A mellow2 atmosphere hangs over the literary annals of New York early in the last century. We think of young Irving wandering past the stoops of quaint3 gabled houses, where the last representatives of the old Dutch burghers puffed4 their long clay pipes; or taking country walks within view of the broad Tappan Zee and the summer-flushed Catskills, halting whenever he could get a good wife to favor him with her version of the legends of the countryside. We think of that brilliant rainbow which Halleck stopped to admire one summer evening in front of a coffee-house near Columbia College, exclaiming: “If I could have my wish, it should be to lie in the lap of that rainbow and read Tom Campbell”; of Paulding, Henry Brevoort, and others of the “nine worthies6” holding high revel7 in “Cockloft Hall” on the outskirts8 of Newark; and of Drake, the handsomest young man in town, like Keats studying medicine and poetry, and like Keats dying of consumption. We think of how the young men of the city were less interested in the news of Jena and Trafalgar than that Moore and Jeffrey had been arrested for fighting a duel9, that Mr. Campbell had improved the leisure given him by a government pension by writing “Gertrude of Wyoming,” and that “The Lay of the Last Minstrel” was the work of a Scotch10 border sheriff.
97 When the first Evening Post was laid on six hundred doorsteps and counters, New York was almost ready to assert her temporary primacy in literature. Irving was studying law downtown in the office of Brockholst Livingston; Paulding, four and a half years older, was living with his sister, Mrs. William Irving; Cooper was at school with an Englishman in Albany; Halleck was a child of eleven playing about the Guilford Green. Bryant at Cummington had not yet begun his juvenile11 scribblings, but would soon do so. Charles Brockden Brown had just returned to the city from a summer excursion, and was watching the sale of the second part of “Arthur Mervyn.” Coleman sometimes met him at the homes of John Wells and Anthony Bleecker. The few Americans who paid any attention to letters had till now kept their gaze chiefly upon New England and Philadelphia. Dwight, the president of Yale, had just finished revising Watts’s Psalms12, Joel Barlow, after shining abroad as a diplomat13 and making a fortune in speculation14, was living in state in Paris, and Trumbull, another of the Hartford Wits, had just become a Connecticut judge. Nothing better than the unreadable “Columbiad” of Barlow and Dwight’s “Travels” was now to be expected from this trio. But in New York by 1805, though there was as yet little pure literature, there was an intellectual and semi-literary atmosphere. In addition to the young Knickerbockers, mention should be made of Tom Paine, dividing his last days, in debt, dirt, and dissipation, between New York and New Rochelle; and Philip Freneau, who frequently came over from his New Jersey15 seat.
Washington Irving made his first appearance in the Morning Chronicle, his brother’s journal, where at nineteen he published his “Jonathan Oldstyle” papers. Nearly five years later he, his brother William, and his brother-in-law, Paulding, collaborated16 upon the “Salmagundi Papers,” issued in leaflet form “upon hot-pressed vellum paper, as that is held in highest estimation for buckling18 up young ladies’ hair.” The twenty numbers, full of whimsy19, mock seriousness, and light satire20, delighted98 Coleman not as literature but as journalism21. He saw that his long editorials attacking Jefferson’s measures for coast defense22 were flimsy weapons compared with the humorous “Plans for Defending Our Harbor,” which he copied in full, saying that it “hits off admirably some of the late philosophical23, economical plans which our philosophical, economical administration seems to be intent on our adopting.” The Evening Post termed the whole series “the pleasant observations of one who is a legitimate24 descendant of Rabelais, and a true member of the Butler, Swift, and Sterne family.” Irving perhaps recalled this praise when the time came to announce his next work.
The clever expedient26 by which announcement and advertisement were joined is familiar to all readers of the “Knickerbocker History of New York.” Irving handed to Coleman for publication in the Evening Post of Oct. 26, 1809, the following notice:
Left his lodgings28 some time since, and has not since been heard of, a small elderly gentleman, dressed in an old black coat and cocked hat, by the name of Knickerbocker. As there are some reasons for believing he is not entirely29 in his right mind, and as great anxiety is entertained about him, any information concerning him, left either at the Columbian Hotel, Mulberry Street, or at the office of this paper, will be thankfully received.
P. S. Printers of newspapers would be aiding the cause of humanity in giving an insertion to the above.
Such notices were then not infrequent. An authentic30 account has been preserved of how, some years later, the Evening Post saved the life of a Vermonter named Stephen Bourne by publishing an appeal for information regarding the whereabouts of an eccentric fellow named Colvin, who had disappeared and of whose murder Bourne had just been convicted upon circumstantial evidence. This appeal was read aloud in one of the New York hotels. It occurred to one of the guests that his brother-in-law in New Jersey had a hired man whose description99 answered to that given of Colvin; identification followed; and Bourne was released to fire a cannon31 at a general celebration of his deliverance. The news of Knickerbocker’s disappearance32 caused much concern, and a city officer took under advisement the propriety33 of offering a reward.
Within a fortnight a letter was published in the Evening Post which described the appearance of Knickerbocker trudging34 weariedly north from Kingsbridge. Two days later appeared in the Post an announcement by Seth Handaside, proprietor35 of the Columbian Hotel, that “a very curious kind of a written book” had been found in the room of Mr. Diedrich Knickerbocker, and that if he did not return to pay his bill, it would be disposed of to satisfy the charges. A preliminary advertisement of the two volumes of the Knickerbocker “History” was printed in the Evening Post of Nov. 28, by Innskeep and Bradford, with the price—$3.
Because the Evening Post circulated among the most intelligent people of the city, and because it had never forgotten that one object stated in its prospectus36 was “to cultivate a taste for sound literature,” it was chosen by Drake and Halleck as the medium for the most famous series of satirical poems, the “Biglow Papers” excepted, in American literature.
Year in and year out, the Evening Post kept a space at the head of its news columns open for the best verse it could obtain. Just a month after it was established it plumed38 itself upon the publication of an original poem by the coarse but lively English satirist39, “Peter Pindar” (Dr. John Wolcot), with whom Coleman corresponded. Wolcot is best remembered for verses ridiculing40 George III, and for his witticism41 that though George was a good subject for him, he was a poor subject to George. His contribution for Coleman, however, was not satiric37, but a jejune42 three-stanza “Ode to the Lark43.” In 1803 the editor obtained a poem from the banker-poet Samuel Rogers, then regarded as a luminary44 of the first magnitude. A year later he had the distinction of receiving100 from the august hand of Thomas Moore himself, who was on a tour through America, a manuscript poem, which was published in the Evening Post of July 9 without a title, and may be found in Moore’s works under the heading, “Lines Written on Leaving Philadelphia.” Unfortunately, Coleman had to accompany the publication with an apology; for though Moore had requested that the verses, which express his gratitude45 for his reception in Philadelphia, be withheld46 until Joseph Dennie could print them in his Portfolio47 there, Coleman had indiscreetly lent a copy to friends, and they had become such public property that there was no reason for keeping them longer out of the Post.
Much verse was also clipped from English periodicals and new English books, and it is creditable to Coleman’s taste that Wolfe’s “Burial of Sir John Moore” and Byron’s stanzas48 on Waterloo were reprinted immediately after their first publication. He received vast quantities of indifferent American verse, signed with assumed names—“Mercutio,” “Sedley,” “Puck,” and “Paridel”—together with some respectable nature poetry by “Matthew Bramble.” In 1820–21 there were contributions from John Pierpont, the author of “Airs of Palestine,” and Samuel Woodworth and George P. Morris, two minor49 Knickerbockers whose names are kept alive by “The Old Oaken Bucket” and “Woodman, Spare That Tree.” We may be sure that keen young men like Halleck and Drake kept their eyes upon this poetical51 corner of the Evening Post, and indeed, Halleck appeared in it as early as the fall of 1818. He had come to town seven years previous, had taken a place in the counting room of Jacob Barker, a leading banker and merchant, had become intimate with Drake and attended his wedding, and had written many and published one or two songs. He frequently revisited his boyhood home at Guilford, Conn., and during a passage up the Sound one fine autumn evening he mentally composed the stanzas entitled “Twilight.” Immediately upon his return to New York he sent the verses anonymously53 to the Evening Post; and101 though Coleman was exceedingly fastidious in his literary tastes, he gave the lines to the printer after a single reading. This was one of the first two poems which Halleck placed in his collected writings.
