REVIEW OF NEW BOOKS.

THE CITY OF THE SULTAN. By Miss PARD Two Volumes. Carey, Lea, and Blanchard. This work has been repeatedly criticised and as repeatedly praised. We have not marked a dissentient voice among the critical Cerberuses of the press. Lengthy extracts from the City of the Sultan have graced the pages of nearly every periodical publication in Europe and America; and each succeeding quotation but excites an eager desire for more. Miss Pardoe has well depicted the customs and manners of the beings of the East; she has had the rare advantage of being first in the field under the reforming sway of the present Sultan, and has ably used her advantages. While the novelty of her delineations charms the attention, the vividness of her style, and the elegance of her descriptions, carry the fascinated reader into the very scenes she wishes to portray.

The various descriptions of the harems and mosques have gone the rounds of the press-the following po etical selection is peculiar in its difference from the general style of the work, but it is unique, and better adapted for quotation than any disjointed portion of the picture.

"Along the channel may be constantly seen clouds of aquatic birds of dusky plumage, speeding their rapid flight from the Euxine to the Propontis, or bending their restless course from thence back again to the Black Sea, never pausing for a moment to rest their weary wings on the fair green spots of earth that woo them on every side; and it is only when a storm takes place in the Sea of Marmora or sweeps over the bosom of the Bosphorus, that they fly shrieking to the cypress forest of Scutari for shelter; and these the Turks believe to be the souls of the damned, who have found sepulchre beneath its boughs, and which are permitted, during a period of elementary commotion, to revisit the spot where their mortal bodies moulder; and there mourn together over the crimes and judgment of their misspent existence upon earth, while, during the gentler seasons, they are compelled to pass incessantly within sight of the localities they loved in life, without the privi lige of pansing even for one instant in the charmed flight to which they are condemned for all eternity. My mind was full of this legend when I visited the cemetery-and I can offer no better apology for the wild verses that I strung together as I sat upon a fallen column in one of the gloomiest nooks of the forest, and amid the noonday twilight of the thick branches, while my companions wandered away among the graves.

THE DAMNED SOULS.

Hark! 'tis a night when the storm-god rides

In triumph o'er the deep;

And the howling voice of the tempest chides
The spirit that fain would sleep:
When the clouds, like a sable bannered host,
Crowd the dense and lurid sky;

And the ship and her crew are in darkness lost,
As the blast roars rushing by.

Voices are heard which summon men
To a dark and nameless doom;

And spirits, beyond a mortal's ken,

Are wandering through the gloom;

While the thunders leap from steep to steep,
And the yellow lightnings flash,

And the rocks reply to the riot on high,
As the wild waves o'er them dash.

And we are here, in this night of fear,

Urged by a potent spell,

Haunting the glade where our bones are laid,

Our tale of crime to tell.

We have hither come through the midnight gloom,

As the tempest about us rolls,

To spread, 'mid the graves where the rank grass waves,
The feast of the Damned Souls.

Some have flown from the deep sea caves
Which the storm-won treasures hold;

And these are they who through life were slaves
To the sordid love of gold;

No other light e'er meets their sight,
Save the gleam of the yellow ore;

And loathe they there in their dark despair,
L What they idolized before.

They have swept o'er the rude and rushing tide,
Bestrown with wreck and spoil,

Where the shrieking seaman writhed and died
'Mid his unavailing toil;

And they rode the wave without power to save
The wretch as he floated by ;

And sighed to think, as they saw him sink,
What a boon it was to die.

Some were cast from the burning womb,
Whence the lava-floods have birth;
From fires which wither, but ne'er consume
The rejected one of earth;-

And these are they who were once the prey
Of the thirst that madmen know,
When the world for them is the diadem,

That burns into the brow.

They who crouch in the deepest gloom,
Where no lightning-flash can dart,

Who, chained in couples, have hither come,
And can never be rent apart;

These are they whose life was a scene of strife,
And who learnt, alas! too late,

That the years flew fast which they had cast
On the altar of their hate.

But, hark! through the forest there sweeps a wail
More wild than the tempest blast,

As each commences the darkling tale
Of the stern and shadowy past-

And the spell that has power, in this dread hour,
No pang of ours controls;

Nor may mortal dare in the watch to share,
That is kept by the Damned Souls!"

