him, received a wound on the hand from one of his own men, the only wound received by a Spaniard in the action.

"The struggle now became fiercer than ever round the royal litter. It reeled more and more, and at length, several of the nobles who supported it having been slain, it was overturned, and the Indian prince would have come with violence to the ground, had not his fall been broken by the efforts of Pizarro and some other of the cavaliers, who caught him in their arms. The imperial borla was instantly snatched from his temples by a soldier named Estete, and the unhappy monarch, strongly secured, was removed to a neighbouring building, where he was carefully guarded.

"All attempt at resistance now ceased. The fate of the Inca soon spread over town and country. The charm which might have held the Peruvians together was dissolved. Every man thought only of his own safety. Even the soldiery encamped on the adjacent fields took the alarm, and, learning the fatal tidings, were seen flying in every direction before their pursuers, who in the heat of triumph showed no touch of mercy. At length, night, more pitiful than man, threw her friendly mantle over the fugi tives, and the scattered troops of Pizarro rallied once more at the sound of the trumpet in the bloody square of Caxamalca." Vol. 1., pp. 418–423.

Here, in fact, ends the story of the conquest of Peru. The hapless Inca was retained in confinement till his faithful subjects had placed in the hands of the Spaniards an immense treasure for his ransom, and then, in spite of the most solemn engagements, was remorselessly put to death. The spirit of the people was crushed, or rather the idea of resistance was not developed among them; the power which had suddenly established itself in the midst of their land, had imprisoned their heaven-descended sovereign, held him to ransom, and finally butchered him without cause, seemed too awful to contend with; perhaps opposition would be impiety. Certain it is that the Spaniards made themselves masters of Cuzco, and subjected all Peru to their sway, with but a single skirmish of any importance; and that was with a brave old chieftain, whom, as a punishment for his rebellion, Pizarro caused to be burned to death. Some time afterward, the outrages of which the conquerors were guilty stung the natives into revolt; for a few months they held the capital in siege, killed Juan Pizarro with many of his comrades in fair fight, and but for the seasonable return of Almagro

with his force from Chili, the dominion of the Incas might again, though probably but for a short time, have been acknowledged throughout Peru. As it was, the coming of these veterans from the south turned the scale which till then had hung with an even beam; and the terrible punishment which they inflicted on the revolters riveted the chains upon this unhappy people for ever. They sought refuge in the mountains and the desert, or became serfs to their conquerors; and never was servitude more oppressive or more hopeless.

Mr. Prescott's second volume, quite equal in interest to his first, is nearly all occupied with a history of the wars of the Spaniards with each other, and of their several expeditions, most of them disastrous, for the exploration and conquest of the countries around Peru. The work ends with an account of the pacification of the country under the excellent President Gasca, after the Pizarros, the two Almagros, and many of their original comrades, were at rest in a prison or a bloody grave. The fate of the innocent Peruvians could not be averted, but it is some consolation to think that the chief authors of their woes and wrongs did not escape what seems the immediate judgment of Heaven any more than the future execration of mankind.

We do not anticipate for this work a popularity quite so extensive as that of the author's two former publications, though it would have made the fortune of a less distinguished historian. The subject is a somewhat inferior one in unity and importance, and had lost in part its freshness through the brilliant treatment of the very similar topic, the conquest of Mexico. The matter is better suited for a gorgeous episode in a larger history, than for a history by itself; and a little management has perhaps been used to add to its dignity, to make the characters seem more august and the incidents more momentous. There is a witchery in Mr. Prescott's style that enables him to give what impressions he likes, and which indisposes the reader to go beneath the surface of the splendid narrative or vivid description. We might refer to a passage already cited, the account of the seizure of Atahuallpa, as a specimen of a rather exaggerated tone of writing, which describes with all the pomp and circumstance of glorious war an incident that might be spoken of more simply, by one inclined to depreciate its importance, as the mere kidnapping

of an Indian chief, and the butchery of his unarmed attendants, by a handful of bloodthirsty Spaniards, the act being accomplished by them without risk or the loss of a man. But the fault here is in the subject, and it only leads us to wonder more at the skill in the disposition of materials, and the command of style, which enable the historian to gloze over or cover up the defect. The incident in question was weighty enough in its consequences, as it was the turningpoint of Pizarro's enterprise, and it therefore justified minute and elaborate treatment. Considered simply as a narrative of wild adventure and romantic achievement, this work is quite as attractive as its predecessors. We are hurried on with almost breathless interest from one scene or event to another, never impeded by confusion in the story or obscurity of style, seldom stopping to reflect or moralize, and finding so pleasant a variety of objects on the road, that the end of it comes unlooked for and unwelcome.

