Diary in America, Series Two

It is a convincing proof of the ardent love of defamation in this country, that this modern Thersites, who throws the former of that name so immeasurably into the background, has still great sway over men in office; every one almost, who has a character, is afraid of him, and will purchase his silence, if they cannot his good will.

During the crash at New York, when even the suspicion of insolvency was fatal, this miscreant published some of the most respectable persons of New York as bankrupts, and yet received no punishment. His paper is clever, that is certain; but I very much doubt if Bennett is the clever man—and my reason is this, Bennett was for some time in England, and during that time the paper, so far from falling off, was better written than before. I myself, before I had been six weeks in the country, was attacked by this wretch, and, at the same time, the paper was sent to me with this small note on the margin:– “Send twenty dollars, and it shall be stopped.”—“I only wish you may get it,” said I to myself.[10 - Some of the invented calumnies against me found their way to this country. I consider the contents of this chapter to be a sufficient refutation, not only of what has been, but of what will in all probability be hereafter asserted against me by the American press.]

Captain Hamilton, speaking of the newspaper press in America, says—

“In order to form a fair estimate of their merit, I read newspapers from all parts of the union, and found them utterly contemptible, in point of talent, and dealing in abuse so virulent, as to excite a feeling of disgust,—not only with the writers, but with the public which afforded them support. Tried by this standard—and I know not how it can be objected to—the moral feeling of this people must be estimated lower than in any deductions from other circumstances I have ventured to rate it.”

In the following remarks, also, I most cordially agree with him. “Our newspaper and periodical press is bad enough. Its sins against propriety cannot be justified, and ought not to be defended. But its violence is meekness, its liberty restraint, and even its atrocities are virtues, when compared with that system of brutal and ferocious outrage which distinguishes the press in America. In England, even an insinuation against personal honour is intolerable. A hint—a breath—the contemplation even of a possibility of tarnish—such things are sufficient to poison the tranquillity, and, unless met by prompt vindication, to ruin the character of a public man; but in America, it is thought necessary to have recourse to other weapons. The strongest epithets of a ruffian vocabulary are put in requisition.”

It may be asked, how is it possible that an “enlightened nation” can permit such atrocity. It must be remembered, that newspapers are vended at a very low price throughout the States, and that the support of the major portion of them is derived from the ignorant and lower classes. Every man in America reads his newspaper, and hardly any thing else; and while he considers that he is assisting to govern the nation, he is in fact, the dupe of those who pull the strings in secret, and by flattering his vanity, and exciting his worst feelings, make him a poor tool in their hands. People are too apt to imagine that the newspapers echo their own feelings; when the fact is, that by taking in a paper, which upholds certain opinions, the readers are, by daily repetition, become so impressed with these opinions, that they have become slaves to them. I have before observed, that learning to read and write is not education, and but too often is the occasion of the demoralisation of those, who might have been more virtuous and more happy in their ignorance. The other day when I was in a steam-vessel, going down to Gravesend, I observed a foot-boy sitting on one of the benches—he was probably ten or eleven years old, and was deeply engaged in reading a cheap periodical, mostly confined to the lower orders of this country called the Penny Paul Pry. Surely it had been a blessing to the lad, if he had never learnt to read or write, if he confined his studies, as probably too many do, from want of farther leisure, to such an immoral and disgusting publication.

In a country where every man is a politician, and flatters himself that he is assisting to govern the country, political animosities must of course be carried to the greatest lengths, and the press is the vehicle for party violence; but Captain Hamilton’s remarks are so forcible, and so correct, that I prefer them to any I could make myself.

“The opponents of a candidate for office, are generally not content with denouncing his principles, or deducing from the tenor of his political life, grounds for questioning the purity of his motives. They accuse him boldly of burglary or arson, or at the very least, of petty larceny. Time, place and circumstances, are all stated. The candidate for Congress or the Presidency, is broadly asserted to have picked pockets, or pocketed silver spoons, or to have been guilty of something equally mean and contemptible. Two instances of this, occur at this moment to my memory. In one newspaper, a member of Congress was denounced as having feloniously broken open a scrutoire, and having thence stolen certain bills and banknotes; another was charged with selling franks at twopence a piece, and thus coppering his pockets at the expense of the public.”

