"So with wounds of every description. A single warrior will bear wounds of a character and number that would kill three white men, and yet, by the aid of abstinence, his immense recuperative energies, and such simple treatment as we have mentioned, he is up again and in the saddle before the corpse of a white man would have been fairly in the way of decomposition.

64

This system constitutes, as I conceive, the true adaptation of means to the end.' We do not wish to make our children, in civilization, professional robbers, certainly, but we must and do desire to make them men. Physically men in every sense of hardihood and endurance, they are best fitted to become ethically so in every sense of good citizenship."

We have also, in the same chapter, the sterner side of the extraordinary character of the French woman, which is sketched in a single passage. We must keep in view the fact that the relations of this woman to the French robber, Count Albert, are still of an exceedingly doubtful character, and our captain, in spite of the passion for her, which possesses him, concludes that he is neither enough of a savage or a Parisian, to disregard these perplexing questions, whether the woman he loves is, or has been, the willing mistress of another man; yet the powerful spell of her presence both command, and plead, that he should trust. Whatever doubts he may wrestle with whilst she is absent, he is heartily ashamed of them all the moment he looks into her eye. But this contest with his prejudices and his passion through all the gloom of uncertainty, constitutes an intensely dramatic portion of the book. Indeed, from the time of our introduction to her we recognize her as a most remarkable being, and whether true or ideal delineation, she is certainly a noble addition to historical romance. She stands

as a strictly original type of feminine heroics, such as only Paris and Life among the Camanches could produce, when their influence was combined.

In illustration of the powers of description of which we have spoken as one of the best traits of this new writer, we cannot forbear giving a description of a prairie on fire, which we consider decidedly the best yet published, though some of our best writers have attempted it. The party of Rangers had the day previous severely drubbed a band of Camanches, who, in revenge therefor, set fire to an immense prairie on every side of them just when they had reached the midst of it. pp. 72 to 76.

February 1.-After passing the bottom of the creek on which we camped this morning, we came upon an open expanse, bounded only by the sky, where it shut down like a vast inverted basin upon the dead, plain level. Out to our left a long, black, irregular line of baffalo was stretched, like a great ragged blur upon the fair breadth of space.

"It was a wonderful sight, those countless legions of dark, moving things shearing the brown grass before them as they rolled slowly on!

For miles and miles the infinite multitude was thronging, until their rounded backs grew up against the sky, and the strained gaze felt weary in tracing them. I had never seen any thing like this before. The pigeons, when they cloud the sun, can scarcely be more numerous.

"We had been moving past them for several hours, and still were all gazing in mute astonishment at this marvelous array, when Old Hicks suddenly exclaimed, pointing over to the right, The prairie's on fire! The cussed Injuns want to burn us up!'

I turned quickly enough. Just under the horizon there was first merely a light smoky haze, which I should not have noticed as at all ominous; but in a moment this began to take on the appearance of a distant bank of mist, and then quick, dim points of light would break through. I turned my head, and saw this threatening appearance rising, slowly and simultaneously, on the three sides of us which were nearest the timber, thus totally cutting us off from all hope of escape by flight. It rapidly changed its formu, and came down upon us with fearful speed.

Now the dense and blackish volumes rolled up from the plain in huge knotted wreaths, while every moment from the midst a pale-red tongue of flame would leap, spring up, and then sink, smothered in the murky folds that, bellied by the wind, swept heralding before.

"Stretching far away, in front and behind, under the sky's rim, this terrible crescent seemed to be fast closing its fiery horns around us. Now the hot air struck us with its stifling currents, though there were yet miles between us and the flames; and, passing over, I could see when it had reached the herd of buffalo.

"The mighty mass was still for an instant, and along the whole line I could distinguish the lifted heads of the startled leaders snuffing the danger.

Then there was a sudden tumult and recoiling, and the heavy roar of their affright boomed upon our ears; and, like a dark, great river, troubled and tossed by a sudden eruption beneath its bed, and turned from out its channel, with a rumble that made the earth shiver as in a spasin, it burst, rushing and tumbling, a shoreless torrent, over the plain, scattered wide and wildly toward the west.

