Chapter I: WAS so fortunate as to find a vacant room at Monsieur W----'s (2)

We agree with Mr. COOPER, entirely, in very many of his views in relation to the society and manners of England and America. The ridiculous affectation of simplicity, the heartlessness and the flippancy of the English, whom he met in society, are defects which lay them bare to the lash, and the lash has been well laid on. This putting a rein upon the lungs, and drilling of muscles to order, for mere fashion's sake, is a legitimate theme for satire; and we are glad to see, by the squirming of the malevoli among the English critics, who are nibbling away at the excrescences of the work, that our author's random shots have '_told_' well. Mr. COOPER is equally just and felicitous in many of his comments upon American society. The mere tyranny of public opinion he sets forth in its true light. He very justly, too, repudiates the influence of those among us, whose narrow souls never moved in a wider circle than the circumference of a dollar, and who carry their brains in their pockets; and he ridicules, with proper motives and good grounds, the American propensity to use 'great swelling words' to express the commonest ideas, or merest matters of fact, which he illustrates by a characteristic anecdote. A rail-car companion, at Bordentown, who wished to say, 'They have laid the foundations of a large building here,' oracularly observed, instead: 'Judging from external symptoms, they have commenced the construction, in this place, of an edifice of considerable magnitude, calculated, most likely, to facilitate the objects of the rail-road company!' This lingual magniloquence is proverbial of American parvenus. Some months since, just as that sweet singer, Mrs. AUSTIN, was leaving New-York in the steam-boat for a Liverpool packet, lying in the stream, some inflated personage called out: 'It is proposed to pay a parting tribute to the distinguished vocalist who has, by her fine powers of music, so long delighted our citizens, and who is now about to depart from us!' 'Three cheers for Mrs. AUSTIN!' would have been understood, and heartily responded to; but this rigmarole only induced a sort of bastard applause, which fell feebly on the ear, and sent its prompter away, covered with confusion.

Our author's repeated sneers at the public press, and literary men, coming from one who is a writer by profession, and sucks his sustenance through a quill, is in exceeding bad taste; and his allusion to New-England editors, constitutes a characteristic specimen of aimless spite, which is quite beneath a person of his standing as an author. Some one native of New-England, obnoxious, from some cause, to Mr. COOPER, is undoubtedly at the bottom of this sweeping allusion. Had we that honor, or had we leisure, we should be glad to show _who_ are the men whom Mr. COOPER would thus traduce, _en masse_.

We have imperceptibly extended our remarks beyond reasonable limits; and must close, for the present, by recommending their subject to the perusal of our readers, satisfied that, amid much to condemn, they will find a great deal to admire; and well assured, that none will deem their time misspent in the perusal.

* * * * *

POEMS BY WILLIAM THOMPSON BACON. In one volume. pp. 134.
Boston: WEEKS, JORDAN AND COMPANY.

'THESE poems are the results of my leisure at college, and published for experiment. If the public find any thing worth reading in them, they may be followed by another volume.' Such is the sensible and sententious preface to this very beautiful little book, which we have read with much gratification. The preface itself, so often a medium for childish extenuation, forced egotism, or the long-winded dissertations of those adepts in the art of being deep-learned and shallow-read, who are ambitious of 'showing off,' led us to anticipate something more than mere respectable mediocrity at the hands of the author; and we have by no means been disappointed. As might be expected, we find in this little work no affected phrases, nor new-conceited words. The young writer has evidently chosen the best models; and the good taste which generally characterizes his productions, evinces that he possesses, to a great degree, the ability to separate beauty of thought and style from the corruption which apes it. He is a quiet but acute observer of nature; his ever-veering spirit catches naturally its sunlight and shadow; and he has the power often to clothe the heart of the reader with the changeful vesture which robes his own. In the blank verse, we sometimes detect examples of false rhythm, and inharmonious words now and then mar the construction of an otherwise well-turned poetical sentence. These faults, however, are amply counterbalanced by abounding graces of language and diction, and by a pervading spirit of pure feeling, and moral and religious sentiment. We had prepared for insertion an extract from a poem entitled 'Other Days,' with one or two passages from 'A Forest Noon-Scene;' and although in type, for the intended gratification of the reader, we are compelled to postpone their publication until the November number. We repeat, we welcome this little volume with unaffected pleasure, and commend it to the reader's favorable suffrages.

EDITORS' TABLE.

'BIANCA VISCONTI: OR THE HEART OVERTASKED.'--A successful tragedy, at the present day, is an event too rare to be passed over with indifference. The modern stage has been poverty-stricken so long, that it welcomes every thing in the shape of its natural food; although it is constantly reminded of its too credulous judgment, in the repeated nausea which it suffers from the flatulent and unsubstantial trash which its starved condition urges it to attempt to swallow. The American drama, if indeed we have any claim to such a possession, is such as may reasonably be expected, more lean and wretched than the drama of any of the more cultivated nations. But we _have_ no national drama, as yet, although we think the corner-stone of its structure has been laid, and that there is bright promise of a noble edifice, in the aspiring efforts of the many able writers whom a few years have brought to light, as well as in the encouragement which the taste of the American people seems inclined to afford to this branch of literature.

