abandonment of old ones, the fresh advent of gold-seekers and the exodus
of the winners of fortunes, the increase of facilities for travel and of
all the comforts of life, are daily and perceptibly working out new
combinations. But while welcoming all changes tending towards refinement
and a higher civilization, the careful observer of the life of these
remote people can point to some qualities among them which he would have
unchangeable as their grand old mountains,--their frankness and honesty
of purpose, their love of justice, and their sturdy democracy.

REVIEWS AND LITERARY NOTICES.

_The Poems of_ THOMAS BAILEY ALDRICH. Boston: Ticknor and Fields.

The things which please in these poems are so obvious, that we feel it
all but idle to point them out; for who loves not graceful form, bright
color, and delicate perfume? Of our younger singers, Mr. Aldrich is one
of the best known and the best liked, for he has been wise as well as
poetical in his generation. The simple theme, the easy measure, have
been his choice; while he is a very Porphyro in the profusion with which
he heaps his board with delicates:--

"Candied apple, quince and plum and gourd;
With jellies soother than the creamy curd,
And lucent syrops tinct with cinnamon;
Manna and dates, in argosy transferred
From Fez; and spiced dainties, every one,
From silken Samarcand to cedared Lebanon."

And the feast is well lighted, and the guest has not to third his way
through knotty sentences, past perilous punctuation-points, to reach the
table, nor to grope in the dark for the dainties when he has found it.
We imagine that it is this charm of perfect clearness and accessibility
which attracts popular liking to Mr. Aldrich's poetry; afterwards, its
other qualities easily hold the favor won. He is endowed with a singular
richness of fancy, and he has well chosen most of his themes from among
those which allow the exercise of his best gifts. He has seldom,
therefore, attempted to poetize any feature or incident of our national
life; for this might have demanded a realistic treatment foreign to his
genius. But it is poetry, the result, which we want, and we do not care
from what material it is produced. The honey is the same, whether the
bee stores it from the meadow-clover and the wild-flower of our own
fields, or, loitering over city wharves, gathers it from ships laden
with tropic oranges and orient dates.

If Mr. Aldrich