CHAP. XV, VOL. 2.

The horsemen pursued along the dike, spearing, or tumbling into the

water, the few who had the heart to resist; and so great was, or

seemed, the terror of the barbarians, that the victors penetrated even

within the limits of the island, until the turrets of houses, from

which they were separated only by the lateral canals, darkened them

with their shadows. Upon these were clustered many pagans, who shot at

them both arrows and darts, but with so little energy, that it seemed

as if despondence or fatuity had robbed them of their usual vigor.

Hence, the excited cavaliers gave them but little attention, not

doubting that they would be soon dislodged by the infantry. They were

even regardless of circumstances still more menacing; and if a

lethargy beset the infidel that day, it is equally certain that a

species of distraction overwhelmed the brains of the Spaniards. It

seemed as if the great object of their ambition depended more upon

their following the fugitives to the temple-square than upon any other

feat; and to this they encouraged one another with vivas and

invocations to the saints. They could already behold the huge bulk of

the pyramid, rising up at the distance of a mile, as if it shut up the

street; and its terraced sides, thronged with multitudes of men,

seemed to prove to them, that the frighted Mexicans were running to

their gods for protection. It is true, they perceived vast bodies of

infidels blocking up the avenue afar, as if to dispute their passage

beyond the canalled portion of the island; but they regarded them with

scorn.

They rushed onwards, occasionally arrested by some flying group, but

only for a moment.

There was a place, not far within the limits of the island, where they

found the causeway, for the space of at least sixty paces, so delved

and pared away on either side, that it scarce afforded a passage for

two horsemen abreast. The device was of recent execution, for they

beheld the mattocks of laborers still sticking in the earth, as if

that moment abandoned. This circumstance, so strange, so novel, and so

ominious, it might be supposed, would have aroused them to suspicion.

The passage, as it was, so contracted, broken, and rugged, looked

prodigiously like the Al-Sirat, or bridge to paradise of the

Mussulmans,--that arch, narrow as the thread of a famished spider,

over which it is so much easier to be precipitated than to pass with

safety. Yet grim and threatening as it was, there was but one among

the cavaliers who raised a voice of warning. As the Captain-General,

without a moment's hesitation, pushed his horse forward, to lead the

way, and without a single expression of surprise, the ancient hidalgo,

who had twice before sounded a note of alarm, now exclaimed,--

"For the love of heaven, pause, señor! This is a trap that will

destroy us."

"Art thou afraid, Alderete?" cried Cortes, looking back to him,

grimly. "This is no place for a King's Treasurer," (such was Alderete,

the royal Contador.)--"Get thee back, then, to the first ditch, and

fill it up to thy liking. _This_ will be charge enough for a

volunteer."

"I will fight where thou wilt, when thou wilt, and as boldly as thou

wilt," said the indignant cavalier; "but here play the madman no

longer."

"I will take thy counsel,--rest where I am,--and, in an hour's time,

see myself shut out from the city by a ditch, sixty yards wide! God's

benison upon thy long beard! and mayst thou be wiser. Forward,

friends! Do you not see? the knaves are running amain to check us, and

recover their unfinished gap! On! courage, and on! Santiago and at

them!"

It was indeed as Cortes said. The infidels, who blocked up the streets

afar, were now seen running towards them, with the most terrific

yells, as if to seize, before it was too late, a pass so easily

maintained. The cavaliers, animated by the words of their leader, were

quite as resolute to disappoint them, and therefore rode across as

rapidly as they could. The pass was not only narrow, but tortuous and

irregular; which increased the difficulties of surmounting it; so that

the Mexicans, running with the most frantic speed, were within a

bowshot, before Cortes had spurred his steed upon the broader portion

of the dike. But, as if there were something dreadful to the infidels,

in the spectacle of the great Teuctli of the East, thus again in their

stronghold, they came to a sudden halt, and testified their valor only

by yelling, and waving their spears and banners.

"Courage, friends, and quick!" cried Cortes. "The dogs are beset with

fear, and will not face us. Ye shall hear other yells in a moment.

Haste, valiant cavaliers! haste, men of Spain! and make room for the

footmen, who are behind you."

The screams of the barbarians were loud and incessant; but in the

midst of the din, as he turned to cheer his cavaliers over the broken

passage, Don Hernan's ears were struck by the sound of a Christian

voice, calling from the midst of the pagans, with thrilling vehemence.

"Beware! beware! Back to the causey! Beware!"

"Hark!" cried Alderete, who had already passed; "Our Saint calls to

us! Let us return!"

"It is a trick of the fiend!" exclaimed Cortes, in evident

perturbation of mind. "Come on, good friends, and let us seize

vantage-ground; or the dogs will drive us, singly, into the ditches."

"Back! back!" shouted the cavaliers behind--"We are ambushed! We are

surrounded!"

Their further exclamations were lost in a tempest of discordant

shrieks, coming from the front and the rear, from the heavens above,

and, as they almost fancied, from the earth beneath. They looked

northward, towards the pyramid,--the whole broad street was filled

with barbarians, rushing towards them with screams of anticipated

triumph; they looked back to the lake,--the causeway was swarming with

armed men, who seemed to have sprung from the waters; to either side,

and beheld the canals of the intersecting streets lashed into foam by

myriads of paddles; while, at the same moment, the few pagans, who had

annoyed them from the housetops, appeared transformed, by the same

spell of enchantment, into hosts innumerable, with spirits all of fury

and flame.

"What says the king of Castile? What says the king of Castile _now_?"

roared the exulting infidels.

"Santiago! and God be with us!" exclaimed Cortes, waving his hand,

with a signal for retreat, that came too late: "Cross but this

devil-trap again, and--"

Before he could conclude the vain and useless order, the drum of the

emperor sounded upon the pyramid. It was an instrument of gigantic

size and horrible note, and was held in no little fear, especially

after the events of this day, by the Spaniards, who fabled that it was

covered with the skins of serpents. It was a fit companion for the

horn of Mexitli; which latter, however, being a sacred instrument, was

sounded only on the most urgent and solemn occasions.

The first tap,--or rather peal, for the sound came from the temple

more like the roll of thunder than of a drum,--was succeeded by yells

still more stunning; and while the cavaliers, retreating, struggled,

one by one, to recross the narrow pass, they were set upon with such

fury as left them but little hope of escape.

If the rashness of Cortes had brought his friends into this fatal

difficulty, he now seemed resolved to atone his fault, by securing

their retreat, even although at the expense of his life. It was in

vain that those few cavaliers who had succeeded in reaching him,

before the onslaught began, besought him to take his chance among

them, and recross, leaving them to cover his rear.

"Get ye over yourselves," he cried, with grim smiles, smiting away the

headmost of the assailants from the street: "If I have brought ye

among coals of fire, heaven forbid I should not broil a little in mine

own person. Quick, fools! over and hasten! over and quick! and by and

by I will follow you."

For a moment, it seemed as if the terror of his single arm would have

kept the barbarians at bay. But, waxing bolder, as they saw his

attendants dropping one by one away, they began to close upon him, and

his situation became exceedingly critical. He looked over his

shoulder, and perceived that his followers threaded their way along

the broken dike with less difficulty than he at first feared. The very

narrowness of the passage left but little foothold for the enemy; and

their attacks, being made principally from canoes, were not such as

wholly to dishearten a cavalier, whose steed was as strongly defended

by mail as his own body. Encouraged by this assurance, the

Captain-General still maintained his post, rushing ever and anon upon

the closing herds, and mowing right and left with his trusty blade,

while his gallant charger pawed down opposition with his hoofs. Thus

he fought, with the mad valor that made his enemies so often deem him

almost a demigod, until satisfied that his own attempt to cross the

pass could no longer embarrass the efforts of his followers. Then,

charging once more upon the pagans, and even with greater fury than

before, he wheeled round with unexpected rapidity, and uttering his

famous cry, "Santiago and at them!" dashed boldly at the passage.

Seven pagans sprang upon the path. They were armed like princes, and

the red fillets of the House of Darts waved among their sable locks.

"The Teuctli shall have the tribute of Mexico!" shouted one,

flourishing a battle-axe that seemed of weight sufficient, in his

brawny arm, to dash out the charger's brains at a blow. The words were

not understood by Cortes; but he recognized at once the visage of the

Lord of Death.

"I have thee, pagan!" he cried, striking at the bold barbarian. The

blow failed; for one of the others, springing at the charger's head

with unexampled audacity, seized him by the bridle, so that he reared

backwards, and thus foiled the aim of his rider. The next moment, the

Spanish steel fell upon the neck of the daring infidel, killing him on

the spot; yet not so instantaneously as to avert a disaster, which it

seemed the object of his fury to produce. His convulsive struggles, as

he clung, dying, to the rein, drove the steed off the narrow ledge;

and thus losing his foothold, the noble animal rolled over into the

deep canal, burying the Captain-General in the flood.

"The general! save the general!" shrieked the only Christian, who, in

this horrible melèe, (for the battle was now universal,) beheld the

condition of Cortes, and who, although on foot, and bristling with

arrows that had stuck fast in his cotton-armor, and resisted by other

weapons at every step, had yet the courage to run to the rescue. It

was Gaspar Olea. His visage was yet wan, and expressive of the unusual

horror preying upon his mind; yet he rushed forward, as if he had

never known a fear. He exalted his voice, while crying for assistance,

until it was heard far back upon the causeway; yet he reached the

place of Don Hernan's mischance alone. The scene was dreadful: the

nobles had flung themselves into the flood, and were dragging the

stunned and strangling hero from the steed, which lay upon its side on

the rugged and shelving edge of the dike, unable to arise, and

perishing with the most fearful struggles; while, all the time, the

elated infidels expressed their triumph with shouts of frantic joy.

"Courage, captain! be of good heart, señor!" exclaimed the Barba-Roxa,

striking down one of the captors at a single blow: "Courage! for we

have good help nigh," he continued, attacking a second with the same

success: "Courage, señor, courage!"

