Text: Various, Review of New Books Graham's Magazine, October 1841, pp. ???-???

[page 188, unnumbered:]

REVIEW OF NEW BOOKS.*

The Life and Times of Red Jacket, or Sa-go-ye-wat-ha; being a sequel to the History of the Six Nations. By WILLIAM L. STONE. 1 vol. Wiley and Putnam, New York and London, 1841.

THE first settlers of this country found it tenanted by a people totally different from the effeminate races of Hispaniola and Cuba. Bold, patient and sagacious; sinewy in form and inured to fatigues; warlike in character, wise in council, and hospitable to a proverb, the savages of North America approached more nearly to an equality with the Anglo-Saxon race, than any people whom the rage for discovery had then made known to Europe. Nor was their progress in civilization to be despised. Their wigwams, though not luxurious, were comfortable; their women cultivated maize, tobacco, and numerous vegetables; pillows of wood were used in common by them and by the English peasantry; and, In the comforts of every day life, the savages of this continent fell little behind the mass of the European population. Women were held in high respect; their persons never violated in war, and their opinions consulted in cases of difficulty. The form of government in use among the Indiana was singularly adapted to their condition. Like the ancient Germanic leader, the Indian chief was usually chosen for his wisdom, strength, and bravery — we say usually, because in nothing has more ignorance been shown than In describing the Indian polity as everywhere the same. No general rule can be laid down tweeting it. In most of the tribes the government was that of a democracy; in some that of an aristocracy; and, in a few instances, that of a nearly absolute despotism. Sometimes there was one chief in war and another in peace: now be was ruled by a council of old men, and now he had delegated powers equal to those of a dictator; but, on the whole, the usual polity appears to have been democratic, each brave having a chance of attaining the leadership by his eloquence, wisdom, or courage. Often these qualities preserved the supreme power in a family for generation.., the eon succeeding the father, unless a more worthy leader was chosen by the people. Where there was both a war chief and a civil ruler, the latter office was the more likely to be hereditary. In short, what Tarawa said of the ancient Germans, may be pronounced of the Indians: “lieges ex nobilitate, duces es oirtute sumunt: nee regibusiOnita,nec libera potestas; el duets exempt,’ ratios quern imperio presunf.” “They look their king. on account of nobility, and their generals on account of valor: nor was the power of their kings absolute and unlimited; and their generals commanded by the authority which their example rather than their power nave them.” And, in another place, “de mini/riling prinripes; de inajoribus manes “ — “ the principal men consulted and decided about the least, the whole body of the people about the greatest affairs.” Nor did the resemblance stop hero. The same forest life, the sante habit of recounting their deeds In chaurits, the Fame warlike character, the same wild arid yet spiritual religion, and the same haughtiness of spirit, arising from the consciousness of independence, character. iced alike our Teuton ancestors, whose freedom we inherit, and our predecessors on this continent, whose liberty we have destroyed. And to this day, if we may credit Catlin, the Western Indian remain, the same proud being. The [column 2:] Sioux, glittering in his showy costume, and careering along the prairie with his spear and steed, reminds us of the ancient Polo, flashing with jewels, galloping to the diet at WARSAW, and seeming to justify the haughty boast of his order, “that if the sky were to fall they would support it on the points of their lancets.”

At the period of its settlement by the whites, the two most powerful nations of what now forms the Northeastern section of the United States, were the Lenni-Lenape and Margwe — the former occupying the shores of the Delaware river, and extending into Connecticut — and the latter living chiefly in the Valley of the Mohawk and its vicinity. Neither of these people were the original occupiers of the land; but who their predecessors were, or whence they came, no man can tell. Their language, customs and laws are as um known to us as those of the Antediluvian world. They have pasted away and left no sign. Now and then the traveller, through some primeval forest, will come across the ruins of their forts — rude, vague and vast — but he can gather nothing from these silent mounds, except the tines fact, that a race once peopled this continent superior in civilization to the Indians. The Alligewi gave name to our mountains,[ and that is all we know.

