Chapter II: Front Matter (2)

Under the head of spirit distilleries our author enters into a _naif_ and enthusiastic defence of good brandy, but still highly approves of the American custom of substituting coffee for grog in merchant vessels, on which he remarks that it is not allowed to soldiers or sailors to bring spirits into the forts or ships. "But they are so extravagantly fond of liquor as to invent every imaginable method of evading the regulation. I have been told," he says, "by persons of the highest credibility that during the night whisky is not unfrequently brought to the vicinity of military stations, and that the sentinels, after filling the barrels of their muskets therewith, bring it into the 'watch-room,' and divide the _loading_ with their comrades."

After remarking the melancholy fact, which the strictest examination would, we fear confirm, in a still higher degree, that the sewing-girls employed in our umbrella factories, tailor establishments, &c., are very inadequately paid, he makes a statement which is, however, glaringly false, that among these poor girls corruption of manners prevails to a degree unknown in any country of Europe, save indeed "merry England." Without being familiar with such statistics, we are on the contrary firmly convinced that though females in these employments are _not_ so well paid even as in Germany, there is no country on the face of the earth--most certainly not in Bavaria, Austria, or Prussia, where the standard of morals is in this respect so high as in our own. There are a thousand correlative facts in the state of society in our country which confirm our assertion. This opinion of our author's is, however, slightly at variance, as far as appearance is concerned, with a part of the following good advice to the more beautiful portion of his fair young countrywomen, who propose repairing to this country for the sake of catching husbands:

"And I deem this a fit place to give them a warning, which I
have before often repeated, namely, that these lovely
beings, when they forsake their homes, also leave behind
them their fantastic national dress. In this country long
dresses are worn--and not merely frocks which barely reach
the knee, as is usual in several parts of Germany. The same
may be applied to their head-dresses, which are not
unfrequently so eccentric as to give their wearers the
appearance of having escaped from a lunatic asylum. On which
account, I beg my _ladies_, or any women who design
emigrating to this land of equality, to buy themselves
French bonnets,[2] or a similar style of head covering, but
in no instance to run bareheaded about the streets, which is
here remarkably unpopular, since neither widow, wife, nor
maiden, ever appears in the public way without hat or
bonnet. And I moreover beg of them, on their first arrival
in the populous cities, to restrain their manifestations of
affection to the house, where walls are the only witnesses,
_and not to permit their lovers, fiancees, or husbands, to
clasp them about the waist, and lead them in this close
embrace about the streets_, since this would be for
Americans a scandalous spectacle. I will not assert that the
American is incapable of tender feeling, but he at least
observes decency in the public streets, and _apropos_ of
this, I would further remark, that in this country the wife
or maiden invariably walks by the side of her male
companion, and never follows after him in _Indian
file_--that is, like geese returning from pasture."

In his chapter on hat-makers, we are informed that neither French, Germans, nor English, can in this country compete with the Americans in the manufacture of hats; and that he was informed by a very intelligent manufacturer that the work of Germans by no means suited our market, and further, that within a few years past the use of caps has increased at least two thirds, though these are by no means so well adapted to carry papers, &c., as hats, in which Americans are accustomed to convey their archives.

Of boarding-houses:

"These extremely convenient establishments, in which
lodging, food, and all things requisite, are provided, may
be found in all the cities in the United States; but we
first learn to duly appreciate their value, when, on
returning to Germany, we find ourselves obliged either to
lodge in a hotel, or for a short stay in a place hire and
perhaps furnish rooms for ourselves.

"These communistic institutions, where one person or family
takes care of several, give the _boarder_ all the
conveniences of a hotel, united to the advantages of
dwelling in a private family. He has opportunities of
entering such society as is adapted to his habits and
tastes, in addition to which he has what may be termed a
_chez soi_--he feels that he is 'in house.'[3]

"Such boarding-houses are generally kept by widows or old
maids, and even ladies of the highest families take refuge
in this branch of industry, to maintain respectably
themselves and families.

"Fashionable houses of this sort are splendidly furnished,
and supplied with excellent dishes and attendance. In these
the price is naturally high, since for a room, without fuel,
from six to twelve dollars a week is generally paid. Rooms
in the upper part of the house are of course cheaper. The
parlor is common to all the persons in the house--they meet
there, before and after meals, pass the evening with
reading, music, &c., receive visits, and live in all
respects as if at home.

"The Americans are of a very accommodating
disposition--particularly the men, who, from a regard for
the lady of the house, are easily contented. The ladies, on
the contrary, very frequently indulge in little feuds,
produced by the _ennui_ resulting from a want of domestic
employment, and living in common; but all are on the whole
very circumspect, are careful to live _in Christian love and
unity_ with one another, and never offend external
propriety.

"It is not requisite in America to take a license from the
police to establish a boarding-house, unless a bar-room be
therewith connected. The person undertaking such an
enterprise rents a house, makes it known in newspapers or
among friends, or simply placards on the door
'Boarding'--and the establishment is opened without further
ceremony. Particular introductions and recommendations are
requisite to be received in a boarding-house of higher
rank."

