Ridicules as well as in Paris." "The application of this DIGEST of the Laws respecting real property generally adopted and in use in the United States: embracing, more especially, the law of real property in Virginia. By John Tayloe Lomax, one of the Judges of the General Court, and formerly Professor of Law in the University of Virginia. In three volumes. Philadelphia: John S. Littell, Lawbookseller and publisher, No. 23, Minor-street. This is an excellent work by an excellent man and upright Judge. It is an improvement upon Cruise's Digest, which though cumbered with much that is entirely useless to the American Barrister-yet, for the want of a better work relating to the law of real property, has found its way to the library of almost every American Lawyer. Taking that for his guide, the Judge has thrown overboard the mass of useless matter that is crowded in between its lids, retaining only those parts which apply to the system of jurisprudence in the United States-and supplying the deficiency from his own ample resources of legal lore. Judge Lomax has incorporated in his Digest, the materials from the statutes and adjudged cases in Virginia; affording thereby a practical and complete exposition of the law of real property in this State, and which will apply almost with equal aptitude to similar laws in other sections of the Union-the mere local laws of Virginia occupying but a very small portion-perhaps 50 pages, of the whole work, Judge Lomax deserves much at the hands of the profession for this work, and we hope that some member of the Bench or Bar will take the time to do that justice in a review of the book, which cannot be expected in a mere notice of this kind; and which, had we the time, we have not the qualifications requisite for so learned a labor. It may be had at the Bookstore of Messrs. Smith, Drinker & Morris. sea-now, Colt sends them up. Our author is an actor, and employed his leisure hours while on an engagement at the South, in book-making. He tells of the stage-relates anecdotes-discusses men, manners and things-remarks upon social institutions-the state of society at the Southand gives here and there a little of every thing. His book is just such an one, as one can best read when he has a spare hour on his hands, and he feels at a loss how to fill it up. This is the book for any one so situated. It is neither very clever nor stupid-a mixture of wheat and chaff, which he who winnows, will sometimes think the gleanings are worth the labor. It may be had at the Bookstore of Messrs. Smith, Drinker and Morris. That the present is an age of improvement, all may say; that it is not an age of poetry, all can feel. A disposition to gage every thing by weight and measure, and estimate its value in current coin, is the prevailing spirit of the day. "For what's the worth of any thing, but so much money as 'twill bring?" seems to be the standing motto in the heart, if not in the mouth, of all "matter-of-fact" appraisers. They seem to have forgotten that there is such a thing as soul, and such a value as immortality. The iron age of materialism has been growing strong-it has feelings of the heart, raising the throne of sense and subbeen weighing down and crushing all the gentler and nobler stance on the ruins of sentiment and idealism. This philosophy has entered deep into the bosoin of society, till that blind guide, Cui bono?" his triumphant test, his inevery political sage and every practical wiseacre has made fallible ordeal for every thing new. If he is told of the the greatest good work by the most silent and secret inuncertainty, the narrowness of his criteria; how things of fluences; how effects may be too vast and too common to be seen at a single glance, or too lasting to be all appreciated in a single generation-he replies, in the unbelieving and selfish spirit of the times," what is a thing that cannot be seen?" or "what is the future to us ?" "Tis a solemn truth that much of the boasted discoveries and improvements of the last and present centuries, have been only of that kind which regards man, as a mere animal—his material and perishable being-his food, drink, and clothing. We are far, indeed, from underrating such knowledgewe would give it the full measure of its deserts;-but let it not assume the arrogant claim of the only thing needful. The inventions in modern art, by shortening the time spent in procuring the necessaries for the body, have given more hours for the wants of the mind; they have actually lengthened life, and lent new means to make it happier. This is the great glory of mechanical ingenuity and laborsaving machines; and let it be their praise. But has such RANDOM SHOTS AND SOUTHERN BREEZES, containing criti- always been the effect? And has the good brought no new cal remarks on the Southern States, and Southern Insti- evil? or has the laborer, after all, been bettered? Serious