We love to read the letters of great men, who in letters, art, science,
statesmanship, theology, have held a front rank. They discover their
personality, and bring us into acquaintance with the men themselves, as
nothing else does. We say to the biographer: “Let your subject, as far
as may be, tell us of himself; give us any fragments of autobiography
or journals which may be in existence; print copiously of his letters.”
The wise writer of biography does so; and the most valuable portions
of the life of a man of note are those in which he speaks himself. Let
Michael Angelo, with candle stuck in his pasteboard cap, teach those who
undertake to show us a character in whom there is a public interest;
let them keep their own shadows off the canvas. “The Life of Frederick
W. Robertson,” by Stopford A. Brooke, and the “Life of Dr. Arnold,”
by Dean Stanley, are models of biography. The letters of Robertson
and of Arnold are their most prominent feature, and are a priceless
treasure, both because of the light they throw upon the personality
of the men, and the rich thought with which they sparkle. Mr. Parke
Godwin, in his “Life of Bryant,” has done his work well. To have omitted
the scrap of autobiography which occupies the first thirty-eight pages
of the work would have been a great blunder. It is most charming. And
the letters of the great poet and editor are interspersed generously
through the two volumes. No one will say that they fill too large a
space. Fame came to Bryant early, and he was permitted to live, with his
reputation continually widening, and his honors augmenting, until nearly
four-score-and-four years had passed over his head; and to die, like
Moses, with his eye undimmed and his natural force not abated. It could
not have been a difficult matter to secure letters of his in abundance
for the purposes of biography; and these the world wants.
We have them here in these volumes of Mr. Godwin; letters written in all
periods of life; letters to acquaintances, friends and strangers; letters
upon literature, politics, and matters personal; letters to persons well
known in letters and public affairs; letters written here and there
at home, and from various points in his frequent journeyings in other
lands. As might have been expected, we find always, as we read them,
the same clear and beautiful style. Bryant could not write, even upon
trivial matters, without writing well. It was said of him that “he never
said a foolish thing.” No foolish thing is found in these letters, and
whatever is said is said clearly and well. The poet was not a humorist;
the editor was not. And the element of humor, wanting in his poems and
editorials, seldom appears in his letters. They do not sparkle with
drollery and wit like those of Dickens. Sometimes, in writing to his
old pastor and warm friend, Rev. Dr. Dewey, he unbends and is somewhat
playful and jocose; and a letter written to his mother, when a young man,
telling her of his marriage, is, for him, rather funny; but as a rule,
the letters are of a grave and serious tone. Bryant the _litterateur_
and the politician, appears in his correspondence more prominently
than any other character. His interest in politics from early life was
evidently very great. Letters are given which he wrote upon state and
national affairs, when a boy, to the congressman of the district at
Washington; and letters full of wise reflections, written by the mature
and sagacious man to President Lincoln and other eminent statesmen. As a
matter of course, the man is far more modest, is much less positive, and
knows far less than the boy! And numerous and highly interesting are the
letters to many associates of his in the field of letters. Richard H.
Dana, the senior, gave him valuable aid at the beginning of his literary
career, and became his close, life-long friend. Perhaps to him more of
the letters of these volumes are addressed than to any other one person.
Mr. Bryant’s home-life was beautiful, and his letters to members of his
family discover the fact, and his strongly affectionate nature. The death
of his wife, for whose recovery to health the climate of different parts
of Europe was tried in vain, was keenly felt, and the shadow of the
bereavement was upon him the balance of his years. Among the letters,
we find that written to Dr. Vincent, in his last years, in which his
interest in the C. L. S. C. and its objects was so beautifully expressed,
and which has become familiar to all the members of the Circle.