either your morals or your grammar. You call me your dearest Maria;' am I to understand that you have other Marias? Mr. Marsh's Essays appear to be pretty thickly strewn with examples of false grammar and loose composition; but we can only afford to quote further a ludicrous illustration of ambiguity-"The battered copper vessels, old brooms, cobwebs, apple-parings, and the like, which the Flemish painters scatter so freely about their interiors." The Flemish painters must have excellent stomachs if they can make a dinner of copper vessels, old brooms, cobwebs, and appleparings. Webster's Dictionary,” in the Nation, open and one of composition. The last clause with the phrase, "I propose to contribute," should, of course, be" the words, by which &c. Mr. Moon objects to the second word we indicate them are necessarily as incapaas inaccurate, rightly holding that it ought ble of analysis as is the thing signified." to have been purpose. Of these two words But the first clause of the sentence is truly Dr. Crombie says, "to purpose for 'to in- a notable production to come from the lips tend,' is better than to propose, which sig- of a philologist-"These operations and nifies also to lay before,' or 'submit to affections are often but dimly conscious even consideration." An error, common in to ourselves." In the first place, it is abLindley Murray, is then pointed out. Mr. surd to talk about operations and affections Marsh, in speaking of Webster's Diction- being “conscious; " and in the second place, ary, says, “Its vocabulary is more copious, even if they were conscious, it would still its etymologies more sound and satisfactory, be absurd to talk about their being conscious and its definitions more accurate," &c. As to. Probably, as Mr. Moon remarks, Mr. the singular verb "is" governs the whole Marsh meant to say- "These operations sentence, we are, in fact, told that the ety- and affections are often but dimly perceptimologies is more sound and the definitions ble even to ourselves." Of the misuse of is more accurate. Of course, when several the word "dearest," Mr. Moon gives the nominatives differing in number occur in a following interesting example: — Å gentlesentence, they should have corresponding man once began a letter thus to his brideverbs. In the foregoing sentence, the sin-“ My dearest Maria." The lady replied gular is agrees with vocabulary, but with" My dear John, I beg that you will mend neither etymologies nor definitions; therefore the plural are is needed to correspond with the latter two. Mr. Moon detects a subtler error than the foregoing in the same sentence; and then, further on in Mr. Marsh's Essay, he points out several other examples of false grammar and inelegancies of composition. It seems that while Mr. Moon's criticisms were appearing in the Round Table, a champion entered the lists on the side of Mr. Marsh in the pages of the Nation. This writer, in objecting to the use of the word cotemporary, lays down this rule regarding the use of co and con:-"The general use in words compounded with the inseparable preposition con is to retain the n before a consonant and to expunge it before a vowel or an h mute." On which dictum, Mr. Moon asks, "How happens it, then, that we say cobishop, co-herald, co-guardian, co-partner, co-worker, co-surety, co-defendant, co-lessee, co-trustee, co-tenant, co-regent, &c. Why do we say cohabit, and not conhabit? Why do we say covet, and not convet? Why do we say covenant, and not convenant? The first syllable of each of these words is from the Latin con, and the second syllable begins with a consonant. If Mr. S." should ever be on a jury, he would doubtless make his co-jurors conjurors; and in speaking of the co-founders of the great American republic, would doubtless call them "confounders"! Mr. Marsh writes -"These operations and affections are of ten but dimly conscious even to ourselves, and the words by which we indicate them are necessarily as incapable of analysis as [are] the thing signified." This queer sentence contains two errors, one in grammar Mr. Moon devotes the concluding part of his volume to the examination of Mr. Gould's "Good English," in which he discovers numerous examples of bad English, arising from vicious grammar, inelegant composition, and the misuse of particular words. We may mention that while Mr. Moon's criticisms on Mr. Gould's book were appearing in the Round Table, Mr. Gould himself stepped into the arena in self-defence, and fought, with a rather feeble ingenuity, in favour of certain positions in grammar which a sensitive ear would never have adopted, and which, when exposed, a wise critic would have eagerly abandoned. The result of that interchange of grammatical compliments, as produced in this volume, is exceedingly interesting, and at points even exciting; but it degenerates towards the close into something like a literary duel, in which the combatants