The International Monthly Magazine Volume V to No II

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Many as were his merits, and great as was his enterprise, Isaac Collins
was most widely known, the latter part of his long career, by his editions
of the works on grammar, and other school books, by the prolific Lindley
Murray. As in the case of Franklin, his earliest effort of magnitude was
the printing Sewell's _History of the Quakers_. The neatness and accuracy
of his printing were familiarly remarked among readers; and these
excellencies he displayed in his quarto Bible, the first of that form
which was printed in this country in 1790. Collins was a native of
Delaware. He projected a weekly paper, the _New Jersey Gazette_, which he
published at Burlington during the Revolution, and, some time after, upon
strenuous Whig principles. He had authority, like Franklin, for the
emission of paper money for the State Government. He removed to this city
in 1796, and a few years after this time I knew him. As his career was,
many portions of it, like Franklin's, I had the greater admiration of him.
He died in 1817. That he enjoyed the acquaintance of Franklin, of
Rittenhouse and Rush, of Livingston of New Jersey, and others of the
truest patriots in the great struggles of the country, may be inferred
from his profession, his public station, his integrity, and his general
character. In the society of Friends he was prominent, and, like Thomas
Eddy and Robert Bowne, he was occupied with hospitals, and ever zealous in
good works. He did vast service to the city as a printer, and as such he
is here introduced.

The oldest inhabitants of our city may well recollect the bookstore of the
Swords, Thomas and James. Some sixty years ago they began operations in
Pearl-street. They commenced when New-York was little more than a village
in population, and when literary projects were almost unknown. They
deserve ample notice as most efficient pioneers, in their day, as printers
and booksellers, and through a long career they held a high rank; they
were assiduous and economical almost to a fault: their integrity was never
doubted; their word was as good as their bond. They printed good works in
more acceptations of the phrase than one. They did a great service to our
scientific enterprise, in issuing the _Medical Repository_, the earliest
journal of that kind, in the country. A literary periodical, of many years
duration, was also printed by them, called the _New-York Magazine_. It was
remarkable for the contributions of a society, self-named the Drone.
Brockden Brown, William Dunlap, Anthony Bleucker, Josiah Ogden Hoffman,
and James Kent (afterwards the great Chancellor), were among the writers.
William Johnson, the well-known Reporter, who died recently, was the last
survivor of this club. Their store for a number of years was a rendezvous
for professional men of different callings--divines, physicians, lawyers,
with a sprinkling of the professed authors of those times, as Clifton,
Low, Davis, &c. Its theological feature was its strongest; and the
interest of episcopacy were here descanted on with the unction of
godliness, by such men as Seabury of Connecticut, and Moore of New-York,
with good old Dr. Bowden, and Dr. Hawks, my friends Drs. Berrian and
McVicker of Columbia College, and the energetic Bishop Hobart, the busiest
and most stirring man I ever knew. The Messrs. Swords were largely
occupied in printing works on divinity, and were confessed the printers of
sound orthodoxy long before "the novelties which disturb our peace" had
invoked polemical controversy.

I should do injustice to my feelings were I in this rapid sketch to
overlook the late James Eastburn, the founder of the first reading-room on
a becoming scale, in this country, and the publisher of the American
edition of the Edinburgh and London Quarterly Reviews. He was a gentleman
deserving of much estimation, of bland manners, and enthusiastic in his
calling. He was curious in antiquarian literature and a great importer of
the older authors. Many are the libraries enriched by his perseverance.
Consumption wasted his generous frame, and he died at a comparatively
early age, to the deep regret of the scholar and the philanthropist.

I should like, before I close this portion of these reminiscences, to
awaken recollections of one or two other estimable individuals with whom I
was long acquainted--George F. Hopkins and Jonathan Seymour. Hopkins merits
a biography; he justly boasted that his edition of Robertson's Charles V.
was the most accurately printed work of the time. He was fastidious almost
to a fault in typographical neatness. He printed only works of positive
merit. His enterprise led him, now fifty years ago, to urge the craft to
render themselves independent of imported types, by establishing
type-foundries in the country. There were few indeed among us who knew
practically much about the founts of Caslon, the Coryphaeus of
letter-founders. The Scotch hard-faced letter was then extensively in use.
Hopkins induced the immigration to this country of the famous Binney and
Ronaldson, whose great skill in the art was soon recognized, and from that
era up to the present day competent judges affirm that our Bruce, White,
Conner, and others, have accomplished all that is requisite in the
type-founding business. Of Jonathan Seymour, it is enough to say, that at
one period of his life he was more largely engaged than any of his rivals
in printing from manuscripts--so well known and appreciated was his
devotion to his calling, and the accuracy of its results. In his death,
the art lost one who had given it elevation, and society a man possessed
of the qualities of industry, temperance, honesty, and Christian
philanthropy in the fullest measure.

