Inquisition within twentyfour hours afterwards. The bull fights at Madrid are, indeed, an apology and warrant for all sorts of licentiousness in language, just as the games were at Constantinople, when the factions in the circus divided the state; and, what would perhaps be no less curious, the Spanish amphitheatre might now furnish, as the Roman once did, an anthology of popular wit, which would no doubt be vulgar enough, but would hardly fail to be very characteristic and amusing.

Another source of the pleasure, and the chief source of the strong emotions excited at the bull fights, is, the great apparent danger overcome by still greater dexterity. There is some real danger. Few bull fighters, who persevere in the occupation, and especially very few who rise to be Matadors, die out of the arena; but still many of them live to a tolerable old age. Hardly one a year is killed at Madrid, and not more than two or three wounded; but, yet, there is no absolute safety in any degree of skill, for Illo, the most accomplished bull fighter Spain has produced for fifty years, perished like the rest from a bull, that was as cool as himself. But though the danger may be really small, it seems every moment, to one little practised in such things, imminent and inevitable. Thus, for instance, when the bull bursts into the arena, and rushes on the Picador, and horse and rider are alike overthrown in an instant, there seems to be no hope of escape, and even when the Picador has been saved by the delusion of the mantle, it seems only as if the victim were changed, but not as if the horrid sacrifice were to be spared. Then, again, when the Banderillero, armed only with the barbs, advances alone into the arena, and defies the bull, who instantly rushes upon him in full career, so near do his horns necessarily come, before he feels the points that turn him aside, that it often seems as if they had actually entered the bosom of his adversary. And, finally, when the Matador comes out with a single naked sword for his only defence, he seems to offer himself up to the ungoverned ferocity of his exasperated foe, who yet in an instant falls dead at his feet. Now in all these cases, there is such an obvious disproportion between the force of the bull and that of his adversaries; there is such a striking victory, obtained by dexterity and self possession, over mere physical strength, that,

though one unaccustomed to such exhibitions might turn pale with horror, as Hobhouse says Lord Byron did, or faint as many others have done, yet to a regular frequenter of the amphitheatre, who fears no danger, and is hardened to the cruelty, it is a scene of unbroken delight and exultation.

are

But, after all, we must come to the natural question, what these pleasures compared with their consequences ? What is the imposing grandeur of such a vast and excited crowd; the splendor of such picturesque ceremonies; these bold and striking outbreaks of the popular character; and this astonishing exhibition of the triumph of human dexterity over brute force and instinct, compared with the wanton and useless slaughter of so many noble and generous animals; the scenes of loathsome cruelty, which the arena every moment offers; the violent passions it excites; the guilty hardness it carries into the heart and character; and the portentous education it contributes to give to the rising generation, and the rude populace of a great capital like Madrid ?

ART. IV.-1. The Refugee; a Romance. By CAPTAIN MATTHEW MURGATROYD. 2 vols. 12mo. New York, Wilder & Campbell, 1825.

2. Hobomok, a Tale of Early Times. By AN American. pp. 188. Boston, Cummings, Hilliard & Co. 1824.

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3. Peep at the Pilgrims, in 1636. A Tale of Olden Times. By the Author of Divers Unfinished Manuscripts, &c.' 2 vols. 12mo. Boston, Wells & Lilly, 1824.

4. The Witch of New England; a Romance. Philadel phia, Carey & Lea, 1824.

5. Saratoga, a Tale of the Revolution. 2 vols. 12mo. Boston, Cummings, Hilliard & Co. 1824.

6. Adsonville, or Marrying Out; a Narrative Tale. 12mo. pp. 285. Albany, S. Shaw.

"7. _A Winter in Washington; or Memoirs of the Seymour Family. 2 vols. 12mo. New York, Bliss & White, 1824.

8.

Tales of an American Landlord; containing Sketches of Life south of the Potomac. 2 vols. 12mo. New York, N. B. Gilley, 1825.

9. O'Halloran, or the Insurgent Chief; an Irish Historical Tale of 1798. By the Author of 'The Wilderness.' 2 vols. 12mo. Philadelphia, Carey & Lea, 1824. 10. Goslington Shadow; a Romance of the Nineteenth Century. By MUNGO COULTERS HOGGLE, Esq. 2 vols. 12mo. New York, 1825.

