We have found the great majority of them exceedingly exhilarating reading, and, if our limits admitted an extended examination, we feelsure that the result of the analysis would be the eliciting ofunexpected merits rather than the detection of hidden defects.
* * * * *
_Say and Seal_. By the Author of “Wide, Wide World,” and the Authorof “Dollars and Cents.” In Two Volumes. Philadelphia: J.B. Lippincott& Co.
Another story from “Elizabeth Wetherell” is a welcome addition to ourscanty stock of American, novels. Our real American novels may becounted on our fingers, while the tales that claim the name may beweighed by the ton. At the present time, we count Hawthorne among ournovelists, and Mrs. Stowe, and perhaps Curtis, since his “Trumps”;but as for our thousand and one unrivalled authors, “whose matchlessknowledge of the human heart and wonderful powers of delineationplace them far above Dickens or Thackeray,” they are all, fromSylvanus Cobb, Junior, down to Ned Buntline and Gilmore Simms,beneath serious notice, and may be left to the easy verdict of thereaders of the cheap magazines and illustrated newspapers, in whosecolumns they have gained a world-wide obscurity. Miss Warner’s bookshave always a genuine flavor of originality, and an acute, livingappreciation of Yankee character, that give them a right to rank,unchallenged, as real and valuable novels. In their simplicity, theirfreshness, their quiet humor and not less quiet fun, their frequentnarrowness and stiffness, and their deep and true religioussentiment, they have the real essence of the New England character.
In every novel there are three principal elements,–the Hero, theHeroine, the Villain,–all three gracefully blending, in the Plot. Wecannot especially congratulate our authors upon their Hero. In afavorite farce, the slightly bewildered Mr. Lullaby observesmusingly, “Brown? Brown? That name sounds familiar! I must have heardthat name before! I’ll swear I’ve heard that name before!” We have adim consciousness of having met “Mr. Linden” before, albeit under adifferent name. A certain Mr. Humphreys, whom we remember of old,strongly resembles him: so does one Mr. Guy Carleton. We were verywell pleased with our old friend Humphreys, (or Carleton,) and wouldby no means hint at any reluctance to meet him again; but a newnovel, by its very announcement, implies a new hero,–and if we comeupon a plain family-party, when fondly hoping for an introduction tosome distinguished stranger, we may be excused for thinking ourselveshardly treated. Is it so infallible a sign of superiority, moreover,to speak constantly in riddles? This Sphinx-like style is eminentlycharacteristic of Mr. Linden. Then again, our authors have been tooambitious. They laboriously assert Mr. Linden to be a marvel oflearning,–a man of vast and curious literary attainments: but allthat their hero does to maintain this reputation and vindicate theiropinion is to quote trite passages of poetry, which are all verywell, but which every gentleman of ordinary cultivation is expectedto know, and which no gentleman of ordinary cultivation is expectedto quote,–things that are remembered only to be avoided as utterlythreadbare. One unfortunate instance may be found at the beginning ofthe second volume. Mr. Linden’s acquirements are to receive peculiarlustre from a triumph over no ordinary competitor,–over theintelligent and well-read Doctor Harrison. Naturally, we expectsomething recondite, and are by no means satisfied with the trite
“Cupid and my Campaspe playedAt cards for kisses,” etc.
Mr. Linden might as well have astonished the company by such atranscendent proof of erudition as
“All the world’s a stage,And all the men and women,” etc.
Or, passing “from grave to gay, from lively to severe,” (for noveltyin quotations we find to be contagious,) have recounted the wildlyerratic history “of that false matron known in nursery rhyme,Insidious Morey,” or quoted
“How doth the little busy bee.”
After which he might have soared into unapproachable heights ofsurpassing literary erudition, by informing his awe-struck hearersthat the latter poem was written by Doctor Watts! The fact is, anyattempt to give the novelist’s characters a learning which thenovelist does not possess is always hazardous.
