heart of the warrior, that of first striking the body of a fallen enemy; many of them were, however, killed, even by their own people, as they rushed along, and intercepted the flight of the arrow or bullet from its destined mark. The combatants were at very close quarters, and the arrow had its full effect. They were for some time intermingled, and contended with their war-clubs and knives. The Partisan, who had been wounded severely, early in the action, and had received several more wounds during its continuance, now was struck with an arrow, which buried itself to the feathers in his body. He knew the wound was a mortal one, and fell, but supported himself upon the ground, to encourage his men: "My Braves," said he, "fight whilst you can move a limb, and when your arrows are expended, take to your knives." Looking around now upon his companions in arms, he perceived that nearly all his principal Braves were killed or disabled, and with his dying words, he ordered those who were still on their feet to pierce the surrounding enemy, and endeavour to save themselves in the timber of the creek. As soon as it was ascertained that their Partisan was dead, his orders were carried into effect; and the remnant of the party fought their way to the creek, where the enemy abandoned them, and returned to exult over the slain. One only of the principal Braves was left in this shattered band; he declared he was ashamed that he had survived, and he immediately ran back to the enemy, although much wounded, and was seen no more. The party now found that they had left fifty-three men, dead or disabled, on the battle ground, amongst whom were

all their Braves, who had exposed themselves to danger more than the others. Of their numbers, now dimiminished to forty, all were wounded, with the exception of seven only, and some of these very desperately; one individual had eight different wounds. As they had thrown off their robes, breech-cloths, and leggings, at the commencement of the battle, they were now absolutely naked, and the weather was extremely cold. They made cars, on which they drew along those who could not walk; and thus they commenced and proceeded in their slow and laborious march to their village. During the journey, some of the wounded requested to be killed, or left to die alone; and one who was wounded in the knee, after soliciting death from his brother repeatedly, in vain, sought an opportunity to die, and finally plunged his knife in his heart. The party subsisted by killing a few bisons on the way, and partially clothed themselves with their raw hides, a miserable defence against the intensity of the cold. James's Expedition to the Rocky Mountains,

Memoirs of the Life and Writings of the Right Hon. Lord Byron.

THESE memoirs are dedicated to Mr. Gifford, and the work is evidently not the first production of its author, for it bears, throughout, the impress not only of an experienced and practised hand, but the confidence which experience and practice invariably in

spire. The anonymous writer has not, therefore, concealed his name through that fear and trembling, with which our first productions are generally laid before the public. Be the author whom he may, however, we can perceive no just reason for concealing his name; for, as he himself very properly observes, "It is every individual's duty to check the current of baneful principles, especially when those principles are sent forth clothed with the attractive ornaments of literary elegance, and recommended by the potent spells of rank and popularity." No person, surely, needs blush to avow an act which he knows to be his duty, and as the present work was professedly intended, as the author informs us, to check the current of Lord Byron's baneful principles, to undeceive those who are liable to be lost in the wilds and witcheries of the moral delusion which prevails in his writings, the author engaged in the performance of a duty, which he ought not blush to acknowledge. Concealment, in such a case, leads us to suspect that Lord Byron's "baneful principles" were not altogether so baneful as they are represented, and that the author, consequently, thought it prudent to skreen himself from the just indignation of the noble Lord by concealing his name. This, perhaps, was not the cause of concealment, but it is, at least. the first cause that suggests itself to an impartial reader.

There are two objects aimed at in the present work: the first is, to make us acquainted with the life, the second with the writings, of Lord Byron. With the first we have no concern: facts speak for themselves, and we believe the author has misrepresented no cir

cumstance of Lord Byron's life. Indeed, we cannot help saying, that he evinces throughout a rigid unbending honesty of principle, and we cannot, with some of our contemporaries, attribute the severity of his strictures on Lord Byron's moral principles to the spirit of pre-determined hostility. In our opinion, the author's warmth arises from a stubborn attachment to truth, and a belief, whether well founded or not, that Lord Byron is one of its most dangerous enemies. But whether he be free from enmity to the noble Lord or not, it is idle to accuse him of it till the fact be proved. No proofs, however, have been brought forward, for the critics who have been most severe upon the work, do not mention one circumstance which he has either garbled or misrepresented. So far, then, as these memoirs regard the Life of Lord Byron, we think we may safely recommend them to the perusal of our readers. Our limits will not suffer us to give even a retrospect of them, and even if we could, we do not conceive that our pages would be the proper place to seek for such information. We are not biographers, and therefore we have nothing to do with the relation of facts. It is the business of a reviewer to let his readers know, not what facts are stated by the author, but whether they be fairly stated, and having discharged this duty, his business afterwards is with his opinions alone. When we have given the author of these memoirs credit for honesty of intention, and freedom from enmity to Lord Byron, we have given a sort of general character of the biographical, or narrative part of his work; but his opinions must be considered separately, because honesty of

principle, though it never suffers us to fall into error in matters of fact, except through inadvertence, is no safeguard in matters of opinion. A man may be very honest, who, in point of intellect, is only one degree above an idiot, and we fear the present writer did not sufficiently weigh when he engaged in these memoirs: -Quid valeant humeri, quid ferre recusent. We must confine ourselves, however, to such parts of his com ments on the poetry of the noble Lord, as are most highly important to the general interests of literature.

Lord Byron, alluding to his studies at Harrow school, observes, that we become tired of studying the Greek and Latin poets "before we can comprehend their beauty, that the freshness is worn away, and the future pleasure and advantage deadened and destroyed by the didactic anticipation, at an age when we can neither feel nor understand the power of composition, which it requires an acquaintance with life, as well as with Latin and Greek, to relish or reason upon, so that, when we are old enough to enjoy them, the taste is gone, and the appetite palled. In some parts of the Continent, young persons are taught from more common authors, and do not read the best classics till their maturity."

With this opinion our author does not agree, and brings forward Dean Vincent's "Defence of Publick Education," and " Childe Harold's Monitor," to prove the contrary. In questions of this nature, authority is of little consequence, abstracted from the arguments on which it rests; and, if mere authority decided the question, Lord Byron has much higher authority on his side, than that of the Dean or the Monitor, namely,