But let me add the authority of Americans. Mr Webster, in his celebrated speech on the public lands, observes in that powerful and nervous language for which he is so celebrated:– “It is one of the thousand calumnies with which the press teemed, during an excited political canvass. It was a charge, of which there was not only no proof or probability, but which was, in itself, wholly impossible to be true. No man of common information ever believed a syllable of it. Yet it was of that class of falsehoods, which by continued repetition, through all the organs of detraction and abuse, are capable of misleading those who are already far misled, and of farther fanning passion, already kindled into flame. Doubtless, it served in its day, and, in greater or less degree, the end designed by it. Having done that, it has sunk into the general mass of stale and loathed calumnies. It is the very cast-off slough of a polluted and shameless press.” And Mr Cooper observes—“Every honest man appears to admit that the press in America is fast getting to be intolerable. In escaping from the tyranny of foreign aristocrats, we have created in our bosoms a tyranny of a character so insupportable, that a change of some sort is getting indispensable to peace.”

Indeed, the spirit of defamation, so rife in America, is so intimately connected with its principal channel, the press, that it is impossible to mention one, without the other, and I shall, therefore, at once enter into the question.

Defamation is the greatest curse in the United States, and its effects upon society I shall presently point out. It appears to be inseparable from a democratic form of government, and must continue to flourish in it, until it pleases the Supreme to change the hearts of men. When Aristides inquired of the countryman, who requested him to write down his own name on the oyster-shell, what cause of complaint he had against Aristides; the reply given was, “I have none; except, that I do not like to hear him always called the Just.” So it is with the free and enlightened citizens of America. Let any man rise above his fellows by superior talent, let him hold a consistent, honest career, and he is exalted only into a pillory, to be pelted at, and be defiled with ordure. False accusations, the basest insinuations, are industriously circulated, his public and private character are equally aspersed, truth is wholly disregarded: even those who have assisted to raise him to his pedestal, as soon as they perceive that he has risen too high above them, are equally industrious and eager to drag him down again. Defamation exists all over the world, but it is incredible to what an extent this vice is carried in America. It is a disease which pervades the land; which renders every man suspicious and cautious of his neighbour, creates eye-service and hypocrisy, fosters the bitterest and most malignant passions, and unceasingly irritates the morbid sensibility, so remarkable among all classes of the American people.

Captain Hamilton, speaking of the political contests, says, “From one extremity of the Union to the other, the political war slogan is sounded. No quarter is given on either side; every printing press in the United States is engaged in the conflict. Reason, justice, and charity; the claims of age and of past services, of high talents and unspotted integrity, are forgotten. No lie is too malignant to be employed in this unhallowed contest, if it can but serve the purpose of deluding, even for a moment, the most ignorant of mankind. No insinuation is too base, no equivocation too mean, no artifice too paltry. The world affords no parallel to the scene of political depravity exhibited periodically in this free country.”

Governor Clinton, in his address to the legislature in 1828, says—“Party spirit has entered the recesses of retirement, violated the sanctity of female character, invaded the tranquillity of private life, and visited with severe inflictions the peace of families. Neither elevation nor humility has been spared, nor the charities of life, nor distinguished public services,—nor the fire-side, nor the altar, been left free from attack; but a licentious and destroying spirit has gone forth, regardless of everything, but the gratification of malignant feelings and unworthy aspirations.” And in the New York Annual Register, quoted by Captain Hamilton, we have the following remarks: “In conducting the political discussions which followed the adjournment of Congress, both truth and propriety were set at defiance. The decencies of private life were disregarded; conversations and correspondence which should have been confidential, were brought before the public eye; the ruthless warfare was carried into the bosom of private life; neither age nor sex were spared, the daily press teemed with ribaldry and falsehood; and even the tomb was not held sacred from the rancorous hostility which distinguished the presidential election of 1828.”

