Now here we have a strange inconsistency, for why should the Edinburgh Review, if the work be really what he a.s.serts it to be, "light and trifling," etcetera, waste so much powder and shot upon a tomt.i.t? Why has he dedicated twenty-seven pages of ponderous verbosity to so light and trifling a work? How seldom is it that the pages of the Quarterly or Edinburgh condescend to notice even the very best of light literature! Do they not, in their majesty, consider it _infra dig_. to review such works, and have not two or three pages bestowed upon them been considered as an immense favour on their part, and a high compliment to the authors? Notwithstanding which, we have here _twenty-seven pages of virulent attack_ upon my light and trifling work.

Does not the Edinburgh reviewer at once shew that the work is not light and trifling? does he not contradict his own a.s.sertions, by the labour and s.p.a.ce bestowed upon it? nay, more, is it not strange that he should think it necessary to take the unfair advantage of reviewing a work before it is half finished, and pounce upon the first portion, with the hopes of neutralising the effects which he evidently dreads from the second.

I will answer the question for him. He indulges in his precipitate and unmeasured attacks, because he feels that the work is written in a style that will induce every one to read it; because he feels a.s.sured that the occasional, and apparently careless. .h.i.ts at democracy, are only preparatory to others more severe, and that these will come out in the second part, which will be read with as much avidity as the first. He perceives the drift of the work; he feels that it has been purposely made amusing, and that it will be more injurious to the cause which the Edinburgh Review upholds than a more laboured treatise; that those who would not look at a more serious work will read this, and that the opinions it contains will be widely disseminated, and impressed without the readers being aware of it; moreover, that it will descend to a cla.s.s of readers who have hitherto been uninformed upon the subject: in short, he apprehends the greater danger to his cause from the work having, as I have said, been made amusing, and from its being in appearance, although not in reality, "light and trifling."

I candidly acknowledge that the Reviewer is right in his supposition: my great object has been to do serious injury to the cause of democracy.

To effect this, it was necessary that I should write a book which should be universally read--not merely by the highly educated portion of the community, for they are able to judge for themselves; but _read by every tradesman and mechanic_; pored over even by milliners' girls, and boys behind the counter, and thumbed to pieces in every petty circulating library. I wrote the work with this object, and I wrote accordingly.

Light and trifling as it may appear to be, every page of it (as I have stated) has been the subject of examination and deliberation: it has given me more trouble than any work I ever wrote; and, my labour having been so far crowned with success, I trust that I shall have "done the State some service." [See Note 1.] The review in the Edinburgh will neither defeat nor obstruct my purpose, as that publication circulates chiefly among those cla.s.ses who have already formed their opinions; and I have this advantage over it, that, as for one that reads the Edinburgh Review, fifty will read my work, so will fifty read my reply who will never trouble themselves about the article in the Edinburgh Review.

And now let us enter a little into detail. The Reviewer finds great fault with my introduction, as being wholly irrevelant to the Diary which follows it. I admit, that if it were an introduction to the Diary alone, there then would be some justice in his remark. But such is not the case: an introduction is, I believe, generally understood to refer to the _whole_ of the work, not a portion of it; and now that the work is complete, I leave it to the public to decide whether the introduction is suitable or not, as bearing upon the whole. I believe, also, it is the general custom to place an introduction at the commencement of a work; I never heard of one being introduced into the middle or at the end of it. The fault, therefore, of its imputed irrelevancy is not mine: it is the Reviewer's, who has thought proper to review the work before it was complete. He quotes me, as saying, "_Captain Marryat's object was to examine and ascertain what were the effects of a democratic form of government upon a people which, with all its foreign admixture, may still be considered as English_;" and then, without waiting till I have completed my task, he says, that the present work "has nothing, or next to nothing, to do with such an avowal." Whether such an a.s.sertion has any thing to do with the work now that it is completed, I leave the public to decide. The Reviewer has no excuse for this illiberal conduct, for I have said, in my Introduction, "In the arrangement of this work, I have considered it advisable to present to the reader first, those portions of my Diary which may be interesting, and in which are recorded _traits_ and _incidents_ which will _bear strongly upon the commentaries I shall subsequently make_;"

notwithstanding which the reviewer has the mendacity to a.s.sert that, "not until the last paragraph of the last volume, does he learn for the first time that the work is not complete." I will be content with quoting his own words against him--"_An habitual story teller_ prefers _invention_ to description."

