The Atlantic Monthly, Volume 04, No. 23, September, 1859: A Magazine of Literature, Art, and Politics

In Short

This collection functions as a curated window into the September 1859 issue of a prominent American literary magazine. It blends high-minded essays on European art and classical mythology with vivid, often humorous sketches of American regional life and biting critiques of contemporary travel writing. By archiving both the grand philosophical concerns of the day and the mundane administrative struggles of local school boards, the magazine preserves the texture of a society in transition. Its endurance lies in this very variety, reflecting the period's genuine intellectual depth and its nascent anxieties.

The Story

The magazine opens with an appreciative profile of the painter Ary Scheffer, positioning him as a bridge between the spiritual longings of the American public and the formal traditions of European art. The editors argue that Scheffer’s success stems from his ability to evoke deep, universal pathos through religious themes, even while noting—with the discerning eye of the critic—that his color choices sometimes falter. This focus on the intersection of the spiritual and the aesthetic sets the stage for a recurring tension within the volume: the struggle to reconcile the "old world" heritage of Europe with the "new world" environment of America.

From this contemplative start, the narrative shifts to the physical landscape of the United States. A travel account documenting a journey to Martha’s Vineyard serves as a pivot, grounding the magazine’s lofty themes in the rugged, everyday reality of rural travel. The travelers encounter local characters whose lives are defined by geography and tradition, juxtaposing the "ancient" Indian names of the island with the encroaching, often indifferent perspectives of modern settlers. Here, the story is one of discovery, as the visitors map both the physical terrain and the vanishing histories embedded within it.

The tone then pivots sharply toward the abstract and the historical. An essay on the Greek Sphinx expands into a meditation on the cyclical nature of human history and the "flux of human life," arguing that the persistent riddle of existence is simply "Man." This philosophical inquiry creates a bridge into the theological soul-searching of the time. The text explores the intense individualism of New England religious thought, describing the "mountain weight" placed upon the conscience of a mother grappling with the rigid, unforgiving logic of her faith. The story of this interior struggle is framed by the quiet, disciplined hope of holy women who seek to prophesy, signaling a shift toward a more personal, direct experience of the divine.

The volume then turns outward once more, offering glimpses of global perspectives and social critique. A lively description of Cuban society, centered on the daily rituals of the "Dominica," portrays a culture of leisurely, refined social interaction that stands in stark contrast to the industrious, often frantic pace of the American North. This is followed by a satiric, cautionary tale about a man who creates a "double"—a shiftless fellow named Dennis Shea—to stand in for him at public events, leading to a hilarious, chaotic disaster on the lecture circuit. The volume concludes by reviewing the current literary landscape, offering firm, unsentimental judgments on travelogues and folklore, and providing an extensive, annotated list of new books that maps the cultural consumption of the era.

How It Unfolds

The aesthetic evaluation begins with a careful critique of Ary Scheffer’s paintings, weighing his emotional impact against his technical limitations in color. The editors establish a standard of "spiritual beauty" that prioritizes expression over mere visual ornamentation.

The domestic travelogue follows, detailing a bumpy, comical journey by carriage to a lighthouse. This section grounds the reader in the immediate, physical experience of the American landscape and its forgotten names.

The philosophical expansion moves from the specific to the universal, examining the myth of the Sphinx to explain the movement of history. It connects the shifting geography of the world to the underlying, permanent nature of humanity.

The theological inquiry delves into the "fearful issues" of New England, tracing the tension between rigid doctrine and the individual soul. It depicts a culture searching for a way to reconcile deep-seated anxiety with the promise of divine grace.

The social observation captures the vibrant, leisurely pace of Cuban social life, contrasting it with the perceived sobriety of the North. The focus then shifts to the satirical misadventures of a man and his "double," highlighting the absurdity of public expectations.

The People

The figures in these pages are often archetypes of their time, caught between duty and desire. Ary Scheffer stands as the ideal artist, a man whose work is defined by "tender pathos" and a universal religious feeling that transcends specific dogmas. Mysie serves as the inquisitive traveler, whose journey to Martha’s Vineyard reveals a sincere, slightly indignant respect for the island's indigenous history. The mother described in the theological essay is a figure of profound intellectual rigor, whose "reasoning" nature makes her uniquely vulnerable to the harsh logical chains of her faith. Dennis Shea, the "shiftless" double, acts as a foil to his more ambitious master, Frederic Ingham, embodying the humorous, unpredictable chaos that results when one tries to manipulate public perception. Finally, the "little gentleman" appearing in the closing sections offers a sharp, visionary perspective, arguing that the "American mind" is destined to create a new, distinct interpretation of old truths.

In Its Own Voice

"His works are full of simple, tender pathos; his pictures always tell their story, first to the eye, next to the heart and soul of the beholder."

This assessment of Ary Scheffer highlights the editor's preference for art that functions as a bridge to the human spirit.

"The individual entered eternity alone, as if he had no interceding relation in the universe."

The text uses this stark description to capture the terrifying intensity of the theological climate in New England.

"It is the flux of human life which must account for the flowing outline of the earth's geography."

This philosophical reflection posits that human history is the primary engine behind the development of the world.

What It's Really About

The central theme is the attempt to reconcile human agency with the vast, often indifferent forces of history, geography, and theology. The volume investigates the "riddle" of man, questioning how individuals can maintain a coherent sense of self within a rapidly changing society. Whether discussing the spiritual impact of a painting, the rigid demands of a church, or the physical navigation of a new land, the text consistently circles back to the tension between the individual’s internal life and their external responsibilities. It is a record of an American public trying to claim its own intellectual and spiritual independence while remaining deeply connected to, and critical of, the traditions of the past.

Why Read It Today

Readers who enjoy slow, contemplative prose and have a curiosity about how the nineteenth century understood its own "modernity" will find this volume rewarding. It is a rare opportunity to engage with the editorial voice of an era before the advent of rapid, sound-bite communication. You will find it feels like stepping into a dense, well-stocked library, where the topics drift from high theology to the practicalities of Boston school regulations with surprising fluidity.

However, the modern reader should be prepared for the period’s distinctive, often flowery syntax and its occasionally dense, abstract philosophical arguments. The writing assumes a high degree of familiarity with classical history and the theological debates of the time, which can make the text feel distant or demanding. You will also encounter the era's dated perspectives on race and social hierarchy, presented without the filters of contemporary revisionism. Yet, what stays with you is the sincere, earnest belief of these writers that their work—be it a critique of a painting or a musing on the stars—could elevate the "popular mind." It is a testament to an age that viewed the magazine not just as a commodity, but as a vital, necessary instrument for national and moral growth.