life. Accordingly, a copy of the indictment and all the proceedings in the case, was forwarded to General WASHINGTON, then residing at New-York. But the President, with that sound wisdom and clearsightedness for which he was so remarkable, declined interfering with the sentence of the court, either by pardon or reprieve; and that sentence was executed upon Bird, by Marshal Dearborn and his assistants, on the last Friday of the same month of June, 1790. A FOREST WALK. 'WHY should we crave a hallowed spot? A church in every grove that spreads A LOVELY Sky, a cloudless sun, [flowers, The spruce its green tent stretches wide, Sweet forest odors have their birth, Where pine-cones dropped-leaves piled Long tufts of grass, and stars of fern, Above, the forest tops are bright The screening branches, and a glow WORDSWORTH'S GOD IN NATURE.' The robin, brooding in her nest, He watches, while I saunter by. A narrow vista, carpetted Whirrs to the sheltering branches near; On each side shrinks the bowery shade, Here stretched, the pleasant turf I press, Spotted with cloud-shapes, charm my eye; A. B. S. LITERARY NOTICES. CHARLES TYRRELL, OF THE BITTER BLOOD: A NOVEL. By G. P. R. JAMES. In two volumes, 12mo. pp. 413. New-York: HARPER AND BROTHERS. THE GENTLEMAN OF THE OLD SCHOOL: A NOVEL. By G. P. R. JAMES. volumes. pp. 489. New-York: HARPER AND BROTHERS. In two THE almost simultaneous appearance of these two fictions for they were both published, in England and here, within a month - makes it proper, as well as convenient, to say what we have to say of them in one article. In fact, the presumption is reasonable, that they were both upon the anvil of the author's invention at the same time; and that his mind, when fatigued with laboring at the one, found the relief of change in taking up the other. That such change affords relief, is perfectly well known to all who have had much practice in composition; and we can very easily imagine, that a writer of such facility as Mr. JAMES, and so thoroughly broken in to the harness of literary drudgery, might readily produce two distinct novels, in little more than the time he would bestow upon one alone. The evidence of his industry and fertility, therefore, is not in his bringing out these two romances in such near conjunction, but in the fact that they were preceded, at an interval of little more than a year, by a voluminous history, by a large volume of tales, by yet another novel, and, if we remember rightly, by some two or three volumes of biography. The wonder is, that working at them by turns, as we suppose he did, the two exhibit so little trace of similarity in plot, character, or incident. The general idea of 'Charles Tyrrell' is, to show the efficacy of trials, cooperating with good principles, in subduing the faults of a violent hereditary temperament, the 'bitter blood' of the title. Charles Tyrrell, the hero, is the descendant of a race which for centuries has been distinguished by a malignant ferocity of disposition, always active, and at times breaking forth in such outrageous fury, as could hardly be accounted for, by any supposition but that of insanity. In his father, this mauvais naturel exists in full vigor; proving the life-torment of his gentle and unhappy wife, and only less effectual in crushing the soul and spirit of his son, because in the kindred temper of that personage, it finds a resisting power, almost equal in energy to itself. The contrast to this character is a cold, philosophical skeptic, who has faith in neither virtue nor religion; whose intense selfishness has taught him to control his own passions, and take advantage of other men's; and whose only conception of good and evil is founded upon the consideration of expediency. The other principal personages are the heroine and her mother; and the interest they inspire, is more in the mingling of their destinies with those of young Tyrrell, than in their own qualities or actions. It will be seen, then, that the range of character laid down by Mr. JAMES, in this novel, is not extensive; and that of incident is but little more so. All turns upon the savage malignity of the father its development, and the effects it produces on the disposition and fortunes of the son, are the material of the story. What that story is, we need not indicate; for they who have read the book, are advised of it, and they who have not yet, would probably not thank us for the ill-timed disclosure. We have only to add, that it is largely imbued with interest; that after the progress of the narrative has once commenced, it is kept up with vigor and directness, no impertinent episodes being introduced, to eke out the requisite number of pages and protract the catastrophe; and that the final consummation is brought about naturally, consistently, and to the entire satisfaction of the reader. In the 'Gentleman of the Old School,' characters entirely different, and a different contrast, are exhibited; the number of personages is greater, and the plot is much less simple. The eminent individual who gives the book its name, is a wealthy English baronet, well advanced in years, but enjoying that hearty and mellow old age, which coexists with health, serenity of temper, virtuous principles, feelings of pure benevo lence, high cultivation of mind, unblemished honor, and the consciousness of being reverenced and beloved. The contrast is, a man destitute of principle, of narrow intellect, placing his trust in cunning, and a slave to avarice. A parallel contrast is exhibited between the hero of the tale, ho is a nephew of the 'fine old