Albert Pike's instructions

Albert Pike has many distinctions — a lawyer, Confederate officer, Freemason, and writer. Despite his birth in Boston, Pike is irrevocably associated with the South, having ultimately settled in Arkansas. His first collection of poetry was published in 1834, earning him a fair amount of attention as an up-and-comer, though he never carried on as a poet. In 1842, Edgar Poe lamented this, and noted that he had "unquestionably {sic} merit, and that of a high order... He is the most classic of our poets in the best sense of the term." Poe published one of Pike's poems, "Autumn," in Graham's Magazine. It concludes:

Day draweth to its close — night cometh on —
  Death standeth dimly on Life's western verge,
Casting his shadow o'er the startled sun —
  A deeper gloom, that seemeth to emerge
  From gloomy night — and bending forth, to urge
His eyeless steeds, fleet as the tempest's blast:
  And hear we not eternity's dim surge
Thundering anear? At the dread sound aghast,
Time hurries headlong, pale with frantic terror, past.

At the end of his life, Pike was focused less on poetics and more on practical concerns. On February 28, 1891, he wrote instructions for his impending death. Matter-of-factly, he wrote, "These are my wishes and directions in regard to the disposition of my body after death:"

I forbid any autopsy or dissection of my body to gratify curiosity, or for the benefit of science, or for any other reason. If I die in or near Washington, let my body be placed in no casket, but in a plain coffin, covered with black cloth, and taken in the evening of the day, to the Cathedral-room of the Scottish Rite, or a church, without any procession, parade or music. At midnight let the funeral offices of the Kadosh be performed there over my body and none other either then or afterwards; and, on the next morning early, let it be taken by nine or twelve brethren of the Scottish Rite to Baltimore or Philadelphia, and cremated without any ceremony other than the word "Good-bye!"

Pike asked for his ashes to be spread around the roots of two acacia trees, and demanded that no eulogy be offered. On his gravestone, if one was made, he asked for only his name, his birth and death dates, and the words Laborum Ejus Superstites Sunt Fructus Vixit. He died one month and four days after writing this document...

...And his careful instructions were not followed. More on that in April.

Twain, Grant, and a massive royalty check

On February 27, 1885, the publishing firm of Charles Webster and Company signed into a contract to produce their first book. The contact was with General Ulysses S. Grant, who was writing his memoirs. The unnamed partner in the company was Mark Twain, a personal admirer of the former Union Army General-turned-President.

Grant was infirm but, according to contemporary sources, insisted on writing every word himself, often with the help of a stenographer (who reported Grant sometimes wrote 10,000 words in one sitting). He worked on his memoir until almost his last breath. As he was preparing it, Twain himself encouraged a man who knew he was racing against time. Grant appreciated the encouragement from the author and, in turn, Twain considered Grant a superior man, remarking, "I was as much surprised as Columbus's cook could have been to learn that Columbus wanted his opinion as to how Columbus was doing his navigating."

Within a few months, 60,000 of the yet-unwritten book were ordered. Soon, the number jumped to 100,000. And Grant kept writing until, as Twain reported, "One day he put his pencil aside and said there was nothing more to do." Grant died two days later. Orders for the book ballooned and the book was finally issued under the title Memoirs.

On February 27, 1886 — exactly one year after the date on Grant's contract — a royalty check for book sales was issued to his widow, splashed with the number $200,000. It was the largest royalty check in publishing history. By the end of its print run, royalties for the book totaled nearly $450,000.

The publishing house of Webster and Company, however, was doomed to perish. Other than Grant's memoirs, it only published Adventures of Huckleberry Finn before folding.

Adrien Rouquette and his nook

Adrien Rouquette was born on February 26, 1813 in New Orleans, where his childhood was spent alongside the Choctaw tribe of Native Americans. Their influence on his life was significant; as he said, it made him prefer a life in the woods. His parents tried to send him north to dilute their influence but Rouquette made it a point to spend his summers in their company.

Rouquette earned his degree in Paris before returning to New Orleans. His first major work, Les Savanes (with the subtitle "American Poems"), was published in France in 1842. He became a priest and was assigned to the St. Louis Cathedral in his hometown — a role he held for fourteen years while writing poetry and editing Le Propagateur Catholique, a Catholic newspaper published in French. In 1859, he suddenly announced his plan to split from his church and devote himself to "spiritually directing" the remaining Choctaws.

Returning to the life in the woods he enjoyed in his youth, Rouquette began dressing like the Choctaws, who gave him the name Chata Ima or Chahta Ima ("one of us"). His poetry reflects much of his interest in the natural world and his spiritual side, as in "The Nook":

The nook! oh, lovely spot of land
Where I have built my cell;
Where with my muse, my only friend
In peacefulness I dwell.

The nook! oh, verdant seat of bliss,
My shelter from the blast;
Midst deserts, smiling oasis
Where I may rest at last.

The nook! Oh, home of birds and flowers
Where I may sing and pray,
Where I may dream, in shady bowers
So happy night and day!

