my mind is fully made up to a life of "single blessedness;" I have no confidence in this "love at first sight;" and more than all this, I did not come to Greenwood in search of a wife, but to visit an old friend. At any rate, I will be true to my motto, "Never be too wise to be happy." If the society which I here enjoy affords me peculiar pleasure, I will enjoy it while I can; for in a short time I must retura to my solitary lodgings in town, and resume my intercourse with a cold and heartless world. Reader, this was the first time which I can recollect, when I had applied the epi * In about three weeks, the time came at which it was necessary for me again to set my face towards Richmond. I had already prolonged my stay a week beyond the time which I had at first fixed upon for my return, and now my business imperiously demanded my presence. On the evening preceding my departure, I was sitting before the fire with my friend Frank-the ladies having retired and left us to ourselves-when I broke silence with Well, Frank, what do you really think of a married life? you have now tried it for four years, and I should like to hear an honest expression of your opinion respecting the matter. abroad. It is true, the trees had been stripped of their green foliage-no flowers appeared to deck the earth in beauty-the birds, which at another season might have charmed us with their sweet wild melody, had gone to other lands-but then, there was a bright warm sunshine; and this alone is always inducement sufficient to go abroad in the winter. The greater part of the day I spent with Frank, in rambling over his plantation, examining his farming arrangements, and all those numberless and nameless things which a planter points out for the notice of a city visiter. It was not until the shades of evening had again assem-thet solitary to my lodgings, even in thought. bled us around the fireside, that I had an opportunity of becoming acquainted with Mrs. N- and her sister. I was at once received as an old friend, and felt myself perfectly at home. The ladies brought out their sewing, and Frank and I having comfortably fixed ourselves, we soon entered into conversation; not about the gayeties, and fashions, and fooleries of town, but sober, rational conversation. There is nothing which affords more unalloyed pleasure, than the social intercourse enjoyed when the circle is not so large but that every one may have an opportunity to speak; and where there is so much mutual confidence, that each one will feel free to speak his opinions without restraint. There is a sober enjoyment in such intercourse, for which the glare and splendor of a large party is but a poor substitute; at any rate, such is my opinion. It is in such intercourse, too, that we have the best opportunity of forming a correct judgment respecting the character of an acquaintance. I do not know why it is, but yet it is almost invariably the case, that at large parties all seem to feel that they must assume some other character than their natural one. How often have I seen the man whose mind was richly stored with learning, and who might, had he followed the leadings of his better judgment, have made himself a most interest- To confess the truth, Frank, I am altogether of your opiing companion, sit down and talk to a lady about the last nion; and if I can persuade your Kate's blue-eyed sister to new novel, or the fashions of the day, or starting that never-to-cast in her lot with mine, I shall not be a bachelor long. be-forgotten theme-the weather, make sage remarks about what it has been, and equally sage conjectures about what it will be, until from her inmost soul she wishes that we had never had any weather at all; and, on the other hand, how often have I seen a lady attempting to entertain a learned doctor with flimsy metaphysics, until in utter despair he has prayed that the mangling of Locke and Newton, which has taken place before his eyes, may never be laid to his charge. But enough of this. Your question covers too broad a ground. I cannot answer for married life in general; but this I can say, if a man has selected a suitable partner-one who can sympathize with him in his feelings and pursuits-one whom he loves, and by whom he is loved in return-if he has found such an one as I have-a married life is a happy one : it has a thousand enjoyments which you bachelors are ignorant of. Or, to give my opinion in a few words, I would say "If it were well done, it were well it were done." * * * * In about four months, I carried Kate's blue-eyed sister with me to our good old town, and I have never had occasion to repent the deed. This Christmas visit, I have always looked upon as an era in my life; and I speak of it as the Christmas visit, to distinguish it from many others which I have since enjoyed. When I started for Greenwood, I had fully made up my mind never to get married. My old bachelorism, like all other neglected diseases, was fast as suming a chronic form. I returned from that visit a different man. And now in my old age, I can say to all old bachelors, respecting marriage, as Frank once said to me, " If it were well done, it were well it were done." On the present occasion, I found the fire-side circle peculiarly agreeable. Frank had much to say, and his good lady and her sister were well calculated, both by nature and education, to give a charm to social intercourse. Of the two ladies, I hardly knew which most to admire. Mrs. N- was certainly the more brilliant of the two, and had This tale was