But that display was not now requisite. The seasonable and judicious efforts of the good Bishop Fenwick, together with the sympathy of the Protestants, expressed in their public meetings in their several towns, allayed the ferment. The bishop sent priests to various points, where portions of his charge might assemble, to repress all disposition to violence, and to teach respect and submission to the law. He convoked a large assemblage at Boston, to which he read the truly Christian doctrines contained in the fifth chapter of Matthew, reprehensive of the retaliation of injuries. After painting the conduct of the incendiaries in appropriate colours, he asked, "What is to be done? Shall we say to our enemies, you have destroyed our buildings and we will destroy yours? No, my brethren, this is not the religion of Jesus Christ-this is not in accordance with the spirit of that blessed religion we all profess. Turn not a finger in your defence; there are those around you who will see justice done to you." These efforts were wholly successful, and the much dreaded, much vilified Catholic, set the brightest example of Christian forbearance.

Let it not be supposed that the writer of this Article is of that denomination of Christians. He has no religious fellowship with it; he is subject to no influences which could inflame his spirit or warp his judgment in the present case. All his prejudices bear against the doctrines and diffusion of what is called Popery. But he is a principled advocate of social order and organic law; of private justice and public equity; of equal rights and retribution in practice, and a common, effective protection of property and person. He cherishes, too, a particular interest in the honour of New England, and the example of northern conduct. In the foregoing narrative and reflections, nothing is exaggerated or set down in malice. Rhetoric could scarcely, indeed, render the transactions more odious. Yet much more might have been excusably or laudably tried, than it was consistent with our general disposition and aim to employ.

MISCELLANEOUS NOTICES.

Rombert: A Tale of Carolina. 2 vols. New York: 1835.

ABOUT nothing, as it seems to us, does a greater misapprehension prevail to a certain extent, than about the phrase " encouragement of national literature." It might be inferred, from the speculations which are lavished upon the subject, that its proper signification is the indiscriminate praise and patronage of every publication of American origin, no matter what its intrinsic value. But such is not the meaning which we attach to it. Is the mind of a gifted youth efficaciously nurtured, by allowing full scope to its eccentricities, irregularities and follies? Is a garden skilfully tended, by suffering the weeds which are generated by the fertility of the soil, to shoot up and multiply undisturbed, usurping the places of the useful and the ornamental plant, and eventually, perhaps, destroying the powers of nature in “the fruitful glebe or flower?" And can we ever hope to possess a national literature worthy of ourselves, by accepting every sickly or poisonous offspring of the mental fermentation which characterizes this epoch? We are not in the situation of a people striving with unaided strength to construct an intellectual monument-groping in the dark, and requiring every source of illumination however slight. Were such our condition, universal indulgence might, for a period, be of benefit; but under existing circumstances, we firmly believe that much more danger to the true interests of our literature, is to be apprehended from excessive tenderness, than severity; rank luxuriance being far more likely than scantiness, to become the prevalent evil. The pruning-knife must be constantly employed in lopping off pernicious excrescences, if we would preserve the tree in a healthy state. The tumors with which the human body is sometimes covered, are in some instances but the consequences of the strength of the system, of the rich blood which courses through the channels of life; but if their removal is neglected, they become the seeds of disease and of death. We believe, moreover, that the influence of criticism, at the present time, is vastly overrated-we doubt that the most chilling blast which a reviewer could blow from his icy lungs, could freeze the genial current of any writer's soul, especially one endowed with the vital principle in an eminent degree. True genius cannot be crushed by any such cause; on the contrary, it rises from the blast with redoubled vigour. The mind which can be overpowered by it, deserves to be so. The Lilliputian cords of injustice can never bind the strong man to the earth. Witness the instance of Lord Byron and the Edinburgh Review. We venture to affirm that the celebrated article in that journal, was the match which fired the train of the poet's genius the circumstance which sprung his intellectual mine—and that in all probability he would have been guilty of many more "Hours of Idleness," before being aware of his real powers, had those in which he kindly wished the world to share, been graciously welcomed, or even indifferently treated. It must have been when under the influence of such a conviction, that he wrote this stanza:

"The fire in the caverns of Ætna concealed,

Still mantles unseen in its secret recess,

Till at length in a volume terrific revealed,

No bounds can restrain it, no torrents repress."

