NUGATOR.
THE INFIDEL, or the Fall of Mexico,a romance, by the author of Calavar. Philadelphia: Carey, Lea & Blanchard.
The second effort of the author of Calavar, gives us no reason for revoking the favorable opinion which we expressed of his powers as a writer of fictitious narrative, in noticing the first. On the contrary, that opinion is confirmed and strengthened by a perusal of the Infidel. It is a work of great power, and although, as was the case with Calavar, it is chiefly occupied with the delineation of scenes of slaughter and violence—with the stratagems of war—the plots of conspirators—the stirring incidents of siege and sortie—and the thrilling details of individual prowess or general onslaught—yet it abounds in passages which give a pleasing relief to the almost too frequently recurring incidents of peril and adventure. It is true that this work does not possess, to by far the same extent, those enchanting descriptions of natural scenery, which abounded in Calavar: but the cause of this is probably to be found in the fact, that the scene of action is the same in both works, and in a natural aversion of the author to repeat his own pictures. Still, as a whole, we think the Infidel fully equal to its predecessor, and in some respects superior. The principal female character is drawn with far greater vigor, than marked the heroine of Calavar, although the prominent features in the sketch of the impassionedMonjonaza, are of a masculine kind. She is indeed a most powerful and eccentric creation, and adds much to the interest of the narrative. Still we think it problematical whether the author is capable of success in a purely feminine picture of female character. Zelahualla, the daughter of Montezuma, a gentler being than La Monjonaza, does not give him a claim to such a distinction, as she is brought forward but seldom, and sustains no important part in the action of the drama.
The period at which the narrative of the Infidel commences, is a few months after the disastrous retreat of the Spaniards from Mexico, during the "Noche Triste," so powerfully described in Calavar. Cortes had re-organized his forces, re-united his allies, and was preparing for the siege of Mexico, now rendered strong in its defences by the valor, enterprise and activity of the new emperor, Guatimozin. Tezcuco is the scene of the earlier events, where Cortes was engaged in completing his preparations, part of which consisted in the construction of a fleet of brigantines, to command the sea of Anahuac, and co-operate in the meditated attack upon the great city.
The hero of the story, Juan Lerma, a former protege of Cortes, but who has fallen under his displeasure, is the pivot on which the main interest of the work is made to turn. He is imprisoned, and ultimately rescued by Guatimozin, who carries him to Mexico. The details of a treasonable plot against the Captain General, headed by Villafana, one of the most complicated of villains, is skilfully interwoven with this portion of the narrative. The mysteriousMonjonazais also a prominent character in the scenes at Tezcuco.
The action changes in the second volume to Mexico, where the unfortunate Lerma is retained by the Emperor, who is described as possessing all the noble virtues of christianity, although his pagan faith gives the title to the book.
The details of the siege are given in the same powerful style as characterised the combats in Calavar. Indeed it is in descriptions of battles, that we think the author excels, and is transcendently superior to any modern writer. When his armies meet, he causes us to feel the shock, and to realize each turn of fortune by a minuteness of description, which is never confused. When his heroes engage hand to hand, we see each blow, each parry, each advantage, each vicissitude, with a thrilling distinctness. The war cry is in our ears—the flashing of steel—the muscular energy—the glowing eyes—the dilating forms of the warriors, are before us. The effect of such delineations it is difficult to describe; they arouse in us whatever of martial fire we possess, until we feel like the war horse viewing a distant combat, "who smelleth the battle afar off, the voice of the captains, and the shouting." Another point of excellence in our author, is the manner in which he paints to us the vastness of a barbarian multitude. His descriptions of myriads, appeal to the sense with graphic effect. Although we do not generally indulge in long extracts from works like this, yet, as it is difficult otherwise to convey an idea of the spirit with which such scenes are presented by the author, we take from the second volume the description of the battle of the ambuscades, the last successful struggle made by Guatimozin to repel the besiegers, who had already hemmed in the city on the several causeways, and mostly destroyed the water suburbs. The Mexicans, as a part of their system of defence, had perforated the causeways at short intervals, with deep ditches, which were conquered by the Spaniards, one by one, after the most obstinate resistance. Cortes, with his followers, on the occasion described, had forced one of the dikes, and with his characteristic impetuosity, pursued the flying Mexicans into the city, attended by about twenty horsemen only, the foot being far in the rear. The enemy gave way with apparent signs of fear, which was not habitual, and Cortes had already been advised that an ambuscade was evidently contemplated; but the frenzy of battle made him deaf to prudent counsel:
CHAP. XV, VOL. 2.
CHAP. XV, VOL. 2.
The horsemen pursued along the dike, spearing, or tumbling into the water, the few who had the heart to resist; and so great was, or seemed, the terror of the barbarians, that the victors penetrated even within the limits of the island, until the turrets of houses, from which they were separated only by the lateral canals, darkened them with their shadows. Upon these were clustered many pagans, who shot at them both arrows and darts, but with so little energy, that it seemed as if despondence or fatuity had robbed them of their usual vigor. Hence, the excited cavaliers gave them but little attention, not doubting that they would be soon dislodged by the infantry. They were even regardless of circumstances still more menacing; and if a lethargy beset the infidel that day, it is equally certain that a species of distraction overwhelmed the brains of the Spaniards. It seemed as if the great object of their ambition depended more upon their following the fugitives to the temple-square than upon any other feat; and to this they encouraged one another with vivas and invocations to the saints. They could already behold the huge bulk of the pyramid, rising up at the distance of a mile, as if it shut up the street; and its terraced sides, thronged with multitudes of men, seemed to prove to them, that the frighted Mexicans were running to their gods for protection. It is true, they perceived vast bodies of infidels blocking up the avenue afar, as if to dispute their passage beyond the canalled portion of the island; but they regarded them with scorn.
They rushed onwards, occasionally arrested by some flying group, but only for a moment.
There was a place, not far within the limits of the island, where they found the causeway, for the space of at least sixty paces, so delved and pared away on either side, that it scarce afforded a passage for two horsemen abreast. The device was of recent execution, for they beheld the mattocks of laborers still sticking in the earth, as if that moment abandoned. This circumstance, so strange, so novel, and so ominious, it might be supposed, would have aroused them to suspicion. The passage, as it was, so contracted, broken, and rugged, looked prodigiously like the Al-Sirat, or bridge to paradise of the Mussulmans,—that arch, narrow as the thread of a famished spider, over which it is so much easier to be precipitated than to pass with safety. Yet grim and threatening as it was, there was but one among the cavaliers who raised a voice of warning. As the Captain-General, without a moment's hesitation, pushed his horse forward, to lead the way, and without a single expression of surprise, the ancient hidalgo, who had twice before sounded a note of alarm, now exclaimed,—
"For the love of heaven, pause, señor! This is a trap that will destroy us."
