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By Root 15801 0

and there, but preserving the spirit of the whole, its information, erudition, etc., etc., while everything is so completely re-written as to leave no room for a direct charge of plagiarism; and this is considered and lauded as originality. Now, he who, in availing himself of the labors of his predecessors (and it is clear that all scholars must avail themselves of such labors) — he who shall copy verbatim the passages to be desired, without attempt at palming off their spirit as original with himself, is certainly no plagiarist, even if he fail to make direct acknowledgment of indebtedness — is unquestionably less of the plagiarist than the disingenuous and contemptible quack who wriggles himself, as above explained, into a reputation for originality, a reputation quite out of place in a case of this kind — the public, of course, never caring a straw whether he be original or not. These attacks upon the New York professor are to be attributed to a clique of pedants in and about Boston, gentlemen envious of his success, and whose own compilations are noticeable only for the singular patience and ingenuity with which their dovetailing chicanery is concealed from the public eye.

Doctor Anthon is, perhaps, forty-eight years of age; about five feet eight inches in height; rather stout; fair complexion; hair light and inclined to curl; forehead remarkably broad and high; eye gray, clear and penetrating; mouth well-formed, with excellent teeth — the lips having great flexibility, and consequent ­power of expression; the smile particularly pleasing. His address in general is bold, frank, cordial, full of bonhommie. His whole air is distinigué in the best understanding of the term — that is to say, he would impress any one at first sight with the idea of his being no ordinary man. He has qualities, indeed, which would have insured him eminent success in almost any pursuit; and there are times in which his friends are half disposed to regret his exclusive devotion to classical literature. He was one of the originators of the late “New York Review,” his associates in the conduct and proprietorship being Dr. F. L. Hawks and Professor R. C. Henry. By far the most valuable papers, however, were those of Doctor A.

RALPH HOYT.

THE REVEREND RALPH HOYT is known chiefly — at least to the world of letters — by “The Chaunt of Life and other Poems, with Sketches and Essays.” The publication of this work, however, was never completed, only a portion of the poems having appeared, and none of the essays or sketches. It is hoped that we shall yet have these latter.

Of the poems issued, one, entitled “Old,” had so many peculiar excellences that I copied the whole of it, although quite long, in “The Broadway Journal.” It will remind every reader of Durand’s fine picture, “An Old Man’s Recollections,” although between poem and painting there is no more than a very admissible similarity.

I quote a stanza from “Old” (the opening one) by way of bringing the piece to the remembrance of any who may have forgotten it.

“By the wayside, on a mossy stone,

Sat a hoary pilgrim sadly musing;

Oft I marked him sitting there alone,

All the landscape like a page perusing;

Poor unknown,

By the way side on a mossy stone.”

The quaintness aimed at here is, so far as a single stanza is concerned, to be defended as a legitimate effect, conferring high pleasure ­on a numerous and cultivated class of minds. Mr. Hoyt, however, in his continuous and uniform repetition of the first line in the last of each stanza of twenty-five, has by much exceeded the proper limits of the quaint and impinged upon the ludicrous. The poem, nevertheless, abounds in lofty merit, and has, in especial, some passages of rich imagination and exquisite pathos. For example —

Seemed it pitiful he should sit there,

No one sympathizing, no one heeding,

None to love him for his thin gray hair.

One sweet spirit broke the silent spell —

Ah, to me her name was always Heaven!

She besought him all his grief to tell —

(I was then thirteen and she eleven)

Isabel!

One sweet spirit broke