was, in his view, the chief ornament of the domestic circle, the source of all his happiness; insomuch, that when relieved from the cares and business of the day, when the time was come to seek repose and pleasure in the endearments of domestic life, it was with thoughts of her, whom he calls "his morning and evening star," that he "quickened his homeward step." Even in the house of God, he "gazed upon his glorious creature," while "tears of thrilling exultation moistened his eyes," and "his whole soul overflowed with a father's pride." And such love as this is "the most holy principle of our nature." When death has removed his idol, we might imagine, from the nature of his grief, that she was the last object of earthly affection; that no one was left who could in the least supply her place. The father "returns to his desolated abode:"" desolated," although a wife, who should be his consolation, if he still felt the tender influence of his first love, yet survives. In conclusion, we would ask, what good effect can possibly be produced, upon our moral and social feelings, by the perusal of a tale, which represents the grossest idolatry as the purest and most heavenly affection?

The "Legend of Oxford," the next sketch in order, is written in a much more simple, and apparently unlaboured style, than the former; which is, indeed, an almost necessary consequence of its being more historical, or narrative, in its character. Oxford, a small town in Massachusetts,-"originally," as the authoress tells us, "a colony of French Protestants," who were driven from France by the persecutions attendant on the revocation of the edict of Nantes, is the scene of the narrative, which comprises the relation of three distinct occurrences in the history of this town. It commences with its first settlement, and carries on the reader, through a period of a few years, to the time when the Huguenots were obliged, on account of savage cruelties, to desert it, and take refuge in the neighbouring colony of Boston. These emigrants, after their arrival in Massachusetts, fix upon a spot in Worcester county as a residence, and give the name of Oxford to this new settlement. But before a single year has elapsed, they are threatened with destruction by a numerous band of Indians, who intercept their path, as they are returning from rural labour, in a field at some distance from their houses, and are just about to commence the attack, when a mysterious personage suddenly appears, and drives, with unresisted authority, the terrified savages from the field, thus rescuing the colonists from the impending danger. One of their number, who, unknown to his companions, had been seized by the Indians and dragged off into the forest, is also delivered from his captors by the intervention of the same personage. He, after a time, is discovered to have been one of the regicide judges, who had taken refuge in America. A few years of quiet and immunity from savage aggression succeed this occur

rence, when the settlers are again made aware of their perilous situation, by the sudden disappearance of two children, who are supposed to have been carried off by the natives. The agonized parent, and Father Daillé, the pastor of this little flock, immediately set out to discover whether the supposition be correct, and if so, to demand the restoration of the captives. Their mission is successful. The Indian monarch, who had before been kindly entertained by the colonists, delivers into their hands the lost ones, although opposed by the "ancient prophet, greatly reverenced" by the people. Another calm followed this short though threatening storm. The good will of the king secured to the colonists a temporary protection from the cruelties of the subject; and thus freed from apprehension of immediate danger, their thoughts were turned toward the comforts of social and domestic life, and particularly toward the education of the young. There is one sentiment in regard to the subject of education, so beautiful in itself, and moreover so well expressed by Mrs. Sigourney, that we cannot refrain from inserting it in this place. It is as follows:

"Parents, who write with their own pencils, lines of heaven upon the fresh tablet of their children's souls, who trust not to the hand of hirelings, their first, holiest, indelible impressions, will usually find less than others to blot out, when the scroll is finished, and to mourn for when they read it in eternity.' What a comment upon those systems of hireling instruction for the infant mind, so prevalent in our own and other countries!"

The third occurrence which the authoress relates, is more disastrous to the emigrants. While at work in a newly cleared portion of their land, they are alarmed by the sudden firing of muskets in the direction of their habitations; and on hurrying thither, the awful sight of a whole family, father, mother, and children, weltering in blood, meets their eyes. After a fruitless pursuit of the savage murderers, during which they hear of the death of the friendly king, who had fallen under the weapons of his own discontented tribe, the colonists assemble for consultation, and determine to remove immediately beyond the reach of danger. The next day, which chanced to be the "fourteenth anniversary of their colonial existence," was set apart for the burial of the dead. At the graves of these unfortunate victims, the venerable pastor's voice was raised in consolation to the survivors, and in a mournful valedictory to surrounding scenes. "They turned from the place of sepulchres, and the next sun saw their simple habitations desolate." Removing to Boston, they there took up their residence, and soon became completely incorporated with the other inhabitants. The authoress gives a few "statistical facts" in relation to this band of Huguenots, thus doubly exiles, and the sketch ends.