On a crisp March evening the next year readers who opened the Evening Post at their tea-table saw in a prominent position among the few news items the following acknowledgement:
Lines addressed to “Ennui55” by “Croaker” are received, and shall have a place tomorrow. They are the production of genius and taste. A personal acquaintance with the author would be gratifying to the editor.
The next day, March 10, the position of honor was given up to the poem. “We have received two more poetic50 crackers56 of merit from our unknown correspondent, ‘Croaker,’” wrote Coleman, “which shall appear, all in good time. But we must husband them. His promise to furnish us with a few more similar trifles, though he tells us we must expect an occasional touch at ourselves or party, is received with a welcome and a smile.” And on March 11, Croaker’s lines, “On Presenting the Freedom of the City to a Great General”—Jackson had just received that honor—were accompanied with another appeal:
Is it not possible that we can have a personal and confidential57 interview with our friend “Croaker,” at some time and place he will name? If he declines, will he inform me how he may be addressed by letter? In the meantime, whatever may happen (he, at least, will, before long, understand me), I expect from him discretion58.
Succeeding issues showed that the connection between Croaker and the Evening Post had become fixed59 and that the city was in for whole series of skits60 on men, manners, and events. On March 12 was printed the poem called “The Secret Mine Sprung at a Late Supper,” dealing63 with a recent political episode; next day it was followed by verses, “To Mr. Potter, the Ventriloquist,” then a102 popular performer; on the 15th there appeared “To Mr. Simpson,” addressed to the manager of the city’s chief theater; and on the 16th two poems were printed at once.
Most of the Knickerbocker art was imitative, and the Croaker poems were in a vein64 which had been much exploited in England. “Peter Pindar,” George Colman the younger, whose humorous poems entitled “Broad Grins” had run through edition after edition, Tom Moore, and those kings of parody65, Horatio and James Smith, were the models whom Croaker and Co. consciously or unconsciously followed. The moment was a happy one for such bold and witty66 thrusts. Had they appeared when party feeling was running high before or during the war, they would have given mortal offense67; but the tolerance68 accompanying the political era of good feeling robbed them of any sting. From Coleman’s efforts to arrange an interview with the authors, we may surmise69 that he feared some other editor would share the prize, and that he had suggestions for further squibs. His literary discernment was never better evinced than by his enthusiastic reception of the first Croaker contribution. A dull editor would have passed over the lines to ennui—which were only a facile expression of weariness with the new books by Lady Morgan and Mordecai M. Noah, the Edinburgh Review, Gen. Jackson’s reception, Clinton’s political prospects70, and the Erie Canal plans—without perceiving their unusual qualities; a careless editor would have printed them without asking for more. Coleman saw the possibility of indefinitely extending the satires71.
William Coleman
Editor-in-Chief 1801–1829.
The origin of the poems had been purely72 casual. Halleck and Drake, the former now a prosperous and trusted aid of old Jacob Barker’s, the latter a full-fledged physician recently returned from Europe, happened in their romantic attachment73 to spend a leisurely74 Sunday morning with a mutual75 acquaintance. As a diversion, Drake wrote several stanzas upon ennui, and Halleck capped them. They decided76 to send them to Coleman, and, if he would not publish them, to Mordecai N. Noah,103 the Jewish journalist who had recently become editor of the Democratic National Advocate. Drake, returning to his home, also sent Coleman the two additional “crackers” which he acknowledged. The name “Croaker” then carried as distinct a meaning as would Dick Deadeye or Sherlock Holmes to-day, being that of the confirmed old grumbler77 in Goldsmith’s “Good-Natured Man.” Coleman’s request for a meeting was granted by the poets, who, as Halleck told his biographer, James Grant Wilson, one evening knocked at the editor’s door on Hudson Street:
They were ushered78 into the parlor79, the editor soon entered, the young poets expressed a desire for a few minutes’ strictly80 private conversation with him, and the door being closed and locked, Dr. Drake said—“I am Croaker, and this gentleman, sir, is Croaker, Jr.” Coleman stared at the young men with indescribable and unaffected astonishment,—at length exclaiming: “My God, I had no idea that we had such talents in America!” Halleck, with his characteristic modesty81, was disposed to give Drake all the credit; but as it chanced that Coleman alluded82 in particularly glowing terms to one of the Croakers that was wholly his, he was forced to be silent, and the delighted editor continued in a strain of compliment and eulogy83 that put them both to the blush. Before taking their leave, the poets bound Coleman over to the most profound secrecy84, and arranged a plan of sending him the MS., and of receiving the proofs, in a manner that would avoid the least possibility of the secret of their connection with the Evening Post being discovered. The poems were copied from the originals by Langstaff [an apothecary85 friend], that their handwriting should not divulge86 the secret, and were either sent through the mails, or taken to the Evening Post office by Benjamin R. Winthrop.
The poems now followed in quick succession. On March 17 there was a sly skit61 upon the surgeon-general, Samuel Mitchill, the best-known—and most self-important—physician and scientist in the city, and a man noted87 in the history of Columbia College; the next day an address to John Minshull, a prominent merchant; on March 19 a poem of general theme, “The Man Who Frets”; on104 March 20 and 25, verses upon Manager Simpson of the Park Theater again; and on March 23 lines “To John Lang, Esq.,” the sturdy old editor of the Gazette. An apostrophe “To Domestic Peace” and “A Lament88 for Great Ones Departed” also appeared in March, as did two complimentary89 epistles in verse to the authors, selected by Coleman from “the multitude of imitators that the popularity of Croaker has produced.” One writer spoke90 of Croaker and Co. as “the wits of the day and the pride of the age,” while the other credited them with making “all Gotham at thy dashes stare.” There was a pause early in April while Drake was out of town, and Coleman confessed that “on account of the public, we begin to be a little impatient.” But the series recommenced on April 8, and by May 1, when a poem to William Cobbett, the eminent91 English journalist, then sojourning on Long Island, appeared, twenty-one had been printed. One Croaker contribution had meanwhile come out in Noah’s National Advocate. After another pause, on May 29 the Evening Post published the gem54 of the whole collection, Drake’s “The American Flag,” with the final quatrain written by Halleck. Coleman prefaced this famous patriotic92 lyric93 with the remark that it was one of those poems which, as Sir Philip Sidney said of the old ballad94 of Chevy Chase, stir the heart like a trumpet95. It might more truly be said that, with its blare of sound and pomp of imagery, it stirs the bearer like a full brass96 band. Probably not even Coleman realized how many generations of schoolboys would declaim:
When freedom from her mountain height,
Unfurled her standard to the air,
And set the stars of glory there!
