"To show virtue her own feature, scorn her own image, and the very
age and body of the time, his form and pressure."
SHAKSPEARE.
When Mrs. Bloomfield entered the drawing-room, she found nearly the
whole party assembled. The Fun of Fire had ceased, and the rockets no
longer gleamed athwart the sky; but the blaze of artificial light
within, was more than a substitute for that which had so lately
existed without.
Mr. Effingham and Paul were conversing by themselves, in a window-
seat, while John Effingham, Mrs. Hawker, and Mr. Howel were in an
animated discussion on a sofa; Mr. Wenham had also joined the party,
and was occupied with Captain Ducie, though not so much so as to
prevent occasional glances at the trio just mentioned. Sir George
Templemore and Grace Van Cortlandt were walking together in the great
hall, and were visible through the open door, as they passed and
repassed.
"I am glad of your appearance among us, Mrs. Bloomfield," said John
Effingham, "for, certainly more Anglo-mania never existed than that
which my good friend Howel manifests this evening, and I have hopes
that your eloquence may persuade him out of some of those notions, on
which my logic has fallen like seed scattered by the way-side."
"I can have little hopes of success where Mr. John Effingham has
failed."
"I am far from being certain of that; for, somehow Howel has taken up
the notion that I have gotten a grudge against England, and he
listens to all I say with distrust and distaste."
"Mr. John uses strong language habitually, ma'am," cried Mr. Howel,
"and you will make some allowances for a vocabulary that has no very
mild terms in it; though, to be frank, I do confess that he seems
prejudiced on the subject of that great nation."
"What is the point in immediate controversy, gentlemen?" asked Mrs.
Bloomfield, taking a seat.
"Why here is a review of a late American work, ma'am, and I insist
that the author is skinned alive, whereas, Mr. John insists that the
reviewer exposes only his own rage, the work having a national
character, and running counter to the reviewer's feelings and
interests."
"Nay, I protest against this statement of the case, for I affirm that
the reviewer exposes a great deal more than his rage, since his
imbecility, ignorance, and dishonesty, are quite as apparent as any
thing else."
"I have read the article," said Mrs. Bloomfield, after glancing her
eye at the periodical, "and I must say that I take sides with Mr.
John Effingham in his opinion of its character."
"But do you not perceive, ma'am, that this is the idol of the
nobility and gentry; the work that is more in favour with people of
consequence in England than any other. Bishops are said to write for
it!"
"I know it is a work expressly established to sustain one of the most
factitious political systems that ever existed, and that it
sacrifices every high quality to attain its end."
"Mrs. Bloomfield, you amaze me! The first writers of Great Britain
figure in its pages."
"That I much question, in the first place; but even if it were so, it
would be but a shallow mystification. Although a man of character
might write one article in a work of this nature, it does not follow
that a man of no character does not write the next. The principles of
the communications of a periodical are as different as their
talents."
"But the editor is a pledge for all.--The editor of this review is an
eminent writer himself."
"An eminent writer may be a very great knave, in the first place, and
one fact is worth a thousand conjectures in such a matter. But we do
not know that there is any responsible editor to works of this nature
at all, for there is no name given in the title-page, and nothing is
more common than vague declarations of a want of this very
responsibility. But if I can prove to you that this article _cannot_
have been written by a man of common honesty, Mr. Howel, what will
you then say to the responsibility of your editor?"
"In that case I shall be compelled to admit that he had no connexion
with it."
"Any thing in preference to giving up the beloved idol!" said John
Effingham laughing. "Why not add at once, that he is as great a knave
as the writer himself? I am glad, however, that Tom Howel has fallen
into such good hands, Mrs. Bloomfield, and I devoutly pray you may
not spare him."
We have said that Mrs. Bloomfield had a rapid perception of things
and principles, that amounted almost to intuition. She had read the
article in question, and, as she glanced her eyes through its pages,
had detected its fallacies and falsehoods, in almost every sentence.
Indeed, they had not been put together with ordinary skill, the
writer having evidently presumed on the easiness of the class of
readers who generally swallowed his round assertions, and were so
clumsily done that any one who had not the faith to move mountains
would have seen through most of them without difficulty. But Mr.
