LITERARY CRITICISM.

Letters from the West, containing Sketches of Scenery,
Manners, and Customs; and Anecdotes connected with
the first Settlements of the Western Sections of the
United States. By the Hon. Judge Hall. London:
Henry Colburn. 1828. 8vo, pp. 385.

We do not like the spirit in which this book is written. An American has a right to be as patriotic as he pleases; but he has no right to be arrogant or impertinent towards that country from which he and his nation have originally sprung. It is true, that North America is now a great and an independent state; and it is also true, that it has not unfrequently been made to suffer under the taunts of narrow-minded and illiberal Englishmen, who visited it with feelings of chagrin and disappointment, simply because they were no longer able to call it their own. But this spirit is rapidly dying out, and ought never to have been encouraged. At the very worst, however, it was more justifiable on the part of any of the inhabitants of the mother country, than of those of its quondam colony. They long stood in a relation to each other somewhat similar to that of parent and child; and even yet, Great Britain is entitled to all the respect which maturity naturally obtains from youth, and to the superior weight which a long-established and admirably balanced constitution must give to her political principles and opinions, over those of a people still raw and inexperienced in the art of government. It is to Great Britain, indeed, that the United States owe every thing. They may, no doubt, by their own exertions, ultimately crown themselves with glory; but, though they are now no longer in leading-strings, it would be worse than ingratitude, were they to turn with the serpent's tooth upon the nurse of their infancy.

be born a freeman; the American only is bred a free man. The latter has this blessing in possession; while the former cherishes a vague tradition of its achievement, which is contradicted by the records of his country, and the practice of his rulers." This is trash which, if it does not make a man laugh, is very apt to make him angry. We have no objections whatever to hear America lauded as the very pet land of freedom; but when a Yankee, not conten ed with this assertion, starts up to tell us that we ourselves are all bondmen, and that our constitution is a system of despotism from beginning to end, we confess we should feel a 66 pretty particular" pleasure in knocking him down with a roll of Magna Charta. But it is not on the score of liberty alone, albeit it is a theme on which, we doubt not, Judge Hall could talk till" crack of doom," that he thinks it proper to attack us. Our national character he conceives peculiarly obnoxious to the shafts of his wit; and in Letter VI., as well as frequently throughout the book, he thus writes concerning it :-"The fact is, that English travellers, and English people in general, who come among us, forget that the rest of the world are not as credulous and gullible as themselves, and are continually attempting to impose fictions upon us, which we refuse to credit. They seem not to be aware that we are a reading people, and would convince us that they are a wise, valiant, and virtuous people, beloved and respected by all the world; while we are an ignorant, idle set of boobies, for whom nobody cares a farthing. John Bull forgets that his own vanity is a source of merriment with the rest of the world." How very cutting this is! and how admirably descriptive of the general dispositions of Englishmen! How continually are they trying to impose upon the Americans! and how supreme is the contempt with which that "reading people" listens to their fabrications! But Judge Hall having thus ably expounded the British national character, the reader may, perhaps, wish to receive, from the same high authority, Now, Judge Hall's book is full of petty insinuations a trait or two of American character. In Letter XV. we and sarcasms against the British, which induce us to meet with these memorable words :-" There is no peothink very favourably neither of Judge Hall's heart nor ple in the world whose national character is better dehead. His insinuations are, in most cases, untrue, and fined, or more strongly marked, than our own. If the in all-unnecessary. We shall particularize one or two, European theory on this subject be correct," (a theory by way of specimen. In Letter I. we are informed, that of straw, which Judge Hall very valiantly combats,)" is "The tumults of Europe have driven hither (to Ameri- it not a little strange, that our Yankee tars, whether on ca) crowds of unhappy beings, whose homes have been board a frigate or a privateer, should always happen to rendered odious or unsafe by the mad ambition of a few play the same game when they come athwart an Engaspiring sovereigns. Here is no Holy Alliance traffick-lishman? Is it not a little singular, that Brown in the ing in human blood, no sceptre to be obeyed, no mitre to be worshipped." This is vulgar cant; as if the poor emigrants whom poverty drives across the Atlantic had been frightened out of Europe by the Emperor of Russia or the Pope; or as if the greater proportion of the unhappy beings" did not know just as little about the "aspiring sovereigns," and the "mad ambition," of which Judge Hall complains, as the Red Indians do. But our author proceeds," Here they learn the practical value of that liberty which they only knew before in theory. They learn here, that the Englishman may

