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Battles Around Atlanta
THIRTEENTH PAPER,
Br SIDNEY HEEBEBT.
It is the purpose of the present paper to gath-
up detached incidents and personal recollec
tions of the battles aronnd Atlanta daring the
campaign of the snmmer of 1861.
The Atlanta Sunday Phonograph, in noticing
the last paper of this series, ‘The Hero Brothers
of the Battle of Atlanta,’ closes with these beau-
tifal expressions: ‘None can read the history of
these young heroes without a tearful eye and a
tender heart.’
“Tis said they were first In the action,
Gay-hearted, quick-handed and witty;
And they fought with no relaxation,
At the gates of our fair Southern city;
Fought and fell 'neath the guns of our city,
With a spirit transcending their years.'
AN EDITOE. IN BATTLE.
The editor of the Milledgeville Old Capital, in
his issue of July 27th says: ‘The Atlanta Con
stitution very properly alludes to July 22i, as
the anniversary of a fierce battle near that city
—an issue in which Gen. James B. McPherson,
on the Union side, and Gen. Wm. Henry Tal
bot Walker, Capt. Joseph Clay Habersham, of
Savannah, one of Gen. Gist’s staff officers, and
many others on the Confederate side, lost their
lives.
‘The writer was at this battle, and saw Gen.
Walker’s dead body. A rifie shot, fired from a
squad of Federal skirmishers, penetrated his
body under the left arm, and issued in a direct
line opposite. He fell off his horse, his head
striking the ground heavily. Young Haber
sham was encouraging a Carolina regiment—the
24th,who were beginning to shrink under a ter
rific fire of grape and musketry.
*Our Atlanta contemporary failed to mention
one important incident of this battle. Our men
captured Gan. Frank P. Blair, and held him for
a while that day, but he managed to elude his
guard in the confusion and got off. We kept
his headquarters, wagons and camp equipage.
McPherson was a brave officer, and fought his
men with consumate skill. He deserved his
monument.’
PATEIOTIC SENTIMENTS.
Col. A. Caldwell, commander of the Seventh
Regiment National Guard, of Pennsylvania,
writing from Shamokin, Penn., Aug 21st, 1878,
to Mr. B. W. Wrenn, Secretary of the Atlanta
Fair, thus refers to his participation in the ‘Bat
tles Around Atlanta:’
‘For your very courteous invitation to the
several companies of my command to partici
pate in your competitive drill, I am more than
obliged. While our command would be glad to
accept your invitation, the distance and the ex
pense of the trip will be their excuse for non-ac
ceptance. As a soldier who wore the ‘blue,’ and
who was once engaged in the not pleasant task
of entering your city uninvited, I appreciate
your courtesy, and should business or pleasure
ever tempt my way southward, I will avail my
self of your hospitality.
‘I hail it a good omen for our common conn
try when in friendly rivalry the men of the
South can strike hands with the men of the
North and, letting the dead past ‘bury its dead,’
and the feelings engendered by war, go forward
as Americans, actuated by none but the kindest
feelings for each other, sinking selfish motives
and all local prejudices in the cause of our com
mon country.’
THE GALLANT DEAD.
Uador the above head, the Atlanta Corisiitution,
of July 2-3 1, thus referred to the “Battle of At
lanta," and the present changed appearance of
the scene of that bloody conflict:
“Fourteen years ago, yesterday, there was
fought, just beyond the cemetery, one of the
bloodiest and fiercest battles of the civil war.
Many of our citizens vividly remember the
breathless interest with which the people of the
bombarded city awaitod the terrible conflict.
“ The battle ground has now become historic.
On the spot where Gen. J. B. McPherson fell
there stands a cannon Memorial to his memory.
Not far from the same spot fell Gen. W. H. T.
Walker, ono of the most dashing of the Confed
erate leaders.
“Both sides lost many of their best men in
the rank and file. Yesterday we received from
Prof. Carl L. Brandt, of New York, a photo-en
graving of two portraits painted by him. The
subjects are two gallant young Georgians who
fell before our city on that trying day. Early
in the fight fell Captain Joseph Cla* Habersham,
of Savannah, of Gan. Gist’s staff. Soon after
his younger brother, Private Wm. Neyle Hab
ersham (of the Savannah Cadets) fell at the post
of duty and of honor. Both these young men
were of that superb type of Southern manhood
which gave to the Confederate army its chivalry
and its dash.
