Harper's New Monthly Magazine, Vol. 1. No 1, June 1850

Mr. Macaulay, though ambitious at one time, and perhaps still, of a reputation for poetry though an acute critic and a brilliant essayist, and though a showy and effective orator, who could command at all times the attention of an assembly that rather dislikes studied eloquence seems at present inclined to build up his fame upon his historical writings. Most of his admirers consider that, in this respect, he has judged wisely. As a poet – however pleasing his "Lays of Ancient Rome" and some of his other ballads maybe – he could never have succeeded in retaining the affection of the public. Depth of feeling, earnest and far-seeing thought, fancy, imagination, a musical ear, a brilliancy of expression, and an absolute mastery of words, are all equally essential to him who, in this or any other time, would climb the topmost heights of Parnassus. Mr. Macaulay has fancy but not imagination; and though his ear is good, and his command of language unsurpassed by any living writer, he lacks the earnestness and the deep philosophy of all the mighty masters of song. As a critic he is, perhaps, the first of his age; but criticism, even in its highest developments, is but a secondary thing to the art upon which it thrives. Mr. Macaulay has in him the stuff of which artists and originators are made, and we are of the number of those who rejoice that, in the vigor of his days; he has formed a proper estimate of his own powers, and that he has abandoned the poetical studies, in the prosecution of which he never could have attained the first rank; and those critical corruscations which, however beautiful, must always have been placed in a lower scale of merit than the compositions upon which they were founded; and that he has devoted his life to the production of an original work in the very highest department of literature.

There was, at one time, a prospect before Mr. Macaulay of being one of the men who make, instead of those who write history; but his recent retirement from parliament and from public life has, for a while at least, closed up that avenue. In cultivating at leisure the literary pursuits that he loves, we trust that he, as well as the world, will be the gainer, and that his "History of England," when completed, will be worthy of so high a title. As yet the field is clear before him. The histories that have hitherto appeared are mostly bad or indifferent. Some are good, but not sufficiently good to satisfy the wants of the reader, or to render unnecessary the task of more enlightened, more impartial, more painstaking, and more elegant writers. There never was a work of art, whether in painting, sculpture, music, or literature, in which lynx-eyed criticism could not detect a flaw, or something deficient, which the lynx-eyed critic, and he alone, could have supplied. Mr. Macaulay's history has not escaped the ordeal, neither was it desirable that it should; but the real public opinion of the country has pronounced itself in his favor, and longs for the worthy completion of a task which has been worthily begun.

The bust of Mr. Macaulay was executed shortly after that of Mr. Alison, and is, we believe, in Mr. Macaulay's own possession. It is a very admirable likeness.

MOSCOW AFTER THE CONFLAGRATION

It was both a strange and a horrible spectacle. Some houses appeared to have been razed; of others, fragments of smoke-blackened walls remained; ruins of all kinds encumbered the streets; every where was a horrible smell of burning. Here and there a cottage, a church, a palace, stood erect amid the general destruction. The churches especially, by their many-colored domes, by the richness and variety of their construction, recalled the former opulence of Moscow. In them had taken refuge most of the inhabitants, driven by our soldiers from the houses the fire had spared. The unhappy wretches, clothed in rags, and wandering like ghosts amid the ruins, had recourse to the saddest expedients to prolong their miserable existence. They sought and devoured the scanty vegetables remaining in the gardens; they tore the flesh from the animals that lay dead in the streets; some even plunged into the river for corn the Russians had thrown there, and which was now in a state of fermentation… It was with the greatest difficulty we procured black bread and beer; meat began to be very scarce. We had to send strong detachments to seize oxen in the woods where the peasants had taken refuge, and often the detachments returned empty-handed. Such was the pretended abundance procured us by the pillage of the city. We had liquors, sugar, sweetmeats, and we wanted for meat and bread. We covered ourselves with furs, but were almost without clothes and shoes. With great store of diamonds, jewels, and every possible object of luxury, we were on the eve of dying of hunger. A large number of Russian soldiers wandered in the streets of Moscow. I had fifty of them seized; and a general, to whom I reported the capture, told me I might have had them shot, and that on all future occasions he authorized me to do so. I did not abuse the authorization. It will be easily understood how many mishaps, how much disorder, characterized our stay in Moscow. Not an officer, not a soldier, but could tell strange anecdotes on this head. One of the most striking is that of a Russian whom a French officer found concealed in the ruins of a house; by signs he assured him of protection, and the Russian accompanied him. Soon, being obliged to carry an order, and seeing another officer pass at the head of a detachment, he transferred the individual to his charge, saying hastily – "I recommend this gentleman to you." The second officer, misunderstanding the intention of the words, and the tone in which they were pronounced, took the unfortunate Russian for an incendiary, and had him shot. —Fezensac's Journal.

