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  #601  
Old 07-16-2018, 06:09 AM
brentano brentano is offline
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I forgot to mention yesterday that if readers of this thread are finding difficulty following connections between the different topics brought up, they may be interested in reading these two books:

1) Secret Agent 666: Aleister Crowley, British Intelligence and the Occult by Richard B. Spence

2) Prostitution and Prejudice: The Jewish Fight Against White Slavery 1870-1939 by Edward J. Bristow

The first details how revolutionary political causes, like Irish Nationalism and the Bolshevik Revolution were exploited by British Intelligence. Also, Occultism was used to this end. Much of Crowley's "Magick" centered around controlling people by *psychologically* obliterating their identity. Crowley basically used same psych control methods that pimps use to control the whores who believe the pimp 'loves' them.

The second details international organized crime and its connection to state-sponsored terrorism, various intelligence communities, various militaries. Prostitution rackets were great informant networks; almost always state-sponsored (e.g. police cooperation, military funding, intelligence community patronage).

Prostitution is the common denominator that links the two books. Very lucrative. To have state funding though, organizers would need to guarantee girls clean-- the most organized international prostitution rings were run by medical doctors. (Ding, ding!) There was a lot of violence in this community. Lot of police protection. Lot of bodies, particularly young female ones. Lot of psychopaths.
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  #602  
Old 09-23-2018, 04:23 PM
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Brentano, I have read Secret Agent 666.

This thread is fairly discursive. An under-developed underlying theme may be something like the underside of the history of ideas.

An excerpt from an article discussing the people that used to hang out at John Anderson's tobacco shop.

The Daily Gazette (Wilmington, DE), November 29, 1881, Page 3, Column 3

A Fortune from Finecut
Career of John Anderson, the Veteran Tobacconist

[...]

Thirty or more years ago he kept a
little tobacco shop in Wall street, close
to Broadway. It was so small that three
men could not move freely before the
counter, yet it was haunted by the
conspicuous men about town. Gen. Winfield
Scott, Col. Monroe, son of the
President; Mr. Williams, the translator
of Eugene Sue's works, Park Benjamin,
of whom Mr. Anderson used to say that
"he was the editor of more papers than
there were streets in that ward," C.
Edwards Lester, who wrote, "The
Glory and Shame of England," and
many of tbe fops, the merchant princes,
and the politicians of the metropolis
were among the frequent visitors there.
Snuff taking was universal then, and
many of the young men felt privileged
to go behind the counter and mix the
snuff to suit themselves.


[...]


----end

According to this, Anderson gave Thomas Williams, a literary/bohemian type, $500 for coming up with a trademark for one of his tobacco products.

The True Northerner (Paw Paw, MI), March 10, 1882, Page 6, Column 4

"Solace"

(New York Mercury)

John Anderson, the great tobacconist,
millionaire and philanthropist, died
recently; and that reminds me that some
years since and not so very long ago, but
many livin' men remember it, John
Anderson, Ben Wood and Fernando
Wood sat on the same bench together
makin' cigars. Anderson used to keep a
cigar store on Broadway, opposite Pearl
Street, near a big hospital with green
shutters, that has long since moved up
town. But it was in a little store near
Ann street that he laid the beginnin' of
his success.

Anderson's big hit was made by his
"Solace tobacco," and this tobacco
owes most of its luck to a name;
and this name had its origin in the
brain of an old New York Bohemian
called William--Thomas Williams--who
was a very curious character, and had
led an eccentric existence. He was a
big fat fellow, very dignified, and carried
a heavy gold headed cane. He was an
Englishman, belonged to a "good
family," and at one time had handled a
good deal of money.

But he had two hobbies, both expensive
ones--the stage and the lottery.
He was all the time followin' actresses
about, and buyin' ticket in all sorts of
"schemes." He followed Mrs. Siddons
all over England, with some friends in a
four-in-hand coach, always takin' a
private box at all the lady's performances.

These two hobbies soon brought him
to grief, and he came to this country to
make a livin' with the only things he
had left--his education and his brain.
He got some translatin' to do, and he
worked awhile on a paper that was
popular in its day, called Winchester's New
World.

One day he dropped in at Anderson's
shop and saw Anderson there. The two
got talkin', and Anderson said he had
been tryin' for some time to think of a
nice name for some tobacco he had
wanted to introduce. "Can't you think
out a name for me?" he said to Williams.
Williams tried the tobacco Anderson
spoke of, liked it very much, and said
he would take some of it to his rooms to
serve him as a "solace in his lonely
hours."

