Old Friends; Being Literary Recollections of Other Days

Winter notes that Arnold was a member of Clapp's circle at Pfaff's. He is described as "handsome, gay, breezy, good-natured,--one of the sweetest poets in our country who have sung the beauties of Nature and the tenderness of true love; and he never came [to Pfaff's] without bringing sunshine" (64).

In response to Howells' criticisms of the Bohemians and in a discussion of their writing, Winter states: "Revelry requires money: at the time Mr. Howells met those Bohemians, -- with the 'damp locks' and the 'frenzied eyes,' -- it is probably that the group did not possess enough money among them all to buy a quart bottle of champagne. Furthermore, they were writers of remarkable quality, and they were under the stringent necessity of working continually and very hard: and it seems pertinent to suggest that such a poem, for instance, as George Arnold's 'Old Pedagogue,' or Fitz-James O'Brien's Ode in commemoration of Kane, or Charles Dawson Shanly's 'Walker of the Snow,' is not to be produced from under the stimulation of alcohol. Literature is a matter of brains, not drugs. It would be equally just and sensible for American criticism to cherish American literature, and to cease from carping about the infirmities, whether actual or putative, of persons dead and gone, who can no longer defend themselves" (93).

Winter describes him as "the most entirely beloved member" of the Bohemian group. He continues that Arnold's "manly character, his careless good-humor, his blithe temperment, his personal beauty, and his winning manners made him attractive to everybody" (94).

Of Arnold's writing: "His numerous stories have not been collected, but his poems (gathered and published under my editorial care) survive, and their fluent, melodious blending of rueful mirth and tender feeling with lovely tints of natural description, -- constituting and irresistable charm, -- have commended them to a wide circle of readers" (94).

Winter reports that "one of the saddest days of my life was the day when we laid him in his grave, in Greenwood" (94).

Winter quotes Arnold for a description of Fitz-James O'Brien on p.99. Arnold was among the dinner party that O'Brien held at Delmonico's using $35.00 that he borrowed from Aldrich. Aldrich was not invited, but wrote to Winter about the event. Aldrich claims that Arnold, Clapp, and possibly Winter were in attendance with O'Brien (101).

Of the poets associated with the Bohemian period, Winter states that Arnold'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).

Arnold was one of the few members of the Bohemian group that Winter claims Stedman was acquainted with. Arnold and Stedman met in childhood at "The Phalanx," at Strawberry Farms, New Jersey. Winter claims that among Stedman's poems there is "a tribute to the memory of that delightful comrade and charming poet" (293).

Arnold died at the age of thirty-one, in 1861. Winter published his poems with a memoir of Arnold. Winter reprints a letter that he received from Longfellow dated July 23, 1866, that discusses these poems on p.350.

Winter includes a letter from Aldrich about his last meeting with Booth dated May 11,1893, after Aldrich returned home from a trip to New York. Winter dedicated his "Life of Edwin Booth" to Aldrich because the two men had been good friends. Of Booth, Aldrich writes: "I saw dear Edwin for a moment [while in New York], and said farewell to that sweet soul. He did not know me until the instant I touched his hand, and then he smiled, and said 'Tom Aldrich!' Immediately his mind was gone again, and he turned vacant eyes upon me. That was our parting. To have my name associated with the beautiful studies you have made of his character and his genius will be a great pleasure and honor to me. You are Edwin Booth's authentic biographer." In a postscript, Aldrich continues, "I've not thought of much these last few days but Edwin, lying there at the Players, waiting for Death. His face has kept coming to me out of the darkness of my room" (372-373).

Booth died June 7, 1893, at the Players (373).

Winter's dedication in his biography of Booth, published the next autumn, is as follows:
"To
Thomas Bailey Aldrich,
Remembering Old and Happy Days,
I Dedicate This Memorial
Of Our Friend and Comrade,
Edwin Booth,
Forever Loved and Honored
And Forever Mourned.

'There is a world elsewhere'" (373-374).

Of "The Life and Art of Edwin Booth," Aldrich wrote to Winter on November 1, 1893: "It is a complete record. The man we knew and the man the world knew are here drawn at full length. Hereafter others will, doubtless, attempt to write of Edwin Booth, but they will have to come to your pages for authentic material, whether of biography or criticism. Everything that befell him was on a large scale -- his triumphs and his calamities. I count it one of his great pieces of good fortune that he had a wise and loving chronicler like you." Aldrich also praises Winter's inclusion of Launt Thompson's bust of Booth among the illustrations as well as a crayon done by Mr. Scott. Aldrich also offers Winter a few corrections of the details included in the biography, but mainly praises the work (374-375)

Winter discusses a rumor orginated and published by Briggs/Harry Franco about O'Brien: "O'Brien was not the heir to a title, nor did he pretend to be. The clever, piquant, tart, and rather malicious writer, Charles F. Briggs, once prominent in New York journalism as 'Harry Franco,' originated and published the incorrect statement,--which was accepted by Aldrich and others,--that O'Brien was a relative of Smith O'Brien, at one time conspicuous as an Irish 'agitator,' and was an heir to the title borne by Smith O'Brien's brother, Lord Inchiquin. Fitz-James's father was a lawyer: his mother's maiden name was de Courcy" (102).

Winter notes that when he arrived in New York in 1859-'60, Briggs was publishing the "The Courier" using the pen name "Harry Franco." "The Courier," a weekly paper, was published on Spruce Street, the same street as "The Satruday Press." Winter also mentions that Augustin Daly got his start around this time writing for "The Courier" (137).

When discussing "The Literati" identified by Poe and the ties and animosties that existed among them, Winter mentions talking many times with "the tart, sprightly, satiric Charles F. Briggs" (296).

Winter mentions that Briggs has long since passed away and is buried at the old Moravian Cemetary on Staten Island (296).

Winter refers to Brougham's recollections of Poe: "My old friend John Brougham, the comedian, who knew him well, told me that Poe could not swallow even a single glass of wine without losing his head. But what does it signify, and why should a reader be perpetually told of it, whether he drank wine or not? His writings remain, and they are an honor to our literature; and that is all we need to consider" (35).

Winter also refers to Brougham's recollections of O'Brien: "John Brougham, the comedian, expressed to me the opinion that O'Brien never cared much for any person with whom he did not quarrel, and as both of them were Irishmen that opinion, perhaps, is correct" (95).

Winter mentions that Brougham started "The Lantern" (76).

Clare is mentioned in a letter dated September 3, 1881, from Wilkie Collins in London. Collins writes Winter: "I write with your new editions,--so kindly sent to me,--in the nearest book-case. In the Poems I rejoice to see my special favorites included in the new publication--'The Ideal,' 'Rosemary' and the exquisitely tender verses which enshrine the memory of 'Ada Clare'" (218-219).

Ada Clare is listed as one of the "friendly contributors" to the "Saturday Press," who "were glad to furnish articles for nothing, being friendly toward the establishment of an absolutely independent critical paper, a thing practically unknown in those days" (294-295).

Curtis, "a man of letters" was born in Providence, RI ("Our American Venice"),in 1824. Winter notes that Curtis was born almost two months before the death of Byron and that he was eight when Goethe and Sir Walter Scott died. Winter mentions that Curtis's life and sensibilities have often been described by his early experiences at Brook Farm, in Roxbury, from 1840-1844, but Winter argues that Curtis already had the "Brook Farm ideal" in mind when he arrived there: "the ideal of a social existance regulated by absolute justice and adorned by absolute beauty." It was at Brook Farm that Curtis met, learned from, and was influenced by the notable residents and visitors of the place, including Hawthorne, Emerson, Charles Anderson Dana, Margaret Fuller, George Ripley, and Theodore Parker. After his early experiences at Brook Farm, Curtis traveled to "the Orient," "and found inspiration and theme in subjects that were novel because their scene was both august and remote. Curtis appears to have made an exhaustive tour of the "Orient," and Winter notes that while Curtis was an "American humorist,"he did not endeavor to be comic...he was not the humorist who grins among the sculptures of Westminster Abbey"; Curtis's humor and appreciation of things appears to have been, according to Winter, more contemplative and respectful (228-230).

Winter quotes Curtis to best describe "the spirit in which he rambled": "Great persons and events that notch time in passing, do so because Nature gave them such an excessive and exaggerated impulse that wherever they touch they leave their mark; and that intense humanity secures human sympathy beyond the most beautiful balance, which, indeed, the angels love and we are beginning to appreciate" (231).

Winter applauds Curtis for his ability to incorporate and appreciate both the past and present in his work, as well as the sense of insight that comes through in Curtis's writing. While Curtis did write some poetry, Winter claims that "to the poetic laurel he made no pretension," and cites some of Curtis's patriotic poetry ("A Rhyme of Rhode Island and the Times"-1863) as an example of his verse. According to Winter, "Poetry..was not his natural vocation," but he "was a man of deep poetic sensiblity." Winter cites Curtis's "Prue and I" and "Lotus-Eating" as examples of Curtis's poetic nature being demonstrated in his writing (231-234). Winter also cites some of Curtis's verse as part of his discussion of the "poetical feeling that existed in New England about 1855" and the politics of the region and the time; responses to the Fugitive Slave Law, "Uncle Tom's Cabin," and other events leading to the Civil War (236-240).

