shore. Louis in the confidence, and Marguerite with the faint hope, of reaching it before they were overtaken. "You may imagine how often the poor mother, timid as a fawn, was startled by the evening breeze stirring the leaves; but the boy bounded forward as if there were neither fear nor danger in the world. "They had nearly attained the margin of the river, where Louis meant to launch one of the canoes and drop down the current, when the Indian yell resounding through the woods, struck on their ears. They were missed, pursued, and escape was impossible. Marguerite, panic-struck, sunk to the ground. Nothing could check the career of Louis. 'On-on, mother,' he cried, 'to the shore-to the shore.' She rose and instinctively followed her boy. The sound of pursuit came nearer and nearer. They reached the shore, and there beheld three canoes coming swiftly up the river. Animated with hope, Louis screamed the watch word of the garrison, and was answered by his father's voice. "The possibility of escape, and the certain approach of her husband, infused new life into Marguerite. Your father cannot see us,' she said, · as we stand here in the shade of the trees; hide yourself in that thicket; I will plunge into the water.' Louis crouched under the bushes, and was completely hidden by an overhanging grape-vine, while his mother advanced a few steps into the water and stood erect, where she could be distinctly seen. A shout from the canoes apprised her that she was recognised; and at the same moment, the Indians, who had now reached the shore, rent the air with their cries of rage and defiance. They stood for a moment, as if deliberating what next to do; Mecumeh maintained an undaunted and resolved air-but with his followers the aspect of armed men, and a force thrice their number, had its usual effect. They filed. He looked after them, cried 'shame!' and then, with a desperate yell, leaped into the water, and stood beside Marguerite. The canoes were now within a few yards. He put his knife to her bosom-The daughter of Tecumseh,' he said, 'should have died by the judgment of our warriors, but now by her brother's hand must she perish:' and he drew back his arm to give vigor to the fatal stroke, when an arrow pierced his own breast, and he fell insensible at his sister's side. A moment after Mar guerite was in the arms of her husband, and Louis, with his bow unstrung, bounded from the shore, and was received in his father's canoe; and the wild shores rung with the acclamations of the soldiers, while his father's tears of pride and joy were poured like rain upon his cheek. "The stranger paused, and Edward breathed one long breath, expressive of the interest with which he had listened to the tale; and then said, 'You have not told us, sir, how the commandant was so fortunate as to pursue in the right direction.' "He returned soon after Marguerite's departure, and of course was at no loss to determine that she had been taken in the toils of her brother. He explored the mouth of the Oswegatchie, thinking it possible that the savages might have left their canoes moored there, and taken to the land. Louis's cap and feather caught his eye, and furnished him a clue. You have now my whole story, concluded the stranger; and though I cannot vouch for its accuracy, many similar circumstances must have occur. red, while this country was a wilderness, and my tradition is at least supported by probability." T ART. V. Lionel Lincoln, or the Leaguer of Boston. By the The principal aims of criticism in the journals that come to us from abroad, appear to be, to anticipate and to modify general opinion in relation to the works and the subjects discussed in them. They always aspire to at least the judicial, and almost always to the legislative function in literature. It is not enough for the Aristarchuses of these lettered aristocracies to apply sometimes a mistaken, sometimes a supposed, and sometimes a distorted rule; but in defiance of the principles of all sound governments, in the republic of which the government should be the soundest, they create the very code that they administer, and judge the applicant for literary justice, by a system of ex post facto laws, undiscoverable through any human ingenuity by the individual whose practice they should have directed. It is not surprising, in this state of things, that great varieties and inconsistencies should be found in the progress of the same work; that caprice should contradict caprice, and that one writer's partialities, antipathies, and prejudices should counteract another's; that judgments previously pronounced should be forgotten, when new ones on the same subject are to be declared, or when the same author presents himself at successive periods before the same tribunal;or that even the safe policy of criticism should change, as the minor becomes a man, or as the loyal colony passes through rebellion and independence to rivalry and triumph. Indeed, as long as this assumption is maintained, instances will never be wanting, like those of Lord Byron and of America, of these arbiters of literary destiny beginning in "Ercles' vein," and ending with "roaring you as gently as any sucking dove." A wiser, and certainly a less dangerous course, would be, for a body of critics, however originally established, whether autoclete or regularly nominated and elected, to consider themselves, in the exercise of their public duties, as the representatives of the reading community, to regard the sentiments expressed by thinking men, where the majority is overwhelming, (particularly in all matters of taste, in which opinions incessantly and innocently clash,) almost as the instructions of constituents,-and where the division of parties is obvious and decided, at least to state the conflicting opinions, let their own be what they may. We would not, by this, be understood as suggesting the idea of relinquishing our claim to the casting vote in those innumerable questions of criticism where the equities of taste are equal, or even of compromising our cathedretical rights, on any occasion which may require their vindication. Far from us be so tame a concession of our prerogative, and so cowardly a desertion of our duty; especially while our country, which bids fair to furnish the chief materials for their exercise, is yet in the earliest stage of its literary boyhood, the very age for castigation. Our object is simply to allude to the advantages which the critic may derive from the consultation of public opinion, and to profess our respect for that tribunal, which, after all, is the one from which must eventually emanate, every benefit that the author can anticipate, and all the severities from which he has occasion to shrink. The book of which the title is at the head of this article, has been in the hands, probably, of all who are our readers, and certainly of thousands who are not so, long enough for a full and fair discussion of its excellencies and defects to have taken place, and to have allowed the tumult of spirits which attends the early perusal of a work expected