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the characters assigned him. His vulgarisms are such as are heard only from the very coarsest country bumbkin, and some of them are never heard from any one born and brought up in Connecticut. Any man who knows well the United States, can easily tell to which State any native American he meets belongs, from his provincialisms and intonation. The intonation of Weeks belongs to Maine, his religion to Massachusetts, his notions of trade to Connecticut, and his provincialisms in part to the South and West. Weeks says he was raised in Connecticut; but that is not a Connecticut locution. They say at the South and West, "I was raised," but if ever in New England it is a neologism. The educated classes, and nearly all are educated in New England, say "I was brought up." In New England they raise stock, rye, corn, potatoes, &c., but they bring up children. The country people in our younger days, sometimes said, in the same sense, "I was fetched up," and now and then one would say, "I was broughten up." Moreover, the author makes Sambo, who had been a slave, call Weeks, "Massa Charles," which indicates that Weeks had been Sambo's master, or his master's son, otherwise Sambo would not have called him by his Christian name. No American can possibly locate Weeks, and there is no one, who know, the country well, who would not pronounce him an impossible Yankee, in either sense of the word, and as much a foreigner as the celebrated Sam Slick himself,a pleasant creation enough, but no Yankee in character or dialect, though possibly, for aught we know, a genuine Blue-nose. Taken as a representative character, Weeks represents no national character, we ever heard of; and taken as an individual, representing only himself, he may be a "Yankee in Ireland," but not in America. Ephraim has, we admit, certain American features, and some few exaggerated American notions, but he was never born or brought up in Yankee land. Had he been a true Yankee he would never have spoken contemptuously of the Irish in Ireland, at the moment he was trying to get him an Irish wife, or have given Else Curley four hundred dollars for

charms and love philters. He would have been too cute and too close for that. If the author fails as much in his Irishman as in his Yankee, he is wholly untrustworthy.

In the work, as originally published in the Metropolitan, we had another Yankee, Dr. Horseman, who in this edition, we regret to see, is converted into a Scotsman, Dr. Henshaw, and from a Yankee to a Scotch reviewer. The change is no improvement, and mars the artistic merit of the book. There is no good reason for introducing Dr. Henshaw at all, and the worthy doctor is only an intruder. Who was intended to be shown up under the name of Dr. Horseman was no secret, and the motive for showing him up was obvious enough. The editor of this Review had the honor to sit for Dr. Horseman, and though the limner did not succeed in getting a very good likeness, he nevertheless, by means of certain labels, contrived to let the public know whom he intended to represent. There were, also, two or three points of actual resemblance between the editor and Dr. Horseman. Dr. Horseman chewed tobacco, and the editor sometimes, also, chews the "weed;" Dr. Horseman wore gold-bowed spectacles, and the editor also wears gold-bowed spectacles; Dr. Horseman spoke in a gruff, harsh voice, and the editor's voice is said to be a deep bass, and not very musical. These three points served to identify the original, especially since it was added that the picture was the portrait of a Yankee Catholic reviewer, there being but one such reviewer in the world. The motive also was plain. The author felt himself aggrieved by the reviewer's handling of his previous works, and wished, no doubt, to pay him off somewhat as Byron did his "English Bards and Scotch Reviewers." He also wished. to rebuke the editor's indiscreet zeal and earnestness in insisting on the doctrine that, out of the Church there is no salvation, a doctrine quite incompatible with the false liberalism some Catholics affect, and finally, to prejudice him as much as he could in the minds of Irish Catholics. Now here were motives enough, and fair motives enough too. An author has the right to show up his reviewer, if

he can, to rebuke indiscreet zeal and misdirected earnestness, and to warn his countrymen against one whom he regards as their enemy. Mr. Peppergrass did it in Dr. Horseman as well as he could, and really made one or two good hits, which we have enjoyed, and said one or two things, though in rather an ungracious tone, which we have endeavored to profit by.

