ment and delicacy, the dedicatory page becomes an altar devoted to friendship and honor, and as such, it should be suffered to remain. Abused, it degrades literature to the mere vehicle of personal interest, or makes it alone, the channel of individual vanity.

The dedication of the Partisan is open only to the application of those objections which relate to the epistolary form. The story of this novel opens in the year 1780, in South Carolina, and embracing the prominent events of the war of independence, from the surrender of Charleston, terminates about the commencement of the following year. It is therefore like the two preceding works, by the same author, historical. It abounds in stirring incidents, romantic adventure, fine descriptive touches, and is, throughout, marked by the author's best manner; it nevertheless has some blemishes which were found in his earlier writings-blemishes, principally of style; it also bears evidence of being written with less care than the Yemassee. The historical characters introduced into this romance are Generals Gates and Marion, De Kalb, Tarleton, Procter, Lord Cornwallis, and one or two others. The hero of the novel is Major Robert Singleton, the Partizan, who gives a name to it. The Southern Literary Messenger, after dissecting the Partisan, with a broad-axe in one hand and a handsaw in the other, after a fashion of its own, thus closes its review: "The Partisan is no ordinary work. The concluding scenes are well drawn. Some passages, descriptive of swamp scenery, are exquisite. Mr. Simms has evidently the eye of a painter. Perhaps, in sober truth, he would succeed better in sketching a landscape than in writing a novel.”— The popularity of the Partisan was great, and justly so. Few novels, recently published, have been more extensively read and admired, and it will successfully sustain its claim to rank among the standard American fictions.

and originated in that state of things, when authors, | shafts of censure, and "adulation," "fawning," themselves unknown to fame, in conformity with" office," salute his ears. Managed with judg public sentiment, were under the necessity of ushering their volumes into the world under the auspices of some eminent personage. For a century or two ago, literature had to be endorsed by some great name (not necessarily learned) to be received by the public. The endorser, or benign person, who condescended to stand god-father to the bantling, was denominated the "Patron of Literature" in general, and the obliged author's patron in especial. As in duty bound, the author, in well turned periods, and polished phrases, in which "gratitude," " honor," "condescension,"", obligation," "patronage," "graciously pleased," et cetera, are placed skilfully, and at proper intervals thanks his lordship, his grace, or even his majesty, as the case may be, for the honor conferred upon him, the expression of his gratitude frequently extending over many pages; for out of the abundance of their hearts, their pens spake. In process of time, these dedicatory letters, which so often degraded the dignity of science, became curtailed in their dimensions, and books were often dedicated to private individuals, in testimony of the author's friendship. At the present time, the sort of patronage which gave rise to dedications, except perhaps, in some cases in England, is entirely done away in English literature, and elaborate dedicatory epistles have become obsolete. Dedications, however, still obtain, but are now used in their legitimate character, as graceful expressions of an author's private friendship, or his respect for public worth; and the most simple style of expressing the dedicatory compliment, is considered the most beautiful. In some instances, like the dedication to the Partisan, which gave rise to these digressive remarks, an author, at the risk of a rap over the knuckles, from the defenders of public taste, adopts the old epistolary mode. Some attempts have been made by distinguished critics, to cry down, altogether, dedications, even in the chastest form, pleading their abuse. Considerable delicacy is certainly called for, in choosing a dedi- In the fall of 1836, he published the second catory subject, and it is the want of this savoir novel of his historical series, under the title of faire in authors, which has armed this opposition." Mellichampe." Mr. Simms at this time beld If an author places on his dedicatory page, the so prominent an attitude as a novelist, that his name of a private individual, otherwise unknown works, however obnoxious to criticism, in the to fame, and who has but his private virtues to re- eyes of those who read only to criticise, were, by commend him to fill this station in the public eye, the public, who read to be pleased, looked for he awakens jealousy among those who think they with the expectation of a renewed pleasure. The have stronger claims to this kind of distinction, popularity of Mellichampe, but recently from the and moreover, the individual himself must have a press, is greater than its predecessors, and deservlarge share of philosophy, to wear gracefully an edly so. The style is chaste, easy and more honor to which he has no literary or individual finished than that of the Partisan, and in the depretensions. If an author seeks out a name al- lineations of character, Mr. Simms has manifested ready distinguished, and dignifies his page there- a closer acquaintance with the heart and the with, merely because it is a name of eminence, springs of human action, than he has hitherto diswithout ties of kindred, friendship, or gratitude to played. It is a continuation of the Partisan, the influence him, he at once lays himself open to the hero of which, with also some of its distinguished

characters, are, in this novel, again introduced. The hero is Mellichampe, the son of a violent whig of South Carolina, and a partisan associated with General Marion. There is apparent, some