tutions; with semi-serious observations on men and manners. questions; and, we fear, to be answered unfavorably, or at By Louis Fitzgerald Tasistro, author of The Revolu- best doubtfully. The powerful have gained more power, tion of July," Frenologiasto's Travels in the Moon," the wealthy more wealth;-enterprise has been drawn "Reminiscences of Bear-hunting in Moldavia," &c. &c. into wider combinations, and value thrown into still more In two volumes. New-York: Harper & Brothers; 1842. unequal heaps. The amount of labor has been increased, It would have been somewhat strange, twenty years ago, for improvement developes new objects of labor; and had an actor, in his journeyings from the boards of one city, though still faster increasing, mechanical power may have to those of another, been found 'takin notes.' But in these made fewer laborers in proportion to the whole people than go a-head times, it is not so; for what was strange in 1820, is before, yet it has made those few greater drudges. If the no matter of marvel in 1842. Guns will shoot longer stretches vaunted improvement of the present day, had taken the labor now than they did then-they load faster-shoot oftener, equally off from all, and given equally to cach the time saved, and carry more-Then, batteries were fired above water, then it had been so far a blessing; but it has been otherwise. now, they are exploded below-then, wrecks went down at' Was the hard worker of a hundred years ago, less happy 66 in his toil than the machine worker now? More in the pure, open air of Heaven,-oftener by his own door, in his family, by his hearth-side, he plied the simple instruments of his craft, and sung his song; and, when the night came, he rested. And he was healthy and strong-his sleep was sweet and his wakings fresh and early. But how is the task of his brother, the machine worker? More cheerless, more tedious, more unmitigated, and more destructive. Often pent up in a dim, sickly apartment, and bound close as a criminal to the whirling-wheel-his brain stunned by the jarring din, his body diseased and wasted by want of proper exercise and air; or, confined to some necessarily fatal occupation, or prisoned in the damp and poisonous mine-he breathes an atmosphere of death; and must feel the startling truth (if his iron bondage has not deadened all thought and feeling,) that every breath he draws in, becomes a baneful foe,-gnawing away the tender thread of life, silently yet surely, with speedy and fearful fang. For weeks and months he hardly looks upon the sun, and when he does, he gradually unlearns to look upon it with pleasure, till life has lost its sense of enjoyment, and saves but the keener consciousness of its pain. These things, perhaps, might not of necessity be so; but in all probability they will be, as long as a selfish money spirit usurps every better feeling. nonymous. but just won from the wilderness; our nation, new risen, from its eradle. No people can attend much to the gratifications of the mind, when their whole life is one continual struggle for the wants of the body. To force savage and stubborn nature to blossom and bear for human necessi ties,-to wield the axe, the spade and the plough,-to fell forests, drain marshes, lay out roads and build cities, is one thing;-to wield the pen and cultivate the taste and imagination, another; and the first must always precede the last. Also, in a new and rich country like ours, where fortune gives enterprise a hundred hands, to speculation a hundred eyes, and to both a thousand paths, where internal improvement is the great desideratum of legislators, and moneymaking the great aim of all, as ever has been in a country like this;-where, in fine, there is such an unsettledress in domestic and state affairs, such frequent emigrations as almost to make our character nomadic, there will be little leisure and less inclination for the higher and less palpabie objects of literature. "Tis impossible, in the nature of things, for it to be otherwise; nor would it be desirable, if possible. The deep and silent studies of the mind; the more refined accomplishments of genius and intellect, can only thrive well in a fixed and quiet state of society-undisturbed by the hurry and bustle of business, and unperplexed by the excitement of gain. But already many of these evils complained of, are passing away, and signs of a brighter era are rising to view. Our society is becoming more stable-public opinion more enlightened, and a national taste more correct and independent,-not waiting for the judgment of others before it dares give its own. The old wounds and embittered recollections which have too long and unhappily estranged two kindred people, time, that all curing physician, has been successfully healing and obliterating. American Litera ture is beginning to be better appreciated both at home and abroad; and, in