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occasion, that the good duke, scandalized at her want of natural affection, turns her out of doors, and the fisherman for the same reason refuses to take her in. In this strait

the account of the first interview of Un-
dine with her future husband, in the fish-
erman's cottage.

"In the midst of their discourse, the stranger

she is protected by Undine, who generously perceived a spattering on the window, as if some
offers her an asylum at the Castle of Ring- one sprinkled water upon it. The old man, every
stetten, knowing too, at the same time, that time it occurred, knit his brows, as if he was dis-
she had once been beloved by her own hus-turbed; but, when, at last, a whole stream was
band. Gradually, the love of Huldbrand wan-thrown against the window, and found its way into
ders from his generous and beautiful wife. the room, through the slightly fastened sash, he
rose angrily and cried in a threatening accent, turn-
The idea that she is a being of a different ing towards the window; Undine! wilt thou never
mould, cools his affection, which fixes itself have done with thy child's play? when there is at
upon the less beautiful and admirable, but this moment, a strange gentleman in the cottage
still human Bertha. She reciprocates and en- with us. The noise immediately ceased; a slight
tittering only was perceived. * * *
courages his passion, and he becomes neg-
"While they were speaking, the door flew open,
This
ligent and even unkind to Undine.
and a fair-haired girl, of remarkable beauty, sprang
however is deeply resented by her cousins laughing in, and said: You have only cheated me,
and uncles, the water-fiends, who persecute father; where then is our guest?-Immediately,
the lovers in a thousand ways, till Undine however, she perceived the Knight, and stood fixed
generously stops up
in astonishment at the handsome youth. Huld-
a fountain through
brand was charmed with the beautiful figure, and
which they obtain access to the castle. gazed the more earnestly at her lovely features, be-
Huldbrand becomes daily more and more cause he imagined that her surprise alone gave him
harsh and unkind in his treatment of Un- the opportunity, and that she would immediately
dine, who constantly exhibits the same ten- turn from his gaze, with added timidity. It hap-
der, disinterested, and forbearing affec-pened, however, quite otherwise. For after having
long observed him, she approached confidently,
tion for him; warns him of the danger kneeled before him, and said, while she played
of offending the spirits of the deep, and with a golden medal which hung on his breast, sus-
protects him on divers occasions, from pended from a rich chain: Ah, thou beautiful, much
their vengeance. His better feelings are desired guest, hast thou come at last to our poor
often awakened towards her, and he re- cottage? Wast thou then forced to wander for long
turns to her with all the fervour of his years about the earth, before thou couldst find us?
Dost thou come from the wild forest, my fair friend?
first love; but the seductive attractions of The scolding old dame left him no time for reply.
Bertha draw him again from his allegiance, She commanded the girl to stand up properly, and
and he at length loathes and detests his un- attend to her business. Undine, however, without
fortunate connexion with a being of another removing, took a little footstool next to Huldbrand's
sphere. She forbears long, but is at last chair, sat down on it, and taking her work, said
pleasantly: I will sew here. The old man did as old
driven by excess of unkindness and cruelty, men are woat to do with perverse children. He ap-
to leave him. She plunges into the sea, peared as if he took no notice of Undine's oddity,
and mingles with her native element. and began to attempt some other conversation. But
the girl would not allow it. She said: I have asked
our fine guest from whence he came, and he has not
answered me. I came from the forest, fair crea-
ture, answered Huldbrand. You must tell me then,
how you came to venture into it, for men generally
avoid it: and what wonderful adventures befell you
there; for no one, they say, goes through it without
meeting some."

The grief of her husband, and even that of Bertha, who is not destitute of all good feelings, is deep and sincere; but like all human grief, and particularly like all widowers' grief, it wears away, and they prepare for their own nuptials. A multitude of omens warn them to avoid this consummation of their injustice towards the hapless Undine. A law of the children of Neptune, it seems, would oblige Undine to put to death her husband, should he wed another. Of this she warns him in a dream; but neither dreams nor omens can arrest the destined pair. They are married, and Huldbrand renders himself liable to the penalty of this law. One thing still preserves him; the stone yet remains upon the fountain, which Undine had placed there, and till this be removed, no water-spirit can gain access to the Castle. But the foolish vanity of his new wife soon removes this last obstacle. She longs on her wedding night for some of the water of this fountain, to remove some freckles from her skin; her obsequious attendants remove the stone, and thus the fate of her husban,

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my power over him again, and now first perceived that my deliverer was no white man, but a silver stream, which rushed down from a hill before me, furiously crossing, and hemming in the path of my steed.

"Thanks, dear streamlet! cried Undine, clapping her hands. But the old man shook his head, and looked down thoughtfully.

