first placed on the table was a good soup, which was followed by the inevitable olla of the Spaniards, consisting of beef, mutton, and pork, with an abundant accompaniment of vegetables, served up together. Then came a dish of rice, cooked a la Valenciana, and tolerably saturated with oil, which, however, did not prevent my finding it very good. Some beef a la mode was then served up, that smacked a little of garlic, but which I had no objection to on that account. The next dish contained a good sized fowl and a small chicken, both together, and side by side, like mother and daughter. A quantity of vegetables - plantains, pumpkins, and sweet potatoes all in the same plate, were then placed on the table; and, finally, came a pudding, which terminated the dinner. The desert consisted of fruit and sweetmeats, and then were brought in cigars and coffee. We were attended at table by soldiers in no small number, who performed the part of waiters, and I verily believe that half of the little garrison of Truxillo was that day in requisition for our service.

"The conversation during dinner turned on topics chiefly relating to the United States; a country that seemed to have excited the curiosity of the Commandant, but of which he possessed only a slight degree of knowledge. I replied to many of his questions on this subject; but when I stated to him distinctly the population, commerce, and resources of our Republic, the progress of the arts, and the facilities of communication by land and water, he would smile, shake his head, and cast a meaning look at the Ministro, as much as to say that he was not to be imposed on. This, though I was relating nothing but the truth, embarrassed me, and made me feel as if I had been detected in using the privilege of a traveller. I thought to extricate myself from this awkward position, by reducing my subsequent statements to the standard of his belief. Accordingly, I relieved the ship Pennsylvania of no inconsiderable weight, by reducing her hundred and forty-eight guns to one hundred. The rate of travelling in rail cars I stated to be from fifteen to twenty miles, instead of from twenty to thirty. I even curtailed the amount of the national revenue, and actually purloined the United States of ten or a dozen millions."

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"It was late in the evening before our vessel gained the mouth of the Izabal. This river takes it rise in a great fresh water lake called Golfo dulce, and pursues a meandering course for some fifty miles, before falling into the sea. At the head of that lake is situated the town of Izabal, the port of our destination. The entrance to this river is scarcely discernible, even in the day-time, to an unpractised eye, till within about a hundred yards of it, when an opening is perceived in the mountains like the mouth of an immense cavern. The effect, as we approached it in the night, was still more striking; a starry sky affording just light enough to guide us on our path, but not sufficient to make objects distinctly visible. On entering the opening just mentioned, we seemed penetrating into the bowels of the earth. On each side of us towered the lofty and precipitous mountains that form the banks of the river and immediately in front rose a high land, dark and frowning, as if to debar completely our further progress.

"About midnight the moon rose, and the effect of her pale silvery light on the trees and the water was beautiful beyond description. I could now see objects more distinctly, and felt satisfied that if there is any thing picturesque, beautiful, and sublime in nature, it must be the entrance to this river. The banks rise to a height of from two to three hundred feet, and are clothed with a rich and impenetrable foliage, the branches of the trees spreading several yards over the water. In some places this foliage suddenly disappears, and a vast naked rock, smooth and flat, and perfectly perpendicular, rises like a stupendous wall, at the foot of which the depth of water admits of a vessel, brushing the very face of the precipice without danger. Here and there may be seen a rill of water, as clear as crystal, coursing from top to bottom of this natural wall, or gushing out from a fissure in its side. At other places, a group of rocks assumes the appearance of an old castle or ruinous fortification. The stream varies in width from a hundred and fifty to three hundred feet, and is in many places thirty fathoms deep. It is dotted at intervals with little islands covered with reeds; and the sharp turnings it makes, give continual interest and variety to the scenery.

"As we proceeded, the noise of the water thrown up by the paddles startled the tenants of this beautiful wilderness; and every now and then we heard a plunge, like that of an alligator, or an otter, seeking the deepest recesses of the river, or the scream of an aquatic bird flying across the stream: the only sounds that disturbed the silence of this solitary scene.

"In the course of the night the boat stopped at a little fort called San Felipe, to take in fuel. During this detention I allowed myself a little rest, but was up again the next morning by daylight, when I found that the boat was not yet ready to start. The scene around, illuminated by the first rays of the sun, appeared to me even more striking and beautiful than when I had beheld it by moonlight. The lofty and umbrageous trees exhibited every variety of green, from the deepest tint to the lightest, and were alive with singing birds, while parrots and mackaws kept up a continued scream. Now and then a monkey would show himself, for an instant, swinging by

his tail from a twig, or leaping from branch to branch. The little fort, with its ruinous battlements, could be seen partly reflected in the water, the surface of which was skimmed by the alcatrazes intent on their prey, and seemingly unconscious of our presence."


