On returning from our expedition in quest of the young Count, I
learned that a burrow, or village, as it is termed, of prairie dogs,
had been discovered on the level summit of a hill, about a mile from
the camp. Having heard much of the habits and peculiarities of these
little animals, I determined to pay a visit to the community. The
prairie dog is, in fact, one of the curiosities of the far West, about
which travellers delight to tell marvellous tales, endowing him at
times with something of the politic and social habits of a rational
being, and giving him systems of civil government and domestic
economy, almost equal to what they used to bestow upon the beaver.
The prairie dog is an animal of the coney kind, and about the size of
a rabbit. He is of a sprightly mercurial nature; quick, sensitive, and
somewhat petulant. He is very gregarious, living in large communities,
sometimes of several acres in extent, where innumerable little heaps
of earth show the entrances to the subterranean cells of the
inhabitants, and the well beaten tracks, like lanes and streets, show
their mobility and restlessness. According to the accounts given of
them, they would seem to be continually full of sport, business and
public affairs; whisking about hither and thither, as if on gossiping
visits to each other's houses, or congregating in the cool of the
evening, or after a shower, and gambolling together in the open air.
Sometimes, especially when the moon shines, they pass half the night
in revelry, barking or yelping with short, quick, yet weak tones, like
those of very young puppies. While in the height of their playfulness
and clamor, however, should there be the least alarm, they all vanish
into their cells in an instant, and the village remains blank and
silent. In case they are hard pressed by their pursuers, without any
hope of escape, they will assume a pugnacious air, and a most
whimsical look of impotent wrath and defiance.
The prairie dogs are not permitted to remain sole and undisturbed
inhabitants of their own homes. Owls and rattlesnakes are said to take
up their abodes with them; but whether as invited guests or unwelcome
intruders, is a matter of controversy. The owls are of a peculiar
kind, and would seem to partake of the character of the hawk; for they
are taller and more erect on their legs, more alert in their looks and
rapid in their flight than ordinary owls, and do not confine their
excursions to the night, but sally forth in broad day.
Some say that they only inhabit cells which the prairie dogs have
deserted, and suffered to go to ruin, in consequence of the death in
them of some relative; for they would make out this little animal to
be endowed with keen sensibilities, that will not permit it to remain
in the dwelling where it has witnessed the death of a friend. Other
fanciful speculators represent the owl as a kind of housekeeper to the
prairie dog; and from having a note very similar, insinuate that it
acts, in a manner, as family preceptor, and teaches the young litter
to bark.
As to the rattlesnake, nothing satisfactory has been ascertained of
the part he plays in this most interesting household; though he is
considered as little better than a sycophant and sharper, that winds
himself into the concerns of the honest, credulous little dog, and
takes him in most sadly. Certain it is, if he acts as toad eater, he
occasionally solaces himself with more than the usual perquisites of
his order; as he is now and then detected with one of the younger
members of the family in his maw.
Such are a few of the particulars that I could gather about the
domestic economy of this little inhabitant of the prairies, who, with
his pigmy republic, appears to be a subject of much whimsical
speculation and burlesque remarks, among the hunters of the far West.
It was towards evening that I set out with a companion, to visit the
village in question. Unluckily, it had been invaded in the course of
the day by some of the rangers, who had shot two or three of its
inhabitants, and thrown the whole sensitive community in confusion. As
we approached, we could perceive numbers of the inhabitants seated at
the entrances of their cells, while sentinels seemed to have been
posted on the outskirts, to keep a look out. At sight of us, the
picket guards scampered in and gave the alarm; whereupon every
inhabitant gave a short yelp, or bark, and dived into his hole, his
heels twinkling in the air as if he had thrown a somerset.
We traversed the whole village, or republic, which covered an area of
about thirty acres; but not a whisker of an inhabitant was to be seen.