PELAYO:

A ROMANCE OF THE GOTH.

resemblance between this novel and its predecessor, By the author of "The Yemassee," "Mellichampe,” “Guy

but not sufficient materially to diminish its interest or novelty. Mellichampe is undoubtedly the best of Mr. Simms' works. It is by this ascending continually, that the author will ultimately take a high place in American literature. It is the object of the writer of these hasty sketches, to avoid as much as possible, entering critically into the merits or demerits of a work-choosing rather to point to the landscape, and, without designating its deformities, leave the reader to admire its

beauties.

Mr. Simms, besides his novels, has published several minor tales in the annuals, of great beauty and interest, and characterised for a more finished diction than is found in his more extensive productions. "Logoochie, or the Branch of Sweet Water, a Legend of Georgia," published in the Magnolia of 1836, is in the happiest vein of the author. As a poet, he has obtained considerable reputation. Many of his lyrics are characterised by great sweetness and chastened feeling. A vein of pensiveness runs through nearly all of his poetical compositions. Their moral tendency is pure and elevated, the versification smooth, and the images introduced, natural and pleasing.

At present he has in press a Spanish romance, founded, we believe, on the leading incidents of the career of Pelayo, whose name is associated with the most romantic period of early Spanish history; it will probably appear during the present year. He is now engaged on a new romance, a sequel to Palayo, called " The Fall of the Goth." We are sorry to see Mr. Simms, like Mr. Cooper, in his later works, go out of his native land for subjects of story. The American novelist, if he would be deserving of the name, should weave his tales alone out of the fertile legends of the New World.

Mr. Simms is still a resident of South Carolina, and is a married man. He is not more than twenty-eight or nine years of age. The expression of his face is open, manly and somewhat stern: his forehead is full, broad and intellectual, and his eyes a lively blue. In conversation, he is earnest, easily animated, and seeks to convince rather than persuade. His colloquial powers are of a high order, his language is select and fluent, his ideas flowing, as it were in periods and with the ease of one who is reading rather than conversing. His address is pleasing, and invites confidence. His manners are reserved, and his habits rather those of the student than the man of the world; and retirement would appear to be more congenial to his spirit, than the bustle and gaiety of a crowded metropolis.

Rivers," "The Partisan," &c.

[We have been favored by the publishers, with the following passages, extracted from a new romance by the author of "Guy Rivers," which will soon be published. We learn from them that it has been long printed, and has only been delayed from publication by the late gloomy uncertainties of business. The scene of the story is in Gothic-Spain, the time immediately preceding the defection of Count Julian, the Royal Espatorio, the dethronement of Roderigo, and the subsequent possession of his empire by the Mauritanians. The passage which we furnish, is one of the domestic scenes of the work; intended to convey a lively picture of that depravation of morals in the land, which, perhaps, more than anything beside, precipitated the Gothic dominion to the dust.]-Editor S. L. Mess.

VIII.

When, on the ensuing morning, the attendant Zitta sought the chamber of her mistress, she was already risen and dressed. At the first glance the slave was sure that she had not slept throughout the night; but this conjecture was immediately dismissed from her mind, as she beheld the unruffled composure of her counIt was indeed grave and sad, but there was tenance. no visible emotion-no proof of unschooled, unsubdued, or irrepressible feeling, such as she had looked to see; and no single trace of that feverish grief which cannot have exercise without leaving its visible impress upon the haggard cheek and the drooping and desponding eye. She little knew how to judge of that sorrow which passeth show-which disdains and dreads all ostentation. Yet was the slave right in the first conjecture, which she had so suddenly dismissed. Urraca had not slept-the whole night had been passed in thought-in that intense, self-searching, but not self-satisfying thought, which produces humiliation if it does not prompt to prayer. That humiliation had brought her strengthstrength enough for resignation, if not for right. The crisis of her fate was passed, and she was now calm! Her resolve was taken, and she had deliberately prepared to die! She had nothing now to live for. She was not sufficiently the christian to live for repentance, and she had been too narrowly selfish in her devotion to a single object to live for hope. She lacked the necessary resources of life-and having too fondly trusted her fortunes to one pilot, in his falsehood she had lost every thing-she was herself lost.