YANKEE NOTIONS. A MEDLEY. By TIMO. TITTERWELL, ESQ. One Volume. Otis, Broaders, and Company. Boston.

TIMOTHEUS TITTERWELL, we extend unto thee the hand of good fellowship, and expect the return grasp in good faith when it shall please thee to visit our city of right angles, or the spirit of locomotion shall induce us to cross the sound. We care not for the value of thy goodly list of "Contents;" we speak not of the excellence of thy various papers, albeit thy "Broomstick" did smite us hard," the Singing School" did make us scream, and "The Science of Starvation" filled us with plentiful delight; but we would fain exalt our voice in praise of thy delectable Preface, which, in our opinion, is the gem of thy work, although "Josh. Beanpole's Courtship" is conspicuous in the annals of fun. Pertmit us to mutilate thy handiwork, that our friends may judge of thy delectable conceits.

The worst thing for a man's health is melancholy, but a good joke helps digestion and promotes longevity. A good joke, like a good sherris sack, hath a twofold operation. It ascends me into the brain; dries me there all the foolish, and dull, and crudy vapors which environ it; makes it apprehensive, quick, forgetive, full of nimble, fiery, delectable shapes, which acting slily and sympathetically upon the corners of the mouth, produce hearty, jovial, honest laughter. The other property of your excellent joke is, the warming of the blood, which before, cold and settled, left the face long, the heart lumpish, the looks dumpish, and the whole inward and outward man most dismally frumpish;-all which are the badge of pusillanimity, cynical sourness, and pseudo-sapient self-conceit But the joke warms it, and makes it course from the inwards to the parts extreme, mollify the heart, tickle the ribs, expand the pericardium, inspirit the lungs, light up the bosom, clear the esophagus, lubricate the tongue, inspire the brain, sublimate the cerebellum, titillate the skull-bone, vivify the spiral marrow, and quicken the whole nervous system: so that man being jolly, becometh perforce, generous, forgiving, liberal, communicative, frank, inquisitive, sympathetic, humane, and pious: and doeth noble deeds without end. And thus goodness, mercy, munificence, public spirit, patriotism, and the whole host of social virtues and Christian charities come of joking. If I had a thousand sons, the first human principle I would teach them, should be to forswear doleful dumps and addict themselves to fun.

What makes people dyspeptical, hypochondriacal, apoplectic, envious, rabid, fanatical, factious, quarrelsome, selfish, consumptive, and short-lived? The doctors say this and that, but they know nothing about it. Politicians and metaphysicians reason and speculate, but they cannot find out. The true cause is that aforementioned chilliness of the blood, occasioned by the want of good merriment: nothing else, depend upon it: for since good jollity has declined, nothing has gone on rightly among us. How came the heroes of seventysix to fight so valiantly to the tune of Yankee Doodle? Why simply because Yankee Doodle is a jolly, jigging, mirth exciting tune.

Quien canta, sus males espanta.

THE GREAT METROPOLIS. SECOND SERIES. Two Volumes. Carey and Hart.

THIS work is written by a Mr. Grant, a parliamentary reporter to the London Morning Chronicle newspaper, the author of "Random Recollections of the Lords and Commons," which obtained considerable notoriety from their bold and sketchy manner. The announcement of the first series of "The Great Metropolis" excited great curiosity, which its appearance did not fully satisfy; its contents were pronounced common-place and stale newspaper articles were embodied as matters of authority, and the pages of the work were filled with transcriptions of guide-book data and show-catalogue details. But the book sold well; and another series was, as usual, deemed necessary by the author and the bookseller. The London critics find more fault with the second series than with the first; but, in our opinion, without sufficient reason. The volumes before us are more anecdotal and original, although the general reader will meet with many old acquaintances; but considerable information of the rarest quality and value is embodied in the present serics, sufficient to render its presence necessary upon the shelves of our library of reference.