written during the last year which I spent the most to say on the present occasion; but yet, for some at college. At that time, I had a room-mate who was a reason, I will not pretend to determine what, I had from great reader, and a young man of excellent sense, and, the first felt a peculiar interest in Miss Anna. There was withal, something of a critic too. As I never had that mora mild lustre in her soft blue eye, which bespoke a spirit at bid sensibility respecting the criticisms of others, which peace with itself and with all around it. The smile which some persons are so deeply infected with, it was my cusoccasionally appeared upon her countenance, gave evidence tom, whenever I had written any thing, to read it to him in of a cheerful disposition. It was not one of those everlast-order that I might benefit by his remarks. In writing this ing smiles which you may sometimes notice, and which are tale, I met with some difficulties which I found it impossievidently put on to hide the ill-temper, or perhaps more fre-ble to overcome. It was the first regular tale which I ever quently the stupidity which reigns within; there was some- attempted to write, and when I encountered these difficul thing in the whole expression of her countenance which I ties, I of course encountered them for the first time. When cannot describe, but which made an irresistible impression I came to the part where you see the first line of asterisks, In her conversation there was nothing remarkably profound, or peculiarly brilliant. Her remarks were sensible, and had evidently sprung from a mind accustomed to think for itself, but more than this I could not say for them, and yet they would find a lodgment in my memory. How is this, I asked myself, when I had retired for the night? Can it be that these are the first symptoms of "a tender passion?" Why, I am an inveterate old bachelor; upon me. I was brought completely to a stand, and applied to my room-mate for advice respecting the manner in which I should proceed. As I think you will get a better idea of the difficulties which embarrassed me from the conversation which took place between us on that occasion, than from any general remarks upon them which I could make, I will endeavor to give you that conversation as nearly as I can. Of course, after the lapse of thirty years, I cannot pretend to give it with any great degree of accuracy; and the only tance who has some peculiarity-is very bashful for inreason that I am able to give it at all is, that my mind was, stance-and let her express her sympathy for such poor unat the time, in just that state in which it was best fitted to fortunates? That will show her good feelings towards her receive lasting impressions from remarks upon the subject-fellow-creatures.' matter of our conversation. "And begin somewhat in this way. Hal shall mention a young man, and remark he is an extremely bashful man; and Anna shall answer, poor fellow, how I pity him. And then they are aground just as they were before, unless one When, after having read aloud that part of the tale which I had written, I applied to my room-mate for advice, our conversation commenced something in this way: "What did you intend to do next with your hero and he- or the other shall tell some instance of his bashfulness; and My heroine-who do you mean?" "Miss Anna, to be sure! You certainly do not suppose that I am so dull as not to perceive that she is to have a place in your piece next in importance to that of your hero; and of course, according to the common usages of language, as she is a lady, she must be termed the heroine. I was certain that she was to be the fair reason for friend Hal's conversion from old bachelorism, the moment you mentioned that Mrs. N― had a sister. All love stories are the same in substance; they differ from each other only in their details. For my own part, I have read so many of them, that I can pair the heroes and heroines off the moment they come upon the carpet." then the conversation will not bring out her opinions, but will necessarily form a sort of episode to the story, and you have one terribly long episode already." "Well suppose, then, I let Hal tell of his travels, and the various persons he has met with in passing to and fro through the land?" "That will never do. Don't you see that the conversation will have to be all on one side? He will have to talk all the time, and she listen all the time; and, I can assure you, if she is a sensible lady, she will not like that." "Well, what shall I let them talk about? You know you are engaged. What did you talk to Jennett about when you first became acquainted with her?" "That's more than I can tell. I have known her ever since I was seven years old." But you can tell me what people generally talk about in such circumstances." "Most people, when they are in love, talk about 'matters and things in general,' I believe, and find it hard work at that too." "That subject will never do for me. I could not make up a conversation on matters and things in general,' if I was to try. What shall I do with them?" "Doubtless you are very learned in such matters, but it seems to me it would require no great penetration anyhow to tell who Hal was to marry, when there were but two ladies introduced, and one of them was married already. But as to what I want them to do next: I wish to engage them in a conversation, in which Hal shall draw from Miss Anna an expression of her opinion on those important points respecting which a man ought always to learn