There is even yet a lingering prejudice prevailing in this country in favor of certain musical instruments of European manufacture, which this work is well adapted to dissipate, since the author appears to be in this particular an excellent judge. Take for example his chapter on pianos:

"The favorite musical instrument of the American ladies is
the piano, and in every family with the slightest
pretensions to education or refinement a piano may certainly
be found, upon which, of an evening, the young 'Miss' plays
to her parents the pieces which she has learned, or
accompanies them with her voice. If the stranger will walk
of an evening through the streets of an American city, he
can hear in almost every house a piano and the song of
youthful voices, often very agreeable, though the latter are
not unfrequently wanting in proper culture. Many of these
amateurs have beyond doubt remarkable talent, and would in
their art attain to a high degree of perfection if they had
better opportunities to hear the best music, to study more
industriously, and practice more than they do, but their
domestic audiences are unfortunately easily pleased, in
consequence of which their knowledge seldom extends beyond
well known opera pieces and favorite popular airs.

"A few years since, pianos were generally imported from
Germany, England, and France, but it was soon found that
their construction and material were by no means adapted to
withstand the changes of the American climate; and it was
also found that the enormous profit cleared by the
importers, might quite as well be retained in this country,
and there are consequently, at present, in Boston, New-York,
Philadelphia, and even Baltimore, excellent and extensive
'piano forte manufactories,' in which every portion of these
instruments is constructed. For this purpose the best
varieties of wood known are used, such as mahogany and
rosewood, which, however, in America are obtainable at cheap
rates. The cases are of the most solid construction
possible, and the legs massive, (by which especially the
firmest duration is insured) all constructed of the
above-mentioned material, which is quickly and accurately
cut into the requisite form by a machine.... By means of
these and other improvements, but particularly by means of
the material, are the American pianos not only far more
durable than the imported, but also infinitely less subject
to loss of tone.

"The American pianos are invariably of a table form, in
order to adapt them to small rooms. Their tone is sweet and
rich, and has been pronounced clear, full and pleasing, by
the best European performers. The pianos of Stottart
(Stoddard) and Nunns, in New-York, of Laud and Mayer, in
Philadelphia, and especially of Chickering, in Boston, enjoy
a high reputation. This latter enterprising individual
spares no expense to secure the best improvements, and apply
them to his instruments. Other excellent manufactories also
abound, among which are many German proprietors, who,
however, all follow the American style of construction.

"Previous to the year 1847, about sixty-four patents for
improvements in pianos were taken out.... The average price
of a splendid 'Chickering,' of 7-1/2 octaves, is from $350
to $400. I have purchased of Stoddard in New-York an
excellent and handsome instrument for $250; since which time
(A. D. 1848) the price for the same has sunk fifty dollars.
Instruments of a lighter construction may be bought for one
hundred and fifty dollars; nor will it be long ere the best
pianos may be had for a price ranging from $180 to $200.
There are in America men whose exclusive business it is to
tune pianos, for which they generally receive one dollar....

"While on the subject of music, I may be permitted to speak
of an outcast class of minstrels, namely, the harp girls;
who, after having wandered through Germany, or even England,
or having been turned out of the same, find their way to the
United States. Especially in New Orleans are they at home,
and there sing, in the coffee-houses and bar-rooms, most
blackguard (_zotenhaften lieder_) songs, in the English
language, learned either _at home or in England_--partly to
the delight and partly to the disgust of the mixed companies
there assembled. Germany can in truth take but little pride
in such representatives of her nationality. She is already
too little appreciated in America to render it necessary
that such females should still further degrade her--females,
for whom the American (who invariably holds in high respect
the sex) entertains an unconquerable disgust. Apropos of
those, I may mention the so-called 'broom girls,' who sell a
sort of little brooms or fly-brushes, singing therewith
fearful songs; and finally, the innumerable organ and
tambourine players, who frequently have with them a child
which dances like an ape to the sound of their horrible
music."

From the practical and common-sense-like manner in which the subject is treated, the following chapter on boarding-schools will probably prove interesting to every American reader:

"Would not any one imagine that a nation like the German,
which is universally recognized as the best educated and
most erudite, which has written and effected so much for the
cause of education, would naturally be the one to supply the
world with accomplished teachers? Is there in the civilized
world another nation where so many men have made it the
entire business of a life, passed in the most zealous and
deeply grounded studies of all languages, living and dead,
or who have so fully succeeded in teaching even foreigners
their own language? Certainly not. 'Whence comes it then,'
any one may reasonably inquire, 'that these learned men, who
appear to be, in every respect, so peculiarly adapted to
teach, have not long since conducted the education of the
whole world? Or why is it, that in North America at least,
where a widely spread German element throws open so vast a
field to their exertions, they have not the direction of
every private school?'

"Incomprehensible as this may appear at a first glance, it
is still explicable in a few words. The American seeks, for
the education of his children, _practical men, who are not
only adapted to and skilled in their vocation, but also
familiar with the world--its progress and requirements_--men
not only capable of teaching their pupils the rules of
grammar and syntax, but who are also qualified to impart the
peculiarities and precepts of life in the world at
large--men of prepossessing manner and appearance, and whose
habits are adapted to the requirements of refined society.
This it is, in a few words, that the American requires. And
now, I ask--how many old and young teachers are there in
Germany thus qualified?

"I here speak, of course, in a general way; for I well know
that there are in Germany many teachers and learned men, who
could more than fulfil all of these requirements of the
American parent, but their number is unfortunately limited;
and I deem it important that I speak freely and fully on
this subject, since many a learned German, whose
acquirements and scientific knowledge would insure him an
independent and respectable station at home, nevertheless
frequently finds himself compelled by the pressure of
circumstances to seek America, in the hope of there opening
a school, or at least finding employment as teacher, and
there too frequently, in addition to the bitterest
disappointment, discovers too late that he is fit for no
other practical employment which will yield him his daily
bread.