We have made these remarks in consequence of having seen accusations preferred against this journal, of hostility to American literature; and although they have chiefly emanated from sources not worthy of notice, we have deemed it well to avail ourselves of the occasion to express our sentiments upon the subject. As far as we can discover, the ground of the charge is the circumstance of our not having been able to perceive the spirit of poetry in some "most tolerable and not to be endured" productions, in the shape of verse; and having dared to condemn a few novels, for faults which are far better calculated to injure our native literature, if allowed to exert their influence, than any efforts which we could make, if we were even actuated by all the bitterness of hostility with which we are reproached. We may affirm that scarcely a work of genuine merit has been issued from the American press, since the commencement of this journal, which has not received its full award of praise; but whilst we have lauded various authors, to whom it is both a duty and a pleasure to pay the tribute of our admiration for their talents, and our gratitude for the lustre they have shed upon the country-whilst, we say, we have eulogized such authors as these, we are nevertheless the enemies of native genius, because, forsooth, we have not coincided with the estimate which the precious poets (soi disant) we have alluded to, are modestly inclined to form of themselves, and have indicated the errors of a few compounders of fiction, whose works, whatever merit they possess, are obnoxious to the strongest censure, in several respects of paramount importance!

There is something sufficiently ludicrous in the commotion which these rhyming personages have endeavoured to excite, in consequence of our not being able to perceive the lustre which, as they affirm, is reflected by their effusions, and the manner in which they endeavour to identify their cause with that of American literature, or rather constitute those exquisite effusions the very nucleus of that literature. The learned professors who have published valuable works of erudition, the physicians with their well written treatises, the lawyers, whose publications are of such importance, the statesmen, whose admirable writings and speeches are collected into volames, the authors of books of travel, of biographies, of historical, scientific, political and religious works, the writers of excellent fiction, the genuine poets-all are nothing in comparison with these buzzing flutterers around the base of Parnassus, and however much the former may be praised, it is no compensation for the detriment inflicted upon "American literature," by depreciating the latter! We must nevertheless be permitted to opine that our real claims to literary distinction, rest upon the persons whom we have indicated, and that so far from doing harm, we render an important service when we check any influence which the individuals of the other category might exert, fitted, as it is, to vitiate the public taste by creating a fondness for frivolous, trashy food, destructive of all appetite for substantial nourishment. It is only to be regretted that ocean is so often "into tempest wrought," in order to "waft a feather," and that the same ridiculously disproportionate swell is requisite sometimes for the purpose of " drowning a fly."

It shall always be our endeavour to furnish our readers with genuine opinions, unbiassed by any motives but those of manifesting the truth-to write "without fear," though we can scarcely hope "without reproach," knowing full well, as we do, that the critic who follows the dictates of his own judgment, incurs a double risk of exciting displeasure. We may commit errors of taste, but they shall never be of a more reprehensible description; and with this determination, we throw ourselves upon the good sense and good feeling of the community. It is indeed much more from the intolerance of opinion, which, we are afraid, prevails to a lamentable extent in our country, than from any other source, that injury is inflicted upon the cause VOL. XVII.-NO. 33. 30

of native literature. When a writer knows that every sentiment which he utters, will subject him to a practical evidence of the dissent of those whose disapprobation it may meet, it requires a powerful resolution to escape the trammels which such knowledge is fitted to impose-an under current, unsuspected, perhaps, by himself, is set, of perilous influence upon his sincerity and impartiality, and unless he be constantly aided by the stronger power of an opposing rectitude and firmness of purpose, he degenerates into a mere trimmer and time-server, the sport of every shifting puff of the popular gale. If independence be not sustained by the public hand, it can accomplish nothing—it is a flower, which, if on it the baleful breath of party-spirit of any description be permitted to blow, must soon wither and die. Whilst, therefore, we shall follow the counsel of the great dramatist and philosopher, "Not to stint

Our necessary actions, in the fear

To cope malicious censurers,"

we shall hope for that support, which in such an undertaking especially as ours, those only who are in the habit of “swearing by no masters,” have a right to expect. Testimonium veritati, non amicitiæ reddas, is an exhortation of Seneca, which should be the motto of every review.

If any branch of composition demands in an especial manner the extenuation of nothing, it is without question this of romance. Excellence here is indispensable; mediocrity is worse than useless. None other is so pregnant with peril to both the heart and the head of the reader; none exercises so extensive and predominant a sway; and unless works of this species result from a combination of virtue and genius, the perusal of them, to say the least, is a miserable waste of time. Too much scrupulousness can scarcely be exerted, particularly with respect to their influence upon morals. If the effect of the fiction be not the inculcation of truth, and truth of a character of which ignorance is not bliss, nothing should be permitted to rescue it from anathema. The cause of good morals is that of good taste. The latter cannot exist unconnected with the former. He who is incapable of appre ciating moral truth, cannot long be competent to perceive that which, for the sake of contradistinction, may be termed intellectual. We are firmly convinced, that both are receiving material injury from the torrent of novels which comes unceasingly from the press, confounding the attributes of good and evil, sweeping away the landmarks of purity and sense, and deluging the public mind with the foulest waters of every species of corruption; and it behoves all who are in any way invested with the guardianship of literature and morals, to strain every nerve to arrest the destructive course of the flood.