The success of the “Salmagundi Papers” did not compare in immediacy or extent with that of the Croaker poems. Copies of the Evening Post, which now had 2,000 subscribers, passed from hand to hand. In homes, bookstores, coffee-houses, taverns99, and on the street corners105 every one, as Halleck wrote his sister on April 1, was soon discussing the skits. “We have had the pleasure of seeing and of hearing ourselves praised, puffed, eulogized, execrated100, and threatened as much as any writers since the days of Junius,” he informed her. “The whole town has talked of nothing else for three weeks past, and every newspaper has done us the honor to mention us in some way, either of praise or censure101, but all united in owning our talents and genius.” The two young men, unused to seeing themselves in print, were tremendously elated. Once upon receiving a proof of some stanzas from the Evening Post, Drake laid his cheek down upon the lines and, with beaming eyes, exclaimed to his fellow-poet: “O, Halleck, isn’t this happiness!” Most of the Croaker series, which was virtually concluded in June, though two poems now generally bracketed with them appeared in 1821, were too much the product of joint102 labor17 to be assigned to one writer or the other; the theme suggested itself, and both would elaborate it.
The newspapers received dozens of replies or imitations, Coleman once showing Halleck a sheaf of fifteen that had come in during a single morning. In spite of their local subjects, many of the poems were reprinted all over the North, and as far south as Washington. Woodworth, who himself wrote not a little on New York affairs, successfully begged a contribution from Halleck for his magazine. It may be mentioned that Coleman took some liberties with the series. To one he prefixed a humorous letter, in another he inserted a couplet, and in a third he altered the overworked name Chloe to Julia.
To modern readers the allusions103 to persons and events have lost their wit, and the historical interest they have gained is only partial compensation. We find little humor in the contretemps which occurred when Gen. Jackson, entertained by the city leaders, and already a Presidential possibility, threw the dinner into confusion by toasting De Witt Clinton, who as a former Federalist was heartily104 hated by many New York Democrats105. Hence those106 numbers seem the freshest which are most general in theme. The “Ode to Fortune” is better than the lines “To Simon,” who was caterer106 at fashionable balls and weddings. “The Man Who Frets” is more interesting than “To Capt. Seaman107 Weeks,” who was leading an independent political movement against Tammany. Only here and there are jests that we still appreciate, as the advice to the theatrical108 manager to discharge his comedians109 and hire the side-splitting legislators at Albany, and satire still comprehensible, as the verses upon Trumbull’s florid Revolutionary paintings, which now hang in the national Capitol:
Go on, great painter! dare be dull——
Call rectilinear beautiful;
Find grace and freedom in an angle;
Pour on the red, the green, the yellow,
But the skits are almost a catalogue of the worthies of the town. The prominent merchants were represented by such names as Henry Cruger, Nathaniel Prime, John K. Beekman, and John Jacob Astor. The politicians—Henry Meigs, who voted for admitting Missouri, Clinton, Morgan Lewis, Rufus King, and others—had more attention than any other group. Croaker had much fun at the expense of the chief hotel-keepers: Abraham Martling, owner of the Tammany Hall Hotel, and a political figure of importance, William Niblo, whose restaurant at William and Pine Streets was popular, and Cato Alexander, to whose tavern98 on the postroad four miles out all the young bucks113 made summer excursions. The stage folk received generous space, among them James W. Wallack and Miss Catherine Lesugg, later Mrs. James Hackett, whose family names were to figure so prominently in American theatrical history. Fifty years later James Hackett himself contributed to the Evening Post an107 interesting chapter of reminiscences of Halleck, recalling how they had first become friends when they were both admirers of the blooming Miss Lesugg, then fresh from England, and how they maintained the friendship till Halleck’s death. Even the editors—Coleman, Lang, Woodworth, “whose Chronicle died broken-hearted,” and Spooner of Brooklyn—were not spared by Croaker.
Newspapers, however, usually establish a literary reputation not by original poetry, but by literary criticism, and we may well stop to examine the Evening Post’s record in this field. It was slightly handicapped by the fact that between 1801 and the appearance of “The Spy” in 1821 there was virtually nothing worth criticizing. Charles Brockden Brown had finished his career as a novelist before the Evening Post was fairly launched. Irving was silent after his publication of the Knickerbocker “History” until the first part of “The Sketch114-Book” appeared in 1819. In verse almost nothing but that marvelous piece of boyish inspiration, “Thanatopsis,” is now remembered. Patriotic Americans of the day, like Coleman, made a painful effort to believe that Allston’s “Sylphs of the Seasons,” Paine’s “Juvenile Poems,” Mrs. Sigourney’s “Moral Pieces,” and Pierpont’s “Airs of Palestine” were very nearly as good as the literature coming from the pens of Byron, Coleridge, Scott, Wordsworth, Keats, and Shelley; but the pretense115 was a ghastly mockery.
Most of the early book notices in the Evening Post were of two useful kinds: they were either an examination of political pamphlets for party ends, or a gutting116 of new books of travel, biography, and history for their news value. From the very commencement of the journal, many columns of matter were furnished by the various pamphlets called forth117 by Vice-President Burr’s attempted suppression of John Wood’s “History of the Administration of John Adams”; for this internecine118 warfare119 among Democrats delighted all Federalists. In the first days of 1803 pamphlets upon the annexation120 of Louisiana began to demand selection and comment. Then came pamphlets108 upon the embargo121, non-intercourse, impressment, and the conduct of the British minister, Jackson. The original publication of the very effective pamphlet by a “New England Farmer” upon “Mr. Madison’s War” was in installments122 in the Evening Post during the summer of 1812. Gouverneur Morris inspired the newspaper’s careful attention to the Erie Canal question; one evidence of its interest in the subject was a series of articles in the spring of 1807, reviewing the writings of “Agricola” upon it.
The books which were gutted123 were sometimes exceedingly interesting. Thus in 1816 Coleman published copious124 extracts from James Simpson’s “Visit to Flanders,” a vivid account of Waterloo and other battlefields as they appeared the month after Napoleon’s defeat. In 1817 much was made of Cadwallader Colden’s “Life of Fulton,” and two years later of M. M. Noah’s entertaining “Travels in England, France, Spain, and the Barbary States.” The extracts from O’Meara’s memoirs125 of Napoleon, printed in 1822, led Coleman into an attack upon Napoleon’s jailer at St. Helena, Sir Hudson Lowe; and when Col. Wm. L. Stone of the Commercial Advertiser came to Lowe’s defense, an animated126 controversy127 followed.
It was part of Coleman’s editorial creed128 to beat the big drum for American letters. Most of the Knickerbocker writers were themselves really provincial129 in literary matters, keeping always a nervous and envious130 eye upon England; for it was the period when, as Lowell puts it, we thought Englishmen’s thought, and with English salt on her tail our wild eagle was caught. This provincialism frequently expressed itself in an insistence131 that America was, not America, but a bigger England, and that the Hudson was not the Hudson, but a nobler Thames. Coleman thought it his duty to encourage native literature, and the amount of fifth-rate verse that was given patriotic praise in the Evening Post is dismaying.
The ode of Robert Treat Paine, jr., “Rule New England,” was commended with a warmth that owed something109 to Coleman’s intimacy132 with the elder Paine. Personal considerations also had their share in the flattering notice of Winthrop Sargent’s “Boston” the next year. Coleman was one of the few who has ever closed Peter Quince’s “Parnassian Shop” “with impressions favorable to the young author.” In 1805 he was struck by the “Democracy Unveiled” of Thomas Green Fessenden, a poetaster who had got some notice by writing a successful book while imprisoned133 for debt in Fleet Street, London. Francis Arden received favorable mention for a translation of Ovid, while another very minor bard134, Richard B. Davis, who before his premature135 death had been a friend of Irving and Paulding, was generously praised in 1807. The Post published a review of Pierpont’s “Airs of Palestine” by Henry Brevoort, Irving’s bosom136 friend, and pronounced it indispensable to any American library. It thought Halleck’s amusing satire on a New York merchant family in society, “Fanny,” a better poem than Byron’s “Beppo,” whose verse it imitated. Byron’s popularity at this time was such that when his “Mazeppa” was published in England, a copy was hurried to Philadelphia by the fast ship Helen, was placed in the printer’s hands at 2 p. m., and twenty-two hours later the volumes were issuing from the press complete and being rushed to the bookstores.
