Se?G 
 

 LIBRARY OF CONGRESS. 
 
 UNITED STATES OF AMERICA. 
 
^^^ 
 
JOHN KEESE, 
 
 WIT AND LITTERATEUR 
 
 A BIOGRAPHICAL MEMOIR. 
 
 WILLIAM L. KEESE. 
 
 Op- w 
 
 ^^- --^ 
 
 NEW YORK : ' ^l 
 D. APPLETON AND COMPANY, 
 
 I, 3, AND 5 BOND STREET. 
 1883. 
 

 <'^^ 
 
 COPYRIGHT BY 
 
 WILLIAM L. KEESE. 
 
THIS MEMOIR 
 
 IS 
 
 LOVINGLY INSCRIBED 
 
 TO 
 
 iM Y MOTHER. 
 
PREFACE. 
 
 More than a quarter of a century has passed since 
 the death of the subject of the following pages ; and 
 few, if any, of tiiose who were his intimates in other 
 days are now living. Yet lively traditions of him re- 
 main among the book-selling fraternity, and it has 
 been a matter of regret with many that his name 
 does not appear in any American biographical dic- 
 tionary. 
 
 In August, 1877, the late Evert A. Duyckinck con- 
 tributed to the " Magazine of American History " an 
 appreciative and entertaining paper entitled " Keese 
 ana" — being his recollections of my father — in which 
 he feelingly said that " Keese should not pass out of 
 memory with the recollections of his many friends of 
 the present fleeting generation." This paper was sup- 
 plemented in the same year by a brief sketch by the 
 present writer, in the same periodical; and in 1880 
 the late Henry Morford wrote and published, in the 
 
6 PREFACE. 
 
 magazine bearing his name, a sketch of greater length 
 entitled "John Keese ; his Intimates," etc. These vari- 
 ous writings were, naturally, all more or less of a frag- 
 mentary character, and did not pretend to an extended 
 treatment of their subject. 
 
 The present composition is prepared with material 
 gathered from many sources, and is designed to form 
 a suitable biographical memoir. Surely a man whose 
 life's aim was the diffusion of knowledge ; whose name 
 was identified with many important literary undertak- 
 ings ; and whose fame as an auctioneer was beyond 
 doubt unique — deserves a record more enduring than 
 
 memory. 
 
 W. L. K. 
 
 April, 1883. 
 
MEMOIR. 
 
 John Keese, the subject of the present memoir, 
 was born in the city of New York, November 24, 
 1805, and was the second son of William Keese and 
 Rebecca Linn. His father was a lawyer of reputation, 
 and his license of admission to the bar (now lying 
 before me) bears the signature of James Kent. His 
 mother was a daughter of the Rev. William Linn, 
 D. D., a native of Pennsylvania, one of the most elo- 
 quent divines of his time, first Chaplain of the House 
 of Representatives of the United States, under the 
 Constitution of 1787, and celebrated as a pulpit orator 
 in New York during the last decade of the last century. 
 
 Mr. Keese had reason to be proud of his grand- 
 fathers. John Keese, the father of William Keese, was 
 also by profession a lawyer ; became assistant deputy 
 quartermaster-general on Washington's staff, and was 
 one of the original members of the Society of the 
 Cincinnati. The Rev. William Linn enjoyed the high 
 honor of being chosen to deliver before the Society of 
 the Cincinnati the oration on the death of General 
 Washington, the effort, as it is recorded, " placing him 
 
8 MEMOIR OF 
 
 notably beyond his pulpit compeers of that day." I 
 view it in the light of a striking coincidence that one 
 grandfather should have been a listener to an oration 
 pronounced by the other before the renowned society 
 on so solemn and impressive an occasion ; and I am 
 sure that the grandson ever proudly cherished such 
 honored ancestral memories. 
 
 The bright intelligence of Mr. Keese was early 
 apparent, and it was decided in family council to edu- 
 cate him for the ministry. At his father's death, how- 
 ever, it seemed expedient, if not, indeed, necessary, 
 that he should enter on a mercantile career; and, on 
 being asked his preference in that regard, declared it 
 earnestly for the book business, thus revealing that 
 predilection for letters which led him into the walks 
 of literature ; incited him to persistent self-culture ; 
 gained him the acquaintance and friendship of men of 
 genius ; and proved in the end a consolation for the 
 loss of collegiate honors. 
 
 It may be proper to mention here that a later 
 family conclave decreed that the eldest brother should 
 espouse the Church, and accordingly William Linn 
 Keese became a clergyman of the Episcopal faith, 
 a devoted follower of Christ, an eloquent divine, loved 
 and honored as a man and pastor in the communities 
 where he lived and taught. 
 
 About the year 1823, at the age of eighteen, Mr. 
 Keese entered as clerk the book and publishing house 
 of Collins & Hannay, located in Pearl Street ; and 
 after years of faithful service was admitted to a part- 
 
JOHN KEESE. g 
 
 nership (about 1836), under the new firm-name of Col- 
 lins, Keese & Co., which firm continued until 1842, 
 when it was dissolved by mutual consent. He then 
 formed a co-partnership with James E. Cooley and 
 Horatio Hill, in the book-auction business, under the 
 firm-name of Cooley, Keese & Hill ; and, subsequently, 
 through the retirement of Mr. Hill, Cooley & Keese, 
 which association continued to 1853 o^* 1854, when 
 the firm was dissolved, and Mr. Keese obtained the 
 appointment of Appraiser of Books in the New York 
 Custom-House, which position he filled until his death, 
 his spare evenings being employed, when health per- 
 mitted, in his vocation of aucti(jnecr. A severe bron- 
 chial affection, from which he had long been a sufferer, 
 was the precursor to pulmonary consumption, and of 
 that malady he died on the 30th of May, 1856, at the 
 age of fifty years and six months. 
 
 He married in 1832 Elizabeth Willcts, daughter of 
 Zebulon S. Willets. Nine children were born to them, 
 of whom six and their mother are still living. Three 
 are no more. Jonathan Lawrence, the eldest of the 
 children, died, in the flower of his youth, of a wound 
 received from the accidental discharge of a musket, 
 while a member of the Seventh Regiment, at Camp 
 Cameron, in 1861;* Willets, the third child, perished 
 
 * " On the gth of May, Private J. Lariie Keese, of the Eighth Company, 
 was killed by the accidental discharge of a musket. As this was the first 
 death in the regiment, and Keese was a young man of excellent business, 
 social, and literary abilities, and a general favorite, gloom was cast over the 
 camp. Appropriate resolutions were passed by his comrades, and a sergeant 
 and six men were detailed by the colonel to accompany the remains, in their 
 
lO MEMOIR OF 
 
 by drowning in 1843; and Edmund Willets, the eighth 
 child, died in infancy. 
 
 Throughout his career, Mr. Keese lost no opportu- 
 nity for improving his mind and adding to his in- 
 tellectual resources. The academic education he had 
 received kindled his ambition, while it left him with 
 wistful gaze bent on unexplored regions of knowl- 
 edge ; and he sought in books a consolation for the 
 university curriculum denied him by circumstance. 
 He read almost omnivorously, and the gift of a sin- 
 gularly retentive memory aided essentially in the pro- 
 cess of self-cultivation. Nor did the knowledge thus 
 gained suffer from stagnation. Whatever learning was 
 his, circulated freely. He possessed an imaginative 
 mind ; his perception was acute ; he was " witty and 
 full of invention " ; his taste w^as catholic ; he was 
 eminently companionable, and an admirable conver- 
 sationalist ; and when, subsequently, he was drawn 
 naturally into the society of book-men and men of 
 letters, where there was no lack of mental friction, 
 he contributed his full share to the intellectual com- 
 merce of the hour. He loved to impart whatever he 
 knew of interest or desert; he treasured up good 
 
 metallic coffin, to Brooklyn. In the latter city, imposing and impressive 
 funeral ceremonies were held at Christ Church by Rev. Dr. Canfield, and a 
 throng of five thousand citizens came to pay the last rites of respect to the 
 first of the long list of hero-martyrs that the Seventh Regiment was destined 
 to furnish to the counliy. The cortege, preceded by an escort of the National 
 Guard Reserve Corps and two platoons of the Ninth Regiment, and many 
 military guests, proceeded to Greenwood Cemetery, where Keese was buried 
 with military honors." — (" History of the Seventh Regiment," by William 
 SWINTON, A. M.) 
 
JOHN KEESE. II 
 
 things for his friends; and his fluent speecli was en- 
 riched with illustrations born of his varied and well- 
 remembered reading. In brief, the arms of his mental 
 arsenal were constantly shouldered, aimed, and fired ! 
 Many a man of infinitely greater culture has made 
 less of an impression by his attainments. He was not 
 a man of extensive erudition ; not a classical scholar ; 
 nothing of a linguist. He knew something of the 
 Greek and Latin authors through translations ; in the 
 same way of French and Italian literature ; but there 
 his knowledge in that direction ended. He was, in- 
 deed, familiar with the English classics ; with the 
 great body of English and American literature ; and 
 especially with the poetry of both countries ; but this 
 familiarity was due, not to the studious, painstaking 
 application necessary to form the panopl}'^ of a college 
 professor, but to a loving and appreciative course of 
 reading in hours of leisure. It was not his fault that 
 his mother-wit, his memory, and his intellectual readi- 
 ness, combined, unconsciously to himself, to convey the 
 impression of a scholarship greater than he had the 
 good fortune to possess. 
 
 In 1832 he was a member, and later the "Speaker," 
 of " The Column," a literary association then flourish- 
 ing in the city,* and numbering on its roll many 
 
 * The Column Club still exists, and dined at Pinard's last spring. From 
 an account of the dinner, published in the " New York World " the day 
 after, the following details are extracted ; 
 
 " In the year 1826 twenty young men organized a debating society in this 
 city, which met once a week at the residence of some member of the society. 
 The momentous questions debated were such that, were they now discussed 
 
12 MEMOIR OF 
 
 names that became more or less distinguished — such 
 as Anthony Robertson, Jonathan Nathan, John Gour- 
 he, OHver Strong, and Augustus Schell. A society so 
 congenial to his tastes could not fail to develop his 
 proclivities, while it afforded a field for their exercise; 
 and it was here, no doubt, that his fluency of speech, 
 facility of retort, and sparkling wit, first became ap- 
 parent as clearly defined mental characteristics ; and 
 their recognition speedily advanced him to the speak- 
 ership, and into gratifying popularity. 
 
 The orations and speeches of famous orators and 
 
 in Congress, the United States would be promptly plunged into war with 
 every nation on earth. Each question was put to a vote, and in case of a tie 
 the president at once, by his casting vote, decided, for example, ' whether 
 England was justified or not in incarcerating Napoleon.' Finally, the de- 
 bates became so very animated that no one would allow the club to meet 
 in his private house, and the Rev, Dr. Lyell, rector of Christ Church, then 
 on Anthony Street, now Worth Street, gave them the use of a small room at 
 the back of the church. At that time the church was considered to be almost 
 out of town, so that the eloquent orators could not disturb the quiet of the 
 city. In the center of the room was a column to support the roof, and, as the 
 club had no name, the Rev. Dr. Lyell suggested that it be called the 'Column 
 Club' until the last member passed away. When the church was remodeled, 
 shortly after. Judge Robertson gave the club the use of an attic in his palatial 
 residence on that then fashionable and aristocratic thoroughfare, Leonard 
 Street. The club was then nicknamed the ' Attic Club.' Judge Robertson 
 soon found that he had made a very poor bargain, and drove them out. In 
 1828 they secured the loft of the old sugar-house which stood on the comer 
 of Broadway and Leonard Street, and here for many years subsequently they 
 held forth to their own great satisfaction, but not to the peace of the Common- 
 wealth of New York, Among those who have been foremost in the debates, 
 and who are still in active life among us, are Mr. William M. Evarts, Mr. 
 Hamilton Fish, Mr. Augustus Schell, Mr. John Bigelow, Mr. Edward S. Van 
 Winkle, Mr. John H. Gourlie, Mr. Parke Godwin, Mr. William M. Pritchard, 
 Mr. George B. Butler, Mr. George H. Hoffman, and Dr. Alonzo Clarke, all 
 of whom dined last night at Pinard's, except Mr. Bigelow (who is abroad), and 
 talked over their early days." 
 
JOHN KEESE. J3 
 
 statesmen had a great attraction for him, and he was 
 familiar with all recorded celebrated rhetorical efforts. 
 Many passages of eloquence and beauty he retained 
 in memory, and was never tired of repeating them. 
 How well I remember the first time he recited to 
 mc an extract from the speech of Lord Brougham 
 on law reform, containing the famous antitheses : " It 
 was the boast of Augustus — it formed part of the glare 
 in which the perfidies of his earlier years were lost — 
 that he found Rome of brick, and left it of marble; a 
 praise not unworthy a great prince, and to which the 
 present reign also has its claims. But how much nobler 
 will be the sovereign's boast, when he shall have it to 
 say that he found law dear, and left it cheap ; found it a 
 sealed book — left it a living letter; found it the patri- 
 mony of the rich — left it the inheritance of the poor; 
 found it the two-edged sword of craft and oppression — 
 left it the staff of honesty and the shield of innocence ! " 
 
 Then he loved to recall a striking figure made by 
 Rufus Choate, in an oration he heard him deliver in 
 New York, in which figure the Empire City, com- 
 manding tribute from land and water, was thus finely 
 pictured: Drawing himself to his full height and ex- 
 tending both arms, the orator exclaimed, "With one 
 hand she grasps the teeming harvests of the West, and 
 with the other, like Venice, weds the everlasting sea ! " 
 
 Extracts from the speeches of Chatham, Pitt, Burke, 
 Fox, wSheridan, Grattan, Erskine, Curran, Calhoun, 
 Webster, Clay, he could repeat at will ; and the writer 
 owes many an hour of delightful instruction to ac- 
 
14 MEMOIR OF 
 
 counts, made vivid by quotation, of the efforts of those 
 illustrious men. 
 
 A little volume of the addresses delivered by Dr. 
 Nott, at Union College, to the candidates for the bac- 
 calaureate, was an especial favorite ; and, as now I turn 
 its leaves, his admiration and fondness for those glow- 
 ing and lofty discourses are remembered. I pause to 
 quote the following passage from one of the addresses, 
 as serving to indicate the character of an eloquence 
 that so affected him ; and one can fancy how power- 
 fully swayed must have been the doctor's listeners : 
 
 " I have often, young gentlemen, recommended to 
 you a sacred adherence to truth. I would on this 
 occasion repeat the recommendation, that I may fix it 
 the more indelibly on your hearts. Believe me, when 
 I tell you that on this article you can never be too 
 scrupulous. Truth is one of the fairest attributes of 
 Deity. It is the boundary which sepai-ates vice from 
 virtue — the line which divides heaven from hell. It 
 is the chain which binds the man of integrity to the 
 throne of God, and, like the God to whose throne it 
 binds him, till this chain is dissolved, his word may 
 be relied on. Suspended on this, 3^our property, your 
 reputation, your life, are safe. But against the malice 
 of a liar there is no security. He can be bound by 
 nothing. His soul is already repulsed to an immeas- 
 urable distance from that Divinity a sense of whose 
 presence is the security of virtue. He has sundered 
 the last of those moral ligaments which bind a mortal 
 to his duty. And having done so, through the ex- 
 
JOHN KEESE. I 5 
 
 tended region of fraud and falsehood, without a bond 
 to check or a limit to confine him, he ranges, the 
 dreaded enemy of innocence ; whose lips pollute even 
 truth itself as it passes through them, and whose breath, 
 like the pestilential mists of hades, blasts, and soils, 
 and poisons as it touches." 
 
 He greatly admired the speeches made by Kossuth, 
 during his visit as the guest of the nation in 185 1 ; and 
 I seem to hear his enthusiastic praise of the patriot's 
 eloquence, so clear is the recollection of how it stirred 
 and impressed him. 
 
 As in those of prose, Mr. Keese was as rich in 
 treasures of poetry. His memory was stored with 
 gems of verse, easily summoned to embellish a speech, 
 to supply a poetic image, to furnish an instance of 
 beauty, and to entertain.* 
 
 He was fond of reciting to his children, and I well 
 remember the effect produced by his recitation in the 
 family circle one evening of Byron's " Prisoner of Chil- 
 
 * The late Mr. Henry Morford, in an appreciative sketch published in 
 1880, refers as follows to Mr. Keese's entertaining versatility: "Not second 
 even to Mr. Keese's wit, in the ordinary understanding of that word, was his 
 really wondrous talent for improvisation. At no time did it seem difficult for 
 him to take up magazine or newspaper, and read from it a page or column, 
 not one word of which existed in print, and yet so perfect in composition that 
 no one could fail to be deceived until after-examination of the sheet showed 
 the trick ; and what could go nearer to the very highest honors claimed for 
 the Italian improvisatores? His reading aloud was almost as mai"vclous as 
 the last accomplishments named. Nearly forty years have not dimmed, 
 in the mind of the writer, the recollection of having first heard him read 
 Longfellow's ' Skeleton in Armor,' then just published, the ' Ancient Mari- 
 ner,' ' Christabel,' and some of the finer passages of Shelley, Scott, Byron, 
 and others of the English classics." 
 
1 6 MEMOIR OF 
 
 Ion " — our first acquaintance with that fascinating poem. 
 
 All through — the description of the brothers ; the one 
 
 whose 
 
 "... soul wTS of that mold 
 Which in a palace had grown cold, 
 Had his free breathing been denied 
 The range of the steep mountain's side" — 
 
 and he 
 
 "... the favorite and the flower, 
 Most cherished since his natal hour, 
 His mother's image in fair face. 
 The infant love of all his race " — 
 
 their death, and the last brother's agony and swoon — 
 the lovely bird that came to his grated window — the 
 slow-dragging years : 
 
 "At last men came to set me free, 
 I asked not why, and recked not where ; 
 It was at length the same to me. 
 Fettered or fetterless to be — 
 I learned to love despair " — 
 
 all this, the pathos and eloquence of the narrative, 
 affected us in no small degree, and many succeeding 
 weeks found me engaged in committing the poem to 
 memory. 
 