"I had hardly fixed myself again in my saddle, and taken my reins properly, resumed Huldbrand, when there stood at my side a strange little man, diminutive and ugly beyond measure, of a brownish yellow colour, and with a nose not much smaller than the whole little pigmy besides. At the same time, he grinned at me with his broad spreading mouth, with a very stupid politeness, and made thousands of bows and grimaces before me. As this puppet's play displeased me much, I thanked him quite crustily, turned off my yet trembling horse, and thought I would seek another adventure, or turn my steps homewards if none appeared; for the sun, during my wild race, had already passed the zenith, and was going fast towards the west. But the little clown sprung round with the speed of lightning, and stood again before my steed. Stand off! said I, crossly; the animal is wild, and will make nothing of running over thee. Ay? snarled the little wretch, and laughed yet more shockingly; throw me first some drink money, for I have stopYou would have lain, ped your little courser. with your horse, in the cleft of the rock yonder if I had not saved you; Hu!-A truce then with your vile grimaces, said I, and you shall have the pence, though you tell not the truth; for see, the good brook yonder preserved me, but not you, poor miserable wight. And, with that, I dropped a gold piece into his curious cap, which he held before me, in the attitude of a beggar. Then, I journeyed on; but he screamed after me, and was soon up with me, running with inconceivable rapidity. I spurred my horse into a gallop; he galloped with me, though not without effort, and made many wonderful, half diverting, and half frightful distortions of his body, during all which he held up the gold piece in the air, crying with each stride; False coin! false gold! false money! false coin! And this he roared out with such a hollow sound, that one would have thought he must needs fall dead to

the ground after each cry. His frightful red tongue hung far out of his mouth. I stopped, much disturbed; I asked, What means thy cry? Take another gold piece, take two more, but leave me alone. Then he resumed his frightful courteous greetings, and snarled; Not gold, it shall not be gold, my young master; I have too much already of that Huldbrand gives some account of his ad- sort of stuff: Here it is, I will show it to you. ventures in the forest.

end, said I to myself, in a pleasant mood; and be-
"The wood shall soon be traversed from end to
fore I thought of it, I had already penetrated into
the midst of its green shades, and saw no more of
the open plain behind me. Then it first struck me
that I might very easily lose my way in this exten-
sive forest, and that this was probably the only dan-
ger to which travellers were exposed. I stopped
ray horse, and observed the situation of the sun,
tihich had now risen higher. Whilst I was look-
dig up in this manner, I saw a black thing in the
anches of a high oak. I thought at first it was a
sorth the voice of a man, but very roughly and un-
and seized my sword; when it addressed me
feasantly: If I did not break off the branches
diffe above, how then shouldst thou be roasted to
reght, thou stupid loon.'-And with this, he grinned
var made such a rustling among the branches, that
amid time to see what kind of a devilish creature
courser grew wild, and ran off with me, before
histas. * * *

cu

ar,

is sealed.
For this meagre outline of the story C, bot My terrified horse had well nigh run with me
Undine, we can only apologize by remarktwitinst the trunks and branches of trees; he per-
ing, that some knowledge of it is necessary tho ed much from distress and the violence of the
by way of preparation for the right under pat on towards a stony precipice; then it ap-
rcise, yet would not halt. At last he went
standing of a few extracts which we pressed to me suddenly as if a tall, white man, threw
pose to make from the work itself, as specs-elf in the way of the mad horse: The animal
mens of its style and execution. We quot pp/ped upon this, and stood before him; I regained

"Then it seemed to me all at once, as if I could see through the firm green plain, as if it were green in it were a crowd of gnomes, playing with silver and glass, and the smooth earth round and hollow, and gold. They were tumbling about like madmen, throwing the precious metals at each other, and blowing the gold dust into each other's eyes. My hateful companion stood half within, half without; the others reached him a great deal of gold, which he showed me laughing, and then tossed it again, ringing as it went, into the immeasurable gulph. Then he showed my gold piece again to the gnomes below, and they laughed themselves half dead over it, and hissed at me. At last they all raised toand wilder and wilder, thicker and thicker, madder wards me their long fingers, dirty with the metal, and madder, arose the tumultuous throng around me; and then I was seized with horror, like that which before had seized my horse. I put spurs to him, and know not how far this second time I rode madly into the forest.

"When I halted again at last, the coolness of the evening was around me. Through the branches I discovered a white foot-path, which I thought must lead out of the forest to the city. I tried to penetrate in that direction; but a snow-white, indistinct towards me, from the leaves; I tried to avoid it, countenance, with ever-changing features, looked but which ever way I turned, I found it was there. In a fit of fury I tried at last to drive my steed swiftly against it; then a rushing of white foa

ful faces became visible to each, and the whole
stream, around the boat, swarmed with the most
horrible forms."

a

came before me and my horse, which completely
dazzled us both. This drove us, from step to step,
aside from the foot-path, and only left a single path
open to us. But if we attempted to go on, it was
close behind us; it did us, however, no harm.-
A necklace is snatched from Bertha, by
When I occasionally looked behind, I marked well, hand which springs out from the water. Un-
that the white, foaming countenance was attached to dine presents her in place of it, with anoth-
an equally white and very gigantic body. Some-er which she has received from some water-
times I fancied it was a moving well-spring, but I
could never make any thing certain of it. The
horse and rider followed exhausted, the driving
white man, who continually beckoned to us with
his head, as if he would say: Right! right! And
so we reached, at last, the end of the wood, and
came out in this spot, where I saw the green turf,
the lake, and your little cottage, and where the tall

white man vanished."

