the awful consequences of smoking." De Quincey came up to London, and declared war against opium. But during a little amnesty, in which he lapsed into his old elysium, he wrote his best book, depicting its horrors.

Our readers will not imagine that we are advocating the claims of drunkenness, nor defending social excess. We are only recognizing the fact, and stating an obvious tendency. The most brilliant illustrations of every virtue are to be found in the literary guild, as well as the saddest beacons of warning. Yet it will often occur that the last in talent and the first in excess of a picked company, will be the man around whom sympathy most kindly lingers. We love Goldsmith more at the head of his ill-advised feast, than Johnson and his friends leaving it, thoughtful and generous as their conduct was. The heart despises.prudence.

In this single-hearted regard, we know that pity has a larger share. Yet it is not so much that pity which is commiseration for misfortune and deficiency, as that which is recognition of a necessary worldly ignorance. The literary class is the most innocent of all. The contempt of practical men for the Poets is based upon a consciousness that they are not bad enough for a bad world. To a practical man nothing is so absurd as the lack of worldly shrewdness. The very complaint of the literary life, that it does not amass wealth and live in palaces, is the scorn of the practical man; for he cannot understand that intellectual opacity which prevents the literary man from seeing the necessity of the different pecuniary condition. I is clear enough to the publisher who lays up fifty thousand a year, why the author ends the year in debt. But the author is amazed that he who deals in ideas can only dine upon occasional chops, while the man who merely binds and sells ideas sits down to perpetual sirloin. If they should change places, fortune would change with them. The publisher, turned author, would still lay by his hundreds. The publishing author would directly lose thousands. It is simply because it is a matter of prudence, economy, and knowledge of the world. Thomas Hood made his ten thousand dollars a year, but if he lived at the rate of fifteen thousand, he would hardly die rich. Mr. Jerdan, a gentleman who, in his autobiography, advises energetic youth to betake themselves to the highway rather than to literature, was, we understand, in the receipt of an easy income, and was a welcome guest in pleasant houses; but living in a careless, shiftless, extravagant way, he was presently

poor, and, instead of giving his memoirs the motto, peccavi, and inditing a warn ing, he dashes off a truculent defiance. Publishers and practical men of all kinds invest their earnings in Michigan Central, or Cincinnati and Dayton; in steady works and devoted days, and reap a pleasant harvest of dividends. Our friends, the authors, invest in prime Havanas, Rhenish, in oyster suppers, love, and leisure, and divide a heavy percentage of headache, dyspepsia, and debt.

This is as true a view, from another point, as the one we have already taken. If the literary life has the pleasures of freedom, it has also its pains. It may willingly resign the Queen's drawingroom with the illustrious galaxy of stars and garters, for the chamber with a party nobler than nobility. The author's success is of a wholly different kind from that of the publisher, and he is thoughtless who demands both. Mr. Roe,who sells sugar, naturally complains that Mr. Doe, who sells molasses, makes money more rapidly. But Mr. Tennyson, who writes poems, can hardly make the same complaint of Mr. Moxon who publishes them, as was very fairly shown in a late number of the Westminster Review, when noticing Mr. Jerdan's book.

What we have said is strictly related to Mr. Thackeray's lectures, which discussed literary life. All the men he commemorated, were illustrations and exponents of the career of letters. They all, in various ways, showed the various phenomena of that temperament. And when, in treating them, the critic came to Steele, he found one who was the most striking illustration of one of the most universal aspects of literary life-the simple-hearted, unsuspicious, gay, gallant, and genial gentleman. ready with his sword or his pen, with a smile or a tear, the fair representative of the social tendency of his life. It seems

to us that the Thackeray-theory, the conclusion that he is a man who loves to depict badness and has no sensibilities to the finer qualities of character, crumbled quite away before that lecture upon Steele. We know that it was not considered the best. We know that many of the delighted audience were not sufficiently familiar with literary history, fully to understand the position of the man in the lecturer's re view; but, as a key to Thackeray, it was, perhaps, the most valuable of all. We know, in literature, of no more gentle treatment. We have not often encountered in men of the most rigorous and acknowledged virtue such humane tenderWe have not often heard from the most clerical lips words of such genuine Christianity. Steele's was a character

ness.

