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I «

ESSAYS

FROM

REVIEVSAS

aEORaE STEAVART,

D. LiTT., LL.D., D.CL.

QUEBEC :

iD^A.'W^sojsr sc CO.

1892.

■§!%

/y/

ESSAYS

FROM

REVIEWS

GEORGE STEWART,
D. LiTT.,LL.D., D.C.L.

■•o&*<<

QUEBEC :
ID^A."WSOlsr <Sc CO,

1892.

Printed at the

-Chronicle" Steam Printino Office,

Quebec, 1892.

JOHN GEORGE BOURINOT,

C.M.G., LL.D., D.C.L.,

President of the Royal Society of Canada,

111 remembrance of a long, unbroken friendship,

I dedicate tfiis book.

FFICEy

Jr
Pail
ithe

mn ^
some
these
this I
H'itJt
Low]
iemh'A
§ie (ji
whosi
iitera

PREFACE.

In the Scottish Review, jtul dished <it
^Paide\i^ London and Nao Yorl:, <(iid in
[the Arena, puhliahed at Boston^ Mass.,
lere appeared at intervals^ dnruuf the lad
iw years, several papers of mine on Antfrt-
zan poets and tneir art. At the re<{nest of
.8v)ne friends, I Jiavc made a selection of
Mh^se Essays from Bevieirs. Tlie sketches in
%his little ntbnne, dealing in a general "v///,
Avdh tJie I ires and careers of Longfellow,
liOWELL, Holmes and Whittiek, are in-

tnded <ts introductions to the writings of
,e (freat New England qnartette of siiajers,
whose vyrrk }(as done so inuch to make
Uteratnre in America., v'hat it is to-day.

PREFACE.

/ shall he cenj (jlad if these notes prom
helpf)d to the student. My object irill he
realized, if they have the effect of seyuling
to the loorks herein described, many new
readers and friends.

Quebec, October, 1892.

1. 1

2. .1
8. r
4. J

CONTENTS.

PAGE

1. THE LIFE AND TIMES OF LOyr;FELLO\V.

2. JAMES RUSSELL LOWELL, . ... 69

3. OLIVER WENDELL HOLMES, . . . .109

4. JOirX (iREENLEAF WTTTTTTER, . .. . 139

til

(Ic

LIFE AND TIMES OF LONGFELLOW.'

{I'/ir Sr of fish Rtrictr, Jnly, ISSfJ.)

-§-

J/is hrarf n'as pura^ his p>/rpos': /tit/h^
Jli^ f/ioihjhf sereue, hl^ paficnri: rasf ,•

1I< put all s/rijls of paxsioH hij,

And If red to Ood,fromfM (o Icisf.

William Wintkr.

1 X these pleasant volumes wc have the sim-
ple ami uneventful story of a poet's life.
^^ is chielly autobiographical in form, and
the editor has been careful to follow the lines
NNluch Mr. Trevelyan lai.l down with eon-
•spicuous success in his l)iograpl)y of Macaii-

* Life of Ihnry Wadmorth Lon<ft'dlo>r ; with
Exfraclsfroni his dournah and Corrcy.ondence
Tvhted by Samuel Longfellow. 2 Vols. Lon-
don, ami Hostun, Massachusetts.

LO>'(i FELLOW.

lay. Wliei*e\'er possi))le, tlic suV)jcct is al-
lowed to tell his own story, and tlie narrative
is enriched with copious extracts from jour-
nals and letters. The editor may safely ])e
congratulated on the thoroughness witli which
he has pci formed liis task. If there be fault
to find, it must Ijo on tlie score of excessive-
ness in the employment of material, man}'-
trivial things being included Avhicli might
with advantage have l)een omitted. Tlie book
is really a most wholesome contribution to our
literature. It is interesting, gossipy, and in-
structive, and tells all that one may wish to
know about a sweet and lova])le character,
and genuine man of letters. That such a
life, passed in the stu<ly and among books
and manuscripts, may have been uneventful,
can readily be granted. The editor under-
takes to say no more, ]jut quiet and undis-
turbed as the poet's life was, this account of
his career is full of interest to the reader of
literary history, while the letters and jour-
nals are rich in incidents of a purely intel

LON(i FELLOW.

t is Lll-
Lvrativc
n joiir-
iely be
h which
be fault
cessive-
[, many
I might
'he book
)n to our
and iu-
\\ish to
laracter,
such a
cf books
eiitful,
uuder-
1 undis-
count of
add* of
id joui'-
ly Intel

lectual kiixl. Henry Wadsworth Longfellow,
more nearly than any of his contemporaries,
fultils Emerson's definition of a true poet.
He was a lieart in unison with his time and
his country. He was less distinctively Amer-
ican in his poetry, perhaps, than either
liryant oi* Whittici'. His choice of su])jects
A\ as confined to no particular hxtitude, and
thougli hi.s work is often full of local colour,
much that he wrote was European in texture
and in inci<lent. He was a profound lover of
nature, but Bryant was often superior to him
in the treatment of forest, and plant, and
bird life. In poetry of the afi'ections, Long-
fellow undoubtedly took the higher place
among his American contemporaries. Here
he was always super))ly strong and sympa-
thetic, and his love lyrics are quite among
the bi'ightest of his shorter pieces. They
reveal a nice delicacy of touch, and are sug-
gestive of purity and sweetness only, the
methods of the fleshly school of singers being
utterly uncongenial to his nature.

LONGFELLOW.

He was born in Portland, Maine, on the
27 til February, 1807, and came from Puritan
ancestry. The home of his childhood, noted
as h a.ving been the first brick house in his
native city, had been built by his mother's
father, (ieneral Peleg Wadsworth, in the
years 1784-86. ' Now quite in the heart of
the business quarter, it was then on the ex-
treme outskirts of the town, in the midst of
fields. Hither Zilpah Wadsworth, the boy's
mother, had come when seven years old ;
here she was married ; liere she returned
now with her husband and two boys, in 1808,
to pass the rest of her life. She was the
third of eleven children of Peleg Wadsworth
and Elizabeth Bartlett, who had, after their
marriage, removed to Portland from Duxljury
in Massachusetts, whither their ancestoi-s
had emigrated from England.' Stephen Long-
fellow, the poet's father, was a college bre*!
man, one of Harvard's sons, the classmate
of Dr. Channing, Judges Story and White,
and a barrister of high repute and spotless

LON( {FELLOW.

integrity. At an early age he took a strong
])()sition in his profession, and in 1814, as a
' federalist ' in politics, he was sent to the
Massachusetts legislature. He was also the
ro))resentative of liis State for one term in
the National Congress. Tliough Stephen
Longfellow was not a man of letters, he had
a passion for literature and music, and his
first care was to provide Ijooks of tlie better
class for the use of his family. Young Long-
fellow may be said to have been born in a
library, of which the English classics, the
poets and essayists of the time, Don Quixote,
tiie Arabian Nights, and Ossian formed no
inconsiderable part. The future poet was
deeply impressed with the Scottish bard>
and, we are told, he used to go about the
iiouse reciting favorite passages and often
wh<de poems from the minstrel. But of all
the books whicli he was able to read in his
very young days, no work appealed to him
with greater intensity than tlie Sketch Booh
of Washington Irving, which at once awak-

lon({fi:lt/)\v.

cned literary aspirations in his mind. It was
of the Skcti'h Book that he \\ rote * Every
reader has his first book — I mean to say, one
book among all otliers which in early youth
first fascinates his imagination, and at once
excites and satisfies the desires of his mind.
To me, this first book was the Sketch Book
of Washington Irving. I was a school-boy
when it was published and read each suc-
ceeding number with ever inci"easing won-
der and delight, spell-])Ound by its pleasant
humour, its melancholy tenderness, its at-
mosphere of reverie — nay, even l)y its grey-
]>rown covers, the shaded letters of its titles,
und the fair clear type wliich seeme<l an out-
ward symbol of its style. How many de-
lightful books tlie same author has given

us Yet still the charm of the Sketch

Vtook remains unbroken ; the old fascination
remains about it ; and whenever I open its
pages, I open also that mysterious door w'hicli
leads back into the haunted chambers of
youth.' The poet's school-days began when

'""'k

lon(;kkli/)W

lie >\iis Imt tlirt'C years of age, and lie was
not more than six when he entered the Port-
land Academy, ' a handsome boy, retiring
\\ ithout being reserved. There was a frank-
ness about him that won you at onee. He
looked you S([uare in the face. His eyes
were full of expression, and it seemed as
tiiougli you could look down into them as
into a clear spring.' His first letter was
written to his father in 1S14, and it is pub-
lislied in this fiife, as the beginning of the
.series which continued for many years to
pass between ])arent and son. The boy
\\rites :

'Dear Papa, — Aim wants a little Bible like

little Betsey's. Will you please bliy her one,

if you can find any in Boston, I have been to

school all the week, and got only seven marks.

T shall have a billet on ^londav. I u'ish von

to buy me a drum.

ITenuy W. Lonofeli.ow.'

At seliool he got on well. He was a fa-
vourite with his class-mates, and though he
had no love for rude sports, he delighted in

LON( J FELLOW.

bathing in a little creek on the border of
Decring's Oaks, and, says Elijah Kellogg,
* he would tramp through the woods at times
with a gun ; but this was mostly through
the influence of others ; he loved much better
to lie under a tree and read.' This is what
Longfellow thouglit of his master :

' I remember the school -master at the Aca-
demy, and the mingled odour that hovered
about him of tobacco, india-rubber, and lead
pencil. A nervous, excita))le man. When
we left school I went with a school-mate to
take leave of him, and thank him for his
patience with us. He thought we were in jest;
and ft'ave me a stern lecture on good ])eh'iviour
and the trials of a teacher's life.'

His vacations were spent in long journey-
ings about the neighbouring towns and
villages. On one occasion, while engaged in
a trip of this sort, he learned the story of
the Indian fight at Lovell's Pond. The
episode emphasized itself into his mind, and
lie wrote a poem on the subject. He was
thirteen years of age, and from this effort is

Wa.-

,ja

lon<;fkll<)\v.

i dated the beginning of his literary career.
The liiittle of Lo veil's Pond was sent, witli
fear and trembling, to the Porthiml Lff'-rar}/
(,'((-.' ff(, which promptly accepted it, and
published it in its issue of November 17,
I8i?0, in the Poet's Corner. The four stanzas
give no promise of the poet's future, though
tlie sentitnent may be ai)plauded. His sister
Was the only sharer of his confidences, and
ihe was as much excited as he was over the
fate of tlie bantling. Says the editor :

r ' We may imaocine the impatience with which
they watclied the unfolding of the damp sheet
in their father's methodical hands, and the
rising vapour as he held it before the wood
fire to dry. Slowly he read the paper, and
iiaid nothing — perhaps saw nothing — of the
terses, and the children kept their secret.
But when tliey could get the paper— the poem
"Was there ! Inexpressible was the boy's delight,
and iiuiumerablo the times that he read and
re-read his performance, each time with in-
4^reasing satisfaction. In the evening he went
|o visit at the house of Judge Mellen, his
jftther's friend, whose son, Frederick, was his

LONCFKM.OW.

uwii inliuiiiU'. In the (.'irclc ;;;illKTtMl ;il»()ul
the fire, the talk turned upon poetry. Tho
judge took ui) the morning's (idzrilo. '"'• Did
you see the piece in to-day's paper? \'ery still',
remarkably stiff; moreover, it is all borrowed,
every word of it.'' The l)ov's heart sank
within him, and he would gladly have sunk
through the lloor. lie got out of the house as
soon as possible, A\ithout betraying himseil.
Shall we blame him that there were tears on
his pillow that night? It was his lirst en-
counter with "the critic,'' from whom he was
destined to hear much, not always c()mi)li-
mentary, and of whom he had more than oner
something not very complimentary to say.'

Mrs. James T. Fields tells this story in a
slightly dilferent way in a recent number of
the Cttitnrti J/ayar./yie (April 1880). Shesayo
the conceited old judge called on his son to
bring forward his statelier lines on the same
:subject.

In 1821 Longfellow went to Bovvdoin Col-
lege, and found himself a mennl)er of the class
which included Nathaniel Hawthorne, Abbot,
.and one or two others, who in after life

">«

LOXdFKLLOW.

aliDiit
,-. Tlu'
'' Did
iry still,
rrowe<l.
•t Siink
'C sunk
loiise as
hinist'lt.
tears on
lirst (.'11-
L lie was

compli-
laii once

sav.'

)ry in a
luber of
>he sayo
s son to
he same

oin Col-
:he clatis
, Abbot,
'ter life

|)C( anK- famous. He was ever . , hard student
fn<l careful (jbserver. He read mucli, and
fonstantly .sent home to his parents brief
Ci'iticisms on \\ hat he had read. Tiioinas
Gray lie aduiired greatly, and his letters to
his mother on the ' Klegy * and other poems
which caught his fancy, arc full of interest
ftlid decided charm. Ills letters to his fath'U',
ioo, show how keenly alert his literary aspi-
rations and sympathies were. His parents
encouraged his tastes, and he made excellent
progress, graduating fourth in a class of
thirty -eight. He Mrote a good many verses
while at college, and most of these appeared
4 1824 and 1825 in the U. S. IJferarji
&a\(f/>^ edited by Theophilus Parsons. In
iKe fifteenth number of this serial ap])eare<l
♦Thanksgiving,' by H. \V. L., and it was
followed in succeeding numbers by sixteen
others. In Novembei-, 18*24, the editor wrote
i|> Longfellow :

J 'Sir, — Messrs. Cumniings, Hilliard k Co.,
la\'e handed me some verses sent Itv vou to

■^

LONCi FELLOW,

them for the Editor of the U. S. Literarjf
(hizeiie. In reply lo the cinestioii attached to
them, I can only say that almost all the poetry
we print is sent ns (jralis^ and that we have
no general rule or measure of repayment.
But the beauty of your poetry makes me wish
to obtain your regular aid . . . Would
you ,be kind enough to let me know what
mode or amount of compensation you desire.
For the ])rose we pnljlish we pay one dollar a
column.'

Of the poems published in this periodical,
live were afterwards deemed worthy of being
included in the poet's first volume, the
* Voices of the Night.' In a letter written
to his father, dated March 13, 1824, we have
tlie first indication of Longfellow's anxiety
regarding his future calling. He writes :

' And now, as somehow or other, the subject
has been introduced, I am curious to know
what you do intend to make of one— whether I
am to study a profession or not, and, if so,
Avhat profession. I hope your ideas upon this
subject will agree with mine, for I have a
particular and strong prejudice for one course
of life, to which you, 1 fear, will not agree.

'■K.r(-^

LONGFELLOW.

S'. Literarif
ttachod to
the poetry
t we have
epayment.
s me wish
. Would
now what
on desire,
e dollar a

>eriodical,
y of being
ime, the
r written
, we have
s anxiety
■rites :

le subject
to know
whether I
id, if so,
upon this
1 have a
Qe course
ot agree.

It will not be wortli while for nie to mention
what this is, until I become more acquainted
with vour own wishes.'

On December 81, he continues the subject
in this strain :

^I am very desirous to hear your oi)inion of
my project of residing a year at Cambridge.
Even if it should be found necessary for me to
stud}^ a profession, 1 should think a 12 months'
residence at Harvard before commencing the
study would be exceedingly useful. Of divinity,
medicine and law, I should choose the last.
Whatever I do studj- ought to be engaged in
with all mv soul, for 1 will be eminent in some-
thing. The question then is, whether I could
engage in the law with all that eagerness
which in these times is necessarv to success.
I fear that I could not. Ought I not then to
choose another path, in which I can go on
with better hopes ? Let me reside one year at
Cambridge; let me study helles-lettres ; and
after that time it will not reciuire a spirit of
prophecy to predict v ith some degree of cer-
tainty Avhat kind of a figure I could make in
the literary world."

His father, naturally enough, designed him
for the law, but a circunrbtance occurred

LONGFELLOW.

which changed the young man's future. He
was gi-taduated with honours in 1825. Through
tlie liberality of Madam Bowdoin, after
whose husband tlie college liad been named,
a chair of modern languages was founded, and.
tlie youthful poet wag offered the professor-
ship. Before accepting, he determined to
tit himself for the position by undertaking a
visit to Europe. He left America in 182G, and
tliough it had been his intention to remain
away oidy a twelveinontli, he spent very
nearly three ye.irs and a half in France,
Spain, Italy, H(jlland, and Germany, and
the British Isles. He ac<piired languages
readily, and it was not long before he had
attained sufficient mastery of German, Ital-
ian, French, Spanish and Portuguese, to en-
able him to give instruction in those tongues.
He made the journey on foot through Fiance.
To his brother Steplien he writes from Paris
in October :

' I began the pedestrian part of my journey
on one of those dull, melancholy days, which

lon(;b'ello\v.

yon will innl uttering a mournful voice iit
Sewall's Almanack : '' p]xpect-mucli-rain-
about- this- time ! "■ **Very miscellaneou3
weather, good for sundry purposes," hut not
for a journey on foot, thought I. But I had rt
merry heart, and it went merrily all day. At
sundown I found myself al)Out seven leagues
on my wny, and on'3 l^eyond Heaugency. I
found the route one continued vineyard. On
each side of the road, as far as the eye could
reach, there was nothing hut vines, save hero
and there a glimpse of the Loire, the turrets
of an old chateau, or spire of a village church.
The clouds had passed away with the morn-
ing, and I had made a hue day's journey,
cutting across the country, traversing vine-
yards, and living in all the luxury of thought
which the occasion inspired. I recollect that
at sunset I had entered a path which wound
through a wide vineyard, where the villagers
were still at their labours, and I was loitering
along, talking with the peasantry and search-
ing for an auberrje to pass the night in. I was
presently overtaken by a band of villagers ; I
wished them a good evening, and finding that
the girls of the party were going to a village
at a short distance, I joined myself to the
band. I wanted to get into one of the cot-
tages, if possible, In order to study character.

LONiiFELLOW.

r had a llute in my knapsackj and 1 tbouglit it
"would be very pretty to touch u\) at a cottage
door, Goldsiuith-lilve, though I wouhl not
liiive done it for the world witliout an invita-
tion. Well, before long, I determined to get
an invitation, if possil)le. Ho I addressed the
girl who was walking beside nie, told her I
had a flute in my sack, and asked her if she
would bke to dance. Now laugii long and
loud ! What do you suppose her answer was ?
She said she liked to dance, but slie did not
know what a flute was! What havoc that
made among my romantic ideas ! My (jnirius
was made : I said no more about a Hute the
whole journey througli ; and I thought noth-
ing ))ut starvation wonld drive me to strike
up at the entrance of a village, as (loldsniith
did.'