"By the by, Anderson," he said, "I
believe I have hit the very name you
want--'Solace.' That's it. Call your
tobacco the 'Solace' tobacco."

Anderson did so, and either the name
or the tobacco made a tremendous hit.

About eighteen months afterwards
Anderson met Williams on the street
and asked him to call at his store the
next day. Williams, wonderin' what
was up, did so, and, to his great surprise
and no little gratification, Anderson
handed him a check for $500.

"What's this for?" asked Williams.

"Why, its for one word," answered
Anderson.

"Five hundred dollars for a word!"
says Williams. "That's mighty good
pay."

"Pshaw!" replied Anderson; "I have
made over five thousand by it."

And then he explained to Williams
that this money was in return for the
lucky idea that Williams had given him
that day on the word "Solace."

----end

A link to a translation that Thomas Williams did for the New World.

New World, Volume 5, August 20, 1842, Page 120-121

Incidents of Travel
Mount Vesuvius, Herculaneum and Pompei in 42

Translated, for The New World, from the French by
Thomas Williams Esq.



An article about the 1838 disappearance of Mary Rogers, with some editorializing about women working in shops.

The Native American (Washington, DC), November 03, 1838, Page 1, Column 5

The Pretty Segar Girl

The well known
Pretty Segar Girl who attended Anderson's
store, next door to the Hospital, has eloped
under very distressing circumstances. Her name is
Mary Cecilia Rogers, and her mother resides in
Pitt street. She wrote a letter to her, in which
she expressed her determination to commit
suicide from a love affair, as 'tis supposed. Great
anxiety is manifested to procure some intelligence
of her, although it may turn out that she has gone
off with some person.

Generally speaking, we approve of females
attending various stores; we think every avenue
should be open to them whereby they can honorably
earn a living and become independent; there
are also several light trades in which they may be
occupied, and in many instances ladies would
rather be waited upon by females than by males,
but we do object to setting them up to public gaze,
and making them the peculiar feature of attraction,
particularly in a Segar Store in the most frequented
part of Broadway. All the young men in town
who smoke, were tempted to purchase their
shilling's worth of segars at this store, and those who
were not in the habit were led to commence the
practise in order to see and talk with that pretty
girl. The temptation was mutual, the men
purchased the segars which her taper fingers culled
from the box--she handed the slip of paper to be
lit from the lamp on the counter to ignite the
segar--all this took time, and enabled each to say
something complimentary to her; they gazed on
her beautiful and expressive face, and she in turn
drank whole draughts of flattery--the result is
either an elopement with some individual, or in
a romantic fit from disappointed or betrayed love,
she has made way with herself.

The principle and practise, as carried out in
this instance, are altogether wrong.

Hamlet. If you be honest and fair, you should
admit no discourse to your beauty!

Ophelia. Could beauty, my lord, have better
commerce than with honesty?

Hamlet. Aye, truly; for the power of beauty
will sooner transform honesty from what it is, to
a bawd, than the force of honesty can translate
beauty into his likeness.''--N. Y. Star.

----end
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Old 09-23-2018, 04:50 PM
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A footnote in the Mabbott introduction to Marie Roget:

John Anderson is listed in the New York Business Directory, 1840-1841, as “Importer of Havana & Principe Segars in all their varieties, 321 Broadway, sign of the Indian Chief.” On September 13, 1840, the New York Sunday Morning Atlas carried a woodcut of a dark-haired beauty proffering a cigar as “The Cigar Girl,” No. 22 in an illustrated series, “Portraits of the People.” The picture was accompanied by an essay on the recently adopted English practice of hiring pretty girls as clerks in cigar stores for the purpose of attracting the “men about town.” Following the essay was a “brief history” emphasizing the dangers of such employment, although in the narrative the virtue of the fictional heroine triumphs and is rewarded. The Atlas picture was used again in that paper for August 6, 1841 as a portrait of Mary Rogers (see Walsh, Poe the Detective, p. 59).

----end

A 1995 book reproduced the woodcut mentioned above. (Not sure if the link will work for everyone.)

The Mysterious Death of Mary Rogers: Sex and Culture in Nineteenth-Century New York (New York: Oxford University Press, 1995), Page 135
By Amy Gilman Srebnick


I found a copy of the article mentioned, but unfortunately some of the text is not clear because of crinkles in the newspaper.


