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HALLY-Brother of the last: associate editor with Bigelow (see vol. XVI.Oct.1824, 421,) of the New York Magazine, a journal which died of its own talkativeness.

HUTCHINSON The last royal go vernor of Massachusetts; about which province, he wrote a good, strong substantial history. It has been well continued by MINOT. Gov. H. was the client of Mr Solicitor General Wedderbourne (see FRANKLIN, p. 49) when he abused Franklin.

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IRVING WASHINGTON-Author of sundry NEWSPAPER ESSAYS, which have been totally reproduced here; of some papers in SALAMAGUNDI; of KNICKERBOCKER'S NEW YORK; of the NAVAL BIOGRAPHY, which appeared, in a series of the ANALECTIC MAGAZINE, we believe, at Philadelphia, about 1814; of the INTRODUCTION to Mr Campbell's poetry (American edition); of the SKETCH-Book; BRACEBRIDGE-HALL; TALES OF Α TRAVELLER; and of one paper,* if no more, in the New Monthly; making altogether, about five good, fashionable, octavo volumes, (if they were fairly published,) in England; or five duodecimo volumes, as they do publish, in

America.

We mention this, now, because we mean to make use of it presently; because Mr Irving has been called, among other names, a " voluminous writer," (though he has written less, in all his life, than one of his countrymen has, in four months, under the continual pressure of serious duties, which apparently took up his whole time;) because Mr Irving has been regarded as a large, industrious contributor-or, at least as not a lazy one-to the world of literature: (though he has actually produced less than half an octavo page a-day, since he first became to be known, as a professional author.) And because (we have made an estimate) KNICKERBOCKER'S NEW YORK, which came out, in two small duodecimo volumes, over the water; and which has been put forth in one volume, octavo, by the London publisher, actually does contain more matter (shewing, thereby, at what price we have been buying his other Crayon" wares) than either BRACEBRIDGE-HALL; THE SKETCH-BOOK;

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or TALES OF A TRAVELLER-every one of which the same publisher has put forth in two octavo volumes.

This, we take to be a little too bad; a little too barefaced-for even a court publisher.-We cannot well perceive why we are to pay double price for the writings of Geoffrey Crayon : we do not well understand why we are to give 24s. for a certain quantity of matter by him, when as much of that which is quite as good-if not better-produced by the ablest men of the British Empire, may be had for half the money.

Still, however-(these remarks do not apply to the author: we are only laying a foundation here) - Still, however, we have no sort of doubt, whimsical as the supposition may appear, that a part, perhaps a large part, of Geoffrey Crayon's popularity, has been owing to this very short measure, of which we complain. Things comparatively worthless may be made genteel, by high prices alone-(The Italian opera, for example.) But-if they are to be popular, they must appear to be sold at something like a reasonable rate. Hence, with all the attractions of the opera-noveltyhigh prices-the patronage of royalty, itself that of all the nobility-gentry, &c. &c.-with Catalani into the bargain, while it was ungenteel to see Shakspeare, at Covent-Garden, or Drury Lane-the Opera House could not be filled, even twice a-week last year.

We are all prone to exaggeration. It is a part of man's nature. No time; no suffering; no humiliation will overcome the propensity. You will hear a man boast of having gorged more food, or liquor; quarrelled more frequently; seen more sights; heard more noises; talked more than other people:-Thus, too, you will hear a woman boast of having done more mischief; torn more laces, hearts, and gloves; turned more heads or tunes; caused more prattle; spoilt more music than her neighbours.-A man, whose ambition it is, to carry off six bottles of port under his belt-a beast-would never complain of his butler; nor dispute the bill of his landlord for twelve bottles, at a sitting, if the landlord or butler could persuade him that he had really drunk the twelve-no indeed-not he he would like them

* Called "Recollections of a Student." We are assured, although we did not perceive him, that he is the author of this one paper.

the better for it; and go away, better satisfied with himself.

Now, this we take to be precisely the case with our fashionable octavos. People, who never study; never think are quite amazed, when they come to find how easy a thing it is, after all, to read entirely through so vast a work as that, which has come to them in two octavos. They think better of themselves; their capacity; their diligence; less of those, whom they have hitherto looked upon with a sort of awe-the readers of a quarto; and, we are sure, would never pardon us, if we should venture to tell them, that, after all-they have only been reading a duodecimo-only as much as their fathers read for a duodecimo.

This, we say, is one cause, perhaps a great cause, of Geoffrey Crayon's popularity, with a certain class of people; the indolent, loitering, and fashionable. Another is, that, finding themselves less weary, when they have read a pair of his octavos through, than they have ever been before, with a pair of octavos, by anybody else, they take it for granted, naturally enough, that it is owing to his great superiority over all other octavo writers owing to some witchery of his known only to himself-that he is able to keep the attention awake, without wearying it, for what appears to them, a length of time, wholly unprecedented.

