truthful, chivalric, and original. Upon one occasion Halleck told me that he had not received over a thousand dollars in all his life, for all his writings. This was before he had received the handsome sum of five hundred dollars from Mr. Bonner, of the “Ledger,” for Young America. “My first publisher failed,” said he, “and this deterred me from venturing upon a literary life, and placed me in a counting-room.”
He had a quasi admiration for lecturers. “I was in New Haven the other day,” Halleck said, lifting his hat with that deferential air which always made a point in his discourses, “I was in New Haven, and you know that New Haven is to Connecticut, what Boston is to Massachusetts—the intellectual centre of the State. The ladies of New Haven are highly educated, literary women,—and as charming as any ladies can be anywhere. Well, one of these charming ladies said to me, ‘Oh, Mr. Halleck! you should have been here a few evenings ago! We had such a delightful time! Mr. Curtis was here, and he gave us a lecture upon Sydney Smith. It was an evening to be remembered—a perfect feast of good things, and we listened to every word that dropped from his lips as if they were perfect pearls.’” And here Halleck, lifting his hat, as if he were addressing the lady in question, said, “Curtis is a very promising, good fellow; perhaps sometime hereafter he may make his mark; but pray tell me, which Sydney Smith was the subject of the lecture? Was it the hero of St. Jean d’ Acre, or the eminent clergyman of the Edinburgh Review, the Dean of St. Paul’s, and the wit, whose writings are so celebrated? Upon which,” said