All of his letters from Kurope to his friends
are charming. They are rich in description
and in incident, and many things come upon
him like a revelation. From France he went
to the north of Spain. At Aladiid he met
Washington Irving, and, as we may imagine,
the meeting was a delightful one for him.
The Basque girls he found very handsome,

LONGFELLOW.

and the picturesque and striking scenery of
Spain gave him rare pleasure. Andalusia,
Cordova, Seville, in turn alforded his sus-
ceptible nature the keenest of delights. In
1 828 he went to Italy, the next year to Ger-
many, and from them both he sent breezy,
fresh and characteristic letters. He was only
twenty-two when his travels came to an end,
but he had learned much, and when he ar-
rived home in 1829, he felt refreshed, and
ready for his work. Very soon after his ap-
pointment, he took up his residence in Bruns-
wick, Maine. ' He occupied,' says his broth-
er, * rooms in one of the college halls, taking
his meals in a private family. He at once
devoted himself zealously to his duties of
teaching. Finding no French Grammar which
suited him, he translated and printed for the
use of his pupils the grammar of L'Homond,
which had the merit always in his eyes of
containing all the essentials in a small com-
pass. He had always disliked large books.

In the same year he edited for his classes a
2

LONGFELLOW.

collection of French Proverbes DramatiqueSf
and a small Spanish reader, Novelas Espano-
laiiy taken from the Tareas de un Solitario of
Jorge W. Montgomery — a copy of which had
been given him by Mr. Everett in Madrid.'
He held the chair five and a half years, when
George Ticknor, who had been favourably
drawn towards him by his contributions to
the North American Review y which dealt
largely with the romance literature, offered
him the professorship of Modern Languages,
in Harvard University, which carried a
salary of $1,500 a year. In the meantime,
in September, 1831, he had espoused the
hand of Mary Storer Potter, the second
daughter of Judge Potter, of Portland. * Her
character and person were ::«iike lovely.'
They were tenderly devoted to each other,
and very soon after their marriage they
began house-keeping at Brunswick, in a house
which still stands under its elms in Federal
Street. Of his study he writes in his diary :

* June 23. \ can almost fancy myself in

LONGFELLOW.

Spain, the morning is so soft and beautiful.
The tesselated shadow of the honeysuckle lies
motionless upon my study floor, as if it were a
figure in the carpet, and through the window
comes the fragrance of the wild brier and the
mock orange. The birds are carolling in the
trees, and their shadows flit across the window
as they dart to and fro in the sunshine ; while
the murmur of the bee, the cooing of doves
from the eaves, and the whirring of a little
humming-bird that has its nest in the honey
suckle, scHd up a sound of joy to meet the

rising sun,

Before leaving home Longfellow had pub-
lished Outre-mery which found great accep-
tance with the public. In 1835, Prof. Tick-
nor resigned his chair at Harvard, and to fit
himself for his enlarged sphere of action, the
poet accompanied by his wife, undertook a
second journey abroad, leaving America in
April, and visiting in turn, England, Scan-
dinavia, Germany and the Swiss cantons.
He spent three weeks in London, breakfasted
with Sir John Bowring, dined with the Lock-
harts, and met among others, Jane Porter,

LOX( {FELLOW.

Mr. Babbage, Lady Morgan, Hay ward, the
translator of Faust, Mrs. Blackwood, Lady
Seymour, and Lady Dudley Stuart, daughter
of Lucien Bonaparte. At the house of the
latter, he heard Rubini and Grisi sing. Emer-
son had given him a letter to Carlyle, and
writes Mrs. Longfellow : —

' Mr. Carlyle of Craigcnputtoch was soon
after announced, and passed a half-hour with
us, much to our delight. He has very unpol-
ished manners and a broad Scottish accent,
but such fiae language and beautiful thoughts
that it is truly delightful to listen to him. He
invited us to take tea with them at Chelsea,
where they now reside. We were as much
charmed with Mrs. C. as with her husband.
She is a lovely woman, with very simple and
pleasing manners ; she is also very talented
and accomplished, and how delightful it is to
see such modesty combined with such power
to please.'

At Rotterdam, Longfellow's wife fell ill,
in November, and after suffering a few days
she died. The poet felt the first real pang
of sorrow which he had ever experienced.

U)NCiFP:LL(AV.

and shortly afterwards he wrote to his father,
* every day makes me more conscious of the
loss I have suffered in Mary's death ; and
wlien I tliink how gentle and affectionate
and good she was, every moment of her life,
even to tiie last, and that she will be no
more with me in this world,— the sense of
my bereavement is deep and unutterable.

But he had work to do, and though his
heart was sore, he did not falter, or give
way to despair. From Rotterdam he went
to Heidelberg, where he formed the acquaint-
ance of Bryant and his family, and spent
the winter and spring of 1836. Towards the
end of June he journeyed to the Tyrol and
Switzerland. In the latter country he met
Miss Appleton, then in her nineteenth year,
the lady who a few years later, became his
second wife. In December, 1836, Mr. Long-
fellow assumed the duties of his chair at
Harvard. The staff of the college was es-
pecially strong in distinguished men at that
time : Josiah Quincy was president, and with

LONGFELLOW.

liim were associated Henry Ware, senior,
John G. Palfrey, Joseph Story, Simon Green-
leaf, Charles Sumner, Charles Beck, andC. C.
Felton. Jared Sparks, the historian, Francis
Bowen, Benjamin Pierce, Prof. Hedge, An-
drews, Norton and Washington AUston,
poet and artist, lived in Cambridge then.
Later came Hawthorne as a visitor and
fi'iend, and Lowell and the others followed.
The North American Beview was in the zenith
of its fame, and most of these writers were
among its more brilliant contributors. They
formed a coterie, reviewed each other's books,
and earned the sharp criticism of Poe, whose
bitter attacks on Longfellow and ids friends
are remembered yet. The society of Cam-
bridge was very delightful, and the story of
the poet's life, passed amid such agreeable sur-
roundings, is told in letters and extracts
from his daily journal. His duties as Pro-
fessor, after a time, grew irksome, and there
is frequent mention in his diary of the trials
he underwent. Still, he held his post for

LONGFELLOW.

eighteen years, and it was not until 1854
that he retired, and made room for Mr.
Lowell, though as early as 1850 he wrote :

* I seriously think of resigning my professor-
ship. My time is so fully taken up that I
have none left for writing. Then my eyes
are suffering, and the years are precious.
And if I wish to do anything in literature,
it must be done now.' Few men, he says
later on, have written good poetry after fifty.
But the poet himself exposed the fallacy of
this conclusion, for he was past that age
when he produced 'Miles Standish,' * The
Saga of King Olaf,' ' The Tales of a Wayside
Inn,' * The Translation of Dante,' ' Hanging,
of the Crane,' and 'Keramos.' In June,
1853, we find more complaints about the
arduous character of his work, ' Six hours
in the lecture-room like a School-master. '

* I must retire,' he says again ; but he did
not retire yet, and on April 19th, he wrote,

* at 11 o'clock in number 6 University Hall,
I delivered my last lecture— the last I shall

LONU FELLOW.

ever deliver here or elsewliere.' Six months
afterwards, he received a letter fiom the Pre-
sident accepting his resignation, and the poet
was at last free from his drudgery.

In 1830, he published his romance, Hyper-
ion, and the poems included in ' Voices of
the Night,' and three years later there ap-
peared ' Ballads and other Poems,' followed
in 1843 by the ' Spanish Student,' a drama
cast in the Shakespearian mould, vigorous in
conception and individuality, but incapable
of representation on the stage. In this year,
too, he married Frances Elizabeth Appleton,
daughter of Nathan Appleton, of Boston.
She was a woman of stately presence and
cultivated intellect. Underwood, who met
her often, describes her as the * possessor of
every grace of mind and person that could
eharm the heart of a poet.' She is said to
have been the original of ' Mary Ash. burton '
in the story of Ilyj^erioiif and like that young
lady she twice withstood a siege to i .er heart
before she yielded. Eighteen years of hap-

LONGFELLOW.

;J3

piness Ijlcsscd the union, and five children
vere born to them, Imt at the hist, Mis.
Longfellow was the victim of a terrible tra-
gedy, which well nigh ciushed the heart out
of the poet. 'J'he Journal l)reaks of! suddenly
at the 8th of July, 1861, and 'the break,'
says the Ijiographer, ' marked a break in his
very life ; an awful chasm that suddenly,
and without the slightest warning, opened
at his feet. ' The sad story is thus related ;

' On the 9th of July his wife was sitting iu
the library with her two little girls engaged
in sealing up some small packages of their
curls, which she had just cut off. From a
match fallen upon the floor her light summer
dress caught fire; the shock was too great,
and she died the next morning. Three days
later her burial took place at Mount Auburn.
It was the anniversary of her marriasre-dav,
and on her beautiful head, lovely and un-
marred in death, some hand had placed a
wreath of orange blossoms. Her husband
was not there — confined to his chamber by the
severe burns which he had himself received.
These wounds healed with time ; time could
only assuage, never heal, the deeper wounds

LONGFELLOW

that burned within. He bore his grief in
eilence ; only after months had passed could
he speak of it, and then only in fewest words.
To a visitor who expressed a hope that he
might be enabled to "bear his cross" with
patience, he replied — ''Bear the cross, yes;
but what if one is stretched upon it?" '

From that dreadful moment the poet was
never quite himself, and five years passed
away ere he wrote verses of his own again.
Eighteen years afterward, looking over an
illustrated book of Western scenery, his
attention was arrested by a picture of that
mysterious mountain upon whose lonely,
lofty breast the snow lies in long furrows
that make a rude but wonderfully clear image
of a vast cross. * At night, as he looked
upon the pictured countenance that hung
from his chamber wall, his thoughts framed
themselves in the verses that follow. He
put them away in his portfolio, where they
were found after his death.' These verses,
never before published, bear the date July,
1879:

LONGFELLOW.

THE CROSS OF SNOW.

In the long, sleepless watches of the night,
A gentle face — the face of one long dead —
Looks at me from the wall, where round its
head
The night-lamp casts a halo of pale light.
Here in this room she died, and soul more white
Never through martyrdom of fire was led
To its repose ; nor can in books be read
The legend of a life more benedight.
There is a mountain in the distant West
That, sun- defying, in its deep ravines
Displays a cross of snow upon its side :
Such is the cross 1 wear upon my breast
These eighteen years, through all the chang-
ing scenes
And seasons, changeless since the day she
died.

The letters and journals are especially rich
in reminiscences, hints about the progress of
the poet's work, chit-chat about passing
events, and pleasant accounts of literary men
and women. The editor,* for the liiost part,
prints only agreeable ana. Whf re something
unpleasant is to be said about any one, the
name is withheld in nearly every instance.

3()

LONGFELLOW.

Longfellow's nature was very lovable, and
he disliked to give pain. When he said no,
he always tried to say it as softly as he could.
His brother appreciating this trait in his
character, suppresses everything that might,
in the slightest way, hurt the feelings of any
one living. In the diary we have much con-
cerning the poet's books. These notes are
delicious always. Of ' Evangeline,' we find
this account by the editor. The story has
been told before, but we may give it here :

^ Mr. Hawthorne came one day to dine at
Craigie House, bringing with him his friend,
Mr. H. L. Conolly, who had l)een the rector
of a church in South Boston. At dinner,
Oonolly said that he had been trying in vain
to interest Hawthorne to write a story upon
iin incident which had been related to him bv
a parishioner of his, Mrs. Ilaliburton. It was
the story of a young Acadian maiden, who at
■the dispersion of her people by the English
• troops had been separated from her betrothed
lover ; they sought each other for years in
tl»eir exile ; and at last the}- met in a hospital
where the lover lay d^ing. Mr. Longfellow
v/as touched by the story, especially by the

LONGFELLOW.

constancy of its heroine, and said to his frienc?,
if yon really do not want this incident for a
tale, let me have it for a poem ; and Haw-
tliorne consented. Out of this grew Evange-
line, whose heroine was at first called Ga-
brielle. For the history of the dispersion of
the Acadians the poet read such books as
were attainable ; Haliburton, for instance,
with his quotations from the Abbe RaynaK
Had he been writing a history he perhaps
would have gone to Nova Scotia to consult
unpublished archives. But, as he was writing:
a poem, a tale of love and constancy, for
which iLc'v was needed only a slight historic-
al back gii und, he took the authorities wliicli
were at hand. Later investigations and more-
recent publications have shown that the de-
portation had more justification than had been
supposed ; that some, at least of the Acadians,
so far from being innocent sufferers, had licen
troublesome subjects of Great Britain foment-
ing insubordination and giving help to the
enemy. But, if Iho expatriation was neces-
sary, it was none the ^ess cruel, and involved

in sufferinoj

many

who were innocent of

wrong.'

In the journal is tnia entry, ' 7th December,
1845. I know not what name to give to —

LONCi FELLOW.

not my new baby, but my new poem. Shall
it be " Gabrielle," or ** Celestine," or *' Evan-
geline ?" ' Two years later, on the 15th of
October, Longfellow wrote in his diary,
* Evangeline published.' He employed the
English dactylic hexameter, becausCj as he
told Barry Cornwall in his letter accompany-
ing a presentation copy of the poem, ' I could
not write it as it is in any other ; it would
have changed its charact ^ entirely to have
put it into a different m. :ve.' Conolly
published Hawthorne's review shortly after
the work came out, in his newspaper, and
the novelist sent a copy to Longfellow, who
thus charmingly acknowledged the gift :

' I hope Ml'. Conolly does not think I spoilt
the tale he told, in any way of narrating it.
I received his paper containing your notice of
the book, and thank you both for such friend-
ly service. Still more do I thauk you for re-
signing to me that legend of Acady. This
success I owe entirely to you for being willing
to forego the pleasure of writing a prose talc
which many people would have taken for

LONGFELLOW.

poetry, that I might write a poem which many
people take for prose.'

He cared very little for the critics, and
what they said. He did not resent Poe's
attacks until long afterward, and then only
slightly and without malice. Once he told
William Winter that whenever he encounter-
ed anything unpleasant about him in his
newspaper, or in articles sent to him marked
and scored, he would look at a few lines, and
then quietly throw the offensive thing into
the fire, and it never troubled him again.
Margaret Fuller's criticism, he characterized
as a * bilious attack. ' He allowed himself to
say no harsher words.

The bores, the autograph hunters, and the
idle people who stole precious hours from
him, figure frequently in these volumes. He
rarely refused to give his autograph, and
sometimes he wrote out whole poems when
asked. Letters poured into him by the hun-
dred, asking all sorts of favours. From

he receives a poem and a letter ' demanding

LONGFELX.OW.

that I shall read and criticise it for him. I
will not do any sucli thing, unless Congress
pass a special law requiring it of me.' The
newspaper correspondents worried him too,
and infested every nook and corner of his
home, destroying all privacy, and ' proclaim-
ing to the world the colour of your gloves
and the style of your shoe-tie.' A vendor of
essences approached him in tlie twilight of
an autumn evening and * offered a great bar-
gain ; namely that he would give me a dol-
lar's worth of his tssences, and I should
write for him a poetical epistle to Jenny
Lind asking charity in his behalf. Stupid
dolt I It took me some time to make him
comprehend the indecency of his behaviour.
Truly an ignoble Yankee is a very ignoble
thing. '

Longfellow was no politician, though he
took some interest always in the public
affairs of his country. He was friendly to
the cause of the Abolitionists, and Whittier
pressed him in 1844 to run for Congress as

LONGFELLOW.

the candidate of the Liberty party. Of
course, he refused. The German and Frencli
Revolutions, the Mexican war, the anti-
slavery crusade, and the Civil War in Amer-
ica, excited him very much. He took a warm
personal interest in the fortunes of his friend,
Charles Sumner. Webster's * abominable
speech ' in 1850 provoked the sharp words,
* is it possible, is this the Titan who hurled
mountains at Hayne years ago.' 'Yet,' he
continues, * what has there been in Webster's
life to lead us to think that he would take
any high moral ground on slavery ? ' Eliot's
vote for the Fugitive Slave Bill, he stigma-
tizes as * a dark disgrace to the city ' of Bos-
ton. The war of 1861 found him sad indeed.
To that bloody fray he sent one of his sons,
who was wounded, but did not die. He
inserts in the journal : —

' January 28. — Six States have left the Union,
led by South Carolina. President Buchanan
is an antediluvian an apres moi le deluge
President, who does not care what happens,

LONGFELLOW.

if he gets safely through his term. We owe
the present state of things mainly to him. He
has sympathized with the disunionistg. It is
now too late to put the fire out. We must let
it burn.

February 15. — The dissolution of the Union
goes slowly on. Behind it all I hear the low
murmur of the slaves, like the chorus in a
Greek tragedy, prophesying woe, woe !

In this gloomy fashion he goes on, saying
now, * at the gateway of the State-house two
youths of twenty, with smooth, fair cheeks,
stand sentry. Ah, woe, the day. ' And again.
* The burden seems too great for me to bear. '

Longfellow was genial always. He shrank
from publicity and notoriety, and often
would not go to places where speeches were
to be made, lest he should be called on to
speak. The society of sympathetic souls,
his intimates, always filled him with hap-
piness. The German poets impressed him
strongly and coloured his literary tastes.
His enthusiasm for Jean Paul, and Goethe,

LONGFELLOW.

and Heine, was as unbounded as Carlyle's.
The poetry of Spain, and of Italy, too, was
his delight. Lope, Calderon and Dante being
favourites of his from a very early time-
Bishop Tegner, he declared, was the only
great poet that Sweden possessed, and his
heroic poem of Frithiofs Saga drew from
him unqualified praise. Of living English
poets, Tennyson and Browning impressed
him most, and he read their works, as pub-
lished, with zest and pleasure. In these
volumes we have many glimpses of literary
men and women with whom Longfellow
formed friendships, though the editor must
have curtailed the list. Ei'j'ant, as we have
said, he met at Heidelberg in 1835, but
though letters occasionally passed between
the two poets, they did not see each other
often. Hawthorne was a class-mate, but hia
real intimacy with Longfellow did not begin
until 1837, when Twice Told Tales was sent
to the poet with the author's compliments..
The book was promptly reviewed by Long-

LONGFELLOW.

fellow in the North American Review^ and
from that time until the romancer's death,
the friendship of poet and novelist remained
unbroken and leal. Their correspondence is
quite among the best things in the book.
Many bright letters are published. Haw-
thorne seems to have opened his heart to his
friend, and whether despondent or happy,
he told him all. * As to my literary efforts,'
he writes gloomily on one occasion, * I do
not think much of them : neither is it worth
while to be ashamed of them. They would
have been better, I trust, if written under
more favourable circumstances. If my writ-
ings had made any decided impression, I
should probably have been stimulated to
greater exertions. But there has been no
warmth of approbation, so that I have always
written with benumbed fingers. I have an-
-other great difficulty in the lack of materials,
for I have seen so little of the world that I
have nothing but thin air to concoct my
stories of ; and it is not easy to give a life-

and

LONGFELLOW.

like semblance to such shadowy stuff,' But
Hawthorne often talked in this strain of his
literary performances. He was always in
doubt, always fearful of their success, and
he never quite understood his own power and
genius. Longfellow's friendly notice in the
Revieio sent him into ecstasies, and he wrote
to the poet : — ' Whether or no, the public
will agree with the praise which you bestow-
ed on me, there are at least five persons who
think you the most sagacious critic on earthy
viz., my mother and two sisters, my old
maiden aunt, and finally — the sturdiest be-
liever of the whole — my own self. If I doubt
the sincerity of any of my critics, it shall be
those who censure me. Hard would be tlie
lot of the poor scribbler if he may not have
this privilege. ' The Scarlet Letter ^ Longfel-
low pronounced *a most tragic tragedy,'
The House of Seven Gables ^ he called * a weird
wild book, like all he writes, with passages
and pages of extremest beauty,' and of the
Marble Faun^ published in England by the

LONGFELLOW.

title of Tran-^formatioiiy he wrote, * a won-
derful book ; but with the dull pain that
runs through all Hawthorne's writings.'