But there were a few books that live. After Brockden Brown’s death in 1810, we find repeated mention of him, “amiable and beloved by all his acquaintances,” by Coleman. “Wieland” the editor thought worthy137 of his powers; and he remarked of “Ormond” that the reason why it was formal and uninteresting was, as he personally knew, that it was “written by stinted138 tasks of so many pages a day, and sent to the printer without correction or revision, or even reading over, till it came back to him in proof.” One of Coleman’s last contributions to the Evening Post was a short notice of a new set of Brown. He singled out for remark the fact that the novelist seldom troubled to give minute descriptions of sensible objects. “These he generally dispatches with a few brief and bold110 touches, and bends his whole strength to the speculative139 parts of the work, to follow out trains of reflection and the analysis of feelings.” In 1806 the Evening Post carried a half dozen articles upon Noah Webster’s new octavo dictionary of the English language, condemning140 it as to definitions, orthography141, and orthoepy, and quarreling violently with some of Webster’s grammatical and etymological142 opinions. The reviewer accused Webster of grossly misrepresenting the views of the English lexicographer143 Walker. Webster replied in two long and forcible articles, compelling the reviewer to admit some mistakes.
Irving’s career was closely followed by the Post. It defended his Knickerbocker “History” against the embattled Dutch families, led by Gulian C. Verplanck, who charged that he had defamed them. When the first part of “The Sketch Book” appeared, a prompt review was contributed by “a literary friend,” probably Brevoort or Paulding. Warmly eulogistic144, it is still discriminating145. It commended Irving for his “grace of style; the rich, warm tone of benevolent146 feeling; the freely-flowing vein of hearty147 and happy humor, and the fine-eyed spirit of observation, sustained by an enlightened understanding, and regulated by a perception or fitness—a tact—wonderfully quick and sure.” It declared “Rip Van Winkle” the masterpiece of the collection. “For that comic spirit which is without any infusion148 of gall149, which delights in what is ludicrous rather than what is ridiculous (for its laughter is not mixed with contempt), which seeks its gratification in the eccentricities150 of a simple, unrefined state of society, rather than in the vicious follies151 of artificial life; for the vividness and truth, with which Rip’s character is drawn152, and the state of society in the village where he lived, is depicted153; and for the graceful154 ease with which it is told, the story of Rip Van Winkle has few competitors.” Unfortunately, Coleman added a footnote in which he stated his personal opinion that “Rip Van Winkle” lacked probability, and that the poetical tale of “The Wife” was superior.
Six weeks later the second part of “The Sketch Book”111 was reviewed with equal taste by apparently155 the same hand—that of some one who knew how hard Irving was hit by the death of his fiancée, and his circumstances abroad. At the beginning of 1823 Coleman himself wrote two long articles in praise of the new “Bracebridge Hall,” declaring that he had undertaken the task of rescuing it “from the rude and ill-natured treatment of some of our American critics”; the Literary Repository and two newspapers of Philadelphia and Baltimore having assailed156 it. One reason for its ill-natured reception, he thought, was the high charge made for the American edition, and another the kindly157 view it took of British life and manners. He showed no little acquaintance with Irving’s personal affairs, and probably had seen some of his letters home. One epistle, written late in 1819, and telling of the essayist’s acquaintanceships in London, had been copied out by Mrs. Hoffman, mother of Irving’s dead sweetheart, for the Evening Post.
Those were the days in which Sydney Smith’s taunt158, “Who reads an American book?” struck home. In 1820 Coleman recorded with pride that the rage for new publications was so great that “not a day passes but the press is delivered of two or more”; though he referred to magazines as well as books. On Sept. 4, 1823, he boasted that such value was becoming attached to American literature in Great Britain that its republication was profitable. A Scotch publisher had begun issuing selections from Irving, Brooks159, Percival, and others in a miscellany circulated from Edinburgh. “Our sun has certainly arisen, and one day, we predict, it will beam as bright as it does, or ever did, in the Old World; and the Americans who may arise in future ages will not have to blush on hearing their classics named with the greatest of antiquity160.”
More space was consistently given by the Evening Post to reviews of plays than to book notices. In fact, the keen interest of New Yorkers in the theater had produced very competent dramatic criticism before the newspaper was founded. William Dunlap, the famous manager-playwright112 of the time, tells us that in 1796 there was organized in the city a little group of critics, including Dr. Peter Irving, Charles Adams, son of John Adams, Samuel Jones, William Cutting, and John Wells, the law-partner of Coleman. They would take turns writing a criticism of the evening’s play, and meet next day to discuss and revise it before handing it to one of the newspapers. Their meetings had ended before 1801, but after the Evening Post began publication several of the group, and especially Wells, wrote much for the new journal.
The theater was the more prominent in Old New York because the variety of public entertainments in and just after 1803 was small. Those with a literary turn of mind might drop in at the Shakespeare Gallery on Park Street, which afforded a “belles lettres lounge”—that is, a table laden161 with newspapers and magazines of the day, and soft seats in a well-lighted room, for $1.50 a year. Those with scientific tastes could go to the Museum on Broadway, with its curiosities ranging from mastodon bones to a representation of Gen. Butler being tomahawked by the Osages, and another of Mrs. Rawlings and her six infants at a birth. There was a thin stream of entertainers—magicians, who were approved because their illusions taught the young to beware of wily rogues162; ventriloquists, balloonists, rare at first and objects of supreme163 interest, exhibitors of lions and tapirs, and novelties like the Eskimo whom a sea captain brought to town and who gave aquatic164 exhibitions on the Hudson. In summer the public had several open-air amusement places. One named Vauxhall was situated165 near the top of the Bowery, offering music, fireworks, and refreshments166. Another was the Columbian Gardens, and the most ambitious was the Mt. Vernon Gardens. In winter, one of the chief fashionable events was the annual concert of the Philharmonic Society, held impressively at Tontine Hall on Broadway, and consisting half of instrumental music, half of vocal167 solos from now forgotten operas like the “Siege of Belgrade.” About New Year’s began the select113 dances of the City Assembly, in the assembly rooms in William Street. Here young ladies made their début, the finest gowns were exhibited, and the bucks showed a skill acquired at the dancing school of M. Lalliet.
This list of amusements comes near being exhaustive, and the Park Theater was always the center of attraction. The building, fronting on Park Row, had been completed in 1798 at a cost placed by the Evening Post—no doubt an overestimate—at $130,500. The charge was $1 for box seats, of which there were at first three full circle tiers, and after 1807 four; 75 cents to the pit, and 50 cents to the gallery. Early in the century performances began at 6:30, and at 9:30; the first play was usually followed by a farcical after-piece. Washington Irving as a lad used to pretend to go to bed after prayers, descend25 to the ground by way of the roof of a woodshed, and slip away to see this final performance. The Evening Post gives us a good deal of information about the management of the theater, which was under Dunlap until 1808, and then under Cooper and Price. In its first issue Dunlap appealed to his patrons against the dangerous practice of “smoaking,” saying that the use of cigars was a constant topic for ridicule168 by European travelers. From Coleman’s later comments we learn that no woman would for a moment have thought of sitting anywhere but in the boxes, and that no gentleman would have shared the gallery with the rough crowd that filled it. Even the pit, with its dirty, broken floor, its backless benches, and its incursions of rats from crannies under the stage, would now be considered hardly tolerable. About the entrance there always clustered a set of idle boys and disorderly adults who, when spectators left during an intermission or before the after-piece, set up a clamor for the return checks. Efforts to stop the gift or sale of these checks were in general futile169. The interior was renovated170 in 1807, enlargements were made to give a total of 2,372 seats, patent lamps were installed, and a room above the lobby was fitted up as a bar and114 restaurant. Still further improvements were made in 1809.
