harm and not much good, because his thoughts are engrossed by how he shall earn his bread. It is when he takes it home to his wife and children who by the evening fireside look a little more deeply, that the book performs its work for good or evil. Then it is that the younger portion of the community imbibe many false notions which render them discontented with their present condition. Nor is the effect less injurious upon the cultivated classes who read works of this stamp, but which profess to be of a higher character both in language and tendency. When these are examined, they prove to be of a kind very much worse than the others; for although the language may be more polished, the sentiments are unchanged, and this very improvement of style serves as a gloss to conceal the evil that lurks underneath. The young read on, enchained by the style, while at the same time improper ideas intently glide into the mind and leave an impression not easily effaced.

The method usually adopted to get up a popular work, is to create a character full of strong passions; these are allowed to display themselves in the indulgence of every trick to gain their ends; yield to every evil propensity men are prone to, draw forth to light all the lowest inclinings of our nature; these are all enclosed in the body of a handsome person, with a highly cultivated mind, and with command of language that rivets attention and persuades; to which is added a sprinkling here and there of many heroic qualities, that dazzle the imagination and make the unreflecting in love with what should appear deformity. Works of this description compose what is called the cheap literature of the day, and are poured forth with an alarming profusion.

To make them be more sought after, the booksellers resort to all the arts of the trade to extol them as faithful pictures of men and manners; at the same time the public press is bribed to sound their praises, by a little flattery not easy to resist. An author sends his book to an editor or publisher, with his respectful compliments, as if he were really enamoured of him. This the editor receives as a mark of esteem, and in return for this present fails not to give a favorable account of the work; another sends his book to an editor, begs his acceptance, with a request that he will notice it in his ably conducted and widely extended journal;' a third, beside all these complimentary expressions, carefully marks the most striking passages, so as to draw the editor's attention to them alone; while the latter, pleased that the trouble of reading is thus avoided, lauds the book to the skies. He finds it accidentally on his table, and loses no time in recommending a work, the reading of which has given him so much pleasure; no library can be considered complete without it;' and the gifted author deserves the thanks of the public for thus combining instruction with amusement.' These flourishes produce the intended effect, which is to sell the book, leaving the`unsuspecting reader to find out, too late, that he has wasted his money, been cajoled into reading a work unsuited to his taste, wherein perchance his moral sentiments have been violated.

This kind of literature, as it is called, is not of recent date, though

formerly such works were much less numerous than they are now. The Englishman Fielding derived all his celebrity from these compositions. He formed his subjects by taking base characters and carrying them through all the varied scenes of vicious life. Yet the effect produced was less injurious than that created at the present time, for he made no attempt to represent his heroes better than they really were; on the contrary, they were always consistent, conducted their enterprises for evil by evil means, were open in their atrocity, nor ever sought to inveigle by refined phrases or polished manners. His pictures were often disgusting, yet the portraits were correct likenesses; you at once saw the whole person, and were not deceived. Smollet, and a few other English writers, followed in the same track, but their endeavors went more to show the consequences which flow from giving full scope to evil propensities, than to make readers enamoured of vice by allying it to a few striking virtues. Even the greatest of England's moral poets, Milton, is reproached for giving one of his subjects qualities which place him in the rank of a hero. Eblis, with all his horrid attributes his fiery rage, his deadly hate-is represented as possessed of many points of character which give laudable distinction in the eyes of the world.

