_The Linwoods; or, "Sixty Years Since" in America. By the Author of
"Hope Leslie," "Redwood," &c. New York: Published by Harper and
Brothers._
Miss Sedgwick is one among the few American writers who have risen by
merely their own intrinsic talents, and without the _a priori_ aid of
foreign opinion and puffery, to any exalted rank in the estimation of
our countrymen. She is at the same time fully deserving of all the
popularity she has attained. By those who are most fastidious in
matters of literary criticism, the author of _Hope Leslie_ is the most
ardently admired, and we are acquainted with few persons of sound and
accurate discrimination who would hesitate in placing her upon a level
with the best of our native novelists. Of American _female_ writers we
must consider her the first. The character of her pen is essentially
feminine. No man could have written _Hope Leslie_; and no man, we are
assured, can arise from the perusal of _The Linwoods_ without a full
conviction that his own abilities would have proved unequal to the
delicate yet picturesque handling; the grace, warmth, and radiance;
the exquisite and judicious filling in, of the volumes which have so
enchanted him. Woman is, after all, the only true painter of that
gentle and beautiful mystery, the heart of woman. She is the only
proper Scheherazade for the fairy tales of love.
We think _The Linwoods_ superior to _Hope Leslie_, and superior to
_Redwood_. It is full of deep natural interest, rivetting attention
without undue or artificial means for attaining that end. It contains
nothing forced, or in any degree exaggerated. Its prevailing features
are equability, ease, perfect accuracy and purity of style, a manner
never at _outrance_ with the subject matter, pathos, and
verisimilitude. It cannot, however, be considered as ranking with the
master novels of the day. It is neither an Eugene Aram, nor a
Contarini Fleming.
_The Linwoods_ has few--indeed no pretensions to a connected plot of
any kind. The scene, as the title indicates, is in America, and about
sixty years ago. The adventures of the family of a Mr. Linwood, a
resident of New York, form the principal subject of the book. The
character of this gentleman is happily drawn, but we are aware of a
slight discrepancy between his initial and his final character as
depicted. He has two children, Herbert and Isabella. Being himself a
tory, the boyish impulses of his son in favor of the revolutionists
are watched with anxiety and vexation; and, upon the breaking out of
the war, Herbert, positively refusing to drink the king's health, is,
in consequence, ejected from his father's house--an incident upon
which hinges much of the interest of the narrative. Isabella is the
heroine proper; a being full of lofty and generous impulses,
beautiful, intellectual, and _spirituelle_--indeed a most fascinating
creature. But the family of a widow Lee forms, perhaps, the true
secret of that charm which pervades the novel before us. A matronly,
pious, and devoted mother, yielding up her son, without a murmur, to
the sacred cause of her country--the son, Eliot, gallant, thoughtful,
chivalrous, and prudent--and above all, a daughter, Bessie,
frail-minded, susceptible of light impressions, gentle, loving, and
melancholy. Indeed, in the creation of Bessie Lee, {58} Miss Sedgwick
has given evidence not to be disputed, of a genius far more than
common. We do not hesitate to call it a truly beautiful and original
conception, evincing imagination of the highest order. It is the old
story of a meek and trusting spirit bowed down to the dust by the
falsehood of a deceiver. But in the narration of Miss Sedgwick it
becomes a magical tale, and bursts upon us with all the freshness of
novel emotion. Deserted by her lover, (Jasper Meredith, an
accomplished and aristocratical coxcomb,) the spirits of the gentle
girl sink gradually from trusting affection to simple hope--from hope
to anxiety--from anxiety to doubt--from doubt to melancholy--and from
melancholy to madness. She escapes from her home and her friends in
New England, and endeavors to make her way alone to New York, with the
object of restoring, to him who has abandoned her, some tokens he had
given her of his love--an act which her disordered fancy assures her
will effect, in her own person, a disenthralment from passion. Her
piety, her madness, and her beauty stand her in the stead of the lion
of Una, and she reaches the great city in safety. In that portion of
the novel which embodies the narrative of this singular journey, are
some passages of the purest and most exalted poetry--passages which no
mind but one thoroughly imbued with the spirit of the beautiful could
have conceived, and which, perhaps, no other writer in this country
than Miss Sedgwick could have executed. Our readers will find that
what we say upon this head is very far from exaggeration.
Jasper Meredith, considered as an actual entity, is, as we have
already said, a heartless, calculating coxcomb--with merely a spice of
what we may call susceptibility to impressions of the beautiful, to
redeem him from utter contempt. As a character in a novel, he is
admirable--because he is accurately true to nature, and to himself.