Winter mentions that early in his writing career, Washington Irving made the following remark to Curtis: "You young fellows are not so lucky as I was, for when I began to write there were only a few of us" (81).

Curtis was a member of Bayard Taylor's poetic group (177).

Winter met Curtis at Longfellow's home when Winter was a young poet. Longfellow also introduced the two men. Winter describes Curtis during their first meeting as "a young man, lithe, slender, faultlessly apparelled, very handsome, who rose at my approach, turning upon me a countenance that beamed with kindness, and a smile that was a welcome from the heart...He had the manner of a natural artistocrat--a manner that is born, not made; a manner that is never found except in persons who are self-centered without being selfish; who are intrinsically noble, simple, and true." Winter remarks that the two men were friends from that moment until the end of Curtis' life (224).

Winter devotes an entire chapter to Curtis and states that "It is not because he was a friend of mine that I try to assist in commemoration of him; it is because he was a great person. The career of Curtis was rounded and complete. The splendid structure of his character stands before the world like a monument of gold. Not to express homage for a public benefactor is to fail in self-respect" (225). Of Curtis, Winter claims, "It is the story of a man of genius whose pure life and splendid powers were devoted to the ministry of beauty and to the self- sacrificing service of mankind" (227).

Winter discusses Curtis' oratorical career, particulary during "that conflict, of Right against Wrong, [into which] Curtis threw himself, with all his soul." Winter's reference is to "the poetcial feeling in New England around 1855" that he claims occured in response to the political and social events that led up to and included the Civil War (240-241).

Curtis' literary career began in 1846, at the age of twenty-two (264). Curtis "made his mark" on the growing American literary tradition with his "observations" from his "Oriental travels." His satirical "Potiphar Papers" the romantic "Prue and I" published in "Putnam's Magazine" in 1852 and 1854, respectively, helped to cement his reputation. "He assumed the Easy Chair of 'Harper's Magazine,' in 1854...and he occupied it until the last." Curtis also wrote his novel "Trumps" in "Harper's." With the exception of a short break in 1873, Curtis wrote steadily for the Easy Chair for thirty-eight years and produced twenty-five hundred of these articles, as well as other publications (264-266)

Winter states that Curtis' speaking career began in 1851, with a talk titled "Contemporary Artists of Europe" given for the New York National Academy of Design. Winter states that "in 1853 he had formally adopted the Platform as a vocation; and it continued to be a part of his vocation for the next twenty years. He was everywhere popular in the lyceum, and he now brought into the more turbulent field of politics the dignity of the scholar, the refinement and grace of a gentleman, and all the varied equipments of the zealous and accomplished advocate, the caustic satirist, and the impassioned champion of the rights of man" (241).

Winter remebers first seeing Curtis speak on politics, "making an appeal for Fremont," at a convention in Fritchburg. Curtis followed Greeley on the bill of speakers. Winter states that neither Curtis nor Greeley were "worldly-wise; neither was versed in political duplicty." Winter states that "while Curtis spoke, the hearts of that multitude were first lured and entranced by the golden tones of his delicious voice, and then were shaken, as with a whirlwind, by the righteous fervor of his magnificent enthusiasm." Winter claims that while Curtis may have lacked in style in his prose," "but in the felicty of speech Curtis was supreme above all other men of his generation. (Winter notes that he is specifically referring to Curtis' speaking career from 1860-1890)" (241-243).

Winter notes that Curtis stopped doing regular speaking engagements in 1873, but never completely gave up oratory (242). According to Winter, "Oratory as it existed in America in the previous epoch has no living representative. Curtis was the last orator of the school of Everett, Sumner, and Wendell Phillips." Winter continues wiht a discussion of Curtis' oratorical influences and the models on which he based his speeches (243-245). Winter then discusses how the oratorical schools of Curtis' time no longer exist. "The oratory of a later day is characterized by colloquialism, familiarity, and comic anecdote. Curtis maintained the dignity of the old order. Some of my readers, perhaps, may remember the charm of his manner,--how subtle it was, yet seemingly how simple; how completely it convinced and satisfied; how it clarified intelligence; how it enobled feeling. One secret of it, no doubt, was its perfect sincerity. Noble himself, and speaking only for right, and truth, and beauty, he addressed nobility in others. That consideration would maintain the moral and the genial authority of his eloquence. The total effect of it, however, was attributable to his exquisite, inexplicable art" (247-248).

Winter discusses Curtis' talent at oratory in depth, as well as his careers in business and writing. Business seems to have left Curtis in debt, but he was a prolific writer; "The shackle that business imposed upon him was the shackle of drudgery. He was compelled to write profusely and without pause." Winter refers to a break-down Curtis had in October, 1873, which left him unable to write and work. Aldrich filled in for Curtis at "Harper's" until Curtis recovered; Winter maintains, however, that Curtis worked non-stop for over forty years (254).

Winter claims that "Curtis was controlled less by his imagination than by his moral sense. He had ideals, but they were were based on reason" (260-261).

Winter reprints a "threnody" he wrote a few days after Curtis died (August 31, 1892) (270-274).

Winter also notes that while Taylor, Stoddard, Stedman, Boker, Curtis, Ludlow, and the names of have been "comingled wtih those of Clapp's Bohemian associates," they "were not only not affiliated with that coterie but were distinct from it, and, in some instances, were inimical to it" (295).

Winter reprints a letter Curtis wrote him dated March 29, 1882, from Staten Island, that discusses Longfellow's death. After describing the funeral and other matters, Curtis writes: "I do not forget that it was at Longfellow's we met, and our mutual regard has the benediction of his gracious memory. The fathers are departing. I saw Emerson stand by the coffin and look at the dead face. But, in his broken state, the dead looked happier than the living" (347-348).

Winter notes that Curtis is one of the young "wandering mistrels" mentioned in Wallack's "Memories of Fifty Years": "You come upon him very pleasantly, in the society of that brilliant actor, and you hear their youthful voices blended" (267).

He is listed by Winter as one of the Bohemians who frequented Pfaff's Cave (88).

When discussing "The Literati" identified by Poe and the ties and animosties that existed among them, Winter recalls the days when English was living and writing. Winter also remembers having seen him during those days (296).

Eytinge is mentioned as one of the artists who came to Pfaff's. Mentions Dickens' appreciation of Eytinge's work.

During Dickens's visit to New York, Eytinge was a member of the party that traveled with him to his steamship for his return to England. Dickens had wanted to slip away quietly, but was met by a crowd (182).

Eytinge was a member of a New York group of artists and writers that existed before the Pfaff's Bohemians that also included Gayler, North, Bellew, Charles G. Rosenberg, Seymour, and O'Brien. Winter was not a member of this group; all of its members are dead at the time of Winter's writing. Winter states, "That society, unlike the Pfaff's coterie, was, after a fortuitous fashion, organized, and it had a name,--the remarkable name of the Ornithorhyncus Club." The club was named after a Duck-Billed Platypus(308).

Winter dedicates a section of a chapter to a discussion of Eytinge's life and work. Winter describes him as "A man of original and deeply interesting character, an artist of exceptional facility, possessed of a fine imagination and great warmth of feeling." Eytinge passed away on March 26, 1905, in Bayonne, NJ. Winter expresses sadness over the loss of his "old companion of many years." Winter continues: "In his prime as a draughtsman he was distinguished for the felicity of his invention, the richness of his humor, and the tenderness of his pathos. He had a keen wit and was the soul of kindness and mirth" (317).

Winter mentions that Eytinge completed many works, but they are "widely scattered." Winter claims that "the most appropriate pictures that have been made for illustration of the novels of Dickens,--pictures that are truly representative and free from the element of caricature,--are those made by Eytinge, and it is remembered that they gained the emphatic approval of the novelist." Winter also notes that the portrait of Dickens done by Eytinge for his novels is the best picture of the author "because, while faithful to physical lineaments, it conveys expression of the mind and soul. The artist loved, reverenced, and understood the man whose semblance he had undertaken to create" (317-318).

Of Eytinge's life, Winter states: "A life dedicated to 'serene and silent art' is seldom eventful. That of Solomon Eytinge was exceptionally tranquil." Eytinge was born in Phildelphia on October 23, 1833, and was educated in that city. He married Margaret Winshop in Brooklyn in June 1858. Rev. Henry Ward Beecher performed the ceremony and Mortimer Thomson (Q.K. Philander Doesticks, P.B.) was the groomsman (318).

Eytinge's "circle of artistic companionship, then and in after years," inlcuded Elihu Vedder, George H. Boughton, Cass Griswold, Charles Coleman, W. J. Hennessey, William J. Linton, Albert and William Waud, and A.V.S. Anthony. Winter remembers having many happy and "festive" hours with this group (319).

