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wind spreads and traverses the glades of a forest. Then the figure lifted with its hand the metal skull-cap from its own head, and disclosed a circlet of glowing, gold-like fire bound about the bristling head; and this crown was set regally with flames of blue electric light instead of stars; and the tips of the large flap ears were tucked under the circlet, and held up by it; and the whole head was that of a vampire, with a face half human, half rattish.

or

sworn homage, and fall under the anger of the cloud-god, who, if his mercies are what you feel in yourselves, how terrible must be his anger! And for me, though your eyes behold me not, I shall be present where you least imagine; and in every shape vigilant and terrible, though unseen, shall know and punish every action not agreeable to my law. These things lay to your hearts, and as ye remember the vision of the burning crown, remember also the words and the majesty of him who wore it." Then again the awestricken people bowed their heads, and shouted as before. "First," said the king, "I decree that, as worship is the foundation of the state, and the preservative of all law and discipline, ye shall venerate the cloud-king with morning and evening rites; in these ye are instructed

by your priests. my

"Know, then," he continued, "that I have not won your homage without worth on my part; since this crown that ye see upon me, though ye deem it golden and regal, is indeed of ethereal fire, and burns into me with unalleviable torment. Once I tell you these things, and now I replace this cap, that you shall not be too constantly reminded of my glory, worth, and thus forget that high awe that is the due of kings. I decree that once every year ye assemble in this my temple, that I may give you now this proof that by endurance I am able, and by honor given by the gods am worthy, to be your supreme lord and master. Give me for this time the devout homage of your hearts, for the god waits, and I must

descend."

Life is tedious, and

a

weary burden; it is not desirable to live long; therefore look forward with joy to the final day when, saturated by the merciful dews, ye depart out of this death in life into that abyss that has neither place nor limit; think, that as I have been to you a glorious and awful king, victorious over the fire and light in this life, I will not fail you in that extremity; for in me, as ye are now legally and sensibly, so shall ye be then spiritually incorporate." Here a confused murmur arose, the whole assembly testifying in that way the love they bore their great monarch, who would not even in that extremity desert them. And with the sound of their acclama

Then the whole assembly bent themselves to the earth, and when they had made obeisance, the king continued: "I must now leave you, descending into Hades, whence I arose. But beware lest, not seeing a visible being always present to command and determine things, and ❘ tions I awoke. govern by the word, ye forget your

RETRIBUTION.*

NUMEROUS and dissimilar are the works | way, is in bad taste; "Retribution" sounds that from time to time have taken the lead in this class of literature. The creations of the widely-differing genius of a Bulwer, a Maturin, Marryatt, Bremer, Dickens, Eugene Sue, and a host of others have had, in turn, their admirers and their followers; and with that happy mingling of pliancy and energy characterizing the tendencies and tastes of the lovers and producers of light reading, one fountain is no sooner exhausted than another is sought and supplied.

Follies and vices exemplified in the progress of a well-written novel bear a better defined and a more repulsive aspect than when glossed over by the etiquette and disguised in the sophistries of life. Thus presented, they awaken a stronger disgust than the most forcible argument could produce, and point a moral which would be unread and unnoticed in the ever-open page of experience.

well, but "The Vale of Shadows" is weakly mysterious. It is, nevertheless, not a book to be dismissed without farther comment than is given to the common run of entertaining fiction. It is, perhaps, not entitled to be called a novel, for it has no plot, no comic action, and the characters are few, and placed in circumstances of not uncommon occurrence. In the great drama of life similar events and characters are enacted; like passions are covertly at work; like weakness and strength, reliance and treachery. Not, truly, do we meet such in the daily routine of domestic life, but they are known to exist, and the point of distance taken, shows more distinctly and strikingly the golden-threaded moral running evenly throughout the fabric. The sufferings and penalties are greater, perhaps, than the average sufferings and penalties of humanity; but they illustrate as fully; and after all, who shall say how often the great features of the tragedy have been acted, and still are, beneath the approving smile of the world, ignorant of the hidden springs of motion? who shall say, beneath the surface of life, what tide of feelings and passions may be flowing? who shall say how many a Hester has died, and how many a husband and friend triumphed under the "inky cloak" of seeming sorrow? The moral of this tale is not only forcible in itself, it is well-timed. "Retribution" has literary deficiencies enough to satisfy the desire of any carp