gentleman,' and his rival, who is the nephew of the avaricious Mr. Forrest; these two being so drawn, as to present the difference between youth and age, in the opposition of their characters, and those of their respective uncles. Another personage, of striking characteristics, and exerting a decided influence in the progress of the story, is an old soldier, who has taken up poaching, not as a trade, but merely from the love of sport, and for the excitement of its unlawful prosecution. This is a finely drawn character; abounding in strong points of originality, and extremely well sustained. The gentle sex is represented by no less than four prominent individuals; the heroine, a loving but high-hearted girl, over whom the bad old man exercises the tyranny of an unloving father; a rich and beautiful widow, whom unrequited love betrays to the verge of crime, but who redeems herself before it is too late; an elderly German domestic, and an orphan girl, who suffers persecution from the licentious love of the younger reprobate, and subsequently plays a very distinguished part in the progress of the narrative. The incidents of this novel are much more varied and complex than those of the one first mentioned in this notice; they include a greater number of persons, and extend over a much greater lapse of time. As in the other, however, there is no needless interruption; no superfluous delay; nothing to excite the impatience of the reader, and inspire him (or her) with an inclination to skip fifty or a hundred pages, and find out at once what the fate of the parties is to be. There are mysteries, indeed, but they are developed in gradual and regular progression, and not crowded all together at the end, as is the case in too many novels, for the mere sake of keeping the reader in suspense as long as possible. In short, the story is constructed with consummate skill, so as to keep interest alive, and yet give curiosity its progressive satisfaction. The only fault, of any moment, that we can discover, is the somewhat too liberal employment of a disguise, which is not eventually explained, and cannot be, while it appears to be unnecessarily introduced. The novel betrays, also, one point of similarity with Charles Tyrrell,' which might have been avoided; the apprehension of the hero, in each, on a charge of murder. But they are fine novels, both of them; less brilliant, certainly, than BULWER'S, but in every other point superior, as they are infinitely superior, like all Mr. JAMES'S fictions, in their perfect freedom from any, the slightest, immoral taint, either in sentiment, precept, example, or expression. This is high praise, which can be awarded to but too few novels, foreign or indigenous, of the present day. THE ADVENTURES OF HARRY FRANCO. A Tale of the Great Panic. In two volumes. pp. 525. New-York: F. SAUNDERS. THE praise which has been bestowed upon this work, by the critics of the weekly and daily journals, has seemed, in our judgment, to fail short of its deserts. 'Harry Franco' is an exceedingly amusing, racy, and original production. The author has struck a fresh and fertile vein, in his local metropolitan pictures, while his descriptions of nature, and of human character, are in a high degree natural and picturesque. There is a conciseness and felicity of expression, too, a general characteristic of the author's style throughout the volumes, which argues well for the career of a hitherto unpractised writer. In short, 'Harry Franco,' although it does not sanctify adultery, shock us with atrocity, stiffen us with horror, nor confound us with the dreadful sublimities of demoniacal energy, is nevertheless quite as entertaining as the most orthodox unnatural and fashionable fiction of the day. We shall suffer our author, however, to present his own credentials. The following scene succeeds a history of his first acquaintance with a dry-goods solicitor, technically called 'diummer, who, mistaking him for a country dealer, had given him his card, on board of the steam-boat, taken him to his hotel in town, sent him his wine, given him theatre tickets, and requested him to call at his store in Hanover Square, where it was his intention to turn these courtesies to profitable account, in the service of his em ployer. One morning, after the despondency which followed a day and night of accidental dissipation, Mr. Franco seeks out his obliging friend, as a friend in need: "HAVING dressed myself in my very best clothes, which, to tell the truth, were my very worst also, I set out, soon after breakfast, in search of the store of Messrs. J. Smith Davis and Company, whose names were on the card which Mr. Lummucks had given me. "It was a bright and pleasant morning; the streets were full of life and animation, and every thing looked promising and joyous to me. Men were hurrying past me in every direction, with looks full of business and importance; and I thought, where all seemed to be so well employed, and in such haste, there could be no difficulty in finding something to do. But, as I was not stinted for time, I did not hurry myself, and walked leisurely along beneath the awnings, stopping occasionally to gaze at the heaps of goods which were displayed in the stores, or to read some curious sign which attracted my attention. After a while, I succeeded in finding Hanover Square, which I was astonished to see was triangular in shape, and soon discovered the large gilt sign of Messrs. J. Smith Davis and Company. Luckily, Mr. Lummucks was standing in the door, with his hat off, and his hair brushed down smooth and glossy. As soon