“I do not remember many of those newspaper squibs,” said I; “but I think Cooper showed very little taste or good sense in answering them at large in ‘A Letter to my Countrymen.’”
“And in republishing that letter in England,” added the Carolinian; “making the English public judge between himself and the American people.”
“And yet, what remedy has an American author in such a case, except to appeal from a small and prejudiced public to a large and liberal one?”
“I do not think,” rejoined the Carolinian, “the English public is much more liberal than our own. But, then, in England every man sticks to his trade, so that the criticism of the periodical press, and even of the daily papers, proceed at least from persons competent to judge, and who have made literature their principal occupation in life. If it were not for English critics, we should not know or esteem our own poets; for it is only after they have acquired a standing there, that they are admitted into society in this country. I remember what an American lady from this very city told a gentleman in Paris, when she heard a certain bard was visiting the highest society in England: ‘I cannot conceive of it,’ said she; ‘he never visited in the first society with us.’ ‘Then,’ observed a sarcastic Scotchman, ‘the first society in England must be very differently constituted from the first society in America.’”
“You are too severe on your own countrymen,” said I.
“I am accustomed to speak my opinion frankly,” replied the Southerner. “How many of the gentlemen present do you think fit to edit a respectable paper in England?”
“That is a difficult question.”
“Oh, not at all, sir! I will answer it for you. Hardly one besides our entertainer, who, though perhaps no longer equal to what he was, possesses, nevertheless, more business tact, and writes better English, than any one of his colleagues. And yet all these men have pretensions to literature, and imagine themselves capable of judging the literary productions of others. What man of talent would under such circumstances not rather appeal to England, and be judged by his peers, than trust to the decisions of his countrymen? The greatest praise of the American press is, after all, but a dubious testimony of an author’s merits, even with a great portion of the American public; while its censure becomes doubly severe from the circumstance of its rare occurrence, and the great ease with which it may be avoided. I remember an instance in which one of this gallant body of editors ‘cut up’ a book, and that too one which has since been republished in England, merely because the author had forgotten to send him a copy;—a tribute which no poor devil of a writer ought to forget to pay to those sovereign princes of literature, if he do not wish to see himself damned. But, if the work has once gone through an edition in England, all is hushed in silence; for, although we declaim continually against British influence, we have scarcely an editor who dares to hold an opinion different from that of the English public. The love of independence is, indeed, inherent in them; but in such matters a mere declaration does not answer the purpose.”
“And what is the usual career of one of your editors?” demanded I.
“That is easily told,” replied he. “A man fails in business, or is otherwise unfortunate; he does not succeed in his profession, or has had some other falling-out with the world. Then he turns politician, and commences generally by being a democrat. Democracy is the easiest and best commencement of a politician. He is serving his apprenticeship with the people, as a young physician first practises on the poor before he ventures his skill on those who are able to pay him. The majority of our ‘most respectable editors’ commenced in this manner, by advocating ‘the greatest good to the greatest number;’ but, once brought into notice, the transition from Radicalism to Whiggism, and from that to Toryism, is effected with little difficulty.