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[page 21, unnumbered:]
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OF CRITICISM — PUBLIC AND PRIVATE.
[In 1846, Mr. Poe published in The Lady's Book a
series of six
articles, entitled "The Literati of New-York City," in which he
professed
to give "some hones opinions at random respecting their autorial
merits,
with occasional words of personality." The series was introduced by the
following paragraphs, and the personal sketches were given in the order
which they are here reprinted, from "George Bush" to "Richard Adams
Locke."
The other notices of American and Foreign writers, were contributed by
Mr. Poe to various journals, chiefly in the last four or five years of
his life.]
IN a criticism
on Bryant, I
was at some pains in pointing out the distinction between the popular
"opinion"
of the merits of cotemporary authors, and that held and expressed of
them
in private literary society. The former species of "opinion" can
be called "opinion" only by courtesy. It is the public's own,
just
as we consider a book our own when we have bought it. In general,
this opinion is adopted from the journals of the day, and I have
endeavoured
to show that the cases are rare indeed in which these journals express
any other sentiment about books than such as may be attributed directly
or indirectly to the authors of the books. The most "popular,"
the
most "successful" writers among us, (for a brief period, at least,)
are,
ninety-nine times out of a hundred, persons of mere address,
perseverance,
effrontery — in a word, busy-bodies, toadies, quacks. These
people
easily succeed in boring editors (whose attention is too often
entirely
engrossed by politics or other "business" matter) into the admission of
favorable notices written or caused to be written by interested parties
— or, at least, into the admission of some notice where, under
ordinary
circumstances, no notice would be given at all. In this
way
ephemeral "reputations" are [page 22:]
manufactured,
which, for the most part, serve all the purposes designed — that is to
say, the putting money into the purse of the quack and the quack's
publisher;
for there never was a quack who could be brought to comprehend the
value
of mere fame. Now, men of genius will not resort to these
manœuvres,
because genius involves in its very essence a scorn of chicanery; and
thus
for a time the quacks always get the advantage of them, both in respect
to pecuniary profit and what appears to be public esteem.
There is another point of view,
too. Your literary
quacks court, in especial, the personal acquaintance of those
"connected
with the press." Now these latter, even when penning a voluntary,
that is to say, an uninstigated notice of the book of an acquaintance,
feel as if writing not so much for the eye of the public as for the eye
of the acquaintance, and the notice is fashioned accordingly. The
bad points of the work are slurred over, and the good ones brought out
into the best light, all this through a feeling akin to that which
makes
it unpleasant to speak ill of one to one's face. In the case of
men
of genius, editors, as a general rule, have no such delicacy — for the
simple reason that, as a general rule, they have no acquaintance with
these
men of genius, a class proverbial for shunning society.
But the very editors who hesitate at
saying in print
an ill word of an author personally known, are usually the most frank
in
speaking about him privately. In literary society, they seem bent
upon avenging the wrongs self-inflicted upon their own
consciences.
Here, accordingly, the quack is treated as he deserves — even a little
more harshly than he deserves — by way of striking a balance.
True
merit, on the same principle, is apt to be slightly overrated; but,
upon
the whole, there is a close approximation to absolute honesty of
opinion;
and this honesty is farther secured by the mere trouble to which it
puts
one in conversation to model one's countenance to a
falsehood. We place on paper without hesitation a tissue of flatteries,
to which
in
society we could not give utterance, for our lives, without either
blushing
or laughing outright.
For these reasons there exists a very
remarkable
discrepancy between the apparent public opinion of any given author's
merits,
and the opinion which is expressed of him orally by those who [page
23:] are best qualified to judge. For example, Mr.
Hawthorne,
the author of "Twice-Told Tales," is scarcely recognised by the press
or
by the public, and when noticed at all, is noticed merely to be damned
by faint praise. Now, my own opinion of him is, that, although
his
walk is limited, and he is fairly to be charged with mannerism,
treating
all subjects in a similar tone of dreamy innuendo, yet in this
walk
he evinces extraordinary genius, having no rival either in America or
elsewhere
— and this opinion I have never heard gainsaid by any one literary
person
in the country. That this opinion, however, is a spoken and not a
written one, is referable to the facts, first, that Mr. Hawthorne is
a poor man, and, second, that he is not an ubiquitous quack.
