ON AMERICAN WRITERS. NE is continually hearing more or less, about American literature, of late, as if there were any such thing in the world as American literature; or any such thing in the United States of North America, as a body of native literature-the production of native writers-bearing any sort of national character, either of wisdom or beauty-heavy or light-or having any established authority, even among the people of the United States. And go where one will, since the apparition of one American writer among us, (of whom a word or two more by and by,) some half-a-dozen stories and story-books; a little good poetry, (with some very bad poems;) four or five respectable, and as many more trumpery novels-with a book or two about theology-one is pretty sure to hear the most ridiculous and exaggerated misrepresentations, one way or the other, for or against American authorship, as if American authorship (so far as it goes) were anything different from English, or Scotch, or Irish authorship; as if there were any decided nationality in the style or manner of a book-maker in America who writes English, or endeavours to write English-to set him apart, or istinguish him from a book-maker in he United kingdom, who is engaged n the same business. With two exceptions, or at the most three, there is no American writer who would not pass just as readily for an English writer, as for an American, whatever were the subject upon which he was writing; and these three are PAULDING, NEAL, and CHARLES BROCKDEN BROWN, of whom we shall speak separately in due time. We have hitherto underrated, or, more properly speaking, overlooked the American writers. But we are now running into a contrary extreme; abundantly overrating some, and in a fair way, if a decided stand be not taken against the popular infatuation, of neglecting our own for the encouragement of American talent. Give the Americans fair play that we owe to ourselves. Deal justly with all who venture upon the peril ous life of authorship-a life that ends oftener than any other in a broken heart, or a disordered mind-that we owe to humanity. But if we would not over-cuddle the young American writers; kill them with kindness; turn their heads with our trumpeting, or produce a fatal revulsion in the popular mind, let us never make a prodigious fuss about any American book, which, if it were English, would produce little or no sensation. It is the sure way to defeat our own plans in the long run, however profound our calculations may be. after all,-even for booksellers. Honesty is the best policy It is only insulting the Americans, whom we desire to conciliate by our gentlemanly candour, if we so cry up any tolerable book of theirs, as if it were a wonder to meet with anything tolerable from an American writer. These noisy rushes of popularity affronting to our countrymen and to never do any good. They are alike the Americans; injurious to our literary men, and ruinous to theirs. They discourage ours, and spoil theirs; or, what is quite sure to be fatal, they provoke a calm, severe investigation of the grounds upon which judgment has been rendered. American writers in every branch of The truth is, that there are more literature, and they are more respectable, ten times over, than our country. men would readily believe: but then, there is no one of them whose works would abide a temperate, firm, unsparing examination, as a standard in its way, much less a conspiracy to write it down. We happen to know something of the matter, and without any professions of impartiality, (leaving our behaviour to speak for us on that score,) shall proceed in arranging it systematically, after a few observations. Our arrangement will be alphabeti the name of any American author, cal, so that those who happen to know t may American Writers. be able to tell, at a glance, what he has written; while others who know only the work, by referring to the title of the class, may learn the name of the author. Some of these American writers have been very popular of late, and all are aiming to become so-as who, indeed, is not, even among our own countrymen! But let them be wary. Nothing is more short-lived than violent popularity. It is the tempestuous brightness of a moment—a single moment only-the sound of passing music-the brief blossoming of summer flowers. Let them remember, that there is one law of nature, which governs alike through all creation. It is one to which all things, animate and inanimate, are subject; and which, if it were thought of, would make men tremble at sudden popularity. It is this-That which is a given time in coming to maturity, shall abide a like time without beginning to decay; and be a like time again in returning to the earth. It is a law alike of the animal, the vegetable, and the mineral kingdom, applicable alike to the productions of nature and of art. The longest-lived animals are the longest in coming to maturity. Diamonds, it is thought, since the discoveries of Professor Silliman, may require ages to consummate their virtues; other