constant fermentation; and render him full fain, like " a game bird" (applied to a man); "game feather;" Captain Bonneville, to make his "bow to the splendors and gaieties of civilized life, and plunge again amidst the hardships and perils of the wilderness." "game qualities;" &c. &c. Again; does Mr. I. design a playful mockery of Sir Piercie Shafton, or is it downright serious affectation, when he twice uses the verb All the Indians of the Upper Missouri, and of the dominate, for overlook, or overtop? One more cavil, and Columbia region, hunt and fight on horseback; and we have done. The book seems to us too minute, and seem to be the best riders in the world. A frequent over-embellished. There are too many details of perfeat is the one described as performed by a Crow war-sonal adventure; too much recital of unimportant rior, when he and his brethren had driven a band of events; too many high-colored delineations of local their enemies, the Blackfeet, into a thicket, whence the scenery. A travelling artist would not have charged aim was to dislodge them. Force having been found his portfolio with more landscapes; and when it is ineffectual, the Crow 'Brave' thought to provoke them considered, how far the pen falls short of the pencil in out. He therefore ‘advanced alone, with that martial conveying just images of such scenes to the mind; the air and equestrian grace for which the tribe is noted. indiscreetness of a writer's attempting them so freWhen within an arrow's flight of the thicket, he loos-quently, is manifest. Throughout the work, there is so ened his rein, urged his horse to full speed, threw his much circumstantial and apparently fanciful garniture, body on the opposite side, so as to hang by but one leg that a shade of discredit is thrown upon the verity of and present no mark to the foe; in this way, he swept Captain Bonneville's facts. The reader half suspects along in front of the thicket, launching his arrows from that he is reading another "Conquest of Granada;" a under the neck of his steed. Then regaining the tale, 'founded on fact:' instead of a true narrative of saddle, he wheeled round, and returned whooping and a plain and sensible man's travels through an interestscoffing to his companions, who received him with yellsing country. Divested of these excrescences, yet reof applause.' The same was done by several others: taining all becoming ornament, the work might have but the Blackfeet were not to be tempted from their been of but half its present size, and have had thrice its covert. present number of gratified readers. Two most unwelcome conclusions force themselves upon the mind, in reading this book; both of them, opinions long held by many; but ascribed by many also to the jaundiced vision of a morbid philanthropy. First, that the aborigines of this continent owe most of their vices to contact with Europeans: second, that fourfifths, at least, of our wars with the Indians, are attributable to the perfidy or violence of white men. The first conclusion is demonstrated by the views here presented, of the guileless kindness, and the temperance, of those tribes who have had little or no intercourse with the whites. The second is confirmed by at least three glaring instances of blended treachery and cruelty, practised by men either connected with Captain Bonneville, or engaged in pursuits like his, at the same time. One of these instances was the shooting of a chief, on his advancing, alone, to meet a flag of truce borne by his murderer. Another was the burning alive of several Indian captives, because their countrymen would not restore some stolen horses. One such act might pardonably be deemed, by unlettered savages, justification for a hundred retaliatory atrocities. Before we part with Mr. Irving, a duty remains to be done, for which no thanks are to be expected. Censures are to be dealt out. But in what writer is it half so important that faults of style should be noted for his correction, as in the most admired, and therefore the most likely to be copied, of all living Americans?— Nowhere, save in the effusions of Mr. Charles Phillips, can a more enormous instance be found of alliteration, that poorest rhetorical artifice,-than in the following phrases, employed in shewing that "a man who bestrides a horse, must be essentially different from a man who cowers in a canoe." The former is "heedless of hardship; daring of danger; prodigal of the present;" &c. How far beneath Mr. Irving is such a jingle! Again; in the two volumes, there are probably a dozen applications of a single pet phrase; and that, drawn from the slang dictionary. It is the word game, used thus—“his game look ;" "a game warrior;" THE PILGRIM. "Wherefore, put on the whole armor of God.”—Eph. 5, 13-19. Arm thee, pilgrim! 'tis no strife Arm thee, pilgrim! but can earth Arm thee, pilgrim! they advance! Baffled oft, but not subdued; yet be worthy of me!"