the opinion of a lady before he addresses her. Hal would appear like a fool should he fall deeply in love, when he knows no more about "In my opinion, the best thing you can do is to let them Miss Anna than I have given him a chance to know as yet." say as little as possible, and go on and get married. The "He would be a very natural character notwithstanding. truth is, in the kind of tale which you have undertaken to But what are the important points to which you refer?" write, you cannot well introduce a conversation without its "Those points on which a wife should sympathize with having a forced and stiff appearance. If your characters her husband. There are many which occur to me, but I were more active persons, or if the scene was laid in time cannot select one on which I can make a conversation which of war, or something of that kind, then some incident would pleases me. For instance, the management of household occur which would set them naturally to talking. In such affairs-but it will never do to set them to conversing about a tale as yours, the thing is peculiarly difficult; more espethat, for you may apply to knowledge on such subjects, a cially as you have your hero fixed just now-having sent remark which I have somewhere seen, respecting our know-him to bed dreaming about Miss Anna-I do not see how ledge of the dead languages : ‘It is knowledge which every ore should possess, but never talk about.' How will it do, to let him lead her into conversation, in which she shall express her opinion respecting theatres, balls, and other places of frivolous amusement? Of course you may know what that opinion will be, as I have the manufacturing of it." "That will not do at all. The subject is too commonplace, and their remarks would necessarily be trite; and besides, it is too grave a subject for such a tale as yours. You might almost as well set her to reading extracts from the book of Homilies to him." "How would it do to let them converse on some literary subject? Not about the last new novel, but some literary subject of graver character. You know an educated gentleman, such as Hal, ought to have a wife who would take some interest in literary matters; and in no way could she show such a taste so well, as by making sensible remarks upon some literary subject." "And what will you have her say? Repeat the names of all the kings of England, from Alfred the Great, to George III, arranged in chronological order,' or a chapter from Blair's Rhetoric? My dear fellow, don't you know that in company, excepting in that of learned doctors, or genuine blue-stockings, literary remarks are introduced in the course of conversation on other subjects, and never make up a whole conversation by themselves." "Well, suppose I let them talk about a mutual acquain you could set him to talking unless he talks in his sleep. As matters stand, you had better let them go on and say as little as possible." After having received this advice, I turned to my paper and wrote on until I came to the second row of asterisks. Here I again applied to my room-mate for assistance. "Well, what's your difficulty now?" "Conversation again." "I thought I had convinced you, that the structure of your tale was such as not to admit of the introduction of a conversation. Why not take my advice and let them get married?" "That's the very thing I mean to do, but all in good time. You certainly would not have them married 'just so,' before he has asked her to have him, or she has had an opportunity to give him an answer. It is his proposal that I want now. You recollect, that you once promised me, in case you succeeded, to tell me all the conversation that passed between Jennett and you on the occasion. Come, tell your story. I want to make use of the information which it will afford." "My dear fellow, there are some things which never ought to be told. They do well enough for the occasion, but do not bear repeating; and besides, you do not suppose that I will tell you what I said on that occasion, and let you blazon it forth to the world in your tale. I should have 'a pretty kettle of fish to fry' when Jennett saw it." "I did not mean to put your speech into the mouth of Hal. All I want is to get a general idea of the matter, and first remark of the father of the young lady who had been then I will make a speech for Hal myself." swept away, was-"My daughter, you should have come to shore in some other place; you have disturbed an old turtle, and doubtless put to flight all his sweet visions of oceans of .""mud and mountains of fish-worms ;"-thus showing that he had noticed the same thing. Nothing could have been more natural than that there should have been a turtle sitting upon the log, nor could any thing be more natural than that he should have plunged into the water at the time he did; "O, just let him ask her if she will have him, and let her say, as people always say when they are asked if they will have any thing and mean to take it-'yes, sir, I thank you." "That's not poetical enough. I know that lovers do not talk in that way. But if you will not tell me for use, in the way in which I wanted to use the information, will you tell me for my own private satisfaction?" "You can have private satisfaction on the subject, if you and yet, had the artist who should have attempted to paint act aright, as soon as you deserve it." And this was all I could ever get from him respecting the matter. So the only course I had left for me, was to finish my tale in the best way I could. the