 There was another poem he used to recite to us, 
 and we shall never forget the effect it produced. It 
 was the story of a poor, half-witted boy, who lived 
 alone with his mother, a widow. She died, and he 
 
JOHN KEESE. 1 7 
 
 followed silently when she was borne to the grave. 
 Left there, and incapable of realizing the fact of death, 
 he opens the grave, bears home the corse, kindles 
 anew the fire, and endeavors to reanimate the lifeless 
 form. This poem we often listened to, and I once 
 wrote it down from memory ; but was never sure of 
 my recollection. I could never find it in any book of 
 selections, and never knew who was the author. Some 
 years ago, I encountered it for the first time in print, 
 in Forney's " Anecdotes of Public Men," as having 
 been recited by Edwin Forrest with surpassing effect 
 at a gathering of friends in Mr. Forney's rooms at 
 Washington, some time between the years i860 and 
 1 87 1. Mr. Forney says, in alluding to Forrest's splen- 
 did contribution to the evening's entertainment, " But 
 nothing that he did will be remembered longer than 
 the manner in which he recited ' The Idiot Boy,' a 
 production up to that time unknown to everybody 
 in the room except Forrest and myself, and to me 
 only because I heard him repeat it seven years be- 
 fore." 
 
 Forney, having heard Forrest repeat it seven years 
 prior to the occasion quoted (probably 1861), would 
 make his knowledge of it date from 1854; but I re- 
 member hearing the poem from my father long before 
 that, so it was not unknown to him. And now, since 
 so much has been said about a composition that cer- 
 tainly was distinguished by association, it may be of 
 interest to our readers to see it for themselves. I 
 copy the verses as given by Colonel Forney : 
 
MEMOIR OF 
 
 THE IDIOT BOY. 
 
 It had pleased God to form poor Ned 
 
 A thing of idiot mind, 
 Yet, to the poor, unreasoning boy, 
 
 God had not been unkind. 
 
 Old Sarah loved her helpless child, 
 Whom helplessness made dear ; 
 
 And he was everything to her, 
 Who knew no hope or fear. 
 
 She knew his wants, she understood 
 
 Each half-articulate call. 
 For he was everything to her, 
 
 And she to him was all. 
 
 And so for many a year they lived. 
 
 Nor knew a wish beside ; 
 But age at last on Sarah came, 
 
 And she fell sick — and died. 
 
 He tried in vain to waken her, 
 He called her o'er and o'er ; 
 
 And, when they told him she was dead, 
 The words no import bore. 
 
 They closed her eyes and shrouded her. 
 While he stood wondering by, 
 
 And, when they bore her to the grave, 
 He followed silently. 
 
JOHN KEESE. 
 
 They laid her in the narrow house, 
 They sang the funeral stave ; 
 
 And, when the funeral train dispersed, 
 He lingered by that grave. 
 
 The rabble boys, that used to jeer 
 Whene'er they saw poor Ned, 
 
 Now stood and watched him by the grave, 
 And not a word they said. 
 
 They came and went and came again. 
 
 Till night at last came on ; 
 Yet still he lingered by the grave 
 
 Till every one had gone. 
 
 And when he found himself alone, 
 
 He swift removed the clay; 
 Then raised the coffin up in haste, 
 
 And bore it swift away. 
 
 He bore it to his mother's cot, 
 
 And laid it on the floor, 
 And with the eagerness of joy 
 
 He barred the cottage door. 
 
 Then out he took his mother's corpse, 
 
 And placed it in a chair; 
 And soon he heaped the hearth and made 
 
 The kindling fire with care. 
 
 He had put his mother in her chair, 
 
 And in its wonted place, 
 And then he blew the fire, which shone, 
 
 Reflected in her face. 
 
 19 
 
20 MEMOIR OF 
 
 And, pausing now, her hand would feel, 
 
 And then her face behold : 
 " Why, mother, do you look so pale, 
 
 And why are you so cold ? " 
 
 It had pleased God from the poor wretch 
 
 His only friend to call ; 
 Yet God was kind to him, and soon 
 
 In death restored him all. 
 
 I have preserved a record of a booksellers' dinner — 
 a " complimentary entertainment by the booksellers of 
 New York to authors and other literary and distin- 
 guished men " — given at the City Hotel, March 30, 1837. 
 This was over forty-five years ago, and few, if any, in- 
 deed, of the company then met are now living. Yet 
 there may be descendants of some of them who will feel 
 an interest in a scene where names familiar and dear to 
 them appear. 
 
 David Felt presided on the occasion, assisted by 
 Fletcher Harper and others as vice-presidents ; George 
 Dearborn, a well-known publisher, officiated as master- 
 of-ceremonies, and Mr. Keese as toast-master. He had 
 then been of the firm of Collins, Keese & Co. for more 
 than a year, and his genial qualities had gained him 
 many friends among the booksellers and publishers of 
 New York and elsewhere. 
 
 Among the entertainers and guests were Albert 
 Gallatin, Chancellor Kent, Colonel Trumbull, Washing- 
 ton Irving, William CuUen Bryant, Fitz-Greene Halleck, 
 Rev. Orville Dewey, James K. Paulding, William L. 
 
JOHN KEESE. 21 
 
 Stone, Harrison Gray, James Harper, Charles King, 
 Major Noah, Philip Hone, John W. Francis, Lewis Gay- 
 lord Clark, George P. Morris, Edgar A. Poe, Richard 
 Adams Locke, George P. Putnam, Henry Inman, J. G. 
 Chapman, and many others. 
 
 The opening address, previous to introducing the 
 regular toasts, was delivered by Mr. Keese ; and, in the 
 course of it, he spoke with much feeling of the occasion 
 which had brought them together, and of the fraternal 
 relation between author and publisher, which it was de- 
 signed to foster and maintain for mutual benefit. Glanc- 
 ing at the progress of American literature, and viewing 
 the animating prospect of the future, he said : " When 
 we survey the geographical position of these United 
 States — when we behold our vast region bounded by no 
 diversity of language, and all its borders teeming with a 
 reading community — we discover a wide field for the 
 transmission of the literature of our countrymen. No 
 nation on the face of the earth displays such peculiar 
 advantages for the circulation and consumption of intel- 
 lectual produce." 
 
 The following extract, in which Cooper, Kent, Irv- 
 ing, and Halleck were happily alluded to, was received 
 with enthusiasm : " Sir, it is a well-known fact that the 
 publishers in our principal cities have justlv and mu- 
 nificently appreciated the intellect of our land, and her 
 sons have shared largely with the bookseller in the 
 profits derived from their literar}^ labors. The histori- 
 cal and creative genius of one w^ho is not inaptly termed 
 ^ our pioneer oi mind'; the commentaries of our Ameri- 
 
22 MEMOIR OF 
 
 can Blackstone ; the splendid sketches of our oivn par- 
 ticular son (who, greeted with the incense of foreign 
 praise, has brought back to us a heart untraveled and a 
 love for home), together with the works of gifted minds 
 in every department of science, poesy, and fiction, all 
 attest the liberality and enterprise of American publish- 
 ers. We desire still further to explore the mind where 
 mental ore lies buried, to awaken shimbering genius, 
 and to call into active exercise the dormant energy and 
 shrinking talent of our young and much-loved land. 
 Why sleeps the Muse of Drake's twin-brother bard? 
 Why comes not he forth with fairy wand to silence the 
 scribblers of the day ? Who among us would not es- 
 teem it a high honor to be his publisher, and to issue his 
 beautiful creations in a guise as beautiful as the taste of 
 our best artisans can exhibit? " * 
 
 The speech of the evening, in weight and impor- 
 tance, was delivered by William L. Stone, then senior 
 of the editorial corps in New York city, in response to 
 the toast of " The periodical press." It was noteworthy 
 for its wealth of statistical information respecting book- 
 publication, as well as for its vigorous and felicitous dic- 
 tion. A vein of scholarly erudition ran through it, 
 and occasional touches of sprightly and fanciful humor 
 saved it from any approach to prosiness. 
 
 There were speeches by Harrison Gray, James Har- 
 per, Charles King, Major Noah, Matthew L. Davis, 
 
 * Three years later, Mr. Keese made good his wish to present the pro- 
 ductions of American mind, by the issue of his " Poets of America," " in a 
 guise as beautiful " as the compilation deserved. 
 
JOHN KEESE. 23 
 
 Chancellor Kent, Philip Hone, John W. Francis, Wash- 
 ington Irving, and James K. Paulding. 
 
 It may amuse a later generation of Franklin Square 
 publishers to read the pleasant little speech made by one 
 of their ancestors ; and I hope they will enjoy it as much 
 as his listeners did in 1837. In response to the toast, 
 " The booksellers of New York," Mr. James Harper, 
 being long and loudly called for, finally rose and ob- 
 served : That he was at a loss to know why he 
 should be singled out to respond to the compliment, as 
 there were many of the trade present greatly his sen- 
 iors. Besides, it was well known to his brethren that he 
 was no orator — that it was entirely out of his line to 
 make speeches — that he was simply a humble maker of 
 books, and that this alone was his profession. Therefore, 
 although the subject and the occasion were of a highly 
 prolific character, still he should not attempt a speech 
 on the occasion — for, if he should, he would assuredly 
 find himself in the dilemma of a certain Massachusetts 
 orator, who, while addressing a public assembly, unfor- 
 tunately lost the thread of his discourse, and, hesitating 
 to recover his lost ideas, was addressed from the gallery 
 by a raw country lad, "/ say, Mister, I guess yoii re stuck.'' 
 "And, Mr. President " (added Mr. Harper, after a pause), 
 " so am I ! " 
 
 Matthew L. Davis, in the course of a few remarks, 
 said that being one of the oldest of those present who 
 had been engaged in the manufacture of books, he recol- 
 lected some interesting facts in the progress of the art ; 
 and mentioned as a remarkable contrast to its extent at 
 
24 
 
 MEMOIR OF 
 
 that day, that about twenty years back, when an edition 
 of Brown's " Commentary on the Bible " was projected 
 in New York, the Legislature of the State passed, in both 
 branches, a resolution recommending public patronage 
 to the immense undertaking. 
 
 The speech of Dr. Francis called forth the warmest 
 plaudits. It was full of humorous suggestion, and emi- 
 nently characteristic of the man. 
 
 Washington Irving, in proposing the health of Sam- 
 uel Rogers, the banker-poet, referred to a letter he had 
 received the previous day from Mr. Rogers, acknowl- 
 edging the receipt of a volume of Halleck's poems, and 
 speaking of them in the highest terms. Of " Marco 
 Bozzaris " and "Alnwick Castle," " They are better than 
 anything we can do just now on our side of the Atlan- 
 tic," said Rogers. 
 
 Letters were read from Fenimore Cooper, Nicholas 
 Biddle, Edward Everett, Daniel Webster, Noah Web- 
 ster, Gulian C. Verplanck, and many others. 
 
 Some of the toasts and sentiments were as follow : 
 
 From Noah Webster : " May booksellers honorably 
 rival each other in the sale of good books, and may good 
 books find or make good readers and good citizens I " 
 
 From N. P. Willis: "The republic of letters — in 
 which all who speak the same language are com- 
 patriots, and should reciprocate protection and kind 
 feeling." 
 
 By Lewis Gaylord Clark : " Protection to home 
 manufactures, whether of the hands or of the intellect." 
 
 By Edgar A. Poe : " The monthlies of Gotham — 
 
JOHN KEESE. 25 
 
 their distinguished editors and their vigorous collabora- 
 tors." 
 
 By Fletcher Harper : " Booksellers — generous indi- 
 viduals, who kindly assist authors to obtain an immor- 
 tality in which they themselves do not participate." 
 
 By George P. Putnam : '' The female intellects of 
 our country — brilliant luminaries in its literary hori- 
 zon." 
 
 By John Keese : *' The memory of Cadmus, the first 
 postboy. He carried letters from Phoenicia to Greece." 
 
 Such was the occasion, interesting and memorable for 
 those who participated in it so long ago, and it seems an 
 old story to revive and print in this present year of 
 grace. Yet there is a charm in any record of the past 
 which bears the names of those who dying left an 
 honored memory, or a rich legacy in their works ; and 
 as the gatherings of authors and men of letters have 
 yielded haunting pages of literary history, so may this 
 " Booksellers' Dinner " prove a w^elcomc leaf, though 
 pressed for so many years. 
 
 I confess, however, at the same time, to a wish to 
 show the society and association enjoyed by JNIr. Keese 
 at this period, and to hint at the advantages and oppor- 
 tunities offered by such acquaintance and connections 
 for social and commercial advancement. He profited 
 greatly thereby ; and that he was not unworthy of the 
 friendships then begun, the continuance of the relation 
 in sympathy and regard for long years thereafter suffi- 
 ciently assures me. 
 
 Mr. Keese was a genuine Gothamite. He loved 
 
26 MEMOIR OF 
 
 New York as Sydney Smith loved London. It was the 
 field par excellence for the development of social instinct, 
 for intellectual expansion, and for interchange of ideas. 
 The city's march in improvement and extent he watched 
 with constant interest, and in her growing greatness felt 
 a becoming pride. Yet his " down-town " apprentice- 
 ship had familiarized him with the old landmarks, and 
 their effacement, consequent upon metropolitan advance, 
 tinged his pride with regret at the loss of historic sig- 
 nificance. I now recall how at a later date, when the 
 question of opening a street through Trinity Church- 
 yard was agitated, this feeling found expression in the 
 following lines from a poem of local character, written 
 for a literary society in which he was interested : 
 
 *' The ancient grave-yard where our fathers sleep, 
 Thus far's resisted innovation's sweep ; 
 But sacrilegious hands would fain deface 
 The sacred soil that marks their resting-place. 
 The untutored Indian lingers by the mound ; 
 His father's grave is consecrated ground ; 
 And where old Trinity its grandeur rears, 
 Lies holy dust, hallowed by many tears. 
 Here sleeps the Sailor from whose dying lip 
 Fell words immortal — ' Don't give up the ship ! ' 
 The dust of Hamilton reposes near ; 
 New York's gray veterans are buried here ; 
 Statesmen and warriors, holy men of God, 
 Manhattan's matrons, sleep beneath that sod. 
 Genius has hallowed many a moldering stone ; 
 Here slept the patriot when his work was done ; 
 
JOHN KEESE. 2/ 
 
 Many lie here who welcomed freedom's birth — 
 
 Oh, spare their graves ! — 'tis consecrated earth ; 
 
 Sacred from aught, save where the evening breeze 
 
 Sighs a sad requiem through swaying trees ; 
 
 Sacred from sound, save where the deep-toned bell 
 
 O'er clustering graves repeats their funeral-knell, 
 
 Or calls the living to those early times 
 
 When those who rest there listened to those chimes. 
 
 Oh, let not Mammon's specious hands improve 
 
 A soil embalmed with tears of faith and love ! 
 
 Let the world see that here there are some spots 
 
 Too sacred and too dear for ' building-lots.' 
 
 Let Speculation take another range, 
 
 Nor sell our fathers' bones at the Exchange ! " 
 
 Mr. Keese was passionately fond of the drama, and 
 witnessed the acting of all the great artists of his time. 
 In early days, when clerking it on a modest salary, he 
 often dispensed with a meal that he might have the 
 wherewithal to buy a seat in the pit of the Old Park, 
 during the engagement of Edmund Kean on his second 
 visit to America in 1825. All the renowned actors 
 whose names are associated with the "palmy days" of 
 that famous theatre, he saw, and his recollections of 
 their performances were vivid and interesting. He 
 possessed a no small degree of mimetic power, and 
 often entertained a social circle with imitations of 
 celebrated actors, simulating voice, gesture, and method 
 with surprising accuracy. A favorite effort was the 
 tent-scene in "Richard III," after the manner of Kean, 
 and it was thought to be a close approach to the style 
 
28 MEMOIR OF 
 
 of the great tragedian. His admiration for Kean was 
 boundless, and he was never tired of talking about him, 
 and of describing the impression his acting produced 
 on himself and others. He declared that he was so 
 affected by the curse in Lear, that Kean's countenance 
 — his trembling, imprecatory hands — for days after, 
 were constantly before his eyes like a vision. 
 
 An instance of the imitative faculty spoken of created 
 an amusing scene in the auction-room one evening, and 
 I will introduce it here. The incident is related by 
 Laurence Hutton, in his volume of " Plays and Players," 
 and I give it in his own words : 
 
 " Of John Keese, a well-known auctioneer in New 
 York during the past generation, the following auction- 
 room story is still told : At a book- sale here during the 
 first great ' Hunchback ' excitement, while the Kembles 
 were nightly appearing in the play, Mr. Keese knocked 
 down two volumes to the bid of a mild little gentleman, 
 who, upon being asked his name, rephed faintly and 
 frightenedly, 'Clifford!' Immediately striking the fa- 
 mihar attitude, Mr. Keese exclaimed, * 'Tis CHfford's 
 voice, if ever Clifford spoke ! ' and, after the storm of 
 laughter which followed had subsided, and as the quiet 
 gentleman, very much disconcerted, was hurrying from 
 the room, he added, with all the pathetic intensity of 
 Miss Kemble herself, 'Clifford, why dont you speak to 
 me ? ' 
 
 " The sale was interrupted for many minutes. There 
 was, perhaps, hardly a man in the room who was not 
 as familiar with the tone and style of Miss Kemble, and 
 
JOHN KEESE. 29 
 
 with that particular scene in the play, as was Mr. Keese ; 
 and the applause he received was as hearty as ever en- 
 couraged the best Jiilia on the professional stage. Clif- 
 ford never called to claim his books." 
 
 Mr. Keese would have made an excellent actor; and 
 his dramatic aptitude and fondness for the stage led 
 him sometimes to take part in private theatricals. One 
 of those occasions may be briefl}' referred to. It was 
 when an amateur representation of " The Rivals " was 
 given, forty years ago, at New Brighton, Staten Island 
 — then the city's most fashionable summer resort — by 
 ladies and gentlemen of New York society, or, to borrow 
 the phrase of the newspaper report, " by the fair daugh- 
 ters and wits of Gotham." 
 
 Private theatricals at that time were something of a 
 novelty, and it was well known that unusual prepara- 
 tions had been made to present the comedy with becom- 
 ing and artistic fitness. The progress of rehearsal had 
 kindled anticipation, and the gay party at " The Pavil- 
 ion " were in a flutter of excitement and delight at what 
 promised to be in all respects the crowning event of the 
 season. 
 