crystals are formed instantaneously. But the diamond is indestructible, and the latter dissolve in your breath. Some islands are formed by accretion, and others are thrown up all at once from the bottom of the ocean. Ages and ages will pass away, without obliterating the vestiges of the former, while the others will disappear as they came, in a single night, leaving no record of their having been, but in the sea-legend of the mariner, or in the conflicting testimony of men upon the same voyage, who had hardly ever lost sight of one another, as their great ships went over the place of contention. Cities, that are whole centuries in building, flourish for centurics, and are centuries in dropping away; Let no man be in a hurry about Why is it that we are astonished at the first efforts of the unknown? It is for that very reason-it is because they are unknown. They have grown up in "brave neglect," in wind and storm; disclosed their powers unexpectedly, without being intimidated or abashed by observation, or worried and fretted with public guardianship. It were better for the very giants to be unknown; and better for all, who would have their progeny either grand or beautiful, to bring forth all their young in the solitude, or the mountain. The world, and the temptations of the world, only enfeeble and enervate them. A sickly off spring is produced with more hardship in the crowded atmosphere of a city, than young lions in the wilderness. Why is it that the sons of extraordinary men do not more frequently grow to the stature of their fathers? It is because they are intimidated and discouraged by continual comparison with their fathers: It is because they are awed and pestered out of their natural way, by the perpetual guardianship of that public, who never fail to spoil whatever they take a liking to: It is because they are overshadowed by the giants of whom they are born, and compared every hour, from their childhood up, with great fullwould grown men, who, if they had been watched over in the same way, never have been full-grown men. Few things under heaven will endure the guardianship of a multitude, and fewer still, their tyranny and caprice. The plants of genius, like children or costly flower-trees, may require continual attention, but then it is not the attention of the world-that only spoils them-it is the attention of the few, the sincere, and the delicate. Why is it, that we are continually amazed at the first efforts-and with only the first efforts of a thousand wonderful young men? It is because they were not popular. It is because we expected nothing from them, and they knew it. After their first essay, no matter in what department of art or science, they were known-and of course popular. Our expectations became unreasonable; we worked them beyond all decency,-all humanity. We called upon them to produce, in a few years, or perhaps a few months, amid the bustle, strangeness, and confusion of a great city, that which would be more wonderful than their first effort, though that had been the production of many years, in the spring-time of their heart's valour in solitude-and had appeared even to ourselves miraculous. So with all mankind. They never permit the same person to astonish them a second time, if they know it. To be astonished, indeed!—what is it but an imputation upon their breeding,foresight, wisdom, and experience? So they set their faces against it. They seek, as it were, to avenge themselves for having been surprised into anything so ungenteel as a stare, (of astonishment, I mean,) by resolving never to be caught again-by him -whatever he may do. Let him do better a second time, and he will appear to do worse. Do what he will, they are, and always will be, disappointed. But it is a thousand to one that he does worse. He becomes, on a second appearance, neither one thing nor another. One minute he will repeat himself; the next he will imitate himself, with variations, in those passages, attitudes, and peculiarities, which have taken well; then he will be caught with a sudden whim, (like an only child,) trusting to the partiality of his friends, or to his reputation for genius or eccentricity-coquetting timidly with popular favour, in awkward imitation of established favourites, who do what they please, and are liked the better for it; then, without any sort of notice or preparation, he will be seized with a sudden paroxysm of originality. He springs into his saddle-up goes the whip, and he precipitates himself, head foremost, at some object, which other people dare not venture upon. But, just at the critical moment, just when nothing but desperation can carry him through, his heart fails him, he pulls up, (like the inexperienced rider, who gives whip and spur over the field, and check at a five-bar gate;) and finishes the adventure either by shutting his eyes and breaking his neck, or by turning aside with a laugh that is anything but natural or hearty, or with some unprofitable appeal to the indulgence of a jaded and disappointed public, as if any public ever