HOMEWARD BOUND-OR THE CHASE; venerable hero. It was in those glorious times of fame,

By the author of "The Spy," "Red Rover," &c. Carey, Lea & upon his own free clime, that the star of his Austerlitz Blanchard: Philadelphia.

kept its warm place in the glowing skies. Why did We welcome the wanderer back once more to the did he turn abruptly to the dogmas and the doubts of Mr. Cooper ever abandon those sunny paths? Why sea-the open, the grand, and stirring sea. Mr. Cooper the politician? Why leave the marble pavement of the has of late been traversing Europe in a stage coach, and temple to riot on the sanded floor of the miserable beerwhilst thus out of his proper sphere, his genius has not shop? These are questions pertinent to his fame, and exercised itself in those delightful flights that formerly which we have a right to ask. Mr. Cooper's reputabore the author to eminence, and afforded to the public tion is identified with the literary character of the a new and graphic species of composition. We have often wondered how a man with an imagination so naval and descriptive romance upon the age, and he country, for he has stamped the genius of American powerful, and naturally so healthy, could have toiled up the steep ascent of barren hills, when the broad and has opened a way of fiction that many have pursued with varied success. Mr. Cooper is the author of the accustomed seas lay before him, where he could have freely sailed, the fearless and powerful describer of their peculiar marine style that has often delighted us in the glory. Truly then do we welcome him back to his ele-Bound," we felt assured from the title alone that he "Red Rover;" and when we opened "Homeward ment of fiction-right glad that he has given his flag to would preserve his reputation. Standing at the foun

Cooper is destitute of gratitude, he has genius. We | under the impression that the news was news no longer. did not need the "Homeward Bound" to prove that to The virgin leaf of a novel is sacred to the true novel us. The works to which we have alluded, in the open- reader, and jealous is he of every type that dots the ing of these remarks, bear testimony that a mind of flight of the poetic mind-our's be then the province to high gifts had glowed over their pages, and that the glance at the beauties of these volumes, and discuss creative power had built up in the wilderness of the with their gifted author matters of taste. To praise prairie a monument in that behalf. is our delight, though censure is so common to the reviewing tribe, that we shall hardly be forgiven, if we blend not sarcasm with approval. We will have

The "Red Rover" was the crowning work of Mr. Cooper, and though it is now many years since we read that glowing book, the impression of its beauties-sufficient cause for both as we proceed. of the great descriptions scattered over its leaves-is In the first place the delineation of the heroine, Eve, vivid upon our mind; for, then the author was inno-proves that Mr. Cooper is ignorant of those delicate cent of argument-innocent of the French mania for conceptions of feminine character, that should distinpolitics and philosophy, and he swept the seas, and scattered on every Atlantic wave, gems as brilliant as their own pearls. We again thank him for this evidence of a return to his former realms, and take it as an earnest of repentance for past errors, and amendment for the future.

We will now proceed to a particular description of the work before us, "Homeward Bound," and we enter upon our task with the best feelings imaginable towards the author.

The story of this work, is the story of the sea, and tempest and battle are blended in the plot; and wherever the author has devoted himself to the description of these incidents, we recognize the hand of our own graphic Cooper.

guish a novel writer; and she moves before our eyes the artificial boarding-school girl, ripened through the tortuous avenues of affectation, into the cold and stately patroness of prudery. She talks in pedantic sentences, and seldom or ever descends, save when frightened into it, to those soft and melting moods, in which women seem to us all angelic.

This first remark of the heroine, does not prepare the reader for a very natural girl, speaking honestly and openly, and as a girl of the nineteenth century should speak.