I have considered it necessary thus to heap authority upon authority, as the subject is one of the most vital importance; and I must first prove the extent of this vice, without the chance of the shadow of contradiction, before I point out its fatal consequences.

That the political animosities arising from a free and enlightened people governing themselves, have principally engendered and fostered this vice, is most certain; and it would be some satisfaction, if, after the hostile feelings had subsided, the hydra also sank to repose.

But this cannot be the case. A vice, like detraction, so congenial to our imperfect natures, is not to be confined to one channel, and only resorted to, as a political weapon, when required. It is a vice which when once called into action, and unchecked by the fear of punishment or shame, must exist and be fed. It becomes a confirmed habit, and the effect upon society is dreadful. If it cannot aim its shafts at those who are in high places, if there is no noble quarry for its weapons, it will seek its food amongst smaller game, for it never tires. The consequence is, that it pervades and feeds upon society—private life is embittered; and, as Mr Cooper most justly observes, “rendering men indifferent to character, and indeed rendering character of little avail.”

Indeed, from the prevalence of this vice, society in America appears to be in a state of constant warfare—Indian warfare, as every one is crouched, concealed, watching for an opportunity to scalp the reputation of his neighbour! They exist in fear and trembling, afraid to speak, afraid to act, or follow their own will, for in America there is no free will. When I have asked why they do not this or that, the reply has invariably been, that they dare not. In fact, to keep their station in society, they must be slaves—not merely slaves, for we are all so far slaves, that if we do that which is not right, we must be expelled from it; but abject and cowardly slaves, who dare not do that which is innocent, lest they should be misrepresented. This is the cause by there is such an attention to the outward forms of religion in the United States, and which has induced some travellers to suppose them a religious people, as if it were possible that any real religion could exist, where morality is at so low an ebb. When I first went to Boston, I did not go to church on the following day. An elderly gentleman called upon and pointed out to me that I had omitted this duty; “but,” continued he, “I have had it put into one of the newspapers that you attended divine service at such a church, so all is right.” All was right; yes, all was right, according to the American’s ideas of “all was right.” But I thought at the time, that my sin of omission was much more venial than his of commission.

When at Detroit, I was attacked in the papers because I returned a few calls on a Sunday. I mention this, not because I was justified in so doing, but because I wish to show the censorship exercised in this very moral country.

The prevalence of this evil acts most unfortunately upon society in other ways. It is the occasion of your hardly ever knowing whom you may, or whom you may not, be on terms of intimacy with, and of the introduction of many people into society, who ought to be wholly excluded. Where slander is so general, when in the space of five minutes you will be informed by one party, that Mr So and So is an excellent person, and by another that he is a great scoundrel, just as he may happen to be on their side or the opposite, in politics, or from any other cause, it is certain that you must be embarrassed as to the person’s real character; and as a really good man may be vituperated, so the reports against one who is unworthy, are as little credited: the fact is, you never know who you are in company with.

Almost all the duels which are so frequent in America, and I may add all the assassinations in the western country, arise principally from defamation. The law gives no redress, and there is no other way of checking slander, than calling the parties to account for it. Every man is therefore ready and armed against his fellow.

Inadvertently affront any party, wound his self-love, and he will immediately coin some malignant report, which is sure to be industriously circulated. You are at the mercy of the meanest wretch in the country; for although praise is received with due caution, slander is everywhere welcomed. An instance occurred with respect to myself. I was at Lexington, and received great kindness and civility from Mr Clay. One day I dined at his table; there was a large party, and at the further end, at a distance where he could not possibly have heard what passed between Mr Clay and me, there sat a young man, whose name is not worth mentioning. When he returned to Louisville, he spread a report that I had grossly insulted Mr Clay at his own table. Now the catalogue of enormities circulated against me was already so extensive, that I was not in very good odour; but Mr Clay is so deservedly the idol of this State, and indeed of almost the whole Union, that there could not be a more serious charge against me—even those who were most friendly avoided me, saying, they could forgive me what I had formerly done, but to insult Mr Clay was too bad. So high was the feeling, and so industriously was the calumny circulated, that at last I was compelled to write to Mr Clay on the subject, and I received in return a most handsome letter, acquitting me of the malicious charge. This I showed to some, and they were satisfied; and they advised me to print it, that it might be better known. This was a compliment I did not choose to pay them; and the impression of the majority still is that I insulted Mr Clay. The affair being one of the many connected with myself, I should not have mentioned it, except to prove how lightly such a practice is estimated.

