men and the learning of the times, and the monks of those days. Much has yet to be done in the elucidation of history. Whether, however, Mr. Worrell has painted the individuals, whom he has introduced to our notice, in all their true characters, must be left to the historian and antiquarian. He has wound up the tale with considerable talent, and introduced some strong

lines.

Poetry, moreover, is not unfrequently leavened in our day with a good deal of mere verbiage-a state of things where words more than ideas prevail-a state of things where the reader may be amused and even confused, but not instructed. Here again we may say that this fault is not one of the poem or poems, (for there are some miscellaneous poems,) in the volume before us. In this respect, indeed, the author is occasionally rather concise than diffuse or verbose. The poem consists of five cantos. To give the reader an idea of the intellect, the moral feelings, and rhythm, of the beginning of the first canto, we quote the following good lines:

"Soft breathings of the Holy Spirit kind,
Impress your living beauties on my mind;
Direct my thoughts by Truth's refulgent star,
Which oft to mortals clouded hangs afar."

We must not, however, confine ourselves to one extract for elucidation either of the sentiments or the rhythm. Look at the beginning of the third

canto :

“Morn, with its rosy smiles and tears of dew,
Awakes all nature, born to life anew:

Many a dew-dipped bud shall burst and fade,
Ere Phoebus has his daily journey made."

Whatever civilization has reached man, he has exhibited a great inclination to bloodshed. He cannot yet decide his contests without coming to blows, without appealing to physical force. It is clear, therefore, that man has not yet reached the state of perfect civilization. The poetical historian is obliged to paint some of these scenes of man; we therefore quote the following description of the commencement of a battle under the Anglo-Saxons :

"Drawing the regal army to the plain,

In three huge columns, Alden leads again;
No civil blood as yet had stained his blade,
Which had, a hundred times, him victor made.
Beside the hero, with some chosen horse,
Funereal Edwy heads his faithful force.
In the right wing, 'neath Atheling's command,
The sturdy sons of Kent and Sussex stand.
These wield the sword, and draw a potent bow,
But scorn to aim, the arrow finds the foe.
Sigbert commands the left, and him, that day,
Mercia's and bold Northumbria's sons obey.
These in the pike and battle-axe delight;
Wielding no bow, they pant for closer fight.
Wessex, East Anglia, and Essex blend,
'Neath Hildred's eye, the centre to defend :
The pike and sword, and battle-axe they wield,
A varied host with valour for its shield."

We turn from this dark scene of blood to another of a quite different description, which contrasts well with the former. Elgiva in a state of peace and composure thus addresses Edwy :—

Pass slow, ye hours so pregnant with harsh fate,
If sight of bliss can stop your lofty gait,—

Eternity shall, like the phoenix, rise

More beauteous still, when Time in ashes lies.
The orbits' courses number thy short life,

Their own, and man's, and Death's, till all be rife
For something, we a feeble notion trace;
The limner mind pourtrays with every grace,
Yet far behind the truth; and words have given

A feeble name, though 'tis 'the reign of Heaven.'
Calm are the winds, which late provoked the storm;
Calm are the skies, which violence had worn;
Calm is all nature; man alone shares not

The universal calm."

Poetry may be beautifully employed to satirize the follies and immoralities of mankind. The good poet will always show himself on the side of virtue; and though the refuse of mankind may, in their insane moments, applaud the Bacchanalian or the poet, who supplies them with loose immoralities, yet their censure is sure, in the end, to overtake him and condemn him. Juvenal, long ago, satirized the vices of Rome. When the state of society becomes what it is too apt always to be, and what it really is-selfish and miserly, the good poet lifts his pen and opposes with all his mind the deluge of griping selfishness. Rome, for our instruction and for our beacon, fell only when all things became venal, when all things were bought and sold, when liars made their way to all the chief departments of the state.

The celebrated cutting sarcasm of the Latin Poet, when speaking of the moralities of Rome, What could I do at Rome, for I do not know how to lie? will live for ever to illustrate the baseness of cities and extensive empires, and merchandise. In our day, we require some poets to stem this base, slave-like vice of our tradesmen and merchants-lying. In the very words of the poet before us, in his miscellaneous poems, we say with him,

"Ye sons of trade, relent--this hour,

May be, destroys another youth,

Who, torn from heaven-begotten truth,
Yields his pure mind to your fell power.
Ye sons of trade, relent-he's man
Who yielded to your hated shrine
All heaven gave-the mind divine-

And now his tortures have began."

It is not, indeed, all gold that the sons of trade acquire when they get the metal. Hence the miserable effects which the votaries of the God Plutus often exhibit in their looks and persons, described by our very poet under consideration :

"With hastened walk and downcast eyes,
With thoughtful look that health defies,
No mirth can raise his tainted smile,
His laugh is but the laugh of guile :
He sees each day fresh miseries—
Or gift or pity he denies.

