In Frontenac, Mr. Street has made the attempt to add a human and romantic interest to the rude but magnificent nature which he depicts. The scene is laid partly in Canada, and partly in the territory of the Iroquois confederacy, at the end of the seventeenth century, when the Count de Frontenac was Governor General of Canada under the king of France. The romance is embroidered upon the events of the Count's military expedition against the savages who were under the rule of an Atotarho, or Federal Chief of the Five Nations. The fictitious part of the story is full of interest, though the discovery that the Chief. whose ferocity and deeds of blood sink all other real or imaginary horrors of Indian cruelty into insignificance, is the disguised daughter of Count Frontenac by a squaw, must be pronounced an extravagance beyond the lawful range of poetic license. Otherwise, the story is well constructed and vividly The prevailing rhythm is the eight syllable narrative verse, whose fatal facility is so alluring to rhymers; but Mr. Street has diversified it by various other species of verse, and this he has done, we think, with judgment.

The poet, here too, indulges his old habit of overwrought description and superfluous epithet. We are tasked and ex hausted by the perpetual strain after physical splendors. Epithets also are repeated, until our nerves become painfully sensitive to their recurrence, like the everlasting tick of a clock in a sleepless night. It is amazing how many things slant. Light slants, spears slant, trees slant, brinks are tree-slanted, banks slant, squirrels slant, all nature slants. A great many more things shimmer than ought to do so. This is a very dangerous verb. We were once addicted to it. In the mythical period of our youth we wrote a Sonnet, and described the moon, or something of that sort, as shimmering. Not content with gazing in rapture upon the scene ourselves, we were impatient that others should share the pleasure. The Sonnet was printed, but the unlucky moon skimmered; the Sonnet was copied into other literary journals and our orb of night went skimmering through the country, for a whole month. It was a relief when that moon waned and shimmer has been an eye-sore ever since. But to return. Slim is too often used, when used at all; but Mr. Street applies it to beams of light as well as to tangible bodies, as "radiance slim," "the heron slim," and so on. The epithet usual, a most unpoetical word, is terribly frequent. The abbrevia tions of vulgar speech are forever offending us, such as He'd, He'll, She'll, She'd. Awkward constructions and careless lines are quite too frequent. For example,

"Now falling to again be caught."

"Plunged me, the beast! in sleepless plight."

. "Spoke the batteauman, giving o'er
A draught."

In a Soldier's Song, we have

"Comrades! who's afraid of dying?"

In another place,

"A crimson hatchet in his cling."

How unpoetical the participle in this line!

"The bass with silver streaks supplied;"

and ungrammatical the following doubly past participle; "Over the glade the ladened bee."

If the following line were ever read aloud, there would be an unpleasant ambiguity:

"The bear-skinned Prophet next him frowned."

We doubt the genuineness of the comparison in the speech of an Indian Chief:

"We-an-dah languished, like a toad in stone;

and in the same speech, the poor savage should not have been libelled by attributing to him the vulgarism,

"For the Fox learned We-an-dah to be wise."

There is a good deal of Indian lore scattered over this poem. Sometimes the display of it is pedantic. Onondaga phraseology should be as sparingly indulged in as Latin and Greek. A more temperate use of tomahawks would also have been commendable. One would suppose the normal condition and chief end of man was to scalp or be scalped, so horribly frequent is the whipping off of the top of the head throughout the poem. "Uneasy lies the head that wears a crown," says the great poet; he might have added, with the favorite figure of crasis, had he been Mr. Street or an Iroquois, "still more uneasy lies the head that does'nt."

We have touched freely on Mr. Street's defective execution. He does not appear to have disciplined himself in the principles of art, in their application to literary composition, or to have subjected his writings to the rigid censorship of criticism. He must not allow himself to be misled into this negligence by any degree of popular applause. Works marked by such defects can never take a permanent and classical place in the literature of the country. Retrenchment, severe pruning, must be applied. He has the poetic insight, a copious vocabulary, and constructive talent; but

careful training is still wanting to his powers, in order that he may do them justice. We must repeat the opinion, that Mr. Street has the poetical gift, the feeling, and the materials of poetry, in no common degree. There are, in Frontenac, admirable lines, and occasionally even whole descriptions, that are free from blemish. He has a vigilant eye for picturesque contrasts, and often sets forth the scenes of human passion from the background of external nature, with great effect.

After what has been said, it is but fair to quote a passage of some length. The following lines, marred only by two or three tasteless expressions, present a sweet picture, doubly so in the contrast it forms with the scenes of violence that follow it.

"Upon a narrow grassy glade,

Where thickets stood in grouping shade,
The light streaked down in golden mist,
Kindled the shrubs, the greensward kissed,
Until the clover-blossoms white

Flashed out like spangles large and bright.

