The Art of Eating Crow

“A man should never be ashamed to own he has been in the wrong, which is but saying, in other words, that he is wiser today than he was yesterday.”

–Alexander Pope (1688–1744; English poet and satirist, one of the most influential poets of the 18th century, whose wit and keen moral reflections in works like “The Rape of the Lock” and “An Essay on Man” secured his literary legacy.)

Eating crow is never easy. In fact, it’s downright tough, so much so that it takes a lot of willpower and gumption.

Oh, I’m not talking about eating crow as in the genus Corvus, those glossy black birds found in most parts of the world. I’ve never eaten one of them.

I’m talking about eating the kind of crow that we sometimes have to eat when we discover that we’re wrong. That’s a hard discovery to make. Let’s face it: it’s hard to fess up when we’re wrong. But let’s own up to it—sometimes the best thing to do is just eat crow and be done with it.

Take the stubborn husband who swore up and down he could fix the plumbing himself, despite his wife’s warnings. A few YouTube tutorials, a flooded bathroom, and an emergency call to the plumber later, he’s standing there, soaking wet, eating a big plate of crow.

Or the manager who brushed off an employee’s suggestion, only to watch the competition roll out the same idea—successfully. There’s no easy way to walk that one back, but let’s hope the manager at least had the sense to admit, “I should’ve listened.”

Then there’s the friend who mocked TikTok, Wordle, or Air Fryers, scoffing at the hype—until they tried it. And now? They’re sending out their Wordle scores every morning, scrolling TikTok before bed, and raving about how crispy their Brussels sprouts get. Yep. Crow. Served hot and fresh.

People have been “eating crow” since the dawn of human interaction so the list could go on and on, ranging from professional to personal and from funny to frustrating, but I don’t need to continue. Every item in the list captures the same universal realization: Oops … I was wrong. I didn’t understand.

Even though we’ve been eating crow for a long, long time, the phrase itself is surprisingly modern. It first appeared in 1885 in the Magazine of American History:

“‘To eat crow’ means to recant, or to humiliate oneself.”

By 1930, the phrase had taken on a more serious tone:

“I should merely be making an ass of myself if I accused someone and then had to eat crow” (E. Queen, French Powder Mystery).

By 1970, “eating crow” was used in a way that is close to what we all hope for when we use the phrase today:

“I was going to apologize, eat crow, offer to kiss and make up” (New Yorker)

Yep! Sometimes, eating crow comes with extra benefits.

These days, eating crow is firmly on the menu for anyone caught in the wrong. Actually, it was on my menu last week. Two servings of crow. That’s right. Two servings. Mind you, I haven’t been caught in the wrong because I haven’t done anything wrong other than having had some lingering thoughts down through the years about two Mary E. Wilkins Freeman scholars. I’ve now come to realize that I was wrong, or, more accurately, I’ve come to realize that I didn’t understand.

And since I’ve always believed that eating crow is most beneficial if done in public, let me lift the cloche and reveal my double portion.

My first portion is because of thoughts that I’ve had about Thomas Shuler Shaw, a librarian at the Library of Congress, who embarked on an ambitious project to write what would have been the first biography of Mary E. Wilkins Freeman. His goal was to illuminate the life and literary contributions of this remarkable author who had died in 1930.

However, fate had other plans. Shaw’s 1931 biography, A Nineteenth Century Puritan, faced rejection from prominent publishers such as Harper & Brothers, Ladies’ Home Journal, and The Saturday Evening Post. I’ve always credited Shaw for persevering, at least enough to find a home for his meticulously curated scrapbooks and the typescript of his unpublished biography in the Rare Book & Special Collections Division at the Library of Congress. Those artifacts provide a rich tapestry of insights into Freeman’s life and work, and they certainly helped me with my edition of The Infant Sphinx: Collected Letters of Mary E. Wilkins Freeman (Scarecrow, 1985).

Nonetheless, I wondered then as I do now: why didn’t Shaw continue his efforts to find a publisher? His book would have distinguished itself as the first Freeman biography. What impact might it have had on her literary reputation if the details of her life had been accessible to readers of the 1930s and 1940s?