with so much impatience, to subside into a calm appreciation of its merits. It is obvious, then, that our remarks can do little to affect opinions in relation to it, which, independently of them, must have been already formed. We cannot, however, resign our prescriptive right to pronounce our judgment in a case so peculiarly within our province; nor are we willing to deny ourselves the honest triumph of welcoming a production which not only is, but what is no less important to us as Americans, is allowed abroad to be, a work of undoubted genius. Unquestionable, however, as are its claims to be so considered, perhaps no book has appeared among us, and been universally read, which has given rise to a division of sentiments respecting its merits, so marked, and so easily assignable to different classes of minds. Those who read merely to be detained by variety of incident, or to be amused with vivid and energetic dialogue, or to be excited by highly wrought catastrophe, complain, when they have concluded it, of its general deficiency in all these particulars. Those who require original, and strongly marked, and completely sustained character, are less disappointed, although by no means thoroughly satisfied. The verbal critic, the mere "auceps syllabarum," utters an exclamation of loyal horror over the countless instances in which the laws of the Code Priscian are irreverently violated. Who then, it may be asked, are the readers that allow it to be a successful effort to maintain, and even to elevate the previously acquired reputation of its author? They are those of the highest order. They are those who are capable of being delighted with a fresh and full infusion of the political tone of the most doubtful period of their own national history; who can glow with grateful exultation when they see a faithful picture, by the pencil of a native artist, of the scenes of their fathers' struggles for their own inheritance, which had hitherto baffled all attempts to give them any other interest than that which they derive from being the starting post to the goal of freedom. It should alone be enough to satisfy a craving for the praise of power and originality, even as inordinate as that betrayed by the author of the book before us in its preface, that he has been the first among us to dress in the evergreens of a fertile fancy, that consecrated spot where the most glorious feat of our independence was originally achieved, -on which the loftiest monument of the age is almost ready to be reared, and over which the proudest eloquence of our country is preparing to pour its charm. We shall proceed to justify, in detail, some of these preliminary remarks. And first for the plot. The hero of the story is a Bostonian by birth, educated in England, who on arriving at man's estate, returns to his native town as a major in the British service. On his return voyage, a stranger on board acquires, by some secret sympathy, a mysterious influence over him. This stranger, who afterwards proves to be his father, excites in the earlier part of the narrative, a powerful interest, from his seeming to be governed in all his actions by that musterspirit of the times in the colonies, which the author has displayed with great force and truth in some of the subordinate characters. This interest, however, totally vanishes with respect to the stranger, when we are informed that he is intended to be represented as a maniac; and we feel almost sorry that we had ever indulged it, when we find, (vol. 2. p. 216.) the reasons of his apparent devotion to the American cause, and of the "eternal hatred to that country from which he sprung, and those laws under which he was born," in which he invokes his son, at his mother's grave, to join him,-to be simply that in England, bedlamites are confined, or, to use his own words, that " an innocent and unoffending man can be levelled with the beasts of the field, and be made to rave even at his Maker, in the bitterness of his sufferings." The cause of this lunacy, of which Lionel himself is meant to seem to have a spice, is partly a hereditary tendency to the malady, but chiefly a shade thrown over the character of his deceased wife by his aunt, Mrs. Lechmere, as unaccountable an old lady as any of whom either romance or real life has ever yielded a specimen. This obsolete female, VOL. I. 6 (the aunt, it is to be remembered, of the father of Lionel, whose own years are beyond the age of man,) enters the book in hysterics, falls out of one fit into another through the whole course of the story, and makes her final exit in violent convulsions. Her ruling passion is represented to be a desire to connect her own family with that of Lincoln, which appears to govern her from generation to generation. Her first experiment, with this view, is a long-sighted attempt upon the father of Lionel, before he is known as the heir of the house of Lincoln, in favor of her own daughter. This falls through, however, the lady attaching herself to Colonel Dynevor, and becoming the mother of Cecil, and the gentleman first seeking an intimacy more to his taste with Abigail Pray, (a pretty domestic of his aunt's, who becomes the mother of Job Pray,) and then disappointing her views for ever, by marrying her god-daughter, Priscilla Lechmere, afterwards the mother of Lionel. All Mrs. Lechmere's visions of glory now give place to her thirst for revenge upon the being who has dispelled them. Accordingly, during his stay in England, where he goes to secure the title and estates of his family, which fall to him just at this crisis, she prepares, in conjunction with Abigail Pray, a plot to convince him that his wife, whose death takes place before his return, had been faithless during his absence. Their contrivance succeeds, and the reason of Sir Lionel is by these means sufficiently unsettled to enable Mrs. Lechmere to procure his subsequent confinement in England, as a lunatic, from which he does not escape until he accompanies his son, although unknown to him, on his expedition to the colonies. The changes wrought in him by time, suffering, and disease, are such, that neither Abigail Pray, in whose house he takes up his abode, nor Mrs. Lechmere, whose death he predicts, although hints enough are frequently thrown out to quicken their penetration, seems even to suspect his identity. In the mean while, the presence of Lionel in the house of Mrs. Lechmere, revives her former passion; and the charms of her grand-daughter Cecil achieve the triumph of which she had been forced by experience to despair. On Lionel's recovery from a wound received in the battle of Breed's Hill, a moment of tenderness into which Cecil is betrayed by her sympathy for her cousin's protracted sufferings, leads, (in the language of the author,) to Lionel's "favoring her with a very particular communication," and on applying to Mrs. Lechmere for her consent, she urges their union on the same evening. The young lady, who appears determined to have as much ceremonial about the matter as the circumstances will admit, insists upon being mar |