_Mr. Kinsley’s Book._
While it is universally conceded that Chicago is rapidly achieving
world-wide reputation as the great literary centre of the United States,
it is distressing to note that local critics are slow to recognize and
to encourage the efforts of Chicago _littérateurs_. We have been plunged
into a most unhappy condition of mind by the continued neglect with
which a recent literary work of our esteemed fellow-townsman, Mr. H. M.
Kinsley, has been treated by the moulders of literary thought in
Chicago. We do not know whether it is envy that lurks in the bosom of
our literary critics, and instigates them to ignore home industries, but
we do know that for the last three months “The Dial,” “Scandinavia,”
“The Current,” and other hypercritical reviews, have devoted much space
to literature in Norway, France, Italy, Belgium, England, and Prussia,
but have had never a word to say of Mr. Kinsley’s valuable treatise. We
mention this plain truth more in sorrow than in anger.
Mr. Kinsley’s book, which now lies before us, treats of topics of the
greatest social importance. The introductory pages give a careful
description of Mr. Kinsley’s palatial refectory; and following these are
several chapters upon the prices of viands, upon the lofty dignity of
which (the prices) Mr. Kinsley’s claims to literary recognition would
appear to be based. We learn that we can obtain a quart of Nesselrode
pudding with Maraschino sauce for one dollar and a quarter, a quart of
_tutti-frutti_ ice for one dollar, a dozen _pommes de terre fraises_ for
three dollars, _sauterne frappe_ for two dollars and a half per gallon,
chicken _à la Rheine_ soup for one dollar per quart, _à la Marengo_
sauce for two dollars per quart, _fricadelle de foie gras_ for
seventy-five cents per pound, etc. This important, not to say necessary,
information is supplemented with a large number of recipes, which should
prove of vast value to the humbler classes in this city. These recipes
give careful instruction as to the compounding of mushroom salads,
terrapin croquettes, bisque of whitebait tongues, fricassee of
canary-birds’ livers, and other viands common to the groaning board of
the metropolitan day-laborer. These recipes are stated in that
idiomatic, direct English which instantly conveys intelligence to the
mind of the reader, and joy ineffable to the soul of the printer at
forty cents per one thousand ems. So much for what we may term the
sordid, worldly, practical part of the book. On the succeeding pages the
versatile author proceeds to treat of weddings, parties, receptions,
etc., and we note with pleasure that the importance of elaborate and
costly refreshments is urged in each instance. But it is in his chapter
on “Etiquette of the Table,” that—if we may be allowed to use the
figure—Mr. Kinsley out-Kinsleys Kinsley. Perchance it was this chapter
that gave our contemporary, “The Dial,” and other critical reviews,
pause. Howbeit, we shall venture to regale our readers with a very few
specimen excerpts,—
“Fashions change in modes of eating.”
“Never appear impatient, and employ the time in agreeable
conversation.”
“Soup should be eaten carefully.”
“Never eat with a knife.”
“Never rise until the meal is finished.”
“Sit upright, with grace and dignity.”
“A fork should be used gracefully.”
“Do not pick the teeth with the cutlery.”
“Do not break the china or glassware unless you expect to pay double
price for it.”
These are a few of the pleasant and admirable fundamental laws which
author Kinsley lays down for the guidance of his patrons, presumably the
_élite_, the _crême de la crême_, of Chicago. And, possibly with
economic ends in view, Mr. Kinsley warns his readers, “Never eat so much
of any article as to attract attention.”
So we say we like the book; and, having perused it carefully, we feel
warranted in declaring that it appears to us that none could quit Mr.
Kinsley’s soothing influences without exclaiming, in the historic
language once employed by Ali Baba, “Allah be praised for this
deliverance!”
_Literature and Art._
WE acknowledge the receipt of a handsome volume entitled “The Trunk
Tragedy: A Complete History of the Murder of Preller and the Trial of
Maxwell.” The author is none other than Judge E. A. Noonan of St. Louis,
a real-estate and house-renting agent, and _littérateur_ of marked
ability. The book is strongly written, and a number of stirring
illustrations by leading local artists give the work a peculiar value.
Bound in paper, with a full-page illustration of the unfortunate victim
on the cover, for the reasonable price of twenty cents, this
_chef-d’œuvre_ should find its way into every home.
* * * * *
ANGELO LUDOVICO, the famous Chicago sculptor, has just completed a
bass-relief bust of William Shakespeare, the immortal bard of Avon. The
likeness is a superb one, the artist having made his designs from the
only authentic autograph, now in possession of Mr. Gunther, the
well-known candy-virtuoso.
