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A Student's
History of American Literature
(1902)by Edward Simonds
Chapter 1: I
| II | III
| IV | Chapter 2: I
| II | III
| IV | V
| Chapter 3: I | II
| III | IV
| Chapter 4: I | II
| III | IV
| V | Chapter 5: I
| II | III
| IV | Chapter 6: I
| II | III
| IV | V
| VI | Chapter 7: I
| II | III
| IV |
Chapter 6.
III. WRITERS OF
NEW YORK AND PENNSYLVANIA.
For
some time, our attention has been centred for the most part in the work of our
New England writers; but we must not think that the literary activity of this
long period was confined to the immediate vicinity of Boston. The cities of
Philadelphia and New York had each its coterie of literary workers. In the rapidly
growing metropolis, the generation following that of Irving and his associates
of the Knickerbocker group was not without its representatives of greater or
less distinction, among whom at least two, Bayard Taylor and George William
Curtis, deserve especial recognition. Both were men of letters in the broadest
sense, versatile in talent and giving expression to that talent in varied literary
forms. Bayard Taylor, 1825-1878.
Taylor was born
in a Quaker household upon a Pennsylvania farm, and as a child was conscious
of two ambitions: to travel and to become a poet. His literary ambition was
gratified prematurely by the publication of a volume of verse, Ximena,
-- afterward regretted, -- in 1844. In the same year, his twentieth, he sailed
for England, having arranged with several editors to print the letters which
he purposed to write while on his travels. For nearly two years, he tramped
about over Europe enduring much hardship; his letters were published in 1846,
under the title of Views Afoot, or Europe seen with the
Knapsack and Staff. An editorial connection with the New York Tribune
followed; and in 1849, Taylor was sent to California to report upon the fortunes
of the gold-seekers. The next year his letters to the Tribune appeared
in the volume Eldorado. A trip to the far East
in 1851 resulted not only in more correspondence but also in a volume of verse,
Poems of the Orient (1854), containing some of his
best compositions, including the Bedouin Song. Bayard
Taylor's fame as a traveler and an entertaining descriptive writer was extended
by successive volumes recounting his experiences in Africa, in Spain, in India,
China, and Japan, and in the northern countries of Europe. But he was ambitious
to fill a higher place in literature.
Novels and Poems.
In 1863, he produced
his first novel, Hannah Thurston, and the next year,
his second, John Godfrey's Fortunes, which is to
some extent autobiographical. The Story of Kennett (1866), a semi-historical romance, is his most successful work of fiction. A
long and elaborate narrative poem, The Picture of St. John (1866), was followed by The Masque of the Gods (1872),
and Lars: a Pastoral of Norway (1873). Other volumes
of verse were published in the latter years of his life, including The
National Ode, written for the Centennial at Philadelphia in 1876; but
no one of Taylor's original efforts resulted in any enduring success. He wrote
tirelessly and unceasingly, yet without that inspiration which gives immortality
to the works of genius. His one achievement which will most certainly endure
is the translation of Goethe's Faust, the two parts
of which were published in 1870 and 1871. This altogether admirable version
of the German poet's masterpiece ranks with Bryant's Homer
and Longfellow's Dante, if it does
not surpass them in this delicately difficult field of poetical translation.
Only a portion
of Taylor's literary labor is recorded here; he was an indefatigable worker,
and his health broke down under the steady strain. In 1878, he was appointed
minister to Germany; and it seemed peculiarly appropriate that the translator
of Germany's great classic should be thus honored. His appointment was universally
approved, for the poet was widely respected and, in the circle of his literary
associates, greatly beloved. He was welcomed at Berlin, as Irving had been at
the court of Spain; but his diplomatic career was pathetically brief. Death
came upon him suddenly as he sat in his library at the German capital in December
of the year of his appointment.