Richmond Palladium (Indiana), November 07, 1840, Page 1, Column 1

The Cigar Girl

From the Sunday Morning Atlas [New York]

It is but a few years since cigar stores sprung
up among us. Before they were opened in this
city, cigars were retailed almost exclusively at
hotels, groggeries, and groceries. Some calculating
Yankee who had travelled, or scheming
Englishman who thought he might make money by
adopting a custom of his country, doubtless was
the first to open a store in Gotham for the exclusive
sale of cigars. In a place that may almost
be called a city of smokers, the cigar store is a
great convenience, for there are many gentlemen
who inhale the weed who would not like to enter
a public house for a supply, which they must
previously have done, had they not supplied themselves
with a box at a time.

One custom brings on another very rapidly.

When the fox got his head into the house it was
not long before his tail came following after.--
The cigar stores, which depended exclusively upon
the excellency of their commodity to insure
custom, the more effectually to bring grist to the
mill.

In London there are a great many individuals
called "men about town." These are formed of
bucks, bloods, sporting characters and exquisites.
There all are, or effect to be, great admirers of
pretty women. Wherever a pretty woman is,
there they must be. It is thought that Madame
Vestris made her Olympic theatre so long a
profitable concern, not so much by her own exquisite
singing and dancing, nor by the inimitable
performances of Liston--natures droll--as by the
quantity of sweetly pretty women who she always had
upon the stage. Many of the cigar store keepers
in London were determined to try the experiment--
they did so, and succeeded. The "young
men about town" crowded the stores where pretty
girls presided, and expended their money
plentifully for the benefit of the proprietor. Now the
fact is, there are many "young men about town"
in this city--exquisite fellows in their own opinion,
whose lives are spent in the sublime art of
dressing and cultivating whiskers--those who
have any--and imperials and mustaches--in
discovering the most delicate scents to perfume
their bodies with--these beings are monomaniacs
--but very harmless ones. They go in extacies [sic]
at the performance of a pleasing dancer, and have
been known in their raptures to strike their
white kid gloves together with a force that would
produce a sound audible to any person who sat
next to them and who was blessed with good
ears, and furnished with a good ear trumpet.--
They have also been known to throw a delicate
wreath or a small boquet [sic] upon the stage when
[???????] dancer has been pirouetting before
them--but then they have always been in the
stage box upon such occasion, and to deposite [sic]
their favors on the stage has not required more
strength than would force them some two or
three feet. These "men about town" have two
articles of faith. First, they are the only
connoisseurs of beauty; and secondly, that they
are irresistably captivating. These animals are
well to do in the world, they are flush of money;
and it is to catch them & others not quite so weak
and insane as they are, that the Cigar Girl is
placed behind the counter. She is the magnet
of attraction, and the cigars go off as that very
erudite and philosophic Sam Veller would say,
"in consequence of the maneuver."

(To the following brief history we give neither
date nor location.)

In a back room, barely furnished with a bed,
a small deal table and two wooden chairs, sat
two females. The eldest looked exceedingly
sorrowful, the youngest wore a bonnet half pushed
from her head, as she sat with her face buried in
her hands, which were supported upon the table.
The long ringlets that escaped from her bonnet
and served entirely to conceal her feature, were
of raven blackness and silkiness. As she lifted up
her head, her face, which was of great beauty,
was set with tears. It was a sad thing to see so
much misery between these two lovely
beings.

"I can get no more work, mother," said the
youngest. "Mr. Brown says that the times are
so hard he has been compelled to discharge forty
hands, and that there is no prospect of doing
any thing for a long time."

"The Lord have mercy upon us!" exclaimed the
old woman.

"There is one chance left for us--one that I
dread to think of--but which is better than to see
you starve."

"What is that? what is that?" enquired the mother
with some quickness, and a heightened color.

"Mr. James has opened a cigar store, and he
wants a young lady to attend it--one who is--
is--good--a--"

"I understand you my child--good looking you
would say, and few would stand a chance with
you on that score. But no dear--we must not--
I, your mother, dare not think of it. You would
be exposed to the rude gaze of every creature, who
in laying out his beggarly trifle, expecting that
the exhibition of a pretty girl was included in
his charge, and that he had paid for the privilege
of staring you out of countenance. You
might be exposed to impertinence, or even insult.
No, no, my child, we must think of it. Go out
again Ellen among other clothing stores, something
surely will be obtained. We will economise,
and if we get but little, remember that
'God tempers the wind to the shorn lamb.'"