Eytinge is buried in New York Bay Cemetary in Jersey City, NJ. His wife survived him, and "long ago made her name in letters, by reason of her exceptional humor and her expert invention, particularly as a writer for the young, and to think of her is to recall many a convivial occasion that her generous hospitality provided and that her kindness and her genial wit enriched" (319).

Winter states that the pictures Eytinge made for Lowell's "Vision of Sir Launfal" "are especially significant of his sense of romantic atmosphere and his sympathetic perception of poetic ideals." In rememberence of his friend, Winter quotes Dr. Johnson's lines about Hogarth, and feels that they would be a fitting epitaph for Eytinge (320).

Gayler was a member of a New York group of artists and writers that existed before the Pfaff's Bohemians that also included Eytinge, North, Bellew, Charles G. Rosenberg, Seymour, and O'Brien. Winter was not a member of this group; all of its members are dead at the time of Winter's writing. Winter states, "That society, unlike the Pfaff's coterie, was, after a fortuitous fashion, organized, and it had a name,--the remarkable name of the Ornithorhyncus Club." The club was named after a Duck-Billed Platypus(308).

Winter remarks that Halleck's "Marco Bozzaris" is a "type of ardent poetic emotion" (22).

In discussing how few writers can make a full-time career out of his literary pursuits, Winter mentions that Halleck was an accountant (80-81).

Winter recollects that during his early days as a writer in Boston and Cambridge, Halleck was one of the writers with a "hallowed name," "never thought of without spontaneous admiration nor mentioned without profound respect" (107).

Around 1846, Halleck was one of the "reigning poets" of the New England literary community (264). When discussing "The Literati" identified by Poe and the ties and animosties that existed among them, Winter recalls the days when Halleck was living and writing. Winter also remembers having seen him during those days (296).

Winter recalls first meeting O'Brien in Boston, when O'Brien was working as an assistant to the theatrical manager H.L. Bateman, who was directing Heron's professional tour. Winter mentions that the "beautiful actress" Heron would later marry the "accomplished musician" Robert Stoepel (100).

He is listed by Winter as one of the Bohemians who frequented Pfaff's Cave (88).

"The Saturday Press" was started by Clapp and Howland in 1858 (137).

Howland ("by whom the paper had been projected") is listed as one of the "friendly contributors" to the "Saturday Press," who "were glad to furnish articles for nothing, being friendly toward the establishment of an absolutely independent critical paper, a thing practically unknown in those days" (294-295).

In 1856, Laura Keene produced and acted in Wilkins's "Young New York." George Jordan, Charles Wheatleigh, and Tom Johnston, "three of the most expert comedians that have adorned the theatre in our time" were also members of the cast (87-88).

When O'Brien arrived in New York in 1852, he brought with him a letter of introduction from Dr. Mackenzie which he presented to prominent editors such as Major Noah and General Morris. In 1852, Dr. Mackenzie was living in Liverpool, but he was "later eminent in the journalism of Philadelphia" (75-76).

Winter spells his name here as Henry Neill. Henry Neill and Frank Wood were "young journalists of fine ability," and "were frequently present" at Pfaff's. Winter continues, "both of them died in youth, with their promise unfulfilled" (65).

O'Brien was born in about 1828, and was a "native" of Limerick. He graduated from Dublin Univeristy and moved to London to edit a paper, which failed. When O'Brien arrived in New York in 1852, he brought with him a letter of introduction from Dr. Mackenzie which he presented to prominent editors such as Major Noah and General Morris. In 1852, Dr. Mackenzie was living in Liverpool, but he was "later eminent in the journalism of Philadelphia" (75-76). Winter states: "O'Brien's career was brief, stormy, laborious, sometimes gay, sometimes miserable, and its close, though honorable, was sad" (75).

"Upon his arrival in America O'Brien entered with vigor upon the duties of the literary vocation." In this early period, O'Brien wrote for "The Home Journal," "The Evening Post," "The New York Times," "The Whig Review," "Harper's Magazine," and other publications. O'Brien also wrote short stage plays and was friends with both Lester Wallack and his father. Aldrich recalled that when he first met O'Brien, "he was trimming the wick of 'The Lantern,' the paper started by Brougham. Winter claims: "The best of O'Brien's works were first published in 'Putnam's Magazine,' 'Harper's' and 'The Atlantic.' The last article that came from his pen was printed in 'Vanity Fair,' a comic paper that struggled through much vicissitude, during the war time, and, though its payments were small, was of vital service to our Bohemian circle" (76).

When Clapp began the "Saturday Press," O'Brien was hired to write about the Stage. However, Winter remarks that "O'Brien was a man to whom the curb of regular employment was intolerable," and he was only associated with the paper for a few weeks (66-67).

He is listed by Winter as one of the Bohemians who frequented Pfaff's Cave (88). Winter states, "Among those Bohemian comrades of mine,--all dead and gone now and mostly forgotten,--O'Brien was at once the most potential genius and the most original character. As I think of him I recall Byron's expressive figure, 'a wild bird and a wanderer'" (67).

In the early days of "The Atlantic Monthly," O'Brien published "The Diamond Lens" and "The Wondersmith"; Winter guesses that contemporary audiences are unlikely to have heard of either work. However, Winter notes that "These stories were hailed as the most ingenious fabrics of fiction that had been contributed to our literature since the day when Edgar Poe surprised and charmed the reading community with his imaginative, enthralling tale of 'The Fall of the House of Usher.' They revived, indeed, the fashion of the weird short story, and they provided a model for subsequent compositions of that order" (67).

Winter notes "that brillaint Irishman" O'Brien, "as a passing guest," in Aldrich's rooms at the Frost house, wrote the story "What Was It?" (139).

Winter recalls that after O'Brien's "The Diamond Lens" was published, "a groundless, foolish fable was set afloat" that alleged that O'Brien had taken the story from one of North's manuscripts. Winter states that "the fact being that it ['The Diamond Lens'] was prompted by a remark made to him [O'Brien] by Dr. A.L Carroll (he who, for a short time in 1865, published a comic paper called 'Mrs. Grundy'), relative to the marvellous things contained in a drop of water" (67-68). Winter claims that O'Brien's stories were original compositions, several of which he wistnessed being written while he was shown others almost immediately after they were completed. Winter claims that O'Brien's "fine poem" of "The Falling Star" was written at his "lodging," and that he still has the first draft of the work, which "Fitz" left on his table, along with the pen he was using. Winter claims that Fitz-James O'Brien's story, "The Wondersmith" was inspired by an anecdote that Clapp told in O'Brien and Winter's presence. Clapp's story follows: "'Once, while I was working for Albert Brisbane' (so, in substance, said the Prince of Bohemia), 'I had to read to him, one evening, many pages of a translation I had made, for his use, of Fourier's book on the Social Destiny of Man. He was closely attentive and seemed to be deeply interested; but, after a time, I heard a slight snore, and looking at him, in profile, I saw that he was sound asleep--and yet the eye that I could see was wide open. The and thus I ascertained, somewhat to my surprise, that he had a glass eye.'" Winter recalls that after Clapp told the story, there was a discussion "about the use of glass eyes and about the startling effects producible by the wearer of such an optic who should suddenly remove it from his visage, polish it, and replace it." In "The Wondersmith," "O'Brien causes the uncanny keeper of the toys to place his glass eye, as a watcher,--investing that orb with the faculty of sight and the means of communication (69-70).

On the topic of the focus on "intemperance," Winter states: "Poe died in 1849, aged forty, leaving works that fill ten closely packed volumes. No man achieves a result like that whose brain is damaged by stimulants. The same disparagement has been diffused as to Fitz-James O'Brien, that fine poet and romancer, who died at thirty-four,--losing his life in the American Civil War,--whose writings I collected and published. I have known O'Brien to have neither lodging, food nor money,--to be, in fact, destitute of everything except the garments in which he stood. The volume of his works that I collected,--including the remarkable stories of 'The Diamond Lens' and 'The Wondersmith,'--is one of five hundred pages; and there are other writings of his in my possession that would make another volume of an equal size. He was an Irishman and knew and like the favorite tipple of his native land; but it is to his genius that the world owes his writings,--not to his drams" (34-35).

Winter recalls that O'Brien and William North were friends, but had had a falling-out. In "The Slave of the Lamp" (later "The Man of the World"), North "described and satirized" O'Brien in the character "Fitz-Gammon O'Bouncer" (68).