"As a proof, however, that most of these so called
pedagogues must in America be necessarily deceived in their
expectations, I take the liberty of adding yet a few words.

"The American requires before all, as far as the moral
qualifications of the teacher are concerned, a firm
religious tendency--a requirement for which the scion of
'Young Germany,' fresh from his university career, has but
little taste; since his recollections of that life are yet
too fresh upon him to admit of a willing submission to such
rules,--and I advise any one who proposes to follow such a
course to become a farmer's man, rather than a hypocrite or
sham-saint....

"If we proceed in our examination of private schools in
America, we find that the majority are for the education of
girls. Upon which the question arises--Are German ladies
generally adapted to the superintendence of such
establishments?--a question which I must either answer with
No, or modify with the admission that if there be any
schools managed by German ladies, I am ignorant of their
existence. The cause for the negative being essentially the
same as with the male scholars.

"No man can better appreciate the worth of German women than
myself. I acknowledge perfectly their virtues and
excellencies--their domestic sphere is their world,
inhabited by their children and ruled by their husbands,
whose faithful, true-hearted, modest, obedient companions
they are. To be independent and free is not in their nature;
they are not so adapted either by origin or manner of life;
nor does their education embrace any thing cosmopolitan.
Born and brought up in a province, or court city, they have
never cast a glance beyond its limits or boundaries, or
those of the nearest town, and all that lies beyond is to
them unknown and uninteresting. Thus they generally lead,
according to ancient custom, (_nach altem brauch_) an
almost vegetable life; and nothing save the dictates of
fashion can ever disturb in the slightest degree the
equanimity of their quiet souls. They do not in the least
interest themselves in the progress of industry, literature,
science, or politics, even in Germany--much less for that of
foreign countries; but are content with learning in which
section of the place they inhabit this or that necessary
article may be best or most cheaply purchased; what late
foreign romance is current in the circulating library; and
what are the latest changes in bonnets, caps, chemisettes,
or dresses, in the kingdom of fashion--whose sovereign they
all obey. In politics they rest under the perpetual
conviction that all goes on in the old way, and pass their
leisure hours in coteries and parties, where knittings
exclude all _spirituelle_ entertainment. In the lower grades
of the middle class, they grow up with an unchangeable
feeling of social inferiority, and shudder at every free
glance into life, as if guilty of unheard of arrogance and
presumption.

"And how is it possible that a woman who has grown up in
such social relations should, despite the fullest possession
of all imaginable virtues and acquirements, be capable of
teaching high-minded and independent girls? The American
maiden regards most household employments as work requiring
but little intelligence, and for which even negroes are as
well qualified. She believes that she can better occupy the
time necessary to the acquisition of subordinate
acquirements, and prefers reading, music, and art, to
knitting stockings, and similar soul-killing business. She
recognizes, moreover, no distinction in rank, but strives to
acquire as many accomplishments and as refined manners as
any other person. In short, she strives to become _a lady_,
and regards it as no extraordinary assumption, particularly
when education or natural advantages adapt her thereto, to
consider herself quite as good as any other woman in the
republic. Nor does she forget that the time will come when,
as mother, the first development of her child's mind will
become a duty, and she remembers also that he will be a
republican whose sphere of action is without limit, if his
ability correspond only to the effort. Moreover, the
American maidens are materially very _wide awake_, (_sehr
auf gewecht_,) particularly in the large cities, where they
enjoy excellent opportunities for instruction, and are
proportionally highly educated.

"The American woman or girl highly esteems the _elegant_ and
_noble_, striving ever to form herself after this pattern,
on which account French female teachers are universally
preferred, even when very imperfectly qualified. The
revolutions in France have driven forth many well educated
persons to America, who have been compelled to seek by
teaching a livelihood. Louis Philippe himself was once among
the number. In addition to the fact that no nation surpasses
the French in personal accomplishments, they have for
Americans the further recommendation that their nation has
played an important part in modern history. The American is
impressed in favor of France, because she aided him in
freeing his country from the yoke of England; and this
inclination manifests itself continually in language.

"And when the American boy glances over his school-books, he
sees France represented in pictures as the _polite_ nation,
and reads in history that she aided his country in the war
of freedom, and that Lafayette was the _friend_ of
Washington; while the same work represents the German as a
merely agricultural race, portrayed in the caricature of an
Altenburger peasant and his wife, in their fantastic
national dress. From the same book he also learns that a
German prince sold his subjects for so many pounds per head
to aid England to subdue his country. Such contrasts cannot
but awake in the child's mind deeply-rooted prejudices, far
from favorable to the German race.

"And since there has been for years an emigration to America
of Germans who were very generally poor and
uneducated--people speaking a revolting dialect, employed in
the lowest offices, and not unfrequently much resembling the
pictures in the geographies, the prejudice formed in early
youth has been thus strengthened, that the Germans are a
rough, uncultivated race, industrious and domestic, it is
true, but yet very little improved by civilization--of all
which the native Pennsylvania Germans afford unfortunately
striking examples. The well-educated American, of course,
knows better how to appreciate the true value of the
Germans; he is aware of the value of their contributions to
literature, science, art, and music; only in politics, and
in the practical application of knowledge, he places (and
not without justice) but little confidence in them.