The works of the present day which have so injurious a tendency, are not written by needy scribblers who are forced to drudge for their daily bread, and whose moral sensibilities are blunted through want. They are the result of the careful labors of men of education; of cultivated minds; of polished habits, and of intercourse with the best society; and their station and character give currency to their productions. The 'Memoirs of a Gentleman,' written by 'a Gentleman,' is sure to attract readers; yet in it you will find that the 'gentleman' thus educated, thus polished, will lead you through all the base intrigues of high life, and all the disgusting scenes of midnight brawls among the lowest castes of the human species. He will describe these so minutely as to leave no doubt that he has personal acquaintance with many such subjects; then his descriptions are written in language so bright and animated as to convince you of his sincerity, while at the same time the whole creates a thrilling excitement of pleasure, which leads you to forget that you are brought into the society of beings whom in real life you would shrink from with horror. No dull moral diverts your attention; you insensibly take an interest in the fate of fit subjects for the gallows, and find yourself, without thinking of it, watching with anxiety, mingled with no small portion of sympathy, the career of a wretch whom in your sober moments you would send to the penitentiary to herd with others, placed there for lesser crimes. The 'Pelhams,' the Cliffords,' with others of their kin, become associates of the thoughts, not without a sigh that such bright and stirring spirits are so rarely to be seen in the world, now so dull since meeting with these more enlivening companions.

Other writings, of a character equally if not more objectionable,

are published as the cheap literature of the day, and have a wide circulation. To make them be more eagerly sought after, and still further to pique the curiosity of seekers after novelty, the name of 'Mysteries' is given to them. The word mystery' has a magic influence, and these caterers for depraved appetites, knowing this foible of mankind, choose this title to increase the number of their readers. These 'Mysteries' are filled with vivid accounts of distress, miseries and crimes; the stories are told in a way to create and keep alive powerful emotions; an effect gratifying to every person. Like the French lady who, when asked why she went to see a man guillotined, replied with much feeling: J'aime tant les battemens de cœur.' And the personages who are brought forth to awaken the interest of the piece are taken from the high-ways, the jails and the stews, all which are ransacked with critical exactness to form subjects suited to the work. The language, even the low vulgar jargon of wretches steeped in crime, is carefully preserved, with their habits, manners and all the hardness of heart which the constant practice of vice never fails to engender. If amid such a polluted band the writer sees fit to introduce a purer being, it is chiefly for the purpose of contrast; to give greater effect to the dark back-ground which constitutes the essential feature of his picture.

This cheap literature' is read by all, because it is within the reach of all by its cheapness. The young it teaches to look upon crime with complacency, provided it be practised with skill; the old it hardens in settled vices, and is received as a palliative to the stings of conscience. So true is it that when vice is committed by many assembled, each one takes to himself only a portion of the

sin.

It may be thought that I am not a fit judge of what is necessary to satisfy the intellectual wants of a people of peculiar notions, like the Americans, inasmuch as my own country is unhappily sunk in ignorance. It does not however follow from this that I should be an enemy to the diffusion of useful knowledge; far from it. I see the effect it produces in Europe, and in the new world, where so much entire freedom of thought and action prevail; the present advantages are immense; those of the future, incalculable. Neither can I forget the recorded renown of my ancestors. The wisdom and valor of Sesostris fills a large page of history, and the splendid career of numerous Pharaohs attests the progress of civilization, arts and arms. The time was when Egypt, a mighty empire, was the mother of science and teacher of political wisdom; her well-merited fame was spread abroad over the known earth; pilgrims flocked to her shrines to learn the mysteries of her religion; law-givers resorted to her courts to learn the art of governing, and artists came in crowds to copy and admire the living monuments of her skill and refinement. A people, pretended to be the chosen of GOD, were offshoots of her redundant population, and the polished republics of Greece took from her the arts they boasted of being the inventors. Surely this exalted rank over the nations of the

earth could have been acquired only by the prevalence of knowledge. Of the past I feel proud; over the present, alas! let me cast a veil! My unhappy country is fallen too low to be revived by her own efforts. Books cannot now enlighten her people, for they are not imbued with the elementary notions which create a desire to know more than beyond their condition; even if they could read, it is questionable whether a full blaze of knowledge should be poured upon their minds at once. It would overwhelm by its light, and they would not see common objects so distinctly as they did before.

