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is represented as not only a skilful practitioner, but also a man of genuine piety and worth; and the sentiments which the author puts into the mouth of both physician and patient present a striking example of the opportunities for the display and cultivation of religious sentiments, which are afforded in the course of a physician's practice. We are persuaded that the sketch presented by Miss Sedgwick is not mere fancy, either as respects the one party or the other. We have not given the above extracts for the purpose of presenting any analysis of the story—it is brief and inartificial, and intended merely as the vehicle to bear along the good advice and reflections with which it abounds. Each chapter presents an incident, or description, in contrast with another either preceding or following it—intended to exemplify the worthlessness or value of money according to the use or abuse made of it, and the blessings which even poverty may confer when found among such persons as the inmates of Aikin's house. We shall content ourselves with a single additional extract, in which the mere rich man's charities are exemplified. It follows a statement of the active charity bestowed by Aikin, his wife, and her sister, upon the same unfortunate individual who had more claims upon the generosity of the rich man, Morris Finley, than upon them.
“It was near ten o'clock when Henry Aikin, in pursuance of his benevolent designs for Paulina, rang at Morris Finley's door, and told the servant, in reply to his saying Mr. Finley was dressing for a party, that he had pressing business, and must speak with him. The servant left Aikin in the entry, and, entering the drawing-room, pushed the door to after him, but not so close as to prevent Aikin hearing the following dialogue:— Fi There 's somebody, ma'am, in the entry, wants to speak with Mr.
“‘Why did not you tell him he was not at home?'
“‘Because he is, ma'am.”
“‘Pshaw, Tom, you know he is going out immediately, and it's all the same thing. Dö you know who it is?
“‘Is it a gentleman?”
“‘He speaks like one, ma'am.”
“‘You certainly know, Tom—is he agentleman, or only a man?”
“‘He is dressed like a man, ma'am.”
“‘Tom, you must get over tormenting me this way; I’ve told you a hundred times the distinction.’ Tom smiled: he evidently had in his mind something like the old distinction of the poet, though he could not, or dared not, express it—
“Worth makes the man—the want of it, the fellow.’
“‘Well, well,” added Mrs. Finley, “show him in, and tell Mr. Finley.’ “Aikin entered with that air of blended modesty and independence vol. xxi.-No. 41.
that characterized him-certainly with no look of inferiority, for he felt none; and, as Mrs. Finley's eye fell on his fine countenance, hers relaxed, and she was in the dilemma, for a moment, of not knowing whether to class him with the somebodys or nobodys; but her glance descended to the plain and coarse garments of our friend, in time to change a half-made courtesy to a salutation befitting an inferior. 'Sit down,' she said, waving her hand to the nearest chair.
" Aikin took the offered seat, and awaited, with what patience he could, the forthcoming of the master of the splendid mansion-observing what was before him with a feeling, not of envy or covetousness, but with deep joy and thankfulness for the virtue and true happiness of his humble home. Miss Sabina Jane Finley, now a young lady of twelve years, after surveying Aikin from top to toe, said to her mother, in a suppressed but audible voice, Gentleman!'
"Mrs. Finley seemed to have what she, no doubt, thought a truly genteel unconsciousness of the man’s' présence. She was very richly dressed for a ball; but, as is a common case with poor human nature, she was transferring the fault of her faded and time-stricken face to her milliner. 'I declare, Sabina Jane,' she said, surveying herself in the mirror, 'I never will get another cap of Thompson—these flowers are blue as the heavens.'
“You selected them yourself, mamma.?
"To be sure I did; but how could I tell how they would look in the evening?
". Why don't you wear your new French cap, mamma?
«. Don't be a fool, child—have not I worn that twice already? Pull down that blonde over my shoulder-how it whoops! This is the second time Smetz has served me this way. This gown sets like fury. I never go out but I have some trial that spoils all my pleasure. Don't let me see you prink so, miss,' turning to her daughter, and pulling from her head a dress-cap that she was trying on and arranging with all the airs and graces of a fine lady; 'I have told you a thousand times, Sabina Jane,' she continued, 'not to be fond of dress!—Well, Tom, what is wanted now ??