"Art thou afraid, Alderete?" cried Cortes, looking back to him, grimly. "This is no place for a King's Treasurer," (such was Alderete, the royal Contador.)—"Get thee back, then, to the first ditch, and fill it up to thy liking.Thiswill be charge enough for a volunteer."
"I will fight where thou wilt, when thou wilt, and as boldly as thou wilt," said the indignant cavalier; "but here play the madman no longer."
"I will take thy counsel,—rest where I am,—and, in an hour's time, see myself shut out from the city by a ditch, sixty yards wide! God's benison upon thy long beard! and mayst thou be wiser. Forward, friends! Do you not see? the knaves are running amain to check us, and recover their unfinished gap! On! courage, and on! Santiago and at them!"
It was indeed as Cortes said. The infidels, who blocked up the streets afar, were now seen running towards them, with the most terrific yells, as if to seize, before it was too late, a pass so easily maintained. The cavaliers, animated by the words of their leader, were quite as resolute to disappoint them, and therefore rode across as rapidly as they could. The pass was not only narrow, but tortuous and irregular; which increased the difficulties of surmounting it; so that the Mexicans, running with the most frantic speed, were within a bowshot, before Cortes had spurred his steed upon the broader portion of the dike. But, as if there were something dreadful to the infidels, in the spectacle of the great Teuctli of the East, thus again in their stronghold, they came to a sudden halt, and testified their valor only by yelling, and waving their spears and banners.
"Courage, friends, and quick!" cried Cortes. "The dogs are beset with fear, and will not face us. Ye shall hear other yells in a moment. Haste, valiant cavaliers! haste, men of Spain! and make room for the footmen, who are behind you."
The screams of the barbarians were loud and incessant; but in the midst of the din, as he turned to cheer his cavaliers over the broken passage, Don Hernan's ears were struck by the sound of a Christian voice, calling from the midst of the pagans, with thrilling vehemence.
"Beware! beware! Back to the causey! Beware!"
"Hark!" cried Alderete, who had already passed; "Our Saint calls to us! Let us return!"
"It is a trick of the fiend!" exclaimed Cortes, in evident perturbation of mind. "Come on, good friends, and let us seize vantage-ground; or the dogs will drive us, singly, into the ditches."
"Back! back!" shouted the cavaliers behind—"We are ambushed! We are surrounded!"
Their further exclamations were lost in a tempest of discordant shrieks, coming from the front and the rear, from the heavens above, and, as they almost fancied, from the earth beneath. They looked northward, towards the pyramid,—the whole broad street was filled with barbarians, rushing towards them with screams of anticipated triumph; they looked back to the lake,—the causeway was swarming with armed men, who seemed to have sprung from the waters; to either side, and beheld the canals of the intersecting streets lashed into foam by myriads of paddles; while, at the same moment, the few pagans, who had annoyed them from the housetops, appeared transformed, by the same spell of enchantment, into hosts innumerable, with spirits all of fury and flame.
"What says the king of Castile? What says the king of Castilenow?" roared the exulting infidels.
"Santiago! and God be with us!" exclaimed Cortes, waving his hand, with a signal for retreat, that came too late: "Cross but this devil-trap again, and—"
Before he could conclude the vain and useless order, the drum of the emperor sounded upon the pyramid. It was an instrument of gigantic size and horrible note, and was held in no little fear, especially after the events of this day, by the Spaniards, who fabled that it was covered with the skins of serpents. It was a fit companion for the horn of Mexitli; which latter, however, being a sacred instrument, was sounded only on the most urgent and solemn occasions.
The first tap,—or rather peal, for the sound came from the temple more like the roll of thunder than of a drum,—was succeeded by yells still more stunning; and while the cavaliers, retreating, struggled, one by one, to recross the narrow pass, they were set upon with such fury as left them but little hope of escape.
If the rashness of Cortes had brought his friends into this fatal difficulty, he now seemed resolved to atone his fault, by securing their retreat, even although at the expense of his life. It was in vain that those few cavaliers who had succeeded in reaching him, before the onslaught began, besought him to take his chance among them, and recross, leaving them to cover his rear.
"Get ye over yourselves," he cried, with grim smiles, smiting away the headmost of the assailants from the street: "If I have brought ye among coals of fire, heaven forbid I should not broil a little in mine own person. Quick, fools! over and hasten! over and quick! and by and by I will follow you."
For a moment, it seemed as if the terror of his single arm would have kept the barbarians at bay. But, waxing bolder, as they saw his attendants dropping one by one away, they began to close upon him, and his situation became exceedingly critical. He looked over his shoulder, and perceived that his followers threaded their way along the broken dike with less difficulty than he at first feared. The very narrowness of the passage left but little foothold for the enemy; and their attacks, being made principally from canoes, were not such as wholly to dishearten a cavalier, whose steed was as strongly defended by mail as his own body. Encouraged by this assurance, the Captain-General still maintained his post, rushing ever and anon upon the closing herds, and mowing right and left with his trusty blade, while his gallant charger pawed down opposition with his hoofs. Thus he fought, with the mad valor that made his enemies so often deem him almost a demigod, until satisfied that his own attempt to cross the pass could no longer embarrass the efforts of his followers. Then, charging once more upon the pagans, and even with greater fury than before, he wheeled round with unexpected rapidity, and uttering his famous cry, "Santiago and at them!" dashed boldly at the passage.
Seven pagans sprang upon the path. They were armed like princes, and the red fillets of the House of Darts waved among their sable locks.
"The Teuctli shall have the tribute of Mexico!" shouted one, flourishing a battle-axe that seemed of weight sufficient, in his brawny arm, to dash out the charger's brains at a blow. The words were not understood by Cortes; but he recognized at once the visage of the Lord of Death.
"I have thee, pagan!" he cried, striking at the bold barbarian. The blow failed; for one of the others, springing at the charger's head with unexampled audacity, seized him by the bridle, so that he reared backwards, and thus foiled the aim of his rider. The next moment, the Spanish steel fell upon the neck of the daring infidel, killing him on the spot; yet not so instantaneously as to avert a disaster, which it seemed the object of his fury to produce. His convulsive struggles, as he clung, dying, to the rein, drove the steed off the narrow ledge; and thus losing his foothold, the noble animal rolled over into the deep canal, burying the Captain-General in the flood.