-and a shudder ran through her frame. Another moment allayed the wild thought. Champe could not be worthy of her. He was a deserter, and in open arms against his country! She had seen it. There was nothing to be hoped from any explanation he could make. Logic might exhaust itself, and still he would be guilty-so plain, so simple was the evidence of the fact. It had been demonstrated to herself; and not alone to witnesses, who might, for sinister purposes, misrepresent the case. Rising from her bed, ere yet the sun had mounted the cloudless sky, Emma hastily dressed herself, and, without being observed, left the house. It was a mild June morning; the birds were singing their welcome to the day so cheerfully, that it seemed to mock her misery. For the first time in her life, she tried to shut A Romance of the American Revolution, founded on a well out their blithe carol; and pressing her bonnet closely authenticated incident. (CONCLUDED.) CHAPTER X. The toil which stole from thee so many an hour upon her ears, she quickened her pace. But there was an object in her path, that would far more powerfully and painfully remind her of happier days. Unusual as it was, at that early hour, a group of men were already abroad; but they were those whom a life of activity and usefulness had taught the value of time, and to whom habit had made watchfulness easy. It was a party of Lee's dragoons, who-after having valiantly served in the arduous duty of reducing the enemy's chain of posts in the South, just as the latter flattered themselves they were masters of that portion of the Union-had obtained leave to visit, for a short period, their native county. Shelley. Strange as it may appear, the increased obligation under which Colonel Brookville now lay to Champe, only served to redouble his exertions to bring about a marriage between his daughter and Birdsall. It is true that his desertion from his countrymen, and his enlist-ment in so vile a band as that which Arnold had raised, was enough to disgust him, although he was, as we have said, no real friend to the cause of America. Having been foiled in his former attempts to traduce him, it is not to be supposed that he did not eagerly seize upon the subject offered him by a fact, in itself enough to With an undefinable and vague feeling, Emma eagerblast the Virginian's reputation, and degrade him evenly looked at every face, and ran her eyes hastily over in the partial, but honorable, mind of Emma. From the moment the news of Champe's desertion reached the villa, no allusion had been made to his rank in life, or the sin-viz. misfortune-which had placed him there. There was no occasion for this. His real crime-his perfidy, his treason, were unanswerable arguments. Soon after his return to the villa, Birdsall received the long expected letter with the black seal; and it became necessary that he should visit England as soon as possible. Consequently every art was essayed by the Colonel to hasten the marriage. The luckless Emma was allowed no peace, morning, noon, or night; and at length, worn out with their importunity, and fully persuaded that Champe-from whom she had not heard since his broken promise, a month before--had indeed lost all that love of honor and principle, which she still believed he had once possessed--she, in a moment of despondency and utter hopelessness, agreed-since her own happiness was gone-to gratify her father. As the maiden passed them, every cap was raised, and many were the looks of surprise with which she was regarded. Each man of the party had before seen her; but never, until that moment, had they beheld the wan countenance and wasted form they now encountered. the glittering uniform of each individual. "If he were only there"-she thought-"aye, and the meanest soldier among them—” And a profound sigh banished the vain and transitory illusion. She passed on, full of bitter reflection. She was going, for the last time, to visit the graves of the virtuous parents of an unworthy son. There might have been, at least, a weakness-perhaps something injudicious, if not a decided relaxation of maidenly dignity, in the act; but Emma had fallaciously persuaded herself that it was to the virtues of the relatives alone that she paid this tribute-for there lay the remains of all the immediate friends of the Deserter-his parents, two brothers, and an only sister, with the latter of whom it had almost unmanned him to part, strong and inflexible as was his mind. sur The spot she sought was a little secluded place, su rounded by trees, which cast over it a calm and solemn shade, fitting for the last repose of the virtuous dead. As she passed through the trees, she suddenly started. The slender form of a youth, in the gay uniform of the Legion, leaned against an oak, directly before her; his right arm rested against