Again, of Mr. Longfellow, who,
although a little
quacky per se, has, through his social and literary position
as
a man of property and a professor at Harvard, a whole legion of active
quacks at his control — of him what is the apparent popular
opinion?
Of course, that he is a poetical phenomenon, as entirely without fault,
as is the luxurious paper upon which his poems are invariably borne to
the public eye. In private society he is regarded with one voice
as a poet of far more than usual ability, a skillful artist and a
well-read
man, but as less remarkable in either capacity than as a determined
imitator
and a dexterous adapter of the ideas of other people. For years I
have conversed with no literary person who did not entertain precisely
these ideas of Professor L.; and, in fact, on all literary topics,
there
is in society a seemingly wonderful coincidence of opinion. The
author
accustomed to seclusion, and mingling for the first time with those who
have been associated with him only through their works, is astonished
and
delighted at finding common to all whom he meets, conclusions which he
had blindly fancied were attained by himself alone, and in opposition
to
the judgment of mankind.
In the series of papers which I now
propose, my design
is, in giving my own unbiased opinion of the literati (male
and
female) of New York, to give at the same time very closely, if not with
absolute accuracy, that of conversational society in literary circles.
It must be expected, of course, that, in innumerable particulars, I
shall
differ from the voice, that is to say, from what appears to [page
24:] be the voice of the public — but this is a matter of no
consequence whatever.
New York literature may be taken as a
fair representation
of that of the country at large. The city itself is the focus of
American letters. Its authors include, perhaps, one-fourth of all
in America, and the influence they exert on their brethren, if
seemingly
silent, is not the less extensive and decisive. As I shall have
to
speak of many individuals, my limits will not permit me to speak of
them
otherwise than in brief; but this brevity will be merely consistent
with
the design, which is that of simple opinion, with little of
either
argument or detail. With one or two exceptions, I am well
acquainted
with every author to be introduced, and I shall avail myself of the
acquaintance
to convey, generally, some idea of the personal appearance of all who,
in this regard, would be likely to interest the readers. As any
precise
order or arrangement seems unnecessary and may be inconvenient, I shall
maintain none. It will be understood that, without reference to
supposed
merit or demerit, each individual is introduced absolutely at random.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
GEORGE BUSH.
THE REV.
GEORGE BUSH is Professor
of Hebrew
in the University of New York, and has long been distinguished for the
extent and variety of his attainments in oriental literature; indeed,
as
an oriental linguist, it is probable that he has no equal among
us. He has published a great deal, and his books have always the good
fortune
to attract attention throughout the civilized world. His
"Treatise
on the Millennium" is, perhaps, that of his earlier compositions by
which
he is most extensively as well as most favorably known. Of late
days
he has created a singular commotion in the realm of theology, by his
"Anastasis,
or the Doctrine of the Resurrection: in which it is shown that the
Doctrine
of the Resurrection of the Body is not sanctioned by Reason or
Revelation."
This work has been zealously attacked, and as zealously defended by the
professor and his friends. There can be no doubt that, up to this
period, the Bushites have had the [page 25:] best of
the battle. The "Anastasis" is lucidly, succinctly, vigorously,
and
logically written, and proves, in my opinion, everything that it
attempts
— provided we admit the imaginary axioms from which it starts; and this
is as much as can be well said of any theological disquisition under
the
sun. It might be hinted, too, in reference as well to Professor
Bush
as to his opponents, "que la plupart del sectes ont raison dans une
bonne partie de ce qu'elles avancent, mais non pas en ce qu'elles nient."
A subsequent work on "The Soul," by the author of "Anastasis," has made
nearly as much noise as the "Anastasis" itself.
Taylor, who wrote so ingeniously "The
Natural History
of Enthusiasm," might have derived many a valuable hint from the study
of Professor Bush. No man is more ardent in his theories; and
these
latter are neither few nor commonplace. He is a Mesmerist and a
Swedenborgian
— has lately been engaged in editing Swedenborg's works, publishing
them
in numbers. He converses with fervor, and often with
eloquence.
Very probably he will establish an independent church.