Longfellow's intimacy with Emerson was
thoroughly sweet. There is much al)out the
latter in the Journals and Letters. In the
entry March 8, 1838, we note these words
about the Concord Seer's lecturing on the
Affections. ' He mistakes his power some-
what, and at times speaks in oracles, darkly.
He is vastly more of a poet than a philo-
sopher. He has a brilliant mind, and devel-
opes, and expands an idea very beautifully,
and with abundant similitudes and illustra-
tions. Jeremiah Mason said a sharp thing
the other day when asked whether he could
understand Mr. Emerson. His answer was :
^^ No, I can't ; but my daughters can ! " '

Longfellow thought Emerson one of the
finest lecturers he had ever heard, * with
magnificent passages of true proi?e-poetry.
But it is all dreamery after all.' Eight years

LOMiKBLLOW.

afterwards he went to hear the lecture on
CJoetlie, which he tliought very good, but
not so pre-eminent as some of his discourses.
* There is a great charm a))out liim — the
Chrysostom and Sir Thomas Browne of the
day.' P^merson took tea with him ten days
nfter these words were written, and this is
what is recorded in the journal : — ' He was
rather shy in his manner, but pleasant and
friendly. We all drove down to hear him
lecture on Napoleon. Very good and well
spoken. We like Emerson — his beautiful
voice, deep thought, and mild melody of
language.' Of the lecture on Inspiration,
Longfellow says, under date January, 1849 :

^Another of Emerson's wonderful lectures.
The subject *' Inspiration," the lecture itself
an illustration of the theme. Emerson is like
a beautiful portico in a lovely scene of nature.
We stand expectant, waiting for the high
priest to come forth, and lo, there comes a
gentle wind from the portal, swelling and
subsiding, and the blossoms and the vine
leaves shake, and far away down the green

L0NC4rELL0W.

fields the grasses bend and wave, and we ask
when will the high priest come forth and re-
veal to us the truth ? And the disciples say,
'* he is already gone forth, and is yonder in
the meadows." *'And the truth he was to
reveal?" '* It is nature : nothing more." '

Emerson's poems are thus noticed in the
diary, December 26, 1846 :

' Received from Emerson a copy of his
poems. F. read it to me all the evening and
until late at night. It gave us the keenest
pleasure, for though many of the pieces pre-
sent themselves sphinx-like, and ''struggling
to get free their hinder parts" they offer a
very bold front, and challenge your answer.
Throughout the volume, through the golden
mist and sublimation of fancy gleam bright
veins of purest poetry like rivers running
through meadows. Truly a rare volume, with
many exquisite poems in it, among which [
should single out ''Monadnoc," *' Threnody,"
''The Humble Bee," as containing much of
the quintessence of poetry.'

There are four interesting letters from the
philosopher to the poet, all of them in a
highly complimentary vein and excessively

LONGFELLOW

th
[

literary in form. * Kavenagh ' pleased Emer-
son exceedingly though the temperate con-
clusion caused him a little disappointment.
Of Hiawatha he writes more fully, saying ;

*I have always one foremost satisfaction in
reading your books — tliat I'm safe. I am in
variously skilful hands, but first of all they
are safe hands. However, I find this Indian
poem very wholesome ; sweet and wholesome
as maize ; very proper and pertinent for us to
read, and showing a kind of manly sense of
duty in the poet to write. The dangers of the
Indians are that they are really savage, have
poor, small, sterile heads, no thoughts ; and
you must deal very roundly with them, and
find them in brains. And I blamed your ten-
derness now and then as I read in accepting a
legend or a song v/hen they had so little to
give. I should hold you to your creative func-
tions on such occasions. But the costume and
machinery on the whole ia sweet and melan-
choly, and agree? with the American land-
scape. And you have the distinction of open-
ing your own road. You may well caU it an
Indian Edda. My boy finds it like the story of
Thor. I found in the last cantos a pure gleam
or two of blue sky, and learned thence to tax
the rest of the poem as too abstemious.'

LONGFELLOW.

* Hiawatha ' was severely criticised by the
reviewers, some of them dealing with the
work in a fierce and furious fashion which
reminded the author of the days when ' Hy-
perion ' first appeared. But Bancroft, Pres-
cott, Bayard Taylor, Hawthorne, Fields, and
many other literary men praised it, and
their generous words seemed to solace the
poet.

Whittier does not appear in the book often,
though he is mentioned in kindly terms
whenever referred to. Longfellow's poems
on slavery won his heart, and as before
stated, he tried to induce him to enter politics
on behalf of the cause they both supported.
But 'pf^i'tisan warfare,' wrote Longfellow in
response to the appeal, * becomes too violent,
too vindictive for my taste, and I should be
found but a weak and unworthy champion
in public debate. ' A pleasant paragraph in
the journal on December 4, 1857, says * met
Whittier at the publisher's. He grows milder

LONGFELLOW.

and mellower as does his poetry.' Lowell
was Lont^fellow's near neighbour in Cam-
bridge, his successor at Harvard, and life-
long friend. The references to him, which
we find in the diary are scant and tantaliz-
ingly brief. When Longfellow was engaged
in the final revision of his translation of
Dante, Prof. Lowell's services were constantly
in requisition. The Dante Club, composed
of Lowell, Charles Eliot Norton, then Pro-
fessor of the History of Art at Harvard, and
Mr. Longfellow used to meet once a week at
Craigie House. A canto would be read from
the proof sheet. * We paused,' says Norton,
* over every doubtful passage, discussed the
various readings, considered the true mean-
ing of obscure words and phrases, sought for
the most exact equivalent of Dante's ex-
pression, objected, criticised, praised with a
freedom that was made perfect by Mr. Long-
fellow's absolute sweetness, simplicity and
modesty ; and by the entire confidence which
existed between us. ' Longfellow performed

LONGFELLOW.

his task — a real labour of love,- with perfect
sympathy. While at work, he wrote to a
friend, * how different from the gossip is the
divine Dante with which I begin the morn-
ing. It is the first thing I do — the morning
prayer, the keynote of the day.'

James T. Fields, the poet's publisher and
friend, is frequently alluded to, and charm-
ing letters appear at intervals. Fields was
a delightful man, genial in disposition and
as full of tenderness as a woman, generous
to a fault in all his dealings with authors,
and admirable in eveiy relation of life.
When he died in 1881, Longfellow wrote in
his memory, ' Auf Wiedersehen ' — till we
meet again. We see something of Dr. Oliver
Wendell Holmes in these volumes, but the
editor might easily have given us more of
the gentle * Autocrat. ' Many letters passed
between the poets, and books were often ex-
changed between them. Of Tennyson too,
we find very little. Longfellow spent two

LONGFELLOW.

days with the Laureate at his home in the
Isle of Wight, but of his impressions he says
nothing. * Enid ' and ' Guinevere ' he ad-
mired greatly, and thought the former
superior to the latter. The ' Princess,' he
read with satisfaction ; the * Idylls,' he

* devoured.'

Longfellow managed to see a good deal of
Thackeray when the satirist visited America
on his lecturing tour in 1852-3, though he
seems to have become more friendly with
Dickens, and Clough he * liked exceedingly.'
Lowell gave a supper to Thackeray on the
5th of January, 1853, the guests invited to
meet him being Felton, Clough, Dana, Dr.
Parsons, Fields, Edmund Quincy, Estes
Howe, and Longfellow, They sat down at
ten, and did not leave the table till one.

* Very gay, with stories and jokes, ' is the
comment.

* Will you take some port ?' said Lowell to

Thackeray.
' I dare drink anything that becomes a man.'

54 L0NGFELL0V7.

' It will be along while before that becomes

a man.'
* Oh no,' cried Felton, ^it is fast turning into

one?

The journal continues, * As we were going
away, Thackeray said, " We have stayed too
long." **I should say," replied the host,
** one long and too short, — a dactylic sup-
per. " ' There is much pleasant matter about
Dickens, whom the poet found always con-
genial. As early as 1842, he described him
to his father as *a glorious fellow,' 'a gay,
free and easy character ; with a fine bright
face, blue eyes, and long dark hair.' This
friendship lasted nearly thirty years, and
many letters were exchanged. In those
printed here, there are some interesting al-
lusions to Dickens' American books, the
Notes which created such a storm, and Mar-
tin Chuzzleivitt. Landor gave Longfellow a
dinner, but the latter thought his host *a
rather ferocious critic' Thomas Campbell,
whom he met at Samuel Rogers', disappoint-

LONGFELLOW.

ed him, so far as his outward man was con-
cerned. * He is small and shrunken, frost-
nipped by unkindly age, and wears a foxy
wig. But I liked his inward man exceeding-
ly. He is simple, frank, cordial, and withal
very sociable.' Freiligrath figures often in
the Life, and the letters to arid from him are
deeply interesting and bright. Jules Janin,
Longfellow visited in 1842, at Paris. The
famous critic asked him to dine, and he
found him dressed in a green coat and light
trousers. * At dinner, we had his wife, a
pretty woman, and her mother, and a silent
lawyer, whose name I did not hear, not being
introduced. After dinner we had whist, and
I came away after a three hours' visit. Janin
is a merry, nonchalant, easy person ; evi-
dently having no sympatliies, yet very happy
in his own little world. He dislikes the
society of literary men ; says he never sees
them, and never wants to see them. While
we were at dinner an author of dramatic
pieces was shown in. Janin received him

LONGFELLOW.

quite cavalierly, did not ask him to take a
glass of wine, nor to sit down, which he did
withouii being asked.'

Of course there are many allusions to
Charles Sumner, George S. Hilliard, Motley,
Sam Ward, George W. Greene, and Prof.
Ticknor, and the journals are full of brief
references to the men, women and books of
Longfellow's time.

Many of the better known poems have a
history, and the editor explains the condi-
tions under which some of them were writ-
ten. These details are often curious, and
seldom uninteresting. Under date March
15, 1838, we read, * I always stop on the
bridge ; tide waters are beautiful. From the
ocean up into the land they go like messen-
gers to ask why the tribute has not been
paid. The brooks and rivers answer that
there has been little harvest of snow and
rain this year.' On Oct. 18, same year, we
find, * This is a glorious autumn day. The

ili

LONGFELLOW.

coat of arms of the dying year hangs on the
forest wall — as the hatchment on the walls
of a nobleman's house in England, when he
dies.' The * Psalm of Life,' which was con-
structed on German models, was composed
* one bright summer morning hastily, upon
the blank portion of a note of invitation.'
The poet's heart was full, and he kept the-
poem by him for some months, before he
gave it to the world. It was a voice from
his very soul, and he could not send it out
then, for his own heart was bleeding over a
private grief. The Psalm produced a marked
impression on the popular mind. Sumner '
knew of a class-mate who was saved from
suicide by reading it. As late as the time of
the Franco-German war. General Meredith
Read relates this incident :

* In the midst of the siege of Paris, a vener-
able man presented himself tome, bowed with
grief. He said, ''lam Monsieur R., Procu-
reur-Geueral of the Cour de Cassation. I
have jast learned that my son has been arrest-

LONGFELLOW.

ed by the German authorities at Versailles on
an entirely unfounded charge. lie is to be
sent to a German fortress, and may be con-
demned to death. I am here alone and help-
less. I feel that my mind will give way if I
cannot find occupation ; can you tell me of
some English book which I can translate into
French! " I promised to do so and he left
me. Within an hour or two, however, I re-
ceived a line from him saying that he had
found what he required. A few days after-
wards he came again to see me ; but now
erect, his face bright with hope, his voice
clear and strong. He said, '*I have been
translating Longfellow's Psalm of Life, and
I am a new man ; I feel that my mind is saved,
and that faith and hope have taken the place
of despair. I owe it all to Longfellow ! " '

The * Beleagured City ' was suggested to
the poet by a volume of Scott's Border Min-
strelsy, which he had found in his friend
Ward's library. He opened it at one of the
notes recalling the tradition about the city
of Prague : * similar to this was the ** Nacht
Lager," a midnight camp, which seemed

LONGFELLOW.

nightly to beleaguer the walla of Prague,
but which disappeared on the recital of cer-
tain magical words. ' The * Wreck of the
Hesperus' was written in 1839 : * News of
ship wrecks horrible on the coast. Twenty
bodies washed ashore near Gloucester. One
lashed to a piece of the wreck. There is a
reef called Norman's Woe where many of
these took place, among others, the schooner
Hesperus. I must write a ballad upon this. '
And he did. As the poet sat musing, and
smoking his pipe, about midnight, the wreck
of the Hesperus came sailing into his mind.
He jotted down some lines, then went to
bed, but he could not sleep. He got up and
wrote the ringing verses, the clock striking
three when his task was done. The * Skele-
ton in Armour' appeared in 1849. The vision
encountered him as he was riding along the
beach at New Port, on a summer's after-
noon. A short time before a skeleton had
been dug up at Fall River, clad in broken
and corroded armour. It made a profound

LONGFELLOW.

impression on the poet, who connected the
skeleton with the round tower, usually
known to the people living in the vicinity as
the old wind mill. These materials formed
the theme of his ballad. * Excelsior ' owes
its origin to accident. The poet happened
to see the word on a torn piece of newspaper,,
one autumn night in 1841. It at once fired
his imagination, and there sprang up in hia
mind 'the picture of a youth scaling the
Alpine Pass, bearing in his hand — surely not
the broad trailing banner with which the
* illustrators ' have furnished him, but rather
some slender pennant affixedto his alpenstock,
sufficient to bear his chosen motto. This,
the poet, made a symbol of the aspiration
and sacrifice of a nobly ideal soul, whose
words and aim are an unknown tongue
to the multitude ; and who, refusing to listen
to the cautions of experience or prudence, or
to the pleadings of home affections, of wom-
an's love, or of formal religion, presses on
to a higher goal. That goal he does not per-

LONGFELLOW.

fectly attain in this life, but in dying still
presses on to a higher beyond. The Latinity
of the motto was questioned by some of the
poet's friends at the time, and afterwards by
critics, who thought it should be either ex-
celsius or ad excelsiora. He at first thought
excelsior justified by good Latin usage, but
finding that this was not really the case, he
explained it more satisfactorily as part of
the phrase * Scopiw mens excelsior est ' — my
goal is higher. In truth he was not respon-
sible for the borrowed Latin ; and evidently
the word excelsior was the word the poem
needed, he wrote the lines on a slip of
paper, which happened to be the back of a
letter received that day from Charles Sum-
ner. The *01d Clock on the Stairs,' begun
12th November, 1845, was based on the
remarkable sermon preached by Jacques
Bridaine, the French missionary at St. Sul-
pice in Paris, in 1754. Eternity was com-
pared to the pendulum of a clock, which
ceaselessly murmured * Tovjours, jamais,

LONGFELLOW I

jamais f toujour s.^ The charming lyric, —
quite in Longfellow's best vein, — * The Arrow
and the Song,' came to him as he stood with
his back to the fire, orie day before church
time. Asked to write an ode on the intro-
duction of Cochituate water into Boston, he
declined, but made the following entry into
his journal :

Cochituate water, it is said,
Tho' introduced in pipes of lead,

Will not prove deleterious ;
But if the stream of Helicon
Thro' leaden pipes be made to run.

The effect is very serious.

The poet's last visit to Europe was made
in 1868-9. He visited the lovely English
lakes in that sweetest of all months, June,
then went to Cambridge as the guest of the
master of Gonville and Caius College, and
on the 16th he was publicly admitted to the
honorary degree of LL.D. Arriving in London
on the 26th of June, he was soon the recipient
of a flood of hospitality ; calls, cards, in vita-

LONGFELLOW.

tions, letters of welcome flowed in on him.
He breakfasted with Mr. Gladstone, Sir
Henry Holland, the Duke of Argyll ; lunched
with Lord John Russell at Richmond, dined
with various hosts, received midnight calla
from Bulwer and Aubrey de Vere. Through
Lady Augusta Stanley came an invitation
that the Queen would be sorry to have Mr^
Longfellow pass through England without
her meeting him, and a day was named for
his visit to Windsor. The Queen received
him cordially, and without ceremony in one
of the galleries of the court. He also called
by request, on the Prince of Wales. Many
distinguished men entertained him, and his
visit became a real ovation. After a brief
tour through Europe, he returned to London,
then a day at Oxford where he received the
degree of D.C.L., followed by a journey
througli Devonshire, and then to Edinburgh,
the Scottish lakes, and the Burns region, —
the whole tour occupying eighteen months*

After Mr. Longfellow's return home, his

LONGFELLOW.

journals grew briefer, and his letters shrank
more and more into notes. The editor gives
very few of these after 1870, and the con-
cluding pages of the Life treat of men and
circumstances in the briefest fashion. Some
of the more notable visitors of the poet are
named, but little of interest seems to have
been connected with their visit, though
among the number were Thomas Hughes,
Anthony Trollope, Wilkie Collins, Charles
Kingsley, Dean Stanley, Lord and Lady
Dufferin, Lords Houghton and Ronald Gower,
the Duke of Argyll and Salvini. The Em-
peror of Brazil, Dom Pedro, dined at Craigie
House, and named the guests he wanted to
meet. They were Agassiz, Holmes, Emerson,
and Lowell. Ole Bull, at the close of 1879,
came from Norway, to spend the winter at
Mr. Lowell's house, and often delighted
Longfellow with his music. Other visitors
he had, many of them bores, who robbed
him of his precious hours, and plagued him
for autographs.

LONGFELLOW.