The Heroine, Miss Faith Derrick, is a pretty, but not remarkablyoriginal creation, who taxes our magnanimity sorely at times by herblind admiration of her lover when he is peculiarly absurd, but whosedumb rejection of Doctor Harrison, though a trifle theatrical, isreally charming. Faith is better than Linden: Linden is _”superbe,magnifique”_; but Faith is “pretty good.”
But the conception of the Villain is very fine. In Doctor Harrison wehail a new development of that indispensable character. Of course,the gentlemanly, good-humored Doctor is not to be considered avillain in the ordinary acceptation of the word; he is only atechnical villain,–a villain of eminent respectability. It is almostunnecessary to add, that he is immeasurably more attractive than thereal hero, Mr. Linden.
We regret to say that the conception is not carried out so well as itdeserves to be. Doctor Harrison descends to some low business, quiteunworthy of him, such as tampering with the mails. This is not onlymortifying, but entirely unnecessary; inasmuch as Doctor Harrison hasa subordinate villain to do all the low villany, in the person ofSquire Deacon, who shoots at Mr. Linden from behind a hedge (!), andis never called to account therefor,–a strange remissness on thepart of everybody, which seems to have no recommendation except thatit leaves him free to do this very work of robbing the mails, andwhich, by his failure to do it, is left utterly unexplained andprofoundly mysterious. All this is very bad. The Doctor’s meanness isutterly inconsistent; and the bare thought of a sober and uncommonlyawkward Yankee, like Squire Deacon, deliberately making _two_separate attempts at assassination, is unspeakably ludicrous.Moreover, we are hopelessly unable to see the need of having theunfortunate Mr. Linden shot at all. Everything was going on very wellbefore, as nearly as we could see, and nothing appears to come of it,after all,–not even the condign punishment of the incongruous andnever-to-be-sufficiently-marvelled-at assassin, who is suspected byseveral people, and yet remains as unharmed as if murder on thehighway were altogether too common an occurrence in New England toexcite more than a moment’s thought.
This leads us to speak of the Plot; and we are constrained to saythat a more inartistic, unfinished piece of work we cannot remember.There is a lamentable waste of capital on Squire Deacon’ssportsmanlike propensities. Why not have something come of them? Weare not anxious to have the man hanged, or even indicted; but we didexpect a magnanimous pardon to be extended to him by Mr. Linden; andalthough that gentleman was altogether too magnanimous before, weshould have acquiesced mildly. And what becomes of Mrs. Derrick?There we are in earnest; for Mrs. Derrick is an especial favoritewith us. It seems as if our authors had become bewildered, and,finding themselves fairly at a loss what to do with their characters,who drift helplessly along through a great part of the second volume,had seized desperately on the hero and heroine, determined to savethem at least, and, having borne them to a place of refuge, hadconcluded to let the others look after themselves.
What redeems the novel, and gives it its peculiar and exquisitecharm, is the execution of certain detached passages. We have neverseen the drollery of a genuine Yankee to more advantage than in “Sayand Seal.” An occasional specimen we venture to quote.
On Mr. Linden’s first appearance at Mrs. Derrick’s house, where he isknown only as the new teacher, nobody knows and nobody dares ask hisname; and recourse is accordingly had to the diplomacy of the “help.”
“‘Child,’ said Mrs. Derrick, ‘what on earth is his name?’
“‘Mother, how should I know? I didn’t ask him.’
“‘But the thing is,’ said Mrs. Derrick, ‘I _did_ know; the Committeetold me all about him. And of course he thinks I know,–and Idon’t,–no more than I do my great-grandmother’s name, which I neverdid remember yet.’
“‘Mother, shall I go and ask him, or wait till after supper?’
“‘Oh, you sha’n’t go,’ said her mother. ‘Wait till after supper, andwe’ll send Cindy. He won’t care about his name till he gets his tea,I’ll warrant… Faith, don’t you think he liked his supper?’
“‘I should think he would, after having no dinner,’ said Faith.