The next instance of the Reviewer's dishonesty is, his quoting a portion of a paragraph and rejecting the context. He quotes, "I had not been three weeks in the country before I decided upon accepting no more invitations, charily as they were made," and upon this quotation he founds an argument that, as I did not enter into society, I could of course have no means of gaining any knowledge of American character or the American inst.i.tutions. Now, if the reviewer had had the common honesty to finish the paragraph, the reason why I refused the invitations would have been apparent; "because I found that, although invited, my presence was a restraint upon the company, and every one _was afraid to speak_." Perhaps the sagacity of the Reviewer will explain what information I was likely to gain from people who would not open their mouths. Had he any knowledge of the Americans, he would admit that they never will venture to give their opinions _in the presence of each other_; it was not that they were afraid of _me_, but of each other, as Monsieur de Tocqueville has very truly pointed out in his work. Moreover, I have now, for the first time, to learn that the best way of arriving at the truth is to meet people who are on their guard, and whose object is to deceive.

There is a malevolent feeling in the a.s.sertion, that I have treated _all_ other previous writers on America with contempt; and here again he intentionally quotes falsely. My words are "the _majority_ of those who have preceded me." As nearly as I can reckon, there have been about fifty works published on America, out of which there are not _ten_ which deserve attention; and the ample quotations I have made from Monsieur de Tocqueville, Captain Hamilton, and others, in corroboration of my own opinions, fully evince the respect I have for their writings. In fact, the whole article is a tissue of falsehood and misrepresentation, and so weak that hardly one of its positions is tenable. Can any thing be more absurd, or more shallow, than to quote the Mississippi scheme and Mr Law as a proof that the French are, as well as the English and Americans, a _speculative nation_: one solitary instance of a portion of the French having, about sixty or seventy years ago, been induced to embark their capital, is brought forward, while the abject supineness of the French population of Lower Canada, in juxta-position with the energy and enterprise of the Americans, has for half a century stared us in the face.

The Reviewer has the kindness repeatedly to inform me that I have been hoaxed by the Americans, and, most unfortunately for himself, he has brought forward the "Original Draft of the Declaration of Independence"

as a proof of it. That he would be very glad to prove it to be a hoax, I believe; as it is a sad discovery, and one which the American democrats should have kept secret. That the Americans did hoax Miss Martineau, and that they would have hoaxed me if they could, I admit, but even the Reviewer must acknowledge that they would not _hoax_ themselves. Now it so happens, that this doc.u.ment, which has not long been discovered, is in the splendid public library of Philadelphia: it has been carefully preserved in a double plate-gla.s.s frame, so as to be read on both sides without handling; it is expensively mounted, and shewn to every visitor as a great curiosity, as it certainly is, the authenticity of it being undeniable, and acknowledged by the Americans.

The paragraph which was expunged is verbatim as I gave it--a paragraph which affords more proof, if further proof were necessary, that Jefferson was one of the most unprincipled men who ever existed. The Reviewer recommends my perusal of the works of this "_great and good man_," as Miss Martineau calls him. I suspect that I have read more of Mr Jefferson and other American authors than ever the Reviewer has; and I consider the writings of this Father of Democracy, opposed to his private life, to be a remarkable _type_ of democracy in _theory_ and in _practice_. To borrow a term from the Reviewer, those writings are "_brave words_" to proceed from an infidel, who proved his ardent love of liberty by allowing his own children to be put up to auction at his death, and wear away their existence in misery and bondage. I cannot help here observing a _trifling inconsistency_ on the part of the Reviewer. After lauding the Father of Democracy, and recommending me to read his works; after sneering at our aristocracy by observing, "that no _kind_ of virtue that we have heard of can suffer much from the loss of a _court_ and of an _hereditary n.o.bility_;" after, in short, defending and upholding democracy in every page, all of a sudden the Reviewer turns round and says, "_We are no general admirers of democracy_."

