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In the earlier chapters of this volume, it has somewhere been passingly
intimated, that Pierre was not only a reader of the poets and other fine
writers, but likewise--and what is a very different thing from the
other--a thorough allegorical understander of them, a profound emotional
sympathizer with them; in other words, Pierre himself possessed the
poetic nature; in himself absolutely, though but latently and
floatingly, possessed every whit of the imaginative wealth which he so
admired, when by vast pains-takings, and all manner of unrecompensed
agonies, systematized on the printed page. Not that as yet his young and
immature soul had been accosted by the Wonderful Mutes, and through the
vast halls of Silent Truth, had been ushered into the full, secret,
eternally inviolable Sanhedrim, where the Poetic Magi discuss, in
glorious gibberish, the Alpha and Omega of the Universe. But among the
beautiful imaginings of the second and third degree of poets, he freely
and comprehendingly ranged.
But it still remains to be said, that Pierre himself had written many a
fugitive thing, which had brought him, not only vast credit and
compliments from his more immediate acquaintances, but the less partial
applauses of the always intelligent, and extremely discriminating
public. In short, Pierre had frequently done that, which many other boys
have done--published. Not in the imposing form of a book, but in the
more modest and becoming way of occasional contributions to magazines
and other polite periodicals. His magnificent and victorious _debut_ had
been made in that delightful love-sonnet, entitled "The Tropical
Summer." Not only the public had applauded his gemmed little sketches of
thought and fancy, whether in poetry or prose; but the high and mighty
Campbell clan of editors of all sorts had bestowed upon him those
generous commendations, which, with one instantaneous glance, they had
immediately perceived was his due. They spoke in high terms of his
surprising command of language; they begged to express their wonder at
his euphonious construction of sentences; they regarded with reverence
the pervading symmetry of his general style. But transcending even this
profound insight into the deep merits of Pierre, they looked infinitely
beyond, and confessed their complete inability to restrain their
unqualified admiration for the highly judicious smoothness and
genteelness of the sentiments and fancies expressed. "This writer," said
one,--in an ungovernable burst of admiring fury--"is characterized
throughout by Perfect Taste." Another, after endorsingly quoting that
sapient, suppressed maxim of Dr. Goldsmith's, which asserts that
whatever is new is false, went on to apply it to the excellent
productions before him; concluding with this: "He has translated the
unruffled gentleman from the drawing-room into the general levee of
letters; he never permits himself to astonish; is never betrayed into
any thing coarse or new; as assured that whatever astonishes is vulgar,
and whatever is new must be crude. Yes, it is the glory of this
admirable young author, that vulgarity and vigor--two inseparable
adjuncts--are equally removed from him."
A third, perorated a long and beautifully written review, by the bold
and startling announcement--"This writer is unquestionably a highly
respectable youth."
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