313 
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OCTOBER. 
 
 H AR V ARDI AN A 
 
 VOL. II. -No. II. 
 
 jcA s- A ^ u - s 
 
 \ . 2. "V\.o "% , 
 
 Juvcnis tentat Ulyssei flectere arcum.' 
 
 CAMBRIDGE AND BOSTON: 
 
 JAMES MUNROE AND COMPANY. 
 
 M DCCC XXXV. 
 
HARVARDIANA. 
 
 No. II. 
 
 LEAVES FROM A TRAVELLER'S NOTE BOOK. No. II. 
 
 I LIKE to visit our old battle fields. The associations 
 connected with them are fraught with such generous 
 emotions, that I always leave them with an exalted idea 
 of my race and country. I love to refresh my memory 
 of history, with an actual view of the spot in which some 
 of its momentous events have occurred. There is a holy 
 influence about the place, which inspires me with some- 
 thing more than my usual ardor. I feel a glow of admi- 
 ration at the zeal with which men will devote themselves 
 to their country; my patriotism is invigorated, and I re- 
 turn with firmer resolutions to stand by my country, for 
 which so much blood has been shed. 
 
 The early wars between the Colonies and the French 
 for the possession of the border posts, seemed a necessary 
 preparatory step to the Revolution. By these conflicts 
 the Indians were taught a salutary lesson of the power of 
 the colonists, and the Americans were trained in the se- 
 vere trials of Indian warfare, to a skilful handling of their 
 weapons in the struggle for Independence. In these wars 
 the Commander-in-chief received the rudiments of his 
 
 VOL. II. NO. II. 5 
 
34 
 
 military education, with many of his subalterns ; and it 
 was on Braddock's Field that he first gave proof of that 
 consummate wisdom and prudence Which so distinguished 
 him above other men. 
 
 In the wanderings of an idle summer, chance brought 
 me to Pittsburgh, and from that city I took occasion to 
 visit Braddock's Field. It might have been expected that 
 the long lapse of time since the battle would have left 
 but little remembrance of it in the country around ; but 
 no, it was still fresh in the memory of the old settlers, and 
 the rising generation had received ample accounts of it by 
 tradition. On the crown of the hill, in an old log hut, 
 there lives an old revolutionary soldier, who acts as guide 
 to the curious stranger. His memory is stored with facts 
 gathered from participators in the battle, or extorted by 
 dint of inquiry from the Indian survivors. We found him 
 laboring with his children, in making a clearing in the 
 woods, and wielding the axe, as if his arms were nerved 
 with the strength of manhood, instead of being oppressed 
 with the weight of fourscore. On invitation he came 
 limping down into the road, and taking his walking 
 crutch from the hands of one of his descendants, he set 
 out to guide us around the field. Here, in the bosom of 
 the West, in close vicinity to the Indian battle grounds, 
 the scenes of his glory in the wars of Anthony Wayne, 
 raised to an humble independence by the bounty of his 
 government, he has set himself down to spend in tran- 
 quillity the remaining years of his life. As I gazed upon 
 his weather beaten countenance, and marked the furrows 
 which time and care had worn upon it, the dark scenes 
 of the Revolution came athwart my memory, and my 
 heart yearned at finding myself in the presence of one 
 of the survivors of the days which gave birth to my 
 country. I felt as if I stood before a venerable parent ; 
 I could give utterance to my feelings only by a gush of 
 tears the warm effusion of gratitude. 
 
35 
 
 The country around is of a wild and romantic charac- 
 ter, and seems a fitting spot for deeds of violence. The 
 Alleghany mountains are seen far in the distance looming 
 up with their black summits into the sky, and the whole 
 surface of the country is broken up into mountainous 
 ridges and hills. Braddock's Field lies on the slope of a 
 hill, rising with a gentle ascent from the Monongahela. 
 Two deep ravines enclose it on either side, and at the 
 time of the battle it was a wild tract of woodland. 
 Relics of the battle still lie scattered over its surface 
 its very soil seems thick with human bones, and at every 
 step you strike upon some fragment of the human frame, 
 or some piece of military weapons. Mementos of the 
 battle are in the hands of the inhabitants for miles around ; 
 and if the same spot should ever again be a contested 
 ground, the surrounding population might rush to the 
 conflict, armed with the very weapons which were wield- 
 ed here an age before. The Indian tomahawk might 
 again be grasped the heavy musket of the British gren- 
 adier, and the unerring rifle of the Colonist, might again 
 pour forth their destructive contents. 
 
 But let us withdraw now, as our veteran guide begins 
 to feel the twitchings of pain from the bullet which some 
 Indian foe planted in his side, when he fought under 
 " Mad Cap Wayne," as he calls General Anthony Wayne. 
 Standing on the doorstead of his hut, let us survey the 
 scene as it existed at the time of the battle. Sweep your 
 eye around the horizon. See ye nought in motion in 
 those deep woods, which fringe the border of yonder 
 stream ? Aye at yonder ford, there issues forth a little 
 band of armed colonists, with a tall Indian in the advance 
 as their guide ; and now above, at the other ford, is seen 
 a gay troop, with a mounted general at their head, forcing 
 their way across the stream ! This is Braddock's regi- 
 ment, and the other is commanded by Colonel Washing- 
 
36 IP^H 
 
 ton. They have reached our side, and now they advance 
 in irregular files up the hill, notwithstanding Colonel 
 Washington is standing by the horse of Braddock peti- 
 tioning first to scour the woods with his rifle rangers. 
 Hark ! in those dark defiles at our side, I hear the click 
 of the rifle, and the burnishing of the tomahawk ! And 
 now, as the troop ascends the hill, down, deeper down 
 the murderous band nestles in the tangle, awaiting with 
 fiendish delight the approach of their unsuspecting vic- 
 tims ! Oh, would that the General had heeded the per- 
 suasion of the Virginia Colonel ! But it is too late j they 
 are abreast of the ravines, and now, down upon them, 
 the French and Indians pour a shower of rifle balls and 
 tomahawks. The gallant band is staggered for a moment, 
 but the Virginia Colonel, pushing on his forces in the ad- 
 vance, encourages their drooping spirits. They rally 
 but too late j the deadly rifle is thinning their numbers, 
 and ah, treachery is in the ranks, for there falls the British 
 general by the fire of one of his own soldiers * panic 
 is spreading amongst them ; the officers' voices are 
 unheard and away they tumultuously hurry down 
 the hill ! The banner of England is trailing in the 
 dust, while the white flag of France, planted on the top 
 of the hill, waves in triumph. More than six hundred 
 men, on this day, poured out their blood a sacrifice to 
 
 * Such was the fact, as, according to our guide, Braddock was 
 killed by an American soldier, who related himself the circum- 
 stance to him. Braddock had given some rash orders to a soldier, 
 which the soldier was loth to obey. Braddock turned to him, and 
 accused him of cowardice ; and on the soldier's persisting to re- 
 fuse, he raised his sword to strike him down. At this moment, 
 John Hammond, to save his brother's life, fired his pistol at Brad- 
 dock, which struck him in the armpit, and mortally wounded him. 
 The arm, however, followed its original direction, and cleft the 
 skull of the soldier. 
 