The story opens with Eve and her father, leaning over the side of the packet ship; and while they gaze upon the broad seas foaming afar, the parent remarks to his child, "We have seen nobler coasts, Eve, but after all England will always be fair to American eyes." She replies, “more particularly so, if those eyes first opened to the light of the eighteenth century, father." The eighteenth century lisped by a young A party of travellers, some of whom had passed girl in her teens! Now, to our ideas of remark and through the sickly stages of European ton, are returning | rejoinder, in a conversation held between parties so to the United States. There are the three Effinghams, united, the response would have been eloquent with the two cousins, and a daughter, Eve Effingham, the white cliffs and the green fields of merry England-with heroine-Mr. Sharp and Mr. Blunt are incognitos, the any thing but philosophy-for there is a philosophy one a private gentleman, the other one a baronet of and a sarcasm too, in the reply, that no girl of Eve's England. Both these gentlemen through caprice or ne-age would utter to a father, without exposing herself to cessity have disguised themselves, and are quite neces- the charge of egregious pedantry. sary and interesting in the web of the drama. Mr. Blunt, especially, becomes a hero of no common order. Mr. Dodge, editor of an American newspaper, and consequently no favorite with Mr. Cooper, is made to utter as much nonsense as should gratify Mr. Cooper's "I have been educated, as it is termed, ("as it is spleen for the balance of his life; but Mr. Cooper must termed !" what else could it be termed?) in so many reconcile the seeming incongruity of an editor, so igno- different places and countries," returned Eve, smiling, rant as he represents Dodge to be, travelling over Eu- "that I sometimes fancy I was born a woman, like my rope and writing letters home, that are received with great predecessor and namesake, the mother of Abel. unbounded praise by the American press. The natu- If a congress of nations," continues the philosophic heralness of the novel should march onward pari passuroine, "in the way of masters, can make one indepenwith its incidents, and with as much regularity as the dent of prejudice, I may claim to possess the advanprogressive steps of history; and Mr. Cooper is culpable in a high degree, for introducing characters in his plot, that disgust by their grovelling ignorance, and yet puzzle by their mal-apropos brilliancy. Captain Truck figures largely, and always appro-turn away constantly from the cold and marble surface priately in the narrative; and there are two or three others, mates first and second of the packet ship Montauk, (in which our heroes all are placed,) that help out the catastrophes, and mingle in the procession.

tage. My greatest fear is, that in acquiring liberality, I have acquired nothing else." Now the iron of dislike has entered into our heart, and we cannot study the character of Eve with any degree of pleasure, and we

of her nature, that thus seeks every occasion to bewilder our senses, with far-fetched references to a congress of nations assembled on purpose to veto prejudice in a young girl's noddle, and to mother Eve, progenitrix of Abel, and why not of Cain, who was after all the hero of that mental reference?

We will not anticipate the reader's curiosity, by sketching at length the history of the "Chase," for we have no right to forestall the public curiosity or im- Many pages are subsequently occupied by dull and pede the sale of the book. We are willing believers in heavy dialogues between the Effinghams-for we canthe romantic power, and like to take our own perusal not call them conversations-a term implying an easy of all new works of fiction, in pretty much the same and unstudied flow of language and natural interchange spirit that actuated the newspaper taker, who would of opinions--but dialogues, in which each party speaks never read a paper that had been handled before him, as if by rote; and we regret to see that here Mr. Coop.

er's evil genius shines forth fearfully bitter. Ill na- of segars with Mr. Cooper, that there is no man in ture, a violent and savage hatred of the press, constitute the monomaniac features of Mr. Cooper's mind in certain stages; and we turn, with a feeling of sickness, from the formal abuse of a literary man, uttered against his country, and against the cherished engine of libertythe public, independent and unshackled press.

America, particularly no American editor, who could utter sentiments so perfectly ridiculous, as those attri buted to that unfortunate representative of our calling, brother Dodge! The common laborer of the land knows better, for he can read the Almanac, and knows his right hand from his left; and the educated mechanic Passing from these heavy portions of the work, we of the free schools, would never, unless drunk, utter approach a graphic and highly finished scene--the sentiments so false and foolish; and the more enlightsearch among the crew and emigrant passengers; of ened class are too well informed to commit the egre the latter a large number were on board-by a police gious errors that Mr. Cooper would maliciously have officer, and a lawyer from Liverpool, for a man who us believe appertain by virtue of their vocation to had married a girl against the consent of her uncle. American editors. The reader of "Homeward Bound" The author has managed this scene admirably. We will not be surprised at the severity of this language, sympathize with the lovers, and enter into the full spirit which, if it be severe, is so because it is just, when he of free-masonry that actuates the crew to conceal the will reach that part of the work to which we refer. parties. Every body aboard knows who they are, but A committee, at the ridiculous instigation of editor yet not a finger is raised to point them out to the greedy Dodge, is appointed to inquire into the position assumministers of the law. A little boy is asked by the cun-ed by captain Truck, and they retire to deliberate upon ning attorney if he knows" Robert Davis" the bride- the matters entrusted to their charge—and we leave them groom, and the answer of the curly-haired urchin relieves the fear we felt, lest the flying lovers might then be handed up to the rapacity of the girl's uncle. But though bribed, the child denies all knowledge, and the little Spartan has our sincere respect for his fortitude.

to their silly office, with feelings of not over warm admiration, for that genius, which is forced to resort to means so outrageous to common sense and common probability, to spin out his pages into a regular two-volumed work, or for a purpose more malignant, to cast ridicule upon his literary brethren of the press. We would quote passages from the work, but that it would occupy too much space in a periodical not wholly of a review character, and deprive the readers of the Messenger of many of those effusions that from time to time ornament its pages, and throw a charm over the literature of the south.

side of the fleeing packet. In descriptions of the wild and grand ocean—the rushing waves the foam tossing itself far over the decks--the tightened cordage, and the extended sails—and all the glorious excitement attendant on a ship, we hail Mr. Cooper as the most perfect and graphic of masters. No other writer of such matters can approach him in the activity that he imparts to these noble pictures. Marryatt is good at the coarse and the ludicrous, but he wants that courage of mind, that sublimity of purpose, that bears Mr. Cooper forth, when the thunder and the lightning are howling and flashing in the hurricane and tempest.

