of the peculiar character of Hawthorne's stories is, their total absence of vraisemblance. They are not, and are not intended to be, close imitations of scenes from real life. The characters, as has just been said, seem shadowy. The author gives his imagination free range, and introduces poetic images very different from the sober style of the chronicler of actual events. Nay, he at times boldly introduces the supernatural into his stories, to add to their poetic effect; thus, of his own accord, dispelling the illusion of reality. He himself says, speaking of himself under an assumed name, "He generally contents himself with a very slight embroidery of outward manners, the faintest possible counterfeit of real life,—and endeavors to create an interest by some less obvious peculiarity."

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In this limit which he has marked out for himself, Hawthorne displays wonderful power. He possesses a piercing insight into the soul, and profound knowledge of the laws of its action. He lays open the souls of his characters, with the clearness and merciless dexterity of the anatomist; bringing clearly into view the most subtle emotions, the most hidden thoughts. He does indeed penetrate to the very inmost recesses of the soul; he seems to know "where the senses mix," and "where the passions meet." Some profound remark from him will often give us a glimpse into the hidden depths of our own nature, and reveal to us truths, of whose existence we had hitherto been unconscious. The mysterious intercourse of the soul with itself, in which the consciousness of identity shifts from one phase to another, and all those mysterious mental processes of self-knowledge, and self-deceit, known, and yet persisted in, are by him represented with wonderful accuracy and power.

And his knowledge of the effect of internal causes upon character, is not less remarkable than his insight into individual souls. Nothing can be more accurate than his delineation of a soul rapidly changing under the influence of some mighty passion, into a being different in moral attributes from its positive state. We follow the character undergoing this transforming process with breathless interest, acknowledging the justice of each step, until the final result comes, so logical, that though we lament over it, (if sad, as it often is,) we yet assent to it in our minds, as implicitly as if it were a decree of Providence. In addition to this profound spiritual knowledge, Hawthorne possesses an imagination of great power. This enables him to give his inner glimpses tangible shape, and to embody them with striking clearness and intensity. Imagination is defined, by a recent writer, as, "the power of embodying things of spirit, and spiritualizing and giving

life to material things." We see, in Hawthorne's writings, both these proofs of a powerful imagination. With what admirable clearness and force does he delineate the emotions of his characters, causing them to stand out with all the charms of bas-relief! Surely, it seems as if things so purely spiritual were never embodied in so plain a shape. Such is the intensity of his description, that we almost seem to be ourselves undergoing the same experience as that which he describes. A striking evidence of his power in representing to the reader the creations of his imagination, is found in the fact that the time and place in which the scene of his works is laid, are so perfectly represented before the mind. An atmosphere of chill and gloom pervades "The Scarlet Letter," and we seem to feel, in reading it, the cold blasts of New England, and to see a clouded sun and leaden sky. "The Marble Faun," on the other hand, is pervaded throughout by the mellow air of Italy. The reader seems to feel the soft breezes blowing from the Adriatic; to see above him Italy's soft blue sky, and also to feel the spell of Rome's former glories upon him. A paragraph from the preface of the work, will convey some idea of the vigor with which his imagination reproduced Italian scenes before him, when writing. He says:-"While reproducing the book on the broad and dreary Sands of Redcar, with the grey German Ocean tumbling in upon me, and the northern blast always howling in my ears, the complete change of scene made these Italian reminiscences shine out so vividly, that I could not find it in my heart to cancel them." The second quality of Imagination, as given in the sentence above quoted, "the power of spiritualizing and giving life to material things," must be conceded to Hawthorne in a still greater degree than the first. He possessed the true magician's wand, which could evolve from the common and seemingly unpoetic things, images of the utmost beauty. Nothing was so humble that he could not find poetry in it. For instance, he says:- "The domestic fire seemed to bring might and majesty and wild nature and a spiritual essence into our inmost home, and yet to dwell with us in such friendliness, that its mysteries and marvels excited no dismay. The same mild companion that smiled so placidly in our faces, was he that comes roaring out of Ætna, and rushes madly up the sky, like a fiend breaking loose from torment, and fighting for a place among the upper angels."

It would be difficult to find a passage in which a thing so common suggests a more tremendous conception.

A proof of the strength of Hawthorne's imagination is found in the completeness with which it swallows up his own individuality.

We have no thought of Hawthore in reading his works. We are not conscious of an author behind the scenes, whose own thoughts and feelings are uttered by his characters. The man is absorbed in the artist. No favorite theories of the writer are wrought out, no argument is established by the story. The author, gazing with rapt view into the souls of his characters, forgets his own existence. Hence it is, that though we so greatly admire Hawthorne's genius, we feel so little affection for the man. He has given us no glimpse into his heart, and we feel toward him as toward a mere stranger. How different is it with Thackeray. Throughout his works, we never lose sight of the witty, kindly, severe, but noble-hearted, satirist. We are continually hearing his laugh at folly, his vigorous denunciation of meanness, his eloquent eulogy of all that is noble, true and good. His individuality is fused through every line. Hence we soon come to regard him as a familiar friend; and our friendship grows warmer and warmer with the perusal of each succeeding work. For this reason it is, that when Thackeray died, a burst of sorrow, more sincere than is often felt for the death of a literary man, greeted his death in our country, as well as his own.

