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“THE AMERICAN LOUNGER, By Samuel Saunter, Esq. No. 158,” The Port Folio, vol. 1 [series 2] (March 1806), pp. 113–14.
“T.”
On The Port Folio see Neal L. Edgar, A History and Bibliography of American Magazines, 1810–1820 (Metuchen, 1975), pp. 217–20; Harold Milton Ellis, Joseph Dennie and His Circle: A Study in American Literature from 1792–1812 (Austin, 1915); Frank Luther Mott, A History of American Magazines, 1741–1850 (Cambridge, 1938), pp. 223–46; Albert H. Smyth, The Philadelphia Magazines and their Contributors, 1741–1850 (1892; reprinted Freeport, 1970), pp. 92–151.
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MR. SAUNTER,
I AM peculiarly pleased with a passage I have lately met with in that short but interesting account of himself which has been left us by Mr. Hume. After mentioning the neglect with which his first writings were received, and the notice which after some time they excited, he says, “these symptoms of a rising reputation gave me encouragement, as I was ever more disposed to see the favourable than unfavourable side of things; a turn of mind which it is more happy to possess than to be born to an estate of ten thousand a year.”
This is indeed the true practical philosophy, which yields more felicity than any wealth or external distinction; producing in the mind a calm and cheerful serenity, which remains unsubdued by adversity, and derives double comfort from prosperity; and no argument can be stronger to prove its happy influence than the history of that eminent man, whose sentiments I have quoted. His first works fell, as he strongly expresses it, dead born from the press, without attracting even censure. To one so eager for literary distinction, and after long preparation presenting the first fruits of his toil to the world, no event could have been more mortifying; and we owe to that cheerful bent of disposition, which could anticipate success in the midst of disappointment, a history which has rescued the English character from reproach, and has added new lustre to modern literature.
But, for one who could congratulate himself on this disposition, how many have been made wretched merely from a turn of mind contrary to this! The history of literary men, particularly, will afford numerous instances; men of refined minds and ardent imaginations feeling its influence most powerfully. A person of this turn is depressed by the slightest failure or misfortune: every thing wears a dark and gloomy aspect; and he is constantly terrified with evils that have no existence, or dangers altogether imaginary.
It is true that these men do not always continue in this melancholy mood. On the contrary, their minds occasionally receive a contrary impulse: and they are then elevated as much beyond the bounds of moderation as they were before depressed. But, as the evils of life are much more frequent than its joys, the balance upon the whole is much against them; and the raptures which they occasionally feel beyond other men are by no means equivalent to the pains. These flashes of pleasure dart a stronger light; but they only make the subsequent darkness more visible. While that calm and temperate serenity beams with a constancy and moderation, which never exhilarate, but diffuse uniform health and tranquillity.
One remarkable victim to that gloomy turn of mind, which sees only the unfavourable side of things, was the poet Cowper: a writer who, for originality of thought, force and compass of expression, and justness of sentiment, will deserve to be marked in the first class of English poets; yet, as a man, who would be willing to take even his rich endowments of mind with that awful bent of toil that sowed with thorns every footstep of his life, and at last wholly “overthrew his noble mind.”
The productions of most poets are the dreams of fiction, and should we attempt to ascertain their character from their works, we should probably err as widely as the lady who decided on Thomson from his Seasons. But the writings of Cowper are a faithful transcript of his own mind, and they are every where pervaded with that gloomy turn which had seized so strongly on the man.
If so much of the happiness of individuals depend on their turn of mind, if a disposition to view the brighter side be more valuable than the inheritance of fortune or distinction, it were to be wished that writers who are endued with exalted talents, to whom we look up as our sources of amusement or instruction, should exert their powers in giving us rather pleasing than disagreeable views of human life. The temper of an individual who is not distinguished as a teacher, can affect only himself or the immediate circle around him. But the opinions of those who are the instructors of our youth, the companions of age, and the standards of composition, extend through the whole nation, and even to the latest posterity.
I can never therefore read the moral writings of Johnson without imbibing a portion of their gloom and melancholy; a state of mind which, though it may have been eulogized by a Zimmermann or a Madame Roland, is by no means the object of my envy. On the contrary, the essays of Addison operate like a healing balsam to a wound: they soothe every angry passion, lighten our cares, gently raise our spirits, and make us better satisfied with ourselves and the world. Reading the one is like retiring to a thick covert hid in shade and obscurity, where every object becomes ten times more sad and terrific. Perusing the other is like wandering in silent contemplation of the planetary system, where the heart gradually buries all low and petty resentments, and swells with gratitude and admiration at the Creator and his glorious works.
T.