The opening chapter, " Almacks," is an impertinence which a penny-a-liner only could design. A newspaper reporter, who, by the exertion of every possible human interest, could not obtain admission into the coterie at Willis's rooms, absolutely pretends to define the opinions, and gives extracts from the secret meetings, of their mightinesses the Lady-patronesses of this most aristocratic assemblage, ungallantly stigmatising the seven "fates" of the fashionable world under opprobious and fictitious titles, although in a previous page he has given the real appellations of these dames of ton. The whole chapter is about as correct as one of the descriptions of high life given in a vulgar fifth-rate fashionable novel.

16

The article upon Political Opinions" gives about as good an idea of London politics as a bucket-full of salt water does of the Atlantic Ocean. Mr. Grant has devoted this chapter to the exemplification merely of parish elections, pot-house meetings, and radical dinners; and he luxuriates in the slang and cockney brawlings with evident delight. By the way, Mr. G. makes all his dramatis persona, whether thieves, policemen, farmers, jurymen, radicals, cockneys, or Irishmen, indulge in the same vulgar dialect. Mr. S-, who is denounced by him as the recent inventer of a new religion, was one of Birkbeck's partners in the Illinois scheme; he was connected with the celebrated Thompson, who, with his son-in-law. Fearon, owned the largest gin palace in London, and figured conspicuously among the Freethinking Christians before Mr. Grant

was born.

There are many little improprieties in the course of the work-several of the data enumerated in the charter entitled "Literature," are also given under the head of "Authors and Publishers," and these repetitions occur within a few pages of each other. Phrases of doubtful use are current with Mr. Grant: the death of a man is described as a crosssing of "the well known bourne of Shakspeare." A poet's description or allusion to a matter of primeval antiquity cannot give him a right and title, or nominal proprietary. Milton has writ ten the finest description of the lower regions extant, yet "Go to Milton's Hell," would sound but strangely. We hear of Dante's Inferno as the name of a poem, but if a stray ghost, wandering on the banks of the gloomy Styx, were to ask old Charon if the stream before him was Shakspeare's Bourne, it is likely that he would receive a crack on his spiritual skull from one of the paddles of the infernal ferryman. There is also a disscernable difference in the style of various parts of the work; some passages are particularly well written, while others are puerile and weak, authorising the supposition that different writers have been employed. The pages descriptive of various events in Newgate, are well done; the author becomes truly eloquent, and in fitting language developes the horrors of the jail. On the other hand, trite and common-place remarks and woful truisms frequently occur; take the following passage as a sample. He is speaking of the beadles who ring the bell upon the walks of the Royal Exchange, for the purpose of driving out the dilatory merchants, when the hour for closing the gates has arrived. "My only surprise is that some city aristocrats do not in a paroxysm of wrath, caused by his unceremonious interruptions, take his bell, and smash it to pieces. To be sure, they would repent it afterwards, and therefore it is better they should not do it. I may add, they would have no right to do such a thing; but when people act under the influence of a momentary excitement, they sometimes do what is wrong."

In the article upon "Literature," we are told that about seven hundred authors, are, in one way or another, connected with the periodical literature of London; and that about four thousand persons get their living there entirely by their literary labor.

The chapter descriptive of "THE BANK OF ENGLAND" renders this work one of the most desirable books extant. We cannot believe that Mr. Grant wrote the whole of it himself; he must have had the most powerful and the most valuable assistance. It is a complete history of this modern wonder of the world; perfect in the thorough knowledge it displays of the power, resources, and uses of the banking privi leges of the establishment, and interesting from the variety of the information given upon various interesting matters connected with its history. We cannot pretend to quote any thing like a body of matter sufficient to give an idea of the value of this portion of the work-a few extracts, for the entertainment of the reader, are all that we can afford to publish.

The largest amount of a bank note now in current circulation is for 1,000l. But it is said, though I cannot pledge myself for the accuracy of the statement, that some time ago two notes for 100,0001. each, and two other for 50,000l. each, were engraved and issued. It is added, that a plain butcher, who had amassed an immense fortune in the time of the war, went one day with one of the 50,000 notes to a private banking establishment, and asking the loan of 5,000l., proposed depositing the note in the banker's hands as security; adding he had had it beside him for years. The 5000l. were of course forthcoming at once; but the banker hinted to the butcher the folly of losing the interest on so large a sum as 50,000! by keeping a note for that amount in his drawers "Voy, werry true, sir," said the latter, who was quite an illiterate man, “but I loikes the look on't so werry vell, that I has got a t'other one of the same kind at home." Both the notes had somehow or other come into his hands, and he had determined not to part with them.