The nook! Oh, sacred deep retreat,
Where crowds may ne'er intrude;
Where men with God and angels meet
In peaceful solitude.

Oh Paradise, where I have flown
Oh woody, lovely spot,
Where I may live and die alone,
Forgetful and forgot!

Memorializing James Fenimore Cooper

James Fenimore Cooper died in September 1851. Despite a slightly abrasive personality, Cooper was immediately recognized as an American literary icon. So, about four weeks later, the editor Rufus Wilmot Griswold presented a resolution to the New York Historical Society to honor Cooper.

Calling him "an illustrious associate and countryman," "a masterly illustrator of our history," someone with "imminent genius" who was "honorable, brave, sincere, generous," Griswold helped organize a committee that became a veritable who's who of "Who are they??" — mostly-forgotten literary critics and writers: Parke Godwin, Fitz-Greene Halleck, George Pope Morris, James Kirke Paulding, Epes Sargent, Gulian Verplanck and, of course, the ubiquitous Nathaniel Parker Willis.

After a couple delays, the major ceremony was held on February 25, 1852 at Metropolitan Hall on Broadway (it was two years old at the time and would burn down two years later). The main address was given by Daniel Webster, then Secretary of State. Griswold himself held the role of co-secretary in organizing the event, though he may have served as Master of Ceremonies (I haven't seen evidence for this yet).

Remembrance letters were sent by Richard Henry Dana, Ralph Waldo Emerson, Nathaniel Hawthorne, Henry Wadsworth Longfellow, Samuel F. B. Morse, and Francis Parkman (and a whole bunch of obscure folks). Also speaking was Washington Irving, a somewhat controversial selection. Cooper and Irving were recognized early on for being progenitors of American writing, but they were not good friends. Cooper had antagonized Irving, once calling him a "double dealer" with low moral qualities, though Irving himself showed no animosity in return.

Irving later admitted his speech at Cooper's memorial was poorly-delivered. After him spoke William Cullen Bryant, who mentioned "an unhappy coolness" between Irving and Cooper; Irving was hoping that coolness would not come up. Even so, the event was recorded as a success; Elizabeth Oakes Smith was in the audience and, allegedly, was brought to tears. "The whole affair succeeded quite well," recorded Griswold.

Not quite so well, Dr. Griswold.

The committee hoped the event would raise enough money to honor Cooper with a large public statue. They fell short of their goal, raising less than $700. They gave the proceeds to another effort which led to a Cooper monument in Lakewood Cemetery — a marble pillar over 20-feet tall, surmounted by a statue of the author's most famous character, Leather-Stocking (a.k.a. Natty Bumpo).

 

*The image is from the James Fenimore Cooper Society.

Whitman and Davis on Mickle Street

Mrs. Mary Oakes Davis moved in with the aging poet Walt Whitman on February 24, 1885. Whitman and Davis met while both were living in Camden, New Jersey. She was the widow of a sea captain and Whitman often visited her and had breakfast at her house on West Street. Whitman, who suffered a stroke in 1873 (he would have a few more before his death), lived for a time with his brother George Washington Whitman, paying room and board. In 1884, he purchased his own house on Mickle Street (now preserved and open to the public as the Walt Whitman House), and Mrs. Davis moved in a month later.

The home was a two-story row house with six rooms and no furnace. It cost Whitman $1,750. Friends and family did not approve; one called it "the worst house and the worst situated." Another noted it "was the last place one would expect a poet to select for a home."

Davis became Whitman's housekeeper in exchange for a room. When she moved in, she brought her cat, a dog, two turtledoves, and a canary (and probably more). Whitman biographer Justin Kaplan speculates that she hoped they would get married. Whitman hoped she would help him enough that he could rest and write at will. "I am very lame & find it difficult to get about here, even small distances," he confided to a friend after Davis moved in. She was, however, "in every respect (handiwork & atmosphere) the very best and most acceptable that could have befallen me."

After Whitman's death, he left Davis $1,000 in his will. Whitman was never well-off but he was comfortable financially. Davis believed she was owed much more, and sued the estate, claiming she spent much of her own money out of pocket on his behalf.

Dr Holmes and the Teachers of America

The National Education Association met in Boston on February 23, 1893. Often called upon for special functions in his native city, Dr. Oliver Wendell Holmes was asked to present a special poem for the occasion. The 83-year old poet obliged with an original 26-line poem, "To the Teachers of America."

In the poem, Holmes praised the "noble" task of teachers, comparing them to farmers who toil over their crops. Holmes himself had served as a teacher, one of the many hats he wore before his death just about 20 months after this poem was presented. He first taught at Dartmouth College in New Hampshire from 1838 to 1840. Then, he dedicated himself to medical reform, publishing his famous essay on "The Contagiousness of Puerperal Fever" in 1843. He also coined the term "anaesthesia" before taking a position as Parkman Professor of Anatomy and Physiology at Harvard Medical School in 1847.