We probed their cells as far as the ramrods of our rifles would reach,
but could unearth neither dog, nor owl, nor rattlesnake. Moving
quietly to a little distance, we lay down upon the ground, and watched
for a long time, silent and motionless. By and bye, a cautious old
burgher would slowly put forth the end of his nose, but instantly draw
it in again. Another, at a greater distance, would emerge entirely;
but, catching a glance of us, would throw a somerset, and plunge back
again into his hole. At length, some who resided on the opposite side
of the village, taking courage from the continued stillness, would
steal forth, and hurry off to a distant hole, the residence possibly
of some family connexion, or gossiping friend, about whose safety they
were solicitous, or with whom they wished to compare notes about the
late occurrences.
Others still more bold, assembled in little knots, in the streets and
public places, as if to discuss the recent outrages offered to the
commonwealth, and the atrocious murders of their fellow burghers.
We rose from the ground and moved forward, to take a nearer view of
these public proceedings, when, yelp! yelp! yelp!--there was a shrill
alarm passed from mouth to mouth; the meetings suddenly dispersed;
feet twinkled in the air in every direction; and in an instant all had
vanished into the earth.
The dusk of the evening put an end to our observations, but the train
of whimsical comparisons produced in my brain, by the moral attributes
which I had heard given to these little politic animals, still
continued after my return to camp; and late in the night, as I lay
awake after all the camp was asleep, and heard in the stillness of the
hour, a faint clamor of shrill voices from the distant village, I
could not help picturing to myself the inhabitants gathered together
in noisy assemblage, and windy debate, to devise plans for the public
safety, and to vindicate the invaded rights and insulted dignity of
the republic.
* * * * *
_North American Review_.--The April number is for the most part
excellent. But we are forcibly reminded by it of a defect in the
Reviews of this country, which it seems to us, might with some little
exertion, be remedied. The fault to which we allude, is their
tardiness in noticing the publications of the day. In this number of
the North American, we find several pages devoted to a review of
_Burkhardt's Travels in Africa_, which have been before the public
_sixteen years_, while the crowd of new works of undoubted merit which
fill our book stores, have not as yet, with but few exceptions,
attracted the attention of the reviewers. In this book-making age, we
are aware that it is impossible for a Quarterly to review the
twentieth part of the productions constantly issuing from the press:
but if, as we suppose, it is the design of these periodicals to direct
the taste of the public in every department of science and literature,
surely they should contain reviews of such works selected from the
mass, as are best worthy attention; and should endeavor to keep pace
with the stream of publication. We can see little value in a review of
a book after every reading man in the community has perused it, and
formed his opinion upon its merits. Thus to lag behind the march of
current literature, deprives the criticisms of the reviewer of much of
their value and weight. In the instance to which we have alluded, it
might well be asked whether the travels of Burkhardt, English reviews
of which we read ten or twelve, or more years ago, could have the same
claim upon the public interest as the newer works of Burnes,
Jacquemont, Bennet and many others, whose books possess the charm of
novelty? We subjoin the contents of the April number: 1. Politics of
Europe: 2. Coleridge: 3. Mineral Springs of Nassau: 4. Life of G. D.
Boardman: 5. National Gallery: 6. Italy: 7. Last Days of Pompeii: 8.
Immigration: 9. Burkhardt's Travels in Africa: 10. Popular Education.
The first article contains a spirited review of the political events
in France since the revolution of 1830, and of the foreign and
internal policy of Louis Philippe. The progress of the _juste milieu_
system is well delineated, and a forcible picture is drawn of the
present posture of the French government. We do not entirely coincide
with the writer's ideas of the onward course of the cause of liberty,
(or perhaps more correctly, of revolution) in France; but consider the
article generally correct and instructive. That on Coleridge is
admirable: and we heartily rejoice that in a work so much looked up to
in England as is the North American, for the expression of our
literary opinions, justice so ample should have been done to that
extraordinary mind. A Baltimore newspaper, in allusion to the article
in question, speaks of "the pitiful shifts to which the reviewer is
driven to account for a fact which he admits, viz.--that there is but
here and there an individual who understands him," [Coleridge.] "What
stronger proof do we want," says the journalist, "of that confusion of
thought and mysticism with which he has been charged?" We think _far_
stronger proofs are necessary to support the accusation. That but few
comprehend the metaphysical treatises of Coleridge, is owing to the
simple fact, that few are so thoroughly versed in psychological
knowledge as to maintain a position in the van of the science, the
post universally acceded to Coleridge by the learned in ethics. It is
for this class of men that he has written, and in whose applauses he
has received a plentiful reward. These, at least, will not hesitate to
say that so far from being justly charged with confusion of thought,
and its consequence confusion of expression, no man who ever lived
thought _more distinctly even when thinking wrong_, or more intimately
felt and comprehended the power of _the niceties of words_. That his
philosophical disquisitions are abstruse, is the fault of the
subjects, and not of the language in which he has treated them, than
which none can be more lucid or appropriate.