The independent and severe criticisms of the acting171 which appeared in the Evening Post, and to a lesser172 extent in Irving’s Morning Chronicle, were not at first relished173 by theatrical folk. The names of the actors and actresses, Cooper, Fennell, Hallam, Turnbull, Mrs. Johnson, and so on are now all but forgotten. In Boston in 1802 dramatic criticism was written largely by performers themselves, who sat up till an early hour to insure proper newspaper notices, and in Charleston the same practice had been known. In all cities most actors held that no one was really competent to serve as a critic unless he was familiar with the performances at the two great London theaters. So irritated did the dramatic guild174 become that in January, 1802, there was produced at the theater a satire upon the Evening Post reviews, written by Fennell and called “The Wheel of Truth.” It was designed to show one Littlewit, a newspaper critic, in a ludicrous and foolish light. He was represented as finding fault with Stuart’s portrait of Washington because by the footrule the head was a half-inch too long, and with a certain book because for the same price he could buy one twice as heavy. Coleman answered this attack in five columns published in two issues, which was five columns more than it deserved. He, Wells, and Anthony Bleecker continued reviewing, and a contemporary writer records that he “aimed to settle all criticism by his individual verdict.”
Upon most of the plays there was little to say, for they were long familiar to readers and theater-goers. Shakespeare was given year in and year out, a full dozen of his dramas. Others of the Elizabethans, including Ben Jonson, Marlowe (“The Jew of Malta”), Massinger, Middleton, and Beaumont and Fletcher, were occasionally seen. Otway’s “Venice Preserved” was something of a favorite. The comedies of Sheridan, Goldsmith, and Fielding had regular representations. George Colman’s plays, especially “John Bull,” were highly popular, John Home’s “Douglas” was always sure of a house,115 and for the first two decades of the century Kotzebue was much played and admired; while many of Scott’s novels and poems were dramatized. The Evening Post said of the first performance of “Marmion,” in 1812, that it “presents a chef-d’?uvre of melodramatic excellence175.” In William Dunlap at first, and later in M. M. Noah, New York had its own rather crude dramatists. When the latter’s patriotic play, “She Would be a Soldier; or, The Plains of Chippewa,” was presented in 1819, Coleman spoke of it coldly, suggesting that the plot had been inspired by the French tale of “Lindor et Clara, ou la Fille Soldat,” and admitting only that “it is not deficient176 in interest.” But he applauded Noah’s “Siege of Tripoli” next year as deserving what it met, “a greater degree of success than we ever recollect177 to have attended an original piece on our stage.” Its vivacity178, its martial179 ardor180, its declamation181, he thought calculated to arouse a high and manly182 patriotism183. Nearly the whole of the criticisms, however, had to be given up not to plays, but to performers and interpretations184 of parts.
It was only toward the end of Coleman’s long editorship that the first brilliant chapter in the history of the New York stage began. The actor of greatest note before the War of 1812 was George Frederick Cooke, who was warmly applauded by the Evening Post in a run which began at the Park Theater in November, 1810, and who lies buried in St. Paul’s churchyard. It is interesting to note that during the war English stage-folk, for most of the actors and actresses of the day were English, continued to play before admiring audiences. An engagement which the manager had made with Philip Kemble was suspended; but the Evening Post announced in August, 1812, when fighting was general, that the well-known London actor Holman and his daughter had just sailed, and they had a successful New York engagement that autumn. The Evening Post in 1819 greatly admired the English singer and actor Phillipps, and Coleman’s praise helped to bring him $9,900 gross in six benefit nights. It had a warm word for Catherine Lesugg and116 for James W. Wallack, when they made their New York début in September, 1818. But the first great dramatic event at the Park Theater was the initial American appearance, on Nov. 29, 1820, of Edmund Kean in “Richard III.”
Kean was in his early thirties, and for a half dozen years, since his first triumphant185 season at Drury Lane in 1814, New York had been hearing of his magnificent powers. Coleman went to the theater that autumn night suspicious that most of his reputation had been acquired by stage trickery and appeals to the groundlings. He saw a man below the middle stature186, and heard a voice thin and grating in its upper tones. “But,” admitted the editor, “he had not finished his soliloquy before our prejudices gave way, and we saw the most complete actor, in our judgment187, that ever appeared on our boards.” The eyes were wonderfully expressive188 and commanding, and in its lower register the voice, said Coleman, “strikes with electric force upon the nerves, and at times chills the very blood.” He declared, in an enthusiasm which recalls Coleridge’s remark that seeing Kean play was like reading Shakespeare by lightning flashes:
We had been induced to suppose that it was only in the more important scenes that we should see Kean’s superiority, and that the lighter189 passages would, in theatrical phrase, be walked over. Far otherwise; he gave to what has heretofore seemed the most trivial, an interest and effect never by us imagined. The most striking point he made in the whole play (for we cannot notice the many minor beauties he exhibited) was his manner of waking and starting from his couch, with the cry of “Give me a horse—bind up my wounds! Have mercy, heaven! Ha, soft, ’twas but a dream.” ... This, with all that followed, was so admirable; bespeaking190 a soul, so harrowed up by remorse191, so loaded with his guilt192, as gave such an awful and impressive lesson to youth, that no one who witnessed it can ever forget it.
When Kean played in “The Merchant of Venice,” according to the Evening Post, the audience hung so breathless upon him that “when it was almost impossible to117 restrain loud bursts of delight, a kind of general ‘hush!’ was whispered from every part.” Many thought that his best r?le was Sir Giles Overreach, and an anonymous52 critic in the Evening Post said so. Coleman wrote that the effect he produced as King Lear was indescribable:
Strong emotions even to tears were excited in all parts of the house; nor were they confined to the female part of the audience. It could not be otherwise. Who could remain callous193 to the appearance of a feeble old monarch194, upwards195 of fourscore years, staggering under decrepitude196 and overwhelmed with misfortunes, attended with aberration197 of mind which ends in downright madness? Such a representation was given with perfect fidelity198 by Mr. Kean. His plaintive199 tones were heard from the bottom of a broken heart, and completed the picture of human woe200. Nature, writhing201 under the poignancy202 of her feeling, and finding no utterance203 in words or tears, found a vent62 at length for her indescribable sensations in a spontaneous, idiotic204 laugh. The impression made upon all who were present, will never be forgotten. His dreadful imprecations upon his daughters, his solemn appeals to heaven, struck the soul with awe205.
On the final night, Dec. 28, according to the report in the Evening Post, the theater rang with unprecedented206 plaudits, and at the close the audience rose by common impulse and cheered Kean three times three.
But when Kean returned to New York in 1825 he was greeted with a storm of mixed applause and anger—his first night was the night of the famous “Kean Riot.” In 1821 he had accepted a summer engagement in Boston, and on the third night, finding the theater almost empty because of the heat, refused to go on with the play, thereby207 giving great offense. Moreover, after his return to England, reports of his flagrant immorality208 reached America. When the Commercial Advertiser heard of his second tour, it denounced him as a shameless “scoundrel” and “libertine.” Coleman, however, was eager to defend him. The Park Theater opened on Kean’s first night, Nov. 14, at 5:30, and it was at once filled with a crowd of more than 2,000. Seven-eighths, according to the Evening Post, were eager to hear Kean, but about one hundred,118 many of them Bostonians, made up an organized opposition209. The moment the actor stepped forward, the groans210, hisses211, and shouts of “Off Kean!” mingled212 with the clapping and the cheers of his friends, were deafening213. The play proceeded amid a continued uproar214. Some few scenes in the fourth and fifth acts were heard, but the others, including all in which Kean appeared, were given in dumb show. The actor tried repeatedly to address the audience, but in vain. At one point he was struck in the chest by an orange. One interrupter was put out by the infuriated audience, and fights occurred in various parts of the pit, with damage to benches and furniture.