■ ‘ Yesterday was the anniversary of their
death, and not of theirs only, but the death of
many true men who fell on both sides. To one
who rode over the battle ground there was little
sign of the destruction that once blasted it
The old trenches are almost sunk into common
earth. The forest has nearly repaired the glo
ries which shot and shell tore from it in wrath.
The line of graves which were dug on the bloody
ground have long since been unburdened of
their dead, and the grass grows as if it had never
been torn and trodden by two contending ar
mies. All was perfect peace there yesterday.
The radiant sunset sent a tender light through
the old oaks that saw all the story, and the
breezes gave a music so faint and sweet that one
might easily fancy it a requiem for the dead.”
GENEBAL ALPHEUS BAKES.
The name of this gallant soldier and brilliant
Irish orator, of Eufaula, Ala., is one that is
proudly cherished in the State of his adoption.
A soldier of his old brigade, Private Charles T.
Ezell, of Mount Sterling, Ala., through the Co-
lumbuA Enquirer-Sun, of Sept. 10th, makes pub
lic the following incident in one of the last of
the bloody battles around Atlanta, as stowing
the unselfish kindness and heroic devotion of
Gen. Baker to an humble soldier in his brig
ade:
‘On the 28th of July, 1864, during the mem
orable seige of Atlanta, when our army, which
had been driving the enemy in a stubborn fight,
was in its turn being driven back, I received a
severe wound in the knee and was lying per
fectly helpless on the field of battle. It was at
this terrible moment, when a retreat had been
ordered and the men were rushing to the rear
with the enemy pressing steadily on them, that
Gen. Baker rode near where I was lying. I said
to him, ‘General, I am gone up.’ He asked,
‘Where are you wounded, Charley?’ and, on be
ing informed, said to some men hurrying by,
‘Pick Charley up and put him behind me on
my horse; I will save him any way.’ The men
obeyed, and thus through the kindness of Gen
eral Baker was I rescued from oertain capture
and probable death. He rode with me to where
a General Gibson, commanding a Louisiana
brigade, was trying to rally the men for another
stand, and failing to get an aid from Gen. Gib
son for that purpose, as he could go no further
himself, detailed two men to bear me off, and
‘Save him, boys, if you have
secure and ride slowly from the battle field with
a wounded soldier on the oronp. Such consid
eration for his men always characterized Gen
eral Baker. His life since the war has been too
brilliant to need a comment here, I can only say
he has served his oountry faithfully, both as a
citizen and a soldier, and in both capacities is
his country proud of him.”
Kimball House, Sept. 1878.
The First Performance
6 Hamlet. ’
of
Shakespeare as an Actor.
gave this order,
to take him to the Gulf.’
“ History presents few nobler pictures than a
General, at the bitter moment of defeat, with a
victorious and vengeful enemy crowding on
him, braving their iron missiles long enough to
(From Herbert Gray’s Memoirs )
While in London Herbert had the good for
tune to become acquainted with the gentle
Southampton, and to be well liked of that cul
tured and courteous nobleman. Southampton
shunned the court, but was constant to the play
house. He was the friend and patron of Shake
speare, who has repaid the obligation by mak
ing him immortal in virtue of the poet’s dedica
tions to him. Southampton was one of the first
to recognize the transcendent genius of the poet
who wears ‘the crown o’ the world,’ and he wor
shipped Shakespeare ‘on this side idolatry.’
Southampton had the critical sympathy, which
oould value at its full worth whatever the poet
could create, and not unawares he entertained
an angel. The nobleman and the poet were
friends, and often met at the wit combat at the
Tavern, or, in quieter hours, in Southampton's
house. In days in which all criticism was oral,
Southampton had great influence in spreading
the player’s reputation among the noble and the
refined. He urged upon Herbert the necessity
of seeing one of Shakespeare's plays. The pott
had just written a new play called ‘Hamlet,’ or
‘The Tragicall Historic of the Prince of Dan
mark,’ and had shown the manuscript to the
noble, who was enthusiastic in his delight. He
proposed to take Herbert to the first representa
tion, and after a dinner in the middle of the day
at an ordinary, the friends took barge to Black-
friars, and reached the theatre by three o'clock.
