Its leading design, as its title implies, and as is stated indeed by the
author in his preface, is to elucidate the influence of intellect and
passion upon the health and endurance of the human organization; an
influence which has been but imperfectly understood and appreciated in its
character and importance, by mankind at large. The volume under notice is
divided into two parts. Under the first are considered the intellectual
operations in respect to their influence on the general functions of the
body; under the second is embraced a view of the moral feelings or
passions, in the relation which they also sustain to our physical nature.
Of these a concise definition is offered, with such classification as is
necessary to the leading design of the work. Their effects upon the
different functions of the animal economy are next noticed; and a
description is given of a few of the most important passions belonging to
each of the three great classes; namely, pleasurable, painful and mixed,
into which they are separated; their physical phenomena and individual
influence on the well-being of the human mechanism being closely examined.
A forcible exposition is also given of the evil consequences resulting
from an ill-regulated imagination (acting through the instrumentality of
the passions, morbidly excited by its licentious operation,) to the
firmness of the nervous system, and the integrity of the general health.
The volume is not addressed to any particular class of readers, and being
free from technical expressions, is rendered plain and comprehensive to
all. We commend this volume of Mr. SWEETSER cordially to our readers,
firmly impressed with the belief that the principles which it advances may
be rendered subservient both to the physical and moral welfare of our
countrymen.
LIFE IN THE NEW WORLD, BY SEATSFIELD: translated from the German by
GUSTAVUS C. HEBBE, LL. D., and JAMES MACKAY, M.A. New-York: J.
WINCHESTER, 'New World' Press.
The fourth number of this very remarkable work has been published; and we
have had a fair opportunity of testing the merits of the mysterious
author. The circumstances must now be generally known, under which these
works appear before the public. It appears that MUNDT, a German scholar,
who is publishing a continuation of SCHLEGEL'S History of Literature, has
in his delineations of character given almost unbounded praise to an
American named SEATSFIELD. Among the various works attributed to him are
'Life in the New World,' 'Sea, Sketches,' 'South and North,' 'Virey,' the
'Legitimate,' and others, which are to be issued in rapid succession from
the press of WINCHESTER, 'the indefatigable,' as he may well be called;
for the rapidity with which he sends out to the world the literary
novelties of the day is a theme of public marvel. The German, in which
these volumes are written, is said by competent judges, to be very pure
and powerful: and indeed we may rest assured that if the case were
otherwise, a critic of such high reputation as MUNDT would never have
spoken of SEATSFIELD in such enthusiastic terms. The publisher, we
understand, obtained several of the works from the library of Columbia
College, through the politeness of Professor TELLKAMPT.
The opinion, which some have expressed, that SEATSFIELD'S books are made
up of stolen selections from different American writers, is unfounded. We
cannot recognize in his style or thought familiar passages; and beside,
there does not appear to be any rational inducement for this species of
plagiarism. It is evident that the writings are indeed what they appear to
be, the genuine productions of an able man. The descriptions of natural
scenery are very graphic. 'The first trip on the Red River,' and the
description of the trappers, is one of the most animated sketches we have
ever read. Our mountains, rivers, cataracts, ocean-lakes, and forests, are
described with the most remarkable spirit and truth.' The translation, we
are informed by the best judges, is extremely faithful.
POETRY AND HISTORY OF WYOMING. By WILLIAM L. STONE, Esq. Second
edition, enlarged. New-York: MARK H. NEWMAN.
This indefatigable laborer in the mine of Indian history continues to
throw off from time to time works upon that subject, which bear the marks
of great industry, patient research, and extensive information, and which
have deservedly given him a high literary reputation as an historical
writer. What has yet appeared we believe is only the beginning of a series
of works relating to Indian annals, which are to be completed as soon as
the author's health, and the duties of an arduous profession, will allow.
From a late honor conferred upon him by one of the remnants of the Six
Nations, in electing him one of their chiefs, by the name of
SA-GO-SEN-O-TA, it seems plain that they highly approve of his efforts to
preserve their history; and it may be considered as endorsing the accuracy
of his investigations. In this light, the honor conferred, though coming
from those whom civilization is crushing beneath its superior intelligence
and power, is valuable and important. The present book takes the poetical
share of its title from the fact that the author has prefixed CAMPBELL'S
celebrated poem, preceded by a sketch of his life, furnished by WASHINGTON
IRVING. 'Gertrude of Wyoming,' though beautiful, and seeming to be a
narrative of real incidents in a poetical dress, is nevertheless a
fiction, albeit founded upon an actual tragedy, whose horrors can hardly
be exaggerated by any pen. It has been the design of our author to record
the real history of the section of country which was stained by this
tragedy, and which for this reason, has a melancholy interest thrown over
its natural charms.
