supposes to be its principal merit. “It would be difficult,” he says, in
that pitiable preface, in which he has so exposed himself, “to find a
poem that embodies more truly the spirit of history, or indeed that
follows out more faithfully many of its details.” It would, indeed; and
we are very sorry to say it. The truth is, Mr. Downing has never dreamed
of any artistic _arrangement_ of his facts. He has gone straight
forward, like a blind horse, and turned neither to the one side nor to
the other, for fear of stumbling. But he gets them all in—every one of
them—the facts we mean. Powhatan never did anything in his life, we are
sure, that Mr. Downing has not got in his poem. He begins at the
beginning, and goes on steadily to the end—painting away at his story,
just as a sign-painter at a sign; beginning at the left hand side of his
board, and plastering through to the right. But he has omitted one very
ingenious trick of the sign-painter. He has forgotten to write under his
portrait—“_this is a pig_,” and thus there is some danger of mistaking
it for an opossum.
But we are growing scurrilous, in spite of our promise, and must put on
a sober visage once more. It _is_ a hard thing, however, when we have to
read and write about such doggerel as this:
“But bravely to the river’s brink
I led my warrior train,
And face to face, each glance they sent,
We sent it back again.
_Their werowance looked stern at me,_
_And I looked stern at him_,
And all my warriors clasped their bows,
And nerved each heart and limb.
I raised my heavy war-club high,
And swung it fiercely round,
And shook it towards the shallop’s side,
Then laid it on the ground.
And then the lighted calumet
I offered to their view,
And thrice I drew the sacred smoke,
And toward the shallop blew.
And as the curling vapour rose
Soft as a spirit prayer,
I saw the pale-face leader wave
A white flag in the air.
Then launching out their painted skiff
They boldly came to land,
And spoke us many a kindly word,
And took us by the hand.
Presenting rich and shining gifts,
Of copper, brass, and beads,
To show that they were men like us,
And prone to generous deeds.
We held a long and friendly talk,
Inquiring whence they came,
And who the leader of their band,
And what their country’s name.
And how their mighty shallop moved
Across the boundless sea,
And why they touched our great king’s land
Without his liber_ty_.”
It won’t do. We cannot sing to this tune any longer. We greatly prefer,
“John Gilpin was a gentleman
Of credit and renown,
A train-band captain eke was he
Of famous London town.”
Or—
“Old Grimes is dead, that good old man,
We ne’er shall see him more,
He used to wear an over-coat
All buttoned down before”—
or lines to that effect—we wish we could remember the words. The part,
however, about
“Their werowance look’d stern at me,
And I looked stern at him”—
is not quite _original_ with Mr. Downing—is it? We merely ask for
information. Have we not heard something about
“An old crow sitting on a hickory limb,
Who winked at me, and I winked at him.”
The simple truth is, that Mr. Downing never committed a greater mistake
in his life than when he fancied himself a poet, even in the ninty-ninth
degree. We doubt whether he could distinctly state the difference
between an epic and an epigram. And it will not do for him to appeal
from the critic to _common_ readers—because we assure him his book is a
very _un_common book. We never saw any one so uncommonly bad—nor one
about whose parturition so uncommon a fuss has been made, so little to
the satisfaction of common sense. Your poem is a curiosity, Mr. Jack
Downing; your “Metrical Romance” is not worth a single half sheet of the
paste-board upon which it is printed. This is our humble and honest
opinion; and, although honest opinions are not very plentiful just now,
you can have ours at what it is worth. But we wish, before parting, to
ask you one question. What _do_ you mean by that motto from sir Philip
Sidney, upon the title-page? “He cometh to you with a tale that holdeth
children from play, and old men from the chimney-corner.” What do you
mean by it, we say. Either you cannot intend to apply it to the “_tale_”
of Powhatan, or else all the “old men” in your particular neighbourhood
must be _very_ old men; and all the “little children” a set of
dunder-headed little ignoramuses.