Herbert was excited by anticipation, and South
ampton criticised the cast, while he prophesied
a great success for the play, which he held to
be the poet’s noblest work. And so Master Her
bert Grey found himself for the first time in a
playhouse,—in the Blackfriars Theatre in Play
house Yard,—and was to see the first version < f
Shakespeare’s ‘Hamlet’ played for the first time
by Her Majesty’s servants. Shakespeare, though
already recognized by the judicious as a great
and ever rising dramatic genius, had not then
attained to the full altitude of such fame as,
even in his lifetime, he acquired; but still great
expectations were excited by his new play, and
the hous&was full of eager spectators. Herbert
obtained, through Southampton’s influence, a
stool on the rush-covered stage itself, and sat
there with Southampton and with Rutland, sur
rounded by other nobles and persons of rank
and mark who loved plays and players. The
gallants wore plumed hats, and gay clcaks,
hanging from the left shoulder, over quaint and
dainty doublets. Those who had come by water
wore high shoes with rosettes; those whose
horses were being held outside the theatre wore
long boots and jingled massive spurs. Each
gay hanger suspended a rapier, bell-hilted and
and guarded with carving, tracery, and
bar; a picturesque costume, though one that
never had its Van Dyck. The pit was filled with
the ‘groundings,’ and the houss was eager to
enjoy, and to criticise, through enjoyment.
No journals then, or newspapers; no profession
al critics who wrote notices of plays for pay
ment. Criticism was then the task of noble-
awt, scholars,- poets, who met in-4he playhouse
and discussed in the tavern. The judgment of
the competent, disseminated orally, Bpread
through the town and made the success of the
player and the playwright. At length the house
was hushed and the play began. After three
soundings of the trumpet, the prologue was
spoken and the curtain drew aside. The open
ing lines of ‘Hamlet’ were then spoken for the
first time.
Now, to every cultured Englishman the lines
of ‘Hamlet’ are household words; the charac-
Ghost, acted by Taylor and Shakspeare, pro
duced an extraordinary effect upon the specta
tors; and, near as he was to the players, Master
Herbert oould not restrain a sort of trembling
awe at the aspect of the kingly apparition.
There was then so little help rendered to a play
by scenery, or by the tricks and machinery of
stage illusion, that players relied wholly on
their art for their effects, and imaginative act
ing worked upon the imagination of spectators,
and enabled them to oo-operate in sympathy.
The house was deeply quiet, the very ‘ground
lings,’ sometimes so noisy, were still and atten
tive, as the Ghost, in a sad and solemn mono
tone, revealed to t K e Prince the villany of the
King. The play within the play produced the
greatest excitement amongst an audience full of
fine and undebauched dramatic instinct, and
Master Herbert noticed with some amusement
how all the players crowded to the wings to lis
ten as Taylor delivered, to the delight of Master
Shakspeare, Hamlet’s advice to the players.
The young actor who played the Q leen requir
ed, as Herbert thought, the poet’s admonition;
nor could Ophelia always keep his voice gentle
and soft and low enough; but he afterwards
heard Master Shakspeare explaining to Rutland
how difficult it was to procure actors who could
look feminine, or enter into and express the
ways, the passions, the characters of women.
Master Shakspeare added, that he thought some
day the women parts would be enaoted by wo
men themselves, though all those to whom he
expressed this view seemed to think that the
idea was but a ‘devout imagination’ of the poet.
The gravedigger was played in a manner which
recalled the memory of T*.rleton, though it was
thought in the house that Master Shakspeare
had had Tarleton in his mini when he admon
ished clowns, through Hamlet, to speak no more
than is set down for them. The Osrick was, as
Master Herbert thought, somewhat exaggerated
ly fantastic, since en actor needs moderation
when playing so trippingly grotesque a charac
ter; but the Horace was V9ry nobly rendered,
and Laertes, as played by Robert Wilson, was a
gallant and fiery youth. Master Herbert heard
Lord Southampton whisper that surely Taylor
and Wilson did Bomswhat overdo the fenoing
scene, which, to the delight of the gallants in
the house, they, as Hamlet and as Laertes, de
veloped with all the minutiae of fine swordsman
ship. Hamlet dead, the spectators issued from the
Blackfriars, and Master Herbert observed how
they spread into little knots, and how eagerly
they criticised the play and the players. An ob
jective age is the only age in which the drama
can have its highest influence. In the day of
great Elizabeth a great play was a great interest
I to spectators who read comparatively little, and
who saw history, tragedy, comedy, in the living
life of action.
