gcls_courant_028 5

THE COURANT ; A SOUTHERN LITERARY JOURNAL 221

[column 1]

LITERARY NOTICE.
—
"MISS SLIMMEN'S WIDOW, AND OTHER PAPERS, BY MRS. MARK
PEADBODY. New York: Debry & Jackson. M D CC LIX."

Our European critics have no unfrequently asserted that the
American people were not cheerful; nay, that most of us were
absolutely grave, or even morose : that we haev no national
sports, no care for the refinements of music and other Fine
Arts, that social life amongst us is a dreary thing; that, in
fine, we are a very sad and miserable race of creatures, whoses
only thought is the almighty dollar. It is not at all surprising
that a foreigner should so judge of us. The American
people have very little public gayety, and the reason why Europeans
deem us so far benighted as to the true objects of life
is, because they can not penetrate to the family circle or the
small, but very agreeable cliques of neighbours, or persons
who are brought together by sympathy in some common cause.
We have been told, again and again, that our people are lamentably
ignorant of the object which should engage our attention
in this world, to wit, Happiness—instead of pursuing that,
it is money, money, money! No sportive Graces, no laughing
Hours, no bewitching Muses are your's; every where is the
grim statue of Mammon, and what little Fine Art exists,
exists only as a matter of speculation and trade! These are
heavy charges against us, and it must be acknowledged that
there is much turth in them. Our people are too crazy to get
gain, and in that absorbing pursuit, pleasure, and even comfort,
is often sacrificed to the hope of amassing riches. After
a long life, spent in one perpetual dollar-chase, the man having
acquired a large fortune, but never having enjoyed himself as
a rational being should, lies down to die, with the fine prospect
before his eyes, of a badly-educated, vicious and unruly set of
children wasting the fruit of his life-long toil; not to speak
of the uetter unfitness of such a being for his trial of the dread
realities of another world, to which he has never given ten
minutes' thought.

"Happiness," says a great philosopher, "consists in the
virtuous exercise of the domestic affections." By this rule, many
of our people never know one half-hour of it. It is a melancholy
fact that Home is not with us what it should be. "Where
are you going?" asked an old gentleman at a convivial party,
of a young married man who was preparing to retire, "Home,"
replied he, with emphasis. "Bah!" said the other, "you can
go there when you can't go any where else." Is it strange that
Europeans say that there are no homes in America? Men
generally do not care to own their birth-places; we know of
cases where the residences of the owners' ancestors for several
generations, were sold without regret "for a consideration."
Oh, this dollar-worship! how it drives out the human and
makes the brute! How utterly does it expel all nobler feelings,
all refinement, and often honesty itself. Callous, calculating,
heartless, your true dollar-worshipper is a creature not only to
be despised,but to be avoided. He never speaks as if he had
a soul; churches and charities are only elements of speculation;
the family circle is absolutely ignored; no friendship is
sacred, no pledge is binding. He owns no law but the Price-
Current ; he knows no church buy the Bank, he cares for no
God by Mammon! This is the accursed spirit which makes
our people restless, moody, unhappy. No people can be happy
when Day and Night are spent beneath the spell of this diabolical
incubus, this "auri sacra fames."

Now, national literature must reflect, while it will certainly
affect, the national character. Part of our people are of the
money-slaves, and hence, some part of our "Literature'" must
reflect the sourness, the callousness, and the moody, fault-
finding discontent of the Mammonites, who have utterly forgotten
how it is written, "Man shall not live by bread alone;"
the sublime and triumphant argument in favour of rest after
toil, of pleasure after duty, of a home as well as a counting-room.
How will this fell spirit affect our Literature? Alas! we fear
only too much

We have been led into this train of throught, by glancing over
the series of very clever sketches, the name of which heads
this article. We say that the volume is "clever;" but it is
one of that innumerable host, which no man can number, of
which some dozens are issued monthly in this country. It is
of the class of satirical books of the lower order. There is no
wit in it, hardly every any humour; but biting, stinging
sarcasm, and the sharpest, and sometimes the sourest irony
abound. That poor wretch CURTISS, who wrote the "Potiphar
Papers," IKE MARVEL, in his "Lorgnette," and all the rest of
that society-picturing school, whose name is Legion, only reflected
the common talk of people in society. The tone of
criticism among fashionable people is extremely bitter and
sarcastic, and, by consequence, almost always so highly exagerated,
until it reaches to the domains of Falsehood. Every
thing becomes a caricature, and of course, all the effects produced
by such wholesome satiric wit as THACKERAY'S, can never
be expected from such a class of books.

