"The progress of American Literature," returned the editor, "is really astonishing the four quarters of the world. I believe it is very generally admitted, now, that our pulpit and bar are at the very summit of these two professions. Then we have much the best poets of the age, while eleven of our novelists surpa.s.s any of all other countries. The American Philosophical Society is, I believe, generally considered the most acute learned body now extant, unless, indeed, the New-York Historical Society may compete with it, for that honour. Some persons give the palm to one, and some to the other; though I myself think it would be difficult to decide between them.
Then to what a pa.s.s has the drama risen of late years! Genius is getting to be quite a drug in America!"
"You have forgotten to speak of the press, in particular," put in the complacent Mr. Wenham. "I think we may more safely pride ourselves on the high character of the press, than any thing else."
"Why, to tell you the truth, sir," answered Steadfast, taking the other by the arm, and leading him so slowly away, that a part of what followed was heard by the two amused listeners, "modesty is so infallibly the companion of merit, that _we_ who are engaged in that high pursuit do not like to say any thing in our own favour. You never detect a newspaper in the weakness of extolling itself; but, between ourselves, I may say, after a close examination of the condition of the press in other countries, I have come to the conclusion, that, for talents, taste, candour, philosophy, genius, honesty, and truth, the press of the United States stands at the very----"
Here Mr. Dodge pa.s.sed so far from the listeners, that the rest of the speech became inaudible, though from the well-established modesty of the man and the editor, there can be little doubt of the manner in which he concluded the sentence.
"It is said in Europe," observed Johr Effingham, his fine face expressing the cool sarcasm in which he was so apt to indulge, "that there are _la vieille_ and _la Jeune France_. I think we have now had pretty fair specimens of _old_ and _young_ America; the first distrusting every thing native, even to a potatoe: and the second distrusting nothing, and least of all, itself."
"There appears to be a sort of pendulum-uneasiness in mankind," said Mrs. Bloomfield, "that keeps opinion always vibrating around the centre of truth, for I think it the rarest thing in the world to find man or woman who has not a disposition, as soon as an error is abandoned, to fly off into its opposite extreme. From believing we had nothing worthy of a thought, there is a set springing up who appear to have jumped to the conclusion that we have every thing."
"Ay, this is _one_ of the reasons that all the rest of the world laugh at us."
"Laugh at us, Mr. Effingham! Even _I_ had supposed the American name had, at last, got to be in good credit in other parts of the world."
"Then even _you_, my dear Mrs. Bloomfield, are notably mistaken.
Europe, it is true, is beginning to give us credit for not being quite as bad as she once thought us; but we are far, very far, from being yet admitted to the ordinary level of nations, as respects goodness."
"Surely they give us credit for energy, enterprize, activity----"
"Qualities that they prettily term, rapacity, cunning, and swindling!
I am far, very far, however, from giving credit to all that it suits the interests and prejudices of Europe, especially of our venerable kinswoman, Old England, to circulate and think to the prejudice of this country, which, in my poor judgment, has as much substantial merit to boast of as any nation on earth; though, in getting rid of a set of ancient vices and follies, it has not had the sagacity to discover that it is fast falling into pretty tolerable--or if you like it better--intolerable subst.i.tutes."
"What then do _you_ deem our greatest error--our weakest point?"
"Provincialisms, with their train of narrow prejudices, and a disposition to set up mediocrity as perfection, under the double influence of an ignorance that unavoidably arises from a want of models, and of the irresistible tendency to mediocrity, in a nation where the common mind so imperiously rules."
"But does not the common mind rule every where? Is not public opinion always stronger than law?"
"In a certain sense, both these positions may be true. But in a nation like this, without a capital, one _that is all provinces_, in which intelligence and tastes are scattered, this common mind wants the usual direction, and derives its impulses from the force of numbers, rather than from the force of knowledge. Hence the fact, that the public opinion never or seldom rises to absolute truth. I grant you that _as_ a mediocrity, it is well; much better than common even; but it is still a mediocrity."
