7 
 
 GIFT OF 
 
 It ^ tf. US /A 
 

LETTERS OF 
 SIDNEY LANIER 
 
ftp J^ttmep lanier* 
 
 Bob. The Story of our Mocking Bird. With 16 full- 
 page illustrations in colors from photographs by A. R. 
 DUGMORE. Square I2mo. $1.50. 
 
 Letters of Sidney Lanier. Selections from his 
 Correspondence, 1866-1881. With two Portraits. 
 Crown 8vo. $2.00. 
 
 Retrospects and Prospects. Descriptive and His 
 torical Essays. Crown 8vo. $1.50. 
 
 Music and Poetry. A Volume of Essays. Crown 
 8vo. $1.50. 
 
 The English Novel. A Study in the Development 
 of Personality. Crown 8vo. $2.00. 
 
 The Science of English Verse. Crown 8vo. 
 
 $2.00. 
 
 Poems. Edited by his Wife, with a Memorial by 
 WILLIAM HAYES WARD. With Portrait. Crown 
 8vo. $2.00. 
 
LETTERS OF 
 SIDNEY LANIER 
 
 Selections from His Correspondence 
 1866-1881 
 
 WITH PORTRAITS 
 
 NEW YORK 
 
 CHARLES SCRIBNER S SONS 
 1899 
 
Copyright, 1899 
 BY MARY DAY LANIER 
 
 SSttibersttg 
 
 JOHN WILSON AND SON, CAMBRIDGE, U.S.A. 
 
A POEM-OUTLINE 
 
 BY 
 
 SIDNEY LANIER 
 
 Are ye so sharp set for the centre of the earth, are ye so hungry for the 
 
 centre of things, 
 
 O rains and springs and rivers of the mountains ? 
 Towards the centre of the earth, towards the -very Middle of things, ye 
 
 will fall, ye -will run, the Centre -will draw ye, Gravity -will drive 
 
 you and draw you in one : 
 But the Centre ye witi not reach, ye will come as near as the plains, 
 
 watering them in coming so near, and ye will come as near 
 
 as the bottom of the Ocean, seeing and working many marvels as 
 
 ye come so near : 
 
 But the Centre of Things ye will not reach, 
 O my rivers and rains and springs of the mountains. 
 Provision is made that ye shall not : ye would be merged, ye could not 
 
 return. 
 Nor shall my soul be merged in God, though tending, though tending. 
 
Prefatory Note 
 
 IT may be assumed even within the brief 
 formality of an introductory note that Sidney 
 Lanier was a rare good writer of letters. 
 Whereas a volume of poems, say, may bring 
 forth the extremes of condemnation and approval 
 from esthetical judges possessing, apparently, an 
 equally high critical equipment, the gift of letter- 
 writing, curious and capricious as it often is, be 
 comes manifest to readers at large in a paragraph, 
 a sentence, a glance. The philosopher, the poet, 
 the novelist, the great journalist may be hope 
 lessly dull in these private compositions, unmeant 
 for publication; and every one has known some 
 alert, gossippy old lady, seemingly with genius 
 only for pastry crust, and obviously with no 
 mental pabulum above the Sunday newspapers, 
 whose letters were delightful. 
 
 The most important object of this volume is, 
 doubtless, to give the poet s audience a clearer and 
 closer glimpse of Lanier the man, and to show 
 how nearly synonymous with him was Lanier the 
 poet and musician. The letters have no compre 
 hensive range to aid in this endeavor, but they 
 have this lively and intimate style which serves 
 
 3 
 
viii Prefatory Note 
 
 at once to picture the poet-writer with strength, 
 if with haste, and to give an intrinsically enter 
 taining quality to the volume. 
 
 In Sidney Lanier s case several things combined 
 to insure the presence of this human interest in 
 his letter-writing. His mind was almost preter- 
 naturally alert, his sympathies ready and keen, 
 his gift of expression facile and naively daring. 
 Picture such a young man of genius, confident of 
 his genius, coming fresh from the provinces to 
 hear, for the first time, Wagner and Theodore 
 Thomas, to meet, for the first time, the men 
 whose God was his God. There was not a sophis 
 ticated fibre in his being to cheapen the joy of the 
 new sensations, as he wrote of them, exuberantly, 
 to his wife and his friends. It reminds one of 
 what Thackeray said of Clive Newcome, that a 
 mere glass of claret seemed to give that young 
 man more pleasure than other people could get 
 out of it. 
 
 It is as well to remind readers of this, that 
 Lanier was writing from the standpoint of the 
 artist who is suddenly transferred from a region 
 desert of art, in which he has been groping and 
 struggling throughout his life, to his country s 
 centre of music and letters. It explains a degree 
 of ecstasy which to a casual reader might seem 
 inexplicable, and it adds a distinct pleasure to the 
 reading; every one knows the delight of sharing 
 with a companion of sensibility his first occasion 
 of great dramatic or musical art, and the pleasure 
 
Prefatory Note ix 
 
 is not less when the companion is a poet and 
 musician. 
 
 The letters have been selected from Mr. Lanier s 
 correspondence in the period between 1866 and 
 1881. They are not grouped chronologically, 
 because neither their content nor their editing is 
 formally biographical. Of the four groups, one 
 is composed of letters on musical topics written 
 to the poet s wife, and the remainder are the 
 results of three literary friendships. Most of the 
 letters have been printed before, in the Atlantic 
 Monthly, Scribner s Magazine, The Critic, and the 
 Life and Letters of Bayard Taylor. The selection 
 and the editing of the letters* are the work of 
 Mr. Henry Wysham Lanier, the poet s son, who 
 has had the assistance and co-operation of his 
 mother, Mrs. Sidney Lanier. The collection was 
 made possible by the kindness of Mrs. Bayard 
 Taylor, Mr. Will H. Hayne, and Mr. William R. 
 Thayer; and the introduction to the group of 
 letters to Mr. Gibson Peacock is from Mr. Thayer s 
 pen, being a selection from the fuller context 
 given in 1894, in the Atlantic Monthly. The in 
 troductory paragraphs also in the letters to Paul 
 Hayne were from the pen of that poet. 
 
 C. D. L. 
 
 * As was true of the preceding volumes, Music and Poetry and 
 Retrospects and Prospects. 
 
Contents 
 
 PAGE 
 LETTERS TO MR. GIBSON PEACOCK i 
 
 A POET S MUSICAL IMPRESSIONS 65 
 
 LETTERS BETWEEN Two POETS : BAYARD TAYLOR 
 
 AND SIDNEY LANIER 117 
 
 LETTERS TO PAUL HAMILTON HAYNE 219 
 
Illustrations 
 
 PAGE 
 SIDNEY LANIER IN 1857 Frontispiece 
 
 SIDNEY LANIER IN 1870 68 
 
 FIRST AND LAST PAGES IN FACSIMILE OF A LETTER 
 
 TO BAYARD TAYLOR 214 
 
Letters to Mr. Gibson Peacock 
 
Letters of Sidney Lanier 
 
 Letters to Mr. Gibson Peacock 
 
 INTRODUCTION 
 
 BY WILLIAM R. THAYER 
 
 SIDNEY LANIER was born in Macon, Ga., February 3, 
 1842. The Laniers were French Huguenots, who took 
 refuge in England in Elizabeth s time, and attained, at 
 her court and that of the Stuarts, to distinction in music 
 and painting. The founder of the American branch 
 came to Richmond, Va., in 1716. Lanier s mother, 
 Mary Anderson, was of Scotch descent. So far as 
 heredity counted, therefore, he had behind him, on 
 both sides, pious ancestors, and it may not be too 
 fanciful to suppose that he drew from those far-off, 
 art-loving Huguenot forerunners the beginnings of his 
 own exquisite sensibility to art. Of this sensibility he 
 early showed signs, music especially having a wonder 
 ful power over him. At fourteen he entered Ogle- 
 thorpe College, where he got such education as was to 
 be obtained at a small Southern seminary before the 
 Rebellion. Graduating with highest honors in 1860, he 
 accepted a tutorship, but in the following year, at the 
 outbreak of the war, he enlisted in the first regiment of 
 Georgia Volunteers, and served till 1864, when, being 
 in command of a blockade runner, he was taken pris- 
 
4 Letters of Sidney Lanier 
 
 oner and confined at Point Lookout. In February, 
 1865, he was exchanged, and, travelling most of the dis 
 tance on foot, made his way back to Macon, where he 
 broke down with the first serious premonitions of con 
 sumption. The exposures in the army, the rigor of his 
 imprisonment, he had begun the winter months at 
 Point Lookout with only summer clothes to wear, had 
 weakened his constitution, and a tendency to consump 
 tion, inherited from his mother, warned him thus early 
 that to live he must struggle. 
 
 Upon his recovery he was employed as a clerk at 
 Montgomery, Ala., and in 1867 ne published, in New 
 York, "Tiger Lilies," a novel into which he wove some 
 of his war experiences, and which better deserves to be 
 unearthed than do many of the firstfruits of genius. 
 That same year he married Miss Mary Day, of Macon. 
 Thenceforth, through all his wanderings he was blessed 
 with the companionship of one who firmly believed in 
 his powers, and who cheered alike his years of dis 
 appointment and of illness. Doubly precarious was his 
 existence : his ill-health prevented him from pursuing 
 any occupation long, and his straitened means forced 
 him to accept uncongenial employments, if only he 
 might thereby earn bread. We find him teaching 
 school at Prattville, Ala., and then for several years, 
 at his father s urgent request, practising law at Macon, 
 till in 1872 the condition of his lungs drove him to 
 San Antonio, Texas, in search of a climate in which he 
 might safely live. In the following spring, however, he 
 returned to Georgia, and in December, 1873, ne went 
 to Baltimore, where he was engaged to play the first 
 flute in the Peabody Orchestra. 
 
 These are but the externals of his early life : to know 
 
Letters to Mr. Gibson Peacock 5 
 
 how, amid such vicissitudes, his genius had developed 
 we should need to have recourse to his diary and 
 letters to his family, and to other material that will some 
 day be the basis of an adequate biography. But we 
 know already enough to say that his flowering as a poet 
 was neither sudden nor casual. From his youth up, 
 Music and Poetry had been equally his mistresses, and 
 for a long time there was doubt as to which would 
 predominate. As a boy, he could play almost any 
 instrument, and it is recorded how, after improvising 
 on the violin, he would be rapt into an ecstasy which 
 left his whole frame trembling with the exhaustion of 
 too tense delight. In the army, his flute had been his 
 constant companion, and it had endeared him to his 
 captors at Point Lookout. Yet all this while he had 
 felt the growing compulsion of poetry within him ; he 
 had planned a drama, and occasionally written verses. 
 Neither sickness nor drudgery could long turn him from 
 the deepest craving of his spirit. Conscious of his 
 powers, he yet had, what is perhaps the rarest talent 
 in men of his temperament, the talent of waiting. The 
 mission of poet, as he conceived it, transcends all 
 others; he knew that the innate poetic faculty would 
 not suffice for its fulfilment unless it were reinforced by 
 character and by knowledge. So he refrained from 
 miniature utterance. " Day by day," he wrote to his 
 wife in February, 1870, "from my snow and my sun 
 shine, a thousand vital elements rill through my soul. 
 Day by day, the secret deep forces gather, which will 
 presently display themselves in bending leaf and waxy 
 petal, and in useful fruit and grain." Again, from 
 Texas, he wrote : " All day my soul hath been cutting 
 swiftly into the great space of the subtle, unspeakable 
 
6 Letters of Sidney Lanier 
 
 deep, driven by wind after wind of heavenly melody. 
 The very inner spirit and essence of all wind-songs, 
 bird-songs, passion-songs, folk-songs, country- songs, 
 sex-songs, soul-songs, and body-songs hath blown upon 
 me in quick gusts like the breath of passion, and sailed 
 me into a sea of vast dreams, whereof each wave is at 
 once a vision and a melody." 
 
 Conscious of his powers, therefore, he had neverthe 
 less patience to await their ripening. Feeling that the 
 highest mission had been entrusted to him, he seems 
 to have said to himself, like Milton : " I was confirmed 
 in this opinion, that he who would not be frustrate of 
 his hope to write well hereafter in laudable things ought 
 himself to be a true poem ; that is, a composition and 
 pattern of the best and honorablest things ; not presum 
 ing to sing high praises of heroic men or famous cities, 
 unless he have in himself the experience and practice 
 of all that which is praiseworthy." 
 
 To break away from the law against his father s 
 advice, and to seek support from his art among stran 
 gers, required resolution which only his loyalty to art 
 could justify. In Baltimore his flute brought him a 
 bare maintenance, and left him leisure for study and 
 for poetry. He felt that the time had come when he , 
 might open his lips. A long poem, " Corn," took shape, 
 and he hoped to find in New York an editor who 
 would publish it ; but a visit to that city only served to 
 teach him the " wooden-headedness " of many persons 
 who were leaders there in literary matters. Yet he was 
 not discouraged, nor did the rebuff sour him. " I 
 remember," he writes, " that it has always been so ; 
 that the new man has always to work his way over 
 these Alps of stupidity, much as that ancient general 
 
Letters to Mr. Gibson Peacock 7 
 
 crossed the actual Alps, splitting the rocks with vinegar 
 and fire, that is, by bitterness and suffering. D. V., 
 I will split them. . . . The more I am thrown against 
 these people here, and the more reverses I suffer at 
 their hands, the more confident I am of beating them 
 finally. I do not mean, by beating, that I am in 
 opposition to them, or that I hate them, or feel ag 
 grieved with them ; no, they know no better, and they 
 act up to their light with wonderful energy and consist 
 ency. I only mean that I am sure of being able, some 
 day, to teach them better things and nobler modes of 
 thought and conduct." 
 
 A few months later, in " Lippincott s Magazine " for 
 February, 1875, "Corn" was published. Read after 
 twenty years have proved its staying powers, we do not 
 wonder that here and there a discerning reader at once 
 recognized the merits of that poem ; for in it we plainly 
 see Lanier s credentials from the Muse. Nevertheless, 
 recognition came slowly, but it came from persons 
 whose opinion confirmed his unflinching yet unpre- 
 sumptuous belief in his poetic mission. First among 
 these was Mr. Gibson Peacock, the friend to whom the 
 following series of letters was written. Mr. Peacock 
 was the editor of the Philadelphia " Evening Bulletin," 
 a newspaper in which, under his direction, literary and 
 artistic matters were treated seriously at a time when it 
 was rare for Philadelphia journals so to treat them. In 
 these days he would be called an editor of the old 
 school, since he had had a college education, had read 
 widely the best English literature, was familiar with 
 the modern languages, had travelled far in this country 
 and in Europe, and had cultivated himself not less in 
 music and in dramatic criticism than in books. Having 
 
8 Letters of Sidney Lanier 
 
 read "Corn" in " Lippincott s," he wrote an enthusi 
 astic notice of it in the " Evening Bulletin ; " and this 
 notice speedily brought him a letter from Lanier, the 
 first in this collection, and ere many weeks they met. 
 From their meeting ripened a friendship strong and 
 honorable on both sides, as these letters will show. 
 Though Mr. Peacock was a man of extreme reserve, 
 and the elder by twenty years, yet neither age nor 
 reserve hindered his affectionate interest from manifest 
 ing itself to Lanier, who, in turn, rejoiced at finding 
 a friend who was also competent to criticise and to 
 suggest. 
 
 Through Mr. Peacock, Lanier became acquainted 
 with Charlotte Cushman, with Bayard Taylor, and with 
 many another of the appreciators of art and literature 
 who in those days frequented the little parlors in 
 Walnut Street. How inspiring and helpful this inter 
 course was to Lanier we may guess when we remember 
 that until now, though past thirty, he had been seeking 
 health and a livelihood in places which, stricken by the 
 havoc of conquest, had little time or means for culture. 
 Amid hostile conditions he had cherished his Ideal, 
 and now he found, what every genuine soul craves, 
 friendship and appreciation. There was no danger of 
 his becoming spoiled; the sympathy he received was 
 far removed from flattery. To Miss Cushman he was 
 especially drawn, as were all who had the privilege 
 of knowing well that generous and brave spirit, and 
 to Mrs. Peacock, whose voice of wonderful range and 
 beauty, and whose sympathetic nature, made her 
 doubly attractive to him. He could now feel that 
 though fame still lingered, and though the daily struggle 
 for existence must be met, there was a little circle of 
 
Letters to Mr. Gibson Peacock 9 
 
 friends whose commendation he could trust, and upon 
 whose affection, liberal and sincere, he could at all 
 times rely. At the Peacocks he more than once found 
 shelter in distress. There, during the Centennial year, 
 he was tenderly nursed through an illness which brought 
 him very near the grave ; there, his visits were always 
 welcome. 
 
 Lanier s letters to Mr. Peacock tell so fully his plans 
 and wanderings between 1875 and 1880 that it is un 
 necessary to add biographic details here. During those 
 years there was no other correspondent to whom he so 
 freely wrote out of his heart. These letters not only 
 admit us into the fellowship of a poet, but they also dis 
 close to us a man whose life was, in Milton s phrase, 
 " a true poem." Here is nothing to extenuate, nothing 
 to blot : the poet and the man are one. My purpose 
 in editing has, accordingly, been to retain whatever 
 reveals aught, however slight, of the man, in order that 
 the portrait of Lanier s personality, unconsciously drawn 
 by himself, should be as complete as possible ; and 
 whatever does not refer to this will at least illustrate the 
 conditions by which an embodied Ideal, a Poet, so 
 recently found himself beset in this world of ours. I 
 know not where to look for a series of letters which, in 
 bulk equally small, relate so humanly and beautifully 
 the story of so precious a life. 
 
 64 CENTRE STREET, BALTIMORE, MD., 
 January 26, 1875. 
 
 MY DEAR SIR : A very lovely friend of mine Mrs. 
 F. W. has been so gracious as to transmit to me, 
 through my wife, your first comments on my poem 
 " Corn," in " Lippincott s," which I had not seen before. 
 
io Letters of Sidney Lanier 
 
 The slip appears to be cut from the " Bulletin" of i6th 
 or i yth. 
 
 I cannot resist the impulse which urges me to send 
 you my grateful acknowledgments of the poetic in 
 sight, the heartiness and the boldness which display 
 themselves in this critique. I thank you for it, as for a 
 poet s criticism upon a poet. 
 
 Permit me to say that I am particularly touched by 
 the courageous independence of your review. In the 
 very short time that I have been in the hands of the 
 critics, nothing has amazed me more than the timid 
 solicitudes with which they rarefy in one line any en 
 thusiasm they may have condensed in another a pro 
 cess curiously analogous to those irregular condensations 
 and rarefactions of air which physicists have shown to 
 be the conditions for producing an indeterminate sound. 
 Many of my critics have seemed if I may change the 
 figure to be forever conciliating the yet-unrisen ghosts 
 of possible mistakes. From these you separate yourself 
 toto coclo ; and I am thoroughly sure that your method 
 is not only far more worthy the dignity of the critical 
 office, but also far more helpful to the young artist, by 
 its bold sweeping-away of those sorrowful uncertain 
 mists that arise at times out of the waste bitterness of 
 poverty and obscurity. 
 
 Perhaps here is more feeling than is quite delicate 
 in a communication to one not an old personal friend : 
 but I do not hesitate upon propriety, if only I may con 
 vey to you some idea of the admiration with which I 
 regard your manly position in my behalf, and of the 
 earnestness with which I shall always consider myself 
 Your obliged and faithful friend, 
 
 SIDNEY LANIER. 
 
Letters to Mr. Gibson Peacock 1 1 
 
 March 2, 1875. 
 
 DEAR MR. PEACOCK : I write a line to say that busi 
 ness will probably call me to Philadelphia in a day or 
 two, and that I particularly desire to go with you and 
 Mrs. Peacock to Theodore Thomas Symphony Concert 
 on Friday night. If you have no other engagement for 
 that evening, pray set it apart graciously for me, who 
 am already tingling with the anticipated double delight 
 of j tf&rselves and of music. 
 
 Many thanks for the " Bulletin " containing the Sonnet. 
 I am gratified that you should have thought the little 
 poem worth republishing. I have not now time to say 
 more than that I am always 
 
 Your friend, SIDNEY LANIER. 
 
 March 24, 1875. 
 
 A thousand thanks for your kind and very thoughtful 
 letter. I should have gone to Philadelphia in ac 
 ceptance of your invitation to meet Miss Cushman, 
 although much tied by engagements here, and in ill 
 condition of health to go anywhere, had I not ex 
 pected to meet her here in April. Your announcement 
 of her illness gives me sincere concern, and I will be 
 thankful to you if you will keep me posted as to her 
 progress in recovery. I wrote her a short time ago, to 
 care of her bankers in New York : but fear she has 
 been too ill to read my letter. 
 
 I have the delightful anticipation of seeing you again, 
 for a day or two, ere long : but cannot tell whether it 
 will be in two or three weeks. My plans depend on 
 the movements of others ; and as soon as they become 
 more definite you shall know them. 
 
 Pray tell your good Mrs. Peacock that I am much 
 
1 2 Letters of Sidney Lanier 
 
 better, and, though in daily fight against severe pain, 
 am hard at work. About four days ago, a certain poem 
 which I had vaguely ruminated for a week before took 
 hold of me like a real James River ague, and I have been 
 in a mortal shake with the same, day and night, ever 
 since. I call it " The Symphony : " I personify each in 
 strument in the orchestra, and make them discuss various 
 deep social questions of the times, in the progress of the 
 music. It is now nearly finished ; and I shall be rejoiced 
 thereat, for it verily racks all the bones of my spirit. 
 
 Did you see Mr. [Bayard] Taylor? Tell me about 
 him. I cannot tell you with what eagerness I devoured 
 " Felix Holt." For perfect force-in- repose, Miss Evans 
 (or, I should have said, Mrs. Lewes) is not excelled by 
 any writer. 
 
 Pray convey my warm regards to Mrs. Peacock, and 
 keep that big, heartsome " Max Adeler " J in remem 
 brance of his and 
 
 Your friend, SIDNEY LANIER. 
 
 BRUNSWICK, GA., April 18, 1875. 
 
 MY DEAR MRS. PEACOCK: Such a three days do Ice 
 far nientt as I m having ! With a plenty of love, 
 wife s, bairns , and brother s, and no end of trees and 
 vines, what more should a work-battered man desire, in 
 this divine atmosphere which seems like a great sigh of 
 pleasure from some immense Lotos in the vague South? 
 The little house, by one of whose windows I am writing, 
 stands in one corner of an open square which is sur- 
 
 1 The pseudonym of Charles Heber Clark, at that time an 
 editor of the Philadelphia " Evening Bulletin," and the author of 
 " Out of the Hurly-Burly," " Elbow Room," and other humorous 
 works. 
 
Letters to Mr. Gibson Peacock 13 
 
 rounded by an unbroken forest of oaks, of all manner of 
 clambering and twining things, and of pines, not the 
 dark, gloomy pines of the Pennsylvania mountains, but 
 tall mabses of vivid emerald all in a glitter with the more 
 brilliant green of the young buds and cones ; the sun is 
 shining with a hazy and absent-minded face, as if he 
 were thinking of some quite other star than this poor 
 earth ; occasionally a little wind comes along, not warm, 
 but unspeakably bland, bringing strange scents rather of 
 leaves than of flowers ; the mocking-birds are all singing, 
 but singing sotto voce, and a distant cock crows as if he 
 did n t mean to crow, but only to yawn luxuriously ; an 
 old mauma over in the neighborhood is singing, as she 
 sets about washing in her deliberate way, something like 
 this : 
 
 Adagio. 
 
 tax^=5^^73Ed^=^Eb^o3-f fi l-Jg 
 fi^^^^^--^^ Lfl I ^-jj-esfcztg^ 
 
 *ES^-^ J y^jr3Spfr ta 
 
 persistently rejecting all the semitones of the D minor 
 in which she is singing (as I have observed all the 
 barbaric music does, as far as it can), and substituting 
 the stronger Ctl for the C#; and now my little four- 
 year-old comes in from feeding the pony and the goat, 
 and writhes into my lap, and inquires with great interest, 
 " Papa, can you whistle backwards ? " by which I find, 
 after a puzzled inquiry, that he means to ask if I can 
 whistle by drawing my breath in, instead of forcing it 
 out, an art in which he proceeds to instruct me with a 
 great show of superiority : and now he leaves, and the 
 
14 Letters of Sidney Lanier 
 
 whole world is still again, except the bird s lazy song and 
 old mauma s monotonous crooning. 
 
 I am convinced that God meant this land for people to 
 rest in, not to work in. If we were so constituted that 
 life could be an idyll, then this were the place of places 
 for it ; but being, as it is, the hottest of all battles, a man 
 might as well expect to plan a campaign in a dream as 
 to make anything like his best fight here. . . . 
 
 Pray write me how Miss Cushman seemed on the 
 morning after the reading. She was so exhausted when 
 I helped her from the carriage that I fear her strength 
 must have been severely taxed. My address for a month 
 hence will be at Jacksonville, Fla. : I leave for that place 
 on Wednesday (day after to-morrow), and shall make it 
 headquarters during all my ramblings around the flowery 
 State. 
 
 iThese lonesome journeys which are the necessities 
 of my unsettled existence make me doubly grateful for 
 the delightful recollections which form my companions 
 along the tiresome miles, and for which I am indebted 
 to you. ) Believe, my dear Mrs. Peacock, that they are 
 always with me, and that I am always your and Mr. 
 Peacock s 
 
 Sincere friend, SIDNEY LANIER. 
 
 BRUNSWICK, GA., June 16, 1875. 
 
 (I am just stopping here a day, after the woods of 
 Florida. I have all your letters. Out of what a liberal 
 sky do you rain your gracious encouragements upon me ! 
 In truth, dear friend, there is such large sweep and swing 
 in this shower-after-shower of your friendliness, it comes 
 in such big rhythms of generosities, it is such a poem of 
 inner rains, that I cannot at all get myself satisfied to 
 
Letters to Mr. Gibson Peacock i 
 
 meet it with anything less than that perfect rose of a song 
 which should be the product of such watering. I think I 
 hear one of these growing now down in my soul yonder, 
 somewhere : presently the green calyx of silence shall 
 split, . . . and you shall see your flower. * 
 
 Your notice of "The Symphony" l has given a great 
 deal of pleasure to my family as well as to me. It 
 has been extensively copied in the Southern papers, 
 and adopted by editors as expressing their views of 
 the poem. 
 
 Mr. [Bayard] Taylor s letter brings me a noble pros 
 pect of realizing an old dream. I had always a longing 
 after him, but I have never dared indulge it more than 
 one indulges what one considers only a pet possibility ; 
 so that now when I behold this mere shadow of a meet 
 ing assume the shape of an actual hand-shaking in the 
 near future, it is as when a man wakes in the morning 
 and finds his Dream standing by his bed. t 
 
 After August, when my present engagement will termi 
 nate, my motions will entirely depend on whatever income- 
 bringing work I may succeed in finding. Within three 
 weeks from this time, I will however be en route to New 
 York, and you must write me as soon as you receive this 
 addressing me at Macon, Ga. your programme for 
 that time, if you re going to be out of Philadelphia. I 
 shall look you up ubicttnque in Anglia, wherever you 
 may be. 
 
 May I beg that you will cause Mr. Taylor to address 
 me to your own care, or, if you are to leave town before 
 I get there, to care of the " Bulletin " ? I will write my 
 own plans more definitely in a few days. 
 
 1 " The Symphony " was published in " Lippincott s Magazine," 
 June, 1875. 
 
1 6 Letters of Sidney Lanier 
 
 Pray accept this photograph. 1 Of course you will see 
 that, instead of being an average of my phiz, it is the best 
 possible single view thereof, and is for that reason much 
 better looking than I am, but it will serve to remind you 
 and my dear Mrs. Peacock of 
 
 Your friend, SIDNEY L. 
 
 PHILADELPHIA, PA., July 31, 1875. 
 
 If you have ever watched a shuttle, my dear friend, 
 being violently knocked backward and forward in a loom, 
 never settled for an instant at this end before it is rudely 
 smacked back to the other, you will possess a very fair 
 idea of the nature of my recent travels. I do not know 
 how many times I have been from North to South in the 
 last six weeks ; the negotiations about the Florida book 
 and the collection of additional material for it have 
 required my presence at widely separated points often ; 
 and as my employer is himself always on the wing, I 
 have sometimes had to make a long chase in order to 
 come up with him. I believe my wanderings are now 
 ended, however, for a time, and as the very first of the 
 many blessings which this cessation of travel will bring 
 to a tired soul, I count the opportunity to send a line 
 which will carry my love to you and to your other you. 
 
 Lippincott has made what seems to be a very fair prop 
 osition to print the Florida book, taking an interest in 
 it which I think practically amounts to about one half. 
 I am going to add to it, by way of appendix, a complete 
 Guide-book to Florida ; and as this feature ought of itself 
 to secure some sale among the fifteen or twenty thousand 
 annual visitors, I am induced to hope that my employer 
 
 1 The photograph is reproduced in the volume of Lanier s 
 poems published by Charles Scribner s Sons in 1884. 
 
Letters to Mr. Gibson Peacock 17 
 
 may be reimbursed for his entire outlay, though I keep 
 in mind what they all tell me, that the publication of 
 any book is a mere lottery, and baffles all prophecy as 
 to its success. Two chapters of the book, one on " St. 
 Augustine " in April, and one on " The Oclawaha River," 
 are to appear in the Magazine, October and November 
 numbers. 
 
 I will probably leave here to-day, and my address for 
 a month hence will be 195 Dean St., Brooklyn. Your 
 package of letters was handed me duly at the " Bulletin " 
 office. I was ready to murder somebody, for pure vexa 
 tion, when I learned there that I had just missed you by 
 about two hours ; it would have been such a comfort to 
 have seen your two faces before you left. 
 
 Many thanks for Mr. Taylor s letter. I do hope I 
 may be able to see him during the next month. Do you 
 think a letter from me would reach him at Mattapoisett? 
 For his estimate of my Symphony seems to me so full 
 and generous that I think I will not resist the temptation 
 to anticipate his letter to me. I will write also to Mr. 
 Calvert to-morrow; his insight into a poet s internal 
 working, as developed in his kind notice of me in the 
 " Golden Age," is at once wonderful and delightful. 
 
 The next number of " Lippincott s " will contain four 
 sonnets of mine in the Shakespearian metre. I sincerely 
 hope they are going to please you. You will be glad to 
 know that " The Symphony " meets with continuing favor 
 in various parts of the land. 
 
 My month in Brooklyn will be full of the very hardest 
 work. I will be employed in finishing and revising the 
 Florida book, many of the points in which demand very 
 careful examination. In August my railroad employment 
 terminates. 
 
1 8 Letters o( Sidney Lanlef 
 
 ^My friend Miss Stebbins has sent me a letter of intro 
 duction to her brother, who is chairman of the Board of 
 Trustees of the new College of Music in New York. I 
 am going to see if they will found a chair of the Physics 
 of Music and give it me. I can scarcely describe to you 
 how lovely my life would seem if I could devote the 
 balance of it to such lectures as would properly belong 
 to a professorship of this nature, and to my poetry.; 
 
 So, now, you know all about me : tell me how you 
 and Mrs. Peacock fare through the summer. What is 
 Cushing s Island? 1 A small one, broken, with water 
 dashing up all around you, and a clean, sweet wind airing 
 your very souls ? I wish it might be, for your sakes, and 
 I hope you are both getting strong and elastic. Write 
 me straightway all about yourselves. I beg that each of 
 you will deliver a loving message for me to the other : 
 and that you will both hold me always as 
 
 Your faithful friend, SIDNEY LANIER. 
 
 195 DEAN STREET, BROOKLYN, N. Y., 
 August 10, 1875. 
 
 Your letter of the 8th, enclosing McClellan s, reached 
 me a few moments ago. Accept my thanks for both. 
 
 Your syren- song of the .beauties of your Island is at 
 once tempting and tantalizing. When you say you " think 
 I would be tempted to come, if I could imagine the 
 enchanting views from this house," you make me think 
 of that French empress who wondered how the stupid 
 canaille could be so obstinate as to starve when such 
 delicious pates could be bought for only five francs apiece. 
 Cushing s Island, my dear friend, is as impossible to me, 
 in the present state of the poetry- market, as a dinner at 
 
 1 A resort in the harbor of Portland, Me. 
 
Letters to Mr. Gibson Peacock 19 
 
 Very s was to a chiffonnier : all of which I would n t tell 
 you, both because it is personal and because poverty is 
 not a pleasant thing to think about at Cushing s Island, 
 except for the single controlling reason that I cannot bear 
 your thinking that I could come to you, if I would. 
 
 And all of which you are to forget as soon as you 
 have taken in the whole prodigious conclusiveness of it, 
 and only remember so far as to consider yourselves 
 charged to breathe enough sea-air (heavens, how I long 
 for it !) for all three of us ; as Arsene Houssaye s friend 
 with the big appetite said, on sitting down and finding 
 that the gentleman who had been invited to dine with 
 him was unavoidably absent, "Well, I will eat for us 
 both," and then proceeded actually to do it, helping 
 himself twice at each course. 
 
 I will probably see you, though, in Philadelphia when 
 you corne; and that is some consolation. 
 
 BROOKLYN, September 9, 1875. 
 
 Will you be in Philadelphia about the 1 3th or i4th next? 
 Business calls me there at that time ; and I wish to 
 know if I m going to have the pleasure of seeing you. 
 I can only scrawl a line. My work has been rudely 
 interrupted by a series of troublesome haemorrhages, 
 which have for some time prevented me from reading 
 or speaking, as well as from writing. I rn crawling 
 back into life, however, and hope to be at work in a 
 few days. 
 
 BROOKLYN, N. Y., September 24, 1875. 
 How bright you made my little visit to Philadel 
 phia, a sort of asteroid to circle round my dark. 
 But I haven t more than just time now to thank you 
 for the letter and papers which you forwarded, and to 
 
2O Letters of Sidney Lanier 
 
 tell you to address me henceforth at the Westminster 
 Hotel, New York City, where I go presently, being now 
 in the bitter agonies of moving, packing and the like 
 dreadful bores. A letter from Miss Stebbins informs 
 me that they are all safely at Lenox and our dear 
 Miss Cushman improving. One can entrust one s 
 message to a blue sky like this morning s ; consider this 
 lovely day to be the salutation of 
 
 Your friend, SIDNEY L. 
 
 PARKER HOUSE, BOSTON, MASS., 
 November 4, 1875. 
 
 On arriving here at six o clock in the morning, half 
 frozen and very sleepy, I found a pleasant room with a 
 glowing fire ready for me, and so tumbled into bed for 
 another snooze before the world should rise. About 
 nine I rose again ; and while I was in puris naturalibus 
 
 midst of the very crisis and perilous climax of 
 ablution came a vivacious tap at my door ; I opened 
 the same, with many precautions : and behold, my 
 eyes which were all in lather, what time my beard 
 was in strings that shed streams around my path, and, 
 as it were, " writ my name in water " wherever I walked 
 
 rested on the bright face of my good Charlotte 
 Cushman shining with sweetness and welcome. 
 
 I had expected to find her all propped up in pillows ; 
 and was therefore amazed to see how elastic was her 
 step, and how strong and bright she is in all particulars. 
 She sleeps "beautifully" (she says), and as we meet at 
 the breakfast table each morning she is fairly overflowing 
 with all manner of bright and witty and tender sayings, 
 although in the midst of them she rubs the poor swollen 
 arm that gives so much trouble. 
 
Letters to Mr. Gibson Peacock 21 
 
 Altogether, there can be no question as to her tem 
 porary benefit, nor as to the permanent gain resulting 
 from the good digestion, the healthy appetite, the 
 sound sleep, and the control of pain which her physi 
 cian has secured for her. I believe that she is at least 
 half-convinced that he is going to cure her ; he tells her 
 so, continually, and does not seem to entertain the 
 shadow of a doubt of it. I have seen him twice for a 
 few moments ; and can say that he interests me very 
 much, because his theory which he makes no con 
 cealment of whatever is, as far as he has been able in 
 our very short talks to expound it to me, at least new, 
 bold, and radical, while I do not perceive that he gives 
 any sign of being a mere charlatan. I heard last night, 
 at the Wednesday Night Club (where Mr. Coolidge 
 was kind enough to invite me), all sorts of stories about 
 him, many of which I do not doubt to be true. So 
 that, on the whole, I am still waiting a little for the 
 drawing-out which I intend to bring to bear on him, 
 before I allow myself to make a final judgment about 
 him. Meantime there can be no question of Miss 
 Cushman s genuine improvement; and her intercourse 
 with the young physician seems to have been very 
 satisfactory to her. 
 
 I have not yet written a line of my India papers; 
 and am going at it this morning, tooth and nail. Will 
 you take the trouble to ask the Librarian of the Phila da 
 Library if I may keep the two books I have, for a couple 
 of days longer? If he refuses, I will ask you to tele 
 graph me, so that I may get them back in time. 
 
 Mr. Taylor, whom I saw for a few moments in New 
 York, asked after you both very particularly : Miss 
 Cushman is now secluded with the physician, else I 
 
22 Letters of Sidney Lanier 
 
 am sure she would send messages to you. As for me, 
 dear friend, my thoughts go to you as thickly as these 
 snowflakes which are now falling outside my window, 
 and alas, as silently, for lack of expression. But I 
 feel sure that you know I am always 
 
 Your friend, S. L. 
 
 BOSTON, November 10, 1875. 
 
 I scrawl a hasty note, just as I am leaving, to beg 
 that you will hand the two books which I have to-day 
 sent you by express to the Librarian, with my thanks 
 for his kind permission to keep them over the time. 
 They were very useful to me. 
 
 Our friend Miss Cushman is suffering a good deal of 
 pain every day, but appears to keep up her general 
 health steadily. I Ve had several talks with her doctor, 
 and I would not be surprised if he really cured her. 
 I find him not at all a quack, at least not an ignorant 
 one ; he is quite up to the most advanced ideas in his 
 profession. 
 
 But I have not time now to say more. I go directly 
 to Macon, except one day in New York, and will be at 
 home for two weeks, then to Baltimore for the winter, 
 to resume my old place as first flute in the Orchestra. 
 
 God bless you both, says your friend, 
 
 S. L. 
 
 66 CENTRE STREET, BALTIMORE, Mn., 
 December 16, 1875. 
 
 Yours enclosing three dollars came to me safely ; and 
 I should have immediately acknowledged it, had I not 
 been over head (literally) and ears in a second install 
 ment of my India papers for which the magazine was 
 
Letters to Mr. Gibson Peacock 23 
 
 agonizedly waiting. Possibly you may have seen the 
 January number by this time ; and it just occurs to me 
 that if you should read the India article you will be 
 wondering at my talking coolly of strolling about 
 Bombay with a Hindu friend. But Bhima Gandharva 
 (Bhima was the name of the ancient Sanscrit hero The 
 Son of the Air, and Gandharva means A Heavenly 
 Musician) is only another name for Imagination which 
 is certainly the only Hindu friend I have ; and the pro 
 priety of the term, as well as the true character of 
 Bhima Gandharva and the insubstantial nature of all 
 adventures recorded as happening to him and myself, 
 is to be fully explained in the end of the last article. 
 I hit upon this expedient, after much tribulation and 
 meditation, in order at once to be able to make some 
 thing like a narrative that should avoid an arid encyclo 
 pedic treatment, and to be perfectly truthful. The 
 only plan was to make it a pure jeu d 1 esprit ; and in 
 writing the second paper I have found it of great 
 advantage. 
 
 I have n t heard a word of the Florida book beyond 
 what you sent me ; God have mercy upon its soul, 
 I suppose it will be (as the judge says when the black 
 cap is on) hanged by the neck until it is dead, dead, 
 dead. 
 
 < I have with me my Charley, atat. seven, the sweetest, 
 openest, honestest little man was ever built. I find him 
 splendid company ; and I wish you might see him at 
 this moment, with his long lashes fringing the full oval 
 eyes, profoundly slumbering in bed, where I have but 
 ten minutes ago tucked him in and kissed him good 
 night. 
 
 I have a charming letter from C. C. [Charlotte Cush- 
 
24 Letters of Sidney Lanier 
 
 man], but through all the fair things she says to me I 
 can detect the note of physical pain, and the poor sweet 
 soul is evidently suffering greatly. 
 
 It does not now look Hkejl shall be able to see you, 
 as I had hoped at Xmas. I wish I had some method of 
 telling you with what deep satisfaction I reflect upon you 
 both, and with what delight I would find myself able to 
 be to you, in some fair act as well as in all fair words, 
 
 Your faithful friend, S. L. 
 
 66 CENTRE STREET, BALTIMORE, MD., 
 January 18, 1876. 
 
 For several weeks past all my minutes have been the 
 property of others, and I have in vain tried to appro 
 priate a little one to you. 
 
 The enclosed l will show you partly what I have been 
 doing. I am not at liberty to mention the matter ; but 
 you will keep it until the interdict against publicity is 
 removed. The Centennial Commission has invited me 
 to write a poem which shall serve as the text for a Can 
 tata (the music to be by Dudley Buck, of New York) to 
 be sung at the opening of the Exhibition, under Thomas 
 direction. All this is to be kept secret. 
 ^1 Ve written the enclosed. Necessarily I had to think 
 out the musical conceptions as well as the poem, and I 
 have briefly indicated these along the margin of each 
 movement. ( I have tried to make the whole as simple 
 and as candid as a melody of Beethoven s ; at the same 
 time expressing the largest ideas possible, and expressing 
 them in such a way as could not be offensive to any 
 
 1 First draught of the Cantata, to be sung at the opening of the 
 Centennial Exhibition at Philadelphia. Portions of this and the 
 following letter were printed as an appendix to the Poems, 1884. 
 
Letters to Mr. Gibson Peacock 25 
 
 modern soul. I particularly hope you 11 like the Angel s 
 Song, where I have endeavored to convey, in one line 
 each, the philosophies of Art, of Science, of Power, of 
 Government, of Faith, and of Social Life. Of course, I 
 shall not expect that this will instantly appeal to tastes 
 peppered and salted by Swinburne and that ilk; but 
 one cannot forget Beethoven, and somehow all my in 
 spirations came in these large and artless forms, in simple 
 Saxon words, in unpretentious and purely intellectual 
 conceptions ; while nevertheless I felt, all through, the 
 necessity of making a genuine song and not a rhymed 
 set of good adages out of it. I adopted the trochees 
 of the first movement because they compel a measured, 
 sober, and meditative movement of the mind; and 
 because, too, they are not the genius of our language. 
 When the trochees cease, and the land emerges as a dis 
 tinct unity, then I fall into our native iambics.; 
 
 I am very anxious you should think it worthy. If your 
 Maria shall like it, I shall not feel any fear about it. 
 
 BALTIMORE, January 25, 1876. 
 
 Your praise and your wife s give me a world of com 
 fort. I really do not believe anything was ever written 
 under an equal number of limitations ; and when I first 
 came to know all the conditions of the poem, I was for 
 a moment inclined to think that no genuine work could 
 be produced under them. As for the friend who was the 
 cause of the compliment, it was, directly, Mr. Taylor. 1 
 
 1 In answer to inquiries, Senator Hawley, President of the Cen 
 tennial Commission, writes : "The Centennial Commission, with 
 the assent of the Board of Finance, made me a committee of one 
 on all matters of ceremony, the most important of which were the 
 exercises on Opening Day and the great celebration on the Fourth 
 
26 Letters of Sidney Lanier 
 
 I knew nothing of it whatever until Mr. T. wrote me 
 that it had been settled to invite me. Indirectly, \ fancy 
 you are largely concerned in it ; for it seems from Mr. 
 Taylor s account that General Hawley was very glad to 
 have me do the work, and I fancy this must have been 
 owing much to the reputation which you set a-rolling so 
 recently. 
 
 i If you should see anything about the India papers, I 
 particularly desire to get it : for I fancy that Mr. Kirk 
 was not quite as pleased with them as with other works 
 of mine, and I would therefore hail any sign of their 
 popularity. t I do not have time to read any papers; 
 life is getting so full to me that I scarcely know how 
 
 of July. Of course I did not presume to act without the best 
 advice I could get. My warm, patriotic, and eminently unselfish 
 adviser and friend in the matter was Bayard Taylor. I easily 
 selected Theodore Thomas to take charge of the music, and a 
 great orchestra and a great chorus were secured. I wanted a 
 hymn from Lowell, who * begged off, as the phrase is, or Whittier. 
 I visited both, and finally secured Mr. Whittier, who wrote the 
 charming hymn you may recollect. We then selected the musical 
 composers, Mr. Paine and Mr. Dudley Buck, and decided, very 
 likely upon the suggestion of Thomas, that we should have a can 
 tata, or some sort of a composition of that description. It was 
 Mr. Taylor who first brought Mr. Lanier to my attention. I be 
 lieve I knew as much as this, that there was a promising writer of 
 that name. ^We were anxious to secure participation from the 
 Southern States. Mr. Taylor and I talked the matter over very 
 carefully, and he showed me, I think, some writings of Mr. Lanier s, 
 but I relied very largely upon his judgment, and decided to in 
 vite Mr. Lanier. We were all of us always glad that we had 
 done so. The Cantata was somewhat unusual in style and char 
 acter ; that is to say, it was original, but it was charmingly so, and 
 both Buck and Thomas thought it very remarkably adapted to our 
 needs. I saw something of Mr. Lanier, but not much. What I 
 did see impressed me very favorably, and I have a very kind and 
 tender recollection of that gentleman.") 
 
Letters to Mr. Gibson Peacock 27 
 
 I am going to win through the next two months 
 work. 
 
 After that, though, there is a charming possibility 
 ahead of me which holds the frequent sight of you 
 among its delights. (None of this to be mentioned yet.) 
 When Theodore Thomas passed through here a few days 
 ago, to my great surprise he told me that his orchestra 
 would probably be increased during the summer, and 
 that he would like me to take the additional flute in it. 
 I had played several duos with his first flute, Wehner, 
 and it is to his voluntary recommendation that I owe 
 the offer. It would be very charming for me ; <and is 
 such a compliment to a player wholly untaught as I am, > 
 and but recently out of the country, that I m indulging 
 myself in considerable gratification over it. 
 
 Mr. Buck writes me that he has now completed his 
 sketches for the Cantata, and is going at once to the 
 work of scoring it for orchestra and voices. He seems 
 immensely pleased with the text, and we have gotten on 
 together with perfect harmony during the process of fit 
 ting together the words and the music, which has been 
 wholly accomplished by letter. 
 
 By the way, there are two alterations which I think I 
 have made since your copy was sent you. They are : 
 
 Now praise to God s oft-granted grace, 
 Now praise to man s undaunted f ace ; 
 
 the two underscored words having been added ; and the 
 last four lines which did not roll with enough majesty to 
 suit me have been entirely remodelled, to read thus : 
 
 , Then, Music, from this height of time my Word unfold: 
 In thy large signals all men s hearts Man s Heart behold : 
 Mid-heaven unroll thy chords as friendly flags unfurled, 
 And wave the world s best lover s welcome to the world. 
 
28 Letters of Sidney Lanier 
 
 Pray make these alterations in your copy. Also in 
 the Huguenot stanza, instead of " Toil e en when brother- 
 wars," write "Toil when wild brother- wars," etc. So, 
 God bless you both. 
 
 BALTIMORE, April 11, 1876. 
 