He is one of the most amiable men in
the world, universally
respected and beloved. His frank, unpretending simplicity of
demeanor,
is especially winning.
In person he is tall, nearly six
feet, and spare,
with large bones. His countenance expresses rather benevolence
and
profound earnestness, than high intelligence. The eyes are
piercing;
the other features, in general, massive. The forehead,
phrenologically,
indicates causality and comparison, with deficient ideality — the
organization
which induces strict logicality from insufficient premises. He
walks
with a slouching gait and with an air of abstraction. His dress
is
exceedingly plain. In respect to the arrangement about his study,
he has many of the Magliabechian habits. He is, perhaps,
fifty-five
years of age, and seems to enjoy good health. [page 26:]
[[~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~]]
GEORGE H. COLTON.
MR. COLTON
is noted as the author of "Tecumseh," and as the originator and editor
of "The American Review," a Whig magazine of the higher (that is to
say,
of the five dollar) class. I must not be understood as meaning
any
disrespect to the work. It is, in my opinion, by far the
best
of its order in this country, and is supported in the way of
contribution
by many of the very noblest intellects. Mr. Colton, if in nothing
else, has shown himself a man of genius in his successful establishment
of the magazine within so brief a period. It is now commencing
its
second year, and I can say, from my own personal knowledge, that its
circulation
exceeds two thousand — it is probably about two thousand five hundred.
So marked and immediate a success has never been attained by any of our
five dollar magazines, with the exception of "The Southern Literary
Messenger,"
which, in the course of nineteen months, (subsequent to the seventh
from
its commencement,) attained a circulation of rather more than five
thousand.
I cannot conscientiously call Mr.
Colton a good editor,
although I think that he will finally be so. He improves
wonderfully
with experience. His present defects are timidity and a lurking
taint
of partiality, amounting to positive prejudice (in the vulgar sense)
for
the literature of the Puritans. I do not think, however, that he
is at all aware of such prepossession. His taste is rather
unexceptionable
than positively good. He has not, perhaps, sufficient fire within
himself
to appreciate it in others. Nevertheless, he endeavors to
do
so, and in this endeavor is not inapt to take opinions at secondhand —
to adopt, I mean, the opinions of others. He is nervous,
and
a very trifling difficulty disconcerts him, without getting the better
of a sort of dogged perseverance, which will make a thoroughly
successful
man of him in the end. He is (classically) well educated.
As a poet he has done better things
than "Tecumseh,"
in whose length he has committed a radical and irreparable error,
sufficient
in itself to destroy a far better book. Some portions of it are
truly
poetical; very many portions belong to a high order [page
27:] of eloquence; it is invariably well versified, and has
no glaring defects, but, upon the whole, is insufferably tedious.
Some of the author's shorter compositions, published anonymously in his
magazine, have afforded indications even of genius.
Mr. Colton is marked in his personal
appearance.
He is probably not more than thirty, but an air of constant thought
(with
a pair of spectacles) causes him to seem somewhat older. He is
about
five feet eight or nine in height, and fairly proportioned — neither
stout
nor thin. His forehead is quite intellectual. His mouth has
a peculiar expression difficult to describe. Hair light and
generally
in disorder. He converses fluently, and, upon the whole, well,
but
grandiloquently, and with a tone half tragical [[,]] half pulpital.
In character he is in the highest
degree estimable,
a most sincere, high-minded, and altogether honorable man.
He is unmarried.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
N. P. WILLIS.
Whatever may be thought of MR.
WILLIS'S talents, there can be no doubt about
the
fact that, both as an author and as a man, he has made a good deal of
noise
in the world — at least for an American. His literary life, in
especial,
has been one continual émeute; but then his
literary
character is modified or impelled in a very remarkable degree by his
personal
one. His success (for in point of fame, if of nothing else, he
has
certainly been successful) is to be attributed, one-third to his mental
ability and two-thirds to his physical temperament — the latter goading
him into the accomplishment of what the former merely gave him the
means
of accomplishing.
At a very early age Mr. Willis seems
to have arrived
at an understanding that, in a republic such as ours, the mere man
of letters must ever be a cipher, and endeavored, accordingly, to unite
the éclat of the littérateur with that
of the
man of fashion or of society. He "pushed himself," went much into
the world, made friends with the gentler sex, "delivered" poetical
addresses,
wrote "scriptural" poems, travelled, sought the intimacy of noted [page
28:] women, and got into quarrels with notorious men.
