The Sun.
London, England, 1868-12-18 00:00:00

AMERICAN LITERATURE.

(From the Anglo-American Times.)
The Great Country; or, Impressions of America.
There are books which caricature a nation, and
yet do good ; for, though an exaggeration of the
truth, they are still so grounded on it that even
those burlesqued, recognize the likeness. The pain
is in proportion to the truth ; but, if wanting in
that, the caricature becomes a stupid calumny,
which shows animus without ability, and may do
harm, but cannot do good. Such is this book, ap-
parently written by an English buffoon, whose
grimaces failed to attract in America, and who re-
turned home to make faces at those who could not
see the fun in their own country. Poor Arthur
Sketchley was dismissed from New York with a
little soothing ointment from the kind-hearted
Tribune, which attributed the failure of his Enter-
tainment to the mismanagement of his agents. He
is very grateful to the Tribune forbeing thus gently
let down, and writes of it, the Round Table, and
two or three other newspapers, as if they were the
only respectable journals in America. Indeed, they
are in this exceptions, not alone to journalism, but to
everything iu the United States. New York is de-
scribed as filthy in reality, and mean in appear-
ance. From its churches to its theatres all are
alike bad. Its Government is the most corrupt in
the world; its merchants are swindlers ; and almost
all that remains of the society is composed of " beats,"
" bummers," "loafers," and " suckers." Even their
Presidents are seldom gentlemen, often scarcely
able to read or write, or, like the present incum-
bent, who is described as drunk, not only when he
addresses the people, but when he takes a part in
an imposing ceremony—as if there could be an im-
posing ceremony in so vile a country. The men sit
with their heels at a higher elevation than their
heads, whittling and spitting, with the invariable
plug in their cheeks. The knives are plated, to
permit of their being stuffed with less danger half
down tobacco-defiled throats, whence they often go
into the mashed potatoes. The women love beads
and feathers, resembling in other respict3 Re 1 In-
dians. They clean their nails with penknives at
table, call shrimps, bugi, and are otherwise little
attractive. After depositing the white of an egg
on her plate in a way not allowed in polite society,
one is thus described :---" She subsequently ate
ham and eggs, ahl sausages, liver awl bacon, fried
potatoes, and other delicacies, finishing up with
cakes and molasie3, all of which she washed
down with coffee and several tumblers of milk,
into which lumps of ice are put, which
render it very agreeable." The women are
immoral, without even the excuse of attraction
in the men, who are " frights." Indeed they them-
selves, as if impressed with so much ugliness,

~.~...

rapidly follow suit, and at the age of twenty-five
cease to possess the charms with which mother nature

endowed them. Mr. Rose might have summarized
his in the sailor's account, who was directed to de-