 By a miraculous burst of hard work since early this 
 morning, I ve managed to get ready a few minutes be 
 fore time for me to start, and I devote those to sending 
 you a line which may convey to you how sorry I was to 
 miss you yesterday. You will care to know that Mr. Kirk 
 gave me three hundred dollars for the poem, 1 but that 
 includes book- copyright and all. Write me at Exchange 
 Hotel, Montgomery, Ala. If you only knew what an 
 uplifting you have always been to your friend, 
 
 S. L.! 
 
 MACON, GA., April 27, 1876. 
 
 May and I ran over here yesterday from Montgomery, 
 Ala., where I have been spending the time since I saw 
 you, with my brother s family and my own. My father 
 lives here ; and we are to remain about five days, when 
 May returns to the children at Montgomery, and I 
 hasten back to Philadelphia. I therefore hope to see 
 you within a week. 
 
 v I ve been such a subject and helpless victim of ova 
 tion among the good people of these regions that the 
 time has never seemed to come when I could answer 
 your good letter. The Southern people make a great 
 deal more of my appointment to write the Cantata poem 
 than I had ever expected, and it really seems to be re 
 garded by them as one of the most substantial tokens of 
 
 1 " Psalm of the West," Lippincott s Magazine, June, 1876. 
 
Letters to Mr. Gibson Peacock 29 
 
 reconciliation yet evinced by that vague tertium quid 
 which they are accustomed to represent to themselves 
 under the general term of " the North." i I am aston 
 ished, too, to find what a hold " Corn " has taken upon 
 all classes. Expressions come to me, in great number, 
 from men whom I never supposed accessible by any 
 poetry whatever; and these recognitions arrive hand 
 [-in-hand] with those from persons of the highest cul 
 ture. The " Tribune " notice of the Cantata has been 
 copied by a great many Southern papers, and I think 
 it materially assisted in starting the poem off properly ; 
 though the people here are so enthusiastic in my favor 
 at present that they are quite prepared to accept blindly 
 anything that comes from me. Of course I understand 
 all this, and any success seems cheap which depends 
 so thoroughly on local pride as does my present position 
 with the South ; yet, in view of the long and bitter 
 struggle which I must make up my mind to wage in 
 carrying out those extensions of poetic Forms about 
 which all my thoughts now begin to converge, it is 
 pleasant to find that I have at least the nucleus of an 
 audience which will be willing to receive me upon the 
 plane of mere blind faith until time shall have given a 
 more scientific basis to their understandings./ 
 
 I have seen a quotation (in the Baltimore " Bulletin," 
 which indignantly takes up the cudgel in my behalf) of 
 
 one sentence from " The ," which makes me suppose 
 
 that I have had a harsh reception from the New York 
 papers generally, in the matter of the Cantata text. 
 
 The "Bulletin" represents "The " as saying that the 
 
 poem is like " a communication from the spirit of Nat 
 Lee through a Bedlamite medium." Nothing rejoices 
 me more than the inward perception how utterly the 
 
30 Letters of Sidney Lanier 
 
 time, and the frame of mind, are passed by in which 
 anything of this sort gives me the least disturbance. 
 Six months ago this would have hurt me, even against 
 my will. Now it seems only a little grotesque episode, 
 just as when a few minutes ago I sat in my father s 
 garden, here, and heard a catbird pause, in the midst 
 of the most exquisite roulades and melodies, to mew, 
 and then take up his song again. 
 
 What a fearsome long screed, and all about Me ! 
 But it is not with the least malice prepense : you are to 
 reflect that I Ve just stolen away, from a half-dozen 
 engagements, to my father s office, in an unspeakable 
 spring morning, to send you a little message out of my 
 heart, wherein, truly, whenever I think of you, there 
 is always instantly born a spring full of gardens, and of 
 song-birds that never mew. 
 
 I hope so soon to kiss the hands of your two ladies 
 that I send no further messages now save the old one 
 that I am always their and your friend, S. L. 
 
 WEST CHESTER, PA., October 4, 1876. 
 
 I had expected to be in Philadelphia to-day, and to 
 answer your kind inquiries in person. But some of 
 those hateful things mildly called circumstances beyond 
 one s control prevented, and I send a note to say how 
 much obliged we have been by your thoughtful com 
 munications from Brunswick. Our advices from Mr. 
 Day, 1 which had been delayed in some way, now arrive 
 regularly. 
 
 I returned from Baltimore late on Saturday. Mr. 
 Gilman, President of Johns Hopkins University, received 
 me with great cordiality. I took tea with him on Thurs- 
 
 1 Mrs. Lanier s father. 
 
Letters to Mr. Gibson Peacock 31 
 
 day, and he devoted his entire evening to discussing 
 with me some available method of connecting me with 
 the University officially. The main difficulty was in 
 adjusting the special work which I wish to do to the 
 existing scheme of the institution. I found that Mr. 
 Oilman was familiar with all my poems, and he told 
 me that he had thought of inviting me to a position in 
 the University last winter, but did not know whether I 
 had ever pursued any special studies. He had been 
 greatly attracted by the Cantata, and its defence. It 
 was finally agreed that a proposition should be made to 
 the Trustees to create for me a sort of nondescript chair 
 of " Poetry and Music," giving me leave to shape my 
 lectures into any mould I desired. He is to choose 
 whatever time may seem suitable to him, in which to 
 broach the project, and will then write me the result. 
 I have no doubt of his sincere desire for the favorable 
 consummation of the business; and inasmuch as the 
 most happy relations have heretofore existed between 
 him and the Trustees, it would seem that the prospect 
 is good. 
 
 I am better than when you saw me last, but still suf 
 fering much with cough. May is much worn with 
 nursing Harry, who has been quite troublesome of 
 nights. 
 
 I hope you are both well. I m trying hard to get 
 May off to Phila da again soon, for a day and a night ; 
 the tonic of seeing or hearing anything beautiful seems 
 to have a wonderful effect on her. She joins in loving 
 messages to you both. . . . 
 
 The hope of filling that " nondescript chair of Poetry 
 and Music " hovered before Lanier during that summer 
 
32 Letters of Sidney Lanier 
 
 and autumn, but in spite of Lanier s fitness and of Pres 
 ident Oilman s inclination the offer was not made. 
 Later, indeed, three years later, when the poet s sands 
 were almost run, the Trustees of the University gave 
 Lanier an appointment, and he delivered two courses 
 of lectures with such conspicuous success that, after 
 his death, Johns Hopkins University honored him with 
 a memorial tablet, and has been glad to be associated 
 with his rising fame. 
 
Letters to Mr. Gibson Peacock 33 
 
 II 
 
 LANIER S connection with the Centennial Exhibition 
 brought him, during the summer of 1876, into many 
 pleasant relations; but, unfortunately, his health de 
 clined. He passed several months at West Chester, 
 Pa., where he wrote " Clover " and "The Waving of the 
 Corn ; " and then, when autumn came, he returned 
 to Philadelphia in what seemed a dying condition. 
 For many weeks he was tenderly nursed at the Pea 
 cocks , until, having regained a little strength, it was 
 evident that he must go South if he would survive the 
 winter. Accordingly, leaving the children behind, he 
 and his wife journeyed to Florida as fast as his feeble 
 ness permitted. His first note, written on a postal card, 
 is dated "Cedar Keys, Fla., December 20th, 1876." 
 He says : " Through many perils and adventures we 
 are so far safely on our way, in much better condition 
 than could have been expected. We leave for Tampa 
 presently. It is about 125 miles southward; but we 
 stop at Manatee, and do not reach Tampa until to 
 morrow night, spending thirty-six hours in the 
 steamer. We have been wishing all the morning that 
 you might pace these white sands with us, in the 
 heavenly weather. Will write you immediately from 
 Tampa." 
 
 TAMPA, FLA., December 27, 1876. 
 
 On arriving here we find that your friendship has as 
 usual anticipated us. May and I, strolling down to the 
 
 3 
 
34 Letters of Sidney Lanier 
 
 Post-office to rent a box, and not daring to think of 
 letters, are told by the clerk that he thinks there is 
 something for us, and the something turns out to be 
 your pleasant budget which we incontinently open and 
 devour, sitting down on the steps of the/ Post-office for 
 that purpose, to the wonderment of the natives. Your 
 news of our dear manikins is the first we have had, and 
 is a fair gift for our Christmas. . . . 
 
 The letters you sent were all pleasant in one way or 
 another. One is from H. M. Alden, Editor " Harper s 
 Magazine," enclosing check for fifteen dollars and 
 accepting the poem (" The Waving of the Corn ") sent 
 him by me through Bayard Taylor. Another is a very 
 cordial letter from " Geo. C. Eggleston, Literary Editor 
 Evening Post," making tender of brotherhood to me in 
 a really affectionate way, and declaring that " the keen 
 delight with which he recently read my volume of poems 
 sharpens the pang he feels in knowing that one in whose 
 work he sees so rich a promise lies on a bed of illness." > 
 
 The postal card is from Gilder, whom I had requested 
 to make a slight addition to my article on "The 
 Orchestra" in Scribner s. 
 
 The fourth letter is, as you guessed, from Emma 
 Stebbins, and I enclose it for you to read. It seems 
 from the last portion of it that she has quite abandoned 
 the idea of writing the life of Charlotte Cushman, sub 
 stituting for that the project of merely printing a 
 Memorial Volume. 1 
 
 1 Miss Stebbins subsequently published a life of Miss Cush 
 man (Boston : Houghton, Osgood & Co., 1878). This work had 
 been assigned to Lanier, and a contract made by him with the 
 publishers, when the illness of Miss Stebbins, who was to cull 
 material from letters accessible to her alone, caused Miss Cush- 
 man s family to cancel the engagement. 
 
Letters to Mr. Gibson Peacock 35 
 
 The " Bulletin " with the notice you mention has not 
 yet arrived. I am very much pleased that the " Psalm 
 of the West " has given Mrs. Champney a text to preach 
 from. One begins to add to the intrinsic delight of 
 prophet-hood the less lonesome joy of human helpful 
 ness when one finds the younger poets resting upon 
 one for a support and buttress in this way. 
 
 You will be glad to know that we are situated much 
 more comfortably than we could have hoped. Tampa 
 is the most forlorn collection of little one-story frame 
 houses imaginable, and as May and I walked behind 
 our landlord, who was piloting us to the Orange Grove 
 Hotel, our hearts fell nearer and nearer towards the 
 sand through which we dragged. But presently we 
 turned a corner, and were agreeably surprised to find 
 ourselves in front of a large three-story house with 
 many odd nooks and corners, altogether clean and 
 comfortable in appearance, and surrounded by orange- 
 trees in full fruit. We have a large room in the second 
 story, opening upon a generous balcony fifty feet long, 
 into which stretch the liberal arms of a fine orange-tree, 
 holding out their fruitage to our very lips. In front is 
 a sort of open plaza, containing a pretty group of 
 gnarled live oaks full of moss and mistletoe. 
 
 /They have found out my public character already: 
 somebody who had travelled with me recognized me on 
 the street yesterday and told mine host. He and bis 
 wife are all kindness, having taken a fancy, I imagine, 
 to my sweet angel May. They have just sent up a 
 lovely bunch of roses and violets from the garden, 
 a sentimental attention which finds a pleasant parallel in 
 the appearance of a servant at our door before breakfast 
 to inquire whether we prefer our steak fried or broiled. ^ 
 
3 6 Letters of Sidney Lanier 
 
 The weather is perfect summer, and I luxuriate in 
 great draughts of balmy air uncontaminated with city- 
 smokes and furnace-dusts. This has come not a 
 moment too soon ; for the exposures of the journey had 
 left my poor lung in most piteous condition. I am 
 now better, however; and May is in good case, except 
 that the languid air takes the spring from her step, and 
 inclines her much to laziness. . . . 
 
 We have three mails a week: two by stage from 
 Gainesville (which is on the railroad from Fernandina 
 to Cedar Keys) and one by steamer from Cedar Keys. 
 Address me simply "Tampa, Fla." I have a box 
 (No. 8: I don t think there are more than twenty- 
 five or thirty in all) at the Post-office, and the clerk 
 knows me : as in fact everybody else does, a stranger 
 is a stranger in Tampa. . . . 
 
 (Over.) 
 
 DEAR MR. PEACOCK : Sidney has forgotten my mes 
 sage which entreated Mrs. Peacock (Heaven bless 
 her!) to consider my letters unanswerable. You are 
 one in our thoughts and affections, and we are content 
 to hear from either of you. And I am so selfish as to 
 wish that she should always be glad when my poor 
 letters come. When you see Dr. Lippe pray give him 
 our best regards and say that we will write as soon as 
 we have had time to know how Sidney is. 
 
 Your loving MARY D. L. 
 
 P. S. No. 15. I enclose the two receipts for the 
 silver: Robbins and the Trust Company s. We will 
 write about it some future time : meantime as to the 
 set at Robbins , place it wherever you like. S. L. 
 
Letters to Mr. Gibson Peacock 37 
 
 TAMPA, December 31, 1876. 
 
 I am writing a line to send you both a New Year s 
 kiss from us two. We have had a great change in the 
 weather : a couple of days ago the hyperborean blasts 
 turned our pretty summer quite out of doors, and we 
 have had for thirty-six hours a temperature which 
 reminds us very forcibly of a New Year s Day at the 
 North. As we sit over our blazing knots of " fat light- 
 wood " we think with double vividness of your two dear 
 faces, and wish that they were by ours or ours by 
 them. . . . 
 
 The Magazine has arrived, and your lovely notice of 
 my little " Evening Song " l gives me genuine pleasure. 
 I see too that the poem has smitten the hitherto-invul 
 nerable R. Shelton McKenzie under the fifth rib. This 
 is a triumph indeed. The " Bulletin " with the notice from 
 the " Evening Post " has also arrived. The letter from 
 " Lippincott s " which you forwarded was an enclosure 
 of check for ten dollars for the " Evening Song." 
 
 May is doing well ; and I, with some setbacks, am 
 on the whole improving. I have found a shaggy gray 
 mare upon whose back I thrid the great pine forests 
 daily, much to my delight. Nothing seems so restora 
 tive to me as a good gallop. We have now only two 
 mails a week, and these take a long time to go and 
 come. If there should ever be any occasion to telegraph 
 us, a despatch can be sent to Tuckertown (which is on 
 the telegraph line, thirty miles from here), whence the 
 operators will, if so requested, forward it by courier on 
 horseback to Tampa. 
 
 I sent you the two silver receipts by last mail. For 
 ward me whatever you happen to see about the little 
 1 Printed in " Lippincott s Magazine," January, 1877. 
 
38 Letters of Sidney Lanier 
 
 Song : I wish to send the notices to Dudley Buck, who 
 has set this poem to music. God bless you both, say 
 May and S. L. 
 
 TAMPA, FLA., January 17, 1877. 
 
 I wrote you immediately upon arriving here, enclosing 
 the two receipts for the silver ; and I believe some sort 
 of greeting has gone from one of us to one of you by 
 nearly every mail, since our arrival. I only mention this 
 because our Florida mail arrangements are of the very 
 slowest description, and, as we have yet had nothing from 
 you written since any of our communications reached 
 you, we presume the latter have taken the very uttermost 
 limit of time in getting to you. 
 
 We fare slowly on, in health. May has been very 
 much affected by the warm weather which has prevailed 
 for the past two weeks, and suffers much from lassitude 
 with some appearance of malarial symptoms. I think 
 my lung is healing gradually, and although I have a great 
 deal of hoarseness, it does not seem to be attended with 
 any other serious accompaniment. I certainly improve 
 in strength, though pulled down, as indeed are all the 
 healthy people about us, by the languorous summer 
 temperature. 
 
 I think we will have to sell the silver ; if you can get 
 $350 for it, it may go at that. Possibly we will sell it for 
 old silver, after a while, at $200 : but I would be glad 
 if you would see whether any silver dealer with whom 
 you should leave it (after Robbins) can get an offer of 
 
 $350- 
 
 I am writing in haste, having come in from a ride, 
 horseback, just as the mail is about to close. . . . 
 
Letters to Mr. Gibson Peacock 39 
 
 TAMPA, FLA., March 25, 1877. 
 
 MY DEAREST MARIA PEACOCK : . . . I wish we were 
 spending this March day in your dear little Brown Study 
 with you. I have an inexpressible longing to see you 
 when you will not be as during that last month 
 anxious at heart on my account. This might now very 
 well be; for although many breaks and exasperating 
 interruptions have chequered my progress since I came 
 here, yet in comparing my present condition with the 
 state I was in when I left you, no room is left for doubt 
 that my lung is certainly healing, and that the rest is 
 only matter of time and warm weather. 
 
 We expect to leave Tampa on the 5th April, for Bruns 
 wick, where we will remain until May. Our after-pro 
 gramme is to spend the month of May in Macon, and 
 to return to Philadelphia in June. Consider that our 
 address, therefore, is changed to " Care of Chas. Day ? 
 Brunswick, Ga." 
 
 May has been suffering much with malarial influences, 
 and I am impatient for the time when she may return 
 to the bracing northern air which appears to agree 
 with her so well. She sends you all manner of loving 
 messages. 
 
 Please ask Mr. Gibson as soon as the rest of the silver 
 money comes in to send for Dr. SchelFs bill, and dis 
 charge it. I have been more pained about the long 
 standing-over of it than I can tell you. Did you see my 
 "Beethoven" in the "Galaxy"? 1 A bad misprint oc 
 curred in the punctuation at the end of the eighth verse, 
 where somebody inserted a semicolon. In the original 
 there is nothing : the two verses (8th and 9th) being 
 intended to run together, *. e. the luminous lightnings 
 
 1 " Beethoven," printed in the " Galaxy " for March, 1877. 
 
40 Letters of Sidney Lanier 
 
 blindly strike the sailor praying on his knees along with, 
 &c. In reading other articles in this Magazine I observe 
 that the proof must have been very badly read. 
 
 I have had a very affectionate letter from Emma 
 Stebbins, enclosing a fifty-dollar bill which she wanted 
 to loan me. 
 
 My thoughts are much upon my French poem the 
 Jacquerie outburst in these days. If Mr. Hayes would 
 only appoint me consul somewhere in the south of 
 France ! ! ! 
 
 BRUNSWICK, GA., April 26, 1877. 
 
 If I had as many fingers as your astounding servant- 
 maid, and each one could wield a pen separately, I still 
 would n t be able to write the fair messages which con 
 tinually construct themselves in my heart to you both. 
 That such a very pitiful fraction of these has actually 
 reached you during the last few weeks is due to mine an 
 cient infirmity in the matter of driving the quill, and to 
 May s constant occupation with her father and brother. 
 These poor lonely men live here in a house to themselves 
 with no women or children about them ; and when May 
 comes with her bright ways and intelligent sympathies 
 she has both hands, lips, and heart very busy from morn 
 ing till night. 
 
 I suppose you Ve seen a little extravaganza of mine in 
 " St. Nicholas " for May. The proof-sheets were sent me 
 at Tampa, and I promptly corrected and returned them : 
 but they seem not to have arrived in time, and I desolate 
 myself at finding some miserable repetitions and awkward 
 expressions, which I had carefully amended, appearing 
 nevertheless, beside some very bad punctuation sys 
 tematically interpolated all the way through by some other 
 
Letters to Mr. Gibson Peacock 41 
 
 hand than mine. The illustrations are charming, how 
 ever, and I feel as if I ought to write a special letter of 
 thanks to Mr. Bensell for the evident care he has taken. 
 The story I meant to be only such an incongruous 
 melange as one might " make up as he went along " for 
 a lot of children about his knees ; and its very intentional 
 incongruities must have been serious stumbling-blocks to 
 the engraver. 
 
 I sincerely regret the continued illness of Mr. Wells. 1 
 He was so full of life and so overbrimming with his 
 quips and his quiddities, that I can scarcely realize him 
 as a sick man. Pray send him my cordial greetings when 
 you write, with my earnest wishes for his speedy recovery. 
 
 I wrote Mrs. Peacock just before we left Tampa. We 
 remain here until the fifth of May; after which our 
 address will be " Macon, Ga." We think to spend a 
 month there ; and then, if I continue to improve, to 
 make our way back northward, i I can t tell you how 
 famished I am for the Orchestra : an imperious hunger 
 drives me towards it. ) 
 
 We both send a kiss to you both. If Miss Phelps is 
 with you, we 11 put in two, mine being particularly by 
 way of response for her kind note. I long to see 
 you all. 
 
 MACON, GA., May 26, 1877. 
 
 /They have had a family gathering here to meet me; 
 and what with fondling numerous new babies that have 
 arrived since I last met the parents thereof, and with 
 much talk of matters high and low, I have not found 
 time to send my love to you. / I have gained greatly in 
 strength within the last three weeks, and although I have 
 
 1 Francis Wells, assistant editor of the " Evening Bulletin." 
 
42 Letters of Sidney Lanier 
 
 still much discomfort at times I feel perfectly sure that I 
 have quite got the upper hand of this particular attack at 
 least. We propose to start for Philadelphia within two 
 weeks from now, waiting so long only to be sure of es 
 caping any possible caprice of this very variable Spring. 
 The prospect of speedily turning northward gives us, as 
 you can imagine, great delight : for it is a prospect which 
 holds in its " middle distance " you two, and our dear 
 monkeys for whom our arms are fairly hungry. 
 
 % I long to be steadily writing again. I m taken with 
 a poem pretty nearly every day, and have to content 
 myself with making a note of its train of thought on 
 the back of whatever letter is in my coat-pocket./ I 
 don t write it out, because I find my poetry now wholly 
 unsatisfactory in consequence of a certain haunting im 
 patience which has its root in the straining uncertainty 
 of my daily affairs ; and I am trying with all my might 
 to put off composition of all sorts until some approach 
 to the certainty of next week s dinner shall remove this 
 remnant of haste, and leave me that repose which ought 
 to fill the artist s firmament while he is creating. 
 Perhaps indeed with returning bodily health I shall 
 acquire strength to attain this serenity in spite of all 
 contingencies. 
 
 Address me here if you write within the next ten 
 days. May would send a kiss to you both if she knew 
 I was writing. Cordial greetings to Miss Phelps if 
 she is now with you. I hope Mr. Wells continues to 
 improve. 
 
 40 MT. VERNON PLACE, BALTIMORE, MD., 
 June 13, 1877. 
 
 I am really distressed to know that you should have 
 spent your day at Washington in the unprofitable busi- 
 
Letters to Mr. Gibson Peacock 43 
 
 ness of pottering about those dreary Departments in 
 my behalf : but I won t lecture you for your unearthly 
 goodness to me. 
 
 May and I are to go to Washington next Monday, to 
 visit Judge Advocate General Dunn, who is a son-in-law 
 of my kinsman J. F. D. Lanier (of New York), and 
 who has extended a very cordial invitation to us. We 
 will also meet there General Humphreys, Chief of the 
 Engineer Corps, who is an old friend of May s mother, 
 and has always made a great pet of May herself. v It 
 seems like stretching our hearts to stay away from the 
 boys longer; yet we have determined finally to do it, 
 inasmuch as we do not know when we will have another 
 opportunity to meet these friends.* 
 
 As for the " application : " you must know, my dear 
 good Friend, that all that matter was gotten up without 
 my knowledge, and has been carried on by my father 
 and Mr. Lanier of New York. When they finally wrote 
 to me of it, I replied (after a great struggle which I have 
 not the heart to detail to you) that inasmuch as I had 
 never been a party man of any sort I did not see with 
 what grace I could ask any appointment; and that, 
 furthermore, I could not see it to be delicate, on gen 
 eral principles, for me to make personal application for 
 any particular office : but that I would be grateful if they 
 would simply cause my name to be mentioned to the 
 proper persons as that of a person who might be suit 
 able for certain classes of appointments, and that I 
 would accept with pleasure any result of such an appli 
 cation. This has been done : my name has been men 
 tioned to Mr. Sherman 1 (and to Mr. Evarts, 2 I believe) 
 
 1 Secretary of the Treasury. 
 
 2 Secretary of State. 
 
44 Letters of Sidney Lanier 
 
 by quite cordially disposed persons. But I do not think 
 any formal application has been entered, though I do 
 not know. I hope not : for then the reporters will get 
 hold of it, and I scarcely know what I should do if I 
 should see my name figuring alongside of Jack Brown s 
 and Foster Blodgett s and the others of my native 
 State, as would quickly be the case. 
 
 But I can speak of all this when I see you. It will be 
 probably nine or ten days before I have that pleasure, 
 even if you shall have returned to Phila da by that 
 time. Pray send me a line (see address, above date of 
 this letter) to let me know your motions. . . . Don t think 
 me finical, and don t think me anything but your faithful 
 
 S. L. 
 
 CHADD S FORD, PA., August 7, 1877. 
 
 This is but an hour old ; and after sending it off to 
 Harper s, I ve made a hasty copy for you, thinking 
 you would care to see it. The poor dove whose sorrow 
 it commemorates wakes me every morning, calling from 
 the lovely green woods about us. 
 
 We are charmed with our place. I myself have rather 
 too much pot-boiling to improve much, but the boys are 
 having a royal time. May sends a kiss to you both, as 
 does your faithful S. L. 
 
 [Enclosure.] 
 THE DOVE: A SONG.i 
 
 If thou, if thou, O blue and silver Morn, 
 Should st call along the curving sphere : " Remain, 
 
 Sweet Night, my Love ! Nay, leave me not forlorn ! " 
 With soft halloos of heavenly love and pain : 
 
 1 First printed, with many changes, in " Scribner s Magazine," 
 May, 1878. 
 
A Letters to Mr. Gibson Peacock 45 
 
 Should st them, past Spring, a-cower in coverts dark, 
 Gainst proud supplanting Summer sing thy plea 
 
 And move the mighty woods through mailed bark 
 Till tender heartbreak throb in every tree : 
 
 (Ah, grievous If, wilt turn to Yea full soon ? ) 
 
 If thou, my Heart, long holden from thy Love, 
 Should st beat and burn in mellow shocks of tune : 
 
 Each might but mock yon deep-sequestered dove ! 
 
 CHADD S FORD, PA., September 8, 1877. 
 I am called to Washington for the purpose of pros 
 ecuting my affairs, which are delayed much beyond 
 expectation, and am obliged to anticipate my in 
 come a little, being out of funds for a week. Please 
 loan me fifty dollars, if you can do so without inconven 
 ience to yourself. You can send your check payable to 
 my order. Which takes my breath away, and I can t 
 say anything more now. 
 
 WASHINGTON, D. C., September 27, 1877. 
 
 Yours was forwarded to me here. Just as I received 
 your check, a severe pleuritic attack seized me, and 
 kept me in great pain for ten days. I then got up from 
 bed to come here, in the desperate necessity to do what 
 could be done. Last Monday at daylight an exhausting 
 haemorrhage came, which has kept me confined to my 
 room ever since. ^In this enforced inactivity, I have 
 had nothing to return to you. (This morning a check 
 comes from Lippincott for a little story I sent, and I 
 enclose it, endorsed to your order. Please let me know 
 what your address will be, so that I may send the re 
 maining twenty-five at the earliest possible moment. > 
 
 There does not appear the least hope of success here. 
 Three months ago the order was given by Secretary 
 
46 Letters of Sidney Lanier 
 
 Sherman that I should have the first vacancy : but the 
 appointment-clerk, who received the order, is a singular 
 person, and I am told there are rings within rings in the 
 Department to such an extent that vacancies are filled 
 by petty chiefs of division without ever being reported 
 at all to the proper officers. You will scarcely believe 
 that, in my overwhelming desire to get some routine 
 labor by which I might be relieved from this exhausting 
 magazine work so as to apply my whole mind to my 
 long poem on which I have been engaged, I have 
 allowed a friend to make application to every depart 
 ment in Washington for even the humblest position 
 seventy-five dollars a month and the like but without 
 success. I also made personal application , to several 
 people in Baltimore for similar employment, but fruit 
 lessly, x Altogether it seems as if there was n t any place 
 for me in this world, and if it were not for May I should 
 certainly quit it, in mortification at being so useless. ^ 
 
 I hope you will have a pleasant holiday. Give my 
 love to my dear Maria Peacock, and say how glad I am 
 to think of her long relief from the household and other 
 cares which give her so much trouble. 
 
 55 LEXINGTON ST., BALTIMORE, MD., 
 November 3, 1877. 
 
 I have not had the courage to write you without en 
 closing the check for twenty-five dollars, which ought to 
 have gone to you long ago. I still have n t a cent to 
 send ; and am writing only to answer your inquiries 
 whose kindliness might otherwise go unacknowledged. 
 
 All sorts of things were promised to the friends who 
 were good enough to intercede at Washington in my 
 behalf: but nothing has come of it. In truth I should 
 
Letters to Mr. Gibson Peacock 47 
 
 long ago have abandoned all ideas in that direction and 
 resumed the thread of my magazine work, had it not 
 been for illness which prevented me from writing much, 
 and thus kept me entertaining some little expectation. 
 The haemorrhage, however, which disabled me from 
 work temporarily, has greatly relieved my lung, and I am 
 now stronger than at any time in the last fifteen months. 
 t My whole soul is bursting with chaotic poems, and I 
 hope to do some good work during the coming year.j 
 
 I have found it quite essential to my happiness and 
 health to have some quarters, however rude, which I 
 could regard as permanent for the next four or five 
 years, instead of drifting about the world. We have 
 therefore established ourselves in four rooms, arranged 
 somewhat as a French Flat, in the heart of Baltimore. 
 We have a gas-stove, on which my Comrade magically 
 produces the best coffee in the world, and this, with 
 fresh eggs (boiled over the same handy little machine), 
 bread, butter, and milk, forms our breakfast. Our din 
 ner is sent to us from a restaurant in the same building 
 with our rooms, and is served in our apartment without 
 extra charge. 
 
 As for my plans for the future : I have set on foot 
 another attempt to get a place in the Johns Hopkins 
 University : I also have a prospect of employment as an 
 assistant at the Peabody Library here ; and there is still 
 a possibility of a committee-clerkship in Washington. 
 Meantime, however, I am just resuming work for the 
 editors : my nearest commission is to write a Christmas 
 poem for " Every Saturday," an ambitious new weekly 
 paper just started in Baltimore. The editor wishes to 
 illustrate the poem liberally and use it as an advertise 
 ment by making some fuss over it. 
 
48 Letters of Sidney Lanier 
 
 There ! You have a tolerable abstract of my past, 
 present, and future. . . . Have you seen my Wagner 
 poem in the November " Galaxy " ? I have not; and, as it 
 was much involved, and as I did n t see any proof-sheet, 
 and as finally the " Galaxy s " proof-reader is notoriously 
 bad, I suspect it is a pretty muddle of nonsense. 
 And so, God bless you both. 
 
 55 LEXINGTON ST., BALTIMORE, 
 December 3, 1877. 
 
 Your letter was heartily received by May and me, and 
 the stamps brought acclamations from the three young 
 men at the breakfast- table. We had been talking of 
 you more than usual for several days; and May had been 
 recalling that wonderful Thanksgiving Day a year ago 
 when the kindness of you and my dear Maria seemed 
 to culminate in the mysterious Five-hundred-dollar-bill 
 which came up on the breakfast-tray. What a couple 
 you are, anyhow: you and that same Maria with the 
 Cape-jessamine-textured throat ! 
 
 I indulged in a haemorrhage immediately after reach 
 ing home, which kept me out of the combat for ten days. 
 I then plunged in and brought captive forth a long 
 Christmas poem 1 for " Every Saturday," an ambitious 
 young weekly of Baltimore. Have you seen my " Puzzled 
 Ghost in Florida," in " AppletonV " for December? . . . 
 
 We had another key to the silver chest. It contained 
 a second set of old family plate, which we now use daily 
 and in which we take great comfort. There are no 
 other papers concerning it. 
 
 I hope you had a pleasant visit in New York. . . . 
 I ve just received a letter from Emma Stebbins. She is 
 
 1 " Hard Times in Elfland." 
 
Letters to Mr. Gibson Peacock 49 
 
 at the Cushmans , in Newport, and much improved in 
 health. She has finished six chapters of her book on 
 Miss Cushman, and may have it ready for the publishers 
 by next fall. 
 
 Wife and I have been out to look at a lovely house 
 to-day, with eight rooms and many charming appliances, 
 which we find we can rent for less than we now pay for 
 our four rooms. We think of taking it straightway, and 
 will do so if a certain half- hundred of dollars for which 
 we hope reaches us in time. . . . 
 
 33 DENMEAD ST., BALTIMORE, MD., 
 January 6, 1878. 
 
 The painters, the whitewashers, the plumbers, the 
 locksmiths, the carpenters, the gas-fitters, the stove-put- 
 up-ers, the carmen, the piano-movers, the carpet-layers, 
 all these have I seen, bargained with, reproached for 
 bad jobs, and finally paid off: I have also coaxed my 
 landlord into all manner of outlays for damp walls, cold 
 bath-rooms, and other like matters : I have furthermore 
 bought at least three hundred and twenty-seven house 
 hold utensils which suddenly came to be absolutely neces 
 sary to our existence : I have moreover hired a colored 
 gentlewoman who is willing to wear out my carpets, burn 
 out my range, freeze out my water-pipes, and be gener 
 ally useful : I have also moved my family into our new 
 home, have had a Xmas tree for the youngsters, have 
 looked up a cheap school for Harry and Sidney, have 
 discharged my daily duties as first flute of the Peabody 
 Orchestra, have written a couple of poems and part of 
 an essay on Beethoven and Bismarck, have accomplished 
 at least a hundred thousand miscellaneous necessary 
 nothings, and have not, in consequence of all the afore- 
 
 4 
 
50 Letters of Sidney Lanier 
 
 said, sent to you and my dear Maria the loving greetings 
 whereof my heart has been full during the whole season. 
 Maria s cards were duly distributed, and we were all 
 touched with her charming little remembrances. With 
 how much pleasure do I look forward to the time when 
 I may kiss her hand in my own house ! We are in a 
 state of supreme content with our new home : it really 
 seems to me as incredible that myriads of people have 
 been living in their own homes heretofore f as to the 
 young couple with a first baby it seems impossible that a 
 great many other couples have had similar prodigies. It 
 is simply too delightful. \ Good heavens, how I wish that 
 the whole world had a Home ! ) 
 
 I confess I am a little nervous about the gas-bills, 
 which must come in, in the course of time ; and there 
 are the water-rates, and several sorts of imposts and 
 taxes: but then, the dignity of being liable for such 
 things ! is a very supporting consideration. No man is 
 a Bohemian who has to pay water-rates and a street-tax. 
 Every day when I sit down in .iy dining-room my 
 dining-room ! I find the wish growing stronger that 
 each poor soul in Baltimore, whether saint or sinner, 
 could come and dine with me. How I would carve out 
 the merry-thoughts for the old hags ! How I would 
 stuff the big wall-eyed rascals till their rags ripped again ! 
 There was a knight of old times who built the dining- 
 hall of his castle across the highway, so that every way 
 farer must perforce pass through: there the traveller, 
 rich or poor, found always a trencher and wherewithal 
 to fill it. Three times a day, in my own chair at my 
 own table, do I envy that knight and wish that I might 
 do as he did. 
 
 Send me some word of you two. I was in Philadel- 
 
Letters to Mr. Gibson Peacock 51 
 
 phia for part of a night since I saw you, being on my 
 way to Germantown to see Mr. Kirk. I had to make 
 the whole visit between two rehearsals of the Orchestra, 
 and so could only run from train to train except be 
 tween twelve P. M. and six, which I consumed in sleep 
 ing at the Continental. 
 
 We all send you heartfelt wishes for the New Year. 
 May you be as happy as you are dear to your faithful 
 
 S. L. 
 
 33 DENMEAD ST., BALTIMORE, 
 January n, 1878. 
 
 To-morrow I will transfer to you by telegraph one 
 hundred and ten dollars ; and the remaining forty, 
 I hope, on Monday, certainly during the five days 
 following. 
 
 I believe it was last Sunday night that I wrote you : 
 on the following morning I awoke with a raging fever, 
 and have been in bed ever since, racked inexpressibly 
 by my old foe, the .^leurodynia. I have crawled out of 
 bed this afternoon, but must go back soon. Will prob 
 ably be about again on Monday. 
 
 Tortured as I was, this morning, with a living egg of 
 pain away in under my collar bone, I shook till I was at 
 least uniformly sore all over, with reading your brilliant 
 critique on the great " artiste " Squirt in his magnificent 
 impersonation of Snooks. The last sentence nearly 
 took the top of my head off. I wish you would keep it 
 up a little while, and fly at the Metropolis as well as at 
 the provinces. For example : " The following contri 
 bution for our new morning (or Sunday) paper comes 
 accompanied by a note stating that the writer has been 
 employed as funny editor of the New York (anything, 
 
52 Letters of Sidney Lanier 
 
 Universe, Age, et cet.), but desires a larger field of 
 usefulness with us; " and hereto you might append an 
 imitation of the humorous column of " The World," for 
 instance, in which anything under heaven is taken as a 
 caption, and the editorial then made up of all the 
 possible old proverbs, quotations, popular sayings, and 
 slang which have a word, or even a syllable, in common 
 with the text. 
 
 Or you might give an exact reproduction (the more 
 exact, the more ludicrous) of one of those tranquilly 
 
 stupid political editorials in "The ," which seem as 
 
 massive as the walls of Troy, and are really nothing but 
 condensations of arrogant breath. 
 
 But of course you worit do anything of the sort, for 
 why embroil yourself? and I m only forecasting what 
 might be done in a better world. 
 
 We all send our love to you and Maria. May is 
 pretty well fagged with nursing me, plus the house 
 keeping cares. 
 
 BALTIMORE, MD., January 30, 1878. 
 
 It s no use trying to tell you the bitterness with which 
 I found myself a couple of days behindhand with that 
 hundred. I was in bed, ill, and was depending on a 
 friend who had promised to come by my house and 
 transact this along with some other business for me 
 down town. He was prevented from coming as ex 
 pected, and I was without remedy. I enclose P. O. 
 order for twenty-five. The balance will go to you soon. 
 Please don t despair of me. My illness was a complete 
 marplot to all my plans for a month or more. 
 
 I came ^ through Ph a night before last, on my way 
 home from New York. I ran round to see you, but 
 
Letters to Mr. Gibson Peacock 53 
 
 you had gone to the theatre. Next morning I was 
 compelled to hurry home without the pleasure of kissing 
 my dear Maria s hand : our Peabody Orchestra meets 
 at five in the afternoon, and I was obliged to reach 
 Baltimore in time for that. 
 
 i We are all in tolerable condition, greatly enjoying 
 our crude half-furnished home. I have been mainly at 
 work on some unimportant prose matter for pot-boilers ; 
 but I get off a short poem occasionally, and in the 
 background of my mind am writing my Jacquerie./ 
 
 It is very thoughtful of you to send the " Bulletin." I 
 did not know it was being continued at Chadd s Ford, 
 else I should have had the address changed. Both 
 May and I find a great deal in the paper to interest us. 
 We send loving messages to you twain. The boys are 
 all at school. 
 
 180 ST. PAUL ST., BALTIMORE, MD., 
 November 5, 1878. 
 
 I have been " allowing " as the Southern negroes 
 say that I would write you, for the last two weeks ; 
 but I had a good deal to say, and have n t had time to 
 say it. 
 
 During my studies for the last six or eight months a 
 thought which was at first vague has slowly crystallized 
 into a purpose, of quite decisive aim. The lectures 
 which I was invited to deliver last winter before a 
 private class met with such an enthusiastic reception as 
 to set me thinking very seriously of the evident delight 
 with which grown people found themselves receiving 
 systematic instruction in a definite study. This again 
 put me upon reviewing the whole business of Lecturing 
 which has risen to such proportions in our country, 
 
54 Letters of Sidney Lanier 
 
 but which, every one must feel, has now reached its 
 climax and must soon give way like all things to 
 something better. The fault of the lecture system as at 
 present conducted a fault which must finally prove fatal 
 to it is that it is too fragmentary, and presents too frag 
 mentary a mass indigesta moles of facts before the 
 hearers. Now if, instead of such a series as that of the 
 popular Star Course (for instance) in Philadelphia, a 
 scheme of lectures should be arranged which would 
 amount to the systematic presentation of a given subject, 
 then the audience would receive a substantial benefit, 
 and would carry away some genuine possession at the 
 end of the course. The subject thus systematically 
 presented might be either scientific (as Botany, for 
 example, or Biology popularized, and the like), or 
 domestic (as detailed in the accompanying printed 
 extract under the " Household " School), or artistic, or 
 literary. 
 
 This stage of the investigation put me to thinking of 
 schools for grown people. Men and women leave 
 college nowadays just at the time when they are really 
 prepared to study with effect. There is indeed a vague 
 notion of this abroad; but it remains vague. Any 
 intelligent grown man or woman readily admits that it 
 would be well indeed, many whom I have met sin 
 cerely desire to pursue some regular course of 
 thought ; but there is no guidance, no organized means 
 of any sort, by which people engaged in ordinary avoca 
 tions can accomplish such an aim. 
 
 Here, then, seems to be, first, a universal admission 
 of the usefulness of organized intellectual pursuit for 
 business people ; secondly, an underlying desire for it 
 by many of the people themselves; and thirdly, an 
 
Letters to Mr. Gibson Peacock 55 
 
 existing institution (the lecture system) which, if the 
 idea were once started, would quickly adapt itself to 
 the new conditions. 
 
 In short, the present miscellaneous lecture courses 
 ought to die and be born again as Schools for Grown 
 People. 
 
 It was with the hope of effecting at least the beginning 
 of a beginning of such a movement that I got up the 
 "Shakspere Course " in Baltimore. I wished to show, to 
 such a class as I could assemble, how much more genuine 
 profit there would be in studying at first hand, under 
 the guidance of an enthusiastic interpreter, the writers 
 and conditions of a particular epoch (for instance) than 
 in reading any amount of commentary or in hearing 
 any number of miscellaneous lectures on subjects which 
 range from Palestine to Pottery in the course of a 
 week. With this view I arranged my own part of the 
 Shakspere course so as to include a quite thorough 
 presentation of the whole science of poetry as prepara 
 tory to a serious and profitable study of some of the 
 greatest singers in our language. 
 
 I wish to make a similar beginning with all these 
 ulterior aims in Philadelphia. I had hoped to interest 
 Mr. Furness 1 in the idea, particularly because I sus 
 pected that some local influence would be needed to 
 push forward a matter depending so much on ulterior pur 
 poses which are at the same time difficult to explain in 
 full and slow in becoming fully comprehended by the 
 average mind of the public. I enclose you Mr. Furness s 
 letter, which I take to be a polite refusal to have any 
 thing to do with it and I may add that Mrs. Wistar has 
 
 1 Horace Howard Furness, America s foremost Shaksperian 
 scholar. 
 
56 Letters of Sidney Lanier 
 
 made inquiries which do not give much encouragement 
 from her world. But difficulties of this sort always end, 
 with me, after the first intense sigh has spent itself, 
 in clothing a project with new charms ; and I am now 
 determined not to abandon my Philadelphia branch 
 until I shall seem like a fool to pursue it farther. 
 Apropos whereof, a very devoted friend of mine, there, 
 having seen some announcement in the papers of my 
 lectures, writes that she once attended a short course of 
 somewhat similar nature in Philadelphia which was very 
 successful. It was conducted, however, by a gentleman 
 of considerable local reputation. I have one or two 
 other friends there who would help the thing forward ; 
 and I write you all this long screed for the purpose of 
 giving you an opportunity to meditate on the entire 
 situation, and to direct me in making a start when I 
 shall come over for that purpose. 
 
 The practical method of beginning is to form a class 
 of grown persons, at (say) eight dollars apiece, to whom 
 I will deliver twenty lectures and readings, one each 
 week, on a suitable day and hour to be agreed on, cov 
 ering about the ground specified in my twenty-four 
 lectures announced in the accompanying programme of 
 the Shakspere course. 
 
 If a class of only twenty could be made up, I would 
 cheerfully commence : for I feel confident it would be 
 the beginning of better things. I think I know now 
 of four who would join and would heartily forward the 
 business by inquiring among their friends and setting 
 forth its aims. 
 
 I have good prospect of forming a class in Washing 
 ton ; and thus, with my special poetic work (" The Songs 
 of Aldhelm," which I believe you will like better than 
 
Letters to Mr. Gibson Peacock 57 
 
 anything I have written), you see my life will be de 
 lightfully arrangee, if things come out properly. Do 
 you think Mr. Henry C. Lea would be interested in 
 such a matter? 
 
 If you write me, after digesting this enormous 
 homily, that you think twenty people could be found, I 
 will come over immediately and make arrangements to 
 find them. I have, as I said, several friends who at 
 a word would busy themselves enthusiastically in the 
 matter. . . . 
 
 1 80 ST. PAUL ST., BALTIMORE, 
 December 21, 1878. 
 
 If love and faithful remembrance were current with 
 the wish-gods I could make you a rare merry Christmas. 
 I wish I had two millions ; I should so like to send 
 you a check for one of em, with a request that you make 
 a bonfire of the " Evening Bulletin," and come over here 
 to spend Christmas, and the rest of your life with 
 me, on a private car seventy-seven times more luxu 
 rious than Lome s or Mr. Mapleson s. I really dorft 
 desire that you should spend your life on this car as I 
 seem to, on reading over my last sentence but only 
 that you should come on it. The great advantage of 
 having a poetic imagination is herein displayed : you 
 see how the simple act of enclosing you a check for 
 twenty-five dollars that twenty-five which has been 
 due you so long, dear friend ! can set a man s thoughts 
 going. 
 
 I have a mighty yearning to see you and my well- 
 beloved Maria ; it seems a long time since ; and I ve 
 learned so many things, I almost feel as if I had 
 something new to show you. 
 
58 Letters of Sidney Lanier 
 
 Bayard Taylor s death * slices a huge cantle out of the 
 world for me. I don t yet know it, at all ; it only seems 
 that he has gone to some other Germany, a little farther 
 off. How strange it all is : he was such a fine fellow, one 
 almost thinks he might have talked Death over and made 
 him forego his stroke. Tell me whatever you may know, 
 outside of the newspaper reports, about his end. 
 
 Chas. Scribner s Sons hav6jconcluded to publish my 
 " Boy s Froissart," with illustrations. They are holding 
 under advisement my work on English Prosody. 2 
 
 I saw your notice of the " Masque of Poets." The truth 
 is, it is a distressing, an aggravated, yea, an intolerable 
 collection of mediocrity and mere cleverness. Some of 
 the pieces come so near being good that one is ready to 
 tear one s hair and to beat somebo dy with a stick from 
 pure exasperation that such narrow misses should after 
 all come to no better net result in the way of art 
 than so many complete failures. I could find only four 
 poems in the book. As for Guy Vernon, one marvels 
 that a man with any poetic feeling could make so many 
 stanzas of so trivial a thing. It does not even sparkle 
 enough to redeem it as vers de societe. This is the kind 
 of poetry that is technically called culture-poetry; yet 
 it is in reality the product of a want of culture. If 
 these gentlemen and ladies would read the old English 
 poetry I mean the poetry before Chaucer, the genuine 
 Anglish utterances, from Csedmon in the seventh century 
 to Langland in the fourteenth they could never be 
 content to put forth these little diffuse prettinesses and 
 dandy kickshaws of verse. 
 
