Prenticeana; Or, Wit and Humor in Paragraphs
By . With a Biographical Sketch of the Author, by G. W. GRIFFIN. Philadelphia : Claxton, Remsen, and Haffelfinger.
WHEN Mr. Prentice, eleven years ago, made this collection (now newly republished) of paragraphs from the columns of his newspaper, the Louisville Journal, he seemed to appreciate somewhat accurately its character by writing: “I am as well aware as any one can be that there are just grounds of grave objection to this book. Probably in many things that it contains little else than partisan bitterness will be found.” This is too true, and the volume would give a lay preacher sufficient texts for an historical sermon on the grievous personalities of Western political editors thirty years ago • which doubtless might be harmlessly addressed and brought home to certain Eastern newspaper editors of to-day. A large number of these paragraphs were written in reply to quoted expressions from other contemporary editors, whose names were used often in the original publication, but are here indicated chiefly by dashes, and whose known or presumed personal habits, morals, and reputation for truth or honesty were treated as public property and characterized with such words or phrases as served the political purposes and ministered to the popular or local taste of the time.
To his well-grounded apprehension concerning this prevailing characteristic of partisan bitterness, Mr. Prentice added further concerning his paragraphs, and with no less truth : “I have no doubt that a very considerable proportion of them, which perhaps from partisan partiality were deemed ‘good hits ’ at the time, will, now that the occasion which called them forth has passed, be read with comparatively little interest. I know that such things do not keep well.” We feel sure that the self-criticism here hinted (with the modesty of its expression) was sincere with Mr. Prentice. And, indeed, many, very many, of these paragraphs, far removed from the heats of politics and the petty local enmities and quarrels that produced them and gave them their pertinence and force, rise up, stale, flat, and unprofitable, after a twenty years’ sleep in the dusty newspaper files. Yet we know that city and country journals overflowed with these things in the palmy days of the old Whig party, when Clay was a Kentucky giant and Webster a Massachusetts Jove, and that the name of Prentice became familiar everywhere, currency for witty retorts, shrewd and humorous turns of expression, and numberless epigrammatic sayings. And perhaps, after all, wit is chiefly to be known and should be judged by its immediate influence and effect; a pun that makes nine men laugh at the dinner - table (where it keeps company with the wine) is genuine and good, in spite of the tenth man, who, with grim and dyspeptic face and in bed next morning, professess critically that there was nothing in it. Wit, like eloquence, often is to be recognized and appraised in the effervescence of the occasion, new-born; its sparkle seen and felt to-day is vague, dull, lost, to-morrow. Yet this immediately contemporary and local interest, now, often almost entirely escaped, is only one phase, although it is not a slight one, of the book before us. There are in it hundreds of paragraphs that are as good now as they ever were, and can be still appreciated by the nine men at table, whenever they happen to come together.
This volume of Prenticeana (the title was not chosen by the author) was collected at the solicitation of the original publishers in 1859, and it was reissued, doubtless, because of a presumed revival of interest created by the recent death of Mr. Prentice. Perhaps it may be said justly that the book is hardly the best showing that might be given of his wit, for the collection, somewhat hastily made from the files of his newspaper, was almost twice as large in manuscript as in print. Mr, Prentice intrusted the sifting of this original material to one or two friends, and it may be doubted if many paragraphs were not rejected that might properly have taken precedence of many here retained. Yet, with the volume as it is, it would be difficult to deny the possession by Mr. Prentice of the abundant wit for which he had during many years a reputation by no means confined to this country.
But, although best known perhaps to the general public by his paragraphs, it is fair to say that Mr. Prentice was not merely a writer of paragraphs. He was a scholar familiar with and loving the best literature, having been while yet a child a marvel of proficiency in Greek and Latin studies, and in his youth a close and industrious student, remarkable for his memory ; in his early manhood and during his life he wrote poems that showed great tenderness and delicacy of feeling, and the possession of a fine fancy; several of these have long been popular favorites; and throughout his long editorial life in Kentucky, which he entered poor and unknown in 1830, he was a man who, through his real ability and bis tireless devotion to the persons and policies of his choice, exercised for many years a power and influence second to no other man in the whole Western country, second to no other editor in the land. This is hardly the place to enlarge upon his political life ; we may venture to say, however, that those who judge of Mr. Prentice by his presumed attitude during the war of the Southern Rebellion judge ignorantly and uncharitably of as true a patriot, unfortunately placed, as spoke a word or drew a sword for the government. At a time when two of his sons were in the Rebel Army (one of them, to the father’s great grief, killed in battle less than a month after, against his father’s anxious entreaties, he had entered the Confederate service), he was true enough to the country to volunteer himself, and shoulder a gun, in company with a very few others in a city full of Rebel personal friends, who would have idolized him had he joined their cause instead, to defend Louisville against the expected enemy. This we think worthy of record on behalf of a veteran editor who has been too carelessly regarded as a doubtful friend of his country in its time of trial. This was his time of trial, too, —a trial which, to an emotional and sensitive old man who loved his children passionately, was an ordeal of fire that did not come to many younger editors who volunteered to fight battles, and spared no presumedly lukewarm comrades — on paper.