which makes weakness amiable. It was weakness, if you will, but it was as certainly amiability. And it was a combination more attractive than many full-panoplied excellencies. It was not presented as a model. Captain Steele in the taproom was not painted as the ideal of virtuous manhood. But it certainly was intimated that many admirable things were consonant with a free use of beer. It was frankly stated that if, in that career, virtue abounded, cakes and ale did much more abound. Captain Richard Steele might have behaved much better than he did-but we should then have never heard of him. A few fine essays do not float a man into immortality. But the generous character, the heart sweet in all excesses and under all chances, is a spectacle too beautiful and too rare to be easily forgotten. A man is better than many books. Even a man who is not immaculate, may be a more virtuous influence than the discreetest saint. remember how fondly the old painters lingered around the story of the Magdalen, and thank Thackeray for his fulllength of Steele.

Let us

His

We conceive this to be the chief result of Thackeray's visit, that he convinced us of his intellectual integrity; he showed us how impossible it is for him to see the world, and describe it other than he does. He does not profess cynicism, nor satirize society with malice. There is no man more humble, none more simple. interests are human and concrete, not abstract. We have already said that he looks, through and through, at the fact. It is easy enough, and at some future time it will be done in these pages, to deduce the peculiarity of his writings from the character of his mind. There is no man who masks so little as he, in assuming the author. His books are his observation reduced to writing. It seems to us as singular to demand that Dante should be like Shakspeare, as to quarrel with Thackeray's want of what is called ideal portraiture. Even if you thought, from reading his Vanity Fair, that he had no conception of noble women, certainly after the lecture upon Swift, after all the lectures, in which every allusion to wotaen was so manly, and delicate, and sympathetic, you thought so no longer. It is clear that his sympathy is attracted to women by that which is essentially feminine. Qualities common to both sexes do not necessarily charm him because he finds them in women. A certain degree of goodness must be always assumed. It is only the rare flowering that inspires especial praise. You call Amelia's fondness for George Osborne, foolish, fond VOL. I.-41

idolatry. Thackeray smiles, as if all love were not idolatry of the fondest foolishness. What was Hero's-what was Francesca di Rimini's-what was Juliet's? They might have been more brilliant women than Amelia, and their idols of a larger mould than George, but the love was the same old, foolish, fond idolatry.. The passion of love, and a profound and sensible regard based upon prodigious knowledge of character and appreciation of talent, are different things. What is the historical and poetic splendor of love, but the very fact which constantly appears in Thackeray's stories; namely, that it is a glory which dazzles and blinds. Men rarely love the women they ought to love, according to the ideal standards. It is this that makes the plot and mystery of life. Is it not the perpetual surprise of all Jane's friends, that she should love Timothy instead of Thomas? And is not the courtly and accomplished Thomas sure to surrender to some accidental Lucy, without position, wealth, style, wit, culture, without any thing but heart? This is the fact, and it reappears in Thackeray; and it gives his books that air of reality which they possess beyond all modern story.

And it is this single perception of the fact, which, simple as it is, is the rarest intellectual quality that made his lectures so interesting. The sun arose again upon that vanished century, and lighted those historic streets. The wits of Queen Anne ruled the hour, and we were bidden to their feast. Much reading of history and memoirs had not so sent the blood into those old English cheeks, and so moved those limbs in proper measure, as these swift glances through the eyes of genius. It was because, true to himself, Thackeray gave us his impressions of those wits as men, rather than authors. For he loves character more than thought. He is a man of the world and not a scholHe interprets the author by the man. When you are made intimate with young Swift, Sir William Temple's saturnine secretary, you more intelligently appreciate the Dean of St. Patrick's. When the surplice of Mr. Sterne is raised a little, more is seen than the reverend gentleman intends. Hogarth, the bluff Londoner, necessarily depicts a bluff, coarse, obvious morality. The hearty Fielding, the cool Addison, the genial Goldsmith,-these are the figures that remain in memory, and their works are as valuable as they indicate the man.

ar.

