ACROSS THE ATLANTIC * Tiffs volume is founded on a trip
to- the principal older towns of the -United States,—Boston, New York, Philadelphia, and Wash- ington. Yet, although narrating incidents on the journey, as well as the journey itself; it does not profess to be a book of travels, but the individual impressions of the traveller. It is indeed a series of "sketches," in which no more liberties are held to be taken with the matter of fact than a landscape-painter takes with a scene from nature: nothing but what exists is supposed to be- in the picture, except such remarks or "im- pressions "• of the- artist as the scene itself suggests. This principle, however, is rarely adhered to. As the artist with a pencil sometimes so disguises a view that we recognize the place only by means of some prominent feature which defies metamor- phosis, so the painter with a pen often loses sight of facts alto- gether, and treats us to fiction, or something more unsubstan- tud—his own notions. In the volume before us, the voyage, Bos- ton, New York, Philedelplii.a, the House of Representatives, a ceurt of law, with a few similar subjects, are presented as things actually seen, and described by the traveller much as they were, though the solid part has a garnish of remark. On other topics the author endeavours to convey the results of his observa- tions in the form of a, story supposed to be told to him or invented by himself. Such is the case-with "A Man of Letters,"—the tale of an unprincipled literary adventurer, first "on the London press," and then in America. There is, too, as is usual in such praductions, something of the "article" both in subject and treat- ment,..—as in a chapter on things in general called "The Carpet Bag?
The principal defect of the volume is want of substance ; arising from the fault of pouring out words when the writer has nothing to say, and lie tries to supply deficiency of matter by smart sen- tences. When he sets himself to describe things, or to present the results of his observed.% in the-form of opinions, there is no de- Ecieney of substance in his matter or sense in his conclusions. Tfis style is welt adapted to the sort of composition he has chosen ; it is lively and pointed,, with a dr.sh of satire and a good deal of pleasantry. The- writer has the philosophy or indifference of a cosmopolite ; he can see the faults he has left behind him as plainly. as those which come before him for the first time, and is as ready to hitjohn Bull as Jonathan. In dealing out his blows, howeveri,he exhibits- so much of playful sarcasm, that the reader Across the Atlantic. By the Author of "Sketches of Confabs." Published by Earle. is sometimes led to doubt not only his earnestness but his mean- ing. The illustrative fact seems purposely selected to contradict. the conclusion he proceeds to draw,—as in the account, on his re- turn to England, of the railway people's attentive servility to the P°' and his family, followed by a panegyric on the beneficial effects that flow from a superior class.
The writer tells us nothing new on the subject of America.• ' but he confirms the most unfavourable reports of previous travellers. as to the manners and appearance of the people, at the same time that he does justice to their more substantial qualities and to the hopeful future of the country. The book, in short, is rather to be regarded for its literary merit than for its information ; the question is not what it tells, but how. The author designed..Across tke Ationtie for a " light work " ; and such it is, and good of its kind, But he has forgotten that this class of composition almost resem- bles poetry ; in which the tolerable is not allowed, and the writer is expected to be free in his exercise of " the last and greatest art, the art to blot," and by repeated touches to work up what is finally allowed to remain to a uniform solidity and polish. The following passage from a visit to a camp-meeting will give an idea of the writer's matter and manner.
" The scene which now presented itself to v eyes was as novel and cu- rious to me as it would no doubt have been familiar and delightful to a follower of Wesley or Whitfield. In every direction tents and booths had been erected, giving one the idea of Greenwich fair transported into the midst of the New Forest. In some of these tents, large parties were refresh- ing themselves after the devotions of the day, while at a little distance from the entrance, and suspended over a crackling fire of furze and dry wood, the innocuous kettle hissed and sang. From others, vast multitudes of men, women, and children, were pouring forth to the temporary pulpits which had been put up for their edification, and from which the loua-mouthed preacher was scaring away the racoons and the opossums more effectually than the Evil One. There was besides, a goodly assemblage of persons who appeared to have been brought there, like myself, from a feeling of curiosity, and some who it was plain had even a worse motive for comiue. Mingled with all this devotion was a certain aristocracy of religion, which had taken care that there should be a special part of the encampment set apart for the Ne- groes, and separated from the rest. The Black members of the sect had, ac- cordingly their tents, and their preachers, and experienced the workings of the Spirit, and were turned from earth to heaven, at a convenient distance from the Whites.