66

north, and Jackson in the south, who, I suspect, never saw each other in their lives, should always happen to handle Lord Wellington's veterans exactly after the same fashion? Accidents will happen in the best of families; but when an accident occurs in the same family repeatedly, we are apt to suspect that it runs in the blood." This was, no doubt, considered a very pointed peroration; but we should just like to whisper "friendly in the ear" of Judge Hall, that a peroration is always most effective when it is based on truth; and that if he means to insinuate that an American frigate or privateer always

got the better of an Englishman, or that the soldiers even of the redoubted Jackson proved themselves in fair fighting at all matches for Wellington's veterans, he unfortunately lies-under a mistake. But even though he had spoken the truth, what good end would so invidious a comparison have served? Ought it not to be the great aim of all writers upon this subject, to conciliate, as much as possible, two nations which are in many respects so much alike, which possess the same language, the same religion, the same love of freedom, and which are sprung from the same common stock?

The chief fault, therefore, of the "Letters from the West," is the exclusive and irritating spirit in which they are composed. But another objection is to be found in the trifling and almost juvenile vein of writing, in which the author frequently indulges. The following sentences will explain more exactly what we mean:"We arrived at Cincinnatti in the morning; but when I inform you that I remained only a few hours, and that the greater part of this time was spent with a friend, and that friend a lovely female, a companion of my dancing days, (the Italics are Judge Hall's,) you will not be surprised if I add, that I have nothing to relate concerning this town. Those days may be over with me in which the violin could have lured me from the labour of study, and the song from the path of duty; but never, if I know myself, will that hour come when woman shall cease to be the tutelary deity of my affections-the household goddess of my bosom! Think me an enthusiast, or a great dunce, if you please; but never, I pray, if you love me, believe that I could think of statistics with a fair lady at my side, or that I could hoard up materials for a Letter from the West, while a chance presented itself to talk over my old courtships, and dance once more my old cotillons." Now, we do not object to Judge Hall, or any one else, "talking over old courtships," and "dancing old cotillons," in time and place convenient; but we do object to Judge Hall dancing old cotillons," when he ought to be giving us "Sketches of Scenery, Manners, and Customs." However, the Judge is a gallant man, and his gallantry is apparent frequently throughout the volume," where no gallantry should be." "I have always had a wonderful predilection," he gravely remarks in Letter X., " for handsome faces; and I do verily believe, that if my breast were darkened by the heaviest sorrows, the rays of beauty would still strike to its inmost recesses, and there would still be a something there to refract the beams." This is very poetical in Judge Hall, and is perhaps given to us as one of the "Anecdotes," mentioned in the title-page, as "connected with the first settlements of the western sections of the United States."

We must not, however, close our remarks, without admitting that, in several respects, this work possesses considerable merit. The first half of the volume is, on the whole, too exclusively topographical, geographical, and Kentuckyish, to afford much interest to a foreigner. But the later Letters, in which more general subjects are discussed, though often sprinkled with puerilities and absurdities, contain many good things. We like

best the Letters on the Names of Places in America, in which the subject is treated philosophically and historically, on the Back-woodsmen, and the story of the Harpes, the murderers, on the Missouri Trapper,on Popular Superstitions, and parts of the epistles on Emigration, and National Character. As a favourable specimen of the author's style, we select the following short description of

THE SCENERY OF THE OHIO.

"The heart must indeed be cold that would not glow among scenes like these. Rightly did the French call this stream La Belle Rivière, (the beautiful river). The sprightly Canadian, plying his oar in cadence with the wild notes of the boat-song, could not fail to find his

heart enlivened by the beautiful symmetry of the Ohio. Its current is always graceful, and its shores everywhere romantic. Every thing here is on a large scale. The eye of the traveller is continually regaled with magnificent scenes. Here are no pigmy mounds dignified with the name of mountains; no rivulets swelled into rivers. Nature has worked with a rapid but masterly hand; every touch is bold, and the whole is grand as well as beautiful; while room is left for art to embellish and fertilize that which nature has created with a thousand capabilities. There is much sameness in the character of the scenery; but that sameness is in itself delightful, as it consists in the recurrence of noble traits, which are too pleasing ever to be viewed with indifference; like the regular features which we sometimes find in the face of a beautiful woman, their charm consists in their own intrinsic gracefulness, rather than in the variety of their expressions. The Ohio has not the sprightly, fanciful wildness of the Niagara, the St Lawrence, or the Susquehanna, whose impetuous torrents, rushing over beds of rocks, or dashing against the jutting cliffs, arrest the ear by their murmurs, and delight the eye with their eccentric wanderings. Neither is it like the Hudson, margined at one spot by the meadow and the village, and overhung at another by threatening precipices and stupendous mountains. It has a wild, solemn, silent sweetness, peculiar to itself. The noble stream, clear, smooth, and unruffled, sweeps onward with regular majestic force. Continually changing its course, as it rolls from vale to vale, it always winds with dignity, and, avoiding those acute angles which are observable in less powerful streams, sweeps round in graceful bends, as if disdaining the opposition to which Nature forces it to submit. On each side rise the romantic hills, piled on each other to a tremendous height; and between them are deep, abrupt, silent glens, which, at a distance, seem inaccessible to the human foot; while the whole is covered with timber of a gigantic size, and a luxuriant foliage of the deepest hues. Throughout this scene there is a pleasing solitariness, that speaks peace to the mind, and invites the fancy to soar abroad among the tranquil haunts of meditation. Sometimes the splashing of the oar is heard, and the boatman's song awakens the surrounding echoes; but the most usual music is that of the native songsters, whose melody steals pleasingly on the ear, with every modulation, at all hours, and in every change of situation. The poet, in sketching these solitudes, might, by throwing his scene a few years back, add the light canoe and war-song of the Indian; but the peaceful traveller rejoices in the absence of that which would bring danger, as well as variety, within his reach." P. 81-3.

