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is inferior to other nations in the inventions of art, and the discoveries of science, because she excels them all in literature?

The United States have produced scarcely a single learned writer, in the strict acceptation of that térm; indeed, I do not know one American work on classical literature, or that betrays any intimate acquaintance with the classics. And, excepting Cicero's works, printed accurately and well by Wells and Lilley, at Boston, the only classical productions of the American press are the republication of a few common schoolbooks. Nor, I believe, have the United States produced any elementary work on ethics, or political economy, or metaphysics. The great mass of our native publications consists of newspaper essays, and party pamphlets. There are several respectable state and local histories, as those of New-York and New-Jersey, by Smith, Trumbull's History of Connecticut, Ramsay's History of SouthCarolina, to which add his Account of the United States, and Holmes's Annals, M'Call's Georgia, Darby's Louisiana, and Stoddart's Account of that State, Jefferson's Notes on Virginia, Borman's Maryland, Prud's Pennsylvania, Williams's Vermont, Belknap's V New-Hampshire, Hutchinson's Massachusetts, Sullivan's Maine, Minot's History of Shay's Rebellion, and Drake's History of Cincinnati, in Ohio; together with divers accounts of the late war, mostly written in that crusading style which revolutionary France has rendered current throughout the world.

Of native novels we have no great stock, and none good; our democratic institutions placing all the people on a dead level of political equality; and the pretty equal diffusion of property throughout the country affords but little room for varieties, and contrasts of character; nor is there much scope for fiction, as the country is quite new, and all that has happened from its first settlement to the present hour, respecting it, is known to every one. There is, to be sure, some traditionary romance about the Indians; but a novel describing these miserable barbarians, their squaws, and

papooses, would not be very interesting to the present race of American readers.

Our poetry is neither abundant nor excellent; the state of society is not favourable to its production; there is not much individual wealth to afford patronage, nor any collegiate endowments bestowing learned leisure: the trading spirit pervades the whole community, and the merchant's ledger and the muses do not make very suitable companions. The aspect of nature, in the United States, presents magnificence and beauty in all profusion; but hill and dale, and wood and stream, are not alone sufficient to breathe the inspirations of poetry, unless seconded by the habits and manners, the feeling, taste, and character of the inhabitants. Besides, the best English poets are as much read here as in Britain; and Milton, Cowper, Burns, Scott, Southey, Byron, Campbell, and Moore, are formidable rivals to our American bards, who must either follow some other more substantial vocation than poesy, or soon mingle, as spirits, with the inhabitants of the ethereal world; for, beyond all peradventure, the most exalted genius, aided by the most extensive learning, if dependent on literary pursuits alone for subsistence, would be permitted to starve by our good republican Mæcænates. The late president Dwight, when quite a young man, wrote two respectable poems, called "The Conquest of Canaan," and "Greenfield Hill." Mr. Barlow's "Columbiad," though full of hard words, and loud-sounding lines, has many magnificent descriptions of natural scenery, and some most fantastic visions of crude philosophy, and still cruder politics. Mr. Sargeant, of Boston, has written some very spirited national lyrics; and Mr. Pierpoint's "Airs of Palestine" are an elegant and popular performance. "The Bridal of Vaumond" is in a much higher strain; and the writer, though evidently young and unexperienced, has swept the chords of his Ïyre with a master's hand, and gives token of an energy of intellect, reach of thought, and variety of information, which, if well directed, and steadily impelled, cannot fail to conduct him eventually to the heights of our com

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munity. Possibly this little poem may not be a favourite with those profounder critics who read by the finger rather than the ear, on account of its various rythm; but those to whom the happier effusions of genius, taste, and feeling are dear, cannot fail to appreciate its high excellence. Woodworth's poems, lately published in NewYork, are manifestly the production of an uneducated mind; but they evince a vigour of talent, a depth of feeling, and, in many instances, a purity of taste, that ought to carry their possessor up from the drudgery of ame re mechanical employment into a purer and a more congenial atmosphere. The too scanty biographical sketch of the author, prefixed to these poems, contains an interesting account of the struggles of unassisted genius with early penury, and a protracted period of unpropitious circumstances. A hint is thrown out in this sketch of the publication of a second volume of Mr. Woodworth's poems: if this be done, it is adviseable for the author to bestow some additional care upon the rythm, the rhymes, and the general structure and finishing of his verses.

