Chapter VIII: Part II (5)

The Tower of London is, at once, forced and uninteresting. It is such a novel as sets one involuntarily to nodding. With plenty of incident, considerable historical truth, and a series of characters, such as an author can rarely command, it is yet, excepting a chapter here and there, “flat, stale, and unprofitable.” The incidents want piquancy; the characters too often are destitute of truth. The misfortunes of Lady Jane are comparatively dull to any one who remembers Mr. Millar’s late romance; and Simon Reynard is under another name, the same dark, remorseless villain as Jonathan Wild. The introduction of the giants would grate harshly on the reader’s feelings, if the author had not failed to touch them by his mock-heroics. Were it not for the tragic interest attached to Lady Jane Grey, and the pride that every Englishman feels in the oldest surviving palace of his kings, this novel would have fallen stillborn from the press in London, as completely it has ruined the author’s reputation in America.

We once, in reviewing Jack Sheppard, expressed our admiration of the author’s talents, although we condemned their perversion in the novel then before us. This duplicate of that worthless romance, and scandalously demoralising novel, proves either that the author is incorrigible, or that the public taste is vitiated. We rather think the former. We almost recant our eulogy on Mr. Ainsworth’s talents. If he means to earn a name, one whit loftier than that of a mere book-maker, let him at once betake himself to a better school of romance. Such libels on humanity; such provocatives to crime; such worthless, inane, disgraceful romances as Jack Sheppard and its successors, are a blot on our literature, and a curse to our land.

* * * * *

_“Visits to Remarkable Places, Battle-Fields, Cathedrals,
Castles, &c.” By W. Howitt. 2 vols. Carey & Hart, Philada._

_“The Rural Life of England.” By W. Howitt. 1 vol. Carey & Hart,
Philada._

Next after Professor Wilson comes Howitt. The same genial spirit, the same soul-breathing poetry, the same intense love for what is beautiful in nature, and often the same involution of style, and the same excursive ideas, characterise the editor of Blackwood, and the brother of the Quaker poet.

The latter of the productions above, is, as its name imports, a description of the rural life of England, whether found under the gipsey’s hedge, in the peasant’s cottage, or amid the wide parks and lordly castles of the aristocracy. It is a picture of which England may be proud. The author has omitted nothing which could make his subject interesting, and in presenting it suitably to his reader he has surpassed himself, and almost equalled North. The old, but now decaying customs of “merrie England;” the winter and summer life of peasant and noble in the country; the sports of every kind, and every class, from milling to horse-racing; and the forest and landscape scenery of every portion of Great Britain are described with a graphic pen, and a fervor of language, which cannot fail to make “The Rural Life of England” popular every where.

Among the most interesting chapters of this work are those on the Gipsies, and that respecting Mayday, and Christmas. The description of Grouse-Shooting, both in the north of England, and the Highlands is highly graphic; while the visits to Newstead and Annesley Hall are narrated with much vivacity.

It was the popularity of these two last chapters which suggested the preceding volumes above, entitled “Visits to Remarkable Places.” Nothing can be simpler than the design of this latter work. With a taste for antiquarian research, and a soul all-glowing with poetry, the author has gone forth into the quiet dells, and amid the time-worn cities of England, and visiting every old castle, or battle-field, known in history, and peopling them with the heroic actors of the past, he has produced a work of unrivalled interest. We wish we had room for a chapter from the second of these two volumes, entitled “A Day-Dream at Tintangel.” It is one of the most poetical pieces of prose we have ever met with. The old castle of King Arthur seems once more to lift its massy battlements, above the thundering surf below, and from its portals go forth the heroes of the Round Table, with hound and hawk, and many a fair demoiselle.

Next, certainly, to a visit to any remarkable place, is a graphic description of its appearance. This, in every instance, where the author has attempted it, is presented in the “Visits to Remarkable Places.” Stratford on the Avon; Anne Hathaway’s cottage; the ancestral home of the Sidneys; Culloden battlefield; the old regal town of Winchester, formerly the abode of the Saxon kings, and where their monuments still remain; Flodden-field; Hampton Court; and in short, most of the remarkable places in England, are brought vividly before the reader’s mind. Indeed, many a traveller, who has seen these celebrated places, might be put to the blush by one who had attentively perused this work, and who yet had never crossed the Atlantic.