No Mexican helm of dried skins, and no breastplate of copper, could

resist the machete of a man like Gaspar. Yet his first success was

caused rather by the Mexicans being so intently occupied with their

captive, that they thought of nothing else, than by any miraculous

exertion of skill and prowess. He slew two, before they dreamed of

attack, and he mortally wounded a third, ere the others could turn to

drive him back. A fourth rushed upon him, before he could again lift

up his weapon, and grasping him in his arms, with the embrace of a

mountain bear, leaped with him into the canal.

There were now but two left in possession of Cortes; yet his

resistance even against these was ineffectual. His sword had dropped

from his hand; a violent blow had burst his helmet, and confounded his

brain; and he had been lifted from the water, already half suffocated.

Yet he struggled as he could, and catching one of his foes by the

throat, he succeeded in overturning him into the water, and there

grappled with him among the shallows. The remaining barbarian, yelling

for assistance, flung himself upon the pair; and though twenty

Spaniards, headed by Bernal Diaz and the hunchback, were now within

half as many paces, Cortes would have perished where he lay, had not

assistance arose from an unexpected quarter.

Among the vast numbers who came crowding from the city over the broken

passage, were several who knew, by the cry of the seventh noble, that

Malintzin was in his hands; and they rushed forward, to ensure his

capture. The foremost and fleetest of these was distinguished from the

rest by a frame of towering height; and, had there been a Spaniard by

to notice him, would have been still more remarkable from the fact,

that he uttered all his cries in good, expressive Castilian. He bore a

Spanish weapon, too, and his first act, as he flung himself into the

ditch where Cortes was drowning, was to strike it through the neck of

the uppermost noble. His next was to spurn the other from the breast

of the general, whom he raised to his feet, murmuring in his ear,

"Be of good heart, señor! for you are saved."

What more he would have said and done can only be imagined; for, at

that moment, the Barba-Roxa rushed out of the ditch, followed close at

hand by the hunchback, Bernal Diaz, and others, and seeing his

commander, as he thought, in the hands of a foeman, he lifted his good

sword once again, and smote him over the head, crying,

"Down, infidel dog! and _vive_ for Spain and our general!"

At this moment, there rushed up a crew of fresh combatants, Spaniards

from the rear and infidels from the front. But before they closed upon

him entirely, the Barba-Roxa caught sight of the man he had struck

down, and beheld, in his pale and quivering aspect, the features of

Juan Lerma.

The unhappy wretch, thus beholding the beloved youth, with his own

eyes, a leaguer and helpmate of the infidel, and punished to death, as

it seemed, by his hand, set up a scream wildly vehement, and broke

from the group of Spaniards, who now surrounded Cortes, endeavoring to

drag him in safety over the pass. The exile had been seen by others as

well as Gaspar, and many a ferocious cry of exultation burst from

their lips, as they saw him fall.

Meanwhile, Gaspar, distracted in mind, and dripping with blood, for he

had not escaped from the ditch and the fierce embrace of his fourth

antagonist, without many severe wounds, endeavored to retrace his

steps to the spot where Juan had followed. It was occupied by

infidels, who drove him into the ditch, where his legs were grasped by

a drowning Mexican, who raised himself a little from the water, and

displayed, between his neck and shoulder, a yawning chasm, rather than

a wound, from which the blood, at every panting expiration of breath,

rolled out hideously in froth and foam. It was the Lord of Death, thus

struck by Juan Lerma, as he lay upon the breast of Cortes, and now

perishing, but still like a warrior of the race of America. He

clambered up the body of Gaspar, for it could hardly be said, that he

rose upon his feet; and seeing that he grasped a Christian soldier, he

strove to utter once more a cry of battle. The blood foamed from his

lips, as from his wound; and his voice was lost in a suffocating

murmur. Yet, with his last expiring strength, he locked his arms round

the neck of the Spaniard, now almost as much spent as himself, and

falling backwards, and writhing together as they fell, they rolled off

into the deep water, where the salt and troubled flood wrapped them in

a winding-sheet, already spread over the bosoms of thousands.

There is another scene which we had marked for extracting, but which

our limits forbid inserting--a single combat on the stone of

Temalacatl--in which a Spanish prisoner, doomed to the gladiatorial

sacrifice, contends successfully against several antagonists. The

details of this barbarous ceremony, are full of interest. The prisoner

is bound by one foot to the stone of sacrifice, and if in this

condition he kill six Mexicans, he is liberated, and sent home with

honor; if he fail, he is doomed a sacrifice to the pagan deities. The

narrative of this combat, is given with remarkable spirit and

precision, and holds the reader in breathless excitement to the end.

The story closes as happily as could be expected from the nature of

its incidents. The fall of Mexico, and the humiliation of its heroic

emperor, excite a profound sympathy; and the death of Monjonaza, who

dies broken hearted upon discovering that Juan, of whom she is

passionately enamored, is her brother, throws a melancholy shade over

the brightening fortunes of the hero.

Some of the minor characters are drawn with a vigorous hand. The dog

Befo, is a powerful delineation of heroic fidelity, seldom equalled by

his superiors of the human race. Gaspar Olea, the Barba-Roxa, or red

haired, is a fine specimen of the bold, blunt, honest soldier; and

Bernal Diaz, (the historian of the Conquest,) though little

distinguished in the story, adds to its interest. The Lord of Death,

is a fine picture of the lofty race of barbarians, who spurned the

slavery of their foreign foe, and died in resisting it. Najara, the

hunchback and the cynic, is also a well drawn character.

The Infidel will, we doubt not, enjoy a popularity equal to that of

Calavar. It confirms public opinion as to the abilities of the author,

who has suddenly taken a proud station in the van of American writers

of romance. He possesses a fertility of imagination rarely possessed

by his compeers. In many of their works, there is a paucity of events;

and incidents of small intrinsic importance, are wrought up by the

skill of the writer so as to give a factitious interest to a very

threadbare collection of facts. Great ability may be displayed in this

manner; but our author seems to find no such exertion necessary. The

fertility of his imagination displays itself in the constant

recurrence of dramatic situations, striking incidents and stirring

adventures; so much so, that the interest of the reader, in following

his characters through the mazes of perils and enterprizes,

vicissitudes and escapes, which they encounter, is often painfully

excited. If this be a fault, it is one which is creditable to the

powers of the author, and indicates an exuberance of invention, which

will bear him through a long course of literary exertions, and insure

to him great favor with the votaries of romance.

Thera are some minor faults which might be noticed. As an instance,

the author habitually uses the word "_working_" in describing the

convulsions of the countenance, under the influence of strong

passions: as, "his _working_ and agonized visage"--"his face _worked_

convulsively," &c. Although Sir Walter Scott is authority for the use

of the word in this manner, we have always considered it a decided

inelegance. But such blemishes cannot seriously detract from the

enduring excellence of the work.

* * * * *

AN ADDRESS, delivered at his inauguration as President of Washington

College, Lexington, Virginia, Feb. 21, 1835, by Henry Vethake.

We have read this address with unmingled pleasure. It is replete with

strong _common sense_, and that quality is rarely much exercised in

discussions of the subject of education. The opinions of President

Vethake seem to us sound and practical: he has a full sense of the

errors in the systems of instruction, which have prevailed too long in

many of our institutions; and suggests alterations in the modes of

teaching, which seem to us both practicable, and promising great

benefits. We are constrained by the pressure of other matters, to

confine ourselves to a brief notice of this address, and to curtail

our extracts from its pages. The following strictures upon the old

system of imparting information to students, will, we believe, be

recognized as just and sensible, by every one who has reflected on the

subject. Although these remarks are intended by the orator to refer to

college exercises only, they apply with equal force to the faulty

system of teaching pursued by nine-tenths of the conductors of our

primary and elementary schools, at which the pupils are, in most

cases, severely drilled in the study of mere _words_, while no

corresponding knowledge of the _things_ of which they are the symbols,

is imparted by the teacher, who makes no effort to awaken the mental

energies of the pupil; but is fully satisfied if he cultivate the

_memory_, though the _mind_ remain waste and uninformed. But to our

extract:

"The error is an egregious one, which leads a student to suppose that

his proper business is to store his mind as industriously as he can

with the facts previously observed, and the opinions previously held,

by others who lived before him. Its natural effect will be to deaden

all originality of thought, and to degrade the individual, thus led

astray, to a low rank in the scale of intelligence, when compared with

that to which he would have entitled himself, with more correct ideas

of the nature of education. The memory may have been cultivated to a

considerable extent; imagination, and the reasoning power, will have

remained nearly dormant. But this is not all. The individual in

question will not even have acquired the ability to communicate what

he has learned to others. To do so with clearness and order, is by no

means always an easy matter; and it is one to which he has directed no

portion of his attention, his mind having been exclusively occupied in

passively receiving knowledge. And it may be added, that, although it

should be conceded, that by pursuing the method of education against

which my remarks are at present pointed, a greater amount of mere

extraneous information can be acquired, yet this will generally be

found to be true only for a comparatively short period. Those facts

and opinions of which we read, that do not become the subjects of

subsequent comparison and reflection, have, as it were, only a loose

connection with our understandings, and, sooner or later, and

sometimes very speedily, pass into oblivion. Hence it will be found

that, if we have regard rather to the usefulness of manhood than to

the display to be made by the youth of a college at an examination, as

this is ordinarily conducted, the most effectual method even of

storing the mind with what other men have observed and thought, is to

regard the communication of knowledge to the student as altogether

accessary to the great object of disciplining his mind, and of

properly developing his various intellectual faculties. And not only

will that individual, whose faculties have been most advantageously

excited, be ultimately possessed of the greatest amount and range of

information, but he will far surpass his competitors in the race of

life, in the art of communicating, and, at proper times and places,

displaying that information. He will also come to possess a capacity

for attaining a still further measure of knowledge, whenever he may

desire to do so, upon any subject that excites a particular interest

in him, to which the man of mere memory is a total stranger.

