LITERARY NEW YORK
Although the New York of my youth had little claim to be recognized as a
literary centre, it yet was a city whose tastes and manners were much
influenced by people of culture. One of these, Robert Sands, was the
author of a poem entitled "Yamoyden," its theme being an Indian story or
legend. His family dated back to the Sands who once owned a considerable
part of Block Island, and from whom Sands Point takes its name. If I do
not mistake, these Sands were connected by marriage with one of my
ancestors, who were also settlers in Block Island. I remember having
seen the poet Sands in my childhood, a rather awkward, near-sighted man.
His life was not a long one. A sister of his, Julia Sands, wrote a
biographical sketch of her brother, and was spoken of as a literary
woman.
William Cullen Bryant resided in New York many years. He took a
prominent part in politics, but mingled little in general society, being
much absorbed in his duties as editor of the "Evening Post," of which he
was also the founder.
I first heard of Fitz-Greene Halleck as the author of various satirical
pieces of verse relating to personages and events of nearly eighty years
ago. He is now best remembered by his "Marco Bozzaris," a noble lyric
which we have heard quoted in view of recent lamentable encounters
between Greek and Barbarian.
Among the lecturers who visited New York, I remember Professor Silliman
of Yale College, Dr. Follen, who spoke of German literature, George
Combe, and Mr. Charles Lyell.
Charles King, for many years editor of a daily paper entitled "The New
York American," was a man of much literary taste. He had been a pupil at
Harrow when Byron was there. He was an appreciative friend of my father,
although as convivial in his tastes as my father was the reverse. I
remember that once, when a temperance meeting was going on in one of our
large parlors, Mr. King called and, finding my father thus engaged,
began to frolic with us young people. He even dared to say: "How I
should like to open those folding doors just wide enough to fire off a
bottle of champagne at those temperance folks!"
He was the patron of my early literary ventures, and kindly allowed my
fugitive pieces to appear in his paper. He always advocated the
abolition of slavery, and could never forgive Henry Clay his part in
effecting the Missouri Compromise. He and his brother James, my father's
junior partner, were sons of Rufus King, a man eminent in public life. I
was a child of perhaps eight years when I heard my elders say with
regret that "old Mr. King was dying."
Quite late in his life, Mr. Charles King became President of Columbia
College. This institution, with the houses of its officers, occupied the
greater part of Park Place. Its professors were well known in society.
The college was very conservative in its management. The professor of
mathematics was asked one day by one of his class whether the sun did
not really stand still in answer to the prayer of Joshua. He laughed at
the question, and was in consequence reprimanded by the faculty.
Professor Anthon, of the college, became known through his school and
college editions of many Latin classics. Professor Moore, in the
department of Hellenics, was popular among the undergraduates, partly,
it was said, on account of his very indulgent method of conducting
examinations. Professor McVickar, in the chair of Philosophy, was one of
the early admirers of Ruskin. The families of these gentlemen mingled a
good deal in the society of the time, and contributed no doubt to impart
to it a tone of polite culture. I should say that before the forties the
sons of the best families of New York city were usually sent to Columbia
College. My own brothers, three in number, were among its graduates. New
York parents in those days looked upon Harvard as a Unitarian
institution, and shunned its influence for their sons.
The venerable Lorenzo Da Ponte was for many years a resident of New
York, and a teacher of the Italian language and literature. When
Dominick Lynch introduced the first opera troupe to the New York public,
sometime in the twenties, the audience must surely have comprised some
of the old man's pupils, well versed in the language of the librettos.
In earlier life, he had furnished the text of several of Mozart's
operas, among them "Don Giovanni" and "Le Nozze di Figaro."
Dominick Lynch, whom I have just mentioned, was an enthusiastic lover of
music. His visits to my father's house were occasions of delight to me.
He was without a rival as an interpreter of ballads, and especially of
the songs of Thomas Moore. His voice, though not powerful, was clear and
musical, and his touch on the pianoforte was perfect. I remember
creeping under the instrument to hide my tears when I heard him sing the
ballad of "Lord Ullin's Daughter."
