About this time, Mr. Brown first entertained the idea of becoming an author by profession, at that period a desideratum in the literary world of America. His first publication was "Alcuin," a dissertation on the subject of marriage; worthy, by its rambling arguments and wild sophistry, to be ranked with the author's early tirades against the law. In the year 1798 he produced "Wieland;" which, notwithstanding its excentricities, must be considered as the most powerful and original of his writings. Encouraged by the manner in which this work was received, he immediately commenced another novel, and in the following year appeared as the author of "Ormond." The literary impetus being thus communicated, his pen knew no moderation in its labors: he actually ran a race with his printer, each finishing their composition at the same time*; and he was at this period actually employed on five novels. This fact accounts in some degree for the looseness and irregularity of fable in many of his works, and especially in " Arthur Mervyn," which was one of the five, and was published in the same year with "Or mond."-"Edgar Huntley," the author's fourth novel, speedily followed; and in 1800 he gave to the world a second part of "Arthur Mervyn." In 1801, his fertile genius produced Clara Howard," which was republished in England under the title of " Philip Stanley ;" and a few years afterward appeared "James Talbot," the last of his novels.

L

While the romantic fancy of the author was thus overflowing, he engaged to edit a periodical publication, the first number of which was printed in April, 1799, under the title of "The Monthly Magazine and American Review." He was the principal support of this work, which lived only until the end of the year 1800, and was one of the many unsuccessful attempts of the kind that have been made by the Americans; which have failed principally, we believe, from the circulation, and of late years the republication, of our own Reviews and Magazines in the United States. In 1805, Mr. Brown commenced a new work on a similar plan, intitled "The Literary Magazine and American Register," which existed rather longer than the former Magazine, but expired at the end of five years. To these may be added "The American Annual Register," which Mr. B. edited for five years before his death. Two or three political pamphlets, and various fugitive articles, complete the catalogue of his productions.

On these works we cannot, in this place, afford to make any detailed remarks: but of the merit of their author it

See Letter to his brother A. Brown, p. 200.

may

may be observed, that it consisted chiefly in that keen sensibility and quickness of sensation, which fitted him to describe with energy and effect, if not with nature and truth, the operation of the higher passions; and to rivet the attention of his readers by his enthusiastic and sometimes exaggerated delineations of character. His great defect appears to have been, what is often a concomitant of unpruned genius, a want of common sense in matters of taste and feeling; or of that propriety of sentiment, which enables a writer to distinguish the nice shades that sometimes separate the sublime from the ridiculous, the awful from the disgusting, and the sensible from the sententious. This deficiency occasionally led the novelist into a stately pomposity of expression which he mistook for dignity; and into an exaggeration of sentiment, which assumed in his eyes the shape of deep feeling. The following passage, for instance, which was no doubt intended to be read with great gravity, must necessarily, by the curious solemnity of its phrases, call forth a smile from the reader: My conceptions of the delights and benefits connected with love and marriage are exquisite. They have swayed most of my thoughts and many of my actions, since I arrived at an age of reflection and maturity. They have given birth to the sentiment of love with regard to several women. Mutual circumstances have frustrated the natural operation of that sentiment in several instances. At present I am free. None of those with whom I recently associated have any claims upon me, nor have I any upon them.' Another most glaring sin in this author's novels is a carelessness so extreme, as not only to strike but to offend even the rapid reader of such kill-time publications. Characters are introduced evidently for an ulterior purpose, but are neglected and forgotten, as in the instance of Mrs. Wentworth in "Arthur Mervyn;" inexpli cable coincidences are contrived, which are as improbable as useless; and after many marvellous circumstances, from which we expect the most portentous effects, we find, like Dr. Johnson when he had heard the voice of his deceased mother crying Sam, that "nothing ensued."

Returning from this short digression, we have to relate the melancholy termination of this author's life in the full prime of manhood, and amid the ardent pursuit of his literary labors. In the year 1804, he married a lady of the name of Linn, and became thenceforwards an inhabitant of his native city but his sedentary habits operated unfavorably on a constitution naturally delicate, and it was soon evident that he was hastening into a decline. In the summer of 1809 he visited New Jersey, and New York, in the hope of benefiting by a

change

change of air: but the experiment proved useless, and on the 19th of February, 1810, he sank under his complaint.

We insert the following letter from the correspondence, as a specimen of Mr. Brown's epistolary style, at an early age:

'To W. DUNlap.

My dear friend, Philadelphia, Nov. 28. 1794. 'How many weeks have elapsed since you left us, and since you requested me to write to you some comments both upon your performance and the representation of it. Better late than never, is an excellent adage; and when men have delayed the performance of their duty, instead of prolonging the breach by elaborate apologies, they had much better apply themselves forthwith to the discharge of it, that being the best reparation that can possibly be made for past neglect.

But what, my friend, shall I say upon this interesting subject? You yourself were present at the performance of the piece; you know how little the theatrical people are entitled to encomiums; what, therefore, could justify your friends here, in publishing their sentiments upon the acting: the public could judge of the intrinsic merits of the tragedy only as it was performed. How defective must their judgment therefore be, since their knowledge must be so imperfect.

My imagination is too undisciplined by experience to make me relish theatrical representations. I cannot sufficiently abstract my attention from accompanying circumstances and surrounding objects. Custom, or a differently constituted fancy, enables others to distinguish and separate with ease the dramatic and theatrical. My sufferings during that evening were such as to make me unalterably determine never to be an author. That, indeed, was before scarcely possible; but if every other circumstance were favourable, the dread of being torn and mangled by the play-house gentry, either of the stage or pit, would sufficiently damp my

ardour.

