bred men in other states, is entitled to the appellation of gentleman. But what magic there is in chewing tobacco, spitting, drinking mint julep in the morning, and toddy at noon; horse-racing, fisticuffing, and other like genteel accomplishments, to bestow on a Virginian, by eminence, the patent of a gentleman, is not so clear to others as to these gentlemen themselves.

Mr. John Randolph's nephew must not be surprised, considering the barbarism of all the world outside of Virginia, to find that these letters are not looked upon with extatic wonder. In point of fact, there are not half a dozen pages in the whole volume worth reading. They consist chiefly of personal and domestic details, directions about horses, fillies, colts; notices of Jupiter, Quasha, Juba, and his nephew's bad spelling, and complaints of the ingratitude of mankind. In regard to the latter, if it be not high treason against the majesty of Virginia grandeur, we might ask, What claim has Mr. John Randolph to the gratitude of any body? but, as the question might be deemed impertinent, we forbear. As to the nephew, he must have been an exceeding blockhead-it having apparently cost him some twenty years hard work to learn orthography; and this is the only fact of any importance communicated to the public in this wonderful volume. Strange and surprising though this be, the world at large will not probably say much about it, seeing that sundry great revolutions are going on, and many great writers are absorbing public attention, in spite of the superior claims of Mr. John Randolph's nephew's bad spelling, and Mr. John Randolph's puppy's broken leg.

After all, we fancy, Mr. Randolph's fame will be merely traditional. A man of his cast of mind rarely leaves any thing of the slightest value to posterity. His talent in satire made him dreaded and hated during life-his literary remains, these letters, surely, will not redeem his fame now that he is dead. Unless his papers contain something better, and unless they fall into the hands of a more sensible editor, the name of John Randolph will only serve "to point a moral or adorn a tale.”

The following two extracts are almost all the volume contains that deserves even a passing glance :

Do not, however, undervalue the character of the real gentleman, which is the most respectable amongst men. It consists not of plate, and equipage, and rich living, any more than in the disease which that mode of life engenders; but in truth, courtesy, bravery, generosity, and learning, which last, although not essential to it, yet does very much to adorn and illustrate the character of the true gentleman. Tommy Merton's gentlemen were no gentlemen, except in the acceptation of innkeepers, (and the great vulgar, as well as the small,) with whom he who rides in a coach and six, is three times as great a gentleman as he who drives a post-chaise and pair. Lay down this as a principle, that truth is to the other virtues, what vital air is to the human system. They cannot exist at all without it; and as the body may live under many diseases, if supplied with pure air for its consumption, so may the character survive many defects, where there is a rigid attachment to truth. All equivocation and subterfuge belong to falsehood, which consists, not in using false words only, but in conveying false impressions, no matter how; and if a person deceive himself, and I, by my silence, suffer him to remain in that error, I am implicated in the deception, unless it be one who has no right to rely upon me for information, and, in that case, 't is plain, I could not be instrumental in deceiving him.

To form good habits is almost as easy as to fall into bad. What is the difference between an industrious, sober man and an idle drunken one, but their respective habits? "T is just as easy for Mr. Harrison to be temperate and active, as 't is for

poor Knowles to be the reverse; with this great difference, that, exclusively of the effects of their respective courses of life on their respectability and fortunes, the exercises of the one are followed by health, pleasure, and peace of mind, whilst those of the other engender disease, pain, and discontent-to say nothing of poverty in its most hideous shape, want, squalid misery, and the contempt of the world, contrasted with affluent plenty, a smiling family, and the esteem of all good men. Perhaps you cannot believe that there exists a being who would hesitate which of these two lots to choose. Alas! my son, vice puts on such alluring shapes, indolence is so seducing, that, (like the flies in Esop,) we revel whilst the sun shines, and for a few hours' temporary pleasure pay the price of perishing miserably in the winter of our old age. The industrious ants are wiser. By a little forbearance at the moment, by setting a just value on the future, and disregarding present temptation, they secure an honorable and comfortable asylum. All nature, my son, is a volume, speaking comfort and offering instruction to the good and wise. But "the fool saith in his heart, There is no God:" he shuts his eyes to the great book of Nature that lies open before him. Your fate, my dear Theodorick, is in your own hands. Like Hercules, every young man has his choice between pleasure, falsely so called, and infamy, or laborious virtue and a fair fame. In old age, indeed long before, we begin to feel the folly, or wisdom, of our selection. I confidently trust that you, my son, will choose wisely. In seven years from this time, you will repent, or rejoice, at the disposition which you make of the present hour.

The Pilgrims of the Rhine. By the Author of Pelham, Eugene Aram, &c.