* * * * *
_Miscellanies of Literature. By the Author of Curiosities of
Literature. 3 vols. J. & H. Langley, New York: 1841._
These volumes remind us of Coke upon Lyttleton, with which whilom we
were wont to be delighted; for they are full of the same odd conceits,
and present the same crude mass of undigested learning. Facts which no
one else would ever have hunted up from the shelves of dusty libraries;
theories which hitherto no man thought of substantiating by a reference
to biography or history; ideas, which are oddities in themselves, and
which are presented in the quaintest style; and illustrations of notions
that no one else would ever have thought of, or which, if thought of,
would not have been dressed up in so outlandish a manner, are all
marshalled together here in disorderly array, pushing, jostling, and
crowding each other until they remind one of Falstaff’s valorous
regiment, or a militia training in a midland county.
Seriously, however, these miscellanies embody a vast amount of
out-of-the-way intelligence, interesting to the general, but absolutely
necessary to the literary reader. No man but D’Israeli would ever have
had the patience to compile such a work. His ideas on the literary
character; his observations on men of genius; and his sketch of King
James the first, embody a vast body of undigested facts that must have
consumed years merely in their collection. Industry, however, is the
only merit of these volumes: in arranging this vast mass of truths,
D’Israeli has shown anything but a comprehensive mind.
The work is got up in fine style, as what work is not, when issued by
the Langleys?
* * * * *
_Carleton, A Tale of Seventeen Hundred and Seventy-Six. Two
volumes. Philadelphia: Lea & Blanchard._
We have heard this novel attributed to a gentleman of Philadelphia, and
also to a citizen of New York. The question appears to be a moot one
still, but, like many other moot points, is one of amazingly little
importance. The book seems to be the composition of a young man, well
educated in consonance with some of those Pharisaical literary creeds
which are all-potent in deadening the higher powers in favor of the
common-place. He has been taught _propriety_ as the chief of the
cardinal virtues, and instructed to regard _originality_ as the sum
total of the cardinal sins. His peculiar intellect, at the same time,
has been a soil precisely adapted for the seed sown. In regard to
“Carleton,” we may say in its behalf that its style is strikingly
_correct_, and that its incidents and its reflections never, even by
accident, startle us into unpleasant excitement. With this
peace-offering upon the shrine of the _decorous_, we now take the
liberty of throwing the book out of the window.
* * * * *
_Lives of the Queens of England, from the Norman Conquest; With
Anecdotes of their Courts; Now first Published from Official
Records and Other Authentic Documents, Private as well as
Public. From the Second London Edition, with Corrections and
Additions. By_ Agnes Strickland. _Vols. 1 and 2. Lea &
Blanchard. Philadelphia._
This book has been well received in England, and justly so. Its design
is obviously good, and its execution does honor to the fair author—for
in this instance it is scarcely right to call her a compiler. The work
is quite as original as any similar work can be. The task of composing
it has been an arduous one indeed; and there are few women who could
have accomplished it, as we see it accomplished. The ground upon which
Mrs. Strickland has so boldly yet judiciously ventured is one hitherto
unbroken, and, although she has trodden among flowers, she has not
escaped the delving drudgery of the pioneer. In short, a deep research
has been demanded for this labor, in quarters far out of the reach of
the ordinary investigator.
The title, although comprehensive, does not fully indicate the book. We
have not only the Lives of the Queens from the Norman Conquest, but, in
the Introduction, notices of the ancient British and Saxon ones. The
Empress Matilda is included among the former; although she has never
been so ranked by any previous historian. In this our author is fully
justified, however; for Matilda, who herself claimed no title beyond
that of “Domina of England,” was queen _de jure_, and, in a historical
view, a monarch of high importance, as the mother of the Plantagenets,
and the uniting link of the Anglo-Saxon and Anglo-Norman dynasties. The
materials of which her memoir is composed are derived chiefly from
Norman and Latin chronicles, never before translated.
These volumes are sufficiently well done in a mechanical point of view.