 1 Bayard Taylor, having been appointed minister to Germany, 
 died shortly after reaching Berlin. 
 
 2 " The Science of English Verse," published in 1880. 
 
Letters to Mr. Gibson Peacock 59 
 
 I am not quite sure but you misinterpreted whatever 
 I may have said about Mr. Furness s letter. I did not 
 mean in the least to blame him ; and his note was, I 
 thought, very kind in its terms. 
 
 I am in the midst of two essays on Anglo-Saxon 
 poetry which I am very anxious to get in print. These, 
 with the Froissart and my weekly lectures, keep me 
 bound down with work. 
 
 God bless you both, and send you many a Christmas, 
 prays your faithful S. L. 
 
 I find I am out of stamps, for my check : so must 
 mulct you for two cents. 
 
 435 N. CALVERT ST., BALTIMORE, June i, 1880. 
 
 I Ve just read your notice of " The Science of English 
 Verse," and cannot help sending a line to say how much 
 it pleases me. It seems a model of the way in which a 
 newspaper should deal with a work of this sort which in 
 the nature of things cannot be fairly described without 
 more space than any ordinary journal can allow. 
 
 I was all the more pleased because I had just read a 
 
 long notice sent me by the s " critic," which, with 
 
 the best intentions in the world, surely capped the 
 climax of silly misrepresentation. It is perfectly sober 
 to say that if this " critic " had represented Professor 
 Huxley s late treatise on the Crayfish as a cookery-book 
 containing new and ingenious methods of preparing 
 shellfish for the table, and had proceeded to object 
 earnestly that the book was a dangerous one, as stimu 
 lating over-nicety in eating, he would have been every 
 whit as near the truth. Indeed, on thinking of it, I 
 find this is a perfect parallel; for he objected to "The 
 Science of Verse " on the ground that it had " a ten- 
 
60 Letters of Sidney Lanier 
 
 dency . . * to exaggerate ... the undue attention 
 already given to ... the pretty fripperies of ingen 
 ious verse -making ! " If the book has one tendency 
 beyond another in this respect, it surely is, as you sen 
 sibly say in your last paragraph but one, to make real 
 artists out of those who study it, and to warn off all 
 scribblers from this holy and arduous ground. 
 
 But this is the least offence. Although three of the 
 very mottoes on the Titlepage (namely, those of Sir 
 Philip Sidney, of King James, and of Dante) set up the 
 sharpest distinction between Verse and Poetry, be 
 tween mere Technic and Inspiration, and although 
 the Preface presents an ideal of the poefs (as distinct 
 from the versifier s) mission which culminates in declar 
 ing the likeness of all worthy poets to David (who wrote 
 much poetry, but no verse} , while, further, the very 
 first ten lines of Chapter I. carry on this distinction to 
 what one would think a point infinitely beyond mistake, 
 in spite of all, the " critic " gravely makes, and as 
 gravely discusses, the assertion that "in Mr. Lanier s 
 book . . . poetry ... is a mere matter of pleasing 
 sounds and pleasing arrangements of sounds ! " 
 
 This would be a curiosity of woodenness, if it were not 
 still obscured by another assertion : that this " Science 
 of Verse " originates in " a suggestion " made by Edgar 
 Poe as to the "division into long and short syllables," 
 which suggestion, he says, " is the key to Mr. Lanier s 
 system " ! 
 
 It would be quite as accurate to say that Professor 
 Huxley s argument from the transition- forms of the 
 horse in proof of the evolution of species was suggested 
 by King Richard the Third s exclamation of " A horse ! 
 a horse ! my kingdom for a horse ! " 
 
Letters to Mr. Gibson Peacock 61 
 
 The Easter-card with the lovely design of Corn has 
 been in my work-room s most prominent niche, and is 
 the constant admiration of my visitors, who always 
 quickly recognize its propriety. Tell Maria between 
 two kisses that nothing but outrageous absorption 
 could have made me fail so long to acknowledge what 
 has given us all so much pleasure. 
 
 But this letter will make you perspire, with the 
 very sight of its five pages : and so, God bless you. 
 
 Your friend, SIDNEY L. 
 
 No other letters to Mr. Peacock have been preserved. 
 During the winter of 1 880-81 Lanier delivered a course 
 of lectures at Johns Hopkins University on Personality, 
 illustrated by the development of fiction. His strength 
 was already so nearly spent that most of the notes for 
 these lectures had to be dictated in whispers to his wife, 
 and often in the lecture-room his hearers dreaded lest 
 his life should go out while he spoke. Yet when read 
 now, in the volume entitled "The English Novel," these 
 lectures show no sign of mental lassitude ; rather are 
 they remarkable for vigor and suggestiveness, and, de 
 spite here and there gaps unavoidable in a work unre- 
 vised by the author, they form a body of constructive 
 and pregnant criticism not to be overlooked by any one 
 who values a critic who is also an interpreter. During that 
 same winter of extreme bodily feebleness, Lanier wrote 
 the poem " Sunrise," his masterpiece, radiant with beauty, 
 and strong with the spiritual strength which outbraves 
 death. In the following summer they took him to 
 North Carolina, in the hope that amid the balsam of 
 the pines he might at least breathe out his life with less 
 pain. There, on September 7, 1881, he died. 
 
A Poet s Musical Impressions 
 
A Poet s Musical Impressions 
 
 THE following letters, with the exception of the first 
 one, were written by Mr. Lanier to his wife between 
 April, 1869, and May, 1876, in his absences from home 
 while at Baltimore, New York, and San Antonio. The 
 selections have been made with the view of including 
 practically all the correspondence which treats of musi 
 cal subjects, and in pursuance of this idea a number of 
 fragmentary extracts are presented. The opening letters 
 represent Mr. Lanier s first impressions of really great 
 orchestral music ; there being no facilities at that time 
 for hearing the best music in his native town. They 
 show also something of the eager suspense which he was 
 feeling at the time. His strongest impulse was always 
 toward music, and his friends had assured him of his 
 ability ; but his formal instruction had been limited to 
 a few piano lessons in early childhood, and he was now 
 for the first time meeting with musicians of recognized 
 standing, and, as it were, authoritatively placing himself. 
 Until he received the opinion of those whom he knew to 
 be competent to speak finally, he did not even feel sure 
 that he had a right to follow the promptings of his music 
 longings. 
 
 MONTGOMERY, ALA., October, 1866. 
 
 . . . She is right to cultivate Music, to cling to it : it 
 is the only reality left in the world for her and many 
 another like her. It will revolutionize the world, and 
 that not long hence. Let her study it intensely, give 
 
 5 
 
66 Letters of Sidney Lanier 
 
 herself to it, enter the very innermost temple and Sanc 
 tuary of it. ... The Altar-steps are wide enough for 
 all the world, and Music inquires not if the worshipper 
 be Vestal or Stained, nor looks to see what dust of other 
 shrines is upon the knees that bend before her. She is 
 utterly unconscious of aught but Love, which pardons all 
 things and receives all natures into the warmth of Its 
 Bosom. 
 
 As for my organ-playing, 1 you would be wofully disap 
 pointed to hear me. It is all so new, the fingering and 
 pedal-playing and bass-notes and stops, etc., etc., and I 
 have so little time to practise, that I have as yet not 
 acquired anything like such mastery over it as would 
 enable me to render Music in fit style for you to hear. 
 I know, however, that you would like some of the little 
 melodies which I improvise sometimes before service, 
 because you would understand. . . . 
 
 The poem sent me is nothing less than delicious. . . . 
 A mellow radiance plays and wavers through it, like the 
 red spot in an opal. 
 
 The man who wrote that poem (a friend says it was 
 James Russell Lowell, but / could have sworn some 
 woman wrote it ! ) was of the enviable sort who enjoy 
 music. Some of us would not " enjoy " such an organ- 
 piece as is there described. Our souls would be like 
 sails at sea ; and the irresistible storm of Music would 
 shred them as a wind shreds canvas, whereof the frag 
 ments writhe and lash about in the blast which furiously 
 sports with their agony. 
 
 1 In the Presbyterian church of Dr. Petrie, in Montgomery, 
 Mr. Lanier had once taken the organist s place, in a sudden 
 emergency, and was thereupon invited to retain it, which he con 
 sented to do after some demur. 
 
A Poet s Musical Impressions 67 
 
 Therefore I, except in some supremely happy moment, 
 could never write a piece like this, wherein one finds 
 nothing of that sorrow-tone which forever winds like 
 a black thread through the glittering brocade of 
 Music. . . . 
 
 NEW YORK, April 28, 1869. 
 
 . . . I Ve just come from the " Tempest," at the 
 Grand Opera House, corner Twenty- third Street and 
 Eighth Avenue, newly built ; and my heart has been so 
 full . . . that although they re about to shut off lights, I 
 must scratch you a line to carry my last thought to you 
 before I sleep. In one interlude between the scenes we 
 had a violin solo, Adagio, with soft accompaniment by 
 orchestra. As the fair, tender notes came, they opened 
 . . . like flower-buds expanding into flowers under the 
 sweet rain of the accompaniment : kind Heaven ! My 
 head fell on the seat in front, I was utterly weighed down 
 with great loves and great ideas and divine in-flowings 
 and devout out- flo wings, and as each note grew and 
 budded and opened, and became a bud again and died 
 into a fresh birth in the next bud-note, / also lived these 
 flower- tone lives, and grew and expanded and folded 
 back and died and was born again, and partook of 
 the unfathomable mysteries of flowers and tones. 
 
 MACON, GA., March 3, 1870. 
 
 If the year were an orchestra, to-day would be the 
 calm-passionate, even, intense, quiet, full, ineffable flute 
 therein. In this sunshine one is penetrated with flute- 
 tones. 
 
 The passion of the struggling births of a thousand < 
 spring-germs mingles itself with the peaceful smile of the 
 heavens and with the tender agitations of the air. It 
 
68 Letters of Sidney Lanier 
 
 ) is a mellow sound, with a shimmer of light trembling 
 
 j through it. 
 
 To-day is a prophecy of the New Earth : as ... 
 Music is a prophecy of another life. To-day floats down 
 Time, as one petal of a Lily on the bosom of a swift 
 stream. Silently it tells, at once, of the gap it has left 
 in the full Lily, and of the ocean whither it drifts to be 
 engulfed, to die, and to live again in other forms. 
 
 To-day comes as a friend with some serene, great Joy 
 in his eyes. He whispers his sacred exultation : and 
 will not speak it aloud, for its holiness. . . . 
 
 NEW YORK, August 15, 1870. 
 
 Ah, how they have belied Wagner ! I heard Theo 
 dore Thomas orchestra play his overture to " Tann- 
 hauser." The " Music of the Future " is surely thy 
 music and my music. Each harmony was a chorus of 
 pure aspirations. The sequences flowed along, one after 
 another, as if all the great and noble deeds of time had 
 formed a procession and marched in review before one s 
 ears, instead of one s eyes. These "great and noble 
 deeds " were not deeds of war and statesmanship, but 
 majestic victories of inner struggles of a man. This un 
 broken march of beautiful-bodied Triumphs irresistibly 
 invites the soul of a man to create other processions like 
 it. I would I might lead a so magnificent file of glories 
 into heaven ! 
 
 NEW YORK, August 15, 1870. 
 
 Flutes and Horns and Violins celestial sighs and 
 breaths slow-drawn, penetrated with that heavenly woe 
 which the deep heart knoweth when it findeth not room 
 in the world for its too-great love, and is worn with fast- 
 

 
 
A Poet s Musical Impressions 69 
 
 ings for the Beloved : fine Purity, fiercely attacked by 
 palpitating Fascinations, and bracing herself and strug 
 gling and fighting therewith, till what is maidenly in a 
 man is become all grimy and sweat-beaded like a warrior : 
 dear Love, shot by some small arrow and in pain with the 
 wound thereof: divine lamentations, far-off blowings of 
 great winds, flutterings of tree and flower leaves and airs 
 troubled with wing-beats of birds or spirits : floatings 
 hither and thither of strange incenses and odors and 
 essences : warm floods of sunlight, cool gleams of moon 
 light, faint enchantments of twilight : delirious dances, 
 noble marches, processional chants, hymns of joy and of 
 grief: Ah, midst of all these lived I last night, in the 
 first chair next to Theodore Thomas orchestra. 
 
 NEW YORK, September 24, 1870. 
 
 ... I went at one o clock to-day to hear Nilsson. 
 She sang in concert at Steinway Hall; t other artists 
 were Vieuxtemps, the violinist ; Wehli, pianist ; Brignoli, 
 tenor, and Verger, baritone. 
 
 Mile. Nilsson singeth as thou and I love. She open- 
 eth her sweet mouth, and turneth her head o one side 
 like a mocking-bird in the moonlight, and straightway 
 come forth the purest silver tones that ever mortal 
 voice made. Her pianissimo was like a dawn, which \ 
 crescendo d presently into a glorious noon of tone, which 
 then did die away into a quiet gray twilight of clear, 
 melodious whisper. She sang nothing mean, or light, or 
 merely taking. Handel s "Angels Ever Bright and 
 Fair," solo; a duet with Brignoli, by Blangini, and a 
 noble solo, a scena from Ambroise Thomas s " Hamlet " 
 (the insane song of Ophelia), with "Home, Sweet 
 Home " for encore these were all. 
 
yo Letters of Sidney Lamer 
 
 Vieuxtemps was unequal. He fired off innumerable 
 crackers, and fired them very skillfully but made no 
 music save in the mere tone, in which he was very fine. 
 
 Wehli is entirely splendid, and played a very beautiful 
 set of concert pieces. Brignoli was too fat, and Verger 
 too lean : which also expresseth their music. 
 
 NEW YORK, 1871. 
 
 And to-night I come out of what might have been 
 heaven. . . . 
 
 Twas opening night of Theo. Thomas orchestra, 
 at Central Park Garden, and I could not resist the temp 
 tation to go and bathe in the sweet amber seas of the 
 music of this fine orchestra, and so I went, and tugged 
 me through a vast crowd, and, after standing some while, 
 found a seat, and the baton tapped and waved, and I 
 plunged into the sea, and lay and floated. Ah ! the 
 dear flutes and oboes and horns drifted me hither and 
 thither, and the great violins and small violins swayed 
 me upon waves, and overflowed me with strong lavations, 
 and sprinkled glistening foam in my face, and in among 
 the clarinetti, as among waving water-lilies with flexile 
 stems, I pushed my easy way, and so, even lying in the 
 music-waters, I floated and flowed, my soul utterly bent 
 and prostrate. . . . 
 
 NEW YORK, September 28, 1871. 
 
 I am just come from St. Paul s Church, where I went 
 at eleven this morning, by invitation of Mr. John Cornell, 
 to hear some music composed by him for the organ and 
 trombone ; not the old slide-in-and-out trombone, but a 
 sort of baritone cornet-b-pistons, of rare, mellow, yet ma 
 jestic tone. This was played by one of Theo. Thomas 
 
A Poet s Musical Impressions 71 
 
 orchestra. The pieces were a funeral inarch, a religious 
 air, and a concert piece. Hadst thou been with me to 
 hear these horn-tones, so pure, so noble, so full of con 
 fident repose, striking forth the melody in midst of the 
 thousandfold modulations (in which Cornell always runs 
 riot), like a calm manhood asserting itself through a 
 multitude of distractions and discouragements and mis 
 eries of life, hadst thou been there, then how fair and 
 how happy had been my day. 
 
 For I mostly have great pain when music, or any 
 beauty, comes past my way, and thou art not by. 
 Perhaps this is because music takes us out of prison, 
 and I do not like to leave prison unless thou goest 
 also. 
 
 For in the smile of love my life cometh to life, even 
 as a flower under water gleam eth only when the sun- ray 
 striketh down thereon. 
 
 SAN ANTONIO, TEX., January 30, 1873. 
 Last night at eight o clock came Mr. Scheidemantel, a 
 genuine lover of music and a fine pianist, to take me to 
 the Maennerchor, which meets every Wednesday night 
 for practice. Quickly we came to a hall, one end of 
 which was occupied by a minute stage with appurte 
 nances, and a piano ; and in the middle thereof a long 
 table, at which each singer sat down as he came in. 
 Presently, seventeen Germans were seated at the singing- 
 table, long-necked bottles of Rhine-wine were opened 
 and tasted, great pipes and cigars were all afire; the 
 leader, Herr Thielepape, an old man with long, white 
 beard and mustache, formerly mayor of the city, 
 rapped his tuning-fork vigorously, gave the chords by 
 rapid arpeggios of his voice (a wonderful, wild, high 
 
72 Letters of Sidney Lanier 
 
 tenor, such as them wouldst dream that the old Welsh 
 harpers had, wherewith to sing songs that would cut 
 against the fierce sea-blasts), and off they all swung into 
 such a noble, noble old German, full-voiced lied, that 
 imperious tears rushed into my eyes, and I could scarce 
 restrain myself from running and kissing each one in turn 
 and from howling dolefully the while. And so ... I all 
 the time worshipping . . . with these great chords . . . 
 we drove through the evening until twelve o clock, absorb 
 ing enormous quantities of Rhine-wine and beer, whereof 
 I imbibed my full share. After the second song I was 
 called on to play, and lifted my poor old flute in air with 
 tumultuous, beating heart ; for I had no confidence in 
 that or in myself. But, du Himmel! Thou shouldst 
 have heard mine old love warble herself forth. To my 
 utter astonishment, I was perfect master of the instru 
 ment. Is not this most strange? Thou knowest I had 
 never learned it; and thou rememberest what a poor 
 muddle I made at Marietta in playing difficult passages ; 
 and I certainly have not practised ; and yet there I com 
 manded and the blessed notes obeyed me, and when I 
 had finished, amid a storm of applause, Herr Thielepape 
 arose and ran to me and grasped my hand, and de 
 clared that he hat never heert de flude accompany itself 
 pefore ! I played once more during the evening, and 
 ended with even more rapturous bravos than before, Mr. 
 Scheidemantel grasping my hand this time, and thanking 
 me very earnestly. 
 
 My heart, which was hurt greatly when I went into 
 the music-room, came forth from the holy bath of con 
 cords greatly refreshed, strengthened and quieted, and 
 so remaineth to-day. I also feel better than in a long 
 time before. Moreover, I am still master of the flute, 
 
A Poet s Musical Impressions 73 
 
 and she hath given forth to me to-day such tones as I 
 have never heard from a flute before. 
 For these things I humbly thank God. 
 
 SAN ANTONIO, TEXAS, February 14, 1873. 
 
 . . . Last night I went to the party of Colonel W . 
 
 I found a very elegant-looking company of ladies and 
 
 gentlemen among the most so, General A and 
 
 his daughters already assembled. 
 
 First came some very good concerted pieces for violin 
 and piano, then a piano solo, then a song. Then they 
 called for the flute. I had not played three seconds 
 before a profound silence reigned among the people, 
 seeing which, and dreaming wildly, and feeling somehow 
 in an eerie and elfish and half-uncanny mood, I flew off 
 into all manner of trills, and laments, and cadenza- 
 monstrosities for a long time, but finally floated down 
 into " La Me"lancolie " (which, on the violin, ran every 
 body crazy some weeks ago, here, at a concert), which 
 melted itself forth with such eloquent lamenting that it 
 almost brought my tears and, to make a long story 
 short, when I allowed the last note to die, a simulta 
 neous cry of pleasure broke forth from men and women 
 that almost amounted to a shout, and I stood and re 
 ceived the congratulations that thereupon came in, so 
 wrought up by my own playing with [hidden] thoughts, 
 that I could but smile mechanically, and make stereo 
 typed returns to the pleasant sayings, what time my heart 
 worked falteringly, like a mouth that is about to cry. 
 
 I would there were some other chronicler to tell thee 
 of this success for I cannot but seem to blow mine 
 own horn therein ! but I know it will give thee 
 pleasure, and therefore, failing others, I tell it thee. 
 
74 Letters of Sidney Lanier 
 
 NEW YORK, September 24, 1873. 
 
 . . . On Monday [in Baltimore] my good friend 
 Wysham had the great Mr. Hamerik, director of the 
 Peabody Conservatory of Music, at his house to meet 
 me. . . . Hamerik is one of the first composers in 
 the world . . . (Theodore Thomas has recently brought 
 out his " Nordische Suite " with fine effect) and one of 
 the most accomplished maestros also. So soon as he 
 came, Wysham made me play " Blackbirds." 1 When 
 I finished, Mr. Hamerik expressed himself in such 
 approval as would have delighted thee beyond measure. 
 He declared the composition to be that of an artist, and 
 the playing to be almost perfect, with a grave and 
 manifestly hearty manner which could not be mistaken 
 and concluded his applause by telling me that he 
 was endeavoring to persuade the trustees of the Peabody 
 Music Fund to authorize him to organize a full orchestra, 
 in which he begged I would accept the position of first 
 flute. Kind Heaven, how my heart throbbed with de 
 light for my first thought was of thine enjoyment, 
 when I should at last be able to tell thee that I had 
 received finally, and without any more peradventure, the 
 hearty recognition and approval, both for my composition 
 and for my playing, of one who is regarded as a com 
 poser just below the classic Beethoven and Mozart, 
 whose compositions are played along with those of the 
 great masters, and who has been accustomed to hear, 
 and to conduct, the finest music in the world. After 
 
 1 In a letter from San Antonio, of February 28, 1873, Mr - 
 Lanier says : " I have writ the most beautiful piece, Field-larks 
 and Blackbirds/ wherein I have mirrored Mr. Field-lark s pretty 
 eloquence so that I doubt he would know the difference betwixt 
 the flute and his own voice." 
 
A Poet s Musical Impressions 75 
 
 thus praising my work, Mr. Hamerik went into the 
 library, and wrote me a beautiful letter to Theodore 
 Thomas, not a letter of extravagance, but a few grave, 
 sweet, courteous words; then, coming downstairs, he 
 made me play again the three main movements of 
 " Blackbirds," and testified anew, both while I was play 
 ing and when I had finished, his pleasure in the same. 
 
 It is, therefore, a possibility . . . that I may be first 
 flute in the Peabody Orchestra, on a salary of $120 a 
 month, which, with five flute scholars, would grow to 
 $200 a month, and so ... we might dwell in the 
 beautiful city, among the great libraries, and midst of 
 the music, the religion, and the art that we love and 
 I could write my books, and be the man I wish to be. 
 
 I do thank God even for this dream. 
 
 NEW YORK, October 6, 1873. 
 
 . . . Arriving in town this morning, I rushed over 
 
 here, to Brooklyn, and went to Mr. M s, who took 
 
 me, by previous arrangement, to play for Mr. S , 
 
 the musical critic of a leading New York paper. We 
 
 arrived at Mr. S s in a fierce storm of wind and 
 
 rain, got in and met Mr. S , a dapper little young 
 
 man, supposed to possess supernatural knowledge in the 
 matter of Italian opera, and rejoicing in all manner of 
 souvenirs from the great artists, which he exhibited 
 to us. 
 
 I played him " Blackbirds " and the " Swamp Robin," 
 whereat he was greatly stricken, expressing himself in 
 fair terms, and allowing himself to be drawn into as 
 much enthusiasm as was consistent with his Exalted 
 Position. I am to go again, when he will have an 
 entire afternoon; and meantime have left some music 
 
j6 Letters of Sidney Lanier 
 
 for his sister to practise on the piano. Before I com 
 menced to play we had a triangular talk in which my 
 critic did me the honor to expound some very orthodox 
 theories in regard to the flute, which I straightway pro 
 ceeded to upset, with all the pleasure in the world, by 
 practical arguments. He was exceedingly kind and 
 
 polite, and I have to thank Mr. M very much for 
 
 the meeting, which was arranged by Mr. M entirely 
 
 without my knowledge. 
 
 BROOKLYN, October 10, 1873. 
 
 Three days ago I went to Badger s l on business, and 
 found there a magnificent great silver Bass-Flute, run 
 ning down to F below the staff, and on putting it to my 
 lips, drew forth the most ravishing notes I ever heard 
 from any instrument ; broad, noble tones, like my fine 
 boy s eyes whereupon I dilated upon a wind of in 
 spiration, and did breathe out strains thereon in such 
 fashion that the workmen gazed, and grew sympathetic, 
 so that now when I go there they immediately bring me 
 the bass-flute. 
 
 BROOKLYN, October 15, 1873. 
 
 To-day I have been playing a few duos with Mr. 
 Eben . . . then down town, to attend to some financial 
 matters, in the course of which I was waylaid on Wall 
 
 Street by Mr. , who informed me that Miss 
 
 was to be here on Sunday, and that he was proposing to 
 arrange for me to play before her. I don t anticipate 
 
 1 A letter of this date, from Badger to an old customer, says : 
 "... Lanier is astonishing. . . . But you ought to hear him 
 play the bass-flute. You would then say, Let me pass from the 
 earth with the tones sounding in my ears ! If he could travel 
 with a concert-troupe, and play solos on the bass-flute, I would 
 get orders for fifty in a month. . . ," 
 
A Poet s Musical Impressions 77 
 
 much pleasure from the interview, for, from all I 
 
 can hear of Miss , she is fearfully puffed up with 
 
 conceit, wonderfully wrong-notioned about music (she 
 " does n t like Wagner " for instance " there is 
 nothing in his operas for the prima donna to do beyond 
 the other singers ; " and she " does n t like Theodore 
 Thomas orchestra; they can t accompany a singer at 
 all ! " and other the like deliverances), and, more than 
 all, despises the flute, having once given Mr. Eben a 
 fearful rebuff, telling him that "she did not care to 
 hear .a man pumping wind into a tube ! ! " Yet, sim 
 ply for the adventure of the thing, if they do arrange 
 the meeting, I 11 go. 
 
 Oh, how I can play, with a couple of months prac 
 tice ! Thou wouldst not know my playing now for that 
 which thou heardst in Marietta. The instrument begins 
 to feel me, to grow lithe under my fingers, to get 
 warmed to life by my kiss, like Pygmalion s stone, and 
 to respond with perfect enthusiasm to my calls. . . . 
 
 It is like a soul made into silver. How can the 
 people but respond if I have its exquisite inner-self 
 speaking by my lips ! 
 
 BROOKLYN, October 17, 1873. 
 
 ... I went last night with , to hear " Die Zauber- 
 
 flote." That was a mere farce, as indeed was all of it, 
 save the singing of the two prime donne and the chorus. 
 Di Murska executed the most wonderful staccatos in 
 the higher register (taking high F at a leap, without an 
 effort), and Lucca made all that could be made out of 
 that poor, bald music of Mozart s. Why do we cling 
 so to humbugs? Mozart s music is not to be compared 
 with Schumann s, or Wagner s, or Chopin s, or Mendels 
 sohn s, or Beethoven s. The " magic flute " in this 
 
78 Letters of Sidney Lanier 
 
 opera made us laugh, and the sight of the animals (who 
 are supposed to be charmed from their lairs by the 
 tones of the "magic flute") capering about the stage 
 to the poor, thin notes of the poor, thin music was too 
 absurd. 
 
 BROOKLYN, October 26, 1873. 
 Yesterday I played duos some lovely Kuhlau s 
 
 with . He received me very cordially, and we played 
 
 very well together; but we will never harmonize very 
 intimately, for while he has taste enough to like the 
 best music, yet there is a certain something a flame, 
 a sentiment, a spark kindled by the stroke of the soul 
 against sorrow, as of steel against flint which he hath 
 not, and the want of which will forever keep him from 
 penetrating into the deepest of music. He is warmly en 
 thusiastic, and would have played the whole afternoon with 
 me, but I was obliged to leave, to meet an engagement. 
 
 BROOKLYN, November 16, 1873. 
 
 The orchestra is to be formed but to last only four 
 months and each player to get only $60 a month. 
 Yet I am going, without hesitation; for, first, this will 
 occupy but a little time, and, second, I can largely sup 
 plement the poor pay in different ways, and, third, it 
 will give me a foothold, which I can likely step from to 
 something better for the Peabody is a literary as well 
 as a musical institution. ... 
 
 I have had some pleasant musical successes. I played 
 on Wednesday night at a concert in Brooklyn, before 
 some eight hundred people, and made some stir, par 
 ticularly in the papers notices whereof I send thee 
 herein. Of course, the talk in these notices about a 
 debut, the debutant, etc., is simply absurd. ... I only 
 
A Poet s Musical Impressions 79 
 
 played for the fun of it, and by way of feeling the pulse 
 of these audiences in a quiet way (for these little con 
 certs are not ordinarily heard of at all in the newspapers), 
 before venturing to prescribe for the big music-sick 
 patient of New York. When I am ready to come out, 
 which will be after I practise four months in Baltimore, 
 I shall make my debut under the auspices of the Phil 
 harmonic or of Theo. Thomas, or not at all. Meantime, 
 these notices will amuse thee. They are considered 
 wonderfully flattering: so many musicians here work 
 for years and years, and are never heard of at all. 
 
 Perhaps the most complete triumph I have had was on 
 last Sunday evening, when I played before an audience 
 of a half-dozen or more of cultivated people. When 
 I had given " Blackbirds " and the " Swamp Robin," the 
 house rose at me. Miss Fletcher declared . . . that I 
 was not only the founder of a school of music, but the 
 founder of American music ; that hitherto all American 
 compositions had been only German music done over, 
 but that these were at once American, un-German, 
 classic, passionate, poetic, and beautiful ; that I belonged 
 to the Advance Guard, which must expect to struggle, 
 but which could not fail to succeed, with a hundred 
 other things, finally closing with a fervent expression of 
 good wishes, in which all the company joined with such 
 unanimity and fervor that I was in a state of embarrass 
 ment, which thou mayst imagine ! I wrote her a note 
 the next day, desiring to make some more articulate 
 response than blushes to her recognition, and I have a 
 lovely note from her in reply. 1 
 
 l The note referred to ran as follows: 
 MR. LANIER, Once more I am your debtor for a bit of music, 
 your note written is like your note played. If our sincere appre- 
 
8o Letters of Sidney Lanier 
 
 On Wednesday I played flute trios with Mr. P 
 
 and Mr. Y . We sat down to a bound volume of 
 
 Kuhlau s trios at three o clock, and played, without leav 
 ing our seats, until five. They gave me first flute. . . . 
 
 I had taken Mr. there with me. He could scarcely 
 
 contain himself newspaper hack as he is! as we 
 breathed these miraculous harmonies, and unearthly, 
 dainty melodies, and his great eyes got as deep as the 
 
 sea, and nigh as moist. Think Mr. Y , who has 
 
 been playing in New York for years, among the very 
 best professional flutists, and who is certainly the best 
 reader I ever saw, says / am the best he ever saw I, 
 who, surely as thou knowest, have scarcely read a half- 
 dozen new pieces in any year of my musical life, before 
 this last month or so ! How splendid it is. I could 
 never tell thee how I enjoy such things ; for it is not I, 
 but always one in whom, for thy sake, I have much 
 interest. 
 
 elation could in any degree make slight return for the delight you 
 gave us, I assure you that our happiness is increased. 
 
 Your flute gave me that for which I had ceased to hope, true 
 American Music, and awakened in my heart a feeling of patriotism 
 that I never knew before. Indeed, to put it strongly, America 
 did not seem to be my home except of necessity ; my bread and 
 clothes and work were here, and when my soul hungered and 
 thirsted for the Divine inspiration of music, I had to turn away 
 to other lands and worship as it were in a foreign tongue. But 
 when your " Swamp Robin " came upon the wings of melody and 
 piped again his simple lay, he also 
 
 " Sang of what the world will be, 
 
 When the years have passed away : " 
 and I found worship in my native Land and Tongue. 
 May God bless your gifts a thousandfold. 
 Sincerely your friend, 
 
 ALICE C. FLETCHER. 
 November 14, 1873. 
 
A Poet s Musical Impressions 81 
 
 BROOKLYN, November 1 7, 1873. 
 
 . . . Last night I played at another church con 
 cert in New York City, far up town, to a very pleasant 
 audience, with very pleasant testimonials of success. 
 My first piece, a concertino of Briccialdi s . . . brought 
 down the house, in an enthusiastic encore, to which I 
 responded with the inevitable " Blue Bells of Scotland." 
 My last piece was the " Swamp Robin," which I only 
 ventured as an experiment. Twas a curious psycho 
 logic study to note how it puzzled most of the audience, 
 and how the few who did get into it, began, as it were, 
 to look about them and to say like a man who has 
 suddenly ridden into a strange and unexpected road 
 Heigh, heigh ! what s this? Somebody saith every origi 
 nal writer has to educate his readers gradually to him 
 self. How true this is in New York ! Here the people 
 are at once the boldest and the timidest in the world. 
 When the new presents itself here, each one waits for 
 the other one to pronounce decisively; of course, at 
 first, no one speaks ; finally, some generous and open 
 heart says, this is a good thing ; and then straightway 
 all the people join and push the good thing to heaven. 
 
 Once give them a start these singular New Yorkers 
 and they will go any length. 
 
 BROOKLYN, November 21, 1873. 
 
 ... I can but [send thee a brief word] this morning 
 telling thee . . . that my Dane, Mr. Hamerik, was in New 
 York two days ago ; that, after a long search, we found 
 each other ; that he behaved most beautifully and nobly 
 to me, and offered to do everything in the world to make 
 my stay in Baltimore pleasant ; and that finally I con 
 cluded an engagement with him as Flauto Primo in the 
 
 6 
 
82 Letters of Sidney Lamer 
 
 Peabody Symphony Orchestra, for four months, com 
 mencing on December ist, prox. We are to have four 
 rehearsals a week, of two hours each, from 1 2 to 2 p. M., 
 and one concert each week. This only takes up eleven 
 hours out of the week s time, and gives me a great deal 
 of opportunity to write. I do not get as much pay as I 
 hoped, but I hope to make more with a pupil or two, and 
 then I can finish my darling Jacquerie midst of the great 
 libraries. I am overjoyed at this prospect. 
 
 BALTIMORE, December 2, 1873. 
 ** Well, Flauto Primo hath been to his first rehearsal. 
 
 Fancy thy poor lover, weary, worn, and stuffed with a 
 cold, arriving after a brisk walk he was so afraid he 
 might be behind time at the hall of Peabody Institute. 
 He passeth down betwixt the empty benches, turneth 
 through the green-room, emergeth on the stage, greeteth 
 the Maestro, is introduced by the same to Flauto Se- 
 condo, and then, with as much carelessness as he can 
 assume, he sauntereth in among the rows of music-stools, 
 to see if peradventure he can find the place where he is 
 to sit for he knoweth not, and liketh not to ask. He 
 remembereth where the flutes sit in Thomas Orchestra ; 
 but on going to the corresponding spot he findeth the 
 part of Contra-Basso on the music-stand, and fleeth 
 therefrom in terror. In despair, he is about to endeavor 
 to get some information on the sly, when he seeth the 
 good Flauto Secondo sitting down far in front, and 
 straightway marcheth to his place on the left of the 
 same, with the air of one that had played there since 
 babyhood. This Hamerik of ours hath French ideas 
 about his orchestral arrangements and places his pieces 
 very differently from Thomas. Well, I sit down, some 
 
A Poet s Musical Impressions 83 
 
 late-comers arrive, stamping and blowing for it is snow 
 ing outside and pull the green-baize covers off their 
 big horns and bass-fiddles. Presently the Maestro, who 
 is rushing about, hither and thither, in some excitement, 
 falleth to striking a great tuning-fork with a mallet, and 
 straightway we all begin to toot A, to puff it, to groan it, 
 to squeak it, to scrape it, until I sympathize with the 
 poor letter, and glide off in some delicate little runs ; 
 and presently the others begin to flourish also, and here 
 we have it, up chromatics, down diatonics, unearthly 
 buzzings from the big fiddles, diabolical four-string] 
 chords from the cellos, passionate shrieks from the 
 clarionets and oboes, manly remonstrances from the 
 horns, querulous complaints from the bassoons, and so 
 on. Now the Maestro mounteth to his perch. I am 
 seated immediately next the audience, facing the first 
 violins, who are separated from me by the conductor s 
 stand. I place my part (of the Fifth Symphony of 
 Beethoven, which I had procured two days before, in 
 order to look over it, being told that on the first re 
 hearsal we would try nothing but the Fifth Symphony) 
 on my stand, and try to stop my heart from beating so 
 fast with unavailing arguments. Maestro rappeth with 
 his baton, and magically stilleth all the shrieks and 
 agonies of the instruments. " Fierst " (he saith, with the 
 Frenchiest of French accents tho a Dane, he was 
 educated in Paris) " I wish to present to ze gentlemen 
 of ze orchestra cur fierst flutist, Mr. Sidney Lanier, also 
 our fierst oboe, Mr. (I did n t catch his name)." Where 
 upon, not knowing what else to do and the pause 
 being somewhat awkward I rise and make a profound 
 bow to the Reeds, who sit behind me, another to the 
 Celli, the Bassi, and the Tympani, in the middle, and a 
 
84 Letters of Sidney Lanier 
 
 third to the Violins opposite. This appeareth to be the 
 right thing, for Oboe jumpeth up also, and boweth, and 
 the gentlemen of the orchestra all rise and bow, some of 
 them with great empressement. Then there is a little 
 idiotic hum and simper, such as newly introduced people 
 usually affect. Then cometh a man whom I should al 
 ways hate, if I could hate anybody always and, to my 
 horror, putteth on my music-stand the flauto primo part 
 of Niels Gade s Ossian Overture, and thereupon the 
 Maestro saith, "We will try /fta/fierst." Horrors ! They 
 told me they would play nothing but the Fifth Symphony, 
 and this Ossian Overture I have never seen or heard ! 
 This does not help my heart-beats nor steady my lips 
 thou canst believe. However, there is no time to tarry, 
 the baton rappeth, the horns blow, my five bars rest is 
 out I plunge. 
 
 Oh ! If thou couldst but be by me in this sublime 
 glory of music ! All through it I yearned for thee with 
 heart-breaking eagerness. The beauty of it maketh me 
 catch my breath to write of it. I will not attempt to 
 describe it. It is the spirit of the poems of Ossian 
 done in music by the wonderful Niels Gade. 
 
 I got through it without causing any disturbance. 
 Maestro had to stop twice on account of some other 
 players. I failed to come in on time twice in the Sym 
 phony. I am too tired now to give thee any further 
 account. I go again to rehearsal to-morrow. 
 
 BALTIMORE, December n, 1873. 
 
 ... I send a programme of our concert last Saturday 
 night. It was brilliant, and I failed not though half- 
 dead with cold, and though called on unexpectedly. I 
 am better to-day. The music lifts me to a heaven of 
 
A Poet s Musical Impressions 85 
 
 pain ! . . . We are now rehearsing the a Symphonic Fan- 
 tastique " of Berlioz, which representeth an opium- dream 
 of a love-sick young man. T is wonderfully hectic, and 
 parts of it wonderfully beautiful. 
 
 BALTIMORE, December 21, 1873. 
 
 Last night we gave a magnificent concert. The 
 house was crowded. Read the enclosed carte, show 
 ing the fare we spread before the people . . . [But 
 for loneliness] the music would have been complete, 
 life would have been utterly full, my heart would have 
 bathed itself in a sublime sea of passionate content. The 
 orchestra was inspired, the "Symphonic Fantastique," as 
 difficult and trying a piece of orchestration as was ever 
 written, was played to a marvel. ... In this " Sympho 
 nic " of Berlioz every movement centreth about a lovely, 
 melody, repeated in all manner of times and places, which 
 representeth the Beloved of the opium-eating musician. 
 . . . Then, the " Hunt of Henry IV. !" . . . It openeth 
 with a grave and courteous invitation, as of a cavalier 
 riding by some dainty lady, through the green aisles of 
 the deep woods, to the hunt a lovely, romantic mel 
 ody, the first violins discoursing the man s words, the 
 first flute replying for the lady. Presently a fanfare ; a 
 sweet horn replies out of the far woods ; then the meet 
 ing of the gay cavaliers ; then the start, the dogs are 
 unleashed, one hound gives tongue, another joins, the 
 stag is seen hey, gentlemen ! away they all fly through 
 the sweet leaves, by the great oaks and beeches, all a-dash 
 among the brambles, till presently, bang ! goeth a pistol 
 (it was my veritable old revolver loaded with blank car 
 tridge for the occasion, the revolver that hath lain so 
 many nights under my head), fired by Tympani (as we 
 
86 Letters of Sidney Lanier 
 
 call him, the same being a nervous little Frenchman who 
 playeth our drums,) and then the stag dieth in a celestial 
 concord of flutes, oboes, and violins. Oh, how far off 
 my soul was in this thrilling moment ! It was in a rare, 
 sweet glen in Tennessee, the sun was rising over a wilder 
 ness of mountains, I was standing (how well I remember 
 the spot !) alone in the dewy grass, wild with rapture and 
 with expectation yonder came, gracefully walking, a 
 lovely fawn. I looked into its liquid eyes, hesitated, 
 prayed, gulped a sigh, then overcome with the savage 
 hunter s instinct, fired ; the fawn leaped convulsively a 
 few yards, I ran to it, found it lying on its side, and 
 received into my agonized and remorseful heart the 
 reproaches of its most tender, dying gaze. But luckily 
 I had not the right to linger over this sad scene ; the 
 conductor s baton shook away the dying pause ; on all 
 sides shouts and fanfares and gallopings " to the death," 
 to which the first flute had to reply in time, recalled me 
 to my work, and I came through brilliantly. 
 
 The Chopin Rondo Concerto, for piano and orchestra, 
 I cannot describe to thee. It nearly killed me with 
 longing . . . [through] the wondrous delicate, yet in 
 tense thoughts which pervade it; the "zal," as Liszt 
 calleth it. Herein the flute hath some lovely replies 
 and dialogues with the piano, in solo, and the horns are 
 exquisitely brought forth. 
 
 The songs were not particularly fine, tho very enjoy 
 able. The Masaniello Overture thou hast, of course, 
 heard before. It was played very brilliantly. To-day 
 Wysham l and I played a beautiful adagio patetico dur 
 ing the offertorium at St. Paul s, the largest church in 
 the city. We had an organ accompaniment, played by 
 
 1 The Second Flute in the Peabody Symphony Orchestra. 
 
A Poet s Musical Impressions 87 
 
 a glorious organist, and as the two spirituelle silver tones 
 went stealing and swelling through the great groined 
 arches of the enormous church, I thought I had never 
 heard flute-notes so worthily employed before. The 
 people were greatly pleased, and Wysham was delighted. 
 I dined with Mrs. Bird to-day. . . . She hath been 
 my constant and true friend, and I shall love her I 
 know thou wilt also all my life. 
 
 BALTIMORE, December 25, 1873. 
 
 I am now from St. Paul s Church, where the musi 
 cians of our orchestra (among them myself) were en 
 gaged to help make the music for the grand services of 
 the day. We were a first violin, viola, cello, double- 
 bass, clarionet, French horn, bassoon, two flutes (Wy 
 sham and I), and great organ, with a choir of about 
 forty boys and men, and some female voices. The 
 service was nearly three hours long, and music, music, 
 all the time. We opened with the overture to Mozart s 
 " Magic Flute " (which was, I am free to say, a most 
 abominably outre" affair for a church service), and then 
 played with the choir throughout the service. This is a 
 wonderfully ritualistic church. A shrine is in front- 
 centre, flanked by two enormous lighted candles, and 
 arched over by a number of smaller ones. Three cler 
 gymen and a number of acolytes, boys, etc., assisted in 
 the service. The rector marched in stately fashion 
 down from his dais, the other clergymen, the acolytes, 
 and the choir filed two and two behind him ; all 
 marched down into the body of the church, singing a 
 fine chant, then filed to the left, and so went in pro 
 cession across to a side door, giving into a room in the 
 rear of the church, through which all passed, still sing- 
 
88 Letters of Sidney Lanier 
 
 ing. The chant was kept up long after they had dis 
 appeared, and the door was shut, and as the voices re 
 ceded and receded, until finally nothing but the clear treble 
 of the boys could be heard, t was dramatically very beau 
 tiful. Some of the pieces were magnificent, and the 
 crash of the voices and organs and instruments rolled 
 gloriously among the great arches. All of them would 
 have been fine, but some of the music . . . was not prop 
 erly phrased, though containing a few good ideas. Next 
 me sat Mr. G , first clarionet. Presently the com 
 munion service came on ; Mr. G watched with 
 
 great curiosity. It was the first one he had ever seen ! 
 When he saw the priest blessing the bread, he leaned 
 over to Wysham (who is a devout member of this 
 church) and asked, with great interest : " Does he eat 
 #//that?" Afterward, when the bread was distributed 
 to the kneeling people, I observed him make gestures 
 of much disgust at the smallness of the portion given to 
 each, and finally he informed Wysham that that would 
 not begin to be enough for him ! Ah, these heathenish 
 Germans ! Double-bass was a big fellow, with a black 
 mustache, to whom life was all a joke, which he ex 
 pressed by a comical scowl, and Viola was a young 
 Hercules, so full of beer that he dreamed himself in 
 heaven, and Oboe was a young sprig, just out from 
 Munich, with a complexion of milk and roses, like a 
 girl s, and miraculously bright spectacles on his pale 
 blue eyes, and there they sat Oboe and Viola and 
 Double-bass and ogled each other, and raised their 
 brows, and snickered behind the columns, without a 
 suspicion of interest either in the music or the service. 
 Dash these fellows, they are utterly given over to heath 
 enism, prejudice and beer they ought to be annihi- 
 
A Poet s Musical Impressions 89 
 
 lated ; if they do get control of the age, life will be a 
 mere barbaric grab of the senses at whatever there is of 
 sensual good in the world. ... In the church some 
 times, when looking around out of my dream for a 
 moment, I would find . . . only the small choir-boy, 
 who, in default of a music-stand, held up my music 
 
 for me. 
 
 BALTIMORE, MD., December 26, 1873. 
 
 For this enclosed $25 (and $5 more which I have 
 kept) I have played the first-flute parts in Beethoven s 
 Fifth Symphony ; the Ossian overture, the staccato air of 
 the " Magic Flute," the Nordische Suite, the overture to 
 " La Dame Blanche," the " Symphonic Fantastique " of 
 Berlioz, the Mendelssohn Concerto in G minor for piano 
 and orchestra ; the " Hunt of Henry IV. " overture by 
 Mehul; the Rondo Concerto of Chopin for piano and 
 orchestra, and the overture of Masaniello. If they would 
 only pay me by heart-beats, by agitations, by mental 
 strains, by delights, by agonies, then I would already be 
 grown rich on these aforementioned pieces. They say, 
 however, that I play them very nicely, and that is some 
 reward. . . . To-morrow night we have our second 
 grand concert ; the " Symphonic Fantastique," the Mehul 
 overture, the Masaniello overture, the concerto (Rondo) 
 of Chopin (J. N. Pattison, of New York, plays the Piano 
 Forte part) ; these are all the orchestral pieces. There 
 are, besides, a song from " L Africaine," with flute obli 
 gate which Wysham is to play, and some baritone songs. 
 
 BALTIMORE, January 3, 1874. 
 