37 
 
 arrogance and temerity. Such was the battle of Brad- 
 dock's Field ! 
 
 Not an Indian, of all those who fought with the French, 
 now survives, save an old chief who lives up near the 
 sources of the Alleghany, and whose head is whitened 
 with the snows of more than a century of winters. This 
 chief, who bears the name of " Corn Planter," was a con- 
 spicuous actor in this battle on the part of the French. 
 His tribe still hold the grounds on the Alleghany, which 
 their ancestors for ages before them possessed. Old 
 " Corn Planter " has witnessed two generations fall before 
 him, and has seen the hunting grounds of his sires be- 
 come the sites of populous cities, and flourishing farms. 
 At times, when he comes down to Pittsburgh, he visits 
 the battle field, and there, arm in arm, may be seen the 
 old soldier and Indian chief, treading with faltering step, 
 and recounting over and over again the battles of their 
 youth. 
 
 THE SONG OF THE GALLEY-SLAVE. 
 
 DASH on, thou dark blue wave, 
 
 In freedom onward roll ! 
 I love thy wild career, 
 
 It cheers my saddened soul ; 
 To dance upon thy bosom, 
 
 So proud and joyously, 
 My frame with rapture thrills, 
 
 My eye gleams bright and free. 
 
38 
 
 The heart which softness feels 
 
 May love the placid stream, 
 When o'er it brightly steals 
 
 The silent pale moonbeam. 
 But dear to me thy roar, 
 
 It doth a bliss impart; 
 It breathes a spell which wafts 
 
 A gladness o'er my heart. 
 
 Dash on dash on, thou wave, 
 
 And sweep the foamy sea; 
 Thy waters seem to lave, 
 
 And set my spirit free. 
 What though my weary limbs, 
 
 These iron fetters bind, 
 I yet am bold in heart 
 
 I yet am free in mind! 
 
 HARVARD. 
 
 NATIONAL NOVELS. 
 
 WHILE we are erecting monuments of stone to the 
 valor of our ancestors, it is also meet that we should pre- 
 sent to the eye some living memorial of their characters ; 
 that their history should be interwoven with our national 
 literature, and thus an imperishable remembrance of their 
 deeds be transmitted to posterity. It is not sufficient 
 that history records their exploits; it presents us with 
 but a partial view of their worth. We can only attain 
 to a just estimation of them by a knowledge of their 
 general character. National novels are the best medium 
 
39 
 
 for obtaining this knowledge. It is the part of the novel- 
 ist to portray character, not, as of the historian, to record 
 events. He examines into past and contemporary history 
 to acquaint himself with the character of the subjects of 
 his fiction in real life. Possessed of a perfect knowledge 
 of his hero, it is his part to develope the character, by cre- 
 ating circumstances which elicit its principal traits. What 
 a correct impersonation of the loyal cavalier is Sir Henry 
 Lee in " Woodstock ! " What a faithful delineation of the 
 Southern Whig Peasantry of the Revolution, is the char- 
 acter of Horse Shoe Robinson ! The characters here 
 mentioned are correct representations of classes ; but the 
 portraiture of individual character has been equally suc- 
 cessful ; witness James the First, in the " Fortunes of 
 Nigel." 
 
 The lapse of time has now consecrated the memories 
 of the men of the Revolution, and sufficiently removed us 
 from the equality of familiarity. Some venerated relics 
 still survive of those immortal days, whose memories, 
 rich with personal recollections of the great commanders, 
 afford a valuable fund of information to the novelist ; so 
 that now, ere this venerated band shall become extinct, 
 the national novelist should hasten to catch their dying 
 whispers, and thus preserve unbroken the chain of his- 
 tory. We rejoice to observe this actually done in the 
 revolutionary tales of Cooper, Kennedy, and Simms. 
 
 Genius has the power of consecrating whatever it 
 touches. Scott has made the scenes of his novels shrines 
 of literary pilgrimage from all parts of the world, and 
 sacred spots in the eye of the people. Gratitude forbids 
 us that we should cease to remember one spot hallowed 
 with the blood of our fathers ; it is then for genius, 
 through the novel, to point out, and invest these spots 
 with the enchantment of the associations of romance, 
 and to assist the historian in keeping alive a remembrance 
 
.40 
 
 of the past. The novel, for this purpose, is more effective 
 than the history, as from its superior interest it gains a 
 more extensive reading. As a fiction it will be generally 
 read, and thus may become a medium of the widest in- 
 fluence in developing those feelings of patriotism, which 
 the exhibition of devotion to liberty and country must 
 always promote. 
 
 Inexhaustible materials for fiction may be found in all 
 the different stages of the history of the continent ; the 
 Indian traditions still handed down among the tribes of 
 the west the inflexible and moral Puritans, with their 
 perilous wars with the savages the romantic character 
 of the Southern settlers and the great drama of the 
 Revolution, with its stormy prologue and eventful scenes, 
 all these different periods abound in distinguished his- 
 torical characters, with whose delineation the novelist 
 may weave into his tale a graphic picture of the times. 
 With this prolific source of material, opportunity is af- 
 forded of creating a purely national literature, founded on 
 our own history, and separate from that of any other 
 nation. Such Sir Walter Scott has done for Scotland, 
 and Miss Edgeworth for Ireland ; and such we hope some 
 master spirit, who feels within himself the ability, may 
 do for America. Thus the novel may become a useful 
 appendage to history recording events too minute for 
 the dignity of history to commemorate, and presenting 
 a perfect portrait of each character, which is only known 
 in the history by his most prominent actions. Our tra- 
 ditions should be recorded, and preserved in the popular 
 memory, that they may serve in moments of national 
 gloom as quickening appeals to patriotic exertion. The 
 purest models of patriotism are to be found in the charac- 
 ters of our fathers. Let them be illustrated, and set 
 before the people ; in their bright examples being in- 
 centives to imitation, and in their history of sacrifices 
 