"I see the justice of your remark, and I suppose we are to ascribe the general use of superlatives, which is so very obvious, to these causes."
"Unquestionably; men have gotten to be afraid to speak the truth, when that truth is a little beyond the common comprehension; and thus it is that you see the fulsome flattery that all the public servants, as they call themselves, resort to, in order to increase their popularity, instead of telling the wholesome facts that are needed."
"And what is to be the result?"
"Heaven knows. While America is so much in advance of other nations, in a freedom from prejudices of the old school, it is fast subst.i.tuting a set of prejudices of its own, that are not without serious dangers. We may live through it, and the ills of society may correct themselves, though there is one fact that men aces more evil than any thing I could have feared."
"You mean the political struggle between money and numbers, that has so seriously manifested itself of late!" exclaimed the quick-minded and intelligent Mrs. Bloomfield.
"_That_ has its dangers; but there is still another evil of greater magnitude. I allude to the very general disposition to confine political discussions to political men. Thus, the private citizen, who should presume to discuss a political question, would be deemed fair game for all who thought differently from himself. He would be injured in his pocket, reputation, domestic happiness, if possible; for, in this respect, America is much the most intolerant nation I have ever visited. In all other countries, in which discussion is permitted at all, there is at least the _appearance_ of fair play, whatever may be done covertly; but here, it seems to be sufficient to justify falsehood, frauds, nay, barefaced rascality, to establish that the injured party has had the audacity to meddle with public questions, not being what the public chooses to call a public man. It is scarcely necessary to say that, when such an opinion gets to be effective, it must entirely defeat the real intentions of a popular government."
"Now you mention it," said Mrs. Bloomfield, "I think I have witnessed instances of what you mean."
"Witnessed, dear Mrs. Bloomfield! Instances are to be seen as often as a man is found freeman enough to have an opinion independent of party. It is not for connecting himself with party that a man is denounced in this country, but for daring to connect himself with truth. Party will bear with party, but party will not bear with truth. It is in politics as in war, regiments or individuals may desert, and they will be received by their late enemies with open arms, the honour of a soldier seldom reaching to the pa.s.s of refusing succour of any sort; but both sides will turn and fire on the countrymen who wish merely to defend their homes and firesides."
"You draw disagreeable pictures of human nature, Mr. Effingham."
"Merely because they are true, Mrs. Bloomfield. Man is worse than the beasts, merely because he has a code of right and wrong, which he never respects. They talk of the variation of the compa.s.s, and even pretend to calculate its changes, though no one can explain the principle that causes the attraction or its vagaries at all. So it is with men; they pretend to look always at the right, though their eyes are constantly directed obliquely; and it is a certain calculation to allow of a pretty wide variation--but here comes Miss Effingham, singularly well attired, and more beautiful than I have ever before seen her!"
The two exchanged quick glances, and then, as if fearful of betraying to each other their thoughts, they moved towards our heroine, to do the honours of the reception.
Chapter XXVI.
"Haply, when I shall wed, That lord, whose hand must take my plight, shall carry Half my love with him, half my care and duty."
CORDELIA.
As no man could be more gracefully or delicately polite than John Effingham, when the humour seized him, Mrs. Bloomfield was struck with the kind and gentleman-like manner with which he met his young kinswoman on this trying occasion, and the affectionate tones of his voice, and the winning expression of his eye, as he addressed her.
Eve herself was not un.o.bservant of these peculiarities, nor was she slow in comprehending the reason. She perceived at once that he was acquainted with the state of things between her and Paul. As she well knew the womanly fidelity of Mrs. Bloomfield, she rightly enough conjectured that the long observation of her cousin, coupled with the few words accidentally overheard that evening had even made him better acquainted with the true condition of her feelings, than was the case with the friend with whom she had so lately been conversing on the subject.
Still Eve was not embarra.s.sed by the conviction that her secret was betrayed to so many persons. Her attachment to Paul was not the impulse of girlish caprice, but the warm affection of a woman, that had grown with time, was sanctioned by her reason, and which, if it was tinctured with the more glowing imagination and ample faith of youth, was also sustained by her principles and her sense of right.