"The general! save the general!" shrieked the only Christian, who, in this horrible melèe, (for the battle was now universal,) beheld the condition of Cortes, and who, although on foot, and bristling with arrows that had stuck fast in his cotton-armor, and resisted by other weapons at every step, had yet the courage to run to the rescue. It was Gaspar Olea. His visage was yet wan, and expressive of the unusual horror preying upon his mind; yet he rushed forward, as if he had never known a fear. He exalted his voice, while crying for assistance, until it was heard far back upon the causeway; yet he reached the place of Don Hernan's mischance alone. The scene was dreadful: the nobles had flung themselves into the flood, and were dragging the stunned and strangling hero from the steed, which lay upon its side on the rugged and shelving edge of the dike, unable to arise, and perishing with the most fearful struggles; while, all the time, the elated infidels expressed their triumph with shouts of frantic joy.
"Courage, captain! be of good heart, señor!" exclaimed the Barba-Roxa, striking down one of the captors at a single blow: "Courage! for we have good help nigh," he continued, attacking a second with the same success: "Courage, señor, courage!"
No Mexican helm of dried skins, and no breastplate of copper, could resist the machete of a man like Gaspar. Yet his first success was caused rather by the Mexicans being so intently occupied with their captive, that they thought of nothing else, than by any miraculous exertion of skill and prowess. He slew two, before they dreamed of attack, and he mortally wounded a third, ere the others could turn to drive him back. A fourth rushed upon him, before he could again lift up his weapon, and grasping him in his arms, with the embrace of a mountain bear, leaped with him into the canal.
There were now but two left in possession of Cortes; yet his resistance even against these was ineffectual. His sword had dropped from his hand; a violent blow had burst his helmet, and confounded his brain; and he had been lifted from the water, already half suffocated. Yet he struggled as he could, and catching one of his foes by the throat, he succeeded in overturning him into the water, and there grappled with him among the shallows. The remaining barbarian, yelling for assistance, flung himself upon the pair; and though twenty Spaniards, headed by Bernal Diaz and the hunchback, were now within half as many paces, Cortes would have perished where he lay, had not assistance arose from an unexpected quarter.
Among the vast numbers who came crowding from the city over the broken passage, were several who knew, by the cry of the seventh noble, that Malintzin was in his hands; and they rushed forward, to ensure his capture. The foremost and fleetest of these was distinguished from the rest by a frame of towering height; and, had there been a Spaniard by to notice him, would have been still more remarkable from the fact, that he uttered all his cries in good, expressive Castilian. He bore a Spanish weapon, too, and his first act, as he flung himself into the ditch where Cortes was drowning, was to strike it through the neck of the uppermost noble. His next was to spurn the other from the breast of the general, whom he raised to his feet, murmuring in his ear,
"Be of good heart, señor! for you are saved."
What more he would have said and done can only be imagined; for, at that moment, the Barba-Roxa rushed out of the ditch, followed close at hand by the hunchback, Bernal Diaz, and others, and seeing his commander, as he thought, in the hands of a foeman, he lifted his good sword once again, and smote him over the head, crying,
"Down, infidel dog! andvivefor Spain and our general!"
At this moment, there rushed up a crew of fresh combatants, Spaniards from the rear and infidels from the front. But before they closed upon him entirely, the Barba-Roxa caught sight of the man he had struck down, and beheld, in his pale and quivering aspect, the features of Juan Lerma.
The unhappy wretch, thus beholding the beloved youth, with his own eyes, a leaguer and helpmate of the infidel, and punished to death, as it seemed, by his hand, set up a scream wildly vehement, and broke from the group of Spaniards, who now surrounded Cortes, endeavoring to drag him in safety over the pass. The exile had been seen by others as well as Gaspar, and many a ferocious cry of exultation burst from their lips, as they saw him fall.
Meanwhile, Gaspar, distracted in mind, and dripping with blood, for he had not escaped from the ditch and the fierce embrace of his fourth antagonist, without many severe wounds, endeavored to retrace his steps to the spot where Juan had followed. It was occupied by infidels, who drove him into the ditch, where his legs were grasped by a drowning Mexican, who raised himself a little from the water, and displayed, between his neck and shoulder, a yawning chasm, rather than a wound, from which the blood, at every panting expiration of breath, rolled out hideously in froth and foam. It was the Lord of Death, thus struck by Juan Lerma, as he lay upon the breast of Cortes, and now perishing, but still like a warrior of the race of America. He clambered up the body of Gaspar, for it could hardly be said, that he rose upon his feet; and seeing that he grasped a Christian soldier, he strove to utter once more a cry of battle. The blood foamed from his lips, as from his wound; and his voice was lost in a suffocating murmur. Yet, with his last expiring strength, he locked his arms round the neck of the Spaniard, now almost as much spent as himself, and falling backwards, and writhing together as they fell, they rolled off into the deep water, where the salt and troubled flood wrapped them in a winding-sheet, already spread over the bosoms of thousands.
There is another scene which we had marked for extracting, but which our limits forbid inserting—a single combat on the stone of Temalacatl—in which a Spanish prisoner, doomed to the gladiatorial sacrifice, contends successfully against several antagonists. The details of this barbarous ceremony, are full of interest. The prisoner is bound by one foot to the stone of sacrifice, and if in this condition he kill six Mexicans, he is liberated, and sent home with honor; if he fail, he is doomed a sacrifice to the pagan deities. The narrative of this combat, is given with remarkable spirit and precision, and holds the reader in breathless excitement to the end.
The story closes as happily as could be expected from the nature of its incidents. The fall of Mexico, and the humiliation of its heroic emperor, excite a profound sympathy; and the death of Monjonaza, who dies broken hearted upon discovering that Juan, of whom she is passionately enamored, is her brother, throws a melancholy shade over the brightening fortunes of the hero.
Some of the minor characters are drawn with a vigorous hand. The dog Befo, is a powerful delineation of heroic fidelity, seldom equalled by his superiors of the human race. Gaspar Olea, the Barba-Roxa, or red haired, is a fine specimen of the bold, blunt, honest soldier; and Bernal Diaz, (the historian of the Conquest,) though little distinguished in the story, adds to its interest. The Lord of Death, is a fine picture of the lofty race of barbarians, who spurned the slavery of their foreign foe, and died in resisting it. Najara, the hunchback and the cynic, is also a well drawn character.
The Infidel will, we doubt not, enjoy a popularity equal to that of Calavar. It confirms public opinion as to the abilities of the author, who has suddenly taken a proud station in the van of American writers of romance. He possesses a fertility of imagination rarely possessed by his compeers. In many of their works, there is a paucity of events; and incidents of small intrinsic importance, are wrought up by the skill of the writer so as to give a factitious interest to a very threadbare collection of facts. Great ability may be displayed in this manner; but our author seems to find no such exertion necessary. The fertility of his imagination displays itself in the constant recurrence of dramatic situations, striking incidents and stirring adventures; so much so, that the interest of the reader, in following his characters through the mazes of perils and enterprizes, vicissitudes and escapes, which they encounter, is often painfully excited. If this be a fault, it is one which is creditable to the powers of the author, and indicates an exuberance of invention, which will bear him through a long course of literary exertions, and insure to him great favor with the votaries of romance.