 At last the evening came, and with it a goodly host 
 of friends and acquaintances from the metropolis. The 
 spacious saloon of " The Pavilion " had been prepared 
 and dressed for the occasion, and exhibited to the admir- 
 ing audience a bewitching scene of refined and elegant 
 adornment. Music, light, and fragrance contributed to 
 augment the charm. 
 
 The affair was a complete success, and elicited enthu- 
 
30 
 
 MEMOIR OF 
 
 siastic plaudits. I can not vouch for the acting, but it 
 was reported to have been excellent at all points. It is 
 to be hoped that it was so, since the late Henry Placide, 
 that rare comedian, was among the attentive auditors. 
 
 '* At the fall of the curtain," says a record of the en- 
 tertainment, '' the audience, consisting of nearly five 
 hundred persons, composed of the wealth, fashion, and 
 beauty of New York, ' called out ' the performers, who 
 bowed their acknowledgments. Sir Lucius O ' Trigger (Mr. 
 Keese), however, was called on for a speech, and accord- 
 ingly made the following appropriate remarks : ' On my 
 conscience, ladies and gentlemen, I appear before you 
 with more than my usual modest diffidence ; for, although 
 I see around me roses and tulips, blooming in parterres, 
 we can boast too of one " sweet Dalia " behind the cur- 
 tain, that, by my own blushes, would rival the brightest 
 carnation among you. Most gratefully do I thank you, 
 ladies and gentlemen, for the kind countenance and 
 patient attention you have given to our amateur efforts 
 this evening ; and, although we have not been entirely 
 " absolute " in our perfection, nor perhaps merited the 
 kindness and consideration of such "acres" of friends, 
 on my faith, we will never cease to be " Rivals." 
 
 He never lost his interest in the drama ; and, indeed, 
 it was given a new lease of life when, after William E. 
 Burton established himself in Chambers Street, he be- 
 came acquainted with that great actor. His old-time 
 friend, the late lamented James T. Fields, in his pathetic 
 sketch of reminiscence,* bore him thus in memory : 
 
 * "Then." " Harper's Magazine," August, 1881. 
 
JOHN KEESE. 3 1 
 
 " Then John Keese, good-natured, merry soul, intro- 
 duced us to Mr. Manager Mitchell and pretty Mary 
 Taylor, behind the scenes at the small Olympic." 
 
 I now come to an important period in my father's 
 career — that of editorship. It has been said that he was 
 an ardent lover of poetry. The English poets he had 
 read and was familiar with, and many of them had been 
 subjects of diligent and appreciative study. His tena- 
 cious memory garnered as he read, and to the end of his 
 life those rich resources were his to draw upon at any 
 moment. And now a warm interest in the progress of 
 American poetry awoke within him, and a survey of the 
 garden of native song allured him to the loving task of 
 gathering a garland of its fllowers. 
 
 The first volume of the " Poets of America " was pub- 
 lished in 1840. Edgar A. Poe, who, whatever may have 
 been his faults in a critical capacity, and despite his ran- 
 corous tendency, was certainly competent to pass upon 
 such a work, sa)'s, in his review of " Mr. Griswold and 
 the Poets," after noticing the respective collections of 
 Kettell, Cheever, Morris, and Bryant : " Mr. Keese suc- 
 ceeded much better. He brought to his task, if not the 
 most rigorous impartiality, at least a fine taste, a sound 
 judgment, and a more thorough acquaintance with our 
 poetical literature than had distinguished either of his 
 predecessors." 
 
 The lack of "rigorous impartiality" may have been 
 owing to the fact that many of the writers whose names 
 gave luster to the volume were held in personal esteem ; 
 
32 
 
 MEMOIR OF 
 
 and friendly feeling, possibly, in a measure swayed the 
 judgment ; but, in any view, the compilation was really 
 the first repository that could lay claim to being dis- 
 tinctly representative of native poetry, presented in an 
 attractive form. " American poetry," says the editor's 
 preface, " has hitherto been little more than a happy 
 accident, and seems to have arisen in spite of the prac- 
 tical tendencies of our country and the prosaic character 
 of our time. ... It has usually come before the public 
 eye in small, detached portions, with slight pretension to 
 permanence in the form of its publication, and has been 
 rescued from speedy oblivion only by its own beauty 
 and power. The genius of the artist and the liberality 
 of the publisher have done far too little toward pre- 
 senting in an attractive shape and with due advan- 
 tages the finest productions of our poets. We have left 
 our pearls unstrung. We have made few attempts to 
 heighten the brilliancy of our gems by the beauty of 
 their setting." 
 
 No one will doubt the truth of these words who will 
 consider for a moment how the popular taste for many 
 years past has come to regard illustrations as an almost 
 indispensable adjunct to collections of poetry ; and that 
 publishers are as truly alive to the importance of pic- 
 torial embellishment as they are to that of the text it 
 adorns. It was, then, prophetic forecast to discern the 
 needed element. The reading public was quick to rec- 
 ognize the delicate and graceful creations of the artist's 
 pencil in " The Poets of America," and the work in two 
 series passed through several editions, universally com- 
 
JOHN KEESE. 33 
 
 mended by the press, and admired by all lovers of 
 poetry. * 
 
 The " Poetical Remains " of Miss Lucy Hooper, a 
 young and gifted poetess of Brooklyn, in whose career 
 
 * The following editorial, under the heading of " Our Poets Forty-three 
 Years ago," appeared in the Boston " Evening Transcript " of March i, 18S2 : 
 
 " It is worth while sometimes to look back on our past and sec what it 
 promised ; then to return to the present and see how those promises have 
 been kept. In the realm of poetry, many have been realized, exceeding the 
 most sanguine expectations of the author's best friends. We have before us 
 a book bound in a fine, old-fashioned elegance, entitled ' The Poets of 
 America : illustiated by one of her Painters,' edited by John Keese, and 
 copyrighted by Samuel Colman, of New York, in 1839. I" ^''^ preface the 
 editor says : ' American poetry has hitherto been little more than a happy 
 accident, and seems to have arisen in spite of the practical tendencies of our 
 country and the prosaic character of our time. It has been produced mostly 
 by minds devoted to sterner studies, and in brief intervals of leisure snatched 
 from more engrossing toils. The intellectual energy of our land has as yet 
 consecrated itself, perhaps too exclusively, to the mighty work of preparing 
 a spacious home for the thronging multitudes of our population, and building 
 up for their protection a great national polity. The main part of our poet- 
 ical literature, therefore, has been occasional and fugitive. It has usually 
 come before the public eye in small, detached portions, with slight pretension 
 to permanence in the form of its publication, and has been rescued from 
 speedy oblivion only by its own beauty and power. ... Of the literary char- 
 acter of this work it is not necessary that the editor should speak. He 
 has sought to present, in a fitting form, some of the finest specimens — the 
 true spirit of American poetry ; and, if he has not failed in his attempt, the 
 volume surely is worthy of perusal and preservation. He commends it, then, 
 to the library and the boudoir. He trusts that the bright glance of the beau- 
 tiful and the accomplished will always rest upon its pages with pleasure, and 
 that even the sobriety of scholarship and the sternness of criticism will some- 
 times kindle into the enthusiasm of praise.' 
 
 "The birthday of our poet Longfellow brought this old book to mind, as 
 he was one of those complimented by two selections in the eighty-eight 
 'specimens' from sixty-one different authors, a list of whom we annex. It 
 will be a curiosity to many of our readers, and to many call up some pre- 
 cious memories : 
 
 " Allston, Bry.mt, Brooks, Barker, Burr, Bird, Cutter, Clarke, Drake 
 Davidson, Dana, Doane, Dawes, Dinnies, Daponte, Everett, Ellet, Embur}% 
 3 
 
34 
 
 MEMOIR OF 
 
 he had taken a warm interest, were gathered and pub- 
 lished with a memior in 1842 ; and the volume gained 
 an added and tender grace in bearing the sweet and 
 loving tribute of Whittier, commencing — 
 
 " They tell me, Lucy, thou art dead — 
 
 That all of thee we loved and cherished 
 Has with thy summer roses perished ; 
 
 And left, as its young beauty fled, 
 
 An ashen memory in its stead ! 
 
 Cold twilight of a parted day." 
 
 And ending — 
 
 *'A11 lovely things by thee beloved 
 
 Shall whisper to our hearts of thee. 
 These green hills where thy childhood roved, 
 
 Yon river winding to the sea — 
 The sunset light of autumn eves 
 
 Reflecting on the deep, still floods, 
 Cloud, crimson sky, and trembling leaves 
 
 Of rainbow-tinted woods — 
 These, in our view, shall henceforth take 
 A tenderer meaning for thy sake, 
 And all thou loved'st of earth and sky 
 Seem sacred to thy memory ! " 
 
 In 1843 the poems of Elizabeth Oakes-Smith ap- 
 peared under his editorship ; and he wisely supple- 
 Fay, Gould, Oilman, Halleck, Hale, Holmes, Hillhouse, Hoffman, Irving, 
 Longfellow, Leggett, Lawrence, M'Lellan, Moore, Mitchell, Mellen, Nor- 
 ton, Neal, Percival, Peabody, Pierpont, Pinkney, Prentice, Pickering, Pauld- 
 ing, Rockwell, Sprague, Sutermeister, Sigourney, Simms, Sands, Smith, 
 Street, Sargent, Tuckerman, Timrod, Woodworth, Wilcox, Willis, Wilde, 
 Whittier, Wells." 
 
JOHN KEESE. 35 
 
 merited his preface with a sketch of " Major Jack 
 Downing- " (the husband of the poetess), by John Neal, 
 and an analysis of Mrs. Smith's genius and character, by 
 Henry T. Tuckerman ; thus bringing- into general notice 
 the Hterary procHvities and achievements of both writ- 
 ers, and winning for them immediate and appreciative 
 regard. It was characteristic of him to do this, for he 
 constantly sought,, not only to encourage the efforts of 
 laudable ambition, but to aid substantially in the recog- 
 nition and the circulation of its fruits. Many a despond- 
 ent author in those days was cheered and comforted 
 by his generous sympathy ; and, while still he recom- 
 mended patience, he encouraged hope and would not 
 entertain despair. In this same year he suffered his first 
 domestic bereavement, in the death of his third child, a 
 noble boy of five years. Playing with some companions 
 on the pier near the South Ferry, at the foot of Atlantic 
 Street, he accidentally fell into the river, and was 
 drowned before succor could reach him. 
 
 "Spring was unfolding like his own fresh life. 
 When from the bosom of parental love, 
 And boyhood's merry sports, an instant's strife 
 Bore him all stainless to a home above."* 
 
 Out of the feeling engendered by this visitation of 
 sorrow grew the little offering of sympathy called " The 
 Mourner's Chaplet," a collection of American elegiac 
 poems, carefully chosen for their consolatory spirit, pub- 
 lished the following year. In the same year appeared 
 
 " The Early Called," by Henry T. Tuckerman. 
 
36 MEMOIR OF 
 
 the first of his annuals—" The Wintergreen " — and it 
 was probably about that time that he was also engaged 
 in furnishing a large portion of the text for the quarto 
 " North American Scenery, from Drawings by White- 
 field." In 1846 he published " The Opal, a Pure Gift for 
 the Holidays " ; and its popularity induced the prepara- 
 tion of a second volume in 1847. "The Forest Legen- 
 dary," a collection of metrical tales of the North Amer- 
 ican woods, appeared in 1848; and his gift-book, " The 
 Floral Keepsake," in 1850. This completes the list of 
 publications edited by Mr. Keese ; and, although not a 
 formidable one, it was much to have accomplished un- 
 der pressure of business, which, far from ceasing with 
 the day, demanded frequent nightly service. Viewed in 
 no sense as origifial productions, the various works cited 
 were, at least, so many evidences of good taste, literary 
 discrimination, and a thoughtful consideration of the 
 claims of genius ; and there is something highly merito- 
 rious in the fact that all this painstaking labor was in 
 obedience to an impulse to exalt our literature, and in 
 dedication to the cause of refined culture. The educa- 
 tion of the community always seemed to him a prime 
 desideratum. He believed in the Baconian notion that 
 knowledge is power ; and it gave him the greatest sat- 
 isfaction, at a later period of his life, to make public ex- 
 pression of his views in that regard, which he did in a 
 lecture on " The Influence of Knowledge," delivered at 
 the New York Tabernacle, in 1852. 
 
 The late Evert A. Duyckinck was of opinion that, 
 had not my father been closely attached to the book busi- 
 
JOHN KEESE. 37 
 
 ness from his youth, he would probably have been an 
 author.' He certainly might have been a creator and 
 worker in some department of literature ; but I can not 
 say that he was organized for systematic and sustained 
 intellectual fulfillment. He would have been perspica- 
 cious as a critical essayist, admirable as a book-re- 
 viewer, expert and felicitous as a writer of vers de soci- 
 dte ; fertile in literary expedients, he might have made a 
 successful journalist ; but his mind was too alert and 
 eager for the restraints of patient authorship. It was so 
 much easier for him to talk than to write ! He was a 
 man of society ; and what he said there, on the spur of 
 the moment, drawn forth or suggested by the turns of 
 conversation, was so much better and brighter than any- 
 thing he could have produced by deliberation, that it is 
 a question whether in subjection to imposed discipline 
 he would not have lost in freshness and spontaneity. All 
 things considered, I feel that his part was well taken, 
 and I believe that no regret tinged his thought in any 
 silent hour of retrospection. 
 
 He never, that I am aware of, made any attempt to 
 collect his fugitive poems for publication. They were 
 few in number and widely scattered. But, if all the 
 jests, epigrams, and impromptu verses, that were his, 
 and all the sonnets, valentines, dedicatory poems, etc., 
 etc., written for friends, for years and years, should 
 be printed, they would make a portly volume, and 
 eloquently testify to the author's obliging disposition 
 and good nature. 
 
 During most of the period mentioned above, our 
 
38 
 
 MEMOIR OF 
 
 family occupied a house on the north side of Atlantic 
 Street, nearly opposite to where was once the eastern 
 opening of the now-filled-in tunnel — which tunnel, by- 
 the-way, was begun and finished while we lived there — 
 and there some of the happiest years of my father's life 
 were passed — years of prosperity and health ; years 
 fruitful in culture ; years rich in genial companionship 
 and intellectual communion ; years golden in the memo- 
 ries they have left. It was there that he gathered around 
 him a literary group, comprising names well known to a 
 past generation, and the writings of many of whom still 
 command respect and admiration. 
 
 The writer of these pages, like Halleck's " Fanny," 
 was younger once than he is now ; but he is not old 
 enough to have belonged to that past in the sense that 
 will permit him to paint that circle with the hues of 
 memory. With the exception of Charles Fenno Hoff- 
 man and Henry Theodore Tuckerman, who were fre- 
 quent and familiar visitors, recollection is dim and un- 
 certain ; and another pen must arrest and inform with 
 light and color the shadowy figures of my retrospect. 
 Happily for my readers, that pen is at my command, 
 though the hand that wielded it so deftly lies pulseless 
 in the grave. 
 
 In June, 1880, the late Henry Morford * wrote, and 
 published in the magazine bearing his name, an appre- 
 ciative and interesting sketch, in the course of which the 
 identical group in question was drawn. I deem it es- 
 pecially good fortune to be thus enabled to complete my 
 
 * Henry Morford was born March lo, 1823, and died in 1881. 
 
JOHN KEESE. 39 
 
 record of an important period; and, if any excuse were 
 needed for introducing Mr. Morford's felicitous portrait- 
 ure, it would be found in the remembrance of his warm 
 attachment to my father, and in my gratitude for his ex- 
 pression of friendship. 
 
 A LITERARY GROUP 
 
 OF FORTY YEARS AGO. 
 
 {Extracted fro7)i a sketch entitled ''John Keese ; his Inti- 
 mates, etc!' First published in ''Morjoi'd's Magazine,'' June, 
 1880.] 
 
 Forty years have passed since the writer, then on the 
 verge of manhood, came up to the city of New York, 
 one Saturday evening, from his place of residence in the 
 country, especially to remain over the Sunday, and to 
 spend the evening of that day at John Reese's, on Atlan- 
 tic Street, not far from Court Street, Brooklyn, almost 
 exactly where, at that time (as the memory comes back 
 to-day), ended the tunnel running up Atlantic Street 
 from the South Ferry, for the use of the railroad to Ja- 
 maica. 
 
 What was the number of that house on Atlantic 
 Street ? Does the house still stand ? Enough to say 
 that the eye does not readily pick it out, if it exists : as a 
 house, and for any purpose connected with this paper, it 
 has ceased to be. 
 
 And yet this should not be so ; for within the walls 
 of that house, that evening and on many which followed, 
 with and without the presence of the writer, was gath- 
 
40 MEMOIR OF 
 
 ered a literary circle which has rarely been equaled in 
 America in numbers, and which has scarcely ever had 
 its superior in the quality of the persons composing it, 
 except possibly now and again when so has gathered 
 the literary force of the Middle States round Washing- 
 ton Irving in his golden days at Sunnyside, or when the 
 culture of Boston and its clustering supplementary 
 towns of Massachusetts has so gathered with Longfel- 
 low or Lowell or Holmes, in the days since England 
 pronounced Boston the " intellectual center of the United 
 States." If the old walls are still standing, they should 
 have memories of the voices that forty years ago rang 
 through them, in wit, pathos, and wisdom, only second 
 to those clustering under the roof of banker-poet Sam 
 Rogers, from the recollections of Thackeray, and Macau- 
 lay, and Hood, and Hook, and Barry Cornwall, and 
 Lamb, and all that glorious circle, the very thought of 
 which is bewildering to the commonplace mortal ! 
 
 Is it possible to recall the names and the personalities 
 of those who were present on that evening when the 
 dazzled literary neophyte first set foot on that enchanted 
 drawing-room carpet? No — possibly not: memory 
 plays strange tricks, when there are many years in 
 which to play them ; and the best that can be done is 
 to recall those who were to be found there, if not that 
 special evening, at least on some of the other evenings 
 rapidly following. 
 