Whatever society permits, people will do, and moreover, will not think that they are wrong in so doing. In England, had a person been guilty of a deliberate and odious lie, he would have been scouted from society, his best friends would have cut him; but how was this person treated for his conduct? When I showed Mr Clay’s letter, one said, “Well now, that was very wrong of A.”—Another, “I did not believe that A would have done so.”—A third, “that A ought to be ashamed of himself;” but they did not one of them, on account of this falsehood, think it necessary to avoid him. On the contrary, he was walking arm-in-arm with the men, dancing and flirting with the women just as before, although his slander, and the refutation of it, were both well known.

The reader will now perceive the great moral evil arising from this vice, which is, that it habituates people to falsehood. The lie of slander is the basest of all lies; and the practice of it, the most demoralising to the human heart. Those who will descend to such deliberate and malignant falsehood, will not scruple at any other description. The consequence is, that what the Americans have been so often taxed with, is but too prevalent, “a disregard to truth.”

To what must we ascribe the great prevalence of this demoralising habit in the United States? That the licentiousness of the press feeds it, it is true; but I am rather inclined to imagine that the real source of it is to be found in the peculiarity of their institutions. Under a democracy, there are but two means by which a man can rise above his fellows—wealth and character; and when all are equal, and each is struggling to rise above the other, it is to the principle that if you cannot rise above another by your own merit, you can at least so far equalise your condition by pulling him down to your own level, that this inordinate appetite for defamation must be ascribed. It is a state of ungenerous warfare, arising from there being no gradation, no scale, no discipline, if I may use the term, in society. Every one asserts his equality, and at the same time wishes to rise above his fellows; and society is in a state of perpetual and disgraceful scuffle. Mr Tocqueville says, “There exists in the human heart a depraved taste for equality, which impels the weak to attempt to lower the powerful to their own level, and induces men to prefer equality in slavery to inequality with freedom.”

In politics, especially, character becomes of much more importance than wealth, and if a man in public life can once be rendered odious, or be made suspected, he loses his supporters, and there is one antagonist removed in the race for pre-eminence. Such is one of the lamentable defects arising from a democratical form of Government. How different from England, and the settled nations of the old world, where it may be said that everything and everybody is, comparatively speaking, in his place!

Although many will, and may justifiably, attempt to rise beyond his circumstances and birth, still there is order and regularity; each party knows the precise round in the ladder on which he stands, and the majority are content with their position.

It is lamentable to observe how many bad feelings, how many evil passions, are constantly in a state of activity from this unfortunate chaotical want of gradation and discipline, where all would be first, and every one considers himself as good as his neighbour.

The above-mentioned author observes—“The surface of American society is, if I may use the expression, covered with a layer of democracy, from beneath which the aristocratic colours sometimes peep.”

In a moral sense, this is also true, the nobler virtues which are chiefly produced in the fertile field of aristocracy do occasionally appear; but the whole surface is covered with a layer of democracy, which like the lava which the volcano continually belches forth, has gradually poured down, and reduced the country round it to barrenness and sterility.[11 - This chapter was in the press, when a paragraph, cut out of the Baltimore Chronicle, was received from an anonymous hand at New York. Whether with a friendly intention or otherwise, I am equally obliged to the party, as it enables me to further prove, if it were necessary, the vituperation of the American press.“Many persons in our country had an opportunity of becoming acquainted with the Captain. The fast-anchored isle never gave birth to a more unmitigated blackguard. His awkward, unwieldy misshapen body, was but a fair lodging for a low, depraved, licentious soul. Although liberally educated, he seemed insensible to any other enjoyments than those of sense. No human being could in his desires or habits approach more near to the animal than him. No gentleman ever sat down with him an hour without a sensation of loathing and disgust. ‘What kind of man is Captain Marryat?’ was once asked in our presence of a distinguished member of Congress, who had sojourned with him at the White Sulphur Springs. ‘He is no man at all,’ was the reply, ‘he is a beast.’”This is really “going the whole hog” himself, and making me go it too. Now, if I receive such abuse for my first three volumes, in which I went into little or no analysis, what am I to expect for those which are about to appear? To the editor of the Baltimore Chronicle I feel indebted: but I suspect that the respectable portion of the American community will be very much annoyed at my thus giving his remarks more extensive circulation than he anticipated.]