Truth. – Truth is a subject which men will not suffer to grow old. Each age has to fight with its own falsehoods: each man with his love of saying to himself and those around him pleasant things and things serviceable for to-day, rather than things which are. Yet a child appreciates at once the divine necessity for truth; never asks, "What harm is there in saying the thing there is not?" and an old man finds in his growing experience wider and wider applications of the great doctrine and discipline of truth. —Friends in Council.

A provincial paper mentions the discovery of the Original Portrait of Charles the First, by Vandyck, lost in the time of the Commonwealth, and which has been found at Barnstaple in Devonshire. It had been for many years in the possession of a furniture-broker in that town, from whom it was lately purchased by a gentleman of the name of Taylor, for two shillings. Mr. Taylor, the account adds, has since required £2000 for it.

WILLIAM H. PRESCOTT

William H. Prescott, the American historian, is a native of Salem, Massachusetts, where he was born on the 4th of May 1796. He is a son of the late eminent lawyer William Prescott, LL.D., of Boston, and a grandson of Colonel William Prescott, who commanded the forces in the redoubt on Breed's Hill in the memorable battle fought there on the 17th of June 1775. Mr. Prescott entered Harvard college in 1811, where his chief delight consisted in the study of the works of ancient authors. He left Harvard in 1814, and resolved to devote a year to a course of historical study, before commencing that of the law, his chosen profession. His reading was suddenly checked by a rheumatic inflammation of his eyes, which for a long time, deprived him wholly of sight. He had already lost the use of one eye by an accidental blow while at college; doubtless the burden of study being laid upon the other overtaxed it, and produced disease. In the autumn of 1815 he went to Europe, where he remained two years, a greater portion of the time utterly unable to enjoy the pleasures of reading and study. He returned to Boston in 1817, and in the course of a few years married a grand-daughter of Captain Linzee who commanded one of the British vessels at the battle of Bunker Hill. His vision gradually strengthened with advancing age, and he began to use his eye sparingly in reading. The languages of continental Europe now attracted his attention, and he soon became proficient in their use. These acquirements, and his early taste for, and intimate acquaintance with, the best ancient writers, prepared him for those labors as a historian in which he has since been engaged.

As early as 1819, Mr. Prescott conceived the idea of producing an historical work of a superior character. For this purpose, he allowed ten years for preliminary study, and ten for the investigation and preparation of the work. He chose for his theme the history of the life and times of Ferdinand and Isabella of Spain; and at the end of nearly twenty years, pursuant to his original plan, that great work was completed. He had resolved not to allow it to be published during his lifetime, but the remark of his father, that "The man who writes a book which he is afraid to publish, is a coward" decided him, and it went forth to the world in 1838. It was quickly republished in London; every where it was pronounced a master-piece, and his fame was firmly established. But little did those who read his delightful pages know of the vast toil, and patient, persevering industry, in the midst of a great privation, which the historian had employed in his task. His rare volumes from Spain and other sources were consulted through the medium of a reader; the copious notes were written by a secretary; much of the work in its final shape was written by himself with a writing machine for the blind, and in the whole preparation of this and subsequent works, he relied far more upon his ear than his eye for aid.

