66 She gave her soul to love, and on her lip
Her heart stood, and he kissed the prize away,
More sweet than when the dews from roses drip
In spangles on the grass in early day,
When emerald sylphs on airy pinions play,
And lightly hover as the leaves unfold
And spread their vermil velvet, in the ray
Poured through the leafy canopy, and rolled
O'er all the bloom below in waving floods of gold:
The lilac purpling with its luscious spires,
Breathing a milky sweetness, like the balm
From Aden's groves of myrrh, where summer fires
The living world to rapture, but the calm,
Cool shade of spreading maples, than the palm
With all its crimson clusters, charms me more;
The violet, lurking underneath the halm
Of withered grass tufts, has a dearer store
Of sweets, than all the flowers that glow on Cey-

lon's shore."

Or the following from "The Wreck:"
"But nature still was in her, and she soon
Felt that the fond affection of her sire,
And her loved tasks"-

characters are caricatured; quite too much allowance is necessary for exaggerated features and unnatural strength of colouring; no human society could exist in the condition which he describes.

another, until the mind of the reader is to- | tickets, many unfortunates, who are doomed | lem shrine, to the high honour of representtally confused with seeing so many beautiful to reap from the lottery only the "blank- ing the mighty Shah of Persia, as his amfragments of broken images, "yet nought ness of despair." Mr Hope, a genius and bassador. In this latter character, howdistinctively." Take, for instance, the fol- upholsterer, writes a magnificent book all ever, he appears only in the preface, as the lowing passage from the "Prometheus:" about Eastern (we mean oriental-not Yan- story leaves him attached to an embassy deskee) folks and fashions, which gives him tined for England. He becomes connected vast fame, much money from the booksel- with all manner of persons, and placed in lers, and extensive orders for divers matters all manner of circumstances, and moreover, in his principal line of business. Then meets with divers story-tellers, who do not comes Mr Morier (at least they say in Eng- add so much to the value, as to the size, of land, that it is he), who is a kind of diplo- the book. Hajji is gay and frolicksome, matic traveller, and no genius, that is, none sustaining himself generally pretty well, in comparison with Mr Hope; and he too and contriving, on the whole, to deserve the makes a book, and goes East,-even to name of an amusing companion. It is said Persia, for his matter, and out of it he con- that Morier has resided in the East, and cocts a work, which will do neither him, is well qualified to give information respectnor any one else, any very great good. ing the Oriental character and customs. Still, it is not without some merit and value; This book may therefore be considered in'tis not the worst book in the world to in-structive in these particulars; but all the duce an afternoon's slumbers, or to amuse any body, who would like to hear Gil Blas, grown very old and garrulous, telling the story of what befel him, or might have befallen him in Persia. To the author it may be tolerably profitable, not only because it is quite as amusing as many things which go down very well, but because, when first published, an indistinct impression prevailed that Hajjî was a legitimate brother of Anastasius, and many doubtless will expect, as we did, to find in it some display of Mr Hope's extraordinary powers. Indeed, as we read it, we were not wholly undeceived; it seemed to us very much such a thing as might have been made of what was left of Anastasius; and, to confess the whole of our mistake, we really supposed, for a season, that Mr Hope, intending to make a great book, had accumulated more materials than he could work up, and after he had drawn off the spirit of his eloquence, his fine fancies, vivid recollections, and acute observations, and sold it at a great price, he was willing to part with the lees for just what he could get. After making an open avowal of this error, we can only say in our defence, that there is great force as well as beauty, in some passages; that some of the incidents are very striking and well wrought out; and that on the whole, the book is so far inter-hension than was convenient; 'no, I did not fire. 'No,' said I, catching rather more of his appreesting, that no thorough novel reader would Perhaps there are ghols here among the Muscoquit it, until he had fairly made an end of vites, as well as at Åshtarek among the Armenians.' both volumes.

(then follows a description of "her loved tasks," occupying a page and a half of mere parenthesis),

though her days Passed on in such sweet labours, still she felt Alone, and there was in her virgin heart A void that all her pleasure could not fill." If our author will be at the pains to read the beginning and end of his sentence, as we have put them, together, omitting the parenthesis, he will perceive at once, that in describing the favourite pursuits of his heroine he has lost sight not only of the idea he set out with, but of grammar, and really makes no sentence at all.

Another fault is the use of words which either never were English, or have long since become obsolete; such as crinckled, which occurs frequently; glint, bosses, pavonnine, pavilioning, settle for a seat generally, instead of a kitchen seat (which would be quite out of place where it occurs), towers as a verb active, clomb for clumb or climbed, &c. &c.; most of them words which we will venture to pronounce not English, whatever else they may be. And we pray our author not to call plebeians plebians, nor morasses morăsses, nor Pericles Pericles, &c.-if he can help it.

These are peccadilloes; but still they are worthy the attention of a man who aims to write poetry and English, and of whom, we think, his country has great reason to be proud.