G. W. Curtis, 1824-1892.
The boyhood of
George William Curtis was spent in Providence, Rhode Island,
but his family removed to New York when he was fifteen years old. He was still
in his teens when he, with an older brother, entered the Brook Farm community
at about the time that Hawthorne joined it. Three or four years of foreign travel,
including a visit to Egypt and Syria, resulted in two volumes of description
and impression: Nile Notes of a Howadji (1851) and
The Howadji in Syria (1852). Lotus
Eating (1852) presents another series of travel sketches. In The
Potiphar Papers (1853) he satirized some tendencies in New York
society.
The Orator.
During the decade
just preceding the Civil War, Curtis participated not only as a writer but also
as a public speaker in the great debate on slavery, and laid the foundation
of his later fame as one of the most forceful and graceful of American orators
-- a reputation maintained to the end of his career.
In Fiction and
Essay.
In 1856, Curtis
published a charming little work of light and delicate sentiment entitled Prue
and I, a work which was exceedingly popular at the time, and which retains
its popularity still. Trumps, an experiment in novel writing, appeared
in 1861. The chief claim of Curtis to literary distinction, however, is as an
essayist. For nearly fifty years he was associated editorially with Harper's
Magazine, and throughout that period contributed regularly those delightful
papers -- essays in miniature -- which we associate with the department so sympathetically
named "the Easy Chair." Something of the Addisonian flavor, with more
of the spirit of Charles Lamb, is to be recognized in these vivacious contributions
of comment, criticism, and reminiscence. Nevertheless, Curtis was as much a
master of a style distinctly his own as was the author of the Autocrat.
Three volumes of selections from these papers have been published, some of the
essays appearing in an expanded form. Two volumes of Orations
and Addresses have also appeared, including the eulogies on Wendell
Phillips and James Russell Lowell.
J.
G. Holland, 1819-1881.
Josiah Gilbert
Holland was a Massachusetts physician when he left his professional practice
and, like Taylor and Curtis, entered journalism in New York. Over the pen-name
Timothy Titcomb, Dr. Holland, while editor of the Springfield (Mass.) Republican, wrote a series of familiar essays, letters of wholesome counsel, which were received with favor in book form under the title
Timothy Titcomb's Letters (1858). The publication
of two volumes of verse, The Bay Path (1857) and Bitter-Sweet (1858), gave him a place among the "popular poets," which was re-inforced
by the appearance of Kathrina, a sentimental romance
in metre, in 1867. Dr. Holland's claims to literary distinction are not especially
strong, but his novels, Miss Gilbert's Career (1860),
Arthur Bonnicastle (1873), Seven
oaks (1875), and Nicholas Minturn (1877), were
widely read. In 1870, he became the editor of the new Scribner's
Magazine (which in 1881 changed its name to the
Century).
"Ik
Marvel," 1822-1908.
Donald
Grant Mitchell, a member of this same interesting group of genial essayists
who long survived the rest, is the author of two delightful books which, like
Curtis's Prue and I, still retain a popularity hardly diminished by the
lapse of a generation. Reveries of a Bachelor was
published in 1850, Dream Life in 1851. The same charm
of style and matter pervades My Farm of Edgewood (1863)
and Wet Days at Edgewood (1864); nor is it lacking
in the volumes of literary anecdote, English Lands, Letters,
and Kings (1889) and American Lands and Letters (1897-1899).
C.
D. Warner, 1829-1900.
Charles Dudley
Warner, whose delightful sketchbook, My Summer in a Garden (1870), suggests comparison with the "Edgewood" books, was born in
Massachusetts. For many years he was a member of the famous literary coterie
in Hartford, Connecticut, his professional duties -- he was also a journalist
-- associating him with the New York group. His pleasant volume of Backlog
Studies appeared in 1872. In collaboration with Samuel
L. Clemens ("Mark Twain"), he wrote The Gilded
Age (1873). Two volumes of travel sketches, My Winter
on the Nile and In the Levant, were published
in 1876. Being a Boy, a picturesque presentation of
youth on a New England farm, belongs to the year following. Warner
was the author of numerous volumes, including a Life of Washington Irving (1881) and two realistic novels, effective studies of New York society, A
Little Journey in the World (1889) and The Golden
House (1894).