Thera are some minor faults which might be noticed. As an instance, the author habitually uses the word "working" in describing the convulsions of the countenance, under the influence of strong passions: as, "hisworkingand agonized visage"—"his faceworkedconvulsively," &c. Although Sir Walter Scott is authority for the use of the word in this manner, we have always considered it a decided inelegance. But such blemishes cannot seriously detract from the enduring excellence of the work.
AN ADDRESS, delivered at his inauguration as President of Washington College, Lexington, Virginia, Feb. 21, 1835, by Henry Vethake.
We have read this address with unmingled pleasure. It is replete with strongcommon sense, and that quality is rarely much exercised in discussions of the subject of education. The opinions of President Vethake seem to us sound and practical: he has a full sense of the errors in the systems of instruction, which have prevailed too long in many of our institutions; and suggests alterations in the modes of teaching, which seem to us both practicable, and promising great benefits. We are constrained by the pressure of other matters, to confine ourselves to a brief notice of this address, and to curtail our extracts from its pages. The following strictures upon the old system of imparting information to students, will, we believe, be recognized as just and sensible, by every one who has reflected on the subject. Although these remarks are intended by the orator to refer to college exercises only, they apply with equal force to the faulty system of teaching pursued by nine-tenths of the conductors of our primary and elementary schools, at which the pupils are, in most cases, severely drilled in the study of merewords, while no corresponding knowledge of thethingsof which they are the symbols, is imparted by the teacher, who makes no effort to awaken the mental energies of the pupil; but is fully satisfied if he cultivate thememory, though themindremain waste and uninformed. But to our extract:
"The error is an egregious one, which leads a student to suppose that his proper business is to store his mind as industriously as he can with the facts previously observed, and the opinions previously held, by others who lived before him. Its natural effect will be to deaden all originality of thought, and to degrade the individual, thus led astray, to a low rank in the scale of intelligence, when compared with that to which he would have entitled himself, with more correct ideas of the nature of education. The memory may have been cultivated to a considerable extent; imagination, and the reasoning power, will have remained nearly dormant. But this is not all. The individual in question will not even have acquired the ability to communicate what he has learned to others. To do so with clearness and order, is by no means always an easy matter; and it is one to which he has directed no portion of his attention, his mind having been exclusively occupied in passively receiving knowledge. And it may be added, that, although it should be conceded, that by pursuing the method of education against which my remarks are at present pointed, a greater amount of mere extraneous information can be acquired, yet this will generally be found to be true only for a comparatively short period. Those facts and opinions of which we read, that do not become the subjects of subsequent comparison and reflection, have, as it were, only a loose connection with our understandings, and, sooner or later, and sometimes very speedily, pass into oblivion. Hence it will be found that, if we have regard rather to the usefulness of manhood than to the display to be made by the youth of a college at an examination, as this is ordinarily conducted, the most effectual method even of storing the mind with what other men have observed and thought, is to regard the communication of knowledge to the student as altogether accessary to the great object of disciplining his mind, and of properly developing his various intellectual faculties. And not only will that individual, whose faculties have been most advantageously excited, be ultimately possessed of the greatest amount and range of information, but he will far surpass his competitors in the race of life, in the art of communicating, and, at proper times and places, displaying that information. He will also come to possess a capacity for attaining a still further measure of knowledge, whenever he may desire to do so, upon any subject that excites a particular interest in him, to which the man of mere memory is a total stranger.
"It is sufficiently to be lamented, that the student should occasionally fall of his own accord into the error I have been considering: but it is lamentable in a far greater degree, when his propensity to do so is encouraged by the faulty system of instruction pursued by his teacher. The young men in our colleges, have been, and still are, too frequently taught in a manner to operate thus injuriously. I refer, more particularly, to the practice of hearing them recite, on almost every subject, the contents, and the precise contents, of certain text books, with little or no accompanying comment, excepting what may be absolutely necessary for enabling them to comprehend the meaning of the work recited. In this manner of instruction, it is not geometry, or the spirit of geometry, that is acquired by the student, but what it is that Euclid, or Legendre, has delivered concerning geometry. It is not the philosophy of the human mind with which he is made acquainted; it is only the system of some distinguished author—be it that of Locke, or Reid, or Brown. It is true that we may easily conceive the reciting of a text book to be accompanied by an enlightened commentary on the part of the instructor, calculated to liberate the mind of the student from all undue subjection to the opinions, and to the peculiar classifications and modes of expression, of the author. We may, indeed, conceive the instructor to superadd every possible contrivance which is fitted to awaken in the mind of his pupils a spirit of independent inquiry. Still thetendencyof the system is to degenerate into the mere recitation of the contents of the text book."
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"Another reason why young men in our colleges are tempted to neglect the general cultivation of their minds, and to devote their whole study to the storing of their memories with the contents of the text books put into their hands, is that their comparative scholarship is very apt to be estimated by their instructors, not so much by the nature of the questions which they are able to answer correctly, and by the amount of thinking and originality displayed, as by the promptitude and fluency with which they can repeat what they have servilely learned. I have been told by more individuals than one, and by graduates of more institutions than one, that on discovering, while at college, the fact to be as I have just stated, and being anxious that the best account of them should go to their friends, from their professors, they at once resolved to subject themselves to the drudgery of committing the author they were appointed to study verbatim to memory, and that, by so doing, they did not fail to secure the object they had in view. The persons of whom I speak, were young men of talent, as well as ambitious of immediate distinction. Had their minds at the time been sufficiently matured to have adequately appreciated the uselessness and the folly of this method of study, without at the same time being matured enough to adopt, of their own suggestion, a more efficient and rational method, and had they been less influenced by present rewards, without as yet aspiring to the more substantial rewards of a future reputation among men, or without the loftier stimulant of duty, they might have become, like others among their fellow students, altogether negligent of their improvement, and perhaps have contracted the most ruinous habits. It is to the system of education, upon which I am animadverting, together with the mistakes made by the members of a college faculty, in deciding on the comparative scholarship of the students—which mistakes the latter are competent to judge of, with a good deal of accuracy—that the anomaly, so often remarked, of a young man's relativestandingwhile in college, being so often but little indicative of his future standing in the world, is to be ascribed; and the explanation is likewise manifest why some individuals of peculiar energy of character, after wasting their time in almost complete idleness while at college, astonish their friends nevertheless, by the intellectual exertions of which they shew themselves to be capable, when an adequate motive is presented for exerting their energies. This solves the mystery too, why so manyself-taughtmen, have, in despite of the disadvantages under which they labored, surpassed the graduates of colleges in usefulness and reputation; every acquisition made by a self-taught man, in consequence of the very difficulty of making it, being accompanied by a contemporary sharpening of his intellect, which the passive recipient of another's knowledge never experiences."