The "Conquest of Mexico" next followed, and his publishers sold seven thousand copies the next year. It was published at the same time in London, and translated in Paris, Berlin, Rome, Madrid, and Mexico. His "Conquest of Peru" followed soon afterward, and was received at home and abroad with equal favor. The "Conquest of Mexico" has had three separate translations into the Castilian, and the "Peru," two. They have been reprinted in English in London and Paris, and have gone through repeated editions in this country. Whether we shall soon have another work from Mr. Prescott's pen, is a matter of doubt, as it is understood that he proposes to employ the last ten years of his historic life in preparing a History of the Reign of Philip the Second of Spain. His eyes have somewhat failed in strength, and he is now able to use them for reading less than an hour each day; "But," he says in a letter to a friend, "I am not, and never expect to be, in the category of the blind men."

Our allotted space will not permit us to take an analytical view of the character and writings of Mr. Prescott. We can only say that great industry, sound judgment, comprehensive views, purity of diction, and fine, flowing style in description and narrative, all governed by a genius eminently philosophical, place him in the first rank of modern historians. Americans love him as a cherished member of their household – throughout the Republic of Letters he is admired as one of its brightest ornaments.

THE ENCHANTED BATHS

These warm springs are natural phenomena, which perhaps have not their equal in the whole world. I am, therefore, quite inconsolable at the thought of having made the long and difficult journey from Bona, and having been five whole days here in Guelma, within the distance of five-and-twenty miles from those wonderful springs, yet unable to see them. At the distance of a mile or two from Hammam Meskutine, thick clouds of vapor are seen rising from these warm springs. The water is highly impregnated with calcareous properties, whose accumulated deposits have formed conical heaps, some of which are upwards of thirty feet high. From amidst these cones the springs jet forth lofty columns of water, which descend in splendid cascades, flowing over the ancient masonry, and covering it with a white calcareous stratum.

The mass produced by the crystalization of the particles escaping from the seething waters, has been, after a long lapse of years, transformed into beautiful rose-colored marble. F – brought me a piece of this substance from the springs. It is precisely similar to that used in building the church at Guelma, which is obtained from a neighboring quarry. From the remains of an ancient tower and a fort, situated near Hammam Meskutine, it is evident that these springs were known to the Romans. An old Arab legend records that, owing to the extreme wickedness of the inhabitants of these districts, God visited them with a punishment similar to that of Lot's wife, by transforming them into the conical heaps of chalk I have mentioned above. To this day, the mass of the people firmly believe that the larger cones represent the parents, and the smaller ones, the children.

Owing to the high temperature, the surrounding vegetation is clothed in the most brilliant green; and the water of a tepid brook, which flows at the foot of the cascades, though in itself as clear as a mirror, appears to be of a beautiful emerald color. F – told me that he was not a little surprised to see in this warm rivulet a multitude of little fishes sporting about, as lively as though they had been in the coolest water. This curious natural phenomenon is explainable by the fact, that in this rivulet, which is of considerable depth, the under-currents are sufficiently cool to enable the fish to live and be healthy, though the upper current of water is so warm, that it is scarcely possible to hold the hand in it any longer than a few seconds. The hilly environs of Hammam Meskutine are exceedingly beautiful, and around the waters perpetual spring prevails. —Travels in Barbary.

LITERARY NOTICES

Letters of A Traveler; or, Notes of Things seen in Europe and America. By William Cullen Bryant. 12mo, pp. 442. New York: G.P. Putnam.

Every one will welcome a volume of descriptive sketches from the eminent American poet. The author has made a collection of letters, written at wide intervals from each other, during different journeys both in Europe and in this country, rightly judging that they possess sufficient elements of interest to claim a less ephemeral form than that in which most of them have been already presented to the public. They consist of the reminiscences of travel in France, Italy, England, the Netherlands, Cuba, and the most interesting portions of the United States. Arranged in the order of time, without reference to subject or place, the transition from continent to continent is often abrupt, and sometimes introduces us without warning into scenes of the utmost incongruity with those where we had been lingering under the spell of enchantment which the author's pen throws around congenial objects. Thus we are transported at once from the delicious scenery and climate of Tuscany, and the dreamy glories of Venice, to the horse thieves and prairie rattlesnakes of Illinois, making a break in the associations of the reader which is any thing but agreeable. The method of grouping by countries would be more natural, and would leave more lively impressions both on the imagination and the memory.