She knew that both her father and cousin esteemed the man of her own choice, nor did she believe the little cloud that, hung over his birth could do more than have a temporary influence on his own sensitive feelings. She met John Effingham, therefore, with a frank composure, returned the kind pressure of his hand, with a smile such as a daughter might bestow on an affectionate parent, and turned to salute the remainder of the party, with that lady-like ease which had got to be a part of her nature.
"There goes one of the most attractive pictures that humanity can offer," said John Effingham to Mrs. Bloomfield, as Eve walked away; "a young, timid, modest, sensitive girl, so strong in her principles, so conscious of rect.i.tude, so pure of thought, and so warm in her affections, that she views her selection of a husband, as others view their acts of duty and religious faith. With her love has no shame, as it has no weakness."
"Eve Effingham is as faultless as comports with womanhood; and yet I confess ignorance of my own s.e.x, if she receive Mr. Powis as calmly as she received her cousin."
"Perhaps not, for in that case, she could scarcely feel the pa.s.sion.
You perceive that he avoids oppressing her with his notice, and that the meeting pa.s.ses off without embarra.s.sment. I do believe there is an elevating principle in love, that, by causing us to wish to be worthy of the object most prized, produces the desired effects by stimulating exertion. There, now, are two as perfect beings as one ordinarily meets with, each oppressed by a sense of his or her unworthiness to be the choice of the other."
"Does love, then, teach humility; successful love too?"
"Does it not? It would be hardly fair to press this matter on you, a married woman; for, by the pandects of American society, a man may philosophize on love, prattle about it, trifle on the subject, and even a.n.a.lyze the pa.s.sion with, a miss in her teens, and yet he shall not allude to it, in a discourse with a matron. Well, _chacun a son gout_; we are, indeed, a little peculiar in our usages, and have promoted a good deal of village coquetry, and the flirtations of the may-pole, to the drawing-room."
"Is it not better that such follies should be confined to youth, than that they should invade the sanct.i.ty of married life, as I understand is too much the case elsewhere?"
"Perhaps so; though I confess it is easier to dispose of a straight- forward proposition from a mother, a father, or a commissioned friend, than to get rid of a young lady, who, _propria persona_, angles on her own account. While abroad, I had a dozen proposals--"
"Proposals!" exclaimed Mrs. Bloomfield, holding up both hands, and shaking her head incredulously.
"Proposals! Why not, ma"am?--am I more than fifty? am I not reasonably youthful for that period of life, and have I not six or eight thousand a year--"
"Eighteen, or you are much scandalized."
"Well, eighteen, if you will," coolly returned the other, in whose eyes money was no merit, for he was born to a fortune, and always treated it as a means, and not as the end of life; "every dollar is a magnet, after one has turned forty. Do you suppose that a single man, of tolerable person, well-born, and with a hundred thousand francs of _rentes_, could entirely escape proposals from the ladies in Europe?"
"This is so revolting to all our American notions, that, though I have often heard of such things, I have always found it difficult to believe them!"
"And is it more revolting for the friends of young ladies to look out for them, on such occasions, than that the young ladies should take the affair into their own hands, as is practised quite as openly, here?"
"It is well you are a confirmed bachelor, or declarations like these would mar your fortunes. I will admit that the school is not as retiring and diffident as formerly; for we are all ready enough to say that no times are egual to our own times; but I shall strenuously protest against your interpretation of the nature and artlessness of an American girl."
"Artlessness!" repeated John Effingham, with a slight lifting of the eye-brows; "we live in an age when new dictionaries and vocabularies are necessary to understand each other"s meaning. It is artlessness, with a vengeance, to beset an old fellow of fifty, as one would besiege a town. Hist!--Ned is retiring with his daughter, my dear Mrs. Bloomfield, and it will not be long before I shall be summoned to a family council. Well, we will keep the secret until it is publicly proclaimed."