My second portion of crow relates to another scholar working on a Freeman biography around the same time. Edward Foster wrote his Mary E. Wilkins Freeman: A Biographical and Critical Study in 1934 as his thesis when he was a candidate for the Doctor of Philosophy degree at Harvard University. The university accepted his thesis, but Foster didn’t complete his Harvard degree. He put aside his Freeman work until 1956 when he revised and published it as Mary E. Wilkins Freeman (Hendricks House).

Foster was direct when he explained the delay:

My thesis was accepted […] also for subsidized publication by Harvard Press. Lacking funds for subsidy and failing to get trade publication, I forgot the thing for nearly twenty years. MWF is only a small part of my career. (Foster to Brent L. Kendrick, ALS, October 24, 1973)

Nonetheless, I wondered then as I do now: why didn’t Foster try to find a publisher sooner than he did? What impact might it have had on her literary reputation if Foster’s details of her life had been accessible to readers of the 1930s and 1940s.

There. I’ve done it. I’ve eaten my two portions of crow. However, I have to do one more thing to help you understand the art of eating crow. To turn eating crow into an art requires divulging what prompted, in my case, not just one portion of crow but two in a single serving. That’s the source of the catharsis. That’s the confession, without which eating crow can never be an art.

Here’s mine.

Yesterday, I uploaded the manuscript of my forthcoming book Unmasking The Humourist: Alexander Gordon’s Lost Essays of Colonial Charleston, South Carolina. My book definitively establishes Gordon (c. 1692–1754)—antiquarian, Egyptologist, scholar, singer, and later Clerk of His Majesty’s Council of South Carolina—as the author of The Humourist essays, restoring his rightful place in literary history.

I hesitate to say this, but the book is a significant scholarly work. It’s meticulously researched, not only unearthing a forgotten literary voice but also redefining our understanding of colonial American literature. While it’s structured with rigor, it remains highly engaging, making complex historical and literary analysis accessible without oversimplification. It’s not just a literary recovery; it’s a reframing of Charleston’s intellectual life, the role of satire in the colonies, and the transatlantic literary tradition. That’s no small feat.

To say that I am ecstatic is an understatement. I am.

But get this. I’ve been working on this book since 1973, when Professor Calhoun Winton of the University of South Carolina suggested that I try to solve this literary mystery. Published in the South-Carolina Gazette, the essays had been largely forgotten, and the identity of their author remained unknown.

At the time, I recognized their brilliance and used them as the foundation for a graduate paper. Then I put the project aside where it remained in my mental storehouse of “one-day, some-day” ideas, waiting for the right time.

Decades later, the Virginia Community College System (VCCS) gave me an extraordinary opportunity to return to that project, to bring these essays into the light, and to finally answer the question that had remained unanswered for centuries: Who wrote them?

As a VCCS Chancellor’s Professor (2012-2014), I answered that question and shared the essays and my ongoing findings with my blog readers right here. Actually, that’s when TheWiredResearcher had its beginning.

Ironically, I delayed publishing my watershed Unmasking The Humourist until now.

You may be wondering about my delays, just as I wondered about Foster’s delays and Shaw’s delays.

I’ve been wondering about my delays, too, and that’s why I’m eating crow.

I could toss out many reasons:

The Humourist essays seemed too short for a book and too long for a scholarly article.

● I wanted to make certain that my evidence for claiming Alexander Gordon as the author was as compelling as my discussion.

● I wanted to do further research so that my headnotes and endnotes for the essays were comprehensive.

All of those reasons are true.

I won’t toss into that mix other scholarly pursuits that came my way.

I won’t toss into that mix my early career advances as a federal employee or my second career advances as an educator.

I won’t toss into that mix caring for aging parents.

Actually, I won’t toss into that mix anything else because what became obvious to me when I uploaded Unmasking The Humourist: Alexander Gordon’s Lost Essays of Colonial Charleston, South Carolina was something seriously simple. We all lead complex, complicated, and convoluted lives.

● I know that truth firsthand.

● You likely do as well.

● So, too, did Edward Foster.

● So, too, did Thomas Shuler Shaw.

Wondering about their delays caused no harm, but I now see there was no need to wonder at all. I might simply have acknowledged what I’ve come to recognize in my own self-talk about The Humourist:

Life is rich, robust, and mysterious, and it rarely marches forward on a straight path.