In January, 1870, he began a second series
of the * Tales of a Wayside Inn. ' In May
he prepared a supplement to the Poets and
Poetry of Europe^ making for it several new
translations of his own. In November, same
year, he is writing the * Divine Tragedy,'
the long- contemplated, long-postponed first
part of the Christus Trilogy. This caused
him many doubts and hesitations, but it
was published in December, 1871. Imme-
diately after this he began the drama * Judas
Maccabeus,' a tragic subject, * but it has
unity and a catastrophe to end with. ' Twenty
years before, he had noted it as a possible
subject. In eleven days the work was com-
pleted. In the early part of 1872 he was
engaged in preparing notes for the * Michael
Angelo. ' The drama was finished in its first
form in sixteen days, but he kept it by him,
as was his habit, for additions and changes,
and it was not given to the world until after
his death, ten years from the time that he had
begun it. * Three Books of Song' and * After-

LONGFELLOW.

math,' appeared in 1872-3. On the 4th of
January, he read to Mr. Fields * The Hang-
ing of the Crane ' — a delightful picture of
simple domestic life. The proprietor of a
New York story paper paid him three thou-
sand dollars for the right to print it in his
journal ; and later, it appeared in a volume
illustrated by Mary Hallock (Foote). In the
autumn of the next year, the * Masque of
Pandora ' followed, containing the important
poem of * Morituri Salutamus.' * Keramos,*
— a poem on a potter's wheel — was first
published in Harper^^s MagarAne, the publish-
ers paying one thousand dollars for it, and
subsequently it appeared in a volume (1878.)

The biographer mentions an incident in
connection with Longfellow 's poem on Burns,
written in 1880, which may amuse the
reader. After the lines were published, two
letters reached the poet from Scotland, on
the same day. One gratefully thanked him
for his * wonderful verses, which will touch

LONGFELLOW.

the heart of every true Scotsman.' The
other warned him that his poem was * an
effort to hold fellowship and friendly inter-
course with one in the place of eternal woe. '
Tlie ground of this extraordinary statement,
says Samuel Longfellow, being a rather ques-
tionable story that Burns, when on his death-
bed, having been urged * to express his trust
in Christ,' had replied, ' In a hundred years
men will be worshipping me.' * This pro-
phecy,' adds the Scottish correspondent, ' is
being fulfilled in many quarters. Your poem
is an instance of it.' * Ultima Thule,' pub-
lished in 1880, was the last volume issued
under the poet's eye. Of the verses in this
book, writes Mr. Lowell, ' never was your
hand firmer.'

But towards the close of 1881, intimate
friends of the poet noticed that he was in
failing health, though few thought that the
end was near. At Christmas, he was well
enough to go to Boston, and the day after

LONGFELLOW.

"he wrote a sonnet addressed to his books, in
which he compares himself, as he looked at
them on his study walls, to an old knight
looking at the arms which he can no longer
wield : —

*So I behold those books upon their shelf,—
My ornaments and arms of other days,
Not wholly useless, though no longer used ;
For they remind me of my other self,
Younger and stronger, and the pleasant

ways
In which I walked, now clouded and con-
fused.'

On his 75th birthday he looked cheerful,
and appeared to be feeling well. A few
days afterwards, on the 18th of March, how-
ever, he grew seriously ill, and sufifered
severely from peritonitis, the immediate
cause of which was a chill. On the 24th
inst., he sank quietly in death, closing a
beautiful life, which was full of sweetness,
flower, and fruit.

JAMES RUSSELL LOWELL

{Tfie Arcnat Boatoih Mass., October, 1891.)

With loving breath of all the winds, his name

Is blown about the world ; but to his friends-

A sweeter secret hides behind his fame,

A nd love steals shyly through the loud acclaim

To murmur a God bless you ! and there ends.

WHEN Longfellow had reached his sixtieth
year, James Russell Lowell then in hia
splendid prime, sent him those lines as a
birthday greeting. Lowell, since then, re-
ceived in his turn, many similar tributes of
affection, but none that seemed to speak so
promptly from the heart as those touching
words of love to an old friend. To himself
they might well have been applied in all
truthfulness and sincerity. Of the famous,
group of New England singers, that gave

•0

LOWELL.

strength and reality to American letters, but
three names survived until the other day,
when, perhaps the greatest of them all passed
away. Whittier * and Holmes remain, but
Lowell, the younger of the three, and from
w^hom so much was still expected, is no more
to gladden, to delight, to enrich, and to
instruct the age in which he occupied so
eminent a place. Bryant was the first to go,
and then Longfellow was called. Emerson
followed soon after, and now it is Lowell's
hand which has dropped forever the pen.
At first his illness did not cause much un-
easiness, but those near him soon began to
observe indications of the great change that
was going on. At the last, dissolution was
not slow in coming, and death relieved the
patient of his sufferings in the early hours of
Wednesday, August 12th, 1891. Practically,
however, it was conceded that his life-work

* John Greenleaf Whittier died on Wednes-
day, September 7th, 1892, at Hampton Falls,
N.H.

LOWELL.

had been completed a few months ago, when
his publishers presented the reading world
with his writings in ten sumptuous volumes,
six containing the prose works, and the other
four the poems and satires. He was, with
the single exception of Matthew Arnold, the
foremost critic of his time. Everything he
said was well said. The jewels abounded on
all sides. His adroitness, his fancy, his in-
sight, his perfect good-humour, and his rare
scholarship and delicate art, emphasize them-
selves on every page of his books. His polit-
ical and literary addresses were models of
what those things should be. They were
often graceful and epigrammatic, but always
sterling in their value and full of thought.
Long ago he established his claim to the title
of poet, and as the years went by, his muse
grew stronger, richer, fresher, and more
original. As an English critic, writing
pleasantly of him and his work, in the London
Spectator y said lately: ** His books are delight-
ful reading, with no monotony except a mon-

I;-

LOWELL.

otony of brilliance which an occasional lapse
into dulness would almost diversify. "

James Russell Lowell was descended from
a notable ancestry. His father was a clergy-
man, the pastor of the West Church in
Boston. His mother was a woman of fine
mind, a great lover of poetry, and mistress
of several languages. From her, undoubted-
ly, the gifted son inherited his taste for
belles-lettres and foreign tongues. He was
born at Cambridge, Mass., on the 22nd of
February, 1819, and named after his father^s
maternal grandfather, Judge James Russell.
After spending a few years at the town school,
under Mr. William Wells, a famous teacher
in his day, he entered Harvard University,
and in 1838 was graduated. He wrote the
class poem of the year, and took up the study
of law. But the latter he soon relinquished
for letters. His first book was a small col-
lection of verse intituled : ** A Year's Life."
It gave indication of what followed. There

LOWELL.

were traces of real poetry in the volume, and
none wlio read it doubted the poet's future
success in his courtship of the muse. In
1843 he tried magazine publishing, liis partner
in the venture being Robert Carter. Three
numbers only of The Pioneer^ a LUerary and
Critical Maijazitie, were published, and
though it contained contril)utions by Haw-
thorne, Lowell, Poe, Dwight, Neal, Mrs.
Browning, and Parsons, it failed to make its
way, and the young editor prudently with-
drew it. In the next year he published the
*' Legend of Brittany, Miscellaneous Poems
and Sonnets. " A marked advance in liis
art was immediately noticed. His lyrical
strength, his passion, his terse vocabulary,
his exquisite fancy and tenderness illumined
every page, giving it dignity and colour.
The legend reminded the reader of an Old
World pDem, and ** Prometheus" too, might
have been written abroad. ** Rhoecus "
was cast in the Greek mold, and told the
story, very beautifully and very artistically,

LOWELL

of the wood-nymph and the bee. But tliere
were other poems in the collection, such as
"To Perdita Singing," ** The Heritage,'*
and '* The Forlorn," which at once caught
the ear of lovers of true melody. A volume
of prose essays succeeded this book. It was
intitled : ** Conversations on some of the
Old Poets," and when Mr. Lowell became
Mr. Longfellow's successor in the chair of
modern languages and heUes-htfresatlisLVvsiYd,
much of this material was used in his lec-
tures to the students. But, later on, we will
concern ourselves more directly with the
author's prose.

In December, 1844, Mr. Lowell espoused
the hand of Miss Maria White, of Water-
town. She was a lady of gentle character,
and a poet of singular grace. The marriage
was a most happy one, and it was to her that
many of the love poems of Lowell were
inscribed. Once he wrote : —

*' A lily thou wast when I saw thee first,
A lily-bud not opened quite,
That hourly grew more pure and white,

LOWEII,.

By morning, and noou-tMe, and evening

nursed :
In all of Nature thou had'st thy share ;

Thou wast waited on

By the wind and sun ;
The rain and the dew for thee took care ;
It seemed thou never could' st be more fair."

She died on the 27th of October, 1853, the

day that a child was born to Mr. Longfellow.

The latter's touching and perfect poem,

** The Two Angels," refers to tliis death and

birth : —

'"T was at thy door, friend! and notatminCy
The angel witli the amarantlilne wreath,

Pausing, descended, and with voice divine.
Whispered a word that had a sound like
death.

Then fell upon tlie house a sudden gloom,

A shadow on those features fair and thin ;

And softly, from that hushed and darkened

room,
Two angels issued, where but one went in.

All is of God ! If he but wave His hand.
The mists collect, the rain falls thick and
loud,
Till with a smile of light on sea and land,
Lo ! He looks back from the departing
cloud."

LOWELL.

A privately printed volume of Mrs. Lowell's
poems appeared a year or two after her death.
Mr. Lowell's second wife was Miss Frances
Diinlap, of Portland, Maine, whom he married
in September, 1857. She died in February,
1885.

Mr. Lowell was ever pronounced in his
hatred of wrong, and naturally enough he was
found on the side of Garrison, Wendell
Phillips, and Whitticr, in their great battle
against that huge bloc on civilization, slavery
in America. He spoke and wrote in Ijchalf
of the abolitionists at a time when the anti-
slavery men were openly despised as heartily
in the North as they were feared and detest-
ed in the South. He wrote with a pen which
never faltered, and satire, irony, and fierce
invective accomplished their work with a
will, and moved many a heart, almost des-
pairing, to renewed energy.

*' The Vision of Sir Launfal " was publish-
-ed in 1848, and it will be read as long as
men and women admire tales of chivalry and

LOWELL.

the stirring stories of King Artliur's court,
Tennyson's " Idyls " will keep his fame alive
and Lowell's Sir Launfal, which tells of the
search for the Holy Grail, the cup from
which Christ drank when he partook of the
last supper with his disciples, will also have
a place among the best of the Artiiuriar; leg-
ends. It is said that Mr. Lowell wrote this
strong poem in forty-eiglit hours, during
which he luirdly slept or ate. Stcdman calls*
it "a landscape poem," a term amply justi-
fied. It contains many quotable extracts,
such as, *' And what is so )'are as a day in
June," *•' Down swept tlie chill wind from the
mountain peak, from the snow Hve thousand
summers old, " and " Kartli gets its price for
wliat eartli gives us '* W'c are constantly
meeting these in ^lic magazines and in the
newspapers. The N'i.sion did much to bring
about a larger recognition of the author's
]K)wers as a poet of the tirst order. Ifc had
to wait some time to gain this, and in tlint
respect he resembled R(>]>crt Browning, at

LOWELL.

first so obscure, at last compelling approval
from all.

The field of American literature, as it ex-
isted in 1S48, was surveyed by Lowell in his
happiest in inner, as a satirist, in that clever
production, Ijy a wonderful Quiz, A Fable
for Clitics, " Set forth in Octol)er, tlie 3 1st
/lay, in the year '4S, (J. 1\ Putnam, Broad-
way. " For some time the authorship remain-
ed a secret, thougli tliere were many shrewd
^guesses as to the paternity of the biting
shafts of wit and dclicatcl}^ bated hooks. It
was written mahdy for the author's own
amusement, and ^\ ith no thought of publi-
cation. Daily instalments of the poem were
sent off, as soon as written, to a friend of the
poet, Mr. Charles F. Jhiggs, of New York,
who found the lines so irresistibly good, that
he begged permission to hand them over to
Putnam's for i)u])lication. This, however,
Mr. Lowell declined to do, until he found
that the repeated urging of his frien<l would
not be stayed. Then he consented to *ano-

LOWKLL.

nymous publication. The secret was kept,
until, as the author himself tells us, "several
persons laid claim to its authorship." No
poem lias been of tener quoted than the Fable.
It is full of audacious things. The authors
of the day, and their peculiar characteristics
(Lowell himself not being spared in the least),
are held up to admiring audiences with all
their sins and foibles exposed to the public
gaze. It was intended to have "a sting in
his tale," this *' frail, slender thing, rhymey-
wingcH," and it had it decidedly. 8ome of
the authors lampooned, took the matter up,
in downright sober earnest, and objected to
the seat in the pillory which they were forced
to occupy unwillingly. But they forgave the
satirist, as the days went by, and they real-
ized that, after all, the fun was harmles?,
nobody was hurt actually, and all were treat-
ed alike by the ready knife of the fabler.
But what could they say to a man who thus
wrote of himself ? —

*' There is Lowell, who's stiiviug Parnassus
to climb

LOWELL.

With a whole bale of isms tied together with

rhyme,
He might get on alone, spite of brambles

and boulders,
But he can't with that bundle he has on liis

shoulders.
The top of the hill he will ne'er come nigh

reaching
Till he learns the distinction 'twixt singing

and preaching;
His lyre has some chords that would ring

pretty well.
But he'd rather by half moke a drum of the

shell,

And rattl

At the
Jer

away
head
usalem

till he's old as Methusalem,
of a march to the last new

Apart from the humorous aspect of the
FaVde, there is, certainly, a good deal of
sound criticism in the piece. It may be
brief, it may be inadequate, it may be blunt,
but for all that it is truthful, and eminently
just, as far as it goes. Bryant, who was
called cold, took umbrage at the portrait
drawn of him. i5ut his verse has all the
cold glitter of the Greek bards, despite the

LOWELL.

fact tliat lie is America's greatest poet of
nature, and some of his songs are both sym-
pathetic and sweet, such as the " Lines to a
Water-fowl," "The Flood of Years," " The
Little People of the Snow," and " Thanatop-
sis."

But now we come to the book which gave
^Ir. Lowell his strongest place in American
letters, and revealed his remarkalde powers
as a humorist, satirist, and thinker. We
have him in this work, at his veiy best. The
vein had never been thoroughly worked be-
fore. The Yankee of Haliburton appeared
ten years earlier than the creations of Lowell.
But Sam Slick was a totally difterent person
from Hosea liiglow and Birdofredum Sawin.
Slick was a very interesting man, and he has
his place in fiction. His sayings and doings
are still read, and liis wise saws continue to
be pondered over. But the Biglow type
seems to our mind, more complete, more
rounded, more perfect, more true, indeed,
to nature. The art is well proportioned all

LOWKLL.

through, and the author justifies Bungay's
assumption, tliat he had attained the rank
of Butler, wliose satire heads the list of all
such productions. Butler, however, Lowell
really surpassed. The movement is swift,
and there is an individuality about tlie whole
performance, Avhich stamps it undeniably as
a masterpiece. The down-east dialect is
.managed with consummate skill, the charac-
ter-drawing is superlatively fine, and the
sentiments uttered, ringing like a bell, carry
conviction. The invasion of Mexico was a
distasteful thing to many people because it
was felt that that war was dishonorable, and
undertaken solely for the benefit of tlie
slaveholder, who was looking out for new
premises, where he might ply his calling,
an^. continue the awful trade of bondage,
and his dealings in flesh and blood. Mr.
Lowell's heart was steeled against that ex-
pedition, and the lirst series of his Biglow
papers, introduced to the world ])y the
Reverend Homer Will)ur, showed how deep-

LOWELL.

ly earnest he was, ami how terribly rigorous
he could be, when the scalpel had to be used.
The first knowledge that the reading world
had of the curious, ingenuous, and (quaint
Hosea, was the coinniunication which his
father, Ezekicl J5iglow, sent to the lioston
Conritr, covering a poem in tlie Yankee
dialect, by the hand of the young down-
easter. It at once commanded notice. The
idea was so new, the homely truths were so
well put, the language in print was so un-
usual, and the " hits " were so well aimed,
that tlie critics were baflicd. Tlie public
took hold innnediately, and it soon spread
that a strong and bold pea was helping the
reformers in their unpoimlar struggle. The
blows were struck relentlessly, but men an<l
women laughed througli their indignation.
There were some who rebelled at the coarse-
ness of the satire, but all recognized tluit the
author, whoever he might be, was a scholar,
a man of thought, and a genuine philan-
thropist, who could not be put down. \'ol

LOWELL.

unteers were wanted, and Boston was asked
to raise her quota. But Hosea Biglow, in
his charmingly scornful way said :

*' Thrash away, you'll hev to rattle
On them kittle-drums o' yourn, —
'Taint a knowin' kind o' cattle
Thet is ketched with mouldy corn.

Put in stiff, 3'ou fifer feller,

Let folks see how spry you be, —

Guess you'll toot till you are yaller
'Fore you git ahold o' me ! "

The parson adds a note, sprinkled with
Latin and Greek sentences, as is his wont.
The letters from the first page to the last, in
the collected papers, are amazingly clever.
The reverend gentleman who edits the series
is a type himself, full of pedantic and peda-
gogic learning, anxious always to show off
his knowledge of the classics, and solemn and
serious ever as a veritable owl. His notes
and introduction?^, and scrappy Latin and
Greek, are among the most admiralde things
in the book. Their humour is delicious, and
the mock criticisms and opinions of the press,

LOWELL.

offered by Wilbur on the work of liis young
friend, and his magnificent seriousness,
which constantly shows itself, give a zest to
the performance, which lingers long on the
mind. The third letter contains tlie often-
quoted poem, "What Mr. Robinson thinks."

'' Gineral C. is a dreffle smart man :

He's ben on all sides that give place or
pelf;
But consistency still wuz a part of his plan,—
He's ben true to one party,— an* thet is
himself: —

So John P.
Robinson, he
Sez he shaP vote for Gineral C.

Parson Wilbur sez he never heerd in his life
That th' Apostles rigged out in their
swaller tail coats,
An' marched round in front of a drum an'
a fife,
To get some on 'em office, an' some on
'em votes ;

But John P.
Robinson, he
Says they didn't know everything down
in Judee."

LOWELL.

Despite the sometimes harsh criticism
which the Biglow papers evoked, Mr. Lowell
kept on sending them out at regular inter-
vals, knowing that every blow struck was a
blow in the cause of riglit, and every attack
was an attack on the meannesses of the time.
The flexible dialect seemed to add lionesty
to the poet's invective. The satire was
oftentimes savage enough, but the vehicle by
which it was conveyed, carried it off. There
was danger that Lowell might exceed his
limit, but the excess so nearly reached, never
came. The Papers aroused the whole coun-
try, said Whitticr, and did as much to free
the slave, almost, as (Grant's guns. Li one
of the numbers, Mr. Lowell produced, quite
by accident, as it were, his celebroied poem
of *' The Courtin'." This was in the second
series, begun in the Atlantic Monthly ^ of
which he was, in 1857, one of the founders,
and editor. This series was written during
the time of the American Civil War, and
the object was to ridicule the revolt of the

LOWELL.