"It is sufficiently to be lamented, that the student should

occasionally fall of his own accord into the error I have been

considering: but it is lamentable in a far greater degree, when his

propensity to do so is encouraged by the faulty system of instruction

pursued by his teacher. The young men in our colleges, have been, and

still are, too frequently taught in a manner to operate thus

injuriously. I refer, more particularly, to the practice of hearing

them recite, on almost every subject, the contents, and the precise

contents, of certain text books, with little or no accompanying

comment, excepting what may be absolutely necessary for enabling them

to comprehend the meaning of the work recited. In this manner of

instruction, it is not geometry, or the spirit of geometry, that is

acquired by the student, but what it is that Euclid, or Legendre, has

delivered concerning geometry. It is not the philosophy of the human

mind with which he is made acquainted; it is only the system of some

distinguished author--be it that of Locke, or Reid, or Brown. It is

true that we may easily conceive the reciting of a text book to be

accompanied by an enlightened commentary on the part of the

instructor, calculated to liberate the mind of the student from all

undue subjection to the opinions, and to the peculiar classifications

and modes of expression, of the author. We may, indeed, conceive the

instructor to superadd every possible contrivance which is fitted to

awaken in the mind of his pupils a spirit of independent inquiry.

Still the _tendency_ of the system is to degenerate into the mere

recitation of the contents of the text book."

* * * * *

"Another reason why young men in our colleges are tempted to neglect

the general cultivation of their minds, and to devote their whole

study to the storing of their memories with the contents of the text

books put into their hands, is that their comparative scholarship is

very apt to be estimated by their instructors, not so much by the

nature of the questions which they are able to answer correctly, and

by the amount of thinking and originality displayed, as by the

promptitude and fluency with which they can repeat what they have

servilely learned. I have been told by more individuals than one, and

by graduates of more institutions than one, that on discovering, while

at college, the fact to be as I have just stated, and being anxious

that the best account of them should go to their friends, from their

professors, they at once resolved to subject themselves to the

drudgery of committing the author they were appointed to study

verbatim to memory, and that, by so doing, they did not fail to secure

the object they had in view. The persons of whom I speak, were young

men of talent, as well as ambitious of immediate distinction. Had

their minds at the time been sufficiently matured to have adequately

appreciated the uselessness and the folly of this method of study,

without at the same time being matured enough to adopt, of their own

suggestion, a more efficient and rational method, and had they been

less influenced by present rewards, without as yet aspiring to the

more substantial rewards of a future reputation among men, or without

the loftier stimulant of duty, they might have become, like others

among their fellow students, altogether negligent of their

improvement, and perhaps have contracted the most ruinous habits. It

is to the system of education, upon which I am animadverting, together

with the mistakes made by the members of a college faculty, in

deciding on the comparative scholarship of the students--which

mistakes the latter are competent to judge of, with a good deal of

accuracy--that the anomaly, so often remarked, of a young man's

relative _standing_ while in college, being so often but little

indicative of his future standing in the world, is to be ascribed; and

the explanation is likewise manifest why some individuals of peculiar

energy of character, after wasting their time in almost complete

idleness while at college, astonish their friends nevertheless, by the

intellectual exertions of which they shew themselves to be capable,

when an adequate motive is presented for exerting their energies. This

solves the mystery too, why so many _self-taught_ men, have, in

despite of the disadvantages under which they labored, surpassed the

graduates of colleges in usefulness and reputation; every acquisition

made by a self-taught man, in consequence of the very difficulty of

making it, being accompanied by a contemporary sharpening of his

intellect, which the passive recipient of another's knowledge never

experiences."

Of his suggestions for the remedy of this evil, we have room only for

the following passage:

"The practical question now presents itself--what is the proper remedy

for the evils that have been described? Are we to rest satisfied with

the efficiency of our colleges and universities being rendered wholly

dependent on the accident, as it may be called, of the instructors

proving themselves, upon trial, to be possessed of intellectual powers

of the highest, or at least of a very high order, that is, of powers

which will exert themselves, and produce their proper fruit, under

almost any circumstances whatever, of disadvantage? Or shall we

abandon our institutions of learning, where these disadvantageous

circumstances have hitherto been permitted to exist, and have afforded

an opportunity to unskilful and indolent teachers to nip the evolving

faculties of youth in the bud? We are, fortunately, not limited to a

selection of either of these modes of proceeding. As a remedy for the

evils described, the professors, in every department of instruction

admitting of it, should, in my opinion, be obliged to prepare courses

of _lectures_ to the students. This would necessarily compel them to

digest a system of knowledge for themselves, possessing more or less

of originality in respect to thought or arrangement, of matter or of

manner, according to the ability of the writer or speaker. Even if the

lectures were only compilations from the writings of others, or should

possess far inferior merit to various works on the same subject, that

might be put into the hands of the student, the fitness of the

professor to teach, will be greatly augmented, both because his

information on the branch of instruction confided to him, will, in the

preparation of his lectures, have become much more extensive, and

because what he knows will be much more methodically arranged, than

before. Those works, besides, which are supposed to be of greater

value than the professor's lectures, are still as accessible as ever

to the students; and the improvement of their instructor can surely in

no wise interfere with the benefit to be derived by them from the

perusal of the works of others."

* * * * *

A HISTORY OF THE UNITED STATES, from the Discovery of the American

Continent to the present time; by George Bancroft. Vol. 1. pp. 508.

Boston: Charles Bowen. London: R. J. Kennett.

The interest we have felt in this work, is the true cause of our

seeming neglect of it. This may appear paradoxical, but is easily

explained.

In taking up the book, we naturally turned to that part of which we

knew most, and in which we took the greatest interest. There was

always something in the early history of Virginia on which we

delighted to dwell, and we promised ourselves great pleasure from the

contemplation of the character of our forefathers, as we expected to

find it portrayed by a diligent historian, who had already acquired

the character of a fine writer.

We did indeed find what was intended to be a favorable account of our

ancestors. Yet we were disappointed. We found much of direct praise.

Yet we were disappointed. We ought perhaps to feel obliged, by Mr. B's

disposition to speak kindly of our forefathers, even while his

applauses grate upon our feelings. But we are unfortunately

constituted. What Mr. Bancroft gives as praise, we cannot accept as

praise; and, what is worse, we cannot help suspecting, in all such

cases, that a sneer, or something more mischievous, is intended.

Sterne, in his Sentimental Journey, tells us, that when on his way

from Calais to Paris, he accidentally disclosed to his Landlord and

Valet de Chambre, the astounding fact, that he had blundered into the

heart of France without a passport, the former fell back from him

three paces. At the same moment, his affectionate and grateful

servant, by a like instinctive impulse, advanced three paces towards

him.

The fall of Charles I, presented to his adherents a case somewhat

analogous. History tells us that they were variously affected by it.

Some fell back in dismay, while others found themselves drawn more

closely toward his exiled son. The former soon found that the

successful party had rewards in store for timely submission and

zealous service. The latter, driven from their last rallying point, by

the fatal battle of Worcester, did but _submit_, and that with

undisguised reluctance, to what was inevitable.

Mr. Bancroft seems to think he does honor to our ancestors, by

assigning them a place among the former. Now we had always supposed

that their true place was among the latter, and we had moreover a sort

of pride in so supposing. There are those who will say that there is

great arrogance in thus claiming for them a place among the generous

and brave and faithful. Others will call it folly to insist, _at this

day_, on their fidelity to a _king_, and especially to one who had

lost all means of rewarding, or even of using their zeal. We beg leave

to set off these imputations against each other. We beg to be allowed

to speak of our fathers as they were; and trust that one half of those

who shall cavil at the character we impute to them, will acquit us of

any very high presumption, when they see that we only claim for them

such qualities, as the other half say we ought to be ashamed of. If

the same individual is sometimes found assailing us, alternately on

both grounds, his consistency in so doing is his affair, not ours.

If we know anything (and we think we do) of the character of the early

settlers of Virginia, they were a chivalrous and generous race, ever

ready to resist the strong, to help the weak, to comfort the

afflicted, and to lift up the fallen. In this spirit they had

withstood the usurpation of Cromwell while resistance was practicable,

and, when driven from their native country, they had bent their steps

toward Virginia, as that part of the foreign dominions of England,

where the spirit of loyalty was strongest. We learn from Holmes, vol.

i. p. 315, that the population of Virginia increased about fifty per

cent. during the troubles. The newcomers were loyalists, who were

added to a population already loyal. Could _they_, without dishonor,

have been hearty in favor of the new order of things? _They_ whose

principles had driven them into exile? _They_ who, had they remained,

would have fought and fallen with Montrose?

The historical compends with which our youth was familiar, had taught

us to form this estimate of the early settlers of Virginia; and we had

the more faith in it, because it accords with the hereditary

prejudices and prepossessions of the present day. It accounts too, for

those peculiarities which, at this moment, form the distinctive

features of the Virginian character. It is unique. Whether for better

or worse, it differs essentially from that of every other people under

the sun. How long it shall be before the "_march of mind_," as it is

called, in its Juggernaut car, shall pass over us, and crush and

obliterate every trace of what our ancestors were, and what we

ourselves have been, is hard to say. It may postpone that evil day, to

resist any attempt to impress us with false notions of our early

history, and the character of our ancestors.

We had never looked narrowly into the contemporary authority for the

traditions and histories that have come down to us. Mr. Bancroft's

account of the matter has led us to do so. Hence our delay to notice

his work. Our research has been rewarded by the pleasure of finding

full confirmation of all our preconceived notions.

The point in contest between Mr. Bancroft and the received histories

is this:

The histories represent Virginia as having been loyal to the last; as

having stood in support of the title of Charles II, after every other

part of the British dominions had submitted to Cromwell, and as having

been the first to renounce the authority of the protector, _and return

to their allegiance_. All this Mr. Bancroft denies; and all this,

except the last proposition, (that in italics) we affirm. In proof, we

appeal to the very authorities on which Mr. Bancroft relies.