The tragedy now before us, is the first dramatic effort of a pen whose easy and finished tracings have made its master, even in the spring-time of his life, well known to fame. A mere experiment, in this most difficult department of literature, is worthy of praise. Whoever has considered the difficulties attendant upon the production of a play, of any class of the drama, would shrink from the task of bringing an original tragedy before the public, unless urged on by that firm confidence which genius gives to its possessor, and upheld through all by the hope of that ample reward which must attend the successful dramatist. SCOTT, in his letters to a theatrical friend in London, often adverts to the restraining of taste which the purveying for conceited or interested actors and actresses demands at the hands of a dramatic author, whose success is at their mercy, not less than at that of those of the audience who come to the theatre with palled animal and spiritual appetites, to 'snooze off their dinners and wine.' An expressionless 'oratorial machine,' high in the '_supe_' department, whose delivery of the commonest matter of fact is Stentorian and Ciceronian, may have it in his power, by ludicrous _mal addresse_, to mar the best acting play, and to render ridiculous the most refined poetry; while a higher order of Thespian, by slumbering over a level part, in a villanously indifferent manner, inadmissible as acting, may jeopardize an entire drama. But to return to 'Bianca Visconti.'

Mr. WILLIS has bravely accomplished his task; and without the slightest thought of depreciating the efforts of others of our countrymen who have written for the stage, we must honestly declare, that his work deserves the place of honor above them all. 'Bianca Visconti,' if considered merely as a dramatic poem, is replete with enduring beauties of poetry. Considered as a tragedy, it has many of the essential qualities of an acting play; not all, perhaps, in their highest perfection, but sufficiently marked, to convince the most fastidious of the power which the writer possesses, and of a certain promise of future efforts more decidedly faultless. The story of Bianca Visconti is well told. Although it proceeds without the aid of any extraordinary incidents, yet an interest is awakened, continued, and increased to the catastrophe. The characters are naturally drawn, and they have the especial merit of possessing in themselves an individuality--a form of their own, defined and marked out; and not, as is too often the case in modern dramas, made with the sole quality of filling up the space not occupied by the principal character. In other words, they have a merit in themselves, detached from the heroine, and are only subservient to the natural progress of the drama.

There is hardly incident enough in the first three acts, to keep up that melo-dramatic influence which the artificial appetite of the present day delights in. The author seems to have scorned the _clap-trap_ which has become the chief merit of many modern playwrights. In this we think he has done wisely, on more accounts than one. In the first place, clap-trap is dangerous. We have seen an audience 'bathed in stillness,' the pulse of a crowded theatre beating like that of one man, convulsed by some blundering misconception of a forced dramatic point, into roars of laughter, though the play were a deep tragedy. We have seen the devil, in 'Faust,' by reason of a 'solution of continuity' in the waist-band of his diabolical unmentionables, make a palpable _hit_ on the stage, dropping unexpectedly from an upward distance of some twelve feet, with the emphasis of 'a squashed apple-dumpling.' We have seen the cauldron in Macbeth, through some defect in the subterranean witch-craft, return, after its disappearance, before the eyes of an enrapt auditory, with the greasy hats and dirty coats of the prime movers exposed to the general eye. In short, we have seen enough to convince us, that profuse clap-trick, whether of language or scenic addittaments, although it may make the million stare or applaud, seldom fails to 'make the judicious grieve.'

The character of _Bianca Visconti_ is drawn with marked power. She is truly a fond, doting, enthusiastic lover; a woman who devotes her present and eternal peace to love, and breaks her heart in the unrequited sacrifice. Hers is an enthusiasm which all must admire, and still regret, in pity. _Sforza_ is a bold, not heartless, but ambitious hero. His love for Bianca is concealed beneath the grand passion of his soul. It is shut out for a time, only to burst forth at last with dazzling but hopeless splendor. The quaint _Pasquali_, the courtly poet and the philosophic lover, is a creation worthy the pen of a KNOWLES. He is to this tragedy what _Fathom_ is to the 'Hunchback;' a bright gleam of sunshine ever and anon breaking through the darkness of the rising storm, in striking contrast to the gloom of the gathering clouds. His admirer, _Fiametta_, although not an apt scholar in the mazes of poetry and philosophy, is, like the _Audrey_ of 'As You Like it,' most willing to learn, and ambitious to share in the laurelled honors of her sage teacher.

As a literary composition, 'Bianca Visconti' abounds with beauties. The images are clear, and radiant with poetical and delicate imaginings; and there are occasionally those fine bursts of feeling, which seem to come fresh from the soul, and to raise up a kindred sentiment, with their spirit-stirring words, in the souls of all who listen. What, for example, can be more like the picture of the bright thoughts of a young, enthusiastic girl, than Bianca's rapturous anticipation of a life of love:

'Oh, I'll build
A home upon some green and flowery isle
In the lone lakes, where we will use our empire
Only to keep away the gazing world.
The purple mountains and the glassy waters
Shall make a hush'd pavilion with the sky,
And we two in its midst will live alone,
Counting the hours by stars and waking birds,
And jealous but of sleep!'

Or what more glorious to the fancy that would clothe the delicacy of the female character in the gorgeous robes of heroic majesty, than Sforza's description of the fair Giovanna:

'Gods! what a light enveloped her! She left
Little to shine in history; but her beauty
Was of that order, that the universe
Seemed governed by her motion. Men look'd on her
As if her next step would arrest the world;
And as the sea-bird seems to rule the wave
He rides so buoyantly, all things around her--
The glittering army, the spread gonfalon,
The pomp, the music, the bright sun in heaven--
Seemed glorious by her leave!'

