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was ever so unaccountably delayed, * * * and under circumstances the most critical to this entire army; for everybody relied upon knew, from the first, as well as I knew, it would be fatal to attempt military operations on this coast, after, probably, the first week in April, and here we are at the end of February!" And for this the only excuse the Department has to offer is, first, that General Scott must have known of the order countermanding the transports, and therefore wantonly delayed his own expedition! and, next, that the whole Quartermaster's Department, with the Chief at its head, was under his immediate orders, without any control, or interference, from Washington, and therefore, it was his own fault if the expedition was delayed; and this assertion is seriously made by the Secretary in the face of his own admission, that he had himself countermanded the order for transports from the north! The order for these transports had been given by the Secretary, through General Scott; the countermand was given by him direct to the Quartermaster General, then in the field, professedly under General Scott's orders, and without notification or warning to General Scott !* A great part of the transports finally used, were small trading craft, picked up as they could be found on and near the spot, extremely hazardous and wholly unfit for the purpose—twenty or thirty of which were at one time actually driven ashore in a norther.

Very soon after the contemplated treachery of " heading off" Gen. Scott by a Lieutenant-general, had been defeated, the Executive Government had the news rrf the fall of Vera Cruz, and the Castle of St. Juan—a most brilliant operation, conducted with infinite skill and judgment, and for which little thanks were due to them. But immediately that same hope, with which they had so often cheated themselves before—that of having an offer of submission from the enemy since a new success had been achieved—was revived.

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In this contemptible idea, and the accustomed infirmity of purpose produced by it, all effort towards sustaining Gen. Scott in his critical position, or towards furnishing him with the necessary men and supplies to enable him to retreat from the destructive romito on the coast, and push forward his conquering column in the direction of the Mexican Capital, seems to have been, for a time, wholly given up. The new regulars, as fast as they were raised and organized, were dispatched, not to Gen. Scott, but to the line of the Rio Grande—not to the point where they were wanted, and had been promised, but where they were not wanted at all. This polky was obstinately continued long, long after every apology for it had been taken away by the knowledge at Washington of the utter annihilation of the enemy on the line of the Rio Grande consequent on the grand victory of Buena Vista.* Instead of reinforcements coming to General Scott in April and May to give him his promised army of 20,000 men, it was not till the 6/A of August that recruits reached him at Puebla in sufficient numbers to give him a force of 10,000 men, to begin his march on th< Capital. In the mean time, having been compelled, both from necessity and humanity^ to send home seven regiments of old volunteers, as early as the month of May, he was obliged to cut himself off from Vera Cruz, and make his army a "self-sustaining machine " in the heart of the enemy's country. He was as ill-supplied for the road, as he had been for transportation by water. The chief Commissary had not received a dollar of money since they landed at Vera Cruz. Four months' pay was due the soldiers. The army was destitute of necessary clothing, and even the new troops arrived as destitute as the rest. A thousand hands had to be employed on the spot in making shoes and pantaloons, out of the worst materials, to cover the nakedness of the troops!

* The Secretary, in his defence, insists that the original understanding was that all the Lr^ from the north were to be sent to the Br»n; This is said with his accustomed candor. No troops from the north, destined for Verm Crar. were to be landed at the Brazos, as the Secmarr had ordered General Cadwallader and his brigade to do. Besides, he had notice from Oe*eral Scott, before he left JVew Orleant, that be alnul probably require all troops from the north, as the-, came to New Orleans, to rendezvous at Zxii»-», «^■_ not off the Brazos at all. After the troops drx«? from the Hio Grande had all actually left the Brara.^ for rendezvous at Lobos, it is absurd to say tW any troops from the north, destined for Verm Crc ought first to go to the Brazos. But it";- r Vm Cruz and its Castle had fallen, and Scott vras oa &smarch for the Capital, troops which ought to h*» gone to him, were sent to the Rio Grande-;

t After every effort to induce these troofs ■ re-engage, Geueral Scott said in public ordr-that he could not "in humanity and good f*--;: cause regiments, entitled, in a few we^lcs, to honorable discharge, to advance further from r coast in the pursuit of the enemy, and ifo |,,, throw them upon the necessity of return lag to •» bark at Vera Cruz, at the season known to ke,* that place, the most fatal to life." For this act (■ humane Secretary of War reproaches h : i., »