Southern States, and show up the demon of
secession in its true colours. Birdofreduni
Sawin, now a secessionist, writes to Hosea
Biglow, and the poem is, of course, intro-
duced as usual, by the parson. The humour
is more grim and saidonic, for tlie war was
a stern reality, and Mr. Lowell felt the need
of making his work tell with all the force
that he could put into it. In response to a
request for enough **copy " to fill out a cer-
tain editorial page, Lowell wrote rapidly
down the verses which became, at a bound,
so popular. He added, from time to time,
other lines. This is the story of the Yankee
courtship of Zekle and Huldy : —

** The very room, coz she was in,

Seemed warm f om floor to ceilin',
An' she looked full ez rosy agin
Ez the apples she was peelin' .

He kin' o' I'itered on the mat.
Some doubtfle o' the sekle,

His heart kep' goin' pity-pat,
But hern went pity Zekle.

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LOWELL.

All' yit she giu her chair a jerk
As though she wished him furder,

An' on her apples kep' to work,
Pariii' away like murder.

* You want to see my pa, I s'pose ? '

'Wall, — no — I come dasignin' — '

* To see my ma? She's sprinkliu' clo's

Agin to-morrer's i'nin.'

To say why gals acts so or so.
Or don't 'ould be presumin',

Mebby to mean yes an' say no
Comes natural to women.

He stood a spell on one foot fust,
Then stood a spell on t'other,

An' on which oae he felt the wust
He couldn't ha' told ye nuther.

Says he, Td better call agin ; '
Says she, ' Think likely, mister ; '

Thet last word pricked him like a pin,
An' — wall, he up an' kist her.

When ma bimeby upon 'em slips,

Huldy sot pale ez ashes,
All kin' o' smily roun' the lips

An' teary roun' the lashes.

LOWELL. 89.

For she was jes' the quiet kind

Whose naturs never vary,
Like streams that keep a summer mind

Snowhid in Jenooary.

The blood clost roun' her heart felt glued:

Too tight for all expressin'.
Tell mother see how metters stood,

An' gin 'em both her blessin'.

Then her red come back like the tide

Down to the Bay o' Fundy,
An' all I know is they was cried

In meetin' come nex' Sunday."

During the war, Great Britain sided prin-
cipally with the South. This the North re-
sented, and the Trent aflfair only added fuel
to the flame. It was in one of the Biglow
Papers that Mr. Lowell spoke to England,
voicing the sentiments and feelings of the
Northern people. That poem was called
''Jonathan to John," and it made a great
impression on two continents. It was full
of the keenest irony, and though bitter,

there was enough common sense in it ta
6

LOWELL.

make men pause, and think. It closes thus
patriotically : —

^' Shall it be love, or hate, John ?
It's you thet's to decide ;
Ain't ijoiir bonds held by Fate, John,
Like all the world's beside ? '
Ole Uncle S. sez. he, ' I guess
Wise men forgive,' sez he,
^ But not forgit ; an' some time yit
Thet truth may strike J. B.,
Ez wal ez you an' me ! '

-'- God means to make this land, John,
.Clear thru, from sea to sea,
Believe an' understand, John,
The wuth o' bein' free.'
Ole Uncle S. sez he, *I guess,
God s price is high,' sez he ;
* But nothin' else than wut He sells
Wears long, an' thet J. B.
May larn, like you an' me ! ' "

The work concludes with notes, a glossary
of Yankee terms, and a copious index. The
chapter which tells of the death of Parson
Wilbur is one of the most exquisite things
that Lowell has done in prose. The reader

LOWELL.

who has followed the fortunes of the Rev-
erend Homer, is profoundly touched by the
reflection that he will see him no more. He
had grown to be a real personage, and long
association with him had made him a friend.
On this point, Mr. Underwood relates an
incident, which is worth quoting here : —

'* The thought of grief for the deiith of an
imaginary person is not quite so absurd as it
might appear. One day, while the great
novel of ' The Nevvcomes ' was in course of
publication, Lowell, who was then in London,
met Thackeray on the street. The novelist
was serious in manner, and his looks and voice
told of weariness and affliction. He saw the
kindly inquiry in the poet's eyes, and said,
' Come into Evans's and I'll tell you all about
it. I have killed the Colonel.^ "

** So they walked in and took a table in a
remote corner, and then Thackeray, drawing
the fresh sheets of manuscript from his breast
pocket, read through that exquisitely touch-
ing chapter which records the death of
Colonel Newcome. When he came to the
final Adsunij the tears which had been

LOWELL.

swelling his lids for some time trickled down
upon his face, and the last word was almost
an inarticulate sob."

The volume ** Under the Willows," which
contains the poems written at intervals dur-
ing ten or a dozen years, includes such well-
remembered favourites as *' The First Snow-
fall," "For an Autograph," "A Winter Even-
ing Hymn to My Fire," ** The Dead House "
(wonderfully beautiful it is), " The Darkened
Mind," " In the Twilight," and the vigorous
'* Villa Franca " so full of moral strength.
It appeared in 1869. Mr. Lowell's pen was
always busy about this time and earlier. He
was a regular contributor to the Atlantic in
prose and verse. He was lecturing to his
students and helping Longfellow with his
matchless translation of Dante, besides hav-
ing other irons in the fire.

It is admitted that the greatest poem of
the Civil War was, by all odds, Mr. Lowell's
noble Commemoration Ode, In that blood-

LOWELL.

red struggle several of his kinsmen were
slain, among them Gen. C. R. Lowell, Lieut.
J. J. Lowell, and Captain Putnam, all
nephews. His ode which was written in
1865, and recited July 21, at the Harvard
commemoration services, is dedicated ** To
the ever sweet and shining memory of the
ninety-three sons of Harvard College, who
have died for their country in the war of
nationality. " It is, in every way, a great
effort, and the historic occasion which called
it forth will not be forgotten. The audience
assembled to listen to it was very large. No
hall could hold the company, and so the
ringing words were spoken in the open air.
Meade, the hero of Gettysburg, stood at one
side, and near him were Story, poet and
sculptor, fresh from Rome, and General
Devens, afterwards judge, and fellows of
Lowell's own class at college. The most
distinguished people of the Commonwealth
lent their presence to the scene. There was
a hushed silence while Lowell spoke, and

LOWELL.

when he uttered the last grand words of his
ode, every heart was full, and the old
wounds bled afresh, for hardly one of that
vast throng had escaped the badge of mourn-
ing, for a son, or brother, or father, lost in
that war.

" Bow down, dear Land, for thou hast found
release !
Thy God, in these distempered days,
Hath taught thee the sure wisdom of His
ways,
And through thine enemies hath wrought
thy peace !
Bow down in prayer and praise !
No poorest in thy borders but may now
Lift to the juster skies a man's enfranchised
brow.

Beautiful 1 My Country ! ours once more !
Smoothing thy gold of war-dishevelled
hair
O'er such sweet brows as never other wore,
And letting thy set lips,
Freed from wrath's pale eclipse,
The rosy edges of their smile lay bare.

What words divine of lover or of poet
Could tell our love and make thee know

It,

LOWELL.

Among the Nations bright beyond compare

What were our lives without thee?

What all our lives to save thee !

We reck not what we gave thee ;

We will not dare to doubt thee,
But ask whatever else, and we will dare/'

** The Cathedral," dedicated most felicit-
ously to the late James T. Fields, the author-
publisher, written in 1869, was published
early in the following year in the Atlantic
Monthly, and immediately won the applause
of the more thoughtful reader. It is a poem
of great grandeur, suggestive in the highest
degree, and rich in description and literary
finish. Three memorial odes, one read at
the one hundredth anniversary of the £ght
at Concord Bridge, one under the old elm,
and one for the Fourth of July, 1876, fol-
lowed. The Concord ode appears to be the
more striking and brilliant of the three, but
all are satisfactory specimens, measured by
the standard which governs the lyric.

** Heartsease and Rue," is the graceful
title of Mr. Lowell's last volume of verse*

LOWELL.

A good many of his personal poems are in-
cluded in the collection, such as his charming
epistle to George William Curtis, the elegant
author of " Prue and I," one of the sweetest
books ever written, inscribed to Mrs. Henry
W. Longfellow, in memory of the happy
hours at our castles in Spain ; the magnifi-
cent apostrophe to Agassiz ; the birthday
offering to Dr. Oliver Wendell Holmes ; the
lines to Whitticr on his seventy-fifth birth-
day ; the verses on receiving a copy of Mr.
Austin Dobson's *' Old World Idylls," and
Fitz Adam's Story, playful, humorous and
idyllic.

In his young days, Mr. Lowell wrote much
for the newspapers and serials. To the Dial ^
the organ of tlie Transcendentalists, he con-
tributed frequently, and his poems and prose
will be found scattered through the pages of
The Democratic Review, The North American
Review, of which he ultimately became editor,
The Massachusetts Quarterly Review, and the
Boston Courier. His prose was well received

LOWELL.

by scholars. It is terse and strong, and
whatever position history may assign to him
as a poet, there can never be any question
about his place among the ablest essayists of
his century. "Fireside Travels," the first
of the brilliant series of prose works that we
have, attract by their singular grace and
graciousness. The picture of Cambridge
thirty years ago, is full of charming reminis-
cences that must be very dear to Cambridge
men and women. " The Moosehead Jour-
nal, "and "Leaves from the Journal in Italy,"
happily turned, are rich in local colour.
* 'Among My Books," and *' My Study Win-
dows," the addresses on literary and political
topics, and the really able paper on Demo-
cracy, which proved a formidable answer to
his critics, fill out the list of Mr. Lowell's
prose contributions. The literary essays are
especially well done. Keats tinged his
poetry when he was quite a young man. He
never lost taste of Endymion or the Grecian
Urn, and his estimate of the poet, whose

LOWELL.

((

name was writ in water," is in excellent
form and full of sympathy. Wordsworth,
too, he read and re-read with fresh delight,
and it is interesting to compare his views of
the lake poet with those of Matthew Arnold.
The older poets, such as Chaucer, Shakes-
peare, Spenser, Milton, Dryden, and Pope
in English, and Dante in Italian, find in
Mr. Lowell a penetrating and helpful critic.
His analyses are made with rare skill and
nice discrimination. He is never hasty in
giving expression to his opinion, and every
view that he gives utterance to, exhibits the
process by which it reached its development.
The thought grows under his hand, appar-
ently. The paper on Pope, with whose
writings he was familiar at an early age, ^r a.
most valuable one, being especially rich in
allusion and in quality. He finds something
new to say about the bard of Avon, and says
it in a way which emphasizes its originality.
Indeed, every essay is a strong presentation
of what Lowell had in his mind at the time.

LOWELL.

He is not content to confine his observation
to the name before him. He enlarges always
the scope of his paper, and runs afield, pick-
ing up here and there citations, and illus-
trating his points, by copious drafts on
literature, history, scenery, and episode. He
was well equipped for his task, and his wealth
of knowledge, his fine scholarly taste, hi»
remarkable grasp of everything that he un-
dertook, his extrr Tve reading, all within
call, added t> x captivating style, imparted
to his writings the tone which no other
essayist contemporary with him, save Mat-
thew Arnold, was able to achieve. Thoreau
and Emerson are adequately treated, and
the library of old authors is a capital digest,
which all may read with profit. The paper
on Carlyle, which is more than a mere review
of the old historian's *' Frederick the Great,'*
is a noble bit of writing, sympathetic in
touch, and striking as a portrait. It was
written in 1866. And then there are papers
in the volumes on Lessing, Swinburne's Tra-

100

LOWELL.

gedies, Rousseau, and the Sentimentalists,
and Josiah Quincy, ^hich bring out Mr.
Lowell's critical acumen even stronger. Every
one who has read anything during the last
fifteen years or so, must remember that
bright Atlantic essay on *' A Certain Condes-
cension in Foreigners." It is, in Mr. Lowell's
serenesf vein, hitting right and left skilful
blows, and asserting constantly his lofty
Americanism. The essay was needed. A
lesson had to be given, and no better hands
could have imparted it. Mr. Lowell was a
master of form in literary composition, — that
is in his prose, for he has been caught nap-
ping, occasionally, in his poetry, — and his
•difficulty was slight in choosing his words.

As a speaker he was successful. His ad-
dresses before noted gatherings in Britain and
elsewhere are highly artistic. In Westmin-
ster Abbey he pronounced two, one on Dean
Stanley, and the other on Coleridge, which,
though brief, could scarcely be excelled, so
perfect, so admirable, so dignified are they.

LOWELL.

101

The same may be said of the addresses on
General Garfield, Fielding, Wordsworth, and
Don Quixote. Mr. Lowell on such occasion*
always acquitted himself gracefully. He had
few gestures, his voice was sweet, and the
beauty of his language, his geniality, and
courteous manner drew every one towards
him. He was a great student, and preacher,
and teacher of reform. He was in favour of
the copyright law, and did his utmost to
bring it about. He worked hard to secure
tariff reform, and a pet idea of his was the
reformation of the American civil service
system. On all these subjects he spoke and
wrote to the people with sincerity and ear-
nestness. When aroused he could be eloquent,
and even in later life, sometimes, some of the
fire of the early days when he fought the
slaveholders and the oppressors, would burst
out with its old time energy. He was ever
outspoken and fearless, regardless, apparent-
ly, of consequences, so long as his cause was
just.

102

LOWELL.

As professor of helles-lettreH at Harvard
University, he had ample opportunity for
cultivating his literary studies, and though
he continued to take a lively interest always
in the political changes and upheavals con-
stantly going on about him, he never applied
for office. In politics he was a Republican.
His party offered him the mission to Russia,
but he declined the honour. During the
Hayes administration, however, when his
old class-mate, General Devens, had a seat
in the Cabinet, the government was more
successful with him. He was tendered the
post of Minister to Spain. This was in 1877,
and he accepted it, somewhat half-hearcedly,
to be sure, for he had misgivings about leav-
ing his lovely home at Elm wood, the house
he was born in, the pride and glory of his
life, the locale of many of his poems, the his-
toric relic of royalist days. And then again,
he did not care to leave the then unbroken
circle of friends, for Dr. Holmes, John

LOWELL.

103

Holmes,* Agassiz, Longfellow, Norton,
Fields, John Bartlett, Whipple, Hale, James
Freeman Clarke, and others of the famous
Saturday Club, he saw almost every day.
And then, yet again, there was the whist
club, how could he leave that ? But he was
overcome, and he w^ent to Spain, and began,
among the grandees and dons, his diplomatic
career. His fame had preceded him, and he
knew the language and literature of Cervantes
well. It was not long before he became the
friend of all with whom he came into con-
tact. But no great diplomatic work engaged
his attention, for there was none to do. The
Queen Mercedes died, during his term, much
beloved, and Mr, Lowell wrote in her me-
mory one of his most chaste and beautiful
sonnets : —

*' Hers all that earth could promise or bestow,
Youth, Beauty, Love, a crown, the beckon-
ing years,

* One of the most genial of men, brother of
the poet, Dr. Oliver Wendell Holmes.

104

LOWELL.

Lids never wet, unless with joyous tears,
A life remote from every sordid woe
And by a nation's swelled to lordlier flow.
What lurkinpf -place, thought we, for

doubts or fears.
When, the day's swan, she swam along
the cheers
Of the Acalil, five happy months ago?

The guns were shouting lo Hymen then
That, on her birthdaj-, now denounce her
doom;
The same white steeds that tossed their
scorn of men
To-day as proudly drag her to the tomb.
Grim jest of fate ! Yet who dare call it

blind.
Knowing what life is, what our human-
kind I "

In 1880, he was transferred to London, as
** his excellency, the ambassador of Ameri-
can literature to the court of Shakespeare,'*
as a writer in the Spectator deliciously put it.
He had a good field to work in, but, as the
duties were light, he had ample time on his
hands. He went about everywhere, the idol
of all, the most engaging of men. Natural-
ly, his tastes led him among scholars who in

LOWELL.

105

their turn made much of him. He was asked
frequently to speak, or deliver addresses and
he always responded with tact. The univer-
sities of Oxford and Cambridge conferred on
him their highest honours and the ancient
Scottish University of Saint Andrew elected
him Rector, — a rare compliment, Emerson,,
only, being the other citizen of the United:
States so marked out for academic distinc-
tion. Some of his compatriots hinted that
his English life was making him un-Ameri-
can. Others more openly asserted that the
United States ]Minister was fast losing the re-
publican feelings which he took from Amer-
ica, and wasbecoming a British Conservative.
The reply to those innuendoes and charges.
will be found in his spirited address on De-
mocracy, which proves undeniably, his sturdy
faitli in American institutions, American
principles, and American manhood. Mr.
Lowell maintained to the letter the political
and national views which had long guided

his career. His admirable temper and agree-
7

106

LOWELL.

able manner won the hearts of the people,
but no effort was made to win him away
from his allegiance, nor would he have per-
mitted it had it been tried. In addition to
being a great man and a well-informed states-
man, he was a gentleman of culture and re-
finement. His gentleness and amiability-
may have been misconstrued by some, but
be that as it may, the fact remains, he never
showed weakness in the discharge of his dip-
lomatic duties. He represented the United
States in the fullest sense of the term. In
1885, he returned to America, Mr. E. J.
Phelps taking his place, under President
Cleveland. Though a Republican, Mr.
Lowell differed from his party on the presi-
dential candidate question. He favoured the
election of the Democrat nominee. Had he
been in America during the campaign, he
would have been found with Mr. George
William Curtis,* and his friends, opposing

* Mr. Curtis died at his home, at Living-
ston, Staten Island, New York, on Wednes-
day, 3 1st August, 1892. He was a Republican,
but abandoned his party when Mr. James
Gillespie Blaine was nominated.

LOWELL.

107

the return of Mr. Blaine. From 1885 to the
date of his death, he added little to the vol-
ume of his literary work. He spent part of
his time in England, and part in the United
States. A poem, a brief paper, and an address
or two, came from his pen, at irregular in-
tervals. He edited a complete edition of his
writings in ten volumes, and left behind him
a few papers,* and, an unfinished biography
of Hawthorne, which he was preparing for the
American Men of Letters Series.

*■ IVie Old English Dramatists, — a series of
papers on Marlowe, Webster, Chapman,
Beaumont and Fletcher, and Middleton and
Ford, — written by Prof. Lowell in 1887, and
delivered as lectures before the Lowell Insti-
tute, wa'3 published, under the editorship of
Mr. Charles Eliot Norton, his literary executor,
in Harper's Ma(ja7.ine in 1892, and subsequent-
ly in book-form, by Messrs. Houghton, Mifflin
& Co., Boston. Though rapidly written and
never revised by their autlior, these essays
stand out as masterly efforts in honest criti-
cism.

fH I! n

OLIVER WENDELL HOLMES.