its huge trunk, and on that reclined his bowed head. Though, in this situation, his face was necessarily concealed, the maiden knew 'Suppose," whispered insidious hope, “he should him at once. Buxton's letters to his sister had made a No opportunity was given to retract the hasty sentence, which, indeed, she had but half uttered. The eager Colonel, himself, named the day; and-every preparation having been made in the interval-it arrived. And dreadful were Emma's feelings when it dawned upon her wakeful eyes. 66 death." deep impression upon Emma; and the mutilated right] my country's good bade me die there, her enemies hand of the youth before her plainly enough revealed who should never see me shudder at the manner of my he was. She shuddered at the sight, while she deeply admired the magnanimity of the boy, who could thus sink the injury received from the son, in remembrance of the upright character of the parents. Suddenly raising his head, Buxton started as he beheld her. Saluting her, by raising his cap in the precise manner of his profession, he quietly turned toward the adjacent burial place; but as quickly changing his mind, he turned again, passed her, and hurried away from the spot. Precipitated into overwhelming reflection by this incident, for a short time our heroine found herself unable to proceed; but recollecting that a prolonged absence from the villa might be come the subject of remark, she summoned fortitude and went on. Emma surveyed the unbending expression of countenance of the inflexible being before her with a wonder she could not control. "I believe you, John Champe," she cried; "from my soul I believe you. Even now is death awaiting upon your every step; and still you linger here, calm and unmoved as though you were in the midst of security. Be wise and fly. Believe me, you have no friends here." "I know it," he replied, fixing upon her a scrutinizing gaze. "I believed I had one that would ever have been true to me. But I was wrong: I had no right to believe it. Perhaps I have not deserved that her esteem for me should continue." "Perhaps !" repeated Emma. "Is there then a doubt of it? But it avails nothing to speak of this, now. I am another's! And if I were not-——_—___?? "I have heard so," said Champe seriously, but with a strange composure. Then perceiving that her feelings prevented her from speaking farther, he asked kindly— "You said, Emma, if you were not another's-What then?" Once more she started. A stranger, in a rich suit of mourning, knelt at the grave of the mother of the Deserter. His clasped hands were raised in prayer, but the words he uttered were inaudible. Directly his voice swelled into a clear, full tone, as he fervently petitioned Heaven to shower its choicest blessings upon her who had planted that grave with flowers! Those tones could not be mistaken by Emma. The same manly "Desertion can never be explained away,'" returned voice that had, on two memorable occasions of ex- the maiden, repeating his own sentiment, of which, as treme danger and distress, spoken comfort to her, was well as the occasion on which it was uttered, she had now interceding with that Power to whom the strong-learned from one of Buxton's letters to his sister. est on earth must bow, that she "might know danger and distress no more!" "Now," thought the maiden, after her first wild gush of feeling had partially subsided--for she was still unperceived by Champe--" now the time has come to return at least one of the obligations I owe him. The dragoons I met have no doubt been detached to capture him. They have appreciated his character better than I; they know, that deserter as he is, he is not lost to all feeling and taking advantage of that, they would ensnare him here. Yes! even here—at the grave of his mother! What monsters war doth make of christian men!" "Fly!" was the first startling exclamation that fell upon the ear of the Deserter. "Fly! John, your motions are watched." The cheek of Champe flushed; but his emotion was, to all appearance, but momentary. "I said so once," he said, smiling; "but I have changed my opinion, Emma. Patriotism itself may—” "Talk not of it," interrupted the maiden indignantly. "I like not 'Arnold's sophistry.' I am one of those who continue to believe his famous letter of defence an insult to an injured country.'" "You are mine, then!" cried the Virginian, folding her in his arms ere she was aware of his intention. "You are mine, Emma. I have sworn, and you have promised it. Neither the oath nor the promise shall be broken. I am no deserter, Emma, except from Arnold's Legion !" An uncontrollable shriek burst from the wretched maiden, as she tore herself from his embrace. "Tell Champe sprung to her side. "Who dare watch me?" me not so," she cried wildly. "Have mercy upon me, he asked with a flashing eye. "There are a dozen of Lee's dragoons at a