Volume One—Chapter Seven

Authors, etc

The best specimens of American writing are to be found in their political articles, which are, generally speaking, clear, argumentative, and well arranged. The President’s annual message is always masterly in composition, although disgraced by its servile adulation of the majority. If we were to judge of the degrees of enlightenment of the two countries, America and England, by the President’s message and the King’s speech, we should be left immeasurably in the back-ground—the message, generally speaking, being a model of composition, while the speech is but too often a farrago of bad English. This is very strange, as those who concoct the speech are of usually much higher classical attainments than those who write the message. The only way to account for it, is, that in the attempt to condense the speech, they pare and pare away till the sense of it is almost gone; his Majesty’s ministers perfectly understanding what they mean themselves, but forgetting that it is necessary that others should do the same. But in almost all branches of literature the Americans have no cause to be displeased with the labours of their writers, considering that they have the disadvantage of America looking almost entirely to the teeming press of England for their regular supply, and nowhere in that country can be said at present to be men of leisure and able to devote themselves to the pursuit. An author by profession would gain but a sorry livelihood in the United States, unless he happened to be as deservedly successful as Washington Irving or Cooper. He not only has to compete against the best English authors, but as almost all the English works are published without any sum being paid for the copyright, it is evident that he must sell his work at a higher price if he is to obtain any profit. An English work of fiction, for instance, is sold at a dollar and a quarter, while an American one costs two dollars.

This circumstance would alone break down the American literature if it were not for the generosity of England in granting their authors a copyright in this country; indeed, the American public pay that tacit compliment to us that they will hardly look at a work by one of their own citizens, until it has first been published in England, and received the stamp of approbation. Those American authors who have obtained a reputation look, therefore chiefly to the English copyright for remuneration; and if it were not for this liberality on our part, the American literature would not receive sufficient support from its own country to make it worth the while of any one to engage in it. The number of English works republished in America is very great, but the number of each work sold is much smaller than people here imagined.

The periodical literature of the United States is highly creditable. The American Quarterly Review; the New York Mirror, by George P Morris; the Knickerbocker, by Clarke; and the Monthly Magazine; all published at New York, are very good; so, indeed, are the magazines published at Philadelphia, and many others. It may be said that, upon the whole, the periodical press of America is pretty well on a par with that of this country. Periodical literature suits the genius of the Americans, and it is better supported by them than any other description.