It would be pleasant to say that the Evening Post roundly denounced this disgraceful scene, but it rebuked215 it only mildly. Fortunately, the outrage216 was not repeated. Kean issued a mollifying address, the Bostonians went home, and a reaction ensued. As the Evening Post records, every one of his houses was filled to overflowing217, and when he took his benefit night on Feb. 25, 1826, upon leaving, his receipts were $1,800 clear.
Compared with that of Kean, the début of Junius Brutus Booth, made in “Richard III” on the night of Oct. 5, 1821, attracted little attention. He came to the city a perfect stranger, and slowly made his way. When Edwin Forrest appeared at the New York Theater, in the Bowery, in the autumn of 1826, the Evening Post pronounced this American-born actor as good as any but the very foremost Englishmen—“irresistibly imposing,” indeed. But the only engagement comparable with Kean’s was that of Macready, who made his bow on Oct. 3, 1826, as Virginius in the well-known tragedy of that name by Knowles. He was greeted so enthusiastically that he was disconcerted, and many thought him no better than their old favorite, Cooper. But on the second night, when he impersonated Macbeth, his genius was perceived. Coleman wrote that he had never seen the r?le embodied218 so consistently. “There was a unity219 in his conception of character, which made the development119 of Macbeth’s feelings and prompting motives220 ... perfectly221 intelligible222, from his first interview with the weird223 sisters to the final overthrow224 of all his hopes, and his desperate conflict with Macduff.”
The New York which Macready visited in 1826 was no longer a city of one playhouse, though when people spoke of “the theatre” they still always meant that on Park Row. The people could now support more than one star and one company at a time. Macready finished his October engagement on the 20th, and was immediately followed by Mr. and Mrs. James K. Hackett, in the first American performance of “The Comedy of Errors.” At the Chatham Theater, Junius Brutus Booth was playing Shakespeare; on the 25th he gave “Othello,” with James Wallack as Iago. Mrs. Gilbert at the New York Theater, a brand-new edifice225 in the Bowery, seating 3,000 spectators, was presenting “Much Ado About Nothing.” She was succeeded the next month by Forrest in a repertory of plays. The Evening Post that spring had surprised many by stating that the profits of the Chatham Theater the previous season had been $23,000, and the gross receipts $75,000. Of the former sum “The Lady of the Lake” alone, a play with musical numbers interspersed226, had yielded $10,000. The newspaper was delighted when the Hacketts received, on their three benefit nights in “The Comedy of Errors,” a total of $3,500. This was actually $1,100 more than the balloonist, Eugene Robertson, took one afternoon that month when he floated from Castle Garden to Elizabeth, N. J., in the presence of a crowd estimated at more than 40,000.
The day when the Evening Post should have a musical editor was as far distant as that when it should give to sports more than a semi-annual paragraph or two upon the races. But Coleman enthusiastically reviewed the first Italian opera offered in the city—a performance of Rossini’s “Barber of Seville” at the New York Theater on Nov. 29, 1825. The fashion of the town turned out to see this Italian troupe227, headed by Se?or Garcia, on every Tuesday and Saturday during the middle of the120 winter; paying $2 for box seats and $1 for the pit. “In what language shall we speak of an entertainment so novel in this country?” asked the editor:
All have obtained a general idea of the opera by report. But report can give but a faint idea of it. Until it is seen, it will never be believed that a play can be conducted in recitative or singing and yet appear nearly as natural as the ordinary drama. We were last night surprised, delighted, enchanted228; and such were the feelings of all who witnessed the performance. The repeated plaudits with which the theater rang were unequivocal, unaffected bursts of rapture229.
Would American taste approve of the opera? “We predict,” Coleman ventured, “that it will never hereafter dispense230 with it.”
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1
infancy
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| n.婴儿期；幼年期；初期 | |
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mellow
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| adj.柔和的；熟透的；v.变柔和；(使)成熟 | |
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3
quaint
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| adj.古雅的，离奇有趣的，奇怪的 | |
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4
puffed
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| adj.疏松的v.使喷出( puff的过去式和过去分词 )；喷着汽（或烟）移动；吹嘘；吹捧 | |
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5
mire
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| n.泥沼，泥泞；v.使...陷于泥泞，使...陷入困境 | |
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6
worthies
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| 应得某事物( worthy的名词复数 )； 值得做某事； 可尊敬的； 有（某人或事物）的典型特征 | |
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revel
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| vi.狂欢作乐，陶醉；n.作乐，狂欢 | |
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8
outskirts
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| n.郊外，郊区 | |
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9
duel
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| n./v.决斗；(双方的)斗争 | |
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10
scotch
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| n.伤口，刻痕；苏格兰威士忌酒；v.粉碎，消灭，阻止；adj.苏格兰(人)的 | |
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11
juvenile
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| n.青少年，少年读物；adj.青少年的，幼稚的 | |
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psalms
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| n.赞美诗( psalm的名词复数 )；圣诗；圣歌；(中的) | |
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13
diplomat
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| n.外交官，外交家；能交际的人，圆滑的人 | |
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speculation
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| n.思索，沉思；猜测；投机 | |
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jersey
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| n.运动衫 | |
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collaborated
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| 合作( collaborate的过去式和过去分词 )； 勾结叛国 | |
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labor
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| n.劳动，努力，工作，劳工；分娩；vi.劳动，努力，苦干；vt.详细分析；麻烦 | |
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buckling
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| 扣住 | |
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whimsy
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| n.古怪，异想天开 | |
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satire
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| n.讽刺，讽刺文学，讽刺作品 | |
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journalism
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| n.新闻工作，报业 | |
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defense
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| n.防御，保卫；[pl.]防务工事；辩护，答辩 | |
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philosophical
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| adj.哲学家的，哲学上的，达观的 | |
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legitimate
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| adj.合法的，合理的，合乎逻辑的；v.使合法 | |
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descend
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| vt./vi.传下来，下来，下降 | |
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expedient
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| adj.有用的，有利的；n.紧急的办法，权宜之计 | |
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distressing
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| a.使人痛苦的 | |
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lodgings
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| n. 出租的房舍, 寄宿舍 | |
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entirely
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| ad.全部地，完整地；完全地，彻底地 | |
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authentic
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| a.真的，真正的；可靠的，可信的，有根据的 | |
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cannon
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| n.大炮，火炮；飞机上的机关炮 | |
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disappearance
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| n.消失，消散，失踪 | |
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propriety
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| n.正当行为；正当；适当 | |
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trudging
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| vt.& vi.跋涉，吃力地走（trudge的现在分词形式） | |
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proprietor
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| n.所有人；业主；经营者 | |
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prospectus
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| n.计划书；说明书；慕股书 | |
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satiric
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| adj.讽刺的，挖苦的 | |
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plumed
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| 饰有羽毛的 | |
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satirist
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| n.讽刺诗作者，讽刺家，爱挖苦别人的人 | |
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ridiculing
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| v.嘲笑，嘲弄，奚落( ridicule的现在分词 ) | |
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witticism
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| n.谐语，妙语 | |
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jejune
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| adj.枯燥无味的，贫瘠的 | |
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lark
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| n.云雀，百灵鸟；n.嬉戏，玩笑；vi.嬉戏 | |
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luminary
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| n.名人，天体 | |
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gratitude
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| adj.感激，感谢 | |
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withheld
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| withhold过去式及过去分词 | |
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portfolio
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| n.公事包；文件夹；大臣及部长职位 | |
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48
stanzas
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| 节，段( stanza的名词复数 ) | |
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49
minor
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| adj.较小(少)的，较次要的；n.辅修学科；vi.辅修 | |
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poetic
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| adj.富有诗意的，有诗人气质的，善于抒情的 | |
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51
poetical
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| adj.似诗人的；诗一般的；韵文的；富有诗意的 | |
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52
anonymous
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| adj.无名的；匿名的；无特色的 | |
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anonymously
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| ad.用匿名的方式 | |
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gem
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| n.宝石，珠宝；受爱戴的人 [同]jewel | |
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55
ennui
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| n.怠倦，无聊 | |
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crackers
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| adj.精神错乱的，癫狂的n.爆竹( cracker的名词复数 )；薄脆饼干；（认为）十分愉快的事；迷人的姑娘 | |
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57
confidential
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| adj.秘（机）密的，表示信任的，担任机密工作的 | |
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discretion
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| n.谨慎；随意处理 | |
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59
fixed
