356.] Dred. MRS CELSUS.-It seems to me that great deal you have been saying toight would not do to be said in the arket-place; surely the world, withut respectability, would be a very ad place. TLEPOLEMUS.-I am glad that you ive me a minute for explanation. dur tirades against respectability must be confined to the commonest and most popular sense of the term. But, in the opinion of the good, there Fada is a higher respectability, very like in aspect to the other, but entirely different in nature, as the tares of Palestine are like the wheat, and yet entirely different from it. The real be respectability is founded alone on those qualities for which a man is really to be respected, and it is fully 693 Dred. droop in the attempt to sa wise man is able to detect the among the evil qualities of t quaintances; extremely perve self-willed, unwise men tect the bad. One essential-c perhaps the greatest essentis the acquirement of true ledge of character, is humility what humility is to the mos (apart altogether from the taste or judgment which may have been brought to their exposition); and, beyond this still, upon whether the degree of general information as regards the question bears a proportion to its importance, and if the popular mind be imbued with the spirit of inquiry, or be in a state rather of ferment and excitement. With respect to the mode of treatment of those who have a status and obtains his perception of chan verence is to the critic. As the those who have none, and omitting, through self-perception, wher for the sake of argument, all the above quires by the just measureme at least equally important considera- himself by a true moral standar. tions, we hold an opinion the exact the other can only obtain his per contrary to that of our cotemporary. to estimate the defects of gett The worst treatment which a young a habit of dutifully contemplat author can receive is of course total rather by a necessity so to e neglect. We mean to say that plate, the power and beauty of this is what will please him least, He who is without this spirit of though it may be the best for him. rence, has indeed neither char If he be noticed at all, however, it trade to the coasts of literatur after he has made the voyage. license to expose his goods to conduct is that of a butcher wh only bad meat; and we wou with him as is done in Eastern will be because either of his merits should be complimented on the vigour Dred, to one of these filcher of his understanding or the inspira- better men's names, should be age tion of his genius, while he was sound- send. Not only is it the work d by rated for his carelessness or ignor- writer who has contributed to " ance; in the other, a few words of literature of power," as distingas eulogy of his style would be all that from, and superior to, "the liter errors would be to pay him as great successor, though not the directi was due to him, and to combat his of knowledge," but it is the legiti a compliment as he deserved. But of a tale which has appealed to should not, for his own sake, set read wherever the English lan the sympathies of man, and bei verily, unless he were faultless, we aside the question of our duty to our is known. Yet Dred could be pro readers, receive him with bows, and to be one of the dullest and s load him with caresses. vulgar productions ever publis less the wald i could pters to pro pting to be On the other hand, if an author, A malignant critic could convi though the duty which a reviewer conversation of a milliner, and the his genius and achieved fame, al- racterised by the manners, mind, a whether young or old, have proved his readers that the heroine is de owes to the many readers who are her lover, the model American, book before they order it, would compel him to mark its faults not less than its beauties, we hold that he should perform this task under a wholesome recollection that it is much easier for him to point out the flaws in the limner's work, than to change a piece of canvass into a spirited picture. There is a respect due to genius; even though its wing opening chapters scientious ble he might eginning arity; so frequent is the fault of repetition; so does the story flag just when we fancy that we have found he scent of the plot; so often and ompletely do we lose what we fancy as the scent, only to find and lose a 25otally different one; and, finally, so entirely, by the time we have approached the end of the book, have we abandoned all interest in such of the characters as have not died suddenly or been unexpectedly killed, that in place of the feeling of regret with which we have usually laid down a tale of Mr Dickens or Sir Bulwer Lytton, it is one of satisfaction, amounting, even to exhilaration, that we close the volume -the exhilaration resulting from a conviction that we have done our duty; that for the sake of the merits, which are great, we have borne with the defects of the tale; and, above all, that, sustained by our respect for Mrs Stowe, and for the motives by which she is animated, we have listened-twice, thrice, four times over often to every word which she was pleased to say. When we say that the book is unequal, and specify such faults as the foregoing, the reader will presume that the merits must be rare which contribute to the inequality. They are so indeed. Mrs Stowe is a woman of genius, and a perfect mistress of her art in two important particulars. She