"At what other time? persisted the child. "At the great judgment-day,' whispered the minister; and, strangely enough, the sense that he was a professional teacher of the truth impelled him to answer the child so. Then, and there, before the judgment seat, thy mother and thou, and I, must stand together. But the day-description; but the whole tale must be light of this world shall not see our meeting! "Pearl laughed again.

"We impute it, therefore, solely to disease in his own eye and heart, that the minister looking upward to the zenith, beheld there the appear-is ance of an immense letter-the letter A-mark

ed out in lines of dull red light Not but the meteor may have shewn itself at that point, burning duskily through a veil of cloud, but

French call Love, and we are permitted added she, shivering playfully, 'I shall not asto infer that she takes part in the scheme sume it till after May-day.' with the presentiment that something may it; the fault must have been in my imagina Assuredly Zenobia could not have intended turn up in the way of a good novelesque tion. But these last words, together with someamour, and she is not altogether mistaken. thing in her manner, irresistibly brought up a This character, like all the rest, is power-picture of that fine, perfectly developed figure fully given, and in the true way; that is, by in Eve's earliest garment. Her free, careless, glimpses, as we see characters in nature, and generous modes of expression, often had this not by the way of elaborate portraiture. effect, of creating images which, though pure, The irony with which the writer exposes of a thought that passes between a man and are hardly felt to be quite decorous when born this character in the very praises of Miles woman. I imputed it, at that time, to Zenobia's Coverdale is surprisingly effective, from its noble courage, conscious of no harm, and scorndelicacy and moderation; and the imbecil-ing the petty restraints which take the life and ity of the poetaster, whose nerves are ruth- colour out of other women's conversation." lessly imposed upon by the scornful and gaudy presence of this heroine, whom even Silas Foster, who evidently has no care he, in her absence, has wit enough to see for or real apprehension of what the Comthrough and look down upon, is an admira- munist scheme means, and takes part in it ble sarcasm upon the "perspective temper-only because he finds his vocation wherever ament," when it is accompanied by moral energy and hearty humanity.

"Her hand, though very soft, was larger than most women would like to have, or than they could afford to have, though not a whit too large in proportion with the spacious plan of Zenobia's entire development. It did one good to see a fine intellect (as hers really was, although its natural tendencies lay in another direction than towards literature) so fitly cased. She was, indeed, an admirable figure of a woman, just on the hither verge of her richest maturity, with a combination of features which it is safe to call remarkably beautiful, even if some fastidious persons might pronounce them a little deficient in softness and delicacy. But we find enough of those attributes everywhere. Preferable-by way of variety, at least was Zenobia's health, bloom, and vigour, which she possessed in such overflow that a man might well have fallen in love with her for their sake only. In her quiet moods she seemed rather indolent; but when really in earnest, particularly if there were a spice of bitter feeling, she grew all alive, to her finger tips."

there are pigs to keep and ploughs to drive, is the one point of reality in all the phantasmagoria of conceit, and its concomitant passions and imbecilities.

"Stout Silas Foster mingled little in our conversation; but, when he did speak, it was very much to some practical purpose. For instance

"Which man among you,' quoth he, 'is the best judge of swine! Some of us must go to the next Brighton Fair, and buy half a dozen pigs.'

Pigs! Good heavens! had we come out from among the swinish multitude for this? And again, in reference to some discussion about raising early vegetables for the market—

"We shall never make any hand of marketgardening,' said Silas Foster, unless the women folks will undertake to do all the weeding. We haven't team enough for that and the regular farm-work, reckoning three of you city folks as worth one common field hand. No, no; I tell you we should have to get up a little too early in the morning, to compete with the marketgardeners round Boston."

"It struck me as rather odd, that one of the first questions raised, after our separation from the greedy, struggling, self-seeking world, should relate to the possibility of getting the advantage over the outside barbarians in their own field of labour. But, to own the truth, I very soon became sensible that, as regarded society at large, we stood in a position of new

This fine female animal, whose intellect, though strong, is not less material than her beauty, makes no impression-though in a sort of lazy way, she desires it-upon the heart of Coverdale. He is a 66 man of refinement," though he is little else, and he is effectually repelled by things which are in-hostility, rather than new brotherhood. Nor tended by Zenobia to attract him.

666

could this fail to be the case in some degree, until the bigger and better half of society should range itself on our side. Constituting so pitiful a minority as now, we were inevitably estranged from the rest of mankind in pretty fair proportion with the strictness of our mutual bond among ourselves."