Winter tells the following story about O'Brien: "At twilight on a gloomy autumn day in 1860, when I happened to be sitting alone at the long table under the sidewalk in Pfaff's Cave, O'Brien came into that place and took a seat near to me. His face was pale and careworn and his expression preoccupied and dejected. He was, at first, silent; but presently he inquired whether I intended to go to my lodging, saying that he would like to go there with me, and to write something that he had in mind. I knew O'Brien, and thoroughly understanding his ways, I comprehended at once the dilemma in which he was placed. Our circle of boys had a name for it. He was 'on a rock'; that is to say, he was destitute. I told him that I had something to do, that would keep me absent for an hour, at the end of which time I would return for him. That was a pretext for going to my abode (it was in Varick Street), and causing a room to be prepared for my friend. He remained in that lodging for two nights and a day. In the course of that time he slept only about four hours: I could not induce him to food or drink: he would not eat even a little fruit that I obtained and contrived to leave in his way. On the morning of the second day he appeared at my bedside, having a roll of manuscript in his hand, and, formally, even frigidly, took leave of me. 'Sir,' he said, 'I wish you good morning'; and so saying, he departed. About four o'clock in the afternoon of that day I entered Delmonico's and there I found Fitz,--in glory. He was arrayed in new garments; he had refreshed himself; he was dispensing refreshment to all who would partake of it; his aspect was of wealth and joy. He had, in the meantime, sold to 'Harper's Magazine,' for a large price (at least in those days considered large), the product of his vigil at my lodging, and he was rejoicing in the sensation of affluence. He was a strange being: I remember that he became angry because I would not borrow some money from him, and at last I was obliged to appease him by accepting the loan of a small banknote. The composition he had sold was his fabric of narrative verse called 'The Sewing Bird,' --a singularly ingenious work, blending fancy with satire, which had been suggested to him by the sight of one of those little silver-colored birds, then a recent invention, used by sewing girls, to hold cloth. The drift of it is that much of the remunerative work that should be left for women to do is pre-empted and taken from them by men. It meant more at that time, perhaps, than it does now. It was widely read and much admired. The wish that every remunerative work to which women are equal should be reserved for them is, no doubt, general; but there is a ludicrous side to the subject, as noticed by that great novelist Wilkie Collins, who, in one of his most delightful stories, refers to '...Maternal societies for confining poor women; Magdalen societies for rescuing poor women; Strong-Minded societies for putting poor women into poor men's places and leaving the poor men to shift for themselves.' Still, 'The Sewing Bird' is a clever work, and it had a good effect" (70-73).

Of O'Brien's temper, Winter states that "Like many persons of the Irish race, O'Brien was impetuous in temper and 'sudden and quick in quarrel." Winter recalls that O'Brien and the Scotch novelist Donald McLeod were friends, and that one night the two were forced to share a bed. In this shared space, an argument broke out between the two over Irish or Scottish "racial superiority." "O'Brien was aggressively positive as to the predominant merit of the Irish," and McLeod felt the same way about the Scottish. The two men argued and then fell asleep, challenging each other to settle matters in the morning. According to Winter, "Both were sincere in their ferocious intentions, but neither of them could resist the suddenly comic aspect of their dispute, and so the quarrel ended in a laugh." Winter learned of the story when O'Brien told him of the incident (73-74).

Winter reprints a November 21, 1860, letter from O'Brien to his friend, John E. Owens, as a demonstration of O'Brien's sense of humor p. 74-75.

Winter states that "when the war began O'Brien promptly sought service in the field." O'Brien first enlisted with the New York Seventh Regiment, and was later on the staff of General Lander's forces in the position of a Volunteer Aid. O'Brien was seriously wounded in the shoulder joint of his right arm (it was shattered) on February 6, 1862, in a fight with the cavalry of Confederate Colonel Ashley. He died from that wound on April 6, 1862, at Cumberland, VA. 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" (76-77).

Winter remarks: "As to O'Brien, friendship had to charitable towards infirmities of character and errors of conduct. He lacked both moral courage and intellectual restraint. He was wayward, choleric, defiant, sometimes almost savage: but he was generous in disposition and capable of heroism, and his works afford abundant evidence of the imagination that accompanies genius and the grace that authenticates literary art. Among my Bohemian comrades, he was not the most beloved, but he had the right to be the most admired." To further discuss O'Brien's character and skill, Winter quotes several stanzas of O'Brien's poem "The Fallen Star" p. 78 which Winter feels "unconsciously, he [O'Brien] revealed the better part of his own nature, with some part of his own experience, and which pathetically indicate the writer's personality and the influence it diffused (77-78).

Winter states that the most "abrupt" contrast between personalities "was afforded by the restful, indolent, elegant demeanor of Wilkins, and the vital, breezy, exuberant, demeanor of Fitz-James O'Brien,--the most representative Bohemian writer whom it has been my fortune to know" (95). In discussing his temper, Winter notes that O'Brien sometimes became involved (or involved himself) in arguments that led to physical violence. "Persons whom he disliked he would not recognize and, in the expression of opinion, especially as to questions of literary art, he was explicit"; Winter states that this was a prevailing trait among the members of the Bohemian circle. This practice "was a salutory experience for young writers, because it habituated them to the custom not only of speaking the truth, as they understood it, but of hearing the truth, as others understood it, about their own productions." Winter provides an example of this practice: "I greatly like your poem of 'Orgia,' O'Brien said to me, "and I like it all the more because I did not think you could write anything so good" (95-96).

In response to Howells' criticisms of the Bohemians and in a discussion of their writing, Winter states: "Revelry requires money: at the time Mr. Howells met those Bohemians, -- with the 'damp locks' and the 'frenzied eyes,' -- it is probably that the group did not possess enough money among them all to buy a quart bottle of champagne. Furthermore, they were writers of remarkable quality, and they were under the stringent necessity of working continually and very hard: and it seems pertinent to suggest that such a poem, for instance, as George Arnold's 'Old Pedagogue,' or Fitz-James O'Brien's Ode in commemoration of Kane, or Charles Dawson Shanly's 'Walker of the Snow,' is not to be produced from under the stimulation of alcohol. Literature is a matter of brains, not drugs. It would be equally just and sensible for American criticism to cherish American literature, and to cease from carping about the infirmities, whether actual or putative, of persons dead and gone, who can no longer defend themselves" (93).

Winter also refers to Brougham's recollections of O'Brien: "John Brougham, the comedian, expressed to me the opinion that O'Brien never cared much for any person with whom he did not quarrel, and as both of them were Irishmen that opinion, perhaps, is correct" (95).

According to Winter, "The quarrels in which O'Brien participated were more often pugilistic than literary; contests into which he plunged, with Celtic delight in the tempest of combat. He was constitutionally valorous, but, as his valor lacked discretion and he did not hesitate to engage with giants, he was usually defeated." Winter recalls O'Brien reading his poem "The Lost Steamship" at Pfaff's after getting into a fistfight on Broadway over who had the right-of-way on the sidewalk. O'Brien "read that poem to our circle in a magnificent manner, with all the passionate vigor, all the weird feeling, and all the tremor of haunted imagination that its tragical theme requires." Winter continues with remarks about O'Brien's skill in capturing the feeling and horror of the tradegy (96-98).

Of his fights, Winter states that "Poor O'Brien's fights were, no doubt, serious enough to him, but to most of his associates they seemed comic." Winter discusses O'Brien's "Waterloo" on June 14,1858, at the New York Hotel, and the "playful" account of the event he heard from the doctor that treated O'Brien afterwards; O'Brien's nose was smashed and his facial injuries made him unrecognizable (98-99).

Winter argues that O'Brien was not always brawling and reckless, and that the "gypsy-like wildness of temperment" was developed over time and through disappointments. Winter cites Arnold for proof of this fact: "When I first knew O'Brien, in 1856-'57, he had elegant rooms; a large and valuable library; piles of manuscripts; dressing-cases; pictures; a ward-robe of much splendor; and all sorts of knick-knackery, such as young bachelors love to collect." Winter states that others who knew O'Brien when he arrived in 1852, described him as "a man of uncommonly attractive aspect,--making mention of his athletic figure, genial face, fair complexion, pleasing smile, waving brown hair, and winning demeanor." Winter notes that when he met O'Brien, "a change had occured, alike in his person and circumstances." At that time, O'Brien had gone to Boston as an assistant to H.L. Bateman, who was directing the professional tour of Matilda Heron. According to Winter, "it was easy to perceive that he had experienced considerable vicissitude and was a confirmed literary gypsy." O'Brien had apparently aged and his hair had begun to thin at this point, but Winter remarks that "his expressive gray-blue eyes were clear and brilliant; his laughter was bluff and breezy; his voice strong and musical; his manner was gay; and he was a cheerful companion,--making the most of To-day, and caring not at all for To-morrow" (99-100).

Winter reprints an 1880 "serio-comic" letter from Aldrich to Winter that discusses O'Brien. Aldrich writes of a dinner at Delmonico's that O'Brien hosted for Clapp, Arnold, and possibly Winter, that O'Brien had borrowed $35.00 from Aldrich to host. Aldrich was not invited to the event (100-101).

