Yet, with all this elucidation, we take shame to ourselves for admitting
that there are points which, after all, we do not comprehend. They may
be trivial; but in making up testimony, it is the little things which
have weight. Trifles light as air are confirmation strong as proofs of
Holy Writ, and confutation no less strong. When, as a proof of Nat's
ardor in the pursuit of knowledge, we are told that he walked ten miles
after a hard day's work to hear Daniel Webster, and then _stood_ through
the oration in front of the platform, because he could see the speaker
better,--and when, turning to the next page, we are told that he was so
much interested that he "would have _sat_ entranced till morning, if the
gifted orator had continued to pour forth his eloquence,"--what are we
to believe? When we are bidden to "listen to the gifted orator, as the
flowing periods come burning from his soul on fire, riveting the
attention," etc., is it a river, or is it a fire, or is it a hammer and
anvil, that we have in our mind's eye, Horatio? When Nat "waxed warmer
and warmer, as he advanced, and spoke in a flow of eloquence and choice
selection of words that was unusual for one of his age," did he come out
dry-shod? We are told of his visit to the Boston bookstores,--that he
examined the books "outside before he stepped in. _He read the title of
each volume upon the back, and some he took up and examined_," but we
have no explanation of this extraordinary behavior. "It was thus with"
Abraham. "The manner in which Abraham made progress in penmanship,
writing on slabs and trees, on the ground and in the snow, anywhere that
he could find a place, reminds us forcibly of Pascal, who demonstrated
the first thirty-two propositions of Euclid in his boyhood, without the
aid of a teacher." We not only are not forcibly reminded of Pascal, but
we are not reminded of Pascal at all. The boy who imitates on slabs
mechanical lines which he has been taught, and he who originates
mathematical problems and theorems, may be as like as my fingers to my
fingers, but--alas, that it is forbidden to say--we do not see it. When
Mr. Elkins told Abraham he would make a good pioneer boy, and "'What's a
pioneer boy?' asked Abraham," why was Mr. Elkins "quite amused at this
inquiry"? and why did he "exercise his risibles for a minute" before
replying? When Mr. Stuart offered young Mr. Lincoln the use of his
law-books, and young Mr. Lincoln answered,--very properly, we should
say,--"You are very generous indeed. I could never repay you for such
generosity," why did Mr. Stuart respond, "shaking his sides with
laughter"? We do not wish to be too inquisitive, but few things are more
trying to a sensitive person than to see others overwhelmed with
merriment in which, from ignorance, he cannot share.
Want of space forbids us to do more than touch lightly upon the many
excellences of these books. We have given extracts enough to enable our
readers to see for themselves the severe elegance of style, the
compactness and force of the narrative, the verisimilitude of the
characters, the unity of plan, and the cogency of the reasoning. We
trust they will also perceive the great moral effect that cannot fail to
be produced. Such books are specially adapted to meet a daily increasing
want. Our American youth are too apt to value virtue for its own sake.
They are in imminent danger of giving themselves over to integrity, to
industry, perseverance, and single-mindedness, without looking forward
to those posts of usefulness for which these qualities eminently fit
them. Fired with the love of learning, they are languid in claiming the
honors which learning has to bestow. Eager to become worthy of the
highest places, they make no effort to secure the places to which their
worth points them. Political supineness is the bane of our society. The
one great need is to rouse the ambition of boys, and wake them to
political aspiration. To such objects such books tend; and who would
hesitate at any sacrifice of his prejudices in favor of privacy, when
such is the end to be obtained? Breathes there the man with soul so dead
who would not lay upon the altar his father, his mother, his sisters,
not to say his uncles and cousins, nay, the inmost sanctities of his
home, to enable American boys to fasten their eyes upon the White House?
Would he refuse, at the call of patriotism, to spread before the public
the very secrets of his heart, the struggles of his closet, his
communion with his God?
As a collateral result of this new school of biography, we can but
admire the new form in which Nemesis appears. The day of rich relations
is gone by. No longer can stern Uncle Bishops lord it over their obscure
nephews, for ever before their eyes will flaunt the possible book which
will one day lay open to a gazing world all their weakness and their
evil behavior. Let not wicked or disagreeable relatives imagine
henceforth that they may safely indulge in small tyrannies, neglects, or
other peccadilloes; for no robin-redbreast will piously cover them with
leaves, but that which is done in the ear shall be proclaimed upon the
house-tops, nor can they tell from what quarter the trumpet shall sound.