Mr. Bryant's style in these letters is an admirable model of descriptive prose. Without any appearance of labor, it is finished with an exquisite grace, showing the habitual elegance and accuracy of his mental habits. The genial love of nature, and the lurking tendency to humor, which it every where betrays, prevent its severe simplicity from running into hardness, and give it a freshness and occasional glow, in spite of its entire want of abandon, and its prevailing conscious propriety and reserve.

The criticisms on Art, in the European portions of the work, are less frequent than we could have wished, and although disclaiming all pretensions to connoisseurship, are of singular acuteness and value. Mr. B.'s description of his first impressions of Power's Greek Slave, which he saw in London in 1845, has a curious interest at the present time, as predicting the reputation which has since been gained by that noble piece of statuary.

We notice rather a singular inadvertence for one who enjoys such distinguished opportunities of "stated preaching" in a remark in the first letter from Paris, that "Here, too, was the tree which was the subject of the first Christian miracle, the fig, its branches heavy with the bursting fruit just beginning to ripen for the market." If the first miracle was not the turning of water into wine, we have forgot our catechism.

Eldorado; or, Adventures in the Path of Empire; comprising a Voyage to California, via Panama; Life in San Francisco and Monterey; Pictures of the Gold Region, and Experiences of Mexican Travel. By Bayard Taylor. In two vols., 12mo, pp. 251, 247. New York: G.P. Putnam.

California opens as rich a field for adventure to the collector of literary materials, as to the emigrant in pursuit of gold. We shall yet have the poetry, the romance, the dramatic embodiment of the strange life in the country of yellow sands. Already it has drawn forth numerous authors, describing the results of their experience, in nearly every variety of style, from the unpretending statement of every-day occurrences, to the more ambitious attempts of graphic descriptive composition. The spectacle of a mighty nation, springing suddenly into life, has been made so familiar to us, by the frequent narratives of eye-witnesses, that we almost lose sight of its unique and marvelous character, surpassing the dreams of imagination which have so wildly reveled in the magnificent promises of the nineteenth century.

Mr. Taylor's book is presented to us at the right moment. It completes the series of valuable productions which have been born of the Californian excitement, supplying their deficiencies, and viewing the subject from the highest point that has yet been attained by any traveler. He possesses many admirable qualifications for the task which he has performed. With a natural enthusiasm for travel, a curiosity that never tires, and a rare power of adapting himself to novel situations and strange forms of society, he combines a Yankee shrewdness of perception, a genial hilarity of spirit, and a freshness of poetical illustration, which place him in the very first rank of intelligent travelers. His European experiences were of no small value in his Californian expedition. He had learned from them the quickness of observation, the habit of just comparison, the facility of manners, and the familiarity with foreign languages, which are essential to the success of the tourist, and enable him to feel equally at home beneath the dome of St. Peter's, or in the golden streets of San Francisco.

Mr. Taylor visited California with no intention of engaging in traffic or gold-hunting. He had no private purposes to serve, no offices to seek, no plans of amassing sudden wealth to execute. He was, accordingly, able to look at every thing with the eye of an impartial spectator. He has described what he saw in a style which is equally remarkable for its picturesque beauty and its chaste simplicity. His descriptions not only give you a lively idea of the objects which they set forth, but the most favorable impression of the author, although he never allows any striking prominence to the first person singular. As a manual for the Californian traveler, as well as a delightful work for the home circle, these volumes will be found to be at once singularly instructive and charming, and will increase the enviable reputation which has been so well won by the youthful author, as a man both of genius and of heart.