 Shall we "reckon without the host," or even with- 
 out the hostess ? Assuredly, not so ! Let John Keese, 
 without whom those gatherings would never have been. 
 
JOHN KEESE. 4 1 
 
 have the first place of honor. A man of medium stature, 
 thin and wiry in figure, with keen face, the nose mark- 
 edly Roman and prominent, very heavy dark brows, 
 ahnost meeting in the middle, and with a dark tuft at 
 the root of the nose ; eyes large, dark, and notably keen ; 
 mouth with a tendency to set itself a trifle tightly when 
 in thought; full dark beard (the mustache not then 
 worn, and to come later), full dark hair, with a dash of 
 gray even then evident ; thin, nervous, and expressive 
 hands ; and over all, and crowning the whole, a sugges- 
 tion of quick, rapid, almost restless activity, as impos- 
 sible to describe as to duplicate. Such was John Keese, 
 of 1839-40, as the memory comes back to-day: would 
 the bright, active, restless, incorporeal self of the dear 
 old friend recognize it, it may be wondered, if to-da}-, in 
 another sphere, as thoroughly alive and all-observing 
 as when so long ago it informed its energetic human 
 tenement? This the host: how describe the hostess, 
 who yet lives (thank God ! ), and upon whom the 
 hand of Time has been laid more lightly than upon 
 any other daughter of Eve in recollection? The very 
 antipodes of her dark-haired, thin, and wiry hus- 
 band. Blonde, blue-e3'ed, middle-statured, handsomely 
 formed and featured, and youthful-looking enough 
 for girlhood, though already the mother of three 
 boys, one of whom, bright and sparkling Larry (Jona- 
 than Lawrence), was to die, in service, in the ranks 
 of the Seventh Regiment, in the opening days of 
 the rebellion ; the second, William Linn ; and the 
 third, little Willets, to perish by drowning, almost 
 
42 
 
 MEMOIR OF 
 
 within sight of his home, before passing quite out of 
 childhood. 
 
 Who next is entitled to place, of that circle certainly 
 met on the first evening and very often after ? Assured- 
 ly he of whom a leading English publication said, at 
 very nearly the same period, that " his plume waved 
 above the heads of all the literary men of America, a 
 cubit clear " — Charles Fenno Hoffman. A man of tall 
 figure, with broad shoulders and a general physique in- 
 dicating that he had been originally intended for a man 
 of robust habit, until accident and occupation had com- 
 bined to thin him and, possibly, " fine " him a little. 
 Bearing in appearance, gesture, and speech, evidence of 
 the very good old blood to which he belonged ; and a 
 thorough gentleman at every point. A fine head, with 
 dark-brown hair, quite decidedly inclined to wavy curl ; 
 whiskers of the same color and character quite surround- 
 ing the face, though with the lips and chin clean-shaven ; 
 a good and rather firm mouth ; nose slightly low, though 
 of fair length, and the reverse of aquiline ; and pleasant 
 eyes, well-browed, but always hidden behind the glasses 
 made necessary by short-sight — such were, at that day, 
 the features of the man who had written " Sparkling and 
 Bright " (the finest Anacreontic ever penned on this side 
 of the Atlantic), edited the " Knickerbocker " (at its 
 commencement), afterward the "American Monthly" 
 and the " New York Mirror," and published such nota- 
 ble volumes as " A Winter in the West," " Wild Scenes 
 in the Forest and the Prairies," the novel of " Greyslaer " 
 (followed afterward by '* The Red Spur of Ramapo "), 
 
JOHN KEESE. 43 
 
 and much besides, holding high place in the world of 
 American literature. Mr. Hoffman — though not all who 
 met him were aware of the fact — had lost a leg in an 
 accident, many years before, yet still remained the devo- 
 tee of the field and the forest ; and of the charm of 
 his scholarly and dignified conversation only those can 
 judge who heard him on such occasions as that under 
 notice, at that crowning era of his life. Ten years later, 
 when Zachary Taylor was President, and he held a 
 government position at Washington, he was attacked by 
 mental disease, lost his mind entirely (there were those 
 who said that a woman's falsehood was the cause of the 
 malady), and, through the thirty 3-ears that have elapsed 
 since then, has lived the inmate of a Pennsylvania insti- 
 tution for the insane, forgetful of all that had been, his 
 past fame, and perhaps even his identity. 
 
 Next, in that circle, one of the handsomest men of his 
 day, and one of the most accomplished gentlemen and 
 most irreproachable writers of any day — Henry Theo- 
 dore Tuckerman. A figure of something more than 
 medium height, with face slightly Roman in cast and 
 Southern-European in suggestion ; strong brows ; pleas- 
 ant dark eyes; close-cut, dark curling hair, and full 
 beard and mustache, also dark and curling. Sweetly 
 grave in manner, with flashes of absolute mischief in 
 conversation. He had already, at that time, made the 
 tour of Europe, producing his "Italian Sketch-Book" 
 and " Isabel, or Sicily " ; though the " Month in Eng- 
 land," " Thoughts on the Poets," " Artist Life," " Char- 
 acteristics of Literature," " Mental Portraits," etc., and 
 
44 MEMOIR OF 
 
 that unrivaled series of essays, " The Optimist," were yet 
 to follow at different periods of a life then yet very 
 young. Perhaps no man of his age had more the fac- 
 ulty of winning blended respect and love ; and few ob- 
 servers of character were so keen, as many of his after- 
 publications well testified. 
 
 Perhaps the next place should be given to a lady — or 
 at least to a lady and her husband. At that time Mr. 
 and Mrs. Seba Smith were at something approaching 
 the heiofht of their fame, which had been a trifle mete- 
 oric, and was destined to be rather short-lived. Outside 
 of the circle of personal acquaintance, not one in ten 
 knew the real name of the short and undistinguished- 
 looking man, with a certain Yankee shrewdness which 
 made his conversation interesting while never deep or 
 profound — " Major Jack Downing." The generation 
 has now nearly all passed away who personally knew 
 of and read at the time of their publication Mr. Seba 
 Smith's one successful essay in life, " Major Jack Down- 
 ing's Letters " from Washington and elsewhere, dealing 
 with the capital, the President and his Cabinet and Con- 
 gress, in the Yankee dialect, spiced with the gossip so 
 easily picked up through the close observation of a 
 Portland editor, and really forming, for some years, one 
 of the current literary features of the period, until their 
 collection into a volume in 1833, after which (as is the 
 fate of many things written for an occasion) they very 
 soon ceased to be remembered, and they and their 
 writer were quickly overlooked if not forgotten. It 
 was about that time that Mr. Smith was preparing for 
 
JOHN KEESE. 45 
 
 publication his most important work, " Powhatan, a 
 Metrical Romance," which did not, however, take the 
 country by storm, the best talent of the writer evidently 
 lying in the epistolary walk before pursued. Before his 
 death Mr. Smith also wrote many tales and sketches for 
 the magazines, collected in 1855 or 1856, in " Down 
 East " — and contributed to scientific education a work 
 on the " New Elements of Geometry." 
 
 Of the rather handsome and undeniably attractive 
 lady who was at that time the wife of " Major Jack 
 Downing," much more might be said, as the lady filled 
 a much broader place in literary history. Mrs. Smith 
 had, personally, very handsome eyes ; a high and full 
 forehead, with waved light-brown hair swept down and 
 sometimes hanging in ringlets on either side of the face ; 
 a small and almost childish mouth, with a chin to corre- 
 spond ; and a soft and pleasant voice which some of 
 those who believed her addicted to coquetry regarded 
 as a trifle affected. Willis considered that the Hon. 
 Mrs. Norton had made, and worthily made, very much 
 of her reputation by the exquisite title of one of her 
 most popular poems, " The Undying One " ; and he 
 proved his belief by actually naming the lady after her 
 heroine, in " Lady Jane " : 
 
 " All this time the ' Undying One ' was singing ; 
 She ceased, and Jules felt every sound a pain, 
 While that sweet cadence in his ear was ringing." 
 
 And it is not too much to aver that Mrs. Seba Smith 
 won something like the same appreciation from the title 
 
46 MEMOIR OF 
 
 of Jier best-known poem, " The Sinless Child." It first 
 saw the light in the " Southern Literary Messenger," 
 then (between forty and fifty years since) one of the 
 leading literary publications of America, if not indeed 
 the very first. Nearly at the time to which this paper 
 refers, it gave title to " The Sinless Child, and other 
 Poems," published in New York, where another volume 
 of verse from the same pen had already preceded it. It 
 had many fine lines, and was almost worthy the reputa- 
 tion acquired by it, as have been, before and after, a 
 large part of the poetical labors of Mrs. Smith. It must 
 have been at about this time that she gave to the world 
 " The Roman Tribute," a five-act tragedy, and somewhat 
 later another, local to New York colonial history, "Ja- 
 cob Leisler." She also published, very little later, " The 
 Western Captive," a novel ; and a minor prose work, 
 " The Salamander," attracted some attention, especially 
 among the 3^ounger generation. The lady who at that 
 time wore her brown curls of motherhood so coquet- 
 tishly is still living, at what must be an advanced age ; 
 but she has long since ceased to be known, or spoken of 
 by those meeting or remembering her, as " Mrs. Seba 
 Smith." Long since, she became " Mrs. Elizabeth 
 Oakes-Smith " — probably from some right to the name 
 by blood, though not by birth, her maiden name having 
 been Prince. Her sons, Appleton and Edward (both 
 somewhat well known a quarter of a century since), 
 went beyond the mother in her dilution of the name of 
 Smith : they changed it altogether by linking the two 
 halves together, and becoming " Oaksmith," not much 
 
JOHN KEESE. 47 
 
 to the content or honor, one would think, of the de- 
 parted spirit of plain "Seba Smith " of the "Jack Down- 
 ing Letters." But whatever the name, Captain Apple- 
 ton Oaksmith, at least, made it notable in the detail of 
 bravery : for the writer well remembers hearing an Eng- 
 lish commodore speak of him as " the devil and all, for 
 pluck ! " after his long and terrible fight of three days, 
 with his ship and crew, against overwhelming odds, on 
 the west coast of Africa. 
 
 There was another couple present on that first even- 
 ing and not seldom after — Mr. and ISIrs. Balmanno, 
 whose names suggested their Scottish nationality, and 
 who well sustained the national reputation by a broad 
 heartiness, winning them many friends and not a few ad- 
 mirers. Both wrote — the wife (if memory does not fail) 
 a little poetry and more of bcllcs-lcttrcs prose ; and the 
 husband, on many subjects connected with the history 
 of his birth-land and the antiquities of Long Island. 
 They were unexceptionable social companions, Mr. Bal- 
 manno especially ; and years have not dimmed the recol- 
 lection of his wealth of anecdote, embodying ancestral 
 recollections of the days of Charles Edward Stuart, and 
 reminiscences of all the great and notable of the previous 
 century in the Land of the Thistle. 
 
 But here a fair, sweet presence rises — that of Frances 
 Sargent Osgood, not a very frequent visitor, it is true, 
 but occasionally to be found in that charmed circle, and 
 when so found always delighting it. America has 
 known no truer poetess than this lady, in all her 
 years of nurture. No human face was ever more per- 
 
48 MEMOIR OF 
 
 fectly chiseled than hers — due regard having been had, 
 meanwhile, to the fact that a woman, and not a statue, 
 was being formed. That calm, pleasant face, those soft 
 and kindly brown eyes, and that wealth of waved dark 
 hair drawn low over her fair, white forehead, in the 
 fashion of the time (since called the " Agnes Robert- 
 son "), won many a heart, the homage of which was kept 
 by the always kindly and tender words flowing from the 
 faultless lips seldom opened but to emit a sparkle. Mrs. 
 Osgood returned to i\m erica, from London (where she 
 had published a collection of poems with the modest 
 title of " A Wreath of Wild Flowers from New Eng- 
 land," and written a play called " The Happy Release," 
 at the suggestion of James Sheridan Knowles), very soon 
 after that first evening, and was thereafter, when she 
 became a resident of New York, no infrequent sharer of 
 those pleasant hospitalities. It was some years later 
 that the fiend of disease laid his hand upon her, closing 
 her honorable and popular career in 1850, and leaving in 
 the minds of those who had known and loved her the 
 belief that she had by no means done the best that was 
 in her, even in such poems as " The Spirit of Poetry," 
 " Labor is Rest," and the " Dear Little Truant." 
 
 And yet again, place anx dames ! Oddly enough, 
 while the mind of the writer can so well recall the pleas- 
 ant word and the always welcome presence of Mrs. 
 Emma C. Embury, no recollection remains of her looks. 
 Let what she was and what she did atone for the lack of 
 any personal description, in a paper not intended to be 
 dependent on the recollections of others. Sometimes 
 
JOHN KEESE. ^g 
 
 alone, and sometimes accompanied by her wealthy and 
 socially distinguished husband, Mr. Daniel Embury, 
 Mrs. Embury was often a member of that circle, bear- 
 ing very modestly the honors of her varied publica- 
 tions, of which " Guido and other Poems " was the chief 
 poetical exponent volume, while " The Blind Girl," 
 " Pictures of Early Life," " Causes and Consequences," 
 and other prose works in large number, in newspaper 
 and other publications, gave token, and very little more, 
 of what might have been had the authoress chosen to 
 throw herself fully into a professional literary career. 
 
 What a strong, earnest face and what a Byronic 
 head were those of William Gilmore Simms, who, once 
 in a while, in some of his Northern visits, glanced in and 
 out among the circle of visitors! That shaven face and 
 the curly head above it were " all alive," as the phrase is 
 — alive with the energy of the man who has been truly 
 and properly called " the Walter Scott of the South " — 
 equally excellent in prose and poetry ; author of " Ata- 
 lantis," one of the best imaginative poems that the coun- 
 try has even yet produced, and of so many historical 
 and romantic prose works that nearly the same fatigue 
 is involved in their mere naminij, to be found in tracinsf 
 the endless maze of Scott. There was something of 
 John Wilson, of " Blackwood," too, in the man who was 
 so thoroughly alive and earnest. At the time of which 
 this paper treats, Mr. Simms was at about the glory of 
 his early manhood — half-way between infancy and three- 
 score and ten ; and he had made the mark, some years 
 before, of " Atalantis," and his first novel, " Martin Fa- 
 4 
 
50 
 
 MEMOIR OF 
 
 ber," and, very little before that time, of " Southern Pas- 
 sages and Pictures" — a most enjoyable medley. He 
 was an indefatigable student, and equally indefatigable 
 in the impartation of any item of knowledge in his pos- 
 session, and the discussion of all the subjects relating to 
 it; and those who remember him at that period can 
 well understand the feeling with which Paul Hamilton 
 Hayne wrote of him, when, two or three years ago, they 
 inaugurated his monument at Charleston's Battery Park, 
 and the sensations with which a whole people gathered 
 around his grave, knowing and feeling that the South 
 had lost one of the most distinguished of her men of let- 
 ters, if not indeed the master of them all. 
 
 The next figure coming before the mind's eye, from 
 the grouping of one of these notable evenings, belongs 
 to a man who during many years created and en- 
 dured as much excitement connected with the world 
 of American literature as any other who could be 
 named — Rufus Wilmot Griswold, ex-minister of the 
 gospel, editor and literary worker in general, to whom 
 the country really owed much, for a considerable 
 period, and who was treated by that country more 
 than a trifle irregularly before his death, as he has 
 been, since that event, with a blending of neglect and 
 captiousness. Mr. Griswold, at the time under notice 
 (say at the earlier part of it), was about twenty-five 
 years old, and had produced as yet very little work in 
 the world of letters, though he had laid no mean founda- 
 tion for doing so by quite extensive travels in Europe, 
 by studying divinity, and becoming for a little time a 
 
JOHN KEESE. 5 1 
 
 preacher in the Baptist denomination. He was a man 
 of rather small figure, a very intelligent face, with the 
 eyes deep-set, good forehead showing an early inclina- 
 tion to the loss of front hair, sharp and trenchant nose, 
 short, full beard and mustache (adopting the European 
 fashion in advance of most other Americans), and a 
 habit of holding down the head a trifle and looking 
 keenly out from beneath the overhanging brows, not a 
 little impressive when he was very much in earnest. 
 Never profound, Mr. Griswold had a large fund of cur- 
 rent intelligence, and was an exceptionally interesting 
 talker, as possibly he had been a speaker of correspond- 
 ing caliber. He was at that time connected with Horace 
 Greeley's " New-Yorker," in an editorial capacity, as he 
 either had already been, or was afterward to be (here 
 memory fails again) with the " Brother Jonathan," " The 
 New World," and other papers with literary tendencies. 
 It was a little later that he became editor of " Graham's 
 Magazine," doing more than any American had previ- 
 ously done to draw around a single publication the la- 
 bors of the best thinkers of the country, and ably sec- 
 onded, in doing so, by the far-seeing liberality of the 
 publisher, Mr. George R. Graham, really the father of 
 American magazines of the first class. Some years still 
 later (probably about 1849 c>^ ^850) he started " The In- 
 ternational Monthly Magazine," with Stringer & Town- 
 send as the publishers ; and from 1842 till the time of his 
 death, in 1856 or 1857, he was laboriously engaged in a 
 series of compilations requiring that industry and that 
 persistence of which he had so much, and demanding 
 
52 MEMOIR OF 
 
 little of that absolute talent and that ripe scholarship, 
 in both of which he was deficient. The number of his 
 volumes became eventually much greater even than 
 those of Gilmore Simms, though largely (as already said) 
 compilations ; and even to catalogue them would be no 
 small task. Enough to say that principal among them 
 in interest were " The Poets and Poetry of America," 
 " Prose Writers of America," " Female Poets of Amer- 
 ica," " Washington and the Generals of the Revolution," 
 " Napoleon and the Marshals of the Empire," " Curiosi- 
 ties of American Literature " (said to have been intend- 
 ed as a supplement to Isaac Disraeli's " Curiosities of 
 [English] Literature "), " Republican Court " (suggesting 
 or suggested by Huntington's picture of Washington's 
 and Lady Washington's aristocratic and notable sur- 
 roundings during the first presidency), etc. That Ru- 
 fus Wilmot Griswold, the latter part of whose personal 
 life was clouded by a most unfortunate marriage, and 
 whose reputation has been worse pulled to pieces than 
 that of any other man of the century, did great and 
 meritorious services to our growing literature, and 
 assisted in fostering many writers, who, without his en- 
 couragement, would hopelessly have laid down the pen, 
 there is no question whatever ; and it is something of a 
 privilege, now that he has already been dead for nearly 
 a quarter of a century, to call back, however dimly, his 
 presence, and bear even this slight testimony to his 
 labors. 
 