41 
 
 marking with reprobation the citizen recreant to his coun- 
 try's interests and honor. We want a fund of historical 
 recollections to keep alive the spirit of liberty. Our 
 country's history is rich in such animating recollections. 
 They should be sought out. The scenes of one's own 
 country's history most forcibly speak to the feelings of man. 
 The invocation of the Athenian orators, to the shades 
 of the heroes of Marathon and Thermopyla3, always came 
 like an exhorting voice from the sacred dead. So let the 
 memory of the men of '76, with the fields of their glory, 
 be kept alive, and cherished by the pen of genius ; and 
 we also shall have in our history names of power, whose 
 bare mention shall wake the sleeping energies of the na- 
 tion. Novels of this character would elevate the tone of 
 public sentiment, by directing it to the contemplation of 
 high moral excellence, and a correct appreciation of the 
 services of public benefactors, and might even correct the 
 present vitiated taste for tales of gross profligacy, and 
 unnatural horrors, by the very contrast which the differ- 
 ent characters of the two species of writing would exhibit. 
 Thus every mound, which covers the bones of a soldier, 
 may teach a practical lesson of patriotism. The curious 
 stranger, who then visits our shores, will not travel from 
 Maine to Georgia with but few objects to interest him, 
 except the great wonders of nature ; but at every step he 
 will pause to ponder over some spot, hallowed to his mind 
 by the writings of genius, and the local associations which 
 they have awakened. The Chronicles of the Cid, wove 
 into verse, were long the battle songs of the Spaniards j 
 his heroic character was the model of the aspirant after 
 true military fame, and the simple exhibition of his vir- 
 tues, in the martial ballad, infused into the Spanish sol- 
 diery a romantic love of valor and honor, that for ages 
 made them irresistible in the field. Are there not in the 
 public characters of the fathers of the Republic virtues 
 
 VOL. II. NO. II. 6 
 
"42 
 
 more elevated and inspiring, than even those of the Cid 
 and his fellow champions ? Truly there are patriotism, 
 which in the Cid was a selfish love of glory sacrifices, 
 for liberty and the general good, without a parallel in the 
 annals of history. It is for the welfare of the country 
 for the just formation of the national character, that they 
 should be embalmed in some species of writing which 
 most frequently meets the public eye. Novels form the 
 reading, in some degree, of all classes ; and it is in works 
 of this character, treating of local history, that this de- 
 sirable design may be best effected. 
 
 THE FAITHFUL ABENAQUOIS. 
 
 The following incident occurred at a village of the Abenaquois, on the 
 Outawa river, where the French had established a military post, early in 
 the 17th century. It is related by Pere Lamartine, in the " Lettres Edifi- 
 antes et Curieuses," as a singular instance of strong affection in a native. 
 
 " HUSBAND, dearest, do not leave me, 
 
 Thus in misery, 
 No! thou canst not so deceive me, 
 
 Let me go with thee. 
 Think upon the accents winning, 
 
 Which my heart beguiled; 
 Think upon our love's beginning ; 
 
 Think upon our child. 
 If thy haughty people spurn me, 
 
 And the pledge I gave ; 
 If a wife thy pride would scorn me, 
 
 Let me be thy slave." 
 
43 
 
 Thus, before her husband kneeling, 
 
 Prayed the Indian girl; 
 But in callous tone unfeeling, 
 
 Spake the heartless churl. 
 " Manta, vain thy lamentation, 
 
 Vain thine agony ; 
 Never to my Christian nation 
 
 Canst thou go with me. 
 Know that o'er the deep blue waters, 
 
 Which our regions part, 
 Home, and wife, and lovely daughters 
 
 Wait my longing heart." 
 
 Wildly frantic Manta started 
 
 At the dreadful sound, 
 Senseless then, and broken-hearted, 
 
 Sank she to the ground, 
 With her infant in her bosom, 
 
 Child of woe and shame ! 
 Like a yet unfaded blossom, 
 
 On a broken stem. 
 Reckless of her death or living 
 
 Spurred he through the wild; 
 And the Indian girl reviving 
 
 Followed with her child. 
 
 Through the forest, o'er the river, 
 
 Fast his way sped he, 
 But the Indian woman ever 
 
 Followed patiently. 
 Famine, toil, nor mountain steepness 
 
 Checked that wandering dove; 
 Who can tell the strength and deepness 
 
 Of a woman's love ! 
 O'er the wide and pathless prairie, 
 
 Toward the rising sun, 
 Still he hastened; faint and weary 
 
 Manta followed on. 
 
44 
 
 Crouching there, the ambushed foeman 
 
 Smote him from his horse ; 
 There the faithful Indian woman 
 
 Found his bleeding corse. 
 Speechless, numb, in frozen sorrow, 
 
 Seated at his head, 
 Through a night that had no morrow, 
 
 There she watched the dead. 
 Death's deep shadows gathered round her 
 
 With their icy fold ; 
 There, at dawn, her people found her, 
 
 Lifeless, stiff, and cold. 
 
 EL AH. 
 
 Life of Edmund Kean. By BARRY CORNWALL. N. York. 
 Harper & Brothers. 1835. 
 
 SINCE Harvardiana does not profess to be a reviewing 
 magazine, bound implicitly by what has been once as- 
 serted in it, we would wish to correct partially some 
 opinions that were advanced in the last Number. We 
 perhaps are wrong in saying, we wish to correct, for this- 
 is only a matter of individual preference, and we are 
 equally open to objection for any opinions that we may 
 express. 
 
 The purpose of the Life of Kean appears to be this, 
 to lay before the admirers of the drama, an exact, impar- 
 tial account of a man, who was allowed by all to be one 
 of the brightest ornaments of the English stage. How- 
 ever much disappointed authors and actors may complain 
 of the little respect paid to the dramatic profession by 
 
45 
 
 the public, it is apparent to impartial observers, that the 
 stage is not yet altogether neglected, and that any thing 
 connected with its improvement and decline is anxiously, 
 perhaps too anxiously, watched by many. The theatre 
 is considered not merely as a source of amusement, but 
 by some it is regarded as a school of eloquence, and even 
 as a criterion of public morals. It is not for us to decide 
 whether this opinion is correct or not, but, at any rate, its 
 existence proves that the stage is not condemned or de- 
 spised altogether. 
 
 It is in consequence of this feverish anxiety of a portion 
 of the public, concerning every thing connected with the 
 prosperity of the stage, that the whole life of the actor, 
 his public triumphs, and his domestic relations, are so 
 eagerly examined. His companions are earnestly scanned 
 with the eye of curiosity, and men are not content till 
 they have opened his mind, and laid bare all his principles 
 of action, nay all his thoughts. To satisfy this curiosity, 
 the numerous memoirs of actors and actresses are penned, 
 from the common newspaper column and a half, to the 
 labored volume. To this cause, the narrative of the life 
 of Kean, public and private, at the scenes of his triumphs, 
 in the saloons of wealth and fashion, and in the taverns 
 where he could throw aside the fetters of rank and cere- 
 mony, probably owed its existence. 
 