proportion as it is honored, it is growing more worthy of honor. Poetry too is rising from the night long suffered, and begins to find something like patronage. Even British critics, grown more candid and liberal, can now take up one of our late proscribed versifiers with other feelings than affected surprise or sneering contempt. Year after year our history grows older, and the realities of things past are growing more dream-like and poetical. Shall it be said that we lack a golden antiquity-those inspiriting But the influence of materialism has been felt in other things-in its disdain of literary pursuits, and especially its hostility to all poetical inspiration. And it is not strange that it has been so. What less able than a sensual philosophy, to estimate the noiseless workings of that most imperceptible worker, poetry? What less congenial than a self-bounded, earthly spirit, to that divine emotion which draws man out of self, to sympathise and commune with other beings and things-humanizing and widening while it exalts the heart, and bids it seek in others' happiness its own? Hence, in our country, particularly, the poet has been pointed out by soulless or unthinking utilitarians, as a useless member of society; and in their barren vocabulary of political economy, poetry and poverty are almost sy-of neglect and the load of obloquy under which it has so Too true, alas! and shame be theirs who have made it so. Need any one then inquire why America has not yet produced any great poem? Shall any wonder that her Bryant, her Dana, her Halleck, her Percival, and many other distinguished sons, have done so little? Let it be replied, little has been their reward. Until a national taste shall foster and encourage, there will be no great national bard. But the lot of the American muse has been still harder-memories and venerable relics-that hallowing beauty which disparagement abroad. Great Britain especially has, till time and time alone throws kindly and half-relentingly within a few years, been foremost to depreciate and demean over all he destroys-those peculiar treasures of the past, our native writers. She seemed to think it incredible that which make up so large a part of the enjoyment of the presuch a quality as genius could possibly exist on this side of sent? Much of this, it is true, we want. Though day by the water. This unjust and ungenerous feeling was day, the spade and the plough-share are turning up prompted, no doubt, from our peculiar relations to her-records of the ancient greatuess of this new western world, from chagrin for the past, and somewhat from jealousy for though the very soil which we tread, is the sepulchre of bu the future. Her exiled children, born and nurtured with ried cities, and the death-ground of departed empires; yet her own brave and free spirit, had rivalled her arms; in- we are shut out from every feeling save the interest of heriting the energy of mind, and uttering the same noble lan-blind curiosity, in their fortunes and their fate. They guage, might they not some day, also rival the long-earned arose and flourished, and went down in silence and darkglories of her literature? An unfriendly feeling was natu- ness, unregistered; and left us but to idly speculate, ral-natural that while, as a parent, she must have been or ignorantly sigh over the dust of the one, and the secretly gratified at the rising promise of her young off- nothingness of the other. But we have all other materials spring, she should openly censure with all the ill will of a for the inquisitive and inventive mind; all that lavish namortified rival, and all the unfairness of a suspicious supe-ture can give--earth in her most picturesque and varied, rior. But censure, and from such a source, is often better her fairest and sublimest features-Heaven in the contrastthan praise. It leads to the scrutiny and correction of ing beauty of all its climes. And time we have said, the faults, while it stimulates to stronger efforts for excellence. So has it been with us. Foreign envy and disparagement have but spurred our ambition to overcome the one and disprove the other. But the poetic spirit of our land has had to contend with even greater discouragements. Most of our soil has been fresh wizzard time, is coming to our aid. The "dim and religious light" of Eld, is silently deepening, like a rich twilight, around the scenes of our early annals--and the perils and sufferings and triumphs of our pilgrim forefathers, the battlegrounds of our patriots, and the graves of our heroes, are 'becoming enshrouded with a more holy and reverential memory. How many a throbbing tale of our infant settle-, defects, both of plan and expression. In the first place, the ments, our border struggles, our forest wars, and our glori- metre, notwithstanding its frequent use by Scott, Byron, ous revolution, yet remains to be told, to