The Portland daily press. [volume] (Portland, Me.) 1862-1921, 1878-10-22
If the Union was worth fighting for it is
worth paying for.
NOvelists and New England.

| ANOHOhCso tsAU 4NOW
The "Aroostook" in Mr.. Howes's new sto
| ry, just begun in the Atlantic, is neither
county nor river, but ship. named perhaps
| for the region of trees whence its timbers
came. We may look in the story for a come.
dy with the ship deck for boards, and sails
and cordage and cabin furniture for proper
ties,-for "The Lady of the Aroostook" has
as fellow passengers on her unconventional
voyage three young men, all of whom may be
in love with her before the good ship reaches
"Try-East." One of them has the making of
a villain in him and does not seem 10th to
work up the raw material. At present he is
only "a little BEAST" to use an expression in
which our English cousins sometimes indulge
themselves. Perhaps he will be drowned j..
We may reasonably indulge that hope until
we are told that the author has use for him
on the other side.
The story, though not dealing with our
Maine county, opens with scene painted in
the sombre colors affected by our later story
writers when rural New England is the SUBJ
ject of their pictures. 1t pleases these gentle
men-and ladies, to describe our country.life
as dull. hard and narrow. Indeed, they write OF
it with the bitterness of remembrance Of
bondmen who have but just escaped from in
tolerable slavery. The people of their sto-
ries are either too dull to realize their low
condition, or are Gagged birds beating against
prison bars.
1t ought to be unnecessary to say that the
reflection of New England life given by these
authors is distorted. For the most part our
country people are much like other people,
tolerably content with their lot becaus it is
good. They have their joys and sorrows like
other people, their sordid cares as the most
of US have, their moments of exatation, their
fits of encouragement. But that the life of
the farmhouse is narrower and duller than
the life of the store and the shop is not true.
Our New England fields are titled by men
who often take a broader and more intelli-
gent interest in public affairs and the move.
ment of the world than do the men who sit
in counting rooms or meet and gossip at
social resorts. Indeed Mr.. Howells will find
that the excellent magazine he so ably edits
has larger constituency, comparatively, in
country than in city. This narrow country
life, so pityingly described, is the nursery
whence our rulers, our strong ones come,
whence good men enter our gates and save
us from the doom of the cities OF the plain.
The crying sin Of the writers we have men
toned (Mr. Howels should not be reckoned OF
them, though he has strayed into their ways)
is that they fail to preserve proper propor-
tion in their pictures. They select discon-
tended men and women,-proper enough if
their study of mankind be pathological-and
then give us to understand that these people
constitute rural New England, that the
country is the prey of peevish discomfort,
that its intellectual growth is dwarfed and its
sensibility to beauty deadened by the hard
conditions of its everyday life, that it is
dwelling in the house Of bondage. That is
all wrong. Disconnected ones are to be
found there as elsewhere, but they are not
representative; they are few in numbers and
frequently the weakest of the brethren.
Now and then come men or women who
feel the need of larger opportunities, who are
cribbed by their surroundings, who have
message to give. These are tolerably sure to
make their way to their own places. But
for the most part the discontented ones have
no real call. The voice they hear is but the
echo of their own loud repinings. The proof
of this is, they do not burst the barriers un-
substantial as Vivien's walls, that bar the
world against them, They are as uncertain
In purpose as extravagant in ambition, and
inevitably fail in accom- plishment. Their
failure is not in their surroundings but in
themselves. Arm them and mount them in
the lists, give them fair course, and they
fall before the first lance they meet. There
is fatal weakness somewhere, aud they
suffer for it. That cannot be helped In
many respects they may be worthier than
their more fortunate or stronger fello VS., but
there is some fault, want of energy or adapti-
bility-some speck in the apple. The truth
is that it is favor and not fair field they
want, and their grievance against the world is
that they are not helped and even pushed to
the front. Their complaint is of the un-
changeable law, cruel to the Individual, but
merciful to the race, of the survival of the fit
test. Their quarrel is with the nature of
things.
1t is these unfortunate beings that the later
novelists coddle and caress. They ale not stud
led as morbid specimens or analyzed as uncom-
pletely developed individuals, but put for
ward as people who have been wronged by
their fellows. 1t is just that they should be
alphabetically treated, But more than that
is done. They are pictured as victims and
the writers come forth as their champions.
In this audacious and irreverent age we
might, perhaps fairly expect the quarrel to
be made with the Creator. Ingenuity might
frame plausible argument then. There is
none now.
This however is digression. Our quarrel
is with the writers who make these victims Of
objectionless discomfort the types and repre-
sentatives of the best of the country people
of New England. The whole history of the
New Englander gives the lie to that. What
need to go over it now! These unfortunates
are not peculiar to green fields. They stand
behind looms and at desks, and bewail their
sad fortunes at street corners. The fault is
not with the fields. The life OF the city is as
hard and narrow as that of the country. If
we judge of the tree by its fruit the country
/ il far tho bottcr nurcnrv Our history shouys