WHAT! Irving? thrice welcome, warm heart and fine brain, And the gravest sweet humor, that ever was there Since Cervantes met death in his gentle despair; Nay, don't be embarrassed, nor look so beseeching, I shan't run directly against my own preaching. And, having just laughed at their Raphaels and Dantes, Go to setting you up beside matchless Cervantes; But allow me to speak what I honestly feel, To a true poet-heart add the fun of Dick Steele, Throw in all of Addison, minus the chill, With the whole of that partnership's stock and good will, Mix well, and, while stirring, hum o'er, as a spell, The fine old English Gentleman, simmer it well, Sweeten just to your own private liking, then strain, That only the finest and clearest remain, Let it stand out of doors till a soul it receives From the warm lazy sun loitering down through green leaves, And you'll find a choice nature, not wholly deserving A name either English or Yankee-just Irving.-[A FABLE FOR THE CRITICS. THE witty author of the Fable has been more fortunate in his portraiture of our great prose writer, than the artist was from whose attempt to give the externals of his "warm heart and fine brain," our engraving has been copied. The portrait which we present is not such an one as we should be glad to give, and would give if it were in our power, but, "IRVING was younger once than he is now," and with a full consciousness of there being a perception than the essays and stories in the brown wig, if not "Wrinkles on his brow," he refuses to have his counterfeit presentment, set before the world, of what he now is on the shady side of sixty. He is probably right in his determination to let posterity see him only as he appeared when he produced the works by which they will only know him. The portrait is the portrait of the author of the Sketch Book, and not of the quiet old gentleman Washington Irving of sixty odd years, who, in his mellow servility, is daily superintending the publication of the works which he produced in the hey day of his intellectual and bodily vigor. The career of Washington Irving has been a singularly happy one; there are few men of eminence in the literary world whose private history presents a life of such placidity and good fortune; from his outset as an author his serenity has never been ruffled by a failure, nor an adverse criticism. He could not say, with nearly all the literary men who have been known to fame, "How hard it is to climb The steep, where Fames dread All the accidents of his life, his early training, his social connexion, the bent of his genius, the time of his birth, and even what might have been deemed his pecuniary disasters, all conspired to ripen him for his work and promote his literary success. All these favoring accidents would have been as naught to one who had not the good sense to avail himself of them, and even without them, and under less propitious circumstances, we doubt not that Irving would have risen superior to them. But it cannot be denied that he was singularly fortunate, and that while he made the most of his advantages, he never once forgot himself and presumed on his position. A life exhibiting a greater uniformity of strictly correct conduct probably could not be instanced. Unquestionably much of his well-deserved reputation, and the uniform consideration with which he has been treated as a man and writer both at home and abroad, are owing to his never putting himself in an antagonistic position to anybody or any thing. He has rebuked no man's sins, upset no man's hobbies, disturbed nobody's superstitions, criticised nobody's works, nor exposed the follies of any nation, sect or people. But he has laughed with the world and not at it, and put poor human nature upon good terms with itself. One of the secrets of Irving's uniform success and freedom from adverse criticisms, is well worth knowing and bearing in mind by young authors; it is that he never attempted anything for which he did not feel himself perfectly qualified; and another was that whatever he attempted he finished. He is a thorough artist, and in this respect bears a strong resemblance to Bryant, whom he resembles in nothing else. He finished with the utmost nicety even his slightest sketches. It is said that the first part of the SKETCH BOOK was written over no less than seven times. This may not be true, but it bears evidence of having been corrected with the greatest care. There are no literary compositions existing, which exhibit a purer artistic sion. Sketch Book and Bracebridge Hall. We do not speak of their excellence as literary compositions compared with the works of other authors, but as led him to exclude everything not absolutely exhibiting a purity of taste in their author, which idea which he wished to present to the reader. necessary to convey a distinct impression of the He so completely segregates his subjects that, however meagre they may be, or shadowy, or feeble, they occupy the mind to the exclusion of everything else, and therefore leave a lasting impres The present method, with our popular writers, is to cram their pages with everything that bears the remotest affinity with their subject, and by this means they fill the mind with such a confused mass of thoughts and images that it rethe Sketch Book is "The Voyage," a subject full tains an impression of none. The first essay in of suggestions, recollections, and gossip. It seems hardly possible for a man of sea experiences and full information to treat it with simplicity. But Mr. Irving by a few severe reflections, and one little anecdote of a sea disaster, has given us a sketch which gives to the mind an impression of the solitariness, grandeur, and perils of the ocean, that volumes of sea voyages fail to give. This essay is so good an example of the careful finish and elaborate simplicity of Irving, that we are tempted to give it entire as the best examplification that can be offered of the point which we would elucidate. THE VOVAGE. Ships, ships, I will descrie you I will come and try you, And projecting. What's your end and aim. One goes abroad for merchandise and trading, To an American visiting Europe, the long voyage he has to make is an excellent preparative. The temporary absence of the worldly scenes and employments produces a state of mind peculiarly fitted to receive new and vivid impressions. The vast space of waters