Quarterly Review,” which followed it; which, as he said, was to be the “Dial” with a beard, but which turned out to be the beard without the “Dial.” What Mr. Alcott alone would have made of it may be judged by Heraud’s “Monthly Magazine,” which did not, any more than Parker’s “Quarterly,” bear comparison in real worth and suggestiveness with the “Dial” itself. That on Alcott, at least, some gentle restrictive pressure had to be exercised may be seen by his rather indignant introduction to “Days from a Diary,” in the last number that Margaret Fuller edited. Here he chafes at some delay in publishing his contribution, and adds significantly: “The ‘Dial’ prefers a style of thought and diction not mine; nor can I add to its popularity with its chosen readers. A fit organ, for such as myself, is not, but is to be. The times require a free speech, a wise, brave sincerity, unlike all examples in literature; of which the ‘Dial’ is but the precursor. A few years more will give us all we desire — the people all they ask.”[1]
When we consider with what fidelity the editors had held to him, although by all odds their least popular contributor, it must be admitted that this affords a new illustration of the difficulty of keeping radicals in a common harness.
After the third number, Margaret Fuller thus writes to the Rev. W. H. Channing: —
- ↑ Dial, ii. 409.