We pass to the account which is given of the first wandering of the affections of Huldbrand from their legitimate object.

"The writer of this history, because his heart is moved by it, and because he wishes that it may excite in others the same emotion, begs a favour of thee, dear reader. Excuse him, if he now passes over a long space of time with a few words, and only tells thee its events in general terms. He well knows, that it would be possible to relate regularly, and step by step, how Huldbrand's mind began to turn from Undine, and to incline towards Bertha; how Bertha continually met the approaches of the young Knight with glowing love, and they both appeared to fear Undine rather as a being of another order, than to sympathize with her; how Undine wept, and her tears produced the pangs of remorse in the Knight's heart, without rekindling his former love, so that he would treat her affectionately for a little while, till a cold shuddering turned him from her side, and drew towards him a being of his own species in Bertha. * * *

god.

“She then raised in her wet hand, which she had
for some time held under the water, a magnificent
coral necklace, so beautifully brilliant, that it almost
dazzled the eyes of all who saw it.
Take this,
said she, affectionately presenting it to Bertha; I
have found this as a restitution for you, and be not
troubled any more, my poor friend.-But the
Knight sprang between them. He snatched the
beautiful ornament from Undine's hand, buried it
again in the flood, and cried, burning with rage;
Hast thou then perpetually a connexion with them?
Stay with them then, in the name of all wizards,
with all thy presents, and leave us human creatures
in peace, thou Enchantress!-Poor Undine gazed
at him, stupified, but with streaming eyes, the hand
still stretched out, with which she had wished so
affectionately to convey to Bertha her beautiful
present. Then she began to weep more and more
bitterly, like an innocent, lovely infant, who is in
great trouble. At last she said very faintly: Ah,
dear friend, farewell: They shall do nothing to
thee; only remain true, that I may keep them
away from you. Alas, I must go, must leave this
delightful young life. Alas, alas, what hast thou
done! O woe, woe!

"And she vanished over the side of the rock,-
she rose up over the stream, she united herself with
it, it seemed like two natures, and like one. But
she soon wholly disappeared; only the little waves
yet whispered round the boat, and they seemed to
say: O woe, woe! Remain true. Alas! Alas!

"The Knight, in the me attendants. Half undress ancholy, he stood before a

lights burned dimly by his
at the door, very light, and
very gently. Undine had
before, as a friendly signa
said he to himself. I m
must indeed, but in a cold
the door opened, slowly, a
seemed to say, and then h
entered, and carefully turn
They have opened the well,
I am here, and thou must
pressed heart, that it could
he covered his face with his
me not wild with terror, in
hast a horrible face under t
take me away without my
plied the wanderer, wilt th

once? I am as fair as wher
the peninsula.--O, if it wer
and if I might die by a kiss
lingly, my love, said she.
veil, and her beautiful face
with heavenly sweetness.
as well as at the approach
bent towards her. She kiss
more closely to her, and
weep away her soul. The
of the Knight, and his hear
tion, till his breath at last, le
her beautiful arms, a lifeless
the bed.

"I have caused him to die to some servants who met he and walked slowly through t fied attendants, who saw he tain."

At the funeral, Undin last time.

"Shield and helmet were

"Huldbrand however, lay stretched on the deck of the vessel, overcome with tears; and a deep swoon soon veiled in its mild forgetfulness the mis-sunk with him into the earth erable man.”

After the wedding of Huldbrand, the vanity of his new bride brings on the fatal catastrophe.

"Poor Undine was much distressed; the other two were, also, not happy; Bertha, especially, was accustomed, on the smallest disappointment of her wishes, to apprehend the influence of the justly jealous wife to be the cause. She assumed, in consequence, a tone of haughty superiority, which Undine submitted to with painful self-denial, and which was commonly supported in the most decided manner by the deluded Huldbrand.-What dis"The men put forth all their strength to remove turbed still more the company at the castle, were the great stone: one or other of them, occasionally various wonderful apparitions, which encountered sighed at the recollection that they were destroying Huldbrand and Bertha in the vaulted passages of the work of their former beloved mistress. But the tower, and of which nothing had been heard the task was found much lighter than they had apbefore, within the memory of man. The tall, white prehended. It seemed, as if some power from man, in whom Huldbrand too well recognized uncle within the well assisted them to remove the stone. Kuhleborn, Bertha, the mysterious master of the -The astonished workmen said to each other, it spring, often stepped before them in a threatening seems as if the water within had become a spoutmanner, but especially before Bertha, so that she ing horn.-And the stone lifted itself up, more and had often fallen in swoons, from terror, and had more, and almost without the aid of the labourers, thought many times of leaving the castle. But she it rolled slowly and with a heavy sound over the was prevented, partly by her love to Huldbrand, pavement. But from the opening of the spring, and partly by the sentiment of her own innocence, something like a white column of water rose mabecause they had never come to an open explana-jestically; they thought at first that they were tion: and partly likewise, by her ignorance where right, about the spouting horn, till the rising figure to direct her steps." assumed the form of a woman veiled in white. She in anguish, over her head, and stepped with a slow, wept bitterly, raised her hands, wringing them solemn pace towards the castle. The servants of the castle ran terrified from the fountain; pale, dumb with horror, stood the bride at the window, surrounded by her attendant maidens. As the fig. ure came close under their room, it looked up to them mournfully, and Bertha thought she could perceive under the veil, Undine's pale features. The weeping figure, however, passed along, heavily, sorrowfully, hesitatingly, as if to the scaffold.-Bertha screamed to them to call the Knight; not one of the chambermaids dared to leave the place they were in, and the bride herself became suddenly still, as if terrified by the sound of her own voice.