* * * * *

_“The Kinsmen, or the Black Riders of the Congaree.” A Romance.
By the author of Guy Rivers, &c. 2 vols.—Lea & Blanchard,
Philada. 1841._

A good novel is always welcome; and a good one from an American pen is doubly so. Since the publication of the Pathfinder, we have seen nothing equal to the Kinsmen.

The story is laid at the period of the Revolution, and Clarence Conway, the hero, is a prominent actor in the partizan war, which then raged in the Carolinas. Many of the characters are well drawn, and the interest is kept up throughout. Flora Middleton is an exquisite creation of the novelist’s pen. She deserves to be placed alongside of James’s finest female characters.

We have room for only a short extract. In it, however, the interest is worked up to a pitch of the most intense excitement. The hero, be it remembered, having fallen into the hands of the Black Riders, has irritated their ruffian leader. To the outlaw’s threats he replies:

“I am Colonel Conway, and, dog of a tory, I defy you. Do your
worst. I know you dare do nothing of the sort you threaten. I
defy and spit upon you.”

The face of the outlaw blackened:—Clarence rose to his feet.

“Ha! think you so? We shall see. Shumway, Frink, Gasson!—you
three are enough to saddle this fiery rebel to his last horse.
Noose him, you slow moving scoundrels, to the nearest sapling,
and let him grow wiser in the wind. To your work,
villains—away!”

The hands of more than one of the ruffians were already on the
shoulders of the partizan. Though shocked at the seeming
certainty of a deed which he had not been willing to believe
they would venture to execute, he yet preserved the fearless
aspect which he had heretofore shown. His lips still uttered the
language of defiance. He made no concessions, he asked for no
delay—he simply denounced against them the vengeance of his
command, and that of his reckless commander, whose fiery energy
of soul and rapidity of execution they well knew. His language
tended still farther to exasperate the person who acted in the
capacity of the outlaw chief. Furiously, as if to second the
subordinates in the awful duty in which they seemed to him to
linger, he grasped the throat of Clarence Conway with his own
hands, and proceeded to drag him forward. There was evidently no
faltering in his fearful purpose. Every thing was serious. He
was too familiar with such deeds to make him at all heedful of
consequences; and the proud bearing of the youth; the
unmitigated scorn in his look and language; the hateful words
which he had used, and the threats which he had denounced; while
they exasperated all around, almost maddened the ruffian in
command, to whom such defiance was new, and with whom the taking
of life was a circumstance equally familiar and unimportant.

“_Three_ minutes for prayer is all the grace I give him!” he
cried, hoarsely, as he helped the subordinates to drag the
destined victim toward the door. He himself was not suffered
_one_. The speech was scarcely spoken, when he fell prostrate on
his face, stricken in the mouth by a rifle-bullet, which entered
through an aperture in the wall opposite. His blood and brains
bespattered the breast of Clarence Conway, whom his falling body
also bore to the floor of the apartment. A wild shout from
without followed the shot, and rose, strong and piercing, above
all the clamor within. In that shout Clarence could not doubt
that he heard the manly voice of the faithful Jack Bannister,
and the deed spoke for itself. It could have been the deed of a
friend only.

* * * * *

_“The Hour and the Man.” A novel. By Harriet Martineau. 2 vols.
Harper & Brothers, New York, 1841._

We do not belong to the admirers of Miss Martineau, though barring her ear-trumpet, and a few foolish notions, she is a very respectable and inoffensive old lady. Her present work is founded on the career of the celebrated negro chieftain, whom Napoleon had conveyed to France, and who there died. The good old spinster has taken up the Orthodox English account of this transaction, and as Napoleon was always a monster in the eyes of the Cockneys, Touissant, according to their story and Miss Martineau’s, was murdered. Nothing can be more ridiculous. Bonaparte never committed a crime where it could be avoided, and having once secured Touissant in a state prison in France, what farther had the first consul to fear from the negro chieftain?