While working at his alma mater, he also served as the Dean for a short time. During that time, he granted admission to Harriet Kezia Hunt, making her the first woman allowed into the Medical School. Because of pressure from the all-male student body, however, Holmes asked her to withdraw her application (a woman would not be admitted until 1945). He later attempted to admit three African-Americans, including Martin Delany (a friend of Frederick Douglass). Again, pressure from others led to their dismissal. Holmes resigned as Chair in 1853 but continued to teach at Harvard Medical school until 1882. He was well-liked, and his final lecture was photographed.

"To the Teachers of America" (1893)

Teachers of teachers! Yours the task,
Noblest that noble minds can ask,
High up Aonia's murmurous mount,
To watch, to guard the sacred fount
That feeds the streams below;
To guide the hurrying flood that fills
A thousand silvery rippling rills
In ever-widening flow.

Rich is the harvest from the fields
That bounteous Nature kindly yields,
But fairer growths enrich the soil
Ploughed deep by thought's unwearied toil
In Learning's broad domain.
And where the leaves, the flowers, the fruits,
Without your watering at the roots,
To fill each branching vein?

Welcome! the Author's firmest friends,
Your voice the surest Godspeed lends.
Of you the growing mind demands
The patient care, the guiding hands,
Through all the mists of morn.
And knowing well the future's need,
Your prescient wisdom sows the seed
To flower in years unborn.

Lowell's birthday verses

Though he has since faded into relative obscurity, James Russell Lowell was a well-known poet, critic, editor, scholar, abolitionist, and diplomat. During his lifetime he had a strong following, particularly in his native New England. On February 22, 1843, he celebrated his 24th birthday by writing a sonnet which read, in part:

Now have I quite passed by that cloudy If
That darkened the wild hope of boyish days,
When first I launched my slender-sided skiff
Upon the wide sea's dim, unsounded ways.

Perhaps Lowell's boyhood was long-gone at age 24, but he had a long way to go in life; he would live almost to the end of the century. His birthday (February 22, 1819) was on the anniversary of the birth of George Washington; it would continue to be celebrated for many years — often with help from other poets. One of his closest friends was Dr. Oliver Wendell Holmes, who celebrated Lowell's birthday in verse in 1859 (Holmes was also the only one of the Fireside Poets to outlive Lowell).

In his poem to Lowell, "At a Birthday Festival," Holmes wrote that "We will not speak of years to-night." Indeed, Lowell was only 40 years old that day. Holmes emphasized that each coming year would bring "floods" of life and song (e.g. poetry). The poem emphasizes friendship, optimism, and joy:

We will not speak of years to-night,—
  For what have years to bring
But larger floods of love and light,
  And sweeter songs to sing?

We will not drown in wordy praise
  The kindly thoughts that rise;
If Friendship own one tender phrase,
  He reads it in our eyes.

We need not waste our school-boy art
  To gild this notch of Time;—
Forgive me if my wayward heart
  Has throbbed in artless rhyme.

Enough for him the silent grasp
  That knits us hand in hand,
And he the bracelet's radiant clasp
  That locks our circling band.

Strength to his hours of many toil!
  Peace to his starlit dreams!
Who loves alike the furrowed soil,
  The music-haunted streams!

Sweet smiles to keep forever bright
  The sunshine on his lips,
And faith that sees the ring of light
  Round nature's last eclipse!

Edison had a little lamb

Thomas Edison filed a patent for his newly-invented phonograph on February 19, 1878. The prolific inventor must have been a fan of literature; legend has it that the first words recorded onto the new device were from a poem.

Now known as a nursery rhyme, "Mary Had a Little Lamb" began as the poem called "Mary's Lamb," written by Sarah Josepha Hale, one of the most influential women of letters in the 19th century. Hale supported herself and her family after the death of her husband as an editor (or "editress," as she called herself). For nearly half a century, in fact, she was at the helm of Godey's Lady's Book, the Philadelphia-based magazine which had a whopping 150,000 subscribers by the onset of the Civil War.

Hale, who also influenced the birth of the modern Thanksgiving holiday and the completion of the Bunker Hill Monument in Boston, retired from the spotlight in 1877, a year before Edison's patent. The original "Mary's Lamb" (1830) is as follows:

Mary had a little lamb,
Its fleece was white as snow,
And every where that Mary went
The lamb was sure to go;
He followed her to school one day —
That was against the rule,
It made the children laugh and play,
To see a lamb at school.

And so the Teacher turned him out,
But still he lingered near,
And waited patiently about,
Till Mary did appear;
And then he ran to her, and laid
His head upon her arm,
As if he said — 'I'm not afraid —
You'll keep me from all harm.'

'What makes the lamb love Mary so?'
The eager children cry —
'O, Mary loves the lamb, you know,'
The Teacher did reply; —
'And you each gentle animal
In confidence may bind,
And make them follow at your call,
If you are always kind.'

*The image above is Thomas Edison with his early phonograph, taken by Mathew Brady's studio in 1877. An early (though not the original) recording of Edison, which includes a couple lines from "Mary's Lamb," is here.