Bianca's picture of the two Sforzas, though often quoted, is too beautiful and striking to be here omitted:

'Mark the moral, Sir:
An eagle once, from the Euganean hills,
Soared bravely to the sky.
In his giddy track,
Scarce marked by them who gazed upon the first,
Followed a new-fledged eaglet, fast and well.
Upward they sped, and all eyes on their flight
Gazed with admiring awe: when suddenly
The parent bird, struck by a thunder-bolt,
Dropped lifeless through the air. The eaglet paused
And hung upon his wings; and as his sire
Plashed in the far-down wave, men look'd to see him
Flee to his nest affrighted!

_Sforza._ 'Did he so?'

_Bianca._ 'My noble lord, he had a monarch's heart!
He wheeled a moment in mid air, and shook
Proudly his royal wings, and then right on,
With crest uplifted, and unwavering flight,
Sped to the sun's eye, straight and gloriously!'

There is a fine opportunity for the display of the power of the actress, in the scene where news is brought to Bianca of her father's death. The struggle between the joy which this event produces, by giving a chance of the coronet to her husband, and the sorrow which affection for her parent should cause, one acting against the other, present a scene which calls for the highest powers of the histrionic art to portray faithfully; and it is but just to say, that Miss CLIFTON did it justice. There is a great deal of quaint humor, and many truths wittily delivered, in the part of _Pasquali_. His exposition of the true meaning of the word imagination, to the homely understanding of his pupil, is as ingenious as true. One of GOLDSMITH's characters, if we do not mistake, reasons not unlike the Milanese bard, upon the same or a similar theme:

_Pasquali._ Answer me once more, and I'll prove to thee in what
I am richer. Thou'st ne'er heard, I dare swear, of imagination.

_Fiametta._ Is't a Pagan nation, or a Christian?

_Pasq._ Stay; I'll convey it to thee by a figure. What were the
value of thy red stockings, over black, if it were always night?

_Fiam._ None!

_Pasq._ What were beauty, if it were always dark?

_Fiam._ The same as none.

_Pasq._ What were green leaves better than brown, diamonds
better than pebbles, gold better than brass, if it were always
dark?

_Fiam._ No better, truly.

_Pasq._ Then the shining of the sun, in a manner, dyes your
stockings, creates beauty, makes gold, and diamonds, and paints
the leaves green?

_Fiam._ I think it doth.

_Pasq._ Now mark! There be gems in the earth, qualities in
the flowers, creatures in the air, the Duke ne'er dreams of.
There be treasuries of gold and silver, temples and palaces of
glorious work, rapturous music, and feasts the gods sit at, and
all seen only by a sun, which to the Duke is black as Erebus.

_Fiam._ Lord! Lord! Where is it, Master Pasquali?

_Pasq._ In my head! All these gems, treasuries, palaces, and
fairy harmonies, I see by the imagination I spoke of. Am I not
richer now?

The tragedy was well received, and attracted large audiences; and its success has satisfied us, that were the author to essay another attempt, with the additional knowledge of stage effect which the production and presentation of the present effort must have given him, he could scarcely fail of acquiring a high rank as a dramatist. The vein which has been opened, cannot have been exhausted at one running, as we hope yet to see made manifest.

* * * * *

'THE TIMES THAT TRIED MEN'S SOULS.'--'Advance, ye future generations! We would hail you, as you rise in your long succession, to fill the places which we now fill, and to taste the blessings of existence, where we are passing, and soon shall have passed, our own human duration!' Such appeared to be the sentiment of a benevolent-looking revolutionary veteran, the well-known Mr. ALLAIRE, of this city, as he sat upon the deck of the Charleston and New-York Steam-Packet 'NEPTUNE,' on the occasion of her recent launch, and surveyed the faces of the gay and light-hearted group around him. As the noble craft glided gracefully and almost imperceptibly into the water, and shot far over toward the Brooklyn shore, the 'old man eloquent' remarked: 'Well, I remember Brooklyn, when there were but eight houses in it. Now look at it!' added he, with a gesture of pride, that he had lived to see its present prosperity. 'And New-York, too,' he continued, 'I remember New-York when there was not a house above the hospital. I recollect, when they were digging down Catharine-street, how they disinterred the feet of the Hessians, in the side-banks, where they had been hastily buried, many years before. I read the Declaration of Independence,' continued the venerable patriot, 'for the first time, at a sudden and enthusiastic gathering at Tarrytown, before three thousand people. I heard the shouts of applause from the true American spirits, and saw the tories open their mouths, and _pretend_ to hurrah, yet no voice came from their false lips. But they were forced, in such an assemblage, to make a demonstration, to avoid suspicion.' And thus the old veteran went on, a true exemplification of 'garrulous eld.'

At the sumptuous entertainment which succeeded, at the residence of that true sailor and accomplished gentleman, Capt. PENNOYER, commander of the 'Neptune,' we could not take our eyes from the aged soldier of the revolution, who occupied a place of honor, nor cease to think of the changes which he had seen in his day and generation. He lived _through_ 'the times that tried men's souls,' and which gave birth to the freedom of our noble republic. We could look at the picture in the glowing light of the present, and the gorgeous hues that robe the future; but, to adopt the beautiful thought of SCOTT, _he_ could turn the tapestry, and see the blood-stained warp and woof which bore the ground colors, and composed the prominent objects.