short distance, and I passed one this moment in the wood. Why do you not fly? Do you not believe me?" The manner of her companion suddenly assumed its usual composure. "I never disbelieved a word you uttered, Emma; nor ever will." "Then why not believe me now?" she asked hurriedly. "Are you insensible to danger? I beseech you fly-you have not one moment to lose." "I fly not," returned Champe firmly, and smiling at her fears. "The Virginians seldom fly unless it be to lead their enemies into error. But why so anxious for my safety, Emma? From what I have heard since my return, I thought the days for that had passed away." The words brought overpowering thoughts upon the mind of the maiden. "No matter," she answered in intense feeling. "But go. Do not waste the precious time. Would you die upon a gibbet?" "I fear not the gibbet," he answered proudly. John, and tell me not so. A few days ago, I would have yielded my life to hear these joyful, joyful words. But now-Oh horror! horror! You have done wrong, John, to deceive me thus; but I have done worse to doubt your rectitude." "There was a state secret involved," said Champe, affected deeply at her distress. "I might have known it," returned Emma. "She who occupies yon grave said with her dying breath you were innocent: but I thought trouble had caused her to rave. Yet, until I saw you in British uniform, and you deceived me again, I could not believe you guilty. I knew not why; but at times there came upon me, despite my better judgment, a conviction of the truth of that death-bed prophecy." "Did she say that?" asked Champe, his countenance beaming with delight, while a manly tear bedewed his eye. "Ah she knew I could not be false to my country. But we will talk of her, and your kindness to her, "If Emma, hereafter. I cannot dwell upon it now; for remembrance of her, and gratitude to you, overcomes | to save Andre from the gallows, and to clear up the Let us now seek that happiness for which we character of one of our best generals from aspersions have so long waited in vain." cast upon it by the scheming Clinton. The latter I me. "It is too late!" cried the agonized girl. "This very accomplished; and, but for an accident, similar to that night I am to become Birdsall's bride!" "So help me Heaven, you shall not," exclaimed her lover solemnly. "They have meanly extorted the promise from you—I am sure of it—and I blame not you. But you have engaged to be mine, as well since as before you were of legal age to act for yourself. If you desire not to recall the promise, after I have given you the clearest proof of my innocence, I swear I yield not up my rights nor you to such a thing as Birdsall. No, nor to mortal man." "It is too late," repeated Emma in despair. "It is not too late," returned Champe; and he spoke in the same energetic and impressive manner, that had, in days long past, taught Emma to put a firm reliance upon his words. Indeed, it appeared to her when he thus spoke, that he spoke truth-incontrovertible, unconquerable truth; that it was impossible he could err; and that, much as his words seemed to promise, he neither boasted, nor overrated his power to make them good. It gave her not only encouragement and hope, but assurance. There was so much of modest firmness, of self-dependance and of manliness in his manner. which caused me to disappoint you at Petersburg, I should have taken Arnold from the midst of his friends, and brought him to the American head-quarters. A few hours more of time at that crisis-and my name, Emma, would have resounded through the army-aye, through the thirteen republics, as the avenger of our army's reputation which Arnold has so basely sullied, uncoupled with the odium of desertion!" Emma forgot her engagement with Birdsall and her father's anger, as she listened with rapture to his glowing recital. But the sudden burst of pleasing intelligence was too much for her. She trembled with emotion, her pale cheek became still paler, and she fell fainting in the arms of her lover. She recovered only to reflect and weep. The soothing arguments of the Virginian soon restored her to hope. He had not expected this interview with her, but had already resolved upon a course, from which he did not now depart. He advised her, therefore, to pass the day as she had intended, and to expect his interference at the hour appointed for her union with Birdsall. "It is yours then, Emma, and yours alone, to de- She consented implicitly to follow his directions; cide," he continued, passing an arm around her unre-bade him remember that a moment, should he be too sisting form, drawing her towards him, and fondly patting her pale cheek, "whether you will be his, whose duty to his country has compelled him, while his heart smote him for it, to drive the roses from here; or the wife of one who cannot appreciate, and therefore cannot love you as