All these things served his purpose — if, indeed, I am right in
supposing
that he had any purpose at all. It is quite probable that, as
before
hinted, he acted only in accordance with his physical temperament; but,
be this as it may, his personal greatly advanced, if it did not
altogether
establish his literary fame. I have often carefully considered
whether,
without the physique of which I speak, there is that in the
absolute morale of Mr. Willis which would have earned him
reputation as
a man of letters,
and my conclusion is, that he could not have failed to become noted in some
degree under almost any circumstances, but
that about two-thirds
(as above stated) of his appreciation by the public should be
attributed
to those adventures which grew immediately out of his animal
constitution.
He received what is usually regarded
as a "good education"
— that is to say, he graduated at college; but his education, in the
path
he pursued, was worth to him, on account of his extraordinary savoir
faire, fully twice as much as would have been its value in any
common
case. No man's knowledge is more available, no man has exhibited
greater tact in the seemingly casual display of his
wares.
With him, at least, a little learning is no dangerous
thing.
He possessed at one time, I believe, the average quantum of American
collegiate
lore — "a little Latin and less Greek," a smattering of physical and
metaphysical
science, and (I should judge) a very little of the mathematics
—
but all this must be considered as mere guess on my
part.
Mr. Willis speaks French with some fluency, and Italian not quite so
well.
Within the ordinary range of belles
lettres authorship,
he has evinced much versatility. If called on to designate him by
any general literary title, I might term him a magazinist — for his
compositions
have invariably the species of effect, with the brevity which
the
magazine demands. We may view him as a paragraphist, an essayist,
or rather "sketcher," a tale writer and a poet.
In the first capacity he fails.
His points,
however good when deliberately wrought, are too recherchés to
be put hurriedly before the public eye. Mr. W. has by no means
the readiness which the editing a newspaper demands. He
composes (as did Addison, [page 29:] and as do many of the most
brilliant and
seemingly dashing writers of the present day,) with great
labor
and frequent erasure and interlineation. His MSS., in this regard,
present
a very singular appearance, and indicate the vacillation which
is,
perhaps, the leading trait of his character. A newspaper, too, in its
longer
articles — its "leaders" — very frequently demands argumentation, and
here
Mr. W. is remarkably out of his element. His exuberant fancy
leads him over hedge and ditch — anywhere from the main road; and,
besides,
he is far too readily self-dispossessed. With time at command,
however,
his great tact stands him instead of all argumentative power,
and
enables him to overthrow an antagonist without permitting the latter to
see how he is overthrown. A fine example of this "management" is
to be found in Mr. W.'s reply to a very inconsiderate attack upon his
social
standing, made by one of the editors of the New York "Courier and
Inquirer."
I have always regarded this reply as the highest evidence of its
author's
ability, as a masterpiece of ingenuity, if not of absolute
genius.
The skill of the whole lay in this — that, without troubling himself to
refute the charges themselves brought against him by Mr. Raymond, he
put
forth his strength in rendering them null, to all intents and purposes,
by obliterating, incidentally and without letting his design be
perceived,
all the impression these charges were calculated to
convey.
But this reply can be called a newspaper article only on the ground of
its having appeared in a newspaper.
As a writer of "sketches," properly
so called, Mr.
Willis is unequaled. Sketches — especially of society — are his forte,
and
they are so for no other reason than that they afford him the best
opportunity
of introducing the personal Willis — or, more distinctly, because this
species of composition is most susceptible of impression from his
personal
character. The degagé tone of this kind of
writing,
too, best admits and encourages that fancy which Mr. W.
possesses
in the most extraordinary degree; it is in fancy that he reigns
supreme:
this, more than any one other quality, and, indeed, more than all his
other literary qualities combined, has made him what he
is. It is
this which gives him the originality, the freshness, the point, the
piquancy,
which appear to be [page 30:] the immediate, but
which
are, in fact, the mediate sources of his popularity.*
[page 31:]
In tales (written with
deliberation for the
magazines) he has shown greater constructiveness than I should
have
given him credit for had I not read his compositions of this order —
for
in this faculty all his other works indicate a singular
deficiency. The chief charm even of these tales, however, is still
referable to fancy.