His perfidy to Bessie (we shall never forget Bessie) meets with
poetical justice in a couple of unsuccessful courtships, (in each of
which the villain's heart is in some degree concerned,) and in a final
marriage with a flirt, Helen Ruthven, who fills him up, with a
vengeance, the full measure of his deserts. Mrs. Meredith is a
striking picture of the heartless and selfish woman of fashion and
aristocracy. Kisel, the servant of Eliot Lee, is original, and, next
to Bessie, the best conception in the book. He is a simple, childish,
yet acute and affectionate fool, who follows his master as would a
dog, and finally dies at his feet under circumstances of the truest
pathos. While Miss Sedgwick can originate such characters as these,
she need apprehend few rivals near the throne.
We cannot pass over in silence a little episode in which a blind child
is torn away at night from a distracted mother, by one of the
notorious bands of _Skinners_ infesting the country. The mother's
house is set on fire by the robbers, in their search after plunder;
but her most valuable property having been previously removed to New
York, the exasperated ruffians seize and bear off the fainting child,
with the view of extorting money for its ransom. Eliot Lee, aided by
General Putnam, rescues the child, and restores it to the mother. This
whole incident is worthy of Miss Sedgwick.
We have mentioned the name of Putnam,--he as well as Washington,
Lafayette, Clinton, and some other well-known personages are
familiarly introduced in the narrative, but are simply accessories to
the main interest, and very little attempt is made at portraying their
historical characters. Whatever _is_ done, however, is well done.
So much real pleasure have we derived from the perusal of _The
Linwoods_, that we can hardly find it in our hearts to pick a quarrel
with the fair author, for the very few trifling inadvertences into
which she has been betrayed. There were, we believe, some points at
which we intended to cavil, but hot having pencilled them down in the
course of perusal, they have now escaped our recollection. Somewhat
more energy in occasional passages--somewhat less diffuseness in
others--would operate, we think, to the improvement of Miss Sedgwick's
generally excellent _style_. Now and then, we meet with a discrepancy
between the words and the character of a speaker. For example: page
38, vol. i. "'No more of my contempt for the Yankees, Hal, an' thou
lovest me,' replied Jasper; 'you remember Æsop's advice to Croesus, at
the Persian court?' 'No, I am sure I do not. You have the most
provoking way of resting the lever by which you bring out your own
knowledge, on your friend's ignorance.'" Now all this is very pretty,
but it is not the language of school-boys. Again: page 226 vol. i.
'Now out on you, you lazy, slavish, loons,' cried Rose, 'cannot you
see these men are raised up, to fight for freedom, for more than
themselves? If the chain is broken at one end, the links will fall
apart sooner or later. When you see the sun on the mountain top, you
may be sure it will shine into the deepest valleys before long.' Who
would suppose this graceful eloquence, and these impressive images to
proceed from the mouth of a negro-woman? Yet such is Rose. And at page
24, vol. i. we have the following. "True, I never saw her; but I tell
you, young lad, there is such a thing as seeing the shadow of things
far distant and past, and never seeing the realities though they it be
that cast the shadows." The speaker here, is an old woman who a few
sentences before talks about her proficiency in telling _fortins_.
There are one or two other trifles with which we have to find fault.
Putnam's deficiency in spelling is, perhaps, a little burlesqued; and
the imaginary note written to Eliot Lee, is not in accordance with
that laconic epistle subsequently introduced, and which was a _bonâ
fide_ existence. We dislike the death of Kisel--that is we dislike its
occurring so soon--indeed we see no necessity for killing him at all.
His end is beautifully managed, but leaves a kind of uneasy and
painful impression, which a judicious writer will be chary of
exciting. We must quarrel also, with some slight liberties taken with
the King's English. Miss Sedgwick has no good authority for the use of
such verbs, as "to ray." Page 117, vol. i. "They had all heard of
Squire Saunders, whose fame rayed through a large circle"--Also, in
page 118, vol. i. "The next morning he called, his kind heart raying
out through his jolly face, to present me to General Washington." Nor
is she justifiable in making use of the verb "incense," with the
meaning attached to it in the following sentence. Page 211, vol. i.
"Miss Ruthven seemed like an humble worshipper, incensing two
divinities." We dislike also, the vulgarity of such a phrase as "I put
in my oar"--meaning "I joined in the conversation"--especially in the
mouth of so well-bred a lady, as Miss Isabella Linwood--see {59} page
61, vol. i. We do not wish either to see a marquee, called a "markee,"
or a _dénouement_, a _denoeument_. Miss Sedgwick should look over her
proof-sheets, or, be responsible for the blunders of her printer. The
plural "_genii_" at page 84, vol. ii. is used in place of the singular
_genius_. "Isabella is rather _penseroso_" is likewise an error--see
page 164, vol. ii.; it should be _penserosa_. But we are heartily
ashamed of finding fault with such trifles, and should certainly not
have done so, had there been a possibility of finding fault with any
thing of more consequence. We recommend _The Linwoods_ to all persons
of taste. But let none others touch it.