Lord Southampton, whose character and tastes
were tender and noble, was deep rather than
loud in his admiration of this latest heir of
Shabspeare’s fame; a piece which would, he pre
dicted, become equally the favorite of players,
poets and publio.
The part of the ghost is finished early in the
play, and Master Shakspeare had had time to
change his dress, and now came out of the the
atre to go home to his house in Southwark. He
was soon surrounded by nobles, gallants, and
poets, and Master Herbert had the honor of be
ing presented by Southampton to the Warwick
shire yeoman dramatist. Shakspeare had not
then attained to the fullest reputation which his
own day could yield him.
He had rivals m the theatre, aud enemies
among the dramatists; but there are in every
age a few who can recogize the highest revela
tion of genius, and a small minority, headed
perhaps by the graceful Southampton, already
felt that the greatest thing the world had done,
stood before them in the flash. Shakspeare,
then a litB« naore then of age, »*f,
as many great poets have been, singularly hand
some in face and person. Master Herbert, bas
ing his judgment upon this and and upon sub
sequent interviews, reports that Shakspeare was
extrordinarily sweet and gentle, of a great aDd
perfect courtesy, very quiet and modest in man
ner; and yet when he spoke to you he seemed
somehow to enclose yon all around, as water
does, to include you and to comprehend you
through and through. He was reserved, except
with intimates or with altogether sympathetic
companions; but in the ‘Mitre’ or ‘Mermaid,’ in
Literary Hacks
What They Were in Old Times
and What They are Now.
ters are a part of aur experience; the events . , - m m , _ , -~., m
form a portion of our romance. The play is in- * the ‘Triple Tun, or ‘Dog, or ‘Devil Tavern,
terwoven with our lives; but on the day which I wh * n Jonwn, Dayton, or other of the tribe
I am trying to recall from oblivion to a faint and , •“ sn > “ e could become ‘nobly wild, and was
- ... ' of a supreme extemporal wit and gaiety. Quiet,
serene,and almost melancholy at ordinary times,
he could yet blaze out into a frolic humor and a
wild wit; and included within his nature both
shadowy life, the words were heard, the inci
dents were seen, for the first time. Think of
th9 first representation of ‘ Hamlet!' Think of
the surprise of delight with which the lofty „ , ■ , „ , . n
language of the great soliloquy was listened to ! I Hamlet and Faletaff. Constantly oocupied in
Imagine the rapture of interest with which the [ ‘gathering humors of men, Suakspeare never
first spectators followed the development of the I stopped at mere surface observation,
story—a story which, admirable as in itself it is, I 4 n< * s °‘ coming out of the Blacklriars after
is never avowed to be more than the vehicle for ®? ein S ‘Hamlet with Shakspeare as the Gnost,
those objects of art which are higher than mere
story or than plot. As the play proceeded, and
the events which we now know so well unfolded
themselves for the first time in action, the aud
ience was moved to the deepest emotion; al
though Shakespeare feared at first that his high
est thoughts would remain unrecognized, and
would even imperil the success of the work as a
whole. The first popular judgment of ‘Hamlet’
was necessarily chaotic and confused. The. ,, ..... -
work was so great that its full greatness could gentleman, and yet there was in the style and
not be lull v discerned at once. Men feltthatthev aspect of the immortal player, a touch of cavalier
Master Herbert stands amidst the groups out
side the play-house and sees and listens to
Shakspeare himself.
