logues and tales. Some of the latter are in the fantastic Hoffmann manner, but this he afterwards abandoned, and has, of late, taken subjects of real life and actual manners, in the treatment of which, he displays both observation and acuteness, not without some degree of irony. Nor is the least merit of these productions that they frequently contemplate, from a novel point of view, things that in themselves are of ordinary recurrence. The writer himself is thus depicted : Should you visit St. Petersburg, reader, you can scarcely avoid meeting, particularly among the higher circles, with a handsome young man, of middling height, with blue eyes, full of expression, a pale complexion, and black hair, and recherché in his dress. He seems, however, to take very little notice of what is going on; he has the air of being distrait, absorbed, and only occasionally vouchsafes to glance around him with an air of Byronic condescension. You perceive that his absence of mind is not counterfeit, for he is evidently engrossed with his own thoughts; and if you watch him you may chance to behold on his countenance the outward workings of some singular combination that has just crossed bis mind.-That is Prince Odojevsky! Address him, and he will, probably, invite you to his house, which is the rendezvous of all intelligent foreigners, and of artists, men of learning, and literary characters. With Gogol we hope, ere long, to become better acquainted. At present, all that we know of him is from what is here stated, and which is certainly calculated to prepossess us strongly in his favour. There is something not a little piquant attending his first production: on his first arrival at Petersburg, and soliciting an appointment, he was, "as we are assured," adds Melgunov, rejected on the ground that he could not write good Russian; upon which, to prove the contrary, he set about writing a volume of tales, that excited general attention. This success prompted him to give the public other specimens of his talent, in the same class of writing. His Tales consist, for the greater part, of pictures of life and manners in Little Russia, of which he is a native. The subjects of several of them are founded upon the popular superstitions of that province, and are treated with a peculiar poetical feeling. Others are in a humorous vein, yet their humour resembles neither that of the Germans nor of the English, and is, in fact, of a species which is distinct from that of the Russians themselves. It consists chiefly in the manner in which every thing is contemplated under a gay and cheerful aspect. Herein Gogol reminds us of Washington Irving; at the same time he surpasses him in diversity of talent. One of his happiest productions is the fragment of a novel, in which the state of society and manners in Little Russia is represented with considerable comic force, yet without any caricature. His best collection of tales is, however, said to be that entitled "Mirgorod," (the name of a town in Little Russia), and he has written some comedies, one of which-whose title, unfortunately-is not mentioned, is said to have shaken the theatre with the roars of laughter that it produced. As a critic on subjects of art, he has also shown much originality and ability, particularly in a paper on Architecture, in the first volume of his Arabeski, or Arabesques. Pavlov would claim our notice, if merely as the translator of the " Merchant of Venice," almost the first version into Russian of any drama of Shakspeare's directly from the original, though Polevoi has since translated Richard the Second and Hamlet. But, besides having displayed considerable talent in lyric poetry, Pavlov is one of the leading novelists of the present day. The works he has produced in that character, in which he first appeared about the year 1835, display no ordinary knowledge of the human heart; and that entitled "The Yatagan" is said to have caused a very great sensation. What a rapid advance the fashion of writing novelsif not exactly the art of novel-writing-is now making in Russia, may be conceived, when we are told that, on the average, from about sixty to seventy original ones now make their appearance in the course of a twelvemonth. Among other writers here cursorily spoken of are Pogorælsky and Lazhetznikov, the chief defect of whose "Last Novik," and the "Ice Palace," (the story of which latter is connected with the Empress Anne, and her favourite, the celebrated Biron,) is, as we are assured, that they betray too close an imitation of Scott's manner. Taking the liberty of passing by Prince Shakovsky, who, though still active with his pen-for it would seem that he has actually announced a Russian "Decameron”-hardly belongs to the present literary generation, we shall quote from what is here said of Kukolnik. It was in 1833, that he made his literary début before the public, with his dramatic fantasia of "Torquato Tasso," which first production may be consi dered also his best. It is not deficient either in geniality and warmth, or in dramatic action, or in lyric enthusiasm; and, moreover, it places before us the whole life of the unfortunate poet; his internal as well as his external existence. According to his own confession, Kukolnik employed himself, for a considerable time, upon this piece; and it may, probably, be on that account that he has succeeded in it better than in any of his subsequent ones. The influence of Schiller is discernible not only in the idealizing of the characters, and in the rich lyric strain of poetry, but also in that predilection on the part of this writer for mystic forebodings and prophetic presentiments, which has since become almost a mania in him. . . . . Kukolnik was now in vogue, and produced a five-act tragedy in verse, every four or six months. As soon as one new piece is brought out on the stage, he has another ready for the press; and no sooner is this published, than specimens of a third make their appearance in the literary journals. Instead of