{The Arena, Bo-ston, J/a.s.s., Jn/i/, J SOI.)

-§—

The Gift i.s thine the ivecinj world to make.

More cheerful for fhji mke,
Soothinii the earn itn Miserere pains.
With the old Hellenic strains,

Liijhtinfj the snllcn face of discontent
With smiles for bles>,in<js sent.

Enoiujh of Self sh trail i}i<j has been had,
Thank Ood ! for notes more (jlad.

John G keen leaf Whittier.

rpO tlie year 1809, the world is very nnich
^ indebted for a band of notable recruits
to the ranks of literature and science, states-
manship and military renown. One need
mention only a few names to establish that
fact, and grand names they are, for the list
includes Darwin, Gladstone, Erastus Wilson,
John Hill Burton, Manteuffei, Count Beust,

110

HOLMES.

Lord Houghton, Lord Tennyson, and Oliver
Wendell Holmes. Each of these has played
an important part in the world's history,
and impressed the age with a genius tliat
marks an epoch in the great department of
human activity and progress. The year
was pretty well advanced, and the month of
August had reached its 29th day, when the
wife of Dr. Abiel Holmes presented tlie
author of " The American Annals " with a
son who was destined to take his place in
the front line of poets, thinkers, and essayists.
The babe was born at Cambridge, Massa-
chusetts, in the centre ( f a Puritan civili-
zation, which could scarcely have been in
touch and harmony with the emphasized
Unitarianism emanating from Harvard. But
Abiel Holmes was a genial, generous-hearted
man, and despite the severity of his religious
belief, contrived to live on terms of a most
agreeable character with his neighbours. A
Yale man himself, and the firm friend of his
old professor, the president of that institu-

HOLMES.

Ill

tion, who had given him his daughter Mary
to wed (she died five years after her mar-
riage), we may readily believe that for a time.
Harvard University, then strongly under
the sway of the Unitarians, had little fas-
cination for him. But his kindly nature
conquered the repugnance he may have felt,
and he soon got on well with all classes of
the little communit}^ which surrounded
him. By his first wife he had no children.
But five, three daughters and two sons,
blessed his union with Sarali Wendell, the
accomplished daughter of the Hon. Oliver
Wendell, of Boston. We may pass briefly
over the early years of Oliver Wendell Hol-
mes. He was educated at the Phillips Aca-
demy at Exeter, and subsecpiently entered
Harvard University, where he was graduat-
ed, with high honours, in 1829, and belonged
to that class of young fellows who, in after
life, greatly distinguished themselves. Some
of his noblest poems were written in memory
of that class, such as " Bill and Joe," '* A

112

HOLMES.

Song of Twenty-nine," "The Old Man
Dreams," "Our SMeet Singer," and ** Our
Banker," all of them breathing love and
respect for the boys with wliom the poet
studied and matriculated. Young Holmes
was destined for the law, but Chitty and
Blackstone apparently had little charm for
him, for after a year's trial, he abandoned
the field and took up medicine. His mind
could not have been much impressed with
statutes, for all the time that he was sup-
posed to be conning over abstruse points in
jurisprudence, he was sending to the printers
.some of the cleverest and most waggisli con-
i;ributions which have fallen from his pen.
The CoUefjian, — the university journal of
those days, — published most of these, and
though no name was attached to the screeds,
it was fairly well known that Holmes was
the author. The companion writers in the
Colkfjian were Simmons, who wrote over the
signature of '* Lockfast; " John 0. Sargent,
poet and essayist, whose nom de j^^time was

HOLMES.

113

*' Charles Sherry" ; Robert Hal)crsluiin, the
" Mr. Airy " of the grouj^ ; and tliat clever
young trifler, Theodore Snow, Mho delighted
the readers of the periodical with the works
of "CeoflVey La Touche." Of these, o"
course, Holmes was the life and soul, and
though sixty years have j)assed away since
he enriclied the columns of the CoUetjian with
the ^ruits of his nuise, more than half of the
pieces survive, and are deemed good enough
to hold a place beside his maturer produc-
tions. " Evening by a Tailor," " The :\Ieet-
ing of Dryads," and "The Spectre Pig," —
the latter in the vein of Tom Hood at his
best, — will be remem]>ered as among those
in the collection whicli may be read to-day
with the zest, appreciation, and delight which
they inspired more than half a century ago.
Holmes' connection with the CoUe<jian had a
most inspiriting effect on liis fellow contri-
butors, who found tlieir wits sharpened l)y
contact with a mind that was forever buoyant
and overflowing with humour and good

114

HOLMES.

nature. In friendly rivalry, those kindred
intellects vied with one another, and no more
brilliant college paper was ever published
than the Colleyian, and this is more remark-
able still, when we come to consider the fact,
that at that time, literature in America was
practically in its infancy. Nine years before,
Sydney Smith had asked his famous question,
*' Who reads an American book ? who goes
to an American play ? " And to that query
there was really no answer. Six numbers
of the CoUff/ian were issued, and they must
have proved a revelation to the men and
women of that day, whose reading, hitherto,
had almost been confined to the imported
article from beyond the seas, for Washington
Irving wrote with the pen of an English
gentleman, Bryant and Dana had not yet
made their mark in distinctively American
authorship, and Cooper's " Prairie '' was just
becoming to ]:)e understood by the critics
and people.

Shaking the dust of the law office from

HOLMES.

115

his shoes, Oliver Wendell Holmes, abandon-
ing literature for a time, plunged boldly into
the study of a profession for which he had
always evinced a strong predilection. The
art and practice of medical science had ever
a fascination for him, and he made rapid
progress at the university. Once or twice
he yielded to impulse, and wrote a few bright
things, anonymously, for the Ilarhinger,—
the paper which Epes Sargent and Park
Benjamin published for the benefit of a
charitable institution, and dedicated as a
May gift to the ladies who had aided the
Kew England Institution for the Education
of the Blind. In 1S33, Holmes sailed for
Paris, where he studied medicine and sur-
gery, and walked the hospitals. Three years
were spent a])road, and tlien the young
student returned to Cambridge to take liis
medical degree at Harvard, and to deliver
his metrical Essay on Poetry, before the
Phi-Bcta-Kappa Society. In this year too,
1836, he published his fir«t acknowledged

116

HOLMES.

book of poems, — a duodecimo volume of less
than two hundred pages. In this collection
his Essay on Poetry appeared. It describes
the art in four stages, ri::., the Pastoral or
Bucolic, the Martial, the F^pic, and the Dra-
matic. In illustration of his views, he furn-
ished exemplars from his own prolific muse,
and his striking poem of " Old Ironsides "
was printed for the first time, and sprang at
a bound into national esteem. And in this
first book, there was included that little
poem, *' The Last Leaf," better work than
which Holmes has never done. It is in a
vein which he has developed much since
then. (Uace, humour, pathos, and happiness
of phrase and idea, are all to be found in its
delicious stanzas : —

T saw him once hefore,
As he passed hy the door,

And again
The pavement stones resound,
As he totters o'er the ground

With his cane.

HOLMES. 117

They say that in his prime,
Ere the pruiiinp^-kaife of Time

Cut him dowa,
Not a better man was foiiud
By the Crier on his round

Through the town.

But now he walks the streets,
And he looks at all he meets,

Sad and wan ;
And he shakes his feeble head,
That it seems as if he said,

'' They are gone ! "

The mossy marbles rest

On the lips that he has prest

In their bloom,
And the names he loved to hear
Have been carved for many a year

On the tomb.

My grandmamma has said-
Poor old lady, she is dead

Long ago —
That he had a Roman nose,
And his cheek was like a rose

In the snow.

But now his nose is thin.
And it rests upon his chin
Like a staff:

118 HOLMES.

And a crook is in his back,
And a melancholy crack
In his laugh.

I know it is a sin
For me to sit and grin

At him here ;
But the old three-cornered hat,
And the breeches, and all that,

Are so queer!

And if I should live to be
The last leaf upon the tree

In the spring.
Let them smile as I do now.
At the old forsaken bough

Where I cling.

In 1838, Doctor Holmes accepted his first
professorial position, and became professor
of anatomy and physiology at Dartmouth.
Two years later, he married, and took up
the practice of medicine in Boston. In 1847,
he returned to his old love, accepting the
Parkman professorship of anatomy and phy-
siology, in the Medical School at Harvard.
While engaged in teaching, he prepared for
publication several important books and

HOLMES.

119

reports relating to his profession, and his
papers in the various medical journals at-
tracted great attention by their freshness,
clearness, and originality. But it is not as
a medical man that Doctor Holmes may be
discussed in this paper. We have to deal
altogether with his literary career, — a career,
which for its brilliancy has not been surpass-
ed on this side of the Atlantic.

As a poet he differs much from his con-
temporaries, but the standard he has reached
is as high as that which has been attained by
Lowell and Longfellow. In lofty verse he is
strong and unconventional, writing always
with a firm grasp on his subject, and em-
phasizing his perfect knowledge of melody
and metre. As a writer of occasional verse
he has not had an eij^ual in our time, and his
pen for threescore years has been put to
frequent use in celebration of all sorts of
events, whether military, literary, or scien-
tific. Bayard Taylor said, '* He lifted the
'occasional' into the 'classic,'" and the

120

H0L:\rE8.

phrase hcappily expresses the truth. The
vivacious character of his nature readily
lends itself to work of this sort, and though
the printed page gives the reader the spark-
ling epigram and the graceful lines, clear-
cut always and full of soul, the pleasure is
not quite the same as seeing and hearing him
recite his own poems, in the company of
congenial friends. His songs are full of
sunshine and heart, and his literary manner
wins by its simplicity and tenderness. Years
ago, Miss Mitford said that she knew no one
so thoroughly original. For him she could
find no living prototype. And so she went
back to the time of Jolm Dryden to find a
man to whom she might compare him. And
Lowell in his *' Fable for Critics," describes
Holmes as

" A Leyden-jar full-charpjed, from which flit
The electrical tingles of hit after hit."

His lyrical pieces are among the best of

1* compositions, and his ballads, too few in

rtnber, betray that love which he has al-

HOLMES.

121

ways felt for tlie melodious minstrelsy of the
ancient bards. Whittier thought that the
"Chambered Nautilus" was "booked for
immortality." In the same list may be put
the " One-Hoss Shay," "Contentment,"
" Destination," " How the Old Horse Won
the Bet," "The Broomstick Train," and
that lovely family portrait, " Dorothy Q— ,"
a poem with a history. Dorothy Quincy's
picture, cold and hard, painted by an un-
known artist, hangs on the wall of tlie poet's
home in Beacon Street. A hole in the can-
vas marks the spot where one of King
George's soldiers thrust his bayonet. The
lady was Dr. Holmes' grandmother's mother,
and she is represented as being about thirteen
years of age, with

Girlish bust, but womanly air;

Smooth, square forehead, with uprolled hair;.

Lips that lover has never kissed ;

Taper fingers and slender wrist ;

Hanging sleeves of stiff" brocade ;

So they painted the little maid.

122

HOLMES.

4r^.

And the poet goes on : —

What if a hundred years ago

Those close-shut lips had answered no,

When forth the tremulous question came

That cost the maiden her Norman name,

And under the folds that look so still,

The bodice swelled with the bosom's thrill !

Should I be I, or would it be

One tenth another, to nine tenths me?

Soft is the breath of a maiden's yes,
Not the light gossamer stirs with less ;
Eut never a cable that holds so fast
Through all the battles of wave and blast.
And never an echo of speech or song
That lives in the babbling air so long !
There were tones in the voice that whisper-
ed then,
You may hear to-day in a hundred men.

lady and lover, how faint and far
Your images hover, and here we are,
Solid and stirring in flesh and bone,
Edward's and Dorothy's — all their own,
A goodly record for time to show
Of a syllable spoken so long ago !
Sha|l I bless you, Dorothy, or forgive
For the tender whisper that bade me live ?

HOLMES.

123

It shall be a blessing, my little maid!
I will heal the stab of the red-coat's blade,
And freshen the gold of the tarnished frame,
And gild with n rhyme your household name;
So you shall smile on us brave and bright,
As first you greeted the morning's light,
And live untroubled by woes and fears '
Through a second youth of a hundred years.

Dr. Holmes' colouring is invariably artistic.

Nothing in his verse offends the eye or grates

unpleasantly on the car. He is a true

musician, and his story, joke, or passing

fancy is always joined to a measure which

never halts. - The Voiceless," perhaps, as

well as -Under the Violets," ought to be

mentioned among the more tender verses

which we have from his pen, in his higher

mood.

His novels are object lessons, each one
having been written with a well-defined pur-
pose in view. But unlike most novels with
a purpose, the three which he has written
are nowise dull. The first of the set is

124

HOLMES.

** The Professor's Story ; or, Elsie Veniier,"
the second is "The Guardian Angel," writ-
ten when the author was in his prime, and
the third is " A Mortal Antipathy," written
only a few years ago. In no sense are these
works commonplace. Their art is very su-
perb, and while they amuse, they afford the
reader much opportunity for reflection. Elsie
Venner is a romance of destiny, and a strange
physiological condition furnishes the key-
note and marrow of the tale. It is Holmes'
snake story, the taint of the serpent appear-
ing; in the daughter, w^hose mother was - itten
by a rattle-snake before her babe was born.
The traits inherited by this unfortunate ofF-
tpring from the reptile, find rapid develop-
ment. She becomes a creature of impulse,
and her life spent in a New England village,
at a ladies' academy, with its social and
religious surroundings, is described and
worked out with rare analytical skill, and
by a hand accustomed to deal with curious
scientific phenomena. The character draw-

HOLMES.

125

ing is luliuirable, the episodes are striking
and original, and the seenery, earefuUy
clal)orated, is managed with fine jndgment.
Despite the idea, whieh to some may at .first
Ijhish appear revolting and startling, there is
nothing sensational in the book. The reader
observes only the growth and movement of
the poison in the girl's system, its effect on
her way of life, and its remarkable power
over lier mind. Horror or disgust at her
condition is not for one moment evoked.
The style is pure and ennobling, and while
our sympathies may be touched, we arc at
the same time fascinated and entertained,
from the first page to the last. Of (piite
different texture is "The Guardian Angel,"
a perhaps more readable story, so far as
form is concerned, much lighter in character,
and less of a study. There is more plot, but
the range is not so lofty . It is less philoso-
phical in tone than " Elsie Venner,"and the
events move quicker. The scene of "The
Guardian Angel " is also laid in an ordinary

126

HOLMES.

New P^ngland village, and the object of the
Doctor-Novelist was to write a tale in which
the peculiarities and laws of hysteria
should find expression and development. In
carrying out his plan, Dr. Holmes has
achieved a genuine success. He has tauglit a
lesson, and at the same time has told a deep-
ly interesting story, lightened up here and
there with characteristic humour and wit.
The characters of Myrtle Hazard and Byles
Gridley are drawn with nice discrimination,
while the sketch of the village poet, Mr.
Gifted Hopkins, is so life-like and realistic,
that he has only to be named to be instantly
recognized. He is a type of the poet who
haunts the newspaper office, and belongs to
every town and hamlet. His lady-love is
Miss Susan Posey, a delicious creation in Dr.
Holmes' best manner. These two prove e:-
cellent foils for the stronger personage s of
the story, and afford much amusement. ** A
Mortal Antipathy " is less of a romance than
the others. The reader will be interested

UOLMKS.

127

in the description of a boat race which is ex-
quisitely done.

In biographical writing, we liave two
books from Dr. Holmes, one a short life of
Emerson, and the other a memoir of Motley.
Though capable of writing a great biog-
raphy like Trcvelyan's Macaulay or Lock-
hart's Scctt, the doctor has not yet done so.
Of the two which he has written, the Motley
is the better one. In neither, however, has
tlie author arrived at his own standard of
what a biography should be.

Mechanism in Thought and Morals,— a
Phi-Beta-Kappa address, delivered at Har-
vard in 1870,— is one of Dr. Holmes' most
luminous contributions to popular science.
It is ample in the way of suggestion and the
presentation of facts, and though scientific
in treatment, the captivating style of the
essayist relieves the paper of all heaviness.
A brief extract from this fine, thoughtful
work may be given here : —

\^i

128

HOLMES.

'^We nish to remember something in tbo
course of conversation. No eflort of the will
can reach it ; but \vc say, ' wait a minute, and
it will come to me,' and go on talking. Pre-
sently, perhaps some minutes later, the idea
we arc in search of comes all at once into the
mind, delivered like a prepaid Ijundle, laid at
the door of consciousness like a foundling in a
basket. How it came there we know not.
The mind must have been at work groping
and feeling for it in the dark ; it cannot have
come of itself. Yet all the while, our con-
sciousness Avas bu^y with oilier thoughts."

The literary reputation of Dr. Holmes will
rest on the three great books which have
made his name famous on two continents.
Thackeray had passed his fortieth year before
he produced his magnificent novel. Holmes,
too, was more than forty when he began
that unique and original ])ook, *' The Auto-
crat of the Breakfast Table," one of the most
thoughtful, graceful, and able investigations
into philosopliy and culture ever written.
We have the author in every mood, playful
and pathetic, witty and wise. ^Vho can

HOLMES.

129

ever forget the young fellow callecl John, our
Benjamin Franklin, the Divinity student,
the school-mistress, the landlady's daughter,
and the Foor Relation ? \Vhat characteriza-
tion is there here ! The deliglitful talk of the
Autocrat, his humour, always infectious, liis
logic, his strong common sense, brighten
every page, ^^'hen he began to write, Dr.
Holmes had iio settled plan in his head. In
November, 18.31, he sent an article to the
Ntiv EiKjland Maija'^hio, published by Buck-
ingham in Boston, followed ])y another paper
in Fel)ruary, 1832. The idea next occurred
to the author in 1857, — a quarter of a century
afterwards, when the editors of the Atlantic
MonthJy^ then starting on its career, l)egged.
him to write something for its pages. He
thought of *'The Autocrat, " and resolved,
as he says, " to shake the ^aiiie bough again,
and see if the ripe fruit were better or worse
than the early windfalls." At a bound '* The
Autocrat " leaped into popular favour. The
reading puVjlic could hardly wait for the

130

HOLMES.

numbers. All sorts of topics are touched
upon from nature to mankind. There is the
talk about the trees, which one may read a
dozen times and feel the better for it. And
then comes that charming account of the
walk with the school-mistress, when the
lovers looked at the elms, and the roses
came and went on the maiden's cheeks. And
here is a paragraph or two which makes men
think :

*' Our brains are seventy-year clocks. The
iingol of life winds them up once for all, then
closes the case, and gives the key into the
hand of the Angel of the Resurrection. Tic-
tac ! tic-tac ! go the wheels of thought; our
will cannot stop them ; they cannotstop them,
selves ; sleep cannot still tliera ; madness only
makes them go faster ; death alone can break
into the case, and seizing the ever-swinging
pendulum, which we call the heart, silence at
last the clicking oi the terrible escapement we
have carried so long beneath our wrinkled
foreheads.