Indeed! if not general, you certainly appear to be _particular_ admirers; and if neither general nor particular, may I inquire what the Edinburgh Review has been frothing, fizzing, hissing, and bubbling about, like a tea-kettle in a pa.s.sion, for these last twenty years?

Never was there a more convincing proof of the boldness and arrogance which Reviewers (trusting to the irresponsibility arising from their concealment) a.s.sume, than is afforded by the following pa.s.sage in the Edinburgh article:--

"_An ardent pursuit of wealth and deep religious feelings go very well together_."

It is not for me to reply to the Reviewer in this instance; I must hand him over to higher authority. I must oppose the everlasting doctrines of inspiration to the cold, heartless, and arrogant philosophy of an Edinburgh reviewer. In vain are we again and again forewarned in the Scriptures against the love of money; in vain has our Saviour denounced it; in vain have the apostles followed in his steps. Let the Reviewer, if he ever has looked into the Bible, refer to the epistles to the Colossians and to the Ephesians. St Paul declares that covetousness is _idolatry_. Hear also what he sayeth to Timothy:--

"But they that _wish to be rich_ fall into temptation and a snare, and into many foolish and hurtful l.u.s.ts, which drown men in destruction and perdition." "For the _love of money is the root of all evil_."

Our Divine Master is even more explicit, for he says--"No servant can serve two masters; for either he will _hate_ the one, and _love_ the other; or else he will _hold_ to the one, and _despise_ the other. Ye cannot serve _G.o.d_ and _Mammon_." Thus says our Lord--now hear the Edinburgh Reviewer.--"An ardent _pursuit of wealth_ and _deep religious feelings_ go very well together."

Here the Edinburgh Reviewer has placed himself on the horns of a dilemma. The Holy Writings a.s.sert most positively and repeatedly one thing, while he a.s.serts another. If, therefore, he acknowledge the Scriptures, he must at the same time acknowledge his own grievous error, and, I may add, his deep sin: if, on the contrary, he still hold to his own opinion, hath he not denied his faith, and is he not worse than an infidel?

The reviewer sneers at my observation, that "Washington had no power to control the nature of man." It may be, as he observes, a very _simple_ remark; but, at all events, it has one advantage over his own, which is, that it is a very _true_ one. Miss Martineau makes an observation in her book, which is quite as great a truism as mine; for she also says that "Human nature is the same everywhere."

How far I have succeeded in my a.n.a.lysis of human nature it is not for me to decide; but that it is the same every where I will now venture to support by something more than _a.s.sertion_ on the part of Miss Martineau.

When I was at Boston, in company with some of the young ladies, the conversation turned upon Miss Martineau, with whom they stated that they had been intimate. Naturally anxious to know more of so celebrated a personage, I asked many questions. I was told much to interest me, and, among other little anecdotes, they said that Miss Martineau used to sit down surrounded by the young ladies, and amuse them with all the histories of her former loves. She would detail to them "how Jack sighed and squeezed her hand; how Tom went down on his knees; how d.i.c.k swore and Sam vowed; and how--she was still Miss Martineau." And thus would she narrate and they listen until the sun went down, and the firefly danced, while the frogs lifted up their voices in full concert.

And I said to myself, "Who would have supposed that this Solon in petticoats would ever have dwelt upon her former days of enthusiasm and hope, or have cherished the reminiscences of love? How true it is that _human nature is the same everywhere_."

Once more:--

I was conversing with a lady at New York, who informed me that she had seen a letter from Miss M, written to a friend of hers, after her return to England, in which Miss M declared that her door was so besieged with the carriages of the n.o.bility, that it was quite uncomfortable, and that she hardly knew what to do.

Thinks I to myself, I recollect an old story.