As I move forward on my path, I’ll keep that truth in mind as I interact with others—and with myself. And with that heightened awareness, perhaps I really will have mastered the art of eating crow.

Alexander Gordon: Sheltered in High Places

“When Persons of high Dignity patronize Learning, it demonstrates a Greatness of Soul, no less advantageous to their own Characters, than beneficial to the Sciences which are blest with their enlivening and extensive Influence:  For Knowledge and Virtue are so inseparable, that whatever promotes the one, must necessarily produce the other.” —Alexander Gordon.

I noted in my last post that when Itinerarium Septentrionale was published in 1726, Alexander Gordon received Royal attention:

Edinburgh, August 22.  Several persons of Distinction, etc. are gone hence to meet their Graces the Duke and Dutchess of Athol, who are expected in Town this Night.

We hear that Mr. Alexander Gordon, Author of the Book entitul’d Itinerarium Septentrionale, had the Honour to present their Royal Highnesses with his Book, and was very graciously received; and for his future Encouragement, were please to subscribe to his Proposals for the Maps he designs to publish of the Roman Walls in Britain.  That Gentleman is shortly expected in Scotland, to illustrate a Project which will greatly redound to the Advantage of Trade and Navigation in Britain (Caledonian Mercury, August 22, 1726).

I noted, too, that three years later when Gordon published his History of Pope Alexander VI and Caesar Borgia, he received even greater Royal attention:

Monday last Mr. Alexander Gordon, Author of the Itinerarium Septentrionale, presented his new History of Pope Alexander VI and Caesar Borgia, to the King and Queen, was very graciously received, and had the Honour to kiss their Majesties Hands; and on Tuesday he presented the said book to the Prince, and had the Honour to kiss his R. Highness’s Hands also (Caledonian Mercury, March 27, 1729).

I shared those ephemera because they were among the early notices that I found of Alexander Gordon as I made my way through the “musty,” digitized versions of newspapers published in Scotland and England in an effort to chronicle Gordon’s journey from the Old World to the New World where he would serve as Clerk of His Majesty’s Council and where he would write “The Humourist” essays that appeared in the South Carolina Gazette.

How truly wonderful that Gordon’s early—and, let me hasten to add, important—scholarly works were of such high caliber and of such historical significance that Royalty took notice and favoured him.  Even so, I never intended for him to dawdle—even Royally—for so many months before I continued my account of his journey.

But it has not been for naught.  It has given me the opportunity to explore Gordon’s  writings more fully.  In doing so, I became impressed by the dedications that he included in his publications.  They explain, in part, why Royalty favoured him—and why, apparently, he was favoured in other high places— and, they make for generally “good” reading since they far outdistance superficial and formulaic dedications, thereby providing more glimpses of Alexander Gordon than can be found in “The Humourist” essays alone.

I have gathered all the dedications, and they shall serve as the basis of today’s post!  (We shall finish Gordon’s journey to South Carolina another day!)

Let’s start with his 1726 Itinerarium Septentrionale, dedicated to Charles Douglas, 3rd Duke of Queensberry, 2nd Duke of Dover, and Vice Admiral of Scotland (1698-1778):

To His Grace

Charles,

Duke of

Queensberry and Dover, etc.

My Lord,

As the Monuments of Antiquity, exhibited in the following Sheets, are chiefly intended to illustrate the Roman Actions in Scotland, and, of consequence the Achievements of its Ancient Inhabitants, Your Grace will here perceive, from uncontested Authorities, how great the Struggle has been, in the One for Conquest, the Other, for Liberty to their Country.

This being the general Scope of the present Essay, there is none to whom I can so naturally have recourse for Protection, and Countenance, as Your Grace, whose illustrious Ancestors have, for Ages, been so eminent in defending and establishing their Nation’s Honor and Liberty, and certain it is, the Name of Douglas, is too highly exalted in the Annals of Europe, to bring this in Doubt. What pleasure must I then receive, in finding Patronage from one who Possesses, as by Hereditary Right, the many shining Qualities of his renowned Forefathers: All which, joyn’d with a condescending Goodness, Humanity, Knowledge, and Sweetness of Temper, finish the Character of one truly Noble.