Howel belonged to another school, and he was so much accustomed to
shut his eyes to palpable mystification mentioned by Mrs. Bloomfield,
that a lie, which, advanced in most works, would have carried no
weight with it, advanced in this particular periodical became
elevated to the dignity of truth.
Mrs. Bloomfield turned to an article on America, in the periodical in
question, and read from it several disparaging expressions concerning
Mr. Howel's native country, one of which was, "The American's first
plaything is the rattle-snake's tail."
"Now, what do you think of this assertion in particular, Mr. Howel?"
she asked, reading the words we have just quoted.
"Oh! that is said in mere pleasantry--it is only wit."
"Well, then, what do you think of it as wit?"
"Well, well, it may not be of a very pure water, but the best of men
are unequal at all times, and more especially in their wit."
"Here," continued Mrs. Bloomfield, pointing to another paragraph, "is
a positive statement or misstatement, which makes the cost of the
'civil department of the United States Government,' about six times
more than it really is."
"Our government is so extremely mean, that I ascribe that error to
generosity."
"Well," continued the lady, smiling, "here the reviewer asserts that
Congress passed a law _limiting_ the size of certain ships, in order
to please the democracy; and that the Executive privately evaded this
law, and built vessels of a much greater size; whereas the provision
of the law is just the contrary, or that the ships should not be
_less_ than of seventy-four guns; a piece of information, by the way,
that I obtained from Mr. Powis."
"Ignorance, ma'am; a stranger cannot be supposed to know all the laws
of a foreign country."
"Then why make bold and false assertions about them, that are
intended to discredit the country? Here is another assertion--'ten
thousand of the men that fought at Waterloo would have marched
through North America?' Do you believe that, Mr. Howel?"
"But that is merely an opinion, Mrs. Bloomfield; any man may be wrong
in his opinion."
"Very true, but it is an opinion uttered in the year of our Lord one
thousand eight hundred and twenty-eight; and after the battles of
Bunker Hill, Cowpens, Plattsburg, Saratoga, and New-Orleans! And,
moreover, after it had been proved that something very like ten
thousand of the identical men who fought at Waterloo, could not march
even ten miles into the country."
"Well, well, all this shows that the reviewer is sometimes mistaken."
"Your pardon Mr. Howel; I think it shows, according to your own
admission, that his wit, or rather its wit, for there is no _his_
about it--that its wit is of a very indifferent quality as witticisms
even; that it is ignorant of what it pretends to know; and that its
opinions are no better than its knowledge: all of which, when fairly
established against one who, by his very pursuit, professes to know
more than other people, is very much like making it appear
contemptible."
"This is going back eight or ten years--let us look more particularly
at the article about which the discussion commences."
"_Volontiers_"
Mrs. Bloomfield now sent to the library for the work reviewed, and
opening the review she read some of its strictures; and then turning
to the corresponding passages in the work itself, she pointed out the
unfairness of the quotations, the omissions of the context, and, in
several flagrant instances, witticisms of the reviewer, that were
purchased at the expense of the English language. She next showed
several of those audacious assertions, for which the particular
periodical was so remarkable, leaving no doubt with any candid
person, that they were purchased at the expense of truth.
"But here is an instance that will scarce admit of cavilling or
objection on your part, Mr. Howel," she continued; "do me the favour
to read the passage in the review."
Mr. Howel complied, and when he had done, he looked expectingly at
the lady.
"The effect of the reviewer's statement is to make it appear that the
author has contradicted himself, is it not?"
"Certainly, nothing can be plainer."
"According to your favourite reviewer, who accuses him of it, in
terms. Now let us look at the fact. Here is the passage in the work
itself. In the first place you will remark that this sentence, which
contains the alleged contradiction, is mutilated; the part which is
omitted, giving a directly contrary meaning to it, from that it bears
under the reviewer's scissors."
"It has some such appearance, I do confess."
"Here you perceive that the closing sentence of the same paragraph,
and which refers directly to the point at issue, is displaced, made
to appear as belonging to a separate paragraph, and as conveying a
different meaning from what the author has actually expressed."
"Upon my word, I do not know but you are right!"
