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like ; it is absolutely the same to me; it will not why, I wish you joy of your bargain before you alter my conduct and my resolve by a hair's breadth have been married six months." -so take your choice."

This address, rendered rather indistinct by his He fixed his hard eyes upon her very earnestly chewing the bit of wood all the time, failed to while she spoke, and then, having previously got convince Anne of the treasure she was throwing through half his ballad, he favored her with the away. remainder of that exemplary saint's adventures. “I have said everything that can be said," she

Anne walked about the room in a tumult of feel- replied ; “ if you had a spark of good sense or ing.

good feeling you would see what to do. I am not “ If I could but let him understand that he makes going to entreat or implore-let it be a trial of me miserable,” she thought; “ he used to have some strength between us. I am not defenceless, nor good feeling; he surely cannot persist in his in- quite alone, as you think. I have a brother who tentions. But he makes me so angry that I hardly will take my part.”. know how to address him."

"Ah! that everlasting Hugh,” said Mr. Cla“ And so,” remarked Mr. Clavering, as if it vering ; “ but he won't be here till it is all settled, were a sequel to his last observation, “ I have done thank goodness!" nothing in it; my governor brought me here on At this crisis the peace-making Mrs. Scawen purpose ; but they have been settling all the money entered the room. matters without me; I am sure I've had no hand

After this curious love scene, Anne goes to her in it; you need not be in such a rage.' “You distress me, Mr. Clavering,” said Anne ;

father and tells him she is resolved.never to marry “it is past a jest ; you must break off this as soon Clavering, and Mr. Scawen, in a rage, tells her to as possible; it has gone too far already, but it was quit his house forever. Anne, in despair, puts on in ignorance on my part; I thought nothing was her bonnet, and determines to obey her father : planned, or would be planned, until you had spoken but, more prudent than most heroines, she takes to me. And, therefore, you will be so good as to care to put plenty of money in her pocket for her inform the general.”

"!!-le plus souvent !” retorted Mr. Clavering ; journey. She recollects that her old nurse resides “why, all along I meant to marry you. That is at a farm on her brother Hugh's estate at Datchwhat made me so savage with that fellow Hard- ley, and resolves to go and stay with her till her wicke!”

father relents. She is kindly received by Mrs. “ It cannot be, Mr. Clavering!” said Anne de- Ford, who, however, insists on writing and incidedly ; “when I tell you that it would make me forming Mr. Scawen of his daughter's abode, and wretched, you ought to feel that it is impossible for he consents that Anne shall remain there for the you to persist in it.” “ See if I don't; why, I came here on purpose,'

» present.

All this time the young lady appears 10 said Mr. Clavering, stubbornly.

have forgotten her husband, Arthur Hardwicke. You cannot wish to marry a woman who has She has never heard from him, but was told accino regard for you!” exclaimed Anne ; “ you surely dentally that a Captain Arthur, or Alfred Hardhave too much respect for yourself to offer your wicke, in the same regiment that her husband behand to a person who cannot feel the least affection longed to, bears a dreadful character for drunkenfor you in return." • Never you mind,” retorted Mr. Clavering, she can hardly believe he can be so altered, for at

ness and every kind of low dissipation. At first still swinging his foot.

Anne felt a great inclination to sit down and cry, the memorable Twelfth-night ball, where she first but she thought it would be wiser to go on attempt- met him, he refused to sip even a little of the elder ing to convince her singular lover.

wine that was mulled for the juveniles, on the plea “Do you remember," she said," when you were that he never took anything but water. Anne at staying here before, I had my own way in every- last is convinced of his unworthiness, and dismisses thing, and even when you tried to oppose me it was him from her thoughts. While she is residing of no use?“ Ah! but I'm older now,” said Mr. Clavering, her that her darling brother Hugh has been lost at

with Mrs. Ford at the farm, intelligence reaches with a look of satisfaction.