Hawthorne's imagination is remarkable for its affluence as well as its power. We see this in the diversity of his characters. No two of them are alike. We do not recognize in one story, the same persons who, in different guise, appear in another, and no stock character does duty in all. In this respect, too, an interesting contrast might be drawn between our author and Thackeray, showing the wealth of imagination possessed by the one, and the comparative poverty in this respect of the other. Not only do we find an entire diversity of characters in Hawthorne's larger works, but we also find, scattered through his sketches, in endless profusion, outlines of characters and gems of plots, which, if elaborated, would equal in power any novels he has written. His imagination also assists him in adding to the power and beauty of his style, by using the most happily chosen figWe are continually delighted, in reading his works, to meet with a subtle shade of thought, most ingeniously brought into tangible shape by the use of some most felicitous illustration, or to find the plain simplicity of his narrative relieved by a comparison of exquisite beauty. We do but justice to Hawthorne when we say, that in power and wealth of imagination, he excels all other cotemporaneous writers of fiction.

ures.

We also find in Hawthorne's writings, humor of a subtle and rare quality, whose stinted use we have reason to regret. In "The House

of Seven Gables," where alone he has allowed himself to use it freely, it adds very much to the pleasure with which the work is read. Quaint old Uncle Venner, with his ancient maxims, and slyly humorous sayings, bears, perhaps, the closest semblance to reality, of any of Hawthorne's characters. And in the delineation of Hepsibah Pynchon's struggles against pride in obtaining a livelihood, humor and pathos are delightfully blended, now one, now the other predominating. Throughout all of Hawthorne's works, we meet here and there with a quiet, demure humor, which he apparently was half ashamed to utter, but was unable to repress,-peeping out, often, in close juxtaposition with scenes of profoundest gloom.

Having now considered the peculiar nature of Hawthorne's novels, and the fundamental traits of his genius, I will hazard a few more general remarks concerning the characteristics of his works.

And first, let us notice the style in which these works are written. Upon this it is difficult to bestow sufficient praise, without appearing extravagant. But, in spite of this, I will hazard the remark, that it contains higher excellencies, marred by fewer faults, than that of any other imaginative writer of our age. Beauty, perspicuity and power, coexist in it, to a degree almost unparallelled in English prose literature. It reaches the perfection of perspicuity, in which the style is entirely forgotten, and the whole attention absorbed in the thought expressed. Through it the thought shines clear as wine through a crystal vase. In expressing truths which lie at the very limit of our comprehension, it is no more obscure than in the plainest narrative.

Those etherial fancies which float brightly through our minds, but which we are unable to catch and imprison in words, are embodied in language as easily and naturally as the plainest fact. There is not a sentence which is not framed with the most simple elegance; not one which might not be taken for a model And yet, this correct style, far from being rendered tame by its correctness, is full of vigor. It can express thoughts of every compass, with equal precision, is beautiful in description, graphic in narrative, and strong and earnest in declamation. It is, in fact, just that ideal form of expression in which one would choose to put his thoughts, if choosing gave him the power. While the ground-work of Hawthorne's novels is in the inward experience of his characters, they are rounded out into completeness and symmetry, by descriptive passages of exquisite beauty. These passages are not introduced for their own sake however, and are not merely a superfluous addition, for the sake of embellishment, but are so artfully interwoven with the narrative, as to add greatly to its in

terest. Those who remember how, in the interviews between Hester Prynn and Mr. Dimmesdale, in "The Scarlet Letter," the face of nature, gloomy and dark at first, lighted up into sunshine, as if in sympathy with the temporary happiness of that unfortunate pair, will see how a strong imagination can seize hold of nature, not only to embellish, but also to vivify a narrative.

Hawthorne's descriptive power, of itself, deserves especial notice. With a few quiet touches, he brings the object described before the eye, as clearly as if in painting. He uses no painful elaboration of particulars, but seizes hold of the salient features of the object described, and so skillfully arranges these, as to produce a vivid and harmonious picture. His "Old Home," not remarkable for profound insight into the British character, is the best book of travels, from a merely descriptive point of view, ever published. The impression produced by Hawthorne is moral, rather than the contrary; but the effect produced upon the moral nature is not very deep or lasting. He shows the terrible ravages upon the soul caused by sin, and the natural influence is, to avoid committing sin. But the attention is fastened so much more upon the punishment than upon the crime, that the latter seems too severe, and the reader's sympathies go with the offender. When Hester Prymn proposes to Mr. Dimmesdale to fly from New England, and to renew, in another part of the world, their guilty intimacy, the reader is no less heartily in favor of the plan than the parties themselves. He cannot help desiring any relief to so much misery as they were then suffering. even if purchased by guilt. Hawthore, indeed, does not seem to have been a man of strong moral convictions. He studies the effect of crime with curious interest, rather than with sorrow and hatred. Nowhere in his works do we find any strong denunciation of evil, or hearty praise of what was right.

It has been said of him, with truth, that his intellectual qualities predominated over his moral nature; that love of beauty was stronger in his nature than love of right; that a sin against taste was more heinous in his sight than a sin against God.

Hawthorne's imagination is of a sombre cast, delighting to call up pictures of sorrow rather than of happiness. Within this limit its power is great and its wealth inexhaustible; without it, it is shorn of its strength. He can delineate with terrible force a soul darkened by sin, and coming more and more under the dominion of evil, but he cannot delineate a pure and manly soul, triumphantly resisting temptation, and growing stronger through each new victory.

But though his genius was essentially tragic, in his later works he