The article on Italy is interesting--also that on the National
Gallery. In the notice of the _Last Days of Pompeii_, justice is by no
means done to that most noble of modern novels.
* * * * *
The _London Quarterly Review for February_, American Edition, No. 1.
Vol. 2. is printed on good paper, with excellent type. It contains, 1.
Wanderings in New South Wales, by George Bennet, Esq. F. L. S. Fellow
of the Royal College of Surgeons: 2. Correspondence of Victor de
Jacquemont: 3. Population of Great Britain and Ireland: 4. Coleridge's
Table Talk: 5. Egypt and Thebes: 6. Rush on the Prophecies: 7. The
Church and the Voluntary System: 8. Recent German Belles Lettres: 9.
England, France, Russia and Turkey: 10. Sir Robert Peel's Address. The
eighth article contains much information on a subject with which
Americans are, for the most part, indifferently conversant.
Coleridge's Table Talk is highly interesting, as every authentic
fragment of his sentiments and opinions must be. The work reviewed in
this article, is published by Mr. Henry Coleridge, a near relative of
the departed philosopher and poet, and is made up from notes of
numerous conversations, taken down by the publisher immediately after
their occurrence. They bear the impress of Coleridge's mind, will be
read with interest by all classes, and probably do more to make the
general reader acquainted with him and his opinions, than all else
that has been written.--We take this opportunity of noticing the
excellent American Edition of the London, Edinburg, Foreign and
Westminster Reviews, combined. It does much honor to Mr. Foster of New
York, the publisher; and the compression of matter is such, without
being printed too fine, as to give to subscribers for the sum of eight
dollars, these four periodicals for which upwards of twenty dollars
was formerly paid. The paper, type, and execution, are good.
* * * * *
_The Life of Samuel Drew_, the shoemaker and philosopher of Cornwall,
by his son, is published by Harper & Brothers, and consists of 360
pages. Drew was an extraordinary man, whose works, especially his
theological ones, have gained him no little celebrity. It now appears
that he had much to do with the writings attributed to Dr. Coke.
* * * * *
_The Life of the Emperor Napoleon, Vol. 1, by H. Lee. New York,
Charles De Behr._ This work has great merits and remarkable faults.
Published ostensibly as a corrector of the numerous errors of other
biographers of Napoleon, and especially those of Sir Walter Scott and
Lockhart, it cannot but be read with interest. The errors detected and
set right, are numerous and important. In most instances Mr. Lee
clearly makes out his charges--in some we are sorry to see that he
seems to be governed by a spirit of captiousness: And we cannot but
object to the tone of his strictures upon Sir Walter Scott. Milder
language would better have graced his cause. We have prepared a review
of this work, which we are compelled to postpone to the next number of
the Messenger.
* * * * *
_Celebrated Trials of all Countries, and remarkable cases of Criminal
Jurisprudence, selected by a Member of the Philadelphia Bar.