As a poet, Mr. Willis is not
entitled, I think, to
so high a rank as he may justly claim through his prose; and this for
the
reason that, although fancy is not inconsistent with any of the demands
of those classes of prose composition which he has attempted, and,
indeed,
is a vital element of most of them, still it is at war (as will be
understood
from what I have said in the foot note) with that purity and perfection
of beauty which are the soul of the poem proper. I wish
to
be understood as saying this generally of our author's poems.
In
some instances, seeming to feel the truth of my proposition,
(that
fancy should have no place in the loftier poesy,) he has denied it a
place,
as in "Melanie," and his Scriptural pieces; but, unfortunately, he has
been unable to supply the void with the true imagination, and, these
poems
consequently are deficient in vigor, in stamen. The
Scriptural
pieces [page 32:] are quite "correct," as the
French
have it, and are much admired by a certain set of readers, who judge of
a poem, not by its effect on themselves, but by the effect which they
imagine
it might have upon themselves were they not unhappily soulless,
and by the effect which they take it for granted it does have
upon
others. It cannot be denied, however, that these pieces are, in
general,
tame, or indebted for what force they possess to the Scriptural
passages
of which they are merely paraphrastic. I quote what, in my own opinion,
and in that of nearly all my friends, is really the truest poem ever
written
by Mr. Willis.
[["UNSEEN SPIRITS."]]
The shadows lay along Broadway,
'Twas near the
twilight tide,
And slowly there a lady fair
Was walking in her
pride —
Alone walked she, yet viewlessly
Walked spirits at
her side.
Peace charmed the street beneath
her feet,
And honor charmed
the air,
And all astir looked kind on her
And called her
good as fair —
For all God ever gave to her
She kept with
chary care.
She kept with care her beauties
rare
From lovers warm
and true,
For her heart was cold to all but
gold,
And the rich came
not to woo.
Ah, honored well are charms to sell
When priests the
selling do
!
Now, walking there was one more
fair —
A slight girl,
lily-pale,
And she had unseen company
To make the spirit
quail —
'Twixt want and scorn she walked
forlorn,
And nothing could
avail.
No mercy now can clear her brow
For this world's
peace to pray —
For, as love's wild prayer dissolved
in air,
Her woman's heart
gave way;
And the sin forgiven by Christ in
heaven
By man is cursed
alway. |
There is about this little poem
(evidently written
in haste and through impulse) a true imagination. Its
grace,
dignity and pathos are impressive, and there is more in it of
earnestness,
of soul, [page 33:] than in anything I have seen
from
the pen of its author. His compositions, in general, have a
taint of worldliness, of insincerity. The identical rhyme
in
the last stanza is very noticeable, and the whole finale is
feeble. It would be improved by making the last two lines precede the
first two
of the stanza.
In classifying Mr. W.'s writings I
did not think
it worth while to speak of him as a dramatist, because, although he has
written plays, what they have of merit is altogether in their character
of poem. Of his "Bianca Visconti " I have little to say; — it
deserved
to fail, and did, although it abounded in eloquent passages.
"Tortesa" abounded in the same, but had a great many dramatic points
well
calculated to tell with a conventional audience. Its characters,
with the exception of Tomaso, a drunken buffoon, had no character at
all,
and the plot was a tissue of absurdities, inconsequences and
inconsistencies;
yet I cannot help thinking it, upon the whole, the best play ever
written
by an American.
Mr. Willis has made very few attempts
at criticism,
and those few (chiefly newspaper articles) have not impressed me with a
high idea of his analytic abilities, although with a very high
idea
of his taste and discrimination.
His style proper may be
called extravagant, bizarre, pointed, epigrammatic without
being antithetical, (this
is very rarely
the case,) but, through all its whimsicalities, graceful, classic and accurate.
He is very seldom to be caught tripping in the minor
morals.
His English is correct; his most outrageous imagery is, at all
events,
unmixed.