If the SKETCH-BOOK; or BRACEBRIDGE-HALL; or the TALES OF A TRAVELLER, had been published as KNICKERBOCKER was, not in two fashionable octavo volumes; but in one decent octavo volume, for the day; and sold for twelve shillings-though either might have been more popular, neither would have been so fashionable, as it has been.

The LIGHTS AND SHADOWS OF SCOTTISH LIFE-papers, in that very department of writing, for which Geoftrey has obtained a fashionable reputation (the touching, pathetic, and simply beautiful,) are greatly superior to anything of his in their cluss. A little more management; a little more courtly, bookselling address in the publisher; and we believe that, before this, they would have superseded Irving, completely, in the fashion

able world-as they have, already, in the world of literature-so far, we mean, as they go, in that particular class of writing.

But enough. Come we now, to the author.-Irving has been foolishly praised; cruelly, wickedly abused. He went up too high: he has fallen too low. They made an idol of him; they could see no fault or blemish in him; they crowned him; set him above other men; offered up his fellows to him-in spite of his continual, sincere expostulation. He was no Cromwell; no Cæsar-and he knew it: He did not refuse the honour, that it might be put upon him, by force. Well-they did this-it was very foolish of them; very profane. But he was innocent: he should not have suffered.

Now-mark the change-now, in the freak of the hour, as if they could never forgive him, for their own folly

now, in the first paroxysm of returning reason-they have torn off his crown; tumbled him into the dirt, with brutal derision, cries; and would, if they had power, grind him to dust; casting the precious metal, that is within him, with all that he has of common earth, upon the waters, or the winds. They anointed him wickedly: they are now dishonouring him, far more wickedly. It is high time for us to interpose.

Shame on the dastards! There was a time, when he was talked about, as a creature of miraculous purity-in whom there was no guile: a sort of superior intelligence, come out for the regeneration of our literature: a man, so kind of heart; so benevolent; so gentle, that none but a ruffian could speak affrontingly of him. But now!

to hear what some people say, one would be ready to believe that he (who is, in truth, one of the most amiable, excellent creatures, alivewith manhood enough, too, where manhood is called for,) is a dangerous, lewd man; a licentious, obscene, abominable profligate; an atrocious conspirator-at war, alike with morality and liberty-a blockhead-(this climax, for the late Westminster school) -a political writer-an idiot-a patrician. Geoffrey Crayon a political writer! God help the fools!

• Qu.-May not our author's text have run thus-too fashionable volumes :that is," &c. &c.-WARBURTON.

Yes-it is time for us to interpose. We throw our shield over him, therefore. We undertake, once for all, to see fair play. Open the field-withdraw the rabble-drive back the dogs -give him fair play; and we will answer for his acquitting himself, like a man. If he do not, why-let him be torn to pieces and be

In the day of his popularity, we shewed him no favour: in this, the day of his tribulation, we shall shew him none. He does not require any. We saw his faults, when there was nobody else to see them. We put our finger upon the sore places about him: drove our weapon home-up to the hilt, wherever we found a hole in his beautiful armour; a joint, visible, in his golden harness-treated him, in short, as he deserves to be treated, like a man. But, we have never done, we never will do him wrong. We never have been-we never will begladiators, or assassins, for the amusement of anybody. We have too much respect for ourselves; too much for him-too little regard for the changes of popular opinion, which is never right, where it is possible to be wrong -ever to join the mob of puffers, or blackguards.

What we say, therefore, now, of Washington Irving, we say, with a full knowledge, that a time will come, when it shall appear against us. We shall put our opinion here, as upon record-believing, in our hearts-for we have no temporary purpose to gratify-that, after many years, he will find consolation, support in it; others -that, in the time of these changes, there was one, at least-who had courage, power, and patience, to tell the truth of him-utterly careless of what other men thought, or said.

