Letters from New York, Part II [pp. 240-244]

1849.J Letters from New York. 243
of high celebrity. Mr. C. H. Wiley, author of
"' Alamance,"-a Southern writer-has just commenced in this magazine a novel that promises
to be exciting in its interest. It is entitled
"Roanoke, or Where is Utopia." William Howitt, Frederica Bremer, (translated by Mary Howitt,) Willis, Mrs. Sigourney, Dr. Bethune and
several others of equal fame are contributors.
Longfellow is also engaged to contribute a poem
monthly. The critical notices are fairly and
handsomely made.
I met Mr. Halleck a few days since looking
very intellectual and very well as usual. I asked
him if he intended that all his new poems should
be published posthumously; but he replied laughingly that he should not put his executors to
much trouble in that respect. I suspect, nevertheless, that he writes, but is too infinitely fastidious to publish. I love Halleck; he is emphatically a gentlemanly poet.
Your correspondent, Tuckerman, who is another capital specimen of the genus homo, has
been some time in Washington enjoying the Inauguration festivities.
A new American Drama, entitled Kate Woodhull, from the pen of Mr. C. Edwards Lester,
has just been produced at the Broadway Theatre.
I sincerely hope that it may succed.
The Italian opera has closed its first season
with considerable loss to its urbane and competent manager. The successive failures of two
' erary gems of tasteful collectors. His prose is,
moreover, strong, nervous, ornate, "drawn from
the pure wells of English undefiled" and cast in
a style similar to that of the old divines.
Is it not rather an amusing fact,. apropos to my
comments on the liberties taken with the orthography of Mr. Macaulay by the Harpers in their
edition of his History of England, that these
very publishers, who persisted that their standard
of spelling was the true one, should now advertise a cheap edition of the same work, "spelled
according to the English edition?" Do not believe that the critics brought about this favorable
change: it was entirely owing to the appearance
of two correct editions, one published in Boston
and another in Philadelphia.
I take pleasure in transmitting to you a fine
and spirited poem by an English gentleman of
high abilities. Though written in 1824, when
its author was connected as editor with one of
the prominent journals of the time, it is now pub lished for the first time in the United States where the genius and wit of Sheridan have been
always appreciated at their full value.
The Death Bed of Sheridan.
They fled from thee-all the gay, titled and proud,
When thy evening of life in its dreariness came;
Thr fledl from thee —all who~ had ianl with the crowd
winters must have at length convinced a set of To echo thy praise in thy morning of fame.
people, whom Mr. Willis exaggeratingly called
" The Upper Ten Thousand," but who would be To thy bedside unblessed came the harpies whose fangs
more than comprised in Hundreds, that they can- Were rudest and sharpest in fortune's decay,
not sustain an establishment of this sort against And of all who should soften the victim's last pangs,
the bt woxxot. Their " odi profanum vulgusi et None scared the foul birds from their desolate prey.
arceo," will not do for this region. They cannot
monopolize all the best boxes and turn up their In loneliness withered the spirit that shed
The eloquent charm that might Senates command,
noses at the commonalty in the pit and upper Who the mask and the pageant and revelry led
tiers. No theatre or opera can be sustained here And waved over fashion a magical wand.
unless all parts of the house are free to all comers. Exclusiveism must confine itself to private Not lonely-one minist'ring angel was there!
edifices. It is an exotic that dies in the open, Oh, woman! how faithful, how changeless thou art
strong air of democracy. To the man of thy love; though his eye gleam despair
The numerous friends of the good Bishop Aad a wilderness gather its gloom round the heart.
Thne numerous friends of the good Bishop
Doane of New Jersey will be glad to learn that
The struggle is over-the mutes at the gate,
his health has greatly improved. He was, du- And the recreant grandeur which struck the worst blo
ring the winter, sick unto death; but the arm on Thy spirit had felt, ere it bowed to its fate,
which he has ever leaned confidingly for support, Now follow thy bier in the trappings of wo.
has upheld him so that his footsteps have wandered on the borders of the dark valley of the Oh, faithless such chivalry-ye who rely
shadow and he has not been hidden from the On its promise, behold! how its friendship could spur
light of existence. Not only to the church but Misfortune's last claim, and leave genius to die
to literature would this excellent Prelate have And then with late homage embrace its cold urn.
been a serious loss. Though his name is scarcely They thronged round his hearse, who had let him depart
metoe no a m n h er fcmo They thronged round his hearse, who bad let him depart
mentioned now among the herd of common Like an outcast too mean and too worthless to save;
writers, yet has he produced many beautiful short Who cheered not his gloom with one ray of the heart
poems, remembered and hoarded among the lit- And threw the vaiin splendor of pomp on his grave.
w
rn
1849.)
Letters from New York.
243