Now by changing Dr. Horseman into Dr. Henshaw, the Yankee into a Scotch reviewer, the appropriateness of this part of Mary Lee disappears, and the author's satire loses its edge. Except to those who remember Dr. Horseman, Dr. Henshaw is nobody, serves no purpose, and has no right to be among the dramatis persona of the book. We hope the author in his next edition will restore our Yankee friend, Dr. Horseman. Dr. Henshaw, in spite of his Scotch pronunciation of a few words, is no Scotsman, has nothing of Sawney in his mind, heart, or soul. No, let us have back the Yankee reviewer. It is true, there were a few personalities in the original edition, but we never complained of them; they never disturbed us for a moment, save we thought they were not quite so well done as they might have been, and were coarse rather than witty. Dr. Horseman did not offend us, and if he had done so, Dr. Henshaw would offend us still more. The author had no occasion to make any change on our account. We do not think him a good limner, but it is not likely that posterity will recur to Mary Lee for our portrait. We love a joke as well as any Irish friend we have, and, within the limits of becoming mirth, we can even be mirthful ourselves. The author need have no fear of our treasuring up any unkind feelings against him. His implied apology would have been amply sufficient, even had he really offended us, which he did not. So here is our hand, Father John, only give us back our friend, Dr. Horseman, and remember for the future that Jonathan can bear with good humor a joke, even at his own expense, if it lack not the seasoning of genuine wit.

Enough of this. As a work of art, Mary Lee has grave

defects; as a picture of life and character, we do not think it just, or trustworthy; but as a work intended to amuse, and to recall to the author's countrymen in their exile, the memory of scenes and incidents in their own native land, to brighten the face with a smile, or to moisten the eye with a tear; to cheer up the spirit, or to make the weary pilgrim forget for a moment his weariness and his burden,-what we presume has been the aim of the author, -it deserves high praise, and will give pleasure and consolation to many a one who can never forget, and never should forget, his own native land, or the scenes, incidents, and associations of his early life in his own childhood's home. Under this, the true point of view, Mary Lee is a good, as well as an amusing book. The literature of every nation, if really national, has a genius and character of its own, and in some sense its own peculiar morality. We must never judge the literature of one people by that of another, or suppose its effect on the readers of the nation that has produced it, must necessarily be what it would be on readers of another and widely different nation. Much in Mary Lee would have no good influence on American readers, and yet we must not thence infer that its influence will be bad on those for whom it is written. In the Irish mind and heart much that we should object to will be corrected, and the Irish reader will extract only honey where another reader might extract only poison.

The author objects to Dr. Horseman,-we beg his pardon, Dr. Henshaw,--that in reviewing purely literary works, he brings in his Catholic faith and morals, as if no one could lawfully write or speak without writing or speaking St. Thomas. We suspect Dr. Henshaw was never quite silly enough for that, and that the author is guilty of his usual exaggeration. Dr. Henshaw would most likely tell him, that a Catholic reviewer has the right, if he sees fit, to review any book under the point of view of Catholic faith and morals, and no other; and that, too, without holding or implying that every book must positively teach Catholic faith and morals; for no man, certainly no Catho

lic, has the right to hold or teach, to publish or practise any thing not in accordance with the dogmas and morals of the Church. The reviewer may, for reasons of his own, pass over the literary and purely artistic merits of a book sent him, and speak of it only under its doctrinal or moral character; and in doing so no one has any right to infer that he recognizes no such thing as literary merit, or has no appreciation of merely literary, artistic, or poetic beauties. Because we tell Mr. Peppergrass that it would be very improper for him to smoke his cigar, dance a hornpipe, or sing "O'er the water to Charlie," in a church. during Mass, it does not follow that we are hostile to a good cigar, to dancing, or to a good Jacobite song, in proper times and places, any more than it follows from the fact that in setting forth truth, vindicating its claims, and refuting error against it, we use logic, and insist on rigid logic, we recognize only logic, and are unable to appreciate the value of a heart, or of gentleness and affection. It is necessary to have a heart; it is also convenient to have a head, and sometimes it is not amiss to use it. Dr. Henshaw would, no doubt, admit the heart, and would only object to exhibiting it where the head is more appropriate. Every thing in its time and place.

We do not ask the writer of fiction to teach dogma or moral theology, but we do ask him to avoid doing any thing to offend either. We love amusement, and can enjoy mirth, whether in old or young, as keenly as any son or daughter of the Emerald Isle, but only on condition that neither is purchased at the expense of faith or morals, or suffered to interfere with the grave duties of our state in life. We read, perhaps, as many works of light literature as any of our neighbors, and are as able to appreciate them; and we do what we can to encourage them, within the limits allowed by reason or duty. But not, therefore, is it necessary that in reviewing a book we should look only to its literary merits, and consider only its capacity to interest or amuse. We suppose it competent for us to take into the account whether the interest it excites or the amusement it affords is an inVOL. I.-No. I.

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