humorous, half-pathetic scrawl: it is a narrative of adventure and devotion, where we are equally interested in the fortunes of the hero (one of his types of sturdy manhood emerging from the shadows of the past), and in the heroine. The author's women are redeemed from utter debasement by some trait of maternity, sisterhood, or other softening link: his best, pirouette on the border-line of wild life and the refinements of civilisation. They are more akin to Madge Danver in Garth than to the somewhat starched models of Mr. James; and their freaks are less repellant than the severe selfconsciousness of the latter. "Modesty in a young girl has," he parenthetically remarks, "a comfortable, satisfying charm, recognised easily by all humanity; but he must be a sorry knave or a worse prig, who is not deliciously thrilled when Modesty puts her charming little foot just over the threshold of Propriety." This Miss Mayfield1 is always doing; though in her lover's presence she puts her hand for security into her pocket, she is quite in character in the final fraud, which is to the higher Comedy as Desdemona's lie to Tragedy. The dead gambler's brave son is equally blessed in his wife, and his servant "Yuba Bill."

Once only, and with a most successful result, Mr. Harte has left his usual beat, and given us, in his Thankful Blossom, a pleasant glimpse of New Jersey in the Revolution days. There is more variety of motive in this piece than he often exhibits, even a trace of the obscurity of which we have sometimes to complain; it owes its attraction to its peculiar combination of subtilty and quaintness. The opening scene of the Tryst is excellent - the lane, the horse and rider, the trees, and the breaking icicles, are brought more clearly before us than they could be on canvas: and we do not forget the touches of humour-as the lowing and the

1 Flip, a recent idyll abounding in beautiful descriptions, but with a scarce intelligible ending, has a rougher but similar type.

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girl's laugh, her answer to the assertion all men are born free and equal, “No, sir, not even the cows," and the selfish, treacherous fellow's embrace, careful of his pockets stuffed with eggs and marmalade. The heroine escapes, being a virago, by her outspoken affections and her ultimate recognition of her superiors. She engages us because she is intrepid without being conceited, a bright countryside beauty who never boasts. She can lead, but in season can follow ; and armed with quick wit, a sharp tongue, and, as appears, with a heavy hand, knows when to listen and obey. The "honest, earnest, grave eyes" that said, "I am truthful, be frank with me," appeal to us from the page, as they appealed to Major Van Zandt (the beau-ideal of a western chevalier) for forgiveness, kneeling beside him among the flowers, "a most premature little blossom," "a Tory Jade," despite her ridingwhip and her fibs, among the "things worth stooping for." The episode of Brewster's escape and Van Zandt's crushing answer to the girl's confession, is a fine vignette to Lovelace

"I could not love thee, dear, so much,
Loved I not honour more."

The most graphic part of the story, however, is where the scene shifts to the headquarters of the Commander, whose great figure, with those of Hamilton, the stately brocaded wife, the sympathetic Miss Schuyler, are drawn with real historic power. Every trait of manner, the grace with the unflinching will, the courteous hand and watchful eye, are in accordance with what we read, in graver records, of the George who was so much a king, that “George of England ruling by accident, impiously known as the grace of God, could find no other way of resisting his power than by calling him Mr. Washington." The incidents of the Gray Surtout, the watchword, and the repartees of the ladies, relieve the severity of the situation. In Thankful's retort, " Jealousy may belong to

the wife of a patriot as well as a traitor," and elsewhere, we have indications of the fact that "Mr. Washington" had his soft side, and was no more than the Arthur of legend, the Baoiλeús áμúμwv of modern fancy. We do not gather the impression that the narrator-who is certainly never a prig, but frequently a Bohemian-cherishes on this account less affectionate memories of the Father of his country.

At the commencement of this somewhat protracted survey I dwelt on some of the obstacles with which the Literature of every young country, and in particular that of America, has had to contend, and trust not to be accused of patronage, if I refer, in conclusion, to some of its most conspicuous advantages. Foremost among its most attractive features is its freshness, its freedom from restraint, the courage with which the best Transatlantic writers address themselves to the discussion of questions, and set before their readers problems, apt among more timid or wearied people, to be tabooed, or laid languidly to rest. The Authority which is the guide of old nations constantly threatens to become tyrannical: they wear their traditions like a chain; and, in the canonisation of laws of taste, the creative powers are depressed. In England we write under fixed conditions, with the fear of critics before our eyes: we are all bound to cast our ideas into similar moulds, and the name of “freethinker" has grown into a term of reproach. Bunyan's Pilgrim's Progress is perhaps the last English book written without a thought of being reviewed. There is a gain in the habit of self-restraint fostered by this state of things; but there is a loss in the consequent lack of spontaneity; and we may learn something from a literature which is ever ready for adventures. In America the love of uniformity gives place to impetuous impulses; the most extreme sentiments are made audible, the most noxious have their day; and, truth being left to vindicate itself, the overthrow of

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error, though more gradual, may at last prove more conclusive. A New England poet can write with confidence of his country as the land

"Where no one suffers loss, or bleeds

For thoughts that men call heresies." 1

Another feature of American literature is its comprehensiveness what it has lost in depth it has gained in breadth. Addressing a vast audience, it appeals to universal sympathies. In the Northern States, where comparatively few have leisure to write well, almost every man, woman, and child can read, and does read. It has been remarked that "the character of a people depends more on what they read than what they write," and that the Americans are the greatest literary "consumers" in the world, supplying ten students of Tennyson, Thackeray, Bulwer, Longfellow, Hawthorne, Lowell, Mill, Buckle, Herbert Spencer, etc., to one in England. Books are to be found in every log-hut, and public questions are discussed by every scavenger. During the war, when the Lowell factory girls were writing verses, the Biglow Papers were being recited in every smithy. The consequence is that (setting aside the newspapers) there is little that is sectional in the popular religion or literature: it exalts and despises no class, and almost wholly ignores the lines that in other countries divide the upper ten thousand and the lower ten million. Where manners make men, the people are proud of their peerage, but they blush for their boors. In the New World there are no " Grand Seigneurs," and no human vegetables; and if there are fewer giants there are also fewer mannikins. American poets recognise no essential distinction between the "Village Blacksmith" and

1 The great national institutions are all unsectarian. We have, however, to regret the growing habit of endowing private Colleges where restrictions of creed are imposed on the teachers-restrictions as narrow and intolerant as any in Europe or Asia.

"the caste of Vere de Vere." Burns speaks for the one; Byron and Tennyson for the other; Longfellow, to the extent of his genius, for both. The same spirit which glorifies labour denounces every form of despotism but that of the multitude. American slavery, being an anachronism based on antipathies of race, was worse than Athenian slavery. But there is no song of an Athenian slave. When the ancients were unjust to their inferiors, they were so without moral disquietude the lie had got into the soul. Christianity, which substituted the word "brother" for "barbarian," first gave meaning to the word "humanity." But the Feudalism of the Middle Ages long contended successfully against the higher precepts of the Church: the teaching of Froissart held its ground against that of Langland. The hero-worship of our greatest recent prose author is apt to degenerate into a reassertion of the feudal spirit. The aspirations of our descendants in the West point, on the other hand, to a Freedom which is in danger of being corrupted by License. This danger is critically increased at the present hour by the anarchy apt to ensue on the vacating of so many intellectual thrones. He who but the other day sat on perhaps the highest, tells us that "when the half gods go the gods arrive." Let us trust that in his country the reverse of the sentence may never be verified; that the vulgarism of demagogic excess, in particular the corrupting love of buffoonery, may be restrained and overcome by the good taste and culture of her nobler minds, and that we may anticipate for her Literature under the mellowing influences of time, an expansive future.