The book is introduced by a pleasant pre-
fatory letter from Peregrine Persic Esq.,
gentleman at large-to Dr Fundgruben,
Chaplain to the Swedish Embassy at the
Porte, stating how these memoirs happen-
ed to be obtained from the author, Hajji
himself. Then come the memoirs, and they
amount to about this; that Hajjî Baba, the
to depart from Persia for Constantinople;
son of a barber in Ispahan, takes occasion
but certain robbers interfered, and the bar-
mans,-whose character, country, appear-
ber soon found himself shaving the Turco-

ance, and habits, are vividly sketched. Af-
ter a while he escapes, and passes through
an infinite variety of adventures, which we
could not detail, without enlarging our no-
tice unpardonably. Suffice it to say, he
rises and falls through every degree of
rank, from that of a water-seller at a Mos-

To show our readers how this work is written, we will extract a few passages:Hajjî is second in command of a corps which marches to attack the Russians; the Serdar, who commands the division to which his corps is attached, has advanced with the cavalry to attack a walled town; Hajjî's immediate commander, whose Persian title, done into English, is "chief executioner," follows to his support with the infantry and artillery. All the battle which Hajjî is concerned in, is after this sort.

"The morning had just broke when we reached the banks of the river. The chief executioner was surrounded by a body of about five hundred caval1y, and the infantry was coming up as well as it a sudden we were accosted by a voice on the other could. We were about fording the river, when of side, which shouted two or three strange words in a language unknown to us, explaining their meaning by a musket shot. This stopped our career, and called the attention of our chief, who came up, looking paler than death.

below its usual pitch-what are we doing?-where What's the news?' exclaimed he, in a voice far are we going?-Hajji Baba,' accosting me, 'was it you that fired?"

"In another minute more barbarous cries were

heard, and another shot was fired, and by this time day had sufficiently advanced to show two men, on soldiers. As soon as our chief saw the extent of the other bank, whom we discovered to be Russian the danger, and the foe opposed to us, his countenance cleared up, and he instantly put on the face of the greatest resolution and vigour. 'Go, seize, strike, kill:' he exclaimed, almost in one breath, to those around him-Go, bring me the heads of

yonder two fellows.'

with drawn swords, whilst the two soldiers with"Immediately several men dashed into the river, drew to a small rising ground, and, placing themselves back to back, began a regular, though alternate discharge of their muskets upon their assail

In vain

ants, with a steadiness that surprised us. They killed
back to our commander, and no one else seemed at
two men, which caused the remainder to retreat
all anxious to follow their example.
he swore, entreated, pushed, and offered money for
their heads: not one of his men would advance.
I myself will go; here, make way! will nobody
At length, he said, with a most magnanimous shout,
follow me?' Then, stopping, and addressing himself

to me, he said, 'Hajji! my soul, my friend, won't you go and cut those men's heads off? I'll give you every thing you can ask.' Then, putting his hand round my neck, he said, 'Go, go; I am sure you can cut their heads off."

"We were parleying in this manner, when a shot from one of the Russians hit the chief executioner's stirrup, which awoke his fears to such a degree, that he immediately fell to uttering the most violent oaths. Calling away his troops, and retreating himself at a quick pace, he exclaimed, Curses be on their beards! Curse their fathers, mothers, their ancestry, and posterity! Who ever fought after this fashion? Killing, killing, as if we were so many hogs. See, see, what animals they are! They will not run away, do all you can to them. They are worse than brutes;-brutes have feeling, they have none. O Allah, Allah, if there was no dying in the case, how the Persians would fight!'

ed how many it would be agreeable that I should | own life's blood back again to its mother earth?
say.-Put down fifty thousand,' said the vizier Why am I called upon to do this, oh cruel, most
coolly. How many killed?' said the mirza, looking cruel destiny? Cannot I fly from the horrid scene?
first at the vizier, then at me.Write ten to fif- Cannot I rather run a dagger into my heart? But
teen thousand killed,' answered the minister: 're- no, 'tis plain my fate is ordained, sealed, fixed! and
member these letters have to travel a great dis- in vain I struggle,—I must fulfil the task appointed
tance. It is beneath the dignity of the Shah to kill for me! Oh world, world! what art thou, and how
less than his thousands and tens of thousands. much more wouldst thou be known, if each man
Would you have him less than Rustam, and weak- was to lift up the veil that hideth his own actions,
er than Afrasiab? No, our kings must be drinkers and show himself as he really is!'
of blood, and slayers of men, to be held in estima-
tion by their subjects, and surrounding nations.
Well, have you written?' said the grand vizier.

"With these feelings, oppressed as if the moun-
tain of Demawend and all its sulphurs were on my
heart, I went about my work doggedly, collecting
'Yes, at your Highness' service,' answered the the several men who were to be my colleagues in
mirza; 'I have written (reading from his paper), this bloody tragedy; who, heedless and unconcern-
that the infidel dogs of Muscovites (whom may Al-ed at an event of no unfrequent occurrence, were
lah in his mercy impale on stakes of living fires!) indifferent whether they were to be the bearers of a
dared to appear in arms to the number of fifty murdered corpse, or themselves the instruments of
thousand, flanked and supported by a hundred murder.
mouths spouting fire and brimstone; but that as soon
as the all-victorious armies of the Shah appeared,
ten to fifteen thousand of them gave up their souls;
whilst prisoners poured in in such vast numbers,
that the prices of slaves have diminished one hun-
dred per cent. in all the slave markets of Asia.'
'Barikallah! Well done,' said the grand vizier,

"By this time he had proceeded some distance, and then halted. Our chief, expecting to find the Russians back to back under every bush, did not know what course to pursue, when the decision was soon made for us by the appearance of the Serdar, who, followed by his cavalry, was seen retreating in all haste from before the enemy. It was evidentYou have written well. If the thing be not that his enterprise had entirely failed, and nothing was left for the whole army but to return whence it came."