Winter discusses a rumor orginated and published by Briggs/Harry Franco about O'Brien: "O'Brien was not the heir to a title, nor did he pretend to be. The clever, piquant, tart, and rather malicious writer, Charles F. Briggs, once prominent in New York journalism as 'Harry Franco,' originated and published the incorrect statement,--which was accepted by Aldrich and others,--that O'Brien was a relative of Smith O'Brien, at one time conspicuous as an Irish 'agitator,' and was an heir to the title borne by Smith O'Brien's brother, Lord Inchiquin. Fitz-James's father was a lawyer: his mother's maiden name was de Courcy" (102).

Of O'Brien's works, Winter notes that the story "The Scarlet Petticoat" was started in the paper "Leslie's Stars and Stripes" in 1859, and ran for a few months, but was never completed. Several of O'Brien's works have been lost. Winter mentions that in 1881, he had a volume of O'Brien's works published which contained forty-three poems and thirteen stories. For a companion volume, Winter was able to collect "from various sources" thirty pieces of prose, fifteen pieces of verse, several plays, and "many interesting fragments," enough, Winter claims, "to make a book of five hundred pages" (102-103).

Winter also reprints a letter from O'Brien to Aldrich p.103.

O'Brien was a member of Taylor's poetic group, along with Richard Henry Stoddard, Elizabeth Barstow Stoddard, Edmund Clarence Stedman, George Henry Boker, George William Curtis, Christopher P. Cranch, and Fitz Hugh Ludlow. Winter notes that at the time of his writing "not one remains" of this group (177). Winter also notes that for a period, O'Brien was especially close to Taylor and Stoddard, but this did not continue. Winter also notes that when he published O'Brien's collected works in 1881 --Poems and Stories, "the most censorious review of them that appeared was, I remember, written by Stoddard, in "The New York Tribune" (295).

O'Brien was a member of a New York group of artists and writers that existed before the Pfaff's Bohemians that also included Gayler, North, Bellew, Charles G. Rosenberg, Seymour, and Eytinge. Winter was not a member of this group; all of its members are dead at the time of Winter's writing. Winter states, "That society, unlike the Pfaff's coterie, was, after a fortuitous fashion, organized, and it had a name,--the remarkable name of the Ornithorhyncus Club." The club was named after a Duck-Billed Platypus (308). O'Brien wrote one of the group's songs, which "was sung to an air from the ever popular 'Fra Diavolo'"; this song was "an especial favorite" of the group (309-310).

Of the poets associated with the Bohemian period, Winter states that O'Brien'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).

Winter reprints a letter written to him from Aldrich that discusses a poem that is credited to O'Brien. It appears that the poem is a recent "discovery." The letter is dated March 8,1881, and Winter states that Aldrich had been editor of "The Atlantic Monthly" for a while. In regards to O'Brien, Aldrich writes: "If that is O'Brien's poem, it is the best he ever wrote. Here and there I catch the tone of his voice. That wild fancy, in the second stanza, about the floating yellow hair of the drowning sun, seems like O'Brien at his very best. The poem is wholly new to me..." (367).

Winter claims that "O'Brien had a presentiment of his early and violent death." Winter cites a letter to him from the artist Albert R. Waud, "who was in his company 'at the front'" for support:
"After O'Brien became Aid on Lander's staff a feeling took possession of him that he would not long survive the commission: under its influence he became, at times, strangely softened. His bouyant epicureanism partly deserted him. He showed greater consideration for others and was less convivial than was his wont.

One night I rode with him to the camp of the First Massachusetts Battery, where the evening passed pleasantly, with cigars and punch. Some one sang the song, from 'Don Casesar de Bazan,' 'Then let me like a soldier die.' Next morning he started, to join the General (Lander) at Harper's Ferry. As we rode he kept repeating the words of the song; said he appreciated it the more, as he had a presentiment that he should be shot, before long. He would not be rallied out of it, but remarked that he was content; and, when we parted, said good-bye, as cheerfully as need be.

I heard, afterward, that medical incompetance had more to do with his death than the wound. How true it was I don't know. But the same thing was said of General Lander; and there was, at that time, a great want of surgical experience in the field" (104).

In a final word on O'Brien's life, Winter states: "The propulsive influences of that period, greatly broadened and strengthened, are splendidly operative now, and the hard vicissitudes of such a case as that of O'Brien would be needless or impossible to-day. Poet, romancer, wanderer, soldier, he sang his song, he told his story, he met his fate like a brave man, giving his life for his adopted land, and dying,--with much promise unfulfilled,--when only thirty-four years old" (105).

Winter mentions that during 1859-1860, Pfaff's basement resturant on Broadway was the meeting-place of Clapp and the Bohemians. "That genial being, long since gone the way of all mankind, had begun his business with a few kegs of beer and with the skill to make excellent coffee. Clapp, who subsisted chiefly on coffee and tobacco, had been so fortunate to discover the place soon after it opened. By him it was made known to others, and gradually it came to be the haunt of writers and artists, mostly young, and, though usually impecunious, opulent in their youth, enthusiasm, and ardent belief alike in a rosy present and a golden future. The place was roughly furnished, containing a few chairs and tables, a counter, a row of shelves, a clock, and some barrels. At the east end of it, beneath of the sidewalk of Broadway, there was a sort of cave, in which was a long table, and after Clapp had assumed the sceptre as Prince of Bohemia, that cave and that table were pre-empted by him and his votaries, at certain hours of the day and night, and no stranger ventured to intrude into the magic realm" (63-64).

Winter gives the precise date for the beginning of the "Saturday Press" as October 29, 1858; according to Winter, Clapp began the paper with Edward Howland. In the early days of the paper, Aldrich was hired to do book reviews and O'Brien was hired to do dramatic reviews; neither man stayed long - Aldrich about three months, and O'Brien only a few weeks. Winter indicates that Aldrich had other opportunities and that regular employment did not suit O'Brien's personality (66). Winter refutes Adlrich's biographer's (Ferris Greenslet's) claim that Aldrich had "[taken] the failure [of 'The Saturday Press'] with a light heart," arguing instead that during Aldrich's three months with the paper "he had not, at any time, any pecuniary investment in it" (295).

At the time of his employment, Winter states that "The Saturday Press," "all along, had led, and was leading, a precarious existance; and with that paper I remained associated until its suspension, in December, 1860" (57).

Winter continues, "The purpose of 'The Saturday Press' was to speak the truth, and to speak it in a way that would amuse its readers and would cast ridicule upon as many as possible of the humbugs then extant and prosperous in literature and art" (57).

Clapp's "'Saturday Press,' piquant, satirical, pugnacious, often fraught with quips and jibes relative to unworthy reputations of the hour, and, likewise, it must be admitted, sometimes relative to writers who merited more considerate treatment, eventually failed, but, during its brief existance, it was, in one way, a considerable power for good" (60).

Winter recalls that with public figures such as General George P. Moore, "actually accepted as the American Tom Moore," "The caustic 'Saturday Press' found ample opportunity for satire, and the opportunity was improved,--with beneficial results; for, in the long run, it is ever a public advantage that the bubble of a fictitious reputation should be punctured" (61).

"The Saturday Press" was originally printed on Spruce Street (137).

Winter remarks that Taylor, Stoddard, Stedman, and Boker were not among the group that gathered around Henry Clapp during the days of "The Saturday Press" and Pfaff's Cave; none of them led a Bohemian lifestyle, nor were they sympathetic to it (178).

Winter mentions that Stoddard occasionally wrote for "The Saturday Press," but often had difficulty obtaining payment, as did several contributors. Winter recounts a story that demonstrates the financial need of the paper: "...the resources of the paper were so slight that its continuance, from week to week, was a marvel. One day Clapp and I, having locked the doors of the 'Press' office, in order to prevent the probable access of creditors, were engaged in serious and rather melancholy conference as to the obtainment of money with which to pay the printer, when suddenly there came a loud, impatient knocking upon the outer door, and my senior, by a warning gesture, enjoined silence. The sound of a grumbling voice was then audible, and, after a while, the sound of footsteps retreating down the stairs. For several minutes Clapp did not speak but continued to smoke and listen, looking at me with a serious aspect. Then, removing the pipe from his lips, he softly murmered, ''Twas the voice of the Stoddard--I heard him complain!'" (293-294).

Winter notes that some contributors did not mind that "The Saturday Press" would be unable to pay them for their writing: "Some of its contributors were glad to furnish articles for nothing, being friendly toward the establishment of an absolutely independent critical paper, a thing practically unknown in those days. Among those friendly contributors were Henry Giles, Charles T. Congdon, Edward Howland (by whom the paper had been projected), Brownlee Brown, C.D. Shanley, and Ada Clare" (294-295).

He is listed by Winter as one of the Bohemians who frequented Pfaff's Cave (88).

Winter comments on Shanly's talent: "His poems called 'The Briar Wood Pipe' and 'Rifleman, Shoot Me a Fancy Shot' ought to long preserve his memory, and perhaps they will. To him it was a matter of indifference. I have never known a writer who was so abolutely careless of literary reputation: indeed, it was not until we had been acquainted for several months that I learned that he had written anything" (94-95).