Of his suggestions for the remedy of this evil, we have room only for the following passage:
"The practical question now presents itself—what is the proper remedy for the evils that have been described? Are we to rest satisfied with the efficiency of our colleges and universities being rendered wholly dependent on the accident, as it may be called, of the instructors proving themselves, upon trial, to be possessed of intellectual powers of the highest, or at least of a very high order, that is, of powers which will exert themselves, and produce their proper fruit, under almost any circumstances whatever, of disadvantage? Or shall we abandon our institutions of learning, where these disadvantageous circumstances have hitherto been permitted to exist, and have afforded an opportunity to unskilful and indolent teachers to nip the evolving faculties of youth in the bud? We are, fortunately, not limited to a selection of either of these modes of proceeding. As a remedy for the evils described, the professors, in every department of instruction admitting of it, should, in my opinion, be obliged to prepare courses oflecturesto the students. This would necessarily compel them to digest a system of knowledge for themselves, possessing more or less of originality in respect to thought or arrangement, of matter or of manner, according to the ability of the writer or speaker. Even if the lectures were only compilations from the writings of others, or should possess far inferior merit to various works on the same subject, that might be put into the hands of the student, the fitness of the professor to teach, will be greatly augmented, both because his information on the branch of instruction confided to him, will, in the preparation of his lectures, have become much more extensive, and because what he knows will be much more methodically arranged, than before. Those works, besides, which are supposed to be of greater value than the professor's lectures, are still as accessible as ever to the students; and the improvement of their instructor can surely in no wise interfere with the benefit to be derived by them from the perusal of the works of others."
A HISTORY OF THE UNITED STATES, from the Discovery of the American Continent to the present time; by George Bancroft. Vol. 1. pp. 508. Boston: Charles Bowen. London: R. J. Kennett.
The interest we have felt in this work, is the true cause of our seeming neglect of it. This may appear paradoxical, but is easily explained.
In taking up the book, we naturally turned to that part of which we knew most, and in which we took the greatest interest. There was always something in the early history of Virginia on which we delighted to dwell, and we promised ourselves great pleasure from the contemplation of the character of our forefathers, as we expected to find it portrayed by a diligent historian, who had already acquired the character of a fine writer.
We did indeed find what was intended to be a favorable account of our ancestors. Yet we were disappointed. We found much of direct praise. Yet we were disappointed. We ought perhaps to feel obliged, by Mr. B's disposition to speak kindly of our forefathers, even while his applauses grate upon our feelings. But we are unfortunately constituted. What Mr. Bancroft gives as praise, we cannot accept as praise; and, what is worse, we cannot help suspecting, in all such cases, that a sneer, or something more mischievous, is intended.
Sterne, in his Sentimental Journey, tells us, that when on his way from Calais to Paris, he accidentally disclosed to his Landlord and Valet de Chambre, the astounding fact, that he had blundered into the heart of France without a passport, the former fell back from him three paces. At the same moment, his affectionate and grateful servant, by a like instinctive impulse, advanced three paces towards him.
The fall of Charles I, presented to his adherents a case somewhat analogous. History tells us that they were variously affected by it. Some fell back in dismay, while others found themselves drawn more closely toward his exiled son. The former soon found that the successful party had rewards in store for timely submission and zealous service. The latter, driven from their last rallying point, by the fatal battle of Worcester, did butsubmit, and that with undisguised reluctance, to what was inevitable.
Mr. Bancroft seems to think he does honor to our ancestors, by assigning them a place among the former. Now we had always supposed that their true place was among the latter, and we had moreover a sort of pride in so supposing. There are those who will say that there is great arrogance in thus claiming for them a place among the generous and brave and faithful. Others will call it folly to insist,at this day, on their fidelity to aking, and especially to one who had lost all means of rewarding, or even of using their zeal. We beg leave to set off these imputations against each other. We beg to be allowed to speak of our fathers as they were; and trust that one half of those who shall cavil at the character we impute to them, will acquit us of any very high presumption, when they see that we only claim for them such qualities, as the other half say we ought to be ashamed of. If the same individual is sometimes found assailing us, alternately on both grounds, his consistency in so doing is his affair, not ours.
If we know anything (and we think we do) of the character of the early settlers of Virginia, they were a chivalrous and generous race, ever ready to resist the strong, to help the weak, to comfort the afflicted, and to lift up the fallen. In this spirit they had withstood the usurpation of Cromwell while resistance was practicable, and, when driven from their native country, they had bent their steps toward Virginia, as that part of the foreign dominions of England, where the spirit of loyalty was strongest. We learn from Holmes, vol. i. p. 315, that the population of Virginia increased about fifty per cent. during the troubles. The newcomers were loyalists, who were added to a population already loyal. Couldthey, without dishonor, have been hearty in favor of the new order of things?Theywhose principles had driven them into exile?Theywho, had they remained, would have fought and fallen with Montrose?
The historical compends with which our youth was familiar, had taught us to form this estimate of the early settlers of Virginia; and we had the more faith in it, because it accords with the hereditary prejudices and prepossessions of the present day. It accounts too, for those peculiarities which, at this moment, form the distinctive features of the Virginian character. It is unique. Whether for better or worse, it differs essentially from that of every other people under the sun. How long it shall be before the "march of mind," as it is called, in its Juggernaut car, shall pass over us, and crush and obliterate every trace of what our ancestors were, and what we ourselves have been, is hard to say. It may postpone that evil day, to resist any attempt to impress us with false notions of our early history, and the character of our ancestors.
We had never looked narrowly into the contemporary authority for the traditions and histories that have come down to us. Mr. Bancroft's account of the matter has led us to do so. Hence our delay to notice his work. Our research has been rewarded by the pleasure of finding full confirmation of all our preconceived notions.
The point in contest between Mr. Bancroft and the received histories is this:
The histories represent Virginia as having been loyal to the last; as having stood in support of the title of Charles II, after every other part of the British dominions had submitted to Cromwell, and as having been the first to renounce the authority of the protector,and return to their allegiance. All this Mr. Bancroft denies; and all this, except the last proposition, (that in italics) we affirm. In proof, we appeal to the very authorities on which Mr. Bancroft relies.
Indeed, we are at a loss to know how he himself escaped the conclusion against which he protests so strongly. It may not be true that Charles II was proclaimed in Virginia, as Robertson says, before he had been recognized in England. Mr. Hening (1 Sts. at Large, p. 529, quoted by Bancroft) may be right, when he says, that, if such were the fact, the public records should show it. But his book is full of proof that the records are incomplete. Is there not such proof in this instance? Let us examine.