The nature of Zitta was too humble, and her own sensibilities too coarse, to enable her to conjecture the mental self-abandonment of her mistress. She saw nothing but composure in the seeming calm of her countenance. Alas! it was the composure which comes from despair, like that which follows the storm, and which, though it speaks only of its own exhaustion, is not less significant of its former violence. But under that treacherous surface, with all its treasures and its precious freight, lie the wrecks and ruins of the goodly vessel. It was thus in the mind, as upon the face of Urraca. The delusive calm was there-the treacherous quiet of

composure, which, when the hurricane has gone by, jewels-thou wilt wear them for thy mistress, and overspreads the face and extends even to the bosom of think of her when thou dost so. In thy want-shouldst the insidious sea. The tempest of her soul was over-thou suffer want at any time to come-which I pray blown, but the hope with which she had been crowned thou mayst not-they will provide thee, for their value and chartered, like some rich jewel, had been swept from is great among men. Take them—they are now thine. sight while it lasted, leaving her destitute of all-too I will not need them again." destitute and too despairing even for complaint.

"Oh, my lady-I deserve them not at thy hands. Thou hast already given me but too much-thou hast been lavish upon me against reason."

She had no complaint-she uttered no sigh-no word of sorrow in the ear of her attendant. All was calmness and self-reliance. All her accents were those of "Not so!" said Urraca; "I give thee a great trust gentleness, and all her looks seemed to be peace. Yet and a heavy burden, when I bestow thy freedom upon she gave herself no time for repose—indeed, she dared thee, and I should not fix upon thee this burden, unless not-she seemed resolute to hurry through her crowd-I provide thee with the ability to bear it. Thou wilt ing toils at once, in order that she might secure the long find that with thy freedom will come new wants and slumber which she desired undisturbed. After a slight wishes, which did not belong to the condition of the refreshment, even more slight than usual, she command-slave-new responsibilities will press upon thee, and in ed the attendants hastily to perform their several duties, while she despatched Zitta for the proper officer through whom the emancipation of the slave was to be effected. This duty was soon performed, but as yet she held the parchment.

"Until to-morrow, Zitta, it must content thee to remain with me. Thou wilt serve me until then? I shall not need thee much longer."

Zitta professed her willingness to abide the commands of her mistress, with all the warmth and alacrity of one who has just received so considerable a boon.

"I have much meanwhile for you to do," said Urraca. "These lustres—you will instantly send them to the Lord Edacer. I promised him last night that they should be his."

thy sickness or destitution thou wilt know that some difference lies between the slave whom a watchful interest beyond his own must provide for, and him who can only compel attention to his need in proportion to his wealth and substance. Thou wilt need all the money which I give thee, and more that I may not give theethe wisdom from heaven to guide and direct thee aright in a new state and progress to which thou hast not been accustomed, and for which thy education has not prepared thee. Pray that thou mayst soon learn to shape thy feelings and thy thoughts to thy new condition, else wo will fall upon thee and upon those around thee. To have thoughts and desires which are unbecoming thy place is wrong; he whose mind is below his condition must be a tyrant, and he whose mind is above it-be

"And greatly did it delight his mean soul, my lady, only, is the slave." that you did so," exclaimed Zitta.

"Perhaps!" said Urraca, "perhaps! I am glad that I may so easily delight him. He is fortunate indeed, if his soul can very highly esteem a thing of such slight worth and poor attraction."

