We speak here chiefly of the tales;
the essays are not so markedly novel. Upon the whole we look upon
him as one of the few men of indisputable genius to whom our country
has as yet given birth. As such, it will be our delight to do him
honor; and lest, in these undigested and cursory remarks, without
proof and without explanation, we should appear to do him more honor
than is his due, we postpone all farther comment until a more
favorable opportunity.
We said a few hurried words about Mr. Hawthorne in our last
number, with the design of speaking more fully in the present. We
are still, however, pressed for room, and must necessarily discuss his
volumes more briefly and more at random than their high merits
deserve.
The book professes to be a collection of tales, yet is, in two
respects, misnamed. These pieces are now in their third republication,
and, of course, are thrice-told. Moreover, they are by no means all
tales, either in the ordinary or in the legitimate understanding of
the term. Many of them are pure essays; for example, "Sights from a
Steeple," "Sunday at Home," "Little Annies Ramble," "A Rill from the
Town Pump," "The Toll-Gatherer's Day," "The Haunted Mind," "The Sister
Sister Years," "Snow-Flakes," "Night Sketches," and "Foot-Prints on
the Sea-Shore." We mention these matters chiefly on account of their
discrepancy with that marked precision and finish by which the body of
the work is distinguished.
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