compensating him for the ill
success of his earlier venture. It pointed clearly towards the field in
which he was to gather his laurels. And it was in the year following the
publication of the first essay, or about that time (1846), that he began
collecting materials for a history of Holland. Whether to tell the story
of men that have lived and of events that have happened, or to create the
characters and invent the incidents of an imaginary tale be the higher
task, we need not stop to discuss. But the young author was just now like
the great actor in Sir Joshua's picture, between the allurements of
Thalia and Melpomene, still doubtful whether he was to be a romancer or a
historian.

The tale of which the title is given at the beginning of this section had
been written several years before the date of its publication. It is a
great advance in certain respects over the first novel, but wants the
peculiar interest which belonged to that as a partially autobiographical
memoir. The story is no longer disjointed and impossible. It is carefully
studied in regard to its main facts. It has less to remind us of "Vivian
Grey" and "Pelham," and more that recalls "Woodstock" and "Kenilworth."
The personages were many of them historical, though idealized; the
occurrences were many of them such as the record authenticated; the
localities were drawn largely from nature. The story betrays marks of
haste or carelessness in some portions, though others are elaborately
studied. His preface shows that the reception of his first book had made
him timid and sensitive about the fate of the second, and explains and
excuses what might be found fault with, to disarm the criticism he had
some reason to fear.

That old watch-dog of our American literature, "The North American
Review," always ready with lambent phrases in stately "Articles" for
native talent of a certain pretension, and wagging its appendix of
"Critical Notices" kindly at the advent of humbler merit, treated
"Merry-Mount" with the distinction implied in a review of nearly twenty
pages. This was a great contrast to the brief and slighting notice of
"Morton's Hope." The reviewer thinks the author's descriptive power
wholly exceeds his conception of character and invention of
circumstances.

"He dwells, perhaps, too long and fondly upon his imagination of the
landscape as it was before the stillness of the forest had been
broken by the axe of the settler; but the picture i