 Kean was not born to the hereditary possession of the 
 stage, but was obliged to work his way up, with slow and 
 toilsome progress, from the lowest rank of a travelling 
 band of low actors, to the eminence, whence he dazzled 
 and astonished the world. The very date of his birth is 
 unknown ; and the biographer, in consequence of the 
 early obscurity of the subject of his narrative, to give an 
 account at all perfect, is obliged to plunge into the lanes 
 of innumerable and nameless villages. He, who after- 
 wards drew from the collected thousands of Drury Lane 
 
46 
 
 the tears of sympathy and terror, was to be found at one 
 time, accompanying his peddling mother in the exercise 
 of her trade ; at another, swallowing greedily the cheapest 
 drink afforded by a knavish landlord to a poor, beggarly 
 " camp-follower." No one who wished a true, correct 
 account, would expect elegant, high wrought descriptions 
 of scenes like these. The Life of Kean is not a romance ; 
 it is a narrative of facts, many of which must have been 
 in the highest degree repulsive to the author. He knew 
 his difficulties, and attempted, by playful pleasantries and 
 humorous descriptions, to render that tolerable, which 
 otherwise must have been disgusting. That he may at 
 times have offended the rules of good taste, that he may 
 have been drawn down by his subject, from the region of 
 refinement to a less congenial atmosphere, is not denied. 
 
 Whether the life of so low a person should have been 
 undertaken at all, is a question that will be discussed 
 elsewhere ; but this Life was undertaken, and, in our 
 opinion, successfully conducted. 
 
 The biographer is deterred by no difficulties, but fol- 
 lows the subject of his narrative from his boyhood, 
 through the periods of youth and manhood. We see the 
 actor as a husband, as a father, and in this last character 
 we rejoice to find marks of deep, generous feeling. We 
 are carried from scenes, where the afflicted father is com- 
 pelled for bread to assume the guise of merriment, to his 
 home to see him mourn over the loss of his early hopes, 
 and we feel that he was not wholly debased. We con- 
 sider it no trifling merit of the work, that it presents so 
 full, so perfect a picture of the man in every situation. 
 
 Soon scenes more congenial to the author's taste, than 
 wanderings to and from the provincial theatres, open to 
 view, and the reader accompanies, with lively interest, 
 the actor to Drury Lane, shortly to be the field of his 
 triumph. But innumerable disappointments are thrown 
 
47 
 
 in his way, and not till after many alternations of hope 
 and despair, is he allowed to appear. Shylock is chosen 
 for the opening of his splendid career, and the audience, 
 although with tempers vexed by the unsuccessful attempts 
 of other aspirants to fame, and with faculties clouded and 
 benumbed by the sleet of a stormy English evening, soon 
 perceive in the " quick, flashing eye, in the countenance 
 taking at every turn a vigilant or sinister expression, >? 
 that the Shylock of Shakspeare is before them. The 
 barriers overcome, and the course entered, a triumphant 
 career lies before our actor, and Othello, Richard, are 
 disclosed in their true and full proportions to the admiring 
 multitude. 
 
 We are not acquainted with the newspaper remarks of 
 those days, but the criticisms of Mr. Barry Cornwall on 
 Kean's style of acting, and on the characters of Hamlet 
 and Othello, do appear to us to possess some little merit, 
 or at least to deserve more than a sweeping censure. 
 Were we to choose specimens of our author's style, we 
 should give his criticisms one and all, but time would fail 
 us, and the book is at the perusal of all. 
 
 Unless we are afflicted with that morbid craving for 
 attention from every foreign writer, which some of our 
 countrymen show, we see no reason for feeling aggrieved, 
 that so small a space was devoted to Kean's visit to 
 America. He played in the same characters, that had 
 been criticised in an earlier part of the volume. Of his 
 success, the books of the various theatres, as well as the 
 memory of some of us, will give ample proof. 
 
 V. 
 
48 
 
 Speeches of the Right Hon. George Canning. 8vo. 
 Kay & Brother. Philadelphia. 1835. 
 
 IN a nation yet young, and but just forming its oratory, 
 it is necessary that it should have some classic models of 
 eloquence, by the study of which it may create a correct 
 style. It should have some manuals of instruction to 
 guide aright the education of the student ; and it is for 
 these reasons that we rejoice in the appearance of this 
 second number of a series of volumes, containing collec- 
 tions of the best speeches of the great English Orators. 
 They are prepared by Mr. Robert Walsh, the eminent 
 editor of the "American Quarterly Review." The se- 
 lections are made with judgment, and the prefaces are 
 written in an elegant and pure style. The volume under 
 notice contains the best speeches of George Canning, 
 preceded by an interesting and comprehensive biog- 
 raphy. 
 
 Mr. Canning's speeches are characterized by all the 
 essentials of perfect oratory, though the development of 
 each of these requisites, beyond the degree to which he 
 possessed them, is necessary to make a perfect orator. 
 Brilliant wit, deep and solemn pathos, the keenest satire, 
 and great logical acumen, he possessed in an eminent 
 degree. As a man of practical wisdom, he always adapt- 
 ed his address to the character of his audience. Within 
 the Parliament house, his speeches seemed framed after 
 the most rigid models of ancient eloquence, pure in their 
 taste, and entwining the choicest flowers of classical lite- 
 rature round the solid pillars of argument. In addressing 
 the people, he brought down his mind from its com- 
 manding elevation to a level with their own capacities j 
 not indeed sinking into vulgarity, but yet speaking in a 
 homely English style, with an eloquence that made every 
 
49 
 
 word thrill upon the ear, and, like one of our own orators, 
 seizing every public occasion to impress his hearers with 
 a love of country, and an attachment to high moral prin- 
 ciples. His rich imagination indeed, at times, led him to 
 decorate his discourses with too much ornament, but this 
 was only an occasional defect. He was one of those 
 men who are originally endowed with great capacities of 
 mind, and who develope their powers not by an exclusive 
 cultivation of one faculty, but by a due improvement 
 of all. We should think that he received from nature a 
 greater proportion of the imaginative than of the reasoning 
 faculty ; but yet, by a proper cultivation of the latter, he 
 became one of the closest debaters in the English Parlia- 
 ment. His success was an illustration of the great ne- 
 cessity of extensive acquisitions, and hard study, to form 
 an orator. His speeches, imbued with classical lore, give 
 proof of his devotion to the great writers of antiquity, 
 and their many illustrations, drawn from almost every 
 department of literature, testify to his varied learning. 
 