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| adj.固定的，不变的，准备好的；(计算机)固定的 | |
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skits
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| n.讽刺文( skit的名词复数 )；小喜剧；若干；一群 | |
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skit
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| n.滑稽短剧；一群 | |
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vent
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| n.通风口，排放口；开衩；vt.表达，发泄 | |
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dealing
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| n.经商方法，待人态度 | |
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64
vein
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| n.血管，静脉；叶脉，纹理；情绪；vt.使成脉络 | |
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65
parody
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| n.打油诗文，诙谐的改编诗文，拙劣的模仿；v.拙劣模仿，作模仿诗文 | |
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66
witty
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| adj.机智的，风趣的 | |
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67
offense
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| n.犯规，违法行为；冒犯，得罪 | |
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68
tolerance
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| n.宽容；容忍，忍受；耐药力；公差 | |
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69
surmise
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| v./n.猜想，推测 | |
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70
prospects
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| n.希望，前途(恒为复数) | |
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71
satires
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| 讽刺，讥讽( satire的名词复数 )； 讽刺作品 | |
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72
purely
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| adv.纯粹地，完全地 | |
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73
attachment
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| n.附属物，附件；依恋；依附 | |
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74
leisurely
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| adj.悠闲的；从容的，慢慢的 | |
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75
mutual
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| adj.相互的，彼此的；共同的，共有的 | |
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76
decided
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| adj.决定了的，坚决的；明显的，明确的 | |
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77
grumbler
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| 爱抱怨的人，发牢骚的人 | |
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78
ushered
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| v.引，领，陪同( usher的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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79
parlor
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| n.店铺，营业室；会客室，客厅 | |
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80
strictly
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| adv.严厉地，严格地；严密地 | |
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81
modesty
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| n.谦逊，虚心，端庄，稳重，羞怯，朴素 | |
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82
alluded
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| 提及，暗指( allude的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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83
eulogy
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| n.颂词；颂扬 | |
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84
secrecy
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|
| n.秘密，保密，隐蔽 | |
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85
apothecary
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| n.药剂师 | |
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86
divulge
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|
| v.泄漏(秘密等)；宣布，公布 | |
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87
noted
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| adj.著名的，知名的 | |
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88
lament
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| n.悲叹，悔恨，恸哭；v.哀悼，悔恨，悲叹 | |
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89
complimentary
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| adj.赠送的，免费的，赞美的，恭维的 | |
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90
spoke
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| n.（车轮的）辐条；轮辐；破坏某人的计划；阻挠某人的行动 v.讲，谈（speak的过去式）；说；演说；从某种观点来说 | |
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91
eminent
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| adj.显赫的，杰出的，有名的，优良的 | |
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92
patriotic
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| adj.爱国的，有爱国心的 | |
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93
lyric
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| n.抒情诗，歌词；adj.抒情的 | |
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94
ballad
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| n.歌谣，民谣，流行爱情歌曲 | |
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95
trumpet
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| n.喇叭，喇叭声；v.吹喇叭，吹嘘 | |
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96
brass
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| n.黄铜；黄铜器，铜管乐器 | |
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97
azure
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| adj.天蓝色的，蔚蓝色的 | |
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98
tavern
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| n.小旅馆，客栈；小酒店 | |
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99
taverns
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| n.小旅馆，客栈，酒馆( tavern的名词复数 ) | |
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100
execrated
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| v.憎恶( execrate的过去式和过去分词 )；厌恶；诅咒；咒骂 | |
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101
censure
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| v./n.责备；非难；责难 | |
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102
joint
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| adj.联合的，共同的；n.关节，接合处；v.连接，贴合 | |
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103
allusions
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| 暗指，间接提到( allusion的名词复数 ) | |
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104
heartily
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| adv.衷心地，诚恳地，十分，很 | |
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105
democrats
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| n.民主主义者，民主人士( democrat的名词复数 ) | |
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106
caterer
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| n. 备办食物者，备办宴席者 | |
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107
seaman
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| n.海员，水手，水兵 | |
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108
theatrical
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| adj.剧场的，演戏的；做戏似的，做作的 | |
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109
comedians
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| n.喜剧演员，丑角( comedian的名词复数 ) | |
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110
dangle
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| v.(使)悬荡，(使)悬垂 | |
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111
bellow
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| v.吼叫，怒吼；大声发出，大声喝道 | |
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112
sonnet
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| n.十四行诗 | |
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113
bucks
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| n.雄鹿( buck的名词复数 )；钱；（英国十九世纪初的）花花公子；（用于某些表达方式）责任v.（马等）猛然弓背跃起( buck的第三人称单数 )；抵制；猛然震荡；马等尥起后蹄跳跃 | |
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114
sketch
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| n.草图；梗概；素描；v.素描；概述 | |
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115
pretense
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| n.矫饰，做作，借口 | |
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116
gutting
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| n.去内脏v.毁坏（建筑物等）的内部( gut的现在分词 )；取出…的内脏 | |
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117
forth
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| adv.向前；向外，往外 | |
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118
internecine
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| adj.两败俱伤的 | |
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119
warfare
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| n.战争(状态)；斗争；冲突 | |
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120
annexation
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| n.吞并，合并 | |
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121
embargo
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| n.禁运（令）；vt.对...实行禁运，禁止（通商） | |
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122
installments
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| 部分( installment的名词复数 ) | |
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123
gutted
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| adj.容易消化的v.毁坏（建筑物等）的内部( gut的过去式和过去分词 )；取出…的内脏 | |
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124
copious
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| adj.丰富的，大量的 | |
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125
memoirs
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| n.回忆录；回忆录传( mem,自oir的名词复数) | |
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126
animated
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| adj.生气勃勃的，活跃的，愉快的 | |
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127
controversy
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| n.争论，辩论，争吵 | |
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128
creed
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| n.信条；信念，纲领 | |
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129
provincial
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| adj.省的，地方的；n．外省人，乡下人 | |
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130
envious
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| adj.嫉妒的，羡慕的 | |
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131
insistence
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| n.坚持；强调；坚决主张 | |
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132
intimacy
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| n.熟悉，亲密，密切关系，亲昵的言行 | |
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133
imprisoned
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| 下狱，监禁( imprison的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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134
bard
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| n.吟游诗人 | |
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135
premature
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| adj.比预期时间早的；不成熟的，仓促的 | |
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136
bosom
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| n.胸，胸部；胸怀；内心；adj.亲密的 | |
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137
worthy
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| adj.(of)值得的，配得上的；有价值的 | |
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138
stinted
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| v.限制，节省（stint的过去式与过去分词形式） | |
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139
speculative
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| adj.思索性的，暝想性的，推理的 | |
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140
condemning
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|
| v.（通常因道义上的原因而）谴责( condemn的现在分词 )；宣判；宣布…不能使用；迫使…陷于不幸的境地 | |
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141
orthography
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| n.拼字法，拼字式 | |
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142
etymological
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| adj.语源的，根据语源学的 | |
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143
lexicographer
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| n.辞典编纂人 | |
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144
eulogistic
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|
| adj.颂扬的，颂词的 | |
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145
discriminating
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| a.有辨别能力的 | |