We must not close our notice without refreshing our pages with at least one specimen of Mr. Taylor's felicitous descriptions. Here is a bit of fine painting, which gives us a vivid idea of the scenery on the road between San Francisco and the San Joaquin:

scenery of the inland

Our road now led over broad plains, through occasional belts of timber. The grass was almost entirely burned up, and dry, gravelly arroyos, in and out of which we went with a plunge and a scramble, marked the courses of the winter streams. The air was as warm and balmy as May, and fragrant with the aroma of a species of gnaphalium, which made it delicious to inhale. Not a cloud was to be seen in the sky, and the high, sparsely-wooded mountains on either hand showed softened and indistinct through a blue haze. The character of the scenery was entirely new to me. The splendid valley, untenanted except by a few solitary rancheros living many miles apart, seemed to be some deserted location of ancient civilization and culture. The wooded slopes of the mountains are lawns, planted by Nature with a taste to which Art could add no charm. The trees have nothing of the wild growth of our forests; they are compact, picturesque, and grouped in every variety of graceful outline. The hills were covered to the summit with fields of wild oats, coloring them, as far as the eye could reach, with tawny gold, against which the dark, glossy green of the oak and cypress showed with peculiar effect. As we advanced further, these natural harvests extended over the plain, mixed with vast beds of wild mustard, eight feet in height, under which a thick crop of grass had sprung up, furnishing sustenance to the thousands of cattle, roaming every where unherded. The only cultivation I saw was a small field of maize, green and with good ears.

Mr. Taylor occasionally indulges in a touch of natural transcendentalism, as in his comparison between the Palm and the Pine, with which we take our leave of his fascinating volumes:

I jogged steadily onward from sunrise till blazing noon, when, having accomplished about half the journey, I stopped under a palm-tree and let my horse crop a little grass, while I refreshed myself with the pine-apple. Not far off there was a single ranche, called Piedra Gorda – a forlorn-looking place where one can not remain long without being tortured by the sand-flies. Beyond it, there is a natural dome of rock, twice the size of St. Peter's, capping an isolated mountain. The broad intervals of meadow between the wastes of sand were covered with groves of the beautiful fan-palm, lifting their tufted tops against the pale violet of the distant mountains. In lightness, grace, and exquisite symmetry, the Palm is a perfect type of the rare and sensuous expression of Beauty in the South. The first sight of the tree had nearly charmed me into disloyalty to my native Pine; but when the wind blew, and I heard the sharp, dry, metallic rustle of its leaves, I retained the old allegiance. The truest interpreter of Beauty is in the voice, and no tree has a voice like the Pine, modulated to a rythmic accord with the subtlest flow of Fancy, touched with a human sympathy for the expression of Hope and Love and Sorrow, and sounding in an awful undertone, to the darkest excess of Passion.

Standish the Puritan. A Tale of the American Resolution. By Edward Grayson, Esq. 12mo, pp. 320. New York: Harper and Brothers.

A novel by a sharp-eyed Manhattaner, illustrating some of the more salient aspects of New York society at the period of the revolutionary war, and combining many of the quaint traditions of that day in a narrative of very considerable interest and power. The author wields a satirical pen of more than common vigor, and in his descriptions of the state of traffic and the legal profession at the time of his story, presents a series of piquant revelations which, if founded on personal history, would cause many "a galled jade to wince," if revivified at the present day. His style does not exhibit a very practiced hand in descriptive composition, nor is it distinguished for its dramatic power; but it abounds in touches of humor and pathos, which would have had still greater effect if not so freely blended with moral disquisitions, in which the author seems to take a certain mischievous delight. In spite of these drawbacks, his book is lively and readable, entitling the author to a comfortable place among the writers of American fiction, and if he will guard against the faults we have alluded to, his future efforts may give him a more eminent, rank than he will be likely to gain from the production before us.

Talbot and Vernon. A Novel. 12mo, pp 513. New York: Baker and Scribner.

The plot of this story turns on a point of circumstantial evidence, by which the hero escapes the ruin of his reputation and prospects, when arraigned as a criminal on a charge of forgery. The details are managed with a good deal of skill, developing the course of affairs in such a gradual manner, that the interest of the reader never sleeps, until the final winding-up of the narrative. Familiar with the routine of courts of law, betraying no slight acquaintance with the springs of human action, and master of a bold and vigorous style of expression, the author has attained a degree of success in the execution of his plan, which gives a promising augury of future eminence. In the progress of the story, the scene shifts from one of the western cities of the United States to the camp of General Taylor on the plains of Mexico. Many stirring scenes of military life are introduced with excellent effect, as well as several graphic descriptions of Mexican scenery and manners. The battle of Buena Vista forms the subject of a powerful episode, and is depicted with a life-like energy. We presume the author is more conversant with the bustle of a camp than with the tranquil retirements of literature, although his work betrays no want of the taste and cultivation produced by the influence of the best books. But he shows a knowledge of the world, a familiarity with the scenes and topics of every day life, which no scholastic training can give, and which he has turned to admirable account in the composition of this volume.