Mr. Thackeray's success was very great. He did not visit the West, nor Canada. He went home without seeing Niagara Falls. But wherever he did go, he found

a generous social welcome, and a respectful and sympathetic hearing. He came to fulfil no mission: but he certainly knit more closely our sympathy with Englishmen. Heralded by various romantic memoirs, he smiled at them, stoutly asserted that he had been always able to command a good dinner, and to pay for it; nor did he seek to disguise that he hoped his American tour would help him to command and pay for more. He promised not to write a book about us, but we hope he will, for we can ill spare the criticism of such an observer. At least, we may

be sure that the material gathered here will be worked up in some way. He found that we were not savages nor boors. He found that there were a hundred here for every score in England, who knew well, and loved, the men of whom he spoke. He found that the same red blood colors all the lips that speak the language he so nobly praised. He found friends instead of critics. He found those who, loving the author, love the man more. found a quiet welcome from those who are waiting to welcome him again, and as sincerely.

He

DE

E TOCQUEVILLE, who has written the most appreciative book on the United States that has been published, yet falls into many errors, among which we are disposed to class what he says of our want of permanent national records. His words are these: "The public administration (of the United States) is oral and traditionary. But little is committed to writing, and that little is wafted away like the leaves of the Sibyl, by the smallest breeze. The only historical remains are the newspapers; but, if a number be wanting, the chain of time is broken, and the Present is severed from the Past. I am convinced, that in fifty years it will be more difficult to collect authentic documents concerning the social condition of the Americans, at the present day, than it is to find the remains of the administration of France during the middle ages; and, if the United States were ever invaded by barbarians, it would be necessary to have recourse to the history of other nations, in order to learn any thing of the people who now inhabit them."

It is a curious comment on this speculation of the distinguished Frenchman, that we have, perhaps, more materials for the minute and faithful history of our political and social life, and for illustrating the characters of our great men, than any other nation; and that the habit of preserving memorials, even insignificant ones, of public occurrences, as well as every trace of men who have made any conspicuous figure, is rather a vice than a deficiency of our literature. The voluminous correspondence of the revolutionary worthies, from Washington and Franklin down to the obscurer personages of their time; the private memoirs, that the families, or friends, of the Adamses, Morris, Livingston, Jay, Story, Randolph,

Jefferson, and Hamilton, have so carefully compiled: the labored collections of the Historical Societies of the several States, extending to tracts, pamphlets. maps, state papers and books; the records of local celebrations and festivities preserved in the archives of towns and cities; and, finally, the newspapers, of which, in their multiplicity, there is no fear, as De Tocqueville somewhat ludicrously intimates, that the issue of a single day will be lost, to break the chain of events-are so many hostages taken of Time to secure us against his fatal inroads.

We are reminded also of another refutation of the remark we have quoted, by a series of the "Works" of some of our eminent later statesmen, put forth by themselves or their admirers, to give extension and permanence to whatever they may have said or done worthy of more than transient notice. There is now lying before us a score of volumes, issued within the last few months, which contain the speeches and writings of Levi Woodbury, William H. Seward, Henry Clay, John C. Calhoun, and Daniel Webster, together with attempts, more or less elaborate, in the form of biographies and notes, to convey "to other nations and to future times" some knowledge of their deeds and characters. Mr. Woodbury's "Works" are in three volumes, consisting mainly of his speeches as Senator, his reports as Secretary of the Treasury, and his occasional addresses; Mr. Seward appears in three large tomes, similarly filled; Mr. Clay in two, chiefly of speeches; Mr. Calhoun in one, containing his dissertation on the Constitution, to be followed by two other volumes of reports and speeches; and Mr. Webster in six, embracing his orations, diplomatic papers, forensic arguments, and debates. There is, therefore,

great similarity in the subject-matter of these publications; but that fact rather heightens than impairs their utility, at least in a historical sense, because it furnishes us with the views of several different minds, in respect to the same great questions and events.