Fielding was so highly impressed with the importance of novel literature, that he placed it in rank with the epic; and in his own "Tom Jones" illustrated and gave force to the opinion. There is certainly no kind of light literature which finds such immediate circulation, and becomes so popular in despite of prejudice; none that affects society more widely, that affords a larger field of pleasant, general discussion, that operates more powerfully on the heart, or more diversely on the mind. A novel is either weak or strong; in either case its effect is decided; if weak, the efing critic; but we have no especial "itchfect is to weaken: says Johnson, "They ❘ing to deride," and in the power of the who drink small beer will think small story to beer;" if of a powerful character, it contaminates like "The Mysteries of Paris," or it elevates like "The Citizen of Prague." A novel that can stand the test of criticism is of rare occurrence; among such It is based on a sound principle, and suscannot be ranked the "Tale of Passion" tains itself thereon; a fine, serious thoughtbefore us, the very title of which, by the | fulness, significant of an elevated mind,

-"affect our hearts,

Forget the exactness of peculiar parts."

* Retribution, or the "Vale of Shadows." By Emma D. E. Nevitt, Southworth. New York, Harper & Brothers. 1849.

pervades its whole continuity, but there is not a syllable of misplaced theological discussion, and where a religious spirit predominates it is unobtrusive, and good taste modifies its expression.

We hesitate not to say that its freedom of sketch, warmth of color, and accuracy of detail place "Retribution" (a mere tale, as it is unpretendingly called,) among the first ranks of attractive fiction; and that, with far less assumption, it exhibits a power of imagination and delineation not inferior to "Jane Eyre." It will not become so popular, for though the interest of the story is equal, the individuality of character as striking, though it is less extravagant and in better taste, it is of the school, and not its originator. The pupil who equals, or even surpasses his master, can never bear the like sway, owing to the difference of position.

When "Jane Eyre" first appeared it was attributed to the female pen, partly from a doubt whether one of the other sex could so understandingly have depicted the finer workings of a woman's heart under such diversity of influences. A similar doubt might be suggested whether any woman, looking into the heart of such a man as Ernest Dent, could have discovered, and brought out from its great depth, all its mingled sternness and tenderness, weakness and strength, humiliation and pride, passion and magnanimity. This doubt is silenced by a glance at the dedication, "To Mrs. J. Laurens Henshaw, from her DAUGHTER."

In comparing the spirit and interest of "Retribution" to that of "Jane Eyre," we must not withhold that the defects of that remarkable production are not altogether avoided. Some of the incidents are too evidently contrived to bring out traits of character, and with the characters the dialogue, though spirited and well sustained, is not always consistent. We instance the eccentric and coarse manner in which Col. Dent accuses the timid Hester of loving him, and offers to make her his wife. This is too much after the style of Rochester, and in keeping with that rough and absolute genius, rather than with the polite dignity of Col. Dent. Descriptions are often marred by too liberal use of epithet, and incidents lose force by too immediate a suggestion of their moral.

VOL. IV. NO. IV. NEW SERIES.

The book is perfectly American, and the author has (we thank her) not considered it necessary, in order to make it so, to crowd an Indian warrior or his squaw upon the canvass. In as far as they go, the representations of Virginian manners and mode of life are graphic and true. The whole, indeed, bears the impress of being taken from life. The "Legend of the Vale" is professedly so; and allusions to the fate of the Nozzalini, impel the belief, that the scenes of which Juliette forms the prominent interest, are not entirely creations of the imagination. We are well pleased to remember that "La Circe Américaine" was in fact no country woman of ours. The whole highly-wrought portrait is diabolically Italian. In this character, as well as in that of Ernest Dent, the author has attempted to show forth "intangible crimes," not amenable to human laws, as deserving of punishment, and as sure to receive it, as are those which can be legally arrested; -crimes for which no punishment can be imagined more terrible than arises from the operation of their own spirit carried out to its utmost development. To spiritual pride in the hero, and vanity in the heroine, are traced back the great misery and sin of their lives. In Ernest Dent's fall from the high estate of his rigid virtue, the former is amply illustrated; but in Juliette, the agent is insufficient, inordinate though it be, to produce such overwhelming consequences. Vanity may, and for the most part does, destroy the healthful action of the soul that harbors it that deadly upas tree may kill the verdure and beauty of the fair isle in which it springs, but its poisonous influence extends not beyond that soil. The widely destructive guilt, the shame and misery that mark the course of Juliette, even as the pestilence followed in the path of the "Wandering Jew," were the result of stronger and more violent passions. We would not detract from the evil of vanitywe acknowledge its baneful power; but the seeds of other and baser passions were of native growth in this demoniac character. If there was a time "when Juliette Summers had been innocent, guiltless and disinterested," it is not set forth in her history; pride, selfishness, ambition, the love of luxury and of sway, -traits like these, relieved by no softer shade, unless it be