Mr. Willis's career has naturally
made him enemies
among the envious host of dunces whom he has outstripped in the race
for
fame; and these his personal manner (a little tinctured with reserve, brusquerie,
or
even haughtiness) is by no means adapted to conciliate. He has
innumerable
warm friends, however, and is himself a warm friend. He is impulsive,
generous,
bold, impetuous, vacillating, irregularly energetic — apt to be hurried
into error, but incapable of deliberate wrong.
He is yet young, and, without being
handsome, in
the ordinary sense, is a remarkably well looking man. In height
he
is, perhaps, five feet eleven, and justly proportioned. His
figure
is put in the best light by the ease and assured grace of his
carriage.
His whole person [page 34:] and personal demeanor
bear
about them the traces of "good society." His face is somewhat too full,
or rather heavy, in its lower portions. Neither his nose nor his
forehead
can be defended; the latter would puzzle phrenology. His eyes are
a dull bluish gray, and small. His hair is of a rich brown,
curling
naturally and luxuriantly. His mouth is well cut; the teeth
fine; the expression of the smile intellectual and winning. He
converses
little, well rather than fluently, and in a subdued
tone.
The portrait of him published about three years ago in "Graham's
Magazine,"
conveys by no means so true an idea of the man as does the sketch (by
Lawrence)
inserted as frontispiece to a late collection of his poems.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
WILLIAM M. GILLESPIE.
MR. WILLIAM
M. GILLESPIE aided Mr. Park Benjamin, I believe,
some
years ago, in the editorial conduct of "The New World," and has been
otherwise
connected with the periodical press of New York. He is more favorably
known,
however, as the author of a neat volume entitled "Rome as Seen by a New
Yorker," — a good title to a good book. The endeavor to convey
Rome
only by those impressions which would naturally be made upon an
American,
gives the work a certain air of originality — the rarest of all
qualities
in descriptions of the Eternal City. The style is pure and
sparkling,
although occasionally flippant and dilletantesque. The
love of remark is much in the usual way — selon les règles —
never
very exceptionable, and never very profound.
Mr. Gillespie is not unaccomplished,
converses readily
on many topics, has some knowledge of Italian, French, and, I believe,
of the classical tongues, with such proficiency in the mathematics as
has
obtained for him a professorship of civil engineering at Union College,
Schenectady.
In character he has much general
amiability, is warm-hearted,
excitable, nervous. His address is somewhat awkward, but
"insinuating
" from its warmth and vivacity. Speaks continuously and rapidly,
with a lisp which, at times, is by no means unpleasing; [page
35:] is fidgety, and never knows how to sit or to stand, or
what to do with his hands and feet, or his hat. In the street
[[he]]
walks irregularly, mutters to himself, and, in general, appears in a
state
of profound abstraction.
In person he is about five feet seven
inches high,
neither stout nor thin, angularly proportioned; eyes large and dark
hazel,
hair dark and curling, an ill-formed nose, fine teeth, and a smile of
peculiar
sweetness; nothing remarkable about the forehead. The general
expression
of the countenance when in repose is rather unprepossessing, but
animation
very much alters its character. He is probably thirty years of
age
— unmarried.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
CHARLES F. BRIGGS.
MR. BRIGGS
is better known as Harry Franco, a nom de plume assumed since
the
publication, in the "Knickerbocker Magazine," of his series of papers
called
"Adventures of Harry Franco." He also wrote for "The Knickerbocker"
some
articles entitled "The Haunted Merchant," which have been printed since
as a novel, and from time to time subsequently has been a contributor
to
that journal. The two productions just mentioned have some merit.
They depend for their effect upon the relation in a straightforward
manner,
just as one would talk, of the most commonplace events — a kind of
writing
which, to ordinary, and especially to indolent intellects, has a very
observable
charm. To cultivated or to active minds it is in an equal degree
distasteful, even when claiming the merit of originality. Mr.
Briggs's
manner, however, is an obvious imitation of Smollett, and, as usual
with
imitation, produces an unfavorable impression upon those conversant
with
the original. It is a common failing, also, with imitators, to
out-Herod
Herod in aping the peculiarities of the model, and too frequently the
faults
are more pertinaciously exaggerated than the merits. Thus, the
author
of "Harry Franco" carries the simplicity of Smollett to insipidity, and
his picturesque low-life is made to degenerate into sheer vulgarity.