How enviable to thousands then unborn seems
the privilege of the happy though half uncon
scious Herbert 1 Shakspeare was then in the
full splendor of his faculties, and of his poet's
beauty of person and of face. His attire, says
Master Herbert, in one of the letters which I
have seen, was ‘after the habit of a scholarlike
not be fully discerned at once. Men felt that they
were in the presence of something utterly great,
of something almost beyond the reaches of their
souls, and yet—though the play was pronounced
to be decidedly successful—there were divided
opinions, and persons who doubted whether so
much philosophy would not endanger popular
ity. Southampton and a few more were, how
ever, sagacious enough to anticipate the verdict
of posterity, and to rank ‘ Hamlet’ at its first
hearing, as a work not for an age, but for all
time.
Master Herbert listened with all his soul, and
was soon worked up by the cunning of the scene.
He glowed with a rare and delicate enthusiasm
as he saw, living aDd acting before his eyes, the
characters of the play, and as he listened to the
sonorous roll of its majestic line. Hamlet was
played, by Taylor. It had been expected that
the chief part would have been acted by Bur
bage, but Southampton told Herbert that Shaks
peare had selected Taylor because that graceful
and silver-voiced player more nearly embodied
Ophelia s description of the princely paragon.
Burbage was as an actor greater than Taylor in
passion and in power, but was inferior to Tay
lor in grace, in tenderness, and in high-bred
charm. Instructed and inspired by Shakspeare
himself, Taylor played to admiration, and took
the part to perfection. He caught from the very
fountain-head that key-note of the character
which he afterwards taught to Betterton, and
which decended through tradition to the last
great English actor —Macready.
The ghost—a part which Garrick selected for
his second character in London—was played by
Shakspeare himself.
I have before me two curious letters, which
have strangely escaped destruction, in the for
mer of which Herbert, in the fresh flush of his
delight, described the performance to Mistress
Lettice, while in the second he inter alia, record
ed his impression of th9 poet as a player. Her
bert says that Shakspeare lacked somewhat the
very torrent, tempest, and whirlwind of passion;
that he was calm and balanced, playing best
characters which centered around a certain
steadfastness of grave nobleness; but that his
voioe was singularly sweet and stately, always
tuned by an inner lofty intensity, and express
ing subtly every shade of meaning or variation
of feeling. The soene between Hamlet and the
and nobleman. He wore an extremely good and
handsome rapier, and was proud, as Milton
also was, of his skill in fence. Ah ! Master Her
bert, how I envy you that sunny day! As I sit
down with ‘laboring spirits’ to rescue you from
oblivion and to give a glimpse of you to an age
so far removed from your own, I think with a
sort of rage of your opportunity of seeing and
of speaking with the author of ‘Hamlet;’ and I
know too that if you prized .your chance highly,
you yet could not estimate tne estimate at which
we rank a sight of Shakspeare living, moving,
speaking. Listen, Master Herbert, do not lose
a word—for is not Shakspeare explaining to
Lord Southampton how he had first conceived
the play, and expressing a fear lest it should
please not the million? And does not the Earl
answer that it is an excellent play, well digest
ed in the scenes, set down with as much mod
esty as cunning ?
Herbert Grey noticed gradually the many
facets that there were to Shakspeare’s many-sid
ed mind. With a gallant he seemed to be a
gallant; with a sportsman he seemed to be a
falconer or huntsman; with a lawyer or with a
statesman he seemed to be lawyer or statesman;
with a wit he seemed doubly a wit; with a poet
he seemed to be much more than poet. Prac
tical as the highest genius ever is, Shakspeare
walked quietly the path of daily life, looked
after his interest in the theatre and after the
success of his plays, planned the future pur
chase of New Place, enjoyed the society of chos
en friends, and yet retained over and above
the life that he shared with humanity the trans
cendental individuality which lifted him to the
fine frenzy of the loftiest imaginings at the very
highest range and pitch of human faculty.
What woman thought Herbert, could ever as
Shakspeare’s wife satisfy all the various needs
of that wide ranging intellect and deeply com
plex nature? He could not be ignorant of his
supremacy, and yet he seemed to oare little for
fame. Ha was not anxious to print his plays :
he left them long as simple prompter's written
books in the theatre. The first version of ‘Ham
let’ was not printed until 1603. He might well
guess that the Euhemerism of mankind would
worship him after death as something godlike,
but he was. not impatient of the underestimate
of his contemporaries.