Ellen's eyes were dry on the instant, and lighted
up with hope She kissed her mother and
departed. The old lady fancying that any sacrifice
while her daughter was with her, was preferable
to parting with her soul's treasue. It
would have taxed a nice calculator however, how
two beings who scarcely could be said to have
partaken of a meal a day, would have economized
unless it was living without nutriment altogether,
and to this straight they seemed likely to
be reduced. Ellen returned. Her mission was
vain. No employment was to be had. For several
days the mother and the child rather existed
than lived. At length the subject of a cigar
store was brought up.

"Mother, we cannot starve. I must accept
Mr. James' offer-- at least till something else
turnes up. You do not fear that I have strength
to maintain myself with respect, and honor to
you."

"No my dear Ellen. I have no fear on that
score. Your heart is pure--your principles are
sound. It is not by such creatures as could
address you in such a situation that a virtuous mind
could loose it glory and clothe itself with shame.
My only fear was the pain of exposing you to
the gaze of the many that will be attracted by
your beauty, and remarks you will be forced to
listen to."

"I shall not heed them, dear mother--no more
than the many profane remarks that I hear occasionally
in passing through the streets. I will
pray for their reformation."

"I believe, Ellen, I am wrong. It is our
province to fulfil [sic] our duty in whatever situation
Providence may please. Go, Ellen, go. He who
watches even a sparrow's fall will not desert a
trusting heart that confides in him."

The extraordinary beauty of Ellen drew many
customers to Mr. James' store, and so well was he
pleased with her attraction that he raised her salary.
Ellen's situation was at first very irksome,
and she concealed from her mother--anxious to
know every thing that occurred--some of those
little annoyances which she felt might pain her
parent or render her unhappy. She felt that she
was bound to do her duty unflinchingly in the
situation in which Providence had placed her, and
she proved that there is no situation in life, in
itself honest that may not be maintained with
respect and honor.

Over the crowd that assembled daily to see her
beauty, she exercised a perfect control. Civil
and affable to all, was that in her look and bearing
which awed rudeness and even its conception.
It is said that before the firm and steadfast look
of man the lion quails, and that the maniac in its
wildest passion cowers and trembles--such spell
has virtue over vice--such spell had Ellen Somers
over the majority of those who visited the store.

Among the frequenters of the place were three
persons known in common parlance as gentlemen.
One was a thin young gentleman with a foreign
air, one who would unquestionably be taken by
any person unacquainted with him for one of
those Count Feignwells who have made so
much capital out of our fashionable citizens.
Another was a tall, stout, rosy cheeked, good
looking gentleman--the third had nothing to
distinguish him beyond a quiet propriety of dress, and
a gentlemanly figure and deportment.

The three gentlemen declared Ellen to be
devilish pretty, and the two first resolved to call her
their own. They even [?????????] to bet
on who should be the happy man to make the divine
creature his god[d]ess of pleasure. The third,
Henry Wilkinson, said nothing upon this subject,
and would by no means enter upon the bet
engaged in by the others. He watched the result
however, with much interest.

This was the crisis of the Cigar Girl's life.
All the arts that professed libertines use; were
to be put in force to gain their end. Each
anticipated a speedy victory--each was disappointed.
They commenced by being very liberal, much to
the good of the store, it advanced them nothing
--they endeavored to force upon her costly
presents, it was vain. One, upon an occasion, proposed
to her to take a ride in his barouche--they
never made a similar offer.--They retired from
the siege awed, abashed, and crest fallen. They
had never even an opportunity of pouring sophistry
or their slang into the maidens unpolluted ears
--and they finally hated her, while they respected
her, for they felt she was a superior being to
themselves. In this discomfiture of retiring like
used up hound their only conclusion was, they
were both in the same contemptible situation, and
that one could not triumph over the other.

It was at this period that Henry Wilkinson
became a frequent visitor. His advances were made
gradually. He entered into conversation with her,
and was surprised to find that her mind was as
in beauty, as her countenance. He saw the
position that she held and the manner in which she
held it. He admired her, and he caused by his
pleasing manner, a reciprocity of feeling.

Ellen's mother had always been in the habit of
calling at night for her daughter, and of
accompanying her home. She was, however, confined
to her bed for a time with illness. During this
period, Henry Wilkinson saw her home, and in
their walks the affection that had sprung up
between the young people grew into the warmest
feeling and each mutually confessed the passion.