If Mr. Briggs has a forte, it
is a Flemish
fidelity that omits [page 36:] nothing, whether
agreeable
or disagreeable; but I cannot call this forte a virtue.
He
has also some humor, but nothing of an original character.
Occasionally
he has written good things. A magazine article, called "Dobbs and
his Cantelope," was quite easy and clever in its way; but the way is
necessarily
a small one. And I ought not to pass over without some allusion to it,
his satirical novel of "Tom Pepper." As a novel, it really has not the
slightest pretensions. To a genuine artist in literature, he is as
Plumbe
to Sully. Plumbe's daguerreotypes have more fidelity than any portrait
ever put on canvass, but so Brigg's sketches of E. A. Duyckinck
(Tibbings)
and the author of Puffer Hopkins (Ferocious) are as lifelike as any
portraits
in words that have ever been drawn. But the subjects are little and
mean,
pretending and vulgar. Mr. Briggs would not succeed in delineating a
gentleman.
And some letters of his in Hiram Fuller's paper — perhaps for the
reason
that they run through a desert of stupidity — some letters of his, I
say,
under the apt signature of "Ferdinand Mendoza Pinto," are decidedly
clever
as examples of caricature — absurd, of course, but sharply absurd, so
that, with a knowledge of their design, one could hardly avoid
occasional
laughter. I once thought Mr. Briggs could cause laughter only by his
efforts
at a serious kind of writing.
In connexion with Mr. John Bisco, he
was the originator
of the late "Broadway Journal" — my editorial association with that
work
not having commenced until the sixth or seventh number, although I
wrote
for it occasionally from the first. Among the principal papers
contributed
by Mr. B., were those discussing the paintings at the proceding
exhibition
of the Academy of Fine Arts in New York. I may be permitted to
say,
that there was scarcely a point in his whole series of criticisms on
this
subject at which I did not radically disagree with him. Whatever
taste he has in art is, like his taste in letters, Flemish. There is a
portrait painter for whom he has an unlimited admiration. The
unfortunate
gentleman is Mr. Page.
Mr. Briggs's is about five feet six
inches in height,
somewhat slightly framed, with a sharp, thin face, narrow forehead,
nose
sufficiently prominent, mouth rather pleasant in expression, eyes not
so
good, gray and small, although occasionally brilliant. In [page
37:] dress he is apt to affect the artist, felicitating
himself
especially upon his personal acquaintance with artists and his general
connoisseurship. He walks with a quick, nervous step. His
conversation
has now and then the merit of humor, but he has a perfect mania for
contradiction,
and it is impossible to utter an uninterrupted sentence in his hearing.
He has much warmth of feeling, and is not a person to be disliked,
although
very apt to irritate and annoy. Two of his most marked
characteristics
are vacillation of purpose and a passion for being mysterious. He
has, apparently, travelled; has some knowledge of French; has been
engaged
in a variety of employments; and now, I believe, occupies a lawyer's
office
in Nassau-street. He is from Cape Code or Nantucket, is married,
and is the centre of a little circle of rather intellectual people, of
which the Kirklands, Lowell, and some other notabilities are honorary
members.
He goes little into society, and seems about forty years of age.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
WILLIAM KIRKLAND.
MR. WILLIAM
KIRKLAND — husband of the author of "A New Home"
—
has written much for the magazines, but has made no collection of his
works. A series of "Letters from Abroad" have been among his most
popular
compositions.
He was in Europe for some time, and is well acquainted with the French
language and literature, as also with the German. He aided Dr.
Turner
in the late translation of Von Raumer's "America," published by the
Langleys.
One of his best magazine papers appeared in "The Columbian" — a review
of the London Foreign Quarterly for April, 1844. The arrogance,
ignorance
and self-glorification of the Quarterly, with its gross injustice
towards
everything un-British, were severely and palpably exposed, and its
narrow
malignity shown to be especially mal-à-propos in a
journal
exclusively devoted to foreign concerns, and therefore presumably
imbued
with [page 38:] something of a cosmopolitan
spirit.