knows how to exercise power over our affections, and she knows how to charm our imaginations. She can appeal to our love of our kind, and to our love of nature. Two of her characters, Tiff and Milly-an old black man and an old black woman-enlist the interest of the reader on first acquaintance. Tiff we at once love for his fidelity, drollery, and mother-wit; and Milly, by the recital of her wrongs, moves our indignation only to supplant it by sympathy with that Christian bility which enables her to forgive Unfortunately, however, no ter can sustain a book which, ng to be a story, is by one third on of its own contents. And Mrs Stowe a high compliof which she is quite ny that her splendid scenery, and her genuine dramatic power, when she is pleased to exercise it, counterbalance six opening chapters, which are, much of them, repulsive, and all of them unnecessary; an ill-managed plot, or rather a series of imperfectly developed plots, which she found it necessary to abandon; and everything except the concluding paragraphs, which inform us, in a tone of complacency, proving her to have no notion how she has trespassed upon our patience, of the happiness of people of whom we were quite tired. "The Author's object in this book is to show the general effect of slavery on society the various social disadvantages which it brings even on its most favoured advocates-the thriftlessness and misery and backward tendency of all the economical arrangements of slave statesthe retrograding of good families into poverty-the deterioration of land-the worse demoralisation of all classes, from the aristocratic tyrannical planter to the oppressed and poor white-which is the result [which are the results?] of the introduction of slave labour. "It is also an object to display the corruption of Christianity which arises from the same source; a corruption which has gradually lowered the standard of the church, North and South, and been productive of more infidelity than the works of all the Encyclopædists put together." Such, extracted from her preface, is the writer's bill of fare. It is not very surprising, perhaps, that she has not given us a tale of sustained interest, when she desired to perform the work of a political philosopher. As a "moral artist," however, she might surely have introduced us to a more interesting person than the young lady of eighteen, who thus expresses herself with regard to her lover. Be it announced that the confidence of this young lady is given to a quadroon slave, who had been well educated, but is extremely proud and unattractive; and that the subject of the following speech is one of three gentlemen, all of whom have offered marriage to the heroine, and all been accepted : "Well, his name is Clayton-Mr Edward Clayton, at your service. He's one of your high-and-mighty people, with such deep-set eyes-eyes that look as if Dred. they were in a cave-and such black hair! and his eyes have a desperate sort of sad look, sometimes quite Byronic. He's tall, and rather loose jointed; has beautiful teeth; his mouth, too, is-well, when he smiles, sometimes it really is quite fascinating; and then he's so different from other gentlemen. He's kind, but he don't care how he dresses, and wears the most horrid shoes. And then, he isn't polite; he won't jump, you know, to pick up your thread or scissors; and sometimes he'll get into a brown study, and let you You know, these men-how they are! They'll go and read of books-no matter what the and then they are so dreadfu ticular about us girls Do yo Harry, this always made me Well, so, you see, one evening, Elliot quoted some poetry from Juan; I never read it, but it se call it a bad book, and my Lord Cr immediately fixed his eyes upin you read Don Juan, Miss Elliot such an appalling way, and says cases, she blushed and stammeret you know, as girls always do in said her brother had read some exa stand ten minutes before he thinks to give you a chair, and all such provoking things. He isn't a bit of a lady's man. Well, the consequence is, as my lord won't court the girls, the girls all court my lord that's the way, you know. And they seem to think it's such a feather in their cap to get attention from him, because, you know, he's horrid sensible. So, said I was going to commit you see, that just set me out to see what I could do with him. wouldn't court him, from it to her. I was vered and "And pray, what's the harm if s first chance I get." 0! everybod read it I mean to read it, the ed so shocked. Why, dear me fla Clayton could not have looked more Well, you see, I cerned. So he put on that very e Nina, I and laughed at him, and spited him, and humiliation-as we witches can-and it a general fuss and talk; and the g men, you know, would not have tha knees before he knew what he was doing. wives or their sisters read anyt Well, really I don't know what was the matter just then, but he spoke so earnest and strong that actually he got me to crying-hateful creature!-and I promised all sorts of things, you know, said naughty for the world. They wa us all to be like snow-flakes, and all the And they were quite high, telling the wouldn't marry this, and they would marry that, till, at last, I made them altogether more than will bear thinking of.' curtsey, and said, "Gentlemen, we lades 'And are you corresponding with all these lovers, Miss Nina?" 