The first act of the session of March 1660, assumes the supreme power. The second appoints Sir William Berkeley governor, and prescribes that he shall govern according to the "auncient lawesof England, and the established lawes" of Virginia. The third repeals all laws inconsistent with "the power now established;" and the fourth makes it penal to "say or act anything in derogation" of the government thus established.
Here is evidence enough of anew orderof things, and yet it is not so very clear what that new order was. Hening says (ubi supra) that Berkeley was electedjust as Mathews had been. Wherein then was the innovation? The recital in the preamble of the act last quoted, (1 Hen. Sts. p. 531) may give a clue to this.
It is there set forth that "it hath been thought necessary and convenient by the present Burgesses of this Assembly, the representatives of the people,during the time of these distractions, to take the government into their own power, with the conduct of theauncient lawesof England, till suchlawfullcommission or commissions appear to us,as wee mayDUTIFULLYsubmit to, according as byDECLARATION SET FORTH BY USdothMORE AMPLYappeare."
Now where is thisMORE AMPLE DECLARATION, concerning their idea of such a commission as they mightDUTIFULLYsubmit to? Is not here anhiatus valde deflendus?Yet such are the tattered manuscripts from which Mr. Hening's compilation is made, that the loss of the whole or a part of any document is quite common.
Enough appears, however, to show that this declaration did not amount to a recognition of Charles as kingde facto;because the above mentioned Act I, directs that all writs shall issue in the name of the assembly. But it is equally clear that he was,at least tacitly, acknowledged as kingde jure;that the government was established provisionally, and subject to his pleasure; and that the power assumed was heldFOR HIM.
Now when we consider these things; when we find Robertson, on the authority ofBeverleyandChalmers, saying that "as Sir William Berkeley refused to act under an usurped authority, they (the assembly) boldly erected the royal standard, and acknowledging Charles II to be their lawful sovereign, proclaimed him with all his titles;" we may doubt the accuracy of the statement,in extenso, but we cannot agree that eventhatstatement shall be stigmatized as a fiction.
Mr. Hening tells us (1 Sts. p. 513) that Beverley was near the scene of action, and wonders that he should havemisunderstoodormisrepresented. Wonderful indeed itwouldhave been; for in March 1662, we find him clerk to the House of Burgesses. See 2 Hen. Sts. p. 162. We find too, in the same volume, p. 544, that Berkeley refused to act without the advice of the council; that on receiving this he agreed to act, and that "HISdeclarationTO BEgovernor (not the act electing him) werePROCLAIMEDby order of the assembly." Berkeley (be it remembered) was the last royal governor, and his commission had never been revoked, his election is not for any specific term, and the act is accompanied with a condition that he shall call an assembly at least once inevery two years. How is this, if he was only elected to fill the vacancy occasioned by the death of Mathews, who, just one year before, had been electedto serve two years. Is not Berkeley in of his old commission?
But of the loyalty of Virginia there can be no doubt. That this was in no wise abated by the fall of Charles I, and the exile of his son, is equally certain. The act, passed immediately after, making it high treason to justify the murder of the one, or to deny the title of the other, puts that out of dispute. They certainly did not stand out, when the battle of Dunbar and the fall of Montrose had left the loyal party without hope either in England or Scotland. But look at the very act of surrender. Study its terms, and see the temper displayed there. Do they acknowledge theauthorityof parliament or protector? No: they do butsubmitto power. There is no profession of allegiance, nor was any oath of allegiance ever administered during the commonwealth. They engage indeed so to administer their power as not to contravene "the government of the commonwealth of England, and the lawes there established." But this was a proceeding which a respect forprivate rightsrequired. They stipulate moreover, that Virginia shall enjoy as free a trade as England herself, and put an end to all the authority of commissions from England. It was by such commissions that the king had governed. That "government by commissions and instructions" is declared to be for the future "null and void." The usurper had clutched the sceptre of the king ofEngland. That of the king ofVirginiahe was not allowed to touch. Accordingly no more commissions came from England. We hear no more of them until the election of Berkeley. We are then told that the government is provisional, and only to endure until alawful commissionshall appear. What commission? Whose? The protector's? The parliament's? No. The act of surrender (1 Hen. St. p. 363) had abolished them. But it had not abolished the rights of the king; and the power of the assembly and governor is thus made to wait on them.
Strange as it may seem, the act of surrender contains no word recognizing the rightful authority of the parliament, nor impeaching that of the king. On the contrary, as if to exclude any such idea, this remarkable clause is inserted:
"That there be one senthome, at the present governor's choice, to give an accompt toHIS MA'TIE, of the surrender ofHIScountrey."
Home!There is a simple pathos in the use of this word here, which speaks volumes to the heart. None can feel more deeply than we do, how utterly unworthy of this steady and passionate loyalty, was the wretch who was its object. But they knew not his faults. They only knew him in his lineage and his misfortunes; and though he had no place to lay his head, yet wherever their messenger might find the outcast, there was the home of their hearts. We mean nothing profane. God forbid! But we cannot help being reminded of the weak warm-hearted boy, who stood by his master's cross, and gazed with looks of love upon his dying face, when the stronger and bolder of his followers had "forsaken him and fled." We are more proud to be descended from the men who stood forward in the business of that day, than we should be to trace ourselves to Adam, through all the most politic and prudent self-seekers that the world has ever seen.
But to return to Mr. Bancroft. Affairs being thus settled, things went on quite peaceably; and he hence infers that the Virginians were entirely reconciled to Cromwell and his parliament. Moreover, he finds them claiming the supreme power, as residing in the colonial legislature; and from this he most strangely infers a loyalty to the parliament, the model of which he represents them as so eager to copy. Now Mr. Bancroft himself tells us (p. 170) that as early as 1619, Virginia first setthe worldthe example of equal representation. From that time they held that the supreme power was in the hands of the colonial parliament, then established, and the king as king of Virginia. Now the authority of the king being at an end, and no successor being acknowledged, it followed asa corollary from their principlesthat no power remained but that of the assembly;and so they say. Does this look like a recognition of Cromwell and his parliament, or the reverse?
But Mr. Bancroft seems to think that Virginia could not have failed to be weaned from her attachment to the king, and won over to Cromwell and his parliament, by the magnanimity and justice of their proceedings. He adverts to the article in the treaty of surrender, by which Virginia had stipulated for a trade as free as that of England, and assures us that "its termswere faithfully observed till the restoration." (p. 241.) He adds at p. 246, that "the navigation act of Cromwell was not designed for the oppression of Virginia, andwas not enforced within her borders." Hence he says (p. 241) that the pictures drawn by Beverley, Chalmers, Robertson, Marshall, and Holmes, of the discontent produced by commercial oppression, are all "pure fiction."