The history of Wyoming does not commence, as many suppose, with the war of
the American revolution. Long before, the conflict of human passions in
the breast of savage and civilized man had discolored its soil with blood.
During this antecedent period, its aboriginal annals are replete with
incidents, which were greatly multiplied after the civil wars which
disturbed the repose of that secluded valley had begun to be waged between
the rival claimants to the territory from Connecticut and Pennsylvania,
and which for twelve or thirteen years prior to the revolutionary war
present a series of the most stirring events. The author, therefore, in
order to render the history complete, has taken it up before the first
known visit of the white men; of whom, among the earliest, were the
Moravian missionaries. To the honor of these men, be it recorded, that in
this instance, as in others, they plunged into the depths of the forest,
and labored among the savages with a christian zeal and enterprize which
have never been surpassed. The scenes of the revolution, embracing not
only the great massacre in July, 1778, with its frightful horrors, but
also a number of other bloody forays of the Indians upon the white men,
are moreover faithfully described. But after all, perhaps the most
interesting portion of the volume is formed of the narrative of the
services and sufferings of individuals and families. These latter records
are full of those wild and romantic incidents which are peculiar to border
warfare; where the steady courage and determined bravery of the European
appears in deadly conflict with the wiliness, cunning, and sleepless
vengeance of the savage. To say that all this is narrated by the author in
the spirit of accurate history, would be far below the meed of praise that
is due. He has executed this part of the book in a style of animated and
lively description, and with that flowing and finished diction, which can
only be attained when the mind of a writer is perfectly familiar with the
events, and when, by the force of imagination, he becomes himself as it
were an actor instead of a spectator of the scenes which he narrates.
Additional interest is given to this spot, from the fact, which probably
is not generally known, except to the professed historian, that the
distinguished patriot TIMOTHY PICKERING took up his abode in the valley of
Wyoming, attracted no doubt by its unrivalled beauties, to which he was
first introduced during a military campaign, but which he afterward
contemplated, on the return of peace, with an eye capable of being charmed
by the picturesque in nature. The concluding chapter of the book is
devoted mainly to a spirited account of the abduction of that gentleman,
and his confinement in the wilderness by a gang of ruffians, who, after
trying in vain to bend his soldier-like mind to a compliance with their
violent designs, gave him an ungracious release, and allowed him to return
to his family. Among the papers in the appendix, now first introduced to
the public, will be found a deed of purchase, made from the Indians ninety
years ago, by the Connecticut Land Company, containing the names of some
six hundred of the most wealthy and distinguished people of that State. It
is important as a means of showing the valuation of land at that period,
and a proof that it was acquired by honest purchase. This edition has been
enlarged to the amount of more than one hundred pages of letter-press; an
addition found necessary by the discovery of increased materials by the
author since the publication of the first edition.
In concluding this brief notice of a work written with decided talent, and
designed to fill an important niche in the early history of this country,
we are bound to thank the author, and to express the hope that he will be
able to finish the historical design which he has sketched, pertaining to
that interesting race, of whom it may be truly said, that 'the hour of
their destiny has already struck.' This volume shows us, that in our own
country may be found topics for literary effort, worthy of employing the
gifted pens of America, without going abroad in quest of subjects, in the
discussion of which we shall long be surpassed by foreigners, on account
of their superior facilities and larger sources of information. As a book
entirely American, we commend it to the reading public, confident that it
will be received with favor wherever it is read, and be considered a
valuable addition to the historical department of every gentleman's
library.
A NEW SPIRIT OF THE AGE. By R. H. HORNE. In one volume. New-York:
HARPER AND BROTHERS.
The Mr. HORNE who stands sponsor for this 'child of many fathers' must not
be confounded with Mr. HARTWELL HORNE, who in a literary point of view is
quite another person. The author of the volume before us, however, with
the aid of sundry fellow _litterateurs_ 'of the secondary formation,' as
CARLYLE phrases it, has collected together quite a variety of materials,
the whole being intended to form a sort of sequel to HAZLITT'S 'Spirit of
the Age,' a brilliant work, to which the present bears slight resemblance.