seem to mingle the disturbing and obscuring element of personal feeling with that noble passion, with which both are undoubtedly inspired, for the purity and honour of the English lan The first and most obvious characteristic guage. Mr. Moon is a deadly sportsman | in the domain of grammar; he scents his of Hawthorne as a storyteller is a brooding quarry afar off, and descends upon it with singular precision. A needle hidden in a haystack, if it had the slightest scent of bad grammar about it, could not possibly escape his unerring instinct. While, however, fully admitting Mr. Moon's ability as a grammarian and a writer of good English, we must say that in some of his minuter excursions as a critic he suggests the figure of an eagle preying upon mice. From The London Review. 66 love finished original work to pause over intensity of manner, which enables, indeed compels, him to dispense with anything like underplot, side-scenes, or casual interjections. He conceives his drama whole at once, and does not allow a single creature to tread the boards who does not help the general effect. His concentration, his knack of brooding over a scene till he has exhausted it, is exemplified in a hundred places. Take, for example, the scene in The House of the Seven Gables," in which Judge Pyncheon lies dead of apoplexy in the old house, with the blood-stain on his bosom, while Hepzibah and Clifford are flying away by rail. Take the dreadful scene in the "Scarlet Letter" in which Arthur It is no reproach to our contemporary Dimmesdale stands in the pillory by himthe North British Review not to have ex-self at midnight. Take, for a totally dif hausted so large a subject as is offered for ferent kind of example, the description of consideration by the writings of the late Phoebe Pyncheon, and her bedchamber. Mr. Nathaniel Hawthorne; but it may, It must ever be a fine study for all who perhaps, be called a reproach to a reading generation that Hawthorne's novels so seldom come to the front. He is eminently a "meaty" writer, and stimulating as well "The Scarlet Letter" may, as substantial. perhaps, dispute with "Vanity Fair" the palm of being the most powerful novel or romance of the century, and it contains, without any "perhaps at all, the most dramatic surprise of any recent story what- his habit of introducing what, for want of ever. Besides this, all Hawthorne's stories a better word, must be called the preterare curiously full of pictures, and yet no art-natural, or spiritual, in a gradual fluid way, ist (that we remember) of any consequence so that before you are well aware of what has gone to them for subjects. Hawthorne the man is about, the main current of the may be said to have written in pictures. His stories are made up of scenes in series, like the pictures of Hogarth- enormously different as, of course, the romancist is from the painter. And yet no worthy attempt has been made even to illustrate his works. We would venture to suggest that the task would admirably suit the pencil of Mr. George Pinwell, if he could only make up his mind not to draw ugly faces, except where the text made it necessary. As he has greatly improved in that respect lately; perhaps some enterprising publisher will invite Mr. Pinwell to the task and let us see a well illustrated "Scarlet Letter" to begin with. There were whispers many years ago of an attempt to set this romance to music, but nobody ever heard anything of the opera; and that is all we remember of the uses made by artists in other forms of a great artist whose works would with peculiar readiness lend themselves to at least one of those forms—uamely, painting. North British Review, No. XCVII., September, 1868. Article "Nathaniel Hawthorne." The next characteristic of Hawthorne is story is tinged with eerie colours. He always begins the trick by taking up the preternatural somewhere at the very edge of the common, in such a manner that our sympathies go with him; we wish the facts were so, or, at least, we acquiesce in the poetry of the thing. Thus, he tells us that when Phoebe had slept, in the mouldy old Pyncheon chamber, anybody entering the room would have known at once that it was now a maiden's bedchamber, and had been purified by her innocent prayers, her sweet breath, and her happy thoughts. Of course we all know, as we read this, that nobody would have known anything of the kind; but to challenge such a statement is like running a walking-stick through a shadow again, the blood-red portent in the sky in -so you acquiesce and are pleased. Take, the midnight pillory-scene in the "Scarlet Letter "does any human being ask himself, as he thrills over the whole description, whether the spectacle in the heavens was only an ordinary meteor or not? The truth is, the author throughout his work lends HAWTHORNE. as a pursuit is dangerous to the character, and the result is "The Blithedale Romance." But in neither