Now what says the reader to the following extract from a memorial on behalf of the trade of Virginia, laid before Cromwell in 1656?
"What encouragement the poor planter has had to sweeten his labor, since the Dutch were excluded trade, appears by thegeneral complaintof them all, that they are the merchant's slaves, who will allow them scarce a half-penny a pound for their tobacco. Beside that, since the Dutch trade was prohibited, till this year there has been a great deal of their tobacco left behind for want of fraught, and spoiled, to the almost undoing of divers of them." ... "This is an inconveniency which has attendedthat act for navigation," "but unless it bea littledispensed withal, it will undoubtedly ruin part of the trade it was intended to advance. 'Tis true the people of themselves, some of them at least, have this year endeavored their own relief bysecret trade with the Dutch," &c. &c.
Is not this decisive? If it does not prove the fact, it at least proves the complaint. Mr. Bancroft denies both. Perhaps this paper is a forgery. Perhaps Mr. Bancroft never saw it. YES HE DID. It is the same paper to which he refers at p. 247, note 2, in the very paragraph in which he says that Cromwell's navigation act was not designed for, nor enforced in Virginia. Mr. B. indeed says "the war between England and Holland necessarily interrupted the intercourse of the Dutch with the English colonies." But this memorial is of the year 1656, and peace had been concluded April 15, 1654.
Robertson speaks of the colonial governors during the interregnum, as having beennamed(that is his word) by Cromwell. This is roundly denied. On what authority? None. The election proves nothing certainly. It might have been a mere form, though it was probably something more. But what was easier than a recommendation which it would be perhaps best to conform to? How often was the speaker of the house of commons so chosen in England?
Mr. Bancroft's view of this matter stands thus: Virginia elected her own governors. Bennett, Digges, and Mathews, were commonwealth's men. She freely chose them as governors. Ergo. She had gone over to the commonwealth.
Now there is no proof of either of these propositions. We doubt both. For if it were established that these gentlemen were, as we suspect, forced on the colony, it would not be clear that they were therefore commonwealth's men. We doubt very much whether any such were to be found. They might have been the least violent among the royalists, and therefore preferred.
Of Col. Bennett we know something traditionally. The idea that he was a parliamentarian is new to us. We should require some better proof than the Collections of the Massachusetts Historical Society. He was indeed, one of the parliamentary commissioners at the time of the surrender. So was Claiborne, a warm friend and favorite of Sir William Berkeley, continued in his office of secretary of state, by the legislature, at Berkeley's request, after his restoration. 1 Hen. Sts. p. 547. Bennett himself retained his place at the council board, where he still found himself, as before the restoration, in the company of cavaliers, such as Morrison, Yardly, Ludlow, &c. &c.1
1The characters and principles of these gentlemen may throw some light on the subject. If we can ascertain those of the members of the council, elected by the assembly, we shall have a clue to the temper of the assembly itself. We may know the tree by its fruit. If we find that body electing to a place in the council men of very decided political character, we shall have a right to believe that those associated with them by the vote of the same body were, at least, not zealous members of the opposite party. In this case the maxim "noscitur a socio," will surely apply. Let us see what lights we can bring to bear on this subject.
In Churchill's voyages (vol. vi. p. 171) is "A Voyage to Virginia, by Col. Norwood." He was a cavalier, and came over in company with Francis Morrison, also a cavalier. Norwood was also a kinsman of Berkeley. Arriving here, they found Sir Henry Chichely, Col. Yardly, Wormely, and Ludlow, whom they recognized as old friends and cavaliers.
Now in the council elected along with Bennett, immediately after the surrender, we find two of these gentlemen, Yardly and Ludlow. The latter had been a member of Berkeley's council that had concurred (October 1649) in declaring it to be high treason to defend the proceedings of parliament against Charles I, or to deny the title of his son. West, the first named member of Bennett's council, had occupied the same place in that of Berkeley. Pettus and Bernard were also members of both. We might conjecture that they had dissented from the act referred to, if we did not find them associated with Yardly and Ludlow. We find too that Harwood, who had been speaker of the assembly of October 1649, was also one of Bennett's council. The whole number was thirteen, and here are six notorious royalists. Of what complexion could the other seven have been? Two of them, Taylor and Freeman, were members of the assembly of 1647, from two most loyal counties.
In July, 1653, Col. Walter Chiles, who had been a member in October 1649, was speaker.
In November, 1654, Col. Edward Hill, another of them, was speaker. He was in high favor after the restoration. He was transferred to the council in 1655.
We find the name of Charles Norwood, as clerk of the assembly, from that time.
In March, 1655, Col. Thomas Dew was a member of the council. He had been speaker of the assembly in 1652, the first elected under Bennett.We know(we do not ask historians to tell us this) that he was a loyal clansman, who was driven to Virginia by his hatred of the usurpers, and to accommodate his name to English orthography, changed the spelling from that of "Dhu"—since made familiar to all readers of poetry—by Sir Walter Scott. He is now (in 1655) in the council, making in that body seven known loyalists.
In the legislature of that year, we have the name of Sir Henry Chichely.
In 1656, Col. Morrison (the companion of Ludlow's voyage) is speaker.
In the next assembly (1658) John Smith was speaker. We know nothing certainly of him; but it was that assembly that deposed Mathews. They gave him Berkeley's friend, Claiborne, as secretary of state; and for councillors, among others, West, Pettus, Hill, Dew, and Bernard. They made some changes, but turned out none of that party. At the same time they introduced Col. John Carter, another of Norwood's friends. He had been chairman of the committee, on the report of which the assembly had just acted. Horsmenden, another of the same committee, was elected to the council at the same time.
In March 1659, Hill, who had left his place in the council, is again speaker. In March 1660, the assembly which reinstated Berkeley, retained Bennett and five other of the old councillors, of whose characters we have no other indication. These were Robins, Perry, Walker, Read, and Wood. What they were may be inferred from this fact. Morrison, moreover, was elected at the same time.
Can we believe, in the face of these facts, that the loyalty of Virginia ever wavered? That it bowed before the storm we know. That the assembly, in one instance, passed a vote of disfranchisement against the author of a seditious paper, appears in 1 Hen. Sts. p. 380. But we also find that this vote was reversedas soon as they heard of the death of Oliver Cromwell.