So much for the battle; which is very accurately related in the official description, and in the instructions of Hajjî's officer to him.

actly so, yet, by the good luck of the Shah, it will,
and therefore it amounts to the same thing. Truth
is an excellent thing when it suits one's purpose,
but very inconvenient when otherwise.'

'Yes,' said the mirza, as he looked up from his
knee, upon which he rested his hand to write his
letter, and quoting a well known passage in Saadi,
Falsehood mixed with good intentions, is prefera-
ble to truth tending to excite strife.'

"The night was dark and lowering, and well suited to the horrid scene about to be acted. The sun, unusual in these climates, had set surrounded by clouds of the colour of blood; and, as the night advanced, they rolled on in unceasing thunders over the adjacent range of Albors. At sudden intervals the moon was seen through the dense vaex-pour, which covered her again as suddenly, and restored the night to its darkness and solemnity. I was seated lonely in the guard-room of the palace, when I heard the cries of the sentinels on the watch-towers, announcing midnight, and the voices of the muezzins from the mosques, the wild notes of whose chant floating on the wind, ran through my veins with the chilling creep of death, and announced to me that the hour of murder was at hand! "You yourself was there, Hajjî,' said he to me, They were the harbingers of death to the helpless "The vizier then called for his shoes, rose from woman. I started up,-I could not bear to hear and therefore can describe the whole action as well his seat, mounted the horse that was waiting for them more,-I rushed on in desperate haste, and as as I could.-We cannot precisely say that we gained him at the door of his tent, and proceeded to the I came to the appointed spot, I found my five coma victory, because, alas! we have no heads to show; audience of the Shah, to give an account of the panions already arrived, sitting unconcerned on and but we also were not defeated. The Serdar, ass that he is, instead of waiting for the artillery, and followed him, and mixed in with his large retinue her eternal mansion. The only word which I had different despatches that he had just received. I about the coffin that was to carry my Zeenab to availing himself of the infantry, attacks a walled of servants, until he turned round to me, and said, power to say to them was, Shoud? Is it done?" town with his cavalry only, and is very much sur-You are dismissed; go and take your rest.' to which they answered, Ne Shoud,' 'It is not prised that the garrison shut their gates, and fire at done.' To which ensued an awful silence. I had him from the ramparts: of course, he can achieve Our next extract shall give the conclu- hoped that all was over, and that I should have nothing, and retires in disgrace. Had I been your sion of the only story in which Hajjî aims been spared every other horror, excepting that of leader, things would have gone otherwise; and as at the pathetic. He had found means to conducting the melancholy procession to the place it was, I was the only man who came hand to hand with the enemy. I was wounded in a desperate procure several interviews with Zeenab, of burial; but no, the deed was still to be done, and manner; and had it not been for the river between who was in the Haram of an officer of the us, not a man of them would have been left to tell court. Afterwards, the Shah, being struck the women in the Shah's palace stands a high oc"On the confines of the apartments allotted to the tale. You will say all this, and as much more with her beauty, ordered her to be trans- tagonal tower, some thirty ghez in height, seen as you please; and then, giving me a packet of ferred to his own Seraglio. He returned conspicuous from all parts of the city, at the sumletters to the grand vizier, and to the different men from a journey when some months had pass-mit of which is a chamber, in which he frequently in office, and an arizeh (a memorial) to the Shah, ed away, and the consequences of Zeenab's reposes and takes the air. It is surrounded by un

he ordered me to depart.

"I found the Shah still encamped at Sultanieh, although the autumn was now far advanced, and the season for returning to Tehran near at hand. I presented myself at the grand vizier's levee, with several other couriers, from different parts of the empire, and delivered my despatches. When he had inspected mine, he called me to him, and said aloud, You are welcome! You also were at Hamamlú? The infidels did not dare to face the Kizzil bashes, eh? The Persian horseman, and the Persian sword, after all, nobody can face. Your khan, I see, has been wounded; he is indeed one of the Shah's best servants. Well it was no worse. You must have had hot work on each side of the river.'

To all this, and much more, I said 'Yes, yes,' and No, no,' as fast as the necessity of the remark required; and I enjoyed the satisfaction of being looked upon as a man just come out of a battle. The vizier then called to one of his mirzas or secretaries. Here,' said he, 'you must make out a fatteh nameh (a proclamation of victory), which must immediately be sent into the different provinces, particularly to Khorassan, in order to overawe the rebel khans there; and let the account be suited to the dignity and character of our victorious monarch. We are in want of a victory just at present; but, recollect, a good, substantial, and bloody victory. 'How many strong were the enemy?' inquired the mirza, looking towards me. Bisyar, bisyar, many, many,' answered I, hesitating and embarrass

previous guilt were apparent. Hajjî's par-
ticipation in the crime, was not known, but
while conversing upon the subject with her
former master, who had fallen under the
Shah's displeasure,—

"One of the Shah's eunuchs came up to me, and
said that his chief had been ordered to see that the
sub-lieutenant to the chief executioner, with five
men, were in waiting at the foot of the high tower
at the entrance of the harem, at the hour of mid-
night; and that they were to bring a taboot, or
hand-bier, with them, to bear away a corpse for in-

terment.