“ And so am I older,” replied Anne, firmly. sea, and she becomes dangerously ill. Her father,

The control of a strong mind over a weaker was whose heart is almost broken by the loss of his beginning to work. Mr. Clavering looked uncom- favorite son, comes to see her, and, when she is fortable, and, after a nervous pause, he began a very sufficiently recovered, takes her on the continent, incoherent defence of his conduct.

where they remain five years. Anne now informs “ When everybody knows that old D-has had a paralytic stroke, and can't last forever, and is her father of her early marriage, and of the bad

Mr. Scawen as rich as a Jew. I am sure other girls would not character borne by her husband. be in a rage with me. I've done nothing-I have thinks the best course is to remain quiet, unless he not made love to you. I've said as little as any- should attempt to claim her, and then tells her she body could. I think you the handsomest girl in must have legal aid to set her free. Mr. Scawen the world. If I were a duke I should think the dies abroad, and Anne returns to England. She same. I am not a bad match, but I wish I were a is now twenty-three, beautiful, and an heiress, and, better. Whatever I had I should be glad to share with you. You would lead a very easy life. Then of course, has plenty of admirers, amongst whom you should have your own way again. I'm not Mr. Clavering again takes his station, but with worse than other people; not so bad as many. You as little success as before. Anne passes the auliked me well enough before I let out that you were tumn at Brighton, and there learns with dismay to marry me; and if you want a handsome man, that Captain Hardwicke's regiment has returned to

now.

England, and that he is actually in the same town I was extremely distressed to hear that you had left with her. Anne is miserable lest he should in- the ball-room in consequence, absolutely indisposed. tend to claim her as his wife, but is made happy I do not know how to express to you my feelings by receiving the following cool letter from him on the subject, for I am afraid that it all happened

so—I rely entirely on my brother's account, as I' This is the second time I address you since our cannot trust to my own recollection.”' brief acquaintance in Scotland. Perhaps it is “Now," thought Anne, her whole face whitennecessary to remind you of it, since you betrayed no ing, “ now is the time to know whether he has sign of recognition when you passed me yesterday. trusted any one else with our secret.” Although you did not reply to the letter I wrote “ You told your brother,” she began. you from Bombay, I cannot tell how far you were “ He came up, you know : I declare I don't quito a free agent then. I supposed you so, as you were remember, but I have some idea of his coming up, of age, and, I imagined, under your brother's care. and placing himself in my way. He always does Perhaps you could not reply to me. I entreat you get in my way just when I don't want him.” (With to answer me now. I think it my duty to give you

a half laugh.) the choice of sharing such a home as I can offer. I

“ That was your brother, then !” exclaimed beseech you to consider the subject gravely. We Anne. knew nothing of each other then ; we know nothing

Yes, my brother Arthur. I fancied he had the We may be the last persons each would se- pleasure of knowing you, from something he said lect as a partner, but we can make no other choice. this morning, but I must have mistaken his meanYou may feet it a point of duty to reside with your ing, I suppose; he was so excessively annoyed at husband; I would offer no hindrance to the fulfil- what passed that I was quite glad to stop his mouth, ment of your duty. Or time may have so altered by taking it on myself to make my own apologies. your feelings as to render you averse to such an He is a very good fellow, (in a tone that seemed to idea. I would not interrupt your tranquillity, as I say, not half so good a fellow as I am,) but so very fear I have already too much done. But decide, steady that one cannot always keep up with his that I may know what to look to. I cannot bear ideas.” suspense.

Arthur HARDWICKE. He might have gone on much longer without any Anne sends back a reply equally cool.

chance of interruption from Anne.

All was explained, as most strange misunderI hasten to reply to your letter, the first I have standings are explained, by one chance careless ever received from you. I cannot fail to give such word. His brother Arthur! The man she had a subject my gravest consideration, and I thank you often declared she could never forget, grown quite for allowing me a choice in a matter of such deep out of her knowledge, and his younger brother importance. If I thought my society could add to looking like what he was when they parted. It your happiness, I should feel called upon to set was so very natural, so odd it should never have aside all idea of my own. As it is, no feeling of occurred to her that this might be the case. duty impels me to avail myself of your permission. Just like every other mystery, when it is cleared We are better apart.

