“In several of his novels the subject of this sketch has portrayed his own character far better than it has been or can be done by another. Whatever Herbert’s defects, as an author he was of the highest order; he was a voluminous writer and a fine translator. ‘Marmaduke Wyvil’, ‘Cromwell’ and ‘The Roman Traitor’ are works that stand in the front rank of their class, while among his translations M. Thiers’s ‘Life of the First Consul’ is one of the standard works of literature. In his historical novels he approaches nearer Sir Walter Scott than any author I have been privileged to read. He was, in fact, a dual character—an enigma. His genius merits admiration, and it is safe to say that his fame will not die with the century that gave him birth.”
Many are the stories told to show his eccentric character and occasional violence. During summer days he would place himself on the bank of the river with a gun and threaten to shoot passing boatmen unless they came on shore at his bidding, but no sooner did they land than Herbert would disappear, leaving the affrighted oarsmen in a state of perplexity as to what next. It sounds much like a fool trick from this distance, but his reputation made the experience anything but a pleasant one.
Conviviality was the order of the night at The Cedars, Herbert being much in the habit of inviting friends to enjoy what he termed the hospitality of the place. On one such occasion four guests were drinking with him, when the host suddenly sprang to his feet and produced from a small closet two swords and, throwing one on the table, ordered one of those present to defend himself. Recognizing that the affair might terminate seriously, one of the guests kicked over the table, throwing the lamp to the floor and enveloping the room in sudden darkness. The party “broke up” then and there, and the company made for the Gully road that they might live to fight another day. Herbert was thoroughly crazed by this time, and chased his friends up to and down Belleville avenue. Finally the pursued separated and the pursuer kept on after one of them even to the Black Horse tavern (Broad street and Belleville avenue), where an escape was effected.
THE HARE AND TORTOISE.
A race modeled on Æsop’s fable is by no means an everyday occurrence, but Herbert was by no means an everyday citizen. He seems to have been as fond of a joke as he is said to have been of a bottle, and these two loves furnished a modern version of the Hare and Tortoise fable. The following facts are given me by Mr. James S. Taylor, who was an eye witness of the event, and who secured missing details from one of the participants later.
But before going on with the story suppose we hear what the local poet had to say on the subject:—
THE HARE AND THE TORTOISE.
This is the tale of a race
That long years gone took place
On the broad river Passaic