File:Frances (Appleton) Longfellow to Isaac Appleton Jewett, 8 November 1840 (8ead6f18-3c20-4786-98a6-1c1aa4b7353a).jpg

Manuscript letter

Archives Number: 1011/002.001-010#025

Boston. Nov 8th 1840
It is too tantalizing, my dear Proteus coz, to hear you talk of southern Venices & such dream-land atmospheres, where perhaps you are already sniffing orange buds, while all my senses are outraged by an interminable infliction of east winds which go raking & rough-shod over my nerves – forcing every thing against the grain & almost trampling the breath out of my soul. If this lasts much longer I shall close doors & windows, kindle candles & cut the open air (well so called when it seems to strip us of a skin as it blows.) altogether -; the concentrated ill humor of all the good people who are skulking out of office could not be more infectious – ‘Hung be the heavens with black’ they say & alas in this honest Whig atmosphere are they obeyed with Chinese fidelity. But I wont rail a whole page about the weather tis too threadbare a topic for us who have so many topics dressed in their “Sunday-go-to-meeting-best” to discuss. Before rejoicing with you on the down-fall of Loco-focoism (confirmed by today’s news from N. York) I call upon you to rejoice with me (I hardly know either why it is a matter of great rejoicing) on having become, as you rightly guessed, an Aunt! A fact brought by the last steamer! On the 18th of October last this interesting event took place (his Mamma’s birthday for it is a little cockney nephew that has entered this contentious world to remind me how old I am growing.
You had better write a letter of congratulation to Mary! this only by way of inducing you to write at all, a nice little jog to your vanity – but nobody knows better than yourself what amusing & edifying epistles you do, can, & shall write. She was delighted with your last & positively talked [p. 2] of reading some of it to Carlyle (think of that Master Brook!) he might see himself as in a transatlantic mirror – not a cracked one either but somewhat convex which gives such laughable reflections you know à la Cruikshank. She has not yet done it because he would not dine there [crossed out: be] having his time all engrossed she says by ill health & a life of Cromwell he is perpetrating – which note of refusal I have by me sent by her for the autograph. Would’nt you give a crop of your Hyperion locks, or a box of your best cigars, or whatever you hold dearest in this life, a smoking dish of riz au last perhaps, for a glance at the crooked pot-hooks of your beloved high priest of philosophy. I think I will be benevolent enough to attempt a forgery for your satisfaction if you will bottle up for me a dozen of N. Orleans’ softest, most breathable, airs. Perhaps, by the free-masonry of sympathy, you can comprehend this mystical union of Diana & bile which I can only conjecture to mean that his liver suffers from moonlight rambles. Forgive such a common-place interpretation of what may to you open a new world of fact & sentiment. Your ‘Dial’ judgments I liked because they were mine! simple logic but true of most likings.
There is much purity of thought & lofty morality in this Transcendentalism. I think & I dont think either would evaporate, as its disciples seem to, if it had more body to it (like a good wine) to nourish as well as exalt people’s heads & hearts.
They might be called spiritual Grahamites & I should imagine were so in daily life too, for there is no roast-beef smack in these vapory off-spring of green tea & vegetables (excuse this atrocious blurry pen) They remind me of the effervescence of my brain after a fever before solid food had put it in the harness of the reason. Tis a re-action of from this material age & as such must have its little day: in our hard, dry, eye-paining atmosphere it takes the place of the soft, floating medium of an Italian one & as such is not “un-joyful”! That burlesque was not by Tom but by a Northampton man, as well as a still droller one called “Gastric sayings”; “the gridiron globes [p. 3] the baker orbs all things &c. The poetry is, as you say, most miserable – Helicon diluted by weak tea, a sloppy, sickish beverage & not strong enough, like Taunton water, to run down hill. In the way of poetical nourishment I have had such refreshing draughts from two lectures by Mr Dana – our poet - & a genuine one, with a heart which throbs & gushes in all his words, a living spring within a half dead frame. Amidst this mechanical factory of business men - & politicians, buying & selling in machine-like masses, voting & aspiring to a high-water mark all together (of this worlds spirited sea on sand -) the