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While sailing on the Danube, Huldbrand, Undine, and Bertha, are constantly disturbed by the rude pranks of Kuhleborn, which are only repressed by the presence and authority of Undine.

"Hardly, however, had she closed her eyes, when each one in the boat, in whatever direction he might chance to look into the water, saw a frightful countenance of a man, which rose out of the waves, not like that of a swimmer, but quite perpendicular, as if it was nailed to the watery mirror, but yet sailing above with the bark. Each wished to show to the other the object of his terror, and each found in the other's face the same hor

"Whilst they vet stood in terror at the window

of Ringstetten, had died the mourners began their solem their songs of mourning, in

Heilman walked before, bear the comfortless Bertha follow father.-All at once they p of the mourning-women, in snow-white figure closely veil hands in great anguish. Tho walked, were seized with a m went backward or sideways, a their movements, the others, stranger now came, were te that complete disorder beg whole train of mourners. were so bold, as to attempt to and to command it to leave before their view it seemed at was, nevertheless, seen movi majestic steps, in the midst of body. At last it came, whils made way for it, close behind sence, and it walked very hum very slowly, so that she was r hind her, undisturbed by any o

"This lasted, until they cam and the procession closed aro Then Bertha perceived the u and commanded her, half in a to leave the peaceful grave veiled figure, however, shook h raised her hands, as in a humbl by which she was much moved thinking, with tears, how Undir on the Danube, to present her coral necklace. Father Heilma silence, that they might pray

bady on which they wer

crystal, and flowed gently on, till it had surrounded the Knight's grave; it then pursued its course, and emptied itself into a tranquil lake, which was near the consecrated ground. Even in our times, the inhabitants of the village show the stream, and entertain an opinion that this is the poor, deserted Undine, who, in this manner still surrounds with her affectionate arms, her beloved husband."

We have given these passages, not because they are all of them among the best which could have been selected, but as affording upon the whole, a pretty fair view of the character and execution of the work. For ourselves, we repeat, that we have been highly delighted with it. The name of the translator is not given, and we know not to whom we are indebted for the pleasure it has afforded us. His task, we have no doubt, though we have no acquaintance with the original, has been executed with fidelity; we know at least, that the English dress in which he has presented this fanciful little tale, is neat, often beautiful, and always interesting.

tions are, with very few exceptions, applied | ed or founded our more mature character.
to every thing of consequence in the text. Then, the labours of all, who now gather
They are so constructed, that no one can the fading recollections and traditions of
enable himself to understand and answer elder days, and give them a permanent
them, without making himself master of the form, will be duly appreciated. The exe-
whole subject which they regard.
cution of Mr Moore's work is as good as
the plan and purpose; it displays good sense,
good taste, and much industry.

The typography of the work, in every
respect but that of literal correctness, is
The "Annals of Concord" are brought
excellent; there are some errors of this
sort, but all which could cause any mistake, down, quite to the present day, and some
are corrected with the pen. It may be account is given of all the inhabitants of
well to add, that the addition of the ques- the town, who have been remarkable in
tions does not increase the price of the any respect. The notice of Benjamin
work, this edition being sold at the same Thompson, Count Rumford, who passed some
rate as the 12mo edition of Blair's Rheto-years in Concord, is peculiarly interest-
ric in common use.
ing.

There is much in these Annals respecting the Indian warfare; much that it is now Annals of the Town of Concord, in the Coun- difficult to realize as having actually exty of Merrimack, and State of New-isted. What a contrast is there, between Hampshire, from its first Settlement, in the present peaceful and secure condition the Year 1726, to the Year 1823. With of our towns, and a situation which exposed several Biographical Sketches. To which them to circumstances like those narrated is added, a Memoir of the Penacook In- page 23. dians. By Jacob B. Moore. 8vo. pp. 112. Concord, 1824.