This green and sun-streaked glade was rife
With sights and sounds of forest life.
A robin in a bush was singing,

A flicker rattled on a tree;
In liquid, fife-like tones round ringing,
A thrasher piped its melody;
Crouching and leaping with pointed ear,
From thicket to thicket a rabbit sped,
And on the short delicate grass a deer,
Lashing the insects from off him, fed.

Sudden he paused with lifted foot,

Then, like an arrow, away he shot;
Robin and flicker and thrasher were mute;
The rabbit glided from the spot
The next an Indian, from the shade,
Came bounding out upon the glade.

A warrior was he, armed for strife,
With tomahawk and scalping knife

Thrust through his wampum-belt;
The long lock crowned his shaven head;
Bare, save the belt, his form of red,
And where around his loins was spread
A stripe of shaggy felt.

With head aside he stood intent

An instant, then he stooped and bent

Flicker is the common name for the Golden-winged Woodpecker of the American forests. †The Thrasher is the brown thrush of the American woods.

His ear upon the ground;

Then looking forth with piercing eye,
Entered a laurel thicket nigh

So subtly, to the breeze's sigh

More motion 'twould have found.

Silence fell deeply down once more,

Till fluttering sounds among the trees Told that the woodland fright was o'er And soon would swell fresh harmonies. The robin's warble was renewed,

The flicker's hammer tapped again, And once more through the solitude

Rang out the thrasher's splendid strain;
But the sweet sounds had scarcely filled
The place, when they again were stilled.
On the green glade two figures came;
One of a tall and stalwart frame,
With sword and plume and martial air;
The other scarce four summers old,
Whose coal-black eyes and raven hair
And features though of loveliest mould
O'er-tinted with a light red shade,
Blood of the native race betrayed.

The soldier, on the grass reclined,
Viewed the glad gambols of the child,
Who, to each impulse of her mind,

Now, gave her shout of pleasure wild,
As the rich red-bird in his flight
Passed with a flash some streak of light
Slanted in hazy sheen;

And now, with footstep bounding free,
Chased the fleet squirrel to its tree,
Across the sylvan scene.

Tired with her sports, at length the girl
Paused at the leaning soldier's side,
Brushed from his brow a silvery curl,
And then her panting efforts plied,
Until she bared his glittering brand,
And sought to poise it in her hand."

NEW PUBLICATIONS RECEIVED.

Confessions of an English Opium-Eater, and Suspiria de Profundis. By Thomas De Quincey. Boston: Ticknor, Reed & Fields. 1850. 12mo. pp. 272.

Margaret Percival in America, a Tale, edited by a New England Minister; being a Sequel to Margaret Percival, a Tale, edited by Rev. William Sewell, B. A. Boston: Phillips, Sampson & Co. 1850. 12mo. pp. 284.

The Logic and Utility of Mathematics, with the best Methods of Instruction explained and illustrated. By Charles Davies, LL. D. New York: A. S. Barnes & Co. 1850. 12mo. pp. 355.

Propositions concerning Protection and Free Trade. By Willard Phillips. Boston: Charles C. Little & James Brown. 1850. 12mo. Pp. 233.

The Works of Washington Irving. Chronicle of the Conquest of Granada. From the Mss. of Fray Antonio Agapida. New York: George P. Putnam. 1850. 12mo. pp. 548. Songs of Labor and other Poems. By John G. Whittier. Boston: Ticknor, Reed & Fields. 1850. 12mo. pp. 127.

A Treatise on English Punctuation, designed for Letter-Writers, Authors, Printers, and Correctors of the Press, and for the use of Schools and Academies. By John Wilson. Boston: printed and published by the Author. 1850. 12mo. pp. 204.

Sleep psychologically considered, with Reference to Sensation and Memory. By Blanchard Fosgate, M. D. New York: George P. Putnam. 1850. 12mo. pp. 188.

In Memoriam. Boston: Ticknor, Reed & Fields. 1850. 12mo. pp. 216.

The Progress of the Intellect, as exemplified in the Religious Development of the Greeks and Hebrews. By Robert William Mackay. In Two Volumes. London: John Chapman. 1850. 8vo.

Europe Past and Present. A Comprehensive Manual of European Geography and History; with separate Descriptions and Statistics of each State, and a Copious Index. By Francis H. Ungewitter, LL. D. New York: George P. Putnam. 1850. 12mo. pp. 671.

The History of the Decline and Fall of the Roman Empire. By Edward Gibbon, Esq. With Notes by the Rev. H. H. Milman. Ă New Edition, to which is added a Complete Index of the Whole Work.