of his books is there any sign that he had made up his own mind on any of the questions that he had started and wrought into story. And there is evidence (of which we will, in a minute, produce a fragment) that he was quite deficient in speculative capacity. He 66 Be himself to a creepy doubt on the subject; | cares to digest. Thus he discerns in life his sense of artistic fitness makes him see the mystery of moral growth and the relathat the eerie, quasi-supernatural incidents tivity of moral vision, and the result is cohere with the rest of the story, and so he "Transformation." He discerns the workruns them in without scruple on his own ing of what may be termed race-destiny, part, and without awakening any scruples and the result is "The House of the Seven He discerns that philanthropy on that of his readers. Yet, if the case be Gables." a grave one, he looks back for a moment, and criticises it in a dreamy way, as Eve, late in life, might have looked back upon her flight from Paradise, and wondered over the gate whether the "flaming brand was an angel's sword or a pine tree on fire. The mystery of the fiery letter A on Arthur Dimmesdale's breast is left to the reader, with several possible solutions; and to the It is no part of an artist's business to last, in reading the "Blithedale Romance," it seems as if Zenobia's rose had really teach moral lessons; but if the artist have a something to do with her character. The deep and true nature, his work will inevitafate that hangs over, or rather encircles, bly contain or involve moral teaching. On the Pyncheon romance is another example whatever Hawthorne has thrown doubt, he of weird colouring which shuts an imagina- has persistently taught one lesson. tive reader up to some such formula as may have left it uncertain whether he did this: It might all be preternatural in its es- not think sins of passion a necessary elesence, even if it were quite scientifically ment in moral growth; but he has made quite clear his belief that no man can wilexplained. This leads to another characteristic of Haw- fully do what he believes to be wrong withthorne: his very peculiar scepticism. This out injuring his own moral organism. was not scepticism about God or goodness, true, be true!" is the lesson of the "Scarthough it assuredly was scepticism about let Letter." And it is even expanded into These were almost this instruction: "Show freely to the world, forms of goodness. fluid to the mind of Hawthorne. He is a if not your worst, yet something from which writer eminently unfit to consolidate any your worst may be inferred." To this dione's belief in morality considered as mere rect teaching must be added the indirect mores. He suggests more doubts than he teaching of purity which is implied in Hawresolves. Some writers do this innocently, thorne's way of treating women and children and with an evident impression that they in all his works. He is very fond of introare doing the contrary, Mr. Charles Kings-ducing them; and he is always tender, ley for example. But Hawthorne, without sweet, and reverential in his manner of apthe smallest design to unsettle anything, proaching them. As a painter of character, Hawthorne doubted, and knew he doubted; saw two sides to everything, and knew that he pre- fails in one very important particular. He sented them to his readers. It is probable is always too mindful of the place the that no man in whom imagination, sensi- sonage holds in the drama, and so too apt bility, and speculative intelligence are com- to let the idée mère of the story assert itbined in about equal proportions, along self in what they are and what they do. with a fair share of passional capacity, The people do not, except in rare scenes, ean help employing his imagination in dual disclose themselves freely-they are disor sceptical methods, though, as a specula- sected, and the autopsy is often so very suctor, he may be single-minded and direct. cessful in bringing to light the fitting thing But Hawthorne's peculiarity was, that he that the illusion of the story hovers in the had far less speculative than imaginative air, about to take wing. Thus it is, in our power, and that what he had of the former opinion, an excess in art, to make Pearl, was not more than he could "work in " the child of the love between Arthur Dimwhile exercising the latter. He just seized mesdale and Roger Chillingworth's wife, an the speculative side of things, saw its wide, inscrutable elf-child, so peculiarly comdim horizon, and then went and did his pounded that a shrewd observer might guess work in a mist, into which the mind of at her parentage. This may, and does, others naturally follows him, although it please some people, who think it obscures and preplexes the landmarks. derful touch;" but there are others who He sees, as a poetic observer, more than find it rather forced-too wonderful, in his intelligence can