Atlantic Monthly, Vol. 1, No. 7, May, 1858 by Various

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It is not often, however, even yet, that we find a writer wholly
unembarrassed by and in revolt against the old theory of the necessity
of perfection in some one at least of the characters of his story.
"Neither Luther nor John Bunyan," says the author of this book, "would
have satisfied the modern demand for an ideal hero, who believes nothing
but what is true, feels nothing but what is excellent, and does nothing
but what is graceful."

Sometimes, indeed, a daring romance-writer ventures, during the earlier
chapters of his story, to represent a heroine without beauty and without
wealth, or a hero with some mortal blemish. But after a time his
resolution fails;--each new chapter gives a new charm to the ordinary
face; the eyes grow "liquid" and "lustrous," always having been "large";
the nose, "naturally delicate," exhibits its "fine-cut lines"; the mouth
acquires an indescribable expression of loveliness; and the reader's
hoped-for Fright is transformed by Folly or Miss Pickering into a
commonplace, tiresome, _novelesque_ Beauty. Even Miss Bronte relented
toward Jane Eyre; and weaker novelists are continually repeating,
but with the omission of the moral, the story of the "Ugly Duck."
Unquestionably, there is the excuse to be made for this great error,
that it betrays the seeking after an Ideal. Dangerous word! The ideal
standard of excellence is, to be sure, fortunately changing, and the
unreal ideal will soon be confined to the second-rate writers for
second-rate readers. But all the great novelists of the two last
generations indulged themselves and their readers in these unrealities.
It is vastly easier to invent a consistent character than to represent
an inconsistent one;--a hero is easier to make (so all historians have
found) than a man.

Suppose, however, novelists could be placed in a society made up of
their favorite characters,--forced into real, lifelike intercourse with
them;--Richardson, for instance, with his Harriet Byron or Clarissa,
attended by Sir Charles; Miss Burney with Lord Orville and Evelina;
Miss Edgeworth with Caroline Percy, and that marvellous hero, Count
Altenburg; Scott with the automatons that he called Waverley and Flora
McIvor. Suppose they were brought together to share the comforts (cold
comforts they would be) of life, to pass days together, to meet every
morning at breakfast; with what a ludicrous sense of relief, at the
close of this purgatorial period, would not the unhappy novelists
have fled from these deserted heroes and heroines, and the precious
proprieties of their romance, to the very driest and mustiest of human
bores,--gratefully rejoicing that the world was not filled with such
creatures as they themselves had set before it as _ideals_!

To copy Nature faithfully and heartily is certainly not less needful
when stories are presented in words than when they are told on canvas or
in marble. In the "Scenes from Clerical Life" we have a happy example of
such copying. The three stories embraced under this title are written
vigorously, with a just appreciation of the romance of reality, and with
honest adherence to truth of representation in the sombre as well as the
brighter portions of life. It demands not only a large intellect, but a
large heart, to gain such a candid and inclusive appreciation of life
and character as they display. The greater part of each story reads like
a reminiscence of real life, and the personages introduced show little
sign of being "rubbed down" or "touched up and varnished" for effect.
The narrative is easy and direct, full of humor and pathos; and the
descriptions of simple life in a country village are often charming from
their freshness, vivacity, and sweetness. More than this, these stories
give proof of that wide range of experience which does not so much
depend on an extended or varied acquaintance with the world, as upon an
intelligent and comprehensive sympathy, which makes each new person with
whom one is connected a new illustration of the unsolved problems of
life and a new link in the unending chain of human development.

The book is one that deserves a more elegant form than that which the
Messrs. Harper have given it in their reprint.

_Twin Roses: A Narrative._ By ANNA CORA RITCHIE, Author of
"Autobiography of an Actress," "Mimic Life," etc. Boston: Ticknor &
Fields. 16mo.

This volume belongs to a series of narratives intended to illustrate
Mrs. Ritchie's experiences of theatrical life, and especially to do
justice to the many admirable people who have adopted the stage as
a profession. Though it has many defects, in respect to plot and
characterization, it seems to us the most charming in style and
beautiful in sentiment of Mrs. Ritchie's works. The two sisters, the
"twin roses," are, we believe, drawn from life; but the author's own
imagination has enveloped them in an atmosphere of romantic sweetness,
and their qualities are fondly exaggerated into something like
unreality. They seem to have been first idolized and then idealized, but
never realized. Still, the most beautiful and tender passages of the
whole book are those in which they are lovingly portrayed. The scenes
in the theatre are generally excellent. The perils, pains, pleasures,
failures, and triumphs of the actor's life are well described. The
defect, which especially mars the latter portion of the volume, is the
absence of any artistic reason for the numerous descriptions of scenery
which are introduced. The tourist and the novelist do not happily
combine. Still, the sentiment of the book is so pure, fresh, and
artless, its moral tone so high, its style so rich and melodious, and
its purpose so charitable and good, that the reader is kept in pleased
attention to the end, and lays it down with regret.

* * * * *

EDITORIAL NOTE.

In our review of Parton's Life of Burr, published in the March number,
the following passage occurs, as a quotation from that work:--"Hamilton
probably implanted a dislike for Burr in Washington's breast."

Upon this the author of the biography has had the effrontery to bring
against us a charge of _forgery_. He affirms that neither the sentence
above quoted nor any resembling it can be found in his book.

Mr. Parton, speaking of Washington's refusal to nominate Burr to the
French mission, (p. 197,) speaks of the President's dislike for him;
and, endeavoring to account for it, says: "Reflecting upon this
circumstance, the idea will occur to the individual long immersed in the
reading of that period, _that this invincible dislike of Colonel Burr
was perhaps implanted, certainly nourished, in the mind of General
Washington by his useful friend and adherent, Alexander Hamilton."_

We do not wonder that Mr. Parton should have been annoyed by so damaging
a criticism of his book, but we can account for his forgetfulness only
by supposing that he has been so long "immersed in the reading of
that period" as to have arrived nearly at the drowning-point of
insensibility.

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