All I could say in answer was 'be cheshm,' (by my eyes); and lucky was it for me that he quitted me immediately, that Mirza Ahmak had also left me, and that it was dusk, or else the fear and anguish which overwhelmed me upon hearing this message must have betrayed me. A cold sweat broke out all over my body, my eyes swam, my knees knocked under me, and I should perhaps have fallen into a swoon, if the counter fear of being seen in such a state, in the very centre of the palace, had not roused me.

What,' said I to myself, is it not enough that I have been the cause of her death, must I be her executioner too? must I be the grave-digger to my own child? must I be the ill-fated he who is to stretch her cold limbs in the grave, and send my

I could not retreat.

appropriated ground, and the principal gate of the harem is close to its base. On the top of all is a terrace (a spot, ah! never by me to be forgotten!), and it was to this that our whole attention was now rivetted. I had scarcely arrived, when looking up, we saw three figures, two men and a female, whose forms were lighted up by an occasional gleam of moonshine, that shone in a wild and uncertain manner upon them. They seemed to drag their victim between them with much violence, whilst she was seen in attitudes of supplication, on her knees, with her hands extended, and in all the agony of the deepest desperation. When they were at the brink of the tower her shrieks were audible, but so wild, so varied by the blasts of wind that blew around the building, that they appeared to me like the sounds of laughing madness.

"We all kept a dead and breathless silence: even my five ruffians seemed moved-I was transfixed like a lump of lifeless clay, and if I am asked what my sensations were at the time, I should be at a loss to describe them,-I was totally inanimate, and still I knew what was going on. At length, one loud, shrill, and searching scream of the bitterest woe was heard, which was suddenly lost in an interval of the most frightful silence. A heavy fall, which immediately succeeded, told us that all was over. I was then roused, and with my head confused, half crazed and half conscious, I immediately rushed to the spot, where my Zeenab and her burthen lay struggling, a mangled and mutilated corpse. She

70

Self-Cultivation. By Isaac Taylor, Minister of the Gospel at Ongar. Boston.

still breathed, but the convulsions of death were vice to common youths, governed by com- as the little work upon the Domestic Manupon her, and her lips moved as if she would mon motives and aiming at common objects, ners of the Romans, lately reprinted in this speak, although the blood was fast flowing from her if it be written, not for the one in a country; it is however much shorter,--ocmouth. I could not catch a word, although she ut-thousand-who would not need it—but for cupying but fifty-five rather small 12mo tered sounds that seemed like words. I thought she said, 'My child! my child!' but perhaps it the mass, we must say that it appears to pages. was an illusion of my brain. I hung over her in us to offer much advice which cannot be the deepest despair, and having lost all sense of pru- taken. dence and of self-preservation, I acted so much up to my own feelings, that if the men around me had had the smallest suspicion of my real situation, nothing could have saved me from destruction. I even carried my phrensy so far as to steep my handkerchief in her blood, saying to myself, This, at least, shall never part from me!' I came to myself, how ever, upon hearing the shrill and dæmon-like voice of one of her murderers from the tower's height, crying out Is she dead?' Ay, as a stone,' answered one of my ruffians. 'Carry her away, then,' said the voice. To hell yourself,' in a suppressed tone, said another ruffian; upon which my men lifted the dead body into the taboot, placed it upon their shoulders, and walked off with it to the burial ground without the city, where they found a grave ready dug to receive it. I walked mechanically after them, absorbed in most melancholy thoughts, and when we had arrived at the burial-place, I sat myself down on a grave-stone, scarcely conscious of what was going on. I watched the operations saw them place the dead body in the earth; then shovel the mould over it; then place two stones, one at the feet and the other at the head. When they had finished, they came up to me and said that all was done to which I answered, Go home; I will follow.' They left me seated on the

of the Nasackchies with a sort of unmeaning stare;

grave, and returned to town.”

A Course of Study, preparatory to the Bar or the Senate; to which is annexed a Memoir on the Private or Domestic Lives of the Romans. By George Watterston. Washington. 1823. 12mo. pp. 240.

THERE is much good sense, good learning, and good taste in this work, but its usefulness as a book of practical advice must, we think, be very limited. In the first place, the course of study prescribed, if pursued with any tolerable fidelity, would educate the student far more thoroughly than can be expedient, not to say practicable,-if any reference is had to some after-pursuit as the main business of life. Of this the reader may judge from the titles of the letters, which serve as a table of contents. Besides the languages, rhetoric, philosophy, &c. &c., drawing, painting, civil, military, and naval architecture, music, chemistry, mineralogy, botany, and zoology, are all pressed upon the attention of the student; and these things are to be learned, not slightly, not superficially, but as well as a mere amateur would be likely to learn any one of them. It is often said that a man cannot know too much, but, waving all discussion of the truth of this axiom, it is certain that any one may endeavour to learn too much. The brightest genius would be strongly tasked if required to accumulate all the knowledge which Mr Watterston recommends, even if he did not look to eminence at the bar or in the senate, as his "ultima Thule." But few could compass this boundless extent of art and science, and leave themselves an opportunity to become any thing in any profession; now, if this book be meant to give practical ad

1823. 12mo.

Advice to the Teens. By Isaac Taylor. Bos

ton. 1823. 12mo.