 And here a very different person, then at about the 
 same age as Mr. Griswold, and one semi-deserting the 
 
JOHN KEESE. 53 
 
 bar for literature, as the other had quite deserted the 
 pulpit for the same attraction. William H. C, Hosmer, 
 a rather fine-looking and splendidly-voiced young man, 
 with whom (though he is yet living and in the roll of 
 native bards) the writer has never met since those 
 early days. Mr, Hosmer was a native of Avon, in the 
 Genesee Valley, son of Hon. George Hosmer, a well- 
 known lawyer of Western New York, and of a mother 
 who spoke some of the languages of the Indian tribes 
 and made a study of their traditions. Naturally the 
 young poet, who graduated at Geneva College, drift- 
 ed into knowledge of and sympathy with the aborigi- 
 nes ; and naturally his first poem (from the then yet 
 unpublished pages of which, to see the light in 1864, 
 he recited some of the scenes magnificently in those 
 well-remembered evenings) was " Yonnondio ; a Legend 
 of the Canadice." Mr. Hosmer's poetical works were 
 published in 1854, largely spiced with Indian legends, 
 in the handling of which he has probably never 3^et 
 been excelled, but with an infinite variety in the com- 
 positions grouped around them, in scenes from Euro- 
 pean history, the Mexican War, etc. 
 
 A very tall young man joined in some of those 
 memorable gatherings — a very tall young man, with a 
 strong and not markedly handsome face, known as 
 Richard Grant White. He talked well, and had a 
 marked tendency to allude to the writings of one 
 Shakespeare, of whom he appeared to be a " Scholar." 
 He had also some very pronounced ideas connected 
 with philology, giving promise that some day he might 
 
54 
 
 MEMOIR OF 
 
 be heard from with reference to speUings, derivations, 
 the morals of literature, etc. Very possibly he has 
 really been so heard from : there has been for some 
 years a man of the same name, connected with the 
 New York Custom-House, if the memory of the writer 
 is not at fault, who has written on such subjects, with 
 an occasional run to English Stratford - on - Avon, and 
 not a little pronounced familiarity with the works and 
 belongings of the great dramatist. Can it possibly be 
 that this is the very tall young man of forty years 
 ago? and, if so, does he remember ever being at John 
 Keese's, in the midst of such company as that of which 
 some of the members have been already character- 
 ized? 
 
 Once in a while, a tall, slim-waisted, broad-shoul- 
 dered young fellow of a little more than thirty, with 
 curling, light-brown hair, trained a little in the direction 
 of ringlets, an affectation of foreign beard, and some- 
 what more of other affectation than boded well for his 
 eventual reputation, dropped in on the circle. He had 
 also an addiction to colored coats and D'Orsay neck- 
 ties, and was named Nat Willis — Nathaniel P. WilHs, 
 as he should have written the name ; N. Parker Willis 
 as he did write it generally. He had already, at 
 this time, made the most extensive of his Old World 
 travels, married Mary Leighton Stace, familiarized 
 himself with English high life as few other Americans 
 had ever done, and written his " Pencillings by the 
 Way," awaking the admiring envy and the hostility of 
 half the literary world. He had published a good 
 
JOHN KEESE. 55 
 
 deal of excellent poetry — some of it, especially " The 
 Sacred Poems," never excelled before or since ; and 
 many of those who vilified him, and not a few of those 
 who laughed at his affectations, recognized, then, and 
 never afterward lost the recognition, that he was a 
 man of true genius, with a " crank " or two promising 
 decadence at the day when true excellence should 
 properly be reached. Englishmen, then, and even ear- 
 lier, knew him far better than they knew any other 
 American ; and it is betraying no secret to say that 
 they disliked him not a little because he observed too 
 closely. A rather affected but very charming talker, 
 whose affectations were smoothed if not hidden by his 
 evident talent and coveted wide experience — undeni- 
 ably handsome, and knowing the fact far too well — 
 really warm-hearted, though many mistook the cold 
 polish for the heart it covered — a wise fool, who had 
 and has many brothers on the earth, not all of them 
 with the same redeeming qualities — such was Nat 
 Willis, whom Father Prout was already lampooning as 
 " Nick Willis," when the writer met him first in these 
 reunions. 
 
 But this list must close, or be finished with only a 
 few words, though the pleasant specters of those even- 
 ings rise very thickly. Thomas Buchanan Read, thin 
 and earnest-faced, with somewhat long hair — poet and 
 painter — then nearly at the same age as the writer, 
 and with little of his life-work done. He had just re- 
 moved to New York, had an opera in his mind, and 
 talked very enthusiastically of it. " Boston," and the 
 
56 MEMOIR OF 
 
 " Lays and Ballads," were to come later, and then many 
 years of celebrity as an artist at Philadelphia and in 
 Italy, and the noble poetry of " The New Pastoral." 
 
 Then — silence ! Colonel Thomas B. Thorpe — " Tom 
 
 Owen, the Bee-hunter " — with his broad nose and face 
 remindatory of Thackeray. Afterward to win laurels 
 in the Mexican War, and in the volumes which grew 
 out of it ; to become a Brooklyn man, and die very re- 
 cently, respected by all, at or past sixty. " Charcoal 
 
 Sketch " Joseph C. Neal, with his thin face and pleas- 
 ant manner, and his conversation always suggesting the 
 " Chalks on a Slab-Fence, by a Shingle-Splitter." To 
 marry sweet Alice Bradley, a few years later ; to leave 
 her to do his unfinished work, and then to become 
 Alice B. Haven. The ardent, speaking face and con- 
 cise, convincing language of Dr. Elisha Kent Kane, 
 later to become one of the most distinguished of Arc- 
 tic explorers and martyrs to science. The almost 
 
 baby face and long curls of Estelle Anna Lewis, newly 
 a bride, and not yet accredited with her first volume 
 of poems, which, and those following, marked her, as 
 
 a sort of American Sappho the Lesbian. And two 
 
 more, Henry Liman, the painter, and his daughter. 
 
 Henry Inman was not only a noble artist, blending 
 conscientious care with strong talent, and winning en- 
 viable reputation on both sides of the Atlantic, but he 
 was a splendid-looking, dark-haired man, with the art 
 of conversation very nearly reduced to a science. No 
 amount of words could do justice to Mary Inman, once 
 painted by Huntington as the most beautiful woman 
 
JOHN KEESE. 57 
 
 of her day, and well deserving the appellation. In face, 
 word,' and manner she was a born enchantress, with 
 no little knowledge of the fact, and a tendency to flir- 
 tation (of the so-called harmless variet)-) which made 
 many a young heart sore, and probably led away many 
 a man, for a time, from his legitimate allegiance. What 
 a star of beauty, grace, and vivacity she was, in those 
 reunions ! And how every man of the circle — espe- 
 cially if young and impressible — felt that here at last 
 was the cynosure of a legitimate idolatry, and that he 
 could " fill the bill " of that wayward, womanly de- 
 mand ! She was an exquisite vocalist, and a pianist 
 of no ordinary power ; and those who may chance to 
 remember having heard her play and sing Hoffman's 
 charming " Rosalie Clare " are not likely ever to for- 
 get the sensation. Witty beyond most of her sex, or 
 indeed most of either sex, she was the chosen antago- 
 nist of John Keese in many of the wit-encounters of 
 those notable reunions, and well bore her banner even 
 in those perilous circumstances. 
 
 Such were the celebrities who from time to time 
 gathered within the walls of the Atlantic Street house ; 
 and many a place, it may be said, has become historic 
 through associations less distinguished. The house still 
 stands ; but no one nowadays, in passing it, dreams that 
 its roof once sheltered so bright a circle of American 
 literati. No neighboring memory recalls old scenes of 
 joyous revelry — the toast, the song, the flash of wit, 
 the flow of humor, the gay laughter ; no reminiscence 
 
58 
 
 MEMOIR OF 
 
 lives of the vSuggestive talk, the keen criticism, the tilt 
 of intellect, the literary review, the winged idea, the 
 birth of poem and story. Alas, the light of other da3^s 
 is faded — the light of the present day is a lantern 
 over the doorway ; and, where once resounded Hoff- 
 man's 
 
 " Sparkling and bright in liquid light 
 Does the wine our goblets gleam in," 
 
 King Gambrinus waves a foaming " schooner " and in- 
 vites the thirsty Teuton. 
 
 Often, in after-years, my father would dwell on that 
 happy past, and interest us with recollections of many 
 a famous evening, and of those who were actors in 
 the scenes described. How few are living of all that 
 bright array ! Mrs. Oakesmith, Hosmer, Richard 
 Grant White, Charles Fenno Hoffman, I believe, are 
 all, and poor Hoffman's mental darkness is worse than 
 death itself.* How well I remember him ! He and 
 Tuckerman, as before mentioned, were frequent and 
 familiar visitors, and my brother and myself were often 
 tutored by them in the recitation of their poems. Mr. 
 Hoffman's "Sparkling and Bright" was my earliest 
 committal to memory, and I can vividly recall my 
 rather spasmodic interpretation of Mr. Tuckerman's 
 " Apollo Belvedere." Then it was Mr. Hoffman's de- 
 light to equip us with shovel and tongs — which last 
 article my father declared would do on a pinch — and 
 
 * Mr. Hoffman is in the asylum at Harrisburg, and remains the same as 
 he has been for years. My last news of him is dated October 26, 1881, 
 and then there was no change. 
 
JOHN KEESE. 59 
 
 put us through a military drill, ending with a stern, 
 peremptory "Dismiss!" — the obeying of which order 
 was the one sole success of our performance. Mr, 
 Hoffman was soldier, hunter, wit, poet, all in one, and, 
 as I remember him, one of the most charming of men. 
 He had a fund of stories of adventure, and drew to- 
 ward him the young with a magic equal to that of 
 the Piper of Hamelin. Mr. Tuckerman Avas more re- 
 served in manner, but his warm heart was full of af- 
 fectionate interest. 
 
 While in the enjoyment of the intercourse born of 
 these memorable gatherings, the change occurred in 
 Mr. Keese's business relations which, though it still 
 claimed his allegiance to books, opened to him a new 
 field and inaugurated a new career. For it was about 
 this period that he severed his connection with the Col- 
 linses, and entered the co-partnership of Cooley, Keese 
 »& Hill, the business being the selling of books at auc- 
 tion, an enterprise destined to widely influence the cir- 
 culation of literature, and in commercial magnitude to 
 surpass all expectation. 
 
 The firm was at first located at what was then No, 
 157 Broadway; but the rapid growth of its affairs 
 soon necessitated a removal to more spacious quar- 
 ters ; and the rooms at No. 191 Broadway, corner of 
 Dey Street, were taken, the second floor serving as the 
 sales-room and counting-house. It was there that the 
 auctioneer, during an entertainment given to the trade 
 in celebration of the new establishment, made the fol- 
 
6o MEMOIR OF 
 
 lowing announcement : " Gentlemen, we are casting 
 our bread upon the waters, and expect to find it after 
 many days — buttered ! " There for years were held 
 the semi-annual trade-sales, until the firm * moved to 
 its final home in the splendid building at No. 377 
 Broadway, corner of White Street, where it continued 
 to its dissolution in 1853 or 1854. 
 
 "Mr. Keese's accession to the firm" — wrote one 
 who knew him at the time — " was undoubtedly in- 
 vited by the other partners, from a knowledge of his 
 immense acquaintance with both books and men, and 
 probably from the additional fancy that his wit and 
 readiness would be found of great advantage at the 
 auctioneer's desk, which post he at once assumed, and 
 where, within less than a year, he threw into the 
 shade, from the exercise of his predominant qualities, 
 any American auctioneer who had preceded him, as 
 well as established a reputation somewhat closely ap- 
 proaching in prominence, and far excelling in the de- 
 tails of wit and enjoyability, that of George Robins in 
 London." 
 
 The criticism is just. The celebrated George Rob- 
 ins was not, from all I can gather, remarkable as an 
 auctioneer thoroughly well read in what came under 
 his hammer, and endowed with a wit that ampHfied 
 suggestion and illumined dull inanities ; nor ready, on 
 the instant, with felicitous word-play and repartee. 
 His celebrity arose from his inimitable presentment, 
 
 * Cooley & Keese, Mr. Hill having retired previously. 
 
JOHN KEESE. gi 
 
 as a whole, of the thing to be vended ; his auction 
 prospectus couched in terms so captivating that even 
 hyperbole became charming, and what was impossible 
 seemed easy and natural. Tom Hood sings of one — 
 
 " The whole of whose birthright would not fetch, 
 Though Robins himself drew up the sketch. 
 The bid of 'a mess of pottage.' " 
 
 Everybody has heard the story of how Robins, after 
 exhausting the language of praise in extolling a gen- 
 tleman's park which was to come under his hammer, 
 stated that he was bound, as an honest man, not to con- 
 ceal the drawbacks to the property, which were "the 
 litter made by the rose-leaves and the perpetual din of 
 the nightingales." It was in such delicious pleasantries 
 that Robins excelled ; but it probably never would have 
 occurred to him to reply to a purchaser, complaining 
 that his book was damaged, " Damaged, you say ? Yes, 
 a little wet on the outside ; but you'll find it dry enough 
 within." Or, to a suspicious bidder, asking, " Is that 
 binding calf ? "— " Come up, my good sir, put your hand 
 on it, and see if there is any fellow-feeling." 
 
 It is not, in the foregoing, specially designed to in- 
 stitute a comparison between the auctioneers. None 
 is needed, could one be drawn. Each had his sphere 
 and method ; each was distinct in attributes and per- 
 formance. 
 
 Certain it is, however, that Mr. Keese brought to 
 the auctioneer's pulpit higher qualities than are usually 
 
62 MEMOIR OF 
 
 found in that vocation. It seems fitting at this point 
 to notice the tributes paid to his abilities by those 
 who knew him, and who were well qualified to 
 judge. 
 
 " I have the recollection of him " — wrote the late 
 Evert A. Duyckinck — "as the wittiest book - auction- 
 eer of his day in New York, and it may be said of 
 any day, for there is no tradition of any predecessor 
 of such powers, and he certainly left no successor in 
 his pecuhar vein. This may be said without dispar- 
 agement to the intellectual cleverness of the Sabins,* 
 Leavitts, and Merwins of the present day — for Keese 
 was really an extraordinary man, in the humorous hand- 
 ling of books and an audience, enlivening a sales-room 
 on the dullest of wet nights and under the most disad- 
 vantageous circumstances with the brilliancy of his 
 wit. Few who attended his ' sales ' did not carry away 
 with them some recollection of his sparkling genius. 
 It must have been a most impracticable book which 
 did not in its subject, the name or associates of its au- 
 thor, furnish some opportunity for his pleasantry ; and 
 if these fell short he could eke out his merriment with 
 some innocent play upon his audience." 
 
 The " peculiar vein " mentioned was an illuminat- 
 ing wit that played electrically upon every subject it 
 touched, flashed light into nooks and corners, invest- 
 ed dull commonplaces with a hue of glory, and turned 
 unmeaning or ambiguous title-pages into sudden and 
 
 * Mr. Duyckinck wrote in 1877. Mr. Joseph Sabin, the distinguished 
 bibliographer, died in 1 88 1. 
 
JOHN KEESE. 63 
 
 felicitous revelations. Add to this a wide knowledge 
 of books and authors, an exceptional memory, a keen 
 perception of every vantage-ground, and, above all, a 
 celerity in retort that was surprising — and you have 
 an intellectual equipment rarely found in the posses- 
 sion of an auctioneer. 
 
 Selling a black-letter volume " Concerning the Ap- 
 parel of Ministers," he supposed it referred probably 
 to their " surplus ornaments " ; and he assured his au- 
 dience that the poems of the Rev. Mr. Logan were 
 the " * Banks and Braes of Bonnie Doon ' — at all events 
 the brays." 
 
 " There was no quarter at the battle of Waterloo, 
 my dear sir," he said to a bidder of twent3^-five cents 
 for a narrative of that conflict. " Really, this is too 
 much pork for a shilling," was his pathetic remark at 
 the sacrifice of a copy of Bacon's essays for twelve 
 and a half cents. " Going — going — gentlemen — ten 
 cents for Caroline Fry — why, it isn't the price of a 
 stew ! " (a jest prompted, perhaps, by a thought of the 
 supper awaiting him at Bowling's, in Wall Street) ; 
 and the same reflection probably suggested his inter- 
 pretation of the title F. R. S. — "Fried, Roasted, and 
 Stewed." 
 
 " Give the gentleman his book," he said, when an 
 impatient buyer of Watts's hymns disturbed the sale by 
 clamoring for delivery — " he wishes to learn and sing 
 one of the hymns before he goes to bed to-night " ; 
 and, on knocking down another copy of the honored 
 book, he ventured the parody : 
 
64 MEMOIR OF 
 
 " Blest is the man who shuns the place 
 Where other auctions be, 
 And has his money in his fist, 
 And buys his books of me ! " 
 
 A volume by the Rev. Dr. Hawks was accompanied 
 by the quiet observation, "A bird of pray, gentle- 
 men." He knocked down Dagley's *' Death's Doings " 
 for seventy-five cents " to a decayed apothecary," with 
 the consolatory comment of " smallest fevers grateful- 
 ly received " ; and introduced a volume of impossible 
 verse with, " This is a book " (glancing at the biograph- 
 ical sketch) " by a poor and pious girl — who wrote poor 
 and pious poetry." 
 
 The following story of how the name of the au- 
 thor of " Woodman, spare that Tree " helped him to win 
 over an audience and sell an impracticable book, went 
 the rounds at the time. The occasion, I think, was 
 when Colman's old Curiosity-Shop in Broadway was 
 sold out. 
 