“On Monday morning, the 11th, seven of the inAn Abridgment of Lectures on Rhetoric. habitants set out for Hopkinton, two on horses, and the others on foot, all armed. They marched on By Hugh Blair, D. D. Improved by the THIS simple and unpretending book, is both leisurely, and Obadiah Peters, having proceeded addition of Appropriate Marginal Ques-pleasing and useful, in a high degree. It some distance forward of the others into a hollow, tions, numbered to correspond with Refer-appears from the preface, that the author about one mile and a half from the street, set down ences in the body of the page. By Na- collected the facts and materials for his The Indians, thinking themselves discovered, rose his gun and waited the approach of his friends. thaniel Greene. 12mo. pp. 238. Boston, own use, but concluded to publish these An- from their hiding-places, fired and killed Peters on 1824. nals, in the belief that they would be gen- the spot. At this moment, Jonathan Bradley and THE questions printed in the margin of erally interesting. He did well to collect, the rest of his party had gained the summit of the each page, are perfectly simple and dis- and better to publish them; and we hope hill. Bradley was deceived in the number of the tinct, and well calculated to direct the at- his success will be such as to encourage sim- enemy, supposing the few whom he saw near Peters to compose the whole party. He ordered his tention of the scholar to those statements in ilar undertakings. Works like this are men to fire, and they rushed down among them. the text, which it is most important that he needed to illustrate our earliest history. It The whole body of Indians instantly arose, being should comprehend and remember. Every gives a plain relation of the first settlement about 100 in number. Bradley now urged his men instructer who is properly desirous that his of Concord, with a minute account of the to fly for safety; but it was too late--the work of pupil should profit by the book he reads, difficulties encountered and subdued, and shot through the body-stripped of his clothing, destruction had commenced. Samuel Bradley was must ask him many questions respecting it; of all the doings, public and private,-for and scalped. To Jonathan they offered good not only to assure himself that it has been they were then almost the same,-of the quarter,' having been acquainted with him; but studied with sufficient assiduity, but to lead infant colony. The interior townships he refused their protection, his heroic spirit thirstthe mind of his scholar to those subjects of New England were settled in a some-ing to avenge the death of his comrades. He which he should examine with most care. what similar manner, and yet the early until they struck him on his face repeatedly with fought with his gun against the cloud of enemies, But few masters, compelled as they must history of each has peculiarities that give their knives and tomahawks, and literally hewed be, to make little preparation in this re- to it a distinct interest. They agree, in him down. They then pierced his body, took off spect, can devise at once questions so much that a wilderness was about them, thinly his scalp and clothes. Two others, John Bean and to the point, as those which are here peopled by a savage enemy, of equal ac- John Lufkin, attempting to fly, were killed by the attached to the text; of course, these tivity and malignity; that famine often same fire with Samuel Bradley. Alexander Robmust not only be of great assistance to the came amongst them, threatening if not de- death, but were made prisoners and taken to Canerts and William Stickney fortunately escaped teacher, but of importance to the schol-stroying; and that they generally, quite as ada. Immediately after the melancholy affair took ar, because they secure to him an exam- soon as they were established, contrived to place, an alarm was given from Walker's garrison ination, at once precise and full. An- get into quarrels with their neighbours, to the people on the interval, and elsewhere, at other advantage is, that when boys recite about boundaries, or privileges of some some little distance. They soon assembled and in numerous classes, as must be the case in kind. But the details of the savage war tioned at the garrison, and several of the inhabiconsulted on measures of safety. The soldiers staacademies, but a small proportion of them differ, sometimes according to casual cir- tants, then repaired to the scene of slaughter. As can be examined with much care; but any cumstances of location or condition, and they approached, the Indians were seen upon the one who uses tes edition, while he studies sometimes from the differing habits of dif- retreat. The bodies were brought away in a cart, the text, will W, ave his attention directed ferent tribes of Indians; the dangers and and were interred in the church-yard on the followwhere a skilfuig paster would wish to lead difficulties surmounted, and the spirit and ing day. The number killed of the Indians was it; it is in fa to the same thing as if he resources which met them, are infinitely when the information was obtained from Roberts, studied the wild with constant reference various. These particulars are more than who had made his escape from captivity. He stato a digest, olly,mpact abridgment of it. amusing; they are the materials for useful ted that four were killed, and several wounded, two The only objerb which can be urged a history; they serve to illustrate vividly, mortally, who were conveyed away upon litters, gainst this me of of printing school-books, both the character that our fathers brought hemlock tree in the Great Swamp, about half a mile and soon after died. Two they buried under a large is, that scholaney oowing beforehand what with them, and that which they found in south of the scene of slaughter. The other two questions are ply Ce asked them, prepare the aborigines. In time to come, it will be, were buried at some distance from them, near Turthemselves acice.s gly, and neglect the re perhaps, thought more interesting than it key river. Roberts found the two bodies under mainder of th had K. This is a point which is now, to seek in the conduct and condi- the log after his return from captivity. The head deserves muc rs, gntion; it is, however, tion of the infancy of our country, those beasts. For the skull of the other, a bounty was of one was taken away, it was supposed, by wild but just to say, Pin this work, the ques traits, and those impressions, which indicat-paid by the government."

of

es.

ow,

V

unknown to the inhabitants until some time after,

54

On page 76 we have a copy of a letter written by an Indian Chief, to Cranfield, Lieut. Governor of New Hampshire. It is curious enough to be extracted.

your humble servant,

66

May 15th, 1685.