Betwixt the Lenni-Lenape and Mengwe there raged continual wars, in which the former nation generally came off victorious. At length, however, the several tribes of the Mengwe united into a confederacy known to that of the Fan Nations; and, being supplied with fire-arms by the Dutch, succeeded in subduing the Delawares, and forcing them to assume the character of woad. This singular ceremony was performed at Albany, in the presence of the Dutch, in 1617. From that time the Iroquois have been the dominant nation. A work recording their history, explaining their governmental polity, and discussing their manners and Cu Lorne would throw great light on the whole Indian race, sad prove invaluable to the student; and it is as one of a series, intended to carry out such an idea, that the present volume has been published. The author has divided his subject into four periods: the first of which will contain the history of the Six Nations, up to the arrival of Sir William John-son — the second will be occupied by the life and timer of that remarkable individual — the third carries on the history through the life of Brandt — and the fourth, the present work, brings the subject up to the sale of the last Seneca lands in 1838. Only the last two eras of this history have as yet seen the light.

The life of Red Jacket is the least important portion of this subject, affording little more than a narrative of treaties for the sale of lands, with an occasional glimpse at the polity of the Six Nations, and the Senecas in particular. The period is not one calculated to display the powers which the early history and origin of the Six Nations might call forth. Industry and research are nearly all that is required. Both of these qualities Colonel Stone has evinced. There is little that is positively new in the book, but many doubtful questions have been nettled, and a clearer insight given into the Indian character and customs than we had been led to expect. As an instance of the latter, we notice the fact mentioned of the women and war-chiefs in the Canandaigua council, who [page 189:] took the business of the treaty out of the sachems’ hands, asserting that the latter had no right to refuse the sale of lands, against the opinion of the women and braves. We are also made more fully acquainted, in this volume, with the subjection, in general, of the military to the civil power among the Indians. Perhaps the style is objectionable in one or two particulars, and there are too many speeches given “in extenso;” while evetee allude importance sometimes occupy as much apace as those of greater moment, and tend to give an occasional prolixity to the work, which would be well worth the author's revision when a second edition comes to be demanded. The anecdotes which intersperse the volume are highly characteristic. On the whole, in collecting and arranging so many undigested facts, and in preserving from oblivion the oral traditions of the adore in the scenes he relates, Colonel Stone has shown a commendable industry. But his work is only begun. The mere record of a chieftain's Life, however celebrated the individual may be, in secondary to the history of a mighty people and the inquiry into its origin. We care little, comparatively, when or how Red Jacket spoke, but we do care whence his people came. Our object is to learn the polity and customs of his nation, to analyse its language — in short, thoroughly to understand its history and character. To do this is what constitutes Colonel Stone's design, but as yet he has only incidentally carried out his plan. Neither the life of Brandt nor that of Red Jacket does more than skim over the great question our author has proposed to discuss. Biography is not history: the narrative of a few land treaties is not the account of a nation's glory. As the greatest people of the Indian race, and as the conquerors of the Alligewi, we feel an interest in dissipating the obscurity which attends the origin of the Six Nations. It is in rain to any such an attempt would be fruitless. Has it ever been methodically, analytically, perseveringly tried? Why does Colonel Stone avoid this portion of his subject — the portion which should naturally claim his attention first? We tell him frankly that he would gain ten times more reputation, and prove himself possessed of ten times more talent, if he would come up to this matter gallantly, and not scour around and around it, like a frightened hound.

Red Jacket was a sachem or civil chief among the Senecas. He seems to have been of no family, and to have won his way to the first place in the councils of his people, by his tact, his patriotism, and, more than all, his eloquence. Few men have ever lived who surpassed him in oratory, if we may judge his proficiency in that art by the effect he produced on his hearers. All that has been related of Demosthenes and Cicero among the ancients, or of Bolingbroke and Chatham among the modems, may be applied with equal truth to this great orator of the Senecas. When he rose to speak not a word was heard — when he took him seat his enthusiasm infected all. He was even able to carry his point when superstition, in its darkest guise, was arrayed against him. Some specimens, at least, of such wonderful powers of eloquence may naturally be expected to have come down to us; yet, with but one or two exceptions, his printed speeches are tame to mediocrity. Much of this, no doubt, is to be attributed to incompetent translations indeed, our author lays the whole fault at this door. But there is another and simpler reason, to which Colonel Scone has not alluded.