WE remember the time, when an American novel was a single, diminutive volume, sent out with no attractions, either of type or paper, and with but one quality likely to recommend it to the notice of the reading part of the community, and that was cheapness. We should rather say, perhaps, lowness of price, for that could scarcely be called cheap, in the common acceptation of the term, which, considering its real value, would have been dear at almost any rate; and so indeed the public seemed to believe, for the experiment of authorship was seldom made, and still less often repeated. The records of the trade, for a series of a dozen years, would probably be searched in vain for the advertisements of as many novels. Times are now changed, when the retrospect of a single year affords us the decade of indigenous works of this sort, whose titles stand at the head of this article, all fairly printed and done up, as the advertisements have it, in neat boards, all, with two exceptions, having the proper number of volumes, which the present state of taste and fashion has limited to two, and all, we have reason to believe, if we may once more be allowed to borrow a phrase of the trade, enjoying the patronage of a liberal public.

Of the causes which have operated in producing this change, the principal, indeed, is time, which has brought with it an increase of population, wealth, leisure, and education, that has fostered this in common with every other branch of literature. But another, and one of considerable importance, is the appearance of certain foreign works of fancy, as the tales of Miss Edgeworth, but more particularly those literary phenomena the Scottish, or Waverley novels. These have had a powerful effect in increasing the demand for works of a similar character. They have served to bring the practice of novel reading into better favor with the graver part of the community, and to take off many restrictions, which were formerly in force against this amusement. The extraordinary suc

cess of the works above mentioned has provided for the supply, while it increased the demand, by stimulating the efforts of hosts of imitators in their own country, and of some in ours. When we consider the rapidity of production, not only in the case of the master, but also in that of many of his followers, as well as the number and variety of the latter, it is a natural remark, that works of this sort are easily written, and that the Great Unknown deserves the reputation of good fortune, as well as of merit, in having hit upon a vein, which is so easily and profitably elaborated.

Whether this be the case, is a question to be solved by an examination of the particular characteristics of the works of the new school, and such an examination we propose to make,* as briefly as the nature of the subject will admit. We assure our readers, in the meantime, that we do not intend, as the manner of some is, to use the title of this article, as a mere cover for a critique on these works, and make it an occasion of showing our own exquisite relish of them, and our ability to render a reason for it. We intend a bona fide review of certain American novels, acknowledged copies of a particular pattern, and we think it expedient first to settle, in some measure, what are the peculiarities of that pattern.

The Waverley novels are for the most part historical. They are founded on events, and represent scenes and actors, with whom we were before acquainted. This character they have in common with many others. The Misses Porter, Madam de Genlis, and a host of others, not to mention the old romancers, have attempted in this way to call our associations in aid of their fictitious narratives. This method has its advantages. In the first place the writer has his story, or at least a part of it, ready made to his hand. The outlines of his picture are sketched, and he has only to fill up the intervals, and add the lights and shadows. Moreover, a step is taken towards producing a vivid impression, in the mind of the reader, of the things and persons represented, the grand object both of the novel and the drama.

But this method has also its objections. When an author presents before us an Amanda, or a St Orville, whom we see for the first time, we regard them as we do a fancy picture. It is beautiful or it is not. It is only necessary that it be a likeness to a human being, and if the artist does

not actually put wings to its shoulders, it may be allowed to pass for such. But when he places before us a Bruce, or a Bayard, Mary of Scotland, Cœur de Lion, or Washington, he must do something more; he is painting from what we have seen and known, and it is not sufficient, that he has made a striking picture, it must be a likeness. If he succeeds, his work is the more valuable, if not, the greater is the failure. A picture of a friend may be valuable to a stranger, from the beauty of its execution, to us it has no value without resemblance.

On the whole we believe, that the advantages of this method more than counterbalance the difficulties attending it; that it is easier to embellish a story, than to invent one, and less difficult to hit off an indifferent likeness of a real being, than to make an exquisite picture of an imaginary one.

The Scottish novels are, in the next place, topographic. The descriptions are taken from real scenery, rather than from arbitrary combinations of fancy. This is a striking peculiarity of these works, and attended with many advantages to the writer. It affords great facilities for the multiplication of novels. The variety and beauty of natural objects are endless, and the author is thus provided with an apparatus, which serves to supply deficiencies of various kinds. A poor play is helped off by new scenery and elegant decorations; and a story may be made agreeable, when set off by beautiful descriptions of picturesque realities, which would have been hopeless in the hands of a novelist of the last generation, with no better properties, than an old castle, a cave, a forest, a few green fields, and a drawing room. The whole Waverley school have owed much of their success to this peculiarity.

Again, in the works of this school, the dialogue bears a large proportion to the incident. The authors, having once 'placed their persons before ye,

Ungallantly leave them to tell their own story.'

They are essentially dramatic, and the transitions from place to place, and from action to action, are made rapidly, and, as it were, between the acts. The writer's aim is to keep himself out of sight, or to appear only like the ancient chorus, to connect the parts of his story. The descriptions are frequently put into the mouths of the actors, and the