"But our own case demanded all our attention. The rascally Indians had waited until we were in the middle of this very extensive prairie, and then set fire to the windward of us along a line of several miles at the same time. The winter grass was tall and dry; the wind had been high before; but in a moment it rushed past us a perfect gale of hot air, bringing the flames along with awful rapidity.

The cowardly wretches had calculated well; as I glanced around, I could see little prospect of our escape. It was hopeless to think of outrunning it.

"Herds of mustangs were sweeping past with streaming manes and heads turned back, snorting in affright; antelopes scudded by like sea-birds; and deer, tossing their antlers as they looked behind, bounded long and high over the grass : yet I knew few of them would escape, with all their frantic speed; and what hope had we?

"We were all gathered in a cluster, looking round us in awe, silent and confused by the suddenness with which such terrible elements of fear had burst forth -I at a loss what step should be taken; when I heard the doctor say, in a sharp, nervous voice, What the devil are you at there, old man? I'm sure we are like to be roasted soon enough, without your hastening the thing!

"I turned, and saw Old Hicks on his knees in the grass, blowing away eagerly at a spark he had struck with his flint and steel.

6

"Ah, right! It instantly occurred to me that our only chance was to burn against the fire," as it is called; that is, set fire to the grass around us, and burn off all in the neighborhood, so that, when the great flood met our lesser flood, there would be nothing left for it to feed on, and it must subside on either hand, and leave us.

"The veteran's long experience had promptly suggested to him the only recourse under such circumstances, which might have occurred too late, if at all, to our comparative ignorance.

"I quickly sprang down to my feet, calling the men to assist in kindling and spreading our fire; very soon a circle of flame began to widen off, and while yet it merely crept along the grass, we urged our trembling horses over it, and stool grouped on the hot and blackened ground, holding their bridles.

"Our defensive fire spread rapidly; but the opposing torrent rolled on with appalling speed, the glowing billows leaping large lengths as they would burst for an instant through the advanced masses of dense smoke that were rushing, curled and writhing like huge phantom-snakes, over the bowed grass ahead, in swift chase, it seemed, of the poor animals; for every instant these shadowy monsters would devour one; then the flame behind would shoot up a quick, exulting spire! "On! on it came! far along, above us and below us!

"The air became fiery hot, and hurled the eddying volumes of smoke upon us; and the hissing roar and glare raged fierce and high in terrible tumult close behind. "Our horses became almost unmanageable; we were suffocating; we threw our blankets over our heads, and struggled with the frantic animals, in the steadiness of despair!

"It was an awful moment of darkened wrestling as the fiery hurricane swept over us, or, rather, past us; for, parting where the fire of our circle met it, it went charring, crackling, roaring by on either eide, though close enough to almost reach our skins; and when we threw off the envelope of the blankets from our

faces, the Red Sea had been passed, and we stood safe, but astounded, upon the blackened, smoking plain.

"Egad, captain!" shouted the doctor, "Old Hicks has been the Moses this time!'"

“So he had been-the trusty veteran; and we all felt grateful enough for his prompt and opportune sagacity.

"After the line of the fire passed us, we could see nothing for the smoke, except now and then a burst of sparks and flame which would shoot up above it for a second, which, Hicks said, indicated that some poor animal had been caught; and after a while, as we rode rapidly across the plain to get off the heated ground, we could see a flare-up," as Hicks called it, occurring every instant, showing that the great herd of buffalo had been overtaken.

They were probably very many of them, burned; for every few hundred paces we would pass the charred and shriveled carcass of a mustang or deer. showing how fatal those glowing surges must have been in breaking over that countless multitude. I do not doubt that many thousands were burned to death, "How bitterly we cursed the infernal Camanches, the next time we get within gun-shot of them will show."