 His career was a brilliant one from his youth upward. 
 At Eton, he was distinguished as a scholar, and as a writer 
 for a college journal founded by himself, entitled the 
 " Microcosm," which was conducted with remarkable 
 ability. At Oxford he gained great reputation for his 
 indefatigable devotion to study, and his success in com- 
 peting for several prize essays. In consequence of pecu- 
 niary embarrassments, he was obliged to leave Oxford 
 without graduating. He betook himself to the study of 
 the law at Lincoln's Inn ; where his talents immediately 
 attracted attention, and, as a young man of abilities, his 
 acquaintance was solicited by the leading members of the 
 rival political parties. At the advice of Burke, who in this 
 instance, as with Barry the painter, generously offered 
 him counsel and assistance, he left the law, and com- 
 
 VOL. II. NO. II. 7 
 
50 
 
 menced preparing himself for a statesman. At the age of 
 twenty-four he entered Parliament. 
 
 Although thrown into contact with the great orators of 
 the golden age of English eloquence Burke, Fox, 
 Sheridan, and Pitt, he soon attained a high distinction as 
 a Parliamentary orator. He enlisted with the ministerial 
 party, and thereby put himself in opposition to the great 
 orators of the liberal party. He soon became their most 
 formidable opponent, and even contested with them the 
 palm of eloquence. While Pitt was at the helm of state, 
 guiding the vessel with an energetic arm, and a cool 
 judgment, through the stormy waves of public excite- 
 ment, raised by the French Revolution, Canning, with a 
 voice of power, which was heard even above the roar of 
 the tempest, was encouraging the mariners to duty, and 
 infusing into the most timid a spirit of courage that made 
 them look danger in the face, and bring the glorious 
 vessel, unhurt by the fury of the storm, into a harbour of 
 peace. 
 
 He seemed born for his age and country. At the out- 
 break of the French Revolution, the accumulated weight 
 of the liberal opinions of two centuries was brought to bear 
 upon the British constitution. Had not the greatest intel- 
 lectual power of the country come to its assistance, it might 
 have fallen a victim to partisan violence. It was fortunate 
 then for the destinies of England, that Canning lent his aid 
 to the ministerial party. His political wisdom was mani- 
 fested in this particular, that observing the increased sway 
 of liberal opinions, he deemed it most prudent to relax in 
 some degree the severity of tory principles. He therefore 
 infused into the policy of that, the then reigning party, a 
 tone of liberality, which modified their character, and 
 diminished the virulence of opposition. Like our fathers, 
 in the formation of our constitution, he made provision to 
 adapt the British constitution to the character of the times, 
 
51 
 
 without however impairing its stability, or original form. 
 His views thus answered to Burke's description of a good 
 government. 
 
 " If there be one criterion, which, more than all the rest, dis- 
 tinguishes a wise and prudent government, from an adminis- 
 tration weak and improvident, it is well to know when, and in 
 what manner, to yield what it is impossible to keep. " * 
 
 His elocution was of a commanding character of 
 deep intonation, with a strong, and flexible voice. It was 
 manly, and gave proper effect to his sentiments. His face 
 bore the impress of his mind. His forehead rose high 
 and bold, and his eyes were brilliant with intellectual 
 light. He died when in full possession of the great object 
 of his ambition the Premiership amid the universal 
 regret of the nation. The exhibition of such a life, marked 
 with so many virtues, is an ennobling object of contem- 
 plation. Such men as Burke and Canning raise the 
 standard of moral excellence, and exert an influence 
 which extends to the latest posterity. An examination 
 into the character of such minds, in their biographies, must 
 produce a beneficial influence on the reader ; inspiring 
 him with a love of virtue, by an exhibition of its genial 
 effects as developed in their practice, and prompting him 
 to a persevering cultivation of the intellectual powers, by 
 showing him what great effects they may produce, when 
 properly improved. Though it was satirically said of 
 Burke, 
 
 " He, born for the universe narrowed his mind, 
 And to party gave up what was meant for mankind," 
 
 yet we think it cannot be properly said of Mr. Canning. 
 His powers were such as could insure success as an 
 orator, and it was necessary, at the time he entered on 
 
 * Speech on America. 
 
52 
 
 political life, that every powerful mind, adapted to poli- 
 tics, should devote itself to the defence of the state. His 
 energies, united with those of Burke and Pitt, prevented 
 the overthrow of the government, and the consequent 
 long train of evils which would have ensued on such a 
 calamity. As every statesman has it within his power 
 to do, he improved the condition of society by the enact- 
 ment of wise measures, tending to promote tranquillity 
 and the security of personal rights, and he lent his influ- 
 ence to the exertions, then begun, to suppress the slave 
 trade, and which afterwards had a successful issue. The 
 influence of his actions may be seen in all the beneficial 
 effects growing out of the above results, and which at 
 once exempt him from the denomination of being " a 
 mere politician," a name which is so profusely applied by 
 the unthinking to statesmen who have not founded a new 
 empire, or overthrown an old one. 
 
 THE TEAR OF SYMPATHY. 
 
 >T WAS not thine eye so calm and bright, 
 
 Nor cheek of rosy hue, 
 'T was not the smile that met my sight, 
 
 That could my heart subdue; 
 Although that soft and azure eye 
 With brightest gem on earth could vie. 
 
 'T was not that all-enchanting sound, 
 
 The music of thy voice, 
 Where that sweet melody is found 
 
 Which bids the heart rejoice ; 
 
53 
 
 Although 'twould all the passions move, 
 And wake the softest strains of love. 
 
 'T was the tear of compassion, 
 
 That dimmed thy bright eye, 
 That caused me to love thee, 
 
 And heave the deep sigh. 
 Like the dew drop at even, 
 
 That kisses the flower, 
 Like the rain drop from Heaven, 
 
 That waters thy bower ; 
 Like twilight's first star, 
 
 Shining bright and alone, 
 Was that beautiful tear 
 
 From thine eye, my loved one. 
 
 J. W. 
 
 THOUGHTS ON THE "CANT OF CRITICISM." 
 
 " less dangerous is the offence 
 To tire our patience than mislead our sense. 
 Some few in that, but numbers err in this, 
 Ten censure wrong for one who writes amiss. 
 A fool might once himself alone expose, 
 Now one in verse makes many more in prose." 
 
 THE fact herein stated we hold indisputable. 
 