"Miss Slimmens' Window" is not at all a remarkable book:
the hits are many of them pretty good, but blunders in the
King's English are quite too common in every-day life to be
very amusing in the mouth of Miss Slimmens. This book is
one of the bast body of writings which reflect the sour and
miserable

[column 2]

spirit of money-getting, in Literature. (We detest to
use the word in such connection, but everything is "Literature"
now-a-days, from the Elementary Spelling-Book and the
"Cooks' Assistant" up to the "Nicomachaen Ethics.")

We don't recommend any body to buy this unhealthy style of
books—"What Will He Do With It?" of BULWER, is worth a
world of them. But if any body should like to peruse some
short, clever, and tart sketches, "Miss Slimmens" will be
found at the store of P. B. GLASS.

For the Courant.

"We ought to inquire what provision can be made against Old Age,
that time of distress? What happiness can be stored up against
the Winter of Life? And how we may pass our latter years with
serenity and cheerfulness."—DR. JOHNSON.

I do not know but that the pride of modern science and
knowledge has cause many to overlook their obligations to
the great thinkers of antiquity. I have no such a reverence
for the ancients as to believe that the whole field of thought
has been explored by them; nor, on the other hand to
[there is a line drawn in pencil leading up to the upper margin to the page there the words "can I" are written in pencil] conclude
that the noble Temple of Knowledge, which now pierces
the skies, would be shorn of none of its beauty and proportions,
if we take from it the contributions of former times.
There is something inpsiring in the reflection that mankind
forms a common brotherhood; that the chain which connects
the present with past generations is unbroken; and that, under
the providence of God, the great labours of humanity which are
begun at one period are left for their consummation to future
ages. No reflecting man will deny that the beginning of
knowledge was contemporaneous with the human race. The
history of the world proves that the contributions are greater
at some periods than at others; that there are epochs characterized
by great mental activity and progress; and epochs, too,
at which it would seem knowledge had lost its attractions, and
the darkness of ignorance had overspread the earth.

I must ask the reader to turn with me for a few meoments to
one of those bright periods, and contemplate one of those rare
men whose fame is not bounded by the narrow limits of his
own age and country, but which is alike the common heritage
of ancient and modern times. I desire him to glance at the the
picture of that renowned person who was unsurpassed as an
epistolary writer, orator and ethical philosopher, and who added
to these rich intellectual attractions the charm of the most
exalted public and private virtues; of that man of whom it was
said, by John Quincy Adams, that "he presents the most perfect
example of the rare and spelndid combination—universal
genius and indefatigable application—which the annals of the
world can produce." Need I tell the reader that I allude to the
immortal TULLY? Of his many valuable writings it is not my
purpose to speak. They have been translated into every language,
and the learning of the most profound scholars has been
expended in their illustration. I shall select for my very imperfect
commentary one which I conceive has receieved less
general attention that the others, but which, I think, is one of
the most precious gems which we have derived from antiquity
—I mean the treatise "On Old Age." The interest is very
much enhanced by the circumstance that the author experienced
special pleasure in its composition, and that its consolations
were so great as to make him forget the infirmities of old age.

There is another fact well worthy of notice in the connection.
It was written at a most perilous period of the Roman
Commonwealth. Julius Caesar was just assassinated; the
country was rent by the most reckless factions, and no man had
a deeper personal interest, or more at stake in the momentous
issues, than Cicero himself. It was at such a time that he set
himself to the task of this, and others of his immortal works,
that he might bequeath to his countrymen and posterity the
rich fruits of his experience and reflection. If my reader
will look at this with the eye with which I contemplate it, he
will agree with me that there is a measure of majesty and sublimity
about it which almost places the immortal Roman above
the level of humanity. What must have been the strength of
that mind, the resources, of that philosophy, which could have
enabled him at such a time to have withdrawn to his beloved
retirement, and, forgetting every thing else, to devote his noble
energies to calm and lofty mediations!

The treatise "On Old Age" is not so much a dialogue as
a discourse, delivered by Cato, the Censor, at the request of
Scipio and Laelius. Cato was then a very advanced age, and,
exempt from its usual infirmities, was still cheerful and happy.
There was propriet, then, in making him declare the sources
of his consolations. Scipio remarks to Cato that he and his
friend Laelius have ever been impressed by his superior wisdom,
and more particularly by perceiving that old age had not
been to him, as to most old men, burdensome and disagreeable.
Cato's reply reaches the highest point of philosophy; and it is
in substance, that every age is burdensome to those who have
no resources in themselves for living will and happily. This
is a great furth, which must commend itself to the Christian
moralist. Happiness must not be sought from without;
from the accident of external circumstances. Many may be
flattered by all the pomp and pageantry of place and power;
the world may lavish upon him its richest treasures; but who
will insis that these things will impart peace to the troubled
spirit?