Within a few days has departed from among us, at the age of eighty years,
a supporter of the press who long contributed to the diffusion of
wholesome knowledge. I allude to Thomas Kirk. I shall terminate these
notices by a striking occurrence, which involved him in great loss. He had
determined, about the year 1801, to give the Christian community an octavo
edition, in large type, of the _Book of Common Prayer_, the first of that
size from an American press. To secure the utmost accuracy, he engaged,
for a pecuniary consideration, the Rev. John Ireland, of Brooklyn, to
revise the proofs. When the sheets were worked off, it was ascertained
that the copy was an exact reprint, save in one particular. The critical
acumen of Ireland had discovered, in the Apostles' Creed, a "tautological
error," in the words, "from thence he shall come." The word "from" was
superfluous, ungrammatical, and inelegant, according to Ireland, and,
accordingly, it was not in Kirk's edition. Upon the sale of a few copies
the omission was remarked; the fact became known to the bishop of the
church; the book was pronounced defective, and the ecclesiastical
authorities prohibited its circulation. The whole edition fell a dead
weight upon the hands of the well-meaning publisher. I had this anecdote
from Mr. Kirk himself, years ago, and he repeated it to me not long prior
to his death, in last November.

This allusion to Kirk brings to my mind the notorious John Williams,
better known as Anthony Pasquin, under which name he was doomed to
everlasting infamy by Gifford, in his satire of the _Baviad and Maeviad_,
in judgments afterwards confirmed in a celebrated trial for libel in which
the famous Erskine delivered one of his best forensic speeches. Williams
was the associate in London of a small but ambitious set of mutual
admirers in literature, of whom Mr. Merry and his future wife were the
"Della Crusca" and "Rosa Matilda," and all three of these worthies came to
New-York about the year 1798. I have an impression that Kirk came at the
same time. The character of Williams was infamous, and a large share of
his infamy consisted in his ministering to, if not creating, the passion
for personal scandal, and setting the example of black-mail collections,
in newspapers. In the report of the great case of Williams vs. Faulder, it
is said of his paper, called _The World_, that "In this were given the
earliest specimens of those unqualified and audacious attacks on all
private character which the town first smiled at for their quaintness,
then tolerated for their absurdity--and will have to lament to the last
hour of British liberty." After he came to this country he associated
himself with the enemies of Hamilton, and published a satire called _The
Hamiltoniad_, edited a magazine entitled _The Columbian_, and was a
pioneer in that species of journalism which still subsists here upon the
most scandalous invasions of private life and reputation. He was doubly
detestable, in that he was the corruptor and worst specimen of the
editorial calling in Europe and in America. I remember frequently seeing
Williams, in the latter part of his life, in his shabby pepper-and-salt
dress, in the obscure parts of the city. I believe he died during the
first prevalence of the cholera in Brooklyn. Fancy may depict his
expression as illustrating Otway's lines, "as if all hell were in his
eyes, and he in hell." It must not be supposed that I in any degree
associate the fame of the worthy Kirk with that of this literary vagabond.

