THE HABITS OF GREAT MEN.
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"Lives of great men all remind us We can make our lives sublime, And, departing, leave behind us Footprints on the sands of time." |
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Almost since the world began, people have been interested in and entertained by gossip respecting the personal habits and individual idiosyncrasies of popular writers and orators. It is a universal and undying characteristic of human nature. No age has been exempt from it from PLINY'S time down to BEECHER'S. It may suitably be called the scarlet-fever of curiosity, and rash indeed must be the writer who refuses or neglects to furnish any food for the scandal-monger's maw. While we deprecate in the strongest terms the custom which persists in lifting the veil of personality from the forehead of the great, respect for traditional usages and obligation to the present, as well as veneration for the future, impels us to reveal some things that are not generally known concerning the men who are playing "leading business" on the world's great stage of to-day. For instance, mankind is generally ignorant of the fact that Mr. SUMNER bathes twice a day in a compound, two thirds of which is water and one third milk, and that he dictates most of his speeches to a stenographer while reclining in the bath-tub. WENDELL PHILLIPS is said to have written the greater portion of his famous lecture on "The Lost Arts" on the backs of old envelopes while waiting for a train in the Boston depot. Mr. GEORGE W. CURTIS prepares his mind for writing by sleeping with his head encased in a nightcap lined with leaves of lavender and rose. GRANT, it is said, accomplishes most of his writing while under the influence of either opium or chloroform, which will account for the soothing character of his state papers. WALT WHITMAN writes most of his poetry in the dissecting-room of the Medical College, where he has a desk fitted up in close proximity to the operating table. Mr. DANA is said to write most of his editorials in one of the parlors of the Manhattan Club, arrayed in black broadcloth from the sole of his head to the crown of his foot, his hands encased in corn- colored kids, a piece of chewing-gum in his mouth, and a bottle of Cherry Pectoral by his side. The report that he eats fish every morning for his breakfast is untrue: he rejects FISH. COLFAX writes all his speeches and lectures with his feet in hot water, and his head wrapped in a moist towel. His greatest vice, next to being Vice-President, is to insist upon having his writing desk in front of a mirror. BUTLER accomplishes most of his literary labor over a dish of soup, which he absorbs through the medium of two of his favorite weapons, thus keeping both his hands employed, and dictating to an amanuensis every time his mouth enjoys a vacation. BEECHER has several methods by which he prepares his mind to write a sermon: By riding up and down Broadway on the top of a stage; visiting the Academy of Anatomy, or spending a few hours at the Bloomingdale Retreat. Neither HOLMES nor WHITTIER are able to write a line of poetry until they are brought in contact with the blood of freshly-slain animals; while, on the other hand, LONGFELLOW'S only dissipation previous to poetic effort, is a dish of baked beans. FORNEY vexes his gigantic intellect with iced water and tobacco, (of the latter, "two papers, both daily.") Mr. TILTON composes as he reposes in his night-dress, with his hair powdered and "a strawberry mark upon his left arm." Mr. PARTON writes with his toes, his hands being employed meanwhile knitting hoods for the destitute children of Alaska. Mr. P. is a philanthropist. BAYARD TAYLOR writes only in his sleep or while in a trance state—notwithstanding the fact that he lives in the State of Pennsylvania. He will then dictate enough to require the services of three or four stenographers, and in the morning is ready to attend to the laborious and exacting duties attached to the position of stockholder in the New-York Tribune. Mr. GREELEY conceives some of his most brilliant editorial articles while churning the mercurial milk of the Chappaqua farm into butter; or vexing the gracious grain with the flying flail; or listening to the pensive murmurings of the plaintive pigs, and the whispered cadences of the kindly cattle. RICHARD GRANT WHITE can't write, it is said, until a towel moistened with Cologne water is applied to his nostrils. Sometimes, however, he varies the monotony of this method by riding several miles in a Third Avenue car, which produces a similar effect. OAKEY HALL writes his best things while riding on horseback in Central Park; his saddle being arranged with a writing-desk accompaniment; and while OAKEY dashes off the sentences, his horse furnishes the Stops. And just here we propose to stop furnishing further revelations concerning the men whose deeds have made their names famous in current national and local history. |
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Taking the Cue.
There is a strong disposition among those of our diplomats who may be able to talk a little "pigeon English," to obtain the Chinese position left vacant by Mr. BURLINGAME. Most of these gentlemen can point the Moral of the matter—the sixty thousand dollars a year—but whether any of them would adorn the Tail, is quite another affair. Questions for H.G. Is not the Tribune influenced by its negrophilism in denouncing PIERRE BONAPARTE as an assassin? Had the victim been a BLANC instead of a NOIR, would Mr. GREELEY have felt quite as much sympathy for him? APROPOS OF THE "ONEIDA."—The windiest excuses of the day are those of EYRE. |