Indeed, we are at a loss to know how he himself escaped the conclusion

against which he protests so strongly. It may not be true that Charles

II was proclaimed in Virginia, as Robertson says, before he had been

recognized in England. Mr. Hening (1 Sts. at Large, p. 529, quoted by

Bancroft) may be right, when he says, that, if such were the fact, the

public records should show it. But his book is full of proof that the

records are incomplete. Is there not such proof in this instance? Let

us examine.

The first act of the session of March 1660, assumes the supreme power.

The second appoints Sir William Berkeley governor, and prescribes that

he shall govern according to the "_auncient lawes_ of England, and the

established lawes" of Virginia. The third repeals all laws

inconsistent with "the power now established;" and the fourth makes it

penal to "say or act anything in derogation" of the government thus

established.

Here is evidence enough of a _new order_ of things, and yet it is not

so very clear what that new order was. Hening says (_ubi supra_) that

Berkeley was elected _just as Mathews had been_. Wherein then was the

innovation? The recital in the preamble of the act last quoted, (1

Hen. Sts. p. 531) may give a clue to this.

It is there set forth that "it hath been thought necessary and

convenient by the present Burgesses of this Assembly, the

representatives of the people, _during the time of these

distractions_, to take the government into their own power, with the

conduct of the _auncient lawes_ of England, till such _lawfull_

commission or commissions appear to us, _as wee may_ DUTIFULLY _submit

to, according as by_ DECLARATION SET FORTH BY US _doth_ MORE AMPLY

_appeare_."

Now where is this MORE AMPLE DECLARATION, concerning their idea of

such a commission as they might DUTIFULLY submit to? Is not here an

_hiatus valde deflendus_? Yet such are the tattered manuscripts from

which Mr. Hening's compilation is made, that the loss of the whole or

a part of any document is quite common.

Enough appears, however, to show that this declaration did not amount

to a recognition of Charles as king _de facto_; because the above

mentioned Act I, directs that all writs shall issue in the name of the

assembly. But it is equally clear that he was, _at least tacitly_,

acknowledged as king _de jure_; that the government was established

provisionally, and subject to his pleasure; and that the power assumed

was held FOR HIM.

Now when we consider these things; when we find Robertson, on the

authority of _Beverley_ and _Chalmers_, saying that "as Sir William

Berkeley refused to act under an usurped authority, they (the

assembly) boldly erected the royal standard, and acknowledging Charles

II to be their lawful sovereign, proclaimed him with all his titles;"

we may doubt the accuracy of the statement, _in extenso_, but we

cannot agree that even _that_ statement shall be stigmatized as a

fiction.

Mr. Hening tells us (1 Sts. p. 513) that Beverley was near the scene

of action, and wonders that he should have _misunderstood_ or

_misrepresented_. Wonderful indeed it _would_ have been; for in March

1662, we find him clerk to the House of Burgesses. See 2 Hen. Sts. p.

162. We find too, in the same volume, p. 544, that Berkeley refused to

act without the advice of the council; that on receiving this he

agreed to act, and that "HIS _declaration_ TO BE governor (not the act

electing him) were PROCLAIMED by order of the assembly." Berkeley (be

it remembered) was the last royal governor, and his commission had

never been revoked, his election is not for any specific term, and the

act is accompanied with a condition that he shall call an assembly at

least once in _every two years_. How is this, if he was only elected

to fill the vacancy occasioned by the death of Mathews, who, just one

year before, had been elected _to serve two years_. Is not Berkeley in

of his old commission?

But of the loyalty of Virginia there can be no doubt. That this was in

no wise abated by the fall of Charles I, and the exile of his son, is

equally certain. The act, passed immediately after, making it high

treason to justify the murder of the one, or to deny the title of the

other, puts that out of dispute. They certainly did not stand out,

when the battle of Dunbar and the fall of Montrose had left the loyal

party without hope either in England or Scotland. But look at the very

act of surrender. Study its terms, and see the temper displayed there.

Do they acknowledge the _authority_ of parliament or protector? No:

they do but _submit_ to power. There is no profession of allegiance,

nor was any oath of allegiance ever administered during the

commonwealth. They engage indeed so to administer their power as not

to contravene "the government of the commonwealth of England, and the

lawes there established." But this was a proceeding which a respect

for _private rights_ required. They stipulate moreover, that Virginia

shall enjoy as free a trade as England herself, and put an end to all

the authority of commissions from England. It was by such commissions

that the king had governed. That "government by commissions and

instructions" is declared to be for the future "null and void." The

usurper had clutched the sceptre of the king of _England_. That of the

king of _Virginia_ he was not allowed to touch. Accordingly no more

commissions came from England. We hear no more of them until the

election of Berkeley. We are then told that the government is

provisional, and only to endure until a _lawful commission_ shall

appear. What commission? Whose? The protector's? The parliament's? No.

The act of surrender (1 Hen. St. p. 363) had abolished them. But it

had not abolished the rights of the king; and the power of the

assembly and governor is thus made to wait on them.

Strange as it may seem, the act of surrender contains no word

recognizing the rightful authority of the parliament, nor impeaching

that of the king. On the contrary, as if to exclude any such idea,

this remarkable clause is inserted:

"That there be one sent _home_, at the present governor's choice, to

give an accompt to HIS MA'TIE, of the surrender of HIS _countrey_."

_Home!_ There is a simple pathos in the use of this word here, which

speaks volumes to the heart. None can feel more deeply than we do, how

utterly unworthy of this steady and passionate loyalty, was the wretch

who was its object. But they knew not his faults. They only knew him

in his lineage and his misfortunes; and though he had no place to lay

his head, yet wherever their messenger might find the outcast, there

was the home of their hearts. We mean nothing profane. God forbid! But

we cannot help being reminded of the weak warm-hearted boy, who stood

by his master's cross, and gazed with looks of love upon his dying

face, when the stronger and bolder of his followers had "forsaken him

and fled." We are more proud to be descended from the men who stood

forward in the business of that day, than we should be to trace

ourselves to Adam, through all the most politic and prudent

self-seekers that the world has ever seen.

But to return to Mr. Bancroft. Affairs being thus settled, things went

on quite peaceably; and he hence infers that the Virginians were

entirely reconciled to Cromwell and his parliament. Moreover, he finds

them claiming the supreme power, as residing in the colonial

legislature; and from this he most strangely infers a loyalty to the

parliament, the model of which he represents them as so eager to copy.

Now Mr. Bancroft himself tells us (p. 170) that as early as 1619,

Virginia first set _the world_ the example of equal representation.

From that time they held that the supreme power was in the hands of

the colonial parliament, then established, and the king as king of

Virginia. Now the authority of the king being at an end, and no

successor being acknowledged, it followed as _a corollary from their

principles_ that no power remained but that of the assembly; _and so

they say_. Does this look like a recognition of Cromwell and his

parliament, or the reverse?

But Mr. Bancroft seems to think that Virginia could not have failed to

be weaned from her attachment to the king, and won over to Cromwell

and his parliament, by the magnanimity and justice of their

proceedings. He adverts to the article in the treaty of surrender, by

which Virginia had stipulated for a trade as free as that of England,

and assures us that "its terms _were faithfully observed till the

restoration_." (p. 241.) He adds at p. 246, that "the navigation act

of Cromwell was not designed for the oppression of Virginia, and _was

not enforced within her borders_." Hence he says (p. 241) that the

pictures drawn by Beverley, Chalmers, Robertson, Marshall, and Holmes,

of the discontent produced by commercial oppression, are all "pure

fiction."

Now what says the reader to the following extract from a memorial on

behalf of the trade of Virginia, laid before Cromwell in 1656?

"What encouragement the poor planter has had to sweeten his labor,

since the Dutch were excluded trade, appears by the _general

complaint_ of them all, that they are the merchant's slaves, who will

allow them scarce a half-penny a pound for their tobacco. Beside that,

since the Dutch trade was prohibited, till this year there has been a

great deal of their tobacco left behind for want of fraught, and

spoiled, to the almost undoing of divers of them." ... "This is an

inconveniency which has attended _that act for navigation_," "but

unless it be _a little_ dispensed withal, it will undoubtedly ruin

part of the trade it was intended to advance. 'Tis true the people of

themselves, some of them at least, have this year endeavored their own

relief by _secret trade with the Dutch_," &c. &c.

Is not this decisive? If it does not prove the fact, it at least

proves the complaint. Mr. Bancroft denies both. Perhaps this paper is

a forgery. Perhaps Mr. Bancroft never saw it. YES HE DID. It is the

same paper to which he refers at p. 247, note 2, in the very paragraph

in which he says that Cromwell's navigation act was not designed for,

nor enforced in Virginia. Mr. B. indeed says "the war between England

and Holland necessarily interrupted the intercourse of the Dutch with

the English colonies." But this memorial is of the year 1656, and

peace had been concluded April 15, 1654.

Robertson speaks of the colonial governors during the interregnum, as

having been _named_ (that is his word) by Cromwell. This is roundly

denied. On what authority? None. The election proves nothing

certainly. It might have been a mere form, though it was probably

something more. But what was easier than a recommendation which it

would be perhaps best to conform to? How often was the speaker of the

house of commons so chosen in England?

Mr. Bancroft's view of this matter stands thus: Virginia elected her

own governors. Bennett, Digges, and Mathews, were commonwealth's men.

She freely chose them as governors. Ergo. She had gone over to the

commonwealth.

Now there is no proof of either of these propositions. We doubt both.

For if it were established that these gentlemen were, as we suspect,

forced on the colony, it would not be clear that they were therefore

commonwealth's men. We doubt very much whether any such were to be

found. They might have been the least violent among the royalists, and

therefore preferred.