 Why is it that the author, he who attempts to please 
 or improve a community, and enrich or elevate himself, 
 by a public exhibition of his depth of thought, his wit, 
 or his fancy, should be assailed by such myriads of diffi- 
 culties, pass before such an infinity of courts of errors 
 and appeals, and be lauded and condemned by final and 
 
54 
 
 irresponsible judges without number, over and above 
 what can ever fall in the way of the artist or the archi- 
 tect ? If either of these, by a brilliant painting, a grand 
 or beautiful edifice or statue, challenge the attention of 
 the public, it is his undoubted right to demand that his 
 work be examined and criticised by men of science and 
 skill, proficients in his art, or, at least, that their judg- 
 ments, their praises, their censures alone be generally 
 respected and followed. But let ever so unpretending a 
 piece of literary architecture be once erected and brought 
 to view, every artisan who has ever wielded a pen, who 
 has driven a nail or fitted a joint which has gone to the 
 making of a theme or a sonnet, or who has even dreamed 
 of doing so much, deems it his privilege to scan nearly 
 and minutely all its divisions and proportions, to test the 
 strength of its solid, the accuracy and beauty of its 
 ornamental parts : perhaps, without taking so much 
 trouble, to form at once a decisive, irreversible judgment 
 on the merits of the whole, and trumpet it to the little 
 or the great world, of whose tastes and opinions he has 
 the guidance. And who can tell the number of such 
 censors ? 
 
 " Go count the busy drops that swell the sea." 
 
 Amid their hosts, how hard for any fit, true standard of 
 public taste to preserve its station, and to be discerned 
 and followed ! 
 
 And why is it thus ? He will doubtless be able to an- 
 swer the question, who has first succeeded in satisfactorily 
 accounting for the general prevalence of that "cacoethes 
 scribendi," whose nature, symptoms, and means of cure 
 were so eruditely set forth in the last number of our 
 magazine. For that pestilence, so obnoxious in itself, 
 becomes a subject of vastly increased moment, when 
 considered as the basis, the first cause, and the constant 
 
55 
 
 sustainer of the still more extended and more fatal one 
 we are now discussing, and which might not improperly 
 be denominated cacoethes censendi. 
 
 " Quod medicorum est 
 Promittunt medici, tractant fabrilia fabri ; 
 Scribimus indocti doctique poemata passim " 
 
 and, when this is the case, and when moreover it happens 
 that " ten censure wrong for one who writes amiss," it 
 certainly becomes us to pay a portion of our serious at- 
 tention to these ever great and ever growing evils. 
 
 An insuperable difficulty meets him at the outset, who 
 undertakes to enter into any general statement of the 
 causes, manifestations, and remedies of the propensity 
 just alluded to. They are as absolutely endless as the 
 characters of mind it affects. We shall be content with 
 faithfully representing a few of the appearances of per- 
 sons in real life, who have met us while under its actual 
 influence, generalizing, classifying, and affixing names, 
 both generic and specific, in such manner as may best 
 suit our individual convenience. 
 
 One of the first subjects of our attention will naturally 
 be the literary croaker. No mind can be a fitter receptacle 
 of cacoethes censendi than one characterized by that 
 grumbling, unquiet, ^sometimes tart and waspish, temper, 
 which finds its highest delight in sneering at all charac- 
 ters, arid frowning upon all enterprises, that meet its ob- 
 servation. The unhappy victim of this propensity directs 
 his view to the literary efforts of his friends and neigh- 
 bours ; conscious perhaps of his own inadequacy to the 
 production of any thing approaching to the grand or 
 beautiful, he finds it a convenient method of obtaining 
 at least the negative fame of a critic, to ridicule the 
 attempts, laugh at the failures, and sneer at the successes 
 
56 
 
 of equally competent and more venturous souls. He 
 " turns critic in his own defence." 
 
 . "All fools have still an itching to deride, 
 
 And fain would be upon the laughing side." 
 
 Winning indeed must he be, who is able to change his 
 unvarying smile of scorn into one of approbation and 
 delight ; grand, powerful beyond measure must be 
 that which can awe and force him into rendering a tri- 
 bute of admiration, whose uniform and natural offering is 
 indifference or contempt. He is perhaps himself hardly 
 conscious of the resistless power by which he is held in 
 subjection to the fatal propensity under our consideration. 
 Scanning every work that may fall in his way with eyes 
 eagerly bent on the detection of defects and blemishes, 
 his distorted vision at length comes to view these in all 
 cases as the principal objects of notice, the main constitu- 
 ents of the piece, and its nobly or beautifully wrought 
 passages (if indeed he be capable of at all perceiving or 
 appreciating them) merely as the effect of incidental and 
 unavoidable flashes of wit or genius. With a judgment 
 thus miserably perverted, thus wretchedly illiberalized 
 and debased, has he been wont to pass sentence upon the 
 characters of those about him : it is idle to hope a better 
 fate for their works. This creature has from his earliest 
 recollections upward been lost in one continued, stupid 
 wonder, why all the silly, disgusting, teasing, vexing, 
 maddening things in the world happen to lie precisely in 
 his path. We leave him to settle the problem, and to 
 learn, as we trust he sooner or later will, the interesting 
 truth, long since preached by a fallen spirit, in regard to 
 the mind, as being " its own place." This is no fancy 
 sketch. The last time we saw our friend the prototype, 
 (for friend of ours he certainly is, and we have no small 
 pride in the relation,) he was intensely occupied in search- 
 
57 
 
 ing out the ugliest portion of the first number of a recently 
 issued periodical. We left him, as he threw it aside, with 
 something between a sigh and a sneer, at the emptiness 
 and flatness of all sublunary things. 
 
 Next come your true critics magnifiques. The distin- 
 guishing characteristic of this class is an uncompromising 
 disdain of all tastes and opinions pertaining to the sove- 
 reign ol noMoi. 
 
 " So much they scorn the crowd, that if the throng 
 By chance go right, they purposely go wrong." 
 