But in this country, where the desire of knowledge is great, is stimulated by the distinction it carries with it, where every surrounding object marks its usefulness, and every individual feels its necessity, all must and do read. How essential, how all-important is it then that proper books should be put into the hands of those who are learning, and that they who are more advanced in knowledge should have works that may confirm what they already know, and new subjects be presented to them that may keep the mind in healthy exercise.

While I thus animadvert on what appears to me to be the faults of many of the late publications, I take pleasure in admitting that several that have fallen within my notice are free from these objections. These seem to be written with an intention to instruct, while they amuse by lively descriptions of scenes and characters such as may be seen in common life. The lines between the good and the bad are drawn with so much distinctness as to prevent the ignorant from mistaking one for the other; and new incentives to virtue are created by seeing that noble feelings, just sentiments and unaffected piety may be found in the humblest stations of life, It is well calculated to abase the pride of the lofty to prove that they are not the sole depositories of Heaven's gifts, but that virtue shines with equal brightness in the breast of those on whom learning has not shed its rays, or wealth bestowed its treasures; that the same sun that illumines the palace pours its beams of warmth and light upon the cottage and the hovel. The laudable endeavors to make known these truths are well sustained by the efforts of a few, and their labors are held in merited respect.

It is a source of great enjoyment, the perusal of a well-written novel, where good humor is shown forth in chastened language, and wit is based upon good sense. It is like holding an unreserved conversation with a sensible friend, with whom we discuss with freedom and calmness the ordinary topics that the course of life bring forth, where good temper prevails, and the interest awakened is not so strong as to take away reflection; where the understanding is improved, while the heart is amended; and in the quiet abandon of the thoughts and words, instruction is gained through the medium of an agreeable pastime.

New-York, fifteenth day of the Moon

Zoo'l Hheggeh: Hegira, 1260.

Letter Twenty-third.

FROM THE SAME то THE SAME.

TOWN-BRED people are apt to imagine that they will be much happier by residing in the country; yet when once there they soon tire of what to them seems monotonous, pant for the excitement of city life, and return willingly to their accustomed habits. Others content themselves with short excursions, or going to a temporary resting-place, where the mind may become composed and the eyes be refreshed by the sight of green fields, instead of being dazzled by the view of bricks and mortar on which the sun darts his fieriest rays. Other motives induce married persons with families to go to the country in summer, the principal of which is the benefit gained to the health of their children by placing them where they find purer air and a wider range for exercise. For this they will leave a commodious, well-furnished house, to live murred up in a small one, (unless they have means to possess one of their own,) with the discomfort of being forced to mingle with people whom they do not know, for whom they do not care, and many of whom are disagreeable. Yet with these inconveniences married people can get on pretty well, provided the husband and wife are on good terms, (which, by-the-by, we should always suppose,) and the children are engaging, as they generally are when the parents are blessed with good temper; they raise up resources within themselves which enable them to forget or cast aside petty annoyances, and in this way pass their moments with comfort, if not with perfect happiness. Not so well is the single man; he, with his boasted freedom from cares, does not escape from the pain of many minor grievances by being alone. When he goes to the country for recreation, or to recruit his wasted strength, he does not sleep on a bed of roses, although he may dwell within reach of their fragrance, and is often most liable to disturbance when he reposes in a tranquil spot; so true is our proverb, The habitation of danger is on the borders of security.'

Once on the approach of the hot season I found the most of my acquaintances were about taking their departure for the country, which made the town not only look, but absolutely become, dull, while the heat and bad air annoyed me much, although accustomed to both in my own native land. I was loath to break up my habits, yet as my friends were leaving me alone, I determined to follow them that I might see if a single man could reap all the enjoyment families pretend to receive by the change. Before, however, taking the last step of warning my good landlady, and going through the labor of turning my apartment upside down, I thought it would be well to ask the advice of my never-failing friend in the white cravat. Exclusive of his general experience, I knew he was or had been in the habit of passing a few of the summer months of the year in the country; of course he could inform me how much I was to gain by the change, or whether it was at all advisable to give up my quiet