Apparently someone is still reading the back-entries in the Archives, based on my stats--especially, one of the editorial pages of the 1832 New York "Constellation" where Mathew Franklin Whittier was the junior editor, having written all the unsigned pieces on that page. Here is the download link for that page, which as of the 21st, 19 people have viewed. I suppose someone provides the direct URL, rather than linking to the blog page it was originally sourced from. Perhaps they like the editorial "sermon" on "Use All Gently." Read it, and note the tone, the style..."grok" the mind behind it. This is my own higher mind, inasmuch as it has barely changed, if at all, since that incarnation.
Now look at this. This is not Margaret Fuller, as historians will tell you. This, also, is Mathew Franklin Whittier--the same mind, 14 years later. Mathew had just turned 20 in July of 1832; now, he is 33. He is, one might say, at the peak of his powers, both as a writer and as a philosopher. Quite a bit of what he says, we now know to be prescient, or nearly so. There were still people living who had been youngsters at the time of the Revolution--and yet, he has called it just about right for 2018.
I can now prove that this particular voice--the sensitive, perceptive philosopher who writes the bulk of these asterisk-signed essays and reviews--was neither Margaret Fuller, nor the editor, Horace Greeley. If they were not Greeley, I can narrow it down to someone who had a very similar childhood, i.e., a precocious male reader who grew up in an isolated farmhouse. But as I have said many times, this "star" has been Mathew's secret pseudonym since the early 1830's; and it remained so at least until 1873. With all the other clues, including comparisons of Mathew's style, and the rare talent evinced in these pieces, all signs point to his authorship of this series in the "Tribune."
Some day, all of my extremely careful efforts to prove Mathew's authorship of these various works--now claimed for others--will be unnecessary, as it will be common knowledge. Abby has told me, via a brief thought-burst, for example, that the hundreds of pages I took to painstakingly prove that Mathew, not Ossian Dodge, was the real author of the "Quails" travelogue in the Boston "Weekly Museum," will seem like overkill, because everyone will already accept it. Likewise with this mistaken claim for Margaret Fuller's authorship of the star-signed reviews in the "Tribune," I would guess. But you see my position--now, I have to fight and scrap for it with every clue I can find.
Oh, you will see, in the introduction to this New Year's essay, a very brief nod to "A Christmas Carol," the original of which was actually written by Mathew and his soul-mate, Abby. Why would he casually acknowledge Dickens as the author, without a trace of resentment? Because he had given the manuscript to Dickens, in a spirit of self-sacrifice, to get the story out to the widest possible audience. I did something similar when I let Actuality Productions scoop me with Jeff Keene's case, at a time when my own documentary was still in long-term, underfunded production. When approached by the producer for cases, I suggested she peruse my website. She was interested in Jeff Keene, and I gave her his contact information. I even sold them some footage of Jeff walking along the Antietam Battlefield Park, and my company name, "Gold Thread Video Productions," is in the credits of the show they broadcast on A&E, entitled "Beyond Death." You can find it there yourself, if you doubt me. I thus gained a little ready cash--but the reason I did it was for Jeff (because I wasn't sure my show would ever air); and for the Cause.
Mathew probably felt the same way about "A Christmas Carol," until it dawned on him that Dickens was really a plagiarist and a scoundrel. At that time, he realized he'd been used. But here, in 1846, he simply makes of it a private reference. It's a tip-of-the-hat to Abby, inasmuch as she would have been the one who wrote the scene which he cites.
If you laugh at the idea that an obscure humorist could have been the co-author of "A Christmas Carol," I suggest that you read this New Year's essay. Dickens was a poor writer, and certainly a very poor philosopher, next to Mathew. If one scrutinizes Dickens' handwritten manuscript of the "Carol," one finds, beneath the heavy corkscrew scribbles, that he mostly made arbitrary changes. Most of it was to add verbosity to Mathew's crisp writing. In short, he made the original worse. I kid you not. It's a scam, folks. But it was a scam that Mathew went along with, so long as he thought Dickens was well-intentioned.
Poe was another matter, when he falsely claimed "The Raven." But I've already dealt with that. This situation with Margaret Fuller is a weird one. She was on the scene, sort of a gadfly, I think, and when the call went out for an editor of "The Dial," everybody else stepped back, and she was standing there, and was chosen by default. Or, so I read the history. But while she may have done the editing work, she was not the author of the "F."-signed reviews--that, also, was Mathew Franklin Whittier. I've gone through them carefully. He was not always at his best, because this was the period when Abby died of consumption. His first one was up to his usual standards, because she was healthy at the time, and had given birth to their second child. The one appearing not long after the death of both mother and child, is quite short.
This is the kind of thing where I could shout myself hoarse, and nobody will believe me--but in the future, people will accept it all as fact, and all my shouting will seem unnecessary. The question is, if I had not shouted, would it ever have gotten to the stage of being accepted as fact? I doubt it. Certainly, nobody seems to have suspected these things up until now. All of these attributions are quite obvious once you see them. It's like the face in the picture that you can't stop seeing, once someone points it out to you. Or, like the pirate face in pansies, that I never noticed until my father pointed it out to me. Now, every pansy I see is a pirate. Just so, it's obvious that Dickens could not have written the "Carol," Poe could not have written "The Raven," and Fuller could not possibly have written these star-signed reviews in the "Tribune," nor the "F."-signed reviews in "The Dial."
Stephen Sakellarios, M.S.
Music opening this page: "Freedom Land," by the YellowJackets,
from the album "Greenhouse"