scene, introduced the said turtle in the act of leaving the log, this thing alone would have rendered the whole piece ridiculous. In nothing does the genius of the masterartist shine forth more conspicuously, than in properly selecting, and properly grouping the elements of his piece; introducing such things, and such alone, as will contribute to the general impression which he intends to produce. Should he violate this rule, the apology, that his drawing is true to nature, will not save him from merited criticism, or his piece from contempt. Just so is it with the author. Whilst writing upon this aubject, there is another remark which I will make, and it is this. The writer of fiction must not only select his material, leaving out much that in the strictest sense of the term is natural, but he must often introduce that which is not strictly natural. For instance, in the accompanying tale, I have drawn Hal's character, at the commencement, as that of an inveterate bache his mind never to marry. Such a determination does very well in a story, and it does not strike the mind of the reader as at all unnatural, and yet I doubt very much whether an original could be found for my hero in this respect. I was very much amused, sometime since, with an anecdote which your mother told me, of an old maiden aunt of her's. When this aunt was nearly sixty years old, your mother, then a laughing girl " in her teens," one day asked her if single ladies ever gave up entirely the idea of being married. Her aunt's reply was-"I don't know child, you must ask some one older than I." It is true, that you will often hear persons expressing such a determination, and some may think themselves perfectly sincere, but let these very persons meet with one that suits their fancy, and the determination "vanishes into thin air." An author should be a close observer of nature, and never confound in his own mind things which are unnatural with those which are natural; but yet, he may often introduce the former with good effect. From this conversation, which, in substance, really occurred between my room-mate and myself, you will get some idea of the difficulties which embarrassed me. I had not then learned that there were some things, which, though they might occur very naturally in real life, could not be introduced, with good effect, in a tale. Since my attention has been directed to this matter, I have often, when reading the works of our best authors of fiction, been constrained to admire the tact with which they would avoid them and yet leave the reader with the impression that all has been told. An author of real genius will show that genius as much in the selection of proper incidents for his tale, as in his manner of telling those incidents after they are selected; and as much too in leaving out improper incidents, as in select-lor; and inveterate in that sense, that he has fully made up ing those which suit his purpose. It is a very common, but at the same time a very erroneous opinion among young writers, that if their characters are drawn true to nature, and their incidents are such as really occur in real life, this is all that can be required of them. There are very many occurrences in this world of ours, which are too commonplace, or too grave, or too silly, or too wise, or too something else, ever to be introduced into a tale with good effect. In this particular, the situation of the author is very much like that of the artist. You are doubtless aware of the fact, that a master artist, when he wishes to paint a landscape, selects his "point of view" with the greatest care. It will not do for him to represent his scene as it appears from many a point. The grandest scenes in nature appear tame when seen from certain points; and, what you may perhaps be surprised at, extremely unnatural from others. The same remark may be extended to historical and fancy pieces. It will not do for the artist to paint the scene as it really appears at certain times; and often, it will not do for him to introduce every thing which appears, in fact, at the time he I have remarked that there are some incidents, which, does select. I was once one of a party who attempted to whilst they are perfectly natural, an author should neverford a river much swollen by recent rains. When about theless reject. Among those which I would prescribe, with the middle of the stream, a horse which a young lady was a sweeping condemnation, are courtship scenes. The opiriding made a false step, and together with his rider, was nion which my room-mate expressed, when I was proposing swept away for some distance down the stream. The to introduce one as a part of my tale, is, I believe, a correct scene which was presented, was one which would have fur- opinion. Perhaps you may think, that as I am now “a nished a fine subject for a painter. It was near sunset, and bachelor gray," and have never reaped any personal benefit a dark, heavy cloud, which was hanging just above the wes- from such scenes, I am not an impartial judge. But if yea tern horizon, had its edges tinged with silver by the rays of will notice, you will find that our best writers of fiction the setting sun. The banks of the stream were covered very rarely introduce such scenes; and still more rarely with a most luxuriant vegetation. Our party were well succeed in describing them. They are scenes in which the mounted, and making every exertion to render assistance to feelings play the active part, and the intellect has but little the lady who had been