The unkempt boy, the sullen girl in the chimney-corner, may be the
Narcissus or nymph in whose orisons all their sins shall be remembered.
"You that executors be made,
And overseers eke
Of children that be fatherless,
And infants mild and meek,
Take you example by this thing,
And yield to each his right,
Lest God with such like misery
Your wicked minds requite."
In view of which benefits, and others "too numerous to mention," we
humbly beg pardon for the petulance which disfigures the commencement of
our paper, and desire to use all our influence to induce all persons of
distinction meekly and humanely to lay open to the dear, curious world
their lives, their fortune, and their sacred honor.
But, however beneficial and delightful it is for a friend to impale a
friend before the public gaze, we do not think that even Job himself
would have desired that his adversary should write a book about him. In
the motives that prompted, in the grace of the doing, in the good that
will result, we can forgive the deed when friend portrays friend; but we
cannot be lenient when a hostile hand exposes the life to which we have
no right. We would fain borrow the type and the energy of Reginald
Bazalgette to enforce our opinion that it is "ABBOMMANNABEL," and the
innocence of Pet Marjorie to declare it "the most Devilish thing." Yet
in a loyal, respectable, religious newspaper we lately saw a biography
of Mr. Vallandigham which puts to the blush all previous achievements in
the line of contemporary history. It is not so much that we are let into
the family-secrets, but the family-secrets are spread out before us, as
the fruits of that species of domestic taxation known as "the presents"
are spread out on the piano at certain wedding-festivals. We are led
back to first principles, to the early married life of the parent
Vallandighams. The mother is portrayed with a vigorous feminine pencil,
and certainly looks extremely well on canvas. Clement's relations to her
are shown to be exemplary. There is excuse for this in the attacks which
have been made upon him in the relation of son. But upon what grounds
are Clement's sisters' homes invaded? Because a man is disloyal and
craven, shall we inform the world that his brother was crossed in love?
Still more shall his wife be taken in hand, and receive what even the
late Mr. Smallweed would have considered a thorough "shaking-up"? "If
they were all starving," declares the energetic narrator, "she could not
earn a cent in any way whatever, so utterly helpless is this fine
Southern lady. She will not sleep, unless the light is kept burning all
night in her room, for fear 'something might happen'; and when a slight
matter crosses her feelings, she lies in bed for several days." Tut,
tut, dear lady! surely this once thy zeal hath outrun thy discretion.
Clement L. Vallandigham's public course is a proper target for all loyal
shafts, but prithee let the poor lady, his wife, remain in peace,--such
peace as she can command. It is bad enough to be his wife, without being
overborne with the additional burden of her own personal foibles. One
can be daughter, sister, friend, without impeachment of one's sagacity
or integrity; but it is such a dreadful indorsement of a man to marry
him! Her own consciousness must be sufficiently grievous; pray do not
irritate it into downright madness. Nay, what, after all, are the so
heinous faults upon which you animadvert? She cannot earn a cent: that
may be her misfortune, it need not be her fault. Perhaps Clement, like
Albano, and all good husbands, "never loved to see the sweet form
anywhere else than, like other butterflies, by his side among the
flowers." She will keep a light burning in her room, forsooth. Have we
not all our pet hobgoblins? We know an excellent woman who once sat
curled up in an arm-chair all night for fear of a mouse! And is it not a
well-understood thing that nothing so baffles midnight burglars as a
burning candle? "When a light matter crosses her feelings, she lies in
bed for several days." Infinitely better than to go sulking about the
house with that "injured-innocence" air which makes a man feel as if he
were an assaulter and batterer with intent to kill. Blessings rest upon
those charming sensible women, who, when they feel cross, as we all do
at times, will go to bed and sleep it away! No, let us everywhere put
down treason and ostracize traitors. It is lawful to suspend "_naso
adunco_" those whom we may not otherwise suspend. But even traitors have
rights which white men and white women are bound to respect. We will
crush them, if we can, but we will crush them in open field, by fair
fight,--not by stealing into their bedchambers to stab them through the
heart of a wife.