"This man, whose name is now in the mouth of every one in Central America, and whose acts have been productive of so much trouble in that country, is a half-Indian, and was a soldier in the Federal army, where he never rose higher than a corporal. On the disbanding of the troops, he was discharged; and being left to his own resources, he was fain to procure a precarious subsistence by dealing in hogs, which he bought in the country, and sold in the market of Guatemala. When the sanitary regulations were adopted, he was appointed to the charge of one of the stations, with the command of about a dozen men. With these few men, whom he seduced, and persuaded to follow him in his hazardous enterprise, he appeared in open rebellion, proclaiming a new order of things, and calling upon the inhabitants of the Indian villages, he marched through to join his standard. This little force increased almost immediately to sixty men, and continuing to augment, enabled Carrera to attack and destroy, on several occasions, the scattered troops of the Government, whose arms and accoutrements he distributed among his followers. The views which Carrera professed to entertain could not be more flattering to the prejudices, nor better calculated to dazzle the minds, of the infatuated Indians. These views he declared to be the reinstatement of the Archbishop, who had been expelled from Guatemala, the restitution of the Church property, the restoration of the Monkish orders, the revival of the old Spanish laws, the expulsion of foreigners, and the abolition of contributions.

"In the mean time, the inactivity of the Executive, and the want of system and concert on the part of the military commanders, permitted the insurrection to progress to such a degree, that when measures were at length adopted for suppressing it, the strength of the Government proved inadequate to the task. The factious Indians did not hesitate to meet the Federal troops in the field, and in some engagements with them, came off with complete success. They now attacked and entered considerable towns, levied contributions, and threatened the capital. In this state of things, a resolution was adopted, which, so far from being attended with the favorable result expected, only served to expose the weakness of the Government, and to encourage insurrection. It was resolved to send a deputation to Carrera, to negotiate with him, and to induce him, by the most flattering concessions, to sheathe his sword, and to disband his followers.

"This deputation was accordingly appointed, and sent in quest of Carrera, whom they found at a place called Mataquescuintla. The conference took place in the open air, and a Doctor Castilla, an ecclesiastic, one of the deputies, addressing the rebel chief, represented to him the enormity of the crime of rebellion, the distress and ruin he was bringing upon his country, and the folly of believing in the iniquitous act ascribed to the Government, of having poisoned the waters; and concluded by a hint, that his submission would not go unrequited. The reply of Carrera was, after disclaiming all views of private interest, that the spirit and practice of the Government was incompatible with religion; that consequently such a government could not be good; and that he was only practising a lesson they had taught him, namely, the right of insurrection. This reasoning was easily refuted by the cloquent Doctor, who, occasionally, also addressed the rebel soldiers who surrounded him. Carrera now began to evince strong symptoms of impatience and uneasiness. He saw that his arguments were all demolished, and that his men were listening to the speaker with attention and complacence, and that there was a possibility of their turning against him and deserting him. He suddenly imposed silence on the Doctor, and, in order to inflame the minds of his people, had recourse to a falsehood, asserting in the most vehement manner, that he himself had been offered by the Aministration, twenty dollars for every Indian he should poison. Thereupon, the deputies, seeing not only the inutility, but the danger, of pursuing their object any farther, gave up the discussion, and withdrew.


A few days after, Carrera, with three or four thousand Indians at his back, appeared before Guateinala, and as no effectual resistance could be opposed to him, he entered, and took possession of the city. The alarm and confusion of the inhabitants, may easily be imagined. The scenes that followed were such as were to be expected in a city abandoned to the rapacity and cruelty of a barbarous horde. Houses were broken open and plundered; the worst of outrages were committed on private families; a number of persons were shot down in the streets, and the Vice-President, Salaza, was killed in his own house. It is due to Carrera to say, that these excesses were not committed by his directions, and that perhaps it was not in his power to prevent them. As soon as an opportunity was afforded, some of the authorities came to a parley with Carrera, and prayed him to state the terms on which he would evacuate the city. The demands of the rebel chief were, 'all the money and all the arms that the government could command. He was, however, finally satisfied with eleven thousand dollars, a certain number of muskets, and-strange as it must seem―the rank of Lieutenant-General, which was

offered to, and accepted by, him. The latter concession seems to have been the most gratifying to this modern Massaniello, who, in his impatience to display his newly acquired honors, appropriated to himself, and put on, a uniform belonging to a General Prem. In compliance with the agreement made, he now collected his forces, and with a good sum of money, and all his men well armed, withdrew from the city.