 It has been our fortune too to be an intimate of one of 
 this species. Blessed with a generous heart, and of pow- 
 ers and a judgment by no means contemptible, in an evil 
 hour he fell in with the lofty mystifications and sublime 
 absurdities of a pair of modern poets we may not name. 
 His brain was turned : dim images of pastorals, tragedies, 
 epics, and laurel crowns have' from that time forth crowd- 
 ed it with a medley of phantasms, beside which the vision 
 of the inspired Bottom himself, that vision which 
 " man's hand may not taste, his ear see, nor his tongue 
 conceive " might sink into the most insignificant and 
 prosaic reality. Gloriously abstracted from the petty and 
 gross world below, his whole interests, sympathies, affec- 
 tions seem transferred to that realm of ether, where 
 " thron'd on the centre of his thin designs," he delights 
 to reign in peerless sublimity, " lord" (we hope) "of all 
 he surveys." How should a head thus lifted above the 
 atmosphere of our planet be within the infection of 
 cacoethes censendi ? Alas ! who will not stoop to con- 
 quer? Our dear friend, (and he is but one of a class,) 
 amid all his time consecrated to moon raking, has ever 
 found ample opportunity for inspecting the literary efforts 
 of his terrestrial neighbours. And still worse, (what a 
 piece of work is man ! ) our critic magnifiqm is no less a 
 
 VOL. II. NO. II. 8 
 
58 
 
 critic enricux.* A few months since his lofty spirit was 
 suddenly seized, and completely overwhelmed, with some- 
 thing very like a feeling of generosity and compassion 
 for a then newly commencing magazine. He blessed it 
 with his most condescending and cheering smiles. But 
 there was no accounting for the distorted vision of those 
 in power : in utter disdain of his high approbation, they, 
 in the blindness of self-complacency, ventured an irreve- 
 rent remark on some of the minor pieces of the above 
 mentioned modern poets. Whoever has faithfully pe- 
 rused and feelingly sympathized with the sensations 
 experienced by Gulliver, when, on waking from sleep, he 
 found himself fairly bound to the earth by the choleric 
 little citizens of Lilliput, may form some conception of 
 the lofty yet bitter wrath of our hero, when he first be- 
 held the reward of his condescension, manifested in this 
 gross insult to the gods of his idolatry, (no small part of 
 which he of course appropriated to himself,) and felt his 
 own hitherto resistless Pegasus thus momentarily checked 
 in his soarings, by such a corps of nonentities as the 
 editors of a magazine. Not that he was susceptible of 
 any thing like mortification, resulting from wounded 
 feelings and a diminution of self-esteem ; the farthest 
 from it possible. The satire of the aforesaid editors 
 he of course viewed as proceeding from arrogant, pigmy 
 intellects, between which and his own transcendent 
 spirit intervened space 'immeasurable. He remounted 
 indignant to his home in the clouds, whence he has 
 since monthly descended, to watch the labors of those 
 who presumed thus to slight his proffered favor, and to 
 
 * " Le vrai n'est pas toujours vraisemblable." Whoever pre- 
 sumes to question the correspondence of our sketch with nature, 
 is requested to look carefully once more at least before his final 
 decision. 
 
59 
 
 let fall upon them his high malediction. Moreover, the 
 event just narrated seems to have been the ultimate cause 
 of an attack of the true cacoethes censendi, of the most 
 virulent and malignant character. It would be painful 
 to pursue his farther history, and he must be left here, if 
 we would secure time and space for a portrait of yet one 
 more sufferer. 
 
 This is that most obnoxious of all censors, the critic 
 ponctuel. He may be seen, almost daily, darting along 
 tlie streets, with a host of foreign and home-bred reviews 
 in one hand, and of grammars, dictionaries, and disserta- 
 tions on nice points in language, in the other, the very 
 personification of optimism, the fac-simile of Dr. Slop 
 himself. His whole capacious brain has been for years 
 absorbed in one thought; it is the abstract notion of 
 that seventh folly of science, a " faultless piece," pro- 
 nounced by the highest authority something which 
 " ne'er was, nor is, nor e'er shall be." In his pursuit after 
 it, he has always at least the negative happiness of know- 
 ing where it is not y he being blessed in profusion with a 
 certain happy faculty, enabling one successfully to 
 
 " distinguish and divide 
 A hair 'twixt south and south-west side," 
 
 which faculty, moreover, he is ever exercising to the ex- 
 treme discomfort of his less punctilious neighbours. And 
 thus, buoyed up " on wings of gilded butterflies," he 
 moves on, 'mid " trifles light as air," in undoubting, un- 
 tiring search after that real substance answering to his 
 ideal perfection, which is ever eluding his gaze, and 
 evading his grasp. Success to his labors ; and such a 
 wish we must utter in the spirit of the purest benevo- 
 lence, for, of a certainty, he is by no means the < 
 placid or harmless of the multifarious orders of err 
 lying under the influence of cacoethes censer 
 
60 
 
 teasing preciseness and verbality, his fondness for giving 
 a " local habitation," and a very noisy one, to those 
 " airy nothings " in his brain, so much better dreamed of 
 than endured in waking life, and, above all, his unhappy 
 keenness of perception and sensibility to errors and de- 
 fects, invisible to ordinary mortal sight, render him any 
 thing but a desirable companion for a half hour, and any 
 thing but a pleasing or improving subject of contempla- 
 tion to our readers. 
 
 As above stated, the labor of enumerating and fully 
 describing all the genera and species of the mighty hosts 
 subject to the influences of cacoethes censendi, would be 
 absolutely endless. There are your critics ignorans. Of 
 these there are of both kinds, the ignorant in toto and 
 in partej (by which last we would denote one destitute 
 of knowledge or taste on some particular class of works 
 or branch of literature.) Then there are your "lauda- 
 tores temporis acti," and in turn your admirers of every 
 thing novel; "some foreign writers, some our own 
 despise." Then come the critics singulaires, (above de- 
 scribed,) and in much larger numbers, that vulgar species 
 who 
 
 "ne'er advance a judgment of their own, 
 . . But catch the spreading notion of the town." 
 
 Moreover, there are in awful abundance critics sublimes 
 and critics vulgaires, critics poetiques and critics prosa- 
 iques, critics enthousiasmes and critics stupides, critics 
 philosophiques and critics ridicules. 
 
 If this be a true view of cacoethes censendi and its 
 victims, it will be at once perceived how utterly hopeless 
 is the task of the philanthropist, who essays, by any 
 general prescription, to " administer " to such infinite 
 varieties of " minds diseased," of which perhaps almost 
 every individual would require a different treatment. 
 
There are however, a few considerations which, offered 
 purely by way of preventive, may be of some service, 
 and which, therefore, we beg leave, in the shortest imag- 
 inable compass, to subjoin. 
 
 What, then, are the essential constituents, the distin- 
 guishing characteristics of a true critic ? The settling of 
 this point, as it will be advantageous to all desiring to 
 become such, may, on the other hand, be somewhat prof- 
 itable to those vile profaners of the art, who abuse and 
 pervert it, without inquiry or care about its nature and 
 purposes. 
 