You cannot expect that I should say any thing about the play itself. Undistinguishing encomiums must be as disagreeable to you to hear as fruitless in me to utter. Not having the piece before me, I can recollect only the general impression; that indeed would give just occasion for panegyric, which, however delightful it would be to me to bestow, would perhaps be unpleasing to the delicacy of my friend. Particular animadversions would require me to recollect particular lines and passages, for which confess my memory is not sufficiently tenacious. purpose I

I suppose you proceed, with your wonted celerity, in the career of composition. Has epic poetry been entirely neglected? and has no progress been made in the song which secrated to the fame of Aristomenes?

you

have con

It used to be a favourite maxim with me, that the genius of a poet should be sacred to the glory of his country; how far this rule can be reduced to practice by an American bard; how far he can prudently observe it, and what success has crowned the efforts

of

of those, who, in their compositions, have shown that they have not been unmindful of it, is perhaps not worth the inquiry.

National songs, strains which have a peculiar relation to the political or religious transactions of the poet's country, seem to be the most precious morsels, which do not require a dissatisfying brevity, nor preclude the most exalted flights of genius: for in this class I rank the Iliad and Æneid, and Orlando (the last is a truly national song, since the streets of every Italian city have reechoed with it for this hundred years or two) as well as Chevy Chase, or the song of Roland.

Does it not appear to you, that to give poetry a popular currency and universal reputation, a particular cast of manners and state of civilization is necessary? I have sometimes thought so; but perhaps it is an error, and the want of popular poems argues only the demerit of those who have already written, or some defect in their works, which unfits them for every taste or understanding. Remember me affectionately to your family, and I will write speedily to Elihu. Tell him, he must not be offended by my long silence. Yours, affectionately,

'C.B. B.'

We must now say a word on the execution of Mr. Dunlap's biographical duties, which he has, on the whole, performed in a satisfactory manner. His partiality for his hero is certainly evident and unconcealed, but is not greater than we might expect and excuse from the piety of a surviving friend. His analyses of the novels are not well executed, and the perplexity and confusion in which they are involved give the reader no slight trouble: but this may in some degree be owing to similar faults in the originals. We have not discovered many Americanisms in these Memoirs, though in the following sentence we have one very palpable instance: 'Now had this intellectual labour eventuated in the erection of a pyramid, or in the accomplishment of a victory, they would expect to derive amusement from the biography of such a man.' (P. 66.) At p. 92., also, Mr. Dunlap has fallen into an amusing error, and presented us with a curious specimen of the anti-climax. The novelist, he tells us, excites his hero to the commission of acts, which, though they have their prototypes in authentic records, are of a character so horrible as to border on the shocking?

ART. VI. Sketches of India: written by an Officer for Fire-side Travellers at Home. Crown 8vo. pp. 329. 10s. 6d. Boards. Longman and Co. 1821.

THIS

THIS is a lively and picturesque tour: the author of which eminently possesses the art of exciting visual imagery by means of words, and paints with poetic vivacity the scenery, the

persons,

persons, the moving bustle, and the strange impressions, which every where burst on his senses. He offers a familiar picture. of Indian phænomena, invites the reader as it were to lounge in his tent or take a seat in his budgerow, and directs attention to the transient objects in his view with felicity of choice and vividness of representation.

The visit to Madras begins thus:

Those poor wretches, with no other clothing than small rags round the middle, and loads on their heads, whom you meet singly or in large groups, are the common coolies, or road-porters, of the country; for thus light burdens are usually conveyed here, even for distances of two or three hundred miles.-This haughtylooking man with a prominent nose, dark eye, and olive-brown complexion, having a large turban, muslin vest, gaudy silk trowsers, and noisy slippers, is Mahometan.

This next, with his head bare and shaven, except a few thickfalling locks clubbed behind, his forehead marked with stripes of the ashes of cow-dung, his naked body, clean yellow-coloured skin, the zennaar, or distinguishing threads worn over the shoulder, and a large pale salmon-coloured loin-cloth, is an officiating bramin.

These fat-looking black men, with very white turbans and dresses, and large golden ear-rings, are dubashes; a sort of upper servants or public inferior agents, ready to make any purchases for strangers or residents; to execute their commissions, change their monies, or transact any business for them.

These men with red turbans, broad shoulder-belts of leather, breast-plates, sashes and swords, are government-peons of the zillah, or police foot-soldiers. There are establishments of them in every district. They are distinguished by their belt-plates; the belts being often of red, blue, or yellow cloth, or even tigerskin.

There is a groupe of native women returning to their houses with water they are of a common class; but observe their simple dress, erect carriage, and admirable walk. One piece of cloth wrapped twice round their loins in its breadth, and passing in its length upwards over the bosom, is either disposed mantle-like to cover the head, or thrown gracefully across the right shoulder, and brought under the left arm to the middle. Their shining hair is neatly rolled up into a knot at the back of the head; and is occasionally ornamented with little chaplets of pale yellow flowers. The vessels which some carry on the head, some on the hip, are of brass or clay; but ancient and urn-like in their form.

This low, curiously carved car, with a white canopy, and cream-coloured bullocks, having their horns ornamentally tipped with wrought brass, collars with bells, and crimson body-clothes, is the conveyance of some native merchant, or shroff.

These horsemen with red hussar jackets, high spherical-shaped caps of blue cloth richly ornamented, leather breeches, boots, and English saddles, so well mounted, and as light-coloured as Spa

niards,