The most elaborate production of Margaret is the “Lenore” of which I have just spoken. It was written not long before her death — at the age of fifteen — after patient reflection — with much care — and with all that high resolve to do something for fame with which the reputation of her sister, Lucretia had inspired her. Under such circumstances, and with the early poetical education which she could not have failed to receive, I confess that, granting her a little more than average talent, it would have been rather a matter for surprise had she produced a worse, than had she produced a better poem than “Lenore”. Its length, viewed in connexion with its keeping, its unity, its adaptation, and its completeness (and all these are points having reference to artistical knowledge, and preseverance) will impress the critic more favorably than its fancy, or any other indication of poetic power, In all the more important qualities, I have seen far — very far finer poems than “Lenore” written at a much earlier age than fifteen.

  “Amir Khan”, the longest and chief composition of Lucretia, has been long known to the reading public, It was originally published, with other poems, in a small volume to which Professor Morse, of the American Society of Arts, contributed a Preface. Partly through the influence of the Professor, yet no doubt partly through >>its<< own merits, the book found its way to the laureate, Southey; who, after his peculiar fashion, and not unmindful of his previous furores in the case of Kirke White, Chatterton, and others of precocious ability, or at least celebrity, thought proper to review it in the Quarterly. This was at a period when we humbled ourselves, with a subserviency which would have been disgusting had it not been ludicrous, before the crudest critical dicta of Great Britain. It pleased the laureate, after some squibbing in the way of demurrer, to speak of the book in question as follows: — “In these poems there is enough of growing power, to warrant any expectations, however sanguine, which the patrons and the friends and parents of the deceased could have formed.” — Meaning nothing — or rather meaning anything as we choose to interpret it — this sentence was still sufficient (and indeed the half of it would have been more than sufficient) to establish, upon an immoveable basis, the reputation of Miss Davidson in America. Thenceforward, any examination of her true claims to distinction was considered flat heresy. Nor does the awe of the laureate’s ipse dixit seem even yet to have entirely subsided. — “The genius of Lucretia Davidson” — says Miss Sedgwick — “has had the mead of far more authoritative praise than ours — a tribute from the London Quarterly Review.” Now, what Miss Sedgwick — for whom and for whose opinions in general I can still have the highest respect — what she means by calling the praise of Southey “more authoritative” than her own — is a point I shall not pause to determine. Her praise is at least honest — or I hope so. Its authority is in exact proportion with the public estimate of her poetical judgment. But it would not do to say all this of the author of “Thalaba”. It would not do to say it in the hearing of men who are sane, and who, being sane, have perused the articles in the “London Quarterly Review” during the 10 or 15 years prior to that period when Robert Southey, having concocted “The Doctor”, took then definitive leave of his wits. In fact, for anything we have yet seen or heard to the contrary, the opinion of the laureate, in respect to the poem of “Amir Man” is a matter still only >>known<< to the ghost of Robert Southey. But were it known to all the world — as Miss Sedgwick supposes with so charmingly innocent an air — I mean to say were it really an honest opinion — this “authoritative praise” — still it would be worth, in the eyes of every sensible person, only just so much as it demonstrates, or makes a show of demonstrating. Happily the day has gone by (and I trust forever) when men were content to swear blindly by the words of a master-poet-laureate though he be — . What Southey says of the poem is at best an opinion and no more. What Miss Sedgwick herself says of it, is very much in the same predicament, — “Amir Khan”, she writes, “has been long before the public, but we think it has suffered from a general and very natural distrust of precocious genius. The versification is graceful, the story beautifully developed, and the orientalism well sustained. We think it would not have done discredit to our most popular poets in the meridian of their fame; as the production of a girl of 15, it seems prodigious. This “prodigious” puts me in mind of Dominie Sampson. The cant of a kind heart, when betraying into error a naturally sound judgment, is perhaps the only species of cant in the world, not altogether contemptible.

  I yield to no one in warmth of admiration for the personal character of these sweet sisters, as that character is depicted by the mothers by Miss Sedgwick, and by Mr. Irving. But it costs me no effort to distinguish that which, in my heart, is love of their worth, from that which, in my intellect, is appreciation of their poetic ability. With the former, as critics I have nothing to do. The distinction is one too obvious for comment; and its observation would have spared us much twattle, on the part of the commentators upon “Amir Khan”

  I will endeavor to convey — very succinctly — some idea of this poem, as it exists, not in the fancy of the enthusiastic, but in fact. It includes 440 lines. The metre is chiefly iambic octo-syllabic. At one point it is varied by the casual introduction of an anapaest in the first and second foot. The versification is always decent, so far as the meagre written rules of our English Prosody extend — but long and short syllables are placed at random; and a crowd of consonants sometimes renders a line unpronounceable. At times, again, the rhythm lapses, in the most inartistical manner, from one species to another altogether incongruous. Occasionally, it rises into melody and even strength, as here:

  ‘Twas at the hour when Peris love

 

  Whose portals, bright with many a gem,

  Are closed, forever closed — on them.