Of Col. Bennett we know something traditionally. The idea that he was

a parliamentarian is new to us. We should require some better proof

than the Collections of the Massachusetts Historical Society. He was

indeed, one of the parliamentary commissioners at the time of the

surrender. So was Claiborne, a warm friend and favorite of Sir William

Berkeley, continued in his office of secretary of state, by the

legislature, at Berkeley's request, after his restoration. 1 Hen. Sts.

p. 547. Bennett himself retained his place at the council board, where

he still found himself, as before the restoration, in the company of

cavaliers, such as Morrison, Yardly, Ludlow, &c. &c.[1]

[Footnote 1: The characters and principles of these gentlemen may

throw some light on the subject. If we can ascertain those of the

members of the council, elected by the assembly, we shall have a clue

to the temper of the assembly itself. We may know the tree by its

fruit. If we find that body electing to a place in the council men of

very decided political character, we shall have a right to believe

that those associated with them by the vote of the same body were, at

least, not zealous members of the opposite party. In this case the

maxim "_noscitur a socio_," will surely apply. Let us see what lights

we can bring to bear on this subject.

In Churchill's voyages (vol. vi. p. 171) is "A Voyage to Virginia, by

Col. Norwood." He was a cavalier, and came over in company with

Francis Morrison, also a cavalier. Norwood was also a kinsman of

Berkeley. Arriving here, they found Sir Henry Chichely, Col. Yardly,

Wormely, and Ludlow, whom they recognized as old friends and

cavaliers.

Now in the council elected along with Bennett, immediately after the

surrender, we find two of these gentlemen, Yardly and Ludlow. The

latter had been a member of Berkeley's council that had concurred

(October 1649) in declaring it to be high treason to defend the

proceedings of parliament against Charles I, or to deny the title of

his son. West, the first named member of Bennett's council, had

occupied the same place in that of Berkeley. Pettus and Bernard were

also members of both. We might conjecture that they had dissented from

the act referred to, if we did not find them associated with Yardly

and Ludlow. We find too that Harwood, who had been speaker of the

assembly of October 1649, was also one of Bennett's council. The whole

number was thirteen, and here are six notorious royalists. Of what

complexion could the other seven have been? Two of them, Taylor and

Freeman, were members of the assembly of 1647, from two most loyal

counties.

In July, 1653, Col. Walter Chiles, who had been a member in October

1649, was speaker.

In November, 1654, Col. Edward Hill, another of them, was speaker. He

was in high favor after the restoration. He was transferred to the

council in 1655.

We find the name of Charles Norwood, as clerk of the assembly, from

that time.

In March, 1655, Col. Thomas Dew was a member of the council. He had

been speaker of the assembly in 1652, the first elected under Bennett.

_We know_ (we do not ask historians to tell us this) that he was a

loyal clansman, who was driven to Virginia by his hatred of the

usurpers, and to accommodate his name to English orthography, changed

the spelling from that of "Dhu"--since made familiar to all readers of

poetry--by Sir Walter Scott. He is now (in 1655) in the council,

making in that body seven known loyalists.

In the legislature of that year, we have the name of Sir Henry

Chichely.

In 1656, Col. Morrison (the companion of Ludlow's voyage) is speaker.

In the next assembly (1658) John Smith was speaker. We know nothing

certainly of him; but it was that assembly that deposed Mathews. They

gave him Berkeley's friend, Claiborne, as secretary of state; and for

councillors, among others, West, Pettus, Hill, Dew, and Bernard. They

made some changes, but turned out none of that party. At the same time

they introduced Col. John Carter, another of Norwood's friends. He had

been chairman of the committee, on the report of which the assembly

had just acted. Horsmenden, another of the same committee, was elected

to the council at the same time.

In March 1659, Hill, who had left his place in the council, is again

speaker. In March 1660, the assembly which reinstated Berkeley,

retained Bennett and five other of the old councillors, of whose

characters we have no other indication. These were Robins, Perry,

Walker, Read, and Wood. What they were may be inferred from this fact.

Morrison, moreover, was elected at the same time.

Can we believe, in the face of these facts, that the loyalty of

Virginia ever wavered? That it bowed before the storm we know. That

the assembly, in one instance, passed a vote of disfranchisement

against the author of a seditious paper, appears in 1 Hen. Sts. p.

380. But we also find that this vote was reversed _as soon as they

heard of the death of Oliver Cromwell_.]

If then Bennett was, as we conjecture, recommended to the assembly by

the parliamentary commissioners, what induced them to choose him? The

answer is given by Mr. Bancroft at p. 241. He had become obnoxious to

Berkeley, and had been "compelled to quit Virginia." For what does not

appear. Hardly for disloyalty. In 1 Hen. Sts. p. 235, we have his name

and that of Mathews signed to a paper of as enthusiastic loyalty as

was ever penned, presented to the king after his rupture with

parliament.

But what reason have we for supposing this interference with the

freedom of election? We answer that our reasons are twofold.

1. The authority of Robertson, who relies on Beverley and Chalmers,

and doubtless consulted all the authorities he could find, is entitled

to some weight. Had he said the governors were _appointed_ by

Cromwell, we should know that he spoke at random. But his use of the

equivocal word "_named_," shows that he knew what he was talking

about, and considered what he was saying.

2. But in Hen. Sts. 499 to 505, is an evidence that we think

conclusive. Mathews took it into his head to dissolve the assembly.

They immediately voted the act a nullity, and civilly invited the

Governor to go on with the business. To this he assented, revoking the

order, but proposing to "referre the dispute of the power of

dissolving and the legality thereof to his Highnesse the Lord

Protector." This was in 1658, and the Lord Protector was then Richard

Cromwell, and not Oliver, under whom Mathews had been elected.

The house took fire immediately at this proposed appeal, and deposed

Mathews, and having solemnly declared the "power of government" to

reside in themselves, they _re-elect him_, saying that he is "BY US

invested" with the office.

Now what did this mean, if circumstances had not been such as justify

the notion entertained by Mathews that he derived his authority from

some other source, so as to have the right of dissolving the assembly.

Had there been no interference on the part of Cromwell, this whole

proceeding would have been idle and ridiculous. Yet it is obviously

the proceeding of men not disposed to trifle, and who well understood

what they were about.

Now compare this peremptory proceeding with that which took place soon

after on the death of Mathews. Richard Cromwell had then abdicated,

and there was therefore no shadow of authority in England to restrain

the action of the assembly. But what do they do? They elect Sir

William Berkeley _provisionally_, making the continuance of his

authority and their own to determine on the coming of a "lawful

commission." Now, _such commission_, as we have already shown, could

only come from the king; it was his plan of government; it had not

been practiced by the parliament; and the right to exercise it had

been denied to them and renounced by them. Does not this conduct of

the assembly show that they anticipated the restoration of one whose

right they had always maintained?

So far, we have done little more than to express our dissent from Mr.

Bancroft's conclusions. In a single instance, to which we have

adverted, he must be suspected of wilfully misrepresenting his

authorities. We allude to the memorial addressed to Cromwell in favor

of the trade of Virginia, of which he was certainly aware, and which

clearly disproves his own statement. Had this been the only instance

of the sort, we should have passed it over more lightly. But it does

not stand alone.

His main drift, in his account of these transactions, seems to be, to

show that Virginia had taken the infection of Republicanism; that she

was effectually weaned from her allegiance; that she desired nothing

but to set up for herself; and that the use she proposed to make of

the abdication of Richard, and the consequent suspension of executive

power in England, was to establish the supremacy of her legislature.

In this view the assembly are represented as requiring of Berkeley the

distinct acknowledgment of their authority, which he, we are told,

recognized without a scruple. "I am" said he, "but the servant of the

assembly."

Now what will the reader say when he reads the passage from which

these words are copied. It runs thus:

"You desire me to do that concerning your titles and claims to land in

this northern part of America, which I am in no capacity to do; for I

am but the servant of the assembly: _neither do they arrogate to

themselves_ any power, farther than the miserable distractions in

England _force them to_. For when God shall be pleased to take away

and dissipate the unnatural divisions of their native country, _they

will immediately return to their professed obedience_."

Is this an assertion of the supremacy of the assembly? Is it not the

very reverse? He disclaims any power to act in a certain behalf. Why?

Because he is but the servant of the assembly; he has no power but

what is given by them, and _they do not pretend to have any such to

give_. On their principles, they could not. Looking for the

restoration, they expected "some commission" by which any authority

they could establish would be superseded; their provisional government

was the result of necessity, and its powers were limited to the nature

of that necessity. Every thing that could wait was made to wait.

What is the meaning of this strange attempt to pervert the truth of

history, and to represent Virginia as being as far gone in devotion to

the parliament as Massachusetts herself? Why does it come to us,

sweetened with the language of panegyric, from those who love us not,

and who habitually scoff at and deride us? Is it intended to dispose

us to acquiesce in the new notion, "that the people of the colonies,

all together, formed one body politic before the revolution?" Against

this proposition we feel bound to protest. We hold ourselves prepared

to maintain the negative against all comers and goers, with tongue and

pen; and to resist the practical results, if need be, with stronger

weapons. When Virginians shall learn to kiss the rod of power; to

desert their friends in trouble, and to take part with the strong

against the weak, it will then be in character to disparage the memory

of our forefathers, and to say, they were even such as ourselves. But

until we have done something to dishonor our lineage, let us speak of

them as they were,

"Faithful among the faithless;

Among the faithless, faithful only they."

We have said nothing of Mr. Bancroft's style. It is our duty as

critics to take some notice of it; and, we apprehend, he might think

himself wronged if we did not. He is obviously very proud of it; and,

in saying this, we fear we have condemned it. An ambitious style is

certainly not the style for history. To say nothing of the frequent

sacrifice of perspicuity to ornament, there is a tone in it which

excites distrust. We find ourselves, we know not how, diffident of

statements which come to us in the language of declamation, antithesis

and epigram.

In our boyhood Hume's history was put into our hands; and we remember

our surprise at hearing something said in praise of his style.

_Style!!_ Was that _style_? A plain story, told just as we should have

told it ourselves? Partridge would as soon have thought of admiring

Garrick's acting. The _king_ was the actor for his money, and Mr.