It is pleasant to hear that the book has had as hearty a reception in Europe as in this country. Translations of it, we learn, are already in progress into French, Spanish, and German, and a very large edition has found a rapid sale in England. Various learned societies, the doors of which have seldom or never been opened to an American, have added Mr. Prescott's name to their list of members; and in the case of the Royal Society of Literature, the compliment was enhanced by its coming to him through the hands of its distinguished president, Mr. Hallam. Lord Mahon was the organ of the Royal Society of Antiquaries for a similar purpose. We allude to these things more for their national than their personal interest; they show in what estimation American literature is coming to be held in Europe, and that the depreciating, if not sneering, tone in which it was spoken of not more than fifteen or twenty years ago is now considered unfair and in bad taste. No man living has contributed more to this change of opinion than Mr. Prescott; and we trust that his future labors will be equally effective for the growth of his own fame and his country's glory.

ART. VI.-1. Reminiscences of Samuel Taylor Coleridge and Robert Southey. By JOSEPH COTTLE. New York: Wiley & Putnam. 1847. pp. 378. 2. Biographia Literaria, or Biographical Sketches of my Literary Life and Opinions. By S. T. COLERIDGE. Second Edition, prepared in part by the late H. N. COLERIDGE, completed and published by his Widow. London William Pickering. 1847. 2 vols. 12mo.

Two

THIRTEEN years have passed since the death of Coleridge, and his biography is still unwritten. The accounts of his character and life that have appeared have been fragmentary and unsatisfactory, leaving much to conjecture, and letting the curtain fall just where the spectator had become the most deeply interested. Still, from a comparison of these many partial accounts, and from his own letters and those of his friends, particularly of Southey and Lamb, which have been published within the last few years, one may gain a somewhat connected view of the life of this remarkable man. important contributions to this object have appeared within a few months; one, a rifacimento of a former work, coming from Coleridge's oldest surviving friend, who has gone back for fifty years, and brought together many reminiscences such as no one but himself could have supplied. The other comes from Coleridge's only daughter, connected with a new edition of his Biographia Literaria, in the shape of a Biographical Supplement to that work. It is invested with a peculiarly melancholy interest; having been commenced by Mr. Henry Nelson Coleridge, and its completion being prevented by his death, it is now published incomplete by his widow.

But these works still leave much to be desired. A character so remarkable as that of Mr. Coleridge deserves and demands some permanent record; a record which should at once be faithful in its delineation of those heights to which it rose almost "above a mortal pitch," and of those depths to which it sunk so low that one shudders to look down. But this would require no common hand; and as yet none of those who have written of Coleridge have given proof that they possessed the needed power. Foster, in speaking of the life that was promised and partially executed by Gillman, says, "How I despise biography, as it is commonly

managed!" Had he been speaking of all the notices, with but few exceptions, that have appeared concerning Coleridge, he might have made much the same remark.

The old maxim, Nil de mortuis nisi bonum, seems to have been so much regarded as to cause the neglect of that more generous one, Nil de mortuis nisi verum. If a man's biography is worth writing at all, it is worth writing honestly. Coleridge in his Friend, says," It is, no doubt, the duty of an honest biographer to portray the prominent imperfections as well as excellences of his hero." A fame founded upon false grounds is not worth having. The highest interest and the only value which biography can possess must consist in its truth. The lights and the shades should be set off one against another, the springs of action should be shown; and when the whole has been told, the judgment may well be left to others, with an assured belief that time will bring about a righteous verdict. We would not be understood here as recommending that minute scrutiny of a man's life which would bring to light those details which can only gratify a malicious spirit or a childish curiosity. We consider nothing as more undesirable than this. What we would urge is, that there should be no concealment of that which is of real importance in forming a true estimate of the character; that there should not be

"A flattering, false insculption on the tomb,"

to belie the past and to deceive the future, but that the biographer should think of the dead, who have gone where deceit is vain, as saying to him, "Speak of me as I was."

From the causes to which we have alluded, we have found it somewhat difficult to gain a satisfactory view of Mr. Coleridge's character; and it has only been from a comparison of the different publications concerning him with each other and with his own writings that we have been enabled to arrive at any satisfactory conclusion.

Samuel Taylor Coleridge was born on the 21st of October, 1772, at Ottery, St. Mary, Devonshire. He was the youngest of ten children, and as his father, the vicar of the parish of Ottery and master of the grammar school, had but a small salary, the means of the family were, of course, much straitened. Of his mother but little has been handed down. We should judge that she was a devoted mother and wife; but