 " Here," said the auctioneer, presenting an antique- 
 looking volume — "here, gentlemen, is a rare and valu- 
 able work — a collection of poems, odes, and all that 
 kind of thing, addressed to the heroes and sages of the 
 Revolution, and wedding to immortal verse the heroic 
 events of that memorable epoch. These brilliant affairs 
 emanated from the poet Armstrong, who in the early 
 days of the republic contended with Joel Barlow and 
 other choice geniuses for the laurel-wreath of poetry ! 
 A great poet, gentlemen ! A wonderful man ! How 
 
JOHN KEESE. 65 
 
 much shall I say for this copy of his works? Very 
 scarce ! " 
 
 A Mascenas in the room, in an outburst of enthusi- 
 astic generosity, bid " twenty-five cents," and not a 
 soul seemed inclined to advance upon it. " Only twenty- 
 five cents ! Such an offer is an insult to genius. Recol- 
 lect, this Armstrong was one of the first American 
 poets, celebrated in his day, though perhaps somewhat 
 neglected in ours. He was a sort of Homer of the 
 Revolution — the American Homer — think of that ! How 
 much for this rare copy of the American Homer ? " 
 
 But the purchasers were deaf to the voice of the 
 charmer. The "American Homer" could not extort 
 another dime from the unpoetical assembly. 
 
 " Who knows," resumed the auctioneer, " but in after- 
 years this man may be regarded by our posterity as the 
 Virgil or Horace of the New World ? Taste is capri- 
 cious ; but let it never be said that in the nineteenth 
 century American citizens suffered the only volume of 
 Armstrong's powerful and exquisite poems to go beg- 
 ging at twenty-five cents ! " 
 
 But the names of Virgil and Horace awakened no 
 more enthusiasm than that of Homer had done. The 
 auctioneer looked round on the blank array of faces, 
 and was about to knock down the book in despair, 
 when another thought struck him, and he resolved on 
 one more essay. 
 
 " Bear in mind," he said, " that this Armstrong was 
 the General George P. Morris of his period. Like him, 
 he was a hero and the laureate of heroes. He held a 
 5 
 
66 MEMOIR OF 
 
 high military commission, and wrote impassioned, sen- 
 timental, and warlike songs on various themes. Like 
 him, he combined in his own person the excellence of 
 Pindar, Horace, and Tom Moore. Shall the works of 
 the George P. Morris of the Revolution go for twenty- 
 five cents ? Forbid it patriotism ! forbid it taste ! forbid 
 it refinement ! " 
 
 The auctioneer " hit the right nail on the head " this 
 time. This last appeal roused the enthusiasm of the 
 bidders. 
 
 " Three shillings ! " cried one. 
 
 " Fifty cents ! " cried another. 
 
 For fifty cents it went ; and to the fame of Gen- 
 eral Morris belonged the credit of extracting a quarter 
 of a dollar from pockets that were closed against the 
 several appeals of Homer, Virgil, and Horace. 
 
 In glancing over old papers, I am surprised to 
 find so many tributes to my father's powers of en- 
 tertainment. It would seem that in his day his qual- 
 ities were deemed really phenomenal ; and one of 
 his admirers declared : " If John Keese should quit 
 the auctioneer business, I should die of ennui. It 
 would be a public calamity. He always looks to me 
 like the ghost of Sheridan grown sick of Parliament, 
 and just emigrated, and set up in the book-auction 
 business in New York as a sort of practical joke on 
 himself." 
 
 It was, then, a perfectly natural question for Mr. 
 James Linen — in his poem of " The Auctioneer " — to 
 ask : 
 
JOHN KEESE. ^J 
 
 " Who lives in old (iotham in comfort and ease, 
 And knows not the wit and wag, Auctioneer Keese?" 
 
 And the late Mr. James T. Fields, then of the firm of 
 Ticknor & Fields, in his rapidly penned verses after 
 one of the trade-sales, pleasantly sang : 
 
 '* But all were gay, and every one 
 Before the feast agrees 
 That, when he wants for food or fun, 
 He'll shake a bunch of Keese." 
 
 To quote again from Mr. Duyckinck : " An auction- 
 eer is bound to hold his own against all interlocutors. 
 He is liable to all sorts of questioning and interrup- 
 tions ; but much of his success depends upon the main- 
 tenance of his powers in his seat of authority, his ele- 
 vated pulpit. It is his business to control the audi- 
 ences and their purses. To do this he must keep his 
 company in good humor, and least of all suffer any in- 
 tellectual discomfiture. Keese never lost this superior- 
 ity. It was dangerous, unless particularly well armed, 
 to enter into a contest with him. Any interruption of 
 the business of the room was sure to be met by him, 
 when no mischief was intended, in some gentle, play- 
 ful way ; but at the approach of anything like inso- 
 lence the rebuke was severe." 
 
 A memorable instance of deserved punishment is 
 related by Mr. Richard Grant White, in one of his notes 
 to the American edition of "The Book- Hunter." 
 Speaking of the auctioneer, Mr. White says : " He was 
 
68 MEMOIR OF 
 
 courageous, too, as well as ready. At a sale of unusual 
 interest, attention was attracted by the presence and 
 the purchases of a notorious political bully, then in office, 
 and since rewarded with a better place. The creature 
 was as innocent of humane letters as of humanity of 
 any other kind, and bought for some political satrap of 
 higher culture, in whose service he was retained. He 
 claimed a curious and valuable book which had been 
 knocked down to the bid of another person. This was 
 explained to him in vain, and he began at once to be 
 abusive. It was then offered to put up the book again. 
 But he refused consent to this arrangement, and began 
 to threaten, exclaiming that he ' asked justice, and meant 
 to have it.' ' Sir,' instantly replied Keese, in a distinct, 
 low voice, as he fixed his steel gray eye upon the bully, 
 who could have torn his slight little form to pieces, 
 ' I know no man who deserves justice more than you 
 do, and I heartily wish that you may get it.' The ani- 
 mal's hide was not proof against that dart. He turned 
 livid with impotent rage, and slunk silently away." 
 
 The late Mr. Gowans was a familiar auditor at the 
 sales, and bought extensively. He was very fond of 
 calling the auctioneer out by putting questions con- 
 cerning the book in hand, and the answers were always 
 forthcoming. A work entitled " History of the Tatars " 
 was offered. "Is not that Tartars?" asked Gowans. 
 " No, their wives were the Tartars," was the immediate 
 reply. 
 
 Some prayer - books were selling, and Gowans, as 
 was his wont, interrupted the rapid vocalization with. 
 
JOHN KEESE. 69 
 
 " Are they in English ? " As quick as gunpowder came 
 the answer : " Of course they are. Do )'Ou suppose a 
 man is going to pray in Irish?" 
 
 An illustration of his readiness was when a parcel 
 of fancy envelopes was passed up, to be sold in one lot. 
 " How many are there ? " was shouted from various 
 parts of the room. " Oh, I don't know ; too many to 
 number — how much for the lot?" At last they were 
 knocked down. " What name ? " " Cowper ! " " It 
 shall be Cowper's ' Task ' to count them," instantly ex- 
 claimed the auctioneer. 
 
 A joke much relished by the book-binding fraternity 
 was his likening a ledger to Austria, because it was 
 backed and cornered by Russia ; and, when it was 
 knocked down to a Mr. Owen Phalen, he paused at the 
 name and said reflectively, " Don't know about selling 
 to a man who is always Owen and Phalen." 
 
 He was felicitous in the application of a familiar 
 quotation. Presiding over a consignment of furniture, 
 which somehow had invaded the more legitimate busi- 
 ness, he appealed over a coveted article to a hesitating 
 housekeeper, " Going — going — ' the woman who delib- 
 erates is lost ' — gone ! " 
 
 At one of such sales a table of curious design was 
 sold to a bidder who left it to be called for. Some 
 time elapsed, when a friend happening in admired the 
 table and wished to buy it at private sale. He was 
 told that it was sold to a party who thus far had proved 
 himself one of the most un-com-for-table of men. 
 
 I remember, when a lot of Wade & Butcher's Shef- 
 
yo MEMOIR OF 
 
 field razors was included in the catalogue, the auctioneer 
 said that there was no limit to their sanguinary possi- 
 bilities, for the buyer might " wade in blood and butcher 
 all his friends." " Never mind, you'll have one volume 
 less to read," he said to a bidder who found his set of 
 books short ; and when another wanted to know where 
 the outside of his copy of Lamb was, the auctioneer 
 conjectured that " somebody had fleeced it," adding 
 consolingly, " But you can recover it, )^ou know." A 
 back-gammon board was put up, " to be sold on the 
 square, and as perfect as any copy of Milton " — which 
 comparison necessitated the explanation that there was 
 "a pair o' dice lost" ; and "Three Eras of a Woman's 
 Life " elicited the running comment, " Wonderful wom- 
 an — only three errors ! How much ? — thirty cents — 
 only ten cents apiece — not very ,t'pensive errors, after 
 all." 
 
 The feat of jotting down a report of my father's run 
 of words at an evening sale was once accomplished by 
 a short-hand writer; and I reproduce it here as a fair 
 sample of the auctioneer's spirit when under the in- 
 spiration of the hammer. 
 
 " N'alf, n'alf, n'alf; three do I have? three, three; 
 quarter, did you say ? Never let me hear an Irishman 
 cry quarter. N'alf, n'alf; knocked down to Maguire 
 at three dollars and a half. Now, gentlemen, give me 
 a bid for ' Hallam's Middle Ages', intended for gentle- 
 men in the prime of life. Two dollars, two, two; an 
 eighth, eighth, eighth ; quarter, quarter, quarter — Mof- 
 fat, at two dollars and a quarter. The next thing, 
 
JOHN KEESE. 7 1 
 
 gentlemen, is ' The Four Last Things, by Dr. Bates.' 
 Fifty cents, fifty — ' What arc they ? ' Bid away, gentle- 
 men, the book'll tell you exactly what they ai-e : five 
 eighths, five eighths ; five and six. Chase has it, at 
 five and six. Start, if you please, gentlemen, on ' Prot- 
 estant Discussions, by Dr. Cummings,' an original 
 D. D. — none of your modern fiddle-dee-dees: three 
 quarters, quarters ; seven eighths ; do I have seven 
 eighths ? — yes, it is all complete ; a perfect book, gen- 
 tlemen ; wants nothing but a reader. Dollar ; dollar, 
 n'eighth, n'eighth. Black has it, at a dollar and an 
 eighth. Now, gentlemen, I offer you a superb ' Prayer 
 Book,' Appletons' edition, best morocco, gilt all over, 
 like the sinner ; three quarters, three quarters, quarters, 
 quarters — look at it, gentlemen. Here, sir, let me show 
 it up to this goodly company ; you've looked at it many 
 a time with more care than profit : seven eighths ; dol- 
 lar ; n'eighth ; quarter, quarter — large print, gentle- 
 men ; good for those whose eyes are weak and whose 
 faith is strong; remember your grandmothers, gentle- 
 men — three eighths, three eighths. Brown has it, at 
 one and three eighths. Now, gentlemen, I come to a 
 line of splendid illustrated English books. Be so kind 
 as to bid for ' Finden's Beauties of Moore,' cloth extra, 
 full of superb illustrations, and Fve how much bid for 
 this? Start, if you please; go on. Two dollars; and 
 a half, n'alf, n'alf; three, three; n'alf, n'alf; four, four, 
 four. These are all English books, printed in England, 
 bound in England, and sacrificed in America ; and I 
 have only four dollars for this superb book — quarter, 
 
72 
 
 MEMOIR OF 
 
 quarter, quarter, and this goes to Maguire, at four 
 dollars and a quarter. ' The Gems of Beauty ' is the 
 next book, gentlemen. This is a glowing book, beauti- 
 ful as Venus, and bound by Vulcan in his best days, 
 red morocco, well read outside, gentlemen, and what 
 do I hear for that ? Fifty cents — horrible ! Two dol- 
 lars, by some gentleman whose feelings are outraged ; 
 quarter, quarter ; half, shall I say ? Cash has it, at two 
 dollars and a half. Now, gentlemen, for the ' Philo- 
 sophical Works of John Locke,' best edition, opened by 
 John Keese ; start, if you please — go on. Dollar ; n'alf, 
 n'alf; three quarters. '■Bound in muslin?' Yes, sir; 
 don't you respect the cloth? Seven eighths, seven 
 eighths ; two, two, two ; quarter, quarter — brought 
 three dollars the other day. 'No, it didn't /' Well, 
 one just like it did. Moffat takes it, at two dollars and 
 a quarter. Now for a beautiful annual, gentlemen, 
 ' The Ladies' Diadem,' splendid steel engravings, and 
 no date, may be 1855, 6, 7, or 8. Can't tell; they pub- 
 lish them so much in advance nowadays. What do I 
 hear? seventy-five, seventy-five ; new book, published 
 in England; dollar, dollar; eighth, do I hear? eighth; 
 quarter ; three eighths, three eighths — down. What's 
 the name ? whose bid is that ? Well, just as you please ; 
 quarter, quarter — that's your bid, sir ; 'gainst you, out 
 there ; three eighths — that's yours, sir ; what's the 
 name? */'// take it ; yon seem to be very anxious to sell it.' 
 No, sir, I'm not on the anxious-bench ; those are the 
 anxious-seats where you are. I take a decided stand 
 on that ; I face the whole congregation. Go on, if you 
 
JOHN KEESE. 73 
 
 please. The next book, ' Kirke White's Remains,' Lon- 
 don edition, with splendid portrait, taken from some 
 old daguerreotype ; dollar, dollar, dollar, and down it 
 goes. Who'll have it? Well, start it, gentlemen. 
 What do I hear ? seventy-five cents ; seven eighths, 
 seven eighths ; dollar, by all the house ; n'eighth, 
 n'eighth. Cash has it, at a dollar and an eighth ; hor- 
 rible ! I've been the high-priest of many a sacrifice. 
 Now, gentlemen, who wants ' Ross's Last Expedition ' ? 
 went to the poles, and, no doubt, voted twice. Start, 
 if you please — go on ; dollar, did you say ? quarter, 
 quarter, quarter; bidder here, half, half" — and so on 
 through the catalogue. 
 
 It is no wonder that people flocked to the evening 
 sales ; and I have heard many say that to go there was 
 as good as a play ; so that the late William E. Burton, 
 to whom in after-years my father became warmly at- 
 tached, whose theatre was then in Chambers Street, 
 regarded the auction-room of Cooley & Keese as no con- 
 temptible rival. And here I am reminded of an experi- 
 ence related by the famous comedian, which, although 
 a tale of his own crushing discomfiture, was told with 
 great relish. The story is new, and is really too good 
 to be lost. 
 
 It anno)^ed Burton very much when, in the tag end of 
 the play, certain of the audience began the bustle of de- 
 parture, and he determined to embrace the first oppor- 
 tunity to administer a public rebuke. He had not long 
 to wait. One evening, toward the close of the piece, the 
 characters standing in order for the epilogue, an auditor 
 
74 
 
 MEMOIR OF 
 
 arose in the gallery-front and began to button up his 
 coat. The comedian left his place and stepped to the 
 foot-lights. '* Excuse me, sir, but the play is not fin- 
 ished, and you disturb the audience. Have the good- 
 ness to sit down." The stranger, without pausing in his 
 preparation, promptly replied : '' Can't help it. I've 
 listened to your infernal trash long enough, and now 
 I'm going." "And what did you say, Burton?" ex- 
 claimed the late Henry Placide, who was one of the 
 amused group. " Harry," said Burton, with an air of 
 
 complete humiliation, " I couldn't say a • word ! " 
 
 My father was quite right in thinking that the actor 
 received on that occasion emphatically a curtain-lec- 
 ture. 
 
 A few words more with regard to Mr. Keese's value 
 as an auctioneer. A man of his knowledge and ability 
 was something entirely new in that capacity, and his 
 qualities could not fail to make an impression upon con- 
 temporary publishers. The success which attended the 
 semi-annual trade-sales was largely due to his compre- 
 hensive management of their important details, and his 
 zealous attention to the interests of all concerned. I 
 may be pardoned for quoting from an editorial article 
 in a New York paper of the period, under the heading 
 " Our City Trade-Sales," the following generous trib- 
 ute. After remarking on the extent of a late sale (the 
 largest that had taken place at the time), the article pro- 
 ceeds: "We can not, however, refrain from a word or 
 two on this subject with reference to the minor causes 
 which help to produce such extensive business transac- 
 
JOHN KEESE. 75 
 
 tions. It is well known that in a trade-sale there is 
 something more than capital required to carry on the 
 sale. Money, it is true, as the old saying is, begets 
 money : but, never to such extent as when it is aided 
 and directed by the capital of the mind. This is to be 
 clearly seen in the case of the late trade-sale. A large 
 amount of money capital was undoubtedly invested — 
 no house, perhaps, is ready to invest a larger in the 
 same range of business ; but, to the unceasing, indefati- 
 gable, and persevering efforts of the auctioneer him- 
 self, Mr. John Keese, is to be attributed a main cause of 
 so extensive a sale having taken place. With reference 
 to Mr. Keese personally we have no interest : we know 
 him only from report, and that report, emanating from 
 men whose dealings at the trade-sales have been con- 
 stant, is strong concerning him. It may seem, indeed, 
 a matter of indifference who may take upon himself to 
 arrange a sale and offer books to public competition. 
 But in truth it is not so. It is of great importance to 
 all concerned that the man, who at such times places 
 himself in the rostrum of the auctioneer, should himself 
 be well acquainted with all the minutias of the business, 
 and should be perfectly familiar with the books, both 
 externally and internally, that pass through his hands ; 
 and, not only that, but should also be possessed of that 
 particular tact and ability which enable him to keep his 
 audience constantly with him in fresh and cheerful com- 
 pany. In Mr. Keese we have in our visits to these sales 
 noticed these qualifications particularly. We have, more- 
 over, been at times delightfully surprised on witnessing 
 
76 MEMOIR OF 
 
 the natural and easy manner with which he carried on the 
 sale without the slightest forcing for effect, and the light 
 and life with which he managed to disperse its monoto- 
 nous character, diffusing cheerfulness over all his hear- 
 ers. There were flashes of brilliant wit and sentiment 
 ever emanating from him ; and the occasional lively rep- 
 artee tended to produce in the room that good humor 
 and feeling so essential, while it drew upon him hearty 
 marks of applause. Then, again, his sound acquaint- 
 ance with every branch of literary work was evident ; • 
 his knowledge of the value of a book, its worth intrinsi- 
 cally, and its marketable price in the store ; his familiar- 
 ity with the writings of the Eastern sages and classic 
 Greeks, the Latin orators, and the learned of modern 
 times ; his apt quotations and remarks concerning living 
 authors — all of which tended to convince us that supe- 
 riority of intellect, of education and experience, pre- 
 eminently adapted Mr. Keese for the position he had 
 assumed ; and it was also clear that he possessed that 
 practical knowledge of business, that promptitude and 
 activity of habit, which are essential to all who seek 
 success ; and we have no hesitation in saying that he 
 assuredly deserves it. His visits to the various cities of 
 the .Union, in connection with the trade -sales, have 
 caused him to be well known in many places, and every- 
 where to be esteemed ; and we have thought it right to 
 allude thus personally to him, because we always like 
 to see the energy and perseverance of a fellow-citizen 
 properly appreciated and understood. That this is so 
 with reference to Mr. Keese the trade in the late sale 
 
JOHN KEESE. 77 
 
 have undoubtedly admitted. Confidence in his name 
 was felt by every buyer ; and the same feeling existed 
 in the minds of all those gentlemen who semi-annually 
 offer their books to pablic sale through him and the 
 well-known house with which he is connected. Most 
 cordially do we wish him a continuance of that success 
 which his persevering efforts are so much entitled to." 
 