 In the first place, it may be thought almost needless to 
 mention those obvious requisites, a sound judgment, a 
 cultivated taste. The first of these is of course absolute- 
 ly indispensable, and must be held of primary importance. 
 It is in consequence uniformly pretended to by all true or 
 false professors of the art. This, however, will clearly 
 be of little avail, if unattended by the second requisite 
 above mentioned, a cultivated taste; cultivated, we 
 mean, in regard to the particular department of literature 
 and kind of works, on which its criticisms are to be em- 
 ployed. The architect, whose principal concern is with 
 foundations and stone pillars, seldom deems it his duty 
 to criticise what is intended purely for ornamental or 
 fancy work ; he would become an object of ridicule, if 
 he should. Equally presumptuous must that literary 
 critic be held, who, having directed his studies, for ex- 
 ample, entirely to works of a philosophical and scientific 
 character, fancies himself entitled to pass judgment on 
 those of belles-lettres, perhaps of poetry, without know- 
 ing or seeking to know any thing of the nature and 
 objects of this part of literature, or even to comprehend 
 the true definition of the term which expresses it. 
 
 Perhaps one might consider, as included in a sound 
 judgment, that non-descript, undefinable, yet every where 
 
62 
 
 useful quality, denominated nil admirari. The intelligent 
 critic will always be found far from extremes. 
 
 11 For fools admire, but men of sense approve." 
 
 Ho will rarely be led, by even the most glaring and gross 
 faults of a work, into indiscriminate and uncompromising 
 censure : he will always be ready, amid the highest beau- 
 ties, to discern and point out defects. 
 
 It is perhaps the most material part of the province of 
 the critic to decide what should not be written. Such 
 qualities then as originality and beauty of conception, 
 imagination, wit, depth of thought, and others, of vital 
 importance to authors in different departments, are not in 
 themselves equally essential to their judges and censors. 
 Yet it may be doubted, whether they will not serve as very 
 efficient aids in the formation of that judgment and taste, 
 which all accord in positively requiring. Pope did not 
 think it extravagant to say, that they alone should " cen- 
 sure freely, who have written well :" and certainly, that 
 a critic be able to enter into the spirit in which an author 
 writes, to feel something of his enthusiasm, to form some 
 conception of his trains of thought, will be of incalculable 
 advantage in enabling him to come to some just apprecia- 
 tion of the mind of the writer, and of the soundness, the 
 beauty, or the grandness of the writing. 
 
 All that we might add is best expressed in the following 
 passage, from that youthful yet masterly performance of 
 Pope the " Essay on Criticism." 
 
 " But where 3 s the man who counsel can bestow. 
 
 Still pleased to teach, and yet not proud to know ; 
 
 Unbiassed, or by favor, or by spite j 
 
 Not dully prepossessed, nor blindly right ; 
 
 Though learned, well bred ; and though well bred, sincere ; 
 
 Modestly bold, and humanely severe ; 
 
 Who to a friend his faults can freely show, 
 
 And gladly praise* the merit of a foe ; 
 
63 
 
 Blest with a taste exact, yet unconfined ; 
 A knowledge both of books and human- kind ; 
 Generous converse ; a soul exempt from pride ; 
 And love to praise, with reason on his side ? " 
 
 THE LAY OF THE JILTED. 
 
 BELIEVE the cloud that veils the sun 
 
 Will ne'er depart will ne'er depart, 
 Believe that pity's voice will melt 
 
 The miser's heart the miser's heart; 
 Believe that storms will never curl 
 
 The quiet wave the quiet wave, 
 And trust that charms have power to rend 
 
 The silent grave the silent grave; 
 Believe that flattery's fawning tongue 
 
 Will ne'er beguile will ne'er beguile, 
 Aye, trust the faith of woman's frown ; 
 
 But not her smile but not her smile. 
 
 The gladdening rainbow surely tells 
 
 The storm is past the storm is past, 
 Her sweetest smile but shows the heart 
 
 Is most o'ercast is most o'ercast. 
 Her vows as fair and fleeting are 
 
 As winter snow as winter snow, 
 The lover swears her softest yes 
 
 Is always no is always no. 
 Cupid one day his skill would try, 
 
 I watched his dart I watched his dart, 
 It pierced the maiden's whalebone stays, 
 
 But not her heart but not her heart. 
 
 ELAH. 
 
64 
 
 TO ADELA. 
 
 LADY, by the stars that glisten 
 
 In yon conscious arch above, 
 By the viewless forms that listen 
 
 To my plighted vow of love, 
 By this heart which fondly flingeth 
 
 All its incense on thy shrine, 
 Speak the word that rapture bringeth, 
 
 Whisper, dearest, thou art mine. 
 
 O delay not ; bitter sorrow 
 
 For thy coyness have I borne ; 
 Let me not, another morrow, 
 
 Feel within the festering thorn ! 
 Ah ! that gentle smile thou wearest 
 
 Speaks of pity for my pain ; 
 Bless thee ! bless thee ! sweetest, dearest ! 
 
 Let me see that smile again. 
 
 Lady, do those witching glances, 
 
 And that bosom's gentle swell, 
 And the soft blush that entrances, 
 
 Sign a joy words cannot tell ? 
 Speak they not the first of blisses, 
 
 First on earth, and first above ? 
 Seal the holy bond with kisses, 
 
 Holy for the bond is love. 
 
 ELAH. 
 
CONTENTS 
 
 Page. 
 
 LEAVES FROM A TRAVELLER'S NOTE BOOK. No. II. 33 
 THE SONG OF THE GALLEY-SLAVE, ... 37 
 
 NATIONAL NOVELS, .38 
 
 THE FAITHFUL ABENAQJJOIS, .... 42 
 LIFE OF EDMUND KEAN. By BARRY CORNWALL. 
 
 ( A Review of), 44 
 
 SPEECHES OF THE RIGHT HON. GEORGE CANNING. 
 
 (A Review of), 48 
 
 THE TEAR OF SYMPATHY, 52 
 
 THOUGHTS ON THE "CANT OF CRITICISM," . . 53 
 THE LAY OF THE JILTED, . . . . .63 
 To ADELA, ........ 64 
 
 NOTICES TO CORRESPONDENTS. 
 
 "A Child of Nature" is indeed a natural ; he has " wandered 
 abroad " twice to no purpose : we advise him for the future to 
 stay at home and keep quiet. " Mother Goose " we presume is 
 so well appreciated, that there is no need of attempting to unfold 
 her beauties in Harvardiana. " Complaint of the letter H," 
 "Characters," "The College Bell," "Friendship and Love," 
 " Farewell," " The Grave," and " X; I. 0." acre inadmissible. 
 
 This work is conducted by UNDERGRADUATES OF HARVARD UNIVERSITY, and published 
 Monthly at two dollars per annum, payable in advance. 
 
M229437 
 
 THE UNIVERSITY OF CALIFORNIA LIBRARY