Winter claims that Shanly never discussed his writings with him until Shanly was preparing to leave New York for Florida in 1875. During this conversation, Shanly asked Winter to be his "literary executor" in the event a publisher ever wanted to publish his works. Shanly died in Florida, April 14, 1875 (95).

In response to Howells' criticisms of the Bohemians and in a discussion of their writing, Winter states: "Revelry requires money: at the time Mr. Howells met those Bohemians, -- with the 'damp locks' and the 'frenzied eyes,' -- it is probably that the group did not possess enough money among them all to buy a quart bottle of champagne. Furthermore, they were writers of remarkable quality, and they were under the stringent necessity of working continually and very hard: and it seems pertinent to suggest that such a poem, for instance, as George Arnold's 'Old Pedagogue,' or Fitz-James O'Brien's Ode in commemoration of Kane, or Charles Dawson Shanly's 'Walker of the Snow,' is not to be produced from under the stimulation of alcohol. Literature is a matter of brains, not drugs. It would be equally just and sensible for American criticism to cherish American literature, and to cease from carping about the infirmities, whether actual or putative, of persons dead and gone, who can no longer defend themselves" (93).

Of the poets associated with the Bohemian period, Winter states that Shanly'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).

C.D. Shanly is listed as one of the "friendly contributors" to the "Saturday Press," who "were glad to furnish articles for nothing, being friendly toward the establishment of an absolutely independent critical paper, a thing practically unknown in those days" (294-295).

Winter writes that he knew Stedman as a poet before they met in 1862. Winter says that their acquaintance "speedily ripened into a friendship that was never marred, notwithstanding our variant opinions as to literary matters and our invariably frank and explicit criticism of one another as votaries of the Muse." Winter claims that they would not have had a true friendship if they had not been able to speak honestly to one another. Winter notes that Stedman knew several authors and does not know how he interacted and critiqued them, but writes that Stedman was always both honest and considerate with him (297-298).

Winter notes that Stedman characterized the "peculiar period of literary transition in the chief city of America" as "'that unfriendly time' for letters." Winter remarks that Stedman "lived in it and closely observed it" (105).

Winter remembers Stedman as "one of the merriest of the company" during a "literary festival" that was part of a visit from Oliver Wendell Holmes (124).

Stedman and Woodbury edited the "standard edition" of Poe's works (33).

Stedman was a member of Taylor's poetic group, along with Richard Henry Stoddard, Elizabeth Barstow Stoddard, Fitz Hugh Ludlow, George Henry Boker, Fitz-James O'Brien, Christopher P. Cranch, and George William Curtis. Winter notes that at the time of his writing "not one remains" of this group (177).

Of recent reviews he had received, Taylor wrote to Winter on October 2, 1873: "Stedman wrote such praise of my Vienna Letters (the most ephemeral work) as would have seemed ironical from any but an old friend, without even hinting that he had ever heard of a poem which is worth all my correspondence, from first to last" (173). Stedman is mentioned several other times in Taylor's correspondence.

In a discussion of various writers' composition habits, Winter writes: "Edmund Clarence Stedman, whose poetic achievement made his name illustrious in American literature, told me that it was his custom to select with care the particular form of verse that he designed to use, and sometimes to invent the rhymes and write them at the ends of the lines which they were to terminate,--thus making a skeleton of a poem, as a ground-work on which to build." Winter appears to find this method a bit more structured that he envisions for poetic composition (156).

Winter calls Stedman one of the "masters of style" in writing (243).

Winter notes that Stedman, Stoddard, Taylor, and Boker were not associated with Clapp, the Bohemians, or the group that gathered during the time of "The Saturday Press" and Pfaff's Cave. These men did not lead Bohemian lifestyles and were not sympathetic to the lifestyle. Winter does note that "Stedman, indeed, wrote a poem about Bohemia,--a poem which is buoyant with a gypsy spirit and a winning lilt; but it is one thing to write melodious verses about Arcadian bliss, and quite another thing to subsist from week to week on the precarious rations of a publisher's hack" (178-179).

Winter mentions that there was an "brilliant assemblage convened at the Carnegie Lyceum, New York, to participate in a public service commemorative of the loved and honored poet Edmund Clarence Stedman" on January 13, 1909. Winter remarks that during this event, several speeches were made about Stedman's career, including one that discussed his early writing days and erroniously linked him to the Bohemian group. Stedman passed away January 18, 1908, was associated in 1860 with the then religious newspaper, "The New York World." Stedman had acquaintances in the Bohemian group, but he wasn't a member of the group. Winter recalls that Stedman had known Arnold since boyhood and also knew Whitman and Aldrich, but he really did not know any other members of the group. "The literary circle to which Stedman gained access and which he pleased and adorned, was that which comprised Bayard Taylor, Richard Henry Stoddard, Mrs. Stoddard (the brilliant Elizabeth Barstow), George Henry Boker, and Lormier Graham,--a circle distinct from that of the contemporary Bohemia, and not propitious to it" (292-293).

Winter also notes that while Taylor, Stoddard, Stedman, Boker, Curtis, Ludlow, and the names of have been "comingled with those of Clapp's Bohemian associates," they "were not only not affiliated with that coterie but were distinct from it, and, in some instances, were inimical to it" (295).

While Stedman was still alive, the Author's Club, of New York, held a dinner to celebrate the publication of "An American Anthology" on December 6, 1900. Winter gave the keynote address; he reprints the full text in his long section on Stedman (297-298).

Winter reprints a letter from Stedman, p.335-336, that discusses the death of Albert H. Smyth and Winter's tribute to Smyth (335-336).

Winter notes that Stoddard jokingly called T.B. Aldrich "Two-Baby Aldrich" after his twin sons were born (139).

In discussing the composition habits of some poets, Winter reports: "Richard Henry Stoddard,--whose 'Songs of Summer' comprise some of the loveliest and some of, apparently the most spontaneous lyrics existant in the English language,--told me that sometimes he wrote the first draft of the poem in prose, and afterward turned it into verse" (155-156).

In a letter to Winter, Taylor writes that he and his wife have had "a strange fancy that something has happened to Stoddard, Elizabeth, or Lorry" and he hopes he is wrong (163).

Stoddard was a member of Taylor's poetic group, along with George William Curtis, Elizabeth Barstow Stoddard, Edmund Clarence Stedman, George Henry Boker, Fitz-James O'Brien, Christopher P. Cranch, and Fitz Hugh Ludlow. Winter notes that at the time of his writing "not one remains" of this group Winter also remarks that Taylor's writings "evince his strong affection for Boker and Stoddard." Winter met Bayard Taylor at Stoddard's home at the northeast corner of Fourth Avenue and Tenth Street in New York. Winter refers to Stoddard as "the most subtle and exquisite lyrical genius in our poetic literature since Poe" (177).

Winter notes that Stedman, Stoddard, Taylor, and Boker were not associated with Clapp, the Bohemians, or the group that gathered during the time of "The Saturday Press" and Pfaff's Cave. These men did not lead Bohemian lifestyles and were not sympathetic to the lifestyle (178).

Stoddard is mentioned as a member of the "poetic circle" that Stedman was a member of, "a circle distinct from that of the contemporary Bohemia, and not propitious to it." At that time, Stoddard "held an official post" at the New York Custom House and often contributed to various publications, including "The Saturday Press." Winter states that Stoddard had made the acquaintance of Clapp, which helped him to occasionally publish in the "Press." Winter remembers that Stoddard had difficulty "obtaining payment" for his submissions (293).
Winter recalls an time when he and Clapp were sitting behind locked doors at the "Saturday Press" in order to avoid creditors and Stoddard came knocking. Winter recollects that he and Clapp were discussing finances: "when suddenly there came a loud, impatient knocking upon the outer door, and my senior, by a warning gesture, enjoined silence. The sound of a grumbiling voice was then audible, and, after a while, the sound of footsteps retreating down the stairs. For several minutes Clapp did not speak but continued to smoke and listen, looking at me with a serious aspect. Then, removing the pipe from his lips, he softly murmured, ''Twas the voice of the Stoddard--I heard him complain!'" Winter states that "That incident sufficiently indicates the embarassing circumstances under which the paper struggled through the twenty-six months of its existence" (294).

Winter also notes that while Taylor, Stoddard, Stedman, Boker, Curtis, Ludlow, and the names of have been "comingled wtih those of Clapp's Bohemian associates," they "were not only not affiliated with that coterie but were distinct from it, and, in some instances, were inimical to it" (295). Winter also notes that both Taylor and Stoddard were friends with O'Brien, but their friendship did not last. According to Winter, "the most censorious review" of Winter's collection of O'Brien's work - Poems and Stories - in 1881, appeared in "The New York Tribune" and was written by Stoddard (295).