We quite agree with a contemporary, that it manifests little or no
independence of judgment or originality of thought. 'It is the result of
the labor of many hands, and those not the most skilful or experienced. It
consequently wants that homogenousness of style which one would expect in
a professed imitation of so excellent a model. The highest degree of merit
that can be accorded to it is that of a collection of magazine articles of
second rate merit. It is likely to prove popular with the generality of
readers who do not trouble themselves to dip beneath the surface of
things; but we must caution those who would form a just estimate of the
characters and merits of the distinguished writers whose works are
analyzed in it, that its premises are not always correct nor its
deductions sound.'
EDITOR'S TABLE.
A DAY WITH THE GREAT SEATSFIELD.--The Boston Daily Advertiser recently
divulged, with a most curious air of bewilderment, the name of a new, and
as it seems hitherto unheard-of, ornament to American literature--the
illustrious SEATSFIELD. Illustrious, however, only upon the other side of
the water; for it appears that we Yankee cotton-raisers have somewhat else
to do than to busy our brains about any letters except letters of credit,
or any fame that is not reverberated from abroad. No one, of course, at
all conversant with modern German literature, not even the slightest
skimmer of their late periodical publications, or the most occasional
peruser of the _Allgemeine Zeitung_ or _Dresden Bluthundstaglich_, can
have failed to notice with patriotic pride the gradual but gigantic
progress of this new VOLTAIRE to the highest pinnacle of popular renown.
But, sooth to say, our western world is so overrun with pretenders; there
are so many young gentlemen annually spawned by Yale and Cambridge, who
affect to read German without being able to construe the advertisement of
a Leipsic bookseller; so numerous are the blue-spectacled nymphs who quote
JEAN PAUL betwixt their blanc-mange and oysters, without comprehending
even the outermost rind of its in-meaning; so utterly ignorant are our
so-called literati of any subject beyond the scope of a newspaper, that
the name of SEATSFIELD sounded as strangely in American ears as if he had
lately arrived from Herschel or Georgium Sidus in a balloon. It is true
that some two or three of our eminent scholars, a few travellers, men of
taste, who had wandered by the Rhine, were acquainted with his reputation,
and in some degree with his productions. EMERSON doubtless must have been
aware of his renown; Professor FELTON of course had read him as often as
he has HOMER; JONES, WILKINS, and F. SMITH had studied him with delight.
The 'Dial,' a journal of much repute, had even spoken openly, we are told,
of his success in Europe. Mr. W. E. CHANNING, the poet, had evidently but
perhaps unconsciously imitated his peculiar viscidity of style, and (if we
may use such an expression.) extreme flakiness of thought. But in spite of
these few exceptions to the general indifference, let it stand recorded,
that when the name of SEATSFIELD returned to his own shore, it was an
alien and unmeaning word. His own country, so deeply indebted to his
powerful pen, absolutely knew him not. The literati stared, and the Boston
Advertiser was struck aghast with wonder. What a comment upon the state of
letters in America! 'Literary Emporium,' forsooth! 'Western Athens!'
Medici of Manhattan! how grossly we Yankees do misapply titles! It was the
very 'Literary Emporium' itself that was most astounded at the
newly-discovered mine. SEATSFIELD'S name had overspread civilized Europe;
his productions had been dramatized at Munich and Bucharest; they had been
translated into Russian and Turkish; the Maltese mariner had learned to
solace himself with his 'Twilight Helmsman's Hymn,' and the merchants of
Syra and Beyrout adorned their mansions with his bust; yet Boston,
New-York, and Philadelphia had never heard his name! In the lack of more
minute information with regard to this remarkable man, perhaps the
following page or two from a traveller's journal may prove acceptable to
the public. The absolutely total obscurity of the subject in America, may
also, it is hoped, serve as an apology for the openness of detail and
apparent breach of etiquette in regard to private intercourse.
* * * * *
'It has been my fortune to spend a day in company with the man who of all
men has done the most to illustrate our manners and character; yet who,
strange to say, is less known than 'Professor' INGRAHAM. As it was then my
fortune to speak _with_ him; I now consider it my duty to speak _of_ him,
and to do what little I am able, to extend his name among his compatriots.
