valley of the Gennesee, he found the ravages which the white men had made in the forest so great, that he sat down and wept. We have said that Red Jacket was intemperate; and the vice grew on him as he grew older. When a council was to be held, however, he abstained from indulgence until the deliberations were past, but then his excesses were often frightful. An anecdote is related by Colonel Stone, which shows the old chiefs propensity in rather a ludicrous light. Colonel Snelling was a great favorite with him. When that officer was given the command of Governor’s Island, Red Jacket bade him farewell in the following words: “Brother:—I hear you are going to a place called Governor’s Island. I hope you will be a governor yourself. I understand that you white people think children a blessing. I hope you may have a thousand. _And above all, I hope, wherever you go, you may never find whiskey above two shillings a quart._” Red Jacket died in 1830, and with him perished the glory of the once powerful Six Nations. Their subsequent history is well known. Their last rood of land in New York has now passed into the hands of the white man; the places which knew them shall know them no more, and in a few years the Iroquois will be numbered with the dead. The short sketches of the lives of Cornplanter, Farmer’s Brother, and Harry O’Bail, in the conclusion of the work, are unusually interesting. The volume is printed well, on paper of the finest quality, but disfigured, here and there, with typographical mistakes. ----- [5] Alleghany. * * * * * _The Ancient Régime: A Novel. By_ G. P. R. James, Esq. _2 vols. Harper and Brothers._ “Stale, flat, and unprofitable” are the novels of Mr. James, and of all his novels the Ancient Régime is the most flat. We have just flung down the book, wondering how any man could, “_sanâ mente_,” in a sane mind, publish two volumes so very common-place. Yet Mr. James has done it, once and again, and yet again, and—God help us—seems determined to do it, so long as he can find a publisher. We do not say that the novels of James are unreadable, paradoxical as it may seem, after what we have written. They are, on the contrary, pleasant, often instructive. In some respects they are even well written: if they were not so written, we should pass them in silence; but when a man of talent persists in writing such common-place affairs as Corse de Leon and the Ancient Régime, we feel bound to caution the public against reading them.