The story is, in some parts, well told. It has been apparently prepared with much care. But it fails, totally fails, in its main object; and though as men, we sympathise with a persecuted man, we cannot, as critics, overlook the glaring faults of the novel, or, as partizans of truth, forgive the historical inaccuracies of the narrative.

* * * * *

_“The History of England from the Earliest Period to 1839.” By
Thomas Keightley. 5 vols. Harper & Brothers, New York._

This is an edition, containing the same matter, with the two large octavo volumes lately published under the same title. We have it now presented in this cheap and portable form, as a portion of the celebrated Family Library. A copious index has been added, which is not found in the larger edition. The history is a work of merit; but to both the American editions we object, in the name of all justice. The alterations made from the London edition are scandalous. It is not, in its present shape, the author’s production. Good or bad, give us _his_ work, and not that of an American editor, however talented, or an American publisher, however discerning.

* * * * *

_“Applications of the Science of Mechanics to Practical
Purposes.” By J. Renwick, L.L.D. 1 vol. 18 mo. Harper &
Brothers, New York._

The present is a practical age. Literature, science, learning, even the fine arts are popular, only as they can be rendered useful. Every department of knowledge is ransacked to advance the interests, and elevate the character of the age.

Enfield’s Natural Philosophy, and the present work illustrate this remark. The former belongs to the past age; to the days of theory; to the men of profound philosophy: the latter is adapted more to the present time; to a practical generation; to men of excursive rather than deep, and available rather than profound science. Not a principle is stated which is not applied to some mechanical contrivance of the day. The action of the screw, the wedge, the lever, the spring, are described as they are adapted to mining, navigation, rail-roads, and the various species of manufactures. But, on the other hand, the knowledge imparted is not profound. Sufficient, as it is, however, for all practical purposes, the student leaves the work with a more thorough understanding of the principles of his study, than more elaborate, but less skilful treatises could afford.

* * * * *

_“Hope on, Hope Ever.” 1 vol. 16 mo. “Strive and Thrive.” 1 vol.
16 mo. “Sowing and Reaping.” 1 vol. 16 mo. By Mary Howitt. J.
Munro & Co. Boston._

These are three excellent tales from the pen of one of the most delightful of female writers. A chaste style; a love for the oppressed; a practical moral in her writings render them at once beautiful, popular, and useful.

* * * * *

_“History of the United States.” By Selma Hale. 2 vols. Harper &
Brothers, New York._

A compendious manual. It brings our history down to the end of Madison’s administration.

* * * * *

_“Life of John Wickliffe, D.D.” By Margaret Coxe. Columbus.
Isaac N. Whiting._

This is an interesting, though scanty biography of the first of the Reformers. It does not pretend to give a philosophic account of his times, but simply to present a chronicle of the principal events of his life.

* * * * *

FASHIONS FOR MARCH, 1841.

EVENING DRESS.

Fig. 1.—Of plaid _Mous de Laine_. The head dress of buff crape, trimmed with roses.

FULL DRESS.

Fig. 2.—Crimson velvet robe, a low _corsage_, it is trimmed with a row of _dentille d’or_ in the heart style. Short sleeves, composed of two _bouffants_, with _manchettes_ of _dentille d’or_, looped by gold and jewelled ornaments, corresponding with that in the centre of the _corsage_. The _tablier_ and flounce that encircles the skirt are also of _dentille d’or_ of the most superb kind. The head-dress is a _toquet_ of white satin, embroidered in gold, and trimmed with a profusion of white ostrich feathers.

DINNER DRESS.

Fig. 3.—Of plain white; the apron slightly ornamented. This is the prevailing style for the month.

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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. Other errors have been corrected as noted below. For illustrations, some caption text may be missing or incomplete due to condition of the originals available for preparation of the eBook. A cover was created for this ebook and is placed in the public domain.

page 100, Calm, Heré-eyed Callirhöe?, ==> Calm, Hebé-eyed Callirhöe?, page 121, reminded us of Shelly’s ==> reminded us of Shelley’s page 144, The _tabiier_ and flounce ==> The _tablier_ and flounce

[End of _Graham’s Magazine, Vol. XVIII, No. 3, March 1841_, George R. Graham, Editor]