up, the wonder is, that it should ever have been a ANNE LASCELLES SCAWEN. mystery. But then her letter, so cold, so decisive; A day or two after this correspondence Anne recollected the terms in which she had exiled him

a pang of regret shot through her heart, as she accompanies a party to the races, and there sees from her presence. How could she recall what she Hardwicke in company with a most abandoned had written? How explain her mistake? No, it woman, and dreadfully intoxicated. He insists on was not for her to explain. The tone of his letter riding one of the horses, is thrown, and picked up was so conclusive as to his own feelings, that it insensible. A very handsome, grave-looking man,

was hardly for her to seek a renewal of their acwhom Anne has often remarked, and who is the quaintance. No-she felt that no advances must

come from her. Wretched as was their present colonel of the regiment in which Hardwicke is position, it was better than to live under the same captain, has him removed from the ground. He roof, with every feeling changed, or averse to each is not injured by his fall, and in the evening Anne other. These thoughts hurried through her mind meets him at the race ball, still very far from with the speed of light, almost before Captain sober. He insists on dancing with her, and Hardwicke had done speaking. Anne is so frightened that she faints, and is con- Of course everything is now clear. The handveyed to her carriage by the handsome colonel. In some colonel is the real Simon Pure, and everythe morning Captain Hardwicke is announced to thing that is noble and good. They soon become Anne. He comes to apologize for his conduct reconciled, and a second marriage takes place beover night, still without any reference to their tween them. former acquaintance. But this visit leads to the The volumes are written in a very lively and dénouement :

amusing manner, and contain abundance of inci“I

have not the least idea of what took place," dent and character. There is one in particular, a said Captain Hardwicke, with the most polite and sort of intellectual “ Tilly Slowboy," who will candid air in the world; “my brother told me delight the reader by the fun and vivacity of her that I had persisted in desiring to waltz with you, a character. We consider the present tale to be a very natural wish, and one that I am sure was shared by everybody in the room, (with a glance of very thor. They will amuse and interest by the lively

great improvement on the former works of the auintelligible admiration.) I was horribly shocked! It is enough to make a man hang himself. I cannot pictures of society they contain, and by the many express to you how much I feel your kindness in clever sketches of character found throughout the admítting me, and not resenting my importunity. volumes.

ers.

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From the Literary World. may overthrow towns and knock down houses, but A FRENCH CRITIC'S OPINIONS ON AMERICAN

nature laughs at them. You must look else

where. Well, authors are not paid ; they profess LITERATURE AND AUTHORS.

to rule and enjoy a great deal of glory, but they A late number of the Parisian Revue des Deux get nothing substantial. They produce nothing, Mondes has an elaborate article on the rather for they are starved. That again is an old story. afflictive text of American Literature, a subject, Camoens and Tasso, Rousseau and Milton, got the discussion of which has occupied periodicals along without pay. But the age is prosaic; the last half century, till the critics have fairly out- modern life is vulgar. The most untenable of weighed the authors upon whom they have com- all! The world is alive in every fibre, an enmented. The result has been, undoubtedly, to tirely Shakspearean world, infinite in plot and demonstrate the inutility of criticism as a produc- situation. No poetry! Look at the newspapers, tive power. Humiliating as must be the admis- at Hungary, and at Lady Franklin, worth a sion to reviewers, it is nevertheless to be confessed, dozen of Penelope. All ages are mingled in this, that great writers do not come into the world by and thrown to the surface. Modern times, then being called for in leading articles ; else America are not prosaic. would have had ere this a plenteous stock of What, then, is the secret of this intellectual Honers, Shakspeares, and other starry perform- sterility? 'In our opinion," says the reviewer

The Edinburgh Review itself never made profoundly at length, “there are but two causes, an author, though the author being once given, the influence of the revolutionary spirit, and the that journal with others may assist in his develop- absence of a common faith." The first of these ment, and in a thousand ways aid his popular looks like returning upon the theory of the masses, appreciation. Positive tastes may be encouraged which has just been exploded, but upon this point by reviewers, who thus render one of the highest we are told that the idea must be separated from services to the state in the national education, but the fact. Barricades and gun-shots have nothing tastes are not original powers, and readers are not to do with it, but the revolutionary spirit hasauthors. The latter come when there is material the satanic spirit of revolt, of destruction. The for them, when they are wanted, when Heaven arts grow by love and reverence, revolution desends them :-conditions upon which it is easy to lights in ruin. Besides, the revolutionary right speculate, but hard to determine anything. of insurrection is a modern idea, and there is