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that short-lived but intense love for her | From the very outset of the story we are

husband, which reduced the haughty woman to the subdued and pleading child, were the groundworks of her character.

haunted with a presentiment of its sad termination. We hear, in the distance, even while the scene is bright with sunshine, the low warning of the storm, and all the events, characters, and conversations are skilfully made throughout to converge towards the inevitable catastrophe.

In the conception and development of the character of Ernest Dent great skill and knowledge of human nature are united. His great qualities are not permitted to blind us to his faults. When he falls from the lofty pinnacle of his stern integrity, we see no cause, and feel no desire to excuse his offences. He is degraded in our eyes as in his own, and our interest only revives as he becomes again more worthy of it. The free, warm-hearted, wild-brained young Southerner, Marcus Derby, is one of the most natural personages that ever figured in fiction. His devoted love for Hester; his hasty, imaginative, shortlived passion for Juliette; and his true affection for Fanny, are all perfectly in character. The mixture of courage, conceit, and fickleness, with true, staunch integrity, renders him welcome whenever he appears, and relieves the sombre hue of the surrounding moral atmosphere. But the most interesting character is that of Hester. In her dove-like simplicity and abused good faith she is another Clarissa Harlowe; and to this is added a serene unconsciousness, which is her chief charm unconsciousness of the wrong that is done to her love-unconsciousness of the frailty of the reed which she has mistaken for friendship-unconsciousness of the approach of death. Her quick and feeling appreciation, the timidity of judgment, the purity of sentiment, and tenderness of heart, are beautifully and strikingly femi- | pending over the future of her chosen

nine. It is faith that seems ever to bear her up, floating like an angel above the strife of passion that is working harm around her; and it is faith that gives her an unconsciousness so child-like and simple, that the heart bleeds even while rejoicing in it. It was through faith and love, that while sacrificing everything to its object, she could not, by the broadest insinuations, the most startling suggestions, be awakened to the slightest passing suspicion of wrong. Had Hester known her misfortune, had the faintest dream of her injuries dawned upon the placid purity of her soul, it might have lessened the intensity of our indignant sympathy, and detracted from her exquisite loveliness.

Hester Grey, an orphan heiress to an immense estate in Virginia, is first introduced to us at a boarding school, where she has been placed by her guardian, Gen. Dent. From her peculiar temperament, and from her isolated position, having no near connexions, she feels keenly the necessity of a friend; and she forms a strong attachment to a fascinating but unprincipled girl, who like herself is friendless and an orphan, but unlike herself is pennyless and a foreigner; misfortunes which are the strongest claims upon the generous and lovely disposition of the young heiress. Juliette is of the Italian family of Nozzalini: the name of Summers was given to her by adoption, when left, a child, upon the charity of Gen. Summers, reduced circumstances in whose family obliged the beautiful orphan to make an effort for her own subsistence, and through the influence of one of the teachers she has obtained admission into the seminary to prepare herself for becoming a governess. Hester, delighted at the opportunity of conferring happiness, devises the plan, afterwards carried into execution, of relieving the pecuniary wants and averting the hardships im

friend. The enthusiastic unselfishness of a romantic girl of sixteen is exhibited in soliloquy after hearing that the new comer was to share her room. "Juliette shall not go out governessing; I have heard that it is a hard and trying life: Juliette shall be my own sister; she shall come and live with me when she completes her education: I shall never marry; no man will ever love me. I will throw myself into Juliette's welfare for happiness :Juliette, and Juliette's family, when she marries, shall be my care."