Long have I wish’d for an Opportunity to evidence my Gratitude, to your Grace, for many Favours, already received, both at Home and Abroad and, indeed, the small Tribute, I now offer, has its greatest Merit in proceeding from a grateful Heart.  I can never sufficiently express the Sense I have of your generous Encouragement, shewn me at my first Entrance on this Work, for when many were multiplying Difficulties, and starting discouraging Objections against me, You, my Lord, was far from crushing me in the Attempt, not thinking it just to condemn my Work, till it was seen and examin’d.  If, then, any Shadow of Merit be found therein, I shall most willingly acknowledge, that its Success is, in a great measure, owing to Your Grace, and some other learned and generous Patrons.  With Pleasure, therefore, I lay it at Your Feet, and reckon all the Pains and Trouble I have taken therein, well rewarded, in having, hereby, an Opportunity of declaring to the World, That, with most profound Deference, I am,

May it please Your Grace,

Your Grace’s most Obedient,

and most Obliged, humble Servant

Alexander Gordon.

Three years later (1729) he published his The Lives of Pope Alexander VI and His Son Caesar Borgia, and it was dedicated to James Graham, 4th Marquis and 1st Duke of Montrose (1682-1742):

To His Grace

James

Duke of Montrose

My Lord,

As an Acknowledgment for the many Instances of Favour, with which Your Grace has been pleased to honour me, I beg Leave in all Humility to shelter the following History under Your Grace’s Protection.

But if I had no peculiar Motives of Gratitude, a Work of this Kind should naturally be Addressed to One who is accurately acquainted with the great and active Scenes of Human Life:  And as it is Mine, that just Penetration should be accompanied with all the Indulgence of Candor and Humanity, In Your Grace these shining Qualities go Hand in Hand; they naturally support and adorn each other.

If what I have written deserves any Degree of Favour from the Publick, it will not give me so much Satisfaction from any View of Interest or Reputation, as for having an Opportunity of declaring to the World that am, with sincerest Veneration,

My Lord,

Your Grace’s most Obliged, and

Most Faithful Servant,

Alexander Gordon

In 1730, Gordon’s translation was published:  The Compleat History of the Ancient Amphitheatres. More Peculiarly Regarding The Architecture of those Buildings, and in Particular that of Verona. By the Marquis Scipio Maffei. Made English from the Italian Original by Alexander Gordon, A.M., Adorned with Sculptures. (It is interesting to note, here, that Francesco Scipione, marquis di Maffei [1675-1755] was a well-known Italian Dramatist, archaeologist, and scholar.)  Gordon dedicated his translation to Sir George Bowes (1701-1760), a member of the English Parliament and the founder of the Grand Alliance of coal owners, established to control the London coal trade:

To

George Bows

Of Streatleham-Castle, Esq;

If a Descent from an Illustrious Race of Patriots, such as Camden is Witness that your Predecessors have been; if the Possession of a Plentiful Fortune, of a Numerous and Powerful Friendship, and of a General Esteem, were sufficient to render a Man happy; there are very few that would have a greater Share of Felicity than your self: But you are sensible, Sir, that the best Judges of Human Nature would not esteem you such, notwithstanding these Advantages, did you not possess the Nobler Endowments of the Mind.  These are the Qualities that improve the Gentleman, a mere amiable Character, into that of the highest Utility, the Patriot: ‘Tis by these alone that Honours, Riches, and Interest become useful, and conduce not only to the Happiness of the Possessor, but to that of Mankind in general; ’tis by these, that a Man not only dispenses Good in his own Time, but entails a lasting and improveable Felicity on After-Ages.

The Advantage of your Patronage to this Piece, might here be a sufficient Reason for a Dedication, had I not been affected with a much stronger Motive, the Desire I have of declaring to the World how much I am indebted to your Bounty.  I am sensible that this Performance is a very small Return for the Favours I’ve received; and yet I should think my Labour very well bestowed, could I deserve the least Part of that Approbation you will give the Learned Author of the Original.  I have this at least in my favour, that ’tis much more difficult to translate than to compose.