The French reviewer before us, M. Emile something in that, on the principle of new effects Montégut, enters upon the consideration of the from new causes. The moral atmosphere is literature of two hemispheres with a very doleful desiccated by the revolutionary spirit. All our sentence. “Fruitful,” says he, “as is our age (i. e. French) literature is full of vertigo, disorin sad spectacles, there is no one of them which ganization, and anarchy; the best poets are those excites a more melancholy sentiment than the who are most mad and most drunk. There is no dying out of intellectual life which manifests unity, no concentration, for there is no religion. itself more and more through the entire world.” Everything is wanting in depth and profundity. This is a severe blow-a damper-a crusher to Instinct fails us entirely, nothing springs spontathe age of Progress in which we have been told neously, everything is seized upon by artifice. 80 often that we live. And how is it to be Literature has absolutely nothing human in it; it accounted for ? This double paralysis ? this looks as if it were composed for the far-off oddigrowing European and American imbecility ? ties of another planet. The heart of the writer M. Montégut throws out, among others, a solu- does not respond to the heart of the reader. tion which might be accepted for its simplicity. Undoubtedly in this, M. Montégut, you have It cuts the Gordian knot by one blow. European hit upon a sound philosophy, and worthily have civilization is too old, and Cis-Atlantic civilization you vindicated certain essential elements of life. too young to produce anything. A consideration The revolutionary spirit is a spirit of negatives ; not very complimentary to either at present, but it destroys, but does not build. Forget not this, with a grain of comfort on our side, for we see however, in the grand course of human affairs. nothing for Europe in it but despair, while America The plough is as necessary to the soil as the has hope. Youth may grow to manhood. seed; in due time there will be both seed and

There is more to be said, however. We are sunshine. The storms of winter invigorate the promised some light on this subject from the soil for the crop of autumn; but man must wait. works of M. Henri Longfellow, a list of whose Europe is not dead yet! books is placed at the head of the article. But Now for America. What is the difficulty before coming to this solution a little logical rub- here ? for in the admission of the difficulty we are bish has to be cleared away. You will say, for at present merely reproducing, in briefest possible instance, (we give the substance of M. Montégut,) phrase, the reviewer's long article.

There are that the age of individualities is passed that the two young nations in the world, and they are masses rule. True, but the masses have ruled both but prolongations of old Europe-Russia and before, and genius has flourished. A Robert America. They are made up of the old stock. Burns would find something to sing about without “ Peter the Great,” said Rousseau, troubling himself with the masses. Revolutions monkey of genius ; instead of looking for a civila

was

ization peculiar to the Russian people, and invent-concealed rather than evident. It is probable that ing a system in consonance with the national Fenimore Cooper never would have dreamed of character, he undertook to compose a society of painting savages, pioneers, and the nomadic life elements taken from the whole of Europe of the Americans, had not his powers and ambiEnglish, French, and Dutch.” In America this tion been awakened by the wild world of Walter is still more visible. You will find there France, Scott and the success which his gypsies, mendiEngland, Poland, Spain, Ireland, (why does the cants, chiefs, outlaws, and bandits, obtained. But reviewer omit Germany ?) representatives of all what a distance from the barbarous world of the nations of the world, sects of every shade, Walter Scott to the barbarous world of Cooper ! Puritans, Quakers, Unitarians, Trinitarians, Ro- The warrior barbarians, the Robin Hoods and Rob man Catholics, Church of England men, Mormon- Roys, in conflict with civilization and the laws, ites, Swedenborgians, preachers without number, are the heroes of Scott; but the barbarian workmeetings and societies for everything—for uni- ing out civilization, contending with nature, versal peace, temperance, giving away Bibles, free among the wrecks of savage life, grubbing and trade, abolition, and relief of the poor. There planting, advancing with an unheard of rapidity are democrats, feudal planters, slaves and savages, and unsurpassable persistence to the conquest of half-barbarians called squatters, associations on the the world ; this is the type which really belongs plan of St. Simon, Fourier and Robert Owen. to Cooper. He was the first to show to Europe The United States is an immense meeting of all the strong and youthful races who were to renew the people on earth.