Every nation has its distinctive spirit, or, to speak more plainly, its peculiar mode of thought. To thin the orator must accommodate himself. The same style of eloquence which affects an Englishman, faits cold on the ear of an Italian. Even the Philippics of Demosthenes, or the orations of Cicero, were unrivalled, only so far forth as they were adapted to the peculiarities of an Athenian or Roman audience; and, had the situation of either of these orators been charged., there is great chance that, unless they altered their [column 2:] style, they would hare been hooted from the forum, or at least listened to in silence. So with the oriental orator’‘, whose moat celebrated passage. seem turgid to us, We take it, then, that one of the great secrets of this apparent tameness in Red Jacket's orations, arises, as mush from our different appreciation of his style, as from the inadequacy of the translations. We admit that there exists no perfect transcript or a harangue by him, but could one of his speeches be handed down to us, word for word, we predict that it would seem to us little better than turgid bombast or inflated allegory. Yet that Red Jacket was a great Seneca orator, we have the concurrent testimony of more than fifty years — to Bay nothing of the evidence, in the book before us, of his rigorous intellect and grace of manner, the two most important requisites for oral eloquence.

The character of this celebrated chieftain was an odd mixture of “dirt and divinity.” He was great as a whole, but mean in the detail. He ruled over warriors, and was an arrant coward. He professed to be frank, and lived on intrigue. His constant struggle was to retain the lands of his people, and yet mote than once he would have mold them for his personal emolument. Hee was a hypocrite, a drunkard, and devoured by vanity; but he was also an orator, a statesman, and devoted to his country. He sometimes was capable of the loftiest generosity, and at other times he would stoop to cheat the government out of a coat. But in one thing his character is above reproach — he never ceased asserting the rights of his country; and front the treaty at Canandaigua, down to the latest hoar of his life, he opposed manfully every alienation of the Seneca soil. He was often mumesemful, and always misrepresented; but he did not relax his efforts. On the rise of their domain, he said, depended the importance of his people; and that people it was his ambition to preserve an entire nation. For this be would have built up a wall of separation betwixt them and the whiter — for this he excluded raistionariee — for this he opposed achoole — for this be denounced intermarriages — for this he heed and died a pagan. Yet he survived to see all his efforts in vain. He survived to behold the Senecas dwindled to half their numbers, to see their forests cut down, and to witness their lands slip piecemeal from their hands. How melancholy to contemplate the poor old chief, when, returning to hunt in the beautiful valley of the Gennessee, he found the ravages which the white men had made in the forrest so great, that he sat down and wept.

We have said that Red Jacket Was intemperate; and the vice grew on him as ke grew older. When a council was to be held, however, he abstained from indulgence until the deliberations were past, but then his excesses were often frightful. An anecdote is related by Colonel Stone, which show the old chief's propensity in rather a ludicrous light. Colonel Snelling was a great favorite with him. When that officer was given the command of Governor's island, Red Jacket bade him farewell in the following words:

“BROTHER: — I hear you are going to a place called Governor's Island. I hope you will be a governor yourself. I understand that you white people think children a blessing. 1 hope you may have a thousand. And above all, I hope, wherever you go, you may never find whiskey above two shillings a quart.”

Red Jacket died in 1830, and with him perished the glory of the once powerful Six Nations. Their subsequent history is welt known. Their last rood of land in New York has now passed into the hands of the white man; the places which knew them shall know them no more, and in a few years the Iroquois will be numbered with the dead.

The short sketches of the lives of Cornplanter, Farmer's Brother, and Harry O’Bail, in the conclusion of the work, are unusually interesting.