The Americans are jealous of our literature, as they are, indeed, of everything connected with this country; but they do themselves injustice in this respect, as I consider that they have a very fair proportion of good writers. In history, and the heavier branches of literature, they have the names of Sparks, Prescott, Bancroft, Schoolcraft, Butler, Carey, Pitkin, etcetera. In general literature, they have Washington Irving, Fay, Hall, Willis, Sanderson, Sedgwick, Leslie, Stephens, Child and Neal. In fiction, they have Cooper, Paulding, Bird, Kennedy, Thomas, Ingraham, and many others. They have, notwithstanding the mosquitoes, produced some very good poets: Bryant, Halleck, Sigourney, Drake, etcetera; and have they not, with a host of polemical writers, Dr Channing, one of their greatest men, and from his moral courage in pointing out their errors, the best friend to his country that America has ever produced! Indeed, to these names we might fairly add their legal writers—Chancellor Kent and Judge Story, as well as Webster, Clay, Everett, Cass, and others, who are better known from their great political reputations than from their writings. Considering that they have but half our population, and not a quarter of the time to spare that we have in this country, the Americans have no want of good writers, although there are few of them well known to the British public. It must be pointed out that the American writers are under another disadvantage which we are not subject to in this country, which is, that freedom of opinion is not permitted to them; the majority will not allow it, except on points of religion, and in them they may speculate as much as they please, and publish their opinions, whether Deistical, Atheistical, or worse, if they can find worse out. It is true than an author may, and some will, publish what they please, but if he does not wish to lose his popularity, and thereby lose his profits, he must not only not offend, but he must conciliate and flatter the nation: and such is the practice with the majority of American authors. Whether it be a work of fiction or one of history his countrymen must be praised, and, if it be possible to introduce it, there must be some abuse of England. This fact will account for the waning popularity of Mr Cooper; he has ventured to tell his countrymen the truth in more than (one) of his later works, and now the majority are against him. The work, which I have often quoted in these pages, called “The Democrat,” fell dead from the press. I think it fortunate for Mr Cooper that it did, as people have been lynched who have not said half so much as he did in that work. His “Naval History” will reinstate him, and I suspect it has been taken up with that view, for, although Mr Cooper has shown a good deal of moral courage, he has not remained consistent. At one moment he publishes “The Democrat,” and gives his countrymen a good whipping, and then he publishes his “Naval History,” and soft sawders them. But, with the exception of Dr Channing, he almost stands alone in this particular.

One of the best authors of America is Judge Hall; he proves himself by his writings to be a shrewd, intelligent man, and yet in his “Statistics of the West” I was surprised to find the following paragraph, the substance of which was more than once repeated in the work. Speaking of the Indian hostilities, he says:—

“The mother country (England) never ceased to indulge in the hope of reuniting the colonies (that is the United States) to her empire, until the war of eighteen hundred and twelve crushed the last vestige of her delusive anticipations.”

Such is his preposterous assertion, the absurdity of which will make an Englishman laugh; but the corollaries drawn from it are serious, as they are intended to feed the hostile feeling still existing against this country; for he attempts to prove that from the time the Independence was ratified by George the Third, that we have ever been trying to reduce America again to our sway; and that all the hostile attempts of the various Indian tribes, all the murders of women and children, and scalping, since that date, were wholly to be ascribed to the agency and bribes of England, who hoped by such means to drive the Americans back to the sea coast, where they could be assailed by her navy.

A little reflection might satisfy any reasonable American, that when they wrestled by main force, and without regard to justice, those lands from the Indians which they had hunted over for so many generations, and which were their own property, it was very natural that the Indians should not surrender them without a struggle. But the wish of Judge Hall was to satisfy his countrymen that their exterminating wars against the Indians have been those of self defence, and not of unpardonable aggression. At that period there were many white men who had either joined, or, having been captured, had been adopted into, the Indian tribes. All these Judge Hall would make out to be English emissaries, especially one whom he very correctly designates as the “infamous Girty.” Unfortunately for Judge Hall the infamous Girty was an American, and born in Philadelphia, as is proved by American authority.

This obligation to write for their own countrymen, and for them alone, has very much injured the sale of American works in England, for publishers having read them find so many offensive and untrue remarks upon this country, that they will not print them. But it does more harm, as it cramps genius, harrows their ideas, and instead of leading in the advance, and the people looking up to them, they follow in the rear, and look up to the people, whom they flatter to obtain popularity; and thus the pen in America, as a moral weapon, is at present “niddering.”

The remarks of Miss Martineau on American literature are, as all her other remarks, to be received with great caution. Where she obtained her information I know very well, and certain it is that she has been most egregiously deceived. An American critic observes very truly:—

“It is the misfortune of professed book writers, when they arrive in the United States, to fall into the hands of certain cliques in our principal cities and town, who make themselves the medium of interpretation—their own modes of life, the representation of those of the élite of the country; their own opinions, the infallible criterion by which all others must be estimated. They surround the traveller with an atmosphere of their own, and hope to shine through it on the future pages of the grateful guest.