It was on the evening of a dull day, in which a
drizzling rain had been most uncomfortably incessant,
that Henry appeared, according to custom,
to see Ellen home. He brought with him a
remarkable old looking umbrella, at which Ellen
laughed heartily. They had not been out long
before it was found to be totally inefficient.
Henry, professed to be deeply chagrined at this,
insisted upon ordering a barouche, which Ellen
resisted. Her lover, however, overcame her scruples
and they entered the carriage. Henry was
in the highest spirits, and so entertatning that
Ellen was totally abstracted in his remarks for some
time. At length she was recalled to passing events.

"What a time we have been," she said--"Why
you have told a story that must have occupied
half an hour at least, and--good heavens! we are
out of the city! stop the man, Henry, he does not
know where he is driving us."

"Yes he does. It is all right."

"O my poor mother!"

"She shall be well provided for."

"Cease, sir, to shock me by any illusions to
baseness. Oh, Henry, turn back, for the love of
heaven! and I will forgive you, and pray heaven
to forgive you too, Oh Henry, I would not think
you capable of this."

Here the poor girl shed tears like rain. Henry
was affected and it was some moments before he
spoke. At length he said.

"This is vain--I have gone too far to recede.--
It is useless for you to oppose my wishes. What
can you do?"

"I can die."

The whole of that night was passed by Mrs. Somers
in the greatest anxiety. Her only hope was,
that in consequence of the uncomfortable state
of the weather, Ellen had been induced to stay
with Mr. James family. Early in the morning
the mother hurried to the store and there learned
from Mr. James himself, that Ellen had gone the
night previously at the usual hour with a gentleman,
a friend of hers, who had been in the habit
of seeing her home nightly.

"It is my fault--it is my fault!" exclaimed the
distracted woman. "I should have known better
--I have sold her for filthy [lucre]. What says the
Bible? 'Lord, deliver us from temptation,' and
I, her mother, who taught her to breathe that very
prayer--I have placed her in temptation's way
myself. Oh! she is lost, so lost!"

More dead than alive [?????] mother tottered
home. On entering her apartment, there
stood before her, her daughter [and] Henry.

"O Ellen, Ellen Somers!" she exclaimed.

"Not Ellen Somers, but Ellen Wilkinson," exclaimed
Henry.

"Is it so, my child? speak!"

"It is, dearest mother," and the child and parent
were buried in each other's embraces.

It was even so. Henry had been struck with
Ellen's manners at first. [????] the libertines
won his admiration. The graces of her
mind, more than her person, [????] his love and
respect. He deemed the last [??} trial to which
he put her, necessary, and [????] that she
passed unsullied through the final ordeal.

After the scene narrated in the carriage, the
vehicle stopped at his country [residence], and there
in the presence of his family Ellen and Henry
were married.

That in every station in life the most humble,
as well as most lofty and [virtuous] mind may
support itself with respect [and] honor, may be
learned from the history of [the] Cigar Girl.--
At the same time, that [expressive] portion of
the Lord's prayer should be [???] present to us.
"Lead us not into temptation."

----end

I don't know how this story played in 1840, but it seems pretty messed up to me.
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  #604  
Old 09-23-2018, 05:26 PM
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A brief history of the New York Atlas, which published the 1840 story about a "beautiful cigar girl."

Journalism in the United States, from 1690-1872 (New York: Harper & Brothers, 1873), Pages 338-339
By Frederic Hudson

In 1838, two printers, Anson Herrick, of the Express, and Jesse A. Fell, of the Daily Whig, started the Sunday Morning Atlas. They had no money. They were not supplied with an overplus of industry. But a paper issued once a week they thought they could manage without injury to their health. The News was selling at sixpence a copy. These two disciples of Faust calculated that if they could publish a paper at three cents they would obtain a large circulation, and make the concern a success with advertisements. The editorials were supplied gratuitously for a week or two by Samuel J. Burr (one of the editors of the Daily Whig),Worthington G. Snethen (formerly of John Gibson's True American, of New Orleans), and Frederick West, who issued the first penny paper in Philadelphia called the Transcript, afterwards merged with the Public Ledger. On the issue of the third number, West, with a limited credit of $50 per week obtained of Dudley Persse, of the firm of Campbell and Persse, for paper, became editor and a partner in the Atlas. West was a happy man. He was a clever little Englishman, ready to assist any one with poetry or pennies. Shortly after, Fell fell out of the concern, and John F. Ropes was roped in, and then the firm was Herrick, West, and Ropes. Herrick and Ropes became politicians, and published a daily paper for a short time, to the depletion of their bank account. Then the former was elected an alderman of the metropolis, and the latter held a sinecure in the Custom-house. Herrick was afterwards elected to Congress, and, for obvious reasons, was called a deacon. He died a few years since. The Atlas, we believe, is now published by his son.