It is at this point that the story commences to correspond with the title, and the regular fabric of the tale opens itself to the reader. The whole history of that long chase grows out of the stubbornness of captain Truck, in refusing to yield to the civil authorities of Great Britain the bride and the groom. There are other causes, that as yet operate darkly to hasten the The ships, for many days, continue their course captain of the packet into a course, that draws along across the Atlantic-the man-of-war, her Britannic mawith it the catastrophe of long sailing, through peril-jesty's ship, the Foam, hovering like an eagle by the ous seas, even to the "far Afric." While captain Truck is maneuvering so as to balk the pursuit for the "lovers twain," a man-of-war's cutter is seen approaching over the waters, and the captain supposing her to be connected in some way or other with the civil search, sets his teeth hard, and with Vattel in his left hand, and his trumpet in the right, American-like, puts every energy to work to outdo the "British." The cutter in vain attempts to overhaul the Montauk, and returns to the "man-of-war." Then comes the sullen boom of the signal cannon to the ears of the Montauk people, and her captain begins to suspect that a storm is brewing over the track of his return passage. After consulting with Vattel upon the laws of nations, the gallant Yankee tightens his ropes, and sets his canvass for a swift run, and is off for the new world, catch him who can. It is on such themes as those connected with the excitement of a naval adventure, that our author displays his power. We see at once the relative position of the man-of-war and the Montauk, and we hear the rush of each through the contending billows. Beautiful sight! Two dark and mighty vessels sailing through the far-surging spray, and ploughing in hot haste the eternal and engulphing

ocean.

In the conversations held between the passengers on the propriety of captain Truck's course, in fleeing from pursuit, Mr. Cooper introduces a considerable quantum of political balderdash, and compliments Mr. Dodge with its paternity. Now we are willing to wager a box

Day after day departs, and the captain of the Montauk steers onward without one token of submission, and the Foam follows greedy for its prey. But suddenly the Foam is lost sight of in a storm. We wish that we could here depart from our rule, and quote the account of that gathering tempest. The ship with her white canvass rides upon the sultry sea-blackness mingled with foam beneath, and clouds, thick and murky, gather above their heads. Suddenly, over the distant seas, is seen the wing of the wind, crushing the high waves-then is heard the ropes rattling like volleys of musketry, and in are all the sails, and with a plunge like a wounded barb, the vessel springs madly forth upon her fearful track. Our mind was filled with tremendous and beautiful images created by this wonderful describer--and when the Foam again is seen, a thrill of horror shook our very heart. Right in the wake of the Montauk, dashing with resistless speed,

she advances! Upon the crowding events of a second depends the fate of both crews. The sternest hold their breath, and captain Truck, with his gray hair streaming in the tempest, utters his orders. That voice of the veteran, familiar of storms, is heard above the roar of the elements, and once more the vessels steer apart! The scenes growing out of this "blow in the tropics," are, beyond comparison, the finest in the work; and we feel as if the same master hand that we so proudly recognized in the "Red Rover," was visible in the machinery of this stirring narrative.

charm would be broken, and Mr. Cooper would little thank us for our officiousness. The plot, so far as we can see, is simple as a village story, filled up like an illuminated book of the fifteenth century, with brilliant capitals and gorgeous flourishes. The book is glorious in many parts, and dull oftener than we expected, though not oftener than we feared it would be, for Mr. Cooper has been estranged from the use of the delicate and imaginative pen, having of late so much worried both himself and a victimized public with political tracts, the effusions of his most untractable spleen.