Huckleberry Finn delayed by vandalism

Charles Webster and Company released the American edition of Adventures of Huckleberry Finn on February 18, 1885. The namesake of the company, Charles Webster, was the nephew by marriage of the book's author, Mark Twain (aka Samuel Clemens). The two were also business partners: Twain and Webster were co-owners of the doomed publishing house.

Huckleberry Finn was, in fact, already in print in Canada and England when the American edition came out. It was delayed in part because of an act of vandalism. In November 1884, Webster was informed that one of the illustrations had been tampered with, making a simple picture of the character Uncle Silas very obscene, thanks to exposed genitalia (the corrected version is to the right). Some copies had already been printed.

But that wasn't the first delay. Twain had struggled with the story for years (he began writing it as early as 1875), alternatively playing with it as a simple sequel to The Adventures of Tom Sawyer, or a pseudo-autobiography of Huck Finn from childhood to adulthood, and he occasionally scrapped the idea altogether (it was his friend William Dean Howells that urged him back to the project). Six years into its writing, Twain noted he was working "by fits and starts." A year later, he told his family of "a book which I have been fooling over for 7 years."

Within a month, Adventures of Huckleberry Finn had sold 40,000 copies. It was only the second book published by Charles Webster — it was also the last to be profitable. The firm struggled for years, finally closing in 1894. Even so, Adventures of Huckleberry Finn lived on, becoming a standard (if not controversial) classic in American literature, sometimes hailed as the "Great American Novel" (whatever that means).

Whittier's Winter Idyl

The sun that brief December day
Rose cheerless over hills of gray,
And, darkly circled, gave at noon
A sadder light than waning moon.

Thus begins Snow-Bound: A Winter Idyll, which was published on February 17, 1866. Its author, John Greenleaf Whittier, had primarily been known as an abolitionist poet. With the Civil War over and emancipation achieved, Whittier turned to more peaceful topics. He told his publisher James T. Fields it was "a homely picture of New England homes."

Snow-Bound was based on a storm which forced the Whittier family indoors (at what is now the Whittier Homestead, open to the public). To pass the time, the family told stories by the hearth. By the time Whittier wrote the poem, he lived only six miles away from his boyhood home and birthplace. Though it had been in the family for generations, it was then owned by others.

To Whittier's surprise, the book was an instant success, eventually earning him $10,000 (unadjusted) in royalties. Biographer Francis Henry Underwood noted its appeal: "The scenes glow with ideal beauty... We have afterwards nothing but recollections of cheerful piety, modest and steadfast truth, and heart-felt love."

Ultimately, the family-based narrative in a quaint New England home recalls the simple, peaceful days before the Civil War. Whittier, a Quaker, also stands defiant to emerging modernism (both culturally and poetically).

Shut in from all the world without,
We sat the clean-winged hearth about,
Content to let the north-wind roar
In baffled rage at pane and door,
While the red logs before us beat
The frost-line back with tropic heat;
And ever, when a louder blast
Shook beam and rafter as it passed,
The merrier up its roaring draught
The great throat of the chimney laughed.

Irving and Murray

Having already published several installments of The Sketch Book of Geoffrey Crayon in the United States, its author, Washington Irving, pursued a publisher in England. The British edition was finally up for sale on February 16, 1820, and combined the first four installments of the American versions. It was an immediate success on both sides of the Atlantic.

Nevertheless, the book was not enough to save Irving's publisher, Burlington Arcade printing. In the deal to publish the Sketch Book, owner John Miller received none of its profits (Irving had assumed all risks). Within a couple months of Irving's British edition, Miller lost all his money and closed his publishing house, leaving many copies of the Sketch Book unsold.

Irving acted quickly to find another publisher to purchase the leftover stock and to hold the copyright. Fortunately, he had struck a friendship with Sir Walter Scott, who happened to be in town to accept his baronetcy. Scott brought Irving to the powerhouse publisher John Murray II — who had previously thought Irving's work would not sell. With Murray's influence over the years, Irving became the first to overcome British prejudice against American authors and become successful as a writer there (Mary Shelley, author of Frankenstein, wrote of the Sketch Book, "Everywhere I find in it the marks of a mind of the utmost elegance and refinement, a thing... I was not exactly prepared to look for in an American").

In fact, Irving lived away from the United States for much of his writing career, about 17 years straight (1815 to 1832, then 1842 to 1846). The only home he ever owned, however, was in his native New York — a home he named Sunnyside.

Frederick Douglass and a Valentine

It is unknown exactly when Frederick Douglass was born in Talbot County, Maryland. He was, after all, a slave at the time, and record-keeping was hardly a priority. He knew little about his own family or, as he put it, "The reader must not expect me to say much of my family. Genealogical trees did not flourish among slaves."

As for his birth date, he wrote, "From certain events... I suppose myself to have been born in February, 1817." Others suggested February 1818 (the more likely year). Douglass adopted February 14 as his birthday in honor of a visit from his mother in 1825 when she gave him a heart-shaped ginger cake and called him "Valentine." He never saw her again.