This book contains much fine description and beautiful sentiment. The ground-work of the whole is a simple and pathetic story of a lady and her lover, who travel through the romantic country of the Rhine. The beauty of the heroine is described in the most vivid and delicate colors. The character wins the interest and touches the deepest feelings of the heart. She has all the warm sympathies and affections of noble-hearted woman, and is yet free from every affectation, every low tendency, every ridiculous weakness. She is a being of earth, with almost no earthly imperfections; a being not of real, at least not of daily life, and yet not above our comprehension, not impossible, not improbable. In such conceptions, the bright fancy of Bulwer shines pre-eminent and alone. In such description, his masterly English, selected from the choicest parts of our multifarious language, rich, expressive, poetical, and harmonious, surpasses all other writers of the age. If his writings had all been such, the reading world would have been spared an immense mass of trash and slang, which have done much to pervert the morals and spoil the style of his cotemporaries.

The heroine is suffering in an advanced stage of consumption, and, in company with her lover, and father, travels in search of restoration of health. The gradual progress of the disease, the anxious cares of the lover and the beauties of the country, are described with feeling, truth, and power. To amuse the languor of illness, and to lighten the fatigues of the journey, a variety of stories are introduced, and ingeniously designed to illustrate the character and superstitious notions of the dwellers in that poetical region. The "Maid of Malines," is admirably told; so is the "Life of Dreams."

It is hardly worth while to analyze a book which every body has read. It has more just thought, more beautiful description, and more excellent sentiment than any one of Bulwer's other works, perhaps than all put together. But we think the effect is somewhat injured by the underplot of the Fairies. This is designed both to illustrate a favorite

fancy of the English and German popular mind, and to convey a variety of satirical allusions to the politics of the day. The former may be in keeping with the general design, but the latter seems to be a useless excrescence. Even the former is not called for. It is too late in the day to use such machinery; and as to fairies in general, we entertain for them a cordial detestation, regarding them like monkeys, as an odious imitation of humanity. We recommend to the reader a liberty which we have not ourselves taken,-to skip over all this part of the book, in the assurance that he will not only finish it the sooner,—an important thing in these days of a teeming press,-but that he will escape a most annoying and impertinent interruption, from beings, who excite an interest in very nearly the manner of gnats and musquetoes.

Sketches. By Mrs. Sigourney.

The praise of criticism is not necessary to commend the writings of Mrs. Sigourney to the favor of her countrymen. Her reputation has been growing for several years, as an author of sound sense, a correct moral tone, and of very considerable literary powers. As a poet, she has met with great applause; in the volume now before us, her talents, as a prose writer, are favorably exhibited. It contains six sketches, of nearly equal degrees of axcellence. "The Father" is a highly-wrought picture of paternal love for an amiable and accomplished daughter. It is founded on natural feelings, and those among the most sacred of the human heart. In the main, it is true, but not wholly so. The characteristic feelings of the Father are sometimes exaggerated and not well discriminated. The reader feels that the picture is worked up by labor, and not rapidly and delicately traced from observation, with the versatile hand of true genius.

The "Legend of Oxford" is a well-written description of the early settlement of that town. The troubles of the Huguenots, and their peculiarly bland and generous character, are related and exemplified in a very interesting manner. The account of the captivity, the massacre, and the final desolation of the village, contains many pathetic touches. "The Family Portraits" is a simple tale, in which the heroine fancies herself in love with an Irish pretended captain, and plots an elopement, with the aid of a treacherous French waiting-maid. There is no distressing intricacy in the story; but the conflicts in the mind of Mary, between her imaginary passion and her sense of duty, are well described. The elopement is prevented partly by accidental circumstances, and partly by the timely interference of a sagacious uncle. The swain, who had sighed after the fortune of our heroine, proves to be the husband of a wife in Ireland, and the lord of a potato patch. In due course of time, the lady is soberly married to a worthy young Huguenot, and becomes an exemplary matron in the infant colony. The author has attempted to paint a voluble waiting-woman; but has not, in the slightest degree, succeeded. The speeches she puts into the mouth of Madelaine Dubelde, are utterly out of character; and the language is such as no mortal would or could ever use, under the circumstances of the case.

The story of "Oriana" is the best in the book. The picture of female loveliness and wife-like devotion, is true and touching. The

scene is laid in the Revolution, and the period is one, which the American heart looks upon with never-ceasing interest. The close of this story is marked by some of that elaborate exaggeration, which we have spoken of before. But Oriana herself is a beautiful creation. All the circumstances of her life, her long, wasting illness, and her death, are naturally and feelingly described.

The "Intemperate" is too true to nature, in its horrid details of a loathsome vice, to be subjected to literary criticism.