Judge Hall has a great horror of the Quarterly Reviewers; should they notice him at all, we suspect that horror will not be diminished.

Christmas; a Poem. By Edward Moxon. London.
Hurst, Chance, and Co. 1829.

WITHOUT any reference to the book before us, it may justly be said, that Christmas is a poem. All its old associations,—all its harmless revelries, all its merry meetings,-all its blazing hearths, and looks and words of domestic love,-are full of the very essence of poetry. The season of the year, too, is full of poetry. The driz zling, dull uncertainty of November, that glimmers between Autumn and Winter, has passed away, and hoary Winter sits alone upon his throne, in uncompromising sternness. True it is that, of late years, a most astonishing mildness seems to have crept into the winter months, and that they who, in accordance with long usage, have continued to assume the cloak and great-coat, have been heard to complain of the heat of the temperature, even

in the once nose-biting months of December and January. Such a thing was unknowa to our ancestors. Long periods of hard, black frost, succeeded by still longer periods of snow, three feet deep, to them constituted winter. The north-wind came cuttingly in at every crevice, -the skies were blue and cold; from the tops of the distant hills, down to the very shores of the ocean, all was white; and the sea itself was the only unfrozen, and, consequently, almost unnatural object in the view. It is strangely different now. The very climate seems to be humouring the oblivion that has fallen upon old customs. A snow-storm is a rare occurrence; a regular steady frost, changing the smooth surface of lake and pond into compact solidity, is a thing for schoolboys to dream of,-not to know. All the leading members of the Skating Club will be dead and buried before an opportunity be again afforded them of exhibiting their accomplishments. Though the sun still "peeps over the western hills,"

Yet Christmas is Christmas, in spite of the atmosphere. Patriotism, religion, and brotherly love, alike hallow its reminiscences. Modern fashion is striving hard to bury them under her tinsel garments; but let the good and the talented of the land resist her encroachments.ambling pony, and carries him safely enough through Well has it been said by Charles Lloyd,

on a grey hat and a long coat, looking like faded remnants of gentility; and he was always running one while, and standing still another, and sometimes travelling with a motion like a pacing horse. It was impossible to look at his gait without being moved to laughter, and I thought him drunk. At length he run himself off the road, and got entangled among the scaurs of the river; and though the way out was quite obvious, he could by no means discover it, until Gordon the innkeeper came to him, and set him once more on the highroad. I came over to Gordon, and asked whether the man was daft or drunk? Gordon said he supposed he was both, for he was the queerest fish ever he had seen. He having gone by my cottage, I did not expect ever to see more of him; but behold, as it grew dark, the same wight came and placed hin self down before our kitchen fire without any preamble. I went straight to see this outré person, and certainly his first address to me gave promise of some sport. He looked gravely over his shoulder at me "James, bring me my slippers, if you please ?"

for I never saw ane sae sair reduced, an' as completely daft, unless his ruin had been effected by woman." "Hilloa! A hit! a palpable hit!" cried he, spring"That was an ing to his feet, and holding his side. unfair lunge! I was taken at disadvantage there! Was it fair, after challenging me to fight with a cut-andthrust, to pull out a pistol clandestinely, and shoot me to the heart? Yet that is what you have done. It is a wound that brings a thousand reminiscences to mind, too scorching to be borne by mortal man. O woman, woman! let no man break his jests or scatter his general and unqualified reflections over thee; for if thou art confided in, and trusted with that deference which is due to thy sex and relative situation in life, thou art all truth, honour, and fidelity; and sooner will the day change into night than thy love into laxity and indiffer. ence. And why is it that we rail so much against thee for fickleness and change? Because, whenever we suffer from these, we feel that we have deserved it, which makes the wound fester the more deeply. But if the depravity of man will still sit like a canker in the flower of thy delicacy, let him feel the ground on which he stands with thee,-let him be cast off and abandoned to shame and contempt. The world often hears of thy dereliction of thine own duty, but seldom of its bitter and discordant preludes. I have been a lover-yea, I have "Humph! who would have thought it? You are a loved as never man loved before or after me. I have very extraordinary gentleman, it seems;-a very extra-been a husband a parent. And what am I now? An ordinary person, indeed: at least so the world takes on outcast on the earth-a vagabond-a madman !" it to say of you."