“Oh, my lady, I wonder that you can think so meanly of that which is so beautiful. Sure 1 am there's nothing like it in all Cordova, and the cost--"

Urraca gently interrupted her:

"Alas! my poor girl, thy error is a sad, but a much too common one for note. Thou wilt find, when thou hast more experience of thy freedom, that few things possess a real value, in the estimation of the heart, which wealth may purchase or flattery procure. Nothing is of real worth but the true, unyielding affections--nothing is lastingly secure but truth-nothing always beautiful but that which is always good. Send the lustres to the Lord Edacer; and let it be said to him that they come to him from Urraca, with the single wish that he may soon learn to esteem them as I do who give them." "And thou regardest them as worth nothing," said Zitta.

"True," replied Urraca, "but that need not be said to him. Despatch them straight, for I have other offices for thee to execute."

The lustres were soon sent to the greedy Goth, who received them with a loud delight; and the slave, bringing back his thankful acknowledgments, again stood in the presence of her mistress awaiting her commands. These were few and soon and willingly performed.

"Here is money, and there are some jewels in this casket, Zitta, for thyself. The money will serve thy own and the wants of thy mother for a season. The

With such good counsel as this, bestowed without au thority, and with a simple and persuasive grace, which was as strange in the sight of the slave as it was newborn in the bosom of the mistress, Urraca continued to direct, and counsel, and employ her. In this manner she despatched her to bestow sundry presents of money and of goods upon the various attendants of the household, all of whom she instructed her to dismiss on the ensuing morning. This done, she gave special direc tions to Zitta for the preparation of a chamber in an upper story which had long been disused. The order awakened some surprise and suspicion in the mind of the hearer.

"Wherefore, my lady," was the demand of Zitta"it is so cold and damp, that chamber--and so gloomy too-with but a single window that lies free to the street, and all the rest choked from light by the high houses around. Why wouldst thou employ that chamber?"

"Is it thy new freedom, Zitta, that thus provokes thee to question my desire ?" responded Urraca, firmly, but still mildly and with softness.

“Oh, no, my lady-I question not;—but❞—She paused, and the words and manner of her mistress, silenced all farther opposition, if they did not overcome her reluctance.

"Let the chamber be got in readiness, Zitta, as I bid thee. It is because it is cold and lonesome that I would employ it. But let it be so prepared, that it shall not seem cold or lonesome to the eye. Transfer to the walls and to the couch the rich hangings of this chamber; close all its windows, and see that many lights are there to supply what else it might seem to lack of

cheering and gay character. When thou hast done | prowled in a partial disguise around the neighborhood this, let a table be spread with fruits within it--and the in which the Hebrew Samuel had his abode, and cauwine--fill me a rich vase of silver with wine, and placetiously pointed out to the soldier the place where they it in readiness and the fruits—but one vase, Zitta—should enter. His disguise, however, was not equal one will suffice," she murmured, as the slave disap-to his perfect security from detection, and quick eyes peared-"one will suffice for Amri and-for me!"

IX.

were as watchful to save the maiden and her sire, as those which strove for their undoing. Elate and satisfied that the hour of his triumph was at hand, he reLet us return for a brief moment to Amri. That tired to the palace of Edacer, with whom he had a day he condescended to visit his father, whom he still farther conference on the subject of their common purmaintained within the dungeon to which he had con- suits; and towards nightfall, with beating heart and signed him. He carried him a sufficient supply of food, impatient spirit, Amri proceeded to the dwelling of but spoke nothing of his release. The old man simply Urraca, anxious to gain the intelligence which he so looked up to the opening above the door, through which much wished for, that she could no longer be to him an the youth let down the provisions in a small basket by object of fear, as she was no longer an object of desire. the aid of a string, but he said nothing to him either in In this hope, however, he was destined to be disapthe way of solicitation or complaint. This taciturnity pointed. The deadly work had not yet been done; irritated the youth, who addressed him somewhat and, cunningly advised, Zitta framed a story which tauntingly with certain inquiries touching his cap-satisfied him to await patiently for the events of the tivity-demanding to know upon what terms he would be willing to procure his release. To all of which the old man deigned him nothing in answer; but, with clasped hands, he murmured his repeated prayer to heaven, imploring protection from the Most High, and preferring once more the terrible imprecation which the ears of Amri had already heard, but which now, unhappily, went by them unheeded. Secure, as the latter esteemed himself, in his triumphant position, he permitted himself to speak harsh words to his father in return. His heart had become hardened within him, and he had no fears of overthrow. God was ripening him for destruction! Confident of Edacer's success with Melchior, and of his own with the lovely daughter of the outlaw, he was too buoyant in hope at this moment either to fear the wrath of Heaven, or to heed the curse which his father had invoked upon his head. He bade the old man a scornful defiance, and departed ungraciously from his presence. To Mahlon, however, he gave directions for his release on the ensuing morning, when he imagined that his projects would be fully executed, and the events happily over, from which he hoped to derive so much.

