LITERARY NOTICES
Naomi Torrente: The History of a Woman. By Gertrude F. de Vingut. 'Every dream of love argues a reality in the world of supreme beauty. Believe all that thy heart prompts, for everything that it seeks, exists.'—Plato. New York: John Bradburn (late M. Doolady), publisher, 49 Walker street.
Who could look on the fair high face, facing our title page, and have the heart to criticize the revelations of its soul? Naomi is a book of feeling, passion, and considerable, if not yet mature, power. It is dedicated to Sr. Dn. Juan Clemente Zenea, editor of La Charanga, Havana. Our authoress says in her dedication: 'It is to you, therefore; and those who like you have deeply felt, that the history of a woman's soul-life will prove more interesting than the mere narrative of the chances and occurrences that make up the every-day natural existence.' Naomi is a woman of artistic genius and passionate character, becalmed in the stagnation of conventional life, who, throwing off the fetters of an uncongenial and inconsiderate marriage, attempts to find happiness and independence in the cultivation of her own powers. She is eminently successful as prima donna, is brilliant and self-sustained—but fails to attain the imagined happiness, the Love-Eden so fervently sought.
Margaret and Her Bridesmaids. By the Author of 'The Queen of the Country,' 'The Challenge,' etc. 'Queen Rose of the Rosebud garden of girls.'—Tennyson. Loring, publisher, 314 Washington street, Boston. 1864.
A novel of domestic life, in which the plot, apparently simple, is yet artistic and skilfully managed. The thread of life of the bridesmaids is held with that of the bride, the development of character, distinctly marked in each, progresses through a series of natural events, until the young people reach the point of life when impulse settles into principle, amiability into virtue, generosity into self-abnegation, and we feel that each may now be safely left to life as it is, that circumstance can no longer mould character, and are willing to leave them, certain they will henceforth remain true to themselves, and to those whose happiness may depend upon them, whatever else may betide. The bride is a pure, sweet, generous woman, but the character of the book is decidedly Lotty. Childish, petite, and indulged, she is yet magnanimous, brave, and self-sacrificing; fiery, fearless, and frank, she is still patient, forbearing, and reticent; we love her as child, while we soon learn to venerate her as woman. She and her docile bloodhound, Bear, form pictures full of magic contrast, groups of which we never tire. The cordiality and heartiness of her admiring relatives, the Beauvilliers, are contagious; we live for the time in their life, and grow stronger as we read. The book is charming. Its moral is unexceptionable, its characters well drawn, its plot and incidents simple and natural, and its interest sustained from beginning to end.
Enoch Arden, etc. By Alfred Tennyson, D.C.L., Poet Laureate. Boston: Ticknor & Fields. 1864.
Tennyson has so many devoted admirers, that this volume cannot fail to receive due attention. The principal poem therein, Enoch Arden, is one of touching pathos and simplicity. Three children, Enoch Arden, Philip Ray, and Annie Lee, grew up together on the British coast a hundred years ago. Both youths loved Annie: she loved and married Enoch. They live happily together until three children are born to the house: then poverty threatens, and Arden leaves home to provide for the loved ones. He is cast away on an island, is not heard, from for ten years, and Annie reluctantly consents to marry Philip, who has been a father to her children during their long orphanage. Arden returns at last to his native village, so old, gray, and broken, that no one recognizes him. He hears how true his wife had been to him until all hope had died away, and how Philip cared for her peace, and cherished his children. The wretched man resolves to bear his grief in silence, and never to bring agony and shame to a peaceful home by disclosing his return. He does this in a spirit of Christian self-abnegation, lives near the unconscious darlings of his heart, earns his frugal living, watching round, but never entering the lost Paradise of his youth. He dies, and only at the hour of death, reveals to Annie how he had lived and loved. The theme of this tale has often been taken before. It has been elaborated with passion and power in the 'Homeward Bound' of Adelaide Procter, a poetess too little known among us.