To a suggestion that I might refer to the late William Cobbett, as
associated with the periodical press of this country, I may say that I see
in it no impropriety. Unquestionably a minute record would include his
_Porcupine Gazette_ and his _Weekly Register_; the one an offspring of his
juvenile life, the other of his ripened years. I had some personal
acquaintance with him at the time of his last residence in New-York.
Hazlitt has, in his attractive manner, described him to the life. He was
deemed the best talker of his day, and his forcible pen has given us
indubitable proofs of his powers in literary composition. It was not
unusual with him to make a visit to the printing office at an early
morning hour, take his seat at the desk, and after some half dozen lines
were written, to throw off MSS. with a rapidity that engaged eleven
compositors at once in setting up. Thus a whole sheet of the _Register_
might be completed ere he desisted from his undertaking. I think that in
quickness he surpassed even the lamented William Leggett, of the _Evening
Post_. The circumstance is certainly interesting in a psychological point
of view; and yet may not be deemed more curious than the fact that
Priestley made his reply to Lind, quite a voluminous pamphlet, in
twenty-four hours, or that Hodgkinson, the actor, was able to peruse
crosswise, the entire five columns of a newspaper, and within two hours
recite it thus by memory. I visited Cobbett, when his residence was within
a couple of miles of this city, in company with a few professional
gentlemen. It was in October, and a delightful day. He heard our approach,
and came to the door without our knocking. "Walk in, gentlemen--am I to
consider this as a visit to me?--walk in and be seated on these benches,
for I have no chairs--you may be fatigued--will you have a bowl of milk? I
live upon milk and Indian corn--I never drink spirit or wine, and yet I am
a tolerable example of English health." And, indeed, he was a most ample
specimen of the genuine John Bull. His nearly oval face, and florid
countenance, with strong gray piercing eyes and head thickly covered with
white hair, closely trimmed; his huge frame, of some two hundred and
seventy pounds weight, corresponding abdominal development, and
well-proportioned limbs, all demonstrated, with anatomical accuracy, the
truth of his observation. His superior intellect seemed roused in all its
functions. The United States, England, the reform measures, the union of
church and state, and its absurdity, were only a few of the subjects of
his caustic remark. "I have just performed a duty, gentlemen, which has
been too long delayed; you have neglected the remains of Thomas Paine; I
have done myself the honor to disinter his bones; I have removed them from
New Rochelle; I have dug them up; they are now on their way to England;
when I return, I shall cause them to speak the Common Sense of the great
man; I shall gather together the people of Liverpool and Manchester in one
assembly with those of London, and those bones will effect the reformation
of England in Church and State." After some two or three hours we took our
leave, with unlimited admiration of his brave utterance and his colloquial
talents.

With such a hastily written and imperfect sketch of the newspaper
periodical press, of printers, editors, booksellers, and authors, I must
close this portion of my present reminiscences. I have depended on a
memory somewhat tenacious as my authority, in most instances, having no
leisure at command for reference. A volume might be written of pertinent
details. Nevertheless, enough has been said to illustrate, in part, the
advancement of one species of knowledge in this metropolis. Did we
institute a comparative view of the past and present condition of the
press, we might be better enabled to announce the existing condition of
our city as a Literary Emporium, That it is in accordance with the spirit
of the age, seems demonstrable. Abroad, in England, in 1701, when the
stamp duty was levied upon every number of a periodical paper consisting
of a sheet, the whole quantity of printed paper was estimated at twenty
thousand reams annually. Nearly at this period (1704), when the Boston
_News Letter_ made its appearance in the American colonies, some two or
three hundred copies weekly may have been its circulation. What is the
quantity of paper demanded by the present British periodical press, I am
unable to state. In this month of January, 1852, it is calculated that
there are about three thousand different newspapers and other periodicals
printed in this country, the entire issues of which approach the yearly
aggregate of four hundred and twenty-three millions of numbers.

When Franklin was a printer it was a hard task to work off over a thousand
sheets on both sides in a day, by the hand press. Since his time we have
had the Clymer, the Napier, the Ramage, the Adams, and now Hoe's Lightning
press. By this last-named achievement in the arts, so honorable to a son
of New-York, and so stupendous in its results to the world at large,
twenty thousand papers may be printed in one hour.