  Upon the whole, however, it is feeble, vacillating, and ineffective; giving token of having been “touched up”, by the hand of a friends from a much worse, into its present condition. Such rhymes as floor and shower — ceased and breast — shade and spread — brow and wo — clear and far — clear and air — morning and dawning — forth and earth — step and deep — Khan and hand — are constantly occurring; and although, certainly, we should not, as a general rule, expect better things from a girl of 16 — still we look is vain, and with something like a smile, for anything even approaching that “marvellous ease and grace of versification” about which Miss Sedgwick, in the benevolenoe of her heart, discourses.

  Nor does the story, to my dispassionate apprehension, appear “beautifully developed”. It runs thus: — Amir Khan, Subahdar of Cashmere, weds a Circassian slave, who, cold as a statue, and as obstinately silent, refuses to return his love. The Subahdar applies to a magician, who gives him

  — — a pensive flower

  Gathered at midnights magic hour,

  the effect of whose perfume, renders him apparently lifeless, while still in possession of all his senses. Amreeta, the slave, supposing her lover dead, gives way to clamorous grief, and thus reveals the secret love which she has long borne her lord, but refused to divulge, because a slave, Amir Khan hereupon revives, and all trouble is at an end.

  Of course, no one, at all, read in Eastern fable, will be willing to give Miss Davidson credit for originality in the conception of this little story; and if she has claim to merit at all, as regards it, that claim must be founded upon the manner of narration. But it will be at once evident that only the most naked outline can be given in the compass of 440 lines. The tale, in sober fact, is told very much as any young person might be expected to tell it, The strength of the narrator is wholly laid out upon a description of moonlight. (in the usual style) with which the poem commences — upon a second description of moonlight (in precisely the same manner) with which a second division commences — and in a 3d description of the hall in which the entranced Subahdar reposes. This is all — absolutely all — or, if there is anything more, it has the nakedness of more catalogue. I recognize, throughout, the poetic sentiment — but little — very little — of poetic power. I see, occasionally, gleams of imagination — for example:

  And every crystal cloud of even

  Bowed as it passed the queen of Heaven.

  — — — —

  Amreeta was cold as the marble floor

  That glistens beneath the nightly shower.

  — — — —

  The Subahdar, with noiseless step,

  Rushed like the night-breeze o’er the deep.

  — — — —

  I look vain for another instance worth quoting. But were the fancy seen in these 3 examples; observable either in the general conducts or in the incidents, of the narrative, I should not feel obliged to disagrees so unequivocally, with that opinion of Miss Sedgwick’s, which pronounces this rather clever little effusion — “one which would not have done discredit to our most popular Poets, in the meridian of their fame.” As the work of a girl of 16, most assuredly I do not think it “prodigious”. I may repeat of it what I just now said of “Lenore” — that I have seen far finer poems, written by children of more immature age, It is a creditable composition — nothing beyond this. And in so saying I shall startle none but the brainless, and the adopters of ready-made ideas, I feel convinced that I express the perhaps unuttered sentiment of every educated person who has read the poem. Nor, having given the plain facts of the case, do I feel called upon to proffer any apology for my flat refusal to play ditto, either to Miss Sedgwick — to Mr. Irving — or to Mr, Southey. I have spoken thus at length upon this little passage of our literary history, >>with the view<< of showing by what trains of circumstances, and upon how frail a basis, an American reputation is, occasionally, manufactured.

  ANASTATIC PRINTING

  It is admitted by every one that of late there has been a rather singular invention, called Anastatic Printing, and that this invention may possibly lead, in the course of time, to some rather remarkable results — among which the one chiefly insisted upon, is the abolition of the ordinary stereotyping process: — but this seems to be the amount, in America at least, of distinct understanding on this subject.

  “There is no exquisite beauty,” says Bacon, “without some strangeness in the proportions.” The philosopher had reference, here, to beauty in its common acceptation; but the remark is equally applicable to all the forms of beauty — that is to say, to everything which arouses profound interest in the heart or intellect of man. In every such thing, strangeness — in other words novelty — will be found a principal element; and so universal is this law that it has no exception even in the case of this principal element itself. Nothing, unless it be novel — not even novelty itself — will be the source of very intense excitement among men. Thus the ennyue who travels in the hope of dissipating his ennui by the perpetual succession of novelties, will invariably be disappointed in the end. He receives the impression of novelty so continuously that it is at length no novelty to receive it. And the man, in general, of the nineteenth century — more especially of our own particular epoch of it — is very much in the predicament of the traveller in question. We are so habituated to new inventions, that we no longer get from newness the vivid interest which should appertain to the new — and no example could be adduced more distinctly showing that the mere importance of a novelty will not suffice to gain for it universal attention, than we find in the invention of Anastatic Printing. It excites not one fiftieth part of the comment which was excited by the comparatively frivolous invention of Sennefelder; — but he lived in the good old days when a novelty was novel. Nevertheless, while Lithography opened the way for a very agreeable pastime, it is the province of Anastatic Printing to revolutionize the world.

