half-century of our republican existence. The country was not then
"so deluged with the dingy page reprinted from Europe." Nor did
Americans fail to answer sharply the question, "Who reads an American
book?" But the books of that period, to which she accords much merit,
seem to her so reflected from England in their thought and inspiration,
that she inclines to call them English rather than American.

Having expressed these general views, Margaret proceeds to pass in
review the prominent American writers of the time, beginning with the
department of history. In this she accords to Prescott industry, the
choice of valuable material, and the power of clear and elegant
arrangement. She finds his books, however, "wonderfully tame," and
characterized by "the absence of thought." In Mr. Bancroft she
recognizes a writer of a higher order, possessed of "leading thoughts,
by whose aid he groups his facts." Yet, by her own account, she has read
him less diligently than his brother historian.

In ethics and philosophy she mentions, as "likely to live and be
blessed and honored in the later time," the names of Channing and
Emerson. Of the first she says: "His leading idea of the dignity of
human nature is one of vast results, and the peculiar form in which he
advocated it had a great work to do in this new world.... On great
questions he took middle ground, and sought a panoramic view.... He was
not well acquainted with man on the impulsive and passionate side of his
nature, so that his view of character was sometimes narrow, but always
noble."

Margaret turns from the great divine to her Concord friend as one turns
from shade to sunshine. "The two men are alike," she says, "in dignity
of purpose, disinterest, and purity." But of the two she recognizes Mr.
Emerson as the profound thinker and man of ideas, dealing "with causes
rather than with effects." His influence appears to her deep, not wide,
but constantly extending its circles. He is to her "a harbinger of the
better day."

Irving, Cooper, Miss Sedgwick, and Mrs. Child are briefly mentioned, but
with characteristic appreciation. "The style of story current in the
magazines" is pronounced by her "flimsy beyond any texture that was ever
spun or dreamed of by the mind of man."

Our friend now devotes herself to the poets of America, at whose head
she places "Mr. Bryant, alone." Genuineness appears to be his chief
merit, in her eyes, for she does not find his genius either f