There is great purity of delineation and conception in Enoch Arden. The characters stand out real and palpable in their statuesque simplicity. There is agony enough, but neither impatience nor sin. The epithets are well chosen; but the usual wildering sensuousness of Tennyson's glowing imagery is subdued and tender throughout the progress of this melancholy tale.
'Aylmer's Field,' about the same length, is a poem of more stormy mould. It hurls fierce rebukes at family pride, and just censures at tyrannical parents.
The volume contains many shorter poems, some of which are already familiar to our readers.
Azarian: An Episode. By Harriet Elizabeth Prescott, Author of 'The Amber Gods,' etc. Boston: Ticknor & Fields.
We like 'Azarian' better than any work we have yet seen from Miss Prescott. Ruth Yetton, the heroine, is so truly feminine, she might serve as a type of half our innocent maidens from sixteen to twenty. Azarian is real and drawn to the life, a hero who has his counterpart in every civilized city; a man of savoir-vivre, glittering and attractive, but selfish, inconsequent, frivolous, and deadly to the peace of those who love him. Miss Prescott's style is elaborate and florid, frequently of rare beauty, always giving evidence of culture and scholarship. Do we find fault with the hundred-leaved rose? Her fancy is luxuriant, of more power than her imagination. Her descriptions of flowers in the volume before us are accurate and tenderly beautiful. She knows them all, and evidently loves them well. Nor are the fragile blossoms of the trees less dear to her. She reads their secrets, and treasures them in her heart. She paints them with her glowing words, and placing our old darlings before us again, exultingly points out their hidden charms.
The Forest Arcadia of Northern New York: Embracing a View of its Mineral, Agricultural, and Timber Resources. Boston: Published by T.O.H.P. Burnham. New York: Oliver S. Felt. 1864.
The author of this pleasant, unpretending little book visited the 'great wilderness of Northern New York, which lies in St. Lawrence county, on the western slope of the Adirondack Mountains. It forms part of an extensive plateau, embracing an area of many thousand square miles, and is elevated from fifteen to eighteen hundred feet above the sea. The mineral resources of the plateau are of great value, immense ranges of magnetic iron traverse the country, and there are indications of more valuable minerals in a few localities. Of its agricultural importance too much cannot be said. The soil is rich and strong, peculiarly adapted to the grazing of cattle. The climate is that of the hill country of New England.'
The reader will see from this extract of what the book treats. The volume is pleasantly and simply written, imparts considerable information with respect to the region which it describes, is redolent of spicy forest breath, and brings before us Indian, deer, and beaver.
Rhode Island in the Rebellion. By Edwin W. Stone, of the First Regiment Rhode Island Light Artillery. Providence: George H. Whitney. 1864.
'These Letters were written amid camp scenes and on the march,' says our author, 'under circumstances unfavorable to literary composition, and were intended for private perusal alone. Portions of them appeared in the Providence Journal, and were received with a favor alike unexpected and gratifying. Numerous requests having been made that they should be gathered up as a Rhode Island contribution to the history of the War of the Rebellion, the author, with unaffected distrust of himself, has yielded to the judgment of others. While the aim has been to show the honorable position of the State in an unhappy war, it has also been the design to present a comprehensive view of the consecutive campaigns of the Army of the Potomac, with the fortunes of which several of the Rhode Island regiments and most of the batteries have, for longer or shorter periods, been identified.'
It is a noble record for Rhode Island, and a valuable contribution to the history of the war. It deals with facts, not polities or prejudices. We think every loyal State should prepare such a volume. A simple and reliable statement of what she has herself done, a sketch of her heroes of all ranks and parties, of her batteries, regiments, and companies, of her commandants and the battles in which her troops bore part, should be therein contained. This would lead to noble emulation among the States struggling for a common cause, and would be of great value both to State and general history. We look upon this book as a beginning in the right way. Such national records of nobly borne suffering and deeds of glory would be truly Books of Honor.
Robinson's Mathematical Series: Arithmetical Examples; or, Test Exercises for the Use of Advanced Classes. New York: Ivison, Phinney, Blakeman & Co., 48 & 50 Walker street. Chicago: S.C. Griggs & Co., 39 & 41 Lake street. 1864.