Bancroft's would _then_ have been the style for ours.

We have no doubt, for example, we should have been delighted with the

following passage, introduced into a description which closes the

author's remarks on the very question we have been discussing. We give

it for the benefit of any of our young friends, who may be preparing

an oration for the fourth of July. It would be nothing amiss, on such

an occasion, for a "moonish youth" not yet out of his first love

scrape. But from a grave historian, with a beard on his chin, we

cannot approve it. We give it as a sample. _Ex pede Herculem_. "The

humming-bird, so brilliant in its plumage, and so delicate in its

form, quick in motion, yet not fearing the presence of man, haunting

about the flowers, like the bee gathering honey, rebounding from the

blossoms out of which it sips the dew, and as soon returning" to renew

its many addresses to its delightful objects, "was ever admired as the

smallest and the most beautiful of the feathered race."

Alas! Alas! If this is the way to write history, we fear we shall have

to leave our northern neighbors to tell the story their own way. It is

a hard case. Let them write our books, and they become our masters.

But we cannot help ourselves. We cannot contend with those who can

write history in this style. Our only defence is not to read. A more

effectual security would be, not to buy. In that case they would not

write; and we should not only avoid being led into error, but might

escape the injury of being misrepresented to others. But Mr.

Bancroft's book is in print, and we must abide the mortification of

having all who may read it, think of our ancestors as he has

represented them. We have comfort in believing that they will not be

very numerous.

* * * * *

THE WRITINGS OF GEORGE WASHINGTON; being his Correspondence,

Addresses, Messages, and other Papers, official and private, selected

and published from the original manuscripts; with a Life of the

Author, Notes and Illustrations; Vols. II, III, IV, V and VI; by Jared

Sparks.--Boston: Russell, Odiorne & Co.

We regret that we deferred our notice of the second and third volumes

of this interesting and valuable work, until the appearance of the

other three. It has now so grown on our hands, that it is impossible

to do justice to it in an article of any reasonable compass. Yet we

know few works that we would more strongly recommend to the public.

We have little curiosity to peep into dead men's port-folios, and

perhaps the world has seen few that would not suffer in reputation by

being tracked, through all their walk in life, by daily memoranda and

documentary evidence. The man whose history, under this searching

scrutiny, shows "no variableness nor shadow of turning," most differ

very much from the multitude, even of those we call the great and

good. Nothing certainly can show a fuller and firmer consciousness of

rectitude of intention, than to begin life with a purpose of leaving

behind a full and fair account of it. Such memorials carefully written

out and preserved, like the books of a tradesman, bespeak a steadiness

of honesty, that never for a moment distrusts itself. Which of us,

commencing a diary, would feel sure that he might not do something

to-morrow that he would not choose to set down? Which of us opening a

letter book, which should exhibit his whole correspondence, would not

be tempted to leave out something?

Here is a man who chooses that his steps shall all be in the light. He

begins life, by laying down to himself rules of action and deportment.

He commits these to paper, and hands them down to posterity, with a

full register of all his acts and words and thoughts. The remarkable

modesty of General Washington, would alone prevent us from

understanding this as a challenge to the whole world, to compare his

principles, professions and actions throughout, defying any imputation

of inconsistency.

There is nothing more remarkable in this, than the evidence it affords

of the early consciousness of a something distinguishing him from

other men, which seems, most unaccountably, to have found its way into

his humble mind. It is the most striking instance on record of the

_instinct of greatness_. It is a study for the metaphysician and

philosopher. From the beginning, the work is done as if for posterity,

and executed as if intended for the eyes of the world. This in a boy,

who never made any ostentation of himself, his endowments, or his

actions; who formed a very humble estimate of his own powers, and

seemed through life to seek no reward but his own approbation, is one

of those strange phenomena which we refer to the influence of a

peculiar nature, acting by inscrutable impulses, of which the subject

of them is hardly conscious.

Did it occur to General Washington, even at that early age, that he

might be a father, and that his children might find an humble pride in

looking over the unspotted page of his unpretending life? Perhaps so.

Perhaps this thought was all that his young ambition (that passion

which humility itself cannot extinguish in the breast of greatness)

ventured to whisper to his heart. If so, the anticipation has been

nobly and mysteriously accomplished. Like the patriarch of old,

childish though he was, God has made him the father of nations; and it

should indeed be the pride of us his children, to read the history of

his life; to trace his steps; to study the system of moral discipline

by which he trained himself to greatness and virtue; to know him as he

was; and to mould ourselves by his precepts and example. No man ever

left to his posterity so rich a legacy as the extraordinary work

before us; and we owe many thanks to Mr. Sparks for the labor which

has prepared it for the public eye.

We really think that it is in this point of view that this work is

most interesting and valuable. Its importance as affording authentic

materials for what is _commonly called_ history, strikes us less

forcibly; though in this respect it must be highly useful. It

certainly affords the historian more satisfactory materials for his

work, than can be supplied from any other source, or for any other

portion of history. But what is that? What is history, for the most

part, but a narrative of events, the results of which cannot be

effected by our right or wrong apprehensions of them. What matters it

at this day, whether we believe that Cæsar killed Brutus, or Brutus

Cæsar? What will it concern posterity whether the glory of the field

of Waterloo belongs to Wellington or Blucher? But when will it be

otherwise than important and profitable to study the process by which

Washington became what he was? When will it cease to be a lesson of

wisdom, to look narrowly into the private and public history of the

most fortunate man that the world has ever seen, and observe that the

quality which most eminently distinguished him from other men, the

quality to which his success, his prosperity, his usefulness, and his

imperishable glory are mainly attributable, was VIRTUE? Since the day

when the important truth was first proclaimed, that "in keeping God's

commandments there is great reward," when was it so illustrated as in

this instance? Had there been a flaw in the character of General

Washington, could the most malignant scrutiny have detected in his

history anything dishonorable, anything unjust, anything selfish,

anything on which reproach could fasten, he could not have

accomplished what he did. No man could, be his talents what they

might, who did not bring to his task such a character for virtue as

would secure the confidence of the well-intentioned, and shame the

artful and designing from their purposes. A vicious and corrupt people

who fight for conquest; a lawless banditti who fight for spoil, may be

led to victory by talent, enterprise, courage and energy; but the

triumphs of Freedom can only be achieved under the auspices of Virtue.

When men are in a mood to rally to the banner of one whose life is

stained with crime, they do but deceive themselves if they think they

are contending for freedom. _When they are prepared to take such a one

as_ "A SECOND WASHINGTON," _they are only fit to contend for a choice

of masters._ This is eternal truth; but it will not be truth to them.

But we wander from the work before us; though we trust what we have

said will dispose those "who have ears to hear" to set a high value on

the book of which we proceed to give a short account.

The first of these volumes contains all the papers and private and

public letters of General Washington, which could illustrate either

his character, or the history of the country, up to the commencement

of the revolution. It is a portion of history highly interesting,

especially to Virginians, and on which none but a doubtful light is

shed from any other source. Here we have an authentic account of

Braddock's war; a sort of war of which the readers of history have, in

general, no idea but that which is drawn from romances and tales. It

is a warfare which does not recommend itself to the imagination, by

the "pride, pomp and circumstance" so interesting to those who "kiss

my Lady Peace at home." But since the invention of gun-powder, there

is no fighting which gives so much room for the display of prowess,

courage, coolness and address, and in which victory is so sure to be

the prize of these qualities. "Many a brave man," says Don Quixotte,

"has lost his life by the hand of a wretch who was frightened at the

flash of his own gun." Not so in Indian warfare. The man who is scared

never escapes but by flight. How should he? There he stands behind his

tree, while at the distance of a few yards stands his enemy, watching

with the eye of a lynx, with his rifle to his cheek, and ready to put

a ball through any part that is exposed for a moment. To anticipate

him; to get a shot at him; to draw his fire, and then drive him from

his shelter, is a business in which success depends on steadiness,

self-possession, and presence of mind, as well as dexterity and skill.

He who _thus_ kills his man, _is_ a brave man; and hence, among the

Indians, a display of scalps is a proof of courage never questioned.

It was in this sort of warfare that Washington served his

apprenticeship. It was there he learned to look danger steadily in the

face, and to possess his soul in calmness amid the fiercest storm of

battle. There is no such school. The _art_ of war is what a Martinet

may learn. But the faculty of carrying that art into practice, of

applying its rules in the crisis which shakes the nerves, and

unsettles the mind, is only acquired by the "taste of danger." To him

who possesses that, the rest is a school-boy's task.

The other four volumes of the work contain the papers relating to the

war of the revolution. Such a body of evidence, so completely above

all exception, can hardly be found on the subject of any other war. We

are not sure that any historian has ever yet taken the time and pains

to collate and digest the whole, and to deduce all the essential

results. The means of doing so are here put in the hands of the

public, and we may hope that some one qualified and disposed for the

task will address himself to it, and furnish the world with a history

at once succinct and accurate, in which references to authorities may

stand in place of discussions. It is a fault of contemporary history

that it is almost always given on partial and imperfect evidence,

which is liable to be afterwards explained away, contradicted and

falsified. It is not until some time after the event, that all the

testimony is in the hands of the historian. That time has now come as

to the American Revolution. A concise history may be now written with

references to this work, which taken in connexion with it, will be

more satisfactory and conclusive than any now in existence. But every

one who pretends to acquaint himself with all that is most

interesting, especially to Virginians, should secure a copy of this

book.

Mr. Sparks has given us some interesting specimens of the sort of

history that we contemplate. In his appendices he presents succinct

narratives of the principal actions of the war, the accuracy of which,

the reader has it in his power to test by the evidence in the body of

the work. This is judicious and in good taste.