While upon the subject of revolutionary times, it will not be inappropriate to introduce here two letters of GENERAL WASHINGTON, which have never before been published. They were recently copied by the junior publisher of this Magazine, from the originals in the possession of his grandfather, to whom they were addressed. This gentleman was President of a Massachusetts 'Council of Safety,' and was high in the esteem and confidence of the Pater Patria. Nothing can be more characteristic than the deliberation, the close scrutiny into consequences, which these letters evince; compelled, as the writer was, to guard against the cavils of the disaffected or the envious, who had neither candor to suppose good meanings, nor discernment to distinguish true ones, in the announcement of his projects:

* * * * *

_Cambridge, August 22, 1775._

'SIR: In answer to your favor of yesterday, I must inform
you that I have often been told of the advantages of Point
Alderton, with respect to its command of the shipping
going in and out of Boston harbor; and that it has, before
now, been the object of my particular inquiry. I find the
accounts differ exceedingly in regard to the distance of the
ship-channel, and that there is a passage on the other side
of the Light-House Island for all vessels except ships of
the first rate. My knowledge of this matter would not have
rested upon inquiry only, if I had found myself, at any one
time since I came to this place, in a condition to have taken
such a post. But it becomes my duty to consider not only what
place is advantageous, but what number of men are necessary to
defend it; how they can be supported, in case of an attack;
how they may retreat, if they cannot be supported, and what
stock of ammunition we are provided with, for the purposes of
self-defence, or annoyance of the enemy. In respect to the
first, I conceive our defence must be proportioned to the
attack of General GATES' whole force, leaving him just enough
to man his lines on Charlestown Neck and Roxbury; and with
regard to the second and most important object, we have only
one hundred and eighty-four barrels of powder in all, which
is not sufficient to give thirty musket-cartridges a man, and
scarce enough to serve the artillery, in any brisk action, a
single day.

'Would it be prudent, then, in me, under these circumstances,
to take a post thirty miles distant from this place, when we
already have a line of circumvallation at least ten miles in
extent, and any part of which may be attacked (if the enemy
would keep their own counsel,) without our having one hour's
previous notice of it? Or is it prudent, to attempt a measure
which would necessarily bring on a consumption of all the
ammunition we have, thereby leaving the army at the mercy of
the enemy, or to disperse, and the country to be ravaged, and
laid waste at discretion? To you, Sir, who are a well-wisher to
the cause, and can reason upon the effect of such a conduct, I
may open myself with freedom, because no improper discoveries
will be made of our situation; but I cannot expose my weakness
to the enemy, (though I believe they are pretty well informed
of every thing that passes,) by telling this and that man, who
are daily pointing out this, that, and the other place, of all
the motives which govern my actions. Notwithstanding, I know
what will be the consequences of not doing it, namely: that
I shall be accused of inattention to the public service, and
perhaps with want of spirit to prosecute it. But this shall
have no effect upon my conduct. I will steadily (as far as my
judgment will assist me,) pursue such measures as I think most
conducive to the interest of the cause, and rest satisfied
under any obloquy that shall be thrown, conscious of having
discharged my duty to the best of my abilities.

'I am much obliged to you, as I shall be to every gentleman,
for pointing out any measure which is thought conducive to
the public good, and cheerfully follow any advice which is
not inconsistent with, but correspondent to, the general plan
in view, and practicable, under such particular circumstances
as govern in all cases of the like kind. In respect to Point
Alderton, I was no longer than Monday last talking to General
THOMAS on this head, and proposing to send Colonel PUTNAM down,
to take distances, etc., but considered it could answer no end
but to alarm, and make the enemy more vigilant. Unless we were
in a condition to possess the post to effect, I thought it as
well to postpone the matter awhile.

'I am, Sir,

'Your Very Humble Servant,

'GEO: WASHINGTON.'

'HON. J. PALMER, Watertown, Mass.'

* * * * *

Mark the just policy and far-reaching sagacity which the subjoined letter evinces, nor lose sight of the numerous difficulties and dangers which environed the writer, and threatened his plans:

_Cambridge, August 7, 1775._

'SIR: Your favor of yesterday came duly to my hands. As I did
not consider local appointments as having any operation upon
the general one, I had partly engaged (at least in my own
mind) the office of Quarter Master General, before your favor
was presented to me. In truth, Sir, I think it sound policy
to bestow offices, indiscriminately, among gentlemen of the
different governments, so far as to bear a proportionable part
toward the expense of this war. If no gentleman out of these
four governments come in for any share of the appointments, it
may be apt to create jealousies, which will in the end give
disgust. For this reason, I would earnestly recommend it to
your board to provide for some of the volunteers who are come
from Philadelphia, with my warm recommendations, though they
are strangers to me.

'In respect to the boats from Salem, I doubt, in the first
place, whether they could be brought over by land. In the
second place, I am sure nothing could ever be executed here by
surprise, as I am well convinced, that nothing is transacted
in our camp or lines, but what is known in Boston in less than
twenty-four hours. Indeed, circumstanced as we are, it is
scarcely possible to be otherwise, unless we were to stop the
communication between the country and our camp and lines; in
which case, we should render our supplies of milk, vegetables,
etc., difficult and precarious. We are now building a kind of
floating battery; when that is done, and the utility of it
discovered, I may possibly apply for timber to build more, as
circumstances shall require.