Richard
H. Stoddard, 1825-1903.
Richard Henry Stoddard,
whose early years were years of poverty, was toiling in an iron foundry when
he began his poetical career in New York. A friendship with Bayard Taylor led
to the publication of his first poems and to much literary work. From 1859 to
1870, Mr. Stoddard was employed in the New York custom-house, a position obtained
with the friendly assistance of Hawthorne. From that time on, he was engaged
in editorial work and held a high place among our minor poets. An autobiographic
volume of Recollections (1903) is not the least
interesting of his prose works. The poet's wife, Elizabeth B.
Stoddard (1823-1902), was also a writer of verse and the author of three
noteworthy novels, The Morgesons (1862), Two
Men (1865), and Temple House (1867).
A Philadelphia
writer, George Henry Boker (1823-1890), represents substantial
attainment in the field of dramatic poetry. His successful tragedy, Francesca
da Rimini (1856), is possibly the best of several which embody that
romantic theme. Thomas Buchanan Read (1822-1872), like Boker
a Pennsylvanian and a friend of Taylor and the Stoddards, was also an artist
as well as poet. Of all his verse the battle lyric, Sheridan's
Ride (1865), is the poem inevitably associated with his name.
Walt
Whitman, 1819-1892.
By far the most
interesting and important figure among the New York writers of this generation
is that presented in the picturesque personality of Walt Whitman. Strictly speaking,
he was not so much a member as one outside the literary circle just described.
A man of rich vitality, lustily greeting life in all its phases, emphasizing,
perhaps needlessly, the physical side of life, Whitman strode forth on his course,
violating the conventionalities at every step. Not only in what he had to say
as a poet was Whitman unconventional; he was unconventional also in the manner
of saying. He violated the established rules of poetical expression as boldly
and as confidently as he disregarded the ordinary rule of silence concerning
the topics which he discussed with such amazing frankness. He was an innovator,
a representative of new ideas. In the literary history of our country he stands
unique. At once the target of criticism, he persevered in the delivery of what
he certainly believed a "message"; and now, half a century and more
since the publication of his earliest volume, he still stands a some-what problematical
personality. In the minds of many he appears a man of undoubted genius, Ossianic,
elemental, impressive; to some he is the teacher of new-found truths, the prophet
and the poet of democracy.
His
Life.
Walt Whitman was
born on a farm on Long Island. His father was a descendant of pioneer New England
stock; his mother's ancestry was Dutch. While Whitman was a child, his parents
removed to Brooklyn, where his father practiced the trade of carpenter and builder.
The boy was educated but scantily in the public schools, and entered a printer's
office at thirteen. He was not continuously employed; he found time to roam
the moors and beaches of Long Island in close touch with nature and delighting
in the sea; he also found time to read much good literature, the Arabian
Nights, Scott, Shakespeare, Ossian, the hero-poetry.
of the Germans, and translations of the Greek dramatists and poets. There was
a strange fitness in it -- this abrupt, haphazard introduction to the masterpieces
of literature. Dante he read in the shadows of a wood; Homer he learned by heart
in the shelter of great rocks, listening to the roar of the surf. At fifteen,
he one day notices a ship under full sail, and has the desire to describe it
like a poet. At eighteen, he teaches a country school. At twenty, he starts
a weekly paper in his birthplace, then edits in leisurely fashion a daily paper
in New York. He writes romances and verse of the conventional
sort for a magazine, rides on the Broadway omnibuses and makes stanch friends
with the drivers, is welcomed in the pilot-houses of the ferry-boats that ply
on East River, frequents the Bowery, and is a conspicuous figure among the Bohemians
who gather in Pfaff's restaurant. At twenty-eight, he is editor of the Brooklyn
Eagle, and then suddenly takes to the "open road" to see
the country and get near the people. This "leisurely journey and working
expedition," as Whitman termed it, takes him through the Middle States
and down the Ohio and Mississippi to New Orleans, where for a time he works
in a newspaper office. Retracing his steps in part, he visits the Great Lakes,
sees Niagara, and crosses into Canada, finally returning through Central New
York and down the Hudson.