But after all, the great charm and value of this work is, that it is a

cast from living nature, of the mind of "the noblest man that ever

lived in the tide of time." We cannot dwell too much on the

contemplation of his peculiar character. His high sense of moral

worth, and the lofty aspirations of conscious greatness, looking out

from behind the veil of genuine modesty and humility with which he

delighted to shroud himself: the chivalrous and daring spirit ever

champing on the curb of prudence, but never impatiently straining

against it: the native fierceness of his temper, occasionally flashing

through his habitual moderation and self-command; the promptitude and

clearness of his conceptions, so modestly suggested, so patiently

revised, so calmly reconsidered in all the intervals of action; all

these qualities combined and harmonized by honor, integrity, and a

scrupulous regard to all the duties of public and private life; all

made "to drink into one spirit" all "members, every one of them in the

same body," all working to the same end; _diverse_ yet _congruous_.

What is there in the history of human nature, so grand, so majestic,

so elevating to the heart and hopes of man?

That virtue, which is never selfish in its ends, and ever scrupulous

in its choice of means, can rarely rise to a high place among the

great ones of the earth, unless associated with a strength of wing

which shall enable it to soar above those whose flight is unencumbered

by the clog of self-denial. Virtue in high places is thus so rare a

sight, that when we find it there, it so much engrosses our attention,

that we are apt to overlook the faculties by which it rose. Men like,

too, to delude themselves with the belief that their admiration is a

tribute to virtue; that the honors and emoluments they bestow are

given as the reward of virtue. Thinking thus, they think the better of

themselves, and are ready to take at his word the man who disclaims

any pretension to those more showy endowments which we reward for _our

own_ sakes. So we cheat ourselves; and so we cheat our benefactors;

not indeed of the fame _they_ prize most highly, but of that which

glitters brightest in the eyes of the world. Look at that wonderful

man, the blaze of whose glory pales even the "Julian Star" itself;

before whose power all Europe trembled, and America crouched; and let

us ask ourselves how far the extent of his achievements might have

been curtailed, had he ever permitted himself for a moment to "forget

the expedient in considering of the right;" and submitted to have his

choice of means limited by any regard to the laws of war or peace, of

man or God? His great maxim, that "in War, _time_ is every thing," was

well illustrated by the success of one, who never lost a moment in

working the complex problem of right and expediency. Compare the

rushing, desolating tempest of his career, with the cautious march of

Washington, picking his way with an anxious regard to duty, and ever

watchful of his steps, lest he might tread upon a worm. Compare his

abounding resources, all used without scruple, without reserve, with

the scanty means of the champion of our freedom, rendered yet more

scanty by his uniform care to do wrong to none, and never to soil his

hand, his name or his conscience with any thing unclean.

The fifth and last of _these_ volumes brings down the war to March

1780. How many more there will be, Mr. Sparks himself does not know.

He will go on with his selections until he shall have laid before the

public all that he deems most valuable of the writings of General

Washington. We trust that he will use discreetly and fairly his power

over the purses of his subscribers, who have engaged to take the work

for better for worse, be it more or less, at so much per volume. The

price is so liberal as to afford a high temptation; but we hope Mr.

Sparks will resist it. We should be sorry to see a work commencing so

nobly, degenerate into a mere book-making job. We hope not to have the

remains of the father of our country treated like those of an old

horse, whose heartless owner never thinks he has got all the good of

him, until his skin is sent to the tanner, his fat to the

tallow-chandler, and his bones to the soap-boiler. Such is the

treatment which other great men have experienced at the hands of

"their children after the flesh;" dishonored in their graves by the

reckless and indecent publication of every thing to which their names

could give a market value. Let us bespeak a more considerate and

decorous use of the rich legacy left us by him whom we reverence as

the "father of our liberties."

It is perhaps, beside the general purpose of our remarks, to extract a

letter, illustrating a point in General Washington's character, of

which we have said nothing. That he was stern, and that he seemed cold

we know. It is equally certain that he was kind, courteous, and

tender, and it is delightful to see how eagerly his benevolence

catches at an opportunity to pour balm into the wounds of an enemy.

The following letter is found at p. 266, vol. 5.

"To Lieutenant General Burgoyne.

"_Head Quarters, March 11th, 1778_.

"Sir,--I was only two days since honored with your very obliging

letter of the 11th of February. Your indulgent opinion of my

character, and the polite terms in which you are pleased to express

it, are peculiarly flattering; and I take pleasure in the opportunity

you have afforded, of assuring you, that far from suffering the views

of national opposition to be imbittered and debased by personal

animosity, I am ever ready to do justice to the merit of the man and

soldier, and to esteem where esteem is due, however the idea of a

public enemy may interpose. You will not think it the language of

unmeaning ceremony, if I add, that sentiments of personal respect, in

the present instance, are reciprocal.

"Viewing you in the light of an officer contending against what I

conceive to be the rights of my country, the reverses of fortune you

experienced in the field cannot be unacceptable to me; but, abstracted

from considerations of national advantage, I can sincerely sympathize

with your feelings, as a soldier, the unavoidable difficulties of

whose situation forbade his success; and as a man, whose lot combines

the calamity of ill health, the anxieties of captivity, and the

painful sensibility for a reputation exposed, where he most values it,

to the assaults of malice and detraction.

"As your aid-de-camp went directly to Congress, the business of your

letter to me had been decided before it came to hand. I am happy that

their cheerful acquiescence in your request, prevented the necessity

of my intervention; and wishing you a safe and agreeable passage, with

a perfect restoration to your health, I have the honor to be, very

respectfully, &c. &c."

In General Burgoyne's reply, he says: "I beg you to accept my

sincerest acknowledgments for your obliging letter. I find the

character, which I before knew to be respectable, is also perfectly

amiable; and I should have few greater private gratifications in

seeing our melancholy contest at an end, than that of cultivating your

friendship."

How beautiful! How delightful is this exhibition of the best feelings

of the heart, under circumstances which the ferocious and brutish use

as a pretext for giving free scope to the worst! How truly does the

poet sing!

"Fair as the earliest beam of eastern light,

When first by the bewildered pilgrim spied,

It smiles upon the dreary brow of night,

And silvers o'er the torrents foaming tide,

And lights the fearful path by mountain side:

Fair as that beam, although the fairest far,

Giving to horror grace, to danger pride,

Shine martial faith, and courtesy's bright star,

Through all the wreckful storms that cloud the brow of war."[2]

[Footnote 2: We implore the lenient judgment of our brethren of the

craft of criticism on this long quotation. We know that it is not

_selon les regles_ so to quote in a review. Besides it is trite as

well as long. But what could we do, when our heart was full of the

very sentiment which Scott has expressed so much better than we could?

To our readers, not of the craft, we say "regard rather our precept,

than our example."]

* * * * *

_The Italian Sketch-Book_. _Philadelphia: Key & Biddle_. This is a

very handsome duodecimo, and presents more than ordinary claims to

attention. It is the work of an American, and purports to be written

during a sojourn at Venice, Florence, Naples, and Rome. The book is

chiefly made up of sketches and descriptions of these world-renowned

cities. It will be seen that there is nothing very novel in the

subject, and the question naturally arises "Who has not already heard

all that is worth knowing about Venice, Florence, Naples, and Rome?"

But, notwithstanding the triteness of his theme, our American

traveller has contrived to throw an uncommon interest over his pages.

They are finely diversified with stories well-told, essays tending to

illustrate points of local or social interest in Italy, and much

descriptive writing which has all the force and fidelity of painting.

* * * * *

_Outre-Mer, or a Pilgrimage Beyond the Sea, by Professor Longfellow_,

is a work somewhat in the same style, and equally well written

throughout. "I have travelled"--says the Professor--"through France

from Normandy to Navarre--smoked my pipe in a Flemish inn--floated

through Holland in a Treckschuit--trimmed my midnight lamp in a German

university--wandered and mused amid the classic scenes of Italy--and

listened to the gay guitar on the banks of the Guadalquiver." The book

before us is a kind of running comment on the text of his travels,

and, as we have said before, has many of the peculiar traits which

distinguish the Italian Sketch-Book. It is, however, more abundant in

humor than that work, and is far richer in legend and anecdote. The

Professor tells a comic story with much grace, and his literary

disquisitions have always a great deal to recommend them.

* * * * *

_Voyage of the U.S. Frigate Potomac, under the command of Commodore

John Downes, during the circumnavigation of the globe in the years

1831-32-33 and 34: including a particular account of the engagement at

Quallah-Battoo, on the Coast of Sumatra_. _By J. N. Reynolds_. This is

a thick volume of nearly 600 pages, well printed, upon good paper,

with some excellent engravings, and published by the Harpers. Mr.

Reynolds, the author, or to speak more correctly, the compiler, will

be remembered as the associate of Symmes in his remarkable theory of

the earth, and a public defender of that very indefensible subject,

upon which he delivered a series of lectures in many of our principal

cities. With the exception, however, of seven chapters, the matter

forming the work now published is gleaned from the ship's journal,

from the private journals of the officers, and from papers furnished

by Commodore Downes himself. This fact will speak much for the

authenticity of the details, and very valuable information scattered

through the book. Mr. R. himself was not with the Potomac during the

circumnavigation, having joined her in 1832 at Valparaiso. Our readers

are, of coarse, acquainted with the object of the Potomac's voyage,

and with the outrage perpetrated by the Malays on the ship Friendship

in 1831, which rendered it an indispensable duty on the part of our

government to demand an indemnity. The result of this demand, and the

action at Quallah-Battoo are graphically sketched by Mr. Reynolds.

Every body will be pleased, too, with his description of Canton and of

Lima. He writes well, although somewhat too enthusiastically, and his

book will gain him reputation as a man of science and accurate

observation. It will form a valuable addition to our geographical

libraries.