civilization by force of activity and labor. In spite This prolongation of Europe is felt still more of his defects we hold Fenimore Cooper to be the forcibly when we study the literature of America. most eminent novelist the United States have as There are few who reproduce with talent the yet produced. scenes, manners, habits, tendencies, traditions, and Cooper, if he imitates, imitates simply the history of the United States. Each one paints manner of the celebrated Scottish novelist ; for he the manners of the people whom he prefers, imi- knows the histories of solitudes and forests, and tates the literature which he admires. The describes American manners. As for Washing literature of the United States is not more fecund ton Irving, he paints every country except his than that of Europe, and being for the most part own. He writes descriptions of England, dean imitation of foreign literatures, it of course scriptions of Spain ; tells old Moorish or Granafollows that it has still less life and originality. dian stories, or imitates the style of the papers in

The two earliest writers of the United States the Spectator. In a word, his productions are were politicians, Franklin and Jefferson. We very bookish and puerile throughout. Washingwould beg some keen wit to inform us where in ton Irving has always reminded us of the false Franklin Europe ends and America begins ? for romanesque literature of the eighteenth century, we confess we have never been able to discover. Gonzalvo of Cordova, and the countless Arabian, The intellectual culture of Franklin is European Turkish, Tartar, and Indian romances which throughout. It belongs to the eighteenth century. teemed at that epoch. Spanish and Moorish traHe is a practical disciple of Locke; his democracy ditions, under his agreeable and facile pen, take is drawn from Locke, his famous plan of conduct completely the tournure of the pictures of the is inspired by Locke, his natural religion is reign of Louis XV., which represent the charmLocke's, his Poor Richard's Almanac is Locke's ing French ladies in very suspicious oriental philosophy put in practice. The charming pages costumes. of Jefferson on France and Europe, in his me- A few years since we read the tales of Edgar moirs, indicate his studies.

A. Poe, highly bookish productions, too bookish To pass to authors who are simply authors. for our taste. They had absolutely nothing naThe greatest names we meet are those of Feni- tional. They are occupied with things and beings more Cooper and Washington Irving. Europe is the most fantastical, with analogies, matter runalways in their minds. Look at Cooper. He ning into pure spirit, with magnetism, Swedenborstruggles to paint for us the aborigines, savages, gianism, occult influences on human life ; but one planters, pioneers, and he does this with facility could swear that he had taken his laws of analogy and success ; but you are not to suppose that he from Fourier, his philosophy from Mesmer and seeks new colors, stakes any originality, or Swedenborg, and that he owes to Balzac the ploughs up his American nature for its essential method of his inductions and hypotheses. elements. Not at all. He has before his eyes a The North American Review is without doubt model — Walter Scott, and he imitates him con- the most celebrated review in the United States. stantly. He describes his American landscapes We find in it the small change of the current by the aid of the preceding descriptions of Walter talent of Europe, a tracing sufficiently well done Scott ; his characters enter on the stage with the of the English reviews; but little originality. air of the heroes of Walter Scott; his conversa- As for the immense journals without scope or tions are conducted absolutely as Sir Walter plan, a dry catalogue of facts and anecdote, they Scott conducts his": yet we are willing to confess are unreadable. that notwithstanding this constant preoccupation The philosophic writings of a certain Brown by Sir Walter Scott, the imitation is latent, and ] (ay. who is Brown ?) have made a sensation in America. These books, which border on materi- which Europe suffocates and agonizes, the acquisialism, are only the last echo of the degenerate tion of gain, the desire of enjoyment, industrial Scottish school, if it were possible that the Scot- activity. One would only have to compare the tish school could degenerate. He might be spiritual, brilliant, tricky Samuel Slick with the called an American Lamoriguière. Philosophy hideous Robert Macaire, two contemporary types, naturally calls up theology. We have read a one belonging to a young civilization, the other 10 book of brilliant religious discourses by Theodore an old and blasé population. Haliburton is the Parker, printed at Boston. We found in it no most original writer of America, with the least trace of Protestantism. This work, under a relig- bookish pretension. Bookish pretensions have ious appearance, is a far-off echo of European always spoilt spontaneity of wit and reality of philosophical doctrines. You would say that it observation. was Le Vicaire Savoyard, anon Herder, anon Mr. Henry Longfellow, on the contrary, makes Condorcet, anon Benjamin Constant.