 Our concert opened with a symphony of Mozart in G 
 minor. An allegro movement, full of delicious inter 
 changes, betwixt the wind and the strings, comes pres 
 ently to an abrupt end; then a \QT\% Andante in six-eight 
 
90 Letters of Sidney Lanier 
 
 time, which seems to be a record of sweetest confidences, 
 whispered between the first flute and the first violins, as 
 if they were two young girls just commencing a friend 
 ship ! and of occasional intrusions of the oboe (as of a 
 girl de trop) as well as of sage advice volunteered, here 
 and there, by the elderly bassoons. Finally this conver 
 sation ends, and thereunto succeeds a minuet, stately 
 yet coquettish, courteous yet piquant, grave, with the 
 measured steps of dignitaries and of queenly women, yet 
 illumined by the gleam of bright eyes and the flash of 
 silver shoe-buckles. Then the Finale closes all with a 
 great outburst of joy, which breaks out in a thousand 
 lovely phrases of self-repetition, and at last completely 
 and satisfactorily expresses itself. 
 
 Then a lady howled dismally a beautiful air from the 
 " Barber of Seville." Then should have come a concerto 
 for oboe with orchestra, but Oboe s lips were chapped ; 
 he vowed, until he shook his spectacles off, that he konnte 
 nicht spielen, whereupon Maestro Hamerik announced 
 . x0 \^ the fact, and announced the further fact that Mr. Sidney 
 t^l v * / ^ nier and Mr - Henr y Wysham had kindly consented 
 to play a simple melody, in place of the oboe concerto. 
 Then those two gentlemen appeared, and, amidst great 
 applause, advanced to the front. They played " Adieu, 
 Dear Land," S. L. taking first, and H. C. W. skirmishing 
 about as second, Mr. Hamerik palpitating a lovely accom 
 paniment on the piano. Ah, my friend, need I tell thee 
 how the heart of this same S. L. beat along every note 
 of this lovely song, am I not, too, an exile from my 
 dear Land, which is always the land where my loved 
 ones are? We brought down the house, and responded 
 to a thundering encore with " Annie Laurie " (which I 
 hate with all my heart, but Harry liketh it, and we had 
 
A Poet s Musical Impressions 91 
 
 not time to discuss) . Then came our piece de resistance, 
 the " Dream of Christmas " overture,- by Ferdinand 
 Killer. Sweet Heaven how shall I tell the gentle 
 melodies, the gracious surprises, the frosty glitter of star 
 light, and flashing of icy spiculcz and of frozen surfaces, 
 the hearty chanting of peace and good-will to men, the 
 thrilling pathos of virginal thoughts and trembling antici 
 pations and lofty prophecies, the solemn and tender 
 breathings-about of the coming reign of forgiveness and 
 of love, and the final confusion of innumerable angels 
 flying through the heavens and jubilantly choiring 
 together. . . . 
 
 We closed with a grand March of Mendelssohn s, found 
 after his death, and played by us to-night for the first 
 time in this country : the strangest combination of Men 
 delssohn s most beautiful effects, particularly of reeds 
 with a singularly interpolated old Highland-pibroch 
 sort of air in the middle, as if the ghost of the " March 
 of the Cameron Men " were flitting about through the 
 loveliest modern orchestral melodies. . . . 
 
 BALTIMORE, January 22, 1874. 
 
 Aye, Thomas hath played for me : two nights. 
 
 I am beginning, in midst of the stormy glories of the 
 orchestra, to feel my heart sure, and my soul discrimi 
 nating. Not less do I thrill, to ride upon the great 
 surges ; but I am growing calm enough to see the star 
 that should light the musician, and presently my hand 
 will be firm enough to hold the helm and guide the ship 
 that way. Now I am very quiet ; I am waiting. The 
 music of the modern orchestra is greatly defective in the 
 ///, and ///passages. When the frenzy of the finale 
 comes upon these players of Thomas , for instance, it is 
 
92 Letters of Sidney Lanier 
 
 too much a frenzy, the orchestral voices are in each 
 other s way ; it is rather a noise, than music. And then 
 the invention of the orchestral composers, since Beetho 
 ven, is so poor ! We hear so much that we privately 
 forgive, in consideration of some special little strain that 
 we liked, e. g., the Rubenstein piece, " Ivan IV.," to 
 night. It was, of course, all in the Russian tone ; but at 
 least one-half of it was noise. In the midst of the 
 uproar, suddenly a dead silence ; then the cellos glided 
 into a religious quartette, simple as the open heavens, 
 beautiful beyond description. The proportion between 
 this quartette and the noise was too greatly in favor of 
 the latter. 
 
 To see Thomas lead ... is music itself ! His baton 
 is alive, full of grace, of symmetry; he maketh no 
 gestures, he readeth his score almost without looking 
 at it, he seeth everybody, heareth everything, warneth 
 every man, encourageth every instrument, quietly, firmly, 
 marvellously. Not the slightest shade of nonsense, not 
 the faintest spark of affectation, not the minutest grain 
 of effect is in him. He taketh the orchestra in his hand 
 as if it were a pen, and writeth with it. 
 
 BALTIMORE, February 3, 1874. 
 
 Oh, if thou couldst hear a symphony of Cade s which 
 we rehearsed this morning ! It is lovely, not with the 
 passionate loveliness that bringeth pain, but with the 
 dainty and childlike, yet strong, loveliness of a mountain 
 (say), all covered with flowers and many-colored rocks, 
 and green leaves, and sparkling springs. , 
 
 BALTIMORE, February 7, 1874. 
 
 . . . Randolph s criticism in the " Gazette " on the 
 English and American music was in the main just, 
 
A Poet s Musical Impressions 93 
 
 though of course a little exaggerated, to eke out the 
 spiciness thereof. He and I had a good laugh over it, 
 next morning. I was disappointed in Sterndale Ben 
 nett s music. If I had not heard so much better, per 
 haps I would have enjoyed it ; and he does occasionally 
 get off a beautiful idea ; but his music is too unsubstan 
 tial, you bring nothing with you away from it, it is much 
 like Mendelssohn-and-water. The other pieces of the 
 programme were equally unsubstantial. The overture to 
 " Deborah " was pretty, nothing more ; the " Fugue," 
 by Deems, was a very good fugue, doubtless, but was 
 abominably dismal music ; and the march by Rosewald 
 (who is leader of our first violins) was decidedly the 
 best piece on the programme, but was somewhat marred 
 by a palpable imitation of wind-effects in a march of 
 Mendelssohn s we played some weeks ago. 
 
 Our concert to-night is to be a very beautiful one in 
 the orchestral features. We are to play the " Fernand 
 Cortez overture," by Spontini, the "Water-Carrier" 
 overture, by Cherubini, the "Fantastic Symphony," 
 by Mercadante, and the " William Tell " overture, by 
 Rossini. This last has a celebrated flute solo, in a 
 beautiful Pastoral Scene, and I have had many compli 
 ments on my rendition of it at the rehearsals. I do not 
 think much of it, though : tis not the sort of playing I 
 like most for the flute, and is more admired for its diffi 
 culty, I think, than for its beauty. 
 
 hath but now brought over a duo for me to 
 
 practise for next Sunday night. Start not ! T is a 
 charity concert, and are we not allowed to lift the poor 
 out of the ditch o Sundays ? 
 
94 Letters of Sidney Lanier 
 
 BALTIMORE, February 7, 1874. 
 
 I am just from the concert. It was splendidly suc 
 cessful. The orchestra was in fine trim, the audience 
 in a good-humor, the singing delightful, the piano-play 
 ing simply exquisite. The " Tell " overture went off 
 well, save that the cellos, which have a beautiful intro 
 duction, were not as well harmonized as might be. I 
 had another triumph in the Pastoral Scene. When 
 Oboe and I had finished our long interchange of con 
 fidences, the audience broke into applause, which was 
 only stilled by the continuance of the overture, and the 
 Conductor came down and said that it was beautifully 
 played. My greatest trouble in playing has been to 
 keep in tune with the oboe ; the tone of that instrument 
 is so strange, so strident, and so indecisive when one 
 is close to the player (he sitteth immediately behind 
 me), that I have infinite difficulty in accommodating 
 my pitch to his. Some of the notes in his instrument, 
 too, are incorrect; and inasmuch as he cannot change 
 his tones, and, as my music is often written in octaves 
 above his, I have to use the utmost caution and skill 
 in turning the embouchure in and out, so as to be in 
 perfect accord with him. For some weeks I did not 
 succeed in this, and suffered untold agonies thereanent ; 
 but I believe I have now discovered all his quips and 
 his quirks, and to-night we were in lovely harmony with 
 each other. 
 
 I read far better than at first, and am greatly im 
 proved in the matter of keeping time in the orchestra. 
 How much I have learned in the last two months ! I 
 am not yet an artist, though, on the flute. The tech 
 nique of the instrument has many depths which I had 
 not thought of before, and I would not call myself a 
 
A Poet s Musical Impressions 95 
 
 virtuoso within a year. I feel sure that in that time I 
 could do anything possible to the instrument. But 
 thou wouldst not know my tone, now ! How I wish I 
 might play for thee ! I have just composed a thing I 
 call " Longing." ... I have not played it for any one, 
 save for myself, when my heart is quite too full. I sus 
 pect the people in the house think I am stark mad, in 
 the twilights, when I send this strenuous sigh out on the 
 air. Suppose a tuberose should just breathe itself out 
 in perfume, and disappear utterly in a sweet breath : 
 thus my heart in this melody. 
 
 BALTIMORE, February 8, 1874. 
 
 If the constituents and guardians of my childhood 
 those good Presbyterians who believed me a model for 
 the Sunday-school children of all time could have 
 witnessed my acts and doings this day, I know not what 
 groans of sorrowful regret would arise in my behalf. 
 For the same being Sunday I went at two o clock 
 to rehearse with an orchestra in which I was engaged, 
 under Herr Leuschow, for the concert of the Germania 
 Mannerchor of Baltimore, which is to be next Wednes 
 day night. I carried with me [somewhat hidden in my 
 heart, whereby] I felt safe and happy. Having arrived 
 at the beautiful new hall which this Mannerchor have 
 just built and the opening of which is the occasion of 
 the concert I found they were waiting for me, and so 
 quickly took my seat and fell to. First, a Concerto for 
 Violin and Orchestra, by De Beriot, light, lovely, airy 
 and wondrous delicate ; then the " Jiibel " overture of 
 Weber, full of glory and triumph, ending with " God 
 Save the Queen," which is set in four sharps and 
 carrieth the poor, straining Flauto Primo clear up to 
 
96 Letters of Sidney Lanier 
 
 JL 
 
 and thereabouts, without pity ; then in filed a great 
 chorus of male and female voices, and we all plunged 
 into that great " Athalia " of Mendelssohn for orchestra 
 and chorus. Borne on the noble surges of the up-swell 
 ing tones, I floated hither and thither in that sea of 
 glory-turned-into-music. Presently I found myself play 
 ing almost alone, in octaves with a lovely soprano voice ; 
 I turned my eyes involuntarily, as we sailed along to 
 gether, and my gaze fell full upon a pair of beautiful 
 liquid, gazelle eyes which, by a similar impulse, I sup 
 pose, had sought mine ; she I mean the Eyes 
 looked me full in the face for a moment, then with a 
 half-smile, full of dignity and sweetness, turned to her 
 notes again : which also I had to do, not having seen or 
 heard the piece before, and so, mutually cheered by this 
 dumb exchange of sympathy, we sang and played to 
 gether to the end of the piece, which occupied, I should 
 think, near three-quarters of an hour. When we had 
 finished I rushed to Herr Leuschow and procured a 
 presentation to the fair Soprano. I found her a charm 
 ing young woman, bright-faced and witty, . . . and had 
 a little, really refreshing, champagny talk with her. . . . 
 Then we played a cavatina from " Ernani," sung by a 
 stout German lady; then the " Sonnenuntergang " by 
 Flamma, for chorus of men s voices and orchestra. 
 
 Then I took a great draught of beer, and found it was 
 six o clock. I had had nothing to eat since eight this 
 morning : so hied me to a restaurant, and dined on oys- 
 
A Poet s Musical Impressions 97 
 
 ters and a chop. Then home, laid me down for twenty 
 minutes, rose, dressed in full concert-suit, and went forth 
 
 with to the great hall of the Masonic Temple. 
 
 Here we found a large audience assembled to hear a 
 concert for the benefit of the Carmelite Nuns, and being 
 quickly called, forth stepped the little man and I on the 
 stage, and dashed into the elaborate tootle-ty-tootle-ty of 
 Rabboni s duo on themes from " Rigoletto." I did laugh 
 inwardly, as I looked about the hall, to see the big Irish 
 men, servant-maids and all, good Catholics every one, 
 gazing and listening, rapt. They encored us, and we 
 responded with " Adieu, Dear Land." 
 
 Then, home, and here sit I ... famished for . . . 
 my highest-of-life. . . . 
 
 Bohemianism and compliments fill not my heart. 
 
 BALTIMORE, February 12, 1874. 
 
 . . . To offset this Jeremiad, I may tell thee that 
 from a hundred indications I gather that I have con 
 quered myself a place here as an orchestral player. 
 The prejudices, the cliques, the claques, the difficulties 
 I had to encounter were innumerable and appalling ; 
 but by straightforward behavior and hard work and 
 steady improvement, I have finally managed to beat 
 down and trample on every one of them. I believe my 
 "Tell" solo, on Saturday night, quite gave the coup de 
 grdce to them, and the managers of the smaller orchestras 
 about town have freely proffered engagements for odd 
 occasions, although I do not belong to the " Musical 
 Union," which embraceth nearly all the musicians in 
 town, and which obligeth all its members to employ 
 each other in preference to outsiders. I played last 
 night with the Germania Mannerchor Orchestra ; next 
 
 7 
 
98 Letters of Sidney Lanier 
 
 week I am to play with the Liederkranz ; and have four 
 other engagements of similar character. I was also en 
 gaged to play solos in two concerts at Wheeling, Va. ; 
 but this has been postponed until after Lent ; . . . and 
 the leader of the Harmonic Mannerchor has engaged 
 me for a solo at their next concert, the date of which 
 is not yet determined. 
 
 I am copying off in order to try the publishers 
 therewith a Danse des Moucherons (midge-dance) , 
 which I have written for flute and piano, and which I 
 think enough of to let it go forward as Op. i. Dost 
 thou remember one morning last summer, Charley and I 
 were walking in the upper part of the yard, before break 
 fast, and saw a swarm of gnats, of whose strange evolu 
 tions we did relate to thee a marvellous tale ? I have 
 put the grave oaks, the quiet shade, the sudden sun 
 light, the fantastic, contrariwise, and ever-shifting midge- 
 movements, the sweet hills afar off, ... all in the 
 piece, and thus / like it ; but I know not if others 
 will, I have not played it for anybody. 
 
 BALTIMORE, April 3, 1874. 
 
 I am just come from Venice, . . . and have strolled 
 home through the moonlight, singing serenades. . . . 
 
 In plain terms, sweet Heaven, how I do abhor 
 these same plain terms I have been playing " Stra- 
 della" (in the orchestra at the Concordia Theatre), and 
 I am full of gondellieds, of serenades, of balconies with 
 white arms leaning over the balustrades thereof, of gleam 
 ing waters, of lithe figures in black velvet, of stinging-sweet 
 coquetries, of diamonds, daggers, and desperadoes. 
 
 Truth to say, the performance was but indifferent 
 good, saving a lovely tenor ; but I had never heard the 
 
A Poet s Musical Impressions 99 
 
 opera before, and I cannot tell thee the intense de 
 light which these lovely conceptions of Flotow gave me. 
 / The man has put Venice, lovely, romantic, wicked- 
 sweet Venice, into music, and the melodies breathe 
 out an eloquence that is at once honied and spicy, 
 at once sentimental and powerful, at once languid and 
 thrilling. . ( . 
 
 BALTIMORE, April 9, 1874. 
 
 . . . Last night I won [from music] much glory, play 
 ing thy sonata of Kuhlau (which thou broughtest me from 
 Savannah) to the most critical audience in town, viz., 
 at a private concert of the Germania Club. 
 
 I have now to rush down to the Concordia, to rehearse 
 with an orchestra there. To-night I am going to play 
 that lovely serenade which we heard at Theodore 
 Thomas concert in Macon for flute and French 
 horn. I play it with a noble cellist, the horn part hav 
 ing been arranged for violoncello. I also play first flute 
 to-night in the orchestra which is to accompany the 
 Liederkranz in bringing out Mendelssohn s " Forty- 
 second Psalm." 
 
 NEW YORK, September 3, 1874. 
 
 I think I have invented a flute which will go down to 
 G below the staff, and which will entirely remedy the 
 imperfections that now exist in that part of the flute 
 that extendeth below D. I have stirred up Badger 
 about it with infinite labor, for the old Satyr is far 
 more concerned about silver dollars than about silver 
 flutes, and is almost inexpugnably conservative. He is 
 always wonderfully kind to me, however, and gazes on 
 me with a half-amused smile when I am talking, as if 
 I were a precocious child whom he was showing off. I 
 have some good hopes of the new flute. O . . . dream 
 
loo Letters of Sidney Lanier 
 
 with me that some day we will listen to an orchestra in 
 which shall be as many first flutes as first violins, and as 
 many second flutes as second violins ! 
 
 And why should it not be so? What reason is there 
 in the nature of things why the violins should be the 
 orchestra, and the flutes and other instruments mere 
 adjuncts ? I say this not out of any foolish advocacy of 
 the flute : thou knowest I love the violin with my whole 
 soul. No, I speak in advocacy of pure music. No one 
 can hear an orchestra constituted like Thomas (e. g.) 
 without being convinced that, with all its perfection of 
 handling, its material is not perfect. The Tutti m fff \<$> 
 always a grief to me. I defy any musician to extract 
 anything out of such passages unless he have the score 
 before him, or is otherwise familiar with the theme. 
 Then he can faintly discern the idea : but to those who 
 are not musicians it is as sound and fury, signifying 
 nothing. . . . 
 
 BROOKLYN, September 7, 1874. 
 
 . . . Badger worked for me like a Trojan all Satur 
 day afternoon, experimenting on my new long flute. 
 We were much put to it for some time to get a certain 
 motion that was essential ; but I kept him at it, in spite 
 of the most dismal croaking on his side, until our efforts 
 were crowned with brilliant success. I am going over 
 now to recommence work on it. ... 
 
 September 17, 1874. 
 
 . . . The long flute is nearly done, and I think it 
 will work. It hath revealed sundry hitches which have 
 taxed my ingenuity severely, but I have managed to 
 overcome them all, and the final prospect is now 
 good. 
 
A Poet s Musical Impressions ioi 
 
 September 21, 1874. 
 
 . . . The long flute will succeed, in time. It is near 
 enough finished for me to see that. Dost thou know, 
 everything I do or write is so new and upturn-y of old 
 mouldy ideas, here, that I have infinite trouble. E. g., 
 old Badger has been making flutes for forty years, and 
 when any luckless wight maketh suggestion to him 
 thereanent, he smileth a battered and annihilating smile, 
 which saith plainly enough, Pooh, I exhausted all that 
 a half-century ago. Now this Satyr fought me at every 
 stage and up every step of my long flute. He declared 
 in the very beginning that it was impossible : that a tube 
 so long could not be filled by the human breath, that a 
 column of air so long could not be made to vibrate, etc., 
 and that he had long ago tried it thoroughly, and satis 
 fied himself it was physically non-achievable. This last, 
 of course, staggered me ; yet with foolhardiness (as it is 
 called) I worked at him until I got him to draw out a 
 long tube, upon which in a few minutes I demonstrated 
 to him that the G was not only a possible but a beau 
 tiful note. He then retreated to his second line, and 
 entrenched himself behind the C-key, averring that a 
 key could not be constructed which would make C and 
 at the same time hold down the four keys of the right 
 hand. Then I proved to him it could be done, by good 
 logic, and he finally made the key I wanted and it was 
 done. Thus from breastwork to breastwork hath he 
 been driven ; in three days more I expect him to 
 surrender at discretion. . . . 
 
 September 25, 1874. 
 
 ... I am going to move heaven and earth for ways 
 and means to take lessons from Dr. Damrosch, who is 
 
IO2, Letters of Sidney Lanier 
 
 leader of the Arion Society and of the Oratorio Society of 
 New York and of the Handel and Haydn Society of 
 Brooklyn. He is a beautiful violinist, and is considered 
 at the head of fine music in New York. A slender, blue- 
 eyed man, with a broad forehead, is he ; and a man of 
 culture withal. . . . 
 
 BROOKLYN, October, 1874. 
 
 ... On Tuesday I went by invitation to P s 
 
 rooms to play flute quartettes. They made me take the 
 first part, and placed before me a terribly difficult quar 
 tette of Walckier s, which I had never seen before. / I 
 could never tell how beautiful it was : such long-drawn 
 chords with sweet thoughts in them, like flowers hid in 
 green leaves. >, I went through it in a great ecstasy, with 
 out a break. When we finished, P cried out to me, 
 
 " Well, sir, you are the best sight-reader I ever saw ; 
 
 H would have broken down at every second bar." 
 
 Thou wouldst be greatly pleased to know how greatly I 
 have improved in this particular, by a little practice in 
 it, which I have just had for the first time in my life. 
 
 During the past two weeks L has been coming 
 
 twice a week to my room, and playing for an hour old- 
 fashioned duos which I never saw before. This has set 
 
 me up greatly in reading. Last night Mme. A 
 
 gave a little musicale, in order that Dr. C , an 
 
 amateur flutist, of Brooklyn, might hear me play. He 
 brought a lot of music wholly new to me, and, although 
 embarrassed at playing at sight before so many people, 
 and with an accompanist who was also reading at sight, 
 I went through in grand style, amidst such showers of 
 applause and of compliments as quite reddened my 
 face. . . . \ 
 
A Poet s Musical Impressions 103 
 
 NEW YORK, Sunday t October 18, 1874. 
 I have been in my room all day ; and have just con 
 cluded a half-dozen delicious hours, during which I have 
 been devouring, with a hungry ferocity of rapture which I 
 know not how to express, "The Life of Robert Schumann," 
 by his pupil, von Wasielewski. This pupil, I am sure, 
 did not fully comprehend his great master. / I think the 
 key to Schumann s whole character, with all its labyrin 
 thine and often disappointing peculiarities, is this : That 
 he had no mode of self-expression, or, I should rather 
 say, of self-expansion, besides the musical mode. This 
 may seem a strange remark to make of him who was the 
 founder and prolific editor of a great musical journal, 
 and who perhaps exceeded any musician of his time in 
 general culture. But I do not mean that he was con 
 fined to music for self-expression, though indeed, the 
 sort of critical writing which Schumann did so much of 
 is not at all like poetry in its tranquillizing effects upon 
 the soul of the writer. What I do mean is that his 
 sympathies were not big enough, he did not go through 
 the awful struggle of genius, and lash and storm and 
 beat about until his soul was grown large enough to 
 embrace the whole of life and the All of things, that is, 
 large enough to appreciate (if even without understand 
 ing) the magnificent designs of God, and tall enough to 
 stand in the trough of the awful cross-waves of circum 
 stance and look over their heights along the whole sea 
 of God s manifold acts, and deep enough to admit the 
 peace that passeth understanding. This is, indeed, the 
 fault of all German culture, and the weakness of all Ger 
 man genius. A great artist should have the sensibility 
 and expressive genius of Schumann, the calm grandeur of 
 Lee, and the human breadth of Shakespeare, all in one. 
 
104 Letters of Sidney Lanier 
 
 Now in this particular, of being open, unprejudiced, 
 and unenvious, Schumann soars far above his brother 
 Germans ; he valiantly defended our dear Chopin, and 
 other young musicians who were struggling to make 
 head against the abominable pettiness of German preju 
 dice. But, withal, I cannot find that his life was great, 
 as a whole : I cannot see him caring for his land, for the 
 poor, for religion, for humanity : he was always a rest 
 less soul ; and the ceaseless wear of incompleteness 
 finally killed, as a maniac, him whom a broader Love 
 might have kept alive as a glorious artist to this day. 
 
 The truth is, the world does not require enough at 
 the hands of genius. Under the special plea of greater 
 sensibilities, and of consequent greater temptations, it 
 excuses its gifted ones, and even sometimes makes " a 
 law of their weakness." But this is wrong : the sensibil 
 ity of genius is just as much greater to high emotions as 
 to low ones; and whilst it subjects to stronger temp 
 tations, it at the same time interposes if it will 
 stronger considerations for resistance. 1 
 
 These are scarcely fair things to be saying apropos of 
 Robert Schumann : for I do not think he was ever 
 guilty of any excesses of genius as they are called : I 
 only mean them to apply to the unrest of his life. 
 
 And yet, for all I have said, how his music does burn 
 in my soul ! It stretches me upon the very rack of 
 delight; I know no musician that fills me so full of 
 heavenly anguish, and if I had to give up all the writers 
 of music save one, my one should be Robert Schumann. 
 
 Some of his experiences cover some of my own as 
 aptly as one-half of an oyster-shell does the other half. 
 Once he went to Vienna that gay New York of 
 Austria ;. and he writes back to his sister Theresa : 
 
A Poet s Musical Impressions 105 
 
 "... So my plans have as yet progressed but little. 
 The city is so large that one needs double time for 
 everything. ... But to tell you a secret, I shouldn t 
 like to live here long, and alone; serious men and 
 Saxons are seldom wanted or understood here. ... In 
 vain do I look for musicians ; that is, musicians who not 
 only play passably well upon one or two instruments, 
 but who are cultivated men, and understand Shakespeare 
 and Jean Paul. ... I might relate all this at full length. 
 But I don t know how the days fly, here ; I Ve been 
 here three months to-day; and the post-time, four 
 o clock, is always just at hand. . . . Clara goes the first 
 of January to Paris, and probably to London later. We 
 shall then be far apart. Sometimes I feel as if I could 
 not bear it. But you know the reason: she wants to 
 make money, of which we are indeed in need. May 
 the good God guard her, the good, faithful girl ! " 
 
 NEW YORK, October 29, 1874. 
 
 To-day I played for the great Dr. Damrosch; and 
 won him. I sang the "Wind-Song " to him. When I 
 finished he came and shook my hand, and said it was 
 done like an artist : that it was wonderful, in view of my 
 education; and that he was greatly astonished and 
 pleased with the poetry of the piece and the enthusiasm 
 of its rendering. He then closed the door on his 
 next pupil, and kept him waiting in the front parlor 
 a half hour, while giving me a long talk. I had told 
 him that I wished to pursue music, f He said : " Do 
 you know what that means? It means a great deal 
 of work, it means a thousand sacrifices. It is very 
 hazardous." 
 
 I replied, I knew all that ; but it was not a matter of 
 
106 Letters of Sidney Lanier 
 
 mere preference, it was a spiritual necessity, I must be 
 a musician, I could not help it. j 
 
 This seemed to please him ; and he went on to speak 
 as no other musician here could speak, of many things. 
 He is the only poet among the craft here ; and is a 
 thoroughly cultivated man, in all particulars, f He offered 
 to do all he could in my behalf; and was altogether the 
 gentleman and the wise artist. 
 
 Thou wilt share with me the pleasure I take in think 
 ing that I have never yet failed to win favor with an 
 artist. Although I am far more independent of praise 
 than formerly, and can do without it perfectly well : yet, 
 when it comes, I keenly enjoy it; particularly from 
 one who is the friend of Liszt, of Von Biilow, and of 
 Wagner. 
 
 Moreover, I played abominably : being both tired, 
 weakened by the warm weather, and excited. 
 
 I am pleased that Hamerik should have so cordially 
 invited me back to my old place; and anticipate a 
 winter in Baltimore full of substantial work. I find I 
 need thorough-bass sorely, and am studying it with 
 might and main. 
 
 BROOKLYN, November 8, 1874. 
 
 ... I have spent the whole Sunday in my room, in 
 reading, with slow labor for my German is but limited 
 Wagner s " Rhein-Gold," the first part of his great 
 Trilogy, or rather Tetralogy for it has four parts 
 which I am going to translate unless some happy mortal 
 gets ahead of me. The conception is very fine ; but 
 there is something in it, or rather something not in it, 
 which I detect in everything that any German has yet 
 done in the way of music or poetry. I know not exactly 
 
A Poet s Musical Impressions 107 
 
 what to call it, or indeed how to define it. It is that 
 (if I may express it in a very roundabout way) senti 
 ment lying deep in the heart of the author which would 
 produce on his face a quiet, wise smile all the while he 
 was writing, a sort of consciousness underlying all his 
 enthusiasms (which are not at all weakened thereby), 
 that God has charge, that the world is in His hands, 
 that any bitterness is therefore small and unworthy of a 
 poet. This was David s frame of mind ; it was also 
 Shakespeare s. No German has approached it except 
 perhaps Richter. . . . 
 
 1874. 
 
 . . . The great deeps, the wild heights, the passion 
 ate cities, the happy vales, the dear secret springs, the 
 broad and generous-bosomed rivers, the manifold ex 
 quisite flowers, the changeful seasons, the starry skies, 
 the present, the past, the future ... of the world of 
 music : into these he hath not been, into these will he 
 never enter. But he hath not one infinitely sweet to 
 present ever before him the glorious ideal of his youth, 
 to keep him ever trustful in the brightness and reality 
 and sufficiency of love, to hold him ever self-watchful 
 and solicitous to be all that is high and manly and 
 noble, in order to maintain himself in some way worthy 
 of his unapproachable Beloved. 
 
 BALTIMORE, January 3, 1875. 
 
 Doth not this enclosed programme show a feast of 
 glory? And how we did play it ! We were forty- four 
 in Orchestra, and we all played as if our soul s welfare 
 hung on each note. How can I tell thee the heaven of 
 it, to me? 
 
 Then, after the concert, Mr. Sutro and his wife in- 
 
io8 Letters of Sidney Lanier 
 
 vited Hamerik, Seifert (leader of the violins, just from 
 Berlin), Wysham, and myself to take champagne with 
 them at their rooms, where we sat until far into the 
 morning, talking music. 
 
 My playing is greatly improved ; and my flute now fits 
 upon the oboe like the down upon a peach. 
 
 My head is all full of my " Gnat-dance," which I am 
 going to turn into a symphony, for orchestra with flute 
 obligate, 
 
 BALTIMORE, January 6, 1875. 
 
 ... I had a long talk to-day with Mr. Uhler, 
 Librarian of the Peabody. He tells me that there is a 
 full set of apparatus for the Physics of Music lectures 
 now at the Institute, and that they are not even un 
 packed ! I have the strongest hope of being able to 
 accomplish my project anent the establishment of such 
 a chair in connection with the Conservatory. I am 
 working hard at all the books I can find in the library 
 on the subject, and I am going over in a few moments 
 to spend the balance of the evening there. 
 
 BALTIMORE, January 9, 1875. 
 
 . . . Our second concert comes off to-night, and we 
 are to play such beautiful music as makes my heart 
 tremble even to think of. First comes Beethoven s 
 Second Symphony, one written before the dreadful deaf 
 ness had come upon his ears and pierced into his heart. 
 The whole three movements are ravishing melodies from 
 beginning to end, and the second movement, a Lar- 
 ghetto, is as if the wind instruments and strings were 
 having a game of Hide-and-Seek in Heaven. Then 
 Mme. De Ryther, a lady in form and manner and stage- 
 appearance much like our dear departed G , is to 
 
A Poet s Musical Impressions 109 
 
 sing, with a glorious contralto voice, a noble aria from 
 Handel s little-known opera, " Rinaldo." Then we play 
 Bernhard Scholz s overture, " Im Freien " (" In the free 
 air "), an exquisite embodiment of tender sky, of birds, 
 of joyful green leaves and lush grasses and brilliant 
 flowers. Then we have some English songs by Mme. 
 De Ryther, and conclude all with Karl Reinecke s lovely 
 Overture to Calderon s " Dame Kobold." 
 
 , January 12, 1875. 
 
 I have a nice piano just arrived. ... I found I could 
 not write my Gnat Symphony without it. I am going 
 to put into the slow movement of the Gnat Symphony my 
 No. i which thou didst admire so long ago : taking the 
 melody first for the flute, then for the violins. The 
 melody seems fairly ravishing to me. 
 
 . . . The fury of creation is on me to-day, and I am 
 now going down for some score-paper, and to mail 
 this . . . then to the pen. 
 
 Hamerik is interested in the chair of physics, and 
 will take me to see Mr. E - , who is chief among the 
 trustees in the Conservatory department. . . . 
 
 BALTIMORE, January 20, 1875. 
 
 On Monday night came Hamerik to spend the even 
 ing with me. At seven came he ; and at 2 A. M. left he. 
 Such another music-talk have I never had. The fellow 
 is a rare genius : his music is the most poetic subtlety 
 of tone-combination that could be imagined. 
 
 BALTIMORE, January 24, 1875. 
 
 Our concert last night was magnificently successful. 
 Our first number was the greatest of modern works, 
 the Symphony by Svendsen. The third movement is a 
 
no Letters of Sidney Lanier 
 
 long and intricate Scherzo, of indescribable lightness and 
 beauty; and is, throughout, a solo for the first flute, 
 supported by a multitudinous accompaniment of the 
 reeds and strings. The instant we had finished, the 
 audience furiously demanded an encore, the Director 
 smiled his congratulations over upon me, and we plunged 
 into it again, like a flock of butterflies drunk with sun 
 light swooping upon a flower-bed. 
 
 The whole Symphony gave me immeasurable delight. 
 I am so much improved now in playing, that I can 
 preserve my internal dignity in great measure free from 
 the dreadful distractions of solicitude, and thus my soul 
 revels in the midst of the heaven of these great sym 
 phonic works with almost unobstructed freedom. . . . 
 
 I believe I have had the good fortune to discover a 
 very curious fact in relation to the vibration of strings, 
 which will exert an important influence in explaining 
 the difference of timbre between stringed instruments 
 and wind; and perhaps in other directions which I 
 have not had time to think toward. I have communi 
 cated the substance of the proposition to Professor F. H. 
 Smith of the University of Virginia, a very eminent 
 authority in such matters, and he replies that my idea 
 is unquestionably correct. 1 . . . 
 
 1 Professor Smith wrote : 
 
 UNIVERSITY OF VIRGINIA, January 21, 1875. 
 
 MY DEAR SIR, I think there can be no doubt that your prop 
 osition is correct. I would prefer a slightly different enunciation 
 of it. Calling the excursion of the string from one side to the 
 other a semi-vibration, I would say, " Every transverse vibration 
 of a tense string must necessarily originate four longitudinal 
 semi-vibrations of the same string." The reason for the change 
 is this : that while the transverse vibration presents all the phases 
 of such a motion, the longitudinal disturbance includes only such 
 phases as belong to dilatation. A complete longitudinal wave 
 
A Poet s Musical Impressions 1 1 1 
 
 BALTIMORE, February 7, 1875. 
 
 . . . Our concert last night whereof I send the 
 beautiful programme was brilliantly successful. We 
 had only rehearsed the Mozart Concerto once, Mr. Hoff 
 man not arriving until Friday ; but it went off nobly, 
 on the part of the orchestra, and Mr. Hoffman played 
 it with a subtle delicacy of touch and of expression of 
 which I had never dreamed him capable. The Proch 
 variations were sung charmingly by Miss Thursby, I 
 standing with her and playing the flute obligate : all 
 with such effect that I had twice to lead her back in 
 response to vociferous encores. The third movement 
 of the Hiller symphony was full of lovely flute-effects ; 
 and my playing won me many compliments from the 
 stolid Germans of the orchestra. 
 
 BALTIMORE, February 26, 1875. 
 
 Well then, installment No. i shall relate to thee in how 
 wholly unorthodox a manner yet to me how devout ! 
 I spent last Sunday. . . . 
 
 At half-past ten I was ready for action, and proceeded 
 to meet my colleagues of the wind quintette with 
 whom I was to play at the concert that night for the 
 
 embraces both a tract of condensation and one of rarefaction. In 
 the present instance the longitudinal effect consists of a series of 
 semi-waves, all of the same kind, z/w., dilatation. 
 
 A very pretty illustration of your proposition is found in Melde s 
 expt., in which a string properly stretched is fastened to one of 
 the tines of a tuning-fork, and excited to transverse vibration by 
 the vibration of the latter. To produce the same vibration in the 
 string, the tuning-fork must make twice as many vibrations per 
 second, when put in the position A [where the two tines are in a 
 line with the string], as are required when it is put in the position 
 B [where a line between the two tines is at right angles to the 
 string]. That is, fork A must be an octave above fork B. 
 
 Very truly yours, FRANCIS H. SMITH. 
 
H2 Letters of Sidney Lanier 
 
 rehearsal of our piece ; which, by reason of short notice 
 and of the exactions of our orchestra rehearsals, we had 
 not been able to rehearse before. This occupied until 
 after one o clock, when I rushed back to my room, 
 made some changes of toilet, and repaired to the 
 
 P s , where I was promised to dinner. After dinner, 
 
 Mr. P and I looked over a magnificent bound col 
 lection of colored prints representing the progress of 
 Art in all times and countries : till half-past five, when I 
 returned to my room, fell on the bed and rested an 
 hour ; then tea ; then a hasty arrayal in dress-coat and 
 white tie, and a flight to the Germania Hall where we 
 were to play the quintette. Which having played, I 
 rushed, at nine o clock, to the house of M. Rabillon, 
 where I had been engaged to play in a string quintette 
 of Haydn for three strings, flute, and piano; Mme. 
 Rabillon playing the piano part, and her daughter play 
 ing the violoncello part. Arriving here, found the violin 
 and the viola men had not come : so played trios with 
 mother and daughter (violoncello, flute, and piano), and 
 chatted with the father until eleven, then took leave of 
 these charming, cultivated, unaffected, simple-mannered 
 French people, and got me home to bed, tired as thou 
 mayst imagine. 
 
 Of course, this was an exceptional Sunday. I usually 
 spend the day, until dinner-time, in my room, writing to 
 thee, and meditating upon God. I then dine at Mrs. 
 Bird s, and spend my evening alone in my room, bringing 
 my life up. . . . 
 
 BALTIMORE, February 28, 1875. 
 
 . . . We had a beautiful concert last night : the 
 Seventh Symphony of Beethoven, the great concerto of 
 
A Poet s Musical Impressions 113 
 
 Schumann for piano and orchestra, the " Marriage of 
 Figaro ; " winding up with the dreary old " Good-Night " 
 Symphony of Haydn, in which each of us had a candle 
 attached to his stand (the hall being in total darkness), 
 which he blew out as his part was finished (the parts 
 came to an end successively), until finally naught was 
 left but a lonesome old fiddler who dismally sawed 
 away, but at last left, the leader beating time for a few 
 bars longer, then sadly blowing out his solitary candle 
 and moving away. 
 
 BALTIMORE, March 12, 1875. 
 
 ... I have so many fair dreams and hopes about 
 music in these days. It is a gospel whereof the people 
 are in great need. As Christ gathered up the ten com 
 mandments and re-distilled them into the clear liquid of 
 that wondrous eleventh Love God utterly, and thy 
 neighbor as thyself so I think the time will come when 
 music, rightly developed to its now-little-foreseen gran 
 deur, will be found tq be a later revelation of all gospels 
 in one. Only think how it is beginning to do the people s 
 worship in the churches, here, of late ! : 
 
 I was at one the other day where half of the service 
 was music, and if the man at the organ had been at all 
 a preacher in soul (alas ! he was not) , he would have 
 dealt out the far heavenlier portion of the doctrine. . . . 
 
 BALTIMORE, March 18, 1876. 
 
 I have just come from the last concert, whereof I send 
 thee herein a programme. A certain sense of melan 
 choly is upon me the last of anything is per se not 
 joyful but I quite kill it with the thought that I am 
 now entirely free ... as soon as I have finished my 
 
 8 
 
114 Letters of Sidney Lanier 
 
 Centennial Ode. 1 I do not know how soon this will be. 
 It ought to be in the hands of the printers and 
 engravers early in April, but it has been so much 
 interrupted by illness and a thousand little extraneous 
 matters, that I fear it will be late. However, the God 
 of the humble poet is very great, and I have had so 
 many signal instances of His upholding grace that I do 
 not now ever quite despair of anything. 
 
 Thomas is to be here next Wednesday, and I hope 
 then to have some final report from him as to whether 
 he will be able to put in another flute upon his orchestra. 
 
 I have received a copy of the piano score of the Can 
 tata, which I will send on Monday. . . . The poem 
 appears on the first page in connected shape, as well as 
 in its proper place along with the music. This piano 
 score is only written for the purpose of drilling the cho 
 rus ; the full orchestra score will soon be printed, and 
 I will then send thee a copy of that. ... I am continu 
 ally and increasingly amazed at the intense rate of life 
 at which I have to live here. There is never a moment 
 when I have what could be called leisure : a duty of 
 some sort is always ready, I am always pressed for 
 time, and that too at the total neglect of scores of visits 
 which I ought to pay here. I do not even have time to 
 think out why it is so. 
 
 I hope thou wilt like my dactyls ; I am greatly inter 
 ested in them. ... If I were only fresh to write this 
 poem ! but it is done with a laggard spirit. 
 
 After a concert, not dated. 
 
 . . . The great Beethoven concerto, the Mendelssohn 
 concerto (for violin and orchestra), the "Wolfram s Song," 
 1 " The Psalm of the West," for Lippincott s Magazine. 
 
A Poet s Musical Impressions 115 
 
 these will kill me if I do not hear them some day [as I 
 would] ! I dare not talk about them more. There was 
 the largest audience ever assembled in that hall. Even 
 the aisles were crowded with ladies, standing. . . . 
 
 How well I now understand the foundation which 
 music has, in the culture of the soul ! A broad and 
 liberal spirit wielding the baton to-night could have set 
 the hearts of fifteen hundred people a-fire. As it was, 
 they were (merely) greatly pleased. 
 
 There is a certain heaven in store for me : it is to play 
 with thine accompaniment, some day, certain songs out 
 of a " Schubert Album" which I have. Oh, if thou 
 couldst hear the passion, the melodious eloquence, the 
 pleading pathos wherewith my dear Silvertongue 1 ren- 
 dereth these ! 
 
 PHILADELPHIA, May 28, 1876. 
 
 To-day ... I had an invitation from Wehner to come 
 and spend the morning with him. I went at half-past 
 ten, flute in hand. His knowledge of English is even 
 less than mine of German, and we wasted not a word in 
 talk beyond the usual salutations, but went immediately 
 to our matters, by a delightful plunge into a volume of 
 Kuhlau s duos which I had not before seen. We were 
 in a cool, retired parlor, the morning was sweet, there 
 was no third person in the room, the music was of the 
 simple, grave, religious character of Bach s, and my 
 heart was all a- cry. At the end of each movement, as 
 we played straight through the book, my big, phlegmatic, 
 
 1 A silver Boehm flute, in one long tube, which Mr. Lanier 
 played for a time. He finally returned to the wooden Boehm, 
 having a mouthpiece of ivory inserted to procure greater 
 resonance. 
 
1 1 6 Letters of Sidney Lanier 
 
 square-built German cried " Gut ! " and looked mean 
 ingly upon me; I said " Wunderschon," and looked 
 meaningly upon him ; and at the end of two hours I 
 made a hasty ade with a full heart, and came back to 
 the Peacocks for dinner. 
 
Letters between two Poets: 
 Bayard Taylor and Sidney Lanier 
 
Letters between two Poets : Bayard 
 Taylor and Sidney Lanier 
 
 THESE letters are the formal record of the friendship 
 between two poets; and while the self-evident reason 
 for putting them before the public must lie in the dis 
 cussions they contain on matters of literary art, there is 
 a rather special human interest in the relation which 
 called them forth. For this was a friendship which did 
 not mature slowly, restrained by the cautious prudence 
 of alert self-consciousness, but sprang at once into full, 
 generous, and whole-hearted existence, as if aware how 
 brief a time were allotted it. 
 
 In the Letters to Mr. Gibson Peacock, 1 the circum 
 stances which brought about the first epistolary acquaint 
 ance appear in detail. Mr. Gibson Peacock, editor of 
 the Philadelphia " Evening Bulletin," and a warm friend 
 and admirer of Mr. Lanier, had sent the younger poet s 
 newly published " Symphony " to Mr. Taylor; and when 
 the latter s hearty appreciation of this poem reached the 
 author, it called forth the letter which inaugurated their 
 friendship and a correspondence that lasted, almost 
 without a break, until Mr. Taylor s death. Since this 
 correspondence is practically complete (with the excep 
 tion of a few extracts that appear in the " Life and Let- 
 1 Chapter I. 
 
I2o Letters of Sidney Lanier 
 
 ters of Bayard Taylor"), the text has been allowed to 
 explain itself, with no elucidating comment save in one 
 or two instances. 
 
 It should be remembered that at this time Bayard 
 Taylor had been a very prominent figure in the literary 
 world for over twenty-five years. As author, translator, 
 traveller, diplomatist and lecturer, his position had long 
 been assured; four years before, his twenty or thirty 
 previous volumes had culminated in that great trans 
 lation of " Faust " which is in itself a literary heritage 
 that any man might consider sufficient for a life work. 
 Sidney Lanier s name, on the contrary, was almost 
 unknown. Only a few months before had appeared 
 the first poem which brought him any general recogni 
 tion, 1 and his opening letter expresses his deep sense of 
 generous and sympathetic appreciation from the older 
 man, whose own battle with Obscurity was but a dim 
 memory. 
 
 Early in August, 1875, Mr. Lanier made a trip to 
 New York, and his first letter is from Brooklyn : 
 
 195 DEAN ST., BROOKLYN, N. Y., August 7, 1875. 
 
 MY DEAR SIR : When a man, determined to know 
 as well what is under as what is above, has made his 
 plunge down to the bottom of the great Sea Doubtful of 
 poetic endeavor and has looked not only upon the en 
 chanted caverns there but upon the dead bodies also, 
 there comes a moment, as his head re-emerges above 
 the surface, when his eyes are a-blink with salt water 
 and tears, when the horizon is a round blur, and When 
 he wastes strength that might be applied to swimming 
 
 1 " Corn," in Lippincott s Magazine for February, 1874. 
 
Letters between Two Poets 
 
 121 
 
 in resolutely defying what seems to be the gray sky 
 overhead. 
 
 In such a moment, a friendly word and all the more 
 if it be a friendly word from a strong swimmer whom 
 
 one perceives far ahead advancing calmly and swiftly 
 
 brings with it a pleasure so large and grave that, as vol 
 uble thanks are impossible, so a simple and sincere 
 acknowledgment is inevitable. 
 
 I did not know that my friend Mr. Peacock had sent 
 you my " Symphony " until I received his letter enclosing 
 yours in reference to that poem : your praise came to 
 me, therefore, with the added charm of surprise. You 
 are quite right in supposing the Makamat of Hariri of 
 Basra to be unknown to me. How earnestly I wish that 
 they might be less so, by virtue of some account of them 
 from your own lips ! I could never describe to you 
 what a mere drought and famine my life has been, as 
 regards that multitude of matters which I fancy one 
 absorbs when one is in an atmosphere of art, or when 
 one is in conversational relation with men of letters, with 
 travellers, with persons who have either seen, or written, 
 or done large things. Perhaps you know that, with us 
 of the younger generation in the South since the War, 
 pretty much the whole of life has been merely not- 
 dying. 
 
 I will be in Brooklyn about a month ; and if you should 
 come to New York in that time I beg you will send me 
 a line to above address, telling me where I can find you, 
 and when, so that I may not miss you. 
 
 I remember how Thomas Carlyle has declared a man 
 will be strengthened in his opinion when he finds it 
 shared by another mortal ; and so enclose a slip which 
 a friend has just sent me, from the Boston " Transcript," 
 
122 Letters of Sidney Lanier 
 
 containing some pleasant words about my poems by 
 Mr. Calvert. 
 