The arrival of the young lady produces a slight disappointment; she is less serious, gentle and timorous, than, from her misfortunes, Hester had anticipated: but at six

teen one is not far-sighted, and Hester least | spirit of active benevolence, taking an in

of all: she is fascinated by the princesslike bearing of the superb beauty, and happy in having found "a channel and reservoir for the flow and deposit of her love and benevolence."

terest in the management of her farm, and a decided position as mistress of all domestic affairs. An incipient affection is evidently making progress towards her "dear guardian," her "honored guard

At the demise of Gen. Dent, Hester is ❘ian." summoned to take possession of her own estate at the "Vale," and wanting yet three years of being of age, the guardianship is transferred to Col. Dent, the son of the late General, who, somewhat contrary to customary proprieties, continues a resident in her house, with no other society than Mrs. Wimsat, the housekeeper, and a young man, the Colonel's nephew. At parting, Hester arranges for Juliette to remain at the seminary another year

to complete her studies, and thenceforth to share her own home and fortune: an arrangement to which the finesse of some slight, delicate objection is opposed, but which is determined upon, to the perfect satisfaction of both.

Through a series of letters from Hester to her friend the thread of the narrative

is now continued, in the course of which the character of her guardian comes strikingly into the light. He imparts to his ward the long-cherished plan of his father and himself for the emancipation of her slaves, which she readily engages, at her coming of age, to carry into execution. Her slaves, setting aside their bondage, have already received monthly wages, an experiment, thus far, productive of good results. The farm is described occupying a circular valley surrounded by hills, and again, beyond these, by mountains, with groups of forest trees between, and watered by a clear stream. In its centre is the homestead, with its slanting roof and long piazzas, according to the usual taste and expediency of Virginian architecture, and scattered around it are the white huts of the negroes. Miss Grey takes long rides over her plantation, and the adjacent country, with her guardian and his nephew, whose combustible, Southern heart takes fire, as a matter of course, under the circumstances, while Col. Dent appears far less regardful of the person of his ward than of the business matters of her estate, and thinks more of duty than of love and gallantry. Hester also is impressed with the

"No, I will never leave him; I will never marry; for now that his brother-father is dead, he has no companion but his ward, his pupil, who thanks God and her parents for leaving her in his care, and investing him with authority to guard and guide her. And I have no one on earth but my heaven-appointed guardian to look up to. My veneration is undivided-is concentrated upon the wisdom and goodness of my guardian. I am his child; my eyes wait and learn; I am happy when he makes me a

him all day; I could sit at his feet forever

suggestion-happier if his suggestion involves a self-sacrifice on my part-happiest of all when my compliance wins his grave, beautiful smile of approval. His slightest intimation has for me a divine authority; it is happiness, enthusiasm, religion, to obey it."

Her description of their daily life and of the internal arrangement of the house is perfectly Virginian.

I said that it was a triangular buildingthat is, it consists of two long wings, that meet in a triangle-they have long piazzas that meet at a central portico, through which is the principal entrance to the house. Immediately over this portico, in the second story, is Colonel Dent's study, a small but pleasant room. At the front end of these two long wings are two large bow windows; in front of these two windows grow two large elm trees, and old forest trees are left standing all about the yard. Now for the interior of the house. The south wing is always shut up to keep nice for company, and state occasions of that sort. We do not live in it, and therefore I will not give you a minute description of it. On the first floor is the saloon, drawing-room, &c., and above, the spare bed-rooms (guest-chambers, as Mrs. Wimsat grandiloquently styles them.) these are furnished in a grand, old-fashioned, very inconvenient style. But our wing, where we live, I must introduce you to that. There are three rooms on the first floor, all in a line. The room at the end of the wing is our parlor; it has windows on three sides that is, windows opening on the piazza, a large bow-window in the end, and windows opening on the garden; so it ought to be very light, but it is not; for the elm tree in front of the bow-window, and the shadow of the east mountain in the morning, and the shed of the piazza, and the locust

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