  By means of this discovery anything written, drawn, or printed, can be made to stereotype itself, with absolute accuracy, in five minutes.

  Let us take, for example, a page of this Journal; supposing only one side of the leaf to have printing on it. We dampen the leaf with a certain acid diluted, and then place it between two leaves of blotting-paper to absorb superfluous moisture. We then place the printed side in contact with a zinc plate that lies on the table. The acid in the interspaces between the letters, immediately corrodes the zinc, but the acid on the letters themselves, has no such effect, having been neutralized by the ink. Removing the leaf at the end of five minutes, we find a reversed copy, in slight relief, of the printing on the page; — in other words, we have a stereotype-plate, from which we can print a vast number of absolute facsimiles of the original printed page — which latter has not been at all injured in the process — that is to say, we can still produce from it (or from any impression of the stereotype plate) new stereotype plates ad libitum. Any engraving, or any pen-and-ink drawing, or any MS. can be stereotyped in precisely the same manner.

  The facts of the invention are established. The process is in successful operation both in London and Paris. We have seen several specimens of printing done from the plates described, and have now lying before us a leaf (from the London Art-Union) covered with drawing, MS., letter-press, and impressions from wood-cuts, -the whole printed from the Anastatic stereotypes, and warranted by the Art-Union to be absolute fac-similes of the originals.

  The process can scarcely be regarded as a new invention, — and appears to be rather the modification and successful application of two or three previously ascertained principles -those of etching, electrography, lithography, etc. It follows from this that there will be much difficulty in establishing or maintaining a right of patent, and the probability is that the benefits of the process will soon be thrown open to the world. As to the secret — it can only be a secret in name.

  That the discovery (if we may so call it) has been made can excite no surprise in any thinking person — the only matter for surprise is, that it has not been made many years ago. The obviousness of the process, however, in no degree lessens its importance. Indeed its inevitable results enkindle the imagination, and embarrass the understanding.

  Every one will perceive, at once, that the ordinary process of stereotyping will be abolished. Through this ordinary process, a publisher, to be sure, is enabled to keep on hand the means of producing edition after edition of any work the certainty of whose sale will justify the cost of stereotyping — which is trifling in comparison with that of re-setting the matter. But still, positively, this cost (of stereotyping) is great. Moreover, there cannot always be certainty about sales. Publishers frequently are forced to reset works which they have neglected to stereotype, thinking them unworthy the expense ; and many excellent works are not published at all, because small editions do not pay, and the anticipated sales will not warrant the cost of stereotype. Some of these difficulties will be at once remedied by the Anastatic Printing, and all will be remedied in a brief time. A publisher has only to print as many copies as are immediately demanded. He need print no more than a dozen, indeed, unless he feels perfectly confident of success. Preserving one copy, he can from this, at no other cost than that of the zinc, produce with any desirable rapidity, as many impressions as he may think proper. Some idea of the advantages thus accruing may be gleaned from the fact that in several of the London publishing warehouses there is deposited in stereotype plates alone, property to the amount of a million sterling.

  The next view of the case, in point of obviousness, is, that, if necessary, a hundred thousand impressions per hour, or even infinitely more, can be taken of any newspaper, or similar publication. As many presses can be put in operation as the occasion may require : — indeed there can be no limit to the number of copies producible, provided we have no limit to the number of presses.

  The tendency of all this to cheapen information, to diffuse knowledge and amusement, and to bring before the public the very class of works which are most valuable, but least in circulation on account of unsaleability — is what need scarcely be suggested to any one. But benefits such as these are merely the immediate and most obvious — by no means the most important.

  For some years, perhaps, the strong spirit of conventionality — of conservatism — will induce authors in general to have recourse, as usual, to the setting of type. A printed book, now, is more sightly, and more legible, than any MS. and for some years the idea will not be overthrown that this state of things is one of necessity. But by degrees it will be remembered that, while MS. was a necessity, men wrote after such fashion that no books printed in modern times have surpassed their MSS. either in accuracy or in beauty. This consideration will lead to the cultivation of a neat and distinct style of handwriting — for authors will perceive the immense advantage of giving their own manuscripts directly to the public without the expensive interference of the type-setter, and the often ruinous intervention of the publisher. All that a man of letters need do, will be to pay some attention to legibility of MS., arrange his pages to suit himself, and stereotype them instantaneously, as arranged. He may intersperse them with his own drawings, or with anything to please his own fancy, in the certainty of being fairly brought before his readers, with all the freshness of his original conception about him.

  And at this point we are arrested by a consideration of infinite moment, although of a seemingly shadowy character. The cultivation of accuracy in MS., thus enforced, will tend with an inevitable impetus to every species of improvement in style — more especially in the points of concision and distinctness- and this again, in a degree even more noticeable, to precision of thought, and luminous arrangement of matter. There is a very peculiar and easily intelligible reciprocal influence between the thing written and the manner of writing — but the latter has the predominant influence of the two. The more remote effect on philosophy at large, which will inevitably result from improvement of style and thought in the points of concision, distinctness, and accuracy, need only be suggested to be conceived.

 

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