Year: 1859

Ine following genial cfiuque on Irving IL
from Biographical Studies, volume from the
classic pen Of Prof. q. W. Green, to be pub
lished in few days;


r There is no American writer who awakens
such associations as Mr.. Irving. Salmagundi
carries US back to the very dawn of our litsra-
ture; Knickerbocker was like the opening of
an exhauStless mine; the Sketch Book was the
first American book which Englishmen read.
We shall never forget tho first appearance Of
columbus" Our enthusiasm had been
warmed by recent visit to the great naviga-
tors birthplace. A friend, fresh from Spain,
had seen chapter in manuscript, and told us
things about 1t which haunted us even during
the excitement Of first winter in Rome. Soon
after the newspapers were filed with the
tidings of its approach. Murray had pub
lished-Galignani was printingit


There were no railroads in those days, and
we were constrained to curb our impatience as
best we might. AT last, one sunny morning
we shall never forget it-such mornings as
Florence gives you in summer, when the cool
shadows fall gratefully from her massive
palaces, and the murmur Of fountains steals
like music on the perfumed air we had eaten
our breakfast Of fresh figs and grapes, still
dripping with dow, and strolled out toward a
friends, with that indefinite anticipation with
which you are sometimes made TO feel that the
day will not pass without bringing you new
pleasure. Our friends house was kind of
gathering place for loungers like ourselves.
That morning they were all there before us, q
silent group around the table; and the first
sound that struck the ear was that beautiful
sentence in the introduction to Columbus,
which seems to bring back by one bold stroke
of the pencil oil the darkness Of that vail
which had shrouded SO long the mysteries Of
the ocean. .


Columbus carriedus once more TO the Sketch
Book. We had given away our only cppy,
and when we got back to our quiet home at
Sienna, we were not little at a loss where
to 50 for another. At lcngth chance brought
home, after many wanderings, little old
dappor little man, scarcely five feet high,
with d bright Italian eye, and fluent tongue
over which italian, English, French and Ger
man rolled with equal volubility; he had
lived everywhere, had known Alferi, had
written Chinese dictionary, and was nov
returned to purge Italy OF Gallicisms and lay
his bones in bis native soil. But the grest
labor of his life had been the publication df
Berlin edition Of The Sketch Book, under Tho
very eyes Of the author, who had written hin
letter beginning with "Dear Doctor, " and
subscribed, "Truly yours" He showed Va
the letter aud sold US the book. Blessings On
his memory how many exquisite hours We
owe him
1t would be easy to 90 on and speak Of
Irying's humor and pathOs, Of the puie tone
of his writings, and his true American spirit.
| We muat say one word about the last fol
some exacting critics have seen ft to charge
him with lack Of 1t, and lay 1t to his doot
as fault that he has written so much about
Europe. We have never counted the purel,
American pages in his works, but there is mo-
one of them in which the subject admitted o.
it, which does not contain some illustration Of
American scenery or tradition. King Phikp,
and the chapter on the indians in the Sketes
Book, are certainly not European, any more
than Rip Van Winkle and Sleepy HOLLOW.
Dolph Heyliger is one Of the best things l,
Bracebridge Hall. A volume has been mads
out Of what he has written about the Hudson
and Columbus Is all America. But those wlo
accuse Irving Of writing too much about
Europe forget that he was writing for Amer
leans who wanted to be told something about
that Old World which so few of them, when
he first began to write, had ever seen. Cir
cumstances had put it in his power to meet
one of the great wants Of our public, andhe
did it. Some crusty European may perhaps
blame him, but the ten thousand copies which
have already been sold of his last edition Of
the Sketch Book tell clearly enough what bis
own countrymen think oft.
We have always fancied that there WIS
a strong resemblance between Goldsmith and
Irving. They both look OF human natun
from the same generous point Of view, with
the same kindly sympathies and the same
tolerant philosophy. They have the same
quick perception of the ludicrous, and the
same tender simplicity in the pathetic. There
is the same quiet vein Of humor in both, and
the same cheerful spirit of hopefuluess. You
are alta loss to conceive how either Of them
can ever have had an enemy and as for jeal-
ousy and malice, and all that brood of evil
passions which beset the pith of fame 10
thickly, you feel that there can be no resting
place for them in bosoms like theirs. Yet
each preserves his individuality as distinctly
as If there were no points of resemblance b.
tween them. Irving's style is as much his
own as though Goldsmith had never written,
and his pictures have that freshness about
them which nothing but life-sludies can give.
He has written no poem, no "Traveller," no
Deserted Village" no exquisite ballad like
"The Hermit" no touching little stanzas of
unapproachable pathos, like "Woman."


But how much real poetry and how much
real pathos has he not writtenl We do not
believe that there was ever such description
Of tho song Of bird as his description Of tho
soaring of a lark in "Buckthorn;" and the
poor old widow in the Sketch Book, who, tho
FIRST Sunday after her sons burial, comes to
church with few bits of black silk and ribbon
about her, the only external emblem of mourn.
ing which her poverty allowed her to make,
is picture that we can never look at through
his simple and graphic periods without sob
bing like child. Poet he is, and that too Of
the best and noblest kind, for he stores our
memories with lovely images and our hearts
with human affections. II you would learn to
be kinder and truer, if you would learn TO
bear life's burden manfully, and make for
yourself sunshine where half your fellow-men
SEQ nothing but tho shadows and gloom, read
and mediate Goldsmith and Irving.