'Yes; isn't it fun! Their letters, you know, can't speak; if they could, when are infinitely obliged to you, but a de intend to marry people that read naugh books, either. Of course, you 'snow-flakes don't like soot!'" No, they come rustling together in the bag, I really didn't mean anything by it, a wouldn't there be a muss?" She had previously compared one of her lovers to his own "dickie"!what are we to think, or rather how cept to put down these men, and sta up for my sex. But Clayton took it real earnest. He grew red and grew a and was just as angry as he could be Well, the quarrel raged about three days favourite of the three, but that he is an ass? Conceive a sensible man behaving in the manner described here: are we ever to think, anything of the Then, do you know, I made him give up "But there there's a letter Clayton wrote to me, one time when we had a quarrel. Just a specimen of that crea ture!' 'Pray, tell us about it, Miss Nina,' said and own that he was in the wrong. There I think he was too. Don't you? Don' you think men ought to be as good as are, anyway?"" Is it not a proof of Mr. miringly on the little is eyes ad prejudice which she h the young man, with his eyes fixed all was smoothing and arranging the crumpled documents. Why, you sce, it was just this way. audaciously against them duty to inform the many haveght Dred and laid sgust, that if they will be patient for while, they will love Nina, and will scover that even Clayton is somemes endurable. This first chapter -the more to be condemned because tells nothing which is not repeated. seems to have been written for the ake of showing that an educated ave who had expected emancipation, not content with a gold watch! hat is the climax of the chapter. A host of conflicting emotions, &c., assed over the young man's face," s he unpacked the watch. Notwithstanding these emotions, he is, and continues to the last to be, although the centre-piece of more than one plot, the least interesting character, perhaps, in the book. The second chapter is, if possible, worse, however, than the first. There are, as the late Sir Robert Peel would have said, three courses open to the novelist who would portray character. 1st (and best), To let the colloquy and actions of the people-their "words and acts". stand alone. This is the true dramatic method. 2d, There is the more biographical style. A person is introduced, his appearance described, and his chaaracter summed up in a pungent and masterly manner. The writer of Jane Eyre and Shirley was a great adept at this mode, as is Mr Disraeli. Whatever, however, such a one, so introduced, may say or do, it is only mentioned because it is subservient to the tale. A good sketch having been given of the person, it is not necessary that he should do and say things solely to prove the accuracy of the sketch. A certain amount of biographical power has been displayed; and a proportionate amount of dramatic power thereby dispensed with. 3d (which is the worst, for it precludes action, and supposes that the persons described play but secondary parts), There is the purely colloquial mode. and one another. In this second chapter, for instance, Clayton and his intimate friend discuss each other, over cups of coffee, in Clayton's library. Each gives a description of himself; and Russel-"the brilliant Russel," as he is elsewhere described-gives a description also of his friend Clayton. As another instance of the bad taste which marks the beginning of the book, listen to what "the brilliant Russel" says: "And what are you going to do with yourself in the world, Russel?' 'I must get into practice, and get some foot-hold there, you know; and then, hey for Washington. I'm to be president, like every other adventurer in these United States. Why not I as well as another man?' 'I don't know, certainly,' said Clayton, hard enough and long enough, and pay 'if you want it, and are willing to work all the price. I would as soon spend my life walking the drawn sword which they say is the bridge to Mahomet's paradise.' Ah! ah! I fancy I see you doing it. What a figure you'd make, my dear fellow, balancing and posturing on the sword-blade, and making horrid wry faces! Yet I know you'd be as comfortable there as you would in political life. And yet, after all, you are greatly superior to me in every respect. It would be a thousand pities if such a man as you couldn't have the management of things. But our national ship has to be navigated by second-rate fellows; Jerry-go-nimbles like me, simply because we are good in dodging and turning. But that's the way. Sharp's the word, and the sharpest wins.' 'And what sort of support do you expect to make out of all this? Are you going to live for them, or they for you?' 'I shall set them the example of living for them, and trust to awaken the good that is in them in return. The strong ought to live for the weak-the cultivated for the ignorant.' 'Well, Clayton, the Lord help you! I'm in earnest now-fact! Though I know you won't do it, yet I wish you could. It's a pity, Clayton, you were born in this world. It isn't you, but our planet and planetary ways, that are in fault. Your mind is a splendid storehouse-gold and gems of Ophir-but they are all up in 'em down into common life. Now, I've the fifth story, and no staircase to get just enough appreciation of the sort of thing that's in you not to laugh at you. Nine out of ten would. To tell you the truth, if I were already set up in life, |