That you may long live, and continue to be the Patron of Learning and Virtue, and the Happiness of such as are honoured with your Friendship, is the sincere Wish of,

Sir,

Your most Humble and

most Obliged Servant,

Alexander Gordon.

When Gordon’s one and only comedy Lupone: or, the Inquisitor was published in 1732, he dedicated it to Cosmo George Gordon, 3rd Duke of Gordon (ca. 1720-1752) who was eleven years old at the time.  (Yes, like you, I am intrigued by the shared surname, but, at this point, I cannot connect our Alexander Gordon with the illustrious House of Gordon.)  Lupone is a Dominican Friar and chief Inquisitor, and the play takes place in Naples.

To His Grace

Cosmus,

Duke of Gordon.

My Lord,

The Sincere Regard for Truth, of which your Grace has given the World such early Examples, renders you the proper Patron of every Attempt that tends to the Exposing those whose Employment is to promote the most pernicious Error that ever deluded Mankind.

The wicked Priest, supported by an ignorant and superstitious Multitude, is a Character of such terrible Importance to Publick Happiness and Liberty, that its horrid Consequences can never be too often represented to the People.

This, being the subject of the present Piece, has made me presume to implore your Grace’s Patronage, believing that the Design, rather than the Performance, may be my Excuse.  I am, with the utmost Respect,

My Lord,

Your Grace’s most obedient

humble Servant,

Alex. Gordon.

Also in 1732, he published his Additions and Corrections, by Way of Supplement, to the Itinerarium Septentrionale, dedicating it to James Macrae (1677-1744), Scottish seaman, administrator, and Governor of Fort St. George from 1725-1730).  (Fort St. George was the first English fortress in India.)

To the Honourable

James Makrae, Esq.

Late Governor of Fort St. George.

Sir,

The many Favours I have received from you, when I was honour’d with your Acquaintance Abroad, and the Continuance of them at Home, oblige me to take the first Opportunity of declaring to the World, how much I am indebted to your Friendship.

The Remains of Antiquity I am describing, are such as illustrate the History of the noblest and most successful Resistance of any to the Violence of the Usurping Romans, their Description may therefore be worthy of your Acceptance, more, indeed, from the Dignity of the Subject treated, than the Manner of describing them.  The Bravery of our Heroic Ancestors against those whom Tacitus calls Raptores Orbis, The Plunderers of the World, has too near a Remembrance to your own, not to affect you, since the same Man who defended the Cassandra with so much Resolution, against Pyrates of a still worse Nature, must with equal Courage have defended his Country, had he lived in those Days.

Accept therefore these Papers, not as any Retribution for the many Favours received, but as a sincere Acknowledgment of a grateful Heart.  I am,

Sir,

Your most humble, and

most obliged Servant, 

Alex. Gordon.

Gordon returned to his Italian interests in 1733 with a publication that fascinates and perplexes me because it is a revised and corrected translation of The Book of Common Prayer from English to Italian!  It is titled Il libro Delle Preghiere Publiche ed Administrazione de’ Sacramenti, ed Altri Riti e Cerimonie delIa Chiesa, Secondo ruso della Chiesa Anglicana; Insieme col Saltero over i Salmi Di David, Come hanno da esser recitati nelle Chiese.  E la forma e modo di fare, ordinare e consacrare Vescovi, Presbiteri e Diaconi: Questa nuova Impressione revista e corretta per Alessandro Gordon, A.M. 

The story behind the Italian version of The Book of Common Prayer is intriguing.  According to The Book of Common Prayer Among the Nations of the World, Chapter XII, Italian Translations, the first translation was begun by William Bedell (Bishop of Kilmore and Armagh) who had an “expressed desire to win over the people of Venice to Protestanism.”  The Bishop died in 1642, but it was not until 1685 that Edward Browne (Clare Hall, Cambridge) edited the translation for publication.

