late periodical publications, or the most occasional
peruser of the _Allgemeine Zeitung_ or _Dresden Bluthundstaglich_, can
have failed to notice with patriotic pride the gradual but gigantic
progress of this new VOLTAIRE to the highest pinnacle of popular renown.
But, sooth to say, our western world is so overrun with pretenders; there
are so many young gentlemen annually spawned by Yale and Cambridge, who
affect to read German without being able to construe the advertisement of
a Leipsic bookseller; so numerous are the blue-spectacled nymphs who quote
JEAN PAUL betwixt their blanc-mange and oysters, without comprehending
even the outermost rind of its in-meaning; so utterly ignorant are our
so-called literati of any subject beyond the scope of a newspaper, that
the name of SEATSFIELD sounded as strangely in American ears as if he had
lately arrived from Herschel or Georgium Sidus in a balloon. It is true
that some two or three of our eminent scholars, a few travellers, men of
taste, who had wandered by the Rhine, were acquainted with his reputation,
and in some degree with his productions. EMERSON doubtless must have been
aware of his renown; Professor FELTON of course had read him as often as
he has HOMER; JONES, WILKINS, and F. SMITH had studied him with delight.
The 'Dial,' a journal of much repute, had even spoken openly, we are told,
of his success in Europe. Mr. W. E. CHANNING, the poet, had evidently but
perhaps unconsciously imitated his peculiar viscidity of style, and (if we
may use such an expression.) extreme flakiness of thought. But in spite of
these few exceptions to the general indifference, let it stand recorded,
that when the name of SEATSFIELD returned to his own shore, it was an
alien and unmeaning word. His own country, so deeply indebted to his
powerful pen, absolutely knew him not. The literati stared, and the Boston
Advertiser was struck aghast with wonder. What a comment upon the state of
letters in America! 'Literary Emporium,' forsooth! 'Western Athens!'
Medici of Manhattan! how grossly we Yankees do misapply titles! It was the
very 'Literary Emporium' itself that was most astounded at the
newly-discovered mine. SEATSFIELD'S name had overspread civilized Europe;
his productions had been dramatized at Munich and Bucharest; they had been
translated into Russian and Turkish; the Maltese mariner had learned to
solace himself with his 'Twilight Helmsman's Hymn,' and the merchants of
Syra and Beyrou