This is in the true Day and Martin style, and reminds us a little too forcibly of the "Beware of counterfeits," "Caution to the public," "None are genuine unless signed W. T. Conway," and other puffing advertisements of blacking, patent wash-tubs, and razor-strops, quack medicines, and the like. Perhaps we wrong Messrs. Day and Martin by mentioning them in this connexion, for they are truly artists in their way, and the whole race of exquisites and boot-blacks are under heavy obligations to them.

As to the music, the right to which has been so carefully secured, we have not much to say. In our opinion it has not much merit. The old description, "coldly correct and critically dull," applies well enough to that portion of it which we have examined. To this there are, however, some exceptions. The favorite old Scotch air, "We're a' noddin," for instance, which has been arranged (vid. Sudbury, page 55), and is intended, we suppose, to pass for original, no credit being given for it, is at least sprightly enough. We think it would prove particularly edifying to a devout and serious congregation, to hear the merry strains of "Nid ned noddin" sung to some of the devotional poetry of Watts. We recommend "Yankee Doodle," and "Molly put the kettle on" to the editor's candid attention, in case he should find it profitable to publish another edition.

"The American Harp" is altogether a different affair, being the production of a man of genius and learning. The character of its author is, we suppose, a sufficient voucher for its correctness; and we have the certificate of some of the most distinguished professors to the same purpose. Such a collection of music, so new and original in its character, and so well adapted to the capacities of our choirs, is a most valuable acquisition. We believe it will do more for the art than any other work which has appeared in this country. We understand that the author, Mr. Zeuner, is now engaged in preparing a collection of the popular old music, which is to be properly arranged and brought into such a form as may possibly be permanent. He has given a specimen of his skill in this business, in his arrangement of the favorite old tune of China, which he has published in "The Harp." If he will give us a collection of old music, arranged in the same manner, we have do doubt that it will take the place of all the other collections.

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ART. X.- Collections of the New-Hampshire Historical Society. Vol. III. Concord. Jacob B. Moore. 1832. 8vo. pp. 304.

WE regard the increase of Historical Societies as among the good fruits springing out of the active and inquisitive spirit of the present age. Many men of industry, many men of enlightened learning, and many good scholars, are engaged in the apparently humble but very praiseworthy labor of aggregating the mouldering materials of a former day to be preserved for the future history of our country. They are doing this individually, and with more effect as members of Societies, which, by the influence of numbers and combined zeal, give a quickening influence beyond the effort of the solitary student.

The effect of all this will be to make our histories more authentic, we trust, than those of the old world. We shall be widely separated from the old chronicles, the superstitions of monks, the rank and bigoted narrations of Popery on the one hand, and of its enemies on the other, and shall look more than heretofore for the shadowing out of truth in its beauty, simplicity, and harmonious proportions. History deals indeed in grand results; but then these are constituted of incidents which, taken severally, may seem of little value; while the importance of the narration is too commonly estimated rather by the amount of bloodshed and murder that is set forth, than by descriptions of the character and genius of the people and the reciprocal influence of institutions, habits, manners, morals, and laws.

Our Historical Societies have already done much in collecting and preserving materials for history. The Massachusetts Society, the Magna parens frugum, took the lead many years ago, and has already published twenty-two volumes of "Collections." The example has of late been followed in several of the other States. In New Hampshire the third volume of "Collections" has recently appeared. The Society in that State was formed on the 20th of May, 1823, at the termination of the second century from the first settlement on the pleasant banks of the Piscataqua. The first volume appeared in 1824, the second in 1827; between which and the present volume, there is the long interval of five years,

sufficient indeed for selecting with care matters of interest and importance. The first volume is the most valuable of the three, as containing a minute history of the town of Concord, and more especially for the reprint of Penhallow's "Indian Wars." The third has several interesting articles, but the selections are not always carefully made, if, as we suppose, they are drawn from an abundant fund. There is much, however, that is worthy of preservation, in the memoirs of individuals, sketches of town histories, and brief notices of Graduates of Dartmouth College. There is a well-wrought account of the destruction of the Willey family in the Notch of the White Mountains, in August, 1826, written by Professor Upham; also several original papers connected with the early history of New-Hampshire and Massachusetts.

We hope the members of this Society will be prompted to persevere in their good undertaking with assiduous zeal, and that they will not consider the privilege of membership as a sinecure, but, on the contrary, as furnishing the opportunity and incentive to successful exertion, and that we may in future have the satisfaction of seeing the volumes of their "Collections" published at shorter intervals than heretofore.