[column 3]

Laelius, on behalf of himself and Scipio, expresses the desire
that they may become old men, and begs Cato to declare the
methods by which they may be able to bear the burden of age.
Cato enumerates the principal complaints of old men, and,
with the view of giving the subject an orderly discussion,
classifies them under the following heads, and considers them
in succession: 1. Old age draws us away from active duties,
and permits us no longer to be participants in the stirring
scenes of life. 2. It takes away the strength of youth, and
brings in its stead, infirmities of body. 3. It has no pleasures,
or disqualifies for the enjoyment of sensual gratification; and
lastly, distress and anxiety are caused by the near approach
of death, which, in the case of the old, cannot be far distant.

In answer to the first complain, that old age draws us away
from active duties, it is asked if the duties are meant which
are dicharged by youth and strength. But are the duties of life
confined to this period? Has that man nothing to do whose
life is protracted beyond it? Are there no other duties? Here
the great moralist takes the ground that, notwithstanding the
infirmities of the body, notwithstanding it way be disqualified
for the exertions which depend on youth and strength, the
mind is still left for the display of its energies in fields not less
useful and important. Here, then, is a consolation of the
wisest and noblest character. It is an exalted view of human
nature. Man is not wholly at the mercy of his body, however
much it may contribute as an instrument to his pleasure and
happiness. It has resources of its own, can live within itself,
thus shadowing forth that future state, when, entirely freed
from earthly connection, it will rise a purer and nobler existence.
There are concerens, then for old age; there are concerns
for every stage of life and there is an adaption to the
specific duties of each period. Childhood, youth, manhood,
and old age, have each their peculiar of Providence if it were not
so? And, while the old should not ignorantly conclude that
they are only retained on earth as the chosen victims of despair
and misery and infirmity, let one "take the flattering
unetion to his soul" that the period of his probation has terminated,
and that by reason of bodily infirmity and weight of
years, he is now released from the duties of life. The old,
then, have their duties, as well as the young, and equally terrible
and exacting will be the responsibility if they neglect
them.

But that misery and inaction are not the necessary concomitants
of old age, is disproved by example. We are pointed to
many citizens of Rome who were contented and happy at an
advanced period of life, and who, also rendered the most important
services to the Commonwealth. But subsequent ages
will add force to the argument from example. Chaucer's noblest
production, the "Canterbury Tales," was the child of his old
age; Milton was stricken with years and bodily infirmity when
he proved himself the sublimest of poets; Dryden made no
happier efforts than in his latter days; the intellects of Bacon
and Burke were marked to the last by increasing brilliancy;
and Johnson, in his old age, brought forth his noblest productions.
England's greatest living statesment are old men, and
the immortal trio of our own country continued to the last with
their genius undimmed, and their labours unabated. I may add
that the arduous duties of the two most important offices of the
United States—I mean the Presidency and the office of Secretary
of State—are now discharged by aged men, with a fidelity and
ability rarely qualled.

But is there no escape from that dreaded decay of the intellectual
powers, which, by the world at large, is too apt to be
regarded as inevitable, and the expectation of which so often
haunts, like a hideous spectre, when men are on the verge of
old age? This question has already been answered by the
multitude of examples to the contrary. Let us hear Cicero's
suggestion in the matter, that our readers may have the full
benefit of it: "The intellectual powers," says he, "remain in
the old, provided study and application be kept up; and that
not only in men illustrious and high rank, but also in private
and peaceful life." Of the correctness of this suggestion
I entertain no doubt. It is based upon a most important principle.
Employment for the mind is like food for the body. It
is its natural and healthful stimulus. And it must be the employment
to which it is accustomed. The mind, like the body,
acquires particular habitudes; there is a strict analogy between
them. If i may be permitted to indulge in what may be
regarded as vicious and violent figure of speech, I will add
that, as in certain stomachs a particular kind of food only can
be digested and converted into nutricious chyle, so, likewise, in
individuals, a particular kind of mental food is necessary for
through eleboration and assimilation. The sum of the matter,
then, is, that the necessity for food, for stimulus, is as
pressing in the case of the mind as of the body, and that, if
not duly supplied, both alike sink into weakness and decay.
I pass now to the second complaint against old age : that it
takes away the strength of young, and brings in the stead infirmities
of body. This complaint, he conceives, is as senseless
as would be that of youth, that it had not the strength of the
bull or of the elephant. Our philosopher enforces the Scripture
precept, that we should learn to be content with whatever
God has given us; that what one has he ought to use, and,