Say and Seal

By the Author of “ Wide, Wide World,” and the Author of “ Dollars and Cents.” In Two Volumes. Philadelphia: J. B. Lippincott & Co.

ANOTHER story from “Elizabeth Wetherell” is a welcome addition to our scanty stock of American novels. Our real American novels may be counted on our fingers, while the tales that claim the name may be weighed by the ton. At the present time, we count Hawthorne among our novelists, and Mrs. Stowe, and perhaps Curtis, since his “Trumps”; but as for our thousand and one unrivalled authors, “whose matchless knowledge of the human heart and wonderful powers of delineation place them far above Dickens or Thackeray,” they are all, from Sylvanus Cobb, Junior, down to Ned Buntline and Gilmore Simms, beneath serious notice, and may be left to the easy verdict of the readers of the cheap magazines and illustrated newspapers, in whose columns they have gained a world-wide obscurity. Miss Warner’s books have always a genuine flavor of originality, and an acute, living appreciation of Yankee character, that give them a right to rank, unchallenged, as real and valuable novels. In their simplicity, their freshness, their quiet humor and not less quiet fun, their frequent narrowness and stiffness, and their deep and true religious sentiment, they have the real essence of the New England character.

In every novel there are three principal elements,— the Hero, the Heroine, the Villain.— all three gracefully blending in the Plot. We cannot especially congratulate our authors upon their Hero. In a favorite farce, the slightly bewildered Mr. Lullaby observes musingly, “ Brown ? Brown? That name sounds familiar! I must have heard that name before! I'll swear I’ve heard that name before!” We have a dim consciousness of having met “ Mr. Linden ” before, albeit under a different name. A certain Mr. Humphreys, whom we remember of old, strongly resembles him: so does one Mr. Guy Carleton. We were very well pleased with our old friend Humphreys, (or Carleton,) and would by no means hint at any reluctance to meet him again ; but a new novel, by its very announcement, implies a new hero, — and if we come upon a plain family-party, when fondly hoping for an introduction to some distinguished stranger, we may be excused for thinking ourselves hardly treated. Is it so infallible a sign of superiority, moreover, to speak constantly in riddles? This Sphinxlike style is eminently characteristic of Mr. Linden. Then again, our authors have been too ambitious. They laboriously assert Mr. Linden to be a marvel of learning, — a man of vast and curious literary attainments : but all that their hero does to maintain this reputation and vindicate their opinion is to quote trite passages of poetry, which are all very well, but which every gentleman of ordinary cultivation is expected to know, and which no gentleman of ordinary cultivation is expected to quote, — things that are remembered only to be avoided as utterly threadbare. One unfortunate instance may be found at the beginning of the second volume. Mr. Linden’s acquirements are to receive peculiar lustre from a triumph over no ordinary competitor,— over the intelligent and well-read Doctor Harrison. Naturally, we expect something recondite, and are by no means satisfied with the trite

Mr. Linden might as well have astonished the company by such a transcendent proof of erudition as

Or, passing “from grave to gay, from lively to severe,” (for novelty in quotations we find to be contagious,) have recounted the wildly erratic history “ of that false matron, known in nursery rhyme, Insidious Morey,” or quoted

After which he might have soared into unapproachable heights of surpassing literary erudition, by informing his awe-struck hearers that the latter poem was written by Doctor Watts ! The fact is, any attempt to give the novelist's characters a learning which the novelist does not possess is always hazardous.

The Heroine, Miss Faith Derrick, is a pretty, but not remarkably original creation, who taxes our magnanimity sorely at times by her blind admiration of her lover when he is peculiarly absurd, but whose dumb rejection of Doctor Harrison, though a trifle theatrical, is really charming. Faith is better than Linden : Linden is “superbe, magnifique”; but Faith is “ pretty good.”

But the conception of the Villain is very fine. In Doctor Harrison we hail a new development of that indispensable character. Of course, the gentlemanly, goodhumored Doctor is not to be considered a villain in the ordinary acceptation of the word; he is only a technical villain,—a villain of eminent respectability. It is almost unnecessary to add, that he is immeasurably more attractive than the real hero, Mr. Linden.