'In the spring of the year previous to this, or to be exact, in April,
1843, I found myself at Berlin. My friend, Mr. CARLYLE, of London, had
given me a letter to THEODORE MUNDT, and I had learned soon after my
arrival that this distinguished man was in town. I had consequently looked
over my letters, after dinner, and had selected the one addressed to
MUNDT, and laid it under a little plaster bust of SCHILLER that stood just
over the stove, in the room where I dined. In the evening I walked into
the _Ermschlagg Buchzimmer_.[2] Several students were making annotations
from huge volumes, and many grave, pale gentlemen were turning over the
reviews and periodicals of the day. Among these I recognized an Englishman
whom I had fallen in with at Cologne but parted with at Heidelberg. He had
been in Berlin three days before me, and I was truly glad to meet with an
acquaintance even of so recent a date, to whom I could apply for
information or advice as to the best way of seeing the lions. While I was
whispering to him, a grim-visaged old Teuton looked up at us with a stern
frown, and my friend observed, 'We must retire into the _Sprechensaale_,
or conversation-room.' As soon as we had entered this adjoining apartment,
to the evident satisfaction of the aforesaid grim Teuton, I observed a
tall, thin man, of angular and wiry aspect, see-sawing his body in front
of the stove, toward which he had turned his back, as he stood in
apparently deep cogitation. 'You don't know who that is,' quoth my friend;
'there is _one_ of the lions, to begin with. I found out his name this
morning: that is THEODORE MUNDT.' Struck as I was with the stranger's
aspect, which appeared to me altogether American, I stared at him till he
suddenly raised his dark eyes, and fixed them on mine. To disembarrass
myself from my seeming rudeness as politely as possible, I bowed to his
gaze, and said inquiringly: 'I have the honor to address Mr. MUNDT?'
[2] A new public library and reading-room in Berlin.
''You have the _luck_,' he said, 'but the honor is _his_.'
''Honors are even, then,' said I, as brusquely as I dared; and of all
animals a traveller is the most impudent. 'I have in my pocket,' I
continued, 'a letter for you from my friend CARLYLE.' At the name of
CARLYLE he raised his hands in surprise, then rubbed them with delight,
and began to eulogise his friend.
'All this while I was fumbling in my pocket for my letter, when suddenly
it flashed over me that I had put it under the bust in the tavern. I grew
confused for a moment, and then as Mynheer MUNDT held out his hand for the
letter, I burst into a laugh, and confessed that I had left my letter at
home. MUNDT looked very serious, and quoted from Othello, 'That is a
fault;' and then from Macbeth, 'To-morrow, and to-morrow, and to-morrow.'
I thought there was a little affectation in this; perhaps it was merely
complimentary; but the immediate result of our imperfect acquaintance was,
that I made bold to introduce my friend to MUNDT, who invited us both to
his rooms to supper. On our way thither, as we passed the _Brunswik
Gasthaus_, where I lodged, I stepped in to procure my letter, and MUNDT
appeared rejoiced to hear directly from his 'very _fine_ friend' CARLYLE,
as he queerly styled him.
'I should feel that I was venturing on forbidden ground were I to reveal
more of what passed between us that evening. There was some drawing of
corks and some puffing of Hamburg-made Cheroots, which MUNDT declared to
be genuine Oriental; there was a ham of Westphalia, and a bit of La
Gruyere. But with all this we have nothing to do. I fear that I have
already made my preface too long. Enough be it then to say, that MUNDT
first revealed to me on this occasion (I am ashamed to own it) the name
and talents of our countryman SEATSFIELD. How enthusiastic he was I will
not describe; but his enthusiasm could only be equalled by his surprise
that I was not familiar with his writings.
'On the next day MUNDT gave me a letter to SEATSFIELD, directed to him at
Basle, in Switzerland, near which he owns a beautiful villa. I did not
find him at Basle, however, and I proceeded to Milan without delivering my
letter. On my return from Italy, I happened to learn that SEATSFIELD was
at Graffenburg in Silesia; and although it was forty leagues from my
purposed route I encountered the delay, out of mere curiosity of seeing so
distinguished a man. This time I was not disappointed. One day only I
spent at Graffenburg, but that day was sufficient to fill me with a truly
German (I wish I could say American) admiration of my countryman.