swept away. Anxiety was depicted to do; and it should be remembered, that language properly on every countenance; when, just as the fair sufferer was belongs to the intellect, and not to the heart. Hence it is, saved from danger by her horse's gaining the shore, where that powerful emotion of any kind renders a person dumb. a projecting log had caused the accumulation of a sand- The tongue is laid aside, and the emotion finds expression bank, a large mud-turtle, startled from his repose by the in the countenance;-the eye, the lip, the muscles of the noise which we had made, left his seat upon the log and face, all are called in play to supply the place of words. I plunged into the water. How I came to notice this circum- have somewhere seen a courtship all summed up in one stance I know not; but this I have often observed, that short sentence. "They looked unutterable things, and the when our feelings are much excited, the attention is very next day were married." You may think this a caricature, apt to rest for an instant on some object by no means in ac- but in fact, it is every whit as true to nature, as those decordance with those feelings. On the present occasion, the 'scriptions in which the whole is attempted to be represented in words alone. There are some other remarks, respecting | per Western. From this encounter, the regular action of this matter of selecting proper materials for the work on the novel goes on, which, as we have not ourselves followed which an author is engaged, but as my sheet is already full, it to the conclusion, we will not dwell upon. Mr. C. states I must defer them to some future occasion. in his preface, that the plan of the tale is old; "though the details are altogether of recent invention. The idea of associating seamen and savages, in incidents that might be supposed characteristic of the Great Lakes, having been mentioned to a publisher, the latter obtained something like a pledge from the author, to carry out the design at some future day; which pledge is now tardily and imperfectly redeemed." SONNET. My friend, I pray thee call not this society; To give me meat, to joy or grieve with me; Notices of New Works. H. P. The Pathfinder: or, The Inland Sea. By the author of mance. The work is well written, and filled with incident. We would like to extract the encounter between Pathfinder and Mabel, immediately after "the shooting match," as a specimen of its contents, but forbear doing so-recommending to our readers to procure and read the whole. Some may deem, perhaps, that he has already introduced one actor too often upon the stage, and that the sayings and doings of the guide, hunter and trapper, are worn threadbare. But Natty Bumpo is a character that can never grow stale. He is one of nature's philosophers. He has sat at her feet in her great cathedral of rocks and streams and mighty woods, and her teachings have gone down into his simple heart, and have made the toil-worn and rugged hunter eloquent and profound. There is a beautiful simplicity in his actions, and a fountain of fresh, free thought in his words, that will always excite emotion and interest. It is natural that Mr. Cooper should dwell upon a character, in the delineation of which he has been so successful. "The reader," says he, "may recognize an old friend, under new circumstances, in the principal character of this legend. If it should be found that the exhibition made of this old acquaintance, in the novel circumstances in which he appears, shall not lessen his favor with the public, it will be a source of extreme gratification to the writer, since he has an interest in the individual in question, that falls little short of reality." We are assured that the public will need no apology for "the exhibition of this old acquaintance;" but that he will be greeted once more with as much, if not more pleasure and interest than ever. It will add to the curiosity of those who have not yet read these volumes, to inform them that Hawk-Eye appears under a peculiar phase-that of a lover. Cupid has pierced the heart of the honest guide, as effectually as ever "lying Mingo," or bounding buck, was bored by the bullet of Killdeer. We trust that those who may have formed a prejudice against Mr. Cooper, from his recent writings, will not suffer that prejudice to deprive them of the pleasure that we feel assured they will experience from the perusal of "The Pathfinder ;" and we hope that in future Mr. C. will employ his pen as a novel-writer upon those subjects with which American history is so rich, and which call upon him and Irving so loudly to rescue them from oblivion and to preserve them among the living monuments of their genius. We had not intended to make any extracts from this work, but here is a description of the Pathfinder so appropriate to what we have just said, that we must present it, and with this close our notice. We sit down to write this notice, from only a partial reading of the work before us. Time compels us to do so. We feel that we are not capable of judging fully of the merits of any book without a thorough perusal. But, so far as we have read, we have been highly interested and grati- without secretly coming to believe him to be one of extraor"The fact was, few knew the Pathfinder, intimately, fied. The first volume opens with a scene near Lake On- dinary qualities. Ever the same, simple-minded, faithful, tario-"The Inland Sea." We are here introduced to a utterly without fear, and yet prudent, foremost in all warparty of four-Charles