"I approached one of the temporary pulpits, in front of which a small space had been railed off, destined, I suppose, for the accommodation of bonâ fide members, and at the entrance to which two presbyters or deacons kept watch like dragons. The interior of this space was packed close with an at- tentive congregation, consisting of men on the one side and women on the other. Many of the latter were conspicuous, amidst the dull light of the tallow candles, for the tawdriness of their costume, and the profusion of lines, necklaces, and bracelets, with which they were embarrassed. A chorus of three or four stalwart bumpkins, who had probably vindicated to them- selves, by their superior strength of lung, the conduct of this part of the ser- vice, were vociferating a hymn, which must have effectually warned any dremon of taste off the premises ; the remainder followed the words, and—as far as was possible—the tune, in a lower tone of voice. When this part of the service had been concluded, one of the spiritual directors knelt down to offer up a prayer. He had scarcely proceeded far, however, when a shriek arose from the compact and perspiring mass before me. It was followed by another and another and I could now plainly see that a woman was strik- ing out and struggling violently, in some sort of desperate convulsion or fit. "The first impulse of a man on such an occasion is to rash forward to the assistance of the sufferer' and to endeavour to promote, although in nine eases out of ten he only retards, a recovery. Is luck would have it, I had about me a smelling-bottle, which, from having felt faint during the last two or three days at Washington, I had been induced to carry. Advancing with it in my hand, I was stopped at the entrance to the enclosure by one of the afore'said presbyters, deacons, or elders ; who inquired, composedly, where I was going. 'Why, don't you see that there is a lady taken ill ? ' said I. 'My good sir,' returned. he, you are under a mistake. That woman is not. taken ill. The Spirit is working within her, and she cannot help what she is- doing. Oh, may the time come when you will be in the same blessed condition !' "
This is description ; the next extract is a sketch in which the conclusion is the main thing, however agreeably we may be drawn to it. The subject is a comparison between a British M.P. and a member of the American House of Representatives, to account for. the indifferent figure and character of the latter as seen at Wash- ington. The reader will be reminded of Mr. Thackeray's manner; a model the writer of Across the Atlantic often has in his eye.
"By becoming Members of Parliament, we rise from our insignificance into public life; we become public men ; we gain a locus deed, as well as a seat; it is our object to sit in the one, and to stand in the other, as long as we can. Our names soar up to the top of subscription-lists, with the two magical letters tied to the end of them like a tail. Good dinners are ours— not paid for by ourselves, but given us by people in Baker Street and Fins- bury Square—and we like good dinners. Our appendage acts like Grim- stone's eye-snuff upon the vision of some of our friends, who used always to be rubbing those organs with a pocket-handkerchief as we passed. They no longer rub them now ; they see us. I should electrify my little chop-house in the Strand, where I now sit down to the joint without making any manner of sensation, if I were one day to stalk in as the Member for Gruttleborough. 'Did you see that gentleman sitting at No. 7, sir ? ' the waiter would ask, as soon as I had left. That is none other than Mr. Such-a-one the Member of Parliament.' And he would begin telling lies about me. 'These are the considerations which draw the sportsman from his hounds, the Scot from his manufactory, and the Irish prince (if he had his rights) from his mud castle, and pop them all down a heterogeneous mass within the walls of St. Ste- phen's. "In America, the case is entirely different. There the rich merchant,. or the barrister in good practice, or the man of wealth and influence, in such cities as New York, Boston, and Philadelphia, would' byaccepting a seat in. the Legislature be making as great a sacrifice for the good of ins country as I should by i refusing one for mine. To appreciate this, only consider the con- sequences which, n that great republic, accrue to the victim who suffers himself to be dragged down from private into public life. Ho leaves his comfortable house in New York, or his villa on the Hudson, the elegant-so- ciety by which he has been surrounded, and (dearer than all) the pnvacy which he has hitherto enjoyed. What does he get in exchange ? He is compelled to reside in a miserable, unhealthy, unfinished town for nine
months in the year, without any. objects at interest around without
recreations-of any kind, without any society to speak of. He is forced to drop his -'atistocratic ' airs, and to stand up and drink a cocktail with any drunken .constituent who pursues him to the bar of his hotel. He is forced to sit next to, and to converse familiarly with, persons whom he has hitherto only read-.of in newspapers and novels, as we read. of the 'Tipperary Boys' —savages,fromIowmand Wisconsin, whom the unsettled populations of those districts have sent up to represent them—stump-orators, who have not wZia their places by underhand dealing, by bribery and corruption, but have rushed in-upon their opponents, and gouged them, like men. When he goes back, he finds that his house is no longer his own. Nothing is his own. He, himself no longer belongs- to himself—he belongs to the people. All day long, he is employed in shaking hands with generals and judges, and other dirty persons. As for any credit attaching to the position of a member of the Lower Hansa. I should think it must act rather as a bar to your introduc- tion to decent society. You are a delegate, not a representative—a flunkey, not a. man A constituency of so many thousands meet and proclaim, by a majority of so many hundreds or thousands, that such and such are their opinions. 'Now, then, who'll carry our opinions up to Washington ? Come, the place is vacant. Who offers himself for the plush
and.shoulder-knot? ' or, be our errand-boy?' ' Please, gentlemen, I will,' cry half-a-dozen. Homer Smith, or Artaxerxes Brown, or Nahum Robinson, as the case-may be, is the chosen one. 'Now, sir, you go up and deliver this parcel ; and mind what you are about, do you hear ? ' You have twenty thousand-masters. You are servant-of-all-work to a vast constitu- ency, with every individual member ringing his bell for you at one and the same time. Respectable men will not, for the most part, accept this kind of position."
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