We may remark, generally, in regard to this tale or legend, that it is much more interesting than the preceding: but still it has

C

only a negative excellence-a freedom from great faults, rather than any positive recommendation. In short, we think it has few, if any, of those qualities which would evidence superiority of talent in the authoress. It may be well to notice a single error, into which we think she has fallen, although it may not be one that is very important, or even very apparent. The principal features in the character of our North American Indians are perhaps more bold and striking than those of almost any other race of people. Some persons might therefore imagine, that these distinctive characteristics could be more easily delineated, in a vivid and faithful manner, than if they were less strongly marked. But as the most sublime and beautiful objects are ever the most difficult to present, with lively force and truth, to the mind, so the most striking features of human character require commensurate abilities to portray them in a proper manner. The American Indians have been celebrated for their native powers of oratory. The principal, we may say the distinguishing traits of this eloquence, so far as concerns matter, were a luxuriant richness in figure, strength of conception and expression, and joined to these qualities, a simplicity which marked the unaided hand of nature. We will adduce a specimen of Mrs. Sigourney's attempted copy of this bold original, and then endeavour to determine how far she has given a faithful representation. The example which we extract, is the speech of the enraged prophet, counselling the death of Laurens, who, as we before mentioned, was seized by the natives, but saved by the interposition of the regicide judge.

"Thou art deceived, son of Philip!' answered the Prophet. They are moles, mining around thine habitation. Their path is in silence and in darkness, and thy heart is simple as the babc. Ere thou art aware, thou shalt struggle like the fish in the net, and who can deliver thee? The crested snake cometh forth boldly, and the poisonous adder worketh her way beneath the matted grass. Are they not both the offspring of the deadly serpent? This man, and his brethren, and they who have long slaughtered us, are all of one race. They are but the white foam of that ocean, which the Great Spirit hath troubled in his wrath. Art thou, the son of Philip, standing still, till its billows sweep thee and thy nation away? That lion-hearted monarch was not so. Rivers of blood flowed before him in battle. Even now, his soul is angry at the sight of white men. Last night, in visions, it stood beside me. Its brow was like thine, O King, but frowns of vengeance made it terrible. His eye was dark like thine, but the lightning of the brave made its glance awful. His voice was hoarse and hollow, as if it rose from the sepulchre. Ice entered into my blood, as its tones smote my ear. "I cannot rest," it said, "white men multiply, and become as the stars of heaven. My people fade away like the mist, when the sun ariseth. On their own land, they have become strangers. My son hideth, with the remnant of his tribe, in the borders of another nation. They call him king. Why doth he not dare to set his feet where his father's throne stood? I see cities there, and temples to a God whom our fathers knew not. Our canoes ride no longer on the tide of the Narragansett. Proud sails are there, whiter than the curl of its waters. Doth the son of Philip sleep? Tell him, if he be a king, to write it in blood, on the grave where my bones moulder. Tell him, if he be my son, to sheath his spear in the breast of every white man, till the soul of his father is satisfied." The spirit vanished, and the blackness of midnight glowed like a gush of blood. I have spoken its message unto thee, king of a perishing race. Yonder is a victim, provided by the Great Spirit. Bid it sooth the sorrowing shade of thy father.'"

Here are certainly joined two of the qualities which we have mentioned, viz. richness in figure, and force of thought; but it strikes us that the language is too refined and elegant, and would be better suited to the educated orator than to the savage warrior. It is, then, in point of simplicity that we think the style defective, and the more so, because the example which we have given does not purport to be a mere translation, but the very words of the Indians, who speak in English, a language by them imperfectly understood, or at least newly acquired. Some may think this a hyper-criticism, and certainly the error pointed out is not one of moment. In most other respects, we have been pleased with the delineation of Indian character contained in this volume.

We have said that the "Legend of Oxford" is much more interesting than the sketch which precedes it; and the next, entitled the "Family Portraits," is, in most respects, a manifest improvement upon both. We have heard it called "a foolish love story;" but be this as it may, there are few, we imagine, who would not join with us in saying, that it possesses greater literary merit, and is more entertaining, than any other part of the volume. This opinion, to be sure, is merely relative; and after what has already been said in regard to the preceding pieces, may not be considered as, of itself, a very flattering recommendation; nor do we intend it as such. It has already been remarked, that, in our view, Mrs. Sigourney has not done justice to herself in this volume, and the same may be said in regard to each tale, considered as a whole; though in the one now before us, while there are great faults, there are also some good qualities, and these more worthy of attention than any we have yet noticed. The episode upon "Inoculation for the Small-pox," which is introduced near the commencement of the sketch, might we think have been dispensed with, since it is not one of Sterne's "digressions," contributing at the same time to the "progression" of the tale.