waken the Southey and a thousand others, or rather in consequence of worship of future patriotism, or the curious interest of such use, is, to our taste, badly chosen. The slippery ease other days? of its structure betrays a writer into carelessness, and But no part of our history is better suited for grave nar-tempts him to spin out his lines. And this has led to a rative or romantic song, than the fate of the red men-once second fault in our author-too great length,-the very lords of this broad land, a numerous and noble race-now fault of Scott himself. If brevity be the "soul of wit," it the scattered and fading relics of degenerate tribes. Vic-is the very soul of beauty and sublimity, and above all in tims of wrong, and heirs to misfortune, they have been poetry. Besides, in no age of the world has compression of slowly sinking away ever since the first step of the white thought been so sternly demanded of all writers, young and man was planted on their shores. Their doom is written old, as at the present day; when the tide of ever-new on the past, and it can be darkly yet truly read in the future. coming works grow so fast and overwhelming, that even Philanthropy may strive to arrest their downward steps and the review and magazine-knowledge gatherers almost despair save the remnant from their fate, but sooner or later it must of wading through such a sea of literature, and keeping up come-the race will disappear and be lost from earth for- with the "march of mind." Another blemish, which adds, ever. Yet if we cannot save, we can at least do them jus-in no small degree, to the length of our author's poem, is tice, the easy justice of preserving their memory,-giving the profuse description of natural scenery-a common fault full meed to their virtues, nor harshly dealing with their of young and many old writers--which, though often finely drawn, clogs and confuses the thread of the narration. But "de gustibus non disputandum"-so we are willing to waive the objection of metre, a mere matter of taste after all, while the length of the poem is so varied and relieved by new and unexpected incident, that it seldom drags heavily. vices. We rejoice that such justice has lately been done in many an excellent history; still, yet much remains undone. But it is strange, with all the discouragements we have enumerated, that a poem, built on such a theme, has been so rarely attempted. Save the beautiful but imperfect tale of "Yamoyden" and the recent one of " Pocahontas," there does not exist, so far as we know, any story in metre, by any native pen. Such an attempt has, however, again been made in the work before us, and we hail it with pleasure. To draw some of the striking traits of a most remarkable and most unfortunate people—to blend with them some of the stirring incidents of our last frontier wars, and the features of the country whereon they befel-to write each and all into one great whole, and weave them into the bright and many-colored web of song-such has been the undertaking of our author,-an attempt of no little boldness and difficulty; and as such we applaud the spirit which dared, though we may not always give our unqualified praise to the hand which executed. The hero who gives name to the poem, was the most wonderful of all his race-the silver-tongued, the lion-hearted chief, the brave, the noble and generous Tecumseh-he whose eloquence and wisdom could rouse and unite in one great cause, tribes hostile to each other and to himself, throughout the whole length and breadth of our country, and whose skill could marshal and guide them in battle. Born and bred a savage, he was yet one of those few mighty spirits to whom preeminence belongs. "The monarch mind, the mystery of commanding Rivalled only in strength of genius and vastness of purpose by his prototype Philip, and equalled by him in his short success and ultimate fall-the character of Tecumseh, though hardly prominent enough in the story, is well drawn: a fine contrast to that of his brother the prophet. The one high and open in resolves, prompt and manly in their execution; the other dark, crafty and cruel in design, treacherous and tiger-like in deed-a hypocritical friend, and an unsparing foe. The tale is one of love and war, (alas, that things so different should so often be together!)