Leaves
of Grass.
In 1855, appeared the first edition of Whitman's poems, entitled Leaves
of Grass, a title which was used by the poet with each subsequent issue
until the eighth edition, in 1892. This first volume was perhaps more widely talked
about than widely read. To most of those who did read it, it was both mystifying
and repellent. Not only did they find here a startling freedom of speech which
shocked them and an apparent egotism that amazed, but they found also a form of
expression that bade defiance to every principle of constructive art.
"I
celebrate myself, and sing myself,"
chanted the poet;
"And
what I assume you shall assume,
For every atom belonging to me as good belongs to you.
"I loafe and invite my soul,
I lean and loafe at my ease observing a spear of summer grass.
... . .
"A child said What is the grass? fetching it to me with full hands;
How could I answer the child? I do not know what it is any more than he.
"I guess it must be the flag of my disposition, out of hopeful green stuff
woven.
"Or I guess it is the handkerchief of the Lord,
A scented gift and remembrancer designedly dropt,
Bearing the owner's name someway in the corners, that we may see and remark,
and say Whose?
"Or I guess the grass is itself a child, the produced babe of the vegetation.
... . .
"And now it seems to me the beautiful uncut hair of graves."
This indeed seemed
anarchy rather than art, and it is not surprising that a new generation of readers
was born before the real significance of this strange verse began to be clear.
Yet Emerson recognized the strength of originality in the "message"
and wrote Whitman a friendly and appreciative letter, which, with very poor
taste, Walt included in the next edition of his poems. In time it became evident
that the Song of Myself was to be interpreted as typical
and universal rather than egotistic, and that the spirit of Walt Whitman's poetry
was democratic rather than personal.
Whitman's
Verse.
The
peculiar verse-form Whitman persistently maintained. It represents his revolt
from artificiality. It was premeditated and, indeed, acquired with some effort.
Of his compositions in this first volume, he said: "I had great trouble
in leaving out the stock `poetical' touches, but succeeded at last." Rhyme
and metre were abolished -- but not melody or rhythm. The device of the "catalogue"
became his favorite method of suggestion, often picturesque, often musical,
but often, too, unorganized and bewildering. In later years Whitman's poetry
became less turgid and, at times, even symmetrical. The objectionable freedoms
of the early work disappeared entirely and the poetical quality grew more tangible.
The
Poet's War Record.
The Civil War stirred
Whitman mightily. The spirit of his verse during this period attains a dignity
and strength that is notable; but this is not all. A brother who had enlisted
was wounded; and late in 1862, Walt went to Washington to nurse him. For the
next two years the poet gave himself wholly to the hospitals. The service which
he then performed, sometimes in the camps, sometimes on the field, can hardly
be described. Stalwart, health-breathing, sympathetic, he assisted the surgeons,
dressed the wounds, spoke tender encouragement to the suffering, scattered his
simple little gifts among the sick, took the last message, and held the dying
soldier in his arms. His own superb health finally broke. In Drum-Taps (1865) are included some of his finest compositions, notably the vivid descriptive
poems Cavalry Crossing a Ford, Bivouac
on a Mountain-side, An Army Corps on the March,
and By the Bivouac's Fitful Flame, pictures intense
in their realism. The death of Lincoln inspired two poems which command universal
admiration: When Lilacs Last in the Dooryard Bloom'd
and O Captain! My Captain! This last poem is in rhymed
stanzas, and shows Whitman's poetical power at its best. The Strength of Whitman.
The sea is the subject of many fine passages in these strange compositions.