The volume is printed well, on paper of the finest quality, but disfigured, here and there, with typographical mistakes. [page 190:]

The Ancient Régime: A Novel. By G. P. R. JAMES, Esq. 2 vols. Harper and Brothers.

“Stale, flat, and unprofitable” are the novels of Mr. James, and of all his novels the Ancient Regime is the most flat. We have just flung down the book, wondering how any man could, “sane mente,” in a sane mind, publish two volumes so very common-place. Yet Mr. James has done it, once and again, and yet again, and — God help us — seems determined to do it, so long as he can find a publisher.

We do not say that the novels of James are unreadable, paradoxical as it may Deem, after whet we have written. They are, on the contrary, pleasant, often instructive. In some respects they are even well written: if they were not so written, we should pass them in silence; but when a man of talent permute in writing such common-place affitiro as Corse de Leon and the Ancient Regime, we feel bound to caution the public against reading them.

In reviewing the last novel of this author, we took occasion to comment on his repetition of himself; and had not but a bare six months elapsed since the publication of that article, we should have thought, that he had commenced this stork with our criticism before him; for the whole conception of the Ancient Régime — according to the preface — is essentially different from that of Mr. James’ for-min romances. To do him justice, he seems to have set out unending to write something really new. But a dog that has once tasted blood is forever killing sheep, — and our novelist, after the first few chapters of the work, runs into all his old habitat Indeed, had he not told ua in set phrases that his object was to show the gradual changes of a female mind from Infancy to womanhood, and that too while she was in the peculiar position of a ward of a man to whom she bore no relationship: had he not told us this — we say — and added that he had in the Ancient Régime attempted a new and more gentle style, we should have divined neither the one fact nor the other.

There is too much clap-trap in the work before us. Most novelists are contented if their hero saves the life of his mistress once in the space of two orthodox volumes. But James thinks this entirely too little. His heroine seems put up like a ten-pin, only to be bowled at; for her life is pre. Nerved once from a wolf — once fmm a robber — and once from an assassin — and beside this, her honour is kept in jeopardy, as a kind of running commentary, through the whole book. We are tempted to say with Titmouse, “‘Pon honour — most uncommon luck.” Then, too, everything happens, not as it would in life, but just as it ought to happen. Such a chain of fortuitous circumstances, following each other link by link, we venture to say, author never imagined, since the old romances of chivalry gave up the ghost. The deserted babe puma into the very hands to which it should go — the supposed father gets a place in the police, the very thing- for all hands — the young lady when grown up falls in love with the son of the only man living who knows her parentage — the king is frustrated in meeting Annette, until after Du Barry has given him a nets object of pursuit — the Baron de Cajore is arrested at the very instant he is arresting the hero — Ernest de Nogero is rescued in the park at Keeney just as he is about to be stabbed from behind — and last of all, the Issas-gin de Cajore is killed off at the end, its the very wick of time, and when all the actors are conveniently assembled to look on, at a nice little tea-party in the forest. Nothing, indeed, is done naturally: everything is brought about by luck.

In the second place, the characters of the Ancient Régime are only new editions — by no means improved ones — of the dramatis persona of James’ former novels. Some wicked was said that the old dramatists wanted only a king, a fool, a woman, and a villain, to make a tragedy, and Mr. [column 2:] James seems to have taken up the joke as serious. He is like a wax-work keeper he has one figure, which, by dint of changing the dress, passes for everything under the sun. His heroes and heroines are never dissimilar: he has always one noble and one poorer rogue: he never forgets to bring in a king or a queen, or both; and he fills up the by-play with a few supernumeraries, who talk a great deal and do a very little. If you read one of his novels, you read, in fact, all. Then there are perils, rescues, a duel or two, generally a trial, and now and then a sprinkling of battles, ambuscades, and the like. Sometimes the hobby is one thing and sometimes another, but he never mixes the draught without putting in a little of all the ingredients. In his lea novel his fancy ran on battles — in this one, trials appear to rule the roast. To sum up this head, Mr. James seems to be like a horse in a mill, who, though every time he goes his rounds, may kick up his heels after a new variety, serer gets out of the same beaten track, or rises above the same humdrum pace.