During the long run that ensues, Mr. Cooper fills up the vacuum with dialogues; and how utterly does he Mr. Cooper has been called the Walter Scott of Amefail in describing the high-toned, yet easy intercourse, rica. It could not have been, because their styles were that generally takes place between persons in an ele- similar, but because they were both master novelists of vated sphere of life. His characters are caricatures of their country. Scott's delineations of women are magithe originals, either stilting in the air, or grovelling in cal beyond parallel, and his conversations from the the dust; and even Eve is still unloved by the reader. lord and lady of the castle, to the gardener and the To our imagination she seems a fine young woman, groom, seem as things that we have actually heard in with an aquiline nose, muscular and spirited, standing some of the dim and indistinct periods of our lives. amid a group of men, with politics or morals, national | Cooper is a writer who serves the cause of courage, of prejudices and governmental dogmas for her themes. There is no delicate play, no delightful badinage, to distinguish the beautiful daughter of fortune; but a haughtiness, which seems the only feeling natural to her, distinguishes this masculine heroine of the story. The atmosphere in which she moves and has her being, is unnatural and rigid, as if she kept her tenderness at home in an ice-house, and subject only to the mighty incantations of terror in fearful seasons of personal peril. She is the spoilt child of a doating father, to whom she imparts her ideas of liberty, law and government, in remuneration for his kindness. We refer our readers to pages 76, 78, and 79, in the first volume, and 225 and 243, in the second volume, for our justification and Mr. Cooper's censure.

hardships, of the wilderness, of the deep dell, and the stupendous steppes of the American prairies. He robes himself in a buffalo skin, and rifle in hand, he traverses the whole animal region, familiar with the beasts and birds, and fills our imaginations with ideas of bold enterprises and sturdy deeds. He is the very embodiment of mental fortitude, and he is only at home when he is in the voiceless solitudes of the lands or seas. In the latter, he steers his barque with unerring hand, even amid the spear-pointed breakers of the foaming beach. We recognize the hand of a Prospero, when clouds pall the heavens, and all the minute and general signs of tempest are upon the flashing face of the ocean. Then we yield to the tremendous powers of the natural painter, and he conjures up the giant billow, dark and white, like a huge warrior with his iron mail and snowy plume, rising in his stirrups amid a bloody fray. We

way up over those magnificent waters, lo! the vessel, under reefed topsails, rushes in grandeur upon the scene.

Not to be able to sketch the glorious amplitude of woman's nature, sweet and beautiful, is not to be a poet. Of all the flowers that spring up for the enthusi-hear the big voices of the winds, and when ploughing her asm of the novelist, none are so deserving of his care as that which God calls woman, and which man worships as angel. The deficiency of this power is the strongest proof of the uninspired mind, and we lament with great sincerity that our native author is subject to reproof in this important particular. To be sure there are some scenes in which Eve figures splendidly, and draws upon us for our warmest admiration, but it is the situation that produces the effect, and not Eve; for, were the humblest and most uninteresting waiting-maid placed as Eve is, with her rude parents, in the midst of shipwreck, our tears would flow freely for her vulgar griefs, sublimated for the moment into the grandeur of despair. We have, during our whole acquaintance, seen her artificial, haughty, and sometimes prudish, (that deadliest of all offences against modesty,) that we sympathize with her only when the terrible mingles with her fate, and bows her spirit down to agony and

tears.

The plot of the story, which we have thought best to conceal from our readers, is as yet unrevealed. Two more forthcoming volumes are necessary to complete the catastrophe, and what that catastrophe will be can easily be seen, for it must result naturally from the events that have been already recorded. It is not for us to turn the sibylline leaves to the world, for then the

How much romance there is attached to a ship!-and it was ever so. In ancient times Ulysses traversed, wife-searching, the limited seas of those times, in a high peaked barque; and a mysterious interest invests any fabric that tramps upon the earth, or ploughs the waters, as if the instincts of life were active within its vast machinery. People stop in crowds to gaze upon the thundering car, that swiftly passes before their vision, miracle as it is; but a ship, steering and turning, tacking, and fleeing up and down, straight forward and across, like a playful bird, without any visible cause why those huge sheets of canvass should so work, is indeed a thing of beauty and of wonder. Then can we be surprised, that genius has taken it in keeping, and poured forth its eloquence upon its journeyings? The sailor's life is full of incident, and his "yarns" are proverbial. Who will forget the "Rhyme of the Ancient Mariner" of Coleridge, dread tale of supernatural and hellish sublimity? It is the dreariest and vastest story of the sea that ever fell inspired from the pen; and it swept over us like a ghastly visitant from deeps unknown, pale realms of awe and terror, and has its monument of praise amid our frightened dispositions. Mr. Cooper is an American writer by feeling, and we

would intreat him never again to leave, as a mean of inspiration, the land of his birth. We know at once and always, that he is at his forte in describing the rough seaman, the squatter of the west, the hunter, and the Indian. All the speeches of those persons are natural, because they suit the bold and rough mind that gives them life and muscle; but when he attempts the description of the finished gentleman, or the sensitive lady, he gives us pedantry for learning, and pride for refinement. For the present we take our farewell of Mr. Cooper.