 Pray believe that I shall always hold myself, and 
 always rejoice to be held by you, as 
 
 Your friend, SIDNEY LANIER. 
 
 BOSTON, August 17, 1875. 
 
 MY DEAR SIR : I find your letter here, awaiting my 
 return from New Brunswick. I am exceedingly glad 
 that you are to remain for a month, because now I 
 can be sure of seeing you although not immedi 
 ately, as I should wish, were I absolute master of 
 my days. 
 
 I go from here to Penn a for a week, but shall return 
 to New York on the 28th, to attend the celebration of 
 Goethe s i26th birthday, and shall then be nearly a 
 week, alone and idle, at my residence, No. 31 West 
 6ist St., where I beg you will come, say on Sunday 
 the 2 pth, after which we can arrange how to meet again. 
 Or, if you desire to attend the Goethe celebration 
 Bryant gives the address and my unlucky self the ode 
 please send me a line to Kennett Square, Penn a, 
 and I can easily get an invitation for you from the 
 Goethe Association. 
 
 I write hurriedly, finding much correspondence await 
 ing me here, so can only repeat how much joy the 
 evidence of a new, true poet always gives me such 
 a poet as I believe you to be. I am heartily glad to 
 welcome you to the fellowship of authors, so far as I 
 may dare to represent it; but, knowing. the others, I 
 venture to speak in their names also. When we meet, 
 I hope to be able to show you, more satisfactorily than 
 by these written words, the genuineness of the interest 
 
Letters between Two Poets 123 
 
 which each author always feels in all others ; and per 
 haps I may be also able to extend your own acquaint 
 ance among those whom you have a right to know. 
 Excuse this hurried scrawl, and believe me, most 
 
 sincerely 
 
 Your friend, BAYARD TAYLOR. 
 
 195 DEAN ST., BROOKLYN, N. Y., August 19, 1875. 
 
 DEAR MR. TAYLOR: It would give me a great 
 pleasure to hear you read your Goethe ode, and 
 though trembling a little at the idea of giving trouble 
 to a busy man I cannot resist the temptation to 
 avail myself of your kind offer to intercede for an 
 invitation. 
 
 I thank you for the fair words your letter brings, and 
 
 am always 
 
 Your friend, SIDNEY LANIER. 
 
 KENNETT SQUARE, PENN., August 23, 1875. 
 DEAR MR. LANIER : Passing through New York, I met 
 the President of the Committee of Arrangement for the 
 Goethe- Festival, and he informed me that a box for six 
 persons would be placed at my disposal. Now, as my 
 literary friends are separately provided for, and there is 
 a possibility of my wife, only, needing a seat, I have 
 thus a seat (or two, if Mrs. Lanier is with you) ready. 
 If any tickets for the six box-seats are sent to me, I will 
 forward two at once : if not, the best thing will be for 
 you to come to my quarters No. 31 West 6ist St. 
 by 7 o clock, next Saturday evening. At Fulton Ferry 
 ask for the " Belt Railroad," which follow to the junc 
 tion of 59th St. and 9th Avenue. Go up 9th Avenue to 
 6ist St. two short blocks and No. 31 is the second 
 door East, north side. It will take you about an hour, 
 
1 24 Letters of Sidney Lanier 
 
 from Fulton Ferry. I know of no other practicable 
 way of meeting you on that evening, as I cannot leave 
 here until Saturday, and shall only arrive an hour or 
 two before the hour mentioned. 
 
 Relying upon your coming, I will postpone further 
 talk until then. 
 
 Ever sincerely yours, BAYARD TAYLOR. 
 
 Again, three days later, Mr. Taylor writes in relation 
 to the seats for the impending Goethe festival : 
 
 KENNETT SQUARE, PENN A, August 26, 1875. 
 DEAR MR. LANIER : The box tickets have been sent 
 to me here, and I lose no time in enclosing two. The 
 celebration begins at 7^ instead of 8. It will be 
 less trouble for you to go direct to the Hippodrome 
 from Brooklyn ; but I depend on your spending Sunday 
 afternoon with me at 31 West 6ist St. I may say 
 that the engraved card of invitation says " Full dress for 
 gentlemen," but I presume it is not rigorously meant, 
 except for the actors. If Mrs. Lanier is not with you, 
 there may be some friend whom you would like to take 
 along. Pardon my haste : the Ode is only this moment 
 finished, and must be copied. 
 
 Ever sincerely, BAYARD TAYLOR. 
 
 195 DEAN ST., BROOKLYN, N. Y., August 30, 1875. 
 
 DEAR MR. TAYLOR : The three numbered sonnets 
 
 enclosed l are in continuation of those in the magazine 
 
 which 1 mail herewith. Any criticism you may make 
 
 on them when we meet again, I will take as a special 
 
 1 Part of " Acknowledgment " (see " Poems "). The magazine 
 referred to was the September " Lippincott s," which contained 
 the four sonnets called " In Absence." 
 
Letters between Two Poets 125 
 
 grace : for they form the beginning of a series which I 
 will probably be writing all my life, knowing no other 
 method of heart s-ease for my sense of the pure wor- 
 shipfulness which dwells in the Lady they celebrate. 
 
 The other two are only a couple of little snatches 
 which were both born last Thursday; and I don t 
 know any other reason for sending them to you, save 
 that they re curiously unlike for twins. 
 
 Sincerely yours, SIDNEY LANIER. 
 
 Thursday Afternoon, September 2, 1875. 
 
 MY DEAR MR. LANIER : I neglected to tell you, 
 yesterday, that my address until the 2Oth will be : 
 Kennett Square, Pennsylvania. If you go to Boston, 
 don t fail to let me know in advance, so that I may 
 send you letters to Longfellow and others. I saw 
 Hassard again to-day, and he will be very glad to see 
 you personally. 
 
 I can t tell you how rejoiced I am to find in you 
 the genuine poetic nature, temperament, and morale. 
 These are the necessary conditions of success (not in 
 the lower popular meaning of the word) of the 
 possibility of steadily approaching one s ideal, for we 
 never can, or ought to, reach it. All I can say is : 
 "Be of good cheer!" 
 
 So, till we meet again,* 
 
 Faithfully your friend, BAYARD TAYLOR. 
 
 WESTMINSTER HOTEL, NEW YORK CITY, 
 September 25, 1875. 
 
 MY DEAR MR. TAYLOR : For some time after my last 
 charming day with you, it really seemed as if the ghost 
 
 * And afterwards, of course ! 
 
126 Letters of Sidney Lanier 
 
 of Dr. Sangrado him of bloody memory had ob 
 tained permission to work his will upon me, as the 
 Devil did upon Job : I was unmercifully phlebotomized ; 
 haemorrhage came upon haemorrhage. 
 
 Which I would not mention, except that I cannot 
 bear you should believe any light cause able to prevent 
 me from immediately acknowledging a note so thor 
 oughly kind and heartsome as your last to me. When 
 it came I \Fas not allowed the privilege either of speak 
 ing or writing. 
 
 But I m getting in prime condition again, and anti 
 cipate with keen eagerness the pleasure of seeing you 
 when you return. 
 
 Pray send me a line, to let me know when that will be. 
 I Ve moved over to New York ; and my address is at 
 the Westminster Hotel, this city. 
 
 My illness has deprived me of the pleasure of seeing 
 Mr. Hassard ; but I hope to call on him in a day or 
 two. If you should see him before I do, I will thank 
 you if you will say as much to him. 
 
 An accumulation of work keeps me at my desk the 
 whole of each day and much of each night. I pray 
 you, therefore, invert the littleness of these words, and 
 therewith measure the scope of that affection wherein 
 I am 
 
 Faithfully your friend, 
 
 SIDNEY LANIER. 
 
 31 WEST 6iST ST., Tuesday, September 28, 1875. 
 MY DEAR MR. LANIER : Yours of Saturday has just 
 reached me here. While at Cedarcroft I heard (through 
 Peacock) of your visit to Philadelphia and of the unfor 
 tunate return of your physical troubles which I pray 
 
Letters between Two Poets 127 
 
 may be over now, banished by the beautiful spirit of 
 this autumn weather. 
 
 We are in all the agonies of moving but a good 
 fate brings us within two short blocks of your hotel. 
 Between now and Friday night we hope to be comfort 
 ably settled in the Stuyvesant Building, 142 East i8th 
 St., and I shall run around to see you as soon as the 
 books and furniture are in their places. On Saturday 
 evening we have the monthly meeting of the Century 
 Club (in 1 5th St.) and I hope you will be strong 
 enough to go with me. Bryant is President, and you 
 will see Stoddard, Stedman, and many other good 
 fellows. Pray don t make any engagement elsewhere, 
 if you go out evenings. 
 
 I need n t excuse my haste this morning : you know 
 what packing is. I look forward with delight to many 
 more hours together. 
 
 Ever faithfully yours, BAYARD TAYLOR. 
 
 WESTMINSTER HOTEL, N. Y., September 29, 1875. 
 
 MY DEAR MR. TAYLOR: Your note comes flushed 
 with good news. For bringing me within two blocks of 
 you I will in the most sublime manner forgive Fate a 
 dozen heinous injuries. 
 
 I will eagerly await you on Friday evening ; and will 
 be delighted to go with you to the Century Club. 
 
 I write in the greatest haste, to-day not being long 
 enough by some six hours for what I have to do before 
 it ends. 
 
 Which makes me realize how glorious is Friendship, 
 to whose immortality the poor necessities of night and 
 sleep do not exist. 
 
 Your friend, S. L. 
 
128 Letters of Sidney Lanier 
 
 WESTMINSTER HOTEL, Friday Noon. 
 
 MY DEAR MR. TAYLOR : Pray tell me if I must go in 
 full dress to-night, or only in a black frock. 
 
 Also, behold, in this I. sonnet, how this morning the 
 idea which you were good enough to present me, last 
 night, would sing itself in me till I could do no less than 
 put it on paper. 
 
 Also tell me, when we meet to-night, if you have now 
 any objections to the II. and III., which you have 
 seen before. 
 
 Your friend, S. L. 
 
 W. HOTEL, Sunday Morning. 
 
 MY DEAR FRIEND : Any time between now and to 
 morrow night, won t you please look over this Cushman 
 stanza, and tell me when we next meet if you do not 
 think it more consistent than formerly? I think to 
 send it to Scribner s, if peradventure it may find favor 
 in their eyes. 
 
 And won t you accept the MS. of this little Song? 
 I hope you re quite well to-day. Don t trouble to 
 answer this. 
 
 Hastily (and yet not hastily) 
 
 Your friend, S. L. 
 
 1425 WALNUT ST., PHILADELPHIA, PA., 
 October 15, 1875. 
 
 MY DEAR MR. TAYLOR : I hope you 11 like this 
 little song, 1 which is but lately an inhabitant of this 
 planet. 
 
 We we is Mr. Peacock and I were too sorry you 
 could n t come over last night : though of course neither 
 
 i "Rose-Morals." 
 
Letters between Two Poets 129 
 
 of us hoped much from the mere possibility that you 
 might be able to come. It is likely I will be here a 
 week, or perhaps ten days, longer. Did I not hear you 
 say that you would be leaving New York next week? 
 Pray tell me how long you 11 be away. 
 
 I will miss my Saturday-night to-morrow ; and I would 
 be strongly inclined to consider this a very cross-purpose 
 indeed, if I did not feel myself so indebted to Purpose 
 already. 
 
 And perhaps it is well enough for me to be away for a 
 
 week or two. I want to digest Mr. and Mr. . 
 
 I find that spiritually we are cannibals, all : we feed 
 upon each other, soul assimilates and makes tissue of 
 soul. 
 
 I have n t time to write you. 
 
 God be praised that you exist, is a frequent ejacu 
 lation of 
 
 Your friend, SIDNEY LANIER. 
 
 142 EAST i8TH ST., NEW YORK, October 16, 1875. 
 
 MY DEAR LANIER: Just returned from the "Cen 
 tury " breakfast to Lord Houghton (which was charm 
 ing, and most inspiriting to all authors!), I find your 
 note. I go out of town in an hour, and must reply 
 in haste. 
 
 Your song is delightful. I m glad to find that you 
 are taking these " swallow- flights " they have their 
 true place, and through them the poet often learns a 
 great deal. Forgive me two technical criticisms. The 
 end of verse 2d 
 
 " Say yea, say yea ! " 
 
 is too monotonous in sound. The one vowel (and not 
 one of the best vowel-sounds) repeated four times is too 
 
 9 
 
130 Letters of Sidney Lanier 
 
 much, especially as " dares the day " comes two lines 
 
 before it. 
 
 " Ah, say not nay ! " 
 
 (for instance) gets rid of two of the sounds, and is quite 
 as pleading, though less eager. Also the additional foot 
 in the penultimate line of the poem violates its melody. 
 Could you not say : 
 
 " That from my soul as leaf from stem may fly 
 My songs, I pray ! " 
 
 I can t see that anything is lost by this change, which 
 preserves the metre. The conception of the little piece 
 is perfect. Of course, you will not accept these sugges 
 tions unless they seem valid to your own mind. 
 
 Meanwhile, hearty thanks for sending me the MS. ! 
 I shall be in New York next week, but shall be absent 
 two days of the following week, and after that only here 
 on Saturdays and Sundays. My round of dreary lectur 
 ing begins again, and I must roll a heavy stone over the 
 fountain of my Muse. 
 
 Thank Mr. Peacock for his kind invitation. I would 
 have come, had it been possible; but there was the 
 proof of two articles to revise, and my new lecture (on 
 " Literature as an Art," to be delivered next Friday) is 
 not yet finished ! Hoping to see both of you here be 
 fore long, and with the heartiest greetings to Peacock, I 
 remain 
 
 Ever faithfully your friend, 
 
 BAYARD TAYLOR. 
 
 1425 WALNUT ST., PHILADELPHIA, PA., 
 October 29, 1875. 
 
 MY DEAR MR. TAYLOR: I have just received a let 
 ter from that lovely Charlotte Cushman, which invites 
 
Letters between Two Poets 131 
 
 me with such lavish goodness to come to her that I can 
 not at all resist; and so I m going there (Boston: 
 Parker House) for a few days, before returning South. 
 I will stop in New York a day or two on my way back 
 probably about a week from now to see you. Will 
 you be there ? As I will remain in Boston about a week 
 I will be glad to avail myself of your kind offer of letters 
 to~Mr. Longfellow and Mr. Lowell. They will reach me 
 if sent to the Parker House, where Miss Cushman is 
 staying, and where I will stop. 
 
 On second thought, as her letter contains a message 
 to Lord Houghton (who, it seems, went to Newport to 
 see her, but missed her) which you will much more 
 likely be able to deliver than I, I 11 enclose it herein. 
 Her disease renders her unable to sit at a table : hence 
 she writes in pencil. Pray read her letter, if only to 
 see what a fair large Soul it is. 
 
 I sent you a paper ( " The Graphic " of 2 yth) which 
 contains a very pretty compliment to me in the shape of 
 a poem by Elizabeth Stuart Phelps, based on a quoted 
 line from my " Symphony." The same paper contains 
 an extract from my paper on " St. Augustine," which un 
 fortunately the scissors- wielder clipped off just as the 
 
 climax was reached. The takes occasion to give 
 
 me some pain, anent this poor St. Augustine article, by 
 first making a statement which is grossly inaccurate, and 
 next basing on it a criticism which would be unjust even 
 if its foundation were not untrue, and finally dismissing 
 the subject with a comparison of my merits and Mrs. 
 s, which is as pure a piece of gratuitous ungentle- 
 manliness as a vulgar soul could well devise. Not that 
 I care in the least for the judgment, or that I shall 
 change my " foible " foible ! of seeing God in every- 
 
132 Letters of Sidney Lanier 
 
 thing : but the point where the pain comes in is simply 
 that it may interfere with one s already very short allow 
 ance of bread, by making the magazines shy of giv 
 ing employment to one who fails to please the . 
 
 What a diatribe I Ve written ! But such indignation as 
 you detect herein is wholly impersonal, and entirely due 
 to that repugnance with which one sees a really strong 
 newspaper turning over articles to be "criticised" by 
 persons who do not even understand the usages of gen 
 tlemen. How differently come your criticisms, which I 
 always receive thankfully whether unfavorable or other 
 wise ! 
 
 Mr. Peacock sends messages of friendly remembrance 
 to you. 
 
 Pray make my compliments to the ladies of your 
 house, and believe me always, my dear Mr. Taylor, 
 Your faithful friend, SIDNEY LANIER. 
 
 142 EAST i8TH ST., N. Y., November i, 1875. 
 
 MY DEAR LANIER : I found your letter late on Satur 
 day, on my return from a trip up the Hudson. This 
 morning I hasten to send you the letters, hoping they 
 will reach you in good season. I also return Miss Cush- 
 man s letter, thinking you will prefer to keep it. Give her 
 my love, which she has always had since I knew her. 
 
 As for the , be calm ! that is nothing, and will 
 
 have no effect whatever. I had not seen the article, 
 but found it at the Century, and also read the whole 
 of your " St. Augustine," which is poetical in parts, and 
 wholly bright and readable. When you consider that for 
 
 eight years the has snubbed me and sneered at me 
 
 in the most vulgar way, and "I still live," you will not 
 allow so flippant a notice to trouble you. 
 
Letters between Two Poets 
 
 I should like to write much more, but have a great 
 deal of work on hand and many distractions. Be sure 
 and stop on your way back. I shall be here all this 
 week and next Sunday, but not next week. If Whittier 
 should come to Boston, go and see him : it will be 
 enough to say that you are my friend. He is thoroughly 
 noble, and you will like him. 
 
 I breakfast with Lord Houghton to-morrow, and will 
 give him Miss Cushman s message. As Manto says to 
 Faust (Part II.), "On! Be bold!" 
 
 Ever faithfully yours, BAYARD TAYLOR. 
 
 MACON, GA., November 24, 1875. 
 
 MY DEAR MR. TAYLOR : Poets understand every 
 thing : I doubt not you well know a certain sort of hap 
 piness which at the same time locks up expression and 
 enlarges fancy, and you will therefore easily comprehend 
 how it is that thirty days have passed without any message 
 from me to you, although there has been no one of them 
 during which you were not constantly in my mind. This 
 happiness of which I speak which freezes one s pen 
 and tongue while it melts one s heart means in the 
 present instance that I have been at home for ten days 
 past, joyfully reunited with the other and far sweeter 
 Moiety of me. My three young men one of seven, 
 one of five and one of two years keep me in an end 
 less labyrinth of surprises and delights : nothing could 
 be more keen, more fresh, more breezy, than the meet 
 ing together of their little immense loves with the juicy 
 selfishness and honest animalisms of the dear young 
 cubs. What a prodigious Candor they practise ! 
 They re as little ashamed of being beasts as they are 
 proud of being gods : they accept themselves at the 
 
1 34 Letters of Sidney Lanier 
 
 hands of their Creator with perfect unreserve : pug nose 
 or Greek, blue eyes or gray, beasthood or godhood 
 it s all one to them. What s the good of metaphysical 
 moping as long as Papa s at home and you ve got a 
 Mama to kiss and a new ball from now till dinner and 
 then apples ! 
 
 This is their philosophy : it is really a perfect scheme 
 of life, and contains all the essential terms of religion, 
 while as for philosophy it is perfectly clear upon 
 points which have remained obscure from Plato down 
 to George Lewes. 
 
 How I wish my lovely two-year-old boy my royal 
 Hal could look you in the eyes for once, and put his 
 arms deliberately round your neck and give you one of 
 his fervent kisses ! Fancy that your big Lars was also a 
 baby, and also a poet ; and you 11 have a whiff of it. 
 
 Your letters came to me while I was with Miss Cush- 
 man, and were the means of procuring for me two de 
 lightful afternoons with Mr. Lowell and Mr. Longfellow. 
 I was sorry to miss Mr. Aldrich. I wrote him a little 
 note, to find out when he would be in town. He replied 
 that he could not come until after I had left Boston, but 
 added that he would be in New York during the winter, 
 " when perhaps Mr. Taylor would be good enough he 
 is good enough for anything to bring us together." 
 
 I m sure you 11 care to know that I had a charming 
 visit to Miss Cushman, and that each day was crowded 
 with pleasant things which she and her numerous friends 
 had prepared for me. 
 
 I leave Macon for Baltimore on Friday next. My 
 address there will be 64 Centre St., and I will hope to 
 hear from you very soon after my arrival. I resume my 
 old place as first flute of the Peabody Orchestra, which 
 
Letters between Two Poets 135 
 
 lasts until March; though hoping all the time still to 
 find some opportunity for getting my longed-for chair of 
 The Physics and Metaphysics of Music established in 
 some college or other. 
 
 My pretty Comrade here begs that she may be allowed 
 to join me in grateful and affectionate messages to you, 
 for she knows in detail all your thoughtful kindliness 
 in my behalf. Pray let me not quite drop out of the 
 recollection of Mrs. Taylor and of your daughter. 
 
 Your friend, SIDNEY LANIER. 
 
 142 EAST i8TH ST., NEW YORK, December 13, 1875. 
 
 MY DEAR LANIER : I have been so much away lec 
 turing, and always find so much work waiting for me on 
 my return home for Sunday, that your welcome letter 
 from Macon has remained unanswered. Even now, I 
 can hardly say more than that I shall be in Baltimore, to 
 lecture before the Peabody Institute, on the 2ist and 
 23d, and shall certainly see you then. I stop at the 
 Carrolton. I think the name of the Provost of the P. 
 Institute is Morison, and I beg you will use my name with 
 him to get tickets, in case you desire to hear the lecture. 
 But there will probably be time enough for that, after I 
 reach Baltimore. Now it just occurs to me that the 
 best way will be to join me at the hotel and go with me. 
 We can then have a glass of punch together, afterwards. 
 
 I have no news to send ; for the lecturing season is 
 one of intellectual torpor to me, in all other respects. I 
 become a mere talking-machine, and vegetate between 
 whiles. 
 
 Pardon this haste and incoherence, and believe me 
 Ever faithfully your friend, 
 
 BAYARD TAYLOR. 
 
136 Letters of Sidney Lanier 
 
 142 EAST i8TH ST., N. Y., December 28, 1875. 
 
 MY DEAR LANIER : I write in a hurry, but have some 
 thing to say. General Hawley, President of the U. S. 
 Centennial Commission, has invited me to write a ffymn 
 for the grand opening ceremonies. There is to be also 
 an original Cantata, the text of which was to be asked 
 of Stedman, but he is gone to Panama, and neither 
 Theo. Thomas nor Dudley Buck (the composer) will wait 
 his return. General Hawley asked me to name a poet 
 not of New England, so I suggested a Southern poet for 
 the Cantata. I feel quite sure you will be the choice. 
 
 I write in all haste to say you must accept, if it is 
 offered. The Cantata should not be more than from 
 40 to 50 lines long, of unity of conception, yet capable 
 of being divided easily into three parts an opening 
 chorus, a bass solo, and a finale, either general or alter 
 nating chorus. The measure ought to be irregular, 
 yet sufficiently rhythmical. My additional suggestion is 
 and I think you 11 p ardon it to make the lines 
 simple and strong, keep down the play of fancy (except 
 where it may give room for a fine musical phrase), and 
 aim at expressing the general feeling of the nation rather 
 than individual ideas though the latter might be much 
 finer. 
 
 I have just had a visit from Theo. Thomas and Mr. 
 Buck, and we talked the whole matter over. Thomas 
 remembers you well, and Mr. Buck says it would be 
 specially agreeable to him to compose for the words of 
 a Southern poet. I have taken the liberty of speaking 
 for you, both to them and to General Hawley, and you 
 must not fail me. 
 
 As soon as you accept, write a line to Dudley Buck, 
 100 West 54th St., N. Y., saying so. 
 
Letters between Two Poets 137 
 
 Now, my dear Lanier, I am sure you can do this 
 worthily. It s a great occasion, not especially for 
 poetry as an art, but for Poetry to assert herself as a 
 power. I must close, being very busy. This is to 
 prepare you a little and set your thoughts as soon as 
 possible in the direction of the task. 
 
 Ever faithfully yours, BAYARD TAYLOR. 
 
 My love to the boy. 
 
 66 CENTRE ST., BALTIMORE, MD., December 29, 1875. 
 
 MY DEAR MR. TAYLOR : If it were a cantata upon 
 your goodness . . . I m willing to wager I could write 
 a stirring one and a grateful withal. 
 
 Of course I will accept when t is offered. I only 
 write a hasty line now to say how deeply I am touched 
 by the friendly forethought of your letter. 
 
 Charley joins me in love to you ; and I add a hearty 
 wish that the New Year may be to you a friend no less 
 loving than will always be S. L. 
 
 64 CENTRE ST., BALTIMORE, MD., January 4, 1876. 
 
 MY DEAR MR. TAYLOR : General Hawley s invitation 
 ,has just arrived and I have sent my acceptance. I will 
 probably see Theodore Thomas here on Monday next, 
 and will try to arrange a meeting with Mr. Buck in 
 New York soon. 
 
 There is n t the least use in my trying to thank you 
 for this pleasant surprise ; but I do wish I could tell you 
 the delight with which I find my name associated with 
 yours in this way. 
 
 Are we at liberty to mention our appointment in this 
 behalf to our friends? I only ask, remembering that 
 
138 Letters of Sidney Lanier 
 
 the name of the Centennial poet has not yet been 
 officially announced, at least so far as I know. 
 
 Charley sends you his love. I write in much haste, 
 but am no less always 
 
 Your faithful and grateful S. L. 
 
 142 EAST i8TH ST., N. Y., January 7, 1876. 
 
 MY DEAR LANIER : I have so many distractions in 
 these days that I really forgot (temporarily) to send you 
 my volume, and am glad of your reminder. I 11 order 
 it done this morning. As the book goes by mail, I can t 
 write your name in it, but I 11 do that afterwards. 
 
 I think it best to let the Centennial Commission make 
 the announcements of orators and poets. I ve mentioned 
 my share, confidentially, to one or two friends, but shall 
 not let it get into print. I am very glad you accept so 
 heartily ; I know that General Hawley is quite pleased to 
 have you do the work. I should say eight days would 
 be ample time : you must not exceed fifty lines ; my 
 Hymn will be 20 to 24, only. " Occasional " poetical 
 work should always be brief, appropriate in idea, and 
 technically good. One dare not be imaginative or par 
 ticularly original. 
 
 I leave here on the i3th for a lecturing tour through 
 the West which will last five weeks. It s the hardest 
 part of my winter work. But any letter sent here will 
 be forwarded to me. 
 
 Don t overvalue my friendly good-will, nor ever let it 
 impose the least sense of obligation upon you. I am 
 very glad when I can be some encouragement to a man 
 in whom I have faith. Give my love to Charley, and 
 believe me always faithfully 
 
 Your friend, BAYARD TAYLOR. 
 
Letters between Two Poets 139 
 
 66 CENTRE ST., BALTIMORE, MD., January 9, 1876. 
 
 DEAR MR. TAYLOR: Yesterday I impressed myself 
 with these following principles : 
 
 i st. That the Cantata was to be sung not only at our 
 Centennial, but at a festival where the world was our 
 invited guest, to be welcomed; 
 
 2 d. That spread-eagleism would be ungraceful and 
 unworthy ; 
 
 3d. That something ought to be said in the poem ; 
 
 4th. That it afforded room to give the musical com 
 poser an opportunity to employ the prodigious tone- 
 contrasts of sober reflection, the sea, lamentation, a 
 battle, warning, and magnificent yet sober and manly 
 triumph and welcome ; 
 
 5th. That it ought to be, not rhymed philosophy, but 
 a genuine song, and lyric outburst. 
 
 Having put this offering on my altar, I waited ; and 
 this morning I saw that the Fire had come down from a 
 gracious Heaven, and that it was burning. 
 
 Here is the result. Pray read it, and send me word 
 immediately and with perfect candor as to such 
 parts of it as strike you unfavorably. 
 
 I wish I could hear you intone it, ore rotunda ! 
 
 Your friend S. L. 
 
 66 CENTRE ST., BALTIMORE, MD., January 12, 1876. 
 DEAR MR. TAYLOR : Being cool next day, I found 
 some flaws in my poem; and having made out a 
 working copy of it (by reading the analysis of move 
 ments written in the margin, you will see what immense 
 resources it offers to the musician), I send it to you. 
 Pray let me know freely if the whole is worthy. 
 
 Always your friend S. L. 
 
 I have not yet sent it to Mr. Buck. 
 
140 Letters of Sidney Lanier 
 
 142 EAST i8TH ST., N. Y., January 12, 1876. 
 MY DEAR LANIER : Just in time ! for I must leave 
 to-morrow. Your principles of conception and con 
 struction are right, and the execution, as a whole, is 
 successful. My task will be to carefully examine details. 
 I have numbered the lines, to avoid any mistakes. 
 
 2. See if you can t find a better word instead of 
 " larger." 
 
 3. " Staired " will not do, especially after "hundred- 
 terraced" As you are looking down, why not say 
 " climbing " but never " staired." 
 
 7 and 8. I think you can get two better lines : 
 " where " has not a good effect, at the end of the line, 
 and I don t quite like " rage in air." How would some 
 thing like this answer? 
 
 Out of yonder misty deep 
 Where old toil and b t f e gle sleep. 
 
 10. Is "balking" the best adjective? 
 
 1 6. There s something hard and awkward about this 
 line. 
 
 17, 1 8, 19. The repetition seems to weaken the effect. 
 I would suggest a change like this, in the stanza : 
 
 Unto every scattered band 
 
 At the portals of the land, 
 
 Hunger cries : " Ye shall not stay ! " 
 
 Winter cries : " Ye must away ! " 
 
 Vengeance cries : " Beware my day ! " 
 
 From the shore and from the sea, 
 
 " No ! It shall not be ! " 
 
 22 to 31, inclusive. I like these ten lines least of 
 all. "Tongued" is not agreeable, and "prescribed" 
 
Letters between Two Poets 141 
 
 and " conscribd " make quite an unpleasant impres 
 sion, as of artifice. Line 25 is not quite intelligible. 
 The stanza would be much better, if lines 24, 25, 26, 
 and 27 were wholly omitted. But I should much prefer 
 a smoother stanza, hinting at toil, patience, growth, and 
 the blending of different Old-World elements. The 
 prohibitory strain is carried too far : it reaches a climax 
 in the preceding stanza, and you want something else 
 interposed between that and the new refrain : " It was : 
 it is," etc. Couldn t you make a stanza after this 
 fashion ? 
 
 Courage stood and faltered not 
 
 Patience ...... 
 
 Toil 
 
 Cavalier and Puritan 
 
 Holland 
 
 Huguenot ....... 
 
 Wrought, joined hands, welded separate links into one 
 
 chain, 
 Etc. etc. 
 
 Then the new movement, it seems to me, would come 
 in with fine effect. 
 
 36, 37, 38. Are these lines really necessary? They 
 may be in a musical sense. " Now still thee " is not a 
 good expression, and there is a little too evident purpose 
 in "underworld" and " thunderworld." 
 
 50. "Lover" is not true, and is rather weak here. 
 Why not say, 
 
 " The world s new Host salutes the welcome world " ? 
 
 There ! I have found all the fault I can. If you will 
 only change the lines 22 to 31, I think it will answer 
 admirably, and be most welcome. The plan is entirely 
 
142 Letters of Sidney Lanier 
 
 poetical, and ought to be made very effective in music. 
 I want, for your sake, to have the Cantata universally 
 liked, but you will be sharply set upon if you use the words 
 "staired," "prescribed" and "conscribed," and the 
 line "clothes for men," etc. (25). Why not yield that 
 much, for this once? I also think that the suggestion 
 I make for the change in the stanza will make the 
 whole piece more popular. There is both originality 
 and lyric fire everywhere else. 
 
 I write hastily, having much to do, and you 11 want 
 the MS. at once. May the music be worthy ! 
 
 Always faithfully yours, B. T. 
 
 66 CENTRE ST., BALTIMORE, MD., 
 January 13, 1876. 
 
 MY DEAR MR. TAYLOR : I agree with your main points 
 of objection ; and I will change the stanza about which 
 you are most apprehensive. I m particularly charmed 
 to find that you don t think the poem too original. 
 I tried hard to think in a kind of average and 
 miscellaneousness. 
 
 I read and explained it to Thomas last night; he 
 said, " I think Mr. Buck ought to be delighted with 
 the musical conception of the poem : " adding that of 
 course he would not dare to pronounce upon the poetic 
 merits of it beyond saying that the ideas seemed to him 
 very beautiful. 
 
 I sent vou the copy showing the movements, before 
 I had received your letter. I 11 send a final copy when 
 I ve finished it. You see I had to compose for the 
 musician as well as the country, and had to cast the 
 poem into such a form as would at once show well in 
 music (where contrast of movement between each adja- 
 
Letters between Two Poets 143 
 
 cent part, in broad bands of color, was, from the nature 
 of the art, a controlling consideration) and in poetry. 
 I wished indeed to make it as large and as simple 
 as a Symphony of Beethoven s. If it does not come 
 up to this, I Ve failed ; but your commendation con 
 firms my own cool feeling about it, which is that it 
 will do. 
 
 I thank but I won t, either, for it s simply ab 
 surd. Your criticisms on the piece are invaluable to 
 me ; for though I don t agree with all of them, 
 the sharp re-examinations which they compel me to 
 make develop many things which otherwise would not 
 be developed. 
 
 Charley sends love, and mine is always sent before. 
 
 Your friend, S. L. 
 
 January 13, 1876. 
 
 MY DEAR LANIER : I have barely time (while my 
 wife packs my valise) to say that the change you have 
 made in the next to the last movement is altogether 
 better. Now please rewrite the stanza beginning 
 "Then the smiting-tongued swords." Something ex 
 pressing patience, toil, and growth is required between 
 the menace of failure and the triumphant success. 
 The transition is too sudden. And the stanza, as it at 
 present stands, mars the beauty of the Cantata. As I 
 said before, " staired years " must also be changed. If 
 you doubt my judgment in the matter, consult Peacock 
 also. I suppose I need n t -return this second MS. 
 Good-bye ! 
 
 Ever yours, BAYARD TAYLOR. 
 
144 Letters of Sidney Lamer 
 
 66 CENTRE ST., BALTIMORE, MD., January 15, 1876. 
 
 DEAR MR. TAYLOR : You are so far responsible for 
 me as the writer of this Cantata that I don t intend to 
 feel satisfaction until I am sure that you think the poem 
 absolutely worthy of the country and of poetry as an 
 art. Therefore, having after two days cooling found 
 many faults with it myself, I have quite rewritten it, and 
 send it to you, hoping that you will let me know if it 
 seems to you entirely large, simple, and melodious. For 
 it is to this that I have directed all my efforts in it : 
 I have had constantly in my mind those immortal 
 melodies of Beethoven in which, with little more than 
 the chords of the tonic and dominant, he has presented 
 such firm, majestic, and at the same time artless ideas. 
 Of course, with the general world especially in a 
 Swinburnian time I do not expect to obtain the least 
 recognition of the combination of child-like candors 
 and colossal philosophies which I have endeavored here 
 to put in words ; but I do wish to know whether to you 
 the poem as you now see it comes near this ideal. I 
 don t believe there is the least necessity for me to beg 
 you not to have the least regard for me in pronouncing 
 upon anything that you still find wanting. I desire the 
 poem to be perfect. 
 
 I put the Farewell, dear England into the Mayflower 
 strophe because Mather relates that the people in the 
 vessel actually stood up and cried out these words as 
 they were departing. I also entirely rewrote the stanza 
 you did not like ; and then inserted a whisper chorus 
 (of the Huguenot and furitan, in dactyllic measure) 
 to prepare by its straining pianissimo for the outburst 
 of jubilation. 
 
 Always your friend S. L. 
 
Letters between Two Poets 145 
 
 BAY CITY, MICH., January 20, 1876. 
 
 MY DEAR LANIER : Thank you ! The revised Can 
 tata, which I have just received through my wife s 
 letter, is in every way better than the first draught. It 
 is what it purports to be a Cantata, not an Ode 
 with the musical character inherent in its structure and 
 not to be separated. If the composer seconds you 
 properly, the effect cannot be otherwise than grand and 
 satisfactory. I have only a few slight technical faults to 
 find. " A weltering flow " a sluggish, aimless tide 
 hardly corresponds with " ridged with acts," which indi 
 cates billows and a direction of the tide. Now, your idea 
 is clear to me, and I think it might be expressed in a 
 more logical figure. 
 
 I don t like, either, the molossus " Grown foul Bads," 
 nor the use of "Bads" as a noun. The latter is not 
 incorrect, but it is somehow disagreeable. " Evils grown 
 in alien air " would read better to me. 
 
 The Huguenot and Puritan stanza is a great improve 
 ment. 
 
 The word " stertorous " seems to me out of tone 
 it sounds more medical than poetical, and the noun 
 death makes it worse. In the next line " brother- 
 wars new-dark " has a heavy effect, and will be very 
 hard to sing. Yet the meaning is just what is wanted. 
 
 Thence to the end all is excellent. 
 
 I have forgotten one other : " noisy lords, Tongued 
 with lithe and poisoned swords," is much too forced an 
 image. You seem to be fond of the word " tongued," 
 but in this instance it may be best to use a little self- 
 denial. It is an expression which will give the spiteful 
 critics a chance, if it were good I should say, " Damn 
 
146 Letters of Sidney Lanier 
 
 the spiteful critics ! " but I don t think it good. Turn 
 the matter over once more in your mind. 
 
 There ! Is that fault enough to find ? I Ve examined 
 every line severely, and find nothing more. You have 
 already added fifty per cent to the merit of the work. 
 I am too busy to write more: pardon this abrupt 
 breaking-off ! 
 
 Ever most faithfully, BAYARD TAYLOR. 
 
 66 CENTRE STREET, BALTIMORE, MD., 
 February 27, 1876. 
 
 MY DEAR MR. TAYLOR : Pray tell me how you are. 
 I wished for you all day yesterday with special fervor, 
 thinking how the bland and sunny air that bathed us all 
 here would have soothed your malady. I was grieved to 
 miss your call, and would have run round to inquire 
 about you but was entirely occupied by business until 
 six, when I quitted New York for Philadelphia. 
 
 It has been uphill work with me to struggle against 
 the sense of loss which the departure of my beloved 
 Charlotte Cushman leaves with me. She and you were 
 the only friends among the Artists I have ever had; 
 and since she is gone I am as one who has lost the 
 half of his possessions. The passion to which my 
 devotion to her had grown takes it hard when sight 
 and hearing are both become forevermore impossible. 
 To-day, though keenly desirous to rest after a week 
 of great strain, this little poem teased me till it was 
 on paper. I hope you will think it not wholly unworthy. 
 As I read it over now a disagreeable fancy comes that 
 the last two lines of it are somewhat like something of 
 somebody else, and these vague " somes " are intoler 
 able. Pray tell me if this is so. 
 
Letters between Two Poets 147 
 
 Make my compliments to Mrs. Taylor. I hope Miss 
 Taylor is quite recovered. 
 
 Charley joins me in love to you ; and I am always 
 
 Your friend S. L. 
 
 142 EAST iSTH ST., NEW YORK, March 4, 1876. 
 
 MY DEAR LANIER : I did n t answer you sooner, be 
 cause I wanted to send you my Hymn to read and 
 ponder over and it was not quite ready. Here it is, 
 now, and I ask you to be as frank with me about it as 
 I am wont to be with you. If I take offence, don t 
 believe me again ! 
 
 I have been worse since you left, but am now about 
 as usual. I lecture in Philadelphia on Monday, and 
 hope to see Peacock, if but for a moment. I can 
 make no stay there, but must hurry back, next morning. 
 
 Your poem is strong and full of feeling, with which 
 the occasional roughness entirely harmonizes. The idea 
 is a little similar to a poem of mine, "The Mystery," 
 but is very differently expressed. I notice no resem 
 blance to anything in the last lines. I have accumu 
 lated work during my enforced idleness, and must be brief 
 to-day. All three of us send greetings. Love to Charley ! 
 Ever faithfully yours, 
 
 BAYARD TAYLOR. 
 
 66 CENTRE ST., BALTIMORE, MD., 
 March n, 1876. 
 
 MY DEAR MR. TAYLOR : I ve only just crawled out 
 of a sick-bed where I have been spending one of the 
 most unsatisfactory weeks of my existence, a week 
 whose place in the General Plan of Good I find as 
 much difficulty in justifying as Croton-bugs, or children 
 born idiots, or the sausage-grinding school of poetry. 
 
148 Letters of Sidney Lanier 
 
 I have particularly desired to write you about The 
 Hymn. Of course the value of a friend s criticism in 
 this kind is simply that when one has to write in a 
 hurry, the friend is in the nature of one s own Con 
 science of Beauty (as you have beautifully called your 
 wife) as that conscience will be after the coolness of time 
 has come. The friend is a mere anticipation of time, 
 one s-self-after-a-while. Purely upon this theory I ac 
 quire boldness enough to say what follows, ist. gen 
 erally. Inasmuch as the opening verse presents a noble 
 Tema, or motive, of triple design in the ideas of 
 
 f Peace 
 The God of -J Toil 
 
 (. & Beauty 
 
 would it not be best to carry on this motive entirely 
 through the poem, making (say) the II. verse converge 
 upon the idea of Peace, the III. upon Toil, IV. upon 
 Beauty (or Art) , and (if you choose) V. re-gathering the 
 whole by means of some common tone, the whole thus 
 gaining perfect unity of impression? In looking down 
 the poem with this view, one easily sees that with a very 
 small change of phraseology it can be perfectly carried 
 out. In the III. verse you have indeed returned to the 
 original motive in a very beautiful manner : the oak of 
 toil, the rose of art, etc. The II. verse ought on three 
 accounts clearly to be stricken out : ( i ) it is a departure 
 from the whole plan of the poem; (2) it is explanatory 
 of what all the parties to the hymn thoroughly under 
 stand already to be the situation; (3) it is below the 
 plane of the other conceptions. Conceding these views 
 for a moment (and I think there can be no doubt 
 that your cool judgment after a while will estimate the 
 
Letters between Two Poets 149 
 
 poem precisely according to the success with which it 
 carries out the general scheme indicated), the following 
 will be an outline of the poem as it will finally appear : 
 
 I. 
 
 (Just as you have it; or with any transposition of 
 the lines that may seem desirable to facilitate the new 
 arrangement.) 
 
 II. 
 
 (For this you can take your number IV. and with a 
 slight change of idea make the whole refer to Peace, as 
 for example a general supplication that, although our 
 eras are but as dust, yet dust may become fruitful, and 
 Peace may be vouchsafed as the climate favorable, etc. 5 
 
 etc.) 
 
 III. 
 
 (This is nearly ready in the number III. of the poem, 
 which closes with the lovely reference to the oak of 
 Toil and the rose of Beauty (or Art). The opposition 
 of these two is so fine that it suffices to authorize the 
 consolidated treatment of the ideas of Toil and Beauty 
 in one and the same verse.) 
 
 IV. 
 
 (For this your number V. can easily be made to serve 
 by directing its general tone upon the three prominent 
 ideas already treated, having reference to the exchang 
 ing of each with each, and the relation of each to the 
 God of the three, thus making a perfect return to the I. 
 and ending as it were upon the tonic. This would 
 make the poem perfect in four stanzas : and it can all 
 be done without altering the structure of the sentences 
 at all, and with only changing here and there a noun, a 
 
1 50 Letters of Sidney Lanier 
 
 verb, or an adjective, so as to make the sense point 
 always towards the thematic ideas. 
 
 2nd. If, however, this does not happen to meet your 
 fancy, and you decide to retain the poem as it is, there 
 are one or two minor matters to which your attention 
 should be called. 
 
 i st. I am clear that the II. should either disappear 
 entirely or be replaced, for the reasons hereinbefore 
 stated. 
 
 2d. In III. the sounds of " thy guidance " (y and long 
 * ), and of "made failure" (two long # s), seem bad, 
 particularly as they come so close to each other. 
 
 3d. In IV. the idea in the two lines which come after 
 the first two should be a more closely logical sequitur 
 upon them. 
 
 4th. The fourth line of V. (I mean " thyself in him " 
 only : the rest of the line is perfect) can be justified in 
 one s thought, but it compels one to think hard in order 
 to do that, and this is a disadvantage. Can you not 
 make it a little more transparent ? Again, the last two 
 lines might so easily be made to reaffirm and point the 
 first stanza as well as the whole poem : e.g., 
 
 All conquering Peace thy gift divine, 
 shadowing 
 
 All Toil, all Beauty J 
 
 meeting 
 imaging 
 based on 
 
 - Thine ! 
 
 I think further, in reference to these last two lines, that 
 it would be well to give them either a stronger hold by 
 a verb of some sort, or some turn more precisely parallel 
 with the rest of the verse. The first two couplets com 
 mence with " Let each with each," and " Let each in 
 
Letters between Two Poets 151 
 
 each," which is fine ; it is somewhat weakening the 
 force of these to close with a grammatically indepen 
 dent couplet which has no verb at all. 
 
 Of course you understand that I like the poem (except 
 the II. verse) ; all the ideas are noble, and there is a 
 simple grandeur in the expressions which is fine. All 
 my suggestions are made simply with a view to concen 
 trate the impression. The shot are all good : let them 
 not scatter, but strike like one bullet. 
 
 Pray let me see the poem again, as soon as you put it 
 in final form. 
 
 Charley sends love. I am rejoiced to know that you 
 are quite recovered : bronchitis always scares me. Let 
 your two ladies know that they are held in good remem 
 brance ; and believe me always 
 
 Your friend, S. L. 
 
 142 EAST i8TH ST., N. Y., St. Patrick s Day, 1876. 
 
 MY DEAR LANIER : Thanks for your long and inter 
 esting comment. What you say of verse II. is very 
 nearly my own impression; but I made it because the 
 Centennial Board requested mention of the occasion. 
 It can easily be omitted. But I don t entirely agree 
 with you in regard to a rigid architectural structure for 
 the hymn : a strict appropriation of three stanzas to the 
 three manifestations of the Deity, with a union of all at 
 the beginning and end, would give a too conscious air 
 of design. Here, again, is an instance where you cannot 
 apply the laws of Music to Poetry. The hymn is to be 
 sung by many, not divided into parts, and its fitness 
 depends on the whole expression much more than upon 
 a finished artistic form. 
 
 However, my part has been changed within two days, 
 
152 Letters of Sidney Lanier 
 
 and the Hymn will not be sung at all. I have been 
 asked to write the Ode for the grand national celebra 
 tion of the 4th of July, and have accepted. Bryant, 
 Longfellow, and Lowell declined, and Whittier and 
 Holmes urged my appointment. I dare not decline; 
 yet I feel the weight of the task, and shall both work 
 and pray ardently for success. Of course, I have with 
 drawn the Hymn, as it would be manifestly improper for 
 me to do both. Some one else will be appointed imme 
 diately. Please don t mention the matter for four or 
 five days yet, by which time it will be officially an 
 nounced. I shall miss your poetic companionship, for 
 which the oration will not compensate me ; but you will 
 readily see that I cannot do otherwise. 
 
 I am hurried this morning, and also have a headache, 
 from bumping against the edge of a suddenly opened 
 door; so you ll pardon my brevity. I ll try to write 
 again in a few days. 
 
 Ever faithfully yours, BAYARD TAYLOR. 
 