This eccentric individual was losing, and the Bank of England was gaining, in the way of interest on the two notes, reckoning but five per cent., the simple legal interest, the small sum of 25,000 dollars a year There is another story told of a gentleman residing in Portland street, London, who framed and exhibited in one of the apartments of his house, for five consecutive years, a bank post bill for 30,000l. It was only taken down and converted into money by his heirs. This foolishly ostentatious man lost 7,500 dollars a year, at simple interest, for five years, for the sake of exhibiting a small parallelogram of printed paper to his visiters, not one of whom, he knew, dare steal the treasure, because the circumstance of its being so exhibited was well known to the Bank Directors, and if any person other than himself had presented it for payment or change, he would have been " pounced upon as a thief."

The next note under 10001. is for 5001. There are others for 300l., 2001. 1091, 501, and so on down to 51, which last amount is now the lowest. Previous to 1759, the Bank never issued any notes of less value than 201. That year it put a great number of 101. notes into circulation. In 1733, 51. notes were first issued, and in 1797, 11. and 21 pound notes were also brought into use, when the Bank of England stopped cash pay ments. The currency of the latter ceased in point of fact in 1823, and in 1829 they were formally prohibited by act of parliament.

The Bank of England loses about 200,000 dollars a year from forgeries on the public funds. In 1803, its losses from the frauds of the principal clerks and cashiers amounted to 1,700,000 dollars, and the forgeries of Fauntleroy lost the bank a still larger sum. In the year 1820, three hundred and fifty persons were convicted of forgeries of various descriptions upon the Bank of England.

There are few sights, perhaps, better worth seeing in London, than that of the interior of the Bank of Eng land. However enlarged may have been the stranger's ideas of the extent of the establishment, the actual thing itself is sure to exceed them; he fancies, when taken from one apartment to another, that he is never

to see the whole place; and he wonders, as he goes from one part of it to another, and sees so many persons busily employed in them all, how there can be occupation for so many. But that department of the bank which, as might be expected, strikes the stranger with the greatest astonishment, is the large room, where the ordinary transactions of paying in and taking out money occur. The number of individuals employed in this department of the bank alone, is, I should suppose from a rough guess, from seventy to eighty. Then there is the everlasting bustle caused by persons coming in and going out, on the outside of the counters. This department, indeed, has all the appearance of a market-place. There is a crowd of persons constantly present, and they are always moving about as if in the open streets. But the most interesting sight of all, and that which is sure to rivet the stranger's eye as fixedly as if there were some charm in it, is the quantity of gold he sees lying scattered on all parts of the counters, coupled with the large bundles of notes he sees in the hands of the payers and receivers. Sovereigns lie here and there in heaps, like so many mountains in miniature. The extent of business done in this department of the bank in the course of a day, is great beyond what any one could previously imagine within the bounds of probability. I am assured by one who has been many years in the establishment, that in the article of sovereigns alone, keeping out of view bank notes, a quarter of a million of pounds sterling will sometimes exchange hands between the bank and its creditors, in the course of the eight hours the establishment is open. I have heard the entire amount of money, including bank post hills, &c., which is turned over, on an average, in one day at the bank, variously esti mated. The lowest estimate is 2,000,000, and the highest 2,500,000 The quantity of business arising from private accounts is very great; the number of these varies as a matter of course. I believe it is at present between twelve and fourteen thousand.

I have sometimes endeavoured to form an estimate of the number of persons who receive their dividends on the first day of every half-year on which they are payable; but it is difficult to come to any very confident conclusion on the subject. I am satisfied I am under the mark when I say it exceeds ten thousand; perhaps I would not be far wrong, were I to compute the sum paid away by the bank on that day as dividends, at 500,0001; but of course, nothing like certain data to go on in such a case exists, so that this is only to be regarded as a rough guess.

The number of persons employed in one way or other in the Bank of England, is so great, that they may be said to form a little community of themselves. The number of clerks alone, though occasionally varying, is never under 900. The number of engravers, and printers of notes, in the constant employment of the bank, is 38. The salaries of the clerks vary from 500l. down to 751. per annum. The entire amount paid to the various servants of the establishment, about 1000 in number, is upwards of 200,000l.