that separates the hemispheres is like a blank page in existence. There is no gradual transition by which, as in Europe, the features and population of one country blend almost imperceptibly with those of another. From the moment you lose sight of the land you have left, all is vacancy until you step on the opposite shore, and are launched at once into the bustle and novelties of another world. In travelling by land there is a continuity of scene, and a connected succession of persons and incidents, that carry on the story of life, and lessen the effect of absence and separation. We drag, it is true, "a lengthening chain" at each remove of our pilgrimage; but the chain is unbroken: we can trace it back link by link; and we feel that the last still grapples us to home. But a wide sea voyage severs us at once. It makes us conscious of being cast loose from the secure anchorage of settled life, and sent adritt upon a doubtful world. It interposes a gulf, not merely imaginary, but real, between us and our homes-a gulf subject to tempest, and fear, and uncertainty, rendering distance palpable, and return precarious. to prevent their being washed off by the waves. There was no trace by which the name of the ship could be ascertained. The wreck had evidently drifted about for many months; clusters of shell-fish had fastened about it, and long seaweeds flaunted at its sides. But where, thought I, is the crew? Their struggle has long been over-they have gone down amidst the roar of the tempest-their bones lie whitening among the caverns of the deep. Silence, oblivion, like the waves, have closed over them, and no one can tell the story of their end. What sighs have been tress, the wife, the mother, pored over the daily news, to catch some casual intelligence of this rover of the deep! How has expectation darkened into anxiety-anxiety into dread-and dread into despair! Alas! not one memento may ever Such, at least, was the case with myself. As I saw the last blue line of my native land fade away like a cloud in the horizon, it seemed as if I had closed one volume of the world and its concerns, and had time for meditation, before I opened another. That land, too, now vanishing from my view, which contained all most dear to me in life; what vicissitudes might occur in it-what changes might take place in me, before I should visit it again! Who can tell, when he sets forth to wan-wafted after that ship! How often has the misder, whither he may be driven by the uncertain currents of existence; or when he may return; or whether it may ever be his lot to revisit the scenes of his childhood? 1 said that at sea all is vacancy; I should correct the expression. To one given to day-dream-return for love to cherish. All that may ever be ing, and fond of losing himself in reveries, a sea known, is, that she sailed from her port, "and voyage is full of subjects for meditation; but then was never heard of more !" they are the wonders of the deep, and of the air, and rather tend to abstract the mind from worldly themes. I delighted to loll over the quarter-railing, or climb to the main-top, of a calm day, and muse for hours together on the tranquil bosom of a summer's sea; to gaze upon the piles of golden clouds just peering above the horizon, fancy them some fairy realms, and people them with a creation of my own ;-to watch the gentle undulating billows, rolling their silver volumes, as if to die away on those happy shores. There was a delicious sensation of mingled security and awe with which I looked down, from my giddy height, on the monsters of the deep at their uncouth gambols. Shoals of porpoises tumbling about the bow of the ship; the grampus slowly heaving his huge form above the surface; or the ravenous shark, darting, like a spectre, through the blue waters. My imagination would conjure up all that I had heard or read of the watery world beneath me; of the finny herds that roam its fathomless valleys; of the shapeless monsters that lurk among the very foundations of the earth; and of those wild phantasms that swell the tales of fishermen and sailors. The sight of this wreck, as usual, gave rise to many dismal anecdotes. This was particularly the case in the evening, when the weather, which had hitherto been fair, began to look wild and and threatening, and gave indications of one of those sudden storms which will sometimes break in upon the serenity of a summer voyage. As we sat round the dull light of a lamp in the cabin, that made the gloom more ghastly, every one had his tale of shipwreck and disaster. I was particularly struck with a short one related by the captain. "As I was once sailing," said he," in a fine stout ship across the banks of Newfoundland, one of those heavy fogs which prevail in those parts rendered it impossible for us to see far ahead even in the daytime; but at night the weather was so thick that we could not distinguish any object at twice the length of the ship. I kept lights at the mast-head, and a constant watch forward to look out for fishing snacks, which are accustomed to lie at anchor on the banks. The wind was blowing a smacking breeze, and we were going at a great rate through the water. Suddenly the watch gave the alarm of a sail ahead!'-it was scarcely uttered before we were upon her. She was a small schooner, at anchor, with her broadside towards us. The crew were all asleep, and had neglected to hoist a light. We struck her just amid-ships. The force, the size, and weight of our vessel bore her down below the waves; we passed over her and were hurried on our course. As the crashing wreck was sinking beneath us, I had a glimpse of two or three half-naked wretches rushing from her cabin; they just started from their beds to be swallowed shrieking by the waves. I heard their drowning cry mingling with the wind. The blast that bore it to our ears swept us Sometimes a distant sail, gliding along the edge of the ocean, would be another theme of idle speculation. How interesting this fragment of a world, hastening to rejoin the great mass of existence! What a glorious monument of human invention; which has in a manner triumphed over wind and wave; has brought the ends of the world into communion; has established an interchange of blessings, pouring into the sterile regions of the north all the luxuries of the south; has diffused the light of knowledge and the charities of