“‘There’s Cindy, this minute! Run and tell her to go right away, andfind out what his name is,–tell her _I_ want to know,–you can putit in good words.’
“Cindy presently came back, and handed a card to Faith.
“‘It’s easy done,’ said Cindy. ‘I jest asked him if he’d anyobjections towards tellin’ his name,–and he kinder opened his eyesat me, and said, “No.” Then I said, says I, “Mis’ Derrick do’ know,and she’d like ter.” “Miss Derrick!” says he, and he took out hispencil and writ that. But I’d like ter know _what_ he cleans hispencil with,’ said Cindy, in conclusion, for I’m free to confess _I_never see brass shine so in my born days.'”
Cindy’s “free confessions” are an important feature of the book.
In Chapter VI, Squire Deacon and his sister hold a brief Yankeedialogue, of which this is a sample:–
“‘Sam! what are you bothering yourself about Mr. Linden for?’
“‘How long since you was made a trustee?’ said the Squire, beginninghis sentence with an untranslatable sort of grunt, and ending it inhis teacup.
“‘I’ve been _your_ trustee ever since you was up to anything,’ saidhis sister. ‘Come, Sam,–don’t you begin now! What’s made you socrusty?’
“‘It a’n’t the worst thing to be crusty,’ said the Squire. ‘Shows aman’s more’n half baked, anyhow.’
“‘Well, what has he done?’
“‘Sure enough!’ said the Squire, ‘what _has_ he done? That’s justwhat I can’t find out.’
“‘What do you want to find out for? What ails him?’
“‘Suppose he hasn’t done nothin’. Is that the sort o’ man to teachlitteratur in Pattaquasset?’
“‘Now, Sam Deacon, what do you expect to do by all this fuss you’remaking?’ said his sister, judicially.
“‘What’s the use of cross-examining a man at that rate? When I doanything, you’ll know it.'”
The characters are all invested with reality by skilfully introducedanecdotes, or by personal traits carelessly and happily sketched. Butit is a costly expedient to give this reality, when our authors bringin pet names, and other “love-lispings,” which are sacred in privacyand painfully ridiculous when exposed to the curious light. Many ofus readers find all this mawkish and silly, and others of us arepained that to such scrutiny should be exposed the dearest secrets ofaffection, and are not anxious to have them exposed to our own gaze.It is too trying a confidence, too high an honor, to be otherwisethan unwelcome. With this criticism we close our notice of “Say andSeal,” in which we have been sparing neither of praise nor blame,earnestly thanking the authors for a book that is worth finding faultwith.
* * * * *
_How Could He Help It? or, The Heart Triumphant_. By A.S. ROE. NewYork: Derby & Jackson.
A fair representative of a class of books that are always pleasantreading, although written without taste, cultivation, ororiginality,–because they are obviously dictated by a kind heart andgenuine earnestness. In this volume the numerous heroes (so similarin every respect that one might fancy them to be only one heromysteriously multiplied, like Kehama) and the fair heroines (exactlyequalling the heroes in number, we are happy to assure thetenderhearted reader) are not in the least interesting, except forsheer goodness of heart. This unaided moral excellence, however,fairly redeems the book, and so far softens even our criticalasperity that we venture only to suggest,–first, that the utterlyunprecedented _patois_ of Mrs. Kelly is not Irish, for which acareful examination of the context leads us to think it wasintended,–secondly, that “if he had have done it” is equallyguiltless of being English,–thirdly, that, if our author, desiring todescribe the feelings of a lover holding his mistress’s hand, wasinspired by Tennyson’s phrase of “dear wonder,” he failed, in ouropinion, to improve on his original, when he substituted “the fleshytreasure in his grasp.”
* * * * *
_The New Tariff-Bill_. Washington. 1860.
