Winter notes that when Clapp and Howland began the "Saturday Press," on October 19, 1858, Aldrich was hired to do the book reviews. O'Brien was hired at the same time, but Winter states that "Neither of these writers long remained in harness. Aldrich had more congenial opportunities...Aldrich was associated with the paper during only the first three months of its existance" (66-67).
In discussing O'Brien, Winter cites Aldrich's account of their first meeting (76). Aldrich and O'Brien, "applied, almost simultaneously," to be the Aid of General Lander, leader of the New York Seventh Regiment, in April, 1862. Aldrich initially won the appointment, but the letter with his assignment to be delivered to Portsmouth never reached him, so the appointment went to O'Brien. Winter includes "One of Henry Clapp's grim witticisms on that subject: 'Aldrich, I see,' he said, 'has been shot in O'Brien's shoulder.'" Winter qualifies this by stating that "The old cynic did not like either of them" (77).
In discussing the end of the circle at Pfaff's around 1861, Winter cites a letter he received from Aldrich in 1880. Aldrich wrote, "How they have all gone, 'the old familiar faces'! What a crowd of ghosts people that narrow strip of old Bohemian country through which we passed long ago!" Winter continues, "Even then, at the distance of only twenty years, that period of frolic and freedom seemed vague and shadowy" (82-83). Winter includes Aldrich among the list of the group that he gathered with at Pfaff's Cave (88).
In further discussing O'Brien, Winter mentions a letter he received from Aldrich in 1880 in which "Aldrich, in his serio-comic way, mentions facts about O'Brien that help to make more distinct the image of his erratic personality and the story of his wayward career." Winter reprints Aldrich's letter about O'Brien on p.101-102 (100-102). Winter also includes a letter written to Aldrich from O'Brien p. 103 (103).
In remembering his old friends and group, Winter reminisces about Aldrich's demeanor at a "literary festival" for Oliver Wendell Holmes: "Aldrich, that fine genius, 'the frolic and the gentle' (as Wordsworth so happily said of Charles Lamb), was, as ever, demure in his kindly satire and piquant in his spontaneous, playful wit" (124).
Winter also discusses the relationship between Whitman and Aldrich. "But I remember one moment when he contrived to inspire Aldrich with a permanent aversion. The company was numerous, the talk was about poetry. 'Yes, Tom,' said the inspired Whitman, 'I like your tinkles: I like them very well.' Nothing could have denoted more distinctly both complacent egotism and ill-breeding. Tom, I think, never forgot that incident" (140-141). In a contrast to Whitman's definition of "the Poet," Winter reprints Aldrich's poem in which he defines "the Poet" (141).
At the beginning of a discussion of Aldrich's death, Winter reprints some lines from a poem that he assumes to be about Aldrich's wife and the presence of death that appears to be eerily prophetic of his own death. Aldrich died Tuesday, March 19, 1907, at 5:30 in the afternoon. He was over seventy years old. Winter recollects that they had been friends for over fifty-two of these years and remarks that "although our pathways were different, and we could not often meet, the affection between us, that began in our youth, never changed" (132-133).
Aldrich and Winter were both born in 1836 and "entered on the literary life" during the same year, 1854, and their first books were published during the same year - Aldrich's in New York, Winter's in Boston. Winter describes their friendship as unproblematic and cites Aldrich's inscription on his collected works as proof of their mutual affection. Winter states, "An old man, I think, may be glad and proud of such a friendship. Time, care, and trouble tend to deaden the emtions. Affection does not often last for more than half a century." Winter claims that their "acquaintance began in almost a romantic way," in 1854, when Winter was writing occasional miscellaneous articles for "The Boston Transcript." The editor of the paper, Daniel N. Haskell, who encouraged Winter's writing, gave him a book entitled, "Poems, by T.B.A." to review for the paper; "I read it with pleasure and reviewed it with praise." Aldrich was then living and writing in New York, and he received a copy of Winter's review. Aldrich "responded, by publishing, in the New York 'Home Journal,' a poem dedicated to 'W.W.'" Winter wrote him a letter in response and the two men corresponded for several months "in the course of which we explained ourselves to each other, in that strain of ardent, overflowing sentiment which is possible only when life is young, and hearts are fresh, and all the world seems beautiful with hope." In 1855, Aldrich visited the editorial offices of the "Transcript" and the two men were enthusiastically introduced by Haskell. Winter remembers that they went out to dinner at the Revere House that evening, "where the occasion was celebrated, and Aldrich and I became Tom and Will to each other; and so we remained, to the end of the chapter" (133-136).