In his keynote address for the celebration of Stedman's "An American Anthology," Winter remarked that "...our poetic literature will never, as a whole, acquire the opulent vitality, bloom, and color of old English poetry, until our authors cease to be self-conscious and critical, and ,--as that rare poet Richard Henry Stoddard so often and so happily has done,--yield themselves fully to their emotions" (305).

Winter notes that Poe "was the first authoritative voice to recognize the excellence of Bayard Taylor; hailing him, 1849, as 'unquestionably the most terse, glowing, and vigorous of all our poets'" (296).

Winter discusses Taylor's senses of humor and fun, stating that "a sense of humor was one of Taylor's most propitious and most charming attributes, and with him, as with all other persons who possess that blessing, it served as a shield against petty troubles and as a cordial stimulant to philosophical views of fun. He was like a boy, also, in his love of fun" (160). To demonstrate Taylor's sense of humor, Winter recounts Taylor's account of an experience he had at Rev. Horace Mann's house and also cites Taylor's "Echo Club," "first published serially and afterward (1876) in a book" as a "conspicuous product of Taylor's playful humor." "Echo Club" contains several imitations, or parodies, of the styles of Taylor's contemporaries in verse. Winter reprints a letter Taylor wrote him on the subject of the book dated October 8, 1872, from Goatha. In this letter Taylor thanks Winter for sending him copies of the New York papers and mentions that he hopes Winter does not mind that Taylor parodied his writing: "All the papers were welcome, I assure you, and even the sight of your unforgeable MS. was refreshing to mine eyes. Moreover here was evidence that you have already forgiven me for my abominable effort at imitating some of your best poems, making comic the very qualities in them which I most enjoy. I may congratulate myself, I think, on having finished the series of travesties without having (so far as I know) giving lasting offense to any of the victims. Yet, stay!--I almost doubt of being pardoned by Mrs. Howe. It was a perilous undertaking, just at present, and I might easily have worse luck." In this letter, Taylor also discusses his European travels and asks after Winter and other New York friends. In this same letter, Taylor confesses to Winter that both he and his wife have had "a strange fancy" that something has happened to one of the Stoddards and hopes that he is wrong in his feeling. Taylor also asks after Stedman and encloses a separate letter for him in the care of Winter. Taylor also speaks of his return and asks Winter to write him with "all the gossip, literary and otherwise" (161-164).

Of the "travesties" in "Echo Club," Winter writes that several "are notably felicitous, and all of them are amusing." Winter also notes that Taylor held back a parody of Longfellow, fearing he would offend the poet. Winter reprints the first stanza of Taylor's parody on "The Psalm of Life" here:
"O'er the fragile rampart leaning, Which enclosed the herd of swine, Thoughts of vast and wondrous meaning
Flitted through this brain of mine." The poem continues with a discussion of how pigs jockey for places at the trough, pushing the smaller ones aside; the poem uses this as a metaphor for human conduct (164-165).

Winter reprints Appollo's section of Taylor's "The Masque of the Gods," from his own, personally inscribed copy from Taylor, signed "To William Winter, from his old friend Bayard Taylor. New York, May 30, 1872." Winter feels this is "Taylor's finest poem, in sublimity of theme, grandeur of conception, and spontenaiety of rhythmical eloquence" (165). Winter also reprints a letter from Taylor that discusses the poem. Taylor confirms Winter's opinion that the poem "is certainly the best thing I've yet done," and how he feels that he is really honing his poetic skill. Taylor also discusses his poetic feelings and his thoughts on how one develops into a poet. Taylor also remarks to Winter that he is happy, despite the fact that he knows the publication sales for the poem have not been particularly good; he feels his craft has improved. Taylor also discusses having to do "a certain amount of technical hack work, in order to buy the rest of my time for myself" and his plans to fully use his spare time to do his own work (166-167).

In 1876, Taylor was asked to participate in the centennial celebration of The Declaration of Independence, in Philadelphia on the Fourth of July, as "the poet of that national occasion." According to Winter, "he appreciated the honor and accepted the duty." Taylor also promised the Society of the Army of the Potomic that he would be present at their June reunion and deliver a poem in Philadelphia. Winter notes that during this time, he and Taylor lived almost across the street from each other, on East Eighteenth Street, in New York, and worked together at "The New York Tribune," so they met often and exchanged notes when they could not meet. Some of their conversations at this time related to Taylor's progress on the poems for these occasions; Taylor had trouble concentrating his thoughts on the Ode for the Fourth of July, so he asked Winter to take his place at one of the events. Winter read a poem at the reunion of the Society of the Army of the Potomic, while Taylor read his "magnificent Ode" in front of Independence Hall (167-168). According to Winter, "he electrified a vast multitude and gained for himself a laurel that can never fade: for there is no other poem that so fully and so eloquently expresses the central thought of American civilization and the passionate enthusiasm for liberty by which that civilzation is permeated and sustained" (169). Winter reprints on p.169 a letter from Taylor in which he shares his impressions of the Centennial Celebration with Winter. Taylor writes: "As for myself, I don't know how it was, nor can I yet understand,--but I did what I never saw done before, and certainly shall never do again: thousands of common people were silenced, then moved, then kindled into a flame, by Poetry! It was this grand instinctive feeling of the mass which amazed me most" (169) Winter remarks that when he met with Taylor after the event, "Taylor's delight in the triumphant success of his ode was almost pathetic in its childlike ecstasy of happiness" (170).

On October 2, 1872, Taylor writes to Winter from Goatha, Germany. He discusses his current project of writing a History of Germany for schools, "for the sake of bread and butter," and also discusses the current business failures of his publications of his creative works. Taylor also mentions some of the reviews of his works, including Stedman's review of his Vienna Letters, which Taylor says he would think were ironic if he didn't have an existing friendship with Stedman and if Stedman hadn't seen the poem before it was published. Despite the commercial failures of his poetry, Taylor writes that he is still committed to producing it. Taylor also discusses his travel plans, homesickness, and his family (173-174). In a November 11 letter, Taylor discusses his writing and that he has sent off manuscripts to Osgood and Strahan & Co., in London. Taylor also mentions having lectured in German for the benefit of the Ladies' Charitable Associations of the city on the topic of American Literature. At this event, Taylor read a translation of Poe's "Raven" in German, some Whittier, and some other poems, and Taylor feels these works "seemed to make a strong impression." Taylor also writes about who else has written to him and comments positively on Winter's latest poetry. Taylor also inquires about the "Tribune" office after Greeley's death and mentions Reid's poem about the editor (174-176).

Taylor's poetic group included Richard Henry Stoddard, Elizabeth Barstow Stoddard, Edmund Clarence Stedman, George Henry Boker, Fitz-James O'Brien, Christopher P. Cranch, Fitz Hugh Ludlow, and George William Curtis. Winter notes that at the time of his writing "not one remains" of this group. Winter notes that Taylor's writings show that he had strong affection for Stoddard and Boker. Winter also recalls that his first meeting with Taylor was at the Stoddards' home at the northeast corner of Fourth Avenue and Tenth Street, in New York, where they would often gather their friends: "there I have seen Taylor, as also at his own fireside and at mine, the incarnation of joviality and the soul of mirth" (177).

Winter says of Taylor: "He was in no way ascetic. He loved the pleasures of life. No man could more completely obey than he did the Emersonian injunction to 'Hear what wine and roses say!'" (177).

Of Taylor's poetic influences, Winter writes: "In the earlier part of his career, he fancied himself a disciple of Shelley: there is, among his works, an ode to that elusive poet, whom he invokes as 'Immortal brother'; but, in fact, he had as little natural sympathy with the rainbow mysticism of that rainbow being as he had with his proclivity for dry bread. He would have consorted far more readily with Burns or Christopher North, 'the jolly bachelors of Tarbolton and Mauchline'..., or the genial revelers of the Noctes Ambrosianae. Not that he fancied carousal: but he was very human. Like Shelly, however, he loved Grecian themes: his 'Icarus,' 'Hylas' and 'Passing the Sirens' are fine imaginative examples of that love; but, like Burns, he habitually treated all themes in a spirit of ardent humanity" (177-178).

Winter notes that Stedman, Stoddard, Taylor, and Boker were not associated with Clapp, the Bohemians, or the group that gathered during the time of "The Saturday Press" and Pfaff's Cave. These men did not lead Bohemian lifestyles and were not sympathetic to the lifestyle (178). Winter notes that while "Taylor, roaming up and down the world,--as Goldsmith had done before him,--learning languages, consorting with all sorts of persons, and earning his bread with his pen, possessed the true Bohemian spirit; but, all the same, his tastes were domestic, his proclivities were those of the scholar and the artist, and he typifies not Grub Street, but literature; and in literature he especially represents the rare and precious attribute of poetic vitality; for his many-colored line throbs and glows with life,--not alone the life of intellect, but the life of the heart" (179).