 66 CENTRE ST., BALTIMORE, MD., March 20, 1876. 
 
 Bravissimo, dear Mr. Taylor; why, this is the very 
 Fitness of Things : the appointment matches, as a rhyme 
 matches a rhyme : nothing can be more evident than 
 that God has temporarily taken the direction of matters 
 into His own hands. I think with all honesty, and 
 apart from friendly preference, that you will do the 
 Ode far better than either of the three other gentlemen 
 could ; and I send you my congratulations and fair 
 wishes with a certain sense of indignant triumph in the 
 coming-to-pass of what ought to have been. 
 
 I see, from what you say in reply to my letter on the 
 Hymn, that my musical associations have put me under 
 
Letters between Two Poets 153 
 
 a certain general suspicion with you, of a propensity to 
 impart the principles of musical construction into poetry. 
 But this was a principle far larger than any peculiar to 
 music or to any one art. I am so much interested in it 
 that I am going to beg you to let me plead the case 
 with you a moment. 
 
 Permit me first to say that I came at it, not by any 
 reasoning prepense, but by examination, afterwards, of 
 wholly unconscious procedure. It revealed itself clearly 
 to me in thinking about a little poem I wrote a few days 
 ago. Perhaps I can best illustrate it by first quoting the 
 poem, which is a pendant to a little song you have 
 already seen, being No. II. of " Rose- Morals ": 
 
 Soul, get thoe to the heart 
 
 Of yonder tube-rose, hide thee there, 
 There breathe the meditations of thine Art 
 Suffused with prayer. 
 
 Of spirit grave, yet light, 
 
 How fervent fragrances uprise 
 Pure-born from these most rich and yet most white 
 Virginities ! 
 
 Mulched with unsavory death, 
 
 Grow, Soul, unto such white estate 
 That art and virginal prayer shall be thy breath, 
 Thy work, thy fate. 
 
 Now it seems to me as a mere extended formula 
 tion of the thoroughly unconscious action of the mind in 
 this poem that every poem, from a sonnet to Macbeth, 
 has substantially these elements, (i) a Hero, (2) a 
 Plot, and (3) a Crisis ; and that its perfection as a work 
 of art will consist in the simplicity and the completeness 
 with which the first is involved in the second and illus- 
 
154 Letters of Sidney Lanier 
 
 trated in the third. In the case of a short poem the 
 Hero is the central Idea, whatever that may be ; the plot 
 is whatever is said about that idea, its details all con 
 verging, both in tone and in general direction, there 
 upon : and the crisis is the unity of impression sealed or 
 confirmed or climaxed by the last connected sentence, 
 or sentiment, or verse, of the poem. Of course I mean 
 that this is the most general expression of the artistic 
 plan of a poem : it is the system of verses, which may 
 be infinitely varied, but to which all variations may be 
 finally referred. I do not think that there is, as you 
 feared, any necessary reason why a poem so constructed 
 should present " a too-conscious air of design ; " that is 
 a matter which will depend solely upon the genuineness 
 of the inspiration and the consummate command of his 
 resources by the artist. 
 
 Is not this framework essentially that of every work of 
 any art? Does not every painting, every statue, every 
 architectural design owe whatever it has of artistic per 
 fection to the nearness with which it may approach the 
 fundamental scheme of a Ruling Idea (or Hero), a Plot 
 (or involution of the Ruling Idea in complexities re 
 lated to or clustering about it) , and a Denouement or 
 Impression-as-a- whole ? 
 
 1 1 don t mean this for a theory; I hate theories;)! 
 intend it only to be a convenient synthesis of a great 
 number of small facts ; and therefore I don t stickle at 
 all for calling the elements of a work of art " Heroes," 
 or " Parts," or " Crises," and the like, only using those 
 terms as the shortest way of expressing my meaning. 
 
 Anyway, fair fall the Ode. I hope that God will let 
 you into Heaven, with no limitations as to walking on the 
 grass or picking the flowers, till you Ve got all you want. 
 
Letters between Two Poets 155 
 
 Mr. Buck has sent me a copy of the piano score of 
 the Cantata, but I have not yet had time to examine it 
 thoroughly. Anything will go well, though, with a large 
 chorus to sing it and Thomas orchestra to play it. ... 
 
 If it will not trouble you I will be glad if you 11 send 
 me whatever announcement of your appointment shall 
 be made. 
 
 Charley joins me in fair remembrances to you and the 
 ladies of your house. 
 
 Write me soon, as to your always desirous 
 
 S. L. 
 
 N. Y., March 23, 1876. 
 
 MY DEAR LANIER : Thanks for your long letter, which 
 requires a more careful reply than I can give this morn 
 ing. I 11 write more at length on Sunday. 
 
 The announcement of my Ode was made yesterday, 
 and I enclose you what Bryant says about it. I 11 add 
 (in confidence, as yet) that Whittier will probably write 
 the Hymn in my stead. I had a letter from him this 
 morning, and he does n t decline, at least. 
 
 I am just now a good deal busier than usual, for my 
 " Tribune " work takes more time at first, having been 
 out of harness so long. Then there have been a great 
 many delayed (almost protested} social debts to be paid ; 
 which are more or less fatiguing, however pleasant. 
 Pray be charitable to my enforced brevity this morning ! 
 Ever yours, BAYARD TAYLOR. 
 
 66 CENTRE ST., BALTIMORE, MD., March 24, 1876. 
 DEAR MR. TAYLOR : Don t trouble to write me any 
 elaborate reply. I only send you this continuation of my 
 thought about the centralization of ideas in poems be 
 cause I have been studying your work within the last two 
 
156 Letters of Sidney Lanier 
 
 or three months, and have become clearly satisfied that 
 that is the direction in which you should grow. You 
 tend from it by reason of the very stress and crowding 
 of the multitudinous good things which you give to the 
 world. I find poems of yours in which every sentiment, 
 every thought, every line as sentiment, thought or 
 line is exquisite, and yet which do not give a full white 
 light as poems for want of a proper convergence of the 
 components upon a single point. Sometime we will 
 talk of this : I am not at all sure that in my hasty letters 
 for I am worked almost to the annihilation of sleep 
 and of meals I have given anything like a clear idea 
 of what I mean. 
 
 But this do write me : what do you mean by your 
 " Tribune work " ? Are you officially connected with 
 the paper; and how? 
 
 Interrogatory 2nd : please state why Longfellow, Bry 
 ant, and Lowell declined the Ode. 
 
 I am going night and day on my Centennial Ode for 
 the Magazine, which is to be illustrated and made the 
 feature of the July number. It has to be furnished early 
 in April, and I am only about half through. Some peo 
 ple will put their hands to their ears at the doctrine it 
 preaches. My musical engagement here is now com 
 pleted, and as the poem is the only piece of work I have, 
 I suppose God intends me to feed on blackberries all 
 the summer. 
 
 Charley sends you his love, with which also goes that 
 of your friend, S. L. 
 
 142 EAST i8TH ST., NEW YORK, March 26, 1876. 
 MY DEAR LANIER : After all, I can t reply at length, 
 even to-night, to your penultimate letter. You are quite 
 
Letters between Two Poets 1 57 
 
 right in your application of your scheme of Song to 
 many of my poems ; I am well aware of the deficiencies 
 of my early work. Nor do I disagree with you at all in 
 regard to the necessity of strictly proper-timed form ; 
 only there is no single schema for all themas, and my na 
 ture bids me elaborate and round a poetical conception in 
 my brain before I write, letting it find its own manner and 
 form. Poetical ideas have a wilful being of their own, 
 and there are cases where they are best expressed through 
 an apparent disregard of form. Of course I don t refer 
 here to my hymn, or to anything of my own. 
 
 While keenly feeling, and trying more and more to 
 apprehend the beauty of perfect form in verse, some in 
 stinct in me shrinks from too rigidly defining it. Is this 
 comprehensible to you? 
 
 The response to the announcement of my new appoint 
 ment has been far more cordial than I dared to hope 
 for. Bryant s generous notice struck the key-note which 
 a great many papers have echoed. But all the greater 
 is the cloud of responsibility hanging over me. I feel 
 as if my nerves and muscles were slowly setting for a 
 desperate deed, as in one chosen to lead a forlorn hope. 
 But I can only give what is in me, and if my possible 
 best (under the depressing circumstances) is counted 
 failure, I hope some little courage of nature will not be 
 denied me. 
 
 I have seen no single notice of your part in the Open 
 ing solemnities that was not friendly. Since it is almost 
 certain that Whittier will write the Hymn, the appropri 
 ateness of the two selections is admitted by everybody. 
 You can now easily make yourself (as you are) the rep 
 resentative of the South in American Song. 
 
 I am now doing and shall probably continue to do 
 
158 Letters of Sidney Lanier 
 
 regular daily work on the " Tribune." It s a little 
 hard at first, after twenty years holiday from such labor, 
 but I m slowly working into it. I must give up much 
 of my lecturing, or I shall never get on with my life of 
 Goethe; and six hours a day given to pot-boiling 
 leaves me at least three for my own dear, unpaying 
 work. 
 
 Bryant probably declined on account of his age 
 eighty-two ; Longfellow from his neuralgia in the head ; 
 Lowell urged illness as his excuse, but I think there must 
 have been some other cause. Whittier and Holmes both 
 urged my appointment, and so here I am! Some 
 day, I hope, the circumstances will be known, and I 
 shall get at least a little credit for patriotic willingness to 
 step in and fill up the breach at the eleventh hour. 
 
 Love to Charlie and yourself from 
 Yours ever faithfully, 
 
 BAYARD TAYLOR. 
 
 66 CENTRE ST., BALTIMORE, MD., April i, 1876. 
 MY DEAR MR. TAYLOR : Will you do me the favor to 
 read this and send it back to me, if you do not find it 
 objectionable? 1 I am going to offer it to the "Trib 
 une." If they print it, so : if they do not, I will try 
 some one else. I have endeavored to speak with the 
 utmost justice towards the " Tribune s " critic, and 
 modestly as regards myself. If you can make any 
 suggestions to me which will enable me to see it other 
 wise than a duty to speak at all, I will be profoundly 
 thankful to you. In any case of a poem of my own 
 private giving forth, I would never dream of rebuking 
 
 1 A defence and explanation of the Centennial Cantata (see 
 Lanier s " Music and Poetry," 1898). 
 
Letters between Two Poets 159 
 
 the most brutal critic for mistaking my artistic purposes 
 as artistic ignorances : but many of the people who will 
 read this " Tribune " attack are not only incapable of 
 judging its correctness, but will be prevented from 
 seeing the whole poem for yet six weeks, and will 
 therefore come to its final perusal with the preposses 
 sion that the author of it was stupidly ignorant of the 
 first principles which should guide a writer of text for 
 music. This prepossession is a wrong on the public, 
 and without reference to its wrong on me should be 
 immediately and decisively overturned. 
 
 Before I send the paper to the "Tribune," I will 
 submit it to Mr. Buck. 
 
 I m hard at my Ode, and see the beginning of the 
 end. Tell me how you fare with yours. I fervently 
 pray the God of the Poet to give you all such fire as 
 you shall want. . . . 
 
 Charley joins me in love to you. 
 
 Your friend, SIDNEY LANIER. 
 
 142 EAST i8TH ST., April 3, 1876. 
 
 MY DEAR LANIER: I must write very hastily, as 
 usual, for in addition to my regular work and extra 
 business matters which come at this season, the Ode 
 is pressing upon me with might, with might ! 
 
 I don t wonder you were annoyed at the notice of 
 your Cantata in the " Tribune." I was surprised when 
 I saw it ; but I have since ascertained how it came 
 there. It is published by Schirmer, and was sent to Mr. 
 
 to be noticed. The advertisement to-day says 
 
 it will appear shortly. Mr. Buck must explain this : I 
 
 cannot. Mr. , of course, supposed it was a 
 
 legitimate subject to write about; and in talking with 
 
160 Letters of Sidney Lanier 
 
 him about it to-day, I learned incidentally that he 
 meant no special criticism of the text, but only used 
 what he thought necessary to illustrate the music. This 
 does not lessen your grievance, but it ought to modify 
 your expressions. I have marked with a pencil certain 
 things which I earnestly beg you to omit. In such 
 matters the man who betrays his exasperation puts 
 himself at a disadvantage : the reading public never 
 fully apprehends an author s position, and there are not 
 fifty readers of the "Tribune" who would comprehend 
 your annoyance sufficiently to sympathize with your 
 rejoinder. Were it my case, my first thought would be 
 to reply as you have done ; my second thought would be, 
 not to reply at all. One result will be the publication 
 of the whole text at once, by other papers ; since they 
 can now so easily get it. 
 
 I am very sorry this has happened so ; but I think 
 the first blame belongs to the premature publication of 
 the music (which includes the text). Since working 
 on the " Tribune " I have learned how honest and 
 
 amiable is by nature : he should not have quoted 
 
 anything, but / know that he supposed he was free to 
 do so. I knew nothing of the matter until after I saw 
 the article in print. 
 
 I must break off. If I should not write to you again 
 for three weeks, don t imagine I forget you, but my 
 ideas for the Ode are gathering, and the distractions 
 which interrupt them make me almost desperate. I 
 shall probably be forced to run away from New York 
 for a week or so. 
 
 Ever faithfully your friend, 
 
 BAYARD TAYLOR. 
 
Letters between Two Poets 161 
 
 66 CENTRE ST., BALTIMORE, April 4, 1876. 
 
 MY DEAR MR. TAYLOR : It suddenly occurs to me 
 apropos of your connection with the "Tribune" 
 that in sending you the article to read I may have 
 rendered myself liable to a fancy on your part (for you 
 have not known me very long) that I was trying in a 
 roundabout way to secure some sort of interference by 
 you in its, or my, behalf. 
 
 But, no ! My only reason for sending you the piece 
 was that I quite distrust my own judgment in such 
 matters : I live so utterly alone that just as a deaf 
 person forgets the proper intonations of voice in speak 
 ing, so I forget how matters look, and go, among men ; 
 and I therefore sent my article for your judgment and 
 advice to me upon its propriety, knowing that you are 
 more among men than I am. I never asked, and will 
 never ask, help in such a matter; and, were this not 
 so, I would ask it directly, or not at all. 
 
 By the grace of God my Centennial Ode is finished. 
 I now only know how divine has been the agony of the 
 last three weeks during which I have been rapt away to 
 heights where all my own purposes as to a revisal of 
 artistic forms lay clear before me, and where the sole 
 travail was of choice out of multitude. 
 
 I hope to see you on Thursday, being called by 
 business to New York. Of course you won t care to 
 see my Ode until after you have written your own, 
 wherein may the God of the Artist detach His best 
 angels to your service. 
 
 Your friend, S. L. 
 
 n 
 
1 62 Letters of Sidney Lanier 
 
 66 CENTRE ST., BALTIMORE, MD., Aprils, 1876. 
 
 MY DEAR MR. TAYLOR : From indications at Philadel 
 phia yesterday I deem it of very great importance to 
 me that some intelligent criticism of my poem should 
 appear in a journal of standing. Without wishing to 
 guide or in any way direct criticism, I am keenly desir 
 ous that the poem might be judged on the plane of its 
 principles, leaving the critic the utmost freedom in 
 pronouncing how far it has succeeded in carrying them 
 out. I have not yet been able to tell you in all our 
 correspondence about the poem what were the main 
 considerations leading to its substance and form. Please 
 let me do so now. 
 
 i st. The principal matter over which the United 
 States can legitimately exult is its present existence as a 
 Republic, in spite of so much opposition from Nature 
 and from man. I therefore made the Refrain of the 
 Song about which all its train of thought moves 
 concern itself wholly with the Fact of existence: the 
 waves cry " // shall not be ; " the powers of nature cry 
 "It shall not be;" the wars, etc. utter the same cry. 
 This Refrain is the key to the whole poem. 
 
 2d. The poem was limited to sixty lines : in which 
 space I had to compress the past and the future of the 
 country, together with some reference to the present 
 occasion. This necessitated the use of the highly 
 generalized terms which occur, as for instance when, 
 in the " Good Angel s Song," the fundamental philoso 
 phies of Art, of Science, of Power, of Polity, of Faith, 
 and of Social Life, are presented in the simple Saxon 
 words, and in one line each. 
 
 3d. I wished that the poem might belie the old 
 slander upon our tendency to Fourth of July uproari- 
 
Letters between Two Poets 163 
 
 ousness, buncombe, spread-eagleism, and the like. I 
 tried, therefore, to make it the quietest poem possible. 
 4th. A knowledge of the inability of music to repre 
 sent any shades of meaning save those which are very 
 intense, and very highly and sharply contrasted, led me 
 to divide the poem into the eight paragraphs or move 
 ments which it presents, and to make these vividly 
 opposed to each other in sentiment. Thus the first 
 movement is reflection, measured and sober : this sud 
 denly changes into the agitato of the second : this 
 agitato, culminating in the unison shout " No / It shall 
 not be" yields in the third movement to the pianissimo 
 and meagre effect of the skeleton voices from James 
 town, etc : this pianissimo in the fourth movement is 
 turned into a climax of the wars of armies and of 
 faiths, again ending in the shout, " No ! " etc. : the 
 fifth movement opposes this with a whispered chorus 
 Huguenots whispering Yea, etc. : the sixth opposes 
 again with loud exultation, "Now praise," etc.: the 
 seventh opposes this with the single voice singing the 
 Angels song; and the last concludes the series of 
 contrasts with a broad full chorus of measured and 
 firm sentiment. 
 
 5th. So far I have spoken of the main circumstances 
 determining the substance of the poem. The metrical 
 forms were selected purely with reference to their 
 descriptive nature : the four trochaic feet of the open 
 ing strophe measure off reflection, the next (Mayflower) 
 strophe swings and yaws like a ship, the next I made 
 outre" and bizarre and bony simply by the device of 
 interposing the line of two and a half trochees amongst 
 the four trochee lines : the swift action of the Huguenot 
 strophe of course required dactyls : and having thus 
 
1 64 Letters of Sidney Lanier 
 
 kept the first part of the poem (which describes the 
 time before we were a real nation) in metres which 
 are as it were exotic to our tongue, I now fall into 
 the Iambic metre which is the genius of English 
 words as soon as the Nation becomes secure and 
 firm. 
 
 6th. My business as member of the orchestra for 
 three years having caused me to sit immediately in 
 front of the bassoons, I had often been struck with the 
 possibility of producing the ghostly effects of that part 
 of the bassoon register so well known to students of 
 Berlioz and Meyerbeer by the use of the syllable ee 
 sung by a chorus. With this view I filled the ghostly 
 Jamestown Stanza with ee s, and would have put in 
 more if I could have found them appropriate to the 
 sense. 
 
 Now let me ask your friendship two questions. 
 
 i St. Is there any proper way in which you could 
 call the attention of the "Tribune" literary critic 
 whenever my poem as poem is to be noticed to 
 these considerations I have above enumerated? Would 
 it be trespassing either upon his, my, or your posi 
 tion, if you should hand him what I have written 
 above ? 
 
 2d. In view of the fact that the poem is now printed 
 with the piano score and is liable at any time to be 
 copied and copied badly by other papers, would 
 it not be well for me if it were printed by the " Trib 
 une " properly? 
 
 In fine, I am convinced that if one influential paper 
 would take the initiative in judging the poem from the 
 above standpoint, all the loose opinion would crystallize 
 
Letters between Two Poets 165 
 
 about it ; and, if not, I shall be cruelly misjudged and 
 mistreated. 
 
 Two reflections make me bold enough to ask this of 
 you : first, that I would so gladly embrace any oppor 
 tunity of giving you my love in this or any other way : 
 and, second, that I feel as if the great wrong done 
 
 me by Mr. s criticism gave me a half-right and 
 
 claim upon the paper. If the enclosed letter of Dudley 
 Buck s 1 would be of any service in this connection, 
 let it be. 
 
 1 ioo WEST 54TH ST., April 4, 1876. 
 
 MY DEAR MR. LANIER, I am sorry that the "Tribune" 
 article gave you pain, but after you have been dissected, flayed, 
 and otherwise disposed of as many times as I have been, you 
 will not wince at one newspaper article. No, I did not find 
 the poem so difficult to set as it strikes the critic of the " Trib 
 une," whose article was as great a surprise to me as to yourself. 
 The " pitfalls " referred to were rather godsends in my case, 
 with exception of the (2) Jamestown and Plymouth lines. The 
 tough spot for me was the first verse, after which everything 
 seemed to fall into shape of its own accord. It is not a matter 
 of number of feet or kind of verse with me, so much as whether 
 I take a fancy to a poem which I did in your case. 
 
 Since the work appeared and the rehearsals commenced in 
 Philadelphia, I have of course heard a multitude of expressions 
 in regard to the poem, and find that my original judgment of its 
 effect on various minds is correct viz., the more intelligence 
 (more particularly in the line of poetry) a person possesses the 
 better he likes it. Several have said to me " these words grow 
 upon me every time I read them." One person in particular 
 astonished me at the first rehearsal by saying, after reading them 
 through once, that he could n t understand them. It was a person 
 of intelligence. I remarked simply that I thought he had better 
 give the poem two or three readings. He came to me last week, 
 and said he wanted to take back what he had said about the poem, 
 and he too remarked as above in regard to their growing upon 
 him. This trait is certainly true of a vast number of the best 
 
1 66 Letters of Sidney Lamer 
 
 Buck showed me Mr. Whittier s hymn yesterday, 
 which was just received. I noticed the two lines. 1 It 
 is good. 
 
 I trust with perfect confidence to your candor in this 
 matter, if my request seem bizarre, or in any the 
 least wise improper. 
 
 God bless you. 
 
 Your friend, SIDNEY LANIER. 
 
 P. S. I should like it to be stated that I have been a 
 member of the Peabody Orchestra for three years, under 
 Asger Hamerik. S. L. 
 
 April n, 1876. 
 
 MY DEAR LANIER : I have spoken to Reid about 
 your Cantata, and he thinks that under the circum 
 stances it would be well to publish it. There can be no 
 objection, as it is already in the hands of the chorus, 
 and may appear in print at any day. I shall therefore 
 write an appropriate and explanatory introduction to- 
 
 things by the best men, I think eminently so in case of 
 Tennyson. 
 
 It was this which made me so desirous to have the poem 
 printed in advance of the music. Then it would have been 
 studied and analyzed per se, and they would have gotten at the 
 merits of it quicker. Why this was not permitted has always 
 been beyond my comprehension. In a word I think the intelli 
 gence of the country will be on your side, and about the rest I 
 would not trouble myself. Be therefore comforted and write 
 me a dramatic cantata! 
 
 Have you any " bits " lying about that would do for songs ? 
 In haste Very truly yours, 
 
 DUDLEY BUCK. 
 
 1 Used by Mr. Whittier from Mr. Taylor s Hymn (written 
 before he was commissioned to prepare the Ode). See Pickard s 
 Life of Whittier. 
 
Letters between Two Poets 167 
 
 day, and it will probably appear to- morrow. I cannot 
 go quite as much into technical details as you may de 
 sire, or as 1 should do under other circumstances, since 
 I write for the same paper and in the same editorial 
 form as the musical criticism. But I shall do my best 
 to set other papers upon the track of a right under 
 standing. I trust you will understand the restrictions 
 under which I must write : I am not free. Perhaps you 
 had better hint to Gen. Hawley that the publication 
 has your sanction. 
 
 In great haste, as I go to Phila. to-morrow, and the 
 Ode the Ode 
 
 Ever B. T. 
 
 These are the last references in the correspondence to 
 the criticisms and ridicule of the Centennial Cantata, 
 which, as shown here, gave Mr. Lanier no little pain 
 at the time. This was due, however, far less to per 
 sonal sensitiveness than to the feeling that his critics 
 were falsifying before the public principles of art which 
 seemed to him vital ; and it was to combat what he 
 believed to be an obscuring of fundamental truth that 
 he finally sent to one of the New York newspapers a 
 complete statement of his conception (which appears 
 in the recent volume of collected essays, Music and 
 Poetry). 
 
 In the early part of July, 1876, Mr. Lanier was in 
 Philadelphia for a few days, at the time when his first 
 volume of poems (containing " Corn," " The Symphony," 
 " The Psalm of the West," " In Absence," " Acknowledg 
 ment," "Betrayal," Special Pleading," "To Charlotte 
 Cushman," " Rose Morals," and " To , with a Rose," 
 
1 68 Letters of Sidney Lanier 
 
 with the dedicatory stanzas to Charlotte Cushman) was 
 published by the Lippincotts. He was just recovering 
 from a sharp attack of the disease which he was to fight 
 continuously for the next five years, but the cheerful 
 serenity brought him by his growing power in his art is 
 written large over the hint of physical distress in the 
 next letter: 
 
 1425 WALNUT ST., PHILADELPHIA, PA.,//?, 1876. 
 
 MY DEAR MR. TAYLOR : I write a mere note to say, 
 in answer to your kind inquiry about my volume, that 
 Mr. Peacock bought up a copy yesterday which had just 
 been sent to the Bulletin Office, from which I presume 
 that the book is now published. I Ve been here (at the 
 Peacocks ) for several days very ill, and have not seen 
 the publishers in a long time which accounts for my 
 lack of more precise knowledge. The book is called 
 simply " Poems, By S. L." I 11 have a copy sent you as 
 soon as I get out. 
 
 I m glad to find that the lectures are swelling your 
 purse. I hope the golden shower will thicken until the 
 Bureau shall represent a substantial Jupiter and you a 
 well-satisfied Danae. 
 
 I found pleasure in learning from your letter that the 
 Evening Post " had copied the sonnets. I can t tell 
 you with what ravishing freedom and calmness I find 
 myself writing, in these days, nor how serene and sunny 
 the poetic region seems to lie, in front, like broad up 
 land fields and slopes. I write all the time, and sit 
 down to the paper with the poems already done. I 
 hope to have out another volume soon of work which 
 will show a much quieter technique than this one. A 
 modern French writer has spoken of the works of the 
 
Letters between Two Poets 169 
 
 great Artists of the world as being like the high white 
 clouds which sail calmly over a green valley on a sum 
 mer day. This seems to me very beautiful. 
 
 If you should write within a week, address me here : 
 afterwards at West Chester, as usual. 
 
 My wife would join me, if she were here, in cordial 
 messages to you and Mrs. Taylor. We have been hear 
 ing some very fine stories of you from your true friend 
 and admirer Mrs. Roberts (nee Anderson), at whose 
 house in West Philadelphia we have been staying, to 
 see the Exhibition. 
 
 Your friend, S. L. 
 
 WEST CHESTER, PA.,//K 19, 1876. 
 
 MY DEAR MR. TAYLOR : I m just crawling back 
 into some sort of shambling activity after a very depress 
 ing illness ; and my congratulations on the success of 
 your Ode will therefore not be considered by you as too 
 late to enter in. 
 
 I found that General Hawley had been kind enough 
 to send me an invitation to the platform ; but it did not 
 arrive until some days after the event, having been sent 
 to Baltimore and forwarded from several other ad 
 dresses before finally reaching me. I hear, however, the 
 most pleasant accounts of the complete success both of 
 your matter and your manner on the " stately day " from 
 Mr. Peacock. My retired position we are boarding 
 at a farmhouse about a mile from West Chester, Mr. 
 Thompson s has rather taken me out of range of 
 the newspapers, and I have seen no newspaper ac 
 count of the ceremonies except the Philadelphia 
 " Bulletin s." I sincerely hope that the malice which 
 you thought likely might seize this opportunity to vent 
 
170 Letters of Sidney Lanier 
 
 itself has recoiled before the calm and noble front of 
 your ode. I have not seen or heard any evidences 
 of its activity. 
 
 My wife sends you all manner of pleasant messages, 
 which I should detail if I were strong enough to do 
 much writing. Please keep me in fair remembrance 
 with Mrs. Taylor and your daughter. 
 
 My address is simply " West Chester," where I have 
 a box at the P. O. I hope you are not now so busy 
 as before the Fourth and are finding some time to 
 rest. 
 
 Your faithful S. L. 
 
 N. Y.,//y 21, 1876. 
 
 MY DEAR LANIER : I m very glad to hear from you. 
 Am nearly dead from heat and unending work, and can 
 only thank you for your kind congratulations. The Ode 
 made an impression which amazed me : it is something 
 worth living for. Of course all sneers are powerless now : 
 but they are on hand ! 
 
 I expect to make Cedarcroft my home for ten days, 
 beginning about a fortnight from now; and then you 
 must come over and spend a day with me. 
 
 Where is Thompson s? My kindest greeting to Mrs. 
 
 Lanier. 
 
 Fluidly, yet faithfully, B. T. 
 
 WEST CHESTER, PA., September 21, 1876. 
 MY DEAR MR. TAYLOR: In spite of the rejected 
 poem which your letter contained, I was glad O 
 Might of Friendship (for I fondly expected twenty-five 
 dollars instead of this MS.) ! to get your little mes 
 sage. I don t at all know why they sent it to you; 
 
Letters between Two Poets 171 
 
 the poem contained my address plainly written on the 
 last page. It was making you particeps criminis. In 
 order that you may see the unrelieved blackness of 
 their (/. <?., Dr. Holland s) guilt, I send you the poem 
 and message accompanying, which you can read 
 in some little by-time when you Ve nothing better 
 to do. 
 
 As to pen and ink, and all toil, I ve been almost 
 suppressed by continual illness. I can t tell you how 
 much I sigh for some quiet evenings at the Century 
 where I might hear some of you talk about the matters 
 I love, or merely sit and think in the atmosphere of the 
 thinkers. I fancy one can almost come to know the 
 dead thinkers too well : a certain mournfulness of 
 longing seems sometimes to peer out from behind one s 
 joy in one s Shakespeare and one s Chaucer, a sort of 
 physical protest and yearning of the living eye for its 
 like. Perhaps one s friendship with the dead poets 
 comes indeed to acquire something of the quality of 
 worship, through the very mystery which withdraws 
 them from us and which allows no more messages from 
 them, cry how we will, after that sudden and perilous 
 Stoppage. I hope those are not illegitimate moods in 
 which one sometimes desires to surround oneself with 
 a companionship less awful, and would rather have a 
 friend than a god. 
 
 May joins me in begging to be kept in remembrance 
 by the ladies of your house. 
 
 Don t take the trouble of returning the poem. I ve 
 another copy. 
 
 Your friend, SIDNEY L. 
 
172 Letters of Sidney Lanier 
 
 142 EAST i8TH ST., NEW YORK, September 23, 1876. 
 MY DEAR LANIER : I Ve read your poem over sev 
 eral times, and am quite clear about it. The title, "The 
 Waving of the Corn," is slightly fantastic, rather than 
 fanciful, and the word, or act, of waving is too weak for 
 a refrain. The last stanza is quite unnecessary : it drops 
 out of the tone of the three preceding ones, forces a 
 moral where none is needed, and is in no sense poetical. 
 Voila tout! I don t know that precisely these things de 
 cided Dr. Holland ; but I feel pretty sure that he would 
 have accepted the poem had they not been. The rest 
 is so sweet, tranquil, and beautiful, that it has the best 
 right to be, without a moral. Now, don t take offence, 
 but let me make the changes in your MS. and send with 
 this, just to show you not how / should have written 
 it (our ways are not the same, you know), but how I 
 think you should have written it. The feeling of peace 
 and blissful pastoral seclusion is so exquisitely expressed 
 that the poem should be restricted to that only. 
 
 Best greetings to your wife from both of us. 
 Ever faithfully, 
 
 BAYARD TAYLOR. 
 
 I think I could get the " Galaxy " to take the poem. 
 
 WEST CHESTER, PA., October 6, 1876. 
 
 MY DEAR MR. TAYLOR : I Ve been absent in Balti 
 more, and this will explain my delay in writing to thank 
 you for the evident trouble you were at in behalf of my 
 poem. Your somewhat serious defence of Dr. Holland 
 leads me to fear, a little, that you misunderstood my 
 allusion to his " criminality," etc. in rejecting the poem 
 which I meant for the merest joke. A good deal of ex 
 perience in these matters renders it quite impossible for 
 
Letters between Two Poets 173 
 
 me to have any feeling as to the judgment of any given 
 person upon the merits of a poem, or its availability for 
 magazine purposes : for I have seen that these judg 
 ments depend upon two elements which are infinitely vari 
 able : the mood of the person judging, and the particular 
 idea which he may have formed in his mind of that 
 phantasm called the General Public. Certainly nothing 
 can be more striking than the perpetual reversal of such 
 decrees by time and the popular tide ; and the day is 
 quite past when I could be in the least disturbed by any 
 contemporary judgment either as to the artistic quality, 
 or probable popularity, of a poem. 
 
 I am thus didactically particular for the reason that 
 you really seemed to think I was cherishing enmity 
 
 against the gentlemen, whereas the fact is that I 
 
 feel greatly obliged to them for a general reception of 
 my little offerings far more hearty than I could expect, 
 in view of our wholly different ways of looking at things. 
 
 And as for your prefacing your own suggestions with 
 "Now don t take offence, but," etc. nothing could be 
 more absurd, offence, indeed ! 
 
 I find myself agreeing with two of your verbal criticisms 
 on " The Waving of the Corn " (the " haply undainty " 
 and the equivocal " faint "), and though not agreeing at 
 all with your condemnation of the last stanza, I think I 
 will strike it out as likely to produce a disagreeable im 
 pression of moralizing. In reality it is a vigorous carry 
 ing out of the idea of personal tranquillity; advancing 
 beyond that to the conception of the larger tranquillity 
 of Society. 
 
 It s very good of you to offer to try the " Galaxy," 
 but I wouldn t like the poem to win a place in print 
 upon any influence save its own merits; and if this 
 
174 Letters of Sidney Lanier 
 
 objection were disposed of, I could not bear to think of 
 giving such trouble to so busy a man as I know you 
 to be. 
 
 Pray tell me of Deucalion and Pyrrha. Have the 
 world, the flesh, and the devil completely crowded the 
 sweet typic Man and Woman to the wall? I hope you 
 manage to escape into their larger realm sometimes. 
 
 Will you probably be lecturing in Baltimore this 
 winter? It now seems likely I will hibernate there. 
 My wife joins me in warm messages to you and Mrs. 
 Taylor. 
 
 Your faithful, S. L. 
 
 WEST CHESTER, PA., October 22, 1876. 
 
 DEAR MR. TAYLOR : I hope you 11 like these en 
 closed sonnets, 1 from the November number of " Lip- 
 pincott s " just out. I believe I think more of the two 
 first than of anything I have done ; the last two are 
 redactions of two earlier ones which I think you have 
 seen in manuscript. 
 
 I hope you and Mrs. Taylor are well. I suppose Miss 
 Lilian is away at Vassar by this time. 
 
 Your friend, S. L. 
 
 142 EAST i8TH ST., NEW YORK, November 15, 1876. 
 MY DEAR LANIER : I write now in order that this 
 may catch you in Philadelphia. It s very pleasant to 
 get such good news (barring the illness) of your poetic 
 activity. All poets have periods, and you are just pass 
 ing from one into another. I have seen and felt this, 
 but did not say so, because I was not sure whether you 
 quite knew it yourself; but now I may freely say that I 
 
 i "Acknowledgments." 
 
Letters between Two Poets 175 
 
 comprehend the change and rejoice in it for your sake. 
 I am especially glad to hear that you are thinking already 
 of a new volume : the technique is really an important 
 matter as much so in verse as in sculpture. 
 
 I await the volume with real interest, although I prob 
 ably know the whole of it already. But poems, some 
 how, have a different atmosphere when they are collected 
 and placed side by side ; so I shall be sure to get new 
 views of your achievement. 
 
 As for myself, the lectures are not over-abundant. If 
 I save enough during the whole winter to take me to the 
 Sulphur Springs of Virginia for two months next summer, 
 I must be satisfied. I am quite fagged and wearied, 
 incapable of poetry, hardly capable of my routine work 
 on the " Tribune." 
 
 I caught a severe cold at Philadelphia, on the loth, 
 my wife is not well, and we hear of nothing but acci 
 dents or deaths in the family ; this is my regular sea 
 son for bad news, and I cannot expect anything cheering 
 until the winter solstice is over and the sun begins to 
 return. I am not naturally despondent, but it s a 
 little hard to keep cheerful when one is physically 
 depressed. 
 
 Give my love to Peacock, whom I shall be always 
 most glad to see here, whenever he comes this way. I 
 have lately found a new friend in the " Portland Press " 
 (apparently a woman) , a critic of rare insight and sym 
 pathy. But I have also a word of cheer for you : I 
 see that you are finding quiet friends, genuine apprecia- 
 tors therefore, Sursum corda ! All will be right in 
 the end. 
 
 Ever faithfully yours, 
 
 BAYARD TAYLOR. 
 
176 Letters of Sidney Lamer 
 
 1425 WALNUT ST., PHILADELPHIA, PA., 
 November 24, 1876. 
 
 MY DEAR MR. TAYLOR : A peculiar affection of the 
 side has almost incapacitated me for any use of the pen, 
 temporarily ; but I must send you a little note in order to 
 share with you for I would like you to have half of all 
 my good things in this world the pleasure which your 
 generous notice in the " Tribune " has given me. I rec 
 ognized it as yours at once; and I therefore did not 
 stint myself in my enjoyment of its appreciative expres 
 sions any more than I would mar my smoking of your 
 cigars, or my drinking of your wine, with arrtires pensees 
 for I knew that the one was as free as the other. 
 
 I was particularly pleased with the light way in which 
 you touched upon my faults ; and I say this not hastily, 
 but upon a principle to which I Ve given a good deal 
 of meditation. The more I think of it, the more I 
 am convinced that every genuine artist may be safely 
 trusted with his own defects. I feel perfectly sure that 
 there are stages of growth particularly with artists of 
 very great sensibility who live remote from the business 
 life of men in which one s habitual faults are already apt 
 to be unhealthily exaggerated from within ; and the addi 
 tional forcings of such a tendency from without, through 
 perpetual reminders of shortcomings, becomes positively 
 hurtful, by proud-fleshing the artistic conscience and 
 making it unnaturally timid and irritable. In looking 
 around at the publications of the younger American 
 poets I am struck with the circumstance that none of 
 them even attempt anything great. The morbid fear of 
 doing something wrong or unpolished appears to have 
 influenced their choice of subjects. Hence the endless 
 multiplication of those little feeble magazine- lyrics which 
 
Letters between Two Poets 177 
 
 we all know : consisting of one minute idea, each, which 
 is put in the last line of the fourth verse, the other three 
 verses and three lines being mere sawdust and surplusage. 
 
 It seems to me to be a fact bearing directly upon all 
 this, that if we inquire who are the poets that must be 
 read with the greatest allowances we find them to be 
 precisely the greatest poets. What enormous artistic 
 crimes do we have continually to pardon in Homer, 
 Dante, Shakespeare ! iHow often is the first utterly dull 
 and long-winded, the second absurdly credulous and 
 superstitious, the third overdone and fantastical ! / But 
 we have long ago settled all this, we have forgiven them 
 their sins, we have ceased to place emphasis upon the 
 matters in which they displease us ; and when we recall 
 their works our minds instinctively confine remembrance 
 to their beauties only. And applying this principle to 
 the great exemplars of the other arts besides poetry, I 
 think we find no exception to the rule that as to the 
 great artist, we always have to take him cum onere. 
 
 I have to send you my thanks very often : I hope 
 they don t become monotonous to you. Your praise has 
 really given me a great deal of genuine and fruitful 
 pleasure. The truth is that, as for censure, I am over 
 loaded with my own : but as for commendation I am 
 mainly in a state of famine ; so that while I cannot, for 
 very surfeit, profitably digest the former, I have such a 
 stomach for the latter as would astonish gods and men. 
 
 Your last note gave me pain, with hints of calamity in 
 your family, and of your own need of physical rest. 
 You won t laugh if I tell you apropos of my haunting 
 desire to see you at liberty from the shackles of daily 
 bread and free to work entirely upon poetry that I 
 was yesterday half-dreaming, alone, in my sick-chair, 
 
 12 
 
178 Letters of Sidney Lanier 
 
 that my portion of the Jennings estate in England (to 
 which I am really one of the chief heirs) had arrived, 
 and I had just addressed you a little note stating that in 
 a certain bank of New York there was deposited to your 
 
 credit the sum of thousand (I held over this blank 
 
 to fill up at my leisure) dollars which I begged you 
 would use, if for no other reason at least to save me the 
 trouble of thinking what else to do with it, the same 
 to be repaid some time or other in heaven ; where 
 gold would be plenty and cheap when I awoke 
 without even having had the pleasure of filling out the 
 blank. 
 
 And this is a fearsome long screed for what started to 
 be a " note." But you will pardon this as you would 
 pardon any other fault in 
 
 Your faithful true friend, S. L. 
 
 1425 WALNUT ST., PHILADELPHIA, PA., 
 November 29, 1876. 
 
 DEAR MR. TAYLOR : I want to try the Editor of 
 " Harper s Magazine " with the poem in enclosed 
 envelope. I don t even know who is the editor : will 
 you be kind enough to address the envelope and mail 
 it for me? 
 
 Yours containing the "Evening Post " notice came, 
 and was " accepted with thanks." Who is the Literary 
 Editor of the "Post"? Is it Mr. George C. Eggleston, 
 as I think I have been told? 
 
 I m better and go to Baltimore on Monday, to fulfill 
 orchestral engagement. Letters will reach me still if 
 addressed to West Chester, where my wife will remain 
 for some time ; my Baltimore address will be 40 Mt. 
 Vernon Place. 
 
Letters between Two Poets 179 
 
 I hope you are well. Pray commend me to Mrs. 
 Taylor. I m writing hastily. I stay with the Peacocks 
 until Sunday afternoon. 
 
 Your friend, S. L. 
 
 WESTMINSTER HOTEL, 4 Afternoon, Wednesday. 
 MY DEAR FRIEND : I m going to be in my room 
 here for the balance of the day and evening. If you 
 have n t anything .better to do, pray come to me. I 
 wish to see you particularly. Your letter reached me 
 yesterday morning just before I left Baltimore. 
 
 My regards to Mrs. Taylor, which I would present 
 in person, but it is too cold for me to venture out.- 
 
 Your faithful S. L. 
 
 1425 WALNUT ST., PHILADELPHIA, PA., 
 December 6, 1876. 
 
 MY DEAR MR. TAYLOR : My physician has become 
 alarmed at the gravity and persistence of my illness and 
 orders me immediately to Florida, denouncing death 
 unless a warm climate is speedily reached. He might 
 as well talk to the stars whose light has n t yet reached 
 us, as try to persuade me that any conceivable combi 
 nation of circumstances could induce me to die before 
 I ve written and published my five additional volumes 
 of poems ; nevertheless it is decided that my wife is to 
 leave here with me on Monday night next, for Florida, 
 and I m scratching this hasty note, in the possibility that 
 your nomadic habits might bring you to Philadelphia 
 within that time, simply to ask that you won t fail if 
 they should bring you here to give me a final sight of 
 you. I m still at the Peacocks . 
 
 I hope you did n t take cold at Greenwood the other 
 day. My wife would join me in messages to you and 
 
1 80 Letters of Sidney Lanier 
 
 Mrs. Taylor, but she ran over to New York this morning 
 on a flying business visit for a couple of days. 
 Many thanks for the " Post " notice. 
 
 Your friend, S. L. 
 
 TAMPA, FLA., January n, 1877. 
 
 MY DEAR MR. TAYLOR : What would I not give to 
 transport you from your frozen sorrows instantly into the 
 midst of the green leaves, the gold oranges, the glitter of 
 great and tranquil waters, the liberal friendship of the 
 sun, the heavenly conversation of robins and mocking 
 birds and larks, which fill my days with delight ! 
 
 But if I commence in this strain I shall never have 
 done ; and I am writing in full rebellion against the 
 laws now of force over the land of Me which do 
 not yet allow me to use the few by reason of the 
 infirmity of my lung ; yet I could not help sending you 
 some little greeting for the New Year, with a violet 
 and a rose which please find herewithin. The violet is 
 for purity, and I wish that you may be pure all this 
 year ; and the rose is for love and I m sure I shall 
 love you all the year. 
 
 We are quite out of the world and know not its 
 doings. The stage which brings our mail (twice a week 
 only) takes three days to reach the railroad at Gaines 
 ville ; and it is a matter of from nine days to any con 
 ceivable time for a letter to reach here from New York. 
 Nevertheless, nay, all the more therefore, send me 
 a line that I may know how you fare, body and soul. 
 
 I received a check for fifteen dollars from Mr. Alden, 
 Editor " Harper s," for the poem you sent to him ; and 
 I make little doubt that I owe its acceptance to the 
 circumstance that you sent it. I hear of an " Inter- 
 
Letters between Two Poets 181 
 
 national Review," but have not seen any copy of it : do 
 you think it would care for anything like the enclosed ? 
 a poem which I have endeavored to make burn as 
 hotly as, yet with a less highly colored flame than, others 
 of mine. If you do, pray direct the envelope ; if not, 
 address it to the " Galaxy," unless you think that inadvis 
 able : in which last event keep the copy, if you like. 
 
 I had a very cordial letter from Mr. Eggleston about 
 my volume of poems, which gave me pleasure. 
 
 I m sure you 11 be glad to know that I improve 
 decidedly; I see no reason to doubt that I shall be 
 soon at work again. In truth, I " bubble song " con 
 tinually during these heavenly days, and it is as hard 
 to keep me from the pen as a toper from his 
 tipple. 
 
 I hope Mrs. Taylor is well, and beg you to commend 
 me to her ; wherein my wife very heartily joins me, as 
 well as in fair messages to you. I wrote you several 
 times before leaving Philadelphia : did you get the 
 letters ? 
 
 Your faithful friend, S. L. 
 
 142 E. i8TH ST., NEW YORK, January 27, 1877. 
 MY DEAR LANIER : I have been away, lecturing and 
 snow-bound, cold and hungry, among the drifts of 
 Central New York, and come back to find your most 
 welcome letter, written on my birthday (though you 
 did n t know it !), with the smell of the violet and rose 
 as fresh for about five minutes as when you gathered 
 them. Something of the endless summer of Tampa 
 came to me in your letter, and I am still full of the 
 longing to be beside those blue waters and where " im 
 dunken Land die Gold-Orangen gliihn." 
 
1 82 Letters of Sidney Lanier 
 
 Last night I spent with Stedman and Dudley Buck, 
 and we talked much of you. Buck played the accom 
 paniment, and Mr. Brown (a barytone) sang your last 
 song in "Scribner s" "The Cleopatra-night;" so 
 that I have heard it before you ! It is simply superb. 
 
 I shall send your poem immediately to the " Galaxy." 
 The " International Review" is a mean concern, pub 
 lishes little poetry, pays its authors next to nothing, 
 and has n t much circulation. I know Church of the 
 " Galaxy," and am free to ask him, not only to publish 
 the poem, but also to pay you properly. If I see him 
 to-night at the Century I can settle the matter in two 
 minutes. If you have anything more, of a simple, 
 melodious quality, send it to me, and I m much mis 
 taken if I can t get it into the " Atlantic." Your song 
 in " Scribner s " was much copied. In the " New Library 
 of Song," to which Bryant s name is attached as editor, 
 though he does n t edit it much, your Cantata is pub 
 lished beside Whittier s Hymn and my Ode. So pluck 
 up heart, and don t be discouraged ! We must all 
 wait. 
 