-full of wild and desperate adventures, strange events, and hairbreadth escapes, from all of which the side of right and virtue is finally triumphant over prostrate wrong and villainy. The hardships and hazards of the daring pioneer-the horrors and carnage of warfare in the wilderness--the peculiar manners and customs of savage life, are well, and generally faithfully depicted; and many descriptions are beautifully pathetic, and even sublime. There are, however, some There are a few other slight defects-some careless and hasty rhymes, and occasionally a passage-undesigned no doubt, which shows the writer's intimate acquaintance with Byron, Scott and Wordsworth; but these are trifles, and to be mentioned only as a passing hint for the future; not because we lay much stress upon them, but because there are many trifle-sticklers who do. To exhibit the spirit, style of variety, rather than the scope and unity of the poem, a thing impossible in our brief essay, we select a few random passages. The following is a good portrait of a villain-the base De Vere-such as would not need much search to find in our day: There came a stranger wont to roam * A being without aim or end, Polite to all-to none a friend. p. 21. The following is the picture of a burning prairie: The prairie was on fire! Afar On strode the vast, consuming flame. As one great furnace, when, upsent, Flaked cinders strewed the firmament! p. 58. The heroine, the captive Mary, thus deplores the fate of her lover, one of the heroes of the story, who she supposes had been drowned. SONG. It is in vain my sleepless soul Hath asked for thee at morn and eve, It is in vain my wearied thought And still presents thine image near; The hours, which are forever dear? When I with loneliness remain; I saw thee borne beneath the wave, Hear'st thou the mourning strain I pour, And fly to it when life is o'er! And let me pass to him away! p. 23. And willows in eternal gloom Are mourning round that lonely tomb. Watching that silent tomb, as pass the cloudy years. p. 292. It is generally easier and more tempting to spy out and censure an author's defects than to appreciate and commend his beauties, and hence it is more common with critics. We would hope it is otherwise with us, and we do not set ourselves up for critics. We would not embitter the pleasure we feel in reading a book by a too cold and nice search after deformities; and especially in the case of a young author; while we kindly pointed out the errors which experience will correct, we would as candidly acknowledge the excellences which genius alone can give. The poem before us lacks much of being perfect-but with all its imperfections, it is superior to any and all of its native predecessors. It is an evidence of a better day of pœetry-a harbinger of still higher and more faultless undertakings-a source of gratification to the author for past and of encouragement for the future. We would add our voice to that encouragement, and advise all lovers of poetry to read for themselves what we have so inadequately described. THE VIRGINIA BAPTIST PREACHER, is the title of a new monthly that has been started in our goodly city. The want of such a work has been long felt by the Christian denomina. tion of which it is the organ. We congratulate our friendsfor we have many and valued ones among those who worship The fleet of Perry, drawn up on the lake on the morning in this church-that the work has fallen into the hands of so of the battle, is thus described: Oh! fair and brave was their array As on the unconscious deep they lay, Had flown not with the morning's light! able an editor as Elder H. Keeling. So far, the work bas PELHAM; or, the adventures of a Gentleman. By Edward When Pelham was first published, it fell almost still-born from the press. It was three or four months in existence on the other side of the water, before it attracted any notice from reader, puffer, or reviewer. At the end of that time, it grew suddenly into favor-had a great run, and has well sustained its popularity ever since-so well indeed, that after the lapse of some fifteen years or more, we have it now brought under our steam presses, and sent forth to all parts of the country by those enterprising publishers-the Messrs. Pelham is a book that has been much read; it is not without its admirers-but we think it only less poisonous than some other works from the same pen. It is for sale at the well-furnished Bookstore of Messrs. Smith, Drinker & Morris. The following description of Tecumseh's grave, ends the Harper-at 25 cents per copy. poem: By Thames' dark and wandering wave There is a rude and humble grave. In place of mausoleum high, The hoar trees arch their canopy; THE MAID OF THE DOE: A Lay of the Revolution. By an The object of the writer of this little volume is noble and patriotic; it grows out of the very laudable desire, to make his readers more familiar with many thrilling and interesting scenes of the Revolution, by portraying them in verse. He rhymes smoothly enough; and there are some noble passages. His scenes are principally laid to the Southward of Mason & Dixon's line. The work may be had at the Bookstore of Messrs. Smith, Drinker and Morris. PUBLISHED MONTHLY, AT FIVE DOLLARS PER ANNUM-THOMAS W. WHITE, EDITOR AND PROPRIETOR. VOL. VIII. RICHMOND, NOVEMBER, 1842. THE HUNCHBACK: A PENNSYLVANIA STORY. BY ARCHÆUS OCCIDENTALIS. CHAPTER VI. A man of the cities, and his savage heart; A man of the forests, and