How Alexander Gordon became involved in the revised 1733 edition shows his entrepreneurial spirit:  he saw the translation as an educational tool for teaching Italian!  Stefano Villani’s “Italian Translations of the Book of Common Prayer enlightens and is worthy of extensive quotation:

A new edition of Brown’s text was then published in 1733 by the Scot Alexander Gordon. … Gordon in his ‘Letter to the readers’ of the Libro delle Preghiere Publiche, after having retold the story of the first edition of 1685 (basing himself on Brown’s old introduction), explains the reasons that led him to publish ‘this new edition’. First of all it was impossible to find copies of the edition of 1685. …secondly it presented several spelling errors and some lexical inaccuracy; and thirdly several prayers and other things relevant to the rites and ceremonies of 1685 were no longer in use. At the end of his letter to the reader, Gordon gives another reason that convinced him of the necessity for this translation. Gordon writes that ‘the Italian language being greatly estimated by the English nobility and by other persons of value and knowledge’ (‘essendo la lingua italiana grandemente stimata appresso lanobilità inglese ed altre persone di merito e sapere’), there were ‘many’ who required a translation of the Anglican liturgy ‘in that sweetest language’ (‘inquella dolcissima lingua’) so that ‘reading it often’ they ‘could improve their knowledge of that language’ (‘leggendola spesso, potessero avanzar nellaconoscenza della detta lingua’).

Since the liturgy was known by heart by every member of the Church of England, everyone who wanted to study Italian could read the translation in that language of the Book of Common Prayer, with the great advantage of being able to grasp the meaning of phrases without a dictionary.  At a time when the practice of completing the intellectual formation of young British nobles and writers with the Grand Tour in Italy was already common, to propose an edition of the Libro delle Preghiere Publiche as a sort of educational aid for teaching the Italian language, could open a very large market, and demonstrates, once again, the ingenuity of this whimsical scholar [emphasis supplied].

 Gordon’s translation contained not only his “Letter to the Readers” but also, as we have come to expect, a dedication.  It is in Italian, and begins, “Al Reverendissimo ed Illustrissimo Padre in Dio, Edwardo Chandler.”  Edward Chandler (1668?-1750) was Bishop of Litchfield from 1717 to 1730 and, then, Bishop of Durham from 1730 on.

In 1737, he dedicated his An Essay towards Explaining the Hieroglyphical Figures on the Coffin of the Ancient Mummy belonging to Capt. William Lethieullier to Sir Arthur Onslow, Speaker of the House of Commons of Great Britain from 1728 until 1761.   The National Trust observes that “he held the post for 33 years in five successive parliaments and was known as the Great Speaker.”

To the

Right Honourable

Arthur Onslow, Esq;

Speaker of the Hon House of Commons, etc.

Sir,

When Persons of high Dignity patronize Learning, it demonstrates a Greatness of Soul, no less advantageous to their own Characters, than beneficial to the Sciences which are blest with their enlivening and extensive Influence:  For Knowledge and Virtue are so inseparable, that whatever promotes the one, must necessarily produce the other.  Yet such is the unhappy Effect of a too indulgent Education, that many Persons who by their high Rank and native Genius might have been useful Ornaments to Mankind, suffer themselves to be wholly captivated by the lost Delusions of Sense, which generally make too successful a Court to Persons of ample Fortunes and distinguish’d Birth, and know nothing of the genuine Pleasure that follows the delightful and self-rewarding Pursuits of an intelligent Mind.

‘Tis not therefore surprising, That Literature and the Sciences, should apply themselves to Personages who stand forth as illustrious Exceptions to this too general a Depravity.  Nor is it to be wonder’d at, that among the most Eminent of the Learned, even Persons of meaner Abilities, (attracted by the Sunshine which diffuses it self over the whole World of Science, from the Countenance of the Truly Great) should be ambitious to mingle their humbler Offerings.

Hence, Sir, arises the Liberty I take of presuming to shelter the following Essay under YOUR Name, not induced by the Worth of the Performance, but the Nature of the Subject.

That You May long live the Mecænas of this Age, and continue to do Honour to the exalted Station to which Your own Merit has raised You, is the sincere Wish, of,

Sir,

Your most Humble, and

Most Obedient Servant

AlexR Gordon.

Also in 1737, he dedicated his An Essay towards Explaining the Ancient Hieroglyphical Figures, on the Egyptian Mummy, in the Museum of Doctor Mead, Physician in Ordinary to His Majesty to Richard Mead.  As the Encyclopedia Britannica notes, Mead was “a leading 18th-century British physician who contributed to the study of preventive medicine. A graduate of the University of Padua (M.D., 1695) and of Oxford (M.D., 1707) and a staff member of St. Thomas’ Hospital and Medical School, London (1703–15), Mead attended some of the foremost personalities of the day, including King George I, Queen Anne, King George II, the British prime minister Sir Robert Walpole, Sir Isaac Newton, and the poet Alexander Pope.”