** If we could only get at them, as we lie on
our pillows and count the dead beats of

HOLMES.

131

tiy

on
of

thought after thought, and image after image,
jarring throug:h the overtired organ ! Will
nobody block those wheels, uncouple that
pinion, cut the string that holds those weights,
blow up the infernal machine with gun-pow-
der ? What a passion comes over us sometimes
for silence and rest! — that this dreadful me-
chanism, unwinding the endless tapestry of
time, embroidered with spectral figures of
life and death, could have but one l)rief holi-
day ! Who can wonder that men swing them-
selves t 'rfrom beams in hempen lassos ? — that
they jump off from parapets into the swift and
gargling waters beneath ? — that they take
counsel of the grim friend who has but to utter
his one peremptory monosyllabic and the rest-
less machine ia shivered as a vase that is dash-
ed upon a marble floor? Under that building
which we pass every day there are strong dun-
geons, where neither hook, nor bar, nor bed-
cord, nor diirJ.iiig vessel from which a sharp
fragment may i .; shattered, shall by any
chance be sen. There is nothing for it, when
the brain is on "'e with the whirling of its
Avheels, r)ut to spring against the stone wall
and silence them with one crash. Ah, they
remembered that, — the kind city fathers, — and
the walls are nicely padded, so that one can
take such o 'ercise as he likes without damasr^

132

HOLMES.

ing himself on the veiy plain and serviceable
upholsteiy. If anybody would only contrive
.some kind of a lever tliat one could thrust in
among the works of this horrid automaton
and chock them, or alter their rate of going,
what would the world give for the discovery?"

it rpi

The Autocrat " was followed by "The
Professor at the Breakf ust Table," — a book
in every way e{jaal to l i jt one, tliough,
to be sure, there are critic^ vvlio pretend to
see diminished pDwer in the anthor's pen. It
is, however, full of the same gentle humonr
and keen analyses of the follies and foibles
of human kind. It is a trilie gi-aver, tliough
some of the characters l)elonging to " The
Antocrat " come to the front again. It is in
this book that we find that lovely story of
Iris, — a masterpiece in itself and one of the
sweetest things that has come to us for a
hundred years, rivalling to a degree the
delicious manner and style of Goldsmith and
Lamb. In 1873 the last of the series appear-
ed, and *' The Poet " came upon the scene to

HOLMES.

133

gladden the breakfasters. Every chapter
sparkles with originality. •'! have," says
Dr. Holmes, " unburdened myself in this
book, and in some other pages, of what I
was born to say. Many things that I have
said in my riper days have been aching in
my soul since I was a mere child. I say
aching, because they conflicted witli many of
my inherited beliefs, or rather traditions. I
did not know tlien that two strains of blood
were striving in me or the mastery — two I
twenty, perhaps, twenty tliousand, for aught
I know — but represented to me by two —
paternal and maternal. But 1 do know thisr
I have struck a good many chords, first and
last, in the consciousness of other people. I
confess to a tender feeling for my little
brood of thoughts. When they liave been
welcomed and praised, it has pleased me,
and if at any time tliey have been rudely
handled and despitefully treated, it lias cost
me a little worry. I don't despise reputa-
tion, and I should like to be remembered as

134

HOLMES.

having said something worth lasting well
enough to last."

There is much philosophy in " The Poet,"
and if it is less humorous than "The Au-
tocrat," it is more profound than either of
its fellows in the great trio. In it the doctor
has said enough to make the reputations of
half a dozen authors.

**Our Hundred Days in Europe," if writ-
ten by anyone else save Dr. Holmes, would,
perhaps, go begging for a publisher. But he
journeyed to the old land with his heart
upon his sleeve. He met nearly every man
and woman worth knowing, and the Court,
Science, and Literature received him with
open arms. He had not seen England for
half a century. Fifty years before, he was
an obscure young man, studying medicine,
and known by scarcely half a dozen persons.
He returned in 1886, a man of world-wide
fame, and every hand was stretched out to
do him honour, and to pay him homage. Lord

HOLMES.

135

Houghton,— the famous breakfast giver of
his time, certainly, the most successful since
the princely Rogers,— had met him in Boston
years before, and had begged him again and
again to cross the ocean. Letters failing to
move the poet, Houghton tried verse upon
him, and sent these graceful lines :—

When genius from the furthest West,
Sierra's Wilds and Poker Flat,

Can seek our shores with filial zest,
Why not ihe genial Autocrat ?

Why is this burden on us laid,
That friendly London never greets

The Peer of Locker, Moore, and Praed
From Boston's almost neighbour streets?

His earlier and maturer powers
His own dear land might well engage ;

We only ask a few kind hours
Of his serene and vigorous age.

Oh, for a glimpse of glorious Poe I
His raven grimly answers ' never I '

Will Holmess milder muse say 'no,'
And keep our hands apart forever ?

13G

HOLMES.

l^ut he was not destined to see his friend.
AVlien Holmes arrived in England, Lord
Houghton was in his grave, and so was Dean
Stanley, whose sweetness of disposition had
so charmed the autocrat, when the two men
had met in Boston a few years before. Ruskin
he failed to meet also, for the distinguished
word-painter was ill. At a dinner, however,
at Archdeacon Farrar's, he spent some time
with Sir Jolui Millais and Prof. John Tyndall.
Of course, he saw (Jladstone, Tennyson,
Robert Browning, Chief Justice Coleridge,
Du Maurier, the illustrator of Punchy Prof.
James Brvce who wrote '* The American
Commonwealth,'* Lord Wolseley, Britain's
** Only General," His Grace of Argyll,
Lord Lome and the Princess Louise, — one
of the best amateur painters and sculptors
in England, — and many others. Of all these
noted onea, he has something bright and
entertaining to say. The universities laid their
highest honours at his feet. Edinburgh gave
him the degree of LL.D., Cambridge that of

HOLMES.

137

Doctor of Letters, and Oxford conf<^rred
upon him her D. C. L., his companion on the
last occasion being John Briglit. It was
at Oxford that he met Vice-Chancellor Ben-
jamin Jowett, the Master of Balliol College,
Prof. Max Miiller, Lord "and Lady Herschell,
and Prof. James Russell Lowell, his old and
unvarying friend. The account of his visit
to Europe is told with most engaging direct-
ness and simplicity, and though the book
has no permanent value, it affords much
entertainment for the time.

The reader will experience a feeling of sad-
ness, when he takes up Dr. Holmes' last
book, ''Over the Tea-cups," for there are
indications in the work which warn the pub-
lic that the genial pen will write hereafter
less frequently than usual. It is a witty
and delightful book, recalUng the Autocrat,
the Professor, and the Poet, and yet present-
ing features not to be found in either. The

author dwells on liis advancing years, but
9

138

HOLMES.

this he does not do in a querulous fashion.
He speaks of his contemporaries, and com-
pares the ages of old trees, and over tlie tea-
cups a thousand quaint, curious, and splen-
did things are said. The work takes a wide
range, but there is more sunshine than any-
thing else, and that indefinable charm, pecu-
liar to Holmes, enriches every page. One
might wish that he would never grow old.
As Lowell said, a few years ago, in a birth-
day verse to the doctor : —

''You keep your youth as yon Scotch firs,
Whose gaunt line my horizon hems,

Though twilight all the lowland blurs,
Hold sunset in their rudd}^ stems.

Master alike in speech and song
Of fame's great anti-septic — style,

You with the classic few belong
Who tempered wisdom with a smile.

Outlive us all ! Who else like you

Could sift the seed corn from our chaflf

And make us, with the pen we knew,
Deathless at least in epitaph ? "

JOHN GREENLEAF WHITTIER.

[The Arena, Boston, Ma,,., December, ISO I.)

However Life the stream may .stain,

From thy jmre fountain drank my youth

The sbnpJe creed, the faith humane
In Good, that nerer can be s/aln,

The prayer for in ward Lif/ht, the search for
outward Truth !

Bayakd Taylor.

mHOUGH Mr. Whittier only died a short
J- time since,* his task was really finished,
and his best work had been given to the
public several years ago. Three or four years
have elapsed, since the writer spent a few
hour^with him at his pleasant home in Ames-

*Mr. Whittier died on the 7th September,
1892. This essay was published in December'
1891. Here and there, I have altered the
tense.

140

WIIITTIER.

bury, Massachusetts, at that trymg season for
men advanced in life, mid-winter. The poet
did not complain of ill-health, but lie looked
very frail, and his seventy-nine years told
their own story. He spoke cheerfully of his
surroundings, and welcomed the visits of
friends. A few books he read, and now and
then he sent poems to the magazines. His
private correspondence had grown to great
proportions, and he was seriously thinking
of diminisliing the strain, even then. Dr.
Holmes' printed slip offered an ingenious
solution of the difficulty, and ''t was often
in his mind, he said, to adopt it. The fame
whicli his verses had won surprised him,
but tlie hundreds of applications which
yearly came to him from strangers, asking
for his autograph, took something away
from the pleasure which he naturally felt
at hearing that his lyrics had made thoir
way to the hearts of the people. In
person he was spare and tall. Age had
stooped him a little, but not too much, while

WIIITTIKR.

Ill

ad
lie

his briglit, kin<lly face uas .sweet to look up-
on. The pliotogniphs and engravings do liiin
scant justice. In them he is )'epresented as
a severe and ascetic man, cold in eye, and

K^ympathetic in manner. Jiut ascetic and
severe he was not, and his sympathies, always
easily touched, lent to his countenance a
sweetness and l)eauty which the camera had
never been ahle to cat:;h. He was a mend)cr
of the Society of Friends, and in his corre-
spondence and talk, tlic conventional "thee"
and " tlu)u " were freely used. Familiar with

e drama from Shakespeare to liulwer Lyt-
. yxi, he never attended a theatrical perform-
ance in his life. Neither had he cv^er gone
to hear a lecture, even when the orator of
the evening happened to be a guest at his
house, and lectured in his own neighl)our-
hood.

After Longfellow, it may be snid that Mr.
Whittier is the most popular of all the
American poets. He is distinctively the
poet of New England, and his best and most

m^'i'

142

WHITTIER.

characteristic work treats especially of rural
life and Jiiovement in the new world. His
contemporaries have picked their flowers from
the ^?a?Yerre.9 of the world, but Whittier has
confined himself to the homely scenes, and
incidents, and episodes belonging to his
native country. Indeed, he has gone further,
and has limited his vision almost to the circle
of States em])raced in the term New England,
New Hampshire in particular receiving the
greater amount of attention at his liands.
To find liow faithfully lie has described coun-
try life in New Hampshire, Massachusett:-*,
and Connecticut, one has only to take up Mr.
Longfellow's delightful scries of " Poems of
Places," two volumes of which are devoted
to poetry written about New England, and
compare liis worlc with that of tlie other
poets on the same subject. He excelled alike
in treatment and in number. His touch was
always delicate and true, and even the home-
liest things in common life lose their com-
monplace texture in the setting he gives them.

WHITTIER.

143

A lyrist of undoubted strengtli and indivi-
duality, Mr. Whittier fell short when he
attempted the epic or the drama. The lyric
readily lent itself to his muse, and the leaping
numbers proclaimed at once his correct and
remarkable ear for melody, and his fine sense
of touch. His poetry suggests the idea that
his gift is fluency of expression. Rhyme,
apparently, had no terrors for him, and one
can imagine tliat he revised and changed very
little. Some of his more striking pieces were
undoubtedly written at white heat. Imagi-
nation of the highest order they do not exhi-
bit, but of their music and harmony there
can be no question.

Before considering his work, a little may
be said of the poet in the way of biograpliy.
An interesting life of him hay been written
by Dr. Underwood, who has adopted the
same agreeable method of inducing tlie
English reader to look at the writings of Mr.
Longfellow and Professor Lowell. Mr. Sted-

144

WHITTIER.

man, the banker poet, gives us, in his ex-
haustiv^e ''Poets of America," much in the
way of genial criticism concerning the sul)-
ject of this sketch, and in various essays by
different pens, the Quaker poet and his career
in letters, have been discussed and enlarged
upon. Some day an adequate life of him
will appear, but, in the mean tune, the public
will have to be content with fragmentary
notes. He was born at Haverhill, Massachu-
setts, on the 17th December, 1807, in a house
which still stands a short distance from the
main road. The curious pilgrim is attracted
to the spot, for it is the scene of many of the
poet's tenderest songs and pastorals. At
seven years of age, the lad was sent to school,
where he met Joshua Coffin, the historian of
Newbury, his first teacher and life-long
friend. There is a school-master mentioned
in "Snow-bound," the most genre of Mr.
Whittier's work, as a

^•' brisk wielder of the birch and rule,"

WHITTIER.

145

but the portrait is not intended for Coffin.
It is that of a young man, unnamed, who
came from Dartmouth College, with face

^'Fresh-hued and fair, where scarce appeared
The uncertain prophecy ot beard."

Whittier's school-days were uneventful,
and his opportunities for gaining an edu-
cation were limited, the schools being poor,
and the teachers, who were changed every
year, having little skill in their art. Books,
too, were few in number. In his father's house
there were not more than twenty volumes
all told, and the majority of these were dull
indeed. One book, the reader will admit,
had little in it to attract a youth of Whittier's
calibre. It was the ' ' Davideis, " by Thomas
EUwood, the Quaker poet, and the inspirer
of Milton's " Paradise Regained." Yet the
New England boy read it, and re-read it,
and the Puritan blood in his veins was thrill-
ed with the story of David's life, albeit his
biographer relates the tale in stilted phrase,

mmm

146

WHITTIER.

and a style that is dullness itself. The book
is a memory only now, but it formed a part
of Whit tier's early reading. A book of trav-
el or adventure was eagerly prized by him,
and often he would walk many miles away to
borrow a new volume. Of course the read-
ing of the Bible was a constant practice in
the Whittier household, and on First-day
afternoons Mrs. Whittier read and expound-
ed the Scriptures to her children, and
familiarized them witli the truths of the
Old and New Testaments. When not at
school, Whittier worked about the place,
learning, among other things, the craft of
tlie shoemaker, though he did not adopt the
calling in after life. Until he was eighteen,
he lived at the homestead, and worked on
the farm. One day a " pawky auld carle "
stopped at the house for refreshment, and
according to the custom of those days, the
visitor was regaled with bread and a mug of
home-made cider. In return for this court-
esy, he sang in a full, rich voice, * * Bonnie

WHITTIER.

147

Doon," " Highland Mary," and " Auld Lang
Syne. " The ballads impressed the youthful
poet at once and he longed to read, in a book
of liis own, the songs and poems of Burns.
Joshua Coffin was the first to put into liis.
Iiands the volume his heart craved, and he
read it with great delight, mastering the
dialect by the aid of the glossary. He soon
beL'an writincj verses himself after the man-
ner of the Scottish poet These efforts^
however, have not been preserved, but the
influence of Burns over Whitticr's mind
remained forever. His elder sister warndy
encouraged liim to persevere and her advice
he took, but his parents were not admitted
at first into the secret. William Lloyd Garri-
son, the poet's senior l)y three years, found-
ed, in 182(), the Newburyport Frac Prcs>i.
To that journal Whittier sent *' Tlie Deity,"
— a paraphrase about the prophet Elijah.
It was amateurish, of course, but as a first
effort it proved by no means discreditable.
Garrison admired it, and gave it a prominent

148

WHITTIER.

place in the Poet's Corner. Whittier's heart
jumped when he saw it in print. }Ie was
mending a fence when the news-carrier came
riding along the road at a dashing pace, and
as the paper fluttered at his feet he picked
it up and perhaps the first lines which cauglit
his eye were his own verses. It is said that
he "stood rooted to the spot, and had to he
called several times before he could return
to sublunary affairs." He was hoeing in a
cornfield when the editor called to see him.
Oarrison had learned the name of his con-
tributor, through the poet's sister, Mar}--,
and he was so hearty in his praises and con-
gratulations that Whittier was profoundly
touched. A family council was immediately
held. Whittier jiere was called in, but he
remonstrated against putting literary notions
into the young man's head. There were many
obstacles to surmount. Garrison advised
Whittier to attend a public institution where
he could receive proper training. This ex-
pense^ however, the elder Whittier could not

WHITTIER.

14D

afford. The farm barely paid its way, but
at last the young man thought that he saw a
rift in the cloud, and he resolved to take his
friend's advice. He acquired the mystery
and art of slipper and shoe making, and dur-
ing the ensuing season he earned enough to
pay for a suit of clothes, and his board and
tuition for half a year. He went to the
academy in Haverhill, in April, 1827, where
he remained six montlis, prosecuting his
studies with zeal and energy. In the fol-
lowing winter, he taught the district school
at West Amesbury, and in the spring he
returned to the academy for another term.
While studying and teaching, he continued
to write for the press, and for a time he
occupied the chair of assistant editor of the
American Manufacturer, a protectionist pa-
per, friendly to the aspirations of Henry
Clay. For this service he was paid nine
dollars a week, but his father requiring him
on the farm, he returned home, and remained
there until July, 1830. It will not be neces-

350

WHITTIER.

sary to trace in detail Whittier's editorial
career. He became connected witli many
papers, and his writings in prose and verse
soon grew voluminous and popular. He suc-
ceeded George D. Prentice in the manage-
ment of the Weekly Review at Hartford,
Conn., and finally became chief editor of
that journal. A year and a half later, he
went back to Haverhill.

In 1833, his great life-work began in earn-
est. It was at that time that a little band
of brave men took tlieir stand on the slavery
question. The abolitionists, as they were then
called, were regarded with high disfavour
by the people of the Korth and South alike.
They were openly assailed and insulted in
the streets, mobs struck them down, and in
the public lecture-rooms they were attacked
with stones. The very word abolitionist
was used as a term of reproach. Seldom has
a great reform been carried to a successful
issue under social trials so severe, and the
wonder is that men could be found willing to

WHITTIER.