Winter writes that "It is difficult to depict, in the cold gleam of words, the inspiring personality of Bayard Taylor and to indicate its value to the general experience" (179). Winter continues: "In the common life of every day he was the genial comrade, enjoying everything and happy in contributing to the happiness around him. In the life of the intellect, in the realm of thought and expression, he became transfigured; he was the priest at the altar, the veritable apostle of Art" (180).

Winter also notes that while Taylor, Stoddard, Stedman, Boker, Curtis, Ludlow, and the names of have been "comingled wtih those of Clapp's Bohemian associates," they "were not only not affiliated with that coterie but were distinct from it, and, in some instances, were inimical to it" (295). Winter also notes that both Taylor and Stoddard were friends with O'Brien, but their friendship did not last (295).

Taylor is buried in Longwood, PA. "Upon his grave...there is a Greek altar, inscribed with the words, 'He being dead yet speaketh.' It is not an idle epitaph. As long as there is beauty in the world, and as long as there are human hearts to receive its message of joy and hope, his voice will be heard" (180).

Albert Henry Smyth wrote a Life of Bayard Taylor (332).

Winter notes that "the American humorist" Mortimer Thomson, "Q.K. Philander Doesticks, P.B.," acted as the groomsman at Solomon Eytinge's wedding in June 1858, in Brooklyn. Winter writes that Thomson, "a clever writer and a good fellow, [is] almost or quite forgotten now" (318).

Wallace had been one of "The Literati" written about by Poe. Winter recalls that during his early career as a writer, Wallace was still living and writing (296).

Lester Wallack and his father are listed as O'Brien's friends in the New York Stage community, where O'Brien was able to produce some of his short plays (76).

Winter notes that Curtis is one of the young "wandering mistrels" mentioned in Wallack's "Memories of Fifty Years": "You come upon him very pleasantly, in the society of that brilliant actor, and you hear their youthful voices blended" (267).

Winter reprints a April 18, 1893, letter from Aldrich that discusses the influence of Wallack's treatment of one of his plays on his career: "If Lester Wallack, in 1866, had not kept a play of mine six months, then returned it to me, with the seals unbroken,I should, probably, have been a writer of dramas instead of a writer of lyrics. Without breaking those seals myself I put that MS. on the coals, in my room in Hancock Street, and gave up the idea of being Shakespeare!" (372).

In discussing criticism and American literature, Winter states: "The complaint,--which is one that more or less touches all American literature,--proceeds now, as it has all along proceeded, from an irrational disposition, first to revert to the berserker state of feeling, and then to exact, from a new country, new forms of speech. Thus, for example, literary authorities in England, some of them conspicuous for station and ability, have accepted, and, in some cases, have extolled beyond the verge of extravagance, one American writer, the eccentric Walt Whitman, for no better reason than because he discarded all laws of literary composition, and, instead of writing either prose or verse, composed an uncouth catalog of miscellaneous objects and images, generally commonplace, sometimes coarse, sometimes filthy. That auctioneer's list of topics and appetites, intertwisted with a formless proclaimation of carnal propensities and universal democracy, has been hailed as grandly original and distinctively American, only because it is crude, shapeless, and vulgar. The writings of Walt Whitman, in so far as they are anything, are philosophy: they certainly are not poetry: and they do not possess even the merit of an original style; for Macpherson, with his 'Ossain' forgeries; Martin Farquhar Tupper, with his 'Proverbial Philosophy,' and Samuel Warren, with his timid 'Ode,' were extant long before the advent of Whitman. Furthermore, Plato's writings were not unknown; while the brotherhood of man had not been proclaimed in Judea, with practical consequences that are still obvious. No author has yet made a vehicle of expression that excels, in any way whatever, or for any purpose, the blank verse of Shakespeare and Milton. In the hands of any artist who can use them the old forms of expression are abundantly adequate, and so, likewise, are the old subjects; at all events, nobody has yet discovered any theme more fruitful than the human heart, human experience, man in his relation to Nature and to God" (29-31).

He is listed by Winter as one of the Bohemians who frequented Pfaff's Cave (88). Of his appearance there, Winter writes: "Walt Whitman was often there, clad in his eccentric garb of rough blue and gray fabric,--his hair and beard grizzled, his keen steel-blue eyes gazing, with bland tolerance, on the frolicsome lads around him" (64).

Winter describes Howell's first meeting with Whitman at Pfaff's. "Mr. W. D. Howells, now the voluminous and celebrated novelist,--...,--came into the cave, especially, as afterward was divulged, for the purpose of adoring the illustrious Whitman. Mr. Howells, at that time, was a respectable youth, in black raiment, who had only just entered on the path to glory, while Whitman, by reason of that odiferous classic, the 'Leaves of Grass,' was in possession of the local Parnassus. The meeting, of course, was impressive. Walt, at that time, affected the Pompadour style of shirt and jacket,--making no secret of his brawny anatomy,-- and his hirsute chest and complacent visage were, as usual, on liberal exhibition: and he tippled a little brandy and water and received his admirer's homage with characteristic benignity. There is nothing like genius--unless possibly it may be leather" (89-90).

In discussing the true nature of Bohemia and celebrations at Pfaff's Cave in response to Howells's recollection of the "orgy" he witnessed, Winter discusses a birthday celebration for Clapp in which Whitman was called upon to give the toast: "I have regretted the absence of Mr. Howells from a casual festival which occurred in Pfaff's Cave, much about the time of his advent there, when the lads (those tremendous revellers!) drank each a glass of beer in honor of the birthday of Henry Clapp, and when he might, for once, have felt the ravishing charm of Walt Whitman's collossal eloquence. It fell to the lot of that Great Bard, I remember, to propose the health of the Prince of Bohemia, which he did in the following marvellous words: 'That's the feller!" It was my privilege to hear that thrilling deliverance, and to admire and applaud that superb orator. Such amazing emanations of intellect seldom occur, and it seems indeed a pity that this one should not have had Mr. Howells to embroider it with his ingenious fancy and embalm it in the amber of his veracious rhetoric" (91-92).

Winter states, "In my Bohemian days it was my fortune -- or misfortune, as the case may be -- to meet often and know well the American bard Walt Whitman. It is scarcely necessary to say that he did not impress me as anything other than what he was, a commonplace, uncouth, and sometimes obnoxiously course writer, trying to be original by using a formless style, and celebrating the proletarians who make the world most unihabitable by their vulgarity" (140).

Winter briefly mentions Whitman's estimation of him: "With reference to me Walt's views were expressed in a sentence that, doubtless, he intended as the perfection of contemptuous indifference. 'Willy,' he said, 'is a young Longfellow'" (140).

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).

Winter then presents a discussion of the "Poet" as defined by both Aldrich and Whitman. For Aldrich, Winter reprints a poem where he defines and discusses the Poet. For Whitman, Winter relates a conversation on the subject that occurred between them: "In those Bohemian days I participated in various talks with Walt Whitman, and once I asked him to oblige me with his definition of 'the Poet.' His answer was: 'A poet is a Maker.' 'But, Walt,' I said, 'what does he make?' He gazed upon me for a moment, with that bovine air of omniscience for which he was remarkable, and then he said: 'He makes Poems.' That reply was deemed final. I took the liberty, all the same, of suggesting to him that no person, poet or otherwise, can do more than disclose and interpret what God has made;--seeing that everything in Nature existed,--even the most minute and delicate impulses of the spirit that is in humanity,--before ever man began to make poems about anything. The words of the poet occasionally take a form that is inevitable,--seeming to have been intended from the beginning of the world: there are examples of that felicity of form in Shakespeare, in Wordsworth, in Byron's 'Childe Harold,' and in Shelley's 'Adonais'; but the word 'creative' has been, and continually is, too freely used. Nature is creative, and the Poet is the voice of Nature. It was a raucous voice when it issued from Whitman: it pipes, like a penny whistle, when it issues from his paltry imitators" (141-142).

When discussing differences of opinion among writers as to who has talent, Winter remarks, "Emerson, usually centered in himself, was able to perceive poetry in Whitman" (154).

Of the poets associated with the Bohemian period, Winter states that Whitman'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).

Whitman was one of the few members of the Bohemian circle with whom Stedman was acquainted (293).

Winter writes that in the early days of his acquaintance with Longfellow he noticed that Longfellow "was inclined to bright apparel;" but "not to the elaborate dandyism of his popular contemporary, N.P. Willis" (48).

When Winter arrived in New York in 1859-'60, "The Home Journal," "a conspicuous literary authority of the hour" was run by "the two bards, Nathaniel P. Willis and George P. Morris" (136-137).

Winter remarks that when Curtis was beginning his career in 1846, Willis "was presently to inherit" "the sceptre" from Griswold (264).

Willis had been one of "The Literati" written about by Poe. Winter writes that during his early career "N.P. Willis had accepted and published, with cordial commendation, one of my juvenile poems" (296).

Winthrop quotes Curtis' description of the "beloved and lamented Theodore Winthrop" (227) in discussing Curtis' own life and accomplishments.