 I wish I had time to send you the MSS. of two 
 late poems I have written, " An Assyrian Chant " and 
 "Peach-Blossom." I have two or three more waiting 
 for the lucky hour but, Alas ! Ah me ! Eheu ! Ay de 
 mi ! I am ground to the dust with work and worry. 
 I live from day to day, on the verge of physical prostra 
 tion. Nothing saves me but 8 to 10 hours of death 
 like sleep, every night. Of course everything must wait 
 my " Life of Goethe," my lyrical drama, everything 
 that is solely and dearly mine. 
 
 You missed a letter I sent to Baltimore. I called at 
 your address there, saw Hamerik, and finally got your 
 
Letters between Two Poets 183 
 
 last note from Philadelphia after you left. As I did n t 
 know your address, I meant to write to Peacock ; and 
 you must pardon my seeming neglect. Buck told me 
 last night he had recently written to you at West 
 Chester ! I gave him your address, and he will write at 
 once. I am to hammer out some sort of a song for him : 
 may the Lord help me to something musical ! Did you 
 see my " Matin-Song " in the January " Atlantic " ? 
 Paine s music. 
 
 Here s the end of the sheet, and I must close, for I 
 have not the time to fill another. Do write often, but 
 only when you are allowed. Your condition makes me 
 very anxious, for you have the truest right to life and 
 strength. Pray Heaven the trouble is only temporary ! < 
 My wife joins me in love to yours and you. 
 
 Ever affectionately, BAYARD TAYLOR. 
 
 142 E. i8TH ST., NEW YORK, February 5, 1877. 
 
 MY DEAR LANIER, I enclose Sheldon & Co. s 
 ("Galaxy") check for $25, for your " Beethoven." I 
 tried hard to get $40 for it, but failed. I have also 
 carefully read the proof, and was much tempted to 
 change a word " The slanders told by sickly eyes " 
 but it seemed too great a liberty. However, I did make 
 one or two necessary changes in punctuation. 
 
 I saw Buck again, six days ago. He had just received 
 a letter from you, saying you are much better, which I 
 was heartily glad to hear. I wish you could have been 
 here Saturday evening to hear Wagner s " Gotterdam- 
 merung " not that / liked it ! I m through with my 
 outside lecturing, we have soft airs, and clear spring 
 skies, and all my fatigues are falling off me like a snake s 
 old skin. I hope to come out (poetically) in new and 
 
1 84 Letters of Sidney Lanier 
 
 shining scales. Send me a poem for the "Atlantic." 
 Pardon haste : we both greet you both. 
 
 Ever faithfully, BAYARD TAYLOR. 
 
 TAMPA, FLA., February 7, 1877. 
 
 MY DEAR MR. TAYLOR : Your letter bringing many 
 pleasant words, came on my birthday : which I consider 
 a fair reciprocation for mine, written (as you tell me) 
 on yours. My wife had managed to arrange my room, 
 with the help of some cunning female friends, without 
 my knowledge ; and when I awoke in the morning I 
 found myself in the midst of a very brave array of flow 
 ers ; during the day our apartment was further hung 
 with wreaths of gray moss, bamboo vines, and fragrant 
 spruce pine tassels, to such a degree that I felt like a 
 whole Sunday-school celebration all by myself; and in 
 the afternoon among a lot of pleasant mail matter came 
 your letter. 
 
 I was never able to stay angry in my life; and I 
 
 should meet without ever letting him know how 
 
 much pain he had given me. ... It only increased the 
 pain of the wound that it was given in this advisory way 
 which would have made me seem very truculent to resent 
 it ; and there was nothing to do but get off into some 
 brake of silence, like a deer with a shot in the flank, and 
 lick mine own wound. This seems extravagant ; but it 
 is not, compared with the real suffering : it was such a 
 fall for my vanity to think that any human being could 
 have dreamed me capable of such a thought, after 
 having seen me twice ! 
 
 Voila tout. As for forgiveness : the summer and the 
 silence here have been very medicinal to me : since I 
 have been here I Ve thought over the few people that 
 
Letters between Two Poets 185 
 
 ever wronged me, and I don t find in my heart the least 
 speck of hard feeling against anybody in the world. 
 
 Pray keep the enclosed little poem, and send it any 
 where where you think it might be accepted. I should 
 mention that Scribner s, Harper s, and Lippincott s, each, 
 has a poem of mine on hand (and you 11 care to hear 
 that Scribner s paid me twice as much as ever before 
 for the last one, bought a couple of weeks ago) . Don t 
 charge your mind with it, and pray don t be at the 
 trouble of writing any recommendations, or the like. I 
 cannot bear to think of taking your time. 
 
 My wife is trying to get off a small box of orange blos 
 soms to Mrs. Taylor by this mail, but she may have to 
 wait over until the next. 
 
 Ha^je you seen a somewhat elaborate notice of me in 
 the "Graphic " by Orpheus C. Kerr? 
 
 I should like to see your " Assyrian Chant " and spe 
 cially "Peach-Blossom." If you could only see the 
 plum-trees, the roses, the orange-blossoms, here ! 
 
 God bless you. 
 
 Your friend, S. L. 
 
 TAMPA, FLA., February n, 1877. 
 
 MY DEAR MR. TAYLOR : In the poem I ve just sent 
 you " The Bee " it occurs to me that I have care 
 lessly used the pronoun " him " referring to the bee, 
 forgetting that, although the worker-bees were formerly 
 thought to be sexless, they have recently been found to 
 be imperfectly developed females. Pray let me trouble 
 you therefore to substitute "its" for "his" in the six 
 teenth line from the beginning, 
 
 " Thrust up its sad-gold body lustily "*; 
 
1 86 Letters of Sidney Lanier 
 
 and also "it" for "him" in the thirty-sixth line from 
 the beginning, 
 
 " Perceived it poising o er a fresh new cup." 
 
 I am too in some little doubt about the words " on his 
 wings" six lines further on from the last quoted : ("He 
 hath a sense of pollen on his wings.") While I know 
 that the pollen used by the bee for food is carried in the 
 " pollen-baskets " of the legs, I am not sure whether 
 any of the pollen used in cross-fertilization is carried on 
 the wings, my impression is that it mostly adheres to the 
 body. Perhaps therefore it would be better to substitute 
 for this line the following : 
 
 " Some sense of pollen every poet brings," 
 (Of pollen for to make thee fruitful, etc., etc.) 
 
 To how many sins one sin leadeth ... is shown in 
 all this trouble I m giving you in consequence of failing 
 to be strictly accurate at first. 
 
 I write in great haste, to save a mail. 
 
 Your friend, S. L. 
 
 TAMPA, FLA., February 25, 1877. 
 
 MY DEAR MR. TAYLOR : Yours with the " Galaxy " 
 check came safely, bringing me heaviness of purse and 
 lightness of heart, for both of which pray hold your 
 self thanked. 
 
 About the piece for the , I am afflicted with 
 
 doubts which I find myself unable to solve. Once in 
 my early pleiocene epoch, before the Man had appeared 
 in any of my formations to supplant the crude monsters 
 
 of earlier periods, I sent "Corn" to Mr. ; and, 
 
 upon his refusing it, I tried, some time afterwards, a 
 
Letters between Two Poets 187 
 
 couple of sonnets, accompanied by a note asking (poor 
 green goose that I was ! as if an editor had time for 
 such things, but I really knew no better) if he would 
 not do me the favor to point out in these a certain 
 "mysticism" of which he had complained in "Corn." 
 This he did not answer : only returning the two poor 
 little sonnets with the usual printed refusal. 
 
 This looked so much like a pointed invitation to me 
 to let him alone that I have never had the courage to 
 trouble him since. I thought his treatment very cold at 
 
 that time, and wrote so, once, to , who had been 
 
 friends of mine. Of course I now see how absurdly 
 callow and unreasonable were my views then ; but this 
 does not diminish the mortification with which I remem 
 ber the ignominious termination of my efforts in that 
 direction ; and while I do not retain the least spark of 
 
 feeling against Mr. , I do not feel at all sure but he 
 
 may remember me as an absurd person whom he was 
 obliged to rebuff by silence. What would you do ? I m 
 sure I do not want to be finical. 
 
 We got off some orange-blossoms to Mrs. Taylor last 
 week, but I much doubt if the buds will open on the 
 way, according to my wife s expectation. They have 
 made a very pretty heaven indeed for the bees and for 
 us during the last two weeks. 
 
 I have occasional backsets, due to the warm climate ; 
 but there is now no doubt the lung is healing rapidly, 
 and I am much better. I hope your project for the 
 German lectures (which I saw announced in the " Even 
 ing Post") has been successful. What a foolish noise is 
 this about " Deirdre " ! It is just a poor dull piece of 
 orthodox verse. I do not find an idea in it, from begin 
 ning to end ; and the imitations of Homer s ideas affect 
 
1 88 Letters of Sidney Lanier 
 
 me unpleasantly. Moreover the story is too little for an 
 epic. There is n t wind enough for so much canvas : 
 whereby the latter is pot-bellied, and bags absurdly. 
 
 My wife joins me in affectionate messages to you and 
 Mrs. Taylor. I wish I could gossip a little; but mine 
 infirmity of the pen-arm saith, Forbear. 
 
 Your friend, S. L. 
 
 TAMPA, March 4, 1877. 
 
 MY DEAR MR. TAYLOR: I earnestly hope you ll like 
 this : it is written with a very full heart ! 1 I wanted to 
 say all manner of fair things about you, but I was so 
 intensely afraid of appearing to plaster you, that I 
 finally squeezed them all into one line, 
 
 " In soul and stature larger than thy kind," 
 
 which in truth has kept saying itself over within me ever 
 since it was written, until I have come to take infinite 
 satisfaction in it. 
 
 If you like this well enough to be willing that I should 
 print it, pray give me a hint in what direction I had bet 
 ter send it, I mean, where you would best like it to 
 appear. 
 
 I have just seen the " Beethoven " in the " Galaxy." 
 A queer mistake in punctuation occurs when it says : 
 
 " When luminous lightnings blindly strike ; 
 The sailor praying on his knees 
 Along with him that s cursing God " etc. 
 
 The semicolon marked is an error : the verb " strike " 
 governs "The sailor," etc. in the following line; the 
 luminous lightnings blindly strike (not only) the sailor 
 praying, etc., but also the sailor cursing, etc. I speak of 
 
 1 " Under the Cedarcroft Chestnut." 
 
Letters between Two Poets 189 
 
 it as a queer error because I am amused to see that a 
 sort of dim sense may be evolved out of it even as it 
 stands. On seeing the poem in print, I find it faulty : 
 there s too much matter in it ; it is like reading the 
 dictionary the meanings presently become confused, 
 not because of any lack of distinctness in each one, but 
 simply because of the numerous and differing specifica 
 tions of ideas. 
 
 Did you get a letter from me enclosing a poem called 
 "The Bee"? 
 
 But I must stop writing. God bless you. 
 
 Your friend, S. L. 
 
 NEW YORK, March 12, 1877. 
 ( You know the address!) 
 
 MY DEAR LANII&: Drudgery, drudgery, drudgery! 
 What else can I say? Does not that explain all? Two 
 courses of twelve lectures on German Literature here and 
 at Brooklyn, daily work on the "Tribune," magazine 
 articles (one dismally delayed), interruptions of all sorts, 
 and just as much conscience as you may imagine 
 pressing upon me to write to you and other friends ! 
 The fact is, I am so weary, fagged, with sore spots under 
 the collar-bone, and all sorts of indescribable symptoms 
 which betoken lessened vitality, that I must piteously 
 beg you to grant me much allowance. 
 
 I got your second letter about "The Bee" just in 
 
 time, for I had meant to send it to that very 
 
 morning. What you said made me pause for a few 
 days; but I have at last decided to send it none the 
 less, and it will go to-morrow morning ! I see no other 
 place for it. The poem is very charming. I shall make 
 the changes you desire, although je rfen vois pas la tie- 
 
190 Letters of Sidney Lanier 
 
 cessit/. You see, I admit your full right ; but not one 
 man in 10,000,000 will know enough about bees to 
 notice any scientific mistake. I must send you a long 
 magazine article I have just written on Tennyson to illus 
 trate the fault of over-attention to details. You are 
 right about the " Beethoven," it is too crowded, 
 and the ideas are not clearly expressed. I must say 
 frankly (" which " should not) that the Chestnut- tree is 
 very fine : only do say something else instead of " colic." 
 Three hundred years ago a poet could say that ; not 
 now. And I would not put the stanzas in italic : it is so 
 far from the fashion of the day, that people will think it 
 equivalent to the author saying, " Mark how fine this 
 is ! " We must yield something to the custom, just as 
 we wear horrid stove-pipe hats. I return it, because, as 
 you well understand, / can t offer it anywhere ; yet I am 
 sure Scribner would publish it. Why not change the 
 title to "The Chestnut-Tree at (or of ) Cedarcroft"? 
 It seems a little less personal. The line you mention is 
 fine, apart from mine own interest in it, too good as 
 applied to me. Somehow I feel as if such things might 
 be said after a man is dead, hardly while he is living. 
 But that you feel impelled to say it now, gives me a 
 feeling of dissolving warmth about the heart. You must 
 not think, my dear friend, that simply because I recog 
 nize your genius and character, and the purity of the 
 aims of both, that I confer any obligation on you ! 
 From you, and all like you, few as they are, I draw my 
 own encouragement for that work of mine which I think 
 may possibly live. 
 
 My wife wrote to Mrs. Lanier to-day, and I meant to 
 have enclosed this ; but I hope it won t be long behind. 
 I shall get through my lectures about the loth of April, 
 
Letters between Two Poets 191 
 
 and if I still feel as worn and weary as now, may go 
 South for a fortnight, and as far as Florida. Where 
 shall you be then? In Macon? It s all uncertain, but 
 if I go I 11 stop and see you. Don t count on this : it s 
 a private hope of mine, and may be frustrated. 
 
 I have a great many more things to say, but you 11 
 pardon me. I am deadly tired, and hardly know how 
 I Ve kept up the past year without breaking down 
 utterly. But I must at least tell you how glad I am 
 always to hear from you, how I pray for your restora 
 tion to enough of health to do the work God meant you 
 
 to do. 
 
 Ever faithfully and affectionately your friend, 
 
 BAYARD TAYLOR. 
 
 TAMPA, FLA., March 29, 1877. 
 
 DEAR MR. TAYLOR : I cut this slip out of an " Even 
 ing Post " which comes in the same mail with your letter 
 of the 1 2th. Both tell the same story: that you are 
 overworked. 
 
 For this reason I rejoice to learn that you think of 
 running away for a little while from New York, and 
 without waiting to answer your letter I write a line by 
 return mail to say that at the time you mention I will 
 be in Brunswick, Ga. There is a route to Florida 
 perhaps the quickest and pleasantest which passes 
 through Brunswick. It is called the "Cumberland 
 Route " (from passing by Cumberland Island, on the 
 Georgia coast, between Brunswick and Fernandina, 
 Fla.), and is the one by which I travelled last time. 
 You take a sleeping-car at New York which brings 
 you through to Danville, Va. ; there you find another 
 sleeping-car which brings you all the way to Brunswick 
 
192 Letters of Sidney Lanier 
 
 without change. At Brunswick you take a steamer to 
 Fernandina, forty-five miles, and at Fernandina cars 
 for Jacksonville, sixty-seven miles. If you are coming 
 to Florida, you would probably be best pleased at St. 
 Augustine. Pray write me a line when you receive this, 
 telling me whether you 11 come through Brunswick. My 
 address henceforth is " Care of Chas. Day, Brunswick, 
 Ga." We leave here for that place on the 5th of April. 
 Your friend, S. L. 
 
 142 E. i8TH ST., NEW YORK, April 15, 1877. 
 
 MY DEAR LANIER : I am very glad to get yours of 
 March 2pth, from which I infer (though you don t 
 say so) that you must be better. Since my two lecture 
 courses are over, and I have stopped magazine work, I 
 am getting fresher and stronger, and have decided to 
 go to Cedarcroft instead of Florida ! This will be 
 better ; for a single week in Florida, balanced by another 
 week of hard travel, would not do me much good. 
 Besides, the house at Cedarcroft is being thoroughly 
 repaired and I must have an eye to the work. 
 
 returned "The Bee" along with my "Assyrian 
 
 Night Song," having no mind for either. But for this 
 fact, I should regret having sent yours. I have several 
 times half resolved never to send him another poem ; but 
 now I wholly resolve. He has personal whim in place of 
 
 clear critical judgment. I shall next try with a 
 
 better hope of success. 
 
 Pray let me know what your plans are especially 
 what your physical condition is, where you expect to 
 pass the summer, etc. I must go to Cornell University 
 for ten days in May shall work here until July ist, 
 then take a holiday for July and August, spending the 
 
Letters between Two Poets 193 
 
 former month at the White Sulphur, Va. My over-work 
 comes solely from the necessity of providing means 
 for this necessary summer rest. But now the end is 
 secured, and I shall take life more easily. 
 
 There s no literary news to send. My wife joins me 
 in friendliest greetings to yours. 
 
 Ever faithfully, BAYARD TAYLOR. 
 
 BRUNSWICK, GA., April 26, 1877. 
 
 DEAR MR. TAYLOR : Pray don t trouble to send 
 
 "The Bee "to " s." I haven t the least idea 
 
 of letting you act as poem- broker for me any longer. 
 I m now getting well enough to write a little, and 
 May (that s my wife) is becoming a capital secretary. 
 
 If you should not have sent off " The Bee " before this 
 reaches you, I 11 trouble you to enclose it to me : I ve 
 kept no copy, and am not sure that I remember it exactly. 
 
 Have you happened to see the illustrations to an 
 extravaganza of mine (a sort of story which one " makes 
 up as he goes along," to a lot of importunate youngsters) 
 in the May number of " St. Nicholas " ? 1 They seem to 
 me, who am but little of a critic however in such matters, 
 to be very charming. Mrs. Dodge appears not to have 
 received the proof-sheets, which I returned from Tampa, 
 in time : for in them I carefully corrected some very 
 disagreeable repetitions, and faults of punctuation, which 
 appear in the publication. 
 
 I believe there is a little scrap of a poem of mine in 
 " Scribner s " for May, but I have n t seen it. 
 
 I take real delight in thinking of you at Cedarcroft 
 among the leaves. How fares my Master, the Chestnut- 
 tree ? If you only had there the infinite sweetness of 
 
 1 " A Fairy Tale for Grown People." 
 3 
 
194 Letters of .Sidney Lanier 
 
 Spring, which is now in full leaf and overflowing song 
 all about us here ! I have at command a springy 
 mare, with ankles like a Spanish girl s, upon whose 
 back I go darting through the green overgrown wood- 
 paths like a thrasher about his thicket. The whole 
 air seems full of fecundity : as I ride, I m like one of 
 those insects that are fertilized on the wing, every 
 leaf that I brush against breeds a poem. God help the 
 world when this now-hatching brood of my Ephemerae 
 shall take flight and darken the air. 
 
 After the 3d of May my address will be "Macon, 
 Ga." We will spend a month there. As for further 
 plans, about which you kindly ask, they will depend 
 entirely on my state of health at the end of May. I 
 hope to be in New York during June : but you will be 
 informed of my motions. 
 
 Tell Mrs. Taylor I wish we could send her a rose 
 from the little garden of the house where we sojourn : 
 though we don t dare to pick one often, by reason 
 that a mocking-bird is sitting on her eggs in the 
 spiraea-bush, and we shrink from disturbing the tran 
 quillity of her mind at this interesting period. 
 
 Your friend, S. L. 
 
 142 EAST i8TH ST., NEW YORK, May 9, 1877. 
 MY DEAR LANIER : I return your " Bee " with a 
 sense of discouragement at my inability to find a place 
 for it. I went to " Harper s," meaning to read it aloud 
 to Alden, but did n t find him. I thought I could thus 
 make more impression, and get a prompt decision. I 
 read it the other day to Boker, who was here, and he 
 
 said the does n t have more than two as good 
 
 poems in a year. 
 
Letters between Two Poets 195 
 
 I might have been successful, could I have taken 
 more time. But I have been forced to write six long 
 art criticisms on the Exhibition, and you ve no idea 
 how exhausting such work is. In fact, it is only within 
 two days that I begin to feel a little lifting of the strain 
 upon me, and wake up o mornings with a sense of being 
 moderately refreshed by sleep. All this work has been 
 inevitable, owing to necessity of meeting some unusual 
 expenses this spring. But I have laid up enough for 
 two months of summer idleness, for which I pant as 
 the hart for the water-brooks and so can only be 
 thankful. 
 
 In your last letters you say very little about your 
 physical condition. I should like to hear that you are 
 getting back strength, and overcoming, no matter how 
 slowly, the persistent trouble. To be sure, your hint of 
 poetic activity is an encouraging sign, and I hope it has 
 its source in more vigorous blood. 
 
 As for me, I do nothing but " loaf and invite my soul," 
 when I am not at work. My soul does n t respond 
 to the invitation, as yet. But on the 2oth I go to 
 Cornell University to give six lectures to the students, 
 and shall have 10 days idlesse. Perhaps something may 
 come of it. 
 
 Now I must close in a hurry, hearing a visitor an 
 nounced. My wife joins me in the very kindest regards 
 to yours. 
 
 Ever faithfully, BAYARD TAYLOR. 
 
 MACON, GA., May 25, 1877. 
 
 MY DEAR MR. TAYLOR : Yours with the " Bee " 
 my poor little bee, my humblest of humble-bees came 
 to me here. 
 
196 Letters of Sidney Lanier 
 
 Within two weeks from now I hope to see you, and 
 the anticipation gives me a great deal of pleasure. I 
 seem to be fairly on the highroad to health almost 
 within the boundaries, indeed, of that most lovely 
 state and am quite agog with all manner of matters 
 about many of which I desire greatly to talk with 
 you. The talk here is of the advance in corn, and 
 of the failure of our City Bank; and, so far as con 
 cerns any man I have yet conversed with, there is 
 absolutely nothing in heaven or earth or the waters 
 under the earth but corn and the City Bank. Perhaps, 
 if I had several thousand bushels of the former, or a 
 large deposit in the latter, these topics might interest 
 me more. But I haven t; and when I think how I 
 shall enjoy tackling you about something or other 
 say Emerson, whom I have been reading all the winter, 
 and who gives me immeasurable delight because he 
 does not propound to me disagreeable systems and 
 hideous creeds but simply walks along high and bright 
 ways where one loves to go with him then I am 
 ready to praise God for the circumstance that if corn 
 were a dollar a bushel I could not with my present 
 finances buy a lunch for a pony. 
 
 I will be here until I start Northward, where you 
 may address me if you should have occasion to write 
 meantime. 
 
 My wife would send cordial greetings to you and Mrs. 
 Taylor if she knew I was writing. God bless you. 
 
 Your friend, S. L. 
 
 142 EAST i8TH ST., NEW YORK. 
 
 MY DEAR LANIER : Just back from giving six lectures 
 at Cornell University, and your letter from Macon awaits 
 
Letters between Two Poets 197 
 
 me. It is most welcome, for at last you give me a word 
 about your physical state, and a good word it is. 
 
 I can t write much, for there is a pile of unanswered 
 letters at my left hand. We shall be here until July ist ; 
 then we go directly to the White Sulphur Springs for a 
 month, and shall divide August between Cedarcroft and 
 a visit to some friends at Newport. I long with inex 
 pressible longing for the release from work ; for although 
 somewhat of the work seems to tell to give me a slight 
 increase of influence in literary circles it is not what I 
 would choose to do, were I free. 
 
 As you say " two weeks from now," I count on seeing 
 you here soon. I shall be very glad to see you taking 
 my thin claret and cheap cigars again, and to talk over 
 your new plans for I suppose they are new. I also 
 need a change in my way of living, and a few possibili 
 ties have lately turned up. We all need to live at least 
 25 years longer, to get our reward. But mine as yet is 
 only half earned ; all I care for is leisure to labor. My 
 wife joins in most cordial greetings to you. Report 
 yourself here as soon as you arrive, and pardon this 
 hurried scrawl ! 
 
 Best regards to your father. 
 
 Always faithfully, BAYARD TAYLOR. 
 
 3315 BARING ST., PHILADELPHIA, PA., 
 /w/j/9, 1877. 
 
 MY DEAR MR. TAYLOR: I am merely writing a line 
 to enclose the two slips which you will find herein, and 
 which I thought might interest you apropos of what 
 you were telling me the other day. The " Philadelphia 
 Ledger," from which the slip of July yth is cut, is so 
 reliable in these matters that I suppose there can be no 
 
198 Letters of Sidney Lanier 
 
 doubt of the substantial fact as therein stated, though 
 it seems wonderful that the originators of such a move 
 ment should not have been immediately struck with the 
 propriety of sending the translator of Goethe to Germany 
 instead of to Russia or to Belgium. 
 
 But isn t Russia or Belgium a somewhat queer alterna 
 tion : something like offering a man either the Presi 
 dency of the United States or the Postmastership of 
 Kennett Square ? 
 
 I sent you to-day a Boston magazine containing a 
 portrait of me which I think will amuse you, particu 
 larly the smutched one accompanying the biographical 
 sketch inside. This, this is Fame : to have your 
 " visnomy " transformed into that of a keen blue-nosed 
 New England manufacturer of shoe-pegs. 
 
 I have not often seen anything more tragic than my 
 wife s indignation over this wood-cut ; nor have I suc 
 ceeded in allaying her resentment by my sympathetic 
 assurance that I think it the unkindest cut of all. 
 My wife joins me in friendly messages to you both. 
 With earnest wishes that you may be drawing strength 
 from the dear mountains, as it were from the very breasts 
 and big nipples of our Mother Earth, 
 
 Faithfully your friend, S. L. 
 
 WHITE SULPHUR SPRINGS, V A., July n, 1877. 
 
 MY DEAR LANIER : Thanks for your letter and the 
 magazine. In the latter you fare about as well as the 
 rest of us : it is something we must get used to. I wish 
 you could see some of my former villainous faces ; they 
 would show you that there is a worse deep than you 
 have yet reached. 
 
 As for the mission, I think " Belgium " must be a mis- 
 
Letters between Two Poets 199 
 
 take for "Berlin." It would be singular to offer the 
 choice of a first or a fourth rate place ! In any case 
 the German mission is the only one I am able to take j 
 and if it is not offered, I 11 even stay at home. But the 
 matter ought to be decided soon : it disquiets me a 
 little, in spite of my best will not to think about the 
 matter. 
 
 This is the most complete nest of repose I have yet 
 found in America. The air, the quiet, the society are 
 just what I need : I drink the water and bathe, and am 
 feeling like a new man. But, oh ! how supremely lazy I 
 am ! It s an effort even to write a letter to a friend. I 
 walk half a mile, sit down under a tree, look at the rich 
 colors of the wooded mountains, and am animally happy. 
 I only write poems in dreams, and here s a line which 
 came to me thus, the other night : 
 
 The ship sails true because the seas are wide. 
 
 Let me break off here. This indolence (I foresee) 
 will breed fresh activity ; but I don t want to think of 
 that now. My wife joins me in cordial greeting to 
 yours. Remember me to Peacock and all other good 
 friends. 
 
 Ever faithfully, BAYARD TAYLOR. 
 
 We live next door to ex-Governor Walker. 
 
 PHILADELPHIA, PA.,//J> 28, 1877. 
 
 MY DEAR MR. TAYLOR : I send a line to say that we 
 will move, on the day after to-morrow, to Mrs. Caleb 
 Brinton s, about a half mile from Chadd s Ford, where we 
 expect to spend the next two months. We are delighted 
 with the place, which my wife and I have visited and 
 inspected ; and we hope that when you return to Cedar- 
 
2oo Letters of Sidney Lanier 
 
 croft you will bless us with the light of your counte 
 nance. My address will be " Chadd s Ford." 
 
 I have n t time to write. 
 
 My wife unites her cordial salutation with mine to 
 you and all your house. 
 
 Faithfully yours, S. L. 
 
 KENNETT SQUARE, PA., August n, 1877. 
 MY DEAR LANIER : Pardon me over and over again 
 for not writing. I have been at home a week from the 
 White Sulphur, and meant to write at once ; but family 
 changes are going on movings, re-arrangements, etc. 
 which occupied my mind, and made it difficult for me 
 to know when to ask any friend to come. I expect to 
 be at home all the coming week, except Monday and 
 possibly Thursday. Can t you come up ? I would go to 
 see you, but have only a little time here, and there are 
 many small affairs which claim my attention. I have 
 been resting utterly for six weeks, and am greatly fresher 
 in mind and body. Must be brief to-day, for the inevi 
 table worries find me out and follow me. Write a line to 
 let me know when you can come ; the R. R. makes 
 it easy. 
 
 Ever faithfully, B. T. 
 
 CHADD S FORD, PA., August 26, 1877. 
 
 DEAR MR. TAYLOR : Your letter came just as I was 
 starting for New York on a business matter which has 
 occupied me quite closely ever since. I m now again at 
 home, however, and hope to be at comparative leisure 
 for a week or so. 
 
 I should have been inclined to think you a very shabby 
 Colossus, indeed to stay away for a week when there 
 were so many Rhodes from here to Kennett if I had 
 
Letters between Two Poets , 201 
 
 not gathered from your brief note that you were either 
 very busy or very worried, or both. I do hope you are 
 now more at ease from whatever may have troubled you. 
 
 In truth I particularly longed for one whole free day 
 about this lovely house with you. Do you know the 
 place old Mr. George Brinton s ? To the west is a 
 vista running for miles along the Brandywine j it s so 
 fine that you can fancy, every sunset, that the sun has 
 gone that way on purpose to see the country over there. 
 A long green hill in front of the house slopes down to 
 the river, and within a few feet is a wild ravine through 
 which a stream runs down to the great rock-built 
 milldam. 
 
 Tell me how fare our friends Pro- and Epi-metheus, 
 as also Deucalion and Pyrrha, with attendant Spirits 
 and Voices. As for me, all this loveliness of wood, 
 earth, and water makes me feel as if I could do the 
 whole Universe into poetry ; but I don t want to write 
 anything large for a year or so, and thus I content my 
 self with throwing off a sort of spray of little songs, 
 whereof the magazines now have several. 
 
 Mrs. Lanier joins me in hoping that Mrs. Taylor has 
 brought back some new strength out of the Virginia 
 Mountains. 
 
 Faithfully yours, SIDNEY L. 
 
 142 EAST i8TH ST., NEW YORK, September 6, 1877. 
 MY DEAR LANIER : I found your letter waiting for 
 me on Monday, when my holiday closed, and we found 
 ourselves back again in our old quarters. I don t think 
 the White Sulphur helped me much, after all, but the 
 sea air and water did, and I feel more like my old self 
 now. 
 
2O2 Letters of Sidney Lanier 
 
 I was (for me) exceedingly nervous and restless while 
 at Cedaroroft, and also much occupied with little 
 matters and family changes, which made our stay there 
 anything but refreshing. Moreover, I was foolishly ex 
 pecting, from day to day, that decision of the Govern 
 ment, which has not yet been made, and will probably 
 be delayed another month. I am so accustomed to 
 look forward to some fixed point and work towards it, 
 that I hardly know how to manage an uncertainty which 
 includes two such radically different fates. I will explain 
 the whole matter when we next meet : it is too long a 
 story to write. Since I am at work again, I can more 
 easily banish the subject from my mind. It was really 
 beginning to affect my health although I am rather 
 ashamed to confess it. 
 
 I know Brinton s place very well, and can understand 
 your delight in the scenery. I still maintain that there 
 is no such pastoral beauty anywhere else in the country. 
 You will find C. B. something of an enigma, but I 
 presume he does not spend much time there. 
 
 Now tell me what your plans are, when you are com 
 ing hitherward again (after the 2ist I can give you a 
 bed), and how your physical self prospers. Strange 
 that you should mention my poem just when I take it 
 up again ! I have written one new scene since Monday. 
 My wife joins in friendliest greetings to Mrs. Lanier. 
 
 Ever faithfully yours, BAYARD TAYLOR. 
 
 142 EAST i8TH ST., NEW YORK, October 13, 1877. 
 MY DEAR LANIER : Your letter arrived just as I was 
 leaving for Philadelphia to lecture for a benevolent pur 
 pose. I had no time to call personally on Colonel 
 Church (manager of the "Galaxy"), but I wrote a line 
 
Letters between Two Poets 203 
 
 and sent it by a messenger, giving him your address and 
 begging him to forward the check at once ; therefore, I 
 trust that it is already in your hands, as Church is an 
 amiable, obliging fellow, and I don t think will neglect it. 
 
 " Scribner s " are going to publish your poem on the 
 Chestnut-trees, and have it illustrated by me ! When I 
 was last at Cedarcroft, I made the necessary sketch of 
 the trees for them. 
 
 Now I have a piece of news for you. My " Deuka- 
 lion " is finished ! The conception overcame me like a 
 summer cloud, during all my holiday time ; but the diffi 
 culty wherein I stuck fast more than a year ago, would 
 not be solved. But little by little, I worked out the only 
 possible solution for me. I finished the 3rd Act, my 
 great stumbling-block; then, as the 4th and last Act 
 was already clear in my mind, and I still felt fresh for 
 the task, I went on. Now all is complete and fairly 
 copied into that volume which you will remember. But 
 I shall hardly publish before another year. It is an 
 immense relief, as the delight of writing was counter 
 balanced by the huge difficulties of the subject. Well, 
 there s more of my life and thought and aspiration 
 in this poem than in all else I have written, and if it has 
 no vitality, nothing of mine can have. 
 
 For a week past I have been giving all my spare time 
 to a translation and adaptation to our stage of Schiller s 
 " Don Carlos " for Lawrence Barrett. It s a new sort 
 of work for me, very interesting, and just what I need to 
 let myself down easily from the heights of " Deukalion." 
 
 You don t tell me what you are doing or going to 
 do in Baltimore. It s too bad that the Government 
 is so slow and muddled in the matter of making appoint 
 ments. I also have been kept hanging in suspense for 
 
204 Letters of Sidney Lanier 
 
 over three months, and now find that my chances are 
 rapidly sliding down to nothing. I Ve given up all ex 
 pectation of the place which would help me on in my 
 literary plans, and I won t have any other. 
 
 I begin my course of 1 2 lectures in Boston on Wednes 
 day next. Work, work, work ! But I thank the Lord 
 that my poem is finished. 
 
 Always faithfully yours, BAYARD TAYLOR. 
 
 BALTIMORE, MD., October 8, 1877. 
 
 MY DEAR MR. TAYLOR : I have been in the un 
 settled state of a bear who goes poking about the logs 
 and coverts in search of a place to hibernate ; and this 
 nomadic condition has kept me from answering your 
 letter. I had thought of being in Washington during 
 the winter. There was some prospect that either a small 
 consulate or some minor place in one of the Departments 
 would be given me. But, from what I can gather, places 
 of this sort are rarely obtained except by personal appli 
 cation and persistence. Of course I cannot come down 
 to that, and so have let the matter go. If anything 
 should be offered I will cheerfully take it, but I will do 
 no urging or solicitation of any sort. 
 
 I have engaged quarters here for the winter, and will 
 bring my family over, in about a week, from Chadd s 
 Ford. 
 
 The editors of the " Galaxy " write me that a poem of 
 mine called " A Dream of the Age : To Richard Wag 
 ner," will appear in the November number. As it is 
 about time for that to be in print, and as they are 
 sometimes slow in remitting when I write, will you 
 take the trouble to call at Sheldon s (I think it is 8 
 Murray St.) and get the check and send it to me ? The 
 
Letters between Two Poets 205 
 
 poem is about seventy-five or eighty lines, if I am not 
 mistaken. I would n t bother you with this, but I really 
 need the money. My address is " Care of Mrs. S. B. 
 Bird, 40 Mt. Vernon Place, Baltimore, Md." 
 
 My " Bee " is in the October " Lippincott s." Tell 
 me what you are doing with Deucalion. Have you seen 
 a poem by Swinburne of which the refrain is : " Villon, 
 our sad mad bad glad brother s name " ? " Sad mad bad 
 glad " is not intended for a joke. It s a wild panegyric 
 of Villon. 
 
 Will you squelch the Atlantic contributor who is un 
 happy about Goethe ? 
 
 With cordial messages to Mrs. Taylor, 
 
 Your friend, SIDNEY L. 
 
 33 DENMEAD ST., BALTIMORE, MD., January 6, 1878. 
 MY DEAR MR. TAYLOR : When I tell you that since 
 I saw you I have searched the city of Baltimore for a 
 dwelling suitable to my little flock, have found one, have 
 cajoled the landlord into a hundred repairs and better 
 ments, have painted, whitewashed, weather-stripped and 
 new-locked-and-bolted the entire establishment, have 
 furnished it with all manner of odds and ends purchased 
 from all manner of cheap Johns, have got in my coal 
 and my wood, have provided a lot of oatmeal and 
 hominy against the Wolf, have hired a Cook and General 
 Domestic, have arranged with the daily milkman and all 
 his peripatetic tribe, have done at least a million and 
 sixteen other things, and have finally moved in and 
 settled, you will understand why both Christmas and 
 New Year passed without greetings from me to you. 
 Though it has been a desperate piece of work, it seems a 
 mere bagatelle when looked back upon from the serene 
 
206 Letters of Sidney Lanier 
 
 delight with which we all find ourselves at last in some 
 thing like a Home. I think I could wander about the 
 house we have nine rooms ! for a month with my 
 hands in my pockets, in supreme content with treading 
 upon my own carpets and gazing at my own furniture. 
 When I am on the street there is a certain burgher-like 
 heaviness in my tread ; why should I skip along like a 
 bladdery Bohemian? I am a man of substance; I am 
 liable, look you, for water rates, gas bills, and other im 
 portant disbursements incident to the possession of two 
 gowns and everything handsome about me. 
 
 Let me have some news of yourself " yourself" being 
 a term which of course includes Mrs. Taylor and the poem. 
 
 I send you part of a Christmas poem 1 which I wrote 
 specially for the purpose of giving an engraver a good 
 chance for four fine wood-cuts. Don t you think a sheep- 
 paintdr could make four lovely pictures by carrying into 
 detail the mere hints given in the poem ? 
 
 I will probably be in New York before long, and 
 greatly hope to see you. Our new address here is 
 and God grant long may be, for we are so tired of mov 
 ing on ! 33 Denmead St. May you write it till your 
 pen, like the medium s, can figure it out alone. 
 
 Accept my loving wish for the New Year: that it 
 may be full of new creations from your hand, for this, 
 to the artist, is supreme happiness. 
 
 Your friend, SIDNEY L. 
 
 142 EAST i8TH ST., NEW YORK, January 20, 1878. 
 MY DEAR LANIER : I was wondering what had be 
 come of you when your letter arrived. It was pleasant 
 to find you so active and well-contented in your new 
 
 i The Hard Times in Elfland." 
 
Letters between Two Poets 207 
 
 home, and I relished your delight in it, having had 
 exactly the same sensation here, three years ago, after 
 living so long in trunks and satchels. 
 
 The Baltimore papers have no literary criticism 
 not a particle. Can t you persuade the best of them to 
 try the experiment with you ? There s such a stay in 
 having regular work of some kind. I think your New 
 Year poem charmingly quaint and fanciful ; and so do 
 several persons to whom I have shown it. I wanted to 
 get it into the " Weekly Tribune," and the Editor only 
 declined because New Year was 10 days past, and there 
 was a stock of poetry impatiently waiting. 
 
 I have finished (but not yet revised) Schiller s " Don 
 Carlos " since I saw you, and have done a good deal of 
 magazine work. My only poem is the " Ode on Victor 
 Emmanuel," which you may have seen. The Italians here 
 are wild with delight, and the Consul has forwarded a 
 copy to Queen Margherita. For the last few days I 
 have been writing as little as possible, in order to rest, 
 having been troubled with a sense of great oppression 
 on the chest. The fact is, I must take more rest than 
 I have been doing. 
 
 Speaking of this, the prospect of a good rest abroad 
 is still held out to me ; but after such long uncertainty, 
 I dare not count upon it in the least. I learn that the 
 President favors my appointment, and Evarts says 
 nothing against it : still they don t make it ! And the 
 post has been vacant nearly six months. I think a 
 decision of some kind will be made in a few weeks. 
 During the fall, when I gave up all expectation of going, 
 I was happy; and I would withdraw my name now, 
 rather than be so unsettled, but for the great chance of 
 the Goethe work. 
 
208 Letters of Sidney Lanier 
 
 My wife has been laid up with a catarrh, and Lilian 
 is at Vassar ; but friends come in now and then, and keep 
 us cheerful. I can feel that I am steadily gaining in 
 various ways, and am hopeful of the future. 
 
 Keep up your spirits, also ; but I think you have 
 the blessing of a good natural stock of them. 
 Ever faithfully yours, 
 
 BAYARD TAYLOR. 
 
 33 DENMEAD ST., BALTIMORE, MD., 
 February 3, 1878. 
 
 MY DEAR FRIEND : I was sorry to miss you and Mrs. 
 Taylor when I called on Monday. My cold had taken 
 such possession of me on Sunday evening that I found 
 it prudent to keep my room. I delivered your books 
 to the servant. I read through the three volumes on 
 Sunday: and upon a sober comparison I think Walt 
 Whitman s " Leaves of Grass " worth at least a million 
 of "Among My Books" and "Atlanta in Calydon." 
 In the two latter I could not find anything which has 
 not been much better said before ; but " Leaves of 
 Grass" was a real refreshment to me like rude salt 
 spray in your face in spite of its enormous fundamen 
 tal error that a thing is good because it is natural, and 
 in spite of the world-wide difference between my own 
 conceptions of art and its author s. 
 
 I did not find a fitting moment to mention to you a 
 matter in which I am much interested. I have an un 
 conquerable longing to stop all work for a few months 
 except the study of Botany, French and German, and 
 the completion of a long poem which I have been medi 
 tating. In order to do this I hoped it might be possible 
 to utilize a tract of timber land containing about a 
 
Letters between Two Poets 209 
 
 thousand acres which I own in Georgia. I have some 
 where heard that there was an association, or institution 
 of some sort, in New York, for helping literary people ; 
 and it occurred to me that such a corporation might 
 take my lands in pledge for a loan of five or six hundred 
 dollars. I should want it for twelve months. The lands 
 lie immediately on a railroad which runs to Savannah, 
 and whose main business is the transportation of lumber 
 and timber to that port. They are in a portion of the 
 state which is now attracting much attention from the 
 North Carolina turpentine-distillers and lumbermen, 
 and which has recently developed great capacities for 
 sheep-raising. They are also valuable for agricultural 
 purposes, after all the timber is cut off. 
 
 Tell me if any such institution exists. I asked Mr. 
 Bryant about it while in New York ; he did not know of 
 it at all. He added that if he were now as prosperous 
 as he was five or six years ago he would have offered to 
 advance the money himself on the lands : which was a 
 very kindly thought. 
 
 Don t give yourself the least concern about this. Of 
 course it is n t at all probable that any such association 
 exists if Mr. Bryant does not know of it ; and I don t 
 suppose I would mention it to you at all except for 
 the anxiety with which I long to draw my breath after a 
 hard fight, and to get the ends of my thoughts together 
 as Carlyle says. 
 
 I hope Mrs. Taylor is quite recovered from her cold. 
 As for you you range over such an enormous compass 
 both of literary and terrestrial ground that I would not 
 be at all surprised to hear at any moment that you were 
 off for 
 
 The long wash of Australasian seas, 
 
Letters of Sidney Lanier 
 
 in order to deliver a lecture at Sydney upon Limoges 
 Enamel, thence to Capetown for the purpose of reading 
 a dissertation on the Elohistic Division of the Book of 
 Genesis, thence home by way of Reikiavik (I deny any 
 obligation to spell this dreadful word correctly), where 
 you were to recite an original poem (in Icelandic) on 
 the Relation of Balder to Pegasus. 
 
 Your friend, SIDNEY L. 
 
 33 DENMEAD ST., BALTIMORE, MD., 
 February II, 1878. 
 
 MY DEAR FRIEND : It is long since I have had a 
 keener pleasure than the announcement of your nomina 
 tion 1 brings me. I have just read it ; and without 
 having time for more than a word I devote that to the 
 practical question, can I be of any service in the 
 matter of the confirmation by the Senate? Will there 
 be any opposition at all, there? The Senator from 
 Alabama is a dear friend of mine and I can ask anything 
 of him : besides, the Senators from Georgia and one 
 from Mississippi Mr. Lamar are all gentlemen with 
 whom my relations are very friendly. If there is the 
 least likelihood of necessity for arraying your friends, 
 please let me know so that I may have the pleasure of 
 telling these senators what I know about you. 
 
 God speed your final appointment. Isn t it simply 
 too delightful? I could kiss Mr. Hayes, in behalf of 
 the Fitness of Things which was never more gra 
 ciously worshipped than by this same nomination. 
 
 My wife joins me in hearty congratulations to you 
 both. 
 
 Your friend, SIDNEY L. 
 
 1 As minister to Germany. 
 
Letters between Two Poets 211 
 
 142 EAST i8TH ST., NEW YORK, February 19, 1878. 
 
 MY DEAR LANIER : There s a rewarding as well as 
 an avenging fate ! What a payment for all my years of 
 patient and unrecognized labor ! But you know just 
 what the appointment is to me. It came as a surprise 
 after all, and a greater amazement is the wonderful and 
 generous response to it from press and people. I feel 
 as if buried under a huge warm wave of congratulation. 
 
 I heard, indirectly, yesterday, that the Southern Sena 
 tors are delighted, and will not fail to vote for confirma 
 tion. Still, if you could say a word to Lamar, it might 
 be a further assurance ; as a Southern man, your en 
 dorsement would certainly strengthen me. But pray 
 don t go to any special trouble, for Bryant and Reid 
 think the confirmation certain. I can only write a word 
 to-day, for there is no end to the kindly telegrams and 
 letters, and I wish to answer them all. My wife and I 
 send love and thanks to both of you. 
 
 BAYARD TAYLOR. 
 
 33 DENMEAD ST., BALTIMORE, March 4, 1878. 
 
 MY DEAR FRIEND : The enclosed letter from Mr. Lamar 
 came this morning. Its expressions are so cordial to 
 wards you that I thought you might care to see it. 
 
 With new delight each day I regard the prospect 
 before you. I shall begin to love Mr. Hayes ! A man 
 who appoints you Minister to Germany and who vetoes 
 the Silver Bill ... is a man who goes near to redeem 
 the time. 
 
 But I cannot now do more than send you a violet. 
 I m making some desperate efforts to get steady work, 
 of any kind ; for I find I cannot at all maintain our 
 supplies of daily bread by poetry alone. So far I have 
 
212 Letters of Sidney Lanier 
 
 failed in getting any constant work, but I keep trying for 
 it, and I do not doubt it will come. 
 
 My wife sends hearty messages to you and Mrs. 
 Taylor. As for me, you know how I am always your 
 grateful and affectionate S. L. 
 
 33 DENMEAD ST., BALTIMORE, MD., 
 March 25, 1878. 
 
 MY DEAR MR. TAYLOR : Some time when you re 
 riding in a street car and have n t anything important to 
 think about, or rather don t want to think of anything 
 important won t you be kind enough to read this 
 sonnet 1 (if you can) and find out if it is quite too 
 absurd ? Of course it is merely meant to please a friend 
 here, a woman who plays Beethoven with the large 
 conception of a man, and yet nurses her children all day 
 with a noble simplicity of devotion such as I have rarely 
 seen : being withal, in point of pure technic, the greatest 
 piano-player I ever heard. 
 