cared a farthing for one of their pets, after a tumble or a balk. The unknown do well at first, because they are unknown; because nothing was expected of them; because they had everything to gain, and nothing to lose. That made them fearless of heart. And they do badly, in a second effort, because their whole situation is reversed; because they are known-because too much is expected of them; and because, in one word, they have everything to lose, and nothing to gain. That very reputation, in the pursuit of which they have accomplished incredible things-when overtaken, is a crushing load-a destroying power, upon all their finer and more sensible faculties. Hence it is, that some distinguished men (like Scott and Byron) so often venture anonymously, or under fictitious, names, into the field, whenever they begin to distrust the partiality of the public, or to suspect the mischievous influence of that partiality, upon themselves, or their weapons. There is no other way to reassure their own hearts, when they begin to doubt a diminution of edge or power-they must on with their ponderous armour once more-away from the banquetting place—and scour the world anew, under a blank pennon, or a blank shield: and hence is it, that the course of others (like Moore and Southey) is one eternal zig-zag-through every kind of prose, and every kind of poetry-on every subject-now on one side of the question-now on the other. All are striving by these expedients to avoid the inevitable catastrophe of popular favour: to prolong their dominion; to keep off the evil day; when, whatever may have been their merit, their thrones will be demolished; their crowns trampled on, and their sceptres quenched, by that very multitude who have built pyramids, and burnt incense to them. The world are unreasonable; and always unmerciful to the second essay of every man-(that is, to his next effort after that which has made him known) but they always appear to the candidate himself, of course, far more unreasonable and unmerciful than they are. And hence is it, that ninetynine times out of one hundred, nothing more is ever heard of him. He generally perishes in obscurity, sore and sick at heart, or dies cursing the caprice of the world.-Indeed-indeed -that reputation is not worth having which can be easily obtained. The truth is, that we dread this kind of popularity, not only for others, but, strange as it may seem, for ourselves; and we would seriously admonish all young writers to be on their guard against it-never to relax -never to lie upon their oars. Beside, there is a kind of reputation that rises about one, like the sea, while, to the common observer who looks only at the surface, it may appear to be receding and there is another, which goes on slowly, accumulating against the barriers and obstacles which oppose it, until they give way on every side at last, and only serve to augment the power and impetus of that which has overborne them. : But, while we put those who are popular upon their guard against popularity; and apprise others, who are slowly and silently making their way into popular favour, of how much they have to be thankful for, in the neglect of the public-we may as well add a word or two of encouragement for all, by assuring them that the multitude are never long insensible to extraordinary power; that sooner or later, opportunity will arrive to the watchful and brave; that those who deserve to succeed, will, one day or other, succeed; and that good sense, enthusiasm, perseverance, and originality, combined, are never unsuccessful, or out of fashion for a long time together. Now, then, for the American Writers, whom we shall introduce as we have said before, in alphabetical order. ADAMS JOHN QUINCY-Son of JOHN ADAMS, late President of the United States America-is himself one of the candidates (of whom we gave some account in a late Number) for the next Presidency.-There is little or no doubt of his election, at this time. Mr. Adams was born in New-England; educated at Harvard University; made no great figure there; studied law; wrote some common-place poetry; (which has been recently reproduced by certain of his political partizans, in aid of his pretensions to the chair; (as if the writing of tolerable poetry were a serious qualification for the office of a chief magistrate over ten millions of people:) and went forthwith into political training, under the eyes of some American minister, to some European court. Mr. Adams is a fine scholar; a capital politician; an admirable writer; and a profound statesman. He has lived nearly all his life in the courts of Europe; and is familiar with all the trick and accomplishment of diplomacy, without having been corrupted by it. He has written only one book; but that comes nearer to the character of a standard in its way, than any other American work, except the Federalist, which is, and very deservedly too, a sort of national boast in America. This book, by Mr. Adams, is a series of lectures upon judicial and popular eloquence, delivered by himself at |