Journal. 1839.
Appendix 1
From the May 20, 1839 letter to Clarke, with further comments on the draft caricatures, the ministry, and the Western Messenger.Albeit I wrote the last letter which passed between us, my pen yearneth to speak to
thee again. I know that my poor epistles scarce deserve the happiness of being
replied to, by such as thine—and perhaps in the multitude of cares—amid
sermons and editorials, and multifarious readings and writings you hardly find time
to bestow so much of yourself upon your correspondents as they could desire. Yet,
verily, this shall not deter me from communing with thee, my friend; this is a
pleasure I can not easily relinquish. Having had one sip of the fountain, I would not
willingly be removed from it. Send forth, therefore, I beseech thee, a few drops of
thy refreshing streams. My heart will bless you for it, if my poor wits can not
adequately repay you.
I have taken up my abode you perceive in this Philadelphia, and am minister to the
new society at the "Northern Liberties" for some weeks. They are at present a feeble
folk like the conies, and poor in this world's goods; but I trust they may increase,
and their latter end be respectable. I should like it right well, could I be the
means of building up a church among them. Time will show what can be done. I have
been supplying Mr. Furness' pulpit a few Sundays, while he went northward. By the
way, I lent him my Emersonian scraps [sketches] to take on with him, and it seems by
sundry external signs upon them since they were returned to me, that they have been
considerably thumbed and pocketed. Great men have looked upon them. The genius of a
Dewey and a Channing hath stopped to smile condescendingly on them. Our fame, friend,
groweth. It hath been budding with the spring. We are linked in celebrity, and thus
will descend to posterity as the immortal illustrators of the great
Transcendentalist! When all trades fail, let us take to caricaturing. We have humors
that way. I did not, by the way, hear the echo of your laugh over the last scraps I
sent you from Washington. Pray tell me if you received them safe out of the vulgar
hands of the men of the post office. I would not have these sacred mysteries bared to
common daylight and to uninitiated and vulgar risibilities. Pray tell me that you
received them. I heard in fancy your laugh for a week. Do write that laugh on paper,
and send us a scrap of your own.
O my brother, we need your poetic faculty to quicken us in this life. My wits have
brought forth little but thorns and weeds since thy rain and sunshine were withdrawn.
True, when I was at home, the quiet atmosphere of that loved spot, backed by the
influences of the opening spring, and the bees and blossoms, did call forth some
fruit—such as it was. And I did commence a Spenserian stanza poem which I shall
probably never complete. I wrote near forty stanzas. It is a love tale, thus far. But
I got dissatisfied with it. I followed my own experience too closely. Besides, it
does not look ministerial. Should I publish, what would the world say, etc.,
etc.—comes into my mind. What have I to do with writing and publishing such
stuff?
I perceive you are relieved of the immediate care of the "Messenger". I wish you joy.
I hope Channing will not mix in too much abolitionism. Look out for southern
subscribers, if you don't take care.
I saw young Huidekoper a week ago, who was just about embarking for Europe. Chandler
Robbins also I met in New York just before he sailed. I had a good time in New York
at the dedication of Dewey's church. I don't like the name—do you? He preached
a grand sermon though. And Fanny Parkman who seems to be midwife general to all the
churches which are legitimate, made an excellent dedicatory prayer.
But now, no more. Tempus est stopendi. Windum up est. Write to us if we have any
place in your memory. Remember me to each and all of my good Louisville friends. I
remember them all with interest.
Ever your friend and brother,
C. P. C.
C. P. C.
Appendix 2
At the end of his 21 June 1839 letter to his brother from Philadelphia, Cranch said he was reading Hazlitt's "Spirit of the Ages," "Specimens of Foreign Literature, being Eckermann's Conversations with Goethe (translated by Miss Fuller), and Cousin, who "does much to strengthen my faith." Furthermore, he added, "To show you how far he is, and I too, from 'Transcendentalism', I will scratch off a few lines I wrote yesterday while reading him.
Kant affirms that Reason can't
Give certainty to what we want,
But only must suppose it.
But Nature and God we must reject, if
The light of Reason is subjective:—
So doth Cousin disclose it.
So I'd rather with Cousin
Let Kant and Fichte hang!
Their creed is surely worse than all.
The Will alone is personal.
Fact of Reason—Facts of sense,
Both are necessary,
Universal also;—hence
Let us all be wary
Lest we get too transcendental,
Else we surely shall repent all,
Tumbling into Idealism,
Pantheism, Atheism,
Seeing Truth through such a prism.