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[column 1:]  IN a criticism on
Bryant
published
in the last number of this magazine, 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 favourable 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
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 [column 2:] 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 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
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 [page 195:]
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 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 of the
magazine.
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.The Reverend 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 favourably 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 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 fervour, 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
demeanour,
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. 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 [page 196:] 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 endeavours to do so,
and in this endeavour 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 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 honourable man. He is
unmarried.Whatever may be thought of Mr. Willis's [column
2:] 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 endeavoured, 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, traveled, sought the intimacy of noted 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 [page 197:] 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,
and as do many of the most brilliant and seemingly dashing writers
of the present day,) with great labour 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 [column
2:]
the
originality, the freshness, the point, the piquancy, which appear to be
the immediate, but which are, in fact, the mediate sources of his
popularity. [page 198, top:] 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 compositions 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 vigour, in stamen. The Scriptural
pieces
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.
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, 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. [page 199:] 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 and personal demeanour 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. He is a widower, and has one child,
a daughter.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 favourably 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
endeavour 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; 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 illformed nose, fine teeth, and a smile of
peculiar [column 2:] 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.Mr. Briggs is better known as Harry
Franco, a nom
de plume assumed since the publication, in the "Knickerbocker " of
his series of papers called "Adventures of Harry Franco." He also wrote
for the "Knickerbocker " some articles entitled "The Haunted Merchant,"
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 unfavourable 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. A fair idea
of the general tone of the work may be gathered from the following
passage:
— " 'Come, colonel,' said the
gentleman,
slapping
me on the shoulder, 'what'll you take?' " 'Nothing, I thank you,' I
replied; 'I
have
taken enough already.' " 'What! don't you
liquorate?' "I shook my head, for I did
not exactly
understand
him. " 'Don't drink, hey?' " 'Sometimes,' I answered. " 'What! temperance
man? —
signed
a pledge?' " 'No, I have not signed a
pledge not
to
drink.' " 'Then you shall take a
horn — so come
along.' "And so saying he dragged
me up to the
bar. " 'Now, what'll you take —
julep,
sling,
cocktail or sherry cobbler?' " 'Anything you choose,' I
replied, for
I
had not the most remote idea what the drinks were composed of which he
enumerated. " 'Then give us a couple of
cocktails,
barkeeper,'
said the gentleman; 'and let us have them as quick as you damn please,
for I am as thirsty as the great desert of Sahara which old Judah
Paddock
traveled over.' " If Mr. Briggs has a forte, it is a
Flemish
fidelity
that omits nothing, whether agreeable or disagreeable; but I cannot
call
this forte a virtue. He has also some humour, but
nothing
of an original character. Occasionally he has written good
things. [page 200:] A magazine article
called "Dobbs
and his Cantelope" was quite easy and clever in its way; but the way is
necessarily a small one. Now and then he has attempted criticism,
of which, as might be expected, he made a farce. The
silliest
thing of this kind ever penned, perhaps, was an elaborate attack of his
on Thomas Babington Macaulay, published in "The Democratic Review;" —
the force of folly could no farther go. Mr. Briggs has never
composed
in his life three consecutive sentences of grammatical English.
He
is grossly uneducated. In connection 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 last
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. Mr. Briggs's personal appearance is not
prepossessing.
He is about five feet six inches in height, somewhat slightly framed,
with
a sharp, thin face, narrow and low forehead, pert-looking nose, mouth
rather
pleasant in expression, eyes not so good, gray and small, although
occasionally
brilliant. In dress he is apt to affect the artist, priding
himself
especially upon his personal acquaintance with artists and his general
connoisseurship. He is a member of the Art Union. He walks with a
quick, nervous step. His address is quite good, frank and
insinuating.
His conversation has now and then the merit of humour, 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. His most intimate friends seem to know nothing
of his movements, and it is folly to expect from him a direct answer
about
anything. He has, apparently, traveled; pretends to a knowledge
of
French (of which he is profoundly ignorant); has been engaged in an
infinite
variety of employments, and now, I believe, occupies a lawyer's office
in Nassau street. He is married, goes little into society, and
seems
about forty years of age.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 [column 2:]
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 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.Doctor Francis, although by no
means a littérateur, 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 [page 201:] waters of the state, his
establishment
of the comparative immunity of the 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 five in height, [column
2:] 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 cells 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. 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 first [fist]; shocks the nerves of the ladies. His forte,
after all, is humour, the richest
conceivable — a
compound
of Swift, Rabelais, and the clown in the pantomime. He is
married. |
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