This book was issued to meet the demand in advanced schools for a larger number of carefully prepared and practical examples for review and drill exercises than are furnished from ordinary text books, and may be used in connection with any other books on this subject. 'The examples are designed to test the pupil's judgment; to bring into use his knowledge of the theory and applications of numbers; to cultivate habits of patient investigation and self-reliance; to test the truth and accuracy of his own processes by proof—the only test he will have to depend on in the real business transactions of afterlife; in a word, to make him independent of all text books, of written rules and analyses.'
A Latin Grammar for Schools and Colleges. By Albert Harkness, Ph. D., Professor in Brown University, Author of 'A First Latin Book,' 'A Second Latin Book,' 'A First Greek Book,' etc. New York: D. Appleton & Co., 443 & 445 Broadway.
Prof. Harkness's Grammar will be welcomed both by teacher and student. Our author is a man of great experience in the subjects of which he treats, and we doubt not he has supplied a general want in the work before us, and furnished a true grammar of the Latin tongue, worthy of adoption in all our educational institutions.
Rita: An Autobiography. By Hamilton Aide, Author of 'Confidences,' 'Carr of Carrlyon,' 'Mr. and Mrs. Faulconbridge,' etc. Boston: Published by T.O.P. Burnham. New York: Oliver S. Felt.
This novel is the autobiography of a young English girl, thrown by her father, a man of high birth, but worthless character, into the vicious influences of corrupt English and French society. The story is one of a constant struggle between these base examples on the one hand, and a strong sense of right and justice on the other. The plot is original and quite elaborate, and the interest well sustained. The character of the unprincipled, heartless, gambling father is well drawn, as well as that of the weak but self-sacrificing mother. Some of the scenes evince considerable power.
EDITOR'S TABLE
Readers of The Continental, your servant and faithful caterer has been a sad idler and vagrant for the last month, thinking more of his own pleasures than of your needs and requirements. Forgive him, he is again a working bee and seeking honey for your hives. Have patience, irate correspondents; we have absconded with no manuscripts, and are again at our desk to give bland answers to curt missives.
We have been among the Adirondacks; congratulate us right heartily thereon! We have traversed pathless primeval forests of larches, balsams, white pines, and sugar maples; we have floated upon lakes lovely enough to have mirrored Paradise; we have clambered down waterfalls whose broken drops turned into diamonds as they fell; have scaled mountains and seen earth in its glory, and looked clear up into the infinite blue of the eye of God.
We have seen the gleaming trout, changeful as a prisoned rainbow, lured from his cool stream; and the poor deer chased from his forest home by savage dogs and cruel men, driven into crystal lakes, lassoed there with ropes, throats cut with dull knives, and backs broken with flying balls. Immortal Shakspeare! had thy lines no power to awaken pity for frightened fawn and flying doe? Did they not see
'The wretched animal heave forth such groans
That their discharge did stretch his leathern coat
Almost to bursting; while the big round tears
Coursed one another down his innocent nose
In Piteous chase?'
Alas, 'poor hairy fool!' why should they seek thee in thy mountain homes?
We have sat by the side of fair fragile country girls, and heard the experiences of the stout pioneers of civilization. We have tried to keep step with city maidens, shorn of ridiculous hoops and trailing trains. We nave known them trip up the great sides of Tahawus, press through the trunked and bouldered horrors of Indian Pass, float over Lake Placid, and scale the long steep slide up the crest of White Face. Lovely as dreams and light as clouds, no toil stayed them, no danger appalled; panther, wolf, and bear stories were told in vain by lazy brothers and reluctant lovers; on they went in their restless search for beauty, their Turkish dress and scarlet tunics gleaming through the trees, to the delight of the old mountain guides, who chuckled over their Camilla-like exploits, and laughed, as they plucked the fragrant boughs for their spicy couch, over the ignorance and awkwardness of their lazy city beaux. These fair Dians shoot no deer, nor lure the springing trout. We blessed them as they went their thymy way.