There has long been a soupcon of contempt in
the ordinary use of the word hack. The hint of
unworthiness is not, as we have seen, justified
in the primary signification of the name ; so it
may perhaps be Dot uninteresting to enquire
whence comes the transition of meaning, and
how far the term in its present acceptation is
fair towards those whom it affects and describes.
The bad name mentioned in the old proverb is
evidently intended to be given: let ns see
whether it will be well to carryout the sentence
which naturally follows upon that gift, and to
hang the miserable dog upon the gallows pro
vided by sooiety for those whom it uses but de
spises.
To take the latter part of the enquiry first,
we may remark that the current idea concerning
the numerous tribe of literary hacks is naturally
enough founded upon the motives conveyed to
us by suoh mention as there is to be found in
literature of the race in days gone by. There
flit before the mind’s eye visions of those hard
old taskmasters, Osborn, Cave, Miller, and,
hardest of all, Jacob Tonson the elder, as he
appears in his portrait; holding in his hand a
volume of Milton’s five-pound epic, of which he
had obtained the copyright. There present
themselves to our recollection dim memories of
the intellectual giants whom we have always
been accustomed to associate with poverty. We
see Dr. Johnson writing ‘Rasselas’ in a fort
night, in order to defray the expenses of his
mother’s funeral, Goldsmith chaining down his
bright humour to grind out children’s histories
for payment of his debts, and Dryden manufac
turing ten thousand verses to order for sixpence
each. We recall these great names only to note
how they rose triumphantly above their thralls;
but there recur to the memory also a host of
smaller fry, who at these times used to execute
book sellers’ orders, and who sank literally into
what have been graphically called ‘doomed la
bourers.’ It was of these authors that Adam
Smith spoke in his ‘Wealth of Nations’ with
haughty philosphic indifference: ‘Before the in
vention of printing the only employment by
which a man of letters could make anything by
his talents was that of a public or private
teacher, or by communicating to other people
the various and useful knowledge which he had
acquired himself; and this is surely a more hon
ourable, a more useful, and in general even a
more profitable employment than that of writing
fora bookseller, to which the art of printing has
given occasion.’ By the elder Disraeli, id his
interesting notes upon the subject, an even
lower position is assigned to these ‘authors by
profession;’ of whom he wrote that ‘by vile arti
fices of faction and popularity their moral sense
isiujured and the literary character sits in that
study which he ought to dignify, merely, as one
of them sings:
‘To keep his mutton twirling by the fire.’
Now, although we do not for a moment grant
that there exists now any slavery in the world
of letters to be compared to that which was
common some hundred and thirty years ago, it
may be well to observe how even this miserably
degrading state ot shings was unable to check
amongst its victims the ebullition of real geni
us. It would be impossible to frame any defini
tion of the booksellers’ hack, which shoald ex
clude the names of some of England's greatest
authors—men, who from the want of private
means, fr^m natural improvidence, from gener
ous dissipations, or from private misfortunes,
were driven to this way of keeping body and
soul together. just as now-a-davs they would
write brilliant ‘potboilers’ for the magazines
and reviews. In those very ten thousand lines
of Dryden’s to which we have alluded, there was
thrown in as makeweight one of the most glori
ous odes in the langueage. Though the bulk of
Somollett’s voluminous productions consisted
of dull voyages and translations which poverty
compelled him to scribble by the yard, his
hack-work did not prevent his bequeathing to
posterity some of the richest and most admira
ble pictures of human life that we pos
sess.
0f course it will be answered to this, and
fairly enough, that such instances as these are
but the few noble exceptions to the gen
eral rule of degradation, and that most of
the efforts of these old booksellers’ haoks
are as bad as they are themselves. But
since this is undeniably the case, can it be mat
ter for wonder that the ideas connected with
modern literary hacks should have become in
voluntarily tinged with the contemptuous pity
bestowed upon their distant ancestors, or that
hey should be condemned, like so many of us
are, for the faults of relations ? And yet it is
evident that with the fall of the cramping sys
tem of patronage, with the enormous increase
in the numbers of readers and book-buyers,
with the spread of independent public criticism
of all written matter by the press, and with the
present facilities for introducing comparatively
unknown authors to the world—in fact, with
the gigantic strides made by education aud by
free trade—the whole book-selling and book
writing conditions of existence have been rev
olutionised.