We do not propose to submit the English of this new literary effortof the House of Representatives at Washington to a criticalexamination, (though it strikingly reminds us of some of the poems ofMr. Whitman, and is a very fair piece of descriptive verse in the_b’hoy_-anergic style,) or to attempt any argument on the vexedquestion of Protection. But there is a section of the proposed actwhich has a direct interest not only for all scholars, but for thatlarge and constantly increasing class whose thirst for what may becalled voluminous knowledge prompts them to buy all thoseshelf-ornamenting works without which no gentleman’s library can beconsidered complete. Though in the matter of book-buying thecharacters of gentleman and scholar, so seldom united, aredistinguished from each other with remarkable precision,–the desireof the former being to cover the walls of what he superstitiouslycalls his “study,” and that of the latter to line his head, while theresultant wisdom is measured respectively by volume and by mass,–yetit is equally important to both that the literary furniture of theone and the intellectual tools of the other should be cheap.
The “Providence Journal” deserves the thanks of all students forhaving called attention to the fact, that, under the proposed tariff,the duties will be materially increased on two classes of foreignbooks: the cheap ones, like “Bohn’s Library,”–and the bulky, butoften indispensable ones, such as the “Encyclopaedia Britannica.” Thenew bill, in short, proposes to substitute for the old duty of eight_per cent. ad valorem_ a new one of fifteen cents the pound weight.Could we suspect a Committee of Members of Congress of a jokeappreciable by mere members of the human family, could we supposethem in a thoughtless moment to have carried into legislation amildened modicum of that metaphorical language which forms the stapleof debate, we should make no remonstrance. We recognize the severejustice of an ideal avoirdupois in literary criticism. We rememberthe unconscious sarcasm of the Atlantic Telegraph, as it sankheart-broken under the strain of conveying the answer of the Heavy Fatherof our political stage to the graceful “good-morning” of Victoria.The enthusiastic member of the Academy of Lagado, who had spent eightyears in a vain attempt to extract sunbeams from cucumbers, mighthave found profitable employment in smelting the lead even from lightliterature, not to speak of richer deposits. Under an act thusdubiously worded, and in a country which makes Bancroft a collectorof the customs and Hawthorne a weigher and gauger, the works of anAlison and a Tupper would be put beyond the reach of all but theimmensely rich. The man of moderate means would be deprived of theexhaustless misinformation of the Scottish Baronet, who has socompletely disproved the old charge against his countrymen ofpossessing an _ingenium perfervidum_, (which Dr. Johnson would havetranslated by _brimstone temperament_,) and of the don’t-fail-to-spread-your-umbrella-when-it-rains-or-you’ll-spoil-your-hat wisdom ofthe English Commoner, who seems to have named his chief work in amoment of abnormal inspiration, since it has become proverbial as theseverest test of human philosophy.
But we cannot suspect the Congressional Committee of a joke, stillless of a joke at the expense of those anglers in the literarycurrent whose tackle, however bare of bait, never fails of a sinkerat the end of every line. They have been taught to look upon books asin no wise differing from cotton and tobacco, and rate themaccordingly by a merely material standard. It has been the dealers inbooks, and not the makers of them, who have hitherto contrived todirect public opinion in this matter. We look upon Public Opinionwith no superstitious reverence,–for Tom’s way of thinking is nonethe wiser because the million other Toms and Dicks and Harries agreewith him,–nevertheless, even a fetish may justly become an object ofrespectful interest to one who is to be sacrificed to it.
However it may be with iron, wool, and manufactured cotton, it isclear that a duty on books is not protective of American literature,but simply a tax on American scholarship and refinement. Theimperfectness of our public libraries compels every student to dependmore or less upon his own private collection of books; and it is afact of some significance, that, with the single exception ofHildreth, all our prominent historians, Sparks, Irving, Bancroft,Prescott, Ticknor, Motley, and Palfrey, have been men of independentfortune. If anything should be free of duty, it should seem to be thematerial of thought.