Embracing as they do, moreover, discussions of nearly all the more important issues that have arisen since the origin of our democratic government and under the peculiar structure of our mixed societies-questions of agriculture, industry, education and religion, as well as of State and Federal politics,-by men who moved in the midst of the agitations they caused, applying the best energies of mind and heart to the peaceful solution of each as it arose, they not only secure us, so far as they go, from the reproach of De Tocqueville, but are valuable contributions to letters, as well as to history.

For, it should be remembered, that the literature of a nation is not confined to magazines, books, journals and poems, or to those forms in which the intellectual life of a people is ordinarily expressed. All sincere and vigorous utterances of national feeling and thought, become, when recorded, a part of that literature. Political debates, especially in a nation where the powers and attainments of men are almost universally devoted to active pursuits, as they are with us, are likely to be a most original and vital part of it, and springing warm from the brains of foremost men, under the impulse of great exigencies, when their abilities are taxed to the highest extent, to overcome opposition, and to bring about worthy and noble ends, they will possess an earnestness, freedom, and depth of purpose, which we do not always find in the colder essays of the professed man of letters. At least they will be truer to the form and pressure of the time, though, perhaps, less marked by scholastic perfections.

The editors of these books then have, in our opinion, rightly called them "Works;" for the men from whom they came were not only legislators, orators, magistrates, but authors as well. They did not, it is true, aim at literary reputation, yet their efforts have the characteristics of literary performances; they are an expression of our national peculiarities; they abound in pleasant narratives of facts, skilful dialectics, comprehensive and close argument, impassioned eloquence, and sarcastic retort; and have a value beyond the occasion or interest in which they originated.

Nor should we omit to mention the special interest which is communicated to these volumes by the fact, that the au

thors of them were rivals and competitors in the great Olympian contests of our Senate. Accustomed to encounter each other in those athletic grapplings of mind with mind, which have illustrated the history of parties for the last half cen tury, their books may be said, now that they have departed from the scene, to renew their struggles. Recalling the magnificent picture of the great German painter, Kaulbach, descriptive of the battle of the Huns, the spirits of the combatants, thus, when their bodies are laid in their dust, arise once more and resume the battle in the air. But we have this advantage in the books, that the ferocity and bitterness of the original strife are laid aside, and only the real life, the essential spirit of the conflict remains.

Mr. Woodbury, the first on our list, was not a man who widely influenced his day and generation, and we may dismiss him in a few words. As a Senator of the United States, in which capacity he served for some years; as Secretary of the Treasury during the administration of Mr. Van Buren, and latterly as a District · Judge, he attained to a respectable position; he served his party with diligence, and was evidently a man of solid judg ment and sincere faith in his opinions; but he was scarcely a leader out of the small State of New Hampshire, in which he lived, and he never rose to such eminence as to become the representative of any distinctive or vital policy. He wrote with vigor, but yet without much grace or facility: his sentences are cumbrous; what he saw clearly even, he did not always state clearly; and when he seeks to illustrate a position, he rather overloads it with commonplace ornament, than simplifies it by apt and lucid figures. A politician and a jurist, the habit of his mind was that of reserve and caution, so that the propositions he utters come to us with so many qualifying phrases,with so many ifs, buts and provideds, that they are shorn of their strength, and are often more of a puzzle than an impulse to the intellect. At the same time Justice Woodbury had strong popular sympathies, cherished an enlightened and liberal political philosophy, was an enthusiast, almost, in his hopes of human progress, and only needed to surrender himself more entirely to the inspirations of this side of his nature, to have been an eloquent writer and a great man.

Mr. Seward, we think, a higher order of mind, not because he is more comprehensive or profound, but because he has a finer fibre of brain, and rises more easily into the region of general principles. He is a yet living statesman,

surrounded by preposessions and hostilities, and we are therefore aware that our estimate of him may be influenced by current prejudices; but we have read his writings attentively, and are prepared to give an honest judgment as to his merits.

