University of Virginia Library

The mind of man in every age has felt, at periods, a wish for relaxation; and, in such cases, books of the lighter class have generally been resorted to; nor has there ever been a period when numerous writers have not stepped forward to indulge all readers of this denomination. Novelists of the present day have not much to boast upon the score of wit or contrivance; nevertheless, generally speaking, they do not give publicity to tenets subversive of morality. With regard to the number of novel writers, and the consequent quantity of works that issue from the press, they are almost incalculable, as the circulating libraries of the metropolis can sufficiently testify. In order to prove, however, that quantity is not at all times requisite for the amusement of a population, the following anecdote will sufficiently tend to demonstrate.

About eighty years back the whole stock of books in one of the Scilly Islands consisted of a Bible and the History of Dr. Faustus. The spot was populous, and the inhabitants of the western district being addicted to literature, the conjuror's story had been handed from house to house, until, from perpetual thumbing, little of his enchantments or momentous history remained legible. At this most alarming juncture a meeting was called of the principal inhabitants, and a proposal was made, and unanimously approved, that, as soon as the season would permit any intercourse with Cornwall, a supply of books should be sent for. A debate in consequence began, in order to ascertain what selection should be made upon this occasion, when the result proved that an order should be transmitted to an eminent bookseller at Penzance, for him to send another copy of Dr. Faustus.

If every work of the novel cast was written after the plan of the above cited productions, there would be little occasion for criticism, as it is impossible to find fault with Miss Burney's labours, which have solely for their object the edification as well as amusement of the reader. It has been said that this writer was aided, in some instances, by a very famous literary character; and that one of the personages in Cecilia was drawn as a portraiture of himself; in which case the more praise is due to our literary female, who must have given incontestable proofs of her ability before she could receive the countenance of so great a pioneer of literature.

The writings of Charlotte Smith are of a very superior cast; and her knowledge of men and manners is conspicuously blazoned throughout her prose effusions, while her poetry, and particularly her sonnets, approach nearer to those of Petrarch than any that have yet made their appearance. One trait I shall detail of this author, which sufficiently demonstrates her being possessed of genius, if, as it is said, improvidence and want of thought be the characteristics of inborn talent. The writer was once present at a bookseller's when Mrs. Smith drove up to his door in a post-chaise and four, and after being for a time closetted with the publisher in question, the chaise was discharged, when it afterwards appeared that she had brought up a manuscript from the country to be disposed of; and, until an advance upon the same had been made, she literally was without a shilling to discharge the vehicle which had conveyed her to the metropolis. Mrs. Lenox, though not possessed of the high literary requisites of a Burney or Smith, has given to the world some specimens of ability which will never fail to rank her among the higher class of novelists. From the quantity of trash that has issued from Leadenhall Street, it has been justly remarked that, instead of Minerva, a goose should have been the designation of its far-famed press; but, as there is no rule without an exception, so, in the present instance, we may with justice allow that Mrs. Roche's Children of the Abbey is certainly a counterpoise to hundreds of novels which should never have met the light; wherefore this may be justly esteemed as one of Mr. Lane's most fortunate hits; for, while this species of composition is favourably received by the public, the fame of Minerva can never be tarnished.

If the above unfortunate lady's effusions are characterized by an acute knowledge of life, there is nothing surprizing, as few females had greater cause to abhor the other sex. Had this personage merely displayed the attractions of face and form, the unmanly neglect she experienced might have been accounted for; but, possessing a mind cultivated in the extreme, and formed, as it were, to render a person of polished manners completely happy, we are at a loss how to account for the shameful depravity of the human heart. Independently of the two productions entitled Angelina, and the False Friend, this writer produced several poetical specimens, which bespeak a mind fraught with pathos and the keenest sensibility. The writer was once in the company of Mrs. Robinson's daughter, who had caught from her parent the divine spark of poetry, and was, to all appearance, gifted with talents of a very superior nature.

There is a studied and pedantic affectation about the novel productions of Mr. Holcroft which render his volumes tedious to the reader; his Anna St. Ives, in particular, reminds one of such antiquated lucubrations as Cassandra, and other folio works of this description, the perusal of which, to a man of letters of the present æra, would be worse than a pilgrimage barefoot to the chapel of our Lady of Loretto.

The novels of Mr. Cumberland, like his dramatic productions, display an elegant and easy flow of language; he is peculiarly happy in eliciting the sentimental or the moral, but his attempts at wit are very feeble. If any particular fault be attachable to a publication of this writer's, such reprehension must attend the perusal of his John de Lancaster, which is what may be termed a dull prosing composition; however, notwithstanding his faults, this gentleman must always command admirers, if it were only on account of his chaste style, and the celebrity attached to most of his theatrical compositions.

Having spoken at large of Mr. Pratt in the early part of the present volume, I shall merely echo the panegyric of Sir Noodle, by stating, that the melancholy pleasure I experienced in the perusal of Emma Corbbet was equal to that which actuated my breast when first Mackenzie's Man of Feeling met my regard; and, such being the case, I must again repeat, that, let Mr. Pratt's defects, as a writer, be what they may, he has, nevertheless, found a key to the human heart which many authors accredited of higher repute than this gentleman, have never yet been able to discover.