JOHN HOGKINS."

and its maker, but of all goodness, justice, | gar passion and all vile impulses are conand happiness. If we may judge from his tinually uttering, is, that the love of these writings,-not from his prefaces and apolo- things is spirited ambition, and the ennobgies, excuses and explanations, but his prin- ling aspiration of great minds. There are cipal works, those which have cost him care few whom this powerful lie does not at some and toil, and on which he relies for fame, seasons and in some measure deceive, and there are many whom it deludes and ruins. How wholly unnecessary is it, to teach men to forget that man is good, that his hopes are secure and his happiness real, just in proportion as he loves peaceful usefulness better than stife and turmoil, and pursues the path of his duty, looking not above or beyond him, but at his work.

Earth would be heaven, if men loved their duty better than its reward, and sought no other recompense than the pleasure of doing good. This a condition which can hardly be imagined and never perhaps be reached; still it should be perpetually approached. It should be a goal towards which all hope and effort should tend; and there is nothing good and pure in the affections, nothing true in thought, and nothing rational in belief or expectation, which does not look to it. Amid the barrenness of earth, even as it is, there are green and lovely spots; primeval happiness comes again, with a reality beyond the dream of poetry or the hope of enthusiasm, to a pure heart, dwelling in a humble and a peaceful The love of self has many forms

a Honour gouernor my friend,
You my friend I desire your worship and your-his prevalent and habitual sentiment is a
power, because I hope you can do som great mat- thorough and bitter scorn for every thing
ters this one. I am poor and naked, and I have but depravity, and an universal distrust of
no man at my place because I afraid allwayes Mo-
hogs he will kill me every day and night. If your every thing but falsehood. Virtue, honesty,
worship when please pray help me you no let Mo- respect for right, and obedience to law, are
hogs kill me at my place at Malamake river called with him, only cheating hypocrisy or cheat-
Panukkog and Nattukkog, I will submit your wor- ed folly; he deems it an abuse and an error
ship and your power. And now I want pouder and to suppose that men do themselves good by
such alminishon, shott and guns, because I have imposing upon themselves restraints, and
forth at my hom and I plant theare.
This all Indian hand, but pray do you consider considers him wise, who overleaps the
bounds which fasten in society, and dares
to forget or defy in mad revelry all cus-
tom, decency, and law. It is his settled
creed, that we know not and cannot know,
by what cause or to what end we are in be-
ing; religion is with him a time-rooted
falsehood, to which weakness, suffering, and
fear have given power,-a strange folly,
making men barter away ease, liberty, and
pleasure for an equivalent to be repaid only
to him who has become nothing; he sees in
hope a miserable delusion, and in death
nothing but the chill and darkness and cor-
These opinions of
ruption of the grave.
his oppose the universal and hereditary
opinion of the world, and believing himself home.
right, he, of course, thinks that he is wiser and many names; it is lofty ambition, noble
than the world, and that his views are more pride, just revenge, and many things akin
extended and accurate. Of course he is to these; but with them happiness cannot
vain of the distinction, and regards it with dwell, for where they are, there is no room
The companions
much complacency, and is willing that all and no welcome for her.
should see it, and he tells men earnestly and that she loves, are innocent and humble, but
eloquently what fools, cowards, or hypo-glad and grateful thoughts, and pure and
crites they are for believing, hoping, fear-kind affections; thoughts and affections
ing, and professing like their fathers; that
they may feel his superiority, his bold sa-
gacity, who tells them so.

Cain; a Mystery. By Lord Byron. Bos-
ton. 1822. 18mo. pp. 79.
The Deformed Transformed; a Drama.
By the Right Hon. Lord Byron. First
American from the second London edition.
Philadelphia. 1824. 12mo. pp. 84.
Few living authors exert so strong and
wide an influence as Lord Byron. His in-
tellect is remarkable, not for its power
alone; with those qualities which are most
sure to awaken and arrest attention, he has,
in an uncommon measure, the faculties most
necessary to take advantage of opportunities
thus gained. He is not only a poet of a high
order, but an original, fearless, versatile,
and sometimes mysterious character; he is
therefore certain of patient and earnest
listeners; and upon all who listen to his
song, he can throw a spell which few are
strong enough to break, by his absolute
command over the melodies of language
and all that is powerful or beautiful in im-
agery, and by his skill in waking the grace-
Some things he has written to revenge
ful play of gay or tender thoughts, or paint-
ing the fiercest madness of passion, or con- and he has written some things merely from
an injury; his mind is versatile and active,
trasting all action and motion, whether
peaceful and joyous or fearful, with the caprice or in idleness; of late, some of the
solemn calm of feelings, deep, silent, and appendages to his poems indicate alarm, if
tranquil as a reposing ocean.
not penitence; but the mass of his power-
endowed, if he be,-as Lord Byron is,ful and splendid poetry has a distinct and
ambitious of influence and notoriety, for we for satire, or humour, or pathos, or exquisite
strongly marked character. His talents
will not call it fame, cannot pass through description of the beauty or sublimity of

A man thus

his course, without giving a permanent di

rection to some minds and a bias to many, and thus doing much to establish his own fashion of regarding those topics which

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fully exerted as when he is fighting against
nature, are never so strenuously and success-
all the best affections and unfailing hopes
and sanctifying truths, which are left for

the strength or consolation of humanity.

