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XVII.

SUMMER READING.

HAZLITT, in one of his delightful Table Talks, speaks of certain of Hume's lighter miscellaneous Essays as mere summer reading," in comparison with his Treatise on Human Nature, which he very judiciously calls "a metaphysical choke-pear." The distinction between the two classes of writing may afford a slight distinction between light reading and laborious study, or rather between winter studies and summer reading.

We are far from calling even the least labored and subtle of Hume's speculations, or those of any metaphysician, indeed, properly summer reading. They would rather rank among the studies of that season. By summer reading, we mean generally to express agreeable, pleasant, intellectual entertainment, to be derived from light, graceful, and interesting writers. It is true, that with most readers this summer reading extends over the whole year. That what should be kept for a season of lassitude and comparative indolence, is too often retained throughout the season of labor and study-the winter; the season, as Hunt sings,

"To which the poet looks,

For hiving his sweet thoughts and making honeyed books.".

But we do not write to those who transpose the seasons, or rather make all seasons alike; like those birds of passage, who, at the close of autumn, leave the north for a more genial region; and unlike those wise and grateful (yet perhaps necessarily robust) natures, who delight in every variety of the seasons-who love the cordial heats of summer, and feel braced by the rough blasts of winter-who admire the fullness and freshness of life in spring, and are delighted with the rich glories and sombre tints of autumn. All pleasures are made equal: the summer morning "with song of earliest birds;" the winter evening by the cheerful fire-side; the April showers, and the fine days of October; even the chill blasts of March, and the wintry sky of December.

Summer" refulgent summer"-the period of repose, the season of early dinners and mid-day or afternoon siestas -of cool morning and evening walks-of iced drinks, and salt baths, and sea-shore breezes, and country visits; it is of this glowing period we write. And what are the books to be read now? Surely nothing difficult, or complex, or intricate, or dry, or subtle. No hard study for us, my masters; give us easy reading-not to be confounded with that which is easily written, however, by any means. On this sultry, close day, who would take up Locke, or Hobbes; Milton's prose, or even his poetry? No, we want something gossamer-light, the syllabub, not the pieces de resistance of literature. Even fine poetry of the more elevated description is too high. No tragedy for hot weather, except the farce of that name: no epic strain, no ardent Pindarics, or flaming lyrics of love. Nothing that requires much thought or attention: nothing that deeply affects the heart. Banish sentiment, banish imagination; but not gay wit, nor ever

cheerful humor. Swift's saturnine humor is not the thing, nor the biting wit of the satirist; but the gay writers generally. Yet, as a class of books, none appear to me better fitted for this season than lively and sensible travels, especially in the South and East-the regions of the Tropics and the Orient. Eastern travels always read best in summer: the season is in consonance with the text. The sultry heat out o'doors gives a confirmation strong of the stifling air of the desert, on the author's pages; and the sweet spray of fountains is cooling, both to see and hear. Camels, dates, elephants, palm trees, the dusky Arab, the swart Moslem, all appear to be, and are, strictly in keeping with a burning sun and his ardent rays, in midsummer. By a slight exercise of imagination we can easily transport ourselves over land and sea, by the aid of the warm weather, as well as on the wing of that sightless laborer, the wind. Sitting in a close room, of a hot day, how easy to think of cities in Spain or Morocco-of Stamboul and Grand Cairo-of the Nile and the desert. Fancy can travel faster than steam, and takes the willing voyager captive over the passages of leaded type, rendered heavy to give emphasis to light description.

It is difficult for a person of little imagination to reverse the matter; to think heartily, and realize the warmth and richness of oriental life, in winter. "Oh, who can hold a fire in his hands," etc. Some of the later books of travels, (Eothen, the Crescent and the Cross, and particularly Thackeray's Tour,) deserve to be especially remembered just now. They are to be read on a breezy eminence, or under a spreading tree, not as Midsummer Night's Dream, but as noon-day fancies.

We forget the name of the writer, (French, English, or German, we are not certain,) who, some fifty years ago

made the remark, that in no department of modern literature had so great improvement been made as in the class of books of travel. Probably this was a fair judgment at the time, although (with regard to the mass of books of this kind, not the few we may select for praise,) if the case were to be re-heard and tried over again on its merits, the decision might be reversed. For, to tell the truth, at this present writing, in no walk of authorship have there been greater failures, (tragedies and epic poems excepted,) than in that of travels.

The literature of travel is singularly rich in the article of copiousness, but it is almost equally meagre in real power, whether of thought or style. Among the hundred popular books on the East, perhaps ten will last a generaAnd so of other countries. We are yet to have classic local geographies, that shall combine truth of detail and liveliness of style, with antiquarianism, philosophy, pictures of manners, and topographical accuracy.

tion or so.

The same places have been described, and the same adventures repeated ad nauseam. Hardly a town, a cathedral, a fall, mountain, or lake in Great Britain, or on the continent of Europe, that has not been abundantly prated about; while our own good country has been laid under contribution by every idle sea-captain, or petty official, on a holyday excursion of a couple of months-travelling divines, or wandering female Syntaxes, or, (still preserving the sex,) female reformers of church and state.

One who can write nothing else, can make up a book of travels. Many can write a volume abroad who have never written a page at home. This is true, both of literary amateurs and literary traders. The secret is compilation. At least two-thirds of the material of nine-tenths of

these books is obtained from guide-books, tourist companions, gazetteers, historical compends, newspapers, and an encyclopedia.

Such is travel-writing made easy for the tarry-at-home traveller, and by one who need not himself stir from his writing-desk. Even in two such lively works as the Cross and the Crescent, and Hochelaga, there is a good deal of 'cramming" for the task: Yet much of this work is done by actual voyageurs : dull fellows, who return from a year's Periplus with a couple of portfolios stuffed full of MSS.

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In this way, apparently, shoals of travels are manufactured, especially travelling letters for the newspapers. Indeed, so common is the product, answering to a regular demand, that a writer of taste and spirit will not print his own admirable letters, because so many raw, stupid things have preceded his choice collection.

Among our writers a considerable body have published Letters from Abroad, and Travels in Europe and Asia; yet how few live past their season. Almost every one rests his reputation of something else. Willis, perhaps, the best, as the most brilliant, on his tales and sketches; Cooper is dull and prolix, and must be read only in his admirable early novels; Carter is buried under his own newspapers, as well as Brooks. Slidell is elegant but feeble; (Irving's tales, and sketches, and histories, have done far more for Spain than all the American travellers ;) Dewey is strongest in his pulpit and the lecture room; Miss Sedgwick in fiction, &c. Two American writers are unique as painters of French manners and living--Sanderson and Appleton Jewett.

At home, far too little has been done to illustrate our scenery, habits, and customs, by native travellers; Irving,

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