editions—by no means improved ones—of the _dramatis personæ_ of James’
former novels. Some wicked wag said that the old dramatists wanted only
a king, a fool, a woman, and a villain, to make a tragedy, and Mr. James
seems to have taken up the joke as serious. He is like a wax-work
keeper: he has one figure, which, by dint of changing the dress, passes
for everything under the sun. His heroes and heroines are never
dissimilar: he has always one noble and one poorer rogue: he never
forgets to bring in a king or a queen, or both; and he fills up the
by-play with a few supernumeraries, who talk a great deal and do a very
little. If you read one of his novels, you read, in fact, all. Then
there are perils, rescues, a duel or two, generally a trial, and now and
then a sprinkling of battles, ambuscades, and the like. Sometimes the
hobby is one thing and sometimes another, but he never mixes the draught
without putting in a little of all the ingredients. In his last novel
his fancy ran on battles—in this one, trials appear to rule the roost.
To sum up this head, Mr. James seems to be like a horse in a mill, who,
though every time he goes his rounds, may kick up his heels after a new
variety, never gets out of the same beaten track, or rises above the
same humdrum pace.
In the third place, there is no ingenuity in the plot of the Ancient
Régime. You see, at once, not only how all is to end, but you penetrate
into every detail of the plot. By the time you have read thirty pages,
you know that Annette is not Pierre Morin’s daughter—that the Abbé is
the unknown companion of the murderers—that Pierre Morin is the person
who warns Castelneau to leave Paris—and that the sign which induces the
Abbé to obey, is the discovery of his own seal, which had been lost at
the door of Fiteau’s shop, impressed on the letter of warning. A plot,
so loosely contrived, wants interest; and if you go through the book at
all, it is with labor.
But even that very respectable gentleman, who unfortunately is provided
with a tail, is not, according to the popular rumour, without his good
qualities; and Mr. James, despite all we have said, is yet a writer of
talent—talent running a muck, we contend—but still talent. More than
this—he is a historian; not a mere chronicler, but a historian. He
knows the manners, costume, and general spirit of the ages of which he
writes, and his novels may, so far forth as they embody this knowledge,
be read with interest. This, too, is the secret of his continued success
in despite of his many faults. This, too, is why he is called the great
historical novelist of the age, though in painting accurately the
characters of his leading personages, such as Richelieu, Philip
Augustus, &c., he is far beneath Grattan—a writer, by the bye, less
known in this country than he deserves to be. In another thing James is
deficient as a writer of historical romance—he does not enter, as fully
as he ought, into _the spirit of the age_. Here Bulwer, in his Rienzi,
has shown himself superior to the author of Richelieu; to say nothing of
Scott, who, whatever license he took with particular personages, always
depicted vividly the spirit of the age of which he wrote.
We take leave of this novel with a brief prophesy respecting its author:
he will, in fifty years, be of no more note than any one of the thousand
and one _imitators_ of whose class he is the head.
* * * * *
_America, Historical, Statistical and Descriptive: with numerous
engravings. By_ J. Silk Buckingham. _2 vols. Harper and
Brothers._
If ever there was an inane author—if ever there was an arrant
egotist—if ever there was a traveller ignorant of his subject, that
author, egotist, and traveller, is J. Silk Buckingham, late missionary
in the cause of morals, to the world in general and to this land in
particular, and now the author of a romance which he entitles “America,
historical, statistical, and descriptive.” How could a man suffer
himself to be so egregiously gulled, as Mr. Buckingham has proved
himself to have been, in these volumes? If his lectures on the Holy Land
contained a tithe of the exaggeration of this journal, what a precious
mess of stuff his audiences must have swallowed!
Mr. Buckingham opens with a sweeping condemnation of all former writers
on America, and then adroitly insinuates that his work is the “_ne plus
ultra_” of all works. No one who heard him lecture can doubt his egotism
or vanity. We were not, therefore, much surprised at this exordium. The
text, however, keeps up the farce, and whether describing the emoluments
of the bar, the genius and productions of our poets, the statistics of
the States or Union, the conduct of political parties, or the advance of
taste, morals, or religion, he is sure to drag in something respecting
himself, and to misrepresent, more or less, the subject under
discussion. Did the book merit the time and space, we would quote some
of its remarks to shew what an arrant block-head, or else what a wilful
libeller, this J. Silk Buckingham is.