Most men, engaged in the actual contests of politics, are liable to be overrated by their friends, and underrated by their enemies; but the peculiarity of Mr. Seward's case has been that he has reversed the process, and, if not underrated by his friends, is at least overrated by his enemies. In other words, the nature and kind of opposition that he has encountered, have given him a prestige beyond the influence he is entitled to by his real abilities. The masses of the people hearing him decried so vehemently as a most dangerous fellow, the contriver of every nefarious plot, and the secret agent of every disorganizing movement, are apt to take his opponents at their word, and to believe that one who is so fertile in expedients and so hard to baffle, must be a prodigious worker, destined sooner or later to the most commanding sway. Men admire success, and even the reputation of it, and have a secret liking for those who are roundly abused; a fact which was evidenced in another case lately, that of Martin Van Buren, who was indebted as much to the magical influence his foes ascribed to him, as to the attachment of his friends or his native sagacity, for any elevation that he attained. Give a man a name for miraculous shrewdness and management, and you give him a host of friends; in fact, open his way, without efforts of his own, to almost any advance

ment.

He

The characteristes of Mr. Seward's mind are clearness, activity and cunning, to use the term in its best sense. grasps his subjects sharply, with penetration as well as power, manages them with subtle and quick dexterity, and being of a sanguine temperament, never wearies of the labor of elucidation and display. His logic is not of the close and compact sort which may be compared to mailed armor, impregnable to all assaults, for it is rather demonstrative than convincing, and consists more in the adroit linking together of facts, than the rigid deduction of principles. But he has great facility of expression, both as a writer and speaker; is always perspicuous, generally pleasing, and sometimes eloquent; he has read considerably, and understandingly; and his style, without being idiomatic or classical, is not offensively incorrect. He avoids, for the most part, excessive ornament, that turgid floridity 80 common to our orators; yet there is a

any

tendency to diffuseness, and a swelling, and consequently, languid wordiness in his hastier efforts which greatly debilitate their strength. He expatiates too much, is too long in covering his ground, and is apt to be tedious when he ought to be concise. Had he compressed what he has published into one-third the space, he might have said every thing that he has now said, and much better. Nor is it excuse for this carelessness of composition, to say that his addresses and letters were prepared in the midst of active occupations, on the spur of the moment, and without time for that limae labor which gives the last finish to language. This might have been an excuse for them, as originally uttered, but not for them as deliberately collected and edited. Besides, it is not impossible to acquire a compact, precise and simple style, even in extemporaneous effusions to make compression the habit of the mind-and when we consider what a lasting charm it lends to speech, the neglect of it, especially by men who desire to be read widely, and in after times, seems a strange oversight.

There is another defect of his compositions, arising partly in the same causes which produce diffuseness, and partly in a limited range of cultivation, which is, the use of worn and current metaphors, or commonplace turns of expression. Not remarkably original in his views, he is less so in his language. We miss that nice choice of words, those racy, idiomatic phrases, those graceful or happy allusions, those pregnant epithets, which condense a whole argument into a word, and those novel and picturesque suggestions, relieving the weight of argument, which proclaim a thorough master of his art. Yet Mr. Seward goes far towards supplying the place of these finer strokes of genius by his amiable and conciliating manner, a temper singularly free from gall, his vivacious readiness, and his elastic, almost exuberant, vitality, answering the purpose of a genuine enthusiasm. If he does not produce deep and vivid impressions, he carries his readers with him by the lucidity of his statement, the intrepid and manly spirit in which he meets difficulties and announces principles, and his obvious command of his position. Never impassioned, even in his most declamatory passages, he is yet always animated and fresh, full of hope, and thoroughly American.

It is no part of our duty, as reviewers, to question the sincerity of Mr. Seward's convictions, as the politicians are prone to do; the less so, as we find his opinions cohering in a very intelligent and consistent system of political doctrine. Nor do