We have sat in the hut of the farmer, the skiff of the oarsman, the parlor of the host of the inn; tried wagons, stages, and buck-board conveyances; we have disputed no bill, been subjected to no extortion, and, save the death of the 'hairy fools,' known no sorrow. We have sat by the grave of old John Brown, seen the glorious view from his simple home, heard his strange generosity extolled by his political enemies, and think we understand better than of old the sublime madness of his fanaticism. We have returned to our labor with a new love of country, a deeper sense of responsibility, of the worth of our institutions, and of the glory yet to be in 'Our Great America.' What a land to live and die for! Every drop of martyr blood poured upon it but makes it dearer to the heart.
PEERLESS COLUMBIA
A National Song
God of our Fathers,
Smile on our land!
Lo, the storm gathers—
Stretch forth Thy hand!
Chorus.—Shield us and guard us from mountain to sea!
Make the homes happy where manhood is free!
Brave is our nation,
Hopeful and young;
High is her station
Countries among.
Chorus.—Holy our banner! from mountain to sea
Floating in splendor o'er homes ever free.
Proud is our story,
Written in light;
Stars tell its glory,
Victory, might.
Chorus.—Peerless Columbia! from mountain to sea
Throbs every pulse through the heart of the free.
Up with our banner!
Hope in each fold—
Stout hearts will man her,
Millions untold.
Chorus.—Millions now greet her from mountain to sea,
Hope of the toil-worn! blest Flag of the free!
The following thoughts on some of the uses subserved by Art, are from the pen of the Rev. J. Byington Smith. There is so much truth in their suggestions, that we heartily commend them to our readers.
ART AS A MEANS OF HOME-CULTURE
BY J. BYINGTON SMITH
Art is closely allied to nature in giving impress to character. The scenery by which a people is surrounded, will modify and almost control its mode of being. The soft, rich landscapes of Italy enervate, while the rough mountainous country of the North imparts force and vigor. Mountains and seas are nature's healthful stimulants. Man grows in their vastness and is energized in their strength. Whatever may be the scenery of a people, it will mirror itself in the mind, and stamp its impress upon character.
Art reproduces nature, arranging its illimitable stores in closer unity, idealizing its charms, and bringing into nearer view its symmetry and beauty. Bearing its lessons from afar, it colors the glowing canvas and chisels the stone to awaken the impressions it designs to make on the human soul. Thus art, like nature, becomes a means of culture. When the Lombards wished to give hardihood and system to the enervated body and enfeebled mind of the people, they covered their churches with the sculptured representation of vigorous bodily exercises, such as war and hunting. In the great church of St. Mark, at Venice, people were taught the history of the Scriptures by means of imagery; a picture on the walls being more easily read than a chapter. Such walls were styled the poor man's Bible.
A picture reveals at a single glance that which we would be otherwise forced to glean by a slow process from the scattered material furnished by the printed page; hence the delight taken in illustrations, the importance of pictorial instruction for the young, and the almost universal demand for the illustrated publications of the day.
The teaching of art through painting, sculpture, and engraving, finds its way into our homes, and while lessons may be duly read from books and then laid aside, the lessons in the niche or on the wall repeat themselves hour by hour, and day by day, looking even into the pure eyes of infancy, and aiding in the formation of the character of every child subjected to their ceaseless influence. Their power is none the less because they never break the home-silence; they mould the young life and stamp their impress upon it. How important then that all such objects should be chosen, not only as treasures of artistic beauty, but for their power to elevate and ennoble character.
How often will you find in the room of the scholar, the studio of the artist, the picture or bust of some old master in art or letters, as if the occupant were conscious of the incentive such presence offered to his own efforts—the guardian genius of the spot.
In the study of one of the old divines might have been seen a painted eye, gazing forever down upon him, to render him sensible of the presence of the All-Seeing—to stamp the 'Thou God seest me' upon the very tablets of his heart.