"Well, Mr. Howel, we have had wit of no very pure water, ignorance as
relates to facts, and mistakes as regards very positive assertions.
In what category, as Captain Truck would say, do you place this?"
"Why does not the author reviewed expose this?"
"Why does not a gentleman wrangle with a detected pick-pocket?"
"It is literary swindling," said John Effingham, "and the man who did
it, is inherently a knave."
"I think both these facts quite beyond dispute," observed Mrs.
Bloomfield, laying down Mr. Howel's favourite review with an air of
cool contempt; "and I must say I did not think it necessary to prove
the general character of the work, at this late date, to any American
of ordinary intelligence; much less to a sensible man, like Mr.
Howel."
"But, ma'am, there may be much truth and justice in the rest of its
remarks," returned the pertinacious Mr. Howel, "although it has
fallen into these mistakes."
"Were you ever on a jury, Howel?" asked John Effingham, in his
caustic manner.
"Often; and on grand juries, too."
"Well, did the judge never tell you, when a witness is detected in
lying on one point, that his testimony is valueless on all others?"
"Very true; but this is a review, and not testimony."
"The distinction is certainly a very good one," resumed Mrs.
Bloomfield, laughing, "as nothing, in general, can be less like
honest testimony than a review!"
"But I think, my dear ma'am, you will allow that all this is
excessively biting and severe--I can't say I ever read any thing
sharper in my life."
"It strikes me, Mr. Howel, as being nothing but epithets, the
cheapest and most contemptible of all species of abuse. Were two men,
in your presence, to call each other such names, I think it would
excite nothing but disgust in your mind. When the thought is clear
and poignant, there is little need to have recourse to mere epithets;
indeed, men never use the latter, except when there is a deficiency
of the first."
"Well, well, my friends," cried Mr. Howel, as he walked away towards
Grace and Sir George, "this is a different thing from what I at first
thought it, but still I think you undervalue the periodical."
"I hope this little lesson will cool some of Mr. Howel's faith in
foreign morality," observed Mrs. Bloomfield, as soon as the gentleman
named was out of hearing; "a more credulous and devout worshipper of
the idol, I have never before met."
"The school is diminishing, but it is still large. Men like Tom
Howel, who have thought in one direction all their lives, are not
easily brought to change their notions, especially when the
admiration which proceeds from distance, distance 'that lends
enchantment to the view,' is at the bottom of their faith. Had this
very article been written and printed round the corner of the street
in which he lives, Howel would be the first to say that it was the
production of a fellow without talents or principles, and was
unworthy of a second thought."
"I still think he will be a wiser, if not a better man, by the
exposure of its frauds."
"Not he. If you will excuse a homely and a coarse simile, 'he will
return like a dog to his vomit, or the sow to its wallowing in the
mire.' I never knew one of that school thoroughly cured, until he
became himself the subject of attack, or, by a close personal
communication, was made to feel the superciliousness of European
superiority. It is only a week since I had a discussion with him on
the subject of the humanity and the relish for liberty in his beloved
model; and when I cited the instance of the employment of the
tomahawk, in the wars between England and this country, he actually
affirmed that the Indian savages killed no women and children, but
the wives and offspring of their enemies; and when I told him that
the English, like most other people, cared very little for any
liberty but their own, he coolly affirmed that their own was the only
liberty worth caring for!"
"Oh yes," put in young Mr. Wenham, who had overheard the latter
portion of the conversation, "Mr. Howel is so thoroughly English,
that he actually denies that America is the most civilized country in
the world, or that we speak our language better than any nation was
ever before known to speak its own language."
"This is so manifest an act of treason," said Mrs. Bloomfield,
endeavouring to look grave, for Mr. Wenham was any thing but accurate
in the use of words himself, commonly pronouncing "been," "ben,"
"does," "dooze," "nothing," "nawthing," "few," "foo," &c. &c. &c.,
"that, certainly, Mr. Howel should be arraigned at the bar of public
opinion for the outrage."
"It is commonly admitted, even by our enemies, that our mode of
speaking is the very best in the world, which, I suppose, is the real
reason why our literature has so rapidly reached the top of the
ladder."
"And is that the fact?" asked Mrs. Bloomfield, with a curiosity that
was not in the least feigned.