No happy hours are his-for gold,
His mind, his happiness he sold :

What can he have but restless nights,

Who knows not Nature's pure delights?"

He, indeed, who warns mankind of these immoralities, is the true friend of

man

The author is young, but we commend him for these efforts of his Muse. He will still improve as he advances. There are, however, many wide fields of science, and the knowledge of the constitution of man, yet untouched and unsung by any poet. This domain is wide: but it requires knowledge of these extended sciences to paint and describe their excellencies and realities to man. The commonly so called field of imagination is one of this number. It is really full of truth and realities. John Worrell has in one place alluded to this truth.

"Imagination is with truth replete,

The world may hide it, but in wild retreat
Its beauties may be sought."

Ay, and he might have added strongly in another couplet, felt also.

Our observations have extended farther than we at first intended; but as they apply to all poetry and all poets, and to the whole human race, they cannot be called at least sectarian.

Ellen Braye; or the Fortune-teller. In 2 vols. London: Saunders and

Otley. 1841.

Every book that exhibits a healthy state of mind in the writer, and fosters one in the reader, has attained the first round of the ladder of excellence— the first and the most important. Right feeling, in the present age of corrupt literature, is so very rare an attribute of authors, that every demonstration of it should ensure commendation; and therefore is it that we venture to give a no very scanty meed of praise to the novel of Ellen Braye. The eagle eye of more saturnine critics might indeed discover faults in its construction and arrangement, and some might object to the paucity of sustained dialogue; but its defects are amply compensated by many excellencies. The author has had courage to avoid the deleterious influences of an era which delights in Jack Sheppardism, and has produced a work whose pages are unpolluted by the impurities of vice made venial, or the fascinations of crime made heroic. There is a simplicity and naïveté displayed in its language and incidents, which, while they bespeak it a maiden effort, are exceedingly pleasant to those who have been hackneyed, like ourselves, even to disgust, in the ways of authorship.

However, this book is further recommended to us by its author having dared to let fly at nobler quarry than the majority of his brother novelists. He is not afraid to introduce the dogmas of the highest philosophy into a work of amusement. A whole chapter is devoted to the speculations of a mystical transcendentalist-Mr. Cunliffe Manvers. This gentleman, besides holding other strange opinions, is represented as being a strict Pythagorean. By-the-bye, his arguments on behalf of a vegetable diet are worth quoting. They are evolved in the following dialogue :

"I think," said Miss Aimwell, "there seems to be much in this consideration. All know how opposed to intellect eating is, even in the most prudent conduct of it. There are few who can exert their powers of thought after dinner as successfully as previously to partaking that meal."

"That," rejoined Colonel Needham," is probably, however, more owing to excess in food, than to its improper quality."

"Both in quantity and quality," replied Manvers, "reform is necessary. Errors of quantity, however, though more obvious, are less destructive than those of quality. False quantities derange the functions only, but false qualities distort essences.'

"I do not understand this clearly," said Miss Aimwell. “Will you, sir, be courteous enough to explain it ?"

"I will, with permission," said Manvers, "resign this task to my friend, Mrs. Beddowes."

"I almost wish I could not answer," replied Mrs. Beddowes; "because,

in my clearness of perception, I feel somewhat self-condemned upon the score of my imperfect practice. It appears to me that the darker nature of the soul, such as anger, covetous desire, and the like, which are the very opposite antagonists of inspiration, retain or secrete corporeal essences of a kindred nature, with which to reproduce their outward exhibitions. Well! souls acting from these natures, testify an inward longing after fiery, exciting, irritating substances, that with them they may bring themselves to manifestation. The fiery nature loves fiery meats and drinks. The stimulants which men take modify the nervous fluids, and very little serenity of soul is ever experienced by those who lay themselves open to such false appliances."

"True," added Manvers. "The essences of the food unite with the essential properties of the soul, while quantities of food merely affect the untranquil or calm workings of the functions. The first effect of animated food is stimulating; but in the reaction it is fattening and incrassating. In both of these respects it is contrary to the true corporeal condition which the soul demands, for conditions must be peaceful; and peace is a medium between heaviness and excitement. The soul is in a sort of pendulating state, oscillating between matter and spirit; and on its material side it is very mortifiable, by the corporeal essences with which it contracts; and consequently, if they are of the irritating kind, the soul's dominant passions are awakened; a temperate and cool diet is best adapted for soul serenity, inasmuch as its tendency is less likely than any other to injure the soil in which the divine germs have to vegetate."

“Do you think, then," asked Colonel Needham, “that stimulants are in no case necessary?"