His haunt, and the main region of his song." It is mockery to ask whether such a man, The extent and character of his influ- writing thus, produces a good or evil effect; ence is a subject well worthy of examina- the only question is, what is the evil, which tion. We speak not of the effect of By- most naturally grows out of his works? ron's example upon the forms and appear- The answer is obvious. He has confounded ances of poetry, nor of the changes he may the distinction between all evil and all have caused on the surface or in the depths good, and made beautiful and alluring by of literature, if any such there be; but of specious falsehood, that which in truth and the influence he has exerted upon the gen-in reality is as repulsive as it is dangerous. eral habits of thinking and feeling in culti-It is the evil of man's nature, which alone, whatever be its features or disguise, loves discord, tumult, and revenge, and solitary grandeur, and uncontrolled power; these things harmonize with nothing that is good; and the great lie, which selfishness and vul

vated society.

Lord Byron is an infidel; a thorough and consistent infidel. Of course we say this only of Lord Byron as an author; as such, Le is an unbeliever not merely of heaven

which come from heaven and almost bear one thither, but which Byron, and they who are infected by his influence, hold in utter scorn. This is a heavy accusation; let us examine if it be not just.

Who are his heroes? Who are they, to whom he gives beauty and courage and power? Who is he, that, whether his name be Harold or Manfred, Conrad, Lara, or the Giaour, is a reflection of the character reckless ambition is utterly regardless of which Lord Byron loves? He is one, whose all that does not minister to its own indulothers as born only for his use, and whose gence, whose miserable pride looks upon ready vengeance is awakened against all who chance to cross his wayward path. Such a being may exist; probably many such do exist; but when these qualities belong to men living in society, the absurdity of supposing them ennobling rather than degrading, is impossible. Such men are avoided; they feel no love and they seek none; if they are unable or unwilling to hide their pride and selfishness, all who ap proach them, recoil with disgust; and if these qualities are hidden, it is by a disguise of mean and temporary suavity, which By ron's poetry could not endure. be men who, in the ruling principles of thought and feeling, resemble Byron's fa vorites; and the falsehood of his poetry consists in giving to such characters unnat

Such must

ural and impossible attractions; in making but hatred, despairing yet untiring. Satan | combat with Lucifer; they avoid him or them mild, amiable, and affectionate, lovely is invested with unimaginable sublimity; they stand before him fearful and feeble. and beloved, and happy in their ambition, but it is the sublimity of darkness illu- Now then, Byron, by the terms of his own their vengeance, or their sensuality. Thus mined with hell-fire: it is composed of seeking, is reduced within an obvious dilema character is created and strongly im- every element of awe and terror, and ma. He has given the victory to the advopressed upon the imagination, the direct is unqualified by any thing which can cate of infidelity; therefore he either would tendency of which is to produce, in the in- allure to sympathy or imitation. We feel not or could not defeat his sophistry; if he tellectual apprehension, an association be- that he holds his burning sceptre because would not, it was because it is pleasant to tween things which approach each other he is supreme in pain; he speaks to the him to blaspheme, and he loved the awful only in fiction, and a disunion between sun as something which had been beneath falsehoods of his hero too fondly to bring those which are seldom sundered in reality, his sphere, but curses the beam that brings them into light; if he could not, then the and never should be in the belief; between the memory of his past brightness; and we sad conclusion is inevitable, that he is inhumility and content, between usefulness are continually led to measure the height sensible to those truths and hopes and affecand happiness. It may be thought that all of his lost throne by the abyss into which tions which alone can elevate man from romantic works are liable to this charge in he has fallen. He meets the ministers of earth to happiness, and has not yet learned common with those of Lord Byron; but God in combat, in argument, and in pur- that none but the fool saith, There is no it applies to his productions with peculiar poses of evil, but he is exposed, defeated, God. aptness and force. In other works of this and punished, like a guilty and miserable class, the evil is commonly palliated, and, in thing; he is a rebel and a blasphemer some sort, remedied, by a degree of regard to against the Most High, but his rebellion is those domestic charities and those duties its own punishment, his blasphemy is a cry and relations of society, which Byron seems of agony and despair, and his every word neither to love, respect, nor understand. and action and purpose proclaims that his This regard is seldom very enlightened; sovereignty in wickedness and power and but, at the worst, it is a folly neutralizing torment is one. Is it thus with Byron's a falsehood, which in Byron's poetry is Lucifer? Far from it; the impression he is wholly unresisted. That Lord Byron's in- calculated to produce is precisely the oppofluence is checked and decaying, is certain; site to that which is caused by the characbut who can deny that it has been great, that, ter of Satan. with any knowledge of human nature, has any recollection of the admiration, which his poems excited, and of the forgetfulness of their moral character in the acknowledgement of their power and splen

dour.