"I am afraid,' said Zenobia, with mirth gleaming out of her eyes, we shall find some difficulty in adopting the Paradisaical system for at least a month to come. Look at that snow-drift sweeping past the window! Are there any figs ripe, do you think? Have the pine-apples been gathered to-day? Would you like a bread-fruit, or a cocoa-nut? Shall I run out and pluck you some roses? No, no, Mr. Coverdale, the only flower hereabouts is the one in my hair, which I got out of a greenhouse this morning. As for the garb of Eden,', I seen the remorseless anatomy with which

It is in the exquisite perception of moral and social phenomena of this last sort that Mr. Hawthorne excels every other modern We have writer we are acquainted with.

be rather too fine and sentimental a name (a fault inevitable by literary ladies in such attempts) for sun-burnt men to work under. I ventured to whisper 'Utopia,' which was, however, unanimously scouted down, and the proposer very harshly maltreated, as if he had intended a latent satire. Some were for calling our institution 'The Oasis,' in view of its being the one green spot in the moral sandwaste of the world; but others insisted on a proviso for reconsidering the matter at a twelvemonth's end, when a final decision might be had whether to name it, 'The Oasis' or 'Sahara.'"

"We all sat down-grisly Silas Foster, his rotund helpmate, and the two bouncing handmaidens included-and looked at one another A defect of this remarkable book, is the in a friendly, but rather awkward way. It absence of any sufficient glimpse of the was the first practical trial of our theories of realities whose opposites it is, we suppose, equal brotherhood and sisterhood, and we peo- Mr. Hawthorne's desire to teach us to shun. ple of superior cultivation and refinement (for Silas Foster, as we have said, is the only such, I presume, we unhesitatingly reckoned ourselves) felt as if something were already acreal person in the drama. Zenobia and complished towards the millennium of love. Priscilla, in their several extremes, are alike The truth is, however, that the labouring oar destitute of true womanhood-Hollingswas with our unpolished companions; it being worth and Coverdale, in their opposite far easier to condescend than to accept of con- ways, equally unmanly. As is always the descension. Neither did I refrain from ques- case with clever and selfish persons, Zenotioning in secret, whether some of us, and Ze- bia, Coverdale, Hollingsworth, and others nobia among the rest, would so quietly have taken our places among these good people, save in this tale, have a singular acuteness to from the cherished consciousness that it was not one another's defects, and an obtuseness no from necessity, but choice. Though we saw less extraordinary to their own. Zenobia, of fit to drink our tea out of earthen cups to-night, course, falls in love, in her way, with Holand in earthen company, it was at our own op- lingsworth, from the desire, natural to all tion to use pictured porcelain, and handle sil- vain minds, of conquering difficulties. She ver forks again, to-morrow. This same salvo, aids and abets his pseudo-philanthropic as to the power of regaining our former position, contributed much, I fear, to the equani- schemes, so long as she hopes for a return mity with which we subseqnently bore many of of her passion; but when she finds that he the hardships and humiliations of a life of toil. is better affected towards a damsel as inIf ever I have deserved, (which has not often sipid as she herself is over savoury, she been the case, and, I think, never.) but if ever incontinently drowns herself, after venting a I did deserve to be soundly cuffed by a fellowmortal for secretly putting weight upon some good deal of not uneloquent invective, such social advantage, it must have been while I was as this:ostentatiously striving to prove myself his equal, and no more. It was while I sat beside him on his cobbler's bench, or clinked my hoe against his own in the corn field, or broke the same crust of bread, my earth-grimed hand to his, at our noontide lunch. The poor proud man should look at both sides of sympathy like

this."

"Now, God be judge between us,' cried Zenobia, breaking into sudden passion, 'which of us two has most mortally offended Him! At least, I am a woman, with every fault, it may be, that woman ever had,-weak, vain, unprincipled, like most of my sex; for our virtues, when we have any, are merely impulsive and intuitive, passionate too, and pursuing my fool

Mr. Hollingsworth, who has his inde-ish and unattainable ends by indirect and cunpendent quack remedy for society, says con fidentially to Coverdale, "I see through the system. It is full of defects, irremediable and damning ones. From first to last, there is nothing else. I grasp it in my hand, and find no substance whatever. There is human nature in it." Nevertheless, he assists in the hope of making the scheme serve his own. They try to choose a name for their colony.

по

"Zenobia suggested Sunny Glimpse,' as expressive of a vista into a better system of society. This we turned over and over for a while, acknowledging its prettiness, but concluded it to

ning, though absurdly chosen means, as an hereditary bond slave must; false, moreover, to the whole circle of good, in my reckless truth to the little good I saw before me, but still a woman! a creature whom only a little change of earthly fortune, a little kinder smile of Him who sent me hither, and one true heart to encourage and direct me, might have made all that a woman can be! But how is it with you? Are you a man? No; but a monster! A cold, heartless, self-beginning and self-ending piece of mechan

ism!'

