rom his heart, and embodies his
conviction of immortality. How tender its imagery, how rich its
consoling suggestions, how all-embracing its arabesques, how original
its structure! That its author should grow in favor with our people,
would be a convincing proof of their own progress. So many different
powers unite in him, that he has been well styled by his own people 'The
only.' The vigor and rough strength of the man, with the delicacy and
tenderness of the woman; glowing imagination with wondrous stores of
erudition; fancy with exactness; the most loving heart with the keenest
insight into the foibles of his fellows; the wit of a Swift with the
romance of a Rousseau--but why attempt to describe the indescribable, to
give portraits of the Proteus who changes as we gaze upon him?

Meanwhile, we heartily commend Jean Paul to the notice of our readers,
and thank the publishers who are placing his great works within the
reach of those who cannot read him in the original.

THE WIND HARP, and Other Poems. By ELLEN CLEMENTINE HOWARTH.
Philadelphia: Willis P. Hazard.

If we have been correctly informed, the author of this book is an Irish
woman living in Trenton, N. Y., whose husband is a laboring man, and,
like herself, in humble circumstances. She has quite a large family,
lives in a small tenement, and is obliged to labor daily for a
subsistence for herself and family. When she came to this country from
Ireland, she could scarcely write a grammatical sentence; and all the
information of history and the classics which she has, she has derived
from such books as have accidentally fallen in her hands. She is
extremely modest and retiring, and does not seem to be at all conscious
of the genius with which she is endowed. Mrs. Howarth possesses the
poetical talent of the Irish race. Her rhythm is musical, flowing, and
pure; her thoughts gentle and womanly; her diction refined; her form
good; her powers of imitation great. What she wants now is more
self-reliance, that she may write from the inner life of her own
experience. Her poems lack originality. Let her not fear to dip her pen
in her own heart, and sing to us the joys and sorrows of the poor. Burns
were a better study for her than Moore; the Corn Law rhymer than Poe.
With her talents and the cultivation she has acquired, her familiarity
with the hopes, fears, and realities of a life of labor will give her
great advantages as the poetess of the faithful, suff