Despite a law against doing so, Douglass was taught the alphabet at 12 years old. Around the same time, he began to recognize his own concern for civil rights. At about 20 years old, he escaped from slavery, traveling to Delaware, Philadelphia, and New York in less than 24 hours. He went on to tell his story as an advocate for abolitionism and in several autobiographies. His first, Narrative of the Life of Frederick Douglass, an American Slave, was published in 1845. The compelling story was an instant success, going through multiple editions in only a few years. He published My Bondage and My Freedom in 1855 and Life and Times of Frederick Douglass in 1892.

Hawthorne resigns from Consulship

Nathaniel Hawthorne had few close friends but one of his closest was someone he met while a student at Bowdoin College: Franklin Pierce. When Pierce ran for President of the United States, Hawthorne wrote his campaign biography. After Pierce won the election, Hawthorne was rewarded with the role of Consul to Liverpool. He uprooted his family and moved to England, where he stayed for about four years.

However, Hawthorne and his family became homesick very quickly. As for the job itself, Hawthorne wrote:

The duties of the office carried me to prisons, police-courts, hospitals, lunatic asylums, coroner's inquests, death-beds, funerals, and brought me in contact with insane people, criminals, ruined speculators, wild adventurers, diplomatists, brother-consuls, and all manner of simpletons and unfortunates, in greater number and variety than I had ever dreamed of as pertaining to America.

Hawthorne also found his role just as oppressive to his creativity as his earlier role at the Salem Custom-House, a role he lost when political power changed hands. When Pierce did not win the nomination from his own party for re-election, Hawthorne expected the same to happen. So, on February 13, 1857, Hawthorne offered his letter of resignation to the new president, James Buchanan, effective at the end of August (Buchanan, who had not even taken office yet, had most recently served as Minister to the Court of St. James).

Hawthorne took his family to Italy and France (some time during these travels, he grew his trademark mustache). The Hawthornes returned to their home in Concord, Massachusetts in 1860. That year, he published The Marble Faun — his first new book in seven years.

Exactly 40 years before he wrote his resignation letter, a 12-year old Hawthorne dabbled in poetry. Dated "Salem, February 13, 1817," his poem, "Moderate Views," reads:

With passions unruffled, untainted by pride,
  By reason my life let me square;
The wants of my nature are cheaply supplied,
  And the rest are but folly and care.
How vainly through infinite trouble and strife,
  The many their labours employ,
Since all, that is truly delightful in life,
  Is what all if they please may enjoy.

Drama between Bird and Forrest

The Broker of Bogota premiered on the stage of the Bowery Theatre in New York City on February 12, 1834. The play was written by Robert Montgomery Bird specifically for Edwin Forrest, one of the best-known actors of the day (pictured at right). After its first performance, Forrest wrote to the playwright: "I have just left the theatre — your tragedy was performed and crowned with entire success. The Broker of Bogota will live when our vile trunks are forgotten." Forrest continued to perform the piece, off and on, for many years, though it was never published in Bird's lifetime.

Bird became, for a time, a frequent collaborator with Forrest. The duo even did some traveling together, planning to go as far as Mexico (though they never actually made it). Forrest, however, had specific demands for any character he would play and frequently called for Bird to re-write scripts. Forrest created for himself a stock character — a brawny (but often rash) hero with more lines than any other character, and who often had a shirtless scene or two.

The Broker of Bogota, however, took a slight turn. Bird put aside his typical epic hero plays (often in exotic locals) and instead created a more domestic drama. Forrest played Febro, a middle-class man with three children, including his wild son Ramon, who is disowned from the family. Ramon is led by the villainous Cabarero to steal money from the Viceroy, in a set-up to make Febro look like the criminal. Febro is brought to trial before the Viceroy, but Ramon does not confess to save his father.

The play, which some modern critics call Bird's finest, is complicated and it's not entirely clear who the real villains and heroes are. Bird biographer Curtis Dahl also notes that the play fleshes out and humanizes even the minor characters in the plot. Nevertheless, Bird's interests as a playwright (and in Forrest) were waning. He was experimenting with various other literary forms on the side; after The Broker of Bogota, most of his fiction came in the form of novels, including Sheppard Lee.

Birth of Harriet Jacobs

Harriet Jacobs was born on February 11, 1813.* To be more precise, Harriet Jacobs was born enslaved in Edenton, North Carolina. Both her parents, also slaves, were mulattoes — meaning that Jacobs was, technically, half-white (though no less a slave).

At 12 years old, Jacobs was inherited by a 5-year old girl. An attractive young woman, Jacobs was pursued by the girl's father, Dr. James Norcom. He didn't bother to hide his lust, which even his wife knew about. His wife punished her (rather than her husband) by working her extra hard and flogging her often. To avoid her brutal owner, Jacobs had an affair with another white man named Samuel Sawyer (who later became a Congressman). With him, she had two children, Joseph and Louisa. These children were born slaves, owned by the Norcroms, though they were three-quarters white. Jacobs's domestic situation only got worse, so she escaped in 1835.