151

toriiil
many
verso
e suc-
mage-
tforel,
tor of
er, he

1 earn-
i band
jlaveiy
re then
favour
alike.
Ited in
and in
tacked
tionist
om has
cessful
id the
iling to

undertake the cause of the slave at the sacri-
fice entailed. Every person connected with it
literally carried his life in his hands, and the
unfriendly press conducted as it was with
bitterness and rancor, hounded the assailants
of the movement to deeds of violence and
atrocity. In Philadelphia, on the 4th, 5th,
and 6th December, the National Convention
was held. Garrison had just returned from
England, full of the spirit of British freedom
of speech and manhood. Wliittier attended
the Congress as delegate and secretary.
Wendell Phillips, in his prime, was the prin-
cipal speaker. Whittier signe d the famous
declaration of sentiments, and became, by
that act, forever committed to the cause.
A copy of this document he kept to the last,
framed with the wood of Pennsylvania Hall,
which the pro-slavery mob destroyed a few
year afterwards. In 1834, he helped to estab-
lish an anti-slavery society in Haverhill, but
at the first meeting the crowd broke in and
scattered the audience in all directions.

152

WHITTIER.

Samuel May with great difficulty escaped
death, and Elizabeth Whittier, the poet's sis-
ter, was severely bruised. But these scenes
were only a repetition of experiences going on
all over the Northern States. Whittier witli
voice and pen warred against the blight on
his native land, and his poems, at first
despised, after a time, burned into the minds
of the people and influenced public thought.
He wrote so much that his work, at this
period, proved often nne^'^en in merit. Few
of the anti-slavery poems are worthy to
stand alongside of his later pieces, but their
sincerity and earnestness give them an exalt-
ed and assured position in the literature of
America. II must not be forgotten that
many of them were written for a purpose,
and that purpose they served well. The
** Songs of Freedom" have a place of their
own in the letters of the United States, and
though the critic of style and of manner may
find them faulty and wanting in certain
forms of poetic beauty, no one will doubt

WHITTIEK.

153

3aped

's sis-
icenea
ing on
r with
lit on
first
minds
ought.
it this
Few
hy to
their
exalt-
iire of
, that
rpose,
The
their
and
r may
rtain
oubt

tlieir vigour and terrible earnestness. The
noble " Song of the Slaves in the Desert " is
very strong. Its origin may be traced to
Richardson'-^ Journal. One evening the fe-
male slaves were full of excitement, and sang
in their strange, weird fashion the melan-
choly dirge which they often chanted when
in a fearful mood. The song was in the Bornou
or Mandara tongue, and the word Ruhee was
fre(j[uently heard. Curious to know the
purport of these plaintive strains, Richard-
son asked Said what the slaves were singing
about. The interpreter responded, *' They
sing of Rabee (God), and they ask from Him
tlieir Atka, which means their certificate of
freedom ! Oh, where are we going, O God ?
The world is large, God ; Bornou was a
pleasant country, full of good things ; but
this is a bad country, and we are miserable."
Over and over again these poor creatures
sang these words, wringing their hands till
fatigue and suffering struck them down, and

then the silence of the desert remained un-
10

154

WHITTIER.

broken for a time. It was this sad story of
anguish and despair that emphasized itself
into the heart of the New England poet, and
he wrote his tearful, pathetic song witli every
sympathy keenly aroused.
In another poem he cries : —

*' Woe, then, to all who grind
Their brethren of a common Father down."

And again he exclaims with indignation : — •

** What, ho ! Our countrymen in chains ?
The whip on woman's shrinking tlesh ?
Our soil yet reddened with the stains
Caught from her scourging, warm and
fresh ?

" What I mothers from their children riven ?
What I God's own image bought and
sold?
Americans to market driven,
And bartered as the brute for gold ? '^

These songs nerved the people to action.
Sharp and aggressive and full of truth, they
became formidable weapons in the hands of
the campaigners. Garrison deprecated polit«

WHITTIER.

^ •" **

loo

ical action, but Whittier was strongly in
favour of it. Garrison refused to vote, but
Whittier had great faith in the ballot-box.
Both men pursued their way, working to-
gether when convenient, and never losing
sight of the mighty task they had iu view.
Whittier 's aim was to reach the masses, and,
while he wrote much in prose, he soon found
that it was his poetry which touched men's
hearts and inflamed their breasts. So he
kept on singing his songs of freedom, and
this burst in the Liberator fell like a thunder
clap on startled ears : —

** Go,— let us ask of Constantine

To loose his grasp on Poland's throat ;
And beg the lord of Mahmoud's liae '

To spare the struggling Suliote ;—
Will not the scorching answer come
From turbaned Turk and scornful Russ :
' Go, loose your fettered slaves at home,
Then turn and ask the like of us ' ? "

At the meetings of the anti-slavery so-
ci' les, poems by Whittier were always read

156

WHITTIER.

amid enthusiasm. Then came the war and Lin-
coln's proclamation emancipating the black
man, and the despised abolitionist's victory
was complete. But the old Adam died hard,
particularly in Boston. It was proposed, on
the 1st of January, 1863, to celebrate the
edict of freedom to the slave. It proved a
difficult task to get men to serve on the com-
m.ittee. Singers were invited to take part.
Most of them returned their invitations with
indignant comments, and the chorus was
meagre and unsatisfactory. But, after all,
the meeting was fairly successful, though the
music was weak. Emerson read his '* Bos-
ton Hymn," and his serene and benign pre-
sence, doubtless, saved the demonstration
from failure.

The outbreak of hostilities between the
North and the South was the signal for the
writers of war songs to move the country.
Whittier, from whom much was expected,
hesitated to engage his pen. The secession
movement he regarded as the performance

WHITTIER.

157

of a madman. Of its failure he never held
the slightest doubt, but being a man of
peace, he wished to remain a silent but
heart-wrung spectator. Once, indeed, he
said that he would not write, but his mind
underwent a change, at the last, and the
splendid collection, *'In War Time," was
the result. The poems in tliat volume ap-
peared at intervals, during the progress of
tlie fratricidal strife. Most of them are in
ballad form, and the more famous of them
all is ''Barbara Frietchie, "-founded on a
legend which, in after years, the poet dis-
covered was not historically correct. Whittier
had the story from a Virginian lady. It
runs thus: "When Lee's army occupied
Frederick, the only Union flag displayed in
the city was held from an attic by Mrs.
Barbara Frietchie, a widow, aged ninety-
seven years. 8he was born in 1766, and was
ten years old at the beginning of the Revol-
utionary ^Var, and fifteen years old at its
close. At that impressionable age, patriotism

158

WHITTIER.

exerted deep influence on her mind. On the
morning when the advance of Lee's army,
led by Stonewall Jackson, entered Frederick,
every Union flag was lowered and the
halyards cut. Every store and dwelling-
house was closed. The inhabitants retired
indoors, the streets were deserted, and, to
quote the official report, the city wore a
churchyard aspect. But Barbara Friet-
chie, taking one of the Union flags, went up
to the top of her house, opened a garret
window, and held the banner out. The
Southern army marched up the street, saw
the flag, and obeyed the order to halt and
fire ! A volley was discharged at the win-
dow from which the flag was displayed. The
staff was partly broken, so that the bunting
drooped. The old lady drew it in, broke
off the fragment, and taking the stump with
the flag attaclied to it in her hand, stretched
herself as far out of the window as she could,
and waved the Stars and Stripes over the
heads of the troops below. In a voice of in-

WIIITTIER.

159

dignation, shrill uith age, she called out,
* P'ire at this old head, then, boys ; it is not
more venerable than your flag.' The soldiers
in gray fired no more, but passed on in
silence and with downcast looks. She secur-
ed the flag in its place, where it waved un-
molested during the whole of the occupation
of the city. 8he died a few days after the
Federal troops entered Frederick, some say
from joy, others assert that her death was
caused l>y excitement and fatigue : " —

*' Honour to her ! and let a tear
Fall, for licr sake, on Stonewall's bier.

'* Over Barbara Frietchie's grave
Flag of Freedom and Union wave!

*' Peace and order and beauty draw
Round thy symbol of light and law ;

^' And ever the stars above look down
t)u thy stars below in Frederick town."

The abolition of slavery and the close of
the war left Whittier free to deal with less

IGO

WHITTIER.

aggressive forms of human life and activity.
From his muse have come some of the sweet-
est pastorals of the time. His stanzas are
always simple. They ring with melody and
are lavish in fancy, tliough, perhaps, not of
the highest order. His art, measured by the
canons that one would apply to Tennyson, is
crude, but of his naturalness, liis interpreta-
tion of rural life and work, his buoyancy of
spirit, and vividness in the employment of
local colour, nothing can be said in the way
of dispraise. Whittier is not a scholar's
poet, though learned men may read and en-
joy him. He writes for the people, just as
Ebenezer Elliott, the corn-law rhymer, wrote,
though, it may be said the American poet's
work is of superior metal and fmisli. Wliit-
tier's pastorals have emphasized in striking
terms tlie beauty of local river and stream,
liill and valley about Massacliusetts, Maine,
and New Hampshire. They are rich in lyr-
ical intensity, and readily win the favour of
the reader. His masterpiece is undoubtedly

WIIITTIER. 1(5X

*' Snow-bound." Of that the critics are all
agreed. It is a toucJiing story of country
experiences in New England, and the fact
that it is largely a reminiscence of the poet's
own early life lends additional charm and at-
tractiveness to tlie narrative. Stedman calls
it Whittier's "most complete production,
an idyl already pictured for him by the
camera of his own heart." John Burrouglis
declares it to be "the most faithful picture
of our northern winter tliat lias yet been put
into poetry," and Underwood says it is "tlie
clearest expression of Whittier's .genius. " It
is full of heart touches and vivid word-
painting. The whole round of daily life, in
a farm-house is described. Xot a detail is
wanting. The story is picturesque, the in-
cident and episode are adroitly managed, the
portraiture is true to nature, and, from the
first line to the last, the performance is even
and perfect. Tliis scene will convey an idea
of the poet's manner, in one of liis loftier
flights in description :—

1G2

WHITTIER.

^' The wind blew east : we heard the roar
Of ocean on his wintry shore,
And felt the strong pulse throbbing there
Beat with low rhytiim on inland air.
Meanwhile, we did our nightly chores, —
Brought in the wood from out of doors,
Littered the stalls, an<l from the mows
Raked down the herd's grass for the cows ;
Heard the horse whinneying for his corn ;
And, sharply clashing horn on horn,
Impatient down the stanchion rows
The cattle shake their walnut bows."

And this : —

*' Shut in from all the world without,
We sat the clean-winged hearth about.
Content to let the north wind roar
In baffled rage at pane and door,
While the red long before us beat
The frost line back with tropic heat ;
And, ever, when a louder blast
Shook beam and rafter as it passed,
The merrier up its roaring draught
The great throat of the chimney laughed ;
The house dog on his paws outspread
Laid to the hre his drowsy head;
The cat's dark silhouette on the wall
A couchant tiger's seemed to fall;

WlIITTIEli.

1G3

And, for the winter fireside meet,
Between the andirons' straddling feet,
The mug of cider simmered slow°
The apples sputtered in a row,
And, close at hand, the basket stood
With nuts from brown October's wood."

The *' Tent on the Beach," which in chro-
iiological order follows ** 8now-bound," ia
especially interesting onaccount of its strong,
local coloring. The scene is laid at Salisbury
Beach. The bay, the xMerriniac, and the
Isle of Shoals, are all within view. The
poet, Bayard Taylor, and James T. Fields,
are the principal persowc of the poem. The
idea and treatment are simple, and the talk,
always exquisitely natural, is of old times.
The portraits are thus outlined. Of himself,
the poet writes : —

'^ And one there was, a dreamer born,

Who, with a mission to fulfil,
Had left the muses' haunts to turn

The crank of an opinion mill.
Making his rustic reed of song
A weapon in the war with wrono-,"

104

WHITTIEK.

The one

" Whose Arab face was tanned
By tropic sun and boreal frost ;
So travelled there was scarce a land
Or people left him to exhaust,"

was Bayard Taylor, poet, traveller, and di-
plomatist.

And this is Fields, the poet's friend, pub-
lisher, and adviser.

'^ One, with beard scarce silvered, bore
A ready credence in his looks,
A lettered magnate, lording o'er
An ever-widening realm of books.''

" The Barefoot B3y," is a homely effort
wliich made its way into popularity at a
bound. Its perfect simplicity is, perhaps,
its highest recommendation. The artists
took it up. Eastman Johnson painted a
lovely picture of the lad with his cheeks of
tan and turned-up pantaloons, and the cliro-
mo manufacturers sent copies of it broadcast.
Prang, the art publisher, produced a very

WHITTIER.

1G5

,nd di-
, pub-

)re

3."

effort
y at a
jrhaps,
artists
nted a
eeks of
e chro-
adcast.
a very

fine impression of the picture. \Muttier ad-
mired it so much that he wrote a most flat-
tering opinion of its merits. Some time
after this, a wretched imitation of the Pram'
*' Study" appeared in the print market,
bearing the poet's endorsement. The paltry
forgery so disgusted Whittier that he prompt-
ly wrote to Prang, saying : '' I have heard of
writers who could pass judgment upon works
of art without ever seeing them, but the part
assigned me by this use of my letter to
making me the critic of a tiling not in exis-
tence, adds to their ingenuity the gift of
prophecy. It seems to be hazardous to praise
anything. There is no knowing to what
strange uses one's words may be put. When
a good deal younger than I am now, I address-
ed some laudatory lines to Henry Clay, but
the newspapers soon transferred them to
Thomas H. Benton, and it was even said
that the saints of Nauvoo made them do
duty in the apotheosis of the prophet, Jos-
eph Smith. My opinions as an art critic arc

IGG

WHITTIEB.

„„twtU.uoU to the public, and as they
loem to be as unoertam and erratic mthexr

Actions as an Australian boomerang, I
U I think, be chary in future in giving
ti dt't thinU I should dare speak
V .oftheVenu3deMedici.asImight
favourabvoftheve „., to some bar-

expect to find my words affixed
^ 1 t (l,P bearded woman,

room lithograph of the beai.i

i-i »+ " ' Tlie Barefoot
Underwood says that

T, ' i9 clearly autobiographical, and
Boy IS clear y ^^ ^^^_^^^g,^

tween its sunple Imes we

,„agic lenses into the very heart of las clu

hood."

WWspering at the garden wall.
Talked with me from falUoaU,
Mine the sand-nmmed pickerei p
M ue the walnut slopes beyond,

Se,on^-^-S°'r'*""'
Apples of Hesperides.

. Maud Muller," though often faulty j
„.etrtillustratesvery well thepoet's method

WIIITTIEU.

1G7

xs they
a their

rangi ^
: giving
e speak
3 1 might
ome bar-
nan.

Barefoot
and he-
,s through
{ his chiUV

ight
the night,

11,

all,

el pond,

id,
es.

en faulty
looet's method

of telling a story in verse. His deep re-
ligious feeling is emphasized notably in the
** Brother of Mercy," *' The Gift of Trite-
mius," a very powerful poem, *' Barclay of
Ury," and '* The Two Rabbis." Two poems
have been written by Whittier on " The
Sisters," one after a picture by Barry, —
musical and tender, — and the other in ballad
form, vigorous, and trenching strongly on
the dramatic. The latter tells the tragical
story of Annie and Rhoda, who lived near
the great sea. They awoke one night start
led by the sound of roaring waters, and the
noise of heavy waves climbing the rocky
coast. Annie was gentle and timid. Rhoda
was fearless and bold. Annie shuddered at
the blast, and cried in fear and agony, but
Rhoda ordered her back to bed, and said na
good ever came of watching a storm. But
Annie still shrank down in terror, for above
the din and loud roar of the battling elements,
she heard her name called, and nearer and
nearer came the cry on the winding blast of

1()8

WHITTIEll.

the storm. It was the voice of a drowning
man, and Estwick Hall, of the Heron, was
out in tlie fury of the tempest, liut Rhoda,
who loved Hall of the Heron, said to Annie :

'' . . . with eyes aliame,
Tiiou liest, he would never call thy iianie.

If he did, 1 would pray the wind and sea,
To keep him forever from thee and me."

Then roared the angry sea again, and an-
other blast rode on the gale, and a dying wail
reached the strickened ears of the sisters.
Hall of the Heron was dead !

In Whittier's *' Pennsylvania Pilgrim,"
life among the Quaker colonists of two hun-
dred years ago is depicted with keen direct-
ness of purpose. Francis Daniel Pastorius
is the hero of the poem. He was a doctor of
laws, his alma mater l)eing at Xuremburg.
While at Frankfort, he became interested in
the teacliings of Spencer, the head of the
society of Pietists or Mystics, who in the

WIIITTIER.

169

vvniiig
, was
l/hoda,
Uinie :

name.
id sea,

me.

nd an-
ig wail
dsters.

inm

huii-
lirect-
torius
tor of
iburg.
tod ill
of the

11 the

seventeenth century revived tlie worship of
Taiiler and ihe Friends of God. In 1683,
Pastorius crossed the ocean and settled on
a tract of land near tlie present city of Pliil-
adelphia, which had been purchased from
William Penn. He joined the Society of
Friends, and became the recognized head and
law-giver of the place. He drew up a memo-
rial against slave-holding in 1688, which
was adopted by the (Jermantown Friends.
Whittier says that this was the first protest
ever made by a religious body against slavery.
The characters in the poem are drawn with
critical discrimination, particularly those of
Pastorius and his wife Anna, the daughter
of Doctor Klosterman, of Mulheim. All that
is characteristic of Quakerism, and the zeal
and faith of its votaries, are set forth in this
tribute with an enthusiasm not frequently
encountered even in Whittier's verse. The
poet's large Catliolicity is revealed in every
line, and no suggestion appears of affecta-
tion, narrowness or prejudice.
11

170

WHITTIER.

Little need be said of Whittier's prose
writings. A portion only of them has been
preserved and published. At best his prose
was ephemeral. ** Margaret Smith's Journal,"
a sort of historical novel, or series of charac-
ter sketches, is the more important perform-
ance of the collection. It deals with the ear-
ly history of the colony, and to the antiquary
offers much that is entertaining. The author
of the journal is supposed to be a Church of
England woman, and she treats with candour
the x)roblems of 1678. Here and there poems
appear, scattered through the narrative, but
the quaint manner of the tale is its chiefest
quality. Whittier has also written " Old
Portraits and Modern Sketclies," " Literary
Recreations," and " Miscellanies," but tlieir
value is not of much moment. One of his
minor essays is devoted to a dissection of
Carlyle's *' Latter-day Pamphlets." In this
the Sage of Ecclefechan is taken to task for
his attitude on tlie slave question. But it is
solely as a lyrist that the fame of Whittier

WHITTIEK.

171

will live. In this department of poesy he is
supreme. He never married. P^or years his
constant companion was his sister, Elizabeth,
with whom he lived, now at Amesbury and
again at Danvers. She, too, was a graceful
poet, and in one of her brother's volumes,
some of her more striking pieces are included!
These are " The Dream of Argyll," "Lily
Franklin," and " The Wedding Veil."

Mr. Whittier's last book, published while
he was on his death-bed, is - At Sundown,"
containing tlie poems written by him, from
18S6 to 1892.