We may appear to have pushed the charge of infidelity and impiety too far. Byron, as we have already remarked, has of late made many protestations and excuses, which, with some critics, appear to have a degree of weight. In the preface to Cain he seems to anticipate the horror which the foul blasphemies of Lucifer must excite, and endeavours to excuse or defend them, by saying that "it was difficult to make him talk like a clergyman." He elsewhere refers to a gre precedent for his justification: he appeak Milton; and by the example of Milton, we far as two spirits so discordant can be banght into comparison, let him judged.

were tainted with mor But it is not so: each

ch

Cris

The Satan of Paradise Lost, is the sublime of evil. It was a thought which marked the character of Miton's intellect, to regard a pure hatred of God, as the crowned and sovereign sin. Had the subordinate devils been the creations of a less mighty mind, they would have differed from their leader and from each other, only as they te or less wickedness. ne represents some elemental vice, and, in all that he says or does shows, with exceeiceling truth, the impuise and tendency ore), the sin he personifies. Avarice, Ambitionsar, and Sensuality are there in vivid but disgusting reality. They are there with their brethren, leading the armies of hell; but they bow with willing self-abasement to the preeminence in sin and in suffering of him a, on whom they rest whom they derive

Milton's arch-fiend is opposed to the Almighty as evil to good, as falsehood to truth, as misery to peace and happiness; but Lucifer is triumphant and exulting. There is nothing of wretchedness about him, and he declares himself to be miserable only that he may better illustrate his proud scorn and successful defiance of that Almighty vengeance which cannot inflict so much as he can endure. The cause of truth and goodness is argued by Cain, feebly and against his will; Adam and Eve are represcnted as unresisting victims of God's injustice, worshipping him rather in fear than in love. Abel, Adah, and Zillah are very good and peaceful, but rather weak and quite unable to aid Cain in his wordy contest with Lucifer. The spirit of evil is alike triumphant in argument and in temptation; and his weapons are the same in both. He tempts to disobedience and sin, by promising knowledge; and overcomes the habits of devotion in which Cain had been educated, by performing his promise, by compelling the reason of Cain to admit that man is miserable because God is essentially unjust and cruel! This tremendous blasphemy is repeated in many forms and with all possible distinctness, and adorned with all the poetry and enforced with all the eloquence which Lord Byron could command. It is no palliation, that Lucifer's arguments are altogether trite and futile, for they are all that infidelity has yet found. To the excuse which Byron offers in his own defence, that he was obliged to make

It is impossible to read "Cain," without feeling that Lucifer is a favoured and cherished character; it is impossible to compare Lucifer with the heroes of Lord Byron's other works, without perceiving that he is one with them. There is, we have already said, a distinct character, which every favorite of the Byron school bears, and this character, strongly exaggerated, and relieved from a few of the incongruous amiabilities which are commonly attached to it, becomes Lucifer.

There is a use in most things; and Lord Byron may do some good, even as an author. The limits which are put to his success, the decay of his fame, the obloquy which is gathering about him, prove that there is among those for whom he writes, a sense of his folly and wickedness, which will not be wholly blinded even by the splendour of his poetry. In his earlier works Byron appeared as a poet of extraordinary powers, who foolishly affected much melancholy, and who unhappily failed to discover that the time had gone by, when an author could advance his reputation for talent and originality by indulging his spleen in sneers at every thing holy, virtuous, or honourable. He wrote a series of delightful tales, uniting to great novelty in point of character every species of poetic beauty. At this period his reputation was at its height; he had indeed discovered the traits of character which he has since shown more openly, but he had not then obtruded them upon public notice; he had not yet written Don Juan and Cain, as if to show that the finest poetry might be used to decorate vulgar licentiousness or the sophistry and curses of blasphemy. But he has since gone so far as to alarm and shock every feeling of love for goodness or respect for sanctity. Public sentiment is decidedly against him; his last books do not sell; they remain on the booksellers' shelves instead of being demanded with an avidity which could hardly be supplied. The last cantos of Juan are almost unread here, and were it not for the

his persons speak in character, we need not newspapers, which extract their best pasanswer that he was nowise required to sages, it would hardly be known that Byron write that which could not be written with-continued to write. In this fact there is inout blasphemy,-for the excuse wholly fails finite encouragement for them who hope of itself. If Lucifer must speak in charac- that men will one day learn to prefer good ter, why must not Adam and Abel and to evil, and who would add their mite of person of this Mystery? But they do not mation.

their hopes and from, yo, who is the life, the the Angel of the Lord,-for he too is a effort, to bring about this blessed consum

their strength; of him
essential spirit of allmill, as he is nought

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