'I remain, with great esteem, Sir,

'Your most Obedient and Humble Servant,

'GEO: WASHINGTON.'

'HON'BLE J. PALMER, Watertown, Mass.'

We shall hereafter present an original and characteristic letter from General WARREN, written the night before the battle of Bunker-Hill.

* * * * *

IN justice to the writer of the ensuing defence, which has been in our possession since its date, it is proper to say, that we have received, from various and most reputable sources, the strongest testimony in relation to his personal character. He is represented to us as a gentleman of untiring industry and perseverance, who, often under circumstances of adversity and affliction, has labored diligently and successfully, for a long series of years, in an arduous avocation, and whose reputation for probity, and honorable and generous acts, is alike unimpeachable and undeniable. Of the merits of his works, having never examined them, we are unable to form an opinion, farther than may be gathered from the almost unexampled extent of their sale.

EDS. KNICKERBOCKER.

* * * * *

TO THE EDITORS OF THE KNICKERBOCKER.

GENTLEMEN: In the June number of the KNICKERBOCKER, I have seen an 'extract' purporting to be taken from the 'Introduction' of a yet unpublished work upon English grammar, by GOOLD BROWN, which extract seems to be a sort of criticism levelled at me and my works, but more especially at my Grammar. Judging from the fury of this assault, one would be inclined to think, that my antagonist believed his very existence as an author depended upon his annihilation of me, and that my future popularity and success are dependant upon _his_ opinion of me and my works! My Grammar, gentlemen, has been attacked by abler writers than Goold Brown, and has passed through the ordeal of their criticisms unscathed. It is not to be expected, therefore, that I should care a groat whether this self-constituted philological umpire likes the work or not. Indeed, I would rather he would _not_ like it; for sure I am, that if he liked it, few others would; a clear proof of which we have, in a dull book on grammar, which he himself produced, some twelve or fifteen years ago, on a plan and in a style exactly suited to his own peculiar liking. Since then, it never entered into my scheme to write a grammar to suit the taste of my jealous rivals, but to please myself and the public. Having gained the latter point, I can very complacently bear all the futile abuse which may be heaped upon me.

I know it is mortifying for an author to fail, especially a conceited one. I admit that it is hard for him to write eleven years for nine hundred dollars,[7] even though his labors may not have been worth to the public one-half that sum. It is natural, too, for such writers, after having ascertained that nobody will _purchase_ their bantlings, to turn philosophers, and become very disinterested, and affect to despise the idea of connecting _emolument_ with the labors of their mighty pens. Doubtless, also, it is sufficiently provoking, and especially mortifying to a discomfitted author's vanity, to learn that the works of a much younger writer, and one upon whom he once affected to look down as his inferior, should go off by _thousands_, while his own precious productions are with difficulty shoved off by _tens_. That such an author should find nothing to praise in a work so much more popular than his own, is not at all singular; yet, when a conceited charlatan, himself a professed author, (and a pretended _Quaker_, withal!) so far departs from the dignity and decency of manly feeling, as to attempt, by gross misrepresentations and low trickery, to destroy the hard-earned and honest fame of a more successful fellow-laborer, for purposes of private malice, a decent respect for the dignity of true criticism and the rights of authorship, no less than a proper regard for the cause of learning, requires that he should be held up to public detestation.

Had Goold Brown merely dipped his pen in gall to assail my _work_, so little do I regard his criticism, so great is my aversion to contention, and so thorough my contempt for mere mousing word-catching, that he might have gone on and vented his spleen unheeded; but since he has seen fit thus wantonly to assail my private character, and to impeach my motives, and since he has attempted to sustain himself in this unjustifiable attack, by misapplying my language and distorting my meaning, I conceive myself called upon to expose his duplicity and baseness. That he is utterly incapable of discovering any thing in the grammatical works of others, but faults and defects, I need not show, for the article in question saves me the trouble; but that his assault upon me savors strongly of malevolence and dishonesty, I shall presently _prove_. He has, nevertheless, stated some facts in relation to my Grammar, although, as it appears, quite unintentionally; and, as far as facts stated by _him_ can have any influence with the public, they will do me good. On the other hand, he has made many statements concerning me and my works, which are _not_ founded upon facts. Most of these, however, so clearly show the evil design of the critic, that they need no reply. As they carry with them their own antidote, I have nothing to apprehend from their poison. But some of these misstatements are more adroitly managed, and are calculated to mislead the unsuspecting reader. I allude to his charges brought against both my personal and my grammatical character, which he has attempted to support by garbling, torturing, misquoting, misconstruing, and misapplying my language, and thereby _perverting_ my meaning. In order, therefore, that the public may be disabused on these points, I shall proceed to take them up in order.

After denouncing me as a 'bad writer,'and as wanting in 'scholarship,' and insinuating that I would 'bribe the critics and reviewers,' my liberal and _pious_ censor all at once discovers, through his rusty spectacles, not only that I am so unprincipled as totally to disregard 'accuracy' and usefulness in authorship, but that my 'principal business is to turn my publication to profit;' that I am, in short, a real worshipper of Midas; and, in order to prove himself correct in this marvellous discovery, the _honest_ man presents his readers with the following passage:

'Murray,' says he, 'simply intended to do good, and good which
might descend to posterity. This intention goes far to excuse
even his errors. But Kirkham says, 'My pretensions reach not
so far. _To the present generation only_ I present my claims.'
_Elocution_, p. 364. His whole design is, therefore, a paltry
scheme of present income.'