"That French gentleman, ma'am, what teached Miss Sabina Jane, is to call early for his money; and if you'd please to give it to me tonight
"I can't attend to it to-night-tell him to call again.'
""He has called again and again, ma’am; and he says his wife is sick-and he looks so distressed like."
“I have not the money by me to-night, Tom.'
“The image of the unhappy foreigner haunted Tom's imagination; and, after lingering for a moment with the door in his hand, he said "Maybe, ma'am don't remember Mr. Finley gave out the money for Mr. Felix.'
“ Mrs. Finley did remiember well that she had received the money, and had spent it that very afternoon for a most tempting piece of French embroidery-a love of a pocket handkerchief,' that cost only thirty dollars !-the price of poor Monsieur Felix's labour for two quarters, with an indolent and neglected child. "Shut the door, Tom,' she said, 'I can't be bothered about this money now; tell Mr. Felix to call after breakfast.' Tom despaired, and withdrew. 'How impertinent Tom is getting,' added Mrs. Finley'; 'but this is the way of all the servants in this country.”
Finley came in, dressed and perfumed for the party. 'Ab, Harry Aikin,' he said, after a momentary surprise, 'is it you-how are you?'
Well, thank you, Morris.' "What impudence,' thought Miss Sabina Jane, 'for that man to call my papa Morris !
“I have some private business with you,' added Aikin, glancing at the young lady.
"Sabina Jane,' said Finley, 'tell your mamma the carriage is waiting—these fellows charge so abominably for waiting. This last remark was evidently a hint to Aikin to be brief.
“ But Aikin wanted no such spur. He communicated concisely Paulina's condition and wants; and, knowing that Finley's conscience was of the sluggish order, he tried to rouse it by recalling vividly to his remembrance the past-the days of Paulina's innocence and beauty, and Finley's devotion to her. But Finley slurred it over like a long-forgotten dream, that would not afford the slightest basis for a claim upon his charity.
“She is in a shocking condition, 10 be sure, Aikin,' he said ; 'but, then, I make it an invariable rule never to give but to those that I know to be worthy.
6. There is much to be done for our fellow-creatures, Finley, besides giving gifts to the worthy.?
"Oh, I know that; and I subscribe liberally to several of our institutions.
“But will you do nothing towards encouraging this poor, homeless, friendless creature to repentance and reformation ?
"Pshaw! Aikin, they never reform.'
“If that is true, a part of the sin must lie at our doors, who afford them no helps. But there is no time to discuss this: Paulina, I fear, will not be able to prove her sincerity. She has, it seems to me, but little while to live; if I can save her from the police, I shall try hard to keep her where she is, that her little remnant of life may be spent with her old friends, who will care for her body and soul.'
"Oh, well, if you really think she is going to make a die of it, I am willing to give you something for her.?
“Fioley took out his pocket-book, and after, as Aikin could not but sus. pect, looking for a smaller sum, he gave him a five-dollar note, with the air of one who is conferring an astounding obligation. Aikin expressed neither surprise nor gratitude; but, quietly putting up the nole, he said, You know, Finley, money is not the most important thing I had to ask. I want you to go to the police office with me. You are a great merchant, and your name is well known in the city; I am nobody, and it may be necessary for me to get my statement endorsed. Come, it is not five minutes' walk for you.'
“Why, bless you, man, don't you see I'm going out-there's my wife coming down stairs now.'
“Let her go in the carriage-you can follow her.'
“Oh! that's impossible ; she would not go alone into a party for the world.'
6. Can she not wait till your return ?' “No-it is not reasonable to ask it; it's late now-and-and“Good night I have wasted my time here,' said Aikin, cutting short Finley's excuses, and leaving him trying to silence his conscience by dwelling on the five dollars he had given-by fretting at the deused folly of going out when people were tired and wanted to go to bed and by joining in his wife's vituperation against Nancy and all her tribe.”