 I have been studying German in the wee minutes 
 allowed by other occupations, without a teacher; and 
 don t want you to think I would with malice prepense 
 try to write a poem in that tongue. 
 
 I mark a thousand pleasant things about you in the 
 newspapers, and rejoice heartily in them all. God speed 
 you in your whole work. 
 
 Your friend, SIDNEY L. 
 
 There is here a gap of over six months, Mr. Taylor 
 having left the United States to enter upon his duties 
 as Minister to Germany. In the last letter of the series 
 Mr. Lanier writes : 
 
 1 To Annette Falk-Auerbach. 
 
Letters between Two Poets 213 
 
 180 ST. PAUL ST., BALTIMORE, MD., 
 
 October 20, 1878. 
 
 MY DEAREST MINISTER, always a minister of grace 
 to me, I have long forborne to write you because I 
 knew your whole mind would be occupied with a thou 
 sand new cares, and I could not bear to add the burden 
 of a letter thereto. But you must be getting easy in the 
 new saddle by this ; and somehow I feel that I can t wait 
 longer before sending you a little love-letter that shall at 
 least carry my longing over the big seas to you. Not 
 long ago I was in New York for some days ; but you 
 were in Germany ; and the city seemed depopulated. 
 There were multitudes of what Walt Whitman calls 
 
 Little plentiful manikins 
 
 Skipping about in collars and tailed coats, 
 
 but my Man, my haek^a leofost (as it is in Be6wulf) was 
 wanting, and I wandered disconsolately towards 142 E. 
 1 8th St. where I used so often and so ruthlessly to 
 break in upon your labors as if I could wish you back 
 into your chair rolling out the prophecy of Deucalion. 
 Even the Westminster Hotel had new proprietors and I 
 felt a sense of intentional irony in its having changed 
 from the European to the American plan, as if for 
 pure spite because you had left America and gone to 
 Europe. My dear, when are you coming back ? 
 
 A short time ago I found in a second-hand bookstall 
 a copy of Sir Henry Wotton s works and letters printed 
 in 1685, and bought it with about all the money I 
 had : for a joke of old Sir Henry s on a minister carried 
 my mind to you. Having been asked (he narrates the 
 story himself, being then on a ministerial journey through 
 Germany) to write in an album, he chose to define a 
 
214 Letters of Sidney Lanier 
 
 Minister, and said : A Minister is a man sent to lie 
 abroad for the good of his country. 
 
 I have seen your " Deucalion " announced, but nothing 
 more. Indeed I have been so buried in study for the 
 past six months that I know not news nor gossip of any 
 kind. Such days and nights of glory as I have had ! I 
 have been studying Early English, Middle English and 
 Elizabethan poetry, from Be6wulf to Ben Jonson : and 
 the world seems twice as large. I enclose a programme 
 of lectures I am going to give before a class of sub 
 scribers at the Peabody Institute this winter, from which 
 you will see the drift of my work. 
 
 You will also care to know that Scribner s has ac 
 cepted three papers of mine on " The Physics of Poetry," 
 in which I have succeeded in developing a complete 
 system of prosody for all languages from the physical 
 constitution of sound. It has given me indescribable 
 pleasure to be able, through the principles therein an 
 nounced, to put formal poetry on a scientific basis which 
 renders all its processes perfectly secure. 
 
 If you should see an Appleton s Journal for the cur 
 rent month November you may be interested in an 
 experiment of mine therein with logooedic dactyls called 
 " The Revenge of Hamish." Another freer treatment 
 of the same rhythm by me will appear in a book to be 
 issued by Roberts Brothers in the " No Name Series " 
 (called the " Masque of Poets ") under the heading 
 "The Marshes of Glynn : " though all this last is as 
 yet a secret and not to be spoken of till the book shall 
 have been out and been cast to the critics for a while. 
 I hope to find a publisher for my book on English 
 Prosody * next spring ; also for my historical and criti- 
 
 1 The Science of English Verse. 
 
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Letters between Two Poets 215 
 
 cal account, in two volumes, of " The English Sonnet- 
 Makers from Surrey to Shakspere ; " and I am in 
 treaty with Scribner s Sons for a " Boy s Froissart " 
 which I have proposed to them and which they like 
 the idea of so far. By next autumn I trust I will have 
 a volume of poetry (" The Songs of Aldhelm ") in print, 
 which is now in a pigeon-hole of my desk half-jotted 
 down. During the coming week I go to Washington 
 and Philadelphia to arrange, if possible, for delivering 
 my course of lectures before classes in those cities. 
 
 There ! I have reported progress up to date. Who 
 better than you who looked so kindly upon my poor 
 little beginning has the right to know how far I ve 
 gone? 
 
 Give me some little account of yourself, if you are not 
 too busy. My wife and I send grateful and affectionate 
 messages to you : adding cordial postscripts for Mrs. 
 Taylor and Miss Lilian. 
 
 God bless you and keep you ever in such fair ways as 
 follow the fair wishes of 
 
 Your faithful SIDNEY L. 
 
 Mr. Taylor died at Berlin in December of this year 
 a few weeks after the above letter reached him. 
 
A Poet s Letters to a Friend 
 
A Poet s Letters to a Friend 
 
 PAUL HAMILTON HAYNE* 
 
 LONG before the public knew anything of Sidney 
 Lanier as an author, it was my good fortune to have 
 formed his acquaintance, not personally, but by cor 
 respondence. In the year 1867, if memory serves me, 
 a poem by him in one of the Southern periodicals 
 attracted my notice. It was a brief lyric, distinguished 
 by a peculiar and scarcely definable quality of fancy, 
 which affected the reader much as a loving observer of 
 nature might be affected by the strange, golden remote 
 ness of an October horizon. I wrote to the young poet, 
 who was more than a decade my junior, some words 
 of appreciation touching these verses ; and he replied in 
 a manner so cordial that thenceforth a correspondence 
 was established between us, which, though with many 
 interruptions, continued down to a period closely pre 
 ceding his death. 
 
 From the beginning I could not but place a high value 
 upon his letters. Their quaintness of thought and 
 phraseology seemed at first to indicate affectation, an 
 affectation of archaism ; but soon I learned to under- 
 derstand that this style was as natural to Lanier as 
 
 1 When Mr. Hayne printed some of these letters in the 
 " Critic " in 1886, his delicacy of feeling led him to omit all those 
 portions in which Mr. Lanier expressed admiration for Mr. 
 Hayne s work. It seems fitting that these should now be restored, 
 and the letters are accordingly printed here in their entirety. 
 
22O Letters of Sidney Lanier 
 
 breathing. He had steeped his imagination from boy 
 hood in the writings of the earlier English annalists and 
 poets, Geoffrey of Monmouth, Sir Thomas Mallory, 
 Gower, Chaucer, and the whole bead-roll of such ancient 
 English worthies. I was of course a little surprised 
 during our earlier epistolary communion to perceive, not 
 only his unusually thorough knowledge of Chaucer, for 
 example, whose couplets flowed as " trippingly from his 
 pen " as if " The Canterbury Tales " and " The Romaunt 
 of the Rose " were his daily mental food, but to find 
 him quoting as naturally and easily from " Piers Plough 
 man," and scores of the half-obsolete ballads of the 
 English and Scottish borders. 
 
 He gloried in antiquarian lore and antiquarian litera 
 ture. Hardly " Old Monkbarns " himself could have 
 pored over a black-letter volume with greater enthusiasm. 
 Especially he loved the tales of chivalry, and thus, when 
 the opportunity came, was fully equipped as an interpre 
 ter of Froissart and " King Arthur " for the benefit of 
 our younger generation of students. With the great 
 Elizabethans Lanier was equally familiar. Instead of 
 skimming Shakspeare, he went down into his depths. 
 Few have written so subtly of Shakspeare s mysterious 
 sonnets. Through all Lanier s productions we trace the 
 influence of his early literary loves ; but nowhere do the 
 pithy quaintnesses -of the old bards and chroniclers 
 display themselves more effectively not only in the 
 illustrations, but through the innermost warp and woof 
 of the texture of his ideas and his style than in some 
 of his familiar epistles. 
 
 Among the letters now produced, there is one of 
 particular significance. It is the letter in which he 
 speaks of his greatest inspirer, of the chief mistress of his 
 
A Poet s Letters to a Friend 221 
 
 artistic reverence and affection, music. Poetry he 
 distinctly affirms to have been with him a species of 
 " side-issue." The effect of his musical genius a 
 genius pur et simple, undeveloped as unmarred by formal 
 education upon the spirit and technique of his verse 
 was very remarkable, being sometimes, as in "The 
 Marshes of Glynn," "beautiful exceedingly," and again, 
 as in the " Centennial Cantata," merely grotesque. 
 
 His letters to me in 1868, which showed in a delight 
 ful way the nature of his literary tastes and studies, and 
 which were full of felicitous references, and illustrations 
 from sources " caviare to the general," have unhappily 
 been lost; but the following from Macon, Ga., dated 
 March 15, 69, is noteworthy in several particulars: 
 firstly, as giving glimpses of the man s morale and his 
 subtle spiritual instincts; and secondly, of that deep, 
 over-refining intellectuality, with its searching introspec 
 tions, German rather than English, which emphasizes so 
 much that he has composed, whether in prose or verse. 
 A few words of explanation concerning this letter. He 
 had been discussing, in previous communications, the 
 great proneness of men of sensitive temperament and 
 eager, buoyant, imaginative aspirations toward the re 
 action of despondency and its accompanying tempta 
 tions; and Lanier had acknowledged that he was 
 himself subject occasionally to the dominion of a gloomy 
 fiend, a recent visit from whom he had most graphically 
 described. 
 
 MACON, GA., March 15, 1869. 
 
 MY DEAR MR. HAYNE : Your forbearing goodness en 
 tirely bankrupts me : but my outstanding obligations to 
 you lie upon me so sweetly and so unlike all other 
 
222 Letters of Sidney Lanier 
 
 debts, that I do not desire to take the benefit of the 
 Act relieving Insolvents, and I refuse to be discharged. 
 Of course I would not have dared to write to any ordi 
 nary correspondent what I wrote you : for I should very 
 surely have been told that I was a lackadaisical fool who 
 
 (needed work and physic. These wonderful hells into 
 which we descend, at such times who will picture 
 them to one who has not dwelt in them? It is idle to 
 discuss colors with a blind man. As for me, however, 
 the good God has seen fit to arm me, very singularly, 
 against the dark hosts of temptations that dwell in these 
 places. The longing for stimulants, which I feel in 
 common, I suppose, with all men of like nature, always 
 defeats itself in my particular case, by awakening a 
 certain Pride of Pain, a certain self-gratulation of Sorrow, 
 (how foolish this sounds !) which enables me to defy 
 the whole damnable troop with a power which seems 
 thoroughly anomalous, in view of the fact that, ordi 
 narily, I do not think my will is very strong, because 
 my sympathies, which arc strong, easily override it. 
 Indeed, it is not a bad thing, that I get plunged into 
 these awful depths : for, O My Friend, they teach me 
 lessons which are beyond the reach of reason, beyond 
 the utmost of Thought, beyond Time, beyond myself. 
 JHave you ever felt, in those good moments when the 
 formulae of life sink out of memory and the soul comes 
 vto look at things with a sort of Be fore- World simplicity, 
 have you felt, at such times, that you had two selves, 
 of which one stood as it were in the continual back 
 ground, calm, sedate as eternity, looking with a half- 
 amused smile upon the slips and errors and crimes and 
 contortions and struggles of your other self in its feverish 
 life, as if this calm inner self were confident that, after 
 
A Poet s Letters to a Friend 223 
 
 all the struggles and fevers, the struggling and feverish 
 j^will come out pure and whole and calm and strong? 
 What do we mean when we say one is " master of him- 
 self" " one is conscious of himself," " one ex 
 amines himself," etc. ? 
 
 In these, and a thousand similar expressions of com 
 mon life, are indicated some wonderful metaphysic facts 
 (I hate the word psychology), which, when the metaphysi 
 cians come to find the true source of their science, will 
 be quickly revealed. 
 
 At any rate, these present Spring-breezes are blowing on 
 my soul as on a young green leaf, and I wave and sway 
 and rise and fall, in the midst of the Heavens, with a 
 wonderful love and happiness upbearing me. Ah, the 
 exquisite, intense calms, which are yet full of a strange 
 quickening and stir of birth ! I have a boy, whose eyes 
 are blue as your Aethra s. Every day when my work is 
 done I take him in my strong arms and lift him up and 
 pore in his face. The intense repose, penetrated some 
 how with a thrilling mystery of potential activity, which 
 dwells in his large open eyes, teaches me new things. 
 I say to myself, where are the strong arms in which I, 
 too, might lay me, and repose, and yet be full of the fire 
 of life? And always, through the twilight, come an 
 swers from the other world : Master, Master, Master ; 
 there is one, one Christ : in His Arms we rest. 
 Truly your friend, 
 
 SIDNEY LANIER. 
 
 Not infrequently Lanier would send me copies of his 
 unpublished verses, and some of his best poems I thus 
 enjoyed the opportunity of perusing in MS. " Corn," 
 I remember, was among the number; and I vividly 
 
224 Letters of Sidney Lanier 
 
 recall the impression which that fine lyric made upon 
 me. " In < Corn I have aimed at popularity/ he 
 wrote ; " I mean the higher popularity given to artistic 
 work." The " little poem " which he mentions in the 
 following note (Macon, March 21, 1870) was a fragment, 
 though complete in itself, taken from his "Jacquerie," 
 a production which he never, I believe, completed. 
 
 MACON, GA., March 21, 1870. 
 
 MY DEAR MR. HAYNE : I thank you very heartily for 
 your encouraging communications of my little poem ; 
 and for your thoughtful kindness in sending me the 
 duplicate copies contained in two of your letters. 
 
 Much reflection convinces me that praise is no ignoble 
 stimulus, and that the artist should not despise it. 
 Once satisfied that the praise is genuine praise for 
 genuine art, surely, then, the artist may with confident 
 delight bathe in these glorious seas of sympathetic 
 appreciation, and invigorate himself for work. " Good 
 Heavens ! " cries Mrs. Browning ex ore Aurora Leigh : 
 " I shall be almost popular ! " In this exclamation, one 
 discovers at once a true and a false philosophy. It is 
 true, Martin Farquhar Tupper is, in a certain sense, 
 " popular " : but then how about Homer and Milton 
 and Shakespeare? Are they not popular, also? 
 
 And so, whenever my one condition-requisite, above 
 assigned, is fulfilled : that is, whenever I am satisfied 
 that the praiser, being himself an artist, praises what he 
 considers good work; I appropriate this praise with 
 entire abandon, I enjoy it without arrtires pense es as to 
 whether it is my right, or as to whether I am infringing 
 upon that outwardly-fascinating, inwardly-false German 
 doctrine that the Self of genius is sufficient for itself. 
 
A Poet s Letters to a Friend 225 
 
 I will write you again, in a day or two : meantime, 
 for the enjoyment of your sympathy, which I received 
 without question and use without hesitation, accept the 
 sincere gratitude of Your Friend, 
 
 SIDNEY LANIER. 
 
 The next letter seems to me a striking one. One 
 part of it is a prose-poem, touched by an exquisite 
 delicacy of fancy; and another part foreshadows that 
 trenchant critical force, combining fine analysis with 
 truly philosophical generalization, displayed so con 
 spicuously, at a subsequent period, in Lanier s lectures 
 at Johns Hopkins University, Baltimore. 
 
 MACON, GA., April 13, 1870. 
 
 MY DEAR MR. HAYNE : Watching, night and day, for 
 two weeks past, by the bedside of a sick friend, I have 
 had no spiritual energy to escape out of certain gloomy 
 ideas which always possess me when I am in the im 
 mediate presence of physical ailment ; and I did not 
 care to write you that sort of letter which one is apt to 
 send under such circumstances, since I gather from 
 your letters that you have enough and to spare of these 
 dismal down-weighings of the flesh s ponderous cancer 
 upon suffering and thoughtful souls. 
 
 I am glad, therefore, that I waited until this divine 
 day. If the year were an Orchestra, to-day would be 
 the Flute-tone in it. A serene Hope, just on the very 
 verge of realizing itself: a tender loneliness, what 
 some German calls Waldeinsamkeif, wood-loneliness, 
 the ineffable withdrawal-feeling that comes over one 
 when he hides himself in among the trees, and "knows 
 himself shut in by their purity, as by a fragile yet 
 
 15 
 
226 Letters of Sidney Lanier 
 
 impregnable wall, from the suspicions and the trade- 
 regulations of men ; and an inward thrill, in the air, or 
 in the sunshine, one knows not which, half like the 
 thrill of the passion of love, and half like the thrill of 
 the passion of friendship : these, which make up the 
 office of the flute-voice in those poems which the old 
 masters wrote for the Orchestra, also prevail through 
 out to-day. 
 
 Do you like as I do on such a day to go out 
 into the sunlight and stop thinking, lie fallow, like a 
 field, and absorb those certain liberal potentialities which 
 will in after days reappear, duly formulated, duly 
 grown, duly perfected, as poems? I have a curiosity 
 to know if to you, as to me, there come such as this 
 day : a day exquisitely satisfying with all the fulnesses 
 of the Spring, and filling you as full of nameless tremors 
 as a girl on a wedding- morn ; and yet, withal, a day 
 which utterly denies you the gift of speech, which puts 
 its finger on the lip of your inspiration, which inexorably 
 enforces upon your soul a silence that you infinitely long 
 to break, a day, in short, which takes absolute possession 
 of you and says to you, in tones which command 
 obedience, to-day you must forego expression and all 
 otitcome, you must remain a falloiv field, for the sun and 
 wind to fertilize, nor shall any corn or flowers sprout 
 into visible green and red until to-morrow, mandates, 
 further, that you have learned after a little experience 
 not only not to fight against, but to love and revere as 
 the wise communication of the Unseen Powers. 
 
 Have you seen Browning s "The Ring and the 
 Book " ? I am confident that, at the birth of this man, 
 among all the good fairies who showered him with 
 magnificent endowments, one bad one as in the old 
 
A Poet s Letters to a Friend 227 
 
 tale crept in by stealth and gave him a constitutional 
 twist i the neck, whereby his windpipe became, and 
 has ever since remained, a marvellous tortuous passage. 
 Out of this glottis-labyrinth his words won t, and can t 
 come straight. A hitch and a sharp crook in every 
 sentence bring you up with a shock. But what a shock 
 it is? Did you ever see a picture of a lasso, in the act 
 of being flung? In a thousand coils and turns, inex 
 tricably crooked and involved and whirled, yet, if you 
 mark the noose at the end, you see that it is directly in 
 front of the bison s head, there, and is bound to catch 
 him ! That is the way Robert Browning catches you. 
 The first sixty or seventy pages of " The Ring and the 
 Book " are altogether the most doleful reading, in point 
 either of idea or of music, in the English language ; and 
 yet the monologue of Giuseppe Caponsacchi, that of 
 Pompilia Comparini, and the two of Guido Frances- 
 chini, are unapproachable, in their kind, by any living or 
 dead poet, me judice. Here Browning s jerkiness comes 
 in with inevitable effect. You get lightning-glimpses 
 and, as one naturally expects from lightning, zig-zag 
 glimpses into the intense night of the passion of these 
 souls. It is entirely wonderful and without precedent. 
 The fitful play of Guide s lust, and scorn, and hate, and 
 cowardice, closes with a master-stroke : 
 
 "... Christ! Maria! God! . . . 
 Pompilia, ivill you let them murder me? 
 
 Pompilia, mark you, is dead, by Guide s own hand ; 
 deliberately stabbed, because he hated her purity, which 
 all along he has reviled and mocked with the Devil s 
 own malignant ingenuity of sarcasm. 
 
 You spoke of a project you wished to tell me. Let 
 
228 Letters of Sidney Lanier 
 
 me hear it. Your plans are always of interest to me. 
 Can I help you? I Ve not put pen to paper, in the 
 literary way, in a long time. How I thirst to do so, how 
 I long to sing a thousand various songs that oppress me, 
 unsung, is inexpressible. Yet, the mere work that 
 brings bread gives me no time. I know not, after all, 
 if this is a sorrowful thing. Nobody likes my poems 
 except two or three friends, who are themselves poets, 
 and can supply themselves ! 
 
 Strictly upon Scriptural principle, I Ve written you (as 
 you see) almost entirely about myself. This is doing 
 unto you as I would you should do unto me. Go, and 
 do likewise. Write me about yourself. 
 
 Your Friend, 
 
 SIDNEY LANIER. 
 
 FIFTH AVENUE HOTEL, NEW YORK, 
 August 9, 1870. 
 
 MY DEAR MR. HAYNE : Your letter, containing the 
 poem, reached me at Lookout Mountain, Tennessee, 
 where I had been spending some weeks. I received it 
 at night, about midnight. Some friends one of whom 
 was Mr. Jefferson Davis were sitting in the porch of 
 my cottage, and I could not resist the temptation to 
 read the poem aloud to them. So, while my fair wife 
 held the candle and shaded it with rounded white hand 
 from the mountain-breeze, I read ; and I feel very con 
 fident you would have been gratified with the sentiments 
 of approval which followed, in hearty sympathy with the 
 piece. I like it better than anything you have written : 
 it has in it the magnetism which distinguishes genuine 
 poetry from culture-poetry. 
 
 Write me some more like this, good Friend ! 
 
 I am travelling for my health. If you know what this 
 
A Poet s Letters to a Friend 229 
 
 phrase means, you know to what a melancholy state I 
 am come. It would seem that the foul fiend, Con 
 sumption, hath me on the hip. Against him I still 
 fight : but God knows the event thereof. I had started 
 for Minnesota : but I find the journey so disagreeable 
 that, after resting here a day or two, I m going back to 
 Orange C. H., Va., where I have a friend living among 
 the Sweet Mountains, with whom I shall stay some 
 weeks ; and where, an thou hast any bowels of com 
 passion left in thy soul s abdomen, thou wilt write me, 
 " Care Charles Taliaferro, Esq." 
 
 I do no work at all. I am too ill. This is Apollyon s 
 unkindest cut of all. In this, he hath wounded my sword- 
 arm. Well, well. And so, write me, dear Mr. Hayne, 
 and believe that I always enjoy heartily your cheering 
 words, and that I am always your Friend, 
 
 SIDNEY LANIER. 
 
 MACON, GA., March 20, 1871. 
 
 MY DEAR MR. HAYNE : Your letter came during my 
 absence from Macon, else I should sooner have told you 
 the pleasure which I have derived from your MS. " Fire 
 Pictures." 
 
 I have picked out a grain or two of gravel, as it 
 were, and slag, which I find scattered thro your Fire- 
 Product ; and I mention them, simply because they are 
 small and might therefore escape your attention : 
 which being first done, I can then tell you about the 
 pure fire and the rare flame-beauty which delight me 
 in your Poem. 
 
 i st. In the second stanza-picture, two of the verbs 
 have the ancient termination . . eth, viz., " turneth," 
 and " burneth ; " while, in the same stanza, the first verb 
 
230 Letters of Sidney Lanier 
 
 has the modern termination j, viz., " sweeps." Would n t 
 the critics require all to be homogeneous, either modern 
 form, or ancient form ? 
 
 2d. In the 4th picture, the word " lava s " is intended 
 for the plural lavas, and not for the possessive case, 
 nicht wahr? 
 
 3d. In the same stanza, would you not desire to 
 make some change in the " mothers frenzied hand ; " 
 " mothers " being the possessive plural, and " hand " 
 being singular? 
 
 4th. In the same stanza, do you not think the last 
 two lines would be better in the earlier portion of the 
 poem, before you have passed from the general, to the 
 detailed description of the pictures ? Do you not think 
 that a general idea (as contained in 
 
 " What strange visions form and start 
 Out from its mysterious heart " ) 
 
 makes rather a fall, than otherwise, from the climax of 
 a picture whose details, so nobly done, justly sum them 
 selves up in the words, 
 
 " But how near 
 Seem the anguish and the fear " ? 
 
 That is, does not the generalness of " what strange 
 visions, etc." blunt the dramatic point which comes to a 
 keen and fine climax with 
 
 " But how near 
 Seem " this " anguish and " this " fear," 
 
 which you have just been so beautifully describing? 
 The principle on which I would exclude the two last 
 lines of the stanza, and let it end with " seem the an 
 guish and the fear " is the same with that which ex 
 plains the well-known fact that, to see one man with 
 
A Poet s Letters to a Friend 231 
 
 blood flowing from a wound is a more powerful excite 
 ment of ordinary sympathy than to read in general terms 
 of a thousand men killed and wounded. In the begin 
 ning of a picture the excluded lines would be unobjec 
 tionable : but I am confident they injure the climax in 
 the end of one. 
 
 5th. In the 7th stanza, the line "Here s a glowing 
 warm interior " hath no fellow in the matter of rhyme, 
 but is a widow d and all mateless line. So, also, the 
 line "With those hues, rich-toned but homely" in the 
 same strophe. 
 
 6th. Is there any authority for the form "Salvatore " 
 
 of Salvator Rosa s name ? I merely mean to call 
 
 your attention to it; and have no means immediately 
 at hand to satisfy my doubt as to whether that is a per 
 missible method : indeed it is quite possible that my 
 question is ridiculous, but, stet. 
 
 7th. In the 8th strophe, "gleams," in the last line, 
 should be gleam, agreeing with " hill-side and meadow." 
 
 8th. In the nth strophe, would not the line "And 
 the heavy grief-moulds pressed " reveal its grammatical 
 dependence and connection better by substituting WITH 
 for " and " : or by some such construction? 
 
 9th. And lastly, and generally, would not the refrain 
 " Oh the Fire " be better without the brackets in which 
 it is inclosed? And now, when I commence to tell 
 you about the charm which your Poem has for me, I am 
 greatly at a loss where to begin, and wholly at a loss 
 where to end. 
 
 " Backward o er its river-courses, 
 Backward to its mountain-sources, 
 While the blood-red sunset burneth 
 Like a God s face grand with ire," 
 
23 2 Letters of Sidney Lanier 
 
 is too beautiful, and one can say nothing about it better 
 than to quote it. To this, the " Oh thou wan faint 
 hearted fire " in the next strophe forms an exquisite 
 set-off. 
 
 I have already spoken of the Vesuvian picture. With 
 what a poet s instinct you have seized upon those acces 
 sions of the Volcano (Y. <?., the temples, the statues, the 
 town, the hill-top, the mother, the children, the strand) 
 which would make the picture necessarily beautiful at 
 the same time that it is tragical! 
 
 " Ere the flame-devouring magic 
 Coils about their golden splendor, 
 And the tender 
 Glory of the mellowing fields 
 To the wild Destroyer yields " 
 
 is an exquisite stroke of melody, and tingles in my 
 ears a long time. 
 
 In the martyr-picture, I am specially struck with the 
 marvellous marriage of sound and word in the last two 
 lines : 
 
 " And o er those reverend hairs, silvered and hoary, 
 Settles the semblance of a crown of glory." 
 
 This is long and serene : as a blissful eternity should 
 be! 
 
 Your Flemish interior is simply perfect. It creates 
 within one a parlous longing for a tankard and pipe ; 
 and, what ho, drawer, let them both be of some 
 capacity ! 
 
 And next comes the (me judice) glory and fair 
 climax of the poem, the sweetest notes, to my mind, 
 and the fullest of genuine poets -music, that you have 
 ever sung. I mean 
 
A Poet s Letters to a Friend 233 
 
 "... Fairly flowing 
 Like a rivulet rippling deep 
 Thro the meadow-lands of Sleep, 
 Bordered where its music swells 
 By the languid Lotos-bells 
 And the twilight Asphodels," 
 
 (and if flower-bells were church-bells they would chime 
 just so !) 
 
 " Mingled with a richer boon 
 Of queen-lilies, each a moon 
 Orbed into white completeness : 
 O the perfume and the sweetness 
 Of those grouped and fairy flowers, 
 Over which the love-lorn Hours 
 Linger, not alone for them, 
 Tho the Lotos swings its stem 
 With a lulling stir of leaves, 
 Tho the lady-Lily laves 
 Coy feet in the crystal waves, 
 And a silvery under-tune 
 From some mystic wind-song grieves, 
 
 Dainty-sweet, amid the bells 
 Of the twilight Asphodels 
 
 But because a charm more rare 
 
 Glorifies the mellow air 
 
 In the gleam of lifted eyes, 
 
 In the tranquil ecstasies 
 
 Of two lovers, leaf-embowered 
 
 Lounging there, 
 
 Each of whose fair lives hath flowered 
 
 Like the lily petals finely, 
 
 Like the Asphodels divinely ? " 
 
 I am quite in friendly earnest, and you know I love 
 music ! when I tell you, dear Mr. Hayne, that I do 
 not know of anything, of the same style, in our language 
 which is so beautiful as this passage. The flow of the 
 
234 Letters of Sidney Lanier 
 
 melody is unbrokenly perfect ; and the interfusing of 
 the exquisite nature-picture with the one-passion of the 
 two human hearts makes an inner music dwelling in the 
 material music which enchants one beyond measure. 
 Nothing you have ever done has pleased me so en 
 tirely : and I believe the verdict of after-poets will 
 support me. 
 
 My letter is so long that I will not go into any more 
 details than to notice with what exquisite art you have 
 made your poem, at the close, flicker into silence as the 
 fire flickers into darkness. And I would leave you to 
 know that if it were /, I would not for all the world 
 disturb one line of those last ones about which you have 
 drawn brackets and noted "to be altered!" Do not 
 alter one jot or tittle of those concluding lines : you 
 could not improve them, nor any man. Do not put a 
 sacrilegious pen-stroke through a single word of that 
 strophe No. n. You can t paint a rose : no more can 
 you paint a dead leaf : one is perfect, so is t other : 
 Jet your dead leaf alone. 
 
 I return your MS., having numbered it, so that you 
 can understand my references : but won t you be 
 kind enough to send it back to me, to keep ? I would 
 like it hugely, as a remembrance of you. 
 
 I m always Your Friend, 
 
 SIDNEY LANIER. 
 
 MARIETTA, GA., September 13, 1871. 
 
 MY DEAR MR. HAYNE: Your letter is received, and 
 I thank you very heartily for the frankness with which 
 you speak therein. I shall remember your prescription, 
 if the means I m about to try should fail. Truly, it is 
 a somewhat desperate alternative ; but desperate emer- 
 
A Poet s Letters to a Friend 235 
 
 gencies always present such, and I am not one of those 
 who would shirk the situation, and die dilly dallying. 
 
 Your treatment of the Macrobian Bow is vigorous, and 
 full of dramatic verve. T is a fearful tale, beautifully 
 told : like a terrible narrative issuing from the red lips 
 of a dainty woman. The utter coolness of the cruelty 
 is brought out with great clearness ; and the stroke of 
 pain goes to the heart of a reader, straight as Cam- 
 byses arrow to the heart of the page. The accesso 
 ries, too, of the " hot wan morning," the slumbering 
 wave, the stirless tree all these give a kind of heart- 
 lessness of atmosphere to the whole scene that frames it 
 perfectly. 
 
 I find nothing to suggest, to help the piece ; and have 
 made only a few small verbal and punctuational correc 
 tions. 
 
 I will be obliged if you will forward the letters of in 
 troduction to me, " Care of Winslow and Lanier, 29 Pine 
 St., New York," as I shall probably leave before they 
 could reach me here. 
 
 It gives me great encouragement that you think I 
 might succeed in the literary life : for I take it that 
 you are in earnest in saying so, believing that you love 
 Art with too genuine affection to trifle with her by bring 
 ing to her service, through mere politeness, an unworthy 
 worker. 
 
 I enclose your MS. Where will you print the piece ? 
 Let me know, so that I may see it when published. 
 
 If I can do anything of service to you in the way of 
 small corrections of MS. (at which I m said to be very 
 keen-eyed small hunter for small game, you know) do 
 not hesitate to call on me. 
 
 Your Friend, SIDNEY LANIER. 
 
236 Letters of Sidney Lanier 
 
 MARIETTA, GA., May 26, 1873. 
 
 MY DEAR MR. HAYNE : The gracious odor of your 
 violets" has reached into my soul, and I have been 
 loth to send them back to you. Stanza No. III. is un- 
 alloyedly delicious ; and the closing line, 
 
 " Breathing of heart-break and sad death of love," 
 
 is simply ravishing. This sings itself over and over in 
 my heart ; and this : 
 
 " Some with raised brows, and eyes of constancy 
 Fixed with fond meanings on a goal above." 
 
 What a tender music these two lines make ! Are you, by 
 the way, a musician ? Strange, that I have never before 
 asked this question, when so much of my own life 
 consists of music. I don t know that I ve ever told 
 you, that whatever turn I have for art, is purely musical ; 
 poetry being, with me, a mere tangent into which I shoot 
 sometimes. I could play passably on several instru 
 ments before I could write legibly ; and since then, the 
 very deepest of my life has been filled with music, which 
 I have studied and cultivated far more than poetry. I 
 only mention this in order that you may understand the 
 delight your poetry gives me. It is so rarely musical, 
 so melodiously pure and silvery in flow : it occupies in 
 poetry the place of Mendelssohn in music, or of Franz 
 Abt or of Schubert. It is, in this respect, simply unique 
 in modern poetry : William Morris comes nearest to it, 
 but Morris lives too closely within hearing of Tennyson 
 to write unbroken music : for Tennyson (let me not 
 blaspheme against the Gods !) is not a musical, tho in 
 other respects (particularly in that of phrase- making) a 
 very wonderful writer. 
 
A Poet s Letters to a Friend 237 
 
 While at Alleghany Springs last summer, I loaned to 
 
 Miss J F , of Augusta, my copy of your " Legends 
 
 and Lyrics" on condition she should return it. I ve 
 written her since about it ; but my letter probably failed 
 to reach her, as I knew not her address save that she 
 lived in Augusta. Having a copy from you, I didn t 
 want to lose it ; and if you have another by you, I would 
 be glad if you would straightway write your name therein 
 and mail to me. 
 
 I do not know the man Williams, you mention. I have 
 been greatly amused at some strictures 1 upon you made 
 
 by certain Knights of Mrs. W , in condign punishment 
 
 for your critique on Mrs. W. s book. I have not read 
 that production; but from all I can hear tis a most 
 villainous poor pitiful piece of work ; and, so far from en 
 deavoring to serve the South by blindly plastering it with 
 absurd praises, I think all true patriots ought to unite in 
 redeeming the land from the imputation that such books 
 are regarded as casting honor upon the section. God 
 forbid we should really be brought so low as that we 
 must perforce brag of such works as " Clifford Troupe " 
 and " Heart Hungry " : and God be merciful to that man 
 (he is an Atlanta editor) who boasted that sixteen thou 
 sand of these books had been sold in the South ! This 
 last damning fact (if it be a fact, and I should not 
 wonder) ought to have been concealed at the risk of 
 life, limb and fortune. 
 
 I m glad to hear you re going to travel ; but you 
 are starting too soon. I hope to get to New York City 
 about the ist of July. If you should be there any time 
 between that and the middle of October, let me know, 
 
 1 A great smudge of ink here is encircled and labelled : " Done 
 after all was written. Can t write it over now I " 
 
23 8 Letters of Sidney Lanier 
 
 by a note addressed to me care of " Winslow, Lanier & 
 Co., 27 Pine St., N. Y.," an address which will always 
 reach me. 
 
 I return your " Violets " : and I hope that when you 
 go to Heaven you 11 be wafted there on the sighs of 
 just such another bunch ! Your Friend, 
 
 SIDNEY LANIER. 
 
 MACON, G-A., May 23, 1874. 
 
 MY DEAR MR. HAYNE : Your letter gave me sincere 
 pleasure ; and I would have sent you some expression of 
 my gratification at hearing from you by a much earlier mail 
 than this, had it not been for my Arabian eccentricities 
 and unreliablenesses of movements, which have kept me 
 on the wing for a month past. I am now in Macon, 
 and shall remain here for three or four weeks, then 
 Northward again. I am truly rejoiced to see, by occa 
 sional evidences in the magazines that you are again 
 active in that delicious business of Creation. 
 
 My brother has just sent me your " Cloud-Star " which 
 he has clipped from some paper. I am charmed with it, 
 and am not sure but I shall come presently to think it 
 the strongest thing you have done. To die, consumed 
 by these heavenly fires : that is infinitely better than 
 to live the tepid lives and love the tepid loves that 
 belong to the lower planes of activity; and I would 
 rather fail at some things I wot of, than succeed at some 
 others. Is not that the secret that lies hid in the bosom 
 of this rose of a poem ? 
 
 Pray send me immediately the long poem you speak 
 of. I shall take the greatest pleasure in looking it over, 
 and if I find anything in the way of flaws will yell it out 
 to you. Nothing in the world like little niggers and 
 
A Poet s Letters to a Friend 239 
 
 idiots, for finding things, don t you know? Send the 
 poem to me at Macon. 
 
 The review of your " Legends and Lyrics " was sent 
 to Lippincott s, and declined. I afterwards mentioned 
 to Browne that I had written it (tho I did not offer it to 
 him in terms) : who told me that a review of the book 
 had already appeared in the " Southern Mag." So my 
 piece lies bleeding, and I don t know what to do with it. 1 
 Tell me what you are doing. 
 
 In answer to your kind inquiries as to myself: I spent 
 the winter in Baltimore, pursuing music and meditating 
 my " Jacquerie." I was Flauto Primo of the Peabody 
 Symphony Orchestra, and God only could express the 
 delight and exultation with which I helped to perform 
 the great works brought out by that organization during 
 the winter. Of course this was a queer place for me : 
 aside from the complete bouleversemcnt of going from 
 the Court- House to the footlights. I was a raw player 
 and a provincial withal, without practice, and guiltless of 
 instruction for I never had a teacher. To go, under 
 these circumstances, among old professional musicians, 
 and assume a leading part in a large Orchestra which 
 was organized expressly to play the most difficult works 
 of the great masters was (now that it s all over) a piece 
 of temerity that I do not remember ever to have equalled 
 before. But I trusted in Love, pure and simple ; and 
 was not disappointed, for, as if by miracle, difficulties 
 and discouragements melted away before the fire of a 
 passion for music which grows ever stronger within my 
 heart and I came out with results more gratifying than 
 it is becoming in me to specify. T is quite settled that 
 
 1 It did finally appear in the " Southern Magazine ;" see the 
 volume " Music and Poetry." 
 
Letters of Sidney Lanier 
 
 I cannot practise law : either writing or speaking appears 
 to produce small haemorrhages which completely sap my 
 strength ; and I am going in a few weeks to New York, 
 without knowing what on earth I am to do there 
 armed only with a silver Boehm flute, and some dozen of 
 steel pens. 
 
 Happy man, you who have your cabin in among 
 the hills and trees, you who can sit still and work at 
 Home, pray a short prayer once in a while for one as 
 homeless as the ghost of Judas Iscariot. 
 
 Write me straightway: and write, as to one who is 
 always Your faithful friend, 
 
 SIDNEY LANIER. 
 
 PHILADELPHIA, PA., October 16, 1875. 
 MY DEAR MR. HAYNE : Your note which has fol 
 lowed me about and finally reached me here gave me 
 a great deal of pleasure, and I hasten to assure you 
 that I have for months only been putting off from day to 
 day the actual committal to paper of the letter which 
 has been lying really written within me. This " putting 
 off" has been due, not to laziness, but to its opposite. I 
 believe I wrote you sometime ago that I had been em 
 ployed to make a book on Florida. I commenced the 
 travels preparatory thereto in April last : the thing im 
 mediately began to ramify and expand, until I quickly 
 found I was in for a long and very difficult job : so long, 
 and so difficult, that, after working day and night for the 
 last three months on the materials I had previously col 
 lected, I have just finished the book, and am now up to 
 my ears in proof-sheets and wood-cuts which the pub 
 lishers are rushing through in order to publish at the 
 earliest possible moment, the book having several fea- 
 
A Poet s Letters to a Friend 241 
 
 tures designed to meet the wants of the winter-visitors 
 to Florida. It is in truth only a kind of spiritualized 
 guide-book. 
 
 This it is which has prevented me from writing you. 
 With a nervous employer and a pushing publisher be 
 hind me, I have had to work from ten to fourteen hours 
 a day; and the confinement to the desk brought on 
 my old haemorrhages about a month ago which quite 
 threatened for a time to suspend my work forever on 
 this side of [the] River. 
 
 I m thus minute in detailing the reasons for my failure 
 to write you, because all along through these last three 
 or four months when gratifying things have been hap 
 pening to me in connection with my little artistic efforts, 
 I have had constantly in mind the kindly help and en 
 couragement which your cheering words used to bring 
 me when I was even more obscure than I am now. 
 Even in my insignificant experience I have seen so 
 much of the hue-and-cry sort of criticism that which 
 waits until it finds how the big-mouth d dogs are running 
 and then squeaks in chorus without the least knowledge 
 of, or regard for, the game or the course of the hunt 
 that I have learned to set a high value on genuine and 
 independent judgments. These you gave me, and I will 
 always be grateful to you for them. 
 
 I fully expected to go to Aiken, and to have sight of 
 you, there ; but the devious current of work bore me to 
 New York, and although I had to run back to Charles 
 ton for two days, about a month after I wrote you, I was 
 never able to get to Aiken. I met Butcher and Randall 
 in Augusta, but had only one uncertain day there, and 
 they agreed it was impossible to get hold of you in the 
 limited time I had. 
 
 16 
 
242 Letters of Sidney Lanier 
 
 Now, then, let me know upon what you are engaged, 
 and how you are faring. I have not yet had a moment 
 to look into your last volume a pleasure I Ve been 
 promising myself as soon as these dreadful proof-sheets 
 are finished. 
 
 Write me "Care of Gibson Peacock, Esq., 1425 
 Walnut Street, Philadelphia, Pa." 
 
 I will be glad to hear from you, and of you : being 
 always 
 
 Sincerely yours, 
 
 SIDNEY LANIER. 
 
 During the next six years I heard from Lanier at 
 longer and longer intervals. As time advanced, his re 
 sponsibilities seemed to increase, pan passu, with his 
 growing reputation. No man ever had a loftier artistic 
 conscience. I am disposed to believe that between the 
 necessities of his position as a poor man, which forced 
 him often into hasty, uncongenial work, and his keen in 
 stincts and high standards of artistic excellence, he suffered 
 a species of torture. At all events, in the notes I received 
 from him during the period specified, his tone alternated 
 between a certain feverish exaltation and a profound de 
 spondency. Never have I known him to complain to 
 "wear his saddened heart" ostentatiously "upon his 
 sleeve ; " but I could read between the lines even of his 
 (apparently) more cheerful communications, and detect 
 the slow, half-muffled throb of heart-break there ! He 
 struggled bravely on, long after he could not but have felt 
 that the shadow, for weary years darkening over him, had 
 taken at last the hues of death that the fatal weapon 
 long suspended above his head was about to fall. 
 
 The letter which follows was the last of any length I 
 ever received from him : 
 
A Poet s Letters to a Friend 243 
 
 435 N. CALVERT ST., BALTIMORE, MD., 
 November 19, 1880. 
 
 MY DEAR MR. HAYNE : I have been wishing to write 
 you a long time, and have thought several letters to you. 
 But I could never tell you the extremity of illness, of 
 poverty, and of unceasing work, in which I have spent 
 the last three years ; and you would need only once to 
 see the weariness with which I crawl to bed after 
 a long day s work and often a long night s work 
 at the heel of it, and Sundays just as well as 
 other days, in order to find in your heart a full 
 warrant for my silence. It seems incredible that I have 
 printed such an unchristian quantity of matter, all, 
 too, tolerably successful, and earned so little money ; 
 and the wife and the four boys who are so lovely that 
 I would not think a palace good enough for them if I 
 had it make one s earnings seem all the less. 
 
 This leads me to think of your fervent ascription of 
 praise in the October "Scribner s" which several of my 
 friends admire with me. I will get the November 
 " Harper s " to which your note alludes and read 
 your poem there. A couple of songs by you, which 
 I read in a news-store a short time ago while rapidly 
 turning over the leaves of " The South Atlantic," gave me 
 much pleasure. I fancy that I perceive a clarified qual 
 ity in your later verse which shows a distinct growth in 
 you. The plane of art seems higher and quieter, and 
 the air purer. 
 
 I send you by this mail a copy of my Boy s King 
 Arthur, which the publishers have brought out in sump 
 tuous style as a companion-book to my Boy s Froissart 
 which was so successful last year. I hope you will like 
 the Introduction : as for the matter, it is old Sir 
 
244 Letters of Sidney Lanier 
 
 Thomas Malory s, and I doubt not you already know 
 him well for one of the sweetest, cunningest, simplest, 
 and skillfullest writers of English, as well as story-tellers, 
 that ever lived. I m greatly interested in the sale of 
 this book: not directly, for being in narrow straits I 
 sold the copyright for cash several months ago ; but 
 because the price of another book I Ve just sent on, to 
 continue the series with, next Christmas, depends on it. 
 
 For six months past a ghastly fever has been taking 
 possession of me each day at about twelve M., and hold 
 ing my head under the surface of indescribable distress 
 for the next twenty hours, subsiding only enough each 
 morning to let me get on my working- harness, but never 
 intermitting. A number of tests show it not to be the 
 " hectic " so well known in consumption ; and to this 
 day it has baffled all the skill I could find in New York, 
 in Philadelphia, and here. I have myself been disposed 
 to think it arose purely from the bitterness of having to 
 spend my time in making academic lectures and boy s 
 books pot-boilers all when a thousand songs are 
 singing in my heart that will certainly kill me if I do 
 not utter them soon. But I don t think this diagnosis 
 has found favor with any practical physician ; and mean 
 time I work day after day in such suffering as is piteous 
 to see. 
 
 I hope all this does not read like a Jeremiad : I 
 mention these matters only in the strong rebellion 
 against what I fear might be your thought namely, 
 forgetfulness of you if you did not know the causes 
 which keep me from sending you more frequent mes 
 sages. I do not, and will not, forget the early encour 
 agements which used to come from you when I was just 
 daring to think of making verses. 
 
A Poet s Letters to a Friend 245 
 
 I am glad to see, from your letter, that your illness 
 abates. I protest against your sick terrapin, floating 
 down a muddy current, and substitute a soul sweeping 
 down a stream bank d with marvels, whose duty is to 
 keep all eyes open, and report, in poems, from time 
 to time. 
 
 Please thank Mrs. Hayne for her card, and believe 
 me always 
 
 Sincerely yours, 
 
 SIDNEY LANIER. 
 
14 DAY USE 
 
 RETURN TO DESK FROM WHICH BORROWED 
 
 LOAN DEPT. 
 
 This book is due on the last date stamped below, or 
 
 on the date to which renewed. 
 Renewed books are subject to immediate recall. 
 
 JAN 4 1963 
 
 
 
 
 
 LD 21A-50m-3, 62 
 (07097sIO)476B 
 
 MAY 12 1940 
 
 General Library 
 
 University of California 
 
 Berkeley 
 
 RECTD LD 
 
 DEC 
 
 LO 2 i- ^o/d 
 
1337 
 
 
 
 UNIVERSITY OF CALIFORNIA LIBRARY 
 
 YC1594*