If there are still literal booksellers’ hacks,
these are comparatively few in number, and
form a proportionately unimportant element in
th8‘profession of belles lettres; unless indeed we
could consent loosely to include in their ranks
those other much-maligned writers of whom’we
are speaking. There must of course necessarily
’be some amount of technical, almost of clerical,
work to be done in connection with publications
of a certain class—work which we believe is
paid for as well as most employment of its kind;
but those who perform it cannot be considered
to take the place of the gentlemen whose preca
rious lives Goldsmith designated by so strong
an adjective. The literary hack of to-day lives
by labours widely different to these: if his aud
ience is not very critical it is at least very num
erous; if it has not much intelligence it is, nev
ertheless, very constant in its demands'upon in
telligence. Whatever profession or occupation
ho may once have intended to take up—a clerk
ship, a cure, a medical practice, or, most prob
ably of all, the Bar—his energies are now prin
cipally or entirely devoted to one absorbing oc
cupation, an occupatiou perhaps more exacting,
more exhausting, and more trying than any
which it has entered into the minds of the pub
lishers to conceive. Need we say that we allude
to the pursuit, as a pursuit, of periodical litera
ture? The hack may have tried, and tried suc
cessfully, various other paths in life, literary
paths many of them. His youthful romance,
‘Constance, or the Last S:raw,’ that first brought
him before the public, may still be remembered
by others as well as by himselt with pleasure;
not all the copies of his ‘Gotham and other Po
ems’ may remain on their publisher’s shelves,
and his little volume on ‘Tne Stage and its Vo
taries’ may have realized some small profit,
even to its author. But still, for some reason
or another, from want of ambition, of steady per
severance, or of immediate bread and instant
cheese, he has drifted into the newspapers and
magazines as naturally and as rapidly as an un
moored boat drifts into the open sea.
At first he meant very possibly to make his
literary efforts a pleasant aooessory to his other
employments ana his income—to live, in fact,
to write—he now finds, by some chance or other,
that he must write to live. And he writes ac
cordingly—writes anything that oomes to hand,
anything that occurs to aim or to the editors
who rely on his powers. A short story for this
magazine, verses to a picture in that, an essay
for a weekly review, or paragraphs for a daily
paper—all he considers to be fiih that comes to
his net, or rather that he supplies to the nets of
others. He is ready at a moment’s notice to
give you a serious, a lively, a flippant, or a
thoughtful report of anything which may be
going on in the great world around us; if he is
eminent in his vocation, he can for a limited
space make almost any topic pleasant and al
most any subject interesting. Let an ordinary
man of business supply our artist with the most
solid technical facts possible—nay, even with
statistics—and they shali be so worked up, so
ingeniously and deftly woven into one homoge
neous and readable whole, that their originator
shall scarely recognize in the fabric the materi
als which his experience provided. At corres
pondence, particularly if it be special, the liter
ary hack is great when he gets a ch moe of dis
tinguishing himself. He writes with the en
couraging knowledge that his effusions will be
read at once by thousands, that he is inditing
contemporary history which will be pursued
with an eagerness such as no history can com
mand. He has to rely almost entirely upon his
own innate resources, upon his observation, his
logical powers, and his discrimination. His
life is for the time a life of excitement—excite
ment which it must be his aim to impart to his
readers at home. The demands upon his ener
gies, his enterprise, and his intelligence are now
greater than ever, heavy though they have al
ways been since he first gave himself up to pe
riodical literature
It will doubtless be objected to all this, that
the pioture we are paintintg is entirely couleur
de rose, that the combination here outlined is a
rare one, and that the man who has worked most
of these fields of literature must, of necessity,
have risen beyond the mere literary hack. We
contend, however, that this is not s a. Such
authors as these, though by no means plentiful,
nevertheless do exist, and that in almost suffi
cient numbers to supply the steady demand for
them which there naturally is in the market of
letters. Moreover, we hold that, notwithstand
ing their great abilities, their assured position,
and the good remuneration which they fairly
command; notwithstanding the deference pud
to them by society, and the high reputation
which they enjoy, they are still essentially and
in reality literary hacks. The works which they
give to the public, valuable though they are,
have been penned to order, and are as thorough
ly hackney, in the proper meaning of the word,
as is a carriage, however perfect it may be,
which is habitually le£ out for hire.