The article on the "Stock Exchange" is full and amusing, with many singular anecdotes of distinguished speculators. The divisions under the heads "Royal Exchange," "Newgate," "Old Bailey," and " Penny-aLiners," are worth reading, particularly the chapter descriptive of the prisons of the Great Metropolis.

THE DIVORCED. By LADY CHARLOTTE BURY. Two Volumes. Carey and Hart.

THIS, although a melancholy, is a deeply interesting history-and we gather from the last page that it is not a fictitious one; we can readily believe it, and heartily recommend a perusal to the novel-reading public; especially to the younger portion of it, whom, if we understand the lady rightly, it is especially meant to warn and admonish. A tone of pure and lofty principle pervades the narrative, well calculated to promote the best interests of morality. Lady Bury is no compromiser-no apologist of venial trespassers-but lashes with an unsparing hand the crime and criminals-teaching her lesson prospectively-she at once startles her readers with the fearful consequences of transgression, as the best method of awakening their minds to the blinding selfishness of unlawful passion. As specimens of the authoress' power in putting the question home, we select the following:

There were times when Lord Howard lamented the step he had taken. How should it be otherwisefor though the world have so decided the question of wrong and right as to make the man in such cases immaculate, the woman impure-though the one is thrust out of society, the latter is courted and well received. Still no man can be inwardly at ease, who sees his wife set apart as a thing the good avoid, and the worldly fear to acknowledge, lest their own errors might be drawn out to light by the contact.

The children of the second marriage learn the history of the first, and the knowledge crushes the hopes of their existence.

So then my first sorrow was caused by my mother's guilt-she who has so coaxed and doted on me, is, in fact, my worst enemy-there is an end of my reverence for my parent. I no longer can consider our home as the abode of virtuous love-no, all the ties which bind us together as a family—which make them my parentswhich makes Henry and me brother and sister are sinful-we ought never to have existed.

The sad story thus closes :

Lady Howard's history affords a fearful example to those whose affections, like hers, are unhallowed-who stand on the brink of the precipice. Oh may all such take warning from this melancholy statement.

How weak and inadequate our own strength is to uphold us in the path of duty-how terrible are the consequences of the guilty joy of those who buy it at the price of virtue-how sure the punishment, even in this world-how far short such attachments fall of giving the felicity which they promise-and that years of penitent humiliation, of sorrow, and of trial, would be insufficient to atone for sin, was there not a higher power willing and able to save even to the uttermost.

GEORGE CRUIKSHANK'S LONDON COMIC ALMANAC, FOR 1838. BY RIGDUM Funnidos, Gent. The purchasers of the stale jokes and newspaper cuttings that are printed in America, in the form of Comic Almanacs, with vulgar wood engravings and nigger songs, and the fitting concomitants of battered type and whitey-brown paper, can have but little idea of the humorous and elegant work before us. The mechanical execution, both letter press and copperplate, is of the best description; twelve plates illustrative of the months, exhibit Cruikshank's inimitable talents in the most favorable light-the subjects and details are almost entirely local; inspection alone can give a proper notion of the genuine humor and minute display of that vividi vis animi in which the modern Hogarth is known to excel. There is nothing of the grossness of caricature in the exemplification of Cruikshank's designs; the prurient fancy of the great master of the satirical school of painting has not excited our favorite artist to imitation, nor has the popularity attending Rowlandson's vulga rities induced him to debase the proprieties of his art; his humor is the fun of a gentleman, the result of an innate perception of the ludicrous, matured by intimacy with every variety of human life. It is to be regretted that his powers are frittered away in the execution of local and temporary subjects; the light and frivolous nature of the publications upon which he is constantly employed, forbid the possibility of his achievement of more extended designs; indeed we often wonder at the multiplicity of effect crowded most happily into a picture but a few inches square. In the work before us, there are single figures but half an inch in height that tell a joke as palpably as could pages of descriptive letter press.

