Various

The Ice Maiden, and Other Tales. By Hans Christian Andersen. Translated by Fanny Fuller. Philadelphia: F. Leypoldt. New York: C. T. Evans. 1863.

Probably no writer of stories for the young ever equalled Hans Christian Andersen; certainly none ever succeeded as he has done in reproducing the nameless charm of the real fairy tale which springs up without an author among the people,—the best specimens of which are the stories collected by the Brothers Grimm in Germany. But this exquisite fascination of an inner life in animals and in inanimate objects, which every child's mind produces from dolls and other puppets, and which makes fairies of flowers, is by Andersen adroitly turned very often to good moral and instructive purpose, without losing the original sweet and simple charm which blends the real and the imaginary. Here he surpasses all other tale writers, nearly all of whom, in their efforts at simplicity in such narratives, generally become supremely silly.

The present volume contains four stories—'The Ice Maiden,' 'The Butterfly,' 'The Psyche,' and 'The Snail and the Rose Tree,'—all in Andersen's usual happy and successful vein; for he is preËminently an equal writer, and never falls behind himself. Perhaps the highest compliment which can be paid them is the truthful assertion that any person may read them with keen interest, and never reflect that they were written for young people. Poetry and prose meet in them on equal grounds, and any of them in verse would be charming. The main reason for this is that such stories to charm must set forth natural objects with Irving-like fidelity; nay, the writer must, with a few words, bring before us scenes and things as in a mirror. In this 'The Ice Maiden' excels; Swiss life is depicted as though we were listening to yodle songs on the mountains, and felt the superstitions of the icy winter nights taking hold of our souls.

'The Psyche' is an art-story. Most writers would have made it a legend of 'high' art, but it is far sweeter and more impressive from the sad simplicity and gentleness with which it is here told. 'The Butterfly,' on the contrary, is a delightful little burlesque on flirtations and fops; and 'The Snail and the Rose Tree' is much like it. Both are really fables of the highest order, or shrewd prose epigrams.

The volume before us is well translated; very well, notwithstanding one or two trifling inadvertencies, which, however, really testify to the fact that the best of all pens for such version—a lady's—was employed in the work. A Skytte, for instance, in Danish, or Schutz in German, is generally termed among the fraternity of sportsmen a 'shot,' and not a 'shooter.' But the spirit of the original is charmingly preserved, and Miss Fuller has the rare gift of using short and simple words, which are the best in the world when one knows how to use them as she does. We trust that we shall see many more stories of this kind, translated by her.

We must, in conclusion, say a word for the dainty binding (Pawson & Nicholson), the exquisite paper and typography, and, finally, for the pretty photograph vignette with which this volume is adorned. Mr. Leypoldt has benefited Philadelphia in many ways,—by his foreign and American circulating library, his lecture room, and by his republication in photograph of first-class engravings,—and we now welcome him to the society of publishers. His first step in this direction is a most promising one.

Notes, Criticisms, and Correspondence Upon Shakspeare's Plays and Actors. By James Henry Hackett. New York: Carleton, 413 Broadway. 1863.

This work will be one of great interest, firstly to all those who visit the theatre, secondly to readers of Shakspeare, and thirdly to all who relish originality and naÏvete of character, such as Mr. Hackett displays abundantly, from the rising of the curtain even to the going down of the same, in his book. There are no men who live so much within their profession as actors, or are so earnest in their faith in it; and this devotion is reflected unconsciously, but very entertainingly, through the whole volume. Shakspeare tells us that all the world is a stage—to the actor the stage is all his world, the only one in which he truly lives.

We thank Mr. Hackett for giving us in this volume, firstly, very minute and excellent descriptions of all the eminent actors of Shakespeare within his memory—not a brief one, he having been himself a really excellent and eminent actor since 1828. It is to be regretted that there are not more such judicious descriptions as these. The author has, as we gather from his book, been in the habit of recording his daily experiences, and consequently writes from better data than those afforded by mere memory. The reader will also thank him for many agreeable minor reminiscences of celebrities, and for giving to the public his extremely interesting correspondence on Shaksperean subjects with John Quincy Adams and others. The views of the venerable statesman on Hamlet, and on 'Misconceptions of Shakspeare on the Stage,' indicate a very great degree of study of the great poet, and of reflection on the manner in which he is over or under acted. Nor are Mr. Hackett's own letters and criticisms by any means devoid of merit—witness the following:

'Mr. Forrest recites the text (of King Lear) as though it were all prose, and not occasionally written in poetic measure; whereas, blank verse can, and always should, be distinguishable from prose by proper modulations of the voice, which a listener with a nice ear and a cultivated taste could not mistake, nor, if confounded, detect in their respective recitals: else Milton as well as Shakspeare has toiled to little purpose in the best-proportioned numbers.'

The criticism on Forrest is throughout judicious, and, though frequently severe, is still very kindly written when we consider the 'capacities' of the subject.