breathings forth of a true, independant [sic] heart & soul – the pulsations of a vitality, as fresh from material contact as if just from the hands of God. are as glad a discovery to a woman nature like mine, sick to death of Harrisonism & Abolitionism & Locofocoism (tho I have given my share of interest & rejoicing to the success of the 1st because it was better than worse) as can be. John the Baptist in the wilderness could not stir & warm the souls of his hope-barren hearers more effectually than was mine the other night on hearing this voice of human-nature. through[h] this chaos of brass & iron & tin nature. Don’t look wild at Mr [???] explosion – this man has not tumbled from heaven suddenly, for he has often aroused before my heart & soul – but lives among us, sneered at by the money-making machine as a “poor creature,” a dreamer, who actually lives as if he thought there was another world, “which they will enter beggars.” I am not extravagantly enthusiastic now I assure you, his last was a magnificent lecture, Coleridge could not have delivered a better; such admirable philosophy & such a lavish luxuriance of true poetry. He spoke from & with his whole heart & it is a genuine one – where the very breeze & sunshine & living harmony of nature abide, with that earth-odour which he, poetically, says the old poets’ verses have. The subject; the influence of society on the poet & vice versa, very intricate psychology but nobly managed, & such Eolian harp-like wailings over their forced disunion – confessions, personal doubtless, of the poet’s longings for sympathy & for the bestowal of his superabundant vitality, not alone into his creations & the shoving back of all such by society – harsh uncongeniality.
[p. 4 bottom] The lack of faith now a days in the delicious illusions & delusions of past times was most eloquently illustrated - & I can give you no idea of the thrill of the audience when looking up with his full sentiment-modulated voice he exclaimed, in the spirit of Isaiah almost: “I looked, & behold [crossed out: all the] there was not a bird in the sky.” This quotation without correction is stupid so I drop the subject. Our lectures open their bouches béautes like lions seeking whom they may devour, but I shall only patronize my friend Dana’s. His son, perhaps you know, has gained great fame by a book of sea experiences among the lovers of facts & longitudes. “He has a much more useful talent than his Father” as an old proser [p. 4 top] said to me when returning from the lecture of the latter, as invigorated as if new blood had been poured into my veins! Tis, manly & simply god like Robinson Crusoe & probably the son will give weight to the Fathers reputation as children think 6 brass cents worth so much more, especially if new ones, than a single silver fourpence! A funny world this & tis a pity some folks cant stick in its mud for g[??] Perhaps they will. Tho it would be rather amusing to see how like lost sheep they would look in another. Monday. I have copied you the Carlyle note & tis so well done I [p. 4 cross] can hardly tell them apart – dont betray me or I should lose my reputation. Today is our election & Father & Tom are depositing their votes. We shall now have peace I hope for it has been like a besieged city here, nightly [pro]cessions with music & illuminated banners, [& p]icturesque, hand kerchiefs from fair hands waved [on b]alconies by moonlight &c
[p. 1 cross] I am much amused at your account of my fame in Cincinnati & shall take care never to go there t’would be such a pity to disenchant it. My vanity is not flattered because it is all for the heroine of H. who is as unlike me as most creations of the fancy transcend flesh & blood. Dont feel bound now to flatter me, ‘cause it’s no use, & I prefer to be, entertained with any thing else. Your letters are too gallant already; dont think because you are writing to a woman she must be dosed with sugar-plums. I hate sweet things – that is, too many of ‘em. Miss Austin would be glad to hear from you – you will see her brother in N. O. who has just left here. I like your imperative “I shall [illegible] the Carneal.” If you say it with such confidence you should have done it before! Good luck to your pleading both with her & your clients. Have you seen the Prof’s last attempt “the Country black smith”? very good especially the children looking in and the daughter singing – I have but just room to say good bye yrs F.E.A.
Addressed: I. A. Jewett Esq. / [crossed out: Columbus. Ohio.] / New Orleans / Lou.
POSTMARK: BOSTON / NOV 10 / MS.
POSTMARK: COLUMBUS / NOV 18 / O.
ENDORSED: ANSD DEC 1ST ‘40

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