“This accounts satisfactorily for many things which are to be found in Miss Martineau’s work, for her numerous misapprehensions as to the character, taste, and occupations of the American women.

“She evidently mistakes the character of our merchants, and does our literature but meagre justice. To hold up some obscure publications from the pens of mere literary adventurers as the best works she has seen, and at the same time pronounce Mr Cooper’s much regretted failure, is a stretch of boldness, quite unwarranted by anything Miss Martineau has yet achieved in the republic of letters.”

Such was really the case; Miss Martineau fell into what was termed the Stockbridge clique, and pinned her faith upon the oracles which they poured into her ears. She says that in America, Hannah More is best known; on the contrary, Hannah More is hardly known in the United States.

She says that Wordsworth is much read. Mr Wordsworth has never even in this country been appreciated as he ought to be. In America it may almost be said that he has not been read; and she adds to this, that Byron is little known; this is really too bold an assertion. Miss Martineau was everywhere in the best society in America; and I believe that in nine drawing-rooms out of ten, she must have seen a copy of Byron lying on the table.

She says Mr Cooper is a failure. With the exception of Washington Irving, there never was an American writer so justly popular in America as Cooper. It is true that latterly he has displeased the majority, by pointing out to them their faults, and that he is not always in a good humour when he writes about England. But to state the author of such works as “The Pilot”, “The Last of the Mohicans”, and “The Prairie”, a failure, is really too absurd. The cause of this remark is said to be that Mr Cooper had a quarrel with Miss Martineau’s particular friend Mr S—. There is only one remark in the whole of her observations which is in itself true. She says Bulwer is much read. Here she is correct: but the cause which she gives for his being so much read, is not the real one. She asserts it is on account of his liberal opinions; it is not on that account, it is from the interest of his stories, and the beauty of his writing.

But the assertion that seemed to me the most strange in Miss Martineau’s work, was, that Mr Carlisle, the author of “Sartor Resartus”, was the most read of any English author. Without intending to depreciate the works of Mr Carlisle, I felt convinced from my own knowledge, that this could not be a fact, for Mr Carlisle’s works are not suited to the Americans. I, therefore, determined to ascertain how far it was correct. I went to the publishers, and inquired how many of Mr Carlisle’s works had been printed. They replied that they had printed one edition of six hundred copies, which they had nearly sold; and were considering whether it would be worth their while to print a second; and in consequence of Miss Martineau’s assertion, that Byron was little known, I applied to the largest publishers in New York and Philadelphia, to ascertain, if I could, how many copies of Byron had been published. The reply was, that it was impossible to say exactly, as there had been so many editions issued, by so many different publishers, but that they considered that from one hundred and fifty to two hundred thousand copies, must have been sold! so much for the accuracy of Miss Martineau.[12 - Miss Martineau talks of Dr Follett as one of the greatest men in America. I was surprised at this, as I never heard of his name, so I inquired—“Who is Dr Follett?”—“I don’t know.”—“Do you know Dr Follett?”—“Never heard of him.”—“Do you?”—“No.” I asked so many people that at last I became quite tired; at last I found a man who knew him, his answer was—“Oh, yes; he’s an Abolitionist!” As the American critic justly observes, “He shines in the future pages of his grateful guest.”]

I am afraid, that notwithstanding the eloquent and energetic exertions of the author of “Ion,” we shall never be able to make the public believe that the creations of a man’s brain are his own property, or effect any arrangement with foreign countries, so as to secure a copyright to the English author. As on my arrival in America it was reported in the newspapers that I had come out to ascertain what could be done in that respect, and to follow up the petition of the English authors. The subject was, therefore, constantly introduced and canvassed; and I naturally took an interest in it. Every one almost was for granting it; but, at the same time, every one told me that we should not obtain it.

The petition of the English authors to Congress was warmly espoused by Mr Clay, who invariably leads the van in everything which is liberal and gentlemanlike. A select committee, of which Mr Clay was chairman, was formed to consider upon it, and the following was the result of their inquiry, and a bill was brought in, upon the report of the committee:—