If we advert to the instructive fact, of the enormous circulation of many
of the journals of New-York, as the _Herald_, the _Sun_, the _Tribune_,
the _Times_, the _Express_, the _Mirror_, and others issued daily; if we
calculate the copies of the _Observer_, the _Home Journal_, the _Christian
Advocate_, and others of the weekly press; the circulation of the monthly
and other periodicals; if we look at the Methodist Book Concern, the Tract
Society, the American Bible Society, the publications of the Appletons, of
Putnam, and of the enterprising booksellers of this city generally, what
bounds can we set to the offspring of the typographic art? The _Herald_
and the _Tribune_ in their distinct circulation, consume an aggregate of
fifty thousand reams per year. The Harpers, who have thrown John
Baskerville, and other eminent typographers of Europe in the shade by the
magnitude of their operations, use one hundred reams of paper daily, at
six dollars per ream, and make about ten volumes a minute or six thousand
a day. On a former occasion I stated to you the agency which Franklin had
in bringing forward stereotype plates, as projected by Dr. Colden, in this
city, in 1779, and the fact that the art was communicated to Didot in
Paris, by Franklin himself. I well remember the anxious John Watts, when
he showed me his first undertaking in this branch of labor in New-York,
just forty years ago. It was a copy of the Larger Catechism, the one I now
hold in my hand. Notwithstanding the doubts of many, he felt confident of
its ultimate success, yet suffered by hope deferred. What is now the state
of the business in the matter of stereotyping? The Harpers alone--a single
firm--have within their vaults plates for more than two thousand volumes.

Need I dwell on the improved appliances in the great art, which enrich the
present day, or on the influences now at work on the intellectual man?
Justly has it been stated, that the press of a single office in this city
issues more matter than the industry of the world, with all its scribes
and illuminators, in an entire year, previous the time of Faust. Let us,
then, reverence the press, as our Franklin did. Let us cherish its
freedom, as the triumph of our fathers, if we love the name of patriot.
Let us teach our children to acknowledge it the palladium of our altars
and our firesides. Let us recognize it as the Great Instructor, knocking
at every door, and rendering every hovel, as well as every palace, a
school-house.

Nor is it solely on the score of quantity, that we are to contemplate the
measures now in force for the disciplining of intellect, and the rearing
the moral edifice of the nation. I have already remarked on the superior
ability of the press of our days in comparison with that of the period
through which some of us have lived. The same energy which has swelled its
dimensions, has increased the excellence of its material. Libraries so
abound, knowledge is so diffused, that individuals qualified by scholastic
powers, can be called in requisition for the duties of every department a
successful journal demands. There is moreover a happier recognition of
intellectual merit; reward is higher and more certain; and there exists
throughout the community a noble estimation of productive intellect.
Instead of a scattered recruit here and there in the ranks of literature,
we have armies at command, of well-disciplined men; and the belief is not
altogether idle that, in due season, of these armies there will be
legions. Lovesick tales and Della Cruscan poetry, have yielded to stately
essays on the business of life, in philosophy and in criticism, while the
native muse has often stronger claims to our homage than the verses Dr.
Johnson has embalmed, and that have made the fame of ancient bards. We no
longer gaze at the author as a drone in the hive of industry.

Our youth are taught that a true man may be found among the luxurious and
refined as well in the humble avocations of life. Ambitious of a national
literature, we honor those who have laid its foundations, in the persons
of an Irving, a Prescott, and a Bancroft, a Longfellow, and a Hawthorne.
We gratefully remember our historical obligations to Sparks. We feel the
dignity of the scholar when we summon to our aid the classical Everett.
Mourning with no feigned sorrow the demise of that true son of our soil,
the lamented Cooper, we rejoice that a Bryant and a Halleck, a Verplanck
and a Paulding, are still left with us. Warm in our feelings, and made
happier by the relations of intercourse, we extend the cordial hand to
Tuckerman, our classical essayist and poet; to Willis, for his felicitous
comments on passing events; to Griswold, for his admirable works in
criticism and biography; to Dr. Mayo, for his _Kaloolah_; to Stoddard, for
his exquisite poems; to the generous Bethune, the orator and bard; to
Morris, for his _Melodies_; to Kimball, for his _St. Leger Papers_; to
Clark, for his _Knickerbocker_; to Melville, for _Typee_; to Ik. Marvell,
for his _Reveries_; to Ripley, for his fine reviews; to Bigelow, for his
book on _Jamaica_; to Bayard Taylor, for his _Views A-Foot_; to Greeley,
for his _Crystal Palace_ labors; and to Duyckinck, the son of our old
friend, the bookseller, for his _Literary World_. In the name of the
Republic, we give our heartiest thanks to our intimate friend, the learned
Dr. Cogswell, as we look at the spacious walls of the Astor Library.