In the third place, there is no ingenuity in the plot of the Ancient Régime. You see, at once, not only how all is to end, but you penetrate into every detail of the plot. By the time you have read thirty pages, you know that Annelle is not Pierre Morin’^ daughter — that the Abbe is the unknown companion of the murderers — that Pierre Morin is tts person who warns Castelneau to leave Paris — and that the sign which induces the Abbé to obey, is the discovery of his own seal, which had been lost at the door of Fiteau's shop, impressed on the letter of warning. A plot, so loosely contrived, wants interest; and if you go through the boot at all, it is with labor.

But even that very respectable gentleman, who enfarnie nattily is provided with a tail, is not, according to the popular rumour, without his good qualities; and Mr. James, despite all we have said, is yet a writer of talent — talent running a muck, we contend — but still talent. More than this — he is a historian not a mere chronicler, but a historian. He knows the manners, costume, and general spint of the ages of which he writes, and has novels may, so far forth as they embody this knowledge, be read with interest. This, too, is the secret of has continued success in despite of his many faults. This, too, is why he is called the great historical novelist of the age, though in painting accurately the characters of his leading personages, such as Richelieu, Philip Augustus, &c., he is far beneath Grattan — a writer, by the bye, less known in this country than he deserves to be. In another thing James is deficient as a writer of historical romance — he does not enter, as fully as he ought, into the spirit of the age. Here Bulwer, in his Rienzi, has shown himself superior to the author of Richelieu; to say nothing of Scott, who, whatever license he took with particular personages, always depicted vividly the spirit of the age of which he wrote.

We take leave of this novel with a brief prophesy respecting its author: he will, in fifty year’, be of no more note than any one of the thousand and one innlarors of whose class he is the heal

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America, Historical, Statistical and Descriptive: with numerous engravings. By J. SILK BUCKINGHAM. 2 vols. Harper and Brothers.

If ever there was an inane author — if ever there was an arrant egotist — if ever there was a traveller ignorant of his subject, that author, egotist, and traveller, is J. Silk Buckingham, late missionary in the cause of morals, to the world in general and to this land in particular, and now the author of a romance which he entitle.” America, historical, statistical, and descriptive.” How could a man suffer himself [page 191:] to be so egregiously gulled, as Mr. Buckingham has proved himself to have been, in these volumes? If his lectures on the Holy Land contained a tithe of the exaggeration of this journal, what a precious mess of stuff his audiences must have swallowed!

Mr. Buckingham opens with a sweeping condemnation of all former writer, on America, and then adroitly insinuates that his work is the “ne plus ultra” of all works. No out who heard him lecture tan doubt his egotism or vanity. We were not, therefore, much surprised at this exordium. The text, however, keeps up the farce, and whether describing the emoluments of the bar, the genius and productions of our poets, the statistic’ of the States or Union, the conduct of political partied, or the advance of taste, morals, or rah-giou, he is sure to drag in something respecting himself, and to misrepresent, more or leas, the subject under discussion_ Did the hook merit the time and space, we would quote some of its remarks to chew what an arrant blockhead, or else what a wilful libeller, this J. Silk Buckingham is.

This want of truth in Mr. Buckingham is unpardonable. While here, he was feasted, huzzaed, followed by crowds, in short made a lion of and, as he himself says, he had every opportunity to gain correct information. But he seems to have slighted them all. His exaggerations out-romance Amadis de Gaul. He is beside painfully dull, prosing away, page after page, just as he used to dilute his twaddle, when retailing it, by the hour, at a shilling a head. His work scarcely lays claim to mediocrity. Although ushered in by a flourish of trumpets from presses on both sides of the Atlantic, and attended by a pompous dedication to His Royal Highness Prince Albert, the volumes are inferior in every respect so the unpretending work, on this country, Lately published by Mr. Combe. As Brougham said of Sheridan's statesmanship, “it is neither a bad book, nor a good book, nor an indifferent book — the fact is, it is no book at all”

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Lectures on the History of Literature, Ancient and Modern: from the German of Frederick Schlegel: 1 vol. J. and H. G. Langley: New York, 1841.