* * * * *

_The History of Ireland, by Thomas Moore, vol. 1_, in which the

records of that country are brought down from the year B.C. 1000, to

A.D. 684, has been republished by Carey, Lea & Blanchard. We intend a

very high compliment to the bard of Paradise and the Peri, in saying

that we think his prose very little inferior to his poetry. We have

not forgotten Captain Rock and Fitzgerald. The Epicurean (a very

anomalous Epicurean by the bye) is a model of fine writing. The Life

of Byron, in spite of a thousand errors, both of the head and of the

heart, and in spite too of its perpetually exciting our risibility at

the expense of the little cockney biographer himself, is a book to be

proud of after all, and should not be mentioned in comparison with a

certain absurd tissue of maudlin metaphysics, attributed (we hope

falsely) to Mr. Galt. And now, lastly, we have before us a specimen of

Moore's versatile abilities, in as temperate, as profound, as well

arranged, and in every respect as well written a history as Green Erin

can either desire or deserve. Very truly, Anacreon Moore is, in our

opinion, no ordinary man.

* * * * *

_Blackbeard, or a Page from the Colonial History of Philadelphia_.

_Harper & Brothers, New York_. This book differs in many striking

points from the ordinary novels of the day. The scene is laid in

Philadelphia, and the author is largely indebted for many pictures of

manners, things, and opinions in the olden days of the city of

Brotherly Love to the "Annals of Philadelphia." We think these volumes

will be read with interest in England, but as a mere novel they have

very few claims to attention. The style is clumsy and embarrassed. The

character of Oxenstiern is a piece of pure folly and exaggeration;

while the atrocities of Blackbeard, which are intended to produce a

great effect upon the mind of the reader, utterly fail of this end

from a want of the _ars celare artem_ in the writer. The book may be

characterized in a few words as odd, vulgar, ill-written, and

interesting.

* * * * *

_Pencil Sketches or Outlines of Character and Manners_. _Second

Series_. _By Miss Leslie_. _Philadelphia, Carey, Lea, & Blanchard_.

This volume contains the Wilson-House--the Album--the Reading

Parties--the Set of China--Laura Lovel--John W. Robinson, and the

Ladies Ball. All these stories have been published before in different

periodicals, and have been extensively copied and admired. Miss

Leslie's writings have obtained her much reputation, both at home and

abroad, and we think very deservedly. She is a lively and _piquante_

sayer of droll and satirical things; and has a way of showing off _à

peindre_ the little weak points in our national manners. _The Gift_,

an Annual, edited by Miss L. and published by Carey and Lea, will make

its appearance in October. It will be splendidly embellished, and in

literary matter, cannot fail of equalling any similar publication.

Among the contributors will be found Washington Irving, Paulding, Miss

Sedgewick, and a host of _stellæ minores_. It will also have the aid

of Fanny Kemble's fine _countenance_, and very spirited pen.

* * * * *

_The American Quarterly Review for June_ has articles on National

Music--Poetry of the Troubadours--Judge Story's Conflict of

Laws--Immunity of Religion--Sigourney's Sketches--Memoir of Tristram

Burges--Shirreff's Tour through North America--Fenimore Cooper--French

Question--and Pitkin's Statistics. It includes also some Miscellaneous

Notices. This is, upon the whole, one of the best numbers of the

Quarterly which has been issued for some time. Most of the papers,

however, are still liable to the old charge of superficiality. The

_Poetry of the Troubadours_ is prettily written, and evinces a noble

feeling for the loveliness of song. But it is _feeble_, inasmuch as it

exhibits nothing of novelty, none of those lucid and original views,

in default of the power to produce which, a writer should forbear to

enter upon a subject so hackneyed. We depend upon our reviews for much

of our literary reputation abroad, and we have a right therefore, as

in a matter touching our national pride, to expect something of energy

at their hands. They should build up a reputation of their own, and

admit papers on no themes which can be found better treated elsewhere.

In the article on _National Music_, among much sensible, and some very

profound writing, there are occasional sallies which will not fail to

startle many an European _literateur_, and some broad assertions which

are very plausible and very unsusceptible of proof. For example. "It

may be observed"--says the reviewer--"that, accustomed as we are to

separate poetry and music, we must never forget that they were

inseparable among the Greeks." This we know is a very general

opinion--but, like some other passages in the review, should be

swallowed _cum grano salis_. The _Immunity of Religion_ contains some

animadversions on a sermon preached at Charleston in 1833, by the Rev.

J. Adams, D.D. President of Charleston College. This whole paper is,

in our opinion, a series of truisms from beginning to end, and the

writer, in gravely deprecating the union of church and state, and the

employment of force in matters of religion, forgets that he is

insisting upon arguments which not one enlightened person in a

million, at the present day, will take the trouble of gainsaying. The

review of _Mrs. Sigourney's Sketches_ we really do not like. The

harmony--the energy--the fire--the elevated tone of moral feeling--the

keen sense of the delicate, the beautiful, and the magnificent, which

have obtained for this lady the name of the American Hemans, have not

found an echo--so it seems to us--in the unpoetical heart of her

reviewer. But, because this is most evidently the case, are we to

think of blaming Mrs. Sigourney?

The other papers are generally respectable. The most interesting, in

our opinion, is that on Shirreff's Tour in North America.

* * * * *

_Life of Kosciuszko_.--The Foreign Quarterly Review for March 1833,

contains a notice of the biography of Thaddeus Kosciuszko, by Charles

Falkenstein, re-printed with additions and corrections during the last

year at Leipzic. From the opinions expressed by the reviewers, we are

led to believe that this work possesses great merit, and that opinion

is strengthened by the copious extracts made in the review. Indeed the

narrative of a life so filled up with romantic adventure and

enthusiastic patriotism as that of Kosciuszko, could scarcely fail to

excite great interest. The history of his life has a peculiar charm to

Americans, from the association of his name and his achievements with

the annals of our revolution. The recent struggle of the Poles for

emancipation from the yoke of their barbarian master--its unfortunate

termination--and the wretched enslavement of that generous people,

which France and England tamely suffered to be sealed by the blood of

her patriots, give to every portion of Polish history which relates to

her many contests for freedom, a romantic interest. It is well said by

the reviewer whose notice has made us acquainted with Falkenstein's

work, that "There is in the Polish character a something of barbaric

splendor and rudeness, of the very spirit of Orientalism, mingled with

European education and refinement, an ardor of patriotic valor,

alloyed by versatility, both no doubt heightened, if not produced, by

the strange exciting, or rather distracting constitution of the old

and truly republican monarchy of Poland,--combined with such a gay,

light, mirthful gallantry--whence the Poles were once termed the

French of the north--that all, blending together, give the nation a

peculiar hold upon the imagination.... In fact what we have said of

the Polish nation applies with peculiar force to the nation's

champion, Kosciuszko. His whole life is a romance, and as such, is

really quite refreshing in these matter of fact days of steam engines,

rail roads and compendious compilations of cheap literature." We

presume this book has never been translated; certainly we have never

heard of it in an English form, and we were much interested in the

summary of its contents given by the reviewer. Kosciuszko, was it

appears, like many other great men, crossed in his first love. He

attempted an elopement, was intercepted by the haughty parent of his

lady love, when a sanguinary conflict ensued. Kosciuszko was wounded,

and the lady dragged back to her paternal home. It was this

unfortunate affair which caused his resignation of his commission in

the Polish army, and induced him to cross the Atlantic and offer his

services to our forefathers. We are told that he reached the new world

utterly unprovided with letters of recommendation or introduction, and

nearly penniless. His biographer thus described his first interview

with Washington:

"'What do you seek here?' inquired the General with his accustomed

brevity.--'I come to fight as a volunteer for American independence,'

was the equally brief and fearless reply.--'What can you do?' was

Washington's next question; to which Kosciuszko, with his

characteristic simplicity, only rejoined, 'Try me.' This was done.

Occasions soon offered, in which his talents, science, and valor, were

evinced, and above all his great character was duly appreciated. He

was speedily made an officer, and further distinguished himself."

The first acquaintance of Kosciuszko and Lafayette, (two men who

resembled each other in many respects besides being pure and fearless

and disinterested patriots and philanthropists) is thus described:

"He had not been long in America, when he had occasion to display his

undaunted courage, as captain of a company of volunteers. Generals

Wayne and Lafayette, notwithstanding the heat of the battle in which

they themselves were fully engaged, observed with satisfaction the

exertions of that company, which advanced beyond all the rest, and

made its attacks in the best order.

"'Who led the first company?' asked Lafayette of his comrades, on the

evening of that memorable day (the 30th of September).

"The answer was 'It is a young Pole, of noble birth, but very poor;

his name, if I am not mistaken, is Kosciuszko.' The sound of this

unusual name, which he could hardly pronounce, filled the French hero

with so eager a desire for the brave stranger's acquaintance, that he

ordered his horse to be immediately saddled, and rode to the village,

about a couple of miles off, where the volunteers were quartered for

the night.

"Who shall describe the pleasure of the one, or the surprise of the

other, when the general, entering the tent, [would it not rather be a

room or hut?] in a village, saw the captain, still covered from head

to foot with blood, dust, and sweat, seated at a table, his head

resting upon his hand, a map of the country spread out before him, and

pen and ink by his side. A cordial grasp of the hand imparted to the

modest hero his commander's satisfaction, and the object of a visit

paid at so unusual an hour."

* * * * *

_Tocqueville's American Democracy_.--M. Alexis de Tocqueville, one of

the commissioners sent to this country by the French government, to

investigate the penitentiary system of the United States, and whose

report on that subject met with much attention, has recently published

an elaborate work under the title "De la Democratie en Amerique," 2

vols. 8vo. The work has not reached us, but from the extracts which we

have seen in the northern journals, we are induced to believe that it

possesses much merit, and presents the operations of our government in

a novel and striking point of view.

* * * * *

_German work on America_.--The first number of a work to be entitled

"The United States of North America in their historical,

topographical, and social relations," by G. H. Eberhard, is announced

as forthcoming at Hildburghausen. The publishers declare their

intention in this work, to "present a digested epitome of all that is

worth knowing respecting the United States, combining the utmost

completeness with accuracy and impartiality." The qualifications of

Mr. Eberhard for the task he has assumed, are said to be ample.