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But if the Executive Government did not send to General Scott troops, and money, and necessary supplies, there was one thing they did send him—they sent him Mr. Trist. On the 12 th of April they received the intelligence of the fall of Vera Cruz and the Castle, and on the 14th Mr. Trist was dispatched with a missive to General Scott, declaring their expectation that Mexico would now " be disposed to offer fair terms of accommodation," and that Mr. Trist was sent forward to " be in readiness to receive any proposals which the enemy may see fit to make for the restoration of peace." Instead of reinforcements, they sent an agent to receive the submission of the enemy—and such an agent! It was not a national Commission, composed of such men as Crittenden and Benton, or Mangum and Calhoun, but it was Mr. Nicholas P. Trist, a clerk in the State Department, and selected seemingly because he was known to entertain at that time a petty spite and enmity to General Scott, who was sent on this errand, as a "confidential agent " of the Government, to the head-quarters of that Commander. General Scott could not be intrusted with this authority, to receive proposals from the enemy, and make a preliminary treaty of peace, under instructions, though this very power was to have been conferred on Mr. Benton, if he had taken the field as Lieutenant-general. It was too important a service to be intrusted to General Scott, though not too important to be committed to Mr. Nicholas P. Trist.

The sequel of the infamous treatment of General Scott by the Executive Government has been answerable to its beginning and its progress. They have been utterly incapable of understanding, or rather, they

have been utterly unwilling to understand and acknowledge, what sort of authority it is which belongs necessarily to a commander-in-chief in the field, conducting a campaign in the heart of an enemy's country. The Head of Discipline, he has found it impossible to maintain discipline on account of the ignorant, partial, and malicious interference of the political government at home. They have abetted and justified, against the Commander, the outrageous conduct of a fighting General, a gallant soldier enough, but notoriously the most factious and impatiently ambitious man of the army. Arrested by his Commander, the Executive interposes to restore this new political favorite to his command, without a trial, and even without inquiry; and not content with this, he affects to consider the very act of this officer, which was the ground of his arrest—an act of gross insult and outrage to his Commander, and of insubordination hardly short of mutiny—as a rightful and proper and formal exhibition of charges and specifications against his superior; and thereupon he proceeds, first, to dismiss General Scott from his high command, and then— the punishment having first been inflicted —places him before a Court, picked and packed by the Executive,* for inquiry into the pretended charges against him! It should excite no surprise when we find the Executive, through his Secretary of War, intimating, what he dared not directly assert, that this dismissal of General Scott was only relieving him from command at his own request. Marlborough, after some successful battles, including that of Blenheim, was created a Duke, received vast estates as gifts from the nation, and had a magnificent palace built for him at the public expense. Wellington, at the close of his campaigns in Spain, was created a Duke, and the nation made him a present, in a single gift, of two millions of dollars. Scott, at the close of his campaign in Mexico, had, in his whole military career, rendered as much signal service, and gained as much glory for his country, by his mighty achievements in war, as Marlborough or Wellington had done for theirs, when they received the rewards we have mentioned; and he receives from his Government, as his reward,

* When charges were preferred against Colonel Harney, and it became the duty and the right ol General Scott to detail a Court Martial for his trial, with characteristic delicacy and generosity, because there had been previously come personal difference between them, the General requested and directed Colonel Harney to select or name his own Court. Not to be outdone in generosity, the gallant Colonel declined to do so. They have been, we believe, the best of friends ever since. The President ana Secretary, in thtir generosity, assign General Towscn, and General Caleb Cuthing, to be the triers of General Scott! Even the trial, in form, of General Pillow, is the trial of General Scott, and so intended, before tuch a Court.

a contemptuous dismissal from his command, and an arraignment before two tribunals—the one military and packed for the occasion, and the other popular—in both cases on charges equally false and frivolous, and also in both cases sought to be pushed against him with whatever vigor, ability, and influence the Executive Government can command for the purpose. But our space is exhausted, and we must conclude. D. D. B.

WUTHERING HEIGHTS.*

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Respecting a book so original as this, and written with so much power of imagination, it is natural that there should be many opinions. Indeed, its power is so predominant that it is not easy after a hasty reading to analyze one's impressions so as to speak of its merits and demerits with confidence. We have been taken and carried through a new region, a melancholy waste, with here and there patches of beauty; have been brought in contact with fierce passions, with extremes of love and ha'e, and with sorrow that none but those who have suffered can understand. This has not been accomplished with ease, but with an ill-mannered contempt for the decencies of language, and in a style which might resemble that of a Yorkshire farmer who should have endeavored to eradicate his provincialism by taking lessons of a London footman. We have had many sad bruises and tumbles in our journey, yet it was interesting, and at length we are safely arrived at a happy conclusion.

The first feeling with which we turn back

to recall the incidents passed through, is one of uneasiness and gloom; even the air of summer, so reviving to city dwellers, does not dispel it. To write or think about the tale, without being conscious of a phase of sadness, is impossible; which mood of the mind, if it appear to the reader, let him not attribute to an over susceptibility, unless he has read the book with no such impression himself.

