The Press. — London, England, 1856-09-06 00:00:00

SEPT. 6, 1856. ;Siteraturt. Drecl: a Tale of the Great Dismal Swamp. By Harriet Beecher Stowe. London : Samp son Low and Co. MRS. STOWE'S new tale is of much the same material and texture as " Uncle Tom " Like that production, it is various in its matter and very unequal in its parts. Much of it is written in the style of such American books as " Queechy," made up fur the most part of the peculiar chit-chat and social portraiture of what we suppose we must accept—from the general similarity of representation—as a true reflection of domestic life in the United States. But there is in "Dred," as in " Uncle Tom," passages of such remarkable power, as entirely to separate these works from tile class to which in other respects they bear so strong a resemblance. There are whole chapters in "Dred," as we shall presently show, of intellec tual power of the very highest kind that has ever poured itself into shapes of romance. The main difference between " Uncle Tom " and " Dred " is, that while the former was purely social, the latter, though still relating to modern times, is in its more serious parts of a historical cast. The story of " Dred " is such a one as Scott might have seized on if he had been born in the United States. Dred is the son of a slave, Denmark Vesey by name, who, having obtained his freedom, be came the head of a conspiracy in South Caro lina for liberating the black population. Died was a lad of fourteen when Vesey was executed ; he saw his father die, and was him self sold to a distant plantation. But his nature was untameable ; he struck his over seer dead, took to the swamps, and was never more heard of. In this romance an imaginary career is shaped out for him, consistent with the few known facts of his history. Though the story of Dred is but an episode in the book, it is by far its most important portion, the parts in which he appears being written in a style of masculine eloquence, which is always in the highest degree impressive, and often rises to sublimity. To the author of this book belongs the merit of being the first to perceive the ele ments of romance involved in the very ex istence of a slave population in the midst of a free community in modern times. It follows, from the state of society in the southern States, that the two races must blend and mingle with each other, until acci• dent, rather than any ri.dical difference in mental constitution, determines the mighty alternative of admission into the ranks of slavery or freedom. The offspring of a planter by a female slave, perhaps herself a mulatto of extraordinary gifts, may be equal or superior to the children born to him in lawful wedlock. They may even receive the same kind of education and training, their earlier years may be festered with the same tenderness, but they may nevertheless grow up slaves, denied the commonest rights of humanity, be liable to be bought and sold like cattle, and to be overtaskeil, flogged, tortures, ground to death at the will of a capricious or cruel master. Such a state of society must contain within itself materials of romance of the most striking character, as it is impossible to conceive any human condition where greater scope is afforded for unrestrained will on one side, or for deeper suffering, with all the feel ings and passions which the last extreme of anguish brings with it, on the other. The immense popularity of " Uncle Tom " was, we think, principally attributable to its being the first work of any pretension which skilfully employed these materials of romance for pur poses of fiction, and made the modern world aware that the slave States of America teemed with the first requisites of tragic emotion, pity and terror. The social sketches in the present romance are not equal to those in the previous produc tion of the author. There are no characters so original as Uncle Tom and Topsy, and the book wants the freshness which so greatly contributed to the popularity of its predeces sor. But the narrative is scarcely less ex citing, and we think it altogether calculated THE PRESS. to sustain the reputation of the author. Of the innumerable imitations which " Uncle Tom " gave birth to, not one exhibited a trace of that vital power by which it was distin guished. We regard that power as the more won_ derful since we find no sign of it in any of the previous productions of Mrs. Stowe. We looked for some indications of it in her work on England, but we found not a passage to establish identity of intellect with the author of " Uncle Tom." We are still more puzzled with " Dred." The qualities of mind revealed in it are so opposed and even irre concileable, that we can hardly believe them to exist in the same intellect. For, while we find a large amount of purely