The book, however, is not without its faults; it is marked frequently by a certain extravagance and impetuousness, that somewhat mar its beauty as a whole. It has evidently been written too rapidly-the author has sometimes mistaken the goose-quill for his revolver; but these are the faults most easily forgiven-they are errors inclining to the right side. The book contains abundant promise of future fame. We would advise Mr. Webber to write his next book more slowly, to hold in the reins of his fancy, and let us breathe on our way, and success and eminence are before him. Since his arrival in New-York, Mr. Webber has been employed in making contributions to our literature of varied and singularly original character. He is the author of the exceeding popular story of "Jack Long," or "Shot in the Eye," which appeared several years since in this Review, and by a curious mistake appeared in another Review of the same month. Several editions of this story, variously illustrated, have been published in England-and its circulation in this country has been surprisingly extended. His Sketches and Tales of Border Life are by no means his most valuable labors. His knowledge of Natural History is of the most inti. mate character; and his papers on Audubon, birds, and quadrupeds are, whilst he was associate editor of the American Review, and since in the Southern Quarterly, the most interesting and accurate that have appeared in this country. No writer among us has paid so much attention to these subjects as Mr. Webber. The accuracy of his observation is evident on the pages of this book; for all the facts with regard to the habits of the creatures of the wild regions which he traversed, are recorded with singular fidelity. We observe throughout the book charming anecdotes, many of them concerning animals almost entirely unknown, and unclassified by naturalists.

Though "Old Hicks" is not finished with the care and polish of Omoo, for the impetuous strain in which it is written has forbidden the minute attention to details, which is necessary to a perfect work, yet there is in it far more of earnestness and poetry than in Omoo, whilst it has the same remarkable vraisemblance of that popular work, and possesses an advantage over it, in the confidence that it inspires of its truth. We verily believe in these Camanches; we believe in this daring and dashing Frenchwoman, and in the ferocious Count Albert, though the possibilities of their strange life had never before entered into our conception.

We believe, though through the apparent extravagance of some of the wild scenes in which these persons are actors, our fireside-credulity may be shocked. Somehow, the vividness and earnestness with which they are described convinces us, in spite of ourselves. We have evidently much to learn yet of these Camanches.

ENGLISH REBELLION OF 1745.*

THIS performance is a plain, unvarnished tale of a scene in which the author was an actor. There is not so much interest thrown around the characters and events of this extraordinary period of English history, as might have been expected from the author of the elegant tragedy of Douglas. Still it is not void of interest, as it bears every mark of authenticity, and treats of a very strange event.

The Rebellion of 1745 is a kind of episode in the general course of English history-strange and unexpected. It resembles a chapter in romance more than a history of grave facts. At every step we seem to be invading the domains of fiction-to be treading the walks of sentiment and fancy. When we have finished our investigation and laid aside the volume of information, we feel as though a tragedy had ended, whose progress we had watched with intense interest, and for whose characters we felt the deepest sympathy. Every circumstance connected with it partakes of the wonderful, the heroic, and the poetic. The man of song should claim it as his own, and weave it into verse, to stir the human soul, and to cultivate a love for the sublime exhibitions of humanity. It was a desperate undertaking; it was originated and sustained by exalted sentiments, rather than calm suggestions of reason. The men who were engaged in it were extraordinary; they rise before us as knights of chivalrous romance, doing battle for the needy-conducting a wandering and exiled prince back to the throne of his ancestors. Their souls dilate with sentiments of loyalty; for them dangers have no terrors-selfishness no voice. Charles Edward Stuart, the last of his family who was to struggle for the glittering coronet, so fatal to his ancestors-destined to guide the fortunes of his race to a termination, is sublimed into a hero, and we follow him through his strange ventures, by sea and land, with undivided interest. Chevalier Johnstone, it is true, would throw some doubts upon the heroism of Charles, but we think the preponderance of evidence against him. We are disinclined to listen to his representations. Loftiness of soul, boldness in conception, and daring in execution-an absorbing devotion to his purpose, a generous and maguanimous nature, equanimity of temper under the smiles of fortune, and buoyancy and submission under her chastisements, are the necessary elements of the hero. We feel that Charles Edward possessed these qualities, and believe that he displayed them during the brief, but brilliant period, in which he figured. It is true, his career, before the world, was brief-brief as the aurora-borealis, that illumines for a moment the northern heavens, and then leaves them to the feebler fires of night. But it must be recollected, that during this brief career Charles experienced many changes of fortune, under all of which he sustained the qualities of the hero. In the midst of success he was not elated beyond the natural buoyancy of bright hopes; he was still generous, brave, humane. When flying for safety from island to island, and from cave to cave, on the western coast of Scotland; when passing from the hands of one Highlander into those of another, he bore his misfortunes and dangers with astonishing firmness. When hunger, fatigue, and disease had emaciated his form, so * English Rebellion of 1745. By Home.