We shall take for granted that a novel which has excited so unusual an attention. has been or will soon be in the bands of most of our readers of light literature, and shall therefore write rather from than vp*rm it. We will not attempt an outline of th«? story; it is so void of events that an oat line would be of small assistance to any who have not read it, and would only titedious to those who have. It is a history of two families during two generatkm^ and all transpires under their two roofe. The genealogy is a little perplexing, &x&ti as an assistance to the reader's recoilectios. we give it in a note.f

If we did not know that this book Isas been read by thousands of young ladies in

WutherinzHeight: A Novel. By the Author of "Jane Eyre." New York: Harper & BrouSe-i
1846.

t Old Mr. Earnshaw of Wuihering Height* has two children, Hindley and Catherine. He
Heathcliff, a gipsy boy, in Liverpool street?, and brings htm home. When he dies, Hindley bi
home a foreign wife, Frances. Old Mr. and Mrs. Linton, of Thrushcross Grange, have two chil
Edgar and Isabella. In 1778 Hindley's wife gives birth to a 6on, Hareton, and dies. Old Mr and S4rs~
Linton die, and Kdgar Linton marries Catherine Earnshaw. Heathcliff marries Isabella. Mrs. LLarksa-
(Catherine) gives birth to a daughter, and dies; the daughter takes her name. HeathclifT's wife dw^.
leaving a eon, Linton. Hindley Earnshaw dies. HeathclifT's 6on, Lintont marries Edgar Lm%mm .
daughter Catherine. Edgar Linton dies. Heathcliff's son dies. Hearhclift himself dies ; and SasaaS**
Uaretnn Earnshaw and the widow of Heathcliff'6 eon are left with a fair prospect of a happy mani

the country, we should esteem it our first

duty to caution them against it simply on

account of the coarseness of the style.

We are so far pedantic as to agree with

John Kemble in thinking that "oblige"

a more becoming to royal mouths than

"obleege." With ladies who should be

habituated to the use of forms of speech

like those which occur in every page of

this book, we can see how a gentleman

should altogether fail in any attempt at

love-making, though he might be able to

hold discourse with a western boatman in

his own dialect, and be so well accustomed

to the language of bar-rooms and steamboat

saloons, that he could hear the eyes and

souls of those around him "condemned,"

to use the words of Mrs. Isabella Heath

:liff, "to a perpetual dwelling in the infer

ial regions," without experiencing the

■lightest inconvenience.

We need not inform young ladies that i the process of love-making, one of the urest tests by which they can distinguish . gentleman and man of sincerity, is in his tyle of speaking. He will not be very fluent -at least not without some encouragement -some betrayal to him of a consciousness wt he is attentive, and that his attentions •e not wholly displeasing; but the little 2 does say will be in the selectest words, he is allowed to entertain a reasonable ■ ctation, he will grow eloquent in priite, and perhaps his idol will hear the ost poetic expressions leaping from his is unconsciously. The secret opinion rich such a man entertains of his missss is, that she is all that is pure and rely; and his great wish is to be worv of her goodness, and to protect her m all the roughness and badness of the iimoa world.

Now, we may suppose a case where oung lady appreciates this feeling on part of her admirer, looks up to him h a correspondent lofty opinion of his rth, and desires to secure his heart. If has read Wuthering Heights, let her extremely careful not to let its style ct her conversation. A little bad mmar even, is not so sure a quencher the rising flame, as slang expressions >rutal unrefinement. 'here is a certain decorum in language rell as in manners or modes. We may

express the deepest thoughts, the most ardent passions, the strongest emotions, without in the least offending propriety. We are not called upon to affect surliness or bluntness of speech; and where a whole book is in this style, whatever may be its merits, this is a simple obvious defect, the first to impress itself upon the reader, and by no means the least serious.

Suppose this book were not written with so much power and subtlety, and with so large an infusion of genuine truth and beauty, the judgment of the public would at once condemn it on account of its coarseness of style. It would then be seen how much of the coarseness was affected and how much natural. But ought the other qualities of the book, which render us almost insensible, while we are reading it, to a language which, to say the least, was never that of well-bred ladies and gentlemen, to excuse this language^—even considering the coarseness wholly unaffected and unavoidable—a part of the substance of the writer's very self?