"With what, then, do you charge me?' asked Hollingsworth, aghast, and greatly disturbed by this attack. "Show me one selfish end, in all I ever aimed at, and you may cut it out of my bosom with a knife!'

"It is all self!' answered Zenobia, with still force, that unmistakable evidence of superiority, to intenser bitterness. 'Nothing else, nothing but scourge them back within their proper bounds! But self, self, self! The fiend, I doubt not, has it will not be needful. The heart of true womade his choicest mirth of you these seven manhood knows where its own sphere is, and years past, and especially in the mad summer never seeks to stray beyond it!" which we have spent together. I see it now!

I awake disenchanted and disenthralled! Self, We must conclude our extracts from this, self, self! You have embodied yourself in a the best novel of America, and one of the project. You are a better masquerader than best of the present age, with the following the witches and gipsies yonder; for your dis- shrewd hits :guise is a self-deception. See whither it has 5rought you! First you aimed a death-blow

:

"To tell you a secret, I never could tolerate

(and a treacherous one) at this scheme of a a philanthropist before. Could you? purer and higher life, which so many noble "By no means,' I answered, neither can I spirits had wrought out Then, because Cover-now.'

666

dale could not be quite your slave, you threw They are, indeed, an odiously disagreeable him ruthlessly away. And you took me, too, set of mortals,' continued Zenobia. I should into your place, as long as there was hope of like Mr. Hollingsworth a great deal better if my being available, and now fling me aside the philanthropy had been left out. At all again a broken tool! But foremost and black- events, as a mere matter of taste, I wish he est of your sins, you stifled down your inmost would let the bad people alone, and try to consciousness! You did a deadly wrong to benefit those who are not already past his help. your own heart! You were ready to sacrifice Do you suppose he will be content to spend his this girl whom, if God ever visibly shewed a life, or even a few months of it, among tolerably purpose, He put into your charge; and through virtuous and comfortable individuals like ourwhom He was striving to redeem you!'

"This is a woman's view,' said Hollingsworth, growing deadly pale-'a woman's, whose whole sphere of action is in the heart, and who can conceive no higher nor wider one.'

"Be silent cried Zenobia-'you know neither man nor woman!" "

selves?'

Upon my word, I doubt it,' said I. 'If we wish to keep him with us, we must systematically commit, at least, one crime a-piece! Mere peccadilloes will not satisfy him.'

"Zenobia turned, side-long, a strange kind of glance upon me; but before I could make out what it meant, we had entered the kitchen."

*

*

*

*

In this last opinion, however, we cannot agree with Zenobia. Every true woman's "In truth it was dizzy work amid such ferheart will say, "Well said!" to the follow-mentation of opinions as was continually ing speech of Hollingsworth, in reply to going on in the general brain of the comZenobia, who charges him with despising munity. It was a kind of Bedlam for the

woman:

life.

time being; although out of the very thoughts that were wildest and most de"Despise her? No!' cried Hollingsworth, structive, might grow a wisdom holy, calm, lifting his great shaggy head, and shaking it at and pure, and that should incarnate itself us, while his eyes glowed almost fiercely. She with the substance of a noble and happy is the most admirable handiwork of God, in her true place and character. Her place is at man's But, as matters now were, I felt my side. Her office, that of the sympathizer; the self (and, having a decided tendency towards unreserved, unquestioning believer; the recog- the actual, I never liked to feel it,) getting nition withheld in every other manner, but quite out of my reckoning with regard to given in pity through woman's heart, lest man the existing state of the world. I was beshould utterly lose faith in himself-the echo of God's own voice pronouncing, "It is well world it was, among innumerable schemes ginning to lose the sense of what kind of a done!" All the separate action of woman is, and ever has been, and always will be, false, of what it might or ought to be. It was foolish, vain, destructive of her own best and impossible, situated as we were, not to imholiest qualities, void of every good effect, and bibe the idea that everything in nature and productive of intolerable mischiefs! Man is a human existence was fluid, or fast becoming wretch without woman; but woman is a mon- so; that the crust of the earth, in many ster-and thank Heaven, an almost impossible places, was broken, and its whole surface and hitherto imaginary monster-without man as her acknowledged principal! As true as I portentously upheaving; that it was a day had once a mother whom I loved, were there of crisis, and we ourselves were in the critiany possible prospect of a woman's taking the cal vortex. Our great globe floated in the social stand which some of them-poor, miser- atmosphere of infinite space like an unsubable, abortive creatures, who only dream of stantial bubble. No sagacious man will long such things because they have missed woman's retain his sagacity, if he live exclusively peculiar happiness, or because nature made

them really neither man nor woman!-if there among reformers and progressive people, with were a chance of their attaining the end which out periodically returning into the settled systhese petticoated monstrosities have in view, I tem of things to correct himself by new obserwould call upon my own sex to use its physical vations from the old stand point."