This want of truth in Mr. Buckingham is unpardonable. While here, he was
feasted, huzzaed, followed by crowds, in short made a lion of,—and, as
he himself says, he had every opportunity to gain correct information.
But he seems to have slighted them all. His exaggerations out-romance
Amadis de Gaul. He is beside painfully dull, prosing away, page after
page, just as he used to dilute his twaddle, when retailing it, by the
hour, at a shilling a head. His work scarcely lays claim to mediocrity.
Although ushered in by a flourish of trumpets from presses on both sides
of the Atlantic, and attended by a pompous dedication to His Royal
Highness Prince Albert, the volumes are inferior in every respect to the
unpretending work, on this country, lately published by Mr. Combe. As
Brougham said of Sheridan’s statesmanship, “it is neither a bad book,
nor a good book, nor an indifferent book—the fact is, it is no book at
all.”
* * * * *
_Lectures on the History of Literature, Ancient and Modern: from
the German of Frederick Schlegel: 1 vol. J. and H. G. Langley:
New York, 1841._
This work is already extensively known, through the medium of foreign
editions; but the present imprint of it will be none the less welcome on
that account. We rejoice to see our publishers begin to make head
against the reprint of worthless novels, by issuing, instead of such
trash, works of a standard character like this. Let the press second
them in so noble an effort.
The object of Schlegel, in this volume, has been to give a general view
of the development and spirit of literature, and to show its influence
on the character of successive ages, from ancient to modern times. We
cannot appreciate, and cannot therefore be expected to praise, the
German fondness for reducing everything to a theory, and we must
consequently protest against the attempt made by our author to give his
subject such a character. Nevertheless the book is full of profound
reflections, and displays great research. It is the result of a full
mind, and not the idle rhapsody of a visionary.
The present edition is a reprint from the last Edinburgh one. The
translation is attributed to J. G. Lockhart, whose scholarship is a
guarantee for excellence and fidelity.
* * * * *
_The Secretary of Machiavelli, or the Siege of Florence. By_ D.
M’Carthy. _2 vols. Lea and Blanchard._
A very common-place book, too bad to praise, yet too good absolutely to
condemn. It will find its place on the shelves of circulating libraries.
* * * * *
_The Secret Foe. By_ Ellen Pickering, _2 vols. Carey and Hart._
This is scarcely equal to Miss Pickering’s earlier production, “Nan
Darrell.” Indeed, the present novel is, by no means, a work which will
increase her reputation. Portions of it are written well, we admit; but
the character of the book, considered as a whole, is but little above a
desperate mediocrity. There is no individuality in the actors—no
novelty in the plot—many incidents extravagant and unnatural; and a
forced interest, if we may so speak, in the whole of the second volume.
It is true, many of the scenes are drawn vividly, but they do not
suffice to redeem the work. Worse than all, the introduction of the
fugitive, Charles the Second, together with the whole conception of the
character of the boy Jackson, is a plagiarism from Woodstock of the
worst kind, because one where the spirit and not the language is stolen.
We cannot forgive the author, even though a woman, for such an act.
* * * * *
_The Deerslayer, or, the First War-Path: A Tale: By_ J. F.
Cooper. _2 vols. Lea and Blanchard._
Little can be said of this tale which has not been said of the former
novels, by Mr. Cooper, in which “Leather Stocking” appears. The story is
one of thrilling interest, full of perils and of hair-breadth escapes.
The reader, unable to lay down the book, peruses it with painful and
breathless eagerness; but, with the exception of Natty Bumpo, there is
no character worthy of the name. Here is the great difference betwixt
Cooper and Scott. No one will deny, that the former is nearly, if not
quite, as successful as the latter in the interest his story awakens in
the reader’s mind, yet we look back in vain, through the whole series of
the Red Rover tales, for such inimitable characters as those of Balfour
of Burley, and the other actors in the Waverley Novels. Mr. Cooper
paints only the outside, he cannot reach into the soul. Yet, as an
author, skilful in the management of incident, or capable of whirling
away the reader in the breathless interest of a story, no writer of the
day, at least no American, can, at all, compare with Mr. Cooper.