The injustice and roguery of this passage, it is impossible for the casual reader fully to conceive. After forming a postulate to fit his own purpose, the critic ransacks my works to garble a passage that, by contortion and misapplication, shall fit it in such a manner as to make me utter a _libel_ against my own moral character! My pen falters while I expose the duplicity of this transaction. 'Murray simply intended to do good.' Kirkham says, 'My pretensions reach not so far.' So far as what? As to _do good_, of course. This is undoubtedly the meaning INTENDED to be conveyed by the wily critic. But let us look at the meaning of the passage, when taken in its original connexion, as it stands in my Elocution. It occurs at the close of that work, in some eulogistic remarks made upon Dr. JAMES RUSH, the distinguished author of the 'Philosophy of the Human Voice.' The whole passage reads thus:

'Dr. Rush, in his 'Philosophy of the Human Voice,' boldly
addresses _posterity_. This is manly; and I hazard little in
prophesying, that posterity will gladly give him a hearing.
My pretensions reach not so far. To the present generation
only I present my claims. Should it lend me a listening ear,
and grant me its suffrages, the height of my ambition will be
attained. Though unwilling to be a mere _time-server_, yet I
know not that I have any thing on which to rest my claims upon
generations to come.'

Now instead of saying in this passage that 'my pretensions reach not so far as _to do good_,' I simply say, that they reach not so far _as those of Dr. Rush_!--and the passage is so free from ambiguity as to render it impossible for my opponent to have mistaken my meaning. Mistaken it, indeed! He very well KNEW, when he penned this slanderous paragraph, that my professed object in writing school-books WAS to 'do good;' and yet he has the hardihood to hoax his readers into the belief that I openly disavow any such intention! Comment is unnecessary. And yet this is the modest man who has the effrontery to call in question the _motives_ of him whom he traduces; to lecture him upon the principles of morality and justice; and cantingly to quote scripture _at_ him! He intimates that I have not the moral courage to 'dare to do right.' I have the courage to dare to _tell the truth_.

But since my antagonist has maliciously attempted, by misquoting my language, to prove that I disavow any intention either to do good or to do right, perhaps I may be indulged in a few quotations, too, from my own works, merely with the view of presenting this matter in its proper light:

'In gratitude, therefore, to that public which has smiled
so propitiously on his humble efforts to advance the cause
of learning, he has endeavored, by unremitting attention to
the _improvement_ of his work, to render it as _useful_ and
as _unexceptionable_ as his time and talents would permit.'
_Kirkham's Grammar_, p. 7.

'Apprehensive, however, that no explanatory effort on his
part, would shield him from the imputation of arrogance, by
such as are blinded by self-interest, or by those who are
wedded to the doctrines and opinions of his predecessors, with
_them_ he will not attempt a compromise; being, in a great
measure, indifferent either to their praise or their censure.
But with the candid he is willing to negotiate an amicable
treaty, knowing that they are always ready to enter into it
on honorable terms. In this negotiation, he asks nothing more
than merely to rest the merits of his work on its _practical
utility_.' _Grammar_ p. 9.

'Content to be _useful_, instead of being _brilliant_, the
writer of these pages has endeavored to shun the path of those
whose aim appears to have been to dazzle, rather than to
instruct.' _Grammar_, pp. 9 and 10.

'He has taken the liberty _to think for himself_, to
investigate the subject critically and dispassionately,
and to adopt such principles only as he deemed the least
objectionable, and best calculated to effect the object he had
in view.' _Grammar_, p. 10.

'Should these feeble efforts prove a saving of much time and
expense to those young persons who may be disposed to pursue
this science with avidity, by enabling them easily to acquire
a critical knowledge of a branch of education so important and
desirable, _the author's fondest anticipations will be fully
realized_.' _Grammar_, p. 12.

'This flattering success, then, in his first essay in
authorship, (alluding to my Grammar,) has encouraged the writer
to adventure upon another branch of science, which, for some
years past, has particularly engaged his attention. That he is
capable of doing ample justice to his present subject, he has
not the vanity to imagine; but, if his knowledge, drawn from
observation, and experience in teaching elocution, enable him
so to treat the science as to call the attention of some to
its cultivation, and induce others more capable than himself
to write upon it, he will thereby contribute his mite toward
rescuing from neglect a branch of learning, which, in its
important bearings upon the prosperity of the free citizens
of this great republic, stands second to none; and thus, in
the consciousness of _having rendered a new service to his
country_, he will secure the reward of his highest ambition.'
_Kirkham's Elocution_, p. 8.

These examples are sufficient to show, at least as far as my own observations are concerned, by what motives I have been actuated in the production of my works. That these motives are more pure or patriotic than those of other men who have written upon the same subjects, I have never pretended; for I am ready to acknowledge that I am subject to the weaknesses and infirmities common to human nature. But it is evident, that what has so greatly annoyed my antagonist is not the defects, but the success, of my Grammar.