as he saw me, he caught me by the hand, and dragged me into the store. "How are you this morning, Colonel?' he said. "Very well, I thank you,' I replied, speaking as respectfully as I knew how; 'are you well?' "Fine as silk!' said Mr. Lummucks. "I was glad to hear him say so, and congratulated myself upon finding him in such a pleasant humor. "The store of Messrs. J. Smith Davis and Company was not very large, but it was crowded with goods to the very ceiling, and in the middle of the floor were long piles of calicoes, about which were several young gentlemen, as busily employed as bees in a hive. "A very little man approached us, from the farther end of the store, jerking his little arms and legs with the precision and ease of an automaton. His dress was new, and bright, and neat. Mr. Lummucks introduced me to him. He was no other than Mr. J. Smith Davis himself, the principal of the firm. I was almost struck dumb, to see so much importance confined within so small a compass. He shook me cordially by the hand, and asked Mr. Lummucks if he knew me. "Know him?- like a book!' replied Mr. Lummucks. "Mr. J. Smith Davis shook me by the hand again, and said he was very happy to see me; he asked me how the times were, and offered me a cigar, which I took, for fear of giving offence, but the first opportunity I got, I threw it away. "Buy for cash, or time?' he asked. "I was a little startled at the abruptness of the question, but I replied, 'for cash.' "Would you like to look at some prints, Major?' he asked. ""I am much obliged to you,' I replied, 'I am very fond of seeing prints.' "With that, Mr. J. Smith Davis commenced turning over one piece of calico after another, with amazing rapidity. There, Major, very desirable article splendid style only two-and-six; we done a first rate business in that article last season; cheapest goods in the street.' "Before I could make any reply, or even guess at the meaning of Mr. Davis's remarks, he was called away, and Mr. Lummucks stepped up and supplied his place. "You had better buy 'em, Colonel,' said Mr. Lummucks; they will sell like hot cakes. But did you say you bought for cash?' "Of course," I said, "if I buy at all.' "He took a memorandum-book out of his pocket, and looked in it for a moment. "Let me see,' he said; 'Franco, Franco, Franco; what did you say your firm was? Something and Franco, or Franco and somebody?' "I have no firm,' I replied. "O, you have n't ha' n't you? All alone, hey? But I do n't see that I have got your first name down in my tickler.' 'My first name is Harry,' I said. ""Right, yes, I remember,' said Mr. Lummucks, making a memorandum; 'and your references, Colonel, who did you say were your references?' "I have no references,' I replied; 'indeed, I know of no one to whom I could refer, unless to my father.' "What, the old boy in the country?' "My father is in the country,' I answered, seriously, not very well pleased to hear my parent called 'the old boy.' *Then you have no city references, hey?' "None at all, Sir; I have no friends here, except yourself.' "Me!' exclaimed Mr. Lummucks, apparently in great amazement. 'Oh, ah! But how much of a bill do you mean to make with us, Colonel?' "Perhaps I may buy a vest pattern,' I replied, 'if you have got some genteel patterns.' "A vest pattern!' cried Mr. Lummucks; 'what! hav n't you come down for the purpose of buying goods?' "No, Sir,' I replied, 'I came to New-York to seek for employment, and as you had shown me so many kind attentions, I thought you would be glad of an opportunity to assist me in finding a situation.' "Mr. Lummucks' countenance underwent a very singular change, when I announced my reasons for calling on him. Do you see any thing that looks green in there?' he said, pulling down his eyelid with his fore-finger. "No, Sir, I do not,' I replied, looking very earnestly into his eye. "Nor in there, either?' he said, pulling open his other eye. 66 6 'Nothing at all, Sir,' I replied. "I guess not!' said Mr. Lummucks; and without making me any other answer, he turned on his heel and left me. "Reg'larly sucked, Jack?' asked a young man, who had been listening to our conversation. "Do n't mention it!' said Mr. Lummucks. "No you do n't!' said the other. "Mr. Lummucks walked up to Mr. J. Smith Davis, and whispered in his ear a few words, upon which that little gentleman turned round, and frowned upon me most awfully. "I was about to demand an explanation of this strange conduct, when Mr. J. Smith Davis came up to me, and told me he was not a retailer, but a jobber, and advised me, I wanted to negotiate for a vest pattern, to go into Chatham-street. if "My first impulse was to take Mr. J. Smith Davis up in my arms, and give him a good smart cuff on his ears. But I restrained my indignation, and merely remarked to him, that if he was not a retailer, he was in a remarkably small way. "Leave my store, Sir!' said Mr. Smith Davis, turning very pale. "Don't be frightened,' I said, 'I would not stay in it upon any account.' And without more ado I did leave it; but with feelings very different from those with which I had entered it. To meet with such a rebuff, upon my first application for assistance, was a cruel disappointment to me, and I could scarcely refrain from tears." It is perhaps unnecessary to state, that although our author sat opposite to Mr. Lummucks again at dinner, yet that gentleman never afterward gave him a look of recognition. Equally life-like is Mr. Franco's picture of auction practises, phrenological professors, his repulse at the Female Boarding School, etc. To his sea-views and |