----end

P. T. Barnum writes about his association with the Atlas.

Life of P. T. Barnum (London: Sampson, Low, 1855) Pages 356-358
by Phineas Taylor Barnum


This is not exactly the place to introduce a newspaper, but the incidental mention of Mr. [Frederick] West suggests the "Sunday Atlas," which was always a favorite of mine. I knew its proprietors, West, Herrick and Ropes, when they commenced its publication. They were my early friends, and rendered me many favors, which I cheerfully reciprocated whenever opportunity offered. My European correspondence, before alluded to, was written for this paper.

The incident I am about to relate requires me to mention, that the proprietors of the Atlas had published my portrait with a brief sketch of my life, interspersed with numerous anecdotes.

At the time Adams was murdered by Colt, the excitement in New-York was intense; and when the body of the victim was discovered, cut up, packed in a box, and shipped for New-Orleans, a pamphlet was issued purporting to give a correct portrait of the murdered Adams. Like thousands of others, I desired to know how the poor man looked, and greedily purchased a pamphlet. I found that the stereotype of my portrait had been purchased from the Atlas, and was published as the portrait of Adams! I fancied then, as well as many times before and since, that "humbug" did not belong exclusively to the "show " business.

In about 1843, the editors of the Atlas were much annoyed by a series of libel suits. The first case required bonds of $5000. I gave them. A second suit from the same party was immediately instituted, and I again gave the same amount of bonds. A third suit followed, and I again offered myself as their bail. The lawyer of the plaintiff, having hoped by bringing so many suits to give the defendants trouble in obtaining bonds, was much annoyed at my continually offering myself as their bail.

On my third appearance before the judge for that purpose, the lawyer being much vexed became impertinent, "Mr. Barnum," said he, "you have already given bail to the amount of $10,000, and now you offer yourself for $5000 more. Are you worth $15,000, sir?"

"I am, sir," I replied.

"Of what does your property consist, sir?" he asked peremptorily.

"Do you desire a list of it?" I inquired.

"I do, sir, and I insist upon your giving it before you are accepted as further security," he replied firmly.

"With pleasure, sir. Have the kindness to mark it down as I call it off."

"I will, sir," he answered, taking a sheet of paper and dipping his pen in the ink for that purpose.

"One preserved elephant, $1000," said I.

He looked a little surprised, but marked it down.

"One stuffed monkey skin, and two gander skins, good as new— $15 for the lot."

"What does this mean? What are you doing, sir?" said he, starting to his feet in indignation.

"I am giving you an inventory of my Museum. It contains only five hundred thousand different articles," I replied with due gravity.

"I appeal to the court for protection from insult," exclaimed the lawyer, his voice trembling with anger, and the blood rushing to his face as he spoke.

Judge Ulshoeffer decided that I was doing just what the lawyer had required, and that if he was unwilling to take an affidavit as to my responsibility, I must go on with the "catalogue" of the Museum. The lawyer mutteringly decided to accept the affidavit and bail without going further into the "bill of particulars."

----end

The Knickerbocker notes that Frederick West, editor of the Atlas, had a poem published in a magazine edited by Edgar Allan Poe.


The Knickerbocker; Or, New-York Monthly Magazine, Volume 15, April 1840, Page 359