his mildness; Sunset on Lake Ontario; The time-June, in the year 1778; The scene-the peninsula formed by the river Niagara, where its waters mingle with those of the lake, and which goes by the name of Fort Niagara. This is a region fraught with great and classic interest to us of the Young Republic; for here, Freedom, contending for her birthright, performed deeds of the highest emprise. It also affords a grateful theme to the student of general history, to him who delights in the annals of wild nations, Goths, Tartars, Huns, Turcomans; for, here was the home of their more than equals-the Iroquois or Six Nations, the wisest and bravest people found in North America at the first discovery. Here too were fought some of the early battles of that great people with the French. It is a spot also of much natural beauty, and famous in the days of Champlain, La Fontain, Charlevoix, Jacques Cartier, La Salle, and others of the early French voyageurs, for its magnificent scenery; and, above all, for that sublime cataract which has no compeer. NO. 11. chief, he drew all eyes upon him by his singularly splendid and imposing appearance. Of all the distinguished Indians who have flourished on the Western continent at any time with which we are acquainted, none have equalled this one for wisdom, valor and high chivalric feeling, and resolute daring and perseverance. He is, beyond doubt, the greatest man the savage tribes of North America have ever produced. Pontiac was cool, brave and resolute; and Philip, the darling of New-England romance, was bold and subtle; but the career of both, and especially of the latter, whilst opposed to the white people, was replete with errors and mistakes. Not so that of the Mohawk chief, who was in truth a better general and abler tactician than any of his associates in the Northern campaigns of 1777 and 1778. He was, withal, a man of mild disposition; and controlled, as far as practicable, the natural thirst of his people for rapine, and their addictiveness to bloodshed. He practised benevolence and mercy: he even inculcated morality and religion. He was temperate and sober-just and upright in all his dealings, and governed his passions, especially the dominant one of his race, Revenge, to the admiration of all who knew him. His behavior to General Herkimer at Unadilla, when he had him completely in his power, hemmed in, surrounded, and all egress cut off by five hundred of his bravest warriors, was as noble as that of Demetrius Policartes to the people of Athens, when he had retrieved his forBeneath one of those gigantic oaks, which might tunes after the battle of Ipsus. Though acting, it have witnessed in its infancy, the dance, the love- is believed, with the full knowledge, that it was in conference, the council-fire, and the bivouac of the the contemplation of that general to cause his asLOST RACE,-of that great extinct people, who are sassination, he refused to use the advantage his not so much as named in the earliest legend of superiority of numbers and position gave him; and their succesfors-whose works remain to astonish granted-in fact-an honorable capitulation to an and perplex the present occupants, sat three men enemy powerless as a child. At a signal from engaged in conversation of an earnest and ani- the angry and irritated chief, the shrill war-whoop mated character. Two of them are white men, rang through the forest, and warriors sprung up and the third is an Indian chief. Of the first two, from each leafy covert, painted with all the fierce one is a man of rather small stature, and of sinis- devices which denotes a state of belligerency. ter aspect, whose eye seeks the ground whenever One word from him, and not one of the whites you address him directly, this is Colonel John would have lived to tell this story. With a magButler, the well-known tory leader, famous for his nanimity little practised in the wars of our Revoluferocious and sanguinary disposition, and his terri- tion, he forgave his opponents, and permitted them ble deeds of blood. The second is a prominent to return in safety to their friends. In various actor in every frontier atrocity-Major Warrender, other instances, and generally throughout that conalso of the tory party. The third is that famous flict, he was found an advocate for mercy. On warrior, Brant, or as he loved to call himself, one occasion only-the ravage at Minnisink--he Thayendanegea, the Iroquois chief. He is a man appears to have been in heart and deed, the veriest of lofty stature and majestic mien and deport- savage. A stain rests on his memory for his ment-Few handsomer men have lived,-and his share in that transaction-Remove this, and he may dress is rich and magnificent to a fault. When he not fear comparison with any man of his time appeared at the British court in his garb of Indian 'serving in the armies of Britain. VOL. VIII-86 |