If attached to an edition of some one of the higher Latin classics, intended for the use of schools, it might be useful, not On the whole, it is undoubtedly safer to only by giving the pupil much information recommend too much exertion and too high upon topics intimately connected with the an aim, than to err in the opposite extreme. classical literature of Rome, but by awakStill, where so much study, or rather so ex-ening an interest and curiosity that would tensive studies are prescribed, the student lead to further researches. is compelled to select, for himself, such branches of human knowledge as it may be most necessary to master, and thus the principal object of the book is defeated, or else he will aim at all, and of necessity inflict. upon himself the pain and the depression of disappointment, and dissipate his attention amid constant changes, and waste a large THE first of these little volumes consists of proportion of his labour. considerations on the six following subjects: We think Mr Watterston has made anoth-"The purport of education to fit us for our er mistake. We regard reading as a much stations in life: The different sources of inless important part of education than he struction: The period of leaving school as appears to do. We consider it as among the best suited to real education: The imporprincipal means of intellectual improve- tance of self-cultivation: The various obment, but as altogether subordinate to jects of self-cultivation : Using our talents: thinking. On page 178, our author says, Self-cultivation may hope for divine bles"in this [conversation] as in reading, always sings." examine and think for yourself; it is by thinking much, that much is acquired, and not by rushing over the innumerable pages of innumerable volumes," &c.; but this is the only evidence the book contains, of the author's agreeing with us in this opinion. Upon every subject, and every division of every subject, he recommends many books; now, as we have already said, he should not impose upon the student a necessity of choosing, because the principal intent of the book is to relieve him from this necessity, by pointing out to him exactly the "preparatory course" he is to pursue; but if all the books suggested are read as they should be read, if read at all, there will be little time left for thought.

The limits which should be regarded, and the precautions which should be used to give to reading its utmost efficiency as one among the means of intellectual cultivation, cannot at this moment and in this way be discussed. The subject is extensive and important, and we hope to call the attention of our readers to it before long. But our concern is now, only with Mr Watterston's course of study; and in this connexion it is enough to say, that if all the works here enumerated are fairly dealt with, the future lawyer or senator will incur no small risk of finding his mind overlaid by that which ought to be and might be so used, as to furnish at once aliment and stimulus.

We have spoken plainly of the faults of this book, and would with equal distinctness admit that it contains many valuable observations, and, both in the matter and the manner, sufficient proof that it is not the work of a weak or an empty mind.

The Memoir upon the Private Life of the Romans, contains little that is very original or striking; it is a short, but accurate and judicious compendium of other works upon this subject. We do not think it so good

ready pretty well informed on these impor-
Every reader will consider himself al-
tant subjects, and will be sure to regard all
remarks upon them as trite and dull, which
are not recommended by some peculiar
charm of novelty. The first part of the
book is exceedingly deficient in this requi-
site. It abounds with judicious maxims of
abstract morality, and the simple results of
long trains of logical reflection; but it is
altogether too intellectual,-too full of pre-
cept without example and illustration. If,
however, the reader will exercise a little
patience with the first forty pages, he will
begin to be relieved; and before he has fin-
ished the volume, he will find many things
his attention.
that are highly entertaining and well worth
We select the following

passage from the preface.

"It is a very common mistake which the author provement;-that masters are to teach their pupils; has found extremely detrimental to youthful imand that the whole burden of education lies on the tutor. That the thoughtless volatile young should take up such a notion, is no wonder; but the manner in which many teachers operate seems to intitheir teaching is telling; substituting the means for the end. That teaching is alone efficient which is connected with doing. The pupil must not be a mere recipient, a listener; but an actor, if he would ever comprehend the lesson; if especially he would make that morsel of knowledge his own."

mate that they also make the same mistake; for all

We suspect, that if the reader can understand this, he will find the sentiment good; but the style is so clumsy and the punctuation so bad, that we should almost prefer leaving our children to take their chance for finding the sentiment somewhere else. Some parts of the book are far less exceptionable in this respect. It contains very few views that are new, but many important common principles are enforced with considerable power. It teaches valuable lessons on employing our time with

economy, and on the active and energetic
use of all our talents.
Our remarks respecting the style of "Self-
Cultivation" apply in some measure to the
first part of" Advice to the Teens." But the
cloudiness is soon dissipated, and the au-
thor's intellect shines forth with an uncom-
mon splendor. The reader must be very dull
who does not find in it a rich entertain-
ment. It is not adapted merely to the
Teens, but many principles applicable in
later life are here displayed in a very lu-
minous and forcible manner. We have not
room for critical remarks, and shall content
ourselves with saying, that the duties of
boys to their parents, brothers and sisters,
and all their associates of both sexes, are
described with singular fidelity; and that
the most important considerations respect-
ing their manners, and the proper modes of
employing their time, are pointed out with
much judgment and much eloquence. We
select one passage as a specimen.

the story, which would leave no curiosity | ed his flight, he made ready his arrow, and a mo
for the book to gratify, but only remark, ment after the noble bird lay fluttering at his feet.
that the scene is laid in Boston, Salem and sounded familiar to his ears. He raised his head
A true aim that, Hobomok,' said a voice which
Plymouth, that the tale relates to the ear- to see from whence it proceeded. Charles Brown
liest infancy of these colonies, and that the stood by his side! The countenance of the savage
principal characters bear historical and assumed at once the terrible, ashen hue of Indian
venerable names.
paleness. His wounded victim was left untouched,
and he hastily retreated into the thicket, casting
ghost of his rival. Brown attempted to follow;
back a fearful glance on what he supposed to be the
But the farther he advanced, the farther the Indian
knees trembling against each other in excessive
retreated, his face growing paler and paler, and his