In the present tale there is an unusual unity of person, place and time.
The whole action is confined to three days; the principal characters are
not more than six; and the scene is the lake at Cooperstown, with its
surrounding shores. The story is placed as far back as the early French
war, and is one of Indian siege and ambuscade. Some of the night scenes,
where the beleagured whites, uncertain of the time or mode of the
enemy’s attack, wander up and down the lake in the ark, listening for
the dip of a paddle or the crackling of a twig, to announce the approach
of the foe, are unsurpassed even by the earliest efforts of Mr. Cooper.
The rescue of Hist from the hostile camp is a scene of great power—so
is the surprise of the whites at the castle—and so is the death of the
Panther from Deerslayer’s hands, and the latter’s temporary escape from
the savages. The closing scene, however, in which the torture of
Deerslayer is going on, seems to us not only painfully, but unnaturally
protracted—so that, long before the _dénouement_, we begin to lose our
interest in the finale, under the feeling that the author has overworked
his scene.
We are not captious in these few objections, for they are but specks on
a sunny sky. No one can question Mr. Cooper’s powers as a novelist of
his particular school. We dismiss his work with high praise, hoping that
he may long live to adorn the literature of his country, and that he may
never write a worse story than the Deerslayer.
The Leather Stocking tales are now complete in ten volumes, by Messrs.
Lea and Blanchard.
* * * * *
_A Practical Description of Herron’s Patent Trellis Railway
Structure, etc., etc. By_ James Herron, _Civil Engineer. 1 vol.
Carey and Hart, and J. Dobson, Philadelphia, 1841._
This is an able treatise. The main object of the author is to explain
his Patent Trellis Railway Structure—an invention which is peculiarly
adapted to the frosty climates of the middle and northern states; but,
as collateral to this, he has discussed the subject of mineralizing
wood, of an improved method of joining the ends of railway bars, and of
the defective nature of railway structures in use.
The length to which we have extended some of the preceding reviews,
forbids us to go at large into the contents of this volume; but we
recommend it to the attention of the public, and to that of rail-road
companies in particular. The volume is accompanied by four large plates
of working plans to illustrate the author’s remarks. The invention of
Mr. Herron has received the sanction of the very highest authorities,
and will, in our opinion, supercede all other modes of railway
structure.
Mr. Strickland, so well known as an architect and engineer, speaks of it
as follows:
“Among the various methods now used for the super-structure of
railways in this country and in Europe, I know of none to
compare with Mr. Herron’s patent horizontal truss, or diagonal
braced floor. It has the great advantages of surface-bearing
lateral connection, and longitudinal combination of strength,
and evenness of level. It is calculated to rest secure in all
the various characters of soil . . . . will be found to resist
with the utmost degree of permanency all the vicissitudes of the
caved and washed embankments which undermine the present
mud-sills and cross-ties of the road-beds now in use.”
The Franklin Institute says of it:
“Mr. Herron has fully understood and appreciated the evils
inseparably connected with the plans of railway super-structure
so much in use here and in Europe, in which the rails are
supported upon isolated blocks of stone or sleepers of timber
. . . . His object has been to devise a plan in which all the
parts forming the structure shall be adequately supported;
while, at the same time, they shall be so connected that no
portion will be liable to independent displacement, either
laterally or vertically.”
* * * * *
_Letters from Abroad to Kindred at Home. By the author of “The
Linwoods,” etc. 2 vols. Harper and Brothers: New York, 1841._
Miss Sedgwick has given us, in these volumes, her notes of travel
through England, Italy, and other parts of Europe. The book is written
in an easy, almost conversational style; it abounds in anecdote and what
we should call allowable gossip; and, if it were only a little racier,
would be a model for tourists. We like particularly the little details
of persons and manners, in which our author has indulged—one gets, in
perusing them, an excellent idea of the society in other countries. This
is what we want, and where the author does not intrude on privacy, we
cannot see that he or she is to be condemned. Miss Sedgwick’s choice of
words might—to our minds—be purer: her style is often disfigured by
provincial phrases of the worst kind.