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146
benevolent
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| adj.仁慈的，乐善好施的 | |
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147
hearty
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| adj.热情友好的；衷心的；尽情的，纵情的 | |
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148
infusion
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| n.灌输 | |
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149
gall
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| v.使烦恼，使焦躁，难堪；n.磨难 | |
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150
eccentricities
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| n.古怪行为( eccentricity的名词复数 )；反常；怪癖 | |
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151
follies
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| 罪恶，时事讽刺剧； 愚蠢，蠢笨，愚蠢的行为、思想或做法( folly的名词复数 ) | |
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152
drawn
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| v.拖，拉，拔出；adj.憔悴的，紧张的 | |
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153
depicted
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| 描绘，描画( depict的过去式和过去分词 )； 描述 | |
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154
graceful
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| adj.优美的，优雅的；得体的 | |
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155
apparently
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| adv.显然地；表面上，似乎 | |
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156
assailed
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| v.攻击( assail的过去式和过去分词 )；困扰；质问；毅然应对 | |
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157
kindly
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| adj.和蔼的，温和的，爽快的；adv.温和地，亲切地 | |
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158
taunt
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| n.辱骂，嘲弄；v.嘲弄 | |
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159
brooks
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| n.小溪( brook的名词复数 ) | |
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160
antiquity
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| n.古老；高龄；古物，古迹 | |
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161
laden
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| adj.装满了的；充满了的；负了重担的；苦恼的 | |
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162
rogues
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| n.流氓( rogue的名词复数 )；无赖；调皮捣蛋的人；离群的野兽 | |
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163
supreme
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| adj.极度的，最重要的；至高的，最高的 | |
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164
aquatic
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| adj.水生的，水栖的 | |
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165
situated
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| adj.坐落在...的，处于某种境地的 | |
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166
refreshments
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| n.点心,便餐;(会议后的)简单茶点招 待 | |
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167
vocal
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| adj.直言不讳的；嗓音的；n.[pl.]声乐节目 | |
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168
ridicule
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| v.讥讽，挖苦；n.嘲弄 | |
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169
futile
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| adj.无效的，无用的，无希望的 | |
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170
renovated
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| 翻新，修复，整修( renovate的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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171
acting
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| n.演戏，行为，假装；adj.代理的，临时的，演出用的 | |
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172
lesser
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| adj.次要的，较小的；adv.较小地，较少地 | |
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173
relished
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| v.欣赏( relish的过去式和过去分词 )；从…获得乐趣；渴望 | |
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174
guild
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| n.行会，同业公会，协会 | |
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175
excellence
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| n.优秀，杰出，(pl.)优点，美德 | |
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176
deficient
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| adj.不足的，不充份的，有缺陷的 | |
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177
recollect
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| v.回忆，想起，记起，忆起，记得 | |
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178
vivacity
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| n.快活，活泼，精神充沛 | |
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179
martial
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| adj.战争的，军事的，尚武的，威武的 | |
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180
ardor
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| n.热情，狂热 | |
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181
declamation
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| n. 雄辩，高调 | |
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182
manly
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| adj.有男子气概的；adv.男子般地，果断地 | |
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183
patriotism
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| n.爱国精神，爱国心，爱国主义 | |
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184
interpretations
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| n.解释( interpretation的名词复数 )；表演；演绎；理解 | |
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185
triumphant
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| adj.胜利的，成功的；狂欢的，喜悦的 | |
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186
stature
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| n.（高度）水平，（高度）境界，身高，身材 | |
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187
judgment
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| n.审判；判断力，识别力，看法，意见 | |
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188
expressive
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| adj.表现的，表达…的，富于表情的 | |
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189
lighter
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| n.打火机，点火器；驳船；v.用驳船运送；light的比较级 | |
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190
bespeaking
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| v.预定( bespeak的现在分词 )；订（货）；证明；预先请求 | |
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191
remorse
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| n.痛恨，悔恨，自责 | |
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192
guilt
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| n.犯罪；内疚；过失，罪责 | |
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193
callous
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| adj.无情的，冷淡的，硬结的，起老茧的 | |
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194
monarch
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| n.帝王，君主，最高统治者 | |
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195
upwards
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| adv.向上，在更高处...以上 | |
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196
decrepitude
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| n.衰老；破旧 | |
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197
aberration
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| n.离开正路，脱离常规，色差 | |
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198
fidelity
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| n.忠诚，忠实；精确 | |
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199
plaintive
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| adj.可怜的，伤心的 | |
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200
woe
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| n.悲哀，苦痛，不幸，困难；int.用来表达悲伤或惊慌 | |
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201
writhing
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| （因极度痛苦而）扭动或翻滚( writhe的现在分词 ) | |
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202
poignancy
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| n.辛酸事，尖锐 | |
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203
utterance
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| n.用言语表达，话语，言语 | |
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204
idiotic
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| adj.白痴的 | |
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205
awe
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| n.敬畏，惊惧；vt.使敬畏，使惊惧 | |
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206
unprecedented
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| adj.无前例的，新奇的 | |
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thereby
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| adv.因此，从而 | |
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208
immorality
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| n. 不道德, 无道义 | |
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209
opposition
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| n.反对，敌对 | |
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210
groans
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| n.呻吟，叹息( groan的名词复数 )；呻吟般的声音v.呻吟( groan的第三人称单数 )；发牢骚；抱怨；受苦 | |
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211
hisses
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| 嘶嘶声( hiss的名词复数 ) | |
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212
mingled
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| 混合，混入( mingle的过去式和过去分词 )； 混进，与…交往[联系] | |
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213
deafening
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| adj. 振耳欲聋的, 极喧闹的 动词deafen的现在分词形式 | |
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214
uproar
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| n.骚动，喧嚣，鼎沸 | |
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215
rebuked
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| 责难或指责( rebuke的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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216
outrage
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| n.暴行，侮辱，愤怒；vt.凌辱，激怒 | |
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217
overflowing
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| n. 溢出物,溢流 adj. 充沛的，充满的 动词overflow的现在分词形式 | |
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218
embodied
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| v.表现( embody的过去式和过去分词 )；象征；包括；包含 | |
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unity
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| n.团结，联合，统一；和睦，协调 | |
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motives
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| n.动机，目的( motive的名词复数 ) | |
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221
perfectly
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| adv.完美地，无可非议地，彻底地 | |
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222
intelligible
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| adj.可理解的，明白易懂的，清楚的 | |
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223
weird
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| adj.古怪的，离奇的；怪诞的，神秘而可怕的 | |
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224
overthrow
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| v.推翻，打倒，颠覆；n.推翻，瓦解，颠覆 | |
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225
edifice
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| n.宏伟的建筑物(如宫殿，教室) | |
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226
interspersed
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| adj.[医]散开的；点缀的v.intersperse的过去式和过去分词 | |
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227
troupe
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| n.剧团，戏班；杂技团；马戏团 | |
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228
enchanted
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| adj. 被施魔法的，陶醉的，入迷的 动词enchant的过去式和过去分词 | |
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229
rapture
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| n.狂喜；全神贯注；着迷；v.使狂喜 | |
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230
dispense
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| vt.分配，分发；配(药)，发(药)；实施 | |
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