We have never felt more disposed to commit a book to the flames, than whilst reading or trying to read this tale of Carolina. What object of utility or pleasure could the author have seriously deemed such a work fitted to accomplish? A more disgusting quagmire of absurdity and monstrosity, it has never been our misfortune to wade through; and if he fancies that he has placed fanaticism in the salutary odious light, which seems to have been his design, he is much mistaken in the fond belief. By endeavouring to do too much, he has done nothing for his purpose. He has completely failed, by aiming with that improvident ambition which "o'erleaps itself." The horrors which he has piled one upon the other, doubtless with the idea that they would thus attain the elevation of the sublime, throw such an aspect of ridiculous and revolting improbability upon the entire narrative, as completely to frustrate its object. Fanaticism might without question produce effects even more horrible, if possible, than those which are here attempted

to be displayed; but to render them credible, a very different course must be pur. sued from that of the present writer-quodcunque ostendis mihi sic, incredulus odi, is a line which might have been made expressly for his picture. He seems himself to have obtained some faint glimpse of the extravagance of his efforts, and takes several opportunities to assure his readers that he does not transgress the bounds of fact, quoting from the history of Carolina, certificates, as it were, of some of the most atrocious of his incidents as well as of the groundwork of his story. Such, however, being the case, he has contrived to divest truth, in a most efficacious style, of every thing like probability, we had almost said possibility. That le vrai n'est pas toujours le vraisemblable, is abundantly testified by his pages. Truths, indeed, of the description of those which he has employed, are altogether unfit to be dragged before the public gaze in their naked hideousness. "Si j'avois la main pleine de vérites," said the circumspect Frenchman; "je me garderois bien de l'ouvrir," and in an especial manner is the remark applicable to such truths as these.

From the preface, in which not an ill written outline of the early history of Carolina is given, we were induced to expect a work which would furnish something like an interesting picture of the region and the people amid which the scene is laid. A fine field was open in the political situation of the colony at the period selected, when the volcano which was soon to burst forth to the destruction of oppres sion and despotism, was beginning its portentous throes; and in connexion with it the miserable religious delusions, which then prevailed to a certain extent, might have been turned to signal account. They could have been rendered an impressive and effective shade to a picture at once replete with instruction and interest; but as we have already intimated, nothing is offered but an intolerable series of the operations of the grossest hypocrisy and the most stupid fanaticism. Before we had proceeded very far in the perusal of the work, it appeared to us that we had fallen upon an egregious subject for ridicule, but the second volume convinced us it was beyond even that. From the sublime to the ridiculous there is but one step -how many steps are there from the ridiculous to the disgusting? Such a pretty villain as the hero, was scarcely ever before conceived by a brain the most prolific of monsters. The author's own description of him is too delectable to be omitted. “There were four predominant vices in the character of Peter Rombert-the first was an inordinate self-conceit; the second, an avarice that coveted but to squander; the third, a base sensuality, as untameable as it was brutal; and the fourth, a craving ambition, so restless and insatiable, that half the time it knew not for what it strove-his hypocrisy was subservient to all these; and had it not been for the uncontroulable nature of his temper, he would have been a still more dangerous man; but Providence never intended that man should be perfect in any thing, and least of all in villany." A pleasant companion, certainly, this almost faultless monster, to be associated with for the space of two mortal volumes of more than two hundred and fifty pages each! We are, however, not restricted entirely to the company of this agreeable gentleman, as a number of very angelic beings are brought into communion with him, in order that he may be enabled to exercise his commendable qualities upon them in a characteristic way, which he unquestionably does “with a vengeance." But we have no room to go into any account of his edifying career, even if we had the inclination. We do not, we confess, apprehend much danger from the work, as nothing but the dogged resolution of a reviewer, determined to see the affair to an end for the purposes of his vocation, could enable any one to resist the temptation of treating it in the manner we indicated in the outset. It is almost as dull as it is reprehensible, the story being clumsily wrought; the interest, if ever excited, rarely sustained; and the characters for the most part awakening no