We have devoted the larger portion of the slang of "fast men," could be entitled our space to the writings of Mr. Hawthorne," Anglicisms." The interest of this work is because we believe that he is altogether the so absorbing, that after the first few pages most remarkable prose writer yet produced even a well-trained ear is apt to forget the by America. His writings are highly con- constant recurrence of the sin in question. densed, which is more than can be said of This, of course, makes the effect of it a great nine-tenths of the American novelists, essay- deal worse than it would otherwise be. It ists, historians, or theologians; and they are is much the same with the immensely popadmirably consecutive and well brought out, ular " Wide Wide World," and "Queechy," which is more than we can say of any but of Elizabeth Wetherell; and we do not one or two individuals of the remaining think that we are overrating the evil under tenth, who, like Ralph Waldo Emerson and consideration when we affirm, that probably Longfellow, are condensed, but ejaculatory these two writers have already produced an and incapable of pursuing a thought or a appreciable effect in lowering the tone of story with logic and determination. He phraseology in use among the lower poralso writes pure English, which is what the tions of the middle classes of Britain. This Americans ought, just now, chiefly to look is a serious thing; for integrity of thought to, for, as we shall show, they are in danger and feeling are far more closely connected of abusing their noble inheritance of a pure, with purity of language than is commonly sweet, and powerful language, by an admix- supposed. The two things act and react on ture of slang, flippancies, and false grammar, one another very powerfully. Probably which will become a chronic and even an few of our readers are really sensible of the incurable disease, unless it is seasonably extent to which an un-English tone of conwithstood and checked by writers like Mr.versation prevails in the work of Mrs. Stowe. Hawthorne.

As we think that this is a fault far greater than The great merits of " Uncle Tom's Cabin," any mere defect of art, and only second to which of themselves, and apart from the ever the evil of erroneous morality, we have been new excitement of the subject of slavery, (in at the pains of going through" Uncle Tom's which connexion it was referred to in a for- Cabin " with a view to exhibiting the defect mer number of this Journal,*) have ensured in its true figure as affecting the conversaa vast popularity, are so well appreciated tion of every person introduced, and even the that we need not speak of them at all, un- merely narrative language of Mrs. Stowe less it be to declare, in a word, that we herself. To begin with Mrs. Shelby, one of heartily subscribe to the popular verdict in the first characters introduced. She is detheir favour. We are reduced therefore to scribed as being the wife of a gentleman, and making the most of the one fault which herself a "woman of high class, both intelstrikes us in the perusal of this extraordi- lectually and morally." This good lady has nary book. We mean the style of its phra- a manner of conveying her sentiments which seology, which offers the happily most rare clashes singularly on English ears, and leads phenomenon of remarkable vulgarity of lan- one to suppose that, in spite of her "high guage in combination with remarkable purity intellectual culture," she was kept profoundly and simplicity of thought. The "Times" ignorant of the mysteries of Lindley Murnewspaper, which has endeavoured to make ray. From two or three short dialogues we up for its unjust blame in one direction by select at random the following sentences:— praise and leniency as unjust in another, and "Suppose we sell one of your farms, and pay has taken upon itself to pronounce the ridiup square?' culously false verdict that this is the finest "But really, Eliza, you are getting altogether novel ever written, excuses the innumerable too proud of that little fellow. A man can't sins of "Uncle Tom's Cabin" by pretending put his nose into the door, but you think he must to regard them as trifling and inevitable be coming to buy him.' "Americanisms." We should be sorry, however, to think that false English is true American and we know very well that many of our transatlantic brethren can write English, and speel. it as well as ourselves; and that therefore the so-called "American- Her husband, who is in the first page of isms" of Mrs. Stowe are so denominated the book, contrasted with Haley, the slavewith no more justice than the peculiarities dealer, as a gentleman par excellence, exof the conversation of London shop-boys, or presses himself in such phrases as the fol lowing:

*See North British Review, No. XXXV.-Art. "American Slavery."

"Eliza came in, after dinner, in a great

worry!'

any

"Of course I knew you never meant to sell of our people: least of all, to such a fellow.' I do believe, Mr. Shelby, if he were pul to it, he would lay down his life for Jou.'

"You,' says I to him, 'I trust you because