great pretensions, and is, in fact, after Washington Emerson has sought to react against this litera- Irving, the most bookish writer in America. You ture of imitation and European copying. He has remark here and there in his writings, pretty deendeavored to lead his countrymen to the contem- tails, too often injured by melancholy puerilities. plation of the nature before their eyes, the de- That in which he is most deficient is concentrascription of their customs, modes of life, and to tion, energy. To give an idea of his poetry we substitute for the Paris and London always pres- would choose the strongest piece which we have ent to the writers of his country, Massachusetts been able to find in his collections—The Psalm and Virginia. He has tried to turn them from of Life, What the Heart of the Young Man said this literature of tourists, dilettanti, and rovers. to the Psalmist. The soul is not a traveller, he tells them often; It is very evident that these verses, full of good why seek so far, at Naples, Rome, London, Paris, intentions, courageous, stoical even, have been for what is before you ? Look in upon your written after a lecture of Emerson's, of the phiselves ; the life that is in you, feeble though it be losophy of which, weakened and enervated, they as a spark, is worth more than the splendid dust are the resumé; but this is not the habitual tone of extinguished nations. Unhappily the man of the poetry of Mr. Longfellow. It has a himself, the most original and profound of all, has sweetness which never exhausts itself, a melanfallen foul of the old difficulty. He has read choly of great pertinacity. The same tender and Carlyle, he has read Novalis, he has read Coler- wavering images, the same expressions return conidge, he has read Wordsworth, and he does not tinually; there are ever moon-rays, stars, tho forget them sufficiently at times. It must be sound of church bells and lamenting voices. said, however, that his ideas, his style, his groups, There is in all his verses a certain poetic quietisin his landscapes, have more in them of nature and which cradles us and charms at one moment, but of American life than all that we are acquainted which soon

appears factitious.

The thought with and have enumerated.

loses itself in the music, and the music ends in The man who has exhibited after Emerson and losing itself in a certain monotonous murmur. Fenimore Cooper the most of originality and of On rising from the perusal of these books, you the initiative in literature is Haliburton, an inhab- wake as it were from a long dream on the itant of Nova Scotia. There absolutely nothing banks of a river ; you have seen waves trans savors of Europe ; all is American. Doubtless parent and limpid passing before your eyes, but there is more than one Sam Slick in Europe and you feel they are worth nothing in comparison amidst the European industry ; there are also in with real life, in its activity, and infinite and Europe sects, covetous and avaricious priests, changing details. hypocrites : but nothing of all this resembles the Mr. Longfellow, of Swedish origin, has in parpersonages and scenes described by Haliburton. ticular this defect, which I have charged upon Samuel Slick is the point of junction of two American literature in general. His poetry sugworlds. He reünites in himself the savage and gests the literature of an emigrant. He is full the civilized; he is not a savage, he has not the of admiration of the Swedish poet, Isaiah Tegner, simplicity, the poetry of that state, but he has its and appears to imitate him frequently. He has finesse, its trick: he is not a civilized being, for he translated the poetry of all nations ; half of his has not the elegance of one, but he wears the poetry is translation. Mr. Longfellow appears to garb of civilization; he has her scruples of legal-attach himself but little to the country about him. ity and honesty apparent in his expedients, her He lives in a Protestant land, and translates the logical prudential method in the midst of his end- sonnets, the triplets of Catholic poets, of Lope de less peregrinations ; in fine, nomadic as a savage, Vega, Francisco de Aldana, Dante ; he lives he is nowhere a stranger. It would be a curious among merchants and democrats, and translates bringing together of ideas to show those who the chivalresque poems of Uhland and Schiller. exalt human nature and those who slander it, how His books are all literary fantasies. He amuses the same elements, as they are restrained and himself with the reproduction of the manners of directed, can work in a double way for good or different poets. He imitates Novalis in certain evil; how the civilization of the United States pieces of his collection entitled Voices of the aggrandizes by the very elements in the midst of Night, sometimes Goethe, sometimes Uhland ; he

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