The greatest national work which the United States have produced, is Chief Justice Marshall's "Life of Washington." The character of Mr. Marshall, for great talents and sound inforination, has been long thoroughly established. When young, his reputation as an advocate was great. Some years since, in 1797-8, he displayed his dexterity, judgment, and decision, as a diplomatist, in his well-known negotiation with M. Talleyrand; and now, as Chief Justice of the United States, he maintains, with masterly ability, firmness, and dignity, the best interests of liberty and law; which, indeed, are always inseparable. The work, however, bears evident marks of haste and negligence, which, indeed, is confessed by the author; but

σε ου χρη παννύχιον εύδειν βουληφόρον ανδρα;”

a judge should never be too indolent. Nevertheless, the book is written in a clear, manly, and vigorous style,

and contains an admirable outline of the history of the British North American colonies from their first settlement to the breaking out of the revolutionary war. Full justice is done to the exalted character of Washington, and to his illustrious compatriots; an ample and instructive account is given of the origin and progress of political parties in the United States; and the notes contain disquisitions, replete with profound reasoning and philosophical analysis.

Of periodical works we have some few that exhibit considerable talent, and contain much valuable information. The Port Folio is conducted by its present editor, Mr. John E. Hall, with great ability, taste, and judgment, and displays many admirable specimens of elegant and finished composition, and of sound, manly criticism. This journal was originally established by the late Mr. Dennie, who is called the American Addison, nearly twenty years since, and is the only periodical work in the United States to which so long a life has been accorded. Mr. Dennie was the first gentleman in this country who devoted himself, exclusively, to the pursuit of letters, which he cultivated to the last hour of his earthly pilgrimage; and received from his benevolent fellow-citizens, as a recompence for his felicitous effusions of genius, taste, feeling, tenderness, eloquence, wit, and humour-permission to starve.

For general ability, and various information, the "North American Review," edited at Boston, is proba bly the most conspicuous of all the periodical publications in the United States.

In the Analectic Magazine there are able original essays, well written biography, and some judicious criticism. The Portico displays a vigour of thought, a boldness of originality, and a manly eloquence, that deserve much more than the languishing support, balancing between life and death, which it receives from the opulent citizens of Baltimore. The American Magazine and Review, recently floated in New-York, contains much valuable information respecting the proceedings of the various learned societies in the United

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States; but its critical department stands altogether on a false foundation, namely, that criticism consists in finding fault. "He is a very great critic," says Sheridan, sarcastically, "for nothing pleases him.' It requires, however, much more talent and learning, as well as more good temper, to praise judiciously than to blame indiscriminately. The Neologist is a periodical paper, of which nearly one hundred numbers have appeared in the New-York Daily Advertiser, which still continues to publish its lucubrations twice a-week. It is, evidently, the production of young persons, who have, as yet, but little experience in the affairs of the world, or the social habits of our great cities; but, beyond all doubt, the United States have not, hitherto, produced essays equal to those of the Neologist, in real genius, learned criticism, ethical disquisition, fine taste, sound thought, chaste composition, various erudition, and touching eloquence. And we trust, as it is widely circulated through the medium of the newspapers in New-York and Boston, that it will serve to correct and restrain the pruriency of our little master-misses and literary foplings to prattle incontinently upon the merits of a minute ballad, or small song, or new pas seul; and teach them, either to be silent, or learn to direct their attention to some more profitable employment: perhaps the Neologist may teach them the meaning of the proverb, "ne sutor ultra crepidam."

Mr. Trumbull's M Fingal, written to ridicule the tories during the revolution, exhibits much of the wit, and some of the learning, of Butler's Hudibras. Mr. Washington Irving's Salmagundi and History of Knickerbocker, need not shrink from competition with any European performance, in the felicitous combination of good humoured wit, delicate irony, dexterous delineation of character, skilful exposition of the fashionable follies prevalent in the United States, with the occasional relief of exquisitely finished composition, full of tenderness, me lancholy, pathos, and eloquence. Mr. Irving's Sketch of the Life of Campbell, the Scottish poet, is an admirable