_Mahmoud. New-York. Published by Harper and Brothers._
Of this book--its parentage or birth-place--we know nothing beyond
the scanty and equivocal information derivable from the title-page,
and from the brief Advertisement prefixed to the narrative itself.
From the title-page we learn, or rather we do _not_ learn that Harper
and Brothers are the publishers--for although we are informed, in so
many direct words that such is the fact, still we are taught by
experience that, in the bookselling vocabulary of the day, the word
_published_ has too expansive, too variable, and altogether too
convenient a meaning to be worthy of very serious attention. The
volumes before us are, we imagine, (although really without any good
reason for so imagining,) a reprint from a London publication. It is
quite possible, however, that the work is by an American writer, and
now, as it professes to be, for the first time actually published.
From the Advertisement we understand that the book is a combination
of _facts_ derived from private sources; or from personal
observation. We are told that "with the exception of a few of the
inferior characters, and the trifling accessories necessary to blend
the materials, and impart a unity to the rather complex web of the
narrative, the whole may be relied upon as perfectly true."
Be this as it may, we should have read "_Mahmoud_" with far greater
pleasure had we never seen the Anastasius of Mr. Hope. That most
excellent and vivid, (although somewhat immoral) series of Turkish
paintings is still nearly as fresh within our memory as in the days
of perusal. The work left nothing farther to be expected, or even to
be desired, in rich, bold, vigorous, and accurate delineation of the
scenery, characters, manners, and peculiarities of the region to
which its pages were devoted. Nothing less than the consciousness of
superior power could have justified any one in treading in the steps
of Mr. Hope. And, certainly, nothing at all, under any circumstances
whatsoever, could have justified a direct and palpable copy of
Anastasius. Yet Mahmoud is no better.