Charles Augustus Davis, the author of the "Letters of J. Downing, Major,
Downingville Militia, Second Brigade, to his old Friend Mr. Dwight, of
the New York Daily Advertiser," was a gentleman well known in the New
York society of my youth. The letters in question contained imaginary
reports of a tour which the writer professed to have made with General
Jackson, when the latter was a candidate for reelection to the
Presidency. They were very popular at the time, but have long passed
into oblivion. I remember that in one of them, Major Downing describes
an occasion on which it was important that the general should interlard
his address with a few Latin quotations. Not possessing any learning of
that kind, he concluded his speech with: "E pluribus unum, gentlemen,
sine qua non."
The great literary boast of the city at the time of which I speak was
undoubtedly Washington Irving. I was still a child in the nursery when I
heard of his return to America, after a residence of some years in
Spain. A public dinner was given in honor of this event. One who had
been present at it told of Mr. Irving's embarrassment when he was called
upon for a speech. He rose, waved his hand in the air, and could only
utter a few sentences, which were heard with difficulty.
Many years after this time I was present, with other ladies, at a public
dinner given in honor of Charles Dickens by prominent citizens of New
York. We ladies were not bidden to the feast, but were allowed to occupy
a small anteroom whose open door commanded a view of the tables. When
the speaking was about to begin, a message came, suggesting that we
should take possession of some vacant seats at the great table. This we
were glad to do. Washington Irving was president of the evening, and
upon him devolved the duty of inaugurating proceedings by an address of
welcome to the distinguished guest. People who sat near me whispered,
"He'll break down--he always does." Mr. Irving rose, and uttered a
sentence or two. His friends interrupted him by applause which was
intended to encourage him, but which entirely overthrew his
self-possession. He hesitated, stammered, and sat down, saying, "I
cannot go on." It was an embarrassing and painful moment, but Mr. John
Duer, an eminent lawyer, came to his friend's assistance, and with
suitable remarks proposed the health of Charles Dickens, to which Mr.
Dickens promptly responded. This he did in his happiest manner, covering
Mr. Irving's defeat by a glowing eulogy of his literary merits.
"Whose books do I take to bed with me, night after night? Washington
Irving's! as one who is present can testify." This one was evidently
Mrs. Dickens, who was seated beside me. Mr. Dickens proceeded to speak
of international copyright, saying that the prime object of his visit to
America was the promotion of this important measure. I met Washington
Irving several times at the house of John Jacob Astor. He was silent in
general company, and usually fell asleep at the dinner-table. This
occurrence was indeed so common with him that the guests present only
noticed it with a smile. After a nap of some ten minutes he would open
his eyes and take part in the conversation, apparently unconscious of
having been asleep.
In his youth, Mr. Irving had traveled quite extensively in Europe. While
in Rome, he had received marked attention from the banker Torlonia, who
repeatedly invited him to dinner parties, the opera, and so on. He was
at a loss to account for this until his last visit to the banker, when
Torlonia, taking him aside, said, "Pray tell me, is it not true that you
are a grandson of the great Washington?"
Mr. Irving had in early life given offense to the descendants of old
Dutch families in New York by the publication of "Knickerbocker's
History of New York," in which he had presented some of their forbears
in a humorous light. The solid fame which he acquired in later days
effaced the remembrance of this old-time grievance, and in the days in
which I had the pleasure of his acquaintance, he held an enviable
position in the esteem and affection of the community.
He always remained a bachelor, owing, it was said, to an attachment, the
object of which had been removed by death. I have even heard that the
lady in question was a beautiful Jewess, the same one whom Walter Scott
has depicted in his well-known Rebecca. This legend of the beautiful
Jewess was current in my youth. A later authority informs us that Mr.
Irving was really engaged to Matilda, daughter of Josiah Ogden Hoffman,
a noted lawyer of New York, and that the death of the lady prevented the
intended marriage from taking place. "He could never, to his dying day,
endure to hear her name mentioned," it is said, "and, nearly thirty
years after her death, the accidental discovery of a piece of her
embroidery saddened him so that he could not speak."