"But the personal appearance and bearing of many Germans,
who are in themselves truly worthy of respect, often induce
the well-educated and refined American to place in the back
ground their otherwise estimable qualities. There is often
something rough and harsh about the German, and his domestic
habits are not invariably in unison with his erudition and
excellent education, but frequently destroy the good
impression which the latter might produce; moreover, their
'_geselliges Leben_,' (social jovial life) as Germans term
it, with its accompaniments of pipe and mug, are in the
highest degree revolting to an American. And further, it is
taken ill of the German that he considers that regard for
the sex, entertained by the American, as carried somewhat
too far, and allows himself to form on this point a too
hasty, and not seldom unfavorable judgment, without seeking
to examine more accurately this domestic characteristic.
Many Germans find it impossible to enter into the spirit of
American life, customs, and manners, while on religious
subjects it appears impossible for either to adopt the same
views: so that there is apparently almost no point in common
between them."

After stating that many educated Germans might succeed as teachers in this country, could they dispense with national peculiarities, and a description of the manner of establishing schools, in which he pays a high compliment to the general appearance of such institutions in our country, he adds:

"The superintendent of such an establishment must entirely
renounce all visits to bar-rooms and coffee-houses. He must
learn to impart to his system of instruction the elements of
novelty and attractiveness, and especially learn to make
friends of the children. It is utterly impossible in this
country to manage a school by the mere force of power and
authority, and the teacher attempting this, soon experiences
a revolution by which indeed he is not exactly _driven
forth_, but left _alone_ on his _cathedra_."

With this extract we close, regretting that we have been obliged to leave untranslated many more practical and not less interesting items. We consider the entire work as the best possible answer which can be given to the question, '_Why has America done so little for England's fair?_' No one who contemplates in it the immense range of our manufactories--our incredible combinations of excellence and cheapness, and the almost superhuman rapidity of our progress in every branch of industrial and social life, will entertain for an instant the slightest regret that we have not done more to increase the profits of John Bull's raree-show.

FOOTNOTES:

[1] Muffins?--_International._

[2] _Pariser-tracht_--French dress--is the epithet usually applied in Germany to our ordinary style of costume, in contradistinction to the _Bauern-tracht_, or peasant's costume, which is so frequently seen among German immigrants.

[3] _Zu hause_--at house, at home. In this sentence the reader finds a striking exemplification of the saying, that neither in French nor German is there a word for _home_.

IN THE HAREM.

WRITTEN FOR THE INTERNATIONAL MAGAZINE

BY R. H. STODDARD.

The scent of burning sandal-wood
Perfumes the air in vain;
A sweeter odor fills my sense,
A fiercer fire my brain!

O press your burning lips to mine!--
For mine will never part,
Until my heart has rifled all
The sweetness of your heart!

The lutes are playing on the lawn,
The moon is shining bright,
But we like stars are melting now
In clouds of soft delight!

TO THE CICADA.

WRITTEN FOR THE INTERNATIONAL MAGAZINE

BY H. J. CRATE.

Cicada sits upon a sprig,
And makes his song resound;
For he is happy when a twig
Lifts him above the ground.

And so am I, when lifted up
On hopes delusive wing;
I laugh, and quaff the flowing cup,
I love, I write, I sing!

Should clouds or cares obscure our sky,
And all be gloom around,
My merry little friend and I
Soon tumble to the ground.

TRICKS ON TRAVELLERS AT WATERLOO.

M. Leon Gozlan, one of the most esteemed magazinists in France, has lately paid a flying visit to the scene of his country's most glorious disasters, Waterloo, and has given a characteristic account of what he saw and heard there. We quote a part of it, in which he describes a knavish practice of which great numbers are every year made victims. M. Gozlan has just passed through the Brussels _faubourg_ Louisa, and is oppressed with most melancholy reflections, when his coachman addresses him--

"Sir," exclaimed my conductor, suddenly interrupting my
meditations, "excuse me if I am troublesome, but before
arriving at Mont-Saint-Jean I wish to warn you of a knavish
trade you have probably never heard of at Paris."

"A knavish trade unknown at Paris?" I replied,
incredulously; "that is rather surprising. But come, tell me
what is this new species of industry."

"You can easily suppose," pursued my loquacious coachman,
"that after the battle of Waterloo there remained on the
field a large quantity of cannon-balls, buttons, small brass
eagles, and broken weapons. Well, for the last thirty-four
years, the country people have been carrying on a famous
business in these articles."

"It seems to me, however, my friend," I observed, "that a
sale continued for so long a period, must have left very
little to be disposed of at present."

"True, sir; and this is precisely what I would guard you
against. Those who obtain a subsistence by such means,
purchase the goods new at a manufactory, in shares, and then
bury in different parts of the field, and for a wide space
around, pieces of imperial brass eagles, thousands of metal
buttons, and heaps of iron balls. This crop is allowed to
rest in the earth until summer, for few strangers visit
Waterloo in winter; and when the fine weather arrives, they
dig up their relics, to which a sojourn of eight months in a
damp soil gives an appearance of age, deceiving the keenest
observer, and awakening the admiration of pilgrims."

"But this is a shameful deceit."

"True again, sir; but the country is very poor about here;
and after all, perhaps," added the philosophic driver, "no
great harm is done. This year the harvest of brass eagles
has been very fair."