A Paumanok Picture, Patroling Barnegat, With
Husky-Haughty Lips, O Sea, may be cited as examples, this last
especially a marvel of descriptive power. To the poems of this interesting group,
many as impressively suggestive could easily be added. The bird-songs in Out
of the Cradle Endlessly Rocking and When
Lilacs Last in the Dooryard Bloom'd are remarkable lyrics. To
the Man-of-War-Bird is another poem easily to be appreciated. A
picture dramatic in spirit and singularly vivid, is that descriptive of the old
mariner's passing, in Old
Salt Kossabone.
"Far
back, related on my mother's side,
Old Salt Kossabone, I'll tell you how he died:
(Had been a sailor all his life -- was nearly 90 -- lived with his married grandchild,
Jenny;
House on a hill, with view of bay at hand, and distant cape, and stretch to
open sea;)
The last of afternoons, the evening hours, for many a year his regular custom,
In his great arm chair by the window seated,
(Sometimes, indeed, through half the day,)
Watching the coming, going of the vessels, he mutters to himself. --
And now the close of all:
One struggling outbound brig, one day, baffled for long -- cross-tides and much
wrong going,
At last at nightfall strikes the breeze aright, her whole luck veering,
And swiftly bending round the cape, the darkness proudly entering, cleaving,
as he watches,
`She's free -- she's on her destination" -- these the last words -- when
Jenny came, he sat there dead,
Dutch Kossabone, Old Salt, related on my mother's side, far back."
More
and more, as one learns to read Whitman, -- and the reading should be aloud, --
his strength grows upon the reader. The eccentricity, the uncouth forms, the jargon
of names and words, disturb him less. In some degree he must respond to the pervading
spirit of comradeship, of sympathy -- boundless, indiscriminate. All mankind is
brother and sister; everything in nature is wholesome and divine.
"He
says indifferently and alike How are you friend? to the President at
his levee,
And he says Good-day my brother, to Cudge that lives in the sugar-field,
And both understand him and know that his speech is right."
This is certainly
the spirit of democracy speaking. The question is, Is it poetry?
The End.
In 1873, a stroke
of paralysis incapacitated the poet, and Whitman, who had held a clerkship in
Washington, removed to Camden, New Jersey, where his later
life was spent. Here he lived in comparative poverty, but with the companionship
of a few intimate friends, and with the knowledge of a growing body of disciples
who cared more for their master's teaching than about his style of utterance.
Tributes of recognition from Great Britain and the Continent gratified him.
He began to be regarded by some enthusiasts as an oracle, and the poet seemed
not averse to the rôle. Specimen Days and Collect,
autobiographical data in prose, was published in 1882. A new collection of verse,
November Boughs, appeared in 1888. The seventieth
birthday of the poet was marked by greetings from all parts of the world. A
new edition of Leaves of Grass was issued, together with the new poems
collected under the title Sands at Seventy. A final
volume, Good-bye my Fancy (1891), contained his last
poems. Whitman died March 26, 1892.
The
influence of Whitman upon his immediate contemporaries appeared negligible;
but the notable development of free verse twenty years later owes much to his
example. The spirit of Whitman, indeed, speaks again in the voices of the "new"
poets appearing in the second decade of the twentieth century.
References.
Concerning
Walt Whitman and his work there is a superabundance of material. The best recent
biography, with a satisfactory criticism of his verse, is the Life of Walt
Whitman, by Bliss Perry. See also Walt Whitman by George R. Carpenter,
in the English Men of Letters Series. A good short sketch of the poet
is the volume in the Beacon Biographies, by I. H. Platt. The study of
Whitman, in Trent's American Literature is impartial and admirable. The
volume of Selections from the Prose and Poetry of Walt Whitman, edited
by O. L. Triggs, and Selected Poems by Walt Whitman, edited by Arthur
Stedman (in Fiction, Fact, and Fancy Series), may prove more profitable
as an introduction to the poet than an edition of his complete works.