That our readers may judge of the style, we will quote the first pages of the book, as a fair specimen of its general character. "I never view the thriving villages of New England, which speak so forcibly to the heart, of happiness and prosperity, without feeling a glow of national pride, as I say, 'This is my own, my native land. A long train of associations are connected with her picturesque rivers, as they repose in their peaceful loveliness, the broad and sparkling mirror of the heavens, and with the cultivated environs of her busy cities, which seem every where blushing into a perfect Eden of fruit and flowers. The remembrance of what we have been, comes rushing on the heart in powerful and happy contrast. In most nations the path of antiquity is shrouded in darkness, rendered more visible by the wild, fantastic light of fable; but with us, the vista of time is luminous to its remotest point. Each succeeding year has left its footsteps distinct upon the soil, and the cold dew of our chilling dawn is still visible beneath the mid-day sun. Two centuries only have elapsed, since our most beautiful villages reposed in the undisturbed grandeur of nature; when the scenes now rendered classic by literary associations, or resounding with the din of commerce, echoed nought but the song of the hunter, or the fleet tread of the wild deer. God was here in his holy temple, and the whole earth kept silence before him! But the voice of prayer was soon to be heard in the desert. The sun, which for ages beyond the memory of man had gazed on the strange, fearful worship of the Great Spirit of the wilderness, was soon to shed its splendor upon the altars of the living God. That light which had arisen amid the darkness of Europe, stretched its long, luminous track across the Atlantic, till the summits of the western world became tinged with its brightness. During many long, long ages of gloom and corruption, it seemed as if the pure flame of religion was every where quenched in blood;-but the watchful vestal had kept the sacred flame still burning deepbrought it hither in their own bosom, and amid desly and fervently. Men, stern and unyielding, olation and poverty they kindled it on the shrine of Jehovah. In this enlightened and liberal age, it is perhaps too fashionable to look back upon those early sufferers in the cause of the Reformation, as a band of dark, discontented bigots. Without doubt, there were many broad, deep shadows in their characters, but there was likewise bold and powerful light. The peculiarities of their situation occasioned most of their faults, and atoned for them. They were struck off from a learned, opuHobomok, A Tale of Early Times. By an lent, and powerful nation, under circumstances American. Boston, 1824. 12mo. pp.

"Home is the grand nursery for virtues, and admirably adapted for the purpose; it lays hold of the heart while it is yet unsophisticated, and has only its common depravity to struggle against, not fixed, rooted, warped yet by habit, bad company, or false notions. If parents are judicious and faithful, here, much may be done. To love home, is one of the first of virtues, first in point of time and of importance too, as it is the parent of all the rest. The sweet charities that bind man to man, which ornament and enrich social life; which in value, as regarding happiness, are far beyond wealth or talent; these all germinate from the nursery, are fostered amid the domestic circle; and only there can be reared to maturity, firmness, or beauty. Virtues engrafted afterwards, by artificial heat and culture, seldom have the freshness nor the healthy appearance, nor the fruitfulness of those generated at home. Here the child learns, before learning is felt as a lesson; learns to love, in itself the most delightful of all sensations; is allured to play its own part at benevolence, by smiles which vibrate every nerve of sensibility; begins to bestow when it has nothing to give but affection; to confer favours, though itself feeble, ignorant, and dependent."

It is to be regretted that the author had not a more intelligible system of punctuation; but the moral worth of the work is sufficient to counterbalance many such faults. We may safely recommend that every parent purchase it, and read it first himself.

188.

We can say of this little work what can seldom be said truly of any book,-that its merit is greater than its pretension. It is a brief and simple story of our fathers, sketching their manners, character, and circumstances, with equal truth and spirit, -connecting with the chain of supposed events, many interesting traditions, and exhibiting the author's talents in many passages of power and beauty. The style does not indicate the practised writer, and will, we hope, be improved by careful cultivation. Still, with many faults which due culture may remove, there is a kind of graceful wildness which almost redeems We shall not give an analysis of

them.

terror.

'Hobomok,' said the intruder, 'I am a man like

yourself. I suppose three years agone you heard I was dead, but it has pleased the Lord to spare me in captivity until this time, and to lead me once more to New England. The vessel which brought me hither, lieth down a mile below, but I chose the rather to be put on shore, being impatient to inquire concerning the friends I left behind. You used to be my friend, Hobomok, and many a piece of service have you done for me. I beseech you feel of my hand, that you may know I am flesh and blood, even as yourself.'

After repeated assurances, the Indian timidly ap proached-and the certainty that Brown was indeed alive, was more dreadful to him than all the ghosts that could have been summoned from anoth

er world.

'You look as if you were sorry your old friend had returned,' said the Englishman; but do speak and tell me one thing-Is Mary Conant yet

alive?'

Hobomok fixed his eyes upon him with such a strange mixture of sorrow and fierceness, that Brown laid his hand upon his rifle, half fearful his intentions were evil. At length, the Indian answered with deliberate emphasis,

'She is both alive and well.'