Dr. Moore's Zeluco, though classed as a novel, is written in a masterly style, that would not disgrace a work of the first literary consequence. It has been said, that the character of his hero was composed in order to pourtray the mental qualifications of a distinguished personage, with whom he had been in such close habits of intimacy, that it was impossible for a gentleman of the doctor's acute discernment not to read the inmost secrets of the heart. The author now under consideration was for many years the tutor to a nobleman of the highest rank, whose appetites were much more addicted to worldly gratifications than the cultivation of the mind; wherefore, as a specimen of this nobleman's epistolary powers may not be uninteresting to the public, I have annexed the copy of an original letter, now in my possession, being a challenge to a sporting personage, with whom, on the preceding evening, he had had a trifling altercation.

Sir,

You have acted in a manner very unbecoming the character of a gentleman with regard to me. I ask satisfaction; and, as we can neither course nor hunt to-morrow, that day will be the most convenient. I will meet you any where, at any hour, and with what weapons you please. I shall bring another gentleman with me. I am, sir, your obedient servant, &c.

Leonora, and Popular Tales, from the pen of Miss Edgeworth, are of that superior stamp which must class her name among the number of the happiest essayists in this range of literature: her style is particularly chaste, and the moral tendency of her labours has justly endeared her to every female whose mind is attuned to the dictates of morality and social refinement.

If the literary acquirements of Mrs. Parsons are not, strictly speaking, worthy of high encomium, they are of that class which will never offend the ears of delicacy; and when it is remembered that her ceaseless assiduity as a writer sprang from the most praiseworthy of principles—the honourable struggle for the support of a family wholly dependant upon her mental efforts—we must allow, that what may be deficient on the score of perfect ability as a writer, is, in a great measure, compensated for by the meritorious cause that actuated her endeavours.

Multum in parvo will not , altogether, apply to the works of Mrs. Bennet, who seems to have studied more the profits likely to accrue to the circulating librarians by the production of quantity, than to have considered what was due to her character as a literary personage. Notwithstanding this, the Beggar Girl is far from a mediocre production, and the language is tolerably perspicuous; but the story of the Ghost of my Father is very deficient on the score of interest, as the major part of the volumes present nothing but events which transpired during the French revolution, all of which had previously met the eye in different publications relating to that eventful epoch.

The talents of Mrs. Meeke are of that negative class, that if her compositions present nothing that can excite praise, no censure is attachable to her for any lack of modesty or decorum.

Mrs. Opie must be ranked as one of the most fascinating and irresistible female writers that now grace the literary hemisphere. It is only required of our author to take the pen, and she never can fail of bewitching the reader. Gifted with such talents, how highly indecorous was it in this writer to compose the work above adverted to, the principles of which can tend to answer no one purpose that is conducive to morality or virtue. As I confess to have received so much gratification from the above lady's effusions, I will spare any further reprehension, under the hope that her good sense will prevent her from recurring to a similar mode of literary composition in future; though I must add, that while contemplating this subject, I cannot refrain from saying with the Latinist, that

A woman, when thinking by herself, is always thinking of mischief.

Mr. G. Brewer, who has been previously mentioned among the dramatists, is also the author of two works, entitled The Siamese Tales, and Essuys in the Manner of Goldsmith; in both of which publications are to be found many traits of sterling humour, accompanied by language at once flowing and unaffected.

Aubrey, from the pen of this gentleman, is a studied composition, which, when perused, will never leave any sterling impression upon the mind.

Unprovoked virulence was never rendered more conspicuous than in the production of the above-mentioned novel; the rapid sale of which verifies the following sentence from Cicero:

Nihil est tam voluere quam maledictum; nihil facilius emittitur, nihil citius excipitur, nihil latius dissipatatur. Cicero.

Nothing in its progress is so rapid as calumny; nothing is more readily received, and nothing can be more widely spread abroad.

Had the most flagrant injury been committed against Mr. Surr by the heroine of his tale, surely the consideration of her being a woman should have wrested the pen from his vindictive grasp; but where there was no apparent cause whatsoever for such an attack, the circumstance becomes totally inexplicable. Surely the thought of lucre could never have prompted a man to strike so deep, and that too at the peace of an individual, whose greatest crime was the possessing a heart “open as day to melting charity.” It is not hearsay that dictates the present note, as the writer, if necessary, could incontestably prove his assertion from a knowledge beyond what casual information could validate. Were I convinced that the author of the Winter in London was capable of cherishing a compunctious yearning, I could tell that which might wring a heart of adamant; but, under the impression that a being composing such a work would perhaps glut his vindictiveness, rather than feel a contrary sentiment, I shall scrupulously refrain from affording him the diabolical gratification.

The reader must be well aware, that the novelists thus chronicled are but as a single grain in the bushel, when compared with the phalanx actually existing; but among the number, how few, let me ask, deserving even a name, are left unrecorded? To such, however, the writer most humbly offers his apology; but for the multitude certainly, to use a common adage, “the least said is the soonest mended,” since nothing interesting to the public, or in the least gratifying to such scribblers, could be conveyed through the medium of my annotations: under this assurance I shall for the present relinquish the pen, trusting that my reasons may appear valid in the eyes of the public.

ANONYMOUS NOVELISTS. Among anonymous effusions of the novel class, I cannot refrain from quoting a work, entitled Thinks I to myself, the sale of which has been commensurate with the merits of the production, the volumes in question having passed through no less than nine editions. As the writer wishes to remain unknown, I shall not here insert his name, though he has no cause to seek concealment when considered in the light of an author. For the benefit of the reader, however, I beg to remark, that the individual to whom we are indebted for this production is very intimate with a Justice of the Peace in the vicinity of Covent Garden, and that he claims some relationship to a conspicuous family in the neighbourhood of Woodstock.