We entered the forest of Soignies by a narrow and naturally
covered alley, the two sides crowned with the most luxuriant
foliage. Poplars, elms, and plane-trees appeared to be
striving which should attain the highest elevation. One
peculiarity I could not avoid remarking in the midst of this
solemn and beautiful abode of nature, and that was the
perfect stillness prevailing around. The air itself seemed
without palpitation, and during a ride of nearly two hours
through this sylvan gallery, not even the note of a bird
broke on the solitude. A forest without feathered songsters
appeared unnatural, and the only possible reason that could
be imagined for such a circumstance might be, that since the
formidable day of Waterloo, they had quitted these shades,
never to return, frightened away by the roar of the cannon
and the dismal noise of war. What melancholy is impressed
upon the beautiful forest of Soignies! I cannot overcome the
idea, that since Providence destined it should become the
mute spectator of the great event in its vicinity, it has
retained the mysterious memory in the folding of its leaves
and the depths of its shades. Destiny designs the theatre
for grand actions. An army of one hundred thousand men
perished there. Such was the irrevocable decree.

"Do you think," I inquired of the coachman, wishing to
change the current of my thoughts, "there are persons so
unscrupulous as to speculate on the curiosity of tourists to
Waterloo in the manner you have described?"

"Ah, sir," he replied, "I have not told you half the tricks
they practice on the credulous. It would indeed fatigue you
if I mentioned all of them, but if you will permit me, I
will relate an instance I witnessed myself one day. I was
conducting from Waterloo to Brussels a French artist and a
Prussian tourist. The Prussian supported on his knee some
object very carefully enveloped in a handkerchief, and which
he seemed to value greatly. When we had arrived about midway
on the road, he inquired of the Frenchman whether he had
brought away with him any souvenir of his pilgrimage to
Waterloo.

"'In good faith no,' replied the other; and yet I was on the
point of making a certain acquisition, but the exorbitant
price demanded prevented me: one hundred francs, besides the
trouble of carrying off such an article.'

"'What could it have been?' demanded the Prussian,
curiously.

"'You must not feel offended if I tell you,' returned the
artist; 'it was the skull of a Prussian colonel, a
magnificent one! And what rendered it more valuable, it was
pierced by three holes, made by the balls of Waterloo. One
was in the forehead, the others were through the temples. I
should have had no objection to secure this, if I could have
afforded it, and have had a lamp made of the skull of a
Prussian officer killed by the French. And you, sir?' he
continued, looking at the packet carried by his
fellow-traveller, 'pray what luck have you had?'

"'I,' replied the Prussian, with an uneasy movement, and
looking greatly confused, 'I am astonished at the wonderful
resemblance of what has happened to both of us, for I
purchased this morning the skull of a French colonel killed
by a Prussian at Waterloo.'

"'You, sir?'

"'Y--e--s,' stammered the Prussian, 'and I thought of having
it made into a cup to drink the health of Blucher at each
anniversary of our victory.'

"'And is the skull pierced by three bullets?' demanded the
Frenchman, his suspicions becoming awakened.

"With a look of consternation the Prussian hastily unrolled
the handkerchief, and examined the contents. The skull bore
the same marks indicated by his travelling companion! It was
the identical relic that was French when offered to an
Englishman or Prussian, and had become Prussian or English
when offered to a Frenchman.

"This, sir," added Jehu, smacking his whip, "you will admit,
is worse than selling false brass buttons and the Emperor's
eagles."

STUDIES OF AMERICAN LITERATURE,

BY PHILARETE CHASLES.

We have frequently been interested by the clever contributions of M. PHILARETE CHASLES to the _Revue des Deux Mondes_. They are chiefly on English and American literature, and among them are specimens of acute and genial criticism. M. Chasles has just published in Paris a collection of these papers, and we translate for _The International_ a reviewal of it which appears in a late number of the French journal, the _Illustration_. Says the writer, M. Hipolyte Babou:

Books are becoming scarce. To be sure, volume upon volume is published every day, but a book that is a book is a _rara avis_, and if any one should inquire whose fault it is, we reply that it is the fault of the press, constantly requiring the first-fruits of a writer's meditations. The journalist has displaced the author. The fugitive page rules the great world of literature. Wit, talent, genius, science, have not time to consolidate their thoughts, before they are disseminated. They are like the folds of the birchen bark, thrown off as soon as formed, to give place to new ones. And these in their turn fall, and are scattered. But, when we wish it, we can collect our literary leaves. How many handsome volumes are made up of weekly and monthly pages! The binder runs his needle through a collection, and the book is made.

What kind of book? Ah, truly, it is not the venerable work of past days, which took ten years to print and bring to perfection, establishing at once a literary fame. It is simply a series of articles written by steam, printed by steam, and some bright morning bound up under a common title. But what is the story and the attraction of such works? Bless you! there is no story. The attraction is in the style (when there is any) and in the variety of subjects, which generally produces a variety of impressions.

For an ordinary reader, to whom continued attention produces headache, there is nothing more agreeable than those album-pages, or fragments of mosaic. Thinking and serious minds turn rather towards works of consecutive reflection, or whose details contribute to the beauty of some whole. Variety is the wind to the weather-cock; and unity is the inflexible pivot which every weather-cock requires to keep it from being blown away. Thoughtful minds prefer unity above every thing. And yet they are only heavier weather-cocks, which turn round with a grating.