"I believe no one denies _that. You_ will sustain me in this, I
fancy, Mr. Dodge?"
The editor of the Active Inquirer had approached, and was just in
time to catch the subject in discussion. Now the modes of speech of
these two persons, while they had a great deal in common, had also a
great deal that was not in common. Mr. Wenham was a native of New-
York, and his dialect was a mixture that is getting to be
sufficiently general, partaking equally of the Doric of New England,
the Dutch cross, and the old English root; whereas, Mr. Dodge spoke
the pure, unalloyed Tuscan of his province, rigidly adhering to all
its sounds and significations. "Dissipation," he contended, meant
"drunkenness;" "ugly," "vicious;" "clever," "good-natured;" and
"humbly," (homely) "ugly." In addition to this finesse in
significations, he had a variety of pronunciations that often put
strangers at fault, and to which he adhered with a pertinacity that
obtained some of its force from the fact, that it exceeded his power
to get rid of them. Notwithstanding all these little peculiarities,
peculiarities as respects every one but those who dwelt in his own
province, Mr. Dodge had also taken up the notion of his superiority
on the subject of language, and always treated the matter as one that
was placed quite beyond dispute, by its publicity and truth.
"The progress of American Literature," returned the editor, "is
really astonishing the four quarters of the world. I believe it is
very generally admitted, now, that our pulpit and bar are at the very
summit of these two professions. Then we have much the best poets of
the age, while eleven of our novelists surpass any of all other
countries. The American Philosophical Society is, I believe,
generally considered the most acute learned body now extant, unless,
indeed, the New-York Historical Society may compete with it, for that
honour. Some persons give the palm to one, and some to the other;
though I myself think it would be difficult to decide between them.
Then to what a pass has the drama risen of late years! Genius is
getting to be quite a drug in America!"
"You have forgotten to speak of the press, in particular," put in the
complacent Mr. Wenham. "I think we may more safely pride ourselves on
the high character of the press, than any thing else."
"Why, to tell you the truth, sir," answered Steadfast, taking the
other by the arm, and leading him so slowly away, that a part of what
followed was heard by the two amused listeners, "modesty is so
infallibly the companion of merit, that _we_ who are engaged in that
high pursuit do not like to say any thing in our own favour. You
never detect a newspaper in the weakness of extolling itself; but,
between ourselves, I may say, after a close examination of the
condition of the press in other countries, I have come to the
conclusion, that, for talents, taste, candour, philosophy, genius,
honesty, and truth, the press of the United States stands at the
very----"
Here Mr. Dodge passed so far from the listeners, that the rest of the
speech became inaudible, though from the well-established modesty of
the man and the editor, there can be little doubt of the manner in
which he concluded the sentence.
"It is said in Europe," observed Johr Effingham, his fine face
expressing the cool sarcasm in which he was so apt to indulge, "that
there are _la vieille_ and _la Jeune France_. I think we have now had
pretty fair specimens of _old_ and _young_ America; the first
distrusting every thing native, even to a potatoe: and the second
distrusting nothing, and least of all, itself."
"There appears to be a sort of pendulum-uneasiness in mankind," said
Mrs. Bloomfield, "that keeps opinion always vibrating around the
centre of truth, for I think it the rarest thing in the world to find
man or woman who has not a disposition, as soon as an error is
abandoned, to fly off into its opposite extreme. From believing we
had nothing worthy of a thought, there is a set springing up who
appear to have jumped to the conclusion that we have every thing."
"Ay, this is _one_ of the reasons that all the rest of the world
laugh at us."
"Laugh at us, Mr. Effingham! Even _I_ had supposed the American name
had, at last, got to be in good credit in other parts of the world."
"Then even _you_, my dear Mrs. Bloomfield, are notably mistaken.
Europe, it is true, is beginning to give us credit for not being
quite as bad as she once thought us; but we are far, very far, from
being yet admitted to the ordinary level of nations, as respects
goodness."
"Surely they give us credit for energy, enterprize, activity----"
"Qualities that they prettily term, rapacity, cunning, and swindling!