But from that day the star of Carrera ceased to shine with its usual brightness. Having attacked the town of Amatitan, with a body of four hundred men, he was repulsed with much loss by a company of sixty Federal soldiers. He was equally unsuccessful in another attack upon another town, called Salama, where he lost several men, and was obliged to retreat in disorder. As the season advanced, he saw his ranks becoming daily more thin by the desertion of his followers, who left him in order to attend to the collection of their little corn crops, on which the subsistence of their families depended. In this state of things, a conspiracy was formed against him by one of his associates, called Monreal. This man and a few others who had joined in the enterprise, suddenly fell upon Carrera at a moment when he was alone, secured his person, conducted him to a solitary place, and having tied him to a tree, were on the point of shooting him, when the timely arrival of Laureano, Carrera's brother, saved the victim from the doom that threatened him. The tables were now turned upon Monreal, who, before he could effect his escape, was seized, and shot at the foot of the same tree to which he had tied his chief.

"In the mean time, General Morazan, the President, had taken the command of the army in person, and having organized and increased it, made so skilful a disposition of his troops, that which ever way the insurgents turned, they were met by an opposing force. Carrera now was fain to betake himself to the mountains, from which he descended occasionally, to scour the country and procure the means of subsistence. In these excursions his force was divided into small parties of from twenty to fifty men. His practice was to abstain from touching the persons or properties of the Indians, or of the poorer class of the whites, and to respect the curates. But the haciendas of the rich were attacked and plundered, the wealthy in small defenceless towns were subjected to heavy contributions; foreigners falling into their hands were cut off without mercy, and the unwary traveller was stopped on the road and stripped of every thing.

"Such was still the posture of affairs at the time of my departure from the country. It is probable, however, that while this is being written, the active measures of General Morazan for putting down the insurrection have been successful, and that the career of the rebel hero has been brought to a close."

Our limits do not admit of a more extended notice of, or more copious extracts from, this volume; we have, however, given enough, we trust, to tempt the reader to look for the work itself, which we confidently recommend to his perusal.

In two volumes. pp. 875. Philadelphia: LEA and Blanchard.

DESIGNING, hereafter, to present an able article, from the competent pen of a friend in the service, upon the progress and condition of the United States' Navy, of which these volumes will form the basis, we shall refrain, at present, from adverting to the work, farther than to say, that the natural y high expectations which have been excited, in relation to its records, in the hands of Mr. COOPER, will in no respect be disappointed. The history is complete, from the earliest to the latest accessible dates, and embraces, with sufficient of agreeable detail, all those prominent points and incidents, seized and grouped with signal taste and judgment, which are always so attractive to the general reader. Our author's familiarity with, and love of, his theme, with his acknowledged powers of sea-sketching, have contributed to the excellence of the work, which will go far toward the redemption of a literary fame, wofully lessened of late, by productions unworthy of the author's pen. We join in the just complaints of the public, against the absence of a table of contents, or index. It will be a work of frequent reference, and should be arranged with an eye to the convenience of the reader.

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Notes, Original and Selected. In seven volumes.

With a Life of the Poet, and

We have received more than one intimation, that the remarks which we recently made, in relation to the superiority in externals, which characterize the better works of the Boston press, should be taken cum grano salis; and that Philadelphia and New-York, to say nothing of other cities, and towns, might well be represented, in a contest for the palm of typographical excellence. But we abide by our position; and triumphantly adduce this edition of SHAKSPEARE, as undeniable proof that our ground is wholly impregnable. Whether we regard the solidity and whiteness of the paper, the sloe-black ink, the beauty of arrangement, and the clearness and evenness of the impression, the work in question may be pronounced the most beautiful specimen of the 'art preservative of all arts' ever submitted to the American public, and as fully equalling the finest productions of the London press. As Americans, we should be proud to exhibit these volumes abroad. The publishers have taken care, also, that the internal should accord with the external propriety. The text of the great dramatist is given with the utmost possible accuracy; a careful examination, to this end, having been made, of all the best editions, ancient and modern. Doubtful or obscure passages are illustrated by notes, as brief as practicable, and yet comprehending all that was necessary for elucidation. In short, the whole is, by far, and in all respects, the most perfect edition of SHAKSPEARE, that ever came under our observation; and as such, we cordially commend it to the public favor. It is embellished with a superb engraving of 'the Immortal,' from the celebrated picture, in the possession of His Grace the Duke of Buckingham, at Stowe, England.

CHEVELEY, OR The Man of HonoR. BY LADY BULWER. In two volumes, 12mo. pp. 525. New-York: HARPER AND BROTHERS.

It has been generally known, heretofore, in this country, that after a 'cat-and-dogical' kind of life, for several years, the author of Pelham and his better half had taken refuge in separate lodgings, and 'refused to treat.' Hence, when it was announced that Lady BULWER had a novel in press, giving an exposé of the whole domestic squabble, from its incipency to the final catastrophe, every novel-reader was on the qui vive to peruse the humiliating record, so soon as it should escape from the hands of the binder. The book has been published, and is now extant throughout the Union; and as it will probably begin to be laid aside for ever, by the time these pages will have reached our readers, we shall confice our notice of the work to very brief limits.