A child is not so readily tempted into sin when surrounded by pure and beautiful imagery, or when gentle loving eyes are looking down upon him. On the other hand, the walls of the degraded are lined with amorous and obscene images, that vicious habits and debased tastes may find their suitable incentives.
A window shade bearing the design of a little girl issuing, basket in hand, from the door of a humble cottage, to relieve the wants of a poor blind beggar, will certainly take its place among the early developments of the children growing up under its influence, and in their simple charity they may be found, basket in hand, looking out for real or fancied beggars. Such lessons are never lost. In a parlor which I often frequent is a picture of a Sabbath scene: an aged grand-sire is seated by a table on which lies an open Bible, a bright-eyed boy is opposite, his father and mother on either side, a little shy girl is on the knee of the old man, all are listening reverently to the holy Word of God, books and a vase of gay flowers are on the table, green boughs fill the great old-fashioned fireplace. The whole picture wears an air of serenity and calm happiness, and is an impressive plea that we 'remember and keep holy the Sabbath day'—and we verily believe that such a picture will do more to influence our children to love the Sabbath, than any amount of parental restraint or lectures on moral obligation.
There is another picture in the same quiet room: 'The Mother's Dream.' She is worn with watching, and lies dreaming beside the couch of the child. Rays of light open a bright pathway into the skies, while an angel is bearing the spirit child along it up to heaven. We think such a picture is worth more to familiarize childhood with death and resurrection, and will leave a sweeter and more lasting impression upon the young soul, than the most learned dissertation or simplest explanation.
Landscape painting exerts a mellowing influence, and leads to the observation and love of nature, while historical pictures stimulate research, and nerve the mind to deeds of heroism and virtue.
The influence of pictures in forming character and shaping the course of life is illustrated with peculiar power in the history of the sons of a quiet family in the interior, who all insisted upon going to sea. The parents were grieved that none of their boys would remain at home to care for the homestead, and be the comfort of their declining years. They expressed their disappointment to a friend then on a visit to them, and wondered what could have induced the boys, one after the other, to embrace a life so full of storm and danger. Directly over the open fireplace hung a picture of a vessel with fluttering, snowy sails, tossing and rocking amid the bright, green, yeasty waves. The friend saw it, read the mystery, and quietly inquired how long it had been there. 'Since we commenced housekeeping,' was the unconscious reply. Not wishing to wound them, he was silent, and concealed his thoughts in his own breast, but the solution of the choice of life in the absent ones was clear enough to him: that picture had sent them off, one after another, to sea.
How careful we should then be in surrounding youth and childhood with pure, elevating objects of art, as means of constant home-culture! We know we shall be told, 'This is all very good, but we cannot afford it.' Let us reason together. Can you not deduct something from your elaborate furniture, your expensive dress, and devote it to models, lithographs, or paintings? Subtract but the half from these luxuries and devote the sum to designs of art, and you will contribute doubly to the attractiveness and pleasantness of your home. Where we cannot hope to possess the original masterpiece, we may have photographic or lithographic copies, which are within the compass of very humble means. You will freely toss away five dollars in useless embroidery or surplus furniture, and it would buy you a lithograph of Raphael's immortal picture, giving the results of a whole age of artistic culture, or a photograph of Cheney's Madonna and Child, bearing the very spirit of the original, or a plaster cast of noble statuary, the original of which could not be obtained for any namable sum—and yet you say you cannot afford works of art!
There is surely nothing you can afford better than to make your home attractive, and to introduce therein every available means of mental and moral culture. If you cannot afford to make home lovely, others will succeed in making dangerous places attractive to your children. There are spots enough kept light and picturesque, perilously fascinating to those whose homes boast no attractions. It will likely cost you far more in money, more surely in heart-anguish and sorrow, to have your children entertained in these places full of snares, where corrupt art lavishes her designs with unsparing hand, to vitiate the young imagination and debase the mind, than to exalt her in her chaste and ennobling power in the sanctuary of your homes, as one of the means of home-culture, stimulating to virtue and stamping the character with genuine worth.