Cap, an old mariner-his niece, rantable enterprises, or what the opinion of the day considMabel Dunham, or, as he styles her, Magnet-Arrowhead, ered as such, and never engaged in any thing to call a blush a Tuscarora Indian, and his wife Dew-in-June. It appears live much with this being, who, in his peculiar way, was a to his cheek, or censure on his acts; it was not possible to that Cap and Mabel are on their way to join her father, sort of type of what Adam might have been supposed to be Serjeant Dunham, who is stationed at Fort Oswego. We before the fall, though certainly not without sin, and not feel are soon introduced to another party, who have been sent a respect and admiration for him, that had no reference to out from the fort by the serjeant to meet his daughter, con- him, without saluting him as if he had been his equal; no his position in life. It was remarked, that no officer passed sisting of our old acquaintance Hawk-Eye, or "The Path-common man, without addressing him with the confidence finder"-Chingachgook—and a young fresh-water sailor, Jas- and treedom of a comrade. The most surprising peculiarity about the man himself, was the entire indifference with which | and we behold the sunshine, and the freshness and the he regarded all distinctions that did not depend on personal gladness of nature. merit. He was respectful to his superiors from habit, but had often been known to correct their mistakes, and to re-low to write, and that give character to his productions, may But the various impulses that have stirred Mr. Longfel prove their vices, with a fearlessness that proved how essen PRELUDE. Pleasant it was, when woods were green, Or where the denser grove receives But the dark foliage interweaves tially he regarded the more material points, and with a be best learned from himself, in his Prelude to "The Voices natural discrimination, that appeared to set education at de- of the Night." fiance. In short, a disbeliever in the ability of man to distinguish between good and evil, without the aid of instruction, would have been staggered by the character of this extraordinary inhabitant of the frontier. His feelings appeared to possess the freshness and nature of the forest in which he passed so much of his time; and no casuist could have made clearer decisions in matters relating to right and wrong, and, yet, he was not without his prejudices, which, though few, and colored by the character and usages of the individual, were deep-rooted, and had almost got to form a part of his nature. But the most striking feature about the moral organization of Pathfinder, was his beautiful and unerring sense of justice. This noble trait, and without it no man can be truly great, with it, no man other than respectable, probably had its unseen influence on all who associated with him; for the common and unprincipled brawler of the camp had been known to return from an expedition made in his company, rebuked by his sentiments, softened by his language, and improved by his example. As might have been expected, with so elevated a quality, his fidelity was like the immoveable rock. Treachery in him was classed among the things that are impossible, and as he seldom retired before his enemies, so was he never known, under any circumstances that admitted of an alternative, to abandon a friend. The affinities of such a character were, as a matter of course, those of like for like. His associates and intimates, though more or less determined by chance, were generally of the highest order, as to moral propensities, for he appeared to possess a species of instinctive discrimination, that led him, insensibly to himself, most probably, to cling closest to those whose characters would best reward his friendship. In short, it was said of the Pathfinder, by one accustomed to study his fellows, that he was a fair example of what a just-minded and pure man might be, while untempted by unruly or ambitious desires, and left to follow the bias of his feelings, amid the solitary grandeur and ennobling influences of a sublime nature; neither led aside by the inducements which influence all to do evil amid the incentives of civilization; nor forgetful of the Almighty Being, whose spirit pervades the wilderness as well as the towns.' Voices of the Night, and other Poems: By H. W. Longfellow. Cambridge: John Owen, 1839. Professor Longfellow ranks among the first of our American Poets. There may be those who excel him in profundity and grasp of thought, in beauty of language and smoothness of versification--but there is no one to whose vision the "Land of Song," opens fairer and brighter. His are "The lids of Fancy's sleepless eyes;" and when he touches the chords of his lute-that has been 66 The trailing garments of the night, Or, in perusing his earlier poetry, our brows are fanned by the breezes that come from the hills and the living streams, A slumberous sound,-a sound that brings As of innumerable wings. And dreams of that which cannot die, As lapped in thought I used to lie, Dreams, that the soul of youth engage And loving still these quaint old themes, I feel the freshness of the streams, That, crossed by shades and sunny gleams, Therefore, at Pentecost, which brings I sought the woodlands wide. The green trees whispered low and mild; They were my playmates when a child, And ever whispered, mild and low, Into the blithe and breathing air, Solemn and silent everywhere! Before me rose an avenue And, where the sunshine darted through, In long and sloping lines. |