An article on "English and American Monthlies" in Godey's Magazine, and
one entitled "Our English Visitors," in "The Columbian," have also been
extensively read and admired. A valuable essay on "The Tyranny of
Public Opinion in the United States," (published in "The Columbian" for
December, 1845) demonstrates the truth of Jefferson's assertion, that
in this country, which has set the world an example of physical
liberty,
the inquisition of popular sentiment overrules in practice the freedom
asserted in theory by the laws. "The West, the Paradise of the
Poor,"
and "The United States' Census for 1830 [[1850]]," the former in "The
Democratic
Review," the latter in "Hunt's Merchants' Magazine," with sundry essays
in the daily papers, complete the list of Mr. Kirkland's works. It will
be seen that he has written little, but that little is entitled to
respect
for its simplicity, and the evidence which it affords of scholarship
and
diligent research. Whatever Mr. Kirkland does is done
carefully.
He is occasionally very caustic, but seldom without cause. His
style
is vigorous, precise, and, notwithstanding his foreign acquirements,
free
from idiomatic peculiarities.
Mr. Kirkland is beloved by all who
know him; in character
mild, unassuming, benevolent, yet not without becoming energy at
times;
in person rather short and slight; features indistinctive; converses
well
and zealously, although his hearing is defective.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
JOHN W. FRANCIS.
DOCTOR FRANCIS,
although by no means a litterateur, cannot well be omitted in
an
account of the New York literati. In his capacity
of
physician and medical lecturer, he is far too well known to need
comment.
He was the pupil, friend and partner of Hossack — the pupil of
Abernethy
— connected in some manner with everything that has been well said or
done
medicinally in America. As a medical essayist he has always
commanded
the highest respect and attention. Among the points he
has made at various times, I may mention his Anatomy of Drunkenness,
his
views of the Asiatic Cholera, his analysis of the Avon waters of the
state,
his establishment of the comparative immunity of the [page
39:]
constitution from a second attack of yellow fever, and his pathological
propositions on the changes wrought in the system by specific poisons
through
their assimilation — propositions remarkably sustained and enforced by
recent discoveries of Liebig.
In unprofessional letters Doctor
Francis has also
accomplished much, although necessarily in a discursive
manner.
His biography of Chancellor Livingston, his Horticultural Discourse,
his
Discourse at the opening of the new hall of the New York Lyceum of
Natural
History, are (each in its way) models of fine writing, just
sufficiently
toned down by an indomitable common sense. I had nearly forgotten
to mention his admirable sketch of the personal associations of Bishop
Berkeley, of Newport.
Doctor Francis is one of the old
spirits of the New
York Historical Society. His philanthropy, his active, untiring
beneficence,
will forever render his name a household word among the truly Christian
of heart. His professional services and his purse are always at
the
command of the needy; few of our wealthiest men have ever contributed
to
the relief of distress so bountifully — none certainly with greater
readiness
or with warmer sympathy.
His person and manner are richly
peculiar.
He is short and stout, probably five feet eight in height, limbs of
great
muscularity and strength, the whole frame indicating prodigious
vitality
and energy — the latter is, in fact, the leading trait in his
character. His head is large, massive — the features in keeping;
complexion dark
florid;
eyes piercingly bright; mouth exceedingly mobile and expressive; hair
gray,
and worn in matted locks about the neck and shoulders — eyebrows to
correspond,
jagged and ponderous. His age is about fifty-eight. His general
appearance
is such as to arrest attention.
His address is the most genial that
can be conceived,
its bonhommie irresistible. He speaks in a loud, clear,
hearty
tone, dogmatically, with his head thrown back and his chest out; never
waits for an introduction to anybody; slaps a perfect stranger on the
back
and calls him "Doctor" or "Learned Theban; " pats every lady on the
head,
and (if she be pretty and petite) designates her by some such
title
as "My Pocket Edition of the Lives of the Saints." His conversation
proper
is a sort of Roman punch made up of tragedy, comedy, and the broadest
of
all possible farce. [page 25:] He has a
natural,
felicitous flow of talk, always overswelling its boundaries and
sweeping
everything before it right and left. He is very earnest, intense,
emphatic; thumps the table with his fist; shocks the nerves of the
ladies. His forte, after all, is humor, the richest
conceivable — a
compound
of Swift, Rabelais, and the clown in the pantomime. He is
married. |
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