scribe the manners and customs of the tribes the

vessel visited. " Their customs are beastly, and,
as to manners, they have none." But we may
thank goodness that so much vice is being punished
by nature, as it deserves. The climate of New
York, and of every other part, according to Arthur
Sketchley, is a compound of all that is bad, each
nationality which sends emigrants contributing the
vilest portion of its climate. It is insufferably hot;
it is unbearably cold ; it is dry, parching, dusty ;
then it rains in waterspouts, but wet or dry, hot or
cold, the streets remain the abiding-place of filth.
This is a fair sample of Arthur Sketchley's descrip-
tion of the' Great Country,"and we daresay Ameri-
cans will readily recognize the Empire City as thus
painted. But he has not yet half done. The food was,
we presume, very like his own playbill, as contrasted
with the entertainment, for he says the carte is such
as to induce aldermen to hurry to America, yet he
never tasted anything fit to eat in the country. The
meat is bad, ill-cooked, and always tepid ;—every-
thing is tepid. Even the oyster—he is particular
in speaking of it in the singular—as one is more
than enough for any man—is a huge, tasteless,
disgusting object. But what could it matter, he
asks, to these tobacco-chewing, whisky-drinking
Americans what they got to eat. It is impossible
that they could have any taste left, and if they
had, their habit of bolting their meals would neu-
tralize, as far as enjoyment goes, the best effort of
any cook. "Ah !" we exclaim, as we see the rush
to the bar, at any rate Master Sketchley can have
nothing to say against the drinks there concocted.
" Why, sir," he answers, " they are bad brews of
vile spirits ; deleterious in a high degree, and maw-
kish concoctions of sugar and lemon with their exe-
crable whisky, which ice alone redeems while disguis-
ing the rest. Some may imagine that this is a joke
—that Arthur Sketchley is in a comic vein, and
goes in for a rather disgusting displayof buffoonery.
But the book is as dull and heavy as ditch water,
without a particle of fun. The man thinks he can
play the role of a Dickens ; first, caricature the
country, which pays in England, and then go back
to kiss and be friends, which pays in America. In-
deed he hints at his -return if the opportunity offered,
but we would strongly recommend him not—al-
though few will ever hear of his book, and those
few, as a rule, will care little about it. Still it is
calculated to do harm on this side in the prejudice
it creates and keeps alive, as.'a mass of people cannot
see even through so shallow an effort to disparage,
and are ignorant of the low motives which have led
to the exhibition of such spite. The Mississippi
drains a valley which will yet feed more inhabitants
than there are in Russia, but Mr. Rose's comment
is that little credit was due to the discoverer of so
muddy and uninteresting a stream, and in-
deed, for that matter, as little credit was due to
Columbus ; observations which show great grasp
of thought. Having disposed of New York, Mr.
Sketchley goes to Washington, and it is amazing
what he sees and hears there, as everywhere
else. He was fortunate in the time, as the trial
of the President was progressing. Our readers
will recollect that a' " slang wanging" took place
between Ignatius Donnelly and E. B. \Vashburne
in the house of Representatives—a scene con-
demned as severely as universally by the American
press. So incensed were the people, that the fact
only of Mr. Washburne's being in the path of duty,
and the victim of the attack, perhaps saved him
from sharing Ignatius Donnelly's fate and being
rejected from the incoming house. But such a
scene was just the thing for Artar Sketchley, who
appreciated it far more highly, than these stupid
Yankees appreciated his entertainment, and so he
has transferred the whole bodily to his book, a cheap
and easy way by the same token, of book-making.
We are glad he has done this ; because from it may
be extracted a lesson for the benefit of such " wild
Irishmen" as Mr. Donnelly. When it occurred
we wrote in strong condemnation, pointing to the
fact that it would everywhere be used by Tories as
an example of the style of men sure to be returned
by unrestricted suffrage. Our readers may neol-
lect our correction of a little mistake made by the
Recolution in calling John Bright " the Honourable.'
As members of the House of Representatives are
termed Honourable, it might be supposAl by Ameri-
cans who had even heard Bright speak in the Ilouse
of Commons that the same title was given here as in
America. The author illustrates Jonathan's gross
ignorance of England by the fact that a paper
had called John Bright the llonourable, another,
mistaking the office to which the Great Seal is at-
tached. He might have added, with a truth which
would have humbled Uncle Sam, and made him
I
cry, " Spare me ! oh, spare me !" that none knew
of what a judge's wig was composed, or what was
the material of the powder, which whitened John
Thomas's head. Indeed, we are surprised that
there is not a little story of a Yankee's asser-
tion that it was flour, and that he knew it, because
he once saw a John Thomas, who had been kept

out in the sun on a very hot day, whose powder had
mixed with the grease, and had been baked into pie
crust. Now we, whose business it is to read what
American papers say on England, and what Eng-
lish papers say on America, unhesitatingly assert that
the knowledge of England in America is beyond
comparison greater than the knowledge of Ame-
rica in England, and no better proof of this
could be found than in this dull, heavy volume
before us, where a man, animated with the
bitterest spite, can only gather such instances.
In fact he might, had he really been a keen observer,
have got something much more telling than this.
The author asserts that the English feeling is one
of pure indifference, that the two races are wholly
unlike, that John Bull can have no sympathy with
Jonathan, and that a Britisher would be much
more comfortable and at home in St. Petersburgh
than in New York. Now not only is there no
truth in this, but the case is the reverse. A large
section of Englishmen bitterly dislike Americans,
and they have managed by such books as that of
Mr. Rose to create a prejudice. But why are
such books written?—To neutralize the senti-
ment, and to repel the strong British ten-
dency towards the same course as the great Re-
public. It is a Tory device against the thing
they most dread on earth, the march of Ame-
ricanism. If the nation was in truth indifferent,
such rubbish as Arthur Sketchley has written about
the " great country" would find no readers. But
is the author a Tory ? We know nothing what-
ever about Mr. Rose, still there is a dedication ou
the first page of the book to the Duke of Norfolk,
to whom the author inscribes it as " Affectionately"
his. Now this term affectionate, from a showman
to the premier peer of England, argues that he is
either his cousin, or has been his valet, for a ser-
vant may have an affectionate regard for his mas-
ter, even in aristocratic England, or, a cousin,
although he went to America, to entertain Repub-
licans, who had the bad taste not to see any
entertainment in theperformance even so degenerate
a scion may call his great chief affectionately his.
But, in either case, and judging by the internal
evidence in the book, we cannot but suppose that
the author was a hanger-on of the nobility. We
regret that the name of this peer should have been
inscribed on this poor slander of " the great coun-
try," and the only thing which will be remembered
in America about Arthur Sketchley and his work
is that the first of England's nobles had the folly
and bad taste to allow the work to go forth en-
dorsed with his name. As to Arthur Sketchley him-
self, if he can pick up some of the crumbs in Eng-
land by pricking and goading Jonathan, which he
failed to get in America by tickling and amusing
him, why both will laugh, and little harm will be
done, for the thing lasts but a day and has no in-
fluence on any one.

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