Nervous and discursive reader! logical and phlegmatic reader! here is a book which will suit you both. M. Philarete Chasles has just published expressly for you his _Studies upon the Literature and Manners of the Anglo-Americans in the Nineteenth Century_. It is a work by compartments, any of them interesting to the superficial reader, and forming at the same time a perfect whole.

Under the influence of a spirit of order, which professors by their vocation are very apt to possess in an eminent degree, the author has composed his work, not of articles written for journals, but by detailing articles a work whose plan he had before considered. The general design, to which he is obedient, is clearly developed, page by page, in his curious studies upon the Anglo-Americans.

It is a vile term--that of Anglo-American--a pedantic term--and rather surprising from the pen of Chasles. For, professor as he is, he despises pedantry as the plague. There is nothing doctoral in his literary costume; and if he has any pretension, it resembles in no particular the grave assumptions of the cathedrants of the university. It would be a mortification to him to belong to the school of the Sorbonne. He is a member of the free family of the College of France, where individual genius has triumphed more than once over the sterile routine of tradition.

Before filling the chair of professor, the author of _Etudes_ had written much in journals and reviews. He writes still, and is always welcome to the public. For, it may be remarked without malice, he has always had a larger audience of readers than of listeners. And that it is so is rather complimentary than otherwise. How is it, indeed, that the intellectual humorist succeeds better as an author than as a teacher? What does he need to insure, if he wishes it, the enthusiastic admiration of the young public whom he instructs? Has he not at command those vivid flashings of the imagination which, by an electric sympathy, might bring down about him thunders of applause? Is he fearful that his gesture and his voice would not become his thought? Does he disdain to have recourse, hap-hazard, to the little artifices of eloquence? It is very easy to gain popularity by a juggle, when it cannot be done by the force of true oratory. Be enthusiastic of your merits. Mingle with the swellings of poetry a certain dogmatism of opinion--call to your aid assurance, impudence, and all the insipidities of the _style printanier_--fire, as it were, pistol-shots into the audience, and continue the fire by a brilliant musketry of little fulminating phrases--the victory is yours, unless you are essentially an ass. For youth--verdant youth--will always be carried away by the expression, true or false, of feeling.

M. Philarete Chasles is said to want in some degree that great constituent of humanity--passion. He is one of those refined and delicate writers who employ all their genius to ridicule the mind, and all their reason to drive to shipwreck upon the beautiful waters of poesie the most charming flotillas of the imagination. He belongs to the breed of sharp raillers, whose skepticism points an epigram. In a word, there is no reverse side for his admiration on any question--a habit of judging quite common among many writers, genuine and charlatan.

But this is not saying that the author of _Etudes_ does not feel deeply the irresistible attraction of the beau ideal; or that we are treating of one of those representatives of pompous and stupid criticism, who are so justly despised by the poets. Certainly not. On the contrary, M. Chasles combines a vigorous hate of ornate folly and vulgarity with a profound disgust towards tame or extravagant conventionalism. The academic style has no fascination for him. He likes elbow-room in the discussion of art, and if he finds himself confined by the close-fitting coat of the professor, he rips it asunder, stretching out his arms in a fit of restlessness. A protective literature regards him among its most resolute adversaries. No custom-houses in literature for him, and particularly no excisemen, who, under pretext of contraband, drive their brutal gauge-rods into the free productions of human intelligence.

M. Philarete Chasles is a literary disciple of Cobden. He would not only lower the barriers between province and province, but wholly abolish them between nation and nation. His imagination carries him as a balloon beyond the tops of custom-houses; and after visiting the shores of England and America, he returns to France with some curious samples of foreign literature. By this come-and-go policy of importation and exportation, he has created, or at least developed, a noble spirit of commerce, which may be termed international criticism.

This commerce is particularly useful for us who are always ready to proclaim ourselves in every thing and to every one the first nation of the globe. It is an auspicious time therefore to become acquainted with the weaknesses of our character without losing its force. The glory of the past obliges us to think of the glory of the future, which can be easily lost to us if ambition does not come in time to animate our courage. To deny that there are rivals is no way to conquer them. It is a great deal better to study them attentively, and to consider beforehand the perils of the combat. We are indeed the heroes of genius, but if we misapprehend the tactics, we say it frankly, we shall be beaten.

The author of the _Etudes_ wishes to spare us such a humiliation, by telling us of the enemy as he is; and in this sense his work is truly patriotic, and cannot be unacceptable to any.

Many writers have instituted a relation between us and the Latins and Greeks. M. Chasles thinks that to remember the glorious dead of the south is to engender contempt for the living. It is not then towards the south that he directs his attention. The Saxon race, beyond the British Sea and the Atlantic, preoccupies him. The nations in progress are those most hopeful for new and immortal productions of the muse. The rest of the world is given to an incurable imitation. And M. Chasles is right in bringing us into the presence of the English and the Americans. He is sufficiently conversant with their language to fulfil the delicate functions of interpreter.

I know writers who, on account of studying foreign literature, so bear the imprints of it in their works, that one would say in reading them, that he had before him French translations of Italian or German, or English, or Spanish. The literary temperament of M. Chasles, however, is not changed, notwithstanding his migrations. The author of _Etudes_ thinks in French, writes in French, and what is more, in French inherited from a Gaul. He preserves in his mind the brightness of his native sky, whether he wanders in the fogs of London, or is becoming a victim of ennui among the vapors of New-York. His pen seems to strike out sparks as he writes. He is active and bold, strong and light, independent and courteous. Nothing stops him. He runs oftener than he walks, and leaps over an obstacle that he may not lose time in going round it. Indeed, every thing is accomplished well by the intelligence that judges as it travels. Reflection itself is rapid, and logic hastens the step and smooths the way. A light and tripping foot belongs especially to criticism. If it raises a little brilliant dust in the road, it is no matter, it soon falls again. M. Chasles has no taste for old truths; he prefers much some kind of paradox which is now a truth and now a lie. It is for this reason that foreigners reproach him with being superficial. Very well! let him be so. He is a true Frenchman, for he touches only the flower of ideas, and, for a Frenchman, the flower and the surface are all one.