"Oh! Grandmother," cried Tom, running in, out of breath, "there's at least a thousand cats in our garden."--"No, no, Tom," quickly replied, the old lady; "not a thousand, Tom."--"Well I'm sure there's five hundred."--"No, nor five hundred," replied the old lady, not taking her eyes off her knitting.--"Well, then, grandmother, I'm sure there's fifty."--"I don't think there _are_ fifty, Tom."--"Well, at all events, there's _our cat and another_."--"Ah! Tom," replied the old lady, "that _may_ be."

I believe that the carriage of Lord Brougham is occasionally to be seen at the door of Miss Martineau.

But when I heard this I was pleased, for I said to myself, "So, then, this champion of democracy, this scorner of rank and t.i.tle, is flattered by the carriages of the n.o.bility crowding at her door;" and, again I said to myself, "_human nature is the same everywhere_."

But the Reviewer, in his virulence, has not been satisfied with attacking me; he has thought it necessary to libel the whole profession to which I have the honour to belong. He has had the folly and impertinence to make the following remark: "No landsmen can have been on board of a ship a week, without coming to the conclusion that a _sensible house dog_ is more like the people he has left at home than most of his new companions, and that it (the house dog) would be nearly as _capable_ of solving problems on national character."

Indeed!!

Is it possible that the Reviewer should still remain the dupe of such a vulgar error? That at one time it was the custom to send to sea _the fool of the family_, is certain, and had the Reviewer flourished in those days, he would probably have been the one devoted to the service-- but _tempora mutantur_. Is the Reviewer aware that one-half, and certainly the most successful half, of English diplomacy, is now carried on by the admirals and captains, not only in the Mediterranean, but all over the world. Is he aware that when the Foreign Office wishes to do its work cheaply and well, it demands a vessel from the Admiralty, which is made over to that office, and is set down as employed on "particular service:" that during that service the captain acts from instructions given by the Foreign Office alone, and has his cabin piled with voluminous doc.u.ments; and that, like the unpaid magistracy of England, we sailors do all the best of the work, and have nothing but our trouble for our pains. Nay, even the humble individual who pens this remonstrance was for months on this very service, and, when it was completed, the Foreign Office expressed to the Admiralty its satisfaction at his conduct during his short diplomatic career.

_House dogs_! Hear this, ye public of England! A sensible house dog is to be preferred to St Vincent, Nelson, Collingwood, Exmouth, and all those great men who have aided their country as much with their pen as with their sword; as much by their acuteness and firmness in diplomacy, as by their courage and conduct in action.

Now, Mr Reviewer, don't you feel a little ashamed of yourself? Would you really like to give up your name as the author of this bare-faced libel? Would you like openly to a.s.sert that such is your opinion, and that you will stand by it?

No liberal, high-minded man, whatever his politics may have been, has ever refused to do justice to a service which has been the bulwark of England. Lord Brougham has lately published a work containing the lives of celebrated persons in the reign of George the Third. I will just quote a few pa.s.sages from his life of Lord St Vincent.

"The present sketches would be imperfect if Lord St Vincent were pa.s.sed over in silence, for he was almost as _distinguished_ among the _statesmen_, as the _warriors_ of the age.

"A _statesman_ of profound views and of penetration, hardly _equalled_ by any other man of his time.

"But the consummate vigour and wisdom of his proceedings during the dreadful period of the mutiny, are no less a theme of wonder and of praise.

"When the Addington ministry was formed, he was placed at the head of the Admiralty; and now shone forth in all its l.u.s.tre that great capacity for affairs with which he was endowed by nature, and which ample experience of men, habits of command, and an extended life of deep reflection, had matured.

"The _capacity of a statesman_ and the valour of the hero, outshone by the magnanimous heart which beats only to the measures of generosity and justice."

Here, again, the Reviewer is in what the Yankees would call an "everlasting awkward fix;" for he contradicts Lord Brougham, the patron and sole supporter of his fast-waning review, without the aid of whose admirable pen, it would long ago have gone to its proper place. He must now either admit that he is himself wrong, or that it is Lord Brougham who is in error. He has but to choose.