But she didn't go far. She stayed in a crawlspace above the home of her grandmother, where she watched her children grow for seven years. In 1842, she made her way north. Dr. Norcrom threatened to sell Joseph and Louisa so Sawyer purchased them and gave them their freedom. In need of money, Jacobs found herself in the employ of none other than Nathaniel Parker Willis (more on him here).

Years later, Jacobs would tell her story in the book Incidents in the Life of a Slave Girl using the pseudonym Linda Brent.

*Like many who were born enslaved, Jacobs was unsure of her own birthdate and scholars have disputed this information. Her gravestone offers February 11, 1815, but there is little evidence to support the winter birth. For more on the dispute, see this article by Mary Maillard or this article by Scott Korb (who first notified me of the discrepancies).

A romance of Philadelphia life, mystery, and crime

George Lippard, who died yesterday, caused quite a sensation with his novel The Quaker City; or, The Monks of Monk Hall, when it was published in 1845. The book has been identified as the highest-selling American novel before Uncle Tom's Cabin (1852). It sold 60,000 copies in its first year and at least 10,000 more each year for the next decade. Lippard was well-compensated as well, earning a lucrative $3,000 to $4,000 a year. He was 23 years old when it was first published.

And what were his readers buying?

The novel occasionally carries the subtitle "A romance of Philadelphia life, mystery, and crime." It depicts the seedy underbelly of urban Philadelphia, a world teeming with adultery, murder, social corruption, sexual exploitation, and downright evil — all perpetuated by Philadelphia's elite who use code names as members of a secret society. There is no hero in The Quaker City and the book comes across as a series of progressively more vile acts.

The character which gets the most ink, however, is the hideous Devil-Bug, the gatekeeper of the secret Monk Hall. The one-eyed creature attempts murder just for the fun of it, despite being literally haunted by the mangled corpses of previous enemies. His catch phrase — "Wonder how that'll work?" — refers to each of the sadistic methods of torture or murder he comes up with, including his own. Arguably, the most climactic scene is the apocalyptic vision, which warns of succumbing to greed and capitalism and losing sight of the idealism of Democracy. The dead rise and float down the river in their coffins, as Independence Hall crumbles to the ground and an empirical palace is built in its place. But, perhaps in Lippard's own ironic sensibility, this message of warning appears to Devil-Bug, who happily watches and laughs.

Perhaps what makes all this worse is that Lippard's book is inspired in part by a true story.

On February 10, 1843, Mahlon Hutchinson Heberton was murdered while traveling aboard the Philadelphia-Camden ferry vessel Dido. A man named Singleton Mercer was put on trial for the murder. Mercer testified that Heberton only five days earlier had lured Mercer's sister into a brothel and raped her at gunpoint. She was 16. Mercer pleaded insanity and was found not guilty of murder.

A similar scenario is the driving point for much of The Quaker City and how one willing partner in the elaborate plot to defile a teenage girl is suddenly shocked to find that his sister is the intended target. The book was dedicated to Charles Brockden Brown, whose early Gothic works were an inspiration to Lippard.

*The image from the title page of The Quaker City included engravings by Felix (F. O. C.) Darley, considered the father of American illustration. At the top is Devil-Bug, the evil gate-keeper, and at the bottom is the climactic scene of the dead rising in an apocalyptic vision. The angels in the scene chant their warning, "Wo unto Sodom," while Devil-Bug laughs.

Death of George Lippard, Supreme Washington

George Lippard, once stood as the highest-selling novelist of his generation. His death on February 9, 1854 cut short an eclectic career as novelist, journalist, muckraker, editor, reformer, and myth-maker. He was 31 years old.

Lippard's novels — including his most well-known, The Quaker City; or, the Monks of Monk Hall (1844) — are trashy and sensationalistic, full of violence, gore, sex, and sin with a little bit of social commentary thrown in (more on that tomorrow).

In addition to his novels, Lippard was also a labor organizer and reformer. In 1850, Lippard founded The Brotherhood of the Union, a secret society that hoped to eliminate urban poverty and crime by addressing society's moral failings. The organization was very religious, a sort of Christianity intermingled with an extreme American patriotism. Lippard, as founder, held the title "Supreme Washington," in honor of the country's first President.

Much of Lippard's fiction has a similar patriotic bent and he (perhaps inadvertently) created a few American myths or legends that were never true but were often perpetuated. His most famous was suggesting that the iconic Liberty Bell got its famous crack when it was rung to announce that the Declaration of Independence was signed on July 4, 1776. Another Lippard legend is that of the "unknown orator" who riled his fellow Patriots to action and break from the British crown. Works like Washington and His Generals portrayed the Founding Fathers as larger-than-life, heroic figures who were beyond reproach and committed to the optimistic ideals of democracy.

Such myth-making was not unusual for the period: Washington Irving carefully crafted the character of George Washington in his biography of him, and Henry Wadsworth Longfellow contributed to American legend when he wrote about a certain midnight ride. More on that last one in April.