To

Doctor Mead.

Sir,

The many Obligations you have conferr’d upon me, make me lay hold of the least Opportunity to render you the humble Acknowledgments of a grateful Heart: And indeed, besides this superior Inducement, I could not, with equal Propriety, have recourse to any other Patronage for the following Essay, that owes its Being to your noble Museum; which, among many other invaluable Treasures of Antiquity and Erudition, contains the curious Monument of the antient Egyptians, that is the Subject thereof.

The easy Access to this inestimable Repository, which you so generously afford to every one who is inquisitive after Knowledge, and the chearful Assistance you are so ready to lend to whatever tends to the Promotion of Learning, and the polite Arts, have justly intitul’d you to the Esteem of Mankind.  Which that you may continue long to enjoy, is the Wish of all those who have the Honour to be known to you, among whom no one can join with greater Fervour than,

Sir,

Your most humble and

most obliged Servant,

Alexander Gordon.

And so it was that for this eleven-year chapter of his life (1726-1737), our Alexander Gordon—our illustrious antiquarian and true Renaissance man—found himself favoured again and again as he repeatedly paid tribute to and solicited “shelter” from friends in high places.

Celebrating Scholars and Poets and Librarians!

“Scholars and artists thrown together are often annoyed at the puzzle of where they differ. Both work from knowledge; but I suspect they differ most importantly in the way their knowledge is come by. Scholars get theirs with conscientious thoroughness along projected lines of logic; poets theirs cavalierly and as it happens in and out of books. They stick to nothing deliberately, but let what will stick to them like burrs where they walk in the fields.”

from Robert Frost’s “The Figure a Poem Makes” 

I love Robert Frost, and I especially love his essay “The Figure a Poem Makes.”  I’ve been thinking about that essay a lot today, because I am here in Charleston, South Carolina, on a scholarly research trip.  And I have conducted my work, as Frost said scholars conduct their work, “with conscientious thoroughness along projected lines of logic”.

Projected lines of logic.  Ah!  Yes!  As those of you who have been following my blog know, I have maintained for some time that I am 99% confident that I know the identity of The Humourist.  Trust me:  I do!  And, as you also know, I have been giving The Humourist essays a close reading, noting the clues that allow me to explore my authorial speculations along projected lines of logic.  Indeed those projected lines of logic have guided me throughout this research trip:  projected lines of logic

My hope was that if I could find the Last Will and Testament of the person whom I believe to be The Humourist it might contain specific bequests that would in one way or another connect to the esoteric content of The Humourist essays.  I have reviewed the Last Will and Testament, and, indeed, it contains bequests that parallel certain specifics mentioned in the essays:  specifics dealing with art and with history.  It is not possible that two people living in Charleston, South Carolina, during this same timeframe could have had the very same, identical, specialized interests. I realize that “art” and “history” are not specialized.  Yet, for both of these fields, The Humourist has identified specialized angles.  I have revealed some of them to you already.

I will reveal no more, at this point, except to say that I now have the clincher that I’ve been looking for!  Mind you:  I will continue giving The Humourist essays the close reading that they warrant.  And when I am done with the deed, I will reveal all. For now, I have enough to move me from 99% to 100% certainty.

More, I have found clinchers others than those in his Last Will and Testament.  Today, as I read issues of The South Carolina Gazette housed in the South Carolina Library Society, I found notices of property for sale—property owned by The Humourist.  The location of the property aligns perfectly with references that he makes in two of his essays! Yes!  Yes!

So, as this day ends, I believe that I meet with Frost’s approbation in terms of my scholarly work:  I like to think so, at least.  I know that I have followed with “conscientious thoroughness […] projected lines of logic.”  

And, though I am no poet, I like to think that I would have met with Frost’s approval of my “poetic” way of seeking knowledge, too.  Whenever I am doing research, I approach what I am doing rather “cavalierly.” I approach “nothing deliberately.”  I let what knowledge will “stick” to me “like burrs where [I] walk in the fields.”  The discoveries are remarkable.