ART. XI.-Westward Ho! a Tale. By the Author of "The Dutchman's Fireside," &c. New-York. J. & J. Harper. 1832. 2 Vols. 12mo. pp. 203 and 196.

MR. PAULDING is an old acquaintance, whose appearance, since the days of "Salmagundi," we have always hailed, as we would hail an esteemed friend, whose society has often yielded us delight and improvement. We like the man, because he is purely American; not merely by birth and citizenship, but American in thought, in feeling, and in sentiment. He clings to his "native land" with the enthusiasm of a scholar, and the affection of a patriot. Instead of spending his days among the legends of the old world, he contributes his varied talents and acquirements to the establishment of a national literature in the new. We admire his inventive genius, his vivid imagination, the classic elegance of his composition, and that rich and happy vein of humor, which

runs through all his works, imparting a freshness and a beauty rarely found in writings of the present day.

"Westward Ho!" is particularly welcome at this time, for the very good reason, that we have not had the pleasure of reading a first-rate novel for a long while. Not that there is any dearth of novels; on the contrary, the booksellers who find it impossible to sell them, and our ancient blues who are unable to keep pace in perusing them, can testify that professed novelists are as plenty as lawyers, and almost as busy and prolific as politicians. But a more shabby set than these same gentlemen of the quill (with a few exceptions) can scarcely be found, unless perhaps among our ephemeral poets. The best of them are but miserable imitators of the faults and defects, without discernment to select the beauties, of foreign writers. Since the days of "Childe Harold," a legion of would-be bards have sprung up, bearing the escutcheon without a spark of the genius of the young patrician; thinking to share his laurels by railing at the world and the powers that be. And when Sir Walter Scott made his appearance, a similar revolution took place in the department of Romance. The works of Fielding, and Richardson, and Smollet were forthwith laid upon the shelf, while both readers and critics offered homage to the newly installed idol. Authors, too, caught the fashionable mania; and since that time our novels have for the most part been wretched imitations, or ridiculous caricatures. Some exceptions, to be sure, there are. A few have had the independence and originality to strike out a course for themselves; but even these seem to be slumbering, as if in sympathy with the "Great Magician," whose wand is laid aside for ever. Irving, whose early writings gained an immortal fame, seems to have lost himself in the solitude and mysteries of the "Alhambra." Cooper too-our favorite Cooper-inimitable in describing American scenery, and American manners, and unsurpassed in arousing the deep and powerful feelings of the soul, seems also to have buried his genius among the ruins of the "Heidenmaur," and disordered his fancy by the religion, and philosophy, and superstition of Germany.

"Westward Ho!" is characterized by the spirit and vivacity which usually mark the writings of its author. The story is simple, and for the greater part original. The reader is

introduced to a gentleman of Virginia, by the name of Dangerfield, who has a race-horse and a wife; the former of which proves his ruin, the latter, mirabile dictu! his salvation. The Colonel was one of those careless, generous souls, so often found among our southern planters, who would sooner spend the last cent than close the door of hospitality. This trait of character, together with his utter incapacity for any thing like economy or calculation, brings him to the verge of bankruptcy. At length the defeat of Barebones, on which he had staked his all, completes the business, and obliges him to pull up stakes" and retire into Kentucky, where he resolves to found a city. He takes with him his wife and two children, Mr. Littlejohn, a sort of sixteenth cousin who lived with him in his affluence and scorned to desert him in adversity,- Pompey the Great, alias " Pompey Ducklegs," his quondam groom, and Pompey the little, a lineal descendant of Pompey the great, two degrees removed. Having arrived at their place of destination, they set about cutting down trees and putting up buildings with so much energy, that in a few years the forest was converted into the beautiful village of Dangerfieldville, named after its author and founder, according to the good old custom handed down from Romulus.

About this time, and when Mr. Dangerfield's only daughter was on the verge of that interesting period of life which renders females especially dangerous to behold, a young stranger of melancholy appearance arrives in the village. He of course falls desperately in love with Virginia, and she with him, in spite of her parents, and of Mrs. Paddock, the worthy spouse of Mr. Zeno Paddock, village schoolmaster and politician. But Dudley Rainsford, before he could claim the lovely Virginia as his own, had much to endure, like all true heroes. But his were not the perils of the sword and the lance; he was not doomed by his "ladie love to wander over the earth in quest of adventures, as were the knights of yore: he had the more difficult task of becoming mad, stark mad; wandering through the forests and sleeping upon the rocks; haunting the grave-yards at night, and communing, in the wild and fearful language of a maniac, with the dead. This malady was constitutional; or, to speak more correctly, it was the consequence of indulging in presentiments. Dudley's father and brothers had run mad and 8

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