"Faith lad, I hae nae slippers to mysell, as ye may see," says I; "an' I dinna ken where yours are stannin'."

"I beg your pardon, sir. Are you the master here?" "Ay, a' that's for him."

"Only a very plain, stupid, simple man, sir," returned I.

"Faith, I think so; but I must be wrong. Come, sit down here, and sing me a song, and then I'll know what is in you. Don't think I'll bid you do it for nothing. I'll pay you for it, and that I will. Here's plenty of money. Why, now, that's too bad,-you despise me; but you do not know who I am, sir? I am ten times a greater man than you, for I too am an author, and besides am grandson to a lord ;—and I'll sing you

one in return."

I inquired his name, but he shook his head, and replied “That will I never tell in this country. I have been imprisoned, maltreated, and sent to the house of correction; and though the mention of my name would have made my judges bow down before me, and lick the dust, yet that name have I never mentioned in Scotland, nor would I, were it to profit me a thousand pounds. In the country here I go by the name of THE MAN; but if you have any particular occasion to address me by name, you may call me Lord Archbald."

"What countryman are you ?"

"What is that to you? Who has any thing ado with my name or my country? I am no thief, no murderer, no notorious breaker of the laws, either human or divine; but I have been very foolish! very improvident! Mine is a strange story!-But you will not sing me a song, won't you? That is rather ungentlemanly. I regret asking you. But my story is soon told; and I am well used to think of it, if not to tell it. I was born to a considerable fortune; although a younger brother, I was independent with economy, and I meant to have been provident and economical outgoing all precedent, had not every one of my whims misgiven. There was no imprudence on my part, for I always meant well in my speculations. I always meant to increase my fortune; and who can say there was imprudence in that? If matters went the contrary of what I had calculated on, that might be an error in judgment, but not in intention. Even at the gaming-table, or on the racecourse, or in the lottery, I calculated with certainty on gaining. But who can stand out against evil destiny!" "Oho! is that the gate how ye hae lost your siller?" said I. "Ane needna be astonished at the result. But I expected to hear that you had lost it in some other way,

"Whisht, whisht! Moderate your vehemence a wee bit, man," said I. "Ye're no just a madman, Gude be thankit, but only a wee thing crazed i' the head; an' I'm really sorry for't, for ye hae that in you that might hae been metal for the best moulded mind. Come, tell us some o' your love adventures; I'm mad fond o' love stories."

"Go to your prayers, James-you have much need; and pray for an absolute and general indemnity to be extended to all your household as well as yourself, for you are all guilty alike. You think you sit like a little prince here. These are all your servants; and you believe that you are beloved and respected by them to a most superb degree. You kiss the maids and commend them, and they laugh at you behind your back. You scold the men servants and the boys, and think you have cowed them into attention and regular subordination; but no sooner is your back turned than they cheat you. Every one of the family cheats you. Your hinds cheat you-your maids cheat you. Even your children and your wife cheat you; and all your neighbours and dependents cheat you to a man. Yet there you sit in stupendous apathy, and will not so much as go to your prayers. Or could you not divest yourself of all these incumbrances, as I have done, and soar away into the unutterable regions of delirium, where one day is as a thousand years, and one day's journey as a survey of immensity, where the spheres are all dancing round you, and the elements subject to your control ?"

"Faith, lad, I wish ye maunna hae been snapping up a doze o' opium, like Maister De-Quincy. But if you'll remember, it was a love story that I wantit, an' no a definition o' the fields o' delirium. An' yet it maun be confessed that there is a dash o' poetry in siccan extreme vagaries. I have had dreams like these mysell sometimes. Have you ever tried your hand at poetry ?”

"Often. I have written more poetry than you have done; but my verses were never of that imaginative kind: they consisted of invectives against my race and against human nature. The King and his ministers have always moved my greatest indignation; and my best verses have had their source in contempt of them and their measures."

"Od, man, that beats a' the absurdities that ever I heard uttered by a human creature. Ye maun be a great deal dafter than I apprehendit. For, in the first