following day. A brief time only was allowed him for interview with the slave, ere he found it necessary to ascend to the upper apartment in search of her devoted mistress.

"On the morrow, Mahlon," said he, "thou shalt release Adoniakin-not before. And, hear me, thou shalt not give entrance through the day to any who may seek him. Say that he is gone forth, to those who ask for him he is gone forth on pressing occasion, and will not return till the night. To-morrow we shall neither of us care whether his mood be pleasant or angry. For thyself, Mahlon, here is the money thou hast demanded-there is more for thee to-morrow when I return, if thou hast truly done as I bid thee."

That day the plans of Amri were perfected with Edacer-the latter had portioned out his men for the investment of the cave of Wamba, while the former had received from his hands the desired authority in writing, by which, in the name of the king, he should obtain access into the dwelling of the Hebrew Samuel, or any other dwelling in the Hebrew Quarter where the maiden Thyrza might be concealed. Nor was he altogether content to await the hour of midnight, which he had himself set aside for the proposed search, when the probabilities were so much the greater of finding her in the dwelling; but, attended by one of the officers who had been allotted to him by Edacer, he

X.

A severer trial was at hand for the Hebrew than any through which he had ever passed before. He was conscious that Urraca expected from him a speedy resolve to fly with her to Guadarrama, as he had already promised, and he was only solicitous how best to frame his promises so as to satisfy and meet her present exactions. Relying on the fulfilment by Zitta of the crime to which she had pledged herself, he had no hesitation in this matter; and he had resolved to promise freely to his mistress for the future, assured that ere he could be called upon for the fulfilment of his pledges, the lips which had exacted them would have lost all power of reproach. His misfortune was, as it is the misfortune too commonly of the young and partially endowed, to be too readily satisfied with his own powers of persuasion. His vanity misled him into a self-confidence, which the circumstances did not justify. But we shall see in the sequel. That same day, and towards evening, when the coming of Amri was hourly looked for, the resolve of Urraca began to assume a more distinct and unequivocal aspect. The chamber had been prepared by Zitta agreeably to the directions of her mistress. To this chamber, which was above and remote from the other apartments, the drapery and decorations belonging to that which she had formerly occupied had been carefully transferred. The table had been spread sumptuously with fruits, cakes, and many delicacies brought freshly from the east, and in the centre, as she had specially directed, a beautiful fountain-urn of the purest silver was elevated, containing a full measure of the choicest wine. Having the room brilliantly lighted, and in every respect ready and complete, the slave called upon her mistress to survey and to approve her work. She did approve of it, and a smile of bitter pleasure overspread her countenance as she spoke.

"It is well done, Zitta-thou hast omitted nothingit is fitly designed for those who shall enjoy it. Leave me now, my girl-leave me, and give fit reception when VOL. IV.-68

Amri cometh. Deny me to all other persons, and seek | before the appearance of Amri, her traitorous lover and me no more thyself to-night." the destined victim of her denied fundness and defeated

"Should the Lord Edacer come, my lady, he may confidence, we behold her in an attitude-to her, one of seek you to thank you for the lustres ?"

"I can spare his thanks-I can understand them unspoken. He may not see me-I am sick to all but Amri; and, Zitta-"

The slave returned. There was a pause before her mistress again spoke. Zitta advanced a pace inquiringly, and Urraca bent down and addressed her, in whisper, thus:

"It may be thou wilt hear a noise to-night from my chamber-heed it not!"

"Oh, my lady-what mean you?" cried the slave, beseechingly. A sudden suspicion of the meditated crime of her mistress, flashed for the first time upon her mind.