One thing is certain; if Sir EDWARD LYTTON BULWER be the husband and father here depicted, he deserves a far abler pen, and more caustic satire, than his sometime companion can lay claim to; but, as in the Yankee character of 'Mr. Snobguess,' which claims to be equally faithfully drawn, there is not the slightest particle of vraisemblance, we are bound to think that the book is a collection of gross caricatures; the convenient vehicle of a disappointed and revengeful spirit. As a novel, it strikes us as sui generis, unless we place it in the class of 'Home-as-Found,' which was, like 'Cheveley,' a medium for the visitation of private retribution, for real or fancied wrongs. Such a work must always be plotless and desultory, since the object is, not to entertain, but to be satirical, and 'excruciatingly severe.' There are two or three scenes, and several passages, in these volumes, which conVOL. XIII. 70

vince us that the author is capable of writing a far better book; but until she does, we shall yield but little space to a display of her literary pretensions. That LADY BULWER has had domestic wrongs, we do not doubt. The error was evidently not all on one side; yet we think we can see, that many of her grounds of complaint are the natural results of her own conduct, and were not altogether unprovoked. In short, we believe the fair lady loved her dogs better than she did her husband, after the second year of their marriage. We need not commend the work to the public, for its curiosity has already demanded two editions, and its maw is still capacious.


FOR reasons elsewhere stated, we are unable to attempt an adequate or even a general review of this latest work of Miss MARTINEAU. We can only say, that in this, more than in any other volumes she has ever put forth, does she show that she knows how to observe,' and how to feel. To a good degree of that progressive interest, in incident and development of character, which should distinguish a successful work of fiction, 'Deerbrook' unites some most quiet, truthful pictures of human passions and affections. In portions of the work the style is faultless, the thoughts noble, and beautiful exceedingly. As evidence of this, we ask the reader to take the following episodical passage home to the heart:

"There needs no other proof that happiness is the most wholesome moral atmosphere, and that in which the immortality of man is destined ultimately to thrive, than the elevation of soul, the religious aspiration, which attends the first assurance, the first sober certainty, of true love. There is much of this religious aspiration amidst all warmth of virtuous affections. There is a vivid love of God in the child that lays its cheek against the cheek of its mother, and clasps its arms about her neck. God is thanked (perhaps unconsciously) for the brightness of his earth, on summer evenings, when a brother and sister, who have long been parted, pour out their heart-stores to each other, and feel their course of thought brightening as it runs. When the aged parent hears of the honors his children have won, or looks round upon their innocent faces as the glory of his decline, his mind reverts to Him who in them prescribed the purpose of his life, and bestowed its grace. But, religious as is the mood of every good affection, none is so devotional as that of love, especially so called. The soul is then the very temple of adoration, of faith, of holy purity, of heroism, of charity. At such a moment the human creature shoots up into the angel: there is nothing on earth too defiled for its charity-nothing in hell too appalling for its heroism - nothing in heaven too glorious for its sympathy. Strengthened, sustained, vivified by that most mysterious power, union with another spirit, it feels itself set well forth on the way of victory over evil, sent out conquering and to conquer. There is no other such crisis in human life. The philosopher may experience uncontrollable agitation in verifying his principle of balancing systems of worlds, feeling, perhaps, as if he actually saw the creative hand in the act of sending the planets forth on their everlasting way; but this philosopher, solitary seraph as he may be regarded amidst a myriad of men, knows at such a moment no emotions so divine as those of the spirit becoming conscious that it is beloved - be it the peasant girl in the meadow, or the daughter of the sage, reposing in her father's confidence, or the artisan beside his loom, or the man of letters musing by his fire-side. The warrior, about to strike the decisive blow for the liberties of a nation, however impressed with the solemnity of the hour, is not in a state of such lofty resolution as those who, by jining hearts, are laying their joint hands on the whole wide realm of futurity for their own. The statesman who, in the moment of success, feels that an entire class of social sins and woes is annihilated by his hand, is not conscious of so holy and so intimate a thankfulness as they who are aware that their redemption is come in the presence of a new and sovereign affection. And these are many-they are in all corners of every land. The statesman is the leader of a nation- the warrror is the grace of an age the philosopher is the birth of a thousand years; but the lover-where is he not? Wherever parents look round upon their children, there he has been-wherever children are at play together, there he will soon be- wherever there are roofs under which men dwell, wherever there is an atmosphere vibrating with human voices, there is the lover,

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