We think not. The book is original; it is powerful; full of suggestiveness. But still it is coarse. The narrative talks on in a way that if an attempt to imitate it be ever made in a parlor, the experimenter should be speedily ejected. It ought to be banished from refined society, because it does not converse in a proper manner. Setting aside the profanity, which if a writer introduces into a book, he offends against both politeness and good morals, there is such a general roughness and savageness in the soliloquies and dialogues here given as never should be found in a work of art. The whole tone of the style of the book smacks of lowness. It would indicate that the writer was not accustomed to the society of gentlemen, and was not afraid, indeed, rather gloried, in showing it.

Suppose a rough sailor of a powerful imagination—an eloquent narrator, in his way, of forecastle "yarns," (there are many such to be met with ;) we may enjoy his intellectual power at times, but we do not wish to make too free with him. Not because he is worse than we are in the sight of Heaven, but because we have been educated differently, we should prefer our landlady not to ask him to tea.

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Society naturally crystallizes into classes. "A man is known by the company he keeps;" and " birds of a feather flock together." There is a necessity for manners; and evil communications corrupt good ones. The difference between the polite and impolite is, that the polite manifest themselves to each other in words, looks and motions of grace and considerateness, whereas the impolite let the natural creature go uncared for. In fine, the generally received opinion of the world with respect to manners is a true one, and founded on elements of our nature which we have not the power to lay aside; we must have some manners, and all people distinguish between good and bad.

A person may be unmannered from want of delicacy of perception, or cultivation, or ill-mannered intentionally. The author of Wuthering Heights is both. His rudeness is chiefly real but partly assumed. We will give a few examples. The following is put into the mouth of a young boy telling how his playmate was bitten by a bulldog :—

"The devil had seized her ankle, Nelly; I heard his abominable snorting. She did not yell out—no! She would have scorned to do it, if she had been spitted on the horns of a mad cow. I did, though ; I vociferated curses enough to annihilate any fiend in Christendom; and I got a stone and thrust it between his jaws, and tried with all my might to cram it down his throat"

Afterwards he tells how she was taken care of in the parlor of the Lintons :—

"The curtains were still looped up at one corner, and I resumed my station as spy, because, if Catherine had wished to return, I tntended shattering their great glass panes to a million fragments, unless they let her out.

"She sat on the sofa quietly, Mrs. Linton took off the gray cloak of the dairy maid which wo had borrowed for our excursion—shaking her head, and expostulating with her, I suppose; she was a young lady, and they made a distinction between her treatment and mine. Then the woman servant brought a basin of warm water, and washed her feet, and Mr. Linton mixed a tumbler of negus, and Isabella emptied a plateful of cakes into ber lap, and Edgar stood gaping at a distance. Afterward, they dried and combed her beautiful hair, and gave hor a pair of enormous slippers, and wheeled her to the fire: and I left her, as merry as she could be, dividing her food be

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tween the little dog and Skulker, whose nose she pinched as he ate, and kindlin" a spark of spirit in the vacant blue eyes of the Lintons—a aim reflection from her own enchanting face1 sate they were full of stupid admiration; she is so immeasurably superior to them—to everybody on earth; is she not, Nelly?"

He has previously thus described the parlor:—

"The light came from thence; they had not

Eut up the shutters, and the curtains were only alf closed. Both of us were able to look in. by standing on the basement and clinging to the ledge, and we saw—ah! it was beautiful— a splendid place carpeted with crimson, and crimson-covered chairs and tables, and a pur? white ceiling bordered by gold, a shower of glass-drops hanging in silver chains from the center, and shimmering with little soft tapers.'

These are examples of simple vulgarity, or want of a refined perception. Their occurring in a work written with so much strength, that in reading hastily, one hardly notices them (and thousands such) as blemishes, does not redeem them.

In another place the author finds an old diary, which, according to his dates. must have been written by a little imperfectly educated girl in the very year of tb Declaration of American Independence :—

"An immediate interest kindled within w for the unknown Catherine, and 1 began forthwith to decipher her faded hieroglyphics.

"' An awful Sunday!' commenced the pasgraph beneath. 'I wish my father were bac< again. Hindley is a detestable substitste—k* conduct to Heathcliff is o/rocious—H. and Iik going to rebel—we took our initiatory stuns evening.'"

All these instances may be observed u be not only vulgar, but vulgar in a pecuk way. They savor, to use a word •wteri is the only one in the language that *i express the thing, of snobbishness.

Snobbishness is a development of hxur.v nature that manifests itself in ra*« shapes; but it everywhere is one «b f» sence, and bears the same relation to e»-"tlemanliness, that Brummagem does '• real plate. Thus we have, without a "■' iff, as genuine native snobs in this cour"-"' as any of foreign growth; probably *-•-' are snobs also in China.

To one variety of the English snob i be traced a certain, peculiar, easy fiu«

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