Knickerbocker," for April,
we find the first of a series on "Dante, from a modern point of view."
The present number is eloquently and truthfully written. From
it we extract some of the best portions :
Dante's Portrait : "Before the vestibule of our modern civilization,
at once the last of the ancients and the first of the moderns in the
empire of letters, stands a majectic figure whom we all know well by
sight, and ought to know better by heart. Wherever we meet his
portrait, no matter who may be the artist, or what the form or merit
of the work, we never mistake the familiar features; always the
same body, dark visage, high check-bones, projecting under-lip,
aquiline nose, and large, piercing eyes ; always the same union of
pride and sensiblity, strength and delicacy, in the expression. He
is generally represented crowned with laurels, in strange contrast
with his sad countenance, as if Gethsemane had thrown upon his
features its shadow, and Parnassus had put upon his head its crown.
The most impressive of all portraits of him, is the Torrigiani bust at
Florence, said to have been modelled from a cast taken immediately
after death. Its majesty and sweetness show forth the rival powers
that struggled for the mastery in his nature, until sorrow and death
reconciled them. The Roman eagle and the Christian dove there
meet together, and the eagle, subdued by the dove, has learned a
holier and a higher flight. That face is a compound of ages of his-
tory, and a prophecy of ages to be. "
Dante and Beatrice. "At a May-day party given by Tolco Porti-
nari, the boy Dante, then at the close of his ninth year, met his
host's daughter, Beatrice, a graceful and delicate child, who seems
to have been one of those rare little creatures whose beauty comes
more from an indwelling loveliness than from mere form or feature,
and so, to belond less to self than to God. . . . . . . . . . Dante's
nature was profoundly sensitive to all beauty, and needed only an
adequate object to interpret it to himself. He was to enter the tem-
ple of GOD by the gate called Beautiful, and this lovely child was the
good angle that lead him thither. Her face went with him when he
crossed the threshold, and haunted him ever in its inmost shrine.---
The romantic, chivalrous character of the age combines with the ob-
vious principle of association to explain something of her power
over him during her life-time; but we must look deeper for the ex-
planation of that influence upon his mature convictions, which cul-
minated after her death. We must remember that his intellect was
essentially religious, always earnest to ascent from facts to ideas,
and to connect every earthly experience with a providential purpose.
His love was too great a fact of his experience to be left out of his re-
ligious creed, and it was transfigured into a part of his religion.
Who will wonder at the transformation? Dante, like all poetic na-
tures, ascribed the power which was developed in his own genius to
the object that first awakened it. One of our own poets has said of
his own dear departed child :
"And the light of Heaven she's gone to,
Transfigures her golden hair. "
To Dante's solemn and intense mind, the light of the heaven of
Beatrice transfigured his own life as well as hers, and threw its
marvellous rays over the whole drama of humanity.
She was the pure sparkling fountain that broke the white, invisible
light of his soul with prismatic splendor at its dawning, and through the
burden and heat of the day he bore with him that fair morning vision.
. . . . . . To Dante, she was the type of the divinest faculty of
our humanity, the principle of womanly faith, the capacity of re-
ceiving and imparting heavenly grace itself. In thus estimating
his relation to Beatrice, we are not taking him out of the ranks of
mortality, or exempting him from human frailty. He evidently had
his share of human follies and sins, and it is hard to refrain from
laughing at some of his love-poems, and quite as hard to keep from
graver surmises at some of the hints and compunctions as to his life,
for a season after her death. Yet, no theory short of what we have
stated is adequate to explain the devotion to Beatrice, which, contin-
ued in spite of her marriage, was deepened by her death, not de-
stroyed by his own subsequent marriage, in the meridian of life open-
ly recognized as the means of his spiritual regeneration, and glorified
at the close of his career in words such as woman has never before
or since received from man. "
-----------------------------
AN ENGLISH PAPER SAYS : "The word 'either' may well com-
plain of ill-usage. Not only correspondents of provincial papers, but
the Times itself talks of 'either' in a perfectly erroneous sense.--
We have 'armies assembled on either side of the rive ; a numer-
ous attendance in either House of Parliament ;' and 'vigorous section
on either side of the House.' How can either be made to signify
both ? Either is one or the other ; it is this, or that ; it is never the
two."

[END OF COLUMN 3 AND PAGE]