you deserve. It is yours, I say, merely to decide. The means of carrying into effect that decision, if in my favor, may be left to me." Emma thought of her recent engagement, of the dangers of the bold step she knew her lover could and would take to claim her, of her father's probable anger at her disobedience, and shuddered. "Look here, girl, look here!" cried the impatient Virginian, drawing a packet of papers from his pocket and scattering its contents on the grass at her feet. "Here," he continued, his manly countenance glowing with patriotic pride while he selected one of the papers and held it for her inspection," here, in the first place, is Lieutenant Colonel Lee's testimonial that I have never swerved from my duty to my country-this, is Greene's letter of compliment on my services that accompanied his present of a sword and a noble war-horse. Here, is the handwriting of Hamilton, above Washington's own signature! This, with a blue ribbon, is a lieutenant's commission in the Legion, and with it, a paper that secures me the emolument of the office, and, at the same time, releases me from actual service; for his excellency was pleased to recommend me not to appear in arms, lest the chance of war throws me in the way of the gibbet: not an American gibbet, Emma, but a British. This, with a large seal, is a deed from the Legislature of Virginia, for lands-more than enough to satisfy a far more ambitious man. This is a certificate of Congress, granting me a pension for life. I went not into New York, Emma, to join Arnold, but to seize the detestable trailor!-to pluck him from his strong hold, and to deliver him to Washington! I went late, might seal her doom; forbade him to accompany her then; and, feebly resisting his glowing kiss at parting, darted through the wood and soon arrived at the house. In the course of the day, Champe's story became known throughout the neighborhood, and old and young alike sought to congratulate him, and listen to a narration of his adventures from his own lips. In due time it reached the villa, and great were the endeavors of Colonel Brookville to keep a knowledge of it from his daughter. In the meantime, Emma, though greatly agitated by alternate hope and fear, resolutely upheld her spirits to meet the approaching crisis. The appointed and dreaded hour drew near. Emma strained her eyes in the dim twilight to catch a glance of Champe, stealthily moving through the park: but she saw him not. Night wrapt the scene without in impenetrable darkness; she was summoned to perform her engagement with Birdsall; and yet Champe came not! "Will he deceive me now ?" she inquired of herself; "Dare he thus trifle with me? Yes," was the mental answer; "for he has proved he dare do anything; but he will not-I know he will not. I have done him injustice heretofore in doubting him: but if an unavoidable accident should again prevent himMercy, mercy, Heaven!" Again she was informed that Birdsal! and the clergyman awaited her approach, and resolving, if any unforeseen circumstance should detain her lover, boldly to refuse to take the matrimonial vow, when called upon to do so, with a reluctant step, she obeyed the summons. But Champe had intended she should be called upon to do nothing that could bring upon her the displeasure of her father. He had resolved to rescue her from the engagement that he knew had been forced upon her; but he had determined to do this in such a manner that whatever censure might follow, it should fall upon him disregarding the useless anger of the master of the villa, and rudely dragging forth, from the corner of a sofa, where he had slunk, the trembling form of Birdsall. "Where is your boldness now, miscreant? Stand alone. He would not persuade her to elope with him; for that would seem her wilful act; he sought only to obtain her secret concurrence, and then assume in the eyes of her friends the responsibility of taking her from them without her consent. Then, when the shock | forth and treat an injured brother with the same impuof displeasure and anger came, he would meet it alone, as he had before met crosses and misfortunes-but cheered by the reflection that he had preserved her happiness from sacrifice. He was confident that the success of the plan he had conceived was insured by its very boldness. It was in character with the spirit of the men who formed Lee's Legion. As Emma passed through an anti-room, toward a parlor prepared for the performance of the matrimonial rites, she looked through the open windows vainly hoping to penetrate the darkness without, from the brightness of the apartment in which she was. Suddenly she paused. A naked sabre glittered in the light of the room, as it moved steadily past the windows. The footstep of him who carried it, however, was noiseless, as was his form invisible. The heart of the maiden throbbed with wild ecstasy; but