Death of Paul Laurence Dunbar

At the age of 33, Paul Laurence Dunbar died on February 9, 1906. He was born the son of a former slave and an escaped slave in Kentucky. His father had served for the Union Army in the Civil War as a member of the Massachusetts 55th Infantry Regiment. His mother loved poetry and music and encouraged her children to read.

Dunbar's earliest poem was written when he was six years old. The only African-American in his high school, he rose to leadership roles in the debate team, the school newspaper, and the literary society. He took whatever employment he could, including a job as an elevator operator, but always pursued writing. His first book of poems, Oak and Ivy, was published in 1892. Though the book made little impact nationally, Frederick Douglass called Dunbar "the most promising young colored man in America."

After moving to Toledo, Ohio, Dunbar finally got some acclaim from his second book, Majors and Minors, published in 1895. William Dean Howells wrote the introduction to his third collection. Dunbar was invited to England to recite his poetry, he got married, he found a job at the Library of Congress. There, he showed his first signs of tuberculosis. He and his wife soon split, and he went to visit a half-brother in Chicago. It was there that he died at the age of 33. Still, he outlived another promising young writer of the 19th century by two years who shares his death anniversary, several decades earlier. More on him later today.

Death Song

  Lay me down beneaf de willers in de grass,
  Whah de branch'll go a-singin' as it pass.
  An' w'en I's a-layin' low,
  I kin hyeah it as it go
Singin', "Sleep, my honey, tek yo' res' at last'."

  Lay me nigh to whah hit meks a little pool,
  An' de watah stan's so quiet lak an' cool,
  Whah de little birds in spring,
  Ust to come an' drink an' sing,
An' de chillen waded on dey way to school.

  Let me settle w'en my shouldahs draps dey load
  Nigh enough to hyeah de noises in de road;
  Fu' I t'ink de las' long res'
  Gwine to sooth my sperrit best'
Ef I's layin' 'mong de t'ings I's allus knowed.

Emerson's first wife and Wild Apples

The death of Wallie, son of Ralph Waldo Emerson, was not the first loss in the life of the Concord Sage. Eleven years earlier, his first wife Ellen Tucker succumbed to tuberculosis on February 8, 1831.

The couple met in Concord, New Hampshire when she was 16. She was an intelligent young woman who enjoyed reading (she named her dog Byron). She did not hold back her affection for the slightly-controversial young minister. "I am entirely yours now and ever shall be," she wrote to him. Emerson took a full-time job, soon earning a whopping $1800 salary at the Second Church in Boston. Emerson and Tucker were married in 1829, two years after meeting, and they settled in Boston. She was already quite sick with the disease that would kill her.

Emerson was riding a wave of success and living a life of luxury thanks to his high salary. And, yet, he wrote of "a fair counterbalance to the flatteries of fortune." The counterbalance came in the form of Ellen's death at 9 o'clock in the morning on February 8, 1831. Her last words were recorded as, "I have not forgot the peace and joy." She was just under 20 years old.

Emerson's grief over the death of Ellen Tucker lasted a long time. He often visited her grave, wrote to her, and, most infamously, entered her tomb and opened the coffin in 1832. He began questioning his role as a minister and started thinking radical thoughts about religion. He also eyed Ellen's money. She had left him a fair amount of wealth, but her family did not want to pass it on. Emerson sued them and, in July 1837, the court granted him $11,674.79, making him an incredibly wealthy man.

Emerson later married again (to Lydia Jackson), and the new couple named their first daughter Ellen (allegedly at Jackson's insistence).

Exactly 29 years after Ellen Tucker's death, Emerson's protege Henry David Thoreau presented a lecture at the Concord Lyceum on February 8, 1860. In "Wild Apples," Thoreau praised the natural qualities of the fruit. "They cannot be too gnarly and crabbed and rusty to look at," he noted. Though wild apples are spicy or tart, Thoreau spoke of how much he enjoyed them, and suggested a brisk walk in the November air might make them more palatable. Emerson's daughter Ellen Emerson wrote "there were constant spontaneous bursts of laughter and Mr. Thoreau was applauded."


*Image of Ellen Tucker Emerson from "The Living Legacy of Ralph Waldo Emerson," Harvard Square Library.

Cooper and his last Mohican

According to a letter by James Fenimore Cooper, The Last of the Mohicans was published by the publishing house of Carey on February 6, 1826. Cooper admits he was a bit surprised, noting it came out "about 10 days earlier than I anticipated."

Cooper was already at work trying to find an overseas publisher in England, and even offering that publisher the opportunity to sell it to translators for publication in continental Europe. Cooper, like his contemporary (and sometime rival) Washington Irving, was concerned about book piracy thanks to the lack of international copyright. In the same letter to his potential British publisher, he notes that his earlier novel The Pilot: A Tale of the Sea "has been printed by some adventurer or other." He pleadingly asks, "Is there no way of stopping this?"