If Congress be really desirous of doing something for the benefit ofAmerican authors, it would come nearer the mark, if it directed itsattention to the establishment on equitable grounds of some system ofInternational Copyright. A well-considered enactment to this endwould, we are convinced, be quite as advantageous to themanufacturers as to the producers of books. We believe that amajority of the large publishing houses of the country have beengradually convinced of the inconveniences of the present want ofsystem. Many of them have found it profitable to enter into anagreement with popular English authors for the payment of copyright,and works thus reprinted cost the buyer no more than under theprivateering policy. But without some definite establishment of legalrights and remedies, the publisher is at the mercy of a dishonorable,sometimes of a vindictive competition, and must run the risk ofhaving the market flooded within a week with a cheaper and inferioredition, reprinted from the sheets of his own which had beenhonorably paid for. We do not pretend to argue the question ofliterary property, the principle of it being admitted in the factthat we have any copyright-laws at all. Our wish is to show, that, inthe present absence of settled law, the honest publisher is subjectedto risks from the resultant evils of which the whole readingcommunity suffers. The publisher, to protect himself, is forced tomake his reprint as cheaply as possible, and to hurry it through thepress with the disregard of accuracy inseparable from hastypublication,–while the reader is put in possession of a bookdestructive of eyesight, crowded with blunders, and unsightly inappearance. Maps and plates are omitted, or copied so carelessly asto be worse than useless; and whoever needs the book for study orreference must still buy the original edition, made more costlybecause imported in single copies, and because taxed for theprotection of a state of things discreditable in every way, and notonly so, but hostile to the true interests of both publishers andpublic.
We do not claim any protection of American authorship from foreigncompetition, but we cannot but think it unfair that Britishauthorship should be protected (as it now practically is) at the costof our own, and for the benefit of such publishers as are willing toconvey an English book without paying for it. The reprint of asecond-rate work by an English author has not only the advantage of astolen cheapness over a first-rate one on the same subject by anAmerican, but may even be the means of suppressing it altogether. Theintellectual position of an American is so favorable for thetreatment of European history as to overbalance in some instances thedisadvantages arising from want of access to original documents; yetan American author whose work was yet in manuscript could notpossibly compete with an English rival, even of far inferior ability,who had already published. If, within the last few years, a tolerablypopular history of France had been published in England, and cheaplyreprinted here, (as it surely would have been,) we doubt whether Mr.Godwin would have undertaken his laborious and elaborate work,–or,if he had, whether he would have readily found a bookseller boldenough to pay an adequate price for the copyright. And it is to beremembered that an American publisher gives this preference to anEnglish over an American book simply because he can get it fornothing, by defrauding its author of the just reward of his industryor genius. That an author loses his equitable claim to copyright forthe simple reason that by publication he has put himself in our poweris an argument fit to be used only by one who would make use of aprivate letter that had accidentally come into his possession to thedamage of the writer.
The necessity of some kind of equitable arrangement was so stronglyfelt by American publishers that a kind of unwritten law graduallyestablished itself among them. It was tacitly understood, that, whena publisher had paid an English author for advance sheets, no rivalAmerican edition should be published. But it already appears tooplainly that an arrangement with no guaranty but a private sense ofhonor is liable to constant infringement for the gratification ofpersonal enmity, or in the hope of immediate profit. The rewards ofuprightness and honorable dealing are slow in coming, while those ofunscrupulous greed are immediate, even though dirty. Under existingcircumstances, free-trade and fair-play exist only in appearance: forthe extraordinary claim has been set up, that an American booksellerhas an exclusive right to all the future works of an English authorany one of whose former productions he has reprinted, whether with orwithout paying for it; so that, however willing another publisher maybe to give the author a fair price for his book, or however desirousthe latter may be to conclude such a bargain, it is practicallyimpossible, so long as privateering is tolerated in the trade.
We have said nothing of the advantages which would accrue to our ownauthors from a definite settlement of the question of internationalcopyright between England and America. How great these would be isplain from the fact that the editions of American books republishedin England are already numbered by thousands. With the growth of theEnglish Colonies the value to an American author of an Englishcopyright is daily increasing. Indeed, it is a matter ofconsideration for our publishers, whether Canada may not before longretaliate upon them, and by cheaper reprints become as troublesome tothem as Belgium once was to France.