* * * * *
_The Life and Adventures of Valentine Vox, the Ventriloquist.
By_ H. Cockton. _With numerous illustrations, by Phiz. 1 vol.
Carey and Hart._
This is a work of considerable humor—one of that class, which, without
much originality, manages to become popular, as much from the fun it
contains, as from the style in which the story is told. The
illustrations are not as happy as those of Phiz in general. The book is
neatly printed, in the style of the Nickleby series.
* * * * *
SECRET WRITING.
On the tenth of August, a letter addressed to us by some gentleman who
had assumed the _nom de guerre_ of Timotheus Whackemwell, was received
at this office, from Baltimore. It enclosed a cypher, and says, “if you
succeed with it I will set you down as perfect in the art.” Thinking
that in the chirography we recognized the hand of our friend, Mr. J. N.
McJilton, of Baltimore, we addressed _him_ by return of mail, with the
solution desired. Mr. McJilton, it appears, however, was not the
correspondent. The solution ran thus—
“This specimen of secret writing is sent you for explanation. If you
succeed in divining its meaning, I will believe that you are some kin to
Old Nick.”
Mr. Whackemwell, whoever or wherever he is, will acknowledge this
reading to be correct.
The cypher submitted through Mr. F. W. Thomas, by Dr. Frailey, of
Washington, and decyphered by us, also in return of mail, as stated in
our August number, has not yet been read by any of our innumerable
readers. We now append its solution, together with the whole of that
letter of the Doctor’s, of which we gave only a portion in the August
number.
SOLUTION.
In one of those peripatetic circumrotations I obviated a rustic whom I
subjected to catachetical interrogation respecting the nosocomical
characteristics of the edifice to which I was approximate. With a
volubility uncongealed by the frigorific powers of villatic bashfulness,
he ejaculated a voluminous replication from the universal tenor of whose
contents I deduce the subsequent amalgamation of heterogeneous facts.
Without dubiety incipient pretension is apt to terminate in final
vulgarity, as parturient mountains have been fabulated to produce
muscupular abortions. The institution the subject of my remarks, has not
been without cause the theme of the ephemeral columns of quotidian
journals, and enthusiastic encomiations in conversational intercourse.
The key to this cipher is as follows—_But find this out and I give it
up_.
The appended letter, however, from Dr. Frailey, will show the means used
by him to embarrass the reading. Arbitrary characters were made to stand
for _whole words_. When we take this circumstance into consideration,
with other facts mentioned in the letter, and regard also the
nonsensical character of the phraseology employed, we shall be the
better enabled to appreciate the extreme difficulty of the puzzle.
Washington, July 6, 1841.
Dear Sir,
It gives me pleasure to state, that the reading by Mr. Poe, of
the cryptograph which I gave you a few days since for
transmission to him, is correct.
I am the more astonished at this, since for various words of
two, three and four letters, a distinct character was used for
each, in order to prevent the discovery of some of those words,
by their frequent repetition in a cryptograph of any length and
applying them to other words. I also used a distinct character
for the terminations _tion_ and _sion_, and substituted in every
word where it was possible, some of the characters above alluded
to. Where the same word of two of those letters occurred
frequently, the letters of the key phrase and the characters
were alternately used, to increase the difficulty.
As ever, yours, &c.
CHAS. S. FRAILEY.
To F. W. Thomas, Esq.
* * * * *
[Illustration: LATEST FASHIONS, OCTOBER, 1841. FOR GRAHAM’S MAGAZINE]
* * * * *
Transcriber’s Notes:
Table of Contents has been added for reader convenience. Available scans
of the fashion plate were missing a caption so caption was added in the
style of the fashion plates of the previous issues of this volume.
Archaic spellings and hyphenation have been retained. Obvious
punctuation and typesetting errors have been corrected without note.
[End of _Graham’s Magazine, Vol. XIX, No. 4, October 1841_, George R.
Graham, Editor]