This work is already extensively known, through the medium of foreign editions; but she present imprint of it will be none the less welcome on that account. We rejoice to see our publishers begin to make head against the reprint of worthless novels, by issuing, instead of such trash, works of a standard character like this. Let the press second them in so noble an effort.

The object of Schlegel, in this volume, has been in give A general view of the development and spirit of literature, and to show its influence on the character of successive ages, from ancient to modern limes. We cannot appreciate, and cannot therefore be expected to praise, the German fondness for reducing everything to a theory, and we must consequently protest against the attempt made by our author to give his subject such a character. Nevertheless the book is full of profound reflections, and displays great research. It is the result of a full mind, and not the idle rhapsody of a visionary.

The present edition is a reprint from the last Edinburgh one. The translation is attributed to J. G. Lockhart, whose scholarship is a guarantee for excellence and fidelity.

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The Secretary of Machiavelli, or the Siege of Florence. By D. M’CARTHY. 2 vols. Lea and Blanchard.

A very commonplace book, too bad to praise, yet ton good absolutely to condemn. It will find its place on the shelves of circulating libraries. [column 2:]

[[ ——— ]]

The Secret Foe. By ELLEN PICKERING, 2 vols. Carey and Hart.

This is scarcely equal to Miss Pickering's earlier production, “Nan Darrell.” Indeed., the present novel is, by no means, a work which will increase her reputation. Portions of it are written well, we admit; but the character of the book, considered as a whole, is but little above a desperate mediocrity. There is no individuality in the actors — no novelty in the plot — many incidents extravagant and unnatural; and a forced interest, if we may so speak, in the whole of the second volume. It is true, many of the scenes are drawn vividly, but they do not suffice to redeem the work. Worse than all, the introduction of the fugitive, Charles the Second, together with the whole conception of the character of the boy Jackson, is a plagiarism from Woodstock of the worst kind, because one where the spirit and not the language is stolen. We cannot forgive the author, even though a woman, for such an act.

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The Deerslayer, or, the First War-Path: A Tale: By J. F. COOPER. 2 vols. Lea and Blanchard.

Little can be said of this tale which has not been said of the former novels, by Mr. Cooper, in which “Leather Stocking” appears. The story is one of thrilling interest, full of perils and of hairbreadth escapee. The reader, unable to lay down the book, peruses it with painful and breathless eagerness; but, with the exception of Natty Bumpo, there is no character worthy of the name. Here is the great difference betwixt Cooper and Scott. No one will deny, that the former is nearly, if not quite, as successful as the latter in the interest his story awakens in the reader's mind, yet we look back in rain, through the whole series of the Red Rover tales, for such inimitable characters as those of Balfour of Burley, and the other actors in the Waverley Novels. Mr. Cooper paints only the outside, he cannot reach into the soul. Yet, as an author, skilful in the management of incident, or capable of whirling away the reader in the breathless interest of a story, no writer of the day, at least no American, can, at all, compare with Mr. Cooper.

In the present tale there is an unusual unity of person, place and time. The whole action Ler confined to three days; the principal characters are not more than six; and the scene is the lake at Cooperstown, with its surrounding shorts. The story is placed as far back as the early French war, and is one of Indian siege and ambuscade. Some of the night scenes, where the beleagured whites, uncertain of the time or mode of the enemy's attack, wander up and down the lake in the ark, listening for the dip of a paddle or the crackling of a twig, to announce the approach of the foe, are unsurpassed even by the earliest efforts of Mr. Cooper. The rescue of Hist from the hostile camp is a scene of great power — so is the surprise of the whites at the castle — and co is the death of the Panther from Deerslayer's hands, and the latter's temporary escape from the savages. The closing scene, however, in which the torture of Deerslayer is going on, seems to us not only painfully, but unnaturally protracted — so that, long before the dénouement, we begin to lose our interest in the finale, under the feeling that the author has overworked his scene.

