THE PROSE WRITERS OF AMERICA.* Castrant alios, ut libros suos, per se graciles, alieno adipe suffarciant. JOVIUS. WE once read a story of a little boy who was found sitting by the sea-shore with a tiny shell in his hand, and dipping the water into a cavity which he had scooped out of the sand. A scholar who had sought the solitude of the ocean, that he might meditate undisturbed, observed the child, and for a long time watched his actions. At length he approached and asked him why he dipped the water so industriously from the sea into that cavity. He replied that he was emptying the ocean into it. He had a sand hole to pour the tides of the deep into, and a scollop to do it with, and grave from a sense of his responsibility, he labored with a solemnity that became the great task of transferring and condensing the ocean. That boy, we think, must be the author of the "Prose Writers of America." A man who has never produced a book of his own composition-never added to our literature a single valuable paper-who, we are *The Prose Writers of America, with a Survey of the Intellectual History, Condition, and Prospects of the Country, by Rufus Wilmot Griswold. Carey & Hart, Philadelphia. informed, never received even a liberal educationsits down to survey our literature, classify our writers, gauge their relative merits, and give them their status in the temple of fame. Holding a quasi position among authors and in literature, he arrogates to be the arbiter of both, and speaks ex cathedra of such men as Dr. Edwards, Daniel Webster, William Channing, Clay, Calhoun, Marshall, Prescott, Irving, Cooper, and a host of others, who have adorned our history. Equal to all departments, he tells us the merits of works on theology, metaphysics, law, chemistry, meteorology, ornithology, comedy, tragedy, fictiondiscusses all art and all philosophy "acuta cum gravibus temperans" with the gravity of the child dipping up the sea with a shell. He is at home in everything, and like Dr. Hornbook, "Of a' dimensions shapes, an' whittles A' kinds o' boxes, mugs and bottles. Their Latin names as fast he rattles As A, B, C. The compiler, amid the authors he has gathered. around him, appears like a clown in the circus, performing such strange and unexpected feats that he draws peals of laughter from the audience. A small crucible is shown to the spectators, into which the exhibitor tells them he is going to cram for their amusement Edwards, Webster, Clay, Hamilton, Marshall, Audubon, Cooper, etc., etc., and reproduce them sound, and sounder than before. First Webster is thrown in, and Mr. Griswold, while the process of smelting is going on, amuses the audience with a concise biography of the illustrious man. The massive head of the great statesman at length reappears, and as the performer seizes him and plants him on the stage, he says, "with features grave and head erect," "Of Daniel Webster as an author, we may speak in every presence with unhesitating freedom. By whatever circumstances educed, his works are vital in every part. His mind is of the foremost rank. If I were to compare him to any foreigner, it would be to Burke." Mr. Webster will do. Next follows Channing, and when, after a running commentary on his life, his serene brow emerges into view, the audience is informed that this gentleman had neither the learning nor the metaphysical power to be a great theologian. His mind without being the first, was of a very high order, his taste was elegant, but not faultless. His works will undoubtedly fail to sustain his reputation as a thinker and a man of letters." Evanescet the mild face of Channing, while the performer bows as the great moralist disappears, as much as to say "he is probably surprised, but I often surprise men." Next Judge Story is handed in, and the same process having been gone through, the astonished spectators are told that "with vast learning, strong sense, reasoning powers of a high order, and generally correct taste, he would have been eminently respectable in any field of intellectual exertion; but he had too little, both of metaphysical power and imagination to make a deep and lasting impression." The phrase "eminently respectable,” though entirely new, was a decided hit, and Judge Story departed labelled "EMINENTLY RESPECTABLE." Timothy Dwight is flung into the crucible, and almost instantly re-appears, and is dismissed with "The style of Dr. Dwight is fluent, graceful, picturesque and glowing, but diffuse. The erasure of redundances would render it much more vigorous and attractive. * * Hardly a discourse, or essay, or letter can be pointed to in all his works, the effect of which is not injured by superfluous epithets." Mr. Bryant is an editor, and may have something to say about this exhibition, and he is bowed off the stage, while the audience is informed that a beautiful edition of his poems can be bought at Carey & Hart's, Philadelphia, where also the "Prose Writers of America" is published. Mr. Sparks is pronounced a very industrious man and a commendable writer. William Wirt fares poorly, and as he stands with his beaming face before the spectators, Mr. Griswold profoundly remarks, "Of his literary merits I do not think highly. His abilities were more brilliant than solid. He had a rapid but not skillful command of language, a prolific but not a correct fancy, and his opinions were generally neither new nor striking." Mr. Bancroft is treated patronizingly, Mr. Cooper with downright encouragement, and Richard H. Dana is informed that he, the performer, is about the only man in the Union capable of appre ciating him. Charles Brockden Brown's works, we are told, would be vastly improved by a judicious proof reader, and thus seventy are exhibited to the public, "revised, corrected," given their just rank and labelled for future generations. The crucible is then inverted to show there has been no trickery in the performance, for it is indisputably empty. But seriously, the presumption that could attempt such a work, is saved from the deepest condemnation only by the broad comedy into which it passes. To behold one attempt to gauge minds in which he could. revolve for cycles without finding the outer limit, reminds us of the Lilliputians applying their measurements to Gulliver, and expressing their opinions about the size and proportions of his body. As Mr. Griswold openly uses the product of other people's brains for his works-in short, makes his "bread and butter" out of their writings, we should not have the least objection to his getting up an edition of the "Prose Writers of America," in which, after a modest preface becoming his education and literary position, he gave a biographical notice of the several authors, and extracts from their works. It is true we have rather an indifferent opinion of such works in general, but if a man can make money or reputation by them, he injures no one. It is not to this we object, but to the marvellous impertinence of giving his opinions on style and character, and in endeavoring to fix the relative merits of the greatest men the nation has produced. That work belongs not to him, nor to any one |