_The Cooley Poems._
[Illustration: Judge Thomas M. Cooley]
Col. Jasper Eastman, one of the oldest and most respected citizens of
Adrian, Mich., sends us twenty-eight poems, which he says were written
by Judge Thomas M. Cooley, the venerable and learned jurist recently
appointed to the Inter-state Commission. These poems, we are told, were
published originally in “The Ann Arbor News,” which paper was owned and
conducted twenty-five years ago by one of Judge Cooley’s most intimate
friends. The period between the publication of the first of these poems
and the publication of the last was eight years (from 1853 to 1861);
and, as they appeared, they were cut out, and pasted into Col. Eastman’s
scrap-book: it is to this old scrap-book that we are indebted for the
specimen gems which we are enabled to put before our readers at this
time. Col. Eastman says, that, while it is generally known among his old
associates that Judge Cooley used to be a great hand for writing poems,
it is not known nor believed outside of that limited circle that the
learned jurist ever did, or ever could, unbend to the muse. “People who
know him to be a severe moralist and a profound scholar,” writes this
old friend, “will laugh you to scorn if you try to make them believe
that Cooley ever condescended to express his fancies in verse. Yet you
will agree with me, I think, when I say that most of the learned men of
all ages _have_ written poetry, and that, therefore, there is no
positive reason why the leading intellect of Michigan should not write
poetry.”
There is among psychologists a very pronounced belief that the practice
of writing verse serves as the best escape-valve (if we may so term it)
for the emotional nature of man. The emotional nature, albeit it is the
lowest part of man’s intellectual being, is earliest developed in the
race and in the individual. Hence it is the first to spring to the
control of the mind when the intellect is urged in any direction which
prevents his nature having an escape-valve. It has been observed from
the most ancient times, that the severe legislator and moralist has
often exhibited secret vices or peculiarities which were but the
expression of his repressed emotional nature. This repression has
produced, as its resulting rebound, ruthless and horrible crimes; but
very often—even in the cases of illustrious statesmen guilty of
monstrous crimes—_further_ crime has been prevented by an outburst of
the emotional nature in the direction of poetry, which afforded the
escape-valve so imperatively demanded.
It is very probable that Solon’s occasional pursuit of the art of
poetical composition served to prevent him from falling victim to the
laws he himself made, and enabled him to stand for all time as the stern
moralist. The poetry of the ancient Spartans, Romans, Germans, Saxons,
and Scandinavians did much to preserve those races from the degeneration
which must have resulted had their otherwise repressed emotional natures
not found a vent in song. It was only his devotion to poetry that
prevented Chaucer from becoming the utterly corrupt politician which
such court associations as his made others. Had Edward V. stuck to the
poetry of his early years, his crimes would not have lost the crown to
his descendants. The poetic tendencies of James I. served to prevent his
utterly vicious character from fully demonstrating itself. Francis
Bacon’s secret poetizing kept him from becoming totally depraved by the
court around him. Richelieu’s poetry served to prevent his indulgence in
dangerous methods of satisfying the emotional nature, gave him an
extended lease of life, and in divers ways assisted him in the
accomplishment of his ends. Mazarin’s poetry gave utterance in a healthy
way to an emotionalism which would have been dangerous to repress. The
poetry of the statesmen of the era of the English revolution—Montague,
Somers the jurist, and Harley—saved them the disgrace of finding
satisfaction for their emotional natures in secret excesses, like those
of Jeffreys. Great lawyers, statesmen, and divines—Mansfield, Maule,
Mackintosh, Macaulay, Fox, Burke, Beust, Disraeli, Thiers, Seward,
Webster, Leo XIII.—have recognized that the proper balance of the
intellectual nature required that the emotional nature, repressed by
daily tasks and natural environments, should find an escape-valve in
some honest and healthy direction; and all found it in poetic
composition.
[Illustration: Judge Cooley]
But it is not our purpose to seek to explain, or to apologize for, the
poems which Judge Cooley has written: we will say simply, that,
environed as he was by a sternly moral community, his emotional nature
found vent in song, and these songs speak most eloquently for
themselves.
Those who knew Judge Cooley at that time say that he was “a long,
awkward boy, with big features, moony eyes, a shock of coarse hair, and
the merest shadow of a mustache.” A faded daguerrotype of the young poet
is preserved, and from it we have produced a tolerably fair copy, which
will surely interest the admirers of good verse. It appears that young
Cooley’s first poetical attempts were in the direction of versifications
and paraphrases of the ancients. Fully half the specimens before us are
illustrations of work of this kind, at which the young man exhibited
great proficiency. Here is a bit from Menecrates that is really prime;
it is as good a piece of versification as any done by the more
pretentious dabblers in Greek anthology:—