digest, or, perhaps, fact. The same kind of fault appears else per 46 a won 66 where, and very frequently in that extra-trained up by her to righteousness-to remind ordinary, and extraordinarily neglected, her åt every moment of her fall, but yet to book of legends, Mosses from an Old teach her, as it were by the Creator's sacred Manse." pledge, that, if she bring the child to heaven, Herein is the sinful mother happier than the sinthe child also will bring its parent thither! ful father. For Hester Prynne's sake, then, and no less for the poor child's sake, let us leave them as Providence hath seen fit to place them!'"' 66 If there is anything that Hawthorne might have been expected to understand from a speculative point of view, it is surely Puritanism. But in the "Scarlet Letter" he breaks down signally. In the dying scene, he makes the minister say to Hester, “It may be that when we forget our God- An infant immortality"! The existwhen we violate our reverence for the other's ence of a baby born as Pearl was "a solemn soul" and so forth. A Puritan preacher miracle wrought by God"! Here are puriof the seventeenth century, a believer in tanisms with a vengeance. But they are hereditary depravity, in the days when not so wild as some speeches of Arthur and Quakeresses were flogged in Salem streets, Hester, when they meet in the forest. talking of reverence for the soul! Again, in Recoiling with unfathomable horror from the thrilling scene in which Hester fears the sin of old Roger Chillingworth, who has the magistrates are going to take away her been groping for years, in cold blood, in child, we have some quaint anachronisms :- the very heart and soul of the man who had loved his wife and detached her from him, they say not only what is true, that the old man's sin was greater than their own, but also,-"what we did had a consecration of its own-we said so at the time "! Could any Puritan divine possibly have spoken thus in the days of Governor Bellingham? If Hawthorne had been himself Pearl's father, he would undoubtedly have said something of the kind; and the conflict between the sacredness of love, and the institutions by which society is supposed to fence it round, is a subject which one can easily see has troubled him. At the close of the "Scarlet Letter" there is the following striking and significant passage: "I will not lose the child! Speak for me! . Thou knowest for thou hast sympathies which these men lack! -thou knowest what is in my heart, and what are a mother's rights, and how much the stronger they are when that mother thou to it! I will not lose the child! Look to has but her child and the scarlet letter ! Look it! .... "There is truth in what she says,' began the minister, with a voice sweet, tremulous, but powerful, insomuch that the hall re-echoed, and the hollow armour rang with it-truth in what Hester says, and in the feeling which inspires her! God gave her the child, and gave her, too, an instinctive knowledge of its nature and requirements - both seemingly so peculiar, which no other mortal being can possess. And, moreover, is there not a quality of awful sacredness in the relation between this mother and this child?'" "Oh, not so! - not so!' continued Mr. Dimmesdale. She recognises, believe me, the solemn miracle which God hath wrought in the existence of that child. And she may feel, too, what methinks is the very truth, that this boon was meant, above all things else, to keep the mother's soul alive, and to preserve her from blacker depths of sin into which Satan might else have sought to plunge her! Therefore it is good for this poor, sinful woman that she hath an infant immortality, a being capable of eternal joy or sorrow, confided to her care-to be "Women, more especially, in the continuallyrecurring trials of wounded, wasted, wronged, misplaced, or erring and sinful passion, or with the dreary burden of a heart unyielded, because unvalued and untaught, came to Hester's cottage, demanding why they were so wretched, and what the remedy. Hester comforted and counselled them as best she might. She assured them, too, of her firm belief, that, at some brighter period, when the world should have grown ripe for it, in Heaven's own time, a new truth would be revealed in order to establish the whole relation between man and woman on a surer ground of mutual happiness. Earlier in life, Hester had vainly imagined that she herself might be the destined prophetess, but had long since recognised the impossibility that any mission of Divine and mysterious truth should be confided to a woman stained with sin, bowed down with shame, or even burdened with a lifelong sorrow. The angel and apostle of the coming revelation must be a woman, indeed, but lofty, pure, and beautiful, and wise; moreover, not through dusky grief, but the ethereal medium of joy, and showing how sacred love should make us happy, by the truest test of a