Philadelphia, E. L. Carey and A. Hart._ Such a book as this was much
wanted. The records of criminal trials were scattered through the
newspapers or buried in some huge tomes of antique law reports, almost
inaccessible to the ordinary reader. And this book seems fitted to
supply the deficiency to a considerable extent. It is a large octavo,
and contains a selection of criminal trials from the early period of
1588, down to the present day, among them some of the most celebrated
cases on record, such as that of Sir Walter Raleigh in 1602, of the
Earl of Strafford in 1643, of Alexis Petrowitz Czarowitz in 1815, of
the rebels, Kilmarnock, Cromartie, Balmerino, &c. in 1745, and others
of equal interest--the judicial proceedings in relation to which,
belong to history. The contents of the work are highly interesting,
but we cannot withhold our censure of their arrangement. The trials
are huddled together without the slightest attention to chronological
order; and it would seem that the gentleman of the Philadelphia Bar,
who is made responsible for the compilation of the work, could merely
have selected the several cases leaving the printer to arrange them as
he pleased. The consequence is, that the reader finds himself shifting
backward and forward, from century to century, in a complete medley of
dates. This is to be lamented, because the history of criminal
jurisprudence is a history of the progress of civil liberty, and of
the expansion of the human mind. And the interest which we find in
tracing the progress of just and equitable rules in the trials of
malefactors, is marred by this defect of arrangement. As future
volumes of this work are partly promised, it is to be hoped that in
them this fault will be amended.
* * * * *
_No Fiction_. _A Narrative founded on recent and interesting facts, by
the Rev. Andrew Reed, D.D._ has been republished by the Harpers. With
a plot of great simplicity, and with diction equally simple, this work
has attained much celebrity. It is indeed thrillingly interesting.
_Martha_, a more recent effort by the same writer, is however, in
every respect a book of greater merit.
* * * * *
_Memoirs of Celebrated Women of all Countries. By Madame Junot.
Philadelphia, Carey, Lea and Blanchard._ These memoirs are amusing,
and so far we can recommend them highly, but no farther. Their
morality is questionable indeed; and they bear upon their face, in a
certain pervading air of romance, sufficient evidence of their own
inauthenticity. There is a sad mistake too in the title of the work.
These are not memoirs of celebrated women in _all_ countries: they are
merely Madame Junot's celebrated women in a few particular regions.
The greater part of them have no pretensions to celebrity. It has been
remarked that the sketch of Marina Minszech will afford a fair sample
of the Duchess's biographical style. In this opinion we concur, and as
it is a pretty fable, we advise all to read it who have no inclination
for the book entire.
* * * * *
_Influence, a Moral Tale, by the author of Miriam. Philadelphia, Key
and Biddle._ There is an air of modest tranquillity about this book
which we admire. It is a pleasing tale addressed to the young, to
serious parents, and to friends--and it pretends to be nothing more.
Its style too is unobjectionable. If the work developes in the author
no extraordinary capabilities, it is, we think, because there was no
intention of developing them.
* * * * *
_Lives of the English Pirates, Highwaymen and Robbers, by Whitehead.
Philadelphia, Carey and Hart._ These lines will be read in spite of
all that a too fastidious taste may say to the contrary. We see no
very good reason why they should not be.
* * * * *
_Confessions of a Poet, 2 vols. Carey, Lea and Blanchard._ The most
remarkable feature in this production is the bad paper on which it is
printed, and the typographical ingenuity with which matter barely
enough for one volume has been spread over the pages of two. The
author has very few claims to the sacred name he has thought proper to
assume. And indeed his own idea on this subject seem not to satisfy
himself. He is in doubt, poor man, of his own qualifications, and
having proclaimed himself a poet in the title page, commences his book
by disavowing all pretensions to the character. We can enlighten him
on this head. There is nothing of the _vates_ about him. He is no
poet--and most positively he is no prophet. He is a writer of notes.