In the following passage, our critic attempts to prove me grossly inconsistent with myself:

'Nothing can be more radically opposite,' says he, 'than are
some of the elementary doctrines which this gentleman is now
teaching; nothing more strangely inconsistent than are some of
his declarations and professions. For instance: 'A consonant is
a letter that cannot be perfectly sounded without the help of
a vowel.' _Kirkham's Grammar_, p. 19. Again: 'A consonant is
not only capable of being perfectly sounded without the help of
a vowel, but, moreover, of forming, like a vowel, a separate
syllable.' _Kirkham's Elocution_, p. 32. Once more: Upon _his
own rules_, he comments thus, and comments truly, because he
had written them badly: 'But some of these rules are foolish,
trifling, and unimportant.' _Elocution_, p. 97. Again: 'Rules
10 and 11, rest on a sandy foundation. They appear not to be
based upon the principles of the language.' _Grammar_, p. 59.
These are but specimens of his own frequent testimony against
himself!'

Now, in these instances, I should be fair game, were it not for the _trifling_ difference, that I happen to present the doctrines and notions of _other writers_, and WAS my own, as stated by my learned censor. For example; in 1823, I introduced into my Grammar, as Mr. Murray's definition, the old notion, that 'A consonant is a letter that cannot be perfectly sounded without the help of a vowel.' But in 1834, I presented in my Elocution Dr. Rush's opposite opinion, and _ascribed_ it to him. If, therefore, I had become fully satisfied that Dr. Rush is correct, it would behoove me to alter the definition as it stands in my Grammar; but, inasmuch as I am yet undecided on this point, I have not thought proper to do so.

Again, our critic says: 'Upon _his own rules_ he comments thus:' 'But _some_ of these rules are foolish,' etc. Now this assertion is utterly UNTRUE; and, if Goold Brown read the whole passage from which he quotes, as he ought to have done, he KNEW he was asserting what was false. The rules in question, are introduced into the notes of my Elocution as JOHN WALKER'S, and NOT as my own; as any one may see, by referring to that work. Similar remarks are applicable to 'Rules 10 and 11,' in my Grammar, both of which are taken from Murray; and this, too, Goold Brown as well knew, when he brought this charge of inconsistency against me, as he knew that in making it, he was LIBELLING me. Really, when a critic is driven to such crooked shifts as these to make out his case, it needs no farther evidence to prove that it is a bad one.

But the foulest calumny in this tirade of abuses and misrepresentations, is contained in the following passage, in which, after having dealt out the most illiberal strictures, and the most unsparing condemnations and denunciations, upon my Grammar, he pretends to _support_ his calumnies, by showing me up as a perfect ignoramus in the science of grammar:

'In general,' says he, 'his amendments of 'that eminent
philologist,' (Mr. Murray,) are not more skilful than the
following touch upon an eminent dramatist; and here, it is
plain, he has mistaken two nouns for adjectives, and converted
into bad English a beautiful passage, the sentiment of which is
worthy of an _author_'s recollection:

'The evil deed or deeds that men do, _lives_ after them:
The good deed or deeds _is_ oft interred with their bones.'

_Kirkham's Grammar_, p. 75.'

In my Grammar, the phrase 'deed or deeds' is included in a bracket, and therefore, as every one acquainted with Cobb's Spelling-Book well knows, is not intended to be read as a part of the sentence, but as an explanatory clause. The couplet stands thus, in my book:

'The evil [deed or deeds] that men do, lives after them;
The evil [deed or deeds] is oft interred with their bones.'

The casual reader of my Grammar will have observed, that I often introduce examples to be analyzed, in which an _ellipsis_ occurs, and that I supply these elliptical words in brackets, and frequently present two or three forms or sets of words, leaving it for the pupil to adopt whichever form he pleases, though not without respect to the construction that is to follow. For example; if in the words supplied in the bracket, both a singular and a plural form occur, as in the example before us, in parsing it, the pupil may take _either_ form or word for his nominative; but if he adopt the singular, he must also employ a singular verb to agree with it; but if the plural, a plural verb must follow. Hence it is obvious that the effect of leaving out the bracket in this passage, is totally to destroy my design, and pervert my meaning; and not merely that, but also to make me write language so grossly ungrammatical, that even a tyro, who has studied my lectures on grammar ten hours, would at once correct it. The knavery of this trick is transcended only by its meanness, and I will venture to say, is without a parallel in the annals of hypercriticism. It is so bare-faced, indeed, as to defeat its own object: and for the benefit of the _gentleman_ who practised it upon his readers, I will quote another passage from 'the immortal bard,' 'the sentiment of which,' I hope, will sink deep into his heart, and be long remembered by him, and lead him to reform his morals and mend his manners:

'Who steals my Purse, steals trash:
'Twas mine; 'tis his; and has been slave to thousands;
But he who filches from me my good name,
Robs me of that which not enriches him,
But makes me poor indeed.'

But, excepting those founded on misquotations, and perversions of my meaning, what are the _arguments_ wielded by this chivalrous knight of the goose-quill? In the first place, he admits that, by some means, the popularity of my work has become such, in a short time, as to create a demand for _sixty thousand copies in a year_; (A FACT;) and yet, he denies that it possesses the least particle of merit, and denounces it as one of the 'worst' grammars ever written! Admirable logician! But what a slander is this upon the public taste! What an insult to the understanding and discrimination of the good people of these United States! What! a book have NO merit, and yet be called for at the rate of sixty thousand copies a year! According to this reasoning, all the inhabitants of our land must be fools, except _one_ man, and that man is Goold Brown! What would this disinterested 'vindicator of a greatly injured and perverted science' give, if this same foolish and gullible community would but purchase only _sixteen hundred_ copies per annum of his own precious work upon grammar?