 I can not repress an emotion of pride while penning 
 the foregoing, and my thanks are recorded here to the 
 unknown writer for so feeling and so appreciative a trib- 
 ute. 
 
 The out-of-town visits referred to were always a 
 source of pleasure to Mr. Keese, for, while they extended 
 his business connections, they also brought him into 
 familiar intercourse with prominent publishers and men 
 of letters, and many valued friendships grew out of the 
 association. This was particularly the case in Boston 
 and Philadelphia. In the former city he was introduced 
 to Longfellow, Holmes, and others of the Boston literati. 
 We have in our possession an elegant edition of Longfel- 
 low's ballads, a gift from the poet himself, containing on 
 the fly-leaf the sixth verse of '* The Psalm of Life," writ- 
 ten there by the revered author's own hand. What a 
 treasure the volume has now become I need not say ! 
 
 The kind offices of the late James T. Fields were of 
 great value to my father in those days, and many an intro- 
 duction to men of note he owed to Mr. Fields's friendly 
 interest. I have always fancied that much intellectual 
 sympathy existed between the two. They were about 
 the same age ; their qualities of mind were not unlike ; 
 
78 MEMOIR OF 
 
 they were equally interested in letters, and full of enthu- 
 siasm respecting their favorite authors and the literary 
 guild generally. The aspirations of Mr. Fields were 
 more than answered. It fell to his lot to enjoy the ac- 
 quaintance, if not the friendship, of more literary people 
 of eminence than any American of his time ; and he died 
 full of years, beloved and lamented ; but not before hav- 
 ing given to the reading public a record of delightful 
 memories.* 
 
 Philadelphia, though by no means the haunt of au- 
 thors as compared with Boston, was a pleasant place to 
 visit, and Mr. Keese's relations with the publishers there 
 were always cordial. Undoubtedly his name is still re- 
 membered by many of the old houses. I am reminded of 
 a ludicrous incident he was witness of on one of his visits, 
 which, on account of its professional flavor, amused him 
 greatly. Strolling out at evening, he came to a street 
 where he found a little auction-store in full blast, and 
 with fraternal interest dropped in, to see what was going 
 on. A fiddle was " going " in the hands of the auction- 
 eer: "How much for this very fine fiddle? — how 
 much? — dollar — going — and a half — shall I have three- 
 quarters ? — dollar and a half — going — gone ! Now, gen- 
 tlemen, we'll sell the bow ! " " Why, I thought I bought 
 the bow with the fiddle," exclaimed the amazed bidder. 
 " From the country, I presume, my friend," replied the 
 auctioneer, with bland politeness ; and the bow, 1 believe, 
 was knocked down as a separate lot. He used to tell 
 this story with great glee ; and it is quite probable that 
 
 * " Yesterdays with Authors." 
 
JOHN KEESE. yg 
 
 had a fiddle and bow ever been included in an invoice to 
 Cooley & Keese, he would have found it hard to resist 
 the temptation to experiment upon his audience with 
 the tactics of his Philadelphia brother. 
 
 Mention has been made of Mr. Burton, the famous 
 comedian. He was also a Shakespearean scholar, a man 
 of letters to some extent, a lover of books, and the pos- 
 sessor of one of the finest private libraries in the coun- 
 try. Naturally, catalogues of all sales of interest and 
 value were sent to him, and my father kept him in- 
 formed with respect to the character and desirability of, 
 collections to come under his hammer — besides, as the 
 demands of his profession would not permit Mr. Burton 
 to attend in person, managing his bids and buying for 
 him at the sales. An acquaintance easily grew from this 
 connection, and a friendship later. One of Mr. Bur- 
 ton's reciprocal acts of kindness was to place our family 
 on the free list of his theatre, and the many hours of 
 delight born of that enviable privilege are still in the 
 keeping of memory. Those were the days of Captain 
 Cuttle, Paul Pry, Aniinadab Sleek, Timothy Toodle, Sir Toby 
 Beleh, Autolycus, and the rest; the days of Placide, 
 Blake, Brougham, Lester, George Barrett, T. B. John- 
 son, Mrs. Hughes, Mary Taylor, and a host of others ; 
 and the present writer has recorded in another form his 
 recollections of nights at the Chambers Street Theatre, 
 
 The design of forming an " American Shakespearean 
 Club " was conceived at this time, and a complimentary 
 dinner was given to Mr. Burton, by some friends and 
 admirers, on the 23d of April, 1852, when an organi- 
 
8o MEMOIR OF 
 
 zation was effected. Mr. Robert Balmanno, already 
 mentioned in the literary group sketched by Mr. Mor- 
 ford, acted as secretary on the occasion, and an account 
 of the festivity was written by him and published in the 
 " New York Evening Mirror " of April 26th. As Mr. 
 Keese warmly espoused the cause, and was chairman 
 of the meeting, I quote a portion of Mr. Balmanno's 
 report : 
 
 " In the course of the evening, Mr. Burton exhibited 
 to the company a most gorgeous Shakespearean silver 
 cup, of bounteous capacity, and of the most classic shape 
 and proportions, superbly chased with some of the most 
 prominent of Shakespeare's characters, executed from a 
 drawing made by the celebrated Stothard. This con- 
 tained another cup fashioned from the wood of the far- 
 famed mulberry - tree which was planted by Shake- 
 speare's own hand in his garden at Stratford-on-Avon — 
 and the well-known words of the song will apply, when 
 Garrick held up Ids cup at the Stratford jubilee : 
 
 " ' Behold this fair goblet ; 
 
 'Twas carved from the tree 
 Which, O my dear Shakespeare, 
 Was planted by thee ! ' " 
 
 After an admirable dinner, the most important busi- 
 ness of the evening was entered into : namely, the for- 
 mation of an American Shakespearean Club ; and an ad- 
 mirable letter from Washington Irving was read, with 
 other letters and papers. Mr. Irving, it seems, had been 
 invited to fill the office of president ; but he had de- 
 
JOHN KEESE. 8 1 
 
 clined, and Mr. Burton was proposed and unanimously 
 elected. 
 
 In rising to propose a toast in honor of the da)-, Mr. 
 Keese said : " Gentlemen, we are met this evening- in a 
 social and informal manner, to do honor to the nativity 
 of the highest literary genius the world has ever known. 
 It would be sheer presumption in one to whom your 
 partial kindness has dictated his present position, to de- 
 scant for a moment upon the genius whose myriad-mind 
 has been illustrated by the greatest men that have come 
 after him ; and in the presence of the truest living ex- 
 emplifier of one department of his characters, and the 
 severe and appreciating students of his works. What 
 could I say, that all of you have not better thought, and 
 much better said, before ? It is a great day that we 
 celebrate — the greatest in the intellectual calendar of 
 time. Is it not one that will ever be commemorated 
 with enthusiasm ? Yes ! while there are stars in heaven, 
 or an Anglo-Saxon upon earth ! Gentlemen, I give you — 
 The day we celebrate: it will ever be a celebrated day." 
 
 The remarks of the chair, wrote Mr. Balmanno, 
 introducing the toast complimentary to Mr. Burton, 
 were in Mr. Reese's happiest vein. He claimed for him 
 a combination of the versatile characteristics of four 
 renowned English comedians — Emery, Fawcett, Mun- 
 den, and Liston — and most felicitously remarked, that 
 could his great master, Shakespeare, have witnessed 
 Mr. Burton's inimitable delineation of Polonhis, Touch- 
 stone, and Sir Toby Belch — his incomparable personation 
 of Antolycits in the " Winter's Tale," and even that of the 
 6 
 
82 • MEMOIR OF 
 
 weird sisters in "Macbeth" — he would have hugged him 
 to his heart with the same burst of feehng which has 
 been transferred from the hps of Shakespeare to the 
 tomb of one of his choicest comrades, and truly ex- 
 claimed — 
 
 " O rare Bill Burton ! " 
 
 Here, said the chronicler, Mr. Burton rose; no longer 
 the irresistible magician who sets in movement every 
 mirthful emotion of the heart ; but grave, impressive, 
 and dignified ; and in a brief but most eloquent speech 
 expressed as well in manner as in words how deeply 
 he felt the friendly homage by which he was sur- 
 rounded. 
 
 The association so auspiciously begun was destined 
 to be short-lived. I have no record or recollection of 
 any of its subsequent meetings ; and the promise that it 
 gave of establishing in New York an institution devoted 
 to noble uses, and worthy of its great name, was, un- 
 happily, not fulfilled. 
 
 Some time after the dinner above described, Mr. 
 Burton gave a " Mulberry Feast " in honor of Shake- 
 speare, at his residence at Glen Cove, Long Island. 
 The late Lewis Gaylord Clark, in describing the occa- 
 sion, in his " Editor's Table " in the " Knickerbocker," 
 tells the following story, in which Mr. Keese appears: 
 
 " At this festivity the late Mr. Balmanno, the kindly 
 devotee to the great dramatist and the whole genial 
 world of literature and art, unwrapped from many fold- 
 ings of tissue-paper a piece of bark, taken by himself, as 
 he asserted, from Heme's oak in Windsor Forest. ' You 
 
JOHN KEESE. 83 
 
 took this from the trunk of the old oak itself, did you, 
 Mr. Balmanno?' asked Keese. 'I did,' was the re- 
 sponse. ' Ah ! ' was the reply of his questioner, eying 
 the relic with affectionate admiration, but thoughtfully, 
 after a slight pause — ' isn't it barely possible, Mr. Bal- 
 manno, that you may have been barking up the wrong 
 tree .^ ' " 
 
 The following lines are taken from a local poem 
 written for a literary society at the time when Burton's 
 Theatre was deservedly the most popular place of 
 amusement in the city : 
 
 " The drama flourishes, and one thing's certain. 
 Wealth, taste, and beauty throng to laugh at Burton. 
 There they behold great Shakespeare's finest scholar, 
 A poet and a wit, for half a dollar ; 
 There Shakespeare, Sheridan, and Colman, meet. 
 And you must early go to get a seat. 
 Rare son of Momus, may your shadow ne'er be less, 
 And we not die from laughing to excess ! " 
 
 Nor did he forget the renowned importer of Jumbo: 
 
 " The Bearded Lady, with her whiskers dark, 
 Is seen each day at Barhum's, near the Park. 
 Barnum exhibits, with his usual taste. 
 His only humbug that is not barefaced ! " 
 
 It may not be out of place to give here a single speci- 
 men of a light kind of verse-writing ; the only one out 
 of many that chance has preserved. The lines are ad- 
 dressed 
 
84 MEMOIR OF 
 
 TO A DAUGHTER OF NEW ENGLAND, 
 
 On the receipt of a Pumpkin-Pie on Thanksgiving-Day. 
 
 Thanks, lady, thanks ! — thy hand well skilled 
 
 To touch with fairy fingers 
 The harpsichord with music filled. 
 
 As o'er it beauty lingers — 
 
 Didst thou descend where plate and platter 
 
 In goodly order stand, 
 And form for me this pretty batter, 
 
 This gift from Yankee land ? 
 
 Oh, were I blest with wit and taste 
 
 Well seasoned as thy pie, 
 I would in numbers puff thy paste^ 
 
 Nor make a tai-t reply. 
 
 Thou modest pumpkin ! gentle hands 
 Did pluck thee from the vine. 
 
 And made thee pride of Eastern lands 
 Whene'er their children dine. 
 
 And though thou wert of modest birth, 
 
 Nay, groveled in the dirt, 
 Yet all New England knows thy worth, 
 
 And owns thy rich dessert! 
 
 And Pilgrim daughters on this isle, 
 Where squashes most abound. 
 
 Will greet thy presence with a smile, 
 When Thanksgiving rolls around. 
 
JOHN KEESE. 85 
 
 Then, lady, will my prayers ascend 
 • For richest gifts on thee ; 
 
 And Heaven will bless the gentle friend 
 Who shares her crust with me. 
 
 And though I fear my own desert 
 
 Will ne'er awarded be, 
 My flattered fancy must revert 
 
 To one sweet ptiff from thee. 
 
 And should I run the race of fame, 
 
 I'll feel with joy elate 
 That no dishonor clouds his name 
 
 Who's won a lady's plate ! 
 
 A passing allusion to Mr. Burton's library has been 
 made in these pages ; but a more extended reference to 
 it can not fail, I think, to interest my readers. Let me 
 recall the evening when it was my privilege to stand 
 within those walls, sacred to the glorious and immortal 
 in literature, and adorned with inestimable treasures of 
 art. It was an evening when Mr. Burton had gathered 
 about him a band of friends, and the writer accompanied 
 his father, who was one of that chosen circle. With 
 what trembling awe I found m3'sclf in the presence of 
 the elder Wallack, his son, Mr. Lester, Henry Placide, 
 George Barrett, Dion Boucicault, and the great come- 
 dian himself ! That indefinable sensation — which I sup- 
 pose every youth experiences when finding himself in 
 the company of actors off the stage — possessed me as I 
 furtively gazed upon those faces I had never before seen 
 
86 MEMOIR OF 
 
 this side of the foot-lights ; and as I looked at Mr. Wal- 
 lack I thought of Erasmus Bookwoi-ni and Dick DasJiall ; 
 the agreeable presence of Mr. Lester evoked the images 
 of Percy A rdent and Harry Dornton ; I expected to hear 
 the voice of Colonel Hardy when Mr. Placide spoke ; in 
 the tall person of Mr. Barrett I saw the boastful bearing 
 of Bobadil ; and in the host himself was reflected an 
 entire gallery. But, really, there was nothing of the 
 kind. They were so many gentlemen gathered beneath 
 Mr. Burton's roof, enjoying his hospitality, and acting 
 simply their natural parts. The profession was dis- 
 missed. Like a man's business, it was over for the day. 
 Yet, at supper, the qualities that so often shone on the 
 mimic scene came into play, and lent to conversation 
 vivacious flow and sparkle. " The flash of wit — the 
 bright intelligence " — gleamed about the board, every- 
 where finding an answering spirit, and prolific in enter- 
 taining contribution. A topic launched by Mr. Barrett, 
 Mr. Wallack would gayly seize and build upon ; Mr. 
 Lester would then playfully and characteristically para- 
 phrase it ; Mr. Placide would in turn secure it and aug- 
 ment it felicitously — and so on ; until finally it was 
 received by Mr. Burton, to be amplified with infinite 
 relish. 
 
 But a greater treat was in store. Supper ended, we 
 were invited to the library. 
 
 This structure was a building by itself, and was con- 
 nected with the residence by a conservatory gallery, 
 through which the company passed. The principal li- 
 brary-room was on the upper floor, with lofty, ornament- 
 
JOHN KEESE. 87 
 
 ed ceiling, in the center of which rose a dome skyhght 
 of stained glass. We saw the bookcases, upward of nine 
 feet high, lining the sides of the room, in whose oaken 
 recesses reposed over sixteen thousand volumes ! Mas- 
 terpieces of painting hung in the space between the 
 cases and the ceiling, and wherever our eyes turned 
 they were held by some object of artistic design, his- 
 toric interest, or haunting beauty. Mailed efhgics m 
 niche and compartment embalmed the stern glory of the 
 middle ages ; the divine wonder in the eyes of Mary in 
 " The Nativity " looked forth from the canvas of Mu- 
 rillo ; and the spirit of Shakespeare held sccptered sway, 
 breathing from sculptured image, bust, and cenotaph, 
 and many a priceless relic. We gazed upon an eques- 
 trian picture of Queen Victoria — the Queen painted by 
 Count d'Orsay, the horse by Landseer — which picture 
 now adorns the wall of the Conservative Club in London. 
 The Murillo, I may note, became the property of the 
 Peruvian Minister to England, who considered it of fab- 
 ulous value. 
 
 In a prominent niche stood a full-length statue of 
 Shakespeare, executed by Thom, the Scotch sculptor; 
 and on another side of the librar}^ on a bracket of the 
 Elizabethan age, was placed the Stratford bust — bracket 
 and bust both obtained by Mr. Burton at the sale of the 
 effects of the celebrated antiquar}', Mr. Cottingham, and 
 no other copy of them, it was said, existed. There was 
 a curious cup, found in Shakespeare's garden ; a beauti- 
 fully carved tea-caddy, made from the wood of Shake- 
 speare's mulberry-tree, once the property of Garrick ; a 
 
88 MEMOIR OF 
 
 small statue of Shakespeare in china, remarkable for 
 being the first specimen of that ware executed at Chel- 
 sea in England, and historic, like the tea-caddy, in that 
 it also was formerly Garrick's ; two drinking-cups with 
 silver rims, said to be " made of the wood of a crab-tree 
 under which Shakespeare slept during his celebrated 
 frolic, formerly in the possession of Betterton." Out- 
 side the library, in a place prepared for it, stood the 
 statue of Shakespeare in wood, a relic of the old Park 
 Theatre. Among other relics not pertaining to Shake- 
 speare, but of equal historic interest, were the gold watch 
 presented by Napoleon to Talma, the tragedian, with 
 an interior inscription ; Washington's own repeating 
 watch ; and many other interesting mementos. 
 