He is fond of annotations; and composes one upon another, putting
Pelion upon Ossa. Here is an example: "_Ce n'est pas par affectation
que j'aie mis en Francais ces remarques, mais pour les detourner de la
connoissance du vulgaire._" Now we are very sure that none but _le
vulgaire_, to speak poetically, will ever think of getting through
with the confessions: thus there the matter stands. Lest his book
should _not_ be understood he illustrates it by notes, and then lest
the notes _should_ be understood, why he writes them in French. All
this is very clear, and very clever to say no more. There is however
some merit in this book, and not a little satisfaction. The author
avers upon his word of honor that in commencing this work he loads a
pistol, and places it upon the table. He farther states that, upon
coming to a conclusion, it is his intention to blow out what he
supposes to be his brains. Now this is excellent. But, even with so
rapid a writer as the poet must undoubtedly be, there would be some
little difficulty in completing the book under thirty days or
thereabouts. The best of powder is apt to sustain injury by lying so
long "in the load." We sincerely hope the gentleman took the
precaution to examine his priming before attempting the rash act. A
flash in the pan--and in such a case--were a thing to be lamented.
Indeed there would be no answering for the consequences. We might even
have a second series of the Confessions.
* * * * *
_The Language of Flowers, embellished with fine colored engravings.
Philadelphia, Carey, Hart and Co._ This is a book which will find
favor in the eyes of the ladies, and thus, _par consequence_ in the
eyes of the gentlemen. Its motto is pretty and apposite:
By all those token-flowers that tell
What words can never speak so well.
* * * * *
_Mr. and Miss Edgeworth's Practical Education_ has been republished by
the Harpers. Its character is well established.
* * * * *
_The Highland Smugglers. By the author of Adventures of a Kussilbush,
&c. 3 vols. Carey, Hart and Co._ This book is very much praised and we
think justly. It is full of exquisite descriptions of that region of
romance the Scottish Highlands, and has _a manner of its own_.
* * * * *
Mr. Lockhart's excellent novel _Valerius_ is republished by the
Harpers. The scene is in the time of Trajan, and the subject is
managed in that masterly style which we look for in Lockhart. We have
heard objections urged to the antique nature of his tale--ill-mannered
sneers, and by men who should know better, at travelling back to Roman
history for interest which could as well be found at home. _Procul--O
procul este profani!_ Valerius is a book _to live_.
* * * * *
_An Account of Col. Crockett's Tour to the North and Down East,
written by himself. Carey, Hart and Co._ We see no reason why Col.
Crockett should not be permitted to expose himself if he pleases, and
to be as much laughed at as he thinks proper--but works of this kind
have had their day, and have fortunately lost their attractions. We
think this work especially censurable for the frequent vulgarity of
its language.
* * * * *
_Illorax de Courcy, an auto-biographical novel, by Josiah Templeton,
Esq., 2 vols. Baltimore, William and Joseph Neal._ We have looked at
this book attentively--for we confess it was impossible to read it. A
glance over one or two pages will be sufficient to convince any
reasonable person that it is a mere jumble of absurdities. The
gentleman should not have thrust his name (if it be not a _nom de
guerre_,) into the title page.
* * * * *
_A Winter in the West, by a New Yorker. New York, Harper and
Brothers._ This is a work of great sprightliness, and is replete with
instruction and amusement. The writer evinces much talent in producing
an interesting narrative of a journey performed in the most
unpropitious period of the year. His observations on life in the
backwoods are sensible, and we should imagine correct, and his details
in relation to Michigan particularly interest us. The adventures of
the road are told with great vivacity, and although there are no
thrilling scenes or surprising incidents in the book, it cannot be
read with indifference. The traits of Indian character scattered
through its pages are vivid and striking, and the reflections on the
condition of that fast failing race mark the philanthropic spirit of
the author. Mr. Hoffman, formerly connected with the New York
American, and now Editor of a Monthly Magazine, is the reputed author
of this spirited work.
* * * * *
Note: The journal of Mrs. Frances Ann Butler, better known as Miss
Fanny Kemble, has, after a long delay, made its appearance; but at so
late a period that we are unable to present our readers with our
opinions at large of its merits, which we regret the more, as the work
has created much excitement in the literary and fashionable world.
Numerous extracts from its pages have been published in the
newspapers, and the daring authoress has received but little mercy
from any quarter. It will be reviewed in our next.