seen little else, and to have been quite out of a condition
to arithmetise the pettinesses of things. Such treatment would better
suit the levity of the author of the "Pucelle" than the grave
historian or the still more serious and impressive historical painter.
It is very important that Mr Etty, if he is likely to be again
selected to pronounce judgment upon works of the competitors for
rewards in historical painting and honour, revise his opinions, and
test them by the established principles which are applicable alike to
poetry and to painting; and without the practical use of which,
genius, if it could co-exist, would be but an inane and objectless
extravagance.

THE AMERICAN LIBRARY.[12]

We are not--as the title placed at the head of this paper, till
further explained, might seem to imply--we are not about to pass in
review the whole literature of America. Scanty as that youthful
literature is, and may well confess itself to be, it would afford
subject for a long series of papers. Besides, the more distinguished
of its authors are generally known, and fairly appreciated, and we
should have no object nor interest just at present in determining,
with perhaps some nearer approach to accuracy than has hitherto been
done, the merits of such well-known writers as Irving, Cooper,
Prescott, Emerson, Channing, and others. But the series now in course
of publication by Messrs Wiley and Putnam, under the title of "Library
of American Books," has naturally attracted our attention, bringing as
it were some works before us for the first time, and presenting
what--after a few distinguished names are bracketed off--may be
supposed to be a fair specimen of the popular literature of that
country.

It will be seen that we have taken up a pretty large handful for
present examination. Our collection will be acknowledged, we think, to
be no bad sample of the whole. At all events we have shaken from our
sheaf two or three unprofitable cars, and _one_ in particular so
empty, and so rotten withal, that to hang over it for close
examination was impossible. How it happens that the publishers of the
series have admitted to the "Library of American Books" as if it were
_a book_--a thing called "Big Abel and The Little Manhattan," is to
us, at this distance from the scene of operations, utterly
inexplicable. It is just possible that the author may have earned a
reputable name in some other department of letters; pity, then, he
sho