That Goold Brown is possessed of a degree of critical acumen sufficient to distinguish himself as a grammatical _tinker_, in which vocation the main business is that of adjusting and arranging words, and rasping and filing the points and hinges of sentences, I am willing to admit; and, moreover, that he is _industrious_ in this noble employment, as well as in defaming other writers, I do not deny; but that he possesses enough of scholastic acquirement, and capaciousness and force of intellect, to grasp a new system, or originate an important improvement in science, remains for him yet to show to the world. The encomiums bestowed upon him for his industry, excite not my envy; for I firmly believe, that he will go farther in the chase of a little idea, and pursue it with more ardor, and dodge more corners to catch it, than any other living author. It would be ungenerous, therefore, to deprive him of any of the honors due to him on this score. It may be well, nevertheless, for those who laud him for his industry, to bear in mind, that his labors are commendable or otherwise, exactly in proportion to the good or ill that results from them.

That his Grammar is destitute of merit, I have never asserted; or that its faults far exceed its merits, though easily proved, it is not my present object to show. Let the history of its success (or rather _want_ of success) tell the tale. Goold Brown has most disingenuously insinuated that the great success of my Grammar is awing wholly to extrinsic circumstances. How can this be, when it has never been favored with that main-spring of a large circulation, the business efforts of an interested publisher! No publisher has ever had any thing more than a temporary interest in it, secured by a very limited contract; an interest too inconsiderable to justify any formidable efforts to extend its circulation; whereas Goold Brown's Grammar has enjoyed the advantages of being pushed by a book-seller who has secured, I am told, a _permanent_ interest in his work. I leave the natural deduction from these facts, to be made by the reader.

Goold Brown's efforts as a writer have proved his merits to be of that order which can never command the attention of the public, nor be crowned with any considerable degree of popularity or success. In his style, he displays many of those lighter graces and excellencies which pass for cleverness with such as look more at smoothness of diction and accuracy of expression, than at force of argument, or depth and strength of thought. In his criticism of my Grammar, he has displayed as little of the manly vigor of a scholar, as of the courtesy or candor of a gentleman; and in his unjust attack upon my private character, I think I have clearly shown, that he has evinced far less of wisdom and moderation, than of malevolence and vindictiveness. If, in his eagerness to anathematize and victimize me, he has sometimes so far forgotten the dignity of the critic as to descend to scurrility and coarse language, I will charitably ascribe the fault to the _heart_, rather than to the head. Unenvious of the laurels he may glean in such an inglorious strife, I have not attempted to imitate him in his manners, nor to rival him in his illiberally; and therefore I have not plainly called him a knave, a liar, or a pedant: but, in the most polite and civil language that the nature of the case would admit, I have endeavored to PROVE that each of these terms might be justly applied to him with emphatic force.

To avoid being misunderstood, I must be permitted to say, that however much I may contemn the abuse, yet no man entertains a more profound respect for the use, of true criticism, than myself; and had my antagonist treated me with but a moderate share of decency, and one-half the liberality that candor and justice demanded, he would have received my bow, and have saved himself the present castigation. I delight not in contention. I never sought it with any one. No man can accuse me of ever having assailed a brother-author, or of having laid a straw in the path of a rival. But then, my spirit inhabits a citadel of flesh and blood, and will not brook to be bullied by a ruffian. There is a point beyond which, if forbearance be extended, it ceases to be a virtue.

Goold Brown professes to be my personal friend, and to 'rejoice at my success.' If he were sincere in this profession, he would not treat me with invective, nor garble my language to sustain his unfounded accusations against me. If he were sincere in his professions, and consistent in his opinions, he would not _now_ condemn my Grammar, and slanderously assert that it is one of the 'worst' books of the kind ever written; for, seven years ago last autumn, he praised, and _highly_ praised, this self-same Grammar, and declared it to be 'A GOOD WORK!'[8] If he were sincere in his professions, or honest in his declarations, he would not hypocritically pretend that 'the vindication of a greatly injured and perverted science' constrained him to say what he has said concerning me and my works, when every page and paragraph of his abusive remarks clearly shows, that they flowed from a splenetic mind, mortified by disappointment, soured by neglect, embittered by defeat, and lashed up to fury by the success of a rival whom he lacked the power, but not the will, to crush.

Goold Brown knows that what little of learning and fame I have acquired, are the fruits of my own industry. Having never inherited a patrimony, nor received the favors of a guardian, they are honestly come by; and so are the emoluments I receive by way of copy-right; and he admits that I am 'liberal with my gains.' Why then does he seek to destroy me? He knows, too, that I have endured more hardship, suffered more from bodily infirmity, and drank more deeply of the cup of adversity, than most men of my age. Why then does he persecute me, and attempt to wrest from me the just meed of praise and patronage which the public are willing to bestow?

I admit that my Grammar has its defects, (and whose has not?) and that, on account of what my countrymen have been pleased to view as excellencies in it, they have been indulgent to its faults. And I repeat, that had Goold Brown pointed out any of these, though in his peculiarly censorious and dogmatical manner, I should have received his criticisms kindly; for I have always held it as a maxim, that a man can never be too well informed to be instructed, even by his enemies and his inferiors. But when a man so far degrades himself as to deal in general denunciation, and coarse invective, instead of just and manly criticism, he neither enlightens the public, nor benefits him whom he assails.