The situation of Dr. Robertson may suggest to
us an obvious, though incompetent, motive in the present instance.
Writing for his contemporaries and countrymen, he could not treat the
resistance of America, as the respectable struggle of an emerging
nation. Writing for posterity, he could not denominate treason and
rebellion, that which success, at least, had stamped with the signatures
of gallantry and applause. But such could not have been the motives of
the writer in that part of the history of America, which was given to
the world some years ago. Perhaps Dr. Robertson was willing to try, how
far his abilities could render the most naked story agreeable and
interesting. We will allow him to have succeeded. But we could well have
spared the experiment.
The style of this performance is sweet and eloquent. We hope however
that we shall not expose ourselves to the charge of fastidiousness, when
we complain that it is rather too uniformly so. The narrative is indeed
occasionally enlivened, and the language picturesque. But in general we
search in vain for some roughness to relieve the eye, and some sharpness
to provoke the palate. One full and sweeping period succeeds another,
and though pleased and gratified at first, the attention gradually
becomes languid.
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