cultivated life; and has thus bound together those scattered portions of the human race, between which nature seemed to have thrown an insur-out of all farther hearing. I shall never forget mountable barrier. that cry! It was some time before we could put We one day descried some shapeless object drift- the ship about, she was under such headway. We ing at a distance. At sea, every thing that breaks returned, as nearly as we could guess, to the the monotony of the surrounding expanse attracts place where the smack had anchored. We attention. It proved to be the mast of a ship that cruised about for several hours in the dense fog. must have been completely wrecked; for there We fired signal guns, and listened if we might were the remains of handkerchiefs, by which some hear the halloo of any survivors: but all was silent of the crew had fastened themselves to this spar,—we never saw or heard any thing of them more." SIR WALTER RALEIGH AND HIS TIMES. BY ROBERT F. GREELEY. Sir Walter Raleigh was born in 1553; and was sixty-five years of age at the time of his death. Both as a scholar and a soldier he possessed qualifications of the highest order, and the brilliancy and extent of his acquirements were such, in conjunction with his refined manners and engaging deportment, as to render him for a long period an established favorite among all classes of his countrymen. The conception which induced him to undertake the establishment of a colony in the wilds of America proves him to have been a man of no common order of intellect; and, indeed, the better portion of his life was equally divided between his literary pursuits, and the gratification of his passion for enterprise and adventure. THE reign of Queen Elizabeth was remarkable, | acter, that cannot be counterbalanced by the little above all other considerations, for the impetus good which he effected during the twenty-two which it gave to learning, through the encourage-years of his misguided reign. ment extended by her to men of literary and scientific attainments. Her court comprised within its circle the most distinguished characters of the age, and if she exercised the duties of her exalted station with somewhat of rigor, yet she was not at all times the hasty and implacable monarch which some of the acts of her life would indicate. Her liberal patronage of poets and scholars is an instance in support of this assertion. Foremost among the gifted and brilliant minds which added lustre to her court stood ESSEX; the accomplished man of letters-the ready wit-the fearless warrior, and the handsome gallant. No wonder that, with her prejudices in favor of genius and talent, the virgin queen almost lost sight of her maiden resolutions, in favor of so accomplished an adherAlthough his studious disposition inclined him ent. Better, far, had it been for him, had he rather to recreations of a peaceful, than of a warlike lacked those brilliant qualities which rendered nature, his feats in the field were by no means the him the admired favorite of the most powerful least of his accomplishments. The attention of court in Europe. As the moth is dazzled and be- Elizabeth having been for some time directed towildered by the ray that shines only to lure it towards the countries of the New World, several certain destruction, so did Essex sport within the magic circle into which his accomplishments had thrown him, until, approaching too closely the light in which he had displayed his gaudy wings, he sank and died beneath its withering influence. HAMPDEN, BURLEIGH, and COKE, were also the recipients of Elizabeth's favor. The former by his soldier-like abilities, the second by his skill in managing and guiding affairs of state, contributed their quota to England's glory; and Coke-Chief Justice Coke-was long the boast and ornament of the British bar. LEICESTER, too, great and powerful, as he was ambitious and without honor, had so far won upon her affections as to dare aspire to the honor of her hand; but, with her usual shrewdness, she had observed the defects of his character, and knew too much to place herself so deeply in his power. RALEIGH, with his store of knowledge and his ever-pointed wit; and BACON, with talents equal to his fame, and many years after the overthrow of the Spanish armada, (1588,) James Lancaster, with three ships and a pinnace, took thirty-nine Spanish ships, sacked Fernambouc, on the coast of Brazil, and returned to England heavily laden with treasure. Sir Francis Drake also undertook an expedition agamst Panama, and was repulsed by the Spaniards, and Sir Walter Raleigh engaged in an expedition to Guiana, that famous kingdom of which he gave such wonderful accounts, and which he undertook to explore at his own expense; unfortunately, however, without meeting with that success which his merits deserved. Shakspeare, in his tragedy of Othello, (act I, scene 3,) speaks of "The Cannibals, that do each other eat,- gested by Sir Walter's account of the nondescripts more, whose names have grown to be musical in the world's ear, extend the ample list; but even their brilliancy must grow dim and pale before the lustre of those twin brothers of song, SHAKSPEARE and EDMUND SPENSER. Gladly would we prolong the pleasant theme to which our thoughts have led us; but the plan of the present sketch allows us only to treat of such kindred subjects as fall within the bounds prescribed at starting. The ed; for by stories just as improbable were the death of Elizabeth was one of the most unfortunate Spanish adventurers deceived in their first comcircumstances which could have happened for Sir munications with the natives of the various places visited by them. In his narrative of his voyage Walter Raleigh. James had not that reverence for talent which marked her brilliant reign, and to Guiana, he thus gravely describes a race of Sir Walter's subsequent conduct shows how bit-people in whose existence he professes to have had implicit belief: terly he felt the change wrought by her death. The cold-blooded assassination of this accomplished gentleman, at a time when England was beginning to reap the benefit of his services, has cast a slur upon the escutcheon of King James's char "Next unto the Arvi-a river which falls into the Oronoko, are two other rivers, Atoica and Caora; and on that branch which is called Caora are a nation of people WHOSE HEADS APPEAR NOT |