VOL. XXII.-NO. XCIX.

as to draw tears from every beholder, he beguiled them of their sorrows by his cheerfulness and pleasantry. In Holyrood, the palace of the Jameses of the unfortunate Mary-amid the revelry of the dance, surrounded by courtiers and smiling dames-or in the caves of Benbecula, fed by the benevolence of Flora Macdonald-on the victorious field of Falkirk, or witnessing the total ruin of all his fortunes at Culloden, he was the same generous hero.

But our object is not to follow Charles Edward through all his fortunes. Interest has already led us too far. It would be a pleasing task to notice his education amid the arts and refinements of Italy and the ruins of Rome, where

"He drew the inspiring breath of ancient art,

And trod the sacred walks

Where at each step imagination burns ;"

how he was trained in the boar-hunt, like Cyrus of old, for the active scenes of the camp and the dangers of the battle-field; we should experience a melancholy pleasure in conducting him, after the ruin of his hopes in Scotland, back to France,-where his life became a dark picture of neglect, disappointment and misery.

But we must leave Charles for another feature of this Rebellion, still more interesting. We have made use of him, to introduce our principal subject.

It was on the 19th of August, that Charles Edward repaired to Glenfinnin, a long and narrow glen, where the royal standard was to be erected, and where he was to meet Lochiel, Macdonald, and other Highland chieftains, with their clansmen, who, a few days previous, had pledged their lives and fortunes to his cause, before he left the Doutelle, the small vessel that bore him from France. It will readily be imagined that Charles was at the place appointed at an early hour. The sunbeams were just beginning to illumine the rugged summits of the mountains; the grey mists were rolling away in graceful wreaths from strath and hill-top; the beast of prey had just returned from his nightly prowlings to his lair, and the owl to his rocky summit,-but "not a plaid was yet to be seen, and the solemn silence of a mountain solitude overhung the glen." It was a trying hour for the wandering prince. Where were the brave men who were to sustain his cause? where the soldiers to fight his battles? Two trying hours had already rolled away, when the notes of a distant pibroch were heard among the hills, and soon eight hundred clansmen, with plaid and blue bonnet, broadsword and claymore flashing in the morning sun, were seen winding their way through the passes of the mountains to the place of rendezvous. The royal standard-bearer, Tullybordine, erected the royal banner, "a tissue of red silk, with a white space in the centre." "As its broad folds opened upon the winds, the mountaineers threw up their caps in the air, with a shout which scared the young eagles from their nests among the crags, while the pibrochs breathed forth their songs of triumph, so deep and spirit-stirring, among the echoes of the hills."

Of these extraordinary men, children of the tempest, of poetry and song, who, under such romantic circumstances, rushed from their mountain homes, where they had lived unknown and unknowing for ages, and gath ered beneath the bauners of Charles, put to flight the regular armies of Britain on the fields of Preston and Falkirk-pierced into the heart of England, and threatened to dethrone her sovoreign; and who finally laid down their lives and left their bones to bleach on the field of Cullodenof these extraordinary men, we now propose to speak, more particularly.