life successful to such an end." We may close these desultory notes by adding that this passage appears to have attracted the attention and admiration of the late F. W. Robertson, of Brighton, who copied part of it into his diary, but, oddly enough, appended to it the name of Mr. Arthur Helps. From The Saturday Review. that the platform reels to and fro, that it is continually damp and pervaded by noisome smells, and that the waiting-room is inconceivably close. The food may perhaps be better, as indeed the imagination refuses to picture anything worse than the stale victuals which lurk under flyblown covers at a so-called refreshment room; on the other hand, from sheer ennui one is generally driven to partake of ship meals to excess, which is rarely the case at the railway. But in both the prevailing sense is one of prolonged waiting and intolerable monotony. It is sufficient to recall the enthusiasm excited by the distant sight of the back fin of a shark, to obtain a measure for the utter mental prostration of most travellers by sea. Two or three topics may be urged by way of consolation. It is, for example, not unfrequently asserted that the sea is beautiful; the advantage of such assertions is that the person who denies them may be held simply to avow his own insensibility. Yet, in general, we may hold it to be demonstrable that no object in nature is on the whole less beautiful than the sea. This will appear after clearing away two or three common prejudices. Water is, of course, necessary as an element in a beautiful landscape, and it has been hastily inferred that you cannot have too much of it. Nothing can be less true. If from the Lake of Lucerne we took away Mount Pilate and the Righi, and, in short, all its shores, where would be the beauty of the lake? Would any one travel a mile PERSONS Who consider that whatever is is right will naturally sympathize with the eulogies occasionally pronounced upon the ocean. They will indulge in rhapsodies after the manner of M. Michelet, dilating upon its wonders, its beauties, and the many benefits which it confers upon humankind. Although they may possibly be right, we are all at times apt to agree rather with the philosopher who wished that he could have been consulted at the creation of the universe. If that gentleman had made a few sea voyages, and if his advice had been taken, we should probably have had a world without an ocean. When a man has been at sea for a few days, he begins to ask with some bitterness what is the good of all this weary waste of waters. Sailors, it is said, generally grow up to hate their profession, which indeed is redeemed to the imaginations of landsmen merely by the dignity of danger. It is precisely the chance of being drowned which makes the floating prison more to see it? The one remaining beauty agreeable than its terrestrial counterpart. would be in the colour of the water and the But the harmless passenger, who has no form of the waves. Now the pleasure more influence upon the ship's safety than which any one but a painter can take in a bale of goods, and cannot flatter him- colour pure and simple is generally limited; self into the smallest conviction of his own and even a painter must confess that in the beroism, has no such consolation to enjoy. deep sea the colouring is monotonous, and To him the problem of the final cause of in ordinary weather far from brilliant. The the sea grows daily more inscrutable. As- wretched little ups and downs called waves suming, in order to take the extreme case, have received exaggerated praise. A heavy that he knows not what it is to be seasick, surf may indeed do much to set off the supposing that he can get up in the morn- beauty of a fine cliff, but at a distance from ing after a night passed in a fetid atmos- the shore the wave of real life is an almost phere and struggle with a drunken set of contemptible object. The phrase about furniture without a sensation of squeamish- mountain waves cannot conceal the fact ness, that he can eat his meals in defiance of that at most they would be insignificant tempests, and smoke on sea with as much undulations on land, and that they are equanimity as on shore, he is still without rarely able, with the help of the wind, to positive sources of happiness. Every one knock to pieces so delicate a machine as a knows the misery of waiting for a train at ship. If anything, the ocean is perhaps a railway station, pacing the platform grandest in a perfect calm, when its effect wearily, and occasionally turning in at the is not frittered away by subdivision into refreshment room to feast upon stale buns. petty mounds and ridges. Yet, even at its The passenger on a long voyage has pre- best, the effect is poor as compared with cisely the same situation prolonged for that of a great plain. The view of a disdays or weeks. The chief differences are tant line of hills, or often of a cathedral |