One word of his life, and personal appearance, (both of which are laughably misrepresented,) before we take up his works. He was born, we believe, in the city of New York; began to write for a newspaper at an early age: read law; but gave it up in despair-feeling, as Cowper did before him, a disqualifying constitutional timidity, which would not permit him to go out, into public life: engaged in mercantile adventure: appeared first, in Salamagundi; followed with Knickerbocker; wrote some articles for the American Magazines; was unsuccessful in business: embark

ed for England-where, since he came to be popular, anybody may trace him. He is, now, in his fortieth year: about five feet seven: agreeable countenance; black hair; manly complexion: fine hazel eyes, when lighted up-heavy in general-talks better than he writes, when worthily excited; but falls asleep-literally asleep in his chair-at a formal dinner party, in high life: half the time in a revery : little impediment-a sort of uneasy, anxious, catching respiration of the voice, when talking zealously: writes a small, neat hand, like Montgomery, Allan Cunningham, or Shee, (it is like that of each)-indolent-nervous

irritable-easily depressed-easily disheartened-very amiable-no appearance of especial refinement-nothing remarkable-nothing uncommon about him :-precisely such a man, to say all in a word, as people would continually overlook, pass by without notice, or forget, after dining with him, unless, peradventure, his name were mentioned ; in which case-odds bobs!

they are all able to recall something remarkable in his way of sitting, eating, or looking-though, like Oliver Goldsmith himself, he had never opened his mouth, while they were near: or sat, in a high chair-as far into it as he could get with his toes just reaching the floor.

We come now to the works of Geoffrey.-1. The NEWSPAPER ESSAYS: Boyish theatrical criticisms-nothing more: foolishly and wickedly reproduced by some base, mercenary countryman of his-from the rubbish of old printing-offices: put forth as "by the author of the SKETCH-BOOK."How could such things be, " by the author of the Sketch-Book," written, as they were, twenty years before the "Sketch-Book" was thought of?-By whom were they written ?-By a boy.

Was he the author of what we call The Sketch-Book?-No. The SketchBook was written by a man; a fullgrown man.-Ergo the American publisher told a Q. E. D.

Nevertheless, there is a touch of Irving's quality, in these papers-paltry as they are: A little of that happy, sly humour; that grave pleasantry, (wherein he resembles Goldsmith, so much;) that quiet, shrewd, goodhumoured sense of the ridiculous, which, altogether, in our opinion, go to make up the chief excellence of

Geoffrey-that, which will outlive the fashion of this day; and set him apart, after all, from every writer in our language. The qualities which have made him fashionable, he has, in common with a multitude:-Others, which are overlooked, now; but which will cause him to be remembered hereafter-perhaps for ages-are peculiarly, exclusively his own.

2. SALAMAGUNDI; or WHIM WHAMS, &c. &c.-The production of Paulding, Irving, Verplanck; and perhaps of others, in partnership:-the papers of Paulding are more sarcastic, ill-natured, acrimonious-bitter, than those of Irving; but quite as able: Those by Verplanck, we do not know: we have only heard of him, as one of the writers: It is a work in two volumes, duodecimo; essays, after the manner of Goldsmith-a downright, secret, laboured, continual imitation of himabounding too, in plagiarisms: the title is from our English FLIM FLAMS: oriental papers-the little man in black, &c. &c. from the Citizen of the World: Parts are capital: as a whole, the work is quite superior to any thing of the kind, which this age has produced. By the way, thoughWhat if some very enterprizing publisher were to bring out a few of the old British classics, in a modern, octavo dress, with a fashionable air We have an idea that he would find it pay well. The Vicar of Wakefield, now; Tom Jones; Peregrine Pickle What a run they might have, before they were discovered, in their large, handsome type; fine, white paper; and courtly margins. Or, "to make assurance doubly sure;" and escape the critical guardians of the day, what if he change the titles ; names; dates, etc. -the chances are fifty to one, that he would never be found out-at least until two or three editions had run off. It would be more fair, than such plagiarism, as we do meet with every day-like this of Salamagundi—about which nobody ever thought of complaining.-Beside; where would be the harm?-the copyrights have run out. Would it not be doing a favour to the public; a handsome thing, after all, by our brave, old-fashioned literature, which, we are afraid, will soon be entirely obsolete ?-The truth is, that we are tired and sick of these daily, hourly imitations-thefts and forgeries; angry, weary, and ashamed

of seeing our old British writers-our pride-our glory-for ever upon the shelf-never-never upon the table.

We are quite serious, in what we say concerning the safety, with which our old fathers might be served up, under a new title. It may be done for it is done every day. Try the experiment. Let Mr Campbell republish that paper of Goldsmith, wherein he gives an account of a trip to Vauxhall-precisely as it is-without altering a word. Our life on it, if Mr C. keep the secret-as he would, undoubtedly, after such a hoax, upon him, or by him-that nobody else would smell a rat, for a twelvemonth to come.-By and by, perhaps, when we have a leisure afternoon, we may amuse ourselves, with pointing out a few cases, in our modern, stylish literature, to justify what we have said.