Thus—and as is my custom—when I finished my formal scholarly research today, I was reluctant to put aside The South Carolina Gazette without taking a purely “just for fun” walk through its fields.

For some reason, I did as I often saw my mother do when I was a child and she was in search of a “special  message” of some sort:  she closed her eyes, opened the Bible, and let her finger drop to a line of Scripture. (Now that I reflect upon it, I know the reason fully well why I used my mother’s “special message” technique:  had she lived, my mother would have been one hundred and one years old today!  Today is her birthday! Subconsciously, I must have had her birthday on my mind, leading me—her way—to my way of knowledge.)

So, without then knowing why—yet, now, with full understanding, and in like fashion—today I closed my eyes, opened The South Carolina Gazette, and let my finger drop wherever it might drop.

To my great joy, my finger fell on a poetic tribute to Alexander Pope (21 May 1688 – 30 May 1744).  The poem appeared in The South Carolina Gazette, on June 17, 1745, as follows:

Mr. Timothy, —- Sir,

I’ve sent you a Copy of VERSES, written extemporare by a Native of this Place, on the Death of the great and celebrated ALEXANDER POPE, Esq; Please to favour them with a Place in your next Gazette, and you’ll oblige, Sir,

Your most humble Servant,

PHILAGATHUS.

AND is POPE gone? – Then mourn ye Britons! Mourn —
Your Pride and Boast!  Apollo’s darling Son.
The Muses weep for Thee, immortal Bard!
Thou’rt gone! And with Thee all their Glory’s fled.

His Soul in Rapture mounts th’ ewtherial Road ——
Enraptur’d Seraphs win him to his God;
Pleas’d, the Angelick Bands with Speed give Way,
And hail him onward to eternal Day;
The Bard begins divine Seraphick Lays,
And glads all Heaven, with his rapt’rous Praise!

Now weep, ye chosen Few! Who Pleasure take
In harmonious Numbers, sublimely great;
Now mourn for him, who had the Art to fire
The Soul to Virtue!  and the Heart inspire:
Who writ, for future Blessings to Mankind,
To mend the Heart, and to inform the Mind.
Who dar’d defend the righteous Laws of God,
And boldly in the bright Paths of Virtue trod.
His dreadful Satyr! That strange piercing Dart,
Well levell’d slew, —— and slung the guilty Heart.

Who next in Genius! able to sustain
The Poetick Fire? The heavenly Flame!
Like POPE! unfold great Nature’s moral Laws,
Like him, in flaming Zeal, and pious Rage,
Scourge the base Follies of a guilty Age?
A sacred Flame! Does thro’ thy Numbers flow,
Informs the Mind, and makes the Heart to glow.
Tho; thou art gone, —— thy Works shall brightest shine,
With Men of Genius, to the End of Time.
Thy Ethics shine, with much superior Rays, ——
Like thy bright Soul! ne more immortal Blaze!

But stay my Muse! Thy languid Flame’s too faint
The dazzling Beauties of great POPE to paint!
And O great Shade! Forgive my humble Lays,
Who only shew my Weakness, when I’d praise!
No Pen, so well, can speak thy rising Fame ——
As thy own Works:  That brighten into Flame.

Who can, O POPE! Thy Sacred Laurel wear?
Who can, alas, the dazzling Lustre bear!
Who can, like Thee! Lift up the Sacred Rod?
The Power’s not of Man —— ‘tis the Gift of GOD.
THIS is thy Praise, due from every Pen,
The GREATEST POET and the BEST OF MEN.

Is this not incredibly wonderful?  Just think:  someone in Colonial America—someone in Charleston, South Carolina—penned such a poetic tribute to Alexander Pope on the occasion of his death! 

How wonderful that the poetic tribute still exists in a newspaper that has survived against all odds for all these years.  Now that’s life everlasting not only for Pope but also for Philagathus!  It’s also life everlasting for librarians—the unsung keepers of our vast storehouses of treasured knowledge, whether scholarly or poetic.

Discoveries.  Joys.  Research.

It doesn’t get any better than this!