As regards Mr. Hackett's views of readings, we detect in them a little of that tendency to excessive accentuation, and that disposition to 'make a hit' or a sensation in every sentence which renders most, or all, Shaksperean or tragic acting so harsh and strained, and which has made the word 'theatrical' in ordinary conversation synonymous with 'unnatural.' Something of this is reflected in the enormous amount of needless italicizing with which the typography of the book is afflicted, and which we trust will be amended in future editions. We cheerfully pardon Mr. Hackett for sounding his own praises—sometimes rather loudly and frequently, as in the republication of a sketch of himself—since, after all, we thereby gain a more accurate idea of a favorite actor, who has for thirty-six years pleased the public, and gained in that long time the character of a conscientious artist who has always striven to improve himself.

To one thing, however, we decidedly object—the questionable taste displayed by the author in answering in type criticisms of his acting, and in republishing them in his work. We can well imagine the temptation to be great, but to yield to it is not creditable to a good artist. With this little exception, we cordially commend the work to all readers.

The late Judge Conrad left a number of religious poems, which fortunately fell into the hands of those who appreciated their merit, and we now have them in volume, with an introductory poem to the widow of the deceased and a preface by George H. Boker, to whom the editing of the present volume was committed. These lyrics, as we infer, were written in the spirit of private devotion, and are therefore gifted with the greatest merit which can possibly inspire religious writing—we mean deep sincerity. But apart from the spirit,—the sine qua non,—the beauty of the form of these works will always give them a high value to the impartial critic. They are far above the mediocrity into which most religious writers always at first appear to be lost, owing to the vast amount of thoughts and expressions which they are compelled to share in common with others. And as there has been awakened within a few years a spirit of collecting and studying such poetry, we cordially commend this work to all who share it.

As regards form, one of the more marked poems in this collection is 'The Stricken;' we have room only for the beginning:

Heavy! Heavy! Oh, my heart
Seems a cavern deep and drear,
From whose dark recesses start,
Flatteringly like birds of night,
Throes of passion, thoughts of fear,
Screaming in their flight.
Wildly o'er the gloom they sweep,
Spreading a horror dim,—a woe that cannot weep!
Weary! Weary! What is life
But a spectre-crowded tomb?
Startled with unearthly strife,
Spirits fierce in conflict met,
In the lightning and the gloom,
The agony and sweat;
Passions wild and powers insane,
And thoughts with vulture beak, and quick Promethean pain.

We select this single specimen from its remarkable resemblance to Anglo-Saxon religious poetry,—by far the sincerest, and, so far as it was ripened, the soundest, in our language. With the exception of the Promethean allusion, every line in these verses is singularly Saxon—the night birds, screaming in gloom—as in the 'Sea Farer,' where, instead of joyous mirth,

'Storms beat the stone cliffs,
Where them the starling answered,
Icy of wing.'

The divisions of this work are 'Sinai,' which is in great measure a commentary on virtues and vices, 'Sonnets on the Lord's Prayer,' and 'Bible Breathings.' Of these we would commend the Sonnets, as forming collectively a highly finished and beautiful poem, complete in each detail. The little poem, 'A Thought,' is as perfect as a mere simile in verse could be.

Robert T. Conrad, who was born in Philadelphia in 1810, and died there in 1858, first became known to the public by a drama entitled Conrad of Naples, a subject which has been extensively treated by German writers, Uhland himself having written a tragedy on it. After being admitted to the bar, Conrad connected himself with the press, but resumed the practice of law in 1834 with success, being appointed judge of the criminal sessions in 1838, and of the general sessions in 1840. He was subsequently president of a well-known railroad company, and mayor of his native city. During the intervals of his business he was at one time editor of Graham's Magazine, and acquired a literary reputation by his articles in the North American, and by the well-known tragedy of Aylmere, in which Mr. Forrest, the actor, has frequently appeared as 'Jack Cade.' In addition to these, Mr. Conrad published, in 1852, a volume entitled 'Aylmere and other poems,' which was very extensively reviewed. In it the 'Sonnets on the Lord's Prayer' first appeared.

The volume before us is very well edited in every respect, and makes its appearance in very beautiful 'externals.' The paper, binding, and typography are, in French phrase, as applied to such matters, 'luxurious.'

Were this little work ten times its present length, we should have read it to the end with the same interest which its perusal inspired, and arrived, with the same regret that there was not more of it, at its last page. It is simple and unpretending, but as life-like and spirited as any collection of descriptive sketches which we can recall. We realize in it all the vexations of mud, all the horrors of blood, and all the joys of occasional chickens and a good night's rest, which render the soldier's life at once so great and yet so much a matter of petty joys and sorrows. The love of the rider for the good horse—for his pet Gypsy—her caprices and coquetries, are set forth, for instance, very freely, without, however, a shadow of affectation, while in all his interviews with men and women, the characters come before us 'like life,' and give us a singularly accurate conception of the social effects of the war in the West. The appearance of the country is unconsciously detailed as accurately as in a photograph, and the events and sensations of battle are presented with great ability; in fact, we have as yet seen no sketches from the war which in these particulars are equal to them. They are free from 'fine writing,' and are given in simple, intelligible language which cannot fail to make them generally popular. The occasional flashes of humorous description are extremely well given—so well that we only wish there had been more of them, as the author has evidently a talent in that direction, which we trust will be more fully developed in other works.