LETTER VIII.
THE REJECTED "NATIONAL HYMNS."
Washington, D.C., June 30th, 1861.
Immediately after mailing my last to you, I secured a short furlough, and proceeded to New York, to examine into the affairs of that venerable Committee which had offered a prize of $500 for the best National Hymn.
Upon going into literary circles, my boy, no less than fifty acknowledged poets confidentially informed me, that the idea of bribing the muse to be solemnly patriotic was altogether too vulgar to be tolerated for a moment by writers of reputation; and a whole swarm of poets, never acknowledged by anybody, were human enough to say that $500 was not a small sum in these times; but they hadn't "come to that yet, you know."
One very poor Bohemian, my boy (whose scathing sarcasm at the expense of those degraded creatures who prefer wealth to intellect, has often delighted and improved the public mind), was so rash as to intimate that the importunities of his laundress might drive him to the desperate resource of competing for the prize; but he was quickly made to blush for the unworthy thought, by the undisguised contempt for his "dem'd lowness" displayed by a decayed young gentleman in a dirty collar and very new neck-tie, who lives in a two-pair back in Wooster street (fish balls and a roll twice a day), and writes graphic sketches of fashionable life for the wholesale market.
And yet, notwithstanding all this high-mindedness, my boy, there is an immense amount of some sort of genius insidiously pitted against the contemptible $500. Astounding and distracting to relate, the committee announces the reception of no less than eleven hundred and fifty "anthems"!
The magnitude of eleven hundred and fifty "anthems" is almost more than one human mind can grasp. Allowing that each "anthem" is a quarter of a yard long, we have a grand total of two hundred and eighty-seven and a half yards of "anthem"; allowing that each "anthem" weighs half a pound (intellectually and materially), I find a gross weight of five hundred and seventy-five pounds of "anthem"!
Let the reflective mind consider these figures for a moment, and it will be stricken with a sense of the singular resemblance between Genius and other marketable commodities. Eleven hundred and fifty anthems are enough to prove that Genius has its private mercenary weaknesses as well as Trade, my boy, and that brains can be bought by the yard as well as calico. Genius may carry with it a seeming contempt for the yellow dross of common humanity; but—it has to pay its occasional washerwoman.