If then Bennett was, as we conjecture, recommended to the assembly by the parliamentary commissioners, what induced them to choose him? The answer is given by Mr. Bancroft at p. 241. He had become obnoxious to Berkeley, and had been "compelled to quit Virginia." For what does not appear. Hardly for disloyalty. In 1 Hen. Sts. p. 235, we have his name and that of Mathews signed to a paper of as enthusiastic loyalty as was ever penned, presented to the king after his rupture with parliament.
But what reason have we for supposing this interference with the freedom of election? We answer that our reasons are twofold.
1. The authority of Robertson, who relies on Beverley and Chalmers, and doubtless consulted all the authorities he could find, is entitled to some weight. Had he said the governors wereappointedby Cromwell, we should know that he spoke at random. But his use of the equivocal word "named," shows that he knew what he was talking about, and considered what he was saying.
2. But in Hen. Sts. 499 to 505, is an evidence that we think conclusive. Mathews took it into his head to dissolve the assembly. They immediately voted the act a nullity, and civilly invited the Governor to go on with the business. To this he assented, revoking the order, but proposing to "referre the dispute of the power of dissolving and the legality thereof to his Highnesse the Lord Protector." This was in 1658, and the Lord Protector was then Richard Cromwell, and not Oliver, under whom Mathews had been elected.
The house took fire immediately at this proposed appeal, and deposed Mathews, and having solemnly declared the "power of government" to reside in themselves, theyre-elect him, saying that he is "BY USinvested" with the office.
Now what did this mean, if circumstances had not been such as justify the notion entertained by Mathews that he derived his authority from some other source, so as to have the right of dissolving the assembly. Had there been no interference on the part of Cromwell, this whole proceeding would have been idle and ridiculous. Yet it is obviously the proceeding of men not disposed to trifle, and who well understood what they were about.
Now compare this peremptory proceeding with that which took place soon after on the death of Mathews. Richard Cromwell had then abdicated, and there was therefore no shadow of authority in England to restrain the action of the assembly. But what do they do? They elect Sir William Berkeleyprovisionally, making the continuance of his authority and their own to determine on the coming of a "lawful commission." Now,such commission, as we have already shown, could only come from the king; it was his plan of government; it had not been practiced by the parliament; and the right to exercise it had been denied to them and renounced by them. Does not this conduct of the assembly show that they anticipated the restoration of one whose right they had always maintained?
So far, we have done little more than to express our dissent from Mr. Bancroft's conclusions. In a single instance, to which we have adverted, he must be suspected of wilfully misrepresenting his authorities. We allude to the memorial addressed to Cromwell in favor of the trade of Virginia, of which he was certainly aware, and which clearly disproves his own statement. Had this been the only instance of the sort, we should have passed it over more lightly. But it does not stand alone.
His main drift, in his account of these transactions, seems to be, to show that Virginia had taken the infection of Republicanism; that she was effectually weaned from her allegiance; that she desired nothing but to set up for herself; and that the use she proposed to make of the abdication of Richard, and the consequent suspension of executive power in England, was to establish the supremacy of her legislature. In this view the assembly are represented as requiring of Berkeley the distinct acknowledgment of their authority, which he, we are told, recognized without a scruple. "I am" said he, "but the servant of the assembly."
Now what will the reader say when he reads the passage from which these words are copied. It runs thus:
"You desire me to do that concerning your titles and claims to land in this northern part of America, which I am in no capacity to do; for I am but the servant of the assembly:neither do they arrogate to themselvesany power, farther than the miserable distractions in Englandforce them to. For when God shall be pleased to take away and dissipate the unnatural divisions of their native country,they will immediately return to their professed obedience."
Is this an assertion of the supremacy of the assembly? Is it not the very reverse? He disclaims any power to act in a certain behalf. Why? Because he is but the servant of the assembly; he has no power but what is given by them, andthey do not pretend to have any such to give. On their principles, they could not. Looking for the restoration, they expected "some commission" by which any authority they could establish would be superseded; their provisional government was the result of necessity, and its powers were limited to the nature of that necessity. Every thing that could wait was made to wait.
What is the meaning of this strange attempt to pervert the truth of history, and to represent Virginia as being as far gone in devotion to the parliament as Massachusetts herself? Why does it come to us, sweetened with the language of panegyric, from those who love us not, and who habitually scoff at and deride us? Is it intended to dispose us to acquiesce in the new notion, "that the people of the colonies, all together, formed one body politic before the revolution?" Against this proposition we feel bound to protest. We hold ourselves prepared to maintain the negative against all comers and goers, with tongue and pen; and to resist the practical results, if need be, with stronger weapons. When Virginians shall learn to kiss the rod of power; to desert their friends in trouble, and to take part with the strong against the weak, it will then be in character to disparage the memory of our forefathers, and to say, they were even such as ourselves. But until we have done something to dishonor our lineage, let us speak of them as they were,
We have said nothing of Mr. Bancroft's style. It is our duty as critics to take some notice of it; and, we apprehend, he might think himself wronged if we did not. He is obviously very proud of it; and, in saying this, we fear we have condemned it. An ambitious style is certainly not the style for history. To say nothing of the frequent sacrifice of perspicuity to ornament, there is a tone in it which excites distrust. We find ourselves, we know not how, diffident of statements which come to us in the language of declamation, antithesis and epigram.
In our boyhood Hume's history was put into our hands; and we remember our surprise at hearing something said in praise of his style.Style!!Was thatstyle?A plain story, told just as we should have told it ourselves? Partridge would as soon have thought of admiring Garrick's acting. Thekingwas the actor for his money, and Mr. Bancroft's wouldthenhave been the style for ours.
We have no doubt, for example, we should have been delighted with the following passage, introduced into a description which closes the author's remarks on the very question we have been discussing. We give it for the benefit of any of our young friends, who may be preparing an oration for the fourth of July. It would be nothing amiss, on such an occasion, for a "moonish youth" not yet out of his first love scrape. But from a grave historian, with a beard on his chin, we cannot approve it. We give it as a sample.Ex pede Herculem. "The humming-bird, so brilliant in its plumage, and so delicate in its form, quick in motion, yet not fearing the presence of man, haunting about the flowers, like the bee gathering honey, rebounding from the blossoms out of which it sips the dew, and as soon returning" to renew its many addresses to its delightful objects, "was ever admired as the smallest and the most beautiful of the feathered race."
Alas! Alas! If this is the way to write history, we fear we shall have to leave our northern neighbors to tell the story their own way. It is a hard case. Let them write our books, and they become our masters. But we cannot help ourselves. We cannot contend with those who can write history in this style. Our only defence is not to read. A more effectual security would be, not to buy. In that case they would not write; and we should not only avoid being led into error, but might escape the injury of being misrepresented to others. But Mr. Bancroft's book is in print, and we must abide the mortification of having all who may read it, think of our ancestors as he has represented them. We have comfort in believing that they will not be very numerous.