I have but one more remark to make upon the review itself. At the close of it, the Reviewer observes, that my remarks upon the marine are interesting and useful. How does he know? Upon his own argument, if we house dogs are not competent upon sh.o.r.e matters, he must be equally ignorant of anything connected with our profession; and I therefore consider it a piece of unpardonable presumption on the part of a _land lubber_ like him to offer any opinion on the subject.

The Reviewer, whoever it may be, has proved himself wholly incompetent to his task; he has attacked, but has yet to learn the art of parrying, as has been proved by his laying himself so open. His blows have been stopped, and, without giving, he has received severe punishment. I am the more surprised at this, as I really considered that there was a certain tact in the Edinburgh Review, which enabled it to know where to direct the blow, so as to make it tell; a species of professional knowledge proper to executioners, reviewers, and cab-drivers, and which may be summed up in the following axiom: "The great art of flogging is, to know where to find a bit of _raw_."

So little have I felt the castigation intended, that I have had some compunction in administering this discipline to the Reviewer in return.

Surely the _Edinburgh Review_ can put a better head on, when it takes notice of this second portion of my work? I will give it an anecdote.

A lady of my acquaintance was blessed with a son, then about three years old. She was very indulgent, and he was very much spoiled. At last he became so unmanageable that she felt it was her imperative duty to correct him. She would as soon have cut off her right arm, but that would not have mended the matter, nor the child. So one day, when the young gentleman had been more than usually uproarious, she pulled up his petticoats and administered what _she_ considered a most severe infliction. Having so done, with a palpitating heart she sat down to recover herself, miserable that she had been compelled to punish, but attempting to console herself with the reflection that she had done her duty. What then was her surprise to have her reveries interrupted by the young urchin, who, appearing only to have been _tickled_, came up to her, and laying down his head on her lap, pulled up his coats, and cried, "More whipping, Ma; please, more whipping." So weak has been the wrist, whether it be feminine or not, that has applied the punishment, that I also feel inclined to exclaim with the child, "More whipping, (Miss Martineau?) please, more whipping."

The Reviewer has p.r.o.nounced that "_no author is cleverer than his works_." If no author be cleverer than his works, it is equally certain that _no reviewer is cleverer than his review_. Does the Reviewer recollect the fable of the jacka.s.s who put on the lion's skin? Why did he not take warning from the fabled folly of his ancestor and _hold his tongue_? He might still have walked about and have been supposed to be a Reviewer.

He a.s.serts that I am not capable of serious reflection: he is mistaken.

I have seldom cut the leaves of the _Edinburgh_, having been satisfied with looking at its outside, and thinking how very appropriate its colours of _blue and yellow_ were to the opinions which it advocates.

But at times I have been more serious. I have communed with myself as it lay before me, and I have mentally exclaimed:--Here is a work written by men whom the Almighty has endowed with talents, and who will, if there be truth in Scripture, have to answer for the talents committed to their keeping,--yet these men, like madmen, throw about fire, and cry it is only in sport; they uphold doctrines as pernicious as, unfortunately, they are popular; disseminate error under the most specious guise; wage war against the happiness of their fellow-creatures, unhinging society, breeding discontent, waving the banner of infidelity and rebellion, and inviting to anarchy and bloodshed. To such prost.i.tution of talent to this work of the devil, they are stimulated by their pride and their desire of gain! And I have surmised that hereafter they _will have_ their reward; but, remembering that we are forbid to judge, I have checked my thoughts as they have turned upon what might hereafter be the portion below of--an Edinburgh Reviewer.

Note 1. A very acute reviewer has observed of my first portion, that there always appeared as if there was something _left behind and not told_. He was right; I have entered into every subject just as deeply as I dared to venture, without wearying the cla.s.s of readers for whom, although not avowedly, yet in reality, the work has chiefly been written. The second portion will therefore be found almost as light and trifling as the first.

VOLUME THREE, CHAPTER TWELVE.