"I think," replied Manvers, "that they are never required, excepting in cases of indisposition, and then only for the purpose of restoring a proper tone to the constitution which has been lost. In no other case should they be indulged in. If we really wish to represent faithfully the divine inspiration, it must be in conditions of calmness. Neither our words nor our actions must be suffered to savour of wine, or beef, or any other of the stimulating provisions which men are accustomed to use. But besides, this objection which I have to animal food tells particularly in another way. There is much cruelty and injustice in slaying animals for food. The practice calls up in the bosom the most sanguinary tempers. I believe there is a provision in our laws, that a butcher may be objected to when he is enrolled on a jury; our legislature intimating by that clause, that its merciful kindness will not permit the life of its fellow-creatures to be staked upon the decision of those who are in the habit of shedding blood."

"But," said Miss Aimwell, "how few are there in the multitude of human beings who are required for that service."

"True," answered Manvers; "but if one man is injured by it, rendered savage in his actions, cruel to those about him, or in any way profligate or unfeeling, motive enough is offered in this one case, for the well-disposed to abstain from encouraging the eating of flesh. But the case is otherwise; the pollution is fearfully extensive; thousands are morally ruined. Put their names of inspiration and butchery together, and how do they sound?"

"Not very harmonious," replied Sir Philip Doveridge; "but there is perhaps a conventional prejudice about the butchers, that interferes with our judgment on this point. Many butchers are worthy men."

Far be it from me," added Manvers, "to censure them in a thoughtless manner! On the contrary, I think that those who eat flesh are much more to blame, and more polluted than those who slay; because the brute creature is taken into the constitution, and becomes a very part of it; while the slaying is only an external act, which, when performed, ends without any further consequences; yet slaying is a bad condition for the developement of the purer sympathies. If the feeling and gentle were first obliged to slaughter,

and then prepare the food they ate, they would have no appetite for the feast. Surely all will agree in this!"

"Oh!" exclaimed Miss Aimwell, "it would indeed be horrible to be obliged to slay the animals for ourselves; and certainly, though it never occurred to me before, it must be inconsistent with justice to instigate others to a demoralizing and barbarous practice, which our tenderer feelings will not permit us to engage in."

"How," said Colonel Needham, "will you obtain a sufficient variety in the vegetable kingdom to satisfy the multiplicity of tastes ?"

Manvers replied;-" If this question were asked respecting the animal substances, there might perhaps be some difficulty in answering it; but the reply is evident, when we call to mind the fact, that even the most ordinary tables furnish a greater variety of vegetables and fruits than of meats. In fact, the varieties in the vegetable dietary are innumerable; and the enjoyment, when once the appetite and the supplies harmonize, or are brought in unison, is beyond all measure increased."

"It is much to be regretted, my dear friend," said Mrs. Beddowes, "that we cannot adopt your mode, without incurring the imputation of singularity and affectation. Many would doubtless be happy to conform to greater simplicity, if custom would concede to them the liberty so to do."

"Then," replied Manvers, "let those that will be free, resolve to burst the bonds, of whatever kind they be, that keep them enslaved! The hope of peace and a better world is intensely blissful. The world will harmonize with us when we no longer antagonize the world. The lurid eye of suspicion and cruelty with which we are regarded by the most ferocious animals, will be no more, when we are adequate to subduing them. If we are to be lords on earth, let us endeavour to become worthy of an exalted place in heaven." "I own my ignorance," said Colonel Needham; "and I must beg of you, my dear sir, to inform me as to the works you recommend to my perusal, for a further illustration of the_doctrines you have put forth, for our instruction and information, indeed, I may add, our amusement; for every subject becomes interesting, when elicited with such eloquence and dexterity."

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"There are several curious and clever works on these particular doctrines," answered Mr. Manvers. "Porphyry wrote a long treatise on 'Abstinence from Flesh,' which has been translated into English. Dr. Cheyne, of Bath, also published a book upon Regimen,' which is much esteemed. I could also name many other authors who have advocated the vegetable system, and in which many objections are met, and many interesting facts cited. But, above all, I would refer my kind friends to the purity of their own hearts, which will furnish them better with lessons of humanity than any authors, ancient or modern. We must desire light to perceive the deformity of vice, and seek to guard and fortify our minds by the inspirations of virtue. How can we hope for or aspire to a vivifying flame, if the scintillations of the spirit are obscured by the dross with which, in our fallen nature, we are encumbered?"

Whether this reasoning will be so potent as to convert the Jacobs of the present day from their love of savoury meats, is sufficiently dubious; but the enunciation of one extreme is sometimes requisite to correct the propensity for running into the other. We would, however, suggest to the Pythagoreans, that the philosophic abstraction on which they pride themselves ought to render them indifferent as to what they eat or what they drink. It should lead them, not to a discrimination of this or that viand, but to a contented acceptation of whatever the providence of Heaven might send, be it the fatted calf, or the wild herb. In fact, they ought not to care a straw about the matter, and eat just what is set before them. But transcendental doctrines require more than thisnot temperance only, but abstinence. Carried out to their last results, their