trivial writing—not free from affectation, and mingled with all kinds of faults in style—we find in it also passages where close, concentrated, logical thought, with thrilling passion, sublime imagery, and intense aspiration are expressed in composition of the purest English and inost harmonious periods. The question irresistibly forced on our mind by a perusal of " Dred " is,—Can Mrs Stowe be the unassisted author of the romances which bear her name? If she be, her mind is the greatest psychological marvel of which we know any example. Such a union of triviality with power, of massive solid intellect with mere artificial prettiness and accom plishment, is incomprehensible to us. Is it not probable that some one or more of those earnest minds which are labouring for the overthrow of slavery in the United States might be willing to assist Mrs. Stowe in in- fluencing the public mind by fiction, though unwilling to appear openly in the work? We have ali heard of the underground railway in the States,—may not there be a press worked by some agency equally secret? There was something like organisation in the means taken to give universal publicity . to " Uncle Tom." The " Key " was not like woman's work. If, unassisted, Mrs. Stowe has written all that bears her name, she is one of the most wonderful of all female writers. In the examination of this 'romance we pur pose chiefly to confine ourselves to the episode of Dred. But, before touching on it, let us give an extract illustrative of one manner of Mrs. Stowe,—that dealing with social and do mestic scenes. Nina Gordon is the heroine of the story. She has been left by her father, Colonel Gordon, the mistress of a slave estate in South Carolina. Harry, her managing man, is her father's son, though a slave. On her return from New Yurk, she relates to Harry that she is engaged to three gentle men:— " But is this true, Miss Nina? Are you really engaged?" " Yes, to be sure I am, to three gentlemen, and going to stay so till I find which I like best. May be, you know, I shan't like any of them." " Engaged to_ ... three gentlemen, Miss Nina!" "To be sure. Can't you understand English, Harry? I am now—Pict." " Miss Nina, is that right?" " Right ! why not ? I don't know which to take—l positively don't ; so I took them all on trial, you know." " Really, Miss Nina! Tell us who they are." " Well, there's Mr. Carson ; he's a rich old bachelor, horridly polite ; one of those little bobbing men that always have such shining dickies and collars, and such bright boots, and such tight straps ; and he's rich, and perfectly wild about me. He wouldn't take No for an answer, so I just said Yes, you know, to have a little quiet. Resides he is very convenient about the opera and concerts and such things." " Well, and the next." "Well, the next is George Emmons. He's one of your pink-and•white men, you know, who look like cream candy, as if they were good to eat. He's a lawyer of a good family, thought a good deal of, and all that. Well, really they say he has talents-I'm no judge. I know he always bores me to death, asking me if 1 have read this or that; marking places in books I never read. He's your sentimental sort, writes the most romantic notes on pink paper, and all that sort of thing." " And the third?" " Well, you see, I don't like him a bit, I'm sure I don't. He's a hateful creature ; he isn't handsome ; he's proud as Lucifer; and I'm sure I don't know how be got me to be engaged. It was a kind of an accident. He 'a real good, though, too good for me, that's a fact. But, then, I am afraid of him a little." " And his name ?" " Well, his name is Clayton—Mr. Edward Clayton, at your service. He's one of your high and mighty people, with such deep-set eyes—eyes that look as if they were in a cave—and such black hair! and his eves have a despe rate sort of sad look, sometimes quite Byronic. He's tall and rather loose-jointed; has beautiful teeth; his mouth, 855 too, is —well, when he smiles, sometimes it really is quits fascinating; and then he's so different from other gentle men. Lie's kind, but he don't care how he dresses, and wears the most horrid biltled. And then, he isn't polite; he won't jump, you know, to pick up your thread or siissors; and sometimes he'll get into a brown study, and let you stand ten minutes before he thinks to give you a chair, and all such provoking things. He isn't a bit of a lady's man. Well, the consequence is, as my lord won't court the girls, the girls all court my lord—that's the way, you know. And they seem to think it's such a feather in their cap to get attention from him, because, you know, he's horrid sensible. So, you see, that just set me out to see what I could do with him. Well, you see, I wouldn't court him, and I plagued him, and laughed at him, and spited him, and got him gloriously wroth; and he said some spiteful things about me, and then I said some more about him, and we had a real up and•down quarrel; and then I took a penitent turn, you know, and just went gracefully down into the valley of humiliation—as we witches can—and it took wonderfully, brought my lord on his knees before he knew what he was doing. Well, really I don't knew what was the matter just then, but he spoke so earnest and strong that he actually got me to crying— hateful creature !