'I thank God,' rejoined his rival. 'I need not ask whether she is married?'

The savage looked earnestly and mournfully upon him, and sighed deeply, as he said,

The handsome English bird hath for three years lain in my bosom; and her milk hath nourished the

son of Hobomok.'

The Englishman cast a glance of mingled doubt and despair towards the Indian, who again repeated the distressing truth. Disappointed love, a sense of degradation, perhaps something of resentment, within the mind of the unfortunate young man; and were all mingled in a dreadful chaos of agony, at that moment it was difficult to tell to which of the two, anguish had presented her most unmingled cup. The Indian gazed upon his rival, as he stood leaning his aching head against a tree; and once and again he indulged in the design of taking his

life.

loves him better than she does me; for even now 'No,' thought he. She was first his. Mary she prays for him in her sleep. The sacrifice most be made to her."

which goaded and lacerated them almost to feroci-
ty; and no wonder that men who fled from op- whether he could collect sufficient fortitude to fulfil
For a long time however, it seemed doubtful
pression in their own country, to all the hardships his resolution. The remembrance of the smiling
of a remote and dreary province, should have ex-wife and the little prattling boy, whom he had that
hibited a deep mixture of exclusive, bitter, and mo- morning left, came too vividly before him. It recks
not now what was the mighty struggle in the mind
of that dark man. He arose and touched Brown's
arm, as he said,

rose passions."

To make the next extract intelligible, we must state, that Mary, the heroine, supposing her lover, Brown, to be shipwrecked, had married, more in despair than in love, the Indian, Hobomok; after some years had passed, Brown returns and meets Hobomok in the woods.

"Hobomok was pursuing his way through the woods, whistling and singing as he went, in the joyfulness of his heart. He had proceeded near half a with a flight so lofty, that he seemed almost like a mile in this way, when he espied an eagle, soaring speck in the blue abyss above. The Indian fixed his keen eye upon him, and as he gradually lower

"Tis all true which I have told you. It is three snows since the bird came to my nest; and the Great Spirit only knows how much I have loved her. Good and kind has she been; but the heart of Mary is not with the Indian. In her sleep she talks with the Great Spirit, and the name of the white man is on her lips. Hobomok will go far off among some of the red men in the west. They will dig him a grave, and Mary may sing the marriage song in the wigwam of the Englishman.'

No,' answered his astonished companion.

'She

is your wife. Keep her, and cherish her with tenderness. A moment ago, I expected your arrow would rid me of the life which has now become a

burden. I will be as generous as you have been. Idence in his ability increased with every | for the demonstration of the case. I know the imwill return from whence I came, and bear my sorrows as I may. Let Mary never know that I am alive. Love her and be happy.'

exertion of his powers; till, in the latter part of his career, he became callous to The purpose of an Indian is seldom changed,' criticism, setting at nought literary opinreplied Hobomok. My tracks will soon be seen ions that interfered with his own, and boldfar beyond the back-bone of the Great Spirit. For ly and justly relying on his own superior Mary's sake I have borne the hatred of the Yengees, judgment. He was, moreover, a man of the scorn of my tribe, and the insults of my enemy; warm affections; and, while severely judgAnd now, I will be buried among strangers, and none shall black their faces for the unknown chief. ing himself, overflowing with charity to all When the light sinks behind the hills, see that Cor- mankind;-thoroughly pious; and, while bitant be not near my wigwam; for that hawk has firmly persuaded of the truth of his own often been flying round my nest. Be kind to my views of christianity, ready to believe, that boy. His voice choked, and the tears fell bright in every nation, kindred, tongue, and peoand fast. He hastily wiped them away as he added, 'You have seen the first and last tears that ple, they who fear the Lord and work Hobomok will ever shed. Ask Mary to pray for righteousness, are accepted of him ;"-bowme--that when I die, I may go to the Englishman's ed down with a constitutional melancholy; God, where I may hunt beaver with little Hobomok, yet sedulous in his exertions to relieve from and count my beavers for Mary." the like uneasiness, all within the sphere of his influence. Thus much we learn from Hayley's life, and his selections from Cowper's letters; but, on the subject of his melancholy, we are left by that work entirely in the dark; from any thing we can find there, saving some obscure hints that serve only to perplex us, it would appear that after Cowper removed from St Albans, all that he suffered was from such fits of the spleen as visit ordinary mortals. A new light is shed upon his character, by the letters now published. We think Hayley, having these letters in his possession, and suppressing them, was guilty of unfairness, and injured the character of his friend, besides attempting to deceive his readers; and we are disposed to comment on his conduct in much more severe language than is used by Cowper's kinsman in his preface. We quote the passages from the preface relating to this subject.

Private Correspondence of William Cowper Esq. with several of his most intimate friends. Now first published from the Originals in the possession of his kinsman, John Johnson, LL. D. First American Edition. Philadelphia, 1824. 8vo. pp.

386.