Among the characters of Salamagundi-about a dozen of which are capital, there is one of a fellow-whose name is TOM STRADDLE-an Englishman— a pretty fair specimen too, of the Englishmen, that our friends over sea, are in the habit of meeting with, in their country. It was done by Irving, we believe. It is admirable.-Some years ago, a man, who was prosecuted in Jamaica, produced a volume of Salamagundi on his trial. The publication charged as libellous, it appeared, had been copied, literally, word for word, with a spiteful, malicious accuracy, from the character of Tom Straddle; printed-sold-sent abroad, mischie vously enough, to be sure, while one of those English "Travellers," whom Irving had so delightfully hit off, was in Jamaica-exploring and astonishing the natives.-This fact, alone, proves the truth of resemblance.

3. KNICKERBOCKER: A droll, humorous history of New York, while the Dutch, who settled it, were in power: conceived, matured, and brought forth, in a bold, original temper-unaided—and alone-by Irving: more entirely the natural thought, language, humour, and feeling of the man himself-without imitation or plagiarism-far more-than either of his late works: It was written, too, in the fervour and flush of his popularity, at home-after he had got a name, such as no other man had, among his countrymen; after Salamagundi had been read, with pleasure, all over North America: In it, how

ever, there is a world of rich allusion -a vein of sober caricature-the merit of which is little understood here: Take an example" Von Poffenburg" is a portrait-outrageously distorted, on some accounts, but nevertheless a portrait, of General Wilkinson-a "bellipotent" officer, who sent in a bill, to Congress, for sugar plums, or segars, or both, after " throwing up" -in disgust we dare say, as " he could not stomach it," his military command upon the Florida frontier: So too-in the three Dutch governors, we could point out a multitude of laughable secret allusions to three of the American chief magistrates (Adams, Jefferson, Madison)-which have not always been well understood, anywhere-by anybody-save those who are familiar with American history.

By nine readers out of ten, perhaps, Knickerbocker is read, as a piece of generous drollery-nothing more. Be it so. It will wear the better-The design of Irving himself is not always clear: nor was he always undeviating, in his course. Truth or fable, fact or falsehood-it was all the same to him, if a bit of material came in his way.

In a word, we look upon this volume of Knickerbocker; though it is tiresome, though there are some wretched failures in it; a little overdoing of the humorous-and a little confusion of purpose, throughout-as a work, honourable, to English literature-manly-bold--and so altogether original, without being extravagant, as to star alone, among the labours of men.

4. NAVAL BIOGRAPHY. Irving had now grown so popular, in America, that he was consulted with, or pestered about, almost every undertaking of the day, in matters of literature,

The war with us had become serious. The navy had grown popular, with everybody. The pride of the people was up; their passions; they were almost ready to launch their houses upon the water. When Hall took the Guerriere; and broke, as they say, there, the charm of our invincibility (they never say how, by the way; or with what force)-the whole country broke out, into acclamation. They loaded him down with honour. They lavished upon him, within a few

weeks, more testimonials of public favour-than have ever been bestowed upon all the public men of America

from the time of Washington, up to this hour.-The consequence was natural. The commanders of their little navy adventured everywhere, with a preternatural ardour; fought nobly, desperately and were the talk of a whole country. Battle after battle was fought; victory after victory followed-before the tide was turned, by the capture of their Chesapeake.

The Analectic Magazine took fire -with an eye to profit: hunted up materials: employed Irving to write a Biography of these naval captains, one after the other; and gave it out, with portrait after portrait, month after month, to the overheated public.

Some of these papers are bravely done: In general, they are eloquent, simple, clear, and beautiful: Among the LIVES, that of poor PERRY, the young fresh-water Nelson, who swept Lake Erie of our fleet, in such a gallant, seaman-like style, is quite remarkable as containing within itself, proof, that Irving has the heart of a poet. We do not say this, lightly— . we say it as a fact-we shall prove it, -We had seen him try hard, before, in that paltry, boyish piece of description-the passage through Hell Gate* -which has been so be-praised: we had really dozed over his laboured embellishments-they were affronting to our natural sense of poetry-we had no suspicion of the truth.-It is only a word or two, that we speak of. It is not where he tries, that Irving is poetical: it is only where he is transported, suddenly, by some beautiful thought-carried away, without knowing why-by inward music--his heart beating; his respiration hurried.

He is never the man to call up the anointed, before him, at will: to imagine spectacles; or people the air earth, and sea-like a wizard-by the waving of his hand. He has only the heart of a poet: He has not-he never will have-the power of one. It is too late, now. Power comes of perpetual warfare-trial-hardship: He has grown up, in perpetual quietsunshine-a sort of genteel repose.He may continue, therefore, to feel poetry; to think poetry-to utter po

* Knickerbocker.

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