—and I promised all sorts of things, yon know, said altogether more than will bear thinking of." " And are you corresponding with all these lovers, Miss Nina?" " Yes; isn't it fun ? Their letters, you know, can't speak; if they could, when they came rustling together in the bag, wouldn't there be a muss?" This extract may suffice as a sample of one portion of the book. The portraiture may be faithful, it may be clever, but it does not indi cate an order of intellect capable of magnifi cent conceptions. We read a little later of Nina that while searching her boxes for bills and letters, her " little hands went pawing " among the heap, making the fanciful collec " tion fly in every direction over the carpet." Phrases of a like kind are of perpetual occur rence in the lighter portions of the story, as they were extremely common in Mrs. Stowe's book on England. The brother of Nina, Tom Gordon, a type of the worst class of slave owning gentlemen, pays her a visit, and being offended by the independent demeanour of Harry, and struck by the charms of Harry's pretty wife, he is resolved to make his slave brother feel his inferiority. A scuffle between them compels Harry to fly, and it is then, at page 178, that Dred appears upon the scene. The description of his appearance is forcible : There was a crackling in the swamp and a movement among the copse of briers, and at last the speaker emerged and stood before Harry. He was a tall black man, of mag nificent stature and proportions. His skin was intensely black, and polished like marble. A loose shirt of red flannel, which opened very widest the breast, gave a display of a neck and chest of herculean strength. The sleeves of the shirt, rolled up nearly to the shoulders, showed the minks of a gladiator. The head, which rose with an imperial air from the broad shoulders, was large and mas sive, and developed with equal force both in the reflective and perceptive department. The perceptive organs jutted like dark ridges over the eyes, while that part of the head which phrenologists attribute to the moral and intellectual sentiments rose like au ample dome above them. The large eyes had that peculiar and solemn effect of unfathom able blackness and darkness which is often a striking cha racteristic of the African eye. But there burned in tl'em, like tongues of flame in a black pool of naptha, a subtle and restless fire, that betokened habitual excitement to the verge of insanity. If any organs were predominant in the head, they were those of ideality, wonder, veneration, and firmness, and the whole combination was such as might have formed one of the wild old warrior prophets of the heroic ages. He wore a fantastic sort of turban, appa rently of an old scarlet shawl, which added to the out landish effect of his appearance. His nether garments, of coarse negro cloth, were girded round the waist by a strip of scarlet flannel. in which was thrust a bowie•knife and hatchet. Over one shoulder he carried a rifle, and a shot pouch was suspended to his belt. A rude game-bag hung upon his arm. Wild and startling se the apparition might have been, it appeared to be no stranger to Harry ; for, after the first movement of surprise, he said in a tone of familiar recognition, in which there was blended somewhat of awe and respect— I did not know that you "0, it is you, then, Dred ! were hearing me !" " Have I not heard?" said the speaker, raising his arm, and his eyes gleaming with wild excitement. " How long wilt thou halt between two opinions ? Did not Moses re fuse to be called the son of Pharoah's daughter? How long wilt thou cast in thy lot with the oppressors of Israel, who say unto thee, Bow down that we may walk over thee?' Shall not the Red Sea be divided? Yea, with the Lord, it shall !" The following chapter, the nineteenth, should be read attentively. It opens with some close and logical reflections. The italics are our own :-- It has been a problem to many how the system of slavery in America should unite the two apparent incon sistencies of a code of slave laws more severe than that of any other civilised nation, with an average practice at least as indulgent as any other ; for bad as slavery is at the best, it may yet be admitted that the practice, as a whole, has been kits cruel in this country than in