We regret to say that the conception is not carried out so well as it deserves to be. Doctor Harrison descends to some low business, quite unworthy of him, such as tampering with the mails. This is not only mortifying, but entirely unnecessary; inasmuch as Doctor Harrison has a subordinate villain to do all the low villany, in the person of Squire Deacon, who shoots at Mr. Linden from behind a hedge (!), and is never called to account therefor, — a strange remissness on the part of everybody, which seems to have no recommendation except that it leaves him free to do this very work of robbing the mails, and which, by his failure to do it, is left utterly unexplained and profoundly mysterious. All this is very bad. The Doctor’s meanness is utterly inconsistent; and the bare thought of a sober and uncommonly awkward Yankee, like Squire Deacon, deliberately making two separate attempts at assassination, is unspeakably ludicrous. Moreover, we are hopelessly unable to see the need of having the unfortunate Mr. Linden shot at all. Everything was going on very well before, as nearly as we could see, and nothing appears to come of it, after all,— not even the condign punishment of the incongruous and never-to-be-sufficientlymarvelled-at assassin, who is suspected by several people, and yet remains as unharmed as if murder on the highway were altogether too common an occurrence in New England to excite more than a moment’s thought.

This leads us to speak of the Plot; and we are constrained to say that a more inartistic, unfinished piece of work we cannot remember. There is a lamentable waste of capital on Squire Deacon’s sportsmanlike propensities. Why not have something come of them ? We are not anxious to have the man hanged, or even indicted ; but we did expect a magnanimous pardon to be extended to him by Mr. Linden ; and although that gentleman was altogether too magnanimous before, we should have acquiesced mildly. And what becomes of Mrs. Derrick ? There we are in earnest; for Mrs. Derrick is an especial favorite with us. It seems as if our authors had become bewildered, and, finding themselves fairly at a loss what to do with their characters, who drift helplessly along through a great part of the second volume, had seized desperately on the hero and heroine, determined to save them at least, and, having borne them to a place of refuge, had concluded to let the others look after themselves.

What redeems the novel, and gives it its peculiar and exquisite charm, is the execution of certain detached passages. We have never seen the drollery of a genuine Yankee to more advantage than in "Say and Seal.” An occasional specimen we venture to quote.

On Mr. Linden’s first appearance at Mrs. Derrick’s house, where he is known only as the new teacher, nobody knows and nobody dares ask his name ; and recourse is accordingly had to the diplomacy of the “ help.”

“'Child,’ said Mrs. Derrick, ‘ what on earth is his name ? ’

“'Mother, how should I know? I didn’t ask him.’

“'But the thing is,' said Mrs. Derrick, 'I did know; the Committee told me all about him. And of course he thinks I know,— and I don't, — no more than I do my great-grandmother’s name, which I never did remember yet.’

“ ‘ Mother, shall I go and ask him, or wait till after supper?'

“‘Oh, you sha'n't go,' said her mother. ‘Wait till after supper, and we’ll send Cindy. He won't care about his name till he gets his tea, I’ll warrant. Faith, don’t you think he liked his supper?’

“‘I should think he would, after having no dinner,’ said Faith.

“ ‘ there’s Cindy, this minute ! Run and tell her to go right away, and find out what his name is,— tell her I want to know,— you can put it in good words.’

“ Cindy presently came back, and handed a card to Faith.

“'It’s easy done,’ said Cindy. ‘I jest asked him if he’d any objections towards tellin' his name,— and he kinder opened his eyes at me, and said, “ No.” Then I said, says I, “Mis’ Derrick do’ know, and she’d like ter.” 11 Miss Derrick ! ” says he, and he took out his pencil and writ that. But I’d like ter know what he cleans his pencil with,’ said Cindy, in conclusion, for Fm free to confess I never see brass shine so in my born days.’ ”

Cindy’s “free confessions” are an important feature of the book.

In Chapter VI., Squire Deacon and his sister hold a brief Yankee dialogue, of winch this is a sample: —

“' Sam! what are you bothering yourself about Mr. Linden for?’

“ ‘ How long since you was made a trustee? ’ said the Squire, beginning his sentence with an untranslatable sort of grunt, and ending it in his teacup.

“ ‘ I’ve been your trustee ever since you was up to anything,’ said his sister. 'Come, Sam, —don’t you begin now! What’s made you so crusty ? ’

“ ‘ It a’n’t the worst thing to be crusty,’ said the Squire. ‘ Shows a man’s more'n half baked, anyhow.’

“ ‘ Well, what has he done? ’

“‘Sure enough!’ said the Squire, ‘what has he done? That’s just what I can’t find

“'What do you want to find out for? What ails him?’

“' Suppose he hasn’t done nothin’. Is that the sort, o’ man to teach litteratur in Pattaquasset? '

“‘ Now, Sam Deacon, what do you expect to do by all this fuss you’re making?’ said his sister, judicially.

“ ‘ What’s the use of cross-examining a man at that rate? When I do anything, you’ll know it.' ”