Graffenburg, it should be remarked, is the famous scene of Doctor
PRIESSNITZ'S wonderful hydropathic cures. Being there only for a single
day, I did not think it best to submit in all points to the cold water
treatment; neither did SEATSFIELD, for I noticed that he mixed two
table-spoonfuls of gin with every gill of cold water. SEATSFIELD is a man
of about middle-age, with a penetrating eye, and rather a good form,
though not unusually muscular. His face bears a remarkable resemblance to
the pictures of NUMA POMPILIUS; the benign smile of each is the same. His
chin is round and full, although partially concealed by a slight beard;
his nose, which is of a truly German outline, is marked by the 'dilated
nostril of genius;' and his whole aspect is that of a thorough man of the
world. I will continue my reminiscence by extracting verbatim a page or so
from my imperfect, though as far as it goes, authentic diary. I am
convinced however that his remarks will lose much from the want of his
pointed manner of enunciation. His English was faultless, and he spoke as
well as if he had never been out of America. Very few Americans indeed,
and no British-Islanders, talk so correct and chaste a dialect.
EXTRACT FROM MY JOURNAL.
_Graffenburg, July 4_, 1844.
'I was very fortunate, they tell me, to find SEATSFIELD in so
companionable a mood. He appeared in high spirits, and was exceedingly
conversible. The glorious return of our national anniversary had a visible
effect upon him. I presented my letter to him last evening, but he was
weary, and retired early. When I first met him in the Upper Bath-room
Walk, this morning, he congratulated me upon the brightness and brilliancy
of the day. 'You have much to be thankful for, Sir,' he observed; 'the day
is perfectly American. Just such a sun as this is now dawning upon
Broadway and the Battery. The sound of India-crackers and the pleasant
smell of lobsters is already perceptible to the senses of the awakening
Manhattanese.'
'Boston, too, my native city,' I observed, 'is also alive to the holiday
influences. Boston Common I dare say is already white with tents, and the
fragrant commerce of the booths is just commencing on the Mall.'
SEATSFIELD: 'Yes, Sir; but Boston and Philadelphia both fail in developing
the true character-stamp-work (_character-stampfen-werk_) of the day. To
see the Fourth of July in its glory, one should visit New-York. To my
senses, which are uncommonly acute, there is a peculiar smell about the
Fourth of July in New-York, which differs in toto from that of any other
holiday.'
'In Boston we also have the perfume of lobsters and egg-pop blended with
that of orange-peel and pine-apple----'
SEATSFIELD: 'That, Sir, is but a feeble rationale of the New-York savor. I
have often, in a jocose mood, amused myself with analyzing this odor. I
have resolved it into the following elements: lobsters, gunpowder,
trampled-grass, wheel-grease, and cigars. It is mainly to these
ingredients, grafted upon the other ordinary city smells, that I attribute
the Fourth of July smell.'
'There is one that you have failed to detect; namely, a faint whiff of
barn-yards, owing I presume to the strong prevalence of farmers and other
rustics from the surrounding country.' SEATSFIELD smiled at this, and
acknowledged, in a laughing way, an occasional intimation of manure.
'Graffenburg,' I observed, 'is remarkably free from all strong odors; it
is a very clean village.'
SEATSFIELD: 'That, Sir, is owing to the water: depend upon it, wherever
water prevails neatness will ensue. Temperance and cleanliness go hand in
hand. The ancients were a filthy race, and they were great wine-bibbers.
What a condition of personal and mental nastiness is divulged by HORACE in
his 'Iter ad Brundusium;' yet HORACE was a choice specimen of a Roman
gentleman.'
'Have you had any poets among you here? or is the hydropathic system too
repugnant to their art?'
SEATSFIELD: 'Our countryman, LONGFELLOW, was here not long since. I sat at
table with him frequently; but never introduced myself to him.'
'Do you think highly of his powers?'
SEATSFIELD: 'As a prolific generator of novel life-images, no; but as a
vivid delineator of the inner-thought principle, as an artistical
displayer of the higher subjective mood, he is of the very first class. I
honor LONGFELLOW.'
'He is perhaps our smoothest versifier, next to HALLECK.'
SEATSFIELD: 'Nay, he is the only one among us who can combine extreme
polish and the utmost facility of flow with deep-seated reflection.'
SEATSFIELD then quoted, with a sublime energy, from the celebrated 'Psalm
of Life:'