They write, not like the poet who pours out
his soul because he feels that he has within him
a conception which he must give to the world;
not like the romancer, who lives with and loves’
the characters of his tales; not like the philoso
pher, who performs a noble duty because he
knows that he has special capabilities for it, and
that it will be of value to his fellow-men; and
not, like any of these, with money for an indi
rect ebject. They set about their tasks not even
because they love them; and whatever may be
the result of their labors, these are undertaken
first and .foremost for the sake of the reward
which they will command. Such fame as they
might obtain is frequently placed entirely out
of the question, for many of their best efforts
are, in accordance with custom, obliged to be
anonymous.
Tne abilities necessary to our ideal literary
hack are varied and very considerable, as will
at once be obvious to anyone who has tried to
express himself on paper as fluently and nearly
as rapidly as he could in conversation, or who
has ever attempted to Concoct a bright and
amusing letter out of nothing. Of course much
of this ease and brilliancy comes from habit and
from long practice—much but not all. There
must be expressed a rapidity of thought as well
as of expression, a fertility of ideas, and a cer
tain happy turn of mind, which is not given to
all nor even to many of us, and there must also
be the quick perception of the public taste, and
the delicate appreciation of its ever varying
shades, which no length of experience alone
could possibly attain. The accomplished hack
must find a mood for everything, and must
treat everything in its proper tone. He must,
too, in these comparatively well educated times
have no mean power over the language which
he writes. Even though our own composition
may be defective, a good many of us know now
whether we are reading English or slipshod.
These high and rare capacities are, as we have
said, those of a literary hack who na3 climbed
to the topmost rung of the ladder to which he
has set foo ., and are not, we need hardly say,
to be found in such perfection in all his breth
ren. But found to some extent they must be,
in even the most ordinary hacks, or he will find
his profession closed to his efforts, and his oc
cupation fail him at the outset. He must be ready,
he must be fluent, and he must possess shrewd
ness and tact; his very existence will depend
upon these things, as he will soon discover from
his communications with editors should his
right hand chance to forget her canning.
The hack-cab mustin some way be convenient
or no one will continue to hire it. Incredible
to many though the statement may seem, if we
may judge by the oft-expressed opinions which
we hear, there are certain talents, and these of
no mean order, which are absolutely indispen
sable for even decent success in the career of a
literary hack.
How unjust, then, is the popular slur cast up
on authors suoh as we have described—and we
have sketched the only real literary hacks of
the present time—by their association in name
and idea with the old-fashion9d book-sellers’
drudge ! The practical difference between them
is not merely one of employers, not the distinc
tion between hackwork performed for a grind
ing bookseller and the same done to the order
of the editor of a modern periodical. Tne com
mon slave of a Tonson, was hardly even a pro
totype of the mau whom we persist in assum
ing to be his descendant; this indeed he scarce
ly could be with few of the opportunities, less
of the pay, and none of the advantages accord
ed to his more fortunate successor. Such orig
inality and purity of thought as he might once
have possessed were ordinarily crushed out of
him by the heavy treatises,the dull translations,
the party pamphlets, the histories and the ge
ographies demanded of him by the taste of
his age aud of his masters. It certainly was
not the fault of the booksellers hack that ha
seldom rose above the low level assigned to
him in the history of letters; bat i: as cer
tainly is not the fault of the hack of to-day
that the name which h9 bears is dishonored and
ridiculed by his contemporaries.
‘Does Thyra lovo the Prince Imperial?’a3ks
an exchange. We are constrained to say that
we don't think her affection for the Prince is as
strong as it might be. The last time that we
visited the Danish oourt, the daughter of King
Christian didn’t look pleased and blush when
the name of Prince Louis Napoleon was men
tioned. She preferred to converse about Grant’s
travels in Europe and the greenback movement
in America. When asked if she loved the
Prince she tossed her head disdainfally and
glanced out of the window, and evasively re
marked that it looked like rain.
Women to Vote in New Hampshiee.—New
Hampshire passed a bill on the 8th of August,
allowing women to vote in sohool meetings.
This is the first substantial legislative victory
won by the suffragists of New England.