A few words will suffice to give a general outline of this sketch. Dr. Ranchon, a French physician, having married clandestinely in his native country, had taken refuge, together with his wife and her brother, Edward Beauchamp, in the new world. After a residence of a few years in Boston, the wife gave birth to a daughter, and died. This child was, of course, the object of its bereaved parent's peculiar care and affection. When arrived at a proper age, she was sent as a day scholar to a boarding school, where, among other branches of instruction, she was soon initiated by her elder companions into the deep, mystic lore of love. She even went so far as to permit the secret addresses of a professing admirer, one Captain Patten, an Irishman, of whom however she knew little more than the name. As her father was bent on her marrying a Frenchman, she feared to divulge the secret of her rash affection, and at last, urged by her pretended lover, and

pressed by the continual solicitations of her maid Madelaine, who pleaded her father's example, she reluctantly consented to an elopement. A night when her uncle, whose penetration she most feared, had left home, was fixed upon for the opening of the drama. It may not be amiss to insert Mrs. Sigourney's own description of this scene.

"As they reached the landing-place, they heard a gentle tap at the glass door which led into the garden. It was the black servant, come to see if all was ready, and to convey the package to the carriage, which waited at the avenue passing the foot of the garden. He was admitted, and Madelaine ran hastily to the chamber of her mistress, for the clothes which had been prepared. At her return, she saw him setting down a champaign glass, which, having stood near a bottle upon a table in the recess, he could not resist the temptation of filling, and decanting through his lips. The moment she observed him, forgetting her own reiterated injunctions of breathless silence, she shrieked

"Mon Dieu! the black whale has swallowed all my rings!--the ruby-the beautiful emerald-and the turquoise that was given by- -Oh, Lord!-and the superb hair-locket too! Did'nt that stick in your throat, you insatiable hawk?'

"The bereaved waiting-woman had thrown her jewelry, en passant, into this casual place of deposit, that her hands might be more at liberty in packing for her mistress; for since the access of years had rendered them somewhat more lean and skinny, the ornaments of her buxom youth were in continual danger of escaping from her attenuated fingers, when summoned to any active duty. Her distress at the rifling of her most beloved treasures, quite annihilated the unities of time and place, and her first shriek was passionately loud. But she had scarcely a moment to compute the probabilities of the extent of its echo, ere the door from the diningroom burst open, and Dr. Ranchon appeared in his night-dress, advancing a long rusty rapier. Suddenly awakening, and anticipating no enemy but thieves, he armed himself with great despatch, and stood forth a formidable antagonist, with great personal strength and equal courage. Great was his astonishment to find his daughter arrayed as for an expedition, and fainting in the arms of Madelaine. The negro, profiting by the moment of consternation, dropped the package and vanished. "What, in God's name, is the meaning of all this?' exclaimed the hoarse, harsh voice of the old gentleman, raised to its upper tones.

"Oh! take her in your arms-support her, my dear master, till I run for some hartshorn, or she'll die,' screamed the waiting-maid, anxious to turn his attention to an object that would disarm his rage, and still more anxious to convey her own person out of reach of the rapier. She soon saw him engaged in loosing the ligatures of his daughter's dress, and too much occupied with her situation, to inquire the cause. Carefully measuring her distance, so as to be out of range of the weapon, she commenced a plea of defence, forgetful of the impatience which a moment before she had testified, to obtain some remedy for her fainting lady.

"Oh! that I had never seen this night,' she cried, sobbing. Thousands of times have I tried to dissuade her from leaving her poor dear father. Hours without number have I set before her the deadly sin of an elopement.' "Who told you 'twas such a deadly sin, you meddling Jezebel?' vociferated the father.

"This colloquy, or rather soliloquy, was terminated by Beauchamp, who rushed in at the garden door, and as Mary feebly retired with Dubelde, still in a state of doubtful consciousness, he exclaimed

'Clumsily executed, by the gods! This same elopement is a true Irishman's bull. A carriage in full view, beneath a full moon, scarcely a stone's throw from the house-a tattling chambermaid for confidante and mistress of ceremonies, and a devilish negro despatched to receive the dulcinea. This bog-trotter is either a fool, or desirous of being discovered.'" Pp. 118-122.