Besides the twelve copperplates, each month is illustrated by a head piece, an engraving on wood, from a design by Cruikshank. Innumerable petite figures of fun dot every page, forming puns to the eye, and giving zest to every line of the letter press, which so perfectly Londonish in its bearing as to almost deny us the chance of furnishing any satisfactory extract. We know not who are the scribes of the Comic Almanac, or who ensconces himself beneath the cognomen of Rigdum Funnidos, but we boldly profess to prefer the work before us to the productions of Hood. There is a capital letter from Miss Henrietta Julia Wiggins on her travels, to her sister Miss Adelaide Theresa ditto, with a short postscript from mamma, and another from papa. The young lady's letter is full of bad French, and describes the family's peregrination from England to France; with a recapitulation of the mishaps endured by the cockneys in their visit to the land of Gaul. The ma hires a French ladies-maid in London, and bargains for the whole of the trip, but the demoiselle leaves her mistress when she lands in France, kindly informing Mrs. Wiggins that she only engaged her passage across the channel. A very nice Dame Francaise pays great civility to them during their sea trip, and volunteers to take charge of one of the old lady's sacs de nuit, because the douaniers or custom-house officers won't allow people to land more than one carpet bag a piece. Of course, the French lady refuses to deliver up the bag or its valuable contents, (the old lady's trinket box,) after swearing to the property at the custom-house. A young swindler, under the title of Marquis, makes love to the daughter, and sends the father to call a coach while he holds his umbrella over the lady. The father returns in the custody of two gendarmes, bleeding profusely, and covered with mud. "Instead of cocher, he kept calling the driver cochon, (which you know means pig,) and poor pa got tremendously ill used." Various unlucky accidents occur, till, at the close of the young lady's letter, the ma writes a postscript, detailing her daughter's flight with the impostor marquisa second P. S. by the pa, mentions the ma's flight with the French valet and all the baggage.

"Frost Fair," is excellent, but local. "St. Patrick's day-an Irish mellow day"—is not the best thing in the book. "The Ode to Sir Andrew Agnew is a caustic exposure of the humbug of this ignorant fanatic, who wished to deprive the poor of England of every chance of relaxation during the week, and of a clean chin and a hot dinner on the Sunday. "John Budd and Sukey Sims" is an approved copy of the punning ballads by Hood. "That Mister Nubibus" is a relation of the misfortunes of a man who never goes out a pleasuring without experiencing rainy weather. Joe Cose, a bumpkin footman to a newly-made member of parliament, writes a comical epistle from London to his sweetheart Phebe in the country. The pair of rustics are de scribed as being sadly out of their elements; the poor swain says:

"i mis yew quite ass much ass master missis missis we spend al our Spar time in Smith feeld which is the only rele pleasure we hav Smith feeld is just the same ass 1 of our own feelds in West stafordsheer only no gras nor no eges nor no riks of hay nor no Stiles to sit a coartin on But ful of orses & cows & carves & pigs & shepe & other Beestly sites O them deer pigs ow Glad i was to ear there wel none vices it quite put me in mind of yew & deer Butermilk villige & i rely cood have Stade a earin them squele al day Lung wich deerest Feby doant Bleav wat i say about the pigs is al Gammon we hav got a Bewtifull ous in pel mel & the yung ladys ar verry Gay mis Jewlia is verry fond off Sowlogical gardning & gos evry day to Studdy the hannimils at the regency Park allso mis Jawgeny rides out evry mornin on her pony with James the noo sirvent beind on 1 off the hold coch orses wich as bean clipt & his tale Cut thurrow bred for the okasion the sirvents is al very wel & my duty to yewr farther & ow is yewr sister Suzn & poor litl nock need Nely & abuv al deerest luv Ows yewr muther Respectiv cumps to al yowr old felow sirvents & Pleas exept yewrself deerest Feby from yewr adorabl

66

"JOE COSE.

P. S. O Feby Feby wear al in a huprore sins Riting my abuv we hav found out mis Jewlia only went Sowlogical gardning for a xcuse to mete her luvver & is boath loped away gudnes or rather Badnes nose wear Allso the same of mis Jawgeny & James the noo sirvent ass i told yew off but Bles yewr art was ne sich thing but only a luvver in disgize & wen we al thort him a Real lakky turned out nothink but a Vally

de Sham."