"As the letters in the present volume are addressed to the same persons (with the exception of Mrs King) as those in the former, it may be needless to observe that they were equally submitted to the selecting hand of Mr Hayley. ***

THIS is a remarkable age for literature.
Within a few years we have recovered lost
works of Cicero, an unknown manuscript
of Milton; and we are now presented with
letters of Cowper heretofore suppressed.
We hasten to congratulate our readers on
the means of mingled amusement and in-
struction, which this work offers to them.
There are few who would not rise from the
perusal of Cowper's Letters wiser, though
they might be sadder men. He was in ev-
ery respect an extraordinary being. But
for his timidity, and wonderful distrust of
his own powers in early life, no one
can
doubt that he might have attained the like
eminence in his profession as his friend
Thurlow, and have filled the same station,
with equal honor to himself and usefulness
"And lastly, there are many letters addressed to
to others. When this same timidity and Mr Newton, with two or three to Mr Bull, on the
distrust had driven him to an act of despe- application, but confined to its aspect on the mind
subject of religion; which, though not of general
ration, when his acute sense of the exceed- of the writer, were decidedly worthy of Mr Hay-
ing sinfulness of his offence had destroyed ley's insertion; and the more so, indeed, on that
his reason, when Providence had seen meet very account; his concern, as biographer, being
rather with the individual than the community.
to restore to him the possession of his fac-But these, out of tenderness to the feelings of the
ulties, still, his utter unconsciousness of his reader, I am persuaded, and for the gloominess they
talents, kept him almost useless for years, attach to the writer's mind, he has utterly excluded.
engaged in desultory reading, in learning to In doing this, however, amiable and considerate as
draw, in rearing pigeons and hares, mak- his caution must appear, the gloominess which he
ing dove-cotes and rabbit-hutches, and of involving his character in obscurity. People
has taken from the mind of Cowper, has the effect
delighting and edifying only the few who read the Letters' with 'the Task' in their recollec-
had the benefit of observing his exem- tion (and vice versa), and are perplexed. They
plary life, and listening to his profound
sense and his beautiful fancies. Thus did
he bury his talent, thus might he have con-
tinued to live,-at his death to have his
name recorded in some religious magazine,
and then forgotten. But it pleased Provi-
dence to lead him down again into "the
valley of the shadow of death," and when
the light once more partially dawned upon
his mind, to prompt his friend Unwin to
suggest to him how he might be at once
useful to himself and to his fellow-creatures.
At the age of fifty he commenced author.
The awakened Sampson could not but be
conscious of his strength, and his confi-

look for the Cowper of each, in the other, and find
him not. The correspondency is destroyed.
Hence the character of Cowper is undetermined;
him are as various as the minds of the enquirers.
mystery hangs over it; and the opinions formed of
That I am not singular in deducing these conse-
quences from the suppression of the gloomy, but,
in many instances, strikingly pious passages, re-
stored in the present volume, I am warranted to as
man justly valued for his attainments in theological
sert, on the authority of a highly esteemed friend, a
knowledge, and extensively acquainted with the
state of religious opinions. In alluding to these
suppressed letters, he emphatically says, 'Cowper
without them, and they should be permitted to exist,
will never be clearly and satisfactorily understood

*The Rev. Legh Richmond.

portance of it, from numerous conversations I have teresting subject. Persons of truly religious prinhad, both in Scotland and England, on this most inciples, as well as those of little or no religion at all, have greatly erred in their estimate of this great and good man.""

The Editor of this publication seems to have had doubts of his own, as to the propriety of publishing some of the more gloomy of these letters, lest they should have a tendency to create despondency in other minds; but he silenced his doubts by a very natural reflection, that insanity is not contagious,-and it is well that he did so. The mystery which has so long hung over the character of Cowper, is now removed. It seems, that for thirty years previous to his death he had been incessantly haunted by the notion that he was deserted of God, and doomed to eternal destruction; to use his own inimitable language, “My thoughts are clad in a sober livery, for the most part as grave as that of a bishop's servants. They turn too upon spiritual subjects, but the tallest fellow, and the loudest among them all, is he who is continually crying with a loud voice, Actum est de te, PERIISTI." We believe there are few individuals who have not occasionally suffered from attacks of the spleen, and let any one call to mind the disheartening sensation, and then contemplate Cowper. His were not such short, intermitted fits of the disease as others, perhaps all, have suffered; but a gloom of despondency always present with him, and rarely lightened by a ray of hope. Yet he did not the less aim to perform his duty as a man and a christian. He must have felt, what all have felt, temptations to relieve his cares by participation in unhallowed pleasures; but he strenuously resisted them; determined to bear that cross in whose influence of blessing, as he believed, he had ceased to have any interest. He exerted all the faculties as he fancied, had doomed him irrevocably of his mind in the service of a master, who, to everlasting misery. Madly persuaded that God had no mercy in store for him, that he had ceased to be to him a father, he called not his justice in question, nor failed in filial obedience. In the midst of his own distresses he had still a heart to weep with those that wept, and rejoice with those that rejoiced. Like the angels in heaven, he had joy over the sinner that repented, and he was ever ready with the balm of his consolation for the afflicted. Weakened as he was, he ceased not to wrestle for the blessing; and who can doubt that he finally obseldom alleviated his despair? The preface tained that happiness, the hope of which to these letters, discloses facts which refer the melancholy,-we may say the insanity of Cowper,-to causes which have not been before revealed to the public; it also states with great distinctness, the peculiar form which his despair assumed. It seems, that there is good authority for believing that his liability to excessive melancholy arose from his having imprudently checked an erysipelatous complaint of the face. While suffering from one of these attacks of de