LETTERS OF WILLIAM CULLEN BRYANT.
We love to read the letters of great men, who in letters, art, science, statesmanship, theology, have held a front rank. They discover their personality, and bring us into acquaintance with the men themselves, as nothing else does. We say to the biographer: “Let your subject, as far as may be, tell us of himself; give us any fragments of autobiography or journals which may be in existence; print copiously of his letters.” The wise writer of biography does so; and the most valuable portions of the life of a man of note are those in which he speaks himself. Let Michael Angelo, with candle stuck in his pasteboard cap, teach those who undertake to show us a character in whom there is a public interest; let them keep their own shadows off the canvas. “The Life of Frederick W. Robertson,” by Stopford A. Brooke, and the “Life of Dr. Arnold,” by Dean Stanley, are models of biography. The letters of Robertson and of Arnold are their most prominent feature, and are a priceless treasure, both because of the light they throw upon the personality of the men, and the rich thought with which they sparkle. Mr. Parke Godwin, in his “Life of Bryant,” has done his work well. To have omitted the scrap of autobiography which occupies the first thirty-eight pages of the work would have been a great blunder. It is most charming. And the letters of the great poet and editor are interspersed generously through the two volumes. No one will say that they fill too large a space. Fame came to Bryant early, and he was permitted to live, with his reputation continually widening, and his honors augmenting, until nearly four-score-and-four years had passed over his head; and to die, like Moses, with his eye undimmed and his natural force not abated. It could not have been a difficult matter to secure letters of his in abundance for the purposes of biography; and these the world wants.
We have them here in these volumes of Mr. Godwin; letters written in all periods of life; letters to acquaintances, friends and strangers; letters upon literature, politics, and matters personal; letters to persons well known in letters and public affairs; letters written here and there at home, and from various points in his frequent journeyings in other lands. As might have been expected, we find always, as we read them, the same clear and beautiful style. Bryant could not write, even upon trivial matters, without writing well. It was said of him that “he never said a foolish thing.” No foolish thing is found in these letters, and whatever is said is said clearly and well. The poet was not a humorist; the editor was not. And the element of humor, wanting in his poems and editorials, seldom appears in his letters. They do not sparkle with drollery and wit like those of Dickens. Sometimes, in writing to his old pastor and warm friend, Rev. Dr. Dewey, he unbends and is somewhat playful and jocose; and a letter written to his mother, when a young man, telling her of his marriage, is, for him, rather funny; but as a rule, the letters are of a grave and serious tone. Bryant the litterateur and the politician, appears in his correspondence more prominently than any other character. His interest in politics from early life was evidently very great. Letters are given which he wrote upon state and national affairs, when a boy, to the congressman of the district at Washington; and letters full of wise reflections, written by the mature and sagacious man to President Lincoln and other eminent statesmen. As a matter of course, the man is far more modest, is much less positive, and knows far less than the boy! And numerous and highly interesting are the letters to many associates of his in the field of letters. Richard H. Dana, the senior, gave him valuable aid at the beginning of his literary career, and became his close, life-long friend. Perhaps to him more of the letters of these volumes are addressed than to any other one person. Mr. Bryant’s home-life was beautiful, and his letters to members of his family discover the fact, and his strongly affectionate nature. The death of his wife, for whose recovery to health the climate of different parts of Europe was tried in vain, was keenly felt, and the shadow of the bereavement was upon him the balance of his years. Among the letters, we find that written to Dr. Vincent, in his last years, in which his interest in the C. L. S. C. and its objects was so beautifully expressed, and which has become familiar to all the members of the Circle.