It is not just, however, to regard this reproach as wholly merited, although (originating beyond the British Sea) it is reproduced among us by those would-be grave men who are dull writers. M. Chasles often allies lightness of expression with great profundity of thought. His style cuts as a blade of steel. He has eloquence, gayety, irony, caprice, and all in a perfect measure. No style resembles less the childish dashes of persons of wit, and who possess nothing else--who play the mountebank by a hundred tricks to astonish the gaping crowd--a light style, if you please, but empty as it is light.

The _Etudes_ of M. Chasles are not of that superficial character adopted by many. The admiration of ninnies is not his desire. The object that he pursues continues ever a serious one, although a thousand graces ornament the way. He has vivacity without losing precision--two characteristics of good writing seldom found together. If he indulges in digressions, they are not perceptible until the reappearance of his subject shows us how gracefully he has departed from it. He passes rapidly over what is known, while with an especial care he dwells on what is unknown. Thus, in the history of American literature he does not amuse himself long with the popular names of Fenimore Cooper and Franklin. What could he say new respecting these two great ornaments of American science and literature? His instinct of observation and criticism suggested to him the works less known of Gouverneur Morris and Hermann Melville. Between these two writers, of whom one was the contemporary of Washington, and the other still living in some corner of Massachusetts, are ranged according to their date the productions of the writers of the great American nation.

Gouverneur Morris was of a noble spirit. His _Memoires_ represent to us, with a full and attractive fidelity, the opinion which the young and tranquil republic of the United States entertained at the close of the eighteenth century, of the men and the events of our French Revolution. He was far from misunderstanding the abuses of our ancient society, but he deplored that it was necessary for violence to abolish them. A sensible and polished observer, he criticised them without passion, and with a benevolent irony. Let us hear him tell of a conversation he had, at Madame de la Suze's, with one of the most brilliant leaders of the gay world that had just perished. In a few lines, he presents an admirable sketch of the personage:

'The rest of our party were playing at cards, and quite
absorbed in the game, when M. de Boufflers, in want of
something better to do, spoke to me of America. The
carelessness with which he heard me proved that he did not
pay the least attention to what he had asked me.

--"But how could you defend your country from invasion
without fleets and armies?"

"Nothing could be more difficult," replied Morris, "than to
subjugate a nation composed of kings, and who, if looked
upon contemptuously, would respond: '_I am a man; are you
any thing more?_'"

"Very well," said M. de Boufflers. "But how would you like
it, if I should say to one of those citizen-kings: Monsieur,
the king, make me a pair of boots!"

"My compatriot," said Morris, "would not hesitate to reply:
'With great pleasure, sir. It is my duty and my vocation to
make boots, and I could wish that every one would do his
duty in this world."'

M. de Boufflers looked up to the ceiling as if in search of a solution of this enigma, and Morris contemplated him, as much surprised as if, in the forests of the New World, he had heard a humming-bird reason of the affairs of the Republic. And it was thus with all that class of men--the same elegance--the same luxury--the same prattle--the same heedlessness. All these courtiers of the last hour resembled precisely M. de Boufflers. The same day, indeed, of the taking of the Bastile, Morris traced two lines upon the tablettes:

"It is very well that the court should appear to believe
that all is tranquil; but to-morrow, perhaps, when the
citadelle is in flames, they will agree that there has been
some noise in Paris."

Some time before, the grave and gentle American had met Madame de Stael at Madame de Tesse's; the daughter of Necker conversed with him in another style than that of M. de Boufflers. However, quite serious as Corinne certainly was, the dignity of the compatriot of Washington surprised and diverted her.

"Monsieur," she said, after a moment's conversation, "you
have a very imposing air."

"I know it, Madame," replied Morris.

The English literature constantly serves M. Chasles, to bring into relief the character of American literature. And thus, he opposes the peaceful inspirations of the work-girls of Lowell with the passionate dithyrambics of Ebenezer Elliott, the blacksmith of Sheffield--a chapter full of just remarks upon what Chasles calls the poetry of vengeance.

The girls of Lowell--the Lucindas, the Alleghanias, the Tancredas, the Velledas--who, after a day's labor, pass into the street in silken dresses, with gold watches shining at their zone, and their beautiful faces shaded by parasols--those Massachusetts weavers, who have even instituted an academy among themselves--do not in their innocent verses, invoke the vengeful muses. They know nothing of that terrible Nemesis, with cheeks hollow and ghastly, armed hands, and eyes red with poverty and weeping, to whom the poor workers of British factories send up the cry of famine and despair. If the female operatives of Lowell read the work of M. Philarete Chasles, they will find there an encouragement to cultivate the smiling thoughts of poetry. He, no more than George Sand, notwithstanding her sympathies for the working classes, either loves or encourages the irritable singers of social sufferings.