 It is not my intention, even were it possible, to at- 
 tempt any description of the many rare and valuable 
 books that were embraced in Mr. Burton's superb col- 
 lection. Too young to have any comprehension what- 
 ever of those thousands of volumes of precious literature, 
 I can only record my condition of simple wonderment as 
 I stood and gazed around me. That matchless library 
 was sold at auction after the owner's death, and suffered, 
 T believe, general dispersion. 1 know, however, that ev- 
 ery department of literature, exclusive of the Shakespear- 
 ean collection, was represented, and comprised works 
 of acknowledged bibliographical eminence, many being 
 unique in importance and value.* 
 
 * A detailed description of Mr. Burton's library will be found in an ac- 
 count of" Private Libraries in New York," by James Wynne, M. D., pub- 
 lished by E. French, New York, i860. 
 
JOHN KEESE. 89 
 
 I have often wondered why my father, with his 
 many opportunities, never amassed a library. Perhaps 
 it was owing to the fact that his business was books, and, 
 being- constantly in the midst of them, there was no 
 incitement to pursuit and possession. A collection of 
 books at home might have seemed to him, indeed, some- 
 thing like a transplantation of his business. But, at all 
 events, he gave no sign of a collector's itching palm, nor 
 of anything that betokened a leaning toward bibliomania. 
 He would bring books home to read and to show us, and 
 would then take them away ; they were not so many add- 
 ing prizes to groaning shelves. Not but that all our liter- 
 ary needs were more than supplied ; but he did not share 
 Henry Ward Beecher's feeling that there is no pleasure 
 so great as that of buying a book 3'ou can not afford to 
 pay for. He could not say with Prospcro, " My library 
 was dukedom large enough." 
 
 The dissolution of the firm of Cooley & Keese in 
 1854, as previously stated, compelled my father to seek 
 a new position, and he obtained the appointment of Ap- 
 praiser of Books in the New York Custom-House, a 
 post he was well qualified to fill. So long as his health 
 permitted, he still occupied the auctioneer's pulpit at 
 the evening sales of the firm's successors ; but the exer- 
 tion was always followed by sore aggravation of his 
 bronchial trouble, and at length it became evident that 
 his selling-days were over. He confined himself then to 
 his duties as appraiser, and felt hopeful that with care 
 his season of usefulness might be prolonged. But it was 
 not to be. His voice rapidly failed, until it fell to almost 
 
90 
 
 MEMOIR OF 
 
 a whisper. Yet his bright spirit still watched the cita- 
 del. In so dark an hour, Chief-Justice Daly, meeting 
 him at his labor, inquired respecting his health. " Fail- 
 ing, failing — in a place where everything is invoiced ex- 
 cept myself." 
 
 He grew weaker and weaker, and finally was unable 
 to leave his room. In the afternoon of May 30, 1856, 
 his brother brought from the Custom-House a document 
 requiring his signature, and he wrote his name with a 
 firm hand. A few hours afterward he was no more. A 
 sudden hasmorrhage was the immediate cause of death ; 
 and with the shadows of evening came the deeper shad- 
 ow of bereavement. 
 
 So passed away a man who thirty years ago enjoyed 
 a reputation almost unique in the city that gave him 
 birth. With respect to natural gifts and certain predom- 
 inating qualities, it seems to have been generally ac- 
 knowledged that no successor in the auction-room has 
 suggested a comparison. His career was marked by ac- 
 tivity and enterprise, and in the performance of his du- 
 ties he exhibited zeal, method, and comprehension. His 
 physical endurance was remarkable, and he shrank from 
 no labor, however fatiguing or incessant. It was no 
 unusual thing, during the trade-sales, to see him go on 
 selling day after day, as fresh and sparkling as if he had 
 just come on the stand. An endeavor to depict him in 
 the scenes of his busy life has been made in the preced- 
 ing pages, and I trust not wholly in vain. Allusion has 
 been made to his conversational and entertaining pow- 
 
JOHN KEESE. oi 
 
 ers, and his name may be recalled by readers of this mem- 
 oir who remember him in the social circle. It remains 
 to be said that he was kind and loving- in his family rela- 
 tions, and that his home was everything to him. He was 
 generous to a fault, and ever ready to respond to 
 friendship's call. His motto might be given in the 
 words of Shakespeare : 
 
 " I count myself in nothing else so happy, 
 As in a soul remembering my good friends." 
 
INDEX. 
 
 Allston, Washington, 33, note. 
 " American Shakespearean Club," 79. 
 " Ancient Mariner, The," 15, note. 
 "Attic Club, The," 12, note. 
 " Auctioneer, The," quotation from, 
 66. 
 
 Balmanno, Mr. and Mrs., sketch of, 
 
 47- 
 Balmanno, Robert, 80, 81, 82, 83. 
 Barker, J. N., 33, note. 
 Barlow, Joel, 64, 
 Barrett, George, 79, 85, 86. 
 Beecher, Henry \V., 89. 
 Biddle, Nicholas, 24. 
 Bigelow, John, 12, note. 
 Bird, R. M., 33, note. 
 Blake, William E., 79. 
 Boucicault, Dion, 85. 
 Bradley, Alice, 56. 
 Brooks, J. G., 33, note. 
 Brougham, John, 79. 
 Bryant, William Cullen, 20, 31, 33, 
 
 note. 
 Burr, S. J., 33, note. 
 Burton, William E., 30 ; story of, 73 ; 
 
 mention, 79, 80, 81, 82, 85, 86, 87, 
 
 83. 
 Burton's Theatre, 83. 
 Butler, George B., 12, note. 
 
 Canfield, Rev. Dr., 10. 
 Chapman, J. G., 21. 
 Clieever, George B., 31. 
 Choate, Rufus, oration of, 13. 
 " Christabel," 15, note. 
 Cincinnati, Society of the, 7. 
 Clark, Lewis G., 21, 24, 82. 
 Clark, Willis G., 33, note. 
 Clarke, Dr. Alonzo, 12, note. 
 
 Collins & Hannay, 8. 
 Collins, Keese & Co., 9, 20. 
 Colman, Samuel, 33, note. 
 "Column Club, The," account of, 
 
 II, note. 
 Cooley, James E., 9. 
 Cooley & Keese, 9, 60, 73, 79. 
 Cooley, Keese & Ilill, 9, 59. 
 Cooper, J. Fenimore, 21, 24. 
 Cornwall, Barry, 40. 
 Cutter, W., 33, note, 
 
 Dana, R. H., 33, note. 
 Daponte, C. E., 33, note. 
 Davidson, L. M., 33, note. 
 Davis, Matthew L., 22, 23. 
 Dawes, R., 33, note. 
 Dearborn, George, 20. 
 Dewey, Rev. Orville, 20. 
 Dinnies, A. P., 33, note. 
 Doane, G. W., 33, note. 
 Drake, J. Rodman, 22, 33, note. 
 Duyckinck, Evert A., preface, 36, 62, 
 67. 
 
 " Early Called, The," 35, note. 
 
 Ellet, E. F., 33, note. 
 
 Embury, Daniel, 49. 
 
 Embury, Emma C, 33, note ; sketch 
 
 of, 48. 
 Emery, John, 81. 
 Evarts, William M., 12, note. 
 Everett, Edward, 24, 33, note. 
 
 Father Prout (Francis Mahony), 55. 
 Fawcett, John, 81. 
 Fay, Theodore S., 34, note. 
 Felt, David, 20. 
 
 Fields, James T., 30 ; verse by, 67 ; 
 mention, 77, 78. 
 
94 
 
 INDEX. 
 
 Fish, Hamilton, 12, note. 
 
 " Floral Keepsake, The," 36. 
 
 " Forest Legendary, The," 36. 
 
 Forney, John W., 17. 
 
 Forrest, Edwin, recitation by, 17. 
 
 Francis, John W., 21, 23, 24. 
 
 Gallatin, Albert, 20. 
 Gilman, Caroline, 34, note. 
 Godwin, Parke, 12, note. 
 Gould, H. F., 34, note. 
 Gourlie, John, 12, note. 
 Gowans, William, 68. 
 Gray, Harrison, 21, 22. 
 Griswold, Rufus W., sketch of, 50- 
 52. 
 
 Hale. Sarah J., 34, note. 
 
 Halleck, Fitz-Greene, 20, 21, 24, 34, 
 
 note, 38. 
 Harper, Fletcher, 20, 25. 
 Harper, James, 21, 22 ; speech of, 
 
 23- 
 " Harper's Magazine," 30, note. 
 Haven, Alice B., 56. 
 Hayne, Paul H., 50. 
 Hill, Horatio, g. 
 Hillhouse, J. A., 34, note. 
 Hoffman, Charles Fenno, 34, note, 
 
 38 ; sketch of, 42, 43 ; mention, 57, 
 
 58, note, 59. 
 Hoffman, George H., 12, note. 
 Holmes, Oliver W., 34, note, 40, 77. 
 Hone, Philip, 21, 23. 
 Hood, Thomas, 40, 61. 
 Hook, Theodore E., 40. 
 Hooper, Lucy, " Poetical Remains " 
 
 of, 33- 
 Hosmer, William H. C, sketch of, 
 
 53, 58. 
 Hughes, Mrs., 79. 
 Huntington, Daniel, 52, 56. 
 Hutton, Laurence, story told by, 28. 
 
 " Idiot Boy, The," poem, 16-20. 
 
 " Influence of Knowledge, The " (lec- 
 ture), 36. 
 
 Inman, Henry, 21 ; sketch of, 56. 
 
 Inman, Mary, sketch of, 56. 
 
 Irving, Washington, 20, 21, 23, 24, 
 34, note, 40, 80. 
 
 Johnston, T. B., 79. 
 
 Kane, Elisha Kent, 56. 
 
 Kean, Edmund, 27, 28. 
 Keese, Edmund Willets, 10. 
 Keese, John ( grandfather of sub- 
 ject), 7. 
 Keese, John, preface, birth, and par- 
 entage, 7. 
 
 his grandfathers, 7. 
 education for the ministry, 8. 
 beginning his business career, 
 
 8,9- 
 
 marriage and family, 9. 
 
 self-cultivation, 10, 11. 
 
 joins " The Column Club," 11. 
 
 love of oratory. Brougham, 
 Choate, etc., 13. 
 
 Dr. Nott's addresses, 14. 
 
 Kossuth's speeches, 15. 
 
 poetical recitation, 15. 
 
 improvisation and reading, 15, 
 note. 
 
 " The Prisoner of Chillon," 16. 
 
 " The Idiot Boy " ; Forney and 
 Forrest, 16-20. 
 
 Booksellers' dinner, speech there- 
 at, 20-25, ^f ^^1- 
 
 a genuine Gothamite, 26. 
 
 extract from local poem, 26, 27. 
 
 passion for the drama ; imitations 
 of actors, 27. 
 
 auction-room story, 28. 
 
 private theatricals ;" The Rivals," 
 29, 30, et seq. 
 
 editorship ; " The Poets of Amer- 
 ica," etc., etc., 31-36, et seq. 
 
 " The Influence of Knowledge" 
 (lecture), 36. 
 
 his literary capabilities ; produc- 
 tions, 37. 
 
 residence in Atlantic Street, 38. 
 
 A literary group, 39-57. 
 
 pen-portrait of, 41, et seq. 
 
 fate of Atlantic-Street house, 57, 
 et seq. 
 
 becomes auctioneer, 59. 
 
 qualities as auctioneer, 60-63. 
 
 wit of the auction-room, 63- 
 
 73- 
 value as an auctioneer, 74. 
 encomium in New York paper, 
 
 74-77- 
 out-of-town visits, 77, et seq. 
 story of Philadelphia auctioneer, 
 
 78. _ 
 acquaintance with W. E. Burton, 
 
 79- 
 
INDEX. 
 
 95 
 
 Keese, John, presides at meeting of 
 ^hakespeare Club, 80. 
 speeches thereat, 81, 82. 
 story of, at "Mulberry Feast," 
 
 82, 83. 
 extract from local poem, 83. 
 poem " To a Daughter of New 
 
 England," 84. 
 Visit to Mr. Burton's library, 
 
 85-88. 
 appointed appraiser of books, 89. 
 ilhiess and death, 90. 
 conclusion, 90. 
 " Keese, John ; his Intimates," etc., 
 
 preface, 39. 
 Keese, Jonathan Lawrence, 9, 9, note, 
 
 41. 
 Keese, Willets, 9, 41. 
 Keese, William, 7. 
 Keese, \Vm. Linn, ist, 8. 
 Keese, \Vm. Linn, 2d, 41. 
 Kemble, Miss, 28. 
 Kent, James, 7, 20, 21, 23. 
 
 Kettell, , 31- 
 
 King, Charles, 21, 22. 
 Kossuth, Louis, sj^eeches of, 15. 
 
 Lamb, Charles, 40. 
 
 Lawrence, Jonathan, Jr., 34, note. 
 
 Leggett, W., 34. 
 
 Lester, J. W., 79, 85, 86. 
 
 Lewis, Estelle Anna, 56. 
 
 Linen, James, 66. 
 
 Linn, Rebecca, 7. 
 
 Linn, Rev. William, 7. 
 
 Liston, John, 81. 
 
 Locke, Richard A., 21. 
 
 Longfellow, Henry W., 15, note, 33, 
 
 34, note, 40, 77. 
 Lowell, J. Russell, 40. 
 Lyell, Rev. Dr., 12, note. 
 
 Macaulay, T. B., 40. 
 
 " Major Jack Downing," 35, 44, 45. 
 
 Mellen, G., 34, note. 
 
 Mitchell, J. K., 34, note. 
 
 Mitchell, William, 31. 
 
 M'Lellan, L, Jr., 34, note. 
 
 Moore, Clement C, 34, note. 
 
 Morford, Henry, preface, 15, 38, 39, 
 80. 
 
 " Morford's Magazine," 39. 
 
 Morris, Cleorge P., 21, 31 ; auction- 
 room story, 65, 66. 
 
 " Mourner's Chaplet, The," 35. 
 
 " Mulberry Feast " (story), 82. 
 Munden, Joseph S., 81. 
 
 Nathan, Jonathan, 12. 
 
 Neal, John, 34, note, 35. 
 
 Neal, Jose])h C, 56. 
 
 Noah, Major, 21, 22. 
 
 " North American Scenery," 36. 
 
 Norton, A., 34, note. 
 
 Nott, Dr., address of, 14. 
 
 Oakes-Smith, Elizabeth, 34, 35, 58. 
 " Opal, The," 36. 
 Osgood, Frances Sargent, 47. 
 "Our Poets Forly-tliree Years ago," 
 33. note. 
 
 Paulding, James K., 20, 23, 34, note. 
 
 Peabody, W. O. B., 34, note. 
 
 Percival. James G., 34, note. 
 
 Pickering, H., 34, note. 
 
 Pierpont, John, 34, note. 
 
 Pinkney, E. C, 34, note. 
 
 Placide, Henry, 30, 74, 79, 85, 86. 
 
 Poe, Edgar A., 21, 24, 31. 
 
 " Poets of America, The," 22, note, 31, 
 
 32, 33, note. 
 Prentice, Cieorge D., 34, note. 
 " Prisoner of Chillon, The," 15. 
 Pritchard, William M., 12, note. 
 " Private Libraries in New York," 88, 
 
 note. 
 Putnam, George P., 21, 25. 
 
 Read, Thomas Buchanan, sketch of, 
 
 55, 56. 
 " Rivals, The," performance of, 29. 
 Robertson, Anthony, 12. 
 Robins, George, 60, 61. 
 Rockwell, J. O., 34, note. 
 Rogers, Samuel, letter of, 24, 40. 
 " Rosalie Clare" (song), 57. 
 
 Sabin, Joseph, 62, note. 
 
 Sands, R. C, 34, note. 
 
 Sargent, Epes, 34, note. 
 
 Schell, Augustus, 12, 12, note. 
 
 Sigourney, L. H., 34, note. 
 
 Simms, William G., 34, note ; sketch 
 
 of, 49, 50. 
 "Skeleton in Armor, The," 15, note. 
 Smith, L. P., 34, note. 
 Smith, Mr. and Mrs. Seba, sketch of, 
 
 44-47. 
 Smith, Sydney, 26. 
 
96 
 
 INDEX. 
 
 Sprague, Charles, 34, note. 
 Stace, Mary Leighton, 54. 
 Stone, William L., 21, 22, 
 Street, A. B.. 34, note. 
 Strong, Oliver, 12. 
 Sutermeister, J. R., 34, note. 
 
 Taylor, Mary, 31, 79. 
 
 Thackeray, W. M., 40. 
 
 " Then," 30, note. 
 
 Thorpe, Thomas B., 56. 
 
 Timrod, W. H., 34, note. 
 
 Trumbull, Colonel, 20. 
 
 Tuckerman, Henry T., 34, note, 35 
 note, 38 ; sketch of, 43, 44 ; men- 
 tion, 58, 59. 
 
 Van Winkle, E. S., 12, note. 
 Verplanck, Gulian C, 24. 
 
 Wallack, James, 85, 86. 
 
 Webster, Daniel, 24. 
 
 Webster, Noah, 24. 
 
 Wells, A. M., 34, note. 
 
 White, Richard Grant, sketch of, 53^ 
 
 54 ; mention, 58 ; story told by, 67," 
 
 68. 
 Whittier, John G., 34, 34, note. 
 Wilcox, C, 34, note. 
 Wilde, R. H., 34, note. 
 Willets, Elizabeth, 9. 
 Willets, Zebulon S., 9. 
 WiUis, N. P., 24, 34, note ; sketch of, 
 
 54, 55. 
 " Wintergreen, The," 36. 
 Woodworth, Samuel, 34, note. 
 
 " Yesterdays with Authors," 78, note. 
 
 THE END, 
 
"^mifW^: 
 
 ■■'■■■ ^-'v-J^-'O^'-'*^^?^^ 
 
LIBRARY OF CONGRESS 
 
 016 117 785 4