The lithograph portrait of Matilda, however, is greasy and ineffective,
and typographical blunders obscure the meaning of many important
passages. In the very first paragraph of the Introduction, for instance,
we have Solent _fæminrum_ ductu bellare; a sentence which we are quite
sure was never put together by Tacitus, from whose Life of Agricola it
is taken.
The book, upon the whole, is one of rich interest and value, and must
find a place in every historical library.
* * * * *
_The History of a Flirt. 2 vols. Lea & Blanchard, Philadelphia:
1841._
This novel displays considerable ability, wasted on very common-place
incidents. If the author will undertake a subject worthy of her
talents—are we wrong in fancying the writer a lady?—we may yet hail
her as a novelist of no slight pretensions.
* * * * *
_Outlines of Geography and History, presenting a Concise View of
the World. By_ Frederick Emerson, _author of the North American
Arithmetic. Hogan & Thompson: Philadelphia._
The Preface of this little work greatly interested us in its favor, and
a careful examination of its contents did not lessen the interest. In
its arrangement, Geography and History are combined—the former being
the leading topic, and the latter the concomitant. The author’s
observations, in respect to this junction, are just. The two subjects
are so intimately connected in their own nature, that, however they may
be separated in books, they can never be disconnected in the mind. The
simultaneous study of both, properly connected, secures the learner from
imbibing false notions of either.
The book is concise, but accurate, and well adapted either for a
prefatory text-book, or for those whose limited school-time will not
allow them to go through with a more diffuse system. It is very neatly
and substantially gotten up.
* * * * *
_The Works of Lord Bolingbroke, with a Life, prepared expressly
for this Edition, containing additional information relative to
his Personal and Private Character: 4 vols. Carey and Hart:
Philadelphia. 1841._
An American edition of the works of Lord Bolingbroke has long been a
_desideratum_ to the scholar, and it is with no little pride we record
that to Philadelphia we are indebted for so elegant an edition of them,
as now lies before us. The typography of these volumes would do credit
to the famous London press. With the exception of a few costly works
published from time to time in our country, this edition of Lord
Bolingbroke is unrivalled as a work of art.
The volumes before us contain the various political and philosophical
writings of Henry St. John, Viscount Bolingbroke. Of these, the
political tracts are the most valuable: in a measure, for their matter,
but chiefly for their style. Among these, the “Dissertation on Parties,”
the “Letter to Sir Wm. Wyndham,” the “Idea of a Patriot King,” and the
letters “on the study of History,” are the most celebrated. The
philosophical essays, occupying two of the volumes on our table, are
comparatively valueless, and inferior, both in style and matter, to the
political tracts. They are deeply imbued with the sceptical opinions of
the author, and we should have willingly seen them omitted in this
edition, if it were possible to get up a complete one, with nearly one
half of the author’s works left out. Little, therefore, as we value the
philosophical works of Bolingbroke, we commend the publishers for not
expunging them as too many others would have done.
The style of Bolingbroke is unrivalled. No library is perfect without
his works, and they should be studied by the public speaker, or the
author, night and day. We boldly aver that there does not exist a writer
in the language, the reading of whose works, so far as diction is
concerned, would be more beneficial to young men. Bolingbroke’s choice
of words is singularly fine. Nothing can be clearer, stronger, or more
copious than his language. Terse, nervous, epigrammatic; diffuse in
general, but condensed when necessary; at times racy, at times vehement,
at times compact as iron; rhetorical, yet easy; elegant, yet convincing;
bold, rapid and declamatory, his writings carry one away like a spoken
harangue, without betraying the carelessness of the extemporaneous
style. The very absence of method, which, in others, would be faulty,
is, in Bolingbroke, from the air of frankness it gives to his cause, and
its consistency with his essentially oratorical style, a merit: at least
not a defect. In grace he has no equal. The euphony of his sentences is
like the liquid flow of a river. No writer in the English tongue so much
resembles Cicero—to our mind—as Bolingbroke. Burke has been called his
rival here; but Burke wanted the ease, the elegance, the chastened
imagery of Tully, and in all of these St. John rivalled the friend of
Atticus. Deeply imbued with the Latin literature, Bolingbroke has
caught, as it were, the spirit of the Augustan age; and we feel, in
perusing his pages, the same chastened delight which we enjoy over no
modern, and only over Tully among the ancients.