her feelings were not unmingled with apprehension. The powerful assistance of Champe was undoubtedly at hand, as it ever seemed to be in the hours of her severest trials; but there could be as little doubt that he was not alone; that her father's house was guarded, and its unconscious inmates surrounded by armed men, inured to carnage and full of determination. Trusting to the discretion, and the mild and unrevengeful, though resolute, disposition of Champe; and, above all, to that power who had guided him through so many scenes of extreme peril, and appeared to have ever placed him near her when she had most needed assistance, she stifled her feelings and proceeded. When she entered the parlor the clergyman arose, and her father advanced in order to lead her to the upper end of the room, where the family and two or three guests were assembled-there formally to give her hand to Birdsall. Any interference that could save her now, must, she thought, indeed, be sudden and bold. It did not fail to come-and in time. A loud voice gave orders to some unseen subordinates, and the frightened menials of the villa rushed through the doors of the parlor. Dragoons with drawn sabres followed close upon them, formed in line across the centre of the apartment, and at the same instant, the trembling Emma was raised in the arms of one, whose encouraging whisper she well knew, and borne from the house. "Who commands here?" cried the enraged Brookville, after in vain endeavoring to force his way through the line of dragoons that separated him from his daughter. "I do," answered a voice rendered powerful more through anger than natural strength. "We cover the retreat of Lieutenant Champe, and not a soul leaves this house to-night. But we will speak of this matter directly, Colonel Brookville. In the meantime there is justice to be done. Where is this Birdsall ?" "I will let you know, sir,” cried the Colonel furious with rage, "that neither your authority nor that of your lieutenant is acknowledged here. I command you to leave the house." dence that yesterday marked your conduct to his defenceless sister. Swear to me, and in this presence, if you dare, that you detest Miss Brookville, as you did then, to Isabel Buxton. Thought you, because her father was in his grave, a Virginian maiden could find | no protector? Or thought you if a nobleman but condescended to speak, she must be flattered? Away! fool, dastard, away!" And dashing him from him with passionate violence, he continued, “I have solemnly promised Lieutenant Champe I would not do it, or by Heaven I would, even now, cleave you in twain with this good sword, that has already tasted of the proud blood of overbearing England." "The Colonel frowned angrily upon the cowering Birdsall; but soon turned again toward the intruders upon his domestic privacy. But his commands and arguments were alike unavailing:-as there are none so difficult to convince as those who will not be convinced, the dragoons were equally unmoved by his threats, or his appeals to them, in regard to the justice of their proceedings, or their right to interfere with his liberty. They merely replied that they acted upon the responsibility, and by the orders of their lieutenant, and were perfectly indifferent as to consequences. All the satisfaction he could obtain from them was that his guests, his household, and himself, would be suffered to act their pleasure at daybreak the next morning; but not one instant before; and that, until that time, every avenue from the house would be strictly guarded. This promise was fulfilled. At daybreak, the dragoons started in a body for the south, to rejoin the Legion; and, in a short time, were far beyond the reach of any pursuit in his power to order. He well knew also that it was too late to prevent a marriage between Champe and his daughter, unless the latter had strongly opposed the wishes of the lieutenant; which, upon reflection, he felt very much inclined to doubt. His judgment did not deceive him. It was already beyond the power of his silly pride to destroy his daughter's happiness. Within the hour that was to have given her to Birdsall, Emma, impressed with a deep sense of the dreadful alternative delay might produce, became the wife of THE Deserter. APPENDIX. By consulting Lee's "Memoirs of the War in the Southern Department of the United States," chapter xxx., it will be found how little we have been indebted to invention for the materials of our story; or rather, that, in the principal incidents, we have not at all departed from historical fact. It appears by that work, that Washington, after the defection of Arnold, "the moment he reached the army, then under command of Major General Greene, encamped in the vicinity of Tappan, sent for Major "Is this the wretch ?" rejoined the youthful Buxton, Lee, posted with the light troops some distance in |