"What," he exclaims, "has become of the glorious Apollo of
the Greek? Where is the sunny ideal of the hellenistic
heavens? Where the sacred sorrows of Christian perfection?
Poetry is no more a garden of roses; it is a wild field of
thorns, wherein he who walks leaves tracks of blood. At the
entrance of this Parnassus stands Poverty, whom Virgil
places _in faucibus orci_. Her complaints are in the midst
of curses. She holds in her hand a skull, with strings of
iron, and she sweeps them as a lyre with golden chords.
Behind her are Crabbe, the Juvenal of the hospitals;
Ebenezer Elliott, the singer of hunger; Cooper, the poet of
suicide, and the author of _Ernest_, followed by a miserable
train of children, whom manufacturers have famished, and
young women whom excessive labor has demoralized and
prostituted in the morning of their life. Mournful choir, to
which these poets worthily respond."

It is not very pleasant, to be sure, for a reader to pass from some agreeable representation to a frightful array of evils. The spectacle but too true of social infirmities troubles the sleep of the happy, and awakes with a start the drowsy hate of the unhappy. But there is no reason why he who suffers, should not utter his complaint. The Bible itself is not a stranger to vehement protestations against the apparent injustice of destiny. When Job arose from the ashes, surely it was not to sing to the passers-by some touching idylle in the style of Ruth and Naomi. He accused heaven and life, he cursed his friends, and his mother, without troubling himself to know whether his sorrows reached the lovers' palm-groves, or disturbed the wooings of the daughters of Idumea. The Sheffield blacksmith, among flaming furnaces, cannot sing the voluptuous sweets of existence. He strikes the anvil with a ring, and exclaims in a rough voice, amid smoke and fire:

"Accursed be the muse of necessity and suffering! Who wishes
her acquaintance? The poor, so despised! Write not their
frightful history. Pride and vanity despise your labors. Who
is he, I pray you, that artizan who uses the pen? What right
has he to do so? Absurd rhymer, let him retire and pare his
nails--and renounce a species of industry for which he was
never made. You are accustomed only to oaths, and you are
only a rough worker in poetry."

M. Chasles does not deny the right of artizans to employ the pen. Ignoble or noble--a serf or a lord--whether he is called Burns, or Chasles of Orleans--whether he is a porter, a laborer, or even a drunkard, from the moment that there is seen upon his brow the radiant sign of genius, he is known. To wonder that an artizan is a poet, is to think it marvellous that beauty should bloom upon the cheek of a village maid. The gift is natural, and not acquired; and the mechanic who writes either prose or poetry must be judged with as much severity as if he were a king. It is not astonishing, therefore, that the author of the _Etudes_ judges severely the blacksmith of Sheffield. But the latter seems to have anticipated the severity of the critic, when he says with an accent of the most mournful bitterness:

"Do not read me, ye who love elegance and grace. Alight not,
ye butterflies, among thorns--nor upon rocks burning in the
sun and beaten by the rains--you may tarnish the gauze of
your beautiful wings. But you who honor truth, follow me. I
will bring you wild flowers, gathered from the precipice,
amid howling tempests."

While we inhale the perfume of the _flowers of the heath_, we can honor truth, without being _foolish flies_, and without renouncing the love of the _elegant and graceful_. Not less did M. Chasles write to the _Journal des Debats_, a little before the revolution, in those generous words which we are happy to see again in his book:

"It is for you, politicians, to find a remedy for the evils
of society. The interests of the masses are in your
hands--those who have not enough to eat, and too much work.
The verses of famished workmen, which we cannot sing, we
weep over. The muse of Cooper, of Elliott, and of Crabbe,
is not a muse, but a fury. You are reminded, that in
accumulating wealth in one direction, you are increasing
poverty in another; and that the poverty which complains at
first avenges itself afterward."

I do not know whether these words were prophetic, but I see in them a noble sentiment, unfortunately too rare among those who love elegance and grace. Let us be elegant, if we can; gracious, if we know how. But, besides those desirable qualities of the old French society, let us show in the light of heaven that living active charity which only can strengthen by purifying the existence of the new order of society. The grandchildren of Boufflers, we expose ourselves no more to ridicule in saying: "Monsieur le roi, faite-moi une paire de souliers." The king will make the shoes if it is his vocation. The grandchildren of Boufflers should do their duty--that is to say: contribute with all their mind to find out, according to the expression of Chasles, efficacious remedies for social evils. When workmen are more happy, they will write less poetry, or at least they will write more calmly. See the American spinners of Lowell. Ah! Lucinda or Tancreda has never lifted up her voice to heaven with the despair of Elliott. An amorous complaint suffices her; a sonnet, or a love-sigh, breathed by the light of the stars, consoles her for the labors of the day. American society works first; when it has conquered an independence, it sings. All Americans do not accept the saying of one of their journalists: "Political and practical life is sufficient for man. Imagination is a peril--arts a misfortune." So far from proscribing the arts and imagination, Cooper, Irving, Audubon, and many others are among those who have magnified the literature of their country. But the greater part, with that fruitful wisdom which characterizes them, applaud the advice of Channing:

"I made a resolution of presenting a gift to my country in
the form of an epic. But I had prudence enough to postpone
it until I should have a fortune. I then commenced to make
my business known, after which I retired into solitude with
my imagination."

In Europe it is just the contrary. We ask the imagination to make our business known, and we retire into solitude with our fortune or our poverty. Which course avails the more for our glory? Which for our repose?