I am far, very far, however, from giving credit to all that it suits
the interests and prejudices of Europe, especially of our venerable
kinswoman, Old England, to circulate and think to the prejudice of
this country, which, in my poor judgment, has as much substantial
merit to boast of as any nation on earth; though, in getting rid of a
set of ancient vices and follies, it has not had the sagacity to
discover that it is fast falling into pretty tolerable--or if you
like it better--intolerable substitutes."
"What then do _you_ deem our greatest error--our weakest point?"
"Provincialisms, with their train of narrow prejudices, and a
disposition to set up mediocrity as perfection, under the double
influence of an ignorance that unavoidably arises from a want of
models, and of the irresistible tendency to mediocrity, in a nation
where the common mind so imperiously rules."
"But does not the common mind rule every where? Is not public opinion
always stronger than law?"
"In a certain sense, both these positions may be true. But in a
nation like this, without a capital, one _that is all provinces_, in
which intelligence and tastes are scattered, this common mind wants
the usual direction, and derives its impulses from the force of
numbers, rather than from the force of knowledge. Hence the fact,
that the public opinion never or seldom rises to absolute truth. I
grant you that _as_ a mediocrity, it is well; much better than common
even; but it is still a mediocrity."
"I see the justice of your remark, and I suppose we are to ascribe
the general use of superlatives, which is so very obvious, to these
causes."
"Unquestionably; men have gotten to be afraid to speak the truth,
when that truth is a little beyond the common comprehension; and thus
it is that you see the fulsome flattery that all the public servants,
as they call themselves, resort to, in order to increase their
popularity, instead of telling the wholesome facts that are needed."
"And what is to be the result?"
"Heaven knows. While America is so much in advance of other nations,
in a freedom from prejudices of the old school, it is fast
substituting a set of prejudices of its own, that are not without
serious dangers. We may live through it, and the ills of society may
correct themselves, though there is one fact that men aces more evil
than any thing I could have feared."
"You mean the political struggle between money and numbers, that has
so seriously manifested itself of late!" exclaimed the quick-minded
and intelligent Mrs. Bloomfield.
"_That_ has its dangers; but there is still another evil of greater
magnitude. I allude to the very general disposition to confine
political discussions to political men. Thus, the private citizen,
who should presume to discuss a political question, would be deemed
fair game for all who thought differently from himself. He would be
injured in his pocket, reputation, domestic happiness, if possible;
for, in this respect, America is much the most intolerant nation I
have ever visited. In all other countries, in which discussion is
permitted at all, there is at least the _appearance_ of fair play,
whatever may be done covertly; but here, it seems to be sufficient to
justify falsehood, frauds, nay, barefaced rascality, to establish
that the injured party has had the audacity to meddle with public
questions, not being what the public chooses to call a public man. It
is scarcely necessary to say that, when such an opinion gets to be
effective, it must entirely defeat the real intentions of a popular
government."
"Now you mention it," said Mrs. Bloomfield, "I think I have witnessed
instances of what you mean."
"Witnessed, dear Mrs. Bloomfield! Instances are to be seen as often
as a man is found freeman enough to have an opinion independent of
party. It is not for connecting himself with party that a man is
denounced in this country, but for daring to connect himself with
truth. Party will bear with party, but party will not bear with
truth. It is in politics as in war, regiments or individuals may
desert, and they will be received by their late enemies with open
arms, the honour of a soldier seldom reaching to the pass of refusing
succour of any sort; but both sides will turn and fire on the
countrymen who wish merely to defend their homes and firesides."
"You draw disagreeable pictures of human nature, Mr. Effingham."
"Merely because they are true, Mrs. Bloomfield. Man is worse than the
beasts, merely because he has a code of right and wrong, which he
never respects. They talk of the variation of the compass, and even
pretend to calculate its changes, though no one can explain the
principle that causes the attraction or its vagaries at all. So it is
with men; they pretend to look always at the right, though their eyes
are constantly directed obliquely; and it is a certain calculation to
allow of a pretty wide variation--but here comes Miss Effingham,
singularly well attired, and more beautiful than I have ever before
seen her!"
The two exchanged quick glances, and then, as if fearful of betraying
to each other their thoughts, they moved towards our heroine, to do
the honours of the reception.