"What matters it to thee, Zitta-thou art free now." "But not happy, my lady, to see you thus," replied the slave.

"Hear me, and be assured. What I do I do for my happiness, under the guidance of the only thought which can promise me the peace I seek. I am not wild, Zitta, but what I do and contemplate, is done and considered with a deliberate mind, ungoverned by any passionate mood, such as, but too frequently, has misled me into error. Obey me-leave me now; and-hear me-whatever cry thou hearest coming from my chamber, whether of my voice or Amri, give it no heedstir not to inquire-suffer no one, not even thyself, to approach. Think only, and rejoice as thou thinkest, at such moments, that thou art now free! It may be that even with thy thought I too shall be free, though after a different fashion. Leave me now-thy toils for me are all ended with this night!"

"But may I not come to thee, my lady--must I not, if thou shouldst call or cry out?" demanded the slave. "No-not even if I cry out shalt thou come," was the stern reply. "Nay,--if I should implore thee, in my moment of weakness, with my own voice--heed me not---suffer me not to move thee-hearken not to my prayer. Away-good night !"

the most unwonted, but, at the same time, of the most essential humiliation. Upon her knees she strives earnestly, but oh! how hopelessly, to pray for that mercy which she must forfeit for the crime which even then she meditates. The unspoken supplication dies away in murmurs, and the murmurs-a vain and broken breathing-are lost in the unheeding air.

FRANCIS ARMINE.

A ROMANCE.

BY A NOVICE.

CHAPTER III

-Young, and of an age
When youth is most attractive-with a look

He wins thy favor.

Be she fairer than the day,

Or the flowery meads in May;

If she be not so to me,

What care I how fair she be?

George Withers. Pale Memory sits lone brooding o'er the past, That makes her misery.

Letitia E. Landen. An artist sat alone in his studio. Around him lay colors, and pencils, and port-folios, in admirable confusion. Here you would behold the dark face of a brigand scowling upon you, and there you would gaze at a half finished psyche-a blooming child just emerging into loveliness--or some bright and beautiful creature, scarce ever heard of, save in the poet's dreamy rhyme-and never seen, save on the artist's brilliant canvass. On the high walls of the room could be seen something for every taste. To the antiquary, there was The slave, immersed in tears, would have lingered; the fine expansive head, in imitation of the old masters; but, gently leading her to the door of the chamber, Ur- to the lover of adventure, there was an old castle, in raca pushed her from the entrance and carefully fastened which it is presumed was immured some lovely creait behind her. When she had gone, and her steps were ture; and to the observer of nature, there was the gor no longer heard, Urraca carefully inspected all the win-geous landscape, now rich with light, and now dim dows, and saw that, in compliance with commands pre- with the misty and indistinct hues of twilight. But viously given, they were secured beyond the strength your attention would have been rivetted (as was his of any one man, without fitting instruments, to unfasten. own) to a painting, which was placed immediately This done, she approached the table, and drawing the before him, in such a manner that the soft light of twi packet of poison from her vest, emptied its contents into light streamed upon it, and gave it the appearance of the vase teeming with wine, and then carefully destroy- some fairy vision stealing upon the sleeper from the ed the parchment which contained it. She had now land of dreams. In the perspective arose a small white little more to do than to await the arrival of Amri-or, cottage, around which clustered many shrubs and vines; we may rather say-her fate. Her resolve was taken, from the far and dim mountains a bright sparkling and her nature was of that impetuous and decisive char-stream came rushing down, and passed around the cot; acter, that we may regard her determination as unaltera-at one side a fountain gushed up, and threw its waters, ble. This was evident in the coolness which had like a shower of diamonds, on the grass. Near that marked all her proceedings-her careful consideration fountain sat, what seemed to the spectator, the spirits of every subject in her household, however minute or unimportant, which might seem to challenge her attention-and the temperate and subdued demeanor with which she had dismissed and favored her domestics. Lifting the curtain of her privacy but a single moment

of the place. One of them was a fair young girl, upon whose sweet and innocent countenance a lover-his look told it-fondly gazed, as his arm was twined around her waist, and her head was nestled in his bosom. The girl was passing lovely. What a volup