One set of Winter's recollections of his time in the Bohemian group occurs because it includes Aldrich. Winter recalls that during this time, Aldrich was living at the home of his uncle, Mr. Frost. While there, Aldrich wrote the poems "Babie Bell" and "The Unforgiven" and a draft of Judith (138-139).
Winter recalls that Aldrich grew tired of Bohemia and questioned Winter's commitment to the lifestyle: "A time arrived when Tom grew weary of Bohemia, and I remember we had a serious talk about it. 'Do you mean,' he asked me, 'to cast your lot permanently with those writers? Do you intend to remain with them?' I answered yes. He then told me of his purpose to leave New York, as eventually he did, establishing his residence in Boston, where, by and by, he became editor of 'Every Saturday,' and later of 'The Atlantic Monthly,' and where he had his career, in constantly increasing prosperity and universal respect" (139).
Aldrich married and had twin sons; Stoddard jokingly called him "Two-Baby Aldrich" (139).
Winter claims, "No sweeter lyrical poet has appeared in America. His touch was as delicate as that of Herrick, whom he loved but did not imitate, and his themes are often kindred with those of that rare spirit, -- the Ariel of sentiment, fancy, and poetic whim" (139-140).
Winter reprints a July 25, 1855, letter in which Aldrich recounts his life with his "characteristic touches" (142-143). In another letter, Aldrich discussed his "reverence for Longfellow." Winter reprints this on p.144. Winter mentions that Aldrich is buried near Longfellow in the cemetary in Mount Auburn. Winter notes that Aldrich's last poem as an elegy for Longfellow, written to commemorate his centenary. Winter discusses their correspondence in depth, and states that Aldrich's "published writings exhibit his soul, as the writing of a poet always do. As to the writing of letters: in after years, like the rest of us, he acquired what we call 'worldy wisdom,' and he restrained his feelings; but he never lost them. The child was father to the man; and the man, to the end of his days, was the apostle of beauty and the incarnation of kindness. His character rested upon a basis of prudence, and the conduct of life he was conventional. There was nothing in his nature of the stormy pretel" (142-145).
According to Winter, "hard experience" would most likely have soured Aldrich's disposition and his ability to work; lucky he escaped this fate. Winter notes that in 1856, Aldrich "left mercantile employment, which to him must have been a farce" and became a sub-editor of "The Home Journal" where he claimed to learn "what work is." According to Winter, "Good fortune always attended Tom Aldrich. The death of one of his sons was the only cruel blow of affliction that ever fell upon him, and he never recovered from it" (146).
According to Winter, "His writings reveal a mind that had the privilege of brooding over its conceptions till it found the best means of expressing them" (146-147). "The place of Aldrich in American Literature will be determined by posterity. There can be no doubt that his works will live. The poems that he wrote when under the influence of Tennyson are echoes of the style of that great poet, --the master as well of blank verse as of the lyric form, --and, probably, they will be remembered and esteemed as chiefly echoes. The poems, meantime, that bear the authentic signet of his mind are original, individual, characteristic, and of permanent value. The attributes of them are lovliness of sentiment, tenderness of feeling, a fine, rippling play of subtle suggestion, a dream-like atmosphere, pensive sweetness, and delicious sponteneity of verbal grace" (150-151). "At no time did he become didactic. His poetic sense, in that respect, was unerring. He knew that poetry should not aim to teach, but should glide through the mind as sunbeams glide through the air" (151).
Winter closes, "The writer who can cheer the time in which he lives, who can help the men and women of his generation to bear their burdens patiently and do their duty without wish or expectation of reward, has fulfilled his mission. Such a writer was Thomas Bailey Aldrich. As I think of him I am encouraged to believe, more devoutly than ever, that the ministry of beauty is the most important influence operant upon society, and that it never can fail" (152).
Winter notes that when Curtis was unable to write from the "Easy Chair" for "Harper's" in October 1873, Aldrich filled in for him (254).
Of the poets associated with the Bohemian period, Winter states that Aldrich's name is one among a list of "names that shine, with more or less lustre, in the scroll of American poets, and recurrence to their period affords opportunity for correction of errors concerning it, which have been conspicuously made" (292).
Aldrich is one of the few members of the Bohemian group that Stedman is known to have been acquainted with (293).
Winter reiterates in a later discussion of the failure of "The Saturday Press" that Aldrich was only associated with the paper during its first three months and finds Aldrich's biographer's claim that he "took the failure with a light heart" as "comic," as Aldrich did not, and never had, "any pecuniary investment in it" (295).
Winter presents a selection of Aldrich's selected letters on p. 351-376.
The Vault at Pfaff's