The very great length to which I have unconsciously extended these
reminiscences, forbids me from dwelling, as my heart and your wishes
dictate, upon the most glorious name in American Printing, the immortal
Franklin's. His character and deeds, however, are familiar to you all; and
the language of eulogy is needless in regard to one whose fame increases
with time, and whose transcendent merits, the constant development of that
element he brought under human dominion render daily more evident and
memorable. It is related, gentlemen, that when the statues of the Roman
Emperors were carried in a triumphal procession, one was omitted, and the
name of that one was shouted with more zeal than all the others inspired.
So I know it to be with us to-night. The memory of Franklin is too ripe in
our hearts to require words; it is a spell that sheds eternal glory on the
typographical art; it is the best encouragement of youthful energy; it is
revealed in every telegraphic despatch; it hallows the name of our country
to the civilized world.

NOCTES AMICAE.

Of tipsy drollery, a correspondent of the _Evening Post_ (Mr. Bryant
himself, we have no doubt), writes: "It is esteemed a mark of a vulgar
mind, to divert one's self at the expense of a drunken man; yet we allow
ourselves to be amused with representations of drunkenness on the stage
and in comic narratives. Nobody is ashamed to laugh at Cassio in the play
of Othello, when he has put an enemy into his mouth to steal away his
brains. The personation which the elder Wallack used to give us some years
ago, of Dick Dashall, very drunk, but very gentlemanly, was one of the
most irresistibly comic things ever known. I have a mind to give you a
translation of a German ballad on a tipsy man, which has been set to
music, and is often sung in Germany; it is rather droll in the original,
and perhaps it has not lost all of its humor in being _overset_, as they
call it, into English. Here it is:"

OUT OF THE TAVERN, ETC.

Out of the tavern I've just stepped to-night
Street! you are caught in a very bad plight.
Right hand and left hand are both out of place;
Street, you are drunk, 'tis a very clear case.

Moon, 'tis a very queer figure you cut;
One eye is staring while t'other is shut.
Tipsy, I see; and you're greatly to blame;
Old as you are 'tis a terrible shame.

Then the street lamps, what a scandalous sight!
None of them soberly standing upright.
Rocking and staggering; why, on my word,
Each of the lamps is drunk as a lord.

All is confusion; now isn't it odd?
I am the only thing sober abroad.
Sure it were rash with this crew to remain,
Better go into the tavern again.

This is parodied or stolen by the clever author of the _Bon Gaultier
Ballads_, in one of his best pieces.

The famous Quaker _Anthony Benezet_, was accustomed to feed the rats in
the area before his house in Philadelphia. An old friend who found him so
engaged, expressed some surprise that he so kindly treated such pernicious
vermin, saying, "They should rather be killed and out of the way." "Nay,"
said good Anthony, "I will not treat them so; thou wouldst make them
thieves by maltreating and starving them, but I make them honest by
feeding them, for being so fed, they never prey upon any goods of mine."
This singular fact is very characteristic. When feeding rats, the
benevolent philosopher used to stand in the area, and they would gather
round his feet like chickens. One of the family once hung a collar about
one of them, which was seen for years after, feeding in the group.

DES CARTES fought at the siege of Rochelle, and after a variety of
adventures, established himself in Holland, where he composed most of his
works. These abound in singular theories and curious speculations, and
their spirit of independence aroused the same spirit wherever they were
read. Scholars and theologians vied with each other in battling the new
opinions. The followers of Aristotle and the followers of Locke arrayed
themselves against him. His novelties even drew the attention of women
from their fashions. "The ladies of quality here, of late," says a writer
from Paris, in 1642, "addict themselves to the study of philosophy, as the
men; the ladies esteeming their education defective, if they cannot
confute Aristotle and his disciples. The pen has almost supplanted the
exercise of the needle; and ladies' closets, formerly the shops of female
baubles, toys, and vanities, are now turned to libraries and sanctuaries
of learned works. There is a new star risen in the French horizon, whose
influence excites the nobler females to this pursuit of human science. It
is the renowned Monsieur Des Cartes, whose lustre far outshines the aged
winking tapers of Peripatetic Philosophy, and has eclipsed the stagyrite,
with all the ancient lights of Greece and Rome. 'Tis this matchless soul
has drawn so many of the fairer sex to the schools. And they are more
proud of the title--Cartesian--and of the capacity to defend his principles,
than of their noble birth and blood."

We find in _The Courts of Europe at the Close of the last Century_, by
Henry Swinburne, the following illustration of American manners:

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