ANOTHER REVIEW OF "HOMEWARD

BOUND."

[After the preceding article was in type, we received the following review on the same work from another hand. Although it is a somewhat anomalous circumstance to publish two reviews of the same work, from different pens, in the same periodical, yet it may not be altogether without its advantages. It exhibits the different lights in which the same subject presents itself to different minds. This very diversity too is calculated to arouse the attention of the reader himself to the merits of the work, and to set them off better by the force of comparison. It is like two portraits of the same individual, with critical remarks attached. The variety of lights, in which it is exhibited, brings out in more striking colors the features of the original.

It is unnecessary for us to call the reader's attention to the merits of the following review. It will best speak for itself. But we may be excused for saying, that if we had not been deeply impressed with its beauty and force, we should never have ventured to introduce it to our readers, particularly after

receiving the very ingenious and striking companion-piece which we now send along with it.]-Ed. So. Lit. Mess.

by every one pretending to success in the department of fiction. More than this, whenever she is copied at all, the draught should be as near like the original as possible, and must be very like in order to give satisfaction to the beholder. Therefore, the more acute observer of nature, other qualifications being equal, will be the better novelist. But in some respects, nature certainly ought not to be followed as a guide. All the materials of fiction must be drawn from her vast storehouse; but in the arrangement of these materials, the writer is not only allowed considerable license, but the lex operis imposes on him certain deviations from his pattern. The first part of our rule seems to admit of no exception. A novel cannot deeply interest the reader, unless its substance be taken from something existing without the author's fancy. It is true, that many stories, founded on what are called supernatural appearances and existences, are highly exciting; but, though called supernatural, these things have a being in nature--an ideal being in the superstitious belief or impressions of mankind. We here call natural, that, whether real or imaginary, with which the reader is familiar from observation, feeling or belief; and unnatural, that which exists nowhere but in the fancy of the writer.

The second part of the rule we shall illustrate more at large, and attempt to show, that, in the arrangement of a novelist's materials, it is necessary that he should often depart from nature, by mentioning some of the principal points of deviation; premising, however, that every such departure should be skilfully concealedthat is, that the joinings between the natural and unnatural should be so close as to be imperceptible to ordinary vision.

The deviations of which we speak are necessary to give completeness and boldness to fiction. Perhaps the most important of these lies in the selection and consequent concentration of material. The events of real life are always mingled, interesting and uninte

"To young writers, and to general readers, who are always young in literature, a reviewer may offer an important instruction when he commences his article, with condensing the chief rules of composition relating to the work he examines." This passage, taken from the preface to D' Israeli's "Miscellanies," though al-resting, important and trifling, in the same train; and, ready garbled, needs further modification, before we can admit it in explanation of our plan for the present article. We propose to throw together, as a preface, a few loose observations upon some of the more obvious characteristics of good novel writing, without, however, pretending to give the chief rules of the art, or to bestow particular care upon method. Our main object is, fully to explain some of the opinions which, in the sequel, may be given of the work before us, which, in fact, has suggested most of the following preparatory remarks. Examples, where necessary to enforce the rules laid down, will be drawn chiefly from this work, and, indeed, our subsequent more particular notice of it will be, in great part, merely an extended illustration and application of these rules.

It is a prevailing notion, but as seems to us a very erroneous one, that a writer of fiction should follow nature, in all respects as closely as possible, in giving shape to the creations of his fancy. To most persons this doctrine, from long acquiescence in its authority, appears so obviously correct, that they do not care to examine it or seek for its verification. Yet we think that a few words may suffice to show its error, and to suggest a modification which will fix the true rule.

Nature must certainly be copied and closely copied

on this account, produce little excitement in a mere spectator, and often as little even in the busy actors themselves. The thread of every story is embarrassed and tangled with a thousand different threads, crossing it in various directions, running with it in pent, or hanging from it in loops and ends. These give it an appearance of complication, which forbids any attempt to unravel the maze; and though small portions of the plot may here and there be distinctly visible, the connection of the whole is not easily and at once discerned. Now the novelist must strip his tale of all uninteresting and unimportant appendages. In other words, the scenes which he describes should be made up of the most expressive pictures; the lives which he records should have no common-place incidents. And, if he ever leaves the direct path of his main narrative, he should take care not to wander so far as to make the return difficult, or to confuse those trusting to his gui dance, in regard to its true course and bearings. And as with the events, so also is it with the personages of real life. The great mass of men have little interesting in their characters. It is only here and there that we see one distinguished from the common herd, by singu lar excellencies, great eccentricity, or unbounded wickedness; and we never meet with a number of strongly