Raftsman's journal. [volume] (Clearfield, Pa.) 1854-1948, 1855-03-21
a SKETCH


Literature in America-Ladies everywhere
and Love mysterious: but to treat the three
pronged subject scientifically, each point had
better be considered separately, and then all
mingled together in confusion. Literature in
America!-ay, the soil and climate here, it is
contended, are as fit for the growth of authors
as any part of Europe; and what is more, (and
fatal,) it is the best for the prediction of cot
ton and tobacco. 1t is the nature of the brute
s(man) to erect for himself a pedestal, on which
to stand and overlook his fellows, if possible;
and as every one who has nose, and cree.
form, to indicate the genus homo, may inherit
or otherwise maneuvre his way into the pos
session of an estate, so each can build up
platform on his own premises, and exchange
signals with all brother nabobs, and easily look
with contempt on interloping philosophers and
poets, who may be dragging through the mi
~ swamp, in common with the sleek faced
digger of potatoes. They have their carriages,
champaign, and ruflled shirts, (alluding exclu-
sively to males0 they have their etiquette,
cards, and bowie knives. They ship their cot
ton and tobacco, get their drafts cashed, and
stand the lords of creation Five hundred in
every thousand may, in some measure, attain
this distinction: whereas, in literature, not
more than one in two thousand can work his
way to eminence. Therefore, the rich planter
and opulent merchant, prefer horticulture, and
adventure to literature. The world is raree
show, as well as stage: the strife is not only
for conspicuous parts, but grand displays.
Any fool may get enough to eat, all the restfs
for exhibition. OF course, then every one
embraces the best chance of success that
offers: and he who would cast away the gold
which the labor of his hands has acquired,
to contend for the palm of literature, for
which he has no brains, would be double
fool. Americans have more sense. ~
Philip was fair faced fellow, fancy struck
and poor. He had no wine to drink, aud he
read the poets: no carriage and servants, and
he trudged along the margin of the Schuyl-
kill, on foot, meditating mighty things and
scribbling poetry. He printed, but still found
himself on foot, and what was worse, a hole in
his boot. Yet his dreams we're bright, he
laughed at his rags, and might long have re-
manned well pleased. had it not been for a hint
from his host, that his board must be paid Phil
thought it was not only disagreeable, but abso-
lutely degrading to be dunned; still the heart
less host pertinaciously persisted, and poor Phil
perceived that his condition was really per-
picking, inasmuch as he had no stock in pock-
ct, howsoever much fancy teemedlin his head.
He threw his promethean pen in the fire, and
took up mercantile' one:s his master was a
millionaire, legitimate aristocrat, as things
go; his niche was furred round with beavers,
and his badge, badgers tail Phil sorrowed
over his humiliating predicament, and with
sigh, commenced posting the books.
One sultry afternoon, Mr.. Otter returned
earlier than usual from his daily peregrina-
tons on change, whence he vas wont to repair,