Let it not be supposed, from these extracts, that Miss Sedgwick joins in the foolish outcry against the rich, as such. Far from it: it is only against wealth misapplied that her satire is directed. In the conduct of another of her characters, Mr. Beckwith, the author endeavours to exemplify the true use of
We have formally noticed this little book, and made these extracts, for the purpose of doing what in us lay to aid in its dissemination. We would, if we could, send it to every fireside in our land—of the rich as well as the poor—though to the last we especially commend it. To the publication of such books we would ever lend our utmost aid, convinced that above all others they conduce to the real good of the community; and, in conclusion, we may express the hope that the fair author has but given an earnest of what she intends to do in a line of writing that has been too much neglected in this country, and which is of paramount importance at the present time.
ART. III.-Sketches of English Literature; with considerations on the spirit of the times, men, and revolutions. By the Wiscount de CHATEAUBRIAND. 2 vols. 8vo. London: 1836.
We have heretofore presented our views upon the literary pretensions and character of the Wiscount Chateaubriand, and there is nothing in the work before us to induce, at our hands, a more favourable estimate as to either profundity of learning or any of the real constituents of greatness. That the French peer has a brilliant imagination, great command of language, and a captivating and imposing mode of treating his subjects, we should be loath to deny, while we would, at the same time, be strenuous in maintaining that his productions will not bear the test of severe criticism; that if time is but taken to guard against the seductions of his fine, though very frequently bombastic language, and to ponder upon the ideas which his load of words embodies, the conclusion will, in many, many instances, be arrived at, that the reader's admiration has been caught altogether by surprise, and he been induced to waste his praise and his time upon sheer nonsense.
* See American Quarterly Review, No. 39.
* Notwithstanding all this, few, very few would regret a short time devoted to the pages of Chateaubriand. In opening his works we are at once ushered into a new world; removed entirely from the ordinary current of our thoughts and feelings. Romange throws her spell around us, and, while she perverts our vision, offers novel and brilliant sights to gaze at—the melody of the sounding line lends its enchantment to another sense; and while thus the reader is partially disabled from the exercise of dispassionate judgment, the reckless boldness of assertion increases the difficulty and almost secures the victory over the mind. As pastime, however, or relaxation, or not unwelcome momentary delusion, this is all very delightful, and the viscount will therefore not cease to be a popular writer. With that fate he will no doubt be abundantly satisfied. It is a bold undertaking for a foreigner to attempt a critical account of the language and literature of another country— particularly of a living tongue. But our author is a bold man, and was sensible of all its difficulties. He however deemed himself equal to the task. Hear his words:–“I have visited
the United States; I have lived eight years an exile in En ; after residing in i.;###; as ambassadar. I believe that I am as thoroughly acquainted #;"soft"."o";
own. I have read most conscientiously all that it was my
duty to read on the subject dis - e two volumes. I have rarely quoted my authorities, because they are known to
men of letters, and men of the world care nothing about them.”
The viscount goes then at his task, in his own opinion fully prepared; and he makes a formidable and orderly opening by dividing the history of the English language into five epochs, and his subject into five great parts. He ushers it in by grave political reflections and philosophical introductions, § the reader is of course led to anticipate a minute, learned and critical account of the language and its authors, about which the noble writer had read and studied so much. On the contrary, he encounters a medley of anecdote, reflections, poetry, history, fun, biography, sketches of life and manners, all very amusing in themselves, but totally at variance with the instructive, detailed, and connected treatise the introduction had promised. From a foreigner this was probably just as well—nay, infinitely better than a laboured and dull treatise, replete, as such a one would needs have been, with the most ridiculous blunders. For ourselves we are the more pleased to see it as it is, from the amusement it has afforded us. To enable our readers to enjoy a portion of this, we have taken it up at the present moment, and intend to make them fully acquainted with its contents. As regards however the writer, who undertakes and promises