taking on ourselves the task of reckoning up how many productions he has given to the public since 1833, we will merely say that they may be divided into three classes, viz.: pieces founded upon subjects of national history; secondly, those which, like his Roxolana, are borrowed from that of other countries; and lastly, those dramatic fantasie, in which he generally takes for his theme the biography of some Italian poet or artist, and sets his imagination to work upon it." Notwithstanding his very hasty fertility in composition, his dramas give evidence of talent. Not only does he possess pathetic power, and occasionally a Of this kind is his recent production in the "" Sto Russkikh Literatov, or "Century of Russian Authors;" the subject of which is Leisewitz, authorof the celebrated drama, Julius von Tarent. loftier soaring, but some of his scenes are exceedingly impressive; the misfortune is that such scenes seldom arise naturally out of the action itself, but rather seem to be separate studies; so much so that an entire act, or even the whole of the piece, appears to have been written merely in order to introduce that single prominent but isolated point. For further extracts, or even for further notice of any kind, we have no room. We therefore conclude at once by expressing the hope that Melgunov will, either of himself, or through his proxy, König, continue to give us more of these sketches, or, still better, a series of more complete tableaux, on an extended scale ; something, in short, that might be received as a gallery of Russian literature and its authors, more especially of those respecting whom information is not yet to be obtained through the ordinary sources. For though we are grateful for what is here communicated, we must confess that we are dissatisfied with it, in so far as it creates a craving in us for a great deal more. LENAU'S POEMS. Gedichte. (Poems.) By Nicolaus Lenau. Second Edition. 1834. Faust. (Faust.) By Nicolaus Lenau. 1836. Neuere Gedichte. (Later Poems.) By Nicolaus Lenau. 1838. In an excellent article on Shelley, in the last number of the Edinburgh Review, the author remarks of that poet, that "Impersonation of national objects is the leading figure of his poetical diction; as it is in a less exuberant degree of that of Wordsworth. Natural objects are commonly used by philosophical poets to illustrate or typify the phenomena of human life. In Shelley, these phenomena become attributes of the objects themselves. The type is, as it were, transmuted by a poetical analogy, like the hypallage of the rhetoricians, into the antitype which it originally represented." Now, in the above paragraph, just substitute the word "Lenau" for the word "Shelley," and it will exactly fit the admirable poet, whose name stands at the head of this article. "The admirable poet," we repeat, and with especial emphasis, for we should have difficulty in finding a more glorious little book than "Lenau's Gedichte." It is a book to be taken up with peculiar reverence, and dipped into at particular times, when one is in a mood to appreciate it; not to be dug through like old Klopstock, or rumbled through like Stolber's long odes, whether one is in a humour or not. Lenau's best poems are real diamonds of the first water, as brilliant, and quite as cutting. Each, and, we might almost add, every stanza of each, may form the matter of a separate reading, and give sufficient food for meditation on the depth of feeling and immense imagination that were necessary for its production. We remember reading Lenau for the first time; we had in our hands. a pencil to mark the best poems in the index; and, at the end of almost every poem, we turned back and made a check in the aforesaid index, as well as innumerable marks at different stanzas. The fact is, nearly all were best, all were superlative, and the endeavour to select was difficult indeed! Lenau's great characteristics are his wondrous impersonation of nature, and the tremendous rushing out of his inmost feelings and thoughts; doubts, regrets, tears, and exultations, pouring upon us from the recesses of his heart, like an overwhelming cataract, and exhibiting every variation of mind with fearful accuracy. Nor do these characteristics appear separately; they are amalgamated, and his feeling is discernible in his images, which are not the result of a mere ingenious constructiveness, but seem raised in a moment, as if the poet had just intuitively discovered some new sympathy between man and nature. We cannot perceive his progress from image to image; he pounces at once on the antitype and ectype; we acknowledge their aptness when brought together, but wonder at the giant arm that could force them into contact from their original remoteness. A wolf howling at night-what does it become with Lenau? A wolf, in yonder murky wood, Howls as a child its mother wakes To rouse Night from her dream he cries, Here is an idea! The wolf is the infant of the Night, and cries to her to give him his food; the impersonation is one of startling power and audacity. When the spring draws to a close-dies, in Lenau's language — A cloud passes across the sky-Heaven is mourning— A passing thought strays o'er the face of Heav'n, And in the wind is waving yonder bush, The tree in a churchyard Drops its leaves upon the ground, But we might go on for ever, till we had quoted the whole volume, to show Lenau's talent of impersonation. To give a general character of his poetry, we cannot, we think, do better than extract his poem of "Die Zweifler," which exhibits all his peculiarities; following the plan we at first adopted, of retaining the original metre without the rhyme. THE DOUBTERS. Two friends were walking silently And, without sound, bowed down their heads, Now the stream rises up to her; She totters in her flow'ry garb, While rock'd by the exalting stream. Thus does a youth his maiden rock (wiegt), Ere with her to the dance he flies. One of the friends reflected on And now, like a funereal song, |