For Cooper, concern over European editions was important. The American publishing industry was in its infancy and offered little to no financial return for authors. Worse, the critical world was hard to break into; like many other American authors of the time, American audiences did not fully embrace Cooper until European audiences did so first. In fact, in this same 1826 letter, Cooper announces his plan to move to Europe, partly to take advantage of the presumed higher tastes of Europeans. He stayed for several years. Cooper's star lost some of its brilliance in later years as the author became extremely bitter, and somewhat litigious.

The enduring legacy of Cooper in general and The Last of the Mohicans specifically remains tenuous. The author has been heavily criticized by many, including James Russell Lowell. Lowell said Cooper was capable of writing only one character — Natty Bumppo, the star of many of Cooper's novels — and "all his other men-figures are clothes upon sticks." As for the women characters, Lowell calls them "sappy as maples and flat as a prairie." Edgar Poe had similar views. In his criticism veiled as handwriting analysis (the so-called "Chapter on Autography") he notes there is no distinct character to Cooper's writing and the lines he produces are crooked.

Perhaps Cooper's most well-known criticism came from Mark Twain, who referred to Cooper's various "literary offenses" in essay form. He wrote of The Deerslayer (a sequel to The Last of the Mohicans), "in the restricted space of two-thirds of a page, Cooper has scored 114 offences against literary art out of a possible 115. It breaks the record."

Birth of Robert Montgomery Bird

Robert Montgomery Bird was born on February 5, 1806 in New Castle, Delaware. He went on to have a varied career, experimenting as a physician, farmer, photographer, inventor, politician, teacher, novelist, and playwright.

Though he started down the path of a medical doctor (he earned his medical degree from the University of Pennsylvania in 1827), Bird turned to literary interests as early as 1824, when he had minor poems published in a newspaper. He soon turned to novels, including his most endearing, Sheppard Lee, in 1836. The odd, Gothic-styled novel lends itself to frequent comparison with the slightly earlier Philadelphia novelist Charles Brockden Brown.

Sheppard Lee features a title character who has the power to project his spirit into people who are on the verge of death, thereby taking over. Inhabiting other bodies, Lee has some interesting adventures, including taking part in a slave revolt as "Nigger Tom"; he is hanged for his involvement. The scene is a cautionary one about the danger of putting the idea of freedom into the minds of "savage" Africans.

Bird soon became interested in drama and tried his hand at writing a play or two. Many of Bird's plays were started but never finished; he mapped out over 50 plays in his lifetime. Few were produced. His biggest supporter and, perhaps, his biggest obstacle as a playwright was the celebrity actor Edwin Forrest.

Beginning in 1828, Forrest offered monetary prizes for plays by American authors which he judged up to his (very high) standards. In the fall of 1830, Forrest accepted a manuscript from Bird, a play set in Thebes in 378 B.C. titled Pelopidas, or the Fall of the Polemarchs. Forrest immediately called for multiple editorial changes. He never produced it.

Forrest had certain expectations for any play written for him. He demanded to be the absolute center of attention, and required a character strong enough for him. Soon, Forrest convinced Bird to write an entirely new play, which opened in May of 1836.

*The image above is a self-portrait of Bird circa 1828. From an exhibit at UPenn libraries, Robert Montgomery Bird: Writer and Artist.

Birth of "Mark Twain"

A man named Samuel L. Clemens traveled west with his brother, across the Great Plains, over the Rocky Mountains, and stopping in the territory of Nevada, where he got a job as a miner. That role didn't work out for him and, instead, he turned to the local newspaper, the Territorial Enterprise.

He achieved some notoriety there, later writing to his mother somewhat tongue-in-cheek as having "the widest reputation" possible on the frontier. He noted, "If I were not naturally a lazy, idle, good-for-nothing vagabond," he might even make money off it. "And I am proud to say I am the most conceited ass in the Territory." Such was Clemens's humor.

In fact, some of his writing for the Enterprise was humor rather than pure journalism. Such was the case for its February 3, 1863 issue, when one of those articles by Clemens was signed, inexplicably, with a pseudonym. Though Samuel Clemens was 28 years old, some call this the birthday of "Mark Twain."

The name comes from the call made by leadsmen aboard riverboats (a role Clemens held at one point), and most scholars agree this was the intended reference. However, in 1874, Clemens wrote a letter offering his own explanation. He claims that he borrowed the name from a senior boat pilot named Isaiah Sellers, who himself used the name when he wrote for the Picayune, a newspaper in New Orleans. He stopped using the name when Clemens made fun of him for it. Sellers died in 1863 and, perhaps to make amends, Clemens took it over, noting that Sellers didn't need it anymore. In fact, the story doesn't check out; Sellers was still very much alive when Clemens adopted the name "Mark Twain," and no articles under that name existed in the New Orleans paper.

Another story claims that Clemens used to order two drinks at once while at the taverns out west. He would ask that both ("twain") be "marked" on his bar tab. In theory, then, he would go to the bar, hold up two fingers, and ask the bartender to "mark twain."