We repeat it: no library is complete without these volumes. Hitherto,
the difficulty of obtaining a set of Bolingbroke’s Works, and the high
price at which the English editions were sold, have confined the study
of his writings comparatively to a few.
The life of Bolingbroke, affixed to these volumes, is altogether a
mongrel affair, being made up of shreds and patches, like an old
grandam’s best bed-quilt. The text is Goldsmith, interpolated with
Brougham, Cooke, and the Encyclopædia. It is true, the preface states
this at large, but it also conveys the impression that the memoir has
been re-written, and that only the _materials_ have been used. Now, if
so, a more unequal, ragged, piebald piece of composition was never
perpetrated than this same memoir, and the author—if any one but a pair
of scissors there be—ought to be condemned to the now obsolete, but not
less effective punishment, of the cutty-stool. If ever a man deserved a
horse-pond, it is the inditer of this biography.
* * * * *
_A Memoir of the Very Reverend Theobald Mathew. With an Account
of the Rise and Progress of Temperance in Ireland. By the
Reverend James Bermingham, of Borisokane. Edited by_ P. H.
Morris, M. D., _and by whom is added the Evil Effects of
Drunkenness Physiologically Explained. Alexander V. Blake: New
York._
It is scarcely too much to say that the Temperance Reformation is the
most important which the world ever knew. Yet its _great_ feature has
never yet been made a subject of comment. We mean that of adding to
man’s happiness (the ultimate object of _all_ reform), not by the
difficult and equivocal process of multiplying his pleasures, in their
external regard, but by the simple and most effectual one of exalting
his capacity for enjoyment. The temperate man carries within his own
bosom, under all circumstances, the true, the only elements of bliss.
The book before us will essentially aid the good cause. The memoir of
Mathew is deeply interesting; but, excellent as it is, we prefer the
essay of Dr. Morris on “the Effects of Drunkenness Physiologically
considered.” Through the influence of the physical, rather than of the
moral suggestions against alcohol, the permanency of the temperance
reform will be made good. Convince the world that spirituous liquors are
poison to the body, and it will be scarcely necessary to add that they
are ruin to the soul.
* * * * *
_The Life and Land of Burns: 1 vol. J. & H. Langley: New York.
1841._
This is an excellent work, got up in a style of exceeding beauty. The
Langleys, indeed, are becoming celebrated for the beauty of their
publications.
An essay by Carlyle, written in his usual barbarous style, but sparkling
with brilliant thoughts, like diamonds in a mine, forms one of the chief
features of the contents.
* * * * *
Transcriber’s Notes:
Table of Contents has been added for reader convenience. Archaic
spellings and hyphenation have been retained. Obvious punctuation and
typesetting errors have been corrected without note. A cover has been
created for this ebook and is placed in the public domain.
In E.A. Poe’s article A FEW WORDS ON SECRET WRITING, a page image of a
cryptograph has been used for the ebook formats other than plain text,
rather than a transcription, due to limitations of modern fonts and
devices. It is interesting to use that illustration image as indicator
of the problems which could occur with old physical typesetting methods.
Looking at the image of the cryptograph we can see the first 6
characters of the first line are $0.£][ which according to the list of
characters above the cryptograph would be "wm eust" but were meant to
represent the words "we must". Unfortunately the typesetter made an
error and transposed the e (.) and m (0) so the first characters should
have been printed as $.0£][ to be a correct representation of the
paragraph.
[End of Graham’s Magazine, Vol. XIX, No. 1, July 1841, George R. Graham,
Editor]