We are not captious in these few objections, for they are but specks on a sunny sky. No one can question Mr. Cooper's powers as a novelist of his particular school. We dismiss his work with high praise, hoping that he may long live to adorn the literature of his country, and that he may never write a worse story than the Deerslayer.

The Leather-Stocking tales are now complete in ten volumes, by Messrs. Lea and Blanchard. [page 192:]

A Practical Description of Herron's Patent Trellis Railway Structure, etc., etc. By JAMES HERRON, Civil Engineer. 1 vol. Carey and Hart, and J. Dobson, Philadelphia, 1841.

This is an able treatise. The main object of the author is to explain his Patent Trellis Railway Structure — an invention which is peculiarly adapted to the frosty climates of the middle and northern states; but, as collateral to this, he has discussed the subject of mineralizing wood, of an improved method of joining the ends of railway bars, and of the defective nature of railway structures in use.

The length to which we have extended some of the preceding reviews, forbids us to goat large into the contents of this volume; but we recommend it to the attention of the public, and to that of rail-road companies in particular, The volume is accompanied by four large plates of working plans to illustrate the author's remarks. The invention of Mr. Herron has received the sanction of the very highest authorities, and will, in our opinion, supersede all other modes of rail-way structure.

Mr. Strickland, so well known as an architect arid engineer, speaks of it as follows:

“Among the various methods now used for the superstructure of railways RI this country and in Europe, I know of none to compare with Mr. Herron's patent horizontal truss, or diagonal braced floor. It has the great advantages of surface-bearing lateral connection, and longitudinal combination of strength, and evenness of level. It is calculated to rest secure in all the various characters of soil . . . . will be found to resist with the utmost degree of permanency all the vicissitudes of the caved and washed embankments which undermine the present mud-sills and cross-ties of the roadbeds now in use.”

The Franklin Institute says of it:

“Mr. Herron has fully understood and appreciated the evils inseparably connected with the plans of railway super-structure so much in use here and in Europe, in which the rails are supported upon isolated blocks of stone or sleepers of timber. . . . His object has been to devise a plan in which all the parts forming the structure shall he adequately supported; while, at the same time, they shall be so connected that no portion will be liable to independent displacement, either laterally or vertically.”

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Letters from Abroad to Kindred at Home. By the author of “The Linwoods,” etc. 2 vols. Harper and Brothers: New York, 1841.

MISS SEDGWICK has given us, in these volumes, her rotes of travel through England, Italy, and other parrs of Europe. The book is written in an easy, almost conversational style; It abounds in anecdote and what we should call allowable gossip; and, if it were only a little racier, would be a model for tourists. We like particularly the little details of persons and manners, in which our author has indulged — one gets, in perusing them, an excellent idea of the society in other count Hee. This is what we want, arid where the author does not intrude on privacy, we cannot see that he or she is to be condemned. Miss Sedgwick's choice of words might — to our minds — be purer: her style is often disfigured by provincial phrases of the worst kind.

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The Life and Adventures of Valentine Vox, the Ventriloquist. By H. COCKTON. With numerous illustrations, by Phiz. 1 vol. Carey and Hart.

This is a work of considerable humor — one of that class, which, without much originality, manages to become popular, as much from the fun it contains, as from the style in which the story is told. The illustrations are not as happy as those of Phiz in general. The book is neatly printed, in the style of the Nickleby series.

[The following footnotes appear at the bottom of page 188:]

† Allegheny.

* Owing to the temporary absence of Mr. Poe, the reviews in this number are from another hand. That department is exclusively under the control of Mr. Poe. C. J. Peterson, his coadjutor, has the charge of the other departments of the work.