Fashions for Early Summer

There is a decided tendency in fashion this season to depart from simplicity in dress, and to adopt the extreme ornamental elegance of the middle ages. Bonnets, dresses, and mantles are trimmed all over with puffings of net, lace, and flowers. A great change has taken place in the width of skirts, which, from being very large, are now worn almost narrow. Ball dresses à tablier (apron trimming, as seen in the erect figure on the left of the above group) are much in vogue, covered with puffings of net. The three flounces of lace, forming the trimming of the bottom of the dress, have all a puffing of net at the top of them; the whole being fastened to the apron with a rosette of ribbon. A precious gem is sometimes worn in the centre of the rosette, either diamond, emerald, or ruby, according to the color of the dress. Wreaths are worn very full, composed of flowers and fruits of every kind; they are placed on the forehead, and the branches at the end of them are long, and fall on the neck. Bouquets, in shape of bunches, are put high up on the body of the dress. Such is the mania in Paris and London for mixing fruits of every kind, that some even wear small apples, an ornament far less graceful than bunches of currants, grapes, and tendrils of the vine. The taste for massive ornaments is so decided, that roses and poppies of enormous dimensions are preferred. For young persons, wreaths of delicate flowers, lightly fastened, and falling upon the shoulders, are always the prettiest. Silks of light texture, in the styles which the French manufacturers designate chiné, will be generally employed for walking dresses until the extreme heat of summer arrives, when they will be superseded by French barèges, having flounces woven with borders, consisting of either satin stripes or flowers. Many of the patterns are in imitation of guipure lace. The most admired of the French light silks are those wrought upon a white ground, the colors including almost every hue. In some the ground is completely covered by rich arabesque patterns. These chinés, on account of the Oriental designs, have obtained the name of Persian silks. Worsted lace is the height of fashion for mantles, which are trimmed with quillings of this article, plaited in the old style. The dresses are made with several flounces, narrower than last year, and more numerous. Nearly all the sleeves of visiting dresses are Chinese, or "pagoda" fashion. The bodies are open in front, and laced down to the waist, as seen in the figure in the group, standing behind the sitting figure. Low dresses are made falling on the shoulders, and straight across the chest; others are quite square, and others are made in the shape of a heart before and behind. Opera polkas are worn short, with wide sleeves, trimmed with large bands of ermine.

Broad-brimmed straw hats are used for the promenade; open-work straw bonnets, of different colors, are adopted for the earlier summer wear, trimmed with branches of lilac, or something as appropriate. White drawn silk bonnets, covered with foldings of net, are much worn. Also, drawn lace and crape bonnets, and black and white lace ones, are worn. Branches of fruit are much worn upon these last-mentioned bonnets. The tulip bonnet is composed of white silk, covered with white spotted tulle; the edges of the front foliated, so as to give it a graceful and airy appearance. Many of the straw bonnets are of dark-colored ground, ornamented with fine open straw work. Crinoline hats, of open pattern, trimmed generally with a flower or feathers, are worn to the opera. They are exceedingly graceful in appearance, and make a fine accompaniment to a fancy dress.

Elegant black lace jackets, with loosely-hanging sleeves, are worn, and form a beautiful portion of the dress of a well-developed figure. There is a style of walking dress, worn by those who have less love for ornaments. The robe is of a beautiful light apple-green silk, figured with white. The skirt is unflounced, but ornamented up the front with a row of green and white fancy silk buttons. Bonnet of pink crape, drawn in very full bouillonnées; strings of pink satin ribbon, and on one side a drooping bouquet of small pink flowers. Corresponding bouquets in the inside trimming. Shawl of pink China crape, richly embroidered with white silk.

notes

1

The usual age for the ceremony among the wealthy India.

2

The celebrated tragedian.