The "Patriarch" is a singular description of an insulated community in North-Carolina. Whether it is fiction or fact we know not. It has a little too much Arcadian perfection for the latter, and a little too much circumstantial and local detail for the former. But it is an excellent description of simple, patriarchal life, under the influence of pure religion.

Mrs. Sigourney's style is marked with strong sense, but is wanting in versatility. She treats a grave subject with propriety and dignity, but has little or no grace in attempting a lighter theme. Her words are commonly forcible, and her sentences correct; but her imagination never overflows with the exuberant richness, the fervor, and life of high poetical genius. When she aims at wit or humor, her aim misses its mark. Her turn of mind is serious, not by nature sportive. She discourses eloquently on virtue more frequently than she embodies a virtuous character. She describes the force of passion; but rarely draws from the life and true to the life, a man or woman, under the power of passion. For common reading she has a little too much sentiment the moon shines rather more than is requisite, and the eye fills with tears, and silver locks hang down from aged and venerable heads, more than the actual state of things will warrant. Perhaps these things are natural to her, in her capacity of authoress. We have been struck with this, among other peculiarities of female writers.

But the moral character of Mrs. Sigourney's work is of the best and highest sort. An unceasing vein of the purest religious feeling, runs through all her writings. Not a sentiment can be found in them, which the most virtuous heart should not cherish; not an expression, which the most fastidious delicacy may not utter. She refers constantly to the Christian Faith as the source of high courage, true greatness, and as the only firm support in sorrow, sickness, and death.

Journal of a Residence in Scotland and Tour through England, France, Germany, Switzerland, and Italy, with a Memoir of the Author, and Extracts from his Religious Papers. Compiled from the Manuscripts of the late Henry B. McLellan. By I. McLellan, jun.

This is a work more interesting as an indication of what its lamented author would have accomplished, had his life been spared, than for its intrinsic merits, though these are by no means inconsiderable. The principal part of it consists of familiar letters, addressed to his friends, describing objects and persons in the old world, and written without the most remote thought of publication. This fact, as well as the melancholy bereavement which led to its being published, would disarm the severity of criticism, and lead one to overlook its faults of omission and commission, were they ten times more numerous than they are. We do not make these remarks by way of apology or excuse

for this volume; for it by no means needs any. The letters have merit enough of their own to abide a judgement upon that merit alone. They are written with spirit, animation, and good taste, and evince habits of observation and powers of reflection, of no common order. The fact, that they are published as they came from the writer's pen, while it excuses some carelessness of style, renders them more interesting as a natural and unstudied picture of his mind and character. He was a young man of uncommon promise, and his early death is a subject of sorrow to all who value sincere piety, moral worth, and intellectual activity. He gave assurance of the highest usefulness in the sacred profession to which he was destined, and to a preparation for which he devoted himself with untiring assiduity. His high character and agreeable manners secured him the friendship of many distinguished persons in England and Scotland, whose approbation and confidence alone would be proof of uncommon merit. No one can read this volume without sharing in the warm interest which he inspired while living, and in the affliction which his premature death has awakened in his friends and relatives.

Letters from the Canary Islands, by D. J. Browne.

Mr. Browne lately made a voyage to these islands, for the sake of scientific observation. This little volume is the result of his travels and researches. It gives evidence of an active mind, and of considerable power in observing. It is written in the form of letters, beginning with some general remarks on the Canaries, and then a particular account of his voyage, followed by his researches after his arrival. As soon as he had landed at Orotava, he began, with great activity, the task for which his voyage had been undertaken. His inquiries were devoted chiefly to the physical condition of these islands, in the course of which he ascended the Peak of Teneriffe three times. The descriptions of these ascents are very interesting, and the facts observed are, probably, valuable, in natural history. Besides these ascents, Mr. Browne made excursions to Chasna, and Candelaria,―made a trigonometrical measurement of the Peak, which he found to be about twelve thousand one hundred and seventy-seven English feet in height, and recorded a great variety of observations taken in these several excursions. There is, also, a short topographical description of the Canary Islands, and a particular account of their natural history.

Common readers will be more pleased with Mr. Browne's sketch of their social condition, and perhaps with the somewhat apocryphal history of the Guanches. Mr. Browne's speculations on the fabled Atlantis of antiquity do not amount to much; nor is the story of the man more than a dozen feet high a valuable addition to our anthropological stores.

Mr. Browne's language shows but little practice in writing. His sentences are often awkward and involved, and his phrases ill-chosen. On page 103, for instance, he says, "It is hardly necessary to remark, that in all Spanish provinces, the Catholic religion is universally tolerated," &c. To talk about the Catholic religion being tolerated in a Spanish province, is altogether absurd. He might as well say the Catholic religion is tolerated in Rome, or Episcopacy in England. We must give our author the praise of being an industrious observer, and the blame of being a credulous compiler and a clumsy writer.