‘The GENTLEMAN'S MAGAZINE, PHILADELPHIA.--Among the papers we have found leisure to peruse in this periodical for March, the only number we have seen for many months, we find two cantos of an elaborate historical poem, entitled ‘Columbus,’ from the pen of our correspondent “QUINCE,' in other words, FREDERICK WEST, Esq., editor of that lively and entertaining journal, the ‘Sunday Morning Atlas.' The writer displays an intimate knowledge of his subject, and brings a subdued imagination happily in aid of history. The progress of the autobiography is natural, the rhythm easy and flowing, and the images felicitous, yet not profuse. The whole poem, unless it should greatly deteriorate in its closing portions, will reflect much credit upon the author. We observe, also, in the same number, a continuation of the ‘Journal of Julius Rodman, being a minute account of the first passage across the Rocky Mountains ever achieved by civilized man.' We think we discover the clever hand of the resident editor of the ‘Gentleman's Magazine,' Mr. E. A. Poe, in these records; the more, perhaps, that the fabulous narrative of ‘Mr. ARTHUR GORDON PYM,’ of Nantucket, has shown us how deftly he can manage this species of Crusoe matériel. The number is accompanied by a view of the pretty little white house in the Highlands, owned, or occupied for two or three summers, by our worthy poetical and military contemporary of the ‘New-York Mirror,” but for some time past the property of Mr. Tompkins, of Staten Island, the original owner. A few good-sized trees, and a little easier access, would add to its attractions as a summer residence, though it would still scarcely be “the gem of the Hudson," as it is termed in the description, which was evidently penned "a long time ago.” It should be remembered that there are several “gems" of country-houses on our glorious river-—if not more . This "gem," however, says the description, acquires additional value, from being the spot where, under the inspiration of the scene, several of our amiable poet's cleverest lyrical effusions have been "ripened for the world."

----end

West's poem about chastity, children, death and the torments of conscience.

The Knickerbocker; Or, New-York Monthly Magazine, Volume 15, January, 1840, Page 71

Cabinet Pictures
by Quince [Frederick West]

CHASTITY

THE purely chaste, are those who're chaste in thought;
An angel’s purity within them lives:
Their unstained souls with Heaven's own fire are fraught,
Which its great glory to their being gives.
The unsunned snow upon the eternal hills,
The crystal ice, in regions where no ray
Of warmth the frozen air one moment fills,
To thaw its everlasting front away,
May not example peerless CHASTITY:
For they, removed from their peculiar sphere,
Lost in a moment to themselves would be;
But the chaste soul Temptation's self may dare,
And win itself from man a glorious crown,
On which the gods approvingly look down.

CHILDREN

MIRTH, pleasure, innocence, delight and joy,
Encompass children of a tender age;
Grief, sorrow, agony — sin's dark alloy,
Stamp no impression on that sunny page:
The untainted spring of life's mysterious river
Here owns its clear, its crystal fountain-head;
Pure as it flowed from the all-pure All-Giver,
Its light unclouded radiantly is shed.
We gaze on children sporting in their glee,
And pause to watch them as they gaily move,
And wonder what the infant charm can be,
That binds them to us in the bonds of love:
Ah! know we not that it is heaven we see?
That heaven itself exists in purity?

CHURCH-YARD

I wander in the city of the dead,
Midst streets of corses, mouldering to decay!
Where is the pride of riches? — it is fled!
Where pomp and circumstance – all passed away!
The loved and lovely lie together sleeping,
The high and lowly in one dust are laid;
A solitary mourner here is weeping
O'er the last tenant Nature's debt has paid;
Soon Time, Grief's great assuager, will dry up
The flowing tears, leaving the dead unwept.
Drink, then, proud mortal from the better cup
Of wholesome truth. Wake up!—too long thou'st slept.
High as thou art, lowly in death thou’lt lie;
The CHURCH-YARD calls to thee, ‘Prepare to die!'

CONSCIENCE

PAINT hell in horrors: picture liquid fire,
In which the quivering spirit ever lives
Where the fallen angels, now fell demon's, ire,
The eternal lash to the racked sufferer gives.
Crown him with scorpions, let each piercing fang
Stab him continuous, and let heaven's bright bliss
Live in his sight, to add a keener pang
To his dread suffering — picture thou all this!
'T is not more dreadful than the awful voice
Of CONSCIENCE torturing the sinful soul,
"Till madness is a blessing. Oh, rejoice,
Thou whose pure life gives Conscience no control.
In good men's hearts Conscience as love doth dwell;
It is the evil-doer's burning hell!

----end

Links to poems by West (or "Quince") appearing in the Gentleman's Magazine.

Burtons' Gentleman's Magazine and American Monthly Review, Volume 6, March, 1840, Pages 127-138

Columbus.
A Historical Poem

Canto First and Canto Second

By Frederick West, Esq., New York


April, 1840, Pages 172-178

Canto Third


May, 1840, Pages 216-223

Canto Fourth


Volume 7, September, 1840, Pages 121-124

Morning
by Frederick West


November, 1840, Page 233

Cabinet Pictures
by Quince
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