It is not creditable that America should be the last of civilizednations to acknowledge the justice of an author’s claim to a share inthe profits of a commercial value which he has absolutely created.England is more liberal to our authors than we to hers, but it isonly under certain strictly limited contingencies that an Americancan acquire copyright there. Were all our booksellers as scrupulousas the few honorably exceptional ones among them now are, there wouldbe no need of legislative regulation; but, in the present conditionof things, he who undertakes to reprint an English book which he hashonestly paid for is at the mercy of whoever can get credit for poorpaper and worse printing. There is no reason why a distinction shouldbe made between copy-right and patent-right; but, if our legislatorsrefuse to admit any abstract right in the matter, they might at leastgo so far as to conclude an international arrangement by which apublisher in either country who was willing to pay for the right ofpublication should be protected in its exercise. No just objectioncould be made to a plan of this kind, which, if not so honest as ageneral international law of copyright, would be profitable to ourpublishers, and to such of our authors at least as had acquired anyforeign reputation.
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American National Lyrics and Sonnets. By O. Prescott Hiller, Authorof “The Pleasures of Religion, and Other Poems.” Boston. Otis Clapp.16mo. pp. viii., 80.
Hawksview. A Familiar History of our Own Times. By Holme Lee, Authorof “Against Wind and Tide,” etc. New York. W.A. Townsend & Co. 12mo.pp. 330. $1.00.
Forty Years’ Familiar Letters of James W. Alexander, D.D.Constituting, with the Notes, a Memoir of his Life. Edited by hisSurviving Correspondent, John Hall, D.D. In Two Volumes. New York.Charles Scribner. 12mo. pp. viii., 412, 379. $2.50.
A Discourse on the Life, Character, and Genius of Washington Irving,delivered before the New York Historical Society, at the Academy ofMusic in New York, April 3, 1860. By William Cullen Bryant. New York.Putnam. 12mo. pp. 46.
Analytic Orthography; an Investigation of the Sounds of the Voice,and their Alphabetic Notation; including the Mechanism of Speech, andits Bearing upon Etymology. By S.S. Haldeman, A.M., Professor inDelaware College, etc. Philadelphia. Lippincott & Co. 4to. pp. viii.,148.
The Elements of Christian Doctrine, and its Development. FiveSermons, preached before the South Congregational Society, Boston, inJanuary, February, and March, 1860, and printed at its Request. ByEdward E. Hale. Boston. Walker, Wise, & Co. pp. 68.
Mary Bunyan, the Blind Dreamer’s Daughter. A Tale of ReligiousPersecution. By Sallie Rochester Ford, Author of “Grace Truman.” NewYork. Sheldon & Co. 12mo. pp. 488. $1.00.
Unitarianism Defined. The Scripture Doctrine of the Father, Son, andHoly Ghost. A Course of Lectures, by Frederick A. Farley, D.D.,Pastor of the Church of the Saviour, Brooklyn, N.Y. Boston. Walker,Wise, & Co. 12mo. pp. 272.
State-Pride. An Oration, delivered before the Calliopean andPolytechnic Societies of the State Military School, at Charleston. ByWilliam D. Porter. Charleston. Walker, Evans, & Co. 8vo. pp. 23.
Student-Songs. Kenyon College, Gambier, Ohio. Pittsburgh. W.S. Haven.12mo. pp. 50.
Tom Brown at Oxford: a Sequel to School-Days at Rugby. By ThomasHughes, Author of “School-Days at Rugby.” Part VI. Boston. Ticknor &Fields. 16mo. pp. 72. 12 Cts.
The Countess and the Page. A Tale of Florentine Society. By G.W.M.Reynolds. Philadelphia. Peterson & Brothers. 8vo. pp. 190. 50 cts.
Lucile. By Owen Meredith, Author of “The Wanderer,” “Clytemnestra,”etc. Boston. Ticknor & Fields. 32mo. pp. 352. 75 cts.